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xiaosmoon · 3 years

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hi!! I'm OBSESSED with the way you write, so if you could indulge me a little? :D diluc + kaeya + zhongli with an s/o who has to seduce an enemy to get important info—though they try their best to stay put, worry/jealousy gets the best of them, and they arrive at the scene just in the nick of time...

hopefully this doesn't overstep any of your blog rules :< tysm!!

seducing an enemy

parings: diluc, kaeya, & zhongli x gn!reader (afab for zhongli)

summary: you get sent on an important mission to try to get information out of an enemy by seducing them, but worry/jealousy gets the best of them and they arrive just in time

warnings/content: seduction, angsty but with comfort, suggestive if you squint

a/n: ahhh thank you so much!!! i hope this did your request justice :)

-> diluc

you really shouldn't be running this late. diluc was pacing back and fourth in main room of the winery. the maids tried to get him to calm down, but he just couldn't sit still. not when you were out on a mission at the risk of being hurt.

and on top of that, seducing someone. just the mere thought of it was enough to send diluc into a frenzy. of course he trusts you. he really does, but you were doing this to a dangerous enemy. the risk of it all was just too much not to stress over.

"i'm going out for a walk. please, do not wait up for me." was all diluc announced to his maids before grabbing his coat and running off.

it was a very cold night, and diluc suddenly remembers that pretty little lace you were wearing.

"it's all apart of the technique, diluc. i can't seduce a person if i'm covering every inch of my body."

obviously you were right, but diluc still wishes you weren't cozying up to a scumbag wearing little to nothing.

diluc hadn't realized how fast he had been walking because he was already at the destination. with claymore in hand, he wasted no time busting open the door. he found you with a knife to your neck, trying to pry the man off of you. your vision was tossed to the side, so you were utterly helpless.

all diluc could see was burning red. he didn't even get a good look at the guy holding you; he let his body do the talking and swung his claymore, not actually hitting the guy but causing him to lose balance and drop the knife.

while diluc was keeping him away, you drop down grabbing the fallen knife and stab the enemy's leg. before diluc could chop the guy in half with his fired up claymore, you quickly push him back with the rest of the strength you could muster.

"diluc, he's down! it's alright now!" diluc was breathing heavily, his eyes fixated on the person screaming in pain. once he feels your body hugging his, his demeanor quickly changes.

diluc drops his claymore and returns your embrace back, kissing the top of your head. "are you alright? are you hurt?" he pulls you off of him, holding your shoulders to examine your body for any injuries.

you put your hand on top of one of his and give him a soft smile. "i'm okay, i promise." you turn around to look at the man behind you on the floor. "he, however, isn't. i'll have to bring him to the knights for further interrogation."

you go and grab your vision before cuffing the man's hands. "y-you're crazy! i'm going to die because of you!" he nearly spat in your face.

diluc was quick to act, grabbing him by the collar and yanking the guy dangerously close to him. "call them crazy again and that claymore you saw earlier will definitely kill you." if diluc's claymore won't kill him, the fight he felt definitely would.

after diluc accompanied you to take him to the knights, (he wouldn't stop talking about how incapable they were on the walk there. "this never would've happened to you if they knew how to do their job." some things will never change.) he sat you down on a nearby bench and once again examined you thoroughly, even though you told him you were fine for the nth time.

he carefully draped his coat over your shoulders. "i'm just so glad you're alright. good thing i came when i did." he would say. for the rest of the night, he held you tight and gave you many, many kisses while telling you that you're never doing something like that again. not because he was jealous or anything, of course not

-> kaeya

kaeya knows you're an amazing and capable knight. you have amazing combat skills and are perfect at undercover missions. perfect person for the job.

so why was he so stressed?

imagining you throwing yourself all over that enemy in the short and tight dress you were wearing was eating at his mind. you had looked absolutely tempting in that getup that kaeya couldn't keep his hands to himself.

"oh? all this for me darling?" kaeya had walked up behind you and allowed his hands to run down your sides as you added earrings to your final look.

he kissed your neck, and before he could continue, you turned around placing a kiss on his lips. "this isn't for you, love. i have a mission..."

the wine glass that was resting in kaeya's hand had now been shattered to little pieces, littered all over the floor of angels share. he had came here to help keep his mind off of you, but it wasn't helping. at all.

kaeya quickly slammed mora down at the bar, scaring charles before heading off to you. he knew he could be potentially ruining your mission, and jean would have his head for it, but at this point in time he really could care less. you were more important to him than his job.

if only the grand master hadn't taken all of the horses with him, maybe kaeya would've gotten there faster. damn him.

as fast as his feet could carry him, he arrived at the goth grand hotel (did you really need a horse kaeya?) he pushed the fatui agent at the doorway trying to stop him and barged straight to the front desk.

"if you don't tell me what room y/n is staying in right now, i swear i will freeze hell over this place." the poor frightened desk lady handed kaeya the hotel key without protest. he swiped it from her and marched off.

"a42... a42... come on where are you?" kaeya walked down 2 hallways until he finally found it.

not even bothering to use the key, kaeya froze the knob before kicking the door open. much to his dismay, you were pinned down to the bed with the enemy right on top, ready to weald his weapon.

kaeya wasted no time to act. he shoved the guy off of you and drew his sword, keeping it pointed nicely at his neck so he couldn't move.

you jumped off the bed to retrieve your own. "i was handling it you know."

"if by handling you mean almost getting yourself killed, i would say you did a fine job." kaeya's voice was still seductive even when he was mad. maybe he should've gone on this mission instead.

you quickly cuff the fatui agent before kicking him out of the room, leaving him for the knights to deal with. "i'll get revenge for this! my superior, he won't like this. he'll deal with you!"

you sigh as the two knights grab him. "yeah, yeah, i've heard it all before. the day your superior comes for me is the day you'll see hellfire." was the last snarky comment you made before closing the door behind you, leaving only you and kaeya in the room.

"there were other knights here?" kaeya asked, approaching you. "only two. master jean planted them just in case."

kaeya pulled you to him for a very tight hug without warning. he buried his face into your neck and wrapped one arm around your shoulders while the other holding your waist. he kissed your neck, and then your jaw, cheek, forehead, your lips, ear, and finally whispered, "you're never doing this again."

you pull his face back so his eyes can meet yours and you cup your palm around his jaw. you tilt your head to the side and raise a brow. "why? because you were scared for me or because you were jealous?"

there are very few things that make kaeya aleberich blush. but him being called out by you is definitely one of them. "jealous? no, of course not. i was worried for you, love." he pulled back from you a bit and you became a laughing fit.

"hey, i was! you cant prove otherwise." he mumbled the last part and crossed his arms like an angry toddler.

you wiped a fake tear from your eyes and composed yourself. how cute, you thought to yourself. "but you did know i had it, right?" you asked.

kaeya looked back over to you, arms still crossed. "yes, i did dear. you're more than capable of holding your own. but what kind of boyfriend would i be if i wasn't to worry, hmm?" he walked back to you and brushed away any hair that was out of place.

"but," his teasing voice was back. "we do have this very nice hotel room to ourselves now. how about we make the most of it and-"

cue you throwing a pillow at him

-> zhongli

he understood your line of work. he understood how dangerous it could be. but what you had told zhongli earlier that night still wandered at the back of his mind.

you were dressed beautifully in black. the outfit hugged your body in just the right places and zhongli thought you looked absolutely ravishing.

"going somewhere dear?" his eyes were drinking you up. you smile and plant a kiss on his cheek. "it's for the mission i told you about."

the mission sounded dangerous indeed. he had no doubt in your strength but this, this just seemed too much, even for you.

the man you were seducing is known to be very dangerous and zhongli's subconscious couldn't rest at that. mortals were quite fragile after all.

"mr.zhongli? did you hear me?" hu tao waved her hand in front of his face. he snapped out of his daydreams about you and redirected his attention to the young funeral director.

"apologizes miss hu tao, could i possibly take the rest of the night off?" zhongli felt terrible for asking this of her but he just had to go to you.

hu tao granted him his wish, believing that he was feeling ill. at first, zhongli was debating if he really should come to you. it really is their mission, i'm sure they can handle themself.

he was afraid his interference would mess with your mission, but ultimately his concern for you overpowered that thought.

he reached the location in no time. it was a small beach house right on yaoguang shoal. and right outside, 2 guards were posted.

such an important and powerful man obviously has security, zhongli thought to himself. zhongli closed his eyes. he tried to listen for the sound your voice; a sound he had learned to memorize. and he found it. your voice was muffled was full of distress. that was enough for zhongli to approach the guards, ready to break open the door.

"hey," one of the guards stuck his arm out blocking the door. "you can't be here. so lea-" before the guard could get out another word, zhongli send geo shards flying towards both of them, knocking them to the ground unconscious.

he sent a geo spear straight through the door, stabbing the enemy's arm on the other side and pinning him to the wall. you were limp on the floor, but the sight of the geo spear put you to ease. your dress was torn leaving you a bit exposed and you had broken your ankle while fighting the man, but the pain seemed to go away as soon as you saw zhongli walk in.

zhongli sent a few more geo shards to secure the guy on the wall before rushing over to you. "dear, are you alright?" he said squatting down beside you. zhongli took of his coat and draped it over your exposed body. he placed his hand gently on your shoulder, afraid to hurt you.

you smile in relief, raising a hand his arm. "i'm alright, just a broken ankle. could you help me get him to the milieth? they should be here in 10 minutes. i've gotten all the information i need."

"you, this- this isn't over! i'll come back for you. i swear it." the man slurred. your eyes widened at his arm. there was a lot blood was oozing from his wound.

"zhongli, he can't die." zhongli looked at you in confusion. "but he broke your ankle. he can perish."

laughing right now would be very inappropriate, so you had to retain yourself. "i know but the milieth still need him. very alive."

zhongli obeyed your wish and yanked the man off of the wall harshly. "i won't heal him, but he can be taken to bubu pharmacy." zhongli took the spear out and tied his arm tightly with a random cloth he found on the floor. he tossed the man outside for the milieth and rushed back to you. he helped you sit up and you rested your body against his chest.

"thank you, for coming. although i could've handled it myself you know." you look up at him and smile. he lets out a sigh and kissed your lips. "i know dear. but um-" his coat was slipping down your body, revealing a good amount of your cleavage. he turned his head away, blushing a bit. "you should wear my coat." you giggle at his words but put on his coat properly.

zhongli rests you against the wall and scoots to where your feet. he tears some of his shirt to wrap your ankle in. "this will hold it until we get you medical attention." without warning, he picks you up in bridal style. you quickly wrap your arms around his neck so you don't fall.

"w-what are you doing?" you ask, it came out more as a squeak. "the milieth are here," zhongli responds walking outside. "they can take care of that man. we need to get you back to liyue."

yes, he really did carry you all the way to liyue.

#kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x you #diluc x you #zhongli x you #zhongli fanfic #diluc fanfic #kaeya fanfic #kaeya #zhongli #diluc #kaeya x y/n #diluc x y/n #zhongli x y/n

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laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years

Text

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

#Charles Perrault #François-Timoléon De Choisy #genderqueer folktales #trans representation #laura retells #except not really it's more like laura copy pastes this time

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jadoue1999 · 3 years

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The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 2

Summary: Erik finds out he has a son. But life doesn't like seeing him happy, so it made sure he was already missing when he learned about his existence.

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8,

Chapter 2: Erik and his rotten luck with family

It had been a week since the 70s episode had aired and no new episodes had shown up since. That left plenty of time for thinking and pondering on what was this WandaVision show. After many theories, they had conceded to Hank’s idea. It definitely seemed like a glimpse into a parallel universe. The mystery of Peter’s implication still lingered in the air. Charles wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answer. This all-powerful woman with the same surname as the speedster could have decided to do anything with him. He had yet to show up anywhere; they had combed the background for signs of him, but they had found nothing. The team went as far as to call it a misleading clue, but he didn’t let himself believe that. It was too strange to simply be a coincidence. The telepath was in his office one night when Raven entered.

“Is this a good time?” Wondered the shapeshifter. The professor nodded his head yes and she closed the door behind her before taking a seat. While he didn’t look into her head, he could sense her determination and hesitation about what she was about to tell him. Finally, she took a breath, “we need to tell Erik. About Peter.”

Erik. How could he have forgotten?

He was the boy’s father after all, even if he didn’t know it yet. Raven had told him as she filled him in with what had happened when they were fighting Apocalypse. She had mentioned Peter’s confession and how close he came to tell his father the truth. He had kept silent since, deciding that no one was in the right to inform the metal bender other than his own son. But now Peter was missing, they had to get him back. Erik needed to know.

Charles agreed with her and they were off to Erik’s room. The man was reading a book in front of the fireplace, seemingly enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. He turned to them as they opened the door.

“Charles. Raven.” He greeted them as he closed his reading. “What’s going on?”

The professor wheeled himself forward to his friend, he knew he had to break it to him gently. “It’s Peter,” he started. The man looked at him, his thoughts echoing his confusion as to why he was bringing up the speedster. “He’s missing. Has been for about two weeks, but I wanted to make sure before telling you.”

“Okay,” Erik replied after a few seconds of silence, “have you found anything?”

He could feel Raven’s frustration growing as the metal bender barely showed any concern. Charles didn’t blame him; the man had only seen Peter for an hour at most in the last ten years. He felt the same level of concern to the boy as he would with any other students at the school.

“We have found something, we’re not sure what it is, but it’s definitely linked to his disappearance.” He paused, trying to see if Erik was starting to understand. He continued when he found no reason to believe so. “Do you remember when he broke you out of prison?” The man nodded. “And when he came back to help fight Apocalypse and was injured in the process?” Another nod, more hesitant this time. Erik clearly didn’t get where he was going with this. “What I’m trying to say is that he’s a very special person, I hadn’t seen his type of power before meeting him and Hank found him fascinating as well. Can you believe he agreed to break you out just for the challenge? Quite extraordinary if I say so myself. But my point is, Peter’s-“

“He’s your son, you moron!” Snapped Raven, earning herself an offended glance from Charles. “What? You clearly weren’t going to tell him with all that rambling.”

The pair looked at Erik, awaiting a reaction. Had they not been aware of the situation, they easily could have believed that he was doing an aneurism. The man didn’t speak, but the metal in the room started shaking. Raven called out to Erik to try to calm him down, but her voice fell on deaf ears. Only when Charles shouted at him to stop that the man gradually calmed down.

“I... I have a son?” He seemed beyond shocked as he finally acknowledged the truth. Charles nodded yes and met Erik’s gaze as the man spoke once again. “What did you gather about his disappearance?”

“Don’t you need a moment to collect yourself and take in the situation?” Wondered the telepath. The man’s thoughts were all over the place, filled with shock and worry. It was obvious he needed some time alone. “Erik, please take some time, join us when you’ll be ready.”

The man didn’t protest as Charles and Raven exited the room. They closed the door and met up with the team, informing them about the situation.

...

Erik, in all his life, had never considered himself lucky. He had lost his family in Auschwitz and was then used as a lab rat by Shaw. Once the evil man had been taken care of, many years later, he had then accidentally paralyzed Charles, one of his few friends. Then he was wrongly accused of killing the president and imprisoned for nearly a decade until he was freed. By his son. But of course, he didn’t know, because life was just like that with him, and he had gone on a quest to show the world the true power of mutant kind. That, of course, ended horribly; so, he went into hiding. He had built a family, a happy one even. He truly had hope for a better future, but life loved to prove him wrong. Madga and Nina had died, and he had been chosen to be a horseman for a god. He had, in his grief, accepted and it led to Peter having his leg broken. He felt sick to his stomach as he recalled the panicked look on the young man’s face, his eyes pleading him to do something. He didn’t know, why hadn’t he known? The boy had almost died, and he did absolutely nothing.

How could he even consider himself his father when he had already failed him so much?

Still, he might not even get a real chance to properly know him now that his son had gone missing. Erik definitely wasn’t a lucky person.

He looked at the fireplace that had previously given him comfort and suddenly felt like the heat was choking him. He paced quickly through the mansion; the corridors were empty due to the late hour. After getting outside, he decided to walk around the lake. The little waves created by the soft breeze always helped grounding him. His Nina always loved the water. They had installed a bird bath because she had requested that the surrounding animals should always have something to drink when they came to visit her. He wore a small smile on his lips as he sat on the grass in front of the lake and sighed.

“Hello, my darling,” he told the water. “It’s already been a year since you and your mother left. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.” A curious bird landed next to him, looking at the man with puzzlement. Erik smiled, perhaps Nina lived on in all the creatures she loved so much. He held out a hand to the small animal, not really expecting anything. Surprisingly, it flew towards him and landed on his finger. Erik felt his heart grow warm as the bird let him pet his back. The soft feathers felt so similar to his daughter’s hair. “You might not believe it, but I just discovered that you have a half brother. He’s older than you, but I’m sure you would have gotten along well.” The bird chirped at his words. He stopped stroking it, “but I’m afraid he’s gone for now. What do you think we should do?” The bird looked at him with its small eyes and stretched its wings, taking off in the sky to regions unknown. Erik dared a hopeful smile as he watched it fly away. He looked at the sky, contemplating the stars before getting up. “Don’t worry Peter,” he told the wind, “we’ll find you.”

...

The moment he had gone back in the mansion, he was intercepted by Charles who called him to his office. The wheelchair bound man had a few files open on his desk. He motioned Erik forward as he spotted his friend.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, I take it you want to know what we’ve gathered so far?”

Erik nodded, of course he did. Charles took the files with him and led them out. They entered the room containing Cerebro, he was about to ask him their reason for being there, but he was interrupted by his friend.

“Before we start, I want you to keep an open mind. We don’t know what exactly is going on.”

Erik frowned but agreed to the conditions, nonetheless. The bald man pressed a few commands on the board and the screens lit up.

Whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t this. He had expected government videos showing his son dragged out of a car, him being taken or even tortured. He certainly hadn’t expected to see a sitcom that somehow changed decades every episode. It seemed completely irrelevant, but the few cuts and creepy details kept him from dismissing the whole thing as a joke. The third episode was particularly strange. Fear creeped into his veins as the woman menacingly approached her friend. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the cut that showed nothing or the possibilities of what could’ve have happened to the poor woman.

When everything was done, he turned to the telepath. “What does this mean Charles?”

The man sighed, putting a finger to his head for a second before looking at him again. “I’ve called the others; they’ll be here soon.” He turned to the screen that showed the rolling credits. “From what we’ve gathered, this is a parallel universe. The woman, Wanda, seems to either control this world or is trapped there as well.”

“But what does this have to do with my son? As far as I’m aware, he’s never met this woman.” Their discussion was interrupted by Jean, Scott, Kurt, Ororo, Hank and Raven coming in. They had probably been woken up by the telepath’s call, judging by their yawns and sleepy eyes. After a few seconds of questioning from the tired young adults, Charles motioned them forward and opened one of the files he had with him.

“This is Peter’s file, I hadn’t really thought about reading it, since he’s past high school age, but Wanda’s comment made me curious.” He pointed to his personal information, it contained his name, address, and schools he had previously attended. Nothing seemed amiss. “I did some digging and it turns out that ‘Peter’ isn’t his real name. It was changed when he was very young.” He flipped the page, showing a government document authorizing the name change. The team looked at themselves in shock as they read ‘Pietro Maximoff’.

“So, what does it mean?” Chimed in Hank. “Sure, he has the same name as the woman’s dead brother, but there’s no way they’ve ever met.”

Charles scoffed in amusement, “yes, you’re right. But I searched through various archives to find more about him, and I came across this.” He pulled out an old newspaper clipping. It read: mysterious death of a teen leaves the police baffled.

The article had one picture, it showed a teenage girl smiling, like any other child her age. Erik looked at Charles, demanding confirmation about his suspicions. The telepath nodded, “this is a picture of Wendy Maximoff, Peter’s twin.”

The group was silent for awhile when Jean suddenly gasped. “Oh my god,” she covered her mouth in horror. “I once asked Peter why he didn’t like celebrating birthdays and he told me how he used to have two cakes but only had one now.” She looked towards Scott and Kurt. “I- I assumed he was being greedy, but the loss of his twin could explain it!”

Erik didn’t listen to the group’s reaction; he was too busy processing the information he had just learned. How could he miss so much of his son’s life? He should have been there to help him and make sure that he would be alright. Instead, he was too focused on getting revenge and he had missed nearly thirty years of Peter’s life. And with his disappearance, it unfortunately was very possible that he’d miss more. Everyone’s rambling was interrupted by Cerebro lighting up again. Erik watched nervously as the front of a house appeared. The woman and her husband were trying to get their babies to sleep, something they were apparently not keen on. They continued trying, Wanda even tried to use her magic on them, but, surprisingly, it didn’t work. Their neighbor came in, saying how she had heard them and could help. Then it became strange as Vision suddenly suggested that she shouldn’t help. Agnes looked at Wanda for instructions, asking if she wanted to restart the scene. Erik didn’t have to look around to know that everyone here was confused. Wanda brushed it off, to the confusion of her husband. All of a sudden, the crying stopped; the twins were asleep. Except they weren’t in their cribs. A slight panic settled in Erik’s stomach; the loss of a child seemed too dark for a show like this... right? Strangely enough, the twins weren’t missing, they had aged up to five. The screen cut to the theme song.

“Are the children mutants?” Asked Raven, uncertain about the change of event.

Charles has a pensive look to his face, “I’m afraid I cannot say, for now.”

The episode continued, with the twins adopting a dog. Curiously, Wanda seemed tired of hiding her powers, going as far as using it in front of their neighbor. The most peculiar thing happened when the two parents settled that the twins were too young to keep their dog. They suddenly aged up again, now ten years old. Erik had to give it to Charles, this show definitely wasn’t just a coincidence. Were they looking at a new concept for a mutant prison? It certainly seemed like it.

The scene changed to show the husband’s workplace, they were installing computers and people around him were trying to figure out how to make it work. After some corny jokes, an email showed up and the whole room read it together. The X-Men watched Vision wake up his co-worker who seemed to panic about contacting his father.

“That’s mind control,” gasped Jean, “I know that panic, it’s horrible.”

The man screamed about a woman in his head, probably Wanda, and became more and more agitated. Vision zapped him again and, like a switch, he was back to Norm, the friendly co-worker. The group watched in stunned silence as it cut to Wanda and her children. Billy was training the dog and seemed pretty good at it. The twins excitedly got up, wanting to show their father but Wanda told them he was at work. The conversation then turned into a classic “family is forever” speech; telling them how they’ll always have each other, no matter what.

“Do you have a brother, mom?” Asked of the boys.

She looked off in the distance, obviously wondering how to explain her brother’s situation. “I do,” she said, “he’s far away from here and that makes me... sad sometimes.”

Erik didn’t have time to dwell on the possible meanings of her words as the dog suddenly ran out of the door. The twins and Wanda ran out, chasing it. They lost sight of it. Suddenly, the redhead looked up at the sky in anger and told the boys to continue look for Sparky without her. The scene continued with the boys walking alone.

“What do you think she meant by far away?” Asked the boy in green, Tommy, if he remembered well.

His brother shook his head, “I don’t know, but how cool would it be to meet our uncle?”

The boys giggled and continued calling for their dog. Seeing how the episode was significantly darker than the other ones, Erik didn’t have much hope for the poor animal. Turns out he was right; it had eaten a poisonous plant and the boys were heartbroken. After some strange comments about bringing back the dead, they were back at the house. There was tension between Wanda and Vision. He told her about what happened at his work, accusing her of being the cause.

“You can’t control me the way you do them.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, clearly challenged by her husband’s words. “Can’t I?”

There were scoffs of surprise in the room as the credits suddenly rolled. The android didn’t let that stop him as he pointed out the problems with the world, they lived in. He went on to say that he had no memories of his life before the show. That was puzzling, did this place erase people’s memories to guarantee their good behavior? Vision then pointed out the lack of children, something Erik hadn’t noticed but was unmistakable once you realized it. Wanda sat on the couch, trying to explain why she wasn’t controlling anyone. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“I swear, if Agnes comes in at that moment, I’m going to lose it,” whined Scott.

“I don’t know,” replied Ororo, “usually she just lets herself in.”

The doorbell rang a second time and Vision watched Wanda with accusations in his eyes as she walked to the door. She opened it and was immediately shocked at whoever was at the door. The android asked his wife for the identity of the guest with suspicion. The camera slowly panned over to the person, only showing to back of their head.

Showing his silver hair

The suspense didn’t last much longer, the camera showing that it was indeed the missing speedster. Quiet gasps were heard as Peter walked towards the woman.

“Long-lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin' sister to death or what?” His voice echoed on the walls of the room.

“Pietro?” He nodded his head and the two shared a hug. It lasted a few seconds and Peter pointed to Vision as he walked in.

“Who’s the popsicle?”

The audience laughed at his joke and the screen faded to black, leaving the team stunned as the credits rolled.

“We have to go get him,” said Raven. “I don’t think he’s safe with her.”

Hank nodded, “I think I can find a way,” he pointed to Jean, “I think you could open a gateway to wherever Peter is. I’ve adjusted the machine to focus on the frequency. If you really concentrate, I’m sure it’ll work.”

“Alright, Raven, Erik and I will go,” decided Charles.

Kurt stepped in, “you might need a quick way out, I can help.” He shook his head as Raven and Charles were about to protest. “I’m the one that noticed he was gone; I want to be there when we bring him back.”

The professor agreed and told them to go pack whatever they’d need and to be back as soon as possible.

***

Jean put on the helmet and closed her eyes in concentration. She held out a hand to better focus her power. Nothing much happened, but she frowned her brows with renewed efforts. Flickers of orange light made itself known, slowly gathering together to form a small circle. She grunted in efforts and the portal grew bigger. She opened her eyes which were now glowing a fiery orange and she let out a screech. The gateway was now big enough for them to go through. They quickly said their goodbyes, Charles leaving Hank in charge for the time he was gone. The four shared a look and took a determined step forward. Passing through another dimension definitely felt strange. Nothing seemed solid as they were suddenly free falling.

They landed on the grass. Erik quickly helped Charles back into his wheelchair and took a look around. There was a military base with soldiers that stared at them with dumbfounded faces. He could hear an alarm, probably trigged when they came in. An older man that seemed to be an authority figure started shouting at them, but Erik didn’t hear him. All he could see was the sign that indicated that Westview was in front of them; and the force field surrounding it.

***

Notes: I have to say, Erik talking to Nina is probably my favourite part of this chapter. I've also made up a scene of the boys talking together based on the image of them walking alone that was in the SWORD base in WandaVision. Next up: The x-men meet Hayward (Erik doesn't like him) and learn about who Wanda Maximoff is.

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fulokis · 4 years

Text

Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 2

Wanda furrowed her brow at her brother, "This is Vision, my husband. I swear you two have met before."

Peter processed what to say, "It's all a blur, honestly probably a side effect of being dead. Hey is that a Nintendo Entertainment system?"

"You and your games." Wanda said letting the subject of her brothers death go for the moment.

"You and your sitcoms." Peter shot back from inside the fridge. Grabbing a Capri Sun he speed over to the pantry and grabbed a chocodile, before heading back to the entry way to examine Vision.

"You never told me your brother had powers too." Vision said uncomfortably stepping to the side after Peter poked his face. "Or that he had died."

"Yes well..." Wanda said trying to figure out what to say.

"It runs in the family." Peter offered up still examining Vision.

"What no it doesn't." Wanda said furrowing her brow "Since when has it run in the family?"

"I believe what your brother is trying to say Wanda, is that it has something to do with genetics, rather than chance."

"Bingo!" Peter said.

"Shhhh." Wanda scolded, "If you wake up the kids I swear I will kill you."

"Kids?" Peter asked "First I'm an Uncle?! And second you had kids with the toaster over here?"

Vision frowned and Wanda shook her head, "Just try to be quiet okay?"

Peter chuckled, "You say that as if I'm not capable of being quiet."

"Vis can I talk to you for a minute?" Wanda asked half dragging the sinth into the kitchen.

"Are you okay Wanda?"

"Yeah yeah I'm fine why wouldn't I be?"

"Wanda you said I had met your brother, and that your brother had died. Neither of which I was aware of until now."

"Ohh I see. Yeah you two have met, it was quick. Literally he just ran past you. And about the whole death thing don't listen to him he's being dramatic."

"Wanda I find generally that people aren't dramatic about death." Vision said with visible confusion.

"He..." Wanda started, "We were six, and at school and well he choked on a potato because he was eating too fast. He was quiet at school I'm not sure why, but um the teacher wouldn't listen to me until he passed out. And the teacher went over to check on him... and his heart had stoped. The teacher started to try and revive him, and I don't know why but I went over to him and held his hand through it. He's fine but it left both of us shaken up."

"Oh I see." Vision said "Wanda do humans often claim premature death when they have no pulse?"

"Sometimes yes." Wanda said. "Look Pietro is probably going to need to sleep on the couch, he lives pretty far from here."

"Don't worry darling your family is my family." Vision said embracing Wanda and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"You know this house reminds me of home!" Peter shouted from the living room.

Wanda sighed looking up at Vision. "I suppose I should go talk to him."

Vision smiled "Ill leave you two to catch up." He said before moving out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Wanda walked over to the living room and sat down in the chair next to the couch. "So..."

Peter smiled "Do you still have that little thing mom gave you? The one with the other half that she game to me?"

Wanda smiled and laughed slightly, "Yeah I do. I'm assuming you lost yours?"

"Nah, it's in a safe place." Peter said. "At least I think, honestly don't remember exactly where I put it."

"Of course you don't. Although I'm sure you remember where you put moms special rock."

"In the cookie jar." Peter said smiling at the idea "No robber was ever going to look in that ugly old thing."

"Ugly? Dad would kill you if he ever heard you say that." Peter froze for a second, he knew he had something important to tell someone or say or something. Something about his father. "Pietro?"

"Sorry I guess I just haven't thought about them in a while." Peter said watching as Wanda got up.

"I'll make some hot chocolate." She said humming to herself a familiar tune.

"Thanks." Peter said standing up and walking into the kitchen to throw away his trash. "It's nice here. This town, your home, your family."

"Yeah I lucked out." Wanda said staring into the microwave.

"Yeah you did. I'm actually a little surprised."

"How so?"

"Well you settled down, you have a family. You don't have to worry about the world. You always wanted it, but I knew that you were terrified you wouldn't get it."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No." Peter shook his head "No not at all. I think mom and dad would both be proud of you. They would've loved to meet your kids."

"Pietro you haven't even met my kids."

"Aw come on sis, you worried I won't like them?"

"No I'm worried they won't like you. There's a difference."

"Eh they'll like their old uncle P." Peter said and Wanda laughed. "But I'm being serious mom and dad would've loved them."

"Here." Wanda said handing Peter the hot chocolate mug to him.

Peter took a sip "You added a bit of cinnamon."

"Yeah just the way mom liked it." Wanda said, "Of course I'm not good with a stove in the way she was."

"It still tastes good." Peter said taking another sip, "So Uh how did you and toaster meet?"

"You really don't remember?" Wanda asked.

"Like I said it's a blur, although it's probably for the best."

"Yeah... for the best." Wanda said.

"I know that look." Peter said. "You're going to go watch a sitcom aren't you?"

"Maybe." Wanda replied setting the mug of hot chocolate she had made for herself on a coaster in the living room.

Peter followed her out to the living room walking over to the bookshelf in the corner. On the bookshelf sat a lonely chess piece. Peter picked up the black queen, running a finger along the piece. He stopped, he could remember something about the piece in his hand.

"She's lucky you know." Wanda said.

"What?" Peter asked sure for a second he heard a mans voice saying the words.

"She's lucky." Wanda said walking over, "Dad tried to teach you but you never had the patience."

"How is she lucky?" Peter asked.

"She's like us, unusual. We have powers like she does, and yet she's still not the most powerful piece on the board. She's always treated like she's second best, so she's lucky for anyone who is like her." Wanda explained.

Peter took a sharp breath, a memory came back to him almost as if he was reliving it. Through the fog in his mind he could remember. Him lounging on a couch Ororo sitting curled up in the sun on the other side of the couch reading a book. On an adjacent couch Jean was leaning on Scott having a hushed conversation with him. Jubilee and Kurt were sitting on the floor looking at a game of Life spread at their feet.

Peter had headphones in, but he didn't have any music playing. He knew that everyone else just figured he did and they let him be to take his 'nap'.

"Check." Charles said.

"Check mate." Erik replied placing a piece down.

"No it's not." Charles replied.

"Yes it is."

Charles sat and examined the board for a second "Fine you win this one my friend."

"You seem distracted today Charles."

"Distracted me? Never."

"Gah!" Kurt yelled in surprise accidentally teleporting into the table the two older mutants were using for their chess game. Peter startled at the loud noise and looked down to see a chess piece roll towards the couch. "Sorry Professor."

"Not to worry Kurt, we were done anyway." Charles said, "What startled you?"

Kurt started to explain to the professor what had happened. Peter tuned out the conversation sitting up and stretching. He bent down and picked up the piece that had rolled near the couch.

"She's lucky you know." Erik said watching the young mutant as he got up from the couch.

Peter nearly froze, he couldn't believe that Erik was talking to him. "What do you mean?"

"She's like us, powerful but always treated beneath those who have not evolved to a higher purpose. Always serving in the shadows of the less evolved."

Peter looked at the man slightly confused, "Has she brought you any luck?"

"A couple times yes." Erik replied, "She brought me family when I needed it."

"Oh." Peter replied, "Uh here." He said reaching out to give it to the man.

"Keep it." Erik said, nodding to Peters leg "You look like you could use a little luck."

"Heh luck, I don't need it." Peter said, "After all I did break you out of the pentagon without it. The legs just a little fluke that's all."

"Peter that's not something you need to boast about." Charles said handing Erik a a couple of renegade chess pieces.

Erik took the pieces from Charles and put them back with his set. Peter attempted to give the queen back to Erik. "Keep it, Ill get it back from you the next time I visit."

"Next Tuesday then?" Charles asked.

"Next Tuesday." Erik confirmed walking out of the room.

Peter waited until the man was out of earshot, "Why wouldn't he take it?" Peter asked Charles.

"Erik is a mystery that few can solve Peter."

"Haven't you professor?" Peter asked.

"Oh believe me I've tried." Charles said. "Best not to worry about it."

Peter looked down at the chess piece in his hand, he knew he was going to keep it close for the weekend. He had to keep it safe, if not for him but his father.

"Pietro?" Peter heard through his thoughts.

"What?" He asked still holding the chess piece.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asked touching his shoulder.

"Yeah, I just miss them ya know." Peter said mulling over the memory that he just seemingly formed.

Wanda nodded and gave him a hug. Peter went to place the queen back on the shelf but Wanda stopped him closing his hand around it. "Keep it, you could use some luck."

Peter wanted to protest but Wanda had already wandered off heading up the stairs. Peter walked over and sat down on the couch turning the piece over in his hands. Something wasn't right, or at least something didn't feel right. Peter sighed knowing he would have to mull over his thoughts later. Setting both his mug and the queen on the table he lie down on the couch and closed his eyes attempting to get some sleep.

The dreams he had were unsettling. He'd dreamt many times of death and dying, and yet these felt too real. Peter felt the pain, pain that shouldn't have been there. He'd been shot, he knew that in fact he was sure of that. And yet in his dream he nearly had his skull crushed while something pulled him towards the ground. What was even more unsettling was the man from his memory seemed to be the one trying to kill him.

Peter startled awake the last image of a man with a helmet, staring directly at him. He looked around the room to get his bearings. Wanda's husband sat in the chair next to the couch, reading the mornings newspaper. Peter turned his head slightly to read the headline on the paper.

"Restless night?" Vision asked.

"What?" Peter asked, "Oh yeah. Nightmares. Come to think of it do you get them?"

"Nightmares?" Vision pondered, "No I don't think so. Although I do get some unsavory images occasionally during my rest period."

Peter sat up, "Must be simple to be a machine. No reason to have fake memories."

"My memory has fallacies, although much less so than a human." Vision said paying much more attention to his newspaper than Peter.

"Mutant." Peter mumbled under his breath out of habit.

"What was that?" Vision asked.

"What? Nothing. I didn't say anything. It's you. You must be hearing things."

"I process audio input." Vision corrected looking up from his paper at the ten year old coming down the stairs. "Billy! Come say hello to your uncle Pietro."

Peter looked at the kid, "Uncle P is fine."

Billy walked down the stairs slowly and came to sit on the opposite side of the couch closer to his father, clutching closer to the blanket he'd wrapped around himself. "He takes after Wanda."

Peter smiled and nodded at Vision, "Hey."

"Mom said you were very far away." Billy said.

"Peter smiled mischievously, "She wasn't wrong about me being far away, I mean I do live pretty far away..."

"Woah your hair is cool!" A kid shouted running down the stairs.

"Hey, Tommy what have we told you about running in the house?" Vision reprimanded.

The boy ignored his father and jumped on the couch right next to Peter "Can I touch it?"

Peter made a weird face, "I guess." He replied.

"Aww I thought it would feel cool too." Tommy said, "Who are you? Why are you here? Are you a secret agent?"

"That's Uncle P Tommy." Billy said.

"Woah!" Tommy yelled.

"Tommy what have we told you about yelling!" Wanda said coming down the stairs.

"But mom..."

"Listen to your mother kid." Peter said.

"See your Uncle knows what he's talking about."

"Do you listen to her Uncle P?" Billy asked.

Peter smiled and got up and sped towards Wanda, letting her stop him with her magic much to her resignation. "Nope." Peter said with a grin watching as the kids faces lit up with surprise. Wanda gave him a playful slap on the shoulder at his response, "But you should listen to her, she gives some good advice."

"That's better." Wanda said as the phone rang. Wanda sighed and picked it up, "Hello?... oh no...hold on... vis can you handle it?" Wanda asked nodding at the fact that Tommy had stolen his brothers blanket and started using it as a cape. "... what were you saying?... is there anything I can do?... are you sure?... okay feel better."

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Vis Hon, Agnes can't babysit for us, she's come down with the flu."

"Rats, if only there were someone we could get to watch the kids." Vision said winking towards Peter.

"No, I am not letting..." Wanda started.

"Awwww." Billy said, "But mom I want to hang out with Uncle P."

"Please!?" Tommy asked.

Wanda frowned, "Oh I don't know. Vision what do you think?"

"I think that's an excellent idea. The kids get to hang out with their Uncle, you and I get to spend some time to ourselves. And Agnes doesn't have to worry too much about the kids. It's a Win-Win-Win situation dear."

"I'm still not sure." Wanda said.

"Don't sweat it Sis, nothing I can't handle." Peter said showing off his muddles for the twins.

"Please mom please??" Both boys pleaded.

Wanda sighed "Alright fine, but only because I'm outvoted."

"Yay!" Both twins shouted.

"But and this is a big but, you have to behave yourselves." Wanda said, "No T.V. After 9 and no desert after dinner you hear me?"

"Yes of course we hear you mom." Billy said, "Can we watch T.V. Until you go?"

"Yes you may." Wanda said, "Pietro can I talk to you?"

"Yeah." Peter said following his sister into the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Wanda asked watching as Vision helped the boys with the T.V.

Peter snorted, "Oh come on sis, how bad can they really be? Cause I've died and come back, not much can be worse."

"Pietro that's what I'm worried about. You sure you don't want to rest, or take it easy?"

Peter placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder "My dear sister I've never once in my life taken it easy, and there's no way in my afterlife life I'm going to take it easy either."

Wanda smiled and shook her head, "You're still awful at jokes."

"Aw come on you know I'm better at practical jokes." Peter said pulling his sister into a hug. "But my point is I'll be fine and your kids will be fine, I won't let anything happen to them I promise."

"Thank you." Wanda said, "I'll do the same for you if you ever have kids."

"I know Wanda, I know." Peter said, his mind slipping back to the memory of the chess piece and the dream he had experienced the previous night. Something was wrong here he could feel it, something about the town, about Wanda's husband, about Agnes. They felt fake in a way, almost as if they weren't meant to be there. He felt uneasy most of the time, especially as he tried to parse out what was actually real and what was fake. One thing he knew for sure, Wanda and her kids were real. And he'd be damned if he let anything happen to them.

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#quicksilver #dadneto #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #wanda maximoff #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #the vision #agnes #xmen #x-men #ralph bohner #agatha harkness #vision #fanfic

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nastasyafilippovnas · 3 years

Note

♫ and charles vane , eleanor Guthrie, vaneeleanor the ship, siena, Anthony and santhony. Also Cory x Bradley. Kind of digging them too lately !

Good ones! Thank you for asking! <3

♫ + charles vane -> hunger - of monsters and men

Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you Voices disappear when you are speaking, in sombre tunes I will be the wolf and when you're starving, you'll need it too Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you It isn't you, it isn't

I grew tall to fill the void Let me go 'cause you are just a shade Of what I am, not what I'll be But in this quiet company I forget sometimes just how to breathe Fill my lungs with the sound

♫ + eleanor guthrie -> castle - halsey

I'm headed straight for the castle They wanna make me their queen And there's an old man sitting on the throne That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean I'm headed straight for the castle They've got the kingdom locked up And there's an old man sitting on the throne That's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut Straight for the castle

Oh, all these minutes passing, sick of feeling used If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

♫ + vaneeleanor -> hoax - taylor swift

Stood on the cliffside Screaming "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do

You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark Darling, this was just as hard As when they pulled me apart

♫ + siena rosso - answered it! but also you don't own me by leslie gore:

You don't own me Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

♫ + anthony bridgerton - okay, this is a santhony song too, but really, it's about anthony's feelings, so, lover, you should've come over by jeff buckley:

Sometimes a man gets carried away, When he feels like he should be having his fun Much too blind to see the damage he's done Sometimes a man must awake to find that, really, He has no-one...

Yes, and I feel too young to hold on I'm much too old to break free and run Too deaf, dumb, and blind To see the damage I've done

♫ + santhony - almost every taylor swift song reminds me of them, lol, but especially the 1:

We never painted by the numbers, baby But we were making it count You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

We were something, don't you think so? Rosé flowing with your chosen family And it would've been sweet If it could've been me In my defense, I have none For digging up the grave another time But it would've been fun If you would've been the one

♫ + cory x bradley - answered it, but what's one more, right? it's kinda cliche, but do i wanna know, especially the hozier version:

How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found That makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

So have you got the guts? Been wonderin' if your heart's still open And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you I don't know if you feel the same as I do But we could be together if you wanted to

send me a ♫ + a character’s name and I will respond with a song that reminds me of them. send a ♫ + a ship and I will do the same.

#answered asks #truegodofthearena #long post for ts

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zielleromanova · 3 years

Text

03| Gotham Academy

-Three days Later-

Cora E. | Gotham City | 1:00 p.m.

The rain was softly hitting the glass windows of the limousine, making soft tapping sounds. I watched as the buildings rolled by as I listened to some Taylor Swift songs on my cellphone.

It's been three days since that talk with my father, and I just flew here to Gotham City about an hour ago with Charles as my escort. I was going to study at Gotham Academy for the rest of my Senior High School years. My father believed it would do me well to stay away from New York for now. To 'heal the emotional wound'. Whatever. I just wanted away from my real life right now, at least until my mom's death hurt less.

I chuckled to myself at the thought, thinking it funny at how I behave at times. Weak.

"Are you quite alright over there, Miss Cora?" Charles asked me from the driver's seat. I must've looked strange chuckling to myself alone in the backseat.

I looked up at his eyes through the rear-view mirror before smiling warmly at him. "Yes Charles, I'm fine. Just remembered something. Thank you for asking, though."

He nodded curtly before taking his eyes back on the road. "We are almost there at Gotham Academy." He said, his voice laced with a heavy English accent.

"Thank you," I say quietly, before closing my eyes and leaning my head against the headrest. My earphones were still in my ears, playing soft music.

I focused my attention on the music in my ears, beginning to feel calm and relaxed. I enjoyed the feeling of the slight bumps in the road, as it slowly lulled me to become half-asleep, half-awake.

I didn't notice how fast each minute passed by, nor did I notice how many songs finished playing on my phone, but I did notice when Charles suddenly stopped the car.

Noticing the sudden stop in the car's motion, I moved my head up and opened my eyes. Looking around, I noticed that we were no longer on the dull, dark streets of Gotham. Instead, we were in the parking lot of a wide, tall building. Its outside walls were the colour of clouds on a good, sunny day. Its windows were a dark shade of blue, like the middle of the sea, and reflected the buildings surrounding it. They were also quite large, if I do say so myself.

The doors to the school were great in width and height. They had iron handles and were also one-way-looking glass.

"We're here, Miss Coralynn," Charles said as he stepped out of the limousine and walked towards my car door. He gently pulled the door open and waited for me to step out. I gather my small bag and my suitcase as I stepped out of the car. Charles tried to take my suitcase from me, but I softly pushed his hand away. He's done more than enough just by making sure I got here to Gotham Academy safely.

Charles and I silently walked into the building and headed towards the receptionist. She was pretty, with light blonde hair and bluebell eyes.

"Everhart, Coralynn," I said to her, and she immediately looked at her computer. I glanced around as she was looking for my name on her screen.

Gotham Academy was quite a prestigious high school. The students here come from well-off families. The receptionist then spoke up.

"Ah! Miss Everhart of Hart Industries!" she exclaimed, smiling. I just nodded politely. "Your dormitory is on the topmost floor of the building. Come along please. I'll show you the way."

Looking back at Charles who was behind me, I pucked up the handle of my suitcase and dragged it towards the elevator. It wasn't difficult. It had wheels anyway.

In the elevator, Charles and I stood behind the receptionist as she pressed the button with the number 31 written on it. We all stood in silence as we waited for the elevator to take us to our destination.

Once we reached our destination, the lady led us through a short, wide hallway. There were two Mahogany doors opposite of each other. If you walked past them, it would lead to a spacious balcony overlooking all of Gotham City. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

"Two doors, huh?" I absentmindedly asked the blonde lady in front of me. She looked at me and smile gently.

"Yes," she replied. "Your room is the door to the right. However, you will have a neighbour. Damian Wayne."

Wayne. The name sounded so familiar. It rings a bell in my head. I believe I heard my father, even my mother, mention that name. Then it hit me.

"A prince of Gotham? Wayne Enterprises? Son of billionaire Bruce Wayne?" Questions shot out of my mouth like a shotgun. I wasn't at all pleased with having to share the same floor with a rich boy from Gotham. He's probably another one of those jerks.

The receptionist laughed light-heartedly at my questions. "Yes, that one."

"I see..." I murmured. "Anyway, thank you for taking us here. I'll be fine now."

The lady nodded, smiling again with her pearly white teeth. "I'll see you around d then, Miss Everhart. If you ever need me, my name is Kara."

With that last statement, she placed my room keys in my hands and left. Charles and I looked at each other before opening the door to my new residence. The room was spectacular.

It was very big, and had a pretty staircase leading to a cozy mezzanine. The living room had a plush beige sofa in it, along with a glass coffee table. There was a 32-inch television in front of the sofa.

In another part of the room, there was a kitchen. It was complete with a cooking range, an oven, and a kitchen island. It also had a small fridge, enough to contain a weekly supply for just one person.

Going up the staircase, I went to the mezzanine while Charles carried my suitcase. The entire mezzanine was dedicated to being a bedroom, and it was definitely cozy. It had a large fake fur rug surrounding the floor area around the bed. The bed itself was plush and looked like it jumped out of a Disney princess's bedroom.

Not bad...

"I assume you'll be fine here for the rest of your stay?" Charles suddenly asked from behind me. I spun around to face him and saw him setting down my suitcase in the floor.

"Yes," I said softly. He nodded and proceeded to walk to the staircase.

"Well then, I'll be on my way, miss. Have fun." Charles said as he walked away.

"Thank you, Charles. For everything."

"It has been a pleasure, darling." He says in a fatherly tone. Before he could leave, I rushed up to him and embraced him tightly.

"I'll see you soon, Charles."

"I could say the same, Miss Cora."

It wasn't long before I heard fading footsteps and the door clicking shut a few seconds after he walked down the stairs. Sighing loudly, I decided to get familiar with my room, before I would get familiar with the building.

Well, this is my new life now...

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XVII

A/N at the end

Part XVII

“Into town,” said Lucie, her voice pitching on the last word, in answer to her mother’s question. “We thought it might refresh Cordelia’s memories if we went to the location of the attack.”

Cordelia balked at the idea of returning to the place where she and Alastair almost died. She must have been making some kind of expression because Lucie deemed it necessary to deliver a kick to her ankle. She hissed but forced a smile.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Sona. “You’ve only just woken up. Perhaps you should rest a bit longer. Your injuries are not yet fully healed and you look in pain, darling.”

That’s because she was, but not for the reason her mother thought. Her ankle throbbed where Lucie had kicked it.

“I’ve rested for nearly a week,” said Cordelia. “I think some fresh air and a bit of walking will be beneficial. Besides, James and Matthew will be joining us.”

Both boys jolted at the mention of their names as if they hadn’t entirely been paying attention to the conversation unfolding in front of them.

“Of course,” said James with a nod. “The streets were calm during our patrol so there shouldn’t be much to worry about, Mrs. Carstairs.”

Sona’s eyes shifting between James and Cordelia and Cordelia could swear she saw a glimmer of hope in her mother’s eyes at the two of them standing together in the center of the room. “Well, that should be fine, but not for too long.”

“We’ll be home in time for supper,” said Lucie.

“I’ll alert Charles that we’ve permitted the four of you go out for a while,” said Tessa, turning back towards the dining room door. “If it’s in an attempt to retrieve Cordelia’s memories, he shouldn’t throw too much of a fit about it. But I feel inclined to say, please do not give him any reason to see through with his threats.”

“Don’t worry,” said Matthew who threw an arm around James’s shoulders. “We’ll make sure these girls stay on their best behavior.”

Tessa turned to as if she was going to say something sharp to the two boys, but Will gently urged her through the dining room door before she could.

Alastair escorted his mother to her room so that she could have a rest. He’d abandoned the pinstripe pajamas for a pair of dark tweed trousers and a simple white buttoned shirt that he left untucked. His feet were bare, with the one still wrapped in a thick cloth bandage, as he offered one arm to his mother and the other rested on his wooden crutch that lightly tapped the ground as he walked. Cordelia felt a sharp twinge of pain in her chest for leaving him alone to help look after their mother when he needed assistance himself, but she knew he wouldn’t accept such assistance. The broad slope of his shoulders caved slightly as if the weight of the world rested upon them. It occurred to her in that moment when he was walking their mother to her room that Alastair didn’t bear the weight of one single world upon his shoulders, but the weight of many. Her own included.

The thought made her ache.

“Cordelia?” A hand gripped her elbow, drawing her back to the sitting room, and she turned to find James looking down at her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she sniffed and blinked the tears away from her eyes. “Just a bit of pain in my ribs is all.”

“Do you need Jem?” he asked and his hand slid down her elbow to grip her hand. “Or an iratze?”

“No,” she squeezed his hand to stop him from pulling her along. “No, it’s alright. It’s nothing. We should prepare to leave since we’re going to the place of my attack apparently.”

Lucie grimaced. “I’m sorry. I panicked and it was the first thing that came to mind. We don’t have to go there, Cordelia. Perhaps you and I can go for a nice stroll through the park, maybe do a bit of window shopping.” Lucie glared down at James’s hand still holding Cordelia’s and then her gaze slithered up to her brother’s.

“I have an idea,” said Matthew. “Cordelia, have you ever driven in an automobile?”

“No!” Both James and Lucie shouted at Matthew who barely batted an eye at the other two while he waited for Cordelia’s response.

She grinned. “No, I can’t say that I have. They seem dreadful.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Matthew. “The epitome of absolute freedom and mobility. I think a spot of fresh air will do all of us some good. Come along, Luce, you can help me bring Algernon around.”

“Algernon?” Cordelia asked.

“Yes, he’s named his vehicle after an Oscar Wilde character,” said James.

“His vehicle?” Cordelia balked.

James nodded. “We’ve quite a bit to catch you up on, Daisy.”

“I’d say so,” she sighed and watched as Matthew dragged a disparaged Lucie along with him out the front door.

“I would like to give you something,” said James, his fingers flexed against hers. “If you’ll come with me for a moment.”

Cordelia turned so that they were facing one another. “What is it?”

“Come along, Daisy” said James nodding his head towards the hallway leading farther into the institute. “We won’t be long.”

She gathered what semblance of courage she had left in her and let him guide her down the hall. The crystal orbs that hovered above them in a line down the length of the hallway flickered and waned to life upon their approach. Witchlight, she noted, by the warm glow it emitted like magic in their presence, lighting the darkness and displaying the vibrant red wallpaper with gold hand painted brush strokes of two swords crossed over each other in a pattern. Each sword, Cordelia noticed, had a different hilt. No two were the same. Some of the weapons were French with the delicate, ostentatious metal hilt. Some were Scottish with the curved blade instead of straight. She expected nothing else of Will Herondale’s house but to have weapons painted on the walls.

“Just through here,” said James as they came to a stop in front of an old door that appeared to be made of oak or some other type of ancient wood. Three swords, two crossed like those painted on the walls and one down the center hung in the middle of the door. Upon closer inspection, Cordelia recognized them to be the same chosen weapons of Jonathon Shadowhunter and his parabatai David, the sword going down the center belonged to Jonathon’s sister Abigail.

“Exact replicas,” said James as he shouldered open the heavy door. “Useless in battle since they’ve been welded to this door since the birth of the Institute, much to my father’s great chagrin, but a great conversation starter.” He gave the center sword a tug for emphasis.

The temperature dropped significantly on the other side of the door. Gooseflesh prickled along Cordelia’s skin as she stepped into the dark stairway going down towards the basement of the Institute. She knew now where he was taking her. The weapons room. She’d been there before with Lucie, but she couldn’t imagine why he was taking her there now.

A witchlight burned in James’s hand, illuminating the curves and plains of his face, as they started their descent down the stone steps. There wasn’t far to go, the stairwell curved twice and then spit them out in the stone walled room. Covering the walls from floor to ceiling was every type of weapon made under heaven. Cordelia felt a familiar tingle run up her spine.

“Cortana,” she whispered as James crossed the room to a wooden chest and retrieved the blade from inside, still secure in Cordelia’s gilded scabbard.

“I found it where you fell,” said James, walking back over to where she stood in the center of the room. “I’ve been keeping it safe for you.”

Once in her hands, Cordelia grabbed the hilt and drew the blade out, relishing in the song it sang as it was freed like the first draw of a violin bow across the strings. She swung it once, the hilt rolled across her hand deftly and back into her palm. She drew her finger along the edge, thin as glass, but stronger than stone.

“Beautiful,” breathed James.

“I always thought so,” said Cordelia and sheathed her beloved weapon.

When she looked up, her breath hitched. James stood only a few inches away from her, his eyes were not on the blade, but on her. She knew the expression on his face, she’d seen it before, had dreams about him looking at her the way he was now. It was the same expression he wore after he kissed her in The Whispering Room. When she’d allowed herself—really allowed herself to be vulnerable enough to believe that his affections went farther than just friendship towards her.

And when she found his affections held firm for someone else, it nearly broke her.

It was time to set aside the fatuous ideations she’d held for James since childhood and start accepting that they would never be more than the dearest of friends.

She slid the strap of her scabbard over her neck so that it lay across her shoulder. “Lucie and Matthew are surely waiting for us by now. We should go.” She turned to leave, but James reached for her hand pulling her gently back towards him.

“Wait,” he said. “Cordelia there is something I must ask you while I still have the courage to do so.”

Cordelia felt a burning, sick feeling in her stomach, but she didn’t pull away.

“That night, when you left London, you told me that you loved me,” he said, his eyes wide searching hers. “I need to know—”

“There you are,” said Lucie from the entrance to the weapons room. “How dare you leave me alone with Matthew and his precious metal trap. Come along before someone sees the mobile sitting on our lawn and reports us to the Clave.”

Cordelia turned from Lucie back to James. She could feel the heat in the tips of her ears. She suspected that they would need to have this conversation, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Her heart pounded in her chest as if screaming her answer.

“We’ll be right there, Lucie,” said James, his eyes still firmly held Cordelia. “A minute longer.”

Lucie, having realized she interrupted something rather personal, did not argue but rather turned on her heels and walked back up the stone steps. They listened to the echoes of her shoes against the stone until the noise disappeared, but Cordelia still suspected that Lucie was not far away and had an ear towards the conversation.

“You want to know if it’s still true?” asked Cordelia. “Of course it is, I’ll always care about you, but that does not negate everything that’s happened. It was selfish of me to agree to your proposal when you so clearly loved someone else. You only did it as a favor to my family and while I am extremely grateful for that, please don’t feel that because I am back for the foreseeable future that you are obligated to uphold that promise any longer.” She exhaled and dared to look at James again. His expression remained impassive giving her the courage to place a hand on his shoulder. “You should be allowed to pursue the one that you love; not feel indebted because I soiled my name. We both know it hasn’t been fully intact in some time. I would have done it for any of you.“

James reached up and covered the hand that was resting on his shoulder with his own and she saw that where the silver bracelet usually hung from his wrist was now gone. She looked to his other wrist, but found that it was bare too.

“Come along, Daisy,” said James. “There is still quite a bit we need to catch you up on.”

(Author’s Notes: This chapter gave me so much trouble, I’m not really sure why. Forgive me, I don’t feel like it’s one of my best, but I wanted to have something for you all to read tonight. With helping my sister, starting work again, I’m going to start posting bi-weekly, every other Sunday, so that I have a bit more time to work on each part. I hope you guys enjoy something in this messy, inconsistent chapter. I promise that the next one will be significantly better and with more Jordelia. Next post coming Sun, Oct 4)

#chain of gold #The Last Night #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #james herondale #james x cordelia #Cordelia Carstairs

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whenimaunicorn · 5 years

Text

An Ill-Advised Wager

The lurid tale of how I lost my dignity in a bet to a pirate captain, and how in return he gave me my first orgasm that very night.

Fandom: Black Sails Characters: Charles Vane x Original Female Character (Ranger crew member) Words: 8874 Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: I don’t think there are any; the consent is very clearly negotiated. Dirty talk, oral and p/v sex that gets slightly rough.

“Your bid.” Captain Vane’s deep voice purred across the table at me, his cards held at a careless angle in front of his chest.

The lamplight flickered as the ship swayed. The captain’s quarters were lit just well enough to see the cards by, and for me to try and read the faces of the other players. At this particular moment, I was not concerned about Jack and Anne; the only countenance I cared to read was Vane’s. This, this seemed like the time to make my move. “I’ll bid—” I had to stop myself short when I glanced down, my fingers finding only one thin coin left to my name. I frowned down at it.

“Just about out of options,” the captain observed, leaning forward with the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Not much left to bet.”

I pulled a face and tossed the coin toward the center of the table. “It’ll have to do. Just means I’ll be coming back a little slower after I win this hand.”

Vane regarded me from under heavy brows. “You would’ve bet more on this one, if you had it.”

My eyes flashed to his and I gave him only a quick nod. Better to appear like I was pretending to be more confident than I felt; in my experience that seemed to be the best way to bluff our Captain.

“What if I let you wager something else?”

I lifted a brow at him, trying to look skeptical. In truth, I was jumping to accept any deal he proposed; I was that certain that I would win the round. What with the queen I had hidden up my sleeve. “What could I have that you want?”

“Nothing you have to part with.” He settled back in his chair. “But if you wanted to wager a night in your bed, that would be something I would consider to be of great value.” He inched forward quite a few glimmering stacks of his own coin, showing how he would match the bet. Just the kind of large take I was saving that card for.

It was hard to keep my face impassive, so taken aback was I. I quibbled, to stall for time, and let the rest of my mind catch up with the escalating situation. “My bed is a hammock surrounded by your snoring, unwashed crew. Not sure you want to share that tonight.”

“Fine, then wager a night in mine,” Vane countered. His eyes glittered as bright as the gold as he waited for my response.

Jack Rakham coughed loudly. We both completely ignored him, staring each other down.

Was the captain serious? His deep-set eyes did not waver as he watched every nuance of my reaction. I didn’t have time to think about whether I believed he actually wanted to sleep with me. I pushed back my own foolhardy, burning desire, the one that I had always carefully hidden from him, and decided that it didn’t matter, anyway. I wasn’t going to lose. I could sort out the rest later.

“Done.”

Vane pushed forward a pile of coin so large that it made Anne suck in a breath through her teeth. I did feel my own cheeks color at the idea of what he would pay for me, were I for sale. “Show ‘em.”

I let my cards spill to the table, my hidden card now switched in and completing a high-value set. The only way I could possibly be beaten would be…

Vane laid his own hand across the table. Too many kings smirked up at me from that row. My stomach sank.

Vane drew his glittering stacks back to his edge of the table. Then he reached out and swiped up my own last coin between two long fingers.

I could have said something. I’d been counting the cards; there shouldn’t have been that many kings left in the deck. But I knew Jack habitually counted cards as well. If I said something about Vane’s foul play, Jack was likely to point out that I was cheating, too. Maybe that would have been enough to end the game right here, declare the round moot and undo the terms of the wager. Maybe. But I looked across the table at the way Vane was staring at me through his eyelashes. I imagined what it would feel like to be pinned underneath that body on his big bed, and after that I couldn’t say anything at all.

I turned and poured myself a drink.

He didn’t gloat. He didn’t tease, he didn’t try to touch me, he didn’t say one word about the terms I had just agreed to. The game went on without me. What did that mean? The captain had never indicated this kind of interest in me before. Was it just a power move, just part of the game?

I kept stealing glances at his face. Every time, he caught me, and gave me heavy looks back, until I felt as flustered as a schoolgirl. Jack kept the conversation going, talking about anything but the wager that had just transpired. He was almost babbling, really, and shooting me concerned looks whenever he thought Vane wasn’t looking. Anne’s face was smoldering; but she always looked like that. No way to tell if she was furious with the captain, or with me, or if she was thinking about something completely different.

I couldn’t hold Vane’s eyes, now. I looked anywhere but his face whenever he was staring at me, and even ignored when he tried batting at my foot with his under the table. I had been very careful never to invite being looked at in a sexual way by any of the men on this crew. I was lucky to have found as much acceptance as I had, here. Certainly Anne had paved the way for that, but I knew the balance was precarious. I had decided that I had to be untouchable; that would be the only way to fit in with the men without causing problems. Or having to fight off constant advances. And now here Vane was, about to ruin my reputation. I shouldn’t have been so cocky.

“Well, it does seem like it’s time to retire,” Jack said, staring forlornly into the mouth of the rum bottle. He upended it over his mug without gaining more than a single, final drop. He and Anne started scooping their remaining coin into purses.

I, having nothing left on the table, looked at my hands awkwardly.

They rose, and I thought to stand with them, but the captain cleared his throat and I dropped my butt back into the chair. Anne paused at my elbow, staring down the curtain of her hair at me. “You can leave with us,” she challenged, turning her baleful eye to Vane. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“’Course she doesn’t,” Vane growled at her.

At the same time I straightened, and replied to her half a beat later. “I wouldn’t welch on a bet.”

Anne furrowed her brows down at me. I think she may have been trying to look supportive, but her face had forgotten how to be soft. “Don’t sit well with me. Backed you into a corner, he did.”

“Come along, darling,” Jack said, wrapping one arm around her and attempting to tug her away. “I am certain she can take care of herself.”

I fixed Jack with a pointed look. “Not a word to the crew about this.”

Rackham drew himself up, exaggerated affront painted across his features. “What, are you implying that I gossip? I’ll have you know that I am extremely tactful. I know when to keep my mouth shut. There is an art to knowing when a thing is to be said, and when a thing is to be forgotten, and I assure you—”

Anne leaned her head toward me. “He won’t say anything.” From the way her hand fisted in Jack’s collar, it was clear she would be making sure of it.

When the door closed behind them, the sound of the latch clicking into place seemed loud as a bell. Vane had settled back into his chair, idly playing with a coin across the backs of his fingers. Looking at me like he was waiting for me to do something. It was embarrassing, really, how good he looked to me right then, his powerful frame smoldering in the chair, the strong lines of his face perfectly warmed in the lamplight.

I looked away. I had been resisting thinking those kinds of thoughts about him for so long, it was hard to break the habit now. I lifted my cup just for something to do with my hands, but it was already empty.

“Shy?” his voice crackled through the silence. “I suppose I should have expected you to be shy.” That irritated my pride, so I mustered my courage enough to glare back at him. Vane’s eyes were only laughing at me a little; mostly there was an unexpected kind of caring, a softness for me to be found there. “Haven’t done this in a while, have you?”

No reason not to tell him the truth. “No.”

His fingers flicked under that coin again. “Not a virgin, are you?”

“No.” I suddenly couldn’t bear the tension, and started stripping my arms out of my jacket. “Let’s just get this over with, then.”

Vane raised a single, scarred eyebrow. “Get this over with? That’s not really what I had in mind.” That throaty voice of his was so seductive. I should have been annoyed at the implication he was going to drag this experience out, but damn if my heart didn’t start beating a little faster.

“Yes, I am sure you are planning to take full advantage.”

He frowned, still not moving toward me. “What are you trying to say.”

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what the whores are telling you, but I’m a free woman out here and I’ll give you the truth. Sex doesn’t feel as good for women as it does for men.”

“Is that what you think.” He didn’t look offended, or ruffled at all by my flat statement. There may have even been a little pity touching his eyes. “Who told you that?” He reached out for my hand, resting on the top of the table, and I let him have it.

“In my experience, it never seemed that enjoyable.” His fingers squeezed softly between mine, as playful as they had been with that coin. He was listening to me, but trying to loosen my mood at the same time. “And I’ve never heard any respectable woman say anything different.”

“Well there’s your problem right there. Listening to respectable women. They only fuck respectable men, and those fuckers don’t know what they are doing.”

He lifted my hand from the table, leaning forward when I did not let myself be drawn nearer to him, and touched it to his lips. The kiss between my knuckles lingered, so much more than the polite gesture it was meant to mimic. Especially when his breath rushed out over my skin. I’m certain what I was feeling had started to show in my face. The way he was talking set off things I hadn’t really felt in years.

“You’re worried about what the men will think about you.” He spoke over the back of my hand, continuing to play with my fingers between his.

“Someone is bound to notice if I don’t wake up with my shift.”

Vane smiled. “Let them hear about the terms of the wager, then. I’ll tell the men that you spent the whole night wrapped up tight in the blanket, wouldn’t even let me touch you. That you played me just for the chance to sleep on a real mattress.”

I smiled, despite my sour mood. “Generous. But if that’s the case, perhaps I might actually do just that.”

He squeezed my hand. “That is certainly within your right. But if I’m not getting anything out of this, you’re sleeping on the floor.” We stared at each other for a long moment, both calculating. “But. If you decide you want to honor the spirit of the wager, and not just the words, I promise that I will make certain this is very, very enjoyable for you too.”

With his fingers laced tightly between mine, his thumb spread tantalizing circles across my palm. I felt my face getting hot as I stared across the edge of the table at him. He was absolutely letting me out of the requirement to do this, and at the same time making me actually want it. I was almost starting to believe he could do as he said, too. That he could make it feel different than that last time I had allowed a man to touch me, based on his unwavering confidence alone, and on the way my body was responding. His thumb stroked up the inside of my wrist with a surprising, exquisite delicacy.

“Why don’t you come sit next to me on the bed. Just to see how it feels. And whether you want to stop after that or not, I’ll tell the men that your legs remained firmly crossed.”

I still wasn’t answering, but I could no longer summon the words to say no. I had never seen Vane’s face like this, not directed at me at least. So… intent. And yet tender. I was starting to believe he actually wanted me, that this wasn’t just some victory to achieve on a whim, some conquest he devised because we were out on the open ocean and there were no whores in sight to appease him better. He looked at me like he was really trying to see me.

He kissed my hand one time more, then rose from his chair and crossed to the big bed nailed into the wall at one side of the cabin. I wondered briefly if it were the original, a luxury afforded to naval captains, or if Vane had put such an ostentation in himself after he took the Ranger. He sat down on the edge, caught my gaze one more time, and then set to taking off his boots.

“You’ll…” my voice warbled through the cabin, higher and weaker than I had wanted it to come out. He paused his movements, looking up and waiting for me to find my words. “If I want to stop, if it doesn’t feel right, you’ll let me?”

He straightened, his face going soft and sincere. “Of course. You are a free woman. The last thing I want you to feel is trapped.”

“Then,” I said, letting the warm relief that rushed through me at his words show in a little smile, “I suppose I might come sit next to you… Keeping my legs crossed.”

Vane winked, and finished pulling off his great, big boots. Mine were not as fine as his, and would slip off much more easily when the time came, but I did not want to promise anything by pulling them off this early. Instead I just sat in my chair a moment longer, enjoying the view of my strapping, handsome captain loosening his own clothing, readying himself for bed.

I wasn’t ready for his eyes again, when he finally looked up at me over his outstretched hand. “Come here.”

The mattress sagged underneath me as I sat down, but Vane was heavier and had already pulled it into a deeper valley, one that threatened to drag my hips down against his by gravity alone. He flipped his long hair over his shoulder as he turned his upper body to face me, and his scent filled my nostrils, rich and beguiling.

The truth was, I had wanted Captain Vane from the moment I laid eyes on him. Pursuing that thought had just never seemed like a good idea, especially once he took me seriously enough to allow me, a woman, to join his crew. Nor had I thought it very likely he would ever return my affections. Given my chosen profession, I didn’t think myself feminine enough to catch a man’s real interest.

But when Captain Vane ran the backs of his curled fingers down the side of my face, I felt desired. He touched me the way one would treat a proper lady, not grabbing or groping. His fingertips came to rest under my chin, tilting my mouth up toward his. I thought for a moment he might even ask to kiss me, the fearsome pirate captain himself, who never hesitated to take what he wanted in any other context. It was there in his eyes, the question, as he watched how I reacted to the parting of his lips.

My body leaned toward his, fractionally, past all my insecurities, and that was all the signal he needed to duck his head and press his lips against mine. His pressure was tender, but it was bold too, as his mouth parted wide enough to seize my lower lip between his. My insides reacted immediately, a fire kindling that made me wilt and straighten somehow both at once.

He didn’t push me into the bed. His desire was there, smoldering behind the working of his lips, but he held it back and kissed me thoroughly, while his hands played over the sides of my face.

I was burning up inside. There was a voice in my head telling me to end it here, that it was smarter to be the untouchable one, that I would come to regret this. But those thoughts only served to immolate me, to make the heat Vane was drawing out of my core more obvious, the desire for more of him more immediate every time I considered pulling away.

I gave in to gravity, and let the line of my hip roll down against his. Vane’s strong arms gathered me up, pulling my chest in against his as he kept kissing me. The angle was sharper now, pulling my neck long as my chin lifted to chase his kisses, my jaw opening almost without thought to allow his hot tongue to press past my teeth. I pressed open palms against his broad chest, hardly daring to satisfy my long-held craving to explore the heavy muscles to be found there.

One of his hands, previously content with stroking my face and curling through my hair, now traced curious fingers down the column of my neck. I shivered, knowing that the passion building between us was about to cross over into indecency.

But it had been a long time since I had been trying to live the life of a “decent woman.”

Vane pulled his mouth away from mine, his fingers halting their descent at the level of my collarbone. He traced up and down along that delicate line as he looked into my eyes. “Enjoying yourself yet?”

I was a little bit breathless, but still maintained enough poise to tilt my head coquettishly. “Still deciding.”

He smiled and leaned into me again. This time his lips were more insistent, reassured perhaps by the lightening of my mood. He cradled the back of my head with one hand, that arm holding me scooped in against his body, while his tongue delved my mouth and sought out mine. The other hand slid down the side of my body, playing over my ribs, tugging at my waist to pull me tighter against him.

I was glad that he had not immediately sought out my breasts. A long strip of cloth bound them down firmly under the man’s shirt that I wore every day of my pirating life. I was now… self-conscious about how unwomanly his hands were going to find me.

In truth, it had mostly been liberating to give up the trappings of femininity, and I was in love with the freedoms that living in a man’s shoes had given me. Right now was the first time in a great long while that I found myself wishing for a proper corset. Not for my own benefit, but only to be certain that my captain would find me appealing.

The play of his hand across my lower back reassured me on that last count. So did the look in his eyes when he pressed his forehead into mine, searching me with a fire that went beyond simple lewdness or curiosity. With a deep, slightly labored inhale, he began to open the buttons on my shirt, watching my reaction closely the whole time.

I wanted this. I couldn’t even imagine pulling away now. And though I feared that the sight of my chest strapped flat would be less than enticing for him, I was overcome by the desire to be seen. By him. To reveal myself to him. I opened the last few buttons of the shirt myself, and sat up straight as he pushed it down over my shoulders.

“I know why you hide yourself,” his voice rasped in the small space between us. “Why you braid your hair back tight, dress like the rest of us.” His eyes flashed back up to mine from under his brow. “And I think it’s smart. To not be a woman on this ship.” His fingertips traced up my belly, ran over the strip of cloth wound over my chest. “I’ve also seen the way you look at me.” A fresh thrill ran through me. He was seeking the place where he could loosen that binding. “And it occurred to me tonight, that you might be wanting an excuse. A way for this kind of… contact to be both possible, and deniable.”

My breath sighed out between my lips as I raised my hands up behind my back, freeing the end of the fabric and beginning to unwind it for him. Vane took over almost immediately, strong hands brushing over mine as he took the edge of the cloth and finished the unwrapping himself.

The sudden freedom made my breasts tingle; that, and the weight of Captain Vane’s gaze upon my completely nude torso. My nipples hardened before he even touched them, his hands scooping up from underneath with a soft sort of appreciation. When his thumbs brushed over the peaks I shivered. “Sensitive, are you?” he commented, and kept his touch gentle.

I closed my eyes and leaned into the feel of his powerful hands massaging my peaks. I felt his lips run across my cheek a moment later, then they were nipping down under my jaw, exploring the side of my neck. As he made his way down his bulk pushed me slowly backwards, until I had to reach back and hold myself up with one hand flat against the mattress. When his hot mouth closed over my nipple I arched my back and gasped. The sensation had sent a burst of unexpected pleasure straight down through my core, something sinful and tantalizing that had me wondering if perhaps the whores were not always faking the noises they made.

I looked down at Vane. His eyes were closed, brows lifted in an expression of rapt pleasure as he suckled on my tit, his head bent sideways to reach it and an angle that could not possibly be comfortable for long. I ran my fingers up his back, and my captain sighed with obvious pleasure. “Come up into my lap,” he coaxed.

With one last lick at my breast, he leaned back into a squarer posture and beckoned me to follow him up with insistent little tugs of his hands. When I realized he wanted me to straddle him I felt my face heating up. I had never been that wanton with a man.

His eyes were more hooded now, dreamier with pleasure but also narrowed, focused on his desire in the same way I had seen him look at a rich prize just before we raised the black. “Still shy?” he asked, echoing his earlier accusation, and it had the same effect on me for a second time.

In a surge of contrariness, I pushed my hesitation aside and swung my leg over his lap, sinking my knees into the mattress on either side of his hips. I held onto his shoulders for leverage, realizing too late that I had caught a few locks of his long hair in the process. I lifted my hand quickly and smoothed it back for him. I hadn’t even realized how tenderly I pushed the errant lock behind his ear until his clear, brilliant eyes flashed up at me and marked the moment. They were breathtaking, those eyes, fringed with lashes that would make them almost womanish were they not so deeply set into an aggressively masculine face. And something about this angle, him looking up at me now, softened them in a way that tugged at my chest. I almost forgot to speak my retort to his challenge. “Really, Captain, when have you ever known me to be timid?”

“Never before tonight.” He reached up to wind his fingers through a few of my own braided locks and pulled my face down for a kiss.

It was magnificent, and terrifying, to kiss Captain Vane like that. To be pushing down on him, having control of the angles, and yet to be so aware of being half-naked in a position that made every part of my body quite conveniently available to him. My hands scooped at his face while his roamed freely across my entire back, down my flanks and over my thighs, making me acutely aware of the unladylike spread of my legs, with no possible way to close them. So much for keeping my knees pressed firmly together tonight.

My fingers scrambled down broad shoulders as his scooped up the front of my body. It felt entirely unfair that he still wore his shirt, which was keeping his skin from me, and I told him as much. Vane stopped caressing me just long enough to strip it up over his head, exposing miles of rippling, tanned torso that I barely got to admire before it was hidden from my eyes again in the press of his body into mine. Rather than returning to the kiss he dove straight for one of my nipples, capturing it with more brash, self-assured confidence this time, his tongue circling with ease now that I was more conveniently lined up in front of his face.

I let my head fall back, overcome with that tugging, insistent heat that seemed to draw a line straight through my middle and down into my womanhood. I felt my legs tighten some against his waist, my hips bucking wantonly to close the little space that was left between us. It was so unlike me. And yet, it felt so thrilling. So indulgent. Just as a life of piracy should feel.

Captain Vane helped himself to my tits until I was positively melting in his lap. Our hips had started up a furtive, fractional rhythm that ran a counterpoise to the rocking of the ship. Like they thought they could get away with something that my mind wouldn’t catch them doing. I ground down more firmly into him, just to show them I was still boss, yes I was still in control and I wanted to be doing this too. Vane groaned into my chest. “Keep that up, love, and you’ll find yourself on your back faster than you thought possible.”

And I liked the sound of that so much that I did it again, pressing myself down over something that felt amazing against my tender, sensitive parts, something that I would have assumed was his hip bone if I wasn’t already feeling both of those against my inner thighs. Which meant that it was his—

True to his word, Vane scooped me up around the waist, popped me into the air with a thrust of his hips, and rode me down onto my back closer to the center of the bed. His hair spilled over both shoulders, curtaining us, and he dragged that hard length against me until I whimpered. He cocked his head, studying my face, my reaction to that.

I took a shaky breath in through my mouth, considering the moment as well. I actually felt…eager, to try letting a man do this to me again. My body was flushed, and languid, and writhing beneath him even when I thought I was lying still. Especially after the way he had flung me over, like it was only a trivial effort on his part to throw me around.

He must have been watching all this play across my face, for Vane’s next words were to purr “Is that how you like it, love? A little bit rough around the edges; want to feel me taking what I want?” He pressed his hardness between my spread legs, and it should have been insulting, an outrage, but because it was him it only stoked my passion to greater heights.

When I couldn’t find the words to answer in any way other than rocking my hips to match the motion of his, he dropped his head to kiss me. Deep, savoring kisses, ones that seemed, blessedly, to be meant to give me as much time to think as I wanted. Our bare chests slid against each other softly, and I allowed my hands to explore the planes and angles of the heavy muscles that before now had only fascinated my eye. Vane’s body was magnificent. And I thought, as I lay there, that being smashed underneath it might be the best possible way to enjoy it.

And so I whimpered, just a little, when he rolled off me, and settled in along my side without breaking the kiss. My body followed, seeking to keep our chests together, but I stilled when I felt his callused hand slide down my belly. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this body from me. I want to see all of it. Take off your trousers,” that rumbling voice urged.

I felt timid again, even as the heat bubbling up between my thighs caused me to press them together. I understood the meaning of the word “wanton,” now, as this burning feeling threatened to overwhelm all sensibilities. It still felt like something that perhaps I should not do, to allow myself to be completely naked in this dashing captain’s bed.

Echoes of an old life, that voice was. My new, pirating self did exactly as she pleased. And she, she said to that old voice: well, we did lose a bet. Only one honorable thing to do now.

Vane’s fingers were playing with the buckle of my belt, his smoldering eyes watching, waiting for me to react.

I appreciated his patience, the way he seemed to be willing to go at my pace, though his gaze brimmed with the promise of what he could unleash upon me once I dropped my last guard. The guard which at this point appeared to be symbolized by that clasped belt. His neck bent, a few locks of hair cascading over his face, so he could lay tender kisses on the skin of my shoulder and chest. He started to speak in between those kisses. “I won’t take you tonight,” his lips brushed the top of my breast, “if you truly don’t want that.” He nipped at my belly, just above my navel. “But perhaps you will allow me—” he kissed my flank, just below the edge of a rib, “—to do what I can to make you want it.” The last kiss landed in a tingling place just above the waistband of my trousers.

I lifted my head, keeping the rest of my body still underneath him. “I thought that’s what we were already doing.”

Vane straightened a little, and held my gaze while his hand came creeping up my leg, grazing along my thigh before hovering just above that hot place between my legs. His nimble fingers plucked a little at the fabric barring his way.

“Oh,” I gulped. Desire crashed over me like the surf of a rising tide. Yes, I wanted to feel him touch me there. And if he was saying that removing my trousers was not necessarily a promise that I was ready to let him push his cock inside me… I kicked my boots off so fast that the cabin echoed with the twin sounds of them crashing to the deck.

Vane helped me with my belt, then leaned back on one arm to watch me reveal the rest of my body to him. I pushed the last of my clothes down to the floor, eager to be rid of them now, then paused where I sat perched at the edge of the bed. I looked over my shoulder at my captain, hoping that the curve of my back, and the swell of my bare hips, appeared enticing to him.

His eyes were indeed clouded with lust, and his chest expanded with a deep inhale when I took the long, plain braid of my hair between my hands and began undoing it. Removing the final piece of what I had been using to hide my softness, my femininity. I watched him watching me, as I freed my hair, and I felt beautiful.

He reached his hand out to me, so many silent promises in his eyes, and I climbed across the bed to him. He kissed me soundly, fingers tangling in the loose tresses now freed around my face, and then he guided me to lay on my back beside him.

His hands slid over my body, firmer, more confident now. This was no longer coaxing, entreating: now Vane was conquering. He squeezed and savored all my curves, and his body pressed closer, more hungrily into mine, his mouth eating at me like the sweetest fruit.

And then his hand crept between my legs. His palm covered my mound, stilling me, letting me get used to the idea before his fingers started to move. I moaned my uncertainty into his mouth and he soothed me, humming a calming noise as he stroked at my sex and opened me up slowly.

I had only ever experienced rough fingers there before, greedy grasping that hurried to make the way clear for an insistent male desire. Vane’s touch was entirely different. His face hovered close to mine, watching my every reaction as he explored carefully, his fingertips gliding through the slickness at my entrance and pressing up to something else, a spot that concentrated all that heat that I had been feeling in my loins and made it bloom to unimagined heights.

My eyes widened in surprise. Vane seemed a little amused. “Has no man ever touched you there?”

I shook my head.

“Ever touched yourself there?”

My face burned at the very suggestion, and I denied it vigorously.

“Respectable women,” Vane chided, “are missing out on so much.” He rocked his finger in a little circle over that bud of pleasure, and I could only squirm and wail underneath him.

I clung to him as he worked me over, too far gone in the wash of desire from it to be embarrassed at the way my fingers dug into his arm, not even certain what I was begging for. I needed relief, but I didn’t want him to stop; the pleasure was burning, overwhelming, and I quite simply did not know what to do with myself. Vane’s face smirked down at me through all of it, every time I could bear to open my eyes and look up at him again.

My mouth let loose some sort of desperate, mewling sound when his fingertips left my body. I looked up at him just in time to see two of his long fingers disappear into his mouth, coming out coated in spit. Those slick fingers returned to my sex in a gliding plunge that parted my lower lips. The pleasure came easier now, less impaired by sensitivity and friction.

Vane’s eyes locked onto mine as I felt one of those fingers start to press inside me. A buzzing, welcoming heat gathered all around that invading finger, and though I kept my gaze on my captain’s face my awareness was all internal, focusing on how it felt to let him open me.

He kissed me again, once that finger was buried deep inside, and his lips kept anchoring mine as he dragged it softly in and out, simulating the movements I was certain he was burning up to be able to do with something else. Something much, much larger. I was surprised to find that the idea was more tantalizing than terrifying, now that Vane was taking so much time to get my body to warm to him.

He released my mouth so he could press his lips into the side of my neck, still rocking that finger rhythmically in and out. I could no longer say it felt like an invader, as pleasure bloomed all around it. I was surprised to find that I was even craving something thicker. The memories of my past, somewhat painful encounters with penetration had even taken on a perverse allure. I wanted to feel that again, now. “I’m…”—I had to pause and wet my throat, realizing how dry it had become from panting breaths—“I’m ready now, I think.”

Vane lifted his head, regarding me coolly. “Ready for what?”

“For…” I stumbled on the words, but I made myself say it. “For you to take me.”

“For my cock?” he specified firmly, bluntly, his intense eyes still looking a little bit amused around the edges.

I swallowed, and met his gaze bravely. “Yes.”

“No you’re not.” He shook his head and drew his finger out of me.

“What?”

Vane ignored my sputtering and started to slide down the bed alongside me. “Trust me, darling.” A smile flitted across his usually-stony face, making him look almost boyish as he shook his head at me. “It’s clear that you don’t even know what pleasure is, yet. Please, allow me to show you."

He tugged at my leg and I let him pull it wide. I was confused, and embarrassed, but I did trust him. My sworn captain. I’d let him show me what he meant.

Vane lifted my leg and put it over his shoulder, as he dropped down to his knees on the deck beside the bed. My face started to burn as hot as my loins when I realized he was positioning his mouth right above my sex, his breath already warm upon it. He turned his head and kissed me first on the inside of my thigh. “Relax.” His eyes flitted up, seeking mine. “Remember I promised, to make this enjoyable for you?”

His rich voice calmed me, and I nodded swiftly.

“Then let me try a few things. Tell me when I’m doing something that you like.”

His mouth was hot. So, so hot, and slick, when he fastened it over my mound in a devil’s kiss and slid his tongue alongside that secret pearl that was making my head spin. Vane pulled my legs apart a little wider, settling his bulk more comfortably between them, and then his tongue started flickering, back and forth against me.

My head flew back, my body curling to get closer to him and further away at the same time. What was this delicious, overwhelming feeling? The slide of Vane’s tongue was stoking that fire inside me higher than ever. I reached down and ran my fingers over his hair. I must have pushed him harder than I thought, because his tongue stilled and he drew back just far enough to speak. “Too much for you, love?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He hummed sagely as he pressed his lips against me again, the tail end of that vocalization making my toes curl as I felt it in my core. He licked more slowly this time, tongue circling that bud of pleasure as his hands stroked up and down my bare thighs.

The pleasure was more bearable this way, and I let a little encouraging moan slide past my lips, to let him know. It was embarrassing to hear myself make such a sound, but the reward of Captain Vane’s rocking tongue was well worth the price to my pride.

He kept on steadily, and something started building inside me, underneath his tongue. The pleasure was growing into a ball of heat, of tension, something that made me restless and yet entirely unwilling to move away from that sinful mouth. I squeezed my thighs around his head instead, curled my knees over his shoulder, flung my arms over my face, whipped my arms down to clutch at the sheets. I didn’t know what I needed, didn’t know what to do. The one thing I was certain of was that I did not want Vane to stop.

There was something that I suspected this pleasure might be, what it was leading up to. I had heard the men joke, of course, mostly accusing each other of being unable to make a woman do this. I had heard the whores faking it. But I never thought I was the kind of woman that it would ever happen to, that would feel this. Orgasm. The possibility wasn’t spoken of in the respectable home of my youth. I had thought, in fact, that it might be a lie that men told to each other, that women could melt into a burst of pleasure the way that men did when they made their final release at the end of the act. Because I had never heard women speak about it to each other.

But I learned that night, my body was indeed capable of this too. Captain Vane showed me, with a relentless tongue that brought all that rising tension in my core to a breaking point, a snap of passion that made my whole body seize up as I was carried away in a thundering wave of ecstasy.

His tongue slowed, but did not stop, after that wave broke inside me. He lapped every last drop of pleasure from between my thighs, until I sagged into the mattress, and stopped squeezing him so tightly.

I looked down just in time to watch him rise from the deck, wiping his mouth with one hand before reaching down to push off his own trousers. His cock sprang to attention, straining hard and oh so large, even though I was the one who had just gotten all the pleasuring. “You are magnificent,” he murmured as he climbed over my body, distracting my eyes from the spectacle of his erection as he pressed his forehead into mine.

I met his gaze almost helplessly, my parted lips unable to form words as I breathed hard, still roiling in the eddies of pleasure left in the wake of what he had done to me. The mattress sagged with the weight of his knees between my legs.

There was pride in his eyes as he examined the mess he’d made of my composure. “Now, you’re ready to be fucked,” he declared. He caressed the back of my thigh, pulling me open wider. “With your permission, of course.”

And in that moment, I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything. My loins burned in a fresh rush as I angled my hips toward him. I reached one hand up to caress the back of his neck. The other slid down his belly, pushing through thick curls to claim a prize of my own.

Vane’s cock jumped in my hand as I wrapped my fingers around the smooth skin of his shaft, thrilling at the iron hardness that the soft surface covered. He groaned in my ear when I squeezed it, and sucked in a breath when I slid my palm over the weeping tip of him. “Do you want it?” he whispered, voice too tight to speak any louder, and I shivered at the sound of how he was struggling to hold himself back.

“Yes,” I confessed to his cheek, breathing in the rich, deep scent of him. My blooming cunt was aching for him now. “But,” I said, hand clenching on the back of his neck as he had already started to move over me, “I don’t want a child.”

He surprised me by kissing me then, suddenly and soundly. “I won’t let my seed go inside you,” he promised to my lips. “But I want,” he growled, “I need to feel you for a while.”

My consent breathed past my lips as I pressed my body up toward him. Vane’s hand replaced mine at the base of his cock as he leaned in to line himself up.

He dragged his tip through the wetness that coated the outside of my sex, before finding the place where he started sinking in. I was ready for the pain, and was surprised to find that it didn’t come, not the way it had felt with my less-skilled lovers before. Vane’s cock hung longer and thicker than I had ever seen before, and so I had feared the worst. But my body welcomed the stretch of him. Especially since he was working himself in so slowly, dragging back after every inch he gained, even spitting in his hand to add more moisture and ease his passage.

“Look at me.”

I couldn’t open my eyes at first, so overwhelmed was I with the slide of his cock, plumbing deeper and deeper inside me with every rock of his hips. When I finally did, and caught his brilliant, hooded eyes gazing down at me in absolute lust and affection, an even sharper passion bloomed in my core. It was a primal feeling, animal and strange and yet so deeply, truly right. Charles Vane was making me his. With a soft cry I yielded something I didn’t even realize I was holding back, and the entire length of him bottomed out inside me.

He kept his face close, he kept his hips close. He rocked in tiny movements, the softening of his eyelids showing his pure enjoyment of the sensation of being inside me.

But it was so much. So very, very much; the pressure close to pain as he filled me to my limit. Every time he rolled his hips, it felt a little better. “Move,” I breathed. “It feels better when you move.”

His deep voice rumbled in agreement as he pressed his forehead against mine and made his rhythmic thrusts longer, rocking like the waves against the shore, pulling more than half his length out before sliding inevitably back in. Pain kindled into pleasure under that steady motion, and I sighed in sweet relief.

“Feels good to be fucked properly, does it?” he teased into my ear, and I realized I had let my eyes close again as I sank into the ecstasy. He kissed my cheek and then lifted up a little above me, giving himself the leverage to snap his hips a little faster, a little harder.

I was panting now, my whole body getting hot as I writhed and offered myself to him fully.

“You never answered me before. How rough you’d like me to get.” His pace increased just a little even before I could answer, his hands curling around my hips.

I had always feared men’s roughness, during this act. But with Vane it felt totally different. And the coiled violence in his arms, the way he was so easily able to put lesser men in their place, certainly those were some of the things that attracted me to him the most. “How am I to answer a question like that?” And then, another thought arrested me: “How rough do you like it?”

Vane’s hips slowed, so he could pay attention to my face as he considered. One scarred eyebrow lifted. “I do like a woman with a little fight in her.”

Well. That, I certainly was. You don’t find a place on a pirate crew without a good measure of ferocity. But I considered my position. “Hard to fight you when you’ve already got me speared.”

I smoothed my hands along his flanks, faking a caress, then pushed them against his ribs while squeezing my thighs around him, twisting my hips in the way that I would use to throw a man off me in a fight. In my current predicament, however, it served only to drive Vane’s cock inside me deeper, and I broke off my attempt with a ragged moan as the sharp pleasure of it overwhelmed me.

I thought I heard the captain chuckle under the sound of my own cries. He scooped up my wrists and forced my hands up over my head, driving himself into me with more savage stabs.

The way I felt when Captain Vane overpowered me like that gave me all the answer to his question that I needed, my insides blooming and tingling all over again. I didn’t like making noises, did my best to keep these mewling wails quiet, but it was so hard to control myself underneath this.

“You like to feel me hold you down, don’t you?” Vane rumbled in my ear. His fingers flexed against my wrists, emphasizing how fully he had me pinned.

I did, but I still had a little fight left in me too. My mouth sought his for a kiss, scraping hard, then my teeth sank into his lip.

Vane growled into my mouth and jerked me up off the bed almost irritably. I kept my legs wrapped around him tight, an almost ornery urge leading me to try and confound his attempt to reposition me. But that only made it easier for him to scoop me completely off the mattress as he knelt up on the bed. He wasn’t satisfied just with that, however. His powerful arms secured me close as he stepped back onto the deck, then turned and slammed my back into the bulkhead wall. He pinned me there, my feet up in the air, and resumed fucking into me.

I thrilled at the strength of this man, though the angle was savage. “Mmm, yes,” I mewled against his cheek, “throw me around.”

He gave me a few more good hard thrusts against the wall before he spun me over to the table where we had so recently been playing cards. He removed his cock from me with shaking effort, only so that he could manhandle me around and bend me over the flat surface. My cheek pressed into the finely polished wood as his cock punctured me again, so thick that I still felt every last inch of him going in despite how stretched I had already become for him.

His deep voice rumbled in pleasure above me as he fucked as hard and fast as he wanted. I felt my body coiling around him, his tip slamming at an angle that awoke something dazzling deep inside me, and I wondered if he was going to make me feel that breaking point again. My throat squeezed out his name, over and over again, hoping he wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t break this delic—

Another orgasm crashed over my senses, locking up every muscle in my body as I squealed through my teeth into the wood. Vane made a guttural sound in response, his rhythm stuttering. He pulled his length out of me and I sobbed at its loss, but understood why when something warm and wet started streaking along my back. I reveled at the evidence of his pleasure as my body still shook with my own.

I heard him sigh deeply, felt him draw his slick-tipped cock across the base of my spine. Then he leaned over me, dropping his forearm onto the table beside my face and then collapsing his head on top of it.

We panted in unison for a while, recovering from the intensity of it all. When Vane tilted his head to peek at me through disheveled strands of hair, his eyes were alight.

“I’m going to have to have you again.”

I sucked in a deep breath.

“Not immediately,” he clarified, his hand stroking up the clean part of my back, “but this was too good to be just once.”

“Better hope your luck holds in the next card game, then,” I teased. “Though I know, by the way, that luck had nothing to do with it.”

Vane smirked. “Can you blame me, with such a lovely prize on the table?”

I laughed, given that I was currently still laying, naked, on that very same table. Then I got serious. “I don’t like how it would look to the men, me fucking the captain. It changes things.”

Vane leaned in closer, until my whole world was his brilliant eyes, as blue as the bay at Nassau where we’d be arriving soon. “Then you’ll just have to get very good at being quiet.”

Captain Vane Masterlist

#charles vane #captain vane #charles vane imagine #black sails fanfic #black sails fic

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

Text

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 21 - In Which Jack and Charles Have a Conversation

Jack and Charles tumble into bed, laughing. The party's over but Jack's still hopped up on the almost manic beat of the dancefloor and the feel of Charles pressed against him, skin to skin. They roll together until Jack is atop a grinning, panting Charles, his own grin nearly splitting his face in two.

And then they're kissing. Deep and almost lazy, like ocean breakers against the shore. Unending and eternal and unfathomably deep.

It's perfect. It's everything Jack's been dreaming about for weeks and weeks. He breaks the kiss.

“Is this real?”

They've spun so many gossamer dreams over the past months. So many shimmering impossible realities. Made to trap and to trick and to misdirect their marks.

It's possible Jack himself has gotten trapped.

Charles looks up at him.“You mean me being in love with you?”

In love with him? “Yes,” Jack manages to choke out. “That.”

Charles shrugs. “Yeah.” As if it's just that easy. And then he asks, “Is it real for you?”

“Of course it's real! I've been in love with you for weeks! Months!” Jack's almost indignant that Charles could think otherwise. But at least it means Jack hasn't looked as ridiculously lovestruck as he'd feared. “Wait, how long've you been in love with me?”

Charles shrugs again. “It might've taken me a while to figure out, after everything with Eleanor and Flint and that whole fucking mess, but I've known for a while.”

“Then why the fuck didn't you say anything Chaz?”

The idea that Jack could have had this – possibly for weeks! It's galling!

Never mind the fact that he could have said something too.

“It wasn't real, us being boyfriends,” Charles says, matter of fact. “It was just for the con. And I – even if this ain't my usual kinda job, I'm not going to fuck it up just cuz of how I feel.”

He looks at Jack, now, and he looks frustrated, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Such a difference from a moment ago, when everything had been light and happy. Fantastical.

“I almost threw everything away over Eleanor,” Charles says. “I already almost fucked us during one of the most important jobs we ever pulled - I wasn't gonna do that again. Flint's job. His whole plan for us and all the rest of the crews. The stakes were too high for me to be led around by my cock. But I fucked us over for a chance with someone who didn't give a flying fuck about me.”

Because it wasn't just his cock Eleanor'd led Charles around by – she'd had him by the heart. Which was the bigger problem – if she'd just been a good fuck, Charles wouldn't have kept coming back over and over again after every betrayal.

And he's got the same problem with Jack. It isn't just that he wants to fuck him. He is in love with him.

And when Charles loves someone, there's nothing he wouldn't do for them, for that chance at loving them and being loved by them. Even if they use that fact against him, again and again and again.

And Jack's already betrayed him once, for much less than their current con is worth. Who's to say he wouldn't do it again, if he thought he had to. If he thought that was the only way to keep himself and Anne – the first and truest love of Jack's life – safe.

And Charles wouldn't even blame him for it. He understands what it means to be backed into a corner, with no good way out of it except the way that's filled with blood and death and betrayal. So he'd made sure to never back Jack into that corner.

“The stakes are always that high, now, the jobs we're pulling,” Charles continues. “And I'm not going to fuck us over again. Especially since we're supposed to be pretend boyfriends. I wouldn't put you in that position. I wouldn't force that on you when you couldn't say no.”

He's looking at Jack like he's willing Jack to believe him. Like he can make Jack agree through sheer force of will.

But Jack doesn't agree.

“You're so full of shit, Charles.”

He looks startled. Like Jack had slapped him.

“You wouldn't be forcing me into anything. I want this. It – I thought you didn't.”

Frankly, Jack didn't really think Charles could fall in love. Or that he'd want to – particularly with Jack.

Because he's right about love and betrayal and everything. Jack's no Eleanor – who he'd always thought Charles had loved more for the idea of her, the image of strength and pure ballsyness she'd professed, even if it had been a hollow facade. Charles wasn't looking for tenderness – he was looking for a fellow captain. The meanest fuck on the block. Someone who could spill as much of his blood as Charles spilled of theirs. Not a coupling, not a partnership, but a fight for dominance.

And Jack thought Charles was a bloody fool for letting Eleanor lead him around for as long as she did. For letting her betraying him. For letting her use him – though she's more than reaped her reward for all of that.

But he'd thought he'd understood what Charles was looking for. And it sure as hell wasn't the kind of love Jack found himself feeling for him.

“I didn't think you'd want, well, romance. Long walks on the beach. Quiet nights in, all that romance novel rot.”

Charles snorts a bit at that.

“See, that just proves my point! You're not the sort for candlelight dinners and breakfasts and-”

“Bubble baths and cuddling and all that sissy shit, right?” Charles raises a sardonic eyebrow. “All that shit that'd make me weak?”

Jack blushes. “It's possible I may have miscalculated slightly.”

There's a pause.

Charles looks off to the side. And Jack thinks maybe the issue's closed for the time being. But then Charles lets out a long breath. “I used to think like that. My whole fucking life was about being the toughest and the strongest. No attachments, no weaknesses.”

No love. No tenderness.

“But it's not weakness. It's strength.”

Charles turns to Jack, looks him right in the eye.

“We're partners in this thing, Jack. All of us. And there won't be any betrayal, because it would be betraying ourselves as well.”

“You can't know that,” Jack says, sounding frustrated himself now. “You can't know that we wouldn't ever fight. That we wouldn't ever have different ideas about how things should be run – that we wouldn't ever betray each other because of that.”

They've all betrayed each other so many different times. Pulled in different directions by what they thought was the best way forward – the best way to keep each other safe. Jack has betrayed Charles and he has betrayed Anne and he has betrayed Max. And been betrayed in turn. He knows intimately the pain and the fear and the confusion and the hurt that follows. Just as he knows the sick twisting triumphant shame.

“I asked Anne about that. About how it was so easy for me to love you, even though you'd betrayed me. And you know what she said? The whole point of this con, the whole point of being rich fucks, and of fucking over the system from the inside – the whole point of that is so that things are easy, now. So we don't have to struggle. We don't have to be afraid anymore. We can just live. Like all them rich fuckers get to do.”

Jack doesn't know that it's quite as easy as all that. But Anne's right, they aren't living like that anymore. Scared and fractured and trying desperately to stay just one step, just a half step even, ahead of the slavering jaws of enemies much more powerful than they could ever hope to defeat.

They have the luxury of time now, and of choice.

“I suppose we can't promise we'd never fight,” Jack says gently, thoughtfully. “Any one of us. But we've got time now, to come to a decision – together.”

Charles grunts in agreement.

And Jack supposes it doesn't hurt to try. To reach out for this one thing he'd never thought he'd get to have. With someone he'd never thought would want it.

“Anne and Max and Mary are all making it work, after all,” Jack muses, half under his breath. And they have almost more issues than Jack and Charles. “Suppose we gave it a try.”

Charles grins, sharp. “Suppose we did.”

“I get to be the one to tell Anne,” Jack says, calling dibs because otherwise Anne'll let on how desperately Jack's been pining after Charles. And that's just too embarrassing.

“You'll just make a whole big show of it,” Charles grumbles. But in a way that means he wouldn't really mind it all that much.

Jack just gives him a look.

“Yeah, all right.” And Charles heaves a put upon sigh. “You'll be fucking insufferable otherwise.”

“Oh you know you love me,” Jack says, with a coquettish fluttering of his eyelashes.

“God help me, I do.”

A pause.

And then Charles glares up at Jack again. “This is the part where you say you love me too.”

In truth, Jack feels rather giddy knowing his affections are returned. But he's not about to admit that. Admit how looking into Charles's eyes makes him feel like his insides are full of bubbling champagne. How his heart beats faster whenever Charles stands too near him. How much Jack would like to shout his infatuation from the rooftops so that everyone knows he's absolutely besotted.

He can't admit any of that, so sarcasm and good-natured teasing it is.

“Oh, who wouldn't want to date you, Chaz? Such an exemplar of charm and good manners.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Charles pushes him off and Jack lays sprawling, looking sideways at Charles. He's got a genuine smile on his face, and Jack's sure his own grin matches.

“Love to, darling. But not tonight. We really ought to get some sleep.”

“Hmmm,” Charles hums low in agreement.

There's another, longer, sleepier pause.

“Like it when you call me that,” Charles says, sounding half asleep already.

“What, darling?”

“Yeah. Know it doesn't mean anything. But s'nice.”

Jack snuggles back against the pillows and makes a note to come up with the sappiest fucking nicknames for Charles he can think of.

Jack and Charles come down to breakfast the next morning, blushing and smiling and holding hands and Anne doesn't need to be a genius to figure out that they've finally figured out that they're stupidly in love with one another. The oblivious idiots.

“Oh. My. God,” is Mary's assessment. “Fucking finally.”

The two just grin and hold hands and blush harder.

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #anne bonny/max #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 2

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

Text

Two Sides Of The Same Coin

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,104 Warnings: Explicit Language, Light Angst

Author’s Note: I finally got this idea to come out like I wanted it to! I’m so happy! Enjoy! -Thorne

She smiled as the man paced the room, hands wildly gesturing around, sometimes running roughly through his hair as he complained, “He’s disillusioned! And so single-minded! It’s like every mission, the only thing he’s concerned with is how much closer it’s going to get him to Lee! And don’t even get me started on trying to talk to him! He never listens-are you listening to me (Y/N)?” She looked up from the book, reclining into the armchair as she countered,

“Of course, Haytham. I have been since you started complaining about Connor.” His face pinched as he stalked towards her, hands gripping each arm of the chair, leaning close to her face.

“You’re mocking me.” (Y/N) snorted, reaching up to soothe the harsh lines on his forehead.

“You keep making faces like that and it’ll get suck.” He huffed a laugh and reached up, taking her hand in his. He pressed it to his lips, gently laying a kiss to her knuckles and she added, “Darling, he’s a young man who’s passionate about what he believes in.” Haytham groaned as he lowered to his knees, laying his head in her lap. (Y/N) chuckled, carding his fingers through his hair.

“But he’s so…he’s so-” She tugged lightly at a strand, correcting,

“So much like his father when he was a younger man.” Her husband went silent and she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You can’t blame the boy Haytham. The things he’s gone through as a child…losing Ziio…growing up believing that Charles was responsible…” (Y/N) sighed, adding, “It’s made him who he is. You can’t change that, no matter how much you try to reason with him.” Her husband kept quiet and a heartbreaking look crossed his face as he whispered,

“I just want to help him.” She smiled sadly, murmuring,

“Darling you can…but you have to do it through love.” He looked up at her with a heavy gaze, and she cupped his cheek, running her thumb under his eye. “Such beautiful eyes you have.” His lips curled up slightly and she asked, “Do you know what I first thought of them when I met you?” Haytham hummed in response and she said, “I thought to myself, ‘My god…his eyes look like they’ve been forged from star metal.’” This time, his lips pulled a little higher and she added, “And even through all these years, despite how dull you think they’ve gotten…I still think they shine like the brightest star in the sky.” Haytham reached up, holding on to the hand that cupped his cheek, then moved his head, pressing his lips to her palm. Sighing, he murmured,

“You’re still such a poet Missus Kenway.” (Y/N) giggled, gently poking his nose as she countered,

“Only for you Mister Kenway.” The two smiled at one another when a knock sounded from their door. Immediately the two split, rising to their feet, (Y/N) curling her hand around a saber by her chair, Haytham pulling a spare flintlock from the door side table. He looked over at her and she nodded, watching as he opened the door. She listened as the surprise colored his tone and he sputtered,

“Connor?” (Y/N)’s brows rose, and she peeked around her husband, looking out the door. Sure enough, the young man stood on their doorstep, a look of uncertainty on his face. Haytham recovered from the shock, inquiring, “What are you doing here?” Connor cleared his throat, murmuring,

“I did not have time to make it back to the Homestead before the sun went down.” He shuffled his feet, evidently nervous. “Many of the inns do not allow natives to stay.” He looked straight at his father, asking, “May I stay the night?” Haytham’s jaw went slack and (Y/N) scoffed, shoving at his side.

“Oh, move out of the way already and let the poor boy inside.” Half-listening to his wife, Haytham shuffled to the side and (Y/N) opened the door, holding out a hand to Connor. “Please, come inside Connor.” He offered her a tight smile as he stepped inside, eyes moving from them to the entry way, taking in the sight. She placed a hand on his upper arm, pointing to the stairs. “Second door on the left is the guest room, dear. Make yourself at home. Dinner will be ready in about an hour or so.” He nodded, leaving the two standing in the entryway. After he disappeared upstairs, Haytham shut the front door and glared at her, hissing,

“Do you really think it was wise to invite him inside?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, countering,

“Oh shush. He’s not going to do anything Haytham.”

“And you know this how?” She huffed, motioning to the stairs.

“You saw how he was acting. I he was going to kill us, he’d probably wouldn’t’ve gone through the trouble of asking to stay the night.” Before he could say anything, she raised a pointer finger, firmly stating, “He’s staying the night and I don’t want to hear another word about it Haytham Kenway.” His mouth snapped shut but he still glowered at her and she stuck her tongue out as she passed him.

“Oh, that’s mature.” Waving him off, she disappeared into the kitchen.

A Few Hours Later:

The two sat in the living room, a comfortable silence between them as they did. Haytham had gone upstairs earlier to take a bath, leaving (Y/N) and Connor to their own devices. She’d suffered through an awkward dinner between them, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it again, so she waited until he spoke to her. When he did, she almost didn’t hear it, his voice so quiet as he asked, “Was he always so cold-hearted when he was younger?” The book in her hands went slack as she questioned,

“Can you repeat that dear?” Connor looked up at her.

“My father…was he always so…cold to enemies? Even to people?” (Y/N) let out a sigh, closing the book in her hands, searching for the words. “If you do not wish to answer, I understand.” She shook her head, placing the book on the table next to her as she said,

“It’s not that I don’t want to answer, it’s just…” She waved a hand, continuing, “Your father’s been through a lot during his life Connor…much like you have.” His face pinched, obviously upset at being compared to his father and he scoffed,

“Oh, so he watched his mother die in a raging fire as well?” (Y/N) frowned and corrected,

“No…but he did watch his father get murdered in front of him as a child.” Connor’s jaw went slack and she added, “I know that everything you think of Haytham has been framed from the view of what Lee did to your village and what the assassins have told you, but do not let that blind you from seeing that your father’s life has been just as scarred as yours has, Connor.” The young man shut his mouth, jaw clenching and she looked away, staring into the fire. “I apologize…I didn’t mean to sound so harsh…Haytham’s trauma and memories are his own…just as yours are…one doesn’t gain level over the other…they’re both hard on the two of you.” Another bout of silence encompassed them, then he inquired,

“Was he ever happy?” (Y/N) smiled, looking back over at him.

“He is when he’s at home and not dealing with the outside world…he certainly was back in the day.” Her eyes narrowed with a fondness as she offered, “You might have his lips and nose, but you take after Ziio so much.” Connor’s eyes widened and he breathed,

“You know about my mother?” She chuckled, nodding her head.

“I’d like to think at one point in time that she and I were friends. She was…like a tempest on legs.” (Y/N) hummed. “I think he really did love her at some point…it changed a lot between us when we got married.” She looked at him. “He still loved her. And even though I knew he loved me too, it wasn’t hard to tell that sometimes he thought about her and what could’ve been.”

“She did not talk about him much.” (Y/N) nodded, a frown crossing her lips.

“They parted on less than glad terms…much of it was Haytham’s fault.”

“Does he still love my mother?” She paused, then took a deep breath, answering,

“I don’t think he does like he used to…” (Y/N) met his gaze and rose from her armchair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. She knelt and held out her hand, waiting for him to take it. When he did, she brushed her thumbs over his knuckles, stating, “But I know that part of his heart that she used to inhabit has been replaced with love for you.” Connor looked at her incredulously and she murmured, “I love that stubborn bastard with all my heart, but that’s exactly what he is…a stubborn bastard.” A laugh escaped Connor and she added, “He’d never admit it, but he does love you Connor, and he does care…he’s just unsure of how to show it.” (Y/N) reached up, pushing a piece of his hair behind his ear. “Two sides of the same coin you both are.” He didn’t say anything, and she pulled her hands away, then gently patted his leg. “No matter what happens in the future Connor, you will always have a home here. You are always welcome.” As she rose and turned, he called,

“Even if we are not related? Or on the same side?” (Y/N) stopped and looked back at him, smiling,

“I’m old Connor…I’m pushing fifty this year.” She let out a chuckle. “I’ve been alive a long time dear…and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that we’re not really on different sides. We’re all searching for the same thing just with different ideals.” She took a breath, then continued, “As for us not being related…well…you’re my husband’s son…that makes you family in my book dear.” (Y/N) offered him a heartfelt smile and nodded her head. “Goodnight Connor. Sleep well.” He nodded back at her, a troubled smile on his face.

As she entered their bedroom, she shut the door behind her, sighing as she untied the robe around her waist, leaving her in his long shirt. (Y/N) groaned as she fell into the bed beside him, burrowing herself into the covers and ultimately his side. He glanced over the glasses he wore, grinning as he moved the book so she could rest her head on his hip. “Tired?” She groaned again, throwing an arm over his legs. He gave another smile, going back to his book, but stopped when she quipped,

“I don’t know if you know this, but you’re old and your knees make noises when you move.” Haytham’s steely gaze met hers and she said, “I heard you a few moments before I came upstairs.” His eyes left hers, looking to the side and he replied,

“I didn’t wish to interrupt the two of you…besides…everything I could’ve said came better from you.” (Y/N) smiled sadly, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. She wrapped a silver strand around her finger, joking,

“Man, if your body couldn’t tell me you were old, your hair certainly could.” Haytham barked a laugh, looking down at her, countering,

“You’ve got just as much gray hair as I do.” Her hands immediately went to her head and she asked,

“Do I?” He nodded and she frowned,

“Oh no…I’m old.” Haytham chuckled, bending down to kiss her lips and he murmured against them,

“We can be old together Missus Kenway.” (Y/N) smiled, pecking his lips.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way Mister Kenway.” As he pulled back, an easy smile crossed his lips, but it quickly dropped as he gasped, a hand going to his back. Her eyes went wide, and she sat up, worriedly asking, “Are you alright?” He nodded his head, breathing,

“My back.” For a moment, she didn’t say anything, then her head tipped back as she cackled loudly. His face dropped and he griped, “Oh laugh it up you wicked witch.” (Y/N) reached up wiping the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

“Oh my god…that’s hilarious.” Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his cheek, then laid down in the bed, curling the covers to her neck. “You’re having back pain. Haytham Kenway, you’re officially an old man.”

“Wicked witch.”

“I’m your wicked witch.” Haytham grunted as he sat up, then he placed the book on the nightstand, looking over at her before he let out the candle, whispering,

“Forever and always.”

#haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway x reader imagine #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #ac3 #assassins creed 3 #haytham kenway #connor kenway #Ratonhnhaké:ton

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

Text

‘There’s still a presence out there reminding people not to speak about JFK’s killing’

Oliver Stone is not a fan of “cancel culture”. “Of course I despise it,” the Oscar winning filmmaker says, as if utterly amazed that anyone needs to ask him such a dumb question. “I am sure I’ve been cancelled by some people for all the comments I’ve made…. it’s like a witch hunt. It’s terrible. American censorship in general, because it is a declining, defensive, empire, it (America) has become very sensitive to any criticism. What is going on in the world with YouTube and social media,” he rants. “Twitter is the worst. They’ve banned the ex-President of the United States. It’s shocking!” he says, referring to Donald Trump’s removal from the micro-blogging platform.

It’s a Saturday lunchtime in the restaurant of the Marriott Hotel on the Croisette in Cannes. The American director is in town for the festival premiere this week of his new feature documentary JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass, in which he yet again pores over President John F Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963.

“I am a pin cushion for American-Russian peace relations… I had four f***ing vaccines: two Sputniks and two Pfizers,” Stone gestures at his arm. The rival super-powers may remain deeply suspicious of one another, but Stone is loading himself up with potions from both sides of the old Iron Curtain.

He has recently been travelling in Russia (hence the Sputnik jabs) where he has been making a new documentary about how nuclear power can save humanity. He also recently completed a film about Kazakhstan’s former president Nursultan Nazarbayev which – like his interviews with Vladimir Putin – has been roundly ridiculed for its deferential, softly-softly approach toward a figure widely regarded as a ruthless despot.

Dressed in a blue polo shirt, riffing away about the English football team one moment and his favourite movies the next, laughing constantly, the 74-year-old Oscar-winning director of Platoon, Wall Street, Natural Born Killers et al is a far cheerier presence than his reputation as a purveyor of dark conspiracy thrillers might suggest. He is also very outspoken. For all his belligerence, though, Stone isn’t as thick-skinned as you might imagine. I wonder if he was hurt by the scorn that came his way when his feature film JFK was released in 1991.

“I was more of a younger man. It was painful to me,” the director sighs as he remembers being attacked by such admired figures as newscaster Walter Cronkite and Hollywood power broker Jack Valenti for listening to the “hallucinatory bleatings” of former New Orleans DA Jim Garrison when JFK came out. “It was quite shocking actually because I thought the murder was behind us. I did think there was a feeling that 30 years later, we can look at this thing again without getting excited. But I was way wrong.”

Garrison, of course, was the real-life figure portrayed by Kevin Costner in the film; he was the original proponent of the theory that the CIA were involved in the killing of the US president, after his 1966 investigation. Garrison wrote the book On the Trail of the Assassins, on which the movie was partly based.

Even the director’s fiercest detractors will find it hard to dismiss the evidence he has assembled about the JFK assassination in the new documentary. Once I’d seen it and heard him hold forth, I came away thinking that only flat-earthers can possibly still believe that Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy all on his own. It’s that convincing.

Stone blitzes you with facts and figures about the Kennedy killing and its aftermath. At times, he himself seems to be suffering from information overload. “I am sorry. There are so many people,” he apologises for not immediately remembering the name of Kennedy’s personal physician, George Burkley, who was present both at Parkland Hospital, where Kennedy was first taken, and then at Bethesda, where the autopsy took place. Burkley was strangely reticent when giving evidence to the Warren Commission.

“I think there’s still a presence out there which reminds people not to speak. I’ve heard that in, of all places, Russia,” Stone says. He was startled to discover that the Russians knew all about his new documentary long before it was discussed in the mainstream press. “They said, ‘We heard about it.’ I said, ‘How?’ They said, ‘We have our contacts in the American intelligence business. They are not very happy about it.’”

Stone believes that no US president since Kennedy died has been “able to go up against this militarised sector of our economy”. Even Trump “backed down at the last second” and declined to release all the relevant documents relating to the assassination. “He announced, ‘I’m going to free it up, blah blah blah, big talk, and then a few hours before, he caved to CIA National Security again.”

The veteran filmmaker expresses his frustrations at historians like Robert Caro, author of a huge (and hugely respected) multi-volume biography of President Lyndon Johnson, for ignoring the evidence that has been turned up about the assassination.

“I can’t say [LBJ] was involved in the assassination,” explains Stone, “but it certainly suited him that Kennedy was not there anymore and he covered up by appointing the Warren Commission and doing all the things he did.”

Stone tried to cast Marlon Brando in JFK in the role as the deep throat source Mr X, eventually played by Donald Sutherland.

“I realise now I am grateful that he turned it down because he knew better than I that he would make 20 minutes out of that 14-minute monologue and it wouldn’t have worked.”

Nevertheless, he filled the film with famous faces. He thought that having familiar actors would make it easier for audiences to engage with what was an immensely complicated story.

Getting Stone to stop talking about JFK is like trying to pull a bone from a mastiff’s jaws. To change the subject slightly, I ask if he is still in touch with WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. He is and is utterly horrified at how Assange is being treated, especially given that Siggi the Hacker, a key witness in the extradition case against Assange, admitted recently that he lied. Stone praises Assange’s partner Stella Morris as “the best wife you could ever have. She really is smart, she’s a lawyer … he has two children. He can’t even touch them or see them. It’s barbaric. It indicates America is declining faster than we know. It is just cutting off dissent.”

The mood lightens when I invite Stone to discuss some of his favourite films. He recently tweeted a list of these, which included Darling starring Julie Christie, Joseph Losey’s Eva starring Stanley Baker and Jeanne Moreau, and Houseboat, a frothy comedy starring Cary Grant and Sophia Loren. “I love films, always have. People don’t know that side of me. I could go on forever.”

Between his darker and more contentious efforts, Stone has made a few genre films himself, for example the underrated thriller U-Turn starring Sean Penn and Jennifer Lopez. He notes, though, that even when he tried a sports movie, he ended up right back in the firing line. The NFL was furious about his 1999 American Football film, Any Given Sunday. “They (the NFL) are arrogant, very rich people who close down any dissent, so I had to change uniforms and names… but they got the point.”

Last year, Stone published the first volume of his autobiography, Chasing the Light, which took him from childhood up to his Oscar triumph with Platoon. It was well received but it didn’t make nearly a big enough splash for his liking. “There was a curtain of silence about that. Maybe it is Covid… it was not reviewed by many people,” he says. “I wish the timing had been better. The publisher was terrible. They didn’t really promote anything. So now I have to start over again if I am going to do a second book, which I would love to do. But I have to find the right publisher.”

The book contains a barbed account of Stone’s experiences as a young screenwriter working in London for British director Alan Parker and producer David Puttnam on Midnight Express. “I wrote about it in the book, so you got my point of view. They were not very friendly people. I gave my criticism of Parker that he had a chip on his shoulder. He was from a poor side of the English. There is this phenomenon you see in England of hating the upper classes until they approve of you.”

No, they didn’t stay in touch. “And Puttnam is a Lord, right? He reminds me of Tony Blair. He is such a weasel.” For once, Stone feels he has overstepped the mark. He doesn’t want to call Puttnam a weasel after all. “Put it this way, Tony Blair is a weasel. I wouldn’t trust Tony Blair. Puttnam is a supporter of Blair. Let’s leave it at that.”

On matters English, he isn’t that keen on soccer either. He watched the semi-final between England and Denmark but had no intention of tuning into the final.

“Soccer is a different kind of game. It’s a different aesthetic. It is constant movement. The United States game allows you to re-group after every play and go into a huddle and so it becomes about strategy. I still enjoy it although people think I am brutal.”

Ask him why he so relishes American Football and he replies that he “grew up with violence in America … we were banging – cowboys and Indians, a lot of killing and that stuff. How do you get away from that? We weren’t playing with dolls.”

Stone’s feelings about the US are deeply ambivalent. He is old enough to remember a time in the late 1940s and early 1950s when “everything in America was golden” and part of him still seems to love the country but his mother was French and he talks about the US as a nation now in near terminal decline.

Perhaps surprisingly, his real political hero isn’t JFK. It’s the former President of France, Charles de Gaulle. “He said no to NATO and he said no to America. He understood the dangers of being a satellite country to America. You have no power in Europe. Don’t kid yourself. The EU is just an artificial body that was amazingly stupid in cutting off Russia and cutting off China too now.”

He doesn’t much like Boris Johnson either. “Boris, listen. He’d simply throw you in jail in a second.” He rails against the English for holding Assange in Belmarsh prison.

When he is not on a crusade or unravelling a conspiracy, Stone relaxes through Buddhist meditation. “Moderation in all things,” the man who came up with the phrase “greed is right, greed works” says with no evident sense of irony. He enjoys hanging out with his friends. “I have a nice life. I’m lucky,” he says before quickly adding, “I wish I had been more honoured and respected in my lifetime, but it seems that I took a course that is in conflict with the American Empire.”

Stone’s films have had relatively few strong female characters. Ask if he welcomes the #MeToo movement and the challenging of old gender norms and he gives a typically contrary answer. “It cuts both ways, though. There are reasons for patriarchy through the centuries,” he says. “Tribes tend to have a strong leader. You need strong leaders, but I do see the feminine impulse as being important, especially when situations become too militant. The feminine impulse, I’m talking about the maternal impulse not the Hillary Clinton/Margaret Thatcher version of feminism. They’re men. They’re not women,” he says. “I don’t want women in politics who want to be men. If a woman is a woman, she should be a woman and bring her maternalism. It’s a leavening influence.”

The director deplores the rush to judge historical figures about past misdeeds from a contemporary point of view. “I am conservative in that way… don’t expect to rejudge the entire society based on your new values.”

He met with Harvey Weinstein in Cannes a few years ago to discuss a potential Guantanamo Bay TV series. “At that point, maybe he knew he was on the ropes; he was delightfully charming and humble.” The project was scuppered by the scandal that that engulfed the former Miramax boss, who is now behind bars as a convicted sex offender. Stone’s gripes with Weinstein are less to do with his sexual offences than with the way that he attacked films like Born on the Fourth of July and Saving Private Ryan to boost his own movies.

“The press loved him [Weinstein]. Don’t forget, they loved him in the 1990s,” he says, remembering the disingenuous way in which Weinstein portrayed himself as the underdog taking on the big, bad Hollywood system.

“I think he robbed Cruise of the Oscar, frankly,” Stone huffs at the intensive Weinstein lobbying which saw Daniel Day-Lewis win the Academy Award for Best for My Left Foot, denying Tom Cruise for Born on the Fourth of July in the process.

Stone acknowledges his status in Hollywood has diminished. “All that’s gone. The people have changed,” he says of the days when the studios doted on him and his films were regularly awards contenders. Now, he’ll often finance his work out of Europe. He is developing a new feature film (he won’t say what it is). “Never say die, never say it’s over,” he says of his career.

Stone is based in Los Angeles and also has “a place in New York”. During the pandemic, he still managed to travel to Russia to make his nuclear power/clean energy documentary. “I got my shots over there because the EU is so f***ing stupid,” he says of the of the Europeans’ refusal to recognise the Sputnik vaccine. “It’s ridiculous, part of the political madness of this time.”

Now, he is putting all his energy into his new documentary about nuclear power. He waves away the idea that the Chernobyl and Fukushima disasters show what can go wrong – they were accidents.

“Accidents you learn from. If there were not a few crashes, how would you fly?” he says. It’s a line that somehow seems to express his entire philosophy of life.

-Geoffrey Macnab interviews Oliver Stone, The Independent, Jul 15 2021 [x]

#oliver stone #jfk #jfk: through the looking glass #the independent #julian assange #boris johnson #david puttnam #harvey weinstein #born on the fourth of july #covid19 #vaccine #chasing the light #cannes film festival

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thomaslightwood · 4 years

Text

A Kind of Magic

Chapter four: Who wants to live forever

But touch my tears with your lips,

Touch my world with your fingertips,

And we can have forever,

And we can love forever.

Forever is our today.

• • • •

Alastair tried to read the article for the third time. The words just couldn't reach his brain. With a sigh Alastair turned the page of the newspaper. In the last week he couldn't concentrate on anything actually. He had work to do but he mostly trained because that was the only thing that seems to calm his mind.

“I'm ready,” Layla appeared at the door at his room. “Should we go?”

“Finally,” he closed the newspaper and put it aside. “It took you forever.”

His sister frowned at him.

“It's not true. Only thirty minutes. Besides,” she added, “I could go alone.”

Alastair raised from his seat and left his room, following Cordelia to the front door.

“You know pretty well this isn't my idea.” It was their mother's. Layla and Lucie had to train together and there was an Enclave meeting at the Institute today which Alastair wanted to attend. So his mother said they should go together. Nether Cordelia nor Alastair were very excited about it but they had no choice.

“I know,” she sighed while they were getting in the carriage. With a little bit of worry, Alastair noticed. He couldn't blame her for worrying about their mother. He did too. Alastair wished Sona to finally tell Cordelia about her pregnancy. Maybe this way his sister would be a little bit calmer.

When they arrived at the Institute it was surprising to see that many people were already there for the meeting.

No one paid Alastair and Cordelia much attention when they entered. Though Alastair saw many familiar faces. Young faces. Many Nephilims were injured, disappeared or killed, leaving their children to deal with this situation.

Cordelia found Lucie in the crowd and Alastair, without much choice, followed her. But then he detected that Thomas stood right beside her. His heart went up his throat.

“Darling Cordelia,” Lucie hugged his future parabatai.

“Lucie,” Layla said, smiling. “I thought the meeting starts later. Why there are so many people so early?”

“Well,” Lucie said, looking around. “I think most of them are just very worried about their close ones and want more information. Though there is none.”

“Excuse me,” Thomas said quietly and went in the crowd, looking tense. He doesn't like crowds, Alastair thought absentmindedly, looking after him. He wanted to stop him, to say he wanted to talk with him, to apologize. But it wasn't the right place or time. And as much as Alastair hated it, he didn't have the courage.

Thomas came to two people who Alastair recognized as Anna and Gabriel Lightwood. Thomas' cousin and uncle. He was a little surprised to see Anna Lightwood. He knew that she had never has interest in politics. But she was probably here because her mother, Cecily Lightwood, was injured by these new demons. Though Gabriel himself looked ill. Like the wound of his wife had an effect on him too.

Alastair envied their close relationship. His only cousin was a Silent Brother who he didn't meet at all. His father would never be someone Alastair could rely on. He had to keep secrets from his mother and sister.

Though none of the Lightwoods seemed happy in the moment. Rather serious and even worried. Like Sona, Layla and Alastair were since Elias was arrested. Maybe every family had their own problems after all.

To look at them, especially Thomas, was painful so he turned his gaze to Cordelia and Lucie. They were deep in a conversation so Alastair left them alone.

“Alastair?” He turned to the familiar voice. Ariadne Bridgestock. She smiled at him. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Alastair said. Actually, he had plenty of minutes until the start of the meeting which would be spent thinking about Thomas so he didn't mind some distraction. “What's the matter?”

She stepped closer and said “Is it true that your relationship with Charles is over?”

This caught him off guard. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was listening to them.

“Yes, that's correct,” Alastair answered quietly. “Why are you asking?”

Alastair doubted Charles shared anything from his private business with Ariadne. They weren't that close.

“Just... Lately he seems more edgy I think. I thought it might have something to do with you.”

Alastair frowned. Before two or three days they talked and then Alastair made himself absolutely clear: he didn't want to be with him anymore. Charles couldn't believe it at first but eventually he said he understands. Alastair wished him happiness but he didn't want to get involved with Charles anymore.

“Well, I hope he gets better,” he said only.

Ariadne nodded. After a few seconds she asked “Sorry if this is too personal to ask but am I the reason for your separation? Because I wouldn't want to be.”

“By the Angel, Ariadne,” Alastair looked at her surprised. “It's not your fault by any means. It's just...” Alastair found himself unable to stop the words from his mouth but at the same time they hardly came out of it. “It's Charles. And mostly me. I wasn't... comfortable in our current state. I... I didn't want to hide and lie about us. I couldn't stand it anymore. I even don't know how I did it for so long.”

Some sort of a pain flashed in Ariadne's eyes. “So you... didn't want to be his secret?”

“Yes, something like that,” Alastair said.

Ariadne's eyes were on someone in the crowd. He followed her gaze to there. It was Anna Lightwood. Alastair was startled for a moment. He didn't know they had any relationships. Was it possible to have something between them?

Alastair looked at Ariadne again. Her face didn't say much but her eyes spook enough. Did Anna broke Ariadne's heart? Anna was a famous heartbreaker.

Ariadne turned her attention back to him and smiled with an effort. “However. I just wanted to let you know that if you need you can always talk with me. I assume not many people know about... your situation with Charles.”

“Thank you,” Alastair answered, surprised. He thought about the pain in her eyes looking at Anna Lightwood. “You can tell me if something is bothering you too,” she looked him in the eyes. “I mean it.”

Ariadne cast one more glance at Anna. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I appreciate it.”

They stayed this way for a while. Without talking, every one of them looking at the person they desired the most.

• • • •

Alastair shut the door after himself as quiet as possible. His mother, Cordelia and Risa were probably asleep already and he didn't want to make noise. Though they were in the other part of the building but Alastair didn't want to risk it.

He patrolled for hours by now. With Ida Rosewain and Martin Wentworth, around Lambeth. Although they didn't meet any new demons. Only a few Iblis and Hellhound. Nothing new in other words.

Alastair began to count the spears he had to clean while going to his room. After thirty minutes everything was in the right place and Alastair was in his nightwear. He was checking if all the windows and doors were closed and turned off almost all the lights when someone knocked at the door.

Alastair astonished. In the name of Raziel, he just wanted to sleep. With seraph dagger in his hand, ready to fight if there was threat, Alastair approached the door slowly. He opened the door fast, raised the blade high.

But there was no need. Even in the dark he could recognize Thomas' figure.

“Good Raziel,” Alastair gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Can... Can I come in?” his voice was husky.

“Yes,” Alastair said, faster then he wanted to admit. He moved from the door so Thomas could come in and closed it after him. “The kitchen is the next door, you can sit there. Wait for a minute.”

Alastair went fast to his room to leave the dagger and to take one candle. He didn't want to wake up the rest. Also took his witchlight just in case.

When he came back into the kitchen Thomas was sitting on one of the chairs. His head in his hand, elbows on the table.

“Thomas? What's wrong with you?”

He didn't respond. Alastair frowned and came near him. He had a bad feeling.

“Thomas,” Alastair said quietly. “Show me your face.”

He heard how Thomas let out a trembling sigh.

“Thomas,” Alastair repeated his name again. But he didn't move. Alastair pushed his hand away from his face and tilted Thomas' chin up to get a better look.

The sight stopped his breath. There was a bruising around the left eye. A small trickle of blood trickled beside the other. Big blue mark on his jaw. This weren't wounds from a demon. But human hand.

Alastair looked him dead in the eyes. “Who did this to you?”

Thomas lowered his eyes and moved his hand away from his chin.

“It was just a silly fight with the boy I was patrolling. The other Shadowhunter was older, it was a shame to be so childish in front of him...”

“Thomas,” Alastair growled. “Who?”

Thomas closed eyes for a moment and let out, “Piers Wentworth.”

Alastair clenched his hands into fists. He was gonna kill him. He would make him regret that we was even born.

“Alastair,” Thomas breathed. “Calm down, please. It was really stupid. His father is on his deathbed. He was upset, I wasn't in the mood and we just lost it. Gerald Highsmith was very angry and told us to go home.”

Alastair didn't want to hear excuses for Wentworth but to break his neck. He was so angry. How dared this scum to touch Thomas.

Alastair looked at his face. Now wasn't the time. But later he would make Piers Wentworth sorry.

“Do you have stele?” he questioned.

“What?” Thomas asked confused.

“In Raziel's name,” Alastair groaned. “For your wounds. You need iratze.”

“Oh,” Thomas said embarrassed. “Yes, you're right.” He gave Alastair his stele from his pocket.

Alastair tilted his head back, exposing his throat. “Don't move,” Alastair muttered as he leaned down. He put his hand on the other side of Thomas neck to keep him steady. His pulse was beating fast under Alastair's fingers while he draw the rune.

“Why you came in my house though?” Alastair murmured.

“I was close and I didn't want my family to see me like this. And I... I hoped to see you.”

Thomas was so painfully honest that it took away Alastair's breath. When he was done with the rune Thomas shifted his head a little bit forward so he could look Alastair in the eyes. Alastair didn't move. He could feel Thomas' breath on his face.

“Alastair, I...” Thomas' word was barely a whisper. “That day in the park... I...”

Alastair still could feel his rapidly heartbeat. His lips parted a little bit.

“I didn't mean. It was... it was a misunderstanding. Can we still be...” he was panting.

Alastair senses were swallowed up by him. He couldn't see anything but his hazel eyes. He couldn't hear anything but Thomas' heavy breathing. He couldn't feel anything but his skin.

Alastair knew it was a bad idea but it was somehow inevitably. Before he knew what is happening Alastair tilted Thomas' head back and pressed his mouth against his lips. He was kissing Thomas Lightwood.

Thomas made a soft sound, a little surprised. Like he couldn't believe what was happening. Alastair couldn't too.

He felt how Thomas' hands slid on his arms, to the elbows. Fire was running through his veins. There was a sound but Alastair couldn't tell who made it. Maybe both of them.

After a few seconds he broke off the kiss and pulled his hands away. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...”

But he couldn't draw away because Thomas grabbed his face and crushed his lips into his. Alastair groaned. If the first kiss was gentle this one was nothing but desperation and hunger. Oh Raziel, Thomas' fingers were buried in his hair. They kept him in place like Thomas was afraid Alastair was going to run away from him. Alastair had no such intention. His own hands were on Thomas' wrists.

He had no idea how much time they spent on kissing but the need of air forced them to stop. They parted only a few inches, breathing insteady. Thomas eyes were still closed like he dreaming.

“By the Angel, Lightwood,” he murmured, pressing his forehead at Thomas'. His heart was beating crazy. On Thomas' face was no trace of the brushes, he noticed.

He slowly opened his hazel eyes. They shined with strange light. “Does that mean you...”

“Yes,” Alastair said. He breathed out shakily. “Yes.”

Thomas smiled and Alastair's heart just missed a beat. As much as he didn't want to, Alastair pulled away from Thomas. He had to think and Thomas made him dizzy. He pulled a chair and sat on him. His knee almost touched Thomas'.

“I...” Alastair began. He swallowed. “I'm sorry. For that day in the park. I shouldn't have left like that. It wasn't right.” He couldn't look Thomas in the face. “This is not excuse but in the same day I ended a long relationship between me and... my lover.”

Alastair heard how Thomas took a sharp breath. “Was it... a man?”

“Yes,” Alastair answered. “It was a man.”

For a few seconds there was a hush. Alastair waited for Thomas' judgment. Then he felt how Thomas was taking his hand and said softly. “If you want to talk about it, I'm here for you.”

Alastair said automatically “I'm fine.”

But then he looked away form their hands to his face. Thomas expression was solicitous, his eyes full of concern. Alastair realized that Thomas... cared a lot. Indeed.

“Actually, I'm not,” Alastair released. “I... I don't think I am.”

Thomas squeezed his hand. He asked quietly, “Do you want to tell me?”

Looking at his face, Alastair thought that Thomas was the most kind hearted person he has ever met.

“It will take long,” Alastair whispered.

“Well,” Thomas held Alastair's hand with both of his and said, “Imagine that the world has one sweet moment set aside for us,” he whispered, “And this is tonight.”

Alastair closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't deserve Thomas' kindness. Alastair took a deep breath. Let it out.

And started talking about Charles.

• • • •

“How was the patrolling last night?” Sona asked.

All three of them were on the table, having breakfast. Alastair drank from his tea before answering.

“It wasn't bad. Though nothing happened. We met only common demons, nothing unusual.”

“You seem in good mood today,” Cordelia mentioned with a smile before taking a bite of her eggs.

“If you say so,” he answered neutral.

“Layla is right, Alastair joon,” Sona added with a smile.

Alastair rolled his eyes. “You are imagining it.”

But he secretly smiled, thinking about last night.

Getting off the carriage, Alastair and Cordelia saw that there were too much people in front the Institute.

Alastair notice Inquisitor Bridgestock, Will Herondale and Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood, even Charles. Not far from them he saw two figures who he didn't know. One pale girl and a black haired boy. He spotted James Herondale near them but he was looking for Thomas. Maybe he wasn't here.

“What's happening?” Cordelia wondered beside him. He wanted to know the same.

“Cordelia!” Lucie appeared and hugged his sister. “You're here, thank the Angel.”

“Lucie,” Cordelia embraced her future parabatai. “What is this? What is the Inquisitor doing here?”

Lucie squeezed her arm. “Because aunt Charlotte hasn't come yet. I believe she will be here soon.”

“But what is happening? Why the Blackthorns are here?” Layla frowned.

Lucie gave the girl and the boy a sad look.

“Because Tatiana Blackthorn is dead.”

• • • •

A/N: Part of the kitchen scene is inspired by this prompt by @whumpster-dumpster. Also, you can look at the London's map to get a better idea of the mentioned places.

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onthesandsofdreams · 4 years

Text

Coming Together

Fandom: Pushing Daisies Pairing: Ned the Pie Maker x Olive Snook Rating: T Summary: Ned the pie maker, rushes out Olive’s apartment when jealousy hits him again and reminds him of the times when Olive used to look at him the same way she does Randy now. Words: 1225 Notes: Written for fictober-event, prompt #29. “back up!”

Read @ AO3

It’s been seven days, ten hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds since The Darling Mermaids Darlings have left for their world tour, taking Alive Again Avenger Charlotte Charles with them. And Ned the pie maker was feeling lonely.

He had let Charlotte go, out of his love for her and her promise to return. But now, as he baked another strawberry and rhubarb crumb pie, he felt the loneliness set in. Emerson Cod was spending time with his daughter, putting a small pause to their investigations and Olive Snook had opened her restaurant and was dating Randy Mann. And he was alone. His only comfort was Digby, but even then, it was a cold comfort he couldn’t touch.

So, he just kept busy with his pies and tried to be happy for his friends and not miss Charlotte too much.

It was on the tenth day, that he walked into the Intrepid Cow and sat on a boot. Olive spotted him almost immediately, “Jimminy Cricket, Ned. I’m glad you’re here,” she said as she slid opposite him, her smile ever present and it was like a balm to his soul. “What’s cooking, good looking?”

Ned gave her a small smile, “Just here to support your cooking endeavors.”

Olive’s smile grew at him. “Have you seen anything you like? I’ll bring it out for you, on the house. For the support.”

Ned had not paid attention to the menu, so he said, “Why don’t you surprise me, as long as it doesn’t have meat, I’ll be fine.”

Olive nodded and slid out the boot, “I have just the thing.” She said and hurried back to the kitchen, Ned watched her leave with some sort of reluctance. He missed her presence at the Pie Hole, he’d never realized how much he had grown to count on her being there. Thing he had realized the moment she no longer was. Or how much he actually missed her outside of it. Most of her time she was busy with The Intrepid Cow and Randy Mann. And Ned felt the rush of jealousy again.

It didn’t take long for her to place a bubbling plate in front of Ned. “Three cheese and cauliflower sauce, with vegetarian bacon bits – breathe Ned, they’re soy, and spinach. Enjoy!”

And Ned did, they sat together at the boot while Ned ate his food and talked. Another spike of longing shot through him and he did his best to crush it. He loved Charlotte and Olive was with Randy. But he took some comfort and reminded himself that he wasn’t entirely alone. His friends where there, they were simply busy with their lives.

Ned managed it until he was back in his apartment and missed the presence of Charlotte Charles more keenly. He went to sleep early. That night, he dreamt of Charlotte saying goodbye with sad, sorrowful eyes.

Ned throws himself at his work and pretends to be fine. He speaks with Charlotte every so often, visits Olive at her place from time to time, to remind himself that he’s fine. Problem is, Randy is always there. And for the first time, he wishes that Randy wasn’t.

Ned the pie maker, rushes out Olive’s apartment when jealousy hits him again, and reminds him of the times when Olive used to look at him the same way she does Randy now.

Life continues like that for a month.

The facts are these, it’s only after a month that Emerson Cod goes back to work, and thus, so do Ned and Olive. Emerson takes one look at him and knows. It’s like he stared at Ned’s soul and discerned the mysteries that escape even him. “Do not,” he says with surprising sternness. “Try anything with Itty bitty unless you mean it.”

Ned, gapes and is thoroughly offended. “I wouldn’t!”

“See that you don’t.”

They solve three murders that month.

It’s been four months, seven days, nine hours and six seconds since her departure, when Charlotte Charles apologizes, tells him to move on, she’s fallen in love with travel and now, that’s all she wants to do. Specially now, that she has the chance and doesn’t want him to be waiting for her, she wishes him happiness and love. Ned is numb, but wishes her the same.

Ned spends the next three days in a daze.

Another month passes and Olive and Randy’s relationship crumbles. He wants to be on the road again, she, has found a home and family here in Coeur d’ Coeurs. They part with surprising friendliness. Emerson, Olive and Ned, solve two cases the following weeks.

Randy Mann has been gone a three weeks, one day, four hours and forty seconds when Ned decided to tell Olive the truth. Which means, that he shows at her apartment with two rotten strawberries. He lifts one in his hands and Olive watches, jaw slowly dropping as the strawberry returns to its peak. “I can wake the dead?” He offers with an apologetic smile.

Olive Snook’s mind freezes, whirls into many, many different directions and then shouts, “Oh my God! Charlotte did die, didn’t she?” She gives him a look that dares him to lie to her. “That’s why she always hid from Lillian and Vivian! She told me and I didn’t believe her!”

“I’m sorry?”

Olive drops gracelessly onto her sofa. “Back up. Back the heck out, you mean to tell me that you can bring things back to life or just fruit and people?”

“Pretty much everything,” Ned pauses. “Digby. A touch brings them to life, another kills them forever.” He touches the strawberry and it rots in front of her eyes. “Sorry?”

“Digby too?!” Olive stares at Ned as if he’d grown a second head. Her mind is spinning. “You know what,” she manages to say. “I’m going to pretend that it’s fine. And maybe one day, it will.”

The facts are these, Ned leaves her alone for three days. And those days feel the longest since Charlotte left. There’s a fear that he might just lost Olive, and he’s not quite sure if he’ll handle that one well. Emerson rolls his eyes when told that Olive knows, and once again, reminds him not to hurt her. They solve a case together, Olive doesn’t join them and he feels fear creep up his spine.

Two weeks, a day, two hours and thirty seconds after the Pie maker’s confession, Olive Snook forgives him. “Just please,” she says, voice sweet as honey. “No more life altering secrets.”

Ned smiles as relief washes over him like a tidal wave, his own smile is shaky. “No more, I promise.”

The radiant look that Olive gives him, is worth it.

The facts are these, after their reconciliation, they make a return to form and solve four cases that month. The smile that Olive gives him each time they do, makes him feel better about the world.

It’s been eight months, four days, thirteen hours and fifty seconds since Alive Again Avenger Charlotte Charles left Coeur d’ Coeurs, and Ned the Pie Maker and Olive Snook sit on a boot where it all began, the Pie Hole, sharing a slice of peach pie a la mode and holding hands atop the table.

And for the first time since Chuck left, Ned feels that things are like they should be.

#fictober20 #ned x olive #nolive #ned the piemaker #olive snook #pushing daisies fic #post canon fic #au: canon divergence

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

Text

Ch. 1

Characters: Vira, Vlad, Charles, Faust + some main cast

Tagging: @plumpblueberry

A/N: Have my most recent Ikevamp OC! I realize that I have only posted 2 of my many ocs for this game so I am remedying that with this series! Note that this story is much darker than my other series, and will have adult content (next chapter and forward) and descriptive violence and gore, possibly even torture. It’s dark my friends.

WARNINGS: 18+ Violence and Descriptive Gore

Metallic warmth coated her pale lips and slipped passed to spread across her tongue, like finding a single droplet of water after a century in the blazing heat of the desert that left her achingly parched. Stiff limbs regaining their ability to feel as the blood coated her throat, slowly giving life to that which had been rendered inanimate for an inhumanly amount of time.

Golden eyes opened for the first time in too long, unfocused, and blurry but the sight of simply the crumbling concrete ceiling of the mausoleum made her tingle with excitement. Her tongue slithered past her cracked lips to swipe away the last bit of blood that stained her red.

“Easy, Vira. You’ve plenty of time to regain your strength.”

Her lashes fluttered, words unable to escape her mouth that refused to work, too weak. The only thing that her voice could make was raspy, guttural laughter from deep within. Resurrected by Vlad, not her own father, boded well for her to return to Paris and paint it a gloriously deep crimson.

What fun would she soon have with this newfound freedom from eternal, restless slumber.

******

“Uncle Vlad, I’m grateful that you resurrected me. I’ll assume my father has no idea you’ve found me,” Vira sat upright on the slab of stone that used to be her resting place, the small vial of blood drained completely into her body and giving it the strength she once lacked. Though not blood related, the girl had spent so much time with the older vampire that she’d grown quite fond of him as part of her family. After all, he had been the one to side with her, believe in her, and allow her all the fun her heart desired.

The white-haired vampire extended his hand to her as his head shook in answer to question. Of course, her father couldn’t know of his plans to bring the child back, or he’d surely have hidden her body somewhere less likely to be discovered. “My apologies that you had to endure such cruel torture from him, and that I couldn’t rescue you sooner.”

Vira placed her dainty hand in his, accepting the assistance in standing. The amount of blood given to her not near enough to quench the painful thirst of a century without that vital nectar. Golden eyes flickered to the two lingering by the entrance to the mausoleum. “Can I drain them?”

“We are vampires ourselves, under Lord Vlad.” The taller one spoke with gruff and disdain. Though stories had been told of this wicked vampire, the priest found her lacking of the pedestal that he’d perceived her to be placed on. A dainty little thing, perfect for experimentation.

“So? Blood is blood, and I’m terribly thirsty.”

Vlad tightened his grip on her hand after the first malicious step she took toward them. “Faust, there’s no need to antagonize her. And Vira, darling, refrain from killing what’s mine or I’ll have to punish you.” The point pushed by the pain from the bones in her hand nearing their breaking point.

The girl gave a resigned sigh with a pout on her lips. “Breaking my bones isn’t necessary, Uncle Vlad. I wouldn’t do anything to harm those that you are fond of. All you need is to tell me.” Her head tilted to the side and the pout disappeared, slipping into a crooked smile. How long it had been since she last felt pain. Truthfully, it sent a shiver down her entire body to be on the brink of such an excruciating feeling. “Although, even if you say I shouldn’t visit my dear father, I won’t be able to resist. I owe him a little chaos for leaving me here.”

Flashes of that night arose from her deepest memories. Hours upon hours of dripping crimson blood onto the floor, not from her doing but spilled from her body. A rancid smell as the feeling in herself faded into a sedated, comatose state. By his hand.

Vira took in a deep breath once outside the crusty mausoleum that sat atop a hill far outside of the city of Paris. Land owned by the oldest vampire families and the burial ground for their beloved pet humans and outcast members that had been subjected to the same punishment that had befell her. Some especially dangerous were encased and hidden for none to discover.

The chilled wind crept over her form as if welcoming her back into the world with it’s harsh, frigid bite against pale skin. Leaves rattled in the trees like a fanfare. Moonlight reflecting in golden orbs shimmering with newfound purpose and an ungodly lust for the taste of human blood. It thrummed in her ears, even from this distance. A world of delectable decadence in the unsuspecting town that the vampire wished to indulge herself in.

“I’ve prepared a room for you at my home, whenever you’ve had your fill of fun tonight.” Vlad chuckled at her longing expression. First, she’d feed on a handful of unfortunate souls and then pay her visit to his longtime friend before scuttling home to him. Her mood would surely be lifted after this excursion and he could speak of his plans.

Vira adventured out into the night, like a grim reaper descending on the innocent townspeople out only to drink and be merry. Picking them off one by one, the little sheep falling prey to the frightfully starving wolf. The throbbing of their veins as her sharp fangs pierced their corroded paired with the thumping of their rapid heartbeat only drove her to find more humans to drain.

The struggling fizzled out, even the strongest of men unable to overpower the slight vampire. Pinning them against the rough brick wall of the alley, digging her knee into their stomach to keep them steady. The bite causing them to spiral into a state of surreal pleasure even as she gulped down their delectable, warm blood.

Golden irises reflected in their fear-stricken eyes. Her tongue sliding across crimson stained lips. Vira spent time with them, bringing them down from their high with a snap of one of their bones, only to sink in her fangs again to mask the pain with unbelievable euphoria. A shiver snaking down her own body. Their cries of pain and pleasure so delicious.

When their life ebbed away, she disposed of them by letting their bodies crumple to the ground, left in the dark alley to rot with the trash.

In a hazy state of ecstasy, Vira turned her sights on the mansion outside of town. Her strength fully returned; color brought back to her pale skin. Perhaps by morning, she’d dye the sky the same deep crimson that stained the streets of Paris.

The door unlocked. Quite dangerous, but it only proved that he believed no ill intent would come this far. What did vampires have to fear from weak humans? Vira took a deep breath. Fresh food of all varieties, a handful of lesser vampires gathered closely, and him.

Her hands trembled in anticipation. The prospect of destroying the picturesque evening and seeing how he’ll react. Will he be angry? Or maybe she’ll get a real treat and see utter despair and heart break. Her body was alight with tingly eagerness.

Once upon a time, she’d resided in this very mansion. Walking these halls, seeing little changes save for the gaggle of lesser vampires leaving their scent heavily over the house, it ignited the desire to watch it burn and crumble.

Tugging the door open, all the attention fell onto her. The eight seated around the table wearing varying degrees of confusion across their feature. Neither of the two who knew her were present.

What fun!

“Mademoiselle, how did you come to find this mansion?” The butler asked, hiding the deeper question behind a feigned smile. Why did you enter without permission? A human. His scent strong enough to wet her mouth with appetite that should have been filled after the jaunt in town.

Her desire for blood never truly satiated. Vira brought a lazy smile to her lips. Humans were less intimidated by friendly demeanor, weren’t they?

Maybe just a little...

“I shall inform M. Le Comte of an unexpected guest.”

Vira halted, head falling to the side at his words. Golden eyes sweeping over the array of utensils perfectly placed for each dish. His steps echoed in time with the beating of his heart.

“Are you a friend of Comte’s?” A gentle voice spoke from beside her. Cerulean blue eyes holding no amount of ill intent, only genuine curiosity.

She was hot. Every fiber of her being reacting to that name like fiery lava about to erupt from the depths of a volcano. Rage like acid, burning and potent enough to disintegrate anything that dared enter her path.

The large bird awaiting to be carved supplied two tools. A slicing knife sharpened to easily slice the meat, and a two-pronged carving fork to hold it steady.

They sounded friendly. As if they liked the damn man.

Vira jabbed the prongs down into the blonde man’s hand until it refused to sink further than the wooden table, freshly spilled blood filling her nostrils. Even vampire’s blood could be tasty when was spilled in tandem with pain.

She could hardly enjoy the cry of agony.

Chaos erupted around her, their movements like wading through thick tar in her vision. All drowned out by the pounding in her head. Wrath scorching, like fire lighting in her veins. Narrowed eyes locked onto the butler that nearly escaped her grasp but not quite quick enough. The knife embedded into the inside of his shoulder blade.

“Sit. Down.” Words hissed at anyone who dared to defy the insanity that had waltzed into their home that evening. Golden irises aflame.

They deserved to be hurt, broken, shredded into tiny pieces. Skinned down to their bones, muscles and tendons carved off their bodies. Rip their eyes from their sockets, and force them to devour it, choke on its bloody sinews.

“Broer!” A foreign tongue roared from beside her. He towered over her small form, his own anger only that of a spark compared to the seething rage that radiated from the girl.

Vira caught his arm as his elbow thrust into her chest, drawing her ire upon him. Her strength far outweighed any lesser vampire. Like the snapping of a twig, she twisted his forearm back. The sickening crack of the bone breaking into two pieces wasn’t the end.

It didn’t satisfy her at all.

As the man sank to his knees in absolute agony. Her foot slammed into his side, leveraging her to pull the broken limb taught. “Would you like me to rip it off? I wonder which will give first. The mangled bone or the shoulder. Let’s find out-”

“Stop this madness!” Blade pressed against her throat; the soldier spoke with such authority he managed to gain her attention.

Her head lolled back, black, and red strands of hair falling away from her face. A devilish grin on her lips. “Are you planning to slice open my throat if I don’t? It’s too bad you wouldn’t be the first to do so.” Releasing the man like a child dropping a toy they’d lost interest in, Vira shifted her body to face the newcomer.

The tip of his blade digging into her shoulder, intentionally done by her. Jade green eyes narrowed, standing his ground against the girl. “You’ve no place in this home.”

Wide-eyed, Vira burst out laughing, the sound off put by the whining and groaning of the three indisposed men. He’d only confirmed what she suspected that he had locked her away like an ill-kept secret, a skeleton in his closet that he planned to hide for the rest of eternity. “You aren’t his family. You’re his pieces on a chess board, pawns to be used to cure his boredom of immortality.”

She shoved the sword away with her palm, letting it cut into her skin. The feeling of pain sending a shiver over her being. Calculated steps, quick and unread, the pureblood had the man shoved against the wall. Fangs sunk into his neck.

Whatever he may be, his blood unlike anything that she’d tasted previously. Not fully human, but not quite vampire, some abomination in between the two species, lost in limbo of life and death. Her eyes rolled back as a moan rumbled in her throat. Every last drop.

A rough hand gripped the back of her neck, throwing the girl away from her prey before she could fully take his life. Her body thumping against the floor, knocking all the air from her lungs. “How rude, Leo. I wasn’t finished.” Her crimson coated tongue swiped a missed droplet off her chin.

“You haven’t changed, cara mia. I thought that Comte had banished you.” Leonardo narrowed his eyes, supporting the weakened soldier who could barely stand.

“Banished? Oh, if only.” Vira climbed back to her feet, brushing her hands together as she checked for any injuries. To her dismay, no broken bones to play with. “But, why ruin the surprise. He’ll admit to his sins in due time. I only came by to say a little hello.” Her gaze swept across the dining hall.

Leonardo shot a warning glance at the others, silently telling them to stay back. He’d witnessed her handy work firsthand, and this had barely scratched the surface of her twisted pleasures. “I’ll be sure to pass along that you were here, Vira.”

“He couldn’t even bother to be here when his precious daughter comes home after centuries? Aww.” A pout set on her lips as she whined, as if all her work had been for naught. She’d craved to see his reaction to her revival. “Do tell him that this is just the beginning.”

She’d savor it another time.

Vira flashed a wry grin at the residents before turning on her heel to exit. Her hand rested on the knob. “Till next time.” She tossed the words over her shoulder with a wink and malicious smirk.

There were so many to play with, it would be difficult to choose.

Ah, but it hardly mattered. Any playmate will suffice. All they need do is bleed and cry out in pain.

Returning to her Uncle Vlad’s castle, her hums echoed down the empty corridors. Her bloodied clothes littered around, like a trail of clues leading straight to the culprit. Her steps light and airy, like a ghost dancing through the moonlight that bathed her pale skin.

High. Hazy. Tingling with desire and need. Her eyes slid closed, replaying the sight of their blood and their pained expressions bringing a soft moan to her throat. The whines and screams, the slicing of her own skin by the sharp blade. It electrified her nerves, leaving her wound tightly and longing for more release.

Golden eyes met with pale green ones.

That will do.

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