onewhoturns

A/N Nov 2018: A heads up for some self-blame and anxiety this chapter. Just a content warning.
A/N Oct 2018: So many tropes that I adore. People being decent to others who are under the influence is one of them. If you want to read some of my actual posted stuff: AO3, FFnet, and if you’re curious about a ko-fi preview of 4-2.

Story Title: Iron & Gold
Chapter Title: Flight
Chapter Part: 1/3
Story Part: 12/?
Pairing: Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 1750
Rating: T maybe M
Summary: Ever since she was a child Emily had been cautioned: beware the fae. She’d heard the typical warnings – faerie rings, wishing wells, mysterious lights in the darkness. But they were just cautionary tales... [A Dishonored fae AU]
start here (prelude), previously (3-3), next part (4-2)

She was hungry. She felt so empty without the taste of sunshine that had filled her with such joy, such warmth - such complete delirious contentment. She’d tried to clean it all off of her, slurping at the fabric of her dress, licking her fingers raw, but there was nothing left. But she’d been told to wait. That if she waited there would be more. So she did.

She had her chin tucked against her arm, where golden pulp had stained her what felt like too long ago, sucking the flesh there until it bruised, when she heard a hiss - a soft crackle like meat on a spit - coming from the other side of the door. Emily let her head roll against the floor, lips swollen for all her effort, staring up from where she lay on her back, limbs akimbo, a mess of ripped fabric and sticky skin.

Brown eyes, wide and vacant, watched the man who entered with a curious confusion, shifting and tilting until she very nearly viewed him upside down as the door shut behind him. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Like the kind woman who’d given her the fruit, his humanity was too perfect. “You’re glowing.” She reached a hand for him, pawing at the air like a cat, a cautious smile spreading over her face. Her words were a loud, drunken whisper. “You’re so pretty, did you know that? Did you know you’re pretty?”

She didn’t understand why he looked at her like that. He looked sad - or maybe angry - his lip curled like he was disgusted by something and her eyes widened in worry that it was her, that she was doing something wrong. She rolled over, pulling herself up enough so she might crawl on bruised knees to his feet, and fumbled her way to a sitting position, hands wrapping around his leg and clutching herself to him. “I’m sorry - please don’t be angry - you’re too pretty to be angry.”

She felt him tense, saw him holding one of his wrists, the hand raw and red and shiny, as she gazed up at him with big adoring eyes.

“I’m-” His voice was strained as he spoke, but it came out even. “I’m not angry with you, Emily. But please let go.”

She sat back on her haunches, hands clasped patiently in her lap, as she cocked her head. Everyone else had liked her begging them. Had liked making her beg, like some kind of pet - but she felt loved for it. They would stroke her hair and give her fruit, for all they had her on her knees. If he didn’t want her to plead for it, he would have something else she could do instead - something else to entertain him, to make him laugh the way the witches did, their sharp laughter stabbing at her and confusing her and making her smile. “Do you-” She blushed as she words bubbled from her throat before she realized it, and she stopped herself, glancing to the floor bashfully. Despite knowing it was impolite, she still mumbled hopefully, “...Did you bring more?”

“More-?”

Her head snapped up, face lighting expectantly, and saw the realization dawn on him. He looked at her again, seeming to take all of her in now with a furrowed brow and calculating gaze.

When he spoke, she had a feeling the words weren’t directed at her, murmured so lightly into the air. “...Faerie fruit.”

They weren’t for her, she knew they weren’t, but they still made her sit up eagerly, eyes bright.

His expression grew guarded before, adopting an air of calm patience, he lowered himself to one knee so he was eye to eye with her. “Emily, I need you to answer me honestly.”

She swayed toward him, smile creeping back onto her face.

“Do you have your salt?”

Her smile faltered, then died. Confusion and a kind of childish guilt made her shift and look away as she hesitated and shook her head. She shouldn’t. She did, but she shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t, it was bad to have, it was dangerous, and they would be so disappointed in her and she didn’t want to disappoint them.

“Emily.” His tone was firm, warning, and she looked at him with wide eyes as she shook her head more adamantly. She wasn’t sure she could lie if she opened her mouth, so she kept it closed. He watched her for a long moment, his stare piercing straight through her in a way that made her toes tingle even as she worried. “Please don’t make me order you to do it.”

“Do what?” She shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze.

The air in the closet fell silent, and when Emily finally looked up at him, he looked a mix of annoyance and careful consideration. His lips pursed for a brief moment before he finally spoke. “If you have salt on your person, I’d appreciate if you retrieved it yourself.”

He spoke to her like it was her choice, but she was finding it hard to comprehend what that meant. “I…” Why was he confusing her like this? She knew she shouldn’t have salt, shouldn’t eat salt, but he seemed to want her to have it? And she did have it. But she shouldn’t have it. Should she? This was too complicated.

There was a sound from the corridor, and his head snapped toward it. When he spoke, his voice was very low, eyes on the door. “Turn out your pockets.”

She sighed in relief. Something clear, easy to follow— and she did so immediately, contents spilling to the floor.

He didn’t even glance back as he commanded her again. “Eat the salt.”

“No.” She balked at the order. The one thing she couldn’t do.

“Emily-” He cut himself off as he looked back to her, her eyes wide and fearful, hands raised defensively. He took a deep breath, and when he resumed speaking it was with a purposeful calm. “Emily, we are both in danger here and you need to escape. You cannot do that in your current state. I will not drag you kicking and screaming. You need to come to your senses, and for that you need salt. Do you understand me?”

Emily hesitated. Slowly, she shook her head. When he lifted a pinch of salt from the floor, holding it out to her, she slapped his hand away. “No!” She scrambled to her feet, stepping back, knocking over a bucket in her haste, the hollow wooden sound echoing too loud in the small room.

“...You won’t do this on your own, will you.” It was less a question than a statement. Emily shook her head. “And you’ll fight me if I try to make you.” She nodded. “And that will make an awful lot of noise.” She cocked her head and shrugged slightly. He looked down at the salt in his hand, sighing. “...How needlessly complex.”

Emily looked down at her own hands, weaving her fingers together. “I’m sorry.” She wanted to be good, wanted to make people happy, and he looked so unhappy, but he was trying to get her to do things she knew were the most wrong thing she could possibly imagine in her enchanted state. It hurt her head. So she leaned back against the shelves of linens, fidgeting and looking away.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She felt too ashamed to look him in the eye, instead watching the feet that stepped toward her. “But I will.”

There was a brief moment of surprise, senses slowed by the drug of the fruit, before she hurriedly kissed him back. She yielded so quickly to him, so happy to make someone so lovely feel good, her face tilted to his and limbs weak, lips parting at the slightest suggestion he might want more. Compliant. Terrifyingly compliant. But no sooner had his tongue swept over her lips than he pulled away.

A flicker of hurt showed in her vacant eyes, trying to lean toward him, to continue the kiss, but he held her back with a hand on each shoulder. He was watching her sharply, his lips in a grim line as he briefly glanced away to spit on the floor. It took her a moment to understand why he did so, but as she thoughtlessly licked her own lips, it clicked into place. Salt.

Her ears roared as her mind rushed back to her, and Emily’s face drained of all color. “-Oh.” She barely managed the single syllable before she shoved him away, dropping to her knees, scrabbling for the discarded bucket and retching. Every part of her ached and trembled and her mind was a mess of hazy memories that only made her queasier.

“We need to leave, Emily.”

Her eyes were watering, but she didn’t cry. Just the sickness. She’d have time to think about her feelings later. He was right, they had to leave. She needed out.

“I can help with the nausea if you’ll let me-”

“Magic?” Her voice was hoarse as she glared at him, but his nod was impassive. “No.” She shook her head as she pulled a towel from a shelf, making an attempt to clean herself up and grimacing. “I’ll be fine. Just-- just shock.”

He didn’t argue. “Most of the witches are preoccupied - those on watch at the side entrance have been taken care of. We’ll need to exit the palace before they’re found.”

“I need weapons.” When he sent her a warning look, she glared. “If I get caught again, I need to be able to fight back.”

He seemed about to speak, but then his mouth snapped shut, jaw clenching tight, and his nod was curt.

As Emily glanced around, checking the closet for other things she might use, her eyes rested on the discarded knife, dropped to the ground along with the berries and salt. She quickly tamped down whatever that feeling was, that thought that she’d had a weapon and it had done nothing, that it had been useless in the face of her own sheer-

Stop it.

Her limbs were stiff - sore - and she quickly gave up on trying to take stock of the state of her body. She was sick, she was sickened, and she didn’t have time to dwell on such things. Get out. Get safe. Over and over the words repeated in her mind, blocking out any other thought or memory.

Get out. Get safe.