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boxofbonesfic · 3 years

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Pattycakes (Chapter 7)

Title: Pattycakes

Summary: Like they say, it really does just take one time... Patricia Hodgins knows that better than anyone. She’s got even worse luck when it comes to her child’s father: Billionaire playboy Thor Odinson. He’s selfish and manipulative; and Patty’s not sure which outcome frightens her more—killing him or letting him worm his way into her heart.

Pairing: Thor x Black OFC

Rating: Explicit

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5// Chapter 6//

Warnings: Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Mildly dubious consent, Breeding Kink, Age Difference (significant but not extreme), Stalking (light stalking though lol), Past Relationships, Class drama, Dad!Thor, Character improvement

A/N: Finally we’re caught up! This is the most current chapter up on both A03 and here, so now... we wait, haha. Comments, reblogs and replies are always welcome! Specific warnings for homophobia in this chapter, so please be advised!

This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! 😘

🍼

Chapter 7: All fall down

Shit hits the fan for Thor and he is forced to make a difficult choice, and Patty finds empathy where she thought she had none.

I didn’t know Thor had a brother. There wasn’t much resemblance, other than the haughty attitude they seemed to share, Patricia thought dryly, watching Loki move about the apartment with a familiarity that spoke truth to his claims. He seated himself at the kitchen island, and glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Come, sit. Unless you’d like to stay there, I suppose.” His drawl was shockingly familiar, and Patty couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Yep. Definitely brothers. They looked nothing alike, but it was impossible to hide the haughtiness that she was now certain had to run in the family.

Patricia padded across the living room, giving him a wide berth before climbing onto the stool opposite his, across the table. “I didn’t know Thor had a brother.” She repeated her thought, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Loki chuckled.

“Oh? What do you know?” He asked, cocking his head at Patty. Is this a trick question? She thought to herself, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Loki.

“I know you’re probably not happy he’s attempting to slum it with me,” She retorted, and a wide grin spread across his features. “Though that would make two of us.”

He barked out a laugh, tilting his head back. “Funny. Thor said you were… spirited.” Patty frowned. Something told her “spirited” wasn’t the word he’d used. Patricia watched as Loki got up from the island to pour himself a drink, draining the last of what she’d noted looked to be Thor’s favorite whiskey. I wonder if Thor will be pissed he drank him dry. He didn’t throw any ice in it, unlike his brother. “And for the record, I never said he was slumming it.”

“Respectfully, it’s hard to feel that way when you find out your child’s father has been hiding your existence because of the expectations his family wants him to meet,” Patricia fired back, her ire sparked at the memory of Thor’s callous words. Loki sighed.

“At least he was honest.” Patricia opened her mouth to release another quick-fire retort, but Loki held up a hand. “I didn’t say he was right. Our father has had our lives planned out for us since before we had conscious thought, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to disappoint him.”

Am I a disappointment? Patricia thought to herself, squeezing her hands together. It shouldn’t have mattered what his family thought of her—especially since it wasn’t like they were married or anything—but it did. Knowing that Amelia’s own grandfather would rather she not exist wasn’t exactly comforting or welcoming, either.

“If he thinks my daughter is a disappointment, it’s his loss.” She said fiercely, clenching her fists.

“Speaking of which, where is my niece?” He asked, cocking his head.

“Sleeping. Good thing too, or she’d talk your ear off.” Patty said dryly. I also don’t want her hearing about how her own family doesn’t want her, so there’s that. “Though she’ll probably be up soon looking for a snack,” She replied, eyeing the clock.

“May I be blunt?” Loki asked, swirling the amber liquid around his glass, though his icy eyes remained locked on Patty’s face.

“I don’t think I could stop you.”

He chuckled again. “With a mouth like that, I can see why he likes you. I never thought the airheaded barbies were much his type.” He took another sip of whiskey. “How do you like living here? Is it better than your apartment?”

Not this fucking shit again. “Oh yeah. I love it. Especially the part where your brother threatened legal action against me if I didn’t move in. We’re all one big, happy family.” She snapped sarcastically. She was tired of Thor’s—and now Loki’s—insinuations that she was hanging around for money, especially when it hadn’t even been her idea to move in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” His voice was smooth and buttery, and Patty might have thought the apology was genuine if not for the gleam in his eye that said he would be filing that information away for later. “I take it things are… complicated.” He raised a brow. “Legal action? Now that I didn’t know.”

Patricia let out a sharp laugh. “That’s one way to say it.” She ran a hand through her curly hair. “Has he always been this selfish, or is this a new development?” Patricia asked snarkily. Loki shrugged.

“We all have our flaws.” He fixed her with another piercing stare. “I’m sure you realize we didn’t have the easiest childhood.” Patty snorted. It was obvious that Thor had more than a few complexes that she was sure therapy would assist with, but she couldn’t imagine someone who came from such opulence ever having struggled with anything. It was clear from his expression that Loki had gleaned her opinions without even asking. “Money doesn’t solve everything, you know.”

Suddenly she felt guilty. Patricia didn’t really know much about Thor, his past, his family… She knew nothing. If she thought about it, she was sure she could recall a few tabloid headlines featuring their family, but he’d not been particularly forthcoming with information. “Sorry, you’re right. It’s just… I mean look at him. He walks around like the sun shines out of his asshole, and he pisses gold,” Patricia muttered. “It’s a little difficult to imagine.”

“We were children once too, you know.” Loki replied dryly, raising an eyebrow at her. “Though I won’t disagree with you about his attitude, I’m always telling him it needs work.” He half murmured the last half to himself, before his bright eyes lit on Patty again. “With a father like ours, I’m surprised he didn’t turn out to be more of a narcissist.”

Patricia looked down at the countertop, embarrassed. Now she wondered what Thor’s childhood had been like—from Loki’s words, it seemed difficult. “And you?”

He grinned wolfishly, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I’m the spare.” Patty couldn’t keep the shock from her expression at his words. “Third in line, I inherit the keys to the kingdom, but only if Thor dies,” he made a slicing motion across his neck that made Patricia frown, “or gets disowned.”

She furrowed her brows. “Third? Another brother?” She asked, and he shook his head.

“Sister, actually.”

He didn’t seem keen on coming forward with more information, though Patricia could see he knew she was curious. He was playing with her, she realized. He’d come to meet her, size her up, and Patty didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t have any intention of being part of Thor’s life in any meaningful way—well, besides being the mother of his child, anyway. But Loki didn’t seem convinced of that, his eyes tracking every nervous movement she made.

“Where is she?” Patricia asked. Loki couldn’t hide the smirk playing at the edges of his lips. He looked as though he was trying to decide whether to leave more breadcrumbs or not, when a small voice surprised them, making him snap his head to the side as Patricia jumped.

“Mommy who this?” Amelia was rubbing her eyes tiredly, clutching her stuffed elephant tightly in one hand. Patricia rose from the table, stroking a hand over her daughter’s head before hefting her onto one hip. Amelia was always cranky after naps, and this time was no different. She clung to Patricia, eyeing Loki suspiciously as she popped a thumb into her mouth.

“This is Loki, sweetheart. He’s Thor’s brother..” Amelia’s eyes brightened as she turned to Loki.

“Door is my friend too!” She said excitedly, giggling. “We family.” She said decisively, and Patricia started, her eyebrows rising up to meet her hairline. Loki was silent, observing Amelia with a calculating gaze. It was like he hadn’t believed she was really real until she was sat in front of him.

“Nice to meet you, Amelia.” He said after a moment. Amelia picked up a few discarded crayons and went to work on the coloring book she’d left on the table, still sitting in Patricia’s lap. “Gods, she looks just like him.”

Patty rolled her eyes. “I’m so sick of hearing that,” She groused. Loki laughed.

“Oh?”

“I mean…” She sighed frustratedly before checking that Amelia was sufficiently distracted. “I kept her out of his life. I figured… He didn’t want or need us around. It’s not like we even get along, for chrissakes.” She toyed with one of Amelia’s braids as she colored. “It’s like cruel irony that she’s his spitting image.” Patricia knew that Amelia looked like her, too; they had the same nose, the same rounded cheeks and heart shaped mouth. But those damn eyes , sitting just above her father’s same sculpted cheekbones still screamed her parentage to anyone who was willing to listen.

“Our family does have rather… dominant genes.” Loki said sheepishly. He watched her coloring, with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. “Do you like coloring, Amelia?”

“Oh yes!” She answered, slapping her little palms on the table as she leaned over to talk to her uncle. “I like purple.” He chuckled, nodding.

“I like purple too. Color of royalty, you know.” Amelia’s eyes widened at his words.

“Princess?” She asked, her little mind going straight to Disney. “Like Elsa?”

“Yes, Princes and Kings and Queens all used to wear purple a long, long time ago.” Her eyes widened with wonder, and Patricia hid a laugh. I’ll be buying purple everything for a long ass time, thanks Loki. “It showed everyone they were important.”

Patricia still wasn’t sure about Loki, but it was kind of cute watching him chat with Amelia, despite him needing to curb his cursing while he spoke. He seemed nice, but Patricia had worked with enough rich, spoiled assholes to know a facade when she saw one. This was an information gathering session, though to what end she wasn’t sure.

“Low-key, I show you my room now,” Amelia declared, clamoring down out of Patty’s lap and waving her little hand impatiently at him. Loki glanced at Patricia, who held her hands up as though there was nothing to be done.

“You heard the lady.”

Amelia tugged on his hand, leading him up the stairs to her bedroom. “See my books?” She said, pointing excitedly at the fairytale decorated bookshelf in the corner. Patricia remained in the hallway, listening to Amelia spout random information about her bedroom as Loki did his best to respond accordingly. The men in this family do not know shit about kids, she thought with a giggle. Amelia was busily showing him her horses, and Patricia stifled another laugh as she demanded he make them gallop the right way.

“Like dis, Low-key,” She said seriously, her little brows furrowed.

“Oh, yes, right,” He said, before awkwardly rocking the horse’s plastic hooves across the floor. “Like this?”

“Yeah!”

Loki waited until Amelia was sufficiently immersed in the world of horses before attempting to slip from the room.

“You were right about my ears,” Loki muttered, joining Patty in the hallway.

“You get used to it,” Patricia said, smiling softly as she glanced at her daughter. “The toddler babble was a pretty fun stage too. You do get a break, it’s just when she’s asleep.” She laughed. “The world’s your oyster then.”

Loki inclined his head, looking across the hallway at Thor’s bedroom, before flashing a cheeky wink and smile at Patty. “I’m sure those hours are priceless.” Patricia sputtered, her cheeks heating.

“I don’t—! I mean, we aren’t—Thor and me—we’re not together. Like that.” The apex of her thighs pulsed in disagreement, and she hoped her face didn’t show the uncertainty she felt. Loki hit her with another knowing grin, and Patty knew her expression had betrayed her.

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean to assume,” He purred. His tone belied his words, but Patricia was too flustered to say anything about it. It was evening now, and the massive windows all around the apartment all depicted the same scene—the sun lowering itself over Central Park, the buildings glittering gold in the light. Patty found herself wondering where Thor was—where he’d rushed off to in such a hurry. It hadn’t sounded good. She wasn’t sure why that made her so anxious, after all it wasn’t like it was her problem, per-say. Leaving Amelia playing in her room, Patricia and Loki made their way back downstairs.

“Any particular reason you and Thor aren’t… together like that?” Loki asked draining the last of the liquor from the glass he’d left and depositing it into the sink. Patricia had been in the process of sitting down, but his question made her back go straight and tense. Loki made his way back to the table ,his face the picture of innocence and concern, though Patricia could see the interested gleam in his eye.

“We just aren’t.” She said, her tone coming out shorter than she’d meant it to. “I mean, it’s not like I’m the only one.” If she was honest with herself—and she really didn’t want to be—she was a little jealous, though she would die if Thor ever found that out. “I mean, he practically had to break off an engagement because he moved us in here without telling Idunn anything.”

“Well you certainly are now.” Loki replied dryly. Patricia started. What? She’d assumed he’d been done with the busty blonde, but… she’d never thought Thor was even capable of staying true to a single partner at a time. She swallowed thickly, not wanting to think about what that meant for their relationship. Goddammit Patty, you don’t have a relationship. “Much to my father’s chagrin, I might add, considering how much he had riding on what would have been a complete sham of a marriage.”

Patricia felt lead settle uncomfortably in her stomach. She didn’t want to talk about the complexities of Thor’s romantic entanglements with not only her, but other women. It was making her uneasy—and it was disrupting the image she had of him in her head, something that wouldn’t be helpful if she wanted to continue hating him.

“So… you just decided to visit while your brother was out?” Patricia wheedled, deftly switching the subject. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he was watching her thoughtfully. It was clear that being around Amelia had put a few cracks in his mask, and she was as eager to peek underneath it as he was to see under hers. Loki quirked an eyebrow at her, and Patricia knew her fishing attempt had been spotted a mile away.

“You know Thor’s quite good at only painting half of the picture.” Patty found herself wondering exactly what Thor had told Loki about her and Amelia. He’d done a fairly good job at keeping the two halves of his life from meeting, she noted sourly, thinking of Idunn.

“What picture did he paint for you?” She asked, and Loki grinned.

“Oh, he said you were quite difficult.” Patty couldn’t help but laugh. Of course he’d say that—only because she refused to just roll over for him half the time. “Though I take that with quite a large grain of salt.”

“Was he always like this? I mean, I’m just curious.” It was hard for Patricia to imagine Thor as anything other than the large, intimidating man he was now. Though she knew, logically that he had to have at least been a child, it was still hard to picture. He was so… closed off. The only time he truly seemed passionate or involved was when he was trying to stuff her guts absolutely full of himself. She blushed a little at the thought.

“No. Haven’t you seen any baby pictures? He had the fattest cheeks.” Loki replied, scoffing as Patty grinned at the thought of a red-faced, chubby cheeked baby Thor. Had he looked like Amelia? “No, our father wasn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with, and when mother died…” Loki grimaced. “I’m the spare, you see.” He said, gesturing to himself. Patty felt discomfort settle in her stomach. She couldn’t imagine telling Amelia something like that. “So I had a bit more leeway, but Thor had to be positively perfect all the time.”

“And your sister?” Patricia asked, remembering his mention of her earlier. Now that the barrell had been pried open, she couldn’t help but lean in and poke around. Thor told her so little about himself, she couldn’t help but be ravenously curious. “

“Hela? Odin disowned her.” Loki answered easily. “I never met her.”

Patricia shuddered. That was no way for a child to grow up. Thor’s visceral reaction to her keeping Amelia from him suddenly started to make just a bit more sense. He was such a control freak, which made sense considering he seemed to have very little of it growing up. Loki shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.” She said, patting his hand in an attempt to comfort him. He gave her a small smile in return.

“Not at all. If anything, I’m sure I’ve given you two plenty to discuss.” He replied knowingly. Patricia’s face warmed. Had it been that obvious? He’d offered her a tantalizing look into Thor’s past—hell, his mind . And that was invaluable, especially when he regularly brought her to the verge of frustrated tears. Patty watched him get his shoes on, slipping his arms back through the sleeves of his snappy dress-coat.

“Patricia, may I offer you a bit of advice?” He asked, punching the elevator button.

“I didn’t ask for any,” Patty replied flatly. “But I’ll take any you have to give. With a grain of salt,” She added, and he smirked.

“Funny.”

“What is it?” She asked, leaning against the wall. Loki laughed.

“I like you. Don’t let Thor walk all over you, hmm? He’ll do it if you let him.”

The elevator doors closed, leaving Patricia alone again. She leaned her head back against the wall with a soft THUMP .

“This is going to be the longest three years of my life.”

Patricia moved through the apartment, her ears perked for any sign that Amelia might be getting into things she wasn’t supposed to, picking up stray toys and cleaning up. Thor had a cleaning woman that came through a few times a week, and though Patty had argued with him about it—bitterly—he’d refused to budge. They were both adults, completely capable of cleaning up after themselves, but Thor was about six times as obstinate as Amelia, with a temper to match.

Still, Patty felt bad about leaving her too many messes to clean up. “Fish, it’s bath-time!” She called up the stairs, cradling an armful of Amelia’s stuffed animals, plus a coloring book or two. “You ready?” Amelia gave an answering shout that probably meant the affirmative as Patty climbed the stairs. Amelia was still in her room, apparently having a battle royale with her horses and dolls. She made a loud explosion sound as she crashed them into each other. Patty folded up her blankets, and neatly arranged her stuffed animals on the bed before making her way over to Amelia.

“Hey Melly-belly. Did you hear me?” She asked, settling herself onto the plush, pink rug where Amelia was playing. Her daughter snuck a crafty look up at her mother’s face.

“No?” Patricia couldn’t help but laugh at the flimsy lie.

“Bzzt. Wrong answer. It’s bath time, fish. Don’t wanna be stinky, right?” She grabbed Amelia, tickling her belly and under her arms until she shrieked with laughter. “My goodness, you’re gonna melt off Thor’s nose when he comes home, with those stinky feet.” Amelia giggled harder, waving her feet in Patricia’s face as they play-wrestled. “Ready?”

“Okay, mommy.”

Patricia filled up the tub, making sure the water wasn’t too hot before she added a few bubbles, and began to detangle Amelia’s hair as she played in the water.

“I like Low-key, Mommy.” She said, looking up at Patricia.

“Yeah? You do?” She asked, cupping water in her hands and gently pouring it over Amelia’s head, careful not to get it in her eyes. Her chest constricted nervously. “I’m glad you like him. That… that’s your uncle, you know. Uncle Loki.” Amelia released the toy tug-boat she’d been playing with to fix Patty with a confused look.

“Uncle?”

“Yes, baby. Like Auntie Wanda and Auntie America.” She took a deep breath, her hands clutching the edge of the tub so hard she thought the porcelain might break. “And Thor… You said we were a family, Mels.” Amelia nodded vigorously. “And you know all families are different.”

“Yes, mommy.”

God, why was this so hard? Patricia swallowed thickly. Just say it. Rip off the fucking bandaid. “Thor is your daddy, sweetheart. That’s why Loki is your uncle.”

Amelia’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Door my daddy?” She repeated, and Patricia could see the gears whirring in her mind as she slotted that information in. Patty fought to keep her voice from trembling.

“Yes, baby. He is.”

— —

“I’ve never been more disappointed in you.” Thor tried not to flinch as his father threw the phone at him. It slid down the table so fast he almost didn’t catch it. The screen was bright and unlocked, and Thor swallowed thickly at seeing the bright, eye catching font at the top of the article.

Odinson knocks up mistress! Fiancee speaks out!

“Father, I—”

“Of all of the stupid, irresponsible things you could have done,” He barked, cutting Thor’s explanation short. “This is the worst.” He steepled his fingers, resting them against his head. Thor flexed his hands against the armrests, torn between childish groveling, and burning anger at the insult. “Ungrateful,” He seethed, slamming a fist against his desk. “I should have made you marry her years ago.” He muttered.

“Ah, yes, because marrying Idunn would solve this.” Thor spat, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He could still fix this, still spin it right if they worked fast enough. Idunn’s really outdone herself this time. He thought venomously, remembering their last conversation. The idea of marrying that shrilling harpy was enough to turn Thor’s stomach on a good day.

“Yes, it would.” Odin snapped, his voice like thunder. “Marry her.” His voice held an air of finality that Thor was all too familiar with. He was too old for Odin to raise a fist to him now, but much to his shame, somewhere inside of him was still the boy he’d punished for crying too much, for being too needy, for showing too much emotion. “Do you know what I promised? What I agreed to, to bring Njord into the fold, you selfish child?” He hissed.

“Oh that’s rich,” Thor replied. “You’re going to lecture me on selfishness. How many mistresses have you paid off, again?” Thor didn’t want to hear about the promises he’d made to other, equally old, equally wealthy men so that he could build his empire. Thor’s marriage certificate had already been practically notarized by the time he’d graduated college, though he’d never agreed to it.

“None of mine ever got pregnant and made the tabloids.” His father fixed him with a cold glare. “I don’t care if you love her. I don’t even care if you fuck her—hell, you’ll adopt the other brat if that’s what we have to do, but you will marry her, since it’s far too late for you to do the right thing and get rid of it.”

Thor’s jaw tightened. Of course he would say that—he’d coerced more mistresses into abortions than he could probably remember. “Don’t talk about Amelia that way.” Thor felt hot, protective anger rise in him.

“Or what? What will you do?” Odin spat, his chest shaking with laughter. “Will you leave like your sister? Good riddance, I’d be glad to be rid of you and all your mistakes.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I’m not bargaining with you, Thor.”

His entire life, he’d let Odin call all of the shots. It was better that way, he’d been convinced, because if he didn’t live by his father’s rules, he’d be cut off. Cut out. Hela was evidence of this—if he could push away his own firstborn, he could and would do it to any of them. Thor had never entertained thoughts of a loving parental relationship—all of Odin’s children were means to an end. Bargaining chips to be used at the greatest opportunities. That’s what his marriage to Idunn would be—an opportunity. But not for him, no. For Odin.

Idunn’s father, Njord, was the majority shareholder of their biggest rival. They’d struck a bargain—Idunn marries Thor, Njord gives Odin the shares, everyone is happy.

Except me.

“I’m not marrying Idunn.” Thor spoke slowly, his voice hard. This, he wouldn’t give.

“Then we have nothing left to talk about. I hope Loki has a place for you at Mjolnir when he gets it, because I certainly don’t.” Thor felt like someone had gut punched him. His entire life had been spent preparing for the day the company would be his—granted, that day hadn’t come nearly as soon as Thor had hoped it would, but still.

“What?” He stared at Odin, who regarded him coldly, unblinkingly, as though he were a stranger. Is this how he’s always looked at me? “You’re fucking joking.” The curse slipped out of his mouth unbidden. Patricia is rubbing off on me. “You’re a vampire.” Thor snapped, straightening his jacket. He’d never really thought about the analogy before it popped out of his mouth, but it was true. Odin was a parasite, latching onto people more capable, and controlling them. Once he had been a great man, there was no doubt about that. But those days were long gone, and the man before him was just a cruel reminder.

“What did you say, boy?” He narrowed his eyes, and Thor could only imagine the punishments and curses swirling behind them.

“You’re a goddamn vampire.” Thor hissed, placing his hands down on the desk as he loomed over his father. “You suck everyone around you dry. Me—I’ve been working for this goddamn company since I was sixteen, greasing deals for you, running interference. I hand picked our software engineers. Hell, I know more about half of the programming for the Stark project than they do.” He couldn’t stop.

“Mother—gods, you know, I think mother died just because she couldn’t stand to be married to someone so miserable and dead inside for one more damn minute. Hela. It’s no wonder you’re all alone.” He seethed. How dare he—he’d given up the best years of his life for his father. His own dreams—gone. And he’d weathered it all, repeating the mantra he’d been taught ever since he was young. Father knows best. Father knows what’s right. But he didn’t, did he? He didn’t know shit.

“We’ll see who’s alone. You’ll be begging me for my help, just like your dyke sister.” Odin spat. “Go clean out your office before I decide to have security escort you out.”

“If I go, Steve goes, you know that don’t you?” Thor replied, leaning heavily over the desk. “Are you willing to lose him too?” The look on Odin’s face said that he was.

“Be glad I don’t make you empty your accounts here and now, boy.” He sneered. “Otherwise we both know you’d really be in trouble. Go see what the world thinks of you without me. Without my money and my business behind you. I think the papers are going to read a lot worse than “knocked up whore” , don’t you?”

Thor moved without thinking, his body acting completely without the permission or direction of his brain. In fact, he didn’t even realize he’d punched Odin until he was standing over the old man, breathing heavily. They were both big men, but age had withered his father, though he was still a force to be reckoned with. Odin, for his part, still glared at him icily, though his cheek was deep red, and a thin line of blood trickled from his nose.

“I never thought you’d have the balls, but it seems like they just dropped.” He grunted, wiping the blood from his face lazily with the back of his hand. “Get the fuck out. Before I throw you out.”

He sat back in his chair, clearly done with the conversation now. Thor was reeling. Where was Loki? Did he know? God, where the fuck was Steve? He needed to talk to him before his father dug his claws in. Thor stormed down the halls, uncaring of who saw him. It didn’t matter, none of it did. Close to twenty years of work, building—all gone.

All for them.

His daughter, her mother… He wasn’t willing to give this time. Everything else that Odin had wanted of him, he’d given him. Make the right friends. Fuck the right women. Grease the right palms. He was sick of it—and this marriage, this…business partnership that he wanted him to enter into with Idunn—he couldn’t do it.

Not when it would almost certainly mean he would never see Amelia again. Not having Patricia was bad enough, but he would never be the father that Odin was. He would never abandon Amelia, not for money, not for anything. Thor threw open the doors to his large office, striding inside. He began emptying out all of his desk drawers, feverishly grabbing every and anything that was important. He could understand Patricia’s staunch, possessive declarations now.

She’s mine, my daughter!

Thor wasn’t really a planner—he flew by the seat of his pants more often than not. But he knew he needed one now, and fast. If he didn’t move quickly, his life would come crashing down around his ears, more than it was already. There would be nothing worse than Odin being right. He had more than enough money in his accounts to coast for a while—money he’d earned, despite what Odin seemed to think his work was worth.

He clenched his jaw angrily. A knock sounded against the doorframe, startling him, and Thor looked up to see Steve standing there.

“Bad time?” He asked, looking around curiously. The usually immaculate office was a wreck, papers scattered everywhere. Steve raised a concerned eyebrow, and Thor felt his eyes narrow.

“My father fired me.” He said flatly. “I’ve got nothing but fucking time.”

Steve looked taken aback. “No. He wouldn’t have. Are you serious?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What, you haven’t read the news?” Thor asked tiredly. “Odinson knocks up mistress , I think is the title, but I can’t remember.”

“I’m not one for tabloids myself.” He replied, stepping inside. “I thought he wanted grandchildren.”

The thought made Thor laugh out loud. Odin had barely wanted children . He’d simply had them out of either narcissism or necessity, Thor wasn’t quite sure which. “Not this one.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’d think all of the money I made him would have factored in, but no. All he sees are mistakes. ” He said scathingly. Steve sat down across from him. They’d known each other since college, though Thor had practically poached him from Stark Industries when they’d graduated.

“I’m just a poor kid from Brooklyn,” He started, and Thor snorted.

“Not so poor anymore, kid. ” He laughed. “I write your paychecks.”

“Well I was. ” Steve cleared his throat. “You don’t need your family to make something of yourself, you know. You can do that all on your own.” He leaned forward, a small smirk on his face. “So what’s the plan? Are you going to start your own company now, or what? How long till I hand in my resignation?”

Thor’s mouth dropped open. He’d never really considered that before. His whole life he’d been training for the day his father’s tech company would finally be his. Starting his own had never really been on the to-do list. He wouldn’t see any of the payoff for the Stark deal, though he’d practically engineered it. But he knew all the right investors, all the right backers.

All he needed was the right idea.

Suddenly, getting fired didn’t seem so bad, though being possibly disowned still hurt deeply.

“Give me a month.”

“You got it, boss.”

Thor resumed clearing out everything he needed from his now defunct office. He wiped the computer, putting all of his files on a thumb drive that he slipped into his pocket. When he exited, the big security guard from downstairs was waiting for him.

“Emilio.”

“Hey boss. I’m sorry I gotta do this… Big boss asked me to walk you out, man.” Thor wanted to curse, but he held it in. Making a scene wouldn’t help. He hadn’t even read the tabloids yet, he didn’t think he wanted more articles pouring out about his family. The only small consolation was knowing that Odin was just as steamed about it as he was.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He ignored the stares and whispers from the few of his former employees that were in on the weekend as he made his way to the elevator. He punched the button harder than necessary, his mouth set into a grim line. On the scale of how he’d thought this would go, it had been much worse than he’d feared.

Punching the old man had felt good—better than he’d anticipated. Years of pent up frustration at being pushed around had been released with a single blow. His car was in the parking lot, and Thor threw the box into the back seat—next to Amelia’s car seat. Despite his anger, the thought of her made him smile.

At least he had that to look forward to.

When he got back to the apartment, he sat in the parking garage, wondering what he would tell Patricia. Did she even care? It was hard to imagine she did, with how he’d

been treating her. He grimaced. Maybe he was more like Odin than he’d thought. It was easy to justify pushing her around and forcing her decisions when he was angry with her—was he even still angry? Thor scrubbed a tired hand down his face. He knew he wanted her. Wanted her enough to forsake damn near everything.

Family was a joke concept to Thor—sure, he had people he was related to, but… People he would sacrifice for? People who he felt deeply for? The closest anyone came was Loki, and he was always on thin ice. But with Patricia… There was warmth at her core, and it drew him like a moth. He couldn’t help but covet her, even though he’d given her more than enough reasons to despise him. If he could have locked her and Amelia up and kept them for himself, he would have.

Was that family?

His father’s hateful words rang in his ears.

You’ll be begging me, just like your dyke sister.

Thor grimaced. He’d never sought Hela out, as per his father’s instructions. She isn’t family, Thor. He’d told him. She’s a leech. A waste. He chuckled darkly. Perhaps he was saying the same thing about Thor now, to whoever would listen. Odin had all but erased his sister’s presence from their lives—no pictures of her remained around the massive family estate, and her room was just one of many now.

Thor fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. There were several texts from Idunn from much earlier in the evening, when he’d first left his apartment. Threats mostly, which he hadn’t bothered reading. She’d insisted she was going to his father at the office, to tell him everything unless he agreed to ��hold up his end of the bargain”. Idunn wasn’t particularly clever, but like all spoiled girls, she had a penchant for vengeance. He went to his web browser, and googled the tabloid title.

Immediately, articles began popping up. It was impossible to find the original one, they all seemed to feed off of one another, remixing the same words and images endlessly. He pulled one up, and when it loaded, he growled with anger. At the top was a picture of the three of them; Thor in his casual attire, with Amelia on his shoulders. Patricia was next to them, smiling up at him. Funny, he hadn’t noticed that while they’d been there. Despite the circumstances, a small smile found its way to his lips. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Patty to look at him like that.

Probably why she did it when I wasn’t looking.

He hadn’t noticed anyone following them at the zoo, but as he scrolled through the articles, it was obvious that someone had been. There were pictures of them at several different exhibits, walking around, holding hands… He clenched his fist so hard he heard his phone creak in his hand. He usually didn’t need to avoid paparazzi—he wasn’t a high profile target, and his family didn’t usually have scandals.

A source close to Odinson reports that he began the affair over three years ago, choosing not to end it when he began his relationship with model Idunn Njordsdottir. Sources report she is heartbroken; reconciliation may not be on the table for this power couple!

“Power couple?” He said aloud, disbelief coloring his voice. As far as he’d been concerned, Idunn had been a convenient piece of ass that no one could be angry at him for cozying up to. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the “sources” were just Idunn herself. He angrily stowed the device back in his pocket, scoffing as he did so.

Deciding that he would deal with the box tomorrow, Thor exited the car slowly and heaved a heavy sigh. It was evening now, Amelia would be getting ready for bed. He headed out of the parking garage, and up into the lobby for the elevator.

He wasn’t used to feeling so heavy—usually his responsibilities began and ended at himself and the things he needed. Now, he felt… pressure. He had to provide for Amelia, for Patricia, even though she clearly thought she had it handled. Thor exited the elevator into the entryway of the apartment. It was relatively quiet—either Amelia was already in bed, or close to it. He kicked off his shoes, uncaring of whether he was scuffing them or not, and hung up his jacket on one of the coat hooks.

“Daddy!”

Thor felt his chest constrict as Amelia bounded toward him, tangling herself in his legs. “Door, I miss you,” She said excitedly, gazing up at him adoringly. “Mommy say I can wait for Daddy to come home.” Daddy. Patricia had told her. It felt like he’d been waiting an eternity to hear her call him that, though it had only been a month. He’d never been allowed to call Odin anything less than father. It made him feel… special. Thor leaned down to scoop her up into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“We’ll have to tell mommy thank you for letting you stay up, hmm?”

Patty was in the kitchen, holding a steaming mug of tea as she flipped through a magazine. “Look what the cat dragged in,” She greeted him, though there was no real bite in it. “You back from your adventure?”

“Did you two have fun while I was gone?” He asked, avoiding her question. He didn’t want to talk about that now, and especially not in front of Amelia. Patricia snorted.

“Fun? Your brother came by.” She said, and he felt his stomach drop. Goddamn it Loki! He could never leave well enough alone.

“Ah.”

“Yep.”

“I like uncle Low-key,” Amelia chimed in. “He have pretty hair.”

“He did have pretty hair, didn’t he?” Patricia asked, laughing a little. She took another sip from her mug and set it down. “Alright, miss missy. We made a deal, you get to stay up until Th— daddy comes home, and then you go to bed, remember?” Amelia’s wide smile morphed quickly into an angry pout as she cast a sly look up at her father, her lip trembling.

“B-but, but—” Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes and she sniffled. “Wanna stay up with Door.” She whined, crossing her little arms. Thor caved immediately, glancing over at Patricia.

“Maybe we can just have ten more minutes?”

Patty glowered at him. “Thor…”

He winced. “Sorry babes. It looks like it really is bedtime.” Amelia let out a frustrated growl that reminded him sorely of himself, before kicking her legs. He released her, and she ran between Patricia’s legs, glaring at him for his betrayal. “Amelia. Bedtime.” He repeated, his voice sterner than usual. The act stopped immediately, and she scuffed her foot against the floor.

“Okay, daddy.” The two of them walked her up to bed, and Thor watched Patricia read her a story, noting that she had a special voice for each character. He laughed inwardly. He’d have to copy that. When she was finally asleep, they padded out of her bedroom on silent feet, closing the door gently behind them.

“Thank you.” He said suddenly, and Patricia raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“You told her.”

Patricia looked away, embarrassed. “Yeah, well. I said I was going to.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “One less thing you can use against me in court.” Her tone was jokey, but he could tell there was some meaning behind her words.

“I’m not taking you to court, Patricia.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the bannister. “Oh?” Her expression was suspicious.

“I would never take Amelia away from you.” He swallowed thickly. It was hard to be vulnerable, but he was trying. For once, thor didn’t have the energy to keep the ice wall up. “Just as I hope you won’t take her from me.” He could see she was taken aback by his words.

“I, um… I mean she loves you. She’d never forgive me,” Patricia replied, clearing her throat and looking anywhere but at him. Unable to help himself, Thor goaded her, grinning.

“I’m sure you would miss me too much.”

“One does miss a proverbial hole in the head.” She fired back. Patricia sighed. “What’s this all about? Did something happen? I mean I know we’re not friends , but…” She motioned with her hands. “Is this something we should sit down for, or what?”

Thor gaped at her. “You… want to talk to me?” He asked incredulously. Almost every interaction he’d had with Patricia had been forced by him, so he couldn’t help his surprise that she was actually volunteering to listen to him whine. Especially when she consistently—loudly—reminded him that he had no “real” problems. Her nut brown cheeks darkened.

“I—well. Look, we’re coparenting, so… your problems are my problems too. Within reason,” She added quickly. It seemed as though each of them were holding out an olive branch, and Thor sincerely hoped Patricia was willing to take his.

Thor motioned to his bedroom, and Patricia stopped short, glaring at him. “Are we actually going to talk, or are you just trying to fuck me again?” She asked, crossing her arms. I see where Amelia gets it.

“I just want to talk.” Though I’m making no promises about after…

Patty settled herself on his bed while he pulled the door closed behind him, leaving it open just a crack. He sat next to her, resting his arms on his thighs. She looked at him insistently, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“What happened today?” She asked, and Thor exhaled heavily.

“My father fired me today.” He half expected her to bark out a laugh at him, but when no biting retort came, he looked up at her through the curtain of his hair. Her face was sympathetic, and she placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” She furrowed her brows. “Why would he do that? I mean… aren’t you close?” Thor fixed her with a puzzled look. “I mean you’re in the office all the time, so it’s not like you’re not working.”

“I don’t think you’re grasping the severity of the situation.” He said gruffly, watching as Patty rolled her eyes.

“Then help me grasp it. You’re not telling me anything.” Thor ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“You know who I am, yes?” He asked, and she nodded. “I’ve told you before, my family wants certain things from me. Well, my father did. I… I love Amelia. I wouldn’t change her for anything,” Thor began explaining, but he watched Patricia’s expression sour as his meaning became clearer. “But my father…”

“I get it, we’re garbage.” She said angrily. “Loki just about said as much earlier.” She looked crestfallen for a moment, before the anger returned.

“I didn’t say that. I would never say that.” Thor placed a hand on her thigh, and Patricia’s gaze snapped back up to his sharply. “Loki better not have said it either,” He growled. “You are not garbage. Our daughter is not garbage. Don’t ever say that again.” He clenched his fists angrily. “Tell me, what else did Loki say?” He narrowed his eyes—Loki was always doing that, stirring up trouble where there was already too much strife.

“He told me about Hela.” She said, her voice soft. “I didn’t know you had an older sister.”

Guilt settled in his stomach at the thought of her. He wondered how he’d just… put her out of his thoughts for so many years. And to learn that she’d come back, asking for help and been denied made his anger at Odin all the more bitter.

“I haven’t seen her since I was eight.” Thor replied. “She left when she was eighteen—wait, no. That’s not right.” He corrected himself. “My father threw her out when I was eight.” Patricia’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.

“What?” She asked, her brows furrowing. “Why?”

“I think… I think he found out she was gay. I suppose it upset some of his plans for her, and…” He trailed off.

“And you haven’t seen her?” There was no accusation in Patricia’s voice, but Thor felt judged anyway. It had to have shown on his face, because she held her hands up placatingly. “I’m just asking, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me, Thor.” She said softly.

“No.” He felt the guilt grow heavier. “I haven’t.” A beat of silence passed between them. Patricia had obviously picked up that this was a sore spot for him, and gave him the grace of changing the subject.

“So your father did the same thing to you.” She looked angry on his behalf, which made the strange, angry tightness in his stomach release, just a little. “Loki already told me your father thinks we’re disappointments.” Patricia said bitterly, a small, dry laugh bubbling from her chest. Thor felt the familiar rage from earlier, and suddenly had the urge to seek out Odin and punch him again. Maybe a few times… The way he’d spoken about Amelia —about Patricia— was unacceptable, and if Odin did it again in his presence, he couldn’t be held liable for what he did.

“Yes.” He admitted, smoothing a tired hand down his face. “But that doesn’t mean he’s right.” He cupped her face gently, forcing her to look at him. “Patricia.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with the emotions she was too goddamn stubborn and ornery to confess. For a moment, he thought he saw affection but it was gone in an instant, replaced by other things.

She looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m just in shock that you actually… chose Amelia over your father. I know that was really hard for you.” Thor nodded. “How… how did he find out if you didn’t tell him?” She asked and Thor swallowed thickly. He’d never been at the center of a media storm like this before, but he did have plenty of experience with bad press.

“Idunn told some tabloids… that I’d gotten my mistress pregnant.” Patricia gasped audibly.

“What?”

“She had someone follow us. She’s probably been having them follow us all week,” Thor said angrily. “They took pictures of us at the zoo, that’s what the magazines are running with.” He watched Patricia fumble her phone out of her pocket.

“What do I search?” She asked flatly, and then shook her head. “Probably just your name,” she muttered. Thor saw the screen of her phone light up with her search results. Patricia scrolled through article after article, the look of abject horror on her face growing the longer she stared at them. Thor finally placed his hand over the screen, stopping her.

“You’re just going to upset yourself.” He said, and she looked up at him with a panicked expression.

“Thor, it’s trending on fucking twitter. ” Her voice cracked. “The things people are saying about me—about Amelia—” She stifled a small sob.

“I know.”

“My parents are going to see this,” She moaned, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyelids, sniffling. “Everyone I know is going to see this!” Thor could practically see her pulse skyrocketing. “What kind of—”

“Idunn is a vapid, greedy harpy, and she’s angry I chose someone else.” Thor replied flatly. “Patricia, look at me. None of that matters.”

“You’re not the one getting called a homewrecker.” She said, crossing her arms stubbornly. “They always hate the women more in these scenarios, Thor. Don’t you know anything about social media?”

“No. I think Loki made me a facebook a few years ago—” Her loud laughter cut him off. “I’m glad that amuses you.”

“It does. It really does.” She heaved another heavy sigh. “I was kind of hoping to break the news to my parents gently myself, but I’m pretty sure they have twitter.” Patricia spat angrily. It was Thor’s turn to laugh derisively.

“You never told them I was Amelia’s father?” He asked, incredulous. Patty glared at him defensively.

“Well it’s not like I ever intended to see you again,” She snapped. “It made sense at the time. Everyone was asking me who the father was, where was he—what was I supposed to say? That my kid’s father tried to pay me for sex?”

Thor held his hands up. “I wasn’t judging.”

“Nobody knows, okay? I didn’t tell anyone, except Wanda and America.” Patricia said sullenly. “I was young, and I made a call based on the information I had available.” She fixed him with a glare. “Besides, I don’t think it’s fair to lecture me about this when it’s your spurned fiancee that made this news.”

Thor supposed she had a point. He couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of Patty flustered—it always did something to him. “Only because I didn’t want to let her and Odin make me the kind of man who abandons his child.”

Patricia laughed dryly. “Trust me, I don’t think anyone in this room would make that assumption about you. I’m just…” She paused, as though she was trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry that was a choice you even had to make.” Thor grasped her hand.

“Amelia is my family.” He said, running the pad of his thumb across her skin. “You’re my family. I chose you, too.” She leaned into his touch, but when he spoke, Patty jerked her head away, her mouth gaping.

“What—what—I don’t, Thor—”

He knew she was on guard, that she’d convinced herself she didn’t want him when he knew she did. “Don’t. I’m not in the mood to stomach a bunch of lies and excuses, Patricia. It’s been a long night.” The way she responded to him, the way her gaze lingered on him when she thought he wouldn’t notice, all of it betrayed her.

She continued to sputter. “Thor, we’re not—!” Patricia took a deep breath. “We have no business being together, and you know it. I’m not doing the fake family thing, it’s not fair to Amelia.” She scooted away from him a little.

“Who says it’s fake?”

“Come on . You can’t really want me. You don’t.”

“You seem so sure. Tell me something else about me, baby.” He purred, enjoying the way her mouth fell open in surprise. “I’m dying to hear more.”

“Thor, b-be realistic,” She said, continuing to put inches of distance between them as he prowled closer. “We hate each other.” Her voice shook, and her expression was wholly unsure. He almost laughed outright—she didn’t hate him, and she knew it too.

“I want you.”

“You just want easy—”

“Stop telling me what I want, Patricia!” He snapped. “You’re the one convinced you’re so far beneath me I could never want you. Perhaps you should consider how hard you’re focusing on something I never said.” He grasped her wrist to stop her from moving. “I couldn’t marry Idunn when all I think about is you.” It looked like his words had stunned her into immobility as he crept closer, pulling Patricia flush against his body. “Your face. Your hands. Your voice. You drive me fucking crazy.” He growled before pressing his hot mouth to her own. She whimpered against him, opening her lips when he swept his tongue against them.

Thor worried her plump bottom lip with his teeth, groaning when her arms wrapped around his neck. Patricia wriggled in his lap, the soft crotch of her leggings pressing hotly against the quickly growing bulge in his jeans. She mewled when he palmed the cheeks of her ass, kneading them roughly in his large hands. “So soft, baby,” He growled against her mouth. “So fucking soft.”

One hand steadied her hip while the other slid between them to slide along the slick seam of her bottoms. She shuddered, her eyes sliding to half mast. “Mmm, Thor,” She moaned his name softly, like a prayer. “I th-thought we were just ta—alking.” There was an accusatory note in her voice, but she ground against his hand, her expression just a little shameful.

“Oh, I’m talking baby.” He said lowly, flicking his thumb against her swollen clit through the fabric of her leggings. “You’re already so swollen,” he murmured, reaching up to tug them down her hips a little. The soft flesh of her vulva made him groan when he traced his fingers over it. “No panties? You’re trying to kill me, Patty.” He growled. A small smirk played at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward, inching them down further until he could see the wet, swollen lips of her pussy just above the elastic band.

“What a way to die.” She said snarkily, and Thor practically threw her onto the bed, and was on her before her body even bounced on the mattress, pulling feverishly at her clothes. He pulled them roughly down her legs, throwing the leggings carelessly to the floor as he slid between her legs. She still held her thighs together tensely.

“Such a pretty pussy,” He murmured, leaving a trail of wet kisses up her inner thigh. He glanced up as embarrassment made its way across Patricia’s face. “Let me see, baby.” He pressed another soft kiss against her trembling thigh as she parted them slowly. His nostrils flared as the slick, swollen petals of her cunt revealed themselves. A broken moan tore itself from his throat as he leaned forward, sliding his tongue against her hungrily. Patty’s hips arced up from the bed, but Thor pressed her down with a firm hand. “Gods you’re so fucking sweet , Patricia.” He rolled his tongue against her throbbing clit, sliding a thick finger into her clenching heat.

“Nnn, oh fuck , Thor—!” She writhed against his face, her thighs closing tightly around his head as she trembled. He forced them apart with a practiced hand as he continued, undaunted. He slid a second finger into her, groaning again at her tightness.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” He panted against her. “If I hadn’t already fucked a baby into you, I’d think you were a goddamn virgin.” She squeezed impossibly tighter around his fingers, almost like her cunt was sucking on them. Thor scraped his teeth against the sensitive skin of her clit, soothing it immediately after with a pass of his tongue.

“Oh God!” She cried, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair as gibberish poured from her kiss swollen lips. “Yes, yes, Thor, please—” Patricia soaked his face as she came, her pussy spasming around his fingers and her hips bucking against his chin. Her body was still trembling as he tore his shirt up over his head, ripping his jeans off with equal fervor. His name on her lips was the best it ever sounded, and Thor had half a mind to forbid anyone else from using it.

His cock was swollen and throbbing, the tip red as precum gathered at the tip. Thor closed his fist around it, thrusting a few times as he smeared it down the base. Patricia watched him, her expression both bashful and hungry at the same time. The button up she wore was half open, another lacy bra gracing her ample breasts. He wanted to see her— all of her.

“Take that off for me, baby.” He gestured at the clothing that still remained. Her moved to undo the buttons slowly, and the small smile on her lips told him it was intentional. He wanted to fuck the defiance out of her, have her wet and needy and begging on his cock. Thor groaned softly as inch after inch of smooth skin was revealed. As Patty reached behind herself to undo her bra, his eyes tracked the movement hungrily. Thor’s patience was wearing thin, and Patricia was tap dancing on his last nerve. His arm shot out, tearing the bra from her body with a sharp snap , and Patricia gasped with surprise.

“Taking too long,” He growled, pulling her toward him with a firm tug. She let out a mewl, arching her hips needily toward him. Thor groaned—he was almost tempted to take a picture, so that the next time Patricia was busily mouthing off about how she didn’t want him, he could remind her of this moment. Her, staring up at him with lidded, lusty eyes, her body spread out deliciously and his for the taking. How could he even think about marrying, about fucking anyone else?

Thor gripped Patty’s hip tightly with one hand and fisted his cock in the other before sliding it through the dripping, petal soft folds of her cunt. He groaned loudly, his head lolling back as he did it again. Her hips bucked against his grip, and the head of his cock popped just inside her hole, her pussy hurriedly squeezing and sucking at it as she writhed like she was trying to force him all the way in without his say so.

A ragged moan tore itself from his throat, and the thin thread of Thor’s self control snapped. He thrust home smoothly, his back going rigid at the feel of her walls milking the turgid length of his cock. She let out a loud cry at his roughness, but her pussy clamped down tightly around him, her back arching.

“Yes!” She gasped, her hands tangling in his hair, nails dragging along his scalp. Thor drew back and thrust in again, feeling the bed shake beneath them. A pleased grin spread across his face at her cries.

“Is it good, baby?” He growled, leaning over Patty’s trembling form. He bent her thighs down to her chest, pressing on them with his hands as he locked her into place. He thrust into her hard, pushing against her cervix with every thrust. “ ‘S like you were made for my cock,” He groaned, dragging his tongue across her lips. Patricia whimpered, her tongue meeting his as he sucked it into his mouth. Thor was dimly aware of the loud, ragged moans tearing themselves from his throat as he laid into her, the slamming of the headboard into the wall, and Patricia’s ever growing cries—but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Let them hear.

“Tell me it’s mine, Patty,” He panted, continuing to fuck into her with wild abandon. Her body was shaking, her hands scrabbling for purchase against his arms, chest and shoulders. She wailed brokenly as his arms locked under her back, pulling her flush against him. This new position forced her to wrap her arms around his neck as Thor lazily moved her trembling back and forth on his cock. “Come on, baby. Say it.” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust, and her legs trembled as an answering gush of wetness soaked his cock.

“N-nnngg —Thor—!” Her nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked into her messy hair. Patricia sobbed against his throat, her teeth bit into his skin. “It’s yours,” She moaned defeatedly, her hips still rocking against him as he fucked her. Patricia’s pussy squeezed tightly around his cock, despite the shamed expression on her beautiful face.

“That’s it baby,” Thor purred roughly, his eyes rolling almost shut with pleasure. “Let go. Fucking cum all over this cock,” He commanded, landing a hard slap against her ass with one hand. She clamped down over him, her body going rigid as a broken curse fell from her lips. She was squeezing him so tight he could hardly move, and Thor roared, his grip on her hips bruisingly tight as he held her to him. His cock jerked inside her, flooding her with jets of his cum.

They panted together for a moment, his hands smoothing over Patricia’s back and running his fingers through her hair. She didn’t try to extricate herself from him immediately, her own hands drawing idle patterns on the slick skin of his shoulders.

“You… have got to stop asking me to agree to things in the middle of sex,” She murmured, and Thor chuckled.

“Stop agreeing to them.”

His cock slipped from her still twitching wet heat, and she laid back against the mattress, exhausted. Thor laid down next to her, his hand smoothing affectionately over her hip. Patricia rested her head against her arm as she regarded him with a serious expression.

“Please don’t make me regret this, Thor.”

Before he could answer, a loud wail interrupted them, along with the jiggling of the bedroom door handle. Patricia bolted upright, snatching up Thor’s discarded shirt with quickness that surprised him as he struggled to fit his feet into the boxer-briefs he’d hurriedly stripped off.

“Mommy!”

Patricia made sure that Thor was dressed with a sidelong glance before speeding over to the door, pulling it open. Amelia was on the other side, one hand clutching her stuffed elephant tightly, and the other rubbing sleepily at her eyes. Slow, fat tears tracked down her little face.

“What’s the matter, babes?” Patty asked concernedly, her hands moving over Amelia’s face and arms, checking her for anything out of place.

“I had bad dreams.” Amelia said, sniffling. She reached her hands up expectantly, and Patricia picked her up, seating her firmly on her hip. Patricia comforted her with soft words, dropping a kiss to her forehead as she cradled Amelia against her body.

“I’m sorry baby. I know that can be really scary sometimes. Why don’t you sleep in here with us, okay?” She asked her, and Amelia sniffled again, her face screwing up in displeasure. She shook her head wildly.

“It smell funny in here, mommy.” Thor stifled a shocked laugh as Patricia’s face went pale. She gaped at her daughter, and then turned to him for help, her mouth moving without sounds. “Don’t like it.”

“Let’s go sleep in mommy’s room, Amelia.” Thor said smoothly. “I’m sure it’s… better in there.”

All three of them climbed into Patty’s bed. Amelia tucked herself into her mother’s arms, and Thor slid in behind them, wrapping his arm around Patty’s waist. They both fell asleep quickly, Amelia babbling quietly as she dreamed. Thor stroked a finger down her chubby cheek, grinning in the dark.

Yes, he thought to himself, pressing a sleepy kiss to the top of Patricia’s head.

This is worth it.

Next Chapter

#dark thor #dark!thor #thor odinson fanfiction #thor odinson #thor x black reader #thor x black ofc #thor x ofc #thor x reader #dark!thor x ofc #black reader #black ofc #Pattycakes fic #boxofbonesfic #Marvel fic #MCU AU #fluff #romance #smut

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wyrmy-fics · 3 years

Note

if the rfa had youtube channels, what would they be posting?

This is going to be so much fun oml. I know exactly what to do. So buckle up 👁👁

Reblogs are highly appreciated. :)

RFA on YouTube

Includes: Zen, Yoosung, Jaehee, Jumin, Seven, V, Rika.

Warnings -> (N/A)

Type: Headcanons.

Zen:

✧ Zenny’s Tips & Tricks ✧

His channel is mainly about himself, as anyone would guess.

But at the same time, they’re actually helpful and fun to watch. He’s been crowned the “big bro” of YouTube.

Beauty tips: How to wash your face properly and the right products to use, the perfect shampoo and conditioners, how to keep yourself from aging...

Zen will also do tons of reviews and sponsorships.

Whenever he’s not talking about beauty, here comes the tricks.

Acting tricks: How to pick your monologues, the right volume to use within the theatre, how to use your expressions, the red flags in theatre...

Even if you aren’t interested in those, he always makes the videos enjoyable to learn from.

The occasional fancams here and there...

“It’s not weird to show your own fancams, right?”

Yoosung:

⭑ Yoosung Games ⭑

Of course he’d be a gamer channel.

Streams on Twitch and then edits the videos for YouTube the next day.

He has the whole set up too - the gaming chair, headphones, glowing keyboard, etc.

One of the best LOLOL streamers out there, but he also tries new games.

The occasional conspiracy theory videos.

Yoosung often streams with other players too and has his own little circle.

Really kicked off when he tried out Minecraft survival mode.

Would probably be one of those yelling/screaming type streamers...

“The enderman looked scary, okay!!”

Pure of heart, dumb of ass.

Out of request, would probably do some challenges like Try Not to Laugh or Simulator challenges.

CrankGameplays vibes...

Overall a very loved YouTuber and slowly growing in subscribers.

Jaehee:

❊ Jaehee Kang ❊

A very casual YouTuber.

Doesn’t really open up an account until she has her café.

Vlogging about her day is her main source of content.

There are a few videos with tips about creating a business and marketing, as well as what all she did to get there.

Shows off her coffee skills with her morning scenes.

If it’s a slow day for Jaehee, she’ll film herself working with soft music playing in the background that viewers can listen to with her.

Occasionally streams for Q&A sessions and to just talk with her subscribers.

Relationship videos with MC.

Hair updates because she’s excited about it growing out!!

A very loved and relaxing account. Who could hate her.

“Mom of YouTube.”

Jumin:

- (=•́ܫ•̀=) Jumin Han (=•́ܫ•̀=)

A business related channel.

Everyone asks about the cat faces in his name.

He doesn’t answer. (Was put in by Luciel)

Focuses his content on how to run a business and what it’s like for a CEO.

Doesn’t post too often - predominately takes requests when someone has a question about his work.

Will use the account to upload something professionally and send over in meetings.

If given the chance, will talk for a good 30 minutes about one simple thing. No editing either.

One time, Jumin made a video about the Dark Arts and magic he learned from his book. Everyone asked what that was about.

He didn’t answer.

Almost always has Elizabeth the Third with him in his videos too.

“Everyone must see her beauty at all times, don’t you think?”

Seven:

♛ Defender of Justice ♛

People usually call him Seven or Luciel in his videos, though.

Because he can’t show his identity to the world, he’s a masked YouTuber. (Also the reason why Saeran doesn’t create a channel.)

Think channels like Corpse, SwaggerSouls, or Dream.

Plays along with Yoosung in his games and is part of that little circle.

Will occasionally stream but relies more on videos he can edit.

Lots of cool effects in his videos - the intro is never skipped by anyone.

He tried being a VTuber once. Nearly cancelled for catfishing.

When he’s not gaming with Yoosung, Seven is mainly doing reviews on materialistic things.

Probably cars, inventions, recent technology, and giving info about them.

He’s a super mysterious YouTuber because no one knows anything about him. No one can find anything if they tried.

Everyone loves his humor though and how accepting he is to his fans.

✎ Jihyun Arts ✎

Creates his channel after his route.

Will post tutorials, speedpaints, reviews, and look at his subscribers art to compliment them.

Very slow with updating his videos but makes up for it with the length. (Average 15-20 minutes.)

Everyone loves to put his videos on in the background since his voice is really soothing. Especially when he’s painting very quietly.

There are a few videos where he teaches certain techniques with both photography and painting, like lighting and settings.

As a photographer, it was hard to clearly see feedback on his works or talk with fans. Thankfully, YouTube changed that.

It took him a while to ease into it, but he loves engaging with subscribers and asks questions on social media all the time.

Reshares any and all artwork made for him to give his honest opinions, which are all lovely.

Somehow shipped with Jumin by fans.

Rika:

☼ Kim Rika ☼

Posts twice a week with a mixture of content.

Occasionally promotes the RFA and charity work as a leader.

But on other times when there are no parties coming up, she does story times.

With parties and planning around famous (and infamous) guests, she’s bound to have a few interesting stories she can say publicly.

Like how nice Rui is in donating his photographs, or the time she slipped up and said the wrong thing to Chef Lamsey.

They’re all in good fun and typically a drama free channel.

Sometimes will vlog herself when preparing for parties and making trips to gather the things needed.

Lots of cute effects and stays within a very warm theme in all her thumbnails.

Just like Jihyun, she’s one of those channels where people play her videos in the background to simply listen to her voice.

Most likely has a line of merch, all sun and daffodil related.

PHEW that’s a lot of characters. Hope this is what you had in mind! ^^

- 💙

189 notes · View notes

symphonyofthewrite · 4 years

Text

If These Walls Could Talk

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

414 notes · View notes

fishoutofcamelot · 4 years

Text

As requested by @vallirenwrites, my theories as mentioned in my notes to the reblog of this post.

The question: How did Uther commit genocide against a bunch of sorcerers and also literal dragons without dying 50 times over?

It’s a valid question. If just one sorcerer could easily kill Uther, then how did he survive the height of the Purge when a whole community of sorcerers would conceivably be gunning for him at the same time? If one dragon can burn Camelot to the ground, then how could Uther have possibly fared against 100 of them?

Well, here’s one possibility: divide and conquer.

Many other people have mentioned, say, Balinor and Gaius in the notes of that post. It’s confirmed canonically that Balinor was tricked into helping Uther chain up Kilgharrah, and it wouldn’t be surprising if Gaius used his magic against his own people too.

And that’s definitely on the right track. Uther could probably only subdue magic by relying on other magic users and then betraying them. We know for a fact that he did just that with both Nimueh and Balinor, albeit for different reasons.

Many people, myself included, have theorized that the real reason Uther started the Purge was because magic is a threat to hierarchy. That is to say, letting poor people learn or at least have access to such a useful skill would equalize the power dynamics between nobility and peasantry. If a poor person has access to magic, they can resist authority. They can turn to magic for food and medicine and protection instead of relying on knights and kings. If they don’t like a king, it’s that much easier to depose the bastard. And if a peasant has magic while a noble doesn’t, then suddenly the peasant arguably has more power in that scenario.

Long story short, magic is a logistical nightmare for authoritarianism.

Resource and education management within the lower class was, if not the main reason behind the Purge, then a very beneficial side effect.

As Gaius says in episode 1 when Merlin asks him about the Purge, magic users started getting bolder. Started, according to him, doing bad stuff with it. But remember that Gaius is a noble too, probably, or at the very least he’s very chummy with a lot of them. And we know he’s at least marginally sympathetic/supportive of Uther’s cause. With the stuff about nobles in mind, we must now analyze what he meant when he said that sorcerers were using their magic for evil and that the Purge was a necessary evil to curb their chaos. Maybe they were using their magic for evil - from the perspective of a frightened noble.

So here’s how I think it happened:

Peasants started noticing that with magic on their side, they could rise up against oppressive nobles. They could start claiming some power and land for themselves. Maybe Camelot saw itself on the verge of a political revolution.

Naturally, Uther and the other nobles started to sweat. What do we do about this? Well, if they’re using magic to educate and protect themselves, just take away the magic!

I don’t think it started with a snap-and-turn illegalization of magic. A dramatic law hammering the country in an instant like that would have seen a lot more criticism and resistance. But if it happened gradually, over time, then what begins as a few restrictive policies on magic use might eventually slippery-slope into wholesale genocide.

Some nobles have magic. But even they have a vested interest in this new campaign to restrict magic from the poor. Letting poor people use magic puts them on equal footing after all, and those magic-using nobles are still nobles after all. Best to keep magic with those who deserve it - that is to say, rich people.

Uther has their support now. He uses the help of nobles and their magic to enforce and subjugate poorer magic users. Maybe they use the Gean Canagh to steal magic from a few of their more outspoken rebels. Maybe they use magic restraints of some kind, but whether those canonically exist remains unknown.

First, a sales tax is imposed on all magic items and spellbooks, which gets more expensive with every passing month. Eventually, only the wealthy can afford them.

Then, magic-users need to put their name into a registry. Refusal to enter the registry will be met with punishment.

Next, anyone whose name is in the registry needs to pay a spell-casting tax. If you take your name off the registry, you no longer pay the tax - but casting spells while unregistered will result in banishment.

After that, only certain spells can be cast without a certain permit or license, which you need to be of noble descent.

Then, crimes involving magic face harshened punishments. Torture, banishment, having your magic taken by the Gean Canagh - and in the most extreme cases, execution.

Bit by bit, magic becomes more risky to use and less accessible to the lower class, enabling the nobility to consolidate their power over the kingdom. But it doesn’t end there.

He tells the dragonlords to keep their dragons under control. Convinces them to keep them in stables instead of letting them roam free, for the sake of protecting scared villagers. Feed them less. Dragons die due from starvation, restrictive enclosures, and depression.

Then it turns more sinister. Just kill a few of your dragons, only a few, Uther says - dragons require a lot of food and land to survive, and all these dragons flying around are gonna cause a food shortage. Just kill the old and sick ones, the runts, the wasted space. Don’t hatch quite so many eggs. Don’t hatch any eggs.

All the while, Uther started a propaganda campaign. To alert the non-magical masses to be wary of their magic-using friends. They may seem innocent now, but peasants don’t have the proper education or know-how to use magic without hurting others. If you use magic too much, the power will corrupt you. And those sorcerers whose magic we stripped away? They were conspiring against the crown. They were trying to destroy the kingdom.

Now non-magical peasants don’t trust their magical companions as much as they used to. People don’t trust magic like they used to. That rebel movement everyone was so fond of a month ago? Now that’s an extremist militia of power-hungry sorcerers.

But even that isn’t enough. Nobles and peasants is a good division, but how do you keep the peasants from uniting against the upper class? Simple. You turn the peasants against each other too. And you do this by turning types of magic-users against each other. You turn religious magic-users like druids and priestesses against the more secular ones. You turn naturally gifted ones like dragonlords and seers against those who had to study for their magic.

(This part, turning the naturals against the studyers, is probably what caused such a discrepancy between narratives. Gaius tells Merlin that magic is something to be learned, while Balinor is insistent that you either have it or you don’t. Boom, now we’ve got gatekeeping in the magic community.)

All this unrest and suspicion within the kingdom begins to reach a boiling point. The nobles point to this as further evidence that peasants can’t be trusted with magic, if they’re going to be so volatile about it.

Then Ygraine dies. Whether or not it’s intentional, her death is used to perpetuate the anti-magic movement, and Nimueh is hung up as a scapegoat.

By now, many dragons are dead, and those that aren’t already dead are weak and dying. Resources to help magic-users learn and study have been restricted, so a lot of them don’t know or can’t cast the higher level stuff. Most of the powerful and rebellious magic-users have either been executed or had their magic taken away. And the magic community is so distrustful and restless that no one trusts each other enough to unite under the cause of rebellion.

After years of gradually squeezing the magic community, they are now too weak and spread too thin to lead an effective uprising. They’ve been cut off from their magical resources and spellbooks. They’ve been divided and turned against each other. Not only that, but all magic-users are in a registry, meaning Uther knows exactly who to target first.

The magic-using nobles think they’ll be spared at first, that Uther would never betray them. But the king proves himself far more ruthless than predicted, and within a week the air is clouded with smoke from noble pyres.

That’s how I think it happened, anyway. Could be totally off tho!

#yet another thrilling conspiracy theory with fish #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #bbcm #fish post

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zarathelonewolf · 3 years

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BNHA - STOPPING, OR SAVING DABI?

Here I come with theories!

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone abuse, may it be emotional, physical or psycological.

Now, as I’ve stated in the tags and the meta on chapter 325, I like the whole Todoroki family. Aside from Shouto and Enji, they may seem like minor characters, but they are actually well enstablished and deep and their reactions and reasoning after Endeavor begins his atonement arc are very nuanced.

I’m sure you already know what the point of view of every family member is: Rei won’t forgive him, but she’s also watching as he stones for his past awful deeds; Fuyumi is probably the one that wants to forgive Endeavor the most in order to have a semblance of a normal family; Natsuo righteously hates him to the moon and back, and Shouto is still on the fence but willing to work alongside his father on a professional standpoint. At times, Shouto also calls him “Father”, but only in certain circumstances and very rarely. And then...

Then we have Todoroki Touya, Enji and Rei’s firstborn.

I won’t be talking about Fuyumi, Rei or Natsuo much on this post; I’ll concentrate on Touya, Shouto and Enji. They are, at least from what the narrative seems to be building up, the focus of the Todofam arc.

Let’s start with Touya, or at least I’ll write how I’m interpreting the narrative here...You can disagree, people have different ways of reading the same text.

He wants his father to go down, burn in hell, HARD. And he doesn’t really care if it takes to kill Shouto, whom he sees as his replacement, or put Natsuo’s life in the crossfire: anything that makes Endeavor suffer is justified. He even goes as far as killing innocent people and being an accomplice and supporter of terrorism, and bringing his family’s trauma and situation out in the public without their consent: one may argue it was correct to expose Enji, but in my humble opinion the approach was wrong. Touya wanted his father to suffer, without realizing or caring enough that his family may have traumatic reactions to the reveal as he did it, or may not be ready for it. He also isn’t doing it out of genuine feelings of justice, in my opinion: he’s weaponising the narration to bring down his father and the heroes.

Touya, at times, accuses Endeavor of killing the innocent people HE killed with HIS fire, because Endeavor’s grave neglect and irresponsible behavior towards his situation caused Touya to start hurting himself to the point of burning up at Sekoto Mountain, before vanishing and becoming a Villain because of, presumably, all the unresolved pain and feelings pent up inside of him.

Shouto is saved by the deadly fire embrace of his brother by Midoriya, that agrees with Touya about the fact that the past never dies, and as much as Endeavor will change, the past won’t; Midoriya admits this while saying that the actual Endeavor is trying to change, and Dabi isn’t Endeavor: which means that Dabi can’t fault Endeavor for those he killed and his uncaring behavior towards those that suffered his same trauma.

As some argued, during the war Touya is shown as an ensemble of Endeavor’s worst traits, which is important as it signifies that his behavior originates from the way Endeavor raised him.

Now, onto Shouto.

Shouto, who we’ve seen being on the fence when it comes to forgiving Endeavor, actually seems to be trying to empathize with Touya during their fight, various times, really, as can be seen by his expressions. He also takes it upon himself to stop Touya before his family reunites in the hospital and opt to stop Touya together, with Endeavor and Shouto as the focal point.

Sorry I have to go.

I will finish this tomorrow I swear--

EDIT: Expect this to be over tonight. I'm currently busy.

EDIT: I'll reblog this and complete it later.

EDIT:

Here we are once more. Sorry for making you guys wait.

As I was saying...

After Shoto extends his hand to his father in the hospital, and some months (I don’t remember how many, sry) after the press conference where the Top 3 spoke to the public, the Top Three throw themselves after Midoriya, that as abandoned UA, trying to track AFO and his followers down.

And Shouto...well, he isn’t happy, much like the rest of Class 1A: they are majorly upset and preoccupied because Midoriya is missing, but Shouto is also angered by the fact that his father is following Midoriya around instead of concentrating on how to convince Touya to stop hurting himself and others and thus STOP/SAVE HIM. This is what, presumably, Shouto and Endeavor’s goal is regarding to Touya: stop him from being hurt and hurting others with his flames, which will save him and give them a chance to repair the strained relationship.

Endeavor, Hawks and Best Jeanist’s mission to follow and support Midoriya in the meanwhile is failing splendidly: they endeavored (I’mnotsorryforthepun) in this mission because they wanted to compensate the lowering number of heroes active, hunt down villains and find AFO at the same time, all by profiting from Midoriya’s Danger Sense ability. The plan di per se wasn’t that bad, but Midoriya was going too fast for even Hawks, the fastest hero, to follow him; a reminder of why: Midoriya has a lot more Quirks than the top 3, and he was way more desperate than them to find AFO, trust me...the heroes, that also started to include Mt.Lady, Edgeshot, Kamui Woods and others, try to support him from the sidelines, but they are, at the same time, becoming a burden to Midoriya, as Endeavor recognizes before entering UA in chapter 325.

Also, the students mentored by the top 3 try to reach out to them like crazy, because they want to know what the fudge they’re doing and where Midoriya is: Tokoyami called Hawks, Bakugou tried to contact Best Jeanist and Shouto called Endeavor, without receiving exhaustive answers. Endeavor, in particular, doesn’t really want to sideline Shouto, after all they’ve been through, but when he missed the call, he was probably also feeling uncertain on how to deal with Touya, while at the same time worriyng on how to stop AFO and make sure the chaos the country is in doesn’t become worse. When he’s called to UA by Nezu and played a trick by the students who have now started figuring things out, he receives a wake-up call by his son.

Shouto makes him notice how they had told each other they’d stop Touya together, but Endeavor had sidelined him and took it upon himself to find his eldest son and Shouto’s older brother, all while making an exception for Midoriya. I don’t think Shouto didn’t understand his father was also trying to find AFO, but he also didn’t want Endeavor to ditch him and instead wanted to be included. Endeavor seems to slowly understand that the plan he and the other top heroes were following REALLY wasn’t going for the best, thanks not only to Shouto’s wake up call but to Bakugou’s words as well. If All Might, or Midoriya in this case, are left alone with the full weight of their responsibilities heavy on their shoulders, they are going to hurt themselves tremendously. While Endeavor thought that the plan was a good approach, Bakugou clearly says that it wasn’t the best one. Endeavor gives up his phone and looks to be reflecting on many things.

When the class works together to help Midoriya and bring him back to UA, he finally realizes that letting the kids convince Deku was a good idea and tells his colleagues not to intervene, for the students are dealing with it just fine.

We later see him out of the UA barrier with Hawks and Shouto, listening to the citizens screaming at Midoriya to stay away, scared for their safety and mistrustful towards the heroes; not even Best Jeanist and Present Mic can keep them calm. Shouto is super frustrated: he would love to go amidst the civilians and protect Midoriya form their accusations, “put them at ease” like his original heroic goal was. The circumstances, however, don’t seem to be his allies; he still looks extremely relieved when Uraraka takes the megaphone and finally convinces the citizens.

And, here we are to the last actual moment of the STOPPING TOUYA TO SAVE HIM narrative: Endeavor, after recognizing what exactly was wrong with the top 3 plan, looks a bit shocked when Shouto addresses him as “father”. He also look very...sad, somehow: sorry that things aren’t working out as well as he’d have hoped them to go, and that the Touya situation is still unresolved. Shouto extends a hand to him again, by saying that this time they’ll save Touya together. The thought of Dabi’s haunting eyes crosses both of them. Endeavor is probably still afraid that stopping Touya may be a burden too heavy for Shouto when he says, his face a bit obscured, “yes”.

THEORY TIME!

The narration seems to be headed towards the redemption of Shigaraki, Toga, Dabi, Endeavor and mayyyyyybe Overhaul. We know that Shigaraki’s saviour may be Midoriya, Toga’s will be Uraraka, and Overhaul’s rademtion’s factor will mainly be if Eri wants to forgive him.

Endeavor’s redemption’s weight depends on how efficient he actually is at saving Touya at this point and Dabi’s redemption will probably happen thanks to Shouto with contribution from Endeavor. To resume: Endeavor and Touya’s redemption are tied to each other, and Shouto is fundamental to help them both.

How could Hori bring forth Endeavor’s redemption without screwing over Dabi’s redemption, and not screw Endeavor’s redemtion at the same time? I’ll be focusing on Endeavor and dabi here, because I really don’t know how the dialogue between Shouto may be written.

I have no clue. Sorry I don’t. There are some viable options, like Endeavor gets kidnapped or fatally wounded while he fights Dabi because AFO is also there, and could ultimately steal his Quirk. In this case, Endeavor could be alone or with Shouto.

There is also the option in which Endeavor dies while trying to stop Touya from burning up, while recognizing his mistakes, validating Touya’s harsh feelings and accepting to burn in hell.

Frick, they could both die as they burn up, both recognizing the wrong in their ways, but it wouldn’t be really satisfying now would it?

There are so many outcomes possible, but with everyone of them i feel like something is missing. I also feel like I’m the only one that wouldn’t find Endeavor’s death outrageous because “it’s sweeping things under the rug”, or counterproductive because “it would suck for Endeavor’s redemption arc, because everyone is tired of the redemption-by-death trope”.

Endeavor’s death could actually be the best moment of his redemption arc and what makes it truly valuable, depending on how well it is written. Maybe Endeavor isn’t sitting at that table in his dream because he died, and his death actually helped his family heal and smile, because while he had changed his views in the year before his death, it’s still relieving to be free from his presence. However, Touya isn’t present at the table as well, so really...the conclusion to both of their arcs could be anything. Some may say that making Dabi die would be wrong on an ethical standpoint: yet another victim’s death, that makes victims in the real world think there is no hope out of difficult situations; yet another unfair death, because abusers deserve death and not their victims.

Let me tell you why, exactly, I think, neither of their deaths would be useful; you are free to disagree.

Endeavor’s, Touya’s or both their deaths could make the future of the Todofam very traumatic, because the family wouldn’t really manage to find proper closure.

Which is why I don’t think Endeavor or Dabi will or should die, but they will both live with consequences: maybe Endeavor will lose his Quirk, and Touya may turn on AFO and protect Shouto.

I don’t know, honestly.

Plz. help.

All I know is that Horikoshi will surely try to make the outcomes as emotional and epic as ever, so I hope I won’t be disappointed, because so far I’ve been on board with seeing where Endeavor and Touya’s journey may bring them

Anxiously waiting for the next episode, and end of this volume.

#bnha #endeavor #todoroki shouto #todoroki touya #todoroki family

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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But Once a Year (5/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 10K — canon had to catch up, and stuff had to happen, and happily ever after requires some adjectives AN: Guys! This is a completed story! One I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of writing. For that am even more grateful than usual that you all clicked and read and said very nice things. It’s always an absolute joy to write about these two idiots falling in love. I hope your holidays were fantastic, and January is very kind to you, and I am taking suggestions as to what I should write in 2021. (Or: if I should just post a bunch of fic I’ve already written, there’s so much fic already written)

Ao3 links in the reblog, because Tumblr’s tagging system is something of a colossal joke.

————

She’s got no idea where Killian went.

Especially impressive since they haven’t left the house yet, but the house is also fairly massive and there are a lot of people and some of them have magic, and most of them have weapons, and one of Emma’s knees cracks when she crouches in front of Hope.

Who is wearing pajamas that match Lucy’s, and holding a stuffed animal whose right arm appears to be holding on by a quite literal thread, and has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

It’s a strangely positive thing.

“You’re going to be ok,” Emma tells her daughter, which she hopes isn’t the lie it feels like. “Everything’s going to be ok. We’re just—we’ll be back soon, alright?” That’s not really a lie, either. Depending on how the next ten minutes or so, go. And part of Emma expects impatience — from the other adults nearby, magical or otherwise, but a quick glance over her shoulder only shows Mary Margaret wiping away tears, and Regina’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth, and the overall tightness of David’s jaw cannot possibly good for any of his teeth.

Taking a deep breath is an exceptional challenge.

“For presents?” Hope asks, and it takes Emma a moment to understand the question. Nodding hurts her neck. And, like, her heart.

No one turns off their Christmas tree in this future, it seems. Colors splash across one of Hope’s cheeks, what feels like several thousand emotions and at least a dozen internal organs twisting in Emma’s center and she barely manages to rasp out, “yeah, of course,” before there’s moisture in her eyes and her vision is going blurry and at the very least it’s comforting to know that one of the steps in her parent’s house creaks too.

“Emma,” Regina murmurs, and she’s nodding again. Hair brushes the hand that’s landed on her shoulder, as warm as ever, but there’s tension in the move as well and Killian’s lips don’t shift when Emma tilts her head up.

Something’s going on. More than the obvious. And she wants to ask, she does — but the worry churning in her gut moves to the center of her throat, and makes it impossible to voice questions or demand anything more than what he’s already given, and they’ve got no idea how to get her back. Except for—

Killian’s eyebrows lift. Ever so slightly, barely enough movement that it should even count, but Emma’s become something of an expert on his face in the last few days, and she can’t blink away the tears fast enough. Mourning something that’s happened and hasn’t, and absolutely needs to.

She can’t ruin this.

Plastering a wholly unnatural smile on her face, Ruby lets out a huff of air as she marches forward and scoops Hope into her arms. “For presents,” she repeats, “Mom wouldn’t miss that, would she?” Emma shakes her head. Seriously, every inch of her aches. With those pesky emotions and magic, and she cannot fathom how she manages to stand back up without falling over, but then there are fingers tangled up with hers and she’s brushing strands of hair away from Hope’s eyes, and leaning forward to kiss the bridge of her nose and—

“I love you.”

Whispers flood her ears, soft enough that for a second Emma truly believes she imagines them, but none of this has been the dream she’d convinced herself it had to be, and the sound isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Is like the excitement borne of picturesque Christmas mornings, and a ridiculous number of cookies, and magically-maintained snowmen.

Killian’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Part two.

“Dor and I’ll stay here,” Ruby says, seemingly unconcerned with whatever’s happening between Emma’s ears, but Killian’s staring again and Emma’s barely breathing and she probably nods if the movement of her hair is any indication.

More instructions are doled out, plans Emma only half listens to while also trying to stay conscious and it’s only after the screen door slams behind them that she realize she doesn’t actually have a weapon. She’s fairly certain she won’t need it.

Because she’s absolutely positive this is going to work.

Well, she hopes at least.

“Don’t let go, ok?” she mumbles, mostly into Killian’s shirt and he kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s trying to reach a quota and that’s only kind of depressing, but then there’s magic stretching around them and inching up the back of Emma’s calves and she hopes she hears what she thinks she hears.

When he mutters “never” in her ear.

If there were any doubts that they were dealing with the disintegrating fabric of reality, they’re all immediately dismissed as soon as Emma opens her eyes. Trees bend in the middle of their trunks, broken branches littering the ground as what feels like genuine electricity crackles in the air, sending sparks that occasionally rain down like they believe they’re drops of water and allowed to do that.

Clouds that look suspiciously familiar, but lack that hint of magically-induced purple, blot out any sort of light in the sky. They’re puffier than they should be — the clouds, and also Emma’s eyes because she might be crying again, and she’s not particularly knowledgeable about meteorology. Still, she’s seen more than one curse broken and this isn’t quite the same. The lack of color dries out her mouth, although that may also be because she suddenly can’t catch her breath.

Magic tugs at her brain and her muscles, rising up in defense and something that isn’t really bravery. More like fear, at what the clouds can do and what they’ve already done, and the soft whoosh of Killian’s sword leaving its scabbard is far more comforting than it should be.

Wearing those pants with the sword belt is something Emma doesn’t want to forget. “Kinda looks like they’re eating everything in their way, doesn’t it?” she breathes. “Like, it’s—pulling everything up out of the ground, wrecking it at the foundation.”

“Not exactly ideal, is it?”

“You’re making jokes.” “If I don’t know, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall over.”

Scoffing, Emma licks her lips, and that doesn’t do anything except momentarily wet her lips, but her heart’s also trying to explode and the pop of Regina’s teleporting ability is loud enough to make both of them flinch.

“Oh shit,” Henry mutters, wielding his own sword. Both of those things are going to take Emma some time to get used to. Which she doesn’t have.

Not when tiny whirlwinds explode around her ankles, caking her jeans with leaves and dirt-filled snow, and she briefly wonders if that’s because of her or just bad timing on their arrival. Feels like an insult all the same.

“So, uh,” David says slowly, “what do we do about this, then?” Rolling her whole head seems like an entirely excessive response, but Emma supposes Regina’s never been one for subtlety and it is still kind of impressive when she does the flame thing. Fire jumps between her fingers, like one of those bouncing balls on sing-along VHS tapes, and really the answer is pretty simple. “Emma needs to leave. Weeks ago, if we’re being frank, but—” “—We’re not being frank, are we, Your Majesty?” Killian interrupts, low and a little more pirate than he’s been since Emma woke up here. Regina tilts her head. Her neck muscles don’t appear to be dealing with the same limitations Emma’s are.

“How do we do that, though?” Ella asks. “We’ve—I mean, we’ve tried just about everything haven’t we? Zelena’s spell didn’t work.” Regina hums. Looks a little smug, but with a hint of worry that’s also oddly comforting in a slightly vindictive way and there’s no warning before Tinker Bell appears in front of them. Smaller than usual, with wings that move as quickly as a hummingbirds and Emma’s eyes widen so quickly they manage to water even more and it’s easier to hear Killian’s soft laugh when he pulls her against his side.

What looks like sparkles, but may actually be pixie dust floats in the air, Regina’s sigh of impatience barely passing her lips before Tinker Bell is a full-sized person again and that full-sized person looks as terrified as the situation demands and— “Wonderland’s gone too,” she announces. “I only just got out.” Emma’s eyes are going to fall out of her face. It will be gross and undoubtedly uncomfortable. “Out. What does—what does that mean, exactly?” “What it sounds like. It was—” Shuddering, Tinker Bell wraps both arms around her middle, as if she’s trying to ensure she doesn’t fall apart either, and guilt appears to be the prevailing emotion threatening to sever Emma’s spleen at the moment. She’s only partially confident as to where her spleen even is. “Those,” Tinker Bell continues, pointing up at the clouds advancing on them, “they’re…cannibalized versions of magic.” “Oh,” Henry says, “gross.” Mary Margaret sniffles before she kisses him on the cheek. He’s holding Ella’s hand very tightly.

“It is,” Tinker Bell agrees, “because it’s all wrong. Broken, even. The opposite of what you’ve created here. Anything unified is gone, shattered from the inside out and—” “—That won’t stop, will it?” Emma asks, already knowing the answer. It’s been the same since the start, but it was so easy to fall into this start and live this life and she’s hardly noticed Regina. Lifting her hands towards the clouds like she could fight them, or stop them and her electricity metaphor had been almost accurate before.

Lightning explodes from Regina’s palms, feet a bit wider than usual while a muscle jumps in her temple, and the first brush of Killian’s thumb against Emma’s wrist makes her flinch again.

The clouds pause. For a moment.

Seem to shudder against the force of Regina’s power and strength, but there’s another crack and a branch that slams into the ground with an alarming speed, shaking the ground under yet a different pair of Emma’s boots, and, well—

That’s that, as they say.

Only they don’t ever mention the shadow-type vines that also explode from the ground. And for a breath, Emma’s not there. She’s sitting on different ground, in an entirely different realm, while her sword half hangs from the makeshift belt on her back and lights dance in front of her eyes. Blinking doesn’t do anything. Breathing heavily only makes the sound echo in her ears and air heave out of her lungs, and Emma can’t get her bearings. Is being twisted and torn until she’s certain she’ll be ripped apart. Right there, in the in-between, and—

No.

Giving in isn’t an option. She’s got people to save, and a kid to get back and a life to live. And the hand squeezing hers is tight enough to pull her back from a variety of edges. In any version of reality, she’s sure.

Head falling forward, Emma slams into something solid and that’s probably not another metaphor. Blades flash at the edge of her vision, both David and Henry moving quicker than she’s ever seen, while Mary Margaret slings arrow after arrow at something that isn’t entirely substantial and Killian’s hook moves under Emma’s chin.

At one point she might have thought that was a threat. She’s the world’s biggest idiot, obviously.

“No,” Tinker Bell replies, far later than is conversationally acceptable, honestly. “It won’t. Nothing will last if you don’t go back, Emma. It all hinges on you. That’s why Pan did this in the first place. He knew what you meant, to the whole world.” She groans. Like a goddamn hero.

“That might be a little heavy, Tink,” Killian mutters, and Emma makes another noise. Disbelief and charmed and wholly endeared, plus that other thing that she knows will make all the difference and at least eight of her knuckles crack. When she curls them into his shirt.

Patterned, naturally.

“Are you quoting things?” He nods. “You think it’s very cute.” “I’m not sure you could ever really be cute.”

“Is this honestly happening right now?” Regina snarls, sweat dotting her brow and Emma barely notices. Can’t really pull her eyes away from Killian when he’s smirking at her like that. “Flirting at the end of the world?” “Seems as good a time as any, doesn’t it?” Emma challenges. More pixie dust falls on the forest floor, shining brightly for a few prolonged seconds. That’s something of a confidence boost.

For Emma. And her feelings. And her plan, half-cocked as it may be.

“Expand on that for me,” Killian grins.

Keeping her head lifted is one of Emma’s more major successes. At least recently, and while her muscles don’t entirely appreciate it, the jut of her chin makes it easier for Killian’s fingers to ghost over the edge of her mouth and push into her hair and—

“Your eyelashes are unnaturally long,” she says, and the grin widens. “It drives me nuts.” “Does it just?” “Yeah, from like—the get, really. At first I thought it was a fairytale thing, y’know…have to be painfully attractive to be part of the story, but—” “—You end up in the book eventually.”

Heart explosion is not nearly as painful as Emma assumed it would be. If anything, it just makes her feel like she’s floating a bit and her magic gives her a buoyancy that leaves her lighter and softer and she turns into the palm cupping her cheek. “Spoilers,” she chides. “What do you—what do you think happens?” “When you go back, you mean?” Emma nods. Doesn’t really want the answer. Might actually be terrified of the answer, because the timeline is as knotted as it’s ever been and time travel is way more trouble than it’s worth. She’ll probably kick Peter Pan too, just to cover all her bases. “Will you,” she whispers, and holding Killian’s gaze is something of a rather disappointing miracle, “will you all—” “—I don’t think so.” “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

One side of his mouth tilts up, eyeing her with passing amusement and that other emotion and his fingers trail towards the chain hanging around her neck. “Between the vaguely twisted compliments and the actual insults, I’m not entirely sure this is going to work, love.” “What isn’t going to work?” Henry asks sharply, swinging his sword through a shadow.

Grunting, one of Regina’s knees buckles as she continues to fight against the cloud and Ella’s back pressed against hers only just manages to keep her standing. “Get on with it, already,” she hisses. “Or at least try it.”

Nerves explode under Emma’s skin, racing up her arms and threatening to drown out the magic that’s as strong as it’s ever been because the magic is clearly smarter than her, and it’s unreasonable to think she’d be able to deal with that exact shade of blue in Killian’s eyes.

“You make sure I’m alright.”

He blinks. Fair, honestly. Words keep tumbling out of Emma without much thought, but she needs him to know this and this might be the crux of everything else and she’s nodding again. “Over and over,” she continues, “when we’re on the Jolly, and I’m—” “—In the crew’s quarters doing pull-ups.” “You remember that?”

“I’m rather attracted to you, you know that right?”

Laughing with tears in her eyes is as patently absurd as it is nice, and the shadows inch closer. “Could probably do with some reminding every now and then,” Emma admits, “but I, uh—that’s what happened before, too. Sitting outside the Echo Caves and you were supposed to be asleep. Showed up anyway, to make sure I was alright. You always do that.” “Something of a habit.” “So you’ve mentioned.” Humming, there’s not really any way for Killian to get closer to her, but he certainly tries and Emma hopes she doesn’t forget that either. She’s not entirely sure how her memories will deal with everything they’ve been through in the last few weeks. And, like—her life, but that sounds kind of melodramatic. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” Killian says softly, “but it’s—making sure you’re alright is like…making sure we’re following the right course.” “Am I the star in this analogy?” “Several times over,” he replies, “and it’s easy to follow.” “Oh, what was that about backhanded insults?”

Warm air brushes her face when he exhales, nosing at the tear stains her over-abundant emotions have left behind. “I have no idea what will happen,” Killian whispers, as if he’s speaking only for Emma and she supposes that’s at least partially true. “I doubt we’ll disappear, not when it appears time’s much less of a straight line than I originally anticipated, but Her Majesty was right. Nothing’s set in stone, love. That’s half the fun.” “Sounds like a hell of a gamble too.” “Aye, but you’ve also got a pirate who’s rather willing to cheat on your behalf.” “Did you use weighted dice?” He kisses her hair. The edges of her eyes. Down the bridge of her nose and just above her mouth, which is really a very cruel tease, but if they were running out of time earlier, then they’re operating on borrowed minutes now, and Emma’s calves almost audibly object when she pushes up on her toes.

“Just sleight of hand,” he says, “it’s very impressive, I know.” “Something like that, yeah.” “This wasn’t fair to you, Swan. To—to be thrown into this, and I can’t…”

Shaking her head, she’s never actually let go of his shirt, so Emma doesn’t have an excuse for how much her fingers tremble. “No, no, no, if you apologize I will step on your foot, I swear to any God you can come up with.” “Several, actually.” “Nerd,” she insults, and it’s as far away from that as it’s possible for a four-letter word to be. Killian’s eyes have gone glossy. “This wasn’t what he thought it’d be. Pan, I mean. He—he thought he’d take me off the board, keep me locked here because I’d be so tempted to stay and I—” A tree branch falls dangerously close to her right foot. “Well, obviously I was, but…” “But?” Emma presses her lips together. Ignores the ache in her legs and the area directly around her heart, taking more pleasure than she should in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes while her magic practically sings. Soars out of her, until the ends of her hair light and the shadows don’t retreat, but they freeze for a second and that’s all she really needs. “Seeing it all,” Emma starts, “living it, that’s why I can go back. Because I want to live it. No cheating, no advancing to Go. God, fuck—am I really making Monopoly jokes right now?”

He beams. Stares at her like she’s that star, and a few other constellations for good measure. Possibly the Sun too, but Emma’s the one who’s all too willing to orbit around the whole lot of them, and she kisses him before she can think better of it.

“You make sure I’m alright,” she repeats, “ten-thousand times over, until I end up here. And it’s just not better, babe, it’s—it’s a life, a real one. The kind I used to think was some great, big joke, but that house is so big and our kids are so good, and it’s—” Killian wipes away the tears. For the best, really. Since Emma isn’t entirely sure she can unclench her fingers. “I love it,” she breathes, “I love—”

In any other situation, she’d almost resent being interrupted. As it is, being interrupted with the press of Killian’s mouth against hers is one of the better things that’s happened to her. Like, ever. And she’s already pressed up on her toes, so really the whole thing is pretty practical.

Tilting her head, Emma’s grip threatens to rip his shirt and her spine isn’t all that pleased at the arch she’s put it in, but his hand is flat against her back, the kind of steady presence she’s sure she could build everything around. They’ve gotten better at this, she thinks — less frenzied than it was in Neverland, but somehow even better, like they’re sitting on simmer, a low heat that simply exists and isn’t as overwhelming. She’s not sweating, at least. She’s wrapped in cashmere blankets, and comfort and some other word that starts with ‘c’ because Emma’s ability to linger on the alliterative in times of heightened feeling is actually pretty impressive.

At least until Killian’s tongue swipes the seam of her mouth, and they drift a hint closer to frenzied, and somewhere in the realm of desperate and she genuinely does not notice the first band of light.

Or the second, quite frankly.

It isn’t until the colors arch over them, and several people gasp, that Emma realizes they’ve done something fairly tremendous. Beams of glistening magic curl around them, some hanging from the bend of Emma’s elbow and the curve of Killian’s hook, draping either one of their shoulders and falling off the sleeves of their respective leather jackets.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes, fully expecting Killian’s smile and hoping for his laugh and she’s done more hoping now than she has in the first twenty-nine years of her life.

Henry clicks his tongue. “Oh you can say it, huh?” “I’m your mom, that’s how it works.” More laughter, as out of place as ever, but the light doesn’t disappear immediately and Killian’s jaw has gone slack. “Has that not happened before, then?” Emma asks him.

“You called me babe.” Regina groans again. Henry snickers, ducking his head into Ella’s shoulder, and Emma’s not sure what her parents do, but her mom is definitely crying and she’s crying and there’s something shimmering on the other side of Tinker Bell.

“Told you it’d work,” she says with a knowing smile. “She just needed to get there. And, y’know, be willing to walk away. Which doesn’t sound as romantic as it is, now that I think about it, but might be kind of in the spirit of Christmas.”

Killian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “that’s—” She cuts herself off that time, Killian’s fingers lacing through hers so he can give her hand three quick squeezes and that number was probably random. Maybe. True Love’s goddamn Kiss.

“Falling in love with you probably isn’t very easy, is it?”

The tears fall. Drop from the corners of his eyes onto cheeks, one of which has a scar on it and Emma wants to know how that happened. Wants to learn every single thing about him, and them and collective pronouns don’t quite terrify her anymore.

“Not always,” Killian agrees, another strange way of doing it, “but I do always think it’s worth it. For everything we get.” “This?” He nods. “And then some. Because you’re the single most stubborn lass I know, and Pan’s an absolute fool.” “Call me lass again, and see if I kiss you anymore.” “I’m almost confident on that front.”

Smiling doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t affect the muscles in her face, or the overall state of her heart, and that may have something to do with its exploding tendencies from earlier, but Emma’s eyes keep flickering towards that portal and everything ahead of her, and the wave of determination that crests her consciousness doesn’t take her by surprise.

She’s going to get this all back.

Like a Christmas present, waiting under the tree to be opened, and another promise and Killian squeezes her hand again. Before kissing her once more, in a way that doesn’t feel like a farewell, but has a hint of promise and expectation and Emma hugs Henry. And her parents. Glances at Regina, and goddamn Tinker Bell, and hugging Henry again simply makes sense. “Come save me, huh?” he murmurs into her hair. “That’s the plan,” Emma promises. Twisting her neck, Killian’s not more than an inch behind her, but the shadows threaten again, making it difficult to see him and eventually she’ll argue that’s why she doesn’t entirely notice when his hand moves, darting towards her pocket and back so quickly it’s not much more than a blur, and her lips barely brush his before they’re pulling away from each other.

To get back to each other.

“I’m going to love you an absolutely ridiculous amount,” Emma promises, and Killian’s eyes brighten. Brand themselves on all those memories, and even more feelings. “More than I do now, even.” “I look forward to it.”

Bumping her chin against her chest when she nods, Emma’s next inhale is shaky at best, but her steps are sure and she doesn’t feel anything when she falls backwards, or notice the way Regina’s hand shifts ever so slightly.

Her feet slam into the ground. Ground that hasn’t exploded with glowing, vaguely evil plants yet and that’s all it takes to set her plan into motion. He hadn’t remembered, after all. And Emma can only sort of remember now.

Smoke on the water, her thoughts drift through a haze that’s far more metaphorical than she entirely appreciates, and she makes it all of eight larger-than-usual steps before those same feet land on boots and she barely stops herself before she collides with Killian.

A Killian who looks at her like he’s surprised to find her there, but not entirely opposed to it, and whatever thoughts continue to cling to the forefront of Emma’s brain know what else he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, and that’s not bad, might even be good and great and she can’t remember why her lips feel like they’re tingling. That’s—

Strange, that’s strange. As is the number of times she blinks, and his hook flies to her waist. To keep her steady. Or something. Magnets, maybe. “Swan, are you—” “—Fine, fine,” she breathes, only just able to keep from kissing him. Hard. His lips part slightly when she keeps staring at him, eyes tracing across his face like she’s recommitting it to memory, and she supposes she is, and he was coming to find her. All over again. “You’re here though, right? This isn’t…this is real?” Hair threatens to fall into his eyes, head at an angle that Emma is sure simply exists to torment her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “I—I don’t know,” she admits, and it only sort of sounds like a lie. Emma shakes her head. That doesn’t help, really. “Is my mom still ignoring my dad?” “Very much so. You shouldn’t be out here, you know.” “Neal’s not dead, though?” “No,” Killian says, lips forming a perfect circle on the second letter. Emma’s staring at his lips. Again, or always. Or whatever, honestly.

“Ok, ok, that’s—that’s good, well maybe not the ignoring part, but we’ll figure that out and we’re going to figure this out.” “Wasn’t a question.” “No it wasn’t.” His eyes narrow, neck remaining at that angle. “Good. It shouldn’t be.” “Awfully confident of you.” “No, no, I’m only confident in you, love.” Something flutters at the back of Emma’s brain — part memory and even more desire, and this feels like something they’ve done already, but that can’t possibly be true and those particular words in that particular order are as honest as Emma’s heard. She must have fallen asleep.

“C’mon,” Killian continues, hand reaching for hers and she doesn’t pull away. She lets his fingers tangle with hers, and every squeeze against her palm is enough to settle her pulse and her magic, and he doesn’t let go of her until they get back to camp. Neither one of them mention how she doesn’t pull away, either.

They plan. Plot, and discuss and Neal’s something of an issue — as is her mother’s pointed and unnecessary romantic advice, but Emma knows her objections fall on deaf ears, especially when that same mother keeps ignoring her father, and she’s not sure she’s ever known fear like she feels in Dark Hollow.

If asked — and Emma can’t imagine why she would be, but she’s at war with her own thoughts and some sadistic childlike-monster who’s already fucked with her more than he should be capable of — she’d argue it was because of what Killian tells her. When I win your heart plays on loop in Emma’s brain, but it’s also because, somehow, she knows he will and does, and fire bursts out of her in the middle of yet another shadow attack.

“How did you do that?” Neal asks, sounding far more surprised than he should and something in Emma’s center recoils at the tone. “Regina. She’s teaching me magic.” Not entirely a lie, not really. But Killian’s eyes snap towards her, and she’s apparently just as good at ignoring things as her mother. “She’s teaching you magic?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, gripping the coconut in her hand a little tighter. Six months ago, that would have felt like the most absurd sentence in the world. Now it just pisses her off. “I guess she is.”

There’s more, because of course there is. Wendy Darling and Neal are something of old friends, and she’s somehow an even worse liar than Emma, but the truth means Henry’s death and she can’t breathe. Can hardly stand, but is also standing closer to Killian and she keeps calling him Killian. In her head.

His hand squeezes hers; exactly three times.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Killian murmurs. Naturally, it’s not.

Watching Henry hand over his heart is a nightmare Emma will see for the rest of her life, wholly unprepared for the way her kid drops to the ground and the strength of her ensuing magic threatens to blind her.

Regina’s not much better, honestly. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out and then there’s magic and a wave of her hand, and—“He’s not dead yet,” she tells Emma, like that’s acceptable, but she’s got no idea what else to do and the growing feeling that she’s forgotten something very important.

Preservation spells are as freaky their name implies, it turns out.

Henry doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, but he also isn’t dead and Emma figures that’s at least one positive. While she’s attacked by a tree, and taunted by Pan and Regina’s admission leaves her reeling just a bit. That is until it turns out Peter Pan is also Gold’s father, and the absurdity of it all makes Emma want to scream and cry and they somehow save Henry’s heart.

In Pandora’s Box.

Really, the rest is a blur — adrenaline mixing with magic and an above-average amount of gasping, and Killian offers Henry the captain’s quarters. Emma doesn’t think before she walks, leading the pair of them towards the door, and there’s a shadow trapped in the sail and they’re on a flying pirate ship, so honestly her knowledge of that pirate ship’s layout should be the least of their worries, but something, something…open book.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, now?” Killian asks, finding Emma what feels like a lifetime later. Hours, actually. Most of which she’s spent leaning against the railing, while trying to breathe in as much salt air as possible and Regina’s still in the cabin with Henry.

“Aside from the obvious?” “Whatever’s got you staring so intently at the horizon.” “It’s calming,” Emma reasons, and there’s some truth to that as well. There’s also something in her back pocket, a piece of clothing that miraculously isn’t totally destroyed with mud and the after-effects of fighting for their collective lives.

“It often is, although you’re thinking so loudly, I can’t help but—” “—Do you think you’ll stay in Storybrooke?”

Killian tenses. He’s close enough that Emma can practically feel the way his muscles tighten, but there’s more to it than proximity, and it’s got to be nearly his turn at the helm. Neal can’t stay up there forever.

“If you think that would be a good idea.”

Rolling her eyes makes her head hurt. She might also be dehydrated. The knowledge that there’s a flask of rum stashed somewhere under the cot in Killian’s cabin is one of the few things keeping Emma conscious. Captain’s cabin. Semantics. She has no idea how she knows that. “That’s not really what I asked,” Emma argues. “Do you—is that something you’d like?”

She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is.

The future is suddenly blurry, and not entirely uncertain, but she fought like hell for it and now there’s this growing sense of optimism taking root in her. Like it’s the foundation for everything else, strong and certain and that’s a rather daunting change of pace for her. The certainty, not the adjective choices. Gold made it so David could come home too. They all get to go home. So, Emma doesn’t move very quickly when she turns, just presses her lips together and—

Hopes.

Pixie dust requires a certain amount of belief to work, after all.

“I would,” Killian breathes. He leans forward, or Emma leans forward, and it genuinely does not matter because there are mouths and hands and it’s over before it really begins, the rail of a flying pirate ship threatening to dig into her back. She’s never been more comfortable. “Ok,” Emma says, footsteps coming towards them, “that’s good.”

“You saved him, you know.”

“Motivation’s a funny thing like that.”

“Certainly is,” Killian agrees, “and you had that in spades. I just—” He smirks. The bastard. “Telling you I knew you would makes me a bit of a cad, doesn’t it?” “More than a bit, maybe.” He chuckles, letting his head drop closer to hers. “Why’d you know where the blankets were in that cabin?” “Far too perceptive for your own good.” “I prefer to see it as an acute observation.” “And you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

“Sounds suspiciously like you think I’m pretty.”

“Occasionally,” Emma says, standing on wobbly knees again and they’re dancing without music. “I don’t know, really, but we’ll get there, I think.”

Leaning back, Killian’s eyebrows shift and his thoughts practically come with cymbals, but he doesn’t press her anymore and Emma doesn’t actually believe she fell asleep. Outside the Echo Caves, but all of those thoughts feel like dreams now, and Neal doesn’t ask any questions — which is either a victory or a crushing disappointment, depending on which way you look at it, but Emma can’t bring herself to leave the railing, even when the wind picks up and goosebumps prickle her arms and the something in her back pocket is a tiny slip of paper.

Torn at the edges, like the person who grabbed it was pressed for time and flush with determination and she’s never actually seen his handwriting before. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference. Swooping letters linger on the looseleaf, no matter how many times Emma blinks, the words the same and she tries very hard not to rip it. Holding it as tightly as she is makes that easier said than done.

Still, it doesn’t change.

I love you.

As clear as the tears that return to her eyes will allow, and Emma’s not surprised to find him already looking in her direction. She smiles, and goes below deck.

They don’t make it very long before something else gets fucked up.

They barely make it like—two weeks. Pan isn’t dead, and Henry’s not Henry and the whole thing is a disaster that frequently ends with Emma slumped against the nearest wall she can find, the hand gripping hers squeezing at regular intervals, like Killian is trying to remind her of something, but she might just be hoarding every touch and every feeling and it figures.

Standing at the town line, Emma’s not sure how she’s going to get in that car and drive away from this town and these people and her mother kisses her forehead. Softly and almost reverently, and David’s hand finds the back of her head, holding her as tightly as he had in Neverland and Emma knows he’d like to do that forever, but that won’t be possible in five minutes and she’s not going to remember.

Any of them. At any point.

She’s still not sure why the timing of it all seems so important.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

Smiling is the only way she stops herself from kicking him, or possibly kissing him and she’s not prepared for what Killian says next. If she ever gets to remember this, that will seem vaguely ridiculous. All things considered.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.” He means it. Emma knows that, too. As much as she knows she should have said something — a string of words that’s still a little overwhelming, but the sheet of paper basically lives in her jacket pocket now, and for someone who feels as if she keeps bouncing around time, or at least realms, she also continues to run out of it.

“Good,” she says, and one side of his mouth moves. Tugs up while he stares at her, and struggles to step back and everything disappears. Behind a cloud of purple smoke, and a line that’s brushed away as easily as if it had never been there at all, and Emma forgets.

Most of it, at least.

Some guy knocks on her door, knows her name, and immediately tries to kiss her. It’s not the strangest thing Emma’s ever encountered, but that’s because bail bond’s a weird gig, and he keeps showing up. Gives her a note with handwriting that looks suspiciously familiar, and proves even more than that and her hand shakes. While pulling a weather-stained piece of paper from the folds of her wallet, and she’s got no rational reason for keeping it. Not when she’s got no idea why she has it in the first place, but every time she considers throwing it away, something tugs between her ribs and flutters at the back of her brain and the swoop on the top of his ‘o’ is exactly the same.

She doesn’t mention that before she drinks the potion. And she only balks slightly at the word potion , so that’s another victory and— “Killian,” she breathes, memories flying back. Some arrive quicker than others, while a few hang in the shadows and she knows there’s more to the sheet of paper than she’s willing to admit. Magic fights with her, trying to piece together things that don’t entirely make sense, and she can remember things that don’t make sense. Pirate ships, and flashing swords, and a house with enough windows that it likely sets a record.

And a hand slipping a sheet of paper into her back pocket.

“Miss me?”

It’s a joke. A bad one, at that. Especially coupled with a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but Emma finds herself nodding all the same and he doesn’t stumble backwards when she launches herself at him, hugging as tightly as she can.

The paper goes back in her wallet before they leave for Storybrooke.

She’s going to leave. Get back in her car and go back to New York, and raise Henry like a normal kid, but Emma can’t shake the feeling that there’s something inherently wrong with that plan, and it doesn’t have anything to do with wicked witches or newborn brothers, but maybe deja vu for something she hasn’t lived yet, and Killian’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. When she does the unthinkable.

“Come with us, then.” “You’re not serious,” he challenges.

“Like a heart attack, maybe. I just…none of this is safe, and New York was, I mean…you could be part of—” “False memories, based on magical nonsense.”

Shoulders slumping, Emma can’t come up with an argument to that. Only kind of wants to, but she’s not in the book, and Henry doesn’t want to leave. The dreams she keeps having make sleep something of a pipe dream. And she’s something of a mess, but Killian’s a much better dancer than she expected him to be.

And she’s not surprised to find him rounding the corner of Regina’s dungeon, although it’s nice to be saved, even when she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself. But then his arms threaten to crack several of her ribs ten minutes later, and Emma has a few theories about that. None of which she voices, far too busy memorizing the way his thumb feels when it brushes her cheek, and her mother’s not dead.

Doesn’t remember her, but time travel beggars can’t be choosers. Another burst of deja vu rattles through her, and there’s no magic to jump in her veins, but Killian glances her direction all the same and the wand is heavy in her hand. One that’s magical again, a portal home because it is home and you trade your ship for me isn’t much more than a whisper on warmer-than-usual wind. He doesn’t blink when he answers. She’ll think about that for quite some time.

After she stops thinking about how good they are at kissing, because they are exceptional at kissing and it’s very simple. To fall into this head first, the feeling and the emotion and Killian chuckles when Emma’s magic begins to thrum under her skin.

She tells her parents about Neal.

About what he did, and how he did it and their eyes widen so often she wonders if they’ll get stuck like that. Killian’s hand doesn’t leave her shoulder.

They announce the change two days later. Prince Neal is Prince Leo and he’s still as cute as ever, with a tendency to spit up on whoever holds him.

“Are you alright?” “You’ve asked me that like ten times.” Nodding, Killian doesn’t move and Emma can’t imagine what kind of damage this is doing to his knees, but he doesn’t seem inclined to stand up either and she’s finally starting to get some feeling back in her toes. Fingers, too. Which makes it easier to drag the tips of them over his cheek, and his eyelids fluttering shut is a jolt of confidence she’s going to cling to. “And yet,” he drawls, “I’m still very curious.”

“I’m fine,” Emma says, not for the first time and she knows it won’t be the last. He shifts the blanket draped across her legs, tucking it under her side like—“A mother hen pirate.” “That’s rude, love.” “You’re going to give yourself a coronary.” “I don’t know what that means.” Laughing softly, her lips are still a bit chilly when she presses them to Killian’s skin. Warm, like always. Some joke about her own personal sun, and something else about walls made of ice and she doesn’t think before she mumbles, “you want to lay down, or something?” “Your father might challenge me to a duel.” “Not confident in your own sword skills?” “I’m very confident in my skills, but—” “—C’mon,” Emma interrupts, ignoring Killian’s protest when she pulls her arms out of the mountain of fabric covering her, “you’re warm, anyway.”

She realizes she loves him before she says it.

Well before, honestly. And she wonders why that feels inevitable, almost like it’s already happened, somehow but that’s—well, that’s impossible. She should rid that word from her vocabulary. And the inevitability of telling Killian everything she’s feeling isn’t totally surprising, either. Has been coming on so gradually that don’t you know, Emma, it’s you doesn’t knock her entirely off course. Might right her, actually. Direct her back towards some star or something else nautical and decidedly sentimental, and she cannot rationalize how quiet she is when he falls.

Dies, really.

This alternate version of him that still managed to rescue her, and she couldn’t save him and that’s not right. Two-way streets operate in both directions, but she didn’t tell him and everything feels like it stops. Not long enough. Time refuses to linger the way Emma needs it to, lungs threatening to disintegrate, and this isn’t real, can’t possibly be real and Henry’s pulling on her sleeve, telling her they have to go. He’s right. They’ve got to get out of here. Fix it, and give Emma more time, and she doesn’t spend any of it thinking before she rushes up the loft stairs and clings to him tightly enough that they fall over.

That will feel poetic later.

Standing in the center of Main Street, with a dagger in her hand and magic in the air and it’s familiar all over again, another burst of deja vu, and the exact opposite. Wrong, on a fundamental sort of level that she still can’t ignore and she closes her eyes. Thinks of what could be, or what she hopes will still happen, and then she tilts her head up and meets eyes that are far too blue to be fair and it’s easy to give voice to the words she hadn’t before.

That’s nice, she supposes.

Being as consistently confused by her own thoughts is one of Emma’s biggest pet peeves. “I love you.”

“Getting more and more difficult not to tell him. Isn’t it, dearie?” Sighing, Emma doesn’t bother glancing up from the half-finished dream catcher in her hands and Killian’s not going to be happy that he fell asleep. He likes to think he can protect her better while he’s conscious. As if he could protect her from her own mind.

“Do you even remember it?” Rumplestilskin continues, and it’s not really him. She has to keep reminding herself that. “Can see into your thoughts, y’know. And I don’t think you do.” “Shut up.” He doesn’t, of course. “The Queen did something. Changed something, somehow. Can feel the dregs of her magic, clinging to your memories and—” He leans forward. “—So can you, can’t you? Wonder why those scenes that appear behind your eyes every time you blink, feel so real. All that fairy tale fodder, and another thing you’ll miss out on. Strange how that version of your personal prince charming never mentioned what happens to you, isn’t it? Almost as if he’s keeping secrets. Maybe that’s a sign.” “Shut up.” She doesn’t mean to say anything. Responding only ever eggs the apparition on, and Emma’s head feels as if it will split in two. It might help if it did.

Every one of Rumplestilskin’s teeth is on display when he smiles. Like a goddamn crocodile.

“You could likely get your memories back. If you wanted. All that power surging through your veins. Or maybe,” he continues slowly, “part of what you’re feeling isn’t anything more than fate."

"No, that’s not true."

"Sure of that? Absolutely positive? Anything is possible, after all."

And the idea takes Emma by sudden and overwhelming surprise, part of her hating even the thought, but her feet are already moving and she might be running if the stretch of her legs is any sign, and Merlin doesn’t look up. When she slams open his door.

“You know, don’t you?” “Everything you’ve forgotten?” he asks lightly. “Yes, I do.” “What do I do about it?” “Would you like to do something about it?” “Did Regina do something to my memories?” Emma presses, leaning against the door as soon as it shuts behind her. One of his shoulders lifts. “He—the voice in my head…keeps taunting me about it, and I don’t—is any of that possible? That life?” Finally lifting his gaze, Merlin looks exactly as he did in that movie theater Emma only half believes she actually remembers, and time travel continues to be one of her least favorite things. “Depends,” he replies, “on you, and your next question.”

“I shouldn’t know. Right? Shouldn’t remember, I—he was looking at the house. The one I remember us living in sometimes, and I don’t…it’s impossible. To get back to that.” “He already told you it wasn’t,” Merlin argues.

I’ll never stop fighting for us.

Emma licks her lips. Coming up with anything else to say is difficult, and she’s still holding the goddamn dreamcatcher. That makes it easier. To give into instinct, and she’s broken. At her most basic level. Ripped apart and stitched back with pieces that don’t entirely belong to her, and remembering any of it feels like a cruel trick.

Lifting her arm, the whole thing only takes a few moments. Nothing more than a soft pull, and what feels like a soap bubble popping.

“Feel better?” Merlin asks, gaze dropping back to his table and his task and Emma nearly growls at him.

“What are you talking about?” “That’s what I thought. It won’t all disappear, though. Magic’s got a way of leaving a mark, especially magic like that.”

She leaves before he can make any other cryptic announcements, and Dark Ones don’t really need sleep. Emma sits on the bed for the rest of the night.

Dreams happen occasionally.

In the few days between — after the blade broke apart in her hand, and the decision that she won’t take this lying down, fuck whatever the world says about death and Dark Ones — visions start to creep into Emma’s subconscious. Sometimes they aren’t good, are a startling reminder of how it felt to fall to the ground, and the exact way dew soaked through her jeans, or how cold he was when his hand fell away from hers. And then sometimes they’re…not that.

They’re bright, and laughter rings out in the space Emma can’t quite define. Like it’s somewhere she’s been before, lived in even. Happily so. Scents hang in the air, a mix of salt and sweet and there’s almost always an arm curled around her waist, whispers in her ear and the steady press of kisses along her neck. Soft footsteps echo down carpeted hallways, and there’s garland wrapped around the staircase railing. Lining their ridiculous number of windows, and draped across branches of a tree.

For Christmas.

Emma isn’t sure how she knows that, but the snow outside is a good clue and it’s that — the growing desire to make this dream something closer to a reality, and no one questions her decision. To go to the Underworld. The same way she doesn’t second guess her steps as she races towards Killian, blood on his cheeks and nothing at the end of his left arm and he’s heavier than she remembered. Slumped against her chest with his breath in her ear, and it’s not quite the same as the dream, but they’ll get there.

They’ll get there.

Emma repeats the phrase — over and over, stumbling down a path she’s only passably confident will lead them outside, and he squeezes her hand. Three times.

Sometimes they dance.

In the kitchen. In the living room. She’s got this habit of hoarding records, and Killian’s far more interested in antiquing than he’d ever be willing to admit. Emma makes pirate jokes about it.

If only because it inevitably guarantees that spark in his eyes.

The one that makes her shiver, and reminds her of something she can’t quite remember and—she gasps, a hand spinning her on the kitchen floor. Away from the sink of dirty dishes and anything remotely responsible.

“I’m going to get your shirt all wet,” Emma grumbles, but that doesn’t appear to concern him very much. Or at all.

“Good.” “Good?” “Was that confusing?” Killian challenges, metal already working under the hem of her shirt. There are flowers on it.

“You think you’re very funny.” “I think I’ve got fantastic rhythm, and I can hear you thinking from across the room. What’s got your magic so loud?” Without stopping, Emma’s magic responds in kind — a symphony of possibility, and the growing sense of want that sits like a nearly-comfortable weight in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes she tells him. About the dreams, and the scenes that feel like she’s lived them before, and Killian never tells her she’s crazy. Even when Emma wonders if she might be. Instead, there’s simply this look of his own want, crinkling the skin near his eyes and she kisses away the pinch between his brow. Which makes it easier for her to ask— “Why this one?”

“Excuse me?” “This house,” Emma clarifies, and the conversation’s a little late. They’ve been here for years. Watched Henry grow up, and taught him how to use a sword, and watched movies until they could quote them back without a single mistake. So, really she should have figured it out before, but Emma’s had her suspicions. It’s only now that she’s greedy enough to ask about them.

“You know why.” “Would love to hear you say it.” “Pirate,” Killian accuses, without any insult and Emma giggles when he pulls her back to his chest. “And I—well, it’d be nice, don’t you think?” “Yeah, it would,” Emma says. The agreement tumbles out of her with ease, partially because of that aforementioned greed and the memories she can’t shake and Merlin said something to her. About magic’s tendency to leave something behind.

There’s a sheet of paper still hidden in her wallet.

“So,” she continues, “great big house, with lots of rooms and—” “—It’s your choice, Swan.” “That’s not how it works, and you know it. A combined team of planning and feeling and—” He dips her, she tries very hard not to giggle again. Fails miserably. “—Self-proclaimed rhythm. We just…this isn’t just about me, this is an us thing.” The music doesn’t stop. They only kind of do, Killian leaning back with a glint in his eyes that’s different than it normally is and Emma’s not sure when she started breathing through her mouth, but it’s drying out her lips and that’s not the first time she’s said that.

She doesn’t think so, at least.

“I’m a rather large fan of that string of words,” Killian says. “And you.” “Seems like a requirement of marriage.” “And parenting?” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

Kissing him is really the only reasonable option. And Emma considers herself fairly reasonable, although her magic nearly makes a light bulb explode a few hours later and it’s difficult to be annoyed by the smug look on Killian’s face when he’s not wearing any clothing.

“What about Regina?”

Half a dozen heads snap towards Emma, some of them sporting bemused expressions, while others wear flat out disbelief and she doesn’t blink. Her fingers tighten, under the table where she’s gripping Killian’s hand and she can’t seem to get comfortable.

There’s way more of her than she’s used to, and the books claim she’s in some stage called nesting. Which Killian uses as an excuse to make Swan jokes at every opportunity. It might be driving her insane.

So, Emma will use that as an excuse. “What do you mean, Your Highness?” Grumpy asks her, and Killian can’t quite mask his laugh. Even with his teeth pressed distractingly into his lower lip.

“I mean,” Emma starts, “that if we’re going to combine all the realms, maybe having Regina in charge might not be the worst idea. She’s got queenly experience.” “Wow,” Regina says slowly, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “No it is not!” “Top five, at least.” “You’re ruining this.”

Scrunching her nose is not a normal Regina reaction, but Emma figures it makes sense considering the circumstances and it’s a lot of responsibility. Uniting all the realms is a pretty daunting prospect, that will require enough of her own magic that Killian’s already freaking out just a bit, and somehow Emma can’t bring herself to be frustrated with that. Endeared, maybe.

And absolutely certain this will work.

She doesn’t know why. She looks at the slip of paper in her wallet, like four times a day.

“You’re sure?” Regina asks, Emma nods. “Alright, then I’d uh—it’d be my honor.”

They buy too many gifts. Hope is a baby. One who won’t have any memory of her first Christmas in this absolutely massive house, with a tree that Anton gave them a discount on.

“For milestones,” he reasoned, and Emma resolutely refuses to admit that she cried. But Killian brings it up more than once, and that gets her to roll her eyes and smile against his mouth when he ducks his head to kiss her and Snow White went above and beyond this year. Decorations line Main Street, cookies shared from every business and every person and all those people keep smiling. At her, and them and their kid is way cuter than her brother was.

Emma doesn’t mention that.

Killian does, at least when he whispers it to her while Leo tears apart another paper-covered box, and Hope gurgles in the crook of his arm. And Emma figures this is as good a time as any. To tug the folded envelope out of her pocket, flipping her wrist at the expectant and slightly confused look on Killian’s face. “What’s this?” “A gift,” Emma snarks, barely twisting out of the way to avoid him nipping at her nose. Like some twisted and very attractive Jack Frost. There’s some silver in his hair now.

He uses his hook to open it.

Emma clicks her tongue. So as not to push into his mouth. That might scar the kid.

“I don’t—” Killian says, pulling the scrap of paper out of. He holds it like it’s precious, and it is for Emma, but she also doesn’t entirely understand it and it’s kind of a selfish gift. “This is my hand writing. Why…I don’t remember writing this.” “And I don’t know when I got it. But I have it.” “I can see that.” “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s—I’ve had that for as long as I can remember. Since before New York, at least.” Killian’s eyes flash. To her and possibly through her, and Emma’s shrug is half-hearted at best. “Memories don’t always stick in this town,” he reasons, but it sounds like an excuse. For something she still doesn’t entirely understand.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been there. Was in my wallet, and I had it in Camelot, babe. Used to pull it out sometimes, when you were—” “—Dead?” “God bless us, every one.” His laugh lacks any real amusement. It’s not very festive. “I’m going to ask you something,” Emma says, fully prepared for the way his lips curl.

“Eventually you’ll bypass the proclamations, Your Highness.” “Why do you squeeze my hand? You do it all the time.” “Do I?” Blotches of pink appear on his cheeks and he might want to lie, but his ears can’t and that’s not as weird a sentence as it should be. “Only three times, you realize?” “Don’t insult me like that.” That laugh is better. Purer, more like him and Emma’s magic flickers when he kisses her cheek. He’s constantly kissing her cheek. And her hair. Temple. Anywhere he can reach, like he’s always looking for a reminder and proof, until Emma knows she depends on it just as much as he does.

“Made it easier,” he says, “saying it without actually using words.” “And the words were…” He doesn’t really glare — that’s against the rules at Christmas, Emma’s sure, but his head lolls and his lips quirk and magic jumps. In her. To him. Whatever, really. “I love you,” Killian says, easy as some other cliche and Hope squirms between them. When they start kissing.

To suggest that what happens next happens suddenly, also makes it seem like Emma is paying attention to anything outside the little bubble of family and feeling, and neither one of those things is true. So she can’t say that. Her mother can.

Gasping and yelping, and there’s color everywhere — rivaling the lights that hang all over, because no one does holidays and milestones better than Her Royal Highness Snow White of Storybrooke. Emma curses.

Like a goddamn princess.

Remembering something that hasn’t technically happened yet threatens to make Emma topple over, but she’s really good at standing now and Killian’s arm is around her anyway. That helps. Perpetually.

“What the hell was that?” David demands, with as little grace as any of them can exude.

Emma shakes her head, refusing to blink. Despite the moisture there, and the feelings and she remembers. Has this whole time, kind of. The semantics probably aren’t important, at least not as much as the light is and was and will be.

Perpetually.

She doesn’t answer. Not her dad, anyway.

“I love you,” Emma tells Killian instead, and it takes some time to explain it all later. True Love and its somewhat inconsistent if not equally wonderful tendencies, and while that future in the past may not happen exactly as it had, this is somehow better and Emma was right.

They got here, eventually.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #agh sorry for the incoming reblog but i'd like this to work

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kaypeace21 · 4 years

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Your El post was great and made me realise why I have so much of a problem with how she is portrayed in fanon, as if she didn't miss out on her whole early childhood development? So much fic about her completely ignores her intellectual delay and what the actual effects of her trauma would be. M*leven writers in particular really tend to make El some kind of self-insert instead of paying attention to who she really is and how she behaves. Pretty certain now that M*leven's not a healthy endgame.

El psych post here.

Aw, thanks. Yep , a lot of supposed ‘El fans’ (not all) don’t really care about El as a person. It’s sad cause she is a really interesting and engaging character - but most reduce her to her telekenesis and being Mike’s girlfriend. Some see her as a chosen one/power fantasy character they can project on to, to feel powerful. And some just fantasize about being with Finn, (so project on to El) . Others also just like the cliche of “main girl/guy” getting together. Or just refuse to let go of a ship they got so worked up about in s1, so choose to live in denial about how s3 spells out how mileven is doomed (and how even s2 hinted at this). Others simply ignore her trauma, neglect, and lack of socialization and how it clearly affects her. And ignore how getting into a relationship with a boy she knew for less than a week , who she asked “Will you be like my brother? Why not?” / and even asked if they’d go to the dance as ‘ friends’?” Before he kisses her -is questionable to say the least. Especially, cause only a day or 2 before : she just learned what a friend even was. Yet , people expect her to automatically and inexplicably understand the distinctions between platonic, familial, and romantic love? Or even the distinctions between crushes, physical attraction, or actual romantic love? They paralleled Hopper/El to mileven to show how she’s confusing her familial love for Mike with romance (they showed that by paralleling them to sibling/cousins too) .See parallels here.

El was dating Mike for 6 months, despite asking Max “How do I know what I like?” That’s something she should have known BEFORE dating someone! Girl , said she’s not even sure she likes kissing Mike cause he’s her “first boyfriend”- and after dumping him/ this kiss convo, she swoons at a new boy in a magazine. Poor El doesn’t need a bf she needs a stable support system (of friends and family) to help her learn about the world and herself-before even thinking about romance.

Do some not think it’s a little strange a 14 year old is SO into teddy bears (like Holly who carries one in s3)? And don’t see it’s actually a hint she’s delayed? Not to mention , El in s2 was just taught (by Hopper) how to tell time and what the word “compromise” meant . And in s3 , she doesn’t even know what a State is . While , in contrast, Mike in s2 was talking about “ectotherms”, schooled Hopper about computer programming , and won the science fair 4x. The knowledge imbalance/gap is just - VERY problematic .

Some will delude themselves and think El in a year will just magically catch up with her friends . While others low key LOVE how behind she is and like the idea of her being completely reliant/dependent on Mike to teach her things -ick. I saw a mileven say El in s4 would probably believe in Santa and Mike would lie/trick her so she’d think he’s real.And they acted like that was romantic . And they saw no problems with that whole can of worms. I could not deal with how problematic that post was and all the likes/ and 28 reblogs.😑

No normally developed teenager would hear about Santa and actually believe it.Call me crazy, but maybe a boy who is intellectually gifted shouldn’t be with a girl who he could theoretically trick into thinking Santa is real. And y’know, maybe El wouldn’t like to be LIED to since she dumped Mike for lying to her in s3.

But, I understand that this fandom has a lot of young fans, despite the Duffers’ saying this is “not a kids show” . So a lot of these kid-fans (unlike most adults and some teen fans ) don’t comprehend why such a gap in knowledge between 2 people in a romantic coupling is problematic (not cute). Or why being so attached to a partner (to the point of neglecting other relationships) isn’t healthy . Especially when they have the (then future) girlfriend violently push the guy’s gal-friend cause they smiled at eachother and she was jealous, have that same couple never apologize to eachother for lying/stalking eachother , have the couple have nothing in common, nor have conversations that better help them understand one another but in fact cause even more confusion- so instead they just kiss all the time . It’s a mess. When older they’ll probably... hopefully... understand why mileven was considered SO... questionable.

#el hopper #jane ives #stranger things #anti mileven

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ethanray · 3 years

Text

I posted 1,079 times in 2021

13 posts created (1%)

1066 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 82.0 posts.

I added 1,881 tags in 2021

#star wars - 697 posts

#fan art - 505 posts

#obi wan kenobi - 193 posts

#ahsoka tano - 123 posts

#anakin skywalker - 99 posts

#the jedi order - 74 posts

#cats - 71 posts

#qui gon jinn - 50 posts

#leia organa - 35 posts

#luke skywalker - 34 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#at least that's when it got cold last year when i walked everywhere and therefore paid more attention to the weather than in previous years

My Top Posts in 2021

Obi-Wan Appreciation Month Day 8 - First memory of Obi-Wan (maybe)

My first memory of Obi-Wan Kenobi is of my kindergarten teacher reading to us about the battle between him and General Grievous. This memory is clear enough that when I first saw “A New Hope” a couple years later, I recognized the name Obi-Wan from that story. However, there are a couple things about that memory that make me wonder if it really happened. First, I was in kindergarten in 2002-2003, which was before General Grievous’ first appearance in 2004 and well before the release of ROTS. Second, my kindergarten teacher was a fundamentalist Christian who taught us that the Earth was 5000 years old and that Halloween was the Devil’s holiday. The story I remember her reading here is not the type of thing she would normally have read us. While this event may not have occurred exactly as I remember it, I am certain I heard about Obi-Wan Kenobi before I watched my first Star Wars movie.

11 notes • Posted 2021-02-08 13:01:02 GMT

I've recently realized that all my favorite pieces of Star Wars media include either Jedi Masters and their Padawans working together or teenage girls taking matters into their own hands and making life difficult for any adults trying to protect them.

23 notes • Posted 2021-10-26 18:48:02 GMT

I'm rewatching The Phantom Menace and it's wild to me that people think Qui-Gon is some sort of model Jedi that the other Jedi should have been more like. Like, imagine if every single Jedi acted like him. They would all think they were the only one to know the true will of the force and would never agree on anything. No one would want to ask for Jedi help with anything because they know the Jedi would try to take control of the situation and may try to mind trick them if there's a disagreement. The entire Senate would probably be so annoyed with having to deal with them that they'd vote to kick the Jedi out of the Republic.

28 notes • Posted 2021-11-15 03:40:55 GMT

Headcanon that it took Ahsoka quite a while to understand what she needed money for after leaving the Jedi Order because wherever she went, sapphic teenagers kept giving her everything she needed for free

58 notes • Posted 2021-06-26 01:41:42 GMT

Ah yes the Jedi Order had many flaws, including (checks notes)

Taking children willingly given up by their parents and raising those children in a supportive, caring environment with other people who have similar abilities

Having control over their emotions

Not approving of people committing mass murder in the name of "love"

Being unable to end slavery in a region of the galaxy where they had no political power to do so

Not giving someone a rank that person had not earned just because the Chancellor asked them to

Fighting in a war when refusing to fight would have caused many more people around the galaxy to suffer

Not being omniscient and realizing that the entire war was part of a decades-long plot by the Sith to destroy them

Having rules and expecting members of the Order to follow those rules

As you can see from this list, the Jedi were all terrible people and brought about their own destruction

1012 notes • Posted 2021-08-21 03:23:03 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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kai-keda · 4 years

Text

Cowards Die Many Times | DreamSMP Fanfic

Wow okay so I literally JUST made a post flat-out making fun of myself for writing this but in the tags I made a comment of “Should I post this?” and wow three people already reblogged with comments expressing I share.

So, you can thank (or blame lol) @thesmpisonfire @tommyistheprotagofthesmp and @ak3m0n for this being posted here at all. Depending on what the response to this is on here, I may or not post it on a03 and, again, depending on the response, I may or may not make this a sort of collection of one-shots detailing different death scenes and how the characters felt in those moments.

A/N:

THIS IS NOT ABOUT THE REAL LIFE STREAMERS!

I view the DreamSMP storyline as a sort of Dungeons and Dragons game with no real DM. Just players running around a world that they create as they go along and cause whatever chaotic instances and plot points they can manage. As such, while I write this and as you read this I want you to remember - burn into your brain - that this story isn’t about the real Minecraft streamers. They aren’t even streamers in this fic, they are fictional characters living in a made-up fictional world. I get that the line is blurred due to the nature of the videos this is based on, but I view it as being sort of like how when you write a character like Spiderman, you’re writing Spiderman, not Tobey Maquire.

All that being said, I really wanted to just write this concept of how death and respawn works with Tubbo from a certain festival event but as it turns out, he is very uncomfortable with the concept of fanfiction written about him. (Thank you SMP-boundaries for your God sent Tumblr) As such, even though I don’t see it as me writing literally him as I’m sure he’s seen plenty of, I won’t include anything from his perspective and try to limit any sort of mention of him. (I can’t bring myself to surgically remove him entirely. That would just be impossible because of how much of a part he plays both in what visibly happens and in Tommy’s development) ALSO PLEASE do not go out of your way and tag or try to show any of the Minecraft streamers/youtubers involved in this (not that y’all would lol). I happen to know that Tommy especially doesn’t want to see them even if he’s okay with them existing.

This was also meant to be a sort of collection of ficlets in one chapter. It was going to include more than this one scene and even include a POV from Wilbur but, uh, wow I got really carried away heh

SO YEAH! Now we got the important bits out of the way, please enjoy~

Cowards Die Many Times

“Do I shoot him Wil, or do I aim for the skies?” It was a heavy question. So heavy he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. As they stood together and allowed the light reflecting off the water shine on them in a subtle way, Tommy considered his options. The answer should have been obvious. After all, this was war and this duel was their ticket to end it all and free themselves from their previous leader. The one Wil and he had labeled as a tyrant.

Dream.

“Tommy I -” A pause. Tommy looked up at his general. The only man he would ever take orders from. Wilbur Soot. He could see in his eyes that he had messed up. This was a burden Tommy couldn’t handle anymore. The deafening silence lasted for all of two seconds but it felt like eternity. He would never know for sure what Wilbur thought of his outburst and challenge towards their worst enemy, but the answer he received relaxed him. If only for a bit.

“I want you to do whatever your heart tells you.”

Tommy took a deep breath and relaxed it before turning around and going towards the man who hid behind a mask.

“Coward.” He whispered to himself. When he thought the word, he believed it was for Dream but now that he felt it leave his mouth and heard the shake of his voice, he wasn’t sure if it was for himself or not.

He walked to the center of the wooden path and held his bow tight. The tyrant, with his bright green hoodie that seemed to act as a target and challenge, laughed with his friends. With George and Sapnap. As if he felt this was all a game and after he won it would all be over with him holding more than bragging rights. The worst of the scene was that even Eret - the traitor - joined in their fun.

With such thoughts running through his mind, it’s no wonder the decision Tommy came to.

They needed their independence.

And Tommy had the perfect opportunity.

He knew what death felt like. He had nearly grown used to it. Maybe that’s why he was always so quick to start fights, skirmishes and even join wars. That was probably why he felt no regret with this decision to challenge the immediate area’s strongest member.

But if he was so used to death, then why did he shake so much?

Dream finally left his friends behind to watch as he walked towards Tommy. The younger of the two swallowed his nerves and did his best to glare. The smiling mask stared him down. Was Dream glaring under there? Was he shaking within the loosely fit hoodie? Was he…

“Are you taking this seriously at all, Dream?”

“Oh, I don’t know. This seems pretty easy.”

Oh yeah, Tommy was killing him for sure. To hell with any sort of ‘honor’ that supposedly came with throwing away ones shot in a duel, Dream was officially a dead man.

“Remember, Tommy,” Dream stated with his usual calmness, “when I win, you give me the disk, Mellohi, and you all give up this silly tantrum for good.”

Tommy glared even harder as now he was angrier than ever. Dream was always after his music disks, his most prized possessions in this God forsaken land. Betting one of them was worth it if it meant seizing total and complete independence forever for this wonderful vision Wilbur had shared with him.

He thought briefly about the disks. About why they were so treasured by Dream and himself.

For Dream they were merely bargaining tools. Something he could use to keep Tommy under control and stop him from starting anymore fights with anymore members under Dreams thumb. The deal would be that if Tommy got involved in any sort of ‘griefing’ of any kind, Dream would burn the disks. Though, to be completely fair and honest, all of that had started with Sapnap burning an unrelated member's home and then dragging both of the now dueling men into the fight.

But for Tommy? These disks were everything. There was something nostalgic about the sound of music, as though there was something he had long forgotten from a time far behind him. It was incredibly rare where they lived to find such things and Tommy, Tommy had two of them. Each a different mixture of sounds that brought their own unique textures to his mind.

He was not about to throw away his shot.

A whisper entered his mind and he did his best to not give away who it was from. For someone to use this ability, one that made themselves freeze in place and become vulnerable, especially at a time like this, it was important. So he simply continued to glare at Dream.

‘There’s no turning back now, Tommy. Good luck out there. My right hand man.’

Tommy took a deep breath before yelling out as loud as he could. “LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOO!”

At the sound of yelling, Dream, Sapnap, George, Eret and even Tubbo - the only other member as young as the loud blonde child and one of their allies - all laughed. But the rest of his side? His makeshift army? They starred with an apathetic energy Tommy wasn’t sure what to feel about. All looked as though they had given up on this hopeless revolution. The humanoid fox and supposed child of the general, (it was unclear how serious he was of such a claim as it was never confirmed) Fundy, even went so far as to let out a sigh and shake his head.

He never was one to find such outbursts funny. It was as though he felt that Tommy treated this all as a simple game with no consequences. Yeah, he hadn’t experienced death nearly as many times as Tommy had, so maybe he did think more of it.

Wilbur, however, was hardly monotone in his expression and voice. As he spoke his next line, he looked directly at Tommy for only a brief second with worry and, more importantly, sadness. Wilbur had also already given up but as Tommy thought over that look, he realized that Wilbur, the one who was always looking after him as though he were an older brother charged with watching over the youngest child, was apologizing for dragging him into this. For supposedly making Tommy experience the worst possible torture this crazy world had to offer over and over.

Death.

“Are both parties ready?” Wilbur had questioned. After that one look, he refused to even so much as glance at Tommy. The younger one understood. Wil could never help getting emotional in times like these, after all.

Tommy turned to look at his opponent and the damn man was putting on a show of yawning, hardly looking prepared. He really was that confident.

Tommy pointed an accusatory finger at the one who seemed to like to smile a bit too much and yelled out “Are you ready to experience death, Dream?! Cause I’m ready to cause it for you!”

Dream shrugged and stood straight, bow in hand at his side. “Let’s hurry and get this started.”

Wilbur, still not looking at Tommy and, more surprisingly, not saying anything about his outburst of a response, stated the rules of the duel.

Turn their backs to each other, count ten paces - no more, no less - and then fire on your opponent at will. The first to die wins the duel and the agreement.

Either Tommy loses one-half of his most prized possessions, or he gains independence for their nation.

The count began. Tommy thought about what it would be like to kill Dream like this. No tricks, no silly traps and no real plans from either of them. Just a single arrow making contact and he would be dead. It was almost unreal. He would be a hero and would be considered a total badass. Maybe everyone, both enemy and friend, would finally respect him.

The count hit four. His thoughts turned away from such happy fantasies. What if Dream wanted revenge? He never took losing very well. Rather, he took it harshly, and the Lord only knew what George would do to them in unofficial retaliation. Dream would probably lightly suggest George return the favor to Tommy in a whisper and then claim to wash his hands of the incident. Just for the satisfaction of showing power while keeping whatever peace they decide upon after all this.

The count hit seven. Tommy centered himself. Maybe it was a bad idea to allow himself to daydream at this time. He probably should’ve been scanning and studying the terrain thoroughly and thinking of how to use it to his advantage and of how the other could use it against him. Think of a plan or at least a vague idea of the literal millions if not infinite possibilities.

Like hell.

Tommy always thought of plans only when he was backed into a corner and even then he was well into a battle.

Dream was the one to come up with every possible outcome and choose one of nine where he won. Tommy refused to be like Dream.

The count hit ten.

Tommy turned quickly and fired. His arrow went off and almost hit Sapnap, someone who was once an ally, if only temporarily, in his and Dream’s initial war. Way further off his target than the young man was willing to accept.

There was no time to think and sit in denial of being such a terrible shot. No time to listen to Dreams lackies yell at him to be a better aim or watch Tubbo cover his eyes while Fundy simply shrugged as though expecting it. Dream’s first arrow went by his ear so fast he almost felt as though it could deafen him and the older of the two was already aiming his second shot while Tommy was stuck in disbelief.

Tommy quickly moved and jumped to avoid the arrow that he knew would hit him if he didn’t but instead of landing on the wooden path, he crashed into the water. The very lake - or was it a pond? - that served to decorate the land and create a nice scenic area to sit and enjoy time with friends around. Tommy had forgotten all about it just as everyone had probably predicted.

Just as Dream had predicted.

As no arrows came, Tommy figured that Dream was waiting for him to surface so he took the time to ponder on his decisions.

After all, there was no doubt they were coming to bite him in the ass. There was no chance of him getting out of the water and not getting shot to death by a single arrow from his worst enemy.

This was it.

He was going to die again.

How much would it hurt this time? How long would he be stuck in an area of nothingness as whatever God that created them formed a new body? Would he be able to see his friends, to see Wilbur, as they are forced to give away any hope of a special place they could call their own?

Would it be slow and torturous as his body reels from the pain or would it be instant and clean? He had no way of knowing any of these things. He had no way of knowing what this death would feel like as, in his experience, there was no rhyme or reason to any of it.

What would one day only sting for a bit as he was instantly brought back to life, would cause him to spasm and feel his heart stop and his lungs give up their air for what felt like hours. In that one case that comes to mind, to add insult to injury, he would be trapped in that plain area that was completely absent of light and life with no way to contact anyone he loved (or hated).

They all knew this.

They all agreed that the fear of what would happen as you see the attacks coming and you feel yourself growing weaker could only sometimes be worse than the experience itself.

Tommy felt torn by everything in a single moment. If they all knew this, then why did they fight in this war to begin with? Was it worth these moments of pure fear and terrible agony?

Whenever he would die he would return as though nothing ever happened despite his true thoughts and experience. He was not one to talk about things like ‘feelings’ or ‘emotions’. That was something for women and only women. No matter how much Wilbur would try to encourage him to be more open like Tubbo, Tommy was a man. And he was always fighting to prove it.

Yes.

He may be positive he’ll lose. He may be certain there is no chance of winning this duel, but Tommy made a decision in that moment as he swam to the other side of the path.

He was going to die but he’d be damned if he let himself be the cause of Wilbur’s hopes in the form of their very own L’Manberg crashing down forever and for good.

First, he had to make it look good so no one else would suspect what he had hiding in the deepest part of his mind. An actual plan.

He jumped from the lake and pointed his arrow directly at the mask and right between the eyes but before he could fire, he was hit.

Ah. This one was going to hurt.

#dream smp #fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #tommyinnit #kairi yajuu fanfiction #cowards die many times #that's a Shakespeare #just btw #I was gonna add the scene where Tommy and Dream make the deal with the discs but that ending felt too damn right #when I wrote it and then read a few paragraphs back to that point #and it felt even better when I read through the whole thing several times #for quality control and stuff ya know?#anyways this is probably really cringe hah #hope they don't find this #oh yeah!#Not that y'all would but don't @ any of the creators to try and show them this #most of them don't mind that fanfiction exists #but they would rather pretend it doesn't #cough cough tommyinnit himself

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secret-kkh-fics · 3 years

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Light Casts a Shadow - Chapter 3

Due to this not being posted anywhere else yet, please like but DON’T REBLOG my fics.

Chapter Index | First Chapter | << Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

Chapter Summary:

Continuing their conversation, the Darkling and Alina discuss the coup and come to a compromise. Aleksander even shows his softer side as he answers Alina’s questions. But can they truly trust the other?

Author Note:

Yet another chapter I really had fun with. I love playing with the balance of the seriousness, as well as the longing they both feel and where they slip from tension to familiarity and back again. This is far from the end of their conversations, but it wraps up for the night.

Hope you enjoy!

A Fragile Compromise

Alina’s chest tightened, and all the air left her lungs. She was certain that her eyes were bugging out, and her mouth was hanging open. She wasn’t sure how the Darkling could sit there looking as calm and collected as he did after he’d just spoken those words.

Those terrifying, traitorous words.

“Kill the king?!” she repeated breathlessly. “You want to start a coup?!”

“I have spent centuries watching that imbecile and his forebears hunt, kill and mock our people. I have watched them run Ravka into the ground for their own arrogance and pleasure. I have watched them become even more useless and greedy than the one before. You’ve met Prince Vasili. Can you really tell me that he will be a good king?”

Alina’s nose screwed up as she thought of the crown prince. With his weak chin he’d inherited from his father and the lazy eyes that made him seem perpetually sleepy or drunk. The latter being the most likely as he was known to drink as well as whore and race horses, and do little else.

She slowly shook her head. “But… how will you get him to step down. O-or are you planning on killing him too?”

“Vasili is weak,” he said. “There’s a chance he may rebel for his pride, but I’m sure that he’d rather abdicate than lose his life.” She nodded absentmindedly, almost in a daze.

“Don’t they have another son?” she asked. “Genya called him… Sobachka.”

“Ah, yes. Nikolai. He won’t be a problem. The boy is a bastard.”

“A-and you want to rule instead?” Her voice was hesitant. She was speaking treason for crying out loud.

“I wouldn’t say want is the right word. I never wanted to. But in trying to make Ravka a safe haven for Grisha, I have become accustomed to command. I more than have the experience necessary.”

He sat proudly in his chair, exuding confidence in his statement. She wanted to say that he was completely arrogant, but… He had once been an advisor to King Anastas hundreds of years ago. He was still an advisor to the king and had been for hundreds of years. He ruled the Grisha. He really did have a lot of experience. And, she supposed, also the experience of a long life knowing better than the short-sighted kings who couldn’t see beyond their own reign.

Oh, Saints. She was beginning to agree with where he was coming from.

“O-okay,” she said quietly.

“I refuse to be ruled by useless kings and let our people suffer anymore. Do you, Alina?”

She swallowed heavily. He was asking if she was with him… still with him. After all, she’d hesitantly agreed to help him, so long as it was on her own terms. She wasn’t sure how treason and regicide sat with her. Or any murder at all, for that matter. But she was finding that she agreed with the sentiment of everything he said. All the reasons he had for doing the horrible things he planned…

Oh, Saints… She had never believed in them, but she prayed that this wasn’t just manipulation.

No.

No, Feydor was coming later to confirm this was the truth. But then… he’d said it himself. Baghra could manipulate with nothing but the truth. She wouldn’t be all that surprised if he could too. He could tell her anything to get her on his side, say the things she wanted to hear, and through omission, not a word he spoke would be false. And she wouldn’t have a clue since his face gave very little away.

She let out a slow, steady breath.

“No. I don’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper. If the room wasn’t so quiet, he probably wouldn’t have even heard her. The slightest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lip, a smug, hungry one. He knew he had her. He liked that she was choosing this. “I-I don’t know if I like it,” she admitted. “But I can see why. I… agree with your reasons.”

“We can remake the world, Alina,” he told her with renewed fervour. “A world with no war. No need for Grisha to hide. We can change it. Together.”

Her breath shuddered out of her, and she closed her eyes. “Okay,” she agreed. She didn’t see his smile, but she was sure he was. She snapped them open to see his prideful, victorious grin she knew had been there. “But I have some demands.” His brows rose. “I want honesty,” she said first. “I want you to tell me the truth about everything, no manipulations, no tricks, no omissions. I want to know exactly what I’m getting into. And I want you to listen to me when I have concerns. I want you to be willing to compromise on situations and actually discuss plans with me. I’m willing to compromise. Are you, Aleksander?”

He stared at her a long time, and she remained as firm as she could, her chin tilted up defiantly, though her heart was pounding loud enough she was sure he could hear it.

“Those are… acceptable terms, Ms Starkov,” he told her.

Her entire body sagged in relief, the tension flowing out of her. She was in way over her head, and she knew that this wasn’t going to be easy. There was still so much they had to talk about. But she felt like this was the better idea. Saints knew, if she’d listened to Baghra and run, she’d likely be hunted by both the Darkling and all his enemies. She didn’t know if she could fully trust him yet, but she knew she trusted him more than the others. She at least knew he would keep her safe, at least for his own plans, if not for her.

“As long as you are also honest with me, Alina,” he told her. “I want to know what you're thinking. I don’t want you suddenly running off because you don’t agree with something or don’t trust me. If you want to compromise, we will need to talk to each other.”

She nodded. “I’m okay with that,” she told him. “And I-I won’t run off.” She shot him a wry grin. “Besides, where would I go?”

He frowned. “You aren’t trapped here.”

“Aren’t I?” she said, her voice small. “Everyone outside wants to kill me.” She tried to laugh, but it was short and hollow. “Even in here. Didn’t you say there was an assassination attempt?”

He nodded that edge of steel back in his eyes. “Sent by General Zlatan.”

“What happened? How did you catch him?” she asked. She hadn’t noticed any attempt on her life. And that seems like it would have been a noticeable event, unless… A loud gasp left her lips. “Marie!”

Aleksander’s eyes softened, a sadness there as he nodded. “The assassin attacked her and Genya in the fitting room before dinner even started. The Oprichniki heard gunfire and found him attempting to escape. Genya is okay,” he told her. “Her kefta saved her from taking a bullet to the shoulder.”

She noticed that he had neglected to say anything about the girl who had been pretending to be her. “And Marie?” she asked.

He looked down, his face stony. “She didn’t make it,” he said quietly.

His words were like a blow to her stomach. She felt ill, and pain blossomed through her chest, making it hard to breathe. No… No, Marie couldn’t be… It was only that afternoon that they had been in the changing room laughing about how she’d accidentally set Sergei on fire. She still remembered just how embarrassed she’d been that she’d burnt and almost drowned the boy she had a crush on after weeks of psyching herself up to talk to him. Now she never could.

She didn’t make it…

She felt tears begin to run down her cheeks, her throat sore, as if she’d swallowed a sharp lump of ice. Marie had been one of her first friends here. Sure, she’d found her a bit snobbish and a massive gossip, but that came with the territory of being raised at the Little Palace. She’d enjoyed her company, and her gossip had helped her navigate her new life so much when she’d first arrived. Spending time with Marie and Nadia had been one of the few things she truly enjoyed here and-

Oh, Saints… Nadia. Did Nadia know? How would she react to her best friend being murdered? Would she hate her for Marie’s death? After all, the assassin was trying to kill her, not Marie. Marie was innocent. She never should have been there. She wasn’t supposed to die…

“How?” she asked, her voice tight and trembling. “What did he do to her?”

“Alina-”

“No!” she cried, cutting off his soft warning. “He thought she was me. She died protecting me. She died because of me!”

“She died because that filthy otkazat'sya wanted money and didn’t care who he had to kill to get it.” His voice was fierce, seething with hatred.

“How?” she repeated.

He studied her a moment before speaking quietly. “He sliced her throat open. Genya said that her last request was to wear her own face. She’s beside herself because she feels if she’d taken the path of a Healer, she could have done something.” He let out another bone-weary sigh. “It still would have been too late.”

She shook her head, still almost in denial that Marie was gone. It was like she’d understood the words, but her heart was still yet to accept them. Hesitantly, Aleksander finally moved from his chair, approaching her like a frightened animal and knelt before her. He lifted his hand to her face once more, ever so slowly, looking for any trace of uncertainly. When she didn’t so much as flinch away or even look fearful at his approaching touch, he let his hand gently glide across her skin to cup her cheek.

“I am sorry, Alina,” he told her gently. “I understand how you feel. I may have shut myself off from caring about people a long time ago, but I still remember the pain. Each loss never goes away… but it does get easier.”

She sniffed. “How could this ever get easier?” She couldn’t imagine that any death would be easy. Everyone she’d seen die in the last few months still haunted her. Raisa, Alexei, Liev, all the soldiers on the skiff, even the Fjerdan the Darkling had cut in half to stop him from killing her. “And w-why would you stop yourself from caring?” she asked, her brow furrowed. She saw how he looked after his Grisha. Surely he had to care. You couldn’t go forever without caring for people. Heck, she’d tried not to care about the people here, and that had been a massive failure.

“I have lived a very long time, Alina. I have seen too many deaths, either at the hands of others or old age. At a certain point, you become used to it. You accept that everyone around you will die sooner than later.” He sighed deeply. “It’s harder when you like them. You mourn them more.”

She didn’t need him to say it for her to understand what he meant. He tried not to care about anyone to avoid the pain. More tears spilt over her cheeks as she thought about what that could possibly like. To live so long that everyone you cared for died over and over again to the point that you just didn’t care anymore. She imagined it would be similar to having a pet with a much shorter lifespan than your own. That’s how he saw people… Fleeting. She could see it in his eyes, just how ancient he was. An abyss of knowledge and memories in his dark grey eyes that she might one day come to understand.

The Darkling’s thumb brushed her tears away before retreating. This close, she could see that he regretted having to move away, but there was a hesitancy and restraint to his movements. He was being cautious around her, unsure how she would react to him and his touch now that she knew the truth. And honestly, she wasn’t sure either.

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” she whispered as he withdrew back to his own seat once more. “Knowing that Marie is gone… I barely knew her for a few months, but it hurts so much. I… I can’t imagine not feeling that.”

A sorrowful smile flitted across his lips. “You are kind, Alina. And young. One day you will understand.”

She shook her head, still not able to comprehend it. And he seemed so certain that she would live a long time too. “Have you ever lost someone you couldn’t get over?” she asked, the words out of her mouth before she could think about them. “Someone who’s death you still felt, even though you knew better?”

Aleksander started at her question, not expecting it. For a moment, he became lost in thought, staring blankly at a spot before him. “I had a wife once…,” he told her. “A long time ago.”

With a flick of his wrist, shadow swarmed up from the ground beside him in a pillar and took the form of a woman. Alina blinked in surprise, marvelling at what she was seeing. Before her stood the shadowy form of a woman in perfect detail. She couldn’t distinguish colours or strands of hair, but she could see the emotion on her face. She had no idea that Aleksander could do this.

“Her name was Luda,” he murmured. “And I loved her with everything I had, but I knew that our time was short. I knew that from the start. A few centuries of watching everyone around me die had already taught me better. Yet with her, I found I couldn’t help it… Being Grisha extends your life. And the more powerful Grisha, the longer that life. But most only live a few decades longer than any otkazat'sya. At best, some live to see a decade or so more than a hundred years. And she hoped to find a way to extend that… but even then, I knew she could never be with me as long as she hoped. That her wish for a few hundred years was little more than a drop in a bucket to me.” He stared at her shadowy form for a moment, his hand reaching up as if to caress her cheek before falling back.

“Despite that knowledge, she was still the light in my life, my anchor. I decided I would at least take what time with her that I could. She was a Healer. And together, we found and trained young Grisha, much as we’re still doing here. But back then, all we had was a village - just a small village with houses and fields. No walls. No protection. Only an old church nearby if refuge was needed. When I confronted the King, asking for our kind to be left alone, his first target was the village. As I escaped his grasp, all of the men, women and children that I had taught and protected were slaughtered for no reason at all. My mother managed to get many of them to the church…”

“Did she… she wasn’t amongst the ones at the church, was she?” she asked gently.

“No…” his eyes flicked up to her. “But not because she was killed there. She knew that I would return to our home, so she went there instead. Maybe if she hadn’t, if she had gone to the church, she might have lived… But she wanted to protect me.”

With a wave of his hand, the woman dissipated, and an entire scene sprawled before her. There were now many figures around the room. Most of them had bows drawn on the central figure. His hair was slightly longer and partially done up, and his clothing style was different - older, but it was unmistakably Aleksander. He stood with his arms stretched out behind him, a man moving behind him with strange cuffs held apart by a short post. He looked desperate, something she’d never seen before. And before him, another solder held Luda; a knife pressed to her side. She watched as the shadows began to move. The man behind the shadowy Darkling cuffed his hands and kicked his legs out, so he fell to his knees. She couldn’t hear the words they spoke, but she could see the raw emotion on his face, even through the shadowy distortion. She watched as he begged, desperate and terrified. To no avail as the other solder plunged his dagger into the woman, and she crumpled to the ground. The shadowy form of Aleksander let out a silent, agonised cry.

“They said that their only order was to return with me alive…” his voice, though quiet, cut through the silence that had fallen, making her jump slightly and her eyes snap back to the real man before her. “That they didn’t need her. Mother was right, in the end. She was just mortal… and mortals die.”

It was then that she heard it. He had been so vulnerable with her in these moments, truly letting his guard down for her to see. And she heard it in his voice. Not pain, not sorrow or loss… but the resignation of a lonely man. Hopelessness. A man who was so desperately alone, he had accepted that pain and accepted that he would be lonely forever.

She reached out and placed her hand on his once more. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He flicked her a sad smile. “It was many years ago. Five hundred years is more than enough to dull the sorrow.”

“Was that… was that before you created the Fold?” she asked, pure curiosity getting to her now.

He nodded. “Immediately before. She was still alive when I broke free and killed the King’s men. I took her to the church, hoping there was a healer there. None of them had survived, and she passed away only moments later.” He looked at his empty glass, twisting it in the light. “My mother made me realise that we needed an army of our own to protect us. But back then, Grisha were makers and fixers, not fighters. So, I began looking through Morozova’s journals. I wanted to use Merzost to turn the King’s army into my own. They found us not long after, and I walked out to confront them.” He waved his hand once more, the shadowy figures that had faded away rose up once more, an entire battalion stood around the room while the shadowy Darkling stood before them, his arms out initially in surrender, but then shadows began to lick off his form as he began to speak. “I lost control…”

She watched as the shadows coming off the figure his past self suddenly exploded, rushing out behind him and expanding outwards, encasing the room entirely in darkness. Before her vision was taken by the shadows, she saw the look on the memory’s face. His expression was one of agony, as though the shadows spewing out his back were pulling his very soul with them.

With this much darkness surrounding her, she instinctually reacted, sunlight unfurling off her in waves and chasing the shadows back. When she was able to see the Darkling again, she could see that look on his face once more, the one that was almost awe. Like this was something he’d longed for his entire life. She wondered, for someone who was so entwined in shadows and darkness… He loved the sunlight.

Trying to hide her answering smile at the expression, Alina suddenly realised a discrepancy in the stories she’d been told. Aleksander said that he was telling her the truth, and if he was, then Baghra had definitely lied.

“Your mother said you did it on purpose,” she told him, half teasing.

“Of course she did,” he huffed.

“Mmm, she said you made it to be a weapon.”

“Well, I’ve certainly made plans for that since, but I definitely had no intentions of tearing the entire country in half at the time. I didn’t even think I was powerful enough to do such a thing, and I am very aware of the power I hold.” He smirked at her, and she shook her head, hiding her smile once more. “What other lies did my mother say?”

Alina’s nose scrunched as she tried to think back to what Baghra had told her. It had been a long night, and the details of the conversation were fading away. “Um… Oh! Did you really take a nobleman’s name?”

“Yes, at her suggestion, of course.”

“Right.” She frowned. Baghra had made it sound like it was all his idea. “I…”

“Yes?” His brows rose inquiringly.

“I always thought that mothers were supposed to be kind and love you unconditionally,” she said. It was the dream. The thing that all the children at the orphanage longed for. A part of her knew it wasn’t true, having heard whispers from children whose parents had been less than loving. But it was the ideal that they all wished they had. She had no memory of her mother, only that she had looked like her. “I thought that they were supposed to support their children, not…” She shrugged as she tried to think of the words. “Sabotage them and make them sound worse than they are.”

“Most parents, yes, but Baghra is not like other mothers. She’s too old and too shrewd. She selected my father purely for the sake of offspring and nothing else. And though we care for each other in our own way, it’s not what most would consider normal. We have to consider the times we’re in and the consequences of the years ahead.”

Alina nodded, pretending she understood. “So, not really the kind to show affection, then?”

Aleksander snorted. “Not with Baghra, no. You’ve been to her lessons. Believe me when I say she showed me as much love, if not less. But, as always, she taught me well.”

“What to lie, manipulate and look at people like chess pieces?”

He smirked. “You clearly have a high opinion of my mother,” he said sarcastically. “But yes, she taught me that as well… amongst other things.”

She shuddered, seeing the look in his eye. She got the impression that ‘other things’ were less than pleasant. And considering who he was, how long he’d been alive, what he could do…

A frown played at her lips as she considered just what a young Aleksander must have been through, being a Shadow Summoner in a world where Grisha were constantly hunted, with only a sharp mother who cared more for skill and thinking than affection. “It must have been hard,” she realised aloud.

“You get used to it quickly enough.” He took a sip of kvas, and she realised she’d entirely missed him pouring himself a new glass. It was his third, and she was only halfway through her own. Quickly, she threw the last of hers back, screwing up her face at the sudden rush of the taste she only just tolerated. When she looked back, she saw the Darkling barely suppressing a laugh. “We can get something else to drink next time.”

Her heart thrilled at his words. Next time. As if this would be something they would be doing often. And that both delighted and disturbed her. “I liked the champagne they served tonight. That was nice.”

This time, Aleksander’s laugh was hearty, the amusement in his eyes unrestrained. “You have expensive taste, Miss Starkov.” She couldn’t help but blush at the statement.

“Well, it’s the champagnes fault for costing more than kvas,” she muttered, just making him laugh more.

“Indeed. Though, I can assure you that this particular bottle of kvas was not cheap.” She smiled at him, unable to stop herself from reacting to his joy, but it was interrupted by a large yawn. “I should let you return to your rooms. You must be exhausted.”

“I think I could sleep for a week,” she told him. Just then, her stomach let out a loud rumble of protest. “And eat… We missed the dinner.”

“I should have ordered some food.” His brow furrowed, annoyed at himself for his lack of thinking. “I’ll get something sent to your rooms. Breakfast is better than nothing. But first, I’ll summon Fedyor.”

Alina nodded, having entirely forgotten by now that the Heartrender was supposed to join them after their talk to confirm everything. But it was his comment about breakfast that tripped her up the most. It made her glance towards the windows, and she was startled to realise that she could see the sun beginning to rise over the landscape, soft purple hues beginning to lighten the sky. Outside, a couple of birds began their morning call.

Oh… They had talked all night.

As she stared out the window, the Darkling left the room and opened the door of the war room, where an Oprichniki was stationed nearby and called them over, giving them some orders in hushed tones before closing the door and returning to her.

“It’s dawn,” she pointed out. “Isn’t it a little mean waking him up this early? After the excitement of last night, I’d imagine he’d want to sleep in and cuddle with Ivan.”

“I’d imagine that with the excitement of last night, Fedyor, Ivan, and many others will still be awake.” There was a bitterness to his voice that left no room to take his meaning any other way. He seemed to suddenly pause as if he’d just remembered something. “Many of them are likely searching for you. I was so wrapped up in our conversation I forgot to inform anyone you’d been found. Still, they will be looking for the three criminals who tried to kidnap you, and I want them found.”

With a start, she remembered the rushed, worried words he’d spoken to her when she was still drowsy from sleep. That there had been a kidnapping as well as an assassination attempt.

She blew out a gust of air that made the loose strands of her hair fly up. “It was all happening last night, wasn’t it?”

He smirked. “Yes, a very eventful night.”

“We should hold more lavish parties for murder and intrigue.” She smiled at him teasingly.

Aleksander groaned. “I don’t think that the coffers or my sanity could handle it. You’ll be lucky if you’re not walking around with a full armed escort for the rest of your life.”

She pulled a face at that. “Nah-uh. No, thank you.”

“I will be assigning you at least one guard full time for the foreseeable future,” he informed her sternly. “After the events of tonight, it would be foolish and unseemly not to. The King will expect to have,” his lip suddenly curled in disgust, “his most valuable asset under protection after such monumental slips in security.” He shook his head. “Hundreds of years, and we’ve never had one security breach. Whoever those rogues were, at least one of them must be incredibly clever… yet oh so stupid to attempt such a thing.”

Before either of them could say any more, before Alina could protest the idea of having someone following her around everywhere, there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Fedyor, moi Soverenyi,” came the muffled reply. Alina’s brows rose. That was quick. She’d assumed that if they were searching the palace, it would have been longer to hunt him down.

“Enter.” There was a moment’s hesitation before the door opened, and the familiar, happy face of Fedyor slipped inside. Though, he looked tired and less jovial than normal.

“Ah, Fedyor, thank you,” the Darkling said.

As Fedyor approached, he caught sight of Alina, and relief and joy were stark on his face once more. “Alina!” he said happily. “Thank the Saints. You are safe and well!” Alina shot him a small smile.

“Yes. In my relief, I quite forgot to inform anyone that Ms Starkov has been found. If you could spread the word when you leave, that will be most appreciated.”

“Yes, General.” He nodded. “I was actually on my way to find you, Sir. We have news.”

“Of?”

“Nina Zenik, Sir.”

Alexander sat up a little straighter. “Speak.”

“She was abducted by Fjerdans. Put on a ship with other Grisha captives, bound for the Ice Court.”

“Someone must have given her up.” He considered this for a moment. “Zlatan?”

“Well, they have a witch hunter in their ranks. Matthias Helvar. He has been clever in tracking Grisha. I want him dead as much as I want her back alive.”

“Where are they now?”

“They hit a storm front. We lost track of the ship after that.”

Aleksander’s face hardened. “Send a team to the Western Coast. They will go as far North as they can, Arkesk if they can make it. Get them to bring back any Grisha they find, and barring that… bring me one of theirs.”

“Yes, General. Ivan and I won’t fail you.”

“I have no doubt, but I only need you to form a team, Fedyor. I will be in need of yours and Ivan’s assistance in the days to come for a hunt or two of my own.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“W-who’s Nina?” Alina asked, unsure if he’d even tell her.

“One of my spies,” he informed her. “I had sent her to investigate a man going by ‘the Conductor’, who was smuggling Grisha out of Ravka and into the West. Through the Fold by some unknown means. The same man who made an attempt on your life, it seems. Paid out by General Zlatan.”

Alina closed her eyes. She didn’t need to know why someone would try and kill her. Her powers gave people hope. That was enough. And from what she’d heard of General Zlatan, the Fold being torn down would go against his campaign to secede. Instead, another thing stuck in her mind. Something that she’d admittedly wished she could have done back when she first arrived. Something she’d even asked about.

“He’s smuggling Grisha away from here?”

“He was,” he answered darkly. Alina shuddered and tried not to think about it.

“But why?”

“That’s one of the things Nina was trying to find out. Many parents are known to take their children and flee before they can be brought to safety. Often leading them to cross over the borders and directly into trouble.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed as she wondered why parents would flee with their children if it meant they wound up in danger. Something about it didn’t sit right with her.

“We will do all we can to get Nina back. And, with luck, apprehend this… Matthias Halvar,” the Darkling said. “But now, for what I called you here for, Fedyor. I have told Alina some things that she doesn’t quite believe. Normally, I would have called Ivan to settle this, but she doesn’t trust your husband not to side with me, no matter what the truth is.”

“Yes, that sounds like something that Ivan would do.”

“See!” she insisted. Feydor shot her a wink.

“So, am I to tell her the truth or what you want?” he asked teasingly.

“Fedyor!” she admonished playfully, earning a cheeky grin in return.

The Darkling rolled his eyes. “The truth, please, Fedyor.”

“Yes, General.” His grin was still wide as he dipped his head.

Aleksander turned back to face her, holding her eye in earnest. “Alina, I swear that everything I have told you this night has been honest and true. Every word I have spoken has been the truth. And I will do my best to keep telling you the truth, and to honour our agreement, so long as you do so as well.”

The intensity in his eyes was enough to take her breath away, and Alina swallowed before turning to look at Fedyor with wide eyes. His eyes looked as wide as hers probably did, though unaware of the context, he was surprised by the General’s words.

He turned to her and nodded. “He is telling the truth.”

A relieved breath rushed out of her, and her body sagged as if letting go of tension she didn’t even know she was holding. This entire night had been… overwhelming. But it was at least a relief to know that Aleksander had been speaking the truth. Of course, that didn’t mean that he hadn’t neglected to tell her things. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe he hadn’t, but she decided to let it be, hoping she could pry other truths from him later. She looked back up to him with a slight smile.

“See,” he said, parroting her earlier jest back at her. Her smile grew. “Thank you, Feydor.”

“You’re welcome, General.” He gave him a slight bow before waiting to be dismissed. But instead, the Darkling just looked him up and down before his eyes flitted back to Alina.

“Oh, and Feydor. One more thing.” The Heartrender stood to attention once more, awaiting his orders. “Starting from now, you are assigned to Alina as her personal Heartrender.” Both Fedyor and Alina wore twin expressions of shock, but Aleksander hardly seemed to notice. “Alina has stated that you are someone here that she trusts above others. I can think of no one better to protect and serve our Sun Summoner.”

“I am honoured, moi Soverenyi,” he said, bowing low. “Sankta Alina.” He bowed to her as well, and she shot him a tight smile, trying to hide her grimace about being called a saint. Seeing everyone bow to her during her demonstration had been thrilling, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it, especially when most Saint’s stories ended in a grisly death. “I am glad to see that you are well. I will inform the others of this.”

“Please do,” the Darkling told him. “Make sure you assemble the best teams you can to hunt down Nina and a replacement team for the three Ketterdam criminals. And send them out this morning. I want them all found. We must have the best head start we can. Then and Ivan are to rest. I need the two of you at your best for what’s to come.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Fedyor bowed once more before departing, leaving the two of them alone once more. Silence fell over them, so thick it was almost a tangible thing. Alina’s eyes were stuck on the door her friend had left through, but she could feel the Darkling’s eyes on her, studying her.

She took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Aleksander pushed himself from his chair, looking down at her. “This is not a trust I give easily, Alina,” he told her. “In fact, for rather obvious reasons, I never trust anyone.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you either.”

He smirked wryly at her, holding his hand out to help her to her feet. “Smart. But, I trust that you can at least keep what you know a secret.”

She nodded in reply as she was drawn up, now looking up at him, nearly chest to chest. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He drew closer to her as if pulled by a string, and for a moment, she thought that he might kiss her, but he quickly reeled back, walking towards the door. “We should get you to your room,” he said quickly. “I’ll have an Oprichniki escort you.”

She groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Someone tried to murder you tonight, and three others tried to kidnap you, and you’re arguing security?” He arched an eyebrow at her. He led her out of the Parlor and to the door out of his chambers.

“I just want to stumble back into my room, take off this stupid kefta, maybe eat something and sleep. Preferably without seeing anyone on the way.” She was grumbling like a petulant child, and she knew it. It made him smirk in amusement, which only made her grumble more.

He rolled his eyes at her. “I suppose I can allow this one trip. It is only just down the hall, after all. The Palace has been thoroughly swept, especially your room. There are guards outside, and with any luck, some servants should have delivered you some breakfast by now. And, come tomorrow, Fedyor will be on your detail, no exceptions.”

“Yes, Sir,” she joked.

“None of that,” he told her. There was no mirth or teasing in his voice, completely serious as he loomed over her. “You are the only one here who is my match and equal. You are the Sun Summoner, and after tonight, everyone will treat you with the respect and deference you are owed.” Alina’s breath caught in her throat as she stared up into his coal back eyes. All she could do was nod in response. “Good night, Alina,” he murmured.

“Good night, Aleksander.”

Her response was barely a breath. And with one last look into his ancient eyes, she slipped out the door into the corridor, her heart pounding like she’d spent the night in the training grounds.

She couldn’t deny that despite the danger and the truths she now knew, she longed for the terrible and ancient man on the other side of the door. She could scarcely believe what she’d heard and what she’d agreed to do…

What the fuck had she gotten herself into?

Author Note:

I fully believe that with the time he’s had to practice, the Darkling can do way more with his shadows than what we see. I love the idea that he can manipulate them to take on different shapes and forms or making them solid (similar to how he does with the Cut but with other methods), like creating bonds.

Also, I fully believe that Show!Baghra is more manipulative and toxic than she was in the books (especially if you combine the two versions). You can’t convince me otherwise.

Chapter Index | First Chapter | << Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

#Light Casts a Shadow #Shadow and Bone #Darklina

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bvidzsoo · 4 years

Text

The Witching Hour (Ch.1)

Author: bvidzsoo

Warnings: none

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x OC

Word count: 4,438

A/N: After the long wait the first chapter is here! I hope it gets your interest and you stay tuned for more, because this will be a longer series. There will be no update schedule, but I will reblog the last chapter before I post the newest one. This story can be found on AFF too by Arfina1, who is obviously me, just wanted to let you know if you find it by accident on there don’t think it’s stolen or something, unless it’s a different user then do tell :)) Enjoy now!

Autumn was nearing its middle but the sunbeams were warm enough to light you up from inside. Our little hut was deep inside the forest so no human would bother us, but the sun always found its way to warm us, greeting us in the mornings and wishing us a good night in the late evenings. It was the perfect place if you wanted quiet yet life around you. The forest was beautiful every season, decorating the place in a magical way each day. The animals were kind to us, and perhaps without Seulgi, we might have not been able to get their permission of living here. I enjoyed the quiet life, away from the evil humans who were still afraid of us, even after all the help we offered them. I guess, some people will never learn how to let go of some fairy tales and believe in what they actually see and feel. That’s the first thing that makes us different from humans, we accept the supernatural and embrace it...because we are the supernatural. Nowadays, we live in a world in which everything is possible. Fairies, ogres, mermaids, werewolves, vampires, witches...yes, they are all true. I am sure you might even be friends with one, we are sneaky little creatures.

Joy’s melodic voice carried through the hut as she sat in front of her vanity, brushing her long, red hair. Yeri was laying on Joy’s bed, a book in her hand, romance no doubt. As I passed by Seulgi’s room I could hear her loud giggles as she whispered something to one of her pets, shushing the pet once they answered her back. Irene was busy in the kitchen, pans, knives, spoons, plates flying around as she waved her hands gracefully, whispering a quiet command here and there. I sent her a small smile when our eyes met and she nodded her head, closing the kitchen door with a whisper. Distracted by Irene, I almost ran into Wendy, who was carrying two wood stacks for the cauldron that we’d have to use tonight. Her short, honey blond hair was in a low bun, strands falling into her eyes as she hissed quietly.

“Aye, sweetie, I almost dropped these” Her voice was loud, like always, as she raised the wood stacks higher in the air. I always admired her for her strength, she always carried the heavy stuff for us.

“My bad, sorry” I muttered with an apologetic smile and she only shook her head before walking ahead, taking the stairs to the basement. Tonight was Potions Night, that meant we had to be fresh and well rested, in order to make sure our potions were healthy and good to use. But for that, we needed to make sure the house was well protected and didn’t attract unwanted negative energies, like ghosts or vampires. These two are one of the worst supernatural creatures and while my sisters have a dislike for them, vampires don’t bother me that much. I’ve never really met one, but they can’t be that bad. They are just like us, witches, different and hated upon by humans.

Having already secured the rest of the hut, I walked inside the last room to secure, the study room. I took the salt in my left hand and carefully scattered it on the windowsill, making sure there were no gaps. Joy enforced the charms yesterday from around the hut, so there’s no reason for us to worry about those too. Scattering the salt on the third windowsill, I gazed out the window and sighed. Winter was slowly approaching, I won’t be able to take walks in the forest anymore. Winter isn’t a kind season to witches, we prefer staying inside or travelling by car in those times, anything that keeps us warm. Our hearts are cold enough already, that’s why we hate winter. Maybe that’s why I don’t dislike vampires, we are just as cold as they are. About to turn around, my eyes caught onto something, or rather someone, half body hidden behind the largest trunk beside our hut. My eyebrows furrowed and I opened the window, to make sure I saw correctly, but as I blinked the person was gone. Who would wander so deep into the woods without getting scared? It surely couldn’t have been a human, and if it was a supernatural creature then it won’t bother us again, it must feel the power surrounding the whole hut. Irene isn’t considered the strongest witch of our times for no reason, they know not to mess with us.

How I met my sisters? Two hundred years ago, I was strolling down the streets of Rome when some men tried to rob me. I was a young witch back then, actually, I didn’t know that I was a witch yet. My mother died when I was young and I ran away from home when I was fifteen because my father didn’t care for me. However, before the men could do any harm, Irene showed up and scared them away. She told me she felt something different in me, a quiet but buzzing power surrounding me. She told me I could be a fairy and she was willing to help me out. Since that day I’ve been living with Irene and the other girls, who I call my sisters, and we call ourselves Red Velvet. We are witches with special powers, one of the rarest to find on Earth. Witches nowadays lose their special powers before they turn eighteen for unknown reasons, that’s why we are considered one of the most powerful ones.

Irene is known as The Whisperer too, her voice is quiet but with a single whisper of a spell she can kill you. She’s the eldest, having 899 years, and she’s our leader. I have a great respect for her and her power, her magic being one of the strongest on Earth. She can read minds, that’s what makes her more special than others.

Seulgi is the second eldest, she’s 564 years old, and she’s the kindest of us all. She always listens to our problems and helps us out, no matter if it’s day or night. She loves animals, perhaps a little more than us, which explains why our hut is full of different kinds of animals. Last week, she brought home a crocodile because it was hurt. She was probably giggling with her when I passed her room. You see, what makes Seulgi special is her ability to speak to animals. She understands their language and speaks to them, which sometimes makes her seem weird. Joy never stops teasing her about her abilities but I grew to love her love for animals, and respect them too.

Wendy, you might have guessed, is the strongest of us. She can lift a big rock and make Yeri sit on it all the while, that’s just how strong she is. Yes, a big rock, not a small one. She’s the muscles of our little family and no, she never went to the gym nor does she have big muscles. She’s just Wendy, 563 years old, third eldest sister. She’s stronger than three vampires and two werewolves together, that’s what makes her special.

Ah, Joy, our little princess. She’s 444 years old, and you’d think she’s mature enough by now but no...her favorite hobbies are men hunting and brushing her hair. She loves fashion and anything that makes her beautiful, even though she really doesn’t need those, she’s too beautiful already. She has the power to seduce any men, supernatural or not, and make them do whatever she wants. She used to profit of this until she met Irene, who taught her to use her power for a good cause...even though she still abuses it most of the time. Her only fault is that she falls in love too easily and then gets bored of them too quickly, changing her lovers weekly. The longest partner she had lasted for a month, a giant vampire who’s still in love with her. But Joy doesn’t fall for the same person twice.

Yeri, the second youngest, 400 years old, she’s far from being mature. Sometimes, I feel like I’m more mature than Joy and her put together. Even though she’s older than me, Yeri feels like she’s the baby of the family and we always need to take care of her. She’s picky, sneaky and mischievous, always following Joy around like she’s some queen. She loves playing tricks on us and her power only benefits her in this as she can turn invisible for a certain period of time.

And then there’s me, Ahn EunAe. My name means grace and while I’m graceful, as I’ve been told, gentle and kind; my magic is the opposite of gracefulness and gentleness. My magic is a mess, it never wants to cooperate with me or work along with me. I say one thing, my magic does the other thing. The buzz Irene said when she first met me, I feel it now too but it feels like it’s against me, almost as if it doesn’t want me. Irene is old and she’s seen and heard of many things, but something like my magic refusing to accept me she hasn’t met before. I’m also a virgin, and it’s known that a virgin witch’s magic isn’t always cooperative with the witch. The girls always try to cheer me up by telling me stories about how their magic always tricked them while they were virgins but theirs only tricked them and didn’t entirely refuse them like mine does. It’s saddening and bothersome, because I’m 288 years old, quite young, but still a virgin and a mess. I’ve been trying to work with my magic, to make her like me but nothing worked. So, my sisters and I, decided that it was best if I left it alone and just went on with my life as a simple human. At the beginning it bothered me and I felt hurt, because I felt mistreated, like everyone was pointing their finger at me and laughing about me...but truth be told, humans are so dumb I could show my real witch form and they’d take at least a week to realize I’m something supernatural. Yeah, humans are pretty dumb...unless they are superstitious because then I’d be burning on a rug in two seconds, trust me it’s not what I want. At least there’s one thing I can control and that’s my special power. I can control others minds, easiest are humans since they are weak and hardest are vampires. I have never met one to try it out but the books have taught me well. This special power is the only one I can use and trust that it won’t betray me. Oh and, my friends call me Ane, so you should too.

Everything was perfect for tonight, having done my job well. If I was a horrible spellcaster, I was a master at putting up wards and cleansing the hut. That didn’t require magic so it didn’t bring me headaches. All you had to do was have a clear mind and an intention, two things anyone could do, magical or not. But cleansing the hut and preparing it was never an easy task, if I was lucky, it took only three hours. And just to my luck, we ran out of sage and no one thought it would be a good thing telling me before I started cleansing the hut. Now, I had to interrupt the process and go out to collect some sage.

I pulled on my green cloak and grabbed a little basket before exiting my room. It was quiet in the hallway, which is unusual, as I walked to the living room. My skin tingled and I looked around with narrowed eyes, someone was here, one of the girls, and I could feel them but not see them--just as that thought passed my mind I fell forward, basket flying from my hands.

“Yerim!” I shouted as loud giggles echoed around me, “Stop that!”

“You are always the easiest to prank” Yeri’s giggles turned into laughter as she materialized on the green sofa, “Irene would have known I was here before she even exited the kitchen”

“I’m not Irene and I did feel your presence” I glared at her as I leaned forward to collect the basket, “What if I feel on one of Seulgi’s locusts?”

“I hate those ugly animals, what a good idea you just gave me!” Yeri’s face lit up in an instant as she raised from the sofa.

“No, Yeri you can’t--” Before I could even finish my sentence, she was gone. Of course, she always uses her power in the most inconvenient situations. With a sigh I rose to my feet and adjusted my cloak before walking towards the entrance door. As I opened the door, I felt tingles all over my body, which girl was it now? But I got my answer when I was pushed forward and the door slammed behind me shut. Of course, Yeri wasn’t done having fun.

There were two paths, one going straight and leading outside of the forest and into the village of the humans, and one to the left that lead you deeper into the forest. A clearing was only ten minutes away from us and that’s where we decided to locate our garden, the soil being better than the one around our hut. I usually went with Wendy to collect herbs but she was busy making the fire, so I didn’t bother her. The air was always so fresh here, the tall trees offering shadow for when it was summer and warm outside. So deep inside the forest, the heat waves never seemed to be that bad and when we truly did feel hot, we just went to the pond and swam around. Before Irene found me, my life was full of hiding and staying quiet as my father didn’t like me. He always said there was something scary in my eyes, something he saw in my mother’s eyes all the time. Once we moved here and Irene showed me the shadow book, I found out about my heritage. My mother was a witch and she died because she cursed someone and it backfired at her. She was very strong but if you mingle with the wrong spells, it’s only a matter of time until they turn against you. She was captivating, with long curly ginger hair, everyone seemed to love her. She was like the sun, she lit up every place just by her presence. That’s probably why my father fell for her. You could almost say Joy was her daughter too, I see many similarities between the two. My mother used to be selfish, to the point she didn’t care how her actions affected those around her. After I was born, she decided to tell my father about her true nature. He was horrified, but he loved her too much to snitch on her. However, he didn’t hold the same love for me. He didn’t know if I was a witch too, but he could tell by the aura I had around me. I know he knew I was gonna end up like my mother one day. She could compel anyone into doing whatever she wanted and I inherited that. And even used it unknowingly, until Irene took me under her wing. Irene shaped me into the person I am and the other girls contributed whenever they could.

The walk today took less than usually because I was in a hurry. Evening was approaching and the cleansing had to be done before the sun set. The dark holds many unknown creatures and even for a witch, it’s never safe to be outside alone. Thankfully, the sage was just by the entrance of our little garden, on which we worked hard to make, and after collecting a few and placing them in the basket, I was all ready to go. As I turned around I heard rustling to my left. The clearing wasn’t big and the trees were smaller and younger here so their trunks weren’t thick enough to hide a person’s body. I watched startled the black haired creature as one eye peaked out from behind the trunk. He seemed like he was glowing, almost see through. He couldn’t be a ghost though, I’ve seen many before and none looked like him.

Deciding I should address him, maybe he was a young boy from the village, I cleared my throat, “Hello”

The boy didn’t move, he just blinked and kept watching me. Did he not see me? Was he perhaps deaf? I took a step forward but he didn’t move.

“Hey, you!” I pointed my finger at him, “What are you doing?”

It looked like he jumped a bit, but he still didn’t react. I became more and more confused as I started walking closer to him. Was he okay?

“Are you okay, young boy?” I asked as I stopped at a respectable distance from him.

“Wonwoo” His voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t pick it up. But living with Irene trained my ears, as she always spoke very quietly, however, this boy was even quieter.

“Your name is Wonwoo?” I asked quietly, afraid I’d scare him away.

He only nodded and I offered him a smile, maybe he’d feel less shy if I did, “You can see me?”

My eyebrows furrowed at his question. Why wouldn’t I be able to see him? What a peculiar question.

“I’m EunAe” I presented myself. It was never a good idea speaking to strangers before knowing what they are, but I got no weird feeling. It felt almost...tranquil being around him.

“Ane” The young boy’s, Wonwoo’s, voice seemed to grow in volume and my eyes rounded. It wasn’t the sudden confidence he gained as he stepped away from the trunk and out in the sunlight, it was what he said.

“How do you know that?” Only Irene, Seulgi, Wendy, Joy and Yeri call me that nowadays and my mother, before she died but that was 200 years ago.

“I tend to hear many things without my wanting” His voice was deep and skin very pale. In the sunlight, he seemed like he lost his glow.

“Was that…” My eyebrows furrowed as I got a strange feeling, my skin didn’t tingle, it felt as if a cold breeze washed through me but I ignored it and cleared my throat, “Was that you I saw earlier?”

“Yes, what were you doing?” Wonwoo asked as he took a step closer, there were still at least ten feet distance between us.

“I was just…” I shrugged as I quickly thought of something, “cleaning the hut”

“What a hardworking girl you are, Ane” A cheeky smirk pulled on his lips and it made him look so young, like a little boy. I chuckled and looked away, missing the way his eyes started glinting. When I looked back at him, his smirk turned into a small smile.

“I shouldn’t keep you here, I hear your sisters are getting impatient” He said while ruffling his black curly hair. He was dressed in dark blue suit pants and a white shirt tucked in neatly. He looked very organized, unlike me, who’s long skirt was stained with different potions. My cheeks suddenly heat up as I started feeling self conscious, I never really met boys and this one was really handsome.

“I should be going then” I whispered as I averted my eyes from his, they seemed so deep and dark, almost as if they were pulling me in.

“See you soon, Ane” I chuckled as I turned around and started walking back to the hut quickly. I could feel the cold breeze on my skin again as the forest started whispering. It wasn’t Irene, the voices sounded too different and too many at a place.

‘Stay away from him, little Ane’

‘Creature of the night’

‘He will taint your innocence’

‘Intentions dark as the dark full the moon’

‘You must tell your sisters’

‘Danger is coming’

I shut the door with a loud sigh of relief, the voices instantly stopping. I barely got to take another deep breath before Irene was in front of me.

“What happened?” Her voice sounded urgent as I felt tingles all over my skin.

“I’m not hurt” I sent her a glare as the tingles stopped and Irene looked me in the eyes.

“Why did the forest get so loud and alarmed?” Irene pressed on as she helped me take off my cloak.

“You heard that?” I asked confused as she folded my cloak and handed it back.

“I think everyone heard it” Her voice got quiet again as she saw it with her eyes too, that indeed, I wasn’t hurt.

“I don’t think I did anything bad” I smiled innocently, deciding not to tell Irene about Wonwoo, “I just went to collect sage to finish cleansing the house, Joy used them all but didn’t care to tell me”

“Well then, go on, quickly” Irene waved her hand and I felt a light push on my back towards the study room, “Sun goes down in an hour, you need to hurry”

“Don’t worry, Irene, I’ll be done before it sets” A small smile flashed on Irene’s lips before she disappeared to the kitchen.

‘He will taint your innocence’

Goosebumps traveled all around my skin as I looked around the study room. The window was left open and I went over to close it quickly. The forest has never acted like this before, something must be happening.

Even though it’s just five us, when we sit down to have dinner, it feels like there’s thirteen of us. Joy and Yeri always have to talk about something and Seulgi always needs to tell her animals to back off, while Wendy talks to Irene who only listens and then there’s me, who prefers to eat my dinner quietly.

“So…” Joy trailed off as she placed her fork down “I have a plan”

All conversation ceased and as everyone focused on Joy, I saw Seulgi’s otter sneak the bacon from Seulgi’s plate before running off, making me chuckle to myself.

“Actually” Yeri cleared her throat as she sent a glare at Joy, “I came up with it”

“It doesn’t matter, just say it already” Wendy’s joyous voice rang through the room as both girls rolled their eyes.

“We should go to a pub tonight and get Ane laid” Joy and Yeri echoed each other as my eyes widened.

“What?” I asked, mouth full of mashed potatoes and seasoned pork. Joy and Seulgi sent me a disgusted look as Irene just sighed quietly.

“I’m not sure that’s the right way, girls” Irene reasoned as Wendy’s face turned more and more red.

“No!” She slammed her fist against the table and everything flew in the air.

“Honey” Irene sent her a look as all plates and food froze in the air, “Fix the table, please”

Wendy muttered a spell with a glare at the table as it started turning back to its normal shape, the dip where Wendy’s fist was slowly disappearing.

“Why can Wendy always throw tantrums but when I do it I have to clean the hut?” Yeri muttered with a grimace as she extended her hand for a candy in the plates that were hovering in the air.

“Well you don’t have to come, if you don’t want to” Joy decided to speak up and try and defuse the tension as all the plates lowered as Irene whispered the spell, “Just the three of us can go”

“It’s not safe” Wendy reasoned as she kept glaring at Yeri, who wouldn’t stop grinning, “Witches after nightfall shouldn’t go out alone”

“Wendy” Joy sighed as she leaned forward in her seat “I didn’t know three equaled alone”

Before Wendy could fire something back, Seulgi raised her hand. Everyone looked at her and she smiled warmly, “I would like to go. I haven’t left the forest in a month and I miss that ginger beer the pub has. I don’t necessarily agree with Ane getting laid, but I could use some fun”

“Knowing her, she won’t get laid and it’s just a waste of our times, you know tonight we have to--”

“Seungwan” Irene’s quiet voice silenced everyone, hand placed on Wendy’s arm, “We’ve been cramped up in this hut for a long time, everyone could use a little bit of fun”

“But didn’t you hear the forest?” Wendy’s eyes widened as she lowered her voice, “It was warning us of something”

“I heard it but couldn’t understand” Seulgi spoke up quietly, “My friends said there is something evil out there and they can feel it too”

“Those animals don’t count as friends” Yeri snapped and Seulgi sent her a glare as her eyes flickered yellow for a second, making Yeri smirk, “I didn’t understand either”

“Me neither” Joy shrugged as she leaned back in her chair, “Irene? You must have understood…”

“I didn’t, actually” Irene’s voice was clear and loud, which alerted everyone, “And that’s why we should take the warning seriously. We can’t understand it but we must be precautious. The forest would never try hurting us, it’s our home. Ane?”

“Uh, I--I--” I shrugged my shoulders and head at the same time, probably looking suspicious, “I didn’t exactly understand it either…”

Five pair of eyes lingered on me as I smiled as widely and innocently as I could.

“I say” Irene’s voice got quiet again, “We all go to the pub tonight and have a little fun and return home before the Witching Hour, we need to bring our herbs and potions to the market tomorrow or else our clients will get sicker”

Yeri gave Wendy a triumphant look as Joy rose to her feet so hard her chair fell backwards. As I stuffed another fork of mashed potatoes and seasoned pork in my mouth, long and red nails crawled around my wrist and before I could protest I was yanked up from my seat and dragged away by a certain long red haired witch. I knew protesting was to no use, Joy was gonna have fun tonight and no one would try stopping her. Knowing my fate, I swallowed the last bites of my dinner and begged for mercy that she wouldn’t try and dye my hair blonde again only for it to turn back ginger seconds later.

=>Next Chapter

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