#dark!imp!au: long live the king

[pinksparkl]

Long Live The King - chapter 2 - descent into depravity

It's time for Lovely to wake up; they know better than to keep Vincent waiting.

Tags in previous chapter [non-exhaustive warnings for blood, gore, possessive behaviour]

Rated: M

4802 words (read here or on ao3)

If anyone had asked Vincent Solaire why he stayed there, remaining unmoving like a statue hewn from cold marble, he couldn't have found an answer, no matter how deeply he searched for one. He sat as if bound to the chair, watching, staring, waiting. But deep down he knew there wasn't anything to wait for.

Nothing physical held him there but his own will. He should have left. Should have dragged himself to where he kept the other bloodbags; the oh-so simple act of Turning nearly drained him – of blood, of magic, of energy – he was hungry, but he stayed. He waited. He watched.

He didn't know why, but he did.

He felt like he needed to.

He had no other choice.

Being their master and their would-be Maker, he was responsible for them, even if… the ritual was left incomplete without their waking. As impetuous as the young Prince could be at the best of times, Vincent understood all too well the significance of what he had done, and the risks it held. Even if they ultimately didn't.

They had accepted everything he gave them, everything he put them through, without any question or plea for explanation. Every twisted manifestation of his anger and spite, every gluttonous feast he pulled clean from their veins, and every hissed insult as he took whatever else he needed from them. But they also accepted every short break he had to almost force them to take, every meal served to them to ensure their survival that was devoured just as hungrily as he had taken them just moments prior, and every condescendingly soft word that fell from his lips like the droplets of their vibrant, addictive blood. Whatever scrap of humanity was left in his cold heart only chilled further at the thought of them dying so needlessly for the sake of his own ill-thought-out, reckless endeavour.

"I was so stupid for thinking it could work," he scoffed in his mind, finally admitting defeat.

But still nothing could draw his eyes away from the way they lay across the bed, noiseless, motionless, colourless – save the red smeared and dripping across their body. Over the last number of months, Vincent had grown so accustomed to their whines and squirming, even when they were all too willing in their treatment, that the lack of either was so unfamiliar to the unfeeling Prince.

Not the sun rising, nor it setting again hours later could remove him from their side – a silent sentinel – yet even now he could not fathom why. They were just a distraction, a source of entertainment in the bleak monotony of life under the Imperium. Even as a Free Vampire, he was beholden to their laws to some degree.

Free from their control, but not free to do as he pleased.

Nearly a whole day passed as they lay there, as cold and still and quiet as the moment he stole their life from their body.  He could no longer sense the sweet nectar that once flowed through their veins with an unceasing rhythm that had all but called out to him by name all those months ago. Soon, whether he liked it or not, he would have to feed, to go about his life again, to dispose of the corpse – it held no use for him now.

But for now, he stayed, he waited, and he watched.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Cold. So cold. And the pain! White hot and blinding, searing, scorching heat! Freezing me to my core.

"Breathe! I can't breathe!

"I am shackled and I cannot move. My throat is slick, both inside and out, yet raw and burning at the same time. Dizzy but motionless. I am here but not here at all.

"What is- what is happening to me?!"

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Sighing, Vincent raised himself up off the armchair, the wooden legs scraping the floor as he pushed it away to stand. Straightening his back, he reluctantly accepted whatever dull tedium was soon to follow without the bright taste of their blood to return to and refresh him whole. But just before he turned to face the door – the very first time he let himself tear his wakeful gaze from them – he watched in silent awe as their breaths came in fits and gasps. Stiff rigour retreating to allow movement again to their twitching limbs, restricted severely by the chains that secured them to four corners of the bed.

He listened as weak, strained breaths gurgled deep in their chest, like they were fighting against an almighty weight seeking to compress them flat. Each cycle of air was a struggle, but one they continued with a defeated kind of defiance, as if they were aware that the very act of it was pointless, but they knew how to do nothing else.

Their behaviour reminded Vincent of a trapped animal, startled, and filled with incomprehensible fear. Straining their wrists and ankles, they tried to free themself from the chains with unfocused effort. Pulling and straining at the metal bindings, the bedposts creaked with their strength. They knew they were trapped, but didn't seem to have enough understanding of why they were there, or how to even attempt an escape. The metal fastenings that bound them in place were uncomfortable at best, and knowing that at least was enough for now – they needed to break free, they needed to run.

In the hours prior, Vincent had lamented their silence, wishing for their soft hushed voice or their pitiful, tear-filled cries, but now the room echoed with awful roars and screeches as they rattled and pulled at the cuffs. Had the Prince been a weak man, he would have run in horror of what they could do – of what he had created – but Vincent Solaire was no mere weak man. He was a Prince. A Prince of the Vampire House of Solaire. Taking a seat to the side of their convulsing body, half-annoyed at being ignored, he waited and watched as their initial frenzy tapered off; no need in wasting the effort calming them down now, they'd tire themself out soon enough.

Frantic eyes scanned the room, attention darting here and there, squinting away from the bright lights. They were disinterested in the… rather tasteful��decor – old blood smeared on the walls, caging them in memories of feedings and fuckings past. As they took in their surroundings, Vincent observed how different their eyes had become during their slumber. No longer were there any distinctions between pupil or iris or sclera – all had been reduced to a pitch black, inky darkness that threatened to consume everything.

A clear symptom of the Bloodlust.

Very common for a Newborn, but left unchecked, it could pose a danger to those ill-prepared to face an force nigh-unstoppable. They would become true hunger given human form.

But to Vincent, this meant only one thing. It worked. He had become a Maker. He had given them a new life, a new purpose. It was exceedingly easy to control an unempowered human, even with their tenacity being as delicious as their blood, but as his Progeny, they would be his little puppet, bound to his every word if he wished it.

Cocking his head to the side, he rested on an elegant hand, giving off the well-practiced illusion of boredom. Vincent knew hunger would creep in eventually –it was their curse of course; to be forever hungry – he just didn't expect them to feel the effects quite so soon. "Maybe I indulged in their fatalistic tendancies a little too much." The thought took him by surprise, made him laugh under his breath a little, unknown to himself, to think that he, a Prince had been doing anything for the benefit of a lowly human.

Unaware of him finding his realisation so humourous, they continued to cry and screech and moan, in a pain so intense there were no words to capture it.

"Sshhh," he responded their baying wails, if not for his own sake. He saw how each noise they made fuelled the next, every sound crashing against their new senses and sending them further into distress. "Hush now, little one."

The quiet words caught Lovely's attention, and when they turned their head to meet his gaze through the bright glare of the lights above, it was as if everything else ceased to exist. Their jerky, erratic, unhuman movements halted immediately as if his presence alone soothed their unspoken fears borne of confusion and desolation.

“That's it. You know who I am,” he crooned softly. “I'm your master, have been for a while now. And now, I'm your Maker.” Recognition flashed across their features as he spoke, a small gasp that merged into a sigh as they settled back into the mattress. They remembered him, knew what he had done to them. But there was more. He could feel something else lingering in their mind, it wrapped around his thoughts through the Bond, twisting and pulling and clawing desperately at the edges. Their hunger dwarfed even his own, their Bloodlust was immense, overwhelming all of their senses and threatened to pull them down where they would be helpless to fight it.

Would they try? Would they even want to? Or would they slip down into its endless depths without any hesitation?

He saw the hunger in their eyes, could feel through the Bond how desperate they were, teeth aching for the blood that hung in the air around them both. Their blood. His blood.

Maybe this would be easy, for both of them, maybe it wouldn't, there was only one way to find out.

Staring them down, he asserted his control over them, showed that they were no match for him. Not even five minutes old and chained to a bed, they had to see that he was in control. But still they writhed, seeking to free themself, to feed their hunger with more blood than they could stomach. A low whine slipped past their lips as they bared their fangs, though not in an attempt at aggression, as that would be the wrong move, but in submission as they pleaded for something, anything to make it all make sense.

Everything Vincent had – once, long ago – despised in himself, he saw in them now, the monstrous appetite, the inhuman stare, their perfectly shaped fangs! Oh, how they peeked out between their lips, catching the light on their razor points. And it was all… so… Beautiful. Their heaving chest slowed as their mind soon caught up to the fact that they no longer had that human need for oxygen to survive, allowing the room to fall into complete silence once again.

Only this time, the air felt unimaginably lighter with their time as a corpse set firmly behind in the past.

“You're a Vampire now," he explained once they had settled back against the bloodstained sheets in a position that could possibly be called comfortable. Since finding him amongst the bright lights, they had not looked away, entranced by his prescence, they clung onto every word that came from his lips. "You're mine. More than you ever were before, bloodba-" The insult-turned-nickname halted on his tongue, it didn't quite fit them now.

Puzzled, he frowned, thinking of an alternative. “Hmm, I guess I can't call you “bloodbag” anymore… a shame; it suited you so well. But still, you're mine.” Stroking a finger across their cheek, still stained with a dried mix of their own blood and his, he looked on them almost fondly.

A body to die for, powers yet to be tested, and the blood of a soon-to-be King. They were a vision.

He had thought they would stay sated a little longer and give him some time to come up with a plan, but perhaps their time of constantly circling the cloudy brink of hypovolemia had affected the lasting effects of his blood. How was he to know? He wasn't a damned Healer or anything. Human health wasn't something he was very familar with, and his own Maker had been very frugal in his education, so his lack of knowledge betrayed him and unsettled his nerves once more.

"Though," he reflected. "Keeping them half-drained had kept them quiet and pliant, the way all good bloodbags should be." But now they weren't a bloodbag, they were Progeny now, and the empty silence was starting to get to him.

Vincent watched patiently as they opened their mouth as if to grace the room with their voice but then closed it again, instead pressed their fangs into their bottom lip, denting the flesh, willing it to puncture under the sharp pressure. They were starving and painfully desperate for blood. If none could be found elsewhere, surely their own would suffice?

Immediately Vincent recognised the action, remembered all too well the way he'd sliced his own lip in the midst of starvation, and how William had forced upon him the truth of what happened to Vampires who succumbed to their own blood.

Death.

Excruciatingly painful death.

These cautionary tales, aside from the "gift" of this new life, were the only things his Maker had ever given him, no doubt to scare him off making Progeny of his own. He knew little of how to care for a Newborn Vampire, but it had been drilled into him that were wont to harm themselves in search for sustenance if their needs weren't met. "Impatient little things" as the old King had called them.

But this little one wasn't going to give in to something as unbecoming as petty impatience; Vincent wouldn't allow it. They were going to learn. He contemplated his words carefully, exceedingly aware of the shiny allure of finding loopholes in commands, not that William made it easy for him. Having a Maker five hundred years his senior had its own set of difficulties, and getting the upper hand against him was a pointless task.

"Stop!" He held their face with one hand, his fingers and thumb pressing hard into the sides of their jaw, inhibiting their ability to sink their teeth into their own flesh. Rings and nails biting into their skin were familar sensations, but now he needed to squeeze tighter than he ever had before; his Progeny was strong.

"My blood made them strong."

Vincent's grip was unrelenting, but necessary; their fangs were sharp, even for a Newborn. His complacency would be their ruin. "Biting and drinking from yourself will only bring you pain. And not the fun kind. Don't do it again," he growled, fangs bared. "Am I clear?" His silver eyes narrowed, staring them down, pushing his will against their own.

Yielding, they nodded as much as his hold would allow, conceding to the Prince, to their Maker, and making him smile in return. "Lovely," he remarked on their easy compliancy.

Content with this show of good behaviour, Vincent slowly reached out his hands towards the manacles that caged their limbs. He was not afraid, far from it, but he needed his new Progeny to recognise the meaning behind his actions, that he would not harm them if they complied.

Whatever had come before was not what would happen now, they were human then, but now? They were a Vampire. They'd been yanked up the ladder by the scruff of their neck, things would be very different.

"Don't move." The order was simple, easy to understand. From their months as his favourite live-in source of blood and stress reliever, Vincent knew how well they took commands; his little doll that did exactly as they were told.

In setting them free from the bindings, he was testing the Bond, their obedience, his control. They could easily break through the bindings now – releasing them was little more than a symbolic act – but they had chosen not to. They trusted his word, trusted him.

It could all go so very wrong in as little time it took to blink an eye, but he had faith that they would continue to choose correctly, that he had sufficently imposed his power over them to dissuade any imaginings of a fight for freedom.

What kind of freedom would it be anyway? A lone Vampire was powerless in the scale of things, and would be quickly exterminated if they failed to swear fealty to the Crown of the Imperium, their rebirth as a Free Vampire be damned. Even if they somehow managed to avoid that, all that would be left was a life of hiding and scavenging for scraps, holding onto the fractured hope that their next meal wouldn't be their last.

No, that was no freedom at all.

They were better off with him, especially as he would soon be stepping up from his position of Crown Prince to that of Vampire King. Vincent needed them to understand this.

“Stay.” Voice low with a rolling undercurrent of authority, the word not issued as a command this time, but rather a suggestion. He didn't want to have to chase them down through labyrinthine hallways; there would be no knowing where they could end up.

He turned and left the room without another word, leaving a delirious Lovely to lie in silence until his return.  They didn't even think to roll their joints, to exercise movements that had been restricted thus far. He had told them not to move, so that was exactly what they did.

Dark eyes merely stared at the open doorway, waiting for him to reappear.

They were not wrong to believe so, as their Maker did return. They knew he would; doubt had not been allowed to make any attempt to cloud their mind

With him, Vincent brought two of his bloodbags, one for himself and one for them. “That should be enough, right? Enough to take the edge off and make them docile.” The years of bloodsoaked depravity had worn away the hazy memories of his own Bloodlust, and the appetite of a Newborn wasn't something that had particularly interested him in the intervening time

He shoved at the shoulder one of the bloodbags, pushing them onto Lovely's lap without further fanfare; he wasn't about to celebrate this milestone lest they expect more of that down the line.

They were still his plaything, "nothing more."

Yanking at the limp sacrifice in his arms, Vincent manipulated him into a more suitable position. He dug his fangs into the pliant neck, sucking and licking, replenishing himself as he watched to see what his new source of entertainmen would do.

But they did nothing. They simply stared blankly back at him.

Disappointed, Vincent let the fresh blood drip from his chin as he lifted the Trance on both of the bloodbags. A little struggle wouldn't hurt, in fact, it might entice a stubborn Newborn to feed like they were supposed to.

And still they did nothing.

Lovely only moved to look up with their unseeing black eyes, waiting for an order from their owner, their master, their Maker.

Were they that subservient? Would they starve themself until he finally gave them the go-ahead to feed? He thought about dragging this out and forcing them to beg for blood, to submit to the thirst choking them from the inside. The sweet sadism floated by and kissed his senses, but even he wasn't that heartless.

“Drink."

The command was basic with no further instruction or guidance to adorn it unnecessarily. He needed to see them obey. As he returned to his own meal, he kept his eyes trained on his first – only – Progeny.

Copying Vincent's stance as much as they could while still lying down, they sunk their nails into the bloodbag’s arm, not even flinching as she wriggled and weakly punched at the stronger limbs to get away from the creature that held her firmly in place with one hand. Drawing her close, Lovely took in the scent of her wild pulse, fear gunning through every vein. Instinct took over, as fangs sank deeply into soft skin. They punctured the jugular without the need for any outside guidance while pointed incisors pinched the vein in place as they drank and drank at the delicious nectar that promised syrupy satiation.

In a word, Vincent was impressed, but also relieved. A vamp that couldn't feed was next to useless, so the fact that they were quick to grasp the concept was reassuring. They would survive if nothing else.

But it was no surprise; they were of Solaire blood, of his blood. Anything less would have been an insult to the power that flowed from their newly awakened Core and through their veins.

What did surprise him though, was the sheer mess they were making of their meal. As a newly Turned, formerly unempowered human, he expected them to be careful and delicate, scared to hurt the girl, but no. Her neck was torn open, and her skin now shredded with numerous gashes and wounds where their nails had sliced through, both when she had initially fought back and then again when Lovely began to learn and appreciate the extent of their new strength.

Skin was no more a barrier to them than tissue paper. Bones might as well be made of chalk for how easily they crumbled between their fingers. No longer were mortal limitations able to hold them back.

The girl cried out, a piercing noise that reminded Vincent of a bird that had died slowly – needlessly slowly – after Adam had shot it down with a well-aimed rock. Tortuous and choked, calling out all those in the vicinity as complicit in its tragic demise.

He might be unmoved by such soft sentiments, but he never could affiliate himself with those who felt they could gain anything from mindless violence. Pain for pain's sake never was the Prince's style.

But this? This was majesty.

With each greedy gulp of the girl's blood, Lovely felt the thrumming of her pulse quicken further and further, like a rabbit caught in a trap, her rasping breaths shallowed as her resistance faded away.

The creature that Vincent watched now was more beast than human, that much was obvious. Their only aim was to drain the girl dry without a second thought. The only things that mattered to them now were blood, and how to get it. The thick, red liquid flowed like warm honey, over Lovely's tongue and down their throat. As they gulped and swallowed it whole, the bitter fear and despair giving way to a gentle sweetness; an almost reluctant acceptance of what was to come. A blissfully quiet end.

The girl slumped further into Lovely's unyielding embrace as her strength waned, and as if in response to these changes, the young Vampire began to relax their grip. Even through the bone-deep hunger and the desperation for satiation, they understood innately how pointless it was to exert unnecessary force on prey that was already dying. Only a whisper of consciousness left as the last drops were drained from her still body.

Blind eyes stared into nothing, an exhausted heart stopped pumping, empty lungs ceased to breathe.

Lovely licked and sucked around the wound for more blood as they realised the heavy weight of what lay across their lap. Partially sated, they could smell how her scent had changed, no longer was she full of life and fresh blood, but a dry husk that could no longer give them what they wanted.

Black eyes stared intensely into dull, lifeless ones that now only served as tiny mirrors of what they had done, reflecting the bloody mess of their own face, tinted with a pale blue.

Pushing the body off of them with a hard shove, it landed somewhere out of their sight, down by the side of the bed. Expressionless, they were unrepentant and uncaring of their actions. Their silence only disturbed by the measured sips Vincent was taking from his bloodbag; experience had taught him that savouring one's meal prevented the nasty headrush that often came with gorging oneself.

As the seconds slipped by, the reality of what they had just done slowly became clear. Vincent still had not said a word, watching them carefully over the shoulder of his meal. Lovely could barely see him with how bright the room was; their vision still partially blinded. Eyes opened wide in panic, they were suddenly overcome by the deep-seated fear that they had failed some kind of test, that this was all just a bad dream, a nightmare that they'd soon wake up from and all would be well. All part of the last ditch efforts of a fading humanity to steer them away from this path of blood and cruelty

They would never kill someone… but that's exactly what they had done.

They killed.

And they enjoyed it.

There was no turning back now.

Shaking in disbelief and shock, Lovely turned to where they could sense their Maker on the fringes of their senses. He was near, he was close. They could feel him like he was a part of them.

He had not looked away in disgust or contempt, they could feel his gaze on them, it blanketed them in a quiet relief. They had passed the test, done the right thing, he accepted them as his own.

Vincent waited as Lovely blinked, their vision slowly clearing and focusing on him as he held the struggling human as close as one would a lover, stealing both his blood and his body heat. At last, he saw their black eyes, pupils dilated, completely swallowing up their bright silver irises that struggled to be seen but he knew were there. “There we go, Lovely, that's it," he crooned softly, the whole world disappearing outside of the two bloodthirsty beings. "Look at me.” They were beautiful. He was infatuated by how raw and animalistic they were willing to let themself be.

He took in their form, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before gripping the back of the bloodbag's neck to direct him to look at his Vampire eyes. Reactivating the Trance, Vincent removed whatever fight was left in the human. “Pick up the other one and go back to your room.”

The human did as he was bid, silently bending down to pick up the body and left the two Vampires alone.

Vincent stepped closer to the bed once more, smile widening as Lovely leaned towards him. “My little Lovely's finally gotten what they wanted so badly, how do you like it?”

They raised a trembling arm towards him – skin pristine; the defensive wounds from the girl were already gone – not in supplication as one would imagine, but as an entreaty, a plea for something.

“...volo…plus.” Sounds that were unfamiliar to his ears, the first actual words Lovely had spoken in months; bloodbags didn't need to talk, but they weren't a mere bloodbag anymore. No, they were Progeny. His Progeny. They were of his blood, under his command.

Blood itself had memory that called back to something primal, something innate, but beyond that, things that were no longer practised became lost. Through some echo of an ancient time, they had gained access to something he himself had lost a long time ago.

So what were they saying? He had to know. Stroking a thumb over their cheekbone as they laid the weight of their head in his palm as they blinked almost lazily now. “Blood-drunk already?” He was amazed, he had never seen a rebirth before, only holding the blurred memories of his own. He faintly remembered a hunger that yearned and burned and scorched from within. Looking at them now brought that back to the fore. They were both hunger and satiety personified. If he needed air to breathe, he would be gasping for it at the very sight of them, so enraptured by their descent into depravity. “Hmm? So hungry you can't even remember how to speak English?” He chided them, a long way from the venomous remarks he had previously spat at them before.

He watched their brows and the bridge of their nose twisted up in confusion as they searched for the right words to express their meaning. “M-more. Want... more,” they corrected themself. Their raspy voice bubbled out past the thick blood that slid down their throat. Every other thought in their mind forced out by the deep hunger that sat in their bones and called out to be sated. “Need! More!”

They sat up, pushing their face into his chest, repeating their demand without pausing to take breath, staining his shirt wherever they touched him. Lips, neck and hands were dripping with crimson. His lovely thrall had become an insatiable monster, and the fact it was his blood which made that happen made Vincent all the more ecstatic.

“You want more? I'll give you more.”

[pinksparkl]

This absolutely killed me when I saw it just after waking up this morning~ (in a good way 🥰) I'm insane over this in a way I cannot put into words, so please take a gif instead

I just about managed to get through some cleaning with my head in the proverbial gutter 😂 those bites!!!

And the lighting is gorgeous~ ✨️✨️ so bright it'll blind ya~ 😁✨️

I keep looking at it, admiring all the pretty details and I always end up getting lost in his gaze~~ 🥰

One chance, imp!Vincent, just give me one chance! 😍😘💋

“You're a Vampire now," he explained once they had settled back against the bloodstained sheets in a position that could possibly be called comfortable. Since finding him amongst the bright lights, they had not looked away, entranced by his prescence, they clung onto every word that came from his lips. "You're mine. More than you ever were before, bloodba-" The insult-turned-nickname halted on his tongue, it didn't quite fit them now.

Puzzled, he frowned, thinking of an alternative. “Hmm, I guess I can't call you “bloodbag” anymore… a shame; it suited you so well. But still, you're mine.” Stroking a finger across their cheek, still stained with a dried mix of their own blood and his, he looked on them almost fondly.

A body to die for, powers yet to be tested, and the blood of a soon-to-be King. They were a vision.

-- Long Live The King by @pinksparkl

Okay so I love this fic and ever since the second chapter came out, I just had to draw something for it. (If you haven't read it yet please give it a read!)

Im gonna hide it under a cut because of the blood and Lovely is only wearing a sheet but there's nothing showing

[storyweaverofgondor]

Helluva Hazbin Fic Recs

Long Fics:

Numb by Murrielberries (Helluva Boss) Summary: Stolas is before the Goetian council to get his divorce approved, but when Blitz is called to the stand, things don't go exactly to plan.

This one broke my heart and filled me with joy.

Sadistic Tendencies by SilverWolfDemonGirl (Helluva Boss): Summary:Experiencing the thrill of dominance over someone is not something you can often get as an imp in Hell. Even if you happen to be a superior breed. So while trying to retrieve his gun, Striker targets Moxxie again. And it does start as an afterthought. Really! But even if it's not a well known or acknowledged fact, Moxxie isn't actually an easy prey. And too many rejections can drive a man into obsession.

This one is very intense and i loved every minute. Also, Moxxie-centric! Which is really fun!

Wicked Old Soul by BunnyBight (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: When Val loses Angel to the gambling overlord but makes sure Angel believes he simply didn't want him anymore. Angel is left devastated and unsure of what his new life and master will be like.

Currently my favorite Overlord Husk AU. Lots of angst. Lots of Whump. Lots of Fluff. Lots of smut (blushing face emoji). Can go from the most tooth-rottingly adorable domestic fluff to the most awesome dark whump ever.

Wing Fics:

Wing Maintenance by Anderseeds (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: Alastor thinks Husk's wings could use some grooming, and he elects to assist.

Poor poor Husk. Alastor is so evil in this, i love it!

The Care and Keeping of Homo Angelus by Princeliest (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: Lucifer is very aware that certain aspects of personal grooming tend to go out the window for him on bad days (or weeks—or months). He does his best to keep up with it—he really does! It's just that the more visible things like his hair and clothes get priority, and by the times he realizes what a disaster his living space has become, or even worse, his wings...

Lucifer POV. Husk and Angel friendship. It is so sweet and whumpy and funny. I love it!

Something Nice by Just_A_Fan1 (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: Angel wants to do something for Husk to thank him for being a friend. Husk ends up teaching him how to groom his wings.

This one is very appropriately named. it's so cute!

Other:

You Can Learn Again by Acewithapaintbrush (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: A late night talk between a spider and a king reveals that Lucifer has a very loose understanding of boundaries when it comes to meddling in other sinner's businesses.

One of the best HH fics in my opinion. It is awesome and intense. I love it so much.

The jester can't sleep by VentiWind (Helluva Boss): Summary: Fizzarolli's mechanical limbs are a great help, but they aren't always perfect.This night Fizzarolli can't get any sleep, his prothetics bothering him to the point he can barely move. Asmodeus tries to help his boyfriend feel better, But Fizz struggles to open up to him fully.To pass the night, the both of them will have to learn a lot about trust and boundaries.

Very sweet and whumpy fic focusing on Fizz.

you're my Angel, baby by lesbesbean (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: Alastor is bothering Husk a bit too much to Angel's tastes. Time to step in.

Adorable Huskerdust.

put my head above the water; these flames are getting hotter by HearJessRoar (Hazbin Hotel): Summary: Husk knows that Angel understands. It doesn’t make him feel any less pathetic.

Fantastic Husk Whump and Caring Angel Dust.

@tending-the-hearth

[sylphidine]

[NDU] As The Silver Planets Run

It is hot as hell outside here in not-very-merrie-Newe Englande, and your salty Sylph is craving winter chills. So time to revisit a spooky tale from the depths of my archives. It's one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I hope you'll all think so too.

This tale was originally written for @piratekingpitchblack and owes a great deal to @tripletrilby, as well as several other NDU creators.

[Saucy bits under the cut. Read at your own risk... or your own pleasure.]

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University

Pairing: NightmareGalleon [both Waardrobeverse & modern college!AU]

Rating: Explicit

Summary: The Nightmare King refuses to let the Boogeyman fade.

________________

The grey-skinned giant stands impassively within the cavern, the tunnels behind him teeming with shadows that twist and twitch.  

Above the cavern, a village sleeps and dreams; above the village, distant stars wheel and march across a moonless sky, galaxies among them unseen yet glistening on the edge of the giant’s awareness.

It seems wrong for *him* to be the one to break the silence; his… other self?… his counterpart?... [what were they to one another?]... never seems… never seemed... to stop talking, pacing, gesticulating, hyperventilating…

Pitchiner smiles wryly.  What he wouldn’t give to hear Pitch wheezing in the tunnels behind him, determined to have the last word, his skinny shorter legs trying to catch up with Pitchiner’s longer and more muscled ones as the giant size-shifted at will.

What he wouldn’t give...

“Little man, how useless you’ve become.”

“Dark and sinister imp, how annoying you’ve become.”

Once upon a time, Pitchiner’s gloat of short-lived triumph had been countered nastily by one he thought he’d bested… the Cossack would-be wizard.  It did not escape Pitchiner’s sense of irony that he and Pitch had been tossing similar insults at one another in all the time they’d spent in the lair.

Time.  His perception of time was so different from Pitch’s.  Pitchiner saw long games and far-reaching consequences.  He’d learned patience, being trapped with a diamond dagger-point in his chest for ages uncountable.  Pitch’s view was linear, staccato, one ticking clock-strike after another.  Pitch needed everything NOW.

And when Pitch could not have what he wanted, and what it turned out that he NEEDED, Pitch diminished to the point of disappearance.  The Boogeyman now was a mere whisper on the wind, a fleeting half-caught image in the corner of the eye..

Millennia of existence, moments of heightened awareness.  Pitch had taught Pitchiner, completely unconsciously, to view time in moments rather than in aeons.

Moments the Nightmare King would lose, other than his memories, if he allowed Pitch to fade.

Holding Pitch in the palm of his hand and licking his cock from the base of the shaft to the tip, with an extra swirl of the tongue between and behind his balls.

Debating the concepts of the power of fear versus the idea of fear, said debate demonstrated with teeth and claws on couches and in beds and up against walls over the course of weeks.

The inexplicable delight that Pitch tried to hide under irritation and anger when Pitchiner first experienced a thunderstorm.

The startling display of almost-affection Pitch had shown him on a memorable occasion.  Pitchiner had come across Pitch sitting dejectedly with both his robe and skin in tatters, after yet another attack by the traitorous Nightmares he had once commanded, tears he could not hide streaming from his eyes.  Without thinking, Pitchiner had licked at the bloody wounds and scratches on Pitch’s back.  Pitch had looked back at him with a stunned and piteous expression before leaning in and extending his own long tongue to give Pitchiner’s nose a delicate lick in return.

Pitch’s bony hips cupped in Pitchiner’s lap, Pitchiner’s cock embedded in Pitch’s ass, Pitch’s gangly legs dangling over Pitchiner’s thighs as the giant bounced his favourite fucktoy up and down, listened to the curses and hisses as he milked Pitch’s cock in one hand and kept both Pitch’s hands trapped above his head in one of his own, Pitchiner biting and sucking between shoulder and collarbones in rhythm with his thrusts.  Pitch going boneless and limp as he came and screeching like a pinioned barn owl when the head of his cock became too sensitive.  Pitchiner being able to HEAR Pitch’s toothy smile, a smile Pitch would hotly deny, when Pitchiner released his own orgasm like an onrushing tide inside him.

The pained looks Pitch would give him when Pitchiner interrupted his reading, when he came up with ploys to get him away from studious pursuits and into carnal ones.

Kisses that devoured, kisses that let one be devoured.  Thin-lipped kisses with teeth and tongues.  Hard kisses that thrilled, soft kisses that shocked.

These moments could not disappear.  Pitchiner would not let these moments disappear.

The giant turns on his booted heel and makes his way down the tunnel.

*************************

Snow whirled in the whistling wind and slammed into the windowpane with a vicious rattle, jolting Coz awake and sending Pitch flying off his chest and onto the living room floor.

“What THE FUCK?!? Must you channel a horse and buck me off just when I was getting comfortable?”

“Sorry, babe, let me give you a hand up”, Pitchiner said apologetically as he sat up on the couch and helped Pitch to his feet.  He then pulled the smaller man into his arms and buried his face in Pitch’s chest.  Pitch found himself in the awkward position of leaning over Coz’s head with no idea where to put his hands.  He settled for loosely crossing them over the athlete’s back and lacing his fingers together.  Not quite a hug, but a silent acknowledgement of the apology.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Pitch’s own back started to spasm from the odd angle and he had to change position.  He wriggled cat-like out of the embrace and sat himself down unceremoniously on Pitchiner’s knees, facing him with a vicious glare.  “So… are you going to tell me about it?”

��Another nightmare,” Coz muttered.  “You died.”

Pitch sighed dramatically, disguising his concern under shades of sarcastic irritation. “What happened this time?” he bit out, dragging out the words huffily.

“I don’t know!  This was really, really weird.  I didn’t see you die this time, you… You were just… gone.  And I had to find some magic way to bring you back.  So there was this wizard, and he said something like…”

“Something like ‘if you stay right here at this spot in this cave until the end of Time, you can keep him alive forever’... was that it?”

Coz’s eyes narrowed. Pitch waited a moment before saying, “I’ve had that dream too.”

A long few moments passed and then Pitchiner spoke.  “I needed to get a dump truck and a pickaxe and transport the cave somewhere…”

Pitch interrupted, his words sounding like a litany or an incantation, “Stone by stone…”

“Shadow by shadow,” Pitchiner countered.

Without thinking, they both leaned in at the same time and bumped heads painfully.  Pitch scrambled to his feet and hissed, “If we’re going to inflict mutual injuries upon each other, can we PLEASE do it in a horizontal position that isn’t as narrow as this hell-couch?”

The dangerously sentimental moment had passed.  Coz bared all his teeth in a frightening, yet winning smile and replied, “My, you’re insatiable lately, dear.”

“As long as it keeps you believing in me, DEAR.”

[kaissauce]

I know nothing about twilight princess but I’m leaning in with a hand cupped by my ear and I’m listening

this got long fdhjgdjgd

ok so im gonna summarize twilight princess so things are less confusing so basically in tp Link is just some farmer guy until oH no my friends got kidnapped and i got conked on the head! and then this thing called the “twilight realm” is taking over the world which is big bad because monsters are appearing and being in the twilight realm turns Link into a wolf (rather than a spirit which is what literally every other human turns into) because the triforce of courage gives him the power to. then he gets jailed because he is dog, then this imp lady named Midna breaks him out because he’s a wolf and there’s a legend about a hero that would appear as a “divine beast” but she doesn’t tell him that. and then they escape jail and that section that was engulfed by the twilight realm and Midna basically offers Link a deal that she’ll help him save his friends if he helps her in turn. at first Midna is a selfish and sassy prick but gets development hoorah also it turns out she’s the princess of the Twilight realm and that’s why she needed Link’s help to save her realm. they also fix a mirror that is the portal to the Twilight Realm which is the main reason i thought of this au in the first place

so now that that summary is out of the way, i can explain the roles, Prince Fluff replaces Link while Shadow Kirby replaces Midna. Kirby replaces Ilia (Ilia’s a close friend of Link) King Dedede replaces Mayor Bo (father of Ilia and mayor of the village Link lives in). Dark Taranza replaces Zant (the main villain who usurped Midna). Dark Mind replaces Ganondorf. i have NO clue who Princess Zelda would be souhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh actually kirby might be zelda idk

but honestly screw the side characters im mostly focusing on Prince Fluff and Shadow Kirby

and im going to completely ignore that by taking Midna’s role, Shadow Kirby almost dies twice (also Midna breaks the mirror that is the only way to the twilight realm therefore making it impossible for link and her to meet again and i am also ignoring that)

[ginger-danica-snapps]

WIP Wednesday. A snip from my back in time, fix it Jonsa story and my Ned marries Cersei instead of Catelyn AU.

"Here,” the child said and while Sansa was kneeling another person slipped from between the trees. This time a woman in a long flowing, tan dress, but her hair looked like the bark of the weirwood. She held something in her hands.

Jon watched as Sansa realized what it was and began to stand and protest, but Jon placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her kneeling.

“þú eru dawninn bringer, protector ór fólk,inn móðir ór allr hverr eru eigi dauðr. Vargr dróttning fran Norðririnn,” the child intoned as the woman came to stand before and raised a crown of weirdwood branches somehow petrified into a glistening, smooth crown with wild branches reaching to the moonlight.

Old tongue again, Jon realized and began to work through the translation, suddenly more grateful to his time among the freefolk.

“You are the dawnbringer, Protector of the People, Mother of All who are not dead. Wolf Queen from the North,” he murmured quietly, but kept his hand on her shoulder when she immediately began to protest.

The crown was nestled onto her head and Jon was moving to the front, pulling Dark Sister from sheath again and laying her tip down onto the ground with his head bowed.

“I swear to be the sword that guards you till there is no breath left in my body. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no other to wife, hold no lands that are not yours as well, and father no children that do not call you mother. You are the queen I choose. You are my queen, now and always.”

It was a cold morning when Cersei Lannister pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped out of her room. Melara and Jeyne already waited for her patiently and she slipped past them without a word of greeting. They followed silently as Cersei expertly navigated her way outside of Casterly Rock without running into nary a servant or soldier who would scamper off to tattle.

They reached the woods without speaking and Cersei turned with a sharp grin. She held her hands out to the two girls and they smiled back and reached out to clasp hands. Turning they ran into the forest, laughing, as Cersei led them to the small creek.

“Where did you say she was?” Cersei asked as they cautiously stepped onto slick rocks, never letting go of each other.

“A good walk down the creek and even longer into the dark of the woods. Cersei, are you sure we should do this?” Melara whispered.

“Of course,” Cersei answered automatically and turned to go deeper into the woods while tugging at their hands.

“Your father, Cersei, we would be in so much trouble,” Jeyne added as she slightly resisted.

Cersei sighed. What use was having companions if they weren’t willing to take chances? As always Cersei struggled with the idea that these were her childhood friends, but that they were first put in place by her Aunt Genna and likely reported much of her adventures. She was still pretty convinced that it was Jeyne who had reported Cersei and Jaime switching places every other day in his training.

She missed the physical exertion of swords play and the way she was able to hit the mark every time she released her bow string.

Still, it was her responsibility to soothe her companions when fearful.

“You will almost always be the highest ranking woman in the room, Cersei. One day, you will marry a Prince of Dorne if all goes as planned and only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her daughters, and the wife of the Prince will outrank you. You need to always be the calming presence for your ladies. They must never see your fear, because then they will remain calm and know all is well,” Joanna Lannister brushed Cersei’s hair back from her face in soft, strong strokes.

Her mother was always soft and strong. Cersei wanted to be just like her when she married and took over her own household.

“I heard father say he wished me to marry Prince Rhaegar, Mother,” Cersei answered quietly.

Her mother’s hands froze for a second, but then she began her strokes anew.

“Your father thinks he can sway Aerys, yes, but I fear, little light, that Aerys will only seek to enrage your father. Lions were not meant to marry Dragons, my daughter. Remember that, if you remember nothing else. We may work in service, even be close in friendship as I was once to Queen Rhaella, but we must never join with the dragon,” Joanna whispered, “I would not have my little light burned by a dragon’s fire.”

Cersei spun around again and squeezed her companion’s hands.

“You need not fear my father, Jeyne,” Cersei assured her, though she also felt her very heart tremble at the idea of being caught.

They continued into the forest, following the stream till it ended in a pretty little waterfall, before tipping deeper into the forest than Cersei had ever traveled. They found Maggy the Frog’s house tucked into a dark clearing, behind a small pond. Moss grew over the old stone and the roof was thatched.

Badly, Cersei noted to herself. There were holes and water gathering in a way that her father would never have allowed Lannisport to weather.

Her mother would have cared about the witch in the wood, but her father would likely burn her out if he realized she was here.

“I…,” Jeyne stuttered and Melara and Cersei turned.

Jeyne wrenched her hand from them and looked around with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei nodded and gave a slight shoulder shrug, “Walk back to the water, Jeyne. Melara, go with her. I will speak to this Maggy the Frog and come meet you.”

Jeyne barely dipped a slight curtsy to her liege’s daughter, before lifting her skirts and running back the way they came. Melara gave Cersei a concerned look and Cersei thought she could see real concern. She motioned her away.

She waited till both girls were gone and turned back and set her shoulders with determination and marched up and knocked on the door. If her companion’s had stayed, Cersei would perhaps have marched in with no regard to the owner just to show her seniority on her father’s land.

“A humble lady will always garner more loyalty among her compatriots than a prideful one,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear.

“The lion does not lay down and sleep with the sheep,” her father followed.

“Come in, little lion child,” a voice called out and Cersei opened the door and softly stepped in, her boots already ruined from the walk.

“Are you Maggy the Frog?” she asked, forcing strength into her tone.

The woman cocked her head and Cersei was at least glad to find the woman did not resemble anything like a scary monster. In fact, she was quite boring.

“We wanted to see the monster,” Oberyn Martell said and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Everyone wanted to see her little imp of a brother.

“He’s just a baby. An ugly baby, but a baby,” Elia added and Cersei resisted the urge to snap back with a cutting remark.

He might be the curse upon her life, but he was her little brother and no one else was allowed to speak ill of a Lannister.

No one understood that Tyrion was a monster because he killed her mother, not because he was a misshapen little thing.

“Often go into your thoughts, girlie? I’m the one you call Maggy the Frog and I assume you’ve come to hear your future?” the woman said.

Cersei’s eyes widened. That, however, was not boring.

“Yes. I have. My father and aunt say I am to marry Prince Rhaeger, but my mother wished me to marry Prince Oberyn, though my father refused the Princess of Dorne. I want to know if I am to marry the prince and one day be Queen? How many children will I have?” Cersei eagerly stepped forward.

She would love her children and they would love her. They would never fear to whisper their secrets, hopes, and fears.

Maggy the Frog tilted her head and stared at her before reaching down and pulling a small dagger from beside her. Cersei took a step back, fear dogging at her step, before forcing herself to stand tall again.

“This is my father’s land and if you harm a hair on my head then he will gouge your eyes out and you will not see any future again, certainly not your own,” Cersei said coldly and startled when Maggy tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

“Oh, little lion girlie, you are quite the opposite of what I saw for today as it is. Let us see what else has changed. A little taste of your blood girl to be able to see what is going to happen. To see if gold crowns and cold shrouds no longer lay across the lion spawn,” the woman explained and held the knife hilt out.

Cersei took a deep breath and stepped forward to take it. She laid it down easily onto her thumb and gave a slight whimper when it cut into her skin and blood welled to the top. She went to hold the knife back out, but found herself being yanked forward and her finger in the witches mouth.

Cersei had barely had time to react before she was released and she cupped her hand to her chest.

“Three questions, girlie, but most do not like my answ…” the woman made a sudden sharp noise and gripped at her head, gasping for breath, and Cersei started to move forward to help her.

The woman suddenly sat up and completely still, eyes shut, and back ramrod straight.

“Maggy?” Cersei whispered, fear starting to creep into her.

Maggy’s eyes flew open and Cersei gasped at the milky white expanse that existed where muddy, dark brown eyes had.

“The song of fire and ice comes, and nothing will stop the stag from killing the dragon. The wolf brother of the stag will help without knowing, without seeing. The wolf’s sister will die so their son may live. The gods give another choice not given before, eyes were open, but could not see. Winter comes, winter comes, and the wolves must live. A Queen she shall not make, but a mother of a King she shall be. Remember, learn, live, and roar. The Lioness will triumph if the last dragon son thrives,” Maggy gasped and then she collapsed.

[elmidol]

The Shackles of Fate - Two (NSFW)

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Read Chapter One

Summary:  If one misses curfew it is not only their life that is on the line, but their very soul. You are unlucky enough to encounter the fallen faerie prince when you miss curfew. He decides to claim your soul for himself rather than turn it over to the Master he has been enslaved by. As you are drawn further into his world, you learn more of your own past and how it is connected to the stories of your childhood.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader Ben/Reader

Warning: dark fic, dub con, oral

The Shackles of Fate

Two

It smelled of damp soil in the place that you awoke. Your eyelids fluttered open and you discovered that there was an extreme lack of light. Darkness pervaded the area—was it a room? Normally when you were in bed there were traces of shadows that played along the walls. There was none of that where you now were. You inhaled deeply and worked to rely on your other senses in order to ascertain your current location. It occurred to you that this could well be limbo. Purgatory. The pit of Snoke’s stomach after he had consumed your soul. There were countless phrases and terms that would equate to the same thing. If not for the feel of moss under your fingertips, you would have truly believed that you had met death for your failure to make curfew. You sniffed the air once more, however, to reaffirm that there was a distinct lack of a gastric aroma.

 One unfortunate fact of your childhood was that, as the dark faerie had stated, you had had no parents to comfort you. They had abandoned you as an infant, leaving you behind to be raised in the orphanage owned by the Plutt family. That was where you had met and befriended Rey. She had been there only a little while longer than you had. Never once did she give up on the possibility that her family would return for her. You, on the other hand, had escaped into the faerie tales and rejected the possibility that your parents had loved you. It hurt you more to think that they had wanted you only to leave you there.

 Of the many household chores that you had been assigned, it was cleaning the toilets that had forever instilled the memory of regurgitated stale beer. You had done all that you could to ensure that the outlook you had on life remained overall positive. That was the very reason you had embraced and adored tales of faeries in your youth. Your becoming a nursemaid had been due to your growing desire to bring laughter into the lives of children as a means of preventing them from experiencing a similar childhood to yours and Rey’s.

 Present circumstances did not dissuade you from believing that you had chosen the correct path for your life. The governess that you worked alongside, a woman by the name of Rose Tico, had quickly become a dear friend; and she, too, believed that you had a gift for working with the younger children in the household. Though Rose was only twenty-two years of age, her word held much weight in your opinion. She had always been wise in repeating the rules regarding surviving Snoke’s power. If you had given more heed to them, such as the at morning ensure the clock is not broken portion, you might not have wound up there.

 Where there happened to be.

 In darkness where not even the white material of your nightgown could be seen, that was where you were. You touched your hands to the clothing. You could not help but wonder how filthy it was. When you returned home—you firmly believed that you would be returning; you were willing to fight tooth and nail to do so—you would invest in a nightgown that was a darker shade. The current one would undoubtedly need to be tossed out. Allowing yourself to think of these mundane plans helped you to keep a level head. You had since risen to your feet and had started to tiptoe through the darkness. One hand outstretched in front of you, wiggling your toes between each step in search of anything that might bring harm.

 You froze when light broke through the darkness. You squinted and shielded your eyes. A silhouette emerged, obscuring a generous amount of that brightness. You gave a quick sweep of the room to survey your surroundings in case you were again sealed inside. A shout for help lodged in your throat. You did not know if you could trust the individual. Were they yet another prisoner of the faerie? One of the guards?

 Perhaps, despite his words, the faerie prince did intend on carrying out his duty of ripping your soul from your body. Not wanting to do something did not always equate to refraining from committing oneself to the dreadful task. Much as it had been in your room, there were no weapons that you could use to defend yourself. Except, of course, your fists. Your childhood had resulted in you knowing basic defensive maneuvers as well as how to properly throw a punch to break someone’s nose. Rey had also instructed you on other techniques that she had picked up during her travels.

 “I can deliver you no harm. You are his guest.” Guest was certainly not the term you would have used. You clenched your teeth in order to bite back any retort you had for the female speaker.

 All the same, you stepped nearer to the light when the other being shifted towards the left in a gesture of welcoming. You repeatedly blinked as your eyes struggled to fully adjust to the brightness. Something touched your shoulder, prompting you to jump. You spun around, your hands lifting to touch the material that had been placed on you. Relaxing, you tucked your arms into the sleeves of the travel shawl. You were grateful to have an added layer to your attire given that the wetness from the moss was causing portions of your nightgown to become rather transparent.

 The faerie standing in front of you was dressed in earthly colors. Her wings were different than those of the dark creature that had entered your bedroom. These were a translucent pink. The faerie’s face was obscured by a mask and every bit of her flesh was hidden by her clothing.

 “Should you find yourself in need of nutrition, provisions will be provided.” The faerie offered a brief bow of her head then walked around you, leaving you to your own devices.

 You knit your brow in confusion. You twisted at your waist one way then the other, searching your surroundings once more. There were wooden shelves that held filled bottles and glass jars. Curled up in a corner underneath those shelves and observing you was a small feline. Its tail reminded you of a lizard, as did the tongue that flicked out from its mouth. The sound that emerged from it was a coo.

 Upon closer inspection of the jars and bottles, you discovered the contents were things that made your stomach turn. You fought off the urge to gag upon noticing the pinkish organs that you strongly believed were human. One of the jars held coagulated blood and another ashes. Recoiling from the collection, you were relieved to find that the feline did not move to follow you when you walked in the direction of a different door than the one the faerie had exited.

 Lanterns lit your path in the garden that the door opened to. You looked back over your shoulder, wondering what the hut you had just left was normally used for. It had not been a prison cell as you had started to fear. The stench of damp soil gave way to the various perfumes offered by the flowers in the garden. They mixed together to produce a calming aroma. You had never seen such plants in your life, although they did bear a certain resemblance to some of the illustrations in picture books.

 The lanterns did not illuminate your path near as much as you would have preferred. They were spaced apart enough where shadows played on the ground and the darkness threatened to drown you every few inches. One bush of the bushes that was easily visible had berries you could have plucked off and eaten if you had wanted to.

 You knew better than to allow anything too close to your mouth. Stories had long told of humans becoming trapped as servants to the fae when they ate or drank from this realm. Governess Tico did not neglect her duty to keep the entire household, including the staff, informed of these precautions and rules. The children that you looked after knew more about imps than faeries; those more malevolent creatures specialized in stealing children away to serve in the demon king’s army. Their souls were kept in a constant state of agony until they had worn out their use, at which point the imp would officially harvest the soul for Snoke’s meal.

 You considered yourself lucky that you had been met with a faerie instead of an imp. You did have a strong dislike of faerie dust though, or at least when it was used to assist in your abduction.

 Guest my ass, you thought, your lips puckering forward in a sour expression.

 You drew the gray travel shawl more tightly around your body. In the distance you could hear voices and the occasional laughter, some of it dry and humorless. You ignored those sounds. You used the lanterns as a guide; they carried you deeper into the garden and farther away from the voices. With any luck, you would find a portal to take you back to your realm.

 “You’ll be disappointed—the portal will not open for you.” The yelp that left you had your cheeks growing hot with blush. You recognized the voice and turned to its owner.

 An absence of his helmet had not been what you had expected to find. Your eyes darted about the features of his face, which were far different than you had believed they would be. Despite having seen his jawline while he had been on your bed with you, you had not expected the rest of his countenance to also look human. His brown eyes had an intensity to them. You could not decide if you would refer to them as fierce or deep. They drew you in rather than repelled you. Because of this, you chose to think of them with the latter term. His hair was longer than you had seen on men where you lived. Your fingers twitched at the thought that those locks could very well be as soft as they appeared. The light curls looked much like feathers to you.

 “You’ve been watching me,” you said, your tone less accusatory than the situation might have warranted. His jaw twitched. You watched his lips begin to purse only to settle back into their former frown of indifference. When he failed to reply verbally, you tried once more. “I hadn’t thought that your eyes were made for a darker world.” Instantly you felt a sense of regret over your poor word choice; faeries had not always been denizens of darkness.

 His wings stretched out an inch to either side. They folded in a similar manner to a bat’s, although their texture brought to mind a moth. “The helmet?” His natural voice caused you to relax. You nodded a single time in response to his inquiry. “There are obstacles that exist between realms.” The way he spoke had changed, his tone adapting a sardonic quality. It was akin to the moments you found yourself explaining the most basic of rules to the younger children for the umpteenth time. You wondered how old this faerie prince was. That information had not been readily available in any of the tales that you had heard.

 You digested the minute amount of information he had willingly provided. First, there was a portal, likely nearby given that he had felt a need to comment on it. Second, as he had stated, it would not open for you. Faerie magics were strong and it had been such forces that had once held Snoke back from your realm. You were not arrogant enough to believe that you could break them.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, your level of impatience winning.

When he spoke, it was not to answer your question, but to pose another. “You truly don’t know what you are, do you?” You, having glanced in the direction of the voices of the other faeries, laid your eyes on the faerie prince. His lips were curled at the corners in amusement, his eyes pinching. It was clear that he was holding in his laughter, though a breathy exhalation from his nose managed to break through. You waited for him to tease you while revealing whatever it was he believed he was going on about. You were left disappointed.

With a huff, you decided to change tactics. “Why did you put me in that hut?”

“To carry you over my threshold would have ramifications I doubt you would be prepared for.” He had worded his reply well. Your eyes widened. The prince’s smirk appeared once more and he turned his back to you. Each time he spoke, your gaze had lowered to his mouth. His canine teeth were more pointed than a human’s, although you would not refer to them as fangs since that brought to mind a vampire. You were beginning to believe that, in his own way, he had been merciful. When he had stated that he did not wish to kill you, he had meant it and acted in a way to prevent your death.

If things were as simple as that, he would be able to break free from the demon king. There has to be more.

You ran the fingers of your right hand through your hair, tucking some back behind your ear. The faerie tilted back his head. You could hear him sniff the air. Shoulders rising, you took a step in retreat. You were at a loss how to handle this behavior. The obvious statement of it’s not human would have made you roll your eyes; understanding this, though, did little to help you from feeling self-conscious.

The faerie twisted around, closing the distance between the two of you before you had a chance to react. His wings extended their full length. You turned your head to the left so that you could take in their full size and design. You had barely enough time to react to them closing again, this time wrapping around your body and pulling you against their owner. You braced your forearms against his chest, looked up at him, and glared. You would have verbally protested his actions had he not spoken first, informing you that he was masking your scent with his own. After the female faerie had referred to you as a guest, you had dismissed the idea that others in this realm might be interested in targeting you.

Your soul, according to the treaty signed by those who summoned the demon king into the human realm, belonged to Snoke as an offering. It had never been known for certain how it was that the faeries, imps and demons were able to sense who had failed to meet curfew. It was not as though those marked lived long enough to learn this secret.

A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and bushes. The faerie’s wings shifted off of you to once more wrap around only their owner’s body. You looked down at your clothes and found that dust coated the material. The same dust that had previously knocked you unconscious. It seemed to have more than one use. You pinched the front of the travel shawl, rubbed your fingers together through the material, and inspected the digits. None of the dust had clung to your flesh.

“It will soon be morning.”

You looked up from your fingers and met the faerie’s gaze. “You will take me back to my home—I haven’t eaten anything.” His shoulders shook in silent laughter, one of his gloved hands concealing the lower half of his face. “I…” You released a strangled noise, temporarily at a loss for words. Recovering, you tried again. “I refuse to remain your prisoner!”

He lowered the limb from his face in unison with stepping around you. The faerie circled you, his eyes in constant motion. You tugged at the hem of the shawl’s sleeves. Did wearing their clothing seal your fate? The tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips. The faerie took a step towards you and you took one back. He repeated his actions, you yours until you felt the hard surface of a tree trunk against your back, blocking you from going any further. His hands cupped you through your nightgown. You grabbed at his wrists, your eyes wide and glued to his face. He was meeting your gaze. “Don’t fight it.” He bent two fingers at the knuckles. Straightened them and bent them again. Short, slow strokes. He teased you through the thin layer of clothing that you wore.

You trembled at his touch and averted your gaze. You knew that you had not outright rejected him. What if you did? The words refused to form on your tongue as the warmth of pleasure blossomed in your stomach and pooled lower. Your panties were becoming damp. The faerie prince prodded at you, his gentle strokes coming to an end.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked. You bit down on the insides of your cheeks to keep from answering. “Some go to bed early to do so.” Teasing you, reminding you of your failure. You shrunk in on yourself then straightened as his fingers resumed petting you. “I cannot take their souls.” An admission that he played the role of voyeur. He applied more pressure, managing to work open your outer lips. He fucked his fingers into them. Your wet panties were now making the front of your nightgown wet. “I can smell you like this. You like it.”

A part of you wondered why he was doing it given his prior actions, that he had worked to mask your scent.

“You said you ate nothing?” You nodded. The smirk on his lips was a filthy promise that he sunk to his knees to deliver. “I will.” Once more you were stunned to silence. Your eyes wide, you watched as the faerie prince lifted the front of your nightgown and pulled it over his head. The fingers that had been stroking you now hooked into your panties, tugging them out of his way. His warm breath crept over you. You buried your face in your hands as your body reacted. The wetness between your legs trailed down your thighs and had undoubtedly dribbled onto his face.

Your mind conjured up the memory of that pink tongue between his lips as you felt it dance along your folds. The faerie prince sunk the tips of his fingers into your thighs, working them open, and flattened his tongue against you. You felt it undulate then curl. He pulled all that he could into his mouth, noisily slurping and groaning. If it hadn’t been for the tree, you would have collapsed. Your hands dropped away from your face and you held the back of his head through your nightgown. Tilting back your head, you closed your eyes and rocked against his mouth. The grip he had on your left thigh lessened. He hooked that leg over his shoulder then plunged his tongue into you. You gasped at the intrusion, at the way he felt inside of you. Your hands tugged at him in a futile effort to get him closer. He opened his mouth around you then slowly closed his lips, dragging them along your folds while his tongue again swirled, this time on your clit.

He repeated the act, only this time he flattened his tongue and dragged it up. Moved it in reverse so that the underside gathered more of you. Another lick from that devilish tongue. He started to draw lazy designs that may have been words. As he delivered a final stroke down with the very tip, you were brought over the edge. The world around you seemed to disappear, all sounds drowned out by the pulse in your ears. His hand was on your stomach to keep you from pitching forward. His mouth still on you, tongue greedily lapping up all that he could.

Once he was satisfied, the faerie prince withdrew from your nightgown, your panties shifting back into place. You wiggled to help them. All the while you worked to catch your breath and tried to remember why you had allowed this stranger to touch you. Not that it hadn’t felt good. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“The portal will open and I will return you to your home—until night again comes. Your soul is marked. If you wish to keep it, you will not attempt to escape my protection. The imps can smell humans best of all. I will ensure your scent is masked.” He gestured in a wide arc to the many bushes in the garden. “In here you shall play while I serve the demon king.”

While you murder and ripe out the souls of others, you thought bitterly. Reality hit you hard and you felt physically ill. No matter how merciful appeared and alluring this creature was, he nevertheless was a murderer. A monster, twisted from whatever former beauty he may have been. You pressed your legs closer together and mentally berated yourself for giving into desire.

Turning, you toyed with the flower nearest to you. It was a red blossom with yellow streaks on its petals. You bent down, smelling its sweet scent, which reminded you of a hard candy that had always been your favorite. You lowered yourself onto your knees then sat on your legs. Your hands were in your lap and your eyes did not leave the flower. Resigned to your fate, until you could find a loophole, you asked for the faerie’s name. It came as no surprise that he failed to answer.

“What should I call you?” he asked. You rubbed your thumb along your leg, swiping it back and forth. Four seconds elapsed before you decided to humor the faerie prince by giving your name.

For this you earned nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment. You rose to your feet and faced the faerie. “Are you...Ben?”

The dark winged creature flinched, drawing back from you as though you had given a great insult. “He was weak and now slumbers.” It was not exactly a no, not in your opinion. “Kylo.” He held out his hand to you. “I will take you home.”

That voice, those words, echoed in your head as you opened your eyes to find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room. Had any of that truly occurred? Heat exploded across your face at the memory of that tongue. A dream? You touched your shoulders. There was no travel shawl. You sat up enough to push aside your blankets and examine your nightgown. It was clean, perfectly so. Your eyes shifted to the clock on the bedside dresser. It ticked, properly counting each second that passed. You started to convince yourself that it had all been a dream. Which would explain the ease with which the faerie had seduced you. Laying your head back on your pillow, however, you saw something in the corner of your eye.

You shifted on the bed, turning onto your side and staring at the small object that looked to you like a cocoon. Its design was familiar. They were… Your lips parted in a silent gasp. Kylo’s wings had the same pattern, but this was so tiny. You gently touched the tip of your index finger to the cocoon. It opened, one wing sliding down to reveal the face of a slumbering young man. He was nearly identical to Kylo, although his features were softer. More peaceful. Instead of the dark robes that Kylo had worn, this faerie was adorned in white with golden designs. He was curled with his head nestled on his crossed arms and his legs drawn towards his stomach. You carefully nudged the wing aside to see the remainder of his body.

If he were to stand his full height, he would have been just a little larger than your middle finger.

You spoke softly to the small faerie, urging him to wake up. He did not stir. You bit down on your bottom lip. If you were to leave him, there was a chance that one of the cats would enter the room and eat him.

Now slumbers, you thought with an outward groan. You had not even considered that the curse placed on the faerie prince by Snoke ran more deeply than being trapped in servitude. By night his slave, by day…

“I hope you don’t mind living in a pocket,” you muttered, rising from the bed and grabbing fresh clothes. You could already hear movement from the upper floors. The children were waking and within the hour you would once more be Nursemaid. Your predicament would have to wait until lunch hour, at which point you would be allowed to confer with Governess Tico.

[kathyprior4200]

AU: Alastor’s Victory

Art by Kathy Prior 42 

“AU Alastor’s Victory” chapters:

 “Calm before the fall”

Many months after the first episode, Charlie succeeds with the hotel at first.  Vaggie and Angel are able to go to Heaven. Vaggie is able to go due to her helping Charlie make demons better people, and her slowly trusting men and learning to negotiate with them instead of being violent. However, she does resort to it in self-defense and the protect Charlie and her friends. Angel stays clean for several months and demonstrates his redemption by caring for his family.

  “Two unfortunate souls”

Husk and Niffty and how they got their souls bound to Alastor

 “Battle of overlords”

Alastor, Husk and Niffty vs Vox, Valentino, and Velvet. Alastor uses his radio powers to free citizens from TV and brainwashing by Vox. Husk encourages people to gamble instead of being influenced by porn, which wasn’t what Charlie had in mind but it helped. Niffty speeds around Velvet, dodging her taking pictures and having a rolling on the floor catfight.

Katie and Tom report this on the news and still remark that Charlie is a failure. Her TV ratings skyrocket and she declares herself queen of media (until she is defeated by an angry Vox)

 “Archangels attack”

Heaven gets mad that Charlie wants to stop the Exterminations and let sinners into Heaven. Lucifer and Michael battle again. God sends the Archangels to kill off one fourth of the population to teach Hell citizens to stay in their place. Alastor helps Vaggie, Charlie and the heroes fight the Archangels and overlords. At this point, Charlie thinks Alastor has redeemed himself and they share a dance among the battle.

  “No win for sin”

Soon, enough energy was gathered for a portal to be opened to Heaven via Lucifer’s Morning Star weapon. Lucifer was surprised that Charlie had succeeded in redeeming several souls but decided to accept it, to make her happy. The demons entering Heaven get rejected and slaughtered by the angels. Vaggie, Charlie, and Angel plead to go to Heaven but are rejected as well, and barely escape with their lives. Lucifer then shakes his head and tells Charlie he was right all along, that demons don’t deserve to be redeemed. Charlie later feels doubt and despair but then Alastor encourages her to keep trying. Feeling inspired, Charlie stands up to her parents and tells them that her friends will be there to help her and that “there’s a rainbow after every storm.” She wasn’t going to give up.

 “You’ve got a friend in me”

Meanwhile, Angel and Vaggie get distracted thanks to Husk and Niffty (who were influenced by Alastor). Husk encourages Angel to drink and relax, which leads to Angel flirting with him and Husk playing along in disgust. At Angel’s request, Husk pretends to be Alastor to his utter embarrassment. As Angel prepares to eagerly f*ck, he feels weak. Husk had given him a spiked strawberry. Husk knocks out Angel, his eyes red, and drags Angel off to be taken by dark tentacles into a portal.

Niffty talks to Vaggie about men and relationships. They find they have some things in common, such as wanting to keep things (Niffty) and situations (Vaggie) in order. Vaggie then tells her that Charlie will also help Husk and Niffty be candidates for redemption like Angel and herself once she negotiates with Heaven and God. Niffty’s eye suddenly turns red as she states that “(she’s) beyond help now.”) She picks up Vaggie, steals her weapon and tosses her into a flaming portal, leading to an empty room in the void. The hellhounds are tossed into fiery kennels (as Alastor doesn’t like dogs). They are eventually freed by Charlie.

 “Start of the show”

It is later revealed that Alastor was glad that the demons got rejected from Heaven…not because of keeping up status and proving oneself right like Lucifer…but the fact that Charlie’s dreams came crashing down in a twist of fate. Now that Charlie’s plan had failed and he was entertained because of that, he began the next part of his plan. Getting Charlie to side with him was easy, since he was charming and persuaded her to keep trying and to not listen to her parents.

It was by this method that Alastor gave Charlie ideas on how to keep the hotel going. Charlie enters an old music studio, and falls into Alastor’s portal trap! She tries to fight off the dark spirits and tentacles surrounding her but is outnumbered. Charlie is treated as a “guest” there (no sex involved, she’s just a prisoner.) Charlie cries and realizes that he was never meant to be trusted. Alastor briefly feels bad for what he did, but the shadow windigo keeps him focused on his plan.

 “Surreal deal”

An enraged Lucifer finds Charlie and Alastor once they return to Hell. Lucifer threatens to destroy Alastor but the sinister trickster holds her at harpoon-point. (Lilith was busy fighting Mimzy, Rosie, two demons on Alastor’s side whom he had sent to distract them in exchange for three hundred souls and both their businesses expanded.) Alastor makes a deal with Lucifer and Lilith to protect Charlie and keep the hotel intact in exchange for the throne and their powers.

  “Nuggets, anyone?”

Alastor makes Angel eat his Fat Nuggets. Charlie wonders why Alastor didn’t kill them or her in the first place. Alastor visits Vaggie and assaults her (but doesn’t rape or kill her). Angel Dust gets tickle-tortured by black tentacles in the void, not his idea of hentai. Katie is thrown into a room with lesbian dragons while Tom is thrown into a trench. Alastor couldn’t bring himself to kill Charlie nor her friends and family…1 because they were entertaining to him and 2 Alastor was fighting against his evil shadow and briefly succeeded.

Alastor starts eating demons, killing and enjoying himself when he meets his mother. She tells him to look deep inside himself to see what he really wants in his afterlife. Alastor hugs his mother and cries.

 “Search and rescue”

Charlie rescues Vaggie at the hotel first, then Angel. Niffty and Husk are also rescued after a battle, one Vaggie stabs each of them between the eyes (Alastor’s weak spot) but not too deep, reversing the spell. This leads Charlie to conclude that stabbing Alastor would either kill him or free him from his shadow.

 But there was a dark price for Husk and Niffty’s total freedom, and the king and queen of hell now powerless: the dark spirits and voodoo imps could now roam free in Hell and feast on souls…just like Alastor’s shadow wanted.

  “Invasion from the other side”

Alastor prepares to enter Heaven. However, Charlie manages to free Angel, Husk, Vaggie, and Niffty. With the help of Baxter and Sir. Pentious, (in exchange for a hefty portion of Hell and a new underground lab for Baxter) Egg Bois infiltrate the palace and distract Alastor long enough for Charlie and the gang to reunite with her family and close it. She fights Alastor, Mimzy and Rosie (who all sided with Alastor).

Alastor had gotten what he wanted (or more like what his shadow wanted) complete chaos and endless entertainment. But now it was up to Alastor to choose a side: save his friends and redeem himself, or give into his sadistic shadow and be a lone ruler of Hell.

Alastor frees himself from the evil windigo and becomes a temporary hero, restoring the souls to the demons and banishing the spirits away. He also apologizes to Charlie, willing to take punishment provided he has free time and doesn’t get bored. Enraged, Alastor’s shadow flings its former owner aside, preparing to merge with him and take over his mind.

Knowing the risks she would face, Charlie opens the portal to Heaven, the light causing the shadow to shrink back. To everyone’s surprise, an army of Archangels stand waiting for them!  Just in time, Charlie frees her parents and transfers their powers from Alastor’s staff back to them. An intense battle begins in Heaven. With a blast of power from Alastor and an angel’s spear, the shadow is vanquished for good.

Angel is killed by the leader of the Archangels. In response, Charlie blasts the leader down to Hell. At this point, Charlie learns that not everyone can be saved…but she could do good for those who could be saved…and she would fight for the happiness of her family and all of Heaven and Hell. Angel is either reborn, turns into a human, or goes to the void.

   “The end?”

God and the angels arrive and threaten to destroy all of hell. Lucifer reunites with Michael, Samael, etc. after a battle. Charlie negotiates with the angels: sinners will stay in Hell for good until they truly prove themselves. Lucifer offers to sacrifice himself to save Charlie…the ultimate punishment of going to the void. God decides that Lucifer and Lilith would be allowed to return to Heaven after suffering and making it through the other eight/nine circles of Hell to prove themselves (like Hercules). They both say “screw you” and decide to continue to rule Hell.

Alastor saves Charlie and her friends from God’s power and the remaining Archangels, since he was free from his shadow/windigo influence. (Kind of like Majin Vegeta’s sacrifice) He gives Charlie a deep kiss before dying/vanishing. He is either reborn, turns into a human, or goes to the void.

 “Epilogue?”

Charlie succeeds with the hotel and she and Vaggie go to Heaven, married. Lucifer and Lilith stay in Hell to rule it, but Charlie is allowed to visit them for half the year. Charlie uses her demon and angel powers to spread cheer to both realms…and someday hopes to extend good influence to Earth and/or other worlds (which would be Vaggie’s job). Charlie becomes a gatekeeper for both worlds, teaching lessons about kindness and not judging others to both realms. Husk, Niffty, Baxter, and the others stay in Hell (doing their own thing but staying friends) for a while and once they redeemed themselves, they go to Heaven in their human forms with new memories.

[iamnesta]

We Shall.

Faking Dating AU -- Jude x Cardan (The Cruel Prince)

A/N: I really hope y’all like this, because I had so much fun writing it!! Hope this lives up you your expectations, anon <3

EDIT: there are some stupid fucken format issues on tumblr but you can also read this on Ao3. 

requested by anon

***

As a general rule, when the Queen of the Undersea glowers at the mortal girl beside you and asks whether you’re bedding her, your response should not be to wrap your arm around the girl’s waist and press your lips to her brow. When the aforementioned queen says, “So this is the vermin you replaced my daughter with,” you shouldn’t shrug your shoulders and smile.

And yet. And yet. That was exactly what Cardan had done, and now Orlagh’s words echoed in Jude’s head.

I am most intrigued by your human partner, High King. Perhaps the two of you should join me for dinner so that I can better get to know her.

Jude grit her teeth in the mirror as an imp twisted her hair into elaborate braids. She had screamed and shouted at Cardan for hours after the encounter with Orlagh, but all he had done was laugh. He was so unconcerned with the affairs of Elfhame, had no regard whatsoever with maintaining powerful allies. Orlagh was an extremely powerful ally indeed, and pissing her off could easily result in war.

“My beloved,” a sarcastic voice slithered from the doorway, “You look lovely.”

The imp immediately bent into a low bow, her nose almost scraping the floor. Jude sent Cardan a withering glare in the mirror. “I swear to god,” she ground out, “If you screw this up…”

Cardan sashayed over, his black eyes glinting mischievously. “A little trust goes a long way,” he whispered into Jude’s ear, tracing the line of her jaw with a pale finger.

Jude shoved him away from her with disgust. He laughed as he stumbled back. “I thought we were pretending to be lovers,” Cardan simpered, uncorking the flask that was secured at his hip and taking a generous sip.

“Alright, pretty boy,” Jude snarled, whirling around to face her adversary. Cardan’s eyebrows jumped up in delight at the nickname, and Jude prayed her own surprise didn’t show on her face. “Here’s the deal: we’ll keep up this charade for one night, and one night only. We’re only doing this to placate Orlagh, and once the dinner is finished, we never speak of it again.”

With a lethargic shrug of his shoulders, Cardan sighed, “Fair enough.”

After giving her reflection one last inspection, Jude nodded to herself and lifted her rustling skirts, sweeping past Cardan and into the hall. Cardan jogged after her, his long legs easily catching up with her brisk strides.

“Shall I offer you my arm?” He asked, holding out his elbow for Jude to take.

Without sparing him so much as a glance, she snapped, “No.”

***

As the unhappy couple approached the beach, Cardan snaked his arm around Jude and pulled her closer to his body. “Smile,” he hissed from behind his own false grin.

Jude twisted her lips into a grimace. “I hate you,” she whispered vehemently, and this time Cardan didn’t argue.

If anything can be said about Queen Orlagh, it is that she’s a generous hostess. Beside the roaring surf of the sea, a table made of dark red wood and overflowing with food glittered beneath the midnight sky. Intricate candelabra with guttering flames were interspersed between crystalline goblets and platters made of gold. Steaming heaps of seafood cluttered the tabletop, the scent of lemon blending with the salt of ocean waves.

Orlagh herself sat poised at the head of the table, her glistening hair floating in the breeze like seaweed. She wore an opulent gown made entirely of shells, and shimmering, pink-white pearls covered her neck and chest like armor.

“My esteemed guests!” Orlagh exclaimed, standing and opening her arms wide with welcome. Her bright smile stretched from ear to ear, her shark eyes flashing.

Jude and Cardan exchanged an uneasy glance as they took their seats.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Cardan said politely, his nervous gaze sliding to Jude.

“Yes, thank you,” Jude forced out stiffly.

If Orlagh noticed her company’s discomfort, she didn’t show it. Instead, she motioned for a server and said, “Wine?”

“Please,” Cardan replied gratefully, his voice full of relief. He held out his goblet for the server and watched hungrily as deep red liquid poured from the decanter.

Orlagh began piling food onto her plate, signaling for Jude and Cardan to do the same. Tearing into an entire lobster, Orlagh asked, “So when exactly did this dalliance begin? I had no idea the High King’s tastes were so…exotic.”

“Well,” Cardan began, taking Jude’s hand and lacing their fingers together. She shot him a scathing glare and he smirked. “I have been rather fascinated by Jude ever since she first arrived in Faerie. She and her sister were the first mortals to be raised as Gentry and I must admit I was…captivated.” His eyes wandered to where he and Jude’s fingers were linked, and he unfastened them so that he could draw circles on her palm with his thumb.

The endearing touch was not lost on Orlagh, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

Aware of the effect his actions had on the queen, Cardan lifted Jude’s knuckles to his lips and offered Orlagh a charming smile. “For many years I perceived my feelings toward Jude as hatred, but I have come to realize that I was mistaken,” he continued. “When Nicasia left me for Locke, I spiraled into anger and alcohol, and the only person who could pull me out of that was Jude.”

Orlagh winced visibly at the mention of her daughter’s infidelity. As Cardan finished his speech, Jude couldn’t help but stare at him. As a fae, he couldn’t lie, which meant that everything he’d said about her was true. Cardan carefully avoided Jude’s gaze as he took a swig of wine.

“Fascinating,” Orlagh said bitterly, stabbing violently at her meal. Her scheming grin had morphed into a sneer, the expression identical to that of Nicasia’s.

The trio ate in strained silence, the rising tide lapping at their feet. Abruptly, Orlagh dropped her silverware with a clatter. “What I don’t understand,” she said loudly, “Is what makes a mortal so special. My daughter is far superior in both intellect and beauty.” Jude flinched and a muscle in Cardan’s jaw jumped. “So my question is this: how does a fragile, human girl get chosen over a princess?”

Jude could feel Cardan’s entire body tense up beside her. She kicked him beneath the table and shot him a sharp glance, warning him to calm down. With what she hoped was a sweet smile, Jude attempted to console Orlagh by saying, “You know, it’s not that unusual for a faerie to have a mortal consort.”

“Cardan’s too noble for a consort,” Orlagh retorted, her voice dripping with venom.

If she had been anywhere else, Jude would have laughed at Cardan being described as noble. The cruel boy she had known all throughout her childhood had been the exact opposite. But with Orlagh staring her down from the opposite end of the table, Jude didn’t feel like laughing. She felt like running far, far away.

“I have no patience for this,” Cardan suddenly announced, his tone bored and drawling. “I will not waste my time defending the woman I have chosen to stand beside me to someone so obstinate. I am the High King, not some peasant who is incapable of making his own decisions.” Cardan stood, tossing his napkin down on his chair. He held out his hand to Jude, helping her rise to her feet. “Thank you for such a bountiful supper, Queen Orlagh. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

For the second time that night, Cardan offered Jude his elbow. “Shall we?” He murmured, charcoal eyes gleaming and lips curving into a feline smile.

Jude looped her arm through his. “We shall.”

***

Thank you so much for reading!! Don’t forget that requests are always open and that I have a masterlist. <3

[pinksparkl]

Long Live The King - chapter 1 - only time would tell

Imperium AU AU wherein Vincent survives his 2nd encounter with Alpha of the Shaw Pack, Asher Talbot, and decides to raise a little terror of his own. What use is a revolution if the King stays on top?

A BIG thanks to @floofdeloop for all the help and inspo and brainrot these past few days~~ without you, this story would have rotted in my WIPs forever-more.

Alternate Universe - The Imperium (Redacted ASMR), Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Vampire Bites, Dark, Stockholm Syndrome, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Feelings Realization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Contain Spoilers, Power Imbalance, Possessive Behavior

Rated: M

2873 words (read here or on ao3)

Asher growled, the sound rumbling in the air as he pounced at the princeling, teeth bared and already halfway through a shift mid-leap. Scarred skin that had been through more fights than even the Alpha had once thought possible made way for coarse fur. Claws and teeth extended and sharpened, waiting to rip and tear and put this damned leech in his place, once and for all. Killing two people – two Vampires – in one day would be a heavy burden on his soul, but one he was more than willing to pay to rid the world of their unrepentant arrogance.

 

With a sigh that bordered on boredom, Vincent stepped to the side, causing the wolf to miss his target and crash to the ground in a clumsy pile of fur and claws that scraped and scratched at the marble flooring as he skidded to a halt. "Ah, ah, ah. That's not how we play nice, now is it?" Silver eyes narrowed in barely contained fury as he savoured the tempting desire to make an example out of the whelp that thought he could outpace the progeny of the Solaire King. "You made good on your end of the deal, and I made good on mine. We're even. We're done here.”

 

With a growl – teeth bared, ready for action – Asher jumped back to his feet, never letting the Vampire leave his sight, fully expecting him to retaliate in kind.

 

Instead, Vincent turned on his heel. The wolf flinched, was this a ploy? A distraction? Some kind of underhanded tactic meant to shake Asher’s concentration so the vamp could take advantage and leave his Pack without its Alpha? Not if he had anything to say about it!

 

Vincent laughed, his fangs glinting menacingly, the sight only furthering to incite the wolf's rage. “Buh-bye now, pup. You're no longer welcome here." A quick flick of his wrist unlatched the heavy door, urging the wolf to leave in no uncertain terms – there had been a benefit or two from his tutelage under Adam, loathe as the Prince was to admit it.

 

The door slammed shut behind the Shifter, who wasted no time in returning to his Pack with the invaluable information he had just received, the sound echoed hollowly through the air, thick with the scent of blood, both new and old. Adrenaline rushed through Vincent's body and left him on a high, his mind siphoning through everything that had happened in the last few minutes. Alexis was finally dead, hair matted in the pooling blood around her head. ”I really should get that mounted.” It had been a joke, but the more he thought about it, the more he needed lasting physical proof of his darling sister's demise hung on his wall for all to see.

 

The wolves were now that much closer to bringing about either revolution or anarchy by taking down the Invoker. It all made his head spin causing him to question the muffled noise coming from downstairs. A pathetic whine that sounded almost scared, accompanied by the rattling of a chain. The only living things in home were his bloodbags, and they were kept Tranced; it was easier that way. They were incapable of moving or making any noise unless he wished it.

 

Then he remembered his lovely thrall, who had endured his proclivities so well these past months, that they didn't even need to be Tranced. Such an obedient little thing they were. And just like striking a match, a wicked idea lit up in his mind.

 

An idea he had never once even allowed to entertain his thoughts before, believed it to be a waste of blood, a responsibility, a burden. But now… he thought differently. It felt more like an opportunity to spread his proverbial wings and soar like he was meant to, with nothing to hold him back or bring him crashing down to earth like a mistake unfit to even deserve a chance to try.

 

Vincent's hands trailed along the bannister, smearing the dark, sticky blood of his sister along its length as he descended the stairs with an even stride. The blood would stain, leave its mark, add yet another life onto the pile of countless others trapped inexorably within these walls. He knew his favourite thrall recognised his footsteps, sensed as their distressed sounds halted as soon as the rhythmic clicking of his once-polished shoes on the hardwood floor echoed down to the basement level.

 

The sudden silence after the loud voices must have worried his little bloodbag. “Now that won't do, something other than me causing you fear?” He called out, letting his voice remind them he was still here, still in charge.

 

He returned to the little room on the end, his eyes quickly readjusting to the bright glow of the many lights that hung around the bed like spotlights – he liked to see the damage he caused, the reactions he elicited from their sweet lips, didn't want to miss a single moment of it due to subpar lighting. Although he called it a little room, in truth, it wasn't really all that little. It was much bigger than it had any need to be; housing a chained-up thrall that took up barely any space at all, but his favourite deserved the best did they not? And why would he inflict a tiny, dingy pocket of a room upon himself while he savoured the most delectable blood he'd ever found in his afterlife.

 

The door swung closed as Vincent sauntered in with that swagger he knew got his their blood thrumming. He could sense it in their chest and the way their pulse skipped a beat or two. He knew he was attractive, made it his art, luring in unsuspecting prey until it was too late for them to run once they'd seen the sheen in his eyes, once they'd figured out what he was and what he wanted.

 

Everyone always tried to run. Even Tranced, there was always a resistance, a fear that seeped into their blood. But his little thrall was different. They liked being treated like this. The way their head swivelled to keep him into view, how they shamelessly submitted to each and every one of his whims without question.

 

"Were you scared that the big, bad wolf had gotten rid of me?" The sweet condescension sang like an aubade in Lovely's ears, hauntingly beautiful and full of a regret so sorrowful that could not be contained by one person alone. It made their heart stutter and when his face came into view, they even forgot they were being weighed down by unnecessarily heavy steel. They were only human, it was a little redundant, but he liked how it made them look so helpless, the aesthetic suited them.

 

"Y-you're okay?" They looked up at him with an indescribable expression. His gaze poured over dried blood congealing over healing bite-marks, their eyes dreamily half-open in exhaustion as they lay exactly how he'd left them. They were the picture of sin, and he wanted to make good on his promise from earlier. The wolf had disturbed his feeding, so he would drink his fill and indulge his pet.

 

But before he could allow himself the reckless abandon to do that, the new heir apparent to the Solaire throne sat on the bed, deep in thought; he couldn't afford to do things so spontaneously now. The looming threat of Alexis making yet another attempt on his afterlife was gone, but with the new position of power came more dangers, more usurpers wishing to gain the King's favour for their own, making Vincent a target of those who thought him weaker than his sister.

 

Bumping his hip against their leg, he silently commanded his bloodbag to make room for him with a jerk of his chin. They scooted over as much as the chains would allow as Vincent played with their hair with careful movements, planning out his next moves while he inhaled the scent of their blood. He wouldn't say the action soothed him any, no – doing so would be tantamount to admitting you were weak – Vincent Solaire simply had no weaknesses. Echoes of past pleasures thrilled his senses and washed away whatever had come before to shake him at his core.

 

Feeling a little drunk on the power that rushed through his veins thanks to his sweet lovely thrall and the thrilling rush of a fight left abandoned, he spoke aloud his musings, which dutifully went in one ear and out the other, they knew when his words weren't meant for them. "Why stop here? Why not become King while I'm at it? Will only invoked me to not kill Alexis, he's fair game.” His lips curled into a devious smirk as his fingers caught on a knot in Lovely's hair. He sharply tugged their head back, exposing more of their scarred throat, a soft whimper leaving their lips, although he savoured the way it fizzled out into a moan.

 

”And besides, isn't five hundred years long enough? He did say he was getting bored of "all of this" and once he finds out his precious princess is dead, is there really a point in him continuing to live out his days in misery?” The thought intrigued him and set the gears in motion, as he worked through various reasons why he shouldn't, only for him to do so regardless; who could tell him “no?” Anyone who mattered knew better than to ruin his fun, and everyone who didn't matter... Didn't. Fucking Matter, so their opinions were less than meaningless. They'd all be dead soon enough anyway.

 

As he made his mind up, throwing caution to the wind he pulled his thrall over his lap – an awkward angle for them with the chains restricting them, but they didn't react, couldn't, unless he wanted them to. Securing his hold on them, Vincent leaned in close to where their pulse sang to him in tones of iron and salt and water and air. “Be still. Trust me, you really don't want me to mess this up. But who am I to stop you if you wanna speed run death.” The delicate croon of his voice spoke of a change to the usual. They could tell in the tiny fragment of their mind that was left that this wasn't going to be a normal feeding.

 

Without much warning, needle-sharp fangs broke the surface of Lovely's skin, a sensation they knew all too well and welcomed happily – greedily – as they waited for the searing pain to give way to the blissful numbness they had come to expect and crave and need. His body cradling theirs, encircling them from the world was a comforting feeling that contrasted the cold that enveloped their senses. They were slipping. Falling. It was inevitable, much like Vincent was. He happened to them – back then and every day since then – and he couldn't be stopped. Very much like a force of nature, he applied himself to their very being, until they forgot their name, their past, everything they were or were ever going to be. None of that mattered when they were his.

 

In over two decades of living as a Vampire, Vincent had learned a lot, but one thing that still eluded him – by choice – was the act of becoming a Maker. He never had any reason to, survival in such an unforgiving world was a struggle at the best of times, and Adam certainly would have put a premature end to any Newborns as their existence would have created more competition for blood, and the belligerent psycho that he was wouldn't have had the patience for that. What a waste of magic and effort... so there had been no point to even try.

 

Blood never tasted so good until he found his lovely thrall – or more accurately, when they found him. It had only ever been an essential part of his unlife, something he needed to continue living his life, to keep hiding from the sun. But whatever concoction had been imbued in their lifeblood, it lit a spark in him, pushed him to pursue something more. Something greater than he'd ever thought possible without this provocation.

 

And now... there was nothing stopping him.

 

From what he had learned, no matter how potent the blood that ran through his favourite thrall's veins, he knew it couldn't compare to that of another Vampire's. Even as vile as Adam had been, his blood was strong, dripping with potential. So Vincent could only wonder, what manner of untapped power did he have in his grasp – what could he create if he just stopped fearing of the unknown consequences?

 

In exchange for the priceless gift they had bestowed upon him – it just wouldn't do to leave them empty handed; what kind of a host would that make him? – a token of his undying gratitude was in order. And he knew exactly what they wanted. Something they'd surely die for.

 

Leaning in close, he pulled them into him, inhaling their scent, he committed it to memory lest he go too far and lose them forever, a strong possibility with how addictive their blood was, how alluringly it sang to him in melodies fit for a siren’s chant. ”You will always be my favourite,” he whispered air-light against their skin.

 

Was this goodbye?

 

“I need you to be strong for me. You can do that, can't you? Because I don't give you permission to give up so easily,” he hissed.

 

No. Not a farewell, but a threat. should they disobey. He would find them again and make them regret not trying hard enough to stay.

 

Breaking himself off, Vincent breathed shakily, his body electric with new energy coursing through it. He had already drank a lot, this was pushing his control. “Blood for blood,” he groaned, mind humming through the ecstasy as he searched for one of the veins on his own wrist to slice open.

 

A drowsy Lovely, too used to the murky haze of bloodloss, didn't notice a change in the proceedings until their mouth was wrenched open by a hand far more powerful than they could ever hope to resist and a warm, wet something was wedged between their lips. Tentatively, they licked at it, and a thick liquid coated their tongue. It tasted of promise and power and excitement.

 

Straddling their torso now as they lay splayed across the bloodstained sheets, Vincent pulled their wrist to meet his fangs. He needed to drain them dry, replace everything they were with something new, something powerful, something worthy. Gulping them down, he watched as their swallowing slowed; blood seeped out of their mouth. It was supposed to go down their throat.

 

In. Not Out.

 

A red river trailed the side of their jaw.

 

Rivers only go one way, and this way was wrong.

 

Time was running out to fix it.

 

“No!” He cried out, furious that they would defy him like this. Panting and delirious, Vincent stroked at their throat, encouraging them to swallow his scarlet essence, stimulating their body's natural reflexes now that their mind was too far gone to understand. “You will drink this if it's the last thing you do!” His desperation consumed him, but why was he so desperate to save them, they were just a bloodbag, right? Just a source of satiation, of blood and sex.

 

That's all they were… Right?

 

Lovely never resisted him, always accepted his words, his hands, his fangs, his everything. Now they accepted their fate with open arms, relinquishing any last scrap of themself they had left. They watched through a dim haze, despite the bright – too bright – glow above them as Vincent – their captor, their master – tried in vain to save them. ”Thank you.” Knowledge of his attempt was all they needed.

 

Composure slipping, but with no one to hear him, did it even matter? Vincent forced them to drink his blood, ignored their half-hearted chokes and splutters. They would either die or be reborn, those were the only choices, but it wasn't their choice to make. They were just a bloodbag. He was a Prince, sole heir to the House of Solaire, and he compelled them to obey.

 

“Fucking! Drink!!”

 

Silence.

 

The choking stopped.

 

Their mouth filled up with blood as he sank back onto his heels, pressing Lovely’s body further into the mattress. Vincent had done all he could… but was it enough? He'd have to wait and see.

 

Feeling defeated, Vincent brought his attention to their eyes – windows to the soul, some said – and his heart sank as he saw the pale glimmer in them fade. He watched as their light went out. He felt an emptiness inside, a void that ate at him and punished him for his misdeeds.

 

Heaving a sigh, he lumbered off the bed, his usual silky movements a long since foregone thought, his limbs too tired to even try to achieve the catlike grace he had perfected over the years. Stumbling into the chair across from the bed, he waited. Was he keeping vigil or wake. Were they dying or already dead? Would they rise again or lie there motionless?

 

Only time would tell.

[sanerontheinside]

Call Sign (1 of 2, apparently)

Over a year ago I did a prompt run for titles. Now, it’s been over a year, and I’ve amassed over 30 titles. Obviously I’m never gonna fill them, eh? y’all thought. 

Actually, about a third of them have ideas attached, and a few more have ideas that I’m lukewarm about, so they’re still marinating. You should know, there are... 7 aus between them, and 2 short stories (that I’m relatively set on going with). 

Call Sign alone, however, happened to be a particularly active title, and spawned 3 stories. One buggered off and found another name to live under (and, incidentally, another au). One is a Rogue One au. 

That is not this one. 

“Captain,” Governor Arkin grated irritably, “you were tasked with subduing and eradicating the rebels, and yet the terrorist attacks on the Empire's citizens continue!”

Ty drew himself up taller, forcing down a misplaced pang of wounded pride and smoothing his face to a neutral mask for the Governor’s lecture. It wasn’t his first time. It wouldn’t be the last, either. He’d be thoroughly reamed, sent out to do the job “properly this time,” yet again without assistance, and criticised again for failure. Better him in the line of fire than his men.

They were doing their jobs! They were, truly, doing their best. Problem was, Onderon’s military hadn’t been much to boast of since the Clone Wars, when their most respected generals had abandoned their posts in the midst of the Separatist occupation and joined forces with the deposed King Dendup. For a time, they’d even won back their standing, all of them—until the arrival of the Empire’s forces. Now, their king was dead, former rebels declared outlaws once more, and the people of Onderon again utterly demoralised. This was nothing like the fire Ty remembered, when the Gerrera siblings began to show the first signs of a true, organised resistance force.

Despite his fairly young age, Ty had earned his rank as Captain of the Guard fair and square—he’d been the best in his class. But he harboured no illusions about how he might compare to his predecessors. His uncle General Tandin might well have been a walking legend in comparison.

Ty was just… doing his best. Besides, how could he ask his men, his brothers-in-arms, to fight their own family? Uncle Ari might still be out there, despite reports of his suspected death. Ty certainly wasn’t going to be the one to turn reports into reality.

So he fell back on the usual script; not enough people to comb the mountains, not enough equipment or weaponry to flush the caves. He wasn’t going to sell out his men either, after all. Ty had the feeling the Empire knew all about their familial connections among rebels, and also caught the feeling that they didn’t care enough, but that could change at any moment.

But, for once, things did not go according to plan. Apparently, Governor Arkin did have a limit to his patience.

“Backup, he says. You want backup?” Arkin snarled. “Fine. I’ll put in a request for an orbital strike.”

Ty barely held back a horrified noise. “Governor, sir, we’ve requested one before, the Empire—”

“The Empire will provide resources at my request,” Arkin replied scathingly, “as your people proved unequal to the task. You call this a military, boy? I ought to send you to the Imperial Academy, but I don’t expect to see you after that strike anyway. Dismissed, Captain,” Arkin added with an ugly sneer, and Ty, shell shocked, fell back on trained habits. He saluted—making it just barely passable, he was trying so hard to keep his hands from shaking—and turned on his heel, all but fleeing the Governor's office.

Office. He’d defiled the bloody throne room, but that was neither here nor there.

Fuck, Ty thought, fucking fuck fuck shit fuck arse. He needed a drink. And a Mandalorian. A drink to appease an annoyed Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian to help him find the right fucking swear words, and tell him what the fuck to do, because Ty honestly didn’t fucking know anymore.

Fortunately, he knew where to find both.

Imps could say what they liked about the Clone Wars vets still in their command structure, but Ty preferred working with Commander Naasade, and drinking with him. For one thing, Naasade was efficient, and could drink anyone under the table. For another, the vet could always make sense of things, like command decisions.

Particularly this latest slap in the face.

“They’re sending a squadron of troopers to wipe out the resistance fighters in the mountains,” Ty mumbled into his fourth drink, about two hours later. His head was floating and his ears were ringing, but Naasade looked completely unaffected. Luckily Ty wasn’t stupid enough to try a drinking game with him.

“They’ve been saying that since we got here.” Naasade shrugged. “They say it about every planet with a resistance cell, anyway.”

“Yeah?” There was just a hint of bleak sarcasm that Ty couldn’t keep out of his voice. “What happened to Lothal?”

Naasade pinned him with a too-sober look. “Onderon isn’t Lothal. You’re Inner Rim, kid. That’d be like the Emperor ordering a strike on Alderaan.”

That sounded fair enough, Ty supposed, staring into his glass again. Things made a lot more sense when alcohol was involved, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

He was sad. Why was he sad?

“I don’t wanna, kill ‘em all,” he slurred, then frowned with effort. The Empire wanted the rebels crushed, gone, forgotten, but… “S’not… right. They’re people.”

Naasade sighed. “Better be careful who you say that around, kiddo. You’re never the one who picks the booth with the jammer in it, what’re you gonna do when I’m not around to watch your sodden arse?”

Ty smiled. That sounded like a fond sort of grumble.

One thing the occupation kept reminding him of, was that there were stupid damn idealistic idiots everywhere, green and naive and itching for a way to get themselves killed. Drinks with Ty always left him in a foul mood and a sour taste in his mouth.

Naasade sighed irritably into his drink, then thought better of it and pushed the glass away. He had an appointment to keep as it was—and it just got much less pleasant. A night patrol, an out-of-the-way meeting. Now a warning to pass along.

People like that, naive and idealistic and stupid-young, they made his job easier, sometimes. Sometimes all he had to do was sit someone down for long enough that they’d lay out the plan for the next month in perfect order for him. Sometimes he got the chance to stretch out, talk rings around an officer until he could play them like a bes’bev, make them a Rebel sympathiser for a day to get the newest codes for transmission frequency encryption.

Ty was loyal, and devoted completely, to Onderon—not to the Empire. That was a crucial distinction; Naasade had no problem manipulating Imps to do whatever he needed them to. Disillusioned Imps were, in fact, the easiest to compromise. But Ty was less a target for recruitment than a source, and every time the kid walked away Naasade thought the Empire would swallow him whole, leave the body in a sewer somewhere.

Didn’t want to kill Rebels… Yeah, that kid wouldn’t last long.

Naasade was here shadowing an injured Fulcrum. He didn’t even know which one of them it was: some clever fucker in Command had once suggested tagging multiple people with that call sign, to have the Imps chasing their own tails for a bit. Based on the fact that Command had assigned him to babysit, and seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the situation, Naasade was almost convinced this was the real, original Fulcrum.

He was perversely grateful, still, that they hadn’t specified. For one thing, it gave him plausible deniability. For another, if the rumours from the early days were at all true, Fulcrum was likely to be a Jedi.

He wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought had him reaching for his glass again in a hurry, washing down a wave of bitterness before it could overtake him. Then, of course, Naasade grimaced at the empty tumbler, put it down, pushed himself up out of the seat and made his legs take him out of the bar. He certainly didn’t need that habit coming back.

He’d probably earned himself a headache for tomorrow morning anyway. Annoyingly, it tended to center on the faint scar on the right side of his head—evidence of careful brain surgery, an extraction he didn’t even want to think about. It seemed both appropriate and ironic, that he be reminded of the exact thing that drove him to drink in the first place every time he forgot himself and went a little bit too far again.

It was almost time to start his patrol, anyway, which meant that he had to be outside the city in five.

He made it in two, pulling out of the main gate like a man let loose. This was his favourite patrol route. The grey, weighted feeling of the city melted away from him and into the brisk air as he cut through the fields.

Somewhere in the middle of his patrol route, Naasade slowed down to a casual, coasting halt. It was a habit he’d established well enough during his posting that no one would think it strange. Some of his patrolling reports mentioned meeting the locals. Naasade reported meeting farmers, peaceful people, and either passing along the boundary of their land or having well-intentioned quiet arguments on where the boundary lay.

Naasade made sure to never capture a recording of one. He always left his swoop idling; his helmet, with its shitty voice pickup, never got anything over the rumble of the engine it was sitting right on top of; and in the dark, with companion in shadow or behind a large boulder, the video feed also caught nothing.

Their meetings also fell in seemingly random intervals. Actually it had more to do with which of Onderon’s moons had completed its cycle, but most Imps never bothered to learn the traditions of the planets they’d invaded. A great deal of local mythology was built on the phases of Onderon’s satellites.

Naasade just considered himself lucky that tonight was one of those predetermined meetings, and that he wouldn’t need to run the risk of requesting emergency contact.

He parked his swoop near a generously-sized boulder and got up to stretch, and stare at the stars. He was making good time, anyway—as always.

Radha was already waiting for him, but that wasn’t unusual either.

“Late, Commander,” a low voice said from behind the stone.

“Just fine,” he murmured. “How’s the patient?”

“Pain in everybody’s arse,” Radha shot back without a second’s hesitation. “Could be worse, though. Should’ve moved out a month ago, said they wanted to stay—to help out around the house.”

Naasade raised an eyebrow at the night sky. “And you don’t need the help,” he said flatly.

“Naw, we do,” Radha’s grin was audible, “but we’re not the only ones. There’s others they could assist. Not complaining, anyway. Not really.”

He knew the frustration in that voice—was intimately familiar with it. Definitely a Jedi, then, Naasade thought. ‘Helping about the house’ could mean anything, too, from training the troops to literally helping them explore the cave passageways. He suppressed a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get, soon.”

“Shit.” He caught sight of the dull glow of a discarded tabac stick before it was viciously ground out. “Storm?”

Naasade nodded, mentally reviewing the last known fleet positions. “Big one.”

The Governor could be a right bastard, but Moff Sesirri Tanai had control over this sector at the moment. She was cold, calculating, and absolutely ruthless. At least she wasn’t also Tarkin-levels of destructive.

Sesirri was pragmatic, though, even in her overkill.

Radha swore fervently. “When?”

“Soon. Eight days,” at a minimum. Naasade thought about it a moment, wondering what to expect from Moff Tanai. “Expect nightcrawlers,” he added.

Death Commandos. From behind the stone, Naasade thought he heard a strangled curse as the realisation hit. They hadn’t exactly needed to use that particular shorthand phrase before. “Can your friend get out on their own?”

“I don’t know,” Radha said. “If I tell them, they won’t leave. They’ll want to help.”

Naasade snorted quietly. “Figures. Can you relocate?”

Radha was silent for a moment. “Do they know where our house is?”

An excellent question. Ty never said, but there had to be a record of sightings, suspected resistance outposts. “I’ll ask around.” He’d picked up a trick or two from slicers over the years, and with the right set of commands, computers didn’t mind questions nearly as much as people might. “When can you take delivery?”

“Fourth moon.”

Naasade grimaced. “City beat.”

“Then I’ll find you. At market?”

“Generator side. Prearranged drop-off site.”

“Done,” Radha agreed. “Now go home, Imp.”

Naasade smiled faintly. “You too, Rebel scum.

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] I Will Be Your Wings:  Chapter 13

Yubel stirred and chose not to open their eyes. They never did, first thing in the morning. There was too much to drink in.

They lay in a warm bed, with equally warm blankets on top of them. If they had opened their eyes, they would have seen a merrily flickering fire burning in the fireplace on the other side of the room.

They could hear noises coming from the other side of the door to the left. It would be Juudai. With their eyes closed, they couldn’t see the first streaks of sunlight touching on the far side of the room through the wide window, but they knew it was there regardless.

The door creaked a little and Yubel tensed. Five seconds. The soft tread of bare feet across the finely woven rug. Four seconds. A soft whisper of breath and a tightly held in giggle that if they hadn’t listened, they might not have heard at all.

Three seconds. The touch of a hand on the side of the bed, little more than a faint tugging, but there all the same.

Two seconds. That hand now coming closer, resting ever so gently on Yubel’s shoulder, above where their wings emerged.

One second.

Yubel flipped around and seized Juudai’s hand in their own, eyes flying open in the same breath. Juudai grinned for a heartbeat before he pouted.

“You always know!”

Yubel didn’t release their grip. Juudai’s hands remained warm and welcoming. He’d grown so much in the last year. Yubel often had trouble remembering it had been only a year since their first encounter.

“Good morning,” Yubel said instead. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Of course!” Juudai never came in to wake Yubel up until breakfast had been brought to his room. He insisted that not only did food taste better when it was shared, but it tasted better when he shared it with Yubel.

Yubel sat up, letting Juudai’s hands slide out of theirs. They missed his touch, but only a little. He remained close enough for them to feel his presence regardless.

Ever since that first encounter and Juudai’s rescue, Yubel knew where he was. It wasn’t the kind of knowing where they could have said what his exact location was, not that. But they knew and could go there. No one who they’d asked was entirely certain if it involved whatever odd bond existed between them in the first place or if it were the result of Juudai’s rescue.

Yubel didn’t care. Knowing meant everything to them.

Juudai bounced back to the door that led to his room, fidgeting as he waited for Yubel to join him. Yubel reached for their morning wrap; they would take a bath after eating. Mornings tended to be slow around Juudai, but almost inevitably picked up speed later in the day, especially once lessons started.

Teaching Juudai anything wasn’t easy. Teaching Juudai and Yubel together had already made every tutor Juudai had except Siren quit.

Together the two of them settled at the round table, Yubel’s wings spreading out for balance. Juudai gave them a very careful look.

“Can I brush them later?”

Juudai loved to help Yubel take care of their wings. As they’d healed from what they’d had to do for his rescue, he’d helped Yubel regain their full strength, gently rubbing them once he had permission, helping to oil the feathers when molting season rolled around again, and anything else he could do that would help.

Now Yubel smiled. He didn’t need to ask. But he always did.

“Of course.” Wings required regular care, after all. Yubel could not help but wish they could help Juudai have his own. But he was of the Flightless and that couldn’t be.

Juudai squealed and applied himself right away to his breakfast. Yubel took a little longer, preferring to take their time. Even after a year, everything spread out before them remained a shock and a pleasure. It wasn’t just delicious, it remained hot and steaming, or pleasantly cool.

The new cook who’d been hired to replace the one who’d assisted in abducting Juudai turned out to be absolutely amazing at cooking all manner of dishes that Juudai loved. Their greatest specialty was fried shrimp, something Juudai insisted on having at least twice or three times a week. Yubel wasn’t certain even now if they especially liked it, but having it served made Juudai happy and that meant Yubel approved.

Juudai cleaned off his plate quickly. He usually did, but this was a little fast even for him. He sprang to his feet, grinning.

“Are you ready yet?”

“Almost!” Yubel savored every bite of breakfast, as they did every meal. Those days when any meal had been more than a little difficult to come by weren’t so long gone that they would not enjoy what they had now.

Juudai fidgeted, vibrating his way over to the large window and staring out of it. Sometimes he did that, but he didn’t always say what was on his mind. Yubel could guess, especially when it came to the times when he stared up at the skies, and they could hear him murmuring ever so softly. The green magic of wind buzzed more excitedly around him when he did that.

He couldn’t fly yet, even with all the effort he put into his magic lessons. He tried. He could float fairly well. But true flight, or even the closest that a Flightless could approximate to that, remained out of his reach.

For now. Teacher Siren assured both of them that if he kept his training up, there remained a very good chance that he would be able to manage it eventually. She didn’t know when, but it would happen. Maybe.

Juudai flipped around the moment that Yubel finished the last bite of food and drank the last bit of their morning wine. Like all wine served at their table, it had been well watered, to the point it was impossible for anyone to get drunk off of it.

The last thing that anyone wanted would be a drunk wind mage. Let alone one who held the power of the Gentle Darkness as well.

“Ready?” Juudai held his hand out and Yubel accepted it without hesitation.

“Ready.”

There were times when Yubel suspected that Juudai enjoyed tending their wings far more than Yubel did. They’d never seen anyone so happy to gently brush and groom each single feather, to help remove the ones that fell out, and help imp others back in when the time came.

Juudai also enjoyed a good hot bath, and that was where Yubel envied him more than a little. They had to watch their wings to ensure they didn’t get soaked – wet wings were a hassle no matter what – and Juudai could simply jump into the hot water and soak to his heart’s content.

Not that he stayed like that too long. As soon as he was clean, Juudai slipped out of the water and pattered behind Yubel, picking up the wing care gear along the way. That box had been added to his bathroom once Yubel moved into his suite with him. Yubel hadn’t ever had one before. They’d taken care of their wings the rough way, wrenching around as best they could to get to any mud or loose feathers, and trying their best just not to let the wings get dirty at all.

Now Juudai insisted that they get dirty and that he could take care of the wings afterward. Yubel couldn’t see a reason to deny his wishes on that.

He ran his hands first over their wings, checking for any weak spots for the feathers and for anything else that might need tending. There weren’t any; after the last year, Yubel’s wings and everything else to do with Yubel were in the best condition of their life.

Tending to wings took a while, especially since Juudai inspected every single feather that he possibly could, then gently brushed over Yubel’s entire wingspan. Yubel closed their eyes and let out a long, happy sigh at the attention. They could hear Juudai’s giggle at that but said nothing else. Hearing him happy ranked as one of the finest moments of Yubel’s life.

“What else did you want to do today?” Juudai asked much later, when the last feather had been brushed and he’d put each and every one of them into their proper place. Yubel spread them carefully and took a couple of sweeps, not actually flying but just testing how everything still worked. “We have a whole lot of time until Teacher Siren’s lessons.”

Those didn’t come until after lunch, and their new tutor hadn’t been hired yet. That left them an entire morning – well, half a morning – to do whatever they pleased, within reason.

But Yubel already had something in mind. In the last year, there hadn’t been time to do this, but today could very well be the day. Healing and recovering and getting moved in and settled in took up most of their time. With all of that dealt with…

“What do you think of going to the temple?” Yubel asked, turning to watch Juudai.

Juudai tilted his head in thought for a few seconds. So far as Yubel knew, he hadn’t been there in the last year either. He’d never even expressed an interest in going there.

But now he nodded, a hint of the maturity that he would one day – with luck – possess gleaming in his amber-bright eyes. “All right!”

They had to inform his parents, of course. That only made sense. They didn’t prevent him from leaving the palace, but in the long months since the abduction, they wanted to know where he was. Yubel certainly agreed; it was one of the reasons they remained by his side at all times.

“Be careful,” King Aodh advised. “And don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Would I do that on purpose?” Juudai asked, a mischievous grin turning up on his lips. Yubel could not hold back the snicker at that. He might not, but as they all well knew, Juudai attracted trouble as a flame attracted a moth.

“Don’t get into trouble you can’t get out of,” was Queen Kaien’s comment. So far as Yubel cared, that was a far better bit of advice.

They didn’t need a guard – or rather, no guard could have kept up with Yubel’s flying, even those Flighted guards. Juudai couldn’t work up the magic to fly himself but he could at least conjure enough wind to speed them on their way to the temple that much faster. In far less time than one could have imagined, the two of them stood before the arched temple entrance.

Juudai stared at it curiously. Yubel could not help but be reminded that in an odd sense of the concept, this temple had been raised in honor of Juudai himself, or the power that he wielded. The longer they stood there, the more of the magic of shadows Yubel could see around him, and the less of the magic of air.

Then without a word, he stepped inside, Yubel only a brief pace behind him.

They found their way to the central room with little effort. Yubel remembered little of their previous trip there. They’d been so worried about Juudai at the time that nothing else had mattered at all. But now, they saw how well he fit here, how every shadow reached for him. Not in any form of threatening way, but to greet and welcome him, as someone who belonged there and hadn’t been there in far too long.

Some of those shadows caressed their slender fingers across Yubel as well, their touch awakening a craving that Yubel could not remember having had before. They couldn’t guess at what the craving was, only that being near Juudai made it ease off.

“They like us,” Juudai said, tones of awe flavoring each word. Then he frowned a little. “I… like us?”

“You’re them and they’re you,” Yubel pointed out. “The only difference between them and you is that you have a body and they don’t.”

Juudai slowly shook his head, reaching towards concepts that Yubel wasn’t sure either of them understood as of yet. “There are… other things. Other differences. But … this is my home too. Just like the palace.”

They fell silent again until they stood before the great altar. Juudai stared at it for several silent moments before he reached out to rest one hand on it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For sending me Yubel. It was you, wasn’t it? You sent me Yubel, because you’re me. And I’m you.”

Yubel wasn’t fully sure if they expected an answer. But one came. One came in the form of the shadows falling all around them, just as they had that day a year earlier. And the presence of the Gentle Darkness now flowed in two forms, one in Juudai and one in the shadows that stretched all around them.

We are one. The words came from within and without. It wasn’t a voice at all, but an awareness of what the Darkness wanted to tell them. They didn’t need words to know. It came as words only because that was how they perceived it now. Yubel is ours as you are ours. Yubel will defend and protect and guard. It is their purpose.

Yubel couldn’t argue with that. They wouldn’t have even if they could. Taking care of Juudai, defending him and protecting him, it was all that they could imagine wanting out of life.

“What about me?” Juudai asked, hand slipping into Yubel’s and squeezing ever so gently. “What’s my purpose?”

You know it. You are it. You create. You help. You heal. It is what you are.

Juudai nodded. Yubel wasn’t sure how he could do all of that – the power he’d shown so far wasn’t very focused or controlled unless he pushed himself to the limits – but they absolutely believed that he could. With time. With effort.

The Light still seeks to destroy you-us. It must not be allowed.

Yubel drew up as far as possible, wings spreading in defense. “It’ll have to go through me first.”

Juudai had another question. “Why don’t I have wings? Shouldn’t I have wings?”

There wasn’t an answer for what felt like forever. When it came, Yubel’s heart warmed in memory for years to come.

Yubel will be your wings.

Juudai’s hand tightened on Yubel’s and they returned the quiet gesture. The darkness whirled around and while it faded so they could see the rest of the world once again, it lived on in both of them.

The End

Notes: And that’s the end of this story. There will be others set not only in this universe but in the past life era and in the modern era. I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it as well.

[ncfn]

Nothing Comes from Nothing: Chapter 15 Update

Nothing Comes from Nothing Update: Part 15 Swan Queen Story

Author: parakitty Co-Author / Beta: ­­­Lain Stardust

Summary: AU, Post Cricket Game, Emma casts a not-so-innocent locator spell, provided by Rumpelstiltskin, to find Regina, and the unexpected consequences bring Emma and Regina closer while revealing painful secrets that not only change their lives, but everyone else’s, too.

FF.net / AO3

"Did we make it?" David asked with slight hesitancy, untying himself and his wife. Absently, he straightened his clothes as he glanced around in awe, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. He had never been on the open sea. Then, distracted by the noisy hustle of the trained sailors onboard, he watched in fascination as the ship was prepared to set sail proper. He listened as Dave Salter shouted out commands and watched as Hook surveyed the horizon with a telescope.

Leaning heavily against Emma, who still hadn't released her tight grip around her waist, Regina looked over her left shoulder at the shepherd and groused, "We're alive, aren't we?" She winced and squeezed her eyes shut as she dropped her head onto her friend's shoulder. Exhaustion from the last day had finally caught up with her. "Obviously, we made it," she continued in a more subdued tone. "The question is where, exactly, are we?" she pondered, lifting her head and gazing out into the open sea. Her body tingled as the world's magic caressed her senses. Carefully, she straightened her posture and took a step away from the savior, making her way to the gunwale.

"I can't see any land," Mary Margaret commented, stepping into the middle of the main deck. She slowly spun around in a circle, peering off into the horizon.

Suddenly, there was the sharp clink of a telescope closing. Hook lowered the device and frowned. "That's because there isn't any," he remarked, trotting down the stairs from the quarter deck. "I'll need to consult my charts, but I'd estimate we're at least a few days out, give or take," he explained as he headed below to retrieve his navigation charts for Neverland.

"You couldn't have gotten us closer?" Emma called out, still hovering by the former mayor. Her eyes kept switching between the two, having Regina by the railing made her nervous. She subconsciously followed her and reached out to loosely hold the other woman's elbow. Her thumb stroked firmly over the joint.

"It wasn't my portal, Love," Captain Jones replied with a half snort. He nodded toward the ailing queen, jeering, "Perhaps you should confer with Her Highness." Then, he trotted down the ladder and disappeared below deck.

Whacking his cane hard against the planking, Gold purposely made his way toward his former apprentice. He straightened his suit as he snarled a stern reprimand, "You shouldn't have trusted him." He hadn't a clue what she was thinking, let alone how she knew of the Goblin King, but clearly, he had underestimated his star pupil's resourcefulness. He was also very curious as to what deal she had struck with Jareth.

"Oh, and you're any better?" the former mayor retorted darkly, glaring over her shoulder at him. Her hands gripped the rail tightly. When their eyes met, she bristled at the strange expression within them. No, she wouldn't be knocked off balance because Rumpelstiltskin was feeling nostalgic.

"We're here. That's all that matters," the school teacher interjected, stepping between the two magic users. She held her hands out, urging them to calm down. "We have to work together," she quickly reminded them, starting to feel ill-at-ease as she looked back-and-forth between the two. "We need to save Henry and Neal."

Regina restrained herself from tearing into Mary Margaret for her insipid, inspirational comments. She kept her breathing slow and measured as she waited for the Dark One to make a move. However, when her former master turned and walked away, she couldn't hide her confusion. The imp never missed an opportunity to ridicule her, but the quick squeeze on her elbow drew her attention back to Emma, whose soft smile quelled her swirling anger.

Thundering up the ladder, Hook burst onto the deck, holding a rolled-up map and a sexton. He quickly trotted back onto the quarter deck and weighed the map down on top of the wheel housing. "It's a quick calculation," he muttered, holding his hand up to the sun. He counted silently as he systematically dropped his hand downward. There were a few hours of sunlight left. "But, my best guess is we're a week out if we have a good wind," he continued, staring down at the map. He couldn't know for sure until nightfall, but the two stars visible during the day offered him a reasonable guess. "The good news—."

"There's good news?" Anne McCormac interrupted with a foul look. With hands on her hips, she watched the Salters and the other Crows Guard move around the vessel. She hated ships, and she especially hated ships on the ocean. But where her queen went, she would follow, always.

Narrowing his eyes at the despicable pirate, Gold challenged, "This is the fastest ship in all the realms, and a week is the best you can do?" He'd done his research on the famed Jolly Roger. Although small, it was quite the prize. His keen gaze met Salter's eldest boy's. He knew the expression of longing well.

"My ship may be made of enchanted wood, Crocodile, but it doesn't work miracles," Captain Jones replied with barely concealed venom. As Dave Salter joined him at the helm, he gazed down at his map. "Like I was saying, the good news is there's a small island along the way if we're where I think we are," he paused to point with his right hand at a small dot on the map in the middle of hundreds of nautical miles of water. "We can stop and restock fresh water and other supplies," he added, looking up to see that Prince Charming, Snow White, and the Crows Guard commander had joined them.

Looking between the three men, the shepherd nodded and proclaimed, "Sounds like a plan." His brow furrowed when Monty and Salter shared a quiet look. A hierarchy needed to be established, sooner rather than later, as well as an agreed upon leader. Looking over his shoulder, he glanced down at his wife.

Nodding at her husband's assessment, Mary Margaret scanned the weathered panel of paper. She'd only seen similar maps a few times and hadn't the faintest clue how sailors navigated the seas during the day. However, she decided to trust in the expertise of others and contribute her fair share. "What can we do to help?" she happily chirped, glancing between the men. She frowned when Salter snarled at his eldest daughter, demanding she train the land lovers.

Meanwhile, Regina had remained at the gunwale, content to let her commander and favored smuggler deal with the particulars of their seaward journey. "Well," she drawled as she slowly moved toward the ladder leading below deck, "since it seems we're on the extended voyage of the damned, I'm going to go take a nap." She couldn't remain standing any longer. A part of her feared she wouldn't make it to the cabin on her own. Gods, she hurt, and she was so tired. However, Emma stayed glued to her side, and she was quickly flanked by Bruce and Anne. Feeling secure and with an inane need to needle someone, she cheekily relayed, "Your cabin's ours, Pirate."

"Oy, it's my ship!" Hook shouted, storming toward the stairs to the main deck. But when two of Salter's teenagers blocked his path, he stumbled to a halt and frowned. His gaze quickly swept the people manning his ship and, with a huff, held up his hand and took a step back. He was captain of his ship in name only, it seemed. "Fine, fine," he relented, moving back to the helm.

Letting the Crows Guards assist the former mayor below, Emma flashed a bright smile at the pirate. "Dibs!" she called gleefully before hopping down the ladder-stairs.

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Reluctant Guardian - Chapter 12

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: T

Summary: Roderick Gold is about to complete his revenge on the Jones family by inheriting the family fortune and estate, but to his surprise there is one late acquisition: Jones was guardian to a young woman, and that guardianship now falls to Gold. Determined at first to marry her and make absolutely sure all of the Jones assets are under his control, he soon discovers that there is much more to Bella French than meets the eye.

Belle French values nothing so much as her independence, and would far rather die an old maid than lose even a moment of freedom. Her new guardian is intriguing, though, and the more she learns about his past the more questions she has. His reputation doesn't quite match her own observations, and while she would love to uncover the mystery that is Roderick Gold, she must be very cautious lest she reveal her own secrets and ruin her own plans.

Nominated for Best Historical AU in the 2017 TEAs

AO3

Chapter 12 - Bella is confronted with her past.

Beatrice Potts shook her head fondly as Miss Bella whisked out of the kitchen with a breakfast tray for Marian. With her cheerful insistence on being useful and her apparent genuine enjoyment of tasks most fine ladies deemed beneath them, Miss Bella was an oddity, and no mistake, but she was a sweet child. What in the world she saw in Mr. Gold, Mrs. Potts could not understand.

Oh, the girl could blush and prevaricate and ignore Mr. Fitzooth’s hints all she liked, but Mrs. Potts could tell which way the wind was blowing there. Everyone in the house could tell that they were head over heels for each other, and while Mrs. Potts could not say much for Miss Bella’s taste, she knew there was no use voicing her disapproval. Sweet and helpful she might be, but she was also determined and headstrong, and would be more likely to dig her heels in and do something disgracefully forward if challenged, and Mrs. Potts had no intention of scolding her straight into the old lecher’s arms. If only Mr. Baeden were not married! He was a fine young man, and perhaps could have tempted the young lady away, but alas, he had a pretty wife to whom he had returned just this morning, and Mrs. Potts would have to look elsewhere for a distraction for Miss Bella.

The door that led to the laundry opened and Mrs. Potts clucked her tongue. “Your breakfast is already on its way to your rooms.”

“You always were efficient.”

The pot fell from her hands and to the floor with a clang and she spun around. He was older, his face somewhat gaunt and his hair sprinkled with silver, but she would know those blue eyes and that gleaming smile anywhere.

“Hello, Pottsie.”

“Master Cillian!” Mrs. Potts raised shaking hands to her face. “How are you - you - we heard you were...”

“Dead? Aye, I dare say you did.” He stepped further into the room and reached out to take one of her hands. “I’ve had a devil of a time of it, but I’ve survived.”

“And what of…” Mrs. Potts’s eyes slid past him and searched the door. “Is...she...not with you?”

“No,” Master Cillian sighed heavily. “Poor Milah...we were taken captive by pirates and she...she did not survive.”

“Oh, my poor boy,” Mrs. Potts squeezed his hand. “How terrible for you.”

“It’s been a long, hard slog to get back to this beloved place,” Master Cillian said, casting a fond glance over the stone walls and cheerful leaping fire. “I can’t tell you how I missed you all. Tell me, my father...was it hard? Did he suffer?”

“He was very ill just at last,” Mrs. Potts said. She tugged on his hands a little and led him to a chair. “The doctor kept him comfortable, however, and he was always easy as long as…” Her voice trailed away and Master Cillian shot her a dark glance.

“As long as?”

“Heaven knows there’s no love lost between me and Mr. Gold,” Mrs. Potts said timidly, “but he was very good to Mr. Jones in those last days.”

“Well, of course he was,” Master Cillian snapped. “He wanted to be certain he could cut me out of all it - my house, my money, even my father’s affections.”

“Oh, no, Master Cillian,” Mrs. Potts said soothingly, handing him a cup of tea. “You could never be replaced - your father loved you to the last. But he thought you were gone; we all did!”

“I suppose he and the old crocodile spent a good month searching for me,” Master Cillian grumbled.

Mrs. Potts made a distressed noise and Master Cillian appeared to shake off his foul mood.

“Forgive me, Pottsie,” he said with a sad smile. “You’ve had plenty to endure, I’m sure, with Gold back in residence. I suppose he’s been up to his old tricks?”

Mrs. Potts nearly agreed, but she frowned, considering. Not once since Gold’s return had she heard a word of complaint about his behavior. Miss Bella doted on him, and even Mr. Fitzooth, who was as kind and jovial a man as ever lived, had nothing to say against him.

“I…”

“Unless he’s got wilier with age and is better at hiding his depravities.”

Mrs. Potts nodded, though she felt far from certain, and Master Cillian seemed satisfied.

“Well, Pottsie, if you’d indulge me a little - don’t let him know I’m here. He might do something drastic, and I would like to have everything in order before I confront him.”

“Oh...certainly, Master Cillian.” Mrs. Potts considered how she could best avoid Mr. Gold today, but she had not got beyond pretending that she had errands to run in the town when she heard a quick step in the hall.

“Mrs. Potts, do we have more…?” Miss Bella hurried into the kitchen and froze. Her eyes were fixed on Master Cillian and her mouth hung open.

“Miss Bella? Are you well?”

“I...yes...Marian...she would like more eggs.”

“The lamb is certainly regaining her appetite,” Mrs. Potts said fondly. “I’ll serve some up.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Master Cillian, this is Miss Bella French. She’s Mr. Gold’s ward.”

“Charmed.”

“Here you are, Miss Bella.” Mrs Potts held the plate of eggs for Miss Bella to take, but she did not seem to hear her. She and Master Cillian were staring at each other, she with wide eyes and he with a small smile. With a little thrill Mrs. Potts wondered if perhaps her old master’s handsome son would be able to drive Mr. Gold from the girl’s head, and she bustled toward the door. “I need to check on Marian and the babe, so I will take these. You two go on and get acquainted.”

She smiled to herself as she hurried away.

“Hook,” Belle breathed when Mrs. Potts was gone.

“Miss Desrosiers,” the man drawled, his eyes traveling over her. “Forgive me, that is no longer your name, is it?”

“What are you doing here?” Belle asked. “What can you possibly want from me?”

“From you?” Jones scoffed. “Once you left my ship I didn’t care whether you lived or died. I’m not here for you, luv.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Did you not hear Mrs. Potts? This is my house, Miss French.”

“It isn’t. It belongs to Mr. Gold.”

“Yes, yes, he convinced my father to leave it all to him because I was believed dead, but I am, as you can see, not. No thanks to the old crocodile.”

Belle shook her head. “You - you’ve been alive all this time? Why come back now?”

Jones shrugged and pulled a flask from inside his coat, tipping a generous portion of rum into his tea. “The old man is gone, and all of this is supposed to be mine. I’ll be damned if I see that old imp profit from my apparent death. He thought he could take my riches and live like a king, but I’ll take it all back.”

“There is more to inheriting an estate than becoming rich, Hook,” Belle snapped. “There are tenants to care for, and harvests to oversee, and...and Mr. Gold has been doing all of this while you’ve been off...what? Playing pirate?”

Jones sneered at her and rose, slowly drawing a dagger from a sheath at his belt. He gently placed the tip under her chin and grinned. “There’s precious little playing in the life of a pirate, luv,” he whispered. “Dirt and mess and blood and guts. I quite look forward to living the life of a landed gentleman.”

“You could have come back at any time,” Belle said, raising her chin. “Why come back now?”

Jones shrugged. “What would have been the use of that? To come back to grovel and simper and hope that my father was softened enough to change the will back to favor me? No, this is far preferable. I need only whisper in a few ears and Gold will be run back out of town. The magistrate - I dare say you’ve met Nott - is a particular friend of mine; it shouldn’t be difficult to convince everyone in the area that Gold intimidated my father into changing his will and, essentially, stole my inheritance from me.”

“You are a pirate,” Belle said scathingly. “Piracy is a crime punishable by death, and if Mr. Nott is determined to look the other way, there are other magistrates. Higher courts. Why on earth would any court grant a criminal property and freedom?”

“Mmm. Unfortunately you do have a point there, and as we are not actually at sea, I can’t silence you as I would wish.” He tapped the dagger under her chin once more to emphasize his point before sliding it back into its sheath. “Pottsie would forgive me much, but not that. I suppose I shall simply have to buy your silence with my own.”

Belle’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

Jones laughed. “You are a Frenchwoman on the run from some very nasty characters indeed. When you were safely on British soil and I had returned to France, who do you think sought me out? D’Arque was very upset to find you’d disappeared on him.”

Her head swimming, Belle sat heavily on a chair. “You told him…”

“‘Course not, luv! Why should I care, after all? The reward he offered was nothing compared to your father’s fee, and even now I’d let you carry on if you weren’t in the way of my getting what’s mine.”

“What is it exactly you’re proposing?”

“Non-interference. You continue on your way and I’ll continue on mine. I’ll even let you live here with me once the crocodile is gone, and then you’ll have your ill-gotten fortune and can do whatever the hell you like. Stay out of my way, and no ever has to know who you really are.”

Belle took a deep breath, twisting her hands together as Jones finished his tea and snagged a bun from the stove.

“I’ll take your silence to mean you agree. ‘Til we meet again, Miss French.” He smiled and ducked out the door.

Belle sat in the kitchen until she heard Mrs. Potts’ heavy footsteps approaching. Leaping to her feet, she ran out of the laundry room door and into the garden, grateful that Hook - Jones - had apparently left the grounds. She felt dizzy and tears began to course down her cheeks as she paced along the garden wall. Sounds and colors swirled around her and she reached the corner farthest from the house, sinking down to the ground and wrapping her arms about her knees.

"A word will save her, cherie. A kiss could seal all.”

Belle shivered and pressed her back to the cold stone wall, as far from his leering gaze and foul breath as she could get. For days she had considered, had weighed the costs, and had almost nearly made up her mind to agree to his horrible trade. What value could her virtue hold that could compare to her mother’s life, after all? But now, faced with the reality of him, the words stuck in her throat. She tried to give them voice, but they were thick and heavy and would not move past her tongue.

“Sir?” An underling put his head in the door. “We have her.”

“Do you indeed?” D’Arque smiled, a wretched, foul grimace. “Well, ma belle, it appears your...services...will no longer be required.”

“Maman...” Belle whimpered.

The door was flung open and Colette Desrosiers was shoved through, falling to her knees. Belle cried out and ran to her, flinging her arms around her mother.

“Enjoy your mother’s company while you can,” D’Arque said carelessly. “She dies at first light, and so do you...unless you would like to make the deal for your own life that you could not make for hers.”

With a laugh he left the room, locking the door firmly behind him.

“Maman, I’m so sorry,” Belle sobbed.

“No,” Colette whispered, clinging to her. “I am sorry for leaving you here so long - it took us much too long to find you, darling, forgive me!”

“You were searching for me?” Belle pulled back. “Maman, how could you! You were meant to be safe, to be hidden!”

“And leave you here to be tormented and killed - or perhaps worse? I would far rather go to my death,” Colette said sternly. “Now listen very carefully, Isabelle. A guard will be here in a moment, and he will say that he is transferring you to Monsieur D’Arque’s private chambers, as you have agreed to his proposal to save your life.”

“I...but Maman…”

“He will take you out of the prison and to a secure location, and your father will meet you there.”

“My father! Papa is here?”

“I wrote him the instant you went missing, but he was already on his way here to fetch us. He will meet you and take you back to England, where you will be safe.”

“But then you will join us?”

After a pause, Colette said slowly, “My escape will take a little longer to effect. I plan to offer him information, and that should stay the execution for a little while, but...as soon as I can, I will come for you.”

Belle nodded, standing hastily at the sound of voices outside the door. The guard claimed her, and all went as Colette had said, though her rescuer was forced to be rather creative with a few inconveniently curious guards. This particular man appeared to be highly respected, though, and they passed mostly unnoticed through the gaol and courtyard, and then she was in a carriage.

“Thank you,” Belle breathed. “Have you done this before?”

“Many times,” he said grimly, his eyes turbulent. “Sometimes I’ve thought they suspected me, but I’m never discovered.”

“Will you go for my mother, when the time comes?”

“Certainly.”

He said nothing else for the remainder of the journey, and when she was once again wrapped in her father’s arms, Belle felt safe again. All was in readiness for their escape, but the next day Belle discovered, as they placed their trunks on the carriage, that her mother’s things were not among them.

“Should we not at least take some of Maman’s gowns?” she asked. “She will need them when she joins us in England.”

Her father’s face went pale, but before he could reply, the sound of hoofbeats cut him off, and the guard from the day before rode into view. “Sir Morris! We have been compromised!”

“In the coach, Bella,” Papa said hoarsely. “Quickly, no time to lose.”

“What does he mean? What has happened?”

Papa leapt into the coach beside her and they set off at a terrifying pace. “D’Arque has discovered your disappearance, and he has spies everywhere. This place is hidden and secret, but he will find it.”

“But...Maman? What will happen to her?”

Papa was silent, and Belle felt her heart begin to race.

“Papa!”

“Your mother...your mother was executed this morning, Bella.”

“No, she...she said she would offer information...that D’Arque would keep her a little while longer…”

“D’Arque never cared for information, my dear. He cares for blood and violence and terror.”

“But then why did she…” Belle took a shuddering breath. “She lied to me! She lied to make me leave her there!”

“To save you, Bella. To send you to safety.”

“And you! You knew her plan, you knew she was going to die, and you let her!”

“Bella, my darling…”

“Don’t! Don’t speak to me...don’t look at me! I hate you!”

“Bella…”

She reached out and slapped his face with all the strength she could muster in the confined space. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and if she were a little braver she would have flung open the carriage door and leapt out, but she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she could not face D’Arque and his men again.

“I will never forgive you for this,” she whispered.

Sir Morris nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. He looked out the carriage window and sighed. “Neither will I, daughter,” he said quietly. “Neither will I."

[elmidol]

The Shackles of Fate - Four

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Read Chapter Three

Summary:  If one misses curfew it is not only their life that is on the line, but their very soul. You are unlucky enough to encounter the fallen faerie prince when you miss curfew. He decides to claim your soul for himself rather than turn it over to the Master he has been enslaved by. As you are drawn further into his world, you learn more of your own past and how it is connected to the stories of your childhood.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader Ben/Reader

Warning: none for this chapter

The Shackles of Fate

Four

There was a dull throb directly behind your eyes, the first signs that you were developing a headache due to all that had been occurring since the previous night. This final revelation had been the icing on the cake, so to speak. Being in possession of Light magic should not have been an elusive bit of information; had there been no signs? You started to think of your history, your childhood. The sprite rolled over in his sleep, his back facing you. Governess Tico lifted her coffee to her lips though the expression of confusion did not change. She was giving you time to think, and you were grateful that it was in her nature to be patient. There was also the chance that Rose was coming to the conclusion that there truly was a sprite in her presence, or on the opposite side of that spectrum, that you were losing your mind.

 It brought to you a new question: even if Rose was unable to  see  the sprite, did that mean she was incapable of  feeling  him? You weighed your options in order to decide how to proceed. You locked gazes with the governess.

 Rose lowered the cup of coffee and set down the beverage as she tilted her head to the side. The two of you had been working in the same household for a handful of years. Governess Tico had a knack for reading your moods, although she was not always an expert on the reasonings for those emotions. For this occasion, Rose had followed the conversation and went from there. She pointed a lone finger at the palm of your hand, precisely where the slumbering faerie was curled. You nodded a single time. Rose pressed forward, slowly shifting the digit nearer. You could feel your pulse quickening. Fear started to envelop you. You could not allow Ben to be injured. Yet you  had  to know. Was that selfish?

 “Be gentle,” you said, a little more loudly than you had intended. Rather than appearing annoyed or insulted, Rose offered a gentle  I will . There was no underlying ‘you’re crazy’ to her tone. You had both lived through the first witching hour and thus were equally aware just how easily seemingly fictitious stories proved themselves to be reality. Rose kept her eyes locked with your face, ever observant to your expression; it was because of this that some of your worry began to fade.

 The moment that Governess Tico’s fingertip touched the moth-like wings of the faerie, she jerked her hand away and placed it instead over her mouth. You felt a jolt of elation. The other woman  could  feel the faerie. That joy quickly dissipated; you would have to be all the more careful when it came to how you handled the sprite. Rose seemed focused on the fact that you had proven yourself capable of Light magic. She asked the question that had run through your mind not long before: what was she?

 A second later, Rose continued with another question. “That’s the prince?” There was less skepticism than there was fear. Words began to spill from her so quickly that you were not quite able to follow. You did pick up a handful of terms, which informed you that the governess was swiftly recounting the tales of the faerie prince, his mother, and the demon king. At the mention of the imp king, you lifted your gaze from the sleeping sprite to again watch Rose.

 According to what Rose had said, Armitage Hux was rumored to have succeeded his father, Brendol. The younger Hux had always been resentful of the faerie prince due to Snoke’s interest in Ben. Imps believed themselves to be superior to both demons and faeries, namely the latter. While Snoke would have difficulty entering the human realm during the day because of the seal, if so pressed or summoned an imp could complete that task. King Armitage Hux would not hesitate in targeting the entire household if he learned that the cursed prince was present. Rose trailed off, staring blindly at the sprite in your hand.

 You had recognized the name of Brendol Hux. If memory served you correctly, that was the imp that, when summoned by rebellious teeangers, had tempted humans with more power. It was he who had paved the way for the demon king.

 Governess Tico lowered herself back into the seat that she had previously occupied. “If that really is the faerie prince then the tales are true.” You did not say anything, although you hoped that Rose would elaborate. Rose once more set the tip of her finger lightly against the sprite that she was incapable of seeing. “Do you remember the stories of the faeries that were referred to as  walkers of the sky ?” The faerie hero of legend, one known by the name Skywalker, had been a favorite character of yours when you had believed faerie tales were no more than stories. It had been written that he was the one to guard the seals that prevented demons from harming children. “I never believed the tale from my studies. That the legendary hero had failed in his task to train Ben in the art of seals, and that when the blood vow was made and the faerie queen was forced to curse her son… It’s said that the faerie hero vanished after witnessing his nephew’s soul torn in two.”

 You drew your hand closer to your body. You had nearly missed when realization dawned upon Rose, who uttered out the words  you missed curfew  so quietly that one may have mistaken the sentence for a simple exhalation. A part of you did not want to believe in the tales of Skywalker, not if it meant accepting that he had abandoned the task of protecting the human and fae realms. You wanted to rewind time and erase the last decade. With every passing minute there were more questions than there were answers. Stories proving to hold truths, albeit only in fractions.

 “The children won’t be safe here. Not with the prince, and not with a marked soul.” Rose was not being callous; you could hear the worry in your friend’s voice. You used the lull in the conversation to listen for Daen. There were no cries, not yet. You decided to utilize this time to tell Rose of your current predicament, and as you wrapped up your story, you asked if Rose would be opposed to ensuring the children were safe at night. “Of course! But you… you need to be careful. Do you remember the warnings?”

 Governess Tico did not wait for you to reply, opting to recite the nursery rhyme that Tolan and Tara would learn the following year when they reached the age of five.

  Though Skywalker’s seal protects the day,

These are the threats to come our way:

With demons and imps, they come at night;

Beware those armored black and white.

Of the prince, that darkened fae,

Tempted by light yet cursed to stay.

What once was whole, now in two;

The faerie prince may spare you.

Yet if from Snoke that prince does stray,

These then shall take your soul away:

The demon servants that all shall dread

Are those in armor dyed blood red.

 As you listened, you came to realize that you had forgotten it was said that the faerie prince could choose to defy Snoke, although the specifics had never been revealed. Did this apply only to those who had Light magic? Another question: had he ever chosen to spare a life before yours? Eyeing the slumbering Ben, you began to doubt that he had previously been successful in protecting those he did not wish to kill.

 “Those in red can only come at night, but the imps… If they have allies who discover your soul is marked, this entire household will be put in jeopardy.” Rose reached forward, this time setting her hand on your wrist. “I will read through the texts tonight after the children are asleep. You need to try to get answers from the fae, including  what  you are.”

 You silently wished that you had all of the stories memorized as your friend did. The issue with that came with the contradictions that existed among them. It had been reported by surviving family members that they helplessly watched their loved ones mistake fact and fiction then lose their souls. You had dutifully studied the stories that had been proven factual. Now you would have the advantage of speaking with the fae, both the prince and those who worked for him, when you were taken to their realm come the witching hour. There would be no such conversations for you with anyone in the human realm aside from Rose. Even there, you had to be careful. What Rose had said was correct; if someone learned that your soul was marked, it would serve to paint a larger target on the children.

 You would have discussed the situation more with Rose, along with delving more into your mysterious origins, had Governess Tico not been on a set schedule with the older children. The teenagers would be returning, which meant that they would be in earshot. That was not a risk you were willing to take, and you doubted that it was one Rose wanted to take either.

 Though there had been no cries from Daen, you decided to check on the infant after tucking Ben safely inside your pocket. You quietly entered the room, pushing open the door and peeking around before fully going inside. The light coos that came your way brought a smile to your face. You lifted him out of the crib, changed his diaper, and carried him down the stairs for a light lunch. Daen released a squeal of delight when you set the cut up banana pieces in front of him. He held the spoon in one hand, though he used the other to feed himself the fruit. You shook your head as you laughed. It had only been recently that Daen had taken to holding the utensil throughout his entire meal. You had noticed on more than a single occasion that he attempted to scoop up pieces. Given that they more often than not fell off the spoon before he could take a bite, Daen’s patience was easily used up.

 When it came time for him to eat the protein portion of his meal, Daen was content with you assisting him in going through the motions of scooping up the pieces and bringing them to his mouth. So as to not allow Daen to become frustrated, you did not discourage him when he grabbed for bites with his other hand. He was less receptive to the small lessons and exercises when grumpy. Of course, that was typical for infants.

 You lifted Daen into your arms as he held onto a sippy cup filled with milk when he had finished eating. It was time for him to have some fresh air. You grabbed the diaper bag that was prepared for these outings; inside were diapers, wipes, a handful of toys, and a blanket on which you would place him. Where Tara and Tolan loved the feeling of grass between their toes, their younger brother fussed at such contact. He did enjoy playing in sand and mud though, which amused the you.

 You read to the baby as he played with stacking cups. Those were his favorite toys along with similar puzzles that were age appropriate. Only when you heard a familiar bark did you set aside the  ABC  book illustrated with animals whose names began with each letter of the alphabet. BeeBee the Eighth, or BB-8 for short, loped into the yard. He chased after a ball that one of the twins had thrown. You were not certain which, as both Tara and Tolan were running after the dog. The canine’s owner was a short distance behind them. Poe flashed a grin while walking over to you.

 “Good afternoon,” the man said, and you returned the greeting before inquiring on the children’s behavior. “They were little angels, of course.” You chuckled at the hint of playfulness. The twins adored their cousin. They behaved more for him than they did their own father, although according to their late mother, that was normal for children to do. “Tara is enamored with faerie tales.”

 Poe lowered himself onto the ground beside you. You looked to the children as they played with the dog in the yard. “I try not to read those books to them. She enjoys looking at the pictures though.”

 “Easier times,” the Dameron male intoned. He had lost his mother the night of the first witching hour. “So many deaths. So many renditions of what happened… She believes the story that the faerie hero abandoned his nephew when the prince was tempted by the demon king.” You winced before you could stop yourself. That specific tale was your least favorite version of what had happened that night. Poe waved his hand in the air. “The one I found interesting was where Skywalker battled the transformed prince after he became the Master of the Knights of Ren.”

 You bit down on the insides of your cheeks. You were not particularly fond of that version either, namely due to its inclusion of Ben murdering his own father to create the blood vow.

 “It’s a strange one, though,” Poe continued. “Skywalker escaping with the last of Ben’s Light while the faerie queen protected the fae not bound to Ben from becoming involved in the vow. Do you think that means Skywalker took Ben’s power?”

 You shook your head as you uttered out that you did not know. A lie, one you felt a little guilty for telling. Your thoughts fell to the sprite in your pocket. Was he a separate entity from the dark faerie that had appeared before you? Had he been with the legendary Skywalker before that morning? Governess Tico was correct in saying that you needed to get some answers from Kylo. It was not a matter of saving only your own soul, but of protecting these children as well.

 That train of thought reminded you that it would be best if you did not discuss faeries with anyone for the time being. There was the chance that you would allow something to slip. While you believed that Poe would not do anything to endanger his cousins, it was not worth the risk of  him  accidentally revealing information. Things tended to spiral when it came to revealed secrets.

 Poe Dameron left along with BB-8 shortly before dinner was scheduled to be served. From there, things ran their usual course with the exception of Governess Tico tucking the youngest three into bed after their older siblings had retired for the night. If there was one morbidly positive aspect of the witching hour, it was that crime rates had lowered amongst the teenage population. They had little desire to miss curfew, namely if they had witnessed the aftermath of doing so. You listened to Rose speaking with Tara and Tolan, who were requesting that  miss  come up to ‘properly say goodnight’.

 It was nice to feel wanted and loved, however you were more concerned with one or both of them leaving their beds during witching hour. That worry faded when you heard your friend inform the twins that she would remain in the children’s room until the witching hour had passed.

 Your attention moved to other worries that you had temporarily pushed aside. Namely  what  you may have been descended from. The beings of the upper realm had been a passing interest. They had, to you as a child, been too benevolent to be real. The fae in stories had possessed both light and dark qualities, something that had made sense to you given that you lived with the Plutt family. To imagine that there were beings from the upper realm that were pure Light magic who refused to help those in need? It was painful for you. More painful now that you were aware one of your parents had come from that realm.

 You had pretended that your parents were important, that they had not chosen to abandon you. If what Rose said was true in regards to how magic had entered the human realm, it meant that at least one of them  had . They had not found you worthy enough to bring back to the upper realm.

 You stared at the tiny faerie that you had placed on your pillow in the exact spot you had found him that morning. One of the answers you wanted was to know if Kylo and Ben were two separate entities now or if one transformed into the other. Another thing, you thought as a scowl formed on your face, was  why  Kylo had seen it fit to knock you unconscious before taking you through the portal.

 You gently stroked the tip of her finger along the top of Ben’s head, ruffling his hair. “You had better give me some answers.” Though phrased as a demand, your tone was one of pleading. On your nightstand, the clock that had failed you the previous evening ticked and tocked in working order. You glanced at it periodically to keep track of the time. At nine he would arrive, you told yourself.

 Which is why you stifled a yelp of surprise at a quarter to the hour when a shadow moved in your peripheral. Your head whipped in the direction of the dark creature that rose from a crouch. Kylo was dressed in black robes as he had been the previous time, and his helmet blocked your view of his face. This was unfortunate, as you had hoped to utilize his facial expressions to offer you further information when you began asking the questions. The tiny faerie on your pillow did not fade, and thus arrived the first answer. The dark winged prince had literally had his soul torn into two when his mother had cursed him as a means of preserving that last of his light. Which, of course, meant that Kylo was not able to see the sprite.

 “I...packed a bag,” you said whilst gesturing to the aforementioned item. The helmet shifted, its visor pointed in the direction you had indicated. You utilized this time wisely, tucking the slumbering sprite into the pocket of your trousers; you did not often wear the clothing, as many considered such attire to be unladylike. Aside from aiding you in maintaining possession of Ben, the trousers would be easier to explore in once you reached the realm of fae. “I have a few questions.”

 “There is no time for that,” Kylo said in a bored tone.

 “Because of those armored in red?” The visor promptly left the packed bag to land on your face. You rose to your feet as you spoke, reciting the lines from the warning Rose had repeated earlier. “The demon servants that all shall dread/ are those in armor dyed blood red.”

 The dark faerie snorted in derision. “The upper realm is pretentious with their rhymes.” You felt your shoulders droop. You wanted to argue that the rhymes may have come from humans, however you were under the impression that this would hardly have made a difference in Kylo’s opinion. “The demon king’s praetorian guards—yes, they are the reason it would not be safe to leave you in a realm with a weaker seal.”

 There was the obvious question of  why do you want me safe  that existed on the tip of your tongue. You discarded it in favor of protesting being put to sleep when the faerie moved to gather dust from his wings. The leather-clad hand paused, and there emerged a strangled sound through the helmet’s vocoder. If not asleep, he informed you, then blinded in another way. You did not relish the fact that you were made to tie a thick cloth around your eyes. If you had not been growing more worried that your presence would endanger the children as witching hour approached, you may have argued. Blindfolded and clutching your bag in a manner that it did not press against the sprite in your pocket, you suffered the indignation of being lifted bridal style into Kylo’s arms even though you would have been able to walk just fine, thank you.

 In hindsight, you should have expected that a being of darkness was capable of small deceits even to those he vowed to protect. You mentally swore when you regained consciousness. Your hand instantly went to the blindfold, which you tore from your face. Your teeth were clenched together. A moment later, your jaw relaxed as you noticed Kylo crouching mere inches away with his hand extended towards your face.

 “Portals can be painful for those with human blood,” he said, his voice gentle. You were not certain if you completely believed him, however you were willing to be grateful if his deceit had been based on being merciful.

 You sat up, searching your surroundings and discovering that you had been laid across a bench in the garden that you had visited the previous night. Your bag was on the ground beside one of the legs. Heart stuttering in your chest, you surreptitiously slipped a hand into the pocket that held the sprite. Your finger caressed Ben’s cheek, which in turn caused Kylo to pull away the hand that had been near you to touch the side of his helmet. The same cheek you had touched on the sprite.

  They really are connected,  you thought with a renewed sense of awe.

 Kylo yanked his limb away from the helmet in unison with rising to his full height. “As I stated, you may play here while I fulfill my duties for the witching hour.” You opened your mouth to request that he wait. You tried to remember what questions would help you as well as Rose learn more of the situation. Before you could ask the first one, regarding  what  you were, Kylo took a step backwards. “I will return in time for you to ask those questions. Know this: I may refuse to answer them.”

 He was as vexing as you remembered him being. You started to shift your finger away from the slumbering sprite in order to withdraw your hand, however Ben rolled. From this new position you could feel a tiny hand touching your fingertip. Across from you, Kylo closed his hand into a fist before relaxing. The visor of his helmet pointed towards the ground. You waggled your finger gently to see if Ben would release it. He did not. Instead your actions served to brush along his chest. Kylo shuddered and took a step backwards in retreat. You idly wondered if he was ticklish. Debated whether or not he could sense that other half of his soul in your pocket. You meanwhile enjoyed the feeling of his warm touch on your finger.

 What Kylo had done to you the previous night, the memories that had heat seeping not only into your cheeks but throughout the rest of your body as well, coiling in the pit of your stomach, those touches had been different. It had been carnal. Enjoyable, yet less personable. In your pocket, Ben once more changed position in his sleep. His hand fell away from your finger and his wing brushed along the digit prior to wrapping around him like a cocoon. You took your hand out of your pocket and took a step in Kylo’s direction. He had shuddered again, his wings visibly twitching.

 “Will you answer just one question before you leave?”

 “Yes.” He took a step backwards in retreat. You could  hear  the smile on his lips when he had uttered that single response, and you instantly understood that he had counted that as the promised reply.

 Your nostrils flared when you huffed in frustration. The chuckle that left the dark faerie made your stomach flutter. It was deep and rich. It made you hope that Poe Dameron was wrong, that the story that said Ben had killed his father as a part of becoming Kylo hadn’t happened. You again reached into your pocket while watching the Master of the Knights of Ren walk away. His wings twitched and he shuddered when you gently stroked the sprite. His light was not destroyed. Just as he, for reasons yet unknown, had vowed to protect you, you found that you had the strong urge to protect his light.

 You had always done what you could to see the good in people despite unpleasant circumstances. Did that have anything to do with your parentage? Only once the dark faerie had completely left your line of sight did you withdraw the sprite from your pocket.

 “Well, little faerie, let’s see what answers we can find in the meantime.” You pulled the strap of your bag over your shoulder then set off down the garden path.

[wuollet]

So instead of writing that Jack story, Ive been stuck in my Miitopia fit.  So I figured I’d get it out of my system for the moment.  All my brainstorming that I’ve done for this, under the cut...  Includes pictures. (and its very long holey moley)

Since I had been spot-passed the “Casting Call” demo of Miitopia, I been in love with the game.  More or less, because of the customization you are handed at the very beginning.

Lets start off with the main cast.  Jackson, aka a simple Traveler.

Of course, it’s all a blank slate.  You’re not given anything about his past.  Where they’re from, who they find the most important person in their lives.  So I took that slate, and chiseled into it.  

Jackson, an apprentice Inn Keeper.  He’s also the son of the Dark Lord Richard, aka the Villian.

Of course, through out the game, you find out that Richard himself, is not truely the villian, but possessed by a Dark Curse.

Now, Richard is what’s known as an Inn Master.  He can use magic to summon Inns at will, any place and anywhere, and decide if he wants them to be permanent residence or temporary. (I made it up, and its absurd.  But im rolling with it)  Jackson, his son, was following in his footsteps to take up the mantle of Inn Master, but he decides its not for him, much to Richard’s dismay.

Jackson also has extended family beyond his father.  He has an Aunt, Esther who is a Master Inn Keeper.  She summon Inns, but they decay faster and are never permanent.  

She was at one time an adventurer, but that’s for a different post.  Which I’ll probably make eventually.  She’s “gal pals” with Taylor, a cleric.

Together, they keep one of Richard’s first permanent inns, much to taylor’s disappointment.  (She and Richard do not get along very well in this AU)  

They both head out with Jackson in attempt to stop/save Richard after he attacks Jackson’s home village and Greenhorne.

Among their travels to find the missing faces of the people of Greenhorne, they meet a traveling mage, aka Great Sage Hektor.

Besides being very instrumental in the game, he plays a very important part in the history of Richard, Esther, and Lea along with the very tragic outcome of several of his friends. (Again, will explain in a different post)

He saves him from the Dark Lord, and they head their own ways.

In more of their travels, they come across a thief I named Hero. (Because she doesn’t have a name.  I haven’t officially given her one in Sunset Overdrive.)

She begrudgingly joins the trio after hearing they were to see the King, and makes the final addition to Party #1.  

After saving the Village of Greenhorne, they head to the Castle, to talk to the king.  

King Monkey, Aka King Roland, and his daughter Princess Sophie.  (Originally from Skyrim.  I did not realize how they made the king until after I casted him in the demo.  I only felt it should remain the same in the full game)

Prince Nicholas and Vicky Jay (from my TF2 universe) are the ones at odds in this instance.  (It was extremely odd, but extremely fitting for both of them to be casted like this)  

After saving the king, the princess, and Vicky Jay, Party #1 gets kidnapped.  Once again, an odd feeling to see Richard kidnap his sister and curse his son(even though its not him)

Upon arrival to Neksdor, Jackson meets up with Hektor once more, and learns of a lamp that he had misplaced, holding the Genie named Allen.

Now, I honestly forgot that it was Hektor that sealed him away until I loaded this pic.  They don’t have any prior history(that I know of atm anyway), and had happened to be causing trouble at the wrong time.  He has his own history that’s not really tied in with the main characters at all. (Im just really sad I didnt get to use Jack’s mii, really)

In the attempts to save Neksdor, Jackson comes across his mother, Lea, a mage.

She immediately jumps to Jackson’s aid upon hearing what the Dark Lord had done to Greenhorne and what he was doing in Neksdor, but does not know it’s Richard. (Not until the fight with the Pharaoh Allen anyway)

Along the way, he makes fast friends with the Imp, Hannibal:

He’s a Fey that’s been kicked out of the Realm of the Fey due to his impish deeds. (Been fighting with his background honestly because there are enemy imps that you fight)

And makes slow friends with Darling, a scientist from Nimbus.

(Got nothing for him yet. Havent fully explored Nimbus due to the fact that it was after the fight with the Dark Lord and I had thought I was done with the game)

After defeating Pharaoh Allen, Party #2 gets kidnapped, and once again Jackson gets cursed.  

Upon arriving in the Realm of the Fey, And runs into Bryony, the youngest of the fab Fairies. (and my only saiyan that made it into the game haha) And is requested to save her sisters, Eleia and Brewen (both elves from Skyrim and TESO)  

In his adventures of trying to save the sisters, and eventually the Elven Retreat (its very repetitive of the previous two areas) he comes across three new companions.  

Natalie, the princess:

Tyler, the Tank:

And Delilah the chef(she’s only so low lvl’d because i changed her job):

Tyler and Natalie joined Jackson’s group together(although in game they didn’t) because Tyler, an escaped tank from Nimbus, had made it his job to protect Natalie, the princess from somewhere.  (Again, got kinda lazy after the fight with Dark lord richard which was when I started all these shenanigans)

That’s pretty much everyone with the exception to one.  Because after you rescue The Realm of the Fey, Party #3 gets kidnapped, but jackson becomes too powerful for the Dark Lord to curse.  

Great Sage Hektor joins Jackson’s party until he rescues his friends. (Cant remember if its until a full party or until its all 9 of them)  After the fight, he ends up getting possessed by the Dark Curse and becomes Darker Lord Hektor.  And it’s all very straight forward from there as you don’t get to add any new Miis until the very end when you learn of the Dark Curse’s story.

Which then brings in Bishop, aka the Reborn. (So says the credits anyway. he doesnt get a fancy tag line, sadly)

Again, very much of the history of this guy and will be explained in a different post.  Which ends this post, because god damn this ended up being kinda long.