#a bejeweled dagger… NICE!!!

[fatale-distraction]

The Lady in Black

This is an idea I’ve tossed around for a while, ever since I read The Dread Wolf Take You by Patrick Weekes in the Tevinter Nights anthology. Solas in silly disguises is such a fun idea, and such a potentially sexy one. I recently saw the AMAZING comic @mrs-gauche drew depicting the final scene in that story, and was inspired to actually get this idea down!

So here’s nearly 4,000 words of Solas in a dress.

Rating: E

You can also read it here on AO3.

Gerard Chaumet finished polishing one last ring before nestling it back in its velvet lined case and carefully checking the lock. His shop wasn’t the most established or renowned in Val Royeaux, but he did well enough and was quite proud of it. He arranged the glass case attractively on the counter, tilting it this way and that until the morning light shone through it just so.

The bell above the door jingled merrily. Gerard was sure he hadn’t unlocked just yet, and he turned around with an apologetic smile.

”I’m sorry, messer, we aren’t open just yet…” he trailed off as he took in the tall man before him. He was dressed simply but stylishly in a long, dark green tunic and hose, with tight, tall boots and a shawl draped across broad shoulders in the popular style. His mask was etched in the shape of a dragon’s maw, and his auburn hair was tied to the side with a large ribbon, curling over one shoulder.

“I’m aware,” the man’s voice was soft and had the sound of a remorseful smile. The door swung shut behind him. Gerard heard the lock turn, though the stranger’s hands remained at his sides. He looked around with a curious air. “This is a very nice shop. Very nice indeed. Your reputation is well-earned, it seems.”

”I don’t understand…” Gerard stammered, dread curling in his chest. He began to edge toward the back counter where he kept a sharp dagger for protection.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to borrow it for a few hours,” the man went on, bending to examine a display of bejeweled hair combs. He traced a long finger over one shaped like wisteria, each flower a tiny, perfect amethyst. “You will be well compensated, of course, but I’m afraid—“

Gerard’s hand closed over the handle of the dagger. He blinked, and the strange man was before him, his hand on his wrist and twisting the blade away.

“I wouldn’t,” he advised in that careful, cultured tone. “You stand to lose so much where you would gain instead by simply cooperating.”

The jeweler opened his mouth to shout and found himself unable to move or make a sound. The stranger bound his unresponsive limbs, gagged him, and dragged him through the back room and into the storage closet, grunting slightly with effort. Gerard found himself being arranged in the closet with great care, not quite comfortable, but the closest thing to it.

”As I said,” said the man, panting only slightly behind his mask. “You will be very well compensated. Now, stay there, and do behave yourself.”

Whatever magic had frozen him earlier was released. Gerard mumbled something desperately through his gag as the man turned to leave and shut the door.

”Hush now,” the man chided. “No harm will come to you or your shop, I only—what?”

Gerard mumbled again, louder this time.

”Ah, of course. My apologies.” The intruder left and returned a moment later, setting a chamber pot beside Gerard before closing the door and locking it from the outside.

Gerard heaved a deep sigh and thumped his head back against the wall.

This wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

Ellana slumped against a booth that sold nothing but fancy ribbons and gave a pointedly bored moan. Josephine ignored her just as pointedly and continued her negotiations with the ribbon-seller. She didn’t mind shopping, but between Josie and Leliana, it always took so long, and she wasn’t quite as interested in ribbons and lace as the other two.

Her older sister loitered nearby, equally bored. With Ellana’s pale, freckled skin and long red curls and Evelyn’s dark, tanned complexion and long wavy black hair, at first glance they hardly appeared to be related. But there was something about the straight-bridged noses and rose-bud lips that tied together, not to mention the twin glances of exasperation.

These glances communicated more in a moment than words ever could, and Evelyn straightened up from where she slouched with her arms crossed against a nearby pillar encircled with twisting golden ivy.

���We’re gonna head to the bookstore, ladies,” she announced, linking her arm with Ellana’s right one, her sister’s left arm hidden beneath a tactically draped velvet cloak.

Leliana let a violently magenta scrap of lace ribbon slither between her fingers. “Are you actually going to the bookstore,” she asked, arching a thin eyebrow. “Or are you just going to run away again?”

“Of course we’re actually going to the bookstore,” Evelyn assured her insincerely. “I’m offended you would even ask.”

“You’ve lied to us before,” Josephine scolded as the former Inquisitor stifled a giggle. “It’s more important than ever that we know exactly where the In--Miss Lavellan is at all times. You know this, Evelyn.”

“I won’t take my eyes off of her, I swear,” the elven mage raised her hand solemnly and the sisters hurried away before either of their chaperones could argue further.

“We’ll meet you at the bookstore, Evelyn!” Josephine shouted after the girls. Leliana gave her a disapproving frown. Now half of Orlais knew their next stop. The spymistress sighed and returned to her perusal of improbably dyed lace.

The two elven girls walked several blocks over before checking over their shoulders that the coast was clear. Assured of their escape, Evelyn dropped her little sister’s arm and pivoted in the opposite direction.

“Have fun, El!” she called, waving behind her as Ellana bolted down the street, each off to look for some fun of their own.

The former Inquisitor had every intention of actually going to the bookstore. It was definitely her favorite place in Orlais. Traveling with her clan through the wilderness, she had always cherished any book she could get her hands on, no matter how trite or boring the subject matter. Now she had the ability to step into a bookstore anywhere she went and purchase whatever she wanted and frequently took excessive advantage of this. But first, she just wanted some time to wander the city on her own. She hadn’t spent more than a moment alone in months. There was always a guard of some sort present, even standing outside the privy door.

She hadn’t known you could go so long without a moment to yourself and still manage to be so lonely.

Ellana wandered through the gilded streets of Val Royeaux, drifting between merchant stands and storefronts with their best goods out on display, sampling street food as she went. She passed by a small jewelry shop tucked away in a cul-de-sac and stopped at one of the display tables lined up outside. Prominently on display was a beautiful hair comb fashioned to look like drooping wisteria, each petal a tiny, pristine amethyst the exact color of her eyes and the curling vallaslin that covered her cheeks and forehead. It drew her in like a magpie, shimmering in the early morning sun.

Carefully, the elven woman lifted the piece from its velvet nest to admire it more closely.

“Isn’t it a lovely piece?” A deep, luxurious voice asked in a rolling Orlesian accent. Ellana turned toward the approaching shopkeeper and stared.

The woman was tall and statuesque, the wide skirts of her dress swaying with each elegant step, punctuated by the confident clack of a heeled slipper. Beneath the delicate butterfly-shaped half-mask her full lips were painted shiny, lacquered red. A high, ruffled neck concealed her jaw and chin, and a long overdress of a sheer, gossamer black shimmering with tiny crystals obscured her shape. Beneath this was a dark samite gown with a heavy drape and large mutton sleeves cinched in tight at the waist and wrists by ebony leather. Tall, metal wings swept up from her shoulders, dangling tear-drop diamonds from their tips that caught in the light. A flat, wide-brimmed hat frothed with a waterfall of black lace and ribbons down to her waist, and her hair was a jet-black curtain that fell bone-straight nearly to her knees.

The all-black ensemble was unusually dour for Orlais, but so impeccably tasteful, and clearly of the highest quality. This woman would have outshone the Empress herself in a ballroom.

Ellana was wholly intimidated by her. She blushed deeply at the attention and cast her eyes downward with a bashful laugh.

”Here,” the woman purred. “Let me.”

Her long, thin fingers brushed Ellana’s gently as she took the comb from her, the heady scent of pine and citrus wafting over her and making her knees weak. The woman scooped her hair back behind her ear and twisted the curls into a roll before securing it with the jeweled comb. She then arranged the rest of Ellana’s long hair until a few strands fell perfectly over her shoulders, drawing attention to the long column of her neck, the rest cascading down her back and brushing at the tops of her thighs.

”There,” the Orlesian woman announced when she was done, sounding quite pleased with herself. “You are a vision.”

The effect was definitely stunning. Ellana smiled at herself in the mirror, feeling suddenly pretty for the first time in years. She rubbed absently at her left elbow where it ended abruptly.

“I…don’t think it’s quite me,” she said reluctantly. Ellana reached up and loosened the comb, shaking her hair back out and handing it back to the surprised shop owner. “I don’t have much reason to wear something so flashy, anyway.”

”But, what reason does a beautiful woman need other than that it pleases her?” The other woman cried. ”Surely you must have other jewelry that you wear when you wish to impress?”

”I don’t really own much jewelry,” admitted Ellana.

This was too much for the woman. “Do you not have a lover to shower you with gifts of jewels and trinkets?” She demanded. “A lovely young woman like yourself? I shan’t believe it.”

Ellana’s polite smile fell. She cast her gaze downward again, feeling tears stinging her eyes, her throat tightening. There was an awkward silence.

”Ah…I see. It is…complicated.”

”Quite.”

The shopkeeper put her hand on Ellana’s shoulder and squeezed. “Well, then…I have just the thing.” She took her by the hand and pulled the hesitant elf into the empty shop and around the counter toward the back. She began fishing around in a drawer, muttering to herself and sweeping the impossibly long curtain of her hair over her shoulder.

Ellana stared at her hair, her hands, the strong line of her jaw exposed from this angle. It was impossible not to. The woman was so attractive, even concealed behind a mask. Her voice was so deep and lyrical it sent shivers down her spine, and her touch so soft and tender.

“Ah ha,” the shopkeeper announced and held up a small, violet jewel set in twisting silver ivy on a chain as thin as a strand of spider silk. She bustled Ellana toward another mirror and set her in front of it, draping the necklace around her from behind. Her long, immaculately buffed nails scraped enticingly across the nape of her neck as she plucked at the chain until the charm settled perfectly between the swell of Ellana’s breasts. “There! You see? It is but a simple trinket, yet not a soul could resist you.”

It was a very pretty necklace; simple, elegant, just the slightest bit risqué and tempting in its placement. It stood out against the relatively plain dove-grey silk dress she wore and made it shine like an ensemble, like she’d carefully chosen her outfit this morning instead of simply picking the easiest thing to get into on her own.

Ellana fingered the faceted jewel with a small smile. The woman’s hands cupped her shoulders and gave her an encouraging little squeeze. “You are lovely, chere,” she whispered, in that thick, rolling accent. Her warm breath stirred the wispy hairs curling around Ellana’s ears. “Anyone would be lucky to gaze upon you and know that you are theirs.”

Her heart pounded so loud she was certain the woman could hear it.

“H-how much?” She fairly squeaked.

”A gift,” the shopkeeper purred against her ear. Ellana’s knees practically went out from under her at the sensation, heat pooling in her stomach. “For a beautiful woman, to brighten her sad eyes.”

She turned and stared up at the woman over her shoulder. Dark kohl lined her eyes behind the mask, the shadows obscuring the color.

“I…Can’t accept.”

”Please do,” she urged, turning Ellana to face her fully, her hands brushing across her skin. “The Inquisition has done so much for me, I only wish to repay you for your kindness. Consider it payment for an impossible debt.”

”You know who I am,” the former Inquisitor stated. She should have felt nervous about being recognized, but the quiver in her bones was definitely due to how close this woman’s shining red lips were to hers.

”I would know you anywhere,” the shopkeeper assured her, brushing an errant curl from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. She kept touching her ears, like she knew it drove Ellana mad. “You were the brightest star in the darkest of nights. All the world owes you a great deal, and myself in particular.”

”What do you mean?” She asked as the woman continued to stroke her hair back tenderly, staring down at her with such a sad look in her eyes.

Then those shiny red lips touched hers, so gently at first Ellana was hardly aware it was happening. And then again, and again more firmly. She held Ellana against her and brushed her tongue against her bottom lip. Ellana gasped slightly as the kiss deepened, their tongues meeting desperately. Her arm was around the woman’s neck, the woman’s knee between her legs, her fingers twisted in Ellana’s red curls. They moaned openly against each other’s mouths. Ellana’s back hit the wall behind them, the shopkeeper’s hand hooking her knee up over her hip, so much taller than her it nearly lifted her off the ground.

Ellana pulled back suddenly, gasping for air and gaping at the woman. Her brow furrowed.

“What…” She reached up tentatively and cupped the cold porcelain mask. The shopkeeper was panting and staring down at her with foggy eyes like she was the entire world. Ellana lifted the mask. “In the HELL?!”

“Solas!?” She screamed, hurling the mask across the room and pushing him away.

He was still panting, lipstick smeared and blurred from the passion of their kiss. Black kohl stained his eyelids and there were small indents on his high cheekbones from the mask. His hat had been knocked off at some point, the long, long black wig still perfectly affixed.

“You’re wearing a dress!”

”You didn’t seem to mind that a moment ago,” he gasped with a chuckle that bordered on hysteria.

”What the hell are you doing?!” Shouted Ellana, stomping her foot. “Spying on me?! Tricking me into kissing you?!”

”No!” He protested. “At least, that wasn’t the intention…I merely wished to…to check up on you.” His shoulders drooped but he straightened up and squared them again quickly. “I…I wanted to see you. To be sure you were safe.”

”I WAS safe until a madman in a dress decided to put his tongue in my mouth!”

”You would prefer without the dress?”

”The dress isn’t the problem, it’s the mad-elven-deity ex-boyfriend part I take issue with!”

He looked miserable. It didn’t make her feel good. She thought yelling at him would be more cathartic. All she’d wanted to do since he’d left was to yell at him and shake him and demand an explanation. Once she got one, she just wanted to yell and scream and shake him some more and demand he put her arm back, damnit. But seeing him now…he just looked so terribly lonely.

“This was a mistake.” Solas sighed and ran a hand through the long black curtain of hair, then jerked back in shock, as though he’d forgotten he was wearing a wig.

Ellana snorted and clapped her hand over her mouth. Solas snorted too. They both started laughing and couldn’t stop until tears streamed down their cheeks and they both ended up in a puddle on the floor. Solas’ long skirts puffed up around him, which only sent Ellana into further shrieking hysterics.

By the time the two recovered, they were both sprawled across the floor of the jewelry shop. Solas had discarded the wig in the midst of their fit, complaining through wheezing laughter that it itched terribly. Ellana’s head rested in his lap, his fingers woven through her hair.

”I am sorry about deceiving you,” he murmured to the ceiling.

“Again?”

”Point taken. I am the Dread Wolf, you know.”

”That’s not a good enough excuse,” she muttered. “You should have told me. I mean from the beginning, not…whatever the hell this was.” Ellana waved her hand to encompass the shop.

”Would you have believed me?” Asked Solas.

Ellana snorted. “Hells no. I’d have thought you were crazy. But it would have been the truth, at least.”

Solas shook his head. “I didn’t know if I could trust you. And…Ellana it’s all just so complicated, I—“

”It doesn’t have to be,” she sat up and turned to face him. “I love you. I love this world. I want more than anything to give our people the world they deserve. Don’t you think between the two of us we could figure this out? Together?”

Heaving another weary sigh, Solas pulled her down into his arms, resting his cheek against her head. “I cannot ask you to be a part of this, vhenan,” he said. “There are…considerations. This is the only way I can be sure that you’re safe from them.”

”The Evanuris?” She asked, craning her neck to look up at him. “Would they harm me?”

”Undoubtedly. And I cannot guarantee that I could stop them. Thus, you are safer as far from this all as I can possibly keep you.”

Ellana frowned. “And what about you?”

”That is inconsequential, I—“

”Not to me.”

”This isn’t about you—“

”Nothing ever bloody-well is!” Ellana fumed, rolling to one side and heaving herself up and beginning to pace, gesticulating wildly as she shouted. “I’m sick of it! A bitch saves the entire fucking world and she can’t have one single thing for herself! It isn’t fair! I’ve given up everything! My life, my identity, my arm, but the world just wants more and more and I can’t even have the ONE thing I love more than anything else! It isn’t fair!”

Solas surged to his feet, floundering in the ocean of his pleated skirts and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly.

“I know,” he said in a choked whisper, voice muffled against the nape of her neck. “I know, it isn’t fair at all. But this is how it must be.”

Ellana bit down on a sob that wracked her whole body. She clung to him, breathing deeply the scent of pine and bergamot as she cried. His tears dripped down her shoulders, staining the silk dress. Solas sought her lips again, and they kissed as though starved, each swallowing the other’s moans and gasps. He was hard against her thigh, hips pressing into hers.

”Promise me one thing,” she gasped, fumbling at both their skirts. Solas braced himself against the counter with both hands and boosted himself up onto it, pulling her after him. “Promise that you’ll survive this and come back to me when it’s all over, and I’ll forgive everything.”

”I can’t,” he gasped as she straddled him, shoving yards of fabric out of the way. “I can’t make that promise.”

”Then lie,” demanded Ellana tearfully.

His fingers dug into her waist as he gazed up into her watery violet eyes, his mouth open and needy, still blurry red from the remnants of lipstick. “I promise,” he vowed.

She sank down over him and his eyes rolled back in his head, a groan ripping from his throat. He worked her hips against his faster and harder until they were a sweaty, writhing, screaming mess. Ellana buried her face in his chest, her agonized, staccato cries muffled as he thrust up into her, fucking her through each clenching orgasm until she was begging, for what the gods only knew, but she begged. His body seized and he buried a strangled cry in her soft hair, clutching her to him tightly.

”Solas,” murmured Ellana as they came down again, the air filled with their panting breaths. Her cheek was smushed against his chest. “Are you…Are you wearing false breasts?”

”Yes?” He responded, wheezing a bit. “It’s part of the disguise.”

Ellana snorted and covered her face.

“You didn’t seem to be complaining a moment ago,” he admonished. “That seems to be a theme today.”

”Tall women are very attractive,” she replied lightly.

Solas laughed and dragged the inside of his wrist under his eyes as fresh tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks. His kohl smeared even further and Ellana started up laughing all over again.

Ellana rested her cheek on her fist as she stared out the window of the carriage, watching the world jostle by as they rode back to their rented villa. The amethyst charm bounced against her chest with each turn of the wheels. Her sister Evelyn sat next to her, staring out the other window in the same manner, but with a hopelessly bored expression instead of a wistful one.

“Our agents weren’t able to find much,” Leliana was explaining apologetically across from them. “The building was cleaned out down to the last speck of dust, and the owner is nowhere to be found.”

”Dead?” asked Ellana with trepidation.

Thankfully, her spymistress shook her head. “No, apparently he was paid extremely well to relocate. We lost his trail, and I have a feeling he’s made it very difficult to pick it back up again.”

The former Inquisitor let out a relieved breath.

“The only thing my people found was the costume, abandoned several streets over. There wasn’t much to go on, but Charter did find this, sewn into his petticoat.” Leliana handed over a slim volume of elven poetry.

Ellana took it into her hand and awkwardly flipped through a few pages. “You’ve already examined it, I’m sure,” she said.

Leliana nodded. “Of course. But none of my people could make any sense of it. If it were anyone else, I would assume it was nonsense, meant to throw us off the trail.”

Each page had several letters circled in red ink. The margins of other pages contained individual elvhen characters, seemingly written at random. Ellana’s eyes skimmed quickly through, already picking out a distinct pattern. Of course Leliana’s people couldn’t decode it. Aside from the writer himself, there were only two other people in all of Thedas who could read it, and they both sat in this carriage. Ellana nudged her sister and handed the book over. Evelyn yawned widely and began looking through the book with disinterest.

”You know what this means, don’t you?” asked Leliana with a sympathetic look toward the Inquisitor.

”Yeah,” muttered Evelyn, a look of horror emerging on her face as she flicked a page over. “It means Solas is running around Orlais naked.”

”No,” said Leliana.

[skylermadness]

Empirical Mentality (Claude TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: December 19, 2022)

Original Description:

A story I wrote as a gift for a friend. I've basically been obsessed with Housamo for three months now, so it was about time I actually got into writing transformation content on the characters. Claude is ranked pretty high on my list of TF moods from this game, so it's quite nice to have been given the opportunity to write a TF story on him! I do feel as if the dialogue was a bit awkward here and there, but I'm rather proud of the end result. Although damn is Claude's costuming rather complex. I love ya man but you wear so many layers. Not like I mind though, when aren't Housamo designs complex... plus, suits are good clothing shift material!~

   Why was he here?

   That was the main question that Damien asked himself. The man had found himself in the middle of a store that he originally had no intention of interacting with. But something had urged him to do so. He wasn’t quite sure on what though.

   The store was mostly void of human presence, and the only person that was there was a heavyset, hirsute older man that sat behind the store’s counter who didn’t even realize Damien walked in until roughly a minute or so of Damien casually roaming around the place. Even then, the man’s only acknowledgement was a surprised greeting. Damien just assumed the whole situation to be nothing more than the evident fact that the presumed store owner didn’t get many customers. 

   The wooden floorboards occasionally creaked beneath his steps. Glancing at the very few shelves that were set up showed that the metal was looking to begin to rust, which further indicated the aged status this place possessed. His attention was quickly diverted though, his eyes being brought to what was actually on the shelves.

   Earlier when he was outside he was aware of the oddities this place seemed to possess. It claimed to be an antique’s store however it came off more as a very high quality cosplay shop. Damien’s eyes flicked around the place in a constant attempt to assess what exactly was going on here. The shelves had a sense of chaos as none of the items seemed to really fit. His gaze wandered to various objects: a black helmet, some kind of intricately designed mirror, a weird looking box. Interspaced between these objects was an assortment of realistic weapons. A dagger, a trifecta of rings, what looked to be multiple swords of various shapes, sizes, and blade types.

   “Is it even legal to sell that kind of stuff…” Damien muttered, constantly eyeing the array of weapons.

   “Eh, I got a large batch ‘f ‘em a few days back,” the storekeeper responded from behind, ignoring the question. This startled Damien a little as he didn’t expect a response. “They’re all auth’ntic though.”

   Damien raised a brow, curious what that even meant, but he didn’t fully care enough to ask. He didn’t even intend to buy anything here in the first place. Despite all of that, his mind still insisted on eyeing the place up and down. Or at least, that specific shelf he was staring at since he walked in here. 

   Some kind of chain whip, a disturbing looking staff with a skull atop it, another staff that in contrast was more ornately designed and bejeweled. Peculiar objects kept listing themselves in his mind as he constantly eyed the area up and down. It didn’t help that each object had a weird… aura? He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like everything he stared at was vying for attention. Although Damien attempted to chalk that up to… himself, probably. That made the most sense. He shook his head, letting out a sigh. He was beginning to resolve to just leaving, the man turning slightly and beginning to head out the aisle that he stood within. 

   It wasn’t even two steps before something stopped him. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral. Something that glistened just enough to catch his attention.

   It looked to be a laurel wreath, specifically one with a perfect metallic gold coloration to it.

   In truth it was a simple object. Unimpressive. He could pass it by easily. Extra emphasis on could…

   Something prevented him from doing so, though. He was filled with an odd compulsion. An overwhelming desire to just reach out and… touch it. Grasp a hand around it, feel the smooth indents that gave the laurel that leaf-like look. Let the cold metal brush against his skin. He submits to that compulsion in an instant, a hand seizing the object from its spot on the shelf and holding it gently.

   For a second, he feels an odd feeling well up inside him. An odd, fiery fervor welling up inside him. 

   And for that second, the red of his eyes glow an emerald green.

   But it all only lasts a second, flaming fervor extinguishing as quickly as it came. Replacing it was a new feeling. An obligation.

   He had to buy this Artifact.

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

   “Urgh, why did I do that?”

   Damien walks down a sidewalk, the man having left the store just minutes earlier. He holds a hand up to his head, a headache coursing through it. His other hand remains at his side, gripping onto the object that he just bought.

   He had also found himself having trouble remembering what happened in the short span of deciding to leave and actually leaving. He could at the very least get a mental glimpse of what occurred, but he could barely recall fully what the interaction was like.

   He sighs in frustration. “I guess I’m stuck with this thing now…”

   Stopping in his tracks, he repositions the hand containing the laurel and looks at the peculiar object. The design of it, the quality, it all exuded expensive. But it also possessed an extravagance to it. Elegance that he now possessed.

   It was a foreign thought at first. Typically he wouldn’t care about this kind of stuff, but he couldn’t help but think about how good this would look on him. A feeling soon begins to well up in his chest. It’s miniscule, a sensation of metaphorical burning etching itself in his heart.

   Compulsions and desires run around his head, spiraling in entropy. The clearest thought Damien can think of is a single string of words: Place the Artifact upon your head.

   A few more thoughts soon follow. Assert your power. Show everyone who you are. Show yourself how you can be someone stronger. Be someone better…

   A lump forms in Damien’s throat, and he is quick to swallow it. “Stronger… better…” he repeats in monotone, the burning growing stronger in his chest as he speaks.

   Fill yourself with passion! And a sense of pride that only an emperor could possess…

    “Pride… yes, that… sounds correct…”

   These thoughts captivated Damien, mesmerized him. A constant flow of wants and needs; strength and passion and ecstasy. Discernment on whether these were his or not wasn’t among these thoughts. He was committed to accepting each one as they came, accepting them all as truth.

   “I must… assert myself. Become stronger. Passionate…”

   His hands quiver for just a moment. “I… must put this on!”

   It's slow, as if his mind was interpreting this as some kind of coronation. His arms slowly moving upwards, both hands latched onto the laurel as he did so. Ten seconds stretch out to ages as they move, and even once they reach the apex of his head they take a moment before unhanding the Artifact. It's a long moment, but eventually his fingers waver before finally undoing themselves from the wreath. 

   The golden Artifact softly drops onto his head, effortlessly sliding around his skull and perching itself behind his ears. 

   An emerald green glow momentarily flashes in his eyes, and an emblem etches itself in the palm of his left hand for a single second. That burning sensation in his chest wells up even more, and the thoughts in his mind grow.

   You are a suitable emperor…

   A shiver runs down Damien's spine as he places both his arms beside him again. This sensation was quickly followed by a feeling of pressure spreading throughout his body.

   While the changes were concurrent throughout his form, it was evident that his hands had already started to function as some kind of focal point. A thickness was already quick in enveloping them. His fingers got larger, his hands themselves swelling in size as they got bigger to match the new proportions. An intense burning sensation was also forming in his left hand, causing Damien to curl it into a fist in an attempt to alleviate it.

   Things were quick to move upwards as the sleeves of his shirt were already beginning to tighten. His wrists were first to follow in the change in size, and were soon quickly followed by his forearms. The muscles in his arms ached, heat surging through them as they were given an instant workout. The mass in his forearms grew, ridges etching in his sleeves as their musculature became more defined.

   At the exact same time his upper arms were also expanding. Muscles were growing in mass, a brawniness engraving itself in his limbs. Biceps bulged outwards, his triceps maturing at the exact same time. Both arms were practically doubling in size as a result, his new musculature stretching out his shirt’s sleeves even more. Their form was steadily becoming more noticeable: large and significantly more powerful than they used to be. 

   Threads in his clothing started to tear, the skin of his arm becoming visible while his shoulders started to broaden. His delts were next on the list ballooning in size just like the muscles before them. The portion of his shirt that contained his upper torso was starting to strain as well as his form began broadening, his skeletal structure altering in its wideness as his muscles continued to grow in conjunction. A slight ache soon ran up and down his upper back, the muscles in that region stretching and growing with his shifting form.

   A shock soon ran down the man’s spine as well. Vertebral structure was forced to undergo a swath of changes as his height underwent an increase. A singular inch over five feet became two inches over, then three, then four. Slowly, steadily, height was easily being augmented.

   For yet another moment his eyes glazed, emerald flashing within the irises again. He groaned, shifting his arm slightly to stare down at the thickened limb.

   This is the strength, the power that he possessed. That he felt like he always had within him. Such power that a true emperor prided themselves in.

   There was something about that very thought that caused both his chest and his left hand to burn even more, causing Damien to grunt in pain in response. He could take it, though. 

   Damien’s newfound brawniness accumulated at his front to a point of visibleness. Swelling from his chest were a pair of thick pectorals. They emerged from his upper torso at a steady speed, bulging into thick and firm slabs of meat and strength with a deep cleavage bisecting them. Something about this seemed to further feed the flame that was kindling within his core. It also further strained his shirt, the buttons pulling at their corresponding eyelets as they tried to contain the pure strength of his chest. 

   His abdomen and sides soon followed, a fierce heat enveloping them instantly as his form settled into its new, broad and powerful state. Furthermore, bubbling and soon hardening from his belly came more fixtures to his constantly muscular form. Emerging from that region were rows of abs. Noticeably thick and divided into a six-pack by a deep crevice that etched into the newly acquired adage to his physique. Even more impressive came the almost sculpted formations that emerged in his obliques. His form was becoming nothing short of perfection.

   The tightness in his clothing was only progressing due to this unexpected change in size. Threads holding his sleeves to the rest of the shirt continued to rip apart. His sleeves struggled greatly to hold his bulging muscles, this struggle only increasing with his arms tensing due to the surging, burning heat of his body. And it was only a matter of seconds until the buttons finally snapped off the front and revealed his toned body.

   This was also communicated to his mind, the tightness greatly uncomfortable to the growing man. “This… this won’t do!” he grunted out, the second half of the sentence sounding oddly deep. His fists seemed to clench even harder. 

   Such clothing is ill-fitting of someone like yourself, after all!

   It was that very thought that seemed to cause the tightness of his clothing to alleviate, a new slew of changes washing over his shirt. What was once ill-fitting started to grow instantly, the hem moving downward to cover his abdominals more easily while the sleeves did similarly to nestle at his wrists. Adjustments were made in the fabric as the size of it increased to perfectly fit his bulky frame. Rips and tears and torn threads were perfectly put back together as well, restoring the shirt to a state that was as if it were unaffected.

   But at the same time more drastic changes came across it. The deep gray of his shirt was brightened, a clean white effortlessly being assimilated to it. The material was adjusted as well, a warm cottony feel from it now washing over his skin due to these changes. The buttons of his shirt seemed to enlarge a little as well as change color to match the fabric. As for the shirt’s collar, it seemed to raise itself and envelop the lower portion of his neck, shifting into a different type of collar.

  And slinking from beneath the collar, wrapping around his neck from beneath the folds and tightening perfectly comfortably, came a red tie. One that emerged, circled, then snaked downwards to elongate long enough to nestle itself three quarters down the way of his chest.

   This wasn’t even the end of the change in attire as more add-ons manifested. Once everything settled on his shirt, a second layer of clothing materialized around his body. Deep gray cotton that was buttoned at the center, a deep neck that showed off his new dress shirt and tie, and a lack of sleeves. It was clearly a vest.

   Instantly following after that came a third layer. More deep gray cotton unfurled around his thick form, sewing and stitching itself into existence. There was a clear split down the middle on this one as well with the ends of that split extending and folding into a lapel. As the material trailed downwards, the split came to a meeting point near his waist. A singular eyelet formed while a large button fastened itself within it. His arms were also quickly consumed, his dress shirt being obscured by this new layer of clothing. Once the cotton nestled closely to his wrists, two buttons formed at the cuff. The extension of this new piece of attire continued beyond his torso until it ended just halfway down his thighs, his new suit jacket now completely formed.

   If that wasn’t enough, one final accessory was added to the man’s upper bodywear. Unfurling from the space over his jacket came a luxurious red colored fabric. It first positioned itself around his shoulders, then steadily expanded its territory downward and around portions of his body. It seemed to be some kind of mantle as it extended down, partially covering his arms but remaining open enough to keep the rest of his body visible. Its steady growth progressed, down and down until it settled at a spot a little below the halfway point of his legs. At the top of the mantle a lengthy collar formed and folded itself, two buttons and eyelets trailed themselves downwards where the collar nestled itself. The final adjustment to this accessory formed at the bottom of it; a design of an erupted flame forming in that area.

   While his clothing was being shifted, the physical changes to his body were progressing, moving downwards to his legs. The button that held his pants together softly snapped as it grew unable to hold his now wider hips. The denim of his jeans started to bulge and become tighter, the muscles in his legs becoming the next part of his body to grow in strength. The musculature of his thighs grew to be quite impressive, his quads gaining a considerable thickness while his hamstrings grew dense. Creases formed within his legwear outlining these developments, all while the ends split due to their inability to contain his pure strength. The immense pressure on his legwear only seemed to increase as his calves swelled, practically bulging from his body in comparison to their previous size.

   All while his muscles altered, his skeletal structure shifted as well. His height wasn’t finished increasing, the bones within his legs getting denser and longer. More inches piled on him and extended well beyond five foot six, and it took roughly a few seconds for his height to settle at a perfect five foot ten.

   Swiftly following came the changes to his feet. His shoes were quick to grow tight due to the fact his feet were swelling in size, lengthening and widening to fit the new proportions of his body. His toes had also gotten larger, blunter, and were rapidly getting pressed up against the cap of his shoes. The footwear were trying to contain everything, but with the noticeable bulging of the cloth from within it was becoming evident that the shoes wouldn’t hold on for long. 

   Fortunately, the changes to his clothing were beginning to reach the lower half of his body.

   Much like with his shirt, the rips and tears that etched into his pants all started to fix themselves. His jeans expanded, growing larger to contain his bulky legs. Surprisingly, they had gotten large enough to be slightly airy. The denim was quick to soften, the roughness of what were once jeans steadily transitioning to a softer material that was exactly like the kind that made up the upper half of his suit. It was clear that his legwear was now a pair of suit pants.

   The tightness within his footwear was the next major discomfort to alleviate itself. Before they had a chance to explode under pressure, they expanded in size at a rapid pace in order to comfortably contain his larger feet. And while the brown color of his shoes were maintained, roughness was replaced with an elegant smoothness, quickly shifting from standard sneakers to a more refined pair of dress shoes.

   The intense burning in his chest began to die down, the changing man now being given a proper chance to look down at his attire. “Wonderful-” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Clothes fit for…” he cleared his throat, “Clothing fit for an emperor!”

   He was smiling proudly, his deep voice resonating within his mind. The ‘strange’ thoughts that filled the man’s mind before seemed to be on their way to being more than just thoughts. This is who he was meant to be, after all. Strong and commanding, yet perfectly elegant. All traits fit for the emperor that is himself.

   This very thought pattern seemed to intensify the only remaining spot of his body that burned: his left hand. But all he did was clench his fist even harder. He felt… used to this, oddly. Like it happens all the time.

   It is what happens with Sacred Artifacts, after all…

   The very thought seems to prompt the very climax of his changes. The wreath that sat upon his head begins to glow in tandem with the fierce burning of his hand, and that prompts the pinnacle of his unwitting transformation.

   Where the Artifact touched his hair an intense red quickly consumed the rich brown of the follicles. It was as if his hair was being set aflame as the bright reds rapidly expanded around the hair of his scalp. And as their color changed, the style he had possessed was being adjusted as well. His hair was shortening, especially at the front where it once stuck out in quite a lengthy way. As it shortened, the well-kempt look was maintained but altered drastically in style. It was all sweeping backwards with a unique mix of spiky and wavy. The only possible description of it was that it was almost like a literal flame. And yet it was short, tame, perfect. 

   Concurrently, his facial structure was also changing. His jaw was rounded slightly, and the size of his head enlarged and widened to better fit his new size and demeanor. His eyes got smaller, the irises keeping that same emerald glow they had before. The bridge of his nose smoothed as the nose itself widened and lifted into a more upturned structure. The same bright red that overtook his hair entered his eyebrows, the shape of them shifting into a slender ellipse as they changed color. Finally his ears pulled themselves back slightly, the laurel wreath better nestling upon them.

   The most egregious changes came to his facial hair. The flaming reds ran down his sideburns, overtaking the brighter brown seamlessly. However, bits of his facial hair dissipated. The hairs of his mustache retracted, the area above his upper lip being left bare. His beard was also getting segmented. All that would remain was his thick sideburns, which styled into a similar spikiness to his hair, and a triangular patch of hair on his chin.

   As the last aspects of his physical changes settled, the world around him altered greatly. Reality twisted and warped, everything around him changing with ease. The sidewalk's concrete and road's asphalt was changed into a marble-tiled floor with an elegant carpet. Arising from that carpet was a set of blue sofas with a large table keeping them apart. Walls of marble arose from that floor, and behind him a massive glass pane with blue curtains hanging in front of it formed. 

   More and more furnishings materialized around the area; bookcases, statues, and plants manifesting from nothing. Directly behind him another, smaller table and an elegant throne-like chair came into existence. Lastly, a ceiling finished everything off, and a chandelier bloomed from it with ease.

   The man shakes his head, trying to shake the daze of his mind off. The burning in his hand finally subsided, and upon his palm was an image of a flaming colosseum. 

   He opens his hand, eyes drifting down to it. The insignia is familiar. His summon mark. His eyes then drift to look out the window, a massive stadium of some kind visible from where he stood.

   "Ikebukuro Stadium…" he whispered to himself.

   A door then opens and shuts softly behind him. "Master Claude, I have brought you some tea," a deep voice spoke to him.

   Claude. Right. That is his name.

   Daze dispelling, Claude turned to face the person who addressed him. A large, white lion in an elegantly designed suit stood beside him, holding out a small plate with a cup of tea upon it. Smiling, Claude softly took the plate from the lion's hand and curled a finger around the cup's handle.

   "Thank you, Snow. Your tea smells quite exquisite, as always!~"

   Snow nods. "I am always glad to hear you say that, my darling Master."

   Taking a sip of his tea, Claude moved to sit down on the chair. A feeling was prevalent in the back of his mind. A feeling of… renewed strength and pride in himself, perhaps? It's a weird thought pattern to him, but it's not unwelcomed.

   Truthfully… he preferred it.

[starcrossedandstupid]

I know the world is beautiful, but it is dull and without whimsy compared to the fantasy I wish to be apart of. There is no magic or fate or curses or prophecies. We long stopped singing ballads and the fairytales of our world are simple when you look at the tales fantasy children are told. We have no handsome princes with magic swords, no mystical girl who lives on the tower on the hill, who might just be immortal. I cannot walk into an enchanted forest, or do small things to prevent malicious spells. There are no semi-immortal magical figures, there are no Fates, no wizards, no tragic tales of kings past who have been cursed, no hope of a fairytale ending. Because this is not a fairytale world with mystery and intrigue and magic places. We do not have a truly magical history, or dazzling balls. We don’t feel the joy of a dangerous adventure, in search of something fortold. You can’t get wrapped up in some sort of plan between some defied not quite humans when you were trying to dance at some event where people are in detailed doublets and fancy fantastical dresses. Somewhere where many carry weapons around, weapons like bejeweled daggers and enchanted swords, not the occasional person with a gun. Where that same dagger can be strapped to my leg under my ballgown.The world we have is nice, but I would rather risk the danger of a world like that than stay here. I want a world where magic is there and true love is a concept that could be bound by fate, where hope is almost a spell in itself. I want whimsical things and magic and love that makes “naive feminine things” like true love and hope and the belief that if you keep going, keep fighting, that you and the good you believe in will eventually win, and you will make sure it stays that way, are possible with that magic that promises to all. I want to sing tale of tragic love. I want an arrow to whiz past me, to feel the breeze whoosh by. I want an adventurous happily ever after, that isn’t really over. One you keep fighting for, day in and out. One that is something you can keep safe and protect. These places are bound to pages, and it sometimes doesn’t feel fair.

[setokaibapetty]

5 + 1 Fic Friday Roundup: Soulmates (2)

Another continuance. More soulmate fics.

The Space Between (AO3) - "Every warlock has a soulmate. 98% of the time it’s another warlock, but sometimes it’s a mundane, a seelie, or even a Shadowhunter. Until their name appears on the warlock’s chest (and their corresponding soulmate’s), there’s no way to know. Enter Alec Lightwood, who wakes up at fourteen with a warlock’s name on his chest. Horrified at what it means, he keeps it hidden."

armed prophets (AO3) - "He can see the thoughts whirling in Magnus’s brain. Magnus had managed to make it four hundred years, patiently waiting and keeping a weather eye on the Lightwood family for the majority of that. And his beautiful, perfect, wonderful soulmate hadn’t even managed to make it three years."

Come Up to Meet You (AO3) - "He liked the soft pills. They were warm and nice to touch and made pleasant noises. He didn't have one of his own, but that was reasonable. He didn't have a soul, so how could he have a Soulmate? The little creatures appeared for humans; not weapons. But sometimes, if he'd done very, very well on a mission, one of his Handlers would let him hold their pill for a little while."

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight (AO3) - "An unexpected meeting, gives Boba a new sense of purpose as he strives to reclaim his armour and his honour so he could be worthy of standing at his mates side."

how to be brave (AO3) - "On a cold night in the middle of winter, the thirteen year old twin children of Endeavor, Touya and Fuyumi, go missing. They leave behind a house burning with fire so hot it’s blue, an angry father, a broken family, and a country burning with questions. The only clue to their whereabouts is a single, grainy security video from outside of a family owned restaurant showing the two children running and stumbling into the night and out of view."

Bonus: Saving Souls (AO3) - "Tim’s eyes fill with tears which overflow and spill down his cheeks, stinging as they encounter the scratch Ra’s made earlier. Slowly, his gaze drops and then fixes on the elegant, bejeweled hilt of Ra’s al Ghul’s ceremonial dagger. Protruding from Tim’s chest, right over his heart."

[twinkbusted]

At the End, It Was Always You

rating: explicit

rymin herovsvillan!au

content warning: smut, toxic relationships.

“Why are you doing this?” Min asked, holding Ryan’s callused hands down in front of him. They were standing in the middle of Ryan’s bedroom, where Min had attempted to hold a dagger to his throat, but Ryan simply pulled it out of his hands, putting it on a desk beside him. He always knew every single one of his weaknesses. Ryan only smirked as a response.

“Guards. Stand down. I wish to talk to this man in private.” Ryan sneered, hands unmoving. Min’s eyes darted around the gray walls of the room frantically, unsure of what he was planning.

“Take a seat, dear friend,” Ryan said, And suddenly he was out of Min’s grip, back turned, pulling at his white sleeves as he spoke. Though there were several plush leather chairs throughout the room, Min decidedly sat on his bed, considering it was closer. Nothing more. Plus, what if he tried to stab him or something. He would. “Well, I’m honored that you grace me with your presence, really.” Ryan said, walking closer towards Min, curiously examining the bejeweled dagger in his hand.

  “But that’s not why I’ve allowed you to stay, you see, it appears we have some unfinished business. I’m sure you remember that night at the restaurant.” Ryan's voice softened, his face now inches away from Min’s. It was like he was omnipresent, in a blink of an eye he was someplace else. 

Min did nothing but keep his eyes glued to the ground, millions of thoughts swirling around his brain. He remembered that night. The dim lights of the pub, the stiff backs of the chairs pressing on their backs. The despondent look plastered on Min’s face.  Ryan’s pleading eyes as he asked if Min loved him.

And he ran away in response.

“Do you?” Ryan asked coyly, tilting Min’s chin up to meet his half-lidded eyes. Min turned bright red, at a loss for words. 

“Thought so… That’s when I realized all you nobles are the same. Cowardly and selfish. Which is why I believe you all deserve to die, quite frankly.” Ryan chided as he walked around, his baggy brown pants swaying back and forth. Ryan had killed the nobleman in charge, after all. That’s why he, ironically, got to live in a nice house like this. He made Min sick. “I could kill you, you know. But that wouldn’t be as fun. I guess you’re the exception, really.” Ryan whispered in Min’s ear, his voice smooth and warm.

“What do you want?” Min muttered, fidgeting with the buttons of his coat. “You know what I want.” Ryan replied, putting the dagger on his nightstand. Looks like Min wasn’t the only one being cautious. 

But then it occurred to him, the room was dark, dark and oh so chilly. It made Min want to curl up under the red blanket. Maybe someone beside him.

He looked slowly up and down Ryan’s figure, alarm bells signaling off in his brain. No, no, no. Min hesitated, but ultimately allowed his cold, clammy hand to grab Ryan’s.

“I do.” Min said, voice surprisingly firm. 

A flicker of surprise darted across Ryan’s face, replaced by a smug grin. 

God, how badly Min wanted to scratch it off. 

Min leaned in first, to be fair. He knew it was wrong, but his actions said otherwise. His hands gripped at Ryan’s bony shoulders, while Ryan’s legs wrapped around his waist, soon enough they were both on the white sheets of the bed. Ryan’s lip snagged between his teeth, and Min’s tongue down his throat. Ryan winked at Min, making Min want to rip his tongue off. “Never do that again.” Min grumbled, already having second thoughts. But he wanted him. He wanted him so badly.

He didn’t stop when Ryan took off Min’s blue jacket, then his white button up, letting him explore every riveting end of his collarbone, neck, face. Every touch of his smooth hands seemed delicately and carefully crafted.. He knew him so well. He was like a moth to a flame, flapping about furiously but still drawn in.

Ryan’s chapped lips moved lower and lower, kissing on his toned chest and back, leaving dark marks all over. Min moaned, letting Ryan go wherever he pleased. “You like that, don’t you, mm?” Ryan teased. “Shut up.” Min grumbled, messily kissing down Ryan’s ever-so-soft neck.

It was enough to make Ryan moan, his voice like silk. Ryan whispered praises in Min’s ear, silencing every single warning Min’s brain was giving him. It was too late to go back now, and he knew it. He felt so selfish, so needy, so desperate, guilt clawing at his gut. A nobleman and a peasant. What would his parents think? What would the rest of the nobles think? 

Ryan had a lopsided smile as his hands gently drifted across the hard bulge in Min’s trousers. Ryan hummed innocently. Min knew this was wrong, wrong, wrong. But he nodded in response, but Ryan smirked yet again. “Soon!” He chirped, and continued to gnaw at Min’s hard flesh.

Min’s face must’ve gone bright red, because Ryan’s steady fingertips hovered over it again, making Min sharply inhale.

 He felt Ryan’s fingers slowly unbutton his trousers, then attempted to slide off his boxers. It was cute. No, it wasn’t. It was evil. Ryan was evil.

As Ryan lowered himself down to his length, and Min found his hands in Ryan’s hair, no, found them pulling it. Ryan teased him, slowly moving up and down his length. Min squealed, begging him to go faster. Ryan stopped before suddenly  biting his tip. Guilt settled at the bottom of his stomach, followed by a sharp rush of pleasure. He begged and whimpered for him to keep going as every bone in his body was telling him to stop. He was supposed to kill him, not fuck him. Noticing his discomfort, Ryan went faster and faster until they were both heaving on the sheets. Ultimately leaving Min with the sudden realization of what he let himself do.

Min was filled with such shame—ashamed for enjoying it this much, ashamed for his family, and most importantly, ashamed of himself. He should've thought twice about trying to stop a man he once loved. He hated himself for going back so easily.

And then Ryan got dressed and was gone, before pausing at the doorway.

“I’ll let you go, this time.”

[exilethegame]

Are there any clothing references for what characters of each kingdom and status wear in the Exile story?

You can find references on the Pinterest for Vrithka, Vygrand, and Plaithus-- but it's not divided up by status or class, just location.

In general, though...

Plaithus: Wear thick and dark fabrics-- jeweled tones and shades of black are favored. Jewelry in the form of rings or necklaces is not common-- instead, bejeweled armor is often included in fashion due to Plaithus's war-filled history (and pride in it). Gloves are also often worn due to the cold weather.

Capes are favored-- but any other excess fabric (flowy gowns that aren't fit to the body, long and flowing sleeves) is considered over-the-top and frowned upon.

Makeup is not common except for the Queen's court and the Council. Otherwise, it's considered ostentatious. Heels are not common outside of the nobility either, as it's impractical. Short and long hair are common, though most prefer to wear it long due to, yet again, the cold weather. Because of this, facial hair is also common. Nails are usually kept short, and are never painted unless in the court.

Tattoos are hard to find-- though they're not frowned upon.

Plaithians who are not nobility place practicality over appearance-- and many tend to resent fashion entirely due to them holding ill will toward the Council.

Vygrand: The opposite of Plaithus due to its humid and hot weather. Sheer and thin fabrics are favored, though thicker fabrics might be worn with large cut outs. Everyone wears a sash around their waist that connotes to one of the six leading houses. Long and clawed nails, or nail jewelry that is sharp, are very common, as are bracers that cover the forearm for high-ranking sorcerers. Sandals are common-- regular shoes are not.

Daggers are carried by most, if not all magic-users, and many have a single dagger that is incredibly important to them due to having sentimental value.

Makeup is a requirement more than an accessory, and a high-ranking sorcerer who goes out without it would be considered very disheveled. Body paint covering the neck is common, sharp edges and sharp features are the beauty standard.

Facial hair is not common-- and unless it is rigorously cared for and meticulously styled, you'll most likely be, once again, considered disheveled. Hand tattoos are common, as are tattoos on the feet. Twine is often worn intertwined in hair.

Appearance is everything in Vygrand. Everything.

Vrithka: Vrithkan fashion heavily varies from place to place as there is no one unified society. However, there are some general trends that can be found due to environmental factors.

In general, the only real clothing that's made in Vrithka are oversized/loose pants and dresses. Otherwise, loose fabric kept together with cloth and leather belts are common. It's difficult to attain fabric, so there's no sense in sewing shirts or nice clothing that's going to be quickly outgrown or destroyed in the wilderness. All fabrics are in earth tones to help blend in to the surroundings.

Most mythosi will opt to not wear shoes. Vrithka is all swamp and rainforest, and it's incredibly difficult to find shoes nice enough to keep the water out, and therefor prevent immersion foot.

Accessories tend to all be leather and close fitting, like braces and harnesses. Anything else would be a death sentence. You want to wear something shiny? In those woods? Nonetheless something that could easily catch on one of the trees or shrubbery?

Aesthetics are not important in general-- survival is. And that's reflected in the fashion of the island.

[not-wholly-unheroic]

5, 8, 9, and 13

5. Love Language Headcanons

Touch definitely means a lot to Hook in terms of receiving affection but he isn’t always great at giving affection in terms of touch…partly because he was raised in a time and place where it was considered improper to be too physically affectionate. Combine that with all the trauma he has suffered in his life and the fact that he tends to frighten people with the claw (intentionally or not) and it’s understandable why he usually waits for someone else to make the first move. The man is touch-starved but terrified of accidentally scaring off a romantic interest or best friend.

Hook is the BEST gift-giver! He’s incredibly thoughtful when purchasing or making something for a friend. Because he doesn’t have very many close friends, when he does care about someone, he cares very deeply and often expresses that by procuring particularly unique, personalized gifts. He can afford some pretty nice stuff but the gift itself may or may not be expensive, depending on the person and their tastes and interested. It might be something as extravagant as a bejeweled and engraved dagger or something as simple as some pressed flowers or a melody he wrote for them. But it will hold a great deal of sentimental value, whatever it is.

Hook has always been good with words. He can make a great speech but he’s even better at expressing his deepest and most sincere thoughts in writing. He frequently writes letters to his friends when he cannot see them in person and often writes poetry and short, sweet notes of encouragement for loved ones he sees more often, leaving them in places where he knows they will be found.

8. Date Headcanons

(Limiting this to fluffy SFW headcanons only.)

Hook doesn’t do anything by halves, and that includes date night. You know the really over-the-top images you see in movies and paintings and such where there are candles and rose petals everywhere? Yeah, he does that. Not even for any particularly special anniversary. Just because.

He loves flowers and sends them to his partner all the time. Sometimes they have a special hidden meaning (flower symbolism) and others times it’s just because he thinks a particular bouquet is pretty.

He reads poetry aloud. Sometimes it’s a poem from a book that he finds particularly meaningful or moving. Sometimes it’s something he personally wrote just for them.

He plays the piano or harpsichord for his date. Usually something very gentle and sentimental in nature but he may play something more lively upon request. He doesn’t sing often or publicly but he sometimes sings for his date and/or invites them to sing along while he plays.

A fancy dinner will likely be involved. It might be a nice restaurant or it may be a quiet candlelit evening in his cabin with something Smee (who is a surprisingly good cook) made for them. He may provide wine for his date but he doesn’t really drink anymore himself after a particularly bad experience when he nearly drank himself into oblivion from depression and had an encounter with the crocodile while still very out of it.

9. Sexuality Headcanons

I’ve touched on this before but while I definitely believe that Hook is a hopeless romantic, I strongly headcanon that Hook is at the very least demi if not entirely ace. This is likely influenced by the fact that I am myself asexual, but it’s also influenced by Barrie’s own words about Hook and the fact that Barrie himself (who significantly gave his own first name to Hook) was very likely asexual based on what we know about him (though he wouldn’t have had the terminology for it).

Regarding the Captain, in “Hook at Eton” (which may or may not be considered canon, as it contradicts some things in the book but which WAS written by Barrie), we learn that, “So far as I can learn there never was any woman in his life. His furrow had therefore to be a lonely one. Perhaps if some dear girl—who can tell?”

As for Barrie himself, we know from the divorce proceedings with his wife Mary Ansell that their marriage was never consummated, and according to Nico Llewelyn Davies (one of the boys Barrie befriended who helped inspire Peter and the Lost Boys and whom he later adopted), “I don't believe that Uncle Jim ever experienced what one might call 'a stirring in the undergrowth' for anyone – man, woman, or child. He was an innocent – which is why he could write Peter Pan.”

13. Body Language Headcanons

He talks with his hand(s) a lot. When he’s excited, he becomes very animated and sometimes forgets that one of his “hands” isn’t actually there anymore so he has to be careful he doesn’t accidentally take someone’s eye out! He makes a lot of gestures and expressions with his good hand and is quite fun to watch when he’s telling a story and gets swept away in the telling of the tale.

He has a hard time sitting still unless it’s to enjoy a good book or he’s too sick/tired/injured to really get up. He paces when he’s deep in thought and Smee swears he’s gonna wear a hole in the floor of his cabin.

If he’s feeling it, you will see it on his face. He’s not great at hiding his expressions. He knows that good form occasionally dictates that he hold his tongue but even if his mouth doesn’t say it, his face sure will!

He plays with his mustache when he is thinking/plotting and also sometimes when he’s feeling particularly proud of himself. He doesn’t always do it consciously and probably wouldn’t know he was even doing it half the time unless someone pointed it out.

He blushes HARD when he’s flustered or being gently teased by his love interest. Like tomato red. There’s no hiding it except to rush off quickly or try to cover his face with his hat.

Much to his chagrin, he has a lot of anxiety “tells.” He has a sort of facial tic (a very ironic word for it in his case!) that causes his mustache to twitch. If it gets bad enough, he starts to shake. Not just a little trembling. Like full-body chills shaking. A full blown panic attack often involves hyperventilating, a fight, flight and/or freeze response, and (even though he absolutely hates it) more than a few tears. But when he’s in that mindset he’s more or less on autopilot and isn’t really in control of his own body.

[time-to-cause-chaos]

i didn’t finish my chem homework yet

Peter and MJ get kidnapped after school and Tony is a worried overprotective dad™ who just wants his kid back.

(This used to be a two-shot but since I’m re-uploading it, I thought i’d just smash both chapters together, here you go)

AO3 link   WC:5,426

The first thing that Peter noticed through the harsh pounding in his skull was that he couldn’t see and there was a heavy metal weighing down his wrists.  He figured those two out pretty quickly.  He couldn’t see because he had a blindfold covering his eyes and his wrists were shackled to the ground, so he assumed he had been kidnapped.

Don’t get him wrong, he was freaking out, but the last few times he’d been kidnapped they weren’t that bad.  Either Mr.Stark came and helped him get out- with a lot of fussing afterwards - or he got out himself.  No one had figured out that he was Spiderman, which was good, it made it much easier for him to make like and get out of there without looking back on it.

His head was still dully throbbing but it was much less worse than it originally was, then the memories came crashing onto him, with another agonizing squeeze of his head.

Him and MJ were talking in the school parking lot, helping each other on the chem homework, ah shit we didn’t finish it, when those people in the cars came and...what happened after that? He racked his brain trying to remember, but no memories popped up.  

Wait.. MJ, dammit

He bit his lip frowning and, achingly, reached a leg out trying to see if she was there or at least close to him.  He would have called out her name but he didn’t want to alert the people that captured them, at least, not yet, he didn’t even know if anyone was even in the room with him.

His toe prodded something and he poked harder-

“Ow, Parker that’s my freaking thigh” 

“Oh, heh, sorry MJ”, he said, voice cracking slightly

“Mm-hmm, so how are we going to get out of here?”

“Can you see?” he tried

“Nada”

Peter fumbled blankly for a moment, “Do you remember what happened?”

MJ didn’t respond for a couple of seconds, “You don’t?”

“Must’ve hit my head”

“Yeah, ok, so those guys came and..took us?  Yeah, you weren’t waking up in the car so you probably hit your head in the parking lot, I’m pretty sure nobody saw anything so I don’t think anyone knows we’re gone”

“That's fine”, he could see- well, not really -MJ judging him

“You really need to rethink your sense of ‘fine’”

Peter would have said something but a bang shook the walls, effectively, cutting off his words.  

MJ’s foot was, lightly, leaning against Peter’s knee, and his blindfold was harshly ripped off, eyelids immediately shutting back, unaccustomed to any sort of light.

Before he could even try again to see again, “Look, I want something”

“Well duh, I want to get out of high school, but at this rate it’ll never happen”, Peter snarked, thinking of all the treacherous finals they were preparing for.

He could see now and the lights were actually pretty dim, compared to the normal brightness lights usually were.

There was a man standing in the center of the room, he seemed pretty normal, if you passed him on the street, you probably wouldn’t have blinked twice.  He was wearing a faded red t-shirt with a motorcycle on it and he had a light tan with brown hair, he seemed pretty young, no more than 25.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, I swear on that, but I got friends in the other room who wouldn’t hesitate, so you’re going to unlock your phone and call up Tony Stark” his voice shook, and he sounded...scared.

Scared people do reckless things.

The man held up Peter’s phone in 2 fingers, and Peter turned his head to see MJ fully staring at the man(let's call him Jeff) down with a glare.  Sadly, Jeff didn't even blink in her direction, because if he had he would be terrified.  Peter knew that first-hand, he had been pinned with that look way too many times.  MJ could be very scary when she wanted, like Natasha.

“Look, man, you know Tony Stark could track my phone before you could blink, right?” the man’s face was paused, “He’s Tony Stark” Peter emphasized.

“We have advanced hackers protecting this area, so at least for a little bit, we’ll be safe.  Thanks for the concern though” his face hardened, “now call”

“Alright, fine”, he surrendered.

MJ cast him a side-glance and he gave her a nervous smile in return

“Can you uncuff me, so I can call him?”

“Sure, kid”

On cue, 3 beefy men stalked in, forming a half-circle around them.  One more person walked in, a woman, muscular with her ginger hair in a ponytail.  

He grimaced, he couldn’t take on everyone in such a small room, especially with MJ still chained to him, he didn’t know if he could defeat them even if they were out on a field with no one around.  Those guys looked like an elephant couldn't make them budge, they were literally covering half the lights, filling his eyes.

Jeff came behind him and freed one of his wrists from the miserable cuffs, and handed him the phone. 

The lady who had come in, pulled out a sea green dagger bejeweled with gems, it was beautiful but not helpful in this scenario.  Don’t let it fool you, it may have looked lovely but one look at the blade would show it’s still efficient.  

She knelt down next to him and gently held it against Peter’s chest, “try and cry a little, sweetheart, we want our money”

Ok, they want money.

MJ next to him tensed, “Be careful where you put that thing” 

The lady, now called Cam because Peter’s brain said so, pulled another dagger out of her pocket, a purple one now equally pretty as the other- what did she collect them? -and directed this one at MJ.

“Listen, or else your girlfriend’ll get it”

“She’s not my girlfriend”, he muttered.

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, these people were much harsher than Jeff, who was now standing towards the back of the room watching them silently with his arms folded over his chest, eyes avoiding his.

Peter couldn’t risk getting MJ hurt so he typed in the password and made a show of him raising it to his ear.

The dialed ring took 10 seconds before it clicked and Mr.Stark picked up.

“H-hey, Mr.Stark”, his throat was dry and he cleared it, trying to get the squeak out of his voice.

“Sup, kid” Mr.Stark said, “Is May home?”

“Yeah, uh Mr.Stark, I’m not really at home right now” a small whimper broke out as Cam pressed the knife’s blade into his chest, a dribble of blood ran under his shirt.

Geez, why was she pressing it so hard, he wasn’t going to teleport through the phone line and escape.

Tony paused, “Ok, I’m tracking you right now, unless you tell me what’s going on.  Are you hurt?  Where are you?”

 MJ looped her ankle over his knee and she threw him another weak smile, probably to distract him from feeling a knife pressing into his chest.  It wasn’t even cutting deep but knowing that Cam easily could, made him worry.

“No I’m good, just-”, the phone snatched out his hands before he could respond.

“Hi, Stark, hope we’re not bothering you, but we need something from you”, Cam said, setting the phone on speaker, with a bored expression

“Actually, I am quite busy, just got pulled out of a meeting for this, but I suppose I could hear you out, as long as you let the kid go”, he replied coldly, Tony already got the gist of what was happening, good.

Faintly, in the background noise coming out of the phone, Peter heard FRIDAY’s voice saying she hasn’t tracked the call yet, he only picked it up because of his advanced hearing.

He let out a low groan, leaning against the wall behind him, trying to ease his headache, and scooched a little closer to MJ.

“There’s two of them actually, we got his girlfriend holed up here too”, MJ glared at her, “You were just sent an email, Stark, follow the simple instructions and you’ll get ‘em back, and in one piece” she added with a sick grin.

“Do you know how many people have tried this trick before? Yeah you probably do, Daily Bugle usually gets to them, anyways, not one of them has worked before.  How do you know yours will?”

Peter knew Tony was trying to stall so he could track the call, but Cam caught on, “Nice try, see you later, Iron Man, and try to remember who we’ve got over here, okay? For their sake” 

She ended the call, cutting off Mr.Starks protests, knelt down next to Peter and squinted, “So kid, why are you so special to Tony Stark?  What’re you his secret love child?”

“I’m just an intern”, Peter replied, his headache had decreased just enough to where he could ignore it, and now that the dagger wasn’t cutting into his skin anymore, he could finally breathe without worrying a blade was about to stab him.

“You’re lying”, she says with an air of finality, standing up, “but that's fine so long as we get our money” she shrugs

“Your daddy’s got 4 hours to do what we sent him or else your brain’s gonna go ka-plooey” she mimics getting shot in the head, twirling on her feet, as an extra, the big guys in the back each pulled out a gun which Peter and MJ shrink back at.

MJ had been quiet this whole time save for the occasional remarks and with a start he realized that she was scared.

It wasn’t too visible but her fingers were having a silent tap-dance on the floor next to her and she was biting down on her lip, and then there was the occasional shine of tears in her eyes that quickly diminished immediately after appearing.

Peter wanted to slap himself, she’s MJ, yes, but she’s never been kidnapped and threatened to be killed before, and to top it all off, her life is depending on a billionaire who has to pay up.  Of course, she’s going to be scared.

One of the big guys came and reattached the cuff, blocking MJ from his view for a few seconds, before everyone, even Jeff, walked out.

She looked at the floor, and only after the door to the room slammed shut again, did she look back up at him.

“MJ, I’m so sorry I got you into this mess, but we can get out, we’ll find a way and maybe Tony got the location and is already on his way”, his eyesight got blurry, MJ shouldn’t be here, she could get hurt and that couldn’t happen.  MJ knows the basics, throwing a punch, kicking someone in their stomach, but that wouldn’t help against a stupid gun.

She breathed in, “Yeah, I know we’ll be okay, it's still scary though, don’t look at me like that, dork.  It’s not your fault, and I’ll be fine just give me a second”

She closes her eyes sucking in deep breaths and Peter is unconsciously doing the same, taking in air that wasn’t there before,  forcing his tense muscles to relax. They both sigh melting against the wall.

“Mr.Stark is gonna get us out of this”

-

“You sure?” MJ asks, 2 hours later.

“Ok, well I’ve tried to break the chains, they’re not budging”, Peter answers

The past 2 hours, MJ and Peter had been joking around and laughing, almost as if they were back in the school cafeteria with Ned, snorting their eyes out over a stupid joke that was way too old to be funny at that point, and not in a dingy, dreary room, kidnapped, and out for ransom.

Still, it was easier to put on a front then, now they had around 2 hours left based on MJ’s mystical time-guessing.  Now the deadline was much closer and with their kidnappers out of sight for so long- they hadn’t reappeared after they left with Peter’s phone - anxiety was building up and it was getting harder to joke and act like they were fine, you could their smiles being forced to show and a small sheen of sweat breaking out on either of their foreheads.

Now they sat in silence waiting, Peter tried a couple more times to break through the chains or get out of them but each time they just chafed his wrists a little bit more, and MJ forced him to stop before he hurt himself more.

MJ found her eyes starting to slip closed, and she shook her head a little bit to try and clear the mindless fuzz out of her head.  Peter next to her didn’t look far from passing out too, it should have only been 5 in the afternoon about now, though they both seemed ready to zonk out of the world for the next 12 hours.

Peter was more unconscious than conscious when the door slammed open, Peter yelped at the harsh bang and jerked up.  He felt exactly like he had just woken up from an afternoon nap and he had no idea where he was.  MJ was also up and looking around like she couldn’t believe where she was.

“Ah shit, that wasn’t a dream”, she groaned

The only people who came in this time, though, were Jeff, Cam, and one of their meaty bodyguards.

Peter was still blinking ripples out of his eyes as he watched Cam come closer to them.

“Call Stark again”, she shoved, his phone into his face, and he took it nearly dropping it out of his fingers

He huffed but called, he was doing it mostly for himself though.  He wanted to hear his mentor’s voice talking, it always seemed like Tony’s words calmed him down, and he wasn’t complaining, hearing Tony Stark talk about something dumb one of his rich ‘friends’ did at a banquet was always perfect after a nightmare.  At this point, he would settle for anyone’s voice; Steve, Thor, Nat, May, Pepper, Bruce, Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, literally anyone.

If you had told a 13 year-old Peter, who had just lost his uncle and felt 100% guilty for it, that in a little over a year he’d have half the Avengers as his own little makeshift family and Tony Stark as an almost-dad, he’d have called the cops on you, but here Peter was now having a whole home in the Avengers.

He also called without protesting because as much as he wanted to listen to Tony's voice, he also wanted to know what in the world Tony was doing, because Peter wanted him and MJ out of there yesterday.

Tony picked up the first ring and Jeff stepped up this time to speak into the phone, “Where’s the money, Stark?” he hissed

“It’s only hour 2 and you gave me 4 hours, time’s not up yet”, despite his cool exterior, Peter could imagine Tony right now, sweating with anxiety, voice trembling when he fails to catch and correct it, getting frustrated because FRIDAY couldn’t get a location yet, and Peter really wants to get out of here geez.

He wants to get out of here because MJ’s here too and she could get injured and because he still has a lot of homework that’s due tomorrow and it’s really hot in here, and he’s tired because his head is pounding-

“If you wanted these kids you would've transferred the money a long time ago” Jeff spoke

“Fine, I’ll transfer it now-” Cam smirks, hearing Tony agree, “only if you let me talk to them first, give me two minutes with them and you’ll have your money then I can get them both back”

Cam frowns, “no” she says bluntly, as if she’d let him gain the upper hand in this situation

“Then my money is staying my money”

“Jessie-”

So that’s her real name.

“-give him two minutes, and we’ll get our money” Jeff said, trying to persuade her.

They had a silent conversation, staring each other down with their eyes, and Peter noticed they looked really similar, their eyes were each an emerald green and they had the same high cheekbones sculpting their face.

 They’re siblings, he realized.

Jeff didn’t look like he wanted to be there at all, in fact, he looked sick of all this, so Peter assumed his sister was forcing him to be there to get some cash.

 “Jess! Please! Let’s just get this over with”, he pleaded again.

Her eyes flashed and Peter felt compelled to scooch farther away from her out of instinct.

“Fine! This isn’t working, get out of here!”, spittle flew from her mouth and Peter had seen a fair share of crazy, broken people during his time as a vigilante.  She didn’t look so good at all, she actually looked pretty close to ripping her hair out and stomping the hell out of there.

He could tell MJ could sense that too, casting him a concerned look and gesturing her head towards the woman.  

Jeff - Peter wanted to know his real name now that he knew the sister’s - looked lost and he raised his hands, weakly, in a plea, “Jess, this was never supposed to go this far” his face broke down, and he was full-on crying now. 

Peter felt close to crying too, he absolutely despised when people were forced to do something against their will, and by his sister too.  That must feel awful for him.

MJ tried to reach out, but her fingers barely brushed his shoulder until the chains stopped her.

“Peter, please breathe” she whispered

He gasped, face unbearably hot, and the image of Tony popped up in his head-

“You gotta breathe, kiddo, you know oxygen, yeah that, you need that unless you want to pass out”, Tony knelt down next to him on the lab floor, “Can you tell me 5 things you see?...”

His breathing slowed down gradually, Tony helped me calm down from a panic attack, he thought, hazily.

MJ bit her lip, “You okay?”, Peter couldn’t feel anything at the moment but he gave her a small ‘mm-hmm’ from the back of his throat, chest aching.

He realized MJ was still staring at him, and he tilted his head just enough to look at her, “What?”

“You’re pale, how’s your head?”, he shrugged in response

The two siblings were still fighting and he couldn’t hear what Tony was saying through all of their yelling, he strained his ears, and right before, Jess caught on and hung up, he heard Natasha yell through everything else, “держись, детка” (hold on, kiddo)

He managed a smile, and looked to MJ, “They’re coming”

-

The after-effect of all the fighting had the buff guy with them in the room leave - presumably to get out of there - and had Jess pointing a gun at both Peter and MJ’s heads.

“We’ll kill them and get out of here” she spoke, Jeff was frozen watching her, hands frozen in outreach as if to stop her.

She glared, teeth bared, and aimed one gun in each hand, Peter wanted so badly to grab MJ but he couldn’t, he steeled his face and tried to give a reassuring look to her, but the realization that they were actually about to die was looming over them.

Peter strained to hear the sound of familiar repulsors but they didn’t come.

His eyes pressed shut and he heard the safety of the gun click off-

“Wait!” he yelled, “Let MJ go, please!” Jessie, looked him up and down, “please”

MJ was ogling her eyes at him, “Peter, I swear-”

“Stop, just stop, both of you are dying” 

Peter heard the gun go off, yes, but he also saw Jeff lunge at his sister knocking her and the gun down.

Coincidentally, it hit Peter’s chains against the wall, causing the socket it was in to pop out.  He yanked off the other one with his now free hand so that he could move his arms freely with only the weight of the chains hindering his movements.

He lunged for the gun on the floor and kicked it to the corner of the room, getting it out arm’s reach from either of the siblings.

“Ryan! Get the fuck off of me!”, Jessie yelled

As Peter pried MJ’s hands out of the cuffs, his brain started auto-correcting Jeff to Ryan.

Got it.

Ryan was a twig, which wasn’t a bad thing necessarily, but it made it much easier for Jessie to throw him across the room.

Peter had heard first-hand stories of Ned and MJ fighting with their siblings but this seemed a little extreme.

He threw a punch at Jessie as she ran at him, pushing MJ to get her out of the way.

They went back and forth one kick to his shin, an elbow to her stomach, and Peter had her in a good spot, ready to flip her to the ground but he’d underestimated her.  She jumped up, kicking Peter hard on his chest.  He coughed and - how the hell did she get the gun? - slammed his head with the butt of the gun, causing him to scream from the pressure on his head.  

“M-MJ” he managed, trying to get her attention from where she was preparing to knock Jessie’s head to the wall, “Tony” he whispered, as repulsors came firing into Peter’s ears, he had never appreciated the sound more.

Her face turned solemn and she ran back out of the room, nodding her head, Peter smiled, she got it.

Out of the side of his eye he could see Ryan struggling to lift himself off the floor, and Peter’s eyes fluttered as Jessie slammed him against the wall holding him up against the wall, stretching the small cut on his chest.

Throwing him over her shoulder and walking out the door, Peter agonizingly watched as the hallway they were walking through blurred through his vision.

Exiting the building, Peter saw the sun setting colorizing the sky with purple and orange.

She grabbed him and manhandled (or technically, womanhandled) him to his knees, pressing the barrel of the gun to his head.

“Stop!”, he heard Tony yell.

Oh, Tony, yay

Natasha was posed next to Tony keeping a sharp eye that she softened the slightest bit for him to see.  Next to her was MJ, a little farther back, but still holding a knife pointing towards them.  

“How about no, Stark”

Ryan ran out from behind Peter yelling for his sister to stop, Peter sluggishly blinked trying to focus the double-visioned image blurring into his eyelids.

“Kid! Focus on me”, Tony yelled

He could do that.

Tony’s voice was easy to pinpoint and he zeroed in on him, taking in the hot-rod red of the Iron Man suit.  

“Mr.Stark, I didn’t finish my chem homework” he called, earning another harsh stab of the gun into his head.

“Yeah, buddy, we’ll get to it”, Mr.Stark probably thought he was delirious, who knows, maybe he was, he wouldn’t know.

Peter remembered reading stories about loved one’s dying, they’d plead and yell, and the descriptions would say time seemed to slow down but for Peter it sped up.

“Say bye-bye”, Jessie smirked

“NO!”

“Stop!”

“PETER!”

Peter also remembered watching a video where it said if you don’t hear the bang of the gun going off, it’s because it hit you and you’re either dying or dead.

But Peter heard it, Peter heard it as clear as he’d hear music blasting in his crummy old earbuds.  

-

Tony wasn’t busy, he never really was anyways.  Sure there were board meetings and the occasional meet-ups for SHIELD, but being the Tony Stark had its perks, meaning it was pretty easy to get out of things unless Pepper was after him for a signature or conference( he’d been able to slip out of some of those too though, so hah!).  

The point is, Tony basically was able to do whatever he wanted all day which, when his mind was zooming through ideas faster than a car on a race track, was helpful and somewhat enjoyable with new theories pumping through his veins and having FRIDAY take notes of the gibberish he spewed out for later.  

Some days though, the days when that zooming car kept stuttering and stopping, was pure agony, because there was so much he could be doing - there always was - but he couldn’t get them done because his head wouldn’t cooperate with him and it felt he was ripping up, inside and out.

Today was not one of the latter days, he was going at a steady pace in his lab, the oil smudged across his arms and the music moving him as he bopped his head to the beat.  Grinning, he finished the last part of the specs and pulled out some small spare pieces for a prototype.  This was just a random idea he’d had in a dream and it wouldn’t amount to anything too special but it was pretty fun and he had an abundance of ideas on how to advance it further.

Then Pepper came, which he knew was coming because he’s been skipping way too many meetings lately and he could only hold out for so long.  

The meeting was boring, as expected, and it seemed to be dragging on forever.  He wasn’t even paying attention at this point so when Peter called, he was glad he had an excuse as he quickly turned to Pepper and showed her the ringing phone before running out of there.  Those fancy-schmancy business people could think anything they wanted about him, he’d never cared anyways.

The thing was, when he picked up he was ready to hear the kid’s ramblings of what happened at school or some weird fact Ned told him that would make Tony regret picking up.

What he wasn’t expecting was Peter’s words to be shaking and someone else speaking into the phone, cutting Peter off mid-sentence and thank god for FRIDAY who had alerted him, she was already trying to track the signal.

She didn’t get in time though and he almost yelled when the call ended with nothing solved. 

He went up to the living room where Nat was upside down on the couch watching some cheesy sitcom (it was a spectacle when he found out the great Black Widow watches sitcoms but she’d threatened him to stay quiet about it.  She had weird ways to love them.)

“Tasha?”

“Mm-hmm” , she asked, biting into a strawberry distractedly.

“I’m pretty sure Peter got himself kidnapped”

She’s up in less than a second already stalking towards him.  Her face is passive but you can tell she’s worried.  

“Of course he did, why wouldn’t he have?” Nat murmurs, “Do you have a location yet?”

“I didn’t get it in time but Friday’s still trying and I’m pretty MJ’s with them”

She nods, “Have you called Ned yet?”

“Yeah, he said that went out to the parking lot to go home and he hadn’t seen them after that.”

“What about May?” she prods.

“I tried her, she said she wasn’t worried since he usually stays out at school after hours and Ned checked the parking lot and said he found their backpacks there but that doesn’t really help with anything”

“What’s the plan then?” 

“They sent me an email, it’s instructions to deposit money into an account”, he grimaces.

“You know if you hand in the money, you’re going to get in trouble”, she glances at the clock.

“I know, it’s just a last resort.  He’s been in situations like this before, hopefully he won’t get into too much trouble.”

Nat raises an eyebrow, “Are we talking about the same Peter?”

Tony winces.

-

2 hours later, Friday still hasn’t got a location and they got a second call.

He just needed a few more minutes and they’d have a location, Friday was already so close to cracking it.

The call ended just as Nat yelled something in Russian to Peter and just as Friday, claimed she found the place.

Oh thank god

The last time Peter was kidnapped it had been max, 45 minutes and the first time had been around a little less than an hour.  This time it had been over 2 hours and he knew that lady hadn’t been joking when she’d set a deadline.  Right before they’d hung up, she seemed angry and Tony didn’t like to jump to conclusions but she didn’t seem too merciful or lenient.

“Let’s go,” he said, face hardening.

-

They were just a few minutes too late.  Who knows, maybe even 30 seconds would have been enough. 

Peter had still gotten shot though.

His blast had messed up her aim and thank heavens for that because otherwise it would have shot his head.

Instead, the bullet went sideways, stopping just hitting his collarbone.

There was still blood though, and plenty of it at that.  It had run red underneath his nails, staining them and despite their protesting, MJ had been right next to him the entire way drenching the front of her shirt with red.

Peter had passed out along the way, which was a small mercy in itself.  Helen had gotten the bullet out without too much difficulty.  She’d huffed a small laugh afterwards, exasperatedly, saying if it was even a centimeter lower it would have hit his organs, a part of his collarbone was still shattered a little which they’d done a small surgery for before the shards could hit any of his blood vessels or arteries.

He’d also had a pretty bad concussion which Helen had said shouldn’t have done too much permanent damage, he’d just have to be monitored closely for the next day or two.

She’d practically begged him to stop bringing broken teenage spider-boys to her, and Tony would’ve loved it if he could promise her that, but considering his life and Peter, he didn’t think he could hold out on it for too long.

Peter slept for almost 7 hours before he woke up, throwing out his arm and letting out a small gasp when he felt the bone ache.

Luckily, Tony was still wide-awake at that point and gently grabbed his wrist, putting it back on his side before he could rip his stitches.

“T’ny?” Peter asked, struggling to lift his eyes.

“It’s me, kid” he says, placing a hand on Peter’s head.

Peter blinks his eyes open and glances around, before settling on him again, “,‘s MJ o-kay?”

“She’s fine, asleep”, Tony sighs, “You should probably get some more sleep too, bud.  You lost a lot of blood.”

‘I will if you will”

“Oh you’re evil” Tony groans, “Fine then, scoot over”

Peter manages to move one leg a smidge over and Tony laughs, pushing him to the side as he settles in next to Peter, pulling him close to his side and pressing a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you get the guys who got us?” Peter asks.

“Yeah” Tony tightens his grip, “We got them all”

“You know the lanky guy who looks like he just came out of a noodle machine?”

“Weird way of describing him but yes” Tony looks at him.

“Just,” Peter sighs, “Can they cut him some slack, he didn’t mean to do anything.  His sister was making him do it, he shouldn’t be held just as responsible as her.”

“He was still a part of it, Pete”, Tony tries.

“I know, I know, but it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t want to,” Peter insists.

“I’ll see what I can do for him, kid” he settles.

Peter hums in agreement already shutting his eyes.

“You know, you better not be doing this again anytime soon, you managed to scare Tasha”, Tony says.

“Don’t worry I wouldn’t want to anyway, it sucked.  I rate it 0/10, definitely would not recommend”.

Tony chuckles just as Natasha walks in, “I heard you guys talking about me” she observes, smirking.

She sits, pulling up a chair next to the bed and putting her feet on top of theirs from her seat.

“But seriously, don’t do it again”, Nat warns.

Peter smiles, hiding his face in Tony’s shirt.  He falls asleep to Tony’s fingers running soothingly through his hair and the comfortable weight of Tasha’s legs on top of his.

[writeformesinpie]

You Belong To Me Now

Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Word Count - 6.1k

Genre - Demon AU

Summary -

You are after something special. Something only a supernatural being can provide. You don't believe in demons, but that won't stop them from entering your room uninvited. This one has set his eyes on you and now he refuses to let you go.

Warnings -

Suggestive / implied sexual content, blood

A/N -

Just a one shot of Jungkook as a demon that I was meant to post for Valentines Day. Enjoy ❤❤❤

KPOP Masterlist

  You sliced your hand with the small, bejeweled dagger, the blood dripping onto the symbol you had created earlier that day with some old art supplies you found in the basement. Just like the last dozen ‘spells’ you had used to try and summon something from another world, you doubted this would work. You wanted something different, you wanted it bad and you would do anything to get it. Anything.

  You sighed - it was another failure.

  You had known before you even began it would be. As if any of this could be real. When you had gone through your grandmother’s belongings after the funeral you were shocked to find her appreciation of the dark arts. It hadn’t been the mere drabble you see in the bookstores around town, no, this was some next level shit. This was a collector’s dream. She owned old occult items from every continent. Your mother told you to throw it away and hadn’t gone into detail as to why they were in your grandmother’s possessions, only that it was time to burn the items to the ground.

  You had, of course, decided not to follow through on her wishes and had brought them back to your dorm where you had been trying out different spells and rituals ever since. Of course, you didn’t really believe in any of this stuff and so far it had proven you right.

  You started to wrap an old shirt around your scarred hand, skimming through the next ‘spell’ when you felt a breeze brush across your cheek. You had closed the window earlier, the shades drawn tight (this wasn’t the kind of activity the school encouraged, after all) since you didn’t want to alert campus security to your current vocation. As you looked over to the window, confirming it was indeed closed, a flash of light from the corner of the room caught your eye.

  It was brighter than the sun and like the sun it felt like the more you tried to look at it, the stronger it became to the point you were sure your eyeballs were eroding within your skull. You turned with a rapid twist, your neck clicking with anger as you did so. The light was still bright even with your eyes closed, the heat from it burning your eyelids. Your grip loosened and you heard the sound of metal bouncing on the ground.

  Swearing under your breath, you stumbled towards the bed and draped the first blanket you could grab over your head. Your breath was loud in your ears. The heat from your exhalations warmed your arms as your hands searched aimlessly for your grandmother’s dagger. You felt the smooth texture of a knife between your fingertips and yanked it into your hand before turning to face the… the light? or whatever it was head on.

  A small chuckle filled the room. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you realized what must have happened. This was a prank. Of course it was. Your family had been watching you the entire time and now they were making their grand entrance. Why would your grandmother have so many occult items anyway? She was a nice little old lady from a small tight-community-type town.

  You pulled the blanket off. The light was gone, the candles were out and you found yourself in complete darkness. Images in yellow danced around the room as you tried to get used to the darkness, your eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light. The only sounds you heard were the far off giggles of the other girls who lived on this floor, muffled by both the door and the old towel you had crammed under it. The blackout curtains did not help the situation.

  Realising you couldn’t rely on your eyes, you stayed close to the floor. The carpet grinded against your knees as you shimmied to the opposite side of the room until you reached where you knew the light switch to be. You sprang up onto the balls of your feet and slammed your fist against it with an, ‘aha!’ on your lips before your mouth flung open.

  “Who?”

  You gripped the small ritual knife tighter in your hand, the blanket still around your shoulders. The hair on the back of your neck tingled as you looked at the stranger in your room. He was gorgeous, but that wasn’t important right now.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Are you going to stab me with that?” he nodded towards the knife in your hand, the flesh around it going white from the pressure of your grip.

  “If I have to,” you almost stuttered. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, the swirls of extinguished fire dancing around your head. You swatted as it burned your eyes, clouding them with the sudden prick of tears. You held your dragger up a little higher and stood a little taller as you tried to lower your voice to sound more intimidating. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”

  He smiled. “But you invited me.”

  “I think I would remember inviting you,” you said, looking him up and down. He leaned against the bookcase, flipping through your old, half-read copy of The 4-Hour Workweek, his long legs supporting a leisurely stance. His confidence was both justified and frustrating. “How did you get in here?”

  “You.”

  You waited for an explanation. He didn’t offer one. That was all he said. ‘You’. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  “I think you should leave.”

  “Is that what you want? You called me all the way here and that is your request?” The grin again. You could feel your lip curling, your hands scrunching up into lopsided balls by your side, the dagger temporarily forgotten. You wanted to wipe that smile off his face.

  Then you realized that this is probably still just a prank. Just because you didn’t know this man didn’t mean this wasn’t a prank. Your family was messing with you. They had known how you would react and they were watching and probably recording this interaction right now. You looked the man up and down.

  His black hair parted slightly on the right. His smile widened to reveal perfect, sexy teeth. He was well proportioned. His black suit clung to his body and confidence oozed through his flawless skin. You didn’t know where they had found him but you were impressed.

  “What do I want?” You said the words as you thought about it. You knew the one thing you wanted he couldn’t provide. No one was able to provide the peace of mind you needed. To know that you would be safe and never have to die? He couldn’t provide that, no matter how good looking he was.

  “I’ll give you anything. Just ask and it is yours,” he said, edging himself closer to you, circling to your side of the room. Once he was within touching distance he stopped. He looked down at the knife then back up to you. “What do you yearn for? What does your body demand be satiated? What fills you with dread and keeps you up at night for fear you will never receive it?”

  “What do I yearn for?” Your arm was at your side, the knife loose as you thought about the question once more. His scent was on your tongue. He tasted sweet and forbidden. He leaned in closer, raising an eyebrow as he waited for the answer.

  You wanted to live forever. That’s what you wanted. That’s why you were trying to summon a demon. Yet the words that escaped were foreign. “To be happy?”

  He laughed. “Let me guess, you also want world peace.”

  “What am I meant to want?”

  He slid over to the table a few feet away, breaking the spell. His lack of closeness brought you back to your senses. You straightened up, your hand tightening on the dagger once more. He was looking at the books from your grandmother. He tossed them carelessly down onto the floor as he searched. When you made a move to stop him he raised a finger without turning. You felt your legs stiffen and you stood still. It wasn’t that you wanted to listen to him, your limbs just felt as if they had been filled with concrete. You ignored the feeling, deciding it was your own decision to stay in place.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “This.” He held up a book with an ancient symbol that you had assumed was Egyptian. You hadn’t read that one yet. It hadn’t been translated (like most of the others) and you had not really wanted to try figuring it out yourself.

  “Why that one?”

  “It’s the only one in this collection worth anything. We’ll take it with us when we leave.”

  “And pray do tell, where are we going?” You rolled your eyes as you edged back closer to the wall. “What makes you think I will go with you?”

  In the blink of an eye, his face now hovered over you. You gasped, bumping into the wall behind you. He was fast. Too fast. You hadn’t seen him move. How was he in front of you? How was this possible? The pumping of blood in your ears was loud enough that you could no longer hear your breaths but you were almost certain you were panting. You were still trying to figure out how he was able to move so fast when you felt fire crawling up your arm. He was burning. You shrugged him off, your eyes darting to the door. His breath was now behind your ear.

  “Once you get what you want you belong to me.”

  You looked up at him. Between the heat radiating off his body and your anxious heart, beads of sweat were starting to form on your forehead and upper lip. You assumed it wasn’t the cutest look but didn’t dare move, either. You were starting to think this might not be a prank after all and instead starting to think this nutjob had found his way onto campus and you were unlucky enough to have been the one he had found.

  “I don’t want anything.”

  He chuckled, tickling your ear. He whispered your name before digging his fingernails into your wrists. Just as you were about to yell out he turned you, his warmth flush against your back as he leaned in, pointing you towards the mirror.

  “Everyone wants something. Dig deep. Tell me your deepest, darkest wish.”

  You mumbled something and tried to turn away. His thin fingers found your jaw, forcing you to look at yourself once more. He asked the question again.

  “Louder this time. We don’t want to grant you the wrong wish,” he said, that grin back on his lips as he swayed you back and forth in front of the full length mirror.

  “I can’t.” When he raised an eyebrow, you went on, “I can’t say it. I’ve never said it before.”

  “We’re the only ones in the room. No one else needs to know.”

  His breath was back on your neck. His long fingers were still holding your jaw and forcing you to look at yourself, but now his other hand was holding your wrist. His aroma was filling your head. Sandalwood? Coconut? You couldn’t quite place it but it gave off the scent of the calm before the storm and it terrified you. You couldn’t lie to yourself, however. It also excited you.

  You realized you had been leaning into his chest, his muscles holding your weight with ease. You pulled your shoulders back, attempting to put a little distance between you and this stranger.

  “What do you yearn for?”

  “I want someone else to take control for once. I am sick of worrying about everything. I want someone to take the reins.” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them, your true wish of wanting immortality temporarily forgotten.

  His smirk faltered before being replaced with a huge grin, his teeth catching the light. “Is that really what you want? That is your wish?”

  You thought about it for a moment, admiring the curve of his jaw. Maybe immorality wasn’t what you wanted after all? Maybe this was what you wanted. You looked at his beautiful brown eyes through the mirror as you continued, “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is life. This is just the way it is… but a girl can dream.”

  “Indeed.”

  You pushed back against him, breaking his grip on your wrist. “I don’t know who sent you, but I want you to leave.”

  He laughed.

  “I mean it.”

  “Get your affairs in order,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “I’ll be back for you tonight.“

  You turned around to say something else, but he was gone. Running to the closet, you threw the door open and rummaged through one of the old shoe boxes on the floor. There. You found it! It was right at the bottom of the box. You grabbed out the taser you had bought last year on a whim.

  You better hope you don’t come back tonight. I will be ready.

  You stayed up late that night, parked against the wall, taser in one hand and dagger in the other. You wouldn’t admit to yourself but you were terrified. You had searched every inch of the room and were still unsure how he had gotten in. Or how he had gotten out. You had even let the silly notion into your head that maybe you had conjured him up.

  Wasn’t he everything you had always hoped for? Someone to take away the pain. Someone to make you feel safe, to stop the constant thoughts? Someone to take the rein. You had wanted it all to be real, you had wanted him to make this all go away.

  But no, he must have been sent by them. There was no way any of this mumbo jumbo actually worked. You would not believe something so contrite. No, he was an intruder. Once you caught him, you would call the police and have his creepy ass thrown in jail where he belonged. He would rot in there while you moved on with your life. Well, as much as you could with the shackles you were weighed down with. You were drowning, but you couldn’t let anyone else in on that little secret. That was something you needed to keep to yourself.

  You would drown until the day you died.

  You heard a steady breath over the sound of your own. Your upper body tensed. It couldn’t be. You had been watching the entire time. You had been vigilant. The faint scent of sandalwood and coconut drifted towards you as you felt your body heat rise. You swallowed hard and turned your head.

  You let out a sigh of relief.

  He wasn’t there.

  Looking back towards the door, you gasped. His toned body leaned against the bed frame, claiming it as his own. As if this was his room, not yours. His aura screamed confidence and, to be honest, it was sexy as hell. As if he could hear what you were thinking, that frustrating toothy grin was back on his face.

  “You ready to go?”

  “Are you?” You countered, holding the taser in front of you.

  “You are… interesting,” he almost whispered the words as he took a step towards you.

  “You better get out of here,” you said, holding the dagger tighter in your other hand.

  “I can’t leave now. I accepted your request. You belong to me now.”

  You laughed, using the wall to stand so you didn’t take your eyes off him. You took a step towards the door, gesturing for him to leave, “This is your last chance, pal.”

  “And what will happen if I don’t use this last chance?”

  “Ask the last guy who tried to mess with me,” you said, hoping the words sounded steady, your heart pulsing in your ears.

  “The last one, huh? And just how many others are there like me?”

  “Like you?” You looked him up and down. Another black suit. This one had a black turtleneck. Even though he was covered, somehow this outfit looked more seductive than the last, the curves of his body bulging in all the right areas. His eyes stared into your own. You closed your eyes for a moment to calm your thoughts.

  He was grabbing your throat before you had time to register that he had even moved, the bones of his fingers stabbing you as you tried to breathe. You could feel your eyes widen as a puff of disbelief flew out of your mouth that was clenched closed.

  The man before you?

  The man?

  His long limbs had stretched beyond that of human proportions. Light brown horns sprung out from each temple, his teeth slick, white, and jagged. Large black wings like those of a bat were flapping behind him as he trapped you within his grasp. The warmth intensified. Your flight or fight reflex gone, all that was left was your broken brain. Somewhere in the distance you heard the taser and the dagger clattering across the floor as he carried you to the window.

  “Don’t worry about anything. I will not let you decide a single thing on your own. I will make sure you are completely under my control, just as you wished,” he chuckled again as he took flight. Stars and the dark sky was the last thing you remembered seeing before you passed out.

  You didn’t regain consciousness again until the next morning when you were woken by what you can only describe as a small frog-like man, the slimy pads of his finger tips hitting you hard in the head.

  “Wake up, human.” The distaste in his voice was evident. He ignored your surprised yell, instead yanking you out of bed. “I don’t have all day. I will show you around the house only once, so you better remember where everything is.”

  “Where are we?”

  He rolled his slick eyes. It was unsettling, since they bulged out of his head and drooped to the sides. He didn’t answer. Starting out the door, he didn’t bother to look behind him to see if you were following. You kicked the bedding off and ran after the small creature. His houty walk almost made you laugh but you decided it was best to keep that particular emotion to yourself, at least until you could figure out where you were.

  You walked down a long hallway. The ceilings were vaulted. You were told this was the first floor. He waved his small arms around the room as he spoke, “These rooms are where the help sleeps.”

  “Everyone lives here?”

  “Besides the Master, of course,” he replied with a glare.

  “Master?”

  “You sure are dumb. I don’t know what he saw in you,” he muttered, shaking his head as he rounded the corner leading into an open area that looked like a mudroom. You were about to walk into the room when he pulled you back, his pad like fingers somehow digging into your skin hard enough that you yelped. “You must not go past this point without permission and never, ever by yourself.”

  He led you down another hall that transitioned into the kitchen. You ate a croissant that was offered to you before being ushered further along. You were shown where all the bathrooms were, where the food was kept, and the cleaning supplies. You were then led back to your room and told to wait. When you asked what you were waiting for, the frog man just shook his head before rushing off once more.

  You looked around the room in confusion. It was clearly a room set up for you. It had the same queen sized bed that you were used to, a bookcase with your similar taste in books with a few extras thrown in. The closet had outfits you wouldn’t hesitate to wear. Everything was different but not enough that you wouldn’t be able to get used to it. But why should you get used to it? It had sounded like you had come here to be the maid. What kind of wish was that?

  That’s when it came flooding back. He was some kind of monster. He had kidnapped you and brought you here to his… his harem! You were going to be one of his sexy maids and he was some kind of monster.

  No.

  Not a monster.

  Just a manipulative man. He must have drugged you. You had been drugged and that was why you had seen weird things. He was just a man. A man with a horrible smirk. You refused to stay here with that creep. You were obviously still hallucinating which is why you were seeing frog boy. Maybe he didn’t exist at all. Maybe you were wandering around the house by yourself. Yet you didn’t even get to see the whole house? How was that fair?

  You slipped off the bed and put your shoes back on before cracking the door open and peering through. You opened the door a little wider and nudged your head through before you confirmed that it was safe and entered into the hallway. You scurried past the staff bedrooms and made your way back to the mudroom.

  Nothing really stood out about it. It was just a mudroom in neutral colours. There were shoes and coats. A typical mudroom. You pushed a finger past the threshold and waited. When nothing happened, you stuck your head through the opening and waited. Nothing. There was no magic here. Just a room.

  You chuckled under your breath at your stupidity before walking into the room and looking at it close up. It was beautiful. Lit up by several lamps that seemed to float above, it was bigger than your dorm room, which you thought was a little silly considering it was only meant to house shoes. You walked further in, straining to see what was in the adjoining room. You listened for a few moments before deciding to venture inside.

  Your chest tightened as you passed through the entryway. It felt as if someone was squeezing your heart. The sound of a lightbulb bursting brought you back. Yet as you looked around, you couldn’t see what had broken. You took a few deep breaths. Had you been that nervous about entering this room? You shrugged as you walked into the foyer of what looked like the main part of the house. It was gorgeous.

  There were marble floors that led to marble stairs that twirled up to the next floor and beyond. It was massive and empty, each step echoing as you made your way to the staircase on the left. The art along the walls were breathtaking, each piece more unique than the last. There were doors between the first and second floor landings. Secret rooms? You resisted the urge to walk into one and it wasn’t long before you were at the same height as the crystal chandelier.

  You were almost to the second floor when whispers coming from behind one of the doors brought you back to your situation and you realized you had better return before anyone saw that you had broken one of the rules on your first day. You leaped down the stairs on your tiptoes and rushed back into the mudroom.

  “Where are you rushing off to?”

  You spun around and came face to face with what could only be described as an angel. His bright features beckoned you without uttering a single word and you found yourself in his arms before you realized what you were doing.

  “And who do you belong to, little one?”

  “I don’t belong to anyone,” you murmured, lost in the eyes of the being that now engulfed your neck with his long fingers. He had coiled himself around you, making it difficult to breathe.

  “How convenient. Then you can be mine,” he whispered with a boxy grin as he opened his mouth to reveal two white fangs. “You look delicious.”

  “No,” you tried to yell but your throat was coarse and it was only loud enough for the two of you to hear. He didn’t stop and soon his fangs dug into your neck. A tear fell down your cheek as you tried to seperate yourself from him but he was so entwined around you that you were starting to have trouble remembering where you began and where he ended. His smell was clouding your thoughts. You closed your eyes. You felt so tired. You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept but now felt like the perfect time to start.

  “Delicious?” You heard the word, but it was muffled, as if someone was talking underwater. You felt the limbs slither further around you tightening to the point that you saw bright dots under your eyelids. Then you were on the floor. You hadn’t dropped, it had been gentle. You felt soft, as if you were laying on a sofa. “Do you enjoy taking things that aren’t yours?”

  “So sorry J, I thought it was a gift.“ The undertone of amusement in the voice made you think he was lying. You tried to open your eyes but your lids were too heavy. You made a move to sit up but you couldn’t feel your body. You felt like you were floating, or rather sinking. “She will be fine. It will wear off soon. My bad.”

  You heard footsteps getting softer before a hand grabbed your face and pulled you up by the chin. “What a waste.” It was him. It was your demon. He lifted your face to his before he breathed you in deep. “You smell of fear.”

  “Nnn.” You tried to deny it but the words wouldn’t come out.

  “I don’t want you to be scared of anyone but me. You are mine.”

  Once you were back in your room, you started to get more feeling back into your limbs and tongue and you were able to open your eyes again. Once you were sitting up, you noticed you had been placed under the covers. It was a sweet gesture. One you didn’t need. Where did he go and how were you meant to contact him if you needed him?

  “Did you need something?”

  Your ponytail whipped you in the eye from the speed of your turn. “Fuck,” you said, rubbing at your eye.

  “Maybe later,” he said, a smirk on his face. He was standing next to the bed, his lean legs covered by his long leather jacket.

  “I’m good,” you said narrowing your eyes as you looked away.

  “What do you want?”

  “Huh?”

  “You want something. You were thinking about me. Unless,” he coughed under his breath and raised an eyebrow.

  You took a moment to realize what he was implying. Your mouth dropped open and you threw the nearest pillow at his head. He sidestepped it with a shrug.

  “I want to know why I am here.”

  “You are here because you asked to be here.”

  “I don’t remember asking to be brought to some demon world,” you said the words and knew they were true. He was not a man. He was a devil.

  He laughed, striding over to you. His face was close enough to see the pulsing of the vein in his neck, his arms trapped you on either side. “You called out to me and practically begged to be taken away.”

  “That’s-”

  He brushed his fingers across your lips. “No, don’t deny it. You were done with the responsibilities, remember? You said you wanted someone to take control of you. And I have. You are mine now. You will do everything I tell you to. You will not make any decisions while I’m here. Just like you wanted.”

  You glared up at him, unsure of what your next step would be. You were in an unfamiliar place with powerful beings surrounding you. One of those beings was holding you down in your bed. And it was your bed, you now realised. You would be here for a long time, perhaps even until you died.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered against your lips. “You won’t age while you are here. You will be here with me forever.”

  “Or until you die.”

  He laughed before pulling away, a smirk back on those lips. “If you need anything just think of me and I’ll come.”

  “Who are you? What do I call you?”

  His eyebrow quirked quickly before he drew a symbol in the air. It was the letter J.

  “J?” The sarcasm was strong.

  His grin dropped as he strolled over to the bed once more. His face was close to yours, his voice a mere whisper, “You are not strong enough to say my name. You will never be strong enough. You are to stay here and do what I tell you to and you are to like it. Understand?”

  Once he was out of the room, you threw another pillow after him. It hit the door and flopped down to the ground. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want him to know he had gotten to you anymore than he already undoubtedly suspected, although you were starting to think that he knew everything you were thinking. You had to admit it got under your skin. He knew everything about you but you didn’t even know his name.

  Later that night you were in the dining room - the one for the staff, of course. You had been told again the importance of not going into the mud room. This time they told you it was because the mudroom was the barrier that protected the new staff against the “masters” guests. You had told them you wouldn’t try and leave again but you were already forming a new plan to get out of here. The front door was right there. Right next to the mudroom. You could just walk right out and try and find your way home.

  The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to make it happen. It wouldn’t be long before you started to crack, or worse, until you got used to living like this and if what he said was true, you may be here even longer than you thought.

  You hated that the rest of the staff seemed so content with living here. They went about their business as if they weren’t stuck in some hell dimension. You realised they probably weren’t, though. How many were like you? You doubted many, not when they all looked so different. You were trying not to judge, but it was a little intimidating. They were so confident in their life here.

  You would leave. Tonight.

  You waited until it settled down. You waited until it was quiet and had been for over an hour. You were sure there would be people still awake in a house this size, but it would be the best time to try and escape. Less opportunities to run into others in the halls. You would just have to be very quiet.

  You opened the wardrobe and rolled your eyes. The short time you had been here your outfits had been laid out for you. No decisions. This was too much. The wardrobe extended out further than it looked from the outside. It was a walk-in closet.

  You brushed your fingertips up against the fabrics as you walked further inside. It was bigger than you were used to but it wasn’t overwhelming. If this was what the staff was provided, you wondered what the inside of the closet of the guests and people who lived here looked like.

  Sighing you let go of the Prada dress you had been pawing and grabbed a pair of black jeans and a black top. You finished your look with a pair of black sneakers. You needed to be practical but that didn’t mean you weren’t taking the leather jacket. It was a perfect fit. In fact, everything in here was a perfect fit.

  You shrugged off a small shiver. It made you sick. You were not going to be controlled by any man especially because of a thing you had said while under duress. You would go back home and find something to cancel this contract. That was the plan.

  Get out. Go home. Destroy the contract.

  You rubbed the back of your neck then closed the wardrobe. You held your head high as you walked out the door, rushing down the corridor on the tips of the sneakers, trying to keep as quiet as possible as you half skipped, half jogged.

  You were at the mudroom but on the other side than the first time, by the main entrance, when you saw that light once more. That familiar tight feeling squeezed around your temples and chest. You shook it off and went straight for the door. Your hand was on the knob when you heard a hiss coming from behind you.

  “He let you out again? No-” the voice was deep and close to your ear, “-he didn’t let you out, did he? You decided to come to me on your own.”

  You swallowed, trying to open the door but his body trapped you up against it, making it impossible to maneuver. You tried to turn but his chest was pinned up against your back, the feeling of losing your breath and the closeness of this demon made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Tears welled up in your eyes as he bit down hard on your neck. You were going to die in this shithole and it was all his fault. He had brought you here. The smug one that wouldn’t tell you his name.

  “Do you need help?” You heard the words dripping with amusement to your left. It was him. Of course it was him. You had been thinking of him, hadn’t you.

  Your eyes lolled over to the left, widening a little before they closed. You willed yourself to say something but you couldn’t open your eyes, let alone your mouth. The tears continued to roll down and to your surprise, instead of helping you, he brushed a hand across your face and moved your hair out of the way. His tongue darted at your cheeks and eyes, a groan coming from his lips. “J” was licking your tears as they fell. The rough feel of his tongue lapping at your face as your life force slowly waned threatened to become your last sensation.

  Right when you were certain you were about to lose consciousness, the snake behind you was ripped from you, hissing as he slammed against something behind you. Then you were in his arms. Your demon. He took you to a different room, walking up what had to be the marble stairs if your memory served you right. You still couldn’t open your eyes but you could feel the soft swaying as he took each step, his feet silent on the marble floor. He closed the door and laid you down on something soft, a bed perhaps, and he laid next to you. He continued to lick your face as you regained your thoughts.

  ‘You are so beautiful when you cry,” he whispered the words as his lips traveled from your face to your neck. “Cry for me. Only for me.”

  You were starting to regain feeling. You tried to push a hand against his chest but he shooed it aside before pinning you down. You wouldn’t be his pet. You refused to give in but you couldn’t move enough to run.

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet? There is nowhere to run. There is nowhere to hide. You will stay here and you will endure all the pain I bestow upon you.” His lopsided grin was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. “Do you hear me? You will beg and plead and never be happy. This is the gift I offer. Your tears are what I crave. Your tears are what shall keep you alive. You belong to me. And what I want from you is tears. Enough tears to fill this house. You will cry until you have no tears left.”

  His smile widened, his teeth showing before it fell abruptly. “Shall we begin?”

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[voorheehees]

the talisman

a little thing I wrote for my slasher oc :p 

The neon lights of the city looked almost muted behind the tinted windows. Red, green, gold, and pink letters spelled ‘Poker’, ‘Lobster Dinner’, ‘Live Nudes’, ‘Dead Nudes’, ‘Girls Girls Girls’. It was beautiful. Jonas watched the lively strip from his top floor suite, like a king watching over his peasants. The view from the top of The Talisman Hotel & Casino could not be beat, depending on who you asked of course. Jonas kept one hand was clasped around a glass of scotch, the other tucked casually into his white pants pocket. He looked like a cliche pornstar, washed up, sleazy, but a decent enough frame to rake in a few bucks. His brown hair was forced back by a thick layer of gel, exposing a pale face with cold, blue eyes. If it wasn’t for the expensive suit and solid gold chain around his neck, one might assume he was nothing more than a busted used car salesman. But busted as he may have been, Jonas Deihl was no cheap bastard. The Talisman Hotel & Casino had been in his family for generations, passed down from father to son. Old, old money. And despite his reckless casanova reputation, Jonas was no fool when it came to running the family business. The Talisman was known for its luxury and top-of-the-line services, attracting all customers from celebrities to billionaires to wasted bachelorettes. It was a sinner’s eutopia. And most everyone knew the devil that ran it. Although the general opinion of Mr. Deihl was that he seemed like a bit of a sociopath, reeked of overpriced cologne, and overall came off as quite off at times, people could in no way deny his sickening charm or the thick wad of cash he kept generously in his breast pocket. And Jonas devoured the attention. It was a rare feat to see him roaming the bar or lobby without a model or drag queen or two wrapped around his arm, and a signature devious smile plastered on his face. He was like the poor man’s Hugh Hefner.

The shrill sound of a meow which could only be compared to the sound of a slow, painful death suddenly tore Jonas’ attention away from the Las Vegas cityscape. He turned to see a tortoiseshell cat sitting perched on the glass coffee table, her orange eyes glaring daggers directly into her master’s chest.

“What’s the matter Camile?” Jonas cooed, approaching the animal.

“Daddy not giving you enough attention?”

He set his glass down on the table and reached out to scratch Camile’s head. Without warning, she hissed loudly, whipping her paw around to sink a set of sharp claws into his hand. The man yelped as he ripped his hand away, unintentionally making the damage of the scratch worse. Camile seemed pleased with herself at the sight of blood dripping down his bejeweled fingers. Jonas swore under his breath and once again lifted his glass, making sure to take one last, large gulp of the liquid. 

“Little bitch.” He grumbled.

The two of them had never particularly gotten along. Yet over time, Jonas had become very attached to Camile, thinking of her more as a baby than a pet, and she liked the free food, catnip, and designer collars. The man pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pressed it to the wound. It seemed that sharp nails were his only kryptonite. The clear, small but deadly ones of sweet little Camile, and the colorful ones of desperate, panicked fingers attached to soft, trembling hands. He smiled at the thought of them, unconsciously tracing over the pink, fleshy scars on his collarbone. He remembered the woman who had put them there. It was three months ago. Her nails had been green with little gold hearts on each of the ring fingers. They looked cute, different. That’s why he had picked her. He liked the ones that stood out in some way, whether it be their nails, shoes, hair, anything really. He had an eye for unique pieces. 

The images of past conquests dancing in his head reminded him of his latest one, whom he had so rudely left alone in the bathroom. He smiled to himself, tossing the bloodied handkerchief onto the coffee table. 

He could hear muffled whimpers even before he reached the door handle. The sound was music to his ears, an itch to his groin. He opened the door like it was some game show reveal of his million dollar prize. Yet there was no car or all inclusive trip to Aruba waiting there for him. It was so much better.

The woman on the bathroom floor made the best attempt of a scream at the sight of him, which was unfortunately cloaked by the wash cloth stuffed deep in her mouth. Jonas grinned down at her, slowly removing each of his rings as she scooted her bound body towards the bathtub in a trivial effort to escape. He found it sort of amusing, in a sad kind of way. Her legs had been broken, and it took every fiber of his being to not burst into laughter at the sight of her struggle. She had just moved to the city with hopes of becoming a burlesque star. Jonas had smiled at her wide, eager eyes as she told him her plans at the downstairs bar, all the while mentally howling at how pathetic she was. It was no trouble to get this naive little princess up to his suite. 

He slunk towards her before crouching down to her level. She winced as he removed her gag, gasping at the sudden sliver of freedom. Her two front teeth had a large gap, like Pattie Boyd. That’s why he had chosen her.

It was all such an incredible high to him. Better than any drug, liquor, or orgasm could ever give him. The fear in her eyes, the gore of her now useless legs, the thick stench of sweat and adrenaline that filled the windowless room. He got off on the power, the idea that for a short moment in time, he was God. He wiped the mix of tears and mascara from her cheek, hands hot and vile against her cold skin. 

“Why’re you crying baby?” his voice attempted to carry out a sweet tone, which only sounded more bitter. 

The woman’s lower lip quivered, her eyes frantically trying to avoid his own. 

“Please don’t hurt me. Just let me go home.” she choked out. 

Jonas smiled and sucked his teeth, seemingly drinking her words up slowly in contemplation. His ego felt swollen, not dissimilar to how the patrons of his casino must have felt when they won a jackpot or when they knew they were about to get lucky. 

“Sorry beautiful,” he spoke finally, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

She couldn’t even blink before the man pulled a knife from a holster around his ankle and plunged directly between her still wet eyes. A look of shock and hopelessness remained painted on her face as her body fell onto the tile floor with a thud. Jonas removed the knife and placed it back into the holster. His heart raced, his eyes were wild. It was pure ecstasy and he didn’t want it to end. He slowly rose to his feet, shifting his attention to the sink to wash away the crimson residue. His high was wearing off fast, and the self-loathing and restlessness began to creep back into his mind. He looked into the mirror. His eyes were baggy and dark, pristine white suit now riddled with blood. He looked like shit, to say the least. He splashed cold water onto his face and stripped down, leaving only his chain and weapon on his naked body. A red, silk robe hung on the back of the bathroom door which he slipped into. He felt drained, miserable even, crashing back down to his decrepit existence after such sheer moments of bliss. This was always the worst part of what he did, the aftermath. He plopped down onto the couch with a grunt and propped his feet up next to Camile who hadn’t left her spot on the coffee table. She used his legs as a bridge and climbed over his body to rest on the back of the sofa next to her owner’s sleepy head. 

“Are you ready to be nice now?” Jonas asked her in a condescending tone. 

She mewed in reply, glendly pawing at his hair. Jonas smiled and scratched her chin, his eyes becoming increasingly heavier. He let them close, already dreaming about his next great high. 

[classysassy9791]

Sometimes its the quieter moments that speak the loudest. A story of love, laughter, and friendship carried through the years during the most wonderful season of all. Full of fluff and Christmas cheer. Interconnecting One-shots.

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Friendship Pairings: InuKag, MirSan, SessKagu

Chapter 1: Winter Wonderland Word Count: 2300 Can also be found here

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The crisp, white snow had smothered summer. It appeared as if somebody laid a sparkling white sheet over what was once green grass and put it to bed. Naked winter trees lined the avenue and there was a freezing chill in the air that brought crispness to the leaves, bejeweled with frost, that crunched underfoot.

Inuyasha Taisho hunched his shoulders to fight off the cold as his breath raised in visible puffs to join the grey-clouded sky. Rosy cheeked, he stamped to keep warm, pulling his woolen hat snugger over his silver-haired head and tightening his purple scarf around his blue-tinged lips.

He was not a fan of winter. The wind howled through the desolate neighborhood, biting at his frozen skin. The bleak grey clouds overhead reflected perfectly his grey mood inside. The days became shorter, the nights became longer, and the dampness crept into his bones and made them ache for summer again. The world seemed to lie barren and lifeless before him, as if God Himself had put it to sleep.

“Keh,” came a muffled grunt beneath his scarf. Damn his half-brother for being too preoccupied with his girlfriend, and damn his father for working late as per usual. Inuyasha had quickly become the man of the house at the tender age of thirteen, left to care for his sickly mother. He loved the woman dearly, of course, but it was rather troublesome to go trudging out into the snowy depths simply to take the trash out.

His teeth chattered as the bitter cold seeped into his gloves and numbed his fingers until they ceased to bend properly, stiffened and frigid. It had to be below zero out – he may have been exaggerating a tiny bit – because he should not have gotten this cold this fast.

Thin frozen puddles cracked under his winter boots as he hauled the trash bag into the container at the end of his driveway. Streetlights were misty in the light snowfall descending from the sky. Ice gently blanketed the sidewalks and streets. The faint glow of the sun attempted to peak through the clouds without success as the snowflakes danced and pranced in the cold air. Winter was a wonderland.

Or so most would like to think.

Inuyasha just thought it was cold.

“Snowball fight!” someone shouted, causing his head to snap to attention.

A split second after the obligatory warning, a snowball exploded from the front of his winter jacket. Immediately, he knew the fight was on: duck and cover, build a stash, and keep his head down. Inuyasha quickly dived and rolled behind his mother’s car.

His woolen gloves picked up snow like they wanted to be snowballs themselves, frozen crystals dangling from wild loose fibers he never noticed. Already, the coldness of the snow chilled his fingers to the point where they no longer wanted to work.  But cold or not, a snowball fight was a snowball fight, and he didn’t give in. Ever.

Snowball fights were all the rage on their street. Inuyasha and his friends versus the girls in the neighborhood. There were mornings they used to wake up early just to build a bigger stack than the opposing team. Since they were pretty much all lousy shots, having ammo was the key. However, as the years passed and they grew older, they resulted to sneak attacks instead. It made things more interesting.

Soon, another icy ball hit the side of the car he was hiding behind and another whistled through the air just above his head. Childish laughter echoed from all around him, as he tried to pinpoint where his assailant was coming from. A stupid grin plastered over his face as he took his first snowball and whipped his arm back to send it flying toward the back of a blue-jacket kid.

“Hey!” the boy shouted upon impacted.

Inuyasha laughed as the kid turned around to glare at him. “Take that, Miroku!”

The young boy with dark hair narrowed his eyes. “Inuyasha, I’m on your team!”

“Then what are you doing on the other side of the street?” he called, ducking as another snowball nearly clipped him in the shoulder. Another shout from Miroku determined he had been hit, before a flurry of crunching snow indicated he was running across the yard toward him.

Miroku crouched down next to him, holding his gloved hands over his head. “The girls are really feisty this year,” he commented with a smile.

Inuyasha continued to pack ammo together. “Shut up and start making snowballs,” he directed. “I’m not about to let them win.”

“Oh?” Miroku questioned with a raised brow and a grin. “You mean like last time?”

Amber eyes glared daggers, effectively muting him, as they prepared to attack. A few minutes were spent in silence as they prepared their ammo, before Inuyasha suddenly paused. His eyes scanned the open lawn behind them, watching and waiting for movement.

Noticing his friend’s delay, Miroku turned hesitant eyes upon him. “What is it, Inuyasha?”

“Shut up,” he hissed. “It’s quiet.”

Miroku glanced around. “So?”

“It’s too quiet,” he corrected. “The girls are up to something.”

Recognition dawned on his face as Miroku halted in making his latest snowball to peak his head over the hood of the car. Without warning, a snowball hit him square in the face, causing him to tumble backward from the impact.

“Direct hit!” someone called out. Inuyasha glanced up to see his neighbor pumping a fist in the air. “That was so worth it!”

“See? I told you, Sango,” a raven-haired girl laughed as she poked her head around a tree. “Patience is a virtue.”

Smirking, as the girls had clearly divulged their hiding spots, Inuyasha sent a few snowballs hurdling toward them. One hit Sango on the back of the neck, while Kagome got hit in the leg. Both girls screeched and dived for cover as Inuyasha whooped. “Serves you right!” he cackled before ducking his head again.

Sango was a tomboy at heart, and always tended to best him when it came to snowball fights. She was quick on her feet and had great aim thanks to years of softball. However, it was Kagome who was his key opponent. Quiet and petite, she tended to launch a sneak attack when he wasn’t paying attention, and then dashed away before he could get his bearings.

The fight intensified. The best thing Inuyasha knew he could do right now was taunt them into releasing all their missiles and then run out into the open with his. It worked like a charm every time.

“Come and get me!” he bellowed, dashing across his yard to the tree in front, dipping and dodging as snowballs flew by him, narrowly missing their intended target. Miroku lagged behind, catching most of the onslaught, as he attempted to dodge as swiftly as his friend. Unfortunately, Miroku preferred to make nice with the girls rather than run track with the boys. It was one of his many shortcomings.

Hours later, a snowball fight in the fading light was how they finished the day. Inuyasha was quietly sneaking through the neighborhood, tracking Kagome’s movements. The teams had paired off, and he could faintly hear Sango and Miroku’s battle occurring a few houses down.

Inuyasha poked his head out from behind a tree, watching and waiting. Kagome had currently ducked down behind an old truck. He had her cornered. But knowing her, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“Come on out, Kagome,” he taunted. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

There was silence. And then, without warning, she bounced to her feet with a hastily fashioned weapon sitting in her brown woolen glove. She wore the same face she had when she had him beat in scrabble, but this was no war of words and he fought dirty – all in the name of “fun” of course.

Her snowball sailed through the air, but he shielded himself with the tree effortlessly. He had snowball fights down to a science; best snowball size, best snowball density, just the right swing in his throwing arm.

“I’m gonna get you, Inuyasha!” she promised fiercely, her eyes sharp but her smile wide. “You can’t hide behind there forever!”

There was a nagging voice telling him to let her win, that it would be better in the long run, especially with that cute little face she was giving him and the confidence in her voice. But he just couldn’t. Snowball fights were a war and wars just had to be won.

Swift as the wind, he dashed from his hiding spot straight toward the old truck. Kagome shrieked at his surprise attack and fumbled through the snow to escape. He ran after her, pursued her, listening as she screamed and pleaded with him to stop, all the while laughing.

He smirked, holding a large snowball in his hand as he drew closer and closer to her. This one was going to be the end of her, he knew it, and so he relished the chase. Her raven hair blew wildly in the wind, tearing her green knit hat from her head and falling somewhere behind them. He raced after her across the neighborhood, dashing through lawns and avoiding the snowball fight currently happening between their other friends.

After a few minutes, he was within arms’ reach. Gently, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. She screeched with laughter as she fought against him.

“P-Please Inuyasha!” she urged. “Let me go!”

“Sure thing,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll let you go. After all, I don’t take prisoners.”

With those words, he shoved his snowball down the back of her neck, earning a satisfying shriek from the girl in his arms. She pushed and pulled against him, fighting to break free in order to save herself from the cold slowly seeping down her back.

Inuyasha cackled, watching as she struggled in vain. “Guess I win this round, huh?”

Abruptly, she stilled in his arms. He grinned, thinking she had finally given up, but when she didn’t move, he began to worry. His lips slowly pulled into a frown and he began to wonder if maybe he had gone too far. Maybe he was pushing the limits by forcing a handful of snow down her shirt.

“Uh, Kagome?” he questioned hesitantly, loosening his grip on her. “You okay?”

The sound of sobbing met his ears and his eyes widened in alarm. She was crying?! Kagome knelt down in the snow and ducked her head, her shoulder shaking as she wept.

“Wait. Kagome,” Inuyasha tried, reaching out to touch her but pausing before he made contact. “I-I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it.”

When she continued to weep, he crouched down in the snow beside her. “Kagome?”

All of a sudden, her hand came up at an alarming speed, smacked against his collar bone, and then suddenly there was cold seeping down the front of his chest. He blinked once, then again, his brain trying to catch up to what just occurred.

“Holy shit!” he cried out, jumping to his feet and clawing at his jacket, trying without success to alleviate the frigid ice running down his stomach. “Holy shit is that cold!”

Kagome started giggling, causing him to jerk his head toward her, confused by her reaction. “Y-you should have seen your face!” she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand and pointing at him with her other one. “Oh my— Inu-Inuyasha!”

He narrowed his eyes. “You think this is funny?” he grumbled, taking a threatening step toward her.

She shook her head negatively, but her expression said otherwise. “You deserved it,” she reasoned, fearless brown eyes staring up at him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “That is not how you treat a lady.”

Inuyasha raised his brows. “Oh, is that so?”

He treaded toward her, arms outstretched, with a confident grin on his face. Kagome held out her hands, waving them dismissively in an attempt to ward of his attack, but it was all in vain. Soon, he had tackled her to the ground and straddled her stomach.

She giggled as he pinned her down. “Beg for mercy,” he commanded, grinning down at her.

Kagome looked up at him, still laughing, as fresh frozen flurries fell gently into her midnight black hair spread around her head, a stark contrast to the pure white of the snow surrounding them. Her cheeks were flushed prettily and her eyes sparkled with a fiery spirit. Small puffs of air escaped her pale lips as she tried to catch her breath.

“Never,” she whispered defiantly.

He opened his mouth to respond, intent on making her pay for all of her insolence, but was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Kagome!” her mother called from a few houses down. “Time to come inside!”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes as he reluctantly released the girl. “Keh, go see what your mom wants.” He disentangled himself and sat down in the snow, leaning back on his hands.

She lay still for a moment, watching him intently, before finally bracing herself on her knees. “It’s getting late,” she pointed out, glancing up at the darkening sky. Sango and Miroku were currently wading through the snow toward them, more than likely hearing Ms. Higurashi’s call as well.

“Yeah,” he replied half-heartily, amber eyes shifting to his own house a few yards down. The windows were all dark, making it seem cold and unwelcoming.

Kagome pushed herself to stand and held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s go warm up with some hot chocolate.”

He eyed her hand, hesitating for a moment, before wrapping his own around hers. “I don’t want those little marshmallow things in it though,” he commented gruffly as they began walking toward her home.

She laughed, looping her arm through his. “That’s the best part!” she argued playfully.

Inuyasha shook his head, glancing away to hide his smile.

[a-very-fond-farewell]

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 13/?

Drunken mistake AU (mingcheng edition): “Take that burn”

[everything is the same but nobody dies and NMJ accidentally slept with JC once]

[no they don’t want to talk about it]

[yes this is a crack ship. I don’t ship them. but if it’s your thing well, you’re welcome]

*

[basically, the beginning of the story is set somewhere around the banquet at Koi Tower when Nie MingJue spots Xue Yang as Jin GuangYao’s protégée and is ready to flip tables. Coincidentally, Jiang Cheng –although walking in the club like he has the biggest junk in the universe– is equally fed up with his brother’s antics and storms out with too many jars of alcohol in hand.]

[NMJ and JC get drunk together. The next morning they remember everything and are ashamed of it and swear not to talk about it ever again.]

[but this is actually coming in handy for the both of them, because this incident will start a chain of events that will prevent canon-shit to hit the fan and so nobody will die in the end.]

[Nie MingJue is actually a gentleman and worries over Clan Leader Jiang’s wellbeing and reputation. Like, he remembers the enthusiastic consent from the other’s part, but he also figured it must have been his first time (our boy NMJ is -for lack of a better word- sore) but he feels guilty for some reason and wants to make amends.]

[on the other hand, Jiang Cheng definitely remembers their second round and how much he didn’t want to deny Sect Leader Nie’s request to “see who got actual stamina and not just threats up their sleeve” (whatever the fuck that meant) and he gets red just thinking about it.]

[but wait, Nie MingJue comes up with a solution to not stress over it, which happens to be fretting the hell over what would be considered an appropriate “I will take full responsibility/please let me know if I offended you” gift.

(Consequently getting mad at his younger brother bc he made the mistake to -gods forbid- asks Nie HuaiSang what would be a suitable line of action for “accidentally dishonoring an...esteemed mal female cultivator’s respectability” and now his little brother can’t shut up about silks and fans and poetry AND NMJ CANNOT TELL HIM TO STOP WITH THE FRILLY STUFF unless he wants his brother to snoop and find out who’s THE MAN he banged on a roof at night.)

he eventually settles on a bejeweled dagger bc he’s classy.]

[however, Onion Boy Jiang Cheng interprets the gift as a courting gift and his internalized homophobic ass goes “oh OH he thinks I’m the woman in this relationship, uh?! not in this lifetime bitch” and so he sends a gift as well to symbolically remind Sect Leader Nie “who asked to be railed not one but three times under the fucking moonlight” and calls it a day.

(But he does think it’s a very nice dagger and doesn’t want to disrespect another cultivator to the point of mailing a present back to the sender so... yeah.)

he sends NMJ the most expensive ointment for burn injuries in Yunmeng bc he’s a petty petty boy.]

[BUT!!! Nie MingJue has never received gifts like e v e r in his life and he’s...kind of touched? A bit? Bc it’s a very thoughtful gift? An expensive one too? And useful on top of that? Oh gods, Jiang Wanyin must have liked the dagger very much for being so generous and for actually thinking something a General like him would use on the battlefield and (...) maybe he should give something in return (...) what would be a good “thank you for your consideration” present (...) and so on.]

[They exchange gifts back an forth, NMJ slowly falling in love while JC begrudgingly fires back with presents aimed to offend and remind the other who’s in charge. This mutual exchange takes NMJ’s mind off of his anger issues and doesn’t need Jin GuangYao to play any evil music for him.]

[First time they meet in person JC is nervous af and he steels himself to exude nothing but power and control in front of the other Sect Leader... but the moment NMJ sees him JC is fucked. NMJ just stars glowing and dotes on him from day fucking one and JC is a weak weak man and the other is so tall so manly so gentle?? And it actually feels kind of nice to be paraded in front of others like a really nice horse or beloved wife and HOLY FUCKO now he understands why his sister loves her peacock so much.]

[moral of the story, they learn to de-stress together and nobody dies bc two angry boys banged once on a roof at night and everything is well and nice.]

*

[neat. now I ship it wtf]

[psychosistr]

Green-Eyed Monsters- Chapter 5

Summary: Dominic finally gets the chance to deal with the women who’ve been irritating him all evening, though one of them still manages to get the better of him and his partner.

Notes: Very slight trigger warning in this one for a scene involving someone being knocked out by a poisoned needle and Emelia trying to follow through on her plan, but nothing as bad as the last chapter.

-First Chapter-

Following his partner and the heiress had been trickier than Dominic expected. He had to stay close enough to see which turns they took while staying downwind of the vulpine vixen to avoid detection. Then there was the matter of the guards patrolling the halls- they were always absent from whatever hall the pair found themselves in, but the loon noticed they were quick to return to one of the other halls nearby within thirty seconds of the two passing, leaving their uninvited follower to quickly follow in their footsteps and duck behind some ridiculously unnecessarily lavish piece of hall furniture. (Seriously, who needs THAT many tables and counters set up just to hold a single vase of the same arrangement of flowers per surface? The aesthetic is nice, but it’s so wasteful and repetitive- at least change up the flowers or something!) Eventually, though, the two entered a room with an extremely ornate door that left no question as to whom it belonged to.

Slipping behind them before the heavy door could swing shut all the way, Dominic used his dark feathers and clothing to help him blend in with the few shadows surrounding the entryway of the grand master bedroom. Honestly, it felt more like he was in an upscale condo with how big the room was: The room had two levels with a small staircase leading up to a large balcony area dedicated to holding the largest bed the loon had EVER seen- it had to be an Alaskan-king, it was even bigger than the California-king in Steelbeak’s room- with a circular shape, ornate golden base and headboard, silken sheets under a dark red comforter, and a sheer black curtain-style canopy suspended from the ceiling above it. The lower level was split. Half of it served as a lounge area with several expensive pieces of leather furniture, hand-carved wooden tables, a small bar with two seats in front of it, and even a large fireplace with a TV mounted above it. The other half seemed to be an office space of some kind with a large desk, locked filing cabinet, and computer all set up near the ornate windows that provided a view of the city in the distance. There were a couple of closed doors that Dominic assumed to be the bathroom and/or closets, but he had little time to contemplate it as the foxy femme led his partner up the staircase towards the gigantic bed.

Steelbeak gave an impressed whistle as he willingly followed his hostess’s lead, leaning heavily on the railing to keep his balance as he swayed with each step. “Real’ swanky digs ya got here. Ever think ‘bou-” Whatever he’d been about to say turned into a squawk as he was shoved face-first into the thick red comforter. It took the metal-mouthed fowl a moment to roll over and look back up at the perpetrator, the act of doing so apparently leaving him dizzy and disoriented. “Woah…you don’t waste time, do ya..?”

Emelia smirked down at the now prone rooster below her as she climbed on top of him, one hand on his chest to help her keep her balance (and partially pin him in place) while the other slid sensually down her body to keep his attention. “What can I say? I’ve never been one for patience~” As the hand on the fowl’s chest slid lower, the one on the vulpine’s own body reached for something under the edge of the blankets. “Now…let’s stop playing games and cut to the chase~” Furry fingers found their mark- a dagger with a bejeweled hilt that had been tucked away in wait for the pair’s arrival.

Just as she began to grip the decorative base, however, the barrel of a silencer-equipped pistol was pressed against the back of the rich woman’s head. “Don’t even think about it.”

“!!” Green eyes widening in panicked realization, Emelia turned her head just enough to see the rather agitated man standing behind her. The look of barely-restrained rage made it clear that he would NOT hesitate to pull the trigger if she so much as breathed the wrong way. “You-?!”

“Took ya long enough, stripes.” Steelbeak took the opportunity to lazily push the stunned woman off of his lap and sit up, going slow enough that his partner could keep his gun trained on her. “An’ here I thought you’d changed your mind an’ decided t’ leave without me~” While his voice still showed signs of intoxication, it was nowhere near the apparent act he’d been putting on up to that point.

“What?!” Temporarily forgetting about the weapon still threatening her life, the confused billionaire’s head whipped around to stare at the lighter bird incredulously. “HOW?! I gave you enough to drug a rhinoceros! How are you still-?!”

“Don’t take it personal, doll. I’m sure that little ‘trick’ o’ yours works just fine on the guys that’re too busy droolin’ over ya t’ see straight before their first drink.” Steelbeak stood up from the bed, still swaying slightly in place but not fighting gravity as he had been less than a minute ago. “Unfortunately for you-” He gave the foxy lady a cocky smirk as he leaned over and plucked her earrings from her ears. “-my standards are a bit higher.” The end of the rooster’s explanation(/insult) was accompanied by a wink sent in the shorter man’s direction.

Despite the scowl on his face, Dominic felt his cheeks heat up slightly at the gesture. Darn those gray eyes- they made it really hard to stay mad at him.

Reminding himself that now was neither the time nor place to think about forgiving his partner for his words downstairs, the loon rolled his red eyes and shook his head. “If you’re done making a fool of yourself, we should be leaving.” Turning his attention back to the one still on the bed, Dominic’s expression hardened as he pressed the barrel of his gun more forcefully against the mammal’s head. “There’s just one loose end to tie up before we go…”

“Actually, would you mind letting me borrow her first?” An annoyingly familiar voice chimed in from behind the loon. “I need her passwords~”

Already knowing- and dreading- who would be there, Dominic looked back at the new addition to the conversation with a glare that spoke volumes of how badly he wanted to pull the trigger on BOTH women and be done with them for good. “When did you get here?” The venom in his voice was even deadlier than the look in his eyes.

“About two seconds after you did~” Showing no signs of fear whatsoever at the short-fused sharpshooter’s tone of voice, Maravilla just smiled calmly from her spot seated on the railing at the top of the staircase. “I wanted to help make sure our dear chief officer stayed in one piece, but it seems you have the situation under control. Good job~”

Dominic seriously contemplated shooting the jaybird for her patronizing tone alone, but held back- albeit just barely. “I am more than capable of seeing to my partner’s safety on my own.”

Steelbeak muttered something in response that sounded frustrated, but the loon didn’t have a chance to question him on it as Maravilla hopped off of the railing and sauntered over to the other birds. “I can see that, and I’m quite impressed~” Showing absolutely no fear (was this woman afraid of anything??), the lady in red lifted up the longer portion of her dress just enough to reveal a knife tucked securely into a garter belt. “Now, darling-” Once the black-handled needle-point dagger was removed from its sheath, one purple hand grabbed the heiress by the base of her long locks and guided her towards the stairs- the knife staying close to her throat in a clear warning not to scream or try to run. “-let’s have a little talk…just you, me, and all of those sweet little files on your hard drive~”

Frustrated, but clearly not in the mood to die tonight, Emelia allowed herself to be dragged to her desk downstairs and provided the smaller woman with the necessary numbers and letters whenever different boxes popped up on the computer screen.

Domino glared down at the women below with a scowl, arms folded as he leaned on them against the railing overlooking the rest of the room. “I could set both of them on fire from here…that would be effective…” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“Nah, not worth it.” The taller fowl joined his partner, hands pressed against the railing for support to keep himself steady. “Mara might be hard t’ get along with, but she’s good at what she does an’ we need all the inside-help we can get ‘gainst those losers at SHUSH.” He shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “’sides, I don’t wanna deal with her boss- Vi’s less of a headache than that guy…and less likely t’ try stealin’ my job.”

“Hmh.” The sound was one of acknowledgement, but not necessarily agreeing. Dominic wasn’t ready to be civil with his partner quite yet. “Did your plan include a way out of here without getting caught by the guards?”

The answer he received was a calm shrug. “Figured we’d just jump out the window.” An off-white thumb gestured towards the windows along the right side of the room. “Pretty sure we’re near the car.” A thought seemed to occur to him and he reached into his pocket, retrieving something and holding it out before dropping it in the loon’s unarmed hand. “Here.”

Looking into his hand, Dominic saw the rooster’s keys had been deposited in his palm. “Really? You expect me to drive that gaudy monstrosity?” Despite his annoyed tone, the darker bird was aware of how big of a deal this was. Steelbeak never let ANYONE else drive his car- he barely even allowed anyone to SIT in it unless he was sure they wouldn’t track in anything that might stain his “baby”.

“She ain’t gaudy, she’s classy.” Steelbeak corrected with a roll of his eyes. “And yeah, I’m lettin’ you drive my baby- but just this once.” Before the shorter man could show his (sarcastic) appreciation for the other’s “generosity”, he continued in a quiet but serious tone. “I’m good ‘nough t’ walk an’ stand up for a few minutes, but not enough t’ drive…you’ll have t’ do it this time.”

“……” That drug must have been something to make Steelbeak admit to even THAT much of his current state. If he was really that bad off, then Dominic knew it would be best to save the rest of their “discussion” for later. For now, he’d rather get his partner to one of FOWL’s doctors to make sure there wouldn’t be any long-term side effects (he doubted anyone was expected to survive after receiving the proper dosage, let alone the amount Steelbeak had ingested). “..Fine. I’ll drive your tacky little toy this time. But no complaining when you have to readjust the seat and mirrors later.”

That managed to bring the smallest of grins to the rooster's beak. “Deal……but you ain’t touchin’ my radio.” And that earned a slight quirking of the loon’s mouth, as well.

“Awww, are the lovebirds done fighting?” An infuriating voice called up to them from below. When the deadly duo looked down at the other agent still occupying the room with them, they saw Maravilla removing a flash drive from the computer before tucking it away safely into her garter belt. “Good, because it’s time to go- I’m pretty sure our esteemed hostess here tried to trip a silent alarm while she was logging in.” The purplish jay gestured to the currently unconscious fox now lying sprawled out across her work desk, a small needle sticking up from the back of her exposed neck. “Luckily, I already got what I needed~” Making her way up the stairs to her fellow FOWL agents, the lady in red seated herself right between the two on the railing they were leaning against. “So, do you two have an escape plan?”

Steelbeak gestured once again to the large windows beside them. “Figured we’d take the express route.”

Maravilla giggled gleefully and placed one small purple hand over Steelbeak’s much larger off-white one. “A man after my own heart~”

Dominic glared down at the offending appendage, barely resisting the urge to smack it away from his partner- or better yet, break those pretty purple phalanges permanently. Instead, he chose to poignantly nudge the woman’s hand away with the tip of his gun, hoping that would get his point across. “If time is of the essence, then we should leave. Now.”

Clearly aware of the darker bird’s growing ire, the double agent gave him a playful smirk and made direct eye contact with him while giving his partner’s hand one last squeeze. “I suppose you have a point~” Rather than slide down from the railing and walk to the window on the floor like anyone else would, Maravilla opted instead to swing her legs up onto the railing and walk to the window that way, her closed hands held out on either side of her to help with her balance. “It’s been fun, boys~ We’ll have to do it again sometime~” Still perched precariously on the railing of the balcony, the jaybird kneeled down enough to unlatch the window before standing upright and looking back at the duo- at Dominic, in particular- with a smirk. “Oh, before I go, would you mind doing me a favor and shooting at me a few times?”

“Gladly.” Dominic needed no further prompting or explanation, he just raised his pistol and aimed it right at the woman’s head.

Steelbeak seemed to find the whole thing amusing, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Gotta get your ‘danger fix’ in before ya go, Mara?”

The colorful avian giggled, bringing one of her closed hands up to her beak. “Ah, you know me too well, Steely~” Then, the look in her eyes changed from playful to devious. “Really, though, I just thought it’d be more…believable. After all, it’s not like you’d just let me get away with this, right?” In lieu of an explanation, the double-agent’s hand opened to reveal a very familiar earring with a very unique green diamond in the center.

“!!” Standing up straighter with a surprised squawk, Steelbeak looked down at the hand he’d had the earrings in- the same hand that Maravilla had been touching moments ago- and discovered that he now held only ONE of the priceless gemstone-adorned trinkets in his palm. “How the h-?!”

Maravilla winked at the baffled rooster coyly. “Nothing personal, Steely- but it would look bad if I was in the room with a couple of FOWL agents and didn’t at least TRY to stop them from getting what they wanted, right?”

Having had more than enough of the duplicitous diva’s tricks, Dominic wasted no time in finally pulling the trigger on his silenced pistol. “Why, you-!!”

“Thanks, tough guy! That’s just what I needed!” Maravilla merely laughed at the blood-thirsty look in the loon’s eyes as she made a leap for the window. The pane of glass flew open without breaking, allowing the purplish jay to swan-dive from the bedroom and out into the cool night air like a professional diver.

Luckily for her, the reckless avian’s companion was waiting right below the window the moment she jumped out. “Mari!” Lining herself up with her fellow agent, Xaviera managed to catch the free-falling woman by bracing one of her long legs against the wall and extending her arm to make sure she caught Maravilla’s head and torso properly. “Oof!” The impact left her a little shaken, but the fact that she was still standing after catching the other woman was a testament to the vulture’s strength. “Are you-?” Before she could finish her question, the gunshots still ringing from above caught her attention. “!!” Adjusting her grip so that Maravilla could grab onto her neck and shoulders while Xaviera’s arm looped around beneath her legs, the taller woman took off in a sprint towards the surrounding forest (she was certainly grateful she chose to wear her sandals for this mission).

Once the two were far enough away, Maravilla looked up at the lighter avian with a playful smile. “See? I told you I’d save a dance for you~”

Slowing to a walk once she was sure they weren’t being chased, Xaviera sighed and shook her head. “That wasn’t exactly the kind of dance I was hoping for..”

“Aw, you didn’t like it?” Putting on a clearly fake pout, one of the femme fatale’s fingers started tracing patterns on the other woman’s neck. “Well, then..” The colorful digit made its way up to the vulture’s head, teasingly twining a lock of the other’s long hair around her finger tip. “I’ll just have to give you a better one later…after all, I hate leaving a lady unsatisfied~”

A brilliant red that could have rivaled the shorter bird’s dress quickly blossomed across the one armed woman’s face and part of her neck. “I-! Bu-wha-no! I mean, yes, but-! Not like that-! I just-! I didn’t-!” Trying to salvage what remained of her dignity (though at this point she doubted there was much of it left), Xaviera cleared her throat and quickly shook her head. “You-You should be more careful next time. What you did was very dangerous and broke several SHUSH protocols.”

The shorter woman’s pout returned with a vengeance. “Are you going to report me to big-bad-Gryzlikoff?”

Xaviera seriously considered it for a moment- Maravilla’s actions went so far against protocol that she’d likely get written up for her misconduct…………but, looking into the jaybird’s pleading eyes, the vulture’s resolve crumbled. Darn those pretty eyes.. “N…No. Not this time…just, please promise me you’ll be more careful next time, okay..?”

And, like magic, the pout vanished and was replaced with a beaming smile. “Aww…see? This is why you’re my favorite, mi cielo~” Tilting her head up, Maravilla planted a kiss on the corner of her protector’s beak. The resulting chirp and visible lipstick mark brought the shorter woman great amusement, prompting her to leave a matching one on the other side before easily slipping out of her stunned companion’s grip. “Come along, darling, we have to get back before they send Jasper to look for us~”

Xaviera was too stunned to move for a moment, her eyes following the other woman’s movements as she walked away while her own feet remained firmly rooted to the ground. Bringing her fingertips up to touch the spot on her beak that she could swear still felt warm from the kiss (or possibly from her own incredibly flushed face), the vulture’s thoughts from earlier rang in her head once more: That woman was going to give her a heart attack one of these days.

But, she mentally amended, it might be worth it.

<--Previous Chapter Next Chapter-->

End Notes: Well, that’s the dangerous spy stuff out of the way and the last we’ll see of the SHUSH ladies for now. Next chapter is short before the final chapter, sorry ^.^”

[youmakemestrong]

god. its been years. YEARS. and the rose and the dagger still haunt me to this day like. they fucking DID THAT. in the same spot on the same arm. and its such a good representation of them too, louis bejeweled and cutting and sharp and harry a blooming flower and i just want to SCREAM because even the universe is a larrie tbh. thats all, carry on xxxxx

OH also please don't feel the need to apologise for taking time for yourself off tumblr we all need a break sometimes! but when you're feeling better and are less overwhelmed we'll still be here! wishing you a nice, happy weekend xx. lots of love

those tattoos honestly destroy me more than any of the other ones......like we bullied louis into that tat for 18 months and he was just like “ur right i’m the darkest larrie”

also thank you i’m. not doing well atm. but i enjoy your asks a lot and it’s very nice that i matter to someone enough for them to show up in my asks every single night so know that you matter to me so much E

[poems-and-pillows-and-puppies]

Song of the Sea: Chapter 1- Bow

Hello there. I decided to make a fanfiction based off of @thenerdyalchemist‘s amazing pirate!AU! Here’s the link to the Ao3 page- https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967113 

Chapter 1- Bow

     Walking along the beach of Alorminia, Ethari felt the wind blow its sea-salty breath onto his already salt-encrusted clothes. Rayla giggled, letting the waves’ spray pelt her face. The colors of the pier rushed in, a whorl of blues and browns and yellows on the winding beaches. The sound of children laughing echoed in Ethari’s ears. Children rolled in the sand, making miniature dust-storms in their wake, as parents, disapproving and encouraging alike, followed in tow. The sand felt like satin under their callused, well-worn feet. Rayla smiled at the other children’s antics, but made no move to follow. Ethari wondered when their little girl went from exploring everything and escaping his and Runaan’s grasps to mellowly holding onto their hands as they went exploring through new towns and cities beside the sea. As he stood there, lost in memories of long, long ago, Rayla turned her eyes toward him and tugged on his shirt. He turned his gaze to her, and she beamed at her adoptive father with the warmth of a sunbeam on a cloudy day. Ethari returned the favor, giddy from the feeling of stable land- at least, as stable as sand can be- underneath his heels. He could see Runaan making his way towards one of the sandside stores, already haggling for a better price on a pair of bandanas. At the moment, Runaan looked deep in thought, his brow furrowed like the loose plank he had fixed at sea the night before. Sweat glistened on his brow, reflecting off the blue henna-like tattoos that defined his entire identity, his silvery-white hair untied and flowing off his shoulders like the many waterfalls he and Ethari have passed by under the light of the moon. Ethari’s gaze moved down towards his waist and noticed that Runaan’s purse had already shrunk, albeit not by much, the leather rope that bound the pocket was a little slack and Ethari had a slight pang of anxiety overtake him. ‘What if he had been pickpocketed?’ Ethari shook his head slightly, his slightly spiked hair swaying in time with his head movement. ‘No,’ he said to himself, ‘the king of the pirates wouldn’t possibly allow himself to be pickpocketed.’ He strolled toward his husband, the sand shifting beneath his feet to accommodate his weight. Runaan snapped out of his trance and turned slightly to look at his first mate. “Runaan?” 

“Ethari.”

“What are you haggling for?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

    Despite his cold and harsh words, Ethari could sense his affectionate tone. ‘What a grouch I married. Can’t even show his love. Well, two can play at that game.’

“Dear, we don’t need to distract this merchant anymore. We can get a cheaper bandana at the other store.”

    He kissed his husband’s forehead, ignoring the faint saltiness of his sweat, for the sake of the performance. The recipient looked at him with confusion in his eyes but caught on in a split second. He faked acquiescence. His blush from the kiss, however, was genuine. They acted like they were moving on. The merchant spluttered. 

“W-wait! I can give it to you for 10 coppers! 10!”

   Runaan stopped in his tracks. Ethari, sensing that this was an exponentially better deal than before, based on his spouse’s actions, waited for his husband to pay for the clothing. Rayla bounced up and down on her heels, violet eyes wide and sparkling, taking in the hustle and bustle of the town. Now that he was closer, Ethari took a good look at the merchant. The merchant was well-rounded, as if he had eaten a few steaks too many for his body to have handled it nicely. His voice, though rough-sounding at first listen, was oily and sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine. The next time the two had eye contact, Ethari gave a half-lidded glare at the shopkeeper, making the man’s wattle tremble. After Runaan had finished his purchase, the group plodded on with the nearest produce shop in mind. As the ground turned from sand to hard-packed mud to cobblestone and the open airs of the beach turned to crowded wooden stalls and people from all sides, the two pirates argued over what to buy for the ship with playful tones, with Rayla adding her own two cents every once in a while.

“...so there, Runii! Fruits are a must!”

“They’re expensive, you big buffoon.”

“Hey! I’m only a little bit taller than you!”

   Rayla chipped in, “You guys are both the same height to me! You two are so silly!”

   The group laughed, each in their own ways. Runaan looked forwards. “We’ve reached the produce stalls. Why don’t you two go look for some treats or something? I heard Alorminia has the best sugared apples.” Ethari and Rayla bobbed their heads up and down like birds, making Runaan chuckle. He made a shooing motion. “Go on, you two.” The two scuttled off, disappearing into the crowd. 

   Ethari and Rayla strolled through the marketplace, searching for the sweet stands. People who noticed their markings kept a wide berth around them, much to their degree of comfort and space. Rayla frowned at the looks of fear on some of the people’s faces. “Why are some of them scared of us, Papa?” Her wobbly voice caught him off guard and he crouched to her eye level. “My little Rayla, you mustn’t be afraid of them. They may seem afraid of us, but that’s just because they’ve been taught to do so.” He winced inwardly at the lie. “Really?”

“Yes, my little albatross.”

   “Okay!” Her smile came back full force. He stood up, searching for the stands once more. Much to their annoyance, there was a large crowd of people in the way of the streets stand that were watching a group of dancers pirouette in the square, stopping their adventure in their tracks. The jolly music of harmonicas and banjos filled the air with whoops of joy and yelling. Rayla sighed in disappointment. “I guess we should go back to Dad now.” Her ears drooped. She turned around and started walking back. A call from Ethari stopped her. “Rayla! I’ve found a little passageway. Wanna try?” She did a full 180 to see her father point to a narrow streetway. Her ears went back to full mast. “Yeah!” She ran to Ethari, renewed delight scrawled onto her features. 

   The streetway was narrow, but it was still full of people. Elves of all kinds strolled through it, but more humans than elves manned the stalls. Ethari began to suspect something was wrong when he accidentally bumped into someone and a small, bejeweled dagger fell out of the hooded stranger’s clothes. His mind whirled with worry, but he tamped it down for the sake of his daughter. ‘Why am I so scared, anyway? This is an elf-friendly town and nobody is foolish enough to attack the family of the most famous pirate of this time. What is there to worry?’ As the streetway narrowed even further, his anxiety rose, until it reached his throat. ‘Something is wrong!’ He whirled around in a hasty frenzy, but nothing caught his eye. A tug on his clothing turned his gaze back downwards. “What’s wrong, Papa?” Rayla’s confused eyes acted as an anchor point for the antsy elf. His breathing slowed. His pulse stopped beating in his ears like a frantic drum. “N-nothing, sweetheart. I thought I-I saw something,” he stuttered. The road had narrowed to a one-person space only and alarm bells were ringing in his head like a death knell. He turned around. The hooded stranger from earlier was not far behind them. His mind raced. “H-how-”

“Did you think that we humans couldn’t do magic, too? Too bad. Hand the girl over.”

“N-no. This is my daughter.”

   The stranger chuckled. “Really, now? Then why does she have the pirate king’s markings and you don’t?”

   Ethari did a double take. “What?”

“Come on. Did you think that I would be that foolish?”

“I have the markings too.”

   Ethari bared his arms, showing off the faintly-glowing markings. The human gasped quietly, a noise that Ethari barely heard, even with his sensitive hearing. The human shook their head. 

“Unfortunately, my client told me the girl, and the girl only. If you won’t cooperate, we’ll take her by force.”

   Ethari’s heart stopped. “We?”

   The human looked at him, eyes glinting electric blue in the shaded darkness of the alley. “Yes, we. Who do you think was the first alerter to your presence? The people who were peddlers in the so-called ‘streetway’? We were all waiting for you, and you walked straight into our traps.”

   The figure held their hand out. “Now, hand her over.”

   Ethari bristled. “No! How dare you! We have not done a single thing to you or your city!”

“Very well then, we’ll do it the fun way. Suit yourself.”

   Men began to surround the way the two came from. Ethari glanced back to see men cover the other way out of the alley. He raised his arms into a guard position, poised to fight. Rayla cowered beside him, trembling in fear. 

   The human raised their arms and stood there, static, unmoving. Ethari waited, breath held, ready for their first word. The human exhaled, and Ethari tensed. The slightest word fell from their lips. “Move.” And the men came from all sides. Ethari fell under a flurry of punches and kicks. He was strong, as he was a pirate and a former blacksmith, but even then, he could not fight against so many assailants unarmed. Pain flared from every point of contact, and Ethari cried out in pain whenever someone hit him in an extremely painful spot. His sight began to flicker, and with one last burst of strength, he reached out to his daughter, miraculously untouched other than a few jostles here and there. Rayla grabbed his hand one last time, and his mind went dark. His limp body fell to the floor, unmoving. Rayla shrieked in fear, concern, and sadness. “Papa!?” Hands grabbed her from all angles. She fought with them, desperation leaking into her features. A sharp tang assaulted her nostrils, and within a few seconds, she had followed her father into the realms of unrestful rest. 

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

   Ethari awoke to sharp pain all over his body and the concerned face of his husband. He hazily sat up, much to Runaan’s relief. “Oh my Xadia! Are you okay?” He drowsily smiled at his husband. He slurred, “Sure. I ‘eel fine. ‘ere’s ‘Ayla?” He looked around in confusion. “Yeah, that was my next question too. Where’s Rayla?” With those words, his anxiety skyrocketed. He shook himself out of his daze with a predatorial growl. “That little bastard- I’m gonna’ put ‘im in a barrel-” Ethari muttered, eyes taking on a deadly shade of anger. Runaan, confused, inquired, “What do you mean? Who are you talking about?” Ethari looked up at his concerned partner, and with a deep undertone of outrage at the hooded human, retold his story to Runaan. As the story went on, Runaan began to growl himself, and by the end of the tale, was already on his feet. “And that’s it? He’s just.. Gone? You let him?” Incredulity filled his tone and Ethari hissed in annoyance. “You blockhead. I just said that I tried my best to fight back! There were too many-” 

“You still let him!”

“I tried my best!”

“It wasn’t enough!”

“I couldn’t do anything!” 

“Rayla’s gone!” Ethari snapped his mouth closed. “She’s gone, Ethari. And it’s all your fault.”

Rage clouded his husband’s features. The face he had grown to love, to cherish, to care for with all his heart- Tears welled up under his eyelids, threatening to spill out onto the ground below. He turned around, sobbing, and ran in the direction he had entered. Tears altered his vision. His ears heard nothing but the echoes of “It’s all your fault.” His mind, usually full of words and thoughts, was silent, as if punishing him for his failure. “It’s all your fault.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“She’s gone….And it’s all your fault.”

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

Why are You Here?

@tommyplum asked for angst prompt #6

“Why are you here?” “You know why I’m here.”

Alfie and Polly have a past that no one knows about, but it doesn’t figure into Alfie’s power strategy.

Polly’s high heels from Paris carried her down a winding lane in Camden Town. The narrow street ran perpendicular to the Grand Union Canal, and she could smell the oily water grow closer with every step she took. She had her driver stay back on the main road. He could maneuver her Bentley surely enough down the winding way, but she wanted to feel the air of his neighborhood around her, take the temperature of his earth beneath her feet, and listen for the beating of his heart within the red brick walls that lined her path.

Tommy had always dealt with Solomons. Tommy came up with the schemes and she did the books. That’s the way it had always been, and that was the system that had always worked.

Until now.

Tommy was in hospital with his head cracked like an eggshell. When Polly saw him last, his skin was a sickly mottled grey colour and his head was encircled by a steel halo. Tommy had crossed the wrong enemy, and the priest’s men were swift and thorough with their brand of justice. She had word that Solomons colluded with the bastards responsible for Tommy’s current state, and she couldn’t have that. Alfie owed her better than that.

Polly walked alone. She hadn’t brought any muscle with her and for good reason. John and Arthur were unaware of her visit to the Aerated Bread Company, and she threatened her driver within an inch of his life if he followed her. This was to be a strictly private conversation. Armed only with her charm and a dagger, she walked into Alfie’s place of business.

The man himself sat behind his desk: eyes closed, walking a coin across the knuckles of his left hand, and listening to the sounds of his shop. He heard Polly’s heels clack across the hardwood on the factory floor. Moments later, he heard Ollie’s questions and demands, and he laughed. It was a low chuckle from deep in his chest.

To himself he said, “Oh you silly boy. You can’t tell Pollyanna Shelby anything.” His eyes snapped open and he shouted “Ollie! Send her in!”

Her footsteps banged out a warning as she strode into the room and stood before the man.

Alfie stroked his beard and smiled broadly. In his rapid fire patois he greeted her, “Pollyanna Shelby Polly Elizabeth Shelby Polly Gray.”

He spread his arms widely and stared into her eyes. A grin was still plastered on his face when he cried out, “To what do I owe this honor?”

Polly’s mouth was set in an immovable line. “Don’t patronize me.”

He immediately dropped his smile and his arms. “Orright, then. Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here,” Polly snarled. “I want answers.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, love. You know how it goes. I had an alternative offer that was much more fucking profitable.”

“So you sold Tommy out to the highest bidder? I thought that you were an honorable man.” She lowered her voice and added, “How could you do this to my blood?”

Alfie cocked his head to the side and his nostrils flared. “Since when has our past figured into the deal?” He cracked his knuckles and snorted. “And honorable? Hah! Honorable? Listen, treacle, honor ain’t got nothing to do with it. Don’t forget, I am a gangster. Just like your Tommy Boy, Just like Sabini, just like them fucking Russians, and just like the priest. Honor don’t come into the equation.”

He scoffed and grumbled, “Your blood...”

Polly was incensed. “You will make this right, Alfie.”

“Or what? Or fucking what, Polly? Hmm?”

She could see his hand going for his desk drawer so she made her move. In two steps she was at his throat with the dagger that she carried in her sleeve.

“Don’t do that, Alfie. You don’t want to bring a gun into this. Not with me.”

Her deep brown eyes bore into his and he held his breath. Their faces were inches apart. Sweat beaded on Alfie’s brow, but he leaned into her blade just a fraction. She inhaled deeply and could smell the familiar scent of Alfie’s soap. She could never forget.

“I don’t think that you want to use that knife either, Pol. I reckon that if you wanted me dead, I would already be meat for a fire.”

She kept her eyes trained on him, but her resolve wavered just a touch. That’s all he needed.

With the quickness of lightning, he snatched the dagger from her hand and stabbed it into the top of his desk.

He shouted in her face, “Your boy Tommy, yeah, he fucked up! ”

Alfie’s eyes sparkled like black diamonds as they shifted back and forth between hers. He inhaled and exhaled with enough force to move the black curls that framed Polly’s face. She made to move back and a thick bejeweled hand came up to grab her arm.

“Let me go “

“Tommy’s troubles begin and end with his tendency to punch above his weight. Am I right, Hmm? Isn’t that what you always said? Now, your Gypsy king, he has fallen down and broken his crown. Well, it serves him fucking right.”

Polly spat and wrenched her arm out of his grasp. She staggered backward, her face a mixture of hate and hurt.

Alfie pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face.

“That’s not nice, Pollyanna.”

Her voice shook with emotion as she stared down on him. “Don’t call me that.”

For a moment her mind drifted back to a time when a smooth faced Alfie lay with her in the basement room of the bakery where he worked. He told her all his hopes and dreams. He’d play with her hair and call her Pollyanna. So long ago they were different people. She couldn’t bear to hear him say it now. Not after he’d betrayed her family.

She trembled as she whispered, “Curse you, Alfie Solomons.” Then she turned and stalked out of his office; each step she took exploded like the report of a bullet.