#i was so excited when it arrived but I was also in my self-imposed exile so had no-one to share it with

[astrovian]

Geneva promotional bookmarks sent to retail stores/libraries to celebrate the 2024 release of Geneva in paperback

[tessa-liam]

Turning the Page  

Now and Then

 - Chapter 9-

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU 

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son. 

Turning the Page Series Masterlist 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks 

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belongs to this series. 

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match. 

Rating: M🔞Warnings - Series will contain crude language, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors. 

Words: 2498

Now and Then – 9 

Chapter Summary: Riley and William arrive in Cordonia 

Title & Music Inspiration: 

Now and Then, The Beatles                                       

When You Love Someone, Gretchen Peters, Bryan Adams 

Wherever You Will Go, The Calling 

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.  

A/N2: My submission for @choicesflashfics, Week#67, prompt #1 - “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.” 

A/N3: My submission for @choicesjanuary2024, prompt Day 25 - ‘Remembrance’ #choices monthly challenge @lilyoffandoms #choicesjanuary2024 

A/N4: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard. 

In Flight, Cordonian Royal Jet, above the Mediterranean Sea 

Looking out over the vast expanse of water below her, and under the clear blue skies above the Mediterranean Sea, no clouds were in sight ... not a white cloud, nor a black cloud. 

Riley gazed out the large passenger window of the private jet, in solace, with her memories. Everything felt calm; almost too calm. The flight from New York to Cordonia was eight hours in duration, and even though they left early in the morning, they would not arrive at the palace until late in the evening with the change in time zones. 

Trying to and not getting any rest, her thoughts returned to the events over the holidays.

...Remembering when Liam arrived at her door, in New York on Christmas Eve, a short week ago. The expression of elation on his face as she opened the door for him... 

[‘Hello, my love,’ he tenderly smiled; He was standing there with an exquisite bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, as uniformed delivery drivers from the toy store waited patiently at a distance behind him, as the Royal guard performed a security check. 

Liam stepped over the threshold, leaning down to draw her in for a kiss on the cheek, as she accepted his gift. ‘Oh Li, these are gorgeous; thank you so much.’ 

At Bastien’s prompt, the delivery people entered the brownstone with prewrapped gifts and placed them under the Christmas tree, also filling the extra space in the living room very quickly. 

Chuckling, Riley watched as Liam thanked them with a generous tip, as he closed the door after them. 

“Our son will be so thrilled at what Santa brought him; wait till he wakes up tomorrow.”  

Liam laughed, moving quickly to put his arm around her, pulling her to his side. “Who says all these gifts are just for him? Hmmm?” Riley turned her head towards him, as Liam bent to capture her lips in a passion-fueled kiss. 

“Ah yes, your gift is right here.” Liam slipped his hand inside his coat to reveal a small box, wrapped in gold with a red ribbon. “This is for you.”} 

Riley breathed out, shaking her head. 

...Remembering wanting him so badly that evening ...as he kissed her forehead to say ‘good night’ before turning to the guest room; Leaving her feeling so confused, once again. 

...Remembering how excited LiLi was when he saw his father again Christmas morning ... and the look of pure joy in Liam’s expression as he watched his son blissfully playing with his new toys. 

...Remembering the look of adoration between Liam and his son; a private and sacred bond established between the two ... a bond only meant for them. 

Riley looked down at her phone and smiled fondly at the picture of William. He was proudly standing beside his gingerbread house gift for Liam, alongside Daniel and Matteo, to smile at the camera. Riley marveled at how unequivocally her son loved his father, so quickly. As if two loose puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. There was never a doubt in her mind that William needed to be wherever his father was. The connection between father and son was undeniable. 

...and with those thoughts, she agreed to return to Cordonia.  

And now, she found herself on the Royal jet headed back, leaving behind her New York world for the place that shattered her ‘happily ever after,’ again. 

Liam, being the new, ever-doting father was pointing out to his son the shores of Cordonia through the window. She saw the look of marvel in Liam’s eyes, as he watched his son’s reaction to seeing Cordonia for the very first time. They were sitting in seats across the aisle from her as she glanced over. 

Catching Riley’s eye, Liam responded with a wink and a smile. 

"Welcome home, love." 

Riley smiled in return, as her heart skipped a beat. 

Home... 

It had been a while since she had felt this way about Cordonia. Another lifetime; so much has changed, and yet remained the same. 

***

Damien Nazario, the Interpol agent who was now permanently assigned to be William Rys's personal bodyguard, was reviewing the Crown prince's dossier, and his duties to the Cordonian crown, his new employer. Bastien took a seat beside the young agent to answer any questions he may have, as head of the Royal guard, at the rear of the plane's cabin. 

"So, Damien, any questions for me?" 

"No, sir. I believe I have a handle on the situation.” 

"Good, because you are now the official head of the security detail for Prince William, the future king of Cordonia." 

"Understood, sir.” Damien was well aware of the complexity of a constitutional monarchy. 

"Now, there's one more thing I need to discuss with you,” Bastien eyed the young agent. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Madeleine Amaranth, the former queen of Cordonia. I have forwarded her updated dossier to you." 

"Yes, I've read it through.” Damien paused, waiting for more information. 

"Good, because she has expressed malicious intent towards Prince William and Lady Riley, should they return to Cordonia." 

"Understood. I'll ensure her movements are tracked and reported inside and out of the country, sir." 

"Thank you, Damien.” 

"My pleasure, sir.” 

Bastien, looking pleased, leaned back in his chair, checking the time on his watch, as he felt the plane begin its descent. 

Cordonia, Capital 

The jet touched down smoothly on the tarmac, as the engines powered down. The cabin door opened, and the stairs were lowered. 

Riley could feel the warm breeze blow past her as she stepped off the plane. 

Taking a deep breath, Riley looked around. The air was different here. It was fresh and clean. She closed her eyes and let the wind brush her cheeks. 

Liam followed, with William sleeping in his arms.  

"Is everything alright, love?" Liam’s brows were raised in concern, noticing her hesitation. 

"Yes, I'm just taking it all in." Riley, looked down, unable to keep eye contact. 

"Are you sure, Riley? You've been very quiet throughout the entire flight home." 

"I'm fine, Liam. It is just a lot to process. I'm just a little overwhelmed." 

"All right, I understand. Let us get to the palace, so you and William can get settled and rest ... okay?" 

"Yes, thank you, Liam." 

Liam glanced over at Riley with concern as he personally buckled his son into the car seat. It was quite easy for him to see and feel the apprehension in her mood. She could not hide her emotions from him as well as she always thought she could.

Riley had remained noticeably quiet during the ride to the palace as well, looking out at the passing countryside. Liam could not help but wonder if she was having second thoughts about returning to Cordonia, and/or to him. 

As they pulled up to the palace gates, Liam looked over at Riley, noticing a small smile on her face. 

"What is it, love?" Liam spoke softly, reaching for her hand. 

Riley returned his touch with a squeeze. "This place...it's beautiful." 

"Thank you, that, it is. Welcome home." 

“William will be so excited when he wakes up.” Riley glanced at a still sleeping William as the SUV slowed to a stop. 

"I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me.... to have you both here." Liam confessed. 

"You're welcome, Liam. It's the least I can do."  

Liam's heart sank at her words. He hated the distance between them. He wanted to take her in his arms and make everything right, but, for right now, he knew that was not the best strategy. 

He had to accept that things had changed, and their relationship was different now. He had to be patient and give Riley the space she needed. 

But he also had to make her see how important she was to him. He had to show her how much he had missed her ... that he wanted a future with her and William in Cordonia. 

As the SUV door opened for her, Riley felt a sense of Deja vu. This was where she had started her journey with Liam in Cordonia all those years ago. And now, here she was, back again. 

"Do you want me to take you and William to the guest wing, or do you want to stay in my chambers?" 

"I would like to stay with you, if that's okay." 

"Of course, Riley. I would love that." 

It was surreal for Riley as she walked the pristine palace halls towards the Royal Chambers. Liam carried William, who was fast asleep in his arms beside her. 

 The memories of the past times she was here flooded her mind and her heart ached as she pushed the painful memories aside. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. 

As they reached the large double doors of the entrance to the Royal east wing, the guards opened the doors for Liam and Riley to enter. 

Riley stepped inside; the same chambers where she had spent so much time before. The familiar scent of Liam's cologne filled the air, sending a wave of longing for a past time through her mind. 

Walking into her room ... it was exactly as she remembered it. Everything was in its place, from the elegant chandelier hanging above the bed, to the intricate paintings adorning the walls. 

Riley took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, taking in every detail. 

 She felt a pang of sadness as she remembered those past times. 

After tucking William into his bed in the adjacent room, Liam came in and sat down next to her. He gently placed his hand on hers, and she looked up at him, their eyes meeting. 

"What are you thinking about Riley?"  

"I'm okay, Liam. I was just thinking about how much things have changed since I was here last." 

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close. "I know it's a lot, but I'm here for you, and I'll help you in any way I can," Liam whispered. 

"Thank you, Liam." 

He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands, staring into her eyes intently. "You're welcome, Riley. Always. Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.” 

He moved in to press his lips to hers, and she melted into his kiss. 

It was soft and gentle, and full of longing. 

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "God, Riley, I've missed you." 

"I've missed you, Li." 

He leaned down and kissed her again, deeper this time. 

His tongue swept across her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to him. 

Their tongues tangled together in a dance that was familiar and yet new. 

They were no longer the same people they were when they had last been together. They were both older and wiser, and the passion between them burned even brighter. 

Riley pulled away and put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm. 

"Liam, I..." 

"Shhh." 

He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say anything, Riley. Just feel." 

His lips found hers again, and the world disappeared. There was nothing but the two of them, lost in each other. 

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

She moaned into his mouth as he slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer. 

He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. 

"Riley," he breathed. "God, I want you so much."

“Liam, I ...” 

Liam pulled back and looked into her eyes, “stay with me tonight.” 

📌All fics & edits: @ao719 @txemrn @queenmiarys @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @alj4890 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @harleybeaumont @busywoman @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @lovingchoices14 @kyra75 @tinkie1973 @emkay512 @malblk21 @kristinamae093 @charlotteg234

📌Liam x Riley, OC: @emersyn-in-cordonia @mainstreetreader @belencha77 @walkerdrakewalker @iluaaa @mysticalfangirl @queenwalton @bascmve01 @umccall71 @choicesfrog @amandablink @ownworldresident

📌Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesflashfics @choicesjanuary2024

[mhdiaries]

Frights, Camera, Action! – Hauntlywood Elissabat Diary

This 2nd Day of August

On the eve of my coronation, 400 years ago tonight, I slipped into the moonless Transylvanian darkness and disappeared forever. I remember it like it was yesterday; The Vampire’s Heart casting its red glow over my room as Lord Stoker explained that I was much too young to be the queen without his help and that if I simply did exactly as he instructed, my unlife would be perfect for us all. I had not been acting all that long by then, but I knew enough to recognize a bad director when I heard one, and I was fangsolutely positive I did not want a starring role in this production. Fortunately for me, I had made friends with a young explorer and mad scientist named Hexiciah Steam. Hexiciah and Lord Stoker did not exactly see eye  to eye on, well, anything, and so, partially to help me and partially to tweak LS, Hexiciah helped me escape to a waiting ship that would take me to Londoom. I asked him about the Vampire’s Heart, but he told me not to worry about it and that it was safe from the reach of LS. Thus I became known as Elissabat the First, not because I was the first queen to have that name, but because I was the first to choose self-imposed exile over the throne. I often wonder what kind of queen I would make today, 400 years older and hopefully wiser. I’m certainly wise enough to keep two diaries now, especially since several pages of Veronica Von Vamp’s private musings somehow ended up on a celebrity gossip site. Good thing Veronica never breaks character even when she’s writing.

7 August

My agent sent over a script today for me to read. It’s about a young ghoul who is chosen to be the queen of an ancient kingdom, not because she is the true heir but because the Lord Chancellor wants to control the kingdom through her. Except the ghoul finds out and takes off before she takes the throne, only to be chased all over the world by the Lord Chancellor’s hench-monsters. Besides being completely implausible it involves multiple locations, chase scenes, stunts and a very large cast of characters. It sounds exhausting. I would love to do a small picture next. Something shot on location in Scaris at a small outdoor café where there are long pauses in between conversations and shots of me staring off into the distance as I ponder the deep secrets of unlife. I can just see my agent’s face now. His left eye will start to twitch, and he won’t be able to control it so he’ll put his shades on and then he’ll break into a sneezing fit and have to excuse himself while he leaves my trailer to try and regain his composure. He’s actually a very good agent who really does have my beast interests at heart, but he is such an excitable little goblin that I can’t help but tweak him just a little bit. I do sometimes tire of playing larger-than-unlife roles, even though my fans really do seem to love the films. I would just like to stretch myself as a performer, and I’ve done so many of these... oh well. I love to act, the fans love to watch, and we’re all happy in the end - except the critics, but they’re never happy, so I don’t waste too much time thinking about them. V3

This 10th Day of August

Each day now I hear about growing unrest in the kingdom and how the vampire lords are mounting pressure upon Lord Stoker to find a queen. Personally, I think they are overreacting, since 400 years is just a drop in the coffin for a vampire, but they are a rather stodgy bunch. Order, tradition and discipline are the code they... we... live by. I have applied those virtues in the way I have chosen to pursue my career, and they are the secret to my success. I have been accused of having a photographic memory, but that is not accurate. I simply work as hard as I can to be as prepared as I can so I do not make careless mistakes. My stage fright has never gone away, and I doubt it ever will, therefore intense preparation is the only way I can stand in front of a crowd and do my job or jobs. I think my intensity intimidates other monsters, and I know I am perceived as not being “approachable”, but it takes a lot of concentration to be Elissabat playing Veronica Von Vamp playing a completely different character on stage or in film. It is why I need to not be in “character”, and for that to happen I need to be myself. I should be getting ready to be Veronica again, since a car is about to arrive not to pick up not a queen of the vampires, but a queen of the silver scream. Some days I do wish that I only had one role to play, but which one do I choose?

16 September

I’m making the press circuit to promote my new film today, so I’m bringing Viperine along to do my makeup. Viperine has been doing my makeup for a while now, and I simply adore her. She is chatty but not intrusive, and I completely trust the job she does, which is good since there’s really no way for me to check the work. She started doing my makeup quite by accident, when my regular artist got cast in some unscripted reality show... shudder... and left without any notice. Viperine was just an intern at the time and was cutting her fangs by doing makeup on creatured extras, but when I stepped out of my trailer and called her over, she didn’t even hesitate. She’s also that rare monster that is completely content not being in the spotlight. I asked her if she would like to be in front on the camera one day, and she told me that she felt like she was in front of the camera every time I stepped on stage. She has a fright future in this boosness, I think. 

This 20th Day of September

By the pricking of my thumbs something fishy this way comes. It is all over the news that a new vampire queen has been found and confirmed by Lord Stoker who said that he used the Vampire’s Heart to verify that this ghoul is the true heir. Well this is certainly curious, since I know for a fact that the VH is as lost as Hexiciah Steam. Well, perhaps “lost” is not the proper description. Maybe “unavailable for questioning” would be more to the point. I know this because if Lord Stoker had the real VH he would have used it to track me down soon after I ran away, and I would have spent the last 400 years issuing rulings on property disputes, meeting with Yeti ambassadors and doing Lord Stoker’s bidding. I do wish this “new queen”, whomever she is, the best of luck, especially with old LS lurking around. He knows everything there is to know about how the queendom runs, but he couldn’t lead a one-zombie parade. I feel sorry for him, because he could be a real asset to the throne if he didn’t want to sit on it himself.  

1 October

I’ve been nominated for another award, which will make the fans happy and the critics not. I think this may be my best performance yet, but it is a rather popular film, and monsters have been creeping to it in packs. Personally, I believe there is a direct correlation between how well critics like a film and how many monsters have actually seen it. The more obscure the film and fewer monsters that have seen it, the more worthy critics seem to heap praise upon it. I suppose it makes them feel superior, especially when they dig up that old line about it being “the most important film of the year.” ‘Tis tiresome, mostly because they hold up a film that very few have seen as the gold standard by which all others must be judged and then sneer at any comparisons to it, which is convenient. I’m not saying that every film I have ever acted in has been perfect; in fact, some of the acting choices I made as a young ghoul I wish I could go back and remake, but regardless of the role or film I always strive to give a performance worthy of the ticket price. 

This 6th Day of October

So the new queen they have chosen is Draculaura! I had purposely been avoiding the news because I have been feeling guilty about the situation, so I did not know that she was the one. We used to play together when we were young ghouls back in Transylvania, and I still recall monsters mistaking us for sisters. This is not fair. I like my unlife and I do not want to give it up, but can I really allow another monster, especially one whom I consider a friend, to take over duties, obligations and responsibilities that were meant for me? I ran once. I am not sure that I can do that again. 

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 12

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (unprotected sex), the girl from Ipanema

WC: 8.2k

----------

Shawn bobs his head and chews at his lip. His smile is anxious, despite the elated, conspiratorial expressions on everyone else in the room. They know very well they have a hit on their hands. They’re too distracted by their own excitement to notice that the man who gave it to them isn’t all there.

Shawn finished Mia’s song when he got home from the premiere that night. The next day, without having slept a wink, he called the team to the studio. They didn’t change a single word or note before recording it. Teddy told him it’s the best song he’s ever written. Shawn thinks, for once, he didn’t need to hear it from someone else.

Shawn plows ahead, fixated on the idea of using the single as a surprise pre-album drop to boost even more interest. It has radio hit written all over it. He wants it out before the end of the summer. His label and Andrew came back to him with a new idea.

The song would make a gorgeous duet, they tell him. Bex is riding high on her album sales; featuring her on the single would be great for them both, the perfect crescendo. They could push back their breakup, originally planned for the end of August, to after Shawn’s album releases in September to capitalize on the public interest.

He readily agrees. Honestly, it’s a great idea. Bex’s vocals would be the perfect addition to the track. Releasing a single together now after going official for the first time on a red carpet at the premiere makes sense. It’s a solid strategy.

Shawn is vibrating in place as he listens to Bex’s isolated vocals that she recorded while rehearsing for her fall tour in London. They’re ready to be mixed with his. He knows he should be excited. This is going to work. It’s going to be the thing that pushes this summer over the top and makes every awkwardly photographed kiss, every instance of sneaking out of a hotel room in a cab so it looks like they stayed the night together, every night spent away from the woman he loves, all worth it.

But it doesn’t completely overshadow the fact that he’s releasing the song he wrote for said woman with his fake PR girlfriend.

Shawn drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes to focus. After a few minor tweaks, her vocals are perfect. To be fair, if he had to share this song with anyone, he would choose Bex. She’s an incredible artist and vocalist and he’s honored to share a track with her. But when he thinks about Mia turning on the radio in her Passat on the way to pilates with Silver, hearing it for the first time stuck in traffic on La Brea, he feels a little sick.

When the track ends, he sits up and pastes on a proud smile. Teddy glances at him. The rest of the eyes in the room follow. After a moment, he nods.

“It’s ready to cut. When can I hear a mix?”

+

Since the single would debut too close to the voting deadline for the MTV VMAs to qualify for awards, they decided to premiere the song live as the show opener instead. It’s a bold idea and probably would fall flat if not for all the “Shex” shippers that ravenously await any documentation of their relationship, but since they’re still the hottest couple of the summer, it’s just crazy enough to work.

At least, this is what Mia infers based on her knowledge of the situation and the fact that Shawn never mentioned he was working on something new. She figures compartmentalizing around her made sense.

Mia watches the VMAs with Peter on FaceTime. He took the night off from FaceTiming with Xander the TA and generously offered to bash the hell out of Bex’s red carpet and show looks if it would help, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Mia turned him down. He’s glad she did. Bex looks incredible and it would be hard to pretend she didn’t come to slay.

Shawn glows in a sharp white suit that Peter jokes must’ve been nicked from Silver’s closet. He looks tan and healthy and excited and he’s still doing his prayer hands and peace signs on the red carpet so for all that’s changed in the past few months, at least that hasn’t. Bex is in a gold minidress to complement him. They look like modern Greek deities. Peter mercifully decides not to comment.

She and Peter talk over the rest of the red carpet coverage with the exception of the stunned silence they fall into when Sophie Turner and Joe Jonas arrive.

“I still can’t believe you’ve had sex with her. She’s the one woman on the planet I’d bone,” Peter whispers reverently into the phone.

Mia relives the night in a welcome flash and hums through a smug grin. “I’m a lucky girl.”

She feels lucky right up until the spotlight falls on Shawn at the piano and he starts singing a song about a woman who makes him feel free, joined by the woman that represents everything that traps him.

+

The headlines haunt her. “So in love,” they extol, “You can see it in every moment of their performance.”

Song of the Summer! Shawn Mendes and Bex Debut New Duet Single at the VMAs

Bex and Shawn Mendes STUN With New Single in VMAs Show Opener

“Fuck off!” Mia shouts at her phone, not safe even from her Instagram explore page these days. She flings it on the bed and watches it bounce, hoping for a rash moment that it’ll take a dive off her mountain of pillows that still smell like him if she squints, and smash against the floor. It would save her from herself.

It’s not like she believes the headlines, obviously. It’s the mix of everything that’s come along with the song and her self-imposed exile from him that’s getting at her. 

It’s been a few weeks since she ditched her secret identity and only hours later asked him to leave. She’s been feeling twitchy. She’d love to blame it on the lack of dates she’s had recently, contributing to the lack of sufficient orgasms, but even she can’t kid herself on that front.

But the quiet hasn’t helped. August is always slow. Clients go on family vacations, not the kind they invite their domme to. She usually spends August in Italy with Peter, but he’s taking classes over the summer semester and is cozied up to his TA, so she and Pammy stare at each other for most of the day and eat Rice Krispies.

Despite her twitchiness, the idea of reaching out to Shawn still feels too much, too soon. She doesn’t want to call him again until she’s decided definitively how to move forward. Or if there’s anywhere to go at all.

Thank god she has Julia.

While many of her clients get busier in the summer with families or trips, Julia’s hefty international travel slows down in the summer, allowing her to hole up like she likes in her $50 million Bel Air mansion. 

Tonight, she’s coming out of her extremely luxurious cave and is inviting Mia with her for a rare outing. Despite the fact that Julia is openly gay, the media still doesn’t take an interest in any women she’s publicly photographed with, merely captioning them as Julia Granger and “female friend.”

The event in question is the LA Children Foundation’s annual silent auction. Julia knows Mia also appreciates the work LACF does and supports it financially, and so she invited her along. Mia, eager for company without a tail to wag, spends a full two hours thumbing through her outrageously large closet until she decides on a sky blue off-the-shoulder cocktail dress.

She forgoes the Frank and Ava necklace, just for now. She decides it’s too heavy for the occasion (in more than one way).

Strangers in the Night plays on vinyl. She swipes on Julia’s favorite deeply burgundy lipstick, knowing it’ll have her staring at her lips all night, which happens to be exactly what the doctor ordered on a night like this when Mia is so scattered she can barely pick out her shoes.

Gus stands in the doorway of the bathroom tonight, watching her with an odd sort of guarded affection, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t share his fatherly smile with her at all times, she’ll break down. She must look about as fragile as she feels. She resolves to buck up in the car so as not to let it affect her night with Julia. Gus plays a Dean Martin Spotify playlist and sings along to “That’s Amore.” She giggles and tries to harmonize.

Julia’s assistant Gracie is neat as a pin, waiting for her in the valet lane. Her legs are locked at the ankle and lengthened by a pair of Manolos Mia is sure Julia got her the last time they went to visit the flagship store in Chelsea. Her grin is wide and looks stuck on her face. Maybe her stranglingly tight ponytail is holding it in place. Mia dips her head and airkisses her cheek.

Gracie rattles on, prepping Mia for her boss’s mood. She had an irritating call from partners in Milan that had her on edge. Gracie’s been plying her with champagne for the last half hour since the start of cocktails. Mia nods patiently, wondering when and if Julia will realize how madly in love Gracie is with her. Maybe if Gracie ever decides to let the ponytail down and make Julia obey her for once, they can get somewhere.

Julia stands surrounded by a group of men in dark suits at the top of the stairs. Her hair is crimson and lying in soft waves down her back rather than up in the French twist she usually sports. It’s set off by her emerald cocktail dress and stunningly high black patent leather Brian Atwoods.

Mia squares her shoulders and waits patiently, with Gracie standing just behind, arms meekly crossed over her front. Julia seems to feel her presence. She turns her head, the chandelier of the hotel ballroom backlighting her aristocratic profile. Her voice trails off and her smile spreads slow and sweet.

“Gentlemen, that’s enough shop talk. My guest has arrived.”

They fall away. Their curious glances are quickly forgotten. Julia turns to face Mia as she strolls toward her, looking her up and down a little hungrily.

“You look lovely,” Julia breathes. They don’t touch, but the moment is charged and intimate even without a brush of fingers or lips. 

“Thank you,” Mia replies, a little hollow in its smoothness. Behind her, Gracie falls away with a sad smile.

Julia guides Mia around the perimeter of the pre-auction cocktail hour. They drink champagne with strawberries and whisper-giggle gossip updates about the characters they see at these events. Julia tells her about the affairs, the divorces, the bankruptcies and scandals that get trampled beneath the expensive footwear of the well-to-do, never to make it to the gossip columns. Some secrets are worth the price it takes to bury them.

The ballroom is sumptuously decorated, hung with lavish velvet drapings and glittering with dozens of chandeliers. Under her breath, Julia quietly mutters her distaste for the opulence of it, the tired tradition of spending as much on a fundraiser as what ends up being made from it. She voices her pledge to donate at least half as much as was spent on the elegant trappings, but is interrupted by a sparkling, loud laugh from beside one of the auction tables. Julia’s and Mia’s heads lift at the same time.

Bex appears taller in person, like she’s all leg. She’s in a glamorous red halter dress with a high bejeweled neckline and an alluring but still somehow appropriate slit up her thigh. Her hair is pinned up to show off her smooth back and the swallow-emblazoned hand that rests at the base of it.

He’s grinning at Bex as genuinely as Mia’s ever seen him. He’s in a dark green suit that makes his eyes look lighter, chestnutty even from fifteen feet away. His hand rests against her skin, unmoving but comfortably low. Mia studies it, waiting to see if his thumb caresses her in a silent, private hello. It remains there until he can feel her gaze. He looks up. His smile drops. Mia turns away.

She can see Julia is speaking to her, watches her smooth, rosy lips as they move, but she can’t hear. She tries to tuck hair behind her ear and lean in, blindly searching for focus, but it doesn’t help. She’s gone fucking numb.

Julia smiles a little nervously and tucks a hand around the side of Mia’s neck in a rarely public tender gesture. Mia blinks quickly and steps closer, pressing her hand into Julia’s hip.

“I’m here, I’m sorry,” Mia murmurs, dropping her eyes guiltily.

Julia doesn’t speak, just thumbs at the Van Cleef sapphire drop earring hanging from Mia’s ear and guides them through the loop of auction tables.

Shawn feels dazed. He can’t imagine how he even walked into a room without feeling her there. He feels like a once carefully tuned sensor in him is broken. Maybe it’s because even as he watches her from afar, he can see she’s not fully there.

Bex subs in for the rest of their inane conversation after he checks out to stare at her. She’s with Julia Granger, undoubtedly the second-most powerful woman in the room. To Shawn, Mia still ranks above her.

She looks a little… lost. Shawn’s never seen her look so out of place. Physically, of course, she blends right in the way a good courtesan should -- not overdressed, not under, not too loud, not too quiet, the perfect date. There’s something radiating anxiety from inside her. He wants nothing more than to cup her pretty face in his hands and make it go away.

He holds on to Bex a little tighter and laughs politely when he’s supposed to. He tries not to look at the escort formerly known as Penny for the rest of the night.

+

The driver doesn’t open the door for Mia right away when they park under the entryway of Julia’s palatial home. Mia glances at Julia, who’s smiling back warmly. She takes Mia’s hand and holds it in her lap.

“Was bound to happen sometime, I think,” Julia muses in a voice that sounds so much like Silver’s, Mia almost shivers.

“Hmm?” she croaks.

“I imagine your job to be one of the most dangerous I can think of. The truth is, you’re always operating right on the edge of love with every client. I’ve been with you long enough to feel it. It’s what makes you so excellent at what you do.”

She doesn’t look or sound remotely upset or disappointed, just resigned and, somehow, hopeful. She traces the lines of Mia’s palm, watching her muscles flutter with a wistful smile.

Mia’s lips are parted. It’s not often she’s blindsided by a client, especially Julia. She can read Julia like a fucking book; it’s the reason Julia’s always valued her so highly.

“So it makes sense, I think, that you fell over the edge with someone. Honestly, it’s amazing it’s never happened before. But that’s what makes you so fucking good at this job. You were able to put in so much of yourself, but never too much. Not until you met him.”

Mia squirms uncomfortably. Julia looks up from her palm and closes her hands around it. She lifts it to her lips.

“You must be so scared,” Julia breathes, shaking her head, “This changes everything for you.”

Mia’s eyes prick with tears, seemingly out of nowhere. She balks. Flight instincts flare hard in her gut and pump through her weary veins.

“Julia, I--”

“I don’t demand an explanation. That’s never how this was going to work with us. You may be one of my closest friends, but I was never one of yours. That’s ok. That’s what this is supposed to be. You’ve given me everything I needed when I needed it, and I’ll always love you for that, Penny. You’re a marvel of a human being and I’m honored to have experienced you. I hope you know I’d do anything for you at any time. I also hope, maybe someday, that we can be friends.”

Mia breathes through a sob. She claps her free hand over her mouth and struggles to regain some kind of footing. It’s a free fall and Julia is watching and waving.

Julia releases her hand at the exact moment her driver opens her door. She pauses for a moment, watching Mia scramble in a way she’s never seen.

“Can I kiss you?” she murmurs. Mia hesitates, then nods.

The kiss is soft and lingering, one of a million, but one in a million. When they pull away, Mia can breathe again.

“Aleksandr will take you home, he just needs your address. I meant what I said, Penny. Anything you need, ever.”

With one last heartbreakingly beautiful smile, Julia lets Aleksandr help her out of the car. Mia watches her walk away. She cries all the way home.

+

It’s just past dawn. All of Los Angeles is a shade of blue. The Studio City hills are a deep, earthy teal against the powder sky. The simmering palms tickled by the morning breeze around Mia’s back patio are cobalt. Even the wind itself is blue. To complement it all, she’s in an ice blue satin slip, padding around barefoot, counting her steps while she waits for an appropriate time to call.

5:43 AM is hardly an appropriate time to be doing anything but sleeping, but she’s almost sick with anticipation, so she hits the call button and waits. She knows she won’t get his voicemail. She just knows.

“Hey,” he pants groggily.

“Are you alone?”

She hears herself ask and frowns, unsure where it came from. He makes an aggravated chuckling sound.

“Yes, yeah, I’m alone.”

“Ok,” she whispers, propping herself up against the pollen-coated patio table. The silty feeling of it beneath her fingers is somehow calming, or maybe it’s the sound of his breathing as it slows.

“Mia?” he murmurs after a few moments.

Her brow furrows. She’s not used to the name anymore, and definitely not from him. If she were a shred more desperate, she’d ask him to say it again and again until she could play it in her head the way she can play “It Was A Very Good Year.”

“I’m here.”

He goes quiet. She doesn’t mind. Knowing he’s there is enough.

“Did… you bid on anything at that auction?”

His question takes her by surprise. She snorts and shakes her head.

“No. Julia did, she won a week at a spa in the Berkshires. She’s giving it to her assistant Gracie as a perk.”

She can hear him smile gracefully when he says, “That’s nice.”

The silence is as dense as the blue at the bottom of the canyon below her. She’d gladly swim in it if it meant more time. She’s beginning to think this phone call was unfair. She still has nothing to say to him. She can barely form words.

He sighs. “I miss you so fucking much.”

Mia squeezes her eyes shut. He always gives her what she needs.

“We can fix that.”

His pause is charged and hopeful. His voice sounds a little brighter, more awake when he speaks again.

“I have… kind of a crazy idea if you’re up for it.”

“Those are usually my favorite kind.”

+

After all that blue, Mia embraces the color.

It seems all of Rio de Janeiro is color. It’s vibrant even from several thousand feet as she descends through the clouds in her first class cabin after a 16 hour journey from Los Angeles. 

She got on the plane only a few hours after she accepted Shawn’s invitation to join him for his final festival of the summer. He’s set to headline the third night of Rock in Rio in front of some 80,000 people. It’s the biggest show of his career so far. And he wants her there for him. She didn’t even hesitate.

She speed-packed every sundress, bikini and pair of sandals she could find in fifteen minutes and frantically called Gus for a ride to the airport. Pammy came along in the car, destined for another visit with Gus and his family for a few days while Mia jetsets.

Shawn sends a car to pick her up. She cruises along the crystalline blue water, past craggy mountain peaks and through bright pastel favelas filled with life and food and music. The violent swing from her quiet Mia life to Penny’s vibrant one is more jarring than usual. She blames the long flight hangover for her unsettled state. But there’s no time to settle. She’s being whisked straight to the team’s rented villa in São Conrado to freshen up before heading to the venue.

It’s sunset as they wind up the mountains of Joatinga and Mia wonders how they’ll ever reach the top. They ascend through a sparsely populated neighborhood of chic, modern villas until they reach a cobblestone drive spiked with weeds that leads to the top of the hill. The villa at first glance is modest, flat-roofed and lined with lush tropical plants. The inside is sprawling, 8 bedrooms, eclectically furnished and decorated, with an infinity pool that seems to spill over the cliff and down onto Pepino Beach. She wants to wander, but the driver tells her they need to leave for the venue in 45 minutes.

Loud is the language of Brazilian nightlife, so she appears back in the foyer in a gauzy mustard yellow minidress and her clunky red platforms, shimmering as she walks with bangles up her arm and strings of beads around her neck.

Back down the mountain they go, descending from the balancing quiet to the screech of chaos that is Rock in Rio. Shawn has been at the Cidade do Rock since early afternoon. She can only imagine that he’s a spiky bundle of nerves sitting in the dressing room now. Her heart rate quickens as they draw closer through the maze of traffic to the artist and guest entrance. She recognizes all of a sudden that she might be as nervous as he is.

She’s escorted through security and the waves of people milling around deep in the bowels of the venue. She can feel the many, many thousands of people outside at the stage. The walls vibrate with their energy and their noise. The show is between acts -- another artist is next before Shawn’s headlining set. Mia doesn’t know who. She doesn’t even know if she’ll see him before he goes on.

Her escort pauses to take a phone call. She stands behind him, towering over him in her tall shoes, feeling more like a first time prostitute than when she was one. She tucks her arms behind her to hide her fiddling fingers. Her stomach swoops hard when the unthinkably large crowd cheers for something she can’t see. Mia swears her brain is about to short circuit when her guide leads her to a door, knocks, and positions her in front of it. He starts to walk away. She struggles with her Portuguese to protest, but the door swings open.

“Thank god,” Shawn breathes, yanking her inside by her awkwardly outstretched hand. When the door shuts behind them, the sound of festival chaos is mercifully muffled.

His eyes are darting, his hair is bouncy and free of paste, he’s sweating through a white t-shirt and wetting his lips. The piece of her she needs right now falls into place. She steps into him and tucks her warm hands around his clammy neck.

“There he is,” she whispers, resting her forehead against his. The breath he shakily releases against her lips smells like wintergreen. He drops his hands to her hips, his thumbs rubbing into the light floss of her dress’s material.

Mia’s eyes are closed. Her smile is perfectly tranquil as her heartbeat finally slows to normal. She plucks at some curls against his neck with her fingers.

“Are you bricking it?”

He chuckles and she likes the way his throat vibrates against her palms and through her whole body. His nose bumps hers.

“Completely.”

She nods, not enough to dislodge where they’re connected. She brushes the tip of her freckled nose against his until she can hear him smile. She pulls away to look at him.

He already looks slightly less manic than he did when she walked in. She’s helping. It’s as calming to her as it is to him. To Mia, there’s no drug like being able to relax someone.

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” she murmurs, guiding him by the hand to the overstuffed couch. They sit together easily, like their last few encounters are a distant memory, like it’s late June again. Shawn curls an arm around her, she slips a leg over his and lets his hand wander up and down her slightly stubbly calf.

“I’m supposed to be meditating,” he grunts, “And… I wanted time with you when you got here. Alone. Not-- like, I mean, you know, just to see you, not-- I mean, not to just--”

“Hey, I know,” Mia soothes with a gentle smile. She read on him when she walked in that he doesn’t want to be fucked right now, he wants to be held. So that’s what she’ll do.

His shoulders relax a little when he sees the understanding on her face. She massages the guitar tattoo on his forearm and lets him press his nose into her hair.

“Also, I didn’t exactly tell anyone I invited you.”

Mia’s brows raise. Shawn slowly raises his head to look at her sheepishly.

“Interesting choice,” Mia hums, waiting for an explanation.

He wets his lips. “It happened really fast. I had the idea when we got out here but I didn’t know if you were going to call, but then you did and I just said it because I wanted you here, I need you here with me so badly, especially tonight. And I know all the stuff with Bex is still happening, with the single and everything it’s an even bigger deal than before and I knew Andrew wasn’t going to like it even if I just said you’re my friend, he’s really conscious of the image shit right now so I just decided to keep you… a surprise.”

Mia decides for now not to comment on the single and the “Bex stuff.” Instead she nods gamely and tucks her face into his neck for a kiss. The goosebumps she missed on him flare hot. He hums and cuddles her a little closer.

“Thank you so much, Mia,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in the ends of her salt-sprayed hair. She lifts her head to regard him. His sincerity makes her ache.

Mia sighs, like it’s all just inevitable, and she supposes it is, at least tonight. She pulls one hand up from the back of his neck into his silky hair and holds him fast for a kiss.

She starts slow, relearning the curve of his soft mouth and the way his pulse quickens under her fingers when she touches him like this. She listens for the little throaty noise of pleasure from his chest and continues a little deeper, massaging his scalp as she explores well-documented territory with her mouth and hands until they’re both gasping and grasping, high on it.

A knock at the door interrupts them. Mia sits back with her eyes wide and her lips swollen. Shawn wipes his mouth and clears his throat.

“Yeah?”

Andrew pops his head in. His expression changes from neutral to utter bafflement so fast Mia almost laughs.

“Wh--”

“Andrew, you remember Mia, right? You met at the 4th of July party.”

Shawn says it with such confidence that Mia and Andrew both stare at him in shock. Shawn doesn’t seem to care at all that Mia was introduced under a different name then, and left the party under disreputable circumstances after leaving him with a litter of hickeys up his neck, to Andrew’s horror.

Andrew blinks. “What’s… going on?”

Shawn stands and takes Mia’s hand. She gapes, but rises and follows as he heads for the door Andrew’s standing in.

“Don’t worry, we’ll stay out of sight. This doesn’t have to be a huge deal.”

Andrew’s face says otherwise. Mia schools her expression to what she hopes is a casual one and follows Shawn out the door.

The rest of the team is clearly confused by her appearance but no one bothers to question it, especially given how much calmer their leader seems in her presence. Zubin offers Mia a caipirinha while Tiff gets Shawn into his chelsea boots, black jeans and silky crimson sleeveless button-up. 

Mia is energized by the big group send off to the stage. Shawn keeps her close as they make their way through the maze of doors and corridors to the side of the stage, past curious gazes and busy stagehands. It’s the first time Mia actually gets a look at it. She gapes at the size of the crowd.

It’s what can only be described as a sea of people. Hell, it’s a sea of people that probably extends right out to the sea. She presses a hand to her chest in astonishment. Shawn takes the other in his.

“Hey,” he nearly yells, “About the song. You… you know I wrote it for you, right?”

Mia hesitates, then nods.

“I know it’s probably weird that I had Bex sing on the track,” he calls back. Mia winces. This is such an odd time for this conversation. He seems to see the thought on her face.

“No, listen. I just need you to know just because I sang it with her doesn’t make it any less yours. It’s for you, Mia. Every time, it’s always just for you.”

A guitar tech hands off the Stratocaster. He strings it over his shoulder and scoops her in by the side of her neck for a bruising kiss, hidden from the world but blatant and obvious in front of his whole dumbstruck team.

He pulls away with a smirk like she’s never seen before. For a moment, she’s paralyzed with the certainty of the notion that she’s about to see something unlike anything she’s ever seen before.

He climbs up from the bottom of the stage. The sea of people releases a volcanic noise. Mia covers her nose and mouth, watching him stride up to the microphone and cry a greeting into it. Somehow, the crowd noise gets even fucking louder. She stares in awe as he reaches for a guitar pick off the mic stand and starts playing her song.

She thinks she knows why she’s felt so off her own feet and out of her own head now. It makes sense in that weird, nonsensical, cosmic vibrational way. The uncertainty and the dazedness of the last few days has been leading her to a truth she can’t avoid anymore, the ultimate imbalance.

Mia is so fucking in love with Shawn.

Maybe it was spending an evening watching him be the purest, most distilled version of himself in front of 80,000 ravenous fans that made her realize they could only hope to love him as much as she does. Because it feels so obvious now. Irreversible, even. This is it.

This is the end.

+

He comes off stage grinning wildly, all gleaming teeth and glistening sweat as he takes her willing body into his arms and swings her into another all-consuming kiss. She laughs into his mouth. He revels in it.

The reveling continues into the cars. There’s a whole line of SUVs queued up outside the venue, most of which are heading into the city in search of nightlife. One, however, per Shawn’s request, is taking them back up into the mountains to the villa. Andrew shades them with a wary look but otherwise drops it. Better that they tuck themselves away in their private nest than be seen “canoodling” in a Brazilian nightclub anyway.

The reveling ends in the car. Mia and Shawn are the only ones heading back early, even though it’s nearly 2am. It’s almost eerily quiet. They cling to each other like there’s some kind of invisible threat nearby looking to drag them apart. Shawn keeps a hand running through Mia’s sweaty hair while she sits practically in his lap, trailing single wet kisses along his cheek and jaw, tastes of what they can have more of when they’re finally really alone.

The driver stays in the driveway until Shawn locks the front door behind them. Mia stares out through the open floor plan to the infinity pool, lit from within. The city glows beneath them, far below until it meets the ocean. Mia thinks it’s appropriate that they’re on the edge of something.

Shawn wanders up behind her, the clack of his boots deafening against the hardwood in the silent villa. His hands are gentle on her hips. His nose skims her jugular. He holds his breath.

“What do you want, baby?” she murmurs, glancing around them, “The pool? Or maybe the window?”

This house is insane -- she has no shortage of ideas for locations.

Shawn releases the breath low and slow against her neck. Her entire body goes stiff and goosebumped. He plants a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Want you in the bed. Please.”

Mia mashes her lips together and sighs through her nose. She supposes if she’s going to let herself have this with him, it may as well be all the way. She lifts her hand to cradle his head as he nuzzles her.

“Ok. Take me.”

Shawn smiles into her neck. He turns her by the hips and slowly lowers to one knee. Mia is about to question him when she realizes he’s working the buckle on her left shoe and kissing the inside of her thigh. She smiles and combs through his sweet smelling post-show shower hair. He switches legs and muffles a little groan into her skin when she tugs at him impatiently. He leaves her shoes sitting by the sofa and stands, lifting her legs around his hips as he does. She goes easily, swinging her arms around him with a whimper as he leads her toward his bedroom.

It’s vast and mostly empty with one long floor to ceiling window against the far wall opening up over the cliff. The enormous bed sits in the center of the room. Shawn takes her there, bracing himself on a knee as he lowers her into its cushiony softness without letting up on her lips. Mia holds him down with her, but it doesn’t matter, he wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

There’s something in the way they move together tonight. It’s as hot and slow and lazy as the humidity in the tropical trees outside the window. Instead of tugging at the straps of her dress, Shawn plants kisses over them, teases the skin beneath before reaching back up for another taste of her mouth. Instead of pushing at his jeans, Mia slides her hands up the back of his shirt, enjoying the way he gasps into her mouth. 

They’re taking what they’ve always wanted but been afraid to ask for. They’re reaching past comfortability and familiarity into true intimacy. It makes Mia’s arm hair stand on end like from a static charge. She dives deeper, deciding she may as well drown in it.

She slows the kiss he’s working on, pointing her toes and dragging them up the back of his leg. He whines sweetly into her mouth, making her smile.

“You taste good, Shawn,” she tells him, voice all warm gravel. He smiles into her lips and kisses the corner of her mouth.

“What do I taste like?”

Mia sucks him back in with a hum to decide. “Wintergreen.” She takes another taste. “Honey.” And another. “And a little bit of bourbon.” She nips at his lower lip. He laughs and lifts his hand to cradle her jaw, running his thumb against her lower lip.

He bites his lip, watching her press kisses to the bad of his finger when a few weeks ago she would’ve sucked on it until she demanded he drop his pants so she could suck on something else. But it’s different tonight. He molds his mouth back against hers so he doesn’t say something fucking stupid like you taste like forever.

Slowly, Shawn works Mia’s dress up her stubbly thighs, letting his fingers stretch and wander the patterns of freckles and stretchmarks in her skin. He admires the soft cushion around her hips and tummy and the swell of her ass. He gives it a teasing squeeze and she bites his lip.

“Take it off, Shawn.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rolls her on top of him and shimmies her out of her pretty dress. He doesn’t have time to look her over before she descends on his neck, running her nose and mouth over all the places she likes to leave marks.

“Please, honey. Wanna see it. How much you want me,” he croaks.

Mia breathes him in slowly, savoring. She reaches for one of his hands off her hip and intertwines their fingers against the bed. Watching his fingers caress hers, she swipes her tongue just below his ear, where his skin is the very softest, like velvet. At his intake of breath, she nips and sucks, easing into a rhythm that she matches with the slow grinding of her hips.

“Jesus, Mia. Baby, you’re incredible.”

The name. She still can’t get used to him using her real name. She bites him a little too hard and winces when he stiffens. She apologizes with a hum and wet kiss until he tilts his head needily to find her lips again.

“Fucking love kissing you,” he breathes, snagging her lower lip between his teeth again with a little smile, groaning as her hips find his again.

Mia knows she has to get him naked soon or she’ll have them both coming in their damn underwear. She doesn’t want that rushed foolishness tonight. Not tonight, not like this. She wraps an arm around him, wriggling it between his broad back and the mattress, and pulls him over her. He hovers on a knee, still lost in kissing her. She slides a hand up his chest and pushes him up gently, sitting up with him as he straddles her thighs. 

Mia lifts the hem of his shirt up until he takes over, stretching his enormous arms over his head as he sheds his shirt behind them. His arms drop and start to reach for her. She leans in with a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as she buries her face in his chest. Shawn pauses, cupping the back of her head.

“Mi--”

He cuts himself off when she starts to plant kisses all over his chest, her hands wandering his sides and back as she pleases. He loves it when she takes what she wants, especially when it’s his to give. His big fingers massage her scalp softly, marveling at the way she mewls against his skin like she missed it. He tilts his cheek against the top of her head. He knows the feeling.

Mia doesn’t want to let go. He’s perched in her lap, holding her as she clings to him, patiently enjoying her tender exploration of his chest despite how hard she can feel he is in his jeans. With a shuddering breath, she pulls back to look at him. He smiles warmly and tucks some hair behind her ear.

“Wasn’t sure I’d get this with you again.”

Her eyes drift shut. She noses at his chin. He sighs happily, helping lower her beneath him again so she’s beautifully surrounded by him. He presses his lips to her cheek and breathes with her, watching her fingers trail up and down his arms.

“About tonight,” she rasps, clearing her throat and licking her lips, avoiding his big, pleading eyes, “You… I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ve never experienced a performance like that. I don’t know if you know how good you are, but I need you to know that I think you’re fucking incredible.”

Her eyes are wide and earnest. Shawn wants to freeze this moment and bathe in its easy perfection. 

She thinks he’s incredible.

“I think I was better for you,” he tells her honestly. Mia keens, pulling him down by his hips. He’s still wearing too many clothes.

With difficulty, they shuck him out of his jeans horizontally and with their lips mostly attached. He slips a hand behind her back to unclasp her strapless bra so it falls away with the rest. Her panties and his briefs follow.

Their nakedness is familiar but their closeness is new and sweet and scary. He lets himself kiss her until his head feels close to bursting from oxygen deprivation, she traces little patterns against the broadness of his back that make him smile against her mouth.

Mia thinks, maybe, they might be making love. She’s not sure, she’s never tried it. She hopes it’s this good.

His cock brushes her thigh and he huffs, squirming against her. She runs the hand down his back to his ass, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re still my good boy, right?” she pants, breathless. Shawn groans, nodding weakly.

“Always.”

He releases her swollen lips with a pop. His eyes are bright, free of the glaze she often sees in them when they’re fucking. They’re fixed on her like if he watches long enough maybe he’ll get to see inside. Mia resists the harsh tang of panic in the back of her throat and breathes through it, letting him look at her.

The mood shifts palpably. Where there was lightness and teasing there’s now this gaze between them that feels so charged and vital, it’s like they’ve never seen each other before. Shawn is the first to break it, looking down at her body worshipfully, eyes going heavy as he drops onto his elbows to pray.

The tip of his nose is warm against her collarbone. His lips follow, just a brush at first, followed by wet, almost pleading kisses. He sweeps out toward her shoulder, then back down. He leans on to one arm, not content to worship only with his mouth. His fingers skate down to the curve of her hip, dipping in around the cut of her hip bone to toy with the tender skin just above the soft patch of hair between her thighs.

Mia is awestruck. Her body has been many things -- whipping post, object of desire, receptacle, but never an altar. He’s careful with her now in a way that doesn’t express his fear or curiosity, but rather deep respect and admiration. He knows what her body can do, maybe better than anyone. And he knows exactly how to venerate it.

He lowers his head further, focusing on the velvety insides of her breasts. He mouths at them, tasting, not devouring. His fingers, still occupied exploring undervalued territory, fall a little further down and right into the juncture of her thigh and pelvis. The skin is thin and sensitive, making her gasp with each light brush of his thumb. 

The next time he travels down it’s to the skin just below her navel and his fingers are brushing her swollen wet lips and she can’t fucking breathe and --

“Shawn,” she hears herself gasp. He looks up, startled.

“Please,” she pleads, “Please, I can’t-- I need you. I need to feel you, please, I need you inside me. I can’t wait anymore.”

Her voice is pitchy and strained, unfamiliar. Shawn leaves one final tender kiss on her abdomen and crawls back up her body. His hands are on either side of her head, her hair splayed out around them. She already has her hands all over him, occupying her nervous energy while he takes time watching her again.

“Ok,” he breathes, nodding slightly, “Yeah, honey. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Without thinking, he drops his lips to her forehead. Her busy hands pause on his body. Her harried breathing softens. The desperation isn’t so desperate anymore. They both slow, becoming present.

When Shawn looks down at her again, she’s smiling warmly, spreading her thighs for him to settle between. He matches her expression, cupping the back of her head while his other hand wanders up and down her thigh.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks. It feels heavier than it shoulder.

Mia nods, draping her arms around his neck. She waits for him to come to her rather than pinning him down and taking. Shawn reaches down between them and lines up the head of his cock with her entrance. His forehead falls to hers. He presses in.

Mia squirms slightly with the comfortable stretch, getting used to the feel of him again, the fullness and total satisfaction of it. Shawn hums, gloved in her gorgeous wet warmth. Neither of them moves for a good full minute, instead breathing and kissing whatever they can reach. When Shawn shifts his hips, Mia’s responding mewl has his whole body on fire.

Her arms hang weak for once around him, letting him give and take. He starts deliciously slow, rolling his hips to grind into her, avoiding the angle that gets her mouthy and desperate, at least for now. Mia thinks in all the time they’ve been sleeping together this might actually be their first time in true missionary position. She thinks she really likes it.

His breath starts to come harder as his hips move faster. Mia’s syncs up with it, eyes snapping shut when she hears the slick squelch of her body’s reaction to his ministrations. She feels a brush of fingers against her cheek. When she opens her eyes, Shawn is there. 

He’s fucking beautiful. His cheeks are ruddy with the effort, his curls drying soft and frizzy as they bounce. His lips are red and swollen from all her attention. She’s never seen him look quite as gorgeous as he does right now. A noise from her throat has him groaning and lifting her leg up to hitch over his hip, reaching deeper.

“Oh Jesus, Shawn,” Mia whines, her back arching slightly. He pants, nodding as he holds her even closer, enthralled by the way her arms tighten around his shoulders. 

She trembles hard in his arms, clinging to this plane, the one that has her so deep in this with him she’ll never find her way out again. She scrabbles at his shoulders, nearly feral. Her toes curl, her body riots. She needs to come.

“I don’t… I’m not ready to let go,” she squeaks, all vulnerability. Shawn lifts his head from her neck. His jaw is set but his eyes are wide open and soft.

“Doesn’t have to be over yet. C’mon, sweetheart. Please come for me.”

Tangled in his sheets with the humid South American air coming in through the window, Mia lets go in spectacular fashion, thrashing beneath his able, willing body, nails digging into his back and neck, lips nipping and pressing all over his firm jaw as he groans through it.

When her body relaxes, Shawn inhales sharply and lifts her. Mia gasps, clinging to his shoulders as he settles on his knees, keeping her in his lap, still rocking his hips evenly. Slowly, she joins him, looping an arm around his neck and the other under his arm. She lays her cheek against his and lets his staggering heartbeat dictate the rhythm of their hips. From this angle, his pelvis bumps her clit with every precious rock of their hips.

“Yes, yes,” she chants wetly into his damp skin, eagerly pressing back into his hands on her ass as they keep her pace. They rock tighter, faster.

“Look at me,” he begs, nudging her with his cheek, pulling back slightly.

“I love watching you come,” he tells her, knowing from the cadence of her strokes and the pulsing of her pussy that she’s about to come again.

“Come with me,” she insists, fisting a hand in his hair. The tug is almost enough to make him lose it early.

Shawn grinds his hips harder, giving her everything he has left. With her eyes locked on his, she falls. He stumbles after with a shout, quickly muffled by her lips on his. Mouth to mouth, skin to skin, they rock in place until they can’t. Shawn tips them forward, still connected in every place they can be, cradling her between him and the bed. At her urging, he stays inside her until he’s hard again. Mia and Shawn make love until the birds get loud in the trees and the cool morning wind lulls them to sleep.

----------

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[noblecrumpet-dorkvision]

Need Help Deciding on a D&D Character

Edit: I made a Twitter poll to help decide: https://twitter.com/noblecrumpet/status/1144389611763961856

As my Tomb of Annihilation campaign is nearing its end (they are exploring level 4 of the Tomb now), I have been offered the opportunity of a lifetime for a DM: to actually play in a game instead of DM-ing it!

The problem is, I have three banger character concepts and no clue which to play. Since I have a lot of followers that can weigh in, I figured I would present them to you guys to help me decide. Each has at least one friendly NPC and one rival/villain NPC in their backstory and a character arc for maximum involvement in the story. Let me know which one sounds the most interesting or exciting to play because I like all of these dudes equally.

The setting is Forgotten Realms, but not the Sword Coast, and I think our team comp has two different barbarians and two other unknown characters. All three of my ideas are spellcasters so I’m not as concerned that I will be going against party comp.

Character 1: Dain, the Undermage

Character: Duergar Slime Sorcerer (homebrewed) focused on dealing a lot of Acid damage.

Appearance: Dain has ash-colored skin with a dirty red beard turned yellow in places from contact with acid. His forehead is magically branded with a column of three dark violet eye symbols rising from his brow. He wears a conglomeration of found and scavenged clothing scraps that form into robes, using bones for ornamentation and clasps. He wears a dark cowl to hide the sorcerous mark on his forehead. His spells all have a visual effect involving green ooze or slime.

Character Arc: Once he understands what heroic comradery is like, or if someone risks their life to save his, he will go from a selfish and greedy miser to someone willing to share his ambitions and to risk his own life for his new friends.

Backstory: Dain was once a proud brewer in a duergar kingdom called Blackmount, a subterranean mountain citadel ruled by Gabrid Grayrune. Brewing is an especially rare and almost taboo art since strong alcohols will cause duergar’s psionic powers to go awry. He lived with his wife, Azntryd.

One day, an aboleth named Thuuldukod took control of a good number of the duergar in the kingdom and spirited them away to its lair. Somehow the aboleth’s transformative slime and Dain’s innate psionic powers awakened a latent form of sorcery within him. He gained power over slimes, acid, and ooze and was also able to break free from Thuuldukod’s control. After freeing some others, they were able to overcome the aboleth and bury it beneath a pile of rock.

   Upon returning to Blackmount, the duergar took in the other freed duergar that survived, but banished Dain. His awakened power marked him with three purple eye symbols on his forehead, and the duergar believed this proved he was somehow still under the aboleth’s control. He left his life and his wife Azntryd behind. Angered by this treatment, he left to wallow in the filthier regions of the Underdark with his newfound powers, going slightly mad as he wondered if he was truly the one in control of his magic.

   Adventurers came by and tried to slay him, thinking the raving duergar was a common monster, but he overcame them. This battle caused him to rethink his priorities and once he noticed the wealth these heroes had accumulated, decided to act on his duergar greed and become a “hero” himself. His ultimate goal is to create his own kingdom to replace the one he lost.

Character 2: Klak, the Dungeon Delver

Character: Kobold Artificer (Artillerist) with a focus on exploration and utility.

Appearance: Klak sports red-grey scaled skin with orange eyes. As an artificer, he is always weighed down with lots of equipment, but thankfully has been able to design a haversack that can hold many of his things despite their weight. His artifacts are primarily made of stonework with glowing crimson runes, including his artillerist turret which grows from nearby stone to attack. The energy of his magic is red with lots of Kirby dots.

Character Arc: Klak is distrustful of warm-bloods but is his curiosity for history and ancient relics easily overcomes this. When he finally reunites with his crush who stayed behind when he was exiled, the only kobold or even person he ever trusted, Klak will have to choose between living in the ancient past or finding his feelings in the present.

Backstory: Klak (“Pebble” in draconic) and his kobold brethren served a green dragon named Andorax the Venom-Fang. Klak was one of the tyrant’s trap-makers. One day when mining out space for a pit trap, Klak came upon the entrance to an ancient lost tomb with magical technology and defenses. Not wanting to tell Andorax, he created a secret door in front of the tomb’s entrance and would steal away to the place when no one was looking. Slowly he began to uncover new secrets and learn how to abuse the magical items there. He even overcame some undead creatures by himself thanks to learning how to recreate a magical turret that once halted his own progress.

   After learning so many new tricks, Klak’s traps began to improve and Andorax started to take notice. He also started to notice when he went missing. Eventually, he discovered the secret entrance and filled it with poison gas while Klak was inside. Thinking quickly, Klak was able to create a gasmask and hide within a secret compartment. He couldn’t risk leaving, and knew that his kobold brethren would soon be combing the tomb for his body, so he dug and mined his way to the surface. Exhausted and running drastically low on air, he breached the ground in the wilderness nearby.

   Now Klak looks for new dungeons to delve, only stopping into town to sell treasures and buy tools and supplies. He knows a dwarven antiques merchant named Helga Goldbraid that shares new leads with him. He has joined adventuring parties before, but is wary of doing so ever since a human fighter, Amyster Bayn, betrayed him to get away with wealth and leave him to die.

   He misses one of his kobold friends whom he had a crush on, Jakryl, a crackshot crossbow sniper who presumably still works for Andorax. Klak was never able to confess his feelings for him before his escape.

Character 3: Gazmin Selunath, the Tide Princess

Character: Triton Bladesinger (elf restriction waived) with a focus on hitting people with her morningstar and blasting things with ice but with valuable utility spells in her back pocket. I imagine her as Thor’s personality, Starfire’s appearance (inverted color scheme) and the feeling of a Frank Frazetta painting.

Appearance: Big wavy green hair down to her calves, blue scaled skin, and yellow-green fins and webbing. She is tall for a triton, and has a powerful muscular build. She wears algae-stained whaleskin leather armor studded with barnacles, and a crown of spiked coral. She wields a magic morningstar whose head is a giant pearl with conical shells for spikes.

Character Arc: Gazmin is a prideful and haughty noble on a self-imposed quest to prove her worthiness to rule by slaying a great evil. However, she will never be satisfied. She has no actual desire to rule, but instead wanted to explore the surface world and its wonders. Her arc will complete once she stops lying to herself.

Backstory: Gazmin Selunath, daughter of Queen Myrthyn and King Genallus, is next in line to the throne of the triton kingdom of Seluna (which lies in a deep part of what the landlubbers call the Shining Sea). Gazmin was taught triton magic at the most prestigious magic schools and also the art of combat from the greatest triton warriors, and combines these skills into a bladesinging style she calls the Orca style. She wanted for nothing, but still realized something was missing. She didn’t feel worthy of attaining the crown and proclaimed that she had been given a task in a prophetic dream from the gods: she cannot rule Seluna until she destroys a great and terrible evil. Seeing no great evils in the kingdom, she opted to leave it and find this evil on land. Her parents gave her powerful triton relics to aid her in her quest. Then they said their goodbyes and she left in search of glory.

   Gazmin is unfamiliar with the ways and workings of the surface world. The first thing she did upon arriving was save a mountain man named Riff Bin from a group of marauding orcs. When asked where he lived that she may return him safely, he said his home was the mountain. She mistook this to mean that he was a great king who owned an entire mountain, and now offers him fealty and occasionally visits to send him tribute. Riff takes this in stride, not wanting to offend the terrifying woman who froze ten orcs solid and shattered them with her morningstar.

   Little to Gazmin’s knowledge, her jealous and treacherous younger brother Elganus has followed her to the surface world in hopes of ensuring Gazmin never returns to claim the throne he believes he deserves.

[the-innocent-papyrus]

💫

💫 Drabbles

Again by Yui, as covered by AmaLee:There’s still so much here — a life worth livingAnd with time you’ll drown the feeling out(I’M ON THE WAY)It’s so nostalgicMaybe all the love is worth the pain

Toriel and her long-lost son Asriel had settled into something of a routine. Once a week, he’d come by to visit the Ruins, often accompanied by someone else. Usually little Zax or his mama, a tall skeleton by the name of Papyrus. Zax was fairly shy and skittish, but his mama was very friendly and talkative. Papyrus would often regale her about his various brothers’ exploits, share exciting tales of training with his best friend, or extol the virtues of his fiancé and son. Zax, on the other hand, was content to carry Asriel around the kitchen and watch her bake, sometimes asking her questions about what she was doing. She was more than happy to answer any questions the curious kids had. She loved to teach, after all.

Today, though, she had gotten word that someone else would be dropping by with Asriel. Someone she had heard much about, but hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

She waited near the door to the Ruins, double-checking the time with her phone. It was afternoon, heading towards evening, about the usual time that Asriel liked to show up. She wasn’t too terribly worried about the time; he was technically still only eight years old, after all, so he could only be expected to be so punctual.

There came a knock on the door, finally, but it was also accompanied by an unfamiliar voice.

“*knock knock.”

Toriel blinked for a moment, caught off-guard for a moment. Was this the beginning of a knock-knock joke, or someone simply trying to make sure the knocking was heard? Well, only one way to find out, really.

“Who is there?”

“*dishes.”

A toothy grin split Toriel’s face as she realized where this was going. She held her hands to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggling a bit before the punchline was even delivered.

“Dishes, who?”

“*dishes a very bad joke.”

She doubled over and let out a howl of laughter, the sound echoing down the empty hallway behind her. It had been so long since she’d met anyone willing to engage her in an exchange of terrible jokes. She could faintly hear the sound of her own child giggling a bit beyond the door.

“*knock knock,” the voice said again, once her laughter had subsided somewhat.

“Wh-Who… is there?” she replied, between lingering giggles.

“*lettuce.”

“Lettuce who?”

“*lettuce in, it’s freezing out here.”

Toriel burst into giggles again and pulled the door open, her gaze meeting… air, at first. She blinked a bit and then shifted her gaze further down. Oh! A short skeleton, carrying her potted child.

“You must be Sans,” she said, offering him a smile. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter ahead of her. The short skeleton entered, pink fuzzy slippers tracking a bit of snow into the entranceway as he shuffled in.

“*heh, i’d say ‘the one and only’ but i can rattle off about five others i know off the top of my head,” he said with a chuckle. Toriel snickered a bit at the pun, closing the door behind him.

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you from Papyrus,” she said, reaching out and patting the top of Asriel’s little flower head. “It’s clear that he cares about you a lot.”

“*heh, well,” Sans said with a shrug. “*he’s a pretty caring guy. he may be heartless, but he’s not heartless, y’know?”

Toriel let out a quieter chuckle at the little pun. Ah, yes, Papyrus had warned her about this. His tendency to downplay and deflect anything nice anyone says about him. She was onto this slippery skeleton.

She held out a hand, attempting to herd the two of them down the hall and up the stairs into the house. She tried to keep her pace relatively slow so that she wouldn’t end up leaving the short skeleton behind after only a few steps. The curse of being so much taller than most of the people she encountered.

“He certainly is a very kind and thoughtful young man,” she said. “He still speaks very highly of you! Even when he is frustrated with how infrequently you clean your room, hee hee.”

“Wait, you don’t have to clean your room all the time?!” Asriel said, lifting his head and staring up at Sans with a somewhat awed expression. Toriel and Sans both chuckled, Sans reaching up and patting the top of the flower child’s head.

“*that’s the advantage to being a grownup, kid,” he said. “*you get to decide how messy or clean you wanna keep your room. nobody else can make you clean up if you don’t want to.”

Asriel’s eyes widened and he let out a gasp.

“I want to be a grownup now!” he exclaimed.

“*the catch, of course, is that mom and dad won’t clean up for you if you don’t wanna do it yourself,” Sans continued.

Asriel glanced at his mother for a moment, eying her up. Toriel giggled and shot him a knowing smile.

“No, honey, no amount of giving me the puppy dog eyes will convince me to clean your room for you all the time,” she said. Asriel huffed, puffing up his cheeks as he pouted.

“*save the cute look for when you need something from the top shelf,” Sans said.

“Like some of mama’s delicious cookies?” Asriel said, leaning towards Toriel and fixing her with the cutest doe-eyed stare he could muster. Toriel snorted, covering her mouth again.

“I shall do you one better, my child,” she said. “I’ll bake you a fresh batch, just for you!”

Asriel’s face lit up and he sat up straight, looking enthusiastic. To be fair, a major part of the reason she’d be making a fresh batch of cookies was because of Asriel’s newfound dietary requirements, now that he was stuck as a flower. But he didn’t need to have attention drawn to that fact.

“Which you can have after  you’ve finished dinner,” Toriel added. Asriel scowled, looking incredibly put off by the idea. “We’re having snail pie.”

And Asriel perked up again. She knew her snail pie was Asriel’s favorite food, and she was pretty sure she’d finally worked out a recipe that would work for him.

“Oh! I love snail pie!” He leaned back and grinned up at Sans. “Mama makes the best snail pie ever, it’s sooo good!”

“*snail pie, huh?” Sans said. “*made with real snails?”

“It is indeed!” she said, a note of pride in her voice. They arrived at the stairs leading up and Toriel gestured for Sans to go ahead of her. He shifted Asriel’s flower pot, tucking it under his right arm so he could grab the railing with his left hand. Toriel soon followed, right hand lightly touching the railing as she ascended.

“Now, I was trying out a slightly different recipe this time,” she said, “so I apologize if it does not taste quite the same as you remember it, Asriel.”

“That’s okay,” Asriel said, leaning around Sans to get a look at his mother. “Your pies are always the best!”

Toriel couldn’t help but chuckle.

The three of them headed into the living room and took a seat at the table, Sans placing Asriel down on top of a small pile of books on the smallest chair. Toriel gathered a pile of pillows and arranged them on the second smallest chair to give the tiny skeleton a little bit of a height boost. Toriel took the biggest chair, which still seemed a bit comically large for her. Asriel seemed to be a little bit uneasy with this arrangement, but didn’t say anything.

Dinner itself was nice. There was plenty of laughter, plenty of pleasant conversation, and the pie was apparently a hit with both her son and her houseguest. And, for a brief moment, it felt to her as if she had a full family again.

The night was filled with so many bad jokes and baking puns. When the two of them finally had to head out again, Toriel made sure to give them both plenty of cookies to take home with them.

“*thanks,” Sans said, sticking the container of cookies in his inventory for safekeeping. “*i’ll make sure everyone gets a chance to have at least one cookie, heh.”

“Good night, mama!” Asriel said, straightening out his stalk a bit as he leaned in for a goodnight kiss. Toriel knelt down and placed a kiss on one of his petals.

“Good night, my child,” she said. “I shall see you next week.”

Sans scooped up the flower pot in his arms, briefly shifting his weight and giving her a little wave. She waved back at him, and then paused.

“Sans,” she said, “if you or your brother would like to stop by for a visit sometime, on your own… then you would be more than welcome to come.”

Sans stared at her for a moment, his permanent smile making his expression hard to gauge. But then he suddenly squinted, in a manner that reminded her of a happy cat or dog.

“*sure, yeah. i’ll let bro know,” he said. “*good night.”

“Good night. Have a safe trip back.”

“*thanks. you have a good night, too.”

And with that, he turned and shuffled off through the door again. Asriel leaned around him and waved to her one last time as she shut the door behind them.

Her self-imposed exile has gotten considerably less lonely since she started letting people in. Maybe she could find someone she could trust with a certain very big responsibility.

[genogenocrazycatman]

Throne - Chapter 10

Throne [Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.Net]

Characters:  Original Female Character, Red Haired Shanks, Benn Beckman, Lucky Roo, Yasopp,

***

“I can be very disarming.”

“Looks like you’ve been disarmed,” I jabbed, not looking up at him.

Benn let out a loud laugh at that.

Shanks grinned. “You wound me.”

“Clearly, I’m not the only one.”

***

Chapter 10

  After having the Red-Haired Pirates around for the past few weeks, the tavern filled with its Aurorean regulars who had finally returned after their self-imposed exile felt empty.

  The men, mostly fishermen, were scattered about, nursing beers while they chatted about the current events, the most exciting of which was the departure of the Red-Haired Crew, who had left for their next adventure late in the afternoon.

  It was a drastic change, considering that the night before, the tavern had felt as if it would burst at the seams with the energy from the pirates that filled it.

  Knowing that something is going to happen doesn’t mean anything unless you can do something about it. I knew they would be leaving, but that did nothing to lessen my disappointment. I hadn’t even gotten to give them a proper goodbye due to Tel’s antics the night before and my guest who had arrived in the morning.

  “You’re-“

  I stopped the tumbler of whiskey just short of my lips. “I swear on everything good in this world if you say ‘lucky,’ I’m going to knock your ass out and ship you back to the Old Man,” I threatened. I set the glass down and glared at the kid across from me.

  As I had learned, his name was Kaz, and he was a relatively new member of the Whitebeard crew. He joined a little over two years prior when he had an unfortunate run-in with the Old Man.

  If I had to guess, he was in his mid to late twenties. He wore years of wear and tear on his body; scars and callouses marred his pale skin, but he lacked the typical signs of age.

  This was his first trip to Aurora, and after putting up with him for about 12 hours, I was determined to make sure it was his last.

  “But you are,” he argued. “What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up when I did?”

  “One: It makes absolutely no fucking difference that you showed up when you did because the Red-Haired Pirates were leaving anyways.”

  Kaz had arrived in the morning. He’d recognized the Red-Haired Pirates ship and immediately went looking for me. He’d begun at the docks, where the workers there had sent him to the tavern. At the tavern, he’d talked to Rayne and possibly set a record for getting cracked over the head with a cane in the shortest time. She’d sent him to the store.

  I was helping Benn and a few of the others get all their ducks in a row in preparation for their departure while their captain slept on my couch.

  “Two: I wouldn’t have done a god dammed thing, and neither would you because the whole fucking point of my being here is not to draw attention.”

  Once he confirmed that I was, in fact, who he was looking for, Kaz flipped his long black hair over his shoulder, revealing the purple jolly roger inked on his neck. He gave a wide grin and walked up to the counter, letting out an overly enthusiastic “Sis!”

  Now, I knew the Red-Haired Pirates already knew about my connection to the Whitebeard Crew. I also knew that their knowing didn’t put me at risk. However, Kaz knew none of that.

  He had absolutely no clue what kind of flags his actions would raise. I was on Aurora, so people didn’t know I was Whitebeard’s kid, and he was running around with the Old Man’s brand, calling me his sister.

  He might as well have danced around with a giant sign that said, ‘Whitebeard’s daughter Kidnap at will.’

  Sure, we could take anyone that would be a concern, but what if someone ran and told the Marines? Marco had told me what they did when Roger was executed – how the Marines had hunted down the women he had potentially been with and their children to make sure that Roger’s bloodline had ended.

  Thankfully, Benn and the others took the hint and immediately played it as if our interactions were strictly transactional instead of friendly.

  Had it been a different day, I probably would’ve been less annoyed than I was. After all, I knew that the Red-Haired crew wouldn’t do anything. No harm, no foul. But on this particular day, it pissed me off.

  “Did no one tell you anything about this whole situation?” I asked.

  “Told me to make sure that you’re safe. I’m here. Red Hair’s gone. You’re safe. Mission accomplished.”

  “Where the hell did Newgate find this one?” Rayne chirped.

  I just gave her a tired look.

  “Just saying if you figure it out, I’m sure the two of us could return him and be back here before the next one shows up.”

  “As if Pops wouldn’t notice my absence.”

  “I’m sure he’d notice,” I said. I doubted the newfound peace would be lost on the Old Man.

  “I just don’t think he’d care,” Rayne added.

  “His favorite son missing? Of course, he’d care.”

  “Ha! Favorite son? Everyone knows that Marco is his favorite.”

  “Oh, kiddo,” Rayne sighed. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re his favorite.”

  “Can I really be the favorite when he hasn’t seen me in nearly twenty years?” Hell, I couldn’t even get him to write me. All I got from him were captain’s logs; if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t even sure they were from him. I wouldn’t put it past Marco to send gifts on his behalf.

  “She’s blood. She doesn’t count. She has an unfair advantage.”

  ‘When have I ever?’

  “I’m the one who scared off Red-Hair. When Pops hears-“

  “Oh no! Not a chance!” I snapped. “Listen here, you’ve already annoyed me. You are not going to make my life even more difficult. You’re not going to breathe a word of Red Hair being here to anyone. Not a fucking soul.”

  Dipshit would run back, tell everyone that Shanks was here, and the Old Man would likely overreact. Last time, he stuck me on an island by myself. This time, he’d probably throw me in a fucking cave somewhere.

  “Like hell, I’m not! Do you have any idea what this means?”

  “Nothing. It means nothing because you didn’t do anything because they were already leaving. You lucked out that you showed up when you did. I don’t know what your deal is. You want attention from the Old Man? We all do. There’s over a thousand of us. This isn’t the way to get on his radar.”

  The Old Man went out and collected every misfit and stray he could find. He gave them a place to belong and called them his children. I always wonder, though, if he truly understood what that meant. Children want attention. Children want to be loved. While love is limitless, time is not. It’s impossible to give that many children the interactions they desire in a meaningful way.

  “And no one’s going to believe that you scared them off. You’re not exactly the most intimidating man I’ve ever met,” Rayne said. “Liz could take you easy. You don’t stand a chance against Shanks.”

  “You really think I’d lose to her?”

  I raised a brow. “I’ll kick your ass into next week.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

  This kid. Fuck he was annoying. He just had a way of grating on my nerves. It was the overconfidence, disillusionment, and inability to hear anything besides what he wanted.

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Take it outside,” Rayne barked, her cane coming up threateningly.

  This was one of the best things about my brothers coming through. I didn’t have to hold back. I wasn’t worried about everything being taken as an act of war on Aurora. I could get annoyed, get mad, and pick fights, and the worst that came of it was that someone called me a bitch.

  “You couldn’t lay a finger on me,” Kaz taunted.

  “Oh, I’m gonna lay a whole damn fist.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “What’re the stakes?” I asked.

  “I win, you leave me alone about telling the Old Man about Red Hair.”

  I nodded. “Fine, but if I win, you keep your mouth shut.”

  “I accept that. I’ll even make it easier on you. All you have to do is land one hit on me.”

  “How long I got?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  I nodded. “I can work with that. I want your word.” I extended my hand for him to shake.

  “You got it.”

  He met me halfway across the table.

  I gripped his hand and pulled him closer so that I was right up in his face. “Remember, it’s important to the Old Man that all of his sons keep their word.”

  It wasn’t an honor thing, as much as it was a pride thing for my father. If you were going to do anything, you were going to do it with pride. What was there to be proud about going back on your word?

  I tossed back the rest of my whiskey. “Let’s do this.”

  We stepped out from the tavern's warm glow into the moon's cool light. I led him through the trees that surrounded the tavern to a clearing. It was far enough away that we shouldn’t have been able to disturb the villagers. Even if we did, it was so far into the trees that none of them would dare venture to look, save for maybe Tel.

  “Rules?” I asked.

  “None.”

  I nodded. “Devil fruits?”

  “Fair game.”

  “You have one?”

  “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

  I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t going to make a difference.

  “Count of three?”

  “One…”

  “Two…”

  “Three…”

  Neither of us moved.

  There was a tense moment of stillness before I chuckled. ‘Of course.’

  Kaz seemed to have gone serious.

  Seeing we had the same plan, I decided to give him the advantage and attack first. I launched myself at him, initially aiming high but swiftly adjusting my positioning so that I could go for his legs. If I could get him on the ground, I bought myself a little time to turn around and attack again as he got back up.

  He jumped out of the way, using my shoulder to push off to get even higher up in the air. He was graceful, fluid like water. His movements flowed together, saving energy. As effortless as it looked, the subtle adjustments meant that everything he did was strategic. He was being careful.

  I was not. I kept throwing myself at him, using different techniques and attacking from different angles. He dodged, never making a move to come near me. He has said that the goal was for me to hit him. He never had to touch me, so it looked like keeping away was his strategy.

  It was clear that he was using observation. He was so intently focused, and even though I was only going at half speed, he wouldn’t have been able to evade me otherwise.

  I was at a distinct disadvantage in that regard. However, it didn’t matter if you could predict a move if you weren’t fast enough to dodge it.

  I landed a short way away from him. “Seven minutes,” he said.

  “Plenty of time.”

  I took a deep breath before moving again. This time, I had a plan, a direction. I wasn’t just trying to feel the kid out. I moved, thinking not of landing a hit but getting him in place for one the next time I moved. I started at the same pace, but the speed increased.

  He finally fell into one of my traps, dodging left. Before my fist could connect with his face, he disappeared.

  I whipped my head around, and he was right behind me.

  “You little shit.”

  He disappeared again, this time appearing right in front of my face.

  “Cute,” I deadpanned.

  “Not as easy as you thought it’d be. Three minutes.”

  “Not as difficult as you make it out to be.”

  Fruits like that required some level of concentration. If he were splitting his focus between teleporting and observation, he wouldn’t be able to use either at full capacity. That being said, he was doing exceptionally well. It was truly impressive.

  I had to distract him somehow.

  I transformed into my hybrid form.

  Kaz’s eyes widened at my appearance. ‘There’s a crack.’

  I crouched low, running my hands across the dirt, before charging. He teleported out of the way. While he was in between, I hurled a rock I had grabbed at one of the tree branches. The beehive hanging there came crashing to the ground.

  Home field advantage.

  Kaz reappeared, and within thirty seconds, the bees began to swarm us.

  “What the hell?!”

  ‘Crack.’

  Balor’s skin was tough, too tough for the bees to sting. Kaz’s not so much. He started to fret, and I returned to my previous strategy. It took only two more tries before my fist connected with his gut, causing him to double over in pain.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “Thirty seconds left?”

  He couldn’t respond immediately. I transformed into my full Balor form. Even the bees were frightened enough to keep their distance.

  I leaned over Kaz and reached down to help him up.

  “That was dirty.”

  “I asked if you wanted to set some rules. You said no.”

  “Bees! What if I was allergic?”

  “Rayne’s allergic. She has some special medicine for when she gets stung. Trust me, you would’ve been fine. The whole town thinks I’m some kind of savage murderer; the last thing I need is the crew thinking so, too.”

  “You wouldn’t have won without your trick,” he shot.

  I pointed to the eye in the center of my forehead. “I haven’t even started going into my bag of tricks. That being said, your observation haki is impressive.”

  “Yours is trash.”

  “I know. I’m much better armament and conquerors.”

  “There’s no way you have conquerors!”

  “I su-“ before I finished my sentence, a wave of conqueror’s knocked Kaz out.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” I said, glancing towards the trees where Shanks was lurking. “I wanted to do that myself.”

  “So have I since he showed up this morning. A bit of payback for disrupting my last day here.”

  I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “You weren’t up when he got here this morning. You were knocked out while I helped your crew get ready to go. I’ve been putting up with him.”

  “So, I’ve been waiting since noon. What’s a couple of hours? I still couldn’t come and see you.”

  “Wow. Were you looking through those romance novels Thatch insists on getting me?”

  “There are far more interesting things in your apartment for me to go through than novels.”

  I laughed at the wiggling of his eyebrows. “You’re such a perv. Don’t you have a crew to captain or something? Why are you here?”

  “Because I wanted to see you before we set sail, but he got in the way,” he explained, nodding toward Kaz.

  My brothers were good at nothing, if not completely disrupting my days. Even the ones that didn’t stick around me caused a stir. I was constantly running around, ensuring they didn’t do anything stupid.

  “Were you expecting me to stand there and wave a handkerchief that the wind would pluck from my hands and carry to you?”  I teased.

  “It would’ve been nice.”

  I snorted, lifting Kaz over my shoulder. “Let me drop him off. Then I can throw snot rags at you as you paddle your rowboat in circles.”

***

Previous | Next

***

Master List | Mobile Version

[killiansbutt]

all about teamwork (natan, 1/1)

pairing: natan words: 2500 rating: T maybe? idk. 

summary: Natalie is the queen of winding up in weird situations and joining a brawl shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. (au) 

To my dear @papalogia on the date of her birthday. Or a few days after, as the case is! ♥ 

“Hey boys what are you playing?” She asked with breathless excitement, excited to see a group of people playing an actual game. She could interrupt this more so than any of the dates happening around her. The group turn to look at her as one, in a manner eerie similar to the way a doll does in one of those horror movies that her brother used to love watching, and Natalie McAllister grinned in response. The group of men, cigarettes hanging like limp noodles from their mouths, stare at her with increasing incredulity and frustration when she leaned a hip against the bar, tilting her head at them.

“This isn’t a game, sweet cheeks, run along before our guest of honor gets here,” said one with dark brown hair and muddy eyes.

She ignored his words. It was clearly a game, she could see the cards in their hands and the wads of cash on the table. Natalie wasn’t dense enough to ignore that, it was her first trip to a bar, but that didn’t make her stupid. “How long did it take you guys to practice that? The synchronicity was impressive for everyone – well, except you,” she inclined her head to a blonde-haired man who stiffened at her words. “But that’s okay! I mean, it takes practice to do it. Do you want to try again? Let’s just do another take, okay? You can get it right that time.”

Without a word from them, Natalie turned around, marching back over to her stool. The glass sitting there was empty still, but she picked it up anyway, pretending to take a sip of the melting ice left behind. It was just coke, but the watery mess left behind made her cringe. She lowered her glass onto the bar abruptly, the loud noise drawing the gaze of the man next to her, also ignored, and made her way back to the men playing a game.

“Hey boys what are you playing?” She repeated, hands on her hips, a proud smile on her lips. As one, they turn to her perfectly with a bizarre sort of grimace on their face. Embarrassment, definitely, and she held back the urge to clap her hands. Might as well not embarrass them further. “Right, that’s so much better, definitely gave me the heebie-jeebies! Awesome job, I really think you’re getting the hang of it, especially you because the way you moved your hand like you were grabbing a weapon was an extra touch. Nicely done.”

One of them gave a disbelieving snort. “Are you an idiot, miss?”

“No?”

“You look like it.”

Natalie bit her inner cheek. “That’s rude, you know. I know that you might have some inner doubts, we all do, but it’s not polite to take it out on strangers. It won’t help you and all it does is ruin someone else’s day.”

Someone laughed – and the temperature in the bar changed at once, darkening like the men’s countenance. Their eyes were on someone behind her and Natalie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the weight of someone’s eyes land on her back. She shifted, spinning to face the person that caused such a visceral reaction. But there’s nothing particularly unusual about the man facing her. His dark hair was pushed back from his forehead artfully, showing off the slight point of his ears and his long, sharp looking face. In fact, the weirdest thing about him might have been his slanted, golden eyes.

Which are strange, certainly, especially when paired with such a mayhem promising smirk as the one he wore, but nothing that would make the men, rough and strong as they looked, to stiffen with something like fear. Natalie tilted her head, swiping hair behind her ear when it tried to swing into her face. “Are you the guest of honor then?” She asked curiously.

“That I would be,” he stated dryly, studying her. “Scram, kid, I have business to handle.”

Natalie grimaced. It had been awful trying to get inside; she had been stopped close to three times by someone wanting her ID. “I’m not a kid. We’re probably the same age, give or take.”

“Give or take,” he agreed.

“We’ll play later, sweet cheeks,” said one of the men, recovering. He took a hearty drink of his beer, his cheeks a little red from the booze.

Natalie made a face. “If you keep drinking like that, I won’t need to know how to play to beat you.” Before he could respond, she walked back over to her stool, slumping into the seat and waving the bartender down for another coke, regretting that she had chosen to drive herself over, but it was all for the best, really. Sooner or later, her date would show up and she had no wish to be drunk when he arrived – even if she hadn’t seen a single hair of him in close to an hour.

Traffic must be really bad or he stood her up; both of which were unpleasant to think about so she went with the very adult decision to not think about it at all.

But, of course, her distraction in deducing what the other men were doing was ruined by their guest. Maybe it was a party? Birthday, maybe? What a drab place to have it, though she felt guilty for thinking that. The bartender was an amusing man with blonde hair and blue eyes who would surely cry if she admitted to disliking the state of the place. “How come all the lights aren’t on? Do you see better in the dark?” She asked him when he set her coke in front of her, but received a frazzled look in return as his eyes darted from her to the lights and then back again before he disappeared into a room labeled Employees Only.

And there ended the only other potential person for conversation unless she chose to interrupt a date.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

She jolted, drinking sloshing over her hand and down the front of her shirt, leaving a darkening stain over her left breast. A commotion began from the men at the table, she ignored it, prying her shirt away from her chest. The wet fabric stuck to her skin already, making her feel sticky and uncomfortable, and she looked along the bar top for napkins before it could stain through her shirt to the nice bra she wore underneath.

It was a lovely bra: comfortable and pretty. The best of both worlds. She didn’t want to buy a new one.

“Napkins, napkins,” she muttered, glancing around, throwing herself out of her chair enthusiastically when she spotted some on the opposite end of the bar. The chair screeched across the wooden floor and then clattered to the ground from her movement, but she didn’t notice it as she grabbed napkins and began blotting the stain with a sigh.

A man stumbled over her fallen stool, a bruise around his muddy colored eyes and she dropped the napkins to look him over. She kneeled down, careful not to touch the dirty floor with anything other than the bottom of her feet, and studied him. “Are you alright? No, don’t get up, you might have hurt something! I think Michael – that’s the bartender, he’s weird, but don’t tell him that – is in the back room, he probably has experience with bumps and bruises. He looks the type, you know? But still, you can’t move because that would aggravate any injuries.” Take that, school, she remembered some of her first aid classes. He tried to stand up, but she forced him down and held up two fingers. “Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

“Sweet cheeks, let me up.”

Natalie scoffed, bumping him back down, fighting the urge to wipe her hands on her pants after touching him. That would be rude. “Hello? Did you not just hear me say you could be hurt? Look at that bruise. Man, you don’t have a concussion, do you? Memory loss is part of that, I think. Geez, I’m never going on a date again.”

“Will you just – “

“Oh, do you need a drink? Here, I have some coke left, I spilled some of it when you guys started shouting, but it might be enough.” She held out her drink, the glass quarter of the way full with some remaining ice at the bottom; not enough to really sate any thirst, but enough to hold someone over till the bartender returned from his self-imposed exile. Speaking of which, she wondered where he was and she looked around for something that would make him hide, but other than the guest of honor fighting three other people with a frown on his face, there wasn’t anything unusual.

Wait a minute.

“No, I don’t want a drink!”

Natalie lowered the drink, nodding knowingly. “Right, germs. That totally makes sense. Okay, umm, maybe they have water here. They have to, how else would they wash the dishes? Not that you’ll want to drink dish water, that would be kind of gross and that would have way more germs than my drink,” she admitted, finishing off her drink instead and putting it on the bar. No use letting it waste and she stood up, brushing her hands on her pants now that she had the excuse for it.

The man shot to his feet though, darting into the fray between the other men. It was four against one and though the guest of honor was holding his own rather well, she could see the muddy eyed man aiming for a shot at his unprotected back. More than that though, the muddy eyed man was limping. “Hey, wait, you can’t move!” She called, flinging herself into the mayhem with them.

It was a harrowing few minutes that could have lasted hours in which Natalie jerked the muddy eyed man away from the battle, got elbowed in the face by one of his friends, tripped one of his other friends, and managed to throw-off another man’s balance by stepping hard on his toes in her effort to escape. Muddy-eyed man had turned into an enemy the instant he came back, nearly choking her when he tried to fling her away from them by the collar of her shirt as though Natalie had been purposely making a nuisance of herself.

The only one who stayed unscathed from her specifically was the guest of honor himself, who had adjusted to her involvement easily enough and weaved around her, using her distractions rather well to fight back. At last, it was just her and the guest of honor standing, the rest winded or unconscious on the ground.

“Lucifer, can you not drag my only nice customers into this?” asked Michael the bartender with a rather suspiciously timed arrival. Natalie narrowed her eyes at him, but stopped because squinting made her head hurt.

The guest of honor shrugged. “She joined of her own volition.”

“What type of name is Lucifer?” She interrupted before Michael could reply.

“My father had a funny sense of humor,” Lucifer replied, facing her while Michael grumbled and went about to reassuring his other customers that the fun was over. “Out of curiosity, did you join the fight out of boredom or civil obligation?”

“Civil what now? No, I just saw him trip over a stool and thought he shouldn’t be walking on it.” Natalie tried not to look at the stool in question if only so they wouldn’t realize it was hers. Somehow, the way his eyes flickered to it and the ever-present smirk on his lips spread told her that he knew. She picked up a discarded napkin, one of the clean ones, and passed it over to him. “Your lip is bleeding. I guess one of them got a shot in, huh? Three on one is rather cheat worthy, don’t you think?”

He studied it disinterestedly for a second, but she waved it till he conceded to accepting it, rolling his eyes. “Only way it would have been a fair fight. It was also four on two, I might add. Though your… fighting style left a lot to be desired,” he replied, leaning against the bar, the napkin scrunched in his hand. She stared pointedly at it till he brought it to his lip with a frown.

His speaking had only made the cut on his upper lip worse, frankly. Maybe he would need stitches. What an awkward place, would he be able to eat normally? It would be a shame to live off smoothies and shakes – scratch that, it sounded awesome, but not necessarily something that would be sustainable for a long while.  

“It wasn’t a style. I was trying to stop him – and then I was trying to escape, but he didn’t like being stopped, I guess, because he kept pulling me back into it.” She reached up to scratch her face, but he caught her fingers, pulling them away and pressed her glass with its half-melted ice against her cheek. Though the coolness made her sigh and eased some of the throbbing on her cheek, she blinked owlishly at him. “Umm.”

“Tch, if you’re going to hop into battles, you should at least learn to block a hit. A two-year-old could do a better job,” he complained, his words muffled a little by the napkin. She heard it clearly enough, if only because he stood rather close to her, holding the glass against her face gently.

“A two-year-old wouldn’t be in this fight to begin with so that’s a moot point.”  

“I’ve seen some impressive two-year-olds who would.”

“Are you part of some illegal child fighting ring then?” She asked suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the men. “Did you bring one of their children into this? Did I just become an accomplice? I’m really too young to be in prison.”

“They decided to stick their noses in where it didn’t belong and I wanted to take care of it personally.”

Natalie licked her lips, not sure how to respond to his words, before settling on her first instinct. “That’s really ominous and not at all reassuring.”

Her words pleased him. “Good, I aim to please. But, no, it wasn’t illegal aside from the obvious fighting, but that’s hardly going to be an issue.”

“I’m not going to ask. Plausible deniability and all.” Her brother had taught her about saying that in strange situations – if only because she seemed to end up in them a lot. Natalie’s fingers brushed his when she took the glass and she smiled softly. Even if he was – possibly – a jerk who beat up random strangers in bars, he did seem sweet. Ish. Somewhere inside. Maybe.

“Probably for the best.”

“I’m Natalie,” she added, realizing it was time for them to part ways. Her date was a bust in that department, but after studying him a moment, she couldn’t say it was a complete waste. “I’d say I hope to see you again, but I think I’d be lying. I don’t like getting into fights.”

“Fights often follow me,” he admitted slowly, thoughtfully. “I owe you thanks then, Natalie, I’ll be sure not to drag you into a fight if we cross paths again.”

She grinned despite the ache in her face as he walked away.

Yeah, he was kind of funny and maybe a little sweet.

Suspicious as hell, though, she thought as he approached Michael.

Yeah, no, she wasn’t going to involve herself in that particular mystery.

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Fourteen

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight | Day Nine | Day Ten | Day Eleven | Day Twelve | Day Thirteen

day fourteen: stargazing

prompt: "Your OTP stargazing. Where are they doing this? Are they out camping? Are they sitting on a rooftop? What constellations are they looking at?"

For as long as Toriel had languished in the Ruins, her first few steps outside of the door and into the rest of the Underground were some of the hardest she had ever had to take.

Because the truth was, as much as she yearned for company, after all these years there was also a perverse kind of comfort in her loneliness, a familiarity that would be lost the moment she set foot outside of that door. Toriel was no fool; she knew well what people would say about her, those that even cared to remember she existed in the first place. She was weak, selfish, a coward, she had abandoned her people just as she had betrayed her husband, when they all needed her most. None of it would bother her – for she has endured far worse than a few unflattering names – had she not harboured the suspicion, a sickness twisting in her stomach in the dead of the night, unable to escape into sleep while surrounded by reminders of all she had lost, that perhaps they were right.

Something changed, however, the day she stood in front of Frisk in yet another futile attempt to prevent another child passing through that door. Toriel recognised a gleam in the child's eyes that both excited and terrified her, as she realised simultaneously that she could never hope to stand a chance at stopping them – but also that perhaps they stood a better chance of making it on the other side than any of the others, as they weaved and dodged her wisps of fire magic while maintaining steadfast eye contact as though they knew, somehow, that Toriel could never have brought herself to hurt them. Of course, she still worried about them as soon as that door swung shut, she still replayed the moment over and over again in her mind, wondering if she could have done more, said or done something that would have convinced them to stay with her. And yet, somewhere deep in her soul, she also began to feel the first flickers of hope that perhaps, this time, their efforts would not be in vain. Perhaps that is why, upon realising Frisk had travelled all the way across the Underground to meet Asgore, she did not hesitate to leave – for despite all the trepidation she felt, if she still had a chance of saving one – just one – child from meeting the same fate as the others, she may yet begin to atone for her past failures.

And, in the end, she did – but it had not come without cost. For the same day Toriel saw the human child ascend to the surface, as she hoped but did not dare to believe they would, she saw her former husband crumble to dust before her eyes. Though perhaps she did not have the right, Toriel wept for Asgore, for whatever trace remained of the man she once loved as she saw the Underground turn to terrible disarray, the people grieving for their king and for all that he had promised, their greatest hope for freedom cruelly and unjustly snatched away, once again. That first night, Toriel simply sat there on Asgore's throne, the tears trickling down her cheeks and matting her fur no longer for the Ruins of her past, but for this New Home, as it had once been. She could no longer hide from the reality of their situation – she chose to come back from her self-imposed exile, and now she had a duty. With a final sniffle and a sigh, she rose to her feet, walked over to the throne she had fled from all those years ago and swiftly pulled off the thin sheet that covered it, coughing as the dust that had been gathering for decades filled her eyes and nose.

Toriel did not envision herself ever willingly resuming her rule – but then, hidden away in the Ruins, having warned children so many times that the Underground was a dark, dangerous place that she herself lived in fear of what was on the other side of that door, she never imagined that the Underground would need her again. And, as daunting as it is to meet the unrelenting glare of the public eye again, it also gives her a renewed sense of purpose. To have so many people – her people – looking to her for guidance, she finds herself growing more determined than ever not to let them down, that nobody – monster or human – will have to suffer as they once did. Though her new policies do meet some murmurings of dissent, Toriel is also overwhelmed – and genuinely touched – that there are so many monsters willing to welcome her back with open arms. She realised, in those last few moments before they parted, just how much of a difference Frisk has made, how many souls they have touched just by showing them mercy, by being a friend. Yes, it is eerily reminiscent of the angel in the prophecy, but Toriel can no longer afford to pin her hopes on a fairy tale. She can only try to hold onto what she felt in Frisk – the love and compassion that Toriel wishes to rule by, to preserve and nurture and extend to her people, in place of the fear and hatred that governed them all for so long. 

It is not an easy transition, for any of them, but Toriel feels there is change in the air, her heart warmed by the sight of everyone pulling together. Her new school is a success, and she is as relieved as she is grateful to see Undyne – Asgore's fiercest supporter since she barely reached Toriel's knee, the most dedicated captain of the now-disbanded Royal Guard and, if Toriel is honest with herself, perhaps the monster she was the most apprehensive about meeting again – take to teaching like a...well, like a fish to water, she supposes, pouring all of her passion for bringing humanity to justice now into keeping the children of the Underground fit and healthy. Alphys, the new Royal Scientist, also seems very sweet, if needlessly flustered whenever Toriel stops by the lab to see how her research is coming along, but she promises she is working on a solution that will one day enable them to pass through the barrier peacefully, and that she too will not give up.

And, of course, there is Sans – the voice that once brightened Toriel's long, lonely days in the Ruins, now in the metaphorical flesh and literal bone. Their circumstances are very different now; his services as a sentry are no longer required, so naturally Toriel offers him any number of available administrative positions in her court, or even tending to the gardens alongside his brother, but Sans declines, telling her in that way he has where she cannot always tell whether he is joking or not that he's not sure he is ready for such a responsibility, and that he still has some ambiguously-worded "stuff to take care of".

Regardless, he still stops by the castle as often as he can, and Toriel finds herself looking forward to these visits more than ever, the joy of actually being able to open the door after their customary knock-knock joke and seeing Sans' fixed smile widen as yet undiminished. There is a thrill in leaving all of her daily worries and responsibilities behind, if only for an evening, when the door closes behind them; it is almost as if she is experiencing the Underground anew, no longer bound by fear or duty to one place, and no longer alone as they walk through the quiet tranquility of Waterfall.

"So this is where you used to work?" she asks, as they arrive in a secluded but cosy corner of the cavern, empty but for a small wooden sentry hut and what appears to be a telescope.

"One of the places, yeah – depending how you define 'work'. I think I might even still have..." Sans disappears into his former post for a moment, shuffling around under the counter where Toriel cannot see before he emerges with an orange creation in either hand. "Hot dog? Wait, don't tell me – you're more of a cat lady." Toriel smiles, glancing down at the miniature menagerie – though a little dusty, they are not without their charm. "Sorry it's not much of a royal banquet," he adds, meeting her eyes with a sheepish grin, "but, y'know, these things have been selling like – well, like hot animals lately. I sold twenty-nine just the other day."

"My, that is impressive," Toriel says, trailing a finger along the 'hot cat' as though petting it, "and, I am sure, with good reason. But I think I shall leave it for another time, as much as I do like to sample the, ah...local cuisine."

"Suit yourself." Sans shrugs amiably, before taking a bite of the dog himself. Despite the 'royal banquet' remark, Toriel is relieved that he does not seem intimidated by her royal title, for initially she could not help but worry that it would affect their friendship, that the ease and familiarity with which they addressed each other through the door – when Toriel was "Door Lady", and Sans was most often simply "my friend", although in her head she sometimes enjoyed thinking of him as her "mystery man" – would be lost if she revealed her true identity. But meeting in the flesh-and-bone has been more wonderful than anything she imagined, for there is simply no comparison between a disembodied voice behind a door that may have been inches, but could as well have been worlds away, and Sans, her friend, showing her his favourite places, laughing with her, smiling at her...

Well – perhaps, if Toriel is truly honest, it is not strictly true that nothing has changed. It is becoming harder to deny the unexpected, but not at all unpleasant spark of...something in her soul when they are laughing so hard they have to lean on one another for support, or the frisson of electricity when their hands might brush in passing – or even moments such as these, when the soft glow of Waterfall catches the light in Sans' sockets, dancing between curiosity and amusement as they meet Toriel's eyes, and she feels almost as if she has been caught doing something she should not. But to address that would present another set of complications entirely, and Toriel has no desire to do so tonight, so she simply smiles back before averting her eyes to the telescope.

"And I suppose this would be another of the tools of your trade," she comments, running a paw over the smooth plastic surface, "for spotting any passing humans, yes? May I take a look?"

"Sure – knock yourself out." 

Toriel lowers her head to peer into the eyepiece, but she cannot see much of anything due to a garish red smear across the lens; she draws back, and as she blinks she feels an alarming wetness, as though something is caught on her eyelashes. "Sans, I am not sure your telescope is working..."

"It's not – oh. Uh, actually, Tori, maybe hold off on that just for a sec –" It may be the fastest she has ever seen Sans move, crossing from his post to her side with an urgency that would concern her, if he did not immediately break out into a wide grin like a mischievous child when she looks at him expectantly. “Actually, never mind, you're good. Maybe just a little red-eyed."

"What is it? Did you do something to the telescope?" Toriel demands, trying to stay stern despite his poorly concealed and inconveniently infectious amusement. She rubs her eyes and blinks down at her paws to see an unsightly red stain. "Is that...ketchup?"

"Okay, in my defence," Sans begins, no longer attempting to disguise the laughter rattling his bones as he holds up both hands in an unconvincing show of innocence, "I wasn't exactly expecting the queen to stop by anytime soon. Sorry, Tori – c'mere, let me get that for ya."

Toriel sighs, smiling despite herself as he beckons her over, but relents, bending down as gracefully as she can until they are almost nose to...well, the little hollow where nose would normally be, for she cannot claim to be familiar with the intricacies of skeleton anatomy, but up close it is curiously endearing. Toriel has a peculiar urge to nuzzle it, but manages to restrain herself as Sans gently wipes the debris from around her left eye – and then, to her astonishment, proceeds to lick it straight off his fingers.

“Still fresh.”

"Oh, do not eat it!" Toriel exclaims, pushing him away and scrunching up her nose in disgust, though she is unable to stop a few giggles from escaping as she plants her hands on her hips, shaking her head in exasperation. "Goodness, Sans – whatever am I going to do with you? I am beginning to think someone ought to cook you a proper meal. Do you know..." She pauses, smile turning a little more sly as she detects an opportunity for revenge, “for a moment there, I almost believed you were about to kiss me.”

She winks and the light in Sans' sockets almost disappears completely for a moment, before he lets out a pffffft of incredulous laughter; it may be the blue glow of the cavern across his cheekbones, but Toriel believes he is blushing. "Heh – wow, okay. I, uh, don't remember that being in the job description when I signed up. Come to think of it, did I even sign up?” He smirks, ducking from her gaze to run a finger around the eyepiece as though checking for leftovers; an unspoken but palpable tension lingers in the air until he continues, hastily changing the subject: “Actually, I didn't really get this to watch out for humans. I just, uh...like to look at the stars, sometimes. I mean, I know they're not the real stars, but it's...something."

Sans still sounds a little embarrassed, as though he is divulging something intensely personal; Toriel is unsure as to why, but she smiles and nods, hoping to put him at ease again. “Perfectly understandable. It is beautiful out here."

A silence settles over them as she takes in the view; inevitably, much of the Underground has changed in her absence, so it is somehow reassuring to find Waterfall just as she remembers it, unspoiled by the turmoil of the city, the light of the sparkling stones glancing off the water's edge just like the paintings of the true stars in her old history books. Despite all that she has lost, Toriel still feels fortunate to know that this place is still here for her, and that she is here with Sans.

"At the lab," he says after a moment, "Alphys has this big simulation of all the stars up on her screen. She says it's as scientifically accurate as we can make it for now – it was an ongoing thing, gathering our research, inputting the data. We used to look at it, map out the constellations...I mean, I'm not sure the guys on the surface would've actually named them 'Undyne's abs', but..." He shrugs, and they share a knowing chuckle as he catches Toriel's eyes. "It's still pretty cool to see them all. You should ask her to show you sometime."

"It sounds wonderful. Perhaps I will do just that." Toriel pauses, trying not to sound too interested as she asks: "I did not know you and Alphys were close. Snowdin and Hotland are awfully far apart, are they not?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah – well, we kind of worked together a while back, y'know, before I was a sentry. Nothing too important, just working out some...stuff.” This information immediately piques her curiosity even further – she never would have taken Sans for a scientist, but evidently they still have much to learn about each other, though she cannot help wondering whether he is being vague due to the nature of their research, or perhaps even his past relationship with Alphys.

As queen, it is technically within her rights to demand he tells her everything he knows, if she believes it to be pertinent to national security – but even if that were the case, Toriel has absolutely no desire to exert her authority in such a way. Sans is – and she hopes he always will be – her friend, her equal, her...well, certainly more than simply another of her subjects to be ruled over. Besides, she reminds herself, she should not be such a nosy old woman – Sans is a big bones, in soul if not in stature, and is free to spend time with whoever he pleases.

So she settles for an equally non-committal hmm in response, and waits for him to fill the silence that follows: “Anyway, I guess that's the view from up here – you can see more down by the river.”

They make their way along a short path into the adjoining cavern, bathed in an eerie blue glow from the various flora, and emerge from the silence into a chamber filled with whispers and rustles, fragments of conversations long forgotten rising from the cyan blossoms. Toriel remembers the echo flowers, of course – they are an institution of the Underground for their striking appearance as much as their unique abilities – but somehow, their hushed but persistent murmurings as they walk through the fields are a little more unsettling than she remembers, barely comprehensible snatches of words drifting by her ears before she can catch them almost mocking, almost as if – and Toriel knows this is absurd – they might be talking among themselves about her, watching, whispering, judging. 

"Are you a star?"

"Hmm?" Toriel startles at the curious, childlike voice, stopping in her tracks as her head jerks instinctively to look back over her shoulder – it was so clear, so distinct from the general murmur, for a moment she is sure there must be someone else in the room with them, but of course it is just Sans, who raises a quizzical brow bone.

"I, uh, didn't say anything."

"Of course not. Sorry – it is just the flowers, I know." Toriel manages an apologetic smile, running her claws self-consciously through the fur on the back of her neck. "Do not mind me, I just...I have not passed through here in some time. I suppose I had forgotten just how...lively they can be."

"I guess they are pretty talkative today. Hey, buddy..." Sans ambles over to address one of the flowers on the side, "why so blue?" Toriel cannot help snorting at the dreadful joke as the flower repeats the question in earnest, and he continues, glancing back at her: "You know, I was actually thinking of planting some flowers myself."

"Oh, you were?" Toriel's ears prick up in interest. "How lovely! Which kind? It may be a little difficult to grow them in Snowdin, but if you need any help at all, I would be more than happy to –"

"– but then I realised...I hadn't botany."

"Oh!" Toriel bursts out laughing; Sans starts to snicker as well, which the flower to join in, followed by the one next to it, and the one next to that, until almost the entire field is laughing along, an unorthodox yet oddly striking symphony of braying giggles and deep chuckles playing out over the fields and echoing through the cavern. It is quite surreal, surrounded by the sounds of her own mirth – and, oh dear, does she always snort that loudly? – yet when she looks back at Sans, after they have both stopped laughing but nevertheless exchange wide, foolish grins, curiously comforting, as the flowers begin to feel more like old friends again.  Eventually the fields quieten, the last remnants of laughter dissipating into the air, but the warmth in her soul lingers.

"Well," she remarks, grinning back at Sans, "I be-leaf you have a most appreciative audience here."

"I know, right? Maybe I'll start carrying a few of these around with me – my career could really blossom." They laugh again, too softly for the flowers to catch this time, and Sans adds: "Still not the best audience I've ever had, though. I mean, no one beats you."

Toriel beams, feeling her cheeks flushing unexpectedly at the compliment and hoping it is not too visible in their darkening surroundings. "Why, thank you. I am pleased to hear I am not so easily replaced in your affections by echo flowers."

"No way. Well, unless they somehow develop the ability to make pie – then maybe you got some competition, Tori.”

Toriel chooses not to dignify that with a response, scoffing and shaking her head fondly at him as they approach an area she recognises: the grassy bank right next to the river, always a favoured picnic spot. They have no food now, although it would not surprise her if Sans were to produce yet another variety of hot animal from his pocket – sometimes she is sure he must be carrying half the Underground in there – but he simply sits, bones cracking as he stretches his legs out, and after a moment's hesitation Toriel joins him, gathering her robes to arrange herself as comfortably as possible. The grass is a little damp, but she does not mind.

"Y'see, that's the other thing about these guys," Sans says, nodding towards the flowers flanking them on either side of the river, "they seem so harmless. You say something, they say it back, it's all good fun. I mean, they're flowers – of all the dangerous things down here, you'd never think they could hurt anyone, right? But once they're done kidding around, people forget they're here, and they forget how much they hear. And some things – well, maybe some things weren't meant to be heard, and some things you don't wanna remember. But, here, they don't forget, not until they've passed on whatever they've heard. And they get to hear...a lot." 

There is barely any change in Sans' usual monotone, but he does not meet Toriel's eyes as he speaks, his skull turned up towards the sparkling stones overhead; for a brief instant, a cloud of darkness seems to pass over his face, as though he is seeing – or remembering – something up there that she cannot. Then it is gone, as he glances back at her and cracks a smile, but his sockets do not brighten as they usually do when it is genuine. "Heh – sorry. I guess I kinda spaced out for a moment there."

Toriel smiles at the pun, but she hopes he will continue; she has rarely seen Sans like this, quiet and contemplative, and while a part of her is concerned about what he could have seen, to say such things, she cannot help but find it fascinating, too. "Not at all. You are quite right – I suppose we all have things we would sooner forget, which we would not want passing freely among the flowers."

"Right." The corners of Sans' mouth appear to lift a little  higher as he looks back at her, before speaking again. "So, me and Papyrus used to come here all the time as kids, right? Not a whole lot else to do around Snowdin, but we always had a blast. Then, this one time...we were around here, chilling by the river. Paps was practicing his attacks, and I – well, I guess I fell asleep. But next thing I know, he's shaking me awake, terrified, absolutely crying his sockets out, saying he wants to go home, we have to go home right now."

"Oh, no!" Toriel presses a hand to her mouth at the thought of anything happening to dear, sweet Papyrus. "What was the matter? Did something happen to him?"

"He was crying too hard to tell me, so obviously I had to get us out of there as fast as I could. We get home, I manage to calm him down, and eventually he tells me a flower said something mean to him. Then all the other flowers started saying it, too, and he tried to run away but they were everywhere, they just kept saying it...He thought it was his fault, he'd done something wrong, because they were all being nice to him yesterday."

"Ah, I see. Oh, the poor dear.” Toriel bites her lip, the image tugging at her soul. “Did you tell him –"

"I tried to explain that they weren't actually talking to him, they're just flowers, they just repeated whatever they'd heard – but I don't think he got it, or if he did it didn't seem to make him feel any better. So that night, after Pap's bedtime story, I came back here when no one was around. I went to all the flowers – every last one of 'em I could find – and I told them...'The Great Papyrus is the most sensational skeleton in Snowdin!'. 'No – in the  Underground!'. 'The Great Papyrus always produces the most perplexing puzzles!' 'The Great Papyrus is gonna be the strongest, toughest, coolest Royal Guard ever!' Stuff like that – well, I didn't want them to sound like me," he adds in his normal tone by way of explanation, chuckling a little too as Toriel stifles a giggle at the endearingly unconvincing falsetto. "Anyway, the next day, I got up early – okay, Tori, you don't have to look that surprised – and Papyrus really didn't want to go back to Waterfall, as you can probably imagine, but I promised him it'd be worth it, the flowers had something very important they wanted to tell him, but we had to go soon, before anyone else got there. So we did, and, well..." Sans shrugs, but Toriel already sees the genuine pride and affection shining through in his smile at the memory, "judging by the look on his face when we got there, I'd say he got the message."

"Ahhh, how wonderful. I am so glad that story had a happy ending." Toriel feels her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips, as it inevitably does whenever Sans talks about Papyrus; even from behind the door, she could always hear the smile in his voice, the fierce, unconditional love behind every word, even when he was complaining that he'd moved his sock collection again. Back then, as much as it warmed her soul, she could not help but feel a pang of something like envy listening to those tales, reminding her of the family she no longer had. But now, it fills her with a new kind of hope, now she has seen for herself the love that still exists in the Underground. She wants – no, she has to protect that love, watch it blossom and thrive, in all its forms, for the sake of all of her people as much as for herself. With that thought, she reaches out and gently places her hand on top of Sans' where they rests on the grass between them. "That was a very sweet thing of you to do for your brother."

"Oh...heh, no, it was nothing really." He grins back at her a little sheepishly, shrugging shrugging off the compliment like he does most things; she has noticed that Sans often seems slightly uncomfortable with, or perhaps simply unaccustomed to praise. Still, Toriel does not intend to stop giving it where deserved, and he does not move his hand away. "I mean, I had to do something. No one messes with my little bro – especially not some dumb flower, right?"

"They certainly do not – unless, of course, they wish to have a bad time," Toriel agrees, and they exchange wry smiles, recent events coming to mind. Perhaps flowers are not the most trustworthy sorts, after all. "Well – as I said, it was long ago, but we also used to bring the children here. Asriel loved to see the stones, the echo flowers – he took it all very seriously indeed." She smiles, warm and wistful; she can still hear him clear as day in her mind: "Mooom, don't watch! I can see you peeking! It has to be a secret, remember?". "I did not like  them running off into the fields alone," she explains, "so, whenever wished, Asriel always insisted that I turned around, covered my ears and closed my eyes. Because if I heard his wish, it would not come true, you see?"

How many years had passed, since they were all here; some days it seemed only yesterday, when Toriel and Asgore would sit here, snuggled up together and looking fondly on as the children played. Chara never seemed too interested in the echo flowers, but they liked to sit and swing their legs in the river, deliberately splashing Asriel to make him squeal. And now...now there is only Toriel, a familiar, yet no less sharp twinge of guilt and sorrow in her soul as she gazes up at the sparkling stones, wondering how many wishes had been made here, and how many had ever come true. Was it fair, for her to be the one who survived? For all the times she had failed her family and her people, could Toriel truly say that she deserved her place, her title? If she could have given her own life to change any of it, she would have, in the beat of a soul – but what good would wishing do now, when...

"Hey." Sans interrupts her reverie, and she sees his sockets soften at the edges as he shuffles a little closer, gently bumping the top of her arm with his shoulder, a brief but comforting touch, “if you never found out what they wished for, it could still come true, right?” Toriel smiles and nods, grateful for his unspoken understanding that no more needs to be said, that now is not the time to discussing such matters. “Then I guess maybe we should make a wish. Since we're here.”

"I suppose we ought to honour the tradition." Toriel closes her eyes, out of habit more than anything; she has naturally wished for many things inside of this room and out of this room, though with diminishing hopes over the years that any of them would come true. But now, she wishes that Frisk, wherever they may be, is safe, and happy, and loved. She wishes for peace, for the strength to help the Underground find its way again – for all his faults, she realises, Asgore had held onto that hope, even if it ended up destroying him, for the sake of his people – her people. She wishes to preserve that hope for them, and for herself, wherever she may find it – perhaps even in moments just like this one, when she opens her eyes to the gently amused twinkle in Sans' sockets, and smiles sheepishly back as she wonders how long he has been looking at her.

"That looked like some intense wishing there. I thought for a sec you'd fallen asleep and I was gonna have to carry you back to the castle."

Toriel lets out an undignified snort of laughter, pressing a hand to her muzzle at that rather sweet yet hilariously improbable image. "You would carry me? Oh, Sans – as generous as it is of you to offer, I'm afraid I must question whether you have the backbone for such a task."

"Are you calling me spineless?"

"Come, now – do not skullk with me." Finally recovering from their mutual fits of laughter, she manages to ask: "Did you make a wish, too?"

"Might've done," Sans replies, elusive again, but this time shooting her a wink so as to leave no doubt as to the answer. “I can't tell you, Tori – else it won't come true, remember?”

“I would never ask you to. I was simply curious if you had considered wishing for a new telescope,” she smirks, unable to resist teasing, "as you seem to be having some trouble keeping that one clean."

"Brutal, Tori. You really goat me there." Sans winces, making her giggle as he clutches dramatically at his shirt, as though mortally wounded. "That's okay, though – the sweet thing is, you can see most of the constellations right here. See that up there?" He points up to the ceiling, Toriel's eyes following to the biggest, brightest stone illuminating the river. "We call that one the Tem Star. Or, to give it its full title, uh...Temmius Ijustmadethatupicus."

They continue in a similar vein, tracing out imaginary images in the sparkling stones – a hot dog here, a snail over there, a smiling face before they start to become increasingly specific and nonsensical, making up ridiculous "facts" to make each other laugh. The distance between them seems to grow increasingly smaller, leaning in closer together for warmth – or perhaps simply because they want to, and Toriel cannot help but be grateful that they are a safe distance away for the echo flowers to pick them up. Not because they are saying anything that ought not to be repeated; but simply because, after a lifetime of the entire Underground knowing all her personal affairs, there are some moments – like the way Sans' head falls back against her shoulder when he yawns in the middle of telling her all about the long and complex history of the River Person's Belt, and remains there until they depart – that Toriel would like to keep for herself.

Perhaps the stars above them are not the genuine article, but looking up at their sparkle, all of the hope and promise of wishes made and those yet to be fulfilled that bounces off of the river, shining down on them, Toriel cannot imagine anything brighter – or more beautiful.

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Finding Home - Chapter 1

So if you recognize this title from me, I originally wrote a story Finding Home before Broken Souls Mend Hearts. I got to nine chapters then abandoned it in favor of BSMH. The original nine chapters were still posted on fanfic but since the title was the same, I had to take it down, so this new version will have many similarities as I am working off of the old fic. 

So everybody welcome back, after...what three? four? years, Finding Home a CS AU. 

Summary: Set right after season 2, and the original idea was written pre-season 3. So this is completely AU. The Jolly Roger crew arrives in Neverland to rescue Henry, but during the journey much about Captain Hook’s past comes to light, which leads to a different OUAT lol. 

Link to ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12482617/1/

Chapter 1: Arrival

After the storm ended, Emma found herself wandering around the deck of The Jolly Roger. They hadn’t been in Neverland long, the storm having hit them immediately upon arrival. Now, the sun was rising.

Hook was the only other person on deck since he was manning the helm.

Emma wanted to ask him why he came back. Why didn’t he just take the bean and leave?

Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.

His words haunted her.

What exactly did he mean by that? Had her words at the diner really gotten to him? She looked over her shoulder at him, his hair and clothes still wet from the storm. His eyes were focused ahead of the ship, watching the seas as he steered.

It was strange seeing him so in his element. She’d seen him on land in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke, where he always seemed confident and undeterred, but here, sailing his ship, he seemed so calm, in control, almost as though he were a part of the ship and sea. They were two things that Hook knew intimately.

Blue eyes flicked to hers, lips curling into a smirk.

Emma looked away, blushing a bit at being caught staring. She shook herself. This was not the time to be…checking him out or pining, or whatever she was doing. They were here for Henry. That’s what this mission was about. Saving her son.

Steeling herself against her own wound up emotions, Emma walked across the deck and up the stairs to the helm, stopping by his right side. “So, do you have a plan?” Emma could tell there was an underlying tension in his posture now that she was up close. He didn’t like being back here, in this place of his three hundred year, self-imposed exile.

“First thing’s first, we sail to Pirate’s Cove.” He told her just as the other four came above deck.

“Why?” Emma asked.

Hearing her, the others looked up at the pair.

“Well, Henry is likely on that island.” Hook said, directing his words to the group. “You can’t very well sail a ship on land. So we’ll get to the cove, dock the ship, and then go on land.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Snow asked.

“Very.” Hook nodded. “Three hundred years me crew and I docked there whenever we needed to go on the island, and never once did we see a Lost One there.”

“Things may have changed since you’ve been gone.” Snow pointed out. She did have a good point.

“Let us hope not.” Hook sighed, his brow creasing as he watched the island warily. “I should warn you though, the Lost Ones may stay away from the Cove, but mermaids tend to lurk around there. Not many, but some do.”

“Let me guess, mermaids aren’t very nice?” Emma quirked a brow.

“Not at all.” Hook said gravely. “They’re sneaky bastards. Damnable fast and strong.”

“What about these Lost Ones?” Regina asked, glaring at the island. “Who are they?”

“They’re the wild boys of the island.” Hook told them, his face grim. “They’re deadly, and loyal to Pan. Frankly, I’d rather a mermaid capture me than a Lost One. At least, death is swift with mermaids.”

“Wait,” Emma started. “Don’t you mean Lost Boys?” She’d never heard of the inhabitants of the island being called the Lost Ones in any version of the story she’d ever heard.

Hook’s eyes widened slightly. “There’s no such thing as Lost Boys.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. Hook was hiding something.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” David asked. “Aren’t they one in the same?”

Hook shrugged it off. “There’s a lot of things to be wary of when we get on the island. Pan is a dangerous to be sure.”

“Hold on, Pan’s the bad guy?” Emma asked. That was a first. Pan was always supposed to be a hero. Though Captain Hook didn’t seem to be so villainous after all, at least she hoped so, so the stories must’ve gotten Pan’s heroism wrong too.

“He’s a bloody demon.” Hook scoffed.

Rumple made a noise of agreement.

“How do you know Pan?” Regina asked, eyeing the Dark One.

“I met him a long time ago.” Rumple said. “He was the Pied Piper. Before Bae left me, Pan managed to lure him into his collective of wild boys with a pan flute.”

“Pan actually went to pick up his Lost Ones?” Hook arched a brow. “He usually gets the pixies to do his dirty work.”

“Oh he was in no short supply of pixie dust.” Rumple sneered. “He almost took Bae away from me, and he almost succeeded.”

“So we should fear him for kidnapping boys for his feral child club?” Regina scoffed.

“It’s not a joke, your majesty.” Hook snapped. “Pan is dangerous. He turned a bunch of innocent boys into ruthless killers, and he has magic over this realm. It’s his playground where he’ll have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“So the island is just as dangerous as the Lost Ones?” David sighed. He felt like this mission was becoming more impossible the more he learned about this island.

“What do we have to watch out for?” Snow asked.

“Well for starters, the prettier the flower, the more deadly.” Hook began. “Any thick vines on the ground are a part of the man-eating plants, so don’t step on them. Don’t eat the blue colored berries. Black colored ones are safe. Larger fruits are safe to eat. Pixies are fickle, resentful, and bitter. They are also more likely to ally with Pan than us.”

“Tinker Bell too?” Emma mused.

Hook glanced at her, something shadowed his eyes. “Tinker Bell died a long time ago. Pixies have very short life spans.”

“Anything else we should know?” David asked.

“All you need to know is that while we’re on the island, we must stick together.” Hook warned them. “Or at least remain in pairs. If you’re alone you’re more likely to get killed or caught by the Lost Ones.”

“Sounds like a boatload of fun.” Emma remarked dryly.

Hook chuckled. At least, Swan was taking this all in stride despite the circumstances.

Snow’s brow furrowed. “If we all go on the island, what do we do about the ship?”

“Leave that to me, dearie.” Rumple said. “I have a cloaking spell in mind. One that allows us to see the ship, of course.”

“And Henry.” Hook said, surprising the others. “If Henry is a smart lad,” Hook began. “And considering he’s Emma’s son, I have little doubt of that,” that statement earned a dust of a blush on Emma’s face, “then if he sees the ship, he’ll try and get to it, or try and find us.”

“He has a point.” David agreed, impressed by the pirate’s logic even if he wasn’t keen on said pirate flirting with his daughter. “If Henry can’t see the ship, and he escapes Greg and Tamara, who knows where he’ll try and run off to. Especially since he may not realize that the Lost Ones are dangerous.”

“Pan could very well convince Henry that the Lost Ones are good if Henry already doesn’t believe them to be villains.” Hook agreed. “They’re boys, they’re Henry’s age, and Henry seems like a lad that would want some adventure.”

“You’re right.” Emma nodded. “In our world, the Lost Ones are portrayed as playful kids, so Henry might be more excited than worried or scared.”

“They’re certainly anything but playful.” Hook said.

“Then we need to hurry up and get to Henry.” Regina said with grim determination. “How long until we reach the cove?”

“An hour yet.” Hook told her. “We have to sail the coast for a bit.”

“Is there a map of Neverland?” David asked.

“Aye.” Hook replied. “Somewhere in my quarters. When we reach the Cove and anchor, I’ll get it out. Then we can strategize.”

“Well then, in the time we have, I’ll get started on the spell.” Rumple nodded. He headed to the bow of the ship and began spinning his magic.

What seemed like an hour later, and a trip past the entire west coast (according to Hook), they arrived at a grouping of towering rocks. Hook maneuvered the ship between the two walls of rock. The Cove was circular and surrounded by parts of the island, which on all sides seemed to be all jungle.

“Welcome to Pirate’s Cove.” Hook announced.

“Quite the spot you picked out Hook.” Regina said, her sarcasm not even remotely hidden.

Hook scowled at the “former” Evil Queen. “Sorry if it’s not up to your standards, your majesty.”

Rumple was still at the bow preparing the spell. It was taking longer than he expected due to the tweaks in who was allowed to see the ship and cloaking it from enemies. Quite a complicated little spell.

When the ship reached the center of the Cove, Hook handed Emma the helm, to her surprise, and he and David lowered the anchor.

“I’ll go get that map.” He told David.

David nodded and returned to Mary Margaret’s side.

The second he reached his quarters, Hook closed the door and leaned against it, starting to heave. Deep breaths, he chided himself, deep breaths Jones. It was worse than he thought, returning to Neverland.

The first time he returned, he was so caught up in his anger and his revenge that he didn’t let it bother him. He had grown up, Pan hadn’t recognized him. He had been lucky that he had only dealt with the Lost Ones so many times in three hundred years and survived.

But now Hook had the foreboding feeling that this trip, that rescuing Henry, would lead to a confrontation with the Lost Ones.

A confrontation Killian Jones had been avoiding since he was ten years old.

He closed his eyes, and collected himself.

Enough with the self-pity. Emma’s lad, Hook thought. This is all about rescuing Emma’s lad.

Walking over to his desk, Hook hesitated as he looked at a group of rolled up parchments. He shook himself before he pulled out the one tied with a red string, a cursive NL scribbled on the bottom corner.

The map to Neverland. The very first one. The one Killian had hand drawn so many centuries ago, when he was just discovering his artistic talent.

Another deep breath and Hook stalked out of the room.

Before he reached the deck, he felt a stir in the air and a chill rolled down his spine alerting him that the Crocodile had completed his cloaking spell. Reaching the deck, he saw Regina and the Crocodile huddled with the Charmings as Emma walked down the stairs from the helm.

Emma paused, looking at him with curiosity.

Not for the first time, he wondered if being an open book went both ways.

“Took you long enough.” Regina muttered when he joined the group.

Hook just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Here we are then.” Hook unrolled the map and placed it on one of the crate’s on deck.

David held down part of the map to keep it flat.

“The original map of Neverland.”

“Really?” Rumple questioned. “How did you come to acquire it?”

“I made it.” Hook commented flatly.

Despite the fact that he sounded blasé about it, Emma though that he should’ve been at least a little proud of it. It was beautifully hand drawn and carefully detailed and labeled. She had no idea the pirate had such an artistic side. It reminded her of her own talent in art, and paintings and drawings lost and torn in foster homes she never saw again.

Hook pointed to Pirate’s Cove on the map. “This where we are. As you can see, we’re to the south. The Lost Ones,” Hook moved his finger to a rock shaped like a skull, “reside in the north, at Skull Rock.”

“What about the Home Underground?” Emma questioned, having seen the name on the map.

Hook swallowed. “That was the Lost Boys home. It was abandoned.” He moved his finger closer to the southeast. “To our left is the Dark Jungle. To our right is the Neverwood, it takes up most of the east side of the island. That’s where the Home Underground was. Mermaid’s Lagoon is here, on the other side of the Neverwood. The north-most end of the island houses Pixie Hollow. And right at the heart of Neverland, the Neverpeak Mountain.”

“Where could they have taken Henry?” Regina asked.

“That depends on wherever they popped out of the ocean.” Hook said, “My guess would be that they, more than likely, have taken, or plan to take Henry to Skull Rock.”

“So, depending on which part of the island they came up on,” Emma started, “they may still be wandering the island.”

“Possibly.” Hook agreed. “Greg and Tamara are from your world, they don’t know Neverland. Unless they’ve stumbled upon or have been found by a Lost One, then they’re still somewhere on the island.”

“Gold.” Mary Margaret looked at the wizard. “Can we use the globe to track Henry?”

“I’m afraid not.” Gold grimaced. “When we arrived in the storm, it was damaged. One crack and it can’t work, or be repaired.”

“Great.” David muttered. “What now?”

“Now, we plan.” Hook replied. “We’ll need to scout the island first. Find the traps, have you lot familiarize yourselves with the island…”

“We don’t have time for this!” Regina interrupted. “Henry is out there right now and in danger!”

“We don’t plan, we’re dead.” Hook snapped. “What use would we be to Henry then?”

“The longer we wait, the more risk we have that the Lost Ones get Henry!” Regina argued.

“For all we know Henry’s already their prisoner.” Hook replied, trying to keep his own temper in check.

“And if he’s not?” Regina glared.

“Then scouting the island gives us a chance to search for him as well.” Emma said calmly trying to diffuse the tension stepping between them, her palm resting against Hook’s chest to calm him. She could tell Hook was easily irritated with Regina’s impatience and impertinence, wondering if that was the pirate captain in him. It was strange though, how he was acting, at least it was strange to Emma. It seemed Neverland shook the pirate’s nerves, something Emma didn’t think was possible.

“Emma’s right.” David agreed, trying not to scowl at Emma’s physical proximity to Hook. “And so is Hook. He knows this place better than any of us. I think listening to him is are best option.”

Snow also took note of Emma’s position with the curiosity only a mother could possess.

Hook was surprised by the amount of trust David was giving him. Even more, he was surprised that Emma was on his side, and working to keep him in control. Her hand was still against his chest and her tough felt like it was burning through his leather vest and shirt. He hoped that she wasn’t feeling his quickly beating heart.

“All right then.” Snow spoke. “Where do we begin?”

They all looked to Hook, who was impressed by the lack of verbal protest from the Crocodile and Regina, expecting him to plan. It was just as well. David was right, Hook knew this place better than anyone.

Realizing her hand was still touching Hook, Emma slowly removed her hand, choosing to scrutinize the map instead.

“We have three options as I see it.” Hook began. “We go to Skull Rock and wait for Henry’s arrival, but risk constantly fighting off the Lost Ones. We all go together in one group and search the island together, which could take too long and risk Henry ending up in the Lost Ones hands. Or, we split up and go in pairs, dividing the map between us, and hopefully cover enough ground so that we might find Henry in time.”

“It sounds like pairs is our best option.” Emma commented. “We can divide the map and cover the most ground. Our meeting spot could be just on the other side of the mountain.”

“It’s a good plan.” Snow agreed. “How should we divide up?”

“I have an idea about that.” Hook spoke before anyone else could. “Pan has magic and the Lost Ones are fighters, so the best thing is for each pair to have someone with magic and someone good in a fight.” Hook carefully cut the map into three parts. One part had the Dark Jungle and Pixie Hollow, the other part had the Neverpeak Mountain and Skull Rock, and the third part had the Neverwood and Mermaid Lagoon. “I’ll take the Dark Jungle and Pixie Hollow. It’s the most dangerous part of Neverland.”

“I’ll go with you.” Emma stated, surprising even herself. “I might not be the best at magic, but I’m least likely to kill you if you get on my nerves.”

Hook chuckled. “Too right, love.”

Snow and David shared a look of concern. Neither of them trusted Hook with their daughter, but they felt that they had to try and trust Emma’s judgement here.

“All right then.” Hook nodded. “Milady Snow, you’re an adept tracker, correct?”

“I am.” Snow confirmed.

“Good, then you take the Neverwood.” Hook told her. “Regina will accompany you.”

“What?” Snow, David, and Regina were a tad flabbergasted at his suggestion.

Rumple was curious himself, wondering what the pirate’s game was.

As was Emma, but she could also see where he might be coming from. Regina and Snow had history, and knew each other well enough that they could work together if they set aside their differences.

“As I said, each pair needs magic.” Hook reminded them. “Plus, you and the Queen here know each other best. That leaves the mountain for the prince and the Crocodile.”

No one could argue that the plan wasn’t a good one as Hook touched on some key points.

“We should stock up on weapons.” Emma said. “You got any?”

“Aye.” Hook gave David and Snow their pieces of the map, before tucking away the part that he and Emma would use. He turned to go back below deck with Emma and her parents following him.

Regina and Gold didn’t see the need for other weapons, figuring that their magic could do.

They reached the weapons storage and Emma was impressed by the array of weapons. “When you pirates pillage, you pillage.”

A wry grin was on Hook’s lips. “It is a pirate’s forte.”

The heroes eyed the weapons, looking for their best match. Snow grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows, a push dagger, and a hunting sword. David took a broad sword, as well as a dagger. Emma had a short sword, but she also took a bolo knife and, to her inner glee, brass knuckles. Hook took a long dagger and a cutlass.

Now they were ready for a fight.

As they made to leave, David put a hand on Hook’s shoulder, pulling the pirate back.

“Emma, go on ahead.” Snow said. “David and I need to have a word with Hook.”

Emma groaned. “Seriously? What are you going to give him the “you hurt our daughter, we’ll kill you” speech?”

“Something like that.” David muttered.

Emma shot her father a glare. “Okay.” Emma told her parents, “But remember that we do need him.” She gave Hook a warning look as well as if telling him not to say anything that would piss off her parents.

Hook waggled an eyebrow at her as she left. He turned to the Davids, who were looking intimidating with their glares and postures. Luckily, Hook wasn’t a man to be intimidated. If he can face gods themselves and tell them to fuck off, he can certainly face down the parents’ of the woman he pined after.

“So, Hook.” Snow started off, her tone serious.

“Your majesties.” Hook nodded.

“We don’t like you.” David said.

Hook choked back a snort. Emma definitely inherited her father’s tact.

“David.” Snow admonished.

“It’s the truth.” Hook agreed. “Neither of you like me, nor do you trust me. Least of all with your only daughter.”

“Look, we don’t need to tell you that if anything happens to Emma, we will blame you.” Snow said. “So you better do your damnedest to protect her. She’s used to doing things on her own, but she’s not from this realm and she’s too stubborn. You need to be patient with her and ensure her safety. Got it?”

Hook stepped towards them, making eyes contact to convey his seriousness. “Believe it or not, Emma and I are two people cut from the same cloth. We have a lot more in common than you know. I like to think that she and I understand each other, and I seriously doubt that I could ever hurt her.”

Still, David and Snow didn’t seem so sure.

“I give you both my word that I will not hurt Emma and that I will return her safely to you.” Hook’s solemn vow seemed to put them at a bit more ease.

“We’re going to trust you, Hook.” David said. “Just this once. Don’t waste it.”

With that, the prince and princess walked past him.

Hook watched them go. “I hope I don’t.”

Henry struggled with his bonds as Greg dragged him from the coastal shore of Neverland into some kind of jungle. “Let me go!”

“Not a chance.” Tamara said. “Now, shut up and behave.”

“You won’t get away with this!” Henry glared. “My family will find me!”

“I’d like to see them try.” Greg said. “We should wait here. The Home Office needs to contact us.”

“No.” Tamara shook her head, eyeing the jungle critically. “We need to find them. If we don’t get this brat to them soon…”

“We don’t even know where to start.” Greg argued. “We don’t know how big this place is, and we didn’t exactly bring supplies with us.”

Tamara rolled her eyes.

With his kidnappers arguing, Henry took a more critical look at the rope around his wrists. He could find something to cut them with, but Greg wasn’t letting go any time soon. He needed to make a run for it, but Tamara had a gun even if they needed him alive, he wasn’t sure that Tamara wouldn’t shoot him in the leg or something.

Waiting for his family to come wasn’t an option. He needed to find a way to escape and find a safe place to hideout until his family could find him. Henry just needed to figure out how.

“If they were going to contact us, they would’ve by now!” Tamara snapped. “They’re probably waiting for us to come to them!”

“If they know we’re here, then they’ll know where to find us.” Greg jerked on Henry’s bonds, pulling the boy to a stumble.

He needed to get them distracted enough to let go of him and not notice him running off. The whole “look behind you” gag would be too quick and they would hear him running. An idea struck him. Maybe he could get the argument to escalate. “You know, all this arguing you two are doing solves nothing. You’re just sitting around here with no plan, really? That’s pathetic.”

“Shut up!” Tamara pulled Henry from Greg’s grasp. “I shot your dad, do you really think I won’t hurt you?”

Swallowing his fear, Henry glared up at her defiantly. “You could try.”

“Tamara, stop it.” Greg stepped between her and Henry. “We can’t hurt him. Who knows how they might react to that? We need to stay calm.”

“She’s not going to listen to you.” Henry told him. “She’s going to do whatever she wants. She probably thinks that your pathetic letting the Home Office dictate what you do.”

Greg turned on Henry. “You need to be quiet.”

Henry noticed the eye roll from Tamara. “Look at her, she doesn’t care about you or respects you.”

“That’s not true.” Tamara immediately said, shooting Henry a glare before turning to Greg. “Listen…”

Greg eyed her. “Wait, I thought…”

“That she loved you?” Henry prompted. “Because she acted pretty convincing with my dad, and she still shot him. How do you know that she hasn’t lied to you too?”

“Would you shut up!” Tamara lunged, pushing Henry to the ground.

Henry winced, landing hard on his back, but he sat up quickly, watching the fight unfold.

Greg grabbed Tamara by the arm. “So what, everything’s been a lie?”

“No, it hasn’t.” Tamara looked panicked and didn’t sound very convincing.

“How can I know that for sure?” Greg snarled.

As the argument between the two escalated, Henry very slowly walked backwards, keeping his eyes on the pair of them.

Their angry shouts echoed in the jungle.

With neither of them paying attention to him, Henry turned and ran faster than he’d ever run in his life.

Hook and Emma jumped off of the boat, both making a splash in the shallow water as they trekked through it, seeking the shore of the Dark Jungle.

The boat, occupied by Rumple and David, rowed away, heading up river towards the mountain.

Snow and Regina were already on the other side of the cove, heading into the Neverwood.

“So did my parents threaten you within an inch of your life if something happens to me?” Emma asked.

Hook smirked at her. “Essentially.”

“Yeah, that figures.” Emma sighed, shaking the water off her boots once they were on land again. “So what do we do now?”

“Well, the Dark Jungle is the most dangerous part of Neverland.” Hook said. “We’ll need to be quick and thorough in our search and highly alert. You never know what surprises Neverland will have in store.”

Emma had a bad feeling about this, but she had to trust that Hook knew what he was doing.

Hook stopped at the edge of the Jungle and reached a hand out to her. “Do you trust me, Swan?”

Trust.

She didn’t want to trust him, not because of him being a villain, but because trusting someone opened doors to other things. Other feelings. Emma couldn’t let herself feel anything for the pirate right now. Swallowing, Emma walked past him, but paused. “Come on, pirate. Let’s go find my son.”

His smile had her stomach doing somersaults. When their eyes met, there was an intensity in his forget-me-not blues that had Emma’s defenses trembling.

“Aye, let’s get to it then.” Hook pulled out his cutlass and began to cut through the jungle.

[selfconsciousbee]

Your Darkside Will Make You Whole

This is my first go at a Reylo Fanfic. Or any fanfic for that matter. I appreciate any feedback because I apparently do not trust the kindness of family members and need to rely on the feedback of strangers who are indifferent to my feelings. Please be constructive criticism and be gentle. This is my first time.

I'm running up the steps to the temple for what must be the thousandth time. I don't mind it. I'm used to being on the move but in a desert where I have to conserve energy because of the heat. The scarcity of food and water also didn't encourage sustained running. Here I feel like I could run forever. Ahch-To is so different than Jakku in ways that I never would have imagined. The water saturates everything, like the heat and sand on Jakku, but the water is cool and healing. I hear the water everywhere. The sound of it crashing against the cliffs sings me to sleep at night. I feel the water in the air when I breathe it in. I didn't even realize that my eyes hurt from being so dry until the discomfort went away. And I will never forget the first time I completely submerged into the ocean. It was so quiet under the water with only the dull roar of the waves. Being suspended in the water was such a deliciously weird feeling that I had to keep myself from laughing. I was giddy. I don't think that I have ever been this clean.

Even the sand is different here. On Jakku, the sand is the enemy, not to be trusted and invasive. Here it is beautiful, white, and inviting. I never would have considered stripping down and laying in the sand on Jakku unless I had a death wish. Here I actually bathe in the sun instead of trying to escape it. The sun here is gentle instead of scorching. I love the feeling of my feet sinking into the cool clean sand when I step into the water. I never imagined it would be like this or that I would even find the island that had been my refuge at night when I needed to feel safe. I used to feel sad when I thought of all that time that I wasted on Jakku. I had the opportunity to leave and didn’t. I put so much unquestioning faith in the belief that my family would return. But, if I had let go of that illusion sooner, Kylo Ren might have killed me along with the rest of the students that had been training with Master Luke. Master Luke said that the Force guided me to him when the time was right and I was needed.

I did learn much on Jakku. I learned how to survive on very little and how to make the best use of anything I had. I’m strong. I learned to fight. When I would get bored, I would sneak into Unkar Plutt’s junkyard where I would explore the ships. I scavenged enough parts in my travels that I created a flight simulator and learned to fly. Jakku was my home. But as Maz said, “Whomever you are waiting for on Jakku, they’re never coming back. The belonging you seek is not behind you but ahead.” And now I’m in this beautiful place where I have been taking my first steps into a larger world.

When I arrived here six months ago to find Master Luke, I had been afraid that he wouldn't consent to teach me. He had come to Ahch-To in a self-imposed exile after his nephew, Ben Solo, had turned to the dark side and became Kylo Ren. The Jedi Killer. I had seen, during the Force vision, Master Luke and R2D2 in the light of the burning temple and felt his despair. I was worried that he wouldn’t want to risk it again. But Kylo Ren had been right about one thing. I did need a teacher. If Master Luke wouldn't train me, I would have to start running. If he had survived our fight and the destruction of the Starkiller Base, Kylo Ren would never stop hunting me. At least not until I had been converted or killed. I didn’t want to waste my life like that. If Master Luke trained me, then I could defend myself, help the rebellion, and it would mean Master Luke would no longer be the last of the Jedi. I didn’t want the Jedi to die out. I didn’t want to leave my new found friends.

I was also worried that Master Luke would be disinclined to train me because of my fight with Kylo Ren on the Starkiller Base. During that fight, I had been driven by anger which is something that the Jedi frown upon. But Kylo Ren had murdered Han and had either killed or injured Finn. I could hear a voice in my head demanding that I kill him.  At the end of the fight, Kylo Ren was on the ground. His face was bleeding where I had struck him. There was a moment where I almost gave in. It would have been so easy. This monster would no longer be chasing me and my friends. Who else would die because he lived? If he lived. But I turned away and I hope that would put Master Luke at ease. I would never be like Kylo Ren so conflicted and angry. If I had been lucky and Han Solo had been my father, I would never have murdered him. I would never betray those who loved me. I know all too well how that feels. I felt relieved after he talked to me about what he had experienced during his final battle with Darth Vader and the Emperor. He too had felt the pull and turned away.

I wipe off the sweat that had collected on my forehead as I clear the last of the temple steps. I see Master Luke wearing his brown hooded cloak and belted beige and white robes. He looks like he is meditating but his eyes are open now. He had told me about training with Yoda on Dagobah and that he would carry Yoda on his back during training. I smile at the thought of having to carry Master Luke the same way and am grateful that I don't. I sit down with him and he hands me a flask of water. We sit together in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before he says, “Clear your mind.”

I close my eyes. My pounding heart slows and I begin to match my breathing with the sound of the waves below. Master Luke continues, “Feel the Force move through you. Around you. A Jedi’s strength comes from the Force. It is an ally. Life creates it and makes it grow. You must feel the force around you. Between you and me, the rocks, the grass, the ocean, everywhere. ”

I allow his voice to calm me further and begin to feel the energy encompassing me. I sense it strongly in my Master beside me. As I begin to feel it flowing through the grass and rocks, I begin stacking the pile of rocks beside us. I almost have all of the rocks stacked on top each other when I feel something pulling me. It is a familiar feeling and is strong. I begin to concentrate on it and pull along the connection. I follow it off Ahch-To and it leads to a dark room. I hear the familiar sizzle of a lightsabre and as I turn around I face the black figure of Kylo Ren. The red light from his lightsabre reflects off of the chrome on his black mask. He is as intimidating as he had been on Takodana. I feel the rage pouring off of him. Then I hear the rocks fall and I’m back on Ahch-To. Master Luke is looking at me analytically.

“Kylo Ren is alive.”, I stammered, “Is he alive, Master?”

“Trust yourself, Rey. You know this is true. The best thing you can do right now is complete your training so you are ready when you face him again.”

“I will face him again. Do you know when?”

“Don’t let it distract you from the here and now. Concentrate on what you must do.”

I try to settle but my thoughts are consumed by thinking about the implications of fighting Kylo Ren again. I can’t help but think of Leia. Does she know he’s alive? I am worried about her. After the destruction of the Starkiller base and finding Luke, we had all taken one night to mourn the loss of Han Solo. It was all she could afford. With the rise of the First Order and the destruction of Hossian Prime, the General had too much to do. With all she had faced and had been through, she was still leading others. One day I had asked her about how she continues on. Leia said that she had been serving the people since she joined the senate when she was not much younger than I was. She explained that it was her duty to serve. If she only did it when it was convenient for her then she wouldn’t be doing it for the people but for herself. Before that moment, I didn’t think that it was possible for me to respect her more than I already did. I was wrong. If I had felt that Han Solo was the father I never had, then Leia was the mother I couldn’t have even dreamed existed to wish for.

Master Luke breaks my concentration and says, “Rey, you are still having the dreams about what happened on the Starkiller base.”

I say nothing. It wasn’t a question and he knows that I have. I most often dream about being interrogated by Kylo Ren, Han Solo falling, and the planet collapsing. Just last night, I dreamt that we were all back on the Starkiller base. Kylo Ren is with Han Solo on the walkway in the oscillator room. I don’t want to watch but I can’t turn away. Everything goes dark and the jagged red beam of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber bursts through Han Solo’s back. His body falls. I start to cry. Kylo Ren begins to transform into a disfigured and elongated version of himself. His face becomes distorted and his body begins to stretch and become jagged like his lightsabre. He gets taller, darker, and even more menacing. I turn to run but he is already behind me. His face is corrupted and his eyes are blazing yellow with hate. I scream and wake up.

“Meditate on your dreams.”, Master Luke instructs, bringing me out of my thoughts.  “If they are repeating then there is a lesson in them that you need to learn”.

“Yes, Master.”

“General Organa and your friends will be arriving tomorrow. It is time for you to gather the materials for your weapon.”

I give him a big grin. That must mean that they have found a planet with the rare Kyber crystals that we wanted. I have been excited about starting this process. I have been training in sword fighting but I am already more than proficient with the staff. Master Luke has agreed for me create a saberstaff.

“I’ll make dinner.” He continues, “You can go get cleaned up.”

Master Luke smiles as I give him another big grin. I jump up and run back to my room at the temple. I can see myself going through the motions of creating my weapon. Meditating with the crystal. Creating the handle. Training with my new saberstaff. If I was able to defeat Kylo Ren with a sword, what would I be like with a weapon that I am familiar with?

That night, I’m in the interrogation room again. Kylo Ren is in a crouched position in front of me. Looking like a monster who knows his prey is going nowhere and he can toy with it. “You still want to kill me.” Kylo Ren’s deep voice sounds mockingly confused. “That’s what happens when you are being hunted by a creature in a mask.” I bite back. Kylo Ren begins to take off his helmet. I really didn’t think that he would give up an advantage like that. What will be underneath? I’m transfixed with curiosity but worried that he will be even more terrifying without the mask. His helmet comes off as he reaches his full impressive height. The first thing that I see are his eyes. They are so dark that they are almost black but don’t show the hatred that I had expected to see. Next, I see his full lips and straight prominent nose. Then his black hair that contrasts so sharply with his pale skin. He had been a terrifying and unbeatable entity on Takodana. A creature straight from my nightmare. I almost wanted to face that monster again. Things were clearer with the monster rather than the confusingly innocent looking attractive man standing before me. This was not what I was expecting and does throw me off a little.

He stands beside me and begins his questioning. I try to hide my discomfort at our close proximity and force myself not to stare at him. I catch him rake his eyes down my body and am uncomfortable with his perusal. I’m trying to keep my breathing normal and feel the blush spreading across my face. I wonder what he sees. “You...a scavenger.” He says disdainfully. I try not to be embarrassed by his assessment. It’s not that I want him to see me differently than what I am but, saying it like I’m something to be scrapped off of his boot, it stings.

“You know I can take whatever I want.”

He moves suddenly and places his hand on my face. He is so close that I have to look away. I concentrate on anything else but the map and his breath on my neck. He delves into my life on Jakku and invades what he has no right to know. He talks about how lonely I am like he understands. I am angry that he would find a weakness so quickly but I don’t see how he can use it against me. Why would he want to know that? It feels like a violation. I don’t know if its suppose to be but, when I demand that he get out of my head, he does. It’s like he suddenly remembered what he was there for and continues to tell me how he is going to get the map. He starts to go through my mind again. But this time, I feel an undercurrent of connection between us and push back along it.

“Don’t be afraid, I feel it too.” He says.

I feel strengthened by the knowledge that I might be able to fight him and say, “I’m not giving you anything.”

“We’ll see.”

He renews his attack. His outstretched hand seems to focus his intent and I lean forward, fighting back and countering him. I can feel the shackles pressing against my forearms but ignore it to put everything I have into fighting. Each of us trying to gain a foothold in each other’s minds. Suddenly, he steps forward, grabs the back of my neck, and tips my head up. My breath hitches as we stare at each other. Still fighting until his lips meet mine. I close my eyes and answer back. I slip one hand over his shoulder and the other up through his hair. He moves a hand to my lower back to pull me closer and I help by wrapping my strong thighs around him. I hear a deep voice from across the room ask, “Is that what you wanted?”

I’m confused and more than a little dazed by what is happening. As I turn my head, he creates a trail of kisses and bites down to my neck. I open my eyes. I see a very confused looking Kylo Ren watching us. Something isn’t right. The Kylo Ren that was touching me disappears and the one standing across the room remains. I don’t understand and he is a little too real. I can see the cut across his face where I had hit him but has healed into a scar. I am surprised enough that I wake up.

[blameitonthegirl]

Knock

I'm writing a Skulduggery AU!!!!! I posted the prologue in AO3 and will probably upload the other chapters just there, but here it is.

An AU where Valkyrie is born sooner, discovers magic sooner and all the Darquesse mess happens sooner, but she meets Skulduggery later.

Prologue

The first time they met wasn’t really the first time they’d met.

The first time they met had been sixty years ago, but neither of them remembered the encounter that much. Since then, they’d almost bumped in each other exactly thirty-two times, but it was always a matter of seconds, of different exits, of different approaches.

One time Skulduggery had to wait forty-five minutes for Ghastly to finish measuring someone else, sulking all the time while he heard chatter and a woman’s laughter in the other room. When he inquired Ghastly about the client, who had apparently left through the window in a hurry (something Skulduggery could respect), the man had only said “you’re not my only friend, you know”, which caused even more sulking.

One time Valkyrie arrived at China’s library just in time to see a Bentley driving away. When she’d asked China to borrow a book to do some research, the woman had sighted dramatically. “Oh. dear, I’ve just loaned the perfect book to someone else. Do you want me to call him? Just give me the word.” She had almost said yes, but decided that China’s second best book would be enough. She always gave up research after a few hours, anyways.

One time they were even after the same guy, but, unfortunately for this man, his very secret adept discipline was the ability to make two of himself. When he heard that someone was after him, he thought that the best course of action was to double himself and leave a very confusing trail behind him. He wasn’t aware, however, that it was two different people after him, and that each one had picked a different trail to track, which led to each of them finding one of the double, in completely different places, in completely different ways. They were never aware of the other, and both thought that had completed the job without any help. The Sanctuary, obviously, was very confused when they had to lock up the very same guy twice, with only hours of difference.

Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain had heard about each other, of course. Ever since Valkyrie had discovered magic, when she was eight, her uncle couldn’t stop talking about her skeleton friend and how she should met his inspiration for The Raven, even when he hadn’t seen his friend for almost ten years. Unfortunately, Gordon had always a new story to write, a deadline to keep or a woman to chase, and could never arrange a meeting between the two of them. When Valkyrie was older, she learned that “her uncle’s skeleton friend” was actually that Skulduggery Pleasant, and not some really skinny guy. She knew that he was a skeleton, that he was a detective, that he had fought on the war against Mevolent with the other Dead Men and that he was an incredible powerful Elemental. She also knew that something had happened between the detective and Wreath, by the amused-yet-ironic way her teacher mentioned him sometimes, but given that that was the way Wreath talked about almost everyone, she hadn’t thought much about it. Then, of course, that had happened, and by the time she’d left her self-imposed exile, very few people talked with her at all, so she thought that the chances for her to meet him (or for him to want to meet her) were very slim.

Skulduggery, of course, had heard about a girl, shadow-prodigy and believed by many as the next Death Bringer. He’d heard about a girl who somehow had discovered her true name and had managed to protect it, only for her other self to find another body — don’t ask Skulduggery how that had happened — and kill an awful lot of people. He was on the other side of the planet, and by the time he arrived in Ireland, the end of the world had already been avoided by a team of psychs and the very same girl, who had developed a kind of Adept discipline in her Surge that nobody had ever seen. After that of course he would be inclined to meet the girl, if only to be certain that she wasn’t a threat anymore, but she’d disappeared. Retired, some said. Running from what she’d done, whispered others. Skulduggery was too busy after Serpine to go look or even to care very much for someone who wasn’t an imminent danger. He only heard her name again twenty years later: not only she was back in the magic world, but was using her very unique and very powerful discipline to catch bad guys. Not being a threat, there wasn’t a reason to him go after her. He wasn’t the type of person to go after someone only to shake hands, after all, and he definitely wasn’t the type of guy who people wanted to be friends with.

Fate, as it turned out, can only be delayed a certain amount of time until a certain group of magic people decide to intervene. In fact, little did they know that there was an ongoing pool between the psychs. All of them had had visions about the two of them meeting (Cassandra had predicted it happening twenty-three times, while Finbar claimed he had seen forty-seven variations of the fateful encounter). While they didn’t understand exactly why was so important for those two people to meet, the psychs were far too invested in what had become their very own soap opera. Valkyrie, despite the somewhat psych powers she’d developed, was unaware of this particular thread of destiny (she sometimes dreamed with a very smooth voice talking to her, but could never remember what it’d said by the time she woke up) working in her favor. So, almost as readers binge reading a very exciting book, the psychs decided to peek a little further (or maybe it was a matter of correcting a huge, unforgivable plot hole). Cassandra had casually hinted Valkyrie that something very big would happen in the next Requiem Ball during one of their training sessions, and Finbar had not so casually warned Skulduggery that something very bad would happen if he didn’t attend the next Requiem Ball.

[gwenhylew]

The Revenant 5/5

Revenant Fic Tag

Things that never happened, but might had easily happened

There was no reason to dawdle long in Stormwind. The party of three, Thil the Highborne mage in need of assistance in Karazhan, Alorion the Night Elf hunter, and Gwenhylew the Priestess of the Moon, had all the supplies they could need in Thil’s magical conjurations. They proceeded almost directly out of the city.

Stormwind was busier than ever, Gwenhylew observed from the back of Tenderfeather, her borrowed hippogryph, as they rose higher and higher. Gwen asked the hippogryph to pursue Thil and Alorion - respectively flying a magical carpet, and a white-and-chestnut hippogryph - while she took in the view.

Stormwind had changed much more than Darnassus had, not just by the sheer amount of population. A week ago Gwen had stumbled back to civilization in Pandaria, she’d been surprised to hear of all that had transpired in the world during her self-imposed exile. There being a new king in Stormwind had been only one tiny part of it all.

The previous king, Varian, had never given Gwen a favourable impression of himself, but she remembered having seen Anduin as a child, once upon a moon. Having barged into the throne room in a Night Elf entourage complete lost in the castle, looking for someone... or was it something? Gwenhylew was certain there had been at least eight of them, young and bright-eyed Elves, gawking at the strange and delightful human city. But when she started counting the names of her companions, she fell two short. One whose name escaped Gwen, but face did not, a young rogue girl, she had died later on that year, another victim of the war between the Alliance and the Horde. Only one of many, in Gwen’s acquaintance.

The High King of the Alliance now sat there somewhere inside the castle the three night-time fliers passed.

“Not my king,” Gwen said to herself. The hippogryph trilled in agreement.

--

Karazhan, the tower of the wizard Medivh, had been haunted for years and raided by countless numbers of mercenaries. Gwen had been dubious that the tower would even be standing by the time they arrived, and even if it did, any valuable book in its shelves would be long gone, or long destroyed by stray fireballs. Yet the mage seemed certain that what she was looking for lay somewhere in the ruins.

Entering the library via the little service entrance was child’s play. Fighting the endlessly reappearing old spectres who relentless came back again and again? Not as easy as Gwen recalled. Back in the day, they had ventured inside the tower in much bigger parties than this. Thankfully the sombre hunter had also visited the place, and offered tactical insights to their sneaking in the tower undetected.

Once inside the library, having cleared it of a few mechanical constructs that had been guarding it, Thil began to recite some kind of spell, which in theory would help her find the missing book.

As Alarion and Gwen kept their vigil in case of surprises, it occurred to Gwen that not one of the three of them had discussed anything but strict and curt business in these short few days they had spent together.

“How did you get so good at sneaking in Karazhan?” Gwen asked in lowered tones from the stoic hunter, as not to disturb the young mage trying a second searching spell to try locate her lost tome.

Alorion glanced at Thil sideways, and then at Gwen.

“Mercenary work.”

Gwen cast her eyes thoughtfully away from the hunter. That so many Night Elves had fled Kalimdor and turned mercenary had often hurt her in the past. Then again, she’d met the man at the Temple of the Moon, so he was unlikely to be completely unattached from the Kaldorei society.

Unattached from the Kaldorei society like she’d just been for a good number of years, Gwen thought with irony.

But such as it was, the Sentinel army and the Priesthood were still slow in accepting male members. And unless one pursued the Cenarion Circle, a man had a hard time finding his place in Kalimdor. The seas and forests both were treacherous and full of enemies far worse than krakens and bears. Gwen had long suspected that a lack of a place to fit in had Danilin’s father get up and run. She’d been mad then, at what a selfish coward Zhane had been, that he hadn’t even had the nerve to tell her he was leaving.

Now she thought it was somehow understandable. She herself felt she had no standing at all in the society anymore. She thought wrong, and acted wrong. Her travels had changed her too much, like it had transformed many. It had transformed Zhane only earlier. And it had transformed this Alorion the archer too.

“The Priestess disapproves?”

“Not at all,” Gwen replied. “Was it good?”

“Yes... until we got wrapped up in this world-saving quest,” Alorion said, smiling, completely without mirth.

“Ah. One of those,” Gwenhylew replied, with a similar smile.

Thil coughed, having conjured a dust cloud, but no magical tomes yet. “I haven’t saved the world yet, but I hear they can be awfully dangerous.” The little mage started leafing through her notebook.

A moment passed.

“Well, was it?” Gwen asked Alorion.

“Hmm?” The hunter glanced back at her.

“Was saving the world dangerous?” Gwenhylew elaborated.

Alorion looked aside, and the cool smile vanished.

“You could say that. I was the only one who got away from my party more or less intact.” He took a controlled intake of breath, let it out again before he spoke. “The... the demons were as merciless as when they first attacked.”

Gwen’s heart stung a little. Her childhood sweetheart had died, ground to a bloody puddle by a demon of the Burning Legion when the orcs and humans had first sailed to Kalimdor. One of many victims.

At that moment, Gwen understood why none of the three of them had spoken anything beyond business or shallow courtesies to one another in these days. To form a bond was to form also the severance of that bond. And all three of them had experienced too many severances. Even the little mage. Gwen pondered, she was far too serious and mature for her age and stature, perhaps her family...

“I have something,” Thil announced, pleasure at her achievement coating her voice. “This little ball of light is going to take me to the book.” And indeed, she had conjured a little blue ball of light, which was now hovering in the air just in front of Thil.

The light moved at an agonizingly languid pace. There were noises in the upper levels of the tower, of ghosts wailing and moaning. As the elves moved deeper into the tower, Gwen could hear mana wyrms devouring remnants of the strange arcane energies cloying to Medivh’s tower, although the master was long gone.

They fell back into the businesslike silence. No one needed to be told to hush.

A few stray mana wyrm encounters later, Thil’s light hovered to the top of an impossibly tall book shelf. She unrolled her magic carpet in order to reach the high shelf. Once up there, she smiled as she pulled out the old tome she had been searching for, and waved down at the other elves with a “I told you so” expression on her face.

“Amazing that thing is still intact,” Gwen muttered as she watched the little mage descend.

“She wouldn’t have brought us here if she wasn’t sure it was,” Alorion replied. “Now let’s get out of here,” he hissed up at Thil.

"In a minute”, Thil whispered. She couldn’t wait to examine the book, once she landed back on the tiled floor of the ruinous library.

The book the highborne mage presented them with was, in fact, completely blank.

“It’s completely pristine!” Thil said with excitement, forgetting for a second that their mission was that of stealth.

Gwen shook her head in confusion. “Why are we here for a blank book?” She asked, remembering to keep her voice low.

“This is a book for writing spells on, Medivh had, you see, perfected a technique for pres-”

Alorion laid his hand on Thil’s shoulder. “Fascinating, but I think we should get out first before you let every construct, ghost and mana wyrm still left in Karazhan know that we’re here.”

Thil’s excitement banished, she nodded curtly.

Once they were outside of Karazhan and had summoned their hippogryphs who had hidden so carefully in the Pass, Thil began, without much further ado, cast her spell to open a portal to Darnassus.

And it seemed to take much longer than usual.

Gwen tapped her foot impatiently, while casually grooming the hippogryph by her side.

“Strange, it’s not opening,” Thil said.

“Did something go wrong with your magic inside that tower?” Alorion asked, gesturing at the stone walls of Karazhan.

“Hmm.” Thil conjured water, turned herself invisible, and destroyed a dead tree branch with arcane missiles. “I don’t think so?” She concluded. “I could try create a portal to Stormwind, however. Or would you prefer Dalaran?”

“Stormwind is fine,” Alorion said.

“I’d rather not go to Stormwind, so if you don’t need me anymore, I’ll take my Hearthstone back to Darnassus now,” Gwenhylew said, while she watched Thil create a magical portal to the human city, like she had done just yesterday.

But before Thil and Alorion had the chance to step through, Gwen was calling out in alarm. “Something is wrong. My Hearthstone is dead.”

“So I take it that nothing is wrong with Thil’s magic...” Alorion said.

“... no, something is wrong with Darnassus,” the little mage said, phrasing the thought now most immediately on Gwen’s mind.

--

Once they arrived in Stormwind, they landed in nothing short of chaos. There were perhaps a thousand Night Elves stranded all around the Mage Quarters of Stormwind City, all unable to portal themselves to the Temple of the Moon. There were so many people in the Mage Tower that Gwen and her companions had to squeeze themselves through the throng, much like everyone else were doing.

Most of the Elves were restlessly populating the grass outside the tower. One of the Priestess of the Moon, backed up by two Sentinels, were moving amongst the crowd, speaking to small groups of Night Elves at a time. A lot of civilians, Gwen noted. That, or everyone was feeling very casual.

Then she noticed there were children amongst them.

Gwen broke away from her companions into a swift stride, and headed for the Priestess she could not recognize. “What is it, what is happening?” Gwen asked, breaking up the soft conversation the other Priestess had been having.

The stern elder Sister made no pleasantries. “Teldrassil is burning,” she said. “Sister Mayapple, your help will be invaluable, once you recuperate from your shock.”

“Teldrassil is burning?” Alorion asked, his voice catching Gwen off-guard just behind her.

“Yes, we are unable to portal assistance there right now. The Horde have set the tree on fire and are attacking Darnassus. Rut’theran is no more,” the Priestess said with such an even-tempered demeanour that Gwen wondered if she had a heart at all.

Danilin! Eledhwe! Auntie! Mother! “And Dolanaar?!” Gwenhylew demanded.

“I’m afraid we have no news of Dolanaar,” the Priestess, a little sorrow now cloaking her marble-like demeanor. “You should prepare yourself for the worst. Perhaps you need to take a moment to yourself to recompose.”

Even as the Priestess was still addressing her, Gwen was already running off to Tenderfeather, who was standing still at the edge of the gathered crowd of stranded Elves. She would, she would... she would catch a ship... no, she would need a portal to Exodar. The journey was not long from there.

Glaring around frantically, Gwenhylew sought to find Thil in the crowd. “Thil. Thil. A portal to Exodar,” Gwen demanded, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. In her mind, she was imagining her son, Danilin, a Night Elf of ten and some, lying in a puddle of blood, his little bones crushed. Thil glanced at Alorion. Gwen found herself hyperventilating.

“Priestess, you’re unwell,” the hunter said.

“You both will be extremely unwell unless you take me to Exodar immediately,” Gwen managed to growl, despite her uneven breathing.

“We should try find out first if they have attacked the Azuremyst Isle as well, if there’s a blockade, you won’t get any closer to Teldrassil from there, and the Draenei city is far less protected than Stormwind,” Thil said analytically.

Gwenhylew wanted to scream. She wanted to kick. She felt a quiet rage surge just under skin. It wasn’t particularly directed at her companions, but rather at herself. I’ll see you for tea when I come back, Gwen thought. I’ll visit Danilin when it’s closer to his birthday, Gwen thought. If she could have dueled herself, she would have thrown the gauntlet right there and then.

Gwenhylew caught the disapproving gaze of the elder Priestess within the crowd. A Priestess of the Moon making such a spectacle of herself in public, Gwen guessed her thoughts. Caring only about herself and her own, when she should be holding herself together, show all these lost Night Elves how strong she could be in the face of such a disaster.

Give them hope. Give them leadership. Give them something to believe in.

It took a few minutes, but Gwen managed to calm herself down.

Then the Priestess found her something useful to do.

--

Gwenhylew’s task was to make list, names of who was stranded where, and looking for who. Many people had now lost contact with their families and loved ones, with no idea as to what was going on.

She had initially pleaded to go join the ongoing battle at Teldrassil, but the Sentinels had in short terms stated that her gear was not up to date, and her fighting skills were lacking for her absence from war in the past years. She was fit for a clerk, until she trained herself back to shape.

Humiliating, that was what it had been. Gwen would have felt the sting of it much worse, if the face of every person she still loved on this Azeroth weren’t busy occupying her mind.

Gwen had, of course, thought about sneaking off on her own - a little younger version of her might have also done just that, gone recklessly into battle, not caring if she died. But age and experience, not to mention her training as a Priestess, had brought her practical wisdom: she would be of no use in this battle. She would be an obligation and a hindrance, needing Sentinels at her back to protect her, while bringing very little. She might even herself be preventing Sentinels from evacuating Teldrassil.

She’d also enjoyed, even if briefly, the thought of dying alongside the great tree, being burnt alive, in the heat of combat. Gwen had thought for years of it now, and accepted it, that eventually she would die on a battlefield, giving and risking everything for her country.

No, she would not die in a fit of bloodlust and grief induced insanity tonight, even though the thought had a romantic appeal.

What a pale shadow of the fearless fighter of her more glorious days she now was. What a pale shadow of a country the Kaldorei nation now was.

The moon waxed, the moon waned, an inner pragmatic voice reminded her.

She would be of use again, some day. While she remained alive, she would have the time to go out in the world, regain her strengths, and fight again.

But until that day, she had to contend with the present moment. Here in Stormwind, to her surprise, Gwen found help in Alorion and Thil, who trailed after her for some reason. Gwen wondered at that, for their quest was complete, and Thil had her nonsensical, empty book. They were no friends, and there was no reason to stay.

Yet, Thil soon became a secretary to Gwen, who spoke to elves, asking for their names and who they wished to find. While Gwen compiled her list, Thil updated it by arranging the names in tidier order by family names alphabetically.

And so they worked for hours, while more stranded Elves arrived into the Mage Quarters. Some were as confused as Gwen had been when they had arrived to the scene themselves, and Alorion took it upon himself to explain to them what was happening. Gwen saw every possible emotion on the faces of the stoic Night Elf race that night.

When at last there was a quiet moment, at the hour just before dawn, the three of them sat down on the grass, drinking the last of Gwen’s Moonberry Juice, thinned down with plain water to make it last longer.

“I might as well write down who you two are looking for,” Gwen offered. She’d added Danilin Mayapple, Riwanon Mayapple, Nenendris Mayapple, Eledhwe Morningsky, Elejalde of the Talon, Priestess Gwaithyn Mayapple, Priestess Willowsong, Taraniel, Ralavan Talaras, Verdant of the Druids, and Dragomir on her list already earlier.

“I’ve no one to add,” Alorion said simply.

“Me neither,” Thil echoed.

Gwen grew very still suddenly. How... absolutely lonely those two must have been, she thought. And they had seen all the names Gwen had put on her list - how strangely rich she felt for a fleeting second.

Gwen wanted to say something, but everything she considered sounded like an empty platitude. May the Goddess protect us? The Goddess had done absolutely nothing the first time the black sky had rained demons on Mount Hyjal. And now the Goddess did more of the same nothing, while Night Elves were being burned out of their homeland by savage invaders and undead abominations.

But maybe they could have something else, if not the Goddess?

“Please stay with me,” Gwen said in hushed tones to the pair of them. And she could feel it, that terrifying, hurting, heart-breaking thing start again: she was forming another bond.

“Not like we got a lot of places to go, Priestess,” Thil said sardonically, and settled herself more comfortably on the grass. She had worn herself out, and fell asleep, using her rolled-up magic carpet as a pillow.

But the hunter had said nothing, and said nothing for a long time. Gwen could guess what he was thinking, for it was also on her mind. A bond was only baggage and burden, and heart-ache in this constant war.

“I think I’ll accept. For now,” Alorion whispered eventually, as to not disturb the sleeping little mage.

“Thank you,” Gwen replied. She glanced at Thil, wishing she could fall asleep like that. But her heart was beating like a hummingbird. Now, in the quiet lull of the pre-dawn moment, she was beginning to find her panic again, with fear of what was to come of her little son, her defenseless, beautiful little son. Gwen managed to keep herself together, however, apart from the shaking of her hands. She couldn’t make them stop, even when she held them together and pulled them almost painfully against her chest.

Fearing another hyperventilation attack coming on, she pulled her legs closer to her chest and hugged her knees and laid her forehead down on them. She couldn’t cry, she’d run out of tears years ago. But unfortunately her body still found a way to shiver and shake.

A warm cloak suddenly surrounded her, a hunter’s cloak, and an arm tentatively, gingerly, found her shoulders.

“It’ll be alright, Priestess,” Alorion whispered. “You have to believe your son made it out of Dolanaar. You’ll have to run on hope, until you discover the truth. There’s no use of fearing what might be, before then.”

Here spoke a man who’d lost everyone except for chance acquaintance he’d only stumbled upon.

Gwen found herself calming down again. She peered up at Alorion and smiled weakly at him. “What do you believe in, hunter?”

The hunter met her eyes, which was unusual. So far he’d been rather evasive in meeting her gaze straight on.

“I believe in going on,” he said simply.

Gwen thought, she might herself believe in that. Some day. Perhaps soon.

“Do you mind if I sleep under your cloak? With you in it? It’s a bit chilly, and I left my bed in my house in D-Darnassus,” Gwenhylew asked, attempting to crack a joke, but choked a little on the last words.

“I... guess not.” The hunter and Gwen rearranged each other so that Gwen was soon napping with her head resting against his chest.

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” Gwen mumbled sleepily, as exhaustion was finally finding her.

“No, I’m... good.” He sounded sleepy as well. Gwen felt him pull her little closer to himself as he adjusted his position on the moist grass that had been gathering dew all night.

Somehow, by some magic of his will, Alorion, this complete stranger, had completely banished now the haunting vision of Gwenhylew’s son dying out of her mind. She could imagine him rescued, saved. By Eledhwe, perhaps. Yes, Eledhwe would have gone to Dolanaar immediately. And mother and auntie were there, and father, if he wasn’t at Hyjal. And mother’s one-time lover while Elejalde had been sleeping his long sleep in the Barrow Dens, Dragomir could conjure a portal, easily. And where would he conjure one? To... to Dalaran, of course. Tomorrow, Gwen would request information from another Priestess posted there, if any of her family was there.

Instead of imagining them all dead, butchered by orcs, Gwen imagined them all alive, crowding the small city of the mages. Auntie and Mother disapproving sternly of their chosen location, while Eledwhe would show the amazed Danilin what an amazing place they had come to, floating above the air, just like the treetops of Teldrassil! Full of strange folk... such as the Horde.

“No, no, they wouldn’t have gone to Dalaran,” Gwen muttered, no, Ironforge, it’s safe, under a mountain, even though Auntie and Mother hate it there, she wasn’t sure if she was slurring her thoughts aloud or not. It amused her, the thought of Eledhwe showing Danilin the sights of the city inside the mountain. She could take the Deeprun Train as soon as she woke up, to go look for them.

What would she miss of Teldrassil? Not much. The Temple of the Moon, Gwenhylew surmised. And the dreamcatcher she had fashioned out of Blueberry’s tail feathers, which she’d left hanging in her bedroom back in the Craftsmen’s Terrace.

Gwen didn’t like to imagine her dear friend’s last tail feathers burning along with the great tree, so instead she preferred to think of the beautiful, iridescent colours of Blueberry sinking in the vastness of the sea, along with the great marble columns of the temple. Perhaps it was time to let go of her - she had been gone for years now in any case. Goodbye, my friend.

Before Gwen fell asleep, there was one more thing she imagined sinking into the sea amongst ruin and debris of the charred tree branches and pavement stones of what had once been Darnassus. Sinking into the deepest of depths, quickly vanishing from moonlight, was a metallic cylinder, which, when pressed correctly, opened into a fishing rod. A simple toy, which had brought much joy.

I got this for you.

Thank you.

And now it was gone.

[mhdiaries]

Diary of Elissabat

Stop acting like you don’t want to read my diary.

This 2nd Day of August

On the eve of my coronation, 400 years ago tonight, I slipped into the moonless Transylvanian darkness and disappeared forever. I remember it like it was yesterday; The Vampire’s Heart casting its red glow over my room as Lord Stoker explained that I was much too young to be the queen without his help and that if I simply did exactly as he instructed, my unlife would be perfect for us all. I had not been acting all that long by then, but I knew enough to recognize a bad director when I heard one, and I was fangsolutely positive I did not want a starring role in this production. Fortunately for me, I had made friends with a young explorer and mad scientist named Hexiciah Steam. Hexiciah and Lord Stoker did not exactly see eye  to eye on, well, anything, and so, partially to help me and partially to tweak LS, Hexiciah helped me escape to a waiting ship that would take me to Londoom. I asked him about the Vampire’s Heart, but he told me not to worry about it and that it was safe from the reach of LS. Thus I became known as Elissabat the First, not because I was the first queen to have that name, but because I was the first to choose self-imposed exile over the throne. I often wonder what kind of queen I would make today, 400 years older and hopefully wiser. I’m certainly wise enough to keep two diaries now, especially since several pages of Veronica Von Vamp’s private musings somehow ended up on a celebrity gossip site. Good thing Veronica never breaks character even when she’s writing.

7 August

My agent sent over a script today for me to read. It’s about a young ghoul who is chosen to be the queen of an ancient kingdom, not because she is the true heir but because the Lord Chancellor wants to control the kingdom through her. Except the ghoul finds out and takes off before she takes the throne, only to be chased all over the world by the Lord Chancellor’s hench-monsters. Besides being completely implausible it involves multiple locations, chase scenes, stunts and a very large cast of characters. It sounds exhausting. I would love to do a small picture next. Something shot on location in Scaris at a small outdoor café where there are long pauses in between conversations and shots of me staring off into the distance as I ponder the deep secrets of unlife. I can just see my agent’s face now. His left eye will start to twitch, and he won’t be able to control it so he’ll put his shades on and then he’ll break into a sneezing fit and have to excuse himself while he leaves my trailer to try and regain his composure. He’s actually a very good agent who really does have my beast interests at heart, but he is such an excitable little goblin that I can’t help but tweak him just a little bit. I do sometimes tire of playing larger-than-unlife roles, even though my fans really do seem to love the films. I would just like to stretch myself as a performer, and I’ve done so many of these... oh well. I love to act, the fans love to watch, and we’re all happy in the end - except the critics, but they’re never happy, so I don’t waste too much time thinking about them. V3

This 10th Day of August

Each day now I hear about growing unrest in the kingdom and how the vampire lords are mounting pressure upon Lord Stoker to find a queen. Personally, I think they are overreacting, since 400 years is just a drop in the coffin for a vampire, but they are a rather stodgy bunch. Order, tradition and discipline are the code they... we... live by. I have applied those virtues in the way I have chosen to pursue my career, and they are the secret to my success. I have been accused of having a photographic memory, but that is not accurate. I simply work as hard as I can to be as prepared as I can so I do not make careless mistakes. My stage fright has never gone away, and I doubt it ever will, therefore intense preparation is the only way I can stand in front of a crowd and do my job or jobs. I think my intensity intimidates other monsters, and I know I am perceived as not being “approachable”, but it takes a lot of concentration to be Elissabat playing Veronica Von Vamp playing a completely different character on stage or in film. It is why I need to not be in “character”, and for that to happen I need to be myself. I should be getting ready to be Veronica again, since a car is about to arrive not to pick up not a queen of the vampires, but a queen of the silver scream. Some days I do wish that I only had one role to play, but which one do I choose?

16 September

I’m making the press circuit to promote my new film today, so I’m bringing Viperine along to do my makeup. Viperine has been doing my makeup for a while now, and I simply adore her. She is chatty but not intrusive, and I completely trust the job she does, which is good since there’s really no way for me to check the work. She started doing my makeup quite by accident, when my regular artist got cast in some unscripted reality show... shudder... and left without any notice. Viperine was just an intern at the time and was cutting her fangs by doing makeup on creatured extras, but when I stepped out of my trailer and called her over, she didn’t even hesitate. She’s also that rare monster that is completely content not being in the spotlight. I asked her if she would like to be in front on the camera one day, and she told me that she felt like she was in front of the camera every time I stepped on stage. She has a fright future in this boosness, I think.

This 20th Day of September

By the pricking of my thumbs something fishy this way comes. It is all over the news that a new vampire queen has been found and confirmed by Lord Stoker who said that he used the Vampire’s Heart to verify that this ghoul is the true heir. Well this is certainly curious, since I know for a fact that the VH is as lost as Hexiciah Steam. Well, perhaps “lost” is not the proper description. Maybe “unavailable for questioning” would be more to the point. I know this because if Lord Stoker had the real VH he would have used it to track me down soon after I ran away, and I would have spent the last 400 years issuing rulings on property disputes, meeting with Yeti ambassadors and doing Lord Stoker’s bidding. I do wish this “new queen”, whomever she is, the best of luck, especially with old LS lurking around. He knows everything there is to know about how the queendom runs, but he couldn’t lead a one-zombie parade. I feel sorry for him, because he could be a real asset to the throne if he didn’t want to sit on it himself.  

1 October

I’ve been nominated for another award, which will make the fans happy and the critics not. I think this may be my best performance yet, but it is a rather popular film, and monsters have been creeping to it in packs. Personally, I believe there is a direct correlation between how well critics like a film and how many monsters have actually seen it. The more obscure the film and fewer monsters that have seen it, the more worthy critics seem to heap praise upon it. I suppose it makes them feel superior, especially when they dig up that old line about it being “the most important film of the year.” ‘Tis tiresome, mostly because they hold up a film that very few have seen as the gold standard by which all others must be judged and then sneer at any comparisons to it, which is convenient. I’m not saying that every film I have ever acted in has been perfect; in fact, some of the acting choices I made as a young ghoul I wish I could go back and remake, but regardless of the role or film I always strive to give a performance worthy of the ticket price.

This 6th Day of October

So the new queen they have chosen is Draculaura! I had purposely been avoiding the news because I have been feeling guilty about the situation, so I did not know that she was the one. We used to play together when we were young ghouls back in Transylvania, and I still recall monsters mistaking us for sisters. This is not fair. I like my unlife and I do not want to give it up, but can I really allow another monster, especially one whom I consider a friend, to take over duties, obligations and responsibilities that were meant for me? I ran once. I am not sure that I can do that again.