#this man waited a total of four years his father to return to the mortal realm

[wcspriter]

The very first attempt of making a custom sprite character. I can't tell you how many times I had to go back and forth with the details on this guy. It went through several edits one after the other but eventually I was satisfied with what I had. Thus the Servant of the Flame was made; second-in-command to Captain Flameheart.

The Servant's role in the crossover used to have more significance in the story, including being the section's final boss. However I pushed him back to an important supporting role, setting up a plan to secure the pirate's life from the three whose roaming presence threatens their ideology of "Pirates for All Eternity". Also it'd be a pretty boring final boss, all things considered.

Also Reaper Bird important; wooden spies for the Reapers across the 2022 Adventure storyline.

[jvnghxope]

jamais vu; memory

part one;

◦ pairing: Hoseok | reader | Taehyung

◦ genre: vamipire au, smut, angst

◦ word count: 13.9k+

◦ warnings: dark themes; mentions of blood and death; vampire compulsion and manipulation; blood consumption; alcohol consumption; hallucinations; strong language; dry humping (sort of), this chapter doesn’t have smut but the next one will!

◦ abstract: In a time when vampires are the most despised creatures in the world, Jung Hoseok finds himself falling in love with a human. Would his love be enough to protect her from the war that is about to begin?

⇥ Sequel to Dalliance; part of the In the Shadows universe.

  ↳ chapters: prologue | memory | remedy | melody

Jung Hoseok stared at the invitation far too long. 

The reason? It had his name and his name only. Which was surprising. He is used to standing behind the shadow that is the Jung Family. He is the youngest son after all, with only 215 years old. 

He has a mission. A mission that was assigned to him by the Elders, which is a great honor. There is a rumor flowing around the Shadow World: a group of humans knew about the existence of vampires (if they knew about the existence of other shadow folks, it was a mystery) and they are slowly uniting to hunt them down. The Elders didn’t give it much of a thought at first. Vampires are stronger and faster than any human after all. There was nothing to worry about, they thought. Not until they found dead bodies of their kind. That is concerning. There are more humans in the world than vampires. Now that they knew how to kill them, their chance to win a fight was not impossible. 

His mission is pretty simple: infiltrate inside the organization, investigate their plan and ruin them from within. How? The rumors say Lord Kim was behind all of it. It is his job to know if that piece of information is true and get to the good side of his younger daughter.

The journey to the Kim Manor from his Family's old home is relatively short, as both of the families lived in the same area of the city. The moment his carriage clattered into the ground of the entryway of the manor, his eyes widened. The Victorian building is surrounded by beautiful Italian gardens and greek gods in statues. 

The vehicle stops with a jolt.  A well-dressed servant opened the door to ease Hoseok out of the carriage. He thanked the peon with a nod. The main entrance is displayed before him. Enormous marble stairs led to a hallway, illuminated with lights made of silver and glass. The natural light of the sun was going down as the dawn took place. It is a beautiful sight, he has to recognize that. 

The carriages drove away, led by a horseman, to a place they could wait for their masters. 

Hoseok follows the people towards the entrance. The excited whispers of the attendees arrived in Hoseok's ears. A ball at the Lord’s Manor is something worthy to remember and the event of the year. Everyone is wearing their best clothes. Dresses made of taffeta, silk, and velvet, and tailored suits. 

It’s the first time he is surrounded by a big crowd of humans. All their emotions come colliding towards him. It took a little while for him to shut them down. His powers are one of the main reasons he enjoyed being in solitude every once in a while. For some reason, human emotions are stronger than any other shadow folk. Being surrounded by a big quantity of humans is exhausting, to say the least. 

Two corpulent men opened the big wooden doors and one by one, the guests entered the manor. In the entry, a group of men is slowly forming a line near a small room, where two young men received their coats, hats, and canes and gave them a label with a number. 

A beautiful lady with a red dress led the guests through a corridor to the ballroom. It is the biggest room in the manor. Big golden chandeliers illuminated the room, giving it a golden light. Three of the four walls had large tables with white silk tablecloths, full of delicacies and the most exotic drinks. 

Upon his arrival to the city, he made some of his peons spread the word that a new wealthy bachelor was in town. That’s how he got his invitation. As he strolls around, Hoseok could hear how the people are whispering about him. They don’t recognize his face, but they know who he was. The town is not relatively small, but wealthy people knew each other. Hoseok is a foreigner in their world.

A round of applause sounded when the Lord made his entry, his beautiful wife clutched by his arm and his firstborn, Kim Namjoon, walking behind them. The Lord gives a speech, thanking the attendees at the 22nd birthday of his daughter, the smallest of his children. To be honest, Hoseok didn’t pay too much attention to the Lord, instead choosing to finish his tasteless champagne and let his eyes wander around the room, rather bored. Then, his eyes fell on you, and wow. 

And he’d be damned. You are the Lord’s daughter. 

The Elders mentioned something about your beauty, but seeing it with his own eyes is something else. It is impossible to believe you are a mortal. Any in the Shadow World could easily mistake you for a vampire. Maybe even a fairy too. You are standing there, with your head held high as all the eyes in the room are laid on you. A smile bright enough to illuminate an entire city and a beautiful green dress hugging your frame. Hoseok couldn’t help but stare in pure awe at you. And he was not the only one. You had the power to draw the attention of everyone in the room. Subconsciously, he notices you opening your mouth. You are saying something. Words that don't reach Hoseok’s ears, too immersed in you.   

Hoseok shakes his head the moment he saw people approaching you. To clear his mind, he takes one of the snacks that looked somewhat tasty and ends in one gulp of the contents of his glass. 

“Jung Hoseok.” 

He is surprised to hear his name and surprised even more to see a familiar face behind the voice. 

“Taehyung," he greets.

His old friend grins, “I know I will hate the answer, but I’ll ask anyway. What are you doing here?” 

“I’m guessing I am not the first one the Elders sent, right?” 

Taehyung chuckles. “They sent me a month ago,” he confesses. 

“What did you use as cover?” 

“I used compulsion. They believe I am the son of a distant family friend that just returned to the city,” Taehyung replies with a sly smile. “I suppose I am not doing a good job if they sent you.” 

Hoseok snorts. “They are getting desperate.”

“And they should. Things are worse than we’ve imagined.”

“Did you discover something new?” Hoseok asks, taking another cup of champagne. 

Taehyung scans the room as he feigned drinking from his cup, making sure there was no one in ear-shot. “They have new allies,” he informs. 

“Who?”

Taehyung turns to his friend. Hoseok doesn’t need to use his ability to understand how bad this. He can perceive Taehyung’s worry behind his perfectly collected smile. “Werewolves.”

With his eyes, Taehyung points to one of the guests. Hoseok follows, only to find a young man talking to no other than Lord Kim himself. Hoseok’s jaw clenches, “The Jeons.” 

One of the oldest werewolf families and an enemy to vampires. 

“Have you informed it yet?” Hoseok asks. The Jeon boy is now talking to Namjoon. 

“Not yet. I am close to being invited to the group. My every move is being monitored.”

“The dog didn't recognize you?" Hoseok mocked. 

At that, Taehyung laughed. “We haven’t crossed pads. But he is young. I don’t think he could recognize a Pureblood if he wanted to.” They share a laugh. 

Hoseok manages to keep his eyes out of you for almost an hour, talking to Taehyung, making fun of werewolves, and catching up. It is like a little escape from the reality they are currently living. Like the old times, when things were less complicated. But you are a magnet and his eyes can’t help but look at you every once in a while. 

"Should I introduce myself?" Hobi asks his best friend out of nowhere. He takes his 15th cup of the night (or was it the 16th? He can’t tell) as he waits for an answer. Human alcohol is not supposed to affect him, but he feels a little tipsy. 

With cheeks flushed, Taehyung turns to look at him, “Who?”

“Ms. Kim.” 

“Ahh,” Taehyung nods. “If you want to… Be my guest. But be careful. There are eyes and ears everywhere. But there’s something a need to tell you first-" 

"Mr. Jung," a voice says. 

His heart jumps at the sound of his name, and when he turns around, you are standing in front of him.

Hoseok never stood up too fast (humanly possible, of course), "Ms. Kim."

Wow, you are more beautiful up close. Your eyes look so bright the stars would be jealous. The color of your dress and the candlelight make your skin glow beautifully. Then, your scent fills his nostrils and his throat goes dry. Intoxicating and addictive. It makes his head spin. He gets why Taehyung wanted to warn him: you are dangerous… and somehow he doesn’t find himself to care at all. 

“I believe we are not properly introduced,” you add with a smile. 

“My apologies,” Hoseok bows slightly and outstretches his arm. Taking your hand in his, he gives it a little peck. Your skin feels so soft against his palm. “My name is Jung Hoseok.” 

“Is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jung. Thank you so much for coming to my ball.” 

“I guess I should thank you instead, for inviting a total stranger.” 

You giggle and it is a melody he doesn’t want to forget. “There are a lot of strangers here.” 

Hoseok opens his mouth, the perfect retort in the tip of his tongue and-

“___?” Kim Namjoon interrupted. “Father is looking for you.” Namjoon didn’t bother to look at Hoseok’s way, which he finds incredibly offensive. But wait, why does he care?

You nod at your brother but your eyes never leave Hoseok.

“Well, Mr. Jung, it was nice to meet you. I hope we can talk again sometime. Maybe over a cup of coffee.” 

“It will be my pleasure,” Hoseok replies with a bow. 

And you disappear with your brother through the crowd. 

You hate these types of parties. They are full of shallow people. They give you the attention you didn’t want and being your birthday is the cherry on the cake. People are there more because of your father rather than because of you. It is something you are used to. People surrounding you because of your father’s power. 

Your brother isn't of help, either. According to the girls your mother made you drink tea two times a week, he is handsome and the best gentleman they could ask for. And as much as you believe every word, you are also sure they only wanted him because he would inherit the royal title of the family and a couple of millions. They are nice to you only because you were his sister. 

"Are you using your mountain ash necklace?" Is the question of your father the moment you arrived where he was and you reply with a nod. "Good. Those bloodsuckers could be anywhere." 

“Dad...” 

“Also,” it is like you didn’t talk at all. “I made some pawns fill the champagne with mountain ash, too. Open your eyes for the symptoms.” 

“What symptoms?”

“This is like poison to all the monsters out there. If you see something suspicious –” 

"–Honey, we're celebrating your daughter's birthday,” your mother grimaces. “Keep that stuff to your reunions." Then, she turned to you, "Sweetie, it's time to open the dance floor." She delivers a kiss to your cheek and urged you to enter the dance floor, where the guests are waiting with inquisitive stares. 

It is a tradition in the royal families when a lady turned 21 to dance with all the bachelors. Like a greeting to society, the part you are anticipating the less. You are about to dance with a bunch of strangers you are not interested in at all. 

With a forced smile, you compel yourself to walk across the room to the center of the circle the guests just made for you. A man is already waiting for you. The heir of the Jeon Family: Jeon Yongmin. 

Great. He is currently the favorite of your parents to bethrow you into marriage. You can't complain, though. He is attractive (really, really attractive), he will inherit a fortune of his own and he is nice to you for being you and not because you had "Kim" attached to your name. He praises you and says how beautiful you look tonight. It is safe to say you enjoyed the few minutes you danced with him. You are finally enjoying the ball. 

But the pleasurable feeling doesn't last. The other bachelors made you feel like you didn't matter, like you were a simple object, asking questions related to your family or not talking at all. 

Dizzy and in desperate need of an escape, you fantasize about kicking some of them and run for dear life. But before you could put your plan into action, a familiar warmth spreads inside your body when no other than Kim Taehyung takes your hand. The smile of your best friend is enough to alleviate the pressure in your chest.  

"You look gorgeous today. I didn't have the opportunity to mention it earlier." 

He always knows how to soothe your nerves. 

"Thank you. You look handsome today." 

A smirk rose on his face. "I always look handsome." 

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. The girls in here are either drooling for you, for my brother, or both." He giggles. “I didn’t know you were close to Mr. Jung.” 

Taehyung clears his throat, “Yeah. Our families have a business together. I haven’t seen him in 5 years.” 

You hum. “He seemed… nice.” 

Taehyung raised a brow. He couldn’t comment on your statement and the next bachelor arrives. The next two gentlemen are just as boring, with nothing to say and lacking a good personality. You wonder how many more you need to dance with. Then, a tingle runs down your spine as the other man grabs your hand. You are face to face with Jung Hoseok. 

“Mr. Jung,” you greet, suddenly out of breath. 

“Milady. We meet again.” He looks stunning. Dark brown hair parted effortlessly over his forehead, dimpled smile, and honey skin. He holds your body tightly against his chest and your cheeks flushed. Even when you have danced with at least 20 men in the course of the evening, no one has held you like this. So…intimate. Not even Yongmin, whom you'd soon are to become his fiance. Not even Taehyung, who you already knew and have a friendship with. 

To distract yourself, you attempt to make conversation with the man. “What brings you to our little Hylia, Mr. Jung?” 

“My family has some properties here and I wanted some fresh air,” he responds, all his attention devoted to you. His eyes are intense and alluring. He smells like sandalwood and musk. He dances effortlessly, not paying attention to the steps. You? You are repeating the steps in your brain so you wouldn’t screw up in front of everyone. He is that distracting. He swirls you again and when your eyes return to his face, his eyes are red. You blink and it’s gone, a pair of chocolate eyes looking at you. 

You smack yourself internally. Your dad is driving you crazy. Just because he sees vampires everywhere he goes, you don’t need to follow that path. 

“I hope we made a good impression,” you say before you embarrass yourself further. 

“You did,” he smiles and squeezed your hand, reassuring you. 

The music is slowly fading, coming to an end, both relieving and disappointing. You wish you had more time to talk to him. A round of applause echoes in the room and you and Hoseok bow to each other. Before you could leave the dance floor, a new song starts playing. Panicked, you observe how other couples enter the dance floor, and if you desire to get out of here, you have less than 10 seconds to run or -

“Do you want some fresh air?” Hoseok whispers against your ear, stopping your meltdown. Without so much thought, you agree and let him lead you out of the crowd. He intertwines his fingers with you so naturally. Like they belong together. Your hand and his. You giggle all the way to the hallway. 

“I don’t know where to go,” he turns to look at you, embarrassed. You can't help but laugh at that. He looks cute, all flustered. 

“Follow me.” 

It is your turn to draw him through the maze of rooms, doors, and corridors you call home. There is a series of small balconies facing the backyard and protected from sight by a large curtain. The moment you step outside, you let go of his hand and take a deep breath. It is nice to feel the chilly air against your skin. You relax both arms in the cold metal of the fence and watch the stars that are slowly rising in the sky as the sun fades away. 

"I hope the ball was not boring to you, Mr. Jung,” you mumble and when you look at him, his eyes are already on you. 

"Of course not. It was… pleasant." 

There were very few candles on the balcony and most of the light is provided by the moon. The moonlight makes his features sharper, especially the curve of his jaw. Then, your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are glowing. Perhaps you drank more than you remember, because the next time you blink, the glow is gone. 

It is official. You are slowly losing your mind. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured. 

“P-pardon?”

He clears his throat, “The view of the garden is… quite majestic.” 

Your cheeks flushed. For a moment, you thought he was talking about you. “Yes. It is my favorite place in the whole manor.” 

He takes the final steps and stands next to you. 

"Excuse me if I am noisy, but you don't seem to enjoy the ball that was made especially for you, Ms. ___." 

“What made you think that?” You raise a brow, waiting for his answer. 

“Well, there’s a bunch of people that came for you and you are here, talking with a stranger.” 

A dry chuckle leaves your lips and you shake your head, “It may be my birthday, but it is just another ball with the same people, the same food, the same music and most of the guests are here because of my father. I don't tend to sound like an ungrateful child, but sometimes I get tired of this world. Does that make sense?" 

You play with your fingers to avoid looking at him. You feel really comfortable around him. Like you can tell him anything and he won't judge you. 

"I don't have many friends. Taehyung is one of the few to be around me because of me and not because I am the Lord's daughter. I have known him for a while now." You finally summon the courage to look at him. He gives you a sympathetic look, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with my problems, Mr. Jung." 

“On the contrary, I am glad you trusted in me,” he says with a smile. “I hope that from now on, you can consider me as a friend, too.” 

He leans closer, making your heart beat a little faster.

“Then, we should drop the formalities. Don’t you think?” 

Something unreadable crosses his expression, but it is gone before you can pinpoint what it was. Instead, he beams at you. “You must call me Hoseok, then.” 

“Well, Hoseok,” you enjoy the way his name rolls off your tongue. “I enjoyed our little time together. But I must return. My mother is probably already looking for me.” 

“I hope we can meet again sometime.”

You walk to the entrance of the manor but before you get in, you turn around. Your heart jumps inside your chest. His eyes are still fixed in you, the air ruffling his hair in the most endearing of ways. He is breathtakingly beautiful. 

"Good night, Hoseok," you murmur and open the door to get inside. 

"Good night, ___," he whispers back. 

You don't see the soft smile that stretched across his lips. 

Hoseok never understood humans. 

They are weak and fragile yet they enjoy living their lives to the fullest. They don’t care. Some vampires despise humans. They are shallow, greedy, and easy to compel. They only served for two things: make them do your dirty work and feed on them if necessary. But not all vampires are bad. Some of them chose to be in the world, surrounded by humans. They understood they needed them to survive. They make subjugates and sometimes turned their couples into vampires. 

Love is not a common word to vampires. Blood is the most important thing. Blood means power. 

Some vampires have 'special' abilities and they got stronger generation by generation. For example, his father has enhanced speed and was stronger than a normal vampire. His mother can feel other people's feelings and emotions and manipulate them in some way. He and his brother inherited both abilities, but the increased speed and strength are stronger on his brother, and the ability to feel emotions is stronger in Hoseok. 

Hoseok never understood humans and was never interested in them.  That changed when he met you. 

You are different. He doesn’t know how to explain. You are like a magnet and he will happily follow you around. He is intrigued. He never met someone who felt as strong as you. He remembers the annoyance and the sadness you felt when you trusted him with your thoughts. It was like the emotions were his. Not even the shield is enough to keep them away from him. He was surprised by the force of them and he found himself wanting to make you feel better. The mission and the reason behind his presence in that ball forgotten since the moment he touched you the first time. 

And he wants to see you again. 

Dear Ms. Kim ___ 

Ever since we met, I'm not able to stop thinking about you. I hope this doesn’t seem too presumptuous, but I would like to see you again. I'll take a walk at the park on 5th Avenue this Friday. I'll be honored if you join me. 

I'll wait for you at the fountain at 4pm. 

JHS 

His desk is full of balls of paper and letters stained with ink. It's a mess. He had been writing the same message for the past hour with no good results. He has never sent a message to a beautiful girl before. He is well known inside the Shadow World and women approached him first many times. He is relatively new at this. What he is supposed to write?

His main manservant is with him all the time and he has been laughing at his expense rather than being of any help the entire morning. After an hour or so, he managed to write a decent enough message. He lets out a sigh in satisfaction. The letter seems perfect. He reads it again a couple of times before placing the family seal in one corner and hand it to a servant that will deliver it as soon as possible.  

That Friday, Hoseok arrives at the park a little early. He feels a little uneasy, his stomach churning, his palms are sweating and he can not standstill. These sensations are what humans describe as butterflies in their stomachs. Why they enjoyed it so much? It feels awful! 

And then you arrive. Looking as gorgeous as the last time he saw you. You are wearing a light blue and pretty day-dress. Four men accompany you, not living your side for a split second. Guards. 

His heart may or may not have stopped the moment your face illuminated when you see him. 

"I must say, I was surprised by the invitation," you murmur when he was at ear-shot, stretching your gloved arm that he happily receives and kissed in welcoming. 

"Would your guards let you take a walk with me?" 

You grin. 

"So, tell me more about you,” you ask, clutching your arm around his. He can feel the excitement pumping through your veins.  

“About me?” 

You nod.

“I feel like we only talked about me at my birthday ball. I want to know more about you." 

Hoseok remains quiet for a while, pondering on what he could tell you. As you keep walking, the trees start to be closer to each other and the sunlight is slowly fading. The darkness on this part of the park adds a mysterious aura and it is a little chilly. You hug your shawl closer as you wait for his answer. 

“I used to live with my parents and older brother. We left Hylia a long time ago, but I wanted to come back. I have good memories of this place. The manor we used to live in is not so far from yours, actually. I've been preparing to take over the… family business. You know, appointments with business associates and clients.” 

You hum, “And all your family is a vampire or just you?”

Hoseok chokes on his spit and stops on his tracks. You eye him curiously, a hint of a smile on your lips. You know his secret and you don’t seem to fear him. You were blunt about it and asked him directly. That takes courage. You are not nervous. Not even scared. That confuses him by no means. He can’t tell if that is a good sign or a bad sign. 

“What?” you ask, a little impatient because he hasn’t confirmed your suspicions yet. “Do I need to pretend I don’t know what you are?” 

Hoseok had three options: one, feign ignorance and take it as a joke (even when he was sure it is not); two, use compulsion to make you forget this day; or three, go with it. 

“Since when do you know?” 

Yep, he chose the third. 

“The day we met,” you confess, leaving Hoseok surprised. If you already knew what he was, why you accepted his invitation? Why not send men to catch him and lock him down? You were not walking anymore but your arms were still clutched together. You don’t seem uncomfortable and your emotions are anything but negative towards him. It is so confusing. 

“Can I ask how you figured it out?” He says after a while. 

Your eyes narrow. “I don’t if I can trust you. You could be the enemy…” 

He is the enemy. At least to your family. 

“Yet, you are still here,” he points out with a smile.

He now sensed the uncertainty –and fear?– slowly creeping inside your body. He can hear how rapid your heartbeat is. A part of him is relieved you were having a normal human reaction after all. The other part of him is… disappointed. 

“I am not going to hurt you,” he says, wanting to place his hand over yours to assure you but choosing to not doing so. 

“I-I know,” you manage to say, eyes glued to the ground to avoid looking at him. “If you wanted to hurt me, you already would have.” 

He raises an eyebrow. You are smart. He never doubted it. 

He is not proud of what he is about to do, but he has no other choice. 

“Come,” he calls and leads you to a bench so you could sit down. You follow his lead without much trouble. As subtle as he can (so you don’t notice your sudden behavior change), he eases your nerves, listening to how your ragged breath slows and how the erratic thump of your heart decreases to normal levels. 

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine,” he offers. “Deal?”

Then, you finally turn your face to him, “How can I know you would not go and tell our secrets to your vampire friends? We are not entirely hopeless…” 

“Fair enough,” he concedes, “I guess you just need to trust me, ___.”

He does what he does best: being charming. It is not a difficult task as allure practically drips from his pores. Being a Pureblood, the allure is twice as strong. He doesn’t need to use compulsion to get what he wanted from a human. At least most of the time. His natural charming personality, incredibly good looks, and vampire-allure aura doesn’t do the trick with you. So, he does a little cheating: he enhances all the good feelings you have for him. Trust, comfortableness, all the emotions that could make you trust him. 

It passes several minutes before you take a deep breath, your mind made up. 

“Ok,” you agree. You fidget on your seat and chew on your lower lip. Hoseok can sense the uncertainty. It is still there, but not as strong. You take your time. That story had been in your family for generations. It is hard to tell it to someone from outside. Foreign. It is prohibited. You take a deep breath. “My family… Well, specifically my grandfather, formed a group with the sole purpose to eradicate the evil of this world. He was attacked by a vampire and left for dead when he was 20 years old. A warlock saved him. Since then, he decided to study your kind and hunt them down.

“On his studies, my grandfather found something vampires were weak to mountain ash. Since then, my family has built an entire business from it. They created jewelry with it so vampires couldn’t use their mind control on us. 

“That day, at my birthday ball, my father sprinkled some mountain ash over the champagne in hopes it would reveal vampires within us.” 

Hoseok frowns. That would explain the buzz he felt during that night. Oh, he is in trouble. Humans know way more than they expected. Humans have leverage against his kind. He needs to find out how strong this leverage is. 

“Are you wearing a mountain ash necklace right now?”

You nod, “I always wear one.”

He hums. He could use his powers a moment ago just fine. Maybe the amount of ash is not enough to shield you from his powers or it doesn’t work with Purebloods at all. Is he going to reveal that information to you? No. It is not the end of the world. Yet. 

“So, how did you notice?” he urges.

“Your eyes. When we were dancing, they turned red. It was just for a second. I thought I was hallucinating. But it happened again when we were on the balcony. My father a long time ago told me that vampires have crimson eyes as the color of the blood that runs inside our veins. That is how you recognize a monster.”

You definitely are smart. “You are something else, Ms. Kim,” he praises and your cheeks feel warm. “If you knew already what I was, why didn’t you tell your father?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I was curious about your kind. My father always says vampires are bad, but when we met, you had an opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. Curiosity got the best of me,” you laugh, embarrassed. “It runs in the family.” 

Hoseok can’t help but smile. Is it wrong to feel honored because you trusted him enough to come? “To answer your previous question,” he says after a while. “I am a born vampire. All my family is.” 

You look at him with wide eyes but there are no signs of fear in them. Only genuine curiosity. “How old are you?” 

“I stopped physically aging when I turned 24. I am 215 years old,” he confesses with a tiny grin, watching carefully for your reaction. You do not disappoint. Your eyes bulge out of your orbits and he let out a soft chuckle. 

You clear your throat, "That is a lot…" 

Hoseok wonders how you would react if he tells you his parents have been alive for over millennia. 

"Do you have more questions?" He teases and you pout. 

"I have a lot. Can you handle that, Mr. Jung?

"I thought we agreed to call us for our first name, ____." He leans forward, looking directly into your eyes and enjoying how you flush.  

“Fine. Do you sleep in covens?” 

He lets the loudest laugh you have ever heard of and you do your best to not look beyond offended. 

“Is that really your question?” 

“Well, excuse me. We don’t know much about your kind and I am sure what we know is wrong,” you pout and his heart flips. He can feel your embarrassment and frustration. 

“No, we don’t sleep in covens,” he responds at last. 

“Do you sleep at all?” 

“Yes, in beds where you can do more than sleeping," he flirts shamelessly.

You ignore him.

“What about mirrors, garlic, and holy water?

“Do you people really believe that?”   

You nod and start chuckling because if he put it that way, humans were not that clever. It is the first time he heard you laugh and he is fascinated. 

"My bathroom is practically made of mirrors. Garlic is my favorite condiment and Holy water is just… water."

You snort, "See? What we know is all wrong…" 

He wants to take your hand, but he knows it won’t be appropriate. 

“What about the sun?” you continue. “You are literally under the sunlight and unbothered. Does it affect you at all?" 

Hoseok grins, "No." 

The rest of the evening you keep asking him all your doubts and he is happy to respond. By the end of the evening, you know more about vampires and the Shadow World than any of your family or the Association. 

"I believe I have kept you long enough, Ms. Kim. Your guards are probably worried." 

"Oh, dear," you notice for the first time how dark this part of the park is. "Time goes by so fast when I talk to you, Mr. Jung." 

And you giggle. 

He leads you to your carriage and is funny the look of relief your guards have the moment they see you. 

Before you get inside, you turn around. "Will I see you again?" 

He nods, "Soon."

You are used to your life. Is all kinds of boring. Every part of your daily life is a routine, a schedule to follow. You can't make decisions concerning yourself by yourself. They always have told you what to do, what to wear… and there were tons of rules on how to walk, stand, eat and talk properly. It is exhausting. 

Not everything is bad. You have your brother, Namjoon, Taehyung, and your friends. Their presence made your life easier and a lot more bearable. But they don't always provide the break you needed and craved. They are still part of the world you sometimes hated. They have their own schedules and rules to follow. It somewhat consoled you (and you hated yourself for that) that it seemed their lives were not under their control either. At least you are not totally alone. 

The first breath of fresh air was when you first met Taehyung. He was new, funny and so, so charming. He is the first man to notice you. He is different. 

And then, you met Jung Hoseok. 

He is a vampire. In the words of your father, a monster. He can suck your blood and leave you dry. He can corrupt your soul. 

Then, why do you feel more alive since you met him? 

With him, you were not Kim ____, the daughter of Lord Kim, with tons of responsibilities to fulfill. With him, you are just ____. A normal girl hanging out with a normal guy. A normal guy who also happened to be a vampire. 

And you are in trouble. 

Behind closed doors, the members of your family are self-proclaimed vampire hunters. They built a secret association with their ideals. They reunited at least once a month to talk about weapons and the best way to kill vampires. At least that’s what Namjoon told you one day and he refuses to tell you more because you're a woman and you don’t need to know these things. 

You may or may not have told him a couple of words that are inappropriate for a young debutante. 

“What color of dress would you want for tonight, Mrs. Kim?” Lisa, your lady in waiting, asks as he finishes the last touches on your hair. 

Looking yourself in the mirror, you sigh. “I think I’ll go with the blue one, with details in silver.” 

Lisa nods and motions the other ladies to bring the dress. It is still inside the box, newly designed for you. 20 minutes later, you are waiting for your family in the hall near the staircase. 

The Social Season started a couple of weeks ago and tonight the Lovelace family is throwing their annual ball. All the elite in Hylia has an invitation. A part of you hopes you’ll see Mr. Jung there. 

Your brother arrives 5 minutes later. 

“Father won’t come with us,” he says, using one of the mirrors on the left wall to adjust his already perfectly styled hair. “He has matters to attend.” 

“You mean matters of the Association.” 

He turns to you with a tight smile, “Yes. Mother is on her way and we can go.” 

“Ok.” 

The Lovelace Manor is not that far from yours, so the moment your mother is ready, the ride doesn’t take long. It is still early, but there are already a lot of people in the entranceway. Namjoon leads you inside. All the eyes are on you the moment you enter. You know your brother is handsome. He is. You resist the urge to laugh when almost all the debutantes at the Lovelace ball room break their necks to have at least a glance of your brother. He is a good match. He will be the next Lord Kim. All eyes are on him. 

And you? Besides being under Namjoon’s shadow, the pins holding your hair place are stabbing your scalp, you can’t endure standing on those heels any longer and your face hurts from the fake smile you were taught to always wear in public. 

But other than that, it can be worse. 

“Would you be okay if I leave you for a while? I want to have a dance with Mrs. Lovelace,” your brother questions and he has these sparkly eyes that make it really hard to say no. 

“Go.” 

He grins, showing his killer dimpled smile. He gives you and your mother a quick peck on the cheek and disappears through the crow, with a couple of eyes still glued to his frame. It seems that Ms. Lovelace is the lucky girl. She is nice. A year older than you. Her family meets all your parent’s standards and she is beautiful. The perfect sister-in-law. 

You spot a red-head near the dance floor. You wave your mother goodbye and walk toward your best friend. 

She beams at you the moment she recognizes you. She is wearing a white dress with gold details. 

"My father wants me to marry that Lightwood kid. Can you believe it?" She says in greeting. 

"Joseph? He is cute." 

She scoffs, "Please. We grew up together. He is like my brother," she dismisses with a flick of her hand and takes a cup of champagne from one of the trays. "What about you? I heard the date of your wedding with Jeon Yongmin is already set." 

You snort, "He hasn't proposed yet. Our parents are still… talking." 

"Your wedding is going to be pretty. Big and pretty." 

"Shut up." 

She giggles. She has the perfect retort ready, a retort that dies on her tongue when someone clears their throat behind you. Joseph Lightwood is standing behind you, with a lopsided smile tinting his lips but he looks a little nervous too.

“Would you join me for this dance, Ms. Carstairs?” He offers his hand. 

Despite all her rant and ‘he is like my brother’ thing, she blushes. You gnaw at your lip to avoid the smile. They would look cute together. You observe them walk to the dance floor. 

You don’t get to spend much time in solitude after your friend’s departure, as one bachelor asks you to dance too. Mr. Morgenstern (or was it Morgentain?) is a tall man with hair so blonde it is almost white and rigid facial expressions. Like a statue, chiseled by the best artist. He is attractive, but he is not your type of attractive. 

When you know the steps like the back of your hand, it is easy to get lost in the dance. You don’t need to put all your attention on it to do it right. You flutter your eyes shut. You get lost in your thoughts. You imagine that the skin of the hand that twirls you around is softer. The shoulders where you place your hand are a little less broad. You can imagine that the man dancing with you is not blonde, but brunette. The eyes crimson as the color of blood… 

You open your eyes. 

Hoseok is here and he is watching you. 

The world stops. You can no longer hear the music. The people around you disappear. It is only you and him. You both stand there, watching each other. He is so captivating. You have the urge to go to him, to touch him but he is so far. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

Once. Twice. Three times. 

The next time you blink, he is closer. Looking at you with his crimson eyes and a tiny smirk on his lips… Are those... fangs?

The world resumes and it is turning upside down. You are falling but before you touch the ground, a pair of arms grab you by the waist. 

“Are you okay?” Mr. Morgenstern asks as he helps you on your feet. He looks worried and you offer him a smile. 

You are still on the ball. The music is still playing. People are still around you but they stopped dancing. Now, they are watching you. 

“Yeah. I guess all the twirling and the champagne are not a good combination,” you laugh awkwardly. "Thank you." 

With a smile, he leads you out of the dance floor to a chair. You look around, searching for Hoseok, but you don't see him. Was he a product of your imagination? 

"You okay?" Namjoon appears out of nowhere when you sit down. 

You nod, "I am just a little dizzy." 

There is no point to try to calm your brother. He is already worried. 

"I have arranged a room for you if you want to lay down and rest for a bit," Ms. Lovelace is behind him. "You look a little pale…"

You open your mouth to deny the offer because you are fine but before you can say something, Namjoon is grabbing you by the hand and sliding an arm around your waist to help you stand up. 

"Come on," he says and there is no room to fight. 

He leads you through the ballroom and you want to comment on the fact that he knows his way through the house pretty well. He opens then one of the many doors in the hallway and urges you inside. The room is pretty, with a single bed and a small couch in the corner. 

“You can stay here until you feel better,” Namjoon states. “If you feel worse, call me and we will go home.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

With that, he leaves you alone and sends you a smile before closing the door. Once you are alone, you let out a sigh. After some deliberation, you choose to sit on the couch instead of the bed. Your legs feel weak and you are not sure why. You go over the events of the night. Does some vampire use compulsion on you? If so, why you? You are the daughter of the leader of the organization that will fight against vampires, but you don’t know anything. You can’t go to meetings and Namjoon barely tells you anything. You will be no use if they try to use compulsion to get information and you are supposed to be protected by the mountain ash in your necklace. But someone is trying to mess with your mind and is working. Doesn’t the ash work as your family always thought? Does that mean that you don’t have protection against them anymore? 

You don’t get to dwell on the matter much longer, because someone is knocking on the door. With a sigh, you stand from the couch and open the door. 

You gasp. It’s him. With messy hair and slightly agitated, Jung Hoseok is standing in front of you. To make sure it is really him, you take a step forward and place your open palm against his chest. It feels solid and warm. 

“Are you really here? Is it really you?” you ask, in a trance.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he looks concerned and that calms you a little bit. 

“Nothing, I…” you start, and then you notice that your hand is still pressing against his chest. You remove it immediately. “I’m sorry.” 

He chuckles, dismissing the matter like it's nothing. “May I come in?”

You nod and move from the door. 

“Are you feeling better? I saw you faint earlier.” 

Your eyes grow wide, “You saw that?” 

Then you didn’t imagine it. He was there. You start to giggle, relieved. You are not losing your mind, after all. “I’m fine. My brother exaggerated. I had too much champagne to drink and danced a lot. That’s all.” 

He raises his brow, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Are you sure?” Out of nowhere, he takes a step forward and cups your head with both hands. “You still look a little pale…” 

He is so close you lose the ability to think, talk, or breathe. His fingertips caress the skin softly. Before you know it, he is pushing you inside the room again and closes the door behind him. All without taking his hands from your face. Your eyes are glued to his. At some point, his eyes stopped being the chocolate color you know, and started to morph into a crimson color. It is both exciting and terrifying. Then, his eyes fall to your lips and your heart jumps. 

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers. 

You are about to ask him what he means, but suddenly you are knocked off your feet and your body is pressed between his body and the nearest wall. 

“You are distracting me. I have a responsibility to my kind. I had a mission and the only thing I can think about is you.” He emphasizes his words with a gentle caress to the skin of your neck, earning a gasp from your lips. He uses one of his arms to hug you by the waist and pull you closer (if that is even possible). "Your scent is intoxicating. Your skin is so tender," he murmurs last words with his lips pressed against your jawline. 

Your body feels like it is in overdrive. Every fiber is on fire. He takes his time to worship both sides of your jawline with kisses, licks, and nips. You rest your head against the wall to give him more access. It is clear where he wants to go but he moves slowly, taking his sweet time with you, nibbling at your earlobe and moving through your cheek. He is giving you the time to ask him to stop if that's what you want. But your mind is full of him, full of the feeling of his lips against your skin. You want more. 

With his free hand, he raises yours to rest them on his shoulders. 

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs. "Can I kiss you?" 

You nod and he presses his lips against your own. 

There is a moment when everything stills as time stopped. He is allowing you to push him away and when you don’t, he cups your face with his free hand and deepens the kiss. This is new territory for you. You only have kissed a man in your life and it was nothing like this. It was a year ago, with a man you thought you loved. It only lasted a second. It was just a press of lips and nothing more. 

This is different. 

Hoseok is kissing you with slow, languid strokes, taking his time to savor you. Fingers digging your skin, he presses his body tightly against yours and you hug him, not wanting to let him go. He tastes like champagne and something inherently his. It’s the sweetest thing. He swipes with his tongue your lower lip and you grant him entrance. He explores the crevice of your mouth as a man starved. 

You have never felt like this, so overwhelmed and full of emotions you can’t comprehend. He bites your lip and tugs it with his teeth and you gasp in pain. With his tongue, he licks the wound and when the only droplet of blood reaches his taste buds, he groans. 

“You taste divine,” he murmurs against your mouth and proceeds to kiss you fiercely, almost bruising. And then, he stops. He rests his forehead on yours as you both regain your breath. “You don’t understand how much I want you, how much I desire you…” 

He takes your left hand that is comfortably resting on his shoulder and kisses your knuckles. When your eyes flutter open, it's like a bucket of cold water washes over you. His eyes are crimson red and his fangs are exposed. He is staring at your wrist like it holds all the answers. He is lost in his bloodlust and desire. He leans in, his fangs just mere millimeters away from piercing your skin… 

“Stop,” you say and he does. His crimson eyes meet yours and you hold your breath. “Please, don’t.” Your voice is just above a whisper. 

The next ten seconds of your life are the longest, but he finally puts your hand down. 

“Don’t worry. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.” 

He caresses your cheek with his thumb. If he notices the shiver when he touches your skin, he doesn’t mention it. In a blink, he is on the other side of the room. 

“I think we should return to the ball,” he says while arranging his suit. His perfectly styled hair is a mess now and you blush. It’s because of you.  

With a nod, you walk to look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t recognize yourself. Cheeks flushed, messy hair and lips swollen. Even your dress is untidy. Now that you are not distracted with Hoseok’s lips on yours, you notice the sting of the pins against your scalp. It takes you a few minutes to look decent again. When you finish, you turn around. 

“Do I look okay?” you ask him. He is laying on the couch, with his eyes fixed on you. 

“You always look beautiful. Should we go?” he stands from the couch and offers his hand. You hesitate for a few seconds but take it anyway. He leads you out of the room to the ball, where you will dance all night, drink more champagne and have the best night of your life. 

Time's perception is something different for vampires than it is for humans. Ten years for vampires are 1 year for humans, and as time goes by, the longer you live the less you care about the simplest things.

Hoseok has traveled all over the world, read thousands and thousands of books, met all kinds of people… and yet, he hasn't fallen in love at least once. He doesn't know how it feels. 

He has had partners, yes, but only for feeding or sexual releases. There was not any type of intimacy and he didn't care.

And you? 

You are the first human he feels attracted to. You are the first thought he has every morning when he wakes up and the last he thinks when he goes to bed. You are the female lead on every book he reads and he finds himself daydreaming about you all the time. He wonders every day what are you doing or if you are doing okay. All those nights, when he holds you close as you dance all night, are graven inside his mind for all eternity. 

It has been a little over a month since the incident at the Lovelace ball. The night when he first tasted your blood. It was just a tiny droplet and still, it drove him mad at how divine it was. But as good as that was, it is still printed in his mind the way you flinched when he touched you after. He almost lost control and you were afraid of him. For the first time in a long time, he felt embarrassed to be a vampire, the monster you and your family proclaimed he was. He didn’t want you to fear him and as selfish and shameful it was, he used his powers again to take your fear away and make you feel better. At first, he was using his powers to get on your good side for the sake of the mission. Now, he wants to be on your good side because he is slowly falling into you. 

"Excuse me, my Lord," his main butler interrupted his thoughts. "Mr. Kim is here and wants to talk to you."

One of his favorite books of all time is resting on his lap, but he hasn't been able to concentrate enough to understand a single word, so he closes it.

"Let him in," he replies with a sigh, placing the book on the table as he stood from the couch he was comfortably seated. The butler nods and disappears through the door.

Ten minutes later, Kim Taehyung enters the room. 

“Long time no see my friend,” Hoseok greeted him with a smile he didn't return. 

“I think we can skip the formalities.” 

Hoseok frowns. "Okay, then. What are you doing here?" He walks to his mini bar and places two ice cubes inside two glasses. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks his friend as he pours a dark gold liquid. Maybe a drink will ease his nerves a little. 

"No, I am okay. Thank you,” he dismisses with the back of his hand. “I came to ask you to stay away from ____." 

“Straight to the point, I see.” 

He turns to look at him. His face is impassive, not letting anything slide. He tries to read his emotions with no luck. A long time ago, Taehyung learned how to hide his feelings when he was around him. He hates it so much, especially when he is uncertain of the situation, which only concerns him further. 

“Why?” he asks, annoyance slowly growing inside his chest. 

“It is best for her not to be caught up in the middle of a war.”

Hoseok downed the content of his glass in one gulp and stared at his friend in confusion. “She is the daughter of the leader of the association. She is already in the middle of it.”

“Yeah, but how do you think her father would react if he knows his daughter is courting with a vampire?” 

“He won’t know about…-”

Taehyung snorts. “He is already suspicious and we are this close to getting caught.” 

“How do you know?”

Despite his angry exterior, Hoseok can tell Taehyung is really worried. He patiently waits for his friend to continue, seated on the same couch he was before he arrived. Hoseok can feel his mortification. It is faint, but it is there. He watches with amusement how Taehyung approached the bar and poured himself a drink. 

“I thought you didn’t want something to drink…” 

“After I told you what I know, you’ll want to refill yours,” he says and takes the contents of his glass in one gulp. 

Hoseok raises a brow but stays silent. After a few minutes, Taehyung speaks. 

“I’ve been using compulsion with servants to figure it out if they know or have heard something about the Lord’s anti-vampire group.” 

“And?” 

“Werewolves are not their only allies," he confesses. "The Lord managed to find a warlock willing to help them.” 

Hoseok frowns. “A warlock? I thought we had a peace treaty with the magic community.” 

Everyone thinks being a vampire is full of benefits and perks but they are all wrong. Vampirism brings along a lot of enemies. 

Taehyung chuckles dryly. “Theoretically? Yes. But this one is obviously in favor of humans.” 

“What would they want with a warlock?” 

“Well, they know how to kill us now and that’s not the worst of our problems.” 

“What could possibly be worse than that?” Hoseok asks. 

“They are trying to empower a human with magic to match our strength and speed during fights,” he gulped loudly and Hoseok’s heart drops. 

This couldn’t be happening. Taehyung lets the information sink in and takes another drink. Hoseok rubs his temples with his fingers. That’s definitely bad. Humans had a slim chance to fight against vampires because of their higher number and vampires still had leverage: their power. Now, if humans have powers of their own, vampires are screwed. He is screwed. 

“Any results?”

“Not yet.” 

Taehyung’s worry was so strong that he couldn’t hide from Hoseok anymore. It was exhausting and the feeling hit Hobi with the force of a truck. Now, his body was full with the worry of two individuals at the same time and his stomach churned painfully. 

"I need to inform my father. If humans want to fight, he will fight back." 

Taehyung nods, "I know. Now, do you understand why I want you to stay away from her?” his voice sounds hoarse and Hoseok doesn’t remember the last time he saw pain glistening in his friend’s eyes. "Something could go terribly wrong." 

Hoseok understands. He knows things are messed up and not for the first time he wishes you were a vampire. Things will be simpler like that. 

Would you want that? If he offers you a life of eternity with him by your side, would you take it? 

“I can’t,” and the words are like punches to Taehyung's gut. "I don't want to. I will protect her. I want to protect her." 

“Do you love her?” 

Taehyung closed his eyes as if he feared what his answer might be. 

Hoseok never realized until then, too caught inside his own world, fears, and hopes, that Taehyung has feelings for you, too. He couldn’t blame him for it, either. Hoseok himself was falling for you. Fast. You were extraordinary, beautiful and the most selfless person he knew. It was too obvious, actually. The way Taehyung’s face illuminated when you were in the same room as him; or the way his eyes helplessly followed your frame wherever you went. 

Taehyung was one of the good ones. 

He had never killed a human to feed. Enjoyed surrounding himself with humans because he wanted to be as normal as possible. He didn’t like being a vampire, but he was born like that and couldn’t change that. He took suppressors to weaken his ability to manipulate others' will. His power was so strong he even could use compulsion on other vampires –something no other vampire could do– but he respected the vampiric hierarchy and didn’t want to use it to his convenience. 

He is that kind. 

"I don't know," Hoseok answers. "I might."

As if he didn’t want to act like a normal human anymore, Taehyung moved in the blink of an eye and seated on the couch, burying his face between his hands in the most vulnerable state Hoseok has ever seen him. 

“Hobi, she is human. Mortal. She can die. You understand that, right?” His voice was muffled but to Hoseok's ears was loud and clear. 

Of course, he knew that. The last few days, he has been having nightmares. Horrible dreams where you die between his arms, bleeding out. Your blood smearing his hands and clothes as he desperately tried to keep you alive. Every time, he woke up with shallow breathing, his heart hammering furiously against his chest and the biggest lump on his throat. He had never felt that type of agonizing pain in his 200 years of being alive as he felt it at the mere thought of you being ripped off his side… 

...and Hoseok is surprised by the nth time by how quickly you managed to get under his skin. 

"I know," his voice sounds strained. "I will stay away from her." 

Maybe it is for the best. He would hate himself if something happened to you because of him. 

Taehyung stands up from the couch with clenched hands, "You better because if something happens to her, I'll personally kill you with my bare hands."

The Jeon's annual party is one of the most important and biggest events of the year during the social season. The invitation made of lush paper and gold is personally delivered to every guest. If you were invited, that meant you are important. 

It is also the event Hoseok had chosen to say goodbye to you. He wants to have one last dance and give you a final kiss before he disappeared from your life. 

Weird thing but what you loved the most about this world are the parties. Ironic, I know. Those parties are the perfect excuse to display the family fortune and elicit other’s envy. You hate that. No, what you love the most is when the hosts, to impress the guests, order the most exquisite pastries and drinks that make your taste buds tingle in pleasure. You love food.

There are also clothes. Despite yourself, you enjoyed dressing up in those dresses that are made especially for you and getting your hair and makeup done for the occasion. It makes you feel like you are inside a fairytale. 

Tonight, your only companion is your brother. Your father had something to do and your mother is kind enough to not come without him. 

This time, the Jeon ball had a theme, Fire and Ice, where the gentleman comes in white and the ladies in red. Lisa excelled herself with the makeup and the hair. You look absolutely stunning. 

Since you arrived, you made a beeline to the food. Shrimp canapes and diverse seafood in appetizers are displayed before you. You are not a big fan of seafood but the canapes are pretty good. You are about to take your second one when you feel a hand being pressed against your lower back. 

"Did my mother choose the appetizers well?”

Jeon Yongmin is behind you with an amused smile on his face. 

"O-oh! Mr. Jeon,” half of the canape was already inside your mouth, so you are struggling a little while you swallow it. 

"Please," he sends you a boyish smile and hands you a cup with bubbly golden liquid, "I told you to call me Yongmin." 

You smile back. “Yongmin,” his name rolls off your tongue and his smile widens.

Well, you guess he will be a good husband. He is kind and attentive. He comes from a wealthy family. You will be taken care of and will not have to worry about anything for your entire life. Plus, he is really handsome. Your kids will be pretty. Yet, you can’t picture yourself with him. When you imagine yourself in the future, another man is standing beside you.  

"The appetizers are really good," you finally respond. 

Strangely, he is here talking to you. Even when he is around your age, he spent more time hanging out with your brother and his friends than you. Thus, you are not close. 

"I'm glad you liked them. My mother was really nervous about it," Yongmin says as he takes one for himself. 

"How is the training going?" You ask him and giggle at his confused expression. "My father is the leader and my brother an active member. Of course, I know about your little group of vampire hunters." 

“It is weird to talk about it with someone out of the group,” he chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck. Then, he leans in closer to you so no one can hear what he is about to say. “We’ve been training with a warlock. He is giving some the power to fight against them. The other night, we went hunting and your brother killed one. It was impressive.” 

Your blood runs cold. Namjoon killed a vampire. You stare at Yongmin horrified but he is too busy telling you the epic story of your brother to notice the change in your expression. He seems excited and why not? This is what your family has been looking for: a way to eliminate vampires from the world. You should be happy. Instead, you feel nauseous. You can't help but imagine Hoseok being tortured by Namjoon. 

"We may kill some tonight. You can see if you want. I'm sure your father would let you," he adds casually. 

What? 

"H-how?" 

"They added a bigger dose of mountain ash to all the food and champagne. If a bloodsucker comes to the ball, we'll know." 

No. You need to tell Hoseok. 

"Has it ever occurred to you that not all vampires are bad?"

He turns to look at you, surprised.

"Are you kidding? They only want one thing. Blood. They'll do anything to get it," his tone is stern and you wonder if he has a story with vampires that made him hate them so bad. 

For the past few months, you have wondered if he was a vampire, like Hoseok. There is something odd about him. But now you are certain he is not. No one hates his own people that much. 

You excuse yourself, telling Yongmin that you need to go to the dresser. You can't be around him any longer. He offers you a smile that you no longer perceive as charming. You start walking as fast as you can. You need to warn Hoseok–

Suddenly, you bump into someone’s chest, too caught up in your thoughts to notice where you were going. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there… Oh, Hoseok.” 

All the concerning thoughts vanish from your mind the moment you meet his eyes. 

“Ms. Kim,” he greets you with a grin. “You look stunning tonight.” 

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. 

You blush at his words. “Thank you.” 

He looks really handsome too. The white of his suit accentuates his dark hair. 

Hoseok leans in and whispers against your ear, “Red is my favorite color.” 

You try so hard not to react to his words but your heart bumps hysterically inside your chest and you know he can hear it. It is clear by the smirk that tugs the corner of his mouth. 

There’s something you need to tell him, but right now you can't remember what it was. Maybe it is not that important. You'll remember later. 

At that moment, the string quartet started playing, filling the room with music.  

"Can I have this dance?" 

With a small bow, he offers his hand. With butterflies flying in your belly, you take his hand. 

He tugs you towards the dance floor where more couples are gathering and preparing themselves to dance. The steps come easy to your mind as you place your right hand over his left one and your left hand over his right shoulder. You feel warmth spread across your body as his right hand snaked around your waist and pulled you closer, his cologne filling your nostrils. 

Every time you dance with him, the world disappears. It is just you and him. Nothing else matters. You lose track of time. You dance until your legs feel weak and your feet hurt. You dance until your mind is dizzy and your throat is dry. Unbeknownst to both of you, a pair of eyes follow you through the crowd. 

The current song finished and a round of applause filled the room as the dancers bowed to their partners. 

"I have something to talk about with you," Hoseok says as he draws you out of the dance floor with a playful smile. Giggling, you follow after him. 

Then, something really weird happens. Hoseok stumbles over his feet. Hoseok, a vampire with enhanced reflexes, fell to the floor. He groans in pain and you let out a gasp. Something is wrong. 

“Are you okay?” 

He looks paler than he was just five minutes ago. Almost all the golden glory that distinguished his smooth skin is lost, leaving a pale, almost sick, color behind. But this is not the most shocking thing. His eyes fluttered open, a bright, crimson red has almost overtaken the chocolate brown of his irises. 

“Your eyes…” you whisper. 

“I don’t feel so good. Please, help me out of here.” 

With a nod you help him to his feet, urging one of his arms around your shoulders for support. A small crowd has gathered around you, their eyes observing with interest. 

“Is he feeling alright?” a woman, Lady Penhallow, asks. 

You offer her a tight smile. “Yes, thank you. He just drank a little too much,” you giggle awkwardly. 

You take Hoseok away before she could formulate a reply. You manage to make it out of the ballroom without much trouble, the people around them too busy to notice something out of the ordinary. However, when you arrive in the hallway, someone is waiting for you. 

Hoseok’s grip around your shoulders tightens as you recognize the man standing in front of you. 

Jeon Yongmin. The same Jeon Jongmin who was also an active member of your father’s Association and knows how to kill a vampire. The same who told you they were using mountain ash to hunt vampires at the ball… 

Suddenly, everything comes back to your mind. How could you forget something so important!?

“Is everything alright? What happened?” Yongmin asks, perfectly collected and face inscrutable. His eyes fall to Hoseok’s arm around your frame and he clenches his jaw. 

Perfect. 

Just perfect. 

You open your mouth to give him an answer, but Hoseok beats you. 

“Everything is alright, Jeon. I sprained my ankle dancing with her and Ms. Kim is kind enough to help me get into my carrier. Do I need to explain myself further?” To your surprise, Hoseok looks somewhat normal again. His eyes are brown again and he is doing his best to not use you for support to stand on his feet. Hoseok holds Yongmin's stare like he is challenging him to say something. The tension is palpable. 

"Okay…" Yongmin says after a while, his eyes glossy. He turns to you. “Come to see me when you finish. I need to speak to you.” 

You nod and watch him re-enter the ballroom. What just happened? 

The moment Jongmin leaves you two alone, Hoseok sighs in pain, and his body weight falls on your shoulders. He can’t stand on his feet anymore. With all your strength, you lead him towards a small balcony. Hoseok lets himself fall against the nearest bench once the door closes behind you. 

“I don’t know what is happening,” he musters between gritted teeth. He looks worse than before, small puffs of air coming out of his lips and beads of sweat all over his face, his hair sticking to his forehead.

"Hoseok, I am so sorry! They put mountain ash on the champagne. They are looking for vampires!" 

You run towards him, on the verge of tears. 

“But… the mountain ash doesn’t… affect me,” he breathed out. His loss of breath was what concerned you the most. 

"Yongmin said they increased the dose." 

Hoseok coughs, “Well, that explains it.” 

“What does the mountain ash do to you?”

He coughs again and you wince. “It only weakens me. It suppresses my powers and my strength. I wouldn’t be able to defend me if someone attacked me.” 

Of course. It is the only way they have to fight against them. 

"What can I do? Let me help." 

"I just… I just need to recover my energy. I need blood. I have some spare at my manor…"

He makes the attempt to stand up but he is too weak and fails. 

"If blood is what it takes, then take mine." 

Hoseok raises his head, his wide eyes meeting as if he couldn't believe the words that came out of your mouth. Yeah, you are offering your blood to a vampire. Something you were taught to avoid at all costs. It is something you never imagine yourself doing. But it was Hoseok, a vampire you've been developing feelings for. And now that you put it like that, if you could save his life, you don’t mind at all.

"No, of course not," he quickly dismissed your idea. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.” 

“How much time do you think you’ll last like this?” 

“I… don’t know…” another cough. “Probably not much longer.” 

“Then you need to feed fast. Your manor is not close enough,” you try to reason with him.

"I'm not strong enough to resist the blood lust. I could kill you," he sounds tired. 

"You won’t, I trust you.” 

He groans. 

"Don’t. I don’t even trust myself." 

"Hey," you say, taking his head with your hands to make him look at you. He looks… sad. 

The chocolate brown of his eyes had faded away almost completely, now a pair of crimson eyes staring at you. It doesn't freak you out as much as it did just moments ago. Now that you understand they were a part of him, it is easy to leave the uneasiness behind. 

You press your mouth against his. The kiss is barely a peck but charged with emotion.

"Let me help you." 

The last words are practically whispered against his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut. It feels like an eternity passed before he replies...

"Okay. But not here. This place is full of hunters looking for me. It's not safe." 

You agree. "Let's go to my place." 

"Yeah," he deadpans. "It would be safer in the House of the family that put me in this position in the first place." 

You offer him a smile, "We don't have much of a choice, do we?" 

He sighs, "I guess not."

--- 

Helping Hoseok out of the Jeon manor is a challenge itself because of two reasons: one, it is full of guards; two, you need to carry Hoseok’s weight all the way. Still, he managed to act as normal as possible. Once outside, he loses his energy again. His chauffeur looks concerned when you arrive at Hoseok’s carrier and helps you get him inside. 

The ride to your manor is quiet. Hoseok doesn’t have enough energy to talk and you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything. He is resting his head on your lap and you gently caress his hair. You are anything but calm. Adrenaline is pumping inside your veins and your palms are sweaty. The ride only lasted 20 minutes. At this time of the night, the road was almost empty. Two maids are waiting for you at the main entrance. They help you take Hoseok inside. 

"Hello Sophie," you greet one of them. "Are my parents home?" 

She bows at you, "No, miss. They went out a couple of hours ago." 

You nod. "I'll take mister Jung to my room. He is not feeling well… Can you prepare us something to eat?" 

"Of course, miss." She disappears through the hallway. 

You help Hoseok walk towards your room, which is located upstairs on the left-wing. The moment the door is closed behind you a new wave of nervousness washes over you. 

"Are you sure you want this?" he asks as you help him to take a sit on your bed. You place your purse on your night table. "I could feed on one of your maids… They would not remember a thing…" 

"No, I'm fine.” You reply quickly. For some reason, the idea of him feeding on someone else isn’t appealing. Hoseok, who is practically dying on your bed, dared to smirk. “Now what?” 

“Come here.” 

His voice suddenly smoother, like honey. You gulp loudly, fidgeting on your spot. You take a step towards him, your heart pumping inside your chest furiously.  When you are at his reach, he takes your hand.

“This is your last chance to say no.” 

“I-I won’t.” 

He hums before tugging you closer with a last spike of energy. With a yelp, you fall over his lap. He caressed the skin of your neck with the tip of his nose and you shudder. 

“Hmm, you smell amazing,” he whispers against your neck before sinking his fangs on the flesh. 

You gasp and out of instinct, your arms are placed over his shoulders for support. It is not what you have imagined. It definitely hurt. You feel like your skin is burning. You whine and try to push him, but he is too strong. Hoseok’s arms snaked around your middle to pull you tighter against his body. And then you felt the bliss. It was not something you’ve experienced before. The burn fades, leaving a warm feeling behind. You hear yourself humming in content. It is like nothing bad could ever happen in this world. If this is what happiness feels like, you don’t want it to stop… 

Your hazy mind merely registered when Hoseok pulled off your neck- You don’t know how, but his lips find yours. 

The kiss is gentle and slow, both of you moving your mouth lazily. 

You stay like this for what it seems like hours, kissing and nipping until your lips bruised. There is no rush. Both are content just kissing each other’s lips until your lungs hurt due to the lack of oxygen. Hoseok pulls you tighter against his body that earns him a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside the seam of your lips. Every brush of his lips, every swipe of his tongue is driving you crazy. 

He groans in impatience when he tried to make you straddle his lap with your legs around his hips but failed in the process. Your gown was obviously an impediment to do so. You chuckled against his lips. 

You lift your dress so you could slot your legs around his hips and straddle him the way he wanted to. He groans in approval and pulls you for another kiss, his hands cupping your face. This time, it was sloppy and more passionate than before, the desire and tension between you growing with each passing second. Tugging his hair, you make him crane his neck so you could kiss him there, nibbling and licking the soft skin. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, clearly affected. His hands fall to your hips, fingers digging your skin. 

“What do you think I am doing?” 

“Ughh, you’ll be the end of me…” 

You can’t help but smile at that. When you found the soft spot on his neck, his hands around your hips tightened, causing your body to squeeze harder against his own. You gasp. It is the first time you feel his already hardening member pressing against your clothed core. You rock your hips again, out of curiosity, and a soft moan leaves your lips. It feels so good. You set a rhythm, slow but strong, as you keep exploring the skin of his neck. 

Soon, you feel that it is not enough. You need to feel more of him, so you try to take off his jacket but his hands stop you midway. 

“Baby,” your heart flutters at the pet name. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“Why?” you whine.

He smiles at your pouty lips. “You are intoxicated with endorphins and you just lost blood. You are not in your right mind to make decisions. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret tomorrow.” 

“But I want you.” 

“And you’ll have me, tomorrow.” 

He brings your face to him to give you a kiss. “Besides, I think you need to sleep,” he says as he looks intently into your eyes 

You yawn. Suddenly, you feel very tired and you are having a hard time trying to keep your eyes open. 

“I think I should sleep,” you say, agreeing. 

He helps you lay in your bed and you sigh. This feels so comfy and soft. 

“Don’t leave me,” you mumble. 

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll be here when you wake up. We still need to talk.” 

You nod, your eyes already closed. 

He admires your sleepy form for a few minutes, deciding that maybe is not a bad idea to get some sleep, too. He stands from the bed to leave his jacket on one of the chairs you have around the room. 

Then, out of nowhere, his breath hitches in his throat and he's having trouble bringing oxygen to his lungs. His chest hurts again and he starts coughing violently. There is blood in his hands. 

What is happening? 

He just fed. The mountain ash shouldn’t be affecting him anymore. Then why he feels like shit again? 

The energy leaves him completely and he stumbles over the floor. 

Then, the sound of the room’s door being opened reaches his ears. Footsteps. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” a man’s voice asks. 

Hoseok raises his head to look at the newcomer and it shouldn’t be surprising to find your brother, Namjoon, standing before him. No, what is surprising is that Taehyung is standing behind him. 

Son of a bitch. 

“I took you long enough to find me,” Hoseok says, mockingly. 

Namjoon only smiles sardonically. His eyes find your frame lying on your bed and his jaw clenches, the smile disappearing. 

“It was not a good move to feed on her, vampire. My sister has mountain ash in her system. We’ve been consuming it every day for the past month.” 

Well, that explains a lot. Hoseok looks at Taehyhung but his former friend is avoiding his gaze. Instead, he is looking at you. 

Hoseok coughs again and Namjoon is enjoying his suffering a little bit too much. 

“Don’t worry. We will take good care of you,” Namjoon informs him. “Gentlemen, get him out of here.” 

Two corpulent men enter the room and walk directly towards him. They pull him off the ground and use ropes to tie his hands behind his back. The moment the material touches his skin, he winces. It is probably enchanted with some anti-vampire spell. He doesn’t see the point though. The mountain ash has weakened him enough to keep him docile. 

The men tug him out of your bedroom. With the last strength he has, he tries to look at you. But Namjoon is blocking his view. The last thing he sees before the door closes behind him is Taehyung’s bottomless expression and the hem of your dress in the bed. Red, as the color of the blood that ruined everything. 

TO BE CONTINUED.

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!

[atomic-taco-muffin]

The Legend of Hana Part 50

Warnings: Fluff?

Rating: SFW

Previously in The Legend of Hana:

Anti-Yui took her pistoleers and started shooting at Riku, but he dodged them before they could hit him. As they were fighting, Ruby ran over and knocked Anti-Yui’s pistoleers out of her hands.

The flames rose higher and Riku didn’t know what to do. He had to stop her from killing him and her. But how? He rushed over to her and crashed his lips onto hers, calming down her flames. A bright light surrounded them and Yui had returned to her normal self.

“I’m sorry, Yui. But I can’t have the worlds destroyed. I understand if you never want to see me again,” Riku said. Yui started to cry and fell to her knees. Ruby rushed over to her and comforted her. Riku looked down and walked away, trying not to cry through his blindfold.

The four boys headed down a pathway and found themselves at a large lake.

“Stupid quests…I never get to take a real bath,” Sora said.

“As long as I can clean off, I don’t care,” Era said. Sora spotted someone out the corner of his eye and saw Ping…but he was a girl?

“Oh…um…‘sup?” he asked, nervously. Ping ignored him and put on his (her?) robe.

“UM! I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE A GIRL!" Sora said as he turned around and covered his eyes, not wanting to be a perv.

"What?!" Era asked.

"A girl?!" Donald asked. Suddenly, a blast went off, summoning Mushu, Ping's dragon.

"FOOLISH MORTALS! YOU HAVE BEHELD PING'S NAKEDNESS!"  he shouted.

"Mushu!" Ping scolded as Mushu was trying to set the four boys on fire.

"I told you you'd blow our secret with your stupid girlie habits!"

"But.."

"Now how are we gonna keep them quiet?!" Sora picked up Mushu by his long body and examined him.

"WHAT'S WITH THE LIZARD?!" Sora asked.

"WHO YOU CALLIN' A LIZARD?!" Mushu replied. He looked at Sora and knew exactly who he was. "Huh? Now, wait a minute! Sora? Sora is that you?! Hey, Donald and Goofy too!"

Mushu looked at Era and was confused. He had never met this kid before. Who was he?

"And uh...who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Era. A new friend of Sora's," Era replied.

"Nice to meet you kid! Wow, it's been what, like a year since I last saw y'all?! How y'all been?"

"Good...I guess," Sora said, confused.

"Who's that?" Donald asked.

"Dunno." Mushu was stunned. How could they not remember him?!

"Who'm I? I'm yer old pal Mushu! The guardian of lost souls! The indestructible dragon! We used to kick all kindsa bad-guy butt together!" But it seemed that Sora, Donald, and Goofy still didn't remember him.

"Well I don't remember you but...we're still friends, right?" Sora asked.

"Yeah...good to see ya..." Mushu replied. He regained his confidence and stood next to Ping. "Now listen up. Under no circumstances are y'all to tell anyone about Ping here's actually a girl. 'Cos if anyone finds out, she'll be put to death."

"DEATH?!" The four boys asked.

"The Imperial City is under attack. So the emperor's ordered one man from every family to serve in the Imperial Army. No girls allowed! See, it's a man's honor' to defend his country and his family they say."

"So why'd you enlist if you're a girl?" Era asked.

"My father never fully recovered from the last time he fought for the emperor. I joined up so he wouldn't have to," Ping (Mulan) said.

"She ran off without telling anybody,” Mushu said. 

“My father must be so angry with me...if they find out that I’m a woman, I’ll bring dishonor to my family. But...I...I wanted to prove that I too can do what needs to be done...I know it sounds mad.” 

“No it doesn’t,” Sora said.

“Not at all,” Era said. Mulan thanked the boys and everyone headed to bed. 

                                                          ☽✧☽✧

In the mountains and in a dark cave, Xigbar was talking to the leader of the Huns, Shan Yu. 

“Help our Organization and you’ll get everything you want,” Xigbar said. “It’s a total win-win.” 

“I shall join you,” Shan Yu replied. One of the Huns walked in, interrupting their conversation. 

“Shan Yu. There’s an ambush waiting for us in the pass,” the Hun said. 

“Let them come. With our new power, ten thousand of their men will not be enough to stop us,” Shan Yu said. 

                                                         ☽✧☽✧

Sora, the other boys, and the Imperial Army were walking along the pass, carrying everything they needed to stop the Huns. 

“PING! STOP DRAGGING YOUR FEET!” Shang yelled. Behind everyone else was Mulan and her horse, and they seemed to be very exhausted. 

“What a pansy,” one of the soldiers said. 

“He shoulda just stayed home and played house with the other little girls,” another soldier said. Era shoved his cannon in the first soldier’s face, wanting them to shut up about Mulan. 

“HEY! THAT HURT!” the soldier said. 

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there,” Era said sarcastically. He turned around and kept on walking. 

“I guess this is really tough for a girl,” Sora said. 

“It’s tough for me too,” Donald said. They kept on walking where they came across a burned village. They heard a screech and saw a hawk fly up to where the Huns were waiting. The soldiers quickly readied their cannons as the Huns charged at them. As the Huns were charging at them, a giant group of Heartless was summoned and the four boys charged at them. As everyone was fighting, Shang got hit and was knocked off his horse. Mulan took one of the cannons and raced ahead of the four boys and planted it into the ground. 

“HEY! WHADDYA THINK YOU’RE DOING?! GYAAAHH! THEY’RE COMING FOR US!” Mushu exclaimed.

“I’m helping!” Mulan replied. She tried to light the cannon but Mushu did it himself. He soon realized what he did and before he could jump off, the cannon shot off, carrying Mushu. The cannon missed the Huns and hit the mountains instead. 

“That little--what does he think he’s aiming at?!” one of the soldiers asked. Mulan got pinned down by three of the Heartless and Era rushed over to help her. She was hit in her abdomen, but she was going to survive. A loud rumble alarmed everyone and they all saw an avalanche heading down their direction. 

                                                         ☽✧☽✧

After talking to Lily, Hana used her magic and transported herself to her home to apologize for her parents. But the thing was, who should she apologize to first? As she was walking down the halls, she spotted Fenwick and smiled. Fenwick spotted her as well and ran over to her. Hana smiled and picked him up. 

“Hi, baby boy!” she smiled. Xigbar heard what was going on and saw Hana standing there, no longer in despair. As Hana put Fenwick down, she spotted Xigbar and rushed over to him, tears in her eyes. Xigbar welcomed her into a hug and she cried into his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry, daddy!” she sobbed. Xigbar gently shushed her and held her close. 

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered. Hana soon pulled away and wiped her tears. 

“Where’s mom? I need to apologize to her too,” she said. Xigbar told her that Luna was in her room and she rushed over there. She opened the door and saw Luna watching (which was more like listening) to the T.V. Luna looked over and saw a blurry version of Hana standing in the doorway. 

“Hana...?” Luna asked, not sure if she should be scared or not. Hana started to cry again and rushed over to her, hugging her very tightly. 

“I’m so sorry, mom! I never wanted this to happen!” she sobbed. Luna gently wrapped her arms around Hana and gently calmed her down. 

“It’s okay, Hana. I know you didn’t mean for me to get hurt. I know you weren’t in control,” she said. After Hana calmed down again, she took Luna to Lily where she was able to use her healing magic to bring her sight back. She looked around and saw the beautiful city of Hollow Bastion. 

“It worked!” she said. She thanked Lily and the three girls sat down to talk. 

[purplerose244]

Peacefully

Here for this year’s Ninjago Secret Santa! Man I love this event, thank you a lot @coco-jaguar for organizing it once again! ❤ Hi @davisisacommonname, I’m your secret santa! Here’s you gift, I hope you like it! 😊😊

Merry Christmas and happy festivitites!! 💕💕

Summary: It’s a day like others, just without the usual mayhem shaking the entire city. A time to think of less stressful possibilities.

“So, what did we learn today?”

“That dares are stupid?” As they got back inside the monastery, finally escaping the chilling winter air, Nya raised a gigantic eyebrow at the green ninja. At which the mighty leader seemed to shrink the littlest bit. “… that dares involving the master of lighting putting lights on the tree using spinjitzu, resorting in him entangling himself into the wires and making every single bulb explode by electrification, are stupid?”

“There you go.” The master of water sighed loudly. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised it happened.” Despite the nonchalance of this blondie, the brand-new lights that they had been forced to buy and how she was probably the only one irritated about it – especially since Kai had been laughing hysterically for ten minutes straight afterwards –, she smiled.

Lloyd mimicked her, probably sensing he was not in mortal danger anymore, taking off scarf and hat. His golden locks puffed up as soon as the headpiece was off.

“Does the fact that I lost against Cole count as enough punishment?”

“Mhm?”

“I bet with him it was going to be Kai the first to cause an incident, he was supposed to be the one to take the bet. Now I’m in debt of one week of chores.” Another eyebrow was raised, less furious, more judging. “What? I’m trying to catch up, apparently the guys used to bet on everything when they first formed the team, from who was going to be the green ninja, to who was going to be the first to find out the identity of Samurai X! Like, I’m that prophesied green savior, and I knew about your little escapades.” Nya couldn’t help the little smirk. Ironically, the green ninja did turn out to be the first to discover the truth. “I could’ve won two times already, I wanna keep up now.”

They stepped into the kitchen, hearing faraway sounds. The others were most likely elsewhere putting up less expendable decorations. Nya was already looking towards the stove, thinking of nothing other than hot chocolate. Knowing Lloyd, they were on the same page.

“Okay, that’s uselessly prideful and kind of adorable, but this better not turn into a gambling addiction little one.”

“Nya, my father was the king of the Underworld. Is there really a worse evil than that?”

She couldn’t argue back.

Lost in thoughts about something warm to melt her frozen bones, she almost jumped when the sudden scribble came to her ears, and one extremely peaceful whistling that they were all too accustomed to at this point. In the living room right next, sitting on the sofa with the television uncharacteristically switched off, was Cole. Eyes on a random notebook he had on his knees, a pencil in the air, wearing that ridiculous sweater Jay found at the mall with muscled arms drawn over the sleeves – such a miracle of an ugly sweater.

He looked extremely taken by his activity, munching the end of the pencil every once in a while. Seeing their official lifter so calm and captured by whatever mindless activity had forced him to sit down was curious. It did happen before, but lately it got rarer. It was always a nice view.

Nya looked at the green ninja, who pointed at the kitchen with his thumb, right where the mugs where. She nodded, and went to take place next to the master of earth.

Who jumped right away, giving her a look.

“What the…? You’re back already? I didn’t hear you get in.”

“Wow, you don’t say!” From the kitchen the blonde’s voice erupted. “It’s almost like we’re ninja or something, unbelievable!” It followed accurate noises made by mouth, and if they knew him – and after years they absolutely did – then the little brat was probably mimicking an explosion coming out of his head – he was hanging around Jay a little too much.

Nya giggled, while the master of earth rolled his eyes with a little grin.

“Nice to hear you’re all in a good mood after our little blackout. You got the lights?”

“All done. Sorry about the scare, but it looked like you were in your own world.” She tilted her head, looking around. The living room was getting more festive, but it missed at least half the holly. “Didn’t you guys finish while we were gone?”

“We were going to, then something came up and we can’t really continue until Zane comes back to the shop… Kai accidentally set the tree on fire while you two were gone.” Her loud facepalm spoke louder than any of them. “I think Wu is still giving him an earful as he did with Jay as we speak … and before you ask Lloyd, Jay made a mess before Kai. So I still won the bet.”

“Aww, for once that I actually need Hot Shot to cause a mess!” The green ninja came out of the kitchen, the kettle starting to heat up into the kitchen, pout clearly in sight. For being their brave leader and the strongest ninja of all, he was still kind of a kid – although in all honesty, weren’t they all? “Anyway, what got you so into it that you forgot how to hear?” He walked until he was behind the couch, leaning over the master of earth’s shoulder and smiling. “Hey, that’s pretty cool! I didn’t know you could draw!” His surprised tone came out sincerely, especially since it felt like forever since they had found each other in this weird family. Finding new details was always a shock.

Nya scooted closer as well, smiling at the familiar shading of the chicken drawn onto the paper, with the real one sleeping over a pillow in front of the tv.

“You still have a nice touch. I haven’t seen you do it ever since it was just the four of you in action, and this little evil brat was in some random snake prison.” Lloyd mouthed an ‘oohhh’ of understand as why he didn’t remember. “To be more specific, I’m pretty sure it was back when instead of listening to my research about the Serpentine, you guys have tried to poison me with perfume.” Good thing no villain knew about her little Achilles hill.

Cole snorted, pressing his eraser on the corner of the paper.

“You were telling complicated stuff to that airhead that is your brother, to the guy that was lookin at your in awe while trying his hardest to ask you out, and to a nindroid. A robot. You can’t really blame us.”

“What’s your excuse then?” The master of earth raised his piece.

“I’m pretty freaking good at this.” Nya snorted. Again, no arguments here. “You know… I’ve been thinking about those times. And it’s not like it was easier, but I guess we didn’t really know how much things could become complicated and return back then.” Cole looked over the drawing, shrugging. “But I’m in vein of taking something back from there, exactly because we don’t know when we could get called into action again. It’s little, but it’s still mine… I felt silly like that this morning.” He grinned of that introverted nature that, despite years, was still a part of him.

And it was okay. It was great even. Nya gave him a shoulder.

“Hey, it’s not silly, it’s good.”

“Yeah! All of us should do something other than fighting.” Lloyd chimed in, dropping next to Cole on the other side, smiling. “Like for example, even though it’s been a pretty shady part of my life, I kinda miss PE back at Darkley’s. Moving just for the sake of moving. We should play sometimes, not because of training, it could be fun… or Nya could annihilate us, whichever comes first.”

“I’m not that competit-” The master of water blinked twice, shaken by the quickest flashback of her life. “… no wait scratch that, I totally am.”

Cole snickered, tapping the notebook with his pencil.

“Besides having as a golden rule to never put the blacksmith brothers against each other-” It could be the time Ninjago actually managed to get completely destroyed for good. “I would be down for that, why not? No sparring or anything, just a friendly match of whatever. I didn’t even get to do that as a kid, dad would always say that I could risk putting muscles where a dancer didn’t need them…” He flexed one arm, the massive hill pulling up the drawing onto the sleeve. He grinned with satisfaction. “How about football? I’ve always wanted to try football!” Oh for whatever reason other than having the strength to tackle a mountain?

“Absolutely!” Lloyd nodded eagerly. “Let’s do it! Oh, and soccer too, Brad and I used to try that a lot when we were kids!” He seemed to absolutely glow and the perspective, and it was kinda sad that such a simple reality represented an actual opportunity for him.

Before Nya could get lost into more self-deprecating depressive thoughts, and the fact that not even one of them had a normal childhood except maybe for Jay – and considering the still not so clear Cliff Gordon erased reality affair that was still up to discussion –, there was a loud whistle coming from the kitchen. The green ninja immediately sprouted into action, sprinting towards the sound. As soon as Cole decided to put down his drawing, seeing as the chicken had woken up to go bother someone – bet on Kai –, the blondie came back with three steaming mugs, giving to them all.

The master of water held up hers – a blue one with a storm cloud on it saying ‘Too tide to talk’ –, smiling at the distinct bitter scent of black cocoa. They knew each other tastes way too well.

“Sounds good to me. I also fancy basketball, so I’m down for that.”

“Nice! Mm, but how about other hobbies? Nya?” Cole took his time to take a generous sip from his mug that was literally dripping because of the amount of marshmallow – covering slightly the orange surface with ‘I’m a grounded person, like my coffee’ written on it –, while the gray ninja frowned a little. “Anything you would like to regain? You never really stopped with engineering so I’m guessing that’s out of the way.”

“Yeah, but,” She hummed, tracing the warm cup with her fingers. “That wasn’t a hobby or something I liked to do, not at first at least. It was just like Samurai X, a way to show you guys I could do what you did, even better. It grew on me, but it’s kinda work too, I’m proud of it but nowhere near as passionate as Jay or Cyrus Borg could be.” It was all about her tendency of holding onto the things she excelled at after all, the one obstacle that had almost cost her the true potential of her element. Despite her steps forward, putting a difference between liking to be good at something and liking it was still a little complicated. Then again… “… maybe painting?”

Cole grinned in surprise, Lloyd raised his head from his cup showing an impressive chocolate mustache – along with that black mug saying ‘It’s morning so you green and bear it’… and yes those mugs were all Jay’s presents.

“Whoa, where did that come from?”

“Yeah no offence, but you never stroke me as the artistic type.”

“None taken, it’s not exactly something that I feel it belongs to me, but maybe that’s why I used to like it. Because it was so far I didn’t have to think too much about it.” Nya smiled, taking another sip. “Remember the second Steep of Wisdom Wu opened in the middle of Ninjago City? To attract more customers I decided to work on a mural, right on the side. I don’t even know why, I just bought paint, brushes and a suit and started.”

“Oohh, I remember the one!” Lloyd snapped his fingers, the marshmallow in his cocoa shaking in the movement. “It was the one with the big majestic Wu serving the customer, I thought he hired an artist for it! That was cool!”

“You’re not saying it just because you’re my little brother, right?”

“Oh no, if it was ugly I would make a manifest all about it exactly because I’m your little brother. Brotherly code, smack talk every time it’s possible.” And then he fist bumped with his earthly brother nearby, wearing that same stupid grin. “But seriously, you were good at it. We finally have some free time to our hands, maybe it could be a good time for a new work. We still need the mural of that Day of the Departed where Cole turned back human after all, since those monks decided they had ‘lost the harmony of the inspiration’.” No one had been happy with leaving that important adventure behind – too bad they were in a monastery, a place of peace.

Cole hummed mindlessly, munching a marshmallow.

“Tell you what, how about we buy drawing and painting materials together for Christmas shopping?” He chugged down his drink, releasing a very satisfied sigh before leaning his back softly over the couch. “It’s usually Zane or Pix, we could take over for once and no, don’t give me that look water lily, it’s not for buying an extra cake and yes, do give me that look greenie, if you come along we’re so escaping and get to the sweet shop.” And there it came, another fist bump.

She had signed up for this.

She had signed up for this the moment she had let herself being overtaken by a bunch of skeletons, a past hit on her pride that to this day made her want to take a bone and break it in halves every time she thought about it – sports were going to be massacres, she was kinda looking forwards to it.

“I’m bringing leashes for you two vampires with sweet teeth, but it’s not a bad idea. And I like the mall in this period, it could even bring some inspiration as to what to paint.”

“How did you decide the first time?”

“I just thought of a simple design to get more clients.” Nya finished her drink, giving her eyes to a very curious looking blonde, thinking that it had been so long. It had always been so long, every single time she reevoked a part of her life, even though she was still so young. It was that eventful. “I worked on that project all day… but after it melted under the sun, it got ruined because of the wind and a lightning decided to strike it right in the middle, I just splashed it with all the colors I had and spinjitzued the heck out of it.”

“… rage, the mark of an artist.” Lloyd snickered, then he froze, suddenly beaming at the two. “Hey, why don’t you two work on something together? Cole makes the drawing and you paint it, it could be like a Christmas gift or something!”

Nya popped her mouth opened. How did they never think of that? How did they never while they had been battling villain after villain after villain after- Oh, there was the answer.

She turned to the master of earth, who looked just as engaged with the idea, if not more.

“Heck yeah, let’s do it! I can sketch a few ideas!”

“I do have colors I never got to try last time…”

“And I know mom got a few old frames that didn’t get accepted by the museum, I’m sure we can find a good one for this.” Lloyd grinned, scratching his cheek. “It’s almost weird putting up a plan for something other than defeating evilness…”

“Maybe, doesn’t make it any less good.” Cole winked at the two of them, looking inspired. And it was so good to see her brothers so high-spirited, and being happy with them. “… aha, I got one!” The master of earth hurried to the notebook, scrabbling quickly while the green ninja leaned his chin over his shoulder to see better, and the master of water did the same with her elbow on the other side. There was no other noise besides the pencil moving, and the suddenly more vivid voice of the rest of their family not too far away.

Peace was an abstract concept, it was in her life at least. But at least this moment, this situation, this instant, for Nya this was hers. And she wanted to make the most of it.

“… is that Jay getting entangled into the Christmas lights while doing spinjitzu?”

“Yeah? Is that the ‘should I punch you now or later for stupidity’ frown?”

“Nah, it’s the ‘what shade of color better depict bad life decisions’ frown.”

[engineeringnovels]

To the boy who broke my heart,

Hi, I hope this letter finds you well. Your ship has departed and from the docks I stare out where heaven touches the sea hoping to catch the faintest shadow of a mast. Though it has been six months since your fiery farewell, the recent days have stoked the embers in my mind and I relive the hours as if they were the moment you left. I know you shall not return to this port. Your adventure lies elsewhere, but I cannot help but think of this spot where we confessed our love exactly one year ago. I was a younger man then unaware of how lucky and rare it was for me to find a love that the warm glow of a yellow sunset envied as it dipped beneath the gentle waves that kissed the rocky shore. The promises we made beat back the cold November winds of adversity as we sat on your front steps wrapped in our cloaks and each other.

I remember staring up at that night sky with the full moon as our spotlight thinking that that moment was what home felt like. It never crossed my mind that the universe would deliver an unanswered prayer first sent decades ago when I first felt want; someone to share the empty space reserved for the forgotten, the unwanted, the undesirable. When you willingly stepped into that space raking your soft fingertips through my hair, my only mistake was thinking that Fortune favored us so much that she allowed us to last until the end of days, that our love was as strong and everlasting as Olympus. Alas, our love was not a mountain but a dying tree, full of life on the outside, rotten within. I no longer think of love as a home where something is built around my space, but rather a motel in the middle of the desert, visitors are rare and fewer care to stay. Given your goodbye, I wonder if you had any intention to stay at all.

The worst part of it all, we never fought. Our words never went to war until that first and only battle of an unexpected Christmas Offensive. On the first day, I was the meat of a car sandwich that left me in shock. On the second day, I felt the chilling touch of Consequence. For the first time, I felt terror as I became aware of every action I had taken since I could remember anything. The concussed inner child who grew used to seeing the backs of everyone he ever loved, turned to your bright smile for solace, the same smile that declared that he was everything you ever wanted. He trusted you. And on the third day, you bombarded him with questions. A hail of demands rattled on like machine guns. You nuked him saying the child was like that horrendous human being you call your father, the one who always left you feeling empty and worthless to the point where upon seeing your own face in a mirror disgusts you. You took aim at the child’s dream, a dream he suffered four years for, and shot it down saying that it was worth less than a pipe dream. At least a pipe dream had hope. You slashed him for not growing up fast enough, beat him for not stepping out of his protective shell, stoned him for not being everything you wanted. Then, you turned your back on him. He offered a ceasefire and you accepted the terms but defeat was total and absolute.

You said you’d try to be friends, but you began erasing me from your life before the ink dried. Months later, when circumstance forced us together again, you escaped the first chance you got. Your last words ring in my ears as loud as the day you said them. “I promise to remain faithful while on break, but I cannot guarantee that my bed will remain empty as we figure things out.” Was I so repugnant that you wholly rejected my very existence and needed to fill it with another’s? All those words all those promises, were they as empty as the space between the living and the dead? What mortal sin had I committed that granted me eternal damnation? Did I even leave a mark on your soul as you did mine? I still hurt. I still wait. Do you?  

Is the happiness from your recent exploits real? Are they just masking the pain as mine do? I yearn to see you again, just once more to prove that I am still worthy. Though, I cannot be the man you want me to be, I just need to know that our time together was not wasted. I just need to know if I meant the same to you as you did to me. And that your departure was because it was something you needed to do, not because I forced your hand. Perhaps one day I will have the answer. Perhaps one day, I will gain the courage to set sail for my own distant land. I hope that if our paths ever cross again, we’ll forget each other believing that the moments we shared were part of some long distant dream fading with every passing second. Until then, I wish for good wind and fair seas on your voyage. May you find what you are looking for when you finally land.

 All my love,

K.H.

[aion-rsa]

10 Injustice Characters the DC Animated Movie Needs to Get Right

https://ift.tt/3fCncB7

As we wait an announcement pertaining to the existence of NetherRealm Studios’ Injustice 3, we at least know that Warner Bros. is set to adapt the games into a DC animated movie.

Ever since its release in 2013, the Injustice franchise has not only become a staple of NetherRealm’s roster, but the comic spinoffs have made it a beloved part of the DC multiverse. The plot revolves around a reality where the Joker was able to mess with Superman so badly that the Man of Steel gradually became a mass-murdering dictator, with the support of several members of the Justice League. Left without any other option, Batman brought in counterparts of the Justice League from the “mainstream” universe to help him fight a civil war against his former friend. It was a story that merged the Justice Lords two-parter from the Justice League cartoon with Marvel’s original Squadron Supreme comic series.

A popular prequel series was released, mostly written by Tom Taylor, that explained the five years in-between Superman killing the Joker in cold blood and Batman’s last stand. Sometime later, the game’s story was adapted into the comic Injustice: Ground Zero. And the Injustice universe has only continued to grow since then.

As snazzy as NetherRealm’s story modes are, they are going to have to make some changes to the narrative for the animated movie. It’s not like every character is going to stumble into exactly four best-two-out-of-three fights in a row before someone else is the focus. Knowing that there will be alterations, some characters are really going to need some tender love and care.

Superman (Both of Them)

Injustice: Gods Among Us didn’t invent the idea of an evil Superman, but things are a bit over-saturated these days. Face it, “Dark Superman” has been done to death, what with Brightburn, The Boys, Invincible, and everything Zack Snyder intended with his Justice League movies.

It’s important that the animated movie really get into the WHY of what turned Superman evil instead of the Joker just getting a tragic win over him. The Injustice comic nudged him over and over again with multiple betrayals and manipulations before he finally snapped and angrily broke every bone in Green Arrow’s body. Hit all that, or at least enough of it.

More importantly, Injustice is a story of two different Supermen. The mainstream Superman has to ring true. He has to be the beacon of hope and positivity that pop culture has been missing for the past decade.

Ultimately, as long as they don’t do that minigame where Superman blows up cars and the people in them with his eye-lasers, we’re cool.

Batman

In this DC take of Marvel’s Civil War, Batman is by default the better person when compared to Superman. He has a line he won’t cross and that means no murder and no tyranny. That said, he still needs to be portrayed as a flawed hero. He may be competent, but he still behaves like a total douche at times and deserves to take one to the chin every now and then.

Being a paranoid futurist who buries himself in contingency plans means alienating allies, friends, and even family members. There’s a great moment in the Injustice comic where he reveals that he infected Cyborg with a virus within a week of meeting (you know, just in case), which Killer Croc says is outright sinister. It’s this kind of behavior that led to Superman’s fall to darkness, because even if Bruce wasn’t behind any of the horrors, he still chose coldness and paranoia over being there for a friend who was going through some serious shit.

Harley Quinn

A hype trailer for Harley painted her as a major protagonist in the first game but the game’s story mode just didn’t measure up. The comics did a better job and the Ground Zero volume was specifically about telling the game’s story from Harley’s perspective. I’m not saying that she should be joined by her team of BFF henchmen from Ground Zero, but she should definitely be a prominent hero.

Similar to the Mark Waid comic series Irredeemable and Incorruptible (also about an evil take on Superman), Harley’s turn to heroism is the universe’s response to Superman’s actions. She’s done some horrible things and may never make up for her actions under the Joker’s thumb, but she’ll keep fighting to stop Superman’s atrocities.

Wonder Woman

While Batman did a bad job trying to pull Superman from the darkness, Wonder Woman succeeded in pushing him in. It’s noted here and there, but this Wonder Woman was also altered by tragedy. In this timeline, Steve Trevor turned out to be a Nazi traitor. His betrayal left Diana feeling much less optimistic and hopeful than her mainstream self.

Wonder Woman’s villainy isn’t as pronounced as Superman’s, but she’s definitely the friendly face who eggs him on and wants him to stand over all mankind. As Superman uses her to fill the void left from Lois Lane’s death, the power couple become very good at bringing out the worst in each other.

Damian Wayne

The Injustice game did Damian a little dirty, revealing deep into the story that the Nightwing fighting on Superman’s side was not Dick Grayson, but Damian. According to Batman, Damian murdered Dick. The comics dove deeper into that and made it more of a freak accident brought on by Damian being an impulsive and angry child. Still, Bruce and his son were unable to make amends due to their shared lack of warmth.

Later stories, and even Injustice 2, added more depth to Damian. It always made sense that he’d join Superman’s Regime, but there was a soul in there who would eventually see that this wasn’t the right path. In the comic Injustice vs. Masters of the Universe, which was treated as a sequel to Injustice 2’s dark ending, Damian took up the mantle of Batman to oppose Superman and even grew a long-missing sense of humor in the process.

Lex Luthor

The great tragedy of the DC multiverse is that Superman and Lex Luthor just can’t get along. They will always be at odds no matter what Earth they come from. The Injustice universe was the one exception, as Luthor was portrayed as fairly warm and altruistic. Much like Batman, he has contingency plans up the wazoo, but they don’t come off as creepy.

Seeing him there as Superman’s longtime friend who sadly has to stab him in the back brings back that multiversal truth about the duo. Just because this is a world where Superman kills and things get very bleak doesn’t mean it’s the worst world and that it isn’t worth saving. The mainstream Cyborg is reluctant to come to terms with this heroic Luthor, but he ultimately accepts the miracle that this universe created a Luthor worth befriending and even looking up to.

Hal Jordan

Maybe it’s just me, but I was never a fan of how Geoff Johns retconned Hal’s past and gave him deniability for everything he did as Parallax. I liked that a boring hero dude like Hal snapped, did some bad stuff, and then had to accept his failures in an attempt to be better. With Injustice, they gave us that exact Hal.

Read more

Games

Injustice Beat Zack Snyder’s Justice League to the Punch

By Matthew Byrd

Comics

Injustice: Year Zero Brings the Justice Society to DC Alternate Universe

By Jim Dandy

Overflowing with willpower and being an otherwise competent space cop, Hal is still something of a dunce at times, and he’s susceptible to manipulation in the right situation. He’s already following Superman’s lead, but having Sinestro pop in to indoctrinate him into the Sinestro Corps makes him actually interesting. Let Hal be the worst version of himself here so he can double back on it in the sequel and beg Guy Gardner’s ghost for forgiveness.

Shazam

Injustice may be the B-side to Mortal Kombat, but the game itself is fairly tame on the violence. Joker’s death isn’t actually shown on screen, Luthor’s end is fairly clean, and Grodd taking a trident to the torso is relatively tame.

But what we absolutely, positively have to see in the animated movie is Shazam’s death scene to really give an idea of how far gone Superman is. It’s bloodless from our point of view, but it’s grisly as hell and made worse when you remember that Shazam is a literal child under all the mystical power.

Batgirl

The Barbara Gordon version of Batgirl was one of the first DLC characters added to Injustice, but it’s unfortunate that she’s not in the main story mode — something the animated movie could fix by giving her a more prominent role in the fight against the Regime. Her ending gives her a kickass backstory where she returns to the cowl after her father dies at Superman’s hands. The comics go deeper into this, even making it so that Superman doesn’t directly kill Commissioner Gordon.

In this continuity, she was already wheelchair-bound as Oracle. She had to go under a very dangerous procedure under Luthor’s care in order to walk again. This is one of the storylines that could make for a captivating arc in the movie.

Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred isn’t in either Injustice game. He’s already dead by the start of the first game. But I don’t care. Alfred needs to be in the animated movie because he is the heart and soul of the Injustice comics. While others bow to Superman, follow him, or even try to reason with him, Alfred Pennyworth doesn’t play those games. He will straight-up verbally clown Superman for his actions without flinching. He is not afraid of the Kryptonian, no matter how red his glowing eyes get.

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This comes to a head in the comics when Alfred takes a pill that gives him Kryptonian strength and he kicks the absolute shit out of Superman for ruining his family. I know I’m asking for a lot, but I simply need to see Alfred stomp a mudhole in Superman so hard that his own shoe explodes from the impact.

The post 10 Injustice Characters the DC Animated Movie Needs to Get Right appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[troybeecham]

Fr. Troy Beecham

Sermon, 1 Advent 2020

Mark 13:24-37

Jesus said, “In those days, after that suffering,

the sun will be darkened,

and the moon will not give its light,

and the stars will be falling from heaven,

and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.

Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

Today, the Christian year begins anew with the arrival of Advent.

Advent in the Christian life is the season of expectant waiting and preparation for both the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas and the return of Jesus at the Second Coming. For many of us unused to living by the religious calendar rather than the secular, it would be hard to say which is more alien to our contemporary ideas of getting ready for Christmas, the season of Advent or the strange words of Jesus in today’s gospel reading.

Jesus confronts our self-reliance and self-satisfaction in the Gospel. His language is abrupt, unsettling. His warnings proclaim his arrival, God with us, not as a baby in Bethlehem, but rather as the Judge of all things and all people at the end of time.

No sweet infant smiling innocently at us this morning. He’s obviously not trying to charm us, but rather to startle us, to wake us up to the reality of the world and of the coming judgement. For those in power his words caused offense and fear. For those oppressed, the poor, the widow and orphans, his words were a cause for joy. An ancient Christian prayer comes to mind: Maranatha—come now, O Lord! This is not a prayer for Jesus to come again as a helpless baby; it is the longing cry of God’s people for him to return in power and glory, when “every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Phil. 2:10–11).

The image of Jesus as the cosmic Judge who will ultimately come again to put an end to all sin and wickedness forever is not so frightening to the poor and oppressed of the earth as it is to those with power, wealth, or lack of concern for others. For all who weep and mourn, for refugees, for those in war torn and famine-stricken countries, these worn and weary ones say Maranatha and really mean it. And the powerful, the wicked, those with everything to lose, tremble at this prayer!

Jesus bears witness to a reality that is coming, a reality that will expose all worldly realities, all earthly conditions, all human promises as fraudulent and deceiving. His preaching exposes our pretensions for what they really are. Jesus is calling each of us to a life of faith that is oriented on obedience to the Risen Messiah, to an utterly new source of ultimate authority and dominion in our own lives even as we expect his reign to come over the whole earth.

Each Advent, the renewing of the Christian year, we hear either Jesus or John the Baptist forever summoning us to have our lives reordered totally, of having our lives oriented to an altogether different reality – the coming kingdom of God. Jesus’ hearers, just like we ourselves, were used to having those in power say to them “Here is your horizon! Here is true north!”, but John said “No! They are lying to you! The powers and the powerful of the world want to convince you how to have your lives shaped, but I’m telling you the truth, revealed by God, who says ‘I am the true horizon, and I alone true north! Have your lives oriented solely to me!’”

And he preaches, “Every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” So, the standard of judgment on that last, great day is a life of continuous repentance. And repentance does not mean just being sorry, but of being reoriented in another direction. And this can only happen by the indwelling power of God’s Holy Spirit. We need power from outside ourselves to be transformed.

This Christian transformation is serious business. No previous commitment or identity will have ultimate meaning; no human ancestry or worldly allegiance will be of any consequence when Jesus comes again in power and glory to judge the world. The Christian proclamation is that a power from outside is coming, a power that is able to make a new creation out of people like us, who have no power of ourselves to save ourselves. The power that is coming is not our power—not the power of our deeds or our inner strength or our spiritual discipline or our faith or even our repentance. It is God’s power that gives good deeds and inner strength and spiritual discipline and faith and repentance. We are able to repent and bear fruit because God empowers us by grace, through the Holy Spirit, faith, and the Blessed Sacraments.

We cannot trust any of the powers of this world to save us or our world. This means that we are being offered a lifetime of being changed into the image of Jesus. It means we are going to be weaned away from our possessions and oriented toward being everlastingly possessed by the love of God. It means that we will become less interested in receiving personal blessings for ourselves and more interested in making Jesus known and loved to those “dwelling in darkness” (Matt. 4:16). It means that we will become more and more thankful as we become less and less self-righteous. It means that we will gradually become less preoccupied with our own privileges, prerogatives, and power affiliations and gradually see ourselves more and more in solidarity with every human being who, like us, can receive mercy only from the hand of God and not because of any human strength.

These changes have political consequences as well as individual ones. Repentance will mean seeking after the good of all, not just the comforts of a few or of those who think like us, and the knowledge of the coming of the Lord means that there will be hope—in the light of his power—of his intervention in the affairs of nations, that the efforts of the peacemakers will somehow, miraculously, be blessed, and our efforts to preserve our world will find ultimate fulfillment with the new heaven and earth joined as one.

My friends, Jesus is everything. He came once as a child; he comes now to those who receive him, to the hearts of all human beings who relinquish all human claims before the God who is coming in power, today through the Blessed Sacraments received by faith, and at the end of the ages.

My prayer for us all, and for all people, is that we will truly hear the cry of Jesus, invite him into our hearts to be transformed by him, that his light may shine through us into a very darkened world. The oppressed and sorrowful of the world, and we ourselves, may only then have hope rather than fear for the return of the Risen Savior, Jesus our Lord. Only in him may we ultimately find eternal peace and joy in the presence of God, and with all creation we will sing endless songs of thanksgiving for the loving Jesus who came and saved us.

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

[emilx311]

Tobirama had been blind since birth, he dealt with it, even when his lack of sight led to shenanigans. Madara, on the other hand, was very confused by Tobirama's seemingly random habits. Or, four times Madara really should have figured out Tobirama was blind and the one time it actually came up. 

My first MadaTobi week story! I'm hoping to do 4 of these in total. This is for the blind Tobirama prompt

read on AO3 or under the cut, also if you enjoyed this please buy me a coffee

Senju Tobirama had a secret. It was not one he really cared about, but his father had and keeping it had become a habit over the years. You see, Tobirama was blind. He had been born that way, with his eyes closed and his senses open. Hashirama and Touka knew, as did a few of the older Senju, but even within his clan most did not. Tobirama had never understood why others seemed to make such a big deal about it. He had never had it so he could not miss it and he had found ways to compensate for anything his blindness may have prevented him from otherwise doing. He was a capable and deadly warrior so he really did not see why anyone would care. This was why he had never thought to tell the Uchiha of his condition even after pulling his blow on Izuna to create peace and helping their brothers to build the village of their dreams.

One of the first things Madara noticed about Tobirama after peace was established was how messy his handwriting was. This seemed odd since anyone who spent any time around the brothers could see that Tobirama was the organized, logical one. He was the one who came up with the systems, the one who kept his brother in check and on task. And yet, while Hashirama had the beautiful handwriting befitting of a clan head's son Tobirama's was chicken scratch. It was messy and slanted and almost impossible to read. The albino seemed aware of this, had even hired someone specifically to be his scribe, but never did anything to fix it. Madara wanted to say something about it, but none of the Senju reacted or seemed to think it strange and he didn't want to make it seem as if the Uchiha were criticizing their heir. Izuna also thought it odd, but when he asked his brother he was unable to offer a possible explanation even after all the years he had spent fighting and studying the other.

Madara was watching Tobirama again, Hashirama noticed. He’d been doing that quite a bit since Tobirama had pulled his blow to Izuna, but this time seemed different. Instead of being focused on his brother himself the Uchiha was squinting at the book held in his brother’s hands. It was a braille book because Tobirama had just gotten back from a mission the night before and his chakra was still low, but otherwise Hashirama saw nothing out of the ordinary about it.

“Something wrong? You seem distracted” Hashirama asked his friend off-handily. Madara hummed, still focussed on Tobirama.

“Not really just…what is your brother holding?” Madara asks in return. Hashirama gives him a confused look.

“What? It’s a book” he replies. Madara blinks before looking at him quizzically.

“But there’s no words on it and he’s not using it to write in” Madara points out.

“Of course not, it’s written in braille. He always reads that way when he’s tired or low on chakra, it’s more relaxing for him” Hashirama explains. He’s surprised that Madara has never seen his brother read braille before, he does it often enough. Tobirama really did find it more relaxing since he didn’t have to focus his chakra when he read this way. It was almost as good as swimming for de-stressing him.

“Oh” was all Madara could say to that and Hashirama wandered away happily with no idea he’d left his friend even more confused than before.

Madara blinked. He blinked again. The sight in front of him didn’t disappear or change. He activated his Sharingan just to be sure. Everything stayed the same.  So, he was not hallucinating or caught in a genjutsu, so what he was seeing had to be real. He took a moment to wrestle with that idea, but he just couldn’t accept it. There had to be an illusion of some sort, had to be! There was absolutely no way in the world Senju Tobirama would be dressed in that otherwise. No way!

He had tracked the Senju down to one of the more secluded training grounds with a few questions about paperwork only to find the sight in front of him. At first glance everything seemed normal enough. Tobirama was flowing through a series of katas, moving fluidly but slowly from one pose to the next with precision and control. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat that made his clothes cling in delicious ways. That was not the problem (or at least not the one Madara was focussed on, the one that is preventing him from appreciating this view). The clothes themselves were even, on a basic level, appropriate training wear. A pair of flexible capris and a teeshirt with a V-neck plus the mesh he wore underneath. No, the problem, the huge mind-bending, reality-warping problem was the colour of the clothes.

The pants weren’t too bad he supposed, being a darkish shade of green unfortunately reminiscent of vomit. They, at least, had the redeeming quality of providing some camouflage with the forest. The shirt did not. The shirt had nothing redeeming about it what so ever. It was a horrendous shade of neon pink (Madara wasn’t sure where the younger man had even been able to find it). The colour would have been bad enough on its own, but when contrasted with the pants was somehow even worse. ‘And’ he noticed distantly, ‘neither of them suits his colouring very well anyway’.

“What the fuck Senju?” He demanded once his brain had rebooted enough for his mouth to work. The Senju in question heaved a sigh and turned to give the Uchiha his full attention in the hope it would get him to leave sooner.

“What Uchiha? It’s called training. I would have thought you aware of the concept, or are you so above us mere mortals that you don’t need it?” He questioned, annoyed at being interrupted.

“What, no! Not the training, of course I know what that is! I meant the clothes! What the hell are you wearing?!?” Madara screeched, waving his hands towards the offending items. Tobirama blinked looking very confused.

“I’m wearing clothes as you yourself just pointed out. I fail to see the issue with it. They are hardly immodest and provide the lightness and flexibility I require to optimize my training” he responded blandly.

“You-immodest, no, what?” The Uchiha sputtered. Tobirama gave him a judgemental ‘get to the point’ look. “It’s not the type of clothes that’s the problem! It’s the colour! Are you trying to make all of Konoha go blind???” He questioned. Tobirama glanced down self-consciously.

“Is it really that bad?” He asked. “I mean, I know they’re not the best, which is why they were in my training clothes pile in the first place, but I didn’t think it was-”

“They are” Madara cut him off. “Please, for the sake of us all, burn them. Or, at least the shirt. No one deserves to see that, not even you.” Then, because he has always been far too curious for his own good, he asked, “where did you even buy that, and why?”

“No idea” Tobirama replied with a shrug. “Brother gave it to me, likely as a joke so he could laugh when I grabbed and worse it out by accident”. Madara paused for a moment at that, but it did sound like something Hashirama would do. He wasn’t sure how Tobirama could miss the colour (his eyes!) but then again, he wasn’t always the best in the mornings himself.

“Humph, just do the world a favor and burn it. The idiot’s likely already forgotten about giving it to you” he advised again, only to start sputtering, again, as Tobirama pulled the shirt off right in front of him. “What are you doing now???” He shrieked, a blush forming at the sight of the other’s pale, sculpted chest highlighted by the darkness of the mesh.

“I’m taking your advice. If it’s really that bad I may was well take the chance to get rid of it now. Uchiha are rather well known for their abilities with fire” Tobirama pointed out. Madara preened once he understood what Tobirama was suggesting. Burn the abomination? Yes, he could do that! He grabbed it out of the other’s hands, laid it on the ground and made a show of setting it ablaze. Once the offensive object was nothing but ash, Tobirama used a water jutsu to put the fire out.

“Thanks, Uchiha” Tobirama said. Madara nodded in acknowledgement and wandered off, please with his morning’s work. It was only after he was halfway back to the tower that he remembered why he’d been looking for Tobirama in the first place. He thought for a moment before shrugging. The paperwork could wait, what he’d ended up doing had been far more important. Plus, who wouldn’t have gotten distracted at such a sight? He didn’t know how the Senju had been able to stand having it on! (Meanwhile, Tobirama made a note to himself to go over all his clothes with Mito later-he’d had no idea any of them were that bad!)

Tobirama was beyond tired. He’d just gotten back from a mission (not that bad, but still tiring) and had been planning on making his report and then returning home and passing out. Instead, he had walked into the tower only to be greeted by terrified staff, screams, and flames. He pinched his nose, sighed, and set himself to sorting out the chaos.

He was unsurprised to find Madara and Hashirama at the epicenter of the mess. Stopping to shoot a glare at Izuna and Touka who were standing off to the side snickering, he called up a shave of water and dumped it on the two strongest shinobi of their age. Predictably, the screaming then turned into confused sputtering. Tobirama despaired for the village sometimes, and was also vaguely amazed that there even was one with these idiots in charge.

“Tobi! You’re back!” Hashirama cheered once he noticed his brother. He forgot about Madara as he eagerly launched himself forward to hug Tobirama, who neatly dodged him.

“Yes, I am, no, I am not hugging you while you are all wet” Tobirama told him. Hashirama laughed sheepishly. By that point Madara had managed to wrestle his wet hair back away from his face and had switched his glare from Hashirama to Tobirama.

“Oh, you survived, joy” he muttered.  The dunking had not improved his already bad mood (Izuna considered it Karma for the number of times Madara had dumped him in the koi pond). Tobirama snorted.

“Yes, I survived, only to come back to this. I thought I specifically told you that I expected the village to be standing, intact, and not on fire when I got back!” Tobirama gave all four of them a pointed look, and they did have the dignity to look a bit abashed, or well, most of them did.

“It is!” Madara protested.

“This building is part of the village and there was definitely fire just a moment ago” he pointed out drily. Madara pinked slightly and looked away from the albino. Now that he had successfully cowed them Tobirama set about finding out what had happened and actually fixing the problems (setting them on fire is not a solution Madara!).

By the time he’d finished with that and finally made his report it was well into the night, and he was, as previously mentioned, very tired and also a bit low on chakra. Because of this, he was not sensing at anywhere near his usual level. This, he maintained, was why he ran into the door. Taking a step backwards and rubbing his head he glared at the offending piece of wood (ignoring how his brother and Madara were snickering). Grumbling, he reached his hand out to grab the nob and pish the door open. It didn’t move. Puzzled, he tried a bit harder, but there were still no results. Madara had, by now, stopped laughing and was starting to look a bit worried. Fed up, Tobirama switched tactics and gave the door a hard yank. This time, it did open-flying backwards with enough force to knock into his head, again. Tobirama cursed, he’d never been fond of doors, while Madara rushed over.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” The Uchiha asked, fluttering around him with actual concern. He glared at Hashirama who was still snickering.

“I’m fine” Tobirama waved him off, “just tired”. Madara made a noise of contempt and began feeling the other’s head for bumps himself.

“It’ll be fine, this is hardly the first time he’s done this” Hashirama reassured him, voice still infused with mirth. “He always has trouble with doors when he gets tired. It’s why he has an open layout and shoji doors in his house, and why he uses windows so often” Hashirama explains, which…kind of makes sense. (Madara had wondered about the window thing. When they were first building Konoha, Hashirama had insisted that all the central buildings needed to have large numbers of windows and then that those windows had to be able to open from the outside. The Senju, when they heard, had all nodded with tired and resigned looks. The Uchiha had been so confused until the buildings actually started seeing use and Senju Tobirama started sliding through them. More than one of his clansmen had had minor panic attacks upon turning around to find Tobirama suddenly there, standing calmly by the window, but they’d gotten used to it quickly enough. It had become a secret pleasure for Madara to watch the albino twist his lean body as he entered or exited by his chosen route.)

“He even swore off door entirely for a few months as a child, would only ever use the windows. Broke a few bursting in when they were locked before everyone finally just gave up and started keeping them open” Hashirama adds. Tobirama looks unrepentant and even seems to smirk at the memory. “Still, this is usually a sign that he really needs sleep, and I still have some things to finish up here so would you mind making sure he gets home safe for me?” Hashirama shot his best pleading face ad his friend who pretended to be annoyed as he agreed (neither Senju was fooled). Once they were out of Hashirama’s sight Madara took the opportunity to wrap an arm around Tobirama, who rolled his eyes.

“I know I’m tired, but I can still walk by myself” he mentioned sarcastically. Madara shrugged.

“Maybe I want an excuse to touch my boyfriend who’s been away” Madara said, smiling with pleasure at the light blush his words cause. Their relationship is still new, having only begun a few weeks ago, but it was good. They would probably get around to telling people soon (neither wanted to deal with their brothers’ inevitable dramatics), but for now they were still keeping it quiet.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier” Madara adds, cringing as he remembered his first words to the newly returned Tobirama. “I am very happy that you’re still alive and back safe”. The Senju leaned into him a little in reassurance.

“I know, it’s fine. You were obviously upset, and my welcome to you was not the warmest either” he told the other. Madara just smiled at him, amazed as he always was that this man was his. They stopped once they reached Tobirama’s home and Madara pressed a light kiss to his lips before letting go and stepping back.

“Think you can manage the door?” He couldn’t resist teasing. Tobirama huffed, but there was a small smile playing around his lips. He walked up to the door and opened it with a big flourish, just to prove he could. Madara laughed.

“Good night then dear heart, sleep well” he told Tobirama who waved a hand in acknowledgement and farewell as he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. Someday, Madara hoped, they would share a house with plenty of open space and windows and shoji doors where they could retire for the evening together.

It was months after that when things finally came to a head. If he was being honest, Tobirama would have to admit that he’d actually forgotten that Madara didn’t know he was blind. His partner was so good about accommodating him and his quirks that the whole thing had rather slipped his mind. Because of this he was genuinely surprised when it actually came out.

Their relationship was going well and they’d finally decided it was time to tell their families (well, they were both pretty sire Mito already knew, but they would tell everyone else). Since both were aware of their brothers’ personalities and tendency to over react (especially Hashirama) they had decided to do this in private and get it over with all at once. So, they had arranged for a family dinner at Tobirama’s and had invited Hashirama, Mito, Touka, and Izuna. They both knew that once the shock passed their family would be happy for them, but Madara was finding that knowing this did nothing to lessen the nerves churning inside him which was making him twitchy and irritable. Tobirama, Izuna, and Hashirama were the most important people in his life and he had no idea what he’d do if he ever lost one of them, but it would not be pretty. Because of this, he was fluttering around trying to make everything as perfect as possible.

“Why do you only have one vase? And why is it so deeply buried?!” He demanded between muffled curses as he finally unearthed the aforementioned object from the back of a cupboard that looked like it hadn’t been opened since Tobirama moved in. He carefully rinsed the dust off it, filled it with water and the flowers bouquet he’d bought and found it a place near the center of the table.

“Flowers aren’t really my thing since I can’t appreciate them properly. Besides, Anija makes them bloom everywhere anyways, so what would the point be?” Tobirama replies from his perch on the counter across the kitchen. Madara doesn’t really understand the first part but that’s okay because he understands the second way too well.

"Does this look okay? I wasn't sure if the colours of the flowers were too clashing but the clerk assured me, they were offset by the others enough that it didn't matter..." Madara trailed off. He knew he was being a bit ridiculous but the level incredulity in Tobirama's look was hurtful and uncalled for.

“Why in the world are you asking me?” Tobirama asked.

“Because you’re here?” Madara’s reply came out more of a question. “I know you don’t really care much about colour, but you can at least tell me if you can stand looking at them” he huffed. Tobirama froze, his eyes going wide which made Madara freeze in turn because that? That was not a good look.

“Shit” Tobirama murmured to himself and Madara felt as if a cold hand was trailing down his back. Tobirama rarely swore and when he did it usually meant something really big and really bad was going on. He had a split second to wonder if the village was being invaded before Tobirama started talking again. “Fuck, you don’t know! How could I forget you didn’t know?!?” He raked an agitated hand through his white hair. Madara was getting the sense that there was something he didn’t know.

“Ah? Tobi, love?” He questioned when after a minute the other just continued muttering to himself about what an idiot he was. “What don’t I know?” He figured it was best to ask bluntly, he’d never been any good at tact anyway. He was startled when the question made his normally stoic boyfriend blush and fidget ever so slightly.

“I…I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you” Tobirama started off with, trying to reassure Madara but only succeeding in making him more anxious. “I assumed you knew. That Hashirama had told you at some point or that Izuna had figured it out and it just didn’t bother you which is why you never brought it up…” Tobirama realizing he was rambling forced himself to stop and took a deep breath before, finally, getting to the heart of the matter. “I’m blind” he blurted out. Madara took a moment to digest that.

“Oh” the Uchiha eventually replied dumbly. Tobirama, his strong and skilled lover, the man who’d spared his little brother and made his childhood dreams possible was blind. He wanted to reel in shock but…but he kept remembering instances, and small habits of Tobirama’s he’d observed that suddenly made so much more sense. His handwriting, the scribe he had with him at all times at work, his braille books and the way he would always read them and only them when he was low on chakra. It explained Hashirama’s insistence on giving him the most horrible clothes, why he hated doors and kept everything so neat. Every odd habit and quirk of his lover’s he’d wondered about but accepted (because they were a part of Tobirama and therefore precious) suddenly made sense. He looked back at Tobirama (when had he looked away?) and found him playing with a loose thread looking worried and…ashamed? He realized then that Tobirama expected him to be mad. Expected him to be angry that he’d never mentioned this to him before.

“Oh, Tobi” he crossed the distance between them in quick steps and pulled his boyfriend into his arms. “I’m not mad” he reassured the other. “Yes, I’m surprised because I never would have guessed and I’m maybe a bit annoyed at myself for not noticing the clues, but I’m not upset with you. I’m honoured that you trust me enough to tell me now!” He pulled the other down for a kiss that he poured his soul into. He tried to show the other how much he loved him, how learning this only made his love and admiration for the other’s strength grow. He seemed to have succeeded since Tobirama was beaming at him when he pulled away.

“I love you” the albino told him tenderly as he tucked an escaped strand of black hair back behind Madara’s ear, caressing his face as he went. Madara nuzzled into the hand with a smile. “And I trust you with all that I am” he added. Madara felt his heart skip a beat at the admission and the adoration written plainly in red, sightless eyes. He’d known, of course, but to hear it…They would have details to work out later, questions Madara would need to ask and accommodations he’d learn to provide, but for the moment this was everything he needed and wanted.

“I love you too, there is no one I would rather have beside me” he confessed in turn. Delighting in the way Tobirama’s smile widened even more at the words. Entranced with the man in front of him Madara could do nothing but kiss him again. The world around him faded away until the only thing left was Tobirama. Evidently, his love was having a similar experience since neither of them noticed the arrival of their relatives. They were pulled apart, and back into reality, by Hashirama’s happy squeezing and Izuna’s confused exclamations. Blushing, Madara pulled away to let Tobirama hop off the counter. He kept one hand in Tobirama’s and felt the other give it a comforting squeeze. Tobirama had his back and they would face this together. Strength renewed, Madara set about helping the other deal with the ridiculous people they called family.

[notalwayslate]

Who Protects The Monsters Part 1

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

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

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

For Rumbelle Monster's Ball

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will never marry you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I have agreed to it.”

Her stomach dropped, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I ever told you my favorite story?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Screaming. Walls shaking with anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what about the monster?”

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

“What did the man do the monster?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was my father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s for dinner?”

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Rumple.”

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

“I love you too,” he professed.

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

Fueled by jealousy his arms tightened around her.

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

“You’re mine,” he hissed possessively.

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

“And you’re mine, Rumpelstiltskin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hundreds of glowing eyes surrounded the two lovers. Small eyes, big eyes, from the top of the trees to the forest floor stared upon them. It was not people who watched them, this she knew. It was his subjects, the creatures of the darkness.

She looked down at Rumple, his glittery green skin, sparkling in the moonlight, as his eyes held a question of a shy hope and fear. She knew she should be mortified, hide her naked body from their prying eyes, and yet she had no desire to do so. She loves their king. She wants to show them, prove to all of them that her world and their world of darkness can join together as easily as the two bodies before them.

She grinds against Rumple once more, drawing words of love and devotion from his lips. She knows the creatures eyes are upon them, as he lifts his trembling hands cupping her breasts. Glancing out into the forest, her eyes convey a silent promise to them all. She loves them, and will protect them with her dying breath.

Her climax draws near, as she quickened her pace, feeling him deep inside of her.

“You are their queen,” he proclaims. “My love, my life, My Belle.”

His words push her over the edge, as she tightens around his cock, drawing his own orgasm. Wolves howl into the full moon night sky as his seed pulses inside of her. Breathless she falls forward onto his chest, letting out a sigh of contentment as his arms quickly wrap around her.

They are still joined as she lays her head on his beating heart. Neither speaks as they bask in the afterglow of their love. She shivers as the night air sweeps over her naked flesh. She feels him move his hand, blindly searching for her cape nearby. He soon succeeds, covering them with the green cloak.

“If that is the type of homecoming I get, I should go away more often,” he teases stroking her hair.

“Don’t you dare,” she playfully chides, kissing his chest. She chances a glimpse into the forest, not surprised to see all eyes have disappeared. She knows that even though she can no longer see them, they haven’t ventured far, especially the wolves. They have a sworn oath to protect their king, and in turn now…her. There was no place safer for her to be, than surrounded by the monsters and creatures of the darkness.

As protected as she was in her lover’s arms she couldn’t dispel the growing worry in her heart. Soon they would learn the truth of who was really behind the murder of Mrs. Potts, and she prayed that her suspicions were wrong.

“So I take it you were able to acquire what was needed?” she asked a hint of uneasiness in her voice, as his hand lightly strokes her naked back.

“Yes,” his voice was low. She knew he felt no joy in the subject matter. “It took a little longer than expected, but I was able to obtain all of the ingredients we need for the spell. If things go as plan, we should be able to see the last few minutes of Mrs. Potts’ life through her own eyes.”

He took a deep breath, her head moving with the fall and rise of his chest.

“Sweetheart, I know this isn’t easy for you, if you…”

“No,” she interjected cutting off his concern as her chin pressed into his chest. “We need to know…I need to know the truth. If someone is killing these women, and framing monsters for it, they have to be stopped. Even if it’s…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish her thought. What type of daughter was she for even considering the notion that her own father could be involved in these killings?

Using one hand to push himself up from the ground, Rumple held her as he moved himself into a sitting position, with her straddling his lap.

“I promise you Belle. If by the slightest chance your father somehow is involved in this, he will be safe from me and mine. No harm will come to him by my command.”

She knows that his words are truthful, but wonders if he learned of her father’s threat to put her in an asylum, if he would still hold true to his promise. It was one thing to harm someone else, but if her father harmed her in any way, no promise would stop Rumpelstiltskin in exacting revenge.

“Time is of the essence. Should we go to the dark castle tonight to start the spell?” she inquired, stunned when he shook his head no.

“When all is revealed Sweetheart, there is no going back. Soon we will find if a murderer is from my world, or yours. Either way, as King of the Darkness I will have to bring some balance back to this world of chaos. There are many ways, many different paths that this could take us down. So forgive me, but just for tonight, I do not want to think about what lays ahead, but savor the now. Tonight is ours.”

Looking into his eyes, Belle could see that he was as worried as she was of what this spell would uncover. If Gaston or her father were somehow involved in all of this, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

“Tomorrow, then,” she agreed.

“You do know that no matter what happens tomorrow there is only one path that is certain?”

“Which one is that?”

Placing his hands on her cheeks, he gave her a small smile, his voice intent and sincere.

“The one where you and I are together.”

Rolling her onto her back, all worries of tomorrow faded away, as the king of darkness and his queen made love under the moonlight.

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

remember this? it’s my Ketzedon fairytale about death marrying Ruby and Opal, the goddesses of stability and change. I recommend you read or reread it before you read this post, which is part 2

ruby, opal, and death have children. this is something of a complicated process, as death cannot make living things and ruby does not seem capable of making new things at all, but they persist. 

opal is eager and hungry for this, but scared to do it alone. things she does totally alone tend to go off the rails in short order. 

there are different stories about how opal came to be pregnant. some of them involve death making a miniature man that opal managed to make live for only a day, only as long as she could combat that much entropy. some of them involve straightforward infidelity with a human man. some stories suggest that her third-born child Coin figured it out, and figured out how to make it retroactive, only born last because retroactivity is a bit fiddly. 

ruby, for her part, cannot get pregnant, but she stays close beside her sister for months and months. she fusses over her extravagantly, leaving her side only to bring her rare fruits and herbal remedies for the various unpleasantnesses of pregnancy. she talks her sister repeatedly out of smiting down all the humans there are in fits of pique. she has grown used to humans and likes them. 

death is busy with the business of death, but happy to be a father, regardless of precisely where the baby came from. he takes to asking the humans he meets questions about childcare. they are generally bewildered by this.

opal’s firstborn is born very late and a bit strange. they borrow a human midwife for the occasion, one who does not easily fluster.

“is he perfect?” opal asks, when the baby is finally born. she is very tired now.

“he’s very big.”

“good! right, good?” opal is beginning to feel anxious. 

“humans do this every day,” ruby says breezily. “he’s fine. you’re fine.”

“be careful. he’s a bit sharp.” the unflappable midwife hands the very large baby to his mother. 

“are babies supposed to have teeth right away?” opal asks worriedly. “they’re very big teeth.”

“he’s a big baby, but no, generally they don’t have teeth,” says Death.

“they start getting teeth around six months,” the midwife confirms. “and usually they’re duller and flatter than that.”

“I know what a baby looks like,” ruby says. “I can make him look more like a baby, if you’d like.”

“hmmm,” opal says. “usually it is helpful when you fix things. save the teeth, though, in case he wants them back later.”

ruby dutifully puts all the teeth in a little box. “do you want him smaller?”

“no, I don’t think so. he’s just going to get bigger again, right? I went to all the trouble.”

ruby hands the baby back and opal commences to nurse him, a task made easier by the removal of the thirty-two rather large and sharp teeth previously in his mouth. 

they give the baby a handful of names, just in case. fang is one. 

he is a rambunctious and quick-tempered child. he breaks things and spills things. his mother and aunt are indulgent with him. he is four, (or something like four, time is different for them), when he finds the little box of teeth.

“did you get these from a tiger?” he asks his aunt, who often watches him when his mother needs to go on her own adventures. he roars. he has a very impressive repertoire of animal noises, very authentic. 

“no, little fang, little fierceness, I got them from you when you were very new born.”

“you took my teeth away!”

“you needed to be fed. you would have maimed your poor mother.”

“I want my teeth back!” 

“ask your father.”

“he’s off with the dead people. and mama’s on an adventure. I want my teeth.” 

ruby sighed, but she was indulgent and so, she knew, was her sister. she returned little fang’s teeth to his mouth. he was very proud of them. when she returned, opal was proud of herself for having the foresight to save them. 

but her baby was big now, big enough to demand his own teeth. she decided on a second baby, won over first ruby and then death to the idea. conceived the same way she had the first one, whether it involved miniatures or infidelity or some trick of her not-yet-born third baby.

the second baby is a source of some contention. opal wants a girl very much. she loves little fang with his fierceness and rough-and-tumble play but thinks two of them like him might be a little much to handle. fang, of course, wants a brother. 

“we’re both girls and couldn’t be any more different,” ruby says. “besides, maybe you’ll have a boy that takes after his father, fastidious. anyway, they’ll be born the way they’re born.” she refuses to put forth a preference. nobody asks Death and he is relieved not to be asked. 

the baby is born early and very small, a girl. 

“oh dear,” opal says. “how small is too small?”

“usually, that’s too small,” says the unflappable midwife, who has been hastily fetched. “usually, that small and this early is a problem. not necessarily insurmountable, but tricky. that’s humans, now. can godlings die?”

 “I’ve seen babies that small more than once,” says death worriedly. ever since little fang he has been a bit emotional about taking babies and gone rather out of his way to avoid it, but sometimes a thing must be done. 

“give me the baby,” ruby says. “I told you before, I know what babies are supposed to look like.”

she gives the baby back a few minutes later, somewhat bigger.

“she’s still small,” opal says.

“babies are supposed to be small. her brother was unusually big,” ruby says. 

“yes, but could you make her maybe just a little bit bigger?”

“no. some things are just small. she’s got smallness the same way her brother has got fierceness. do you want me to fix those feet, though?”

“oh, they don’t need feet until they’re a bit older, do they? fang wanted his teeth back as soon as he found them. we should wait until we can ask her for permission to fix her feet.”   

ruby huffs, but her sister has the final say when the baby is this new and small. 

fang is thoroughly disappointed. she’s so little! she can’t run or chase or play.

“she was always going to be little,” ruby says. “you couldn’t even crawl til you had been around a while and you were three times as big as her, at least.” 

“I wanted a brother.”

“you got kin,” ruby says, and that is what the baby is named, Kin, though mostly she gets called Little One, Little Sister, Little Daughter. 

kin is a quiet child. she learns first to crawl and then, surprising everyone, to walk, though her walk is wobbly and slow. she refuses to have her feet fixed. 

“they’re my feet,” she says. “fang got to keep his teeth.”  

fang decides he loves her, even though she is quiet and doesn’t move much. he loves her because she is his sister, his kin. he romps around her and teaches her animal sounds from his impressive repertoire.  

she loves the workroom with her father’s miniatures, which little fang never took much interest in. she follows her father around, slowly. 

when she gets a little older, he takes her with him when he needs to bring little children to the land of the dead. he still does not like to do it, but now the children have someone to chatter with as they travel, and she seems to put them more at ease. on the way back home, he disguises himself and little kin as humans and goes into towns to buy her the world’s different sweets. he has no difficulty carrying her. she stays little, even as she grows.

by the time opal decides on a third baby, fang has taken to objecting to being called “little.” he is still young, maybe ten or eleven by human reckoning, but taller than his father, his mother, her sister. he wears his hair long and smiles toothily. little kin is still little, maybe six or seven, newly occupied with cheering and consoling the dead children, a task she loves and not just because of the candy after. she is friendly, gregarious, eager to meet other children. 

“are you sure?” ruby asks, a little skeptical. 

“there’s one more. I feel them. I dream about them. there’s one more.” 

“well, if there is then there is,” death says obligingly. and they repeat whatever they do to conceive again. 

the unflappable midwife has long since died, but opal will have no other, and it is an easy thing for death to fetch her.

“this is miserable, why did you let me do this?” opal wails, and ruby squeezes her hand, wisely does not remind her whose idea this was. 

 the third baby is perfect. there is nothing for ruby to fix. they have ten fingers and ten toes. they have no teeth at this juncture. they have a light fuzz of dark hair and bright, curious eyes. 

fang wanted a brother and kin wanted a sister, so neither of them is particularly pleased or disappointed. kin kisses the little baby on their forehead. fang sings a little birdsong, the gentlest sound he can make. 

“what’s their name?” ruby asks her sister. 

“coin,” opal says. “they told me in a dream.”

that settles the question. 

three children is a lot to manage. opal leaves for her adventures as soon as the baby is weaned, reappearing periodically with presents and stories. sometimes death takes kin with him, and he makes time to spend with the other two, but as usual the bulk of the childcare falls to ruby. fang becomes a teenager while baby coin learns how to walk. 

kin, meanwhile, from watching her father, learns to take herself down to the mortal world. she wants to meet other children and there are none in the land of the gods besides her dumb brother and the baby. she loves them, of course, but it gets lonely being eight years old and best behaved, so she decides to be no longer the latter. when ruby is chasing fang or the baby, kin quietly disappears herself and brings herself to parks and beaches and temple schools and city streets, everywhere children congregate. 

time is strange between home and the world and sometimes kin manages to be gone for days before her aunt, quite flustered, finds her and drags her home. she is a bright and resourceful child, even if her gait is slow and wobbly, and she usually finds her own way and makes hew friends. no amount of scolding will stop her. 

then fang learns to copy her. he goes to the world, but not so much the places where people are. he makes friends with wolves and bears, lions and tigers. he has no interest in people outside of his immediate family. ruby is always going off to find them, one or the other or both having disappeared, wearing coin strapped to herself. 

opal, of course, thinks fresh air and a little independence is healthy. ruby wants to attach all three of them to leashes, even the teenager. instead, she calls her own parents, the earth and the sky.

“three children is a lot to manage,” she says. “fang is old enough to apprentice to somebody, but he has no interest in the world of people.”

“we are only marginally interested in the world of people,” the earth and sky say. “we can teach him things he might enjoy learning. is two easier than three?” 

so ruby, with her sister’s permission, sends the oldest godling off to his grandparents until he is ready to be a responsible adult or until they get sick of each other, whichever comes first.  

[didanawisgi]

A Kabbalistic Perspective on the Yoruba African Tradition

Kurt Browne

Introduction

I was brought up in Trinidad and Tobago in the West Indies as a good Roman Catholic where any association with ‘strange’ religions or beliefs was frowned upon. One day my father came home and mentioned that he had been to a “Sango” ritual. (Sango is one of the deities in the Yoruba pantheon.) Although this excited my curiosity at the time, my interest in African religion lay dormant for many years.

I was sent to England to continue my education and was introduced to Kabbalah by a friend. Subsequently as a student of Kabbalah, I decided to look at African religious beliefs for universal principles. Because of my memory of Sango I decided to look at the Yoruba tradition in some detail. (The Yorubas live in the South West of Nigeria in West Africa.)

One of the problems in researching African religious traditions is that most of the texts have been written by Europeans. Very few texts on religions have been written by African scholars and even fewer by practising exponents or priests of a particular tradition.

The text which I found invaluable was written by a practising Ifa priest, C. Osamaro Ibie – The Complete works of Orunmila – The Divinity of Wisdom. Ifa encompasses the “revelation, way of life and religion taught by Orunmila…..This knowledge is endless, ageless and eternal.”

Orunmila is the youngest of the Divinities created by Olodumare (God). He knows the secrets of Olodumare. The author tells us that, “This work was embarked upon at the insistence of Orunmila who expressed undisguised anxiety for his followers to know more about him”. It reveals the true account of life both in heaven and on earth.

God’s Decision to Create

Orunmila has revealed that Olodumare created all the Divinities to assist him in the management of the planetary system and that they all owe total allegiance to him. The Divinities all have free will, up to a point, and regard themselves as servants of Olodumare sent by Olodumare into the world to help him make the world a more liveable place for mortals so that through them, the Divinities, man may be able to appreciate how Olodumare loves his creatures.

In Kabbalah we are told that the reason for existence coming into Being is that God wished to behold God. There then followed a process of unfoldment which culminated with the Kabbalistic model of the Tree of Life with it’s four worlds.

In the Yoruba tradition there is no such obvious unfoldment. First there was Olodumare. Oludumare then decided to create his servants and it was so – 200 lower Divinities were created. They were the first inhabitants of heaven and they all “lived normal lives in heaven, each in the image which took after Oludumare own.”

Later Oludumare decided to create man and he sent one of his favourite divinities, Death to fetch the clay with which man’s image was to be moulded after those of the Divinities. Oludumare then cast the human image in clay and told all the Divinities to close their eyes. All the Divinities did as instructed except Orunmila who was peeking. Olodumare caught Orunmila and as he shut his eyes. Oludumare told him to keep them open since nothing spectacular was ever done without a living witness. That is why today another name for Orunmila is Eleri Ukpin or Eleri Orisa meaning God’s own witness.

As Kabbalists we note:

There is God (Oludumare).

God lives in Heaven.

God wills to create.

God creates the Divinities with both passive and expansive qualities in His own image.

All owe total allegiance to Him.

God chooses to create humankind in His image.

Death, one of God’s favourite creations, fetches clay.

God forms man and breathes life into him.

The story continues:

Following the creation of man, Oludumare decides to “carve out the earth”. Man was considered too young and inexperienced to found this new abode, so the Divinities were sent to establish earth with their knowledge, experience and discretion.

After creating man, heaven was becoming too populated so Olodumare decided to send the Divinities to Earth to “form it”. Olodumare then decides to become pure Spirit, only connectable through Spirit. To the Kabbalist, a separation is taking place. God is moving out of Creation into Azilut and beyond, connectable through Spirit and physical earth is being formed. It is interesting to note the injunctions placed on the Divinities with regard to the establishment of Earth.

No one is to take advantage of Oludumare’s physical absence. They must always show respect for Him. The golden rule must be adhered to. That is to say. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

The First Attempt to Establish Life on Earth

Olodumare sends Arugba, his maid, (messenger, the feminine principle) to inform the Divinities that they are to report to him in order to go on a mission. Orunmila who practices divination every day is told to prepare a special meal for a visitor. Arugba visits all the Divinities in order of seniority and delivers her message. When she reaches Orunmila’s house, the last one, he invites her to a meal and because of his hospitality she confides in him Oludumare’s plan. She advises him that when he goes before Olodumare he should ask for four things: the chameleon; the multi-coloured hen and God’s Divine bag, Arugba.

Orunmila goes before Olodumare and his four wishes are granted. He puts into the Divine bag a snails shell, Arugba, the chameleon and chicken plus a sample of all the plants and animals he can lay his hands on. Note that the Divine bag had the capacity of accommodating anything, no matter what the size and also could produce whatever was required of it. (Could this be Da’at?)

All Divinities leave for Earth via the Palm Tree which has roots in heaven and its branches spread over water below. (An inverted Tree of Life) The Divinities cannot go any further. Orunmila, the youngest, leaves heaven last and meets his brethren on the branches. He too waits. Arugba then calls to him from within the bag and tells him to turn the snails shell downward towards the water for within it is the foundation (yesod) soil for Earth. He does as instructed.

The water below begins to bubble and within a short space of time heaps of sand begin piling up around the branches of the Palm Tree. After many heaps are formed, Arugba again calls to him and advises him to drop the hen down. The hen sets to work scattering the heaps and after a large area of ground is spread Arugba calls to him to set the chameleon free to test the solidity of the earth. This Orunmila does and the chameleon walks on the earth proving its firmness.

Note – Orunmila is then the first Divinity on the earth. The Palm Tree is considered the first creation. It has its roots in heaven and is respected by all Divinities. It is the root of their genealogy. All Divinities spread out from the Palm Tree to establish their homes in different parts of the earth.

The Beginning of Conflict on Earth

Orunmila, being the youngest of all the Divinities stayed with and served all of his more senior brethren which were Ogun – the Divinity of Engineering; Sango – the Spirit of Lightening; Olokun – Spirit of the Bottom of the Ocean.

The presence of Arugba as the only woman created many problems for the Divinities. They fought over her and it brought out the worst in them. There was confusion and this led to acrimony. Orunmila left earth to return to heaven to complain to Olodumare. Olodumare sends Elenini or Obstacle to earth to verify Orunmila’s story. This he does.

The Return of the Divinities to Heaven

After Orunmila’s departure, the Divinities refused to co-operate with each other. “Life became intolerable as there was no medium for commercial exchange”. (This point puzzled me until I realised that Orunmila provided service amongst the Divinities and with him gone, an agency or mechanism for service was required, hence money.)

The Divinities go back to heaven and ask God for money to do business with each other, Ase or Divine authority with which they could cause things to happen and for mortal servants. God grants their wishes.

When God sent money into the world, Orunmila was the only Divinity to “conquer” it. His older brothers were envious and resorted to open aggression to destroy him.

There was complete pandemonium on earth over the sharing of money and news got back to Heaven about the commotion. God dispatches Death to bring back the perpetrators, but He only succeeds in removing the followers of the Divinities.

Olodumare then sent Elenini into the world to “come and finish them up”. He was given the instruction to bring all the Divinities back to Heaven. He starts with the most senior of Divinities, Ogun, and turns him into a leaf and does the same with all the other Divinities. Then finally he comes to Orunmila.

Orunmila through divination is told about a powerful visitor and he prepares a huge feast and procession for Elenini. On his arrival, Elenini is feted and he is moved by the hospitality. He comments that if all the Divinities were as magnanimous as Orunmila, earth would be a wonderful place.

He gives the bag containing all the Divinities to Orunmila and proclaimed that from then on he was to have authority over all of them. As soon as Orunmila freed them they went back to their old ways. News of these atrocities reached Heaven and Oludumare decides to personally intervene. Orunmila is told in a dream that he and his followers are to climb up the sacred Palm Tree to

Heaven. As soon as this was done Oludumare released the dike holding rain in the sky and the ensuing downpour of rain flooded and consumed the world. So ended the first attempt to establish life on earth.

This Ifa account of creation though differing in detail from the creation myths with which we may be more familiar, i.e., Genesis, or Norse and Greek mythology, has enough points of principle that are identical:

The Supreme God

A Tree of Life

Divine Image

Idea of Form and Force

Four Worlds

Creation through the Will of God

A heavenly hierarchy

As Above, so Below The Flood

A new beginning

The Ifa teaching is consistent with universal wisdom. The means whereby mankind learns of its true nature and heritage. Different lands and diverse cultures shape the form and detail but the true unalterable content remains the same.

——————————————————————————–

Note

One of the Divinities who did not figure prominently in the first attempt to establish life on earth but to whom all Divinities pay allegiance is Esu. Esu’s role is to test man’s sincerity. He reports regularly to Olodumare on the deeds of Divinities and mankind and is a good friend of Orunmila. Esu is the bringer of retribution and has power of Life and Death over humans and can cause calamity to Divinities who do not acknowledge him and offer sacrifice.

Esu plays a major role in the second attempt to establish life on earth

[lake-lyn]

ET’s exclusive excerpt of The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan (1/2)

Chapter 1

There is no food here

Meg ate all the Swedish fish

Please get off my hearse

I believe in returning dead bodies.

It seems like a simple courtesy, doesn’t it? A warrior dies, you should do what you can to get their body back to their people for funerary rites. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. I am over four thousand years old. But I find it rude not to properly dispose of corpses.

Achilles during the Trojan War, for instance. Total pig. He chariot-dragged the body of the Trojan champion Hector around the walls of the city for days. Finally I convinced Zeus to pressure the big bully into returning Hector’s body to his parents so he could have a decent burial. I mean, come on. Have a little respect for the people you slaughter.

Then there was Oliver Cromwell’s corpse. I wasn’t a fan of the man, but please. First, the English bury him with honors. Then they decide they hate him, so they dig him up and “execute” his body. Then his head falls off the pike where it’s been impaled for decades and gets passed around from collector to collector for almost three centuries like a disgusting souvenir snow globe. Finally, in 1960, I whispered in the ears of some influential people, Enough, already. I am the god Apollo, and I order you to bury that thing. You’re grossing me out.

When it came to Jason Grace, my fallen friend and half bropppther, I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. I would personally escort his coffin to Camp Jupiter and see him off with full honors.

That turned out to be a good call. What with the ghouls attacking us and everything.

Sunset turned San Francisco Bay into a cauldron of molten copper as our private plane landed at Oakland Airport. I say our private plane. The chartered trip was actually a parting gift from our friend Piper McLean and her movie star father. (Everyone should have at least one friend with a movie star parent.)

Waiting for us beside the runway was another surprise the McLeans must have arranged: a gleaming black hearse. Meg McCaffrey and I stretched our legs on the tarmac while the ground crew somberly removed Jason’s coffin from the Cessna’s storage bay. The polished mahogany box seemed to glow in the evening light. Its brass fixtures glinted red. I hated how beautiful it was. Death shouldn’t be beautiful.

The crew loaded it into the hearse, then transferred our luggage to the backseat. We didn’t have much: Meg’s back- pack and mine (courtesy of Marco’s Military Madness), my bow and quiver and ukulele, and a couple of sketchbooks and a poster-board diorama we’d inherited from Jason.

I signed some paperwork, accepted the flight crew’s condolences, then shook hands with a nice undertaker who handed me the keys to the hearse and walked away.

I stared at the keys, then at Meg McCaffrey, who was chewing the head off a Swedish fish. The plane had been stocked with half a dozen tins of the squishy red candy. Not anymore. Meg had single-handedly brought the Swedish sh ecosystem to the brink of collapse.

“I’m supposed to drive?” I wondered. “Is this a rental hearse?”

Meg shrugged. During our flight, she’d insisted on sprawling on the Cessna’s sofa, so her dark pageboy haircut was flattened against the side of her head. One rhinestone-studded point of her cat-eye glasses poked through her hair like a disco shark n.

The rest of her out t was equally disreputable: floppy red high-tops, threadbare yellow leggings, and the well-loved knee-length green frock she’d gotten from Percy Jackson’s mother. By well-loved, I mean the frock had been through so many battles, washed and mended so many times, it looked less like a piece of clothing and more like a deflated hot-air balloon. Around Meg’s waist was the pièce de résistance: her multi-pocketed gardening belt, because children of Demeter never leave home without one.

“I don’t have a driver’s license,” she said, as if I needed a reminder that my life was presently being controlled by a twelve-year-old. “I call shotgun.”

“Calling shotgun” didn’t seem appropriate for a hearse. Nevertheless, Meg skipped to the passenger’s side and climbed in. I got behind the wheel. Soon we were out of the airport and cruising north on I-880 in our rented black grief-mobile.

Ah, the Bay Area . . . I’d spent some happy times here. The vast misshapen geographic bowl was jam-packed with interesting people and places. I loved the green-and-golden hills, the fog-swept coastline, the glowing lacework of bridges and the crazy zigzag of neighborhoods shouldered up against one another like subway passengers at rush hour.

Back in the 1950s, I played with Dizzy Gillespie at Bop City in the Fillmore. During the Summer of Love, I hosted an impromptu jam session in Golden Gate Park with the Grateful Dead. (Lovely bunch of guys, but did they really need those fteen-minute-long solos?) In the 1980s, I hung out in Oakland with Stan Burrell—otherwise known as MC Hammer—as he pioneered pop rap. I can’t claim credit for Stan’s music, but I did advise him on his fashion choices. Those gold lamé parachute pants? My idea. You’re welcome, fashionistas.

Most of the Bay Area brought back good memories. But as I drove, I couldn’t help glancing to the northwest—toward Marin County and the dark peak of Mount Tamalpais. We gods knew the place as Mount Othrys, seat of the Titans. Even though our ancient enemies had been cast down, their palace destroyed, I could still feel the evil pull of the place—like a magnet trying to extract the iron from my now-mortal blood.

I did my best to shake the feeling. We had other problems to deal with. Besides, we were going to Camp Jupiter—friendly territory on this side of the bay. I had Meg for backup. I was driving a hearse. What could possibly go wrong?

The Nimitz Freeway snaked through the East Bay flatlands, past warehouses and docklands, strip malls and rows of dilapidated bungalows. To our right rose downtown Oakland, its small cluster of high-rises facing off against its cooler neighbor San Francisco across the Bay as if to proclaim We are Oakland! We exist, too!

Meg reclined in her seat, propped her red high-tops up on the dashboard, and cracked open her window.

“I like this place,” she decided.

“We just got here,” I said. “What is it you like? The abandoned warehouses? That sign for Bo’s Chicken ’N’ Waffles?”

“Nature.”

“Concrete counts as nature?”

“There’s trees, too. Plants flowering. Moisture in the air. The eucalyptus smells good. It’s not like . . .”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Our time in Southern California had been marked by scorching temperatures, extreme drought, and raging wild res—all thanks to the magical Burning Maze controlled by Caligula and his hate-crazed sorceress bestie, Medea. The Bay Area wasn’t experiencing any of those problems. Not at the moment, anyway.

We’d killed Medea. We’d extinguished the Burning Maze. We’d freed the Erythraean Sibyl and brought relief to the mortals and withering nature spirits of Southern California.

But Caligula was still very much alive. He and his co- emperors in the Triumvirate were still intent on controlling all means of prophecy, taking over the world, and writing the future in their own sadistic image. Right now, Caligula’s fleet of evil luxury yachts was making its way toward San Francisco to attack Camp Jupiter. I could only imagine what sort of hellish destruction the emperor would rain down on Oakland and Bo’s Chicken ’N’ Waffles.

Even if we somehow managed to defeat the Triumvirate, there was still that greatest Oracle, Delphi, under the control of my old nemesis Python. How I could defeat him in my present form as a sixteen-year-old weakling, I had no idea.

But, hey. Except for that, everything was fine. The eucalyptus smelled nice.

Traf c slowed at the I-580 interchange. Apparently, California drivers didn’t follow that custom of yielding to hearses out of respect. Perhaps they gured at least one of our passengers was already dead, so we weren’t in a hurry.

Meg toyed with her window controls, raising and lower- ing the glass. Reeee. Reeee. Reeee.

“You know how to get to Camp Jupiter?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“ ’Cause you said that about Camp Half-Blood.”

“We got there! Eventually.”

“Frozen and half-dead.”

“Look, the entrance to camp is right over there.” I waved vaguely at the Oakland Hills. “There’s a secret passage in the Caldecott Tunnel or something.”

“Or something?”

“Well, I haven’t actually ever driven to Camp Jupiter,” I admitted. “Usually I descend from the heavens in my glorious sun chariot. But I know the Caldecott Tunnel is the main entrance. There’s probably a sign. Perhaps a Demigods Only lane.”

Meg peered at me over the top of her glasses. “You’re the dumbest god ever.” She raised her window with a final Reeee. SHLOOMP!—a sound that reminded me uncomfortably of a guillotine blade.

We turned west onto Highway 24. The congestion eased as the hills loomed closer. The elevated lanes soared past neighborhoods of winding streets and tall conifers, white stucco houses clinging to the sides of grassy ravines.

A road sign promised CALDECOTT TUNNEL ENTRANCE, 2 MI. That should have comforted me. Soon, we’d pass through the borders of Camp Jupiter into a heavily guarded, magically camouflaged valley where an entire Roman legion could shield me from my worries, at least for a while.

Why, then, were the hairs on the back of my neck quivering like sea worms?

Something was wrong. It dawned on me that the uneas- iness I’d felt since we landed might not be the distant threat of Caligula, or the old Titan base on Mount Tamalpais, but something more immediate . . . something malevolent, and getting closer.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Through the back window’s gauzy curtains, I saw nothing but traffic. But then, in the polished surface of Jason’s coffin lid, I caught the reflection of movement from a dark shape outside—as if a human-size object had just own past the side of the hearse.

“Oh. Meg?” I tried to keep my voice even. “Do you see anything unusual behind us?”

“Unusual like what?”

THUMP.

The hearse lurched as if we’d been hitched to a trailer full of scrap metal. Above my head, two foot-shaped impressions appeared in the upholstered ceiling.

“Something just landed on the roof,” Meg deduced.

“Thank you, Sherlock McCaffrey! Can you get it off?”

“Me? How?”

That was an annoyingly fair question. Meg could turn the rings on her middle fingers into wicked gold swords, but if she summoned them in close quarters, like the interior of the hearse, she a) wouldn’t have room to wield them, and b) might end up impaling me and/or herself.

CREAK. CREAK. The footprint impressions deepened as the thing adjusted its weight like a surfer on a board. It must have been immensely heavy to sink into the metal roof.

A whimper bubbled in my throat. My hands trembled on the steering wheel. I yearned for my bow and quiver in the backseat, but I couldn’t have used them. DWSPW, driving while shooting projectile weapons, is a big no-no, kids.

“Maybe you can open the window,” I said to Meg. “Lean out and tell it to go away.”

“Um, no.” (Gods, she was stubborn.) “What if you try to shake it off?”

Before I could explain that this was a terrible idea while traveling fifty miles an hour on a highway, I heard a sound like a pop-top aluminum can opening—the crisp pneumatic hiss of air through metal. A claw punctured the ceiling—a grimy white talon the size of a drill bit. Then another. And another. And another, until the upholstery was studded with ten pointy white spikes—just the right number for two very large hands.

“Meg?” I yelped. “Could you—?”

I don’t know how I might have finished that sentence. Protect me? Kill that thing? Check in the back to see if I have any spare undies?

I was rudely interrupted by the creature ripping open our roof like we were a birthday present.

Staring down at me through the ragged hole was a withered, ghoulish humanoid, its blue-black hide glistening like the skin of a house y, its eyes filmy white orbs, its bared teeth dripping saliva. Around its torso uttered a loincloth of greasy black feathers. The smell coming off it was more putrid than any dumpster—and believe me, I’d fallen into a few.

“FOOD!” it howled.

“Kill it!” I yelled at Meg.

“Swerve!” she countered.

One of the many annoying things about being incarcerated in my puny mortal body: I was Meg McCaffrey’s servant. I was bound to obey her direct commands. So when she yelled “swerve,” I yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The hearse handled beautifully. It careened across three lanes of traffic, barreled straight through the guardrail, and plummeted into the canyon below.

[small-time-village]

If Donnel Doesn’t Join - AU

Donnel joins Chrom’s army because his performance against Roddick’s bandits assures him that he can grow stronger and make a difference. However, if he does poorly in this fight, he rejects the offer to join the Shepherds.

Donnel is mortally wounded in the fight against Roddick’s bandits. Lissa is able to save his life, but the injury is such that it would take months to recover, time that the Shepherds do not have to wait for the farmer. With words of comfort, Chrom’s Shepherds leave Donnel behind. In the scramble to save Donnel’s life, Roddick escapes justice once again, leaving his lackeys behind to die.

Donnel is utterly miserable after the fact. He feels he could have done better, and maybe even impress the Exalt enough to have been given a position in the army. When he recovers, he devotes his free time to teaching himself the ways of the lance, attacking haybales and trees with wooden spears he whittles himself. He even gathers a few like-minded friends to train with him, creating a tiny village militia.

It is a few years later when Roddick makes his return once more. With the Shepherds across the sea in Valm, the heartland is vulnerable once more, and Roddick this time has come with revenge on his mind. Leading a band of vile thieves and murderers, he comes to Donnel’s village intent on killing every man, woman, and child that lives there.

Donnel is ready this time. When one of his militiamen rings a chapel bell to warn of the bandit attack, Donnel organizes his friends and arms them all with homemade spears and bows. The weapons are of poor quality, and the militia is unarmored, but they’d trained for years for an event like this to happen again.

The bandits are shocked to find their main way into the village suddenly interrupted by a raging wall of burning oil. They are directed to go around the fire, but this is exactly what the villagers want. Arrows rain from two archers on the rooftops as the bandits try and get between buildings, pinning the murderers down. Three other villagers, led by Donnel himself, take up their spears and attack the bandits brave enough to charge into the arrow fire, slaying the men one by one.

Roddick is more surprised than anyone to find the village actually defending itself this time. However, he has come here with hatred and revenge on his mind, and nothing would stop him from carrying out his mission. He rallies his minions and orders a full-scale charge, to overwhelm the tiny militia by sheer numbers.

At first, the plan seems to go poorly, as might be expected from a bull-headed charge into a defended position. More bandits fall to arrows and spears, and for about two minutes Donnel and his friends seem to hold the line. This ends, though, when Roddick himself manages to hurl hand axes upward with deadly accuracy, slaying both of the archers on the roofs and removing the villagers’ covering fire.

When this happens, all hell breaks loose. Donnel orders a retreat back to the chapel, where the unarmed villagers have taken refuge within stone walls. Roddick is giddy, and does not prevent their retreat. As the four militiamen fall back to the chapel, Roddick orders his men to put the rest of the village to the torch. Before slamming shut the doors to the chapel, the last thing Donnel sees is wooden homes going up in flames.

A siege begins. For days, the entire village huddles inside the chapel, mourning their losses. Barricades are erected around every door, and Donnel and his friends set to maintaining weapons and supplies. Outside, the bandits set up camp in the smoldering ruins of the village. Donnel counts a total of twelve surviving bandits from the attack - outnumbering his own forces three-to-one. While the bandits feast on food looted from homes before they were razed, the villagers are forced to subsist on the meager supplies that the militia had set up in the chapel.

On the fourth day, Roddick has become bored of such siege tactics. He makes a loud challenge to those inside the chapel: he will engage one villager in combat to the death. The reward for victory is an end to the siege and the disbandment of his troops. The offer sounds too good to be true, but everyone inside knows well that they cannot survive in the chapel much longer, nor can they defeat Roddick’s men in a full-scale battle.

Donnel volunteers, after much deliberation. His mother, horrified, begs him not to fight the same man who had slain his father, but Donnel has already made up his mind. He goes to the altar and prays to Naga for strength, and then removes a floorboard. Out of the floor, he draws a long steel lance, a weapon whose composition is far better than any the militia had been using before.

“This was mah Pa’s lance once. I kept it hidden. I was thinking of sellin’ it once, but I’m glad ah never did. I’m gonna use it to avenge him. Just you watch, Ma.”

Roddick is overjoyed to see the young man walking out of the chapel, lance in hand and a tin pot helmet on his head. He doesn’t recognize Donnel at first, but he laughs uproariously when it dawns on him.

“If it ain’t the axe-fodder! I killed your old man, you know! My men just ‘bout killed you, too! You’re the challenger? Good! Good! I’m going to want to see the look on your ma’s face when I throw her your head!”

“Mah name is Donnel! This is mah village! We’ve had about enough of you and your folks ruinin’ our lives! It ends today, Roddick! I’m gonna make my face the last thing you see!”

Roddick takes a pair of hand axes from a nearby tree stump. Donnel grips his lance in both hands, the steel as sharp as his glare. Roddick circles around the farmboy, a manic grin on his face as he plots the death of the young man. His very first move is to throw one of the axes, hoping to end the fight quickly, and he is surprised when Donnel manages to deflect the axe with his spear’s haft, not so much as a scratch on the farmer’s arm.

Roddick’s grin turns to an angry frown, and he charges. This is exactly what Donnel wants. The battle ends almost as quickly as it began. With a single swift move, Donnel brings his lance back and then jams it forward. Roddick’s eyes go wide when he feels metal through his armor. Blood seeps into his coat, as he looks down. Donnel has impaled him, directly through the heart. His second axe falls to the ground, and Donnel pulls the lance back out, spraying blood across the ground.

“Hah... axe... fodder... Boy... you’re... just like... your old man...”

“No. Mah Pa never finished the job, and ah will. Any last words, Roddick?”

“See you... in the... pit.”

Donnel delivers a killing blow, impaling Roddick once more. He pulls his lance through Roddick’s back and stares down the remaining bandits. They appear confused, unsure of what to do with their leader dead. Though Donnel expects them to attack, they all grumble and begin to leave, their one unifying presence dead upon the ground and nothing of interest remaining in the village. They take what spoils each one can carry, and leave the ruined village behind.

Donnel becomes a local hero. It takes months for homes to be rebuilt, but there is little doubt that the lancer saved the village. He puts down his spear after the death of Roddick, confident that his home is safe now, and he later marries and has children.

He never needed to become a Shepherd. He just needed to protect what was important to him.

[authorgirl1111]

Emperors daughter ch 9

Part 1

Part 8

“Cassandra Romano” She must admit she likes the way her name sounds on his lips. “Yes?” She’s holding Brenda in her arms Apollo eyes the baby before he turns his attention to Cassie. “How did you know?” He asks. “Most humans don’t give off a golden aura.” Apollo smiles and raises an eyebrow. “Clear-sighted. Interesting” Cassie blushes and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I suppose so,” In her arms Brenda starts to cry. “Maybe it’s time to give her back to her mother.” Cassie eyes him critically. “She already is.” Apollo looks to where he sees Natalie mingling. “Oh! I thought…” “Natalie is a friend” Cassie cuts in before this can get any awkward then it already is. “She saved me the cost of a baby sitter for tonight. Is there something else, Apollo?” Apollo tilts his head in interest. “Huh, interesting what makes you say I’m Apollo” She points to the pin on his chest. “Huh, that’s the sum total of your assumption?” Apollo says pulling off the pin. “A golden aura and a pin” “and hope, you were my favorite as a child.” Cassie cuts in. In between the snide comments about father made about you anyway. Still it was true, her mother used to read her a small copy of myths, and the ones that were Cassie’s favorite always had Apollo in there somewhere. Though she couldn’t help but remember the snide comments her father and his associates always made. Especially Commodus.  Zeus how she despised that man. Apollo looked impressed. “Can’t fault you for having nice taste.” Cassie laughed. Brenda yawned and started to fall asleep against her shoulder. “I should probably head home” Cassie said reluctantly. “Little one deserves to sleep in her crib.” “I never slept in a crib” Apollo says, Cassie eyes him. “Or dated a woman who already had a child by someone else.” “You aged rapidly from what I heard, fought Python at four days old.” She says softly. “All because the monster dared to attack your mother.” She can feel the interest turn to anger. “I admire that” Cassie says quickly. “It’s… admirable” Not even with Tyr was she this tongue tied. What in hades is wrong with her? The last time she was this tongue tied was with… “You are aware that you just used the same word twice, in the exact same sentence?” Apollo sounds both amused and disgusted. He’s a god, cater to his ego. “Yes well, being in such a presence as yours can you blame me for being a little tongue tied?” Apollo laughs, it’s low and booming and she can easily imagine him singing in the opera, from the eighteen hundreds. It’s so infectious that she can’t help but get lost in the sound. They pass by Natalie, and she gives her friend a quick sign that let’s her know she’s taking the girl home. Natalie flashes her own that tells her she’ll be join her out quickly. “Is there something else you wish?” Cassie has just reached her car and Brenda is asleep on her shoulder. “I’d love for you to give me a private show” Apollo says. And the way he’s looking at her reminds her of the times Tyr looked at her right before they… She knows he wants more then her music. Her smile turns coy. “And what would I get in return?” “What do you want?” She looks in her car. “There is something I need…” She’s placing Brenda into her car seat and locking her in place. “But’s I do not wish to burden you, with the needs of a mortal girl” The words taste odd on her tongue. Her father is immortal now, but she has no idea how much of his physiology is changed because of that. “My dear, I am a god there is nothing you could ask for that would burden me” Gotcha “Well, I suppose we shall have to see about that won’t we? Unfortunately I don’t discuss payments on street corners” She enters her car.  Apollo stares at her for a long moment before he disappears. She’s waiting perhaps a few minutes before Natalie makes an appearance. “Who was that?” Natalie asks. “You two seemed pretty interested in each other.” “Another god, probably Greek, though his roman name is the same in Rome and Greece.” “Who?” Cassie smirks. “Apollo” ---     “This seems so wrong, Cassie” Natalie says on the phone. “Are you sure about this?” “No, but… I need to think about Brenda, she and I need all the protection I can get” “Are you sure this is about Brenda, and not about…” “What me?” Cassie says. “If that were the case I would have worked harder at keeping Tyr around, I can take care of myself, taking care of myself and a baby is a lot harder, I can just run at the drop of a hat.” “And you just realised that now” “Natalie…” She can hear Natalie sighing on the other end. “I’m worried about you, I’ve done research on this particular god, he’s not overly nice.” “I know, I grew up with these myths, but he’s loyal, and… I need that” “Did you even read Coronis’s myth?” Natalie asks worriedly. “He has his sister kill her when he finds out she was cheating on him.” “Good thing I’m not planning on doing that” “This is serious” “I am being serious, I know Apollo and I aren’t going to last, I need this, I need to know that I won’t be found. I need to be protected.” “The why not tell him the truth?” That was the question of the year wasn’t it? Tell Apollo the truth, tell him that three of the worst emperor’s in history were alive and doing there best to take over the world. “I tried, no one listened.” Cassie says. “And if I told him, I was the daughter of him, I would be abandoned, my father was a horrible man, when he was mortal, I’d be dead within minutes.” Natalie says nothing. “Just be careful, I don’t want my next trip to be your funeral.” 

Part 10

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The College Years - Freshman Year (Chapter 14) - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles​

Title: “The Big Easy Resurrection, Part I”

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Chris Argent, Sylvie Ducette, Alan Deaton, Melissa McCall, Gerard Argent, Allison Argent, & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, return of major character, cursing probably, I just assume at this point.

A.N.: This chapter was so much fun to write. I hope you all enjoy your trip to New Orleans.

Summary: Y/n, Scott, and Stiles go down to New Orleans in order for the coven witches to bring Allison Argent back to life.

Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen

Scott, Stiles, Y/N, Lydia, Isaac, Parrish, Derek, Cora, Ethan, Malia, Liam and Hayden sat in Y/N’s living room, discussing what was about to happen. The usual side chatter and snarky comments were not to be found that day.

"So Derek is going to be up here and Liam and Hayden are going to be on call if you guys need extra help while we're away.... Listen, if we could do this after we dealt with the vampires, we would, but we're running out of time." Scott explained to his pack.

"So Gerard agreed to do it... willingly?" Malia asked, lacking tact.

"He agreed. He knows he dying and even though he's a jackass..."

"I think you mean 'absolute sociopath', Scott." Stiles interjected.

"Okay, yea, even though he's totally a sociopath, I think that he genuinely loved Allison. He wants to give her another shot." Scott explained to Malia and everyone else. He was being very stoic and matter-of-fact about the whole meeting that night.

"So the cancer came back?" Parrish asked, uncomfortable about crossing the line into sacrificing people, even if that person was Gerard Argent.

"Yea, and it's worse than last time, he's got weeks left.. at best." Isaac interjected, wanting to back up Scott and Chris' decision.

"And how are we going to explain the fact that everyone thought she was dead for... years? People saw the body..." Ethan asked, the skepticism in his voice apparent. He couldn't understand why they couldn't bring Aiden's body along and bring him back to life as well.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked." Stiles answered, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, the kind he got when he knew that he came up with a good plan. "I've got Braeden backdating paperwork stating that Allison was in the witness protection program and that the government faked her death to keep her safe." Stiles rubbed his hands together, as he explained the plan.

"Safe from whom.. is that actually going to work?" Ethan questioned again.

Stiles raised his hand and glared at Ethan. "I could put your name down, you're insane and dangerous."

"She'll make it work.. She is an actual U.S. Marshal again after all." Derek answered, stopping the bickering.

"It'll all work, you guys, they've been performing this ceremony for centuries... It'll work." Y/N reassured the group.

"We'll be back with Allison by Monday." Scott said, wrapping up the pack meeting.

You watched from your window seat as Chris Argent directed the luggage handlers on how to load the casket into the cargo hold of the Argent family plane. You looked around and saw the pensive faces of Scott, Melissa McCall and Dr. Deaton, settling into their seats and preparing to take off. Stiles walked back to sit next to you, buckling his seatbelt in and taking hold of your hand.

"Now that everyone is aboard, please fasten your seatbelts. The safety demonstration will start momentarily, and we will begin taxiing shortly after. Thank you." The flight attendant said from the front of the small jet, as Mr. Argent buckled himself in next to his father, Gerard.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, squeezing your hand gently to get your attention from the window.

"Yea, just nervous... Did Gerard say anything to you two when you were getting him strapped in?" You asked Stiles and Scott who was sitting across from the couple.

"Yea, he wants to talk to you and Deaton before we land. I think he has some questions about what's going to happen." Scott answered.

"I don't know how much I can even answer. I don't even know that much. Did you tell him that I'm only here because the coven witch requested it?" You asked, the panic sinking in.

Stiles rubbed his hand up and down your arm, trying to calm you. "He knows that, and don't worry, Deaton can probably answer some questions." He reassured you.

The flight was finally in progress and you sat down next to Dr. Deaton, across from Chris and Gerard. Stiles, Scott and Melissa settled into the seats adjacent to hear the conversation, and keep an eye on Gerard.

"Why didn't the cleansing work?" Gerard asked.

"It did.. it stopped the black blood from coming out of your body. That was all that it was meant to do." Dr. Deaton answered for you, in his usual wise and calm tone.

"Did it bring the cancer back?"

You looked to Deaton; you had wondered the same thing for a few weeks. "No. Derek's bite wasn't a forever cure. That would have only been the case if he had actually turned you." Deaton spoke up again. You sighed quietly in relief that you didn't cause a man to get mortally sick.

"Isaac and I could smell the cancer the last time we were with you, before Y/N even did the cleansing." Scott interjected.

"Will it hurt?" Chris asked, knowing that Gerard wanted to know the answer, but knowing that he would never ask the question.

"My father said it won't." You said finally.

"Then let's just get this over with already." Gerard leaned his head back, grimacing and closing his eyes.

They drove through the black wrought iron gates of an old New Orleans cemetery, and you felt the power around you. Chris, Stiles, and Scott unloaded the casket as Dr. Deaton and Melissa escorted Gerard inside. You followed closely behind, but stopped in your tracks at the sight of a tall, older woman, dressed in a black robe, with flaming red hair and bags under her eyes.

"Y/N Y/M/N, oui?" The tall woman spoke in French. You nodded. "Ca va?" The women asked.

"Bien, et toi?" You spoke back, hesitantly.

"Bien. It's good to finally meet the future of New England's witches. My name is Sylvie Renee Ducette." Her accent was thick only like those who had New Orleans running through their blood for centuries. "Why don't we go inside and talk while we wait for dusk?"

You nodded and followed her into a room, where the whole group and some older coven witches sat waiting for them. You sat down next to Stiles and Melissa, and took Stiles' hand in yours. You could feel the magic floating through the air, and you hoped that Stiles could anchor you back to reality.

"Bonjour. Je m'appelle Sylvie Renee Ducette...... and I will be the one performing the Transfert tonight. It's good to meet y'all." Sylvie stood in front of the group and folded her hands in front of her. "Does anyone have questions?"

Everyone sat in silence, looking around at each other for a few moments. Finally Scott spoke up. "How long does it all take?"

"We'll begin in an hour, and it will take about an hour after that. The Transfert must be complete at the moment that the Sun finally sets." Sylvie remained standing at the front of the room, waiting for further inquiries.

"What will she remember?" Melissa asked, quietly.

"Tout." Sylvie answered. Melissa looked to you to translate.

"Everything." You said.

"So, she'll remember dying?" Stiles questioned, skeptically.

"Oui. She'll remember. She'll remember everything, but what has happened in the in between. She'll have all of her old memories and feelings. She'll be your Allison Argent once again."

"And it doesn't matter that she is.... a decayed.... corpse now, you said she would look the same, right?" You confirmed awkwardly. Sylvie nodded.

"Will she be healthy?" Mr. Argent finally piped up, trying to maintain his composure.

"Like nothing ever happened."

"Will she be darker?... cause I feel like in movies, when they do this, you come back like evil or whatever... and you know, when we did this, I came back a nogitsune, so...." Stiles wondered out loud.

Sylvie smiled softly at Stiles' question, and chuckled before answering. "This ritual is very different than the one he performed." She glanced carelessly at Deaton. "Unless she was dark before, she will not be dark after."

"So she'll just be Allison?" Scott clarified.

Sylvie nodded, and then turned her attention to Gerard. "I'll let you say your goodbyes, but then we must take him and the body to begin preparing them. You are all invited to witness. Someone will be in to fetch you shortly." With that, she turned and left the room, the other coven witches following behind her.

Everyone sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Make sure Allison knows who did this for her." Gerard announced to the room. "Make sure my legacy lives on through her."

"Thank you, Gerard." Scott said sincerely, as Gerard scowled at the young Alpha.

They watched as they laid Gerard on a large stone slab next to Allison's decaying corpse on an adjacent stone slab. The coven witches placed large metal bowls below the four corners of Gerard's table.

They then poured oils, herbs and flowers over Allison and Gerard's bodies. They wrapped Allison's torso in clean, white, linen cloth, and began burning sage around the room.

"Y/N, what does 'Transfert' mean?" Scott whispered.

"Transference. It's the name of the ritual." You answered.

Stiles leaned over to whisper to you. "This is much less disturbing than I imagined." You turned your head and simply looked at Stiles, seeming concerned, but before Stiles could find out what was wrong, Sylvie began speaking.

"We are going to begin now. A warning: do not break the seal around the tables or else the ceremony will not take." Sylvie said to the guests, standing against the wall.

Sylvie then turned her back to the pack and began touching implements on the table in front of her. One of the younger coven witches walked towards Gerard and began an incantation, he then laid his hands on Gerard's forehead and chest.

Gerard let out a long, loud breath. "C'est parti.... c'est parti." He said softly.

"What'd they just do?!" Scott asked.

"They took away his pain... C'est parti.. it's gone." You whispered.

"Completely?" Stiles questioned.

"Completely." The concern still shrouding your face.

The room then filled with coven witches, who began chanting in a mix of French and Latin. After a few minutes, they closed their eyes, bowed their heads and began to whisper their incantations.

In one swift and sudden movement, Sylvie turned around and slit Gerard's throat with a short scythe. You and Melissa gasped. Scott and Stiles winced, looking away. Stiles wrapped his arms around you and tucked your head into his neck. You peeked out from under your hair to see Chris intently staring at Allison's still lifeless corpse. Scott yelled for Sylvie to stop, as they all watched her move her way around the table, slitting Gerard's wrists and calves. Deaton held Scott back from disrupting the ritual.

Blood poured out of Gerard, as he gasped for his last breaths on his own. The bowls under the corners of the slab filled with the red life force, and Gerard became more and more pale. The chant grew louder as the flow of blood began to slow and the sun began to set.

As the last bits of blood dripped from the table, four coven witches broke from the group and picked up the bowls from the dusty ground. They poured Gerard's blood over Allison's corpse, and then stepped away. The sun went down and the room went dark and silent.

"ALLUMER!" Sylvie said forcefully, as suddenly all of the candles in the room illuminated with flames at their wicks and a massive gasp for air was heard from Allison's stone perch.

Allison gasped for air again and jolted forward, sitting up in place. Her hands frantically roamed her face, trying to wipe the blood off. Scott and Chris Argent rushed towards the table. Her skin was her usual porcelain perfection underneath and her hair, while matted down thick with wet blood, was it's previous silky brown splendor. The corpse was gone and was replaced by Allison Argent.

Stiles helped Scott get Allison into the car, but paused when he noticed that the only one not loading in was you. He looked around for you for a moment, and then saw you standing outside of the mausoleum, speaking with Sylvie, who had her hand on your shoulder. You nodded your head at Sylvie who turned to re-enter the structure where the Transference had just taken place.

"What'd she just say to you?" Stiles asked as you approached him outside of the car.

Thirteen <- -> Fifteen

I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. I hope you all did too. Let me know what you thought. Are you glad Allison is back? 

Equally huge chapter coming up on Monday, so let me know if you want to be tagged in it! Enjoy the Season Premiere tomorrow!

@alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @chivesoup @vampirepinary @parislight @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @mayahart02 @fuxkdean @teenage-dirtbagbaby @sorrynotsorrylovesome @iknowisoundcrazy

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter IV

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter III

It was close to dawn by the time they reached the house, searched it up and down for any skulking killers, and settled Flint and Miranda into Sam’s currently unused bedroom, but nobody felt like sleeping. They congregated at the kitchen table as Emma cooked breakfast, everyone glancing up sharply at any small noises, and Killian poured the coffee, trying to think how in damnation to go about making any sense of this. Presumably, whoever had paid for the assassins would be suspicious when they failed to return, and what was more, they had posed as applicants for the household positions. That either meant someone on the packet boat had read Emma’s mail, decided it was time to go ahead with the hit, and used it as a convenient pretext, or they had been watched for quite a while even before that. Killian was not sure which option he disliked more. Though it doesn’t matter. Someone knows we’re here, and wants us dead.

The four of them ate without speaking, appetites sharpened by their brush with mortality, until Miranda dabbed her mouth and put down her napkin. “Very well,” she said, with her usual brisk, practical air. “What are we going to do next?”

“I was going to capture the master of the packet boat and hit him until his ears ring,” Flint suggested. “See what he might cough up about who he’s informing for, if so.”

“Seeing as we’ve just killed two men, mate, we could possibly leave the grievous bodily harm until later.” Killian raised an eyebrow. “That’s already enough to hang us, you know.”

“Aye, exactly. So what’s a bit more?”

Emma and Miranda exchanged a resigned look, then turned back to their respective husbands. “I agree the packet boat is the best place to start,” Emma said, “but it’s already left. It travels to Charlestown, then Williamsburg, then back here, so if we wait for its return, that would be at least another week. Which, given recent events, I’m not entirely sure we have to spare.”

“Well then.” Flint clearly thought the solution was obvious. “We should go after them.”

“Forcibly capturing a boat at sea will absolutely count under the heading of piracy, James,” Miranda reminded him, with more than a slight warning in her voice. “Even assuming we were able to find a vessel of our own. This isn’t some desire to relive the old days while Jenny and Thomas are on Nassau, since you could not go yourself, is it?”

Flint shot her a ruffled look. “Someone just tried to kill all of us. I think some bending of the rules is justified in this case, don’t you?”

“It’s not the bending of the rules I object to,” Miranda said. “It’s the potential consequences. You and I and Thomas, all of us, we’ve made a good life here for many years, the life none of us thought we could have again. We can’t just – ”

“Aye,” Flint interrupted. “We have. And I’m not about to let anyone or anything take it all from us for a second time. So I intend to do whatever I have to. Jones, back me up on this.”

Killian looked at his father-in-law with a blend of affection and exasperation, as they had become genuinely family in the several decades they had lived together in Savannah, and so far as it went, he did agree with Flint’s sentiments. He knew that the women were objecting not because they disputed the necessity or the methods, as both of them had been pirate queens in their day and in their way, but because they had been relieved to see the last of Captain Flint and Captain Hook, and could not help but fear for the souls of the men they loved if those ghosts were summoned out of the grave again. Emma and Miranda would fight just as fiercely, and then some, to stop that from happening, but the fact remained that none of them were the young rebels they had been. They were flawed, mortal, aging. Had weaknesses and limitations that they had not before, a settled life, something to lose. It was always easier to commit to total war when it was all you knew and you had no good reason to do anything else, when you were immortal and invincible, or at least did not care much if you died. This was different.

“We can handle finding a boat,” Flint said, when nobody else moved to break the silence. “That’s not a difficulty. If we have to chase them down at sea, dead men tell no tales.”

“Someone absolutely will notice if the packet boat doesn’t arrive,” Killian pointed out. “I agree we need to catch them, but we have to be clever about it.”

Flint snorted, but could not deny this fact, and polished off the rest of his coffee. “Any chance we can send word to Thomas and Jenny? I’d feel easier if I was sure they knew about this.”

“I can write to my brother,” Emma said. “It will take a few days to get to Nassau, though, and if someone’s intercepting my letters, that would be quite a risk. We’d have to find someone to carry it who’s not associated with us, who could escape whoever is on the lookout for us. Or, well. . .” She hesitated. “As I said, the packet boat stops in Charlestown before it goes to Williamsburg. David and Mary Margaret Nolan live there. They would certainly have a way to correspond with Nassau quickly and reliably, and without any reason to suspect it came from us. If we followed it there. . .”

“Charlestown.” Flint’s nostrils flared, even as he reached reflexively for Miranda’s hand, which had shaken enough to nearly drop her porcelain teacup. “You do remember what happened the last time we set eyes on that godforsaken – ”

“Of course I remember.” Emma looked at him with a pained expression, clearly trying to tell him that she had not in the least suggested it for some sort of cruel joke. Killian took her hand as well, squeezing it under the table. “You know I don’t have many good memories of that place either. But if the packet boat is going there and we could catch it, and if we could be sure of getting word to Thomas and Geneva. . . as well, David and Mary Margaret have connections that we don’t, in the colonial legislature and the governor’s office. I know you don’t want to go there.”

Flint’s lips went even thinner, seeing as the last time he, Miranda, and the governor of Carolina Colony had been face to face, untold woe and havoc had been the result, which still echoed down the years and in their very flesh. He was very evidently in favor of the “rush out, sink the boat, kill the bastards” approach to problem-solving, which was not surprising, but which was also somewhat less than ideal. Finally he said brusquely, “And we trust the Nolans, do we?”

“I do,” Emma said. “They’ve been good friends to us for many years, and you know David helped us defeat Gold, with absolutely nothing to gain from it except doing the right thing. They didn’t need to send us shares of the money from Nassau, but they did. Charlie works with him. And he was the captain who fought to free Sam from the Navy and what Hume – you know. He’s a good man. If someone is indeed trying to kill us, he’ll help us find out who.”

Flint flinched at the mention of Sam. He clearly still did not like this plan at all, but as it was vastly more sensible than his, he was forced to at least consider it in mulish silence. Then he looked at Miranda. “Surely there’s no way we could countenance taking you back to – ”

“If the rest of you are going,” Miranda said firmly, “I do not intend to be left behind. I’ll manage, James. It’s more than my own safety, it’s the future of our entire family. That is worth whatever discomfort, of any sort, I might be asked to suffer.”

“You’ve suffered enough.” Flint’s voice was gruff, but the tenderness in it was undeniable, and the fear. “I – I can’t watch you go through that again.”

“Then we shall plan that I won’t, shan’t we?” Miranda touched his cheek, and the two of them looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, almost having forgotten about Killian and Emma. Then she recollected herself and turned to them. “I’m sure Jenny has some friends with ships who would be willing to do a favor for her kin, wouldn’t she? We’ll have to start looking. Discreetly, of course.”

That was true, and also easier said than done. They could hardly send Flint door-to-door (or rather dock-to-dock) in search of a ship to hire, and the packet boat might not be the only one ordered to keep a lookout for Emma. Miranda was the least suspicious choice, as nobody knew her by name or face and nobody could quarrel with a genteel old lady out for a stroll by the seaside, but as nobody wanted to send her out alone, Killian finally decided to accompany her. With his false hand fixed on, he too could pass for a prosperous gentleman, and he would be able to defend her in the event of a reappearance from any of the comrades of their unwelcome visitors. Everyone hoped not, of course, but no sense in tempting fate.

Thus, leaving Emma and Flint behind for what was certain to be an interesting few hours at the house, Killian and Miranda rode into town, stepped out, and did their best to affect a casual pace down into the busy dockyards. Miranda kept a tight hold on his arm, as the boards were slippery with salt and fish and oil and turpentine, and Killian experienced a brief and considerable wish for his bloody son to come home. Not only to stop Emma worrying, although that of course would be a happy side effect, but because it would be much easier to carry out this sort of thing with a young and sprightly nineteen-year-old around. Killian rarely thought of fifty-three as all that old, and usually it wasn’t, but at the moment, he felt like an ancient geezer pottering his way out for a brief reprieve from his quilt-draped chair on the porch. It was very disconcerting, this facing-your-own-mortality lark. But who the devil knew where Samuel James Jones had ended himself up now. He took after certain male relatives in far more than his names.

After an initial perusal, they finally found a captain who was heading up to the Carolinas to do some business in the next fortnight, and saw nothing wrong with taking a few paying passengers along. It was at that point, however, that Killian had to prod him into possibly leaving faster – say, tomorrow. Their engagements there were really quite urgent. Suitable compensation could more than be arranged. They would be grateful. Very grateful.

It took some haggling, but the captain finally agreed to expedite his preparations and leave the day after tomorrow. “You with Lord Murray?” he asked, cocking his head curiously, as he and Killian shook on the bargain. “He’s had a number of important errands running back and forth, recently.”

“Lord Murray?” Killian blinked. “Who?”

“New governor of Carolina Colony. Arrived from London just a few months ago, really making his mark on the place.  Course, he’ll have his work cut out for him. Been a few decades, but you never know. Captain bloody Flint could pop up and sack the place again.” The captain guffawed.

Miranda winced. She managed to turn it into a gracious smile before the captain looked at her, and Killian, already battling his own nerves over the advisability of a return visit, felt a matching qualm. The sack of Charlestown was clearly something that would remain notorious for years or even decades to come, and if someone was still there who had seen Flint and Miranda the last time. . . Jesus, this was so dangerous. Sitting here like fat ducks for a homicidal and well-funded gang of bogus footmen likewise was, so there was a risk either way, but still. “Lord Murray?” he said again. “No, haven’t heard of the man. Day after tomorrow?”

“Aye.” The captain considered them again, then nodded. “Nine o’clock.”

With this transacted, Killian and Miranda decided not to press their luck any further, and made a smart retreat back to the buggy. As Killian clumsily gathered up the reins, she said, “Lord Murray, is it? And that look the captain gave us – it was as he quite supposed that of course men associated with him would deny it.”

Killian glanced at her sharply sidelong, as he had had something of the same impression, but was grateful for Miranda’s unerring instinct to confirm that he hadn’t been simply imagining it. “Do you know anything about a Murray family that we should be wary of?”

“No,” Miranda admitted. “Not more than any other English gentry, and any of my detailed information would be nearly forty years old. But any man who has taken up that post is one who will be well aware of its history, and one who likewise we’ll have to be wary of.”

Killian nodded grimly, hardly able to deny it, and they drove home in pensive silence, thus to be relieved that no more assassins had appeared in the meantime, and to acquaint Emma and Flint with their transportation arrangements. They all agreed that, offhand joke by the captain or not, it was far too dangerous for Flint to travel openly, and finally (much to his protestations) it was settled that he should be an old man in a wheeled chair who could not speak. Flint was agog at the idea of having to hold his tongue for anything, even in pretense, though everyone else thought it would be soundly good for him. He would also have a blanket pulled over his head, and be expected to spend his time nodding off or otherwise looking frail and harmless. Killian felt that no matter the scale of the other difficulties they faced, this must be the greatest.

Killian and Flint took turns sitting awake that night while the women slept. During his shift in the wee hours, reminding himself that the house creaked when it settled, Killian nonetheless jumped out of his skin when it did so directly behind him, and whirled around, on the brink of drawing his pistol, to see Emma, holding up her hands and looking alarmed. “Easy! It’s me!”

“Christ, Swan, you scared me spitless.” He hastily tucked the gun back, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Flint and Miranda down the hall. “What are you doing? It’s late.”

“I know. I woke up, and you weren’t there. I was lonely.” Emma padded toward him, and he reached out to pull her comfortingly against him. Nobody, he thought with a mix of wryness and tenderness and pride, would reckon them married for nearly a quarter-century with three grown children. She tucked her head under his chin, and he rested it on her hair, absently stroking her back. Then she said, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“I’m. . .. not terribly sure we have a choice, love.” Killian blew out a breath. “We have to find what’s going on, as you said, and we have a responsibility for Geneva and Thomas. Charlestown is the best way to do it. Though I know none of us want to linger an hour longer in that blasted place more than we must. It will hardly be a happy homecoming for you either, will it?”

“The last time I saw it was as I was getting aboard the ship that I thought would take me back to England, to find work after Walsh’s death.” Emma did not speak much of her first husband, though more than enough for Killian to thoroughly dislike the ape. “The ship which, of course, was attacked by the Walrus, and how I ended up on my way to Nassau. It feels. . . I don’t know. I don’t want to risk James and Miranda there, of course, but I don’t. . .”

“You’re not sure about returning either.” Killian felt a faint pang, that of course Emma would think of her adoptive parents’ pain in returning to the site of their greatest trauma, and discount her own. Just because it had not involved blood and fire and death and staggering betrayal did not mean that it rankled any less, that it did not still hurt her and haunt her in ways that she had almost – but never entirely – moved on from. Returning to such a place would be certain to flare up old insecurities, in more ways than one, and he hugged her hard, trying to shield her with his body and his words alike. “I love you, Emma. I love you. You’re not alone any more, eh? You never will be. I’ll be there with you the whole time. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.” Emma looked at him with steady, deep, unspeakable adoration, brushing a lock of silvered dark hair out of his eyes. “I know, Killian. And I do want to know what’s going on, so of course we have to go. I just hope this isn’t tempting fate.”

“Me too, love,” Killian agreed fervently. Something terrible had not personally happened to him, yet, in Charlestown (though it certainly had in numerous other locations across the Americas and the Indies) and he was not at all eager to add his name to the roster. “You think Flint can bloody keep his mouth shut for ten minutes, much less the whole voyage? That would help.”

Emma snorted. “Doubt it,” she said dryly. “But there’s no harm in trying.”

Killian hummed a small noise of agreement into her hair, pulling her to sit down with him. They kept watch together for a few more hours, until the light began to turn grey, there was a rustling at the bedroom door, and Flint emerged. “I’ll take over,” he said. “You two sleep.”

Killian nodded gratefully to him, they went in to nap until midmorning, and then got up to finish their own preparations for the voyage. Once they could be more or less certain that the only calamities they were not equipped for were the ones they could not avoid anyway, they sat down for dinner together, did not speak much, and retired early. Both Killian and Flint did so this time, as they had a long day tomorrow, but both of them likewise took a considerable quantity of weaponry to bed, so that Emma, with a raised eyebrow, remarked that it felt like sleeping in the Tower of London armory. “I’ll try not to blow anything important off, if I roll over too quickly.”

“Just being thorough.” Killian wondered if their house would still be standing when they got back, or if someone would creep up and set fire to it in the night, thinking it a less obvious and more direct way to stage a seemingly tragic and accidental death. Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of that before? Perhaps he should get up and prepare a few buckets, just in case –

Emma pulled firmly at his arm as he started to rise from bed, he sighed, and let her tug him back down. He did not, however, take his eyes off the large blunderbuss lying on the chest nearby, which he had modified to be able to operate with one hand. If he was this jumpy before they’d even left Savannah, he shuddered to think what he might be like once they got in sniffing distance of Charlestown, but too much caution seemed a decidedly better option than too little. He should try to avoid blasting almighty bejesus out of a poor innocent servant or lurking housecat, yet he would make no promises.

Despite his conviction of their imminent horrible deaths, Killian finally slipped under, woke at sunrise still-unmurdered, and they got up, dressed, ate breakfast, and made sure they had their things together, before locating the wheeled chair and worn quilt in which Flint would make his deeply unwanted acting debut. They seated him in it, wrapped him up, added a bit of flour paste to his beard and hair to make it whiter and cover up most of the ginger, and Killian – biting his cheek – suggested that Flint could drool a time or two, in the name of method accuracy. The look he got in return nearly scorched his hair off.

Emma herself wore a broad-brimmed hat with a gauzy veil, as they did not want her spotted at an inopportune moment, and they loaded their portmanteaus into the buggy, along with Flint’s chair, and drove down to the docks. There was a stable and coach house at which departing travelers could leave their conveyances for safe-keeping, though most had servants to drive them home again, and Killian supposed this was another field in which it would be useful to have a butler who had not earlier tried to kill you. They would have to attend to that later.

They went down the quays, Killian pushing Flint in his chair and Emma and Miranda arm in arm as proper ladies, located their ship, and went aboard. Killian handed over the promised handsome fee, remarked that his father-in-law was feeble and would need the cabin, and ignored the baleful green stare being thrown at him from under a slitted eyelid. Flint could stew all he wanted, but they needed to get to Charlestown without raising the hue and cry.

It was not long until the preparations were completed, the anchor was winched up, and they backed water, lucky that the weather was fair and the wind was fresh. It was not that long of a voyage up the coast, less than a hundred miles, and indeed if this kept up, they could be there by this evening. As much as he did not relish actually facing the bloody place, it was better than just agonizing in suspense, and he’d prefer to get it over with. Never much one for waiting for the blow, was Killian Jones. Would rather it just fall, and work out the rest later.

Killian wandered the deck, rather awkwardly deflected the captain’s attempts at pleasant small talk, and made sure Flint had not yet blown his cover. They skimmed north, the green coastline appearing and disappearing, sometimes paired with sand shoals or murky mangrove-choked swamp, the hot summer sun pouring down like golden oil. The sea breeze cut the worst of the heat, and Killian felt a brief pang of delight, despite himself. God, it felt good to breathe salt again, to watch the hands climbing the shrouds, to hear the creak of rope and canvas and feel a ship cutting the water beneath his feet, rushing freely toward the open horizon. He had been settled on land a long time, and he was happy with the life they’d built there, but that did not mean he had lost all yearning for the sea, for the part of his soul that it would always hold in sway. He always felt freer out here, truer, more settled. Perhaps they could actually pull this fool’s errand off after all.

This optimistic notion was somewhat less shared by the rest of his traveling party, when he paid a visit to the cabin. Flint clearly wanted to jump out of the chair, prowl all over the ship, and shout at everyone aboard it if they were not up to his exacting standards, Miranda was not about to sit and mollycoddle him, and Emma was pacing, which she appeared set to do for the next six hours to their destination. Conversation was therefore a futile pursuit, and Killian went on deck again, feeling rather as if he was backing out of a den of hibernating bears very quietly to avoid waking them up. He managed to pass the time by talking of knots and sheets and angles of sail and the fine points of charting with the captain, and it was very late afternoon when they came about and tacked into a handsome harbor, stretching before an equally handsome city that was almost, but not quite, completely rebuilt from where it had been burned down twenty-five years ago. The co-culprit of that was sitting in his chair below, doubtless thinking up all sorts of colorful epithets for the occasion. As long as thinking was all he did.

Even Killian felt a brief ancestral frisson of dread as they cut through the glassy green water, reached the quays, and moored up. With a thank-you and another sack of silver for the captain, they went ashore, rolling Flint down the gangplank with a thump and bump over knotted boards that made him swear, and Killian look up sharply to be sure that nobody had heard it. “Can I get out of this infernal contraption yet?” Flint groused, as they navigated their precarious way through the usual industry. Clearly, as much as it chafed his arse to be vulnerable in the ordinary course of things, having to keep up the charade in bloody Charlestown was almost too much to tolerate. “Or are you expecting me to soil myself for maximum authenticity?”

“James, do be quiet for five minutes.”

“I’ve been quiet for considerably longer than that.”

Miranda bestowed him with an unmistakably marital look of chastisement, which allowed them enough time to make it up to the street and hail a fiacre. Killian asked for the Nolan residence, and they rattled off, with Flint still looking extremely judgmental. Not that this was surprising, or unexpected, and part of him couldn’t blame the grumpy old bastard for it. But given as they were going to be attempting some rather delicate diplomacy, to say the least, now was less than the ideal moment.

Conversation was minimal as they bumped through the crowded, cobbled streets of Charlestown, with Flint’s blanket pulled well over his head despite the heat of the day. Even the slight risk of recognizance was one they were not willing to take, and as Flint had been exhibited to the public at large before his intended execution, from which Vane had rescued him, it was not at all out of the question for someone who remembered the notoriety of twenty-five years ago to spot him and raise the hue and cry. Public panics, after all, never needed evidence or solid grounding or rational basis to ignite and spread like fever.

At last, they pulled up in front of the handsome gates of the Nolan estate, and Emma went pale again. It struck Killian a moment too late that it must have belonged to Mary Margaret’s parents, Leopold and Eva White, before her, and that this was the very house where Emma had worked as a maidservant – her last sight of it being turned out through those gates with her younger brother and a pittance of money, after they discovered she was pregnant. Killian scrambled across the seat to grab her hand. “Hey, love, it’s all right, eh? It’s all right.”

“I – I know. I’m fine.” Emma swallowed hard, managed a smile, and nodded. “I’m fine. It was a long time ago.”

Killian nonetheless kept a tight hold on her as he offered her down from the fiacre, then helped hoist the wheeled chair down; they would need to keep up the pretense of Flint’s decrepitude at least until they were inside. They paid the fiacre driver, then made their way up the lawn. Once they reached the colonnaded portico of the main house, knocked, and were greeted by an extremely supercilious butler, they informed him that Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and Mr. and Mrs. McGraw, would very much appreciate an immediate audience with Captain and Mrs. Nolan.

It was rather late for polite visiting hours, as the household was sitting down for supper, but the butler finally sniffed and made his put-upon way off to enquire. Killian pondered whether snobbery was an innate job requirement for a butler, or just bred up after a while like maggots in hardtack. But in either event, the individual in question looked slightly (if only slightly) deflated when he returned, and told them that the Nolans would see them shortly, in the drawing room. If they desired libations while they waited, that could be arranged. If the elderly gentleman wanted warm milk or a posset, that could as well.

At that, Flint stood up, kicked the blanket off, and demonstrated his concrete interest in all things non-posset-related, clearly startling the butler. The four of them made their way inside the cool, airy house, took seats in the drawing room with its large windows overlooking another broad green lawn, and waited in tense silence, until the door opened and David Nolan – somewhat older, somewhat greyer, and somewhat more hard-worn, just like the rest of them, but still the tall, dashing Royal Navy captain who had fought with the pirates in the battle of Nassau – stepped inside, his matronly, dark-haired wife behind him. “Captain Jones? Is it you?”

“Aye.” Killian rose to his feet, offering his hand, and the two men shook, as Flint was induced to make at least some gesture of polite acknowledgment, though it was only a curt nod. He and Nolan knew each other just in passing, when David had arranged for Killian and Flint to be smuggled into Fort Berkeley in Antigua, to rescue Sam, in exchange for a promise for the rest of the island to be spared. “It’s – good to see you, mate. You’ll recall my wife, Emma, and her parents, James and Miranda.”

“Of course.” Whatever he thought of two notorious ex-pirate captains sitting in his drawing room and in Flint’s case at least, looking like a cornered cat, David did not let on. “We weren’t aware you were coming, is everything – ”

“There’s a reason, yes. Our apologies for disrupting your supper. Is it safe to talk privately here?”

David looked startled, checked that the door was shut, and sat down on the divan, as Mary Margaret paused, then did the same. “Yes. What is it?”

As straightforwardly as he could, with occasional interjections from the other three, Killian explained their far too eventful past week, their interest in sending word to Thomas and Geneva in Nassau, and the possibility of taking advantage of the Nolan connections to sniff out who might have tried to have them killed. David and Mary Margaret were appropriately shocked, volubly sympathetic, and agreed that they could certainly stay for a few days, there being plenty of room, while they went about an investigation. “I can arrange a visit to Lord Murray, if you want,” David offered. “He knows most of what passes through here, and elsewhere.”

Killian, Emma, Flint, and Miranda exchanged a look. “Audiences with the governor, especially the governor of Charlestown,” Killian pointed out, “are unavoidably a bit difficult for us, mate. Any way you can just ask a few questions, and not bring our names into it?”

“I’ll try, of course,” David said. “And do understand the, ah, delicacy.”

Mary Margaret made a small disapproving noise in her throat. While she had agreed to let them stay, and indeed seemed to be getting on well with Emma and Miranda, she could not fail to hold certain opinions of the man who had burned the city down, and her look at Flint was less than warm. He stared challengingly straight back at her, clearly daring her to say something, and the tension was briefly quite uncomfortable until Miranda laid a hand on Flint’s arm and smiled cordially at their hostess. “Your gracious hospitality is most appreciated, Mrs. Nolan. We’ve had a long day of traveling. Is it possible we could take advantage of those beds?”

Mary Margaret started, nodded, and had the servants show them upstairs to a pair of bedchambers in the back corner of the house. Killian and Emma shut the door and collapsed onto theirs, and Emma stared at the high plastered ceiling, momentarily lost in contemplation. At last she said, “It’s very strange to be back here. I used to clean this room.”

Killian devoutly hoped that it wasn’t one in which the wealthy and irresponsible Mr. Neal Cassidy had pursued his intrigues with the pretty young maidservant of the White household, but that was not at all a question he wanted to ask, or to make Emma have to answer. He shifted up to take hold of her, pulling her head onto his chest, and kissed her hair. “How about we make some new memories for you in it, then?”

Emma rolled over atop him, her smile turning flirtatious, and despite their weariness, they passed a very pleasant interlude before sleep, entangled together in the deep blue evening light. She dropped under first, her breathing turning even and slow, and Killian lay awake a while longer, watching the shadows change on the walls. Well. Their first night in Charlestown, and they were not yet dead. That might not be the most encouraging benchmark, but at least it was something.

He slept soundly when he finally did, though his dreams were unsettling, and woke early, the two of them tumbling out, getting dressed, and making their way downstairs for breakfast, Flint and Miranda arriving shortly thereafter. Flint had washed the flour paste out, so his hair and beard were their usual blend of white and ginger, and the resemblance to his younger self – despite the obvious extra wear and tear – was obvious enough to make Killian grimace. “Mate, are you really sure it’s a good idea to be walking around Charlestown bold as brass?”

“I’ll wear a hat,” Flint said irritably, as if this item’s disguise properties were the most miraculous in the world and could not be grasped by ordinary mortals. “Pass the marmalade.”

“Your funeral,” Killian muttered, exchanging a look with Miranda in which they silently agreed to deal with this problem later. They had not gotten too far into breakfast, however, when David Nolan made his entrance with what appeared to be the morning post. Catching something odd about his expression, Killian frowned. “Hey, is everything – ?”

“To speak of news from Nassau.” David sat down at the head of the table and distractedly sipped the coffee that the servant poured. “I’ve just had a letter from Charles.”

Everyone sat forward in sudden attention, as Emma looked nervous. “He hasn’t written to say that something went wrong with the voyage – ?”

“No, they arrived. It just seems, well.” David sounded slightly uncomfortable. “It appears that Geneva and Thomas have been recruited for an important venture of his, which also required the use of Geneva’s ship. It appears that they have set sail for England.”

“England?” That caused a communal uproar. Flint looked openly apoplectic, slamming a fist down hard enough to cause the porridge to jump out of the bowl. “What the fuck for? Who thought that was possibly – ”

Emma reached out, trying to get him to sit back down. “James, we did allow them to go to Nassau, I’m sure there’s a good reason for – ”

“It was not to allow your halfwit brother to recklessly endanger them with his business ineptitude!” Flint looked as wrathful as if he was set to spread wings and fly straight down to the Caribbean himself. “Charles just thought it was a grand idea to – what? Get Thomas and Jenny to run an errand to England, of all the fucking – ”

“I don’t think it was his idea,” David cautioned. “It seems to have been on the instigation of, and to settle Charles’ debts with, one John Silver.”

If the name England had spurred a tumult, this one resulted in abrupt, icy silence. Flint choked on his toast, put it down, and appeared to have, for once, nothing to say. Then he said, sounding strained, “Silver? He – met Thomas? And Jenny?”

“Oh my,” Miranda murmured. “That will be a fascinating encounter.”

“Apparently so. Charles isn’t quite clear on the details, but Silver apparently coaxed them into, or coerced them into, helping him on some errand. And there’s more on that as well. It – this is just a rumor, mind, but still – seems to be in pursuit of a Billy Bones.”

“Billy?” Flint and Emma said at once, both looking shocked. “Billy’s dead.”

“Rather less than everyone thought, if Charles’ information is correct.” David glanced back at the letter. “He says that Geneva urged him to write before they left, and furthermore. . .”

He trailed off.

“What?” the table demanded, agitated. “What?”

“He says that the story she gave him,” David said slowly, “is that Bones was recently here. In Charlestown. That he met with someone, and then immediately took passage for England.”

“You might have seen him?” Emma asked. “Tall, blonde – he’s hard to miss.”

“Not that I can recall.” David shook his head. “If he was here, he was keeping it carefully under wraps. Which means, therefore, that if anyone does know about it, it’ll be Lord Murray.”

“Or he could have been the one Billy met with,” Flint pointed out. “The governor of Charlestown and an ex-crew member of mine with a particularly venomous grudge could find considerable common ground. Billy betrayed us to Rogers. Surely nobody here has forgotten that?”

“Of course not.” Killian almost wanted to point out that Billy had also attended Flint and Miranda’s wedding, on that middle-of-nowhere sandbar where Geneva had been born and the news of Peter Ashe’s treachery revealed by Lord Archibald Hamilton, but that was a very long time ago, and much water under the bridge. For his own part, he was less than convinced that Billy meant any of them well – possibly Emma, if he knew about her, but certainly not Flint. Apparently, nobody who was supposed to die on Skeleton Island had actually done so, and now after so many years, they were being inexorably drawn toward each other again. Fuck.

“Either way,” Emma said, into the continued uneasy silence. “We need to find a way to at least make Lord Murray’s acquaintance. I don’t think either James or Killian can go, so I will.”

“By yourself?” Killian instinctively disliked that plan.

“With David,” Emma suggested. “In that case, I doubt the governor, no matter who he is, can get away with shooting me on the spot.”

Flint and Miranda both winced at the idea of the governor shooting anyone, and Emma put a hand over Miranda’s. “I need you all safe,” she said. “I’d rather face him by myself, rather than put any of you in danger. Besides, I was a friend of Billy’s. He asked Rogers for my safety as a condition of that bargain. If I can convince Lord Murray that I am likewise to be trusted with the knowledge of Billy’s whereabouts, I could get somewhere.”

This was true, but absolutely nobody cared for it any more. Nor could they, however, propose an alternative, and unhappy looks were exchanged down the breakfast table. “No,” Killian started. “Hang the danger, I’ll go with you, I’ll – ”

“No,” Emma said, quietly but firmly. “I do this by myself.”

That, therefore, and with great reluctance on the part of the three left behind, was what happened. Once breakfast was finished and Emma and David were dressed for visiting, having allowed a decent interlude to pass so that it would be in business hours, they went out to the carriage house and waited as the coachman hitched up. Emma kept having to resist the urge to fiddle nervously with her hat. Despite the fact that she was a mature lady of means, a daughter, wife, mother, and grandmother, she had felt seventeen years old again ever since she arrived here, and not in a good way. As much as she assured Killian that it was long ago and it could no longer trouble her, it did, and her preferred method of managing it was to sit tight and hope that it went away. It must, surely. It usually did.

In any case, however, she must not have been quite as discreet as she thought. As David handed her up into the coach, and then stepped in after her and shut the door, he said, “This must be extremely uncomfortable for you, mustn’t it?”

“It’s not terrible.” Emma did her best to smile. “Leopold and Eva were kind to me, for the most part. I was always paid on time, and they were fond of Charlie. Treated him as their son.”

“For the most part.” David looked at her wryly, sadly. “Until they weren’t.”

“It’s not their fault.” Emma glanced down as the footmen climbed onto the running board, snapped the lines over the horses’ backs, and the coach jolted into motion, down the sweeping drive. “It’s only what anyone in their position would have done. I had. . . caused a liability with Neal, and they were justified in dismissing me.”

“It was wrong, nonetheless.” The conviction in David’s voice made her turn to him, startled. “If they treated your brother as their son, they should have treated you as their daughter. And if you were my daughter, I would never have done that to you.”

Emma opened her mouth, then shut it. She was unsure how to respond to something that she had always hungered so badly to hear, but never considered herself worthy of, the rationalizations she had run through for the chain of events that had led her from Leopold and Eva’s house to Walsh’s, Henry’s birth, her decision to try to return to England and then her descent into piracy, all the things she had simply not thought of for years, in having first no desire and then no need. It worked out. I met Killian, I had Geneva and Sam, I have parents in James and Miranda, and a good friend in Thomas. Henry is married, I have grandchildren, Charles is doing well for himself. I have family now. Friends. A home. It doesn’t matter any more. It’s past. It’s done.

“I,” she said at last, voice less steady than she might have wished. “Thank you, Captain Nolan.”

He waved a hand, almost diffidently. “I think David suits well enough, don’t you?”

“Thank you.” Emma looked at him. “David.”

He nodded, as if he still felt personally responsible for what his wife’s parents had visited on her long ago, and neither of them said anything as the coach rolled into Charlestown, through the morning hubbub, and up toward the governor’s mansion. It gave Emma a considerable unpleasant swoop to approach it, knowing what had happened to Flint and Miranda the last time they were here, but she steadied her nerves as best she could. It was easier to face danger by yourself than to sit and wait for others to do it for you, and she did want the truth of what had, literally overnight, turned into a much deeper and far more worrisome mystery. They rolled to a halt, David once more politely offered her down, and after a quiet word on his part to the governor’s footmen, they were shown inside.

The mansion had evidently been refurbished between occupants, and the design scheme now seemed to favor elegant blue and gold, along with bouquets of white roses. Emma and David sat on the davenport, politely sipping the offered tea, until the drawing room door opened and a young man in a smartly-tailored velvet coat stepped through. He had brown hair cut short, an appealing, boyish face, and dimples when he smiled, as he was doing presently. “I am Lord Murray, governor of Carolina Colony. Good morning.”

“Ah – good morning.” Emma and David got to their feet to clasp hands and exchange courtesies, as well as to thank him for receiving them so promptly – provincial bureaucracy was not the most efficient operation in the world, and he could have strung them out for days or weeks. He graciously waved them off, noting that as the Crown was overstretched in any number of directions due to the war, the least he could do was to make life easier for everyone else in the meantime. On that note, he offered his best wishes for the safe return of whichever of Emma’s menfolk was doubtless off fighting – oh, it was her son? Surely a capital young man. Her concerns, however, must not be this alone.

“No,” Emma admitted. He did seem well-disposed, engaging, and friendly, but that was different from openly prying into sensitive matters. She decided to test the waters first. “Governor Murray, are you aware of the Nolans’ business interests on New Providence Island? And its. . . history?”

“I am,” Murray assured her. “They were outlaws in the past, of course, but the place has been at peace for twenty-five years now. I am certainly not about to punish it arbitrarily, Mrs. Jones. Or, for that matter, you.”

Emma was startled. It had been rather naïve of her to suppose that he would not know who she was, though it wasn’t something she put about. “Oh?”

“Aye.” He looked at her forthrightly. “Captain Swan, wasn’t it? Mistress of the Blackbird?”

“It – it was, yes.” He couldn’t be older than thirty, so he was either not yet born or a very small child during the invasion and overthrow of the pirates’ republic, and Emma thought that some of the odd expression on his face must come from meeting a living legend, a piece of history stepped out of the storybook, which suddenly made her feel quite old. “But like New Providence itself, I have been a loyal subject for twenty-five years.”

“Of course you have,” Murray said. “You are not on trial here, Mrs. Jones. If men’s – or women’s – past crimes could never be forgiven or atoned for, society would not function. Our lives would indeed remain in the state in which Thomas Hobbes sees them, and that, like Hobbes, I have no wish to be the case. Can you then, in confidence of your safety, divulge the nature of your errand? It does not, I assure you, go beyond this room.”

Emma and David exchanged a final considering glance, but the young governor did seem sincere enough, and if he was trying to turn over a new leaf in Charlestown’s relations with pirates, there was the fact that it benefited – ironically – from the Nolans’ connections and commerce with Nassau. Murray must have little wish to spill such profitable milk in his first months on the job, and with that, Emma finally asked whether he had heard of a Billy Bones, or man of similar alias, passing through the city recently. He might have had meetings with person or person(s) unknown, and then was believed to have departed for England. She and Bones were old friends, but had not seen each other in many years, and if he was at all nearby, she would welcome any tidings of his whereabouts.

“Billy Bones?” Murray leaned forward. “The name sounds familiar. Will you refresh my memory, Mrs. Jones?”

“He was a member of Captain Flint’s crew, on the Walrus. He was believed to be long dead on Skeleton Island, but if he made it off somehow, his information would be very valuable to the highest bidder. As the island is, of course, a repository for at least half the Spanish treasure stolen from the salvage camp in 1715, aboard the Walrus when she wrecked.”

“Indeed. Very valuable information would be quite understating it.” Murray chewed that over. “And you think he might have shared that intelligence with someone here? Why?”

“We’re not certain. The news is at least third-hand. It came from my brother, in Nassau. As well. . .” Emma hesitated. “Before this, back in Savannah, there was an incident with two individuals who tried to kill us. We were wondering if that might be connected somehow.”

“Us, Mrs. Jones?”

“Yes. My husband, myself, and my aged parents.” She could almost hear Flint bristling at this description, particularly the “aged” part, but best to make him sound as innocuous as possible.

“That is troubling to hear. What became of these ill-mannered ruffians?”

“They, ah.” Emma tried to think of the most discreet way to put this. “We were forced to act in self-defense, Lord Murray.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded. “Perfectly understandable. And no doubt a distressing incident for you. Do you have any idea where it might have originated from?”

“The packet boat that travels between Savannah, Charlestown, and Williamsburg – it might have had some role in passing the information. We followed it here. If it’s in the harbor, we want to speak with the master.” For that matter, Emma wondered if Flint and Killian, rather than sit on their hands at the Nolan estate, had sallied forth to find the offending vessel themselves, and obtain answers by one means or another. It was not at all out of the question, especially for Flint.

“I see.” Murray nodded again. “Well, Mrs. Jones, you have given me a great deal to cogitate on, and I will be making a number of enquiries. It is most likely that you will stay in Charlestown while these are being carried out – assuming Captain Nolan consents to continue hosting you, of course. Indeed, if the rumors of the Crown’s defeat in Florida are true, it is also likely safer for you to remain somewhat further up the coast, in the event of a Spanish invasion. I know that Charlestown has been hostile to your kind before, but I hope that it may now prove a refuge.”

“Thank you.” As he rose to his feet, signaling the audience to be at an end, Emma and David did as well, and she took the governor’s offered hand. “You’ve been very kind, Lord Murray. We are in your debt.”

“Please,” he said, and smiled at her, brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “Call me Gideon.”

---------------

It was not yet dawn, and the light on the bedroom wall was deep grey, no longer full night but a good way off as yet from sunrise. It was almost quiet, as even the many servants of Paris were only just rousting themselves out to begin the day, and the air was still as glass. It was hot enough in deep summer that they might have cracked the window in search of a breeze, but as that would allow the foul miasma of the night air, redolent with the stench of the city’s filth baked in the daytime, to get in, they instead slept with only gauze curtains and a light coverlet. Or rather they had, but Liam had kicked it off again. Not that he was terribly surprised, as this was as much part of the morning routine as the particular hue of the light and the stuffy, breath-held stillness. He was quite familiar with this moment, it generally being the one at which he awoke with a jerk from his nightmares. He knew exactly how long it would be until the bells of Notre Dame and the city churches began to call Prime, and the spell would break, the life return.

Careful not to disturb Regina, he sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face; his beard grew in like a bloody werewolf if he didn’t shave each morning, and as of late, there had been considerably more grey in it than even recently before. Liam was entitled to this distinguishment at the age of fifty-eight, but it seemed as if much of the remaining brown in his curls had vanished within the span of a few months, and that was disconcerting. He grimaced, working his left shoulder and his back, as both of his old stab wounds were prone to feeling as if the Devil had jabbed them with a hot poker when he first woke, and leaned forward with a grunt of discomfort, trying to loosen the seized-up muscles. Christ, he was getting old.

After a few rounds of this, he managed to get his body at least somewhat interested in cooperating with him, and straightened up with only a slight groan, padding his barefoot way across the floorboards to the chair by Regina’s vanity. From here, he could look down into the narrow cobbled street that their townhouse was perched on, just a few minutes’ walk to the Collège de Sorbonne of the Université in one direction, or down to the Seine waterfront, and the Île de la Cité, in the other. It was a respectable enough neighborhood, though far from wealthy, as the individuals of consequence lived in expansive estates well away from the crowds and grime of the city. Not that Liam cared. He had no intention of being one of the powdered, gilted fops who danced attendance on King Louis at the pleasure palaces of Versailles – at which this monarch, fifteenth of his name, generally spent his time. He had inherited the throne at the age of five, after the death of his grandfather the Sun King, and generally seemed interested in doing anything but applying himself to actually sitting on it, having gotten his childhood tutor, Cardinal Fleury, to rule the country instead. This was not entirely for the bad, since while England and Spain were interminably at war, Louis provided token support to his Bourbon cousins but was otherwise too indolent to go to the bother of involving France in any major operations. That, Liam supposed, was what passed for peace these days. For anyone.

He opened a drawer on the vanity, removed brush, bowl, razor, and strop, thought briefly of doing this mornings on the Imperator with Killian, and worked up a rich soap froth. Despite living in France for almost three decades, and becoming mostly accustomed to their idiosyncrasies, Liam still had not figured out what the deuce they had against facial hair. It did not trouble him much, as he was in the habit of keeping at least mostly clean-shaven from his days in the Navy, but if a gentleman stepped out with any shadow upon his jaw, he could expect looks as if a close friend or family member had died, and not-quite-muttering about the scandalous customs of English barbarians. To wear a beard was only for the working poor, on either side of the Channel, who could not be expected to tend so regularly to their upkeep. The morning shave it was. Liam did not particularly fancy being constantly gaped at otherwise.

He finished, rinsed, buffed his newly bare chin with the towel, and inspected the result. Should be sufficient to set foot outdoors without any nearby ladies fainting. Liam also broached convention in not wearing a wig, preferring his own hair in a queue, and most of his neighbors had resigned themselves to his savage peculiarities (though doubtless wondering if it impacted on their property values). As Fleury preferred to keep the Hanovers mostly friendly, Liam was not spat on – much – or had rotten vegetables chucked at him, as he sometimes had when they first arrived here. He still spoke French with an English accent, so his heritage could never be disguised, but he was fluent to the point that he tended to think in it more often than his native tongue, so it was usually overlooked.

Shaving complete, Liam dressed, leaned over the bed to kiss his wife lightly on the forehead – she stirred and murmured, but didn’t wake – and showed himself out, descending the creaking stairs as quietly as he could. Their household staff (a cook, a butler, two footmen, and Regina’s lady’s maid) had also gotten used to Monsieur embarking on solitary peregrinations at unsociable hours, from which they had tried in vain to dissuade him. Liam took down his hat and walking stick – the danger he encountered on these walks was usually no worse than a shambling drunk or a street whore desperate for a paillasson before the night was through, but he was not unmindful to the possibility of others, and a rapier was concealed within – opened the door into the cool morning, and stepped out, shutting it behind him. Regina tended to rise considerably later, anyway, so she’d likely still be asleep by the time he got back.

Drawing a deep breath of air damp from an overnight rain, Liam set off to the coffeehouse, Le Cochon Tacheté (or as it was generally known, Le Cochon) where he usually took his morning meal. Despite its somewhat unflattering name, it regularly played host to some of the salons that took place in the city, in the great intellectual climate of enlightenment. Émilie du Châtelet, mistress of the satirist Voltaire and a formidable genius in her own right, had discussed her project of translating and expositing Isaac Newton’s Principia mathematica, and just earlier this year, the inventor Jacques de Vausancon had debuted his clockwork-powered carriage, which he claimed would eventually allow them to run without horses. His optimism was not shared by everybody, but Liam could appreciate a dreamer. It was nice to know that someone still did.

He reached the establishment after about fifteen minutes, delayed only by a legless decrepit inveigling for alms – Liam tossed him a sou – and stepped inside. Coffeehouses were regarded narrowly by the authorities, on account of their reputation as meeting places to arrange political activity, to share scathing broadsheets and newspapers, and otherwise for a younger and less-grey clientele, but Liam was a regular here, and they had finally stopped suspecting him of being an inspector for the Bureau of Morals. Indeed he was greeted, poured a steaming black cup from a pottery kettle, and supplied with a sweet roll still warm from the ovens out back, fresh and flaky. He took his usual seat in the corner, and started to eat.

A few more patrons drifted in as it continued to get lighter, though Liam did not pay much attention to them. He finished his breakfast, considered that he should be getting back home, and was just about to reach for his walking stick, when someone stepped up beside him and touched his sleeve. “Excusez-moi. Monsieur Jones?”

Startled – and even more so to be addressed by name – Liam turned. “Oui? Comment puis-je t’aider?”

Apparently satisfied that it was the right person, the man, who had the look of a messenger in household livery, inclined his head and spoke in accented English. “Monsieur? If you would come with me. My mistress hopes that you will do her the honor of a visit.”

Liam was somewhat irritated at what appeared to be the universal French assumption that anyone who did not natively speak the language should not be taxed to hold any actual conversation in it, but this was quickly overtaken by confusion. He and Regina had a few standing engagements and supper invitations, but they were far from especially desired guests in Parisian high society, and he had not been expecting a solicitation. “Your mistress?”

“Indeed, monsieur. She is an Englishwoman recently arrived in Paris, and was given your name. She is most interested in arranging a call. Are you available?”

“I – ” Liam blinked. Married gentlemen did not usually call alone on presumably respectable gentlewomen (at least only to appearances, as the entire bloody so-called devoutly Catholic country was, to Liam’s disapproving view, furiously engaged in extramarital fornication to every direction). “Now? It’s hardly calling hours, is it?”

“Are you not available, then? When would be more convenient?”

“I – no, I am, but – ”

“Splendid, monsieur.” The messenger looked to be in imminent expectation of Liam getting up to follow him. “Her carriage is outside. If you will?”

Thoroughly baffled, Liam was left with nothing to do but cram on his hat, grab his stick, and follow the messenger out to where a full coach-and-six – highly impractical for the crowded, narrow Paris streets, but clearly chosen to make an impression rather than for convenience – was waiting. There was a gilded crest on the door, but he didn’t get a good look at it as he was smartly ushered inside, wondering if this was a social call or a very well-mannered kidnapping. The interior was gloomy, windows shielded with black faille curtains, and thus it took him a moment to realize that someone was sitting across from him. He had expected to be conveyed to some stately residence or other, and then to wait anyway, as upper-crust Paris, to say the least, did not rise with the lark, but apparently this mysterious lady had decided to cut out the middleman. She was dressed in a very modish black gown, shiny dark ringlets piled high on her head and fixed with a beaded onyx comb and two plumed feathers, and while she looked, at first glance, quite a bit younger than him, Liam thought he could detect paint and powder and a carefully made-up mask to disguise considerable age. Seeing his general bewilderment, she smiled. “Ah. Captain Jones, is it not?”

“Yes.” He politely removed his hat and set it on the seat next to him, as the messenger climbed onto the standing post with the footman and the carriage rolled forward with a creak of heavy wheels. “May I know to whom I have the honor of addressing myself?”

She smiled, rather coyly. “You may.”

Liam stared at her in expectation of a name. None was provided.

“Later, at any rate. We have more important matters to discuss. You are the Liam Jones who was once commander of HMS Imperator before she went pirate, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Liam’s spine stiffened. Whoever she was, she had clearly done some digging. “I was informed that you were an English gentlewoman recently arrived in France.”

“Oh, I am.” She giggled. “Partly, it must be confessed, in search of you. You see, I have recently come into possession of some intriguing intelligence, Captain Jones. Can you guess what?”

“No, my lady?” This faux-little girlish act was already beginning to annoy him. “One would suppose that was the purpose of secret intelligence.”

“Indeed.” She cocked her head, regarding him with a cool, appraising stare that belied the apparent coquetry. “Well. Does the name Skeleton Island mean anything to you?”

“Only as much as it means anything to anyone,” Liam said, successfully concealing a brief start of surprise and unease alike. “A byword for a place full of mythical treasure that everyone dreams of somehow retrieving, but which it is in no way feasible to actually do. An El Dorado, a Shangri-La. I trust your ladyship was not placing too much stock in fairytales.”

“It’s not a fairy tale.” She continued to look at him with that too-intent gaze. “I have someone who can take us there, or so he claims. Isn’t that curious?”

“Very convenient for you, if true,” Liam said. “I fail to see what business it is to do with me. I have never been there and I know nothing about it.”

“Oh, I know. But you are related to people who do know, aren’t you? Your sister-in-law, your brother’s wife. Emma Swan – or Jones, I suppose it would be now?” The dark-haired woman leaned forward. “Possibly the only living person, aside from my source, of course, who has actually been to Skeleton Island and knows the details of its location and difficulties. And as well, the persistent rumors that Captain Flint is not as dead as one might think. He, of course, would be the biggest prize of all. Do you know?”

“I have not seen my brother and his family for years.” Liam was caring less and less for this conversation, and for this woman, by the minute. “If you have a plan in place, then I wish you good fortune of it, but leave me out of it. I have no interest in and no need for this venture.”

“Oh, don’t you?” She smiled again, though it failed to reach her eyes. “I’m glad you think so, Captain, but I disagree. Your expert advice is very useful to us, and the man is currently in a place you have considerable familiarity with. You see, we have not actually met face to face. Merely corresponded by letters. I have need of, as it were, a native guide.”

“You may,” Liam said, more or less politely, “feel free to find yourself another one.”

She giggled again, something high and cold that gave him a brief, unaccountable flash of unpleasant memory, though to who or what he could not have said. “I don’t think so.”

“What makes you think I’d know anything about any godforsaken backwater where some babbling lunatic has washed up, claiming to be able to lead you to a miraculous treasure? Or do you – ”

“It’s not a backwater.” She still seemed amused. “At least, not much of one. Bristol.”

“What?” That caught Liam on the hop. Bristol was the closest thing to a permanent home that he and Killian had ever had, the Imperator’s home port, the place where their purser, Hawkins, was from, and where his wife ran their inn on the waterfront. Where Liam had made his infernal bargain with the fraudulent Mr. Plouton, to get the Jones brothers out of slavery. “This man you think can lead you to Skeleton Island, he’s in Bristol?”

The woman nodded. “Recently arrived after a journey from the Colonies. We’ll be leaving shortly to meet him there. I’ve a ship waiting in Le Havre.”

“Wait, you – ” Liam was outraged. “You can’t just bloody abduct me off the street and expect me to help you in this madness! My wife is at home, my life, you can’t – ”

“I can.” She smiled, more kittenish than ever, revealing small white teeth. Rapped on the roof to order the coachman to keep driving, rattling out on the road that led north to Normandy and the sea. “You work for me now, and you’d better not forget it. And in case you were wondering, as I know you were, my name is Fiona. Lady Fiona Murray.”