#the sword of fathoms was pretty last minute but I like how it turned out!!

[wetlandwanderer]

First time back at a convention since 2020 and I got to show off months worth of leather working with Fjord. My first big project after learning how to work with leather and I’m so proud of how it turned out!

And everyone at the convention has been so friendly! I’ve met multiple fellow critrole cosplayers and a lot of people who were just hyped to see the costume. It’s been a nice weekend, and reminded me how much I missed cons.

[izusun]

*hands you an AU dump to hoard like a little goblin handing a small coin to a dragon*

OKAY so basically: after the doctor's visit where Izuku learns he's quirkless (I hc that they went when he was about five n' a half), Inko does a little bit of research on quirks and more specifically on her son's notebooks, learns that he's even more brilliant at quirk analysis than she originally suspected, and (after looking at some not great quirkless statistics) she instead informs Izuku that no, he's had a quirk all along! It's an analysis quirk!

So she updates the quirk registry, and Izuku goes through his life believing he has an analysis quirk, albeit teased for being a late bloomer, but he still can't shake the insecurity being quirkless for that one and a half year gave him.

He does research on all sorts of things, hacking, knife throwing, first aid, and building his own support gear and takes to all of it like a duck to water. He also does research on UA's policy for support gear in the entrance exam (cause surely they've gotta have a policy for non-offensive quirks like Koda and Hagakure) and finds that he can take one with him if he builds it himself. He goes fuckin bonkers.

Anyways: he trains with Katsuki, cause they're relationship is pretty good since Izuku has a 'quirk.' They both demolish the entrance exam. (Also Izuku kinda swears a lot because Katsuki rubs off on him)

Aizawa doesn't notice a goddamn thing is amiss until the battle trials on the second day (he decides to shadow All Might that day), where when he was using his quirk to silence his students while Izuku was rambling, he just didn't stop, as if he didn't notice anything was wrong. It happens again during the USJ.

So at some point during the sports festival, Nedzu (who is now intrigued because of Aizawa's complaining) invites Izuku into his office during a free period and lets him go ham on analysis, all while Aizawa is secretly there erasing Izuku's 'quirk.' Nedzu invites Izuku to be his personal student (making Aizawa go grey), he says yes, and then Nedzu drops the absolute BOMBSHELL that Izuku is actually quirkless. Cue an existential crisis.

(Also Izuku gets captured at the training camp alongside Katsuki because of his "analysis quirk," wonder how well that goes for him~)

- Goblin anon (sorry this one was kinda long)

GOBLIN?? DUDE???? HOLY SHIT I KNEW YOUR AUS ARE ALWAYS PHENOMENAL BUT THIS RIGHT HERE??? D U D E

i misunderstood the prompt a bit but i genuinely don’t know how to backtrack, so here you go goblin. sorry again o(TヘTo)

ok first of, inko taking on a stronger stance to support her son? love that of her. like, she doesn’t say sorry when izuku turned to look at her and cried that he can’t be like all might. instead, she took him in her arms and assures him that he will be a great hero. at first, of course half of it is lip service because she doesn’t know how to help her quirkless boy be a hero, since, you know, heroes need quirks.. (or do they)

and then she comes across a quirkless self help group which rang many many warning bells in her head. what kind of life do quirkless people live when a google research of them resulted in subsequent pages of results like how to stay safe when quirkless, or how to find jobs when quirkless, or quirkless mortality rates?

she fears for izuku, until she notices that her son’s smart. too smart for his age, but inko thought she’s just being biased. but izuku’s wit is something many people notice, for an instance, when izuku goes to the park to play and his friends’ (the few ones who stayed) parents tell her that her son’s smart for a quirkless person, she realizes that izuku’s wit is far more vast than normal.

then a thought worms into her head but wouldn’t it be bad to lie…but also, no one would be any the wiser.

further pushed by all the statistics she keeps seeing, or the lack thereof, about quirkless people, she makes the decision and pours it to izuku.

izuku who’s far smarter than his age and understood what his mom is asking from him. izuku who already saw the disparities between quirked and quirkless people at the tender age of five. izuku who knows what it means to lie about something as personal as a quirk, but realizes that it’s necessary for him to do so if he wants to live a “normal” life.

so he agrees; he tells inko that he’ll work even harder to sharpen his mind, and to keep expanding his knowledge.

when izuku’s quirk file is officially updated, he watches how his peers and teachers revert back into treating him as izuku. he regains his old friends, but he chose to drop them because he doesn’t want to surround himself with people who thought he was less for being quirkless.

katsuki stayed, surprisingly. katsuki stayed and everyday he kept bothering izuku to “get your quirk already!” katsuki stayed because he can’t fathom that the smartest boy in their class (of course not as smart as him, psshh) is quirkless. deku couldn’t be quirkless. (but if he found out that izuku, indeed, is, i wonder what would happen…)

katsuki was one of the loudest to celebrate when izuku announced that his quirk arrived.

“finally!” he screams and bothers izuku about the semantics of his quirk. he really wasn’t surprised to find out that izuku has an analysis quirk because he thought that nothing else would better be suited for izuku.

he doesn’t know that izuku pours so much of his time into learning and studying, often bypassing basics and intros to take more of the developed courses that are usually recommended for older ages. he doesn’t know that izuku is just a naturally smart kid with the ability to fill the gaps of his young mind with knowledge upon knowledge, storing and stacking them until he feels that he’s laid a sturdy foundation for his fake quirk.

then izuku began threading into different areas. he learns how to get into cyberspaces; hacking into accounts and delving more into how to access private information. he doesn’t thread too close lest he gets caught, but he learns the logistics of maneuvering around the web and burrowing in empty spaces to branch out his own. he creates and designs web algorithms for himself, just so he doesn’t trigger anyone who is looking into the web movements. he hones this and uses it to access more information.

then when he deems it enough, he turns his attention to something more tangible and something more physical. he learns other ways to be a hero; how to fight without a physical quirk, how to win against bigger opponents, how to use analysis quirk in fights.

izuku becomes more than a fake analysis quirk user; he creates it.

mental quirks are hard to describe, more so to compress, thus he creates new definitions of an analysis quirk. what used to be a silly lie is now a tangible fact that izuku believes in. because what makes a quirk? because what makes analysis a quirk? he learns these semantics (often political) and uses it to his advantage.

then he finally threads to hero analysis. at first it were classmates he analyzed; eyes running quickly at their forms and watching with great interest before calculating everything he’s seen and transversing it with the things he learned, and bridges these two facts together to create an analysis. it was a struggle at first: he didn’t know which to put emphasis on until he realizes, he doesn’t need to. he weaves them together and lets his analysis run long and watches how his hobby comes into fruition.

following his classmates are current heroes. these were more tough and more fun, and any of the information is less shared. he doesn’t tell his classmates or teachers about his analyses, only katsuki. and katsuki’s breath hitch every damn time at izuku’s talent quirk.

it is in their second year of middle school that midoriya begins to incorporate the facts with himself to create physical performances. the issues and things he learned through observing are now practiced by himself. he calculates the best way to fight with a body as petite as his, often taking examples from pro-hero hawks and other women heroes. their agilities and physicality suit izuku’s young body; he doesn’t see the merit in punching his way through things when he physically cannot.

so he learns ways to ease his muscles. he learns ballet and gymnastics; lets his muscles contort and mend themselves anew. he finds his balance and roots himself firmly, and learns to calculate his actions so he doesn’t waste his energy. katsuki doesn’t say anything, but he sees izuku’s dance and falls in love.

then in the spring of their third year of middle school, izuku learns how to build and handle weapons.

this is the easiest. izuku learns that weapons aren’t tools, but extensions of his arms and hands. they are not to be revered and not to be depended on because they can fail. instead, he learns to wield weapons as though they are parts of his bodies. he learns how to use swords and often narrowing to wooden sticks that can be picked up anywhere; he learns how to fire guns and how to hide daggers in his uniform. he learns that his body is the best weapon to use and that tools are just arsenal to help him win.

then he learns how to build them.

by summer, izuku begins reaching into UA’s servers. they are hard codes to crack, but not impossible. it takes him five days to access old entrance exam videos. the next day, the videos are snuffed and he is left to try digging deeper into UA.

he fails.

nezu must have caught onto his codes and proceeded to build walls against it.

so he slithers out. but a five minute video of last year’s entrance exam is enough for izuku because he learns two things: one, heroes must defeat villains and two, heroes must save others.

izuku prepares for this. unknowingly, katsuki is taught these same principles. katsuki would grumble and tell him that he knows what heroes must do, but izuku continues to hammer it down to him.

by the time of the UA entrance exam, izuku falls into the ease of having a fake quirk. he passes the written exam with flying colours and although it took three teachers to approve his support gears (present mic had to pull in powerloader, midnight, and hound dog to ensure that the well designed support gears are made by the hero student examinee and not by a support student examinee. majima saw the works and begged nezu to allow izuku to be his student.), izuku still succeeds and dominates the entrance exam.

when the zero pointer was released, he had flung himself towards the girl crushed by debris and yanks her out. he doesn’t waste a modified grenade to explode the zero pointer because through his calculations, doing so would not only create more collateral damage, but would also endanger the examinee in his arms because she still would be caught in the crossfire.

nezu hums in appreciation from the screening room, after all, smart minds always do think alike.

izuku gets a whopping 92 in the physical aspects of the entrance exam.

katsuki gets 85.

aizawa gleefully takes them in.

izuku thinks that no one will ever know of his and inko’s secret, but one look at nezu’s beady eyes and he knew that the stoat knew. it became a game to them, then. a game to see who else would realize.

and while izuku is smart, he doesn’t realize that nezu has basically taken him as his personal student the moment he and izuku had created a bet.

it takes two months for aizawa to figure things out. surprisingly, he is the only one to do so and he only realizes due to the many untimely attacks of LoV.

——

how angst would it be if katsuki realizes that izuku’s always been quirkless during their captivity in the LoV’s hideout.

[secret-engima]

Tomorrow is looking up to be - absolutely terrible. Can I beg you for some RWBY or FFXV snippets, please?

Of course! I know it is the "tomorrow" you speak of but lemme see what I can dig up-

Team Gremlin:

There was silence for a long, long time. Nothing but Ruby’s sobbing and Yang’s pounding heart and the fear that pressed down on them from all around. Formless, but not nameless. Then she heard the stairs creak and for one moment Yang was sure that “Salem” was coming upstairs to get Ruby.

But then the door opened and Yang saw Dad’s boots, “Girls? It’s okay. Come on out.” Yang didn’t move, Ruby just sobbed a little louder and clung tighter to her. Dad sighed and bent down to peer at them, “You heard all that didn’t you.” He looked … not mad, but stressed. Maybe scared, and that made the fear worse for Yang. Yang clung to Ruby, her precious baby sister with silver eyes that no monster should be able to get to, and nodded. Dad’s face pinched, then he gave a smile that even she could tell was fake, “Come on out, girls. It’s okay. I promise. That was all just- that was adult talk okay? You don’t need to worry about that until you’re older-.”

“Ruby’s eyes,” Yang bit out, “R-ruby has Mom’s e-eyes.”

“It’s okay, Yang, Ruby, I promise. We’ll take care of it-.”

A creak of wood behind Dad and he frowned before straightening up and turning to face whoever was there, “I’ll be down in a minute, just let me-.”

“Taiyang,” Professor Ozpin sounded weirdly calm, more calm than Dad did, “may I speak to them?”

“…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

A sigh, “I am well aware of your opinion on this matter, Taiyang, and I respect it. But they have already heard enough to be terrified. Telling them to forget it now is not only impossible but potentially worse than talking to them. You made your stance on this matter very clear, but that does not apply to your children if it will put them in danger.” Professor Ozpin’s voice softened, “Either I speak with them or Qrow does, but please. Let one of us help.”

Dad didn’t move for a long time, then his boots made for the door, “Fine. But don’t drag them into this more than you have to.” A deep breath, “Girls? I’m going downstairs to check on your mother, if you need anything, just shout, okay? Professor Ozpin is going to talk to you for a little bit. He’ll be very nice.” The last bit was said in the same voice he used when warning Zwei not to dig holes in the yard.

Dad’s boots disappeared and fancy black shoes came closer. There was a pause, then, “Would you prefer to stay under the bed?” Ruby whined and Yang glared without a word. She didn’t know what was going on, but Dad seemed mad at Professor Ozpin and everything was scary and so yes, she wanted to stay under the bed. The tip of his fancy cane tapped the floorboards a few times, then there was a hiss and a whirr of gears like from her parents’ gear and the tip disappeared. With a grunt, he knelt down and then lay down on his stomach like even Mom rarely did. He pillowed his chin on his crossed arms and it was so strange seeing a fancy, famous person lying on his belly on the floor of Ruby’s room that Yang snorted despite herself.

Professor Ozpin’s face crinkled into a faint smile and it looked real and warm, “Hello there. You must be Yang and Ruby. I am Professor Ozpin, I’m a friend of your uncle and your mother. Can I safely assume you heard the most important parts of that conversation? The Grimm and the silver eyes and,” the briefest hesitation, “Salem?”

Ruby finally pulled her face away from Yang’s shoulder to whimper, “I-is she gonna take Mom away and m-make her a Grimm? Is she gonna t-take me?”

“Ah. You have silver eyes,” Professor Ozpin murmured, then his face fell back into that faint, warm smile, “Your mother is alright now, and now that we know what is going on, we will be much more careful. I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep your mother and you safe. But to do that … I would like to tell you a story, and you must both promise me to never tell it to anyone. For the safety of you and your mother.” They nodded, hesitantly, even though Yang certainly didn’t want to hear anymore scary things today. But if it would help keep Ruby and Mom safe-.

Professor Ozpin’s smile faded, but his eyes were still warm, “Once upon a time,” he began, and they listened intently as the man with white hair slowly outlined a story that sounded right out of a fairy tail.

...

Always I Dreamed verse:

Summer had no idea what Professor Ozpin had been thinking, making her the leader of Team STRQ. Then again, the only other real option would have been Taiyang, and as much as she enjoyed his company and was coming to think of him as a good friend and teammate, he wouldn’t have been able to handle the Branwen twins.

Not that Summer was much better at handling the Branwen twins.

They hadn’t done anything to get the team in trouble, but she didn’t know how to deal with them. Taiyang made sense, even if he had a few oddly adorable hangups on things like “modesty” —they were two guys and two girls living in the same room, she didn’t really see what modesty had to do with anything when they weren’t out in public—. Taiyang understood her when she tried to … bond with the team, tried to get them to be more than just four strangers living under the same roof and tackling the same assignments in class. Raven and Qrow on the other hand…

Every time she suggested a group activity, they watched her like she was going to bite. Like they couldn’t fathom the point of learning more about or bonding with anyone outside themselves. Taiyang had suggested it was an out of kingdom thing, but Summer had lived outside the kingdoms until five years ago, and she had never acted like that. Her family hadn’t either. That feral behavior, wary distrust and eerie staring in the middle of the night like even the room wasn’t safe to sleep in without a watch wasn’t anything like what Summer and her family or neighbors had grown up with. The only ones who had acted even similar had been-.

Oh.

Now that’s an idea.

...

Blood of My Blood verse:

The next one was a whole month after Grandma Crepera had first appeared and only a week after the scary man with the mace, but three times was enough for Dionysus to be able to immediately tell what was happening when he blinked his way to awareness in a dream. He looked around uneasily, afraid of being yelled at by someone again, but … there was no one scary nearby. He was in a small little building inside a big, unfamiliar garden. The building was just a roof and little pillars holding it up and a stone floor to stand on with a little table inside and-.

A woman.

She was sitting at the table, working on something, but instead of it being paperwork like Grandpa or taking care of a sword like Uncle Cor, she was … spinning mud? She was making mud spin and pulling at it with her hands, changing its shape with her fingers, and Dionysus hadn’t realized he’d drifted into the gazebo to watch her in awe until she glanced up from her work and smiled at him. She went back to watching her mud, and when she spoke, her voice wasn’t echoing and scary, “Hello. Would you like to join me? I have enough for both of us to use if you like.”

Dionysus watched the spinning-spinning-spinning in awe, but shook his head and tucked his hands behind his back, “Iggy says I can’t play in the mud cause I’ll get dirty an’ it’s unb- unbe- bad for a prince.” He blinked up at her, “How come you’re playing in the mud? Iggy says old people don’ like mud.”

The spinning slowed to a stop as she stared at him and he wondered if she was going to get mad. But then she started laughing, an old, deep sound that felt nice, all the way to his bones, “This is not mud, Cheeky Prince, this is clay. People use it to make things like mugs and teapots and vases. Come, come sit and I will show you how.” She waved her muddy hand and set down a chair next to hers in a flash of magical rosy-blue sparks. So she was family, just like the last ones had been. Dionysus hadn’t known he had so much family before. Then again, he was pretty sure they were all dead, and that’s why they were talking to him in dreams rather than when he was awake —and a part of him wondered if that should scare him, but it didn’t, so as long as they didn’t act scary, he didn’t bother trying—.

Dionysus climbed onto the chair and watched her in curiosity. It still looked a lot like mud to him, but it was a different color from mud, so he supposed it could be something else. The woman was spinning her clay again, fingers deftly shaping and pinching and rubbing, “My name is Nyssia, though some once called me the Just.”

Dionysus thought of the Hall of Arts and all the pictures and statues in it, including some of Grandma Crepera, and wondered if she was one of the pictures in the Hall, “Just like Grandma Crepera?”

An amused twitch of her lips, “Yes, I am like Crepera. We are both related to you, but we are older than King Regis.”

He tilted his head, partially mesmerized by what she was doing with the spinning clay, but curious despite himself about other things. She was like Grandma Crepera and the others, but she hadn’t used a scary voice at all, “How come?”

She hummed without looking away from her work, “How come what, Cheeky Prince? I cannot read your mind.”

Dionysus pouted at her, because wasn’t it obvious what he was asking? But then he said, “You don’ have a scary voice like they do.”

Now she did glance up at him with a look like Grandpa had when he said something silly, “Oh, don’t I?” Dionysus jolted in his seat, startled, but not … scared. Her voice had echoed just now, deep and layered like when Grandma Crepera or Leon had spoken, but it didn’t make him feel like he needed to go hide. It reminded him oddly of the big, booming bells that hung from old church in his favorite movie, loud but mellow. He kind of liked it, but he was still glad when her voice went back to normal as she shrugged, “I merely thought you would not like it if I used that voice. So I did not.”

[jimlingss]

Moirai [6]

Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

➜ Words: 2.9k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

What the fuck.   Those three words encircle your brain as you’re drowned in darkness, body jolting while the wagon shakes violently down the rickety path full of rocks and holes.   Bounded and blindfolded, you shift around until you can feel the wall and you use the remaining strength in your body to sit upright. Whoever kidnapped you clearly wasn’t the brightest when they decided to tie your wrists together in front of you. With just a bend of your elbows, you’re able to tear the blindfold off of your eyes and spit out the cloth in your mouth.    It takes a second for your vision to focus.   It’s difficult to see in the dark, but you’re able to make out the wooden walls around you and the hay underneath your form. You figure out that you’re in the back of a windowless wagon, heading to god knows where.   You can’t believe this. You can’t begin to fathom how something like this could happen. But there’s no point in banging your head on the ground and screaming.   You struggle with the tight ropes tied around your wrists and ankles, jaw clenching as it burns into your skin further. It seems like they coiled it around your limbs a hundred times and each moment your fingertips can graze one of the many knots, your fingers become more numb.    But you don’t want to admit that your attempt is futile. That every movement only exacerbates the pain. You don’t want to acknowledge that your effort is only making it harder for yourself.    “Fuck!”   The wheel of the wagon crashes through a rock. The entire wagon angrily tilts. You slam back onto the hard ground.    Tears sting your eyes and you grit your teeth.   In the original game, it was the heroine who was kidnapped. It was a scheme set up by Anastasia. But it’s obvious that you’ve taken her place, that a mistake was made, based on the threat they muttered to you.   You don’t know who could’ve done this, who would have such animosity towards her. But you suspect it’s your own parents. If so, it’s a great irony that their own daughter got kidnapped instead.   Karma’s a bitch.   You just don’t know why you have to suffer the consequences for it.   “This gold’ll last me a lifetime!” there’s muffled voices through the other end of the wagon, no doubt the perpetrators on the other side.   “And she’ll sell for a pretty penny!”   Chortling laughter grates against your ears.   You remember it was also in the original game that the heroine was rescued by whoever her love interest is. But you don’t have a love interest. Most certainly Jungkook won’t be the hero and save you, not when Lucy reassured him that you chose to head to your bedroom early.   No one’s coming for you.   No one.   Inside the wagon, you are an island. Or rather, it has always been that way. From the very start, you have been alone. Deserted. Fighting for yourself and fighting to survive the next day. You are a villainess self-turned into a side character without a redemption arc or a beautiful story.    Not only are you weighed down with your burdens, but you bear them by yourself.   Tears bite at your eyes, the temptation to succumb to your despair overwhelming.   But before the thick darkness can consume you whole, you force yourself upwards once more. Once more, you gain your balance. Once more, you attempt to undo your binds.   Once more.   And by your teeth biting into the rope, you manage to pull at a loose knot. Then, one by one, it starts to untangle, rope plunging downwards, and you yank your hands free. Your wrists burn, rough to the touch. But you don’t dwell when you begin to frantically unravel the binds around your ankle.    You rush towards the door once you’re free and throw them open.   The wagon is rapidly moving, the horses attached are practically sprinting through the open forest. Every pebble in sight only lasts for a second before it’s gone in the distance. You grasp onto the edge, knowing you need to jump. You need to. You—   Can’t.   At that exact same moment, the left wheel is knocked into a hole in the dirt road. The wagon jolts violently again and you accidentally stumble forward with a sharp inhale. You brace yourself, eyes shut tight, ready to collide with the ground.   But the impact never comes.   Instead, you open your eyes to find brown irises gazing into yours.   “I’m so glad I came in time.” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth upturns. He’s out of breath, levitating in mid-air with you in his arms.   You grasp onto him with tight fists, still shaking.   The footman in front notices the noises, slows down and peeks over the wagon. “Hey!”   Taehyung sets you down on the ground. “Don’t look,” he says in a low timbre as if asking you to promise him.   You swallow hard and shut your eyes tight. Taehyung brushes past you.   You hear the footman and another yelling. And then they’re apologizing. There’s the crunch of leaves, a shout, a crack of bones that startles you, and thunder booming in the distance.    “Who did this?!” Taehyung’s ear splitting voice makes you flinch. You’ve never witnessed him this angry before. “Was it the King?! It was him, wasn’t it?!”   You turn around with your head down. You run towards him. There’s blood seeping through the dirt on the ground, but you don’t give it attention to it as you grab a hold of Taehyung’s arm.   “Stop it.” There’s a long pause and you repeat yourself. “Stop.”   A body drops in front of you and when you lift your eyes, Taehyung engulfs you in a hug.   You’re overtaken by his frame, his warmth keeping the cold away and for once, you give into the temptation. Your lashes flutter as your eyes close and you hug him back.    You allow yourself to savour the moment.   //   The palace awakens past midnight.   Barely after the feast has come to a halt, a guard with his sword by his side enters the throne room and strides down the aisle towards the King who was entertaining guests a minute ago.   “Your Majesty.” The guard bows. “Prince Taehyung is missing.”   “What?” A fist slams down on the armrest. The King’s face is reddened, wrinkles deepening as he scours his mind at where that boy could be, what he could be scheming. “Does anyone know?”   “No, Your Majesty. A guard of the Western tower found him missing and reported it. Only the guards and a few maids are aware.”   “Then search immediately! Report what you find!”   Several guards respond and rush out of the room.    At the same time, a maid stands at the doorway with her eyes wide in fear. She hesitates, then cuts through the crowd in the opposite direction, fighting against the current of men. “Y-Your Majesty.” She bows her head at the end of the steps leading up to the throne.    “What is it?”   “Lady….Lady Anastasia is missing as well.”   The King is taken aback, not sure how the castle can be so chaotic at this hour, how it can spiral out of control so quickly after the festivities. He deems himself negligent. “Have you searched the rooms?”   She nods. “We’ve looked everywhere, Your Majesty. No one’s seen her ladyship since the feast.”   The King sits back, brows furrowed deep enough to hurt. It can’t be a coincidenc—   A guard swiftly enters the room. “Your Majesty, they’ve returned.”   There are whispers throughout the palace. Those who are still awake at this hour murmur under their breaths, taking second glances, knights and maids, servants and guards alike. They speak of rumours that are sure to be spread when morning comes. But the two of you don’t pay mind.   Taehyung’s cape is wrapped around your shoulders, you squeeze his hand and approach together.   You don’t know why you thought this would be simple. That you could just slip into your room, into bed and try to stop shaking by yourself. You were gone for far too long to do such a thing. There are too many eyes around, too many who notice when a single hair is amiss. The moment you came back, they told you to meet the King.   “What is the reason for your absence?” His eyes scrutinize the both of you as if you were on a scandalous endeavour — the Prince’s fiancée and the bastard son, a pair that would sure ruin the reputation of the entire empire. You don’t even have time to think how far you’re deviating from the original story.   “Your Majesty, I was kidnapped,” you confess in a loud voice and the maid standing by gasps. She covers her mouth abruptly the moment it happens and retreats into the side.   The King’s eyes dart to her and heavy silence boils throughout the room.   You look at the man beside you, his fingers still twined through yours for reasons you’re not sure you want to divulge. “It was His Highness Taehyung who noticed something suspicious and came to rescue me. The perpetrators ran, but I’m safe thanks to him.”   You can tell the few people in the room are surprised Taehyung has the capabilities to save you. And that he did. A courageous act that is sure to gain reward.   The King makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. “I will find the people responsible for daring to threaten the next Crown Princess.”   As if the throne hall was not full of nosy people already, the Duke and Duchess enter with frenzied expressions. It’s unsettling to see them feigning concern. If anything, you’re guessing they’re simmering with anger that their men captured the wrong girl.    But it still doesn’t stop your mother from coming to look at you, grasping onto your arm while your father addresses the King, “Your Majesty. We heard the news a moment ago and—”   “No need for the formalities, Herrick.” He smiles cordially. “You should take your daughter to rest. We can discuss this matter at a better hour.”   He nods and they both usher you out with a parade of servants. But you don’t miss the chance to peek over at your shoulder to look at Taehyung’s form until you have to turn the corner.   You stay silent as you lead them into your room.   The doors shut, servants outside for the time being and you turn to face your parents. “You did this….didn’t you?”   Your mother’s expression is cold and impassive. “Excuse me?”   “Can’t you be honest with me?” you plead from them, desperation leaking into your tone. You ache for their sincerity, for their compassion. “I know they captured the wrong person and I know the only people who would want to harm the baron’s daughter are the both of you. You probably thought she was in my way—”   “You’re tired, Anastasia.” Your mother waves you off. “You should rest.”   “What happens if the King investigates and this leads back to the Devereux house?” Your voice never wavers, feet rooted into the ground. You know they’ll make sure it never traces back to them. But they’ve gone quiet once you’ve mentioned the title they’ve risked. Your father’s frown is unmistakable and your mother doesn’t look at you. “Don’t do things like this anymore. Please.”   The two of them look at one another with faces you can’t decipher.   You’ve never asked for many things from them before. But this time, you’re begging.   There’s a knock on the door and Jungkook enters a second later. He doesn’t notice the tension in the room, the stiff atmosphere that’s put you on the verge of tears. “Anastasia!” He comes to your side, scanning you up and down and your parents take their leave to give you privacy, probably with the hope that this incident will drive you and Jungkook closer together.   “I’m alright,” you lie and sit down shakingly on the edge of your bed.    Even with the horrors of your reality, you can’t help but wonder what’s going on with Taehyung.   //   Across the castle, the throne room empties.   Everyone’s attending to the Crown Prince’s fiancée after all and an incident like this won’t be taken lightly. It’s a threat to the royal family, something Taehyung knows most about since he’s the embodiment of one.   Taehyung turns away. “If I can be excused.”   He doesn’t expect a reward, acknowledgment, recognition. He didn’t come to you for those things, but the King would never offer it to him anyway. He’s the bastard son. The shame of the family.   And yet, he can’t even leave in peace.   “I know what you’re doing,” the King speaks up in a low tone, a warning.   The dark-haired man halts-mid step, his brows furrowed in puzzlement.   The King’s wiry lips upturn but the smile never reaches his old eyes. “You’re trying to undermine the royal family and take the crown for yourself. First by taking your brother’s fiancée and then gaining the acceptance of the people. Winning the Hunt was only the first step, wasn’t it? I’ve underestimated you, boy. But I’m not blind to greed.”   “No.” Taehyung turns on his heel to look at his so-called father. “You’re blind to benevolence. You don’t understand how someone could be motivated by something other than power.”   “What is it that you want then?” he challenges him. “If not to take the throne for yourself.”   Taehyung walks away. “I want the one thing I could never have.” 

The flower petal is plucked.   It’s pulled from its center and flutters in a downwards spiral, dusting the grass in a blushing hue.   “Are you okay, Anastasia?” Lucy leans in close, her murmur full of concern and you muster a nod as you continue to pluck flower petals. Instead of a game of he loves me, he loves me not, it’s I’ll live, I’ll die.    “I knew I should’ve come with you. I was so worried. To think that….that something like that would happen.”   You wonder what she would think if she knew that you took her place. That she was the one who was supposed to be taken out in the open in the middle of the night like that. That the both of you traded positions.   But she isn’t the one to blame. “It’s not your fault.”   “Lady Anastasia...”   “You didn’t know something like that would happen.” You muster a smile. “I was the one who told you to go back, right?”   Gossip about the incident has spread through the palace and past its walls, especially the fact that Taehyung was the saviour. He rescued you, saved your life. He was the one who came after you when you were confident no one else would.   How could someone like that be the villain?   You don’t understand. No one does.   In the original game, Taehyung instigated a civil war and in one of the final scenes, he dies by his brother’s sword as the heroine he had fallen in love with stands by his brother’s side. The last thing he says is her name before he crumbles on his knees. A death that only brings celebration to the empire.   It’s as tragic as your ending.   You wonder if such a thing is going to happen in the near future. You wonder if it’s possible you could avoid his bad ending as well as your own. But you don’t know if you can prevent Taehyung from committing his crimes. You don’t know if his hatred and jealousy will ruin him.   The pit of your stomach stirs uncomfortably at the thought.   He’s done so much for you. He’s saved your life. He shouldn’t succumb to his darkness.   You owe him at least that much.   “Lucy.” You snap back to attention, turning to the girl who’s been keeping you company all afternoon by her own accord. “What do you think of Taehyung?”   You saw her earlier talking to Jungkook in the open corridor. It looked like they ran into one another on accident, but while you couldn’t hear what their conversation was about, it seemed intimate. Or at least, you’ve never seen Jungkook look so delighted and shy at the same time.   Usually, you’d watch from afar. Admire the scene at a distance.   But you’re not sure what to think of it anymore.   “His Highness?” She blinks and admits, “I’ve only held one conversation with him before. But he seems very kind.”   “He is.” For some reason, your smile can’t reach your eyes. “You should speak to him more. He would be a good match for you.”   The girl is caught off guard by your bluntness and blushes while looking away. “I-I would never dare to dream of marrying into the royal family. I’m already honoured to be your friend, Anastasia.”   Your arm extends and you clasp your hand on top of her’s that’s within her lap. “Then think of it as a favour you’re doing for me.”   Lucy meets your eyes with a frown, unable to understand why you’re oddly persistent.   But she doesn’t know that the only route to save Taehyung is through the heroine, albeit she will suffer the most and it’s the hardest path to take. Instead of being with Jungkook, it’s possible she can end up with Taehyung. But only she has the capabilities to save him, just like the game.   You look down to your ground that’s filled with the remains of the flowers you ruined.   It’s just like the villainess to have to destroy everything she touches.

[atiny-dazzlinglight]

Red Strings of Fate - Chapter 3

Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Slight Humor, Romance

Rating: PG-13

Au/Tropes: Supernatural AU, Demons AU, Monster AU

Pairing: No pairing, Eventual OT8

WC: 14.9K

Chapter Warnings: Symptoms of PTSD mentioned, Jealousy, Manipulation, Implied Smut (at the end but no graphic details)

Ao3 Link

Notes: As I said in the last chapter notes, we are back into Hongjoong’s pov and we are continuing from where we last left off. So please enjoy!

Taglist located at the bottom. Fill out this form if you want to be added.

Last Adventure☜︎☜︎ Next Adventure☞︎☞︎

Hongjoong eyes widened as he felt the other male bring his arms in front of him, stretching them both out in front of him.

He watched the prince’s hand touch the hilt of his sword and that’s when Hongjoong squirmed.

“ I asked a question. Your left hand or your right hand?” He drew his sword closer as he bent down.

“ Please! Don’t do this! I do anything else! Just don’t cut off either of my hands.” Hongjoong pleads, his heart beating fast and damn near in his throat. He hasn’t felt this type of fear since Liam and Elijah. His body started to feel numb as Seonghwa sat there as he decided which hand he wanted to cut.

Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to think of something other than the fact that he’ll be losing a hand. The advisor was holding his forearms firmly and out the way as his sword hovered before selecting his left hand.

Seonghwa nearly brought the sword down and through the flesh and bone of his wrist when he stopped. The faintness of aura seeped into the air and had his body hesitate. It was nothing great from the array of beings he dealt with before, but it’s more so the fact of that type of malicious aura coming from a human.

The prince used his free hand to lift Hongjoong’s chin, “ What are you?”

Hongjoong was confused as he looked up at is blue eyes, “ What?”

“ Don’t try to lie to me. I asked you what you are?” He watched his brows get furrow, clearly a tad annoyed from his first answer.

“ I’m a human.”

“ Don’t lie to me.” Seonghwa grit through his teeth as Hongjoong shook his head back and forth.

“ I swear! I’m just a human man who has human parents and average human strength. There is nothing else to me. A simple peasant boy and nothing more!” Hongjoong yelled at him, his voice firm as he felt his head get pushed down near the ground.

“ Watch your tone.” The man above him said as Hongjoong tried to shake his hand off of him.

Seonghwa had glanced at his advisor. Hongjoong watches them have a silent conversation through their eyes for a minute before Hongjoong gets pulled up off the ground and made to stand on his feet. The bag he stole snatched off his hip as he watched the prince hang it from his belt.

He walked past Hongjoong, and the shorter male watched him before he shoved him to follow. The brown-haired elf gave him a look when he turned around. Hongjoong huffed as he just followed him, knowing very well that he can’t outrun them again. His legs were still screaming at him due to their soreness.

Hongjoong walked through the less crowded area that he ran through just some moments ago. He looked around at the brick structures, covered with vines, a few flowers blooming that he didn’t notice before that he found pretty.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape from us again.” He heard the elf behind him say as he turned his head behind to look at him.

“ Can I have your name?” Hongjoong asked, and he can tell that he threw the wood elf off. His brows raised enough to give himself away.

“Why would you want to know?”

“Well, it’s annoying to try and talk to someone without addressing them with at least a name. I was raised better than that.” Hongjoong watched the man’s face before he slowly opened his mouth.

“It’s Yeosang.”

“Well, Yeosang, I would like to tell you that I have no plans to escape because my legs are still screaming at me even now as we walk, so no, I don’t plan on escaping,” Hongjoong spoke, watching him all the same as he noticed they made it back to the Main Street of where he first ran from them.

Hongjoong watched the prince head back to the stands, and when Hongjoong went to follow, his shoulder was gripped tightly and turned in the opposite direction.

“I thought we were following the prince,” Hongjoong asked as he forced him to go in the direction of a carriage, opening the door to move him inside. He watched the elf say something to the driver before getting in himself and shutting the door.

“ We will be staying here until the young prince comes back from finishing his errands he was supposed to do before you foolishly stole from him.” Yeosang spat out, obviously still passed that he had to bring him here.

“Again, I am sorry for what I did, but I truly needed the money.” Hongjoong watched as that only made the other man more upset.

“You don’t have to steal from people to gain money. There are always other options. It’s the lowest of lows to steal from others.” Yeosang criticized him, and it slowly started to make him irritated.

“You know I have been trying to get a regular job since I traveled here three years ago. I did everything I could for a job and was denied every second I tried. I was forced to be homeless for six months, and I still struggle to find a solid job, even after someone was kind enough to offer me a home. I wasn’t raised to steal by my parents, but when the people and the city are so unforgiving to me every chance they get, am I supposed to accept it?”

Yeosang wasn’t expecting him to speak to him like that, and he tried his best not to have that shred of pity for him show on his face, “ Everyone has a hard time at some point in their lives. You haven’t seen anyone steal here.”

Hongjoong scoffed, and it made Yeosang turn his attention back to him, “ Just because you don’t hear or see anything doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I’ve seen plenty of them because we can all recognize each other.”

“It’s not that many of them. There’s always a group of bad people in a sea of good.” Yeosang rebuked, but Hongjoong was quick to respond.

“The line between good and evil and what is right and wrong can be blurred, and if you work in that damn castle, then you should know that very well. Not all the people who steal are bad because they have to choose to steal to make ends meet simply. If stealing were such an issue, there would have been reports about such, yet they never make a fuss because what’s pocket change to you is a fortune for us. Our values and lifestyles are the opposite of each other, so just because you can’t fathom the idea doesn’t mean you are right.”

Hongjoong didn’t care how reckless his tongue was. He wasn’t going to let some uppity wood elf, who only knows how to kiss the ass of the rich that has gold endlessly, fall into their hands. He can royally fuck off.

He saw it in his face.

He saw that he wanted to argue back with him, and he was ready for him to, but then the door of the carriage opened to reveal the prince holding a few things. He looked between the two of them with a raised brow.

“ Was there something that I missed?” He asked, looking at Yeosang, waiting for a response.

Yeosang gave him another look before turning back to the prince, “ Everything is fine. Do you need any help?”

Seonghwa nodded, passing the flowers and bags of fruit to Yeosang, telling the driver to head back to the castle before climbing inside next to Yeosang. Hongjoong felt the carriage move as he huffed.

He should have just listened to Eden. He told him not to get too greedy, or he would deal with the consequences.

But what else was he supposed to do?

Eden stuck his neck out to help him instead of living on the street for the rest of his life. Eden started by stealing until he could have enough to open his tavern. Since then, he had a simple life, and even when following the proper protocols, the city takes most of his earnings and barely has enough for his expenses.

He even makes sure to feed him and make sure that he’s well-nourished and is clean.

All he wanted to do was give the man that helped him start a new life after being forced to start over again, and he couldn’t even do that.

Hongjoong didn’t want to look sad in the carriage with the two elves, but the shift in his demeanor and facial expressions didn’t go unnoticed by the prince that stayed silent.

Seonghwa couldn’t wrap his head around what gave off that malevolent energy from the supposedly human male. It didn’t look like he could use magic, and he gives off no type of physical distinctions of being nonhuman. So what could it be?

He couldn’t help his c,urious nature about it. He hasn't come across someone like him, and he just had to figure it out for himself before he disposed of him.

The carriage stopped and Yeosang was quick to open the door for the prince and Hongjoong tried his hardest not to roll his eyes at his eagerness. The Prince stepped out first, and Hongjoong followed after Yeosang retrieved the purchases they made in town.

Hongjoong eyes scanned the massive structure in front of him, eyes glancing at the fountain in front of the building, slowly walking along the perimeter, mouth slightly agape.

He has always seen the manor from the tavern, and it was always quite beautiful from there, but seeing it in person was something different.

It was elegant and refined. It was truthfully exquisite, curious and Hongjoong found himself angry that he would have dreamed of something like this.

“If you're done daydreaming, follow me,” Yeosang said, making the smaller man turned to him. They both started to walk inside, and Hongjoong rushed to follow behind them, ignoring the side glances that the guards had given him.

The walls were massive, ceilings high with the sun gleaming on the stained glass from the colorful windows above them. Paintings of other high elves mounted on the wall that Hongjoong admired before he nearly bumped into the back of Yeosang.

He watched Seonghwa walk away down the hall, hair flowing behind him as Hongjoong found him watching the prince's body get smaller before he was plucked in the center of his forehead. Looking up, he saw the wood elf scowl at him.

“ Follow me, and don’t you dare try any unnecessary crap.” He scolds, and he ticked Hongjoong off for how he acted towards him.

“ I’ll follow if you tell me where exactly we are going.”

“ I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“ Then I’ll stay right here in this hall.” Hongjoong moved to the wall before sitting down on the floor, enjoying the irritated look on his face.

“ By the Gods, why are you humans so damn difficult?” He berated and it made Hongjoong give a dry laugh.

“ By the Gods, why are wood elves so damn stuck up?” Hongjoong retorted with a smile as he watched him get angrier, “ I promise I can be such an easy guest here and for you, but if you continue to be such a prick to me, I’ll make everything worse for you.”

Yeosang walked over to him and reached for his arm, pulling him up, “ I promise that I’ll cut your tongue off with my sword if you keep running your mouth like this.”

“ If you or the prince wanted to do something, you two would have done that by now. But instead, you brought me here. I don’t know why you both had brought me here against my will, but I do know that if he didn’t tell you to do anything to me, then you can’t.” Hongjoong shook out of his grip as they both stared at each other, “ Now start treating me with some common decency and then this can be easier for us both.”

Yeosang looked at the man up and down, thinking over what he said before mumbling something that Hongjoong couldn’t hear and walking away from the human, “ Just follow me to the living quarters.”

Hongjoong taking his time to follow behind him, a few feet behind him as he stared into the back of the wood elf’s head, “ Why am I going to the living quarters?”

“ Would you prefer the dungeon instead? You living with the other servants of the family sounds too generous in my eyes.” Yeosang looked over and nearly laughed as Hongjoong quickly shook his head, “ So, as I said, that is where I am taking you for now.”

Hongjoong was confused. He tried to steal from the prince and he didn’t lose any limbs. The dungeon would be the most appropriate place for him to be, but he will stay around the other workers who also live in this massive estate. It didn’t make sense to him, and it made him a bit uneasy since he feels that there’s an ulterior motive for doing this.

Hongjoong was led far down the corridor, passing other workers that greeted them and waved at Yeosang or ask him for quick advice that he happily answered. He could tell that they all looked up to the elf and valued his input. Yeosang also looked genuinely happy and satisfied to help them. So maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as bad as Hongjoong seemed.

Yet again, the harsh behavior could be due to his sticky fingers grabbing the heavy bag of gold and running away when they gave him a chance to return it with no issues.

“ This will be your room until the prince says otherwise.” Yeosang pushed a door open and stepped to the side to let Hongjoong step inside. Hongjoong quietly walked inside, mouth slightly open as he looked at the beautiful room. He walked around the bed, admiring its size as Yeosang watched him from the door. Hongjoong hand touched the sheets and was amazed by how soft they were.

Hongjoong felt like this room cost way more than his life and his next two lives too.

He’s never been in such a place before and he couldn’t help but be stunned by its elegance.

“ Thank you.” Hongjoong’s voice was low, but Yeosang heard him, a tad intrigued by his reactions.

“ If you plan to thank anyone, then thank the prince when he comes by the room. Stay in this room until he comes back and tells you what you can and cannot do. I have other tasks to take care of, so I will be leaving you here alone. However, that doesn’t mean that you can do anything stupid and try to escape. If you try to leave, I will personally come after you myself. Do I make myself clear?” Hongjoong nodded as Yeosang spoke to him.

Hongjoong watched Yeosang close the door and his footsteps leading down the hall before it got quiet.

Hongjoong let out a deep sigh as he took his boots off as he looked around the room, his toes wiggling in the plush carpet underneath his feet as he never felt something this soft. He wondered what animal the fur came from.

He pushed it all to his mind as he walked around the perimeter of the room, hands dragging across the wooden dressers.

He pulled open the drawers to find some clothes sitting inside. He wasn’t sure if he should touch them or not. He doesn't want to give the tawny-haired elf any type of motivation to yell at him. Not that he cared, but more so that he didn’t feel like dealing with that.

So Hongjoong silently walked back to the bed and hesitantly sat down on its expensive sheets. They were soft to his touch. Fingers gliding with ease as he somewhat became enthralled with the material that he never experienced before. It was then that he decided to lay down on the bed completely.

He felt his body slightly sink into it, almost welcoming him with such ease that he closed his eyes for a minute.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know how long he would be able to touch such luxury. He exhaled before inhaling the strong smell of fresh cotton from the bed, and Hongjoong felt his aching muscles from running sigh along with him.

He would do anything to be with Eden and laugh around with the patrons of his tavern because that’s his home, but he can’t help but wish to be entangled in this lifestyle just a bit longer.

The moment Hongjoong’s body started to quiet down and convince him to relax in this unfamiliar place, the door opened suddenly, and it made him open his eyes and immediately sit up in the bed.

He greeted him with the face of the prince, who happened to be alone this time. You couldn’t see Yeosang at all from where he sat, and he didn’t see him in the hall either before he shut the door behind him.

It was quiet.

Both of them were staring at each other. Hongjoong, not knowing what to expect from the prince, sat back near the headboard of the large bed. Seonghwa's eyes were piercing him as it felt like he was planning something that Hongjoong had no idea of.

“ It’s good to see that you got comfortable enough for a nap here, but now I have business to talk to you about.” His tone was harsh, and Hongjoong knew that he better pay attention to what he had to say. “First off, I’ll introduce myself. I am the first prince of Crescent Hill and next in line to the throne, Park Seonghwa. What is yours?”

Hongjoong swallowed before answering him, “K-Kim Hongjoong.”

“So Kim Hongjoong is the name of the man who was foolish enough to steal from me in broad daylight?” Seonghwa started as he walked away from the door and made his way to the center of the room. Hongjoong’s eyes following him the whole time he moved, “ But this is now besides that point of you being a petty thief.”

“Then what is this about?” Hongjoong asked him as he adjusted himself on the bed. Hongjoong admiring his side profile before he stopped his pacing and turned his head in his direction.

“ What did I ask you out in the alleyway?” Seonghwa hinted at and watched Hongjoong rake up his brain for the answer before looking back up at the high elf.

“ You had asked me what I was?”

“ And I still need an answer to the question.” Seonghwa turned his body to face him completely.

Hongjoong huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “ I did give you an answer. Whether you find the answer I gave earlier efficient enough is a problem for you and not myself.”

It was then that Seonghwa crossed the room very quickly and had slammed his hand beside Hongjoong’s head on the headboard. It startled Hongjoong enough to jump and stare up at the prince with wide eyes. His blonde brows were furrowed and his eyes were sharp.

“ You may have human strength and some human agility, but your aura says differently. I know I’m not wrong in this.” Seonghwa argued and he saw the confusion in Hongjoong’s expression once more.

“ What is an aura?” He questioned, a slight tilt of his head as he waited for an answer from him.

“ Aura is this very distinctive atmosphere that surrounds and is generated by a person, place, and thing. Whether it is small or big, there’s some type of aura surrounding everything around us. So that also includes humans, but usually, it’s a tiny amount of aura that’s produced from them, and they are all generally the same.” He explains in great detail as Hongjoong listens.

“ So, what is the problem with my aura?” Hongjoong looked up at the elf, now curious in his reasonings.

“ Despite it being faint, I sensed such evil and tainted aura coming from you that wouldn’t be possible for a regular human to generate. As much as history knows, it’s completely unheard, yet here you are.” Seonghwa gritted through his teeth, and it made Hongjoong glance down.

None of this made any sense to him. He was strictly human and nothing less.

How could he be walking around with a ‘tainted’ aura like this?

It made his head spin as the back of his head rested against the headboard. Seonghwa pulled his face away but was still fairly close as he sat down on the bed. He was still staring at him when he looked up.

“ I seriously don’t know how to answer your assumptions about me. I was born by human parents and was surrounded by nothing but humans for the most part. I wouldn’t know how this could happen.” Hongjoong’s eyes were cast down, still lost in thought as Seonghwa tried to think of some possible explanation.

“ You said you were surrounded by humans ‘ for the most part.’ So I can assume that you are around other beings besides them. If that is true, then can you tell me what type of species you commonly stayed around.”

Hongjoong gave an empty laugh as he looked back up at the prince, a look of agitation in his eyes, “ My old home had a small number of nonhumans who lived there peacefully, but there was a pair of demons who decided to make my life a living hell because I stopped them from hurting someone.”

Hongjoong crossed over his chest as he chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about, “ It was always stupid things and nothing serious, but the last time, they crossed the line and hurt me real bad.”

His mind flashed to that brutal beating. He heard their morphed voices and laughter echoing in his head until it overlapped, and he wanted to leave his mind. He was hearing Ava screaming for them to stop and to leave him alone. He was feeling incapable of breathing since he got slammed down. Remembering how weak he felt, how tiny he truly felt, and how hopeless he felt.

Seonghwa watched the look of pain and terror rise to his face, and it took him by surprise. The smaller male was squeezing his arms so tightly that he could see his blunt nails slowly dig into his skin. He could see him holding his breath and never exhaling.

“ Kim Hongjoong?” He questioned, hesitantly reaching forward to tap his leg.

Hongjoong was so deep in the nightmare replaying in his head that when he felt something touch him, he jumped back. Panicked, he looked forward and realized who was in front of him.

Wasn’t he in the alley?

“ Are you okay?” Seonghwa grew concerned for him. He knows nothing of what those demons did to him, but for them to cause a reaction like this from just thinking back to it.

Hongjoong finally took a deep breath and released his hold on his arms as they fell to his sides. He couldn’t find the strength to look up at him after all of that. His hand reached up to wipe away the tears that almost threatened to fall in front of the prince. It made him angry with himself.

Hongjoong didn’t want to show this man his weaknesses, but I’m guessing he couldn’t control himself as his mind had spiraled out of control. But maybe it had brought some clarification to him.

He was a human, but his aura was ‘supposedly’ evil.

Hongjoong had finally looked up at Seonghwa, who was patiently waiting for him to respond to him, “ Could aura be transferred to another person?”

Seonghwa brought up his hand to rest his chin in, “ Most of the time, beings that can control their auras usually place them on valuables or their territories, so no one bothers them. I haven’t heard of them placing their auras on other people.”

Could that explain everything? It could be the reason why it is so faint and why most people wouldn’t notice it. But again, what if he is just trying to trick him into escaping? Seonghwa doesn't think that he is that much of a fool, but he did steal from him.

Seonghwa looked back up at the man, “ When did that situation happen?”

Hongjoong ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to calm himself down slowly, “ I was 18 when it happened, and I’m 21 now.”

“ That sounds more than just aura. Do you regularly hang around such demons?” Seonghwa questioned him, watching his body finally ease itself against the wooden bed frame.

“ Demons and nonhumans never really scared me before, even after that incident. I haven’t been around any of them since I was here, but then again, some kinds hide in plain sight, and I wouldn’t know. Does aura not stay attached for that long?” Hongjoong tilted his head, and it made him look more childlike to the prince.

“ It’s unheard of as far as my knowledge, but I’ll figure that out for myself,” Seonghwa stood up from the bed and walked back to the center of the room, “ Because of my need to learn and comprehend everything, I want to figure out the mystery of this dark aura that surrounds you. You’ll be under surveillance for as long as that takes. I won’t bind you to this room and you're allowed to walk throughout the premises and you will be fed and bathed. Try and escape and I will put you down and just examine your corpse if need be. Do you understand, Kim Hongjoong?”

“ B-but what about my life outside of here? I can’t just stay here!”

Hongjoong is grateful that they aren’t killing him or taking any limbs from him, but he would rather be back in the tavern with Eden and the rest of the tavern’s patrons.

“ You should have thought about that before you committed the deeds that you did. Try if you must, but it would only result in death.” Seonghwa gave him a stern look. He knew he was serious.

Hongjoong couldn’t just run like how he did in town. This was a heavily guarded place with trained guards. He was royally screwed.

“ Oh, before I forget,” Seonghwa watched the smaller man process his words as he walked back to the door before looking over his shoulder. A grin that gave no sense of calm to Hongjoong’s nerves

“ Welcome to the Park Estate, Kim Hongjoong. I do hope you enjoy your stay.”

THREE WEEKS LATER

Several days had passed since he was invited ( very much forced) to stay in the royal family’s estate who ruled over the town he lived in.

It was honestly better than what he had initially imagined. The staff was told that he was new help, so he simply joined in with some of their duties.

With him joining with the help, he traveled throughout the massive home and had a bit of an idea of where everything was.

The left side of the estate was where the King and his family, meaning Seonghwa, lived. Some higher-up employees, such as Yeosang and some generals in charge of warriors, stayed there as well. There were some standard rooms like the study, the library, and meeting halls, but he knows nothing as far as anything else.

The center of the estate is where the main hall room was located and the kitchen and a few other rooms that he didn't know about. He only passes some of these rooms because he has to go clean some of these areas.

The right side of the estate was where he and the other staff members lived. Everyone had a bedroom, storage, and bathrooms, while some shared a common area. It was shocking to see so many staff there that were genuinely eager, let alone happy, to work for the prince and the family. Even though Hongjoong says that he can’t blame them when he bears witness to how well they are treated.

While Hongjoong truly wants to be back home with Eden, he did make friends with some of the other staff that managed to keep him hopeful and happy.

One of the friends he made was a young man named Subin. He’s been working there for a little over a year. Even though his main job is cleaning-related, he never voices any compliments and is usually in a good mood whenever he speaks. It’s always nice talking to him, and he gives him a good laugh when he needs one.

Hongjoong pretty much did a little bit of everything, even though he wasn’t supposed to. He was usually just supposed to clean a particular area that he was assigned for the day, but he would always end up helping the staff in the kitchen or tending the vast gardens. He even helped some of the warriors polish their weapons after battle and sparring.

Neither Yeosang nor Seonghwa predicted how fast Hongjoong would become well-liked at the estate, but that was just Hongjoong’s personality and friendly nature.

It was just another day Hongjoong had finished his tasks for the day and bored out of his mind. He was walking by the stained windows as he gazed outside into the town, wondering if he could see the tavern again before he heard loud giggles echoing the halls along with fast pitter-pattering of feet.

Hongjoong turned his head in the sound direction before he felt something bump into his legs and let out an ‘oof. Looking down, he saw two children, one on the floor and the other one catching up the other.

“I told you to be more careful!” The taller one yelled as the other one rubbed her nose.

Hongjoong squatted down to be her height as he tried to make sure she had no wounds or marks on her body, “ Hey, are you okay?”

The tiny child looked up at him and nodded, “ My nose hurts, but I’m okay!” She rubbed her nose before looking up at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong gave her a soft smile and also offered his hand to help her stand. The bigger child had watched Hongjoong help her up, “ Are you new?”

Hongjoong nodded as he looked at her, noticing how the younger of the two stared up at his face, “ I’m Hongjoong. What’s your name?” Hongjoong kept his tone light and friendly as the little girl smiled at him.

“ Elva!” She yelled, and it made Hongjoong giggle.

“ What a pretty name,” He looked up at the other child, “ And yours is?”

“ I’m Estel. She’s my little sister.” Estel watched her younger sister reach for him; arms stretched that had Hongjoong shocked himself. She watched him hesitantly lift the girl, and she smiled the moment that he did. Hongjoong had her body resting on her forearm.

“ Can you take us to the kitchen, please? We were on our way to get us some snacks.” Elva giggled as she waited for him to answer.

“ Well, you asked so sweetly, so how could I say no to you?” Hongjoong said as he started to turn his body before looking at the older of the two, “ Will you still be joining us?”

Estel shook her shock as she nodded as Hongjoong started to head for the stairs, Estel looping her arm when he walked. Estel watched her sister talk the man’s head off, still shocked that she trusted and got comfortable with the random man so fast in so little time.

Estel knew her sister was usually wary of any new person for a while, whether she met them or not. But this was the first time either of them had seen the man Hongjoong, yet there she was in the kind man’s arms.

Hongjoong didn’t notice the other sister’s stare as the younger talked his head off about the different foods she liked to eat, nor did he notice how some of the staff glanced at him to see the sister’s so close to him when he was barely in the castle for a month.

But they continued to walk down the stairs and made their way to the kitchen. Hongjoong used his shoulder to push the door open and peek inside, seeing a familiar face. The man turned his head after hearing the door, and he watched the man sigh.

“ What do you want now, Hongjoong?” He put down the knife he was using and stared at him.

“ Well, I missed you too Jin, but I wanted to get some snacks for myself and these two,” showing both sisters, and it made Jin widen his eyes.

“ Didn’t I give you two snacks earlier? Why are you back here, and you brought him back too.” Jin pinched the bridge of his nose as Hongjoong put Elva down.

“ Can’t we have a bit more Mr. Jin? Please?~” Elva ran over and clung to his leg.

“ If I keep giving you sweets and you fatten up, your mother and the prince will have my head!” Jin exclaimed as he rubbed his throat, and it only made her giggle.

“ We would never let him hurt you” Estel smiled as she eyed the desserts on the table that Hongjoong’s eyes also caught as he moved closer to the tray.

“ Jin, what type of dessert is this? I haven’t seen those before.” Hongjoong tore his eyes away for a split second to look at Jin with a childlike gaze.

Before Jin could speak, one of his assistants, Jaemin, came inside with an empty tray, “ Those are peach puffs.”

“They look fluffy and soft and look delicious~” Estel added as she and Hongjoong stared at each other and looked back at the tray. Elva was heading back to them, asking for Hongjoong to pick her back up, and he did.

Hongjoong knew the look that she had. It was the very same look he gave when he decided to steal from the prince.

Without a second thought, Estel snatched two puffs in her tiny hands, “ Grab one for Elva!” Estel yelled as Jin tried to run over to them.

Hongjoong hesitated for a split second before taking a puff as well and rushing out the door, hearing Jaemin’s laughter and Jin’s nagging.

“I make it up to you tonight, Mr. Jin!~” Hongjoong shouted as he followed behind the girl with her giggling as they ran. He knew Jin wasn’t going to chase him and just smack his hands when he sees him again.

They slowed down and sat down in the hall by the steps on the floor. He gave Elva her puff before placing her in his lap, smiling when she started munching on it. Estel handed Hongjoong his own, and you all ate the puffs quietly in the halls.

There was a sort of peace as you three ate the stolen food on the floor enjoying the silence as they enjoyed the sweet treat. The peaches were fresh, and the cream was fluffy. Hongjoong was enjoying his time with the sisters as his eyes were closed.

“Ddeonghwa!”

Hongjoong’s eyes opened as he watched Elva scurry out of his lap and run towards the blonde prince; his blue eyes were staring at Hongjoong, a stoic look on his face until Elva drew closer and he gave her a sweet smile.

A smile that Hongjoong didn’t know the man could take.

“ Now, what are you doing out here? Are you and Estel causing trouble? ” The prince’s voice was soft, maybe even delicate as he crouched down, opening his arms as she ran right into them.

“ We ate some peach puffs with Hongjoong!” She yells as she goes to feed the last bit of puff she had to Seonghwa, who chuckled and opened his mouth.

“ It does taste delicious.” Seonghwa smiled as Hongjoong watched with wide eyes.

Estel had gotten up as well, a big smile gracing her face as she ran over to hug him as well, “ Are you busy with duties for the rest of the day?”

“ No, I just came back from finishing my tasks for the day.” Seonghwa tucked her dark hair behind her ear as he spoke.

“ Can we go to the gardens then?” Elva asked with big doe eyes, hoping that the man would say yes.

“ Of course we can go. Would you like to go now?” Seonghwa tilted his head as she jumped up and down with excitement, a clear yes by her actions.

“ Oh! Can we bring Hongjoong with us too?” Estel asked and both Hongjoong and Seonghwa weren't expecting her to ask that. They both had looked at each other, not initially knowing how to answer it.

Hongjoong tried to help the prince as he’s stood up, “ Maybe I shouldn’t go with you all-”

“ Nooooo,” Elva runs over to him, clinging onto his leg, “ Please come with us, so can I show you the flowers there pleaseeeee.” She begged and Hongjoong felt like he couldn’t tell her no.

“ Join us, Kim Hongjoong. It’s quite hard to tell the little one no.” Seonghwa spoke, looking at him with eyes that were unreadable as Hongjoong eventually agreed.

The sisters eventually pulled both of them out towards the gardens, Seonghwa sitting on one of the benches as the sisters pulled Hongjoong around to the flowers that they found were pretty. Hongjoong stared at the white camellias and pink roses that Hongjoong found himself getting so enthralled in them as he reached out to touch them all.

Seonghwa watched from where he sat, watching Hongjoong’s movements as he noticed the childlike gaze he had just for the flowers, and Seonghwa found his face softening a bit.

They were just flowers. They weren’t too memorable or unique, but here was the tiny human being memorized by some vibrant flowers.

Seonghwa immediately found it foolish and childish in his mind, but something in the back of his mind found his reactions adorable, and the moment that it crossed his mind, he froze and shook his head back and forth to get rid of the thought.

He looked back up and realized that the sisters were pulling the man before, having him sit right beside him. He smiled at them as they told them they would get them both a surprise and ran away before either of them could say anything.

The moment the girls were far enough away from them, Seonghwa’s smile dropped, and he turned to face the shorter man, “ What ulterior motives do you have, Kim Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong giggled, his legs crossed as he leaned back onto the bench before turning to look him in the eyes, “ I was waiting for you to say something to me. I wasn’t expecting you to do it so soon, though.”

“ Answer my question.”

Seonghwa watched him roll his eyes before looking back at him, “ There’s no motive or planning. I like my life very much. Those lovely children ran into me in the halls after I finished my duties for the day. Elva asked for me to come with them to the kitchen.”

Seonghwa stared at him, nowhere near satisfied with his answer, “They don’t usually warm up to any new faces so fast. Perhaps, you used some type of magic on them.”

“ Wouldn’t such a high-ranked elf like you would have noticed any magic traces on them as you did with the tiny amount of dark energy on me?” Hongjoong raised his brow and it took everything in him not to laugh at the look on the prince's face.

It was a mix of shock and maybe a pinch of flustered as he watched him scramble to try and respond to him, his mouth opening and closing, not knowing what to say.

Hongjoong found that face more fitting on him than the stoic one he walks around with.

It makes him look younger. It made him look youthful.

It made him look cuter.

Huh?

“ I guess you're right….” The prince mumbled, not looking at him anymore

Hongjoong, being lost in his thoughts, nearly missed what he said, “ Did you just say I was right?”

“ I did,” Seonghwa answered, feeling Hongjoong lean closer to him.

“ Say it again.”

“ What?”

“ Say that I was right again.” Hongjoong pushed, moving closer to the elf, feeling their thighs touch.

“ No,” Seonghwa turned to the side. He felt the man close the distance between them again, and he was ready to yell at him when he turned his head around, but his voice died down when he noticed how close their faces were.

Hongjoong wasn’t expecting him to turn around either, and he knew the prince could see him visibly swallow as he also took note of their closeness. The last time he had his face this close to his face was when they were in his room, and he was threatening him with the sword.

But now, there were no weapons in sight. It was just the two of them, up close and personal. Hongjoong couldn’t stop his eyes from looking over the handsome face. He found himself admiring his cheekbones, the shape of his nose, and daringly eyeing his lips.

They looked pretty and soft before his eyes glanced back up to catch the pair of bright lapis staring back at him.

He was waiting for the man to yell for his staring and the lack of personal space, but it never came. He just kept eye contact with him, and Hongjoong wasn’t sure what he should do. He knew that he could see the faintest of blush coat his cheeks, and he was going to lose it.

By the gods, he was lucky to be broken from the trance as he heard the sisters yell for them as they got remotely closer to them.

Hongjoong was quick to move back to where there was a reasonable amount of distance between them, and he heard Seonghwa clear his throat and turned his head back away from him.

Hongjoong smacked his cheeks a bit before quickly putting on a smile as Elva ran over to him, her hands dirty from the soil as Estel came over with some flowers in her hands. Hongjoong picked the younger sister up and sat her on his lap, and Estel sat in between him and Seonghwa, which he was grateful for. “ What were you two up to for you both to have such dirty fingers?”

Hongjoong’s tone was light and bubbly as he took out a cloth from his pants pocket and gently took her tiny hands to clean them.

“ We found some pretty flowers and we pulled two up for you both!” She squeals as Estel hands them both a flower. It was a red Gardenia and Hongjoong brought it to his nose to smell, smiling when he did.

“ This is a beautiful flower. Thank you.” He gave them a big smile that they quickly returned, not catching Seonghwa looking at him once more with a smile that went unnoticed by the party as the children talked both of their ears off, but they didn’t mind as they sat in the gardens with them.

They both stayed there with them, idly talking and playing with the children, as they were watched from the window, their earlier interaction not going unnoticed as a brow twitched before walking away.

ONE MONTH LATER

It’s been about six weeks since Hongjoong was made to stay there in the castle, and the time he was having there was completely different from that initial week.

Especially when it came between him and the prince of the estate.

He found his eyes lingering on the prince whenever he walked past him, or he caught him after a lesson or meeting. Sometimes, he would see the prince meeting his gaze, and it would immediately make his face flash and have him quickly walk away.

He didn't know why he started to get so nervous around the elf prince, but he did. Ever since their trip to the gardens with the children, he hasn’t been able to look at him calmly.

Speaking of the sisters, Estel and Elva always tried to steal him away while he was doing his tasks for the day. Whether it was bringing in shipments from other cities to him having to clean the floors and windows thoroughly, they tried their best to steal him away.

The other workers found it amusing, never really minding if they stayed out, not as they worked since they never really caused anyone trouble, but they did find it odd how much they went to strictly Hongjoong and no one else.

Hongjoong had just managed to avoid the sisters, both feeling mischievous as they were messing with Subin before quickly asking where the small brown-haired man was.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love their company, but he just didn’t have the energy to play with them. Sadly, they didn’t give up that easily, and they were chasing him.

Hongjoong had some reasonable distance between these girls, them both giggling and smiling as they were trying to catch up. “ Hongjoong, where are you going?” Estel giggles and it took everything in him not to laugh.

He glanced around the halls, spotting a wooden door and quickly opening and shutting it silently as he pressed his ear against the door. Hongjoong heard the girls go past the door, quickly stopping when they couldn’t hear his steps or see him since it was a long hallway.

“ Where did he go?” Elva asked, confused as Hongjoong backed away from the door. He knew their hearing was better than his, so he tried his best not to make any sounds. His eyes never leaving the door until he bumped into something and a hand quickly covered over his mouth.

Hongjoong’s heart jumped into his throat as he tried to turn around and was greeted by those same hypnotizing blue eyes as he leaned to his ear, “ Say calm if you want the girls to leave.”

His voice was low and it sent a shiver down his spine, but he stayed still and quiet. He could still hear the girls talking right outside the door.

“ You think he went into here,” Elva asked, pointing to the door that indeed had Hongjoong right behind it.

“ I don’t think he did. No one is allowed in there and that includes Hongjoong,” Estel thought for a bit before the two heard a sigh. “ We lost him, Estel, so let’s go and get some snacks from Mr.Jin!”

Hongjoong heard Elva make this happy noise as she started to run off to the kitchen, Estel right on her tail as the footsteps and laughter slowly went away, and Hongjoong let out a sigh, unconsciously resting his head against his body and Seonghwa stiffened a bit.

Seonghwa stared to the top of his head, staying completely still and not knowing what to do for a minute.

Hongjoong, unknowing of him stiffening behind him, turned around to face him for a split second before looking past him, “What room is this?”

Seonghwa snapped out of it for a split second before turning around to look in his direction, “This is the castor room. This is where I study and learn new magic.”

Hongjoong walked deeper into the room, eyeing the tree and wood decor in the room, his eyes trailing to the colored glass that brought in the light that illuminated the room. Hongjoong eyes landed on the book that must have been where Seonghwa was sitting.

“So you plan on staying here, even though the young ones left you alone already?” Seonghwa walked past him as he sat back in the chair that Hongjoong was eyeing. He turned in his seat, leaning back to look at him and wait for his answer.

“ I won’t touch anything. I just want to watch you work. I finished my task for the day and I have never seen magic before, so I’m a bit curious.” Hongjoong admitted as he eyed the chair that was next to him.

Seonghwa thought it over, tempted to send him off so he could enjoy his time alone like he usually does. But glancing at the look on his face and eyes made him sigh and turned back around. “ Sit in the chair and don’t touch anything.”

Hongjoong sat in a chair, far away from Seonghwa and his work. Hongjoong eyes scanned the table and saw the books and vials that were over most of the table. His eyes were trailing up to look at the elf prince, who was focused on the text in the book.

His blonde hair pulled back this time in a ponytail, a few loose hairs as his eyes scanned over the text. His hand reached for the feather and dipped it in ink before writing some notes on his own, him noting how pretty his handwriting was as well before looking back up to his face.

Hongjoong doesn’t know how he found himself staring at his profile as he worked, despite wanting to bother him just a bit. He was just enamored with how the gods decided to sculpt such a beautiful-looking man.

He had to be honest. He found Seonghwa attractive. Yeah, he tried to kill him and take his fingers from him, but he was still hot.

Hongjoong chuckled to himself and the sound drew in Seonghwa’s attention, “ What’s so amusing over there?” He asked as he got up, grabbed some materials from a shelf, and brought them back to the table.

“ Would you prefer that I be honest?” Hongjoong asked.

“ I don’t like being lied to, so yes.”

“ I was sitting here thinking about how handsome you are.”

He almost dropped the materials in his hands.

“ Pardon?”

“ You told me to be honest and I said I was sitting here thinking about how handsome you were. Do you not know that you are handsome?” Hongjoong tilted his head, eyes glancing back at the other vials, his fingers tempted to reach out and touch them.

“It’s not that I don’t know that I have good looks, but that’s not what I was expecting to hear. But why would that have made you laugh?”

“ I thought that despite you threatening to take off any type of limbs, I couldn’t lie and say you aren’t attractive. I don’t think I can be good-looking anymore if I lose an arm.” Hongjoong smiled as he dragged his fingertips over the vials, despite being told not to touch anything.

“ A missing limb wouldn’t make you less attractive,” Seonghwa said bluntly, and Hongjoong wasn’t expecting that type of response. It made him stare at the icy blonde prince.

“ I’m sorry, what was that?”

“ I know you heard me loud and clear, but maybe those human ears of yours aren’t too good, so listen closely,” Seonghwa grabbed his collar, making Hongjoong yelp as Seonghwa ghosted his lips by the shell of Hongjoong’s ear, “ I said a missing limb wouldn’t make you less attractive, Kim Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong felt the blush cover his cheeks and a shiver run down his spine from having his voice and breath so close to him. His voice sounded more profound than usual, or was that just his mind playing with him? But this man. This prince had called him attractive and he didn't know how to react to that.

Seonghwa enjoyed the silence from the man as he let go of his collar and went back to focusing on the magic in front of him. He watched from the corner of his eye at how Hongjoong adjusted himself before getting comfortable and watching him work once more.

He enjoyed the sort of “ peace” that befell them both. It was comfortable and relaxing as the only thing Seonghwa could hear was him mixing the elixirs and potions and the glasses occasionally clinking together. But then his ear picked up on a sound that made him look over again.

He saw the tiny man with his head resting in his arms, lightly snoring. He watched his shoulders rise slowly with every breath, and tossed his hair slightly to the side.

Seonghwa marked where he was at last and closed his book before turning to face him fully. He slowly reached over and moved his hair out of his eyes. He pulled his hand back when Hongjoong moved before going still again.

Seonghwa found himself gradually leaning closer, basking in the scent that was rolling off of him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He never had the chance to figure out what his smell was when he got close the last few times.

Seonghwa didn’t even realize how close he had gotten to Hongjoong’s sleeping face. His nose was almost brushing against him, and he didn’t fully grasp the idea that he wanted to kiss his forehead. But that sounds….wrong.

He shouldn’t desire to do such a thing, especially someone who should just be treated like a common thief. Everything in Seonghwa’s mind told him not to do it, and he knew his lips were inches away. All he had to do was inch a tiny bit forward and he would do it.

Just a tad bit closer and that’s it. Just that simple. But it still felt wrong.

It took a few seconds, but Seonghwa relaxed and looked back at the sleeping man before backing up in his seat. He knew better and he wouldn’t. Whatever urge he had will be swallowed and locked away since he knows it was wrong.

But at the very least, he petted his head and couldn’t stop the small smile as he leaned into his hand a bit.

Seonghwa enjoyed the feeling before he heard a quick knock on the door before it swung open. Seonghwa pulled his hand away fast and went back to grab his book, almost doing it in such a calm and collected manner as if he wasn’t petting the sleeping man.

Yeosang turned around and brought Seonghwa his tea with a smile before he stopped, his eyes immediately locking on the Hongjoong.

Yeosang did his best not to have his face falter as he walked over to the table, sitting the tray of fruits and tea down on a nearby table, “ I brought you some fruits and tea. I didn’t know you would have a guest, or else I would have brought another cup of tea.”

“ This wasn’t planned, but there is no need for that,” Seonghwa reached over and grabbed a strawberry and took a bite from it, letting out a tiny hum as it touched his tongue, “ But I appreciate the snacks. I was a bit famished.”

“ Then you should be eating something more filling.” Yeosang quipped, boldly stealing a grape for himself and popping it into his mouth as he saw the prince smile.

“Then do you know what is being prepared for lunch, Yeosang?.”

“ I can find out if you’d like.”

“ There’s no need for that,” Seonghwa stood up and went for another book on the shelf, “ You do enough for me as it is.”

Yeosang looked back at Hongjoong, sending the sleeping man a look that Seonghwa couldn’t see before fixing it as the prince turned around. Yeosang watched the head back to the table, seemingly comfortable with having Hongjoong stay beside him like that.

“ Yeosang, do you know what the rest of my day looks like? I didn’t meet with the King recently.” Seonghwa asked, eyes glued to the new book in his hands.

Yeosang stepped forward, on the opposite side of the table from Hongjoong, “ As far as today, you have to spar with the general and Lady Nora before dinner. Your schedule is quite free beside the event the King had planned that needs your actual attendance.”

Yeosang watched the man tsk as he looked at him, “ It is coming up, isn’t it? I don’t want to be there.”

“ I don't either, but you know we have no say for this one. You already have some attire being made; the seamstress is almost finished with that. You have the fitting tomorrow, and then the event is two days from now.” Yeosang explained as he heard another deep sigh from Seonghwa.

“ I don’t want to be in the faces of so many nobilities, especially with most of them being fools and not wanting to listen. You ask how to improve things, I tell them, and they don't listen or just resort to saying I’m a spoil and know-it-all brat that understands nothing. But if that's the case, why ask me for my input to begin with? This happens all night long, and you know this.” Seonghwa allowed himself to slip into his chair just a bit and Yeosang gave a small smile at the action.

“I’ll assist you the best way I can.” Yeosang bows slightly and Seonghwa gives a smile of his own before his head turns around when he hears a groan coming from his left. He watched Hongjoong stretch and sat up from where he was, yawning and stretching his arms. Hongjoong turned and looked over at Seonghwa before his eyes turned to look at Yeosang.

“ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.” Hongjoong rubbed his eyes a bit and the prince thought it made him more childlike as he watched him.

“ I would have woken you up if it was a nuisance for me.” Seonghwa pointed out a comment that didn’t go unnoticed by the advisor, “ Also, while I’m thinking of it, there is an event that will be happening in two days, and you will also have to attend.

“Why?” He wasn’t expecting both Hongjoong and Yeosang to say it at the same time.

“ Only you and I know the real reason why Kim Hongjoong is in this castle, but to others, he is a mere worker. Just like the rest of them, he will be working and most likely be a server to the guests.” Seonghwa pointed out and Yeosang got quiet. Choose to say no.

Hongjoong knew he was right, and he didn't have a choice to say no in this type of situation. “I’ll do my best during this event.”

“ I expect you to.”

TWO DAYS LATER

“Never knew you could clean up so well, Hongjoong. Almost didn’t recognize you.” Subin teased, adjusting his clothes as he smiled at him.

The two of you had spent the day together getting everything ready for the event that’s happening tonight. You expected not to see the Prince and his advisor until the evening, and so far, you’ve been correct. After all the necessary preparations, the workers were all told to change and hurry back before the guest arrived.

Hongjoong eyed himself in the large mirror, admiring his appearance. He never dressed in something like this before, primarily to him not being able to afford something like this. He was dressed in white. A long-sleeved flint-colored top that was buttoned as that top before split down the center passed his belly button and stopped at his knees with delicate gold details that could go unnoticed. White pants that were a bit scrunched at the ankle due to his height, but nothing too bad to where he would walk on them. A high necked vested jacket latched at the top before flowing down and stopping at his thighs. The latch was gold, the edges of the material, and some white and gold shoes to match.

It was pretty simple in appearance, but it indeed was the fanciest thing he had worn. Subin was wearing the same color scheme but was designed differently. “ So funny, now let’s hurry up because we have to go back.”

“ Do you remember how to get there?”

“ No, not at all, so hurry up so you can show me how to get there.” Hongjoong laughed with Subin as they walked out of the room, following other staff that had to work.

If Hongjoong was honest with himself, he didn’t want to help any rich and stuck-up assholes tonight, but he knows he can’t say that out loud. Luckily, Subin would be there with him to brighten the mood.

Jin told them to station a table on the end, and you two were happy to be stuck together.

You both watched how quickly the hall filled up, countless demons, monsters, and humans all dressed in the finest of silks and fabrics to impress each other, and it took everything in Hongjoong to not roll his eyes. He believes that they might get stuck in his head if he did so.

But he did what he was told along with Subin, serving any and everyone that approached their tables. He was a bit shocked when some thanked them but wasn’t surprised by the judging looks he did receive.

Hongjoong found himself getting tired fast, having Subin kick his shin once in and while to keep him up. But soon enough, that kick felt like nothing.

“ Hongjoong, wake up! The prince has arrived!” Subin whispered yell as they both turned towards the more oversized doors.

Hongjoong straightened up and had his eyes glued as he finally got his first look at the King and Queen, Seonghwa’s parents. His father gave off a regal aura; His hair flowed down to his mid-back. He was dressed in black, white, and gold. Hongjoong could see some of the finest jewels adorning his neck apart from his attire.

His eyes went to Seonghwa’s mother and she must have been the most elegant woman he has ever seen, dressed in layers of silk and expensive fabrics that flowed around her beautifully. Her beautiful headdress and intricate hairstyle made her shine like an actual jewel.

But then his eyes landed on the prince, and it felt like his breath got caught in his throat. He was adorned in all black, a great contrast to his pale skin and blonde hair. His attire was flowy as well, similar to his mother’s. As he saw them walk past, he noticed embroidery of dragons on the sleeves and along the collar and hem of his clothes.

His eyes followed him as he walked behind his parents, having Subin smack his arm once more to gain his attention once he noticed some guests walk to their table. But no matter how many times Subin had to slap his arm, he found his eyes going back to Seonghwa.

Maybe it’s because admiring the prince’s beauty made him focus enough to stay up now after seeing countless forgettable faces. But then it became something more familiar when he noticed Yeosang heading to the table.

His pants were plain and straightforward and just white in color. He was dressed in this black vest with a high collar. The seams are traced in white trim, and wearing black and gold cuffs on his wrists. This other piece was a fabric matching his shirt and had a white border and some gold.

“ Mr.Kang, I wasn’t expecting you to come by,” Subin said with a smile, and Hongjoong watched the corners of Yeosang’s lips curve upwards.

“ It’s good to see you as well, Subin.” Yeosang turned his head to look at Hongjoong, and he noticed a slight change in his gaze, “ Nice to see you too, Hongjoong.”

“Anything that you would like?” Hongjoong asked him as Yeosang’s eyes scanned over the array of foods, leaning over to look at it all before standing up once more.

“ I’ll come back later since I’m not quite hungry yet. I plan on seeing you two later then, so make sure you two enjoy yourselves later on.” Yeosang told them before heading off just as quickly as he arrived.

Subin was distracted for a split second when another guest missed the quick change in Yeosang’s face. His eyes narrowed, a frown on his lips before turning his head once more to head back to Seonghwa.

Hongjoong found it odd. He knew the advisor wasn’t fond of him and would prefer if he was dead, but the look in his eyes this time seemed more intense than before.

He just pushed it to the back of his head before he felt Subin smack his arm once more, this time to get his attention as Jin arrived. “

“ You both are done for now. Eat and relax. Just don’t cause any trouble for me, or I’ll have your head. “ He threatened before pushing both of them away, Hongjoong laughing a bit.

“ Now you know you would mourn my death. I’m quite fun to be around.” Hongjoong joked as Jin kicked his ankle as they both stumbled away laughing.

Hongjoong and Subin had made their way to some of the other workers that were switched out to eat. It was away from the more high-status guests, but Hongjoong preferred that.

He has fun and enjoys his time with them. Maybe it’s because this was something that he wished he could have back in his hometown with Ava. Perhaps he’ll get some money and get her to visit.

He knows that’s not a realistic plan, but he could dream.

“ Did he zone out? Oi Hongjoong!”

Hongjoong looked up and realized that Eric, one of the other coworkers that he has made friends with, was calling him. “Hm? What is it?”

“Did you hear anything that I just said?” The younger asked and Hongjoong gave a sheepish laugh before saying no. The boy rolled his eyes before giving him a look.

“ I said that soon with have to go from table to table and collect and dishes and trash from them,” Eric explained, and Hongjoong couldn’t stop the look that appeared on his face.

“ Why can’t they get rid of their trash?” The words flew from his lips quicker than necessary.

“ Look, it's a party for the rich and they are all guests of the family. They aren’t supposed to lift a finger for anything as trivial as cleaning up after themselves.” Eric says sarcastically, a grin on his face as he ate more food, “ You knew what you were getting into when hired here, Hongjoong, so don’t get stupid now.”

“ Aren’t I older than you? Who are you calling stupid?” Hongjoong brow raised and gave him a look that Eric wasn’t fazed by.

“ If you know you aren’t stupid, don’t get offended by it. But seriously, Jin or someone higher up will have your head if you're disrespectful to them. So even if they do something, bite your tongue.” Eric gives him an honest look and Hongjoong huffed.

Subin pats his shoulder, “ It should be fast since most of us are doing that, so don’t worry too much. Okay.” Subin gave a dimpled smile and Hongjoong let out a small smile of his own.

He enjoys this. Bickering and smiling with each other felt very on end and it’s a bit bittersweet that it’s with people that he just met and not his parents. Well, with his mother, yes, but it would be nice if his father were included in that as well.

Before he knew it, they were all splitting up which tables they were going to and grabbed some carts before heading off.

Hongjoong took a deep breath before putting on a fake smile and approached the first table. His greeting was friendly and respectful as he asked if anyone was done with their plates. Some raised their hands and he came over and collected everything that they were finished with. He made sure not to make eye contact with them despite a few leering into the side of his head.

Hongjoong was quick to bow before leaving and dropping his smile the moment he was gone. He nearly mumbled something under his breath before remembering that no humans were sitting at these tables.

So Hongjoong continued this pattern with a fake smile, cleaning and leaving until he reached this last table. He could tell that he was an elf by the pointed ears, and the man was sitting there all alone.

“Excuse me, sir, but are you finished with your food? I'm here to collect your dirty dishes if so.”

The man tilted his head up and gave a light smile, “ Don’t your cheeks hurt from smiling like that? I gave you no reason to smile and neither did those other snot-nosed nobles. Relax and treat me like normal.”

“ I’m sorry, but I-”

“ I may be a royal, but I'm nobody to them. I would rather be treated regularly than a noble,” He turned in his seat before putting his dirty plate on himself as Hongjoong just stared at him, “ I didn’t catch your name. What is it?”

He shook his head as he looked at him, “ my name is Hongjoong.”

“ Hongjoong. That’s a different name, but I like it. I’m Prince Gerold, but I don’t need any formalities. Gerold is just fine.”

“ How could you tell that my smile was fake?” Hongjoong asked, stepping a bit closer to the man.

“ Cause you gave the same type of smiles that I do.” He rested his head in his hand as he glanced back to Hongjoong, “ Please sit, or you can’t waste any time chit-chatting with me?”

“ Well, I’m not supposed to do anything that would upset the ‘royals,’ but since I’m not upsetting you, it should be fine.” Hongjoong watched the smile grow a bit bigger on his face.

“ Well, then let’s sit and chat only for a little while. Maybe this event won’t be as boring as anticipated.”

༄༄༄

Seonghwa was tired.

He was ready to call it a night the moment he stepped into the grand room. But of course, being the son of the current king kept him occupied and busy.

He had to answer to some neighboring townships as well, as they praised him with cheers about what a great king he’ll be, and by the gods, was Seonghwa tired of the repetition.

There were questions on what he would do once his father steps down and how many children of his own he plans to have or if he has selected a queen.

Soon to Seonghwa ear’s, their voices became inaudible and would only pick up a few words that would remind him of what the bloody hell they were talking about.

While some of the guests started to talk to themselves, Seonghwa’s eyes swelled across the crowd as he was quick to stop once he saw a familiar brown hair at a table.

He watched him talk to one of the nobles. It didn’t seem like it was anything terrible because Hongjoong looked utterly relaxed.

But the more he stared, the more he realized that he looked a tad bit too relaxed.

He was able to see how close they were to each other as they talked about whatever. He could see the other person putting his arm on the back of Hongjoong’s chair and give a grin.

He couldn’t read their lips, but he did know that something had made Hongjoong laugh, and the smile was genuine. It made his heart jump a tad bit before remembering that it wasn’t directed towards him. It was someone that he just met and made him smile big like that.

Fascinating.

“ Prince Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa turned back to look at the guests in front of him, “ Yes, what is it?”

They pointed to the glass in his hand, and his eyes followed suit and noticed how tight his grip was on the glass. It caught him off guard cause he never saw his grip tightening. He placed the tall glass down on the table.

“ Are you okay, Prince Seonghwa? Did we say something to upset you?” Seonghwa could see the concern on their face and he snapped out of the slight haze he was in.

“No, it wasn’t you. However, I do have some business that I need to handle. Please enjoy this event to the fullest.” The prince gave a slight bow and smiled before quickly heading off, his feet with a mind of his own.

༄༄༄

Maybe nobles weren’t all too bad.

Hongjoong knew he was supposed to be working, but he couldn’t find himself getting up and ending this conversation. Prince Gerold had a charm about him that just made him stay. Maybe it’s because he was somewhat of an outcast among the nobles and he just seems a bit more humble in a sense.

He found himself smiling and laughing as they talked, not noticing how close the man had gotten or how friendly they would look to any guests. He was just hoping that he wouldn’t get into too much trouble.

“ Hongjoong, can I asked you something?” Prince Gerold tilted his head as he looked at him.

“ Of course. What is it?”

“ Would you like to leave this party? It’s not quite as interesting as you.” Prince Gerold grinned.

Hongjoong wasn’t expecting him to ask such a question. He wouldn’t mind being with him a bit longer, but he knows very well that if he leaves after all this, he might get killed by Jin. or even worse. Get killed by Yeosang.

“ Oh, I don’t think I can. I’m supposed to be working right now, to begin with, so if I leave, I’ll get in tro-” Hongjoong breath hitched when he was pulled a bit closer to him by his chair, catching him off guard.

“ Come on~ We could walk through the city or the gardens and just have a good time. You don’t wanna spend that time with me?” Prince Gerold’s smile was sweet, but maybe it felt a little too sweet that made Hongjoong want to leave, but he couldn’t. It felt like his legs were made of steel.

“ B-but I have to-”

“ I thought we were having fun together. Just for a little bit. I promise to bring you back before this shit of a party is.” Prince Gerold grabbed his hand gently, a complete opposite from the tone, despite being laced with sweet words. His thumb rubbed over his knuckles before bringing his hand to his mouth. He placed tender kisses on each one. Hongjoong wanted to pull his arm away, walk away and deal with all forms of scolding from Subin and Jin, then stay here. Even though he thought that he couldn’t move. Was it fear? Was he scared again? He just wanted to leave.

“Let’s go. I’ll sneak you out to avoid any trouble.”

“Well, it’s a bit too late for that now, is it?” Hongjoong watched how quickly his eyes looked up and passed him, and despite still not being able to move, he knew who was behind him. He knew that voice well enough.

“Ah, Prince Seonghwa. A great party you have here. Not my cup of tea, though, so I planned to leave here with this lovely muse, so if you don’t mind.” Prince Gerold stood up, still holding Hongjoong’s hand. He wasn’t expecting to stand up with such ease when he struggled to do it with his willpower. Hongjoong finally glanced over at Seonghwa as Prince Gerold tries to walk past him.

Hongjoong felt his shoulder get gripped on, and it felt like lightning struck him the moment the elf prince touched him. It made his ears ring, then his spine tingled, and his toes curl before he was finally able to pull his arm away. He faced Seonghwa in shock, but his gaze was rigid set on the other prince in front of him.

“ You went out of your way to compel him? You lured him in with such a fake smile and tried to snatch him off somewhere else. Truly pathetic.” Seonghwa's voice was cold, and he enjoyed the way his lip twitched as he spoke to him, “ You have some nerve bothering my workers.”

“ Now you're saying that as if you care about all of your workers.” He smirks as he crossed his arms.

“ Why wouldn’t I? Their hard work made this event as successful as it is. I owe them all some proper gratitude for their efforts, and it’s just a shame that they still have to deal with something as rotten as you.” Seonghwa stepped forward, right in front of Hongjoong and gave him such a cold glare that made the smirk fall from his face and replaced with a scowl.

“ You watch who you're talking to!” He growled out and Seonghwa laughed in his face.

“ Oh, and what would you do? Did you forget that part of the land that your father owns was a gracious gift from us? Did you forget how much we helped you and your father get to where you are? We hand-fed you everything, and it would be just as easy to make you starve. Be foolish enough to doubt my bluff, and I will personally ruin you. You need us. We don’t need you.” Seonghwa’s aura crackled, and it made the other Prince step back even more from them.

“All of this fuss and threats over one of the hundreds of workers?!”

“ For your information, I hand-picked this one, so yes. Now I suggest you leave like previously intended,” Seonghwa grabbed Hongjoong’s rest and started to walk away. Hongjoong turned around to at him before Seonghwa’s voice cut through the air, “ Don’t look at him.”

Seonghwa walked fast and scouted the area before stepping up to Subin and tapping his shoulder. Subin turned around and nearly dropped the plates he had in his hands. “ Prince Seonghwa! W-what can I do for you?”

“ Take care of the rest of Hongjoong’s work if you don’t mind. I need him for something else more important.” It was then that Subin noticed Hongjoong behind him, and it looked like Subin was trying to get a sense from him about what happened, but Hongjoong sheepishly looked away.

“ Of course! I’ll get right on it.” Subin bows before heading past them and Seonghwa continues to pull Hongjoong out and out the doors, not going unnoticed by the prince’s advisors as he gives a sharp gaze with furrowed brows.

Once Hongjoong believes that they were far enough from anyone, he spoke up, “ Seonghwa, where are we going?….”

“ Just wait. We're almost there.” Seonghwa gave a short response as he guided them through halls that Hongjoong had never been down before; he opened a door and pulled them both inside before shutting the door. That’s when Seonghwa finally let go of his wrist and slumped against the door.

Hongjoong watched how the prince’s back and shoulders slouched before looking up at him. “ Are you okay?”

Seonghwa made a small smile, “ I should be asking you that. A nonhuman just compelled you. The longer you stayed there, the more control he would have had on you.”

Hongjoong looked at his hands and legs, moving them slightly, “ I thought it was fear again. I thought I was that scared and couldn’t move. Not because of magic.”

Hongjoong missed the soft look he gave him as he stayed by the door, “ No. It was magic that a good variety of nonhumans know. If you can use magic or have any items to help you comply, it is quite easy to do. Humans usually fall prey to it naturally. Folks of magic sense other magic, so it would never have worked.”

Hongjoong gave a tiny smile, “ That’s good to know, but that just reminds me of how much weaker I am to everything.”

Seonghwa pushed himself off the door and stood in front of him, “Humans can learn magic too if they practice hard enough. The only way you can stop being weak is if you put the time and effort into being strong. You don’t just need to be physically stronger to beat someone. There are other ways, and I'm sure you would be capable of it.”

Hongjoong looked up at his eyes and let out a laugh, “ Who would have thought that your words would give me some comfort,” Hongjoong rubbed the back up his neck and stared at the ground, “ Thank you.”

“ There’s no need to thank me.”

“ Yes, there is. I found myself in some trouble and I was lucky enough that you were there to help me. I’m sorry for causing trouble and making you leave the party. I’ll—I’ll take whatever lecture or punishment for everything.” Hongjoong stared at his hands.

It could have gone a completely different way and Hongjoong didn’t even want to think what would happen if no one came over to stop him.

“ I was forced to attend this party. I’m the next in line to the throne, so of course, I had to be there. I would have rather hid than talked the same nonsense with all of those guests. And did you think I dragged you all the way here just to lecture you?” Seonghwa raised a brow as he gave him an amused look.

Hongjoong looked back with a confused look, “ Then why did you drag me here? Was it just a chance for you to get away from this event?”

Seonghwa walked past him and headed towards the window, the moon illuminating his skin in hair and almost making him glow, “ Maybe you do have some magic because I don’t know why, but you have been compelling me all on your own.”

Hongjoong slowly walked towards him but kept some distance, “ What does that even mean? Whatever you have to say, just say it.”

Seonghwa never turned around, “ I’ve developed some feelings for you.”

It was silent. No sound was made as they both stood in the same spot. Seonghwa expected this type of reaction and silence, so it took the silence to elaborate more.

“ I don’t know when it started, but I can be honest enough to say that I have developed some type of feelings for you. Maybe it started when I watched how caring and nurturing you were with Estal and Elva and how much they genuinely adored you. I was worried about you manipulating them, but they seem smitten with you. Most people don’t like them because of their mother, but they’re innocent in that matter.”

Hongjoong quietly walked over as Seonghwa continued to talk, just listening to the words that came out of his mouth.

“ Then I started to notice the little reactions and thoughts I would have about you. I didn’t think I could do it after stopping the last time I had feelings for someone. But then you came along, stealing from me in broad daylight and slowly stealing away my heart before I even knew it.” Seonghwa turned slightly to see Hongjoong just a couple of inches behind him.

The prince turned to face him, “ I came over there not because I knew you were in danger. I originally came over there cause my heart couldn’t stand the image of you smiling at someone else. I nearly shattered a glass when it ran through my mind. Like I couldn’t allow it and that’s out of character for me.”

Seonghwa could sense it. His honesty was overwhelming Hongjoong and that’s not what he wanted at all. He could feel and see how tense he was as he stood there.

“ I’m not asking you to recuperate my feelings. I threatened you into staying here and I can’t blame you for hating me. I…I just wanted to get these words off my chest. Don’t feel inclined to return them. You have my word on that.”

Hongjoong finally looked up at him, “ I don’t hate you.”

“ You don’t?”

“ I don’t. Everything you did was logical, especially after what I’ve done. I just don’t know how to take someone saying they ‘care’ for me.” Hongjoong walked towards the window, looking out at the moon-casted town as Seonghwa watched him.

“ Did you not come from a loving home?” Seonghwa asked as he saw Hongjoong frowned at first before giving a smile.

Hongjoong pressed his hand to the glass, “ In the end, my mother cared the most about just one other person and me. So in a sense, yes, I did. But I’ve never had someone admit having feelings for me. I just don’t know how to respond.”

“You don’t have to. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Seonghwa gently placed a hand on his shoulder and was happy that he didn’t tense up from it.

“ You sure?”

“ I swear on it.”

Hongjoong turned around to face him. They both stared down at each other, but Seonghwa’s eyes glanced down to his lips before forcing himself to look away, “ What is it?”

Seonghwa shook his head, “ I don’t want to ask that of you. I can’t ask that from you.” He was speaking more to himself and was about to ramble until Hongjoong gripped his chin and made him look back at him.

“ What did you want to ask me?” Hongjoong’s voice was as firm as it could be as he looked up into those ocean eyes of his.

Seonghwa stares for a while longer before letting out a sigh, “ Can I kiss you?”

Hongjoong was hesitant as he twiddled with his thumbs, “ I haven’t kissed anyone before...”

“ Then maybe you shouldn’t waste that on me. I just wanted to ask.” Seonghwa turned around and started heading towards the door, “ You can stay here until the party ends. I must head back to-”

“ It wouldn’t be a waste….” Hongjoong shifted on his heels

Seonghwa stopped, “ That’s not a yes. I’m no creep. I won’t do anything to you unless you give me a solid yes.”

“ That’s embarrassing for me to say!”

“ Embarrassing to want consent?” Seonghwa raised a blonde brow and Hongjoong grew quiet. He took the silence as an answer and as his hand reached the doorknob.

“Please!”

Seonghwa looked back at the man and noticed the faint blush on his face.

“ You...you can kiss me.”

Hongjoong listens to Seonghwa’s footsteps as he walked towards him again. “ Look at me.” He heard Seonghwa’s voice as he slowly looked up at him. “ Are you sure about this?”

Hongjoong hasn’t felt this nervous before. He wasn’t being pressured into anything. He had complete and utter control of this situation, and as much as he was worried about this, he found himself wanting it as well. “ I am, but you might have to guide me.”

Seonghwa gently tilts his face up and Hongjoong’s eyes looked up at him, “ You can tell me to stop at any time.”

Hongjoong nodded as Seonghwa slowly closed the distance between them. His eyes fluttered close when he felt his breath against his lips. He knew he could probably hear his heart pound. Seonghwa stroked his cheek with his thumb as his lips pressed to his.

His lips were soft against his. Hongjoong felt himself relax as Seonghwa pulled back slightly, opening his own eyes, and found Seonghwa staring back at him. They were quiet as they looked back at each other before Hongjoong leaned forward and Seonghwa leaned back in to kiss him again.

Seonghwa moved his lips slowly, so Hongjoong could learn how to kiss. Hongjoong tried his best to follow him, steadily getting better as Seonghwa cupped his face. Hongjoong found himself slowly reaching up to grip his shoulders. He relaxed more as he started to kiss him with a bit more force, catching Seonghwa off guard a bit.

He pulled away to look at Hongjoong, panting a bit as before speaking, “ Maybe...that’s enough for now.”

“ B-but…”

“ I’m afraid that I’ll do something more if we keep going, so let’s not continue this.” Seonghwa put some more space in between the two.

“ I want to keep going, though.” Hongjoong found a small amount of confidence as he looked at him and Seonghwa gave him an unreadable look.

“ Don’t say something like that to me. I’m trying to have some self-control. Don’t do this because of me admitting my feelings. What you're doing is more than enough. Don’t feel pressured to do anything with me.” Seonghwa's voice was harsh sounding, but Hongjoong wasn’t offended by it.

“ I’m not asking you to have self-control. I want more too. I’m not pressured. I feel comfortable and relaxed right now. I have the confidence right now to say this out loud, so don’t let it go to waste.” Hongjoong stared at him with flushed cheeks before slowly walking to the bed and sitting on it, “ I’ll tell you to stop if I have to. Just make sure your self-control is as good as you say it is.”

Seonghwa gave him a look before walking to him, standing in front of him, slowly pushing his body down on the bed and hovering above. Seonghwa could see how relaxed he was and could sense how confident he was in his choices right now. He feels hesitant, despite Hongjoong giving him all the consent he would need. His fingers flexed beside his head, and now he felt his heart pound. It was only when Hongjoong gently grabbed his wrist, forcing him to look at him.

“ It’s alright. I told you it’s okay. Don’t chicken out on me now, or I’ll feel silly about all this.” Hongjoong gave him an awkward chuckle as he reached to cup his face and brings him closer to him.

Seonghwa closed his eyes for a split second before looking back at him with a soft smile, “ Don’t go regretting this in the morning, Kim Hongjoong.”

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Tagging: @atiny-piratequeen @gettin-a-lil-hanse @queen-of-himbos @jacksons-goddess-gaia @kimnamshiks

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©atiny-dazzlinglight 2021. do not repost, translate, or use my works without permission

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (5/5)

This is a trick.

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

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

————

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

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

————

She’s got no idea where Killian went.

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

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

It’s a strangely positive thing.

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

Taking a deep breath is an exceptional challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

She can’t ruin this.

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Well, she hopes at least.

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

When he mutters “never” in her ear.

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

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

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

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

“Not exactly ideal, is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The clouds pause. For a moment.

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

That’s that, as they say.

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

No.

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

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

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

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

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

Patterned, naturally.

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

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

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

“Expand on that for me,” Killian grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You make sure I’m alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or the second, quite frankly.

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

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

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

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

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

Killian rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

She’s going to get this all back.

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

To get back to each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand squeezes hers; exactly three times.

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

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

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

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

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

In Pandora’s Box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is.

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

Hopes.

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

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

“You saved him, you know.”

“Motivation’s a funny thing like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

Still, it doesn’t change.

I love you.

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

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

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

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

Any of them. At any point.

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

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

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

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

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

Most of it, at least.

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

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

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

“Miss me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She tells her parents about Neal.

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

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

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

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

She realizes she loves him before she says it.

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

Dies, really.

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

That will feel poetic later.

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

That’s nice, she supposes.

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

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

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

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

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

"No, that’s not true."

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

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

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

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

I’ll never stop fighting for us.

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

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

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

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

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

Dreams happen occasionally.

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

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

For Christmas.

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

They’ll get there.

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

Sometimes they dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t think so, at least.

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

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

“What about Regina?”

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

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

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

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

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

And absolutely certain this will work.

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

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

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

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

Emma doesn’t mention that.

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

He uses his hook to open it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like a goddamn princess.

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

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

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

Perpetually.

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

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

They got here, eventually.

[kenrik]

Just wanted to share a word, about my writing. (ಽ ͡☉ ͜ʖ ͡☉)ಽ

In particular, or as an example, I’ll use these two stories. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32282062

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32314180

You know, I can write these stories with more description. I can write how they feel, add what they're thinking. Every heartache, every inner dialogue, I can relay in detail.

This last scene, 

Gojo looks away. And he leans back with a smile lingering on his lips. "Then," He muses. "I guess we're still stuck with each other."

could have easily been written as, 

Gojo blushes as he looked away with a smile on his lips. He was relieved she was sticking around. He wanted her to stick around.  And he leans back with a smile lingering on his lips. "Then," He muses with a warm feeling in his chest. "I guess we're still stuck with each other."

or something to that effect.

I don't write it like that because of the tone, the atmosphere I want to build in the scene. I want the reader to be caught in the scene, in what happens. Not dictate even the most trivial feelings of the characters. That's why I limit my writing to the actions of the characters. That’s why I pace out the sentences. To make the scenes digestible. To make the flow lighter. 

Through these short, simple sentences, I leave it to the reader to decide what the characters feel, to look at the underlying emotions and dynamic. If I want to tell how the characters are feeling, I use the dialogue and their actions. And just hope it makes sense. Maybe, if I’m more patient, I’ll build the environment. I’ll add background noise. But that’s about it. 

I’m a GojoHime shipper. So, in all of my fan fictions, I always think that every scene they’re in together, even if it is the most platonic scene in the world - HAHA - is romantic, has deep meaning and impact to their relationship. How else could I ship GojoHime if not? The manga and anime have given us zero content. HAHA. Gojo saves her from a curse and yells first thing if she’s crying - and we think he’s a whipped kid who wants attention from his senpai. HAHA. 

So, I was surprised when comments came in about how I’ve used the wrong tags. Or how bad the heartbreak is, how one-sided. (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ In the story, Utahime’s Boyfriend, although Utahime is with someone else, it’s clear to me how deep her relationship runs with Gojo. It’s clear to me that their relationship trumps a year-long relationship, even if it did end up with an engagement. If I get to writing the sequel, it will clearly show why. I could write Utahime as the most oblivious girl, laughing left and right at everything Gojo did. But I’ve never revealed her inner dialogue have I? Never relayed her thoughts and feelings. She could be laughing outside but dying inside. HAHAHA. Which, she is. Most of the time. As you may have read in my other story, No Love. 

This scene again, 

"What?" Gojo turns to his grandmother in surprise.

could have been written as, 

“What?” Gojo turns to his grandmother in surprise. Utahime’s getting married? Why? He thinks with a growing uneasiness building in his gut. Why so suddenly? Why Hideki-nii? 

or something to that effect.

But I didn’t. I didn’t write it that way because Gojo would look like a spaz. A ditz.  The first sentence was enough to convey that he was bothered, that he was surprised to learn Utahime was getting married. That’s it. Why he was surprised. Why he was taken aback. Why he cares, that’s up to the reader to fathom. 

The second sentence makes it seem like he’s in love with Utahime. When he’s not. Or, at least, he’s not aware of his own feelings. That’s how I see GojoHime in canon, friends with a funny relationship where they’re unaware of whatever underlying love they may have for each other. Gojo in canon is not in love with Utahime. But he is aware of her. He seeks her out, watches over her. He has fun with her. They’re friends. 

I have this headcanon where I think Utahime’s life span is actually prolonged by how Gojo always looks out for her and saves her. While she is experienced and capable, accidents and misclassifications happen all the time. The death toll for sorcerers is very high, more so for younger, inexperienced sorcerers. Attending school with Gojo, or being close to him in age, I believe, lengthened her life. As well as the other sorcerers. But, when you factor in how much weaker she is compared to her colleagues, and the fact that her cursed technique needs buffing time, you start wondering why she’s still alive. HAHA. It’s Gojo! I think it’s because of Gojo~! 

That’s why in The Hero, when Utahime tells Gojo never to save her again, I think that was crucial. Because he has a God Complex, he saves everyone. And telling Gojo never to save her is like a death sentence. That story to me is pretty cool. 

I honestly wonder how Utahime will fair in the Culling Game. If they introduce more characters, I think we’re f-ed. It will take away screen time from Utahime and her abilities. I feel like the most we’ll ever see of her is just really with regard to the school. I hope this is not the case. I’d rather see her heavily wounded or dead. I sorely want her to have badass moments like Maki, Nobara, Mai and Mei Mei. I hope she isn’t used as a comic relief like Miwa. It really hurt my head when that girl ran to Kenjaku with her sword. But then again, Miwa did get some romance. So... Hm...??

Anyway, going back to it, in the scenes I build, I want to show the characters in situations where the reader will think - wait a minute! There’s something more to your relationship than you think!! That’s why in Utahime’s Boyfriend, it’s so funny to me. Because Utahime’s Boyfriend is honestly just the reader. You see first hand how he learns about their relationship. And like the reader, he’s like - wft. These two are obviously in love. WTF?? 

So, I keep things simple when I write. I narrate what happens and hope the reader gets it. 

In Utahime’s Boyfriend, I don’t see the heartbreak because I always believe Gojo and Utahime will be together. HAHAHA. I can break them up a million times, and still in my head, they’ll still end up together. 

Seriously. 

I’ve played a number of HCs in my head. Legitimate ones where they fight and break-up. But they always find their way back to each other. 

I’m such a hopeless shipper. 

...That is the main take away. ಥ ‿ ಥ

[frozenartscapes]

Pumpkins - A World Without Gods Fic

Byleth heaved the large, orange vegetable up onto the kitchen table with a grunt, the weight of the object causing the whole piece of furniture and the cutlery on it to shake.

Edelgard did the same, though her pumpkin wasn’t quite as big so it didn’t land with the same intensity.

“Alright,” Byleth said as she playfully dusted her hands, “Let’s get started, then.”

“So remind me again why we’re making...what was it again?” Edelgard asked.

“Jack-o-lanterns,” Byleth told her, “It’s another Halloween tradition.”

“I figured as much. I was mostly just wondering why carving up perfectly good pumpkins to turn them into decorations rather than food seems to be so popular,” Edelgard said.

Byleth merely chuckled. “Don’t worry, El. These pumpkins aren’t that great for food. They’ve been growing them this way for decades specifically for making Jack-o-lanterns. That’s also why we got a couple of those small ones, which are good for eating.”

“I...see,” Edelgard replied, glancing at the two pie pumpkins sitting on the counter.

“So... Do you know what you’re going to do to yours?” Byleth asked, pulling out a couple of markers and offering one to El.

“I think so... I did a little research beforehand when you told me you wanted to do this, although I know right now that many of the designs I saw were far too complicated for me to execute,” Edelgard said, taking the marker and beginning to sketch out a simple face.

“Yeah, some people are crazy good at this. Although most of the time they’re professional sculptors.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m maybe average at this? The building does a contest but I’ve never won in the years I’ve lived here. I mostly just like the tradition.”

“I’m hoping this will turn out all right. It’s not the same as cooking, but I also can’t say I’ve ever been...careful when it comes to blades.”

Byleth laughed. “I’ve seen you use a dagger just fine, and you were pretty good with a sword,” she offered, “But yeah... Your style definitely was more about doing damage rather than precision.”

“I never really had the patience,” Edelgard admitted with a sigh.

They finished their designs and now it was time for the “fun” part, as Byleth called it. “Ok, so you want to take the knife and cut a circle around the stem. Make sure you cut at a bit of an angle so that the piece you cut doesn’t just fall through,” she explained, demonstrating on her pumpkin.

Edelgard nodded and followed along. Once the hole was made, she glanced into the pumpkin with a grimace. She had never...dealt with a pumpkin before. She knew of them. She had eaten food made with them. She knew of the general concept of their most popular uses, including these jack-o-lanterns. For some reason, though, she never really thought about what might be in a pumpkin until it was staring her in the face.

Byleth simply shoved her hand in without question, removing it with a handful of seeds and pumpkin guts and dumping the goo in a bowl with a wet splat. Edelgard gulped, then carefully stuck a hand into her pumpkin. Her finger brushed against something cold and stringy, and with a small squeal, she yanked her hand back out.

“Why is it warm?” she demanded when she heard Byleth chuckle.

“We were keeping them inside, El,” Byleth reminded her, “Trust me: it’s better than if they were cold.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Edelgard commented, attempting to clear her pumpkin out again. This time she got her hand in far enough to grab a clump of goop, but the squishiness of it made her retreat with a gag.

“Here,” Byleth said, offering a large spoon, “You can scrape the sides and bottom with this, then just turn the pumpkin over the bowl. It’s less messy that way.”

Edelgard let out a deep breath, accepting the spoon with a grateful smile. “You’ve clearly done this a lot,” she stated as she got to work, finding the spoon method much better.

“It’s funny. I used to get together with Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn and do this sort of thing a lifetime or two ago. It’s interesting to see how the holiday has changed over the decades,” Byleth said, “Pumpkin carving thankfully has stayed more or less the same. While costumes and candy and decorations and parties have all changed, good old pumpkins have been a nice constant.” For added emphasis, she patted the pumpkin lovingly before reaching in to clear out some more seeds.

A nervous smile made its way across Edelgard’s face. “Ah... And how did...they...find the holiday?” she asked, trepidation growing at the reminder of her former enemies.

“Flayn has always been intrigued by it, so of course it’s Seteth’s worst nightmare,” Byleth replied casually, “Rhea’s kind of indifferent on it. But she really doesn’t like carving pumpkins.”

“Really?” Edelgard asked with an eyebrow raised.

“She doesn’t like the guts,” Byleth said.

“I can’t fathom why,” Edelgard returned dryly, turning her pumpkin over the bowl and shaking out a clump of seeds and goo.

“It’s just seeds and mushy squash,” Byleth teased upon seeing El’s face, “Goddess knows you’ve dealt with much worse.”

“It’s the texture,” Edelgard insisted, “I don’t like how it’s slimy, warm, and sticky all at once. And don’t remind me about worse things because then I’ll start to picture them.”

Byleth laughed again, dumping out the last of her pumpkin guts. “Sorry. I should’ve known better,” she said sheepishly, “How’s it going? You get it mostly cleared out yet?”

Edelgard did a final scrap of the sides of the pumpkin. “About as clean as it ever will be,” she replied, “So now we can start carving?”

“Yep.” Byleth reached for a knife as Edelgard did the same. “Just work slow, and be careful not to cut yourself. Blood might be spooky but parents tend to be more approving of fake blood this time of year.”

Edelgard chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, my Teacher.”

Byleth smiled at the nickname. They were well passed their time spent as student and teacher, but Edelgard kept insisting that Byleth had never truly stopped teaching her new things, now more than ever. So the name stuck.

She realized she had been watching Edelgard carving for perhaps a little too long. She couldn’t help it, though. For as silly and casual as this activity was, Edelgard was approaching it with the same intensity and focus as she did whenever she was learning a new fighting stance or battle strategy.

Byleth blinked a few times before snapping out of it. As much as she would have liked to keep admiring Edelgard, she had her own pumpkin to carve.

“How are you making out?” Byleth asked after a few minutes, finishing up the last few details of her carving in the process.

“Almost... Done!” Edelgard proclaimed, leaning back to take in her creation. The pride in her expression fell away, however, as she studied her work. “Hmm... I feel like it’s missing something...”

“Hang on,” Byleth said, getting up to retrieve a couple of candles from the counter. She set one in each pumpkin, flicked off the lights, and with a snap of her fingers, both jack-o-lanterns lit up in all their spooky glory.

Byleth’s had a large, fang-filled mouth stretching from one side of the pumpkin’s face to the other, and two pointed eyes that seemed to narrow menacingly. Edelgard’s had the classic triangular nose and eyes, but a toothy mouth that was frowning rather than smiling.

“He doesn’t look very happy,” Byleth commented lightly.

“I thought the frown would make it less friendly,” Edelgard mused, “But now I’m not... Oh! I know!”

She quickly left the kitchen, only to return moments later with the plastic bloodied axe Byleth had hung up over the fireplace. After making another quick cut in her pumpkin, Edelgard then stuck the fake weapon inside, giving it the appearance of having just been attacked by an axe murderer.

Byleth couldn’t contain her laughter. “Oh Sothis, I love it, El!” she said.

“See, now he has a reason to be unhappy,” Edelgard replied with a small chuckle of her own, “And you did say fake blood was ok.”

“I did say that,” Byleth conceded, “I can already think of multiple morbid little kids who are going to love this pumpkin.”

---

A few days after Halloween, Byleth returned home after work to an envelope that had been tucked under the door.

They had won the pumpkin carving contest.

[shadowlink06]

A Captive Heart (Deleted Scenes)

The first draft of this piece capped off at 31k words. These are the scenes I managed to save. Keep in mind, these are being presented as unedited so expect to see typos. One of the things I will tell my editors is to make the story readable. Don't worry about my feelings or deleting scenes. It was pretty normal that 5k was cut as during my World of Ruin series, at least 10k has been deleted or rearranged. Please do not read this post if you have not read the entire story as it contains spoilers.

Salve Regina did not have any deleted scenes since it was a last-minute story that I wrote. You can definitely see the difference when I have more time to think about the story.

Chapter 1:

Regis lamented over his son’s health the more that the days had passed. It was a risk coming to Tenebrae, but he could think of no other options for help when Noctis had slipped in his coma. Thankfully he had woken from it, but there still appeared to be something wrong with him. On the balcony overlooking the city, he stared into the tiny silhouettes of the people going about their day without a care in the world. He wished he could have been more carefree like them. Everyday was like walking on eggshells. He and Sylva had been friends in the distant past. Niflheim’s occupation of the region had limited their contact.

Aldercapt had been a man of greed. His reign had been one stained in bloodshed and heartbreak with the evolving magitek troops he had produced. The rumor was that there was someone within his court that was responsible for the sudden production of the inhuman creations. A human or daemon… it was hard to say at this point. What Regis did know was that in the last twenty years, there had been strides made from Niflheim that caused the barrier protecting Lucis to grow ever smaller.

Regis glanced at the ring of the Lucii. His forebears aided him as much as they could to drive away the onslaught time and time again but the price the ring demanded was a high one. That is why the King had gone through desperate strides to see that Noctis would get better, even if that meant being in enemy territory. Most of the retinue that had joined him had gone back to Lucis and only a handful remained behind to not cause attention to be drawn to Sylva while she did her best to heal Noctis. In his heart, the King wished for the illness Noctis seemed to suffer from to pass quickly but a part of him wondered if the daemon attack had taken more from his son than he could fathom.

Chapter 2:

Regis found himself unable to sleep the past few weeks. Speaking to Sylva had confirmed to him that the daemon attack might have damaged Noctis in a way that was hard for even the Oracle to heal. He had thought the worst of it had been over when Noctis came out of his coma, but perhaps it was just a prelude. When the boys had been settled for bed, the King had taken leave to the gardens with Clarus at his side.

A part of him was still suspicious of the daemon attack. He had known that Niflheim was making strides in their magitek production the last twenty years. Why that had been so had been bothersome to the King and his council. The war with the other nation had always been bloody with Aldercapt’s family refusing to stop it’s aggressive expansion in Eos. And then there was the crystal which they seemed to both admire, fear, and be jealous that such a power was out of their control.

But Regis, like his father before him, refused to give into Niflheim’s demands. There had been concessions made that had unfortunately given Niflheim more influence over what was once Lucian territory but they were still waging war desperately trying to drive the enemy back. What hope he had of ending the war seemed to be only a fairytale. Noctis was destined to continue this struggle, much to Regis’s disappointment.

That was why it was alarming that it seemed that Noctis seemed to be the target. No doubt it would hurt Regis, but also put him at greater risk since that was his only son. Regis could only hope that Noctis would pull through, whatever was wrong with him. “Clarus,” He spoke to his friend. “Do you think this is the right path to take?”

The Shield considered his words. “It is not my place to say your Highness.”

Wedding Crashers:

Even if it was in the early morning, Aranea always stopped by the same bar, at the same time. She wasn’t sure when the ritual started, but she, Biggs, and Wedge, always ate together before proceeding to their business at the Empire. As she walked in today though, there was a hole that filled in the pit of her stomach as she sat in the barstool, right in the middle of the men. The bartender, an old guy around 70, gave a nod and set a glass in front of her before pouring orange juice in it. “Usual?” His gruffled voice muttered behind the heavy gray mustache.

“Please.” Aranea said before he disappeared into the back to get her order ready.

“Should’ve ordered something different.” Biggs said as he lit the tip of his cigarette. Sure will be reassigned after the wedding day is announced.

“Feels strange.” Wedge admitted. “Thought I would resent those brats being their personal babysitters... but they were both good people.”

“Don’t tell me you are getting sentimental?” Aranea mused with an arched brow.

“Naw… it’ll be nice to take to the skies again.” Wedge replied.

“Agreed, much prefer it. We were meant for the sky.” Biggs said.

Aranea had to agree with them. That is where the three of them met together when they had signed up for the job. It was so fun being able to see all of Eos just outside of their window. She grabbed her glass before taking a drink out of it. The acidic burn of the orange juice stung going down, but she kept chugging it until nothing was left. “Humph, another era for Niflheim.”

“His Radiance certainly played his cards right.”

That made the commodore laugh softly. “Guess he did…” Too well. From there the trio grew silent as they continued to small talk about what would be next for them. Eventually the bartender came back with toast, eggs, and bacon for three of them as they ate breakfast together. Aranea didn’t finish her meal much to Biggs and Wedge’s surprise.

“You okay Lady A?” Biggs asked.

Aranea nodded before glancing down at the unfinished plate. “Yeah, guess I just got a lot on my mind.” She reached into her wallet throwing out enough bills to cover their meals and left a generous tip for the bartender. “Guess we better get ready to go.” All three stood up walking out of the bar. She readied herself to go to the castle while Biggs and Wedge headed to the aircraft hold to delegate security for the coming wedding. Before they parted the commodore couldn’t help but speak to her friends. “Biggs… Wedge. It’s been great knowing you.”

The pair looked at each other before chuckling softly. “Sure you haven’t been hittin’ the bottles Ms?” Biggs said with that goofy grin on his face. They knew that Aranea never drank for she had always been one to know what was going on around her. Biggs always said eventually he’d get her drunk one of these days. He hadn’t succeeded in the past ten years though.

Aranea forced herself to laugh. “Maybe a little bit. See you guys.” Although in the bottom of her heart this moment was the last time she would see them.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Titus walked into the Lucis council chamber early in the morning. It was Prince Noctis’s eighteenth birthday, and today was the day that Regis was dreading. Aldercapt had wasted no time in getting the date set up for the wedding the moment Noctis had turned of age. His Radiance had assumed that Regis would try something if the wedding day was extended longer… given how the council had been behaving the last few months, Aldercapt had been right.

Stil he had been unable to figure out just who was feeding the council information about the Prince’s movements. But he had gotten better about covering up his emotions when it was clear that sensitive information about the Prince was delivered. Whoever it was had been sly, always staying out of reach of Titus’s grasp and slipping away. It was hard to pin down who it was since whoever was feeding the court information wasn’t coming directly to the citadel to deliver the information. From what he could tell, the intel was spot on. Between them knowing Aldercapt’s schedule, times where the military cabinet would be attending meetings, or even when they were not in Niflheim, it was always accurate. Whoever it was, Titus was managing to stay one step ahead of them by abruptly changing plans or cancelling meetings to subvert a way to leave Noctis vulnerable. So far, he had been successful, but by now, the mole knew that there was a mole in Lucis which was making things more complicated. Titus was hoping that the mole would surface soon. His affairs at Niflheim had kept him from learning about the secret ops mission that Clarus was overseeing. Until the wedding day was taken care of, Titus was on leave giving him the opportunity to play his role as Drautos.

Lucis had to make their move soon else they would be subservient to Niflheim. That was why he was counting on something big happening during the small window where Noctis turned 18 and he produced an heir. It was a critical time for both sides, and it might have been time to cut his ties from Lucis completely. His only regret was the same one he had ten years ago, he couldn’t be the one to thrust his sword in Regis’s heart.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“You won’t be able to do this on your own!” Noctis cried out.

She agreed with the Prince, but it was irrelevant. Everyone had gambled on this to work and so she could only press forward. “I said go! I can’t fight them and protect you brats!” She shouted pointing the spear at them to make her point clear.

Ignis hesitated, but pulled Noctis up. “We have to go Noct…” He said softly, eyeing the street and where the circled area was. Almost there… he hoped whatever was there was useful.

Aranea continued to destroy the units as they continued to deploy from the drop ship. “I’ve gotta take those damn things out.”. Charging her Stoss Spear, she pressed the tip of it into the ground using the momentum of the energy to propel her forward. She landed on the roof of the homes watching as the drop ships descended lower. “Perfect.” She said jumping rooftop to rooftop to close the distance in between them. She was thankful that her time in the sky was helpful in this situation.

The MTs might have been up to date with the constant upgrades and data supplied by Verstael, but the drop ship models were ones that had a few decades behind. The newer models were sent to battles, and the older ones were stationed within the city. They might not have been as fast, but the older drop ships didn’t have to be since this was the capital and it was always heavily guarded. It was an exploit that Aranea had hoped would happen. The engine was easier to get to in the older models. The glowing energy radiating from the hull gave away their location. Charing her spear, she moved herself closer to it before striking the engine with the tip. Several explosions followed before she had to jump away. The ship started to descend, and Aranea grit her teeth praying that the people below would hear the sound of the ship and evacuate the area safely. A subsequent crash and explosion followed, yet Aranea pressed on. She couldn’t worry about the casualties or damage now, there were two more ships that needed to be downed. She did the same maneuver as before and a second drop ship fell from the sky. The last one, was a bigger model, and one that had her heart skip a beat. The emblem off to the side was unmistakable. Glauca’s personal ship.

She stopped to catch her breath as more MTs dropped out of the General’s ship surrounding her. The searchlight was steady on her from Glauca’s ship and her mouth pressed together seeing that familiar sight of bluish metal and ominous red jump out of the drop ship. The impact of Glauca’s fall had the concrete a few feet from him disintegrate into shattered pieces of rocks. “Aranea Highwind…” The voice boomed. “All this time… you were the traitor in our midst.”

To that the commodore laughed softly. “Well what can I say? Guess I have a soft spot for kids.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“-I said just do it!” Verstael snarled watching the soldier cringe from his tone. “If the General or Aldercapt have an issue with it... they can speak to me personally. Make sure he is given a sedative to keep him knocked out.” No, he didn’t even want anyone seeing this boy and he covered up the boy’s face still speaking. “Take care of him… now.”

“Y-yes sir!” The soldier moved down and began to tend to the Lucian.

When Verstael was sure that he got the point across he was already aiming for the direction of his lab. “That boy…” He murmured, unable to get the image of his face out of his head. The features were unmistakable. As a scientist, he didn’t believe in fate or luck. Yet for once… he was at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. A DNA test needed to be done first to verify his thoughts, but deep down he already knew why that soldier looked so damn familiar.

Aftermath:

There had always been rumors about the King’s health. The access to the armiger did have it’s limitations along with the power of the kings. Prompto had never seen Regis use it first hand, but he knew that each time Regis blessed a Crownsguard or Kingsglaive with the power of the armiger, he lost precious time on his life. It was why the King had always described this mission as “be all to end all”. Of course Noctis being prisoner for as long as he had been was something that Regis had always wanted to change, but the cost… he had no idea it would be taken this far.

“You have nowhere to go now boy.” The voice said softly. “But worry not, you are in the place you are supposed to be.”

Prompto grit his teeth thrashing against his bonds. “I kneel before no king but Regis Lucis Caelum and his son Noctis Lucis Caelum!”

“Who is dead.” The voice reminded him. “And as for that brat… well you might have him back but even the company of your best doctors will not erase ten years under our care.” Of course he didn’t know that for sure but… they still had something that the Prince wanted. “Regardless of that… I must undo the damage that your mother has done to you. It is the only way you will be pardoned for your crimes.”

Prompto froze at the mention of his mother. Why did someone from Niflheim seem to speak so formally. No… it was a trick. The gunner laughed softly. “Is this your idea of an interrogation? Making up stories to think I’ll take the bait?” He heard a door opening behind him, but he couldn’t even turn to see who had come into the room. “You’re really bad at this…”

“Had it been anyone else, I might not have pressed the issue. But you and I… share a history together.”

Prompto didn’t recognize the voice at all though. Not wishing to give the man a reason to start his torture, he opted to keep the man talking for now. “I know no one from Niflheim.” He spat, the malicus was clear, the things that he had seen growing up, the people that suffered because of their magitek were burned into his brain. “I’m a proud Lucian! Never would I apologize to Niflheim scum!”

“That is no way to speak of the land of your birth, Prompto.”

The gunner’s breath hitched when the man said his name. He could have blamed it on his ID being taken, or even the Crownsguard uniform but he knew that all officers that had been tasked with this operation had all of their personal belongings left back home. So with that knowledge in the back of his mind… how had this man figured out his name? Now he was trying to look at the figure from his peripheral vision.

“It seems I’ve gotten your attention now.” The voice mused. “I’m glad she didn’t change your name. You were born in these halls, I held you in my hands. You were destined to be a scientist and know the best of cutting edge technology. But your mother… a coward unwilling to embrace the power of my research took you and fled. I had wondered where she had taken you too.” He snorted. “Lucis would have been the last place I expected.” But in hindsight it did make the most sense.

“Who…. who the hell are you?” Prompto choked out. The man finally stood in front of him and what he saw made his face pale as he came face to face with a man that looked so much like him. The freckles dotting his face, the blonde hair, the blue eyes burning back at him.

Verstael summoned a gun from his own armiger. Unlike Prompto’s weapons though, the magic that came from it was glowing red rather than blue. He pointed the barrel at Prompto’s face wrestling with what to do about the situation. “Hello... my son.”

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Five; Moonlight

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: !!! Violence and gore in this chapter !!! As-well as graphic mentions of death - yeah Kylo’s a hungry boi. Gets a bit deathy when he’s around.

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Not two days later and the Ashton’s are bid to the Phillips to dine.

 They are all in Westwell’s meagre foyer. Mother is fussing with Fathers cravat knot. Posy and Flora are fighting over who gets sole use of the looking glass. They tease at the spilling curls of their hair, they pinch at their cheeks to make them pinker.

 They’d already been scrapping all afternoon over who got to wear Iris’s sapphire earrings. Their screeches rang like sharp little butterflies all throughout the house. Posy won the battle for the gems in the end of all things. Iris stayed well out of it. She bid good fortune to the winner.

 She’s dressed tonight in another one of her ‘’matrimony inducing’ gowns. According to her mother. But she won’t deny it is a very pretty piece. It sits daintily rasped just off her shoulders, with three-quarter length sleeves. Indian silk fabric, the colour of dusky robin egg blue. It makes her hair look more brilliant, according to their local dressmaker, as she flapped swatches around Iris’s ears to help her mother make a choice.

 The neckline at the back drapes low to a row of matching blue buttons marching down her spine. Julia helped tease the teal silk ribbon Posy secured her, into her low done coiffure. Which sat braided and low at the back of her neck. Silver pins shining among the tumble of her dark hair.

 This wasn’t a ball and she could gladly forgo gloves. She’s wearing pearl drops from her earlobes. And mother insisted on a draping necklace around her throat. Simple silver necklace. With an oval aquamarine beryl, and a freshwater pearl dropping off it. It sits low in her clavicle and mother ensured the cut of her dress was low. Drawing attention to Iris’s shoulders and her comely bosom.

 She does as she’s bade - as ever. She steals a second in the mirror to check her coiffure. Now Posy and Flora are by the door, arguing over slippers and slipping the dainty things on their feet. Spitting fury at each other.

 Iris toys with her hair just for a second in the glass. At the wispy muddy bits that curl in front of her ears. She plucks them out of the hair arrangement. Aswell as one gentle curl down the nape of her neck. She lets it rest there. Clasping delicately at her skin.

 The care-worn face of her beleaguered father appears behind her in the looking glass reflection. With his greying rust hued hair, his squared fashionable sideburns and his tired, deep eyes the colour of jade marble.

 He loosens the linen knot his wife had just pinched tighter around his neck. His eyes warm like a sun baked green meadow when he peers at his eldest. Wrinkles bunch and crease at his eyes and at his mouth when he smiles. He had such a ruddy, open face.

 “You look very well tonight my dear.” He comments softly. Tugging at his tight collar. Fixing his green velvet lapels. Iris smiles at her father.

 He always was the gentle backbone of encouragement to her. Never once raised his voice to her. He never seemed to grow angry or vexed. Or have a swing of a temper. Those nasty sharp attitudes belonged solely and respectively to her mother. She’s the one who shouts and snipes. Father remains taciturn.

 “Thankyou, papa.” Iris beams at him. Turning around as he handed her, her indigo blue cloak. Iris seemed to be the one he favoured. Posy and Flora have slithers of acerbity in their temperaments, like mama. Iris seemed to flourish after his more witty and lenient nature.

 She brushes the lapels of his bottle green jacket down. Eyed the fraying seam that’s been stitched up in his shoulder. The faded linen of his shirt. It almost makes her want to go through with this marital farce that’s being forced so thoroughly upon her.

 “You look very handsome tonight too, might I add.” She smiles. Adjusting his cravat for him. Loosening it from the choking noose mother had tied. “I know how little you care for the Phillips.” Iris smiles thankfully. Not letting mama hear.

 “Mrs Phillips is most agreeable. Her husband however? Most odious man alive. It seems all he can converse about is how cumbersome the grouse is this season.” He relents quietly.

 “I deem it unwise to try and escape the acquaintance now. Mama would quite have a fit.” Iris supposed. Hushing quietly as she soothes down the points of his collar.

 He gives her a sober smile of agreement. His conduct and his temper always so agreeably timid. Humble. Like waves breaking on the dashed sharp rocks. Always yielding.

 She finishes with his coat and he goes to pick up his hat from the stand in the foyer, nestled by the front door. Julia is just helping Mama shrug on her coat. And pin her purple and black trimmed shako hat on securely.

 She harshly jerks her calfskin black gloves up her wrists with tugging severely sharp motions. Her coat is trimmed with the same onyx and lilac as that of her hat. And her dress beneath is a punchy lavender mauve. And she’s wearing her black lace fichu around her neck in a matronly manner.

 Posy and Flora have gone for their best washed silk dresses. Trussed up like twins. Posy is in a muted sage-emerald. And Flora has gone for a waxy and humble tulip-orange. Both have a white lace trim at the waist from the new Belgian lace they bought. Dainty white slippers and stockings on their feet.

 “We must go now. The dratted carriage better be here soon, or else we’ll be late.” Mama snaps. Fussing with her coiffure. Issuing orders to the maid after their departure.

 If Iris was lucky enough to be spared this outing? And be in their positions. She knows where she’d be. Curled up in the oak farmhouse chair in the kitchen, book in hand, with a cup of chocolate nearby as she warms her toes near the stove.

 As it is; she’s off for an evening of white soup by candlelight, strict conversation and a dazzling staggering show of the Phillips wealth. One that will grind mama’s teeth that they can’t compete with such affluence. And one that will have Flora, Posy, and father bored to tears within minutes. Wanting to gouge their eyes out with the ivory soup spoons for something to do.

 Iris will not have the time to be bored; she will have to comport herself and display her loveliness to every eligible man in attendance.

 She is at the door pulling on her warm gloves when Posy and Flora skip happily up to their elder sister. Posy sing-songs something about Lord Ren. “Maybe your suitor is invited tonight, Iris?” She teases.

 Iris levels her a look. Father turns around with his solid brow shooting up to his hairline. “I didn’t know you had a suitor, my dear?” He supposed kindly.

 Iris jams an elbow into Posy’s ribs. “That’s because I do not have one-” She insists blithely. Growling intemperately at her pest of a sister.

 “She does! She does Papa! And she’s smitten.” Flora speaks up. The little tick. Iris tries to swat at her with her gloves.

 “You say this about any man who so much as glances in her direction. Posy.” Mother says. Stepping past them all.

 “We should be so lucky that one of them might form an attachment.” Mother mutters under her breath. Fixing her cuffs and stepping out the front door to see the carriage drawing up ready to escort them all to the Phillips’.

 Iris shares a look of teeth gritting annoyance and forbearance with her father. Who pats her shoulder and gives her one of his crinkly smiles of comfort.  She steps up into the cold box of the carriage via the step. Shoving herself far across on the bench.

 Posy and Flora ram themselves onto the same bench with Iris. Sharp little elbows and knees digging into their sister; complaining of the lack of room they had. Mother and Father sat opposite. Not speaking. Which was their normality. Her sisters squawks and fusses more than aptly filled the silence.

 It’s not long before her mother starts speaking at her father about the household gossip of the day. She seldom expected him to respond.

 “Simpson told me today we must hire a new pair of hands for seasonal work up at the farm soon. We can not afford such an expense and reliable staff is so hard to come by in winter. I heard the Norris’s lost one of their farm hands just last night...”

 Iris tries to pay attention over Posy and Flora’s inane squabbles about their washed silk embroidered shawls. Posy has lost hers yet again- Flora was the suspected thief.

 “Apparently they found the man not five paces from the local tavern in the ditch. He’d drunk a skinful and then got run down by a coach. The fool...” She comments. Iris turns to look at her parents.

 “That is unfortunate. Poor fellow.” Father remarks in a detached manner.

 “Mrs Bishop wrote to me today too. And according to her, a manservant in her employ has gone missing. Her hall boy. And another labourer from Milton Farm was found just this morning in the woods outside Pembleton. Frozen stiff with cold, reeking of Gin, and he’d been attacked for the coins in his pocket. I honestly don’t know what this world is coming too. Really I don’t.” She remarks.

 Iris doesn’t know why. But a coiling slither of a snake wraps around her spine and squeezes.

 She shivers. And more worryingly, she can’t go about placing exactly why...

 “Perhaps a wild animal is loose hereabout these parts?” Father speculated. Uninterested.

 Mother harrumphed a snort of displeasure. “I say men who fall afoul of too much drink deserve everything they get. It’s simply not decent.” She says snappily. Sniffing loftily. Hands crossed in her lap. Brushing imaginary sullying specs off her skirts.

 Because of course she’s the type of woman who thinks insobriety and being lost to drink rightfully deserves being torn to pieces.

 “I do hope they don’t invite Mrs Norris tonight. She’s such a trying woman. And her daughter is such a useless untalented chit.” Mother says to herself. Posy and Flora hop on into the gossip.

 Iris watches out the window. She admires up on the smudged glow of the full moon. Sat pearly and proud in a sky netted full of of bursting white stars. So cold. So beautiful. Untouchable. Shrouding the dark world in silver from miles and leagues and scores away. She can’t understand how people don’t see beauty in this.

 It may be a cold, pallid light. But she doesn’t think so. It’s the misty magical cyclops of the night sky. The governing beauty. The crowning keystone of it, in her view. Chariot of pearl.

 She lapses into simply watching the night woodland pass by. The shadowed gnarled trees curling up to the heavens. Snow and frost still biting the air. It was thawing somewhat. But it’s not vanished just yet. It still crawls up the trees and lurks at the hard ground.

 They arrive at the Phillips modest Manor House. Not two miles outside Pembleton. A most pretty house. Abutting the lane leading directly up next to the small local chapel.

 There’s pink rosevines dead in winter, but still smothering most of the front of the white stone house. A modest Georgian manor of thirty rooms. Windows big and square and shining gold onto the gravelled drive that their coach crackles and shifts over as they arrive. Chimneys proudly blaze smoke. And the place looks merry and set on welcoming guests to a delightful dinner.

 The Ashton’s are seen inside by the astute white wig clad butler. He takes their coats to the cloakroom, gives them to the footmen. And then shows them to the drawing room, the main parlour, where everyone is gathering. Fireplace making the room stuffy.

 Candlelight drips apricot blaze of every wall. The parlour is furnished in trims of green and cream. Trimmed with luxurious velvet. Large gilded gold terrace doors overlook the frosty manicured gardens. Mrs Phillips does so love her tea roses. The air in the garden chokes with them even in this deadening winter.

 They all graciously curtsey and bow to their hosts. Mama sits with Mrs Phillips and the other elder matrons. Mrs Phillips sits with her little toy poodle in her lap.

 The fluffy little thing drowning under the weight of a ridiculous big pink silk bow tied at its neck. Papa begrudgingly folds his hands behind his back and gets beckoned over for a glass of port with Mr Phillips. He sends a look of dismay at his eldest.

 Posy and Flora sit and gossip with their friend. Primrose Phillips. Their daughter. Iris stands alone. She wanders to admire the painting hung up by the terrace doors.

 She leans closer, admiring the dark tones of the painting. The brushwork and the detail of the of the still life captured. A case of flowers. It’s very remarkable. She wished her parents appreciated such art over austere sketches of county churches.

 Her spine suddenly alights with thrashing hot nerves. Like she’s been scorched by a candle flame and had the burn soothed straightaway with ice. It’s sharply powerful.

 She turns where she had her back to the fireplace and all the gossiping Mama’s. Her breath catches just a little at the sight of Lord Ren filling the white parlour doorway.

 Coming to bid his hosts a good evening. And his thanks at the invite. Mrs Phillips genially flatters the big man. He towers over all the elegant ladies sat down on their settees like some huge tall dark tree she imagines standing in some foreign forest. Massive and wide. Struck by lightning. Charred to dark cinders.

 His eyes gaze downwards, and his jaw grits as Mrs Phillips ineffectual little lap dog starts emitting a low yappy growl. Snarling at the sable haired Lord.

 It’s pathetic little maw pulling back over it’s tiny blunt slobbering teeth that gnash at him. Kylo raises a brow and looks down at the fetid creature.

 He spears a slicing glance right at it for barely a second and then it’s cowering away.

 Whimpering into its mistresses lap. Burying its head into her armpit and cowering. She’s cooing and fussing the awful snappy little thing. Promising it a plate of sweet meats, and a saucer of warm milk.

 “I do so apologise, Lord Ren. Such a contrary creature. For my Puffin is never usually so shy of strangers.” She offers in her pitchy high voice. Almost as squeaky as that of her dog.

 Hugging the intemperate thing and bouncing it in her lap, coddling it like a firstborn baby. Big silk rosebud bow fluttering in the air. Ugly scrunched up little face and nose of it hiding from him. The dog recognised now who the alpha in this room was.

 Kylo tilts up a fleeting corner of his mouth in an attempt at a courteous smile.

 “It’s nothing to apologise for, Ma’am. I am often cursed myself, with the same affliction of being wary of strangers.” He says in good humour. Making the ladies all titter laughter.

 Iris blushes when he looks away from them and nods his bowed parting. Turns to look across to her. Focuses. Vision concentrated solely on her.

 Those onyx gems of eyes settle on the back of that neck of hers. Slice into her. Lingering along the dip of the material that skimmed her fine shoulders and spilled down her shoulder blades.

 His gigantic frame is not subtle in striding a swathe across the candle lit parlour. Coming straight to her. Making no secret about who he favours. Opening them both up to the speculation of the whole room-

 He doesn’t care not even one bit.

 The cool shade of him passes over her shoulder. Her cheeks flushed and she turns and politely curtseys to him. A politely soft “Lord Ren.” Leaves her lips. She feels the hair on the back of her neck raise a little in excitement. Bristling to stand like needles.

 He smirks. His kind were the reasons humans had that tingling gut sense. That primal indicator of visceral fear. The hairs on the back of the neck existed solely for the simple reason that blood lusting creatures, demons, such as him walked this earth. She should learn to trust in those instincts more.

 Danger present more than ever. For now, there’s a devil at her shoulder.

 “Miss Ashton.” He greets simply. Hands composed behind his back. Big chest swells again. No part of this man is small. Every muscle is a huge slab, big and brutally built. Long strong plains of him at every turn.

 He takes her hand and kisses it. He’s not wearing gloves. Neither is she. His hands are ice- must be the cold out of doors, she thinks.

 Their bare hands touch for the first time. Skin on skin.

 It’s electrifying. Sparks skip and shimmer through them.

 He bites back a growl as he finally finally finally gets a nose full of her bare skin. Touches her hand. His nose nuzzles her flesh for a second.

 Just one scant second. And then he has to enforce every shred of willpower he owns and knows, in order to pull away.

 She’s as exquisite as he dreamt. As he lusted about. Her skin is the most dangerous thing about her. Because it’s the hardest thing he’s had to do to resist tasting more of it. The gorgeous scent and the salt of the bare skin. Hint of spicy lavender. Chalky bergamot soap she used. The fragrance of silk on her skin.

 Bewitching. Her scent sends a tremor through his usually dead spine.

 Tonight his garb as is midnight ink dark as it usually is. Velvet black waistcoat. Obsidian breeches and shining proud boots and brushed overcoat. With a cream cravat and a white shirt. Like the full moon out in that black sky tonight. Pearl trim backed with sable. His cravat diamond pin glitters - oddly enough - like a far off star.

 If he looks like a winters sky shrouded by a pearly moon. She looks the opposite. Her blue dress is the colour of the brightest searing shade of a summers sky. Her eyes made brilliant by it. And he likes the silk blue ribbon tumbled prettily into her hair. Like some stream trickling through a golden meadow on a midsummers eve.

 “If I may say, how beautiful you look tonight. Miss Ashton.” He smiles. Hands folded back once more. His wide chest puffing out freely. His intimidating size at its usual ferocity.

 She feels her cheeks heat a little more. “Thankyou your, Lordship.” She flusters. “I’m sure I deserve no such meaningful praise. It is only a plain silk dress.” She dismisses.

 “Made striking by she who wears it.” He insists. She smiles at her feet. Diverting the attention.

 “How is that big beautiful horse of yours?” She asks nicely. He smirks a little. His eyes are charcoal-honey from the the nearby candlelight. He likes her enquiry.

 “He is very well. Misbehaving himself plenty. And nearly threw me yesterday on account of mutiny and protest for want of more carrots.” He jokes.

 “Oh dear.” She laughs. “I seem to have caused dissension in your own stables.” She apologised. Sorry he almost got hurt.

 “He shouldn’t be too perturbed at me. I’m the only one who rides him out.” He offers.

 “I should like to ride more. We only have the two horses on the farm and they are often reserved for use in labour out in the fields. And there always seems far too many errands stacked against me to indulge in the pastime.” She tells.

 “Then I must beg you come over and use Erland as much as you should wish to. He is rather fond of you. And Hellford is a vast estate of which ride on. I should be delighted it gets use beyond someone other than myself.” He offers.

 “I thank you for the invitation. I’ve never fully seen all of Hellford.” She explains. “Only the front parlour and that was very long ago. I was only a little girl then.”

 “You must come again and honour it with another visit.” He concludes.

 “Hellford’s grounds are very handsomely kept. The rose gardens are exquisite. And there’s 4 acres of woodland with plenty of good riding routes. I’d be vastly happy to show you them, any time you should like.” His smile tipped a little at the corners. Breaking up the stoicism of his usually stern scowl.

 “That’s very kind. As long as you are sure it won’t interrupt any of your business endeavours.” She offers politely.

 “My business was concluded days ago. I’m most happily and currently at my own leisure.”

 She smiles in agreement. “That must be so relaxing.”

 Iris wished she had one day whereby she could be at her own peace. Do as she liked. Go wherever she wanted and not have anyone else’s expectations hanging over her like heavy nimbuses.

 “It has its merits.” He smiles lightly down at her. Before his eyes flicker to the painting over her shoulder that she was admiring.

 “There’s even a Velasquez in the foyer at Hellford. Just begging to admired by appreciative eyes.” He adds. Her face lights up.

 “I’ve never seen a real Diego Velasquez in person. Only pictures from books in my fathers study.” She says in amazement.

 “His ‘Los Barrochos’ hangs in my hallway.” Kylo says with a hint of pride. “Now you simply have to visit, to come see it. Purely on unselfish grounds, Miss Ashton. Just for the arts sake.” He smarts.

 She smiles back. Apples of her cheeks pinking up again. “I would be delighted. No art should go unappreciated after all. You’re quite correct.” She smiles with good natured levity.

 His eyes gleam almost warmly, with wickedly pleased satisfaction. Crushed charcoal and honey of his eyes are captivating to look into. To drown in. That’s exactly what she does.

 Across the parlour, where a whole gaggle of mama’s and daughters are watching the room, speculating about it. They weren’t aware, but many eyes were glued to Iris and Lord Ren.

 Posy and Flora shared a pleased giddy look that the first time they’ve actually seen the severe man almost lets a smile crack his marble statue façade, and it’s because of their sister.

 “I think your dear Iris may have caught the biggest, richest prize in the pond. Mrs Ashton.” Mrs Phillips says with a smug proud expression, leans towards Iris’s mother and gently taps her hand. They were fond companions after all. Mrs Phillips other podgy hand, laden with pearl brackets and fat gemstone rings, was fondly stroking at Puffin’s ears now he’s calmed down.

 Caroline looks across at her eldest as she converses with Lord Ren. A slight frown crinkles her brow.

 “She would do vastly well to land a Lord.” Miss Smith Interjects. Sat on Caroline’s immediate right.

 She was a willowy woman. Figure like many twigs glued together. Gawky face. Beak of a long nose that she took great delight in shoving into business that was not her own. She was a harmless woman really. The general village busy body, and a spinster at three and fifty. Another close confidant and friend in the gossip vine for Caroline Ashton.

 “For Hellford is such a handsome house. Biggest land holding in all the county... Think what a lucky girl she would be to be mistress of it!” Miss Smith adds. Giggling in excitement like a young girl.

 Mrs Phillips steals another glance at the handsome couple. “They do make a fine pair. For she’s fairly handsome and he’s rich. Their children would be such darling things. Very dark colouring. But I fear he’s not to everyone’s taste...Something very, prohibitive, about his manner that I cannot place.” She decides.

 “I heard he takes little joy in anything. It is most odd.” Miss Smith agrees with their host most eagerly.

 “He does not dance. He barely drinks. His conversation is little and dry. And beyond the sport of his estate he rarely circulates in society. That must the foreign way of things in Bavaria.” Miss Smith sniffs with disdain. Turning her nose up at the merest intimation of something foreign.

 “Foreign and continental European manners are certainly nothing to admire.” Mrs Phillips declares. The ladies three then look at the young couple again.

 “Mmmm. I would suspect that an attachment is starting to bloom thereabouts...” She adds cunningly. As casually as if she was looking out her window and deciding the weather.

 “If they do marry. One can’t doubt the match would indisputably fine. But we would rarely see her if she marries a man so limited from the ton... what a cruelty that would be on her! Not to mention his estate is in Bavaria. What a grave loss she would be to us all.” Mrs Phillips croons sadly.

 Caroline looks over to her daughter. Where the shadow of the inexcusably large man and his dark shade looms over her. They are conversing quietly and genially with each other. If she’s not mistaken, she spots a brush of pink to Iris’s cheeks.

 “Indeed. I cannot doubt as fine a proposition as he would be... I would be more greatly comforted by her being settled here. At home. Nearer to us all.” Caroline insists to both her companions.

 “What about Brendol Hux’s son? Armitage. Wasn’t there a téndre between them some while ago? Now there. Perhaps that may be rekindled to better everyone’s satisfactions?” Miss Smith nods gladly cupping Caroline’s hand. As if Iris’s affairs were her very own to meddle with.

 “Indeed. I should not wish for poor Iris to marry so high above her dignity. She shouldn’t quit her sphere. Lord Ren should go and find himself an Heiress or a nice Duchess, if he must marry. That would do him well.” Mrs Phillips ultimately decides.

 Stouton, the excellently precise butler, enters the room and gives a dignified sharp nod to Mrs Phillips. Who announces to the room that dinner is ready. As the highest ranking gentleman in the room, Lord Ren escorts the lady of the house in to dine. Everyone follows in their lead.

 The dining room is very prettily done in shades of red and gold. The table groans with the amount of polished silverware. Glassware twinkles in the light off the fire and the numerous candles. Air spiced by the silver tiered platters of exotic fruit sitting in the table centre at measures intervals. Deep scent of plums and fleshy red apples gently radiate their sweet scent up the air. Red grapes drip from these rich arrangements.

 Everyone is seated according to rank and hierarchy. Mrs Phillips crowns the head of the table in her gown of demure blush muslin. Train drifted behind her like a galleon setting sail when the stout portly woman moved.

 Kylo is placed to Mrs Phillips’ right. Iris is lower down in rank. But she is placed two places opposite him across the finely laid table. Smooth as a square of white marble is the laid linen tablecloth.

 Mrs Phillips oversees the serving of the white soup. A frothy pallid broth made of veal stock, egg yolks, ground almonds and cream. To be eaten demurely along with the light conversation. Of which is quick to flourish along the table in this bored-rigid country society.

 Kylo sups down his soup, and he is caught by the change in topics as it shifts. Mr Phillips is speaking up to Mr Ashton about it.

 “Did you hear that the Norris’s lost one of their farm hands last eve. Just dreadful news...” Mr Phillips croaks up. Shaking his head into his wine glass.

 Kylo watches Iris innocently turn her head in the conversations intended direction. Two seats down from her. His eyes follow the pretty turn of her head. He tried not to look too closely at the elegant line of her pale throat. Nor at the little drop of red wine that lingered in the corner of her lips.

 He imagined it dripping its smooth rolling path down her neck. Over that pearl necklace. Only he didn’t exactly imagine it was wine...

 More people engage in the horrid nature of the conversation. Society being shocked by it. “Where was the Norris’s farm hand found?” Miss Smith piped up. Eager for details. Aghast. Clutching her chest in overdone fright.

 “Middle of the woods apparantly. He’d run for some time away from whatever terror hunted him. Looked like an animal had set to him something vicious, according to the local magistrate. Poor fool.” Mr Phillips announces morbidly.

 Ah yes. Kylo remembers the one. The second farm hand he’d feasted on.

 He’d watched from the shadows as the letch tried to snatch a young maids purse outside the chapel. She’d been coming back from a dance on her own late at night. He’d watched the man grope her with fat wandering meaty hands. Squeezed her bottom and her bosom and terrified her. Told her gruffly he could either take her money or her virginity. Left her sobbing in the dirt and ran off cackling with her purse.

 Kylo followed his foul stench. Gin and rot of sweat and various vile body odours souring his nose. He wasn’t hard to find.

 Followed the disgrace of a man deep into the heart of the woods. The idiot soon caught wind of his feral aggressor and ran fleeing. He caught him. And he ripped him to pieces and drank him all down. Was still picking bits of him out his teeth, come to mention it.

 His tongue idly strokes the front of one of his canines at the memory of it.

 “Is it man or beast that killed him?” Mrs Phillips asks.

 “Someone up near Lord Hearst’s estate say that a wolf had been spotted thereabouts lately.”

 “A wolf!” Miss Smith shrilled. “Oh, good heavens.” She frets. Dramatically dripping her soup spoon.

 “Do not be uneasy. Miss Smith.” Mr Ashton declares. Patting her hand nicely where he’s sat next to her.

 “It is folly. Surely. There haven’t been wolves in this country since the Hundred Years’ War.” Mr Ashton declares. “Fret not.”

 “Of course those are the rumours circulating on the estates. Especially surrounding Hellford.” Mrs Phillips pipes up. Turning her attention to Lord Ren. Many pairs of curious scared eyes swivelled to the man near the head of table, as he took a sip of his red wine.

 “I’m afraid I cannot offer any consolation nor relay any satisfaction upon the matter. I have seen no such beast on my land, Mrs Phillips. Maybe it is a stray dog... after all...” He trails away. Eating another mouthful of the white soup.

 “There is always such gossip prone to over exaggerate these things, is there not?” He drawls lowly. His dark eyes flicker up and land in Iris‘s own. His smile smoothly twitches. He couldn’t help it.

 His meaning scared her. For she did not know it’s intention. His eyes looked different when he remarked upon that. They looked... odd. Like cloud passing over a sunny day. Something then swarmed his eyes. And it looked feral.

 A shiver rockets down her spine. Makes her breath spurt out ragged and catch in her throat.

 Posy is sat on Iris’s left and she’s determined not to be left out the conversation. She must have her share in it. “My friend remarked that he heard it was a huge black Wolf with bright yellow eyes the colour of sunflowers.” She remarks.

 “Posy. I think that may be idle speculation.” Iris insists lightheartedly.

 Posy frowns stroppily. “I heard it directly from Mary Sampson’s mouth. And she never tells tall tales.” She insists firmly. Iris nods and goes back to eating her soup.

 “Maybe it’s the work of a mad man?” Miss Smith pipes up worriedly. Iris swore she hears the room collectively heave a sigh of annoyance into their soup spoons.

 “Some nasty beastly mad man roaming the countryside and cutting people up who come across his path. He might be vicious. What’s next? He could decide to come and murder us in our beds.” She panics pithily. “Cut our throats in the night!!” She says frenziedly.

 “Oh I shall have to get Barlow to put another bolt lock on my bedroom door or I shall never sleep again!” She declares.

 She did so fuss over the most inconsequential of things. Like the time she swore that the black plague was making a comeback - for she heard her maid sneeze three times in a row one day whilst bringing her tea. She was so prone to hysterics and exaggeration.

 Kylo wants to roll his eyes at her stupidity. Maybe his next victim should be her- maybe he should slaughter her in her bed. Rid the world of her vapid panicking.

 Iris smiles gently across at the flustered spinster. “Don’t overexert yourself, Miss Smith. I’m sure it’s just town gossip conjured up with the intention of frightening us.” She soothes.

 “I’m sure it’s not as evil as it first seems... There may be more reasons as to why they lost their lives.”

 Kylo does look at her right then. His little dove. Sat there with her brow all creased up with worry for this vapid inconsequential woman.

 She truly does have a heart of gold.

 Mrs Phillips speaks up again. “You know I did hear that two of the men were known drunkards. And one of them was found next to a lane. It seemed he wandered into the road after drinking a skinful and was struck by a speeding carriage. Poor soul.” She declares.

 “And the other man was robbed. Though he was rumoured to be the horrid purse snatcher who lurked around the chapel last week. Some other desperate thief must’ve caused his unfortunate death out of want of his loot. There, there, my dear. All is well.” Mrs Phillips ladled comfort into her friend. Smiling heartily at her.

 Miss Smith seems to settle down. She nods. Hand clasped dramatically to her chest. Mr Ashton pours her more wine and she takes back great thudding gulps of it.

 Iris shares another fleeting look with Lord Ren. He smiles delicately at her. Mr Phillips resumes his usual spouting on and on about the grouse season. He ropes Kylo into an invite to come shoot his grouse whenever he pleases. Miss Smith keenly traps the ladies into a conversation about printed cotton.

 They talk all through the next course about more savoury things. They are served broiled partridges with gravy for the next, and an entire haunch of roasted venison. Cooked to retain just a tinge of pink. And just a slight dribble of ichor when the meat was sliced into. Served with stewed sopping celery drowned in cream. And buttered carrots and boiled potatoes. The food swamped the table in great big heaped portions on silver platters.

 Kylo was glad they didn’t cook such a rich meat until it was a slab of boiled grey toughness. He tears his sharp teeth into the slices of roast deer and eats his big fill. Licks the iron-copper tinge of blood off his lips. It lightly sates the animal gnawing at his belly. But he needs proper blood.

 Needs the liquid metal rush of it pouring down his throat and staining his white teeth crimson.

 The full moon was bringing out his more feral senses. It always does. Gets him restless and baying for blood with a hell of a thirst. The need to feed more intense than ever.

 As the pudding arrives, Kylo is sipping more claret and letting his suave black gaze wander over to Miss Ashton again. She’s talking to one of her innumerable silly pests of a sister.

 He lets his eyes stroke along her, and admire her for a second. Such a gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by Caroline Ashton. Down the table she sees Lord Rens gaze linger on Iris- and she wonders...

 Her reverie is broken by the arrival of pudding. As it was still colder, a steaming great whitepot pudding is served. Bread and butter and cream with currants dotted into the sponge. Flavoured with mace and nutmeg. Alongside this is served a tower of marzipan fruit and cold fruit tartlets. Lots of sugar and whipped cream and strawberries steeped in sugar syrup.

 Lord Ren does not oblige himself in sweets. He’ll have his fill later. Find some wandering idiot drunk to indulge his true appetites.

 Evebtually, the ladies separate from the gentlemen. They are left around the table to smoke cheroots, or sip port, as the ladies retire to the parlour for embroidery or gossip.

 Kylo watches his little dove stand and head away. Smiling demurely at him before she goes. He snatched up every second of it.

 She turns and walks away, led by her sister. He longs after the nape of her neck as she departs. The pale arch of it kissed by dark twirls of hair.

 She feels like she can’t breathe until she gets out of the room. She takes a deep breath and wets her lips as they come to the second parlour.

 Mrs Phillips particular favourite room. For her particular use. Iris can see why; it’s gaudy and decorated to drowning point with rosebud fabrics. Its nature was definitely intended to be ladies room. Draped and stuffed with pink velvety drapes, cream carpets and gold gilded French furniture. Pillows and cushions stuffed onto the settee in blush rose print. Ruffles and flounces and so many more eye-watering trims.

 Iris feels a little nauseous walking into the sickly sweet room. But she sits dutifully on the settee by the window and sips whatever snifter Mrs Phillips put into her hand. Negus, Iris thinks it might be. A favourite punch at balls. Port mixed with boiled water, nutmeg and sugar syrup. 

 Mrs Phillips insists something warming helps aid with the digestion. Flora and Posy are feeding little nuggets of sweet meats to Puffin the toy dog as he yips for more. Mother is talking with her matrons again.

 And Iris is sat looking out at the moon. Candlelight casts up one side of her face. She lets it’s watery gently light wash over her. Listen to the matrons giggling in their corner. And Posy and Flora gossiping with Primrose.

 She thinks how nice it must be to be entirely thousands of miles away. Alone in the sky. Free of burden. Just being known for casting beautiful light onto the earth.

 “Pleasant, isn’t she?” Comes a deep voice at her side. Deeper and thicker than oozing warm honey.

 She smiles. The gentlemen have come in. Fresh from their all male talk and their port and their smoking. Brandy and cheroot smoke sticks to his coat. Though he didn’t imbibe in either. Just more port.

 Lord Ren is stood by her side again. Arms behind his back in their usual place. Looking up at the very orb of a thing that’s firing his blood. Then he glances downwards and sees the earth-bound mortal form of the woman who does the very same. Only she’s touched on more softer, hidden parts of him.

 “Such beauty.” She remarks. She tilts her head up at it. “Some remark it is a cold light. But-“

 “I disagree.” Lord Ren adds. Interjecting. Smiles down at her. When she looks up. The flash of her pale skinned neck and the side of her jaw cast in the moon and the candlelight makes his mouth water. Her eyes are divinely silver. Just like another soul he knows and loves...

 “There is mystery. For even the moon has her burdens and her secrets. The brightest thing in the sky has the darkest side that’s never revealed to a soul.” He supposed. His eyes catching in hers.

 She can see by the weighting of his granite eyes. That he means that phrase very deeply.

 “Much the same as people. I grant. Enigmatic, if they so choose to be.” She says.

 “Some darker sides of people, Miss Ashton, should never see the light.” He tells her.

 She feels like he’s speaking from experience. She opens her mouth to ask. But her mother hissing her name and gesturing her over with a spurring-curling motion of her hand, breaks the hypnotic spell his eyes gripped on her.

 She looks back up at him. He extends a hand to help her up. There’s that thrill of electricity again. Needles up her arm and wracks at her spine.

 “I think it likely my mother will encourage us home soon. I’ll take my leave of you now.” She says sadly. Though she doesn’t wish too- he feels her sadness and her dread.

 She curtseys. Bows her neck to him. Dips at her knees. He doesn’t relinquish his gentle clasp of her hand.

 “Until next time, Miss Ashton.” He drawls low.

 She dies on the spot when her turns her palm over and presses a kiss to her sensitive weak hand. Holding her fingers with one hand and rubbing his thumb over the spot he just kissed.

 His lips are devilishly soft and when he looks up at her her spine crumbles. She shivers and he hears it. Her chest flutters a breath with it.

 “I bid you good evening, Lord Ren. It was a pleasure.”

 “The pleasure was entirely mine.” He hushes so low. He manages to make his words sound sordid. Rascally and humming deep. So deep her bones rang with it and all her the soft tissue meat of her, quivers.

 This feels like seduction.

 Knee weakening seduction. She feels her cheeks beating out unattractive pink heat. Flushed from head to toe. Breath stutters into her pathetic shrivelling lungs. She doesn’t know what this is- what this man is wielding onto her. She’s never felt the likes of it before.

 She takes her hand from him, drags her eyes from the addictive granite pools of his, and steps aside to go to her mother. As she bade. She feels his eyes on her back as she walks away across the room.

 She curls her hand into a fist. So she might better preserve the searing memory of his kiss.

 It’s ridiculous and silly. But she keeps her hand fisted shut the whole way home. Thinks back to the hunger in his eyes and feels flushed whenever she remarks how it sat there- all for her and her alone.

  ~

  The whole world seems asleep. When the vampires roam to feed. Kylo swore this whole sleepy county is deaf and dull now. Even the very last scullery maid of every grand house, and kitchen skivvy had extinguished the very last candle hours ago. Night looms thick and bitter.

 The moon in all her pallid smudgy eminence, still owns the whole sky and blots out the glory of the stars. Gently kissing onto the navy heavens. Kylo has hunted under that very same silver moon.

 It recharged the restless rough animal in his bloodstream.

 Tonight, after dining, He took his leave. Took to the woods. Waited. Chased down his prey and drank his fill. Toasting his success under that watery bright light. Left the mangled and twisted body like a mortal offering of a sacrifice to the old gods. Basted the landscape in the blood he didn’t want, watering the icy crusted dirt of the earth. Staining the snow.

 Humans all went back into the earth at the end. Returned to the mud and soil and rot of where they came from. Decayed to frail dirty bones and that’s all that remains. He was just helping them get there a tad quicker.

 Crimson blooms down his white shirt and white cravat. It trails down the corner of his mouth and chin until he licks it clean. Sucks up the remains with his fingers til his face is clean. Garnet however is still marring his white square teeth.

 His eyes are still golder than coin. Fresh off the hunt. Dappled in blood. And he finds himself stepping through the dark-dead, grey wood. To a place that now seemed familiar to him.

 The house is dark. Every window dull. Even the dormers in the attic where their maids slept, even there all is deathly dark like the eye of a skull. He sets his sights on one bedroom window in particular.

 Her window was cracked open- and when he gets up to it, silent as a shadow, he sees why. The fire makes her room too muggy. This way the stifling sticky heat had somewhere to escape too.

 Her curtains are drawn, twitching on the breeze. And the fireplace lit at the end of her bed, across the room in the Morris wallpapered alcove of the hearth, casts the room in amber. As if she’s encased in it. Trapped. Preserved like an item of jewellery in this flamed room.

 That wasn’t too far away from an accurate description. She is trapped. One day she’ll be sold into marriage by her mother. Then she’ll be trapped by the fetid husband she’s supposed to serve obediently; to wait on hand and foot, and dole out his heir and a spare, like she’s shelling peas.

 He sneaks his big hand under the crack in the sash window, silently lifts it up and slips inside. Curtains rustle and he leaves them pushed apart to fit through. Steps down onto her windowsill, then onto the floor. His clothes barely make a rasp. His shoes don’t even scrape the whining buckled floorboards.

 He’s inside, and his golden eyes catch onto the sleeping little dove, huddled up as a lump into the quilts of her bed.

 Her hair is loose and crumpled around her head. Face turned away from him. Night down slipping off a shoulder. Wispy thin. Like gauzy moth wings. Exposing her chest, the shadowed mounding globes of her breasts. Swelling and falling.

 He can see the thud of her mortal heart wrack her skin. Pulsing her throat. Thudding out her wrists. Beating that lavender and bergamot soap scent out to his senses. Calling to him. Enslaving him. The creature she could never have a hope to tame.

 He gazes at her as he rounds the end of the bed. Softly paces around it. She won’t wake. His nature makes highly sure of that. Vampires are after all, darkly magic animals. Predatory too. He can stun his prey the way he wants. The way he needs too. He’ll lull her body into deep sleep like a newborn. Seduce her weak mortal self to bend to his will.

 He sits on the mattress near her hip. Watching her face sloped peaceful in gentle rest. His blood crusted hands reach out, drying rust caked at his nails, big fingertips slipping over her knuckles where her hand lay down by her side. The other folded across her waist.

 He strokes along her arm. Watches her rest. Soothes his animosity with the tactile soft of her innocent skin.

 His fingers travel upwards to her hair. He lifts it off her neck and rakes his fingers through the golden-brown wave of it. It drifts through his fingers like spun bronzed-gold that smells of French lavender.

 A big wave of heat and perfume of bare skin hits him when he peels her hair away. Warm from where she’s cosily snuggled into her pillow.

 He moans desperately. Like a wounded animal. The most gut-wrenching sob falls out his mouth.

 He can’t help it. Moth to a flame. He’s drawn across the bed until his lips hit at her skin. Tracing the jugular in her throat. He tremors with need. From being within the barest millimetre of being able to taste her warm skin. That manna sent from heaven, put on this earth for him alone to savour.

 “What in gods name are you doing to me, little dove?” He gasps. His speech muffled into her skin. He kisses at her hot throat and growls low in his when he feels her blood beat under his tongue.

 This close to her- and he didn’t want to tear open her throat with the white knives of his sharp teeth. She’s worth more than that.

 Oh, he knew she’d taste so sweet to feast on. He just knows it. She will. She’ll taste like thick honey and coins and sugared copper.

 “You take me so beyond any lust or any need I’ve ever felt in my entire life.” He promises to her.

 He’s still close. Kissing hot embraces of butterfly kisses at her neck. Gold eyes glittering so stark in the blue and amber half light of her bedchamber. Like yellowed cats eyes.

 “What is this?” He asks her. “What I feel for you- how does it never stop?...” He begs to know. Begs to be shown clarity over this force.

 His chest brushes into hers where she lays on the bed. He kisses up to her jaw. His adoring fingers skim over her cheek. Finding her cheekbone and trailing along its shape under her tender skin.

 He kisses her jawbone and moans again. Hum of his deep voice soaking trembling into her skin from his hot blooded mouth. Copper souring in his tongue and teeth.

 “I so long to kiss you.” He aches for it. Aches so deep it’s a physical pain in his gut. He groans, hard already at the merest thought of it. And that was just at tasting her mouth-

 “But I want you awake and willing in my arms when I kiss you for the first time. I’ll have you trembling and weak for me. Now I just have to wait to be able to taste those pretty lips.” He whispers onto her chin.

 Adores her face like this whilst he can. Top of his nose presses under her jaw and he takes a deep breath of her neck, whimpering with need.

 He pants into her neck once more. “Sleep well. Little dove.”

 He strokes her cheek kisses it one last time before he tears himself off the bed and slips away. Leaving her room as smoothly as a silent shadow.

  ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

[padfootagain]

The King And You (VII)

Part 7: Farewell

Here comes a new chapter for my Caspian series! Our poor King is going through a lot… but he's building his team up and oh dear, what a team…

I hope you'll like this new chapter!

Word Count: 2504

You talked with Agatha for what felt like hours. Caspian disappeared in the distance, and you wanted to follow him, but the old woman stopped you. She argued that he had a lot to take in, that he needed time. You guessed she was right.

So, you walked back inside, and talked. She told you everything she knew about her mother's family: her sister and brothers dying when they were still so young, the stories they believed in. And for a reason she couldn't fully comprehend, Agatha believed in them as well.

And it sounded crazy. Utter madness. Bananas.

But no matter how many times you turned the story around and around in your head, you couldn't find any better explanation. Maybe you were being conned by a pair of very convincing criminals?

Then, why did your heart tell you it wasn't so?

Narnia. Aslan. Wars. A white witch. Winter. A stone table. Telmarines. Talking animals. A star. The Dawn Treader…

None of it made any sense.

With doubt still blurring your thoughts and questions twirling around your mind, you took a look at the time on your phone. Caspian had left more than an hour before. It was more than time to go looking for him. After all, God knew what kind of troubles the man could get himself into.

You gave your phone number to Agatha and told her to stay home, in case he would come back. Meanwhile, you would drive around the neighbourhood in his search.

You passed tall red trees, and pretty white houses of a too-perfect street. White fences were all that was missing to render a classic American neighbourhood. Above you, the sky was getting grey with clouds heavy with rain.

The distraction of your drive didn't make your mind quiet. But despite your doubts, and despite the fact that you couldn’t believe Caspian's and Agatha's tale, you couldn't find a way to believe that they had ill intentions either. So, maybe they were both crazy, nevertheless, you couldn’t just abandon Caspian like this. After all, he had been nothing but nice to you since he had stumbled into your life. It wasn't fair to simply abandon it, your conscience couldn't allow you to act like this.

Twenty minutes passed and you couldn't find him anywhere. You were starting to fear that something might have happened to him. He could have been attacked, or hit by a car, or kidnapped, or simply lost his way which, given his global appearance and attitude, was already a disaster…

You almost missed his form sitting on the grass, under a maple tree. You parked your car quickly and hurried towards him, but as you approached his motionless figure, you slowed down your pace. There was something quiet and still around him, a saddened aura that you felt reluctant to disrupt, so you approached cautiously, stopping a couple of steps away from him. You stood there for a moment, silent and as motionless as him, your eyes on his shoulders and the back of his head.

"Caspian?" you called in just a whisper.

But he didn't react at all.

"Are you okay?"

Again, your words were left unanswered.

So, you slowly closed the distance between the two of you to sit by his side. He didn't turn to look at you, didn't move at all to acknowledge that he had as far as noticed you were there. His gaze was set on a random point of the horizon, and you were sure that his eyes saw without looking. It was written all over his face that he had been crying for a long time.

You wanted to say something, but found yourself at a loss for words. You merely sat uncomfortably next to him instead, searching for things to say that seemed to fly out of reach every time you opened your mouth.

As you lacked words, you reached to hold his hand instead. His fingers were cold and calloused, but reassuring, for a reason you couldn't fathom. After a moment, he reciprocated your gesture.

And he was grateful that you didn't try to reassure him with empty words about feelings you couldn't understand. He didn't need someone to tell him that things would be alright, that they understood, that he wasn't alone…

Because things would not be alright. Because you didn't – couldn't – understand. Because he was alone…

Did that mean that he would give up? No, he couldn't. He was King, his people needed him to find a way back home. He would fight for them to his last breath, this was a vow he would never break. But for now, he didn't need a denial of the facts. He didn't need lies to be told in reassurance. He knew that he was going to face hard times, he knew that he had lost the help he thought he could get in this world decades before. He was lost and needed to find a way back.

But then, you were holding his hand now. You were sitting on the grass with him, skeleton leaves cracking under your weight as you shifted to sit cross-legged. And just like you couldn’t begin to fathom the kind of pain he was facing, he couldn't imagine how hard it was for you to believe him. Yet, you were still here. He believed that actions spoke better than words.

As he held your hand in his too, giving it a little squeeze, as to check if it were real, he reckoned that maybe, after all, he didn't have to be alone.

"Can you stay with me, for a little while?" he asked in a shaky breath.

You gave his hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"Of course."

And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t deny that his pain was real. No one could fake pain that well.

Could he?

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Eventually, you went back to Agatha's, and she offered Caspian and you to stay over for dinner, a simple, quiet meal that lifted Caspian's spirit a little. He was silent for most of the time, until you reached the dessert.

"I'd like to see them," Caspian broke a silence that had settled for a few minutes around the table. "Their… tombs, I mean. I'd like to go and see them."

"Well, my mother wanted her ashes to be spread in the ocean, and that's what we did," Agatha answered. "We don't have a tomb. The rest of her family is in England."

"Can we go there?"

"No, you can't," you shook your head. "I mean… you need a passport and everything to go there. And it's not like… getting a ride to New York, you have to take a plane."

"A plane? What is a plane?"

"A… mean of transportation. Nevermind," you brushed his remark away, taking a sip of water. This day had been way too crazy already for you to spend half-an-hour explaining him what a plane was, you just didn't have the strength.

"Is England very far?"

"Yes, it is."

"I see. And what about this… pass… part?"

"Passport. It's an official document that states your identity. You need one to get in and out of countries. And you'll need one to get in England. But if your whole fairy tale is true, then I guess you don't have one, do you?"

"I am afraid not."

"And you won't get one using official ways. I mean, you didn't exist before yesterday."

"And that will be a problem?"

"Yes, they want to know like… where you were born, proofs of who your parents are… and your parents aren't even of this world, are they?"

"No, no… they weren't. I see, that is a problem indeed."

"No, you can't leave the country. I'm sorry, but there's no solution."

"But I need to walk in the Pevensies' footsteps. Go where they found their own passages to Narnia. Maybe one of the doors is still open."

"You can't go to England."

"Actually… I might know someone who could help us get the documents we need," Agatha quietly said.

Both you and Caspian looked at her, but if the King stared at her with hope in his eyes, your gaze was filled with confusion.

"I… might know a man who can get us the papers. We… dated. A long, long time ago. But we kept in touch, and… well, he owes me."

"Who is he?" you asked.

"Roger. His name is Roger O'Malley, and… well… I might have helped him run away from the police a few decades ago."

"He's a criminal?!"

"Well, you said yourself that we couldn't use official channels for this, they will just ask a ton of questions that we cannot answer. Roger must know how to find a passport, I'm certain of it."

"That… is the craziest idea, ever. What did he do anyway, this Roger?"

"Oh, nothing violent. He worked for this… businessman in Chicago and then in New York."

"You mean… he's a mobster?"

"Oh, he's retired now!"

You looked at Agatha with wide eyes, before throwing your hands towards the ceiling in desperation, huffing, your voice turned high-pitched in your near-panic state.

"Oh, yes, of course! Pardon me! If he's retired now, then all is fine! We should definitely ask a retired mobster to get us fake IDs and passport for this gentleman here, who will answer, if asked about his profession, that he's a Duke in a magical land called Narnia! For proof, he walks around dressed up like in a musketeer! You're right, that is a brilliant idea. Actually, the only glitch we could get in this perfectly sensible plan is passing the security checks at the airport with his BLOODY SWORD!"

"Actually, I'm the King of Narnia, not a Duke," Caspian corrected you, which only made your panic worse.

"Oh, pardon me, Your Highness! Of course, he's a King! That'll solve all of our problems! Maybe, as he's royalty, they'll give him a hot towel and a tiny chocolate on his pillow when we're all rotting IN JAIL!"

"Now, now, calm down, child," Agatha replied with an annoyed voice.

"This is a terrible, terrible idea," you fought back, stated a fact that seemed so obvious to you. "Don't call me to bail you and D'Artagnan here out of jail once you get there, huh?"

"Well, do you have any better plan? A single idea, even?"

And you had to admit that you had none.

You and Caspian exchanged a look. He didn't understand the whole issue, but he did get that what Agatha was offering was going against the law. However, he didn't have much choice.

"Agatha, if we contact your friend, can you promise me that no harm will come to anyone out of our actions?"

"Of course!"

"Then, I have to take the risk. Even if the way you describe, as I understand it, seems to go against some of your laws. Going to England might be my only chance. However, considering the risks you might be facing, I will travel on my own and undergo the purchase of this… passport on my own."

"I can go with you," Agatha shook her head, and her tone was final. "In fact, do you have a place to stay here?"

"He slept at my place yesterday," you answered.

"Well, then, you can stay here for as long as you need. After all, my family considered you one of their own."

Caspian gave her a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Agatha. For everything. But I don't want you to get into trouble on my behalf…"

"Nonsense! It's gonna be a lot of fun! Dear, I haven't had so much excitement in my life in a long while. And don't you worry, my dear, I'm sure we'll find a way to bring you home."

"How do we contact this… Roger?" you interrupted, bringing back the conversation towards practical issues.

"I'll call him! I have his number. You were of great help, but I will take care of Caspian now. You don't have to worry about him anymore. Nor getting into jail."

Caspian reached across the table to take your hand in his in a gentle, warm hold.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me. I don't want to be a weight…"

"Don't mention it," you mumbled, uncomfortable. "Anyone would have done the same."

Caspian gave you a warm smile.

"No, I don't reckon that's true."

"Will you be okay?"

"Yes. I think I will. Agatha will help me, you need not worry about me anymore."

You huffed again.

"You're a lot of trouble though. I think I'll keep on worrying about you for a while."

You exchanged a soft smile.

"Well, I guess… Agatha has my phone number, so if you need anything, you can call me," you offered.

"Call?"

You chuckled and showed him your phone.

"You can use that to talk to someone who's away."

"Your society is most impressive. Even if our magic is different, yours is just as strong the magic ."

"It's not magic, it's science," you replied.

"But isn't magic only science that we can't yet understand?" Agatha replied with a mischievous look, and the two of you laughed.

"I guess that's true."

You helped to clean the dishes, helped Caspian to settle down too. But then you were standing before the threshold, ready to leave without him, and you had to admit that it felt strange to part with him. If you were being honest with yourself, you even felt sad. Despite how crazy this whole ordeal was - and that you still didn't believe in his whole backstory - as you looked at him standing there, before you, giving you a warm smile while his dark eyes were tainted with pain, you knew that you would miss him.

"Good luck, then. And… call me if you need help. Otherwise, I… guess it's a…"

But your voice broke before you could say the word, and when you tried again, nothing came out but silence.

Caspian took your hand and brought it to his lips in a soft, slow movement, hesitant. As if he wasn't sure you'd let him go through with it, as if he wasn't sure it was adequate, but it felt right to do so, so he did it anyway. His lips lingered on the back of your hand for a few seconds too long, by Narnian standards of politeness, but you wouldn't have known anyway. You told yourself it was just one more eccentricity. Nothing more, despite the jolt of electricity that ran up your spine then.

He gave you one last tender smile.

"Farewell, Y/N."

You nodded, unable to understand the tears in your eyes, but you freed your hand and turned to walk to your car anyway.

You didn't look back as you drove off the street. You kept on repeating to yourself that at least, now, your life could go back to normal.

And that was a good thing, right?

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

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[otomememento]

Lost and Found

Cybird Creative Challenge: Day 2 - Wild

It had been a wild twenty-four hours.

Everything had been fine at first.  She was going on an adventure, visiting another country to broaden her horizons.  It was supposed to be relatively safe.  Sure, it had been a little awkward, being in a new country that spoke a language she knew less than a smattering of, but that’s what the guide and group was for.  Most of the time she was surrounded by people as clueless as she was.

Things took a turn for the worse when she realized that her bracelet was missing.  She would have to retrace her steps to the last place she remembered seeing it, and then hope that it hadn’t been taken.  The hope wasn’t strong; the area had been quite busy at the time.  Later she would reflect that she used up her last bit of luck finding that bracelet.

She found it glinting between paved stone tiles in front of a monument.  Relief flooded over her as she knelt down to pick it up and rub off as much of the dirt as she could.  A drop of something wet on her nose made her look up.  Moments later, she found herself in the middle of a downpour.

Something distracted her.  Through the rain she could see a man, his white lab coat easily visible.  He spoke, but his words were not ones she recognized.  Standing up, she shivered.  Fishing for her phrase book, she walked towards the man, but she was so absorbed in the one process that she wasn’t paying attention to the other.  Her foot caught on the edge of one of the paving stones and she tumbled forward.  To her surprise, the man caught her.

“Thank you,” she said, her native language flowing out instinctively, the sound and look of gratitude fairly universal.  

The man didn’t smile, but was gentle as he steadied her.  He began to speak, but a large streak of lightning shot out of the sky and hit the monument they were standing beside.  She couldn’t tell if the crack of stone, or the peal of thunder was more terrifying.  A moment later the world started to shift and bend around her, like something she’d seen in a video game.  Frightened, she tried to turn and run, but a dizzy spell seized her, then everything went dark.

The smell of smoke assaulted her nose.  Having been drenched moments ago, her first thought was to wonder how anything had the temerity to burn on a night like this.  Still, she couldn’t get anywhere with her eyes closed.  She instantly regretted it as the sting of smoke poured into her opening eyes and lungs as she took a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.  This was no peaceful hearth fire; it wasn’t even a wild, open air bonfire.  No, this was a raging inferno of destruction; the building she was in was burning down.

Frantically she tried to remember any fire safety advice.  Pulling the top of her shirt over her nose and mouth, she looked for the way out.  The man in the lab coat was nowhere to be seen, but she discovered that she wasn’t alone.  Sleeping on the floor was a man dressed in armor.  How anyone could sleep in armor, or sleep during a fire, let alone both, was beyond her ability to fathom.

But this was only the tip of the iceberg.  Yet another man was present, and his intentions seemed less than honorable.  He approached the sleeping figure with a sword, and by the way it was raised, it didn’t look like this was going to be a gentle wake up call.

“Danger!” she screamed instinctively.  It startled the swordsman and gave her enough time to shake the sleeping man: an awkward thing to do with his armor.  But it worked.  Lazily his eyes opened and slowly focused on her.  He spoke a few words in a deep voice, and she didn’t have to understand the language to hear the sheer weight of command in his tone.

“I don’t understand!” she protested.  She pulled at his hand and pointed at the fire with her other hand, hoping her gesture was universal and urgent enough to compel him to look around.  His expression immediately became alert, and he quickly rose to a standing position.  She tore one of her sleeves and made him a wet cover for his face as well, gesturing that he should copy her.  

By then the man with the sword was gone, and it was just the two of them.  Together they ran out of the burning building, leaving behind the smoke and chaos.  Turning around she saw that the building looked like one of the many temples she had seen on her tour.  Who would burn down such a precious old building?  The tears in her eyes weren’t just from the fire; even though it wasn’t her culture being devoured by flame, she still felt a keen sadness.  But the sound of the man speaking pulled her from her melancholy thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping her tone and face would convey what her words could not.  She could the man’s eyes scrutinizing her; she just stood there and waited. Running from a man with a sword didn’t strike her as a wise life choice.  At least she could get look at him.  His clothes were positively archaic, but she couldn’t identify when it might be from.  Physically he didn’t look terribly old, but there was something about him that made him seem older.

And, he was speaking again.  But this time his language sounded different.  It was still foreign, yet sounded Western.  She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.  When she didn’t seem to react at all to his words, he frowned thoughtfully.  Soon the frown gave way to a smile.  It wasn’t friendly.

She trembled, afraid.  The man lifted a hand and cupped his fingers under her chin.  She tried to look away, but he held her fast, looking into her eyes as though trying to assess who she was without the help of words.  She had always heard the saying that the windows were the eyes to the soul, and now she believed it.  Quavering under his gaze, she wondered what he saw.

The sound of footsteps approaching broke the connection.  She took a few steps away from him.  Her eyes moved towards the new arrivals.  A very pretty man with silver hair and purple eyes approached the imperious man, speaking to him with relief on his features.  Behind him were a lot of other men wearing armor.  Whatever was going on, it wasn’t hard to determine that this was not a peaceful place.  Everything looked Japanese, but this wasn’t the Japan of her tour.

She hovered in the background as the two men talked, their voices serious, though the silvery man’s voice was far lighter than the deep, rolling tones of the imperious man.  Eventually those purple eyes were trained on her, and she could only guess that he had given an inquiry to the imperious man.  The latter responded, and she really wished she knew what had been said, as it likely pertained to her.  She couldn’t even begin to guess.  She smiled uncertainly at the silvery man, who seemed far less lofty.  He said something to her, his words gentle.  It was oddly comforting, despite the language barrier.

With great care the silvery man took her elbow and helped her sit down.  From there she watched in awe as the soldiers gathered together and hastily set up a camp nearby.  Once a tent was set up, she was ushered to it and given a bundle of clothing.  Her own were obviously much worse for wear.  And, they made her stick out like a sore thumb; even foreigners wouldn’t have had clothes like hers.

Unfortunately, wearing traditional Japanese clothing was not part of her tour.  This wasn’t going as simple as pulling on slacks and a t-shirt.  There were too many ties and pieces; she had no clue what to do with most of it.  At least the sleeves were obvious, so she started there.  The main part of the ensemble didn’t have any fastenings on it.  In the end, all she could do was make sure that she was covered enough for modesty.  Even though she must look ridiculous, she had to go out and face the men.

Resigned, she stepped out of the tent.  The flap had barely fallen when she heard a booming laughter; the source of the sound was the imperious man.  Her cheeks went hot with embarrassment.  She wished that the ground would swallow her up, but she decided that wouldn’t be any more comfortable than being embarrassed.

At least a distraction showed up, creating a momentary reprieve from the imperious man’s smirk.  Another man, this one with white hair and pale golden eyes, came into the camp.  Walking up to where they were standing he spoke to the imperious man.  He also had a deep voice, though somewhat less boisterous than the imperious man’s.  His features were very fine and sleek.  The amusement dancing in his eyes wasn’t any better than the other man’s laughter.

Only a minute later a fourth man walked into the camp, this one with hair and eyes both a mellow brown.  His attitude was anything but mellow as he seemed rather intense and worried as he spoke to the imperious man.  The three of them talked amongst themselves, and she could only watch their faces and listen to their tone, for any hints as to what was going on.  There were looks of surprise and  she gathered the mellow colored man was irritated at the sleek man.  This was even more apparent when the mellow colored man reached to draw steel.

That was it.  She couldn’t handle this tension anymore.  With all eyes away from her, she took her chance and bolted.  It wasn’t long before she heard shouts behind her, but she didn’t dare stop.  Madly she scrambled away from the camp, not giving any thought to where she was headed, only to what she was leaving behind.  She hadn’t run long before she came to the edge of a forest.  It wasn’t what she was used to, but there was something comforting about it.  Trees were far more timeless than people.

The sound of metal alerted her to the fact she was not alone.  Turning she saw a man with a scar and a smile; the sound had come from the staff he was carrying.  He wasn’t wearing armor like the other men, but he was intimidating even so.  He tried speaking to her as well, and though the sound of the foreign language was becoming more familiar, she still couldn’t understand it.  Her head slumped in defeat; this was getting old fast.

“I don’t understand you; I don’t expect you to understand me,” she said, more to herself than the man, since she was certain her words would mean little to him.  When she looked up again, the man was staring at her in surprise.  He pursed his lips together and something dark came over his expression.  Finally he gave a bow and extended his arm towards the rest of the forest.  She just nodded her head and ran that way.  Looking back, she saw the man had already gone.  She only hoped that he didn’t mention her to anyone.

There wasn’t time to think about it.  In the next moment she heard a shout and felt a jerking motion, causing her to tumble into another person.  He fell to the ground, taking her with him.  She tried to roll off of him; it was too awkward a position to be in with a complete stranger.  But the man beneath her held fast, talking rapidly at her with obvious annoyance.  Looking to the side, she saw what compelled his urgent words and actions: they were on the brink of a cliff.  If she had moved any further, she would have gone over the edge.  Suddenly she didn’t feel much like moving anymore.

Slowly the man stood and helped her up.  Her legs were shaky, but they managed to hold.  She tried thanking him, but her words just didn’t have any meaning here.  The look of absolute confusion on his face would have been hilarious, if not for how disgruntled she was with her situation.  She shrugged her shoulders apologetically.  He was a handsome looking young man wearing red, with brown hair and eyes.  He wasn’t wearing armor either, which was another point in his favor.  Despite his bafflement, he gently guided her away from the cliff edge.

Yet another voice rang through the night.  A man, quite a bit taller and older than the one who rescued her, approached them, speaking warmly in a deep voice to the hero.  His words sounded good humored, and his face was ruggedly handsome.  With his height and coloring, he made her think of a cinnamon bear.  He looked her over slowly, with much curiosity, and a smile that she believed was meant to be charming.  At least he wasn’t yelling.

From behind him, two more men approached.  Between them, she couldn’t tell which one was more beautiful.  One had very pale blond hair and mismatched eyes; his face was as severe as it was beautiful.  He looked entirely unimpressed.  The second had dark hair of a blueish gray, though it wasn’t from age for his face was unlined.  While the first man’s beauty was hard and cold, there was something gentle and ethereal about the second man’s beauty.

The unimpressed man spoke harshly to the bear man, who only seemed more amused.  Meanwhile the ethereal man was trying to speak to her.  She could only repeat what she had been telling everyone so far: she didn’t understand.  This didn’t seem to bother him, and he reached out to pull on her sleeve, talking the whole time to the fabric.  While she knew conversation with her was impossible, it was a bit unnerving to have someone talk to her clothes.  Panic settled in when it seemed like the haphazardly donned clothing was going to slip off her shoulders.

With a squeak that would make a mouse proud, she bolted, the fabric sliding from the man’s grasp.  She heard shouts behind her, but she didn’t stop.  For a moment she thought she heard the word ‘wait’, but it had to be wishful thinking.  No one here spoke English; that seemed perfectly clear.

All of that led to where she was now: lost in the woods.  Cold, alone, and afraid, she had huddled up in the hollow of a fallen tree.  Every time she heard a twig snap, or a leaf rustle, it was enough to make her heart speed up.  

It had been at least a full twenty-four hours since her concept of reality had been turned on it’s head, but the hunger and bone-weariness she felt was too real for this to be a dream.  She had only had water to drink from a nearby stream since she got here; she didn’t know enough about the fruits of the area to even guess what would be edible and not kill her.  She only wondered which would be an easier way to die: poison or starvation.  Neither sounded appealing.  But she had no where to go, no one to turn to for help.

Just when she was about to fitfully doze off, she heard a sound that was music to her ears.

“There you are.”  The words were English: accented and a bit choppy, but still clear enough to understand.

“I…what?”  Poking her head out of her hiding place, she saw a man with a mask over the lower portion of his face.  Above it he wore glasses that looked suspiciously modern, and oddly familiar.  But she couldn’t place where she’d seen them.  Apparently noticing her confusion, the man lowered his mask.  “Oh!” she exclaimed.  It was the man from before, the one in the lab coat.  Only now he was dressed more like the locals; she even saw the hilt of a sword peeking out from behind his back.

“I thought you must have come back like I did, but I couldn’t find you.”

“How did you know to look in the forest?”  The man extended a hand towards her.

“Come with me.  I will explain everything,” he said.  Timidly she took his hand and let him assist her to her feet.

Maybe the next twenty-four hours wouldn’t be so wild.

[toartemis]

Come on Love, Draw Your Swords - Part 5

Read on Ao3. Check the notes there for more details.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 & 4.

Summary: 

Sing to me, Moonlight For you, dear, are honey-tongued I dream just for you.

Or: The one where Jude finds out she's pregnant, and Cardan begins collecting a thousand plants.

Word Count: 4,039

Warnings: Non-penetrative sex while pregnant. That’s all I’m gonna say. If you don’t feel comfortable reading this, please don’t! I’ve gone into detail about the potential dangers of sexual activities while pregnant on Ao3. 

Preview: 

He looks so eager as he kneels before her, like she’s an altar and he’s preparing to worship.

-------

The next week, Jude receives a message from one of her guards that Madoc is requesting to see her. In person. In the Tower of Forgetting.

She debates it the entire day. Cardan says he can accompany her, but in the end, she’s alone in a carriage with two of her most trusted knights. His calm facade is transparent to her when she leaves. She knows he's concerned. So is she.

Jude knows why Madoc wants an audience with her. He’s had to have heard by now, somehow, has probably known since the beginning when it was announced. It fits his ego that he would only summon her when she is nearing her final month of pregnancy.

They arrive promptly, the journey feeling like nothing at all, as if time had skipped just to screw with her. One of the knights, Mivian, a tall, thickly built fey with glittery green eyes and one of her closest friends, takes her hand to help her out of the carriage. Jude wears a billowy, plain, yet luxurious dress with a short train that cinches above her stomach and ties together in the front. The sleeves stop just beneath her elbows. It’s the color of red wine, and her most comfortable formal attire. Her crown sits daintily atop her brow, her hair falls in waves down her back.

When she looks up at the tower before her, she tries to remember the last time she was here. Two years ago, maybe three. She avoids visiting often. It reminds her of nightmares.

More royal guards line the entrance and stairway, each and every one she knows by name and trusts. She passes cells as she ascends the stairs, bars separating her from the creatures they hold inside. Jude gives no mind to the whispers that carry after her, trying to put herself together and prepare herself for what's about to come. It doesn't help much at all; she's scatter-brained and restless, thoughts like elusive cats that refuse to be herded. The only thing she can manage is steeling her features into her perfected mask of a queen. Her shoulders roll back, chin held high.

Madoc’s low chuckle reaches her before she steps in front of him. It's chilling to hear after so long.

“Daughter,” he says, malicious and hollow. “You came.”

Jude says nothing, hoping she comes across as unbothered as possible, and just stares at him. He looks older, somehow. His skin sags around his mouth, hair grown out. He looks pitiful, the shell of the general he once was.

He deserves this, Jude reminds herself.

Madoc’s eyes rake her form, unforgiving, lingering on her belly. “Years ago, when you were small, I would think about how alike you were to your mother. You always had her fire. Wild and untamed. Now look at you,” he grits out, meeting her gaze. He looks as if he wants to carve her heart out. He probably does. “You look just like she did when she ran.”

Jude’s stomach drops, but she keeps her face neutral. He openly scowls at her.

Madoc says nothing more to her. They hold each other’s eyes for long enough that Jude loses track of the minutes. Separated by bars and years of spite, a battle rages silently between them. In the end, Jude never says a thing. She feels like if she speaks, he will know just how his few words have unsettled her. She rests a hand on her belly, trying with all her might not to project what she’s thinking.

I hate what you did, but no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to hate you.  

She steps away from him and feels herself truly breathe since the guard first told her of his request.

When she leaves, it feels like letting go.

--------

As she waddles back through the palace, Folk skirting out of her and the swarm of guards' way, she’s still bothered. The feeling lingers even when she’s back in her chambers, loosening the strings of her gown after sending her attendants away. She pulls on a thin, flowing dress that she wraps around herself, one side tucking into the other, and she begins to pace—to the best of her ability—with her hands pressed to her lower back. Lately, she’s had nothing much else to do but pace.

Jude barely sits next to Cardan while he’s on his throne, anymore, finding herself too uncomfortable in her own. She attends certain meetings, but mostly, if she needs to hear something, someone will visit her in the parlor of their apartments and inform her right then. Thus, she’s usually in the her and Cardan’s private library, or in her garden, or in bed. It’s starting to annoy her, not having much of anything to do, being banned from certain activities by the midwives. Having the sense of being helpless and restless at the same time is not on Jude’s list of acceptable feelings.  

She begins to feel dirty thinking back over her visit with Madoc, so she goes to one of the bowls in their room filled with fresh, warm water. It has sweet-smelling flower petals floating on the surface, and she dips a cloth in to wash herself after slipping her dress off. When she wipes the fabric over her stomach, she makes sure to take extra care, smoothing it over with swooping motions. She hums a random tune to her baby without thinking, and feels a flutter near her ribs. Jude smiles. She imagines It’s like her baby is telling her to keep going. For a minute, the thought helps calm her spiking emotions.

Cardan finds her soon after, dress back on, pacing once more. He looks as alarmingly pretty as always, and for a reason she can’t hope to fathom, it annoys her the moment she sees him. Pregnancy hormones, Vivi would say. Jude can clearly hear what tone she would use.

He’s wearing red, much like she was earlier, and gold hangs from his ears. As she looks him over, she sees there’s nothing especially extravagant about the clothes, it’s just... him that has her heart racing in her chest. Still, it’s annoying.

Cardan only glances knowingly at her before walking to a tall vanity set against a wall and begins removing various pieces of jewelry. And, with his back turned, he asks, "Are you alright? What did Madoc want?" Jude knows he's approaching it gently, purposefully giving her a wide space, completely nonthreatening, but she wants to scowl anyway.

"I'm fine, he just wanted to taunt me. I was prepared." She wasn't, really.

Jude catches his eyes in the vanity mirror for a moment before he looks away. She continues to pace.

"I thought as much," he says cautiously.

“You have look perfect every single second, don’t you?” Jude blurts. She's momentarily embarrassed before she remembers how annoyed she is. Cardan pauses in the middle of removing a fine gold chain from around his neck, turning to face her, small traces of amusement in his eyes.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” He tries smirking, taking the necklace off, then his many rings, placing them at the table in front of him.

“No,” she says curtly, still pacing. Cardan looks perplexed, then understanding crosses his features. He approaches her slowly.

"Are you truly alright?” He stands before her, watching her strut back and forth.

“I’m fine,” she says. Then, with some effort, “I’m just... anxious.”

His hand closes gently around her elbow the next time she crosses in front of him.

“We have discussed this,” he says, thumb brushing over the crook of her arm. “We will be together through it all.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jude snaps halfheartedly. There’s no real bite behind it. Cardan raises a brow, gaze searching her face. Her pulse thrums where he touches her. She runs one hand over her belly absentmindedly. “I know… I know we’ll get through… this, and we’ll do it with each other.”

For a second, she almost laughs as she thinks of how ridiculous this would all seem to her teenage self, before the great game of kings and princes, of queens and crowns even began for her. Jude cannot imagine what her younger self’s reaction would be if she found about what her life would be when she got to be twenty-five-years-old.

“But that doesn’t erase the doubt I have about myself,” she continues. Cardan sighs. Jude glares at him, but lets the look fall almost immediately after. Before she can swallow it down, she forces herself to say, “I have never felt more vulnerable in my entire life. Madoc said so little to me earlier, yet managed to make me feel small from inside a cell, and I just…” She gestures to the air in front of her.

Cardan folds her into his arms and Jude lets him do it, not even trying to pretend that it doesn’t instantly affect her, limbs shivering at his touch. She places her hands on his chest and rests her cheek above them. He murmurs to her, hands stroking against her spine and shoulders. Though she’s not paying much attention to his words, what he’s doing is just what she needs.

Jude realizes that she really only wants to be held. She doesn’t need his perspective on the matter, or his anger at Madoc, or anything of the sort. She just needs him to hold her, because there’s nothing he or anyone else can say. It’s a comfort to her simply that he knows. They stand there for some time, barely swaying.  

“Jude,” he says, pulling away to look at her. “When was the last time you felt relaxed?”

She snorts and doesn’t answer, closing her eyes instead. The press of his lips against the corner of her mouth causes here to jolt. She couldn’t sense it coming. He places small, feather-like kisses against her cheek, then her nose. Jude feels a blush spread across her face. Cardan smells like the forest on a fresh day, like soft spice and the first breeze of Spring. If she let it, being this close to him could make her dizzy. Usually, she does not allow that. Usually.

Cardan steps around her, then, and Jude would deny instinctively leaning after him if she were younger. His chest presses against her back, solid and present.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, fingers dancing lightly over her arms. He places more kisses against the crook of her neck, then against her jaw. Jude tilts her head to the side, baring her throat for him. Every part of her sings yes to him, but Jude can’t help but glance down at herself, belly blocking her view of the floor. She frowns, and Cardan follows her line of sight closely.

“Do you know what I see?” he says, nose brushing her temple. “Each time you enter a room, every eye is drawn to you. All of Elfhame succumbs to lust at the mere sight of you.” He smiles against her skin, fingers nudging at her chin, guiding her face towards his. A flush takes over her at his words.

That can’t be true, but it must be if he’s saying it.

“I want to ravish you, Jude. You’re so beautiful that I ache, and I am not the only one that feels so. But you are mine. This—" he splays his hand on her stomach, “I did this.”

Jude’s heartbeat pounds so loud in her ears that Cardan must be able to hear it too. Part of her is self-conscious at his words, but another, deeper part preens. She can’t meet his eyes anymore, so she looks over his shoulder at the wall instead, feeling the tips of his fingers at her throat when she swallows.

“You carry my child,” he says, voice low, releasing his hold on her and leaning in to her neck again from behind. “The thought fogs my mind every moment.” He nips at her shoulder, places a hand on her hip, and Jude’s thoughts turn to puddles.

“I can’t think of anything else but you. Your skin—” he presses his lips to her cheek. “Your hair—” he begins unraveling strands from the braid she has it in, and she just has to look at him, nerves forgotten. “The flush of your cheeks when I—”

Jude turns around, then, and sees him smiling in a way she can only describe as… goofy. Childish. It’s entirely endearing and arousing at the same time and she struggles against the laughter bubbling up in her throat. Part of her wants to smack him on the arm like a teenager. It’s so rare that he acts this way, and Jude is so, so gone, like putty in his hands.

“I’m afraid I might be losing my sanity,” Cardan laughs, eyes bright. “I want to—” he runs his fingers along the junction of her thigh, his other hand cradling her face. Jude trembles. Her skin has never felt this sensitive before, and he’s mostly touching her through clothes. “Let me take care of you, Jude,” and he kisses her, hot and open. It sears through Jude like sweet acid, burning her throat, coaxing a sound from her that she barely manages to choke back. He pulls away too soon.

“Please, I want to make you feel good,” he sighs into her mouth, and Jude’s doesn’t even feel herself nodding her head.

Then she’s saying, “Okay, yes, yes—”

Cardan’s hands grip her arms while her fingers fist in his crimson shirt and he’s walking her backwards. She would normally be afraid of falling with all of the extra weight of her stomach throwing her off, but she knows she doesn’t have to worry when he’s so near. He’ll catch her if she falls. He always will.

His hands unwrap her loose dress from her body and she shivers from exposure to the cool air. The intent set deep in his eyes is overpowering; she can't look away, torn between wanting to kiss him again and wanting to be lost under his stare forever. The backs of her legs touch the side of their bed and he lifts her onto it, the thing too tediously tall for her to hop onto with the position she’s in. She sits at the edge, wondering for a moment what’s going to happen, then he’s reaching for the pillows at the head of the mattress, snatching a plush one and sliding it behind her at her lower back.

“Lean back on your hands,” he says, sounding breathless, eyes not leaving her body. She does as she’s told, finding the normal pressure she would feel in her back lightened immensely thanks to the pillow. Then his hands are on her, spreading over her chest, on her waist, caressing her thighs, and he sinks to his knees in front of her, sitting back on his heels. He’s slack-jawed, eyes hooded as he presses a kiss to her knees.

Cardan is turned on by this, she realizes. The thought makes her want to scream. He looks so eager as he kneels before her, like she’s an altar and he’s preparing to worship. Another open-mouthed kiss is pressed to her leg, his tongue gliding over the sensitive area at the crook of her knee, and he bites, the shock of it sparking through her.

Again, she has to hold back a moan. The sensitivity of her body is like nothing she’s ever experienced, every touch she feels like strikes of lightning.

When Cardan slings her legs over his shoulders, her arms begin to shake from anticipation. He presses more kisses to her inner thighs, scooting himself forward, and Jude lets her head fall back, waiting, waiting, wanting. She feels him suck a bruise into her skin, then another, and another. He switches to the other side before Jude can process it, and she gasps.

The room feels dense, a cloud swirls in Jude’s mind, blocking out anything but the sensation of what he’s doing. A well-placed nip over her bruised skin has Jude jolting, breath coming out heavier and quicker. She throbs when she feels him hover over her, and he’s so close to where she wants, so close, so close—

Then his mouth is back at her thighs and Jude sighs shakily. It most definitely does not sound like a whine.

A sheen of sweat covers her and she subconsciously tries spreading her legs, but Cardan’s hands wrapped on the outside of her thighs keep them in place. His palms slide underneath, and her legs shift wider just barely, then his thumbs knead into the soft flesh near her center and Jude bites her lip so hard she almost breaks the skin. His tongue presses into the marks he leaves, and everything feels so good that for a moment Jude thinks she’s going to fall apart just from this, without him needing to touch her where she needs him to most.

Her hips twitch forward, trying to catch his mouth, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of her thigh in response.

Jude can’t hold her moan back, now. She feels so incredible. Somehow, her back doesn’t hurt, and the swell of her stomach makes her feel sensual. The way Cardan is being so attentive makes her feel precious and wanted, if only he would just—

His hands shift in more, thumbs spreading her folds, and he licks one long stripe up her middle. Jude feels it in her entire body. Her thighs tremble, one sliding off of him before he catches it, and she locks her ankles together, leaning further back onto her arms, stretching her torso. She’s so, so close already, right on the edge, toes curling where her feet hang behind his back.

He places his mouth against her in an open kiss, tongue rolling over her clit, and has tears springing to her eyes. Pleasure scorches through her, and he does it again, kissing her and sucking lightly when he pulls back. His mouth feels so warm and wet and she can feel his hair grazing the soft, tingling bruises of her inner thighs. Then his thumb presses at her entrance, adding just the right pressure as his mouth moves over her again and that’s all it takes for her thighs to squeeze around him, muscles tightening, face screwing up, a stream of curses leaving her mouth.

Cardan groans against her, working her through it.

She comes back to herself slowly, fingers unclenching from the coverlets, legs falling from her husband’s shoulders. She feels Cardan rest his cheek against the top of her thigh, and when she opens her eyes, his gaze pierces hers, mischief twinkling in his midnight eyes. One hand brushes against the swell of her hip, the other grazes over her dripping, sensitive middle, causing her to jerk.

Jude sits up straight, flexing her wrists, hands going to Cardan’s hair and yanking his head up to hers. Even as he stumbles to his feet, he still manages an ethereal grace. His mouth crashes to hers, wild and hot. She can taste herself on his lips and it sends a thrill through her. Jude slides her tongue against Cardan’s eagerly, gasping when he tilts his head and leans her back just so, exactly the way she likes.

They break apart, foreheads resting together. Jude makes to pull away, but Cardan moves with her, his lips attaching to her jaw and moving down her neck. It steals whatever air she had left in her lungs from her. He slides a knee onto the bed with her, the mattress dipping underneath him. His arm wraps around her back, hand sliding into her hair at the nape of her neck, and with the other, he pulls her sideways, up and into his lap.

Jude still can’t catch her breath from just a minute ago. Cardan pants over her skin, his nose brushes against hers, fingers sliding over her waist.

“I love you,” he says, that and nothing more, and it strikes Jude fiercely. Years spent together and he still doesn’t say it often. He spells it for her through actions, sings it to her with his eyes, but he knows she secretly craves to hear the words. They’re saved for moments like this.

Jude relaxes into the hold he has across her back, keeping her propped up. She traces the point of his ear and fiddles with the jewelry there until he kisses her again. She feels a bit like a child with the way she’s in his lap, legs on the other side of him, but the thought leaves her quickly when his fingers dip between her legs.

When he runs them over her clit, she shakes against him, mouth hovering over his, much too sensitive from her orgasm, but pleasure spreads through her nonetheless. Cardan watches her face closely as he moves a bit lower, pressing just right, two long fingers slipping into her. Jude shudders, eyes slipping shut because it feels so damn perfect.

Her legs shift open of their own accord, making room for him, and she reaches to twist her hand in the shirt at his chest.

Cardan kisses her again, sweet and slow, and he curves his fingers inside of her, wrenching a gasp from her. Jude accidentally bites his lip.

He just kisses her harder, and it’s like the sun dripping onto her mouth, heating her from the outside in. His fingers start a push and pull within her, curling and slipping in and out, and it’s heaven to Jude. She's so wet from earlier and her walls feel so good clenching around him. Her hips shift over his lap, grinding onto his hand, and it’s his turn to gasp, now. The line of his cock is hard and hot beneath her.  

Sweat drips along the indent of her spine as he slowly takes her apart, massaging into the spot that feels so right inside her, coaxing a warm, overwhelming tension into her belly. When his thumb presses against her clit, Jude’s sanity goes out the window. She writhes in his arms, hand sliding from his chest, around her stomach, to grip his wrist beneath her, trying to anchor herself.

“Look at me,” Cardan says. And she does, finding his face flushed just like it is after too many glasses of wine, his eyes like pools of ink she wants to bathe in forever. Jude can feel the muscles of his forearm flexing as he moves, and she struggles to keep her eyes open. Heat coils in her, building and building, and she loses herself in the rhythm he sets.

Cardan lets out a shaky breath when she squeezes his wrist, pulling his hand harder towards her. He gets the message, pumping his fingers faster, thumb circling tighter, and Jude’s back arches, thighs clamping around his arm. Her sensitive bruises twinge in pain at the pressure, but she can’t help it. It only makes it all more intense.

Jude feels her second orgasm rise in her, cracking like a whip, and she shatters with it, moaning brokenly, vision blurring as she tries to hold Cardan’s gaze, inevitably failing.

It’s one of the fiercest things she’s ever felt, her whole body tightening. She doesn’t feel Cardan stop or hear him say anything, but the next thing she knows she’s lying on her usual side of their bed, Cardan’s weight pressed behind her.

A pillow is tucked in her arms and between her legs. Something soft brushes her outer thigh and she registers that it’s his tail. He must have changed clothes. She doesn’t remember him moving her, but she doesn’t really care, too exhausted to think much about it.

His knuckles drag over her waist and on her belly, and, to Jude’s delight, Cardan is humming in her ear, deep and pretty. A sleepy grin splits her face. She’s so comfortable like this; positively content.

“I love you,” she whispers. “So much that it hurts.”

He buries his face into her hair and continues to hum. She can hear the smile in his voice.

-------

Okay, it took me years to post this on here, but what matters is that I’ve finally posted it. Thank you so much for reading, didn’t think this fic was gonna lead to this scene though ahhh. 

[duhragonball]

The 10 Best Episodes of Dragon Ball and DBZ

Back in October I wrote up a list of the ten worst episodes of Dragon Ball, and I always meant to go back and do a ten best list to go with it.    Well it’s the last Sunday of the year and I got nothing better to do, so I’m gonna knock that out today.

Honestly, I’m not sure which one of these was tougher to do.    The main reason I made a worst list was because I noticed a small handful of episodes I just didn’t like, and I realized that even with a show I like this much, there had to be at least ten stinkers, so I liked the challenge of picking them out.   On the other hand, picking the ten best episodes is like finding really good pieces of hay in an awesome haystack.    And I’m a horse, so I’m already super-into hay.   This analogy is getting tortured, so I’ll just move on.

Honorable Mention: Dragon Ball Z Episode 125.

I think the fandom has unanimously agreed that this is the all-time best episode of Dragon Ball, but it didn’t feel right putting it in my list.    I don’t know if that’s because I sincerely believe it’s the 11th best episode, or because I just don’t want a predictable choice taking up space on my list.    That’s how Dragon Ball rolls sometimes.   Past a point, you can’t tell if you’re liking something ironically, or just plain liking it.  

Without question, this is the all-time best filler episode.   We all know the tale: Goku and Piccolo are busy training for the upcoming Androids battle, but Chi-Chi is sick of them not helping around the house, so she wants them to take driver’s ed so they can drive her to the grocery once in a while.    Well, mostly Goku, but Piccolo somehow gets roped into it too.    Honestly, I don’t think he really needed to go through with this.  He pouts like Chi-Chi made him do this somehow, but she was clearly only interested in getting Goku licensed up.    I think he just sort of invited himself into this situation because he wanted to feel like part of the family.   

Anyway, the boys dress up in stupid/awesome civilian clothes, and somehow manage to be great at driving and terrible at driving at the same time.   It’s a very zen kind of show.   Also there’s a smidgen of Vegebul goodness, and Icarus shows up for no apparent reason, so there’s something for everyone.   

10. Dragon Ball Z Episode 120

This the one where Future Trunks kills Mecha Frieza.   There’s no shortage of fans who think reviving Frieza in the 2010′s was worth it, but for my money, nothing they do with the character can possibly top his (first) death scene.  

Leading up to this episode, everyone just assumed that Goku killed Frieza on Namek, but he survived, got rebuilt as a cyborg, and invaded Earth for revenge.  The implication is that Goku will have to fight an even stronger version of his greatest foe, except he’s nowhere to be found, and no one else stands a chance of holding the line until Goku can arrive.  

But then the story ups the ante again by having a totally new character show up, turn Super Saiyan, and shrug off Frieza’s attacks like they’re nothing.   When he finally attacks Frieza, he whips out a cool-looking ki blast, and that turns out to just be a feint.    No, his real attack is a simple swing of an ordinary sword, which cuts Frieza in half like he’s made out of butter.

Meanwhile, all the major characters are standing on the sidelines wondering what the hell is going on here.    There’s a Super Saiyan besides Goku?   Aren’t all the Saiyans extinct?   Where did this new guy come from, and how did he even know to be here?

It’s a brilliant episode, because it serves as a coda to the menace of Frieza that loomed large over the previous 119 episodes of Z, and it also serves as a prelude to the next 75 episodes, which promises a crisis far beyond anything that’s come before.   But it also works as a stand-alone story.    Frieza’s body tells the story of why he wants revenge on the Super Saiyan, and when Trunks reveals that there’s more than one Super Saiyan, he completely self-destructs.   He goes from the tyrant of the universe to just another corpse in a matter of minutes.   It’s amazing to watch. 

9. Dragon Ball Episode 67

Strictly speaking, Goku’s assault on the Red Ribbon Army base is three episodes, so maybe it’s gauche to include one and not the others, but this one is the climax of the Red Ribbon’s downfall, so I think it stands out.   

By this point, Goku’s already entered the RRA headquarters, and is just having his way with the place.    Episode 66 was full of guys trying to shoot him, but he just kicks all their asses and moves on.    Staff Officer Black has finally realized what they should have accepted from the beginning: that Goku is too strong for them to defeat by force.    But Commander Red can’t quite bring himself to give up the fight.   Maybe it’s because so much of his identity is tied into the Red Ribbon’s supposed invincibility, or he just can’t fathom how a small boy can do all these things.   

I think what really hurts his pride is when his soldiers start deserting en masse.   Before, he could keep them in line because of the Red Ribbon’s fearsome reputation, but that’s over now, whether he believes it or not.    When Colonel Violet loots his treasure vault, not even bothering to disable the security cameras, he has to know that it’s all over. 

Then we find out that he only wanted the Dragon Balls so that he could make a wish to become taller, and Black is horrified.    He wasted all those lives and resources for something as petty and selfish as that?    What makes this episode so great is how the world around them is crashing down, and they’re arguing over a plan that’ll never happen anyway.  And Red absolutely doesn’t get why Black would think his wish was stupid.   He’s like “Um, you need to check your tall privilege?”   And Black shoots him in the face because he’s just done. 

But this episode’s not done, because once Red is out of the picture, Black sort of loses it and tries to fight Goku for possession of the Dragon Balls.   It’s really amazing character development, because Black was the calm, collected center of the Red Ribbon Army, but then he just flips out, forgetting all the lessons his comrades learned the hard way.    The lure of the Dragon Balls is just too seductive for him to give up.  

Also, Colonel Violet is super cute.

8. Dragon Ball Z Episode 135

A few episodes before this one, Vegeta debuted his own Super Saiyan transformation, and kicked the shit out of Android 19.  It was a big deal, because up to that point, Goku and Trunks were the only Super Saiyans, implying that jerks like Vegeta couldn’t do it.    It was also a big deal because it was assumed up to that point that the androids might just be unbeatable, and Vegeta clobbered one of them in a single episode.   

But that episode didn’t make the list, because this one is far more important.    Here, Vegeta tries to press his luck by challenging the even stronger Android 18, even though everyone else tries to tell him this is a terrible idea.   What follows is one of the coolest fights in the series, and the best classic Dragon Ball battle to feature a woman.   For a while it looks pretty even, but then 18 reveals she was hustling Vegeta the whole time, and defeats him with no trouble at all.

Why is this such a big moment?   For one thing, it’s the next step in deconstructing the Super Saiyan Legend.   Vegeta had already proven that you don’t have to be a good person to turn into a Super Saiyan, and that it’s not just a once-in-a-millennium thing.   Here, he proves that Super Saiyans aren’t as invincible as he liked to believe.   We’d already seen Goku lose to Android 19, but he was sick at the time.   Trunks was no match for he androids in his own timeline, but those battles had happened off-screen.   This is a much more visceral demonstration.   You’ve got the Saiyan Prince, in perfect health, fresh as a daisy, comfortably transformed, and it doesn’t do him a damn bit of good.  18 breaks his arm like it’s not even hard.

For Vegeta, this was a big deal, because it finally cemented the fact that there is no finish line.    From his first appearance, he seemed convinced that he could become the supreme being in his universe, simply by killing Frieza, becoming immortal, or transforming into a Super Saiyan.   Here, he thinks he’s finally pulled it off, only to lose even more decisively than ever before.

7. Dragon Ball Episode 99

I debated whether to go with this one or Episode 101, where Tien finally beats Goku to win the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai, but I think this episode deserves the nod.    The Goku/Tien championship bout spanned several episodes, but this is the one where Tien finally decides that he’d rather win the title than avenge Tao Pai Pai.   

Let me back up a bit here.    Goku (seemingly) killed Tao in a prior episode, and Tao was the brother of the Crane Hermit, Tien’s master.    So going into this fight, Tien was planning to defeat Goku, win the championship, and then kill Goku in front of the live audience, just to get that extra bit of revenge.    But once the fight actually got rolling, Tien began to develop a begrudging respect for Goku’s talent, and then this episode happens, where Tien starts winning, and Goku accuses him of cheating.    Tien doesn’t know what he’s talking about at first, until he realizes that the Crane Hermit is using Chiaotzu’s psychic powers to paralyze Goku at key moments.  

Once he figures it out, he tells them to stop, since he wants to prove his own superiority, but Crane just wants Goku to die, title or no title.   He orders Tien to stop clowning and kill Goku at once, but Tien refuses, and turns his back on the life of an assassin.   Chiaotzu does the same, since he was enjoying the match before all the interference started.    Crane flips out, but Roshi Kamehameha’s him out of the stadium, allowing Tien and Goku to finally fight without any outside interference.  

Tien’s first order of business is to let Goku have a bunch of free shots, in order to make up for all the hits Tien got in while Chiaotzu was cheating.   Then he grows four arms, because he still wants to kick Goku’s ass, even if he doesn’t hate him anymore. 

Tien’s reform isn’t unique in the series, but I think his particular transformation is very neatly accomplished, inside this one episode, during a single epic battle.    Like so many other characters, he figures out that revenge, power, and bloodlust are hollow pursuits compared to the thrill of pushing your own limits through the sacred art of gonzo anime violence.   Being a bad guy isn’t just morally shameful, it’s downright boring.   Piccolo and Vegeta would eventually learn the same lesson, but it never gets spelled out quite as eloquently as it does in this episode.   Also, Launch tries to kill Chiaotzu with a giant cartoon mallet.  

6. Dragon Ball Episode 147

On the other hand, you’ve got this episode from the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, where Piccolo doesn’t learn a damned thing, except how to take an epic beating.

This episode is just wall-to-wall nuts.    Piccolo blows up the entire city where the tournament is being held, and that’s just for openers.    Tien uses his Ki-ko-ho to make a foxhole for the others to hide in, and Launch kicks Kami into it when he doesn’t jump in right away.   

Piccolo’s city-busting blast was intended to finish off Goku, but it doesn’t even scratch the lovable bastard, and it just gives Goku and opening to pound the ever-loving crap out of Big Green.    Goku just goes sickhouse on him, in one of the most satisfying and well-animated sequences in the whole series.   And to add insult to injury, he continues to play by the tournament rules.   Once he has Piccolo laid out where the ring used to be, he asks for a ten count.  

And that turns out to be a huge mistake, as Piccolo has enough juice left to zap him with a mouth blast at the last second.   The attack leaves a baseball-sized hole in Goku’s pec, and Piccolo just starts stomping on the wound.   Worse, he’s still strong enough that no one else can come to Goku’s rescue.   

And then, just when Goku looks to be finished, he gets back up anyway, still looking to win this battle.    Is he overconfident or just stupid?   Neither actually, as he has the whole fight under control, as the next episode reveals.  

5. Dragon Ball Z Episode 281

Oh mannnn, this episode ruuuules.   One of my pet peeves with this fandom is people crapping on the Buu Saga, simply for coming at the tail end of this franchise.   It’s bullshit, just like how Star Wars purists act like Empire Strikes Back is the best movie ever made and Return of the Jedi is a cinematic bowel movement.   They’re both good, you just lost interest before the series ended. 

The Buu arc isn’t my favorite, but it’s balls-to-the-wall awesome, and when I was making this list I had a hard time picking a favorite episode from the Kid Buu fight.    It’s just such a beautiful battle, packed with story and character development.    I can’t blame viewers for getting burnt out on Dragon Ball if they watched the preceding 433 episodes first, but to say these episodes are bad is just flat-out wrong.

Anyway, I went with 281, which features the tail end of Goku’s solo effort against Kid Buu.   Vegeta steps into give Goku a pep talk, and Goku admits that he can’t gather enough power to blow Buu away.   To do that, he’ll need a full minute to charge his ki, and Vegeta offers to buy him that minute, even though he’s weaker than Goku and doesn’t stand a chance against Buu by himself.   

What follows is a solid ten minutes of Vegeta getting clobbered, but he keeps getting back up and forcing himself to find new ways to play for time.    He doesn’t try to beat Buu, because he knows he can’t.  Instead, he keeps him busy, and psyches him out so he won’t bother Goku while he charges up.   

What makes this work is that it’s the counterpoint to Episode 133, seen earlier on this list.  Then, Vegeta thought his Super Saiyan form made him a guaranteed winner.   Now, he’s using Super Saiyan 2 in a desperate bid to just hold the line until an even stronger fighter can make his own last-ditch effort to win.    Vegeta’s fighting for a chance at victory, and it’s a slim chance at that.   One of my favorite things about this episode is how tragic it is.   By Episode 282, it becomes clear that Goku’s plan was never going to work, so Vegeta’s efforts were in vain.    But he doesn’t seem to mind much, because at least he got to throw down against Kid Buu and see exactly how long he could hold out.  

4. Dragon Ball Z Episode 184

This is the one where Gohan finally snaps and turns into a Super Saiyan 2, but when you put it like that, it seems so pedestrian.  

From his first appearance in Episode 1 of DBZ, Gohan was shown to have hidden potential, which was gradually brought out over the course of the series.   By the time the Cell Games rolled around, it was sort of implied that he had finally realized that full potential.   Goku trained him to be a Super Saiyan like himself, and how much higher could he possibly get than that?  

But Goku’s secret plan was for Gohan to fight Cell, and if he got in a pinch, Gohan would then tap into the same hidden potential he used to turn the tables on the Saiyans and Frieza.   Goku’s theory was that if he trained Gohan to be a Super Saiyan, then any power boost Gohan experienced during the fight would rachet him up to an even higher level never seen before.  

This suited Cell just fine, so he pooped out an army of mini-Cells to torture the Z-Fighters until Gohan’s rage pushed him into this higher level.   And that’s what this episode is all about, except it doesn’t really work.    The Cell Juniors clobber the heroes from pillar to post, but Gohan doesn’t change, and he doesn’t know how to make himself change.   Then Android 16 has an idea to talk him through it, and he convinces Mr. Satan to toss his severed head over to Gohan to he can make his speech.   Cell stomps on 16′s head in an impulsive act of cruelty, and then then “Unmei no Hi - Tmasahii Vs. Tamashii” starts playing.   

This is a huge moment in the series, not only because of the advent of Super Saiyan 2 and the turning of the tide in the Cell Games, but also because it marks the fufillment of the promise of Gohan’s character.   We all knew he would become something great, and now it finally comes into focus.  

But this episode also gets high marks for how all the other characters are handled.   Goku’s “foolproof” plan collapses, and he’s forced to apologize while they all get beaten down; Android 16 sacrifices himself after already losing his body; Mr. Satan does what little he can, proving that he’s more than just a gloryhound; and Cell seems to have second thoughts once he finally gets a glimpse at Gohan’s hidden power.  

3. Dragon Ball Z Episode 94

Maybe it would make more sense to pick the episode where Goku turns Super Saiyan for the first time, but I think the false-finish that precedes it deserves the spot.   I’ll try to explain.  

There’s really three things going on in this one.   First, Goku’s trying to assemble a Spirit Bomb powerful enough to kill Frieza.   In the previous episode, Frieza finally noticed what he was up to, and he decided to kill Goku before he could use the bomb.    But the bomb still isn’t big enough, so Goku needs more time.  

Second, Piccolo has jumped in to keep Frieza busy long enough for Goku to get the time he needs.   Much of this episode is Frieza beating up on a defenseless Piccolo, and then Krillin and Gohan jump in too.   It’s just awesome seeing all these guys throw everything they can into this effort.  

Third, there’s a filler subplot featuring the dead Z-Fighters on King Kai’s planet fighting the dead Ginyu Force members.   It’s goofy, and kind of inconsequential, but it’s fun.   I just like seeing the whole gang getting to worth together in the same episode.  

So when Goku finally deploys the Spirit Bomb and Frieza finds himself overwhelmed, it really feels like a team effort.  King Kai reports that Frieza’s been beaten, and this inspires Yamcha and the others to put the Ginyus away for keeps.   On Namek, only Krillin and Gohan are left standing after the Spirit Bomb explodes, and they wonder if Goku and Piccolo could have survived.  

I won’t sugar-coat it, a lot of DBZ episodes go pretty light on plot points.   So when you get one like this, with so many things going on all at once, and so many characters joining in, and so much suspense and drama, it really clicks.  This would have been a brilliant finale to the Frieza Saga, and the icing on the cake is that it’s all for naught.   Frieza’s fine in the next episode, which is all-the-more frustrating because of how satisfying this episode was.   

2. Dragon Ball Z Episode 179

Huh, I got a lot of Androids/Cell episodes on this list.   It’s almost like the Androids/Cell arc is the best one and it rules over all.   Nah, that can’t be it.  

This is the high-water mark of the Goku/Cell fight, which the whole series had been building to since Cell was first introduced some thirty-odd episodes earlier.   Here’s the new big-bad final boss, the next Frieza, essentially, so naturally it’s going to be up to Goku to put him down in a 19-episode brawl.  Only that’s not what happens.     Goku goes into the Cell Games admitting that he’s no match for Cell, but he wants to fight the guy anyway.   No one understands what he’s planning, but he seems pretty upbeat for a guy who expects to lose.  

The fight itself only goes four episodes.   The first is a feeling-out process, the second is mostly Cell showboating, but in this third episode, they really go at it.  The animation is beautifully handled by Keisuke Masunaga.   He’d supervised a handful of episodes before this, but this one is the first action-heavy episode, truly serving as a demonstration of what he could do.  

Plotwise, there isn’t a whole lot to say.   The battle goes pretty evenly here, and the main appeal is that all the other characters are still trying to figure out what Goku’s strategy is.   He said he couldn’t win, and yet he’s hanging in there with Cell, so what’s the deal?   You might think Goku’s aiming to win on a technicality, using Cell’s own rules against him, except Cell enjoys the fight so much that he blows up his own ring to prevent any chance of an out-of-bounds finish.    From here, the Cell Games can only end by surrender or death.  

So then Goku goes up into the air and tries a Kamehameha, similar to the one Cell used earlier in the battle.   Cell thinks it’s a bluff, since he knows he can dodge it, and from that steep an angle, Goku would just end up hitting the Earth and destroying it.    But Goku doesn’t blink, and just when Cell isn’t sure what’s going to happen, Goku teleports right in front of him and unloads the Kamehameha into his face at pointblank range.    

It’s another false finish.   Cell survives, but he has to grow back his head and arms first.    But for a moment, it looks like this was Goku’s big plan.  He knew he couldn’t outpower Cell, so he out-finessed him by using the Instant Transmission to get past his guard.   And you know, if the ring hadn’t been destroyed, maybe this would have worked.   Goku could have tossed Cell’s decaptitated body out of bounds and Cell would have regenerated to find himself outside the ring.   I always wonder what he would have done in that scenario.    I mean, Cell’s kind of a sore loser, but he seems to respect clever ploys, and the tournament was his idea.  

Anyway, Cell rules, this episode is wall-to-wall action, and the Warp Kamehameha is the best move in Budokai 2.  

1. Dragon Ball Z Episode 31

Personally, I find the Saiyans Saga to be slightly overrated, but dammit, this episode has just about everything.    I’d go so far as to say that when people praise the Saiyans Saga, they’re really only thinking back to this one episode, or maybe five of the best episodes that include this one. 

Here’s the deal: Vegeta has invaded Earth and all of the Z-Fighters are dead or badly hurt.  Only Goku is left to stop this guy, and he’s armed with the Kai-o-ken technique, a power multiplier as effective as it is risky.    King Kai warned Goku never to go beyond a double Kai-o-ken, because anything more than that could cripple his own body.   But he tried that in the previous episode, and Vegeta laughed it off.  So in this episode, Goku reluctantly goes for a Kai-o-ken times three.   

And for a few glorious minutes, Vegeta gets completely wrecked.  Goku just picks him apart with hit after hit after hit.    It’s enough to humble Vegeta and it’s enough to draw blood, but it doesn’t actually put the guy down.   Instead, Vegeta becomes so outraged that he flips out and tries to destroy the entire planet with his finisher, the Galick Gun.    This leaves no choice for Goku to keep using the Kai-o-ken times three, and he’s gotta fire a Kamehameha to block Vegeta’s shot.  

And when that turns out to be too weak to push back Vegeta’s attack, Goku is forced to turn it up even higher and use a four times Kai-o-ken.    So now we’re beyond anything King Kai had imagined when he taught him the technique.   It works, and Goku manages to shoot Vegeta into space, but his body is terribly banged up from the effort.  

Which is a real shame, because Vegeta manages to save himself from being blasted into space, and he’s still got enough juice to pull his own trump card: turning into a giant ape!   Saiyans need a full moon to do this, and Piccolo helpfully destroyed the moon before Vegteta’s arrival, but that doesn’t matter, because Vegeta can make his own artificial moonlight with a special ki technique!   So the episode ends with an exhausted Goku staring at a hundred-foot tall Vegeta-ape.  

And hopefully I’ve made my point.   You’ve got three big BIG moments in the series here.    Goku’s Kai-o-ken X3 offensive against Vegeta was what made their rivalry.  Before that, Vegeta never came close to sweating Goku, and afterward, every time Vegeta thought back on their battle, this was the part he remembered.   The Galick Gun/Kamehameha beam struggle was an iconic moment all by itself, and it’s the standard by which all other beam struggles are judged.   And then you’ve got Vegeta using the fake moon trick and turning into a giant ape, setting the stage for the final leg of the battle.    Any one of these things would earn a spot on this list, but DBZ #31 has all three.   It’s gotta take the top spot.   It’s just gotta. 

There’s a lot of really great episodes I didn’t cover.   I’m a big fan of the Pikkon episodes, and the one where 16 fights Cell is a personal fave, and the Vegito episodes are awesome too.   But there’s only so much room at the top.     I bet I could have a completely different list in a couple years’ time.   In conclusion, Dragon Ball fucking rules.

[trashyswitch]

A Little Magic to Help the Days Go By

Day 1: Butterflies!

The Coronavirus is forcing people to stay inside, and not everyone is pleased about this. So, Roman tries to make the slow days easier with a little bit of magic...

T.S’s Notes: I know a lot of people are trying to get away from the whole 'CO-VID19 Paranoia' thing, but I want to turn it into something positive with this fic. I think we all need a bit of magic in our lives, especially right now.

Everybody in the U.S.A is being forced to stay indoors. Medium/large gatherings are prohibited until further notice. No one should leave their house unless absolutely necessary. Those who leave the house are instructed to wash their hands really good and to resume previous instructions. The cleaning product sections are all empty in the local grocery stores, and so is some of the produce. People are rationing and finding things to do in their own home. Those who struggle with staying still and being in the house, are being forced to either deal with that issue in the safety of their homes, or risk their chances of catching the deadly virus. Anyone who is immunocompromised, are especially warned to stay in their home, and to wear gloves/use sleeves when they go places. Overall: The world has become a paranoid mess in less than a week, and Thomas doesn't know how to process it.

Introverts, like Virgil, are taking this news in a bittersweet manner. Introverts are always looking for excuses to refuse socializing. Now, they have one. Virgil is perfectly content with being in his room with his spider, listening to heavy metal. But, he's also anxious as can be. He has to keep reminding Thomas to stay inside, refusing to let him go anywhere without some anxiety and paranoia going through his brain. The last thing Virgil wants is for Thomas to get diagnosed with the virus and be close to death.

Logan is a little like Virgil, but with more sweet than bitter. Logan is the definition of unsocial, which means the virus pandemic is doing him some favors. Logan has been taking time to research whatever questions come to his mind, and has caught up on some documentaries he's wanted to watch for months. He's been busy learning all he can in the comfort of his room.

Roman's reaction is more optimistic. He's happy to be running around in the imagination he created for himself. He's had quests, dragon fights, and even invited Remus to have a sword fight with him! And surprisingly, it was really fun!

But Patton...Patton was not enjoying it. He missed Thomas's friends. He wished they could come over like they used to all the time. But...it wasn't allowed. Nothing fun was allowed. Though Disney movies and popcorn were allowed, that was really it. No friends over, no travelling too far away, no nothing. It was unfair. Patton had spent a couple of the days just pouting and crying on his own. It hurt, but it also felt nice to cry.

Meanwhile, it was growing painful for the other sides to see Patton like this. It just...wasn't right. They knew crying was okay, but for this long? That's never happened before. So, Roman made it his personal goal to make him a little happier everyday.

Starting today.

Roman hid behind the opened door, as he peeked in and saw a crying Patton, laying on the bed under the covers. Roman could sense himself ready to cry alongside him. He's been like this for almost a week. It's felt like forever since Patton's baked something in the kitchen. Perhaps some magic will cheer him up? Roman knew just the thing...

Patton laid in his blue bed in the darkness. He didn't feel like doing anything, except staying here to be comfortable. He knew it wasn't realistic. He knew he'd have to get up at some point to eat and go to the washroom. But for now, Patton closed his eyes as he laid down in his warm, comforting bed.

...He was so bored and saddened, that he didn't even notice his floor was changing color. His grey carpet had slowly turning brown, and grass was starting to sprout out of the ground. It was only when Patton smelled a flowery scent, that he finally opened his eyes. Patton gasped as big, enthusiastic smile grew onto his face! It was the biggest smile he had ever mustered up in over a week! Patton couldn't believe it! His room was covered in colorful flowers! They were all gorgeous, and pretty-smelling!

Flowers of all sizes, colors, types, and shapes were growing in his room! Butterfly Bushes, Cone Flowers, Phlox's, Lantana's, Marigolds, Black-eyed Susans, Blazing Heart Flowers, even Lavenders were growing there! It was the lavender scent that Patton actually opened up his eyes to. Patton slowly sat up in his bed, and looked at the flowers beside him. There were Chocolate Cosmos' and Lavenders growing beside him! Patton happily squealed before smelling them. They smelled so pretty!

How this was happening, Patton had no idea! But, that didn't matter! Patton knew what these flowers had in common: They attracted butterflies! So, where were the butterflies? Patton looked at each one, looking for any signs of butterflies.

Suddenly, Patton could hear the sound of twinkling magic! Patton turned around towards the source of the sound: Sure enough, there were sunflowers with monarch butterflies on them! Patton squealed and clapped his hands excitedly. Patton placed his finger slowly, but closely to the sunflower. Amazingly, one of the butterflies climbed onto Patton's finger! Patton was now holding a butterfly on his finger!

Patton giggled. "Hi! I'm Patton!" the father greeted. Another butterfly, a yellow and black one, flew itself over to Patton's shoulder! Patton bit his lip as he tried to stay as still as possible, as to not disturb it.

Soon, another butterfly came flying over from across the room! Patton's face froze as the butterfly landed on his hair! Patton slowly lifted his free hand up to his head, and showed it his index finger. The butterfly hopped itself onto Patton's finger, ready to be lifted up to him. Patton slowly carried the butterfly towards his face, and looked at it: It was a sky blue butterfly, with an outline of black pokadots on the outside of its wings, and an outline of black surrounding the dots. Lastly, there was an outline of white outlining the black! It was so pretty!

Unexpectedly, the monarch that was on his finger, hopped off and onto his shirt. It climbed his shirt up to his collar, before fluttering its wings up to Patton's nose! Patton went cross-eyed, to see the butterfly. The content monarch moved its wings open and closed to show Patton what its wings look like up close! Patton giggled and bit his lip nervously. This has never happened to him before! The butterfly's tiny skittery legs tickled the surface of his nose. It was so cute!

"Hi! Do you like my nose?" Patton asked curiously. It felt so weird to have 4 little butterflies on his body. Soon, the butterflies flew off him and onto some of the flowers surrounding him. Patton was so happy! There were so many butterflies! It was so cool!

Patton gasped as he realized who would love this: Logan!

"Logan! Logan!" Patton cheered excitedly, as he headed for the door. He opened his door, and sprinted out. Patton ran towards Logan's door, and began ramming on the door excitedly. "Logan! Come here! You HAVE to come see this!" Patton pleaded excitedly. Logan opened his door, and just about exploded in happiness. Patton was standing in front of his room, a glimmer of happiness in his eyes, and a huge smile on his face! How- Is Patton feeling better? How did he get out of his sad little funk?!

"What-" Was all Logan could get out of his mouth, before being interrupted.

"What do you know about butterflies?" Patton asked quickly.

Logan stumbled on his words for a second. "B-butterflies, you said?" Logan clarified.

Patton nodded his head eagerly. "Yes! What do you know about them?" Patton repeated.

Logan stumbled with his words as he attempted to create an answer for the suddenly enthusiastic Patton.

"I-I can name them off, based on their wing colors and shape-" Logan explained.

"Great!" Patton shouted, before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of his room. "Follow me! There's something AMAZING I wanna show you!" Patton shouted as he pulled Logan with him.

"WAIT! PATTON! WHERE ARE WE-"

"TO MY ROOM! IT'S IN MY ROOM!" Patton replied excitedly. Logan quickened his feet to try and catch up with the witty father. As soon as they got to his room door, Patton stopped Logan's body by pushing lightly with his hand. Then, Patton slowly opened the door, and smiled as the flowers and butterflies filled his room still. Patton quietly told Logan to come in. Logan's left eyebrow raised, but he followed him into the room anyway.

Logan's eyes widened, as he observed the world around Patton's room: The whole room was filled to the brim with flowers and butterflies! It was absolutely gorgeous! He's never seen anything like it! Sure, Logan has red books on butterfly greenhouses before, but a butterfly greenhouse in Patton's room?! Who's heard of such a thing?!

"Hi buddy! Look! I brought a friend!" Patton cheered as he looked at the medium-sized monarch. Logan's eyes widened as he adjusted his glasses. This can't be real...This has to be Roman's imagination! Who else could create such beauty in under 10 minutes?! "This is Logan!" Patton introduced, bring the butterfly closer to Logan's eyes.

Logan let a small grin grow onto his face, as he lifted his right finger up to Patton's. Unexpectedly, the butterfly flew onto Logan's finger! Logan's smile grew wider as short gasp entered his lungs. Logan slowly brought his other free hand underneath the finger, to keep the butterfly safe. "Hi." Logan quietly greeted. The butterfly slowly opened and closed its wings, revealing its orange and black wingspan. It was so pretty. Logan couldn't fathom it. All he could do, as stare at it in awe, as it opened its wings again. Soon, the butterfly slowly walked itself up Logan's finger, up his hand, and onto his lower arm. It was so calming seeing such a beautiful creature on his arm.

Suddenly, Patton walked into Logan's view with several, different colored butterflies on his body. There were 8 butterflies: 2 on each arm, one on each index finger, one on his head, and even a tiny white one on his glasses! Patton looked so happy! He giggled as one of the butterflies on his right arm began skittering down his arm. The white, light orange and black butterfly flew off of Patton, and onto Logan's reached-out arm.

"A White Peacock butterfly." Logan thought aloud.

Patton gasped, and looked up to the butterfly on his glasses. "That's a Cassius Blue butterfly." Logan told Patton.

Patton gasped again excitedly. "Really?" Patton asked.

Logan nodded, before pointing at the butterfly on Patton's head. That one, on your head, is an Orange Sulphur butterfly." Logan stated.

"Is it orange?" Patton asked, unable to see the butterfly that was standing on his hair.

"Kind of...it's more of a yellow color." Logan replied. He pointed at the now-single butterfly on Patton's right arm. "That one is a Great Purple Hairstreak." Logan told him. Patton looked at it.

"That streak isn't purple, it's blue!" Patton corrected.

"I know it's blue. The name is what's stating it's purple." Logan explained.

Patton narrowed his his eyes with a smirk. "It sounds like the people who named these butterflies, were colorblind when they named them." Patton commented.

Logan chuckled as he watched the monarch butterfly walk up his arm further. "Perhaps they were." Logan agreed.

As they explored the different butterflies in the room, Patton happily listened as Logan named each type of butterfly off by heart and told him little facts about them.

"Here's something coincidental: all of the butterflies in your room are native to this state." Logan told him.

"Really? They originated in Florida?" Patton asked. Logan nodded in response.

Patton looked at a purple and black butterfly, that was collecting nectar from the lavenders. "This purple butterfly reminds me of Virgil." Patton stated.

Logan knelt down beside him, and observed the butterfly in its natural habitat. "This butterfly is called a Purple Emperor." Logan told him.

Patton giggled. "It's beautiful." Patton said with a smile. Logan watched as a yellow, lime green and black butterfly on a Chocolate Cosmos flower nearby. "That one is a Golden Birdwing. It kinda reminds me of Deceit..." Logan stated. Patton turned his head to the side slightly, as he looked at the butterfly. Slowly, Patton lifted hi finger up, and let the butterfly land on his finger. When the butterfly opened its wings, Patton observed them and smiled.

"You're right: It does remind me of Deceit." Patton stated with a grin. "Just put a tiny hat on him, and you'd get Deceit." Patton added.

Logan giggled at the extra comment.

Patton gasped; He suddenly got an idea! Patton got up and let the Golden Birdwing fly off his finger. Then, Patton looked around for a certain butterfly. When he found it, he slowly got the butterfly to get onto his finger. It took a few extra tries (this butterfly was stubborn), but Patton managed to carry back an outstanding-looking butterfly on his finger!

"Here's Roman!" Patton cheered. Logan's eyes widened at the sheer beauty of the butterfly in Patton's grasp: It was a hot pink color, with a mix of light purples mixed into the inner top of the wingspans. It was perfect for him!

"A Noble Leafwing. Good choice!" Logan told Patton.

Patton placed the butterfly onto the lavenders and looked around for a blue butterfly. It wasn't that hard, unsurprisingly. Soon, Patton had come back with a large black and blue butterfly. "Logan!" Patton called, grabbing his finger, and lowering the butterfly onto Logan's finger. "It's you!" Patton said excitedly.

Logan looked at the butterfly with a big grin. "A blue morpho?" Logan asked.

"Yeah! Logan the Nerdy Morpho." Patton stated proudly. Logan took one more peek at the butterfly, before placing it on his pocket. The butterfly locked its tiny feet onto the pocket flap, and opened its wings.

"Logan the Nerdy Morpho: at your service." Logan stated. Patton giggled happily and gave Logan a toothy smile.

"Yes! It's so cute!" Patton reacted.

To add to the butterfly party, Logan grabbed a monarch butterfly, and placed it on Patton's grey tied sweater. Patton's eyes widened as he looked down at the butterfly. "There. Patton: King of the Monarchs." Logan presented. Patton gasped happily. His reaction was so wholesome! Patton's eyes practically glittered with excitement from the light! He looked like he was gonna die of cuteness overload!

"I'm a kiiiing..." Patton whispered excitedly. Logan chuckled and shook his head with a smile.

"Do you wanna collect some flowers for the kitchen table?" Logan asked. Patton's lips closed to hide his teeth, before nodding his head. Logan conjured up some scissors to cut the flowers and fill their hand.

20 minutes later:

Patton and Logan looked at the flowers they collected.

"Hey Patton. Feeling better?" Virgil asked. Patton looked over to him, and nodded.

"Look what I collected!" Patton said, pointing to the vase of flowers.

Wow...those are pretty! Where did you get them?" Virgil asked.

"From my room." Patton replied, casually. Virgil froze. His room?! How does THAT work?!

A couple seconds later, Roman walked in. Upon seeing Patton out of his room and looking at the flowers (Roman's flowers), Roman ran up to him and gave him a big hug from behind. "You're okay!" Roman reacted.

Patton giggled in response. "Yeah, I am!" Patton replied.

"And you're collecting flowers again!" Roman reacted.

"Yup! The table looked like it needed it." Patton admitted.

"It's really nice!" Roman said.

"Thank you! Logan helped!" Patton told him.

"Really? Good job, Logan." Roman said, grabbing his shoulder and winking as he walked by.

Logan blinked and widened his eyes when he realized something:

It was Roman's doing! That explained everything. And now, Logan's in on his secret as well.

Here's some links for where I got the inspiration:

Virgil's butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183946971862

Roman's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183946010202

Deceit's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183944038382

Logan's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183943297077

Patton's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183942152672

Credit goes to @the-ghost-of-pastels!

[alleiradayne]

Fire and Flame

Summary: After the death of the King John Winchester, his eldest son, Dean, is expected to fill his seat. Square Filled: Kingdom AU Warnings/Tags: Fluff, angst, flirting, sparring, Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Elizabeth Andersson Word Count: 1,275 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​, this fills the square Kingdom AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​ for beta’ing. Sorry for the delete/reblog, I fucked up. I also apologize for phoning this one in, it was supposed to be a series but I just couldn’t find the time or creative energy to do it. Song: Through The Fire and Flames by DragonForce

A celebration of life. That’s what Samuel had called it. But to Dean, it felt like anything but. Guests he had never met, alliances, friends, and family alike, poured into the great hall of Winchester Castle dressed in their most elaborate finery to celebrate—or so they said—the life of Johnathan Winchester.

Sure. If a glorified funeral could ever be anything remotely close to a celebration.

Dean performed his princely duties with all the grace and aplomb with which he had been taught. Hollow pleasantries and introductions ushered in the night of what would surely be the worst of his entire life. As if the last fortnight had not already been the most terrifying.

Johnathan, his father, had been hunting on the lands of his Kingdom as he always did that time of year. Wild boar, pheasant. And maybe a few other unpleasant creatures that hid in the darker reaches of the neighboring forests. When he and his retinue failed to return after four days, Dean himself had set out to find him, and Sam reluctantly followed. When they found the hunting party, one man yet clung to life and told them what had happened. Ravenous wolves.

The most incongruent wave of emotions assaulted him that day as he stared at his father’s lifeless corpse. Unfathomable sorrow at the loss of his father had paired with the ultimate dread of assuming his father’s position as King of Lebanon.

Sam’s hissed whisper interrupted the memory. “What are you doing?”

Dean clenched the hand of one of his father’s—no, one of his—vassals. “My apologies, sir, please,” he stuttered as he released his hand.

Sam jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Dean said as he rubbed his hands on his pants and scanned the hall. “Can you take over? I need some fresh air.”

Without waiting he rushed from the entry and down a service hallway for the kitchens. Through the winding tunnel, he burst through the kitchen door, strode through the larder, then burst onto the castle grounds. Cool autumn air filled his lungs as he sucked in a deep breath. Free, for the moment. Free from prying eyes and nagging questions and the insistent pestering of Robert.

“King Winchester?”

Dean squinted in the dark and spotted a swath of deep green fabric in the pale moonlight. As she emerged from the shadows, Elizabeth Andersson called to him again. “My lord, what are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to be receiving guests?”

The widowed daughter of his neighboring King, Egan Andersson of Albion, Elizabeth had grown up with Sam and himself. Slow steps crossed the yard as he neared her. “I needed some air. How did you…”

“Did you forget?” she asked as she neared a rack of tourney swords. “You showed me the way. When we were children.”

He remembered. Dear God, but that had been an age ago. “You liked sneaking those tiny cakes.”

The sharp hiss of steel rang across the yard as Elizabeth withdrew a sword from the rack. “Our cooks made nothing as delicious as your tiny cakes, King Winchester.”

“Stop calling me that,” Dean ordered.

Her careful eye examined the length of the sword before grasping it by the blade and holding the handle out to him. “That is what you are, though.”

As Dean turned the sword over in his hand, he cursed under his breath. She was right. But that didn't make it any easier. “How would you feel if your father died and you had to assume his position the minute after they closed his tomb?”

Elizabeth said nothing and instead, set the sword blade tip down in the dirt, leaned against the rack. In smooth flourish, her skirt unfurled from her waist, revealing a pair of men's pants and boots beneath. “I assumed Kingdom if Albion when my husband passed away last year. We had yet to have children. My father insisted I rule, but that I should find a husband soon.”

“Why pants?” Dean asked as he gestured with the sword.

When she hefted her blade again, she crossed the yard to stand to feet shy of him. “Because as a King, my life is valuable. There have been many attempts in the last year. So, I dressed accordingly. Now,” she paused as she widened her stance and held out her sword. “I think we've talked enough.”

“We are not dueling right now.”

He moved for the weapon rack, but the rush of steel through the air activated his instincts. Mere inches from his face, he heaved his sword up to block Elizabeth’s arching strike.

“Excellent reflexes, as always,” she teased.

“Lady Andersson, I beg you—”

She swung again and Dean parried her sweeping slice, the sharp ring of steel echoing through the yard. When she withdrew from him, she said, “Consider it practice. Not a duel. Just a little training. Keep you sharp.”

Her stance widened once more, and it was then that Dean understood. Fine. Two could play at that game. He removed his gloves first, then his tunic, and loosened the ties of his undershirt. With his blade in one hand, he assumed an aggressive stance, ready. Though they were illuminated only by moonlight, he saw the inquisitive look in Elizabeth’s eyes as they darted to the neck of his gaping shirt, then back to his face. He beckoned her with a wave of his hand, and in a flash of metal bathed in pale white light, she rushed him.

The clash of steel rang upon the stone walls of the training yard, blows repeated in a steady cadence. Parry, pivot, strike. Pivot, strike. In that dance, Dean’s memories flourished once more as he recalled the times he and Elizabeth had trained together as children. Though highly suited for one another, she had been married to an archduke of the Andersson’s to satisfy a debt to the Emperor. Dean remembered the day he had learned that. As a young viscount, he had never imagined anything different; he would one day marry Elizabeth and their kingdoms would join as one beneath their Emperor.

Distracted so by the memory, Dean faltered. His toe caught in the dirt as he spun to parry Elizabeth’s flurry of strikes. Unconventional though it was, he reached for Elizabeth’s wrist and guided her blade beneath his arm to dodge her stab, spun into her, and wrapped his arms around her, and pinned her to his chest. Entwined, they breathed their heaving breaths together, and though sweat dripped from her brow, Dean marveled at the sight. He couldn’t fathom how she might look any more beautiful than in that moment, exhausted after such physical exertion.

Her eyes darted to his lips as she licked her own. “A draw, then?”

Dean need not be told twice. His lips landed on hers as he dropped his sword in the dirt, and the thud of hers followed hot on its heels. Tension oozed from his shoulders as Elizabeth returned his affections, her fingers grasping at his back. Divine, miraculous release coursed through his veins as he relinquished the last of his anger, quelled after a fortnight.

When she parted from him, Elizabeth giggled her girlish laugh as she said, “We should tell Robert.”

“We should,” Dean said, lips brushing hers.

She kissed him again, short, but firm. “When?”

Dean held her tighter, one hand slipping into her hair as the other smoothed to the small of her back. Another long kiss stretched time to its thinnest, seemingly stalling just for them. After a breathless gasp, he parted from her and spoke.

“Later.”

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74  @hannahindie @bevans87  @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm  @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs  @seenashwrite  @canadianspnhunter  @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27  @pretty-fortune​ @mypopculturediva​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @sandlee44​ @4llmywr1tings​ @claitynroberts​ @maddiepants​ @scarletluvscas @donnaintx​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @rainflowermoon​ @winchesterprincessbride​  @lazinessisalliknow​ @the-is13​ @waywardafgrandma​ @keymology​ @sister-winchesters99​ @amanda-teaches​

Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

@supernatural-jackles​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @akshi8278​

If you see a strike through your blog, it’s because I cannot tag you for some reason. I blame Tumblr.