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nimmy22 · 3 years

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A Mistake: Chapter 11

Breaking the group apart, several guards escorted each participant to their rooms. Cara lost the comfort of being in a crowd, feeling exposed like a specimen on a microscope slide being scrutinized. The white sterilized hallways were suffocating, leaving a bad taste in the mouth. The people around her stopped talking to her. Now they talked about her as if she wasn't there, not a human being glaring at them and their fancy clipboards.

She lost track of the many security doors they passed, each one requiring a key card for access. Her eyes kept darting back to the door they came through, painfully aware of how much farther away it shrunk with the growing distance. Her gut screamed. Any further, and she felt she may never see the exit again.

"Boy, this was a bad idea," Cara mumbled under her breath, fidgeting with the loose seams of her collar. Of all the times she was stupidly impulsive, this was the worst. She should have never trusted a shady advert at a bus stop.

Cara never spent much time in hospitals. She was never sick enough for her parents to even consider taking her. God knows she needed it in the past. The point is, maybe this was simply a phobia of the white coats. Fear of the unfamiliar triggering all these emotions and the bad taste in her mouth.

This situation reminded her of when her parents left her five-year-old self in a car on a record-breaking heatwave. She was stuck with the windows closed for over an hour, delirious from the heat and struggling to breathe. Her trip in the oven ended when her parent came finally came, casually going about their business without a look at the back seat. At least her torture ended then when her parents returned. But here, there was no one to help her. She neglected to tell Claire and all her friends what she was up to. Looks like all the lies are catching up to her.

Cara had no idea where her worry came from. She came here by free will and had yet to see anything illegal. The money was within reach, but the nerves couldn't be soothed.

Cara started walking slower than the guards, hoping to give them the slip. Of course, they noticed, grabbing her arm tightly. She was shoved forward hard and almost stumbled face-first onto the white tiles. The hair on her nape stiffened, and she raked her fingers through her hair, clenching her jaw.

"Hey, what's your problem? I was trying to follow you. It's not my fault you were walking too damn fast," Cara snapped, scowling at the men. She didn't like how they manhandled her, throwing her around like an object, physically steering her this way and that like an infant who couldn't take direction. Three grand wasn't worth this treatment, or so she told herself. She was, Afterall, very, very desperate for money.

"Don't you want the money, little girl? It's super easy paper. In fact, the checks are already signed and ready, sitting in a drawer somewhere. They just need to be distributed by the good doctor," Tilting her head, Cara watched the knowing look shared among the three guards. Their smiles were anything but friendly, looking more like a wolf than a human.

Crossing her arms, Cara narrowed her eyes. " If the money was so good, why don't you join the study?"

"Why would I do that when I could be helping poor, unfortunate, folks just like you get themselves out of poverty. I'm all about the charitable work."

"Oh, of course. Thank you so much, sir. I was so desperate for help. I'd be homeless if it wasn't for your generosity." Cara patted her eyelashes, grabbing onto the front of a guard's bullet vest. "It's getting cold again, and I only have the clothes on my back. How could I live-"

"Shut the fuck up and keep walking. Don't even think of causing trouble. We have a special place for such folks." shoving Cara away, the guard placed his hand on his gun holster. She received the message loud and clear.

So much for the charity work.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," her smile turned into a scowl as soon as the men's backs were turned. She dragged her feet as she followed them, racking her brain for some sort of plan, mentally willing time to move slower. She needed time to think.

The alarms in her head rang louder. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead despite the frigid air of the hospital. She needed to get out immediately. But how?

She was shoved into a room and forced into what resembled a dentist's chair. With one final warning look from the guards, they exited the room through the automatic sliding doors. She sprang out of the chair as if it burned her. She felt even more trapped, her eyes darting around for an exit. The door was the only way out, and she didn't have the key card. She was utterly fucked.

A woman's voice sounded over the speaker system sending Cara sprinting to the corner of the room, her back pressed to the wall. Heart hammering against her ribcage, it threatened to jump out of her throat. Realizing the voice was recorded, she still couldn't relax even as the standard messages about handwashing and proper coughing etiquette played.

If only washing hands could get her out of this situation, she'd scrub her skin raw.

Two researchers, a man and a woman in white hazmat suits, walked into the room. Cara inhaled sharply when she noticed the syringe filled with a neon green fluid. It was carefully contained in a glass case held by the woman. Cara's eyes stayed glued to the syringe as they came closer, barely listening to what was said about her and to her. Their questions fell on deaf ears. In a trance, all she saw was neon green.

She absolutely knew that the contents could end everything as she knew it. Death in a bottle, or in this case, a syringe no wider than her pinky.

"It's easy money, kid. Relax, it'll be over before you know it." the woman holding the syringe said, slowly approaching Cara as if she were a cornered animal.

Cara's preparedness to fight for dear life disappeared when a taser struck her in the stomach. Waves of pain shot through her body as her muscles turned to jelly (the liquid kind). She was on the ground, and they were on her before she even realized what happened. she couldn't lift even a finger.

Her mouth refused to work, and all she could do was whimper pathetically. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes pleaded with whatever tiny speck of humanity the two had left. All she saw was desperation for results at all costs, greed, and over-ambition for recognition, a cold and calculating look.

Cara thought it was all over, or maybe it was simply her fear of needles blowing all her emotions out of proportion. Either way, she will find out very soon.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to relax, hoping for a quick end. She tried to imagine herself back at school getting a vaccine like all the other kids in her grade. She was usually called to the nurse last due to her last name. It always left her waiting and dreading until every last kid received the shot before it was her turn. By then, many kids would make up stories about the pain and how they found needles stuck in their bones, inflating her terror.

Cara hissed as the needle broke through the skin of her neck, clenching her eyes even tighter. She refused to look, scared of what she might see. The woman's finger moved over the plunger, ready to apply firm pressure.

A pager went off, screeching. It startled everyone, and the woman holding the needle suddenly jerked her hand. "Shit! The needle broke," she snapped, examining the shortened tip. She not so gently forced the broken tip from Cara's neck, squeezing and pinching until it emerged.

Boiling over, the woman yanked out her pager. She was going to make whoever interrupted her experiment pay very dearly. As she read the message, her face paled, and she stood abruptly.

"Who paged?" the man asked, quickly glancing between Cara and the woman.

"you 'know who', wants to see me, something about a possible security breach." the woman answered with a warning look after giving Cara a once-over. She understood why. Names implicate people, and whoever is on the other end of the pager does not want their name casually used.

"Fine, for now, take the girl to her room until I deal with this. They are too damn paranoid around here."

Only then did he remove the taser, and Cara inhaled with greed. Finally able to use her muscles for more than gasping for breath.

---------------

Seeing her body quivering as she walked, he didn't see a need to call for escort guards. He didn't see the kid as a threat and was sure he could handle her on his own. He never knew anyone get so lucky, but it won't happen again. The inevitable was temporarily delayed. Pretty soon, her heart will pump not only blood but a very valuable virus. Dying for umbrellas ambitious is an honor.

Taken to another room, Cara struggled to keep up, her body exhausted from the endless shocks she had endured. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the bare twin-size bed and metallic toilet. Cara knew she had to do something quickly. A chance like this won't come again.

With an idea forming, Cara hoped she still had a dab of luck because what she was about to do was incredibly stupid. Leaning against the wall, she clenched her stomach and cried in pain.

"The fuck's wrong with you? The man approached her cautiously, and her eyes flickered to her target.

Once he was close enough, Cara grabbed the taser clasped to his belt and jabbed him in the neck with the highest voltage. His body went slack, and she grabbed his head, smashing it against the metallic toilet with a loud crunch. She repeated it for good measure, watching as the body lay limp on the floor.

She wasn't sure if it was the adrenalin, but she barely remembers donning his biohazard suit and pocketing his key card before rushing out of the room. Cara had to remind herself to behave normally, to slow her breathing to avoid inciting suspicion.

The suit fit her poorly, hanging on her frame awkwardly, clearly meant for someone taller. But the headpiece helped conceal her face a little. If anyone looked at her from behind, they wouldn't immediately think it's a run-away test subject. It was a tiny bit of comfort.

Surprisingly, no one stopped her. The researchers, assistants, and guards ignored her. If they gave her a second glance, she wouldn't know because of the helmet. They were each in their own world, fussing over clipboards and busy yelling at assistants for every little thing. The air was thick of tension, putting everyone on edge.

The place was a maze, full of endless hallways of white. She thought she would fuse with the white walls in her white suit before she was ever found.

"Cara," someone behind her growled her name, and she froze, holding her breath. The voice was thunderous, and she couldn't focus enough to hear their next words.

She didn't need to turn around to know Wesker stood less than two meters away.

The voice was unmistakable. She'd know it anywhere. But how did Wesker recognize her from behind? The suit left only her face visible. She had no idea why he was here and why he was angry. Well, she did steal a biohazard suit and injured a researcher. It wasn't hard to connect his overtime activities to a hospital run by Umbrella. Now he really might kill her, clean up a mess long overdue. Especially now that she likely pissed off his employers.

Cara pretended not to have heard him, attempting to casually walk away with her head down. Hearing his thunderous footsteps behind her, she broke out into a sprint.

She sprinted into a crowd of researchers, taking random turns in hopes of losing him. She ran until she no longer heard his steps and became even more lost in the maze-like building.

The room she ducked into contained several workbenches lining the walls, complete with microscopes and other high-tech appliances. Thankfully, no one was in the lab.

A jar caught her attention containing something between a cross of a human baby and a lizard. It neither moved nor breathed, and Cara concluded it must be a dead experimental specimen. Things like this must be illegal.

Approaching a workbench, Cara peered into a microscope. While she found the cells colorful and interesting, biology was not her strong point. She had no idea what she was looking at. But it definitely wasn't a plant cell. There were too many tentacles. Maybe it was-

Grabbed from behind, Cara screamed as she was yanked hard by her arm. She kicked and pushed but could free herself. Her voice died in her throat when the headpiece of the suit was yanked off her head. She was left gaping at Wesker, barely noticing when the headpiece was thrown across the room, taking down an office lamp with it.

"I knew it was you," Wesker spoke in a carefully controlled tone, but the edges were jagged.

"I-I can explain!" Cara stammered, feeling the edge of the desk cut into the back of her legs as Wesker cornered her, their chests touching.

with a curl of his lips over his teeth, his smile did not match his eyes. "Oh, please do go on. Explain what you're doing here." He seemed like a different person; eyes warped into a miserable pit of ice.

"Why are you so mad?" her voice quivered under his piercing scrutiny. Cara knew she fucked up but didn't want to admit this to him. "They said the drugs should be-"

"Safe?" Wesker said with an ominous smile and threw his head back, laughing without humor. "Half the participant won't make it out of this experiment alive. Even if they survived, there is no way they would be allowed to leave."

"What?" Cara shook her head vigorously. "If they knew it'll kill people from the start. Why the hell are they going through with it? Why? This is a hospital for god's sack."

"Simply because Umbrella can. They do what they want, and the locations of the experiments are irrelevant. It could be in an orphanage or a sewer, and they will still get their results."

"They are fucking monsters. How could someone so evil run a fucking hospital?" Cara swallowed, thinking about how she almost became an experiment. How many of the participants were already injected? Were they already dead? How important were the drugs for someone to be willing to kill unsuspecting people for data? The cure for cancer? What a fucking joke.

Her questions were endless, but Wesker had his own.

"It's called business, sweetheart. Now, why are you here?" He asked again, but she knew he already had an idea. What was the point of putting her stupidity into words?

"I... got evicted. They were offering money and-"

"Why didn't you tell me? you could have come to me,"

Cara gapped at him with wide eyes, feeling a loss for words. "Why would you help me? wouldn't this help you get a problem off your hands?"

"Sherry cares for you." she didn't know if she had imagined it but, something flickered in the depths of his icy blues.

"Sherry, right? Is this really about her? are you sure it's not you feeling something in your cold dead heart? But how could you feel anything? you're a monster covering up the work of other monsters."

"Watch yourself, Cara. I make one phone call, and you'll be the next body piled on the others sent for incineration after the good doctor gets what he wants from you. This could all happen in less than an hour." He hissed

Something snapped inside of Cara, letting loose a current of emotions too fast to control. She was too tired, exhausted from clutching the bar with all the weight dragging her down constantly. No matter how much she had told herself to hold on a little longer, she didn't see an end to the stress. Her problems only seemed to grow heavier. Her blistered hands and broken arms couldn't hold on for another second. she let

"How long are you going to threaten me for? You know what? I am sick of it. I'm done! I'm done!" Cara shoved at his chest, her voice rising in octaves. "I'm here! Come, and get me motherfuckers!" she screamed, Choking on her sobs. She didn't care what happens next. All she wanted was for the stress and the fear to end.

Spreading his fingers through her hair, Wesker pulled hard. He tilted her head up, his eyes setting her ablaze. Cara swallowed, running her tongue over her chapped, dry lips. She felt as if she was looking down a cliff. One step forward, and the jagged rocks below would greet her.

Cara's eyes widened as his chin tilted towards hers in one fluid motion. Her words were lost the moment his mouth came down, claiming hers. Her gasp was stolen, along with her ability to breathe.

In moments of confusion, she would lean into his touch, remembers who he worked to protect, and she would rack her nails over the skin of his arms. He let her hurt him, pulling her even closer, and she would let him.

This was so wrong. So very wrong and so was how much she wanted him to continue. Her lips moved on their own accord, responding to his touch. Her fingers slid over his chest, feeling the engraving of his badge. The moment she kissed him back, Wesker pushed harder into her.

She tried to focus as Wesker's lips brushed her own, hungrily devouring everything. His hand left her hair, sliding down her neck while his other hand snaked around her waist, fisting into up the material of the biohazard suit. She let him lay her back on the desk, his body quick to cover hers like a warm blanket. She anchored a hand into his belt, tugging blindly. She wanted- no needed too many things and didn't know where to begin. She wanted the suit off her scorching body and his damn belt undone, but her shaking hands could do neither.

Shoving her away, Wesker abruptly turned around.

In a moment of clarity, Cara could finally think clearly without the cloud of haze Wesker brings. She couldn't believe what had just happened, staring at his back, dazed and speechless. She touched her swollen lips, feeling them tingle.

Wesker's jaw was tense, and it took him extra moments to steady his breathing. While Cara still sat flustered on the table, Wesker had recovered his well-kempt appearance just as three guards burst into the room, guns raised.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He answered in his usual tone, completely unaffected, and Cara hated him. He was quick to wear the mask, too damn good.

A look of recognition crossed their faces, and they immediately lowered their guns, taking cautious steps back. "Captain Wesker, what business do you have here? Dr. Stanford was not notified about you taking a tour of the wing."

"I sent one of my employees to test the security, and she made it all the way in here and escaped the test room. Let the head of security know that I would like a word with him...soon." Wesker said before grabbing Cara's arm. "Have a good day, Gentlemen. You may go now. There is no threat to Umbrella in this room. Go spend your efforts where they are needed."

Reluctantly, the men followed each other out of the room, leaving Cara alone with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, feeling the room shrink. She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, busying herself with unzipping the biohazard suit. The clasps and zipper kept slipping away from her clammy fingers, refusing to open. After multiple failures, she aggressively tugged on the plastic material to rip it off, but its thickness taunted her. Of course, these scientists only worked with high-grade materials.

Feeling long fingers slid up her back, Cara's hands froze. She held her breath, every muscle tense. Warm hands covered her cold ones, dropping them to her side as they took over the task. With a few clasps undone, her neck was exposed. The hair on the back of her rose as the cool nipped at her skin. Something soft touched the base of her neck, and she gasped, realizing they were a pair of lips. Slowly, they spread featherlight kisses towards her throat, then her chin. Her face was on fire, steadily gaining degrees.

"Relax, I'm not going to eat you, dearheart," Wesker whispered against her skin.

Cara pushed him away, desperate for some distance. "We shouldn't be doing this. This was a mistake. I-"

"I don't make mistakes," with one firm tug, the suit dropped to the ground, pooling at her feet. Cara felt all the warmth migrate downwards and shivered, feeling her stomach play host to angry butterflies. She still had her clothes on, but she felt naked in front of him and yearned for the scorching suit to cover her again.

"Come, it's time to go," Wesker turned to leave, and she exhaled, her body losing its tension. She couldn't bring herself to move, glaring at his back. She chewed her lips and sighed at the confusing thoughts now occupying her mind. There was enough stress in her life, and this was the ripe cherry on top.

Noticing her lack of movement, Wesker paused at the door, "I know you want to continue, but this is not the place nor time. wouldn't want anyone thinking they could join in,"

when she thought her face couldn't glow any hotter, it proved her dead wrong. "You go ahead. I'll take the bus. It's safer." Cara rushed to the door, but he hooked a finger in the back of her shirt, pulling her back.

"Nonsense. a young lady like you shouldn't take the bus this late at night. wouldn't want you falling into the wrong hands."

"Like there are worse hands than yours." Cara retorted, slapping his hand away, but they just went on to wrap around her waist. She was ready to munch on some fingers when the hand suddenly disappeared just as a couple of researchers passed them in the hallway. They all greeted him as 'Captain Wesker' before making quick strides out of sight.

"Oh yes, there are. Ones holding scalpels over your skin as you lay paralyzed,"

"Have you... have you dissected before?" Cara swallowed, glaring at his hands as they continued stealing touches. Those hands hurt and killed innocent people, yet she couldn’t fully say they were unwelcome.

"I was a scientist before I was ever a cop." she hated people who dodged questions, skirting around the sinkhole but never falling to the bottom.

"So... you did? Or not?" she frowned, failing to read him. his long strides made it harder for her to keep up, forcing her to almost jog after him.

"Give me the badge you stole from the researcher. I don't want it leaving the building."

"Come on, it's a simple yes or no,"

Stopping suddenly, Wesker extended his hand, palms up. " The badge, now." The order was clear, and she struggled to do the opposite.

Huffing loudly, Cara ignored his outstretched hand and shoved the key card beneath his bullet vest before walking away.

"Cara," He called out to her, and she couldn't help but pause. His voice had a way with people, lulling them to do his bidding.

With arms crossed, Cara glared at Wesker. "What is it? I already gave it back. It's not broken. I just used it."

"Since you know your way around the hospital so well, why don't you give me a tour?" He smirked, leaning against the wall, his eyes following her movements.

"I'm your employee, right? I Gotta do my job properly. I was checking for security threats over there, but it looks like the hallway is clear. I'll be checking this way next" Cara turned around and began walking down another hallway, her hands over her eyes like binoculars.

"you're still going the wrong way dearheart, it's this way. I ought to demote you for your lack of direction," Wesker smirked, nodding in the opposite direction she was going.

Cara followed, admitting that she had no clue where she was going. She pretended he wasn't walking ahead of her trying to focus on everything but him. it was hard, given how she nearly let him have everything. No matter how many times she forced her eyes away, they kept soaking in the way his muscles moved beneath his uniform as he walked. How was she supposed to behave around him now? Pretend it didn't happen?

With his words fresh on her mind, Cara nibbled on her nails. ' I don't make mistakes.'

What was she supposed to do now?

#claire redfield #resident evil #albert wesker x oc #albert wesker #oc

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

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Persistence - 7

@badthingshappenbingo square “Public Humiliation” requested by: Anonymous

(white dots are requested, red dots are filled. Request with an ask, specific story or character optional)

Wow. It’s been a minute or two, but I’m back from the land of schoolwork and stress! If you need to catch up or read previous parts, this story now has a masterlist!

Tag list (dm or ask to be added or removed, especially since it’s been so long): @whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump, @shameless-whumper, @endless-whump, @theycomeinthrees

CW: creepy whumper, noncon (nonsexual) touching

“I-I didn’t, it wasn’t, my fault… it h-hurt and I-”

“-need to learn how to cooperate through pain, you mean.” Percival cut him off and finished the sentence for him. “I know that’s hard for you, but following orders is of no use if you can’t do it whenever I need you to. So, dear, that’s what we’re going to work on right now.”

“Lucky for you and that lovely voice of yours, I’ve brought you some fresh water to drink before we go. Boiled from seawater of course, but made specially for you,” Percival said, head held high like he should be winning some kind of award for his supposed kindness.

He pulled Floyd’s head up from the table as far as he could and cradled it with one hand, holding a cup up to his lips with the other. His captive shrunk back, eyeing it warily, and he sighed.

“Obviously you’d never know if I put anything unsavory in this, but there’s no reason to refuse it. Not like you have a choice in the long run... I either force this down your throat, or you drink it and be grateful for my generosity.” he said, pushing the water back up. After a moment, Floyd opened his mouth to accept it.

After a moment of letting it settle in his mouth, he was relieved to see that Percival really hadn’t done anything to taint it. Or, if he had, it wasn’t something he could taste. He swallowed quickly, opening again and greedily gulping down the rest of the water. When another full cup came right after, Floyd downed it halfway before Percival took it away. He whined from the back of his throat, and the other man chuckled.

“There you go. And now you say…?”

“...thank you.” It was still raspy and nearly inaudible, but the cup came back and he drank the rest of the water to the sound of gentle praise from his captor.

It wasn’t nearly enough to satiate his thirst, but it was something to cling on to in hopes that he might earn more. Percival finally let him off the table after that, loosening straps to reveal reddened wrists. It was a small reprieve in the big scheme of things, but it was nice to be rid of some discomfort even for just a moment. He rolled to sit up, but sore muscles protested, the brunt of his efforts the past day just setting in.

Percival stood above him with the leash once again in hand, clipping it onto the metal ring of his collar and tugging at it.

“Come on, up you go. In light of recent events, I’ve decided that you and I are going for a walk after all. Not a proper one, not yet, but I’m sure you’ve been itching to stretch your legs.”

Floyd sat up unsteadily, arms shaking when he used them to prop his upper body up. It got worse when he tried to roll on to the balls of his feet, nearly losing his balance multiple times before he was able to stand. He leaned carefully against the table as he stretched each limb, trying to alleviate some of the soreness from the previous night.

A harsh tug on the leash sent Floyd stumbling forward before he was ready, forced to either get his feet under him or fall face first to the floor. Percival strode forward faster than wobbling legs could carry him, and he limped uncomfortably just to avoid being choked. They managed to make it out to the hallway before he really started lagging behind.

“Benedict, sweetheart, what’s the matter? You do know I’m terribly busy, and if you keep walking so slowly I’m going to assume you don’t respect my time.” He laughed like it was funny, and Floyd cracked a bit at that. In his right mind he wouldn’t have fought back, but maybe if he could just defend himself for once...

“I-I can’t go faster-” he said, but Percival spoke right over him, not batting an eyelash at the protest.

“Oh, you poor boy. Fine, then. If you want to take your time that badly you’d better get on your knees.” He went rigid at that, dignity defensively taking the reins. “I told you to kneel, Benedict.”

A sharp yank down on his leash punctuated the biting words, choking and pulling him forward. Floyd’s knees buckled and hit the floor hard, pulling a gasp from him that he breathed out in a snarl.

“Now crawl,” Percival commanded, tugging so hard that the collar pressed into the back of his neck, but his captive still refused to move. Nails and knees scraped against the wooden floor as the leash won over his undernourished, exhausted body. When he realized it would only be more difficult to resist at this point, he hesitantly leaned into a step, and the sheer relief at the loosening tension only fueled him to take another.

“That’s it,” he praised, “my good little pyro, there you go Benedict.” And Floyd flushed a bright rose color at the patronizing encouragement, but his resilience had run thin. He shuffled slowly through the dust and grit on the floor, only speeding up at insistent tugs on the lead.

In the hallway around him, a few crew members strode by, making casual conversation with Percival as if Floyd wasn’t even there. One in particular stared down at him and made a comment about, “how cute that new one is! How long do you think it’ll last?” And though he already thought he was going to hurl at hearing that--and he certainly would have, if he had anything in his stomach, at least--he felt the urge twice as strong when his captor just gave an ambiguous shrug and continued on.

When they finally exited the cabin, Floyd expected to see the darkness of night after he’d spent all day tied up and kneeling, and definitely had not gotten a full night’s sleep when he fell unconscious. So when the bright summer sun hit him at full force, he hissed and squinted his eyes shut against the assault on his senses. He brought hands up to shield his watering eyes, but the pull on his leash was back and he didn’t have time to stop himself before the sheer force tilted him off balance and he fell.

Floyd turned his head to the side at the last moment and his temple took the brunt of the impact, dull, rattling pain exploding into a burning ache as he sprawled out defenselessly on the splintering wood. He was quickly hauled forward and scrambled to get his limbs back under himself.

“Nonessential shifts dismissed from work!” Percival called out above him, “Be back at the next bell, or join me at the bow for a show, if you prefer.” The smile was evident in his voice, and Floyd could see the front of the ship quickly approaching through his teary, blurred vision. A small crowd of spectators gathered around, poking, prodding, and kicking at him as he crawled.

Throbbing knees carried him the last few feet to where Percival was waiting and directing other members of the crowd. The leash came off, but suddenly Floyd’s hands were taken from under him and wrenched above his head, and other arms pulled him forward to the bow. The wood stretched out in front of him above the sea, and tight grips looped his arms around it. Rough ropes cinched around his wrists and wrapped around metal loops, pulling him farther off the deck.

When they reached for his ankles, he panicked. He flailed, shouting and seething as he realized what they were going to do to him. A swift backhand across the face stung, stunning him along with the subsequent punch to his midriff. He stopped kicking long enough for his ankles to be secured around the bar, effectively suspending him.

Floyd’s core was tight and sore as he tried to hold himself up and retain any dignity, but it was proving impossible. Gradually, under the amused watch of the pirates behind him, he sagged against uncomfortable bonds and stared down into the churning ocean waves below.

That’s all that was here. It was him, the ocean, and his shoulders and thighs that were certainly about to be pulled from their sockets. He guided himself through a series of shuddering breaths to shut out the world for however long he could, closing his eyes, but flinching violently when a hand clamped around his calf.

“You still with me, Benedict?” Percival’s voice, rough and deep, cut through his concentration and Floyd elicited a startled gasp. Aches and pains returned tenfold without the unsteady haze, and raucous laughter of Percival’s crew returned to the forefront of his mind.

The fact that so many people were watching him, half naked and vulnerable, already weak from torment, and surely about to suffer further, made him want the ropes to fall away and let him tumble into the hungry abyss of the sea.

“Come on, sweetheart; pay attention or you’ll never make it down from there.” he sang a chastising melody, and Floyd nodded, if only because of the blatant threat in his captor’s words.

“I- hhh, I’m listening,” he said, voice small and shallow. Breathing was difficult with the collar’s weight still around his neck, and speaking even more so.

“Ah, I’m glad,” Percival squeezed his leg in a false display of comfort. “Look in front of you at those ropes. You may not be able to see it from your fortunate position, but they’re suspending a bucket of seawater above you. Once you burn those ropes, you can come down. But until then you’ll be our little figurehead, won’t you?”

“I don’t- please, I can’t even use this, I don’t know how to do magic, or what I...I...”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have resisted when I tried to help kindle your flames earlier then, hm?”

“Look, I’m sorry, but it hurt and- I’m just sorry okay? I can- I can work harder, just please tell me what to do.” Deep breaths punctuated short phrases as Floyd spoke. Despite his shame at asking, he wasn’t going to get through this without help.

“Mmh, as intoxicating as your pleading is, Benedict, I do have a commitment to uphold. Just… think warm thoughts.” The smug satisfaction in his voice was infuriating, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Floyd set himself to the impossible task. The faster he could finish this, the sooner he could get out of this awful predicament. He focused inside himself, reaching for that vague feeling he had felt when Percival was searching for his magic earlier. When the other pirate did it, it felt like a violation. But now, he felt almost at ease with himself when he sensed the magic somewhere deep in his gut, coiled and docile.

He reached for warmth and found it there, still just as it had been left. A twitch of his fingers brought it to life, and he focused hard on spreading it through his body.

A sudden pain slashed through his thigh and he cried out in agony, wailing against the stinging sensation of a knife’s cut. Fingers smoothed over the wound and he wanted to scream when Percival spoke.

“Oh, look at you figuring it out! There’s definitely a bit of fire running through those veins yet…”

Floyd set his jaw and tried to get back into that introspective headspace, but it seemed like every time he grabbed hold of his power, another cut would slice through his skin. Different hands every time, pressing deep, heavy wounds into his back or long, shallow ones across the backs of his thighs. A few buried themselves into the soles of his feet, wrenching howls from deep within him. Laughter from the gathered crowd reminded him constantly of his audience, all lusting after his blood.

“You know, the longer you take to finish, the more cuts you’ll have open for that water to dribble into. Just thought you might like the reminder,” Percival commented after a while. He was dehydrated, and delirious from blood loss and lack of sleep combined. Every aching joint and muscle was telling him to just pass out and avoid the suffering, but every subsequent cut jerked him awake with further discomfort and unwanted awareness.

Magic flowed within him like the tide, rushing in and flowing right back out until finally he held a firm grasp on it. His skin was slick with sweat, the water his body didn’t have beading on his forehead and arms, and driven to burning temperature by the sun alone, but he still felt the sparks when they erupted from his fingers. Knives struck against his skin, but Floyd buried deep into his focus and opened his eyes.

In front of him, the rope holding the water held tight against the bow, but it was tense. Going off of instinct alone, he gestured lightly with his restricted hands and stared a hole into the pole where the rope looped around. Sparks burned brighter and hotter against his skin and, in a blink, the rope had caught fire. It was much higher up than he intended, but Floyd felt a tiny pang of joy at actually having managed it. He held the fire as steady as he could, channeling more power into it so it would burn faster and finally get this over with.

It was only after the fire spread across the entire rope, nearly catching on the bow, and one point finally broke that he remembered what awaited him when it finally burned through.

He heard the bucket flip above him, felt the splash of water, and it was fine, and clean, and cool against steaming skin.

But then it was acid.

He felt every individual cut as it lit up and he arched his back against the sensation of sizzling and searing pain. And he wailed, drawn out and desperate, tears spilling and breath hitching, only making him cry out harder. The ropes around him slid back, loosening and hands were pulling him back onto the deck, but the moment he felt wood under his feet he collapsed against it.

He keened when Percival knelt down and used his bleeding back as a support, and choked it into a whine when emotion tightened his throat. He’d never felt so weak and disgusting in his life. He was crying and sniveling on the ground, not even able to kneel or cower away as the stifling heat of the crew crowded around him, watching him devolve and break.

“...so proud of you, Benedict,” Percival’s soft laughter was low in his ear, fingers pressing over his back and into his hair. One looped around the collar and pulled it back until he raised his head to make eye contact. “You’re gonna make such a good mage for me, aren’t you? Just for me, that’s right…”

Somewhere just beneath the surface Floyd desperately wanted to shake his head no, no, please no... but he settled for dry heaving onto the floor next to him before blacking out.

Next part

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thetirisfaltheatretroupe · 5 years

Text

[Script Archive] The Altruist - A Tale of Kindness Gone Wrong

<< The following is a play that has been performed but not yet retired from the Tirisfal Troupe’s lineup, however, use of it for one’s own production purposes is allowed with proper credit to the Tirisfal Theatre when performing! Please contact us if you plan to use this particular script so that we know, thank you! Trivia will be located at the bottom! >>

SETTING: Lordaeron, circa 400 years ago.

CHARACTERS: Lord Vincent (main character), Lady Helena (Vincen’t wife), Ser Harmun (butler of the manor), Townsperson 1, Townsperson 2, Servant 1, Servant 2, The Stranger (antagonist). Narrator

SUMMARY: A lord known for his acts of kindness and bountiful wealth takes in a man whom he believes to be down on his luck. After taking this man in, he notices strange occurrences around his manor, but denies anything is wrong even when his family and friends confront him about the peculiarities of his new guest.

<ACT 1: Scene opens with narration. The narrator places an Autumn sapling from stealth, placed behind them, as the spotlight is shone. They take a bow, and speak grimly> NARRATOR: When the first frost falls upon any land, the time for generosity and giving is upon us. Mortals, of all creeds and colors, rely on one another to survive, to thrive.

Yet some are more generous than others. Some strangers would give you the very clothes upon their backs to keep you warm.

Look to the one on your left. Are they a loved one? Someone you know? If they are not, would you give them the contents in your wallet, should they be in need?

Most of you would say ‘no’, I wager. To some, this is selfishness. To others, this is practicality. A defense, a desire for one’s own prosperity over another, and to avoid being taken advantage of.

Acts of kindness are heralded as life’s great boon. It is true, that to give selflessly is admirable, and yet, just as there are those who would give their home to shelter you from the rain…

< A shaman casts Healing Rain on the stage > ...there are those who would use that chance to take over your life.

Tonight, we invite you to behold a story about what happened to a lord who let the wrong. One. In.

< the narrator bows and leaves the stage. Lord Vincent takes to center stage and adjusts his coat. The narrator chimes in once they are out of view and vincent is ready. He is joined on stage by the townsfolk > NARRATOR: In an age long passed, there existed a small, but prosperous village. This village, nestled in the heartland of Lordaeron, was home to a most beloved Lord.

The lord’s name was Vincent, and he was described as selfless and giving. Sitting upon an empire of trade, he cared little for the money in his pocket each day, knowing it would be filled and then some by the time the sun set.

< Vincent is shown throwing bags of money into the crowd of townsfolk around him, who applaud and cheer him as he bows. While this happens, the Stranger walks onto the stage behind them and sits down > He was praised and heralded for his giving nature, and those closest to him in life knew that none loved his fellow villagers more than he. But one day, a cloud came over the village, and an endless rain began to fall.

< shaman actor casts Healing Rain to create a downpour. The townsfolk put on hoods and begin to walk away >

VINCENT: Oh dear, do get home quickly, everyone! You wouldn’t want to catch your death of cold from the rain!

You there - you may want to take shelter from the rain!

STRANGER: You who are fortunate knows only optimism. Tell me, how would one who has no home take shelter from the rain?

Do I use the lid of a crate? Do I sleep in the stalls with the pigs and cattle?

All valid solutions, and yet nothing compares to the simple warmth of a fire and a roof and walls to keep the elements away.

Nay, carry about your day, and allow me to drown...

VINCENT: You poor man. I had no idea! Life was not meant to be lived in squalor. Come, I’ve plenty of room at my estate on the hill.

STRANGER: <looks up at him and smiles > Truly you have a heart that bleeds for us all. I accept your offer, good lord. May I stay until a time I can get back on my feet?

VINCENT: Of course, come, come right this way!

< both walk off stage as the narration continues, during which they re-enter from the side they left once Lady Helena and Ser Harmun are on stage. Scene shifts to ‘interior - Vincent’s Manor’, servant 1 and 2 ‘cleaning’ at the wall in the background >

HELENA: My dearest, you’ve returned! And who is this fellow you’ve brought with you? HARMUN: My Lord, if I’d known you were bringing in guests, I’d have set another place at the table. Do give me some time to amend this grievous mistake. < Harmun bows and leaves the room >

VINCENT: Oh, this fellow has no place to stay. This rain looks to be a bit of a long one, so why not allow him to stay here, I thought?

< the stranger walks around the room suddenly, completely ignoring Helena and rummaging around >

HELENA: As always, such kindness from you, love. Erm, good sir, could you please not touch the books on the bookshelf, though? I just rearranged them, I’d like them to stay in the order they are-- VINCENT: Helena, please. Allow him to do as he wishes. Maybe he’d like to read a little before bed?

< the stranger takes some books in hand and turns to Vincent and nods > STRANGER: Oh yes, I… I like to read. Yes, I like to read...a lot. And...and write.

VINCENT: See? One who reads will surely treat our library with respect! Now, let’s all wash up for dinner.

< they all leave the stage as the narration continues. During the narration, Lord Vincent re-enters and walks to the other side of the stage, while Ser Harmun approaches him with two of the servants in tow >

NARRATOR: Days had passed, and their guest seemed normal, if not a little bit...quirky. He did in fact love to read, so much that he’d gone through all the books in the study, as a matter of fact.

HARMUN: My Lord, I pray I do not find you at a terrible time?

VINCENT: < closes the scrolls he is reading > No no, I was just finishing up reading over this financial summary. I something the matter?

HARMUN: Well, m’lord, you see… it is something regarding your recent guest. These servants were the ones who brought it to my attention, perhaps they should be the ones to tell you.

VINCENT: Oh? Nothing dreadful, I hope? < Harmun bows and takes a step back, back facing towards the back wall. Servant 1 steps forth and bows> SERVANT 1: Lord, it is not without hesitation that I come and report this to you, but when we went to clean in your guest’s chambers last evening, there was something quite...unsettling.

SERVANT 2: <blurts out, frantically> Blood! Blood and paper everywhere!

SERVANT 1: Y-yes, lord. You see, his room was riddled in ripped pages and there was blood spattered everywhere. It smelled pungent, like gore.

SERVANT 2: We went to go get the other servants quickly, but could find no one! None! And then by the time we returned, the room was empty!

VINCENT: Wait, I am confused. It is as though you are claiming that my humble guest stole the books from the study and used them to clean up the mess of a murder.

SERVANT 1: If I am to be blunt, lord, we would not be coming to you were this not the belief we held.

SERVANT 2: He is mad, I tell you! You are laying it on far too lightly, this man is deranged! He talks to himself in the hall, all in tongues I tell you! None can understand the language he speaks, but it is a guttural one!

VINCENT: Now, cease this at once! I refuse to believe such a wild claim without proof! Can you or can you not provide me with assurance that this man did the things you claim?

SERVANT 2: Well, uh… I am certain if the premises is checked, we can find the pages he used to soak the blood from whatever it was he killed! HARMUN: <steps forward and bows again > My lord, I am sorry to interrupt, but if need be, I can provide a search of the manor and rally the servants to comb it up and down, discreetly as not to disturb our guest.

VINCENT: < draws a heavy sigh > No, that should be entirely unnecessary. Even if the sight of gore was one that could be hidden, I am certain the room would smell of it as well. Please, just go back to your duties.

SERVANT 1: But, my lord…

VINCENT: Go! He is my esteemed guest, you will treat him as though he is one and not make up wild tales just because you don’t desire to aid him. < both servants take a look at one another and hesitantly bow, then leave > HARMUN: If I may, sir… VINCENT: Harmun, you’ve been my most trusted friend for many years now. If there is one person I trust, it is you. Do you believe there is merrit to their claims?

HARMUN: My lord… if I am to be frank and honest, both those servants are newer to the estate, and it is entirely possible they are being dishonest. But I cannot for the life of me think of a reason they are not.

The room does not smell of a kill, but their claims of the other servants being absent is very much true. I believe it is worth looking into, at the very least. VINCENT: <draws a heavy sigh> Harmun, what is this world to come to if we cannot trust our fellow men? If it will put the minds of our employees at ease, I will speak with him.

They serve us well, it is the least I can do.

HARMUN: Then I will see if I cannot find the missing servants.

VINCENT: See to it that you do. Now, let me go find our friend. <both walk off stage, the Stranger walks on stage. Servant 1 and 2 change costumes to match the stranger with a hood, their names become ‘Uninvited Guest’. They toil in the background like the servants did> VINCENT: <walks on stage and waves at the Stranger> Hail friend! I trust you are enjoying your stay here?

STRANGER: <smiles at Vincent> Oh of course, my Lord. Your generosity has been most helpful. I am feeling much better these days despite the storm. If I had stayed out there, I would have died of illness, no doubt.

VINCENT: Yes, I do agree. Better that a good man found you then, yes? Haha...ahh...I’ve been hearing that some strange occurrences are going on in the manor. <he casts a glance at the pillaging Uninvited Guests>

STRANGER: Strange? Whatever do you mean, my lord? Strange is such a...strange...word to define, why, it could mean most anything that others do not see eye to eye with.

Could it be...oh my, is it… no, if so, I must cease benefiting from your lordship’s kindness at once, then.

VINCENT: What? No no, no, what do you think? That the servants view you as something repulsive?

STRANGER: It is how the world sees me, so yes, I am most certain that is the case. The last thing I wish to do is to draw ire from your staff, o’ humble lord.

VINCENT: I assure you, if you have been given that impression at all, those who made you feel unwelcome will be most assuredly dealt with. STRANGER: It’s just that...there was a servant who came into my room and bothered myself and my colleagues. They insisted we were making the manor messy, untolerable.

They told us to carry our filthy hides out and bathe in the waters of the storm, or they’d throw us out themselves.

I’d hate to hear your good name tarnished should the townsfolk hear how we were treated... VINCENT: I will see that the servants are harshly punished then.

< he pauses a moment > ...wait, colleagues? STRANGER: Why, don’t you recall, my lord? You invited us all to live when we were in the rain. We’ve been ever so grateful. VINCENT: Did I say that? No, I didn’t, I’m almost positive there was… < he pauses and looks around at the Uninvited Guests, who turn to him and wave, then return to what they’re doing > VINCENT: Well… while I don’t remember it, I can’t imagine turning anyone in need away, so I must have. STRANGER: We are being careful not to disrupt your means of life. When at last the storm passes, we will be on our way. VINCENT: Well...if you feel you must stay after, then by all means. But I will see you again in a little while. I’m off to speak to my staff. Good day.

< As Vincent leaves, the Unwanted Guests stand side by side to the stranger > STRANGER: Oh, we won’t forget that kindness… < the Unwatned Guests and the Stranger both leave opposite the direction Vincent did. As the narration starts, Vincent and the servants from the previous scene are speaking, with Harmun standing nearby > NARRATOR: Vincent was convinced that the three men he had taken in were innocent. After all, why would they not be? They were copperless, and would have died in the rain.

Meanwhile, his servants lazed about the manor, day after day, very little asked of them. They lived a cushy lifestyle and were paid quite well.

< Using emotes, Vincent /roars at the servants and then /points off stage, simulating anger and booting them out. Servant 1 /cries, servant 2 /rudes, then both leave the stage. Vincent walks after them in the direction they left in, pauses for a moment, and takes a few steps back, before turning to face his servant >

VINCENT: I did what I had to.

HARMUN: My lord, if I may interject again… if what the stranger says is true, then pragmatism is not a horrid course to go, but what also of the townsfolk who hear you cast your own servants into the cold over the words of a man we barely know?

VINCENT: < he turns around and throws his hands up in the air as he walks away from the ‘door’ > Oh, not you, too! Harmun, you are beginning to sound like my wife. She said something similar to me earlier this morning before I went to speak to them. It matters not that we know little of our guests, what matters is that we do the right thing! We’ve rooms to spare, we’ve food to spoil, so what is the harm? HARMUN: < raises an eyebrow > Pardon my question, lord, but you speak as though there’s more than just a single guest... VINCENT: Three! HARMUN: My lord, are you feeling well? There’s only been the one skulking around the manor at all, and--

VINCENT: Enough! I will have no more questioning of my decisions!

< suddenly, Lady Helena appears on stage > HELENA: Oh, dear husband? Is this how you take my wariness of what you’ve wrought upon our house?

HARMUN: < takes a bow > I can see this is going to become a matter that is most personal, my lord. I will take my leave and prepare the evening meal. < he leaves the stage in the direction Helena came from > VINCENT: Helena, please listen! What sort of man would I be if I cast aside the sick and needy? HELENA: You would STILL be the heart I fell in love with years ago! There is no shame in kindness, love, but there is shame in naivety! Love, have you not noticed the strange occurrences as of the past few days? VINCENT: So some things have turned up missing. We can replace them! If the men I invited into my abode, that I spent my life acquiring, desire to take what they need in order to prosper, then I am glad I could sacrifice something!

HELENA: THEFT is the worst you could think of? Damn the missing books and silverware, damn the gems and jewelry! I am speaking of people!

Faces I’ve seen each day walk these halls, suddenly gone! Our servants have left us since the stranger arrived, not just the ones you cast away! VINCENT: Strangers, and yes, I’ve taken note! I will be posting for their positions to be filled once this storm is over.

HELENA: Is that what a good man would choose to say? Do you think they simply holed up in their quarters, love, there is nothing but darkness in that part of the house now!

The shadows swallow what little light one brings, and the rooms smell of mold and musk. No one is there, I am worried! VINCENT: Then I am right to post for their replacements, as they’ve all been so mortified at having to share their spaces with the poor that they cannot even fathom it and have left for their homes! HELENA: < she scoffs and turns away in anger > I’m going to go look for all of them. As clearly I speak to a man who cares little what becomes of those who worked to serve him. I once believed true selflessness existed when I met you. But in lieu of recent days, I cannot help but believe even your kindness was a means to an end.

VINCENT: Helena, wait! < she leaves >

Helena… < he pauses for a moment and sniffles, then /roars and yells > FINE! Ungrateful witch, I damn you! You know not how lucky you were, I am a living saint among men! Away with you! Chase the cruel hearts I cast from my home!

See if I care!

< Vincent walks off stage for a moment, then returns with Harmun in tow, as the narration begins. The Uninvited guests from before are now in the background, with Helena’s player donning a costume to resemble one as well (along with TRP change) > NARRATOR: The once lively manor of Lord Vincent had grown stagnant and silent. The air filled with settling dust and the smell of mold, and before long, Vincent found himself quite ill.

The storm had not relented, and many days had passed already. In his employ, only Harmun remained.

VINCENT: < coughing heavily > Tell me, Harmun, what are we eating this eve?

HARMUN: I’ve not had a chance to go into town to procure new ingredients because of this ceaseless storm. I’m afraid it will have to be stew again.

VINCENT: Bleck. Damn the bastard who invented that dull dish. It feeds plenty, but oh it gets old quickly. Why not cook me and my guests up a feast with what we have remaining? The rain could not possibly last another day!

HARMUN: < Harmun takes a deep breath > My lord, we have very little remaining, and more of your...guests...have been showing up day by day. I must speak frankly, for I do not believe we have enough remaining to feed the lot of them AND you. VINCENT: Oh. Oh, well, in that case, just give them my portions, then. It should keep them tided over until tomorr-- HARMUN: LORD! < he speaks harshly for a change > As your sworn caretaker and confidant for many years, I have never seen you act so blatantly oblivious to the truth. You are wasting away for these people, you cannot even care for yourself right now. VINCENT: < gasps > Harmun, you...you’ve never spoken to me in this manner! HARMUN: Nor do I desire to! My lord, you are without a doubt the kindest man of your financial standing, and this cannot be denied. But you are clearly being exploited!

They see your desire to appeal to the masses through kindness unique to your wallet! Look, not a single bit of decor remains in the manor anymore, nor a single book! All of your hard work is decaying rapidly, and you’ve no more who live beneath this roof! Just these people! < he gestures at the Uninvited Guests >

They’ve never done a thing for you, and yet they reap what you have sown for them, leaving you with not a scrap! Lord, please listen to me, you must exile them from this residence!

If it is their numbers you fear, I am certain we can find a way into town safely, I just do not desire to see you get hur-- VINCENT: Harmun. HARMUN: Yes, my lord?! VINCENT: … you have cared for me since a time I was young, and I have never known you to say things like this. And yet… I believe it is I who knows the right thing. Was it not I, whose business saved the Darrowshire Eastern Trade association, and the jobs within? Was it not I who built houses for the urchins and beggars who’d wandered the streets for years? Was it not I who donated an entire year’s income to ensuring famine did not exist in these lands? WAS IT NOT I?! HARMUN: … my lord. I have bit my tongue for too long.

You do not truly care about being kind, or doing what’s right. You care only about being worshiped as a savior, of being a idol of the people.

I have seen it in you for years, but I spoke nothing of it. Because nothing more needed to come of it. It was good to give, no matter the cause, be it selfish or selfless.

You do not need a reason to help people. But you must always be able to help yourself first. And this is the first time in which I truly believe that you will be unable to do so.

They will take everything from you, my lord. And then, they will find a means to take more. While it is my duty to help you, my lord, I cannot convince you to allow me to do so. I am sorry… but I must resign. Good day to you. VINCENT: Not you as well! Harmun, please, I beg of you, don’t do this!

< Harmun walks away and vincent continues to beg > Harmun! Harmun, my friend! You have it all wrong, please! I care immensely about the well being of my fellow men! You must understand, I-- < Harmun is out of sight > I… I know I am doing the right thing. Am I not? Was… was he right? < the Stranger walks on stage behind him, appearing suddenly (use the invisibility potion trick for this) > STRANGER: My gracious lord, you needn’t suffer those who question your golden morality.

Who but you have given nearly all they could to those who had nothing?

VINCENT: But I have lost everything… STRANGER: Oh heavens no, my lord. You still have much to give. Yes, much… why don’t you rest? You look weary. VINCENT: I am… yes...no, you are right. It’s been a trying day. Thank you, friend. I am glad there are still those who appreciate what I give.

< he walks away and the Stranger waves, this time joined by the Unwanted Guests, including the new one in the scene > STRANGER: Sleep well. We will see you one more time when you awaken. < the stranger and guests walk away, and Vincent walks into the center of the room, and /lays down, emoting that he’s tossing and turning > NARRATOR: Upon that evening, the lord tossed and turned, the mat that served as his bed upon a stone cold floor providing him with little sleep.

He blamed anxiety about the people in his life betraying him. He blamed the cold, the dark, the rain. He blamed everyone but himself. And soon, he found himself alone in the pitch black storm. One night, not long after, a visitor came into his room. < the Stranger enters and bows to Vincent > STRANGER: My lord, you have been so giving to us, I believe it is only time we gave something back to you. VINCENT: < stirring from his slumber > Wh-wha? Helena? You’ve returned? Oh…

< he stands up > It’s you, the one who never left! My friend, are you in need of anything more? More food, more wine? Books? Clean sheets and beds? < he /begs the stranger > Please, do not leave me as well! I have nothing left to give, but I would do anything to not be alone! STRANGER: My dear friend, nothing could be further from what I plan to do with you.

You have been a great host these many weeks. The storm has nearly faded, and there is no longer a reason for me to remain here.

But you will go with us, I assure you.

VINCENT: I...I will? You won’t leave me here alone? STRANGER: Not at all. Your friends and your family, they have us pegged all wrong. We are simple folk, nomads of the whispering forests. We have lived off of what we needed, and indulged in what we did not. Was it not you who gave us the clothes upon your back? Was it not you who gave us free reign of your home and all who reside within it? From the day you let me in, I have prayed to those who have eyes in every age, that their guidance on how you are to be rewarded be given. < all actors are now dressed as ‘Uninvited Guests’ - have TRPs and hoods ready to change, back into the original characters of Helena, Harmon, and servants 1 and 2 > And so it was, my lord. Your kindness shall be rewarded this evening…

< the uninvited all remove their hoods and change TRPs to the characters >

We will be having a feast in your honor!

VINCENT: < sniffles > I… I am blessed. Here I stand, stranded in my own home, nothing left to give, and providence smiled upon me, seeing fit to grant me your admiration! Oh, I am overjoyed! < /clap >

Tell me, what is it that we will dine upon tonight? I was under the impression we had no more food! STRANGER: Oh, your impressions were most correct. Since it is a special occasion, we figured you would be more than happy to give yourself in place of a meal. VINCENT: Ah. Well… I… < He stops and turns away, pacing towards the audience >

I… yes, I do suppose there in lies what I would do. I am Lord Vincent, what is mine is yours, after all.

It is, after all, altruism alone that drives my motives. Yes… here I stand, before the thousand eyes of the abyss. I wonder…

< use the ‘stuck’ trick to begin channeling an instant kill > ...will the shadows know what I did? Regardless. Dinner is served. < Vincent’s body is sliced with the knife toy, and the cast stands between him and the audience and begins to /eat > < the scene holds for a few moments, and then the cast leaves when Vincent rezzes. > NARRATOR: Thus ended the life of a man who's good needs did not go unpunished. In the years that followed, the little known village faded to obscurity.

The manor of Lord Vincent crumbled, the servants and lords who lived there becoming little more than a myth. The town became poor once more. The people began to starve, and had to take residence in more prosperous lands.

The questions upon their minds were not of concern for Vincent’s well being, but of concern for themselves, especially with rumor of a group of hooded individuals in the woods speaking in riddles and caked in blood.

Whispers and rumors traveled with the village’s scattered seeds of what transpired that stormy month, none without their truths and lies.

Yet none remained long after who remembered the kindness and good will of the man known as Lord Vincent.

<< End >>

Trivia:

This performance was the second entirely original story crafted by the Tirisfal Troupe, the first being Days of our Elves. However, it IS the first original non-comedy we’ve created. (while all our scripts are crafted from original content with a few odd references here and there, the Warcraft setting is typically a heavy influence, or the story references an existing tale or script)

This version of the story was the 5th draft of this script. Originally, there was a lot more buildup to the ending, and tension as well. There were even additional characters. To count for time and our smaller cast, however, this version was used.

The moral of the story was never explicitly decided upon. While the narration suggests it at the beginning, this is merely a ploy to get the audience to think along the lines they need to in order to get into the right mindset to absorb the story. When running the script by other troupe members, a different moral was gathered by most people, and none of them were technically wrong. We wanted to craft a story that people could make any number of conclusions about and still be right, without making it feel too loose. (Disclaimer: I don’t think we particularly succeeded, but trial and error and whatnot~!). What did you gather from the message of the story?

This play has technically been an idea tossed around for over two years. When the Bash was cancelled in 2017, however, we decided not to perform it. 2018 was our first performance of this show!

#script archive

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2-fast-2-curious · 6 years

Text

Come Around

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You’re dating Peter Parker but thirsting for Spider-Man.

Warnings: The language in this is filthy, definitely NC-17, Peter and the reader are adults and apparently being an adult means that you gain like 3498 levels in dirty talking ability, there’s unprotected sex and thigh riding.

Words: 3026

Author’s Note: I have no idea what I should title this. I spent my 23rd birthday writing this because I have no life/friends. Also watched The Punisher while I was writing and wondering if Frank Castle and Peter Parker ever cross paths when out and about fighting crime in New York City. What I would give to see that interaction… Peter Parker was such a piece of sunshine in Homecoming while Frank Castle is all doom and gloom.

On the subway back to your shared apartment, you texted Peter asking him mundane questions like if he would be home for dinner and whether or not you should wait for him to get home before starting another episode of Bojack Horseman on Netflix. As much as you hated to admit it, you and Peter had settled into a routine and become a boring domesticated couple. It didn’t help that you two hardly saw each other with his sporadic Spider-Man work schedule. The only thing you liked about Peter being gone all the time was the fact that it allowed you to keep a secret of your own.

You sighed as you entered the apartment. There was something about being inside your home that alleviated all the fatigue from your body. You wondered where this energy had been when you were at work. You slumped into the couch and opened your laptop to check on your dirty little secret. It was a blog, a tumblr blog that posted suggestive imagines and visuals for the various superheroes in the universe. Captain America was the most popular with his muscular physique and golden locks. But occasionally they would even post a little something about a certain web-slinger you called your boyfriend, those were your favourites. You typed ‘Spider-Man’ into the search bar at the top of the blog and were happy to see there was a new post.

You bit your lip as your cheeks flushed. The thought had never even crossed your mind. When you first found out you were dating Spider-Man, you were wondering how long it would take until your life was in danger. But that day never came. You probably owed it all to Peter for working so hard at keeping his identity secret. You closed your eyes, imagining what it would be like. You would probably be panicked so the adrenaline would be running through your veins, making all your senses heightened. And when Spider-Man came to save you, he would look oh so good in his skin-tight suit that showed off his masculine form. He would take care of the bad guys who had taken you and help calm you down. You’d be overwhelmed with his generosity and kindheartedness that you couldn’t contain yourself and you’d pull his head to yours in a passionate kiss. And maybe things would get even more heated when you-

You heard the jiggling of keys enter your doorway. “Sweetheart, I’m home“. Peter leaned down and gave you a kiss on your temple as you came back to reality. You watched as he pulled out a large styrofoam container from his backpack. You smiled catching a glimpse of his suit, tucked safely inside his backpack. “I stopped a stick up at a Korean restaurant in Midtown, the owner gave me japchae to bring back.“ Peter said, completely unaware of the fantasy that he just ruined.

You smiled at your boyfriend, he seemed so pleased with himself. “I’m sure you were amazing, babe, you always are.” You grabbed a plate and helped yourself to the delicious tangle of sweet potato noodles

For the next couple of day, that scenario was all you could think about. And maybe, just maybe, you had gone on PornHub and searched for erotic videos based on your boyfriend’s alias.You had fallen in love with Peter Parker but now you were beginning to realize that you also had Spider-Man as well. You fell for Peter and his goofy smile and his unrelenting kindness. But Spider-Man took those qualities to a whole other level. He spent all day helping people, putting others above himself, sacrificing his life, and asking for nothing in return. You felt that Spider-Man deserved to be rewarded, something that was a little more personal than the heaps of praise recognition he got from the general public. You wanted to give him something that was shared between just the two of you and your mind was running wild with an endless list of ideas.You decided that this fantasy was too good not to share.

One day, you got off work early and to make the proper preparations for your fantasy real. You splurged on fancy lingerie and wore it underneath Peter’s favourite outfit of yours. A sweatshirt of his that was oversized and a pair of comfy drawstring pyjama bottoms. You finished doing your makeup just in time to see your boyfriend texting you that he would be back in fifteen minutes. You called your best friend who begrudgingly agreed to tie you up to a dining chair in the middle of your apartment. As your friend was working on getting the rope around your legs, you messaged Peter, telling him to come through the window. You told a little fib about your neighbour having a party with several loud, inebriated guests hanging out in your shared hallway.

Your friend finished tying your hands to the chair and swiftly left the apartment. The sound of your front door closing was perfectly timed with the sound of your living room window opening. Just as you predicted, Peter was in his full Spider-Man get-up with the mask obscuring his beautiful face from your view. Peter wondered why your apartment was so dimly lit and was about to take off his mask when you let out the loudest sound you could make with your mouth taped.

Peter’s head turned at record speed and the eyes of his mask widened when he saw your constricted form. “Y/N, what happened?!?!” He ripped the duct tape off your mouth and you winced, surprised how much it hurt, next time you would fashion a gag out of a bandana or something. “Spider-Man, I’m so glad you came!”

You could see Peter’s brow furrowing through his mask. “Of course, I would come, I texted you that I would be back-wait did you just call me Spider-Man?“ In all the years the two of you had spent together, you had called him Peter, even after he told you who he was and why he was always cancelling dates at the last minute despite being completely smitten with you.

You nodded. “Well, you are Spider-Man, right? Our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man? And you heard my cries for help and came here to save me.“ You fluttered your lengthy mascara-coated eyelashes for emphasis.

You knew Peter would catch on eventually. He was a smart guy and he was a superhero to boot, he knew how to pick up on context cues. “Why yes, yes I am. I’m Spider-Man and I’m here because I had a feeling there was a beautiful woman who needed my assistance. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened here?“

“Well Spider-Man, I had just come home from a bad date, slipped into my sweats when I walked into right into a break and enter happening right in my apartment.“ You smiled feeling Peter’s covered fingers running through your hair in a soothing manner. “Well the robbers tied me up, but it wasn’t long until you got here Spider-Man. Luckily they weren’t able to take anything important.“

“Aw sweetheart, I’m sorry this had to happen to you. I’m also sorry you had such a bad time on your date.“ You could tell that Spider-Man was the kind of hero who would actually listen to you complain about your non-existent love life, he was such a genuinely good person.

You sighed. “Yeah, that sucks. It’s been awhile since I’ve met a guy worth my time. I thought this one might be the one to break my dry spell.“ You looked up at Peter, strategically adjusting yourself against the restraints. Your movement caused the neckline of your/Peter’s sweatshirt to fall off of your shoulder, revealing a lace covered breast. “I even wore my best lingerie.“

Spider-Man’s eyes widened at the sight of the lace, stretched tight over your chest. He wanted to reach out and grope your chest like he would’ve normally. But one look at the red and blue material covering his hand reminded him that to you he was Spider-Man, not Peter Parker, and Spider-Man didn’t go around squeezing the breasts of women he just met.

You cleared your throat, even though Spider-Man had held back on touching you, apparently, it was totally okay to gawk at your chest like he was a teenager seeing a girl in the flesh for the first time… “Spider-Man, aren’t you going to untie me? I can’t possibly thank you properly when I’m restrained like this.”

“Oh right, sorry ma’am.“ Peter made quick work of the knots and soon you were able to move your limbs.

You got up from the chair and leaped into Peter’s arms. “Oh thank you, Spider-Man.“ You lifted up the bottom of his mask and uncovered his full pink lips. You kissed him, taking your time to test and see if kissing Spider-Man was different from kissing Peter.

Peter cupped his hands on your bottom supporting your weight. “You’re very welcome Miss.“

“If it’s okay, I’d like to do more than kiss you to thank you, Spider-Man.“ You gave him a demure smile as you took your sweatshirt off all the way. “Like I said, it’s been awhile since I’ve been well… properly fucked as to speak.“

“This reward you’re proposing sounds a bit selfish don’t you think?“ Peter ran his tongue down the side of your neck, planting soft kisses with his newly exposed mouth. “You’re going to get fucked and I’m going to make you come over and over again and what am I going to get?“

You bit your lip. “I have eyes you know… I see the way you’re looking at me. I bet you’re wondering what I look like underneath these pants, don’t you? Well, let me help out your imagination…” You hopped out of your arms and slowly shimmied your pyjamas down your hips. Bending over to give Peter the best possible view of your wet slit soaking through your panties. “See… Spider-Man, this can be beneficial for both of us.”

Peter ran a finger down the spine of your bent over form and a shiver soon followed suit. His hand continued it’s way down your bottom and gave your cheek a tight squeeze. You giggled as straightened your spine back to standing. “I like it when you touch me, especially since you still have your suit on.“ You guided Peter to take a seat on the chair you were previously bound to and straddled him. “It makes me wonder what that suit feels like against other parts of my body.“

To nobody’s surprise, Spider-Man had amazing thighs. They were thick and muscular. You had always admired Peter’s thighs and although you had thought about it a lot, the two of you had never done this before. Due to your lack of experience, your hip motions began timidly as you tested the waters of what felt right. Soon enough, you had built up a rhythm and throwing your head back in ecstasy. “Spider-Man, do you feel how wet I am? Am I soaking your thigh with my wetness.“

You continued to perform your impromptu lap dance, making his suit feel tighter by the minute. You smirked as you watched him awkwardly scratch the back of his head. It amused you how the more time you spent with Spider-Man, the more Peter Parker mannerisms snuck out. “My suit is made out of a water repellant material…“

You rolled your eyes, of course, it was, you bucked your hips and increased the pressure making Peter groan. “But I do feel how warm your pussy is, it feels so nice.”

“Even better“ Your eyes began to flutter as you felt that familiar warmth heating up your loins. “Spider-Man, I’m close…”

“Cum for me, babygirl, soak those panties for me.“ You clung to his broad shoulders as your entire body shook.

You let out an unsteady sigh. “That was amazing.“

“Yeah? I’ll bet that’s the first time you’ve cum on someone’s thigh before isn’t.“ You nodded, rubbing your cheek against the slippery material covering his chest. Peter knew this was a new experience for you.

“I want your hard cock inside of me. I want you to fuck me Spider-Man.“ Your hands found themselves where they usually went, to Peter’s crotch, but then you realized that there wasn’t a button and fly like pants. Even your research on PornHub hadn’t prepared you for this. “Um…Spider-Man, how does this work?”

“Well, the thing is that it’s a one-piece type of deal. So there’s no way I’m going to be able to have you bouncing on my cock while I’m still wearing it.“ You moved off of Peter as he got off the chair. You smiled when you saw that his right thigh had an extra gossamer sheen due to your actions earlier.

“Oh, okay. Can I take this off?“ you asked gently running your hand down his jawline.

“Yeah sure…“ Peter agreed and shed the tight material off of his torso while you pulled the mask off of his face.

Your mouth fell when you were met with your boyfriend’s brown eyes and sweaty curls. “You’re really handsome…“

Peter chuckled. “You’re not too bad yourself.“ He pulled you close to his body and you pulled away in shock not quite expecting to feel so much of your boyfriend’s skin against yours.

“Do you…do you not wear anything underneath this?” This was completely new information for you, and not just the damsel in distress you were playing.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t really need it. The suit has netting to keep everything in place.“

“That must be some powerful netting.“ You reach down and stroked Peter’s hard cock. “There’s a lot to keep in place.“

Without his Spider-Man get up, it seemed like Peter had reverted back to being your shy and affable boyfriend. His cheeks reddened at your bold comment. “Yeah?“

“Yeah.“ Peter managed to navigate the straps and lace that made up your lingerie well enough to get you out of it. You gave Peter a quick peck on the lips and led him over to the couch. You leaned over the top of it, planting your hands on the cushions, your feet dangling. “Ever since I got this sofa I’ve been thinking of this. You’re so strong, I bet this should be a cakewalk for you.“

“I’d love to fuck that wet cunt of yours when you’re bent over like this.“ Peter used to fingers to spread the wetness between your legs. It was the first time you had been touched all night. Feeling the pads of his fingers lightly brush against your clit made you moan. You felt so sensitive, any kind of stimulation Peter gave you felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

“Wow, you are throbbing, baby girl.“ He put slightly more pressure on your clit, making your eyes close in bliss. All of the sudden, it was all gone. You turned your head, ready to beg Peter to put his hands back on you, just in time to see him licking his fingers, savouring your taste. “You are just absolutely delectable.“

“I’m ready for your cock, I want you to feel you stretching me out.“ You were getting needy. You were getting impatient and started wiggling your bottom wrapping your legs around Peter’s hips, trying to get him closer to you.

“Okay, okay. My greedy girl, I’ll give you what you need.“ Peter lined himself up and used his hands to guide himself inside you. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet. You feel so good.“ He let out a groan, no matter how often the two of you did this, he was never totally mentally prepared for how euphoric you felt wrapped around him, squeezing his length.

You simply weren’t in the mood for Peter to take his sweet time. You put more of your weight into your hands and pushed your hips back, driving his cock deeper inside of you. Peter whimpered at the sight. “Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock. You really are desperate for me aren’t you sweetheart?”

Peter held your hips still, forcing you to stop your movement, waiting for his answer. “Yeah, I’m desperate for you, please.”

“Don’t worry, I got you babygirl.” Peter began exerting more effort into his thrusts, the sound of his hips hitting your ass filled the room. Peter lean over your bent form, his hands playing with your hard nipples. His extra weight on your back pushed you deeper into the couch, further embossing your body into the structure of the couch. It meant that every time Peter bucked his hips, it caused your clit to rub delightfully against the soft velvet material.

“Peter, I’m going to…” You ground your hips, trying to get more friction onto your clit. The fabric of your couch was now completely wet.

“That’s it, darling. Let it out.” Peter whispered encouragingly in your ear. You came for him, yelling Peter’s name as he increased the pace of his movements, your arms giving out and your body falling limp against the support of your couch. Peter release came moments after yours filling you with warmth.

Your boyfriend left your spent body momentarily to go into the kitchen. Upon his return he ran a wet, warm towel between your legs, cleaning up the bodily fluids that were dripping out of you. After he was done, he wrapped you up like a human burrito in the throw blanket that you kept on the couch, laying you down. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to fuck Spider-Man.“

You yawned snuggling into your boyfriend. “Really? Because I’m not. Everyone else in the world knows you as Spider-Man, but to me, you’re Peter Parker, my boyfriend, and that’s something no one else can say. I love you.“

Peter couldn’t resist himself. “I know.“

You shook your head at your boyfriend, trying to suppress the laugh that wanted to escape your lips. “Yeah, I love you, even if that subjects me to your random Star Wars references.“

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker #tom holland #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man x reader #spider-man imagine #spider-man smut #spider-man

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cupcakemolotov · 7 years

Note

klaroline + vampires + regency + porn :) thank youuuu, you beautiful soul 💕

So, so sorry this took so long. It also went a route I was not expecting. This is probably the first part of two, but my schedule is so sporadic these days I wanted to get this part up now that I am mostly satisfied with it! I hope you enjoy.

warnings: references to sex, suggested f/f, m/f, and other smut. references to murder and maybe a smidge of sexual coercion (note: this is just a FYI, there is *no* non-con or sex w/compulsion.) reference to non-kc smut, just so you’re not surprised.

My historical timeline is probably not 100% accurate, but I lost all my notes when I moved jobs. So we’re just going to foll with it as it is folks.

Caroline studied the thick envelope on her writing desk, the soft ivory of the paper, heavy and expensive. Unlike the other correspondence in the unsorted pile, someone had simply written her name across the front.

Her real name.

Caroline turned away from her desk, and walked to one of the windows that filled the room with sunlight. Her daylight ring sat lightly on her finger, and beneath her view scurried servants, the carefully tended grounds jewel green beneath the early morning sun. She’d purchased the Italian estate twenty years ago from a bankrupt merchant, his coffers run dry from gambling and debauchery, his favorite prostitute as expensive as she was lovely.

In the years that Caroline had been a vampire, she’d been very careful to accumulate her wealth. Most of it was tied up under assumed names, carefully bequeathed to a niece or daughter until the day arrived that she’d be able to hold the property on her own. In a society ruled by men, the proper allowances needed to be made, but Caroline pulled her strings carefully.

The cold, starving girl, who’d been plucked off the streets for a whore house after her father’s debts had left them penniless, she had survived. But being a harlot had merely changed one overlord for another. Caroline’s time there as a human had been short, but informative.

Then the plague had struck, raging through the streets and gutters of London. It destroyed the lives of the rich and the poor alike, until even the Nobility had fled for their quiet estates. The smell of it, the acrid scent of death and decay, became as familiar as the fog.

It was those terrible streets she’d been found. Her maker had plucked her from the streets as easily as her father’s debts had tossed her onto her back. He’d watched her with such calculating eyes, lips curled into a bloody smile, and asked her if she’d like to never go hungry again. In that moment, she’d have traded whatever services necessary to survive. Caroline had wanted to live, as poor and meaningless as her life had been.

Her maker had seemed amused by her, and she hadn’t minded his condescending smile; he wasn’t the first to dismiss her. In that moment, he’d given her no reason for his generosity, and Caroline hadn’t cared.

It hadn’t been the promise of endless food that had appealed to her nor the curling blade of his smile. It’d been the opportunity. For the short seventeen years of her life, Caroline had suffered from the choices of others. Vampirism her choice and she’d taken hold of it with both hands.

For the first time in her life, she’d had the power of choice. Caroline became the sole decider of her life and she chose how she’d live. Just her.

The plague, then the Great Fire, had emptied the lower ranks of the city, and Caroline had capitalized on it. First a little shop here, a hand fasting there. Her first husband had been an ambitious merchant, determined to invest in upcoming ventures and after his untimely death, he’d left a most generous settlement on his wife at his passing.

Compulsion was a delight, but one best used sparingly. She’d watched as older vampires were hunted when they’d grown greedy too fast, reckless in their needs. Subtlety and plans were superior to ham handed brutality.

Usually.

Caroline didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and had skinned a man or two alive, to prove a point. But her tiny collection of supplicants were unaware of just had graceful she was with a knife, feeding off her honey sweet words and gold coins instead. Some lessons a girl never forgot, and she’d lived hard before vampirism had given her better tools.

It wasn’t London she thrived in, but the underbelly.

But she’d had her taste of the Ton as well.

She’d spent five years as a plainly dressed governess while she’d debauched both the Marques and his very lovely wife. Those weeks in the whore house after all, had taught her many lessons. Men were easy creatures with simple needs, but a woman’s tongue could be quite satisfying. A man with a wet cock would agree to almost anything if you were smart, and a marquese was led about as easily with an agile tongue as a gutter rat shown a few coins.

Her collection of baubles and pretty dresses was rather lovely. But it wasn’t just a idyllic life that Caroline had wanted to sample. There were rules that governed the world, rules she’d had no way of knowing, and she’d never allow that sort of ignorance in her life.

Then her maker had sought her out.

She’d left the bedroom of the Marchioness wearing only a robe, still drowsy from a night of sex and blood, to find him waiting for her near the stairs, no servant in sight. Impeccably dressed, his eyes glittering in the early morning candlelight, he’d arched a brow at her.

“Enjoy yourself, love?”

Caroline paused to study him, not bothering to hide her surprise. “As much as one can enjoy themselves in such matters. The Marques is a bit clumsy, but he is a man. The wife, however, is quite eager and rather clever.”

Dimples curved along his cheeks, and he’d straightened to clasp his hands behind his back, head tilting in permission for her to continue to her quarters. “Compulsion?”

“For sex?” Caroline snorted as she’d moved towards the lovely suit she’d claimed as her own. “What fun would that be?”

A soft, considering noise as he closed the door behind him, taking in her temporary room. “I didn’t imagine you as a governess, love. Seems a bit dull.”

Caroline picked up her favorite comb and set about taming her sex mussed hair, the banked fire providing just enough light to see by. “One of the maids observes the children in the morning, then they quietly study with one of their tutors. I did have to compel that particular requirement, but it should be a benefit to them. I rarely see them.”

He watched the movements of her hands with thoughtful eyes. “And what is it that you gain from the Marquise, Caroline, those afternoons you spend in his office? Not sex, if you prefer the wife.”

She sat her comb down, pushing her hair back. She wasn’t certain how to feel about that fact that he’d clearly watched her for some time before choosing to let her know of his presence. “I didn’t know that you cared so much about your creations.”

A hint of that bladed smile on his lips. “Do you know why I turned you, pretty Caroline?”

“I’d assumed you were bored.”

“I needed bait,” Klaus said easily, causally. “The plague was an excellent cover, but there are those who hunt our kind. I need a bit of freedom to go unobserved and unfollowed, and well, baby vampires can make such a nuisance of themselves. Of those who’ve I offered my particular salvation, only three survived the year.”

“How unfortunate for them,” Caroline murmured. She supposed she should be outraged, but she’d used him as neatly as he’d used her. If the price of her freedom was that others sought to kill her, well, she was easy prey no longer.

A low laugh, and his fingers twinned in the thick fall of her hair. There was something possessive about his hold, something bitingly coveting that tightened her nipples. “Why a governess, Caroline?”

“I need an education,” she pointed out, scalp prickling. He reached for her comb, and then smoothed it slowly through her ends. “The nobility bore me, but they can be useful. Math, history, manners? Subjects a whore is not taught.”

He parted her hair, and a single fingertip slid down the curve of her nape. She shivered. His eyes through the mirror gleamed, and for a moment she wondered if that was what affection looked like on a monster’s face. “I do admire your intelligence.”

“We now, we can’t all be easy bait,” her voice was tart, and his gaze flashed in the light, but he didn’t chastise her for her impertinence. Instead, he made another low sound of amusement, and his hand curled her throat.

“Vampirism is a gift, pretty Caroline, but I can make it a curse. Be sure you remember your promise.”

Her chin lifted, gaze unwavering against his in the mirror. “I remember.”

His smile returned, and he trailed his fingers along her collarbones. “Excellent. Now, I’m in need of you keeping your clever ears open for me.”

She watched him from beneath heavy lashes in the mirror, pupils dark and wide as he stroked her skin. “And what am I listening for?”

“I’m looking for a moonstone,” he said, sweeping his fingers along her skin, dipping low but never beneath her neckline where her nipples were visibly aroused. “And a doppelgänger.”

Later, when Caroline held the marchioness head between her thighs, she’d moaned through an orgasm that did little to ease the ache. And that night, lips slick with blood as she walked away from the carnage she’d left behind, she found death didn’t satisfy it either.

It’d rankled.

Caroline stepped away from her window, twisting the only ring she bothered to wear. This too, had been a gift. Her maker had given it to her in Paris. It had been one of her little excursions, a chance to travel while her death was carefully circulated where she might’ve be missed. It was a delightfully easy to shed identities in a world where a woman was only as important as her ability to bear children.

He’d smiled at her during a little party for the arts, as if he’d expected her. As if her whims would eventually cross their paths and he’d been merely waiting for her arrival. Then he’d had the gall to ask after her little empire.

Caroline sipped at her drink, ignoring the man who droned on next to her in broken English. She’d finally perfected her French, nearly spoke without an accent. Another few weeks in Paris, and she was certain she’d be taken as a native.

But the fool next to her was unaware of her truth, and she saw no point in enlightening him. Not when he’d so masterfully elevated himself to the top of her dinner menu. There was a commotion, a familiar chuckle, and then a arm slid through hers, and a clipped accent murmured lowly against her ear as she was carefully tugged forward.

“Ah, now, this is a bit more compatible as to where I’d thought you’d find yourself. Still growing that empire of yours, love?”

Twisting open her fan, she glanced up at to find his amused face and gave him a cutting smile. That just seemed to delight him more, dimples tucked into the creases of his cheeks, eyes gleaming. “Empires are tedious. So much hand holding, and I can’t stand incompetence.”

She’d replied in neat French, and he switched languages just as smoothly. “Perhaps, but now I find myself curious. If not for conquest, then why choose Paris at such a tumultuous time?”

“Questions of succession bore me,” Caroline said without rancor. “But the growing possibilities for trade, now those I find most intriguing.”

There was no mockery behind his eyes as he watched her, no twisted smile that said a woman shouldn’t involve herself in such matters. Her maker’s attention had always been a complex thing of threat and intrigue, that unreadable intensity she couldn’t place. Today he wore curiosity, the calculation that had first interested her all those years ago.

And all of it packaged so prettily.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your investments. A husband with ties to the Hudson Bay Company, and then most recently a percentage of the East India Company that was l bequeathed to you as well.”

“You’re well informed for a man who’s feet rarely linger,” she swished her fan, lips pursed. “More spies?”

A wicked smile, a glint in his gaze. “There are those willing to trade a task for the chance of an occasional favor. You thrive, sweetheart, where others wither and I find that fascinating.”

Her fan stirred the air, and her smile shifted dangerously with her dimples. “I’ll eat them, should I find them.”

“Promises,” he returned, voice lowering in pitch. The flicker of carnal interest stirred her arousal, but he made no other move to touch her. His gaze dipped, lingered on her hands. “Where to next?”

Caroline blinked, fan stilling. “Pardon?”

Curiosity and a strange greed flickered across his eyes, but it was tucked away a moment later. “Surely you don’t plan to linger in Paris longer than it suits your interests, and England has its charms, but it is merely a small piece of the world.”

She considered his words, saw no reason to lie. “I’ve considered further travel, but the sun does add certain complications. Colonial India, the sugar plantations of the Bahamas? Perhaps some time on the Continent? All possibilities that require consideration and careful planning.”

A glitter of something behind his eyes that spoke to the monster in her veins, an unreadable intensity that stroked down her spine. Arousal wasn’t a new concept to her, but this fisted tightly in her belly, and the strength of it intrigued her. Her maker was lethal, both in physical danger and beauty, but the tension that shimmered between them couldn’t be brushed aside as mere physical attraction.

It infuriated her that he so easily stayed one step ahead of her when so many others were easily manipulated. She wondered if that’s what he saw when he looked at her, a mere challenge of his creation. Distaste curled in her chest, and she watched him with narrowed eyes.

Whatever he saw on her face, he merely brought her cold wrist to his mouth, smile a private, amused thing. The scrap of teeth was hotter, the hint of tongue against her skin a taunt. “Do take care of yourself, Caroline. I’d be disappointed, should you die.”

He’d left her then, wrist still stinging from the edge of his teeth, arousal a pulse between her thighs.

Two days later, a box was waiting for her in the solar. There’d been no note, but when she slipped the ring onto her left hand, she’d not needed one. That morning, the pale dawn’s rays had not burned.

Over the years, she’d found him in the most curious of places. A castle in Ireland. A painting class in Venice. A cabin in Russia.

But never her bed.

She’d long since dismissed the idea that he felt some sort of taboo bedding his creations. She’d followed the rumors of his exploits with amusement, admiring the way he moved the supernatural world about as if they were all his personal chess pieces. The messes he left behind were both pointed and erratic, the mercurial mood that had offered a dying girl salvation as easily a violence that destroyed villages on display.

Instead, what she’d learned suggested he was not one to care for any societies rules. There seemed to be no sin he’d not tasted, but the whiplash temper hid a calculating mind could and did leave ruin in his wake. The games he played with one particular vampire was most enlightening.

It’d taken time, to sift through the rumors and half-truths that slipped so easily from a gilded tongue. When he chose, her side was a secretive and cagey as a king. But it’d become clear that he hated Katerina Petrova, and her sire hunted no other the way he hunted her.

Caroline had been determined to discover why.

It’d had taken decades. Some secrets were only unraveled with patience, and compulsion just worked on humans. Instead she’d carefully and sweetly plucked tiny, meaningless grains of information from her fellow vampires. A name here. A date there. A barely whispered rumor.

Even vampires gave up secrets wanted if you sucked their cock just so.

But it’d been a pretty, human witch who’d given her what she’d wanted. Caroline had long since dismissed the Sun and Moon curse, had decided it was too fantastic to be real. Well, entirely real.

Nature stove for balance.

She’d never forgotten his request from the first decade of her life. But it’d been near a century since she’d heard the word doppelganger before a witch with truly lovely nipples had slipped the same word from her tongue. Caroline had spent a week in her bed, coaxing truth and such husky cries from the her throat before she’d left the corpse cooling behind her.

It appeared that Doppelgänger was important to more than Klaus, and the witches had a secret.

She'dno direct way to reach her sire. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t had the means to entice him into finding her. She’d known to be careful, Klaus had already warned her once that he too was hunted, but she’d also known exactly what questions to ask and to whom, to draw attention.

It had only taken a hint of a rumor.

She’d settled into her bath with a pleased little sigh listening to the activity of her household. Vampires didn’t truly feel hot or cold, but something about wet heat still felt wonderful. A male vampire or two had gasped something similar when she’d allowed them entry into her bed, her body. Somehow she doubted their sincerity.

Still, a scalding bath in front of a fire was one of her favorite vices.

Her lashes lifted as a door opened, monster peeking out before she recognized the figure stepping into her bedroom. Sighing, Caroline lolled her head in his direction, liking the way his gaze moved slowly along her exposed skin: tops of her breasts, knees, the curve of her shoulders and neck. Not that the scattered petals along the water hid much beneath.

“You’ve been asking dangerous questions, love.”

Caroline arched both brows, unconcerned as he prowled closer. It’d taken her a decade or so to realize that Klaus-her-sire was really Klaus Mikaelson, the scourge of her people. Their creator, their nightmare. She’d decided to forgive his amused arrogance at her naivety. Even men older than her by five centuries clearly still suffered from occasionally thinking with the wrong appendage.

She’d never tell him, of course.

“Only questions that I already know the answer too,” Caroline replied simply. His eyes flashed as he stripped his over coat, the thin undershirt doing little to hide the taut muscles beneath. For a moment, she wondered if he planned to join her, but instead of removing the shirt, he rolled up the sleeves.

She wondered at the pang of disappointment.

“And what,” he asked with deliberate casualness. “Do you think you know?”

She watched him, making no move to cover herself. The look behind his eyes was sharp, the keen edge of a blade. “Do you plan on killing me, Klaus?”

His gaze met hers, tongue swiping across his lips as he considered her question. “Have you given me cause?”

She stretched out one foot, toes brushing the edge of the tub. “No. You did ask me to find your doppelganger after all.”

He paused, long fingers pausing at the fabric he’d been arranging, head dipping to the side. Slowly, gaze a brand against her skin, he crouched next to the tub. His fingers skimmed the top of the water, lethal intent only contained because he choose it.

“So I did. Have you found her?”

A slow, lazy smile curled her lips. “I found him.”

She bit her lip as she watched him go still and watchful, his eyes narrowed as calculation crawled across his face. The flush of arousal surprised her, the knowledge that she’d surprised him heady. The darkening of his gaze told her he’d noticed, eyes dipping beneath the water to trace the curves of her breast.

“Him?” He rasped, hand slipping beneath the water to toy with her breast. The pad of his fingertip circled her nipple until it had tightened, and then he pinched lightly.

Caroline shuddered, eyes heavy lidded. “Him. I found a witch. Lovely little girl, so utterly chatty after she orgasmed. It appears there is more than one doppelgänger line.”

Her knees pressed together, as he cupped her breasts, but his fingers stilled. She considered the silent demand in his eyes, and decided to indulge him. Instead of merely parting her thighs, she draped one leg over the side the tub, settling her arms higher against the edge. He made an appreciative noise at the display of her body, and her lashes lowered as she traced the hard ridge of his erection with her eyes.

His smile was a tiny, wicked thing, firelight playing across dimples as he shifted to her neglected breast. “I assume you verified her information?”

“Of course,” she murmured as his fingers stroked the curve of her breast lightly. Her breath caught as he trailed slow fingertips down her sternum, and she held her hips still carefully. There was something about his lips, his jaw, that told her he’d not indulge her demands. “He’s fairly handsome, for a human. A little milking girl who was unexpectedly crushed beneath her cows first assured me that he was the spitting image of his great-grandfather, and that witches bargained for his blood.”

“And did you seduce her as well?” Klaus asked in a thoughtful voice. She blinked the gaze from her eyes, stomach going taut at the darkness in his eyes.

“If I did?”

A deepening of his smile, hand leaving the water. The steam from the bath brought a flush to his cheeks, and his lips were damp from his tongue. She wanted to bite them.

“Show me.”

She scraped her teeth against her lip. “Why? Do you expect to use the knowledge?”

He chuckled, teeth gleaming. “Should I not?”

She couldn’t deny that she was curious about how he’d feel, taste. That the draw between them grew more potent each year. Instead, she glanced at his straining erection, trying not to pant as her release started to build. “Perhaps you should return the favor.”

A tilt of his lips, and his dry hand freed his cock. “Do you like to watch?”

She smiled, monster crawling into her eyes. “Yes.”

“It is a pity we do not have more time,” Klaus mused as clever fingers made quick work of his breeches, cock springing free. “That mirror of yours has several possibilities.”

Caroline smiled as she settled back, widening her thighs as she able. Her next exhale turned shaky as he gripped his shaft, fingers lingering in pleasurable pain as she held off her orgasm. Her voice was husky as she cupped her breasts, temporarily ignoring her throbbing clit. “Of course it does. It’s why I had it installed.”

His fingers flexed, a quick spasm of muscle that said her words had landed.

“As for the milk-girl, well, I made sure she had such a lovely orgasm before she died.”

His cock twitched, and she shifted restlessly in the water. It was the best kind of pleasure, watching the firm glides of his hand as he stroked him, her body throbbing. His thumb ran roughly across the head of his cock and his chest rumbled, flush darkening above his beard.

“Did she come before or after you bit her?”

She smiled in delight at his question, the roughness of his voice. Her fingertips dipped low and her her body jerked, breasts bobbing in the water as she pinched her clit the way he’d toyed with her nipple. Her moan was loud, leg shifting loudly in the water.

“During,” she finally managed, heartbeat loud in her chest. “All that pleasure tangled up with a bite of pain, a quick flush of fear. It’s delicious.”

He made a satisfied noise, the creep of black veins beneath his eyes a tell that his control was as frayed as her own. It was a painful tease, touching herself so achingly slow as she watched his pleasure build, the tautness of his muscles, the hitched breathing. She couldn’t hold in her own little whines, her soft gasps. The movements against her clit turned shaky, less precise, and her toes curled into the smooth tub as the water lapped at her thigh.

“So lovely,” Klaus growled. His hand reached for hers, fingers curled tightly around her palm as he brought her wrist to his mouth. The unexpected sting of fangs tipped her over, and her fingers pressed tightly against her pulsing center.

When she opened her eyes, his fingers were slick with his release, eyes dark and greedy. “I wonder how you taste.”

She offered the fingers that had dipped inside her, knowing the smell, the taste would linger even through the bath water. He sucked them clean, gaze anything but sated. Her thighs twitched, and she reached down and every so lightly touched her clit.

“Why don’t you join me?” She questioned,curious and breathless from the way he watched her.

He made a low sound of disappointment. “Would you like that love? We’d likely break your tub, and I find I’m quite fond of it.”

Another slow circle, thighs jerking with pleasure, and she glared as he caught her wandering fingers. A hot kiss, tongue stroking against the slickness, that strange, soft darkness in his eyes. “I wasn’t subtle when I came for you, Caroline.”

Her gaze dipped to the half-mast of his cock. “I’d say not.”

A hint of a smile on his lips, but he released her and stood. She sighed and sat up, tiny curls clinging to her neck. “What did you do?”

“I made a mess,” Klaus said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t matter. Word will spread soon enough that I’ve broken my curse, and you need to be elsewhere.”

“I can hold my own,” she dismissed,stepping out the water and reaching for her robe. When she glanced back, she nearly smiled at the tightness of his jaw, the harsh line of those lips she fantasizes about. “I thought the curse a ruse?

“So beautifully clever,” he murmured, eyes hooded. “I do not need you to be bait any longer, Caroline. Not against my family.”

She tilted her head, weighed his words. Something had clearly shifted between them. This was a warning. Tightening her belt, she stepped closer to the rigid line of him, brazenly traced the shape of his mouth. “You’re worried about me.”

His eyes flared, shining red, and for a moment he looked murderous. She smiled and dropped her hand. “I suppose it is time to visit my estate in Italy, then. Your doppelganger’s name is Saul. There is a letter on my desk with the details you’ll need to find him. If you need a witch, bring your own. Recently there was a series of accidents in the region.”

His fingers fisted in her hair and bent her head black, exposing the line of her throat. Sharp teeth grazed her neck, blood beading on her skin. She moan at the hot stroke of his tongue, and her early arousal returned with a vengeance. “I look forward to seeing just how clever you are with my tongue between your thighs.”

She shuddered, lip caught tightly between her teeth as she held in a moan. “Perhaps you’d better enjoy your cock between my lips.”

He laughed softly and brushed a gentle kiss against her skin. “Ah, such sweet torture, I’m sure, but the only prey in our bed will be you, sweetheart.”

Her heart rabbeted in her throat and he let out another darkly amused chuckle. A moment later, the room was empty, her skin drawn tight and too sensitive. Dropping her robe, she staggered back to her bed and slipped her fingers back between her thighs, knowing it wouldn’t satisfy her tonight.

Half a decade later, and Klaus Mikaelson was hosting a ball.

A vampire ball.

To her delight, anticipation prickled across her skin. It had been years since Caroline had felt this flutter in her stomach, a sense of impending change. Lips curling, she reached for the little bell to summon her maid. She’d luggage to pack.

She looked forward to returning home. London would always hold a special place in her heart, and Klaus had a few promises to keep.

As did she.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles

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gideon--prewett-blog1 · 6 years

Note

“Tell Me”

Gid burst into the kitchen panting. He looked around and spotted Arthur by the sink. Thank Merlin. Everyone else was out in the garden, he’d only just escaped Molly, but Arthur was who he needed.

“Arthur, you’ve got to help me.” He began, pulling Arthur away from the window so that no one would see their conversation.

“Of course, what’s wrong?” Arther asked looking concerned. Gideon was counting on Arthur’s endless generosity but he still worried at his lip, hesitant to confess his crime. Arthur was his favourite brother-in-law (ignoring the fact that he was his only brother-in-law), he didn’t want him to look at him differently, or think badly of him. He respected Arthur and having Arthur’s mutual respect was very important to him. But he was the only person here who he could trust, the only person who might be able to help him.

“Look, I didn’t mean to, it was a complete accident, you have to believe me.” Gideon shot a worried glance out the window. “It just slipped my mind, and before I knew it, it was today and it was too late, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Gideon, mate, just spit it out. Whatever it is, we can fix it together.” Arthur assured him. Gideon had no doubt that Arthur honestly meant it. Arthur was one of the most genuinely selfless people he knew.

“I forgot to get a present for Percy,” Gideon mumbled into his chest, ashamed. It was out in the open now, Arthur could judge him appropriately. Gideon looked back up astounded when Arthur began laughing. He had to hold onto the table to keep from falling. Gideon was almost offended. “It’s not funny Arthur!” Apparently, Arthur thought otherwise.

“Is that all? Percy just turned two. He’s not going to notice. He’s not going to care one jot.” Arthur chuckled clapping Gideon on the shoulder. Unfortunately, Gideon was not consoled.

“That, is not that point! First of all, Molly will kill me. She’s been reminding me for weeks now, and I was always going to go tomorrow, but then tomorrow was today and I still hadn’t gone, and-”

“Gideon! Please stop worrying, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is, Percy is my favourite and I forgot his present!” A moment later Gideon realised what he’d just admitted. He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes going wide. “You didn’t hear that.” The words were muffled through his hand.

Arthur was laughing again, shaking his head. Gideon was very frustrated and upset, this was the worst birthday party he’d been to in a while.

“Look, we’ll go to the shed and see what I have kicking about that we can wrap and give to Percy to keep Molly happy.” Arthur offered after he’d finally stopped laughing. Gideon’s lip wobbled at Arthur’s kindness, even after what he’d just confessed. “And don’t worry about the other thing. As a father, I’m not allowed to have favourites, but maybe it’s different rules for uncles. As long as the other boys never twig, I’ll keep your secret quiet. And they all better have astounding gifts from you on their birthdays.” Arthur started to urge Gideon towards the shed, but Gideon stopped and wrapped his arms around Arthur in a hug.

“Thank you Arthur. They’re all getting top of the range broomsticks every birthday until they’re 70, I promise. I love them all so much, too much to bear sometimes, I promise. I don’t even know why Percy is, he can’t even hold proper conversations yet. But one time he gave me a slug he found in the garden and, Merlin, I love that little boy so much. I’m so sorry Arthur.”

“Well, the sentiment is appreciated, but please don’t get them broomsticks anytime soon. We can barely keep track of them all on the ground, never mind in the air.” He grinned, and clapped Gideon on the shoulder once more. “Come on, we better get back to the party. You know Molly can sniff these kinds of things out. Let’s not give her anything to find ey?”

Gideon nodded and wiped his nose, ready to rejoin the party.

That year Percy received a rubber duck wrapped in an old daily prophet from Gideon. He much preferred the piggyback rides Gideon gave him around the garden.

#Arthur #drabble #ask meme #look I just have a lot of feelings about Percy okay #he deserves to be someone's favourite #playing favourites #arthurs-weasley

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auroraphilealis · 7 years

Text

Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) (3/24)

Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 3/24

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

Thanks so much to @phansdick for betaing this giant monster, as she’s been super helpful and encouraging with her little comments and endless excitement. We couldn’t have done it without you <3

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @insanityplaysfics is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(Masterlist) (AO3)

Chapter Three

Dan stood underneath the grate, eyes bright and appraising as he watched the Prince easily haul himself up to the surface. His gaze lingered on the way the Prince's muscles bulged, the way his new-found cloak flared behind him as he pulled himself up, demonstrating that the Prince did indeed have strength to match Dan's own.

This knowledge was interesting. Dan filed it away in the small corner of his brain quickly labelled 'things to remember about Prince Philip'. He was adding up every new thing he learned about this strange, intense, bumbling man who’d made it his life's mission to capture Dan, and so far, it was making an interesting picture.

...Only because Dan was doing research so as not to get killed, of course. He didn't actually have any interest in this Prince - not beyond escaping him.

At least, that was what Dan was telling himself.

The Prince's parting words struck a strange chord in Dan. So the Prince wanted things to be different next time they met? What exactly did he think was going to change?

The world had made Dan a cynic, he'd never believed in the Royal family's supposed generosity in reaching out to those less fortunate than themselves. Sure, they might let a chosen few slip up the ranks, but for the majority of the poor, poverty was all they would ever know. Dan had seen that, in the deaths of his parents and then his little brother, and no one had been able to do a thing to help them. That was when Dan decided to turn his back on a world that had done him no good, and turn to a life of riches instead.

He'd never regretted that decision - until a certain Prince with intense blue eyes had unsettled him.

Honestly, Dan shouldn't care what some stupid highborn thought about him. It made no difference. The fact that Dan's only foe in the entire land of Morellia was the Prince himself was testament enough to just how far Dan had come from that lonely orphan boy he’d once been. He was the King of Thieves. His reputation was lauded throughout the land. No, he shouldn't care one bit what some stupid Prince thought of him.

And yet... he did. Dan didn't want Prince Philip's harsh words or looks to cut through him ever again. He knew he was nothing more than a petty criminal in the Prince's eyes, but Dan - Dan was so much more than that. He felt a sudden strange desire to prove to the Prince just how much more than that he was.

Dan shook his head, attempting to rid himself of these ridiculous thoughts. Let the Prince think what he liked - he'd never change Dan's world.

Instead, Dan turned on his heel, and launched himself up and out of the passageway into the dark city streets, the black of his cloak blending in perfectly around him. He tugged his hood back down low over his face, hiding, and retreated up to the rooftops to head back to his base.

He had a crown to admire, a bloody nose to sort out, and a Prince to set another trap for.

The walk back home was a long one. Phil had maintained his calm in those last few moments with the King of Thieves, trying to prove himself in some way despite the epic meltdown he'd already managed to have in front of his thief, but now that he was free from the presence of another, he was falling apart all over again.

The panic attack hit hard then as he walked the streets of his city, and he didn’t make it a quarter of the way in before he was turning down a random side street and dropping to the ground, shoving his face between his legs as he cried and tried to re-regulate his breathing. He wasn't sure why anyone had ever bothered with the technique, though, because it wasn't helping. Instead, it was making Phil's head spin, and that only served to make him cry harder.

He didn't know what it was about tight spaces, but Phil hated them - and maybe sort of kind of hated himself a little as well: one, for allowing his thief to get away with his crown when they should have battled down there, and two, for saying the horrible things he'd said to his thief - not to mention the fact that he’d allowed his training in the Royal Guard and the way he'd been treated by the street urchins and peasants who'd tried to crawl into his bed turn him from the wants of his people, and the fight of his family.

Phil was meant to be a Prince. Perhaps he wasn't the crown Prince, but he was still a Prince, and as Prince, the needs of his people were meant to come before his own.

All this time, he'd thought taking the thieves and thugs off of the streets would be enough, but there was so much more to do, so many more important things to do. Phil had a fight to win - and it wasn't in taking down the King of Thieves anymore, though he vowed to himself he would still get justice for all the people the man had robbed. His crimes couldn't just be ignored after all.

Still. Phil wanted something to change.

His heart was heavy and he was covered in sweat by the time he managed to pull himself together, the panic attack having taken almost everything from him. It was a miracle he even made it home after all that, but he managed.

Long past the time Phil expected his family to have gone to bed, Phil trudged through the Castle doors with the intent to head up to his rooms. He’d hardly made it passed the throne room doors, however, before his older brother Martyn and his mum called out to him, having clearly been waiting up for him.

“Philip?” his Mum asked as soon as she laid eyes on him, finding Phil covered in dirt and not wearing the usual clothes of his station. “What’s happened to you? Are you alright?”

"I'm fine, mother," he reassured the Queen, smiling weakly at her. “Nothing’s happened to me. I was just doing my job,” he reassured her.

"What job? You've taken every thief off the streets, taken down the wanted list to it's very least, and we are not at war! Philip, where have you been all day?" the Queen demanded.

"Chasing the King of Thieves,” he shot back, just as sharp and keen.

Martyn and Phil's mother groaned at him, sighing as they shared a troubled glance that Phil couldn't help being annoyed at.

"Stop chasing your pride, Philip," his mother admonished.

"Stop chasing your dick," Martyn added rather unhelpfully.

The rage that had been quick to mount in Phil lately rose, and he whirled on both his family members with a heated glare.

"Perhaps I'm just trying to do some good for this kingdom, have you ever thought of that?" he spat. "Perhaps I'm trying my best to learn my place, here, to learn how to bring Grandfather's dreams to fruition. Forgive me for trying to retrieve his crown, for doing my best as head of the King's Guard and learning as I go along. I would apologize for never being home, but someone must do something to help this Kingdom before it all goes to hell. It's not all peaches and roses out there on the streets. Politics and economy aside, society has not far improved since Grandfather's time, and someone has to fix it."

Phil’s words seemed to act as a slap to the face to his family members as they recoiled from Phil, sharing a concerned look, but not bothering to reply.

“This is not a game, Mother, Martyn. I’m not just some figurehead. I have a job to do,” he added for good measure, and then he was turning on his heel, and escaping rather quickly.

Dan's base was lonely that night, as it was every night. He used to meet with the other thieves, his comrades, on cold nights like these, and while Dan wouldn't go so far as to call them his friends, he did miss their loud laughter.

Yet another thing that Prince-fucking-Philip had taken away from him.

Dan growled as he bit savagely into his roll of stale bread. A day of running around the city had left him tired with no energy to steal himself some proper food, so Dan was forced to rely on his reserves. He didn't have much here in his city base camp - it was too much effort to haul things up atop the Guardhouse roof, and he always risked getting caught if he made too much noise. After all, the Royal Guard led by Prince Philip himself were situated right underneath Dan’s feet.

Dan couldn’t help his thoughts from going back to the Prince as he finished up his meagre dinner. The conversation they’d had wasn’t quite what Dan had been expecting. At first, Prince Philip had been exactly the way Dan believed he would, calling Dan thieving scum who shouldn’t dare to even breathe the same air as him. But towards the end… when he’d led the Prince back up to the surface…

Dan was sure he’d seen something close to empathy in his Prince’s eyes.

Prince Philip had apologised, as well. He’d said he didn’t truly believe those awful things he said, that he didn’t believe Dan was truly beneath him. He’d even promised that things would change, that the system would become fairer. Dan snorted. As if anyone highborn would waste a second thinking about those beneath them, let alone to help them out.

And yet, Prince Philip had seemed so sincere. He’d seemed grateful, too, when Dan led him to the surface, and hadn’t spoiled his pride by trying to reach for the crown again. No, he’d let Dan keep that. Dan fingered its gold-and-silver surface thoughtfully, admiring the jewel in the light. It was old, but not too old - belonging to either Phil’s grandfather or great-grandfather, Dan would hazard a guess. He'd head back to his cavern in the desert tomorrow now he had the crown, and then begin to set a new trap for the Prince.

Dan sighed as he settled himself down under his furs for the night. He only had a rough pelt to sleep under, from a desert wolf he'd killed and skinned, and it was old and tattered now. He wondered what Prince Philip was sleeping on tonight - probably silken sheets surrounded by finery, as befitted highborn scum.

An image of Prince Philip in bed suddenly rose in Dan's mind, and he narrowed his eyes, casting away the appeasing thought quickly. He didn't need any more complications added to his relationship with the Prince, thank you very much, and he was already trying to do his best to rid himself of any pleasant thought he’d had of him today, replacing them with the horrible things the Prince had said.

Besides, any lingering attractions he might have had nothing to do with the Prince himself, and everything to do with the fact that Dan hadn’t lain with anyone in ages. There was no use dwelling on images of the Prince in bed, let alone anywhere else.

Dan slept little that night, knowing that the city was far less safe for him than his desert cave. Not only was there the Royal Guard to fear, but the city was full of plenty of other small-time thieves who might try their hand at sneaking into the King of Thieves’ den. Dan’s hideout was rather well concealed, up on the rooftop of the Royal Guardhouse, but he knew it wasn’t hidden from the more daring thieves who might also make use of the roofs of the city. As such, he napped with one eye open and a hand at his dagger.

As soon as the sun peeked its first rays over the horizon, Dan was up and moving, eager to get back to his desert cave. He dug around for the crown in his belongings and took a moment to admire it. The gold and silver were expertly woven together, with the Lester family crest imprinted in pride of place. Dan felt a strange little tug when he saw it. Lester - Prince Philip Lester. This crown was a tie between Dan and him. Dan didn't think he'd ever forget the trusting look in the Prince's eyes as he'd taken Dan's hand, or the way he’d almost seemed sorry that his station was so far above Dan’s. If only Dan could trust him.

Plus, now Dan knew that the Prince was afraid of confined spaces. This was news that Dan could use.

It seemed the news of Phil’s grandfather's crown being stolen from the archives had not yet quite reached the majority of Phil's family when he’d arrived home the previous night, and therefore it wasn’t until the next day when Phil woke up that he realized he’d dropped a literal bombshell on his family. The maids were the ones to rouse him come morning with the news, and he was forced to dress and make an appearance in the royal champers before six am. When he entered, he found his family's most trusted Guard already gathered and on the defensive as the King drew up a bounty with a frown on his face.

Phil took one look at the image presented there - a cloaked figure with his head lowered and glowing eyes coming from under his hood - before he realized what was happening, and then he was immediately on the defensive.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, storming in with a glare at his brother and mother, knowing this had to be their doing, as his father was largely against setting bounties.

It was his brother who turned and answered him, making Phil’s jaw clench and his fingers curl into angry fists. It was always Martyn who failed to understand the needs of their citizens.

“I’ve set a bounty on the King of Thieves. He’s gone too far, Philip. If you have been unable to apprehend him on your own -”

“Absolutely not!” Phil demanded, his worst fears coming to life as his brother spoke. He felt a swoop of fear surge through his chest, and immediately, he wanted to throw up at the very idea of his thief being hunted down by men far less capable let alone understanding than himself. Not bothering to acknowledge his strange need to protect the King of Thieves of all people, Phil didn’t hesitate to take a furious step forward even under his brother’s angry gaze until he was stood in front of his own guards, glaring up at his often naive brother.

“I’ve already had them drawn up, and the King is putting his seal there now. There will be reward for the safe return of our Grandfather’s crown, and another for the thief’s head -” his brother continued, not bothering to react to Phil’s clear anger at him. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself, staring smugly at Phil as Phil’s blood began to boil under his skin.

“No!” Phil shouted at him, taking another furious step forwards. “That is not how things are done in our kingdom any longer, Martyn!” He was seething and trembling with anger now, but it was more than that; for years, Phil had been working to change the ways of the guard, and now his brother was taking steps backwards to undo everything that Phil had worked so hard to accomplish.

“He’s stolen our Grandfather’s crown, Philip. That’s capital punishment.”

Phil rushed forward, then, and slammed his hands down on the table his brother and father were sat at, chest heaving as he glared at them.

“There will be no more death on my watch, Martyn. Father has agreed to repeal the Capital Punishment. The news was meant to go out tomorrow. I will not allow this bounty to be released! The King of Thieves is my problem. I will take care of him, and there will be no blood on our hands.”

When Phil looked to his father for back-up, he found the King smiling and winking at him as he verbally agreed to do as Phil had said, already taking the thousands of bounty pages they’d had drawn up that morning and scraping them in the bin, not bothering to look twice or acknowledge Martyn’s indignant squawk of betrayal next to him.

“That’s unfair, father! You agreed! There needs to be a punishment for this! A common thief such as him should not be allowed to get away with stealing from the royal crown!” Martyn complained, sending Phil the most hateful look that he had ever seen. It made Phil’s blood boil, because he and his brother had always gotten along, but not when it came to punishment and politics, it seemed.

“Father also agreed to repeal capital punishment, Martyn! Putting a bounty on the King of Thieves will only weaken our arguments. Do you have any idea what kind of damage that would cause to our regime!?” he demanded, only for his father to cut in before the two could get any more heated than they already were.

“That is quite enough. Martyn, your brother is right. We’re trying to move forward with the justice system, not back. The King of Thieves will pay for his thievery, but not with his life. We will give your brother a little more time to stop him, and that’s that,” the King insisted, looking both stern and amused all at once.

Phil could do nothing but roll his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest because he, at least, had the grace to know when he’d won.

Martyn, on the other hand, failed to throw a tantrum when he lost, and before any more words could be said, he was storming from the room with his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The Queen was staring disapprovingly at Phil, but Phil didn’t care.

“He was only trying to help, dear,” she tried.

Phil shot her a look.

“And how does killing anyone who does the smallest thing wrong, help? It’s just a crown, mother. And it’s not as if he broke into the actual castle. I hardly see how murder is the way to go.”

The Queen didn’t have a reply to that, turning her gaze away, slightly ashamed. They’d had this argument before, when Phil had still been trying to get capital punishment repealed in the first place, and he knew that he had won.

The King, meanwhile, was giving Phil a knowing look - one that it took Phil a moment to decipher. His grin was suggestive, and he kept glancing at Phil’s outerwear. Phil realized with a start that he’d automatically put on the green cloak he’d bought himself to blend in on the streets better, and flushed.

“Stop it, father,” he commanded, cheeks turning a bright red. “There’s nothing going on,” he insisted.

The King shrugged his shoulders.

“I never said there was.”

With another annoyed huff of embarrassment, Phil turned on his heel, and left. It was more than obvious to him that his father seemed to be on the same page as Martyn when it came to Phil’s obsession with the King of Thieves, but while Martyn was teasing, Phil’s father seemed to be serious in his belief that Phil had an ulterior motive to stalking the King of Thieves.

There was nothing going on, no ulterior motives, and Phil was sick of his family teasing him. His unreasonable need to protect the man was nothing more than pride on his part. Phil wanted to be the one to take him down. Phil wanted to prove that he was better.

But mostly, Phil just wanted to repeal capital punishment, and do as he had promised just last night - make a change, and create a safe place for his people.

Reassured that no god-forsaken mercenary or would-be-hero would be out on the streets ready to attack should they see the King of Thieves, Phil retired to the guard house, discarding his cloak as he went so that fewer people would have a chance to recognize him in said outfit.

There would be no more death in the name of justice in this kingdom, for that, Phil would make sure, and he would not allow any more of his people to become criminals in the name of “justice.” Encouraging murder in return for riches was never going to happen again, so long as Phil could make it so.

Phil spent the rest of the day locked away in his office in the guard house, right next to the palace gates. If he was wallowing in self-pity and ruminating on confused thoughts regarding the King of Thieves, well no one had to know, even if it was more than obvious with the way he snapped at everyone who tried to speak with him.

There was paperwork to be done, and no time to think on petty thieves who had gotten under Phil’s skin.

He didn’t have a crush, no. He didn’t like his thief, of course not. How could he? That just wasn’t possible.

And yet, as Phil scribbled away on parchment after parchment, trying to press forward with bills of change, he couldn’t help thinking that yeah, there really was something more going on here. It wasn’t just Phil’s desperate desire to avoid murder staying his hand anymore; it was something more.

Sighing, Phil dropped his quill and shoved his face in his hands.

HIs heart was beating way too fast to be anything but - no, he wasn’t even going to think the word. He wasn’t going to fall in love with a criminal. Phil couldn’t do that. The King of Thieves was no-one. It didn’t matter if he’d been kind to Phil last night, it didn’t matter if he was more loyal and honest than most people Phil knew, it didn’t matter if he treated Phil like an equal.

Phil could not fall in love with the King of Thieves. He could not.

And even if he did, the King of Thieves would never fall in love with him back.

Shaking his head once more, Phil turned back to the papers on his desk, and started to draft up something entirely different, rather than just signing off on requests.

Come morning, he’d start initiating changes to go along with the repeal of the capital punishment, ultimately changing Morellia for the better.

It wasn’t going to be easy, Phil knew that. He’d been dealing with his family and the guard for years now, and the justice system in the Capital in particular was rigid, but Phil was Head of the Royal Guard and a Prince. He would find a way to get his way.

Things would change, or else the people would revolt. Phil just had to make the rest of the Royals, the Guards, and the High Court see this and make a change. Things were not well the way things were now, and while crime was never the answer and would always be punished, Phil had decided it couldn't continue on like this.

So, over the course of the next week, Phil drew up plans to help destroy the class differences that had existed since long before even his own family's time, knowing even as he wrote them that this would be the most difficult task he’d ever faced.

A week passed before Dan entered the Capital again.

He’d spent that week squirreled away in his desert hideout, hunting to replenish his stock of food out where it was easier to come by. He’d lived alone in the desert for years, and knew it like the back of his hand; where the best spots to find water were, and where he could hunt down animals for their meat and their skins. The rest of the time he spent curled up on his blankets, reading scrolls by lamplight or scratching out his own words with an old, scrappy quill and whatever parchment he could steal or make himself from the skins of the animals he caught.

His desert cavern wasn’t much, but it was his.

Still, he had a job to do, and Dan’s time wasn’t spent idly. No, he spent the week plotting, thinking of the best way to go about stealing the next time he entered the Capital in a way that was bound to get Prince-fucking-Philip’s attention.

Dan still had the ring he’d stolen, the one in which the stone looked like the exact shade of green-blue-yellow as Prince Philip’s eyes. Sometimes, Dan would catch himself taking it out of his pocket, playing with the fine gold and admiring the jewel, lost in his thoughts.

The Prince was a quandary, a problem, for Dan. If nothing else, he was Dan’s biggest foe, and the only man with the capability of capturing him. Not that Dan would ever let that happen.

Dan should have just killed him while he’d had the chance. The passageway where they’d fought had been tiny, yes, but the Prince had been terrified and it would have been easy. It wasn’t as if Dan had never killed before.

It was just… for some reason, the thought of seeing the light drain from Prince Philip’s stormy eyes set Dan’s stomach roiling.

It was ridiculous. Dan didn’t have much of a guilty conscience left - he knew he stole for the greater good, that what he did for the poor was worth whatever crimes he might have to commit to get there. Prince Philip was standing in the way of that good, and yet…

And yet, Dan enjoyed his company too much to kill him. These past few weeks had been the most fun he’d had in ages, deliberately setting up traps for the Prince to walk straight into. He hadn’t had someone to play with since he was a child, and this feud with the Prince was exactly like the kind of games Dan had invented for his brother, before he fell sick. They used to chase each other all around their village, setting traps or lying in wait prepared to ambush each other, or ganging up together to surprise their father.

Dan missed those days, and the Prince was giving him a chance to have fun again. Dan wasn’t ready to give up the game yet.

So he plotted. And when he returned to the Capital a week later, it was with a plan; only, Dan was more than surprised upon finally sneaking back through the city gates with his hood pulled low over his head to find the city in uproar over rumours coming from the Palace itself.

Apparently, Captain Philip, AKA Prince Philip, the leader of the Royal Guard and the bane of Dan's existence, had started drawing up plans for a drastic remodelling of the class system. His ideas weren't perfect, but they were certainly better than anything else currently in place, from what Dan could gather, and his remodeling of the justice system was even more drastic.

Dan secreted himself into a corner of his favoured tavern to hear more, where he was known enough for no one to ask questions, but not known enough for his name to be dropped. As such, he kept his cloak hood pulled right down over his face. He had no doubt that there would be some sort of description of him floating around by now - Captain Philip had seen his face twice, after all.

Dan listened to the gossip from the table next to his, nursing a cup without actually drinking from it. He needed to keep up appearances, but he couldn't afford to get drunk - not with what he was planning.

"Have you heard?" One woman was excitedly telling her husband one table over from Dan, "The Prince has been out in the city again today, conducting talks with the people."

"Which Prince?" the husband responded gruffly.

"The younger one. Philip - Captain of the Royal Guard." The woman lowered her voice secretively. "I've heard people calling him 'Protector of the Realm' now. He's all but eradicated crime, and he's only been Captain for less than a year!"

Dan snorted into his drink. That bumbling fool, Protector of the Realm? Dan couldn't help but wonder what Captain Philip himself would make of all this, if he knew of these rumours. No doubt it would give him something else to lord over Dan.

Perhaps Dan would ask him, when he no doubt saw him later that night.

Having gathered enough news for the time being, Dan rose to his feet and dropped a few coins on the table (stolen from unsuspecting citizens out on the street). On his way past the other table, he deftly swiped the man's wallet, secreting it into one of his many cloak pockets on his way out of the door.

Once he was outside, Dan made sure his cloak hood completely covered his face before he began striding purposefully towards the city library. He'd been chased over its rooftop by Captain Philip not so long ago, but now he had plans to lead the Prince deep underground - and he was counting on the fact that the Prince wouldn't like it.

Dan had never managed to retrieve his favourite dagger from his last spat with the Prince, so he'd been forced to settle on a slightly lesser blade - which was something else Dan planned to bring up in their later confrontation. But first off, he had to set things up.

Once Dan reached the grand entrance to the library, Dan slipped into an alley where he had a good view of the wide oak doors, gripping his knife in his hand. For this to work, he needed to make a lot of noise, and he had to wait for it to get dark.

He watched closely as the working day came to an end, and the last of the workers began trickling down the steps. When the only person left was a single guard preparing to lock up the giant, heavy doors, Dan made his move.

Quick as a flash, he was right up behind the guard with a knife to his back. "Stay still if you want to live," Dan purred into his ear, a thrill going through his veins when the man tensed, a sharp gasp escaping him.

"Shut up, too," Dan added, "And obey the King of Thieves."

The man's eyes were wide with horror when Dan span him around, tilting his face just enough to reveal his dark eyes. The man looked utterly terrified. "A-are you really...?!"

"Yes, you've looked your fill," Dan answered impatiently. He didn't have time for this. "Now, do exactly as I say, and maybe I'll let you live to go home to your family tonight. Understand?"

Speechless, the man could only nod.

"Good." Dan released the man, making sure to keep his knife very evident. "Now. You're going to unlock those doors and give me access to the crypt. Once I'm safely down there - with no interruptions - you're going to run along straight to the Palace and give a message to Prince-fucking-Philip. Understand?"

The man nodded faintly.

"Good. Tell him these exact words: The King of Thieves is waiting for him, if his scared little arse dares come down to meet me - I'll be in the crypt."

The man all but gasped. "I can't speak to a Royal with such disrespect!"

Dan grinned evilly, playing with his knife. "If you’d prefer, I could just kill you right here."

The man's face blanched. With a final, hate-filled stare, he got to work unlocking the doors.

Dan grinned as he was shown the way down into the crypt. He'd have plenty to entertain himself with down here among the ancient scrolls, and the cramped, tight, underground space was absolutely perfect. Exactly what he figured the Prince would hate. He might even manage to steal a few precious manuscripts while he was here - he'd heard there were some exquisite first editions.

Dan sent the guard on his way to the Palace then, settling in to lie in wait, knife still in hand. He'd have the Prince's full attention again soon.

Phil's time in the city streets had only been growing since the night he’d determined to make some changes, and it was now split between protecting and serving his people, and talking with them. Desperate to know everything he could from every walk of life, Phil had been pressing and pressing, digging into the deep, dark crevices of city life, until he’d managed to crack open more than a few eggs. While Phil could never claim to truly understand completely, as he could never truly be in their shoes - and not just because he didn’t want to or because he thought he might not be able to survive on his own, but because that kind of vulnerability would lead to attempts on his life - he was happy to hear their concerns.

There were plenty of people who were angry with him, though, plenty of peasants who claimed there was nothing Phil could do for them or that they didn’t want his pity, throwing mince pies and even knives on more than one occasion at Phil’s face. There were plenty of the working class as well who reacted in much the same way, merchants and healers and blacksmiths who spat at Phil’s shoes, angry and spiteful that a royal dare even attempt to understand them.

But there were also those who looked at Phil with curious, suspicious glances, and spilled all - including their crimes, just trying to make Phil understand. These people, Phil looked on with concern, nodding along grimly as they admitted to the horrible things they’d been forced to succumb to just to survive, reaching out with a calming hand to promise they would not be harmed. These people filled Phil in on their concerns, on the hardships of their lives, and grimaced with half-hearted belief that Phil might actually one day make it all better, filling Phil with the hope that maybe… maybe he might actually be able to do it.

The hardest part, though, was when Phil walked into the most desolate part of town and met the orphans, all curled up together in small huddles of warmth under low hanging shelters that hardly offered any help from the elements of the earth. His heart broke at the very sight of them, at the way they formed their own families and killed to survive, turning to lives of thievery and ganghood. Speaking with them… that nearly crushed Phil’s soul.

He’d known, of course he’d known, how many children went hungry on the streets of his home, but he’d never been forced to confront it quite like this, inviting their stories and pardoning them for all that they’d done, offering them snips of food and money that Phil had on his person in a sad attempt to alleviate some of his own guilt.

Looking at all those children, lost behind the veil of poverty and merchanthood, reminded Phil of just how much he’d failed them. With no safeguards in place, Phil had left these children with no one to take care of them, desolate and living in their own filth, unable to move up in the world because there was nobody around to help them step up. Seeing the suffering of these children, these children who Phil and his family had abandoned, broke his heart, and he knew right then and there that there was something he had to do - only he didn’t know what.

The centuries of increased crime rate could be blamed for this, not to mention the lack of care on the governing facilities’ part throughout the years even before the Lester family had taken the throne, but Phil didn’t know quite how to fix it. It was a system so old, far away kingdoms still used it, abused it, and Phil was left with a pile of broken ideas and a sunken heart. As nothing more than a prince who’d spent most of his life learning how to be proper royalty, learning of his own history, and training to be in the King’s Guard, he had no real idea how any of his ideas would pan out, how he’d implement them if he could, or if they’d even work when he did.

So, with sunken shoulders and a great burden weighing heavy on Phil’s heart, he set out to return to the palace with a list of ideas for his most trusted advisors to help him look over. Peej, as city director, had been the most helpful so far, but even he was unsure quite what Phil wanted, not that it was his fault. Phil only had grand ideas, and overly wishful hopes. It wasn’t much to go on, even for someone as knowledgeable in city politics as Peej.

Phil was just on his way to Peej’s chambers for the millionth time that week when a guard shot past him, headed straight for the palace gates through the gardens Phil had grown up in as if his ass was on fire, looking breathless and terrified.

Phil’s fingers launched straight to the dagger at his waist, curling there as he glanced about himself in fear that something terrible had happened and that the guard was trying to deliver the news.

He didn’t have much time to ponder that thought at all before the guard seemed to catch himself, skidding to a halt and turning back to shoot towards Phil, eyes wide and frightened as he took in the man much taller than himself.

"Prince Philip, sir!" he shouted, breathless.

Reaching out to clasp the man reassuringly on the shoulder, Phil nodded at him, brow wrinkled in worry. "What is it? Are you okay? What's happened?"

"The King of Thieves," the guard stuttered out, eyes darting everywhere but Phil's face as he swallowed thickly, arms rigid at his sides.

The name was like a shock of cold water down Phil's spine, all previous thoughts of his day completely wiped from his mind.

"What's happened?" he demanded this time, only he couldn’t decide whether the terror he was feeling was for his thief or his kingdom.

"My deepest apologies, sire, I had no choice,” the guard said, his voice shaking with very real fear as he tried to keep it together for his Prince. “He held me under a knife, threatened my life and my family’s, I had to, sire, please forgive me," the guard continued to ramble.

Heart beating hard in his chest, Phil merely shook his head, rattling the guard by his hold on his shoulder.

"Yes, fine, you are forgiven, your life was at stake. Just tell me what's happened!"

"The King of Thieves, he asked me to deliver a message to you. He said, and forgive me sire, 'The King of Thieves is waiting for him, if his scared little arse dares come down to meet me - I'll be in the crypt.'"

Immediately Phil's blood began to boil, and he was seeing red, fingers tightening involuntarily around the guard’s shoulder. He only noticed when he saw the man flinch, and immediately released his hold on him, but his mind was spinning, and his already elevated heart rate only seemed to increase more with his own fear, because the crypt was one of the lowest points of the semi-public library, the rooms small and cramped.

It was Phil's worst fear come to life. He'd rarely been down there, and it had always been terrifying to feel the weight of the Earth nearly crushing him the few times he had. The ceilings were low there, and despite the concrete and stone creating the rooms, the smell of dirt and soil lingered until it was far too obviously underground for Phil to trick his mind into thinking otherwise.

And the King of Thieves was waiting down there for him, more aware of Phil's fear than anyone else in the entire kingdom, including his parents and brother.

Swallowing hard, Phil nodded and sent the guard on his way.

"Go home to your family. Take the next few days off. What is the name of your supervisor? I will speak to him. Did you see his face?" Phil asked, eyes glazed over and unfocused until he realized the danger his thief had put himself in by revealing himself to this guard.

The guard shook his head. "No, sire. He kept his hood low. I saw only his eyes." Here, the guard shivered, as if the brown that Phil had come to quite enjoy were terrifying instead of intriguing.

"Right. Off you go then," Phil dismissed him, and hardly payed it any mind as an officer’s name was thrown at him, easily recognizable, before the guard bowed and ran.

The crypt, then. Phil had promised himself he'd never let his thief use his weakness against him again, and yet here they were, with Phil being forced to face his greatest fear once again.

He didn't bother continuing his trip up to the Castle. It hardly mattered now when Phil had everything he needed right there on his person, and he headed straight down a different path that would lead him to the library, and the crypt below.

It was a struggle, keeping his breathing and fear under control, but Phil would do it. The King of Thieves was taunting him, and Phil was determined to prove himself once again.

Dan spent his time in the crypt well, browsing the shelves as he moved in slow circles around it, getting to know his surroundings enough that the Princel wouldn’t have the upper hand - not that Dan truly thought he would considering Dan knew of his fear of enclosed spaces, of which this most certainly was.

He never revealed this to anyone if he could help it, but Dan absolutely loved reading, and being in this room was the best thing in the world. He loved the feeling of parchment under his fingers, the way words could make him feel, and how much knowledge they could hold. Being surrounded by so much pure knowledge was destined to make him glow with satisfaction, even if the Prince didn’t show up.

Not many thieves knew how to read, but Dan had been lucky enough to have an educated father. Some of his fondest memories, from before he'd been orphaned, had been of his father reading to him, gently pointing out the strange symbols until Dan could make sense of them himself. After his mother's death in giving birth to Dan's little brother, his father had begun to waste away, and the only time Dan had ever been able to get through to him had been through written words. After his father's death, Dan had then read to his little brother, and then he'd been taken away from Dan too, until Dan was left all alone.

For some time after that, Dan had been too furious to read anymore. He’d ripped up every single one of his father's manuscripts, even the fairy tales that had been Dan's favourite - an action he regretted to this very day. As he'd grown into thieving and quickly become the best of the best, Dan had stolen scrolls whenever he could, always on the lookout for those same fairytales his father had once read to him. Dan had never had any luck finding them, though.

But he'd never spent much time looking anywhere quite as extensive as this crypt, let alone the library above him.

Dan scoured the shelves slowly, his fingers ghosting through the rows and rows of dusty scrolls. Perhaps he could ask Prince Philip about it, once he finally got down here - maybe they could strike another deal. Dan would be willing to relent a little for such a precious item. If things went sour, though, Dan knew of a secret way to escape out of the back of the crypt and back into the passages of the underground world. He wouldn't allow the Prince to capture him this night.

The easiest bit was walking in. Phil had tight control over himself in the beginning, he always did, and it often allowed him to move through passages that otherwise would have made him throw up without alerting anyone else to his fear. The difference this time, however, was that Phil wouldn't be moving through this place and out to the other side as fast as he could. He would be spending an undetermined amount of time down here instead, and it didn't escape his mind that this was an obvious ploy on his thief's part.

The longer they stayed in the crypt, the harder it would be for Phil to fight, and the more his honor would be destroyed. No, Phil had no plans to fight tonight, nor any plans to try and capture his thief. Instead, he’d come down here to show his thief that there was nothing that could be done that would frighten him away - the Prince would always face his fear.

Of course, his reluctance to fight had nothing to do with his secret desire not to catch his thief at all, nor did it have anything to do with his unwillingness to give up his time with the King of Thieves, and his willingness to meet the man down here at all was completely unrelated to any desire Phil had to merely see his face again.

The further down Phil went, the thicker the air seemed to grow. Panic was squeezing at his chest already, but Phil had practice ignoring it, and at least for now, he knew he would be fine. His eyes darted about the small enclosure he walked down towards the crypt’s normally locked door, as he kept a lookout for any signs of traps or his thief the closer he got.

It occurred to him then just how disconcerting the blind faith he seemed to have in the man actually was, and yet, Phil couldn’t help thinking that he he had proven himself.

Perhaps Phil's life was far too boring if he was this trusting, this excited, to meet the one person who made things that little bit fun. Not that Phil would admit it. No, the King of Thieves was infuriating, annoying, and that was it.

When Dan finally heard footsteps, he was instantly alert, dropping into a crouch and drawing his cloak tight around himself. He still had his hood up, and he left it that way for now in case the new arrival wasn't the Prince. He knew this strategy was risky. The Prince could very well come down here with a whole host of backup, or even not come down himself and just send down others to fetch Dan for him. But Dan had a hunch that catching him had become a matter of pride for the Prince, and his hunches tended to serve him well.

As Dan sidled amongst the shelves, peering through them at the easily viewable entrance to the crypt, he caught sight of the Prince moving reluctantly into the library, already breathing heavily. Even better, he seemed to be alone. Dan smirked a little - he was right, these places clearly upset the Prince, and he didn't appear to have brought anyone else with him.

The Prince even looked a little faint, red faced and quite obviously trembling.

For some reason, something in Dan's chest tugged at that, wanting to allow the Prince freedom from his fear. Maybe he shouldn't have picked the underground to do this, not when the Prince was so clearly upset by it.

But Dan was a ruthless thief. He couldn't - no, he wouldn't - have such feelings about a highborn.

Instead, Dan stayed well hidden behind his row of shelves, and spoke into the flickering light with a low, sultry voice. "Well, well, well. Prince Philip. What a delight it is to see you again."

Phil’s breathing had gone completely uneven by the time he reached the cracked open doorway of the crypt, and he did his best to ignore the spinning in his head as he pushed it open and stepped cautiously inside. After a quick look around, Phil found no sign of his thief until a voice piped up, and then Phil was running an even more calculating gaze around the rather large room.

His eyes scanned over scroll upon scroll lined along the walls and bookcases scattered about. This was the most attention Phil had paid to the crypt, well, ever.

"The same could be said for you if you'd only reveal yourself to me," Phil taunted back, surprised by his own flirtation, and blushing madly as it hit him what he'd said this time. "Why have you summoned me? You're clearly looking for more than a fight,” he added, clearing his throat and trying to pretend he was more confident than he actually was.

Dan couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face at that. He'd hoped the Prince would come and see him, yes, and he'd hoped they would talk rather than fight, but he wasn't expecting the prince to be quite so flirtatious or playful with him.

Not that Dan was complaining. This game, he could play.

"Is that eagerness I hear?" Dan taunted, edging a little closer to the edge of the shelves he was hidden behind. "I am flattered. First, though, I need to know you're alone. I only let certain people see my face."

For the first time in his thief's presence, Phil chuckled. Actually chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He liked the way his thief's voice sounded, curling that accent around his words, but also clearly elated by the excitement in Phil's voice that Phil had never even meant to let get across.

The way his stomach curled in delight at his thief announcing he only showed his face to certain people, Phil being one of those disclosed few, was something Phil would have to analyze later.

Aware that the King of Thieves’ gaze was upon him, Phil glanced pointedly around him, and moved further into the room, planting himself in the center despite how that seemed to make the room swirl and spin even more around him.

"I believe if I had an escort, you'd be able to hear them by now, nor would they allow me to put myself in such direct danger, exposed as I am with no view of yourself," he announced, glancing pointedly around him again as his breathing hitched a bit. He had to close his eyes against the spinning, but it only made it worse, and he opened them again slowly, not wanting to show any more weakness than he already had.

“But I’ll ask again. Why did you summon me here?”

Dan's lips curled upward when he heard the Prince chuckle, but he paused as his brain registered the Prince's question. He couldn't very well give the Prince the real reason he'd come down here - because he’d wanted the Prince's attention back on him, where it belonged - but he didn't really have another excuse. The Prince was right about the fact that he didn't want to fight.

Trouble was, Dan hadn’t given himself an alternative excuse - which may have been a mistake, with hindsight.

As it was, Dan cast about for something he could say, and his gaze alighted on the scrolls again. He hummed softly. "Yes, well, I didn't want to fight. You're right. Actually, I want your advice."

His thief's next words came as a direct surprise, and Phil's eyes narrowed, almost expecting a trap though he continued to wait, still stood still in the middle of the room, wishing his thief would just reveal himself already. The comfort of another human being in the room might actually help Phil’s panic just then.

"It is my duty as your prince to help you. I'm all ears," he stated lowly, a low curl of something forming in his stomach at the idea of belonging to his thief. Not that that was what he'd meant, of course not, not at all.

"You're my Prince, are you?" Dan's brows shot up, his tone still teasing, and he finally stepped out from around the shelves, pulling his hood down in the process.

It took another few seconds before the King of Thieves revealed himself, but when he did, he pulled back the hood of his cloak easily enough, revealing himself in all of his glory to Phil. Brown hair had been swept back and off of his thief's forehead in an appealing way, but it was the eyes that captured and held his attention.

The trust that movement alone represented, the King of Thieves showing himself to Phil, made his heart pound even harder in his chest, and it really wasn’t helping the tight control he currently had over himself.

Where was his usual anger that he couldn't capture this man? Why was Phil so… so distracted by his desire to know him instead? He couldn't be thinking like this, no matter how attractive his thief was. Phil had to remind himself that this man's flirting meant nothing, that no one could ever want Phil as more than the promise of royalty in their life.

He had no room for love or lust. Not that he'd know what to do with either even if he did.

Dan's lips curled up again at the way the Prince's gaze alighted upon him the second that Dan showed himself. He liked that, he liked having the Prince's attention solely on him, right where it belonged.

And Dan was definitely not going to be analysing that feeling.

"Well, if you are my Prince,” Dan purred, stepping up closer to the Prince until he was right in his space, “Do I get to order you around? Force you to do my bidding? Will you answer the wishes of a lowly thief?" Dan looked down at him, lowering his tone. "Even if I am the King of thieves?"

Phil might have been a bit mortified to have his thief coming so close to him with that tone in his voice, suggestive and eager and flirtatious all in one. "I answer all my people's wishes," he whispered, gulping. His words being thrown back at him hurt, knowing that he'd called his thief that first. "Or, I try to. I do my best," he continued, turning sad eyes to the floor with the knowledge that he'd let his people down. He didn't react in any other way to his thief's words, knowing they were nothing more than teasing, that the King of Thieves had no desire to do the things his tone of voice suggested.

Dan licked his lips, considering the Prince’s words. He was implying he could help Dan, and while Dan didn't know if it was a good idea to reveal this much of himself to the Prince - this wasn't anything Dan had told anyone before - something innate within him trusted the Prince. After all, it seemed that the Prince had come down here entirely alone, and Dan did still need an excuse for why he’d asked the Prince to come here.

"I want a scroll. A particular one - the story of the fairytales. I think the author is Alexandrus. Do you know it? And more importantly - is it here?" Dan waved a hand around the shelves of the underground crypt, watching the Prince's face closely for his reaction.

"Alexandrus' fairy tales?" Phil repeated, intrigued by the request. His eyes scanned the crypt they stood in, and then flitted back out to the rest of the library. Something like relief fluttered through the all encompassing pressure on his chest as he realized where they might be. "I do know it. And it is here, just not in this room. The original scrolls have not found their way into our collection. Perhaps not as precious as you'd usually prefer, but we do own a copy. In the central library."

Phil wasn't sure a copy would be good enough for his thief, but regardless, he would be relieved to leave this room as soon as possible, and preferably with his thief in tow.

Despite himself, Dan's eyes brightened with interest the minute the Prince mentioned that they had a copy of the fairy tales. Not a first edition, but a copy was more than enough. Dan longed to run his fingers over the familiar words again, to reacquaint himself with one of his father's greatest loves. And he wanted to show them to the Prince, as well.

But no. That was ridiculous. The Prince wouldn't care, and Dan would never ever reveal his true motives for wanting the manuscript. No matter how much those intense blue eyes might make him want to spill his entire life story. Dan never let anyone in. If people got close to him, it only hurt more when he lost them. And a Prince would be worst of all.

"A copy will do just fine." Dan, despite his best efforts, could not keep excitement completely out of his tone. "And I imagine you want to get out of here. I'd apologise for making you come down here, but I had to get your attention somehow." Dan gave him a cheeky wink, smirk back in place. "Go ahead - take me to your central library. I trust you're not going to turn me in."

Clearing his throat, Phil looked up and met his thief's gaze once more, trying for a weak smile. "As of now, you’re right. I would very much like to leave this place, now. Though, if you really wanted my attention, there are other ways to get it." The tease was back in Phil's voice as well, but he didn't have the confidence needed to pull it off quite the way his thief did, the great flirt himself, and he found himself terrified to dig himself a hole he couldn't get himself out of.

Flirting with the King of Thieves would do nothing but breed feelings in Phil. Soft hearted, he'd always been, leaving him with the need to cut himself off completely from the lost idea of love. Too many times to count, Phil had very nearly fallen for the ploys of his classmates and the girls who’d wanted nothing more than to rule over Phil and the rest of his Kingdom.

Surprised by his thief's reassurance that he trusted in Phil, Phil turned a stunned gaze onto him, watching as he moved to allow Phil to lead the way for both of them.

"Come along, then. I'll show you where our greatest treasures lie." Phil didn't know what his thief wanted with the copy of the tales, and he didn't truly believe his thief would see his scrolls as important as Phil did, but at least to him, they were his greatest treasures, treasures he was happy to share with his thief.

If his expression was a little bit more sad now, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Phil wanted, in that moment, to have more with this man in his company.

Dan couldn't cope with the sad tone in the Prince's voice. It was in his eyes, too - those big sad eyes that somehow managed to hold Dan in place, to pin him down, to capture him in a way that the King of Thieves should never be captured.

Dan recalled thinking that those eyes were dangerous, and he thought he was being proved right, right now. With those eyes turned on him, Dan found himself with an irrepressible itch to make everything better, to bend over backwards to make sure this Prince - his Prince - was ok.

Dan couldn't reveal any of those thoughts, but he was powerless to do nothing.

"Don't worry," Dan said lightly as he followed the Prince out of the crypt, "From what I hear, you're doing a good enough job of protecting your people. Have you heard the latest things they're calling you? 'Protector of the Realm.'" Dan allowed himself a small chuckle. "I admit, I snorted when I first heard, knowing what a bumbling fool you really are."

To soften the harsh words, Dan's tone was soft and almost fond. He narrowed his eyes a little. This was just playful - that's all. A little bit of playful teasing, because the Prince was too much fun to play with.

"I'd be interested in these other ways to get your attention," Dan added. "Might be easier on you if I don't have to keep tearing up half your city just to have a word."

As soon as the King of Thieves had given Phil the go ahead, he was leading them out from the underground and back up into the main library, making a quick turn to the left to take his thief to what was considered the Central Library, breathing deeply in relief when his chest almost immediately seemed to relax, the terror and panic gone. As Phil breathed deeply and smiled in relief, he turned right, leading his thief further into the library, knowing almost exactly where he might find the scrolls his thief was looking for.

Casting his gaze behind him, and all too surprised he'd been so willing to have the King of Thieves trail behind him where he could pounce on Phil when he least expected it, Phil furrowed his brow in disbelief at his words. "Protector of the Realm?" he questioned, not wanting to focus on the fond tone of his thief's voice as he spoke of Phil's work this last week. He couldn't read too much into that.

Shaking his head, Phil closed his eyes briefly. "That's - far more than what I am," Phil replied. He sighed, though, at the thief’s tiny jab. "For a bumbling fool, I've been quite good at managing to surprise you."

They took another turn at Phil's direction that led them down a slightly darker hall of bookshelves and scrolls, hidden towards the back where Phil used to hide from the girls in his class who were all trying to vie for his attention. This is where he'd read the fairy tales, discovered the tales his family didn't want him to read, about dragons and ghouls and the men who'd faced them. They were just stories, made up, his family had told him, but Phil had always enjoyed them.

"I thought you enjoyed tearing up my city," Phil rumbled back, but he couldn’t deny the giddy feeling in his chest at the idea of his thief occasionally just wanting a chat. "But, perhaps… we could have an agreement. A way to meet on neutral ground. That is, if we thought we could trust one another."

Phil thought they'd proved that so far, but he still had to ask.

Dan couldn't stop himself from lighting up the minute they entered the central library. He'd been to some of the richest places in the land, seen treasures far greater than any in this room, and held priceless jewels worth more than his weight in gold, but never before had Dan been so immediately enraptured with a place.

The library was beautiful.

It was all Dan could do to force himself to keep a steady pace behind his Prince. All he wanted was to run around the aisles screeching excitedly about how much knowledge there was contained in this room, and devour every single scroll he could get his hands on. But Dan had a reputation to uphold - a reputation he'd already been letting slip around his Prince.

Dan was a little worried by that.

Instead, he focused on his Prince's words, although his eyes constantly moved around the room, taking in as much as he possibly could.

"Don't get cocky, Captain Philip," Dan murmured, leaning forward just a little to breathe his words directly into the Prince's ear. "It's probably in your best interests to remember just who you're dealing with here. You may have surprised me, but only because I let you get too close."

Perhaps not entirely true - the Prince was far more skilled than Dan had been expecting - but Dan wasn't about to tell him that.

Phil shivered as his thief pushed close to him again, whispering directly into Phil's ear the way he'd done before. No longer fearing for his life, Phil was able to take in the way it made him feel, and, well… that was different. That was new. Phil liked the way it felt so intimate to have his thief this close, as if they were sharing a secret the way he whispered into Phil's ear.

"Then why'd you let me close?" Phil whispered back, snaking an arm around his thief's waist to drag him near enough to say it into his ear as well, releasing him again almost immediately with a vicious smirk of his own that would never betray the way Phil's heart was racing hard in his chest.

Stop it, Phil, he told himself. Don't fall for this. You know it means nothing to him.

Dan froze the instant he felt his Prince's arm wind around his waist. No one ever touched Dan. No one. Not unless they were trying to kill him, which no one had dared try for years, or steal from him, in which case Dan would not hesitate to cut off their hands. This touch - this kind of teasing familiarity - was not something Dan was used to.

He wasn't sure how to react, and that threw Dan off. He was always self assured and unsurprised, but somehow, this Prince with the deep blue eyes constantly stopped him in his tracks.

Trying to cover his momentary shock, Dan dropped back behind his Prince, watching his every move with sharp eyes. The proximity to the fairy tales was making Dan jittery, and he could feel the familiar rush that came with thieving accompanied by something warm and new - a feeling he hadn't had since he'd lost his family.

He put it down to the memories of his father, and refused to believe the warm sensation had anything to do with the Prince beside him.

"I could agree to a neutral meeting ground," Dan agreed easily enough, although his brown eyes flashed at the Prince's back. "As long as this copy you fetch for me is adequate. And, of course, you'd have to trust me." Dan hummed, his tone turning dark for a minute. “Will you throw your lot in with the likes of me? You said yourself last time, no one of your stature should bother themselves with peasants. Am I correct?" Dan asked, wanting to move the conversation along, and not dwell on the way that Phil had touched him.

Behind Dan's teasing sat a hard truth. Dan was still cynical, despite hearing the way the citizens of the capital had been talking about the Prince's latest plans. Dan had seen the Prince's true colours in those underground passageways - even if the Prince had apologised. Dan was not one to easily forget.

They moved on, Phil's thief dropping back to follow behind Phil as he led them down the corridors he knew so well. Phil had a thought, then, that his thief was trailing after him to see if Phil would trust him as more than just a threatening presence, which he was not just then.

Glancing behind him at his thief's easy agreeance, Phil shared a small grin with him, but it quickly wilted in the face of his thief throwing Phil's words back at him once again.

"I'm certain the copy will be adequate enough for you," he agreed, turning forward solemnly again and coming to a slow stop. The fairy tales would be here somewhere.

Trailing his fingers over familiar scrolls, Phil ducked his head again.

"But considering I've said before I regretted my words, I hope to one day prove to you that they were not my true feelings on the matter. As such… I think I can agree to trust you... in certain situations, that is. I doubt you'll give up your life of crime?"

“As if I would give up my life of crime,” Dan snorted, “I’m the King, it’s my profession. I suppose I wouldn't be against you proving yourself to me, though." His gaze remained sharp. "But you've got a lot of work to do if you expect me to believe you consider us equals."

Phil let out an unsurprised, disappointed sigh as his thief confirmed Phil’s fears that he would never give up his life of crime, and tried to shove that reminder into his brain as yet another reason he couldn’t let his heart get involved in this situation. There was no use, when Phil put justice before all else, and he could never be with someone who didn’t value the same things as him.

The King of Thieves didn’t stop there, though, offering Phil what almost felt like an out. Phil already knew he had to prove himself to his thief, but to be told that his thief was open to that, potentially open to a change in their relationship, wheedled in alongside the block Phil had just tried to put on his heart, and filled him with hope. The very idea of something changing between them was sending a thrill through Phil, something he rarely felt except on the hunt for criminals, and it made a smile tug at the corners of his lips, even while his thief reiterated that he would not be giving up his thieving.

Phil shouldn't be okay with that, wasn't okay with that, and yet he didn't argue. Despite feeling like he could never, ever be friends with someone, let alone partners with someone, who didn’t hold true the same morals as him, Phil couldn’t help suddenly being filled with desire and excitement of knowing his thief, of gaining his trust, of proving himself to him. Suddenly, capturing the great King of Thieves was nothing more than a game, and Phil swallowed at the very realization of that to himself, of the very realization that in a single moment, everything had changed, and Phil had most definitely fallen.

"I thought so,” Phil answered lowly. “I will never stop chasing you, then, but as it is my family's fault you have turned to a life of crime, the least I can do is allow you my help, from time to time. I'll meet you at a place of your choosing anytime you send a raven. Weapons will not be drawn, and I'll do what I can, within reason, for you. Will that do?"

Phil knew his offer put him at risk, but he felt as though he had to give up more, if he wanted his thief to trust him. Meeting his thief at a place of his thief’s choosing should be sufficient enough.

"I’ll put myself at risk for you. It's the least I can do, after treating you the way I have. And if I die, then. That is nothing more than I deserve for failing you and my people.".

Dan leaned languidly against the shelves, trying not to shudder at the way the scrolls brushed against him. He was itching to read as much of this collection as he could, but not even the multitude of knowledge surrounding them could distract Dan’s eyes from his Prince just then. The Prince - Phil - stood tall among the shelves, almost as tall as Dan, and the way he studied the scrolls was with a familiarity that Dan envied. If he ever did meet the Prince again - and Dan was coming up with more and more ways to orchestrate their meeting in the future - he might well demand to spend some time uninterrupted here in this library, to discover new works without the stress of having to steal. Not that Dan would be giving up stealing; he lived for the thrill.

"If it's ravens you wish to use, then a raven I shall send." Dan lowered his lashes again, dropping his voice into a purr, and sidled up closer to his Prince. He wasn’t quite done yet, was itching with a strange curiosity to know more about this solemn Prince, to get behind the face he made in public. So Dan asked, "Perhaps you have another name I could call you by, though? I doubt you want a parchment from the King of Thieves addressed to Prince Philip to appear in the wrong hands." Dan allowed one hand to encircle his Prince's wrist, stopping him from getting the fairy tale out just yet. He wanted to spend as long here as he could.

"What can I call you, my Prince?"

Phil’s fingers trailed over a familiar marking on a familiar scroll, but just as he went to pull it out, his thief pressed his large hands over Phil’s once more, forcing him to stay in place instead. There was so much strength to him, so much power, that it sent a thrill through Phil.

Turning his head slowly, Phil caught his thief's gaze, face suddenly so close that Phil’s mouth went dry and his heart started pumping hard and fast in his chest. He'd never been quite this close to another human being before, never felt an energy so charged between him and another person, and he couldn't help loving the way it felt to have his thief's fingers move from Phil's hand to encircle his wrist, chaining them together, inseparable.

Yes. Phil was the King of Thieves’ Prince alright, and there was no turning back now.

"Phil," Phil whispered softly.

Dan stared down at him, suddenly much closer to his Prince’s - Phil’s face than he remembered being. Phil’s hand was on a particular parchment in the row of shelves, presumably the fairy tales, but Dan kept his fingers tight in place around Phil’s wrist, keeping him still. He wasn’t quite… ready, yet - not to be faced with the fairy tales again. He knew they’d bring back happy memories, but also… also, there was a lot of bad back there that Dan didn’t want to have to face again.

Phil, it seemed, picked up on some of the tension in Dan’s features, because before Dan knew what was happening Phil was asking, “These fairy tales - why do you want them? Forgive the question, but they are not the most expensive scroll in this library. I’m sure a thief like you could want more.”

The question had come kind of out of nowhere, and yet not at the same time. Phil truly had been curious as to why his thief wanted this particular scroll when there were so many more in this library he could sell for a much higher price, but more than that, he’d been intimidated by his thief’s face being so close to his own. The way the King of Thieves was holding onto him wasn’t helping either, tethering them together in a way that made the pull in Phil’s chest towards him that much stronger.

Dan drew in a breath, a little taken aback by the question. He hadn’t prepared an answer, hadn’t meant to get quite this deep into conversation with his Prince - Phil. He hadn’t even meant to ask for the fairy tales, not really, but now they were here, right within Dan’s reach, Dan didn’t think he was capable of walking away.

Especially with Phil’s eyes on him, glinting green-blue in the dim lighting, exactly the way the ring in Dan’s pocket did. Those eyes held no secrets, they were open and honest and fair. And dangerous. Dan was scared that, if he stared too long, he’d end up spilling all of his secrets to Phil.

“The fairy tales are not expensive, no,” Dan answered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But they hold - other value, for me. Memories. Of a happier time, perhaps.”

Phil felt frozen in place, trapped between this bookshelf of scrolls, and the body of who was meant to be his greatest enemy, but who was becoming more and more like -

Something he never could be.

Phil’s heartbeat was loud in his ears. He could hear his own blood rushing, and pumping. He could feel heat starting to radiate through him like he’d never felt before, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Was this thief casting a spell over him? Did he have the ability to use magic on Phil?

But it didn’t feel like that - no, not at all. Phil had had a spell cast over him before, back when he was about twelve, by some smarmy student in one of their classes, and he knew the feeling of ice rushing up your spine. This didn’t feel like that at all; this was molten heat unlike anything Phil had ever felt before, and he swallowed thickly as he stared into the prettiest brown eyes that he had ever seen before.

Memories. Memories, Phil could understand. He held many objects dear purely for the sentimental value of them, and he could understand a man like his thief wanting to hold onto those things just as much if not more than Phil. Phil had his own suspicions about the man’s past, after all.

Phil was still looking at Dan. It was dangerous, that look. Phil managed something that Dan hadn’t seen in a long time - an expression of complete honesty, looking absolutely harmless and utterly charming, a safe place that Dan could sink into unless he tread very, very carefully.

The silence stretched on. Dan should look away. Dan should definitely look away, but… he also really didn’t want to. This Prince, this harmless Prince who was standing right in Dan’s clutches, having come when Dan called even when he knew what Dan was - this was a new figure in Dan’s life.

The air between them grew more tense at that, with Phil feeling trapped under his thief’s unwavering gaze. His thief was conflicted, he could see that much, fighting with himself, unsure if he should say more, perhaps unsure why he’d said anything at all. Phil wasn’t sure why he’d said anything at all either, knowing that he’d merely blurted out the question in self defense in the first place, having expected his thief to recoil from him in reaction to it and stop these strange feelings brewing inside of Phil from getting any worse.

That hadn’t worked. In fact, if anything, it had only made it worse, and now… now Phil’s eyes were flicking down to his thief’s mouth, a yearning growing in the pit of his stomach to just lean in and kiss him.

Perhaps Dan could bend just a little more.

“My father,” Dan explained, eyes lost in Phil’s, “He read these to me. A long time ago. Before he-- well. Before I was alone.”

Dan snapped his mouth shut, then, biting his tongue and trembling, just a bit. The memories were there, hiding in the back of his skull, threatening to bubble up to the surface if this honest Prince looked at him any longer. It was dangerous, too dangerous. Looking at Phil made Dan feel vulnerable, and as much as he knew he should walk away, Dan couldn’t move. Not with Phil leaning so close, and his hand still around Phil’s wrist, and the air between them feeling so charged suddenly.

Phil’s eyes flicked back up at the mention of his thief’s father, at the mention of his thief being alone, and something clicked home. Phil’s suspicions had been nothing short of right, and he ached with the pain that thrummed through him in reaction to it all.

He wanted nothing more than to take it all back, make it so his thief was no longer alone.

“You don’t have to be alone,” Phil whispered, and leaned in that tiny bit more, drawn in by intense brown eyes and a desire swirling around somewhere behind his belly button, even as he knew that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this, that they couldn’t. His thief thought nothing of him but as a plaything he could use. They couldn’t do this, they couldn’t -

Dan’s breath had been stolen away as soon as Phil’s words hit him. He didn’t have to be alone anymore. No, that wasn’t possible, even as Dan watched Phil leaning closer. Dan knew all too well that he was destined to a life lived alone, had been cursed with nothing but loss since he was young. There was no way this Prince could be offering something he shouldn’t be.

The hope of a life of companionship was something Dan had lost long ago.

Dan tried to be angry, tried to find the right emotions to fit how he should be feeling - he should be furious that this Prince even dared to guess at Dan’s past, that he had somehow made Dan reveal so much of himself - but Dan couldn’t. Instead, he was lost in the sudden flare of hope that rose within him. Hope that maybe, just maybe, Dan had given up too soon. That his Prince really could offer him companionship - that Dan didn’t have to do everything alone.

The thought crashed down around Dan’s ears, drenching him in sudden warmth. It was painful. He couldn’t. Dan knew he could never have this, And yet, Dan was captured by the look in Phil’s eyes, so open and trusting, sincere and honest, that it was the most intense look Dan had ever shared.

Dangerous. That look was dangerous. It made Dan want to cross boundaries he most definitely should not want to cross, especially not with a highborn Prince.

Dan's eyes fluttered closed, and he was leaning closer too, and then--

A strange voice broke the spell.

"Phil? Philip, where are you!?" a voice suddenly shouted, ringing through the library clear as a bell. The King of Thieves and Phil jumped apart, the scroll Phil had been holding jumping free from it's place in the stacks. Phil whirled then, his cloak swirling around him, and cursed.

Martyn. The guard must have sent Martyn after him.

"Brother, what are you thinking!? Tell me where you are! You can't just go after the King of Thieves on your own, you idiot!"

Whirling again, heart racing in fear, Phil ducked to grab the scroll, the fairy tales, and jammed them into his thief's hands.

"Go. Go!" he whisper-shouted, eyes wide with fear. "Get out of here, before he finds you. I'll stall him. Go!" Phil demanded, and then he was whirling about once more, and walking as fast as he could in the direction of his brother's voice, hoping and praying that his thief would get away.

Dan jumped back from the Prince - Phil - as if he'd been burned. Instantly, now the moment was over, he became aware of his brain screaming at him just how much of a bad idea his feelings were. Dan couldn't have feelings. He didn't let anyone close to him, hadn't since his brother had died. He was safer this way. It was the only way he knew.

Pretty Princes with sincere blue eyes could not break that. Dan wouldn't allow it.

Dan had to get out of here. With the fairytales clutched in his grip, Dan backed up, watching as Phil strode away from him and out into the main part of the library, presumably to stall his brother.

In other words, Crown Prince Martyn.

Dan's eyes glinted dangerously. Crown Prince Martyn was right there, right within Dan's reach. One of Dan's greatest enemies, one of the people he hated the most in the world was right there, and Dan was armed and had the element of surprise. He could dart around the shelves, murder the crown prince, and then be gone within seconds, disappearing into the passages. Nothing could stop him.

… Except… Phil.

Crown Prince Martyn was Phil's brother. His only sibling, if Dan's history books were correct. If Dan killed him, he'd be robbing Phil of a brother.

Dan remembered all too well what it felt like to lose a brother.

Frustrated beyond calculation, Dan tightened his grip on his dagger and released a quiet, feral snarl. He couldn't afford to get caught. If Crown Prince Martyn saw him, Dan would have no choice but to kill him, because Dan sure as hell was not spending any time in a dungeon.

But he couldn't do that to Phil.

Dan wanted to scream, only he was still in a library, and most definitely in hiding. Beyond angry, all Dan could do was turn and flee, tied down by a Prince he'd met all of three times.

But something about Phil was captivating, and Dan couldn't do anything to hurt him. Much as he wanted to.

Dan disappeared into the passageways with heavy anger sitting in his heart, but the scroll was in his cloak, and Dan couldn't wait to run his fingers over the familiar words again.

He'd make Phil pay for the feelings he gave Dan later. At least now he knew all he had to do was send a raven, and the Prince would be his again.

Dan had plans to take advantage of that fact, and this time, no brothers would be around to interrupt. Dan tried not to think about what might have happened had he and Phil not been interrupted right when they were.

Dangerous. Phil was dangerous.

But Dan couldn't stay away.

Phil strode out with resolute anger building in his stomach and chest, fingers clenched in hard fists at his sides.

How dare his brother come after him? Especially shouting as he was. What if Phil had been about to draw his dagger on his worst enemy of all time? What if he’d had the King of Thieves trapped right where he’d wanted him, and his idiot brother had come along and gotten Phil killed?

Tossing aside all thoughts reminding him just how close he'd gotten to doing the exact opposite and kissing his greatest enemy, Phil finally rounded a corner and found his brother stood there with sword drawn and ready to - what, save Phil, the literal Head of the Royal Guard?

"What the hell, Martyn," Phil hissed. "I nearly had him, and you come barging in here shouting and making a racket like my life wasn’t on the line!? What if you had gotten me killed!?" Phil demanded to know. "I had it under control. I know what I am doing, Martyn!"

Lowering his sword, Martyn turned an equally fierce glare onto Phil. "And how was I to know whether you were safe or not, brother? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, and it took some smarmy guard to tell me what you were doing at all!” he shouted, fuming. His gaze cut at Phil, but Phil didn’t budge.

“I’m Captain of the Royal Guard, Martyn. When something comes up, I don’t stop to tell you about it,” he hissed, pressing in close and shoving his hands at his brother's chest. Martyn growled, and nearly struck out, but Phil was ready for him, and he seemed to think better of himself.

“Strong as you are, brother, you're ruled by your emotions, and you always have been. You can hardly blame me for my concern. No one knows what you're doing anymore, with silly little notions like changing the world," Martyn scoffed. "How was I to know you wouldn't get yourself killed, or whether you truly were trying to take down the King of Thieves at all!? Your obsession with him is unfounded. Give it up already, before you go getting yourself in over your head. That man knows more than you, Phil, and mark my words, he will take advantage of that soft heart of yours."

The words struck a nerve, causing Phil to pause, heart lodged uncomfortably in his throat. Was he allowing the King of Thieves to take advantage of him? Look what he'd already allowed the thief to make him do, look at what agreements they'd made, and how Phil had put himself on the line for him.

Phil should have known better than to trust a thief. He knew, he knew the flirting wasn't real, and yet, he’d fallen for it anyway. The thought of that hurt his heart, and with eyes flashing, Phil whirled away from his brother, standing with his back to him, unable to face him.

He didn’t want Martyn to be right, and even as Phil considered that he was being played, he couldn’t begin to feel even an ounce of betrayal at the hands of his thief.

No, his feelings were dangerous, that was true, but he felt just in his trust and desire to do something for the man whose life his family had failed to protect, even if he was putting himself at risk playing with his heart on the line the way he’d promised himself never to do again.

Scoffing, Phil tossed his head at Martyn, turning to glare at him over his shoulder. "You don't understand the people, brother. And you most definitely do not understand my fault with the King of Thieves. I am only trying to do right by our people. And next time, maybe you should trust me, or you might one day get me killed,” he threatened, voice venomous with concealed anger and hurt, even as he turned tail and fled deep back into the libraries he’d grown up in, wishing that his thief had stayed.

#iwritephanthings #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #snowbunnylester

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