#is the gold imbedded into her skin?

[awkwardarmadildo]

real

and i thought it wasnt possible for her to get MORE stunning

[silveragelovechild]

I’m continuing to watch Foundation. Is it odd to primarily watch it for its art design and visual effect? I also like some of the characters. It’s probably best I have not read the novels. Part of me doesn’t care what happens in the long term (and I’d probably chafe if I knew how much it departed from the book series). FYI - There’s a link below to VFX from the series.

Season 2 follows two versions of Harry Seldon. One of them is an AI inside the Vault on the planet Salvor Hardin. There’s a second version of Harry as a holographic projection generated by something called the Prime Radiant. Via an unexplained method, this version was given a new human body. (So that 2 episodes later they could show him slowing being drowned.)

In all honesty, I’ve lost interest in both Harrys. I also have become tired of Gaal, and Salvor, her adult daughter. Both are about the same age (mid 20s) due to the use of hyper sleep at different points in their lives. Gaal is always worried she’s doing the wrong thing, and Salvor is usually angry and/or distrusting. After while both these character traits get boring.

I do like is Lee Pace as Emperor Cleon, aka Day. I like the two other clones, Dawn and Dusk. As a way of protecting the dynasty 3 versions of Cleon exist at any one time, via cloning. They discovered ann unknown enemy tampered with the cloning process and none of them are exact clones of the original.

I especially like Day’s Majordomo Demerzel, the last sentient Robot of her kind (they’ve reference Azimov’s robot laws which she says she is no longer bound by). According to Wikipedia Demerzel is an evolved version of a character from his Robot novels. She’s played by Laura Birn, a Finnish actor, and is very good. image0.jpeg

After a neatly successful assassination attempt, Pace/Day decides to end the clone dynasty and marry to start a genetic dynasty. This threatens Dawn and Dusk as they would no longer be necessary. The woman who Pace/Day has selected to marry, suspect he killed her family. She’s willing to marry him but doesn’t want to have his children. She’s concocted a plot to have children with Dawn (who is 20ish) without letting Pace/Day know. She calls it a “fucking bloodless coup”.

I also really like Bel Riose,the gay general (Ben Daniels) and Glawen Curr, his lover and second in command (Dino Fetscher). It’s interesting to see a loving intimate gay relationship in a scifi setting. I wish their storyline was expanded.

They’ve recently introduced a Han Solo type character by the name of Hober Mallow. He has gone on an undercover mission to bargain with Spacers.

Spacers are a genetically created beings necessary for FTL space travel. They have an incredible design - tall and slender with a golden glow and what looks like gold circuitry imbedded in their skin. They have fun names like She-Bends-Light and She-Is-Center.

Here’s a link to a VFX reel.

[turning-through-the-never]

"Have you ever experienced phantom sensations?"

The question comes from the aging kaldorei to Xylaes' left, who has been inspecting his replanted arm with discerning eyes the same gold as her half-moon spectacles, secured around her neck with a fine chain. Other than these, her garments are plain and severe, the robes of some sect of kaldorei scholars.

"I beg your pardon for the imposition," she excuses herself in the sort of precise Common that accompanies the speech of those whose first language distantly predates the Common Tongue's invention, still examining the arm. "I am considering pursuing a study of such amendments of the flesh, and yours seems... an outlier." She favors him with a flicker of eye contact and a quirk of the lips, and returns to addressing his arm. "Of course, if it is a subject of sensitivity, please have no qualms about telling an old woman to mind her own business," she adds with a little hmhmhm of muted laughter.

((Sorry this took a bit!))

It wasn't the most comfortable topic to talk about, and most honestly never asked nor perhaps even noticed. The majority assumed the black metallic cuff around his bicep was simply a tattoo given it appeared to nearly be imbedded into the skin, and the discoloration between arm and the rest of him wasn't that noticeable - unless one were looking too hard.

He had noticed her looking, but assumed that's all it would be until she spoke. He should probably wear longer sleeves at all times to avoid this. Both brows raise as he shifts to better face her, debating whether or not he should simply admit to being uncomfortable speaking of it, or entertain her with a rather wild story. She seemed polite enough in her approach, at least. That and 'amendments of the flesh' was far more polite sounding than the reality of it all.

"If I got a gold every time someone referred to me as an outlier I'd be a rich man." He gives her a charming smirk. "It's not my favorite subject, but I'm willing to entertain."

[ridley-ships]

S/I introductions Part |:

I

Hunger Games & Finnick Odaire

Her name is Ambrosia Locksong and she has diamonds imbedded in her cheekbones. Her hair is dyed silver, her skin dusted with flecks of gold. Her impossibly long eyelashes framed impossibly bright emerald eyes.

She smiles like a fox and there’s a sapphire in her right incisor. The light catches her just right and she is epitome of ethereal beauty. She walks between real and unreal. Between playfulness and aloofness. A dream like figure made of jewels and longing rather than flesh and bone.

She is, in her very essence, a blindingly beautiful lie.

II

Supernatural & Lucifer

His name is Nicolas Winchester and he feels like the patron saint of run down gas stations. He’s seen them all. They are his one destination. His one purpose. He travels between them with the hum of the beat up motorcycle between his legs.

His pockets are stuffed with herbs and gum and animals bones and lottery tickets. Sun glasses stay on and so does the leather jacket.

He was a two plus two kind of guy. Regimented and controlled. He had no bad habits other than the cigarette between his lips and the devil on his shoulder.

[coffincoven]

"ugh. jealous." juliet grabs his fingers, running her own finger tips over his skin. she's frowning while she does it. she wished she had hands that were long and elegant. she got short fingers.

her own fingers have rose gold rings and almond shaped acrylics. this week they are painted pale pink with glitter imbedded in the tips. quite the opposite compared to sam's.

juliet drops his hand, propping her skin her hands as she pouts. "you have piano player fingers, hand model worthy. so not fair."

@coffincoven​ said “you have lovely hands. do you moisturize?” 

“do i—what? moisturize?” 

a little amused, he stretches out his hand. his fingers are long, slender, and tattooed—a cross on one finger, a rose on the inside of another, and a fairly ornate looking crown on a third, mostly covered by a ring. 

they’re alright, he thinks. he’s never really thought about them as lovely. he’s never thought about moisturizing either. 

“no. i just got lucky, i guess.” 

[a-regular-ol-pill]

hey heyy i just found ur blog and i already love it! i was wondering if you could make an aamon x reader x gusion nsfw oneshot? (f! reader please)

thank you so so much<33

"Tell us, tell us that you want it."

Mobile Legends; Bang Bang

Pairing; Aamon, You | Gusion, You | Aamon, You, Gusion

!! NSFW 18+ !!

Requested? Yes.

Small note for requester; I'm glad you found my blog and love it! In this one, the reader will be having... a hard time adjusting much. If you get what I'm saying. ;)

Want to request? Click here.

Word Count; N/A

Second Person Perspective.

Pronouns used for reader; 'She', 'Her', etc...

Prompt;

"Working as an armorer has some traits. Getting a lot of praise, and gold, working with higher-up's that offer you enough benefits. Making the two Paxley brothers love you— wait, what?"

Making firm armor for the Paxley brothers has always been a weekly routine. Show up at the shop, greet them, small chat, and sometimes stay over for dinner if you feel worthy enough to dine with them. Most of the time, you do end up eating at the same table with the Paxley's, seeing as your fine work of weapons and armour helped increase the chances of victory in battle.

The common thing about the weekly routine in the Paxley's, was that— you were offered the invite from the eldest brother. Aamon, who was; Currently the one that runs everything in the House Paxley. You weren't sure who informed him about your craftsmanship, but you were damn grateful for them. You earned a lot of gold, and was able to feed your siblings from then on.

One question you needed an answer to was; 'Why are they treating you like you're family?' —Hell, the routine was the most loved you've ever felt, outside of whenever you hung around with your siblings. Though, the feeling of love was different with your siblings, and different with the Paxley's. Different in a way that you can't explain. It was more prominent with the two elder brothers. Aamon, and Gusion.

The way they looked at you— the way they thanked you for everything that you did.. It always left a funny feeling in your stomach. When they look at each other after you felt that feeling, it made the feeling worse. They were communicating telepathically— with you having no way to figure out what they were thinking.

Hell— Even when you weren't looking, you could feel them staring holes into whatever part of your body they're looking at. After a few more incidents that you felt uncomfortable, you decided to skip week when they requested you. Instead— you decided to test your limit, and take care of your little sibling while working in an armory shop.

Bad idea. You barely remembered how things escelated, but now— You and your sibling are covered in thick layers of charcoal dust from when you were transferring it to the furnace. A few passer-by's took a glance, and immediately rushed your sister out to look for a water source. Having been affiliated with those passer-by's before— you let them walk your sibling and decided to clean up the place before the shop owner came back.

"I do not want to be yelled at.. again." You said to no one in particular, grabbing a bucket and rushing to the water hose that was imbeded into the ground. Your fingers and hands made quick work in filling up the bucket, and you ran back to the shop. Little do you know, a certain brother was watching you— On his way to call his brother so they could possibly pry answers for you.

Of course, you were blissfully unaware, having been able to enjoy the cleaning because of the soft sponge and firm duster that was provided in the back closet. Half-way through cleaning the whole shop, a small thud on the entrance made you glance up from your hunched over position— You were confused when you saw nothing but a small reflection from the mirror that faced the anvil.

After the long pause, you were suddenly aware of how uncomfortable the dust felt on your skin. Grabbing the; now empty bucket. You were about to rush out to wash off the dust, until you were pushed back. The pain in your face made you reach up to rub it, while you heard footsteps. "Oh, what happened to you?" You froze at the sound. Why was Gusion here? Were you gonna get in trouble for refusing his brother's request?

Well. All your stress went away when your hands were pulled back from your face. Your self conciousness rising after you felt a hand on your nose.

"Are you alright? I didn't mean to hurt your beautiful face." Aamon leaned close to your face, unaware that you could feel his hot breath fan over your face. "We should help her clean up, Gusion."

You tensed up, clean you up? Why would the formal Aamon use words like that?! Unless of course— he purposely did that. Which wasn't far from the truth. Aamon knew what he wanted from you, but unfortunately for you— You don't. After awhile of Aamon helping you relax your face, you heard a soft thud— and water splashing near your dust covered boots.

"Careful! It'll be a waste of water." Aamon scolded his brother's ignorance for the water. Which Gusion laughed at, for no apparent reason. "Come on, open your eyes, we're not mad you weren't in the house." Gusion's light-hearted voice eased you to do as he said. Eyes meeting with the one and only— Duke Paxley.

"You're not..?" You asked, shivering at the feeling of cold water running down your back. Suddenly, you were well aware that Gusion was behind you— probably judging you because of your slouched posture. You hoped not.

"Of course we aren't, you know. Aamon literally watches you while you take care of your siblings— Like a creep." Gusion laughed, lightening the stress to your tense body. This was something you admired about them— Aamon eases your feelings, while Gusion eases your body. They were like polar opposites that get along so well.

"Don't tell it like that, I do watch her. But only because I'm interested in how she handles kids." Aamon argued, one hand leaving your face to hand you a cup, and push the bucket of water near you. That's when you realized that he wasn't sure if you were comfortable in him cleaning you up. Even though he was the one that suggested it.

You grabbed water with the cup and used it to wet your hair. Gusion pulled back a little, waiting for the water to stop befor resuming to clean up your back— Aamon just watched, eyes travelling to wherever, like when he did back at the house. "Mhm, as if you aren't thinking about living a life with her, have kids, even." You choked on your spit at what Gusion said.

You even looked up at Aamon for confirmation— and the look on his face confimed what Gusion said. "Seriously..?! You're joking right?" You asked, desperate for a refusal, but only a laugh escaped from Gusion's lips. A part of you hoped that it was true, but another was afraid— Really afraid. They were nobles for lord's sake! They'd be looked down on if you dare try to have an ounce of romatic relationship with them.

"Won't you be shamed on? Why would you admire me? An armorer for the whole palace!" You argued, brows furrowing together once you saw a disappointed look in Aamon's face— Which was terrifying, he rarely ever show his emotions. And this? Him making that kind of face? It was usually a sign that he'll punish someone.

And that someone, was you. "Clean up first, love. We'll show you how much you're worth." Love. Oh fuck— You're absolutely gonna ruin their reputation if things escalate. Probably ruin your family's reputation as well..

Your mind being all over the place became the reason as to why you were confused as to why you were suddenly on the dinner table at the Paxley's house. A towel wrapper around your— still slightly dusted outfit. The revealing skin was now free from the uncomfortable feeling, but only the revealing ones. "When did we get here?" You asked, Aamon walking you to upstairs— you had suspicions as to what he and Gusion was planning, and you hoped they really don't do it.

"By my powers of course. I'm the best at being swift after all." Gusion proudly stated, walking forward and admiring your water dripping face. It made your face heat up— especially after your eyes locked together. It was impossible not to look away, knowing fully well that if you try to move— Aamon will be quick to hold you down.

There's the same tension that made you feel something in your stomach. Even worse now that you can't get away from them. Suddenly, an excuse popped up in your head— just before all three of you could enter the room infront of you. You spoke up, in a panicked voice; "My sibling, they're with a family friend of mine. I need to pick them up and bring them home!"

You needed something. Something to stop them from ruining their family's reputation. "I already sent Eren to pick them up. No need to worry." Aamon reassured, your attempt at stalling— ultimately failing as the door was opened by Gusion. Who, by then; Already figured out how stressed you were, and nothing could comfort you. Unless they both prove to you how much you're worth.

You kept trying to subtly move away from Aamon's hold, though— it was a useless effort to do so, considering that both of them figured everything out by now. Your insecurity could be fixed, and it will be fixed after this day. "Relax, you're safe with us." Aamon whispered. Your eyes scanned around the room, and after realizing who's room it was— Your heart stopped.

"Are we really gonna do this in your room? The maids keep cleaning this, it'll be a shame if they clean up everything that happened after this." Gusion asked, visibly annoyed because of the maids cleaning up... whatever happens later. "You should know that I request the maids to not clean my room. I have more privacy than you. Young man."

Gusion huffed at his brother's answer, opening the door to the bathroom— You assumed. Then was corrected after you saw the formal bath in the side. Along with a curtain and a sink. It all looked clean, and untouched. You don't deserve to be there, let alone wash yourself clean from your dust..

Aamon and Gusion shared a look as the older helped you to step inside the already prepared warm bath. "Are you sure Eren picked my sibling up? No one informed me!" You asked again, knowing already that it would be a lost cause. They had a mission to achieve, and they had no plan to stop theirself for achieving it.

"'Course he did, my sweet big brother talks about you all the time." Gusion turned away and ran out the room, avoiding his brother's scolding after he left. Your heart started to beat from your chest, endless thoughts circling your mind. It seemed like they had feelings for you. Aamon could have liked you more, but Gusion might be steering away his focus on him to Aamon to.. possibly hide his feelings.

Hesitantly, you took the towel away to wash your dusted outfit. Forgetting that the eldest brother was there with you. Until you felt a hand tug on your shirt. "Oh! I'm- I'm so sorry, I forgot-!" You exclaimed, about to put the towel back on, until he pulled your back to his chest. Free hand reaching up to run his slim fingers through your locks. "Don't be ashamed."

The soft gravel tone in his voice next to your ear made you move away subconsciously. But god damn, it sounded so hot.. "How can I not be? I don't deserve to even step inside your room. Let alone, your bathroom." Your question made him chuckle, a hand coming down to rub your stomach, in a way you felt so comfortable.

"Lets take your clothes off, you don't deserve to be dressed in such filthy clothes." His offer made your heart stop, your knees suddenly buckling when his hand grazes your cheek. His touch was alluring you to submit to him. His hands moved to your neck, down to your button up shirt, he unbuttoned it slowly, one by one, until he reached the very bottom. "Aamon.."

Something about you saying his voice triggered something in his chest. In a second— your clothing was stripped from your body, and the next. You were bent over the tub, slim fingers teasing you through your underwear. Your head hung low, stiffling the noises that was threatening to come out from your mouth.

Aamon admired the way your back arched, his curious side becoming more visible while he became more bolder with his actions. His nails grazed the tip of your nub, making you cry out from the sudden stimulation. The sound you made, he wanted more of it. More of your whines, more of your small begs— he wanted more of it.

Without realizing it, Aamon set you down on the sink and pulled off your underwear. Eyes shining, like he was looking at desert after seeing your damp pussy. "Aamon- I beg of you-." You gasp out, head tilting back whilst his tongue made contact with your outer lips. The taste made him feel so intoxicated— made him need more of your taste.

He figured, the best way to do that— was to continue stimulating your poor, untouched core. His head dipped down to taste more of you, nose rubbing againts your clit as he lapped his tongue over your pussy. Your stomach churned, and snapped at his every action. It made you feel so good.

Little do you know; Gusion just came back from drinking some water downstairs. Listening in on your pretty little whines, his brother was making you feel good. Aamon had already unraveled your outer lips to taste you even more. Your legs shaking from the continuous stimulation from his tongue— Oh how left out Gusion felt when you cried out after Aamon slipped his tongue inside you.

He was the one that convinced his brother to finally make a move on you— He deserves to be part of the fun! Hell, he was sure that he was the one that developed feelings for you first. So, without shame, he went inside and basked in the view. You with your eyes closed shut, thighs clamping around his brother's head— eating you out to the point where your legs had already given out.

The sight was absolutely gorgeous. If only he could blackmail his brother.

"He's eating you out so good, right?" Gusion asked, a smirk rising up from his face upon seeing you tense up, and your face redden from embarrassment. Though, the embarrassing feeling was one you couldn't feel. You were on the brink of your orgasm— crying out even louder when two digits slipped into your wet pussy. Adding to the pleasure that Aamon's tongue was already providing you with.

"Are you gonna cum? Cum all over the eldest Paxley brother's face? Do you think you deserve to do that?" He asked, stepping over to you and grabbing hold of your hair. You cried out again, thighs clenching as you tried to stop your inevitable orgasm. Although, doing that just made Aamon desperate, licking up and trying to suck the cum out of you. "N-no! I-I don't deserve to!" You choked out, hands flying to tug on Aamon's hair. Begging him to stop.

But, it only took Gusion's lips sucking on your neck to make you cum. Crying out, and eyes closing shut from the pleasurable guilt you felt as Aamon rode out your orgasm. "You taste so divine." Aamon groaned out, lapping over your pussy one more time, before standing up and glancing at his brother. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cum." You muttered, tearing up as you moved your hands to cover your face.

"What did you say to her?" Aamon asked, eyes narrowing at Gusion, who raised his hand in defence. "I just asked if she deserves to cum on your face. Promise!" The younger said, amused when Aamon started to pepper you with soft kisses on your neck. The act of affection soothed you— But it wasn't enough, Gusion's words really stung. Though, you didn't deserve to be guilty.

"Don't listen to my brother, you deserve to cum, since I was the one that made you do that." Aamon whispered, hand reaching up to cup your face. With how soft his hands felt, you forgot the words that Gusion— rudely said to you earlier. "Come on Aamon-ey, I deserve a bit of recognition from bringing you two together." Gusion spoke up. A teasing smirk; Still visible on his face.

"I'm not about to make you ruin her innocence." Aamon argued, holding you close as him and his brother argued. "Ohh come on~, just this once. Please? For your little brother?" Gusion whined, earning a sigh from his older brother. "I... I'm okay with him joining." You spoke up, to hopefully ease the visible headache that Aamon was feeling.

That settled it— without wasting a second, the two of them brought you to the bed. Aamon under, with you sitting on his lap. And Gusion situated behind you. "You prepped her, you go first. But I won't promise that I won't enter her after you do." Gusion peppered soft kisses onto your bare back, admiring how soft your body felt when he squeezed his palm on it. Upon closing your eyes, you heard the shuffling of clothes, and felt hands looping under your thigh to hoist it up.

"You look so stunning." Aamon whispered, stroking his huge cock and lining the tip of his cock below your hole. You held your breath, biting your lip while Gusion lowered you onto his brother's cock. The pain you felt was more pain than your first open wound. It felt like an eternity of your walls— clenching around Aamon's cock until you reached his pelvis.

Hell, Aamon could barely hold up in ruttig up into you when your walls were clenching so tight around him. It was nothing he had felt before, and neither did you feel something like that. You felt full— Figuratively and Literally. "So tight.." Aamon groaned, squeezing down on your hips as you leaned down. Desperate to feel comfort from his warmth.

Though— what you did only allowed him access to your soft and tender stomach. He started caressing it, admiring you like a beauty in the newspapers. Your tight felt warm for him. His eyes rolling back after feeling your panting breath. "That's it... you're taking me so well." He whispered to you, nearly moaning out when your hips shifted. Clenching around him once more.

"You both look so fucked out.." Gusion grinned, holding his bare cock out and rubbing it againts the back of your hole. You shivered at the feeling and clutched onto Aamon's shoulder. "Let me just... squeeze right in.." With every word, Gusion eased himself into your already occupied hole. You and Aamon cried out, the tight sensation becoming too much for Aamon, and the stretch making you feel like you're being ripped apart.

Aamon noticed your struggle, hand reaching down to rub your clit in soft circles. Helping you lube up his brother's cock with your slick. "Too... much." You choked out. Tears filling your eyes and falling down onto Aamon's chest. His eyes grew soft at that, pulling your face close to his and kissing you. Gusion also helped to ease your pain, massaging your back and pressing soft kisses to it.

You felt warm at their touch, and eventually adjusted well enough until you could shift and not feel uncomfortable from it. "There, feeling better?" They asked you. To which you replied with a nod. Aamon pressed even more kisses to your face, with Gusion following up with soft kisses on your spine. Gusion was getting impatient, and tried a small thrust. A small whimper leaving your lips at the action.

He tried another, and groaned when you clenched around them both. Aamon watched your face contort into a desperate one, he tried his own thrust. A louder moan coming from you while doing so. "You have her spot, I'm only an addition." Gusion chuckled, watching as his brother try to hold back a groan at the feeling of your tight walls.

"You're so good to us.." Aamon whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into you, increasing your moans of pleasure, and turning you into a whimpering mess. With his movement, and Gusion's thrusts— It made you feel amazing. And, while Gusion just groaned and continued to apply pleasure from himself, Aamon rutted up into you, trying to hit that spot repeatedly as he could.

"You deserve this, everything we're giving you." He added, rubbing his thumb over your clit, you moaned. Closing your eyes shut as you felt your orgasm creep up to you. It seems that they wanted to reach that with you as well— Gusion's thrusts started to become uneven, and faster, chasing his own. While Aamon started rutting into you, humping your tight walls and kissing you.

All it took was for his finger, and both of them to moan your name to make you cum— It was the best feeling you've ever felt, and you lost yourself in the feeling. Falling into a subspace as they reached their peak inside of you.

You don't remember what happened after that. All you know, was that they spoiled you, and basked you in the comfort, and love you deserve. <3

I hope you enjoyed reading this, as much as I enjoyed writing it! Take care of yourself. <3

[artingabout]

The Queen’s Thief themed nook-book made as a gift for @meganwhalenturner​

Behind the scenes:

My materials:

ae woodene booke

much paper in many layers and shades

craft knife

scissors

foamy-tape-stuff (technical term)

acrylic paints

brushes and roller

pens & coloured pencils

PVA glue

faux gold leafing

resin

metal ruler and cutting mat

milliput

fimo

wire

craft foam boards

card

black tissue

wooden dowels

chalk

This one, I’ve been planning for a while. Originally I was going to do a standard book nook, but then remembered these gorgeous wooden books I’ve had just lying around waiting for a purpose and BEHOLD!

Because I can never keep things simple for myself, I wanted to try different craft styles for each section so I’ll go through them one by one.

Phase 1 was challenging because it’s the shallow left side. I decided to do one of the iconic scenes that stayed with me long after I read the books for the first time in cut paper, because it would let me play with layers and the illusion of depth while also... y’know. Paper. It’s thin.

First off I made a background to add some perspective and depth to the box, so it looked much deeper than it is.I painted on a sky effect and then dug out this gorgeous paper that has a kind of marble texture to it and made the buildings.

Next I did a base sketch of the faces to get the sizes right and snipped out Gen since he has more layers because his arm is foreground.

I didn’t remember to take a picture of the paper I textured for his skin tone, but basically various shades of pinks/reds/browns/whites applied to watercolour paper in erratic layers to get some texture and depth. It’s sort of visible on the hand (which was the first piece I cut out and it strikes me as ironic that it’s the piece I kept losing because I was working on my living room floor 😅)

For Attolia, I picked different papers/cards to use, specifically a rather nice handmade off-white paper with dark red rose petals imbedded in it to serve as her alabaster skin with the smudge of blood.

Nothing says love like floating heads, amirite? I added some layers to Attolia’s hair and coiled the strands of the ringlets around a cocktail stick to get the curls. The crown and earring are both faux-gold-leaf card with slivers of resin as rubies. So much gold-leaf everywhere. SO MUCH. Details were added with a fine-tipped pen and some shading with coloured pencils.

The layers. So many layers. I think Gen has about 15 separate pieces to him. For his sleeves, I added some texture by using a rubber patterned stamp and copper ink, then splatted paint all over it :D

And to add even more depth to a 1cm deep space, I used thick double-sided foam tape (I have no idea of technical terms. Foamy squishy stick string) to elevate them off the background. A wee glimpse of it is visible just under Gen’s collarbone

Phase 1 complete!

Phase 2 was another beast entirely. Originally, I was planning on doing the scene from The Thief when Gen steals Hamiathes’s gift, but realised that would mean an image of Hephestia that looked very much like the image of Attolia I had already done. Plus I was planning to use The Return of the Thief’s cover which is also red, so I wanted to do something less red.

Pheris was kind enough to give me some beautiful descriptions of the half-built temple of Hephestia in TRotT and I love me some forced perspective :D And naturally, I had a slightly deeper box to work with this time (omg a whole 2-3cm! Luxury!) so of course, it had to be 3D.

"I studied the Great Goddess, shining in the darkness. The treasury was new, but her statue was much older; the wood from which she was carved showed through the gold leaf. The pillars supporting the dome were tree trunks, smoothed of their bark and inverted, so they were wider at the top than at the ground"

First up, the Goddess herself. Fimo on a wire armature with a throne made of balsa wood . Since the statue is described as old with wood showing through the gold, I figured she could look a little crudely-carved and rough. Also, she is smol and I have sossige fingers.

I cut dowels to size to serve as the inverted-tree-trunk pillars and add an illusion of depth. My art teacher would be so proud.

The altar was the easiest piece of the whole thing: chopped up foam board, some card for stability, cut and shaped and decorated with milliput to add the Hephestial Mountains, coated in black tissue to give a nice strong black base to paint. I used drybrush to get a nice stone effect (see a bit further down)

And conveniently, the entire background of the scene is black, so I added the dome for More Optical Illusions! Because hey, if it worked once, do it again :D And also started layering up milliput for the tree-pillar bits.

And the last and messiest step before fixing the pillars and everything in place. Gold. Leaf.

The last bits to get done were the pillars, which I fixed in with milliput and glue.

Once they were set and painted, I glued everything in place and gave Hephestia her orb and behold, phase 2 complete!

And both sides together.

Finally, phase 3 - the cover. To keep things (relatively) simple, I went with the blood-red cover for Return of the Thief. Gave it a nice red basecoat, sketched on the design in chalk because lol, who uses tools to draw lines? Not me!

No in-progress pictures because I did it all in one run while listening to a webinar.

And as a special treat, more gold leafing!! I love the shininess of the figures on the cover of the book and thought “hey, that’s a sensible option that won’t leave you finding gold bits in your kitchen for days!” :D

Note to self: do not do this on wood again, it is very very likely the leaf will cling to the wood and require some repainting. This is a lesson. Do not forget (this memory will self destruct within 10 seconds of leaving this post)

For comparison before I did some touch-ups because of the stupid leaf going rogue

And behold, it is done :D

[starshipsofstarlord]

Could I request a Jaskier x female reader where the reader is a princess who during daylight, is condemned to be a bear, after being cursed by an evil sorcerer At night she become a human again. Which the curse can only be broken by a man (who would be Jaskier) who pledges his heart solely to the reader (something like true love’s kiss). Please and thank you!!!

Bruin

jaskier x reader

masterlist

Warnings; mentions of witcher killing, mentions of death and angst, curses, nudity, some fluff, implied smut

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shivered, as he saw a great mountain of brunette fur, wading through the long grass, heavy breathing exhibiting from its wet snout. “There’s a bear!”

“If you’re that scared, try to speak quieter.” The Witcher’s speech remained monotone, as he continued walking, leaving the bard to catch up with his hardy footsteps. “We need to leave before nightfall, that is when the true monster is unleashed from the bruin vessel.”

“You kill monsters, we’ll be fine.” The bard waved off, though he was terrified, and Geralt was all but convinced with his dismissal. “We will, won’t we Geralt?”

“It’s bad luck to remain out here at night, it’s an old wives tale, however, no one survives the night out here. Not after the disappearance of the princess of Arafell.” Jaskier remembered that tale, he had even seen the princess at a banquet once when they were both young in age.

Neither of them had the opportunity to converse with one another that evening, it was the night she had ran away. and he certainly had regretted never asking her dance. Before that though, they had often strode through the gardens hand in hand, conversing on the beauty of the petals that veiled around the stems, and she, unlike most people, listened to his descriptive forms of poetry. Back then, he had been shy, and not to mention, she was of sought after royal blood. That evening was the last that anyone from the kingdom had ever been seen, after the slumber of eternity wept over their souls. One thing he severely remembered though, was that she loved dandelions.

The princess had ran away, leaving the king and queen in search of someone that could find her, and thus they hired a private sorcerer to complete their wishes. But instead of seeking out the lost girl, the old man took the gold and the lives of old, wallowing the land in distress that clambered into a delving of madness.

A shout bellowed from the bear, and Jaskier found him to “How long will it be til we reach the borders?”

“The bad luck will loom over us Jaskier, we will not make it out of here in the span of the next countless hours. There will be a moon in the sky, but perhaps we’ll be able to seek out cover in the old guard’s tower.”

“Where are we Geralt?” The brown haired poet feared to be met with the answer “What makes you think that we’ll survive the night?!”

“This is what remains of Arafell.” Stated the white haired hunter, as he continued to plod through the thick foliage beneath his dark boots. He stepped on the dull green life form, not encouraged to pursue any further into the depths as he heard the destination that they were travelling through.

“Arafell, great.” Huffed the irritating bard, clutching his lute as he spoke the haunting name. “There’s no need to be afraid, when you’re in the land of torn bodies, because the witcher is by your side. He’ll slash and dice, protect the mice, from the darkness that falls from above. The people are dead, I am filled with dread, in the land of Ar-afellll.”

“Stop singing.” Whenever there was any fault present in their adventures together, Jaskier had a tendency, wallowing similar like a pie without filling to sing. It shrouded Geralt with epitomised frustration, his betrothed follower sure knew how to pull his strings, it was as though he were a moral lute, a practice run of socialisation for the noble’s son.

“Sorry.” Apologised the traveller, with a shrug encompassed by a spark of coldness affecting his posture. There was a breeze, filled with the pinching of icicles in the air, and it clawed through his clothes, clashing with the meat blanketed warmth of his bones. “It’s just- we’re in bloody Arafell, or what remains of it, and you are so calm. Have you maybe perhaps forgotten what happened here?!”

“No. I was here when it queen Ara and her kingdom fell. And that bear has lurked every inch of these demolished castle lands searching for scraps, and if you cannot tell, it is almost night fall, and she has come up sufficiently short of anything, for all these decades.”

The listener frowned, bears did not live so long. It was a curious prospect, it remained loyal to these grounds, although it was empty. There had to be a reason why, a pattern that supposed why it, or she as Geralt had divulged, remained to lurk in the midst of the overgrown forestry. And then another thought (yes, Jaskier had the ability to do that despite what his protective travel mate may have wondered), hit him, like a bolt of lightning.

“Um, Geralt, where is the bear?” He gulped, hearing the rustling of the thick foliage metres behind them. The moon scourged the sky with its global presence, inducing another shot of ambient fear through Jaskier’s veins. “It was-“

“Shut up a moment.” It was almost impossible half the time to silence Jaskier, but this time, he actually obliged the command. Geralt drew his sword, the one that glistened a predominate silver and was made from the compound, clutching the handle in his vice and skilled grip, as his feet took him closer to the imposter that was imbedded within the weeds.

“Oh.” Jaskier covered his eyes, he couldn’t look as Geralt pointed the weapon at the beasts throat; a whimper escaped it as Geralt took a step back, alerting his companion. “Kill it Geralt, it’s a bear, it’s going to kill us.”

“It was a bear.” Geralt elaborated as he watched the beast transform and lose its course coat of brown fur, turning into a less monstrous beast. It was only a girl, with unruly and wild hair that was matted in all directions, her face contorted into fear. “Of whom are you, my lady?”

“A witcher.” It trailed from her lips as a whisper, her tone alerting Jaskier that it indeed was not a bear, rather it was a woman, laid on the forest ground, in nothing but her own layers of skin. His eyes widened for a moment, until he earned an elbow in the rib from his friend for his long and convicted ogling. “I have only heard legends but...

“You speak english?” Jaskier wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, hinting at his subsequent misunderstanding of the situation. “but you were a bear?!” This was all growing more confusion with each passing second, there were too many angles of the world.

“I’m cursed.” It was an easy consequence to admit, for the lady of the worlds already lived through them. “Each day, I am forced to pad about in the brute body of a bruin, a sorcerer brought by darkness himself to this dimension damned me to this abomination, his name was-“

“Lament.” From hearing that name, the woman on the ground was taken aback as the women, trying to prevail some decency, attempted to cover her breasts with her arms, as she crossed her legs over one another. “Your parents sent me to find you, lady. I came up empty handed in my search for you, there was no trail that I managed to find, nothing that would point in your direction. And that night, as I returned with short of nothing of any news of your whereabouts, Lament was there.”

“He killed them all, didn’t he. My family?” The answer didn’t require any verification from Geralt, the solemn, yet usual expression on the Witcher’s face was all the confirmation that she needed. “Of course he did, he’s a poisonous shadow, when he finds something he wants, he takes away its home, so that it can’t run back to the hearth whence it came from. I regret every running away from home...”

“Wait a moment.” This was all beginning to add up in some mind boggling way. Jaskier flitted his gaze aside for a moment as Geralt pulled a fine blanket from his luggage, knowingly seeing the movement out of the corner of his curious eye that she was pulling the material that conducted warmth over her shoulders, and across her sachet of flaunted skin.

"Shut up Jaskier." Instantaneously stated the bard, whom had returned his cerulean gaze back upon the y/h/c woman, depositing a composition of interest to her form.

"You're the princess of Arafell, aren't you. Y/n, it's you, isn't it?" Y/n's expression was one of shock; how did this man know of her identity? She understood how the witcher did, though with considering he was condemned with the duty of finding her. The brunette man was slightly familiar, and so he revealed why that was. “it’s Julian.” Jaskier held his hand to his chest, almost hurt that you didn’t recognise him, but it had been years, so many, none of which had been kind to you. “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“Dandelion!” The reprised title spun from y/n's tongue, remembering the nickname that she had given the now gentleman all those years ago, when he was nothing more than a persisting boy that made her flash an unashamed laughter in the midst of poised quality showrooms of noble gatherings. "I remember you." She dwelled on the fact, if she weren't clothed in only a shrill and frayed blanket that was pebbled with small dots of soil, from where it had been laid on the ground, y/n surely would have jumped up and spun her arms around his 'sexy goose' neck.

"You've got to be kidding me, it is just my luck that the pair of you know each other." Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his sleek silver head, being deprived of attention as he spoke. "Is there any way to get yourself out to get you out of this prospected curse of turning into a bear, y/n?"

"To be betrothed to a man, confirmed with a kiss resonating true love, though, nobody with any sense would put themselves in that position for me, there is no wealth to my name anymore, nor is there relevance with my heritage, for there is nothing that remains, as you have confirmed for me. This man must certainly be one of a kind, for he has to pledge his loyalty solely to me, forbidding himself from ever being with another woman again."

The mention of a lack of sense reminded Geralt of one man in particular, and he was stood right beside him. But it couldn't have been Jaskier, of all people, and- Geralt found himself overcome with dread as the bard stepped forward, crunching his shoed feet into the withered grass, closer to the rediscovered princess.

"I have waited my whole life to see you again." Oh god, here he went, Geralt thought. "When we were younger, I was infatuated with you, and here we are, united again in a union. If my betrothal means nothing then you will remain in this shrine of gloom, but to me, it would mean everything to me."

"Y/N come on, have some sense, it-" There was lack of reason for Geralt to continue speaking, as y/n sprung up, the blanket flowing down from her shoulders, baring her body cold to the crisp air, as her hands clasped both sides of Jaskier's face, and pressed her lips to his.

The witcher cringed, turning away as the pair practically ate the other's face, like starved animals that had been distanced for many years, which in their case was true. "Do you know if the curse is broken, is there any indicator if so?"

A hum fell from y/n's mouth as Jaskier's hand traced the curve of her spine, causing Geralt to scoff. That was the only response he earned, and to a high stake, it disgusted him. "I think I'm just gonna let you two have some time to yourselves, I guess we will see in the morning if you're being mawled by a bear you flippant."

And thus he walked away, leaving the two to pursue their primitive instincts, under the blessed moon, and on the routed curfew on the dark and dead land of Arafell.

[solar-yatagarasu]

Yoru HCs by a Japanese American Pt. 3

Yoru saw the Tokyo Drift MV when he was little and decided to make it his entire personality.

he tries to be effortlessly cool and suave. most of the time, he just comes off as an ass.

Yoru also likes to collect things. he’s genuinely passionate about some of them, like sneakers and Pokémon cards, others are more just for clout (like his knife collection).

stop name dropping brands during missions, Yoru. you’re not as cool as you think you are.

he likes the whole racecar aesthetic and image, but he doesn’t care about cars themselves.

similarly, he is a fan of the Yomiuri Giants (the Tokyo baseball team), but it’s more because he likes the team colors and jerseys. it’s not like he hates baseball, because he can swing a bat pretty well, but he doesn’t really follow the baseball scene.

Yoru secretly likes old Japanese delinquent media with the protagonists having hearts of gold. he’s grown up watching shows where gangs customize their school uniforms with long black coats and pants and swing around nail-imbedded baseball bats.

"So much fuss over nothing. Someone get me a bat, I'll finish this.”

what a nerd.

he’s especially a huge fan of sukeban in media (Japanese girl gangs). the fact that they created their own groups out of spite for not being included in male-led gangs makes him so hype. he thinks the cropped tops and long skirts are an incredible fashion statement and likes to follow the same silhouette in his own outfits off-duty.

Yoru’s favorite character tends to be the “anego” (lit. “big sister,” or leader) of these girl gangs, the one who is levelheaded, commanding, and straightforward, but brutally defeats her enemies if her gang members are hurt.

Yoru has a large collection of stuffed animals that he won from claw machines. he has no idea what to do with them, and it’ll be a waste to throw them out, so they’re just scattered all over his place in Japan. he brings a couple to base, including his prized Gengar.

Yoru also likes cats. stray cats seem to be drawn to him. he complains that this is a burden rather than a blessing, but he always smiles when he gets to scratch a cat behind its ears, so he’s 100% lying.

Yoru is very particular about hygiene and detests those 5 in 1 bottles that often show up in men’s hygiene sections. he’s really into haircare and skincare as well. even if he looks dead tired, his skin is always glowing, which many of the other Valorant agents envy.

one of the biggest parts of the culture shock Yoru has when going to other countries is the perception of baths. to Yoru, soaking in a bath is a daily necessity after a shower, while to many others, a bath is a luxury. Yoru will rage about this to anyone who’s willing to listen.

it’s not like he’s obsessed with baths, but he just misses bath culture in Japan. Yoru can get terribly homesick.

Yoru also doesn’t like getting dirty. he carries around spare pairs of disposable chopsticks, so when he eats snacks like chips he won’t run the risk of getting crumbs all over him.

at first, the Valorant agents think it’s a little strange, watching him walk around picking out chips from a bag with chopsticks, but then they quickly realize how resourceful this is.

they’re a little mad that they haven’t thought of this, actually. Yoru constantly gloats about this.

on base, Yoru has a pair of lacquered chopsticks. they’re a polished dark blue with intricate golden leaf and carnation patterns twisting up the sides.

when Yoru washes them and leaves them out to dry, it’s an unspoken rule that no one is allowed to touch them but him.

on Jett and Sage’s birthdays, Yoru gifts them each their own pair of lacquered chopsticks. it’s a surprisingly thoughtful gift that they love.

Yoru HCs by a Japanese American Pt. 1

Yoru HCs by a Japanese American Pt. 2

Yoru HCs by a Japanese American Pt. 4

[kkeidawrites]

That Night

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Loki x African!goddess reader

I see that there is not a lot of Loki x reader stories which I think is weird, so I decided to write a couple of my own. And nobody is gone stop me either. So enjoy this first chapter to an upcoming mini series!

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A party was perhaps always being held in Asgard. Whether it was Thor returning home, another battle won, or Hell they had a party just because. It was quite a bore with the constant partying and the people that would attend made things even more boring.

The dancers would shake their hips the same way and the dishes the servants would serve were always be the same. Nothing was new. Nothing peaked my interest.

The whispers about me never ceased, being the adopted son of Odin, the infamous Loki, God of Mischief, still chasing his father’s tailcoats for the throne. Loki, the forgotten son. The son with no legacy. Bah, it was all the same. I should turn everyone here in the hall into gremlins.

I sat on a plush sofa, pretty much on my own, since nobody would want to sit by the trickster Loki. It’s fine, not like I had that many friends anyway.

A jester preformed a trick making the crowds express gasps of excitement and claps rang out in the hall. I rolled my eyes, I will never understand how people can be so interested in this.

I did not want to attend this worthless banquet in the first place, but my mother bless her soul, is a very persuasive woman and I unfortunately fall for it every time. Now, here I was, dressed in green almost black robes and armor that had some pieces of gold imbedded into it.

Swirling the wine in my cup, the familiar sound of heels clacking against the polished marbled floor made my eyes look up.

The black dress reminded me of the stars in the galaxy, it caressed her dark skin and hugged all the curves on her figure. Her hair coily and I bet if I had the chance to touch it it would be as soft as a lamb’s wool. It covered the side of her face and I didn’t have the chance to get a good look at her, but, just from how she carried herself, I knew she had to be beautiful. Probably for the best I didn’t see what she looked like, who would turn their interests on the God of Mischief? She held her head up high as if she were the queen of Asgard herself.

As she walked into the banquet hall, her pace was quick as she approached my mother who was standing with her normal group of nobles and who in turn brought the beauty in a warm embrace. She smiled in greeting to the woman as she spoke to my mother. The way they spoke made it seem like they have known each other for years.

Taking a swig of my wine, I averted my eyes elsewhere. She was probably another noble that was only here to attend the banquet then return to wherever she had came from to brag about her time on Asgard. There were many of Gods and Goddesses who took advantage of our kingdom to try and take over. I scoffed at the thought, every time that someone would try and take Asgard would only return to their realm in pieces, how others think so little of Asgard when we indeed are the best.

The clacking of heels broke me from my thoughts and my mother calling my name made me look up to see both my mother and the mysterious woman. Damnit, I hated being right, she wasn’t just beautiful, she was gorgeous. A vision. I gulped at how beautiful she was and I saw my mother flick her wrist up to tell me to stand up and present myself. I stood up from the couch fixing the front of my robes.

I looked her over, shamelessly and my eyes lingered on her chest until my mother cleared her throat to avert my eyes to hers. She tilted her head towards the woman and I cleared my throat, placing a hand on my chest to bow my head in greeting.

“Good evening mother, as always you are the most beautiful in all of Asgard.” I say. My mother waves away my compliment, bashful of my words and puts a hand on the woman’s arm.

“This is Mawu, she is the Goddess of the night, of joy, and of motherhood as well as the ruler of Midgard’s wisdom and knowledge. You have met her mother, Nana Buluku a couple of times.” Frigga says.

I roll my eyes at that. I had met that woman thousands of years ago, I cannot remember what she looked like. The beauty, Mawu, looks me over then raises an eyebrow at me.

“He is your son?” She turns to mother.

“Yes, my youngest,” Frigga says with pride in her voice and I can’t help but, give a small smile.

“Mm, he is tiny.” She looks me over one more time.

“Need to eat something, these fruits and cheeses are not enough to help him grow.” She states and I became baffled at her declaration making my mother laugh and I frowned in annoyance. What is it with women and wanting their men big and muscled? I am plenty strong with my lean figure.

“Allow me to take him back to my realm and he will return with a stronger body,” Mawu tells mother. Frigga waves her hand in my direction.

“I tell him to eat more but, he only nibbles on the food we offer him.” She sighs and I roll my eyes once more, taking a large sip of my wine then using my magic to make my cup disappear.

“Mother, did you bring your friend over here just to spite me?” I asked her, putting my hands behind my back and a clench in my jaw.

“No, of course not, my love,” she smiles and then moved Mawu closer to my person. The woman took a few steps away from me.

“I wanted you two,” Frigga points between us as she continues, “to get to know each other better.” She says making both of our heads turn to look at one another in shock then back to Frigga’s grinning face.

“You cannot be serious.” I say as Mawu crosses her arms.

“Quite serious my son, Mawu will be staying here for a couple of weeks as her mother has asked me to oh, how do the midgardians phrase it? Ah, yes “get her ass out of the house”. And so, she will be staying in the royal quarters for the time being and I want the two of you,” she points between us again. “To get to know each other better. Have a pleasant evening.” Frigga finishes and turns to return back to her group of allies. Mawu scoffs in disbelief and leaves my side to leave through where she came in.

Subconsciously, I followed after her, her heels clicking quickly against the floor, she was clearly upset. She wasn’t the only one upset. Get to know me better? Just what is mother planning? And why was I following her?

Mawu’s POV

I had stopped in the middle of the long hallways of Odin’s castle and turned my head to an open door where a balcony was located. I laid my hands on the balustrade and looked at the cotten candy skyline, as it slowly turned to night. Here on Asgard was hard to tell if it was night or not, they had no moon to go off of and the stars that were apparent determined different coordinates.

I sighed and leaned my arms against the balustrade leaning my head on my wrists. A couple weeks of being in this realm will be challenging. I’m not used to taking such long breaks like this, I just hoped that the Earth will still be there for me when I return.

I was set up. Mother told me that it had been a while since I last been to Asgard, to see Lady Frigga especially and she thought that a visit would be nice. How easily I was tricked by her and Lady Frigga. Don’t get me wrong I loved Lady Frigga as a second mother, but, the thought of having to trick me into staying here for a long duration of time really unsettled me.

Sighing once more, I closed my eyes as I felt the wind blow into my face. The breeze blowing against my hair that resembled a cloud. Using my powers, I conjured up a small ball of light that allowed me to see the children of Earth. It was a particular group of children that I had been watching over for a while. Perhaps from their great grandparents up until the new generation, I think I’ve lost count.

I watched as all the children played and the adults that I once looked after when they were children tended to their own brood. I smiled sadly. These children were my children. Even if I didn’t birth them, they were mine. A child, a little boy named Abioye, smiled and I felt my bottom lip quiver.

Swiping away the image, I felt a few tears rush down my cheeks. Quickly wiping them away, I took a deep breath and then looked down at my shoes. They were beautiful but, so constricting, I pulled them off my feet and stretched my toes, sighing in bliss.

“Lady Mawu,” I looked up to see a male guard bowing before me. I straightened my back to address him.

“Yes,”

“Your quarters are ready for you.” He says. Nodding, I allowed him to lead me to my room. Peaking a look over my shoulder, I noticed a familiar pair of green eyes watching me. With a ‘hmph’ I turned my eyes forward and continued to follow the guard.

With Loki

That insufferable woman dare turn her nose up at me?! I scoffed in disbelief and used my powers to return to my mother in the banquet hall. Kissing her goodnight, I walked out another exit to my chambers.

Once I arrived at my room, I noticed the guard that guided the Goddess to her quarters and stretched my neck to see that he was leaving from the room right next to mine.

“You there!” I halt the guard as he immediately stopped and bowed to me.

“Did you just lead that moon Goddess into the room next to mines?” I ask.

“Yes, your majesty, it was specific instructions that your mother gave.” He says and I groan out in annoyance.

“Your majesty?”

“Begone. I have no more use of you.” I spat and the guard bows again, quickly leaving my sight.

Looking towards the closed door, I put my hands on my hips and nodded my head then entered my room with a slam to the doors.

Plopping down onto my bed, I placed my hands behind my head and sighed deeply. Mother was making things so difficult. What purpose did she need to give me someone to...bond with? I have managed to be on my own before what’s different now?

Sniff, sniff

Sob, whimper

I heard soft crying from the wall behind me and I got up from my bed and moved to the nearest wall, placing an ear towards it, to hear indeed crying on the other side.

I don’t know what it was but, her crying made my heart break a bit. Sighing, I removed myself from the wall and plopped back down onto my bed. Her sobs were slowly growing louder and I gritted my teeth.

Waving my hand, I allowed a small bunny to appear in my palm and allowed it to phase through the wall, I waited in anticipation of the small...I guess I will call it a gift.

With Mawu

She had changed into her silk nightgown and immediately her tears returned.

The sobs continued to fall from her lips as she laid across the large bed. Why she was crying? Unfortunately, Mawu has separation anxiety and the thought that she can’t be close to her ‘children’ broke her heart. Sniffling, she raised her head from the cradle of her arms and jumped when she saw a black lump sitting in front of her.

The large floppy ears twitched slightly as the pink nose sniffed. Sitting up, she got a closer look at the small being and she realized that it was indeed a black rabbit.

“Hello, there,” she coos as she reached a hand out to the rabbit. The cotton tailed furry snuggled into her awaiting hand and Mawu giggled at the feel of it’s nose.

“Where did you come from?” She asks as she picks up the rabbit and holds it in her lap. She scratched under its chin and felt the thump of the rabbits right foot popping her thigh in delight.

“I think I’ll call you, Irawo.” She tells the rabbit who thumps its right foot again in delight.

Giggling again, Mawu allowed the rabbit to play around on her bed and then caressed its head, liking the soft fur.

With Loki

The God of Mischief allowed a small grin to appear on his lips as he listened to the Moon Goddess’s giggles.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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End of Ch.1

Ch. 2⬅️

Ch. 3⬅️

What is up with tumblr and other places where Loki doesn’t have a lot of fanfics? I don’t understand he just as fine as Thor. But, anyway, I hope you guys like this first chapter to this mini story I’m hooking y’all up with! I love me some Loki so be sure to expect more of him and a black reader as well! Thank you all for reading and be sure to like, comment and reblog!

[wxldchxld]

The evening was quickly becoming unforgivably cold. A merciless, all consuming chill that ate away flesh and sucked the marrow from the bones until there was nothing left. Even the sunlight was frozen, stingily hiding its warmth away as it pulled back the few meager rays of light that remained, and bathing the snow-encrusted earth in shades of gold and burnt orange---a cruel reminder of a fire’s warmth.

But cold had ceased to bite at her years ago. She could remember with striking accuracy the day she had stepped off of solid land out onto the ice flows of the frozen north, walking until her feet were nearly black and her eyes felt like solid spheres of ice imbedded into her skull. She remembered placing her feet in the pawprints of the bear as it lead her further and further away from the world she knew---into a world of salt and ice where tree and rock were such a distant memory, part of her began to doubt they’d ever existed at all. Somewhere in that unforgiving wilderness, she’d found something new within herself. Bathing herself in the steaming wet blood of a seal, burying her fingers into its soft interior until they could move again, enough to pull the knife from her belt and cut away strips of gelatinous blubber. With each piece that melted over her tongue, she felt a little warmer. With each swallow of sweet, liquid iron that painted her face red, her teeth felt a little sharper.

She had laid on the ice that night, a hundred or so paces from her ghostly white guide, as the winter storm gathered in great, hulking clouds that flew silently across the sky like great, malevolent owls. Their feathers blotted out the light of the moon, and eventually even the shimmering dance of the aroura itself. And then they began to descend upon the earth.

Even if she had’ve been sensible enough to hide, there wouldn’t have been anywhere to offer refuge. She listened to the shrieking of the wind as it raced across the vast expanse of frozen plains, and watched, transfixed, as the world began to dissolve around her. But even the hardest gusts of wind barely shivered down her spine. 

Was this what death felt like? She wondered idly. Had she finally met her match? A thousand times she had fallen for the siren’s song of Nature’s call to her, but every time she’d walked away. She had never imagined this would be her end, hadn’t even believed it was truly possible. But never once did she have the urge to fight it.

Somewhere in that long, endless night, her thoughts had become as still and smooth as the world around her. She could not sleep, but at one point she let her eyes fall closed, and all sound faded away. When she felt the first few tentative rays of sunlight on her cheeks, she realized that she wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t cold.

She remained in winter’s frozen heart for the rest of the season, and all of the spring and summer. Instead of cricket songs and the buzz of honey bees, she listened to the lapping of waves and cries of sea birds. Instead of fresh, tart lemonade and sweet berries, she dove deep into the black waters for feasts of seal. She played among the pods of whistling beluga whales and wrestled with the walruses no matter how many times she lost. And when the late fall turned the writhing waters to solid ground, she ran with reckless abandon across the open ice until she could see the frozen outline of a forest on the horizon.

When her paws became feet once more she had no shoes to guard her feet from the snow, nor clothes to cloak her skin from the cold, and yet she hardly felt the chill. Bare and defenseless under the dancing display of the aurora, she walked unafraid for hours, until she cracked open the door to the safe house.

It’d taken time to learn to accept the fire’s warmth, to remember to cup water in her hands and drink, and to wrap herself in soft layers of wool and cotton. It’d taken even more time to convince her to travel south back to the world of men.

Beck pressed the toe of her boot against the opposing heel and stepped out of her boot. The freshly fallen snow quickly melted underfoot and soaked through her sock, but she wasn’t cold. 

She remembered.

[pastelwitchling]

Under the Sea bonus story! I had so much fun returning to this world and these characters. I just really wanted to write a little epilogue sort of chapter. If you enjoy reading at all, please comment and share, it always makes the world of a difference 💙

               Alex heard the laughter of dolphins in his ears, the rush of bubbles against his cheeks as fish swam past. He opened his eyes to treasure; stones of different colors and sizes covered the ocean floor, seaweed, coral, sea creatures of all kinds floated past.

               Once upon a time, Alex had feared the ocean as he feared nothing else. Now he knew he was safe in its waters, for the love of his life resided there. He felt hands on his hips, pulling him back against a warm chest, even under the cold water, and he laughed. He was safe, a bubble of air protecting his head down to the base of his neck.

               “Have you no decency?” Alex asked even as he tilted his chin up, giving Forrest more access to his skin.

               “I wish to kiss my fiancé,” murmured Forrest with a grin against Alex’s neck. “Am I not allowed?”

               “Not here,” he huffed, “where someone might see us.”

               Forrest turned Alex around, making him laugh. He held his face in his hands, the gold band on his finger cold against Alex’s cheek. Forrest’s long blue and gold tail swayed calmly in the water below them, but his voice was in a near growl when he spoke, “I care not who sees us. Let them envy me, for I am the one to marry the most handsome man in all of the oceans and on land combined.”

               Even under the water, Alex’s cheeks heated and he hid his face in Forrest’s shoulder. “Honestly . . .”

               “Don’t you dare look down,” Forrest whispered, tilting down so that his forehead pressed against Alex’s, the blue and gold in his dark eyes glimmering with an overwhelming fondness and love that threatened to kill Alex in the best way.

               As he neared, Alex’s mouth instinctively fell open, and he found himself closing the distance between them, eager to taste Forrest’s lips in his, when suddenly –

               “Oi! Can’t you keep your hands off each other for two bloody minutes?!” Kyle appeared, his green and gold fin swimming behind him. He grabbed Alex’s arm and tugged. “Stop hogging him all to yourself!”

               “Oh, leave them alone, Kyle,” Maria sighed dreamily. “They’re in love.”

               “They have their entire lives to be in love!” Kyle demanded. “I have only another short moment while Alex is a free man!”

               Forrest wrapped his arms around Alex’s shoulders, his smile in place, but his eyes dark. “And what exactly do you assume will happen between you and Alex?”

               “Don’t be such a stiff, Forrest,” Kyle rolled his eyes, tugging Alex, and therefore Forrest, closer. “I just want to talk to him. Without you.”

               “That’s simply not going to happen.”

               “Don’t you trust me?” teased Alex.

               “Implicitly,” said Forrest without a moment’s hesitation, and narrowed his eyes at Kyle. “It’s his wandering hands I don’t trust.”

               Alex laughed and kissed Forrest’s cheek. He nuzzled his neck. Even underwater, as fish tickled his feet and the world turned to a peaceful silence around them, Alex could still smell Forrest. Even down here, he smelled like the ocean.

                “Who knew,” teased Jenna, the white pearls in her hair making her look like an angel, “that Forrest could be so possessive?”

               “I did,” Kyle huffed, “since we first found Alex and he wouldn’t let any of us near him.”

               “I was being protective,” Forrest insisted. “Oh, enough of all of you. Come along, my love. We’ve been down here long enough and soon people will start to wake. We best get back to the surface so that I can change to my human form.”

               Alex nodded, but accepted the hugs from Kyle and the others first. Forrest had been right in that Kyle held on longer than the others, squeezing him tightly enough to make him laugh, and then he had his arms around Forrest again.

               “Hold on tight to me, my love,” Forrest whispered into the space between them. Alex remembered a year ago when Forrest had said the same thing to him before saving him from the cavern and returning him to his home. Alex had held on trustingly. Forrest had been his one small relief, even if he hadn’t really known him.

               Now, as they rose to the surface together, Alex was filled with laughter, his chest overflowing with love for the merman before him. When they broke the surface, the cold hit them first, but Alex clung to Forrest’s warmth.

               “Go on,” Forrest encouraged him, his lips against Alex’s ear. “I’ll be right behind you.”

               Alex nodded, and let go of Forrest. He swam to the shore, and walked up the rest of the way. As he stepped out of the waves, he saw the water change color, as though someone were shining a bright blue light underneath the surface, and he turned to find Forrest standing in the water, the waves lapping around his naked waist. His blue hair and the blue glow of his eyes were gone, and his still-glowing blue seashell nestled in his collarbone. Alex smiled. He loved this version of Forrest just as much, for the magic of the sea never seemed to leave him no matter what form he took.

               Alex reached for the hidden clothes he kept wrapped in a towel behind a boulder, and handed them to Forrest. Once they were both dried and dressed, they made their usual way up the far left stone steps to the street above.

               The marketplace was still mostly bare, but Alex spotted a merchant here and there, preparing their stall for the day. Some waved good morning to him and Forrest, some congratulated them, some merely ogled.

               “I hate when they stare,” Alex murmured.

               Forrest grinned. “They can scarcely ignore your beauty, darling. Don’t begrudge them for it. I can hardly resist staring at you myself.”

               Alex blushed. “That’s different! And it’s not me they’re watching, it’s you!”

               He laughed. “So you’re jealous, then?”

               “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, and kissed Forrest’s cheek for good measure.

               When the wooden sign for Le Gateau au Chocolat – Gregory and Isobel’s pastry shop – came into view, Alex and Forrest decided to race the rest of the way. They both reached the door out of breath with giggles. Alex had won by only a small margin. Forrest had been getting much better at using his legs.

               “Oh, Alex, good,” Gregory called from behind the counter. “I’ve decided to change the chicken to beef for tonight.”

               Alex faltered. “Isn’t beef expensive?”

               Isobel came in from the kitchens. She wiped her hands on her apron and put them on her hips. “Don’t you go worrying about that. We’ve taken care of it.”

               Alex looked to Forrest, suspicious. “You didn’t . . .?”

               Forrest leapt onto the counter. “Oh, I certainly offered. What’s the point of being a king with riches if I cannot spoil my love? But no, your brother and sister would not hear of it. This time.”

               “Stop it,” Gregory scolded. “We’re older, we take care of you, that’s how it works.”

               Forrest hummed, and his eyes brightened. “Until Alex and I are married. Then he’s all mine.”

               Alex caught Isobel’s amused look, and turned away, his face red. He cleared his throat. “Anyhow. What time’s the dinner?”

               “Eight,” Gregory pointed. “Do not be late, both of you. Oh” – he dusted some of the sand off Forrest’s jacket – “and try not to mention any merpeople, will you? The last thing we need is for Liz and Max to know the truth, too.”

               “They wouldn’t tell anyone,” Alex defended.

               Gregory and Isobel shared a look, and Isobel sighed. “We can’t risk Michael finding out, Alex. I love my brother, but . . .” she shook her head. “Ever since you announced your engagement, he’s been . . .”

               “He isn’t happy,” Gregory said. “Let’s put it that way.”

               Alex sat down, and looked at the band on his finger. A circle of gold with an aquamarine jewel imbedded in the center. He hated to admit it, but in the moments after his excitement at marrying Forrest had faded, Michael had come to mind. What he would think, how he would feel, react. He’d been anxious, and now he knew he was right to have been.

               “It’ll be all right though, won’t it?” he asked, hearing the plea in his own voice.

               Forrest’s smile dimmed. He never liked the mention of Michael, but he leapt from the counter regardless, stumbled, then came to sit in front of Alex. He took his hands in both of his and kissed his fingers.

               “Everything will be perfect, my love,” he promised. “I’m certain he will come to this dinner with kindness and happiness in his heart. He will be happy only that you are happy.” He hesitated, then, “You . . . are happy, aren’t you?”

               “Oh,” Alex breathed, and wrapped his arms around Forrest’s shoulders tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I love you more than I can say. I’m sorry, my darling, I don’t mean to imply any different.”

               “Really, Alex,” Isobel assured him, “you’ve no reason to worry about Michael. I’ll make sure of it.”

               Alex sighed, resting his head on Forrest’s shoulder. “I just want everything to be perfect.” He played with Forrest’s fingers. “You’re a king after all, you must have standards.”

               “I do,” Forrest nodded. “Absolutely. If it’s not Alex, then I will not have it.”

               “Oi, keep your distance, you two,” Gregory warned with his wooden spoon. “We have customers coming in soon, and this is no pub!”

               Forrest had Alex’s face in his hands, and was nuzzling his nose. He whispered, “I don’t see any customers now.”

               He took Alex’s lips in his own, one hand reaching into his hair, the other cupping his neck. Alex whimpered in the back of his throat, and Forrest tilted his head to deepen the kiss, their mouths slotting perfectly together, Forrest’s tongue sliding against his own.

               He ran his hands down Forrest’s chest, and then Gregory threw a rag over their heads. “Were you not listening?” he snapped. “Your engagement dinner’s tonight, can you not contain yourselves?!”

               Forrest pointed at Alex’s face, incredulous. “Have you seen him?”

               Alex hid his face in Forrest’s shoulder, embarrassed, as Isobel laughed loudly.

                 “Which looks better?” Liz asked, holding up a deep green dress, and a bright red. “This one? Or this one?”

               “I think you look beautiful in both,” Alex said cheerfully. Forrest sat next to him, eagerly shoveling down the biscuits Gregory had given them to have after lunch. Every so often, he offered Alex one, Alex shook his head, and then he ate the entire thing in one bite.

               “Mmh – yes,” said Forrest. “Beau—ifful.”

               “Oh, you both are useless,” Rosa sighed from where she sat on the counter. “Obviously, the red is terribly unsuitable.”

               Liz frowned. “Is it?”

               “Yes!” she took a biscuit from Forrest’s plate. “This is an engagement dinner. The red should clearly be saved for the wedding!”

               “Do you think so, Alex?” Liz asked.

               “Er – actually –”

               “What’re you asking him for?” Rosa huffed. “You know he’s too nice to tell you the truth!”

               Liz opened her mouth to argue when the front door swung open. Max smiled at them.

               “Good afternoon, all!” He ruffled Alex and Rosa’s hair, and kissed Liz’s cheek. “Afternoon, darling.”

               “Did you see the suit I put out for you?” Liz said in lieu of a greeting.

               “Yes, darling.”

               “Don’t you dare wear it until the dinner.”

               Max’s smile widened. “Yes, darling.”

               “We have to look our best for Alex and Forrest,” she said. Then she mumbled something incoherent to him and they glanced at Alex, as though afraid he’d heard. Max merely nodded in response.

                “Honestly,” said Alex, leaning against Forrest’s side. “You don’t have to go through all this fuss. It’s just going to be a small, comfortable dinner.”

               Liz put her hands on her hips. “Then why did Flint order a new navy-blue coat for the occasion?”

               “Did he?” Alex blinked, and flushed. Since their last voyage, he had feared for his relationship with his brother, the distance the truth about their mother’s death may put between them. He had seemed happy to be invited to the engagement dinner, but Alex had feared it had been an act. To know he cared this much, it gladdened Alex’s heart more than he could say.

               Rosa scoffed. “Well, I won’t need any help preparing. I know exactly what to wear.”

               “Yes,” Liz said testily, “but will you know how to behave?”

               “Oi!” she argued. “Don’t you start with me, it’s Michael you should be concerned about!”

               Liz shot her a sharp look, while Max turned a nervous smile on Alex and Forrest. Forrest had stopped eating.

               “She’s joking,” Max assured them. “Michael’s really happy for you, Alex.”

               Forrest smiled, but it was polite and cold, not at all what Alex was used to. “I trust he will be on his best behaviour.” Then he grumbled, “If not, I’ll throw him into the middle of the ocean.”

               Alex hooked his arm around Forrest’s and kissed his shoulder. “Are there any more biscuits left for me?” he murmured.

               Forrest’s eyes lit up at once, and he handed Alex the largest he had. “I saved it for you, my love!”

               Alex laughed, his heart and the atmosphere of the shop lighter at once.

                 Forrest insisted on watching the sunset before dinner, but Alex had not needed much persuasion. Once they’d excused themselves from the shop, they made their way down the street, Forrest’s arm hooked around Alex’s. There was a time he had clung to him to walk, but now he stayed close for the sake of staying close itself. Forrest played with his fingers, and Alex kissed the back of his hand.

               “Congratulations, dears!” Mrs. Valenti called for what felt like the millionth time, as she liked to congratulate them whenever they passed by. “Isn’t it so exciting, Mr. Higgins?”

               “Eh?” Mr. Higgins chuckled good-naturedly. “Yes, yes, terribly happy for them!”

               Forrest’s eyes lingered, once again, on the frozen fish in Mr. Higgins’ market stall, but at a kiss to his cheek from Alex, his eyes brightened once again.

               Instead of going down to shore, they sat on the brick wall that overlooked the ocean, their legs dangling over the end. The sand below was soft, so there was no fear of falling. Nonetheless, Forrest kept a tight arm around Alex’s waist, and Alex felt safe.

               The sky turned to rose and violet and gold as the sun fell behind the ocean’s surface. Alex asked if Forrest had seen plenty of sunsets before.

               “I try to,” he confessed, “but there’s quite a risk of being seen by sailors, even so far out at sea.”

               Alex shuddered as he thought of Forrest tied to a ship’s mast, at sailors who were happy to harm him because of what he was. He burrowed deeper into his side and nuzzled his neck.

               “I will never let anyone touch you again, sailor or otherwise,” he promised in a whisper.

               Forrest kissed the top of his head. “And I will protect you with my life.”

               “Will I ever see your underwater kingdom?” Alex asked.

               Forrest laughed. “Certainly,” he said. “I will have a room prepared where not a drop of water would dare to enter.”

               Alex closed his eyes and let the sun’s warmth bathe them both in gold. “I don’t fear drowning with you at my side.”

               “And you never shall have to,” Forrest told him, his hold tightening and promising a king’s protection.

               They kissed in the setting sun until their lips swelled. They kissed until Forrest’s hand sought out the hem of Alex’s shirt, and Alex realized that if they did not stop soon, they would not stop at all. Then all those walking on the street behind them would have a true reason to stare. They kissed until Alex started to want nothing more than to fall to the sand below with Forrest in his arms, and forget the engagement dinner entirely. To prove their love another way.

               Then he took Forrest’s wrist and pressed their foreheads together, the two panting, and pulled them both to their feet at the first signs of the evening stars. They went hand-in-hand, laughing, back to the pastry shop.

               Alex told Forrest about the gold coat he’d asked Liz for him to wear, and Forrest told Alex about the deep blue ocean flower he’d acquired for Alex’s coat pocket.

               Then a voice cut through their conversation like knife through ice.

               “Alex,” Michael said with a nod. “Forrest.” His eyes fell on Alex and Forrest’s intertwined hands. “Am I too early?”

               His voice was subdued, and Forrest’s eyes had darkened.

               “Good evening, Michael,” he said, his grip on Alex’s hand tightening. “Not at all. Please, come in.”

                 “Are you nervous?” Forrest asked from where he sat on the edge of Alex’s bed. Alex watched him through the mirror’s reflection.

               Alex pulled on his coat and took a seat beside him. He interlocked their hands. “Are you?”

               Forrest smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Only that you will change your mind.”

               Alex raised a brow. “Do you truly imagine my heart so fickle?”

               Forrest’s grip on his hand tightened. “I imagine that there is no one who can love as you can. I know it. It is for that reason that I cannot help but worry. He was your first love.”

               “And you are my last,” Alex told him. “That carries far more weight, in my opinion.”

               Downstairs, they could hear the muffled clinking of cups and plates as the sky turned dark and stars peeked out. In the distance, the waves lapped against the shore softly, a comforting reminder that there was always somewhere they could escape to, somewhere where the troubles of land could not follow.

               Forrest said nothing for a long while, then, “I do not want to see you harmed.”

               “I could only be harmed by losing you,” Alex promised him. “I am marrying a king, it is you who has far more prospects.”

               Forrest scoffed half-heartedly. “I will tell you what I’ve already told your brother; have you seen you?”

               Alex burst into giggles, his face warm. He felt the soft touch of Forrest’s lips to his cheek. The laughter faded as they pressed their foreheads together, Alex’s eyes closed as he breathed Forrest in.

               “Stay close to me,” he whispered.

               Forrest nodded once, his lips brushing Alex’s. “Forever.”

                 Dinner had started off well. Alex and Forrest descended down the staircase to the shop where a long table sat and fairy lights had been hung up. The table lay covered with platters of beef, cheese, fruit and bread. Glasses of wine sat at every chair. Isobel and Gregory had truly outdone themselves.

               Liz sat between Max and Rosa. Beside Max was Michael, Isobel, Gregory, and Flint. Forrest pulled out Alex’s chair for him, making him blush, and kissed the top of his head before taking the seat beside him. Alex did not dare glance at Michael.

               For the most part, they shared in their stories, and though Forrest could not share many of his own for fear of exposing himself, he seemed quite content to listen to Alex’s versions of his bravery and kindness.

               “I hear you were responsible for helping to save Alex,” Michael told Forrest, for he had but one of the many different stories of Alex and Forrest’s first meeting. He bowed his head once. “I sincerely thank you.”

               “I could not see anything happen to him,” Forrest said, smiling at Alex. “It was love at first sight, you see.”

               Alex hoped Michael would not respond, but then he said, “Yes, I understand the feeling.” He was looking directly at Alex, his gaze pointed as though he was trying to share a secret message with him.

               Then Forrest took Alex’s hand and kissed the aquamarine bracelet he’d given him so many months ago on the shore. “All right, darling?” he whispered, and Alex nodded, the smile returning to his lips at Forrest’s eyes on him.

               “Goodness, Alex,” Liz sighed. “I do love that bracelet. Forrest made that for him,” she told Michael, “did you know?”

               “Purely for selfish reasons,” Forrest confessed. “I’ve always wanted to see Alex in aquamarine. He looks so beautiful with it, doesn’t he?”

               “Where did you get that?” Flint murmured. “Bottom of the ocean?”

               Gregory nudged Flint with his elbow, but the five of them were already laughing at the private joke.

               “Honestly, Forrest,” grinned Isobel, “do you care about anything but Alex?”

               Forrest hummed, eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t think so. Why?” he asked, genuinely confused when everyone save for Michael started laughing, “Is there anything else to care about?”

               “I would think someone of your position would have plenty,” Gregory thoughtlessly said.

               Rosa frowned. “What do you mean, of his position?”

               Gregory’s eyes widened and Alex tensed. Forrest, after all, was a king. He had plenty of concerns, yet the others at the table did not know that.

               It was Isobel who chuckled nervously and said, “Well, you see, Forrest is very wealthy. He has so much to tend to back in – er –”

               “Paris,” Gregory quickly finished. “Because, as you all know, he is from Paris. Isn’t that right, Forrest?”

               “Certainly,” Forrest nodded. “I am from Paris.”

               Everyone returned to their meat and potatoes when all of a sudden a loud CLANK! drove all other conversation away. Michael had roughly set his fork and knife down.

               “Is that why you chose him?” Michael asked, breaking the heavy silence. “Because he’s so much wealthier than I am?”

               Alex was staring, brows furrowed. He set his utensils down delicately. When he spoke, his voice was cold to his own ears, something fierce and protective overwhelming him. “I beg your pardon?”

               Michael scoffed, shaking his head. There was nothing humorous about it.

               “Michael,” Max warned, but Michael was already seething.

               “I thought it was odd,” he said. “You’d known him for such a short time, yet you fell in love so quickly. Is that why, Alex? He could take better care of you than I could?”

               “Michael,” Isobel hissed, “enough.”

               “Is that why you wouldn’t even give me another chance?”

               Forrest stood at once, but Alex took his arm. He’d never seen Forrest’s glare so full of anger.

               “I will thank you,” Gregory said darkly, “to mind your manners, Michael.”

               “I’m sorry,” Michael said, crossing his arms on top of the table, his eyes on Alex. “I’m sorry that I’m the only one who will acknowledge that there is too much about Forrest that we don’t know. I’m sorry if I’m the only one who wishes to make certain that Alex is not throwing his life away at the first man to offer him comfort after heartbreak.”

               “No, you’re right,” Flint said, slumping in his seat. “I’d much rather my brother stay with someone who hurt him.”

               “Please,” Alex said quietly, and the table turned silent. He raised his chin and held Michael’s gaze. “Forrest saved my life in more ways than I could say. I did not know of his wealth until I’d already loved him, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

               “Alex –”

               “You are a guest,” Alex told him sternly, “in my home. Forrest is my fiancé, and I expect you to treat him with respect.” His shoulders fell, his tone turned pleading. “I want you to be a part of my life, Michael. Please don’t make me push you out of it.”

               Michael stared back for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then he stood, murmured an apology, and left.

               Forrest wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders, keeping him close. He pressed soft kisses to his ear, his cheek, his jaw as Gregory and Isobel made quick work of returning the rest of the table to cheerier conversation.

               Later that night, Alex woke in bed to find Forrest’s side empty. He sat up, looking through the house, and softly called for Forrest in the shop. When he did not find his fiancé at home, panic began to rise in his chest until he forced it down. His father could not harm Forrest any longer, yet Alex knew he would not rest until he saw his love’s face again.

               Realizing there was only one place Forrest could be, Alex quickly threw on a coat and his boots, and made his way down to the shore. There, with his knees pulled up to his chest amongst the waves, sat Forrest, staring out at the ocean. His blue seashell glittered at his neck.

               Alex hesitated, then came and sat beside him.

               “Are you upset with me?” were his first words.

               Forrest frowned. “What in the soundless seas for?”

               “The dinner,” he said. “I told Michael I – I wanted him in my life.”

               A smirk tugged at Forrest’s lips. “That is no secret, Alex. I’ve known it since before I met you. Don’t you remember?”

               Alex did. Forrest had told him that that was when he had first fallen in love with him; when he’d heard Alex speaking of Michael to the stars.

               “Forrest,” he said, “I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Stronger than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

               Forrest chuckled. “You dove into the ocean to save me, Alex. I don’t question your love.”

               “Yet you’re here,” he said, his chin on Forrest’s shoulder, “instead of in bed with me.”

               Forrest turned to him, kissing his nose. “I fear the mess of my thoughts might’ve troubled your sleep.”

               “I am only troubled when you are not there,” he murmured, and kissed Forrest’s shoulder.

               “You will never regret me?” asked Forrest.

               Alex clenched his jaw. “You are a king. I am a mere human. What could I possibly offer you?”

               Forrest cupped Alex’s cheek fiercely, his hold tight. He let his hand fall down Alex’s jaw, his neck, and settled on his opened coat collar. As he leaned in, he whispered the words, as though he was shocked Alex did not know the answer already.

               “You.”

               Before Alex could say anything else, Forrest kissed him. Their lips pressed together again and again, and when Alex felt Forrest’s tongue slide against his own, a moan escaped his lips. When Forrest began kissing down his chin, his neck, Alex looked around to make certain that no one was watching. But then this was the middle of the night. He didn’t think anyone would be awake for hours.

               The waves turned suddenly warm as they washed around Forrest and Alex, as their kisses deepened, as Forrest’s fingers undid the buttons of Alex’s coat and gently pushed him onto his back. The kisses turned rougher, more eager, and Alex felt as though they would never move away from one another again.

               Alex released a breathy moan as he ran his hands up Forrest’s naked back. He imagined them, lying nude on the beach, Forrest thrusting into him, licking a line along his neck, the cold quickly turning to heat so thick that Alex couldn’t breathe and was happy to suffocate.

               He ran his hands down Forrest’s bare cheeks, urging him in deeper. He was so in love he could hardly stand it. This man, bathed in moonlight and showered with drops of the ocean, was to be his husband.

               Alex took Forrest’s face in his hands and kissed him as he’d never kissed anyone before. Forrest was all his, the beautiful merman of blue and gold belonged to him. He never imagined, that year ago when he’d first embarked on his father’s voyage, that he would find such joy. When he’d fallen over the ship’s edge and his world had changed forever.

               The ocean waves hit the shore with a gentle shushing sound, protecting Alex and Forrest from searching eyes. They were safe here, Alex was safe here. With Forrest, with the ocean, with the life he’d been given when it seemed he’d been destined to drown.

               “Hold on tight to me,” Forrest told him. And so Alex did.

[thomas-gay-panic-lightwood]

hey guys i wrote the Thomastair wedding, enjoy!

——————————————————————————

Thomas’s heart was thrumming against his chest, beating so fast he felt as if it might climb through his throat. He was staring at Matthew through the mirror who was attempting to make Thomas’s hair look presentable. His mind was full of thoughts all leading to one person. Alastair. He thought of all the things he loved about Alastair, his laugh, the way he would butt his head into Thomas’s shoulder as a sign of affection. The way he would have to stand on his tippy toes to reach Thomas’s lips for a kiss. He even learned to love his stubbornness and constant need to be right about everything. Thomas recalled the nights where he would fall asleep while embracing Alastair in his arms, listening to his sweet, sultry voice read to him in Farsi. Thomas knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the ebony haired boy but fretted that Alastair would get cold feet and cancel last minute. James had assured Thomas that that wouldn’t happen, but the seed of doubt had been planted and no matter how hard he tried not to worry, he still did.

He remembered the first time they said I love you to one another. Alastair had scaled a wall up the side of Thomas’s house in order to get to his balcony. It was pouring rain and Alastair’s hair was matted to his forehead, his white shirt clinging to his slender body with water causing it to turn transparent. As he opened the door Alastair practically threw himself onto Thomas and kissed him fiercely. Alastair mumbled the words “I love Thomas, I love you” against his mouth. Thomas repeated the same words in Farsi to him, “ashegh et am Alastair, ashegh et am.” Alastair had pulled away from Thomas’s mouth abruptly at that and stared at the taller boy with a wide, genuine smile on his face and his eyes started to pool with tears. “I didn’t know you could speak Farsi” he had said while the tears broke free, streaming down his face and staining his cheeks. Thomas had brought up a hand to the side of the dark-haired boys face and wiped the tears away with his thumb. “Cordelia has been teaching me, I wanted to surprise you.” Thomas had confessed. The memory brought tears to Thomas’s eyes, and Matthew flicked a concerned gaze to him.

“If I had to marry Alastair, I’d cry too.” Matthew said while patting Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas swatted his hand away while laughing. Matthew constantly joked around about Alastair, but Thomas could tell he was genuinely happy for him, it warmed his heart thinking about how far Matthew has come.

“Is there really a need for this many brushes, Matthew?” Thomas questioned, gazing down at the ten hairbrushes sitting on the vanity before him.

“This is the Angel’s work, dear, you can't expect me to only be able to use one brush, can you?” Matthew said while working a comb through Thomas’s unruly hair. Thomas shook his head humorously and looked out the window near the vanity. It was snowing, a perfect winter wedding Thomas thought, just as they had planned.

After what had felt like an eternity of Matthew working on Thomas’s hair, Thomas got up out of his seat and looked into the full body mirror across the room and met his own gaze. He was wearing an ivory suit imprinted with golden runes and a deep gold vest to match. He took a deep breath and turned to the rest of the Merry Theives and asked, “What do you think?” James beamed and Christopher actually heard what Thomas had said for once and got up with a wide smile and wrapped his arms around Thomas’s torso. Thomas embraced the smaller boy, resting his head atop the other’s.

“I think I did a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” Matthew said as the two broke apart.

Thomas strode over to the blonde boy, closing the distance between them both before wrapping his arms around Matthew in a tight embrace. “Thank you. For everything.” Thomas whispered; his voice muffled into Matthew’s shoulder. When they pulled away, Thomas noticed that a stray tear had fallen from Matthew’s eye and Thomas brought up his thumb and wiped it away with a smile as Matthew sniffled. Thomas then turned to James who was still beaming and brought him into a hug as well. As he did, he heard the door click open and saw Cordelia leaning in the door frame with a warm smile on her face. She was wearing a deep bronze gown made of silk and her hair as tied up into a bandeau, although a few thick red strands were attempting to fight its way out of it.

“It’s time.” She whispered and gestured for the boys to follow.

*******************************************************

Thomas and Christopher were standing at the door into the ballroom at the London Institute. Christopher reached out his hand to Thomas and he grasped it firmly while the shorter boy whispered motivating words to him. Thomas had asked Christopher to be his suggenes right after Alastair has said yes to his proposal, and Christopher had been delighted. Thomas couldn’t think of anyone better to accompany him down the aisle.

Thomas took a deep breath as the doors opened to reveal the large ballroom. It was a small gathering, but in the chairs that faced the alter he saw the faces of those that he loved. His beautiful parents and aunts and uncles, even Aunt Charlotte traveled from Idris to be here this evening. Classical music played through the unmanned piano, thanks to Magnus who was also seated in one of the chairs, as the boys stepped into the room. Gold and ivory ribbons adorned the walls and hung from the chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Witchlight candles shone brightly on the walls and along the aisle. At the altar, Uncle Jem stood under a high archway adorned with various flowers and to his left, off to the side a bit, stood Matthew and James smiling gleefully. The two boys along with Christopher were wearing black suits with golden bowties around their necks. Lucie stood a little to the right of Jem and was wearing a dusted blue pastel chiffon dress and holding a bouquet of yellow roses that looked like a pale gold.

As Thomas walked down the carpeted aisle, he saw his mother holding back tears and failing miserably as they fell down her cheeks. Gideon was sitting next to her, massaging her shoulders and whispering something into her ear. Thomas greeted them with a smile that they both returned. Sophie wasn’t the only one crying, he caught sight of Uncle Will wiping away the tears from his eyes as he watched Thomas walk up onto the altar. Christopher joined the other boys behind Thomas as he looked out into the crowd that all bore the runes to proclaim their witness for this event. He felt his nerves streaming through his veins, he felt lightheaded but more with excitement than anything else. He saw Anna and Ariadne seated in the front row next to Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel, both couples were holding each other's hands. He caught sight of Sona who was wearing a lovely red satin gown and she gave him a warm smile. Next to her was Tessa who was trying to comfort Will while he sobbed quietly while gazing up at Thomas, the sight warmed the groom’s heart. Magnus Bane was adorned with blue jewels from head to toe and looked awfully a lot like a pirate, but in a good way, looking amused and thoughtful.

As Thomas gazed down the aisle, he saw Cordelia and Alastair approach the doorway. Thomas’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of his beautiful groom. Everything else in the world stopped in Thomas’s mind, the music, the hushed whispers, everything, it was just the too grooms gazing fondly at one another. Cordelia was guiding Alastair down the aisle, smiling at all the guests while holding a bouquet of pale gold roses. Thomas started crying immediately, tears slipping down his face. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that he was standing here about to marry the love of his life, to be tied to him in the most intimate and loving way.

Alastair wore a suit of the same complexion as Thomas’s, ivory imbedded with gold runes. It stood out strikingly against his deep skin tone and dark hair. Thomas was even more sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man that he had been earlier, if that was even possible. Alastair was inclining his head towards their guests as Cordelia smiled at them gleefully while they walked down the aisle. As soon as Alastair walked up onto the alter across from Thomas and Cordelia moved behind her brother next to Lucie, Thomas felt no nerves pricking his skin. Any doubts left him in that exact moment and he knew that what they were doing was real and he would never be happier than he was right now. He grasped his groom's hands and gazed into the dark eyes that he had memorized by heart. Warmth and comfort expanding over his bones and skin as he was looking into the soul of the man he had loved for so long.

“Greetings.” Thomas heard Uncle Jem’s voice echo throughout his own head. “Tonight, we gather here to witness the bond between two souls who have cleaved to one another. Thomas Lightwood and Alastair Carstairs will become intertwined not only with their hearts but as well as their lives.” After that statement Alastair’s eyes filled with tears, but none fell. “Alastair Carstairs. Hast thou found the one thy soul loves?” Thomas was giddy with excitement and not once did his smile leave his face.

Alastair grasped Thomas’s forearm and started tracing circles over the ivory fabric, where his tattoo was residing under. He often did this to sooth himself or Thomas and Thomas’s heart lurched at the small movement. Memories swarmed his mind, one sticking out more than others, their time in Paris, when Alastair had made that movement for the first time. “I have found him.” Alastair said. “And I will not let him go.” Thomas had never felt so joyous than he did in that moment.

“Thomas Lightwood. Hast thou found the one thy soul loves?”

Thomas reached up his hand and cupped the back of Alastair’s neck, rubbing his thumb across Alastair’s delicate jawline. He breathed in sharply before announcing, “I have found him. And I will not let him go.” Thomas saw a small tear trickle down Alastair’s cheek as the dark-haired boy gazed up towards Thomas, eyes full of admiration. It took everything in him to not pull Alastair into his embrace, it was almost painful.

Jem inclined his head. “Now it is time for the exchanging of runes.” Jem handed Alastair a stele as Thomas pushed aside his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, baring his upper arm. Alastair grasped Thomas’s arm with both hands, one on his forearm tracing circles over his compass rose tattoo, the other on his bicep in attempt to steady his hand.

“Love flashes out like fire, the brightest kind of flame. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it.” Alastair spoke the Shadowhunter vows in his soft voice while tracing out the rune of Thomas’s arm. Thomas’s gaze never left Alastair as he drew the seal upon him. “Now place me as a seal over thine heart, as a seal over thine arm: For love is strong as death. And so we are bound: Stronger than flame, stronger than water, stronger than death itself.” Alastair finished the rune and withdrew his hands and handed the stele to Thomas. Alastair removed his arm from his jacket and pushed his sleeve up to give Thomas access to his upper arm.

Thomas inhaled as he placed the cool tip of the stele against Alastair’s skin and begun to speak. “Love flashes out like fire, the brightest kind of flame. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it.” Thomas shifted his gaze briefly over to Alastair’s dark eyes to see them gazing right back at him before continuing. “Now place me as a seal over thine heart, as a seal over thine arm: For love is as strong as death. And so we are bound: Stronger than flame, stronger than water, stronger than death itself.” Thomas pulled back and looked down onto Alastair’s face which was gazing at the newly drawn rune. They both fixed their jackets and went to grasp one another's hands.

“And now for the rings.” Jem spoke. Christopher stepped forward with two rings, both Carstairs family rings, etched with the symbol of a castle. Thomas had decided to carry Alastair’s name as Will had complained that there were too many Lightwood’s already, and Thomas was more than happy to take on the name. Christopher placed one ring in each of their hands. Alastair reached out and grasped Thomas’s left hand, running his thumb subconsciously across Thomas’s palm before sliding the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, as Shadowhunter rings always did. Thomas then reached for Alastair’s left hand and delicately placed the ring on the ebony haired boy’s slender finger. Jem closed the Shadowhunter Codex that he had in his hands and announced, “Alastair Carstairs. Thomas Carstairs. You are now married. Let us rejoice.” At that, Thomas couldn't wait a second longer and leaned down and met his lips to Alastair’s and he wrapped his arms around his husband’s body. Alastair kissed him back fiercely as the crowd began to clap in congratulations. Thomas’s heart was thumping excitedly inside his chest as the boy’s pulled apart, resting each other's foreheads together.

“Ashegh et am Alastair,” Thomas whispered. “Ashegh et am.” and Alastair pulled the taller boy into a tight embrace.

——————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed! I don’t have the impaccable talent of writing that CC bares but I tried my best!

Thank you to @ariadne-lightwood for the lovely idea!

@kvzafrilla

[let-it-raines]

Black Velvet (1/1)

1919. The War is over, but life is far from normal. While the imminent danger is gone for many, it is not gone for Emma Swan. Her secrets have always been dangerous and had the ability to control her, but they have never been more dangerous than now as she is forced to work undercover as a barmaid and keep her true intentions hidden from the most notorious gang leader in England. 

Her life depends on it, but unfortunately for Emma, Killian Jones can read her better than anyone ever has. 

Rating: Mature 

a/n: I was going to wait to post this next week since I’ve been catching up on posting other things this week and flooded you all with words, but I am sooooo excited for this one! Like, I haven’t written a big one-shot in awhile, and this one is a little different for me. But I love it, and hope that you do as well! For my Peaky Blinders fans, I think you’ll recognize some similarities because this is def based on it😘

Found on AO3 | here | 

-/-

There is a sudden crash of glass shattering against the battered wood floor, stains of alcohol, blood, and the scuff marks of boots covering it to make it a darker wood than it originally was. She’s scrubbed that floor until her hands were dry and cracked, but the stains are as imbedded in the wood as the Jones family is in this place, their place. The stains might well be purposeful, and really, they could have been, a sure sign that the Joneses are not scared to let anyone know they do not mind getting blood on their hands or mind leaving the evidence behind. In fact, they are likely proud of it.

Loud cursing fills the usually subdued pub, arguments over whose fault it was for the spilling of the whiskey, but Emma knows that it doesn’t matter whose fault it was when she’s the one who has got to clean it up and scrub the damn floors clean when all is said and done.

Damn drunk men and their damn petty fights over what always amounts to being about a woman who has no interest in either of them.

Sighing, she turns on her heels behind the bar where she was polishing tumblers and other glasses and walks back into the storage room to retrieve the broom and dustpan along with some cloths. She is not supposed to leave the bar and the alcohol unattended, but she has been working here long enough to know that anyone who stumbles into this particular pub is smart enough to know not to steal from the Jones family.

They’ll be dead faster than the rum can pass their lips, and the Joneses don’t give out the good stuff to just anyone so that would be one pathetic last drink.

Twisting on the lights in the closet, her eyes scan over shelves of supplies and half-empty bottles that have somehow made their way back here, until she finds the broom, unattached from the pan.

Of course. Why would the broom ever be stored away with its matching set?

“Fuck,” she mutters, adjusting her trousers. They are too large around her waist, but she hasn’t had time to buy any new clothes lately. From what she’s gleamed, trousers on women are not widely accepted in Birmingham, but some days she cannot be bothered to wear a dress that squeezes the breath out of her. Today was one of those days, but unless she wants her knickers on display for everyone to see, she is going to have to buy new clothes soon.

“That’s no language for a lady.”

Immediately, she twists around to look at the other side of the room where the deep, accented voice originated. He’s standing with his gray suit clad legs crossed over another, arms stretched over his chest so that his shirt tightens around his muscles, and there is a bloody smirk plastered on that ever-handsome face under the dark brush of his facial hair. He’s without his cap and suit jacket today, but he’s never without his vest and the shirt that stays indecently unbuttoned. It is the one thing that never changes about his appearance, and the day she sees his shirt fully buttoned, Emma knows shit will start flying in every direction.

“Well, as you know, I’m far from a lady. I work here after all.”

Blue eyes flicker up and down her body, taking in the curves of her hips and her breasts even under her loose clothing, the bastard, and if possible, the smirk intensifies, curling from one side of his lips to the next.

“Now, darling,” he croons, uncrossing his legs and taking three strides forward to stand in her space, hovering just enough above her to make her feel smaller than she already is, “you and I both know that is not true.” “Do we?” she argues, raising a brow in his direction.

He chuckles, something dark that heads straight between her thighs, and then warm hands are on her hips, rough fingertips brushing against the skin at her waist, and hot breath brushes over her ear and down her neck while whiskers prick her skin.

“Did you miss me, love?” Killian whispers before pulling back, putting space between them as quickly as he closed it off.

“Were you gone?”

His head tilts back with laughter, and she watches him roll his shirt sleeves up, revealing angry red scars and marks on his left hand. She’s heard the rumors of how he received those scars, but when it comes to Killian Jones, rumors are not reliable. He’s done things the average person could never dare dream of, and fiction and reality toe a thin line, both of them crossing until everything is blurred.

“I was in London for two weeks, love. I cannot believe you didn’t notice my absence. I would have thought it would be at the forefront of your mind.”

“Well, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but my thoughts do not revolve around you.”

His brow lifts, lines on his forehead moving with it, and he cocks his head to the side, disbelieving. “A woman as fascinating as you must have too many things to fill her mind other than me, so I can actually believe it if you must know.”

“You flatter me.”

Killian clicks his tongue. “I intend to.” He moves around her, footfalls quiet, and presses open the hidden door in the closet he must have walked through to be in here. “My brothers and I will be in our dining room today. Get the good stuff from the safe.”

Emma mockingly bows. “It would be my pleasure.”

He stares, blue eyes bright compared to the darkness of the rest of him, and then he slips out, moving through the back hallways and compartments that were installed during the War but are now used for the family to avoid their enemies and the coppers, who are usually paid off but can sometimes still question the Joneses’ business practices, especially when there’s a new hire for their more questionable ventures. It is a fascinating thing to watch how a family who supposedly manufactures automobiles and distills rum has such a varied number of enemies. Maybe that is simply how it is for all businessmen, but Emma wouldn’t know.

She is simply a barmaid after all.

When she exits the closet with both broom and pan in hand, the argument is over, but the shattered glass remains. She quickly cleans it, dumps the glass outside, and gets back to tending bar, talking to the men who wander in and out of the place. Half of them fancy her, she knows. It’s obvious in the way they speak to her, even more obvious in the way they will often attempt to touch her, but Emma does not get paid to appease the baser desires of the patrons of My Fairest Lady. If she did, she would be in an entirely different type of business where her purse would be full for once.

As the day passes, men come in and out in their tailored suits and carefully curated ties, and Emma watches all of them, seeing where they go and what they order. She watches as some walk up the stairs and only appear again hours lately, but mostly she watches the ones that walk into the pub and immediately turn right into the private room the Joneses sit in when they decide they are going to conduct business at the pub instead of in one of their offices. When the rest of the place quiets, she can often hear them, especially if she decides to rest near the small trap door through which they order their drinks.

Tonight, they are talking about needing new men, but she cannot hear well enough as to why. This has been her problem for weeks. She gleams a little information, but not enough, and if Killian Jones wasn’t so in tune to every noise in the place, she’d sneak through the back tunnels and listen from there.

That would surely get her killed.

The sun sets early, the smog from the factories outside aiding in the darkening of the world, and when her shift is over for the night, Emma grabs her things and leaves, walking through the streets of Birmingham until she is at her flat, a small, dingy little place that reminds her of the homes she grew up in. It wasn’t her first choice, but so often, things aren’t.

Emma twists the key in the lock and walks inside. For all of its faults, the place has electricity. That makes her life much easier since she does not have to go about striking matches and blowing out fire every few hours.

“Hello, dearie.”

Emma’s skin pales, and heaviness settles in her stomach, weighing her down to keep her from moving. Sitting at her kitchen chair is Robert Gold, and no matter how long she has worked with him, she will never feel comfortable when he decides to show his face without notice.

She will never feel comfortable even when he gives notice.

“Gold,” Emma nods, straightening her back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Slowly, he stands, using his gold-encrusted cane to prop himself up, and Emma shuts the door behind her. She has a knife in a strap around her thigh, and while she technically works for him, she doesn’t trust Gold as far as she can throw that knife.

“Have you located the guns?”

“If I had, you would know.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

Emma tilts her head back and scoffs, her rapid heartbeat calming as her skin heats, rage and fire and disbelief settling in the bumps of her skin. “Oh, my deepest apologizes. It is obviously a simple bloody task to infiltrate the most notorious gang in the city and gleam where they keep stolen guns. They don’t talk so openly about their business!”

Gold walks closer, beady eyes reflected under the lamplight, and Emma stays steady. “We hired a woman to do this because women are Killian Jones’s weakness. Get to know him, get in his bed, and then you will be in the inner circle.”

She spits. “I am not sleeping with him for your cause.”

“Is my cause not your cause? Getting rid of undesirable gangs and criminals that disrespect the Crown and steal from our arms factories?”

Emma laughs, her heartbeat racing again. “I work for you because I have no other choice. It was this or death.”

He shrugs, tapping his cane. “You shouldn’t have made a deal with me, and we wouldn’t be in this position. Alas, we are, and you must deal with the consequences of your actions, dearie. All deals have a price. I’ll be returning.”

Gold steps around her, making Emma move to the side, and then he exits her flat. His presence, however, lingers, and she feels as if grime and smog are coating her skin. That is a feeling that never goes away, but it is especially present after one of Gold’s visits. Emma curses and stomps her foot, despising her situation. She is only twenty-three years of age, but she has lived the life of an elder. Growing up in orphanages does not set a woman up for a good life, and seven years ago when she fell pregnant but couldn’t afford to take care of the baby, she went to Gold for help. He was known to be able to do anything, especially find homes for children without charging the birth mother exuberant prices, but no one told her the price of his services would be to work for him and the government in backhanded deals. It was this, death, or harm done to a child she has only held once but loves as if she was allowed to raise him.

She couldn’t be a mother, doesn’t know if she ever will be able to again, but she will not let harm fall on that child.

So, now, she is shipped across Europe, putting her life at risk every day. After all, what is the potential of death when compared to certain death?

-/-

Days pass, and Emma learns of no new information. She works long hours, taking extra shifts and standing behind the bar until her feet bleed from blisters, her heels too small with swollen feet. Every day, Killian and his brothers Liam and Lee walk inside, often with William Scarlet and Rob Locksley following behind them, but they say nothing more to her than greetings and drink orders. Killian will spend additional time leaning over the bar, his voice deep with his flirtations, but she pushes them away. She will not sleep with him to get information, and she will not sleep with him because he thinks she is easy prey.

Men like him, no matter how enticing, do not lead to good things.

Knowing he’s the head of a gang doesn’t reassure her.

Knowing one day he will have a price on her head, well, it does not give her any confidence that she could ever be anything more than a warm body in his bed. Most likely, he wouldn’t give her the curtesy of taking her there, instead taking her behind the bar.

If only she had been born into a family with means. Maybe then she could live a life where death did not linger so closely.

“Swan, darling,” Killian calls from his private room, “can you come in here?”

Emma stills, gripping on her glass, but she quickly composes herself. It’s not often she is called into the room, and while she would like an invitation to the inside, she knows it comes with risks. Slowly, she moves around the bar and heads toward the door. Liam opens it for her, nodding, and she steps inside as Liam closes the door behind her. Killian, Lee, William, and Rob are sitting in the cushioned booths, and Killian pats the seat beside him. She nods and sits next to him, keeping her posture straight and face neutral.

“Emma, love,” Killian starts, “you’re educated, are you not?”

“I am not.”

Killian twists and looks at her with wide eyes. “You speak like you’ve been educated.”

“Natural intelligence,” Emma shrugs. Gold gave her an education, but she refuses to give him any credit when most of it has been of her own doing. “I attended school as a child, but not much else. Everything has been self-taught.”

“See,” Lee sighs, “I don’t need more schooling.”

“You damn well do if you want to be a part of this business! We are educated men, and you will be no different.”

“Where did you go to school?” Emma asks, not able to help herself.

“Oxford. Though, my studies were interrupted by my needed service in the War.”

“It’s a shame.”

“I think I’m doing well for myself, regardless, love.”

“You should go to school, Lee,” Emma tells the youngest Jones brother, a bastard child of their father they brought into the family business. “You have the Jones Corporation to fall back on, but if you want to be a true asset, you should better yourself as much as you can.”

“Oi, am I bloody well supposed to take advice from a woman? A woman who is a barmaid no less? What could you possibly know?”

Killian slams his hand down on the table, glass and silverware shaking. “This woman is far more competent than you, lad, and I suggest you respect her. Everyone is your equal, no matter what dear old dad told you to make you believe otherwise.”

Lee curses under his breath, and Emma slinks back into the booth as the room stills, the air heavy with unspoken words waiting to be set free. She doesn’t know if she should stay or walk out of the room and back to her job, but Killian makes the decision for her. “Why don’t you all go? Get back to work.”

“What about what we were discussing?” Liam questions, but he still grabs his cap and his coat.

“We will discuss it later.” The men nod and then begin to shuffle out of the room. Emma moves to join them, but Killian reaches out and grabs her wrist, the warmth of his hand spreading over here. “Stay, Swan.”

She doesn’t dare deny him as she cannot give up any opportunity to learn more about him, so she turns and takes the seat opposite him, smoothing out her skirt and her hair. “Is everything alright?”

“The horse race is this weekend, as I’m sure you know, and I’d like to bring you as a guest.”

Emma blanches. “Excuse me?”

A smile creeps onto his face, and he reaches into his pocket to slide a bag of coins across the table. “I’d like to take you to the races as my companion. You should use this to buy a nice dress and hat.”

“Are you trying to buy my affections?”

“I think we both know you cannot be bought.”

If only he knew.

Emma studies him, trying to read past the smile and the friendly invitation, but she sees nothing of any use. “Why me?”

Killian leans forward, elbow pressed to the table and chin resting on his knuckle. “I fancy you from time to time when you aren’t ignoring me, as I have made no secret.”

Emma thinks to all the times where she’s forgotten herself and has allowed Killian to get close in the way she doesn’t want, all the times he has lingered close to her and pressed his lips to her neck before she pulls away. She will not sleep with him for money or for Gold’s cause, but she would be telling a lie if she said she has never considered it for her own personal reasons. Her mind is constantly contradicting her there, and Emma has never been able to settle her thoughts one way or another.

Getting into bed with dangerous men leads to getting into bed with dangerous things.

Emma has already put on the sheets and started slipping out of her shoes despite her best efforts not to.

“So, you expect me to buy a nice outfit and spend a day away with you as nothing more than an ornament on your arm because you fancy me?”

“I expect nothing of you. Every choice is up to you.”

Emma reaches her fingers across the table and takes the purse of coins. “Any color in particular you’d like for my dress?”

“Surprise me.”

-/-

Her dress is red, and when she walks into My Fairest Lady on Saturday morning, she can feel the eyes of the entire place on her. It’s made of a delicate lace and flowered accents and flares out at the hips, but the corset makes her breasts push up, cleavage showing where she usually hides it. Her heels were dyed to match, her hat too, and it is the nicest thing she’s ever worn. It feels foreign on her skin, and while Emma would prefer comfort, she doesn’t mind feeling elegant for once. Anna, the woman who lives next to her, saw Emma carry her dress home, asked where she was going with it, and insisted she allow Emma to roll her hair with hot curlers and apply paint to her lips. She thinks the redness of her lips along with the cleavage may be the thing that brings down the Jones Company, and if she’d known that, maybe she would have dressed like this earlier.

“You look,” Killian begins.

“I know,” Emma finishes, taking his hand as he helps her into the carriage. “You look nice as well.”

“And much like you, I did know that.”

The drive to the races doesn’t seem long, but Emma knows they’ve traveled for at least two hours. Killian doesn’t talk for much of it, but when he does, it’s to point out something on the side of the road. He’s able to tie everything in with a story from the War or something William Scarlet has done, and Emma chuckles, seeing the lighter side of them. She knows how they spend much of their time, and it is not taking all of Killian’s suits out of his closet and replacing them with Lee’s so they’ll be several sizes too small.

When they arrive at Cheltenham, it is like nothing Emma has ever seen before. The building around the track is glamourous and obviously newly built, and everyone around is in their nicest clothes. To Emma, this is foreign, every bit of it. Her life is a life in the shadows in tattered clothes and normal things. Her life is not spent betting on horse races and wearing dresses worth more than her flat to accompany the head of a gang while she secretly attempts to discover where he’s hiding the guns Gold wants.

She does not even know why Gold wants those guns so badly when the factory can surely produce more, but her entire life is about finding them.

She should have never stepped foot in his house had she known these would be the consequences, but she needed to give that kid the good life he has.

“This is spectacular,” Emma says as the carriage stutters to a stop amongst all the others, motors slowly dying out.

Killian takes her hand and guides her out of the carriage, placing his hand on her lower back when they set foot on the gravel. “You haven’t seen anything yet, love.”

Killian is right in that she hasn’t seen anything because when they walk inside, the floor is lined with black and white tiles, and the ceiling is home to ornate paintings and chandeliers that look too heavy to stay there. Emma shouldn’t feel overwhelmed by it all, but she does. Killian knows every other person they pass, some greeting him with reverence and some greeting him with fear, but they all greet him just the same. His hand stays steady on her back as he moves her though the hallways, and he introduces her to several other women before disappearing into another room. She wants to follow him, to see what business he’s doing, but she knows she can’t.

“How do you know Killian Jones?” a woman with long brunette hair asks. Emma thinks her name is Ruby, but she cannot remember. It was too much talking at once.

“How do you?” Emma counters.

“I was his lover years ago.”

Emma arches her brow. “Well, that does not shock me.”

“Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Ruby steps closer to her, whispering so no one around them can hear. “He had an affair with the wife of a powerful man, and the man killed his wife in front of Killian and burned Killian’s hand. After that, he slept with anyone who so much as looked like his lover because he was often too drunk to realize the difference. So, you, you’re different. I have never seen him go with a blonde.”

“Well,” Emma steadies, trying to keep her heart from racing after what she heard, “I am not his lover, so I imagine you’ll have to keep waiting to see that.”

“Not yet,” Ruby tells her before stepping away, dress trailing behind her.

“You ready to watch the races?”

Emma jumps at Killian’s returned presence, and he chuckles, placing his hand on her back again while looking down at her, amused. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “Just fine.”

She flashes a smile that reaches her eyes, making it as genuine as possible, and before Killian guides her to their seats, she sees a spot of blood on his shirt. She doesn’t know if it is his or someone else’s, but she does know that whatever business he had at the races has very little to do with horses.

-/-

Emma’s feet ache when she settles into her seat in the carriage, and she immediately toes out of her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her. Killian eyes her with curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shrugs of his jacket and lays it over her lap.

“You may not have been able to move, but you cut quite the figure in that dress.” Her cheeks heat, but she doesn’t say anything, simply smiling at him. “Did you enjoy the races, Swan?”

“I did. Though, not as much as you.”

“What makes you say that?”

Emma hums and taps her fingers over Killian’s suit jacket, moving it to cover more of her. “Well, your purse is fuller. Your horse won, and if I heard correctly, you are now in charge of all bets.”

He turns to look at her, and if she were talking to any other member of the gang, she would back away. For some reason, however, the leader doesn’t scare her tonight, not like he should. She had one too many glasses of fine wine.

“How exactly do you know that?”

Emma points to the small blood stain on his shirt. “I’m assuming that is the blood of someone from the Mills family, who all mysteriously went away before the races even started. Everyone came to Rob and Liam to make their bets. It does not take a genius to figure things out once the pieces begin to fall into place.”

“Not a genius, no, but someone with an observant eye.” He leans forward, invading her space like he so often does. “You, love, know a little too much.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Emma whispers, breathless.

He leans closer, until her air and his air are the same, and Emma closes her eyes to brace herself, not knowing what is coming next. His lips ghost over hers, but they do not firmly touch. Instead they linger, and Emma feels every move he makes. “Keep you close,” Killian finally says. “I believe you would know too much for me to let you go.”

Enough but not what she needs.

“I believe you may be right.”

Killian rests his hand on her thigh before pulling back, their air separating into their own entities once more. “Lee would have a bloody fit if he ever knew you so quickly figured things out. The boy has potential, but he is too much like our father. I believe that will be his downfall.”

“I believe underestimating women will be his downfall.”

Killian clicks his tongue and nods. “You see, that stems directly from our father, the bastard of all bastards, and you are correct. Many a man was brought down by the kiss of a woman, but few of them have the smarts to know it was her brain that truly brought them down.”

“And you know that?”

“Aye, I do.”

Emma wants to ask about the woman Ruby mentioned early, but she doesn’t dare. She’s already toeing the lines of danger tonight, and mentioning the deceased woman Killian used to love seems ill advised.

So, she stays quiet and keeps her place, knowing she is one step closer to where she needs to be. She is gaining his trust more and more each day, but she also feels herself slipping into a place from which she cannot return.

Fuck.

-/-

Weeks pass, and the weather chills, Birmingham’s winter quickly creeping upon them. Emma freezes every day on her walk to the pub, but one day a coat appears in a box with her name on it. It is long and warm, and besides her red dress, the nicest thing she owns. Killian never confirms it is from him, but she knows it was. She knows the coat, the gloves, and the scarves are all from him, and while she tells him thank you, he never accepts any of her words. Instead, he invites her more into his life. She knows about the gambling and the illegal businesses of the Jones Corporation, and her knowledge gets her foot in the door.

Everything that happens inside is up to Killian.

He brings her in from the pub to settle arguments, to help with the numbers after he discovers she’s better with them than Rob ever has been, and when Liam goes away for some time to take his wife to visit her family in France, Killian often has Emma sit in Liam’s seat with his hand on her thigh underneath the table.

Killian Jones is not a man who takes his time courting women, but Emma cannot help but feel like that is exactly what is happening with her. It is surely not proper, but there’s too much lingering between them for it to be anything else.

Though, it does always stay lingering, never crossing the line, and Emma finds herself thinking more and more about the woman he loved and the string of women who followed.

She finds her resolve to keep her heart away from him teetering over the edge of no return.

She also thinks of Neal, of how much he promised her, of how much he let her down. He was going to give her a better life, but then he disappeared into the wind, never to be heard from again when she realized she was pregnant.

Surely she must take some blame for her situation, but Emma always remembers that so much of it is because of Neal.

Tonight Killian is allowing singing in the pub. He never does, says it makes the place too cheery when that is not his style of pub, but once a week, he allows the men to sing after she leads them off in whatever song she knows. The joyous mood leads to more drinking, which is more money for them, and she imagines that is the only reason Killian allows it.

If she were a conceited woman, she would say he allows it to hear her sing.

The Joneses and their associates march into the pub, some of them disappearing into the back room, but most come to the main part of the pub, moving around the crowd and disappearing into the thick of it. Emma watches Killian, and she can feel his eyes on her no matter where he is.

He never does come to the bar for long periods of time, not while the place is full of people at least, but then when Arthur Pemberton’s hand gets a little too close to Emma, suddenly Killian is there, standing with her, hand possessively on her hip while he warns Arthur not to let his libations get to him.

“I can handle myself,” Emma hisses when Arthur has stumbled away. “I do not need you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Then what was that? You wanted to show off who had the bigger cock?”

“Darling, I know that would be me.”

Emma’s head tilts back with feigned, exasperated laughter, but Killian does not seem amused. She waits for him to laugh, for the blue of his eyes to light up, but instead his jaw clenches from beneath his whiskered chin.

“Fancy a song then, sailor?” Emma asks to change the subject and keep them from getting into a row. For all the nights they have spent talking about small little details of their lives and their wishes, so, too, have they spent nights arguing. She knows when they’re on the verge of both.

“Why would I fancy a song?”

“To make you smile.”

“Alright then.” He taps his hand on the bar top before helping Emma up to her new vantage point, arching his brow while he looks at her. “Sing me a song then, lass.”

Emma nods and inhales, knowing the entire room will be listening, but she only focuses on the one man with blue eyes as clear as the ocean on a sunny day.

“In a neat little town they call Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound. Many an hour’s sweet happiness had I spent in that neat little town. A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land. Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band. Her eyes, they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”

When she finishes, the room is silent, her voice echoing between the four walls, and when she looks at Killian, she can see water in his eyes, a new ocean amongst the blue.

“Another!” someone in the crowd yells, but Emma doesn’t turn away from Killian.

“Oi, the lady sings one song. If you want a new one, sing it yourself!”

Emma chuckles and allows herself to sit down on the bar top, Killian helps her to the ground, her heels clicking against the hardwood. His hand lingers, warmth spreading through her, but as soon as it warms her, it disappears as Killian walks away, disappearing upstairs.

“Are you truly not going to sing us another song?”

Emma rolls her shoulders back and turns around, Leroy standing in front of her. She smiles softly and takes his glass, pouring him another drink. “If you ask me nicely, I just might.”

The night passes quickly, My Fairest Lady filling as it does on this day every week, but eventually everyone leaves, the place emptying as the streets quiet outside, the drunks all returning to their homes or their mistresses. Emma takes her time sweeping up, toeing out of her heels to let her feet rest, and she hums all of the songs sung today, their lyrics filling her usually tired mind.

She doesn’t hear him come in, and it would startle her if he didn’t step directly to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her close, joining in the songs she was singing. She didn’t think he could sing, but he carries a tune almost better than she does.

“I don’t dance,” Emma whispers.

“That is because you have never had a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

“And this partner is you?”

“Aye.”

Emma hasn’t danced in years, and she doesn’t know any of the traditional ones. She would be out of place at a ball for many a reason. She could wear the dress, have the nice man on her arm, but her footing would give her way. One wrong step, and everything would be over.

One wrong step here, she could be dead.

Once more, she has no interest in thinking of the real reason she’s here. She wants to stay in this moment, allowing Killian to sing sweet melodies to her, and she wants to forget about Gold and her mission and everything else.

Emma wants to pretend that for now she is nothing more than a woman dancing with a man she has come to fancy despite herself, no darkness and secrets between them.

What a world that would be.

Emma tilts her head up, looking at Killian, at the softness of his lips and the length of his dark lashes. He is different in this light, softer than his usual hard edges, but Emma knows they are still there, just below the surface.

“I took a stroll down broadway,” Killian sings, continuing her song from earlier, “meaning not long for to stay. When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid come a-traipsing along the highway. She was both fair and handsome. Her neck, it was just like a swan.”

Here, he runs a finger down her neck that ricochets into a tremor down her spine.

“And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”

“I thought you didn’t like music,” Emma whispers as his fingers toy with the ends of her loose hair. She’s enchanted by him, and for once, she isn’t afraid to admit it.

“That’s because not everyone sings like you, love.”

Slowly, Emma presses up on her toes, and her lips go gently over his, feeling the softness that resides there. He lingers, not pushing her forward, but before Emma can do just that, his hand comes to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head for him to control the kiss. She never did imagine Killian Jones wouldn’t be the one to take charge of a kiss, so no part of this surprises her. He tastes like rum, the alcohol burning her tongue as heat overwhelms her, and Emma is so consumed by him that she doesn’t notice the way he’s backed her across the room until the edge of the bar is pressing into her lower back, leaving a mark that will linger longer than the burning of this kiss.

When Emma gently bites at his bottom lip, he growls, moving his hands to pick her up until she’s resting on the top of the bar. Emma cups his cheeks, the prickle of his beard scratching her palms, but she pays no attention to that when her legs wrap around his back and she feels his hips roll into hers, the firmness of him pressing into her in ways she hasn’t felt in too long.

It feels damn good, and if Emma were a proper woman, she would have stopped this and kept it from going too far.

She is not a proper woman.

Killian, however, seems to be a proper man, because he pulls back, sweat slicked forehead leaning against hers, and then he moves away, putting more space between him than Emma wants now that they’ve finally closed the gap they’ve lingered near since her first day on the job. All she wants now is to feel him pulsing inside of her, creating a rhythm that matches with the beat of her heart and brings her the pleasure she so craves.

“I am not having you on this bar,” he grumbles, his voice deep and hoarse. His hand falls down her back, grabbing onto her hip and pulling her closer to him. “You deserve more.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” And she means it. She once thought that he wouldn’t care enough to take her to a bed, but now she finds she’s the one who doesn’t care. Her blood is running hot, and she would be fine with it right here even if the countertop digs into her arse. “This is fine.”

He kisses her again, all teeth and tongue and rough determination, and she thinks he’s given up on his sense of chivalry, especially when he encourages her to wrap her ankles around him, but then he’s stumbling with the kiss and lifting her off the bar. She gasps at the sudden movement and circles her arms around his neck to keep from falling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Emma protests, pulling away as Killian runs his mouth down her neck.

“I said I wasn’t having you on this bar, and I meant it. I have a private room upstairs for when I can’t sleep at home.”

There’s a dark hunger in his voice, one that thrums between Emma’s thighs, and while she’d much prefer to walk herself to the room, she allows him to have this moment. Her legs are likely too shaky with desire for her steps to be steady.

This is not what she intended to do when she kissed him, but she should have known. It’s been building for months, and Emma has shown enough restraint.

She is tired of convincing herself that she wants anything other than this. s

When they get to Killian’s room, he lays her down on the bed, and Emma immediately starts unlacing her dress at her breasts as Killian undoes the buttons on his shirt, pulling it off before he leans down to assist her, his tongue and teeth tracing her exposed skin and leaving red marks with all of his kisses. The heat between her thighs is a sharp throb now, and Emma writhes underneath Killian has his mouth touches the hollow of her throat and his hand reaches behind her knee, pulling her up until he drags against her in the perfect way that has them both moaning.

“You have tempted me since the moment you walked in this damn pub asking for a job.”

His mouth is eager with its ministrations, especially when he finds her nipple, and Emma is left searching for words as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. Snow falls outside, cold white flakes coating the ground, but Emma is nothing but warm. Parts of her feel like she is on fire, and even as things progress and clothes no longer lay on her body, she might as well be wrapped in down blankets with a fire burning next to her and a hot drink in her hand.

Instead, she’s pressing into the mattress, Killian’s hand palming her breast while his mouth goes lower and lower until her back is arching into the air and she’s dragging her nails down his back and up into the soft tresses of his dark head of hair. Sweat is beading down her chest and collecting at her hair, and Emma never thought it would be possible to sweat in December in Birmingham.

“Killian,” she moans when he does something sinful with his tongue. “Oh fuck.”

He doesn’t say anything back, simply keeps working how he’s working, and for a long while, it’s like the pleasure is never going to end. It’s a constant working up and up and up until she’s dangling off the cliff, ready to let go.

Killian barely gives her any time to recover from her fall before he’s working his way back up her body, settling over her and settling against her so she can feel him bare where she wants him. Emma licks a stripe up his neck, salt on her tongue, and he grunts in response, rolling his hips against hers until both of them are messes.

Shifting beneath him, Emma moves until Killian is face to face with her, his lips lingering over hers and his wild, sweat slicked hair in front of her. She imagines her hair is tangled as well, and it’ll likely never be the same.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, cupping her cheek with his hand.

“So, this isn’t the bar anymore,” Emma jokes, looking for levity in a moment that seems heavy.

“No, no it isn’t.”

They’re both quiet as he presses into her in a slick stretch of heat, and Emma immediately spreads her legs wider for a better fit, allowing him to settle. He’s thick and heavy inside of her, and Emma digs her nails into his back, holding on tight as she moves her hips to get a more perfect fit.

She is going to leave her mark with him tonight, red scars from her nails stretching across his back.

“You are wonderful.” He kisses her again, muttering soft words while his hips start moving, creating a rhythm that might just burn Emma alive, especially when Killian’s hand slides down to her arse and helps himself slide in deeper. “So fucking wonderful.”

“You are too.”

He groans above her, and his hips become that little bit more frantic as his chest hair creates friction against her breasts. This is the best Emma has felt in months, maybe even years, and she wants to chase this high for as long as she can, even as she feels herself tumbling over with each thrust of Killian’s hip and swipe of his thumb as his lips devour hers, only stopping to mutter filthy encouragements.

This is not how she expected today to go.

She wouldn’t change it for a thing.

Her skin is boiling now, and if the curtains were closed, Emma wouldn’t know it was winter outside. Sweat is slicked everywhere, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about anything except how good it feels when Killian engraves her name into the side of her neck as he succumbs to pleasure as well, his bodyweight pressing down on her, melding them from two to one.

After, Killian is gentle when he helps her clean up, and they settle underneath the blankets. Emma presses her right leg between his and rests her cheek against his collarbone as her fingers tread through the dark hair on his chest. She moves it around from where sweat has matted it, and she traces the red scars that make up so much of him. They look almost silver in the moonlight.

They look stunning.

Emma feels lips press to her temple, and she smiles, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in.

Happy. This is what happiness feels like. It’s been so long that it surprises her.

“I have to go.”

It’s like she’s been slapped.

“Sorry?”

“I have to go,” Killian repeats, but Emma can’t quite come to terms with the words. “I have…business to attend to.”

Her walls immediately come back up, brick by brick.

“You have business to attend to? Seriously? What the fuck kind of excuse is that? What? You fuck me and then leave? Were you using me because – ”

Emma pulls back away from him, sitting up and pulling the blankets with her, and Killian stays settled against the headboard, hands behind his head. “I had this business before I slept with you. Believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than stay in bed with you until I’m bloody dragged out of it, but I have to do this tonight.”

Emma scoffs and crawls out of the bed, getting finding her undergarments. “I’m coming with you.”

“Swan.”

“If I’m jumping into bed with you, I want to know the exact details of the man I’m jumping into bed with.”

He arches his brow, mouth curling into a smirk as his head nods to how exposed he is. “It may be a little too late for that now.”

Emma should be flustered, but she’s not. She’s determined that she won’t be left behind.

Her hands fall to her hips. “That depends on if you let me come with you.”

“Grab your damn coat and a scarf. You’ll freeze without them.”

“Are you a gentleman now?”

He clicks his tongue. “I’m always a gentleman.”

They take Killian’s carriage, only with him driving this time instead of the two of them sitting in the back, and they don’t speak wherever it is they’re going. Anticipation courses through her veins, gooseflesh spreading across her skin wherever it can reach, and a lump permanently lodges itself in her throat. She doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, and when they drive to a graveyard, Emma is certainly confused. When Killian grabs a shovel out of the back and leads her to his mother’s grave, her skin crawls for a reason entirely unrelated to the cold.

“She’s not buried here.”

“Oh?”

“No. I had a stone made, but she is closer to the ocean. It’s the place she loved the most.”

“Then what is – ”

Emma doesn’t bother finishing her question when she sees the gleam of guns underneath the moonlight. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach, and for all that Emma has pushed away her thoughts of Gold and his threats lingering over her, there is no denying them now.

She found the guns.

Rather, Killian showed her.

She knows where they are, and by sunrise, she could be out of this place and out of this damn deal.

But Emma knows better than to think she’ll truly be free from Gold. He’ll find her again and bring with him new threats, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Life as a moll has not seemed too bad lately, especially now that she knows how Killian feels when he kisses her, but she’s still torn between two places.

If she tells Gold where the guns are, she’ll be under his control for the rest of her life.

If she tells Killian, he’ll surely kill her.

For a moment, she contemplates a third option, one where she both keeps her breath and is able to truly live. It would never work, however. Gold would manipulate her, and she’d spend her entire life leading a double life, betraying the man who has obviously given her his trust.

The strange thing is, she has given him the same.

It’s not enough, and Emma, surrounded by all these graves, already knows she will have no headstone. There will be no one to mourn her.

She needs time to figure things out, and she’s running out of time.

Emma floats through the rest of the night, not knowing what she’s saying or doing, and when Killian leaves her at her flat with a resounding kiss that shakes her to her core, she thinks of running away with him. It should be easy. She’s been doing it her entire life.

“It’s late,” Killian whispers, “You should go inside and get some rest, but tomorrow, I have different plans for you.”

“Oh?”

He kisses her again, warming every bit of her body that is chilled. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

Emma exits his carriage and walks into her building, a smile on her face until she unlocks her door.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Fuck,” Emma mutters, her senses coming back to her as Gold stands across from her. She hasn’t seen him since the last time he broke in, but he’s here now.

It’s too late for her to run away.

She is no longer floating through tonight.

“Where have you been?” Gold asks, his voice as cold as the snow outside.

“Working.”

“I noticed that Killian Jones himself drove you home.” The floor creaks underneath him, and his cane thumps against the floor at the same beat as her heart. “Interesting that. You didn’t come from the direction of the pub either.”

“We went for a drive.” Emma takes off her coat in an attempt at nonchalance.

“To where exactly, dearie?”

“Around the town. Nowhere in particular.”

“Is that so?” He steps closer and taps his cane. Emma doesn’t have a gun on her. She can’t risk anyone finding it at work, but she knows Gold has one on him. Fuck. She doesn’t even have her knife today, and they’re both across the room where Gold is. “Would your drive happened to have gone near the cemetery?”

Emma’s skin goes colder than the outside weather could ever make it, and it is difficult to keep her breath from shallowing.

She’s been caught, and Gold is most likely going to kill her for her disloyalty to him.

“The guns are in Allison Jones’s grave.”

She had to tell him. She had no other option.

She hates herself for it.

“That is what I needed to know. Meet me in Nottingham in a week. I’ll have a new assignment for you then.”

Emma nods and backs against the wall as Gold moves around her, his hand turning the knob on her front door. “What are you going to do with the guns? Return them to Churchill?” she asks against her better judgment.

He laughs, and gooseflesh appears on her arms and down her legs, pebbling her skin as nausea settles in her throat. “Well, I’m going to return them to Churchill, of course, but not before I have a little fun with Killian Jones. Wouldn’t you know that a gang leader was mysteriously shot in his home in the middle of the night? Must have been one of his many enemies that did it.”

“Why?” Emma whispers.

Gold smiles. “Jones is known for sleeping with another man’s wife years ago, and well, I was that other man.”

And then he’s gone, limping out of the room with that slow, aching walk of his. Emma feels as if she’s been slapped across the cheek by his cane, and she immediately turns to her sink, releasing her insides and heaving, waiting for her breath to come back.

It never truly does.

Gold’s carriage sputters to life outside as Emma heaves once more, and even though her brain is functioning at half of its capacity, she knows what she needs to do.

She has to tell Killian.

Everyone in town knows what he does is illegal, but there’s no proof of his family’s crimes. They make it all as legal as possible through their legitimate businesses, and often the local coppers are on their side.

Gold, Churchill, and the Constabulary on not on their side.

Gold is going to murder him just like he murdered his wife.

Emma grabs her coat, shrugging it on as she runs out the door, and she wishes she had a carriage. She doesn’t however, so as snow falls down around her, Emma runs through the streets of Birmingham, taking the alleys she frequents so often, to get to Killian’s home. She’s only been there a few times, nearly all of it for business reasons, but she knows the way.

Her lungs are heavy, her breath short, and her feet ache from the heels of her boots. She imagines frostbite is hitting her toes, but she can’t stop. She was foolish and allowed herself to develop feelings for this man, to fall in love with him in the midst of all her protests otherwise, and she can’t let him get arrested.

She certainly cannot allow him to be murdered. Gold has an agenda against him, and Emma knows the only reason Killian isn’t dead is because he wanted the guns first to cover up his crimes.

Fuck.

When Emma comes across the house, she runs into the door, banging her fist against the wood before picking up the clapper and hitting it. It seems like hours before anyone comes to the door, but eventually someone does, Lee opening it with his gun in his hand.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he grumbles.

“Where’s your brother?”

“If you’re here to fuck him, you’ll have to get in line.”

“What?” Emma gawks, her heart still pounding. She knows he’s fucking with her, but of all the people she doesn’t fully trust, Lee Jones is near the top of the list. She’s heard Killian talk about his similarities to their father too much to think of him as trustworthy. “No, it doesn’t matter. I need to talk to Killian.”

“If it’ll get you to be quiet, fine. First door on the right upstairs.”

Emma nods and hurries up the stairs, her steps as loud as a heard of elements, and while she does hesitate to enter his room because of Lee’s words, she still does. He’s sitting in his bed, alone, and now is really not the time for her to be focusing on how Lee is constantly trying to fuck with her because he spent too much time with their arse of a father.

“Swan? Bloody hell. What are you doing here?”

She may get murdered for this, but she’s trusting that she won’t. Maybe he’ll understand that she’s done him wrong in the past, but she’s trying to save his life now.

“Robert Gold.”

Killian immediately sits straighter and moves the blankets off him until he’s standing in front of her, looming. “How do you know that name?”

Emma rolls her shoulders back, the adrenaline pushing her words forward.

“I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and I didn’t have a job or a family. I had nothing. I heard of this man who could help with discreet adoptions, get the baby into a good home, you know? So I went to Robert Gold, and he took care of me and my baby, and he found the kid a family who could love him. I believed I didn’t owe him any debts, but he’s threatened to hurt me and my son if I don’t do what he says. I don’t think he’d hurt the kid anymore because I now know the kid’s parents are in the government, but I know he’ll hurt me.”

Emma starts pacing. She can’t look at Killian. She cannot look at the blue she loves so much because it is surely about to turn black while looking at her.

That would break her heart.

“I’ve been working for him. This entire time. He had me gain employ at your pub to learn the location of the guns you stole from the arms factory. All this time I thought it was because Churchill wanted them so they could send them to where they were intended. But tonight Gold was in my flat after following us to the cemetery, and he told me you had slept with his wife, which means the man who shot his wife and your lover in front of you was Gold. He’s going after the guns, Killian. He’s going to get them, and then he’s coming here to either kill you for your crimes against him or arrest you for your crimes against the Crown. Either way, he’s going to kill you.”

Emma doesn’t notice the silence between them as her heart is still pounding like the loudest of drums, but the silence is surely there, being filled second by second with Killian’s rage toward her and toward Gold.

She gained his trust, and then she betrayed him.

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispers, his voice as even keeled as she’s ever heard it.

She nearly falls to the ground at the sound of it.

“Pardon?”

“Turn around and look at me.” Emma braces her shoulders and turns, having no idea what she’s about to see, but she imagines it will be a low-burning fury. She’s wrong. “If you were anyone else in the world, I would have your head for this. I don’t take betrayals lightly, and I will not take this one lightly even though I understand what it is like to be under Gold's thumb. Do not be fooled. But for fucks sake, Emma, I love you. I haven’t loved a woman since Milah was taken from me, but I love you. I also believe all sins can be forgiven when you love someone, but that does not mean I forgive you tonight.”

Emma doesn’t know what to do or think.

There are too many thoughts stampeding in her mind, and she isn’t caught up with it enough to process it all. For now, all she can think is she isn’t dead.

But Killian may be soon.

“What are you going to do about Gold?” Emma asks even when she meant to say something else entirely. She meant to say the three words that reside at the tip of her tongue, but they keep being pushed back.

More important matters are at hand.

“How long ago did he leave your flat to go after the guns?”

“I don’t know. I ran here as soon as he left.”

Killian nods and cups her cheek, kissing her soundly, before he turns around and starts pulling luggage from his drawers before quickly grabbing onto clothes. “Find a few warm things for you. Quickly.”

“Why? What the hell is happening?”

“It’s not safe for us here. We have to go until I can figure something out. There isn’t time to ask every bloody question.”

Lee comes rushing into the room at the same time that Emma grabs a thick blanket and some of Killian’s shirts and what she can only assume are clothes women left here. She doesn’t have much time to process that particular fact. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

“We have to go. Gold is coming after us. Pack a bag and start the carriage.”

“What about Liam? He’s in France. We have to warn him.”

“Liam isn’t set to come back until February. We’ll have time to get him a message. Gold is only coming after me for now. Go, go, we don’t have much time.”

“I thought we didn’t run from a challenge.”

Killian’s jaw clenches, and he turns to face his younger brother. “We’re not running. We’re allowing me to conjure a plan so we don’t get our heads blown off. Fucking go or I’ll leave you here!”

Lee nods, and then he’s out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway for a quick moment before he’s heading out the door and the carriage turns on with a rumble. Emma’s collected enough clothes to last her weeks, and she watches as Killian stashes money into his suitcase before handing some to her.

“For if we get separated,” he explains.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a place in mind, but I can’t tell you yet. Now, come on, go get in the carriage. He works fast, and he shows no mercy, as I’m sure you know. Don’t worry, love. We’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”

Killian’s hand finds Emma’s back, and as they walk down the stairs, she takes in the beauty of his home. A lot of love has been put into it, and by all accounts, it looks more like a house than a home.

Emma would have liked to have this place as a home. She’s still aching for that place she can call her own.

Now is not the time to think of that.

The cold hits her when they walk outside, and it doesn’t fade away when she climbs into the carriage next to Killian, Lee sitting behind them. Emma clutches onto her luggage, her knuckles white but her fingers pink, and Killian quickly reaches down and hands her a pair of gloves. She takes them without protest, and in the dead of night, she begins moving with the Jones brothers, leaving a white-covered Birmingham behind them.

She doesn’t know what’s going to happen to anyone, not to William or Rob or any of the other Jones Corporation associates. Gold will surely go after them to try to learn of Killian’s whereabouts, hers too, but there’s not time to drive to their homes and tell them. They’re smart and resourceful. They’ll figure things out. At least, Emma hopes so.

There’s no way for them to avoid Gold forever. Emma knows firsthand that he has connections across Europe with his ties to the government, and he’ll never stop until he gets to Killian. She has so many questions about what happened between Killian and Gold’s wife, a woman he obviously loved, but now is not the time for questions when she’s being driven to who knows where, every breath she bringing her one closer to her last.

Now is not the time for a lot of things, but since she didn’t say it earlier, Emma whispers a quiet “I love you,” not knowing if Killian or the wind catches it.

When he places his hand on her thigh, the comforting movement he’s been doing for months now, she thinks she knows.

Emma’s exhausted, but she dares not fall asleep. Instead she sits silently, Killian’s hand still on her thigh, and she watches the sun rise, bright lights reflecting against the pureness of some of the snow. In some places, it is nothing more than slush, but in others, it is beautiful. She can smell water around them, the salt of the ocean becoming clearer with each passing minute, and eventually, she can see the budding activity in a port, a large ship waiting in the water as people walk on board.

“Where are we going?” Emma asks.

Killian turns to her and flashes a tired but bright smile. “America, my love.”

-/-

-/-

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[stellarcat52]

Timeless blue chapter 11

Archie flew ahead as Douxie and Krel hurried behind him. The shattering of glass quickly notified them of where Arthur and Morgana had just jumped out of the window, and where Nari had been frozen solid in a block of ice.

With a quick spell Douxie frees their friend. “Oh, thank you. The order shall surely rip your soul to pieces for this.”

“We’ll work on your pep talks later. I don’t think my little trap was going to last-“ Archie flies in as Douxie speaks.

“The arcane order is back, we’re out of time Douxie.”

“Alright, let’s get Nari back to the others. She’s safer with all of us.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure the order doesn’t”

as if summoned by their name Bellroc and Skrael make their presence known, “Nari!”

“Find you. Go!” Douxie casts his arms back, pushing his friends away from him and their enemies. “Keep running, don’t look back!”

Without the head start the others had, Douxie fell behind the order. His infinite corridor suddenly replaces him as the only thing between them and Nari.

“An infinite corridor eh? Beginners magic. This cannot hold us!”

Douxie let’s a sphere of fire fly past him and into the door that would transport it to behind Skrael. “Buttsnacks!”

“You will die for this!”

Douxie summons his staff, “That was kinda the plan. But it’s worth it, because it means my friends, Krel,” his voice softens as he realizes this is what Krel had feared. Their separation, someone getting hurt, “and Nari can get away!” He finds his courage, saving the world or saving his friends wasn’t a choice he could make. He could make the choice between saving the world and saving himself, although he forced the pain of leaving Krel behind into his stomach.

———

Krel looks behind him immediately after he hears Douxie being pushed down, seeing the infinite corridor go up, even without knowledge of what it is. That barrier would trap Douxie in with two beings more powerful than Krel knew.

“Krel! Douxie will be fine!” Archie had seen more of Douxie’s battles than Krel had, and yet he had to force himself to trust the small dragon.

Even as spells sound from behind them, Nari, Archie, and Krel only spare a few glances back, none of them pausing for more than a moment to try and listen for Douxie’s voice. When they finally got to a place where Archie could safely fly Nari down, Douxie and the Order’s battle is naught but echoes.

Archie glides down and Krel takes inspiration from Morgana in the past to try and levitate himself down. He still falls a great distance, but the Akiridion body is not as fragile as a human one.

Jim and Claire were having a face off, Toby and Steve were off to the side. Krel had never seen such bright human eyes before now, Claire had unnaturally purple eyes that flowed with her own magic.

Krel glances down to where his arms have these magical traces inside, each one glowing and fading as they’re needed or dormant.

As Claire unleashes a great beam of dark magic, Jim falters and gives the whole team hope. This side of him was a result of the order’s magic, if Claire could overpower it and save Jim, surely Douxie, and Morgana, could do the same.

Behind them, Krel saw the gold of Morgana’s magic against Arthur.

“The world isn’t ours anymore, you have failed to destroy it, and I have failed to save it.” The fight between Claire and Jim seemed to fade to background noise, Krel could almost entirely forget about it. “Perhaps they can fare better!” She unleashes another attack. “You are no longer worthy of wielding Excalibur! Magda mani achtenebris kraga doom!” The explosion caused by her spell inturrupted Claire’s concentration and cast Excalibur aside. Just as all seemed to be doing better it was made clear that Excalibur is not what kept Jim tied to the green knight.

“Please Jim, I love you!” Claire’s choking cry almost made Krel jump in to help. “We all do.”

Jim drops Claire after what seemed to be a moment of thought.

———

Douxie was struggling against the order, but he was holding his ground better than he ever thought he could against such powerful legendary creatures. The Order were gloating of his defeat even though the wizard still stood, out of breath albeit. As the order finishes, speaking of a summoning that will happen once they are through with him, Douxie mustered up a final spell.

“Tenebrius...” he started, a blue magic circle being danced to life in each hand and then on the surface on which he stood, “exellium!”

His and the order’s unspoken magic meets, both sides struggling against each other.

Between the magic circle holding his spell together and the mystic glow in his eyes Douxie struggled to see clearly.

“Goodbye, my friends, goodbye Krel.”

He lost the magic keeping him alive and safe from the Order’s attacks. He only hoped what last burst of strength he had given would keep the order away from the other’s far below.

———

Krel watched as Camelot fell, how Claire and Jim got their happy ending. He finally thought things were going up, but as soon as the Order’s lair explodes, and he sees Douxie’s limp body falling through the air, he thinks it foolish for those thoughts to exist.

He was the first to start running. He didn’t bother risking using a portal, Douxie was right about him being untrained.

He still was out of sight of Douxie’s body when he hears that sickening thud.

Claire and Archie had made it there faster. Arch had an ear to Douxie’s chest and with every breath that Douxie must not be breathing his feline features only seem to grow more grim. Krel takes a few moments to get the guts to join the others around him.

He looked down and wished that somehow he could give his core to the human he loved.

Douxie’s body seemed too cold for someone who had only been dead for a few minutes at most. Krel sat down on his knees and pulled Douxie’s head onto his lap. He just stared at him for a minute, tears blurring his vision and too scared to blink them away in case Douxie vanished. He hung his head down, only taking a moment to wipe each of his eyes individually.

“Krel?” Archie caused him to look up, just for a second.

“Why did he have to face them alone?” Krel choked. “I was right there, I could have gone back.”

“That’s just the way Douxie is.” Claire answered, Krel only now noticed she was holding onto one of Douxie’s hands.

Zoe spoke up as she came over to kneel beside them. “Hisirdoux never really learned how to accept help. Not from anyone beside Archie. He always had to them himself, stupid apprentice.”

“Wait!” Archie shouted, pressing an ear to Douxie’s chest again. “His heart!”

Krel could feel the tensing of Douxie’s back muscles as he loses the stiff relaxation of death. His skin grew to a temperature that wasn’t as frightening, but still cold.

It was if Douxie had a second chance, like what a core would have given an Akiridion. Maybe this is something magic could do to humans.

The moment Douxie opened his eyes, Krel stopped caring how. He couldn’t even find the words to say.

“Douxie.” Archie purring into Douxie’s chest. “You brave, foolish boy.”

“Ow!” He yelped as Douxie helped him sit up, shifting to be besides him. “Ow! Everything hurts!”

“Sorry.” Krel mumbled as Douxie looks over at him and grins.

Claire took his attention back for a second. “I can’t believe you’re okay!”

“Barely, seems you’re the one with mine lives!” Douxie let’s Archie rub his head against his cheek. “Don’t you ever do something like that’s again.”

Krel pulls Douxie to his feet, holding him up with his arms. “You scared me you idiot.”

Douxie nearly falls and clutches his chest. “Hey! I just came back from beyond the grave! Be careful.”

“Sorry.” Krel turns his head and kisses Douxie’s cheek. “I’ll protect you next time.”

“I feel like I missed a lot.” Jim spoke up, eyes widening as Claire ran up to hug him, still very happy to just see Jim as a human again.

“Same, but I think we can catch up over brunch.” He looked around again, Krel could see the worry in his eyes. “What about Arthur and Morgana?”

“Squished.” AAARRRGGGHHH looked towards where Excalibur lay imbedded in the stone.”

Of course Toby immediately tried pulling the legendary sword out of the rock it had cut into. To no avail, but he tried nonetheless. Blinky, Douxie, and Claire all urged Jim to try, but his efforts were fruitless as well. Excalibur stayed rooted, and as the group leaves it behind, Jim leaves behind his hope that he may still be a trollhunter, though that might not be the worst thing right now.

———

Zoe and Nari got ready to leave, New York would be gaining two magical beings within a few weeks, and Akiridion 5 would be gaining at least one new human citizen. Claire and Jim were still on the fence of whether or not they wanted to stay or just visit Eli and Aja. Either way after this they knew they wanted to stay together.

Krel and Douxie had told the group they were dating, and Krel got a surprising amount of threats from the almost everyone. AAARRRGGGHHH being an exception but also Jim, Nari, and Toby.

Krel knew that Douxie would get some as soon as Aja and Varvatos were told the news, and Eli would be ready to ask Douxie so many questions about magic that he’d go crazy. Still, nothing could make these two want to risk staying on earth with the Genesis seals one more day, so alongside with Toby, Jim, and Claire, they step into the portal to Akiridion 5 and are whisked across the universe, traveling past planets and stars in mere seconds.

The earth would be safe unless something changed, and although they knew something would, Krel and Douxie were willing to put that to the back of their minds for as long as they can. They are happy, safe, and together.

And as long as Nari is out of the order’s hands, that’s all they care about.

[crayonurchin]

.Woo a rare piece of writing!

The story of how my Goblin found her God

Grit had imbedded deep into the skin of her cheek, the sting only flaring to life after she lifted her head from the ground. Every motion was slow, the weight of each limb lifted like a crucifix. All at once, memories of her situation flooded back, and she reached her fingers shakily to her throat.

It wasn’t neat, but the stitching held firm, the way her neck held together at the cut uncomfortably familiar to lips pressed shut.

Wakley knew the protocol for recovery after significant blood loss, and was forever scolding her clanmates for not following it, but now in their place she understood their frustrations just a little more. The slow rise, checking for broken bones, the immediate thought of how badly she wanted a drink. Could she even safely drink with her wound? If it was somebody else she’d sedate them and check to see if the esophagus had sustained damage, but alas, she was alone.

Oh.

Oh no.

Scrambling up with a sudden feverish dread, it took two blackened dizzy spells to finally stand up straight, though the wall remained her crutch. One hand steading her balance, another gripping her midsection to quell the nausea rising inside like a boiling kettle, she edged forward. Head low, steps small, anxiety high. It was just a small walk. One tiny, insignificant walk to the main cave from the ramshackled office she’d spent the last 14 years in. Her little sanctum from a loud and socially strange world, her haven to practice her craft and passion. All of that meaningless. Right now, she just had to reach the main cave and see with her own eyes, prove to her screaming mind, that they were all still-

The world froze around her.

Wakley felt every facet of her body give up but her heart. It was suddenly the coldest cave in the world, with an ocean of weight pressing down on her, holding her still while her heart pumped as if she was giving chase. The faintest, most pitiful exhale left her body.

Blood splattered the walls, leaving behind grotesque silhouettes of those who’d died against them. Bodies littered the floor in a mosaic of death, piled on top of each other as if they were but nothing but fire kindling. Some still clutched their weapons, mighty warriors to the end. But most did not. Most did not carry weapons when they felt safe at home. No. Most lay with the confusion and terror frozen onto their faces, forever held in a perpetual nightmare. The elders. The children. There was no need to check the nursery, she heard no cries.

It took that realisation of just how silent it was to drop Wakley to her knees. Behind the cracked glasses, her eyes widened and widened again, as if trying to see beyond this obvious viel. There was no way they’d killed the whole clan. They couldn’t have- it was just one adventuring party; one elf, one human, one dwarf and one halfling. How could they have slaughtered the entire clan? WHY did they slaughter the entire clan?

Weakly, she turned her gaze to the right. The boulder hiding the hidden hoard lay split in two, scorch marks on its surface. Of course. Treasure. They’d wanted their treasure, and felt within their right to eviscerate the goblins who guarded it.

78 gold pieces and a pocket watch.

Her world had been laid to waste over 78 gold pieces and a pocket watch.

She only realised she’d been screaming when her stitches felt tight, but couldn’t stop. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she gripped the fabric of her tunic, trying to wrench the breaking heart from her chest before it killed her. The wailed and beat her fist to the floor, cursing the world. A world where now, the only person who knew who she was, was herself.

In the throws of sorrow and grief unknown to most, hands took her own. She shrieked, falling backwards and scrambling away, frantically looking for the stranger. Was it the party, not content to leave a single survivor? A clanmate, delighted at her presence?

No. She was still alone, the terrified breathing echoing off of hollow walls.

Again, as she slowed her movement, hands up to protect herself, she felt the presence again. Hands, large, gently taking hers in its own. She saw no vision, but heard sorrowful breathing, smelt the scent of dried blood, felt the change in air as someone much larger than yourself stands closeby.

Breath now slowing, tears flowing less freely, Wakley looked up at her invisible companion, and watched red ropes slowly take form. They wrapped around an unseen body, binding them in constricted, painful ways. The ropes snaked down assumed arms, coalescing at the hands. Though she saw no knuckles or fingers, the ropes clearly knotted around the palms, knitting the wrists together like shackles. Still, despite the bonds, they held her with a gentleness she’d never known before.

At last, she stood, the spider web of red rope before her guiding her upwards. Fear still hung beneath the surface, grief in the corners of her eyes. But through the pain sat something new. A tug at her chest. Looking down, nothing was there but blood stains. Yet. Looking at her companion, she knew a rope now bound to him.

“I’m sorry.” Spoke the voice of Ilmater, The Broken God.

Tears thickened his words.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

___

Wakley had grieved before. Being the only doctor in her clan had meant holding a lot of loved ones as they died, but that had been different. They’d had the comfort of a group of friends, loved ones, lovers, people who cared. They’d either died as great warriors, or defenders, or parents, or simply as those who had lived. No comfort could be found in the massacre around her. Each face scorched into the back of her mind as she dragged them towards the pile. It took four days.

Her bag was already packed before she lit the flame. Her tools, her medicines, her scrapbook of preferred medical texts. The precious, beautiful PHD sat corked in a bottle, a spare shirt wrapped protectively around it.

She’d not expected any closure from walking away from an inferno, but knowing she’d never look back ever again made her long for it. Her climb upwards was tough- Wakley had never held strength of any physical kind, always relying on her kin to help her where muscles failed. More than once she simply lay down, weeping, deciding death was more merciful. But she pressed forward, pulled upwards by a tug inside that was growing ever more familiar.

Daylight burned her eyes as she squinted at her new beginning. The difference was upsettingly stark. Soft green grass swayed peacefully in a sweet, springtime breeze. Gentle buzzing insects were heard but not seen, crinkling treetops peppering the air with yellow pollen.

No red.

It would be a long time before she adjusted to walls not being red, she wagered.

Now uptop, Wakley sat on the soil and let herself adjust. She could feel her skin already prickling under the rays of the sun- having never truly left the underground. Again, she would adjust. For all this misery was like tar on her soul, her mind remained ever clear. Grief would not kill her. Sorrow, despair and anger would torture her, but could never kill her. Even things that TRIED to kill her couldn’t seem to kill her. Once more, her fingers gingerly felt the stitching at her neck. Why hadn’t that elf cut deeper? Was it because she was small? Because she wore glasses? Because she begged?

“Whys’ get you nowhere” She thought, pushing off a knee to her feet.

“There’s no reason to try rationalising the actions of others” she said to noone, walking forward.

“And there’s definitely no point wondering what I could have done differently” she confirmed, nodding her head as she found a pathway away from the cave entrance.

“All I can do is use walking time to walk, and resting time to rest.”

Wakley stopped walking.

“...”

Her grip on the bag tightened as everything from her throat down to her stomach felt sour.

“But… But what if I don’t want to?” she whispered, shoulders shivering.

As if waiting by her side for just this question, the red bound hands rested gently at her back. Not pushing her forward, merely letting her know he was there.

“Then you can sit.” The voice remained thick, cracked with winces and hitched, painful breaths.

“Sit and weep and take comfort in your sorrow. You’ve earned the right to cry.”

Wakley wasn’t afraid. Rather, the more he spoke, the more she felt the knotted threat of thoughts in her mind untangle. None stopped being painful, but previously jumbled sentences slowly became clear as she listened.

“And once you have wept an ocean, you may weep another. Then-” the unseen hands drifted away, the presence moving silently from her side to her front, and Wakley knew he’d knelt to her level.

“Then, continue to move forward.”

So Wakley moved forward.