Dark Au - Blog Posts
OMFG
meet some of the pete's place regulars!
˚ ♡ ✧.* : ̗̀➛ requests by: two anons, @welight-theway, @crokitheloki, @hansensgirl, @buggy14, @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade.
✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚
this is a dark au/verse. minors need not interact. happy endings don't happen here.
𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫
41 years old.
6’2’’.
Suburban dad with a dark side.
Likes flashing the cash for a look as he doesn’t get much attention back home.
Never misses stopping by when he’s in town.
Has a type and it just so happens to be you.
Brings you gifts; new outfits, new shoes, gold chains, etc, every single time he visits the club.
Will spend the whole night promising you the world– and his wallet, if you just go home with him.
Top Three: Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Praise Kink.
𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐭
45 years old.
6’4’’.
Oh, what a nice man–
Warning sirens sound in the distance.
Danger! Danger!
The man will make you beg, make you cry, rearrange your insides, make you fall in love and break you down all within a night.
The man is all kinds of fucked up. But knows how to hide it well.
Under Lloyds employement so like, you can guess the kinds of fucked up.
Did awful things while serving in the army, brought some of that back home with him.
Protect you? More like slaughter anyone who gives you a momentary glance.
Top Three: Rough (Violent) Sex, Service Kink, Corruption Kink.
𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲
28 years old.
6’1’’.
Cocky motherfucker, hot and he knows it.
The embodiment of a hyper puppy.
Acts like he’s always got the zoomies whenever he’s in the club.
Annoys the absolute shit out of all the girls but he’s hot, so they deal with it.
Secretly a sweetheart but never shuts his mouth.
Gets a little too handsy when he’s had a drink– or five.
Always asking Pete to loan him one of his girls for the night.
Don’t get him twisted, the guy FUCKS. and he's NASTY about it
Top Three: Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Body Worship (receiving).
𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟
43 years old.
6’0’’.
Corrupt little wank, like’s to make Pete nervous when he comes around, but he’d never spill on the shady things as he likes the club’s views.
Talks big shit but you’ll find him in the VIP rooms on a Saturday night.
A little wrong in the head, but treat him right and he’ll make you scream.
Can get a little rough with the girls when he's had a few.
Tight with money so always tries it on for a discount for not opening his mouth.
Has a big cock and is smug about it.
Likes 'em on their knees with an wide open mouth.
Top Three: Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Choking.
𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐲𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫
32 years old
6’0’’.
Troubled addict that’s in the club; Every. Single. Night.
Likes just to watch, girls kinda hate him in the club because he won’t even throw a dollar bill but will spend a paycheck on drinks and other things.
Spends money he doesn’t have, does the odd job for Pete when he’s in a little legal trouble which gets him the odd night in the VIP rooms.
Don’t underestimate him though.
Will have you crawling back for seconds.
While not the roughest by any means, get him high enough and annoyed enough, he’ll make sure you’re not walking for the next two weeks.
Top Three: High Sex, Overstimulation, Throat-Fucking.
𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐦𝐩 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞
35 years old
6’1’’.
Idk, fam, somethings off about this one but we're gonna ignore it, okay?
Stares a little too long, kinda like he’s hunting.
Makes your heart race a little being around him– fuck or fight i guess. I know which I’m doing.
Tips nicely but never wants a private dance, likes to watch and drop cash at your feet after.
Weirdo tbh. It’s not like he ain’t got the money.
Sucks to be you if you decide to go home with him.
You ain't coming back, honey.
Top Three: Blood Play, Knife Play, Bondage/Rope.
*** if by chance, i have missed your req and you know you sent it before reqs were closed, please let me know asap so i can add it to this list!! thank u all sm for u patience. i love u all<33
Emperor and empress
So what I’m thinking here is Anakin never got crispy and Padmé never died
-she’s forced to go with him
-Luke is still a sweetie
-leia is giving me big Azula vibes, aka she’s pretty evil
-eventually something wakes anakin up and he’s disgusted by his life
-Luke saves the day, somehow
Emperor and empress
So what I’m thinking here is Anakin never got crispy and Padmé never died
-she’s forced to go with him
-Luke is still a sweetie
-leia is giving me big Azula vibes, aka she’s pretty evil
-eventually something wakes anakin up and he’s disgusted by his life
-Luke saves the day, somehow
If Darth Vader was never burned by avasketches
I need suitless vader offering a baffled padme the imperial throne.
“Ani-”
“I would serve only you, my love.”
Bonus sketch of Imperial Prince Luke bc im a sucker for the slicked back hair:
Being a husband, a dad, a grandpa and a sith emperor is not an easy task for Lord Vader
just powerful sith couple plotting to take over the galaxy~ anakin and kenobi from the “wicked thing” by @imaginaryanon
some downtime time on mustafar for the wicked trio :) just chillin’ i think you all know for which fic this drawing is dedicated, but i remind you that it’s for the “wicked thing” by @imaginaryanon
Character File: Michael
Despite having not made an official appearance in canon yet, Michael has quite the role in this AU. I dare say his story in this AU is one of the most disturbing and tragic.
Michael suffers from power sickness, but his struggles don’t end there.
Michael is the most powerful Archangel and leader of the Celestial Realm’s legions, making him Father’s most powerful weapon of war. However, as we have seen thus far, the Celestial Realm isn’t satisfied with the power it has and is seeking more. As such, Michael wasn’t enough. He needed to be improved. Upgraded.
In his attempts to turn Michael into the perfect supersoldier, Father created an abomination. Michael’s form was warped into what could be compared to the most terrifying of the biblical angels. Two golden rings of eyes circled around his head, replacing the now nonexistent eyes on his completely smoothed-over face. More eyes peered out from between the feathers of his four wings, wings that were now permanently set ablaze. Smaller golden rings of eyes encircled his hands and ankles like shackles, and he has four arms instead of two. There are also disembodied eyes floating all around him, which he can move at will, using them almost like camera drones. Despite his mouth being smoothed over with skin like the rest of his face, Michael can still somehow speak, in an echoey and ethereal voice that brings chills to those who listen, a feeling that they are hearing something they shouldn’t. But no, Michael can’t eat, which as you could imagine is absolutely devastating to someone like him.
Despite his shocking appearance, Michael’s mind has remained unaltered. He is still the same person, the person who doesn’t want to fight Lucifer and his brothers. He is ashamed of what has become of him, and isolates himself from the other angels whenever he can. He is only really seen when he’s fighting in battle, and even then it’s hard to get a good look at him. He flies high in the air, keeping a distance from his fellow angels who cannot fly high anymore due to their scorched wings. He never speaks to his fellow angels anymore, having Raphael give orders in his stead as Michael himself focuses solely on fighting the opponent. When not in battle, he hides himself away in a dug-out cave underneath the camp. As the only person granted access to Michael’s hideaway, Raphael is the only soul that has heard him speak in a long time.
Due to being able to see (really well, given all the eyes he has) and the unimaginable level of power he has been imbued with, Michael is a very important soldier in the war and does fight on the front line. However, he only does so out of necessity, because he needs to protect his fellow angels and because he’s afraid of what Father will do if he doesn’t follow his orders. Michael dreads the day he encounters Lucifer in battle, and has grown to doubt Father after all he has done to him.
Character File: Satan
Along with his brothers, Satan was drafted into the war long before it ever moved to the Human World. The seven became more close-knit than ever during that time, growing extremely protective of one another. In particular, they grew incredibly protective of Satan. This was Satan’s first time ever fighting in a war, after all. His brothers were all seasoned warriors from the Great Celestial War and the previous war between the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, while Satan was completely inexperienced. During this period, Satan was treated as the youngest in all but title.
Satan was beyond frustrated at what he perceived as being babied, leading him to be one of the most aggressive soldiers in battle in attempt to prove to his brothers that he was not to be underestimated. His vicious wrath, sly cunning and undying motivation to prove himself quickly made him notorious among demons and angels alike from very early on in the war. What made him all the more dangerous was his weapon- he wields the Hellfire Blade, a sickle-shaped sword that catches fire with green flames whenever its wielder is filled with adrenaline.
As this flaming weapon provided heat and light in a place that was growing colder and darker by the day, it was heavily sought after. However, because it could only catch ablaze during its wielder’s adrenaline rush, this meant it was only useful when Satan was angered. This led to Satan’s brothers repeatedly provoking him, further straining his relationship with them.
Like his brothers, Satan spends most of his time in demon form. He needs to be ready to use his full power at all times, after all. However, his demon form has been altered slightly. His anatomical features such as his horns and tail have remained the same, but his clothing has changed. He’s scrapped the boa- too easy to get caught on something in battle. He also scrapped the belt for similar reasons, and now wears a tight black trenchcoat to protect him from the blistering cold of the Devildom. He also wears armor, the most notable being black pauldrons covered in sharp spikes.
Though initially zealous about the war effort, Satan has grown to doubt the war more and more as he has witnessed more of its effects. The first time he truly felt that something wasn’t right was during a battle in the Celestial Realm, where he saw how worn and weary the angels were when he and his brothers had just gotten there. The scene of burnt, blinded angels with scorched, tattered wings stuck in his head, and from time to time resurfaces and makes him think. Another defining experience for him happened after he returned to the Devildom, where conditions got so bad a demon used Satan to commit assisted suicide. A demon endlessly provoked Satan until he lost control and flew into a rage, swiftly killing the demon, and when Satan calmed down and went to loot the corpse (hey, resources were scarce) he found a suicide note in the demon’s pocket. Though Satan has killed many people in his time, the fact that this demon actually wanted to die and used him to achieve that stuck with him.
By the time the war moved to the Human World, Satan’s focus had become less and less on winning the war and more on trying to simply survive and protect his brothers. They were all in poor shape and simply trying to keep themselves and each other alive. Even so, Satan’s fighter tendencies still rear their heads when an opposing force attacks the brothers first; he’s an absolutely ruthless defender who will make sure anyone who dared attack him or his brothers paid with their life.
Due to the absence of the exchange program or any real communication at all between the realms, the angels didn’t know Satan existed until his appearance in battle. They still have no idea he’s Lucifer’s brother/son, and I imagine it will be quite the bombshell when they find out.
Character File: Luke
Out of all the major angel characters, Luke is the least scathed. His protective magic shielded him from the worst of the Celestial Realm’s power, leaving him with only skin-deep injuries. He has mild scarring on his face, arms and legs from sunburn, but his eyes were spared any real damage, leaving him one of the only angels left with fully functional vision.
As such, Luke views it as his responsibility to help his fellow angels who have lost their sight. He overexerts himself trying to be the eyes of others, attempting to make up for his guilt- maybe if he’d thought to put one of his protective blessings on his friends, they would have been spared.
Though Luke wants to do everything he can to help the angels around him, Simeon sees Luke’s sight as a danger. If Father were to find out Luke could still see, Luke would be sent into war. It wouldn’t matter that he was only a child; Father had no qualms about throwing a ten-year-old into the bloodbath of war. As such, while they were still in the Celestial Realm, Simeon made Luke hide the fact that he could still see by making him wear a blindfold in public at all times- much to Luke’s indignance. The two frequently got into arguments over this.
However, Simeon later lightened up on this rule, after he was drafted to go fight the war in the Human World. By this point, the Celestial Realm had become so horrifically marred by its own power that even Luke was beginning to suffer the effects, and Simeon ultimately decided that Luke would be safer in the Human World than in the Celestial Realm. As such, he smuggled Luke into the Human World when he was sent down to battle. After this, Luke resides in the military camp with Simeon, where he helps the soldiers with tasks that require his vision. Due to not being an official soldier, Luke is not burdened with the dirty work that the other angels are. He does not go into battle or carry out war-related missions. This is, once again, by Simeon’s order. Whereas the two used to argue over the blindfold, now they argue over whether Luke can charge into battle with his comrades.
Most all the angels in the military camp are aware of Luke’s sight by now, but it’s extremely taboo. Everyone knows, but no one dares speak of it. They accept his help and say nothing of it. None of them want to say anything that would incriminate themselves if Father found out about the secret that was kept from him. And, quite frankly, all of them were too uncomfortable with breaking the rules in such a way to even want to acknowledge it.
If this were pre-war, most of these angels would have definitely ratted Luke and Simeon out to Father, but by now most of the angels are at a similar point to Simeon. They’re beginning to lose their faith in Father after seeing the destruction of their homeland, and some have even stopped caring overall, knowing deep down that none of them would survive no matter how well they followed the rules. Even Raphael is at a point where he’s beginning to doubt Father, so at Michael’s request he let the situation with Luke slide and turned his cheek. Luke’s help was also very useful to them because he could see, so they didn’t want to lose that resource. Overall, everyone had reasons to be quiet, and Luke’s position became one of many uncomfortable, unspoken truths across the camp.
As the exchange program does not exist in this AU, Luke has never met demons asides from some hostile encounters here and there.
Luke has not spoken with Michael in quite a while, as Michael has isolated himself for reasons that will be delved into in his character file. I’ll leave it up to speculation whether Luke knows why, and how he feels about it.
Lore V - Power-Sick
<-------(Lore IV)-------«
Along with the undeniable effects of the bolstered magic on the realms as a whole, specific angels and demons were particularly vulnerable to what has been dubbed power-sickness. Power sickness is typically found in the ranks just below Father and the Demon King- so, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Michael. Power sickness occurs because these demons and angels have strong enough powers that amplifying them is dangerous, without being powerful enough that their bodies are able to handle this increase in power.
In angels, this manifests as an extreme fever, as though they’re burning from the light inside them. Their body will begin to glow and radiate a heat that makes others around them uncomfortable, but is only a true danger to themself.
In demons, this manifests as intense cold. All body heat seems to vanish, replaced with an unnerving cold that brings dread to anyone who comes in contact. The surroundings of an afflicted demon will appear darker, as though they are radiating the darkness inside of them.
In both, chronic pain and lethargy are common symptoms.
»-------(Lore VI)------->
Lore VI - The Move to the Human World
<-------(Lore V)-------«
With the Celestial Realm and the Devildom becoming nearly uninhabitable, it wasn't long before the war moved to the Human World. The first to move were the demons, fleeing the neverending cold and starvation to live with witches they worked with. The angels soon followed- on paper, they were simply going to hunt down the demons, but in reality, they had been waiting for the excuse to flee the blinding light.
Even despite the dire circumstances, the war was pushed onward. Father went as far as to insist no angel could leave the Celestial Realm unless they were going as a soldier, pressuring otherwise peaceful angels to pick up their swords to escape a burning fate. Demons fought just as viciously, their desperation driving them to the same extremes. It became common for demons to slay angels and demons simply to eat them.
The warring angels and demons brought the same havoc of their homelands into the Human World. Battles flattened cities, and humans were killed by bands of starving demons or kidnapped to join the forces. Humanity, enraged by the destruction wrought upon their world, declared war on both the Celestial Realm and the Devildom. Now, the war was officially three-way.
»-------(Lore VII)------->
Armageddon: What Is This AU?
The Armageddon AU is an apocalyptic alternate timeline of Obey Me in which the exchange program was never created. This page is dedicated to all the juicy details of this AU that people (mostly me) cook up in our free time. Any and all contributions, whether it be headcanons, further lore development, speculation, art, or fanfiction, are wholeheartedly welcomed.
Be aware that this AU, by nature, is extremely dark and contains disturbing subject matter that may not be suitable to everyone. No punches are pulled here; this is an apocalypse.
~~~
To keep away from one intimidating essay, the main timeline is split up over a series of Lore Posts:
Lore I - The Beginnings of Destruction
Lore II - A Disrupted Balance
Lore III - A Scorched Celestial Realm
Lore IV - Hell Frozen Over
Lore V - Power-Sick
Lore VI - The Move to the Human World
Epilogue:
Lore VII - The Rise of Rebellion
Lore VIII - Within the Wreckage
Lore IX - Rebuilding the World
~~~
There are also Character Files, which detail the roles of specific Obey Me characters in this AU:
Character File: Simeon
Character File: Luke
Character File: Satan
Character File: Michael
Character File: Raphael
Character File: Diavolo
Regarding MC
Character File: Mephistopheles
Character File: Solomon
Character File: Thirteen
~~~
Other info:
How to Contribute to the AU
~~~
Lore IV - Hell Frozen Over
<-------(Lore III)-------«
After flooding the realm with the power of unimaginable darkness, Devildom was in just as dire a state as the Celestial Realm. Even the strongest of light sources hardly make a dent in the darkness anymore. It is, for all intents and purposes, pitch black.
After being overtaken by frigid darkness, the Devildom froze over. Most demons have blackened splotches all over their bodies, especially at their hands and legs, due to frostbite. Unable to see and with most life killed off in the freeze, surviving demons were left without anything to eat. Out of desperation, many turned to cannibalism. Many demons bear bite marks from their fellow demons on a blackened, emaciated body.
Due to the starvation and the constant darkness, a lot of demons have gone completely mad.
»-------(Lore V)------->
Lore III - A Scorched Celestial Realm
<-------(Lore II)-------«
The Celestial Realm, though always bright, has gradually grown to be unbearable due to the immense influx of power. Sunburns turned to heat blisters, which then turned to burn scars.
Most angels have developed severe damage to their eyes.
Many of them, their eyes are completely destroyed. Not only are their eyeballs themselves seared until they were mere crimson spheres, but the area around their eyes is red and raised in scar tissue. These angels have no sense of sight anymore. Though these are by far the most disturbing-looking, in one way these angels are lucky: due to all the nerves being burned, they are not in pain. Simeon is in this category.
Others suffered moderate burns. They have burns on certain areas of their eye, or the burns on their whole eye are minor enough that they have retained at least some sense of vision. Many of these angels suffer severe pain from their injuries, severe enough to make many to beg Father to have their eyes removed. Father refused, as an agonized soldier is more useful than a blind one. Many of these angels took matters into their own hands, preferring the temporary agony of removing their eyes themselves to the constant pain of keeping them. Raphael is in this category, but elected to keep his eyes.
And some, the luckiest of the bunch, had minor burns. Their vision tends to be quite blurry, but they can still make out fuzzy shapes, colors, and movement. This includes Luke, whose strong protective magic kept his vision miraculously in tact. However, Luke hides his vision at Simeon’s demand to avoid recruitment into the war.
Because of this, most angels wear blindfolds. Many angels' eyes are too far-gone for the blindfold to be hindering them in any real way, and they don't want others seeing their scarred eyes and discovering their weakness. They'd rather the demons think they're fighting with their eyes closed in an arrogant statement of “I can defeat you even with my eyes closed” rather than discover the dire truth.
Most angels also have most of the feathers of their wings scorched off, making it nearly impossible to fly.
»-------(Lore IV)------->
Lore II - A Disrupted Balance
<-------(Lore I)-------«
In their strive towards complete and total conquest, both the Celestial Realm and the Devildom began to bolster their power. In an attempt to banish the shadows, the Celestial Realm needed to shine brighter than ever before. And in order to drown the light, the Devildom needed to summon vast darkness. With both realms attempting to take the upper hand of the now-imbalanced ring of power between the realms, each side began to take drastic collateral damage.
»-------(Lore III)------->
Lore I - The Beginnings Of Destruction
<-------(Lore I)-------«
The Armageddon AU deviates from canon on one particular yet important point: the Demon King never went into his slumber.
The Demon King is still the active ruler of Devildom, and as such Diavolo has not assumed his canon status as the de-facto ruler. This means that RAD and the Exchange Program were never created.
Without Diavolo's leadership and efforts to create an understanding between the three realms, the resentment between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm continued to fester. After millennia, this culminated into a second war between the angels and the demons. This time, each side has one clear motivation: to eradicate the other once and for all.
The Armageddon has started- an ultimate fight between good and evil.
»-------(Lore II)------->
KHR AU
Apriciono el cuerpo más pequeño contra el muro, sin oportunidades de que pudiera escapar. Las emosiones recorrían con fuerza por su cuerpo, fluyendo rayos de adrenalina en cada latido por sus extremidades. Algo más lo hizo sonreír. Observe el cabello que se eleva sobre su pequeña figura, las manos recorriendo por la tela de la ropa, intentando arrancarlo con desesperación. Pero algo le enfrió repentinamente los huesos, sus manos quedaron congeladas en su sitio, sobre el elástico del pantalón contrario, y observó. Observó como la cabeza del niño frente a él se volteaba lentamente, en llamas. Sus ojos se expandieron en terror. Los ojos del niño habían cambiado completamente, no eran suaves, asustados, eran de furia. Los ojos afilados, pintados de otro color, los dientes apretados y al descubierto, era un animal furioso. Que mala elección de presa está noche.
As The Days Went By You’ve Lost Your Mind
Summary: It did this. Ensured that it would survive through belief and magic if just to change the belief in him, turning him into more of a nightmare than a dream. The Lost Boys’ loyalty grew, but only out of fear, only with the knowledge that he was all they had. The island grew darker, the sunlight bled away and pixie dust became useless. It was Peter’s reality now and it didn’t take long to revel in that change. Strangely, he had learned to enjoy this newfound ferocity.
Pairing: Killian x Wendy, Peter x Wendy
Warnings: Violence, strong language, eventual gore
Chapter 1: Prologue 1 (Wendy)5 Years Prior.
“You know, I quite fancy you from time to time.” He didn’t evoke the same reaction from the crew as Captain Hook. Killain Jones was younger; more inexperienced but easily the tallest person on the main deck. The grace that often came with age hadn’t caught up to him just yet–proving to be lanky and a little awkward as something strong and much more profound held steadfast to a body not fully developed.
When he approached, it was with a sense of ungainly superiority.
The crew, who had been so jovial before, remained as such despite their co-captain making himself present. Had it been their more esteemed captain, they would have only dared to catch each other’s eye as he stalked by, affable only by the mere fact that they had been given permission to shirk their duties for the time being.
“When you’re not yelling that is.” Killian stopped at her side, neglecting to throw his superiority over her. Instead, he leaned over the side of the ship, forearms pressed against the fine woodworking, his head sinking between hunched shoulders to fix his gaze on the steady waves lapping against the port. “Then again, I believe there is more to fear when you’re quiet.”
He meant no ill will, even if every action taken against her and Peter had suggested otherwise. So he had whisked her away from Peter’s company for the second time since her arrival to Neverland? So he had expected her to remain civil despite his clear indifference for Peter and also somewhat clear fascination with kidnapping her?
There were worse things. Standing on the deck with the moon reflecting off the ocean and the sky nothing but cluttered starlight was the farthest from worse that it could be. Quiet had settled into a dreamy haze, the pricking of guitar strings and distant night calls from various creatures echoing. Killian’s voice–the most profound thing–was a deep timber that was as threatening as simultaneously comforting.
If one could consider Killian Jones comforting in any form of the phrase.
Remarks of Captain Hook’s more obvious dislike for Peter Pan were sworn to silence, discussions of the various ways he’d prefer the boy’s head on a stick held steadfast, angry spiteful words that stomped on his name for the sake of his captain nonexistent tonight, nothing but his solid form against torchlight promising that he were the same boy at all.
The same boy with hair an organized mess of brown, facial scruff spotty patches from being in his late teens and only now beginning to grow it in. He wore the proper “pirate attire” so to speak, but one would think of him as the captain if they didn’t know any better; a long coat, and a collection of jewelry that was more extravagant than all of the crew combined.
In a sea of riches, he stuck out amongst it all. She had no trouble recognizing him when he approached her on the island—when he’d approached her on the island and promised not to throw her in the brig, words devoid of harshness with any demand that she actually stay. It was extended as an invitation, while one that assumed would be answered with a yes, still extended with some formality.
Almost gentlemanly.
Wendy had fallen into silence while figuring out his intentions. There were several things wrong with the way his words settled in her stomach—settled a drastic understatement; the correct word verging more on a flip. She refused to focus on deciphering the meaning behind it, the steady breeze tugging flyaways into her eyes, rifling through the underneath of her dress.
Regardless, it still wasn’t strong enough to disturb the serenity of the tree line in the distance.
This too perfect scene, a beauty in the quality of the most picturesque painting in a place so peaceful that it could only exist in pure fantasy. She entertained the idea that it was a fantasy, a dream of the highest quality. Several other places came to mind that she imagined herself to be, none giving her the peace of mind that she found now.
That thought alone proved alarming.
Comfortable silence lingered. Her hands, still held at her sides, put great effort into keeping a divide between them, but her barrier was being chipped away, his voice scraping against its outer wall bit by bit. It was wrong. Everything that Peter had told her, and she was still here. She could have run, could have screamed for help—Peter would have come running. Instead, she had followed without a fight, and didn’t so much as voice a complaint.
Her only hope was that he didn’t catch her stark blush. That entry point, that something that drew one into a person based around the simple fact that he was here—in all of his mystery and impossibilities.
Perhaps it was his charm.
His looks.
No.
“I won’t be involved in any villainy against Peter,” she said with an authority appropriate for business dealings. The only contrast between this and business was the privacy and the intimacy of the moment that felt so unlike anything that she could have predicted.
Something indiscernible and undecipherable stirred inside her.
One look swept over his hands gripping the railing, as abrupt and swift as her many other glances that evening. A part of her wanted to read his mind and solve the mysteries inside that would help to satiate her childish curiosity. She searched for excuses within herself to downplay the conflicting feelings but she could only find a numbing, pricking, and incessant sensation at the center of her chest instead.
Killian cracked a smile, but she didn’t quite sense the joy behind it, but something more resolved. “I didn’t bring you aboard to ask as much,” he said it as mere fact, confident enough to deliver it as a simple truth without the guilt associated with a moral, empathetic man. She knew him as a man of honesty, however harsh that honesty may be.
He was never apologetic about who he was, and whenever she saw a glimpse of Killian Jones, the facticity of him being a pirate hit her full force. At that point, he was closed off to her and Wendy found herself at the very beginning all over again.
“I brought you out here for a toast, actually.” He shrugged, indifferent to her suspicions. “Without the champagne. Your Neverland Prince destroyed what little we had of that after his latest romping.” There was insult behind it, even with the seamlessness in which the words rolled off his tongue, the suaveness in the way he said it offering little room for correction regarding Peter’s honor. “So I’ll wager that you’ll have to make do with my company sober.”
Only when she took one tentative step toward him did he raise his head in order to see her–in all of her depths. The patchy scruff spotting his face was charming, and regardless of their difference in height, she still believed that she stood equal beside him–as equal as she could be. The wind brushed against him, the gentlest breeze pulling and pushing just enough to add something favorable.
It touched her too.
“He isn’t—Peter isn’t my prince.” Wendy retorted, albeit spat with empty defiance. A toast. It wasn’t some ruse to lure Peter from his camp–a space she’d flown upon only to be nearly shot from the sky because of a jealous fairy–nor a sick prank only to ultimately make her walk the plank and let that somehow hurt Peter in the process.
There was no reason for him to be hurt by her disappearance, let alone by her demise anyhow. They’d only just met several weeks ago, after all. Nonetheless, a nagging sensation pricked at the forefront of her mind—the possibility of this somehow being a trap, a game…
Or did he actually just enjoy her company in some twisted way?
Killian smiled, the beginnings of a laugh starting in his throat. Any retort that Peter was everyone’s plaything, that if one were unfortunate enough to end up in his sights, he would have them, was a retort kept to himself–just another harsh truth, if thought so at all. However heinous he may have found her answer to be, one hand shoved him upright from the side of the boat, dragging his attention from the island sitting eerily off the shoreline. He turned to her then, not taking any long moment to look at her, as had become customary between them.
Wendy tried not to appear disappointed.
She was deprived of a sweeping gaze, and a hungry curiosity that couldn’t be satiated and plucked over her form to linger. He’d seen what there was to see, what he wanted her to see, and what he’d found had been good enough.
Or enough to satisfy whatever current urges lingered there still.
“Next time you take it upon yourself to bring me here, you should at the very least offer me a glass of wine.” She dared on impulse, a desperate attempt to downplay the ridiculous softness of her tone before. An abrupt and puzzling longing to appear more grown up than she actually was surprised her, leaning with the small of her back against the railing, easing the tension in her muscles. Her stomach was a mess of excited nerves, her face a soft flush of color.
In a way, she felt as if she were following a rabbit into its hole with the striking knowledge and obvious exception that the pirate standing next to her was neither harmless, nor soft. The tension between them was something more akin to magic, but not quite—rather it was something more scientific and logical.
Despite falling in love with Neverland through the stories that she’d tell her brothers, being in such a place in person had caused her to love it so much more fiercely. Weeks felt like months, adventurous and cherished, spent in the company of Peter and his boys—in Killian’s company as well. Wendy smoothed down her dress, albeit still watching him, the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitching into a faint grin.
“Next time?” He cocked a brow. “I’ll be sure to take note for the occasion.”
Killian perched one elbow on the side of the ship, leaning his head against his fist. The other hovered between them for the barest second before it slipped into quiet submission into one of his coat pockets. He stood at his full overbearing height, turning his gaze out toward the sea, resigned.
“You could look past his petty facade and see him for the bloody demon that he is, you know.” A serious undertone did nothing to betray his lighthearted nature, jests that took his resignation and molded it into something casual. “You’re more intelligent than the average, I’ll certainly give you that, but your judge of character leaves something to be desired.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “What does that say about you?”
One corner of his mouth twitched, a hard solemn tap of his knuckles against the railing not introducing any specific beat, but signaled that whatever thought that crossed his mind had gone and passed.
“And he isn’t a demon.” No, he was just Peter: lively, curious, brave but stubborn Peter. The Lost Boy who would be baffled that she was conversing with his enemy. Every part of her presented the reminder that she should have left a while ago now. Yet she didn’t. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“I leave the hate for Pan to Hook. Their petty squabbles are of little importance to me, but I know how to properly judge a man, or rather a boy.” His expression twisted into a soft grimace, as if whatever unspoken truth that stood between him and Peter was all black and white. Simple, and yet undefinable. As gruesome a story as the one about how Hook gained his name, Killian didn’t seem to back that behind any sort of dislike for Neverland’s Prince.
His complete dismissal of the subject altogether, while disappointing, had been expected.
Her brows furrowed.
Killian didn’t treat him like an irksome fly circling his head; rather a snake swerving between his legs prepared to bite at any given second. Yet, he laughed.
One final time, that sweeping stare found her. It didn’t dwell, and held no lust behind it except for the barest possibility in its place—as if he knew or rather sensed something was unspoken there, some sort of interest of the other that had piqued them both. He hadn’t the gull to act on any form of instinct lest he be wrong, and while Killian may not have been a liar, he most certainly held his fair share of being wrong.
“Why don’t you join me?” He offered underneath a lowered brow.
What started out as a startling conviction ended with his chin jerking toward the middle of the deck, and the low strum of instruments along with the low hum of a tune whispering sweet nothings against their ears—albeit still struggling to dissolve the sudden spike of energy.
“For a dance,” Killian finished with a shrug; a smirk. “We don’t have much else to occupy our time without the wine this time around. Any leisurely activities are rather useless without it.” He spoke and held himself with such intimidating confidence, and she once again reminded herself that she should have left.
Somewhere buried, her mind couldn’t decipher what to do with Killian Jones. She thought about declining the invitation, but quite frankly didn’t have it in her. This was a man who had fought Peter Pan alongside his crew’s side countless times, had witnessed who was presumably a close friend lose his hand and watch it be fed to a set of crocodiles.
Most men would have retreated after such an event, made humble by defeat. He seemed confident, powerful, and maybe even more frightening because of his loss. Oh, how Peter had bragged; passed it off as mere child’s play—a game, but also an unnerving story.
She should have shunned his invitation, even standing there with him now. A part of her didn’t want to bury her head under the sand and keep quiet either.
Why wasn’t Killian angry?
And why wasn’t Wendy afraid? She’d lost her mind, surely. There was no real fear, and she reminded herself that there were certain rules in Neverland—not any she knew were written down for record, but figured were obvious enough for newcomers to figure out on their own.
Do not fall for a criminal.
Do not dance with a ruthless, cold-blooded pirate.
Rules were meant to be broken, with a crash and rebellion for someone who clearly didn’t fit.
“I’d be delighted,” Wendy quipped, dropping into a small curtsy. Her anticipation was difficult to mask, the timid smile upon her lips curving contentedly and betraying any attempt to remain stoic.
It was an impossibility to avoid, his charming manner evoking a child-like giddiness in her, very much like hearing a secret for the first time. It struck her with guilt, but she took another deliberate step toward him, an almost dreamy ease to her expression, eyes alert yet fluttering as if dosed with some form of sedative.
Killian’s expression mirrored her own, extending a gloved hand to her in order to lead her to an open space on the deck. He didn’t stop until his polished boots came to the middle, an area subconsciously reserved for the two of them—out in the open of the pirates, even Neverland itself to see them. Dark eyes freely strayed to her again, relieving his hands from their gloved confines—finger by finger, agonizingly slow before even they were retired to the pockets of his coat.
“My asking was me merely being a gentleman, but having your outright permission is swell indeed.” His bare palm pressed against her own, interlacing their fingers and raising them to a position where he could better glimpse—one flicker of a glance to the side that didn’t obscure his ability to look at her fully. To feel the growing warmth that resonated from his skin to hers made her entire being swell with heat. Not out of embarrassment or any general discomfort, rather quite the opposite.
Comfort.
Confidence.
Exposing his hands so freely to her made her imagine him as strangely vulnerable in a way, as if opening a part of himself to her that he shared with no one else: a thought that pricked her when his other hand snaked around her waist and gently lingered against the small of her back to tug her closer. She could bask in the warmth that he radiated, revel in the heat that flowed between their intertwined fingers.
Electricity surged through her body the moment he touched her. Her pulse pounded in her ears, harsh as thunder. He stood so close, the moment unspeakably intimate, like a quiet understanding or a word scribbled on a blank slate. Her steps were light and practiced.
How could a man who had the reputation of being so brutal touch her so gently, or sway with her so softly? With each thrum of her racing heart, Wendy felt her legs trembling. Everything else became more obscured, and a little more irrelevant.
But she couldn’t look.
In a strange way, it was easier to look at him when he was leaving, and in the beauty of the vanishing sunset in the distance, she wondered how she had never seen him before now. Actually see him. Really looked as she was now, mustering up the bravery to let eyes linger on certain aspects.
Killian took the first step. “Did they teach you how to dance properly in those London nurseries?”
"Luckily they did."
Wendy’s eyes fluttered when she forced her gaze upward, goosebumps running the length of her skin. She subconsciously squeezed his hand, delicately, shakily as if to make sure that he was really there, that this was somehow real. It was surprising how warm he was, having always assumed in her stories that such a villain was cold to his very core.
The vanishing sunset skinned the skyline, dark as a bruise but red as blood. A part of her feared losing this, the strains of her heartbeat telling her so. Losing Neverland. Losing Peter.
Losing Killian Jones.
The deck was hard beneath her feet. Her firm set jaw and pensive glare seemed to mark the fact that she was reflecting, slow dancing with the very pirate who was after her friend. It unnerved her. She could not fathom his purpose in all of this.
But her musings dissolved, gradually replaced by a fiery intensity burning in her stomach instead. She stared at him, savored a particular look on his face, soaking in the central feeling that he gave her.
Killian squeezed her hand in return, no particular reasoning behind it if only to copy her gesture without understanding its full meaning. At least for her side. Her steps were graceful—much unlike his own—but he managed to keep up with her well enough. The way she placed her feet one after the other was led by multiple dances in the past, multiple partners adapting to different styles.
But none quite like this.
“Well, I may not be the most well behaved man on the island, but-” He began, his voice finding a new sense of formality. It was as if his whole composure changed in the blink of an eye, as if he was coming to realize he shouldn’t be dancing with her. Though that switch only depicted itself in his tone of voice.
Killian actually drew her closer to his body, his foot hooking against the back of her heel and sweeping her feet out from underneath her into one final step in their dance; the dip. He lowered her in his arms, relishing to see the color drain from her face if fate willed it so and thought itself a comedian. A sly smirk found his lips. “I’ll wager I’m a lucky man to be given the honor of your company.”
