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the-xp-budget · 3 months ago

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Goblins - Part 2 (Pyro)

Through the smell of old books and wisdom kept preserved for ages upon ages, you catch the scent of something else. Burning. Something is on fire.

Smoke erupts from a nearby shelf, and as you duck behind cover, someone steps through the fumes. Grey-green complexion, pointed ears, this is a Gobin.

His eyes are glued to a single mote of flame that dances around on his palm, but then you see him look around, registering an unfamiliar presence and searching for you. His mouth twists into a snarl, and that fire in his hand begins to grow and lash out. It’s hungry.

Roll initiative.

Goblin Pyro

The air in the temple suddenly grows hot, too hot to bear. You duck under a blast of flame and turn around to see what appears to be a Goblin emerging from behind a statue. You see a heavy woollen cloak over a suit complete with a bright orange cravat that matches a sash over his shoulder. The left sleeve of his jacket is missing, showing off an arm that doesn’t match the rest of his body, apparently made from polished obsidian refined into an appendage that terminates in three, clawlike fingers. You see the arm begin to glow as he prepares to hurl more fire towards you.

In my previous post, I talked about Goblins more generally, and a lot of that information still stands with this entry into the crew. Goblin Scuttle can still be used for defence and for repositioning, for example.

In that post, I focused on the martial Goblins, meaning that our spellcasting friends had their own post to themselves. I did plan on covering both in this post, but this post got long with the two of them, so here’s the Pyro. Here’s the general information.

Generally speaking, spellcasters are more vulnerable than martials, since they have a higher damage output on average. The Pyro fits this, although with an Armour Class of 16 in comparison to the expected 15, it doesn’t appear to yet.

The devil is in the Hit Points. The average for a creature of level 1 is 20, but the Pyro only has 15, so he’s not going to stick around and tempt fate. He’ll deal lots of damage then skiddadle when things look rough.

However, here is the important kicker for running spellcasters in PF2e: You don’t have to cast all of your spells. Fights in this system go quickly (a little too quickly for some people), and that means that certain abilities aren’t going to get used. This is fine, everything has a time and place, that’s why this blog exists.

You are playing to have fun, not to win. This blog exists to challenge players, not turn them off the game. The creatures aren’t the main characters, the PCs are.

For the sake of argument, lets quickly go over the Pyro’s melee option. It’s a torch, with a +7 to hit and a damage output of 1d4 +1. If we apply the strategy of “move to a target and hit it twice”, we end up with this:

Two Attacks: 0.5 * 3.5 + 0.15 * 7 + 0.35 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 7 = 4.38

A reminder that the Warrior, a creature two levels lower than our Pyro friend, had a damage output with this strategy of 5.08, and that doesn’t take into account flanking, which makes the Torch look even worse by comparison. This is a last resort item when the Goblin can’t escape or cast spells, and his enemies won’t accept surrender.

The Goblin grimaces and looks down at the almost burned-out torch still in his grasp. He gives a resigned sigh, and begins to flail wildly, leaving a trail of embers with every swing.

To better illustrate how rubbish of an option this is, I made a graphing system. Essentially, I need a graph with three points on it. The minimum damage, the maximum, and the average against a creature of the same level.

This is fairly simple, but it doesn’t mean anything on its own. To form a baseline, I look to the creature standardisation tables in the GM core.

The average attack bonus for a level 1 creature is +7, and the average strike damage is 1d6 +2. As such, the equation and graph for for that looks like this.

Generic Strike: 0.5 * 5.5 + 0.15 * 11 = 4.4

Now do you see what I mean? The Pyro’s physical weaponry isn’t a viable option, so let’s look at spells instead.

Our Pyro has a spell attack modifier of +6, and a save DC of 16, which means that, against a generic level 1 creature, he will hit with spell attacks 60% of the time, and the creature will fail against 50% of the saving throws he forces it to make. Bear this in mind, it will affect everything I say later.

Light isn’t a combat focused spell, and considering the Pyro has Darkvision, it’s not really useful at all, except as a distraction. Show me a TTRPG player of any system who won’t see a glowing golden chalice on a pedestal and immediately try to pick it up.

Ask the players if they touch the chalice halfway through. It means you can enjoy watching them suddenly contort their methods to avoid directly making contact with it, and it will take their attention off their surroundings, allowing the Puro an advantage when sneaking up on them.

The statuette glows with a flickering light that illuminates this entire space. Golden, warm light, almost hot to the touch.

There’s no mechanical benefit to this (although if a player tried this, I would allow them to take the Create A Diversion action using their spellcasting modifier in the place of deception), but it would distract the players from taking the search action, and that’s some decent risk assurance.

Telekinetic Hand, meanwhile, is best used like the force. That is a role-playing spell, allowing the Goblin to feel magical if the characters engage with it. Maybe he lifts a drink to his hand from across a table or holds a book in the air in front of him so he can read and gesticulate at the same time. Alternatively, it can grab something off a high shelf or put something up there so it can’t be stolen.

The Goblin leans back in his chair and flicks his wrist. “Manus Liquefacta” You see that arm of his begin to glow once more, as an ember trails off into the air and begins to expand into the shape of a hand that floats idly beside him.

Ok, now we have the useful spells. These are the ones he will use most often in combat, and the most obvious of those is Ignition, a two-action spell that targets AC and has a critical hit function that makes my math more complex.

Each round, after a creature takes persistent damage, they can make a flat check to recover from the condition. It’s a DC 15 flat check, so there’s a 30% chance of succeeding. So, for the sake of math that doesn’t make my nose bleed, we’ll say that it will probably deal about 70% of the damage it could.

The length of the condition is assumed to be one minute, which translates into the game as ten rounds. At 1d4 persistent fire damage per round, that’s 25 damage if the effect runs its course, and 70% of that is 17.5.

So, with all that and the chance of succeeding I mentioned before, our equation for the damage of one strike is this:

Ignition: 0.5 * 5 + 0.1 * (10 + 17.5) = 5.25

That’s not a lot of damage, I will admit, but we aren’t done yet. Remember that this spell requires an attack roll, so it works with conditions like Off-Guard. This Goblin has a +7 bonus to his Stealth checks, so we can mess with that if we want to.

The expected perception score of a level 1 creature is +7. With the +2 bonus from cover, our Pyro friend has 65% chance of succeeding on his roll. That increases to 75% with greater cover and look at what that does to the damage of this spell.

Hide Then Cast Ignition (Cover): 0.65 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.2 * 27.5) + 0.35 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.1 * 27.5) = 7.04 Hide Then Cast Ignition (Greater Cover): 0.75 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.2 * 27.5) + 0.25 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.1 * 27.5) = 7.31

Before we put that on the graph. We need to take into account that this spell takes two actions, so the single attack options need to be accounted for.

That is a massive spread, but it’s the averages that matter. Theoretically, if everything goes well, this spell can deal 56 points of damage, but that is very much theoretical.

“Fides Ad Ignis.” Even whispered, the voice echoes against each of the columns in turn, sourceless and indirect. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise and turn in time to see the Pyro stepping out of the shadows to hurl a ball of flame like a discuss towards you. You throw up your defences, and by the time the fire reaches you, you have lost track of its cause entirely. That’s a twenty-four to hit.

Worth noting, since this is only this blog’s second entry, I’m still working on the formatting and even this graph specifically. Bear with me, I’m experimenting.

The final cantrip in the Pyro’s arsenal is Tangle Vine, which takes a little more fenagling to work out the efficacy. First up, it doesn’t do damage, it’s a mobility hampering spell. Best used as a means of escape, so it needs to be judged on a different scale.

So, let’s assume that the Goblin is a sphere and apply some baselines. The GM core tells me to assume a speed of 25, which is the same as the Goblin Pyro, so let’s go with that.

The Pyro has two options, either use all three actions to sprint the full 75 ft. Or he can only move 25 ft. and cast Tangle Vine. Limiting his own speed in return for a single round of movement penalties applied to his target.

In the below graph, the lighter circles represent the starting point, and the lower of the two darker circles corresponds with stopping to cast the spell.

The opponent meanwhile has three options that they can take, each dependant on the spell. First, the spell misses and they cover thirty ft., catching up with the Goblin and rendering their defensive spell moot. Second, the spell hits, and the target’s speed is reduced by 10 ft. As such, they only cover 45 ft., but they do still catch up with the Pyro. The third option occurs on a critical hit, which immobilizes the creature, limiting their movement entirely for the round.

Here are those three options on the map.

I think you can see where I’m going with this, but just to be clear, let’s work out how likely each option is to happen.

The Pyro has 60% chance to hit with this, that means a 10% likelihood of immobilizing his target. As such, the formula looks like this:

Tangle Vine 0.5 * 45 + 0.4 * 75 = 52.5

Not even accounting for the fact that an immobilised creature can just use an action to try and escape, this spell is not worth it as an escape option.

You see the Goblin’s eyes light up for just a moment as he draws himself to his feet. You hear him say “Manete”, and then feel your limbs begin to resist your motions, like something very hot is trying to latch onto you. Does a nineteen beat your armour class?

Most likely, this is a last stand spell. This is a spell for when the rest of the Goblin’s crew is trying to get away, and our friend is making himself the easiest target. In that case, his companions can use their full movement to escape, while the Goblin will use his turn to slow down the threat, and hope he has enough time to get away on his own, most likely in the opposite direction to his friends.

This spell has a range of 30 ft., so it is best used at the limit of this distance.

Alternatively, if the goblin gets reduced to half HP and the battle is still ongoing, he might throw out this spell before making his escape.

But that’s enough of the cantrips. The Pyro has three spell slots that can be used for either Grease or Breathe Fire, and we’re going to start with my favourite of the two.

Grease is a control spell. It messes with people and sets up allies by knocking anyone in its space prone. Since it takes an action to take cover while prone, that means any character who failed their save is off guard against everyone until they move.

Let’s compare outcomes. Because this is the support spell, let’s assume we have another Goblin who can move into melee. The Pyro will most likely be accompanied by Warriors, so let’s bring back our friend from the previous post.

Once again assuming everything is a sphere, let’s say that there is one opponent (level 1), and the two Goblins, who are both within 30 ft. of it and, for the sake of argument, hidden.

Here’s our first scenario. On his turn, the Pyro will cast Ignition and then hide, while the Warrior will emerge from hiding and shoot the target twice before ducking back behind cover. This is a simple equation, modifying the warrior’s formula a bit to account for a higher target AC and adding all the totals together.

Both Goblins Attack: 8 + (0.5 * 3.5 + 0.25 * 12.5 + 0.35 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 12.5) = 14.73

Alternatively, the Pyro can cast Grease, while the Warrior’s strategy doesn’t change. In that case, the Warrior’s second attack would be against an off-guard creature. Applying what I said earlier about likelihood of success, the formula looks like this:

Grease: 0.5 * (0.5 * 3.5 + 0.25 * 12.5 + 0.45 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 12.5) + 0.5 * (0.5 * 3.5 + 0.25 * 12.5 + 0.35 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 12.5) = 6.9

Notably, this tactic doesn’t work with just one other Goblin. But let’s consider a few more options. For the sake of space, here’s another graph.

Here, each +1 means a single Goblin other than the Pyro.

Once again, this is a dead end. So, let’s consider another use case, setup.

What if we combine this with the Light spell from before? Lay Grease on the ground near an entrance and Light on something shiny, then wait for potential targets to rush in and slip. Like I said before, fights go really quickly in PF2e, so running out of spell slots isn’t really an option.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you feel your feet begin to lose purchase on the ground. Apparently, you’ve stepped on something slick, like ice or oil. Everybody make either an Acrobatics check, or a Reflex save as you find yourself struggling to keep balance.

Theoretically, a character actively seeking wouldn’t have to make a check to notice the spell’s effect. But again, if I put something glowing on a pedestal, the likelihood of someone searching is diminished.

On the other hand, if a player searches for traps and subverts the Goblin strategy, that’s not a bad thing. It means the player is engaged with your world enough to want to look around and to try and predict things, and it allows that player to feel powerful without the need for special magic items. You’re playing this game to have fun, remember?

If successful, the Grease gambit would mean that the fight starts with a few of the Pyro’s opponents on the floor, causing them to waste multiple actions getting up, drawing weapons, and then moving towards the Pyro, essentially destroying the entirety of their first turn and possibly setting up the Pyro for the last of their spells.

Speaking of which, Breathe Fire is an area of effect spell with varying degrees of success. Considering the predicted save likelihood of 50%, as mentioned above, it is incredibly likely that the target will take at least some damage. Here’s the formula and graph for that damage against one person:

Breathe Fire (One Target): 0.45 * 3.5 + 0.45 * 7 + 0.01 * 14 = 4.87

This has the benefit of scaling directly with the number of creatures in the area. At two creatures, it outpaces Ignition with an average of 9.74 damage, and this continues with three or four creatures.

For the fun of it, the maximum amount of creatures who can fit in this area is seven. Here’s what that looks like on the graph:

You watch the Goblin rear backwards, breathing in heavily as he speaks the incantation. “Aetnae Ira!” His words trail into a scream as he breathes out an enormous cone of fire so hot it's tinted blue. I need you, you, and you to please make Reflex saves to try and get out of the way of this blast.

So, we have our strategy for the fight. Start with a Grease trap with a glowing valuable item serving as bait. Preferably with more Goblin Warriors by the Pyro’s side than there are opponents. Then, open with a Fire Breath while the trap is still in effect and its subjects are prone and trying to work out what’s going on. Then duck back into cover for a third action.

Spend the next few turns peppering opponents with Ignitions from a hidden vantage point.

If the opponents clump up again, the Pyro will use his final spell slot on another Fire Breath and assess the situation. Generally, if a target hasn’t been killed by two spells, the Pyro will take the hint and back out of the fight.

He will also flee if reduced to half hit points or fewer, or if half of his fellow Goblins are slain or otherwise removed from the battle.

For the greatest effectiveness, the Pyro will want to fight in as little light as possible to take advantage of the fact that his opponents can’t see. Also, fire looks cool in darkness.

Alternate Spells

Since most of this Goblin’s vibe is summed up by his spell list, so theoretically you could swap out all of the spells and make a Goblin Necromancer with next to no trouble. But I wanted to pick spells that fit the theme.

I am partial to the Forge spell, which would replace Fire Breath for a ton of single target damage that is especially effective against construct opponents, although I’m honestly not sure how many there are of those with whom the Pyro will come into contact.

Forge: 0.45 * 7.75 + 0.45 * 15.5 + 0.05 * 18 = 11.36

Obviously, it doesn’t match Fire Breath for multi-target damage, but Fire Breath needs three targets to beat this, so this is better for small groups or those that like to spread out. Of course, the Pyro can't decide what size their target is before they pick their spells, but they are aware of their strengths, which affects when they do and don't pick fights.

If the enemy flees, that’s still a victory, and generally all the Pyro has to do to start that domino chain is get someone on the opposite to seriously doubt their safety. If one person flees, their allies will probably join them.

As for Cantrips, I genuinely think Ignition is the best for this theme, so maybe replacing Tangle Vine with Eat Fire would be helpful. It’s situational, but maybe the goblin pokes himself with his own torch. He would resist all the damage he can take from it, then release the smoke to conceal his retreat. It ain’t prefect because he can’t see either, but it could definitely shake up a battlefield.

Conclusion

I am of the opinion that a creature’s worth is in its inspirational value, rather than any numerical advantage. The creature that makes you want to tell a story about it is more valuable to me than the heavily balanced boss monster with two voice lines.

As such, I like the idea of a Goblin who is also a fire mage. Fire is fun, and it can look phenomenal in the right situation. So that’s a plus to me.

I also appreciate the versatility of this stat block. You can replace every spell and get a completely different creature, and while I would prefer if it had an ability that made it stand out for itself beyond this, you have to respect the baseline.

If you have any suggestions for creatures you’d like me to cover, send me a message or put your suggestion in the replies or the ask box. I’d be happy to oblige.

All credit for this idea comes from the The Monsters Know What They’re Doing blog, I have simply ported the idea over to PF2e.

#pf2e #pf2e tactics #goblins #pf2e goblins #pathfinder #pathfinder 2e #pathfinder 2nd edition #XP Budget

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 5 years ago

Note

for the one word prompt— butterflies

Title: through murky waters and twisted paths

Summary: Only fools with a death wish enter the Forgotten Forest. Everyone knows trickster spirits lived there that would love nothing more than to make a quick meal or gain amusement out of a human. Virgil knows all the stories–he’s told them to the village children himself. None of that matters to him any longer.

Pairings: platonic intruxiety

Word-Count: 1.5k

Warnings: G/T, morally grey Remus, fantasy racism, body horror, ostracization, self-hatred & deprecation, suicidal ideations, hunger, death mention, blood mention, non-graphic references to violence, angst with a happy ending

hi I spent way more research on this fic than intended. I also forgot about this for like two months, opps. pls enjoy :)

As the sun sinks low into its’ grave Virgil ventures deeper into the Forgotten Forest, where the trees grow as tall as giants and the moss grows thick. Spirits live in the forest. Trickster spirits, ones that view humans as nothing more than amusement or an easy meal. He’s heard all the stories, he’s told them to the village children himself. None of that matters now.

(First came the cravings. He devoured everything in sight–his stomach never satisfied. At night he’d clutch his stomach as it growled. Always growling, wanting more, more, more)

With each step, he fights against the fear building with each heartbeat. It is quiet in the woods. Too quiet. Where are the bustling of the squirrels and chirping of the birds? Have they been eaten? Will that be his fate as well? As if to answer him, the earth trembles beneath his feet. Virgil stumbles, grasping a tree trunk for support. A choked cry escapes his lips.

(Then, as quickly as the cravings came, they stopped. He had little time to ponder this as exhaustion seeped into his bones. Sleep, he needed sleep. He pulled a blanket over his head, enclosing himself into a husk of darkness.)

“Whoa! You okay, little fella?”

Virgil’s breath seizes. The voice. It’s big and booming like thunder during a fierce storm. Quivering, he tilts his head up, up, up to a figure as tall as the trees themselves. A figure with pale-green skin and dressed in earthy colors. A crown of leaves rests atop their head. A spirit–a giant to be exact.

Virgil tries screaming. All that comes out is a pitiful squeaky click of his teeth.

(He awoke thrashing, constrained in an impossibly tight space. His first immediate thought was that he’d been buried alive. He needed to break out of the coffin. Out, out, out! He scratched and clawed to no avail. Fluid oozed out of him–blood? It had to be blood.)

“Whoa! Aggressive, I like it! Hiya, my name’s Remus, what’s yours?” The giant crouches down, his movements shaking the forest floor. Virgil barely manages to keep a hold on the tree trunk.

“V-virgil.” He tells the giant. He really shouldn’t give his name away just like that. Everybody knows you don’t give spirits that type of power. But he can hardly bring himself to care.

“Virgil? Ooh what a juicy name,” Remus smacks his lips, “You know I could totally squash you with one finger!”

“Do it.”

“What?” The giant blinks, mouth agape.

“Did I stutter?” Virgil asks, jaw clenching, “Do it–kill me, put me out my misery. I’m a monstrosity–I shouldn’t exist anyways.”

(His coffin cracked open. Except dirt didn’t come pouring in–sunlight did. He clung to the edge of it and froze. Something was wrong. His breathing–he couldn’t breathe! At least not in the way he was most intimately familiar with. Oxygen seeped through passageways. Not his nose or mouth but elsewhere. He looked down at not one, but two pairs of hands. He screamed. His skin no longer a pale complexion but an unnatural shade of purple. A pair of hands frantically clutched his face. He felt two normal ears, two normal eyes and two long strands of…hair?)

The giant’s grin vanishes as anger seeps onto his very large face. Virgil shudders, his instincts urging him to flee. He can feel air rushing behind him, his feet leaving the forest ground. Nothing happens because the giant snatches him up faster than he can blink.

(It wasn’t hair. It twitched out of its own volition, smelling his very sweaty palms. With a shriek, he leapt backwards as the spot between his shoulder blades burned. Two brightly-colored appendages flare out from the corner of his eye–surely something horrid like another set of arms. He kept scrambling backwards, as if he could run away from himself. He never stood a chance against that rock. His foot caught the edge of it and Virgil went tumbling down.)

“Hey! Who says you shouldn’t exist?” Remus demands, lips curling backwards to reveal sharp teeth. He holds Virgil in a grip much looser than he expects. It still doesn’t stop Virgil’s heart rate from accelerating.

“I–I do.”

“Well, I’ll mash up their insides and feed it to the–wait, you do?” Remus blinks, “why?”

(He woke up to voices. Angry voices. Voices that once familiar and warm now bent with vitriol and disgust. Voices of people he’d called friends and neighbors. Voices of people that called him a demon and a monster. Voices that welcomed him in, gave him food and a honest living. Voices that drove him out, casting charms and wards against him.)

“Just–just look at me!” Virgil says, swallowing nervously, “I’m a demon, I’ll–I’ll possess your soul if you don’t kill me.”

“A demon?” Remus asks, before bellowing with laughter, “I’ve seen plenty of demons before. Best friends with one, lemme tell ya. I know them when I see ‘em and you ain’t a demon.”

“Then…what do you think I am?”

(He found himself on the edge of the Forgotten Woods. Forgotten because it was so ancient. Forgotten because it was best to forget about it. Long before he was born, spirits took hold of the forest. Killing or thralling any humans who dared enter their domain. But he wasn’t quite human now, was he?)

Remus doesn’t directly answer Virgil. He summons something with his other hand. An oval-shaped object, with wooden trim and vines growing around it. A mirror. One that looms enormous over Virgil, but scaled to the giant is a hand-mirror. Remus’ grip on Virgil releases, causing him to fall back onto the giant’s palm. Virgil’s teeth click again as he stands on shaky legs. His eyes trail upwards, into the face of his reflection.

(Black horns. Glowing eyes. A long forked tongue. These were the details he could make out in the murky puddle he came across)

Black antennas poking out of plum-colored locks. Watery, lilac-tinged spotted eyes. A thin long curled tongue between fangs. Violet skin smooth and hardened. Four arms entangle together in a tight embrace. His shoulder blades twinges as slightly crumpled wings emerge from behind his back. Dark velvet wings reminiscent of butterflies.

“See!” Remus asks, almost bouncing in place, “You’re a bruise-colored nightmare of a changeling! Why shouldn’t you exist?”

“Changeling?”

“Yeah changeling–” Remus’ eyes widen, “Ooohhh. You didn’t know, did ya? What was it like? The hunger, I mean? What weird shit did you eat to satiate it? Or the chrysalis! Did you retain any memory inside of it while you turned into a gooey liquid? I bet it was cool–”

“I can’t be a changeling,” Virgil interrupts, a hand gripping at his hair, “I wasn’t super smart, or–or sickly. I was–”

“–a child,” Remus says, his voice suddenly calm and serious, “just a child no different than a human’s young no matter what those hypocritical bastards believe.”

(A few months ago he stood in the middle of the village, Mable’s and Urtha’s children swarming him. ‘Please Virgil,’ they chanted, ‘one more story! One more story!’ ‘Alright,’ he said laughing, ‘alright but just one more okay? I got work to do.

‘One day a mother checked on her child’s crib and cried out in anguish. For her child sported a beard and had long thin teeth. Sharp and spindly, good at tearing through flesh. The child’s grey eyes held a spark too wise. Its head was too small, disproportionate from its body. For it was not her child in the crib. It was a changeling.’)

“I don’t want this, please.” Virgil begs, slumping his head downwards.

The giant’s eyes, more than twice the size of him, regard him. With a flick, the mirror disappears. He reaches out with his other hand. Virgil tenses, waiting for the spirit to crush him. A single finger raises his chin up gently.

“I won’t kill you,” Remus says and with it Virgil’s heart plummets, “I mean, killing is fun. But this wouldn’t be fun for me or you, I promise. Ya know what’d be fun?”

“What?” Virgil asks. He wonders if he’s about to become Remus’ servant. Or worse, a plaything. Something for the giant to screw around with until he played too rough. There’s nothing Virgil could do to stop him. He’s too small to fight back even if he wanted to.

“If we became friends.”

“Friends? What? Why?!”

“Why not?” The giant grins crookedly, “does there have to be a reason?”

“…I guess not.”

“Sooo?”

“Okay, fine, it’s whatever.” Virgil concedes, body drooping with exhaustion. He hasn’t eaten since he woke up changed and disoriented. He yelps, a jolt of adrenaline pumping through his veins as the giant presses him against his chest in a hug of some sort.

“Great! You won’t regret this!”

“I think I do.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remus cheers, oddly unfazed as he still holds Virgil close to his chest, “now woulda like to meet my demon friend? Half his face is a snake!”

“Sure,” Virgil yawns. He can’t help it–Remus is warm and for the moment, doesn’t seem interested in maiming him. He falls asleep to the rhythmic stomps of Remus as he traverses through the woods, rambling all the way.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #kat writes #dammit i keep ending fics with Virgil falling unconscious #i just noticed #anyways i did a lot of research about butterflies #i know too much now

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jackarychaoti · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome Back to Hell. (Pt. 3)

- Music -

Locked in the endless winter that whipped around both dragons, the freezing ice had begun to collect on Jack’s clothing, permafrost from the eerie chill tainted his physique and yet the corrupted Emerald Dragon refused to back down from his challenger. In his mind, the Frostwyrm was now an obstacle, some sort of hurdle to jump conquer if he had any hope of finding who he had come to Icecrown for in the first place. In his ire, he wasn’t ready to lose.

“I give you one last chance to back down...” It was all he could say from the gravely voice that sounded out, nearly dual in tone as if something spoke through Jackary instead. One last plight.

She would not relent.

The deep crimson eyes fell closed as such was a shame but his grasp on his scythe tightened considerably, bringing the weapon up to point it directly at the towering beast before him. Stating the challenge, both rushed towards each other head first, the clash of the titans nothing shy of powerful.

When the Frostwyrm raised another claw to swipe, Jack crouched in his last step to lunged upwards, hooking the curve of his weapon onto that swinging claw to catch a ride in the momentum of the arch to kick upward with all his might at her jawline, fracturing the bone from the direct connection. He, of course, let out a pained grunt from the amount of pressure that was connected to his foot that matched her cry of pain.

It was an agile dance betwixt the two; for every motion she dared take at him, the Battle Mage moved with the grace and ease of someone who had spent their entire life climbing trees, scaling her body further each time. Every time he swung his scythe or flung ice in her direction, it didn’t seem to stunt her attacks, no matter how far he had crawled up her bestial skeleton.

Once on top, Jack crouched down to snag ahold of a rib and secure his grip. He glanced up just in time to see the wings on either side of him flare out, fully ready to take flight to try and shake him off. There was no holding back the corruption in his heart for in a split second of inner rage and jealousy, he had a dark thought... An evil thought. If he couldn’t have his own wings... why should she have been allowed to fly?

The idea tormented him, driven by whispers of the Nightmare that further tightened its grip on his mind until Jackary swung hard, screaming out in all of the frustration he had pent up over the years about his own wings. How he had lost them and why, the pain he felt when they were burned off and the agony and shame it brought. In that single moment, the scythe connected with one of the appendages, the raw strength behind the blow enough to crack and shatter the cartilage and bone, jaggedly slicing off the wing which caused an aching roar to bellow out and echo through Icecrown in agony. Lifelessly it collapsed next to the fighting pair, sending the Frostwyrm into a panicked frenzy.

“Why should you be allowed yours?! Why should YOU be allowed to fly!” Illogical, but for a moment, Jackary had forgotten himself, the tears welled gradually in his eyes while lips parted to pant heavily for air. He was already losing a significant amount of blood from the gashes in his arm and the anxiety had gripped him even tighter. “I. GAVE. YOU. A. FUCKING. CHANCE!” With each word that poured from his mouth, that scythe was swung, carving a name for itself into the spine of the flailing Frostwyrm who had frantically begun to flap the single remaining wing in attempt to shake the Mage free of her reanimated carcass.

A single hit from the flailing wing was all it took from behind to knock Jackary free of her, once more throwing him like a ragdoll into the snow to roll, his scythe disarmed and falling several yards away from him. His body skidded to a stop, wracked in forming bruises and adrenaline. He hadn’t tasted blood or combat in years and it was beginning to show.

Before he could even try and regain his foothold, The wyrm’s claw came down, crushing Jackary’s body into the compacted snow and ice below, pushing the very wind from his lungs. He could feel the ache of his bones and figure start to give away, the pressure enough to render the smallest, muffled cracking noise somewhere within his rib cage.

Hands reached up to grasp at the claw in attempt to push it off but in size alone, her weight was easily enough to overpower his own strength. In his last moments, flashes of his own life had begun to overtake his mind. Smiling faces of those he had known and could remember, his best friend those he loved and those waiting for him back home.... His mate. Fiancé. Knight.

Something overtook the Emerald Dragon when the heated tears finally started to fall down his cheeks, frustrated and at wit’s end. Yet, all he could think of was screaming for Darnath to stop... To stop killing dragons. To stop killing Ysera. To stop hurting... If his Dragonsworn had been here, what would he have done?

Fingers clamped even tighter, enough to crack the bones of the crushing claw and when his eyes closed tightly from the pain and a cough rendered a small splatter of blood on the bones above, his mind cleared. Eyebrows furrowed in pain but all he could do was whisper, breathless.

“Yield...”

The word was met with her pushing even more of her weight onto him, the splitting ice all around them an indication of the crushing power that was to be the death of the Emerald.

With one last attempt to spare her life, Jack cried out, glaring up at the towering beast through the blur of his own tears. It was time to stop playing around. The deep red that had overtaken his eyes shrank, allowing the inky blackness to pool into two sockets, the veins under his flesh darkened, overtaking his skin tone in self defense.

The ground all around the pair started to rumble, shaking violently. The darkness poured all over the dragon’s form leeched to life in writhing tendrils to coil around the claw while the same essence skittered out in every direction on the ice, making a spiderweb of glimmering corruption below. A fingertip flicked to point up at the struggling Frostwyrm and from the corrupted ice, jagged lances of the element shot up, impaling through the dragon, the haunting glimmer of the dark ice latched onto her body, pinning her in place.

Another set of the tinted, frozen ground raised on all sides of Jackary’s frame to ram into the hand above, knocking it clean away from him and giving him a chance to suck in a deep breath of air to his burning lungs. Now free, the Mage hovered from the ground, slowly erecting himself to stand until he stared to watch the Frostwyrm continue to be assaulted with the inky ice weaponry. For every pillar she knocked free from her, another formed in its place instantly after, lodging deeper into the skeletal frame, essentially pinning the dragon to the ground.

The haunting vision of those mechanical wings lit up again, the deep crimson pulsed through his corrupted arcane and as he approached the struggling wyrm, the heated metal flared ever higher, hotter, more violent and vicious. Blood splattered outward, only adding more to the macabre display that was growing out of his own shoulders. This dragon was too far gone and she deserved to be put to rest, to find her way back to the Dream, for the way she reacted to the Emerald Nightmare pinning her down, it had become clear to Jackary... She had once been an Emerald, too.

“Fate is cruel...” He began, the voice altered significantly. “Now we both suffer... But it doesn’t need to be that way...” Wheezing as he spoke from trying to catch his breath and the cracked ribs, each painfully slow step brought him around the struggling skull of the pinned beast. Blood splatters were left in his wake, tainting the foul earth with the metallic stench. “Return... to Paradise.”

Words echoed in the Frostwyrm’s skull and with a sudden spin, that defiled arcane magic was used as a knife to cut straight through, severing her neck in the midst of the violent struggle. Where Jackary may have thought watching her quickly go lifeless and the blue flame of the Lich fade from her bones would have brought him some sort of satisfaction, part of him felt all the more hollow inside.

It shouldn’t have come to this. So why was this happening?

Those dark eyes raised back to the fractured sky, furrowing when not only did his ice start to fade, but a black-winged Val’kyr descended, summoning the corpse he’d just slain away to return to the tear above. Something then told him that it was the realm beyond realms - death awaited there.

The peridot overtook the empty void his eyes had become and much like it had come, the corruption began to melt away, Jack’s mind lost briefly in the Dream to quell his heart back into a calmed state of mind and hide away the darkness once more. This time, it had saved his life - but what had been the cost and letting it take over to protect the host?

He wasn’t sure.

Either way, he stumbled towards the scythe to pick it up from the snow and use it as a cane to lean on rather heavily, furrowing from the pain wracking his body. It had been too close and he hadn’t even remembered the basics of combat as a War Mage. He’s been in retirement too long and the Kirin Tor was right...

It was time to find his Knight.

It was time to return to the battle.

#Return to Icecrown Arc #TW: blood #TW: death #Shadowlands #spoilers #TW: broken bones #TW: violence #Emerald Nightmare

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lilithsgayadoptednephew · 4 years ago

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Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 38

Lucifer was faster than Michael, and without any backup it was his only advantage. The angel wasted no time trying to run him through, as he had wanted to do for millennia, but Lucifer was already behind him. His wings provided a vertical battlefield the grounded angel couldn't reach.

Michael swung with fury, but Lucifer moved with precision. Michael dodged with speed, but Lucifer struck with purpose. It was mere minutes they fought through an obvious stalemate, but it felt like decades. This was the end of the roads they'd both chosen, always destined to oppose each other.

The only significant difference between them was Michael was expected to win. Every angel in the Celestial Realm expected it, Lucifer's own father had planned it.

Even Lucifer knew deep down he couldn't face Michael alone. He was too weak from his fall, his lack of human influence, his years of stress and heartache. He was too weakened by his cursed life to assume he could defeat someone still fresh and in the Father's favor.

The years had humbled him, his humiliation was so thorough and absolute it felt as if it were the true reason he was created.

But as Michael started to gain an edge, as Lucifer felt himself losing ground. He knew he was still their best bet. If he didn't defeat Michael, his brothers didn't stand a chance. Even United they'd never matched Lucifer's power and skill. It's how he managed to keep them in check for all those lifetimes.

For the Devildom, for the demons who were driven from it, for his brothers. He couldn't afford to lose this one.

So when Micheal swung his sword in customary fighting form, Lucifer showed no etiquette. He used no tact or grace, he used claws and teeth and threats. Anything for the edge, anything to frighten Michael into weakness. Perhaps he'd be too scared to fight, if he knew what the devil really looked like.

But Lucifer was growing slow, and his wings were large and unprotected. They were once an asset, but now they were the perfect weakness.

Lucifer hardly even saw as Michael faked a left dodge and immediately darted back. One hand holding his sword, thrown out for balance. The other reaching for Lucifer's neat black feathers. His fist grasping the soft appendage roughly, a dirty tactic for an angel.

Lucifer's cry of shock was like a fox's. Loud, haunting, and just off from being recognizable as human.

He hit the ground hard when Micheal threw him. His weight and height were his downfall. He was getting to his feet practically the next instant, but it wasn't fast enough. Michael pressed a metal boot to the center of Lucifer's chest, pinning him to the soft ground.

No.

Failure was not an option. He had his family, the fate of the Devildom, if he lost then no one would be spared. Michael would slaughter every demon, every ally they'd gathered. They'd be worse than dust without Lucifer.

MC would never know what happened to them.

Michael pointed the tip of the Celestial sword to Lucifer's chest, but he didn't stab. He grinned madly as he dragged the blade over the cloth of his shirt. Tearing it easily and slicing the flesh beneath.

"Does it hurt to be carved like a roast old friend? Corrupting innocent humans and seducing them to do your bidding is your crime, and I think this is barely any punishment for something so heinous."

Lucifer would not grimace against the pain. If he were to die, if all hope were to be lost, he would at least hold onto the one thing he'd kept through the years of struggling and suffering.

His forsaken pride.

He held his breath and made no movement as Michael made sliced veal of him. Sick enjoyment twisting his features as he worked.

"Look, the star bleeds just like a pig. Fitting since you'll die like one Helel!"

Lucifer would not comment. But he allowed himself an internal complaint. A whine that even sounded pathetic in his head, the plea of why Michael couldn't just finish it already. He knew this feeling of blackness creeping at the edges of his vision. The feeling of sickness curling in his chest like smoke and the world beginning to spin.

He was almost grateful as he lost consciousness.

0Michael watched the life drain from Lucifer's face as his eyes fluttered closed beneath him. For a blissful moment he believed the bastard actually died from the torture. Of course he'd be too stubborn to just go quietly. With a sigh Michael raised his sword.

Bringing the wide arch down his heart almost stopped when his swing was interrupted by a sharp clang.

Before him stood a warrior he wasn't familiar with. Their stance was strong and practiced, and they blocked his swing with a sword identical to his own. Taking a step back, and consequently off the fallen Lucifer, he got a better look at the stranger.

Their hair curled lightly on their brow. They stood strong and straight against the ground, over the unconscious body like a guardian angel. Their hands, small and calloused, gripped their sword in front of them prepared to defend themself. Their eyes held the seraphim's gaze with dignity and without hesitation.

They were like a mural, standing with the lights of the realm dancing in their hair, shining off the sweat on their temple. No armor or wings but angelic none-the-less stood his MC.

"MC! You're supposed to be hiding on Earth. Get out of here before you get hurt." MC held their ground.

"I was on Earth, but I wasn't hiding." They said coldly. They stood with their feet far apart and one hand thrown out to the side for balance. Sword raised in a manner both threatening and protective of their face and body.

They'd been training.

0MC tried not to look at their unconscious lover as he slept on the ground. Their suspicion had been correct, the bow had become a sword not a shield. That meant they'd have to fight.

Taking the offensive they lunged forward, using their weight in their attack. Michael was caught off guard but recovered quickly, blocking MCs attack and continuing to play defense.

"I won't attack you MC, you don't know what you're doing."

"Oh really?" They chased him around a corner and whipped around to slice again. "Because it looks like I'm about to chop you in half." They gloated. Michael almost laughed.

"The only reason you're still alive is because I'm so merciful." He chuckled as if fighting MC was equatable to racing a small child and letting them win.

"I know, but nonetheless we're still doing this" they were starting to pant now. They only had to keep it up for a little while.

"It's actually hilarious." He breathed.

"Me trying to fight you?" They guessed as they swung, burying the sword into a wall before pulling it out and continuing their assault.

"No, the fact that Lucifer's fallen so far" his sword blocked MCs and they stayed locked there as he looked at them directly. "To need to be rescued by a human."

MC had promised themself they wouldn't rise to any of Michaels taunts. But they'd circled back so the spot where they'd left Lucifer was behind Michael. Over his shoulder MC saw shapes moving, air shifting, they knew what it meant, they'd lived with him after all. They'd promised they wouldn't talk back, but that was when Micheal was addressing them. This time he'd disrespected Lucifer.

With a shove, so purposeful and sudden it surprised the angel, MC knocked his sword arm back over his head.

"I'm not here to rescue him" their tone was low as a whisper and deadly as a cobra. They pressed the tip of their sword to Michaels throat, keeping his hands above him.

"I'm here to distract you."

At that very moment MC dropped to the floor for cover. Michael was confused for only a heartbeat before a force like a freight train came from behind him. Knocking him over MCs head and into the wall they'd embedded their sword in.

Lucifer folded his wings back to his sides and held out a hand to help the human up. He wanted to scold them for stepping in, to tell them he hadn't needed their help and they shouldn't have been anywhere near the fight.

But they'd saved his life. Again.

He was over telling them what they could and couldn't do. Every time he did they just proved him wrong. And he hoped they never stopped.

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #Holy Hands

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years ago

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Hungry For Emotions

Finished this as my catalyst to get Merlin lol. I kind of like the part before it gets all kink related but I wanted to focus on the aspect of him feeding off of emotions.

Pls be kind to me gacha gods

_____

"I just knew I'd end up your favorite," Merlin smiles as his master returns to his room.

The Grand Caster summoned, a cost heavy task his master reminds him constantly, Merlin had been immediately thrusted upon any and all teams, his master showering him with praise and materials.

With recent developments, most of the enemy composition entailed riders, so Merlin was currently allowed to relax, casters the natural prey of riders.

Merlin lets out a small chuckle as his master sits down on his bed, shoulders sagging as he lets out a sigh.

"Told you you should have brought me along," Merlin waves his staff in the air, delighting in the laughs from his master. "I can't say I'm not happy that you left me though. Those riders would have destroyed me," Merlin smiles, both hands behind his back. He pauses when his master asks him what he likes, a question he hasn't heard since, well forever, Merlin reaching bond 10 a month ago.

"What do I like? Humans, pranks, and women. That's because they're so much fun when I tease them," Merlin pauses a bit, hand on his face as he scrutinizes his master. Merlin brings his face closer, hiding the smile as his master leans back, accidentally falling back on his bed, Merlin leaning over him with a smile. Hands beside his master, his hair falls down around him. "But you're the most fun to tease," Pushing himself up, Merlin snickers at the pure tomato color his master's entire face takes.

His enjoyment skyrockets as his master stands up, stumbling in his haste. Merlin deftly catches him. "If you wanted to be so close, you should've just asked,"

Merlin finds himself promptly shoved out of his master's room, his master somehow even redder than before.

The teasing finished for the rest of the day, Merlin smiles as he aimlessly heads back.

Grateful for such an easy master to fluster, the enjoyment neverending and from enjoying the nutrients that his incubus half needs, he smiles from getting enough energy with just a few simple tricks. He finds most the staff and fellow servants avoiding him, none in mood for his antics.

Merlin finds himself quickly back in his room, feeling today's antics with his master being enough. The emotions still tingling inside, he smiles as he wonders what he can do tomorrow.

Night approaches far faster than he expects. The nutritional emotions soon lose their luster, Merlin finding himself peckish. He grumbles. Now used to the abundance of master's emotions, he catches himself slightly wanting more of the emotions. Specifically his master's.

Grumbling, the need of emotions getting to him, Merlin fidgets. Pushing the desire to the side, Merlin goes outside.

Grabbing the first Chaldea staff he finds, he 'accidentally' bumps into her, uprighting and helping her.

An apology already ready, Merlin catches the fluster on her face. Excusing himself and heading straight back to his room, Merlin clenches his hands on his desk. The emotions somewhat strong from her, they still pale in comparison to his master.

"Just this once," Merlin admits defeat. If his master is this embarrassed awake, he can only imagine him in his dreams. The thought brings a smirk to Merlin's eyes, licking his lips in anticipation. Closing his eyes, Merlin transports himself into his master's dreams, the task easy to him.

Inside his master's dreamscape, he ends up in his master's room. He spots his master sitting. In front of his master is a copy of himself, his master combing his hair. Merlin furrows his brows at seeing his fake self calmly eating a piece of cake. His master hands the dream Merlin another slice, going back to brushing his long hair.

The image feeling off, he brushes it off when the pangs from wanting emotions come back.

"Why play with the fake thing when you can have the real one?" Merlin speaks up.

His master's concentration gone, the dream Merlin poofs away, a flurry of flowers left.

Sitting where the fake one once sat, Merlin sighs. Leaning against his master. "Don't worry about me, you can keep brushing,"

Merlin sighs as the brushing begins, the knots in his absurdly long hair worked out. Not even looking at his master, he feels the burst of emotions flooding his body, his master embarrassed at being caught. The emotions stay warm and light, indicating shyness and embarrassment.

The emotions begin to taste different, these ones now much hotter, prickling at him. Merlin opens his eyes. Recognizing these ones as anger, his attempt to stand up ends up with him getting pulled back, his master tugging on his hair as the brushing becomes more harsh.

"Hey, hey. I'll keep this a secret, promise!" The tugging lessened, Merlin sighs. Standing up, he pauses as he feels the cold embrace him, his master sad and fearful.

Turning around, he sees tears prickling his eyes. Merlin stands still, unsure of what to say or do.

"This was a bad idea," Merlin sighs. Crouching down, Merlin smiles. He relaxes as he senses the warmth, his master's emotions calming down. "Your emotions were just too good to pass up, and since you kicked me out early, I thought I'd pay you a visit," Merlin pauses as the warmth flares up, all sense of calmness replaced with anger.

"I'll see you later!" Waving goodbye, Merlin disappears in a puff of smoke. The smoke blowing away, he finds himself still face to face with his upset master.

A command spell disappearing from his master's hand, Merlin sits down, head leaning back. "This must be super serious for you to use one of them," Each master granted three command spells to ensure their servant obeyed, using one was the height of desperation or idiocy.

Merlin remains seated. Eventually he lies down. He wallows in his master's emotions, the remnants still strong. As time passes by, as much as it can in dreams, Merlin can sense his master's emotions washing away.

Splayed out on the floor, Merlin sits up when his master stands up. Learning his lesson, Merlin keeps his mouth shut as his master approaches him. His master frowns down at him, sitting down. Reaching for Merlin's shoulders, he shrugs off all the extra layers.

Left in his pants and spandex shirt, Merlin smirks. "If you wanted, you could've just asked," His master's emotions flare out again, this one a mixture of enjoyment yet anger. Merlin basks in the variety of emotions, appreciating the assortment.

For being effectively trapped in his master's dreamscape, the realm only controllable by his master, Merlin finds the entire thing so mundane. His master couldn't just wish for a simple tea time with him before he appeared.

His master clings to him, hugging him from behind, his arms wrapped around Merlin.

His master's emotions still swirling inside of him, Merlin accepts his fate of being hugged, a not terrible fate. His opinion changes as a budding warmth develops in his stomach. Glancing down, his flat stomach shows change, a small sliver of flab peeking out from his shirt.

Letting out a small 'oh' Merlin squirms in his master's vice grip. "I know a bunch of fun party tricks. I can teach you them if we ignore this ever happened. Magic fro-" Merlin gasps as a growth hits him, his stomach bulging out. His spandex shirt no longer covers his stomach, now a makeshift bra for his newfound breasts. His crossed legs press up against each other, his larger thighs tight against his pants.

Stuck in this, Merlin's thoughts stray to his master's emotions. The quality and quantity of them drowning him, Merlin lost in the pleasure from them.

Biting his tongue, he jerks his head as he snaps out of the trance. His cheeks shake from the action. Glancing down, his eyes widen at the figure he finds.

The pile of fat far too large to be described as a gut rests on his thighs. The oceanic fat crushes his thighs, the weighty mound folding upon itself as it spreads out. More curves than a winding road, Merlin’s focus gravitates to his cheeks, the bulging chipmunk-like cheeks shaking and jiggling with every shift of his head. Reach to touch his cheeks, he grunts as his arms remain in place, both weighing more than his body can carry. Huffing, he focuses on the wall. The wave of his master’s emotions return to him, each torment embracing and smacking him down to his core, the sensation one never felt before.

Focusing on his master, Merlin feels his master’s hands on him. Still huggin merlin, Merlin can feel his hands barely making it past his wide back. His blubbery backside contains divots from the handles of fat littering his back. His master’s hands traveling upward, Merlin steels himself for the upcoming tsunami of emotion, his mind struggling to not submit to the pleasure.

A pair of hands tugging at his chest, Merlin grits his teeth, his checks bunching up before he fails and lets out a small moan. The contact does little for him, his master’s happiness tinged with curiosity and satisfaction assaulting him to the core. His breasts sag down and to the side, the plump appendages more recognizable as sandbags than a chest.

The wandering hands soon lower themselves, reaching lower than his love handles. The emotions soon add a note of anger, a smack finding its way on his prodigious rear. His ass smushes underneath his weight, his buttocks splayed out and rising behind him. His treetunk thighs connect to them, the layers and rolls of fat making his ass somewhat matching. Unable to see them, he can only feel them against the floor, his pants now gone alongside his shirt.

His master now climbing his stomach, Merlin can barely keep his consciousness. Each movement seems to add yet another ripple of emotion forming inside him. Joy. Anger. Greed. Trepidation. Curiosity. Amazement. Anticipation. And yet more emotions Merlin can feel his mind barely grasping as he lolls his tongue.

Gasping as his master suddenly appears in front of his face, Merlin feels the weight on his body. More of his flab on the floor, Merlin moans as his master brings a slice of cake to his face, more emotions joining. Merlin moves his head towards the slice but finds his face immovable, the weight making him unable to move a single thing, more blob than servant. Instead, he parts his lips, the rage of emotions spiking as his master brings the cake closer. The cake touching his lips, Merlin closes his eyes.

Bed creaking as he jostles, Merlin wakes up. A quick once over, Merlin finds himself perfectly back to normal, his svelte body once again his. The torrent of emotions sit in the pit of his stomach, all of it stored. His incubus half stuffed, Merlin continues his normal routine, following his master’s orders. His master treats him normally, yet Merlin finds a knowing glint behind those eyes. Merlin keeps the teasing to himself, hunger the farthest thing from his mind with all his master’s emotions still flowing inside him.

A week full of farming materials soon reaching an end, his wonderful behavior a shock to everyone and even eating most concerned, none expecting Merlin to be on good behavior. Returning from the battle simulator, Merlin stretches, exhausted. Still, the ride is a fun one, his master the best feast he could imagine. His stomach growling, Merlin frowns. Walking to his room as the night approaches, Merlin finds himself in front of his master’s door. His stomach growls once more, the pangs of hunger reaching him. Blinking his eyes, Merlin smiles. Well he can’t exactly function on an empty stomach. And it is his master’s job to take care of him. Walking inside his master’s room, Merlin flops down on the bed, awaiting to rejoin his master’s dreamscape, the tantalizing thought of more food on his head.

#male weight gain #male wg #fat grand order #fat!merlin #ssbhm #my writing

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paellaplease · 5 years ago

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Firebird | Chap.3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 3: Trust is a Double Edged Sword

Hyrule’s Icarus is punished for his hubris.

He didn't have time for this.

"I don't understand what's gotten your feathers in a twist, so much as to resent my presence to this extent." Revali said, standing awkwardly by the doorway. He threw a quick glance behind him, wondering when Kamori was coming back.

The young Hylian glared at him from her seat in the middle of the room, one hand submerged in a dinged-up bucket of water. The heat from her palm was causing the liquid to simmer, steam rising from the surface. Her pointed ears were turning red.

"People generally don't respond kindly to the bird responsible for nearly murdering them."

Revali scowled.

He expected this to be over by now. Meet the enchanter, whatever that was, set a good impression, add “acquired blade of fire” to the sprawling list of accomplishments in his journal, and be home in time to prepare dinner.

Nothing is ever easy, is it?

He strolled past her, walking towards one of the bookshelves near the back wall and plucking a random tome from Kamori's collection. "Then perhaps now you'll think twice before you decide to carelessly trapsise through another forest."

Ah, if looks could kill. A loud pop and fizzle echoed in the room as the water in the bucket transitioned into a rolling boil. He rubbed a feather in the space between his eyes, exasperated.

Revali believed as one of the more well-travelled and seasoned warriors of the Rito tribe that he had seen his fair share of anomalies, many of which were unexplainable or untethered to the fundamental laws that the Goddess Nayru had blessed them with. Hyrule, with all its strange monsters, rotting treasures, and drab prophecies, was beginning to become rather predictable.

He didn’t even blink when Chief Kamori summoned him to his office a few days prior, informing him that a young enchanter from the mountains of Akkala was en route to the village. With her, a dagger forged from the knowledge of the Sheikah and imbued with the gift of flame.

It had the ability to cut through the toughest of enemies with ease, he remembered Kamori explaining, and critically injure the ice monsters that usually frequented their neighbouring Hebra Highlands with little as a single blow. It was extraordinary, extremely powerful, and almost impossible to break.

He stopped listening at the point the Chief began a speech as to how an alliance like this would be momentous for the village yes, yes, diplomacy and all that entails...It wasn't hard to grasp. Enchanters exist and one of the only two known alive today was on their way to give him a magic dagger. Done. Noted.

He had bigger fish to fry. His mind at the time sank, lifted, and flew, drifting to the various aerial techniques he had analyzed that morning, wondering despite all these new successes, if he was any closer to achieving a breakthrough.

Unfortunately, fickle as fate was, the same scuffed Hylian that he had met yesterday was none other than the enchanter herself. Albeit, with less dirt on her face and far angrier than he expected. She stood there, gaping like a beached trout.

Then, a minute after he stepped into the room, her hand decided to burst into flame.

Revali felt his composure careen into a wall. All manner of diction suddenly escaping him. His confusion manifesting as a simple, ill thought out statement.

Well, that is certainly something you don’t see everyday.

Farore must have been smiling down upon them as nothing else in the wooden hut caught flame, save for the sacred tapestry which hung over the back wall, its fringe set alight.

The guard, Talako, flew into the room after detecting the scent of burning cloth from outside, managing to stamp out the flame with his talons. He didn’t seem as surprised, muttering “Knew she was trying to set fire to something ,” under his breath as the last of the flames went out. The damage was minimal, merely singeing some of the fibres and blackening the tassels, but the enchanter sure knew how to clear a room.

Chief Kamori had immediately ordered Talako to scout the village for water to neutralize the woman’s flaming hand, before leaving the office himself with an excuse that he had to retrieve an item of importance.

Which brings us back to the present: the enchanter’s hand in a bucket and Revali left behind with a rather hostile conversation partner.

"See it this way." Revali called over his shoulder as he thumbed through a particularly dry recollection of Tabantha Wheat and Why We Knead Them . "Keep this up, and perhaps you'll need to find another warrior worthy to take on your enchanted bucket."

“That’s not how it works!”

He looked at her. “Right, I forget that setting harmless objects on fire was rather essential to the task.” He detected the exact moment when anger shifted into resentful bitterness on the Hylian’s face as the words left his beak, the small whisper of grief in her eyes almost making him take it back.

The enchanter gritted her teeth. "You’re an asshole,” she growled. The water in the bucket sloshed. “But that’s not the only reason why you aren’t worthy. I’m not sure if you and your Chief fully understand, but it is more than my opinion that matters. You just don’t feel,” she scratched the back of her neck in frustration, “you just don’t feel right !” Goddesses preserve him. “I know this dagger will reject you in an instant.”

With that she stood up, adjusting the yellow bandana on her head with a small sigh. The woman removed her hand from the bucket, using the edge of her grey tunic to dry it. She glanced up and seemed to flinch from the judgement in his eyes, tearing her gaze away and choosing to look upon the burnt tapestry instead.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the ambient noise of the village below, idle chatter and a child’s laugh carried upward by the wind. He flipped a page in his book. So forces beyond her own were at play here, yet she was able to discern his unworthiness based on her own subjective feeling. What does that even mean?

Revali briefly caught the thick line of scar tissue running across the top of her hand before it was hidden from him by the confines of charred leather. The enchanter fiddled with the button of her ruined glove, giving up and lifting her pack with a defeated grunt.

She shook her head. "I should go. I don't want to waste your village and Chief Kamori’s time any longer," she said, voice quiet.

He opened his mouth, mocking reply at the ready, when the bells chimed from outside, the sound of heavy talons clicking across the floorboards. The presence of another person in the room caused Revali and the Hylian to startle, turning their heads to the doorway.

Master Kamori had returned, downy grey feathers rustling as he ducked under a low hanging beam, gripping an object in one of his wings. "Hoo! Forgive me, that took longer than expected. Brazen Beak was uncharacteristically busy at this time of day.”

He tilted his head when he spotted the woman with her pack slung behind her, expression rather regretful.

“Do not worry yourself, young enchanter," the Chief said to the Hylian. "Your presence here inconveniences no one." Evidently, he had heard what she’d said earlier. One would suspect his Chief for eavesdropping, but Revali knew the bird had exemplary hearing ever since his injury.

The enchanter opened her mouth, no doubt ready to protest, but Kamori calmly stopped her by holding out a wing. A small object he couldn’t quite see rested in his palm.

"A gift," he smiled at her questioning look.

Chief Kamori unfurled his feathered appendages, revealing what was a tan, leather glove. “Tabantha moose leather, sturdy, but enough aeration to avoid your fiery hand from overheating.” The Rito sigil was stitched into its surface. Unscratched and unmarred, it was of Rito make but for Hylian hands. Inara’s doing, probably, Revali thought. The man always had a soft spot for tourists.

"Thank you," the enchanter’s voice was slow, cautious. "How much is it?"

"Free," Kamori laughed. "Hoo! As all gifts are. It is to replace your old one."

The woman froze in place. She stared at the glove as if it were a stone pebblit about to sprout arms and break her nose with a well-timed rock hurl. Revali's frown deepened from behind his book, noticing how the Hylian's hands lightly shook as her eyes flicked from the glove, to the tapestry behind them, then back up to the Chief . Several emotions crossed her face.

Valoo’s Crooked Teeth just accept it already!

As if in hearing his thoughts, in a flurry of sudden movement the enchanter whipped around to face him, so fast he wondered if she cracked her neck. He felt her glare rather than saw it, sharp as the row of throwing knives strapped to her chest. The temperature in the room began to shift.

Nonplussed, he continued to read, feeling not a single ounce of concern. Was it always this humid?

“One feather.” She said.

Revali didn’t let a second pass. “Kindly clarify that statement?” he started, still not looking at her. “Are you referring to my feathers? Chief Kamori’s? Or perhaps even the ones decorating the rafters outside. I’ll be sure to ask the hatchlings during the next molt-”

Shwing!

The unmistakable sound of a blade sliding from its sheath met his ears, grabbing his attention and making him look up with a raised brow.

There she stood, facing him completely, expression of intense determination. The enchanted dagger was held tight in her gloved hand, blade exposed to the free air, already emitting a low hum and heat which filled the room and dissipated the surrounding chill.

She was surprisingly deft in handling it- the dagger he meant, not her expression. Gloved fingers danced around the hilt as she spun the knife, turning the sharp end to face her while its handle pointed to his beak. She began to cross the room.

“I’ll permit the dagger to pass judgement onto you, Pride of the Rito." The way she enounced his title was no different to how one would sound after eating something particularly repulsive. It made his anger flare, but he was quick to taper it as he caught Kamori’s warning expression.

The enchanter stood before him now, close enough that he could smell the burnt leather again. "However! You may only touch it with a single feather. I may be its maker but," she hesitated, worry flashing across her eyes before it was quickly overtaken by her steely gaze once again. "I don’t know exactly what will happen should it reject you."

Revali snapped the book he was holding shut, placing it back into its place on the shelf. Without a second thought, he extended a wing out, filled to the brim with confidence.

The dagger was exquisite, blistering orange and as red as war. A low, humming energy surrounded it, encasing the blade like an invisible shield. A cloud moved to cover the sun as he reached, filling the room in momentary shadow. Like sunlight on fractured glass, the visible elemental energy from beneath the knife’s surface cast splintered warm lights on the wooden walls and floorboards. It illuminated the enchanter’s face, emphasising the lift of her cheekbones and the burnt umber of her eyes in a way he hadn’t seen earlier. Revali reined in his focus, quickly discarding the thought.

The buzzing in his ears increased as his wing edged closer. He could then actually feel the energy surrounding. It repelled his outstretched feathers away like a magnet would to its like pole. A warning.

It did little to deter him. If anything, it more so irritated and prompted his insistence. So he pushed further, the invisible barrier relenting and parting ironically like water, around the end of one of his blue feathers. He reached out and brushed the dagger’s pommel.

Nothing happened.

Revali smirked. “Are Hylians always of such little faith? Or is it just you- argh!”

The low hum once a benign annoyance in his ear increased in volume to become a grating, monstrous roar. As this happened, a burning sensation began from his outstretched feather, and raced up the length of his wing and shoulder, making him reel back in pain. He felt dizzy, the room blurring and spinning. Like his nerves were suddenly set alight. It was excruciating.

Immediately, the dagger was stashed away. Someone in front of him gasped and Revali felt gentle, shaking hands reach for his wing. It was the enchanter. He quickly backed away. “I’m fine,” he hissed.

Revali took two deep breaths, then straightened up. He willed himself to relax, noting with displeasure at how some of his feathers stood on end. Damn it all. He scanned his wing for any damage, flexing his primaries to assess for changes in his range of movement.

As expected, he was relatively unharmed. Everything looked to be where it should, all except for a single feather. The one that made contact with the blade, singed black and as fragile as ash.

Feeling another pair of eyes on him, other than that of the enchanter who had now resorted to bumbling apologies as she tried to glimpse at the damage on his wing, Revali nodded, signalling to the Chief that he was alright. Kamori was wise enough to know that it would take greater things to phase him, but having been taught by the old Rito for most of his life, it was easy for Revali to tell that he was worried. No matter how aggravatingly calm the old man appears to be.

Revali ignored the panicked woman in front of him, reaching for the dagger. “It’s nothing serious. Let me try again.”

“No!”

The Hylian shook her head, shouldering her pack and backing away. Her eyes were wide as a frightened mountain doe. "I'm sorry Chief Kamori. I can't stay. I know Teacher won’t be happy but I don’t deserve your kindness. After all the patience you've shown me even though I burned-"

"The winter solstice." The Chief said.

"What?"

Two pairs of eyes were upon him.

Revali noticed belatedly that he and the Hylian had spoken at the same time. "Go on," he grumbled, slightly embarrassed.

Kamori flashed him a warning glance, directing his attention back to the woman. "Stay until the winter solstice," he repeated, gesturing to the land outside the many windows and to the village below. "That is all I ask. You have travelled all this way, my conscience cannot rest if you were to leave now without taking time to recuperate and collect supplies for the journey ahead of you."

The winter solstice, Revali repeated in his head. That was in a month. Two weeks was generally enough time for someone to rest, restock and recuperate. A month was more, if not plenty. He leaned against the bookshelf, eyes trained to the Chief and enchanter. He narrowed his eyes. What are you playing at, Master Kamori?

“Here.” From the corner of his eye, Revali could see Kamori holding the new glove out once more to the Hylian woman. This time, the old Rito placed a comforting wing on her shoulder, making the enchanter jump as she peered up.

“I will send news to Nisandrey. And do not worry yourself, no mention of what occured with the tapestry will leave this hut.”

The Chief smiled down at her encouragingly, as a grandfather would to a fledgling before its first flight. "Perhaps you'll find another warrior to take on this dagger in that time," Kamori said, voice light in an attempt to ease the low mood of the room. "Hooo! Or maybe you'll even find a way to forgive Young Revali for his previous transgressions. Although I’m still unsure of what exactly occurred in your first meeting, perhaps another time..."

Revali lifted his head from the sound of his name, guessing from the Hylian's expression that "don't hold your breath" was a unanimous thought shared by the both of them.

At least we are in agreeance of one thing.

The enchanter was quiet for a moment.

"Alright," she said after a breath. The Hylian accepted the glove with unnecessary gentleness and placed it in one of her coat pockets. “I will."

"Hooo! Splendid." Kamori smiled.

“But if this,” she pointed to the rune, “and this,” she pointed to her dagger, “cause any more issues, I will understand if you want me gone from this village sooner than what was agreed upon.”

“I don’t believe it will come to that, but I will keep it in mind, child.”

"Thank you, Kamori. For the glove and for…," she stuttered. She looked at Revali, fumbling through an apology "Sorry about your…," she gestured awkwardly.

“It’s nothing,” he said, perhaps too acerbically as she took a small step back.

"All is forgiven,” the Chief replied. “However, I will be honest in that I am exercising more caution in handling this matter from here on out, enchanter. It is unfortunate but we are lucky it was but a single feather."

The Chief waved a wing at the tapestry as if to dispel the heavy mood weighing down the air. "Let us put this behind us. And if it’s the tapestry you are worried about, I’m sure that the Divine Valoo is pleased that his fire has managed to jump so well from the page. Hoo, it looks very realistic now doesn't it?"

"The scent very much so," Revali muttered.

His eyes strayed to the windows again, noting how high the sun still sat in the sky. It was past noon, but enough daylight left for him to complete most of his training regiment and errands. He still had some time left to muster some productivity and make up for this interruption.

He felt someone watching him. Revali looked down, noticing that the Hylian was looking at him, brown eyes dark as murky pools of water. Two can play at that game . He stared back at her with equal attention, cocking his head to the side.

She was first to speak. "We've met before but I don't think I've ever told you my name."

"No," he said, "I don't think you have."

"Maiya."

"Revali."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Revali." As she said this, she carefully removed the ruined glove from her left hand. She paused in her movements, remembering what had just transpired a few minutes ago, sighed and shook her head.

After a minute of deliberation, she surprised him by extending her left palm to him anyway, all five fingers flat and pointed to the sky. Inwardly, Revali smirked. How formal of you, Enchanter.

He stared at her outstretched hand for a second, the rune at its top glowing as if in challenge. Tentatively, he held out his wing, minding the burnt primary as his feathered appendages positioned themselves in a way to mirror hers.

As his wing met the flat of her palm, he was surprised to feel no sting, but only warmth. As if he held a heated stone once plunged into a fire, whose hot embers had now since burned away. Her bare fingers met the blue of his feathers, rough and calloused, joining them in what was the traditional Hyrulean greeting.

"Likewise, Maiya." He said despite himself.

It may have been a trick of the light, but a part of him couldn't help but notice how her hand seemed to glow a fraction brighter as he spoke her name.

Revali was not one to do things by halves. He was sure of his strength just as he was sure of the sun rising in the east every morning. He wasn't blessed by any cosmic being with powers beyond that of nature's laws. No divine goddess had bestowed upon him a task which required him to be the best of his kin. He simply was and will be. And if he had to prove himself to cement his title, even to a glorified knife of all things, then so be it.

He'll show her what a true, worthy warrior looks like.

#revali #botw #breath of the wild #revali x oc #loz botw #legend of zelda #botw fanfiction #revali botw #rito #rito botw #botw fic #fanfiction #writing #enemies to friends to lovers #paellaplease #firebird botw #maiya botw

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courtorderedcake · 6 years ago

Text

An Enchanted Forest AU where the dark one was never released into the world in a vessel, thus causing a massive shift in timelines. The ogre wars have ravaged kingdoms, untold destruction spanning continents, rulers displaced. Even as the wars sputter to ash, the safest place to be is at sea, and that’s not very safe at all - as Emma and Killian find out, fates intertwined against all odds.

Rated: E/X - heavy content : warnings of assault, rape, noncon, just everything, I feel like the rating says enough. It’s something.

I have been sick, so enjoy a two-fer week. Here’s number two!

WARNING: This chapter contains sex that has kink elements some might not be comfortable with.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Read on Ao3 HERE .

Chapter IV: Seafoam

I have seafoam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.

-Jean Cocteau

A storm chased The Jolly Roger into the town that was situated before the ruins of the Enchanted Forest. As thunder and lightning shook the skies overhead, more ships fled the monstrous gale that stirred the sea into waves that were towering like mountains. Storms made him anxious now, a phantom ache where his hand had been even as almost a year had past since he made the brace that supported his hook, and since his surname had been lost under a namesake of the same appendage.

He hated the looks of pity people gave him now, but relished the fear that replaced it when the sharp point of his hook caught the light. There were very few people who treated him the same as before, or didn’t stare, but they were far and few between. His crew and Captain Swan’s crew were among those few.

Letting the rain pelt him, Killian watched from the Jolly’s deck, a spyglass in hand, as his crew buggered off to do whatever was left to do in the pitiful town. On the horizon, her sails black and gold even against the gray of the clouds, The Gilded Wing breezed in to anchor. Killian smiled, even if he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the many memories of her captain warm underneath him or splayed on top of him, as he repaid a debt owed in one of the few ways he could; stomping over to her in heated rages or her appearing in his quarters to yell at him, until she moaned his name instead. At most, they’d seen each other several times in a month, a freak snowstorm stranding them for a week in Arendelle, royalty running amuck to pickpocket - or so he’d heard told when he returned from Swan’s quarters in the mornings, lighter in some ways himself.

The last time he saw Swan, she’d been furious about a misunderstanding with a vendor they had both dealt with that had caused her trade to fall through, while his own trade filled the vendor’s need as agreed. He hated the vendor, a slimy git who stained the not so sterling reputation of Camelot further with his greased palms. Swan had dragged him out to the middle of nowhere, damning his name as she divested him of clothing in a field of flowers, his hook digging into the soft ground.

He wasn’t intending to be where she was, and she swore the same; the utter ridiculousness of it making them waste panted air in laughter, pulling away from the other to bask in the high of their trysts.

The wind shifted suddenly, changing directions without warning. His coat fluttered, and he took a breath of the storm air.

Things were changing.

Emma and her crew limped The Wing into the harbor, barely making it through the turbulent water and screeching winds. Even with a simple charm to keep rain off of her deck, the wind whipped and howled around the barrier.

David gave an audible sigh of relief from holding the ropes while Snow smiled at him. Emma rolled her eyes; there was literally no reason to hide that they were together any longer, but David insisted. Snow had told Emma as much one afternoon as they lounged on the huge four poster bed she’d bought for the Captain’s quarters. “He wants to keep me safe I guess. Thinks if it got out, they’d exploit us, use us against each other as a weakness.” She gave a pointed look at Emma. “Try to use our emotions to manipulate us, possibly without us even being aware.”

“That sounds awful.” Emma took a large bite of a cinnamon pastry, swallowing loudly. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with all that.”

Snow huffed a sigh, rolling over and standing, leaving Emma blinking in confusion.

Surveying the harbor, she smiled at the assembled crews she saw between the wary merchant vessels and a passenger sloop gathered there: Maelstrom, The Jolly Roger, The Jammed Pearl, The Curse of McGullan, and Red Hamsa all sat in various depths.

Emma's eyes were immediately drawn to The Jolly, catching a glimpse of Hook, his coat flapping in the wind and his hair being tossed as rain swept across the water.

David grunted beside her, nodding at The Jolly. “He's here. Of course he is.”

“So are four other ships. Hopefully, we won't see much of each other, and this storm clears quickly. Especially since the Maelstrom is here- I'd rather not deal with their crew if possible. “

“You make friends everywhere we go,” David smirked.

“It's a gift. Truly.”

“There's someone here I want you to meet, Em, speaking of friends.”

“You have friends? And here I've been lying to people for years!” Emma mock exclaimed.

“Shut up.” He picked at a bit of wood, a nervous tic that made Emma anxious. “He's a shopkeeper; nice, quiet, strong. I think you'd like him.”

“But who will I bring on our double date?” Emma teased.

“Go say hello. He works at Elm Leaf Market. He’s where I get those cuts of meat you like. Apparently, he hunts everything himself.”

“I really don't know how I feel about taking your sloppy seconds, but if you insist -”

“Emma.” David grasped her arm, pulling her to look at him. “This life doesn't have to be forever. You don't have to settle for-”

“I am well aware, David,” Emma wrenched her arm away from him. “I have never settled for less than I deserve, and I don't ever intend to. I like this life.”

David grunted, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closed it with a grimace, staring past her through the rain. Following his gaze, she could see the empty deck of The Jolly Roger, beaten by the same rain that battered her barrier charm.

“Just remember, Em,” David sighed. “You deserve to be happy. You've fought hard, and you don't have to settle for less.” He walked to the lower deck where Snow had been watching the exchange. He stood beside her without saying anything until she rested her head against his chest.

A pink dress was laid out for Emma on her bed, as Snow tightened a full corset around her waist. Emma would sigh with annoyance if she could; the tight garment was practically cutting off her circulation.

“Why am I wearing this again?” Emma groaned.

“Because,” Snow smiled, fussing with her hair, and letting it fall in soft curls. “It makes you look amazing. Especially your -” Snow gestured to Emma’s chest, giggling.

Emma had to admit, the corset worked wonders. Rubbing on lavender, lotus, sweet pea, and orange oil, and slipping on the pink dress in its thin satin, they surveyed her reflection in the polished copper mirror. With her hair pulled out of its usual snarled style and brushed to soften it, and the smallest touches from a pot of rouge, it was a complete transformation.

“Emma, you look -”

“Oh,” Emma smiled, wolfishly. “I know.”

Walking off her ship towards the market, Emma saw Scarlet, one of the members of Hook’s crew, do a double take while flirting with a flower seller. That was enough to seal her opinion on how well Snow and her had done.

The Elm Leaf Market was really all that was left of the village, a sort of smushed catch all of sundries, a butcher shop, a blacksmith, a greenery, apothecary, and anything else a booth could hold. It was always busy with the bedraggled survivors who lived on the outskirts of ogre country, buying supplies in bulk or spending time drinking away memories of what was.

Emma felt like a ghost as she waded through the slow crowd, watching as people sometimes parted around her in shock, her blush colored gown standing out in the sea of gray and brown cloaks. She'd worn a shawl and her dress clung slightly, but she'd missed most of the rain as it blew back to sea.

Graham was easy enough to find, and even easier (she had to admit) on the eyes. Shaggy brown hair, large kind eyes, broad shoulders and a soft brogue that stuttered a hello when she bent across his counter, giving him a view of her cleavage.

“Would you like to get a drink tonight? My brother seems to think we'd get along splendidly.” Emma purred, playing with a small wooden figurine of a stag, and looking up at him through her lashes.

He gulped.

“Um… sure, I … Shouldn't... Shouldn't I have asked you?”

She motioned him closer, whispering in his ear softly, feeling forward as the man practically melted.

“I'm not exactly one for propriety. See you tonight.”

She gave him a saucy wink, and headed back out of the market.

Things were changing. The air was electric, still misting rain that made her dress cling under a quick shielding spell. Hugging her shawl closer, she was briefly focused elsewhere when she ran into someone’s shoulder, tripping forward.

Will Scarlet had come back breathless, pulling Killian aside in his excited state, even more so than usual. He whispered low, his voice practically shaking with energy.

“Will, if this is about liquor sales -”

“No, no, Captain -” Will wore a huge grin. “Have you seen Captain Swan today?”

“Briefly, when The Wing sailed in. Wait, why?” Ice water froze his veins for a moment, unsettling him. “Is she alright?”

Will quirked an eyebrow and gave a half smile. “Oh, she's fine. Just fine. I would make a point to say hello to her today if I were you.”

“Scarlet, I don't like riddles. What's going on with her?”

“I told you, nothing.” The skinny man shrugged, his smile growing. “And if there was, why would you care?”

Killian blinked, slowly. “I don’t. I owe her a debt. That's all.”

“Sure. I'd hurry, she was moving quickly.”

Killian blinked again, and nodded slightly. “This better be good, Scarlet.”

Walking down the dirt path towards the market and letting the rain pelt him, he kept an eye out for her gold hair, windswept and slightly wild. He'd shed his coat to spare it from the rain, wearing just a pair of breeches and a black vest. Reaching the market he was immediately annoyed with Scarlet. Emma wasn't there. An older woman haggled for potatoes. A man sold eggs, ducklings, and chicks. A shop keep and maiden flirted over a counter. A child begged for coin. He turned to go back to the Jolly, and to give Scarlet a severe tongue lashing.

Then he heard her laugh. Turning, he squinted through the rain as it quieted. Emma. She glowed, her hair soft, skin peaches and cream, lips a soft rose color and good Gods above, below, and maybe in the middle her breasts -

His lungs actually hurt when he found breath again. Scarlet was getting a brick of bouillon for this. He stood stupidly, watching her cast a quick spell as she came towards him. He let himself drift into a thought of her just kissing him on the cheek as they walked by the water watching the storm, her laying against his chest in that dress as they pulled a blanket around them, staying warm in the rain -

She ran into him.

“Oh, sorry. Usually people walk you know -” She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed in kohl, and her grimace turned into a frown. “Oh, it's you. God, didn't the Navy teach you how to walk or close your stupid mouth? You're going to catch flies.” Emma reached her hand to his chin, closing his mouth. “There.” She gave him a small pat on the cheek and walked past.

Killian turned to watch her, before shaking his head and walking briskly to catch up with her.

“Swan.” He swallowed thickly, trying to still his nerves, “Would you like to, uh,” he scratched behind his ear. “I owe you an ale, or rum, or whatever you would like to drink and I-”

“I have a date tonight,” she shrugged. “If you want to send it over to us, feel free, but Graham and I may be busy.”

She turned and walked away from him and for the first time, Killian felt a strange emotion well up in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to push it down, it rose again and again like a snake, striking him with fits of rage- and something else he refused to examine.

Graham. He hated the name instantly.

Pacing in his cabin that evening, he finally decided to make his way to the only tavern in the shithole ruined town he was stuck in. Throwing on his coat, he gave orders to Smee and made his way into town. Most of the place was in ruins or abandoned, casting an eerie silence that was only broken by the echoes from the tavern. He walked into the shoddy building and sat at the bar. The Adder’s Bite was as full as the lonely place could be. He spotted Swan right away with the halfwit, his hands low on her waist as they danced to the directions of a fiddle player.

When the fiddler told them to grab their partner, the moron fumbled. Killian gripped the table as his knuckles went white, ready to bash his head in, until Swan laughed at his slip up. They continued on and the second time Graham lifted her with ease. Killian asked for a glass carafe, and began to pour himself a heavy glass to parch his throat, immediately pouring another.

Watching them together, Swan’s neck long and pale as she threw back her head and laughed, Killian felt a heavy desire that actually hurt. His face was hot, and he could feel his pulse thump heavily as he watched her hands, those clever fingers, thread with Graham’s as he spun her. Killian stood, throwing back his drink, and made his way towards them. “May I cut in, mate?” he said lowly, and Emma glowered at him. “We’re busy Hook. My dance card is full,” she hissed, and the man blinked slowly at Killian, looking back at Emma. “The woman said we’re busy,” he said in an accented voice, one from the Northern Isles. “So I guess we’re busy. Better luck next time,” he shrugged.

Killian seethed under a wolfish grin. “I insist.” He pushed the man aside and took a struggling Emma out on the dance floor. The man sat down, arms crossed as his shaggy brown hair flopped over his eyes. He looked pathetic.

“Let go of me, you ass! Graham and I were fine before you -”

“Before I what? Showed you how to pick a partner who knows what they’re doing?” A fiddle player picked up with the accordion as other dancers took the floor with them. Emma resisted again for a moment, before she allowed herself to be spun back into his chest, his hook pressing against the small of her back. She huffed, but a smile had crept up into her features, and he spun them again. “You ruin everything, you know. You’re lucky you are a good dancer.”

He smirked, casting a glance back at Graham, who was now approaching them. He gripped Emma’s waist tighter, the same flare of that heat in his chest sparking a need to be possessive of her. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, how stunned he was not only now but every time he saw her. Instead he let himself guide her in a gentle sway.

“You're not bad yourself, Swan.” He murmured, and underneath he hoped she could hear what he couldn't say. He could just kiss her and hope for the best, or if she just heard the words he wanted to say, she might press her lips against his -

She didn't. She let go of Killian, returning to Graham’s arms instead. Killian returned to his table and watched a bit longer as she laughed at Graham’s clumsiness. He swirled drink after drink, a new glass replacing every one finished without an order, watching as her face lit in a way she had never shown towards him. He swallowed another several fingers of rum in a gulp.

What they had was good. It was fine, his brain screamed, trying to interject logic over his drunkenness and jealousy. He blinked, staring at the amber in his glass that had begun to spin. Jealousy? He wanted to fuck, to ruin, to bruise pale skin and lips, not dance or light her face with that beautiful laugh of hers that made his ears heat -

He shook it off, his head spinning. Fucking hells, he was drunk. A little voice he pretended not to hear rustled in his mind, whispering that he wanted more; wanted to be in this ‘Graham's’ stead; wanted to press gentle kisses on her temples as they twirled for hours to fiddle song. It sounded like Liam’s quiet candor, wounding him, and he pushed it down with force.

He swallowed another glass, impatiently waiting the minute until another appeared. Graham stumbled again and Killian had to resist every drunken instinct screaming for him to break the man's legs for stepping on his Swan’s pretty feet. It was a bloody waltz. What sodding wanker of a man couldn't do a three step - He blinked, processing his thoughts slowly. His Swan? He knocked back another drink, savoring the burn down his throat.

They sat, and he grinned when Emma's hands rubbed her feet delicately. The grin vanished quickly, though, when her wincing brought Graham's dolt hands to stroke her calves, eliciting a quiet moan from that pretty mouth. When the other man kissed her, Killian stared into his glass, trying to understand why his heart thumped loudly, his skin heated, and his muscles tensed at the thought of that worthless fucking oaf touching her. Why him? He’d skin the man alive for his useless hide for thinking he was worthy.

That stupid voice spoke to him again, Liam’s annoying older brother voice full of pity and life weary experience:

You know why you feel this way.

He swallowed another drink and stood, plopping down at another table.

“You idiots want to make some quick coin?”

When he woke up, Killian’s head pounded like he'd smashed it against shore stones and he had a mighty need for water and a hearty meal. He'd drank far too much last night, been out of control, and now even opening his eyes to the bright light of wherever the hell he was became a challenge.

Flesh stirred near his abdomen, while on the other side of him someone breathed steadily. As his brain pulled itself from its drunken haze, he registered that he was in a large bed with at least three other bodies, all very nude. Creaking his eyes open, he recognized the linens and ceiling. Cora’s Place.

Killian closed his eyes and lifted his hand to the bridge of his nose. Sorting through memories, he tried to remember what happened last night. He'd gone from dancing with Emma to a blank. Shaky pieces of memory came back to him and he groaned.

He'd gone to sit with some rough lads, asking for a favor owed. Watching Emma and Graham part with a kiss, and the blokes approach Graham in an alley. Staggering back into the shadows and into Cora’s Place. Picking three blondes and being led to a room, where he promptly stripped nude and…

He'd fallen asleep.

He felt the soft touch of a hand graze his cock, and the whisper of a raspy, low, voice.

“I know our time is up, but since you haven't been serviced…” A woman pressed her wet mouth onto the side of his semi erect member, licking circles.

Killian sighed, and tried to enjoy the sensation, but it was wrong. Her mouth was too wet and too rough, her teeth catching occasionally. He pushed her off and the two other women woke as he stood.

“Was it not pleasurable, sir?” The woman looked at him with wide eyes. The other two women stared at them groggily.

“No. Yes. I mean -” he started to dress, looking for his discarded clothes.

“It’s alright. We're not her. Happens more often than you menfolk want to admit,” one of the women on the bed said sleepily. “We’re poor substitutes for the real thing.”

Killian blinked, pausing from shrugging on his shirt over his hook. He stared at the blonde woman who had spoken, lying in bed. Her blonde curls framed a heart shaped face and deep brown eyes.

“We're not Emma.”

He bristled, tensing. “How do you, why did -”

“Ya talk in ya sleep, mate,” said the other dozing woman, pale platinum hair a tangled mess. “Musta ‘ad Emma on ya mind. We ‘eard ya mumble it a dozen times.”

He blanched. Pulling the rest of his clothing together, he went to leave, throwing on his shoes, his anger and embarrassment rising. He rushed out, long overcoat thrown on in haste, and heard one of the women call after him.

“We will never tell anyone. We never do.”

Bursting through the door into the burning sunlight, Killian stumbled through the back alleys of ruined homes and narrow side streets between abandoned shops that he usually took to get to his ship. His head throbbed, and his mood had gone sour with the whores’ accusations.

When he tripped over a vagrant lying in a narrow corridor, he pulled the man up by his collar. Graham's bloody and barely conscious face greeted him.

“Shit,” Killian hissed, as Graham whimpered and blocked his face. “What, you didn't even fight back? What a worthless, spineless, wet scrap of a dog -”

Graham laughed at that, and Killian put the idiot down. He obviously had a brain injury.

“I can't fight back.” Graham said, spitting blood.

“What? What kind of man can't fight -”

“It's complicated.”

“Well, good luck to you and your complications. I have enough of my own.” Killian turned to walk away.

Graham curled himself into a ball, his back facing Killian.

“Oh bloody hell mate,” Killian gave an exasperated sigh. A dagger stuck out of the man's back. “You bloody idiot, you've been stabbed -”

“I know, but you're not supposed to take it out because it will bleed more, and it's not silver-”

“You damned fool, you have to take it out at some point!” Killian wiped his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was far too hungover for this; the consequences of his actions back to bite him immediately.

Graham shook, and Killian recognized the oncoming stage of shock about to set into the man's beaten body.

Giving a long sigh, Killian helped the man up and limped him to the Jolly. Laying him in the sick bay, he let Smee tend to him and stitch him up. He gave the man a heavy dosing of rum before sitting to watch.

“Can you cook better than you fight?” Smee asked, sewing up a nasty gash.

Graham nodded, wincing and whimpering even after several shots of rum. “Aye, yea, I can cook.”

“Ship needs a cook. You'll pay the Cap’n back for saving you by cooking.”

Graham's face was sheer panic, before he put on an air of indifference. Killian noted there might be more to the idiot after all.

“Is there, or do you have, a strong brig or cell?” he asked calmly. “I'll need it every so often.”

Smee squinted, but Killian spoke up. “That's fine. We haven't had a lycanthrope aboard before.”

Graham’s face went pale, staring at Killian with fear. Smee only scratched his head through his knit cap, muttering the word.

“Forget you heard that word, and get out.” Killian pointed at Smee, waving him out. There was an uneasy beat of silence. “You can go back to the market if you like, shopkeep. If you have a pack, or kin, which I don’t think you do. Courting a human is bold.”

A hard glint behind Graham’s eyes revealed the predator underneath if just for a moment. Killian picked his thumb with his hook, smirking.

“I didn’t… She came on to me. I’d be an idiot to say no. What is this anyway, some jealous attack on me?” Killian’s jaw set at the idea of himself being jealous. This was for Emma’s safety, and was a clear drunken mistake. Before Killian could retort, Graham let out a growled laugh, looking at his hands. “You did me a favor though, I guess. You’re right. I haven’t anyone there. I thought Emma could cure me if we got close enough, or could take me across the sea to a pack who’d take me. Her brother and her have a weak scent of werewolf on them.”

Killian blinked, and then laughed. “I assure you, Swan isn’t. Bite and Bark without all the fur, very much so. No offense mate.” Graham looked mollified, and frowned. “I’ll go with you. I’ll let you know when I need to be locked -” Killian held up his hand to stop the man. “You can have shore leave. We took a she-wolf to Glowerhaven, and were late to arrive. I’d rather not sustain that much damage to my ship again, if possible.” Killian winced at the memory of deep grooves of claw marks that had splintered the floorboards.

“Fine with me. It’s also easier to bring meat back that way, then I don’t need a cow on board.” Graham shrugged. “When do we leave?”

“Now.” Killian said with a shrug. “You really thought Emma could cure you?”

“Well, I thought she might be sympathetic to my cause, associating with someone like me and being able to use magic. I thought maybe she might even let me mark her if -”

“Mark her?” Killian looked up with narrowed eyes, jaw clenching tight. “You mean change her into…” “If she consented, yes, so we could have a pack bond.”

Killian’s rage was back in full force, a sudden explosion that he couldn’t quell. His hands were on Graham’s collar, snarling at the injured man. “Don’t ever consider that thought again. Stay away from her or I will smelt a silver chain so long it will wrap around you twice, and throw you into the ocean.”

Graham’s eyes were wide, and Killian unclenched his fingers, backing away. “As soon as your able, go clean the galley until it’s not only spotless, but it shines. I don’t want to see your face until it’s done.” Killian hissed, and left the small room. Stalking out into fresh air, he breathed out a ragged breath, signalling the order to ship out.

Emma wasn’t surprised that Graham disappeared. She didn’t bother telling David, knowing he’d demand an excuse from the butcher, which would just make things worse. She didn’t need a reason as to why he had decided to up and go; a reason only made things worse and identified one of her “qualities” that made her undesirable to someone. Emma didn’t want one identified when there were so many she knew herself.

It didn’t matter why he left. He did, he didn’t leave a note, and he obviously wasn’t interested. What was done was done. She had better things to do. Belle had been studying movements of currents and winds over shipping routes as a pet project, noting where ships seemed to go down with only natural events. Based on her conjecture, she had shown Emma a map of where she suspected a large amount of treasure may have been pushed by currents. They had been heading there before the bad weather had hit, unwilling to be in treacherous waters as a storm pummeled them.

They sailed back, making good time. The weather was beautiful, and the water almost as blue as the sky in places, the crew lounging about the deck. Belle called down to her when they were a day or so away from their destination, pointing to a familiar shape appearing on the horizon. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Emma heard her brother groan. “Emma, you didn’t -”

“Of course I didn’t say anything to him. I don’t advertise my plans, especially when they involve us being fed.” She glared at David, and he glared back. Belle hopped down from the rigging, looking embarrassed.

“It um, it might be my fault,” Belle looked down at her feet, holding a book and her spyglass against her back. “I uh… Will came to see me before we left, said I hadn’t been at the bar and he wondered how I was doing. I showed him some of my calculations and we talked. I didn’t think anything of it.”

David threw up his hands, exasperated. “Great! Another one.” Snow shot him a dangerous look, and went to Belle’s side. “It’s not her fault, David.” Snow patted Belle sympathetically on the shoulder, and all eyes looked to Emma as they approached. Emma rolled her eyes. “Emma, it’s not -”

“I know it’s not Belle’s fault. Belle, it isn’t. We’ll just… I’ll just… We’ll ignore him. We’ll get what we came here for, and he can leave well enough alone.” Emma ran her hands through her hair, pinning it back away from her face. “Let’s get swimming. Shall we?”

After a break, the crew came back and took position, uncaring as the Jolly Roger slunk into a clearer view. Emma dove into the water holding the chain in hand, the first one in the water. Waiting for her crew, she opened the bottle of potion she held, letting the content swirl around her. Ruby came next, as Emma felt the shock of water in her lungs. It wasn’t comfortable, but she wasn’t dead. Ruby opened hers, grimacing as gills appeared and she took a breath of the sea water. David and Snow came together, Snow the first to try to speak, croaking something ridiculous before clapping hands over her mouth. Ruby grinned, and Emma simply shook her head as they swam down.

Belle had been right. Searching through the water with a simple light spell, they found ship after broken ship on the reef, aptly named ‘The Reef of Broken Hulls’. The current had swept lighter goods into a small valley on the seafloor, while heavier casks remained unbroken and crates that were intact. Attaching the chains to boxes, Ruby gave a signal to The Wing, and slowly they were pulled up.

The work slowed down as the large pieces were pulled up, so the crew now had to scavenge the smaller pieces for anything left. Emma floated lazily picking through wreckage and admiring the algae covered figureheads. Looking back towards The Wing, she noticed the shadow of The Jolly Roger a ways off. Squinting, she did a quick push off of a piece of wreckage, spotting an unrecognized form sorting through what was left.

She swam closer, peeking around the broken stern of a ship. Blinking, she let out a croaking guffaw at the sight in front of her. A large shimmering bubble floated around the heads of Hook, Will, and a man she didn’t immediately recognize. Emma had seen the spell but had chosen against it in favor of being able to swim more naturally, sight unobscured.

Gathering her finds, she made her way closer. Hook glanced up at her, his face strangely magnified and skewed like a warped mirror. He pointed, and Will and the other man looked her way. Graham’s face looked back at her from one of the iridescent globes. So, he’d left to join the Jolly. Ironic that he’d left to get away, only to potentially see her more often.

Ruby swam by Emma’s line of sight with her back towards her, body tense. Emma sunk down to her level and touched Ruby’s shoulder, surprised when her friend turned with her teeth bared. Relaxing slightly, she made a motion towards the three, where Graham stared straight at them. Emma pulled at Ruby’s arm, but she made no motion to move, caught in some sort of strange staring war. Emma gave her a pinch, and she shook out of the trance, smiling apologetically. They swam towards The Wing, but Emma noticed with concern her friend looking back over her shoulder with a strange look of anxious curiosity.

Pulling themselves on the deck, they took the antidote that waited for them, Emma enjoying the feeling of rightness that came from breathing air again.

“Ruby, the hell was -” Emma began, pushing wet hair out of her face.

“He’s like me.”

“Wait. What?” Emma watched as Ruby wrung her hair, chewing on her lip. “He’s…?”

“You can say it, Emma. He’s a werewolf, like me. Not taking a potion or anything either. Super weird smelling him underwater, sorry about that. The wolf thought he might be a threat because he smelled…” Ruby’s cheeks colored, and she shook her head. “Anyway. Don’t worry about it, we just had a moment between us. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh. Ruby, you can talk to me if -”

“It’s nothing,” Ruby hissed, and Emma backed off.

Walking over to survey their finds, she glanced over at The Jolly bobbing gently on the sea. Belle had seethed all day over her mistake, angry Will had used her. Their on and off talks had never led to betrayal, and Belle was not one who actively sought out anyone’s company. The fact she’d let Will in, and he’d done this - Emma felt the flare of anger in her own chest.

It was a comfort to Emma that at least Belle got to see this to fruition. She’d excitedly surveyed their finds, marveling over jewels, coins of countries lost to the ages, beautiful pendants, and casks of who knew what. She’d be busy for weeks studying the trading logos.

“Are we able to set sail?” Emma called to David. At his nod, they lifted anchor, Emma calling the crew to deck to discuss how they’d like to split their finds. Emma turned back, surprised to see Ruby at Belle’s side. Both had picked out a few pieces already, Belle choosing a beautiful citrine ring and Ruby choosing her namesake in a pair of earbobs. They both stared out at the Jolly as it faded away into the distance. Emma retired below deck, letting the others go over the spoils.

The next months dragged with one disaster after another, to the point of Emma wondering if they had somehow invoked a curse or angered some lesser known deity. The first sign of trouble had been a strange and tense encounter with the older captain of The Red Hamsa, Omar. He’d given her a warning, speaking low outside of the inn at the lesser known outpost in Northern Camelot. They made moonshine that could scrape off barnacles without the touch of a finger, but a drink was a drink.

“Lie low, little bird. There’s talk of danger for you. A gathering of captains that will meet, led by Blackbeard.” His voice was like feet dragging over gravel, the long water pipe in his lips mixing smoke with the salt and pepper of his beard. “The Hook has been asked to join, as was I. I refused the offer; I was tired of these games long before any of you were sailing. Watch who your friends are.”

He blew smoke, the form of a butterfly appearing in the herbal scented wisps. It fluttered a few paces before dissolving, following his form as he hobbled away. Emma believed in many superstitions as they related to the sea and magic, but she tried to not put stock into portents of doom. It was wasteful. A purposeful look at anything could identify some symbolism within. However, the butterfly was a renowned symbol, just like the ship its maker commanded. A Hamsa was a ward for the evil eye, the hand of the Old Gods that could bring peace or war. A butterfly under the same sky they molded meant change, usually with force.

Emma turned on her heel, ready to get back aboard her ship and leave as soon as possible, but Ruby was in the woods and who knew how drunk anyone else was. She hissed a string of expletives.

“How is it there’s a whole bloody ocean but I still end up in the same waters as you?” Emma tensed, the low, wry chuckle a comfort and curse. Hook stepped out of the shadows where he’d been leaning, looking amused with himself.

“Maybe if you stopped following our ship, or poaching our finds -”

“A pirate’s life, finder’s keepers love.” There was a new ring on one of his fingers and she glared at it, knowing she’d seen its ilk in their coffers. The vulture. His hook shone in the light from the thin windows.

“You are a child.” He caught her as she pushed past him, pressing her against the wooden wall of the inn with his arms on either side of her body. His breath didn’t reek of the moonshine here, but she could smell rum, spices, and anise. “I don’t have time for this, what do you want?” Emma dropped her voice to a whisper, hiding the way her breath hitched when he leaned in closer.

“I owe you an apology,” Hook whispered in turn. The space between them was fractional, Emma could feel his breath on her cheek, his eyes serious.

“You owe me several. We can arrange an appointment if you’d like them organized.” Ignoring her attempt to push past him, Emma let out an annoyed huff.

“I’m sorry about Graham.” Hook looked away from her, a flash of guilt colored in that disarming blue.

“Why are you sorry? Because you took him to sea? Don’t be. Ruby was happy to go with us; she said that the packs in what’s left of the Enchanted Forest are constantly fighting among themselves or getting killed by ogres. You probably did him a favor.” Emma shrugged, and he opened his mouth to say something more until her fingers met his lips to stop him. “Ruby and him can run all night, she mentioned something about him when you poached our loot.”

“Can you let that go if I say I’m sorry? I was hoping you’d come stomping over and…” His eyes were back on her own, one eyebrow raised as he licked his lips.

“You’re an insufferable idiot. A fool.” Emma threw up her hands, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“You look lovely tonight, Swan.” Her mouth flew open to retort his insult, but stayed as a round shocked ‘oh’ as she absorbed the compliment instead. Hook’s lips pressed against her own, no hunger but a heavy heat instead. It had been some time since they had laid together, a fire starting low in her stomach as she raised a leg for him to grasp, teeth grazing his lips. His fingers bruised her thigh, and she heard him curse, pulling away with his eyes closed.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked through heavy breaths. She must have looked at him incredulously, because he ran a hand through his hair embarrassed. “I mean, down by the shoreline, or up by the wood? What are you doing?”

Emma rested a hand against his forehead. At his look of confusion, she pulled her hand away. “You don’t have a fever. I’m just confused as to why we would ever go for a walk together. Unless it’s to one of our cabins or to the inn, I don’t -”

He pulled away completely, nodding. “Sorry, love. I’m not myself tonight. Maybe I do have a fever.”

“We can go if you want, I guess. I just...” She reached a hand forward, not understanding the strange reaction he was having. “We don’t really -”

“No, it’s alright Swan. Have a good night.” Hook backed away with a slight bow, heading inside to cheers from who she assumed was his own crew.

Emma returned to The Wing, laying on her bed listening to the waves and the beginning calls of gulls. She heard the soft footfalls of people returning, and then felt the press of someone sitting on the edge of her bed. Looking up, Emma saw a fully disheveled Ruby who was grinning with her eyes bright. Ruby pulled a twig from her hair and flicked it at Emma.

“Oh. Well,” Emma sighed, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Don’t you look smitten.”

“Emma.” Ruby whined, scooting closer.

“Alright. Tell me about it.” Emma turned to face Ruby, as the woman gushed about running with the other wolf. There weren’t any other pack claims here, just them and running free as far as their legs could carry them. Ruby tried to explain things about instincts and how they communicated, but when she couldn’t, Emma got the gist.

“What a cosmic joke,” Emma murmured. Ruby patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“Sometimes I think you like to be by him. Hook, I mean. Not that I mind anymore. They can follow us every full moon as far as I’m concerned.”

“No. They can’t.” Emma shot her a sharp look, and Ruby sighed leaving her alone in her room.

Another few months dragged by, and Emma purposely tried to avoid crossing The Jolly with mixed results. Then, she purposely sought them out as she felt danger looming on her horizon. They’d been spending time down in the Far South, her skin tanned and hair a bright gold from the sun. The look on Hook’s face when she approached didn’t calm her nerves; his eyes were dark over the steel tankard of whatever he was drinking. He set it aside, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

“What have I done now, Swan.” He made a motion with his hook for her to sit down.

Emma obliged, and swallowed hard. Squeezing her eyes shut for the embarrassment of what was coming next, she set aside her pride.

“I need a favor.” It dropped from her lips, and Emma hated herself for it. Before he could retort with innuendo, she continued. “I want you to get me into this ‘Circle Meeting’. I seem to be barred.”

He laughed, and shook his head, returning to his drink.

“I need to be in there. I belong in there, and that’s the very reason I’m being barred, besides not having a cock -”

“Lucky that.” Hook smirked at her, leaning back with his legs wide. He sat the empty tankard down and waved for another.

“Is there anyone there that will appeal to reason?” Emma looked at him, watching carefully for a reaction as he shrugged noncommittally.

“I don’t know why you care, Swan. It’s bollocks. The damn thing won’t matter in a few months time when someone breaks the treatise and we all go about our ways again.” He leveled a gaze at her, head cocked, the same careful look as her own mirrored back. Emma tried to keep her face impassive. If she, Omar, and David were right, and they’d created this treatise just to send The Wing’s crew to the bottom of the sea, Hook might be her only ally in this. That was if he could be trusted, and could convince anyone to do anything other than run her through. The only thing she knew about him was the same thing she knew about herself; their interests came first.

“I don’t… I don’t want the trouble. We leave well enough alone, except for running into you somehow, and even then I try to avoid you. I’ve been doing a damn good job of it, too.” Emma sat forward, a hand pushing back her hair as she chewed her lip. “Things have escalated recently. Gotten worse. We’ve been barred from Redwater Sanctuary.”

Hook’s eyebrow shot up and the easy smirk he’d been wearing faded. There was a flash of something akin to concern in his eyes, and it made her skin prickle with hatred. Concern was a prelude to pity. Of all the terrible gifts that could be bestowed, Emma wanted pity less than death. She wanted his pity least of all.

“Oh.” He looked at her, and she saw it there in the flash of his eyes, a flicker of his worry, pity and caring about the situation unfolding. She was sure he was concerned only because of how it could hurt him; she’d been over generous lately with letting him scavenge, and she was one of the few pirates he could easily trade with if he needed something. Emma had felt the same when she’d procured the salve for him when he lay burning of fever.

“I want to make sure I’m not a target.” Her eyes drifted to the floorboards, following the patterns there to avoid seeing Hook’s face.

“Swan, I can’t get you into that meeting. You know I can’t, they’ll kill us both,” he whispered lowly. Emma shot a quick glance at him and he was leaning forward, his hand extended to her as if to touch her shoulder. She sat back, pulling away. “If you need help, or information -”

“I don’t.” The ice in her voice as she snapped had him blinking. “I asked you for help with this, and you could not oblige. I wouldn’t risk it again.” She stood, turning away.

“Swan!” She heard him call after her, felt his fingers brush her own as her feet carried her away from him again. She could hear the pity echoing even in his calls.

The meeting with the Circle was called a fortnight later, in Corona. The bustling country was an easy central port that boasted fair weather and good ale. It was also renowned for its seedy underbelly that the royal guard overlooked as long as no harm came to its citizens. At first, Killian was under the impression that they’d be visiting the Fuzzy Duckling, a well known bar for thugs and vandals of the area. However, after a brawl that left several crews light handed due to a misunderstanding about a ceramic unicorn, pirates had been disavowed and sent to the city.

They had found home in a bar near their boats, amusingly named The Goat Testicles. They’d even constructed a sort of makeshift room for meetings, so thankful for the business. Apparently, selling a beer called Goat’s Piss hadn’t brought locals banging on their doors, regardless of its fragrant citrus flavoring.

He was only half listening to the treatise being drawn up between the captains, knowing full well that they'd break it within days if not hours, when warm hands stroked the innards of his thighs softly. At first, he thought he'd imagined it, but the quick tug on the laces and a gentle scrape of nails down the dark trail to his cock proved it was all too real. He was too surprised to make a noise until a wet hand gripped him with firm strokes, his cock jumping to attention in the stranger's hands, as he let out a small sigh.

He knew who it was before the flash of blonde locks swinging forward gave her away. Ever resourceful, Swan had not only made it into the meeting, but she'd also made sure she got her mention. Hell, she'd make sure, as always, that she'd stay two steps ahead of any threat by hiding in the mouth of the beast.

"And territorial wise, I want the waters near Agrabah. It's quite a ways to trade through the desert from port, you lot cutting our coffers afterwards is nastiness, even for pirates." A younger newcomer with ruddy ginger hair was speaking, twirling a coin in his heavily tattooed hand. The idiot had given away a large weakness to abuse. Walking goods through a barren desert was already risky, but advertising it to this group? He'd be dead within the fortnight, another part of the turnover this table saw. Another crew lost to their captain’s folly.

Swan swirled her tongue and he let out a grunted aye along with the other men, leaning back with his good hand gripping the table. He bucked into her mouth and was rewarded with her teeth scraping gently against him as she ran a finger along the seam of his sack.

Hook hissed lowly. Swan’s bloody fucking mouth could unravel him with ease; just like this, or on his mouth, neck, or body. Sometimes with just words. He wanted to grip her hair, fucking her mouth while she moaned on his cock, begging for him to give her a taste. He wanted to watch her swallow his seed, to let it burn down her throat. He imagined her fingers deep inside her tight quim, riding her hand in poor imitation of the cock she sucked greedily. He wanted to bite her hard enough to leave violet blooms on pale flesh; to leave firm handprints on soft globes, making it hard for her to sit. He was getting close, and the pace she set her strokes at was brutal, his breathing becoming shallow.

Blackbeard's grumble brought him back to the duality of the situation at hand.

"Alright lads, that's all fin' and good - Now what about that bitch out makin' a mockery of us? I don’ mind a lass on the crew if she were of that persuasion of breeches and pulling 'er own whores, but this cunt and her crew-"

“She leaves well enough alone, but Hera and Zeus forbid that you ever try to steal her treasures or go after that crew of hers,” said a paunchy man with too many rings as he stroked his waxed beard and chewed his pipe. El Pantera, a captain from one of the smaller Island Kingdoms.

Another man spoke up, older and covered in pustules. Hook recognized him as Captain Scabbard, a rotted old rat that ran a skeleton crew on a ship that stunk of turned milk. "No woman should be on a ship t'begin with." He spat a dark yellow wad onto the floor. "Tis bad luck, I say; tis only to shit on the Gods."

Emma was distracted now, bobbing in slow strokes and listening intently, keeping Hook on the edge of his pleasure. He could feel himself seeping precum as she lapped at his slit, and the urge to slam her mouth down on his cock to the hilt was growing overwhelming. His toes curled in his boots.

"What do you suppose we do about her then? She can return my fire three fold, fights like a she demon, and sails off to naught be found until she wants to be." Another young captain whom he had dubbed Babyface shrugged. He'd inherited the position after Captain Durham had died under Navy fire a few months back. He was manipulative behind his innocence, yet cunning enough to have avoided or dissipated several mutinies.

Swan swallowed him all the way to his base like she had read his mind, cheeks hollowed, trying to kill him. The table looked at him expectantly as he let out a strangled grunt. He swallowed thickly, and spoke slowly, with purposeful enunciation.

"She's not a threat, surely, for any of you to be so afraid as to suggest we take care of her?"

The table around him gave scoffs of indignation. Swan rewarded him with a tight squeeze of her mouth and swirl of her tongue that had him closing his eyes and carding his hand through his hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, opened his eyes, and hoped he could explain his behavior away with the excuse of a headache. Emma edged him away from the brink again and he growled lowly. The headache excuse was partially true, it would just be a different head he’d be referring to.

"Aye. I'm sayin' we should put out the word that she's got gold on 'er 'ead - not only at sea, but in taverns and ports as well." Blackbeard held Hook in a steady gaze, the challenge clear behind his eyes. "I'm saying that she deserves to see her crew swing in the wind before joinin' them."

He felt her bristle and her movements came in firm, fast strokes now. Anger pooled in his belly along with the tight coil in his spine that was growing white hot. He could feel that both the meeting and her torture were coming to an end, and he was grateful for it.

"She deserves to be at this table, mate. Fearsome pirates such as yourselves, scared over the woman you claim is not fit for the seas like she's some porcelain princess, when I left her ship many a time limping away lucky to have my hide." With his voice raising, she hummed and he shifted his legs to open himself wider. What looked like angered fidgeting to everyone else was actually small snaps of his hips as he got closer to his peak. A flush rose in his cheeks as he held back moans of pleasure.

"We all know about the many times that you've left her cabin, Captain." Scabbard smirked at him, his voice oily.

He came down her throat with a low and measured grunt, betraying how good it felt to spill himself against her tongue. The next time they saw each other, he would repay her for this, leaving her cabin again. He took a deep breath and let himself smile in relief, or to their eyes, amusement.

"All to keep my coffers full, I assure you. I'd trade with you dogs, but you're all bite, no bark, no treasures to speak of other than your cowardice."

The table erupted, and he adjusted himself back into his trousers. He leaned back in his chair, and shook his head at the unnoticed whooshing sound of her disappearing, the gray smoke of her magic joining the heavy layer already in the room. Blackbeard was the only one who seemed to notice, eyes narrowing. Killian hid the deep unease that creeped into his stomach.

“You’d behoov’n yer self to show yer elders some respect boy,” Scabbard spat in Hook’s direction.

Another older pirate with ashy blonde hair in matted dreads, Captain Uly from the frozen seas, spoke up. “Here here! Some of us haff bean sailink before even you young man vere vinkle in your Vahdder’s eyes!”

The ruddy ginger laughed like a donkey’s bray. He looked at Scabbard. “When have you ever shown anyone, including your own dear mum, respect you foul git?” He laughed again, reaching for his mead.

Scabbard leaned forward as quick as a snake and slammed his dagger into the ruddy ginger’s extended hand. He shrieked, looking down at the blade now oozing red, as Scabbard gave the handle a twist and pulled it back out, wiping the blade on his dirty coat. “Men get respect. Boys ‘n doxies ‘n slores get none. All women are slores, sommin’ get paid are bit smarter, not by much. That Swan, well. She’s a slore pretendin’ to be a man.” Satisfied after checking the dagger for blood, Scabbard sheathed it and sat. “Dat��d be the worst kind, ‘n my book.”

Blackbeard shouted and slammed his fist on the table, and Killian gritted his teeth to keep from cutting Scabbard in twain. “We’ll deal with her another time.” He scowled at Killian, who raised a cheeky smirk instead. “For now, let’s plan how a raid would go, and what signals we’d use.” The raid planned was pretty simple. Enemies of the Circle would be scouted and after making sure the biggest number of ships could pursue as a fleet, they’d surround the poor ship in a horseshoe shape with all guns firing. Depending on the ship, loot would be divided, but the loss of an enemy would be even greater, the threat erased for all.

Killian could feel the pit settling in his stomach as they discussed battle tactics for a ship of certain size, with so many guns and so many crew members, possibly fortified with magic.

A ship that sounded very much like The Gilded Wing.

The Gilded Wing had left long before the others left the harbor to go their separate ways, the other ships falling behind the Jolly as he raced to catch up to Swan. He didn’t care about the Circle or its archaic bullshit and drawn territory lines. The only point that stood out was the target on Emma’s back. This repaid the favor he owed, wiping the slate clean.

Emma in her stubbornness met him on the Jolly’s deck as they approached, The Gilded Wing only a hundred meters away.

“I’m here to give you a warning, Swan,” he said lowly, walking to where she’d appeared in her usual cloud of gray.

“This looks like quite the warning.” Emma jutted her chin up, and stepped toward him. “Did they not tell you, or are you really trying to be that oblivious? It doesn’t suit you Hook.”

“Emma, take your ship and run,” he whispered, and she shook her head at him. “Please -”

A few more steps, and she was an arms length away, anger clearly written across her face. She winced slightly, and the air around them heated unnaturally, her hands glowing. He took a step back, eyes wide.

“You know what the worst part of this is, for me?” Swan murmured into the breeze. “You think I’m this stupid, and I was for trusting you, but I’m not otherwise. You meted down a death sentence on us to save yourself Killian, you selfish -”

“I did no such thing! I’m here to give you a bloody warning because they want you dead; the Jolly is faster -”

She flicked her hand, and a half ring of ships appeared around the Jolly, arranged like a horseshoe around The Gilded Wing. The ripple of shock that went across his face and through the crew brought a confused look to her face.

“You didn’t know.”

Killian felt his brain trying to process, trying to understand what was happening in front of him. Blackbeard had mentioned a powder that made ships disappear, charms placed on sails to make them faster, a paltry excuse given when they needled him about hating magic. Here, they sat bobbing in the water as Emma glared, shouts echoing off hulls as the members of The Wing realized they were revealed. They had her ship surrounded, and Killian could hear the voices of men yelling their readiness to destroy Emma’s home, her pride and joy. Killian’s dread rose into his throat.

Noise erupted, fire blazing as smoke began to waft from the gunwales and swing guns, explosions behind her as smoke lit with every blast. Emma stepped away and drew her scimitar, looking at him with no expression, unmoved by the cacophony. A fire lit on the deck of the ship that sat at the end of the far left side of the horseshoe shape, a huge purple plume of smoke rising. Men shouted, the attack sudden and brutal as forms flew through the smoke, slashing. Even from his vantage, Killian could see more ships falling to strange attacks as The Gilded Wing in front of his ship shimmered like a mirage over the water, the heavy balls of iron falling through the glamor.

The right side of the horseshoe of ships let out a shuddering screech like metal grinding together, and then a boom exploded across the water, men in dinghies fleeing from The Gilded Wing’s onslaught, pouring onto The Jolly as the ships around his steamed, burned, bubbled, and sparked with strange substances. Emma had outwitted them all, a clever ruse straight from the devil himself. Distract the enemy, and attack from both sides like a candle burning on both ends. No doubt a portion of her crew ran along each side they had attacked to meet in the middle after picking over any finds.

The Gilded Wing, the true ship, not its imposter, flanked any who tried to retreat as it fired furiously. Killian shook his head trying to take it in, Emma still standing before him with an implacable stare, ash and ember flying behind her -

“Captain!” The shout from Will wrenched him from his immobility, and Emma used the distraction to disappear. Pulling her cutlass and running through the smoke, Emma avoided Killian’s men, setting a brutal pace through those climbing aboard, but he wrenched her back away from them. She raised her blade to him, flying at him and attacking fiercely without any holding back, unseeing rage and vitriol. Killian was off guard when she disarmed him, cutlass clattering across the deck, but she hesitated just a moment; long enough for Killian to knock her sword away to bring the point of his hook up.

“Do it then. I’m ready." Her eyes blazed like the color of the sky during a hurricane, ferociously churning fire in the pinpricks. She held her chin up and let the point of his hook bite her neck. He briefly wondered why she didn't use magic on him, but the adrenaline coursing through him didn't leave much time for thought. His breath came out in rasped pants, and her skin gleamed with sweat where soot had not settled.

He pushed against her neck a little harder, watching a small dribble of red slip down the pale flesh as it felt like the battle around them slowed. He remembered being in this same position, her blade against his throat while Liam yelled his name. Swan had no Liam, no fierce protector in command or paving the way. She had herself, her crew, her wit, and her magic - that always had to be enough.

She closed her eyes, and her face relaxed, for a moment he thought he was bewitched; her face when contented was angelic, ready for a peace her life never brought. He could make no movement. When no pain came, she opened her eyes again. The fury was gone, replaced by a profound sadness that rattled him. His hook, stable in every battle since his hand was taken by an unworthy Naval toad, trembled. She looked up at him with a sad half smile and he felt like they'd been locked like this for hours instead of seconds, maybe minutes at most.

"Do it, Killian. Please. Let it end." It was a pleaded whisper. He thought it was imagined, this entire moment a dream in which he was lost, but she kissed the curved and bloodied metal, closing her eyes again.

The honesty of her words scared him, and placed him in his own private torment. This creature, this woman. He could no more kill her here than he could raise her to the Heavens and call her the sun.

A shot reverberated and the moment was broken, Swan stumbling backwards holding her side. Red bloomed under her leather belts.

Scabbard’s blackened hands held a pistol, smoke still rising as he threw it aside. "You and that accursed whore of yours can have each other ten different ways in Davy Jones' locker, Hook." Drawing another pistol from a stained coat, he cocked it and aimed it at Hook’s chest. Hook roared, charging, and let Scabbard's round burn through the top of his shoulder blade. He dug his hook deep into Scabbard’s neck, enjoying the gurgling of the man's death rattle.

Looking back, Swan was gone, and this battle was clearly marked for the winners. Swan's ship was already flying through the waters, heading to the new worlds of the East as charted, the Circle’s ships well plundered by her split crew, but not completely picked over.

Blackbeard had limped away, Scabbard’s, Pantera’s, Babyface’s (he'd learned the boy's name was Oliver), and two more of the Circle’s ships floated without their captains, without their loot, and without most of their crew. Hook himself had suffered a grazed shoulder, a few serious wounds crew wise, and two hands down, taken by a sliding cannon. The Gilded Wing had made her point very clear - they didn't need the Circle.

The Jolly Roger’s crew took stock of what was left, hauling a massive prize away (not as good as Swan's, no doubt), and with minimal wear on the Jolly's timbers.

The men celebrated in port a few days later, and Hook purchased a bottle of rum for himself, watching their revelry. Pouring a fourth glass, he threw it back before taking the bottle through winding cobbled paths and down to his quarters, listening only to the sounds of waves breaking against his ship.

Laying in his bunk, he let the rum, the echo of her voice, and the superimposed image of green eyes burning into his take him away somewhere. Hopefully, somewhere he could forget the ache in his chest.

“Killian. Please. Let it end.”

Emma moved through the market, silks flashing by, spices and meat cooking in the air, the sparkle of jewelry and well polished fruits on display. She could feel him following after her, the smirk on his face meeting her around corners as they weaved through the plaza pretending to ignore each other.

She slipped down an alleyway, listened to hear his steady footfalls, and when she could tell he was close, turned down another alley. He spoke steadily.

"Swan, just where are you leading me?"

She didn't answer. Emma liked to keep him on his toes, or on the hook as it were. She picked up the pace, moving to get as far ahead as she could. Here, deep in the city streets where it became a labyrinth of dead ends and multi-leveled corridors, she wouldn’t have to track back far. Ducking into a beaded curtain, she opened an ornately studded door.

The room was low lit with plush pillows, satin throws, candles, and more - everything she'd asked for.

The girl that had been sent stared at her before curtsying, and Emma examined her. She was beautiful, darker skin and braided hair, her own age, painted in gold and wearing a sheer outfit that shimmered in the light. Her eyes were dark, kohled, and lined with more gold.

"I'm Shari," she said with a low rasp of a voice.

"Hush then. He'll be here soon," Emma said in a quiet whisper. "You'll address him as Jones, and me as Captain Swan. I'll give you directions as we go."

The woman nodded. His footfalls grew closer.

Killian called for her softly, and she stepped out into the alley, sun slanting through cloth and wood layered high on the sandstone buildings. His hand rested on the hilt of his cutlass, body tensed, until he took in the way she moved her hips as she walked toward him. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Captain Hook.” She tilted her chin up, smiling. “I do believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for our… amicable split of the Circle’s forfeited assets.”

"You're in a giving mood, love?" His smile was all teeth.

"I'm not your love." She tugged on his sleeve, pulling him towards the doorway, letting him get close enough to almost feel the touch of her lips before backing away further.

Killian grew too impatient at the doorway, grinding himself into her and ghosting his lips across her exposed collarbone. She let out the smallest noise, between a sigh and a gasp, which had his pants feeling more confining by the second. Her mouth met his, and soon they were kissing passionately, his leg between hers, rocking her against his leathers in those sheer fabric pants the locals favored.

Emma pushed against him, deepening the kiss, and forced him backwards into the beautiful room. She pulled away, her body melting into deeply patterned silks that partitioned the room into sections. He ducked under one to be pulled through another, her body flush against his, her top discarded. He groaned at her exposed breasts, filling his palm with one as he began kneading. His hook shredded the waistband of the gauzy bottoms, exposing a short set of silken undergarments.

He ran a finger along the middle of the undergarment, and they both let out noises, hers a whimper and his a low growl of appreciation. She was so wet already. Another shove from her through a draped wall, and he was falling backwards onto plush cushions that smelled of honey and spice, Emma draping herself over him to kiss his breath away again.

Killian flipped her, licking down her clavicle and shredding more of the sheer garment along her waist, nipping where he exposed. He drifted his hand downwards, eager to feel her again, as a glint flashed in her eyes. She scooted back, away from his probing hand. He was reaching for her when she snapped a manacle cuff on his wrist. He snarled, but then she was on top of him, kissing him roughly, tongue practically pushing thought out of his brain. Another hand came from somewhere and snapped a modified manacle on his hook. He blinked as Emma pulled away, and a woman joined her.

“Thank you, Shari. Raise him so he will be standing on the balls of his feet.”

“Yes, Captain Swan.” The woman whom he did not recognize walked to a tapestry on the wall, pulling it aside to reveal a hand crank. Following with his eyes, he realized it was connected to a pulley system that attached to the ceiling above him. He tried to move, but the slack was already tightening on the heavy chain.

He rose up, and Emma smiled softly at him.

“Don’t be mad at me for this, because I asked around a bit. Apparently, when you got a little too deep in the drink, you told Smee some privately held fantasies. A little bit of drink in him, a little bit of a truth potion I was experimenting with… well, he gave me an idea of this gift.” Her smile grew radiant as she waved her hand. He looked to see his clothes were neatly folded off to the side, leaving him bare.

“Swan, let me down, and I swear I won’t-”

Warm fingers covered in a slick substance rubbed against his cock, and he swallowed his words thickly. The dark eyed woman placed thick floor pillows on all sides of his feet wordlessly and soon, Emma was almost the same height as him, smiling at him with her head cocked.

“I must say though, I was hardly surprised to hear your fantasies. They aren’t shameful. I wish you hadn’t felt the need to hide them away in brothels.” She stroked a long line of the slick fluid, what he now realized must be oil, from the base of his cock, over his hip, and to his ass. “Most men, when truly in tune with themselves, like a consensual bit of play in the rear.”

He began to struggle and felt his ears reddening.

“Swan, I don’t know where you heard this bit, but I swear to you. Let me out of these bloody chains, or I’ll run my hook through that pretty neck of yours -”

“What was it you told me? Ah yes. Take a leap of faith.” She kissed a path down his back, hot breath hitting his ass, causing his cock to twitch. “I know when you’re lying, Killian. So tell me truthfully. Do you want this? Would you like me to explore this with you? I know it’s not just ass play. I’d be taking full control, you’d be at my mercy. Tell me what you want.”

Warm, oiled fingers massaged his ass, gently stroking over his entrance. He swallowed thickly.

“Swan, I…” Her fingers pressed harder, and he rutted against the air in front of his cock. “Yes, alright, yes. Why the bloody fuck not, Emma, please, I-” A finger curled inside of him, and he felt his length go rigid.

Emma waved the woman to kneel in front of him. She slowly began to stretch him, adding fingers slowly, thrusting in and out. He rocked back on her hand, head lolling in delight at just how good it felt. Her hands were soft, fingers long and delicate, hitting spots in he hadn’t felt in years. He groaned when she took her hand away.

Emma whispered something he could not discern, and he felt the skin under his thighs twinge, his body reacting. Breath hitched in his lungs as it felt like something coiled up his legs and against his bobbing member. Velvet lined rope or silken scarves, maybe? No, it drew under his skin, stroking what felt like every nerve and then some.

Magic.

He hissed. He could feel Emma’s concentration, magic flowing from her to him, but then the sensation was over. He felt her movements against his oiled ass, and turned to her. She kissed him, softly this time, tenderly even. He heard a sound similar to his brace being taken off.

"Emma, I -" he didn't finish the thought as she pushed into him.

The catch of a hard member or its ilk in him, slowly burning through his body, had every nerve firing with pleasure. He could only let out a moan, Emma’s hand massaging the curve of his ass as she pushed further. He was dead and this was paradise; he was alive and his back was arching into Emma’s warm body.

Fully seated, she licked his ear lobe and started moving in small thrusts.

"Captain Swan, his cock is weeping. May I?"

Emma grunted and thrust with a jerk. He let out a groan of pure euphoria.

"You may rub yourself on him until you feel his begging is real. After that, it’s up to you how you please him, as long as it brings him close to release."

Killian whimpered.

Heat embraced his cock suddenly, and the slide of wet, delicious friction had him babbling words that he hoped were close to begging. He felt Emma’s light touches, her nips against the back of his neck, and the steady grind of her hips against his ass. Coupled with the woman in front of them, rubbing wet, glorious heat against his length and sucking marks onto his collarbone had him achingly aroused, and he tried to buck forward into the woman’s core.

“Captain Swan, he is trying to take control,” the dark eyed woman said, bending to lap at his slit. He threw his head back as Emma harshly snapped into him.

“I’ll tell you how he likes to be sucked, then. It’s too bad he can’t behave.” From behind him, he felt Emma kick his legs open wide.

“Yes, Captain Swan.” He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He needed to be in control, to fuck one of them, and he rattled the chains that held his hand and hook. If he could get the mechanism to click -

“Take him fully into your mouth.”

Heat enveloped his cock, tight, and he felt every thought escape with his gasp of breath. Emma was moving in a different rhythm now, faster, as she gave commands.

“Swirl your tongue, harder on the underside.”

“Make sure to put pressure on the vein, see? Listen to the noise he makes, Shari. Poor thing.”

“Hollow your cheeks and suck.”

He was coming undone at the seams, pressure building at the base of his spine, each command and snap into his ass bringing him closer.

“Emma, please, I’m so close.” He felt his cock throbbing, his hips bucking forward. Emma kissed up his neck, and their mouths met. He could feel his balls drawing up, every sensation like a lightning rod. He was so close, so fucking close. Emma smiled against his lips, and with agonizing realization atop overwhelming pleasure, he realized he hadn’t burst in the kneeling woman’s mouth. His eyes widened, and Emma laughed, nipping at his lips. Her magic, damnable fucking magic, held him on the edge of -

“Moan on his cock.”

He let out a scream, the vibration of the woman’s mouth making his toes curl. He writhed, and tried desperately to get his hook undone from the chain again.

“Swan, you infernal witch! Gods, I need to fuck you, I need to come, let me out of this!” He struggled again and she kissed him tenderly on his shoulder blade, smiling mischievously up at him while keeping up her pace.

“I love when you’re like this you know,” she murmured into his skin. “You so rarely let go of control. Happy to take and plunder, but on your terms. Never allowing someone else the chance. Do you know how frustrating that is?” She licked a long trail up his neck, ending in sucking on his earlobe. He struggled again, his body screaming its needs to him, every hair raised. Emma shifted, and he felt for a moment like he couldn’t breathe.

The heat left his cock, with an audible pop. He felt some of the haze in his head clear, and he felt Emma’s device leave him. He shuddered at the sudden emptiness. He could hear both women whispering, and he took a moment to try to bring his body back to the earth. Taking in a lungful of air, he expelled it quickly when he felt a warm palm smack his ass. Looking back, he saw the dark eyed woman, Shari, her gold painted skin pressing against his back. She smiled serenely.

“I’m going to take over for Captain Swan, Jones.” He felt the press of a device, slightly larger than the first, against him. “Captain Swan says this one is enchanted, so take some breaths, OK?”

Killian felt the heat immediately, the easing push into him almost but not quite like a real cock. His eyes fluttered closed, feeling every inch of the sensation, his need to come back with a vengeance. He could feel his ass tightening, his muscles taut and tense, sparks shooting behind his eyelids. Warm hands cupped his face, and he opened his eyes through the haze of ecstasy.

He looked wrecked, and it brought Emma nothing but delight. His eyes were blown wide, and every thrust Shari made had his toes curling and small keening noises leaving his mouth. All Emma could do was kiss him softly, and slowly sink on top of him, one thigh lazily resting against his side, while she kept the other leg planted for balance on a pile of pillows.

When she started to move against him, she could feel the throbbing pulse with every thrust. He let out harsh breaths sometimes coupled with nonsensical half words, occasionally paired with a moan of her name. Watching him lose the careful articulation and eloquence he used with ease brought a rush of heat to her core. Killian felt her own pleasure beginning to bloom from his erratic movements, frantic grinding shifts of his hips to try and distract from his struggles against the chain.

“Are you ready for your real treat, my sweet Sailor?” Emma whispered against the stubble of his cheek. She ran fingers through his hair, watching his face flutter through the pure delight and slight pain of her magic, letting him rise higher and higher with no ceiling. She let out a moan and her nails clawed at his back when he answered with a buck, lazily grinning. She snapped her fingers.

He felt the woman behind him moan, and a second later clamped his eyes shut as the feeling spread. The damn thing inside him was moving, shaking quickly like the earth settling after thunder. Vibration hit that damn sweet spot in his ass that ached from slow thrusts, now a hot pinprick that had him screaming, desperate to feel release.

Coupled with Emma riding him, now seeking her own pleasure and undoubtedly feeling whatever sensation she’d given him and the hired woman, he was beyond bliss. Nothing had felt this incredible before, his body nothing but pure feeling. Shari pressed against him, nails digging into his shoulders with a warm gush of wetness against the back of his thighs as she gave in.

Emma pushed herself up, now able to wrap both legs around him with the other woman pulling away. He heard the chain being lowered and his feet hit the floor; his immediate reaction was to thrust up, up into her. His eyes shot open, meeting hers.

“Please, please, Emma, please -” With the grind of their hips and his feet planted, it allowed him to fill her so perfectly. He needed to fill her and her body tightened, pulling him -

“I’m coming, oh fuck, Killian, I love it when you beg. I want to hear you -” Her moan ripped through him, wet and tight ripples that tore him into pieces.

“Let me come, Emma. Please, fucking please, Swan.” Keening, the whine was broken by his groan.

Emma bit down on his collarbone, sending him reeling. Every synapse fired deliriously, and when her body clenched on his again and she went limp against his chest, he felt her magic wane in time with her flutters as finally the grip on him stopped. A single thrust and he was undone.

Killian came with a guttural moan, rapturous pleasure coursing through him, lasting for what felt like minutes as he bathed her walls. As he spent the last bit of himself, he realized it was quite possibly the most intense orgasm of his life. His breath came out in ragged pants, and he was sure if it wasn’t, it still had shaved years off his existence.

“That was…” he whispered, slowly and with effort.

“A reward.” She pulled away from him, and waved her hand. The chains fell away, and he stumbled forward onto his knees. The room was still lined with large floor pillows, which he promptly rolled onto, laying on his back to catch his breath. Before he knew it, sleep overtook him.

A short time later, a warm washcloth against his thighs startled him, and he looked down to see the gold painted woman, Shari, softly cleaning his thighs.

“Swan…?” he mumbled, shocked at how low and hoarse his voice sounded.

“I’m sorry, my good sir. She paid me, and said I was to take care of anything else you needed. I can give you a massage if you like, after cleaning you. I can also offer you pistachio cake and honeyed fruit. Or, we can have another round of the pleasures.”

He stayed quiet as she continued her gentle ministrations, contemplating his next move.

“Would you tell me where she went? Do you know?”

“I don’t, sir. Only that she paid me very well, and left quickly.” Her brown eyes met his and she sighed, dropping the rag in the steaming water. “She told me not to say, but she headed in the direction of the Western port.”

He got up quickly on unsteady legs, tugging clothes on in a blur. “Thank you. Here -” He tossed a small purse of coin at her. “For your trouble.”

He was gone before she could thank him. She opened the bag and counted the silver and gold coins inside it.

The female captain had been right. Give the man a direction, and he’d pay for her words as well, even if they were silver lies. Shari had no idea where the blonde woman had gone; most likely South from her hasty exit towards the market. Men were such fools when enchanted by beautiful women.

Pity. This one was a fool that was also lost in love with one. Shari took her coin and retired for the evening. She wouldn’t need to work for weeks now, and the female captain had left her enchanted play things. She would be amiss if she didn’t spend her time trying them.

#October 26th 2018 #Captain Swan Big Bang #CSBB #CSBB 2018 #Riptide #Courtorderedcake #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan au #CS FF #CS FF AU #CS AU #CS AU FF

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queenofcats17 · 7 years ago

Note

Guess who~ More prompts! -"you said you wouldn't laugh" -"it's definitely safe here... probably" - "gosh darn friendo imma diddly darn snap your neck" (basically bendy trying to find ways to be menacing and avoid swearing, cause sound effects, and freak someone out) (bonus points if someone cries!)

The last one gets kinda dark, so…sorry

“Sammy, I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” Susie said, knocking on Sammy’s office door.

“I look ridiculous.” Sammy’s said. Somehow, Sammy had gotten turned into a toon again. It was honestly becoming a bit of a problem. Wally had suffered the same fate as well, although he was handling it quite a bit better than Sammy. Perhaps that was due to the fact that Joey had given him the day off due to his toonification, allowing the janitor to go mess around and pull gags with the toons. Sammy was not taking it so well. He’d thrown a blanket over himself and made a beeline for his office. Susie had been sent after him.

“Sammy, I won’t laugh at you, I promise,” Susie said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“You promise?” Sammy’s voice was small.

“Yes, Sammy. I promise.”

The door opened a crack, then fully. Sammy had the blanket draped around his shoulders, but Sammy could clearly see how his body had been simplified. He was smaller, thinner, his appendages more like noodles than actual body parts. Pie cut eyes stared nervously out from under a fringe of what used to be dirty blond hair. He looked a lot younger without those frown lines and bags under his eyes.

“Are those…wings?” Susie asked, trying to stifle laughter.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” Sammy said, stamping his foot. His little wings bristled and his halo shone.

“I’m sorry.” Susie bit her lip. “You just look so adorable.”

“I don’t want to be adorable!” Sammy groaned, retrieving his blanket and throwing it over himself as he retreated back into his office.

“It’s not that bad.” Susie closed the door behind her. “I mean, it’s happened enough times that I’m sure Joey has a way to fix it.”

“The fact that it keeps happening is worrying enough,” Sammy muttered.

“So…” Sammy slid in next to him on the cot. “How does it feel?”

“What?”

“How does it feel?” Susie repeated. “To be a toon, I mean.”

“I feel a heck of a lot grumpier,” Sammy said after thinking for a moment. “Like I want to go nag everyone about everything.”

“Well, I suppose if you were a supporting character, you would be a bit of a grump.” Susie rested her head on his shoulder. “But that can’t be all. Have you tried playing music?”

“Didn’t seem worth it.” Sammy held up his hands. “I don’t know how to play with only four fingers.”

“Have you tried pulling something out of hammerspace?”

Sammy opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Huh.”

“You haven’t, have you?” Susie laughed, sitting up. “Why don’t you try? Toon instruments will work for you.” Sammy shrugged off his blanket and screwed up his face. It took a few tries for him to finally get something out. Sammy kept getting too into his head. Susie wasn’t surprised when he finally pulled out an animated banjo.

“What do you want to hear?” He asked, grinning at Susie. She made a big show of thinking about it before answering.

“Willow Weep For Me.” She said.

“You got it.” Sammy closed his eyes and began playing. He knew the song so well he didn’t even have to think to play anymore. Susie listened happily. Sammy’s voice was normally very nice, but now it was downright angelic. She couldn’t help but swoon a little, sighing dreamily and leaning against him. Sammy paused.

“What?” He asked.

“Keep singing.” She said, kissing his cheek.

“Well, alright.” And so he did.

“FRANKS!” Murray Hill’s voice boomed throughout the studio as Wally Franks, Boris, Bendy, and Alice skidded around a corner and into the depths of the studio, all grinning and laughing uncontrollably.

“Golly, he’s really mad,” Boris said.

“He’ll get over it,” Wally said, pressing the button for the lift. “Let’s go see Shawn next.”

“Oh no,” Bendy said. “Flynn’ll kill us if we mess with his stuff. You know he will.” Wally turned to them, a grim comparable to Bendy’s gracing his toonified face.

“So?” He asked. “Plus, we can just hide in Alice’s area if things get bad.”

As it turned out, things did get bad. The quartet streaked into Alice’s meet and greet area, trying to ignore Shawn’s rather colourful threats.

“It’s definitely safe here,” Wally whispered. “….Probably.”

“I told you he’d try to kill us.” Bendy hissed.

“Hows was I supposed to know the coffee machine broke?!”

“Y’know kid, sometimes you gotta think through your gags.” Bendy continued. “Decide who’ll be most receptive to the gag.”

“Who will give you the best payoff and all that.” Alice made a vague hand gesture.

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE!” The door slammed open and Shawn came storming in, covered head to toe in ink and absolutely seething. He was followed by Thomas, who was making half-hearted attempts to stop him.

“You can’t kill them.” He said.

“I CAN DAMN WELL TRY!” Shawn snapped. “NOW WHERE ARE YOU LITTLE BASTARDS?!”

“No use running now, huh?” Wally’s shoulders slumped. It was then that Bendy got a mischievous look in his eyes. He glanced at Boris, who grinned.

“Whoever said anything about giving up?” Bendy said. As Shawn approached the back of the room, the quartet popped up, all grinning.

“Heya Shawn,” Bendy said. “How’s it going?”

“You know damn well how it’s going!” Shawn stalked forward, pointing an accusing finger at the four toons. The toons continued to smile innocently.

“What? A little ink getting you down?” Wally asked. “It’s just another day at Joey Drew Studios, right?”

“Why you little-” Shawn grabbed for Wally, only for the toon to slip out of his grasp, making a break for it along with the other three. Thomas just stood in the doorway, smoking.

“That’s toon logic for ya.” He said. Shawn muttered some very unsavoury words and went to go get cleaned up.

So, they’d gotten Wally and Sammy all fixed up, although Boris was sad to lose a mischief partner. Now they had to get back to work. It was a bit of a letdown after how exciting the previous few days had been for Bendy. But oh well. Life went on. And as long as Joey wasn’t doing weird black magic stuff, everything was fine. Although, Bendy had run into a new problem. One of the new interns was being an asshole to everyone. Now, Bendy absolutely could not let this stand. No one made the people in his studio feel unsafe. Especially not some snot-nosed brat! So he was going to talk to the kid.

“This is a bad idea.” Allison trailed after him, fidgeting quite a bit. “He’s going to blow up at you. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Relax, Alli,” Bendy said. “It’ll be fine.” He went straight to the animation department and tracked the kid down. He was in the middle of slacking off and throwing crumpled up paper balls at other interns.

“Hey. Kid. I need to talk to you.” Bendy said, folding his arms.

“Hello, sir.” The intern immediately tried to look like he was busy. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve gotten reports that you’ve been harassing other employees and I’ve got half a mind to talk to Joey about it,” Bendy said. The intern’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“Don’t you dare.” He said, picking up a bottle of acetone. “I won’t let you.” He kept his voice low, but nonetheless, Allison shrieked and ran off to get Joey. No one looked up since Allison screaming and panicking wasn’t exactly commonplace.

“So you’re just gonna kill me. In front of everyone.” Bendy said, coolly.

“I’ll say it’s an accident.” The intern smiled. “It’s not like you can do anything, right?”

“Gosh darn friendo, Imma diddly darn snap your neck.” Bendy’s form began to change, shifting from that of the friendly toon everyone loved to the monster Joey had summoned. By the time Allison returned with Joey, the intern was on the floor crying, while Bendy stood over him with a proud look on his face. The intern was swiftly fired, and everyone scrambled to get things back to normal.

#bendy and the ink machine #bendy the dancing demon #sammy lawrence #susie campbell #boris the wolf #alice angel #allison pendle #shawn flynn #thomas connor #fanfiction

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aellesaan · 7 years ago

Text

Wanderings in Mac’Aree: Part Four

Part one

Part two

Part three

Aellesaan laughed at the disturbed skull, and laughed even louder as they were whisked away. "Joy ride time! Wee!"

As they were bounced about, Aellesaan attempted to keep her breasts in her low cut, white shirt. However, as they were tossed out of the coffin, the shirt ended up sliding over which allowed one to escape. With a shriek, she hastily adjusted herself, and quickly scoured the crowd with her eyes to make sure no one saw. That just would not do.

Ash frowned as soon as the skull disappeared. He was looking forward to having a new play thing, and Phae had no idea what she was talking about, teeth made an excellent butt scratcher. As the lights went out again, and he felt himself lurch forward, he was caught by surprise for a moment, but the coffin started lunging forward on what seemed to be a track; this was very exciting for Ash. He had never been on such a ride, but this was thrilling. He threw his hands in the air and let out a loud "Wooohoooo!" as the coffin sped them towards light knew what kind of fate. He had completely forgotten about his disappointment from the sandwich. He only worried that some weak-stomached goat was gonna lose their lunch on him from the tumbling ride. As the coffin came to a stop and popped upright, he scrambled out. "Damn that was fun! Can we do that again? Ooooh, I bet it's even more fun on the way down!"

It was then that the Curator chose to remake his appearance. "You idiots survived? How the fuck.... no matter. You made it this far, but by the nights end, Sarloth will still feast on your souls. He will be satiated and this whole endeavor will be at an end," It commented, satisfied in its assumptions as the room revealed itself. The first 50 meters of floor dropped out to an abyss, going down, down, down. So far down that what seemed to be ladder rungs appeared overhead, like monkey bars little kids played on. Further on, the floor erupted into light patterns, brightly shining. "There now lets see, hmm? I am thinking of a number, double it, then add six, then half that number, and then subtract the number I started with. What number I started with, is the rung you must avoid." He offered to them.

Ash turned around at hearing the Curator's voice, furrowing his brow. "Great, here's this asshole again, spoiling the fun." The frown on his face showed his utter disdain for the large construct, even in holographic form, he wanted to punch it. He furrowed his brow angrily. "Really? Math problems? An ancient, all powerful structure like yourself, and you're quizzing us on math? Have you got nothing better to do? Are you lonely? I think the giant can opener just needs a hug."

As the curator spoke back up, and Ash hammered it with rather harsh words, Aellesaan smiled kindly at him. "I hope he likes compliments. Although, his riddles are rather easier than I thought if it's all that is guarding this scepter. Unless anyone objects, the answer is 3. I'm famished." Promptly sitting down, she dug into her bottomless bag and pulled out a sandwich. A squished sandwich, with some questionable red on the baggie, but a sandwich nonetheless. The red doesn't even faze her as she mawed down on it viciously, as if a primal hunger was threatening to her stomach if she did not comply to it’s demands.

Ash's stomach grumbled as he looked down at the spunky mage's sandwich, and he himself grumbled, thinking again of the sandwich he had dropped. "I sure hope that's the answer." He looked up at the ladder rungs and grined. He was all too familiar with this game, one of his favorite things to play back at the orphanage: monkey bars! He looked over to Aellesaan, and eyed her sandwich for a minute, then looked back up at the bars. He decided he trusted her intelligence enough, after all, she had answered all the other riddles. He jumped up and grabbed the first bar, and promptly swung to the second, doing a wide arc to skip the third. The curators directions weren't exactly clear, on if he should just skip the third, or every third after that, so he figured he'd skip every third rung, just to be safe. His athleticism was on display as he effortlessly swung across the bars, all the while calling out "One, two, skip, one, two, skip, one, two, skip...". He seemed to have no care, nor fear of what laid below them, in that dark abyss, and even paused half way across to bring up a hefty chunk of phlegm to spit it down into the darkness in hopes he hit whatever was down there, and then promptly continued swinging "One, two, skip, one, two, skip..."

The Curator turned his head angrily at Ash as it head his comment. "Oh yeah well fuck you too buddy, are all the men in your group such dicks? At least the women have good looking butts... only redeeming value of having to interact with you idiots," It complained loudly at the situation it was forced to find itself in. However surprisingly enough if any of them did look behind themselves they wouldn't see a coffin any longer, no instead all there was, was a plain office wall, no sign of where they had come from was left any longer. "Besides you got the other puzzles right, but you don’t look very smart, so I bet you can't do mathematics," He spoke, articulating the words as if insulting him on his use of the shortened version.

The Curator looked over at Aellesaan, her positivity and warmness leaving him unsure and confused of how to act and react in response to her. After being somewhat dumbstruck, he finally responded. "Umm.. no oh no no he doesn't... Wait what?! Come on you have to know what the answer to that was?" He responded back sighing in exasperation. "And NO its not the scepter you’re after... sheesh it’s a key. Funnily enough a literal key rather than a metaphor, but a key none the less. The key gets you the scepter though." He added brightly as he watched her sit down on the floor and began to munch on a sandwich. Ash certainly was the daring type so it seemed, and luckily enough for him Aellesaan's answer provided the solution to the puzzle as well, or at least kept him from falling down, as he successfully swung past several groupings of bars. It was when he spat down into the darkness that his first mistake was made as a furious roar erupted, and a long clawed blackness reached for him, only coming within feet of grasping his legs. As he looked down he would see eyes of molten fury, and a mouth snarled open in utter rage, and hunger.

Ash would successfully come to land only several meters from the pedestal now, within throwing distance, as he stood across the canyon from them. While there was no Curator this time, instead there was simply a pattern of three symbols: one of the sun, one of water and one of stone. The floor pattern matched these symbols entirely, and if they were to inspect the symbols they would find ash on some, and crumbled pebbles and stone on others.

"Well?" Kairyth gestured toward Dayton, then looked from the ladder with the Vindicator disappearing into the darkness, to Aeiia (both of whom have totally been here all along). "He's a moron, but I'm not leaving him here." Aeiia, for her part, hardly glanced up from the tightly compacted ball of Light rolling in her palm. Bright enough to illuminate her own lovely features and a few inches before her, but by no means to penetrate the inky blackness above and below them; it is unclear whether the ball is a weapon or residual nervous energy. She wiggled her fingers at Dayton, smiling faintly at the undignified yelp which escaped the wolf when his paws lifted from the floor in the simple levitation spell. He looked almost frantically from the Anchorite to his mistress and sneezed, violently, three times. Kairyth rolled her eyes and snagged his nearest leg - a back one, unfortunately for him - with her tail, coiling it securely around the appendage before jumping up and catching hold of the first rung of the ladder. "Moron," she muttered, amidst a few other choice words as she followed Ash's example, skipping every third rung of the ladder as she followed him, and towing her poor wolf in all his indignity behind her. Aeiia stared after the Rangari for a moment before she tucked her ball of Light into her sleeve and stomped - somewhat more huffily than is her wont- over to the precipice and peered after Kairyth. "You are a terrible bodyguard," She announced, before duplicating Dayton's levitation spell on herself and jumping up to begin her own ascent. "Yeah, yeah. Suck it," Kairyth's voice trailed back from the darkness. Clearly she was unbothered by Aeiia's opinion.

Aellesaan finished her squished PB&J sandwich while she observed the others go across the ladder rungs. She was great at riddles, and sometimes math. No one appeared the wiser she had guessed three, and not known for sure. It was likely just as well Aellesaan didn't reveal the truth surrounding her guessing of the answer to this particular problem. After all, the first volunteers sure wouldn't find it as amusing or fun as she herself did, having put their lives on the line so quickly in their trust. However, gymnastics was not her thing; she was rather klutzy. With a deep breath, and her heart nearly in her throat, she jumped up to grab the first bar, and nearly missed. She swung to the second with a grunt, and with luck, grasped firmly onto the fourth. Her palms had begun to slip on the smooth bars with her fearful sweating, and about halfway through, one of her hands did slip. A shrill shriek elicited from her mouth, and without thinking, she blinked across the rest of the way, barely getting far enough to make it onto the ledge. Her skin was pale, and sweat ran down her face. "Never again. I hate heights. I think I'm going to vomit. Oh Light. " Vomit spewed from her mouth as she quickly whirled around to face the cavern, and chucked up her freashly eaten sandwhich down below. "Uh-oh. I shouldn't have done that,” she whispered, fearful it would cause the monster below to become enraged.

Ash looked down as the beast reached for him, and he pulled his feet up in time to just narrowly escape being grabbed. He laughed the rest of the way across, and as he landed, he turned back to the pit and grinned, giving a crotch chop towards the darkness as if telling the creature below to "suck it." He turned back towards where the curator was and chuckled. "Come on now, you gotta be able to do better than that, Jeeves." He knew that this construct was ancient, and he figured comparing it to a common repair bot might be a good enough insult. He looked back at the rest of the group, making their way across, and saw Aellesaan struggling with the monkey bars. As she blinked to the edge, and puked into the abyss, he grinned. "You okay, love? Oh don't worry, he won't be eating any goats today, I'm sure he's happy with a bit of used PB&J."

Danarshi had, to his own regret, silently been a part of the wild ride that occurred within the coffin. As the next puzzle laid before them, however, containing the many rungs, he was, again, hesitant to proceed. If Aellesaan's answer was wrong, he shuddered to think of what horrors awaited them within the blackened pit below. Unfortunately, however, inaction would leave them trapped for eternity. Unable to find a more suitable solution than that of which the clever Aellesaan thought of, he figured that it was time to step out of his shadow and show courage. Rubbing his hands together and rolling his neck, Danarshi embraced a deep breath before performing a running leap, successfully landing atop the first rung. Using his momentum, he did not stop for even a moment. Danarshi continued on to the second rung, and then the third - ironically, it was there that he stumbled, tripping and falling forward. Luckily for the Anchorite, he had managed to push himself far enough forward that each of his hands clutched onto the fourth rung, where he continued to hang for a number of seconds. Heavily breathing, Danarshi could not resist the temptation of peering below, that of which he immediately regretted. Closing his eyes and mustering his strength, he soon started funneling his strength into his upper torso and arms, causing himself to swing back and fourth, much like a trapeze. Having soon created a high enough pace, he released his hold on the rung and flew forward, his hands wrapping around the fifth. Danarshi's hands ached from the friction of the rung steps scraping against them, and the Anchorite audibly groaned and grunted as he progressed. By what was, perhaps, some miracle, he soon managed to make it to the end of the course; planted down upon the solid floor, he collapsed on to his hands and knees, the muscles aching within his upper body.

Aellesaan wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and glanced at Ash. "At least he doesn’t have to chew it. Pre-chewed, homemade sandwich, express delivery!" Giggles emanated from her as she stood up, and looked at the ground. A pattern of three symbols, sun, water, and stone. "Any of you good at these types puzzles? I can if you allow me some time to concentrate." With that, she got as close as she could, and looked at the patterned floor.

Ash looks at the symbols curiously, and shrugged a bit. "I don't know. I mean, they could represent something that would happen if you stepped on certain symbols. The sun ones might burn you to a crisp." He pointed at the piles of ashes. "The stone ones might drop stones on you, which would probably suck pretty bad." He looked at the water symbol, and scratched his head a bit "I have no idea what the water ones might do. Maybe give you a shower? Seems the least terrible out of the three options. Maybe we only step on the water symbols? Hey, anyone bring any soap? Might as well get a good shower out of this after stepping in all that blood."

It seemed Kairyth had the same insanity complex that Ash did, only this time coming complete with entertainment to boot, as the group would watch her hook her tail around a wolfs leg and pitifully drag it through the air. The poor thing was terrified of the creature below roaring at it and trying to snatch it out of the air which hoped Kairyth would drop the wolf. Of course however she did not and following the direction Ash had done based on Aellesaan's answer was entirely successful in making it to the other end.

The construct would have grated his teeth had he still had any; instead he settled himself to raise a finger at Ash before it blinked out. It seemed they were not going to be getting any more advice or help from the construct regardless of how annoying and pessimistic the thing was.

As Danarshi would move through the monkey bars, his stumble would reveal to the group just what would have happened. The bar fell free quickly, and a polymer mesh net came down quickly; obviously designed to ensure whoever was on it was trapped entirely and taken down. He did however of course safely make it to the end, albeit taking the longest of the lot thus far.

Ash indeed had guessed the answer very well, and if the group continued to search, on literally the opposite area, the would see the exact repercussions were shown quite clearly. The sun tile had a three picture story of a person stepping on it, then being covered in light, and then being ash. The stone tile had the individual step on it, then a picture of a boulder heading toward them, and finally the individual smashed into the ground. The final one, water, had the same first symbol as the other two, before the second had what would amount to a barrel of water being dumped on them, and finally an image of a soaked and unhappy Draenei looking at the viewer. Unfortunately with the added addition of three wet wolves... yep they were gonna have wet dog smell... yuck!

Ash continued to look around at the group unexpectedly, hoping that one of them has brought a bar of soap with them. He sighed and shook his head as he realized no one had. "Fine, hobo bath it is." He stepped onto the first water tile with a distinct grimace set onto his face as he expected something terrible, like a squid being thrown at him or something, but he was pleasantly surprised when he realized he was right. As the water splashed down on him, he looked back at the group and grinned. "I did it guys, I solved one!" He started hopping across the tiles, making sure to only land on the water tiles as he definitely did not want a sun burn that bad, or a concussion. Every few tiles, he stopped and began scrubbing some of the blood off of his legs with the falling water, meanwhile whistling a tune like he was singing in the shower. "Hey Curator, I wouldn't suppose the next room is a bed and breakfast, is it? Maybe a manicurist? At least a snack bar?" After he is satisfied with his cleanliness, and had gotten a good amount of the blood off of him, he finished making his way across the tiles, shaking himself off like a wet dog at the other end. "Fuck, and I forgot my towel." By successfully making it across the tiles, Ash had proved there were no ill effects caused by the water, and it even got warmer as he made his way across, as if giving a hint they were going in the right direction.

Aellesaan clasped her small hands excitedly for Ash as he stepped on the first tile. "Great guess Ash! Ash:1 Curator:0." With delightful giggles, she followed him onto the water tiles, reveling in the sensation of the water rushing against her skin. "Hey guys! Wet t-shirt contest!" Of course, she happened to be wearing a white t-shirt with red stains from the blood bath earlier. While others may have been embarrassed or mournful at having water dump on them in a white shirt, Aellesaan seemed as uncaring about this as the rest of the adventure she had been having.

Copying Ash, she scrubbed her skin free of the blood as she danced along the tiles, and whistled another melody. While others may have been embarrassed or mournful at having water dump on them in a white shirt, Aellesaan seemed as uncaring about this as the rest of the adventure she had been having, dripping wet as she stepped off onto the pedestal as well with Ash. As she reached the end, she slid over to Ash and the pedestal with a playful smile, and shook herself off like a wet dog would do.

Ash doesn't even pretend to avert his eyes, as Aellesaan's shirt is soaked, and now translucent. With a slight smirk on his face, he nods in approval "Always the crazy chicks with the nicest racks." Of course he meant crazy in a somewhat endearing way, because he in no way felt that she was too insane to be of any use to the group. She had already proven herself quite well in his eyes, though he was still unaware that he had put his life on the line with her guess work. He gave her a sly grin. "You know, you keep that up, and the Curator might just short-circuit. The thing seems to have a bit of a flustered crush on you. I say next time he pops up, you flash him." The grin on his face told her quite well that the grumpy construct wouldn't be the only one to enjoy that show.

He turns back around and looked toward the key with a sigh. "I wouldn't suppose it would be so easy as we could just grab the thing, huh? Think it might be trapped or something?" He looked back at the rest of the group as they make their ways across the tiles, hoping that one of them knew anything about searching for traps. He was very athletic, and knew how to break things to death with his sword and shield, but trap finding wasn't exactly his forté. Though give him a pissy robot to antagonize, and he seemed right at home.

The Construct wouldn't respond or even appear at Ash's words, evidently so pissed off and annoyed by the current groups antics that even beyond Epilvik's extremely rough and rude treatment of him, the casual disrespect and insult shown to it by the others had frustrated it beyond belief, refusing to even let them have a hint on how they could get past without activating the traps.

Indeed as Ash was demonstrating it was likely all the males within the group didn't bother to advert their eyes, with how open Aellesaan was and willing to display herself, they would have received quite the eyeful indeed. While her work previously before this particular puzzle had been guesswork on some instances, they were also sound and reasoned guesses, and had lead them along well; clearly far better than anyone else that had come before. The pedestal looked untouched for decades as a large glass receptacle stood at its peak, inside containing an elaborate ruby, carved into the shape and structure of a key itself

#Kairyth #Epilvik #Aellesaan #Ash #Danarshi #Aeiia #Te'Amun #Wanderings in Mac'Aree #Part four

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khadorek · 7 years ago

Text

A Pawn No Longer

The Emerald Dream, an unknown amount of time after the death of Khadorek Blackbyrne

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months, even? Khadorek couldn’t tell how long he’d been wandering, but he knew he’d been at it for a long while. Ever-shifting landscapes had brought him here, to this realm of verdant life and green; one the strange occupants called ‘The Dream,’ ever looking, ever searching, ever wondering why he was here and on this strange journey. Why… a question he asked many times during his life, to himself or to any number of gods who didn’t care, both yielded the same answer, or lack thereof. His most recent iteration of the question, however, seemed to be different, as for once, an answer was coming to mind. Why was he here? The answer was simple, he believed; to reflect on what he had done, so he could truly understand what his punishment would be. In his time wandering as spirit, he’d done much in that regard. So many people hurt, killed, and otherwise failed, all because of his pride and arrogant lust for power, hidden by his naivety and desire to help. That one moment of hubris where he signed away his body was what sealed his fate; that deal struck with a devil in the guise of a man made him into more of a monster than the procedure ever could. That was his greatest sin, he thought, that’s what this has been about; all the horrible things that had happened because of him, all stemmed from that one ‘yes.’ He understood that now, and whatever his punishment would be, he accepted it, because this all happened because of him. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind did the thick greenery he had been trudging through lead to a clearing, and in the middle of it was his destination; the end of the line.

The clearing itself was not caused by some natural occurrence, no, this was caused by shadow energies leaking into the plane of life, the stuff of the Emerald Nightmare. Khadorek had told this by the steady corruption of the small life forms he found and the rising number and severity of aberrations a while back, that’s how he knew he was getting close; he knew the Dream was not in danger, this sort of thing happened all the time, at least according to the spirits and wandering druids he spoke to in passing along his way, all of which were confused by his presence, but seemed helpful to him nonetheless, though the looming question of whether or not he was alone, one they asked him without fail, weighed heavily on his mind. None of that mattered now, he’d be none of their concern soon enough. Khadorek approached the swirling rift, confident that this was where he would meet his judgement, he paused to ready himself. Peering down into the vortex, he couldn’t help but be at awe at how overwhelmingly dark it was, despite the ever-present glow from overhead; light just seemed to fall into it, fitting for a place known as the ‘Shadowlands.’ Khadorek inched closer to the edge, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, and here at the end of it all, he reflected one last time on his life; despite all the horrors that had been committed, he had done much to try and repent for them; he knew he had done wrong, but he never wanted to hurt anyone, he wanted to protect them, even if he did make mistakes in the process. Khadorek wondered if the minds behind the voices that still now clawed at his mind understood that, and if they’d find peace once he faces judgement. What side of that fine line did he fall on? During this rumination, Khadorek failed to notice the local spirits and fauna, corrupted or not, start to fearfully scamper away, not until he felt a chill run down his spine, and the realization that it had been very quiet ever since the explosion. Khadorek tensed up as someone, or something, entered the clearing and silently drifted up behind him, resting an icy hand on his shoulder, as a familiar voice whispered in his ear. His own voice, yet not.

“So… here we are… ready to pass on to whatever torments await you in the realm without light. You seem awfully calm, most men would be quivering in their boots and shitting themselves for fear of judgment. Then again, you aren’t most men, are you? Never were.” The doppelgänger purred into his ear.

“Spare me your commentary.” Khadorek said dismissively. “I appreciate your help back on Azeroth, unexpected as it was, coming from something like you, but you needn’t keep up this charade of wanting to help me any longer. It’s going to be all over in a moment.”

The copy scoffed in mock offence. “Thing?! Please, I am much more than a thing, aren’t I? Please, call me… Rhaetherion… I rather like the sound of that, don’t you?” It remarks.

“Doesn’t really matter, like I said, it’ll all be over soon for me, and likely you too.” Khad replies, attempting to move from Rhaetherion’s grasp, only for its grip to tighten.

“Well, it doesn’t HAVE to be, you know… there is another option, a second chance, if you will.” Rhaetherion suggests, and Khad pauses, looking back at its face, like looking in a mirror, save for the orange eyes. Rhaetherion grinned widely. “That got your attention, didn’t it? Now, remember when your father taught you to play Chess as a child?” Khad nodded along, his mind going back to one of the few happy memories remaining regarding his father. “Right, remember what he told you about pawns?”

“Pawns are used to sacrifice themselves to protect the more powerful pieces.” Khadorek replied, a word for word repetition of what his father said twenty years prior.

“Correct, hardly an enviable position, is it? At face value, many consider them worthless, and yet, to the clever they arguably possess the most potential out of any piece on the board. Sound familiar?” It continues, Khadorek just stares at him. “You have unknowingly lived that exact existence throughout your life; all you’ve desired to do is protect those you hold dear, and they did not but abuse, cheat, and belittle you your entire life. Every time I lashed out with your body, it was to show you their true colours, but you always remained ignorant, and though such steadfast loyalty should be commended, they all still viewed themselves as better than you, and you played along, taking the fall for them every chance you got.” Khadorek remained silent, pondering Rhaetherion’s words. “And here you are, at the end of your journey. Tell me, what happens to a pawn when it reaches the end of its journey?” Rhaetherion inquires, conjuring the image of a wooden pawn into its free hand, spinning it idly in front of Khad’s face. Khad replies slowly, as he finally begins to understand what was being suggested to him.

“It becomes the most powerful piece on the board…” Khad replies as Rhaetherion turns him so they’re looking directly at each other, and then it nods.

“The most powerful piece on the board…” It replies. “You deserve so much more than what you have been given, Khadorek, someone like you is meant for far more than being the doormat for everyone else. Since it was not given to you, it is your obligation to take it for yourself. Look around you, this is the domain of my god, the place where life and shadow meet, this is what gave you the power your body now houses; the nightmares that send lesser beings into fits of terror give you strength, and you have only begun to scratch the surface of the power you could wield. The God of the Deep will grant you this power and more, you need only fight by his side. Embrace N’Zoth, and make the world pay for all its wrongs.” Rhaetherion proclaims, and a vision fills Khadorek’s senses.

It was shortly after the fall of the Burning Legion that Nya’lotha rose from the depths. The world was still recovering from the war that laid the Dark Titan low, and stood little chance against the risen armies. This was only worsened by who lead the charge against the defenders of Azeroth; a towering human in chitinous black armour, wielding powers far too terrible for mortal minds to comprehend, and the joy he took in casting down his foes was nothing short of sickening. It was a matter of months before the world fell, such was the unnatural assault brought about by the hordes of aberrations and their twisted general. The lucky ones were the ones that died, the rest were subjugated under the sovereign rule of this monster of a man. Those who knew him in his old life were kept close by his throne to serve as his ‘favoured attendants,’ and all served without question for fear of being sent to the chamber of the hand, who wasted no time in letting people know of his ‘talents.’ As the advance of the void spread across the stars, the general remained behind, content to rule over his dark kingdom.

Khadorek grinned wickedly as he strode towards the throne. His main servants, two haggard-looking worgen men, one still reeking of felfire ashes and the other with an eye sewn shut to prevent him from using his dark powers contained within, scurried over to him, asking if he wanted anything, before being sent to fetch him a drink, which they went off to do posthaste, for fear of punishment. Khadorek continue his walk towards the throne, sneering cruelly at the man impaled upon the insectoid protrusion jutting up from the ground high into the air, somehow kept horridly alive through the pain.

“How’s the view up there, Leon?” He asks mockingly, knowing full well that he long since lost the will to form sentences, something he particularly appreciated, considering what came out when he used to talk to him. Finally, Khadorek sat upon his chitinous throne, just as his drink was brought to him. He then whistles, smiling darkly as the familiar long copper hair, pale skin and docile blue eyes of his favoured concubine slinked into the room. Once more, her will had been broken, Khadorek’s former lover was rarely not at his side in some form or another, living out some dark mockery of their former life together. Calling upon his powers, he formed his limb into a whip like appendage before lashing out to viciously grab her, pulling her staggering towards the throne, leaving her standing before him. “Entertain me…” Khadorek would purr, and she would begin her dance; dark silks and fiery hair swirling around her as she did in a hauntingly beautiful fashion while Khad watched with a sneer. Twisted as the world now was, he was content with it; anything he wanted was his, and any who defied him were dealt with without mercy. Many who knew him before his rise to power asked how he could do this to them. They failed to realize the Khad they knew was long gone; sundered in the cruel epiphany that he was better than them. The Knight-Errant was dead, and in his place, was a merciless sovereign; a cruel tyrant who used terror to keep all under his bootheel.

A title came to Khadorek’s mind, one that summed up all that he now was; Nightmare Lord. He was the Nightmare Lord of Azeroth. Not a hero, a conqueror...

And for one, horrible moment… it all felt so right…

“NO!” Khadorek screamed, pulling away and falling to the ground with Rhaetherion standing between him and the vortex, disgusted and horrified that he could even have considered such a thing. How could he? No, that would not be him, that would NEVER be him; this ended now. “Get your damned lies out of my head! I will not turn on everyone I care about for power over them! My choice is made, just accept it.” Khadorek barked to his alter ego, rising to his feet and storming towards the rift. Just as he passed Rhaetherion, a hand grabbed him and flung him backwards with immense speed and power, sending him crashing into a tree. Khadorek groaned as he tried to climb to his feet, while Rhaetherion just chuckled softly, shaking its head as claws formed around his hands.

“It’s sad to hear you say that, Khadorek, my friend. I however, do not wish to vanish into nothing like you believe will happen. I like existing, and I intend to keep doing so, however, this requires a host...” Rhaetherion began, advancing towards Khadorek with psychotic malice in its eyes. “Allow me to explain to you what will happen; I will drag you to my god, where you will enjoy the remainder of time at their tender mercies, while I take your place and take your place and live out eternity as General of N’zoth’s armies. I’m sorry we couldn’t be friends, Khad but… you know how it is…” It concluded before it pounced at him. Khadorek barely had enough time to block the claws with his own blade before they tore into him. Jumping to his feet, Khadorek lunged at the creature with an anguished and furious howl. What followed was a duel of epic proportions. Insults were hurled and biological weapons battered against one another, neither able to get a hit in against one another; you can’t trick your shadow, after all. Eventually it came down to a bladelock, both exhausted by what seemed like hours upon hours of fighting. “Why… do you resist… Khadorek?” Rhaetherion snarled. “Can’t you see this is just what’s meant to be?”

“Fuck you…” Khadorek retorted. “I may not have become the hero I thought I would, but I’ll be damned if I let you turn what’s left of me into a monster. I’m not going to let my mother down any more…” Rhaetherion just began to laugh.

“You still don’t fucking get it, do you?” It cackled. “I’ve been trying to make her vision a reality all this time, you’ve just never realized that you’ve been fighting for the wrong side!”

“Wha…?” Was all Khad could get out before they were both flung backward by their own force, weapons receding as the both gasped for air on their hands and knees.

“N’zoth saw your father’s work and knew it would be perfect to create his new champion. The vision in the stars that your mother saw was of HIS creation…” Rhaetherion explained in a gasping chuckle. “She whispered them into your head since some of your earliest days, and I was planted in your mind through her words. I grew to be a part of your mind before your first memories could form, I was the reason you grew so obsessed with this ‘heroic future’ fantasy you dreamed up. I am the reason you were too proud to show your infected wound to your father, why you kept fighting, why you so willingly accepted the treatments that were almost certain to have killed you! I am the reason you survived at all! I am the reason you kept fighting when everything else told you to just give up and die! I am your pride! I am your will! I am the reason you became who you are! Can’t you see? I! AM! YOU!” Rhaetherion bellowed, while Khad just sat there in shock and horror.

“My entire life…” Khad began.

“Was a lie, a charade.” Rhaetherion finished. “I’ve been guiding you since the beginning, you’ve been under my control since the beginning.” Khad just looked at the ground, trying to process it all. “Now do you understand, Khadorek the Pawn?”

“I see…” Khadorek murmured, Rhaetherion sneered.

“Good… and what has this enlightenment made you decide to do?” It asked as Khad began to rise to his feet.

“We go to Nya’lotha…” Khad drones as he gets to his feet, and Rhaetherion sneers. “I don’t know what will happen to me, but I swear by all that’s holy…” Khadorek continued, clenching his fists and beginning to charge at Rhaetherion. “…that you will be in PIECES WHEN WE GET THERE!” He howled, ramming his shoulder into the shocked doppelgänger and sending them both down into the rift.

“This is for Mary!” Khadorek roared, grabbing a hold of his copy’s throat and punching it in the face. “This is for my mother!” Khad continued, driving his fist forward again. “This is for EVERY! LIFE! THAT YOU! RUINED!” Khad howled, voice cracking as he pummeled the apparition over and over again, while it just stared on in shock. As they fell end over end into the depths, Khadorek looked up at the light as it drifted away for the last time for but a moment, before once more returning to the entity that caused him all the pain he had endured, seeking to punish it for all the pain it caused and would have caused as they plummeted down into the all-consuming blackness…

End of Chapter 2

@the-notorious-never-do-well @murkeyglglgl @sephrick @gregwymor

(lol surprise, good for you for reading this far, and noticing the read more :P)

Chapter 3: Valarjar Rising

As Khadorek continued his assault on his tormentor, both had failed to notice that the light was not getting further away, no… it was getting closer. As Khadorek wound up another blow, a hand caught his arm, halting their fall, and in that moment, he noticed the blazing corona of silvery light around them that seemed to cause Rhaetherion immense amounts of searing pain. Looking up at what caught him, and squinting through the piercing glow, he saw a woman with pail blue skin, silvered armour and hair, long and ethereal. Her helm obscured all save the lower half of her face, and two angelic wings stretched from her back, hammering in the nothingness. Her oddly-accented voice boomed out as she spoke, and Khad realized what she was, though he could scarcely believe it.

“Khadorek Blackbyrne!” She proclaimed, voice echoing with power. “Your sacrifice, both here and upon Azeroth were valorous and noble. Your desire to atone and to protect those you hold dear will be remembered for eternity, but this need not be your final fate! Odyn has judged you and found you worthy, and thus I have come to you to offer you a second chance! Are you willing to serve a greater power?!” She asked, Khad just stared for a time at the woman, before his eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fist around her arm, and offered a wordless nod of confirmation.

“No… No!” Rhaetherion gasped, a new emotion beginning to fill its dark soul; that emotion was fear. “You can’t do this to me! I am the reason you made it here, I am the reason you are what you are, damn it! You need me! YOU NEED ME!” It howled. Khadorek looked down coldly at the begging abomination held within his grasp. Raising it up to look it in the eye, it snarled in pain as the astral light tore at its form. Khadorek’s voice showed no mercy to this… thing, for what did it do to deserve such?

“Not anymore… when you meet this god of yours, be sure to tell him you failed.” Khad snarled coldly, before tossing Rhaetherion away, leaving him to snatch at empty air as it fell screaming into the void; a sound Khadorek drank in like sweet music as he was lifted up into the glorious light.

Skyhold, The Halls of Valor

There was usually a great ordeal about Skyhold when a new champion joined their ranks, and this was no exception. Preparations had been made for his arrival, and even now the great mead hall roared with commotion and life in anticipation of the great feast that would be held in the champion’s honour, as it always was. Helgar was laying out one of his more recent creations; a skeleton forged of Blue Stormforged Steel for the champion’s body to be reformed around, to allow his damaged soul to properly take root, and to allow his body to utilize the inhuman might granted to him by his… unique affliction without further damage. His power was stolen from the great enemy, so preserving it so it can be used against it properly was of considerable import; Helgar just hoped it worked.

“Everything is ready, Lord Odyn.” Helgar remarked as his apprentices put the remaining bones in position.

“Very good, Master Smith. Is the Battlelord present?” Odyn asked in his booming voice, one befitting of his stature.

“No, Lord Odyn.” Came the reply of Lord Darius Crowly, a grizzled worgen renowned throughout the Alliance for his fighting prowess. “They’re helping prepare the armies of the Broken Shore for the assault on Argus.” Odyn sighed, the Battlelord was always like this; no rest, all work.

“Very well. Has Astriid returned with his soul?” Odyn asked.

“I have, Lord!” Came the Val’kyr’s reply as she soared over to the metal colossus’ side. Hovering in her hand was a glowing orb, one much fainter than the ones she normally bore.

“He has sustained much damage… we must waste no time!” Odyn remarked before addressing the Valarjar. “Valarjar! Once more we gather to induct a mortal champion into our ranks! Like all of you, he has proven his valor and selflessness through his acts of bravery, duty and sacrifice! He has stolen power from the great foe, one that pushes his body above and beyond that which many can achieve on their own! His hardships have been many, and he has long suffered under the burden of the crimes those who sought to control him would have him do, well no more!” Odyn cast his light upon the skeleton, sending the soul into it, and then the scarred flesh began to form around it, returning life to a being many thought long dead. “To ashes he went, and from ashes he shall rise and come home to us! Behold our new champion, Sir Khadorek Blackbyrne!” Odyn finished his speech as the reformation completed. For a moment, there was silence; had it worked? Were they too late to grant the hero new life? All Skyhold seemed to hold their breath in anticipation.

All was silent and dark for Khadorek. Had everything been a flickering vision brought on by the end of his life? Had he really accomplished nothing? Suddenly, he felt his naked body lying on a cold metal floor. He gasped for what seemed like the first time in years, his new lungs taking in fresh oxygen for the first time. His eyes snapped open, looking around at the great golden hall as the adjusted to the light. His body, slow, heavy and unfamiliar, lurched to his feet as he looked around at the massive crowd. Races of the Alliance and Horde both stared at him, framed by the towering Vrykrul, both of fleh and crackling metal. At once all cheered out in unison.

“Blackbyrne lives!” The call went out, followed by two loud rhythmic bangs as tankards and fists were smashed against the long, oaken tables and the hafts of weapons and heavy footfalls crashed down against the metal floor. As Khadorek processed this, a robe was placed about his shoulders to let him cover himself, and Khadorek looked back to see the great metal giant behind him address the gathered crowds in a booming voice.

“Yes! Our champion lives once more! He shall serve as a great warrior of the Valarjar, just as he did in his former life! Let this be the first of a great many feasts in this man’s honour!”

“Glory to Odyn!” The crowd replied, once more pounding twice. “Blackbyrne lives!” The again repeated, followed by two more bangs before it became a chant of “Blackbyrne lives!” over and over again, paired with cheering and applause. Khadorek still wasn’t sure what to make of all this, though he welcomed the tankard the armoured draenei woman brought to him. One thing was certain, though, he would not let this second chance go to waste.

#The Blackbyrne Mixtape #belongs to the respective owners

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miiyazakisan-archived · 7 years ago

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@svikoglygari | based on our thread c:

She hears Frank Sinatra playing on the PA as she walked into the seemingly empty restaurant that her boss owned and was confused by the lack of greeting by her comrades. Twelve of Frank’s thugs shared a solemn expression and they collectively looked at her as she neared them. What the hell? She takes notice of broken glass and blood, and not to mention the several bullet holes embedded into the fresh wallpaper that they had just put up. As she scans the area, searching for bodies, her attention is stolen by Mario.

“Sylvia,” He addresses her by her first name. He rarely ever did that unless the situation at hand was important, “You’re summoned.”

She follows Mario out of the dining room and they make their way into the kitchen. That’s odd. Frank was usually in his office--- Why would he be in the kitchen? The old flourescent lights flicker and it causes more trepidation. She notices the trail of blood on the pristine floor leading into the store room and her heart sinks. What the hell happened? The scent of pennies and smoke filled her nostrils and as the two of them slipped past the hefty plastic strips embedded in the doorway between the kitchen and the pantry, Sylvia saw their hired doctor and four other thugs surrounding the butcher’s table. The dense build of the men blocked her line of sight, but when she saw Frank’s face panic filled her. With haste, she pushed past Mario, expecting the worst of fates for her employer, but quickly was met with the truth--- It wasn’t Frank that was wounded, but his bastard son, Andrei and as she laid eyes on her best friend, her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

“Oh my God, Andrei!” In an instant, she is at his side, shakily grasping his left hand into her own. Andrei’s head lulled back onto the the table as he muttered unintelligible words, mixed with her name as his dilated blue gaze blinked slowly. “Is he---?” She begins, voice breaking.

“He’ll live. I just gave him morphine a few minutes ago.” The doctor replied, quietly. She could tell that he was vexed by the inflection in his voice and she peered down at the bandage that wrapped around Andrei’s waist. That didn’t look good at all. “Who did this?” She can feel tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but she blinks them away as she looks at Frank. His face is stoic, but his eyes revealed the GUILT that brewed within him and he takes a lasting sip of the Vodka in his glass. All these years, he’s disregarded his own child, and ridiculed him and tonight had been no different. Yet, Andrei still sacrificed himself to save him. Had Andrei not been there, It would be Frank on the table instead.

Frank points to his right, giving his answer as it is revealed that another person had been present, bound to a chair. Fresh bruises littered his rugged features and his brown gaze held no remorse.

“Kyle Colton.” Frank finally speaks, words directed at the hitman as his tone is indifferent. “Allow me to introduce myself.” Frank sets his glass down on the table next to Andrei’s head before cracking his neck. “My name is Francesco Bellucci, but around here, my people call me The Don. You see, you might just know me as an owner of a humble Italian place, but I can assure you, I ain’t a guy to be fucked with.” He uses his hands expressively as he speaks before his right hand into into the pocket of his pants feeling around for his brass knuckles. Calculated steps are taken closer towards the hired assassin and Frank offers a deadly smile. His fingers slip through the loops and he retracts his hand from his pocket, allowing the metal to slide on before his fingers ball into a fist. The crime boss socks him hard, satisfied that the first blow had him spitting up blood. “You shot my fucking SON.” Just as the man turns his head back to face him, Frank delivers yet another blow, throwing out his shoulder as he collapses to his knees. It had been the first time that Frank EVER acknowledged Andrei as his son and Sylvia takes notice of that. She lets go of Andrei’s hand, moving towards Frank with Mario and they help him to his feet.

“Boss, take it easy,” Mario mutters, “Morello, get a fuckin’ chair!”

“Fuck you man! I HOPE your kid croaks!” Kyle barks as Mario and Sylvia lower Frank into his chair. Having back surgery only months ago limited his abilities in the current moment and Frank removed his brass knuckles, handing them to Mario before his eyes snap towards the man. “Who sent you?” Frank speaks with a dangerously calm tone.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

“Benny,” Frank snaps his fingers and one of the thugs nod, pulling a knife from his suit as he moved towards Colton.

“What the fuck is this?” Kyle exclaims as Benny went behind him lifting his cuffed hands. “No, no---”

“You’re either going to tell me who you work for, or Benny here is gonna cut off all your fingers.”

Kyle answers with silence and Frank waves his hand in the gesture of Proceed.

A shrill cry rips from the man’s throat as his left thumb is roughly sliced off and the appendage falls to the ground as blood squirts from the stump all over the floor. Just as he stopped screaming, the song playing faded and the next track began to play. A bitter IRONY.

“So, ya gonna talk or is Benny gonna have to cut off another finger?” Sylvia pours Frank another glass of Vodka, bringing it to him.

“Fuck you.”

A snicker mixes with the faint sound of music still playing in the lounge, creating an eerie symphony and Frank takes the glass, taking a sip. He shifts his gaze to Benny and the thug begins to slice into his index finger. It went on for a while--- With each digit that had been amputated, Frank patiently waited for a name, but none came. Finally, they were down to Kyle’s right pinkie. Benny’s hands are slippery against Colton’s mutilated ones, but he stands at the ready for Franks orders.

“Ya got heart, kid--- I’ll give ya that.” Frank says, lighting another cigarette, “But why don’t you just make this easy for both of us. You’re down to one fuckin’ finger--- and I’m pretty fuckin’ sure you’re gonna miss it along with the rest of ‘em.” Sylvia and Mario erupt into laughter, catching Frank’s twisted joke before the other thugs join in unison.

“Do what you gotta do--- I ain’t got nothin’ to tell you.” Weary eyes move up from the ground and Kyle looks at Mario, then Sylvia, pleading. But the kindness in her emerald eyes were DECEIVING as kindness was instead a brewing vengeance. It doesn’t take long for Frank to catch where he was looking and a smirk crosses his hard features. “Beautiful, ain’t she? Sylvie, why don’t you go introduce yourself.”

“With pleasure.” Sylvia moves from her place beside Frank and stops just a few steps in front of the hitman before retracting her .44 Magnum from her shoulder holster. She clicks back the hammer and points it at his head and enjoys the sound of his mindless begging.

“Oh, god--- please don’t---”

She smirks before lowering her target range from his head to his right knee, squeezing the trigger. His leg practically explodes as a red mist sprays everywhere and all that is left is a bloody stump; the rest of he leg is parallel to the floor, becoming soaked in a puddle of his own blood.

“Don’t what?” Sylvia’s voice is barely heard over the agonized screaming and cursing of Colton.

“You FUCKING BITCH!” He wailed over and over again as he squirms around in the chair before it topples over and he hits the cold, hard floor.

“Ya feelin’ fuckin’ inspired yet, WISEGUY?” Frank raises his voice as he stands, moving towards Colton to pour the remainder of his liquor over the stump.

“It was MADDEN. WILL MADDEN.”

Sylvia and Frank exchange glances before looking at Colton again.

“Now was that so fuckin’ hard?” Frank rolls his eyes, putting his cigarette out on his tongue, “Syl, take care of that and get a dinner reservation for one.”

Without a second thought, Sylvia pressed the barrel of her gun against Kyle’s temple, hearing his last plea for mercy drowned out by the explosive sound.

* * * * *

#cw: torture #cw: blood #cw: death #svikoglygari #✕ ┆ ㊚ drabbles

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thethirstynoona · 7 years ago

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Monster - Chapter 11

That damned tie. An item reminiscent of your grandmother’s curtains - taupe with cascades of lavender and gold kaleidoscope patterns - was now wrapped around your neck as you struggled for breath while this shadow of a once-charming man rode you into submission.

Category: Angst/Drama/Light Smut Word Count: 4,516 Group/Members: EXO/Baekhyun & Kai (w/Taeyeon appearance)

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

You pounded on the door as hard as your fist would let you. It had been a solid twenty minutes and still Kay would not open her front door. Frustrated beyond recognition, you threw the stupid bouquet down the hall and sunk down to the floor, resting your back on the wall across from her doorway. She’d already told you to ‘fuck off’, but you weren’t about to go away without her knowing the truth. Baekhyun’s note caught your eye on the stained carpet of the hallway, and you decided to shove it under the door as one last stint to gain a smidgen of her trust.

Some time passed, and when you checked your phone you saw it had been a full thirty-five minutes since your arrival by the time you decided to give up and head home. Just as you got to your feet, the door opened and Kai’s face appeared, giving you a soft nod and allowing your entry. You briefly smiled in gratitude and rushed past him, only to find a catatonic Kay, sitting with her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her body and staring blankly out the window.

“Kay, I’m so sorry. Baekhyun planned yesterday’s events – I didn’t even know what was happening!” you beseeched, stressing the innocence in your actions. Kay showed zero response for your outburst. Protecting your friendship with Kay was everything. She was the first person in the city that got your humor; she was more like the sister you’d never had. You walked around and obstructed her view, grabbing her arms and staring into her glazed eyes, hoping that she would hear your plea. “He lied to Lay to get him to act in the way that he did. I saw it in the tape – Lay only did that to advance his career and Baekhyun wasn’t even going to follow thr—“

“He did,” Kai interrupted, “Lay and I have a private audition tomorrow with the head of SM Entertainment. From what we’ve heard, the CEO is doing this simply as a formality – it’s more or less a reason for us to come in and sign the contract.”

You couldn’t believe it. Suddenly it was clear why Kay was in shock – it wasn’t entirely what had happened the night prior – rather, it was about Lay. She hadn’t even had a chance to date him, and if he was signing a contract to enter into the idol world, he was basically enlisting in voluntary servitude. Kay would never be able to have a relationship with him.

“Kay…I-I’m sorry,” your voice broke as you sunk down in front of her, releasing your grasp on her arms, wondering how to proceed. Silence echoed throughout their apartment until it was broken by the sounds of a flash rainstorm.

The tempo of the raindrops on her windowsill reminded you of that fateful day when Baekhyun had asked you to Chanyeol’s party. The thought of Baekhyun’s psyche filled your head, wondering how he’d managed to act so cute back then when in fact it turned out he’d known and planned everything from the start. Funny – the memories of his fluffy demeanor didn’t seem misleading, rather it seemed like they were struggling to remain in the forefront of his personality. At what point in Baekhyun’s life had he lost himself? You refused to believe he had been born that way – evil is not born, it is bred.

“Are you that easy?”

Kay’s voice and abhorring glare broke your train of thought. Catching her state of shock like it was contagious, you sat, frozen, anticipating the moment when she would speak again.

“Kay –“ Kai started before she shot the daggers from her eyes in his direction. He all but hunched over in pain from the attack.

“What happened to you?” she sternly asked, her gaze returning to you, “You’re not the same Y/N I met a couple years ago. That Y/N wouldn’t let herself be played like a fucking marionette by some guy.”

Clearly you’d misjudged the situation – and her indignation. Before you could respond in defense, she continued her assault.

“Baekhyun planned yesterday’s events? A plan insinuates the assumption that your intended result comes to fruition without roadblocks. Baekhyun planned for you to completely disregard the safety measures we took for you – completely forget about the fact that you put a restraining order on him – and just jump right back into your fucked up situation?” she ranted while finally changing her posture to slowly come to a standing position, hovering overhead as she reeled into you. A brief moment of silence before she finished with, “At this point, Y/N, I don’t know if you’re just fucking stupid or a masochist. Either way, I’m done with this – with you. I know when enough is enough and I will not have the life of myself or my baby brother jeopardized because my friend can’t seem to make proper life decisions.”

Not waiting for your response, Kay turned on her heel and marched to her bedroom. You’d known her long enough to know that her words held only truth and that your friendship had found its ending point. Before the inevitable tears welled up in your eye sockets, Kai handed you a small envelope and hugged you. He was kind enough to escort you down to the lobby, his small smile being the last thing you saw before collapsing onto the bus stop just outside.

The rain masked your silent sobbing. It seemed fitting for the day’s events. There you were, drenched in the rain in a scanty red evening gown looking like yesterday’s hangover. You couldn’t bring yourself to read the letter – you were positive it was from Baekhyun, making his next move in the game. Losing Kay was your breaking point; you tossed the small parchment into the street and watched as it floated along the runoff until it disappeared into the gutter.

You didn’t know how much time had passed while you sulked in the downpour, nor did you know how long the sleek black car had been parked on the curb in front of you. It wasn’t until a short man you assumed to be the driver held an umbrella over you and gestured for you to get into the vehicle. Life couldn’t have gotten worse at that point, so you trudged into the backseat as he opened the door. You were about to tell him your desired destination, until you looked up and saw a woman seated across from you, her mysterious eyes analyzing you like a science project.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Taeyeon.”

Perhaps it was the aroma of her perfume or her ethereal demeanor, but the combination of Baekhyun’s supposed deceased ex-girlfriend and the last few days’ events had completely overwhelmed your senses, instantly forcing your consciousness into reboot. It was Taeyeon’s turn to enter the game.

“Stay here, sleep more while I clean up, jagi. I’ll come back and we can cuddle when I finish washing the dishes from breakfast,” Baekhyun grinned before turning towards the kitchen with the tray of dirty dishes from your burnt – yet loving – meal. It wasn’t long before you succumbed to your fatigue and resumed sleep.

“Oh, Baek, your hand is so cold!” you complained, jumping at his icy touch when he returned to the bed. His fingers had graced the area of skin exposed from your sleeping top, which had ridden up your body while resting.

“How about I add some heat?” he playfully asked – a hint of iniquity in his voice. Baekhyun slid his cold appendage between your legs, resting between your thighs. “Mmm, it’ll be warm in no time here.”

“Baek! That doesn’t change the fact that your hands feel like the wind chill in February!” you scolded, pulling his hand from your center and over your body. Cradling it in yours, you laced your fingers with his and pulled it into your chest, so he could feel your heartbeat.

“This is solving the problem?” he goaded quietly into your ear, tightening his grasp around you and wrapping a leg over your hip. Baekhyun purred into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses onto your warm skin. He blew cold air onto his last peck, sending a shiver down your spine. Turning to face him, you wanted nothing more than to feel his soft lips pressed against yours, and upon seeing your sleepy face, he happily obliged.

“I love you, Baekhyun,” you whispered while leaving the kiss. Somehow in the few seconds your lips had locked with his, your legs had followed suit and Baekhyun’s greedy hand had found its way up your shirt.

“I love you, too,” he said, friskily wiggling his eyebrows as he began cascading his fingertips over the delicate skin of your breast, rolling your nipple between his index finger and thumb as your bud perked.

“I’m going to have to leave eventually…I have to go home…” The words left your lips in a faint echo, and Baekhyun’s expression turned gloomy. He mounted you, pushing you onto your back and placing each of his hands over yours. Using his teeth, he pulled at the cotton fabric covering your chest to expose your top half completely. The light of giddiness reanimated his face when he saw your entirety; he wasted no time in latching his mouth onto one bud and a free hand on the other.

Baekhyun’s usual finesse with his tongue was missing – instead of the usual flicking and tantalizing machinations; he was simply sucking on them like he was hoping for some milk. The infant-like behavior wasn’t becoming of him, so you pushed him off, ready to head on your way. While you got dressed he gave you confused puppy dog eyes, which matched the whimpering escaping his mouth.

“I’ll call you later –“ you began, grabbing your jacket to leave. Baekhyun fell to his knees before you and wrapped his arms around you, refusing to let you go.

“Mommy, no please! Don’t leave me! I’ll be a good boy, I promise…please, just stay with me…don’t leave me…”

Your surroundings darkened, and all you could hear was the sound of Baekhyun’s sobs, which slowly became higher pitched as the darkness enveloped you. The moment his voice had been replaced by a baby’s cries, light returned to the room. The shocking reveal showed a beautiful baby boy in your arms while you sat in a rocking chair that had manifested in the room.

You placed the child in the bassinette in an attempt to understand what had happened, where Baekhyun had gone, but the moment you walked two steps from him, the baby screamed. The deafening sounds of the infant stopped the moment you picked him back up and held him. You decided to take him with you, and upon turning around you were face-to-face with Chanyeol.

“He only wants your attention. Don’t be like his last mother and neglect him. Love him…cherish him…” Chanyeol’s voice became muffled as everything started to fade away.

It was a dream. Coming to, the quaint vicinity around you was something unrecognizable. The bed in which you were lying was soft and comfortable, and you’d been bathed and changed while unconscious, judging by your satin pajamas and the floral aroma of your hair. If Baekhyun hadn’t pulled stunts like this with you in the past, you probably would have spiraled into a panic, but it was evident where he’d acquired the trait – Taeyeon. You sprung out of the sheets to find her.

She was waiting for you in her garden patio; she sat at a table sipping a cup of tea, the warm sunlight bouncing off her radiant skin. Her luminous glow was magnified by something as simple as the sun’s rays. In the light of day, you marveled at her attractiveness – she was fair and thin, with dark brown hair that flowed past her shoulders and was styled to perfection. Taeyeon was a paragon of beauty, and you instantly felt insignificant once in her presence.

“When did it stop raining?” you asked, completely unsure how to open the conversation with Baekhyun’s ex-lover. The severe weather change had thrown you through a loop, and Taeyeon’s ability to conceal her presence to all of Baekhyun’s family was giving you a gradual increase in concern for your safety. If she’d managed to escape the financially powerful man you loved, leaving him utterly befuddled as to what had happened to her as well as her very livelihood, it was of upmost importance to tread lightly and be incredibly tactical on everything you said.

“Raining?” she giggled with an air of mockery, “It’s only been sunny skies today.”

You weren’t about to give into her schemes and second-guess yourself. It had very well been pouring before she’d picked you up; the painful memory of losing Kay’s friendship had already branded itself into your mind, and the monotonous tone of the weather had set the stage. Taeyeon was playing a game of manipulation, but you weren’t sure of her motives. You thought it best not to argue – she’d be expecting that, and you were certain she’d have a reason or excuse for everything.

“Huh,” you conceded to say, sitting down and pulling one of the intricate teacups toward you. Taeyeon poured your tea with an unreadable grin.

“Sugar?”

“No thank you.”

“Milk?”

“I’m good.”

The tension between you was so palpable; it smothered you like the blistering heat in August at high noon. You had finished two full cups of tea in silence, Taeyeon simply admiring the weather and avoiding your gaze. She seemed completely unfazed by the fact that you were on edge; she was quite the opposite seeming very much in her element.

“That was quite rude, you know,” she stated as if you knew to what she was referring. She was in the process of pouring your third cup, tacitly waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry…I don’t know what you mean,” you slowly replied, hoping she’d give the answer. The mystery surrounding Taeyeon seemed to be building, when all you wanted was to break it down and solve it. She suppressed another laugh and slid a small envelope across the table to you – the stationery was identical to the one you’d received from Kai.

“Hopefully I don’t get diagnosed with carpal tunnel on my next checkup – you carelessly tossed the first note I wrote. Don’t open it yet –“ she immediately halted your actions as you pulled the envelope closer, “That would simply continue your rude demeanor. You may open it after leaving here today,” she instructed, the haughty tone in her voice making your stomach turn. How was it that Baekhyun had ever been attracted to her?

Silence filled the space yet again, the tension spike making it uncomfortable to continue sitting. Still, you couldn’t be rude…instead you focused on your tea, hoping that once this cup was finished that you could escape.

“Did you enjoy my gifts?” she ultimately continued as you gulped the last of your tea.

“Gifts?” you asked, unsure to what gifts exactly she was indicating. Her assumptions of your involvement on the inside jokes were far from humorous.

“The flowers. I’ve always had an appreciation for the mythology behind a flower’s intent when given to a person. Did you know Grecian warriors used to wear dandelions when going into battle? They signify courage and bravery, and the Greeks used to believe that if their best men wore them while at war, they could not be defeated,” she mused, sipping her tea politely and queuing your response with her deceiving eyes.

The flowers? You wanted to reach across the table and strangle her. Every time you’d received a bouquet or arrangement with that recurring ominous note of mystery, you’d been driven just a little more into madness. Every loving arrangement brought to you by Baekhyun immediately made you sick – he’d learned that behavior from her, from Taeyeon. She sensed your ire and stifled a laugh before doing a one-eighty on her demeanor, finally unmasking the gorgon beneath the stunning exterior.

“Oh don’t be cross, Y/N! I sent them to you with the intention of saving you. If anything, you should show me gratitude and apologize for ignoring my regard for your safety,” she belittled, reaching across the table to grab your wrist.

“My safety?! Why didn’t you just approach me directly instead of hiding behind your floral veil of anonymity?” you pulled back, hoping to fight her off of you. Taeyeon didn’t even know you – how was it that she was looking out for your safety? Why did she even care? You weren’t buying into her protective behavior – Taeyeon was only exuding conceit.

“Don’t be stupid. You of all people should know what Baekhyun is capable of – he’s not the same man I used to know…” she trailed off, releasing you and immediately removing herself from the table to stand at the rose bushes next to the gate.

“Used to know? He wasn’t always like this? Baekhyun used to be normal?” The thought of a healthy relationship with Byun Baekhyun was nothing but a distant memory of your former shell of a relationship – nothing that had ever actually been real. It was a memory of a dream…not a reality.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d ever find someone who made it past the initiation game he played with Chanyeol, I really didn’t…but you did, and he loves you, which puts you in more danger than you know.” Taeyeon began emanating anxiety; she was inconsistently plucking petals from the scarlet carsons and dropping them to the ground. The blank look pasted on her expression made you believe she was remembering some key event that you were missing.

“Why? What happened between the two of you?” you fervently asked, shaking your hand in front her face, desperate for any explanation of how and why Baekhyun was the way he was.

“He snapped…I have to escape…” she mumbled, clearly reliving the event in her mind. Taeyeon began muttering nonsense under her breath.

“Why did he snap? How did he get to that point?” you screamed, fully shaking her entire body with all your might. Taeyeon’s eyes reanimated at your action, and she pulled away from you, guilt pumping from her body like the pheromones released by the flowers surrounding you.

“I made him that way. I turned Baekhyun into a monster,” she finally revealed, placing a wistful hand across her mouth and turning away to avoid your antagonizing glare. When Taeyeon looked back at you, her face was morbidly morose; her eyes magnified by the welling tears. Your sympathy had just been tapped the moment she said the words. Baekhyun was at one time a normal man, capable of loving without admonition – and she had destroyed that.

“How? What did you do?” you spat, voice devoid of any empathy. Taeyeon clearly had a knack for driving people into insanity – you were on the cusp.

“It’s a long story…one I’m not ready to tell…” she whispered, damming back her emotions of guilt that were about to burst and flood the room. Fleeing from the situation seemed the best route for you at that moment – if you kept hounding her, it would only lead to your future warrant for her assault charge.

“Fuck you,” you stated in a dry tone, grabbing your cellphone on the table before exiting her garden to the alleyway. Your aggressive gait, contrasting the pastel pajamas you were wearing, deterred the random passers-by, each of them moving quickly out of your path. Once onto the main street, you dialed one man’s number before calling the uber home. The ringer on the opposite end of the line sounded over and over until you heard the automated sounds of his voicemail.

“Hi, Sehun, it’s Y/N. Listen, I know about Taeyeon. I want to arrange a meeting with you and your brother, Heechul tomorrow. I don’t care what time – I’ll make it work. Text me to confirm when you get this.”

If the woman responsible for Baekhyun’s misery wouldn’t give a clue in regard to past events, you were going to make sure you learned as much as you could from the men who knew him best – his brothers.

An apartment filled with boxes greeted you upon your arrival home. It had been well over forty-eight hours since you had finished packing with the help of Kay and Kai; the arduous memory put a lump in your throat. Since there was nothing to distract you, the couch seemed like the best place to wait for Sehun’s response. Checking your phone every few minutes, a full hour had passed and still no response. You began to wonder if Baekhyun had intercepted the call.

Not a minute after your assumption and a knock sounded at your door, jolting you back to reality. Who could possibly have been at your door? The frightening thought of Baekhyun – or worse, Taeyeon – filled your mind. The doorman wouldn’t have allowed just anyone up here – you had specific instructions on who was given access. Still, that didn’t stop the occasional bystander from getting passed security and into the building when a large group of tenants came home. The noise of the knock repeated, forcing you to make a decision – you couldn’t grasp the identity of the visitor through the peephole, so you took a risk and opened the door.

Kai. It was Kai, radiant and handsome as ever giving you a small grin and apologetic eyes. Without thinking, your instincts caused your arms to wrap around him in desperation, praying his presence meant that there was hope for reconciliation with Kay. It wasn’t until he trudged to the kitchen, pulling your bodyweight, that you let go of him. Kai helped you up onto the counter before saying anything, staring into your eyes like a high school crush.

“Before I say anything, Kay doesn’t know I’m here. I’m sorry, I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression of why I came over,” he pathetically confessed, slumping his head down to face the floor. The expression change in your face had caused his pitiful demeanor; your promising gaze fell to a morbid frown within a matter of seconds.

“So why are you here then?” you asked, keeping your voice as steady as possible after recovering from Kai twisting the knife further into your wound of losing Kay. He could tell you were on edge, but his comforting energy enveloped you like a snuggy and a fireplace in the depths of winter. Kai leaned against the opposite counter, placing his hands behind him and reconvening your visual exchange.

“I like you,” he said after a moment of staring deep into your eyes. You’d gotten lost in the darkness of his irises, slowly fantasizing of a world full of chicken wings and motorcycle rides with Kai – a life free of responsibility, living for each other and following your passions.

“Y/N…hello?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stuttered after the view of Kai’s waving hand over your blank expression whisked you back to reality. You blushed the moment he noticed your cognizance; he flashed a flirtatious smile at you while he pushed his hair back with his fingers.

Kai read you like an open book; he could feel your arousal sending energy wavelengths towards him. A single step brought him before you; your legs welcomed him by wrapping around his illustrious hips. Kai was tall enough to be eye level with you, and his tantalizing stare put you into a trance – you were ready to let Kai do anything to you.

He lifted his hand to caress your cheek, moving a single strand of hair behind your ear and tracing his finger down your jaw to your chin. You could feel his pulse as his thumb idled on your bottom lip – he moistened his own with his tongue before leaning in to kiss you. Kai’s supple lips gently pressed against yours, fixating on an ambient massage before letting his tongue taste your mouth; it was then his sweet machinations added a slight aggression – nibbling at your lips while his free hand trailed down your back and pushed you to the edge of the countertop. Instincts took over and you draped your arms around his head and neck, pulling him into you.

The hand resting on your cheek snuck down to the bottom button of your pajama top. One by one, Kai unbuttoned the shirt, finally breaking the kiss when he was finished. Your hands dropped to the front of the top. With an innocent look, you removed the fabric from your torso, causing Kai’s eyes to widen with lust at your form. He was quick to remove his own shirt, but before your actions could continue, the sound of a text notification came from your phone.

“I’m sorry, I have to get that,” you resentfully apologized as you jumped off the counter and rushed to the couch. It was Sehun.

Sehun: “How about tonight? At the café next to your work?”

You cringed at the thought of returning to your coffee shop – you’d not set foot in the place since Suho’s birthday party. Kai put his shirt back on and walked to your side.

“You seem busy…I should let you go,” he muttered. You instantly dropped your phone and turned to him, still topless, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His hands found your waist and your lips found his, continuing the kiss from minutes before. The intensity of the kiss resuming from where it had paused, Kai reached his hands up to your chest, beginning his finger work on your exposed breasts.

Craning your neck back, Kai’s lips ventured down your neck until he reached the supple skin just north of your nipple. He watched your chest rise and fall before him, and to get a better angle, he lifted you onto the back of the couch, placing your knockers directly in front of his face. Kai licked his lips and was about to dive in at the same time your phone sounded once more. Rolling your eyes you picked it up only to push Kai away.

Unknown: “Jagi…I trust you’re being a good girl?”

Your body language changed immediately. Kai sensed the shift in your energy, asking if you were okay. You shook him off and apologized, letting him know that you’d need some time before the two of you could make things work.

“Y/N, I understand. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed it,” Kai said, his overly understanding tone making you wish your predicament weren’t as it were. You kissed him goodbye before returning to your mission – you needed to know what happened in Baekhyun’s past. It was time to meet Sehun.

You: “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

Sehun: “Perfect. We’ll see you soon.”

Grabbing the first thing you could find in your array of boxes, you dressed yourself in a black hoodie and leggings, readying yourself to take on the two brothers of your revered lover.

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