#if it means TRUE freedom then it will gladly accept an enchantment

[infinitethree]

As soon as Aster shuts the door to his office, he says, “Talk quietly enough and other people won’t hear.”

That seems to finally snap Daz from his trance and get him to shove his arm away. “What the fuck is wrong with you–” “You literally came here specifically to torment me. Me playing into your goddamned act about wanting to be friends should be exactly what you want,” Aster hisses at him.

There’s a scoff, and Daz stalks away from him…and takes Aster’s chair.

“You are such a petty asshole,” Aster mutters, but isn't willing to fight him on that.

He knows for a fact he’ll have way more important battles to fight. He has to pick and choose what to direct his energy towards.

Daz glares at him and kicks his feet up as Aster flops into one of the chairs across the desk.

The bastard snaps, “You literally used one of my weaknesses against me–” “I didn’t actually realize you’re fucking touch starved until you reacted like– like that! Sure, in the future, you’re clingy as fuck–” “With you? I’d rather die.” 

Ignoring the scoff, Aster continues, “Clingy enough that you pass out from getting your hair messed with. I thought it was– I dunno, just a thing about it being someone you care about? But, no! You’re just–”

A vision of the past comes to him. He knows that’s what it is because he doesn’t see any of the usual hallmarks of the future.

…That, and Daz is in that old shoebox of a room he used to live in before he had his house made with Raine.

Oh, fuck, that place is infinitely more fucked up in hindsight actually! Given that hellish, claustrophobic nightmare of a closet in Pogtopia and how there’s only a short window high up with blackout blinds over it in this room…

A odd certainty comes over Aster. Daz was using it as a way to punish himself for his perceived failures and sins.

Past-Daz is drenched in sweat, evidently having woken up from a nightmare. A keening sob escapes him as he curls into himself.

The outside sight is bad enough, but on the inside–

I miss him I miss him he was my brother my friend my mentor, he kept the nightmares at bay with just a hand in my hair. Why why why why WHY?! I haven’t slept in so fucking long, nightmares come back every time. But I can’t even tell anyone.

Anyone but…

The thought trails off, and Daz looks at his clock. It’s the early hours of the morning– earlier than most people would be up.

I can’t tell him either, not really. But I can at least go piss him off– make sure he doesn’t get attached.

Attachments to me are deadly. I need his hatred.

Aster is left with another odd certainty that the person Daz went to go bother was him.

…How many times did he seek Aster out in a fucked up attempt to have some sort of semi-genuine connection? To have someone he could lash out against without it ruining everything he’d built up for so long?

Especially in the months before Khons and Aleph came into the mix…

Daz had nobody who knew the real him.

Nobody but Aster.

Back in the present, Daz glowers at him. Aster can’t even remember his original train of thought; another reminder of exactly how broken this person is makes it hard to fight with as much vehemence.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “...Look. Now that you know it won’t– literally fucking kill the people you care about? You can be clingy with them. You know that Raine or Lee would be happy to– fuck, I don’t know, sit and watch a movie with you. Shit, Raine would probably help with your nightmares–”

The next vision he sees is the future.

They’re in an unfamiliar room– maybe a hotel? And…cuddling. It doesn’t look like they did anything gross, thank fuck.

Blehg, maybe that’s the wrong expletive for that.

Future-Daz is snuggled up to Future-Aster. The latter is smiling fondly at the former, whose nose is pressed into the crook of his neck.

“You slept better if I just…”

Future-Aster starts messing with Future-Daz’s hair, and he goes boneless.

There’s a soft, amused huff of air from Future-Aster. Future-Daz mumbles, sounding a little dazed, “Feel good…”

“Yeah? You want me to keep doing it?” Future-Aster sounds hopeful– excited, even, at the thought of doing this.

It must be fairly early on, then. He definitely doesn’t see anything that looks like a claim, and if future-him is unsure if this’ll be allowed…that’s the only way that makes sense. Despite that, Future-Aster must already be in pretty deep, based on how he’s smiling so tenderly despite Future-Daz not being able to see it.

Is it method acting, or is it sincere? Aster isn’t sure.

There's a little nod. “Mhm-hmm. Feels like…safety n’ love…” 

That smile grows as Future-Aster presses a kiss to Future-Daz’s hair. “You know I love you. And I’d murder anything that breathed at you funny. I’ll do my best to guard your nightmares, too.”

Aster is yanked to a different time, a different place.

It must be the past, because it's in that blackstone-lined base that Daz once called home.

Daz is sobbing, curled into himself and clutching the lime green hoodie he’s wearing despite seemingly being asleep. Dream seems distressed at the sight, reaching out and–

And getting yanked down so Daz can latch onto him in what seems like a death grip. A small, pained, desperate whimper escapes Daz of, “Don’t leave me.”

Dream seems to abandon any idea of getting up. He gets comfortable, wrapping one arm around Daz and gently, fondly, carding the other through his hair.

It's almost identical to how Future-Aster held him.

“I can't leave,” Dream murmurs.

Daz almost immediately relaxes…but keeps his death grip on his mentor's shirt.

And, finally, Aster understands the depths of the betrayal Daz experienced.

Dream wasn't just his mentor. As Daz said– he was family. This was the person who saved him from what seemed like hellish nightmares and actual danger many times over.

When he’s back in the present, he feels a lump in his throat.

He asks, quietly, “Aren’t you tired of nightmares?” “They’re not as bad if I’m exhausted. All I have to do is overwork myself,” Daz answers, as if that’s an actual solution instead of another way to torment himself.

Aster sighs deeply. “I want to keep hating you, but it’s so fucking hard when I see– so much of why you’re like this. You…”

He doesn’t even know how to finish that. Daz snaps, “I’m what, asshole?”

“You’re not happy. You’re running on fear and spite and have been…god, maybe for forever. Don’t you want something good? Don’t you want to feel at peace instead of hating yourself?”

Daz, instead of being angry about that…laughs. It’s a soft, bitter sound, almost like he resents the idea that that’s even possible.

“Even if I got better, I have a person in my head that would hate me enough for both of us,” Daz scoffs.

Right. Sometimes it’s easy to forget about Innit.

He leans forward and stares Daz down. Daz doesn’t even flinch, merely kicking his chin up as a show of pride.

“Maybe Innit is capable of getting better, too.”

He’s yanked into that white void again, and Innit is suddenly in his face. “Get better? And, what– accept that I’ll always be trapped in here, forced to watch that bastard life a live and be happy–”

Aster, as he’s done on many occasions, makes a snap decision.

He pulls Innit into a hug, carding his hand through its hair.

“I’m going to tell you a secret. The wedding I saw– you were there. In the flesh, happy, and nobody batted an eye.”

A keening sob comes from Innit, even as it shoves its weight against him like its a starving man set before a feast.

He sways a little, keeping his voice gentle like he would with Lee when he’s upset. “So I know it’s possible. I know you could live a life without him. But…not when you’re a threat to everything we care about. Not when we’re worried you’ll try and hurt everyone else.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Innit wails, shuddering violently. “I can’t let it go, I’ll have nothing left! All I’ve wanted is to die, because– because I have nothing, nothing, and you took my only chance away from me, so you can’t just–”

Aster runs his blunt nails over Innit’s scalp and is startled when it suddenly becomes dead weight. He’s worried for only a second before he realizes that it’s purring, tail swishing like a happy cat.

“You can have something good, though. You can be happy, Innit.”

It mumbles, “I’m a monster. I don’t deserve to be happy.” “...You really are part of Daz, huh? But– no. You’re not a monster. You fucked up and took your fear out on someone completely innocent, yeah, but– but I know Daz, Dream, Theo, myself, and the rest of the Council wouldn’t let you free without you having proven you’re good. Good enough to even come peacefully to the wedding…and, uh– and hand Daz off to me.”

There’s a quiet snort. “That bastard takes the bride’s role?” “Uh, well, Day hands me off to him too, so…”

Innit is quiet, seeming deep in thought as it luxuriates in getting this affection.

…If Daz is touch starved, Innit must be a thousand times worse.

Its pupils, which had dilated, slowly return back to normal. Quietly, it says, “...Not even the Scribe or my friends have offered to free me like that…”

Pupils thinning, it suddenly amends, “Not that I’m not– very grateful to them, of course! I didn’t– I was in hell before. But they can’t give me full freedom. I think my friends want to, but…”

Aster glances around and notices that the creatures are nowhere in sight this time.

“What…are they, anyway?”

It blinks at him. “Observers. Break, Asher, and, uhm– they never told me their name, so I’ve been thinking of them as Mithra.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but Aster’s more pressing realization is that he had insulted three different Observers.

…Fuuuuuuck.

Head cocking to the side and studying him in the way that Daz often does, Innit suddenly seems a little amused. “They weren’t happy you called them things, by the way. You might wanna grovel.”

He grimaces, but is distracted from his distress by Innit shoving its head upwards. “Hey, if you’re gonna be nice– keep petting. You’re warmer than the mannequins.”

Aster complies but asks, “Mannequins?” “Yeah, sometimes weird mannequins show up and give me headpats. It’s nice, but they’re not really…warm. Or talkative. Or– capable of much vis-a-vis dexterity. They don’t really have fingers, either.”

Weird.

Innit rambles, “I still– I don’t really like you, you’re annoying and full of yourself and so much like Dream it hurts, but…”

It looks away, an odd expression on its face. Its claws dig into his hoodie, and it mumbles, “But– but if you…if you can save me? If you can free me? I’ll– I’ll do anything.”

There’s such raw misery and desperation in those words that it makes Aster shudder. When Innit meets his eyes again…

It looks less like a person and more like a scared, wounded animal. Something longing so desperately for a scrap of kindness but terrified it’ll only be hurt again– scared that it will lose what little it has.

Quietly, tears welling up in its eyes, Innit tells him, “I’ll devote myself to you like a dog. You think I have any pride left after being trapped for so long? I don’t. Not– not for this. So please…please, let me out. I want to feel the sun; I want to pick out my own music; I want to decide where to look. I want to be a person. Or– not even a person! Being a pet is fine, too. If it’s you on the other end, I don’t even care if you leash me with loyalty. Not– not the same one, obviously, but– but a stable one. I– I know you. I know you wouldn’t abuse it. So…so, it’s okay. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than this.”

That’s– such a horrifying idea on so many levels that Aster can barely breathe.

Why had he been so quick to dismiss Innit? Why had he not questioned what led it to act the way it had– or how its punishment would have made its hatred and resentment fester?

He swallows and pulls it into a fierce hug. “I don’t know that I can stomach that.” “Fuck your discomfort. I’m an eternal prisoner in the head of my jailer, who is also the person who betrayed me. Tell them, please. Tell them I don’t care, not if it lets me out. I’ll even play nice with that bastard if we see each other. Just– just as long as I’m free.”

Voice cracking and tears spilling over, it begs, “Don’t abandon me, too. I can’t take another betrayal. It�� it might kill me in all the ways that matter.”

And then he’s back in the office, head swimming as Daz snarls words he can’t hear.

Still dazed, and vaguely aware tears are burning in his eyes, he confesses, “I talked to Innit. I– I saw its life before, too. Daz…” “This is exactly why I didn’t want you to know about it! It tried to kill Lee, you stupid bastard!”

He laughs softly and without humor. “Obviously I’m not happy about that. But I know it’s set free eventually. Shit– do you know what it told me?” “Whatever it needed to to get your sympathy, obviously!”

“It told me that as long as the one on the other end  is me, it’ll let itself be enchanted with loyalty. That it’ll take living as a– as a dog. Daz– Innit may have fucked up, yeah, but…shit, what am I supposed to do with that? We can come up with contingency plans and shit, but I can’t just– do nothing.”

Daz opens his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Aster leans across the desk and grabs his forearms. Staring him down, he says, “It has three friends who are Observers. Observers, uh, look like animals apparently? Weird animals, though. Not shape, the shapes weren’t that strange. But they were all this– silver and lavender color–”

The bastard suddenly looks alarmed. “Did it swirl and shimmer together? Otherworldly, sorta dream-like?”

He nods.

Daz turns ashen and leans back in his seat. Quietly, a sense of dread in his words, Daz tells him, “Aster…we haven’t been talking to something called the Scribe. We’ve been making deals with Time.”

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS21: “The Belle Dame Emma” {Epilogue}

Here we are with my conclusion to this year’s @cssns21 story!  I appreciate your patience and how you have stuck with me and continued reading, even when I took longer to update and ending up adding a fourth part. Thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, and your treasured comments. They mean the world to me, and I loved being part of this event once more. I hope you will enjoy this epilogue (with a bit of - maybe M-rated? - smuff) ;)

**Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU once more to @caught-in-the-filter for the incredibly beautiful cover art she created for this story. And also my gratitude to @ultraluckycatnd for being my beta reader! **

Story can also be read from the beginning here on Tumblr or on AO3

Summary: Legend has it that the fae woman in the meadow will ensnare any who dare enter her domain, but the knight who chances a meeting can tell there is more to the story than superstition and gossip has allowed. The path to the truth and redemption may be fraught with dangers - to the both of them - but is it not the sworn duty of a true knight to help any who may be in need?

Epilogue

Six weeks later…

After much travel and searching, seeking the smallest clues or signs about where her parents and her rightful realm might be located, Princess Emma could hardly believe she stood before the entrance to the fae kingdom once more. Killian, her faithful knight, and, she now readily accepted gladly, her True Love, was by her side - just as he had been for every step of the journey. Turning her gaze to his with adoration and thanks, Emma took his hand as she blew out a tense breath. He had been invaluable all along their way - in tracking, in speaking to the locals, and in navigating obstacles; it would have taken her even longer to get home without him. In truth, she knew that she might never have tried if he had not entered her life and helped her regain her hope and her freedom. She wasn’t about to take this last step forward without him.

Besides, if she were honest with herself, though she had wished so desperately to find her people and be reunited with her parents, she was nervous here at the threshold; worried that they might find her too changed, that all might have moved on and she have been replaced, that it might be better if she remained lost, with no chance of bringing more trouble upon them. Though she tried to hide it, she knew her hands were shaking with her nerves, even as she willed herself to calm. 

As if he could read her thoughts, Killian turned to face her, bringing the hand held in his up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to its back. Pulling her close to his chest, he offered her a comforting moment’s embrace before holding her out far enough to search her face knowingly. “They will be overjoyed to see you, my Love. Surely you know that? Imagine how much they must have missed you all this time.”

His voice was low, the soothing timber of it settling her nerves and making her let out a small laugh on her exhale. Of course he was right! She knew her parents well enough to see the truth in his comfort. She needed only to take this final step and she would be welcomed back into their arms, back where she belonged.

“Thank you,” she whispered, blinking back the moisture that had begun to gather in the corners of her eyes. There had already been too many tears.

“For what, Princess?” he replied, cradling her cheek in his hand lovingly.

She smiled beautifically up at her champion, hoping he could see just how much she cherished him. “Merely for reminding me of what I should already know.”

Pulling him forward, she led him under the small arch of twisted leaves, morning glories, and grapevine loops, through what appeared to be just a break in a hedge at the edge of a wood. Yet, once through, the simple countryside behind them vanished, and they entered the enchanted world of her birthright at long last.

For his part, the knight did not know what he had expected, but the sight greeting him in this haven of the faeries was more than he could have possibly anticipated. They very air around them seemed more refreshing and sweeter, small sparks of light seemed to float throughout the space, radiating about the greenest grass and the most colorful and amazing profusion of flowers his eyes had ever seen. The trees that formed a natural border around the sort of amphitheater of space were so tall their tops seemed to disappear above him farther up than his eyes could see. Along the way back down, however, where longer branches jutted out, there were bridges from one tree to another, and charming little aerial houses, where many of the graceful and lightfooted kin of Emma’s must make their homes.

All of it seemed to have a heavenly glow, nearly stealing his breath and voice. He barely managed to utter, “Emma… it’s… it’s stunning.”

The long lost princess’ eyes were wide and glassy, emotion rising to the surface as she tried to take it all in. Giving a soft sniffle, she hoarsely replied, ���it’s even more beautiful than I remembered.”

However, she didn’t hesitate much longer. Finally, the anxiety and uncertainty seemed to have loosened its hold, and Emma suddenly knew just where to go, and was impatient to get there. His hand had still been lightly clasped with hers, but she pressed it more firmly now, twining their fingers together and urging him forward with quickened steps.

They soon neared a rise of ground where the green grass was almost completely blanketed with the white flowers of snowdrops and its very crest was nearly hidden by the overhanging foliage of a willow tree. It was beautiful spot, though it seemed quiet and deserted. Emma, however, did not stop, and he followed her willingly, trusting her lead.

As they reached the top of the rise, Killian could see with a mere glance at the maiden he had come to love with all his heart, that she seemed illuminated - lit from within somehow by an undiluted happiness he had yet to see bathing her features. Squeezing his fingers in her own once more, she stepped forward and ducked beneath the canopy of the willow branches. Whatever was coming, Killian could only feel anxious to see if it gave Emma such joy, and he stepped into the secluded circle on her heels.

Tall and stately white birch trunks sat facing them side by side, but, rather than climbing up past the ceiling the willow provided and into the sky, they bent and doubled back, entwining with each other, over and again, swirling and looping and crisscrossing to form two raised seats interlocked together, a simple and gorgeous throne for two. Seated upon it were two beings so ethereally lovely, radiating such an aura of power and magnetism, that even if he weren’t aware of whom they must be, Killian would have known they were far more than human. 

A cry of delight and need broke from Emma’s throat and she lurched forward, after a few steps releasing his hand to run toward the King and Queen, her broken, beautiful voice calling, “Mama! Papa!”

Killian followed slowly, not wanting to leave her side, but equally desiring to give her space to at last be enfolded by her parents once more. The petite, ebony-haired Queen stood immediately, hurrying from her throne with tears streaming down her cheeks and delicate arms spread wide to receive her daughter as Emma reached her. He could see immediately that she had the same beguiling green eyes, pert, determined chin, and round, soft cheeks as his beloved princess. But then both were engulfed in the arms of the King, his large hand cradling the back of his daughter’s head protectively as if he never wished to let her go again. His strong, angular face shone with the trace of tears as well, as he kissed the crown of Emma’s head, and then his wife’s, enfolding them both in his embrace.

Killian looked on quietly, his heart filled warmly by the scene, thrilled for Emma that she was with her family after so long apart. Several minutes passed with only the sound of ragged breaths and the sniffles that accompanied tears of joy breaking the silence. It was such a tender, private scene, that the knight had begun to wonder if he should withdraw and give their privacy completely, when Emma pulled back the tiniest bit, still holding onto her parents, but turning to smile at him as well. Beckoning him forward, the hint of a peaceful smile tipped the corner of her mouth upward for a moment, then she dipped her head in a slight bow to her mother and father as she addressed them once more. “I’ve brought someone with me whom I wish you to meet. He helped me find a way free from the Dark One’s curse… Sir Killian Jones, knight at arms.”

Killian stepped forward, kneeling with hand to his chest and head bowed to the King and Queen of the Fae. Now it was his turn to swallow down his nerves and hope he would be found worthy. He would never ask Emma to be parted from her parents again, but if they chose to disapprove of his bond with Emma, he was a mere man while their daughter was a princess and one of the fairer folk, he did not know how he could bear to be parted from her.

Emma seemed to feel no such hesitation. Once welcomed back so heartily by mother and father, her fears and misgivings were put behind her. Taking Killian’s hand, she urged him to stand once more, this time close at her side. Meeting her mother’s gaze with shining eyes, she added confidently, “The curse’s power was finally broken by True Love’s kiss. This man chose to help when others feared me. He risked his life to see me regain my own. He has trekked with me, offering his sword and his strength as I made my way back to you.  He is the one I was meant to give my heart to, and I do not wish to be parted from him.”

Despite the soft kisses and touches and the loving vows they had exchanged since the day they had discovered their true feelings for one another, Killian still felt his jaw go slack at her pronouncement of such deep feelings for him. He felt the same for her, without question, but he would not have asked her to speak for him so boldly.

Rather than seeming at all troubled or offended by Emma’s assertions, her mother’s sweet, cherubic face shone even brighter with happiness, practically beaming at her only child as she clutched Emma’s other hand. Queen Snow cast a knowing sidelong look at her husband, the two exchanging silent conversation in a weighted glance. Then, she turned back to Emma, reaching out to cup her cheek against her palm as she spoke gently, each word heartfelt, “You’ve found your match, Emma. The two of you saved each other… as it should be. It’s all I ever wanted for you, my darling girl.”

She easily moved to embrace Killian as well, a maternal touch that washed comfort over him of a type only barely remembered as the sort he had received from his own mother long ago.

The King held out his hand in welcome when his wife pulled back, offering to shake with Killian, but then clapping him manfuly on the shoulder, his face creased into a jovial smile of gratitude. “Sir Knight,” he offered, holding Killian’s eye until his intent could be made clear. “Welcome. We could never thank you enough for bringing her back to us.”

~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~

That night, as darkness fell over the peaceful realm of the faeries, Killian found himself restless. Though his body was worn and tired, he had not yet found sleep. As they had searched for her homeland, covering miles by foot and horseback, each night he and Emma had curled together for warmth in the chill night air, only one bedroll in his pack and out in the open most of the time. He knew of course that she was a royal, and that their situation was different now. She would perhaps have different restrictions or expectations others might dictate for her behavior. Not only that, but this night she still had much to talk about with her parents. It had been so long and there was so much for them to tell each other. Still, he now found it hard to rest without her near, without being able to see with his own eyes that his princess was safe and well.

Throwing aside the covers in the bed he had been given, Killian slipped back into his rough doublet and pants and went outdoors to walk under the stars. He did not hold a lot of hope for it lulling him closer to slumber, but the stirring of fresh air against his skin brought a calm, slowing his breath as he walked, hoping to remain quiet enough not to disturb those who slept nearby.

After covering some distance, Killian discovered he had reached a rather secluded corner of the kingdom he had not yet been shown. Like all else he had seen since entering this realm, it was breathtakingly beautiful, full of a tranquility not to be found in the world he had left behind. The ground beneath his feet grew more uneven and rocky, and his heart thrilled at a sound he recognized - the rush of falling water somewhere just out of sight.

Continuing forward, Killian followed a bend in the path he walked and was suddenly at the edge of a large pool of water fed by a gentle waterfall on the opposite bank. The scene was made all the more mystical by the way the silvery moonlight fell upon the water, mist rising in a light haze that the stars caught, making the whole grotto before him look like some hidden oasis emerging from another world for his eyes alone.

He stood for a moment, transfixed and letting the sound of the falls ease his mind, savoring the small droplets that occasionally bathed his face, soothed at last into a gentle lulling of his spirit. And then, as though the vision before him could grow more lovely, the water just before the falls parted, and a graceful form surfaced effortlessly, as smooth as a seal and hardly disturbing the water around her. The being turned her face toward him, illuminated in the glow of the moon, and all the air fled Killian’s lungs as his eyes met Emma’s.

Bobbing gently in the slight waves of the pool, she wordlessly swam a few strokes closer to the shore where he stood. She never took her eyes off him, and Killian found he couldn’t look away either. At last he saw the siren she might have been, had she not possessed such a good heart and strong will. Taken aback, it seemed she was tempting him into the water with her; a seduction he stood no chance to resist.

Smoothing the water dripping from her hair off her face, Emma only stopped when she was close to his place on the bank, standing in water up to mid-calf and waiting for him with a gently mysterious, enticing smile. She was wearing a sort of gauzy, diaphanous gown, now soaked to the skin and revealing more of her skin than he had yet glimpsed. Killian offered little resistance as she stretched out her arms to him, beckoning him forward to join her. Soon he was stepping right into the water to meet her, barefoot and half-convinced he was dreaming as he came to stand before her. He had been following her since he first saw her, in her thrall - just not in the smothering way she had feared - it was his willing choice to go where she led. He realized now that he would follow her to the end of the world or time itself.

The glow of dim light on the water sent some crystalline points of brightness dancing as they moved hand in hand toward the falls on the far bank, without a word spoken between them. When they reached the place where even his feet no longer touched bottom, they were treading water weightless in the middle of the pool; the still night and the enchanted air all that surrounded them. Emma herself still seemed to glow as she turned to face him once more, so close Killian felt her expelled breath upon his face. She still wore the bemused smile, as if she were holding some delightful secret she had for him. He held his breath as she took his hand, waiting to see what his fae princess had in store.

No words were forthcoming; instead Emma paddled one hairsbreadth closer, her front nearly brushing his as she bobbed in the water before him, a treasure more precious than any he had ever thought to hold. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as her lashes lowered, all of a sudden somewhat shy. Looking up through them, she raised her fingers to trace across his brow, down his cheek and jaw, to the hair now plastered to his chest and beneath the loose collar of his clinging wet tunic. “Killian, please kiss me,” she finally whispered in a breathless, husky plea.

As if he could have held back a moment more. Killian shook away the dazed awe fogging his head and surged forward, his hand delving into her soaked hair to cradle the back of her head to pull her closer, even as he swooped in to capture her mouth with his own, plundering her lips with teeth and tongue and breathless abandon. For a time it seemed the world stopped turning, the clock stopped ticking, and both ceased to breathe, merely feel. Limbs tangled together until they struggled to stay afloat without breaking a hand free to awkwardly paddle and then plunging back into the kiss.

Before he knew it, Killian felt the soft impact as they bumped against a rocky outcrop of the far shore. They’d floated some distance without even realizing they had moved. The playful, and still hungry, glimmer in Emma’s eyes remained, even as she loosed a small chuckle at their heedless travel. “Come,” she gestured with a tilt of her head, and once again he followed her gladly.

They slipped beneath the downpour of the falls with it pelting on their heads for a few seconds, until they passed to the other side and were hidden behind the rushing water. Just the two of them ensconced in a small pocket between a rocky edge and the wall of water and sound - hidden away from the rest of the world.

This time Emma didn’t hesitate; having felt the electric fervor of their kiss, she lunged forward, pressing Killian against the slick rock wall with all the force her slight frame could muster and plunged back in, her warm, soft mouth on his and her hands winding into his disheveled hair.

Killian returned her passion intently, tasting the delicious curve of her shoulder revealed by the sagging material of her clothes, and letting his light nips and licks begin to trail lower on her chest when her lips released him to draw breath. They were nearing uncharted territory now, and he managed to break from the haze of desire engulfing him long enough to pull back and search her eyes, making certain of what she wanted. “Darling, are you sure?” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers as they both panted desperately to put air back in their lungs. “There’s no need for us to hurry if…”

But Emma shook her head vehemently, cutting him off with such a stern, determined look that he knew it must be sincere. “Does this feel rushed to you?” she replied, to which he shook his head, knowing that it didn’t, not truly. “I thought so,” she smiled affectionately. “Now, trust me,” she soothed, molding her body to his beneath the surface, and making him very glad he could touch bottom again with the way she was pressing against him, leaving little mental ability or coordination left to him for focus on keeping afloat. “This is what I want. I love you… and I want to be as close as we can possibly get.”

Placing her hand atop his, Emma guided it further under the neck of her gown, until he was gently cupping her breast, his pulse pounding at the sensation as he squeezed experimentally, caressing the underside and making her shiver beneath his touch, a desperate sort of whimper in her throat.

He was lost then, and he knew it, rough-calloused fingers pulling down the fabric to bare her torso until she desperately pulled away enough to shimmy out of the garment quickly and send it slapping to the rocks behind them. Raising his arms, Killian allowed her to lift his shirt as well and pull it off over his head with just as much ravenous haste in her movements, then deftly toss it after her own clothing. He thought he might swallow his own tongue when she began to kiss along his clavicle, her smaller hands brushing through the dark hair that covered his chest. Killian couldn’t take his eyes from the stunning picture of her bare before him, but he was jolted with a current that made him go rigid when her devious little tongue poked out and circled his nipple, and it felt like his every nerve ending was vibrating with charged pulses even before she kissed down his sternum until she reached the water line, then let her fingers trail below, following the dark path of hair down his stomach to the waistband of his pants. Playfully running her fingers back and forth under the hem, she eyed her knight with a curious challenge, as if waiting to see what he would do next.

Suddenly ravenous, he easily flipped them, pressing her against the wall of their hidden grotto, though he used his arm to protect her from the rough surface. Raising her a bit higher, Killian ran his tongue along his lower lip hungrily; a predator considering how to devour her, and only lowered her again when she took the hint to wrap her legs around him, until he settled into the cradle of her thighs, inches from bliss, supporting her and steading them both against the rock behind them.

He circled her nipple with his thumb; it was already at attention from the chill and their activities, but she tossed her head from side to side against the stone behind her, urging him on. She had always seemed so stunningly more than human, too lovely and magical to be of this world at all, but at this moment - in the throes of her passion and at the mercy of his hands - she seemed as deliciously, fully real as he had ever seen her; as human as he was when they were joined like this. Though he wondered if Emma had ever engaged in this deepest of connections, and he himself had only barely experienced it in his youth, before a knight’s chivalric code, duty, honor, and danger had become his entire world, none of that seemed to hamper their movements together as one. The rhythm of their bodies as he pushed forward and she keened desperately, hands gripping his shoulders for all she was worth, was an age old dance which came to them intuitively with their love and desire.

Killian strove to take his time, to be gentle as he entered her, determined not to cause his princess unnecessary pain. She had stiffened for a moment, breath held silently as she tensed, but his fingers stroked her hair, caressed her face, and brushed over her lips as he whispered admiring, soft endearments and her tension eased. Then her lips parted to take his finger into her mouth, her tongue circling the digit before she applied a light suction as her eyes met his, and it was as if she were silently telling him she was ready while challenging him to continue. He could hold himself back no longer.

Bucking forward, the guttural moan that escaped him startled even Killian himself. The water helped him hold her, making them both nearly weightless and allowing his hands to skim over the back of her knees, her thighs, before clutching her shapely derriere and moving on up her sides beneath the surface. He marveled at exploring and lingering over all the places he had not yet seen in daylight. Her skin felt all the more silky and inviting, and as he began to rock within her more steadily, Emma showed only pleasure; chanting his name on short, breathy pants as she clung to him for dear life.

He knew he could not last much longer, not this first time with how she affected him and the intensity of their lovemaking. He could only pray he would see her satisfied as well. One more particularly deep thrust had him tingling all along his spine, knowing he was almost at his climax. The cords of muscle in his neck strained as Killian rocked against her once, twice, and a third time more as he stayed as deep and as close to Emma as possible. Her head tilted back as a cry of ecstasy was wrung from her, trembling around him irresistibly.

When her forehead fell to rest on his shoulder, Killian wrapped his arms around her even more tightly, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He had given her his all, and his limbs were now lax and weak, deliciously sated, replete. Until they could both recover a bit, he supported her while they bobbed in the gentle current. The easy motion of simply staying afloat was all the effort either could manage after such intense completion.

When they pulled apart at last, each one’s eyes searching the other’s face - he couldn’t help but think he had never seen her look more bewitching than she did at that moment. Naked in the light of the moon and stars as they swam langurously back out from under the falls and toward the bank, Emma glowed; her pale skin glistening as she passed through the water with sleek grace. She was unguarded and undone, and as she turned to cock her head at him, perhaps trying to devine his thoughts, she gleamed in unstudied, incandescent glory.

They climbed out of the water, skin pebbling and suddenly chilled in the cool night air. Quickly, he lead her this time, back to the bed and quiet quarters he had been given. Sheepishly, Killian wished he had a towel to dry her, or at least more clothing than a cape and metal armor to offer her while the garments they had worn were dried. Instead, they crawled beneath the covers on his sleeping mat, lying together skin to skin. It was more exquisite than he could have imagined, resting there with Emma, her back pressed to his front as he kissed her shoulder and ran his hand up and down her arm. She let out a soft, contented hum and snuggled even further into his embrace as he slipped one of his legs between hers, and she held it there with her own.

“Not so long ago,” she murmured, her breath rustling the small hairs on his arm, “I believed I would be lost forever. Happiness was an impossible dream. And now?... I want to stay like this - like we are this very moment - forever.”

Stretching his neck in order to press a kiss to her temple, Killian breathed her in and savored her words. They made his heart soar. He knew that at the first opportunity he would be speaking to her parents, seeking their blessing for a union with their daughter. He knew he would do anything to help Emma put the pain and trauma of her isolated exile behind her, and he would strive for the rest of his days to make her as happy as they both were at that moment. Speaking the words into her skin, he challenged, “Who says we can’t?  We can stay this way from now on.”

Emma knew it was true as she let herself rest entirely for the first time in so long, secure in his arms. An emotional smile quivered on her lips as she vowed, “Good. Then I believe we will.”

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @stahlop @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @elizabeethan @jrob64 @lfh1226-linda @hollyethecurious @zaharadessert @drowned-dreamer @thisonesatellite @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked​ @artistic-writer​ @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @scientificapricot @darkcolinodonorgasm @ilovemesomekillianjones @gingerchangeling @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @kday426 @linda8084 

[lilacerull0]

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 3: SEVEN

Escapism

"Please, picture me in the trees...

...before I learned civility."

- seven, Taylor Swift

***

one.

- Let's run away.

It's barely a whisper. It's said more to the open sky above them than to anybody else.

- Let's run away.

It's more than a whisper now. It's a call. An invitation for something greater than both of them. And Laurie would gladly buy a ticket for that particular train. He would. But the sun is so wonderful and the clouds are so enchanting in their unusual shapes that even getting up seems like a chore. He wants to stay here. On the grass. But Jo is persistent in her wishes. Jo March never, never, gives up.

- Won't you say something, Teddy? Can't you just see it? We could be anything, do anything, go anywhere! The world could be ours!

She, unlike him, is on her feet. She always seems to be. Gravity isn't very fond of Jo. Or at least that's what Jo will tell you. Laurie doesn't know if that's true or not, but he likes hearing her talk. He finds himself generally attached to sounds. The chipering of birds. The first note you play on the piano. Amy's chaotic laughter. Beth's soft chuckles. Meg's little mumbles. Jo's wild exclaims. That's one of the many reasons why Laurie loves the Marches. It's like these sisters have discovered an utterly fresh, vivid and extraordinary way to be alive. It's a pleasant contrast to what he's used to.

It's always quiet at home.

"What do you say Theodore Laurence, kindest and most noble of knights of this kingdom? Shall we follow the wind and see where it leads us?"

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Then you accept my proposal?"

"I sure do, Miss March."

People's faces usually look radically different when lightened up with smiles. They look prettier, more beautiful and somehow truer to themselves as opposed to non smiling faces. Jo's doesn't. She is smiling at him right now and her face doesn't look any different. It's just as true and warm as it was a thousand smiles before. And would Laurie even be allowed to call himself a comrade of Jo's if he didn't gift her with a smile of his own in return? He grins at her with no specific thought behind the expression. This is how people are supposed to be smiling, he thinks. Wide and real. Yes, people are supposed to be smiling just like this.

For a second, Jo and Laurie are the same person. Hair wild, shirts half unbuttoned, cheeks flushed. Laurie's hands are splattered with dirt from the ground whose hostility he was taking advantage of moments prior. Jo doesn't seem to care about that. Once he's up and standing, she grabs his arm a bit forcefully (which he doesn't mind), a bit theatrically (because this is Jo and life is a theatre piece) and they start running, both of them now embellished with dust. There's a lot of stumbling (and stumbling is blamed on the seemingly nonexistent objects that appear and disappear under commands of fairy like creatures) and there's a lot of laughter (laughter that comes in its most natural form and doesn't show any interest in being contained under anyone's wishes, especially not the ones of the world).

"Oh dearest, the world might not be for us, but us we are for the world."

***

two.

Freedom is both the most basic and the most complicated aspect of life to be gained. It is so simple of a concept, one could easily and rightfully so believe how all of thought guardians (more commonly referred to as humans) should have the right to not only experience, but spend their entire lives swimming in shinning lakes of freedom. But it's not how it all works. Some have tiny bits of freedom. Some don't have it at all. Some have loads. Some have just enough. Too much, sadly or sadly not, have none. 

Jo sometimes wishes she were a tree. High up in the sky, stretching out her branches towards infinity. She isn't a tree though.

Imagination is of grave help despite what anyone says. To a normal person, the tree is just a tree. Tree and nothing else. To Jo March, a tree is so much more. It's an opportunity. An adventure. It's a solace and a home. A sanctuary. She's climbing up one of her leaf providing friends as she's trying to figure out how to describe this moment the best. Her reflections are interrupted by a voice which surprisingly doesn't come from the bellow, but from the above instead. Once Jo spots the speaker's ground conquerors (or "shoes" if you are of dull old sameness and don't find the pleasure in crafting phrases unlike our Jo), she immediately recognizes their owner. She still isn't sure why Teddy let Amy paint his shoes with images of flowers, but she is mesmerized with the final result. And although she shall never share this with the oh, so great artist, Jo thinks Amy's creations to be exquisite.

"I presume you are coming here to put your mind at ease."

"That is correct, my boy, and I suppose you are here for the same cause. "

By the time they exchange these lines, Jo has already climbed up to the place where Laurie is. She finds herself a steady enough branch and rests her head against the surface of the wood. Her friend is positioned in a similar way, his leg gently swaying to a peculiar beat of his own making.

Two figures, who almost seem to be one with the wooden fellow, occasionally take an exceptionally deep breath. Their hands colored with bruises, souvenirs from many extraordinary expeditions, their clothes decorated with leaves. Seemingly they are flowers, nature is their most beloved companion.

It's quite a story how Jo and Teddy, these flower resembling humans, coexist without many syllables shared. The phrases they do sometimes grace each other with can end up being translated as meaningless or lacking in thought. But Teddy and Jo, among everything else, are inventors. They invented a language which only functions for them. What is mean to others represents to them a code. What is strange to some, playful and witty to them it is. What is impossible to comprehend, they understand with little to no effort.

"Language of flowers is the language of flowers for a reason. Nobody, but flowers, thinks it much sense."

***

three.

"I'M ALIVE! LOOK AT ME, EARTH!!! I! AM! BREATHING!"

This is just one of the many declarations that have furiously been shouted at the void today. Young people often have trouble befriending compromises, especially if those compromises are to be made with the creatures you live in close proximity with. Jo has again been fighting with her sisters for reasons she cannot exactly recall right this instant. It's funny, because this always happens to her. Something sparks her temper, she recklessly gives into it and at the end, it's all about the anger she doesn't know how to release. She usually goes on long walks or takes deep breaths. She basically tries to isolate herself from everyone until the storm passes.

Teddy has a different solution for her troubles, troubles that naturally turn out to be his troubles too because they are Jo and Teddy, Teddy and Jo, and they have the same troubles (which is both wonderfully relieving and awfully annoying at the same time). Jo wouldn't even call Teddy's solution a solution. They are both making these announcements of nonhuman frequency and dancing their heads off, and as ridiculous as it is, Jo feels it liberating. They aren't improving anything (just the opposite, screaming random things into the air represents the peak of impulsive behaviour) and the conclusion is: no profitable discoveries in the "containing yourself" department. But who cares? Sometimes you have to let it all out. Dance and shout the worries away. It wasn't a coincidence that Jo met Teddy under the circumstances that she did. They were both of hot tempers, strong wills and free spirits. And they needed to dance it all out out. Despite the absurdity and inappropriate mannerism a foreign eye would most certainly find in their actions.

"There exists no right nor wrong way to express one's self."

***

four.

Laurie is surprised with how much he is enjoying this. It's all very simple. Yet, he feels at peace. He feels like everything inside him has a chance to rest.

It's the fireplace and captivating movement of the fire flames.

It's the soft "click" he discovers every time Meg takes a step. Her shoes are marvellous singers.

It's the chattering of dishes he recognizes somewhere in the background. It must be Beth, cleaning the table after the meal.

It's Amy giggling mischievously after coming up with what Laurie supposes to be some kind of scheme or more accurately, a master plan. He wouldn't know what is it about, but whatever it is, Amy is destined to succeed in it.

It's Jo. This is all because of Jo. He wouldn't have come across the hidden delights of the "uncomplicated" and "boring" if it weren't for her. She takes a seat beside him interrupting the spectacular date he had with the fireplace, rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. It's like this with them. Touching has never been a big deal.

"Beautiful."

That's all Jo says. "Beautiful." He doesn't question it. He understands what she means even though he cannot explain it. He understands.

"Warmth. Choreographed chaos. Lines overlapping. Minds intertwining. Familiarity greeting you "hello". People. Family. Home."

***

five.

She cut her hair. She cut her hair and everything is supposed to be at least a little better if not completely fine. But she can feel the tears forming in her eyes as she's approaching the house. The money in her pocket is so incredibly present. No, the money is not just present in her pocket. Everything those dusty pieces of paper represent carries weight. A weight so grand Jo could swear there is somebody following her, kind of like the money has taken the shape of a person and is now accompanying her, monitoring her every move. What kind of world sees a green, ugly paper and claims of it a metaphor for greatest treasures? And the tears? The tears she cannot comprehend. Why would she care? It's just hair. If anything, she should be bursting with joy right now. She got rid of the womanly burden. But it doesn't feel right. It's all extremely selfish of her. Selfish and thoughtless.

Her sister is... not well. Her father is out there doing all sorts of heroic things and instead of crying over her sins, she's crying over this. For once she does something right, for once the part of her that's wrong different isn't screaming. And then it hits her. It's not just a part of her that's different wrong. It's her. The moment she realises this she steps into the house. Everyone is either too distant or too close to notice all that is hiding underneath her seemingly admirable actions.

Her body is barely handling the atmosphere. It's barely cultivating the facade. But her body is also covered with Teddy's waistcoat and just as she remembers this little fact she sees her best friend right there in front of her. He is not too distant nor too close. He is right where she is.

They have the same hair.

Jo is pulled towards him because this is Teddy and hugging Teddy is like hugging herself. They stay like that for a few moments, their realities greeting each other like two fellow soldiers, finally reunited in battle.

It doesn't make her feel any less hollow. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't alter the wrongs. But it does make it a little better. It offers an assurance. An assurance embodying validity so present, money can do nothing but hold a candle to. An assurance of rational absurdity. Because that's what Jo and Teddy are.

They are rationally absurd.

"It's a childish belief that all twins look the same. There exist many ways to be somebody's twin."

***

six.

She is holding his hand.

He has just told her how he doesn't fit within himself. He has just told her that and she is still here, laying on the floor with him, covered with blankets. She said it made sense. She must have been too tired or something. She must have misheard. She must have.

"Jo, are you there?"

She does not respond. She only squeezes his hand. It's not about the gesture itself. It's about everything the gesture holds.

Promises. Lifetimes. Daylights. Midnights. Setting suns. Growing spirits. Flowery Youths.

She is holding his hand.

" Mutuality sure is a wonderful creation. What is more wonderful though is mutual understanding. Mutuality means the returning of the same. Mutual understanding means accepting and loving of the different."

***

seven.

"I could run away for real this time. Explore the unknown, unravel the mystical. Encounter the miracles. Touch the heavens..."

Her words are empty. They don't mean much. They are empty and desperate. Empty, desperate and meaningless.

Her sister got married. Meg got married and she is talking to herself about running away. The wind is dancing with her again long enough hair, tangling its fingers into her rough curls, reminding her of the countless times it has done the exact same thing before. Mocking her with its endless supplies of stability and comfort. Jo is leaning over the wooden fence, despite the wishes of her dress which keeps complaining about her unlady like methods. Jo honestly does not care about the fancy bridesmaid dress and its wants. If one has the will to climb fences, one shall enjoy the act of doing so, no matter what some piece of fabric might have to say. She is trying to hold back rivers her eyes miserably wish to let flow. She cannot cry. She must not. She has an ongoing bet with Teddy about this. He was daring enough to assume she will turn herself into a paddle today and she ought to prove him wrong.

"What might a lady like yourself be doing here instead of enjoying the jolly ceremony out there in the open?"

"I am no lady Teddy, my being is in no need of such chains."

Laurie doesn't pressure her into answering the question (she would have answered it in the first place if she had the intention to) and steps on the fence beside her. He starts humming a random melody, rhythmically moving his fingers to the sound.  He must be composing something again, thinks Jo and silently envies his creative range. It's been too long since she's written anything worth sharing.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Everything."

"Isn't that a bit too much of things?"

"Oh, it's just a little over the top Teddy, but I believe I can handle it. This mind is no stranger to overcrowding."

The same tree they used to climb when they were younger is now observing them, representing an eternal and haunting reminder of everything that once was. Jo is frightened. That silent way in which Teddy is looking at her is frightening. He is looking at her in ways she longs for to be different and his eyes have too many freshly discovered stories to tell. She is frightened she won't find those stories to be very pleasant.

"Do you remember that day when I told you how I wanted to run away?"

"How could I not?"

"I need to run away again."

Laurie doesn't need to hear it twice. He jumps over the fence and starts running, his arms widely spread, his tie and jacket long forgotten. It isn't real. Jo knows they will never go anywhere. The sun is setting and the lines of separation are clearing up. The sun is setting and challenges, struggles and complications lie ahead. She knows all of this. Yet, she hikes up her skirts like she's sixteen again and follows the path her boy has chosen for as long as she knows how to. Jo and Teddy run through the endless fields of gold, specks of sunlight meeting their bones. Teddy and Jo, Jo and Teddy, high in the sky for one last time before nightfall.

They keep falling over each other and eventually end up wrestling on the grass, occasional screams and consistent laughter adorning the air around them.

The last song of Meg's shoes. The last symbol Amy will ever paint on Jo's hands. The last wide smile of Beth's. The last understood conversation of birds. The last fellow of the trees. The last arrangement of flowers.

The last.

The last.

The last.

"Oh, to live in a world where there are childhoods, fields of gold and raging hearts."

"Grab a coat, leave a note and run away with me."

- William Chapman

[starfaring-princelotor]

If it’s not too late to request, ace Lotor x pan reader where they go on a road trip together adjdhwnchwnhxks (＞人＜;) If there’s mention of bonfires and s’mores, I would not be upset hehehhhhhh (￣▽￣;) just, hnmngngg 😭 the two of them havin’ a good time and not caring wtf the rest of the world thinks TT^TT

Road Trip To My Heart

*

Summary: Beach time with Lotor includes music, playful teasing, and soft revelations in the heart.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: N/A.

*

Skateboards? Check. Surfboards? Double check. Bonfire wood? Triple check. 

Mosquito repellent? Well…

“If you keep scratching it, they will only get worse,” Lotor advised oh so wisely, but it was hard to take his words seriously when he was looking up at you from your lap.

“I can’t help it. So itchy…” you whined, resisting the temptation to pinch and dig your nail into your poor bumpy face, “How come they didn’t go after you?”

“They did. Twice. And those that lived spread the word that my blood does not taste very good.”

Letting out a small "hnngh” noise, you pinched his cheeks in playful retaliation. He may have the last word, but you were the one with the upper hand. Though, judging by the smug grin plastered on his face, none of your antics were affecting him. Well, not in the way you intended. In fact, he seemed rather like a content fat cat resting his head on your smooth thighs like so. All he needed now was - 

Lotor interrupted your thoughts by gently keeping your wrist still and pecking each of your fingertips with loving kisses, leaving hidden messages for you to remember. 

I love that you are so playful.

I love that you are so adventurous. 

I love that you choose to stay happy. 

I love that you love me.

I love...you.

Even years after being married, you still had that wild spirit about you, one that matched Lotor’s in the same yet completely different way. You were the land. He was the sea. Together, you two fit into each other’s lives perfectly. No matter where you brought him, whether that be around Earth, around Olkarion’s forests, deep within the mermaid’s trenches, or up in the moons of Taujeer, you truly proved to him that home is where the heart is. 

“You are beautiful, dear.”

And it was true. The way the glow of the blue fire shadowed your face showed that hidden beauty he couldn’t bear witness during the day. The starry night sky canvasing behind your head was so picture perfect, he could spend an entire lifetime painting and it would not even come close to the real thing. And your eyes, stars, your gorgeous eyes. Lotor swears that in the right light, at the right time, with the right mood, he could see all of life’s answers reflect in them. 

The only response you granted to his compliment was a radiant smile and the feeling of your warm palm cupping his cheek. Holding him, cherishing him for who he truly is right here and right now. Not an Emperor. Not a royal, not a diplomat, not the savior of the universe, but a man who was able to freely love with all of his heart. And you accepted him, never one to judge someone’s worth of love because of such silly titles. His status meant nothing to you and he would have it no other way. 

For all the times he told you that he was uncomfortable with sex, uncomfortable with the history of his past mates using it as a way to “claim” him as a powerful status figure, being bare to you now as a simple wanderlusting traveler was life-changing. It was what he needed and wanted, whether he knew it or not. You helped him in the best possible way by showing through example that love? 

Love has rules. Love has boundaries. And abiding by those with respect is how you two withstood the test of time itself. 

Though, that isn’t to say he didn’t show you your true potential, either. 

“Will you sing tonight? Grace me once more with your enchanting voice that could calm even the most raging of seas?” he spoke poetically, teetering on the tip of pleading and wanting, “Please. The stars and the moon will draw constellations of the lost siren from the woodlands.”

Ukulele? That was the first thing you packed. 

With practiced preparation, you were already tuning your instrument and strumming it into perfection. You would have left your voice fading in the dark if it hadn’t been for Lotor. Or rather, for his inspiring encouragement that could move mountains and bring life back to barren lands. He knew what his strengths were and he knew how to utilize it for your sake. Freedom of expression was something he learned on his own long ago and he was more than glad to bring it out of you.

For all his bravado talk, he really was a master at weaving words into golden rays of sunlight. And you would forever be grateful that shine was what re-inspired you to sing to your heart's content. 

“No road trip would be complete without some jams,” you happily finished off with a single strum, “Any requests, big boy?”

Lotor chuckled at that nickname, recalling the meaning behind it. You sure are a big boy. Must be for all that heart you have. 

“You know my favorite.”

Ah, a classic. One you didn’t mind singing on repeat and one he never grew tired of hearing. Lotor once asked if you were a descendant of mermaids because he always felt like he was floating on cloud nine after your song ended. He said he felt euphoric. Peaceful. High, oh so high. He even shared that he would gladly surrender all his kisses and s’mores if only to hear you lure him again with such an ethereal tone. 

With a quick drink of water, you cleared your throat to let your voice soothe both of your wandering souls. Nothing but you two existed right now. Not the fire, not the trees and the moon and the sand and waves. Just you two, invulnerable to the vulnerabilities of a heavy life. This would be a moment neither of you would ever forget. 

“Come with me,

And you’ll be

In a world

Of pure imagination.”

Lotor hooded his eyes, his heart singing along with yours in perfect synchronization.

[lespendragons]

placebo sentence starters // always accepting.

@arthur-rex​ said: "Without you, I'm nothing at all."

     Uther has no right to do it to her – he’s not her father to decide her fate, and Morgana is somehow sure, though she would never know in fact, that Gorlois would never do this. Maybe it’s her passionate urge to defend the image of a true father she so cherished all these years, maybe it’s her bitterness speaking. Because the king has every right – did she really believe that he took her in to grant her the freedom of choice? No, they both knew that would happen sooner or later, but it doesn’t soften Morgana’s rage, and Arthur certainly doesn’t help.

     “I will gladly die before I allow this man’s paws near me,” she spits out, disdain seething in every word – she really means it. Uther must think it fair: Lord Maleagant is not old, nor is he unpleasant to look at – yet, she has no desire to be his queen, if agreeing to this marriage would mean becoming a plaything to a despicable man, no matter how handsome. 

     She saw it in him, the day Uther introduced them to each other – she saw the dangerous gleam in his eyes, that of a predator, she saw them light up with obvious lust, even if he kissed her hand gallantly and called her his lady. Could the king really fail to notice, or maybe he found out the truth about his ward’s secret affair with the prince and decided to marry her off posthaste, to avoid the shame of it? 

      What Uther hopefully doesn’t know is that her magic is enough to keep Maleagant at bay. A few possible plans have already set root in her mind. The king of Gorre will not live to see the day of their wedding – she doesn’t want to resort to this, yet she knows a way to ensure it. She’ll dine with him tonight, she could steal a vial of poison from Gaius’s chambers – all it would take is a bit of arsenic in his food or a knife smeared with henbane on one side to cut an apple in two and share it. Or she’ll go through with the wedding and enchant Maleagant so that he’d never be able to bed her, until some mysterious reason leaves her a widow a couple of weeks into the marriage. 

      But then, someone could get blamed in her place – a servant, perhaps, or a cook. She wouldn’t bear the thought of framing an innocent person for her crime. The crime she’s already committed in her mind. Would Arthur be horrified if she confided in him? But she’s so lost, so desperate – what else is there to do?

      “I will never betray you,” Morgana says softly, taking hold of his hand. Either way, this part remains true. “Could you not talk to your father? If there was something to make him change his mind...”