#and amber sewed the dress together! I have no idea what the dress looks like but imagine that it is very pretty -v-

[flowryluv]

Lisa’s birthday countdown (9/15)

[karoiseka]

Bolt

Note: ENDWALKER SPOILERS (through just after 1st dungeon)

((I was struck instantly by an idea [Which is ironically a lead-in to a WIP I’m working on...] and just never got the details smoothed out quickly.  Welp, here’s late entry #2))

Low murmurs filled the large room along with the constant background hum of the machines made to help with the sewing.  Ruveydah Fibers was practically buzzing compared to other parts of the city Karo had visited earlier with Estinien.  They had paused here in the brightly adorned room, long enough for the Dragoon to comment on some of the fabric colors and how Aymeric would like a few of the shades–gold and blue in particular.  The walk through the city had been the longest the two had been together alone in a long time, and Karo enjoyed the small tidbits of information that seemed to spill forth from his lips while he matched his pace to her smaller legs.  She wasn’t surprised that Aymeric wasn’t far from Estinen’s thoughts, but, for him to admit it so openly with her–well, it was a welcome change of pace from his gruff brooding she had mostly been subjected to.

She was supposed to be heading down to the High Crucible, and she mused she really was, however, the idea of dressing her beaus up, as well as buying some local outfits for the rest of the Scions was too good to pass up.  She had already gotten ahold of Tataru on Linkshell and scribbled down everyone’s measurements (including that of a certain Lord Commander who would be getting a gift signed as if from Estinien).  Now all Karo had to do was pick out which colors everyone got from the endless bolts of cloth that surrounded her.

There was much to be said about keeping with the colors her friends most often wore, and another train of thought that had her dressing them in complementing colors that were just a little different.  Running a hand along a deep green she smiled and got to work. 

The deep green was one of the first she set aside, thinking what a good contrast that would make to Alphinaud’s normal blues.  To simplify she planned to have all the designs be similar cuts that she had seen scattered throughout the city.  Karo wandered the room, eyes searching for the perfect matches in her mind.  A dark purple would do to shake things up for Y’shtola, close enough to her now normal black.  Moments later an amber peered out from in between the stacks, reminding her of Urianger’s gentle eyes, and into the pile it went.  The shimmering pearl white spoke of Thancred entirely too much, as did the deep dark red just a few shades darker than G’raha’s Exarch robe.

Karo didn’t notice the attention she was getting from the weavers as the pile of bolts grew on the table she had claimed, so absorbed in her joyful shopping.  Unbeknownst to her, she had been pulling some fairly pricey cloths as she looked for quality and color first.  Unbeknownst to the workers, Karo had been saving and not had much to spend gil on for quite some time, and had quite the stash put away for treats like this.

A bolt of reddish-orange went in the pile for Alisaie, and a deep violet blue for Estinien.  The gift for Aymeric, Karo searched quite a bit longer for, finally finding the Borel blue silk laced with gold that Estinien had pointed out earlier in the day.  Pale pink and spring green were the last colors pulled for gifts of the Lalafell pair back home, and Karo turned to finally grab the blue silk shot with silver thread that had caught her own eye.

Grinning, she turned to the waiting attendants, of which at this point a small crowd had stopped their work to watch the Warrior and her mountain of fabric.

“Okay, I have a list, who wants it?”  Karo’s laughter rang out in the halls as the weavers descended, all intent to share in the commission.

[monellabella]

The Starving Games ft. Freddie Weasel: AKA Pt. 1 of my Hunger Games x Harry Potter crossover series (OC x Fred Weasley)

Warnings (None of these are really graphic, but feel free not to read if any of these things make you uncomfortable!!): Blood, knives, knife wound, character death(s), severe injury mention (lost limbs), dead animal mention?? (a rat) 

This is the first fic I’ve ever written! I got the idea from a post I saw from @wand3ringr0s3 Comments and criticism are GREATLY appreciated and it’d be really cool to get some feedback on my writing style!! 

a/n: Also if I do write more, this is gonna be an enemies to allies to lovers situation bc I <3 angst 

Tagging my mutuals: @ourloveisforthelovely @darthwheezely @amrtxntia  @anchoeritic @kellsslut @whizboingies @beiahadid

Darkness. Pure black. I hear noises coming from somewhere. Muffled. Echoing through the endless void around me. The noises become louder. Someone is talking. The more I listen, the louder and clearer they get. Clear enough that I can almost make out the words. Suddenly, everything goes deafeningly quiet. My ears start ringing. But then, a single voice echoes through the silence, “Seph?”. I recognize it immediately. “Maeve?” I call out. “Seph? Is that you?” she responds, her voice shaky with fear. “Yes, yes, Maeve, it’s me. Where are you?”

“I don’t know.” she responds, panic rising in her voice. “Seph, I’m scared.”

“I know. I know, kiddo,” I swallow hard, “Hey. Hey, listen, I’m gonna find you, okay? Just stay calm.”

My heart is racing. I look around for some sort of clue, but nothing but complete darkness surrounds me. I tentatively reach my hand out in front of me. My fingertips graze something. Something cold. I take a step forward and reach out again. My hand finds what feels like a thin chain. I roll it around in my fingers before pulling down on it. The space is immediately flooded with blinding white light. I blink a few times to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness. I’m at home; a tiny one room flat that I share with my mother, sister, and our cat. Except it’s empty- no furniture, not even a door. I see my sister standing a few feet in front of me, her hands bound together by a thick rope. “Maeve!” I rush towards her. “Seph!” she cries. As I reach out to hug her I’m pushed back by an invisible force. I look up and there she is- standing inside a giant glass dome. I take a few steps back, trying to register what I’m seeing.

“Shall we draw the names?” I whip my head around to see a woman in a magenta frock standing on the other side of the room. Her dress is covered in so many frills and flounces that she takes up half the flat. On her head is a ridiculous blonde wig that must add at least two feet to her height. Her face is covered entirely in white powder, with her cheeks overly rouged, and her top lip painted magenta to match the dress. She looks like a very posh clown.

“I-I’m sorry what?”

She laughs airily, “The names, darling. Surely you remembered?”

“Remember what?”

She tsked then pulled out two smaller versions of the glass dome from the frills at the front of her dress. They each had a small slip of paper in them. “Go on. Pick one.” Her voice was incredibly high-pitched, and she spoke with a capitol accent. I stepped towards her and hesitantly reached into the bowl in her right hand. I unfolded the slip of paper, ‘Maeve Whitlock’. I stared at the name in confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“Will you take her fate as your own?”

“What do you mean? What fate?”

The woman let out another laugh, this one high and cold, it echoed around the entire room and caused the floor to shake. Suddenly, I heard Maeve call out to me, “SEPH!” I looked back to where she was in the dome. There was a dark, shadowy figure standing behind her, holding a knife to her neck. Her hands and feet were bound to a small wooden chair, and her mouth was now gagged with a dishcloth. I ran towards the dome, panic rising further in my chest. “MAEVE!” I shouted desperately. She looked at me fearfully, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. I banged and kicked and rammed my body at the glass so hard, I should’ve shattered something. But it was no use. I looked back to where the woman had been standing, but she was gone. The shadowy figure stood still, holding the knife to my sister’s neck.

“LET GO OF HER YOU FREAK!” I cried, banging my fists against the dome. Maeve was panicking now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, tears running down her face, her muffled pleas penetrating through the glass. “MAEVE.” I cried out; my voice cracked as the salty tears streamed down my cheeks. But I was too late. The dark figure suddenly slashed the knife across her throat, her cries stopped and she slumped down into her seat, eyes still half open, blood now seeping into her blouse. “NO!” I screamed, sinking down to the ground. The glass squeaked as my hands dragged down over the exterior. I looked back up towards the shadowy figure, only to see it was no longer there. In its place I saw myself, a satisfied smile on my face. I heard the clownish woman’s disembodied laugh echo through the flat, “What a pity,” the voice said, “you could’ve saved her! But now, I’m afraid, you must face the consequences of your actions.” The clone slowly raised the hand still holding the knife, and pointed directly at me. Suddenly, I felt the cool touch of metal against my throat. The other me winked, and I felt the blade drag deep across my neck. I started to choke, the blood pooling into my airways. I instinctively brought my hand up to the wound. My vision started turning black around the edges. I looked down to see the front of my dress already soaked in red. The last thing I saw was my own hand, holding the knife, droplets of blood falling steadily from the tip of the blade. Then, everything went dark.

My eyes shot open. All I saw was fur, and something was blocking my breathing. I sat up quickly, and the ball of fluff leapt off my face. The cat looked up at me from his new place on my lap- those big amber eyes practically staring into my soul- and meowed loudly. I sighed in annoyance. “Stupid cat.” I grumbled as I lifted him up and let him jump to the floor. I rubbed my eyes and tried to slow my racing heartbeat. My body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. I looked down at the bed to see my sister still sleeping soundly beside me. I took a deep, shaky breath and stroked the top of her head, moving away some of the stray hairs lying across her face. I glanced over at the digital clock next to me, SUNDAY: JULY 4. 8:26 AM. Today was Reaping Day; no wonder I had that horrible nightmare. This would be my 4th year participating in the drawing, it was Maeve’s first. How unlucky it was that her twelfth birthday had only been three days prior. If she’d just been born a few days later, she could’ve been spared for another year.

I sighed and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My mother was already awake, sewing some buttons back onto Maeve’s school shirt. “Hi, mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah, just now.” I yawned.

“Is Maeve still asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 8:30. Should I wake her up?”

“No, it’s okay,” she sighed, “let her sleep some more. I’ll wake her up soon.” She held up the shirt to examine her work, “Still needs a few more stitches…” She held the needle between her teeth and reached down to her sewing basket to grab another spool of thread. I looked down as I felt the cat’s bushy tail brush past my ankles. I knelt down and scratched behind his ears.

“Did you feed Tulip yet?” I asked. The fluffy, tricolor, flat-faced cat was now sitting at my feet, purring contentedly.

“Didn’t have to; he caught his own breakfast. A huge rat, which he so lovingly dropped on my pillow this morning.” My mother replied.

I stifled a laugh.

“Since you’re already up, go ahead and shower. I’ve laid out your clothes for you on the kitchen table, so when you’re done, just change into them and come back here so I can do your hair. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled at me then went back to her work. I grabbed some soap and a clean towel from the small shelf near the entrance and walked out. “Make sure you don’t use up all the hot water!” she called out as I closed the door behind me. “Don’t worry, I won’t!”.

We didn’t have our own bathroom- there was one toilet and one shower per floor, which could be shared by anywhere from 5 to 20 people. There were 5 apartments on each of the 4 floors- all one room- with one bed, a stove, a sink, a small table and chairs, and some shelves for storage. Each apartment had a heater and air conditioner, but they were never guaranteed to work when you needed them. Sometimes only one side of the building would have heating, or only certain floors had AC, or only specific apartments. Often, the whole building wouldn’t have either for days at a time. The same thing happened with the water and electricity. You could never fully rely on any of the appliances being in working order. As a result, we shared a lot with other apartments. If someone’s stove wasn’t working, they could just knock on a neighbor’s door and use theirs. If only one apartment on our floor had heating during the winter, there were no objections when everyone else would come over and make themselves at home. It made it feel like we were all one family, and it was customary to refer to many of your neighbors as your aunt or uncle. This was common throughout the District, as almost everyone aside from the mayor and peacekeepers lived in small, rundown tenements, expanding outwards from the city center, which was home to the Justice building. Here, in District 8, we produce textiles. There are 6 factories in total; one of which is entirely dedicated to making peacekeeper uniforms. We typically start in the factories at 14, splitting the day between school and work. We aren’t assigned specific jobs until we turn 18. Until then, those in charge of production make requests for certain numbers of workers, and we go wherever we’re needed. Once we finish school, we’re assigned permanent job positions based on both our aptitude tests and our performances in various factory tasks. The better you do on the aptitude test, the better (or at least safer) your job will be. Those with the highest scores tend to be assigned as desk jockeys- where the risk of dying on the job is fairly low. Those with the lowest scores are sent to work in the most dangerous parts of the factories; you can always tell who works there because chances are, they’ve lost some part of their limbs...or face...or they’re, you know, missing a hand...Then there’s those whose scores fall somewhere in the middle; if they have a specific skill, like baking, or perhaps healing, they’re assigned a job based on that. The rest are assigned mid-level factory jobs, which were still dangerous, but the chances of getting to keep all your fingers were significantly higher! (But not guaranteed).

When I turned on the shower, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the water was delightfully warm. It took everything in me not to keep standing there, enjoying the warmth, until the water would turn cold. I shivered as I stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped my towel around me. I walked swiftly down the hall and flung open the door to the apartment. I grabbed my outfit from the kitchen table. A white trapeze-line dress ending an inch or so above my knees, long billowy sleeves pulled tight at the wrists, and a mock turtleneck with tiny ruffles adorning the edge. My shoes sat on the floor next to it; dark blue suede ankle-boots with small square heels.They were a birthday present from my mother; most definitely from the black market. I got dressed and pulled up a stool in front of my mother’s chair. She combed through my curls as gently as she could, but I still winced when she pulled too hard at a knot. She braided four small plaits at the front and sides of my hair, pulling them into two larger braids that she twisted together and pinned to the back of my head. She handed me the mirror. I looked into it and smiled, “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” I turned around and hugged her tightly. She smelled of soap and clean linen, and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on- all I knew was that it was comforting and warm. I held on a little longer than usual. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. She brought her hand up and gently stroked the back of my head. We both knew what could happen today...I tried my best not to think about it. Maeve soon came back from the shower and changed into a mod-style purple dress and black mary janes. My mother braided her hair in a similar style to mine, adding a small flower clip at the side. She looked us once over, nodded, then stood at the mirror and added a few pins to secure her own hairstyle. She sighed, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” “Yeah.” my sister and I said in unison.

My mother chuckled lightly as we stepped through the threshold.

We walked the few blocks over to the underground and boarded the train headed to the Justice building. The train car was packed. Everyone was dressed in their best (and most colorful) outfit. These types of clothes were only worn on special occasions; those above working age wore grey coveralls to work and school, and something drab and ill-fitting otherwise. As we exited the train car, I kept a tight grip on Maeve’s hand. As we emerged from the underground, our eyes were bombarded with light, and I squinted as the brightness flooded my vision. When my eyes adjusted, I spotted the registration table. I gave my mother a brief hug and went to join the girls’ line with Maeve. Soon, we’d reached the front. I looked down at Maeve, “You want me to go first, kiddo?”

She glanced up at me with wide eyes, then stared forward and shook her head. 

“You sure?”

“Mhmm. I just wanna get it over with.”

“Okay.” I hunched over and whispered into her ear, “You’re gonna be fine, I promise. It’s not as bad as you think. I’ll see you in a few minutes, yeah?”

She nodded. I gave her hand a squeeze and watched her walk up to the table. I heard them speaking faintly and a few minutes later, she turned around to look at me, a nervous expression on her face. I gave her a reassuring nod then headed over there myself. 

The woman at the table sat there with a bored expression. She looked to be in her 30’s, but the heavy dark circles under her eyes seemed to age her quite a few years.

“Last name?” She said. She didn’t bother to look up at me. 

“Whitlock.”

“Whitlock…” she muttered, flipping through the pages, “Right, Whitlock. Persephone?” 

“Yeah.” 

She crossed my name off the list. “You’re sixteen?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay,” she sighed, “Hold out your hand, please.” She took a small device next to her and clipped it onto my index finger. I winced when I felt the needle prick my skin. She unclipped the device then stamped my wrist with the capitol’s sigil. 

“You can go join your age group, fourth line from the left.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

She paused, then looked up at me sympathetically, “And um, good luck.”

I nodded and gave her a curt smile before heading over to join my peers. We were arranged by age and gender, boys and girls separate, all standing in rows in front of the stage. I stood waiting, and mindlessly watched the rows slowly multiply. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but soon enough, I looked up at the stage to see a woman in a bright magenta pantsuit. The hem of her skirt was decorated with a flounce of fabric, and she wore a light pink blouse underneath her suit jacket. The front of it contained so many ruffles, you could hardly see her neck. Her hair was pale blonde, and styled in a way that made it look like a cloud sitting on top of her head. Her face was powdered white, save for her blushed cheeks and glossy lipstick. Her lips were absurdly over lined, both painted a shocking fuchsia that closely matched her outfit. She approached the podium with tiny steps and cleared her throat daintily, “Welcome, everyone, to the reaping ceremony for the 59th annual Hunger Games!” People remained silent; the only reaction being a cough from someone in the crowd. She cleared her throat once more, “As always, we shall begin by watching a special film from the capitol, telling us the history and origins of this unique tradition, and to remind us why we are all standing here today.”

At her words, the two televisions turned on to display the Capitol’s sigil. It faded out, and a film about the glorious history of Panem started rolling. I tuned out and stared blankly at the rows of people ahead of me. When the film concluded, Ms. magenta up at the podium clapped enthusiastically. She was the only one. “Oh, wasn’t that wonderful?” She exclaimed, “What a rich history this nation has.” 

I scoffed, that’s one way to put it, I thought. 

“Now, as always- ladies first.” She stuck her hand into the large glass bowl on the right side of the podium and shuffled her hand through the slips of paper before snatching one up. She gingerly unfolded the paper and held it delicately between her index finger and thumb. 

She cleared her throat and read out the name, “Maeve Whitlock.”

I felt my heart stop in my chest.

No. 

My eyes darted through the crowd and I saw people make way for her as she slowly walked to the stage, shaking with every step. Images from my dream flashed through my mind- most poignantly, the image of me watching helplessly, as a dark shadowy figure slashed a knife across my sister’s throat. Panic rose in my chest; my heart beat so loudly in my ears that I barely heard myself shout, “WAIT!” Everyone turned to look at me. My breathing sped up as I suddenly felt at a loss for air, “I volunteer.” I added, my voice cracking slightly, “I volunteer as tribute.” Maeve looked back at me with pleading eyes and shook her head furiously. I avoided her gaze and stared straight ahead as the crowd parted to allow me through to the stage. I paused to grab Maeve’s hand and squeeze it tightly. I cradled the back of her head and planted a kiss atop her forehead. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment as I shakily released her from my grasp and allowed the other girls in the crowd to place a comforting hand on her shoulders as they quietly pulled her away from me. I walked up to the stage and slowly climbed the short flight of steps to then take my place just behind the glass bowl from which my sister’s name was drawn. I can’t believe I’m about to be shepherded to my untimely death because of a stupid glass bowl. I felt my hands getting clammy, and I held to the hem of my dress to keep them from shaking. Ms. Magenta smiled and stepped towards me, “And what is your name, dear?”

“Persephone Whitlock.” I stated.

“And you are…?”

“Her sister.”

“Her sister! Oh, well, of course you are!” she remarked, “Well, that was a very brave thing you just did, Persephone. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that this was a truly inspiring moment! Well done! And may the odds be ever in your favor.” she smiled brightly and turned towards the crowd. There were a few measly claps, but they quickly fell silent. “And now, let us draw our male tribute.” She stepped over to the glass bowl on her left and repeated the process. I stared blankly past the rows of people; only when she read the name was my trance broken, “Frederick Weasley.” A tall, redheaded boy emerged from the crowd. I stared as he made his way up to the podium. I recognized him from school. I didn’t know him well, but I knew he had a twin brother- George, I think- who’d lost an ear in a factory accident a few years prior, and was thus ineligible to compete in the Games, as his injury would be an unfair advantage to the other tributes. Apparently, he’d been checking the cogs underneath a broken machine when it somehow turned on and cut his left ear clean off. It was formally reported as an accident, but it’s been rumored that he did it on purpose. There were no witnesses, so no one can say for sure, but if it was intentional, I can’t say I blame him for doing it. There are very few ways you can get out of the games if you’re under 18- something as extreme as losing an ear would certainly fall under that category. I stared at the redhead as he took his place behind the other glass bowl. He was tall, at least 6 foot 4, and seemed to tower over my own 5 foot 10 frame. I’d always thought I was fairly tall for my age, and was used to surpassing most adults in height; but standing next to him, I felt like a child. His entire body was long and lean, but I could tell from the way his shirt clung to him that he was not just skin and bone. He had a well-structured face. Round brown eyes, thin lips, a prominent, romanesque nose; his jaw was clenched as he stared straight ahead and refused to look at me. Him and his brother were known for pulling pranks and cracking jokes at school- there was a strange, impish quality to his features that unintentionally revealed his penchant for mischief. Every inch of his cool, pale skin was covered in freckles. Despite his pallid complexion, his cheeks always seemed to have a slight blush to them that made everything about him appear bright and lively. However, at the present moment, his face had been drained of all colour, save for a rather sickly green tinge. No wonder he doesn’t want to look at me- poor kid looks like he’s about to puke. Ms. Magenta finally stepped forward, “Excellent! We now have our two lovely tributes! Both of whom will now be escorted into the Justice building to await further instructions; Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!” And with that, the Capitol’s sigil was once again displayed on the TVs, and its anthem blasted through the speakers. Suddenly, I felt four hands grab me by the arms and forcefully pull me backwards. I stumbled slightly, and looked up to see the two peacekeepers responsible. They continued to pull me across the stage before practically shoving me down the stairs and onto the cobblestone street. From the corner of my eye, I could see that my fellow tribute was receiving the same gentle treatment as they dragged- I’m sorry, escorted him- to the large, looming structure behind us. As they “escorted” me towards the building’s heavy brass doors, I looked back frantically, trying to spot my mother and sister. But the crowd had gotten rowdier, and they were all being jammed together as the peacekeepers continued to push them away from the stage. My breathing quickened, and I could feel the blood pumping through every vein in my body. When we reached the threshold, the brass doors opened to reveal a high-ceilinged marble hall, and a rush of cool air escaped them. So THIS is where all our air-conditioning goes, I thought to myself. Every sound echoed through the building’s marble interior. I craned my neck upwards and tried to take in every opulent detail as I was dragged down a hallway and shoved into a small room, where the peacekeepers finally released me from their vice grip. “Wait here,” one of them said. They both left and shut the door behind them. I massaged my sore upper arms. “You didn’t have to pull me so hard, you know!” I shouted at the door, “not like I was planning on going anywhere!”. I sighed and stepped back from the door. “Assholes,” I muttered to myself. I plopped down onto a green velvet armchair and examined my surroundings. The walls and ceilings were paneled in rich, mahogany wood. The square panels above me were covered in intricate carvings, complementing the elaborate crystal chandelier hanging in the center. While I assumed the floor was wood, it was hard to tell because of the heavy oriental rugs that adorned its surface. There were two large windows behind me, both framed by plush velvet curtains. They were the same emerald green as the chair, and were tied back with a thick, gold rope that had tassels on the end of it, so as to allow in natural light. There was not much furniture in the room aside from two armchairs- one of which I already occupied- a round, wooden coffee table between them, and two empty bookshelves inlaid in the wall on either side of the room. A thin blue vase containing a single white rose sat in the center of the coffee table. The smell of it was unnaturally overpowering. Something about it made me uneasy, so I carefully pushed it to the far side of the table and shifted away from it. I unconsciously started chewing on my lip. I couldn’t sit still. Sitting there shaking my leg, or playing with the hem of my dress, wasn’t helping. I let out a frustrated groan and jolted up from my seat. I continued to chew my lip as I restlessly paced back and forth across the room. The heavy rugs didn’t hide the creaking of the floorboards as I stomped across them. After what felt like hours, I heard the door creak open. I stopped in my tracks and ran to the door to greet my mother before she’d even entered the room. Her and my sister enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug which I eagerly returned. The peacekeeper standing behind them cleared his throat. We slowly let go of each other and turned to face him. “You have ten minutes to say goodbye- not a second more.” he said in a gruff voice. As my mother and sister stepped fully into the room, the peacekeeper roughly shut the door behind them and left. 

END OF PART ONE

a/n: If you’ve made it this far,  1. Hi, I love you 2. Will I write more for this series? To quote John Mulaney, “Who’s to say?”. 

[arlandvery]

Alabaster Stones (Come and Lay Your Bones) Chapter 1

So this was a thing I came up with purely because I love a/b/o and harem/concubine fics but I never find any of the latter, let alone the both in the same fic. So, you know how it goes, if you can’t find it, write it yourself!

Honestly this wouldn’t have been a thing if not for @veninos-posion, who, again, is kind enough to listen to me ramble and not get spooked, but also talks my ideas out with me and offers suggestions. You rock, Veninos!

I’m doing a new thing for me and posting all the chapters separately, but I will go back and link everything from fic to fic, and update my masterlist, so we’re cool there! It’s also on ao3 here

tw: this chapter has very explicit sex and mentions of abortion via moon tea, post heat. It’s not graphic, but it does upset her.

Tomura’s lab was dark and warm. He preferred to keep it that way- often the powders and potions and spells that were stored, being worked on, or brewed there were light sensitive, and so there were no windows and the barest of candles needed to work by. Colored smoke hung in the air the color of crushed grass, lights sparking inside it, crackling like sparks.

Tomura himself sat at his worktable, fingers stained with chalk and blood, the ritual circle drawn out with its familiar shapes and arcane lettering. Sitting inside the innermost circle was a skull, with four of his fingers pressed around it. The skull was a morbid work of art; it had begun as the skull of a virgin, the seventh daughter or a seventh daughter, killed on a full moon on her seventh birthday. Tomura himself had then stripped, cleaned and bleached it to it’s current horrifying white, then infused it with veins of gold. Its eye sockets were fitted with carved amber in a mockery of eyes, and inside of the dome were arcane symbols pressed with obsidian.

The project had taken weeks, his first major work of magic, and it was his most valuable tool- with the proper precautions and spell work Tomura could look through it’s eyes and see anything he wanted. It was a tool that Tomura often made use of- sometimes at the behest of his master. Other times he wanted to see for himself.

Tonight was one of those times.

Red eyes stared unblinkingly at the amber, mouth cracked and split and sealed in a firm line.

The suite afforded to the Emperor’s favored omega were lush and soft. Tomura had intimate knowledge of the harem and its décor; those rooms were so opulent it was disgusting, costly beautiful fabrics, gleaming furniture, carved inlets. These rooms…these rooms were so lovely they nearly didn’t look real. These rooms, meant for the mother of the heir, for the favored concubine, had been made beautiful and further infused with magic. Lights floated around the nest- and oh, the nest! Cushions and blankets and sheets and the Emperor’s best clothes coated in his scent, woven and blended together to her comfort. The bath was charmed to keep the water heated, and there were dozens of other superficial charms and spells for comfort and pleasure of the omega. A songbird in an elaborate cage flitted about, singing it’s song, feathers glittering like jewels in the light, books were tucked in cozy corners, a basket for sewing…anyone would kill to have a room so lovely.

But Tomura wasn’t watching the room.

Instead he watched the bodies writhing together, crimson eyes wide and unblinking.

Sensei and his favorite omega twined together during the throes of her heat. Tomura watched with bated breath as she bared her neck for him, he could see the golden collar around her neck, gleaming, preventing a mating mark. Sensei’s hips rocked with enough force that it shook her body, her mouth open in a silent wail, eyes sightless in pleasure in want.

“Please, alpha, alpha I need it, need you,” She begged, her voice hollow through the magic he was using.

“Do you, omega? Are you going to be good for me? Take my seed, carry my pups?” Tomura’s chest tightened at those words, at Sensei’s steady tone. He was so calm, unbothered, despite the omega being split open on his cock and begging for it. He’d seen alphas lose it over less than that.

She cried out at his words, nodded like a doll getting her string tugged. “Yes! Yes alpha, yes, I want them- I want your pups, please let me-” She looked so desperate, skin flushed and sweaty. The room would be soaked with her pheromones by now, dripping with it. They’d been at it for hours now- the smell of sugar and vanilla would be enough to choke a lower alpha.

Tomura swallowed audibly, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Sweat beaded on his skin. He felt filthy watching this, but he was helpless to stop it.

“You’ll get them,” Sensei promised, pausing, ignoring her wailing in distress to pat at her cheek. “You’ve been such a good omega; you always have been.” He resumed fucking her, going straight back to the brutal pace he’s begun with. “I’ll fill you, mark you forever, just for me. Gonna grow fat with my pups, little alphas, all of them. They’ll lead armies and expand the empire, the perfect legacy,” those promises meant nothing to her. All she heard was the promise of young, of fulfilling her duty. Pups she could dote on and nurture.

His heart pounded, imagining the scent of her, the sensation of her flesh, her cunt. The taste of her tears, the sting of her nails digging into him. Those sweet pleas, all for him. She’d be the jewel of his kingdom, he’d mark her, make her his wife, not just the favored omega- he’d never leave her uncertain like that. He’d fill her, she’d never not be pregnant, never be empty again, heat or no heat.

Sensei grunted, stuttering to a stop, signaling that he’d locked in with his knot. Tomura looked away, chest heaving in want. He was so hard it fucking hurt. He wanted to do something about it, but that would man breaking the spell’s connection.

Tomura realized that he’d been grinding his teeth by the ache in his jaw and reluctantly loosened the clench. One day he’d grind his teeth into dust, he was sure, and then where would he be?

For 3 days Tomura ate nothing and drank little, keeping the connection open, forcing himself to watch as the heat roared and Sensei got creative, taunting and petting and mocking his pretty omega concubine.

Finally, when the heat burned out, she was curled at her alphas side, soft hands on him, thanking him for his generosity.

Sensei allowed her that, but soon he removed himself from the nest, ignoring her crestfallen face. He made tea in the fireplace, ignoring her growing misery as he boiled the herb and finally poured it into a tea cup for her.

“Drink up, my dear.” He smiled cheerfully, holding out the cup, as though this were any other act. An alpha treating his omega. She stared at it, eyes empty, before daring a look up at him.

Her voice was soft, pleading. Tomura was willing to bet that her scent had changed, trying to wheedle what she wanted from Sensei. It wouldn’t work. This happened every time. “Please alpha, you promised me…”

“I decide what happens to you, pet. Now, drink your tea and speak no more.” She shuddered, staring at the foul smelling, evil concoction.

“I…but my purpose…”

“Is to pleasure me. You are my concubine. Of course, should you wish to have pups, Tomura’s position would be a lot less clear, wouldn’t it? Against a flesh and blood heir, well, he might be dismissed.” Without another word, the omega drank her tea, tears marring her face.

There was a sour taste in Tomura’s mouth. Was it blood or bile?

“Good girl.” Sensei patted her head and left her alone in her empty nest, body betraying her by her alpha’s order.

Tomura was the only witness as she curled into herself and cried silently, hands on her abdomen. There might be a pup there or there might not be. The potion was still painful.

“Mother,” he whispered, finally releasing the spell.

Tomura bathed after it was over, then he collapsed in his bed. The young alpha slept for nearly 2 days before his body demanded food and he was forced to dress and join Sensei for dinner, something that the older man had always insisted on.

“You might not be blood, my boy, but you are my son. And fathers and sons should at least share one meal a day.” He’d said when they’d started this tradition.

Of course, Tomura had been much younger. He hadn’t even been Tomura yet.

Tenko

Just the name was enough to make him shake with hardly restrained rage.

Darkness-the chains-noxious smells and filth-so much pain he was so scared he didn’t mean to do it please let me out let me out let me out stop hurting me let me out

But Sensei came and gave him a new name, brought him home, made him a family. It was thanks to Sensei that Tomura was as strong as he was, that his powers were in control. But in exchange, Sensei had asked for and tested Tomura’s loyalty. He challenged him, remade him into something better.

Sitting with the man though, still smelling like Mother and knowing how it made Tomura twist up in knots inside, was always the hardest thing to do. It was Sensei’s measure of his self-control- if the young alpha could refrain from attacking him in such a state, he proved his status and his control over his own instincts. The knowledge of the test never made it any easier.

“Did you witness anything interesting, Tomura?” Sensei asked, sipping his wine. His lips were twisted in a semblance of a smile.

“Not really. The maid is fucking the stable boy.” He shrugged. Little details like that meant next to nothing to Tomura, but Sensei found gossip invaluable. Often there was some kind of truth in gossip, and Tomura could witness that truth with his own eyes. An empire was built on more than blood and fire; secrets, bribery and blackmail had their place in it’s construction and keep, and Tomura was good at finding them.

“Is that all? Nothing from the kingdom to the south? From Yagi, even?” Ah, the famous attempted usurper and rebellion leader, of course things would circle back to him.

Tomura shook his head. “I don’t know where he is, no one’s set eyes on him, Sensei.” Not even Tomura himself, which was the real trick of the spell. So long as Tomura had seen them he could find them; could watch them or use them to see more.

It was because of that spell that Sensei had brought him along everywhere in the kingdom, in an effort to spread the spell’s limits. He’d met delegations, kings, queens and consorts all, beggars and thieves and merchants. But not Yagi.

Sensei made a disappointed noise and shook his head. “Slimy bastard. He’s planning something, I know it.” Tomura ate his dinner, watching his master. One hand came up to dig uselessly at his neck. The sting was grounding, kept him focused. It took conscious effort to pull his hand away again as the skin became raw beneath his scratching.

“Tenko dear, you’re hurting yourself.”

He twitched, hand dropping back into his lap at the ghost of her voice.

“How are your studies coming? I’ve heard that your swordsmanship has been slipping in my absence.”

“I was tired. I’m fine now.” The knowing glow in Sensei’s eyes said it all.

“Are you, Tomura? Were you having trouble sleeping?”

“No. I just wasn’t resting well.”

“You know, my boy, at your age, it’s normal to have desires. Urges. As an alpha you’re going to have to learn to burn off some of that energy.” Disgust roiled in Tomura’s belly.

“I know.”

“The harem is there for a purpose, my son. You are the heir, you have access to it.”

But not yours.

“I know, Sensei. You’re too generous.”

“It’s my duty as your patron to see to it that you are healthy and happy. Are you happy, Tomura?”

Tomura remembered hunger and fear and weakness. He remembered pain. He remembered the blinding sun and arms wrapping around him as he cried. Arms that brought him to the palace and educated him, made him stronger, gave him a home.

Gave him a mother.

“Yes, I’m happy.” When he thought of what had been before…why wouldn’t he be happy?

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[vesperlionheart]

STAG

For @sariasprincy because she wanted this waaaay back when and I finally got around to attempting my hand at Dark!Tobirama Sakura. :D

He watched her pull her hair up, catching it with her fingers when it started to slip free. She ran her free hand over her neck, starting at the base where the peaks of her bones stuck out, bent as she was over the river. He felt just as trapped as the fish in her net, watching her pale fingers follow the curve of her neck, suddenly too dry and hoarse for words.

With silent fingers made skilled from year of weaving, she tied up her hair to keep it out of her eyes, and then looped it again into a bun she fastened with a hair stick that could have been a twig for how crude it looked. A few stray curls framed her face, rebellious and free as she straightened and let the sun fall over her profile once more.

Nothing else adored her figure, no metal or stone or bead or weaving decorated her as she set about hauling up her catch from the nets. A moment later he realized why that was so odd. She wasn’t dressed as the other women in his village were ought to do. She didn’t even wear skirts, but instead waded into the water with clinging damp trousers that rolled up just above her knee.

Someone called to her and she caught the thick rope out of the air before twisting it around her fist and digging into the shifting river bed. She set her shoulders and turned the shape of her body away from the source, then he saw her move, pulling the weight up from under the water.  

“I told you, brother, the freshest fish in the land right here. Even at market they’re not still wriggling,” Hashirama laughed. “You fancy some for dinner?”

“That,” Tobirama began, still somehow unable to look away, “should be obvious considering this was the reason for your troublesome expedition.”

It took some effort, but he manage the swallow, blink, and force his face away in that order. He caught sight of a pair of scarred fishermen wading out of the water with cages under their arms and the sight was enough to ease him back into his casual displeasure. He did not want his brother to get any ideas about their expedition being somehow enjoyable. If Hashirama ever got that into his head there would be no end to the nagging.

“It does you more good than you’re willing to admit to get out of that tower of yours,” Hashirama huffed. “You stay cooped up in your stoney prison all day and all night for months and years on end of course your personality is going to grow stale. I’m afraid I can’t take you anywhere that might make you happy.”

“I’m perfectly happy at home with my books and my work,” Tobirama lied.

Hashirama reached for his brother and drew him into a side hug, smushing their shoulders together.  “You work far too hard for such an unfavored wizard.”

“We can’t all marry princesses with lands as vast as east is from the west and grow fat for our daughters. Some of us must contribute to this wretched earth.” 

 Tobirama felt his lip curl as he pushed out of his brother’s hold and then straightened the front of his frock. It was pale gray with the crest of a black stag across the heart. A single pendant on a gold chain, vibrating with stored magic, hung down from around his neck.

Unlike his brother Tobirama dressed in muted colors of black and gray and didn’t decorate himself with many metals or jewels unless it served a function he could justify. If need arose, he could use the Hag’s Eye to unleash a simple lightning strike. All Hashirama’s ring could do was glitter.

Most days he never needed much more than his cantrips. It had been many years since his initiation into the Philosopher’s Guild and his promotion to Providence Wizard. There weren’t many others who were of his caliber anymore, and even fewer who could make him believe they were even a challenge. It had been so long he forgot what his limits were, sometimes.

“You said you wanted something different for dinner, so lets get some fish before the best tails are taken!” The cheerful Lord exclaimed, pushing past his brother and hailing down a pretty help maid who was setting up baskets for sale.

“Who even says such ridiculous things?” Behind Hashirama’s back Tobirama mocked his older brother in a higher voice that wasn’t nearly as flattering as the original. “Before the tails are taken. Pssssh.”

He froze when he heard a petite snort just over his shoulder.

Spinning on his heel he couldn’t help but raise his guard. Someone was close enough without his notice and as powerful as he was, he wasn’t without his enemies. 

The long tails of his sleeves flapped out at his side as he raised his hands for fire magic, but it was only his face that heated.

The lovely vision of a woman he had been transfixed on earlier stood with a crate under her arm, resting on her hip.

“Mister,” she called with a smile so bright and white it should have been a warning. “Will you buy from me today?”

-

“Of course I know about you. Anyone in the seven hills who has ever had to pay with copper knows about you,” Sakura laughed in an exasperated way. She leaned back on the end of the bar’s edge with her elbows. She let the leg she had crossed over the other bounce teasingly. “Why, you thought you were being subtle?”

“We have not been formally introduced. I know not your family and you-”

Sakura held up a hand to stop him and like some sort of strange magic he did. She was bewitching and pretty, but after enough encounters he was almost positive there was something more than just her own womanly charms that bound him so.

“We don’t do that sort of thing around these parts. No one under this roof doesn’t have to slave for his bread and home, mister wizard.” There was a rough tilt in her words, something rural and easy that made her words fit the landscape better than his own polished ones. She spoke like a local and he was, as always, the odd sheep out. He didn’t…hate the sound of her voice, even if she said a few things wrong or addressed him incorrectly.

“High Wizard or Tower Wizard would be more appropriate,” he corrected. In spite of his self imposed confidence, he felt himself tug on the end of his tunic and fret with the hem of its fabric. Something possessed him to worry if it was properly pressed and not wrinkled in her presence.

“Makes no difference to me,” Sakura said. She reached for her ale and drank deep before replacing it on the bar by her side. “I’m not working in the rivers today, so why bother me here mister high tower wizard?”

He could tell the way she said it none of his names were title, only worthless words in her mouth….her pretty perfect mouth. She shook himself free of the thought and pressed on with his business.

“You’re untrained, but you are not without the gift.”

Sakura stilled but then eased back into the bounce of her leg. She glanced over her shoulder and pointed to her empty tankard before wiggling two fingers. When the bar keep turned away to fill her order Sakura turned around as well.

“That wouldn’t be quite true, sir. It’s not legal to train the magic folk unless they’re sworn to a crowned figure. No one here has any magic.”

“Nature conforms to no man.”

“Yet it grows for the wizards and their towers,” Sakura countered quickly.

“You’re not as untrained as you first appear, I believe,” Tobirama pressed. He dared a step closer.

“Depends on your definition of trained and untrained, sir. I’ve never practiced magic in no tower or school, but I work the rivers and the fields when its time and I sew with the women and wash with them too. I can fix most of the carts in town and deliver most of the livestock too if the need rises for it. I’m half decent as a midwife because of necessity and some say I’m not shit at cards neither. Maybe I’m not magic trained, but I get by.”

Two tankards were set down behind her arm and she reached to drink from the second one.

“Are you unwilling to learn and develop your gift?” he asked.

He almost cringed, watching her down the first drink in a single breath. He thought she might offer him the second drink, but then she reached for it too replacing her empty tankard with the third one.

“No such thing, told you, we know it’s illegal. Any gift in any babe is prayed out of them right away. No exception.”

“But you’re not from around here, are you?”

Sakura didn’t drink, but stilled with the tankard close to her chin. She seemed to be staring down into it, watching something in her amber colored reflection.

“Oh?”

“Your accent is unusual, and I might not have noticed it at first because all rural accents seem to sound the same, but there is a difference. Where were you born?”

Sakura laughed, reaching out with the toe of her bouncing leg to touch his knee before turning around in her seat to finish the last of her drink. With her back to him she left the money on the table and then slid off the stool. Once on her own two feet, her petite stature became all the more apparent. Tobirama towered over her.

“I’m sorry mister tower wizard, but that’s too fun a story to not save for later when you actually get to know me.” She sauntered to the door and then turned on a half spin before ducking out. “Next time offer to buy my drinks you dumbass.”  

-

She was magic, he was sure of it. She was as rough as anything unpolished is bound to be when found in the wilds of nature, be he would be the riverbed that shaped her into her greatest potential if only she would let him.

But she was as vexing as she was enchanting.

She didn’t talk to him when she was working, and if she was selling she wouldn’t say anything to his questions and queries unless he purchased something, and sometimes she made him purchase more than he was willing to use just to get her responses. What was he supposed to do with four dozen river crab? He didn’t even like crab. No amount of butter was going to change that.

When she was at the pub she liked to play cards and he could usually get her to talk to him if he played with her, and he wasn’t bad, but her luck and perception was blessed by some higher power, be it fay or the Unknown or some organized god.

She spoke best after winning when he bought her alcohol.

He had learned where she came from, or as much as she knew anyway. Left behind as a baby in Oberon’s Forest and raised by working men, she had been trained to close off the part of her that gravitated towards things unexplained for fear of causing her foster family grief. The things she couldn’t help, like the suggestion and calming of emotions was something she had never been able to stifle.

“It’s funny how that doesn’t work on you,” she said once.

“I’m far too stimulated around you to be calmed by something so passive as a cantrip.”

She asked him to explain his words but he bought her another drink instead and then asked for his wine to be paired with a nice cheese and bread. She laughed and almost fell out of her chair, but it wasn’t because the beer, because it never was. She could drink a horse’s weight in ale and still do cartwheels.

In the past three months he had left his tower for a small town in his providence more times than he had in the six years he had been stationed there. He wasn’t sure that was a good or bad thing yet, but he knew it wasn’t going to change until he got what he wanted.

“You’re always asking me questions, why don’t you ever answer mine?” Sakura complained.

“You never ask me anything,” he said. His heart felt a little heavy.

“You never let me get a question in. You just start talking about yourself all on your own. Here’s a secret for you, honey, I never listen when you do that.” Sakura pulled her chair closer to his and he didn’t flinch, but his breathing might have skipped.

“I think I am insulted.”

Sakura waved her hand between them. “Don’t be, it’s the same as with everyone who’s stuck up. I don’t listen to any of them none either.”

“You think I’m stuck up?”

Sakura reached out and traced the embroidery of a gray stag on his black tunic. “Yeah, a little. Not the way your brother is because that man’s a eyeful of concentrated sunlight in the middle of summer if you know what I mean, but you got it with your wine and your cheese and the subtle ways you correct how I speak.”

His tunic wasn’t thin, but he could feel her finger on his skin under where she traced her pattern and it made him painfully aware of the fact that he had never had a woman trace any patterns on his skin with the exception of maybe his mother, maybe?

Sakura splayed her hand over the stag design and then looked up. “Who is it?”

He managed to still form words. “Who are you referring to?”

“The stag. Who is it? He’s on almost all your clothes.”

“He’s the horned king of the woods, and the creature I conducted my graduate thesis on in the academy. He’s not as well known, but he’s believed to be the one who carries the magic filled from life into death in his great antlers.”

“Poetic.”

“I was told he was morbid.”

“I wouldn’t mind being carried off that way.”

“I doubt you have to worry about that anytime soon.” He reached out and touched her face, proud of himself for daring so. There was a faint scar that had only been bleeding and deep two days ago when one of the crab traps snapped and shattered. “You heal unnaturally fast.”

“I eat my vegetables.”

“You are still clumsy,” he sighed, finding another cut behind her ear that wasn’t as well healed.

He used a cantrip to knit the skin back together and reduce the scarring. She pulled back when he was done and ran her hand over the skin, marveling at the feel.

“You can just do that?”

“Among other things. If you were willing to learn you could manage as much I’m sure.”

Sakura grinned and then dropped her hand. “No thanks. I appreciate the offer, but it doesn’t matter as much if I just have you to heal things for me.”

He didn’t like the way he felt when she said it, even though he knew he would of course do what he could if she were in need. Maybe it was his pride she hurt. “Don’t count on me so much. I wouldn’t always be there if you needed it. I have other duties I must see to, duties that call me away to far lands.”

“You’re fast,” she said around a yawn.

He didn’t think that was a fair thing for her to say, because of course he was fast. He had mastered the Misty Step decades ago and could travel across the different realities and astral planes with just a bit of help. If she called he would be there, like it or not, but she didn’t need to know that and count on it. 

It wasn’t like he was exclusively beholden to her whims or anything like that.

Sakura put her money down on the table and Tobirama scrambled to find his own money pouch for the food and drink, but she was already walking away. He dropped the silver coins and then a single gold in tip, scooping up her coins and jogging after her to grab at her wrist. She struggled at first but he huffed, calling her annoying for fighting him before pushing the copper and silver pieces into her hand.

“You know these were all originally yours, right?”

“You worked for them.”

Sakura snorted. “Did you ever eat the crabs?”

He fought the sneer at the thought of having to consume the hideous, crawling creatures. “They’re perfectly comfortable in their habitat at the tower until I have need of their…buttered meat.”

Sakura laughed, accepting the money. “I think I take advantage of you.”

“No one takes advantage of me unless I let them. If I did not wish it, not even your pathetic dredges of magic could sway me to deposit a single copper in your palm, but be as it is, I may do as I please.”

She stopped in the doorway, looking up at him, and he though he saw her react to something relating to him; maybe his words or maybe his face. She was still like a doe caught in a wolf’s sights. A terrible thought pressed into his mind when he thought of her like that. How easy would it be to just spirit her away into his tower without doors?  His tower where only those he took could leave and enter, how would she fare?

“It’ll be cold soon, please keep yourself well,” he whispered, leaning in to brush the end of his thumb over the skin he had healed. When she blinked he was gone.

-

Night frost came much sooner than anyone expected, and the villagers rushed like mad to make themselves ready and save what they could of their late harvests. Snow was still weeks off, not until the next month if the pattern of years was to be believed, but the cold was ever present, crawling down the throats of youths and making stupid men sick.

Tobirama took to donning his wolf furs when he went out on more and more errands for the Lords and King who seemed just as eager to put his magic to use for them. With the cold seasons more monster came out from the woods and waters to try and grab what they could of man meat before long sleeps. There had been several smaller Basilisks and even a Chimera he had been tasked with. Most populations on the edges needed to deal with simple were beasts and he hated being called out to deal with something a trifle wizard could handle.

It was several weeks before he could find the time to slip away and find her again.

Men still fished, but he found Sakura outside a woman’s barn with her hands and wrists still dripping in blood. She stared off into the distance not really seeing anything.

He stopped at her side and waited for an explanation.

“Can you bring anyone back from the dead?” Her voice cracked like wrinkled paper in her throat and made him wince.

“No, that is the forbidden magics that I am sword to protect the world against. I can start a stopped heart and force air into empty lungs, and sometimes I can save people who have started to die, but I can not resurrect the dead, no one can.”

Sakura turned her hazy eyes in his direction, searching for his face. “Why?”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he felt like there was no answer he could give her that would put her spirit to rest so he reached out and magiced the filth and blood off her hands, then wiped her tears away with his own two thumbs, holding her face as she started to waver.

“You are weary. Rest.”

He tugged her into his arms and she let him. The wolf fur cushioned her head and she snuggled into it, helping him affirm his choice to don it in the first place. He brought her back to the place she lived, the place she sometimes called home, even thought he wanted nothing more than to spirit her away to his tower and claim ignorance when others came calling.

No one else was home so he set her in the bed and then went off to find out what had happened.

One of the women in the village had a sick birth and no one had been able to stop the bleeding. Sakura had been present along with the elder healer, but even Chiyo said there was nothing either of them could have done.

“She’ll blame herself, but she shouldn’t.” The wrinkle of a woman glared at Tobirama and shook her finger without fear. “See that she rests her heart and doesn’t take this into her spirit. She’s not meant for such levity. It’ll consume her.”

But when he went to visit the next day she was in the garden, salvaging what she could from the last frost and readying the earth for what would come next. Some of the teasing was gone from her voice when they conversed, but it was not as he feared.

“Were you close?”

She didn’t move for a while, still hands and knees in the dirt. “No, but…I never lost anyone like that before. It made me feel terrible.”

“You did all you could.”

“I don’t think so. If I knew magic…”

“There are limits.”

Sakura stared up from the dirt. “Do you have limits?”

“Of course,” he lied. It was what she needed to hear. “Aside from that, even if it was possible, there are things I am forbidden from doing in the King’s Country.”

Sakura snorted and went back to her weeds. “Ah yes, the King’s Country, because he owns all of this and all of us. How could I have forgotten about that?”

“You would hate it,” Tobirama admitted with almost a smile. “I don’t think anyone could tell you what to do.”

Sakura sat up and laughed, her teeth gleaming in the filtered light as her whole body shook in mirth. She grabbed her sides and forced herself to settle enough for words. “No, but I’d like to see them try.”

“Be my apprentice then. Come live with me in my tower.”

Sakura braced on the ground and stood, crossing the patches to get to where he stood. She reached up on her toes and traced her dirty thumb over the bridge of his nose, then she poked the tip of it. He didn’t flinch.

“Sorry mister wizard sir, but I don’t think I will.”

Tobirama reached up and brushed the dirt off his face then flicked at her own button shaped nose.  He almost smiled, finally feeling content with Sakura’s emotional state. “I’m probably better off. You’d drive me crazy.”

“I think I do that already wizard sir.”

He thought it might be a nice time to lean in and kiss her, but he wasn’t sure why or even where the idea came from. She looked especially beautiful with no good reason. She wasn’t dressed in anything elegant or especially fine. She was dirty and a little untamed like usual, but she was still too much for him. His heart hurt to lock her away and keep her to himself.

The ink on his wrist stung and he hissed, looking down at that tattoo he and his brother shared. Sakura noticed the distress on his face and reached fo this hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“My brother summons me. I must answer.” It would be a simple thing for him to travel through nature or air to get to his brother’s side, but he hesitated to touch her shoulder and look down into her eyes. “Please stay safe. It is becoming dangerous with the cold season upon us. I will return shortly.”

“Of course.” She managed a smile for him. “Be safe.”

After visiting his towner he took off looking for a tree he might fast travel through. The burn on his wrist throbbed hotter and he ignored it out of spite. He didn’t have any great reason for it, but he wasn’t very happy with his brother.

The summons that burned dulled to a warm throb as distances were traveled in a single step. He emerged from the tree and brushed the last dustings of dead leaves off his shoulders. The tree was fat and short making it perfect to walk through, if only he weren’t so tall.

It took almost an hour more, but he found his brother in the war room and frowned at the sight of so many other wizards around the far walls. Some stood up straighter when they saw him, others didn’t bother to hide their sneers. Tobirama didn’t spare them another glance as he cut through to his brother.

“What of it?” he asked, showing off his wrist where the mark dulled from throb to nothing. “You summoned me from on far with no warning.”

“As all others were summoned. I thought it best you be here to see for yourself.”

Tobirama edged closer and saw a map of all the providences under the crown. His tower was at the edge, close to the wilds. Oberon’s Forest was just past that.

“What do the colors indicate?” he asked, pointing to the fog of color that rested over parts of the map. A minor magic some simple mage made possible, no doubt.

“We’re not sure, but those areas are off limits. I called you out of there against the council of others. They thought it best to leave you there.”

Tobirama looked again and saw the fog hang over his tower as well as Sakura’s village.

“What is it?”

“Blight.” The answer came from Tsunade, a relative witch who was also known as their best medical expert. Her expression was hard as she faced him.

“Livestock or timber?”

Tsunade didn’t flinch as she admitted, “Livestock, and it’s spreading to the people. No one is allowed in or out. The Emerald Order is putting up their barrier as we speak. My antidote won’t be ready for another three days of curing.”

He felt something dark sprout in his heart. “How long have you known about this?”

Tsunade didn’t flinch when a lesser man or woman might have. Hashirama wrung his hands, looking nervous among the wizards.

“Brother, I-”

“How long!?” Tobirama’s eyes flashed with red magic.

“It’s been contained to Oberon’s Forest for years and hasn’t spread since it’s discovery four ago. I’ve only started working on the antidote when the forestlings brought it out with the recet attacks.”

Tobirama turned and Hashirama caught him by the elbow. “Where are you going?”

“To warn someone.”

“You can’t.”

Tobirama turned the full force of his glare onto Tsunade who stood like stone, but her eyes were on the map that glittered with green light.

“Don’t you dare stop me!” he warned.

She didn’t look to him as she spoke. “There is nothing to stop. The barrier is already up.”    

It’ was a month later when they let the barrier down. Even with her antidote, the blight adapted. And even if he had reached her the moment he found out about the blight, Sakura’s exposure to the woman’s death had been caused by the blight. It rooted itself in her and Chiyo before he even knew about it.

When he was let back, her body was already cold, but not yet buried. Over two hundred different lifeless forms stretched out in the open graves he was expected to help close up.  

Hashiram was no comfort. “I’m sorry, there was no way you could have known and there’s nothing to be done about it now. Be at peace, brother. ”

There was no peace to be found.

Tobirama took her body back and set it on the stone in the pit of his tower where the walls collected icicles. It would keep her from decomposing, but that was the limit of his magics. He hated himself for how little he could do as he turned stone into gold and glass, making a casket he could see her through.

‘There was nothing you could have done.’

Tobirama donned his darkest cloak with the wolf fur and took no fire with him into Oberon’s forest. He still produced a candle that, when waved over his head, summoned a will o wisp to it’s wick to light the way. The pull of the sprite guided him deep, deeper than any mortal man dared. The forest lost its sound as he trespassed among the ancient roots. Creatures moved, but they were as silent as the grave.

When his light went out Tobirama stilled and waited….and waited…..and waited.

The breath on his neck made him turn just as he thought he might wait the rest of his night among the dead branches. Behind him. A dark creature loomed among the trunks, barely fitting when it shouldn’t have fit at all. It was black, but blacker than the night sky with its sick moon hanging low and full. Where its body stood Tobirama saw only void.

The horned king of the wood bent his head towards Tobirama and his antlers glittered like dark onyx. Among the prongs dozens of ghosts were speared.

Tobirama knelt in the wet soil, burying his hands in the earth until it soaked under his fingernails. He breathed deep, grounding himself on something greater than his own power. “I’ve come for her.”

The stag lowered his head even further until Tobirama could see the ghosts it carried.

“What you ask may not be grated without a price. You know not the price for what you seek.”

“There is no price too high for this,” he swore. “I have come to claim my own.”

“Then you may walk, child, but take heed, you may yet pay for it in unexpected ways.”

The stag touched his massive face to the ground and Tobirama stood. He stepped onto its head and ran up the length of his face, running for whole minutes before he reached the first ghost. He felt his heart pinch with something sick and turned, finding her there, beautiful as ever, even in death.

He carried her spirit in a ring and then poured her back into her body before the dawn could break. He held her form in his arms among the shattered remains of her coffin, swearing up and down to every old god he knew the name of that if she didn’t return to him he would tear them from their thrones and turn the world over in black fire.

But Sakura breathed deep as the sun filtered through the windows and down the mirrored channels into her chamber. Tobirama felt shattered by the color of her eyes as she looked up at him and then smiled once more.

“Sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” she croaked, barely managing a sound.

Tobirama didn’t care, he kissed her and folded her up into his arms.

-

And that’s how he wished his story would have ended, but nature would not be so undone without consequence.

Sakura was well known as a dead woman, so in his fear he kept her in his tower and dedicated all his days’ hours to her entertainment. He taught her how to disguise herself and even though her magic couldn’t hold up for more than ten minutes, he risked it some nights when the moon peaked out.

“You need to exhaust yourself on cantrips every day,” he grumbled to her. “If you don’t your limits will never change. Push against them.”

“I’m trying,” Sakura sighed. She rubbed her eyes and sank into a nearby chair and then proceeded the slump even further.

Tobirama’s heart pinched and he ran for her before she could fall off her seat. She giggled when he caught her.

“Don’t be so neglectful,” he chastised even as his face heated.

She managed to roll her eyes, but then closed them when her head fell onto his shoulder. “Weren’t you the one telling me to push myself just now?”

“I was mistaken?”

Sakura chuckled. “You’re never mistake.”

“Of course I am. You’re obviously exhausted and your master is a brute pushing you beyond your limits. How dare he breath.”

“Maybe he should answer some of that mail that’s been piling up. Someone else seems to need your help,” she said around a yawn.

“Worthless plebs crying for attention. No, I’m much better off terrorizing you.”

She weakly reached up to poke the tip of his nose. “Silly.”

Tobirama didn’t mind how his face warmed or his is belly seemed to fill with the buds of something just as warm. He pulled her closer and carried her up to her room.

Halfway up the stairs he stopped dead in his tracks. Sakura was asleep in his arms but her pale pink hair spilled over his elbow and not even shadows could hide who she was.

“It is true.”

Tobirama hunched over her form protectively. “Don’t speak to me.”

Hashirama’s face crumpled in hurt. “Brother, how could you! You were sworn to uphold the order of the world, not defy it so shamelessly! They spoke of necromancy but I-I defended you. I-I said you would never.”

Tobirama took another four steps, stopping just one shy of his brother. The stairwell was narrow, curving up and around itself up to the higher levels. It would be impossible to pass if Hashirama didn’t step aside, but it seemed as if the elder brother had no intention of doing so.

Tobirama didn’t care if his eyes flashed with red magic at his last surviving brother. “Move, you are in my way.”

Hashirama took a single step back, giving himself more hight over Tobirama while holding up his hands. “Brother, don’t do this. You know you need to put her back. The others need not know, but the balance must me found again. She had her time.”

The image of her under glass on a stone table made his heart stab with cruel viscousness. The very idea made him tremble. “You would have me render her lifeless once more…”

His voice was a deadly calm.

Hashirama took another step back onto the landing.

“The others don’t know, I won’t tell them. I can’t bring myself to see you like this, you’re not yourself anymore, my dear brother.” Hashirama’s face was wrinkled with stress as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. “You are my only and best brother. You’re the greatest wizard in the land and you’ve stumbled but that’s fine. Please…just…”

Hashirama fell boneless on the floor, his eyes fogged with what all the corpses had after days of being dead. His skin was taunt across his tanned face as Tobirama stepped over the body of his last and only brother.

 Stray bolts of ruby colored magic crackled across the stone. Tobirama didn’t look back as his cloak trailed over Hashirama’s lifeless body on his way to the bedrooms.

Sakura slept peacefully on in his arms, not even flinching when he kissed her eyelids in reverence. She was perfect in his arms as he followed her into bed.

“I will never let you be parted from me again,” he whispered. “Never.”

[izzielizzie]

can you do a kk fic where willa and maybeck talk about willa's breakup with philby - maybe they're in college - and maybeck makes some offhand comment about how he always had a crush on willa or something like that?

Maybeck hasn't seen Willa in ages. He's seen everyone else: Philby, Finn, Amanda, and Jess at the Imagineering school in California. And Charlene... well, she's been gracing every screen in the country. But Willa? Not her. Maybeck isn't sure if Willa chose to take the scholarship at Harvard because she wanted to, or if it was just a good way to get away from everything: Overtakers and ex boyfriends and more pain than any teenager should ever endure.

Even after all of their adventures, there are two things Maybeck can't stand: cold, and airplanes. Unfortunately, there are a lot of both in this trip.

He meets Willa near baggage claim in Loan Airport, shivering in his thin sweater and jeans, his carry on bag swung over one shoulder. He spots Willa before she spots him and he pauses for a moment to take in the girl he hasn’t seen in over four years. She’s rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, her dark hair braided and swung over one shoulder, a green knit beanie placed on her head. Her black peacoat is open to reveal a black scarf and a cozy green knitted sweater with grey stripes, a pair of washed out grey jeans tucked into a pair of snow splattered Docs finishing off the ensemble. Her hands are in black fingerless gloves, wrapped around a cup of coffee.

Maybeck chuckles a little as he approaches her. Who knew it would take the frigid climate of Massachusetts to help Willa grow into herself? 

“Hey Willers,” Maybeck says, loping over to her. Willa turns towards him and grins when she sees him, launching herself into his arms. He hugs her back. She smells of cinnamon and nutmeg. She must have been baking.

“Maybeck! I can’t believe you’re here!” Willa says, stepping back and gripping his arms, looking him over. 

“Neither can I,” Maybeck says truthfully. The Kingdom Keepers are still as close as ever, but he and Willa have always been outliers, since he’s getting his masters in art history and teaching in Florida, and Willa is taking her gap year to study for the MCAT and work at a local school, teaching children about their mental and physical health. 

“You cut your hair!” 

Maybeck runs his hand over his freshly shorn hair. He’s not quite sure what prompted him to do so, but he kind of likes it.

“And you grew yours out,” he says. Willa giggles her soft giggle. At least that hasn’t changed. That and her scattered freckles and hazel eyes that look almost amber.

“I wanted a change,” Willa says with a shrug.

“Me too,” Maybeck says. Willa smiles at him again, but it’s a sad one. The five years they’ve lost is hanging between them, its weight almost tangible. 

“Well, you should,” Willa waves her hands around nervously. “Collect your bags and get them into my car.”

“Yes. Good idea Wills.”

Willa follows Maybeck as he picks up his suitcase.

“That’s all you brought?” Willa asks as she heads towards the right parking lot. 

“Ah well my shoe collection was three different suitcases and I figured you’d get annoyed at some point.”

Willa glances back at him with a grin. “There you are.”

Maybeck doesn’t ask what she means. He never really has to. Willa stops at an old car, something from the seventies or eighties, and unlocks it.

“Girl! This your car?” Maybeck asks incredulously. Willa rolls her eyes.

“No Maybeck. I unlock random cars for fun.”

Maybeck surveys the car. “Babe, hate to tell you this, but your car is a piece of shit.” It truly is. The paint is chipping, there’s a dent in the back, and one of the mirrors looks like it’s being held together with duct tape.

“Thanks,” Willa says calmly as she pops the truck. She tries to open it fully but it sticks. Maybeck snorts as he moves to her side, ignoring his incessant shivering to put his hands on the trunk and push up with Willa. It takes them a few moments, but with their strength they’re able to push it up. The momentum sends Willa falling towards the interior of the trunk, but Maybeck catches her in the nick of time. “Thanks,” she says again. She puts her hand on Maybeck’s arm and furrows her brow. “Please tell me you brought sweaters and jackets.”

Maybeck straightens her and shrugs. “I didn’t think it would be that cold,” he says. Willa sighs.

“Maybeck it’s in the middle of December. Are you crazy?”

Maybeck shrugs in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner, but probably just looks stiff and painful. Willa sighs again and lifts his suitcase into the trunk before slamming it shut. It bounces back open, and Willa groans before slamming it shut again. “Stay down,” she tells it menacingly. Thankfully, it obeys, and they both climb into the car, where it takes three tries for the car to start. “There’s no heating,” she informs him.

“Great,” he responds. Willa glances at him for a moment before switching the direction of her turning indicator. “Where are we going?” he asks.

“The mall. I’m buying you some sweaters.”

Maybeck doesn’t have the energy to protest.

Three hours and four stores later Willa and Maybeck are in the food court of the local mall. Everything is covered in laurel and holly and Santa hats, and something about being in a place where there’s actually cold and hot chocolate makes Maybeck actually excited about Christmas. No wonder Willa moved here and didn’t look back. The joy, the enthusiasm, the magic, it all screams Willa Angelo. 

Willa pokes at the salad in front of her, and Maybeck hands her a fry. She grins at him. At some point she wrapped her braid around her head in a crown, and Maybeck would be kidding himself if he said she didn’t look adorable. 

“So, how is everyone?” Willa asks. Maybeck had spent a week with his Aunt Jelly, two with the other Kingdom Keepers, and had hopped on two planes to get here to spend now through New Years with Willa. Her family is in Finland for the winter, and Maybeck can not, in good conscience, leave his best friend alone for the holidays.

Because that’s who Willa is. His best friend. Always has been, always will be. 

“Well, Jelly misses you. Says no one knows how to engage customers like you.” Willa glows at the praise, and she looks so damn beautiful Maybeck has to pause for a moment to catch his breath. “And Finn and Amanda are good. Madly in love.”

“As always.”

“As always,” Maybeck agrees. “Jess is good too, working on her art with Mattie, who she insists is only a friend.”

Willa scoffs. Mattie Weaver and Jess Lockhart are many things, but just friends is not one of them.

“And Charlene’s good too. She’s actually been cast in the live action version of Tinkerbell, but don’t tell anyone.”

Willa grins. “That’s great! Gosh I’m so proud of her!”

“We all are.” Maybeck pauses. There’s only one person left, and he’s not exactly someone Maybeck is fond of. “And Philby’s okay.”

There. There it is. The pain. Willa’s face betrays how much she misses Philby, and how hurt she still is that he dumped her unceremoniously the moment she got her Harvard acceptance letter. Because apparently, “long distance hardly works out”. Maybeck waits for Willa to ask about just how okay Philby is, or if he’s moved on to another girl, but she doesn’t. She’s not that type of person. Personally, Maybeck thinks that’s worse. At least obsessing over an ex helps move on from them at some point. But Willa’s keeping all her pain inside of her.

“Hey, Willa, you know you can talk to me if you want.”

Willa meets his eyes. “You’re sweet but I’m okay. He called me the other day actually.”

Wait what? “What did he say?”

“Nothing much really. Just that we haven’t seen each other in ages and he’s happy you’re staying with me.” Willa pauses and then grins. “And he’s gotten another cat.”

“You’re very excited for a dog person.”

“Ha.”

“You really don’t want to talk?”

“Maybeck,” Willa says in her drop the subject or else voice.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Now tell me, which one of my new sweaters screams ‘artist who models on the side’?”

This gets Willa laughing, and she dutifully goes through the shopping bags by their feet for the right sweater.

Twenty minutes later after pulled on the just right cream colored knitted turtleneck and black peacoat to match Willa’s, he says something that he wishes he’d said a long time ago.

“I kind of, sort of, definitely had a crush on you back then. Before you starting dating, you know, Ronald Weasley.” 

Willa looks back at him and smiles a little. There’s some awkward tension between them, and Maybeck kind of wishes he hadn’t said that. But it’s nice to see her smile again. She reaches back and hands him the pair of gloves they bought for him.

“I sort of maybe, kind of, did too,” she says calmly.

“You had a crush on yourself? Good for you girl.”

Willa laughs and the tension is gone. She wraps an arm around him, and he throws his arm over her shoulder. “On you stupid,” she mutters. Maybeck pretends not to hear her. 

Willa drops Maybeck’s suitcase on the floor of her apartment’s guest room/in-home office. Willa’s apartment is much nicer than her car, with white walls and white furniture with red accent pillows and throws and macramé planters hanging from the celling. It’s very Willa.

“I’ll be in the kitchen, come on out when you’re unpacked.”

Maybeck waits until Willa’s footsteps can be heard in the kitchen before he pulls open the front pocket of his suitcase and pulls out the dress he’d saved for five years. It’s Willa’s prom dress, the one she never got to go to because of Philby dumping her and their impromptu trip to the past. Maybeck had helped her sew it. They sat for hours in her room, fitting and pinning and ironing the green chiffon. With every hemmed stich and unfeeling smile, Maybeck had buried his sadness and heartbreak. Right until it was transferred into anger that night on Willa’s roof where she cried into his chest. Anger at himself for not speaking when he wanted to. Anger at Philby for hurting Willa. Anger at the world for breaking this already broken girl. 

Maybeck hides the dress behind his back as he makes his way to the kitchen. Unpacking can wait. 

“Wills?” he asks. Willa is facing away from him. She’s changed into a knitted turtleneck much like his and black leggings. Her hair is down, the dark waves cascading down her back. 

Willa turns and puts down the picture she is holding. Her eyes are red from tears, and she swipes at them quickly. Maybeck’s heat sinks. He knows who the subject of the picture is without looking. 

“Hey. Packed so soon? I was going to make hot chocolate. Want some? I bought marshmallows. I know you love them.”

Willa’s got a falsely cheerful voice to match her falsely cheerful face, and Maybeck’s heart sinks further.

“Yeah, sure but actually, I had something for you. An early Christmas present.”

“Oh Maybeck you didn’t have to,” Willa says, surprise etched on her face.

“I kind of did. I know there’s a Christmas party every year for students and you know, I kind of wanted you to wear something you never got to wear.”

Willa tilts her head, confused. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Willa obliges, and Maybeck places the dress in her hands, the weight transferring from his to hers. She opens her eyes, looks down, and shrieks.

“Oh my gosh you didn’t. Maybeck you didn’t!”

“I did,” Maybeck confirms. Willa shrieks again and jumps into his arms for the second time that day.

“I adore you,” she says into his shoulder.

“I adore you too,” he assures her. She steps back and he misses her embrace.

“I’m so excited! Now we have to get you a suit to match!”

“Wait what?” Maybeck asks.

“Yeah! You’re coming with me. Kind of like the prom we should have had,” she says quietlyly.

“I wish I’d asked you,” he says softly.

“Me too,” she responds.

“We’re going to look so good,” Maybeck says.

“Oh for sure. I can’t wait.”

Willa shifts the dress to one hand and laces her fingers through his. It’s not much, but it’s enough.

[jonsa-creatives]

Prompt! Dom!Jon pissed at Sansa for undermining him and "punishing" her in the bedroom.

Hi Anon! This…. this prompt…. made me think and feel things.. One of my lusted after AUs for JonSa tbh so I managed to conjure something up.

It’s quite long, so I’ll put it under the cut. Canon - compliant with some bits of dialogue from S7x01 so spoilers ahead I guess. Take it as a sort of re-write if you will. I didn’t quite go as Dom!Jon as I would have liked because ahem.. might be a bit too much (oops lol) so I tried my best. Hope you like it anon!

Unbeta’d, sorry! But enjoy nonetheless! 

* also dedicated to @kittykatknits who gave me very good insight and advice on GoT fashion and dressing. Thanks luv!  :)

* Title inspired by I See Fire by Ed Sheeran*

Rated Explicit so read at your own risk ( I got a bit hot and bothered myself..)

Winter in Our Bones, Fire in Our Hearts

“Wouldthat be so terrible?” her voice softened along with her pleading eyes that glistened.There was nothing more for him to continue and he could only give a defeatedsigh. Jon could only wonder if Sansa had any idea the effect she had on him.

How I wish you didn’t look at me that way.

Herlong locks of copper, her soft red lips and her eyes staring hungrily at himwere all that appeared in his dreams, every night whenever he closed his eyesand laid his head down to rest. When he awoke, he was hard as a rock, achingwith need and guilt. It did little to stop him, however, when he found himselfthinking of her, in her Lord’s chambers, knitting and sewing or if she wasreading her favourite books. More often than not, those thoughts drifted tovisions of Sansa undressing before him and how he yearned to reach out andtouch.

“Araven from King’s Landing, your Grace,” Maester Wolkan gently interrupted Jon’sthoughts and handed him the scroll. Sansa eyed it cautiously.

“Whois it?” Sansa asked, following Jon as he strode out onto the battlements.

“QueenCersei of House Lannister; First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the FirstMen; Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Whatdoes she want?”

“Cometo King’s Landing. Bend the knee or suffer the fate of all traitors,” Jon saidas he peered out at the snowy horizon before him. Winterfell was beautiful inthe winter.

“You’vebeen too consumed with the enemy to the North that you’ve forgotten about theone to the South,” Sansa sighed worriedly.

“I’vebeen consumed by the Night King because I’ve seen him. Believe me, you’d thinkof little else, if you had to-“

“Westill have a Wall between us and the Night King, there’s nothing between us andCersei!” Sansa pointed out, bewildered at how Jon could afford to be sooblivious to it.

“There’sa thousand miles between us and Cersei. Winter is here and the Lannisters are aSouthern army. They’ll never range this far North.”

“You’rethe military man but I know her. If you’re her enemy, she’ll never stop tillshe’s destroyed you. Everyone who’s ever crossed her, she’s found a way tomurder!” Sansa reminded him, hoping Jon would finally understand.

“Youalmost sound as if you admire her.”

Sansaglanced down, inhaling deeply to halt the memories as they came flooding back.

I don’t. I hate her. I wish she was dead forall she has done to our family.

“Ilearned a great deal from her,” she said quietly.

Joncouldn’t tear his eyes away from Sansa and caught her chewing on herlip nervously. Jon suddenly felt a tightening in his breeches.

“Isthat what she taught you? Speaking to me like that, in front of the lords andladies?”

Sansalooked up and glared at him. There were tears in her eyes that were on theverge of streaming down her face. Jon regretted the words the moment he saidthem.

“Iwant to help you, Jon. I wasn’t undermining you.”

Jonadjusted himself as discreetly as he could to alleviate the discomfort of hisstiff cock underneath his garments. There was just something about gentle andsoft Sansa that ignited his depraved and perverted carnal desire and need. For her and her only. It had reached unbearable levels and any more, he would have to rip her dress to shreds and have her right there bentover the snowy battlements.

“Youwant to help, do you?” Jon inched closer to Sansa and cradled her face gentlyin his gloved hands, reminiscent of the time when he pressed a kiss on herforehead. There were other parts of her he yearned to kiss now.

“Yes,Jon. Please.”

“Comewith me,” Jon seized Sansa’s hands and led her out of the freezing cold.

Jonclosed the heavy door and locked it securely, certain that no one had seenthem. That was the only good thing about being King, that no one would darequestion where he went or what he did. Perhaps, except for Sansa. He wouldanswer those questions soon, but for now, he had something to show her.

“Jon,I just want you to do the right thing. Because you’re good at this, you know,”Sansa turned to face him as they stood in his solar, the small fire softlylighting and warming the musky air. Jon removed his cloak and sword belt,placing them on the small bureau next to him.

“Atwhat exactly?”

“Atruling. They respect you and they-“

“Doyou respect me, Sansa?”

Sansapaused and offered him a gentle smile, one that came from the depths of herheart. He had shown nothing but respect and kindness to her thus far. Perhaps, he was the only man she knew who was kind and honourable and treated her with respect. Her heart fluttered at the realisation.

“Yes,Jon I do.”

Jonsmirked and removed his leather doublet and tossed it on a nearby chair as heapproached Sansa. Sansa watched as Jon, now clad in only his woollen tunicclosing in on the gap between them.

“Good.Will you do as you’re told, Sansa?”

Sansablinked at Jon who was now mere inches from her, his warm breath billowinggently on her face. I would do anythingto keep Winterfell and you alive.

“Jon…Yes. I would.”

Jon’seyes roamed all over Sansa and finally rested on her confused gaze. He held onto it for as long as he could, in a show of dominance which he hadn’t a cluefrom whence it surfaced. Only Sansa could do this to him – twisting him insidelike no one else could.

“Good.Show me.” Jon’s fingers grazed the metal direwolf clasp that fastened hercloak. “Take this off.”

Sansawasn’t sure how it all occurred, in the blink of an eye – how she washypnotised by his dark grey eyes that were relentlessly devouring her whole.Her fur cloak dropped to the floor.

“Turnaround.”

Sansahesitated. The memory of Ramsay and his filthy murderous hands roaming all overher back and tearing her gown on their wedding night flashed in her mind. Sansagrabbed Jon’s hand as his fingers brushed against her shoulder.

“Jon…Please.”

Jonpaused, sensing the apprehension in her voice - recalling how she once told himquite vaguely of how she endured Ramsay’s abuse. Jon was certain Sansa’smaidenhead was taken without her consent on the night of their bedding. He inhaleddeeply and shut his eyes, remorse slowly rising within him. Sansa turned andglanced at him from her shoulder and released her grip. Jon was met with softblue eyes full of love and respect greeting him as he opened his.

“Ifyou want to help me, Sansa,” he whispered in her ears and the scent of lavenderand roses wafted into his nostrils, flaming the fire of desire inside of himeven more as his cock hardened against the skirt of her dress. “I know a way.”

“Jon-“

“Youwill call me your Grace, my Lady. Now, let me take off your dress,” Jon softlypressed his lips against her ears as he uttered the command. Jon tucked awayher amber locks to the side as he pulled at the laces that held the bodicetogether. Jon smiled as he felt Sansa shiver under his ministrations.

“Sansa,you are the most beautiful Lady I have ever met. Has anyone ever told youthat?”

Sansawasn’t sure what to answer. Tyrion had mentioned it to her once or twice butsurely it was out of courtesy. Sandor merely grunted and often stared at herbosom more than she cared for. Littlefinger had told her constantly how herbeauty reminded him of her mother’s. And Ramsay only wanted to see her comelyface contort in pain as he did all the unspeakable things to her. 

I was beautiful to monsters and imps. Andhere I stand, with you, my bastard King..

Sansashook her head nervously and licked her lips. Her mouth had gone dry.

“No,your Grace. You’re the first.”

“Ifind that hard to believe but aye, you are a beauty. A Lady of Winterfell,” Jonspoke seductively, the words dragged along in his voice, soft yet tense andclose to her ears. Sansa stood still yet she trembled as Jon’s hands deftlyundid her laces and soon she felt the flesh on her back prickled withgoosebumps, reacting to the mix of warmth and chill in the air.

Sansafelt Jon’s hands leave her back and then heard a rustling of clothes frombehind her. She craved so much to turn around to steal a look but something inher warned against it. It wasn’t fear that crawled up within her but somethingelse, something she’d never felt before. Sansa sensed a slight dampness inbetween her thighs as she yielded to the thought.

Onceagain, Jon’s warm calloused hands were on her, her bare flesh this time andSansa let out a quiet whimper.

“Didyou like that, Sansa? Did you like that when I touch you?”

Sansasighed deeply and nodded, her face turned to the side where she could see Jonfrom the corner of her eye.

“YourGrace.. I do.”

Thatwas all it took for Jon to push the heavy woollen dress off her shoulders andlet it drop onto the floor. Sansa let out a gasp and immediately felt the coldjab at her skin despite her chemise and small clothes still on her.

“Turnaround, Sansa.”

“Lookat me, my Lady,” Jon repeated his order, quietly but firmly. Sansa’s eyes lifted to meet his gaze and saw a bare chested Jon in only his breeches. There was a noticeable bulgeshe was unable to tear her gaze away from and the angry dark scars that adornedhis chest made her wince.

“Sansa…You’re right. I need your help. I need you.”

“YourGrace… What do you want me to do?” Sansa’s voice quivered. This was all very peculiar to her, very peculiar of Jon; it was not at all like the Jon she knew. Still, there was a will in her to obey him. All the lessons she had learned inKing’s Landing was now second nature in her.

Jon’sarm snaked around her waist and Sansa could only look on helplessly, stunnedand shocked yet mesmerised at the sheer force as he gripped her, yanking her closer to him. Sansa felt heady at how intoxicating he smelled, like leather and ale. Sansa licked her lips once more, this time in anticipation and Jonwatched her tongue flick deliciously over her bottom lip with their facesalmost touching.

“Jon-“

SMACK!

Ahand came down firmly on her bottom that jolted Sansa out her daze. Sansa couldonly stare at Jon whose stubborn erection was pointing directly at her sex. Hesqueezed her closer to him and nipped at her neck and Sansa threw her head backat the sudden titillation.

“Itold you to address me as Your Grace, did I not, my Lady?” Jon reminded her, inbetween his kisses and nuzzling on the smooth flesh of her neck and hershoulder.

“Yes..Yes.. Your Grace.”

“Youreally shouldn’t speak like that to me, in front of our bannermen, ever again.Do you hear me Sansa?” Jon demanded as he cupped her head and whispered hotlyin her ears. Sansa whimpered as Jon’s mouth nibbled on her ear lobe and his hands tuggingat her hair.

“Yes…Yes, your Grace.”

“Youwon’t undermine me like that ever again. Do you hear me? I am your King, am Inot, my Lady?”

Itgot the better of her and Sansa finally let out a moan as Jon’s fingers wanderedover her chest and thumbed one of her teats. Sansa came back to her senses asshe felt Jon move away, but it lasted only for a second – as he ripped herchemise open and her small clothes came off with it. Sansa’s heart pounded wildly andshe could hear its thumping loud and clear in her ears as Jon pulled her closer to him oncemore, naked and aroused.

“Yes,your Grace. I won’t undermine you like that again,” Sansa answered breathlesslyas she closed her eyes, feeling Jon hands squeezing and kneading the ampleflesh of her bottom. Her inner thighs were slick now and Sansa never knew shecould feel this way. Never in her young life, had she imagined it was with Jon.

“Doyou swear it?” Jon’s words burned hot as he held her head close to his mouthand Sansa sank deeper into his arms.

“Ido. I swear it.. your Grace.”

“Goodgirl.”

Sansa’seyes fluttered open as Jon twirled her around and pushed her gently towards thestone wall. A familiar panic spread within her and Sansa found herselfresisting but Jon’s scent emanating from her own skin elicited a strangecalmness and obedience. The walls were warm as she pressed against them underthe gentle pressure from Jon’s body on hers. Again, she yearned for Jon’s lipson her, his teeth scraping against her skin, biting and feasting on herforbidden flesh. 

A Lannister… CerseiLannister… Jamie Lannister…

“Inlight of what happened today, I think it is only proper that you be chastenedfor it, my Lady,” Jon said as he tugged her hair and pulled her to face him.Sansa moaned and looked deep into Jon’s eyes, there was nothing more shehungered for than to have him inside of her. There was fire burning in herheart and in her flesh and only Jon could relieve her of it. “Do you acceptyour punishment?”

Sansamewled as she felt Jon’s cock prodding at her entrance and it was torturous.Sansa only wished Jon pulled her hair harder.

“Yes…your Grace.. I accept my punishment.”

Jon’smouth slowly curved into a sly smile as he draped his arms around her waist andpositioned himself as he smothered Sansa’s back and neck with greedy kisses.

“Asyou wish… my Lady,” Jon said as he pushed himself in one swift movement intoher hot wet heat. Sansa’s eyes widened and felt her legs buckle at the suddeninvasion of Jon’s stiff cock entering her.

“Ahh..your.. Grace…” Sansa moaned as Jon thrusted into her slowly yet forcefully andevery time their bodies met, Sansa felt a wave of pleasure hit her and blossomfrom her very core.

“Sans…Sansa… Uhhh..” Jon chanted her name over and over as he rocked away into hersnug hot flesh. It was better than his dreams, having her melt in his arms, hishard cock wrapped tightly within her inner walls.

“Howdo you.. like.. your punishment now… my Lady?” Jon panted as he pistoned inand out of Sansa, now a wretched glutton for her cunt as he watched how herinner walls clung onto his stiff rod of flesh as he pushed in and pulled out ofher. Jon howled as a clenching came on and sucked on his cock as Sansa shivereduncontrollably under him.

“Uhhh..your Grace… Uhh! Please.. don’t stop,” Sansa begged Jon as she grasped blindlyat the flat walls for something to hold on to. Sansa felt the pressure toogreat to bear as it grew inside of her and with Jon’s cock providing the pleasurablefriction, she salivated at the mind bending pleasure that accompanied.

“Unhhh!Sansa… my Lady.. you are… divine… my Queen,” Jon cooed as he pulled both herarms back and pressed them down firmly behind her. The clenching was now getting more frequent and Jon caved in to his baser desires as he began pounding hard and fast into Sansa, feeling his own wave of pleasure drawing near.

“YourGrace… Touch me,” Sansa pleaded as her body moved with his and Jon could onlynod breathlessly. Pressing her wrists down with one hand, Jon’s left handsnaked around her hip and found a small thatch of hair and a tiny fleshy nubprotruding slightly from her folds. Jon’s fingers brushed against it and Sansabuckled at his touch.

“Ahh!Jon.. yes.. there.. don’t stop.. please!”

“Unhhh…Sansa!” Jon cried out her name as her hot tight walls clamped down on his cock,squeezing and contracting on his flesh as Sansa moaned and whimperedincoherently. Jon struggled to hold in his own peak and trembled as rope afterrope of his seed filled her hungry quim. His cock throbbed as it emptied insideof Sansa who was leaning her head against the wall for support. Jon felt hislegs weaken and slowly slumped against Sansa’s back.

Therewas a quiet reverie in the midst of heavy panting and heaving bosoms as bothSansa and Jon recollected themselves and took in what had transpired betweenthem. Sansa took a deep breath as she attempted to stand properly and recomposeherself, her hand still firmly on the wall.

“Sansa…”Jon struggled to find the words to address his Lady of Winterfell, whom he hadjust debauched and shame stabbed him like a thousand knives. He was supposed tobe her protector, her King and she was meant to be by his side as his counsel,advise him and to be near him always. Not for him to take her in his bed andtreat like a common whore. Jon shut his eyes and staggered to his bed to sitdown. There was much to think about now but his mind was only filled with howmoments ago, had just pressed Sansa against the wall and fucked her to oblivion.

“YourGrace.. “ Sansa looked down as she responded to his call. Sansa meekly pickedup her torn small clothes and her dress. Jon watched painfully as Sansa dressedherself and toss the torn garments aside.

“Sansa..I .. I,” still the words escaped him and Jon decided it was better to keepsilent, lest he said something offensive.

Sansasmoothed down her hair as she draped the cloak over her shoulders and walkedtowards the locked door. Jon waited for something to happen but this Sansa, theone who fought for Winterfell alongside him, was one he wasn’t well acquaintedwith. Sansa turned to face Jon as she held the door.

“Iunderstand, your Grace. I do. Perfectly. And if you ever feel the need tochasten… You may come find me, your Grace,” Sansa’s downcast eyes finally methis as she spoke. Gone was the sweet, innocent girl he once knew. 

I’m fucked. Royally fucked. I love her. I love Sansa Stark.

Jon could only nod in response. Hethought he would never love another. Not since Ygritte.

Hewas wrong. Irrevocably so. He may be damned to hell for it, for loving hishalf- sister and marking her as his. He had left a part of him with her now.

Maythe gods forgive him.

*Bonus Jon angsty heart-eyes gaze!

~ Elle xxx

[ethereal-wishes]

The Dark One's Bride

The Dark One's Bride

A/AN: Here's my contribution to the monthly rumbelling prompt: Runaway Bride

 When darkness fell, Colette crept out of the castle and into the vast expanse of foliage.  She made her way into a deep clearing with an oil lamp as her only source of light.  She placed the book down in the middle of a bed of moss. The tome was about how to summon mystical creatures, and she was about to summon the most deadly of them all.

“Dark One, I summon thee!” she spoke aloud in a quaky voice.  The rocks around her began to shake as the tome rose into the air.  The pages began to flutter frantically, flying out of the tome at an unmeasurable speed.  She gasped as the pages burnt up, turning to ash and falling to the ground. Suddenly, the ashes rose high into the air, taking the shape of a black inky figure.  She blinked in confusion as the figure became more detailed, forming into an entity wearing a cloak.

“Who dares to disturb the, Dark One?” the creature snarled, flashing its ruined teeth at her menacingly.

“Tis I, Colette, princess of Avonlea,” the dark haired woman blurted out frighteningly.  The Dark One said nothing as it circled her dangerously in quiet observance.

“It's not very often a royal calls upon me for assistance. Is the task to daunting for your court fairies, princess?” the beast teased in its high pitched voice.

“My request isn't one the fairies would comply to. The man I wish to marry is far below my station, and my father wouldn't agree to our union, because he says I must marry a prince,” she revealed, diverting her gaze away from the demon.

“I see...You'd like me to make him a prince, so you can live happily ever after with your 'twu love'.” The beast cackled, allowing its hood to fall around its shoulders, revealing a man with glittering gold skin and deep amber orbs.  Colette flinched slightly at his horrendous appearance, attempting to keep her composure.

“I will concede to your request for a price, and my price is the babe growing in your womb. When she comes of age, you'll release her to become my wife,” he grinned cynically at her.  Colette felt her breath hitch in her throat from his declaration. Child? What was he talking about?

“Child?” Colette choked out, feeling her stomach tightening and her lungs refusing to inhale.

“Yes, you're with child, princess.  You shall bear a daughter. Are you willing to trade your daughter away to the dastardly Dark One, just so you can marry that pauper you love so much?”  The Dark One inquired, gazing intently at the royal.

“I have no other choice, do I? If father discovers I'm with child, then he'll kill my lover. I accept your deal,” she consented, absentmindedly touching her flat abdomen.  She blindly disregarded the Dark One's price or what it would take to achieve her happy ending.

“Very well, then,” the creature nodded, flicking his wrist, and producing a thoroughly written contract. “Sign right on the dotted line,” The Dark One instructed, feeling quite pleased with himself as the princess of Avonlea signed away her child's freedom without a second thought.

“There, it's done,” Colette announced, signing the final letter of her name on the dotted line.

“Excellent! I'll see you in eighteen years then, dearie, and don't try to thwart me, because it won't work. I shall have your precious wee one as my very own,” he retorted darkly, rolling up the contract, and making it disappear.

“You have my word,” Colette vowed.

 A crimson haze filled the forest as the creature vanished. Stars glittered brilliantly in the clear night sky as if they were oblivious to the deranged deal she'd just made with the darkest being in the history of the realm.  She swallowed hard as she searched for any signs of the book but it had disappeared along with the Dark One. She turned around to head back to the castle with the heavy revelation of motherhood on her heart.  She and Maurice would wed, and they'd get to be a family for a little while. She just had no idea how quickly those years would tick by.

X

As the Dark One had prophesied, Colette gave birth to a beautiful daughter—a daughter which transformed into a beautiful young woman, full of beauty and grace.  However, her parents kept her under lock and key, afraid the Dark One would come to collect upon his debt much sooner than expected.  However, Belle was clever, and sometimes she found a way to slip by them, unnoticed.

 Belle found joy in the days she was able to sneak off to town. It gave her a small escape from the stuffy walls of the palace.  She would often steal a pair of one of the servant women's attire from off the clothesline, and wear a cloak to conceal her face—to allow her to blend in with the commoners.  In reality, she didn't have a single friend she could count on.  Her parents had been overly protective of her ever since she was a small child.  It was peculiar how they kept  her under such a tight watch.  She knew they loved her, but they were suffocating her, when all she longed for was to be free.   She meandered through the hustle and bustle of the square, carrying her straw basket close to her side.  She pealed her ears, listening to bits of conversation between customers and venders. She relished the sweet aromas wafting through the air from the bakery and the smell of fresh cut flowers from the florist.

She noticed a man with dark sable eyes and long unruly hair standing behind a stall with the finest thread she'd ever beheld in her life.  Belle observed that the customers who passed by his stall acted as if it were invisible.  She sauntered towards the peddler, wanting to get a better look at his fabrics.

When the vendor noticed her interest in his fabrics, he smiled gentlemanly at her, “What can I do for you, milady? Is there a certain color that interests you?” he inquired, and she smiled politely.

“They're all lovely. I particularly like this golden yellow hue. It would make a beautiful gown, but I'm afraid I wouldn't have any place to wear it or anyone to sew it for me,” she supplied, averting her gaze sheepishly.

She glanced back to the peddler with a satisfied smile gracing his lips, his sable eyes analyzing her curiously. She'd never met this man before yet when she looked into his eyes, she felt drawn to him for some unexplainable reason. “Why don't you take the fabric as a gift from me?”  he insisted, thrusting the spool of golden thread into her arms.

“Th-Thank you but that won't be necessary. My mother will see the fabric and ask where I got it. You see, I'm a very kept woman, and my parents don't ever allow me to leave our home. If they ever found out, they'd lock me in my chambers forever. I only came to town to immerse myself within the crowds, to feel a bit of normalcy for the day, but I'm afraid I must be heading back, now. Thank you again for your kindness, ” she protested, handing him back the fabric, and sprinting away from his stall, quickly.

That night, Belle tossed and turned all night long in her bed, unable to keep her mind from gravitating to the mysterious vender.  The very next morning, upon awakening, she found a gorgeous, intricately sewn golden ballgown, draped across her favorite armchair—the exact same hued fabric she'd admired at the spinner's stall just yesterday.  She pressed her lips together in a thin line as she fingered the delicate lace overlay, her mind buzzing with a million queries.  Who was the mysterious stranger she'd met at the market that day?  She wasn't certain, but she thirsted to know more.

Several times after that incident, Belle became braver, leaving the castle more frequently, hoping she'd see him again, but she never did.  She'd only been a girl of fifteen at the time, but she'd never forgotten the spinner, nor the dress that had mysteriously appeared the day after.

Three more years passed, and Belle was on the verge of turning eighteen.  Her parents' demeanor had changed to the day leading up to her birthday.  Her mother had burst into her chambers two days prior to her birthday, her face unusually pale.

“Belle, there's something I need to tell you,” she spoke, her voice quaking with every syllable.

“What is it, mother? Why are you trembling so much?” Belle asked, concerned.

“Before you were born, your father and I were forbidden to be together. He was a peasant, and I was a royal, and it simply wasn't allowed, so I made a deal with the Dark One. He raised your father's station so we could marry,” Colette remarked with pursed lips.

“So, what did you offer him?” Belle inquired, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

“Belle, you must understand that I had no choice. Your father would've been killed and my rule desecrated if they ever found out we'd conceived a child out of wedlock,” Colette sobbed, tears spilling over her lashes.

“Mother, just tell me what you offered him,” Belle said gently, holding her mother's hand consolingly.

“You, he demanded you as his price. He said he would come for you on your eighteenth birthday. He plans to marry you,” she hiccupped, another sob tearing from her throat.

Belle's blood ran cold at this realization.  “You bartered me away to the most fearsome creature in all the realms? Do you have any idea what torture awaits me?” Belle thundered, grabbing her mother's collar and shaking her hard.

“I'm sorry, but I had no choice,” Colette apologized, pushing her frightened daughter away.  She hurriedly left her chamber, as swiftly as she'd came in. Belle stood there, grimacing at the news.  It all made perfect sense now.  There were never any balls or grand celebrations held in her honor—no princes vying for her hand in marriage.  It was because she'd already been promised to the Dark One.

Fear seized her chest as she hurriedly made her way to her closet.  She opened it, her eyes landing on the golden ballgown, the one she'd never had a reason to wear.  Belle pulled it from its hanger, holding it in front of her as she admired it in front of the looking glass.  Her subconscious conjured up the memory of the spinner who'd offered her the golden fabric—the only person she'd ever felt truly connected with.  She banished the image from her mind, knowing it mattered little, now.  Her fate had been sealed many years ago when her mother had promised her to the Dark One.  Belle put the dress away, crawling onto her bed, an ugly sob tearing from her throat.  She buried her face in her pillow, overwhelmed by what was to come.

The day before her birthday, she made a hasty decision to flee the castle.  She slipped on her golden ballgown, feeling within her heart that it was a talisman meant to protect her. She'd left in the dead of night, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. She'd taken enough coin with her to survive, and saddled her horse for the journey ahead. 

She'd ridden through the forest all night, growing spent by early morning.  She craved a place to rest her head, and that's when she spotted it—a looming castle which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.   Belle coaxed her stallion forward in the direction of the castle. 

The first light of dawn peeped over the mountains, bathing the skies in its ethereal spectrum.  The castle had looked closer than it had appeared, and it'd taken her another couple of hours to reach it.  To her surprise, the drawbridge was lowered, a welcoming omen.  Her stallion trotted forwards, bringing her through the gate.  Belle had dismounted her horse, tying him to a tree near some tall grass to munch on.

Belle lifted her skirts, traipsing towards the castle.  She banged the ancient brass knocker heavily upon the door—it opened effortlessly, startling her. She hesitantly entered, glancing around the foyer.  Sunlight leaked through the tall church-styled glass windows.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” she called out hesitantly, glancing around the large hall.  When she received no answer, she dared to walk deeper into the castle, unaware the door had silently slipped shut behind her. 

She blinked owlishly as she entered a room, a spinning wheel in the center.  She padded towards it, bending down when she noticed the pile of straw sitting beside it - no - there was something glimmering beneath it.  Belle reached within the pile of straw, pulling out a strand of glimmering gold thread.  She ran her fingers over the fiber, spellbound by its shimmer.

“I take it you like gold,” a familiar voice resounded from behind her.

Belle glanced up, meeting the eyes of a man—a man she'd met in the village several years ago.

“You're that peddler from the marketplace,” Belle remarked with realization.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” he responded, bowing nobly to her.

“What?” Belle replied dumbfounded.

“Rumpelstiltskin is my name,” he revealed, smiling proudly.  “I see you're finally wearing the gift I made you. Gold becomes you,” he observed, raking his eyes over her soft curves.

Belle stood to her feet, eying him suspiciously. “You made this dress?”

“I certainly did. Call it an early wedding gift,” he grinned, the peach hue of his skin slowly fading into a sickly grayish gold hue.  His shaggy brown hair, curling at the ends until it was a tangled disarray.  His soft sable eyes transforming to a glowing amber.

“You're-” Belle pointed her finger upwards, frightened, “the Dark One,” she managed to utter, her body trembling.

“You're right, dearie, I am,” he replied, slowly sauntering towards her. 

Belle should have ran, bolted for the door and never looked back, but she found herself frozen with fear.  Rumpelstiltskin bent down on one knee, closing his talon gently over her left hand, drawing it to his lips.  The kiss was warm and gentle, sending unfamiliar heat pooling in her abdomen.

As he rose to his feet, she glanced at him quizzically.  “But, I was running away from you. My mother told me you would come for me on my eighteenth birthday and that's...”

“Today,” he reminded her, filling her with realization.

“I've walked right into your trap, haven't I?” she spoke, her heart hammering rapidly in her chest.

“No, you were destined to come here on your eighteenth birthday,” he added, studying her porcelain features intently, making her blush.

“But...I don't understand....” she remarked, grasping for the meaning behind his words.

“When your mother made her deal with me ages ago, my magic begun to do its work—weaving a path for your arrival. Your visits to market were no accident, my runaway bride. Your heart was subconsciously paving its way to me. Our encounter at the marketplace was the first, and this dress did the rest. I used the gold thread I make to cast a spell over you, one that would bring you here. Part of the spell was that you wouldn't desire to wear it until our wedding day,” he dispelled, filling her with more questions.

“So, I'm to be your prisoner, then?” she surmised, tears misting behind her eyes, and slowly cascading down her rosy cheeks.

“No, not my prisoner, but my wife, and my equal. You'll be the lady of this castle, and I'll never touch you without your consent. In many ways I'm a monster, but I'll never take something so precious unless its freely given,” he replied, putting her mind at ease.

“But, why would you desire me? Someone you'd never even met?” she questioned, analyzing him.

“Because you're the one who will eventually break my curse and reunite me with my long lost son. I can see the future, and many years ago, before your birth, I had a vision of you doing both,” Rumpelstiltskin revealed.

“But, I don't know how to do any of those things,” she remarked, shaking her head dubiously.

“The future is a puzzle, one we'll learn to piece together in time,” he revealed, entwining their fingers, brushing his thumbs over the underside of her wrists lightly.

“You're not the dreaded beast which I imagined,” she replied, her gaze softening.

“I'm certainly very dark and dreadful, Princess, but I shall gift you with the best version of myself, which isn't much,” he mumbled.

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“You're willing to give me a chance, then?” he inquired, his amber irises growing inquisitive.

“I am, but first, I'd like a proper tour of this castle if I'm to live here, and a decent cup of tea,” she requested.

An impish giggle escaped his throat, causing her to chuckle. It was queer, yet such a whimsical sound, and one she found she rather adored. “That can certainly be arranged. Follow me,” he commanded, looping his arm through hers.

As they toured the castle, and Rumpelstiltskin gave her tidbits of history of each room—Belle found herself entertaining the thought of becoming the Dark One's wife, and it didn't seem as terrible as she'd first imagined it would be.  The Dark One turned out to be pleasant company, and an excellent conversationalist.  He'd lived many lifetimes, and his array of experiences were intriguing.  He never bored her to tears, and he didn't condemn her for her many inquiries.  Falling for him was a slow and gradual process, but the day she consented to be his wife was the happiest day of her life.  The intimacy they'd cultivated through learning each others' minds only amplified itself within their marriage bed.

One morning, Princess Belle of Avonlea had attempted to outrun her fate, but instead, she'd run right into its awaiting arms, and become the wife of the Dark One.  It was a fate she was grateful she hadn't thwarted, for it had been the exact adventure she'd been craving—filled with a love that defied all human logic, for who could ever love a beast?  Surely only a beauty with a heart made of pure gold had suited the role.

[pllrocks]

7x12 review and thoughts

How is no one talking about the secret passageway on the game map?! They do no analysis of this board game at all!!!

“Her help is dead, his head rolled over your feet remember?” - Hanna

‘What about Sidney? ‘- ‘Oh please let's not go there’ - Emily

‘Em you’ve already been there!’ - Spencer. Omg this made me laugh so hard

Emily is the one that wants out this time..interesting.

“I may have been the one driving this car but we have to be in this together  ”- Hanna

I bet A.D didn’t know that the only new information being given this episode is to A.D! Obviously the game is insane and has a recording device, they know A has always stalked them, why do they talk right there? Why not ditch their phones and talk somewhere out in the open?

“Nicole Gordon was never his fiance, I am! ” - Aria. Oh Aria you wonderful crazy thing

Addison Derringer is not A. She probably got manipulated or bribed by Jenna, or another A minion, even the minions need minions in this A game.

Addison is just like Alison in high school, and Alison now.

I am loving Spencers dress and Arias' hair!

I can’t believe Veronica still backs up Peter..it infuriates me.

“Wow, so only you and dad could appreciate the bitter irony of me checking into the same mental hospital where I was born ”- Spencer-

I really feel bad for Veronica, I do. She adopted a child who was born because her husband was cheating on her, she covered for his ass all these years and Spencer never felt like anything but a Hastings, I think Spencer is being pretty horrible to Veronica. I get that she hurting but she's in her twenties not she isn’t a child. What did she want Veronica to do? Discuss the fact that Peter is a cheating bastard and that Spencer is the result of an affair?

So..does Hanna make her own clothes to wear? Hence the ‘you went through my closet!’

Does she sew them? Design and send them somewhere to get made? Does she buy the materials?

Emily benches Addison for missing a practice, Addison is pure attitude, not even looking up from her phone.

“My head was throbbing, listening to your rusty whistle wasn’t going to help” - Addison, reminding us of old Ali.

Alison is in pay attention to me mode...what if I have one like her..or me... She has not decided if she is keeping the baby

So are Spencer and Marco together?

Spencer tells Marco about Mary and shows the letter, changes one detail..she found the letter rather than she was given the letter after playing a crazy board game

Hold up…if the beading, the belt, the collar was Hanna’s bosses idea that Hanna took then what did Hanna design? A plain black dress with a tutu skirt?

Addison is a little psycho, she goes to Paige, accuses Emily of hitting on her and other girls on the team then shows Paige a photo of Emily being’inappropriate’ with Alison, hoping to anger Paige. Addison's eavesdropping has paid off, she's overheard Emily and Paige, and Emily and Alison.

I find Holden really attractive this time, also he’s so damn normal, and nice, and sweet.

Aria taking off the ring, foreshadowing?

“Did Ezra propose to her first?”- Aria

Holden reminds Aria that everyone has a past, that even Aria has had other men tell her they love her, and she doesn’t talk to Ezra about that so maybe Ezra wouldn’t tell her if he had proposed to Nicole before she disappeared

“Just because you met him when you were in 11th grade doesn’t mean he’s frozen in amber” - Holden. Holden is so anti-Ezra but not in a tell Aria to ditch his ass way.

Emily tells Paige she will go tell Hackett about what Addison is doing, Paige tells Emily she will handle it before it gets worse and Emily is accused of hitting on students

Marco has a lead in. Mary..Lead out of Scranton! Mary Drake works at Dunder Mifflin!

Spencer has enlisted Marco to help find Mary

Tap tap tap Jenna is coming!!!

Jenna can identify Spencer by her breathing? Come the fuck on now. Jenna can see, at the very least she can partially see

So we know Jenna has been told to say all this, she does it convincingly, so convincingly that I question all the other times I’ve felt bad for Jenna when she has a sob story.

I think Jenna has always wanted revenge for the liars blinding her, and Noel for him getting suspended for cheating, and perhaps other things we don’t know about.

Jenna tells Marco that Noel was the psychopath that lured Jenna to the blind school to kill her, and he had her work for him so she could have money for eye surgery.

Not sure why Marco didn’t take Jenna aside, to begin with..it’s unprofessional and ridiculous to let Spencer stand there as Jenna makes her statement

Hanna tries to call Claudia about the dress...

“She has balls the size of church bells.” - Omg Spencer..just omg.

She hasn’t told Marco about the game but seems to want to.

Sparia discusses Spencer wanting to find Mary. She wants to get to know Mary, not as someone to fear but to forgive.

Jenna walks in with 2 other blind people, flanking her on either side..or..’‘bookends’ -  as Emily would describe it.

Jenna sends a text and Emily hears Addison’s phone go off at the same time

Spencer tells her Veronica she won't be working with her anymore. I'm really disappointed with Spencer right now, Veronica does not deserve this treatment, I get that she is upset but to take it all out on Veronica instead of Peter is unfair. Veronica continues to tell her she loves her and has never felt they were not a family and Spencer is just cold. I really feel for Veronica, and find Spencer irritating and a little much right now. I usually love Spencer but she’s 23, not 13. This woman adopted you and raised you as her own, not telling you you’re the product of an affair her cheating husband had with a mentally ill woman sounds like the safer thing to do.

Spencer has the audacity to sound upset about the house being sold after she’s outright said Veronica isn’t her mother and after she’s been nothing but cold to Veronica since she found out Mary is her mom and she seems to want to forgive Mary but punish Veronica.

Arias dress is cute

Aria gets an article on Ezra reuniting with his fiance Nicole Gordon. The article talks about Nicole’s kidnapping and being held by guerrilla forces. They show pictures of Ezra and Nicole before and after the reunion. I am low key shipping Aria and Holden. I get the feeling that Ezra won’t be able to leave Nicole. He will tell Aria this in a way that makes him seem like some white knight to Nicole and how Aria would always feel guilty for Nicole not getting Ezra.. he will make it seem like he’s doing her the favor. He’s everyone’s white knight.

Mona seems to be working like crazy on this fashion business and Hanna is too busy waiting to eat with Caleb to even look at jewelry designers Mona is showing her right this minute? She asks Mona to forward them to her. Hanna this is your business, get yourself into it, Caleb can eat by himself, you can see him later. I don’t get this too busy for a career and relationship thing.

Catherine is going to BORROW shoes from Hanna? Why wouldn’t she buy a pair like them? Hanna is having these shoes fixed.It’s not like Hanna designed the shoe, it's just strange to me.

OMG Jenna walks in wearing Hanna’s dress but in white, and I must say it looks better in white, and great on Jenna

Mona flips out, more so than Hanna, who acts rather meekly, wtf where is crazy Hanna right now? Mona confronts Jenna with a..’Yo Jenna! ‘ Omg Mona is amazing

Jenna claims the dress was a gift, Jenna says she and her posse have an uber waiting and she tap taps the fuck out of there

Hanna says it’s all part of the game and Mona is left asking what game.

Mona is getting left behind again. I don’t want A to be Mona again because I feel Mona has gotten past that and is a strong and confident woman now.

Emily wants to get into the barn to see the Game to play it because she is convinced Addison is working for A.D

Emily reminds the audience A.D took a final exam for her

“I'm living proof, once you invite the devil in, horrid little seeds start to sprout” - Alison.OMG

Jenna and her posse meet at the cobbler place where Hanna’s shoes are Caleb wants to handle Jenna

Jenna smells Hanna on Caleb, and guesses it is Hanna behind her. Caleb questions why she is here, and where she got the dress. He even grabs her by the cane and threatens her. She reminds him only Noel could contradict the story she told the police and he’s dead.

Hanna gets locked in a caged off room at the cobbler's place, someone obviously closed that door, it didn’t swing randomly closed on its own, and someone shut off the lights.

lol @   #benchme lol Addison is taking bong hits with her boyfriend in a car behind the brew.

Aria the greatest liar convinces a nurse to let her in after visiting hours but telling her she's brought her good friend Nicole some salt water taffy.

317 is Nicole’s room number.

Holden stops Aria from going in to see/confront Nicole. He’s such a sweetheart and really mature!

The sander thing is going off, something swings from the ceiling tries to punch Hanna, she's having pure flashbacks of being tortured in the barn with that cattle prod. She gets a text from A.D and A.D really seems to hate Hanna, like a lot.

‘Wait your turn, Bitch, It’ll come. And you’ll be ready - A.D

A.D seems to hate Hanna more than anyone, Spencer gets clues about her mother, Aria just has Ezra drama and Emily gets help from A.D in dealing with Addison. Why the major Hanna hate? Spencer twin would hate Hanna for the Spaleb mess. HMM.

Caleb rescues Hanna

Emily confronts and threatens Addison with the bong video, Paige intervenes and tells Addison she's in trouble for gloating about getting rid of Emily in an email they found. Her parents and principal Hackett have been informed

‘Why? you gonna smack me? “- Addison. 

“No I can’t do that, but somebody should have a long time ago”. - Emily

Aria asks Holden if she should give the ring back and Holden tells her not to expect Ezra to be on her timetable, if he needs time give it to him and that he’s probably more torn up than she is.

Emily is given another puzzle piece, still black and white, still scrawly lines and an abstract feel. Spencer theorizes it’s a map but I still think it could be a sonogram or a collage that includes a sonogram picture.

So that’s my live watch review..I’ll try to post some more thoughts later!

[monellabella]

Preview to my Hunger Games/Harry Potter crossover (OC x Fred Weasley)

Warnings (NOT 18+ but please don’t read if any of these things make you uncomfortable!!): Blood, knives, knife wound, character death(s), severe injury mention (lost limbs), dead animal mention?? (a rat)

This is the first fic I’ve ever written! I got the idea from a post I saw from @wand3ringr0s3 Comments and criticism are GREATLY appreciated and it’d be really cool to get some feedback on my writing style!! I’ll be posting the rest of the first chapter later today :)

Tagging my lovely mutuals: @ourloveisforthelovely @darthwheezely @amrtxntia @ronweaselysslut @whiz-bangs78 @anchoeritic

Darkness. Pure black. I hear noises coming from somewhere. Muffled. Echoing through the endless void around me. The noises become louder. Someone is talking. The more I listen, the louder and clearer they get. Clear enough that I can almost make out the words. Suddenly, everything goes deafeningly quiet. My ears start ringing. But then, a single voice echoes through the silence, “Seph?”. I recognize it immediately. “Maeve?” I call out. “Seph? Is that you?” she responds, her voice shaky with fear. “Yes, yes, Maeve, it’s me. Where are you?”

“I don’t know.” she responds, panic rising in her voice. “Seph, I’m scared.”

“I know. I know, kiddo,” I swallow hard, “Hey. Hey, listen, I’m gonna find you, okay? Just stay calm.”

My heart is racing. I look around for some sort of clue, but nothing but complete darkness surrounds me. I tentatively reach my hand out in front of me. My fingertips graze something. Something cold. I take a step forward and reach out again. My hand finds what feels like a thin chain. I roll it around in my fingers before pulling down on it. The space is immediately flooded with blinding white light. I blink a few times to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness. I’m at home; a tiny one room flat that I share with my mother, sister, and our cat. Except it’s empty- no furniture, not even a door. I see my sister standing a few feet in front of me, her hands bound together by a thick rope. “Maeve!” I rush towards her. “Seph!” she cries. As I reach out to hug her I’m pushed back by an invisible force. I look up and there she is- standing inside a giant glass dome. I take a few steps back, trying to register what I’m seeing.

“Shall we draw the names?” I whip my head around to see a woman in a magenta frock standing on the other side of the room. Her dress is covered in so many frills and flounces that she takes up half the flat. On her head is a ridiculous blonde wig that must add at least two feet to her height. Her face is covered entirely in white powder, with her cheeks overly rouged, and her top lip painted magenta to match the dress. She looks like a very posh clown. 

“I-I’m sorry what?”

She laughs airily, “The names, darling. Surely you remembered?” 

“Remember what?” 

She tsked then pulled out two smaller versions of the glass dome from the frills at the front of her dress. They each had a small slip of paper in them. “Go on. Pick one.” Her voice was incredibly high-pitched, and she spoke with a capitol accent. I stepped towards her and hesitantly reached into the bowl in her right hand. I unfolded the slip of paper, ‘Maeve Whitlock’. I stared at the name in confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“Will you take her fate as your own?”

“What do you mean? What fate?”

The woman let out another laugh, this one high and cold, it echoed around the entire room and caused the floor to shake. Suddenly, I heard Maeve call out to me, “SEPH!” I looked back to where she was in the dome. There was a dark, shadowy figure standing behind her, holding a knife to her neck. Her hands and feet were bound to a small wooden chair, and her mouth was now gagged with a dishcloth. I ran towards the dome, panic rising further in my chest. “MAEVE!” I shouted desperately. She looked at me fearfully, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. I banged and kicked and rammed my body at the glass so hard, I should’ve shattered something. But it was no use. I looked back to where the woman had been standing, but she was gone. The shadowy figure stood still, holding the knife to my sister’s neck.

“LET GO OF HER YOU FREAK!” I cried, banging my fists against the dome. Maeve was panicking now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, tears running down her face, her muffled pleas penetrating through the glass. “MAEVE.” I cried out; my voice cracked as the salty tears streamed down my cheeks. But I was too late. The dark figure suddenly slashed the knife across her throat, her cries stopped and she slumped down into her seat, eyes still half open, blood now seeping into her blouse. “NO!” I screamed, sinking down to the ground. The glass squeaked as my hands dragged down over the exterior. I looked back up towards the shadowy figure, only to see it was no longer there. In its place I saw myself, a satisfied smile on my face. I heard the clownish woman’s disembodied laugh echo through the flat, “What a pity,” the voice said, “you could’ve saved her! But now, I’m afraid, you must face the consequences of your actions.” The clone slowly raised the hand still holding the knife, and pointed directly at me. Suddenly, I felt the cool touch of metal against my throat. The other me winked, and I felt the blade drag deep across my neck. I started to choke, the blood pooling into my airways. I instinctively brought my hand up to the wound. My vision started turning black around the edges. I looked down to see the front of my dress already soaked in red. The last thing I saw was my own hand, holding the knife, droplets of blood falling steadily from the tip of the blade. Then, everything went dark. 

My eyes shot open. All I saw was fur, and something was blocking my breathing. I sat up quickly, and the ball of fluff leapt off my face. The cat looked up at me from his new place on my lap- those big amber eyes practically staring into my soul- and meowed loudly. I sighed in annoyance. “Stupid cat.” I grumbled as I lifted him up and let him jump to the floor. I rubbed my eyes and tried to slow my racing heartbeat. My body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. I looked down at the bed to see my sister still sleeping soundly beside me. I took a deep, shaky breath and stroked the top of her head, moving away some of the stray hairs lying across her face. I glanced over at the digital clock next to me, SUNDAY: JULY 4. 8:26 AM. Today was Reaping Day; no wonder I had that horrible nightmare. This would be my 4th year participating in the drawing, it was Maeve’s first. How unlucky it was that her twelfth birthday had only been three days prior. If she’d just been born a few days later, she could’ve been spared for another year. 

I sighed and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My mother was already awake, sewing some buttons back onto Maeve’s school shirt. “Hi, mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah, just now.” I yawned. 

“Is Maeve still asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 8:30. Should I wake her up?”

“No, it’s okay,” she sighed, “let her sleep some more. I’ll wake her up soon.” She held up the shirt to examine her work, “Still needs a few more stitches…” She held the needle between her teeth and reached down to her sewing basket to grab another spool of thread. I looked down as I felt the cat’s bushy tail brush past my ankles. I knelt down and scratched behind his ears.

“Did you feed Tulip yet?” I asked. The fluffy, tricolor, flat-faced cat was now sitting at my feet, purring contentedly. 

“Didn’t have to; he caught his own breakfast. A huge rat, which he so lovingly dropped on my pillow this morning.” My mother replied.

I stifled a laugh. 

“Since you’re already up, go ahead and shower. I’ve laid out your clothes for you on the kitchen table, so when you’re done, just change into them and come back here so I can do your hair. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled at me then went back to her work. I grabbed some soap and a clean towel from the small shelf near the entrance and walked out. “Make sure you don’t use up all the hot water!” she called out as I closed the door behind me. “Don’t worry, I won’t!”.

We didn’t have our own bathroom- there was one toilet and one shower per floor, which could be shared by anywhere from 5 to 20 people. There were 5 apartments on each of the 4 floors- all one room- with one bed, a stove, a sink, a small table and chairs, and some shelves for storage. Each apartment had a heater and air conditioner, but they were never guaranteed to work when you needed them. Sometimes only one side of the building would have heating, or only certain floors had AC, or only specific apartments. Often, the whole building wouldn’t have either for days at a time. The same thing happened with the water and electricity. You could never fully rely on any of the appliances being in working order. As a result, we shared a lot with other apartments. If someone’s stove wasn’t working, they could just knock on a neighbor’s door and use theirs. If only one apartment on our floor had heating during the winter, there were no objections when everyone else would come over and make themselves at home. It made it feel like we were all one family, and it was customary to refer to many of your neighbors as your aunt or uncle. This was common throughout the District, as almost everyone aside from the mayor and peacekeepers lived in small, rundown tenements, expanding outwards from the city center, which was home to the Justice building. Here, in District 8, we produce textiles. There are 6 factories in total; one of which is entirely dedicated to making peacekeeper uniforms. We typically start in the factories at 14, splitting the day between school and work. We aren’t assigned specific jobs until we turn 18. Until then, those in charge of production make requests for certain numbers of workers, and we go wherever we’re needed. Once we finish school, we’re assigned permanent job positions based on both our aptitude tests and our performances in various factory tasks. The better you do on the aptitude test, the better (or at least safer) your job will be. Those with the highest scores tend to be assigned as desk jockeys- where the risk of dying on the job is fairly low. Those with the lowest scores are sent to work in the most dangerous parts of the factories; you can always tell who works there because chances are, they’ve lost some part of their limbs...or face...or they’re, you know, missing a hand...Then there’s those whose scores fall somewhere in the middle; if they have a specific skill, like baking, or perhaps healing, they’re assigned a job based on that. The rest are assigned mid-level factory jobs, which were still dangerous, but the chances of getting to keep all your fingers were significantly higher! (But not guaranteed). 

(to be continued...)