#Dark Fairy Tale AU

[autumnslance]

Year of the OTP - October 2023 - Vampire/Werewolf AU

(OK, technically an August prompt, but-October! And my Dark Fairy Tale AU! There's Lightning and sorta kinda Couples Costumes, if we want to get particular. The original prompt list is here.)

On a Dark and Stormy Night...

When your human brother's been enthralled by your girlfriend's evil vampiric ancestor, what's a Big Bad Wolfcred to do but duke it out in age-old battle? Red Riding Aeryn's in charge of getting brother out--they just have to outpace a minion or two!

But all's well that ends well! ...Or is it? I suppose we'll find out next Halloween!

Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf

The Lost Gentleman and the Vampire

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Since AO3 is still down and we’re all going feral over it, here: Have the first chapter of what would have been my Bottomji fic but got completely out of control

There is always something to kill, this close to the ruins of Nightless City. 

The nighthunt itself began, if not routine, then at least not strange in ways that could not be explained. A rockslide nearly buried a small village at the edge of the mountains that border what was once Qishan, but the Nie sect reacted swiftly and skillfully. The villagers were rescued with minimal casualties, the survivors given temporary shelter, and Nie Mingjue was working quickly to help find long-term solutions for how and where the villagers will live, now that their home has been destroyed. Lan Wangji likely would not have come to help after his business in Pingyang concluded -- were it not for the startling influx of resentful creatures.

It is perhaps inevitable, in the wake of any disaster, that some resentful creatures will be drawn to the scene. This is why cultivators address mundane disasters in their territories to begin with -- an avalanche, drowning, or forest fire may technically be the jurisdiction of the local magistrate, but its immediate aftermath always brings work for a cultivator. Even for such a small number of deaths, and in such a remote location, a handful of gui and yao are to be expected. 

What is not expected is the horde of gui, yao and guai that fell on the mountain like ants to a corpse, spilling out into the village below. Nie cultivators were forced to address the attacks rather than focus their attention on excavation, and more villagers suffocated or were crushed in the time it took to drive the creatures back.

Lan Wangji must stay and offer assistance. Xiongzhan will be unhappy at his late return, but it cannot be helped. The Nie are formidable. Their method of cultivation makes them uniquely suited to carving through large swaths of resentful creatures at a time, but they are still outnumbered, and worse, they are separated by necessity. The very fighting style that makes them able to stand in the midst of such chaos, forcing the outpouring of enemies to break around them like stream water parted by a boulder also makes them a danger to any allies who may stand too close. In the bedlam, the risk of accidentally striking and killing a friend is high.

So: Lan Wangji, steadily making his way up the mountain, using his qin to offer support to the Nie cultivators who cannot allow their own sect siblings close enough to defend them. The farther up the mountain he goes, the stranger the situation seems. Perhaps if the creatures’ ranks were made up primarily of human corpses, it would be explainable. A mass grave, disturbed by the rockslide, would account for the concentration of resentful energy in this specific area. However, the gui are few and far between. Most of the creatures they face are yao and guai; walking trees with grasping limbs and bloated, mutated forest critters, thrashing lengths of vine that have grown hungry mouths at their roots. There is something evil here, and it has been here for some time, soaking into the soil and drenching the air.

It is grueling work. From afternoon to dusk, they fight together to push back the horde. Lan Wangji alone can fight without his sword, and so he does, hovering on Bichen to weave between trees that occasionally attempt to snatch him from the air, plucking singing notes from his qin to lay down cover fire from above. For the most part, the Nie have the situation handled. He is here only to ensure that none of them die in the process. In this, he is successful, although blood is still spilled. Some of it is his.

They are never truly at risk of defeat -- although numerous, the creatures are not especially strong -- but Lan Wangji is nonetheless exhausted and worn by the time the killing is done. He has chased the last of the guai (a haunted tree stump, skittering on its roots like spider-legs) past the treeline and into a clearing before dealing the final blow.

The clearing itself is unremarkable; a pocket of space in the stifling density of the forest. The only thing of note is that there was a shrine here, once. It is rubble now, beaten down by the rockslide just as the village below had been. This alone is not strange. What is strange is the scattering of ward stones, now cracked and misaligned, that dot the clearing around the shrine. What is stranger still is the heavy wave of thick, cold resentment, pouring from somewhere in the ruins of the shrine. 

Something had been sealed away here, and now it is not.

Lan Wangji weighs caution against necessity. It is possible whatever waits in the ruins of the shrine will be more than he can handle. His hands and fingers ache from the bite of his qin strings, and he has depleted enough spiritual energy that it would be unwise for him to try and fly home without resting for the night, but this is clearly the source of the outpouring of resentful creatures. If it is not addressed swiftly, more creatures will come. The village nearby has been evacuated, but this mountain is an important pass for travelers and merchants, and there are more villages. If the number of resentful creatures grows, it is unlikely they will all be found and dealt with before they can spread out and claim more victims. People will die.

Carefully, he approaches. There does not appear to be anything active within the ruins. He can sense no movement, and though it is hard to tell through the fog of resentment, he doesn’t believe he senses any killing intent, either. Whatever it is, it is leaking enough resentful energy to have poisoned this entire section of forest, but it does not appear to be doing so intentionally. A cursed item, then?

He uses Bichen to prod through the rubble, taking heed not to touch anything with his bare hands. There are more layers of broken wards, shattered in the avalanche. Eventually, he finds a box. It, too, was once carved with seals, and it, too, is broken. This is perhaps another strange thing. Whatever is in this box was very thoroughly sealed away. It is unlikely a mere avalanche would have been sufficient to destroy every single layer of protection surrounding it. Lan Wangji cannot say for certain what would have been sufficient, because the item the box contains has not been removed from the box, so it seems unlikely that the shrine was destroyed on purpose. Unless whoever sought to claim the item died in the attempt, and is now one of the few human corpses dotting the mountain?

Again, he uses Bichen to nudge aside shards of broken stone, at last revealing the artifact leaking resentful energy like water from a basket. He blinks. The face staring up at him blinks back.

The item is a mirror of polished bronze, gleaming the colors of the sunset overhead. There is a thin wrapping of chain and wire encasing it, yet another layer of seals, though Lan Wangji cannot fathom what might be left to seal, with the mirror pouring out so much resentment. Regardless, this last layer of protection is unbroken. He will take care to ensure it stays that way. 

Nie Zonghui enters the clearing, wiping blood from one of his sabers. Lan Wangji explains his findings. There is a moment of discussion -- Qinghe is well equipped to store cursed items, but less equipped to neutralize them, and the sheer power radiating from this particular item would be better addressed than simply locked away, especially as that has been tried once, and already failed. Nie Zonghui helps Lan Wangji wrap the mirror in cloth, and carefully tuck it away in a qiankun pouch. They take rubbings of the remaining seals and ward stones to be examined later, as Lan Wangji’s knowledge in this field is too rudimentary to parse exactly what the wards may have been for. The Nie disciples do a final pass through the forest in search of any resentful creatures, and Lan Wangji plays several rounds of cleansing.

 Some of the Nie attempt to invite Lan Wangji back to Qinghe for the night, in thanks for his assistance. He is offered mulled wine, then tea when the disciple is reminded by their sect-siblings that the Lan do not partake. He is promised food and an invitation to dice games to celebrate the day’s victory.

The Nie disciples cluster together. They throw their arms casually about one another’s shoulders. Many of them count heads, and visibly relax when the last of their companions make their way into the clearing. They tease and shove one another, grinning. The youngest whine at aching feet and empty bellies, and are laughingly scolded by their elders, even while field rations are passed around to tide everyone over until they can have a proper meal.

Lan Wangji would not be good company for such a group. Lan Wangji is very rarely good company for anyone. He politely declines. The Nie disciples insist on at least escorting him to the nearest available inn, the next town over, and because they are going the same direction to return to Qinghe Lan Wangji makes no attempt to refuse. 

Despite the Nie reputation of brutishness and militarism, Lan Wangji has never known them to be lacking in hospitality. Even if he is only shown such regard because he is the younger brother of Lan Xichen, who is well known to be Nie Mingjue’s oldest and dearest friend. Nonetheless, he is reminded as they travel that there will always be a bed available for him in the Unclean Realm, and that the hot springs are his to use as he sees fit, should he choose to spend the night in Qinghe after all. 

It is tempting, but to take advantage of their courtesy would mean locking himself (and them) in an uncomfortable pantomime of etiquette. Should he accept the offered bed, social obligation would dictate that he join their company for the evening, while they attempt to indulge in their drinking and dice games and he lingers awkwardly on the sidelines, intrusive and invading. He has no interest in such things, and they most certainly have no interest in his stilted attempts at socializing. He declines once more, and reassures Nie Zonghui that he intends to go promptly to bed and leave at first light, and as such, staying in the Unclean Realm would be both wasteful and disruptive. The Nie are stubborn as a rule, but Nie Zonghui has known Lan Wangji for most of his life; they have spent many a day quietly existing in one another’s presence. When Shufu visited the late Nie-Zongzhu and Xiongzhang visited Nie Mingjue, Lan Wangji and Nie Huiasang were typically shoved together, and Nie Zonghui was assigned to watch the younger boys. As such, he only sighs, nods, and bids Lan Wangji safe travels. Lan Wangji returns the courtesy.

This late at night, the main room of the inn is nearly empty. The owner, who had been all but sleeping at the desk, jerks sharply upright when Lan Wangji approaches to pay, and blinks sleepily through their transaction. The qiankun pouch will hold the mirror safely for the night, though Lan Wangji will have to hurry straight home come morning. In the still and quiet of his room at the small but serviceable inn, he bathes, and eats, and goes to bed.

Dawn brings with it a sense of urgency. The resentment from the mirror is leaking from the qiankun pouch -- only barely, so faint Lan Wangji had not noticed it until he was halfway through dressing for the day, but it is leaking all the same. He eats breakfast quickly, meditates for only as long as is necessary to ensure that his qi is circulating at acceptable levels after yesterday’s strain, and departs from the inn. He is in the air before the last colors of sunrise have faded from the sky.

He lands, once, for lunch and to play cleansing for the mirror. He does not linger.

Trouble does not arise until late afternoon, when he has already passed between the border of Lanling and Gusu. He is considering landing again -- he will make it to Cloud Recesses before curfew, but he would like to play another round of cleansing for the mirror before he arrives -- when the choice is taken out of his hands.

It begins with a prickle at the back of his neck. Instinct alone has him swerving sharply, tucking his chin to his chest as a bright and burning thing grazes past his head, close enough to feel the heat of it. He doesn’t get a chance to see what it was or where it came from -- there is another, forcing him to pull up sharply and clench his jaw through the wash of vertigo, and another which he barely avoids as he wrenches himself through the air, and then --

Pain.

The stink of burning silk. 

Like a stone, Lan Wangji plummets.

What he sees, as he scrambles to tear off his burning robes and regain his footing on Bichen, is this: dead, human-like things that twitch and jitter. Their flesh is charred. Cracks where the burned skin has split show a deep orange glow, like an ember not yet coated in ash. If they at one time had discernable eyes or noses, that time has passed. Their faces have melted and blackened. Only their teeth remain in lipless mouths, ash-gray and chattering, occasionally revealing the scorched lump of their tongues. In the sky, among the fresh air, he had neither heard nor smelled them. On the ground, he can do both. They stink of burned meat. They move with the clicking and clattering of bone dice on a stone floor. 

Lan Wangji has seen a great number of terrible things in his life, and has built a strong stomach in response, but there is something wrong with these creatures, in a way he can neither explain nor articulate. Something unnatural. There is a dull clenching in his gut, not-quite-nausea, as his instincts rebel against the very existence of these -- things.

Lan Wangji lands hard. Jerks to one side as one of the creatures throws another palmful of strange, sticking fire at him. Dodges back and back again.

They are, he learns quickly, fast. He spends a hundred breathless seconds dancing half-hazardly from burning blows, every frantic toe-tip step taking him away from one attack and towards another. The creatures pounce. Lan Wangji evades. At last he scrapes together the scant second he needs to call Bichen back to his hand.

They are, he learns quickly, durable. His first slash carves neatly through the chest of one of the creatures, cleaving through black flesh and charred bone. There are no organs inside, only the fireheart gleam of dying coals beneath the outer husk. Sparks fly from the wound to sting Lan Wangji’s hands and face, float drunkenly in the air. Burned flesh crackles like wood on a fire. Clicks itself back into place. The creatures gnash their awful stone teeth.

They are, he learns quickly, intelligent. His next blow jolts to a hard stop, Bichen wrenching in his hand as it’s caught -- first between black fingers and then between gray teeth, the creature thrashing to disarm him. A scorched foot snaps out, thuds heavily against his sternum hard enough that something cracks, sends him reeling back. The place the creature touched him burns. 

When he drags in his next breath, it is choking-thick with smoke and resentment. The taste of blood lingers on the back of his tongue.

One of the creatures lunges for his abdomen, and Lan Wangji must again abandon his sword. The dance drags on.

It is a misstep that leads to terrible understanding. The place he has been attacked in is a stretch of dry, rocky land with sparse vegetation. He knows he is being driven onto unsteady ground, but he cannot find an opening to break free. Again and again, Lan Wangji must dodge back from grasping fingers. Again and again, he must seek footing on precarious piles of stone, or twist at the last second to avoid catching his foot in a deep groove. 

It is perhaps inevitable that he eventually fails. 

When he does, it is because he is forced to take uncertain footing to avoid yet another blow -- one which glances close enough to singe the skin of his ear. The stone gives out under him, sends him stumbling, and in that moment one of the creatures snatches the qiankun pouch from his belt and disengages from the fight, leaving the three others to continue their assault.

It opens the pouch with quick, clever fingers, the gesture sickeningly human in such inhuman hands. From the pouch, it draws the mirror.

The creatures give off heat like bonfires, but Lan Wangji feels himself go cold. There is much he does not understand, but this, at least, seems simple. Whatever these things are, and whatever that mirror is -- they cannot be allowed to have it.

The sun will soon set. He has his signal flares. He can send one up once it is dark, and hope it is seen by someone. Anyone.

In the meantime, he needs to retrieve the mirror.

The next blow is nearly perfunctory. Lan Wangji is no longer the main target, he has become a loose end, and so killing him is a lesser concern. That’s good. That will have to be enough.

Again, he throws himself to the side. Again, he is chased. Again, he forces his body to move.

A quick step, a moment of breathing space. He calls Bichen once more to his hand. She plunges through the chest of one of the creatures on her way back to him, and although the creature does not die, it slows.

He will make this be enough.

This time, he knows they will try and disarm him. He will not allow them to do so. One of the creatures jerks towards him and swiftly loses a hand. The other is sent to the ground with the force of his blow as he thrusts Bichen into its empty chest and heaves its body away from him. The creature holding the mirror makes an -- awful sound, a choking, rasping thing, a scream with no air or voice to shape it. It drops the mirror. Its fingers are crumbling to ash.

A hand closes around Lan Wangji’s ankle, dragging at him. He feels the scorching heat of it all the way through his boots. He stomps on the wrist of the grasping creature with all his force, and is gratified by the charred-wood crackling as it is crushed to nothing beneath his heel. Thus freed, Lan Wangji lunges.

He cannot kill them. Every blow he lands closes itself. Every limb he cuts off reattaches. Only the creature who touched the mirror seems at all properly injured, still hacking its terrible noises of distress. Its disintegrated fingers have not grown back. Lan Wangji would perhaps try to use this advantage, if only the mirror were not spewing more resentment than any living creature could feasibly withstand, clogging the air and limiting his vision. It sticks to his skin and in his mouth and down his throat and settles in his lungs and stomach. He wonders if this is what it feels like to drown. He wonders if the resentment will kill him before his core can destabilize, before he can qi deviate. He wonders how this all went so wrong, so fast.

He wonders if he will get to see Mother again. If she waited for him, or if she has already reincarnated.

Half-blind, he dives for the mirror. Feels the displacement of heat and air as the creatures follow. He lands first. They land on top of him.

Stone teeth, hot like a griddle, latch onto the meat of his shoulder. It is a pain that is difficult to describe, to be cut and torn and burned all at once. The press of the creature on his back is hot enough to blister his skin through all five layers of his robes. The mirror against his stomach is cold like frozen steel. It burns, too.

He wonders if Xiongzhang and Shufu will forgive him for not saying goodbye.

His core churns. His qi surges under his skin. He will have only one chance -- he is strong, and his strength will have to be enough. One great blast of spiritual energy. At worst, it will be felt all the way in Cloud Recesses and that will be as good as a signal flare. Perhaps there will be something left of his body to be buried. Perhaps the mirror will be retrieved.

Lan Wangji coils his qi tight in his chest, gets ready to push -- 

The resentment spikes, trembles, and crashes over him like a Yunmeng storm. The shock of the cold freezes him solid, leaving him gasping through stiff lungs. Winter itself settles in his marrow.

Then, just as quickly, spring returns. He thaws. 

He is surrounded by piles of ash, and he is alive. 

He is alive?

Lan Wangji breathes. Raises a hand to feel his pulse point. His heartbeat is erratic, but it exists.

He is alive.

Dazed and dream-like, Lan Wangji rises slowly to his knees. His body hurts. His meridians ache in peculiar ways, likely damaged from what he just tried to do to them. He is very certain he is not dead, but in the strange, hazy headspace he’s found himself in -- dizzy and disbelieving, exhausted and, paradoxically, strangely exhilarated -- he’s not entirely sure he is conscious.

He sees, now, what caused the creature’s fingers to crumble to dust. The final layer of protection, the delicate lace of wires and chains, has been torn away from the mirror. It is unclear whether the seal was broken by the creature or by the spirit within the mirror.

Because there is undoubtedly a spirit within the mirror. The face peering up at Lan Wangji is not Lan Wangji’s own. The face is sharp-featured and handsome, clever silver eyes and a feline grin.

The man in the mirror points that grin directly up at Lan Wangji. “Aiyah,” he says, half-laughing. “That was close! Are you alright, Lan-gongzi?”

[the-mechanica]

Chapters: 2/5 Fandom: Apex Legends (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Loba Andrade/Revenant Characters: Loba Andrade, Revenant (Apex Legends) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Adult Red Riding Hood, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Horror, Dark Fantasy, Werewolves, Fairy Tale Retellings, Dark, Red Riding Hood Elements, The Wolfman Elements, Eventual Smut, Title from a King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard Song, False Identity, Dread, demon hunting, Lycan Hunter, Catalyst as The Witch of the Wood Summary:

A Red Riding Hood inspired dark fairy tale retelling of Loba Andrade's lore. - Now updated with Chapter 2! “Buried in Brambles” Excerpt:

“Face me, beast.” Snapping back, she only tugged at the tie at her collar —red cloak falling to the ground.

The Darkness intoned a smirk in response, shadows spilling out from the tree cover before her. A clawed paw manifested on the ground in a solid step toward her and Loba braced herself.

Another paw came forward, followed by a ghastly knee made of exposed bone and sinew along with matted fur that ran up a hip. That hip melded into a broad human-like torso made of exposed rib and shadow musculature stretching across it. Most striking of all was the all too terribly familiar fanged maw that loomed above. An exposed wolf skull, whose sockets held eerily glowing pupils. Set to burn straight into her. Just the same as they had at on that night—

“—You killed my parents!” Loba screamed, words firing off before she could stop them. The looming creature before her grunted.

“Is that all? You and half the countryside.” He sounded disappointed, half torn ear twitching like a dog.

[nemesyaaa]

from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

[katerdaddy]

When shes the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, wolf or not.

Idk how to feel about this one- I like it but, I had a different image in my mind so Im just vomiting this out there so it stops haunting me.

[lipglossanon]

♔ 𝔉𝔦𝔳𝔢 ♔

• A Dozen Roses • Fairy Tale AU •

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dead dove, incest, father/daughter incest, possessiveness, kissing, groping, thigh riding

Dawn does not break. A summer storm overtakes the early morning sky and overshadows the sun with pounding rain that comes down in sheets as lightning forks in the distance. Your chamber maids dress you warmly for even inside a chill is persisting along the stone corridors. 

Your father is nowhere to be found. Off with his fellow knights on a hunt, waylaid by the weather. That’s what the stable hand tells you as he points out the empty stall where your father’s steed usually rests. You frown out across the wide terrace as the maids usher you back inside. 

The day passes slowly, your ladies trying to distract you with music and sewing. One even whispers to you about the most recent gossip floating amongst the gentry. That your father has already chosen you a suitor— someone he was to announce after his hunt. 

“Is this so?” You murmur quietly, eyes seeking the window and yet only seeing the storm. 

She nods, threading her needle, “Yes, Princess. But tis only a rumor, just another tale to spread for those with too little responsibility.”

You smile at her, “I suppose that’s true enough.”

The talk turns to other things, letting you fall back into your thoughts. The book containing your mother’s story lies tucked against your side. Your grand plan of speaking to the King this morn dissipates like mist in the light. The day drags along and after supper, you visit her portrait hoping to glean more insight into this ghost. 

Refreshing her wilted lilies, as you have countless times before, makes your heart race with longing. Magic is all well and good but it seems to only have a place for you in the shadows of your heritage. Gifting her a single red rose, you place the thorny stem in the middle of the lilies and take your leave. Your ladies-in-waiting walk with you back to your chambers, bowing and bidding you a goodnight as you part from them at the door.

Once you’re completely alone, you light a candle and read over the words and secrets left behind in the diary until they swim across the page. You hear loud movement coming from beyond the door, leading you to creep across the cold floor to press an ear to the wood. The deep voice of your father can be heard but you are unable to parse what is being spoken. 

When you’re sure the hall is empty once more, you climb back into bed, hand reaching for the book you set aside. Eyes gaze unseeing upon the leather cover. The King has known everything all of this time and yet kept his distance. It hurts you. Makes you seek him out now regardless of the late hour, book in hand as you enter his rooms uninvited. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s seated in front of the fire, dressed down for the night in a simple tunic and breeches. His hair and clothing are soaked from the storm still raging outside. You suddenly realize you’re in your nightgown and how improper it was to walk through the castle in such undress as well as to be standing in the King’s antechamber. 

“Tell you what?” He tilts his head, eyes dark and heavy as they drag down your immodest shift—fists clenching where they lay against his thigh, “tell my precious little princess she holds magic in her blood?”

“Yes,” your voice turns pleading, “why hide from me what is my right?”

He shakes his head, “Twould do no good,” standing, he walks over to you, water dripping from his hair to the straight line of his nose, “would you have had me toss you off to that forest witch to be raised?”

Chills race down your back as he brushes stray hairs away from your face, “You are my daughter, my property... my responsibility.”

“You never cared before,” words burst from your lips like overripe fruit. “You paid me no mind until this summer, Father.”

“Because you look like her,” he growls, eyes flashing in the low light, “you could be her.”

He grasps your upper arm and walks you over in front of the looking glass; his free hand reaches up to cup your chin roughly, forcing you to gaze at the mirror image. You clench your eyes shut and he chuckles, a low mean sound, against your back. 

“Look, my naive daughter,” his calloused hands pinch into the skin of your jaw and you meet his eyes in the reflection, “you have given me a most precious gift— a second chance with my dear beloved.”

A gasp spills from your lips as the King lets go of your arm to cup your mound through your thin nightgown. 

“Have you been good while I’ve been away, Princess?” He murmurs against your ear, fingers rubbing slowly against the heat gathering at the apex of your thighs. 

“Yes, Father,” your brows pinch together, body leaning into his touch. 

“Good girl,” his thumb rubs across your bottom lip. 

That hot shivery feeling you sometimes get overtakes you, eyes darting to the King’s mouth. A yearning cavern opens in your chest, a hollow echo of loneliness making your lips part. It’s the same feeling that you had when he took it upon himself to confirm your purity, his mouth hot and wet upon your cunt. 

“You should check, Father,” the damning words whispered as if that would soften the indecent request. 

He presses his thumb past your lips, pushing against your tongue as you suckle the digit. 

“I should,” he rumbles, gaze hot on your mouth as he turns your head to the side, “just to be sure your chastity is in place.”

A chaste kiss is dropped to your mouth, fleeting like the brush of a butterfly's wings. Whining, you tilt your head further, bodily asking for more. He presses another kiss against your lips, so different from Lord Winters. Your father claims your mouth for his own. He makes you sigh and gasp against his lips as he tastes you deeply, tongue stroking alongside your own. 

Your legs nearly give out and he wraps his broad arms around you, holding you to his firm chest as he kisses you heatedly. Head fuzzy, you sink against him, letting the King kiss you senseless. Pulling away, he shushes your whining before tugging you to the armchair in front of the fireplace. 

Once he is seated, he pulls you into his lap, indecently straddling one of his legs as your gown shifts leaving your bare cunt to rest on his trouser clad thigh. He pets your sides, a strange little smile hovering over his lips.  

“I never thought I would have this again,” he murmurs, “come, kiss me again, my sweet daughter.”

You’re much too eager and uncouth, but he takes it in stride; slowing you down, guiding your lips and tongue until you’re moving in sync with him. It’s addicting, like eating sun warm strawberries from the garden. Forbidden but so so sweet. The juice sticky and syrup thick, filling your mouth with decadence. 

His sword calloused hands grip your hips, guiding you into a rocking motion that makes you bleat and moan against his lips. A rare warm chuckle from him makes your mind buzz. You follow his motions until he’s able to squeeze and pet your hips as you rock against his thigh. The sharp bolts of pleasure make you leak until his trousers are soaked, sticking to the soft lips of your cunt. 

“Want me to teach you?” He whispers hotly in your ear, “teach you all the ways to feel good, my precious princess.”

“Please, Father,” you mewl quietly, kissing him needily.  

“I’ll show you,” he promises, voice dark as his eyes, hands grasping your gown to delve underneath, fingers skimming across your bare hips, “teach you like I did her—such gorgeous witches I’ve owned.”

Thoughts too hazy to pay attention, you sigh and gasp when his hands drift under your nightgown to grasp your breasts, squeezing the soft fat with a groan. The King’s mouth drifts along your neck, lips soft as he kisses the sensitive skin. Chills race down your body, your mind a haze of wanton need. He kisses your breasts through the nightgown as he pinches your nipples. 

Whimpering at him, you tangle your fingers in his still damp hair. Your body is hurtling to that peak that whites out your thoughts, pleasure curling up like a sated cat in your stomach. The rough fabric of his trousers rub against your soft, wet heat as you rut back and forth on his thigh, making you moan softly. 

“My sweet witch,” he pulls away to gaze up at you in satisfaction, “my beloved made whole again.”

Bringing your face closer, he kisses you far sweeter than before. This surprising show of tender affection brings you to your climax. Your voice stutters out, a broken cry lost in his wet kisses. The fire in the hearth roars to life like dragon’s breath as glasses on the mantle shatter only to land as glittering diamonds on the floor. 

Your father chuckles warmly and it sends a frisson of heat pulsing at the apex of your thighs. 

“Such a gift, my precious princess,” he brushes his thumb across your swollen bottom lip.  

The expulsion of magic makes you tired. The King keeps you on his thigh, the rough material of his breeches bringing you to climax again and again as he kisses the moans from your mouth. Never pushing it further, he makes a promise to show you everything with each time you clench on nothing and cum on his lap. 

It’s cock crow when you finally pull away from your father’s embrace. Lips and cunt swollen from his rough touch and yet your body and heart ache for more. 

“I shall escort you to your room,” he helps you stand on trembling legs, wrapping one of his heavy riding cloaks around your body—his smoky scent surrounding you. “I’ll make sure you have the morning to yourself for resting.”

You hum, exhausted in more ways than one, and easily follow the King back to your room. As he tucks you into bed, you pout and grasp his shirt, seeking another kiss before you fall into slumber. 

“Sleep well, beloved,” he murmurs, kissing your temple before pulling away. 

Although you wouldn’t realize until too late, it’s the end of your old life. 

[manderleyfire]

– What's keeping us apart ain't even real, your daddy, his religion, it's got nothing to do with us. – It's not just his, it's mine too. I've got the same spirit in me, why don't you see that?

Alice Englert and Walton Goggins in Them That Follow (2019), dir. Dan Madison Savage & Brittany Poulton

[ian-galagher]

darkness comes before the dawn.

written by Willow @ian-galagher and Sky @transmurderbug for @gallavich-fic-club's summer camp event, with art by Nosho @creepkinginc and betaed by Julia @blue-disco-lights

"Hey, Mickey? I was thinking of baking a pie. Would you like some?"   It startles him when the raven lets out a burst of shouts. "Cah, cah, cah!"   "I take that as a yes," Ian says, grinning. "Blueberry?"   "Cah! Cah! Cah!"   Mickey shuts his eyes, his chest squeezing tight. To his ears, it sounds an awful lot like the raven is talking to him, rather than Ian, telling him to "Speak! Speak! Speak!"

this fic is now COMPLETE! 🥳

total worth count: 20k

🌾read here on ao3 or start from the beginning here!

[nightshiftcaffiene]

# The Magician, the Bandit and the Unicorn 

Written for the Good Omens Fairytale Mini bang

Summary :After overhearing she may be the last, the unicorn leaves the safety of her forest to find out if she's truly the last unicorn left in the world.

Travelling magician Aziraphale knows he wants more than the life he's currently living, but it takes meeting the unicorn to force him to make a change.

Crowley once dreamed of being Robin Hood, but fell in with bandits instead. A chance meeting with the unicorn makes him think there may still be good left in him.

Despite Aziraphale's protests, the two men find themselves on a quest to find King Haggard, the Red Bull and where the other unicorns have gone.

A Last Unicorn/Good Omens AU 

Rating : Mature for mild smut, mild violence and mild language 

20k Words

Contains art by GoodbyeVanny @goodbyevanny

[Read on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/58909504/chapters/150156595) @goodomensafterdark

[sinningsquire]

“Beauty and the Beast”

[abominable-space-they]

Keep My Bedrock Heart Next To Yours

Ch 4: Three For Death

An unexpected fire, a rescue mission, some sentimental little memories, a meddling crow father, & an over sized hot pink Villainous Mainecoon Cat

[shylittlefrogg]

Something small I made from some Fae design ideas for some precure.

the first one is Nagisa's, followed by Love, Honoka, Mana, Yukari, Miyuki and Hana and then it is repeated but in Fae version.

[wintertimestoryteller]

Linked Universe x Reader Fairy Tale Collection

@luimagines It is finally here! XD Apologies for the huge delay, suddenly became a dog mom again and life has been difficult, apologies to all who waited. Hopefully it's at least half decent, this did not want to write itself at all X_X

Warning for dark themes of the fairy tale kind and violence. I recommend researching Penta by Basille if some of you are curious about the interrupted story, though I did leave a lot out for obvious reasons, the first story is actually a reference and I thought it would be fun to see how many catch it and who would notice the reversal of roles here. No Shadow Links were (seriously) harmed in the making of this chapter, just Reader and their poor mind who can't catch a break.

Technically this is the final act before the Masterlist for each Link, though there is technically a bonus act and an intermission I doubt anyone would be interested in that, y'all came here for the Links and the fairy tales not the lore and behind the scenes stuff done to get here because I decided to pull a Hans Christian Andersen even while trying to keep this as short as an opening act should technically be, might write them down if there's enough interest but for now I'm leaving it up to interpretation xP

Opening Act, Scene IIII

It's almost strange, how peaceful your first few days and nights in the theater were.

It was hardly unwelcome, of course it was a pleasant surprise. Even with it's darkened, solemn corners and the way the shadows played eerily across the walls, dancing and laughing mockingly as they put on a show only they knew, it hardly felt truly unsettling for long, maybe it was just your long time on the road which made you jaded to the concept of old buildings that felt like echoes of their former selves, ever lonely, ever grieving like a widow, knowing their lover would not return from the war but waiting for as long possible before considering taking poison. The building was much the same, threading the fragile, dreamlike barrier of a long, wistful forgotten dream and a feather soft, fondness warmed memory.

It felt just about on the edge of death, but not quite ready to cross the border, it felt alive, like watching a barren wasteland attempt to host life again, even if it wouldn't last long or ever recover.

You believe it's in large part due to it's residents.

It was impressive, really, though you're all clearly wary towards one another, the troupe was seemingly more delighted by the fact they had new people to tell new tales to than bothered by the fact the Chain was clearly high strung from a long journey with the carmine and jade weariness of hunters unable to continue searching for their quarry. Director Raven had given you all full permission to explore and was only ever truly strict with corralling the crew to perform, the obsidian speckled mist of their excitement reflected in the way their coat sleeves flapped while directing each member to their roles and how their steps practically glided across the floor and the stage, their feline companion ever present on their shoulders as they truly gave their name sake justice as they crowed and crooned new characters into Byron's ears, sparkling ruby glee as the bloody feather on their hair and gem collar at the gentleman's smile with the flame bright elation of a mad man as he worked on costumes, scenery and props like a man possessed occasionally hissing like an offended cat at Edgar, who was quick to bark and judge even the slightest imperfection as he marked cues for Anabella's scripts, the woman, once having heard of the Links musical prowess, having lit up like the chandelier serving as spotlight at the stage, gently having coaxed the boys towards Amelia, the petal soft smiling dark haired young woman you've met earlier whom Raven just couldn't help but squawk amusedly at Anabella having a very clear soft spot for, who wasted no time in convincing a few of the heroes to follow sheet music the young woman had written but never quite had enough people to help perform.

It was honestly amusing, seeing the young woman and Warriors practically team up to bully Legend into playing the violin again, the veteran protesting for a good while, until a small, well placed tease from Sky made him cave, you and Wind both pretending to hide bright laughs at seeing him pretend not to smile, the jewel bright sight of her delight making you feel warm as she suggested to the exccentric playwright to share your own stories with the troupe and the boys once again as the sweet notes of musical and Raven's narration rolled up and across the aisles, the ruby cheer of the chattering of their cheek with the sweet aquamarine of your gentleness making even the likes of ever serious steel serious Cal or solemn First smile.

The only incident any of you all had really was when you've met Priscilla properly, or to be more accurate, when Priscilla found you all, the youngest of the troupe popping from the ceiling like a bat in front of you from the theater's costume attic like a reverse phantom of the opera, giving you a small fright with her cat smug smile as she finished fixing the lights and eagerly jumped into Twilight's back the second she heard Epona being mentioned, asking all sorts of questions about horses and their proper care until Edgar came knocking to pry her off.

A few minor incidents were had, what with your boys' usual brand of chaos and only so much you, Time and First could do while Raven rounded up the brand of madness found in their own little troupe (like how Anabella, much like Hyrule, should not be allowed near any form of food supply lest they both commit crimes agaisnt nature and the last leg of Wild's morals and sanity, how Byron, Warriors and Legend could almost snarl at each other like feral dogs when it came to fashion sensibilities, or Priscilla attempting to coax Wind and Spirit onto the attic and catwalks with her to play pranks onto the unsuspecting audience and performers below just to see Four and Edgar twitch), but overall, the first three days of constant strong storms and two of the stories told passed quickly, like the heartbeat of a humming bird.

... Which made your own feelings for a certain hero grown ever more transparent like the polished crystal which made up the spotlight.

How could you not contemplate these feelings? How could you even begin denying something that has been sinking it's teeth into your soul for months now? Ever since the Chain found you, injured and with nowhere to go, it was always moving, ever forward, ever running, ever hunting, for if you all didn't hunt the shadow, it would stop at nothing to tear everything and everyone so much as grazed by the bright, ever burning diamond flame of the Hero's Spirit, with the burning fury of a maddened beast with nothing left to lose, with enough hunger it could render divinity to pieces. So, so so wrong to the very fabric that made up the curtain of Hyrule's stage it made one's flesh crawl before it even set it's bloody, hungry, vile gaze upon you.

(You didn't have a choice, when they'd left you behind, the portal simply opened to place you in harm's way again and again and again and again, you only survived through pure luck most of the time, the other half being due to run ins with different members of the Chain. Eventually, finally, after you'd met again and dragged First's abandoned, bleeding, almost dead but oh so stubborn he wouldn't die quite yet, carcass to camp, they'd decided to teach you how to wield a blade and take you along.

After all, it's not like you could go home.

... No, no, you couldn't go home, ever again.)

Being in the theater was a welcome breath of fresh air, even with the oddities of it's residents. But it also gave you nothing but time to think. About home, about the people who are likely to be looking for you, and kind gem bright eyes, leaves on the wind gentle touches, and smiles that could put the sun and the moon and stars to shame with their radiance and the unshakable, beautiful, lonsdaleite and steel of the will to protect and courage to follow through so, so warm it left you scorched, stealing the breath from your lungs and replacing it with lava and frost, pinning you into place better than any arrow or trick the shadow could pull. Left you aching more than any moment in the battle field, shaking you to the very marrow of your bones as the laughing dove that was affection stole into your heart like a thief, and gave half of it to the beast called love.

And

It

Was

Torture.

How could you not fall for that?

How could you not think about it?

So instead of getting even more flustered by possibly slipping up and making a fool out of yourself, giving yourself away and wanting to just wander into the Lost Woods without a guide and let yourself go mad from mortification and become a Poe (because at least then it would be a more manageable form of insanity), you'd instead taken to haunting the back wings and auditorium of the theater like a ghost. The theater was hardly all that big, but it wasn't small by any means, the size of a noble's summer home at best, so there was plenty of empty supply rooms and forgotten lounges to think, contemplate, and to keep a tenous hold on your sanity as you avoided dwelving deeply into your feelings.

After all, why would he want little old you? Unimpressive, ordinary little you, who lived a most relatively peaceful life before falling into Hyrule, who couldn't protect them properly, who most importantly of all would hurt the one you adored because you couldn't stay?

... It would be agony, you couldn't do that to him. It wouldn't be any difference than the Shadow taking your face and torturing your hero, so you'd stay silent, and hope these feelings died a quiet, peaceful death. At least in this abandoned lounge room you could refrain from making your hopeless longing obvious until you'd need to return.

"Oh me oh my, what are you doing here all alone?" Came a cawed, lilting honey coated rasp, padparascha curiosity in the the flap of nightlock coat sleeves, "I thought you'd want to join your companions! This place is still too dusty for back tours I'm afraid."

... Well, not quite so abandoned now. Is it?

Then again, you're not even too surprised, you'd be lying if you'd say you were. If there was anyone who could navigate these darkned, old halls with ease to find someone allegedly missing, it would likely be it's master.

Director Raven swoops into the room with quick, almost silent steps, a specter with the grace of a Gerudo dancer, sending you a smile, their feline companion is gone, but their ever present bloodstone feather chimes like a bell as they brush dust off an old couch, you laugh sheepishly, hoping that the tempest winds outside took your thoughts away so you could focus, "I'm sorry, you said we could go just about everywhere and I needed some time alone. Hopefully it's not any trouble?"

They cluck at you, taking a new accessory from their coat and placing it behind your ears with a cheeky poke to the nose, you blink as you touch it, a red, red rose, "Oh please, not at all! I'm a professional of my word you know? I was just worried is all, you're basically part of the troupe at this point and your lover boy has been staring at you with such concern, you know? So I thought I'd check on you."

Their concern makes you blink, with a small bite of confusion to their wording, "I've only helped you folks perform for three days now?"

They chuckle with amusement, the tone raspy and crowing as they perch themselves upon the couch, "Doesn't matter! We've had folks who stayed and helped for less time, we still consider them troupe members. Once taken in by the Astoria, you're part of it for all time, can't I have some empathy for someone so clearly pining?", You jolt, the director gives you a knowing smile, mercury amusement and gallium understanding, how did...? "Broken hearts are as dangerous as broken minds and wills to a person, take it from me. I've told and been part of one too many stories to know that all too well, now, why don't you tell good old uncle Raven what ails you?"

That makes you snort, rose quartz embarrassment mixed with xanthic amusement, "Uncle, really? Weren't you the one who said you'd actually take someone to court for emotional damages if someone tried utilizing gendered terms for you?"

They squawk, ruffling your hair with a click and hiss, as they jump up with ruffled feathers and a raised chin, mock offended, "Oh kiss my grits! This ain't about me here. This is about your longing making me sad and me being willing to hear you out from the goodness of my heart, and there you go! Spitting on my good will! As I was about to offer to make you tea, no less."

You laugh and you catch a grin on the director's lips from the reflection of a mirror, you wave them on, "Alright, alright. I'll humor you, will you want some help deciding the next story to tell while at it?"

They wink, prancing around the room for the kettle in the corner, "You know me too well! You're a wealth of new stories, I can listen to you pour your little heart out and grill you for inspiration at the same time. That way your heart will be lighter than a leaf on the wind when you next see your lover boy"

Settling in, you wait until Raven has made you both tea, getting comfortable and taking a sip.

Mhm, coming to the theater was a welcome change of pace. And talking to someone who wasn't Link about this would likely do you good.

(So preoccupied you are with your thoughts and the vaguely floral tea the director had broken out of storage and brewed, you don't notice the way another figure shows up on the reflection of the mirror just as the thunder booms, and how Raven's gloved fingers tighten a fraction as the shadows flicker oddly once you drink the tea. The cinnabar of their smile turning iron speckled with guilt and tense as they spot bloodstone tiger eyes on the doorway. Before turning fireplace warm once the Hero of Skies popped his head onto the doorway after a few hours of listening to you want, they offer him a spot of tea.)

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

The storm still raged on relentlessly outside, it's screams and howls those of lost souls and old forgotten or yet to be remembered deities rending the air with water and thunder, it's been almost a week since you all had started staying in the theater, everyone had settled into a small sort of routine, as it didn't seem like the storm would cease to rage anytime soon. You'd all wake up (checking your weapons as you go, just in case, your dagger on your sleeve a common secret among the Chain members ever since a bad run in with the Yiga, Artemis had taught you and Warriors well and if any of the troupe members notice, they didn't press), go through the usual daily routine you all had while under an actual roof, Wild, you and Twilight would cook with occasional aid from either Raven themselves who twitched and squawked about the injustice of allowing guests to cook before Edgar would cuff them over the head and take over or a very chipper Amelia whose early morning energy could only be likened to a ray of sunshine Anabella would trip over her feet and possibly kill a grown man for, and in turn you'd all take your turns occupying themselves for the day, the troupe making sure to give everyone their due space until the early evening, which is when you'd all take to storytelling.

You couldn't help your small grin as you let yourself be led by the hand by Twilight, blindfold coming off as he twirled you around as you deliberately sang an incredibly off key note, laughter and chuckles being draw from your boys as you were set down onto the stage and raised your tune, his pelt slipping off your head like the heavy, but comforting cape it was, his smile campfire warm and oak steady, Raven's crowing laughter being hidden by a coughing fit before they seemed to compose themselves enough to continue on with a straight face, "And so the wolf, once a princess, remembered the prince. And thought she'd never sing again, and it wasn't very good-" they choked as you deliberately hit a note that sounded like a dying cucco, you can vaguely see Cal coughing into his fist, First shaking his head in amusement in contrast to Sky's summer breeze laughter while Time's lips barely twitched with honey sweet amusement and Wind wheezing agaisnt a laughing Spirit's side, mission accomplished! The director sent you a look, mockingly ruffling his feathers, "Commit less to the bit darn it! I won't be able to finish if I'm rolling around on the floor!"

Your smile widens with cheek, topaz bright with delight, "No such thing as overcommiting to the bit!"

"For what it's worth they don't sound too bad when not trying to sound like a goat going into labor." Cut in Twilight, using your head as an arm rest, you playfully shove him off, you briefly catch a smirk on Warriors face, Four chuckling while Legend leant agaisnt his side for support, good. Him and Hyrule looked off kilter recently, if you could make them smile by playing the fool this once, you'd be glad.

"Oh by the Goddesses- I'm almost regretting allowing you to volunteer on stage. I'm never listening to Priscilla ever again, anyway!" They clap their hands, clearing their throat, "The prince couldn't care less, for he had a dear friend back to him. And so they stayed on that cliff's edge, enjoying each other's company and lived happily ever after!"

"That was a shockingly sweet story," Smiled Hyrule, "Short and simple but just sweet enough."

"Can't believe the rancher actually made half decent royalty though." Jabbed Warriors, though you can feel the amusement in his tone like drinking songs after a long time of conflict. "And that the final conflict was basically triggered if someone ever messed with the vet's raccon pile of stuff."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused."

Twilight gave him a side glare then nodded at Hyrule, seemingly deciding that Legend could deal with Warriors well enough and after you playfully darted around him like a prancing doe, snagged his pelt back, you sighed at the loss of warmth and the feeling of security, but ushered him off the stage, "Never been on stage before and have no wish to do so on an official capacity, thank you. But Dusk would have my hide if I didn't pick a thing or two to add to entertaining the village children if nothing else. Have to say that last twist was a shock though." He sent you a glance and smile, "You're awfully good at playing the amnesiac, I'll say. Almost had me panicking."

You chuckle sheepishly, sitting at the edge of the stage, accepting a bit of warm tea cup Raven had brewed for everyone, "To be fair, there's a reason for that Wars, there's technically a companion story for the witch, but the actors need to go through a specific series of actions to be allowed to perform it side by side for consistency and that would be cruel on Twi. Could say the same to you, you make quite the dashing, kind prince. Thanks for coming up here."

Was that a tinge of crimson on his cheeks? You tilted your head and blinked, must have been a trick of the light, "No problem at all."

Edgar nodded, not even looking up from the script as Anabella and Amelia cuddled together to the side after a job well done, "You both together definitely made our job easier. Barely had to cue you both."

Raven nodded with a grin and wink, their voice carrying over the stage and to the audience, "You sure none of you boys want to quit this questing nonsense and join us here on the Astoria? I pay well and give benefits! Byron has lowered prices on potions on the village, plus free food and lodging."

Wild shook his head with a hum, "Tempting, but still no."

Raven clucked, their disappointment exaggerated but understanding as they leafed through the scripts you've both brainstormed together, "Ah well, worth a try. Come here then, I want your opinion on our next pick for today, I think we can squeeze a short one separated from the original deal as a bonus."

You nodded, getting up and handing Priscilla the empty tea cup back before walking over, pausing, did... Was there a hollow space beneath the stage? Experimentally, you let your steps weight a bit more onto the stage. That sounded like a trapdoor, huh. Why only use the attic? Maybe it was stuck? You catch Time's eye, he inclines his head questioningly, you mouth at him 'I'm fine, later', then bound over to Raven's side, looking at the scripts, "Any you had in mind? We're probably exhausting my mental stock at this rate if none of the noted ones do."

"Well I'm not about to go on the Hyrulean ones just yet, you have any idea how performing the same old legends over and over again can grow dull? No matter how many twists and turns one adds?" They deadpan back, you cover a wince as Four and Sky twitch, before picking one of the sheets at random.

Your voice sounds distant to your ears as you pinch the parchment between two fingers, analyzing it critically, then presenting it to the director, "How about this one? Should be short enough right?"

The Director peeks over your shoulder, head tilted from side to side, the feather on their hair seems more bloody than usual, as if the crystal would flow crimson and stain the hardwood floor. That cat is back on their shoulder again, looking at you with sharp, intelligent eyes.

(Too intelligent, hisses your mind, as mercury heats into burning iron at a forge, then cools, something is wrong wrongwrong

Come now, relax, it'll all be alright. Play along

Nothing is wrong, it's all in your head.)

"Penta the Beautiful huh? Are you sure?"

You nod firmly, "Yes. This one will do quite nicely."

(Raven's ever present smile dims, the embers of a warm fireplace and stories around the fire dying a quick death, Anabella holds onto Amelia a bit tighter as Priscilla pales, quickly leaving the room guided by Byron after ushering you back stage for a change of ensemble and to hand you the appropriate props while Edgar resolutely keeps an eye on the cues the director handed him.

The Chain notices, because of course they do, and trade a look, Spirit trades a look with Wind and slips away to the entrance with Warriors to try the heavy door.

It's locked, the shock of magic making the captain hiss. Though the air remains unnervingly sterile.)

The stage is set with no fanfare by Byron, and you walk back out with a fine white dress suit and boots to match, a mix of a suit and a dress, your head feels clouded, as if you're trying to traverse the deep fog of the Lost Woods with naught a single lantern or guide in sight to light your way, you vaguely hear Director Raven start to talk, echoing and crowing raspily with the first words that every good tale start with, "Once upon a time, there was an once prosperous kingdom. Home to a handsome king, a beautiful queen, and the king's sister, one day the queen fell ill and eventually passed for no cure could be found and no magic could heal her. I suppose some things are simply fated to happen, but the king, maddened in his grief, started lusting for none other..." The director paused, sneering with a disgusted shiver, you think that if they truly were a bird, their feathers would be ruffled, "His own sister."

You could see the exact second that each Link cringed back, those with siblings of their own (or who actively looked over others as siblings themselves) turning to ash white and to thistle green with revulsion and horror, the director nodding along with a hand over their head in a mock swoon, "I know! How could such vile thoughts manifest in a ruler's mind? It's preposterous! Outrageous! Horrifying! Though the words of a proposal did indeed leave his mouth, his sister princess was equally bewildered and disgusted, spitting venom from her spleen with rage."

That was your cue.

You growled, snarling with fury hot enough to rival a dragon's flame, allowing poison to sharpen your tongue, "You may have lost your mind, but I shall not lose my modesty or my shame! Why would you offer me rotten eggs when you need fresh ones?! How dare you!", somewhere in the audience you hear a choke, but you continue on. Committing to the role with a dedication you didn't know you possibly possessed, feeling vaguely disconnected from your body and actions, "I regret that you have a tongue to speak of such lecherous actions towards myself and that I unfortunately have the ears to hear such a suggestion. Am I your sister or cheese cooked in oil? Either way those and siblings not mix! Either way, go find a holy spring to bathe in so you may set your mind back on straight." You gesture towards yourself, baffled, "I am not a morsel that would make anyone lose their minds over, so what on Farore's good land about me could have made you grown so sick in the head?"

The director continued on, tone dry as they set their hand on a hip, "I'll spare you the monologue, my dear audience, because I'm sure it would make both you, me and our poor performer here retch and that would be a waste of Sir Wild's lovely cooking. It essentially boiled down to her hands. So, after acquiring her answer, she left in a flurry of rage and conviction, after all, if it was her hands that caused this..." The director trailed off, pausing, mouth clicking shut.

As if not willing to continue on.

(The pain in your head was getting worse.

"If it was his love for her hands which caused this, all she'd need to do is chop them off.")

Conflict passes through their slate gray gaze, before determined resolve settles into it, their tone quiet and tight, "... No. I can't go through with this anymore.", They swivel, running to you with quick strides, you feel the agony of your head splitting open, in between the haze you see more than react to the blade. Your blade held in your hands, twisted in such a way to sink into your flesh, blood beads onto your sleeve before Raven catches your arm in their hands, twisting towards the now alarmed heroes with panic on their face like a someone realizing they'd just went somewhere to die, "Listen! It's not safe here, specially NOT for them. I'm so sorry. Take them and get out through-"

That cat is there in a flash of darkness, it sinks it's claws into Raven's shoulder, the director crying out and letting go of your arm to try and get it off, leaving the dagger to slice deeply. You can see Time slam into a magically erected barrier around the stage as it's crimson eyes gleam with malice and satisfaction. The cat bites at the director's shoulder, tearing away the black ribbon holding the red gem they always wore. You hear Legend screaming and Hyrule casting a spell at the barrier, the shockwave palpable as it does not budge

You'll never know what they wanted to tell you all, though the flash of desperation, guilt and apologies will likely haunt your nightmares as their head fell off.

All of the lights go off.

And in a flash of thunder, you hear a sigh behind you. The barest tips of a clawed hand making your skin crawl with revulsion.

"Well... I'd like to say I'm surprised. But I'm really, really not that they didn't have the nerve to fully go through with it. Pity." That awful, awful voice is colored with disappointment while they pass you by, you think you feel the brush of a scaly tail around your legs and a blade at your throat. You try desperately to wrestle control back to your own body when you can't hear the Chain anymore. They stalk dance gently at your side, the rustle of cloth as someone bends down, the crystalline, padparascha crimson feather Raven always wore in their hair gleams in the dark with a melancholic light of their own, "Ah well, at least they did half the job I wanted them to and held onto what I needed. Still, just proves that if you want somebody gone that you just have to do it yourself."

You feel a feather light touch on your chin, tilting your head up, your heart freezes alongside your body as you lock gazes with the bloodstone empty gaze of a feathery mask, the figure in front of you wears a dark hood, caliginous and fleeting like the memories of a nightmare hanging onto your mind by it's very claw tips. It blends in perfectly with the darkness, liminal and just on the edge of the negative spaces of reality.

They smile with all of the sweetness of rotten things and arsenic and it makes you sick.

"Dear me... You are so, so pathetically helpless like this. I can take my time with you, can't I? To tear everything that makes you yourself piece.by.piece..." the touch tightens, nightlock claws sink into your skin and drawing blood, you feel like screaming but your mouth won't open, your body betrays you as you drown and drown and fall. It makes the thing behind you hiss out a laugh and you are certain you won't hear a more wretched sound in your life as they study you like a pinned butterfly, "How very precious, it fills me with joy, but really it's more disappointing and disgusting. It's almost enough to make me want to die!" The being in front of you snarls, all venom and the burning flames of a madman, before they calm, smiling a dagger sharp, hateful grin with a hum, "... Ah, whatever. Let's get this show on the road properly this time, shall we? You wait for your cue darling." They mockingly pat the snout of the Shadow in front of you, narrowingly dodging a snap of teeth with a cackle, before they disappear in a flurry of obsidian and ember feathers.

They clap, and the light returns to the theater. Their mismatched hands are spread, clawed and gloved and you see a cloak of black feathers laid over their entire body, the tip of dagger sharp, silver heels making them tower easily over the pool of blood from the director's severed neck.

"Good evening, blood red dogs of Hylia!-"

They barely finish their sentence before the boys move, arrows and magic set loose at the figure in a blur, the figure dances back, tsking as they appear on the chandelier now, lounging nonchantly and revealing your form at blade point from the Shadow, struggling to remove your dagger from your arm. You can almost feel their disapproving look as they cross their arms at the face of furious glares from the heroes of Hyrule, "Rude."

First does not look amused as he stays Sky's hand from unleashing a Skyward Strike, the other's eyes as frigid as the storm outside, "We are going to need you to let our companion go before any apologies are given I'm afraid."

"And I'll be needing you lot to stop snapping and growling like mutts before making any negotiations like that." The figure snaps back primly, a pot and tea cup appearing nearby, with a flick of their wrist two things appear on their hands as freshly brewed tea poured itself which makes a shiver fun down your side, alarm and panic gnawing at your skin and exposing your fragile heart with almost clinical curiosity as they toss it down.

A dark iris purple Minish Feather earring, and penumbra dark, torn fairy feathers, you think you still see the bits of wisps clinging to it like blood and the exact moment Four tenses, colors prismatic as they flash over his eyes and Hyrule freezes, Twilight sending them a concerned look, though his hand doesn't move from his sword.

The display is enough to keep your companions on guard, but not react, that thing atop the chandelier perfectly positioned to crush you without a second thought leisurely sipping tea. Before addressing the Chain below, "Now that I've successfully gotten your attention by indicating the extermination of vermin I've had to recently do, why don't we talk? I'm perfectly reasonable, I promise not to bite or anything, blood is quite the nuisance to clean off rhe stage after all."

"Very well," Time's voice cuts through the silence, composed even as his mind is running a mile per minute, "May we make some inquiries?"

Their lips curl in amusement, a slightly mocking edge to their relaxed lilt, "There we go, was being polite so hard? You may, one at a time though!" They look down at the Shadow, which hisses up at them, eyes focused on the heroes, the edges of it's existence flickering oddly, casting itself over walls and the now scorched wooden floor, "Don't want to agitate our friend here you know? Or else we'll have a sparrow singing very very soon." They sing song, you can feel Warriors cringe where he stands, but he's also the first one to jump to questioning at Time's slight nod.

"Why are you working with the Shadow?"

The figure shrugs, pouring themselves a second mug, "Why does anyone do anything? Complete and utter, sheer boredom is why. It had a good sales pitch won't lie, I haven't been bored since you lot decided to stay here."

You see the way Legend's eyes narrow, a scowl on his face and tone biting, itching to move, "What did you do to them?"

"You'll have to be more specific, if you mean your little friend here. Nothing really, they came up on the stage and used the knife themselves after all." The masked figured clucked, shrugging, "As for the rest, you can blame Raven. They lost their nerve when they shouldn't have and dragged the troupe down with them, when I gave them one job besides watching my theater, plus..." they sighed, placing Raven's feather by the thorns holding the mask grafted onro their face, clicking their clawed, bloody hand agaisnt the tea cup, uncaring when your blood mixes with the sugar cubes, "They also failed to do proper research, I mean doesn't help certain nasty little disgraces-" they growl pointedly at the Shadow at that, who snarls back, making a twisted duet of mutual, black loathing come to life, "Also made their job harder, but seriously. Even a braindead donkey could have done a bit more research."

"What do you mean? No need to insult Raven like that! They were nice." Blurted out Spirit, you can practically feel the poor dear itching to snap the whip to snatch you, Wind holding onto his an Cal's wrists like a vice so they wouldn't make any sudden moves, First tapping Calamity's back and looking at the hooded being's perch, making Calamity's eyes narrow and Sky slowly let go of the possible Skyward Strike, thankfully enough. Being crushed to death would not help your boys get out of here.

The hooded and masked figure twitched, head listing lazily to the side, unhurried, as if bored or maybe dissapointed as they sighed apathetically, it gave you gooseflesh, but you dared not move an inch, struggling against your own limbs and with the Shadow at your back, "I mean I was just taken by surprise. You know, I wouldn't have taken the heroes of Hyrule for liars and oath breakers, and also against the laws of hospitality. Shooting arrows and magic at your host within their own home? For shame! Didn't your parents teach you better?"

You could see how each of the heroes bristled, but seeing crimson beading against your unwilling, trapped skin stayed their blade, though that did not stop Legend from snarling up at the hidden figure, sipping tea as if it was watching an incredibly entertaining play, "Oath breakers? That's rich coming from you! Raven said we could stay here safely and then leave once the storm was over!"

"And you attacked one of our own first." Added Warriors, his tone as glacial as the winter winds, enough to freeze anyone down to the marrow.

They incline their head, voice distorted, the screaming echo of scavengers like nails on chalkboard and as refined as a well curated blade, "True, though neither they nor I never said you'd all leave unharmed, did we? And you didn't keep your end of the deal either." Their tone goes dryer, as they throw the tea cup away without a care in favor of throwing their hands up, as if it was the Chain being unreasonable and not the person who presumably did something to Shadow and Hyrule's own Shade, you can see Sky barely keeping his grip on an enraged Four, "Besides! I didn't attack them, they kindly volunteered to go up stage on their own. You're all so up in arms for something that's part of the performance, a little injury is a small price to pay for the bit."

"A 'little injury'?! I doubt they'd try cutting off their own hands for a BIT." Stressed Hyrule, snapping out of his shock, in response to that, the cloaked person shrugged.

"I mean a little disarment never killed anyone."

Wild looked seconds from firing another arrow, teeth gritted and bared as Twilight sent a furious glare to the one perched atop the stage, just above the lights, ready to knock them down and crush you if needed be, "I'm pretty sure it has, actually."

"Anyway! You're all so caught up on semantics, by the Three, so uptight. Does having the splinters so far up there not sting?" they glanced at the Shadow, the obsidian and granite lizalfos glancing back at them before hissing at Time, ready to lunge, teeth stained with Director Raven's blood, "This the kind of tough crowd you have to deal with? Yeesh, no wonder you yap more than a kicked dog at times." They turn back to the Chain, clapping their hands, "In any case, let's make another deal, shall we? I'm a playwright of my word after all. You could leave your little friend here to become one of my actors and go on your merry way." You swore you felt your heart stop, blood rushing in your ears, you barely caught the sharp glint of a hollow smile beneath the crow shaped mask and their next words, "Or! If you're really that attached-", they send you a bemused look, "Can't see why but hey," shrugging, they continue on, unrelenting like a hunting wolf, "You can act instead. I'll send you all into different tales and should you finish them in accordance to the script, I may let you just leave without too much of a fuss. No catches." They point to the Shadow, "Can't make any promises for that one though, it's a solo act you see, if anything I'm just lending the venue and he was lucky to rent first, the wretch."

"And if we refuse?" Probed Time, you could see the gears turning in his head like clockwork, trying to find a way to swing this in everyone's favor so you all can get out alive.

The vulture in crow skin only smiled wider, "Then none of us gets them and you die here, I'll let the Shadow tear you apart to it's void soul's delight, and kill them on the spot." The blades press against your arms against your will, and you twitch, trying to wrestle control back and only getting pain for you troubles, muffling a yell, "Maybe put them in a soup and make jewelry out of the bones that I don't reuse in a broth, I'd look pretty dashing in a crown." They giggle, unhinged cruelty into every word as they clap their hands, voice rising to a screeching crescendo, "Oh oh! Or just roll them down a barrel filled with spikes on a hill, or make them dance and dance and dance on hot iron shoes until they drop dead! Haven't decided yet, so many choices, so little time. It's almost enough to leave me hot and bothered." The true owner of the theater sighed, longingly hugging themselves before turning a cold, hard tone to the heroes, "You sure you want to risk that?"

Silence descends upon the theater like a widow's shroud, seems you're all at an impasse, you're unable to move and while you're certain your boys could overpower whatever that monstrosity is and deal with the Shadow, none of you could be sure they could do it before the Shadow slit your throat or that being (person? No, it felt too unnatural to be human.) Knocked the chandelier down or made good on their threat.

The masked unknown simply summoned themseles a second mug, pouring more tea, "Take your time to answer. I can wait. Though if you ask me the choice is extremely obvious, come on now, what's one more or one less for your little group? It's not like they're important to the narrative anyway-"

"No tricks?" Cut in First, you see the being twotch at the interruption.

"Rude. Seriously, does Hylia just likes to pick the feral ones and set them loose upon the world? Seems like bad business." They pause, then hum, "Then again, maybe not, I hear her incarnations can be quite unhinged. Quite the match made in hell, you lot then and those Demise decides to live rent free in huh? I almost feel bad now. Yikes, my condolences." They pluck a bouquet of camellias, roses and acacias from the inside of their cloak and throw it down to the Chain. You're not even surprised when Wild snags the fire rod from Legend and sets it aflame.

"Holding our friend hostage and talking about actively killing them doesn't inspire us to play nice." Gritted out Four. Grip tight onto his sword.

"If you feel bad then just let them go!" Gestured Wind from his side.

"Your criticism has been noted. I only don't concede because I can't see any reason why you'd want them around." The figure drawls back before answering First, "No tricks or catches or too much of a fuss, all you have to do is play along the script and play nice. Do that and in theory we shouldn't have much trouble. Maybe I'll even be nice and throw in one of those rewards like the places you all crawl through do on occasion, why not?" The Shadow roars at that, they snap down at it, "My theater, my rules! I'm bored okay? Let me spice things up!"

Time breathes, you can see the lonsdaleite persistence come back to the forefront, "Then we accept."

The figure stills, before shaking their head, they leap down from the chandelier, gliding across the stage with quick steps as the feeling of drowning recedes, the Shadow begrudgingly letting you go as you gasp, the figure snags your arm in one clawed hand, drags you to the edge of the stage, then kicks you off with a sigh, thankfully, Twilight and Warriors are there ro support you as they turn towards Time, tone blank as they extend that same clawed hand, "Way to pick the boring choice, but fine. I shouldn't expect much of a surprise I suppose." They shake hands, you feel the hum of magic settle into the air, twisted and wrong it almosy brings that drowning feeling back, water trying to pull you down as they grin and step back, opening a blank, black book, snagging the crystalline quill and using your blood as ink, they write, everything goes dark quickly as the Shadow snuffs out every light again as it dissolves, spreading ober every single nook and cranny of the open space.

You think they bare their teeth at you specifically before snapping the book shut, "Let me weave you a tale!"

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Scene IIII End. Thus closes the Opening Act.

[monkieninja]

!!SPOLERS!!

!!A MERMAID’S TALE SPOILERS ALERT!!

…I need to change the story of Sea Siblings AU, after “A Mermaid’s Tale” lore is dropped..

So.. What we have:

White/Black Pearl Cookie is corrupt herself by wrath and hatred. But also is “betrayed” by Lord Oyster (but he is not).. And “death” of Frilled Jellyfish Cookie..

Sea Fairy Cookie is wanted to reach the moon. BUT somehow the frozen curse is appeared, I still don’t know, how is that’s happened.. But I know, that’s not fault of her au brother-

The Gem Mermaids, who is leaves for new waters and we don’t know, where is it.. That’s means, they’re possibly still alive.

Now, I need to create from this new lore for my AU..

And September 1st is coming..

Wish me luck :_

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Clockwork! Clockwork! Let Down Your Beard!

Pariah Dark finds a mysterious tower in the woods, and from out the single window at the top spills quite an impressive silver beard.

For the Prompt: Dark Ages Rapunzel AU [from @pennerjones]

Read Also on AO3

[Warnings for fantasy violence, rapid aging/de-aging, death by old age (unnatural), and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it referenced suicide]

The Infinite Realms was a vast and sprawling kingdom, though whether it was truly infinite, none had yet been able to confirm, nor deny. The king ruled over the realms with an iron fist, and his son, the crown prince, had every intention of ruling just the same way when he ascended to the throne. Their army was powerful, and their patience thin. The Dark family had, generations ago, united the realms as one kingdom, and those members that still lived very much planned to keep it that way.

But the Infinite Realms was a strange place, full of strange phenomena, and if one wandered far enough in any direction, one could find something like they'd never seen before. United though it was under the rule of the Darks, there was no man in the kingdom who had seen everything it had to offer. The crown prince, Pariah Dark, however, had his sights set on being the first.

Every day, after he'd finished his lessons and his training for the day, he would head out into the woods that surrounded the castle on three sides—the fourth, of course, was open to the path leading to the nearby city. He would walk deep into the trees, and explore every inch of the place, traversing further every day. He knew he couldn't go to far, for he would always have to return to the castle eventually, but if he wanted to see everything his kingdom had to offer, he supposed he could start with seeing what the nearby woods had to offer.

They had many new and interesting things to show him. Trees that moved and spoke, rivers that changed their path from day to day, strange birds that watching him with human-like eyes and followed him as he walked.

But when he became king, he was too busy to explore his kingdom like he had planned. He was usually too busy to explore at all. There were many matters to attend to, both diplomatic and warring. Complaints to field from citizens both near and far. It was only late in the night when he had even a moment to himself, and when he did, he would often just sleep.

Then, one day, his advisors brought up the thing he'd been dreading most of his life. If he was to be king, then sooner or later, he would have to find a spouse, and secure himself an heir.

At first, Pariah reviled the idea, and griped and groaned at his advisors for even bringing it up. But then, he saw the opportunity in it. He told his advisors that he would leave his duties earlier in the evening, dress himself in commoners clothes, and go out in search of a spouse who was worthy of the crown.

After all his moaning and groaning, his advisors were too relieved that he was finally being cooperative to argue, or ask why he wanted to disguise himself and refused to take any guards with him on his search.

The first day he was to search for a spouse, he dismissed the line of citizens seeking an audience with the king in the early evening, just a few hours before his audience was normally closed. He changed quickly, and left the castle, blending in with all the other common folk heading down the path back toward the city—either toward their homes, or to inns where they would stay until they finally saw the king.

But Pariah did not follow them into the city. He split off just far enough away that he knew the watching advisors wouldn't be able to see, and he circled around into the forest on the other side of the castle. Rather than search for a partner to rule with, he explored idly, as he had in his youth, and reveled in the rare freedom to reconvene with nature and ignore his royal responsibilities.

It was on his third evening of 'searching for a spouse' that he came across the tower. He had never seen it before. It was tall and thin. It had no doors, and only one window, from which spilled a flowing mane of silver hair. Curious, Pariah tugged upon it.

"Yeowch!" came a cry from above.

Pariah jumped back and drew his mace from the folds of his clothes, prepared for a fight.

"What did you go and do a thing like that for?" the voice called again.

It was coming from overhead, and Pariah looked up to see an old man, poking his head out the window.

"My apologies, sir," Pariah called up. "I... didn't know all this hair was attached to someone."

"Well, truth be told, I don't mind much," the old man replied. "In fact, if you'd given me a little warning, I would have let you climb my glorious beard all the way to the top. I'd be glad of the company."

"Would you?" Pariah asked, amused at the prospect of climbing an old man's beard to the top of a tower.

"Quite so!" the old man confirmed. He took his head back in, and then, after a moment, stuck it out again. "All set!" he called down. "Come on up, if you please."

If Pariah were the type to laugh out loud, he would have done so.

The thought crossed his mind that this old man might be some sort of wizard with malicious intent, or a criminal who'd been imprisoned in this tower for killing everyone who came within arms reach. But it mattered not. Pariah Dark feared no wizard, nor no murderer.

He could have sworn the beard had grown longer in just the few minutes he'd been standing there, though, as it now wrapped around itself in a pool on the grass at the base of the tower. Paying it no mind, he took hold of the long silver beard and began to climb.

The tower was taller than he'd thought, easily a hundred feat high. The old man had a truly impressive beard indeed. At the top, a frail hand reached out to help Pariah through the window, but he ignored it, and managed to climb through himself.

"You would refuse my hand?" the old man asked, aghast, though he seemed to be joking. "How bold. Have you no respect for your elders?"

Now that they were standing so close to each other, Pariah saw that the only man had a long jagged scar over his left eye, which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be glass.

"I simply did not want to inadvertently harm you," Pariah replied, his tone equally light. "My grip is so strong, I would fear breaking your brittle, ancient bones."

The old man chortled, and Pariah couldn't help but smile at the sound. It was a pleasant sort of chortle, but there was an eerie chill beneath it that told Pariah this man may be in good humor now, but he was not one to be trifled with. The king respected that.

"Now, who are you stranger, might I ask?"

"I am... Pariah," the king replied, electing to withhold his surname for the time being, lest recognizing it color the old man's opinion of him. "And you?"

"I am called Clockwork," the man replied. "How did you find your way to my humble tower?"

Pariah explained that he was simply exploring the woods when he happened by. Clockwork remarked how he wished he could explore these woods, but alas, he was trapped in this tower. Pariah began to describe some of the things he'd seen whilst exploring. And by and by the two conversed, quickly falling into a casual back and forth as if they were old friends.

At the minutes turned to hours, Pariah watched with growing concern as Clockwork seemed to age before his eyes, growing older and older. His voice became croaky, his body shriveled, and his beard grew longer by the minute and pooled on the floor until he had to occasionally get up and throw armfuls of the stuff out the solitary window so that it wouldn't be in the way.

Every so often, Clockwork would glance at the old grandfather clock against his wall, and when it struck eleven in the evening, he sighed, a deep, world-weary sigh. He stood up, and with hands that trembled with age and tied his beard on the hook over the window.

"I'm afraid, my friend, that you must go now, before it's too late," he said. "If it's not too presumptuous of me to ask, would you mind coming to visit me again tomorrow?"

Pariah was not typically the sympathetic type, but he looked at his friend of only one day, and felt sympathy. Just by looking at him, he knew that the old man would be dead before morning. Pariah had watched him waste away all through the evening, and he knew. Still, they had become friends in the hours that passed, so he agreed.

"Of course, my friend," he told the elderly man. "I shall return tomorrow."

"Do you promise?" Clockwork asked, his voice rasping and desperate.

Pariah felt a pang of sympathy in his chest, and mentally prepared himself to return to find a corpse on the meager bed.

"I promise."

The next day, when his duties were done, and Pariah was meant to set out in search of a spouse, he returned to the tower instead. As before, there was a long, white beard spilling from the window, though it was not as long as Pariah would have expected, considering how much longer it had been when he'd descended the tower the night before.

"Clockwork!" he called up. "Clockwork! May I come up to visit?"

Much to Pariah's surprise, Clockwork poked his head out the window, looking very much alive, and a few seconds later he called down:

"Yes, come up!"

And so Pariah gripped tightly the old man's beard and began to climb.

At the top of the tower, he saw Clockwork again, looking still old, but fit as a fiddle compared to when Pariah had left him. A surprise to be sure, but perhaps his condition waxed and waned, growing worse at night, and easing in the morning.

Clockwork greeted him as if they'd known each other for years, and not just a single day, and Pariah returned the greeting in kind.

Again, the two talked late into the night, conversation flowing easily between them. Again, Pariah watched as his new friend grew older with each passing hour until he seemed as though he would die of old age before their conversation ended. Again, when the clock stuck eleven, Clockwork bade Pariah that he should leave before it was too late. And again, he asked him to return the next day, so they might pass the evening together once more.

Pariah promised a second time, and a second time he repelled down the tower, and mentally prepared himself for the possibility that he might return to a corpse.

A third time, he returned, and once more, Clockwork was alive and well when he called up to request entry.

When he was once more in the room at the top of the tower and saw Clockwork looking, still old, but healthier than he had been when Pariah left the night before, he finally decided to ask outright.

"My friend, why do you always seem on the brink of death when you urge me to leave," he asked, "but when I return, you are alive and well?"

Clockwork smiled a melancholy smile. "I'm not actually old. I've been cursed, you see."

"Ah, a young man cursed with an aged body," Pariah guessed. "I've heard of such curses before, nasty things."

Clockwork shook his head. The roots of his beard swayed, and Pariah noticed that the beard had been tied to a hook above the window, evidently to lessen the strain on the old man's chin when Pariah climbed up.

"No," Clockwork said. "It's worse than that."

The old man untied his beard and went to take a seat before he told his tale. The room at the top of the tower was small, with only a bed, a writing desk, a grandfather clock, a wardrobe, and a single chair. With Clockwork on the chair, Pariah took a seat on the bed, the thin mattress sagging deeply under the weight of his substantial form.

"Listen well as I tell you my tale of woe," Clockwork began. "I was born to a lowly clock maker and his humble wife. But before my birth, in a manner which has never been revealed to me, my parents earned the ire of an evil mage, Observantis, the one-eyed witch. My parents would have done anything to erase the ill will between them and Observantis, even give away their unborn son.

"And so, upon my birth, I was taken away by Observantis the one-eyed witch. But of course, he had no use for an infant. With his magic, he tore out my eye and used it to cast a spell on me, a spell that would age me over the course of a day. Unfortunately for the both of us, the spell went awry. Instead of simply aging my infant self to adulthood, I grew to a very old age, and then... at midnight, I died.

"I don't know what happens between midnight and sunrise, but at sunrise I wake again, a newborn, and grow throughout the day to a very old age, and die at midnight. Over and over, day after day, I assume for all eternity, for I can see no end to this cruel cycle. I've tried to end it myself, but alas I always wake at sunrise, born anew."

Pariah didn't say anything for a long moment, processing the story he'd been told. For all the cruel things his ancestors had done, and all the cruel things he himself had done, Pariah could think of nothing so cruel as what this one-eyed wizard had done to Clockwork, seemingly by mistake.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. He could think of nothing else to say.

Clockwork shrugged. "It's not so bad, when you're used to it," he said. "Walking and talking comes easily enough in a few hours, and the arthritis doesn't set in until around five or six in the evening, depending on what time the sun came up. I have most of the daylight hours to enjoy my relative youth before the aches and pains take over in earnest."

"Is there no way to break the curse?" Pariah asked.

Clockwork's silver beard swayed and brushed across the floor when he shook his head.

"None that I've yet found," he replied. "I haven't given up hope, but any solution would require Observantis' magic, and he hardly ever comes to visit me. Not to mention that it's rather difficult for me to do research when I'm trapped up here. If I could only get my hands on some magic books that would be something, but those are hard to come by even when one is not trapped in an inescapable tower."

"Perhaps..." Pariah began to suggest, haltingly. "I could provide you with some magic books to study."

Clockwork raised a bushy, white eyebrow skeptically. "And where would you get a magic book, let alone several?"

It was true that magic books were very hard to come by. They were typically hand-written by mages and full of highly personalized spells, and often, mages would be buried with their spell books, making them a very rare commodity indeed, especially for those who were not magical apprentices, which Pariah was most certainly not.

However, the royal library held many spell books, as whenever the royal arch-mage passed—which happened rather often as one had to be highly accomplished to become the royal arch-mage, which typically necessitated being rather old, even my mage standards—rather than being buried with it, their spell books would be added to the shelves of the royal library for their successors to consult.

"Suppose I am a man of some means," Pariah responded vaguely, "and I could provide you with a spell book or two, to study. Would you like that?"

"Very much," Clockwork replied, almost laughingly. "But I fear you'd have to be a man of quite considerable means to manage something like that. I don't believe that only 'some' will do it."

"As you say," Pariah relented.

But when he returned the following day, he carried with them two of the former arch-mages' spell books in a satchel.

Clockwork gasped when he saw them, and when Pariah gave him permission to take them—assuring him that they were gifts, and he didn't really need to ask—he stroked his gnarled fingers over the worn cover with reverence and tears beginning to form in his eyes, and gingerly opened it to the first page.

"This is the grimoire of a former royal arch-mage," Clockwork observed. "However did you manage to get such a rare and valuable tome?"

Pariah shrugged and shook his head. "Suppose that I am a man of some means," he replied, "and let us leave it at that."

Clockwork frowned and eyed him skeptically, but ultimately he must have decided to let it go, because he didn't prod any further. They spent that evening poring over the spell books together, looking for anything related to age or time, and whiling away the hours with idle conversation until the grandfather clock, that traitorous old thing, struck eleven once more.

"Perhaps... I don't have to go," Pariah said.

Clockwork shook his head. "If you don't leave soon, you won't be able to. I'm sure you have other obligations that need tending to besides just me. And even if you didn't..." Clockwork paused and turned his gaze toward the floor. "I don't want you to have to see me at midnight.

Pariah wanted to argue, wanted to stay and comfort his friend, keep him company in his worst moments, but he knew what Clockwork said was true.

"Very well," he agreed. "But I shall return tomorrow, I promise."

"Don't forget your books."

"Keep them." Pariah smiled. "I shall bring more tomorrow."

And with that, he climbed out the window and down the side of the tower.

Over the next days, and then weeks, Pariah slowly brought all the magic books from the castle library to the tower in the woods. When he was gone, Clockwork would study them on his own, and when he came to visit, they would scour the books together, talking about anything, and everything, and nothing, and occasionally breaking to play a game of chess, or cards, when they'd been staring at books for so long the words started to swim around in front of them—sometimes literally.

When he learned that Clockwork never ate or drank anything, because he only lived for less that twenty hours at a time, and that wasn't really all that long to go without food, if you thought about it, Pariah started to bring some of his favorite treats as well, for him to try. Fresh wild strawberries, mead, dried beef, and warm bread. Clockwork tasted each and every one of them. Some he liked, and at some he made a face of utter revulsion and gagged, but he always trusted Pariah enough to try them.

As old as he looked when Pariah was able to visit him, Clockwork was always rather young at heart, and there were countless things he'd never had the chance to try or experience that he seemed almost childlike sometimes. He held within him both wisdom and wonder, and slowly but surely, Pariah started to fall in love. And as sure as his beard was long, Clockwork began to fall in love with the king as well.

Then, one day while Pariah was visiting, and the two of them were taking a short break to play a game of cards when a strange wind blew through the window, and suddenly a man was standing there, thin and tall, with a pitch black broomstick in hand. Pariah stood ready and drew his mace, though he did not strike the first blow. Still, he noticed right away that the stranger had only one eye, and Clockwork quickly confirmed his suspicions.

"Observantis," he said coldly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came all this way, from the far reaches of the Realms because I sensed a book of magic entering my tower," Observantis replied. "Then another, and another. Imagine my surprise when I came to see where you were getting them all, and found the tyrant king."

"You're the tyrant, Observantis," Clockwork retorted. He didn't seem surprised at the revelation that Pariah was the king, but this was not the time to dwell on that fact.

"And you know that everything in my tower belongs to me," the witch said with a wicked grin. "You belong to me, you damaged, broken thing. All these magic books belong belong to me, so thanks for that. And oh! The king" — shadowy tendrils shot out of the floor to wrap around Pariah's arms and legs and hold him fast — "He belongs to me too.

"My what a powerful witch I've become."

"Let him go," Clockwork demanded.

"I think not."

With a cruel smirk, Observantis stuck out his hand, chanted a brief spell, and Pariah screamed in agony as his left eye was torn from his face, leaving a jagged, smoking scar behind. This, Pariah knew, was his method. Next he would use the eye to cast some sort of curse on Pariah, perhaps a coercion spell.

"LET HIM GO!" Clockwork repeated, his voice booming with a power and rage Pariah had never heard from him before.

Then, he began to chant in that old language only mages knew, and Observantis' single eye wide with horror. He understood every word perfectly, and he obviously didn't like what he was hearing.

"No... you wouldn't... you... you couldn't!" the one-eyed witch stammered. "You don't know how!"

Clockwork kept chanting, reciting from memory passages he'd read over and over in the weeks of studying the magic books his love had brought him almost every waking hour.

"This is my tower," Clockwork declared, "not yours. You do not get to leave me here alone for over twenty years, and then come back to claim my love and the gifts he gave me as your own. I disavow you, Observantis. You are nothing."

Observantis screamed as he began to shrivel up and shrink, rapidly aging before Pariah's eyes... eye. The tendrils released the king, and he watched as Observantis, the one-eyed witch, a man no more than forty years of age and strong as any mage out there, died of old age.

And Clockwork, who had looked so old mere moments before, stood there, a man in his mid-twenties, tall and strong, and in the prime of his youth. If not for his clothes, and his distinctive scar—one Pariah would share, once his eye healed—Pariah might not have recognized him. But then again, he thought he would always be able to recognize his love, no matter what.

"Your curse, my love," Pariah said. "Is it broken?"

Clockwork lifted his hands and flexed his fingers, and rolled his shoulders.

"Not... quite," he said.

As Pariah watched, Clockwork began to look younger, until the king was looking at a teenager, and then a child. Then, at around five or six, he turned the other way and grew older again, and older, and older, until the familiar, ancient, bearded face stared back at Pariah. Then, once more, he reverted to himself as a young man.

"I can feel that the curse is still within me, but in killing Observantis, I have wrested control of the curse away from him," Clockwork explained. "I still will not age normally, slowly growing older until my time finally comes, but I completely control my age now. I can decide whether I will be old or young."

"That is amazing, Clockwork." Pariah stumbled slightly. His head was becoming rather fuzzy and the vision in his remaining eye blurred.

"My love, your eye!" Clockwork rushed to his side.

"I will be fine," he insisted, but Clockwork ignored him.

He looked around momentarily, before noticing Observantis' broomstick on the floor next to his body.

"Hold on, Pariah," he said taking up the broom and preparing to fly them both out the window. "We have to get you to the castle. The royal doctors will be able to fix you up."

He coaxed Pariah onto the broom, and then the two of them were flying out the window, soaring over the tree tops toward the spires and fortifications of the castle in the distance.

"How long have you known that I'm the king?" Pariah asked.

Clockwork chuckled softly. "Every book you brought me was a spell book of a former royal mage," he said. "It wasn't exactly a difficult thing to put together. You didn't seem to want to tell me, so I decided not to push. I thought that it might be as freeing for you, coming to visit me thinking I didn't know who you were, as it was for me, having a visitor for once, even trapped as I still was."

Soon enough, they reached the Castle, and the castle guards immediately surrounded Clockwork with swords and spears at the ready. He understood. Only witches rode on brooms, and a witch coming to land into the castle courtyard carrying their injured king wasn't typically a sign of good things to come.

"Please, the king is hurt, and he needs treatment!" Clockwork said.

A few guards hazarded the distance to take the king from him and to the royal doctors. The rest arrested Clockwork and took him to the dungeons. He did not resist. When Pariah recovered, he knew, the king would come to have him released, and in the mean time, imprisonment was nothing new to Clockwork.

He paced anxiously in his cell, rapidly aging and de-aging in his nervousness, hardly able to control himself. He just hoped Pariah would be okay. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than for Pariah to be okay.

After a few hours, Pariah stormed town the stairs to the dungeon, various guards, knights, and advisors all clattering after him. The left side of his face was heavily bandaged, and he was hearing bedclothes, but he looked every bit as Regal as he ever had.

"Release this man!" Pariah ordered.

"But... sir... he is a witch," his advisor insisted. "We can't just let him go. We don't know anything about him. What if he presents a danger to the kingdom?"

"Release him," Pariah repeated. "He may be a witch, but he's my witch, and I would have him as my spouse, if he accepts."

Clockwork stared at Pariah, his heart full of love... and guilt.

"I... I can't, your majesty," he said finally. "I am unworthy of such a loft position. I was born a commoner, and now I am a witch. I killed a man with dark magic. I cannot be your partner. I am but a loathsome thing."

"You would dare refuse my hand?" Pariah said.

He hoped that Clockwork would remember, a long time ago, on the occasion of their first meeting, when a very old man said that same thing to a king. He seemed to, for he smiled, and sagged with relief.

"No, your majesty... no, my love," he said. "I wouldn't dare. I will accept."

"But... but he is a witch!" an advisor sputtered incredulously. "By his own confession he is a witch, and a murderer! He should be put to death! He is not fit to rule by your side, sire."

"Enough!" Pariah barked. "I said I would find a spouse, and I have. I will hear not a single word against him, so if you have them I suggest you keep them to yourself, unless you'd rather I bludgeon you to death for daring to insult my word, my crown, and my soon-to-be king-consort."

"Y-yes, sire."

The two were married shortly hence, and they lived happily ever after.

[lipglossanon]

♔ 𝔖𝔦𝔵 ♔

• A Dozen Roses • Fairy Tale AU •

Warnings: MDNI, dead dove, incest, possessiveness, abuse of power, mentions of suicide, depictions of bodily harm, off screen death

The King sends out a courier to every neighboring kingdom before you rise from your bed the next day. Your chambermaids are all a flutter, whispering amongst themselves in hopes you won’t hear anything. 

It doesn’t take long for your ladies-in-waiting to gather you from your rooms to walk with you down to the great hall. One of them discretely tells you that your Father is summoning all the lower court today for an announcement. Nerves make your hands jittery, but you keep your composure and walk sedately with your ladies. The tryst between you and the King left no physical marks and yet your entire body bears the moment deep in its bones. 

The lower court members are seated and gossiping when you enter the room. Many of the lords give you dark looks with their wives and daughters looking upon you with undisguised pity. Their judging eyes are nothing new, but the room is filled with an unspoken tension. Skirts rustling, your group of ladies block you from view as best they can, ushering you to your chair. 

Seated in your usual spot near the head of the table, you try to parse what the gentry are muttering to themselves but without luck. It’s all for naught as the room falls silent once the King enters with a couple of his knights. His cold eyes scan the table, landing on you for half a beat too long before shifting away to finish his perusal. 

Feeling satisfied with what he finds, your Father makes his way to the head of the table. You squirm in your seat, body feeling hot under your gown at the remembrance of his touches from the night before. Heartbeat thundering loudly in your ears, you try your best to school your expression into a mildly pleasant facade. Once he reaches his chair, the knights flank either side, all three now facing the people gathered. 

“Today is a day for celebration,” the King announces, voice clearly ringing out into the hall. “I have decided upon who shall have my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Your eyes drop to the clenched fists in your lap. It’s not like you didn’t know this day would come, but the betrayal of the King choosing someone after what you have given him is breath stealing. 

“She shall wed me and rule at my side as the new Queen.”

Gasps are the only thing to break the stony silence, everyone’s eyes now falling on you while you gaze wide eyed up at the man who has become your betrothed. 

“My liege,” a lord at the end of the table nervously stands. “It against the law is it not? To wed with one of your own line?”

A few other men stand from their seats, chiming in with agreement, pointing out their fellow clergymen who nod along with their claims. 

“Tis not right,” a wizened man steps completely away from the table. “You’ll smite us all with your blasphemous ways. We tolerated your witch wife, absolved of that sin when she took her own life.”

Your head jerks in his direction, “My mother?”

“Aye, lass,” a sneer crosses his weather worn face. “She communed with a devil and earned her fate on those cliffs. She—“

“Enough,” the King cuts off the old man’s tirade. He snaps his fingers and one of the knights leaves his side to roughly grab onto the ranting lord’s arm. 

“I know what you are,” spittle flies from his lips. “Coveting her damns us all. The spawn of that heathen—“

The King nods and the knight grasps the jaw of the elderly lord. Squeezing tightly, he wrenches the old man’s mouth open, and pulls a small dagger from his side. With one quick slice, the lord’s tongue falls to the floor with a wet splat, blood bubbling from his mouth like water in a fountain. 

It feels like time slows to a crawl. The old man cups his mouth, trying to stop the flow of blood and yet it drips like rubies from his wrists. A few ladies scream, including his wife, while the other lords who stood in solidarity slowly take their seats. The knight marches the elderly lord out of the hall, his garbled cries growing fainter until they are heard no more. 

“I will take your concerns into consideration,” the King levels his cool gaze at every person of the lower court. “But it is my divine right to choose what I will. Any insubordination will be met with a swift rebuke.”

He claps his hands and servants flood the hall with platters of food. 

“Now, let us rejoice. Enjoy this bounty provided by your King.”

He sits down, the knight standing at his side shifting to stand guard at his back. You’re unable to look at him any longer, questions running rampant in your thoughts. The old man spoke of your mother in a way you’d never heard before. Glancing down the long table, you catch sight of the man’s wife. Her glassy eyes staring vacantly at the far wall as maids quickly clean the mess left behind by her husband. 

Avoiding your Father’s gaze, you force yourself to take bites off of the plate prepared for you. The jangling of armor pierces the quiet as the other knight returns, blood coating his chainmail. Your stomach roils at the knowledge of why. 

Faking illness comes easily enough; you truly are not feeling yourself— it’s easily believed by your ladies-in-waiting so the King dismisses you to your chambers. Surprisingly, he does nothing more than kiss your knuckles as he bids you farewell. 

Stepping out of the hall, you wave down a serving boy to summon the newly widowed lady to your rooms. She arrives looking frightened and reluctant. It takes all of your willpower to adhere to decorum and not demand answers outright like a brute. 

The tale she weaves is bitter and sad; of a new bride found in the forest; whispers of her witch blood and the blood thirsty king silencing those who oppose. She speaks in urgent stilted sentences, telling you of the sadness that draped the new Queen like a leaden cloak. That she had another love before the King coaxed her away. The sudden news of a child growing inside her, a gift of their joining. 

The old woman clasps your hands in hers, a tight grip that makes your knuckles hurt. 

“Your mother tried to leave and your father couldn’t be seen as weak. He followed her to the sea. She would not return, even for the babe she bore. The King would have taken her by force if she did not jump. Some say she melted into the sea foam and still haunts those cliffs.”

A lady-in-waiting rushes in with scared eyes, warning of the King’s departure from the Hall. 

You thank the woman and gift her a brooch for her trouble. She straightens up and gives you a solemn nod before leaving your chambers. The maids bustle around you, ushering you into a chair and stoking the fire. You avoid their presence, the thinly concealed pity coating their tongues. 

Once they leave, you find your mother’s journal and begin to reread the passages in a new light. Your mother knew she could not keep a journal secret from your father. All of her possessions were buried or burned in honor of her passing. Angry tears fill your eyes as you read over the description of her ancestors—your ancestors.  

From her writings, you now knew what it meant for her to give herself back to the sea. That old woman was right even if she did not know it; your mother melted into the foam like her mother before her and her mother before her. A note of longing and resentment that the forest witch could not do as such; that wood magic had its own rules that did not cede to the waves of her home. 

As the sun begins to set, a blistering determination blooms in your chest like a briar rose. You ready a small satchel of the items you think you’ll need: the little jewelry you own, your mother’s journal, the apples left near your table. Hiding it while you’re alone, you wait, and once the chambermaids ready you for bed and depart, you slip into the simplest dress you own and make your bid for freedom. 

You don’t have much of a plan, but you know that you cannot stay, not with these questions burning your mind. The forest witch is closest; hoping she yet still lives. 

It’s easier than you thought, making your way from your rooms to the edge of the garden in the dark. The guards patrol at intervals easily skirted around and the darkened forest beckons you into its shadowy arms. 

Taking a deep breath, you charge forward, hope a small flutter of wings.