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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

Text

Hoist The Colours - 3/3

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky X SeaGoddess!Reader

Summary: An encounter with the man you used to love lands you and your new crew in peril, stuck on a ship with the people responsible for binding you. And what they have planned for you is far worse than what you’d first imagined.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Violence, Injuries, Death,

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: Oof another thing is finished. I’m gonna start actually finishing stuff but Idk what to write I’m sad that my stuff is ending :( But I hope you enjoy this!

~*~

The door to your cell gets wrenched open, pulling you from your light sleep.

“You!” Rumlow snarls, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you to your feet.

“Where have they taken my prisoners?” You furrow your brows, yanking out of his grip.

“How am I supposed to know? I was left behind.” He grinds his teeth together and grabs your bicep, dragging you out of your cell and onto the main deck.

The clouds are dark and gloomy, the waters wild and violent, but not by your doing.

“You must’ve helped them, that other witch too! So tell me, how did you do it?” He shoves you and you gasp, tumbling onto the wet wood of the deck.

“How could I have helped them? You have me chained up like a dog!” You spit, glaring up at him. He stoops down to your level, grabbing your face harshly.

“You will watch your tongue or you will lose it. You do not need your voice to do my bidding.” He shoves you back down and you bite back a yelp of pain.

The sky darkens further, thunder booming and clouds rolling in.

“I will never do your bidding!” You snarl, a flash of lightning punctuating your words.

Rumlow’s eyes widen for a moment, and then he’s got his sword pointed at you, the tip just brushing your throat.

“On your feet, witch!” You obey, standing up with your chin held high.

“You will do my bidding, or you will join all those who you have sent to the depths. It is your choice.” You follow his gaze over your shoulder to where the plank is being extended over the raging ocean.

You look back at him, jaw set, and he knows you’ve made your decision.

The wind whips around your hair as he walks you to the plank, his sword digging into your back just hard enough to cause discomfort, but not pain, not yet.

You carefully step onto the plank, taking deep breaths of the salty air as the water rages beneath you.

“I will give you one last chance, wench. I will spare your life, all you need do is swear your powers to me. You’ll have the sea back in your grasp, the power to do what you please. You need only do so at my side.”

Raindrops splatter against your face, just gently at first, until you’re consumed in an intense storm, the water pelting down against you.

“You’ve forgotten, Captain, that you are not sending me to the depths,” you look over your shoulder at him with a small smile, “you are sending me home.”

You look down at the water, preparing yourself for the cool embrace, when a particularly harsh wave rocks against the ship, sending you stumbling back a step.

A wave rises up over the ship, a spiral of green swirling inside of it and for a moment you think that you’ve already died.

The wave crashes against the ship, sending the men falling and scrambling, submerging the deck for a moment.

But you stay rooted in place, the familiar green hue just touching your fingertips, the ends of your hair, then slowly becoming part of you once more.

You hear the men shouting and coughing, feel Rumlow’s sword pressed against your back once again, but you only turn around to face him.

The storm continues, the waves fighting the ship, and you cock your head to the side, sending a gust of wind towards the man threatening you. He stumbles back, eyes wide with fear.

“H-how do you...” You take slow steps towards him, waving your hand behind you as his crew-mates try to run at you. The wind pushes them back, keeping them a safe distance from you and the captain.

“You will give me answers and you will give them to me now!” You hiss, glaring daggers at him.

“Whatever it is that you wish to know, I will tell you. Just please, spare my life.”

You watch him for a long moment, fighting tears as the question bubbles out of you.

“Why? Why did he do it?”

Rumlow only shakes his head, on his knees and ready to beg for mercy.

“’twas me... I caused him to do it. With the help of a siren for the price of his left arm, I got the binding spell from him. He knew not what he was doing, though he gave the information.” You let out a shaky breath, a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“All this time I had thought it was he who betrayed me... but it wasn’t.” You turn your gaze to him, eyes glowing green with the influx of power.

“It was you. You and your greed.” He shakes his head and scrambles back desperately.

You step aside as a sword comes down right where you were standing, and Rumlow uses your momentary distraction to sprint away.

“Kill her! Kill the Witch!” He shouts, grabbing his own sword.

You shake your head, the wind whipping strong enough to keep them away.

A nagging in your mind stops you for a moment, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“The King and his men stole the queen from her bed... and bound her in her bones.” Your voice travels on the wind.

“The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

“Captain! We’ve got a ship coming up starboard!” A man shouts, pointing his sword at the familiar ship.

“They’re upon us! Battle stations!” The men scramble to their stations, trying to get prepared as the ship approaches.

“Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.” The voices ring out to you clear as day, responding to the call.

It’s only a matter of moments before canons start firing and men start boarding the ship, swords clashing and guns firing.

Your eyes scan the crowd, freezing on a man approaching you. You simply look at him and he crumples to the ground, grabbing at his throat.

“Rumlow!” You shout, following your instincts up to the foredeck and finding the captain cowering, exactly how you thought he would.

“You want to throw me overboard, captain?” You sneer his title, taking another step towards him. He stumbles back, slipping on the wet wood and scrambling away from you and towards the main deck.

“You forget that I am the sea and all things in it.”

The rain pelts down on you and the wind whips your hair around your face wildly, your eyes glowing green with the force of your power.

At that moment, you look every bit the sea goddess that the stories described. And today, you’re planning on being just as cruel.

“You stripped me of my purpose, my power. Bound me to my form and took away my reason for existence! You sacrificed the man I love for your own greedy gain. What do you have to say for yourself?” Your powers protect you from the fighting around you, the man before you protected as well.

No one will take your vengeance from you.

“I’m sorry!” He cries, slipping back further.

You shake your head and grab him by the front of his tunic, tossing his sword aside and glaring into his eyes.

“No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be, that I promise you.”

You cock your head to the side, your free hand coming up, fingers flexed.

The water on the deck swirls around your ankles, clawing up the man before you.

“You’ve never had your purpose taken from you because a man like you has no purpose.” You twist your wrist, controlling the water around you and watch in satisfaction as his eyes widen, the water rising up over his face.

“So what else can I take, but your life?” You ask rhetorically, watching as the water trickles into his mouth and nose, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

He tries to claw at you, but his hands can’t reach you. His struggles are futile, though that doesn’t stop him.

You steal the life away from him, exactly the way he did to you.

He collapses on the ground, his body convulsing for a moment before falling still, death embracing him.

You take a deep breath, embracing your freedom, then slowly turn around.

You’re instantly meet with piercing blue eyes staring at you from across the ship. His chest is heaving and he’s squinting through the downpour, but his eyes are on you.

You walk over to him, the rain lessening with each step you take until you’re right in front of him.

The wind dies down and the ocean becomes calm. The fighting around you draws to a sombre end, victory on the tip of your tongue.

His sword clatters to the ground, his hands finding yours ever so gently, his eyes filled with so many emotions.

“Gentlemen, the ship is ours!” Steve shouts, a smile on his face. You turn around, pulling Bucky’s arms around your waist as you watch the crew celebrate their success.

Your eyes find Wanda’s and Tony’s through the crowd, both of them smiling brightly up at you.

The two crews celebrate, Pirates and Kingsmen, and you can’t help but smile at them.

“Back to the ship! We’ve gotten what we came for. The King can enjoy plundering Rumlow’s ship. I trust that will keep him off of our back for a while, yes?” Steve looks at Tony pointedly and the brunet nods.

You step out of your lover’s arms and walk down to the two men, one hand gently finding Tony’s forearm.

“I owe you a debt, Tony. One I fear I may never be able to repay.” He shakes his head, taking your hands gently in his and smiling at you.

“You’ve no debt to be paid. But if you feel so inclined, could you maybe hold back any storms for the next day or so? I’d like a chance to dry my clothes.” You giggle and nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, for all that you’ve done for myself and Wanda.” He gives you a tender smile and nods.

“It’s what I wish had been done for my mother.” He sniffles then straightens up.

“Now come on, men. It’s time we return to the King!” His crew-mates start busying themselves quickly.

“Alright lads, back to the ship!” Steve calls, leading his own crew members to their ship.

You watch as everyone eagerly crosses, smiling encouragingly at Wanda. She crosses swiftly, her eyes drawing to the helmsman for a moment.

“Are you ready?” A soft voice asks from behind you. You take a breath then nod, looking over at him.

“Yes.”

The two of you cross back to his ship, the ship almost cooing at you as soon as your feet hit the deck. You can’t fight the smile the spreads on your face at being back, and you don’t try to.

“It’s good to have you back,” Steve says, giving you a nod. You do the same, sighing happily.

“It’s good to be back, Steve.” Bucky takes your hand then and tugs you gently towards his quarters.

The door closes softly behind you and you take a moment to reacquaint yourself with the room.

You can feel his eyes on you, the tension palpable but not unpleasant.

Without looking at him, you speak.

“Could you help me out of my gown? It’s far too heavy.” He walks towards you, untying the back and watching as the fabric slides down your body, leaving you only in your white slip.

His hands hesitantly trail over your skin, one cold and one hot and the contrast is so delicious.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, head falling to the side as he presses soft kisses to your neck.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, my love,” he whispers against your skin, spinning you around to face him.

You gaze up at him lovingly, one hand coming up to cup his jaw.

“Show me,” you whisper, leaning up to gently brush your lips over his.

“Show me how much you missed me. Give me a reason to clear the skies and calm the seas. Make me give us good wind and easy sail. Prove to me that you’re still worthy of my mercy.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing each one of your fingers then smiling.

“I’ll never truly be worthy of your mercy. But I am more than willing to both swear and prove my loyalty to you. I will give myself over to you; body, heart, mind, and soul.”

You look up at him tenderly, cupping his cheek gently.

“I will sail to the ends of the Earth for you, fight the gods if I need to. Anything to keep you in my arms.”

“My heart belongs to you, James. And never will it belong to anyone else.”

#pirate #pirate AU #pirate!bucky #pirate!bucky x reader #Pirate!bucky x sea goddess!reader #bucky x sea!goddess!reader #pirate!bucky x goddess!reader #bucky x goddess!reader #pirate!bucky x seagoddess!reader

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mizelophsun11 · 3 years

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Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 2

Pairing - Right now the pairing is General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner, but that will eventually change to Kaz Brekker x OC Sun Summoner

Summary - Ketterdam is a city of thieves and these three are no strangers as they find themselves the first to a huge money job. Past are uncovered and people who where thought to be gone to the other might yet still be alive.

Word Count - 1574

Ketterdam

Kaz Brekker had changed, he wasn’t the same as he was before Jordies death, when he got back from the sea of death everything was different. He learned very quickly that being alone was not how someone thrived in Ketterdam, so he joined the Dregs. His past was something that Kaz kept close to his chest, no one knew that there was one person he thought of but always tried not to, a girl with white hair. However, sometimes that one person was overshadowed by his greed to one up Pekka Rollins, the man that had ruined his life. Which made stealing the Heartrender from underneath Pekkas grasp very satisfying. With Inej and Jesper they walked up to the gates that belonged to Dressen, the man who was offering the shining million kruge job.

A man approached the gate to see who the visitors were “Who are you?” he asked

“We’re here to see Dreesen” Kaz answered

He looked at the group confused “you’re not with Pekka’s crew”

“And you’re no longer in Pekka’s pocket if you don’t owe him” Kaz threw a bag of coins in between the bars of the gate, the man caught the bag and looked at it.

The gates then opened and they were allowed in “Hey! One of these has a hole in it!”

“Inside, now” Kaz said ushering the group into the building

They were brought into an office where Dressen was sitting. Kaz knew that they would have the upper hand, being first to have what Dressen wanted was key to securing the job. They needed this, it would be a big deal for the Crows to be able to get this kind of money. Dreesen looked them all over and already had an idea about the people who were standing in front of him.

“Criminals, it only takes one look” he eyes them a bit more before returning to the papers on his desk “I am not meeting with anyone until midnight so you are just wasting your time”

“We have the Heartrender that you requested” Kaz said

Dressen sighed and took a moment to think “Well.. alright, she stays and the rest of you can wait here” he said getting up from his chair and walking around his desk

The heartrender went to walk forward but Kaz stopped her with his cane “No, she stays and we have an exclusive on the job”

“Now Mr. Brekker. No businessman worth his salt hires his first applicants”

Kaz shrugged his shoulders “of course, I understand. It’s a big decision to make, just like the decision to report you to the guild for kidnapping and harboring a prisoner chain of title” he smirked a little, showing off his confidence, Kaz was the one with the upper hand in their little exchange

Dreesen glared at Kaz “you wouldn’t dare”

“No businessman worth his salt bargains for what he can take” Kaz answered

The Heartrender raised her hand “I have to be back in an hour”

“Alright, come on”

Dressen brought them down to where he was keeping the hostage, he walked up to him and turned to face the crew. Kaz went from looking around the room then back to where Dressen was standing.

“This is Alexi Stepanov” he pulled the bag off of his head to reveal his face “two weeks ago Alexei here crossed the Fold on foot, he was alone”

Inej was shocked “how?” she saw that the man was mouthing the word ‘water’ and she got him a glass for him to drink

“They’re keeping it quiet, but allegedly he was one of a few witnesses to an event..”

“What kind of event?” Kaz asked

“I know an expedition was swarmed by Volcra, it should have been a total loss, but something happened.. Right now the running theory over here is that it was a new device, one only for the worst case scenarios, but something is different about what was seen. It lit up the Fold like a forest fire. However, whatever destroyed the swarming Volcra was not a device with fire, because it would have killed everyone on that skiff. It had to have been some sort of new invention no one has seen before. This man is the answer, he hasn’t been able to speak, some sort of trauma lapse” Dreesen explained

The Heartrender approached Alexei and knelt down then started to slow down his heart beat to calm him down “you are safe now, speak and I will just listen” she smiled gently at him “tell me what happened in the Fold, what saved you?”

Alexei took in a deep breath, feeling his heart coming down to a steady pace “If I tell you, will you set me free?”

Dreesen nodded “you are in Ketterdam now, you can go anywhere in the world from here, just imagine”

“Her name is.. Anna Mizeloph, she is the Sun Summoner” Alexei said, not realizing the gates he had just opened

Kaz’s world froze, the same name of the girl with white hair he thought of every day was at the center of a myth, the Sun Summoner. So many questions were running through his mind about her and what had led her to that skiff where she had somehow demonstrated that she was the mythical Sun Summoner. He couldn’t piece together what could have happened to get her away from Ketterdam to the other side of the Fold. Kaz did understand that they had been separated as children and hoped that one day they would find each other. After he had fought tooth and nail to survive from the killer ocean in order to get back to her, she had just up and disappeared. He was always confused about how a girl with white hair would be difficult to find, but it was like she had never existed. As he was dealing with his trauma Kaz was working day and night to find Anna, but he could never find a lead that could get him something. For a while Kaz held onto those memories with Anna, they were the only way he could get through his trauma. However, those memories could not always protect Kaz forever, he had to eventually become a new person, someone who could thrive in Ketterdam, not just survive. Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel had been shaped by his hardships in Ketterdam and he clawed his way to where he was now. Today, one thing that had always held him back was Anna Mizeloph even if he didn’t know it, if they ever found each other he questioned what she would think of him and how he had changed. In the end Anna Mizeloph was the last piece of Kaz Rietveld and he tried to let go, but Kaz never could.

Jesper and Inej knew they would want to talk with Kaz later about how he had reacted to Anna Mizelophs name. They had never seen him react so quickly just to hide it, there was something more to this and they were going to find out.

Dreesen smiled and checked the manifest “perfect” Alexei smiled “you will set me free now?” he was ready to see the world and erase the horrors of the Fold from his mind

“Thank you, of course” Dreesen then pulled out a gun and shot Alexei in the head, his body dropping to the floor, the heartrender screamed, shocked by what had just happened.

“We are now the only people west of the Fold who know this information, my ship sails for West Ravka at dawn. If you can prove that you have a way through the Fold and back, I will put you on that ship with an advance. If you don’t, I might consider giving the job to Pekaa Rollins”

“Give me a day” Kaz bargained

“You have until sunrise, then your ship will have sailed, Mr Brekker. The prize is one million kruge. Now, bring me Anna Mizeloph” Dreesens men showed them out

When they were finally back to the three of them Inej decided she would step up and ask first about Kaz's reaction “when that man said Anna Mizeloph, the look on your face.. I have never seen you react like that, you knew her didn’t you?”

Kaz looked at Inej wondering if he should indulge her question “I knew one girl named Anna Mizeloph, but she has been gone for a very long time...”

Jesper gave Kaz a look “I mean, how rare is the last name Mizeloph?”

“She is the only one I have ever known to have that last name, so it might be her.. If it is, then we have an advantage over the competition, especially if we are going to be competing with Pekka Rollins” Kaz knew that this would be the chance for his past to finally be useful

“You would really use your past with Anna Mizeloph to put her into a false sense of security?” Inej asked slightly shocked, she knew that Kaz could be a bit harsh especially when it came to the possibility of a lot of money and beating Pekka Rollins, but she did not think he would go this far to emotionally manipulate Anna if he needed to

“For a million kruge, yes” Kaz said and walked off thinking about how we would find them a way through the Fold, there and back.

Author Note - I am extremely happy that others are enjoying this story and the comments left on chapter 1 warmed my heart! Thank you so much for everyone who left a comment, I had no idea that would happen even when I asked. Again, it is completely up to you if you would like to leave a comment, but know that I enjoy reading them. Also I really hope that this is a decent introduction to Kazans Brekker and him finding out. Also! If you would like to be added to the tag list please comment and let me know so I can add you, I will try my best to remember everyone!

Thank you so much for all of your guys support!

Tag List - @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #ben barnes #freddy carter #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #grishaverse #grisha fic #the grisha series

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underfell-crystal · 3 years

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Sea Thieves: Old Scars

TW: Past trauma, panic attacks, scars.

Alkai belongs to @mochamashi and Harp belongs to me! Written for @kiokodoodles / @okay-kioko 's mermaid/pirate AU

(first thing I write for this AU is angst/hurt/comfort. Dunno if that's good or bad.)

"Okay. This is gonna be great! We're gonna have so much treasure after this."

Harp swam alongside the beta fish mermaid, rolling her eyes. "Everything's about treasure for you."

"Says the selkie who has almost gotten killed cuz of her stomach."

Harp stuck her tongue out at Alkai, pouting. "I was HUNGRY, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. You're ALWAYS hungry. That's the only reason why you decided to team up with me in the first place."

"Nuh uh. I also thought you were cool and wanted to be your friend."

Alkai turned their gaze to her and gave Harp a sharp toothed grin. "Awww, shucks. You're too nice."

Harp grinned, lacing her fingers behind her head and swimming backwards. "Aren't I?"

"Now you're starting to push it."

"No take-backs!"

After a bit of swimming, the hull of a fairly large ship came into view. Alkai grabbed onto one of the planks and glanced at Harp. "Okay. Plan is you sneak up and grab some food and treasure. Once the coast is clear I'll come up and grab some more treasure. If you get caught, I'll rescue you, and then we'll escape."

Harp nodded firmly, gripping the strap of her satchel. "Got it."

She swam towards the surface, grabbing onto one of the nets hanging just above water level. As she pulled herself up, she focused her mind on her lower seal half and changed her tail into a pair of human legs, her seal skin appearing around her shoulders. She climbed the rest of the way up, peeking over the edge of the ship to make sure nobody was in sight before clambering over the railing and pulling her bunched up brown dress out of her satchel. She removed her coat for a moment, a feeling of queasiness washing over her as the coat left her body. She quickly put on the dress and put on her seal coat over it, breathing a soft sigh of relief as the feeling of sickness vanished.

She hurried to the back of the ship, tiptoeing so she didn't alert any of the crew members that might be around. She carefully opened a heavy wooden door, and her eyes widened in delight at the sight of all the food. Her eyes immediately went to the crates of vegetables, dried meat, and biscuits, and she quickly snatched up several servings. Food acquired, she snuck out of the storage room. Now to find the gold.

Of course the treasure would be in the captain's room. He was either very paranoid or very arrogant to have his gold in his sleeping quarters. And seeing as he'd fallen asleep counting his money, it was likely the second option. Harp crept forward, slowly opening her satchel and taking small handfuls of coins and placing them in her bag as quietly as she could. She really didn't want to wake the captain up as he slept less than three feet away. As she was distracted by her thoughts about food, her hand moved too far forward into the pile of gold and sent the coins clattering loudly to the ground. The captain jolted upright and locked eyes with Harp.

Shit.

Harp turned on her heel and ran, bursting through the door of the cabin as the captain shouted for her to stop. Several other crew members emerged from below deck and quickly zeroed in on her. She stumbled over a coil of rope, one of her hands instinctively grasping at the bag at her side as she barely avoided faceplanting the wooden planks of the ship.

The other crew members were on all sides of her. The captain appeared behind her, eyes ablaze with rage. He looked furious, and Harp wasn't about to stick around to find out what he did to thieves. She turned and hooked one leg over the railing, her gaze dropping to the water.

She froze.

There were several large shapes beneath the water. Mostly black with white markings. Sharp, SHARP teeth. Beady black eyes stared at her.

Orcas.

Harp couldn't breathe. She was trapped. She couldn't go back in the water. She was way too slow for them- even if Alkai got to her in time to help, it would be two versus five at the bare minimum. She- she-

A hand gripped her arm and yanked her away from the railing. She flailed her arms desperately, shrieking in panic, trying to get away. Her arms were pinned to her sides, and the captain's scowling face came into view. "You.... How the Hell did you get on this ship?"

Harp forced herself to take deep breaths. Breathe.... In and out.... She met the captain's gaze hesitantly. "I.... I stowed away..."

The captain crossed his arms. "Liar."

Harp felt a shiver run down her spine as the captain stepped closer, his dark eyes cold, calculating, and knowing. "I.... I do-"

"My crew and I double checked every room, every crate, and every barrel. We checked the masts and the hull of the ship. There is no way you could've snuck on here."

The captain tilted his head, his gaze landing on her neck, where some of her spots were visible.

Oh... Oh no....

Harp swallowed. "I.... I..."

Before she could come up with a believable lie, she felt her coat being ripped off her shoulders, and she was immediately hit with a wave of nausea that made her vision spin. The crew member holding her handed her coat to the captain, much to Harp's horror. The captain examined the spotted pelt before looking up with a slight smirk. "No way you could've snuck on here... Unless you came from the ocean."

Harp could barely register his words. Her head hurt, her eyes weren't working properly, she couldn't BREATHE-

Something big and heavy swung from to the side and sent the captain flying. A familiar figure appeared from the other side of the ship, and Harp felt a wave of relief wash over her. Alkai was here.

The crew member released her and drew their saber, letting her fall to the deck. Harp tried to stand, but it felt like she'd drunk too much rum. Her legs were shaky and barely supported her weight, and her spinning head wasn't helping matters. She collapsed to the ground, her vision going white for a brief moment. Through her pounding head, she could hear the sounds of swords clashing against each other. She tried to stand up again, but her legs felt like mush. She heard the sounds of rapid footsteps approaching, and someone grabbed her under the arms and hauled her to her feet, carrying her toward the railing.

Alkai's voice floated through the fog in her mind. "Change back!"

She felt something soft be shoved into her arms, and she clung desperately to it as Alkai dragged her overboard. She barely remembered to hold her breath before they hit the water, the sudden cold almost making her black out. Change back.... Change back.... She gripped her pelt and wrapped it around her shoulders, the fog in her mind slowly beginning to dissipate. She felt her legs reforming into a tail, and as she looked around, her vision slowly started to get clearer. The boat was pretty far away, but she could still see things moving in the distance.

Don't think about them. She felt hands on her shoulders and turned her gaze to Alkai, whose brow was furrowed in concern. "Harp, stars, are you alright?!"

"Y... Yeah.... I.... I thought I was finished..."

Alkai exhaled slowly. "You froze. Why?"

Harp tilted her head in confusion. "... You didn't see them?"

"What? The orcas?"

"Yes!"

Alkai frowned for a moment before a look of understanding passed over their face. "Were you scared?"

Harp looked down. "..... Yeah...."

Alkai noticed her expression. "Hey, it's fine to be scared. But we need to get further away."

Harp nodded in relieved agreement.

"So.... Why are you scared of orcas?"

Harp and Alkai were sitting together in front of a small fire, drying their clothes and cooking some fish they'd caught. Harp stared at the fire, silently debating whether or not to tell them the whole truth. Alkai waited patiently beside her. "You don't have to talk about it if you really don't want to."

Harp shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's fine... Just.... Trying to decide where to start."

Alkai nodded. Harp took a deep breath. "I ran into an orca mermaid when I was younger. Orcas in general are already freakishly smart, but having one be half human is a recipe for a swimming murderhouse."

Alkai stared at her with large eyes. Harp gripped her arms. "I went out too far... I was trying to catch some fish for us- um, me and my family- to eat, but I wasn't paying attention.... And.... Then he appeared. I tried to get away, but.... Orcas are faster than seals and....."

Harp took a shaky breath, feeling Alkai gently rest their hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Harp, you don't need to tell me everything."

Harp shook her head. "I want to tell you everything. I'm fine, I just.... need a minute."

After a few seconds of silence, she continued. "I escaped alive, obviously, but... Not unharmed. He gave me some nasty cuts on my back and tail."

"Really? How come I haven't seen them?"

Harp pulled down the back of her dress, turning her back to Alkai so they could see the upper area of her back. "Feel along my spine."

Alkai obeyed, and felt a slight groove next to her spine. A scar. "They're old, so... They're pretty hard to see unless you're looking for them..."

Alkai traced the pattern of almost invisible, jagged scars down her back. "Harp... Thanks for telling me..."

Harp nodded, letting go of her dress and turning to face them, eyes focusing on a very interesting twig next to her feet. "Yeah.... um.... That's why I'm scared of orcas..."

"Harp."

Harp looked up, confused. "Huh?"

Alkai's eyes were serious. "I won't let anything hurt you, especially any orcas. I promise."

Harp blinked her large eyes and smiled softly. "Thank you... You're a good friend, Alkai."

The two fell asleep looking at the stars, feeling just a bit closer than they were before.

~Aaaaah I finally finished this!~

#oc oneshots #mermaid and pirate au #alkai #harp #sea thieves #selkie crys

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.1

this arid world has turned my deep heart dry

This is the first chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Chapter Summary: follows S5E1 and Spencer's depression and disordered thinking is introduced.

TW: depression, disordered thinking, loneliness, the events of s5e1 (guns and knives)

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

"She simply said this arid world has turned her deep heart dry, there was just one way she knew of to finally feel like she was free, and it was 1400 feet beneath the cold and stormy sea." — Erin Hanson

Spencer’s entire body feels heavy as he drags himself into work, and it’s not exactly a good sign when he can’t even find the energy to press the button for the right floor; he just stares pitifully at the array of numbers as if the elevator will read his mind and resolve the issue for him. Eventually, he brings himself to move his finger the short distance, cold metal colliding with cold flesh, and the doors shudder close, catapulting him up several storeys towards his fate.

Some might call the emotions Spencer’s experience typical burnout, far too common in the FBI and even more so in units that deal directly with horrific crime on the regular, but he knows it’s more than that. His entire life is operating in a minor key, he’s functioning entirely on auto-pilot, and chunks of his day are a blur, almost impossible to recall. He knows he’s depressed. Knowing such a fact, however, does little to cure the actual problem. He has no idea what to do with information like this except bottle it up and shove it as far down as possible while pretending as much as possible that absolutely everything is fine.

Emily and Derek are laughing about something as he approaches their group of desks. Only weeks ago he would’ve been crushed when they don’t so much as look over to say hello, but now he’s glad to not have to fake a smile, invent a story to tell about his weekend, pretend he’s not currently being held together with slowly peeling sellotape.

Instead, he focuses on feeling grateful that no one’s commented on him arriving a whole hour later than he used to as he unpacks his messenger bag. It’s not like it’s his fault he can’t pull his exhausted body out of bed in the morning, but since he’d rather not disclose such sorry information and finding an excuse is way too much effort, spending the morning in solitude seems the only option.

He doesn’t really understand how he’s gone from being a genuinely happy person, thick as thieves with everybody on the team, to this. It’s almost as though somebody’s cut the rope tying him to the others and now he’s drifting away, sinking without everyone else’s buoyancy to keep him afloat. He can see them all still tied together, barely seeming to notice their drowning team member, clearly not missing his presence.

This misery over his inevitable isolation, though, is his own fault: he can’t believe he let himself forget his place. He’s useful, good to keep around for his intelligence, his reading speed, his problem-solving skills, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Spencer is not friendship material. And he certainly isn’t relationship material.

The day starts off slow, everyone burying themselves in their paperwork, but Spencer finishes it far too quickly for it to really serve as much of a distraction. Depressingly, it’s still miles slower than he’s used to. Since his pile of consults seems too exhausting to even look at, he decides another coffee is very much in order.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ says happily as soon as he pushes his way into the breakroom. She’s leaning casually against the counter as she drinks her coffee, reading through what looks like case notes at the same time.

“Hi,” he says, trying for a smile but he knows there’s no way he could possibly match her relaxed grin. Instead of trying to converse, he just heads straight for the coffee machine, fixing his eyes on the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug already piled high with sugar.

“You alright?” JJ asks, sounding a little suspicious. Not concerned, Spencer notes, just suspicious.

“Hmm?” He looks up and catches her eye before deciding he should probably answer verbally. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting a bit off the past few weeks.”

Spencer sighs. Maybe this is an opportunity to actually communicate his feelings. He doubts JJ will be able to help but really he’d just like a bit of comfort: he’s in so much pain that a hug would feel really nice right now. And besides Penelope, she’s probably the team member he’s most comfortable with. If he’s going to share with anybody, it should be JJ.

“I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, I guess,” he admits, looking up as his left-hand fidgets on the hot ceramic side of his coffee mug. He resents how vulnerable his voice sounds, he’s giving far too much of himself over to hands he’s not sure he can trust, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“Really?” JJ sounds surprised. Spencer recognises the tone as that of anyone who has a certain perspective on him realising that he also has feelings alongside his intelligence, and it hurts. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer just presses his lips into a thin line and nods awkwardly in thanks.

“I mean… at least you’re not going through what Hotch is,” she offers, completely unhelpfully. “He’s still trying to cope with his divorce and isn’t seeing Jack as much as he used to. Derek was almost killed by the Reaper just a few months ago, Emily only recently lost a childhood friend — I mean, the whole team has been through a lot. Keep your chin up.”

She smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder, before leaving the break room and heading back to her office, leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. He wants to shout that he was literally poisoned with anthrax only a month ago, if they’re tallying bad things happening as a method of tracking who has the right to be miserable. The others might be going through a lot, that’s true, but it doesn’t lessen any of the pain thudding in his chest and stirring in his stomach.

As he walks back to his desk, he realises he’s learned one thing: opening up = not a good idea.

As completely fucking miserable as he might be, there’s exactly one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to be burdened with any of it, so he carefully tucks it away in his pockets and plasters on the mask he’d perfected so many years ago. It might be a little rusty, after all, it’s been little used in recent years, but it works just as well as it used to do when he pushes the door open to Penelope’s office.

“I bring blueberry muffins,” he says as cheerfully as he can muster, and something inside him does warm as Penelope’s face lights up, squealing a little as she reaches her arms out eagerly, making grabby hands at the paper bag he’s holding.

“Oh, you have no idea how much I love you,” she moans, keen to rip the bag open as he pulls up a chair next to hers.

“I think I do,” Spencer chuckles, and it’s one of the only genuine reactions he’s given in months, “mostly because you tell me every day.”

“Mm, that’s right,” she concedes through a mouthful of warm muffin, pointing a finger at his chest. “I love you even more than I love coding.”

“That’s a lot,” Spencer says, trying for serious but he can’t stop a fond smile slipping across his face.

Penelope swallows her rather large bite of blueberry muffin and passes him his one. “It is,” she says. “How are you, anyway? You look tired, poor baby.”

Spencer looks down for a moment, schooling his expression for a second before he forces himself to look back up at her. “Yeah, I didn’t… didn’t sleep well last night, I guess.” He tries for a reassuring smile but he knows it’s more of a grimace.

Penelope’s face immediately morphs into one of grave concern. Spencer knows that that’s just the way she is, melodrama and fierce protectiveness is virtually her brand at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any less agonising to see, or the anxiety of being found out any less paralysing. He decides not to give her any room to actually address it.

“I’ll be fine, Penelope, don’t worry,” he says, turning away to brush some muffin crumbs off the desk and into his hand, purely so he doesn’t have to attempt another pathetic smile. “A good night’s sleep tonight will fix me right up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, still looking far too worried for Spencer’s liking.

“Of course, Pen.” He feels sick at lying to her, but he has no idea how to broach any of the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him, especially after JJ shut him down so brutally. “It’s only a bad nights’ sleep.”

He’s saved from her inevitable continued line of questioning by Emily poking her head round the door and asking for Spencer’s opinion on a consult.

While getting out of bed in the morning might be an almost impossible task at the moment, the idea of getting into it at night seems rather depressing, really. That’s probably the reason he’s still at the office, despite the time nearing 8 o’clock and exhaustion settling into every muscle fibre of his being. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s just a little more time in close proximity to one Aaron Hotchner.

Of course, he’d had to accept the fact that he was maybe, just a little bit in love with his boss a long time ago. He just refuses to admit that he’s this embarrassing about it. Perhaps staying late to spend more time with someone you like this much wouldn’t be so weird if there was a reasonable chance of conversation — if he ever even saw him — but there isn’t even that: Spencer sits and works quietly at his desk, Aaron sits and works quietly in his office.

Today, though, today his lingering finally pays off.

Aaron is on his way back from the photocopier when he stops by Spencer’s desk. He doesn’t see him coming, though, is the thing: he has no time to try and make himself look even a smidge less miserable or to school his surprised yet utterly lovesick expression.

“Won’t you want to be heading off soon, Reid?” he asks, clearly curious as to why Spencer remains at his desk when there’s no real work to be doing, but he cleverly paints it in a light-hearted tone. Even though Spencer is completely aware of what Aaron’s doing, he doesn’t feel attacked or under pressure.

“Oh,” Spencer says unintelligently, stammering a little as he scrambles desperately at a somewhat coherent reply, “yes, yeah, I’ll get going soon.” He doesn’t want to lie when he doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t try and offer an explanation for his staying late, and he knows Aaron won’t push. He manages an almost entirely genuine smile, though, which must count for something, even if it’s only because he’s hopelessly in love with the man leaning casually against his desk.

“Right then,” Aaron says, offering a small smile in response, letting his hard exterior drop in the nearly empty office, and even though it’s nothing special, not really, Spencer carefully files it away as his heart pitter-patters against his ribcage and his stomach pools with warmth. “See you tomorrow, Reid.”

Spencer just nods in response and gathers his things, placing them carefully in his messenger bag and shrugging his jacket on before walking out of the building. When he glances back, just as he pulls the glass door open, Aaron is watching him carefully. He doesn’t turn away but instead offers a small wave, which Spencer returns bashfully, blushing scarlet in the elevator and on the walk out of the HQ and during the whole trek down the street and sat on the metro train and on the final stretch home. He fumbles with his keys and curses himself for being so goddamn pathetic.

He doesn’t consider it for long, though, because he’s utterly exhausted and his tired bones collapse on the sofa, and who is he to try and get them to move again? Sleep is a mercy.

🌧

The case is gruelling and stressful enough without the endless and constant worry about where on earth Aaron is. He never turns his phone off and Spencer can’t think of a time he’s worked a case without him, not properly; he’s always the first one at the office, the first one on the plane, the first to jump out of bed towards the chance to make a real difference in the world. It’s so out of character for him and it’s utterly distressing.

Nevertheless, he focuses all his attention on the job; on protecting Jeffrey and Tom Barton, on bringing justice to the perpetrator when they inevitably find them. He offers lame and desperate excuses for Aaron not being there, all the while knowing full well that none of them are likely. Something is wrong and he’s powerless to help.

Emily tells him why. He sort of forgets how to breathe.

Getting shot in the leg while simultaneously petrified for the livelihood of the person you’re in love with is inconvenient at best when trying to talk down an unsub and protect a victim and eventually fatal at worst, but somehow he half-manages and Tom escapes unscathed, though he isn’t quite as lucky with the unsub.

That’s what matters, really, isn’t it? That others are safe, even if it means he’s in danger? After all, Tom Barton has lives to save and a son to raise, a wide social circle, and a loving family. What does Spencer have? No, it’s much better that he’s the one hurt than anyone else.

Of course, once the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off and medics arrive on scene, he realises quite how badly he’s hurt. Already feeling woozy, energy seems to seep out of him as roaring, raging agony takes its place. It’s the first time he’s ever been shot and it’s worse than he could have imagined: no amount of studying literature and anecdotal evidence could prepare him for the feeling of a small metal ball tearing through the flesh and muscle and tendons — though, hopefully, and judging by the amount of blood he’s lost, no arteries or large blood vessels — of his thigh.

His team arrives, minus Emily and minus Hotch, and they’re concerned, of course they are. That is, until he presents them with someone they see as much more important, someone whose life is worth something, someone they care about deeply being hurt. And they leave.

He doesn’t get a chance to tell the medics that he doesn’t want narcotics, so the ride to the hospital is a blur of morphine and voices talking to him, though he can’t quite piece together what they’re saying. He wonders vaguely where everybody is, whether Hotch is alright, whether he’s about to die, but no real emotion is attached to any of these thoughts, they just… are.

He’s rushed into surgery almost immediately after he arrives at the hospital, and the next thing he’s aware of is a dull, ever-present, agonising ache in his upper thigh and exhaustion settled into his bones like his body is pain’s home, fatigue’s resting place. The last time he’d blinked himself awake in a hospital bed, blinding pain burning in one part of his body or another, Derek had been sat by his bed, eating jello.

There’s nobody by his bed this time.

A PCA pump is resting by his right hand but he doesn’t touch it. Clearly, nobody from his team has informed the hospital staff of his previous addiction; he doesn’t even know if they’re at the hospital; if they know what’s going on. The morphine he’s already had is going to be hard enough to deal with, he can feel the future cravings itching beneath his skin already, scarred-over track marks simmering away.

It’s over twenty-five minutes of lying helplessly on a hospital bed in a cool, impersonal room, feeling a certain kind of emptiness sitting in his stomach, before a nurse comes by. She looks pleased enough to see him awake, but he doesn’t care about her satisfaction, he cares about his team, about Penelope, about Aaron, and he’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says cheerily and for once, he doesn’t try and conceal his despondency. It’s oddly freeing. “I’ll get the doctor to come and explain the situation.”

She bumbles out of the room, clearly not fazed by Spencer’s expression, so he resumes staring at the wall, allowing his thoughts to wander, still not managing to attach much emotion to them other than a miserable sort of emptiness.

The doctor is nice enough, making sure he understands his injury and the procedures he’s had done, as well as the recovery ahead of him, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s as though this is the last straw; this is the proof, the evidence to win the case he’s been fighting in the court of his mind. His team doesn't care. His life is worthless. He will always, always be alone.

JJ stops by briefly. This feels like it should be a consolation, but it isn’t. He learns of what’s happened to Aaron, what his family is going through, and suddenly he feels selfish: how dare he demand and crave attention when Aaron is far more hurt and injured than he is? When he’s far more important and far more deserving of the team’s attention? Self-loathing creeps up his throat and settles into grey cotton wool that won’t melt in his mouth.

Spencer doesn’t know how to react to the incredibly overwhelming events of the day, and JJ doesn’t seem to have time for this. “Right, Spencer,” she says, visibly impatient with his emotional floundering, his lack of verbal response, “I need to go. We need to sort this out for Hotch. We owe it to him.”

She leaves, and all Spencer can think is how much more worthless not being able to work on his case makes him. If he can’t even work to save the man he loves; if he can’t strive effortlessly to protect him and make him happy, then what is he doing here? Aaron will be furious when he finds out Spencer laid in bed lazily instead of diving headfirst into the case.

No. That’s not true. He’ll be sickeningly nice about it, while on the inside suppressing his disappointment, and Spencer will feel even more guilty, he’ll be even more irate with himself, and life will seem just a little bit bleaker.

He’s discharged a few days later, and nobody has visited, barring JJ’s fleeting, impatient stop by. He goes home in a taxi and struggles up the stairs on his crutches, almost glad he didn’t have many personal items at the hospital. Then again, that was because he was completely isolated. And if he did have people to bring him things in the hospital, then he’d probably have someone to help him up the stairs too.

It’s a moot point, really. He dives straight for the non-narcotic painkillers he’d been prescribed as soon as he sits down on his dusty couch in his messy apartment, desperate to relieve at least some of the agony throbbing in his leg still. Clearly, the universe decided he wasn’t in enough pain already; that the unrequited love and the growing depression and the recurring stomach cramps and clenches in his chest weren’t quite sufficient.

He knows the team is working flat out on the Foyet case. But even Penelope, who probably works the hardest of all of them, has had time to send him an encouraging text message promising to pop round as soon as she can. Other than that, his phone is dry and his heart slowly freezing over.

Truthfully, he’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. He’s feeling the same way he did as a child: isolated, othered, hurt, and utterly, utterly alone. When he’d joined the BAU and was welcomed immediately into the arms of a family, he promised himself he’d never feel like that again. He would never, ever allow himself to sink so low; not when he was surrounded by so many people who proved day in day out how much they loved him. Surely, feeling like this would simply be impossible.

For once, Doctor Spencer Reid is proved wrong. And it burns, festers, and screams like nothing else.

Chapter Two

taglist:@criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

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#hotchreid #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #hurt spencer reid #spencer reid whump #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #spencer reid/aaron hotchner #hotch x reid #spencer reid x aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #my writing #RCT #RCT 1

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lovelylunarwriting · 5 years

Text

Yangyang Prince!AU

Yangyang’s known around the kingdom as less of a prince and more of “the king and queen’s child”

He’s just not the princely type??? He 10/10 looks like a prince and -33/10 acts like one

While some royalty just have that "aura” about them,,,, Yangyang does not

But that’s not a bad thing! He’s incredibly approachable as a person

Not a soul would dare to address him as anything but “Prince”, though, for fear of him overhearing and being like “excuse me what the fuck did you call me”

While the country itself adores the prince and his natural personality, the king and queen take issue with his “lack of royal precedent” and hold him to a ridiculously high standard.

He doesn’t seem to let this dampen his spirit, though. Whenever local newspapers ask him about it, he always says “I’m firstborn and in line to the throne. There’s not much they can do about it regardless if I keep filling the courtyard fountains with soap so that they bubble. Who doesn’t like bubbles?”

Deep down though it takes more of a toll on him. In his eyes, it’s like his parents are saying he isn’t good enough to be king one day.

The reality is that they’re just worried that being in charge of the nation will stress him out like it has them, and they want to prepare him the best they can.

To prepare him for his eventual role, they send Yangyang into the nearby villages to meet with traders from other nations who want to open up shop in the many marketplaces.

Yangyang’s nation is known for their vast and varying markets because they’ll let just about anyone open a business as long as a member of the royal family approves it.

They go about doing this in two ways:

One, they can request an audience with the king and queen and they’ll write up a contract. The king is pretty much there for show, the queen is really the one who’s built this trade empire.

Or, two, if the person is in a rush they can schedule to meet with Prince Yangyang in town and plead their case to him. If he thinks it’s an extenuating circumstance, they essentially get a “Prince Fast-Pass” and receive an immediate audience with the king and queen.

For example, he had one woman who was a refugee from a war-torn nation across the continent and she came to their country to open up a shop to provide for her and her four kids. Yangyang was like “that sucks, I’m sorry. Do you wanna talk to my mom about it?” and personally escorted her to the palace.

You have been in this market for a h o t minute though. You got your audience with the king and queen when you were like,,,, twelve?? And you’ve been selling your family’s farms produce ever since.

One of your parents would’ve gone to the audience but there was a Very Serious Ladybug Problem going on with the tomatoes so they sent you instead (the queen was surprised but you presented a fair argument for the business,,,, she had no reason to say no)

So you set up your market every week, Monday through Friday. The weekends are for helping around at home (and sleeping off the work week, of course)

This season’s harvest hasn’t been nearly as plentiful as the previous. It’s not that there’s a shortage necessarily, just that the last season’s harvest was abnormally abundant.

Which of course means you’ll have to sell pretty much all of it to get a similar profit to last year while keeping the same standard prices (raising the prices wouldn’t be fair to your loyal customers)

“Guess there goes my Saturdays, then…”, you mumble to yourself, deciding to open up the extra day in order to sell every single tomato, carrot, and head of lettuce even if it kills you.

The first Saturday of the season comes and goes with no trouble, and so does the next.

But the third week. That’s when you notice him.

The pickpocket in the bright yellow shoes.

He weaves his way through the crowd with elegance and ease, reaching out here and there, plucking items from stalls, pockets, and displays, slowly putting them in his pockets.

You find yourself entranced, staring at him slip through stall after stall.

That is until he steps up to yours.

He glances up, making eye contact with you, and flinches.

Apparently your glare was most apparent than you’d intended.

You don’t say anything though and neither does he. He just smirks at you and makes his way to the next stall.

Your eyes follow him and you see him swipe a pair of earrings off the man’s table to your left.

You might’ve said something but:

1.) That particular jeweler is a creep to the women in town so he deserves to be robbed in your opinion, and

2.) If you snitch on some thief, that only makes you a target to whoever the thief is associated with. You don’t know if he’s got some thuggish friends and you’re not looking for a fight.

That is unless he decides to try and steal from you. Then he better be as good as fighting as he is pickpocketing.

After this initial encounter, you honestly forget about him.

That is until a few months later, when you spot a flash of bright yellow in the massive crowd on another Saturday morning rush.

You fumble to make change for the person buying three dozen heads of lettuce, trying to find his distinctly soft face in the sea of people.

At first you think you’ve lost him, until the lady buying out all your lettuce moves one of her bags and you see him snatch an apple from the barrel in front of your table.

Blinding hot rage sparks its way down your neck and shoulders, and without even thinking you shove the change into the woman’s hands and slide over the table.

The crook looks behind him just in time for you to grab him by the collar and drag him into the nearest alley.

The shock in his eyes is clear and although he tries to fight back, he can’t break your hold.

You shove him up against the brick wall of the alley and ask him one very important question.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He kind of just makes a weird gurgling sound though because your knuckles are pressing into his trachea.

You loosen your grip a little and look at him expectantly.

“I’m the Prince-”, he starts, but you cut him off because listen you might not be rich but you’re not stupid.

“Bullshit. And you can keep that apple, but you better hope I never catch you stealing from me again”, you say, throwing him by the front of his shirt even further into the alley and storming back to your booth.

Once you gather your bearings, you think about the encounter.

You can’t pinpoint what it is that pisses you off so much about this guy in particular. There’s always been thieves in the market, it’s practically part of the system at this point.

But there’s always been one thing about the thieves that made you understand in a way, why they steal.

They almost always steal food and it’s because they need it. For themselves and probably their families. And you can’t find it in yourself to fault them for that.

But this bright-shoed bandit? He looks like he’s never missed a meal in his life. He’s got full cheeks, tan skin, toned muscles, and is missing that look of sheer desperation that’s in the eyes of all the thieves you’ve encountered thus far.

The only thing in this boy’s eyes is arrogance. And something else you can’t quite identify yet.

Sunday passes and you try to relax, but remembering that encounter just irks you.

Mom: “Y/N,,,, what are you doing”

You: “I’M GONNA GO PLOW THE FIELDS”

Mom: “Why would you do that by hand?? We have an ox for that??”

You: “Because I’m pissED oFF okaY”

It’s not until Monday that you hear the townspeople gossip like crazy about something that happened at the Sunday Market.

Even the vendors are talking about it instead of the usual small talk with customers.

“Did you hear? The prince rode into the marketplace on horseback yesterday”

“Hear? I was there! He made such a big scene!”

“Apparently he was looking for someone but he didn’t even know their name”

“Typical Prince Yangyang- he’s always up to something crazy. He’s such a lovely sight though~”

This goes on for hours and towards the end of the day you swear if you hear one more thing about “PriNcE YaNgyaNg anD hiS goRgEous faCe” or “PrinCe YanGyaNg aNd hiS sTeaMy mUScleS”, you might actually just close up shop and leave early.

At first it was interesting, but everyone’s repeating the same thing for h o u r s

Except for the man you’re currently selling tomatoes to.

“Yeah it wasn’t hard tah miss him with those bright ass shoes ah his”

Your whole body jolts and you drop the change the man just set in your hand.

Apologizing, you scramble to pick it all up and drop the coins on the table.

“What do you mean ‘bright ass shoes’, sir?”, you ask, your demeanor becoming physically tense.

“You know the kid loves collecting those new kinds ah shoes, right? ‘Sneakers’ or whaddeva ya call em? They’re all the rage in the next kingdom ovah, he musta gotten em imported from there-”, the man drones on and on, whilst you continue to panic.

“Sir please, what color were they?”

“Oh they were yellow like you wouldn’t believe! Brighter than the sun itself, and- hey! Where are you going?”

You hand the man his bag of tomatoes, grab what little produce is left and close down shop. If the prince comes back again today he could have you thrown in jail for treason for the way you spoke to him.

Everything's in the horse-drawn cart and you’re pretty much ready to go until you remember you left the change on the table.

Cursing to yourself, you abandon the cart for a brief moment and rush back to grab the money, but right as you reach for it, someone grabs your wrist.

Without thinking, you twist their arm around and pin them face first into the table.

Some of the coins fall off from the sudden impact and as your eyes follow them down…. you notice the man’s yellow shoes.

You quickly release him,,,, this thief,,,, the prince

As he slowly turns around, you contemplate whether you should request execution by hanging or guillotine….

But when he sees that it’s you, he just starts laughing.

Not like a maniacal “aha I’ve got you noW peasaNT” kind of laugh like you’d expect though. A genuine laugh from this boy.

From this p r i n c e

All instincts are telling you to bolt and just move to a different marketplace but,,,, you wanna know what this guy’s deal is.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you talk to him.

“Your Royal Highness”, you say in a sarcastic tone.

“Ah, so you believe me now? What’s changed?”, he asks and his voice sounds like honey. For some reason you’d expected him to be harsher.

“Your prance around town yesterday has been all anyone’s talking about today, Prince of Thieves”, you explain with disinterest dripping from your mouth.

“Prince of Thieves? I am prince of this nation, I’ll have you know”, he says and there’s that look in his eyes again that you can’t quite pin down.

“Then act like it”, you say with a certain degree of malice, and storm off to your horse and cart, leaving the money behind. It’s not worth it to grab it.

His eyes widen and he just stands there for a moment before chasing after you.

“Just- wait a minute!”, he shouts, running up behind you and putting a hand on your shoulder.

You grab his wrist, pulling him forward onto your back, and then flip him over onto the ground.

Once he’s down, you pin him down with your hands on his wrists and a knee on either side of his hips.

“I don’t care that you’re the prince. Your title means nothing to me. I care that you’re a thief. You steal from people who actually need money to live, and why? For the thrill of it? Grow up. If you want people to call you Prince then you better start acting like one”, you lay into him, letting all your frustration with him out at once.

You expect him to get angry with you. Maybe even yell. But he just looks,,,, sad. A little defeated, if anything.

“That’s not why I came here”

“You’re right, let me get off you so you can go pickpocket my customers”, you say, standing up and brushing the dirt off your pant legs.

“No, I came here looking for you. That’s why I came here yesterday, too”, he says, getting up and stepping between you and your horse. “Please, I need your help”

You take a deep breath in and out.

“My help with what exactly?”

“You fight like no one I’ve ever seen before. I need you to teach me”, he explains.

“Isn’t that what you have the knights for?”, you ask.

“They go easy on me. They’re worried if they hurt me while practicing, they’ll be fired by my mom”

“I don’t see why they’re concerned about hitting you in the face. It’s practically all I can think about right now”, you say nonchalantly.

“Wow okay- I could’ve gone without knowing that. But what do you say? Will you teach me? You’ve already showed me like three moves, just,,,, not on purpose I guess”

And for some reason,,,,, maybe because you’re lowkey worried he’ll actually have you hanged,,,,, you say yes.

You tell him it’ll have to be on Sundays and that he’ll have to come down to the family farm because “there’s no way in hell I’ll fight you that close to the queen’s wrath”

When you meet with him that Sunday though, he’s actually,,, quite charming??? And very polite to your parents, who were extremely surprised to see the prince on their front step (you might’ve forgotten to tell them about it)

This begins a routine of Prince Yangyang dragging you out of bed at dawn to spar with him in the barn out back behind your house.

The first few times he’d leave in the afternoon saying he “didn’t want to take up too much of your time”

But every time he leaves,,,, you find yourself missing his company.

Listen, he was an ass at first and he’s still an ass but it’s growing on you.

So one day, you ask him if he’d want to stay for dinner. And to your own shock, he immediately agrees.

He banters back and forth with you, makes jokes with your dad, and flatters your mom.

He’s got all of you around his finger and he’s not even trying to. He’s just being himself.

Now every Sunday he still wakes you up at dawn, much to your dismay, but he stays the whole day instead.

You spend the day together sparring, trying to knock each other into the pond, having lighthearted conversations, and getting the produce ready to go to market the next day.

To you, he stopped feeling like a prince a while ago honestly he never felt like a prince to start with but still

He’s your friend Yangyang that you throw into hay bales while teaching him self defense

One of those nights, the two of you are laying on the roof of the barn looking at the stars, when he says that he’d better head back to the castle.

“Can I ask you a question first?”, you ask, sitting up to face him.

“You technically just did”

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean”

“Hit me with it”, he says, closing his eyes and tilting his head back towards the speckled sky.

“Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Why do you steal from the marketplace?”, you finally ask, after silently wondering for months at this point.

“I don’t anymore”, he answers somewhat defensively, opening his eyes to look at you.

“Okay, then why did you?”

“...”

“...you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want….”, you say somewhat resigned.

Over the past month or so, things between the two of you has felt,,,, different.

You’ve been closer than ever, and talk to each other like you’ve known each other for years.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t falling for him.

But it feels like he’s got a barrier built up between him and the world.

Everything fiber of your being aches to shatter it. For him to feel like he can trust you, even if he can’t trust anyone else.To be special to him the way he’s special to you.

“I needed to do something to break out”, he says after some silence.

“Break out of what?”, you ask, trying to be gentle.

“Out of the box my parents are desperately trying to cram me into. I know they want what’s best for me and the country but,,,, it’s just so much pressure. I needed to do something else- anything else, even if it was stupid”

You scoot over to him and he sits up. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself closer to him.

At first he just sits there, stunned, but then tightly returns the embrace and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stay like that for who knows how long, with him getting everything off his chest and you quietly listening and running your fingers through his hair.

From that night onward, the two of you are practically inseparable.

Neither of you have said that you’re an item,,, and for a while you were like “am I making this shit up or does he like me”.

But one day, he’s sitting behind your booth in the marketplace (like he usually is. You’d think as a prince he’d have more to do,,,), eating all of your apples, when he taps you on the shoulder.

“I’m in the middle of a sale”, you snap, and turn back around to the customer.

When you finish, you turn around and he hands you an apple that is just,,, seeping with juice.

“Yangyang,,, w h y”

“Flip it over!”

So you do, and he’s carved “for my beautiful s/o~” into the side of the apple.

You can’t help but smile at his literally sweet gesture.

But you also can’t help but make direct eye contact with him and bite straight into the carved part of the apple.

The look of horror on his face made your day.

He’s got a habit of making your day everyday, though.

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sonicfrontiers · 4 years

Note

OOUGGH IM SO GLAD IM NOT THE ONLY ONE THINKING ABOUT SEA OF THIEVES HLVRAI AU... PLEASE !!!! PLEASE PLEASE SHARE UR IDEAS I WANNA HEAR THEM SO BAD

OHHH ANON YOU HAVE SAVED MY FUCKING LIFE WITH THIS ASK THANK YOU SO MUCH

SO !! i barely have anything yet bc i just had this fucking brain blast like an hour ago but. here are my Thoughts so far:

so the very first thing i tried to think of was like. what everyone is? i did my best w this but i am so fuckin open to ideas..... i don’t know shit!

the easiest answer right off the bat was who the humans are (or at least the pirates who appear to be human) in this. we got the science team as the pirate crew—gordon, tommy, bubby, and coomer! they are sailing the seas and maybe they are not doing a very good job of it but it’s fine. it’s Fine

the second easiest answer was benrey’s situation. we got skeletons fuck yeah. benrey got some of that curse uh oh! however w benrey’s situation that’s more like... sometimes being a skeleton rather than just steadily turning into one, i thought maybe the curse fucked up on him? maybe it’s like. he’s only half cursed to just sometimes be a skeleton but he can also look human again too. i don’t fucking know. also OH SHIT BENREY HAS TO BE NOT HUMAN UHJHHHHHHHH fuck it guess he’s part ancient now too. i guess. shit i’ll have to spend more time on him but this is.. the gist

next we got uhh forzen babey. i’ll be honest i’m not too confident on this one. i had the vague idea that maybe he’s a mermaid? although whether he’s one of the mermaids that steals sunken pirates and turns them into mermaids or one of the mermaids who was turned into a pirate i can’t really decide. i mean the pirates-turned-mermaids are always helpful in game, and forzen. well. Isn’t, but the mermaid-mermaids live so far deep that they’re never seen? so i don’t know. but he’s out there.... in the ocean....... somewhere....... waiting for me to have more brain power to answer this

it’s darnold time! i’ll be honest i also don’t have many ideas for this guy. i thought maybe he’s got something to do with the order of souls? that’s vaguely related to potions right? sage darnold with the oos eyes curse and he reads the fuckin skull juices to help out the crew with their voyages..... i think? there are other options too but this is the one that jumped out at me the most!

GREGORY MAN. the man himself. SO I GOT TWO POSSIBILITIES HERE FOR THIS GUY. what i can’t decide on is how much of canon sot i want to be canon in this au... mainly, the stuff abt the pirate lord. i got two options here, one of which is that ramsey still exists as the pirate lord and he hangs out doing mostly the same shit he does in canon, and gman is like. an ancient who stuck around the sea of thieves for whatever reason? which would make tommy a descendant of the ancients too, hence why i specified earlier that all the pirates in the crew might not be human..... EITHER THAT OR gman is the pirate lord and ramsey fuckin uh doesn’t exist in the au. and i CANNOT for the life of me decide which i like better. ANY HELP APPRECIATE HERE PLS

OH ALSO I FORGOT SUNKIST HE’S A MONKEY THAT TOMMY HAS AND HE CAN DO COOL TRICKS AND EVERYONE LOVES HIM. HE’S IMMORTAL SOMEHOW. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT

THEN. it’s tim,e for “how the fuck did everyone get past the shroud into the sot”

i think no matter who the pirate lord is in this au they’d have no problems letting pretty much anyone in honestly. ramsey just kinda says “oh you washed up unconscious on the shores of old sailor’s isle? cool let me just not ask any questions and part the shroud for you real quick ok bye” and honestly i can’t imagine gman would be much different—although he’d probably be more cryptic abt it than ramsey is

SO. GORDOS. i feel like him coming to the sot was a last resort of sorts. he feels lost in life, unsure what his goal is or where he’s going, and he hears of this mystical sea that nobody who enters ever leaves but apparently there’s adventure and treasure and wonder there so he’s like fuck it, i’ve got nothing else to do and goes there hoping to find some sort of purpose. and find it he does :)

tommy time! i feel like whatever brought him here had to be partially related to his dad? either he’s just There bc. well. his dad’s the fuckin pirate lord, or gman’s all cryptid abt being an ancient and left tommy to sort of grow up in the sot on his own while gman kept a distant eye on him, just so tommy wouldn’t find out too much abt being an ancient or whatever. uh. so he’s pretty familiar w the world of sot and all its wacky magic shit!

(actual sot lore question here bc this is smth i don’t know—does all the magic that happens in sea of thieves happen beyond the shroud? i wonder if the rest of the world also has skeletons and giant sea monsters and magic and shit or if it’s just inside the sea of thieves...... hmmm for this au i’m gonna assume that all magic is something unique to the sea of thieves and doesn’t happen beyond the shroud)

The Bubby. honestly i like the idea that bubby came to the sot just to like... get away from the outside world? like maybe he’s on the run from something............ this is very very vague in my mind and is extremely subject to change but i like the whole “I’M LEAVING THIS WORLD!” thing as bubby being like fuck the regular world i’m going into the flesh eating devil shroud and nobody can stop me. and then he did

coomer. the man himself. i think coomer came to the sot searching for adventure! and more to learn! he’s always looking to broaden his horizons and where else to go but to the mystical sea of thieves when looking for new experiences? coomer is just here to have a good time :)

UH i think darnold already existed in the sot... he just sorta Lives There... there are npcs who just fucking were born and raised there right. like tasha was in the sot at age 4 so it makes sense right?? darnold just live here and he helps get the crew from the outside world familiar with the sot!

FORZEN has been in the sot for ages—either he’s always been here as a mermaid or he got turned into one so long ago and he’s just been getting angrier and angrier w it every year he’s trapped here. he barely remember why he came anymore but god does he regret it. :(

gman either way just kind of Is There huh..... as the pirate lord i honestly can’t imagine his origin being much different than ramsey’s? like he just makes friends w the ancients like hey what’s up i like this sea. my sea now. or he Is an ancient and just fucking chills there. whatever

OK THAT’S MOSTLY IT FOR WHAT I HAVE FOR TECHNICAL STUFF WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT..... HERE ARE SOME OTHER FUN BITS I THOUGHT OF:

bubby discovers firebombs and Uh Oh. Uh Oh Everyone Watch Out Bubby’s Got Fire Powers Now. he only accidentally sets the ship on fire SOMETIMES it’s FINE. (also his favorite region is the devil’s roar. unsurprisingly. he likes the chaos it brings)

bubby and tommy + coomer as well are agents of chaos in general. they don’t follow the fuckin Rules and it makes gordon’s life a living hell.

bubby: look gordon i dug up some grubs! gordon: cool man, put those in the barrel and we can use them to fish late- bubby: (shoving the grubs in his mouth) gordon: BUBBY NO WHAT THE FUCK DON’T EAT TH coomer: oh, what a good idea, bubby! i am feeling quite hungry myself! (also starts eating worms) gordon: I’M COOKING DINNER AT THE CAMPFIRE RIGHT NOW PLEASE DON’T tommy: oh are the worms okay to eat? i wonder what they taste like gordon: NO STOP benrey, shoving worms in gordon’s face: eat worms? eat worms now please?

coomer finds out how to launch himself out of a cannon and he becomes unstoppable. the crew is attacked by an enemy ship and everyone’s like “oh fuck everyone get to the cannons!” and they go there to find coomer fucking launching himself directly onto the enemy ship, and he kills their entire crew in seconds. by the time he mermaids back to his ship everyone is fucking stunned silent and coomer is just like “well, that takes care of that! let’s get back on course, gentlemen!” and since then they just fucking fire coomer at people like a weapon whenever they get attacked by other pirates or skeletons. It Always Works

UH AND I THINK THAT’S KIND OF WHAT I HAVE SO FAR? i might be forgetting something but this post is long enough as is......

IF ANYONE HAS ANYTHING TO ADD FEEL FREE!!! i love sea of thieves so fuckin much man... and i didn’t even TOUCH on anything like any of the reaper’s bones shit which i would be interested in looking at getting involved in this au somehow...... i will probably come back to this if anyone else is interested !! otherwise that’s all i got for now!!!! thank you so much for asking anon!!!!!

#hlvrai #sot #UM. I GUESS I'M PUTTING THIS IN THE MAIN TAGS?#half live vr but the ai is self aware #sea of thieves #hlvrai + sot fans..... all three of you...... come get your juice #SORRY FOR THE LONG POST TO EVERYONE ELSE HGHNFDNJHG FD #anyway thank you anon..... thank you so much.................. i lvoe you #I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE I GOT SO MUCH... ON THE BRAIN....... but i love you !! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK

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esoanem · 4 years

Text

II.

“That’s all I want – to walk away from the sea and find some peace”

Major Content Notes:

Blood: Singleton’s bloody body is seen

Disfigurement: there is a brief shot of a severely disfigured man in the dark, seemingly from tertiary syphilis. It’s played for a jump scare

Wikipedia Synopsis

After Captain Flint reveals Singleton as the thief in front of his crew, he has Gates convince Billy, who knows the truth about his captain, that this is for the good of the crew. Meanwhile, Silver and Max are forced to hide in the brothel when they put themselves in danger as Captain Vane and his partners, Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, are determined to get a hold of the missing page in the hunt for the Spanish galleon, Urca de Lima. Also, Eleanor is given an ultimatum by Max and has to decide between wealth or love.

So, the last episode put all the pieces on the board, and this episode sets them into motion so let’s dive into it. As before, below the cut are the timestamps of any scenes requiring any of the major content notes, and then the summary

Timestamps:

All timestamps are from the “Complete Collection” DVDs which includes a Starz logo at the start, as well as a recap. Depending on your source, timestamps may vary a little, which is why I’ve included the timestamp for the opening titles. Timestamps are only given for the start and end of scenes featuring any particularly warning-worthy content

00:57: opening titles

05:57-07:50: Singleton’s bloody body is seen, two pirates urinate on the body

37:14-44:04: a hooded man is turned around, revealing his severely disfigured face, likely as a result of tertiary syphilis. It is a brief shot (42:37-42:40 ), in low light, and is used as a jump scare

Summary:

Eleanor wakes up next to Max. She knows the Scarborough arrived yesterday, but not about the attempted arrest of her father. She goes to the balcony and wonders aloud if the arrival of the Scarborough means the end of their way of life, that the military will return and close down trade, installing her father as governor. Max suggests that that wouldn’t be so bad, that Eleanor could buy the brothel, and they could run it together, as well as commenting that soon she won’t need to worry what Mr Noonan (the proprietor) thinks. Mr Scott calls Eleanor down, but, as she goes to get dressed, Max calls her back to be instead

The crew on the Walrus are already celebrating as if they’d captured the Urca de Lima, as Dufresne tries to persuade them not to spend money they haven’t yet earned. Billy is still in shock, and shows Gates the blank page, wondering if he did the right thing as Flint calls them into the cabin. Randall unnerves Silver by commenting to him in particular that “we don’t like thieves. You shouldn’t steal. That’s what happens”, glancing back to Singleton’s bloody body which is propped against a beam having been pelted with vegetable scraps. As two pirates go to his body to piss on it, Randall reiterates that “you mustn’t steal”. One of the pirates next to Randall (below middle) defends him saying Singleton wasn’t a thief and starts to get up to stop the two pissing on Singleton, when his friend (below right) warns him not to do anything now

Flint tells Billy & Gates that he knows the schedule is still around, because of the feather, proving someone had come back to read the log and work out what it was they actually had, and therefore, somebody on the ship at that moment is the thief. Gates points out that none of their men would have known to look for the schedule, and as he starts saying that the men from the prize were all searched he realises that Silver wasn’t, and that being found in the armoury standing over a dead body he claimed was a suicide is quite suspicious

They leave the cabin to get hold of Silver, but move slowly to avoid arousing the suspicions of the rest of the crew, but Silver, already on edge tries to disembark onto a longboat. He’s informed by Dufresne that they disembark by seniority, at which point, wanting to avoid capture, he jumps off the boat with a big belly flop, before swimming to the longboat which he is helped into. The crew laugh that he “must really want to get laid”

Mr Scott tuts at Eleanor for coming down late. As she comes down, she pays the Madame for Max and notices her cleaning up bruises on one of the prostitutes. She’s told it was the crew of the Ranger (Charles Vane’s ship) & that Mr Noonan won’t do anything because they paid well. Mr Scott also tells Eleanor it was a bad decision to punch Vane, that it accomplished nothing, and that she can no longer afford to provoke his temper

“Eleanor, you can never forget who these men are. They are not our friends, they are not our subjects, they want your father’s business, that is the only reason we do not find their knives at our throats”

Rackham gets 5000 pesos in pearls to buy the schedule, leaving the Ranger with little in the way of reserves. Vane walks in with Anne and tries to dissuade Jack, pointing out that he has no proof the page is genuine, and for such a big price, the seller has every reason to lie. Jack says that the crew will be unlikely to see Vane’s side, as he hasn’t been able to present an opportunity to them for some time, since his falling out with Eleanor

Silver comes ashore and, seeing Flint, Gates, & Billy close behind in another longboat asks several people on the beach for directions, all to different places. When Gates lands and asks where Silver went, they all give different answers

Max is giving a client a handjob. He wants to have sex, but Eleanor pays for Max to only sleep with her. Just as he’s about to cum, Silver bursts in, and refuses to leave, leading the customer storming off. When he tells Max that Flint is on to him she worries that he will soon come after her, saying “when a man is being fucked, he wants to know whose cock is in him”. They decide they need to do the deal immediately, and sail for Port Royal that night although he wonders if there is something else keeping Max in Nassau

A new captain (James Bridge of the Demeter) has arrived at Eleanor’s warehouse, and he is disappointed to be met by a woman rather than Richard Guthrie. When she tells him she’s his daughter, he dismisses both her and Mr Scott making a racist remark. Eleanor blows past it, explaining her terms. Not liking that she’d take 50%, he walks away only to be met by Charles Vane who strongly implies that, if he doesn’t accept her terms, he (Vane) will steal the Demeter’s cargo and sell it to Eleanor anyway. When Bridge finds out who Vane is, he agrees to Eleanor’s terms. making another racist remark about Mr Scott

Vane and Eleanor get down to business in her office. He sits hunched, spinning a coin anxiously, his body language is completely different from every other time we’ve seen him. He nervously asks for her to start giving him information on potential prizes again, saying he believes her decision not to give him such information is personal, but that things are better when they’re on the same side. Eleanor rails against him for the poor discipline of his crew, saying that they cause twice as much damage as they bring in, and as he encourages it, he’s a poor investment, and that he has just last night interfered with her own plans killing one of Flint’s crew to try and depose him

"From where I sit, you coming in here means one of two things: either you’re under the illusion that with Flint gone I have no choice but to give you what you want, or you think that because you and I used to fuck, you can cross me without any consequences. I’m not sure which of the two is more stupid”

As he leaves, Eleanor walks out into the tavern as Flint arrives, still captain, shocking Vane

Billy finds Gates watching Frasier, the appraiser (below left), trying to explain to would-be forger (below right) why his forgery is worthless. He points out that if Silver sells he’ll need to pay to get off the island and, not wanting to arouse suspicions, will need the money to be easily portable e.g. in jewels like pearls, rathe than gold, and so, the appraiser will be called for. Billy wonders if Flint is going too far, and tells Gates what he said about needing a king

The appraiser gets called away to the brothel, and Billy & Gates see him enter a room guarded by Anne Bonny. He inspects the pearls whilst Silver watches from Idelle’s room next door through a peephole

Flint tells Eleanor about her father’s attempted arrest and, when she & Mr Scott are extremely concerned about their future (this likely meaning they won’t be able to sell their goods), he begins “let me tell you a story, about a Spaniard named Vasquez”

As Frasier seals the pouch of pearls, and the exchange is fixed at the wrecks after sundown, Vane bursts in, having now heard the story that Singleton stole the page and is now dead. He recognises Max as Eleanor’s new girlfriend, and aggressively accuses her of lying. As Max protests that Singleton isn’t the seller he shoves her against the wall. Silver, still watching asks Idelle (below left) for a weapon, suggesting several items that might be improvised as one, and is surprised when she just hands him a machete

Jack realises that she isn’t lying, Flint is

“She isn’t lying Charles, Flint is. He lost the page.

So what does he do?

He bluffs.

He makes Singleton the thief, and kills him to prevent counterargument, putting a tidy end to his mutiny in the process, and hopes he can recover it before anyone’s the wiser.

What is it Charles? Are we to believe that Singleton, whilst conspiring with you to depose Flint was using this whore to try and bilk your crew out of its money?

Say what you want about Singleton, but he was neither that clever nor that dumb.”

Vane still doesn’t believe Max and lifts her off her feet by her neck. As he does so, Max tries to signal to Silver, but Jack spots this, sneaks up to the peephole and stabs it. He runs round to the next door room which is now empty, but returns with a few drops of blood on his knife saying that, unless Singleton has risen from the grave to eavesdrop, this proves she wasn’t lying about Singleton not being the seller. Vane tells Max that if she’s lying she’ll answer to him, then storms off, leaving her gasping for breath on the floor

Flint has finished telling Eleanor & Mr Scott his story. When he dismisses her concerns about how heavily armed the ship is - a floating castle - she asks, why does he need her help, why not just take the money and run?

“What’s coming our way can’t be outrun, but with the money I strip from the hull, we could add 50 guns to the fort, build ships to defend our shores and train new men to sail them, work the land, grow crops, and raise cattle. Then whoever arrives on our shores first, be it England or Spain will be in for a most unwelcome surprise - a nation of thieves”

Mr Scott laughs at this

“If there’s to be a war, that would be Whitehall’s choice. I’d settle for a pardon, title on lands, and a governor that I could trust, and so would most of the men out there. They’re not animals, Mr Scott; they’re men starved of hope. Give that back to them, who’s to say what could happen”

And Eleanor asks why do this, and why in Nassau to which Flint responds

“Odysseus, on this journey home to Ithaca was visited by a ghost. The ghost tells him that once he reaches his home, once he slays all his enemies, and sets his house in order, he must do one last thing before he can rest. The ghost tells him to pick up an oar, and walk inland, and keep walking until somebody mistakes that oar for a shovel. For that would be the place that no man had ever been troubled by the sea. And that’s where he’d find peace. In the end that’s all I want – to walk away from the sea and find some peace”

Then Gates comes in, tells them they know where Silver is, and that he’s selling through a prostitute. At this, Eleanor seems concerned, presumably for Max

Eleanor goes to the brothel, finding Idelle putting ointment on Max’s injuries as Mr Noon (above centre) complains that “she nearly got herself killed by captain Vane”. Once alone, Max lets Eleanor know she’s about to make a lot of money, but Eleanor interrupts, demanding the schedule. They fight about it, Eleanor calls Nassau “all I have” (which Max takes great offence to, saying she loves her, and that “this place, it is just sand, it cannot love you back”. Gates, Flint, & Billy open the door, and Max realises she has little choice

“I want her to say it. I want her to say that she would sit there and watch as you beat the answer out of me to save this place”

Eleanor stands wordlessly, until Max tells them where the exchange will happen (the wrecks after sundown) and is left alone, crying & betrayed

Jack & vane are on the rocks near the wrecks. It is dark and they’re carrying a torch. We see several fires and, whilst Jack seems afraid, he tells us “there’s nothing in there but opium addicts, lunatics, and men who thought themselves too good to wear a condom” (condoms having become popular in the 18th century)

Silver hides among the rocks, but sends one of the men to Vane for the pearls. Vane shouts for Silver to come out and, when he doesn’t, kills the messenger, again shouting for Silver to come out. Silver sends another man out, who briefly glances at the dead body, before asking for the pearls. At this point, Billy drops down in the distance and shoots at Silver who runs off

Billy chases after Silver, as Jack & Vane try to find him, and Flint moves to cut him off. By hiding in a hollow, Silver escapes Billy and emerges by one of the fires. Putting on a blanket to blend in with the men around it (who appear to be in a stupor), takes the page out to read it, and commits it to memory.

Jack sneaks up to one of the fires and turns one of the men in blankets round. Instead of Silver, it is a severely disfigured man, apparently suffering from tertiary syphilis. This is treated as a jump scare and, as Jack stumbles back, he falls into the water, scattering the pearls, before we see him come back up for air

Flint catches Silver, who reveals that he burnt the page after memorising it, and so Flint cannot hurt him. Meanwhile Vane realises he’s lost him and gives up the chase

Max has decided to leave and, though Idelle tries to persuade her that with Mr Noonan & Eleanor’s men on guard Vane can’t hurt her. Max agrees, but says she still needs to go and, with Idelle distracting them, sneaks out, but is spotted by Anne who follows her

Billy & Gates bring Silver into Eleanor’s tavern where they keep him, with them watching guard, against Mr Scott’s disapproval

We a celebration on the beach. Men are dancing around a fire, there is music, and people stripping off to have sex in the water. Flint rides away inland, to a cottage, where a respectably dressed woman, Mrs Barlow (below) playing a harpsichord welcomes him, she tells him to take off his boots and that she’ll boil some water as he collapses against the door exhausted

#Black Sails #black sails content notes

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, JEM! You’ve been accepted for the role of STRENGTH with the faceclaim of MICHIEL HUISMAN. I think you best stated it yourself -- Roland is kind and cruel in equal measure, willing to break the tenets of his own moral code for a little bit of kingdom. I found myself drawn to him in a way I wasn’t expecting, which is exactly what I wanted for a character like Strength; in spite of his constant contradictions and struggles with the work he’s doing and his willingness to acknowledge he might have been led astray by Septimus, he’s still real. Still fathomable on the larger scale. He has the potential to be a real power player with the Sons of Argos in his hands, and I’m more than excited to see how things play out with the plots you’ve provided and concepts you’ve so kindly shown here!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC

NAME: Jem.

PRONOUNS: She/her.

AGE: 26.

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST. I’d say my activity level is about a 6/10! My work schedule is a little wonky right now, but I always try to carve out some time for writing, and I’m usually able to crank out replies consistently throughout the week.

ANYTHING ELSE? Not a thing!

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: Strength.

NAME: Roland Alexander Bishop.

FACECLAIM: Michiel Huisman (1st preference) or Can Yaman (2nd preference).

AGE: 33.

DETAILS: I fell in love with about 10 different skeletons before it dawned on me that Strength is, in fact, my one an only!!!!!! I’m so completely fascinated with the dichotomy of Roland’s character. He’s somehow kind and cruel in equal measure, a man of conscience willing to break his moral code for the right price. With no parents to speak of, he raised himself by virtue of naught but teeth-bared survival, and he’s carried that instinct for perseverance with him well into his adulthood in a way that I think has perhaps blurred the lines of what he believes to be right and wrong, or at least blurred his willingness to cross those lines. I wouldn’t say he’s altogether without integrity, because his stomach yet turns when buries his dagger hilt-deep in the belly of the King’s enemies, but his moral compass certainly isn’t working the way it used to these days. He’s whip-smart, too (he must be to have assembled a legion of Tyrholm’s nastiest, most ruthless bastards and foster loyalty and obedience among them). By that same token, though, he’s prone to foolishness in the face of profit. A boy raised by the street urchins of Tyrholm knows better than to trust kings, and had he used his head to consider his contract with Septimus, and not his deep-running pockets, he surely would’ve seen all that gold for what it really was: a gilded cage. Not all that glitters is gold, and not all that’s gold glitters. Here we have him, then: a man kind and cruel, bound by integrity and bound by greed, moral and immoral, clever and foolish. A ruffian mercenary who’s now finds himself under the King’s thumb. An avaricious profiteer who will do almost anything for the right price, but a fair and just leader devoted to his men. A self-made king of Tyrholm’s rapscallions and reprobates, but a servant to a King with no principles to speak of. He’s a living, breathing paradox, always walking a fine line between two versions of self. But in Septimus’s Tyrholm, there’s no room for fair-weathered allies, and if Roland plans on terminating his contract with the King, it’ll be a bloody affair. He didn’t exactly read the contract’s fine print, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to honor a treaty with a King whose head in his a basket, right?

BACKGROUND:

He never knows his parents. His mother leaves him on the stoop of a small temple in Hightown when he’s a babe. An Emissary finds him, and for some time, he’s looked after by acolytes of the Undying. They’re kind, mostly, from what he can remember, but he never takes to faith the way they all hope he will, and as soon as he’s old enough to run, he does—he runs far, far away, straight into the underbelly of Lowtown.

The streets of Lowtown raise him, and later in life, when he’s asked about his heritage, he’ll say that Tyrholm is his mother, and she may well be, for the man he is today is due in full to her lessons.

The seaport town raises him brutally, with an iron fist. He’s a boy with only ten years of life on him, lean and fresh-faced, when he takes to the streets of Lowtown, and in his first months of independence, he’s so gaunt that you can see each divot of his ribs, and he counts them over and over again to pass the time. He’s a fast learner, a living, breathing study in survival, and he realizes in no time at all that he’ll have to earn his right to life.

He does just that. He watches the other street-dwellers, men and women of all ages and shapes and sizes, each hungrier than the last. Some fight for coin. Some beg. Some dance. Some sing arias. Some charm snakes. Some sell looted treasure, others sell their bodies. Roland watches them all, tries to map out a viable plan of action for himself. He tries his hand at magic tricks, but his sleights of hand are nowhere as advanced as the smoke and mirrors of the veteran illusionist that performs at high noon every day at the marketplace. He tries fighting, next, and he’s good at that, even at a young age, but he’s skinny, weak from hunger, and he spends what little coin he wins on herbs and medicines from the local botanist to patch himself back up. Theft is his next venture—he’s a natural. He has good, quick hands that dart in and out of pockets less intrusively than a dove’s feather carried on a springtime breeze, deft and steady. For a few years, this sustains him. He loots coin, jewels, and treasures of all sort straight from pockets and purses and holsters, and he never gets caught.

When he’s fourteen, he steals a dagger straight from the belt of a fisherman selling his catch at the docks. The hilt is carved from ivory, and the blade shines like molten moonlight beneath the dawning sun. It’ll sell well, he thinks, only… He likes it. It feels nice in the palm of his hand, lightweight enough for a fourteen-year-old to wield with no trouble at all, and he spends the next week twirling it between his fingers, sharpening it against sea-worn rocks, practicing parlor tricks. He finds he has otherworldly aim, and he hits every target, from sandbags to trees to peaches to peach pits. And so, like any man well-versed in the trade of survival, he takes his Undying-given talent and turns a profit from it. He begins performing in Lowtown’s streets, and word of the boy who can slice a pomegranate in half midair while blindfolded spreads like wildfire.

They say that idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and it isn’t long before the devils come crawling out of every corner of Lowtown in search of Roland’s hands, eager to lay claim to a boy who will no doubt make a fine weapon to be used at their discretion. A boy young enough to appear unassuming to targets and old enough to get his hands dirty. The first to find him is a headhunter named Argos, a surly bastard with scar that stretches from his left temple all the way down to the right corner of his mouth, ugly and red. The look of him makes Roland tremble, and years later, he’ll laugh at his boyish fear of a man beloved to him, a man kinder and with thrice more heart than any of the pretty-faced, rosy-cheeked nobles Roland had ever robbed.

By the grace of the Undying, Argos takes him under his wing before any of the other leeches can latch onto him. Roland isn’t a particularly religious man, but he thinks, sometimes, that maybe the Undying is real, and that maybe she does favor him, because he can think of no other reason why he was delivered into the hands of Argos, and not any of the other ghouls of Lowtown who would surely have preyed on his inexperience and whittled him into a fine weapon with an expiration date of five, maybe six more years. As it is, Argos teaches him to kill just the same as all the others would have, but he teaches him how to kill honorably, quickly. He teaches him to respect life and death in equal measure, and he warns him that what he takes from the world, he must give back to it twice over. He teaches him how to fight well and how to fight dirty. He teaches him how to fight with his hands bound, with his eyes blindfolded. He introduces him to the Warrior’s Guild, where Roland’s career as a mercenary begins.

He does as he was taught, and he gives twice over for every life he takes. In spite of the dirty work he does, humility and honor flourish impossibly within him like a garden of desert roses in dead, dry soil. He donates a portion of his coin to brothels, street performers, pickpockets—the lowliest of Lowtown, those without places and people to call home, those who can’t put a name to the feeling of love. He never forgets his roots, and though he earns his weight in gold, enough to leave Lowtown and never look back, enough to dress himself in the wares of a proper Hightowner, he never leaves. Lowtown, the Warrior’s Guild, the docks, the street urchins, the baker’s son who sneaks him scraps of burnt bread, Argos—these are all home.

He’s twenty when Argos dies on a job gone wrong, and as the underwolders of the Warrior’s Guild and Lowtown mourn the death of Argos, a night king in his own right, beloved by those who love naught, they turn to Roland with expectant eyes. Roland, the boy who Argos affectionately called “Bullseye.” Roland, the boy who Argos raised to kill well, and meaningfully. Roland, the man, now, who Argos preened to inherit his legacy, to lead the mischief-makers and nightmare-makers, to protect Tyrholm’s underworld. And so he does.

It’s no easy feat, to be sure, wrangling a group of soldiers of fortune, kingslayers, outcasts, thieves, killers. But Roland is stubborn in his determination, and he works tirelessly to weed out the evil; to foster trust between himself and the good; to create a legion of Lowtown’s meanest bastards and make something special of them. Leadership becomes him. His humility, a rare quality in Tyrholm, and his charisma inspire ironbound devotion from a breed of people who know nothing of loyalty. He’s fair and kind in equal measure, and the men and women of the Warrior’s Guild take to him like the drape of midnight sky takes to the north star. For all of Roland’s goodwill, his ruthlessness is never forgotten. A killer is a killer is a killer, and those who mistake his kindness for weakness learn well that his honor knows some bounds. He goes to great lengths to instill that same notion of honor in his host of mercenaries, and he teaches them the same lessons that were taught to him. He teaches them to kill quickly, cleanly, and honorably, and he teaches them to give the same way that Argos taught him to. They resist, in the beginning, as all creatures of habit do, but in the end, they become a fine brood of noble killers, if such a thing exists. They’re vicious bastards, all of them, but they learn to respect life and death in equal turn. In his mentor’s honor, he calls his troop of sellswords the Sons of Argos, and in no time at all, Roland and the Sons are notorious for the dirty work they do—and how well they do it.

Roland and the Sons of Argos become so notorious, in fact, that word of Tyrholm’s them reaches King Septimus himself, and he promptly offers Roland a deal that he ought to refuse. He doesn’t. Greed and the promise of prosperity for the future generations of the Sons blind him, and the moment the ink on the contract dries, dread washes over him, and he can nearly picture Argos rolling over in his grave, fixing him with that look of grim disappointment he used when he was displeased with Roland.

In the beginning, the King’s assignments aren’t so bad. Roland and the Sons are asked to tie up loose ends, eliminate political threats, clear out bandits. Easy. Roland obliges, and the dirty work he and the Sons do is immaculate. But the King’s orders grow bleaker as time passes, and soon enough, Roland can hardly sleep through the night without waking from nightmares of his own making: screams that could crack glass, the sound of weeping broken up by choppy sobs, enough blood on his hands to fill up the Sahrnian. You must give twice over what you take from this world, Argos had told him, and he’s beginning to feel the weight of a debt long overdue. He’s taken so much, lately, life after innocent life, and his moral compass whirs in protest every time he plunges his dagger into the belly of an enemy not his own.

PLOT IDEAS:

Roland breathes and bleeds for the Sons of Argos, and there’s little—no, there’s nothinghe won’t do to protect his legion, even if that means compromising his honor. The Sons of Argos is his legacy, his life’s making, and he’ll sell his soul to highest bidder to ensure the continued prosperity of his ragtag battalion. It’s why he signed the King’s contract, and it’s why he yet serves the insufferable oaf. The coin Septimus funnels into his pockets is enough to sustain the Sons for generations, and not even Roland’s stalwart honor could sway his resolve to preserve the Sons. But a life bought and owed is not a life worth living, and Roland has learned well the cost of servitude. He’s spent the last decade assembling a group of fine men and women, teaching monsters the rite of nobility, preaching the gospel of life, taking and giving it. Nothing in this world is as beloved to him as the Sons, and he’ll be damned if stands by idly and watches Septimus sic Roland’s lot of honor-bound sellswords on his enemies like a pack of rabid dogs. The Sons of Argos are a proud brood of beasts; they are not pawns to be used to wage and win the King’s infantile wars. Septimus thinks he’s bought the Sons’ loyalty, but he’d do well to remember that loyalty bought can be outbid. Loyalty earned, contrariwise, is everlasting, Roland has earned enough of the Sons’ loyalty to last lifetimes. The Sons of Argos may well serve Septimus, but it’s Roland they’ve sworn an oath to; it’s Roland they answer to, it’s Roland they kill for, and it’s Roland they bend a knee to. Should the benefits of revolting against Septimus ever outweigh the benefits of serving him, it will take only a look from Roland to rally his Sons of Argos against the King.

Do you know who’s good at rebellion? A man who’s spent years squashing the very notion of it. Since the beginning of his arrangement with Septimus, he and the Sons have been charged with eliminating uprisings of all sorts. Some fires have been more difficult to put out than others, some rebellions have been organized better than others, and some have been led by insurgents quicker and braver than others. Roland’s well-acquainted with the many shades of revolt in Tyrholm, and I’d say that makes him a damned good asset in the bid to overthrow Septimus, wouldn’t you? Roland and his Sons are a hell of wildcard if ever there was one, and as the revolters of Tyrholm begin to coalesce, they’d do well to entreat the Sons’ Captain. Let us not forget what happened to Agamemnon’s army when the King of Mycenae waged war without Achilles and his Myrmidons.

Roland, for all his vulgar mannerisms and bold-as-brass behavior, isn’t stupid. He knows he’s sitting on a small goldmine made up of The Hanged Man’s secrets—he just hasn’t decided what to do with that particular treasure trove just yet. Roland is uncannily good at playing his hand close to his chest, and he thinks he’ll wait this one out a little longer before he shows the head servant his royal flush. Perhaps he’ll reveal what he knows and use it to leverage The Hanged Man as a resource. Perhaps he’ll take the information he’s filed away and sell it to the highest bidder. He’s not sure yet, but for The Hanged Man’s sake, he hopes the poor bastard folds soon, because Roland doesn’t think they’re very good at playing this game.

Conscience, thy name is Judgment. It’s strange, really, the way the Cleric amplifies all that goodness in Roland tenfold, in turn amplifying all the guilt that goodness births when compromised. His conscience has never been particularly content with the dirty work Septimus pays him and the Sons handsomely to do, but ever since he began attending Judgment’s sermons, his remorse has made a home in the marrow of his bones. He knows what he’s doing isn’t just or good, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s Judgment who makes him feel the truth of it all, every grain of it, and he finds himself growing sick with guilt these days. You wouldn’t think a Cleric has much pull in the dawn of a war on the horizon, but it’s Judgment who has Roland’s ear, and it’s Judgment who’s beginning to make Roland wonder if, perhaps, a revolution would make for a fine penance, coin and contract be damned.

There’s a reason the moon and sun never share the sky at the same time, and there’s a reason Roland and The Fool don’t often share a room at the same time. It’s not that Roland has no respect for the King’s Captain of the Guard, because he does, but cleaning up The Fool’s messes and tying up the loose ends of their army’s incompetence is getting old, quick. Still, the sun shines favorably on The Fool, paints them in the gold of heroism and leaves Roland and his Sons to bask in the muted silver of moonlight. The Sons of Argos are in this for gold, not glory, so he doesn’t terribly mind The Fool and their men acting as frontmen and taking undue credit for the dirty work Roland and the Sons do, but the bastard has the audacity to parade around Castle Tyrholm like they’re the Undying’s gift to man. It’s only a matter of time until the tension between the pair of captains comes to a head, and when it does, Roland is sure the fallout will be catastrophic, with far-reaching repercussions. A pity, really, because if The Fool could swallow their pride and Roland could swallow his prejudice, they could do great, terrible things together.

CHARACTER DEATH: Yes, absolutely!

WRITING SAMPLE

He dreams of his life’s small joys. He dreams of poppy fields in southern Tyrholm and figs stolen from the sweet shop next to the bakery in Lowtown. He dreams of the smell of sea salt, the sound of low tide crashing against black shale rock. He dreams of the baker’s boy, who used to sneak him scraps of burnt bread when he was naught but a half-starved child. He dreams of the boy’s kind smile, and his impossibly kinder eyes: one brown, one blue. He dreams of Argos, how the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he’d laugh at Roland, face warm with a rare fondness seen once, maybe twice in a lifetime. He dreams of the Sons, the lot of them gathered in this brothel or that tavern, heads thrown back as they all boom a chorus of boisterous laughter that draws more than one sidelong glance. He dreams of JUDGMENT, the way their voice rolls like the drip of warm honey, sounds something like absolution, atonement. He dreams of a time when he was proud of the man he was, of the work he did, even the dirtiest of it, because it was done meaningfully, with honor.

He wakes with a start, and the world returns to him in pieces, slowly. First light filters dimly into the barracks, and he huffs a quiet sigh as pushes himself up into a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his cot. The Sons sleep soundly around him, and here, like this, they look nearly…peaceful. Roland catalogues the memory and stores it somewhere in his mind it won’t soon be forgotten. The rest of Castle Tyrholm, save for those of the King’s Guard working night patrol, won’t rise until sunup, at the earliest, but Roland’s always been a bit of a bastard when it comes to the Sons’ unforgiving schedule. They’re welcome to fight and fuck and drink their weight in ale until the moon sets, but come dawn, the day’s work begins. A fair trade-off, if you ask Roland (and one that inspires good behavior without Roland having to explicitly enforce it).

Soundlessly, Roland reaches over to the bunk next to his and gives Galen, his most trusted lieutenant bar none, a solid smack on the cheek. “Up.” The command is quiet, but it carries the weight of a king’s authority all the same. Brow pinches, Galen opens his eyes halfway and makes a vulgar gesture at Roland, who only laughs. “Fuck off,” Galen hisses as he turns half of his face back into the plush bedding of his cot, one eye closed and one trained on Roland. “Fuck off…?” Roland prompts, crooking his forefinger expectantly in a silent come on gesture. Galen rolls his one open eye. “Fuck off, Captain,” he amends. A low, throaty chuckle rumbles somewhere deep in Roland’s chest. “Better. Get dressed and gather the lot. His Grace has a job for us.” The way Roland says “His Grace” doesn’t sound particularly blasphemous, but Galen, who knows him so well, will surely have no trouble at all undressing the resentment that manifests in the way his lips curl hatefully around the King’s title. Galen passes him a long-suffering look, and Roland returns it empathetically, but they say no more on the subject. Roland dresses quickly and stands to leave, and Galen salutes him with his middle finger, but he nonetheless complies, and he, too, makes fast work of dressing.

The Dining Hall is… Well, it is as it always is. The Sons, loud and full of life even in the early hours of first light, earn more than one glare from other guests in the Hall. They’re outsiders, here, cawing ravens flying among a flock of singsong blackbirds, and the good people of Castle Tyrholm never let Roland or his Sons forget it. They don’t belong here, and as Roland catches dual sets of narrow eyes fixed on him, one belonging to THE HANGED MAN and the other belonging to THE FOOL, he wonders if they ever will. He doesn’t particularly care, so he tosses THE HANGED MAN a sly wink, and for THE FOOL, he presses his index and middle fingers against his lips and blows him a kiss. Neither seem particularly impressed with his flip, decidedly Lowtown behavior, but he cares not. Some things in this world are absolute. The sun rises each day, the sky is blue, and Roland Bishop will never balk in the face of judgment. He is as sure of the man he is as the Clerics are of the Undying. He will never waver from his spirit, his honor, his nature, and he will never know the shame of others. He is the legacy of Argos and Lowtown, a good man and a good city, in his estimation, and though he’s not always proud of the things he does, he is proud of the man he is, and he’s prouder yet of the legion he’s created. Wolves don’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep, and the Sons of Argos don’t lose sleep over the opinions of a fucking cook and a Guard-Captain whose track record leaves something to be desired.

The meal is a quick one, and Roland thinks fortune might favor him today, because the Sons enter and exit the Dining Hall without brawling with any of the King’s Guard, and by the time the sun has fully risen, Roland and his men are well underfoot. They travel by horse to the northernmost point of the farmlands, where the King’s Spymaster has evidently caught wind of a budding rebellion. Roland stopped wondering long ago if there’s any truth to the Spymaster’s claims at all, or if THE DEVIL spoon-feeds the King lies just to keep the tyrant of their back.

Their journey is short, and so is the battle (if you can even call a massacre a battle) that ensues. It’s violent and bloody, but the Sons are trained for this brand of dirty work, and their victory is swift. At the end of it all, only one remains: the leader of what was a poorly organized coup that never stood a chance against the King and his cronies.

“He’s inside the barn,” Galen says as Roland kneels to push down the eyelids of a boy of no more than fifteen years. Roland doesn’t have to look up to know that Galen’s face is grim, and neither does he need a mirror to know that his own face is pale as driven snow. His gut knots and double-knots with throngs of unease, and guilt begins to gnaw in earnest at his well-meaning heart. Still, he yet goes through the motions: wipes the blood from his dagger, helps his men make a pyre of the bodies, closes the eyes of all the dead and prays that they’ll be better off in their next lives than they were in this one. When the dirty work is done, he joins the rest of the Sons in the estate’s small barn, where they wait with the self-crowned king of what was a novice mutiny at best and a botched rally at worst.

In the chaos of carnage, Roland hadn’t gotten a good look at the rebels’ fearless, foolish leader, and seeing him now, the knots in his stomach tighten tenfold. He’s on his knees with his head hung low, held at either of his arms by two Sons and stayed by a third, whose sword is pressed flush against his neck. He looks about the same age as Roland, maybe a few years his youth, with sun-soaked hair that looks reddish in places wet with blood. The Sons wait patiently for Roland’s command, the quiet of the room a stark foil to the noisy bustle of the Dining Hall earlier that morning.

“What’s your name?” he asks, voice soft as a slip of cotton hung out to dry. The man doesn’t answer; he doesn’t even look up. Roland looses a quiet sigh. The King has instructed him, as he always does, to gather whatever information he can—by any means necessary. He and the Sons are meant to gut villagers bloody and cut out their tongues if they don’t divulge their secrets. They’re meant to exterminate the hope of revolution and send a message to neighboring revolters. They’re meant to be hounds that bite at the heels of a people who have everything to lose and risk it yet for naught but the meager chance of a Tyrholm free of Septimus’s plague of pride and greed. But the Sons of Argos are no dogs. Killers they may be, but they’re a proud brood, the lot of them, and they do their dirty work with as much honor as they can. If it’s gore and bloodletting Septimus wants, let the old prick get off his throne and terrorize wives and sons and husbands and daughters himself.

Roland was taught to kill honorably and quickly, to respect life and death in equal measure, and he pays homage the lessons of Argos daily. It’s clear that the rebel-king isn’t feeling particularly chatty, and if he won’t loosen his tongue, there’s not much to be done about it. There’s not much to be done at all, really, except to give the man a quick and honorable death. “You fought well,” Roland murmurs. He means it. Galen is sporting what Roland can only assume is a broken nose given to him by the man, and it had taken more than one Son to fully bring him down. Death, too, must be earned, and this man, with all his lionheart courage, has earned his. Distantly, Roland thinks that this very man could’ve perhaps toppled Septimus’s rule himself, if given the proper resources. He has the grit for rebellion, to be sure, and the spirit, too, but he lacks the wherewithal, the time, the training. A pity, he muses. He could’ve made history, the poor bastard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roland catches Galen staring at him intently, curiously, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, and maybe he does. Galen opens his mouth, maybe to ask something, maybe to say something, but Roland gives him a fractional shake of his head, and Galen presses his lips into a tight line, no doubt making a mental note to badger Roland about it later. Eyes full of mourning and mouth set in steel, Roland looks over to Myra, the Son with her sword pressed against the man’s neck, and gives her a curt nod. She returns the gesture, and after drawing a deep inhale, she rears the sword far back and up, ready to deliver the final blow. The man, surely sensing his impending death, at last lifts his head, and Roland lets out a swift, sharp whistle that cuts through the air like broken glass. It’s a command to stop, and Myra, knowing the sound of the pitch for what it is, obeys, lowering the sword non-threateningly as Roland stares at the face before him: a man roughly his age, with one brown eye, and one blue.

The baker’s son.

Dread washes Roland’s face a shade of white impossibly paler than before, and he makes a punched-out noise as he remembers hot summers and cold winters spent starving, the sickly feeling of tightness clenching a stomach unfed, the thick fatigue of near-death staved off by the baker’s son, who had been the first person in Tyrholm to teach Roland well-learned lessons of kindness, charity, compassion. The boy who, even in his youth, radiated the kind of warmth and generosity that Roland has never seen in men and women who have lived full lives. His first friend, if you can call breaking bread together and stealing water from Callia Lancaster’s well and playing card games and chasing each other around on the docks friendship.

Recognition spark’s in his once-maybe-friend’s eyes, and the sea-glass green of them shifts from hate, to grief, to nostalgia, and then, finally, to something that looks remarkably like…understanding. Understanding, even now, even on the brink of death. This, Roland thinks, is honor. This, Roland thinks, is what he has perhaps forgotten in his years in the King’s employ. Idly, he thinks JUDGMENT would like this man. His endless reservoir of kindness is something divine, something reminiscent of faith, something that JUDGMENT would take to with overwhelming fondness.

Roland draws forward and places his hand over Myra’s, which remains gripped tightly around the hilt of her sword, and pushes it down, a silent command to lay down her arms. It’s said that the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword, but in the business of sellswords, that’s hardly ever the case, and in Tyrholm, that’s never the case, for the King is far too cowardly to do his dirty work himself.

This, though… This responsibility belongs to Roland and Roland alone. It’s personal, not business, and he can feel the heavy weight of his duty in his pockets, where the King’s coin rests. Argos had always warned him of the looming dangers of this trade, the threat to one’s honor, one’s soul, one’s spirit. Are you worth your weight in gold? he’d often asked him. I will be, Roland had always answered, because he’d thought, then, that Argos had been asking him if he’d grossed a sum of gold equal to his weight. Now, he thinks, he at last understands the question: is it worth it? Have you earned your weight in gold? Is the man you are today worthy of that coin?

Gently, nearly tenderly, Roland cradles his hand against the side of the man’s face. The baker’s son doesn’t flinch. The irony isn’t lost on Roland: he must give back what he takes from this world twice over, and here he is, about to take the life of a man who gave him his. You should’ve let me starve, he wants to say. You should’ve let me die. He wants to apologize, he wants to explain himself, but he won’t do this good man the dishonor of wasting his last moments of life assuaging his own guilt, so he instead reaches into the pocket of his breeches and pulls out a pouch of gold. He tosses it to Galen, who catches it reflexively. “There’s a bakery in Lowtown south of the bay, with a red roof and green door. Bring it to them.” Galen raises an eyebrow in silent question, but he turns on his heel, exits the barn, and mounts his horse all the same. “You’re family will be looked after for generations,” he promises. He knows it won’t be enough to absolve the blood on his hands, not this time, but he hopes it’ll be enough to bring the man some peace of mind. He thinks maybe it does, because the baker’s son smiles. He dies smiling. Roland strikes quick and fast, drives his dagger straight through a heart of gold. It’s a quick, painless death that lasts the span of a few heartbeats, at most, and it stays with Roland for the remainder of all his years.

That night, when Roland lays his head down to sleep, he doesn’t dream.

EXTRAS

Pinterest. MBTI: ESTP. Astrology: Aries (April 19th). Moral Alignment: True Neutral. Enneagram Type: Type 8. Headcanons:

He isn’t best fighter in Tyrholm, but he may well be the most adaptive. In his boyhood, Argos taught him combat techniques that he’d observed in the east, and the west, and the north, and the south. Roland has killed men from all over the continent, from all walks of life, and though many balk at his nontraditional manner of bloodshed, he’s quick and efficient, and he and his Sons always get the job done. They say it’s uncouth, the way he fights, the weapons he uses, but The Fool’s etiquette (knighthood proper, that one) hasn’t exactly done them a whole lot of good, has it? Roland is as quick as lightning and twice as hot in a fight, and he’s been known to use exotic weapons when he’s doing his dirty work. Of all his tools, his favorites are his decade-old ivory dagger and a sickle-shaped pair of handheld scythes.

Roland doesn’t share the King’s low opinion of magic. Raised by Tyrholm’s streets, by whores and beggars magicians and street urchins and musicians and muses, Roland learned young to embrace all walks of life, and his schools of thought are all considerably flexible. His opinion of magi is no exception. People fear what they do not understand, and as a mercenary with a moral compass, a man who’s been misunderstand by the masses his entire life, he can empathize.

Because he was looked after by worshippers of the Undying in his boyhood, he’s considerably literate for a man of his…lifestyle, and he’s actually quite smart, despite appearances. He’s well-read and well-taught, but the true nature of his wherewithal is known only to Judgment and the Sons.

Roland and the Sons reside permanently in taverns in Lowtown, and impermanently in the barracks. Though the lot of them have more than enough coin to afford taverns in Hightown, Roland prefers to keep the company of Lowtowners, and he finds that he and his Sons fit in far better there than farther north. He supposes that the King is fond enough of him—or the work he does, at least—to allow Roland and the Sons to occupy Castle Tyrholm’s guest quarters, but Roland has never asked such a thing of Septimus, and he never will. When their services are needed, Roland and the Sons stay in the barracks alongside The Fool’s soldiers, partly because Roland wants the Sons to remember their humility, and partly because he wants to piss of The Fool. Whether in Lowtown taverns or the barracks, Roland sleeps right alongside his lieutenants and soldiers, intent on remembering his own humility, too.

Whistling. It’s how the Sons communicate without speaking, and it drives just about every resident of Castle Tyrholm mind-achingly mad. Their secret tongue was initially created as a way to signal one another for help, but since signing on to work for King Septimus, Roland will often whistle to deliver commands or messages to the Sons in order to keep confidential matters from reaching the ears of bystanders. Different pitches have different connotations, and more than one Castle Tyrholm has bellyached about the secret smiles and obnoxious laughter exchanged between the Sons when Roland lets out a low whistle after a meeting with the King or The Fool. Still, even the loudest critics of the Sons’ nonverbal lingo can’t deny the sheer impressiveness of the way the Sons fall in line with naught but a whistle rendered from their Captain.

Though looked after by Clerics and Emissaries for much of his early boyhood, Roland never quite took to faith the way his caretakers had hoped he might. But he’s taken to Judgment the way most people take to religion, like they’re something absolute, something worthy of his hard-won devotion, and he can’t help but feel like some of their lessons are beginning to rub off on him. He thinks the Emissary who took him in would faint if she could see him now, knelt quietly in the foremost pew of the Sanctum, hands clasped as he listens to Judgment’s sermon with a look on his face caught somewhere between reverence and admiration. Life comes full circle, he supposes, and he finds himself growing increasingly fascinated by the idea of the Undying, of goodness, of life’s purpose. He wants to learn more about it all, he thinks. Or maybe he just wants to learn more about Judgment.

#accepted #accepted: strength

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themadlostgirl · 5 years

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Peter Pan Won’t Fail (2/2)

*Finally got part two!*

Prompt: Modern Reader ends up on the Neverland from her favorite tv show Once Upon A Time and proves to be very helpful. (Part 1)

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

---

Months passed since I first showed up on Neverland. While most of my time was spent with me cataloging everything I knew from Once Upon A Time the show I did get some other hobbies. I got to learn how to fight, an endeavor that resulted in many bruises and a dislocated shoulder. I explored the island and got closer to the Lost Boys. I met Tinkerbell but Peter forbid me from telling her anything about what I know. He was rightfully pissed that Tink betrays him in the future.

Speaking of the future I was still on the fence about my involvement in it. I tried to rationalize it away. Convince myself that these people weren’t necessarily real and so had no actual input on anything. Most days I could ignore it. Other days not so much. I hate debating my choices in morally compromising situations.

During the night Peter straightened and fell quiet suddenly. I waited to see what he was doing when he smiled. “New souls entered the island. Could it be the boy?”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Should be.” I took a deep breath, “The games begin.”

Peter called Felix and some of the other boys and sent them off to find Henry and the two adults he came with. This is happening. This is actually happening now. I’m in the plot of the show.

“Y/N--” A hand dropped onto my shoulder and I jumped a foot in the air.

“Nervous are we?” Peter teased, “If your information is correct then there is nothing to worry about.”

“I know, I know.” I shrugged his hand off, “I guess a part of me didn’t believe in all of this deep down. I mean, for years I watched these characters and wanted them to get their happily ever afters. I loved you as a villain and stuff but if they hadn’t defeated you then everything would have been for nothing. All the people I cheered for...gone. Now that it’s happening for real I--I guess I feel guilty.”

“Is that so?” his eyes narrowed. “Losing our nerve are we? I thought you wanted us to win. To change the story.”

“Yeah…”

He towered over me, that once teasing glint now a cold stare. “Are you going to be a problem? I would hate to have to go back on my word and lock you in a cage until after I have the heart.”

“No! I promise! I’m fine!” I tried in vain to stop my shaking hands, “I’m on your side. I want you to win. I want you to live.”

“Good.” he wrapped an arm around me and started ushering me deeper into the jungle, “Then you won’t mind taking on a special role in the proceedings. Won’t you?”

“Of course not.” I relaxed at his touch, “What did you have in mind?”

“Deliver this,” he produced a straw doll and placed it in my hands, “to Rumple for me when he gets here.”

I tucked the doll away. “Not a problem.”

“There’s my Lost Girl.” he traced a finger across my cheek, “Now you say I need to keep my shadow confined to the island?”

“Not unless you want Baelfire running around and teaming up with Rumple to get Henry back. It’ll make things easier without another person to interfere but I think our real worry is Regina. She’ll go to hell and back for her son and was labeled the Evil Queen for a reason. Murder isn’t something she’ll abstain from.”

“Good thing we don’t either.”

I waited in the camp while Peter and the boys collected Henry. When they returned Peter nodded to me and I went out on my own mission to find Rumple. I really hope that this goes like with Felix and that he doesn’t just immediately try to kill me.

I wandered around until I saw a figure in a clearing. Okay. I can do this. I walked closer and he turned to me, his calm demeanor shifting into confusion when he saw me. “You’re not who I was expecting to see.”

“I know.” I kept my hands clasped behind my back so he couldn’t see them shaking. “I’m just here to deliver a message of welcome. Seeing as how you’re here for Henry though that makes you Peter’s enemy so not really a welcome I suppose.”

“Who are you?” he scanned me from head to toe, “You’re not from here. A strange magic swirls around you. You’re not meant to be here, are you?”

“I shouldn’t be here but it isn’t going to stop the fact that I am.” I pulled out the straw doll and tossed it to him, “You can’t see the future here but I do. Spoiler alert, you don’t win.”

Rumple picked up the doll with tears in his eyes. It might have been sad if I wasn’t simultaneously terrified of the man and the power he wields before me.

“Who are you?” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Who are you!”

“I’m the tipping point.” I grinned as a new feeling started to emerge. Sadism that I had never known before. That delight in seeing him crumpled on the ground trying in vain to cover the sobs escaping from him. Pain that I caused just by handing him a little doll.

When I got back to camp I found Peter immediately and told him about my meeting with Rumple. “Sounds like you did very well, my Lost Girl.” he pulled me closer, “You’re having fun now, aren’t you?”

“So much fun.” my heart fluttered wildly in my chest.

“And the fun will only continue. But it is getting rather late so we’ll return to the game in the morning.” Peter took one of my hands and brought it up to his lips to kiss and wink at me. “Goodnight, Lost Girl.” he said and walked off towards his tent leaving me dumbfounded and gaping like a fool in the middle of the camp.

The pleasant buzz clouding my mind started to abate. That boy is slowly dissolving my moral compass and I can’t find myself to be upset about it. Not when he did such things like that.

What good were ethics when you lived here anyways? How could guilt help me survive? Why save one boy I do not know from Adam when I needed to save someone who meant something to me?

Over the months I’ve spent here Peter Pan has come to mean something to me. He means survival. He means adventure. He means laughter. He means...he means happiness. He may even mean something more that I daren’t believe possible. Maybe I’m just being stupid. Maybe I’m letting all the damn fanfiction I read obscure what is true. Maybe all I am is a means to an end and once he is cured then every promise he made will be forfeit. This time next week I may very well even be dead.

Right now though...right in this moment I am alive. I am here. I am a Lost Girl and when Peter Pan looks at me my heart skips a beat. Even if it is all just an act or an illusion I want to be happy. I want to pretend that this is where I am meant to be.

With that dream in my head I went to my own tent and fell asleep to await the rest of the events of this week.

And so it was a strange couple of days. With my advice and foresight things were going much smoother. Maybe not as fun as Peter would have liked but in this case he wouldn’t die. That’s all that matters in the end really.

If things remain as they are then there will be nothing to worry about. Wendy was confined and kept on high guard so that none of the others could intercept what she knew. I didn’t like the idea of keeping her prisoner still and negotiated to have her returned to her brothers in Storybrooke after we had won. My one good deed amongst all my other rather abhorrent dealings since coming here.

Neal wasn’t on the island. Rumple had been duped by Peter’s shadow disguised as Belle and had been returned to Storybrooke. Peter had taken Tinkerbell’s heart and forbade her from helping heroes. We found Baelfire’s old hideaway and taken everything of use out. A group of Lost Boys had found the Jolly Roger per my instructions and sailed it far off into the ocean. There was only one single row boat on the island and it was with Peter. He should be heading to Skull Rock right about now with Henry.

It’ll all be over soon.

I was taking a walk through the jungle singing softly. The only loose end was Emma, Regina, Snow, David, and Hook. I had yet to see any of them and was hoping to keep it that way. If I did run into them then I had a very specific job that Peter entrusted to me.

“The King and his men stole the Queen from her bed and bound her in her bones.” I sung, “The seas be ours and by the powers where we will we'll roam.”

“Yo ho, all hands hoist the colors high.” a voice answered from the darkness, “Heave ho, thieves and beggars. Never shall we die.”

A gust of wind pushed me down to the ground and held me there. “What do we have here?”

“Damn,” I hissed in pain. A bunch of people started to gather around me. “I should have stayed in the camp.”

“Where is Henry?” One of them demanded but in the dark it was hard to tell who.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you are the adults looking for Henry? Emma? Regina? Hook?”

“You know her?” A feminine voiced asked.

“Never seen her before. Outside of Tinkerbell and the mermaids I had never met another girl on the island.” Definitely Captain Hook.

“If you let me up I will take questions.” I told them. The invisible weight pinning me down lessened and I stood up. Sure enough it was the heroes that had found me. It is so weird seeing them and knowing that they aren’t just actors right now.

“Who are you? Where is my son?” Emma demanded.

“My name is Y/N.” I told them. It is now time to put my encyclopedic knowledge of Once Upon a Time and ability to lie out of my ass to the test. “Your son is no longer on the island.”

“What? What do you mean?” I had multiple weapons pointed at me. “Where is Henry?”

“Storybrooke.” I fished the magic bean Peter had given me out of my pocket, “I snagged these off of Pan. Gave one to Henry to go home.”

“Why should we believe you? You could be lying.”

“But I’m not. I came here to save him since in my world you lot fail.”

“What are you talking about?” Regina edged closer with a fireball.

“Okay, long story short I come from a land where all of this,” I gestured to the jungle, “And all of you are part of a TV show. This is the Neverland arc. People argue it was one of the last good ones before things started going off the rails.”

“I’ve been through a lot but even that doesn’t sound real.” Emma rolled her eyes.

“Henry’s father is a man named Neal, Rumplestiltskin’s son, previously known as Baelfire. He was tricked into an engagement with a woman named Tamara whom you suspected. When you went to search their room you had Henry stand guard outside and to bump against the door if anyone came.” I said and she backed off. “Too specific an instance?”

“Henry could have told you that--”

“Snow here had a one night stand with Doctor Frankenstein and Charming punched him in the face after the curse was broken when he found out. Do you think Henry knows that one?” I cocked an eyebrow at them. It was really hard not to laugh in that instance since Snow and David looked extremely uncomfortable with the reminder.

The others started to back off but Hook kept his sword trained on me, “And you...what can I say to you? You and Pan are well informed but I know something that not even he does.”

“What, pray tell, is that?” he snarled.

“You know lullabies. One at least. Your mother used to sing it. Her name was Alice.” I answered. If the Hyperion Heights arc did anything right it was giving us Colin O’Donoghue dressed as Captain Hook singing lullabies to a squishy little baby.

“How did--”

“Now do you all believe me? I know how this story goes and I am changing how it ends. That way you idiots can win and not let your son die this time.”

“We...we fail?” Snow looked heartbroken.

“Not this time.” I held out the bean to them, “Henry is already home. He’s waiting for you. Why do you think I’m out here singing sea shanties? I was hoping one of you would hear me so I could pass this on.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Regina asked.

“I get to watch a happy ending instead of a sad one. I mean, there is a bunch of bull that the show goes through to bring Henry back like two episodes later but this is much faster and hopefully not as convoluted.” It was actually kind of amazing how effortlessly the lies were flowing out of me.

“Great, if we can just get back to the ship then--”

“The ship isn’t there anymore.” I sighed, “Like immediately after you all got here Pan finds the ship and sets it on fire.”

“WHAT!” Hook shouted, “My--my ship!”

“Yeah...sorry, couldn’t do anything about that one.”

“What about, Gold? Can we just leave without him?”

“He’s currently in a magical fight to the death with Pan on Skull Rock where they will most likely kill each other. Considering all the crap he’s pulled in the past against all of you I say we leave them to it. Yeah?”

The adults exchanged uneasy glances before nodding. “Great. Now off you go. Say hi to Henry for me.” I dropped the bean on the ground and they all fell through back to Storybrooke.

“Oh thank god!” I breathed out in relief. “That was a lot more work than it should have been. I could have just as easily thrown it at their feet the second I was up but no. I had to go on a Once Upon a Time trivia binger. At least they’re gone and can’t intervene anymore.”

I looked around at the empty jungle and sighed, “And the talking to myself has increased by double. Nice. I’m gonna get out of here.”

I stood over the cliff looking over Skull Rock to wait. Hopefully my advice didn’t work against Henry’s belief in Peter. If things go wrong then we are all screwed. Time ticked by at a torturous pace. I was starting to think that we had failed again when I saw something fly out from Skull Rock.

Peter! He did it! We won! We won!

As if sensing my excitement he flew straight to where I was waiting and landed in front of me. Before I could react he scooped me up in his arms and spun me around. “Hello, Lost Girl,” Peter was smiling like a madman, “I did it.”

“I noticed.” I chuckled as he set me down once more, “No trouble on your end?’

“None whatsoever. Henry was only to eager to hand over his heart to me. Now I am all powerful.” Peter floated off the ground a few inches to prove his point, “No loose ends on your front?”

“None. The heroes are trapped in their world and you have the heart. There’s nothing they can do.” I was practically bouncing from excitement.

He settled back on the ground. His excitement was mellowing out and I could see the gears turning in his head. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. Some of my fear started to creep back in but I squashed it down. “This is an alternate timeline now, we’ll just have to write our own story from here on out.”

“Our?” Peter cast his eyes to me once more. I let myself believe there may have been fondness in them.

“Yes. What good is an all powerful king of Neverland without a queen to tell him he’s doing it wrong?” I smirked at him.

“I knew I was gonna like you.” he pulled me flush against him, “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

“Peter Pan never fails.” I whispered, our faces a breath apart.

He kissed me so intensely I felt the earth shudder around me. “Damn right.”

#gonna let you decide whether his feelings are legitimate or not #partner or pawn?#ouat peter pan #peter pan ouat #ouat #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader #request #neverland

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fadefromthelight · 4 years

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No. 23 - Exhaustion

Summary: Julian’s taken a life with his own hands and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He finds himself wandering through the capital, alone.

Read on: Ao3

Julian storms through the crowded streets of Cervyne, his hands shoved into his pockets and his head trained on the rough ground before him. Guilt and frustration and a bitter emotion he doesn’t want to address pools in his stomach. He’s disgusted with himself.

He’s disgusted with what he forced Blaze to do.

Blaze may not have shown it, but he didn’t enjoy killing any more than Julian did. He gritted through it to clean up from Julian mess but would’ve rather not been there in the first place. Julian can see the exasperation and frustration in Blaze’s gaze no matter how much he tries to hide it.

And it isn’t only due to Julian killing someone, Julian had to go and kill some of the most important people in the kingdom. The waters between the Thieves Guilds were murky and choppy at best, now they’re a sea full of harsh waves. They barely tolerated Golden Dawn’s presence, not acting only because of Blaze’s influence and lack of reasoning. Now Julian’s handed them one of a silver platter.

Blaze could solve this whole problem if he just offered Julian up, as much as the thought sickened him. But Blaze wouldn’t do something like that. His family comes before everything, even Golden Dawn.

If it was with any other circumstances, Julian would appreciate the gesture. But right now it just feels like Julian’s dragging the whole Guild down with him.

Julian stumbles, nearly falling to the ground if it weren’t for a steady hand on his shoulder. “Hey kid, are you alright?” A vaguely familiar voice says from above him, the concern palpable.

“I’m not a kid.” Julian makes a move to shove off the hand, but the grip tightens and he’s unsuccessful. He looks up to meet the deep red eyes of Dorian Revere.

Dorian’s drawn his bright red hair back against the base of his head, in no way taming it. He’s dressed in the Revere dark black and reds. The hand against Julian’s shoulder is gloved but it does nothing to hide the spark of magic in his grasp.

Dorian frowns, eyes narrowing and expression softening. He loosens his grip but doesn't remove his hand. “I’m Dorian Revere and you are?”

Julian swallows, fighting every instinct to shove his hand off his shoulder. A nobility looking closer at him could spell trouble, from both his family and his affiliations with Golden Dawn. “Julian.” He eventually forces out, doubting his ability to keep up with an alias.

“Well Julian, do you want to come with and sit down for a bit? You look a little unsteady on your feet.” Dorian glances up, eyes darting across the street to the nearby store fronts. “My store’s close.”

Julian would rather continue to wander the city alone, but he doesn’t think Dorian would drop this. The concern in his eyes is a bit too real for him to leave it at this. “Fine.”

Dorian removes his hand but keeps a watchful eye on Julian as he leads him through the streets. He stops a few blocks down, before an elegant building labelled Mariana Winery across the top in elaborate script. Julian frowns, his posture stiffening. The idea of being offered any alcohol sickens him.

Dorian unlocks the door and pushes it open. Light cuts into the empty bar, table scattered throughout the room and a sturdy-looking bar counter pressed against the far wall. Dorian steps inside and flicks on the lights. Julian follows him in, sitting in the chair Dorian gestures to.

“So this is yours?” Julian starts, tentative and hesitant. He glances around the room and taking in the refined nature. He didn’t think anyone other than the Oligarchy could own a place like this.

Dorian reaches from beneath the bar and pulls out a bottle. He pours the scarlet liquid into a crystalline glass. “It’s been in my family for generations.” He slides the glass over to Julian.

Julian grabs the glass, holding it gingerly in his grasp. It’s surprisingly cold against his skin. Dorian sighs and leans against the counter behind him. “It’s not alcoholic.”

Something must’ve shown in Julian’s expression. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip. It’s sweet with a thin, tart edge. He didn’t expect a bar to have grape juice. “Thank you.”

Something flickers across Dorian’s expression, too quick for Julian to decipher. “It’s no trouble.” Dorian glances to the door, the frown not leaving his face. But he turns back to Julian and continues to speak. “Now, can you—”

“Dorian! I didn’t know you were opening…” Another person charges into the bar, the crisp Cervyne military uniform over his shoulders and his hair a chilled shade of blue. His voice tapers off, quieting as his gaze lands on Julian. He stops a few paces in front of him. “Hey squirt, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Julian bites out, not meeting the man’s eyes. He instead takes another sip of his drink.

The man narrows his eyes, glancing between Julian and the drink in his hand. “Did you give him alcohol?”

Dorian glares at the wall, brows pressed together and drawing lines on his face. “It’s grape juice. The stuff that I always give you.” He sighs and shakes his head before returning his gaze to the man. “Keiran, why are you here?”

“I think the better question is: why do you have a kid in your bar?” Keiran walks over to the bar, leaning against it on Julian’s left.

“He almost fell over when I ran into him.” Dorian shifts against the table, fiddling with his gloves.

Keiran frowns, the concern covering the serious, cold expression previously on his face. He reaches out and his fingers brush against Julian’s shoulder. “Do you have anyone we can call?”

Julian shrugs. He has people he can call. He just doesn’t want to call them. “I guess. My brother might pick up.”

“And who's your brother?” Dorian asks, his expression oddly guarded.

Julian doesn’t want to give them his brother’s name. It’ll eventually be linked back to his family, Dorian out of anyone should know his connection to Blaze. “Blaze Galloway.”

Dorian looks over to Keiran, making eye contact with the man for the first time today. Something is conveyed between the two but Julian couldn’t pick up on it. Keiran turns back to him, a gentleness to his expression. “Do you want me to call this Blaze?”

Julian shakes his head. He places the glass down on the counter, the sound of it clattering against the wood echoing through the building. “I can do it myself.”

“Hey wait.” Dorian pushes off the table he’s been leaning against, reaching out to grab Julian’s arm. Julian twists away. “Don’t leave just yet.”

“Thank you again but I best be off.” Julian slides the chair back and tries to stand.

His legs crumple beneath him, the world tilting and swirling. A hand wraps around his arm, digging into the fabric of his jacket. Moments later his vision darkens and he blacks out.

——

Keiran grabs Julian’s arms before Dorian can even react, holding the kid upright and stopping him from collapsing to the floor. Keiran can’t school the surprise out of his face before Dorian catches it. “That wasn’t good.” Keiran provides unhelpfully, carefully maneuvering Julian back into his chair. “Do you think he’ll need to go to the hospital?”

Dorian wishes that he could say that Julian didn’t, but the state of the kid’s magic couldn’t be ignored. “His magic level’s low. At the very least he has minor lynatheo, if not worse.”

Keiran pulls off his glove and presses two fingers to Julian’s neck. His expression only darkens. “It’s pretty serious but not life threatening. A hospital should be able to fix him up.” He removes his finger, pulling his glove back on.

Dorian grabs the glass, dragging it further down the counter. He had hoped the sugar would be enough to give Julian a little more energy. He couldn’t exactly give him any alcohol. “We’ll have to contact Blaze.”

Keiran nods, humming in agreeance. “Did you get his name?”

“Julian.” Dorian pauses. He didn’t want to make any assumptions, but the magic was too similar to be a coincidence. “The Levine, if I’m not mistaken.”

“We’ll have to add Lucien to that call list.” Keiran glances over to Dorian, a question in his gaze.

Dorian shakes his head. “Let’s get him to the hospital and then we’ll make some calls. I’ll handle Blaze, do you have Lucien?”

Keiran frowns, reluctance heavy in it. “I can do that.” He reaches over and pulls Julian into his arms. The frown only grows deeper.

“What’s wrong?” Dorian’s voice is sharper and more stilted that he would’ve liked. He walks around the counter, trying not to hover awkwardly beside them.

“He’s light.” Keiran adjusts his grip, holding Julian by his shoulders and under his knees. The ‘too light’ was left unspoken.

“Let’s just get him to the hospital. We can deal with the rest afterwards.” Dorian strides over to the door, opening it for Keiran. (It wasn’t for Keiran. It was for Julian, Keiran just happened to be holding him.) He levels Keiran with a pointed look just before he crosses through the door. “And you’re not going to get out of telling me why you’re here.”

Keiran huffs as he steps through the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He activates his wings, the blue gleaming in the sun. It’s a little tacky that he dyed his hair to match the color of his wings.

Dorian locks the door behind him, activating his own wings. Keiran glances over to him, something unreadable in his expression, before he takes off into the sky. A moment later, Dorian follows him.

——

Dorian leans against the outer wall of the hospital, the night air biting into the exposed skin on his face. He crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw aching. The second Blaze saw him standing in Julian’s room, he pounced. It was only a single punch, but Blaze knew exactly where to swing and how much magic to lace it with.

He has to say he was lucky to make off with only a bruised jaw and a barely veiled threat. It’s only been a week since Blaze took out Matteo and Michelle after all. Not Golden Dawn’s smartest move, they practically declared war with it, but Dorian can understand the sentiment.

This is a game where everything goes to climb to the top. He can attest to that. It wasn’t easy to drag the fractured remains of Nightfall into some semblance of control.

But he did what he had to do and that’s all that matters in the end. And if he’s the only one who knows the true story, then it isn’t anyone else’s place to tell, now is it?

The hospital doors slide open with a click and Dorian glances over. Keiran walks out, straightening his jacket and adjusting his gloves. He glances over and spots Dorian, much to Dorian’s dismay. Keiran’s gaze darts down to Dorian’s jaw and a thin, mocking grin rests on his face. “Blaze got you good, didn’t he?” If Dorian didn’t know better, he’d say there was concern in Keiran’s voice.

“Does that even matter?” Dorian doesn’t look Keiran in the eyes, instead watching the hospital doors over his right shoulder.

“Only if you should be in a bed too.” Keiran gestures to the hospital with a flicker of his head, his voice light.

“It’s not that bad.” Dorian brings a hand up to his face, brushing his fingers against his jaw. He hasn’t seen it in a few hours, not since he’s stepped outside of the hospital. Who knows what it could look like now.

Dorian can feel Keiran’s gaze heavy on his face. Keiran glances around the empty parking lot, his magic sparking his grasp. Small shards of ice form in his hand, gleaming yellow from the lamp light. He pulls out a small cloth from his pocket and wraps the ice. He holds it out to Dorian, oddly hesitant. “Here.”

Dorian stares at it, confusion pressing into his expression. “Why?”

Keiran narrows his eyes, exasperation and frustration cutting through his voice. “For your face, idiot.”

“Oh.” Dorian drops his hand from his face and grabs the cloth. It’s cold, bitingly so, but it's soothing against his jaw. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Something broken settles in Keiran’s gaze, fractured concern or something like it. But his grin doesn’t waver. “I didn’t want to ruin your reputation with your face messed up.”

Dorian grimaces. “Why are you really here, Keiran? It’s not just to mock me, is it?”

The grin falls from Keiran’s face, his expression sobering. “It’s about why I came to Mariana today.”

Dorian finally drags his gaze up to meet Keiran’s eyes, the icy blue set with a dark edge. “What is it?” Dorian forces out.

Keiran crosses his arms over his chest, leaning up against the wall. His posture is too stiff to feign nonchalance. “They’ve closed our father’s case.”

Dorian stiffens, the familiar grip of anxiety washing over him. He doesn’t let any of this show on his face, except for a carefully crafted veil of shock. “They’ve finally caught my father’s killer?”

Dorian already knows the answer, but he has to ask the question anyway.

Keiran frowns, eyes narrowed and vaguely suspicious. And maybe a touch hurt. “We haven’t. But Jane decided that they’re no use keeping it open. It’s grown cold and no more evidence has surfaced.”

He didn’t think any would’ve. “Nothing came out of the magic they found at the scene? Weren’t they saying that it was fire magic of all things?”

Keiran’s gaze flickers between Dorian and something over his shoulder. It returns to Dorian, sharper than before. “It was inconclusive. The signature was too damaged to make out anything relevant.”

Dorian hums. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?” His voice is a little too tight for comfort.

Keiran relaxes, the easy grin returning to his face. “It is.”

Keiran may know too much, but at the very least he’s not going to say anything, Dorian can count on that. Keiran enjoys the chaotic entertainment it brings too much to let the whole thing topple by saying the truth.

And if it requires the exploitation of the bonds Keiran foolishly believes they have, well Dorian’s done much worse without a shred of guilt.

#whumptober2020 #no.23 #exhaustion #OC #writing #tw: hospital #tw: character death mention #my writing #faded writing

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notalwayslate · 5 years

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Who Protects The Monsters Part 1

Summary: When a string of mysterious deaths are rumored to be the result of creature attacks, the town of Storybrooke calls upon legendary hunter, Gabrielle VanHelsing, to track down the murderous monsters.

Unbeknownst to VanHelsing, his daughter Bell has secretly partnered with his greatest enemy, the king of darkness, Rumpelstiltskin, to prove that the real killer is a human who is framing these creatures of darkness for the murders.

What happens when Belle the daughter of famed monster hunter, VanHelsing, falls in love with his sworn mortal enemy,Rumpelstiltskin?

For Rumbelle Monster's Ball

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017084/chapters/49985492

The faint galloping stride of horses lured Belle’s attention away from the novel she was currently reading. Springing into action, her hands grappled over the numerous disheveled books laid out on her father’s desk. She let out a sigh of relief as her fingers found her secret leather journal buried beneath a sizeable volume on ancient werewolf folklore.

As the sound of horses drew nearer, she bolted out of her father’s office, making a beeline for her bedroom. Safely tucking the journal beneath her mattress, she headed for the living room, just as a loud thud hit the roof followed by storm of shrilling caws.

Concerned by the commotion she ran to the front door flinging it open. Inwardly she groaned at the unpleasant sight of Gaston Legrume standing in her yard with a handful of rocks in his hand. Baffled she was about to ask him what he was doing, when he pulled his arm back lunging a large rock up at the roof. A tiny shriek pierced the air, as a small black bird fell dead to the ground before her. A rush of anger flooded her heart at the sight of the poor dead creature.

“How dare you!” she roared storming down off the porch, heading straight for him.

Casually he looked down at her with a smirk of amusement, fueling her anger even more. Lifting her arm, she smacked the remaining rocks from his hand, before giving him a hard shove. Although she used all of her strength to push him, he stood unmoved, steady as a tree, peering down at her with a mocking grin.

“Your daughter is a feisty little thing isn’t she?” he chaffed his stare fixed on her, as he spoke to her father who sat on his horse a few yards away.

Incensed by his total lack of regard for the creature’s life he just took, she fought her primal urge to slap that smug grin off of his stupid face. Even though he towered a good foot and a half above her, she stared the buffoon down with a fury hotter than a thousand suns. Leaning over, he brought his overbearing presence mere inches away from her face.

“I was only trying to help,” he taunted her in a long drawn out patronizing tone. “This place is infested with crows. Every time I come here there are more than ever before. If I didn’t know any better I would say this place is cursed.”

“The only curse here is when you come around,” she spat out feeling a tad jovial as the arrogant smile fell from his face.

“Play nice you two,” her father chided, dismounting his horse.

Taking a step back from Gaston, she acknowledged her father’s words by giving him a curt nod. Her focus stayed on her father as she watched him take Phillipe back behind the house to the open paddock. Once he was out of view, Gaston’s looming shadow casted over her.

“I can only hope you have that same fire in the bedroom.”

“That is something you will never know,” she fired back taking a step forward to put some distance between them. She cringed as his pompous laugh slithered into her ears.

“Oh we will be married soon enough, and I assure you I look forward to seeing what else your crude little mouth is good for.”

“I will never marry you.”

She stomped up the porch stairs, ready to slam the door behind her, when he called out.

“You know, any maiden out there would die for the chance to have just ten minutes with me, let alone the honor of being my wife. What makes you think that you are so damn special huh?” he pondered bringing his hand up, stroking his chin, as if he was contemplating some great thought. “You know your father mentioned that you have been spending a lot of time with the Lucas girl over the last few months.”

Utterly confused as to where he was possibly going with this, Belle turned around shrugging. “So?”

“I’m just saying if that is the type of thing you are into, I’m sure we can come to some type of agreement. Our marital bed will certainly be large enough to accommodate another, I mean, as long as I am there of course. We can invite the Lucas girl in time to time, as well as other ladies, of my choosing.”

Scoffing she wasn’t the least bit surprised by his assessment. Of course if a woman showed no interest in him, his fragile male ego would assume she had to be gay. Turning on her heel, she walked back into her home, slamming the door behind her.

Stewing she retreated to her father’s office as the front door opened behind her. Not having the patience to deal with Gaston for a moment longer, she was about to tell him exactly where he could go, when her father’s face appeared in the doorway.

“I asked Gaston to go fetch some firewood.” He said smiling at her, taking a seat on the settee against his office wall.

“Thank you, Papa,” she breathed out a sigh of relief, moving to join him. Reaching for his hands, she sat next to him. “I’m glad your back. How did everything go in town?” “Fine,” he replied giving a stiff nod. “Mrs. Potts funeral is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. It appears that the scoundrels that broke into the morgue last night for some ungodly reason stole her eyeballs.”

Belle was certain that the temperature in the room had risen by ten degrees, as a nervous sweat built on her upper lip. Trying to keep her shaking hands still, she averted her eyes from his certain that they screamed loud and clear her guilt in the theft at the morgue.

. “Do they have any idea who the thieves were Papa?”

“The guard said the one man had papers, proclaimed to be a doctor, and the second man wore a rather large hat. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember their names, or recall what their faces looked like.”

“Strange,” Belle croaked out, clearing her throat. It had been Rumple’s suggestion to send Dr. Frankenstein, and Jefferson to do the task. Judging by the guard’s fuzzy memory, it appeared that Jefferson’s special brew of coffee, worked perfectly. With the victim’s eyes secured, she just had to wait for Rumple to come back from his travels, with the collected ingredients needed for the spell. Soon they would learn who the real murderer of Mrs. Potts was.

“But on a brighter note the town is throwing a party next week in appreciation for slaying the monsters that killed those poor women. Gaston and I are to be their honored guests.” Her father looked so proud of the accolade that it broke her heart to speak ill of it.

The nightmare had begun four months ago, when Ashley Boyd, a young maiden of 16, was found floating face down in Lake Placid. The town was outraged by her death, and the outrage, grew into a mob of panic and fear, as Ashley’s older sister Drusilla emerged from the woods, claiming that she had witnessed a sea creature murdering her sister. It was only logical that a town gripped in fear of a monster turned to her father, Gabrielle Van Helsing for aid. Long retired, her father was as surprised as she was at the town’s accusations of a murderous amphibious monster on the loose. It had been almost 15 years since anyone claimed of a monster attack.

Although her father’s mind was still sharp as a tack for the hunt, time had betrayed his body, leaving his physicality waning. It seemed like a perfect match when Gaston, widely known for his superior hunting and tracking skills volunteered to assist her father in the hunt of this monster. With her father’s expertise, and Gaston’s physicality, no creature within a 100 mile radius was safe.

The town let out a sigh of relief when Van Helsing and Gaston returned with the head of the creature that had supposedly killed poor Ashley, but when her sister Drusilla was found a month later with her throat slashed, the town once again demanded the head of the monster that did it. Once again Belle’s father and Gaston rose to the occasion, bringing justice for the young maiden’s death, but were soon facing another murder, the latest being Mrs. Potts who was found strangled in the woods.

“Belle, you must really learn to get along better with Gaston.”

Rolling her eyes she tried to give her father some clarity on what type of man Gaston really was. “He’s terrible father. He’s conceited, and boorish, and he always says the crudest things when your back is turned. When you stop your…association with him, I plan on never seeing that troublesome oaf again.”

As her father’s grasp on her hands tightened she could sense that he was growing more irritated.

“And what’s so terrible about him, hmmm?” Her father scolded, his hold becoming unbearable. “He is a hero. He’s made a name for himself now, protecting people from monsters. At the festival next week, the town will be gifting him with the same honor they gave me all those years ago, an acre of land for every monster slain. Given time, he will have as much land as I do. He will be able to build an estate, provide you with the life you have been accustom to.”

With some force, she was able to pull her hands free from her father’s death grip. She bit her tongue trying to stop herself from lashing out and saying something that she couldn’t take back. It was true that she had enjoyed the life her father provided for her. They lived far out of town, on 27 acres of land, one acre for every monster her father had killed over his lifetime. He had cleared two acres of the land to build their home, surrounded by acres of undeveloped forest. She enjoyed the isolation, leaving her plenty of time, to read her father’s extensive collection of books on the supernatural.

While most little girls grew up with skills of cooking and sewing, Belle learned about the creatures of the darkness. She developed her writing skills by transcribing her father’s explorations, as he dictated his adventures to her. Many of the books that filled their library were written by her own hand. Secretly she had hoped to one day publish them, to educate the public on the creatures that they long feared. Although her father’s tales talked of monsters soulless nature towards violence, Belle secretly theorized that perhaps they were just misunderstood, and that it was man that brought the violence to the monsters.

“Now Gaston has let his attention be known to me that he would like to enter a courtship with you.”

Her eyes widened in fear. He wouldn’t. The father she knew and loved wouldn’t subject her to a life shackled to pompous arrogant ox.

“And I have agreed to it.”

Her stomach dropped, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Calm down child. It’s not marriage. At least not yet. But I think you should take the time to get to know him, see what he can offer. You might be surprised to find a little bit of your father in him.”

This couldn’t be happening. Shaking her head no, she wiped away her tears. Now, she thought to herself. Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow. She needed to tell her father the truth. She needed to tell him what she had secretly been doing the last few months, and with whom.

“Papa, monsters didn’t kill those women.” She shouted out waiting for his reaction, but was hit with his silence. “It’s just what someone, the real murderer, wanted us to believe. Those women died by human hands.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her father snarled. “Gaston and I caught the monsters that did it.”

“You caught monsters Papa, but innocent ones. Don’t you understand, there is a murderer about, and they have framed these creatures?”

“Enough!” her father‘s voice bellowed through the air as he walked towards his desk in a fit of rage. “I will not stand here and listen to these unfounded accusations on my character or your future husband’s. We hunted and killed the creatures that murdered those innocent women, and if you speak one more word of this fictional nonsense, than I will have no choice but to have you committed for medical observation for hysteria.”

Mouth agape, Belle stood shell shocked at her father’s threat. Who was this man before her? The man threatening to put her in an asylum was not the same man who raised her to be bold and courageous. He had changed over these last few months. These murders had boasted him back into the spotlight of the people once more, and it was obvious to her that he reveled in being their savior against the wicked in this world. Who needed a daughter’s love, when you had the admiration of a town?

Afraid that one more word may cause him to follow through with his threat, she glumly sat back down, clasping her hands together in her lap. There was still so much left unsaid, but if she told him that she had been investigating these murders behind his back with his sworn mortal enemy, the King of Darkness, Rumpelstiltskin, and had in fact fallen in love with him, and had been carrying on a relationship with him for the last few months, she was certain that she would be in chains at the asylum by sundown.

She sat motionless, but could clearly see her father pacing around, fiercely running his hands through his hair. It took several more minutes before he regained his composure.

“There are so many stories here in this library.”

With the soften tone in his voice, she chanced a glance at him, finding some type of solace in the spark of familiar warmth in his eyes.

“Have I ever told you my favorite story?”

The side of her mouth twitched, as the smile she tried to give him faltered under the weight of her heartbreak. She had joyfully heard this story hundreds of times before, but today her ears did not want to hear it.

“Once upon a time, there was a man. A ruggedly handsome man, if I do say so myself,” he chuckled.

“The man had dedicated his life to fighting the evil in the world. He fought many of battle, coming out of each one victorious, as well as a little wiser than he was before. As the man grew more enlightened, he learned of a weapon. A weapon forged of darkness, a dagger that wielded the power to lead all of the darkness and evil in the world. In the right hands, that weapon could be used to banish all of the ungodly creatures and monsters from the earth, freeing mankind from their villainous clutches.”

It was such a strange sensation to hear the familiar words of his story, but have them feel so foreign at the same time. The distorted perspectives that he father had instilled in her as a child about monsters and creatures of the darkness had been forever altered when she fell in love with Rumpelstiltskin. As her father continued with the story, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would react if he knew that she had held that very dagger of darkness in her hands a mere month ago.

“Soon the man decided that if was going to win the war against these monsters, that he needed the weapon. Legend had it, that it was in possession of their king, the King of Darkness. And so the man dedicated his life to finding the King and destroying him. He relentlessly searched for him, for the dagger, hunting down every lead, every whisper of where he may be. One tip led the man into a forest where he had never trekked before. Lost, the man wandered around the unknown forest for days until he stumbled upon an alarming scene. ”

Belle’s pulse quickened, her stomach twisting in knots. What was wrong with her? She knew this story. She lived this story, and yet today something anew was bubbling up inside of her. Flashes of a forgotten long ago sprung forth into her consciousness.

Her mother’s blue eyes. A yellow blanket. A small wooden cup of warm goat’s milk.

“The man was taken aback when he saw a woman lying motionless on the forest floor. Above her was a towering monster, a beastly thing growling and vicious.”

Screaming. Walls shaking with anger.

Closing her eyes she tried to barricade the flood of buried memories.

“But what astonished the man, was not the growling creature that he saw, but the young child, the young girl that stood between the woman and the beast. She couldn’t have been more than four but she stood tall, ready to defend the woman against the monster.”

Distressed Belle opened her eyes, as her father moved to sit next to her. He continued his tale, oblivious to the inner turmoil that his story was causing her.

“Her brave little blue eyes locked onto the man’s. It was in that exact moment that the man saw a kindred soul in the little girl. Without a moment of hesitation, the man rushed in, saving her from the beast. Sadly the woman on the ground, the girl’s mother, had already succumbed to her injuries.”

Feeling like her mind and heart was lost in a muddled haze, she blinked slowly, as her father brought his hand up to cup her cheek, tears welling in his eyes.

“It was that day that the man’s life changed forever. Although the man slayed many a monsters in his lifetime, his greatest accomplishment, his greatest achievement was getting to be that brave little’s girl father from that day forward.”

Looking into her father’s eyes, her sanity desperately tried to cling to the love and affection that she had for him.

“My brave little Belle,” he smiled gently in awe of her. “You were always a protector.” He brought his lips to her forehead giving her a light kiss, before standing up to move towards his desk.

She loved him. She loved him so dearly, that she stayed silent for years, burying the truth of that day, so far deep down, that she allowed herself to truly believe the story that he told her time and time again. But now, the secret of that day burned inside of her. She wanted to say it, but when she opened her mouth, the words burned her tongue leaving her speechless.

She didn’t really want to know, did she? She was going to leave it be, keep the trauma of that day buried until the memory of the monster’s face that day pierced her soul.

“And what about the monster?”

Her voice was tiny, fragile. She wasn’t sure her father even heard her until he stopped suddenly his posture stiffening. Be brave she thought to herself, knowing they were at the point of no return.

“What did the man do the monster?”

All she heard was her own ragged breathing, as she waited for his reply. Keeping his back towards her, he turned his head slightly, as she gazed upon the silhouette of his face.

“The man did what he did best. He slayed the beast.”

“You killed my father,” she whispered revealing the dark truth of that day, and just like that all of the suppressed memories of her father, her real father, came flooding back to her.

He was angry all the time. She would lie in bed at night, clinging to a yellow blanket, as her parents fought. The walls would shake, as plates and dishes shattered against them. Then one day, her mother bundled her up, told her father was sleeping and that they needed to be quiet. Her mother already had two small bags packed for them, and they left the house as quiet as two mice. They were a good distance away from the house, when Belle remembered her yellow blanket. Her mother had told her they couldn’t go back, but she had screamed as loud as she could, terrified to go anywhere without it. She wrestled her hand away from her mother, and bolted back towards the house to retrieve it.

She could see home in the distance, when her father came barreling out of the cottage, storming straight past her, his sights set on her mother. With a raging passion he grabbed her mother, shaking her before throwing her to the ground, her head crashing against a giant boulder. Running to her mother, she had tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t move.

Her father was sobbing. She stood up, ready to tell him to help Mama wake up, when he suddenly dropped to his knees before her, blood spluttering from his mouth. A man she had never seen before stood behind him, pulling a long jagged knife out of her father’s back. Before she could even look away, the man slashed her father’s throat, his blood splattering upon her tiny face. Terrified as both of her parents lay dead before her, she stood frozen, her eyes locking on the stranger.

“I killed a monster that day,” Her father replied coldly.

“He was my father.”

He turned in a flash, his offended eyes boring into her. “I am your father.”

Looking back she couldn’t remember when she first started replacing the made up beast’s face with her own father’s. It made her wonder what other lies Van Helsing instilled in her at such a young age. What other history did he rewrite?

Awkward tension electrified the air between them, neither knowing what to say next.

She loved him. In all sense of the word he had been her father for the last 16 years, but this revelation made her question what type of man he truly was. He had experience in easily taking a human life, something she never thought he was capable of before. Did he have something to do with these women’s murder?

The front door slammed open, as heavy stomping entered their home. She didn’t have to look back to know Gaston had returned. Looking at her father, the anger in his eyes dissipated into a look of despair.

Her instinct was to go to him, wrap him in her arms, and tell her father that she loved him no matter what, yet she just stood there utterly completely lost to the flurry of emotions battling within her. She heard the creak in the floor board behind her as Gaston’s booming voice called out.

“So what’s for dinner?”

Belle felt as if she was having an out of body experience, as she went through the motions, preparing their dinner that night. She and her father had not said two words to each other, since leaving his office. She needed time to process everything, before making any life altering decisions regarding their relationship. For once she was actually grateful that Gaston was there for dinner, demanding as usual all of the attention, and conversation center around his favorite topic, himself.

She ate in silence, noticing her father drank more that night, than he was typically accustomed to. Belle had no doubt he was trying to numb his own pain over their argument. Gathering the plates, she made her way to the kitchen, as Gaston talked to her father about the town’s festival the following week.

“Of course Belle will need to be on my arm,” she heard Gaston command. “It would be an excellent time to announce the news of our courtship.”

Bile rose in her throat, at the thought of having to parade around town on that pig’s arm, pretending to be ecstatic over the thought of spending her life with him. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. Her heart, her love, belonged to another. There was only one man she would spend the rest of her life with, and it certainly wasn’t Gaston. Wiping her hands, she threw the towel down, bursting into the dining room, poised for a fight.

“Don’t you think I should have some say in this conversation, since you are talking about my life?”

“Please Belle, men are talking here.” Gaston scoffed.

She clenched her hands into fists of rage. She would not tolerate another second of this bullish imbecile’s presence. She refused to stand there calmly as her very life was being dissected and planned right before her very eyes. Her back straightened, as she stood tall ready to unleash a tirade of every ill thought and notion that she ever thought of Gaston Legrume, when the sound of fluttering wings caught her attention.

Instantly she glanced towards the window, her eager eyes landing upon the familiar one eyed raven perched on the sill.

He’s back, her inner self rejoiced as a blend of relief, excitement, and arousal spread throughout her entire being. Her father and Gaston’s voices faded into the background as white noise, as she walked over to the window, placing her forehead against the cool glass. She ran her finger down the panel along the outline of the bird, silently cursing the barrier that was between them. She wanted to scoop the raven in her arms, tie a message of love to its leg, and send it back to its master.

“Get away from the window darling, you’ll catch a chill,” her father spoke softly, his first words directed towards her all night. Sighing, she stepped away from the window, watching as the raven flew away into the early evening sky.

Holding her breath, Belle tiptoed past her father’s bedroom door, his loud snores bellowing out into the night air. She grabbed her green cloak off the hook, fastening it over her crisp cotton white nightgown. Slowly she opened the front door, just enough, so she could slide her body through, closing it with one small click.

The cool dark night air awakened her senses as the full moon blanketed the forest before her in a warm inviting light. The last five hours had dragged on for what felt like an eternity. It hadn’t been until the sun had long set, and she feigned a headache, that Gaston had finally taken his leave, and her father shortly thereafter fell into a drunken slumber.

Entering the forest, she heard a crackling of leaves on either side of her. Although she couldn’t see anyone through the thickness of the trees, she knew she was being followed on all sides. While anyone else would be terrified of the sounds in the darkened forest, Belle felt a wave of calmness and peace wash over her. Here she was safe, here she was protected. Restless to see her lover, her pace quickened as she neared their usual meeting place, a small clearing by the river.

Once there, she closed her eyes as the sounds of the forest tickled her ears. She heard an owl in the distance, and the babbling sound of the river. Her pulse quickened as a congress of ravens whirled overhead.

Biting her lip, a warm body rush of desire filled her, as she felt his hot breath tickling the back of her neck.

“Beautiful young maidens, such as yourself, shouldn’t be left alone in these woods after dark,” his voice purred in her ear. “There are monsters about my dear, and you look good enough to eat.”

Heat coiled in her belly at the feel of his hands on her hip. Every lady like social grace she had ever learned went out the window as she pushed her rear out to brush against him. He let out a small hiss as she rubbed herself against his hard bulge.

“Minx,” he uttered playfully as she laid her head back against him, exposing her neck to his soft kisses.

“Well, what do you expect when you ah…” she paused as his slick wet tongue grazed against her pulse point. “When you leave me for seven days.”

“Trust me, my sweet, it was even harder for me,” he confessed, wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her back flush against his body.

Part of her wanted to turn around and face him, missing the taste of his lips, but the continuous feel of his hard cock rubbing against her rump was too wickedly gratifying to stop. It felt so good. Judging by his staggered breath, he was just as aroused as she was. But before she surrendered to their fever of passion, her heart needed to say something first.

“I love you, Rumple.”

His grinding ceased at her words, as he wrapped both arms around her waist, laying his forehead against her shoulder.

“I love you too,” he professed.

“I don’t know if I could have lasted another day without you,” she confessed with a hint of sorrow in her voice. “Gaston asked my father today to court me.”

Fueled by jealousy his arms tightened around her.

“And my father agreed to it. They plan on announcing it next week. ” her confession was cut off by his clawed hand wrapping around her throat.

“You’re mine,” he hissed possessively.

After a moment, his grasp loosened enough on her neck so she could turn around to face him. His long green talons lightly scraped along her skin. Staring him straight in the eye, she leaned in close, his fingers still wrapped around her throat.

“And you’re mine, Rumpelstiltskin.”

His lips crashed hard onto hers, her mouth greedily welcoming the taste of him. His hand moved from her throat to her back, hauling her towards him. Delving her hand into his hair, she grasped it between her fingers, giving it a slight tug.

His tongue slid into her mouth, causing a pool of wetness between her legs. She didn’t want to wait a moment longer. Putting her hands on his chest, she pushed herself away, his lips desperately trying to follow hers. Slowly she took a few steps backwards as her eyes locked on his darkened lust filled stare.

Silently she brought her hands up, untying the cloak from her shoulders, feeling it fall from her body to the ground behind her. The crisp night air did nothing to cool her overheated body as she stood there before him in a sleeveless thin white cotton nightgown.

His hungry eyes roamed over her body as she stood before him, her chest heaving in carnal anticipation. Desire shot through her core, as he lowered his head, licking his lips, like an animal ready to pounce on its prey.

He took two long strides, before his strong hands lifted her, cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other she slithered down in between them, to unfasten his leather breaches. He plucked a kiss from her lips as her fingers grazed over his freshly exposed hard member.

“Hold on to me, love” he gritted out, as she wrapped both arms around his neck clinging to him, as he lowered them to the hard ground.

He placed one hand behind him, steadying himself to sit down with his legs out, as she straddled him. Face to face, she reached down, grasping his cock, lining him up with her entrance. She let out a soft cry, followed closely by his low groan, as she slid down onto his cock. Placing her forehead against his, the two lovers moved together as one.

He reached for her nightgown now bunched up at her waist, pulling it off over her head in one fell swoop.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he peppered small kisses along her breasts. The sensation of his wet lips on her puckered nipples drove her wild, and she found herself grinding harder down on him. She cried out, as he held onto her hips, thrusting up, filling her as far as he could go. She threw her head back, her long hair tickling her bare back.

Lost in throes of passion, she was vaguely aware of their surroundings, until a horde of sticks snapping and leaves crunching intruded her ears. Eyes snapping open, she stopped mid thrust, as Rumple laid still beneath her. She held her breath, as her eyes scoured the forest around them.

Hundreds of glowing eyes surrounded the two lovers. Small eyes, big eyes, from the top of the trees to the forest floor stared upon them. It was not people who watched them, this she knew. It was his subjects, the creatures of the darkness.

She looked down at Rumple, his glittery green skin, sparkling in the moonlight, as his eyes held a question of a shy hope and fear. She knew she should be mortified, hide her naked body from their prying eyes, and yet she had no desire to do so. She loves their king. She wants to show them, prove to all of them that her world and their world of darkness can join together as easily as the two bodies before them.

She grinds against Rumple once more, drawing words of love and devotion from his lips. She knows the creatures eyes are upon them, as he lifts his trembling hands cupping her breasts. Glancing out into the forest, her eyes convey a silent promise to them all. She loves them, and will protect them with her dying breath.

Her climax draws near, as she quickened her pace, feeling him deep inside of her.

“You are their queen,” he proclaims. “My love, my life, My Belle.”

His words push her over the edge, as she tightens around his cock, drawing his own orgasm. Wolves howl into the full moon night sky as his seed pulses inside of her. Breathless she falls forward onto his chest, letting out a sigh of contentment as his arms quickly wrap around her.

They are still joined as she lays her head on his beating heart. Neither speaks as they bask in the afterglow of their love. She shivers as the night air sweeps over her naked flesh. She feels him move his hand, blindly searching for her cape nearby. He soon succeeds, covering them with the green cloak.

“If that is the type of homecoming I get, I should go away more often,” he teases stroking her hair.

“Don’t you dare,” she playfully chides, kissing his chest. She chances a glimpse into the forest, not surprised to see all eyes have disappeared. She knows that even though she can no longer see them, they haven’t ventured far, especially the wolves. They have a sworn oath to protect their king, and in turn now…her. There was no place safer for her to be, than surrounded by the monsters and creatures of the darkness.

As protected as she was in her lover’s arms she couldn’t dispel the growing worry in her heart. Soon they would learn the truth of who was really behind the murder of Mrs. Potts, and she prayed that her suspicions were wrong.

“So I take it you were able to acquire what was needed?” she asked a hint of uneasiness in her voice, as his hand lightly strokes her naked back.

“Yes,” his voice was low. She knew he felt no joy in the subject matter. “It took a little longer than expected, but I was able to obtain all of the ingredients we need for the spell. If things go as plan, we should be able to see the last few minutes of Mrs. Potts’ life through her own eyes.”

He took a deep breath, her head moving with the fall and rise of his chest.

“Sweetheart, I know this isn’t easy for you, if you…”

“No,” she interjected cutting off his concern as her chin pressed into his chest. “We need to know…I need to know the truth. If someone is killing these women, and framing monsters for it, they have to be stopped. Even if it’s…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish her thought. What type of daughter was she for even considering the notion that her own father could be involved in these killings?

Using one hand to push himself up from the ground, Rumple held her as he moved himself into a sitting position, with her straddling his lap.

“I promise you Belle. If by the slightest chance your father somehow is involved in this, he will be safe from me and mine. No harm will come to him by my command.”

She knows that his words are truthful, but wonders if he learned of her father’s threat to put her in an asylum, if he would still hold true to his promise. It was one thing to harm someone else, but if her father harmed her in any way, no promise would stop Rumpelstiltskin in exacting revenge.

“Time is of the essence. Should we go to the dark castle tonight to start the spell?” she inquired, stunned when he shook his head no.

“When all is revealed Sweetheart, there is no going back. Soon we will find if a murderer is from my world, or yours. Either way, as King of the Darkness I will have to bring some balance back to this world of chaos. There are many ways, many different paths that this could take us down. So forgive me, but just for tonight, I do not want to think about what lays ahead, but savor the now. Tonight is ours.”

Looking into his eyes, Belle could see that he was as worried as she was of what this spell would uncover. If Gaston or her father were somehow involved in all of this, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

“Tomorrow, then,” she agreed.

“You do know that no matter what happens tomorrow there is only one path that is certain?”

“Which one is that?”

Placing his hands on her cheeks, he gave her a small smile, his voice intent and sincere.

“The one where you and I are together.”

Rolling her onto her back, all worries of tomorrow faded away, as the king of darkness and his queen made love under the moonlight.

#rumbelle monster's ball #rumbelle fic #rumbelle

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years

Text

Keep Hope at Hand, Chapter Sixteen

a/n: this is a HUGE chapter, both length-wise and content-wise, so as a gift, I want to thank each and every one of you that have stuck with me this far for your time, plus those who have joined along the way. You have no idea what this means to me, and without this story and all of you lovely people, this semester probably would have been very different for me.

Summary: When a curse is going to send the inhabitants of Enchanted Forest, Captain Killian Jones, husband to the Princess, must take their daughter through the wardrobe to save them from the curse and give her the ability to break the curse when the time comes.

From the Beginning: tumblr // ao3

Previous Chapter: tumblr // ao3

This chapter on AO3

The regular crew: @shireness-says@wellhellotragic@flyflyangel@stahlop@superchocovian@kingofmyheart14@drkeldonmd@darkcolinodonorgasm@profdanglaisstuff@pirateherokillian@captainsjedi @let-it-raines @ultraluckycatnd @cocohook38

The Jewel of the Realm rocks peacefully on the waters of Misthaven, her sails blowing softly in the warm breeze of the sea. The sun beats down from the clear sky, and there are seagulls perched on the sails of the ship.

All is quiet in the world.

Well, that’s not technically true: all is quiet in Killian’s world, though he knows that somewhere on the ship, the crew is rejoicing, but he fails to hear it. All he can hear is a deafening nothingness, an eerie, ear-piercing silence as he holds his brother in his arms. He knows there should be sounds: the waves crashing against the sides of the ship, footsteps from the crew on the deck above them, and the cheers - they made it out of Neverland, back to the Enchanted Forest, something none of them — especially not Killian himself — thought was going to happen after the chaos of their journey.

And maybe somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he does hear these things; but all he can focus on at the moment is Liam, unmoving in his arms, the only pillar of his life that he’s always known to be solid. All he has now is… nothing. No family, no possessions beyond the small trunk of clothing sitting at the edge of his bunk. He remembers the words he said to him just moments ago: “I would follow you to the ends of the earth, brother” - and it is true. Was true. He would have followed his brother to the very ends of the earth, through every kingdom and realm known to man and those unknown. He would have gone through hell for his brother — but sitting here, holding his lifeless body, is a hell worse than any he has ever imagined.

Because now, he has no one to follow, a fact that becomes exceptionally clear as he watches Liam’s body hit the water, the burial at sea that he always wanted - though not at so ripe an age.

When one of the crew hands the sextant to him — “This belongs to you now, Captain,” — he doesn’t know what to say. He never wanted to be captain, never wanted to be in charge of his own ship — all he ever wanted was to sail the seas with his brother.

And then, running his thumb over the patch attached to the sextant bag with his brother’s name — his name — he has an idea: he may no longer be able to sail the seas with his brother, but he can surely sail the seas for his brother.

Taking a moment to look out over the crew, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, hears it even over the sound of the waves against the hull of the ship. It is time to rally his crew.

“We are sworn to serve the king and the realm. They sent us to retrieve an unthinkable poison, one that killed our dear captain. Never again shall we take such orders, serving the king, fighting his wars. That is the way of dishonor! And all you who disagree flee now, or walk the bloody plank!” No one moves a muscle, other than to look around at the others, everyone staying true to their new captain. “For those who stay will be free men, and I will be your captain. We’ll sail under the crimson flag, and we’ll give our enemies no quarter. We’ll take what we please! And we’ll live by our own rules, for that is the best form of all!

“Our kingdom is corrupt and immoral. They took my brother from me, and now I’m going to take everything they’ve got, starting with this ship! Bring the paint from below! It’s time we rename this vessel!” He points to a crewman, who immediately goes to follow his orders. “We no longer sail as The Jewel of the Realm , we now sail as the Jolly Roger !” Now he is truly enraged, and removes the jacket of his officer’s uniform, tossing it overboard and into the waters of the corrupt realm, following the body of his lost brother. “When they come for us, I want them to know exactly what we are — pirates! For at least among thieves, there is honor!”

His crew begins to cheer, then chant his name: “Captain Jones! Captain Jones!”

Adrenaline rushes through him, and he clenches his jaw. He may have lost a brother, but he has gained a crew, a crew that has decided to stay true to him, even after he turns against the corrupt King.

But as the newly-renamed Jolly Roger sails back towards the sea port owned by their corrupt king, a dark shadow of a man dives into the ocean behind them, not far from the burial at sea that just took place on the deck of the ship. The shadow, backed with the strongest forms of dark magic in the universe, pulls the still-sinking body of Liam Jones from the water as it flies back towards the horizon, disappearing in the sky just as the stars begin to twinkle.

When it sets it's feet down on the ground, it's owner smiles devilishly, hands on his hips.

“Good job, shadow!” he cheers, and the group of boys gathered behind him join in the cheer. “Now, all it should take is…” His words trail off as he pulls the canteen out from under his belt, popping off the cork and kneeling down to pour some into the man’s mouth, the other hand moving in slow circles over his chest.

Expectantly, he leans back, his eyes glued to the man’s chest, which should start moving at any moment.

Except, it doesn’t.

“Tinkerbell!” he yells, jumping to his feet, and a woman — the first woman to ever be on the island — pushes through the line of boys, her arms crossed over her chest. “You said this would work!”

She rolls her eyes at him, and he sneers at her. “I said it might work, Pan. Bringing people back from the dead isn’t the easiest thing.”

Suddenly, a cloud of smoke appears behind them, and each of the boys draws their weapons as a face appears out of the smoke.

“Good thing that I know how to help you!”

“We don’t want help from you, Dark One!” Tinkerbell yells, but Pan’s eyes just go wide as he stays silent. “Why would you want to help us anyway?”

The Dark One begins pacing in front of them, wringing his hands behind his back. “There will come a time when I will come to you with a favor regarding this man in particular, and his dear younger brother, whose face will become one that you all know very well. And because I have helped you resuscitate him, you will owe me that favor. Without me, this man will never come back to life and you will never be able to do… well, whatever you’re bringing him back to life to do.”

“We would never accept help from you,” Tinkerbell yells, but Pan holds up his hand, staring down the man in front of him.

“Yes, okay,” he says, and Tinkerbell’s eyes widen in disbelief as the Dark One smiles. “I accept your help, Dark One. What do I need to do to bring Captain Jones back from the dead?”

“Hand me your canteen,” he commands, pulling a vile of sparkling black liquid out of the satchel around his waist, which he pours into the container before handing it back to Pan. “Now do as the fairy told you to.”

Pan stares up at the Dark One for a moment before pouring the liquid carefully into the sailor’s mouth, his hand moving in slow circles over his chest.

Nothing happens.

Then the Dark One snaps his fingers, and Liam Jones comes back to life.

— — / — —

Baelfire pushes through the line of trees in front of him, slowing only when his feet reach the sand of the beach. He finds the ship on the horizon, right where he knew it would be — right where it always is. He is the first of the party to make it to the beach, so he sits in the sand, his fingers digging holes into it at his side.

They meet under the cover of darkness, Bae begging to universe, the gods of fate, whoever — if anyone — is watching over him to let him get away without Pan’s knowledge, or at least without Pan's intervention.

Which is difficult on an island that Pan controls.

So much has happened since what must has been months ago, when he decided he needed to leave Neverland before Pan tried to kill him.

Again.

Tried to kill him again.

As always when he sees the Jolly Roger swaying peacefully in the waters of Neverland, he wants to be angry, but is instead just sad. When he found himself on Killian’s ship all those years ago, he really thought the man had come to care for him. Even if he was the man that tore his family apart, that took his mother and killed her when she tried to leave, he thought maybe the pirate still had a heart. But he has been here for dozens of years, and the damned pirate had never even tried to help him. He knows the Jolly can travel realms, and escaping would be that much easier if Killian wanted to help him.

But he doesn’t. Tink must have shared their plan with him by now, knows that she spends time with the pirate. The man just doesn’t care, which shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does.

Shouldn’t hurt him as much as it does.

Tinkerbell and Wendy push through the treeline, and Bae snaps his head towards the sound, thankful that it is his friends and not any of his enemies.

“Do we have enough?” he whispers, still trying to get used to the way his voice has dropped in the past few weeks. After being fourteen for so long, the magic that keeps time from passing in Neverland has stopped working for him, and he has grown a few inches, started to find some peach fuzz covering his face, and, of course, his voice.

It turns out that when you stop calling Neverland home, when you long to leave the island and live somewhere else, Neverland stops being your home. For this, Bae is almost thankful, save the fact that it’s been terrifically difficult to hide from Pan.

Tinkerbell reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out a small jar filled with glittering powder, her fingers gripped tightly around the glass. “I collected as much as I could find without him getting suspicious.”

“But is it enough?” Wendy asks.

“I…” she starts, then presses her lips into a tight line. “I honestly have no clue. No one has ever tried to use fairy dust to leave Neverland before.”

Bae nods, reaching out to slide the jar from Tink’s grasp.

“Thank you, Tink,” he says softly, and instead of taking the jar from her, he pulls her in for a hug, his rapid growth more obvious now as he stands a few inches taller than she does. “You risked everything for this, for a whim. And one day, I will come back and take you away from this wicked place as a thank you.”

“Just get off the island for now, Baelfire,” Tink responds, a small smile pulling at her lips.

“Go somewhere he can never find you,” Wendy whispers in his ear when he moves to hug her. “Stay safe.”

“Thank you, Wendy,” he whispers back, pulling away from her just enough to look into her eyes. “In another life, things would have been different between us.”

“Perhaps, but we will never get the chance to find out.”

“Please come with me,” he pleads, for what must be the hundredth time.

“You know I cannot, Bae. Who knows what he could do to my family if I left here.”

Bae has so much more he wants to say, since the two standing in front of him are the only friends he has ever had — but a rustle in the bushes behind them replaces all of these thoughts with terror instead, and he pulls the jar from Tink’s hand, quickly unscrewing the lid and pouring the contents of it over him.

“Go, Bae!” Tink yells. “Close your eyes and think of where you want to go.”

“Be safe, Baelfire!” Wendy calls as his feet leave the ground just as Pan pushes out of the clearing, his shadow and the other that follows his commands already flying after the boy.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t know what you’ve been up to?” Pan asks, his voice a low growl, and both Tink and Wendy take a step away from him. “You’ll pay for this, you know.”

High in the air above them, Bae screams as one of the shadows takes a hold of his ankle and the other his arm, but they do not stop moving. A smile spreads across Pan’s evil features, but it fades away when Bae disappears from the sky, replaced with a momentary sparkle before the sky grows dark again.

“It worked,” Tinkerbell breathes, a smile taking over her face, and when she turns to Wendy, she finds that the girl has a smile of her own.

“Son of a bitch!” Pan yells, his shadow and the shadow of the young Captain moving back towards him, and he turns towards the girls, pointing his finger in their faces. “This isn’t over. This is far from over.”

When Bae’s feet hit the ground, his whole body crumbles. Every inch of him hurts, his face and his legs badly bleeding, his arm most likely broken, and his head pounding.

Thankfully, he is not alone. “Baelfire?” a voice asks from behind him, the crippled man moving as quickly as he can towards the body that he somehow knows is his son even though he hasn’t seen him for decades, though he has aged about ten years since the fairy dust swept his feet off the Neverland beach.

“Papa?” Bae whispers, barely strong enough to speak, and when Rumple finally reaches his body, he barely has the energy to smile at the one man he has wanted to see for far too long. “Please, help me.”

“I — I don’t know how,” he chokes out, trying to stop the sob that comes tearing through his chest.

“You idiot,” a voice in his head that is not his own retorts. “You know exactly how to save him, but you’re nothing but a coward.”

He shakes his head as tears begin to stream down his face. “I — I can’t!” he responds out loud, but Bae has lost his consciousness, so no one hears him anyway.

“You must,” the voice responds. “You must, or you will lose your son.”

“I can’t lose you, Bae,” he sobs, flicking his hand through the air, and a dagger appears. “And if this is what I have to do to keep you at my side, then I will do it.” He holds the dagger over Bae’s chest, which is barely moving anymore. “Baelfire, I make you the Dark One, I transfer the Darkness from me to you.”

A blinding flash of light radiates from the dagger, and Rumple drops it on his son’s chest, knocked back by the force of the blast.

Momentarily paralyzed, Rumple watches as Baelfire sits up, an evil smile spread across his face. “Thank you, papa,” he growls, taking the dagger in his hand and disappearing in a cloud of grey smoke.

— — / — —

“Rumple!” Her voice travels through the house, but no one hears her. “Rumplestiltskin!”

Finally, the man in question opens the door to the library, and when Regina realizes that he is carrying a pile of laundry, her eyes go wide, a confused smile spreading across her features.

“What a sight,” she comments, gesturing towards her. “The Dark One fulfilling his domestic duties.”

Rumple opens his mouth to speak, but Bae appears behind them before he can say anything, a piece of parchment in his hands and his boots resting on the edge of the table. “That's because he's not the Dark One anymore,” he quips, failing to raise his attention from the parchment in front of him.

“Excuse me?”

“He's no longer the Dark One,” he says again, slowing down his words as if that were the issue, and then raises his eyes to meet hers. “I am.”

Regina crosses her arms over her chest. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Baelfire,” he replies, and Regina turns on her heels to face Rumple again.

“Baelfire, as in your son? The one you became the Dark One to save?”

Once again, Rumple opens his mouth to speak, but Bae's words come first.

“It turns out that the way he was to save me was by making me the Dark One after the shadow of Peter Pan and that naval captain he brought back from the dead almost tore me apart as I was trying to escape Neverland.”

Regina blinks at him a few times before shaking her head. “There's a lot to unpack there, and I don't really have time to go through it all. But if you're the Dark One now and not your father, I suppose that means I now need your help and not his.”

“Why should I help you? My father offered his services because he thought he would find me in this Land Without Magic your curse would take everyone to. Since I am obviously not there, we no longer have a need for your curse.”

Regina's eyes go wide, and she takes a few steps towards Bae, seated at the table, leaning forward against the chair beside him. There's not anything you want?” she purrs, smiling at him. “If you help me in the same way your father was going to, you can write whatever you want in the curse. Tell me, Baelfire, what do you want most in the world?”

There is not even a moment's hesitation before the words fall from his lips. “Vengeance. Revenge against Killian Jones, the man who killed my mother and tore my family apart.”

After widening with an idea, Regina's eyes sparkle as she turns to the shelf behind Bae, her slender fingers moving across the items she finds there until they finally reach the one she is looking for: a small handheld mirror that she runs her hand over before smiling down at it and handing it to Baelfire, whose eyes grow wide with a devious grin when he sees what she is showing him.

“You mean Captain Killian Jones, betrothed to the Princess of Misthaven? Marrying the daughter of the very people whose lives my curse is written to destroy?”

Bae finally tears his eyes from the mirror, the image of a proper-looking Killian Jones — no doubt the same man he met years ago, since he looks exactly the same — with the arm that ends in a hook wrapped around the shoulders of a beautiful blonde woman and his hand holding a glittering chalice as they talk to the people gathered around them. He smiles up at Regina.

“How, exactly, can I be of assistance?”

--/--

At first, he swears it must be a dream. Another dream, like the ones that have filled his mind since he slipped into unconsciousness in that alley. Or perhaps it is instead the entrance to whatever afterlife the world has planned for him. The last thing he expects it to be is reality, because it is the last thing he deserves after everything he has done.

But when he begins to move, tries to reach his hand out and is instead met with searing flames of pain across his body, he decides that either he has instead descended into hell, or is somehow still alive after everything that happened with Neal in that alleyway.

He almost hopes it is the first option.

Until she stirs, realizing what is happening in front of her before reaching out the hand that she must forget is wrapped around the chain in her hands to press it against his chest. Even hell would not be this cruel to him, using the perfect morning sun coming through the curtains to light up his wife’s peaceful face.

“Jesus, Killian, don’t try to move,” she whispers, and if the incessant beeping coming from the machines around him weren’t already making it obvious, he can swear that his heart is pounding hard enough for her to feel it with the hand still resting on his chest.

“I’ve worked that much out on my own,” he croaks out, his voice sounding nowhere near as smooth as he hoped it would, and the laugh that escapes his chest at this sends tremors of pain through his whole body.

“What do you remember?” she asks, her voice soft and soothing and everything he’s been too afraid to think of her as since he left her behind and went through the wardrobe.

He closes his eyes, focused on the beating of his heart and the warmth radiating from her hand resting right above it.

“Neal,” he tries, but it comes out as a whisper. Taking a deep breath, he swallows slowly, then tries again. “He’s — he’s more dangerous than you ever could have known, love. He wants to kill me, to kill my girl, and now that he has his powers back, he’ll be even harder to stop.”

He hears Emma suck in a breath beside him, and he opens his eyes to look at her. Her gaze has fallen to the bed, and when her hand starts to slowly fall from his chest to meet her other resting on the mattress beside him, he stops it with his hand, wrapping the chain around some of his fingers.

“His… powers.”

It is not until she speaks these words that he remembers how much she is unaware of, and he tightens his fingers around her hand, opening his mouth to speak but realizing he does not have the words.

“You mean, like, the disappearing thing?” she asks in the silence, and though her eyes are still avoiding his gaze, he watches as she pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, slipping her hand out from under his so she can run both of them through her hair.

“Aye,” he whispers. “That’s just the beginning.”

“And he’s working with Regina.”

“He told me that, too.” Finally, she raises her gaze and finds his again. “He monologued a bit before he stabbed me,” he says, then attempts to laugh again before the pain becomes so strong all he can do is wince.

“Be careful, you have a few broken ribs, and a large laceration.”

“That must be why it hurts when I laugh.”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead, Killian,” she says, her voice more sincere than he was prepared for.

“I’m a survivor,” he comments, trying not to reveal just how much the fact that she cares gets to him, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming wave of pure adoration that rolls through him when she speaks again, so softly that he almost did not hear it over all of the machines running around him.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

A moment passes between them, Killian’s focus on the emotions crossing her face as her eyes search the room to look at anything besides him.

“Can I—” he starts, and he can barely meet her eyes before they’ve darted away from him again. When he reaches out to place one of his hands on top of hers, resting against the edge of the mattress, though, she keeps his gaze. “Why are you here, Emma?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a long breath. When she tears her eyes from his this time, they turn down to where their hands are joined, his thumb moving slowly across the soft skin on the back of her hand. How does she tell him everything going through her mind, when it all seems so insane?

But everything that’s happened over the past few weeks is so insane anyway, so the least she can do is attempt the truth.

“Everything else in my life is falling to pieces, and even though I’ve only known you for a few weeks, you seem to be the one constant that holds everything together.”

He does not know how to respond, wants in this moment to tell her the truth more than ever before, so instead, he pulls her hand to his lips, and as he kisses the edge of her knuckles, she sees a flash of a memory in her mind — or a flash of something, because it certainly cannot be a memory, can it?

How can she have a memory of the man before her, years younger, wearing the oddest outfit she has ever seen — is that leather? — a smile on his face with one hand on his sword and the other — no, not another, there’s something in place of it — on the railing of the Jolly Roger, wearing the largest smile she has ever seen as he leans down to kiss her.

What the actual fuck?

But, as quick as it came, it’s gone again.

Killian must see something change on her face as the vision fades, as she pulls her hand back from his grip.

“Emma, love, is something the matter?” he asks, his voice caring and sincere and things that it certainly cannot be in this moment.

“I can’t — I have to go.”

She jumps to her feet, the chair sliding against the floor as it moves away from the bed, but Killian reaches out to stop her, his hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Please, love, don't—” he says, but she pulls free of his grasp, staring down at him for a moment before quickly leaning to press a soft kiss against his cheek and —

Wrong move.

This certainly can’t be a memory: Killian is there again, wearing the same leather jacket from before, but this time he’s in the middle of a bright room, surrounded by flowers and people and music and she is —

A wedding ceremony.

“Emma?” he asks softly, pulling her back to reality, but she is even more terrified of whatever is happening to her, frozen with fear and curiosity and something much deeper that she’s too afraid to try to give a word to.

She leans forward against the bed, steadying herself against the mattress, and it’s all she can do to not fall to the floor. And then there is something else, Killian’s hand resting against her arm, his bright eyes still staring up at her, trying to decipher exactly what is happening, except her head is spinning and traveling in a million different directions at a time, because none of that can be real, it’s absolutely impossible, she knows what’s real and what’s not, and she’s only known Killian for a few weeks, so none of it can be anything other than… visions.

In her heart, she knows this is a lie, and this scares her more than anything else.

“I can’t deal with this,” she says, and though every muscle in her body is screaming for her to leave, she still finds herself completely frozen in place. “I can’t do this to a man who has a family and a — a wife that he’s trying to find to get his family back together, trying to raise his daughter —”

“Emma,” he says again, and all she can do is look down at him as he stares at her with the most intense expression she has ever seen — but she feels like she has seen it before. “Trust me, love,” he whispers, then reaches up to press his hand against her cheek.

She doesn’t know what this is supposed to mean, but she finds herself unable to fight him, unable to do anything besides trust him, as he wipes away the tear that is falling on her cheek before leading her face down towards his so he can press a soft kiss against her lips.

No, no, no, this is wrong , she tells herself. He has a family, has someone he loves, I can’t—

Suddenly, everything is flooded with a bright flash of light, her entire body growing warm for just a moment, and it disappears just as quickly. When it clears, Emma is still right there, inches away from his face, her eyes wide.

But something is different.

Everything is different, and the brightness in her eyes that was missing just moments before is restored.

“Killian,” she breathes, smiling as she finds his lips with hers again, her hands moving to cup his face. “Thank god, Killian.”

“I had no idea if that was going to work,” he comments, trying to laugh again, and somehow it seems to hurt less than it did before. “Bloody hell, did I need it to work, though.”

“You did it, Killian,” she says, kissing him one more time before sitting back in the chair, one hand still pressed against his cheek while he laces his fingers through the other. “You broke the curse.”

When David pushes through the doors a few moments later, they both turn in anticipation of the same excitement they share.

But it does not come.

“How do you feel, Mr. Jones?” he asks, showing no sign that anything has changed.

“I’m alive, at least,” Killian manages, trying to keep his confusion off his face. “Any updates on Neal?”

“We’re still searching for him,” is all David has to say, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he stops to stand behind Emma. “Though it’s increasingly difficult to catch a man who can disappear into a cloud of smoke.”

“You’ll keep me updated, though?” Emma asks, turning around to face him.

“Of course.”

A beat passes, none of them sure of what else to say.

“I’m going to go find your doctor, Jones,” David says finally. “And I’ll send the rest of the crew in.” Smiling at them, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, only to be replaced by Henry and Hope.

As soon as David is out of earshot, Emma jumps up out of her seat to wrap her arms around Hope, pulling Henry in after a moment.

“My sweet girl,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Does this mean—” Henry starts, but Emma’s nod, and then Killian’s when he turns his attention to the bed, is enough of an answer for him.

“We broke the curse, lad.”

A smile breaks out across Henry’s face, then Hope’s, but it does not last very long. In just moments, it has disappeared from the younger boy’s, turning instead to a worried, and very confused, knit of his brows.

Emma realizes how much this look resembles the same look on his father — his real father— and her heart soars.

“But then why didn’t David act any differently towards us?”

“If the curse was broken, wouldn’t he know that he’s our grandpa?” Hope asks, her own look of worry spread across her face.

“It’s only been a few moments since it happened, darlings,” Killian explains, and Emma leads them all over to his bedside. “We’re still trying to work out the details of it all.”

“But you’re right,” Emma adds, when none of the worry drains from the looks of her children.

Her children.

“If we really broke the curse, the whole curse, my father wouldn’t hide it from us.”

“But then what are we going to do?” Hope turns her bright blue eyes up towards her parents, full of more worry than a twelve year old should be able to understand.

Neither Emma or Killian know what to say to calm her nerves. “Come here, my cygnet," Killian says, opening his arms to allow the little girl to crawl up the bed and rest her head against his chest, trying to hide his wince when the pressure she puts against his ribs causes him pain.

“We need to find out how to break the curse,” Henry says, and for the first time in what actually feels like forever to a man who has been alive for centuries, when Emma pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, Killian reaches out to set his hand on her leg, finally able to comfort her.

“We need to talk to Jefferson,” Killian replies, Hope nodding in agreement against his chest as the other two sets of eyes turn towards him, full of confusion.

“Jefferson?” Emma asks, and Henry adds, “Like Grace's dad Jefferson?”

“Aye, he's not cursed. He traveled here not long after it was cast to collect information on it and try to learn how to break it.”

“Then I guess I'll give him a call,” Emma replies, still a bit awestruck as she moves to stand, but the weight of Killian's hand on her leg keeps her where she is. “Who else knows?”

“Well, the four of us in this room, Jeff and Grace, and Regina and the Dark One. Neal. Baelfire. Whoever he is in this world."

“Wait.” For a moment, her body is stuck, completely frozen, overwhelmed by what Killian has just revealed to her. “Neal is the Dark One? I thought Rumple was the Dark One?”

“As did I, but when he was monologuing to me as he tried to kill me in that alleyway, he revealed otherwise. Turns out when he escaped Neverland, around the same time you and I met, he was almost killed by Pan's magic, by Pan's shadow, so to save his life, Rumple was forced to transfer the Darkness to him, making him the Dark One.”

Emma takes a few moments to think over this revelation, nodding slowly. “So when Rumple helped us find the kids when Neal took them…”

“Turns out he was actually trying to be helpful, aye.”

“Maybe the man has a heart anyway.”

“That seems a little drastic, don't you think, mom?” Hope asks, turning her head away from Killian's chest to look at Emma.

Emma smiles down at her, running her fingers through he blonde curls. “You've been waiting for quite a while to call me that, haven't you, Hope?”

The little girl nods, and Emma turns her eyes up to her husband, her memories slowly coming back to her. “So you went with Hope, huh?” she asks, Hope slightly confused, but Killian just smiles when he realizes what she means. “I think it's perfect. You named her for a prophecy about herself.”

Killian wants to pull her lips down to his, wants to give her every kiss he has missed for the last twelve years, but has no choice but to pull away from her when David comes back around the corner, his eyes widening a bit in surprise at the four of them, all crowded onto the small hospital bed.

“Dr. Whale wants to keep you for a few more days to make sure your healing goes as planned, so because we haven't yet caught Neal Gold, I'd like to continue to have police protection watching over you. I can call Graham to relieve you, if you want, Emma?”

“No!” she says perhaps a bit too quickly — and definitely too enthusiastically, given the look that covers David's face. “I'd, uh, I'd like to stay here with him,” she tries again, reddening just a touch.

“Yeah, okay,” David responds, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Of course, that's fine.” He lets out a deep breath, trying to keep the smile off of his face as he changes the subject. “Do you want us to go get breakfast from somewhere? I don't want to make either of you eat hospital food if you don't have to.”

“Thank you, Dave,” Killian responds. “I know it's early still, but I would, uh — I'd really like a cheeseburger, if that's okay?

David smiles, shaking his head. “Of course I can get you a cheeseburger, Mr. Jones. And for you, Emma? Your usual?”

Emma just nods before wrapping her arm around Henry's shoulder. “You guys go with David, okay? Killian and I will be here when you get back.”

“Okay, mom!” he replies, hopping down off the bed, closely followed by Hope.

“Thank you, David,” Emma mumbles, catching herself before accidentally calling him “dad” — which is a very odd feeling, having a family after believing for so long that all she was was alone.

As soon as David closes the door behind him and the two kids, Emma turns on the mattress, re-situating herself so she is laying next to him, her arm wrapped around his shoulders so he can rest his head against her chest.

For a few minutes, they are silent, simply happy to be back together in the way they were destined to be, Emma carding her fingers mindlessly through his hair.

Finally, Killian is the one to break the silence. “Gods, love, I missed you so damn much,” he whispers, pressing his lips against her collarbone, her neck, her shoulder. “Every day I had to live without you felt like an entire lifetime.”

Emma laughs, a light giggle that might be the greatest sound Killian has heard in twelve years. “That's saying a lot for a man who's lived a few hundred years.”

“I'm serious, Emma,” he replies, his whole face holding the same sincerity as his voice.

“I know.”

He has so much more he wants to tell her, to apologize to her for, but instead of trying to piece the words together, he finds his lips with hers, putting all of the words into the slide of his tongue against hers.

“I love you,” she breathes, pulling away just far enough to say the words against his smile.

“And I you."

They allow the silence to overtake them once more for a few more minutes.

“We should move to a less confusing position for when David comes back with food,” Killian whispers, and Emma nods, her forehead knocking softly against his.

“And call Jefferson, apparently.”

“Aye, yes, love, that, too.”

When David does arrive back, Emma has returned to the chair beside the bed, a notepad spread out in front of her as they try to work out everything they know so far about the curse — though when David comes through the doors, Emma flips to the page before it, where they have started to write all the information they could think of about Neal, which would make more sense to everyone who still has cursed memories.

Lunch passes quickly in the hospital room, Killian practically inhaling his burger while Emma barely picks at her bear claw, and David is trying to find the politest way to excuse himself when Killian yawns just as one of the nurses enters the room.

“I think we should let Mr. Jones get some rest so he can heal better, don't you think?” David asks, smiling at the nurse, who nods in agreement.

“I would like to check on his wounds anyways, so I'm going to have to ask you all to leave the room.”

Hope turns to hug her father before hopping down off the side of the bed, and Henry flashes him a sad smile, wishing he could do the same.

“Keep me updated, Emma,” David commands gruffly as the nurse leads them out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“You know it.”

With another clap on the back from David, plus a hug from both Henry and Hope (the second leaving tears in her eyes), the three of them head down the hallway, leaving Emma behind to watch them until they turn the corner to the elevator.

After a moment, her phone begins to vibrate in her pocket, and she pulls it out to reveal an incoming call from Jefferson.

“Emma!” he cries as soon as she answers the phone. “Is everything alright?”

“Killian's getting his bandages changed, so he's not available at this exact moment but I —” Just thinking of the fact that she can reveal this to someone, that she even knows what it means, pulls a smile across her lips. “I have my memories back. True Loves Kiss worked, but it only worked for me. We have no idea why, and we're trying to figure out where to go from here.”

“That's… That's certainly interesting, Emma. I'm glad you have your memories back, of course, but this just makes the curse that much harder to break now.”

“Any ideas?”

She can almost see the way he furiously shakes his head at her question. “I'll look through my books and see if I can discover anything else.”

“Thanks, Jeff. And be safe out there, we still don't know where Neal went.”

“Thanks for the warning. I'll let you know when I find anything.”

As she slides her phone back into her back pocket, the nurse opens the door behind her, and Emma turns towards the noise.

“How is he?”

“His wounds are much better than we thought they would be when he came in. His broken ribs are going to take a while to heal, and the scarring along his ribs may never disappear. But he's alive, and in a much better state than we anticipated.” The smile the nurse shares with her is genuine, and she tries to place this woman's face from the Enchanted Forest — Dorothy. She wonders if they had ever met, if she had ever even seen her before.

“Thank you, Miss Gale,” Emma replies, needing to stop staring at her before suspicions arose — and needing to get back to her healing husband. “I appreciate all the work you've done.”

The nurse walks away after flashing another small smile at Emma, so she returns to the chair next to Killian's bed. “I talked to Jeff on the phone, he's seeing what he can find about the curse now that I have my memories back, or if anything of his has changed.”

“That's good,” he says, his voice soft, and though he tries to hide his exhaustion, he fails miserably.

“I should let you get some rest.”

“Please, stay here,” he whispers, reaching out to cover her hand with his.

“I'm not going anywhere, Killian,” she responds, leaning forward to press her lips against his cheek. “Never again. I promise.”

But he is already asleep.

#keep hope close at hand #khcah #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #csff #cs fics #captain swan #ouat ff #canon rewrite #cursed storybrooke

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misssophiachase · 6 years

Photo

Set It Up – A kinda but not really Klaroline Fusion (like all my different fusions)

Caroline Forbes and Klaus Mikaeslon are working as assistants to the most demanding, rival NBA bosses in New York. From Macy’s to Madison Square Garden to the MGM Grand in Las Vegas can they stop bickering long enough to come together to make their lives easier?

All I do is Win

151 W 34th Street, New York, NY

"Before you say anything,” he offered, holding his hand up to silence her. “He actually tried to fire a mailman today.”

He being Mason Lockwood, the Brooklyn Nets owner. He was also notorious for being an arrogant, demanding bastard and then some.

“And?”

“Mailmen work for the U.S. government!"

“Oh boo hoo, I don’t care, Mikaelson,” she replied gruffly, equally not caring but also knowing it was true and his boss was an ass.

“Says the girl whose boss could give Cruella De Ville a run for her money.” He wasn’t wrong. New York Knicks boss Katherine Pierce was fierce, feisty and a real bitch at the best and worst of times.

“Exactly why I’m here to claim my blender that you have your grubby paws all over. I called earlier and put it on hold,” Caroline demanded, exhausted from the trek to Macy’s Department Store noticing he was already clutching it possessively.

She took a few seconds to admire that his thieving ass was sort of attractive in that fitted, grey suit even if he didn’t know his proper place.

Five days ago she didn’t even know him but Klaus Mikaelson had made both an immediate and lasting impression on her, and it wasn’t a good one. She had always welcomed competition but his good looks were kind of messing with her resolve.

Bastard.

She had no intention of letting him win.

Ever.

“But your name isn’t on it,” he shot back, refusing to relinquish her property.

“Now, that’s extremely mature,” she scowled. “If I don’t get this exact gift for the Warner wedding my boss is going to kill me.”

Yes, to some it was just your run-of-the-mill gadget that mixed ingredients together. But this wasn’t just any blender. This was the newest, state of the art Vitamix Blender that retailed at a jaw dropping $1198.

It also happened to be the last one left in Manhattan, Caroline knew given just how many stores she’d called in vain. She just hoped the Warners were grateful, if she managed to steal it from his greedy clutches of course.

“My boss will too given it’s a gift for his only sister’s birthday,” he shot back. “If you think I’m going to give up this blender without a fight you’re sorely mistaken.”

Okay, maybe she had forgotten in her haste to put it on hold, oops, but Klaus didn’t have to know that.

“Only because you got caught out breaking the rules because I already put this on hold,” she bluffed, refusing to let him win.

“Okay fine, what do you want?”

“I thought I made myself pretty clear, Mikaelson,” she growled, gesturing towards the blender.

“What else do you want besides this blender?”

They both held each other’s gaze for a full thirty seconds before each finally responded their resolve unflinching.

“Disney on Ice tickets. I hear that the Under the Sea Christmas Spectacular is a huge hit in your borough.” Brooklyn was most definitely a bad word she could never utter.

“Seriously? That’s really what you want?”

“Deathly,” she hit back, rolling her eyes as she did it. “Surely you would have some contacts, you know if you’re actually a good assistant.”

“Because I’m sure Katherine Pierce would love to watch a singing crab and one memory-less fish,” he scoffed.

“She may be the Ice Queen but she also has thirteen impossible and incessant nieces and nephews. And last time I checked all fish were memory-less.”

“Well, then you’ve never met my Marvin.” Caroline was trying to ignore just how adorable he looked defending his goldfish one dimple at a time. “Even so those tickets will cost me more than this blender.”

“Okay, so how about I sweeten the deal with some boxing tickets?”

“Not sure the local boxing round robin is his speed, love, so that’s a definite no.”

“Well, I suppose it’s your loss,” she drawled. “Hand over my blender then, Mikaelson.”

“You’re going to have to make me,” he replied jokingly.

“Real mature,” Caroline reiterated, surprising him and plucking it from his grasp. She couldn’t miss the way his hand felt brushing against hers as she did. “I hope I never have to see your smug ass again.” She stalked away, hips swaying in her wake.

“Until I have to explain the missing blender,” he called out in frustration by way of response.

“Because I’m sure a missing blender is going to be your biggest problem given you turned down Pacquiao vs Broner ringside seats in Vegas.”

She made a mental note in her head. Caroline Forbes 1 - Klaus Mikaelson 0. Suddenly her hellish life as an assistant wasn't so bad if he was suffering too.

4 Pennsylvania Plaza, New York, NY

Klaus Mikaelson was the type to hold grudges. It started when he was six years-old and his younger brother Kol stole his favourite toy and it had only grown stronger and more spiteful in the years afterward.

Caroline Forbes was going to pay. Mainly because his boss hadn’t let him forget how pathetic he was to lose the blender he wanted to ‘a girl’ as he emphasised in air quotes. Klaus was far from chauvinistic and his boss was obviously still living in the dark ages.

Caroline wasn’t just ‘a girl’ she was a pain in his ass and Klaus planned to bring her down and it didn’t hurt that it was her home game either.

Rivals the Knicks and Nets were squaring off at Madison Square Garden and he’d been plotting his revenge ever since their last meeting. Sure, she was kind of gorgeous with those blonde waves and crystal, blue eyes but she was also his devious competition. And she was unrelenting. He had to beat her at her own game and he’d found the perfect way to do it.

“Glutton for punishment hey?”

“Excuse me?” He shot back from their neighbouring, courtside seats. The pre-game arrangements were well underway. “Last time I checked the Nets and their staff have every right to be here, even if it is on enemy territory.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she growled. “But it’s nice to know you are going down tonight.”

“Have you seen the ladder, Forbes?”

“You are one game ahead, after tonight that won’t be the case,” she scoffed. Klaus took a moment to peruse her outfit before arguing back. Even in her hideous blue and orange jersey she couldn’t help but look stunning. He decided to put it down to the fact her floral perfume was infiltrating his nostrils and messing with his composure.

“Wanna make a bet?”

“I’m pretty good at those but if you’re game.”

“Oh I’m game,” he smirked. “The Nets win you get me those ringside seats in Vegas. And by seats, I’m going to need eight.”

“Wow, someone is wishful thinking, but yeah sure, not that you’re going to win,” she scoffed. “I cannot wait to witness the annihilation, Mikaelson.”

Klaus didn’t even respond, just sent her a teasing glance and made his way to the changerooms to finalise everything. He had a good feeling that his team were going to take the win and Klaus would be on the way to Vegas for the big fight at the MGM Grand. His boss would forget that bloody blender ever existed.

“In your face, Forbes,” Klaus celebrated hours later as the Nets crowd at Madison Square Garden continued to chant well after the final buzzer. She was shocked to say the least, still cute in defeat but he’d never admit it aloud.

“This is all your fault,” she snarled. “You cheated.”

“Last time I checked I wasn’t on the court.”

“Yeah probably a good thing, you’d never actually keep up, lazy bones,” she snorted. “How about that whole surprise pre-game show where number one Nets fans Beyonce and Jay-Z just decided to belt out the Star Spangled Banner from their seats?”

“I had nothing to do with that,” he lied.

“You are the worst liar,” she huffed. “You know just how well it would be received and in turn boost team morale.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he bluffed. “The best team on the day won.”

“You are unbelievable,” she scowled. “Must really be desperate given just how much your job depends on it.”

“Is that what you say to make your situation better?” He shot back. “Didn’t think you’d stoop that low, oh hang on that whole blender situation was exactly that.”

“I guess I’m desperate,” she murmured, Klaus couldn’t miss the way her expression seemed so defeated all of a sudden. “My college loans are looming and I may have been a little dishonest under pressure because my boss wants to fire me all the time.”

“Story of my life too believe it or not,” he offered. “If only they could get on with their lives and not focus on every little thing that we do.”

“Hang on,” she murmured. “That might not be the worst idea you ever had, Mikaelson. How about we set them up together?”

“Mason and Katherine? That’s just a recipe for disaster. That much combined combustible energy cannot be safe.”

“Exactly why we have to do it,” she murmured, raising her eyebrows.

“So, I suppose I’ll see you in Vegas then?”

“If you’re lucky,” she chuckled, but given her tone Klaus knew she’d be there no matter what.

MGM Grand, 3799 S Las Vegas Blvd Las Vegas, NV

“Okay, I sent the fruit basket to her room.”

“Aren’t you a romantic,” she drawled teasingly, barely looking up from her magazine on the bed as he entered. Klaus Mikaelson was the last person she expected to organise that. As much as she was attracted to him, Caroline was seeing no similar interests besides setting up their bosses.

“Please don’t ever call me that. But, last time I checked you’d done absolutely nothing,” Klaus shot back. “And I won the last bet and everything. Time to show you care, Forbes.”

“Like sending an identical one hour massage voucher to both his and her rooms for the same time in the hotel spa?”

“I suppose that’s okay,” he mumbled.

“Why do I get the impression that you don’t like ideas coming from anyone but yourself?”

“Well...”

“It must be all that ego,” she groaned.

“You really do hate me,” he asked incredulously, it was unusual for any female to think badly of him let alone abuse him incessantly.

“For the most part.”

“Wow, aren’t you sweet,” he drawled. “So what are we supposed to do to pass the time?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Caroline shot back. “How about something more intellectual?”

“Wow. Finally something we have in common,” he smirked triumphantly, as she produced a chess board.

“I happened to be chess champion five years running in High School.”

“Well, don’t want all those potential but ignorant suitors knowing that fact,” he chuckled, sending a stray dimple her way. Caroline tried to pretend that it didn’t affect her but everything inside was telling her that it did.

And she was scared of the foreign feelings it had caused.

But in true Caroline fashion she decided to push it aside so she could beat him at chess then deal with the consequences that were threatening to derail her feelings later. She didn’t get that chance though. In fact she was in a more vulnerable position than expected.

“Check Mate,” he murmured, sweeping his queen across the board to take her king.

She was stunned at first mainly because she never lost. Ever. But he seemed to know her and rather than unsettling her it was weirdly okay.

Bastard.

“We have a boxing match to get to,” she responded mechanically. His hand grabbed hers immediately, the warmth spreading through her body. “Need to keep an eye on our bosses after all.”

“Or we could do something else?” He offered, squeezing her hand affectionately. “My siblings are in town tonight but I’m going to warn you they are...”

“Nick’s Fans?” She asked. “I’ve certainly experienced them and worse.”

“You have no idea, in fact I think they’d be perfect company for Katherine and Mason.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t care if you lose your job right now?”

“Well, if you knew my brother Kol and his big mouth,” he teased. “But if you’d rather...”

“No, I’m starting to really like your brother Kol.”

“Well. then you’re really going to like my sister Rebekah,” he chuckled. “How about we explore Vegas some more? See what fun we can get up to?”

“I suppose it can’t hurt, right?” Caroline replied.

Famous last words.

#set it up #fusion #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #misssophiachase #crossover #all i do is win #hope you like it

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mrneighbourlove · 6 years

Text

Red Typhoon: Ch 3. Crusaders Sail Onward

"It's been a while since we got the old crew together, hasn't it, Cap'n?" Rat was loading some cargo onto the Sea Witch with Corsaire. "Been so many a-years. We were all on the sea a long time together, but now, we's got families and responsibilities. It's hard to get the whole gang in one place."

"Well, I for one, am glad."

"Eh?"

"You all have your own lives now. That's what I always wanted for all of you."

"Heh, I know, cap'n. Doesn't mean we don't miss you."

"I miss all of you too, though, I'm just glad all of you have found your place in this world."

"Hard to believe you're a father of three now."

"I can't believe you married a bear."

"HA!" Rat laughed at that comment. "Well, she's quite the woman, as is Missy Orana. I mean, Princess Orana. It's hard to stop calling her that."

Liz ran to the ship, excited the with the news she brought, it meant one more nail to place into their departure. "Captain Corsaire! They’re coming into shore!"

"What are you waiting for then? Go greet them!" Corsaire waved her off. "And for the sea's sake, make sure your Uncle Acrobat doesn't slip in this snow. Metal and ice don't mix!"

"Sure thing! Revy's really excited to see them Uncle Rat. Might want to reign her in."

Down at the shore, Revy was shooting colourful flares to signal to her band of Uncle's coming into land. How she loved every single one of them, and it had been far too long seeing some of them.

"I-I-I really don't like th-this." Pockets' teeth chattered horribly as he clung to the saddle for dear live. "W-Why did we have... have to t-take dragons?!"

"Cause cap'n told us ta hurry." Acrobat told his long time friend. "And if cap'n says to hurry it up, we's hurrying it up."

"We really need ta git on these lizards more often!!!" Mojo was having the time of his life with the wind in his face. "Where do I buys one?"

"You don't buy one, they's choosing you." Juju told his brother while hanging onto his bandanna. "You's has to ask the Lorleidians 'bout it."

"Do the loop de loop again!" Bomba was literally bouncing up and down on his saddle in excitement. "Again!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Aw, you's no fun."

They saw different colour flares being shot from the shore line for the dragons to land safely. Revy was like a firefly in the distance, buzzing around excitedly.

"Hey, dere's Reveka!" Mojo pointed out the flares.

"Woohoo! Revy!!! Hey!!!" Juju waved to his niece.

"She likes me best, I'm the coolest uncle." Bomba declared with a flick of his wrist.

"Pfft, you wish, we's all know that I's the favorite" Acrobat argued. "Who convinced Rat ta get her da puppy?"

"I-I-I did." Pockets tried to hold back a snicker.

"Hey!"

Once they all landed, it quickly dawned on the how big she had grown. She stomped like a giant at them as soon as they got on their feet, and scooped as many of the men she could in a bear hug. "It's so good to see you all in one place again!"

"Ooof! Easy on dis old rigger, Reveka!" Acrobat grunted when she picked him up so easily. "He's not as young as he used ta be."

"Y-You've gotten so b-b-big!" Pockets was still taller than Revy and gave her a gentle pat on the head, ruffling her hair. "Grow so f-fast!"

"Heeey, dis ain't cool, why's the shrimp taller than me now?" Bomba crossed his arms in a fake pout. "Ah well, some ladies prefer der men fun size anyways."

"Bork!" Boof made his presence known and demanded pets from every man. "Woof!"

"Ah, good ta see you, Boof-Boof." Mojo scratched the dog behind his ears. "Revy taking good care of ya?"

"Bork!"

"Aye, she always does, doesn't she?" Juju laughed and then asked. "Revy, how's your wee brother?"

"He's doing really good Uncle Juju. I've been making sure that he's got a lot of meat on his bones. Ooh! Check out this out!" Revy took a step back and drew her sword. Concentrating her magic, she thrust her sword upwards, and a lightning bolt from deep up in the sky struck down, and her blade sparked in a cone of dancing electricity. "I'm an electric warrior!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

There were multiple exclamations as the men made sure to keep Acrobat out of the way.

"Dat's really cool, Rev, but could ya do it when I'm not... in proximity?" The old rigger asked his niece. "I's much like a lightning pole now with these new legs."

Revy noticed his legs sparking. Shit. Metal. Metal very, very bad. She quickly stabbed her sword into the ice next her to dispel the lightning. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. That would have been bad. But pretty cool overall right?"

"Aye, pretty damn cool."

"Bomba, don't curse around the lassie!"

"What?! She's an adult now, I'm pretty sure she's heard damn before, as well as shit---"

"Bomba!"

"Ass---"

"Bomba, shut up!"

"And fuck, but who knows?"

"Well, I consider myself a pretty hardcore mother fucker if I do say so myself. Bring all the bitches in~" Revy snickered, happy to fuel her Uncle Bomba's antics.

"Oh, good water spirit, ya rubbed off on her ta much, Rat's gonna have ye head." Mojo nudged Bomba in the shoulder.

"Rat's gotta catch me first, and I'm quite younger than him." Bomba snickered.

"Ye's still a brat, and ye know it." Juju nudged the other shoulder, causing Bomba to laugh.

"Wh-Where's your mother?" Pockets asked Revy. "W-We wanna make s-s-sure she knows we'll take... take care of you!"

"Aye, she knows, Borghild trusts us with her little cub." Acrobat wrapped one arm around Revy's shoulders. "Though, I believe we's all going to need a little of dat famous Uskarian mead before we---"

"Don't even think about it," Rat's voice interjected, chuckling as he saw all his former crew mates. "That stuff knocked your ass out for three days last time."

"Well, I think I used up two of my three swears for the year anyways. If you want change you should see how Liz and Lex have changed." Revy turned and waved to her dad. "Hey Dad! They all made it!"

"By the water spirit, you weren't joking when you said you got new legs!" Rat bent down to look at the metal working on Acrobat's hips, thighs, knees, and ankles. "Dat Lady Asakonigei made 'em for you?"

"Aye! I take 'em off at night, but beats the crutches any day. I can finally run again!"

"N-Not fast."

"Not fast, but still."

"Cap'n is glad you's all here, I's glad you's all here."

"Seer's our brother, Rat, we'd brave maelstroms and sirens for him."

Liz took her time walking with Rat, but when she saw her other Uncle's she felt a bit of hope. Seeing her dad again felt like it was fated and set in stone with them all gathering here. "Hello everyone. I'm happy to see you arrived safe and sound."

"Sheesh, time passes too quickly nowadays, you's all gone." Bomba sighed deeply with a sulk. "And you're taller than me too."

"Cap'n finishing the ship preparations?"

"He is. Once that's complete, we're hitting the ocean. In the meantime, we should gather the others and say our goodbyes."

Revy followed Liz back to town. Lex was having her 'friends' carry all their luggage to the ship for her. Least they could do after the going away gift she gave them all. "Ok boys, careful with the luggage. Some breakable glass in those bags you know."

"Lassie, dis is a rescue mission, not a... a slumber party." Bomba watched as piece after piece of luggage went on the ship. "I mean, I's understanding of a lady's need for... uh... personal products, but... isn't dat a bit much?"

"It's potions, maps, weapons, and gold for gambling. We might need to do all sorts of negotiating." She bent down to kiss Bomba on the cheek. "It's good to see you Uncle Bomba. All the rest of you too Uncles."

"You lassies need ta practice shooting?" Mojo asked the girls. "Brought my training guns 'case you's out of touch."

"We can set up targets." Juju offered. "Someone steal Cap'n's hat."

"I heard that!" Corsaire said from the ship, looking over the ledge at his old crew. He grinned from ear to ear. "Good to see you all again, mates. Missed you much, that's for sure."

"Never thought we'd be on ta Sea Witch ta hunt other pirates, cap'n." Acrobat had to chuckle at the irony. "So much for thief's honor."

"Well Uncle Acrobat, thieves don't have honour. They steal. And by stealing, they ruin lives. Dad was stolen from us afterall." Liz bitterly said. With a deep breath, she dropped her shoulders.

"Tis an old pirate saying, lassie." Acrobat patted one of her shoulders. "We's gonna get him back."

"D-Don't be sad," Pockets told Liz with a smile. "We's gonna find S-S-Seer, we p-promise."

"I'm not sad. I'm angry." Liz turned at the sound of people gathering. Borghild and little Trygve arrived with Scarlet, and Halvar came with his bag and his family behind him to see him off.

"We'll be awaiting your return, son." Torbjorn told Halvar as he handed the young prince his bow and sack of arrows. "Be careful."

"I'll be fine, Father." Halvar assured his sire. "I'll have the whole crew with me, and besides," He looked over his shoulder to Elizabeth. "I have to support Liz. I love her and want to be with her."

"We understand." Brigritta then wrapped an extra cloak of fur around Halvar's shoulders. "Keep warm and be alert. The seas are just as dangerous as our lands."

"I will, Mother."

Borghild had Trygve on her hip, carrying him to the docks.

"Scarlet? Are you sure about this?" Borghild asked the Iron Knuckle.

"I'm sure. I have to make sure Rat and Revy don't get themselves killed. I'll see they return in one piece." Scarlet had enjoyed how close she had gotten with Borghild over the years, and gave her a close hug.

Revy bent down to Boof and patted his head. "I need you to look after Trygve until I return Boof. You understand boy?"

"I know you will, Scarlet." Borghild returned the hug and then added. "You make sure you come home in one piece too. You're our family, you know. Revy might be full grown, but there's nothing wrong with her having two mama bears."

"Wwwwwwhhhinnne." Boof pawed at Revy, not liking the fact that his human was going away without him. The two had hardly been separated ever since she was little.

"I won't be long boy. I promise." Revy hugged her dog close. He was getting old, and she wouldn't risk his life on such a dangerous journey.

Bakura finished bowing to Vidar, having finished a sparring match to make sure he was in shape for the journey. Walking to the group, he gave a bow to Corsaire's crew. "I assume you are the many uncles my daughters tell me about. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

The crew was a little surprised by the bow. The men certainly were not used to such respect. So, the crew showed their acceptance the only way they knew, with a good, old-fashioned punch to the shoulder.

"Aye, we's his old crew and the self-proclaimed uncles." Mojo slung one arm around Bakura's shoulder. "Been with Cap'n for years now."

"We helped changed the wee ones diapers when they's were babes." Juju slung one arm around Bakura's other shoulder. "And rocked 'em to sleep when Seer needed a break."

"Sang jaunty after jaunty," Acrobat added. "After jaunty."

"L-L-Liked 'Tipsy Toe Tease' the b-b-best." Pockets thought back to those years ago.

"Tipppppsy toe, tipsy toe, tease! What a bar wrench you are for me!" Bomba belted out with a dramatic flare of his arm, then jumped up on a barrel. "You sneak into bed, leave me dead, face all rrrrrreeeeddd!!! Sneak out in the morn, I'm so forlorn, things go to norm! I'm pleasing, wheezing, dreaming, of my tipsy toe tease!"

Revy and Lex gave a giggle, remembering the song well. Liz bit her lip to not snicker at her poor father being slung around by the crew. Bakura simply gave a smile to the bizarre crew. "Well, thank you."

Scarlet hoped things wouldn't be too awkward with her coming along. "Hello gentlemen."

"I can sing 'Whale Farts' too."

"No, no, just... no, Bomba."

"What? That one always made Revy giggle."

"Whaaale fart make tsunamis and fish make great suuushi---"

Rat clamped his hand over Bomba's mouth so Scarlet could greet the crew.

"Ah, so... no breaking noses dis time, right?" Mojo asked in good humor.

"We's glad you's coming with us, we need da extra muscle." Juju told Scarlet.

"I got muscle!" Bomba had removed Rat's hand from his mouth and flexed in front of Scarlet. "See? Not bad for a shortie."

"Well I'm glad to help." Scarlet raised an eyebrow at Bomba, and leaned her head down to him. "Your energy sure hasn't changed little man."

"I'm fun-sized, all over baby." Bomba winked at Scarlet. "Wanna check just in case?"

Rat promptly smacked a hand to his face and sighed deeply while the rest of the crew laughed.

Unknowns to Bomba, he might have just struck gold with that. "Well, I guess we'll have to see you prove it on this journey, won't we."

Before the men could process if that was genuine interest being sent back to Bomba, Scarlet turned to the girls. "Get on board. We're heading out ladies."

"Yes mom!" Revy went over to Borghild and her little brother, giving them one more hug. "I will return. I love you both so much."

"I love me a giant woman." Bomba whistled as Scarlet walked on board.

"Bomba, she could crush ya like an egg." Mojo shook his head.

"What's wrong with ya?" Juju asked.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting her to walk on me."

"BOMBA."

"I wonder if they carry heels in her size---"

"BOMBA!!!"

"Okay, okay, I'll hush now, you's just jealous cause I got me an older woman."

"Will you shut up?! That's Reveka's mom!"

"Yeah, and? I can't think a mom is hot? You know what a MILF is, right?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, if you don't shush right a-now, I'm throwing you into the water!"

"Aye, aye, me's a hushing."

Scarlet gave a light smile as she walked aboard. Liz walked up with Halvar, and Lex joined them right after. Revy dried some tears forming from Boof pulling on her pants. "Mom, can you take him? If he gets pulling, I just might stay."

Boof insistently pulled on Revy's pant leg, trying to keep her from going on the ship without him. When Revy removed his mouth, he wrapped his forepaws around her ankle. The snow dog did not want his human to go without him. Borghild gently took Boof's collar, setting little Trygve down so he could say goodbye to his sister.

"Boof, be a good boy. Reveka will be back soon, you just have to wait." Borghild assured the dog. "Be careful, my sweetie. Remember, a mama bear only charges...?"

"Only charges after using our heads first." Revy gave them all one last hug. "I'll be back. I promise."

With that, Revy ran onto the ship before she had any more second thoughts. "I'm... I'm ready to go dad."

"We'll bring them back soon!" Corsaire called to the families waiting on the docks. "Anchors up, Pockets! Unfurl all sails, Acrobat! Bomba, check cannons!" He started barking orders as the Sea Witch pulled away from the port. "Mojo, Juju, check engines! Rat, keep us on course! Elizabeth, overhaul the ropes for Acrobat! Scarlet, furl the extra sails! Reveka, stock gunpowder! Alexandria!" He paused and then looked at his niece for a moment and then said, "Make sure Pockets has the nipper to bind the anchor."

"Does that include Scarlet, cause she's a bombshell too."

"BOMBA.

"Okay, okay, I'm a git'n."

Lex knew very little about going about a boat, but she made sure to help best she could. "Yes Uncle!"

Liz got right to work. "How fast do you think we'll go with these sails?"

"Fast enough, I hope." Corsaire took the wheel and watched as the glistening sails unfurled. "She's an old girl, but she's never let me down once. I know she'll get us there."

"Well, I hope magic sails turn out to be real!"

Bakura looked around, wondering what the journey ahead would bring them now they had finally departed. "Is there anything I can do Captain?"

"You're a fancy, high-jumping assassin, right?" Corsaire pointed up to the jolly roger, where Acrobat was working the ropes. "Think you're up to help him work the ropes?"

"I believe I can." Bakura took a few steps forward, and climbed his way up to Acrobat, making sure to help. Liz watched, hopeful that the ship would pick up speed. "Gods, give me this..."

As all the sails were unfurled, the magic started to work. The usual white sails turned into a golden color and shimmered. It was then, the speed increased, and kept increasing. This was no time to be slow, so Corsaire braced himself and held onto the wheel tightly.

"Everyone, hold on!!!" The captain told his crew. "We're going to get our brother!!!"

#Crossover #ridersoftheapocalypse #Captain Adda #Seer #Liz and Lex #Revy #Borghild #Boof #Corsaire #Rat #Scarlet #Bakura Saibot #Halvar #So many characters #Adventure arc here we come #Comments are loved #Love to hear thoughts!

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