#<- au tag fer this specific one

[honeycombed-beloved]

el marina and slimecicle au go brr,

[thewollfgang]

Thanks for your Deckerstar fic recs! Can you recommend any Lucifer fics in which Chloe is injured and Lucifer takes care of her? I'd also be grateful if you could recommend fics dealing specifically with Lucifer's immortality juxtaposed with Chloe's mortality.

That there is pretty specific. Sadly, we seem to be lacking in a lot of Hurt!Chloe fic, but hopefully some of these will scratch the itch. Take note of the tags!

Never Be the Same by onceinalifetime1 M 2/2

When an undercover mission goes horribly wrong, things between Lucifer and Chloe will NEVER be the same again.

Sick Day by Multifandomfanfics G 6/6

Chloe gets sick and reluctantly lets Lucifer take care of her

Gold Colored Foxes by Brokenjaw // @brokenjaw​ G 1/1

Chloe Jane Decker is crimson blood, and churning brine.

The Devil Who Cares by QueenSnailGoddess147 M 1/1

When Chloe comes down with a fever and doesn't show up at work, Lucifer of course decides the best course of action is to go visit her just to make sure she isn't skipping out on her important police work. What he didn't expect was to end up staying and caring for the detective in her time of need.

Aka Chloe has a fever and Lucifer takes care of her, followed by fluff, fluff, and more fluff. It's just a cute fic, okay.

An art like any other by Pellaaearien // @pellaaearien​ M 2/2

Dying - It is an art; like everything else I do it exceptionally well. (Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath)

Lucifer and Chloe split up while chasing the Sinnerman. Suddenly, Lucifer is invulnerable again. Only, Chloe never left the warehouse.

i shall take care of you, my love, (forever and always until we're undone) by namedawesome T 1/1

Lucifer had never seen Chloe like this before. She was lethargic and her eyes were bright, and he was worried. Ella had mentioned that the Detective was probably getting sick. She was stressed enough and being sick was the last thing she needed. He sighed as he brought her tea instead of coffee like he usually would (and he hoped she wouldn’t be mad at him for it because she’d already almost bitten Dan’s head off for “absolutely no reason” according to Dan, but as Lucifer saw it, begging off from a weekend with his daughter didn’t seem like no reason).

Through the Valley of Death by emynii, ObliObla // @obliobla​ T 1/1

AU Post Season 2, Episode 18: Lucifer wasn't the only one kidnapped outside the hospital, and now Chloe is faced with the absolute truth. Unfortunately there are bigger problems to deal with.

And there really is no more going backwards.

life may be tough (but darling so are you) by BecomeMyObsession T 1/1

"Chloe never got ill. Well, that wasn't strictly true if you counted the amount of times she’d been in recovery for protecting Lucifer’s stupid petulant ass... she wasn’t good at handling her body doing things it wasn’t supposed to do – and it definitely wasn’t supposed to be coughing and spluttering all over the place..."

Or when the Devil doesn't leave until his Detective feels better.

You Make Me Invincible by Faihu // @faihu​ T 1/1

When Lucifer is paralyzed he has to witness how the killer hurts Chloe. Lucifer is the only one who can save her now.

Alternate version of the room 903 scene in Episode 5x07.

In Sickness and Hell by BurningUpASunJustToSayHello // @lux-i-fer​ T 10/10

Sickness never bothered Lucifer until it got ahold of Chloe.

Taken (or Yet Another Failed Date) by emynii, ObliObla T 1/1

It was going to be a lovely date, but then Chloe got hit over the head. Now she's tied to a chair, blindfolded, and doesn't know where she is. Is the world going to end every time they try to have a nice evening out?

I told you, I'm fine. by CastielMorningstar G 1/1

Chloe falls sick and Lucifer takes it upon himself to help her feel better

Turbulence by emynii, ObliObla T 1/1

Chloe hasn’t spoken to Lucifer in weeks, not since the argument that left them both raw and hurting. But when an unexpected disaster forces them to rely on each other, they’ll have to work through their issues to try to survive.

[innerpostmentality]

The Return of Mr & Mrs Sinclaire – Part III A Rose By Any Other Name

A Choices Desire & Decorum based AU fanfic All rights to characters and settings from the Desire & Decorum fiction belong to Pixelberry Studios Featuring: Rose Sinclair, Luke Harper, Caiden Lykel (oc), Marina Burke (oc) Rating: PG-13   Warning: Captivity, Language Word count: Long post around 3446 This takes place after Part II - The Fire Tags: @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde @ritachacha @hellooliviaolivia @paisleylovergirl @allaboutchoices @regencylady1810​   Rose was bounced hard against the floor of the wagon as the team strained for speed. The hay wagon lacked the suspension designed to add comfort for carriages. Trussed in the feed sack with her arms bound she couldn’t brace herself. Time was measured in bruises. But she could feel the fatigue of the horses even as she heard one of the men yell and the whip crack.  “Garrik, ease up mon. T’weren’t no good if yas kill tha horses.”  “Shut it Hob. I ain’t dyin on this bloody plain over no doxy. Tha horses will make it to tha farm and we can hand er over and get our quid and be done.”

   She heard the edge of nervous anger in the second voice even as the whip cracked again. Rose tested her bonds and realized her luck as the rope was bound around and around her but her wrists and feet weren’t bound. She wasn’t gagged. And the bonds were all inside the sack where she could get at them. The problem was even if she could get free and manage to get out of the cart in the daylight there was no practical cover to hide in. And if she tried to get away and they caught her she knew they would secure her better.  The more the wagon slowed the more the men argued until finally Hob bellowed, “I’ll piss on you if you don’t stop, mon. I need to piss and there’s water here. You got ta let them rest and drink for a bit or we’re all gonna be walkin’. We need ta check her ladyship and gag her like you said. They was specific ‘bout her bein’ in good state. She ain’t made no sound she could be daid.”  “Fuck she ain’t daid. Don’t say that. Bloody fuck.”  They stopped.  Rose felt the wagon shift as the men got down. She did her best to relax as much as possible knowing it wouldn’t serve to struggle. She heard some rustling but couldn’t discern what was happening.  “She ain’t movin’” The man she thought was Hob sounded close. Abruptly her ankles were grabbed and she was drug to the end of the bed of the wagon. Somehow she managed not to scream fearing they would let her drop to the ground.  “She ain’t daid just fainted is all.”  She was pulled and nudged. “Come on girlie, wake up.”  She remained completely limp. “She ain’t movin’, Garrik.”  “Fuck. Come on girlie it’s time ta wake up.” He shook her again. “Fuck.” “Put on your scarf and get me some fuckin’ water, Hob. I’m gonna take er head sack off.”  “What about, ‘I gotta piss’ did you not ken? You get your own water. I told you not to go so hard. Now you broke the horses an the doxy. I knowed we was shite outta luck when you took this job haulin’ er ladyship cross tha country cause she ran away from tha high nob. Ladyships is delicate like flowers and yas broke er.”  “I’m gonna break you, ya piss fer brains.” Grunts and curses and noises of scuffling were coming from the ground close to the wagon. For a moment she considered if they really thought she was dead they might just leave her. Then she almost panicked when she considered they might try to bury her. She settled on playing senseless and incapacitated. If she could convince them they would be less likely to restrain her as well. So when the sounds of the fight changed from angry shouting to more petulant sniping and grousing she moaned softly.   “Ya bastard, ya broke me nose.” She moaned a little louder.   “Bet ya wish now ya’d got me wat..”       “Hush!” She moaned again, softer.   “I tol ya I ain’t killed er! Now get me some water for er! And put yer cloth oer yer face.” A moment later she was being shifted in the wagon remarkably gently. And the voice she had decided was Garrik was again trying to persuade her to wake up. “Come on yer ladyship just wake up a wee bit.” She thought he was untying the top of the sack she was in as he coaxed her.  “We got a commission from es highship yer husband tha Duke ta get ya back ta em.” She stayed limp but moaned in reality as he shifted her and hurt one of her many bruises. The sack over her head was removed and she concentrated on staying relaxed and resisting the nearly overwhelming desire to open her eyes. She could tell it was light out by the deep red she saw through her eyelids. He was adjusting her again then cold water was dribbled on her face. She gasped and moaned and fluttered her eyes open a moment before she rolled them up in her head closing them again and going limp.  “Fuck! Somethens wrong wit er.” He started to shake her again but almost immediately stopped when Hob yelled at him.  “Garrik, for fucks sake stop mon! She’s sore hurt cana ye ken! Prolly smashed her brains. Ain’t gonna serve ta shake her none. Leave er ta me and go tend tha horses so’s we can get ta tha farm.”  Her plan seemed to be working well as Hob tended her undoing the rest of her bonds and then patting at her face with a soaked handkerchief that made her twist away from the smell of stale sweat which only encouraged him to renew his efforts to rouse her.  “Come on Ladyship, let me know ya’s gonna be foine.”  She fluttered her eyes open again and blinked doing her best to look confused. “I.. I… “ She frowned as though trying to focus. He was dressed in workers trousers and a dirty green sack cloth shirt. A scarf covered the bottom half of his face and his left eye was swelling shut. A cut over his brow continued to seep.  She blinked and whispered softly “You’re hurt… Did, did you save me?”                                 -----------------------------------------  Marina smiled as she exited the Turks Head Tavern and saw The Captain was waiting with four horses, two of them saddled. She adjusted the pack she had put together over her shoulder and fished a couple of carrots out of her pocket breaking them into four pieces and giving each horse a piece before she walked around them trailing her hand gently over them. She checked their legs and hooves making certain of their soundness before she adjusted her tweed cap and glanced at Caiden.  “Good horses, Captain. Are they yours?”  “Aye. They’re Arabians. I first encountered Arabians on a trading expedition years ago. They’ve got the best endurance of any horse I’ve ever seen. As a boy I loved horses.” He frowned. “Then I joined the navy and had to ship them.” He trailed off and shook himself nodding at the mare that Marina was inspecting. “That’s Sheba. The one next to her is Jezebel. She bites so have a care. I’m sitting on Samson. And Zibiah is my lead.”  Curiously she turned a steady assessing gaze on him.  The Captain was not an especially large man though he had the aura of command that pulled attention and filled spaces. He possessed an elegance in his bone structure that spoke more of French or Spanish heritage than Germanic. His eyes had always fascinated her. They shifted from a dark steel gray to a blue so dark they looked black. For just a moment she allowed that he was a handsome man. The recognition bothered her. Her awareness of him bothered her. Her experience with men as a woman was not a happy tale.  “Am I sound?” His deep voice shook her from her contemplation and she dropped her eyes and adjusted her cap to hide the heat in her cheeks before taking a deep breath and meeting his dark gaze.  “Philosophers of the ages may debate that. It’s beyond my ken for certain.” She secured her pack behind the saddle and grabbed Jezebel’s lead before carefully fitting her foot to the stirrup and springing herself into the saddle. She caught his grin before he turned and led them off.  They rode silently north along the carriage road and Caiden set a steady mile eating pace. Having lost the morning they were pushing the fresh horses just a bit.          

  Marina found herself enjoying the opportunity to study The Captain even as they rode. Perhaps because they were leading horses and the speed they were travelling they travelled single file. Keeping to the road as much as possible for safety and speed. Still she noted how he focused on the horses and regularly would drop back to check on her.   Hours later Caiden departed the road and headed for the river Wharfe. The river had been getting closer and closer to the road for the last hour or so and now was a shimmering silver grey band winding its way beside the road.  Eventually he pulled up under a large sycamore tree by the bank. He dismounted and allowed his horses to drink while he went to her, “May I assist you?” He lifted his arms in offer.  She hesitated, lifting a brow and looking down at him. It was a strange moment for her, the first moment the Captain was treating her in a manner that proved he recognized her as a woman. She noted the afternoon sun had turned his eyes silver grey like the river and it momentarily transfixed her. At last she nodded and swung her leg over the saddle to face him. He gave her a gentle smile as he grasped her waist and lowered her carefully to the ground. Holding her a moment to be certain she was steady before he stepped back and went to pull the saddle from Samson.  “We’ll change horses here.” He spoke to her as he saw to Samson rubbing him down with sweet grass and checking his hooves. “I had fancied making Skipton when we set out but I think not now.” He paused looking at the light and back over at Marina who was pulling the saddle from Sheba. “If you allow I can saddle Jezebel for you.” His voice was soft with the offer his face hidden from her as he gave Samson a fond pat before taking his blanket and saddle to Zibiah and checking her before saddling her.  “It’s a kind offer and I thank you, but I can manage.” Marina frowned realizing that she was becoming increasingly discomfited by the Captain’s gentlemanly behavior toward her. “I’m not helpless.”    Caiden snorted with laughter and Zibiah shied a bit til he placed a calming hand on her neck speaking gently. He looked over at Marina, “Forgive me. But you are the least ‘helpless’ person I think I’ve ever encountered.” He was shaking his head. “I would not have engaged you on this had I thought you were at all helpless. That you are not helpless does not mean that you are not worthy of every consideration.” Just then Jezebel decided to try to bite Marina as she was preparing to saddle her. Marina slid her hand up on the reins to just beneath Jezebel’s mouth holding the horses head down and pushing her backwards as she spoke firmly “Ty budesh' podchinyat'sya! No! You will obey me!”  Caiden’s mouth fell open as the diminutive woman backed the horse up. He watched as she walked forward forcing the horse back with sheer strength of will and determination. Finally she stopped and stared at Jezebel for a moment sliding her hold on the reins back to a more natural lead position. Her voice was soft but firm as she addressed the mare. “Are we in accord? Good. Now come.” She led her back to the tree and the blanket and saddle.  Caiden chuckled and shook his head. “Jezebel, I could have told you not to try such foolishness with her Ladyship.”  Marina’s eyes went wide. “I’m not a Ladyship!.”  “Oh, but you most definitely are. And I am your Captain.” The words fell from his mouth without thought as some admission of his soul’s desire even as his personal measure of proper decorum was cringing at the most unsuitable retort.

He strode over to her picking up the saddle and settling it on Jezebel’s back before he reached beneath the horse to grab the cinch and fasten it. His mind was trying to formulate an apology but he wasn’t sorry.

 Her black eyes were lancing him, one arm braced on her hip in agitation. “I am NOT some Ladyship to be owned by anyone, Captain. Others have tried and failed before. I may have foolishly agreed to help you; and I hold to my word. I am your employee. But mark this well when your friend is safe we are done. Do you understand me?”

 His eyes went wide and locked with hers studying her carefully. Her reaction was far more extreme than he could anticipate. Finally his voice as gentle as he could manage, “Miss Burke please forgive me. Truly I intended no offense. I fear this endeavor will necessitate some levels of intimacy between us that may prove awkward for both of us. We actually know little of one another.  Be assured that I respect you in every way.”

 She turned without a word and riffled through her pack pulling a couple of carrots and a cloth wrapped piece of cheese. She wordlessly handed him a carrot and then unwrapped the cheese and cut a chunk of it off handing it to him before cutting a piece for herself. She wiped her blade on the cloth before rewrapping the cheese and stowing it again.

 Caiden fished a dried summer sausage out of his own pack and sliced chunks off for each of them. Then pulled a bottle of wine out of his pack and deftly pulled the cork with his teeth before offering her the bottle first.

 Marina took a deep swig of the crisp summer wine before handing the bottle back to the Captain. They stood as they ate their travelling repast and walked each horse to the river allowing them to drink. At last as they were tightening their girths and checking their packs were secured on their lead horses she addressed him. “So you should tell me of your friend and this Lady I’m to impersonate.”

 He looked at her a moment noting that she had not accepted his apology nor uttered a word of forgiveness. And he was still trying to fathom how his banter had so seriously offended her. He wanted to press it but thought better of it and decided to answer her question.

 “Ah. Well, Earnest Sinclaire I’ve known since we were both boys. We made our maiden ship together. It was one of his father’s ships and I came aboard as cabin boy and cook’s mate. We were bound for China. Being of an age and our first time at sea we found soon enough that we got on well. We both planned to get our experience and then serve commissions in the Royal navy and fight Bonney.” He frowned looking pensive for a moment. “It sounded so grand when we would talk about the future to pass our watch hours. Then James, Earnest’s elder brother and the heir died and his father fell gravely ill. He went home. I went to the Navy commissioned as a lieutenant.” He shook his head pulling himself from the past and looked over at her.

 If he hadn’t seen her when she rescued him from drowning he would never have guessed that the trouser and coarse linen shirt clad diminutive figure was aught but a boy. She was fascinating to him. Even dressed as she was, sweaty after riding steadily for the last four hours there was an energy about her and a quality that spoke of nobility. He frowned at himself so addled by this woman. As he forcibly brought his thoughts back to her question.

 He’d never actually met Rose Sinclaire but Earnest had given him fair description. Miss Burke was smaller he suspected. Earnest was fairly tall and commented on how his Rose fit perfectly in his arms as they danced. Caiden met her dark gaze as she studied him.

 He smiled and shrugged. “To be truthful I’ve never met Rose Sinclaire. I have her description from Earnest’s letters.” He grinned, “Hair like the sunset spun into fiery waves… Skin fair as alabaster, angel’s kisses dusting her perfect nose…”

 Marina snorted shaking her head and laughing. “Your friend is drunk as a sailor just paid with a week before shipping out again on this Rose of his.”

 Caiden chuckled feeling his heart lift at the pure joy of her laugh. He was having his own moment caught again in his own fascination with one Marina Burke.

 She continued, “So does she have an accent? You said they are new married now? I know we are in haste to Gretna Green. Then we assume their names and leisurely journey back to where? Hoping as a fisherman teases for fish to lure those who would collect this bounty out to attack us?” She lifted her brow.

 Caiden was contemplating the perfection of her tiny rosebud mouth. He finally managed to process what she had asked him and nodded. “That’s the plan so far.” His voice was warm and soft as he met the rich darkness of her gaze.

 She cocked her head slightly puzzled by the delay in his response and the strange note in his tone. “And you think we can manage this impersonation?”

 “Aye.” He was certain in that moment he could convince any observer that he was besotted with this woman. He was leaning toward her and caught himself. He cleared his throat and noticed the length of the shadows. “We need to go, Marina.”

 She nodded and took a small hop setting her left foot flawlessly into the stirrup and vaulting into the saddle.

 He took an extra minute to check the cinch on his saddle girth before mounting. “Let’s make for Addingham while we have the light.”

 “As you lead, Captain.” And they were off again.

This leg they did not push their mounts and it was well after the sun had slipped below the horizon that they made their way into the village of Addingham and found stable at The Fleece Inn.

Caiden went first to secure a room at the inn and was pleased to find they had one to let with stabling for their four horses. He paid for the room and extra rations for the horses then went out to join Marina and lead the horses around to the stable. As they were tending them he kept watching her as she fed them and gently cared for them.

 “You have a hand with horses, Marina.” His voice was whisper soft as he looked over the stall wall at her brushing Jezebel.

He frowned. “It would be good if I had a name to call you besides your own. Introducing you as my stable lad Marina won’t do.”

 “You shouldn’t introduce me.” She lifted her brow at him as she looked over Jezebel’s back. “If you introduce me I’ll have to remember to answer to it. Just call me Boy for this journey.”

 It made perfect sense and Caiden hated it. She deserved so much more than this hell paced ride to swap places and put herself in mortal danger. But he knew better than to argue with her so he nodded and went back to brushing Zibiah.

 When he was finished Caiden went around to the stall where she was putting up the tack. “There’s lamb stew in the common room.” He waited for her and she looked up at him and smirked.

“I don’t think you escorting me in to dinner is going to be good for our cover, Captain.”

He fidgeted suppressing his inclination to offer her his arm. Then he met her dark eyes, his voice soft and sincere, “Marina… I am sorry to put you through this. I want you know… I appreciate this.. I appreciate you…” His voice dropped to a whisper, “so much.”

She turned from him ducking her head to put her cap between her flushed cheeks and the warmth of his gaze.

“Apology accepted Captain.” She nodded toward the opening of the stable. “Lead and I shall follow you.”

------------------To be continued -----------------------

[starfaring-princelotor]

The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 1: The Empty Legacy

-

Summary: The world is becoming more and more dangerous, both on land and sea. It’s time for you to face this fight, and dragon, on your own terms. Even if it means siding along with the kingdom who would condemn your kind without mercy.

Warnings: Mention about decapitation. 

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: It’s a medieval-ish AU with dragons. What more could you want?

1 . 2 .

-

[There’s an old saying among renegade sea folk: The pirate that counts their booty are mere thieves. 

War and death have pillaged the water and dirt of the planet for centuries, costing innocent lives from both sides. It was easy to paint the enemy as the enemy, as the one who needs to die before their sword cuts down your soul. It was easy to defend what you righteously believed needs to be defended, whether that be gold or the treasures that come with family and friends. It was easy to embrace that the laws of the sea were, at best, just rumors among the free people. 

And such laws, such rules whispered by the dead man, don’t apply to the mystical wildlife. They don’t apply to creatures who have no loyalty, who have no other moral besides kill and eat for survival. From the trolls of the mountains, to the mermaids of the sea, to the fae of the forests, to the very dragons who control elements with ferocity matching the epitome of death itself, it would do well to remember that a set of fangs have no set order to kill. 

But while beasts and monsters roam, and kingdoms rise and fall to the tests of time, and legends become lingering myths by the breath of the wind, it is the folly of prideful ignorance which murders countless more than the culmination of every bloodthirsty demon known in existence. With that in mind, tread carefully around those you would call allies or friends or like-minded folks. The Codex of Life may preach all-for-one and one-for-all, but deep down, it is a beautifully written lie for the over-eager martyrs. 

Do not fall for such false speech regarding the dichotomy of good and evil. 

Severing a hydra’s head will not kill it. Mana spells are useless against the naga’s of the Ice Plateaus. Beware of the volcano whose smoke takes form of two lovers, for no weapon or mantra can quell their rage should you cross them on a full moon. This collection of knowledge will help spread death, strike fear and hope in the hearts of many, and I leave this to you, my child. 

You will have no legacy to follow. You are the bastard child I left behind to reach that unreachable freedom. You will make your own name amongst the farthest edges of the sea with every gale that blesses your sails. 

You are a pirate.]

Closing the leather-bound journal, you skimmed your thumb over the pressed design of crossbones and cutlass’ on the cover. A legacy forgotten and one you would never know about? Dead men tell no tales, indeed. But regardless, this book would help with the bounty you were debating on facing. The paper was flimsy, hastily ripped off the pole to save for later, but the words were clear as day. And if you were able to complete this task, pocket enough shiny coin to support your entire crew with all the rum and pleasure they could want for years on end, leave behind your own legend, then that’d be enough for you. 

“Seeking Dragonslayers of all kind! Report to Altea, Blessed Kingdom of Oriande!”

Then, hastily scribbled at the bottom.

“Speak to Paladin Takashi of the Black Mane Guild.”

Hefting yourself from your seat, you downed the rest of your mug reeking of ale and moist wood. The jovial band played, the patrons danced, the entire room was filled with fighting life, and it was impossible to not let it flow through you. It felt wrong to hold such a book in this place, the taboo writings from death’s bleeding quill. And so, with a tip of your hat and a silver doubloon for the ever so diligent barkeep, you stumbled out into the chill of the night with nothing but your guns, your sword, and the magical warmth of ale to keep you steadfast and eager towards your freedom. 

But freedom always came with a cost and you paid a leg to chase it. 

When you passed through the heavily fortified gates of Altea, shimmering in that pristine metal forged only by the elves of old, nothing came as a surprise. This place, this kingdom, the people here, were rich with elegance and practically congested in an air of royalty. Prim and proper. Clean, lethal, and ready to strike while looking mystical by default. Alteans, they called themselves. A long generation of the ancient Elven deities, granted with the dwindling power of magic. 

The book states they do not share their secrets with outsiders. Not even to those stupidly loyal to them. 

Imagine the raised brow of confusion when you saw their captain, that Takashi fellow, was a werewolf. So far from his pack, this one. Though, it made sense. Ferocious, fierce, werewolves were not meant to be trifled with, full moon or no. The loyalty of the wolf combined with the logical reasoning of man? Smart. Now, the real question was where did his allegiance lie? 

“Paladin Takashi, I presume?”

Grey eyes, like the foggiest of winter nights, met yours and you saw him size you up with but a flash. Not lecherously, no, more like how a soldier would assess a fight, a situation, a potential ally or enemy. With amusement glistening in YOUR eyes, you found that he couldn’t pinpoint you down. A pirate on land? Joining the fight for a good cause? Yes, yes, you heard it all before. Walking ironies were always meant to be suspicious. 

But pirates had charm and you knew when to use it. 

With a flourished bow, both exaggerating in mock and respect, you spoke through a grin, “Allow me to introduce meself, ser. I be known as Peg-Leg the Kegmaster, cannon crafter and duelist extraordinaire of The Mermaid’s Doom, here at yer service.”

 “A pirate?”

“Aye, a pirate, and if ye gunna be needin’ a slayed dragon, then yer gunna be needin’ what I have’ta offer.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised the guards didn’t detain you at first sight. But, desperate times call for desperate measures,” he replied freely, not at all with a judgmental tone but one of legitimate concern for you, for a stranger.

“An’ I be the perfect one fer those desperate times, mate.”

You placed the bounty parchment on the table in front of him then slid into the seat, onlookers tending to their own business. Coming here, to the central command of the vigilant army, there were all sorts of different kinds of folks around. Some wielding spears and donning turtle shells on their backs, others like Shiro with ears and tails and even fangs of werewolves, feathered harpies whose talons looked lethal enough to kill a shark, and even dwarves armored with fine metal from top to bottom. 

A ragtag group of people, all coming together to fight one monster which has been blighting their landlubbing surface for who knows how long. An honorable cause, but as they say, there’s no honor amongst thieves. That’s why proving yourself right now would be pivotal to your aligned goals. 

“By order of Her Majesty, Princess Allura, I have been bestowed the task of ridding the quintessence raged dragon of the north. Because of this, we can not allow magic-wielders to join our group. I know Peg is not your real name - “ you grinned cheekily, not at all affected by the admonishing tone in the truth, “ - but if you use quintessence to fight, I’m afraid you’re of no use to us on the frontline.”

“Nay, I t’aint one for hocus-pocus witchcraft. You start mutterin’ curses and voodoo gobbledee gook, I scatter like-a flock o’ gulls fleeing from the slimy tentacles of kraken itself.” With a nod to the paper, you continued, “If I were to be speakin’ the truth, matey, I’m here fer the gold. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything to do with yer kingdoms rubbin’ elbows with ya fancy silks are of no concern to me.”

Shiro leaned back, arms crossed, then tilted his head just a bit, not at all unlike a puppy trying to understand some strange phenomenon. He wasn’t a fresh soldier from the pack. Battle scars under his fur showed that this isn’t the first time he’s faced a foe bigger than himself. It was only by his strong connection with his righteous virtues and a debt owed to Altea, more specifically Honerva, that he was appointed captain of this draconic crusade. 

But his trust in his instincts were always on point. That made him invaluable and right now? With watching you smile that smarmy smile, his instincts told him that, yes, you were good. Rogues were a recipe for trouble, add that with the lot of pirates, and you get chaos. An ace up the sleeve, a random boon that benefits all based on the law of uncertainty. Shiro would take a draw rather than a loss any day. 

And he’s dealt with pirates before. Closely, in fact. 

The Paladin rubbed his chin with his prosthetic arm, the smooth surface of quintessence run mechanism offering a small calm for his thoughts. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“The wind in the sails took ‘em to the sea. I chose t’stay. ‘Tis only a matter of time before this dragon o’ yers starts roosting in other lands and I ain’t one for facing more monsters below and above the waves,” your voice trailed off for a moment before your eyes snapped from his arm to his face, “Nor am I lookin’ to be noosed by yer masters. If this alliance can not be, I’ll be on me merry way an’ ye won’t need ‘ta worry about one more pirate on your plate.”

But he was no fool. Word of the growing stress between kingdoms reached even overseas in the last decade. News about the alliance between Altea and Daibazaal falling out with King Alfor’s death, or rather, “assassination.” It was rumored that the Galra leaders unleashed an ancient dragon, created of pure quintessence, to attack the Elven empire and cripple the nation. After the destruction which nearly annihilated the royal family, it fled to the Kral Zera holy lands, never to be seen again. 

Until now. Shiro repeatedly told himself that perhaps this was just a dead end, a fairy tale told to keep kids safe and sound inside. A story meant to induce fear that the evil dragon can sense wrongdoings and will come eat you to gain more power. All leads he followed led to different answers, and this may be an unaccomplished quest in the end, but if that were the case, then he will serve to protect the innocent at the highest cost. 

“The Black Mane work with several nations, not just one. If you can prove to be useful, be battle ready when needed, and are willing to help all, then consider yourself part of the pact,” he pulled out a folded paper from his pouch then slid it to you, “It’s a contract, rules to be followed while commissioned by the guild.”

“Yer giving me a set o’ rules?”

Now, this is where he let slip a grin hiding familiar mischief, “They’re more like guidelines should you choose to follow them, for your safety and the successful completion of this quest.” 

“Tell me something, cap’n,” you asked, eyes reading but mindful of his attention, “Have ye ever broken one o’ them rules of yers?”

“Yes.” Straight answer with a tone of finality, a tone of that is all I’m saying on the matter.

You signed across the line, temporarily giving your time and life over to this noble cause, “Then do we have an accord?”

Shiro shook hands with pirates before. He’s taken more hands before, too. But what most people would suspiciously think about making deals with pirates were wrong. Honor and loyalty weren’t definitions they followed by their very soul, not like he did, yet as he firmly grasped your offered hand in agreement, his instincts told him one jarring fact.

This deal was empty, but oddly promising. 

[thelastspeecher]

A. Quinn “Badass” McGucket

Hehehe I think I’m being clever with the title.

Here’s some more from that “Angie is a greaser and Stan is a nerd” AU that I’m going to tag as “West Coast Trio”, bc Angie, Stan, and Ford all end up at West Coast Tech in this AU.

Specifically, in this collection of scenes, we see the first meeting of Angie (who goes by her middle name, Quinn, in this AU) and Stan, the first meeting of Angie and Ford, and also the first hints of the good ship Stangie.  Enjoy.

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

              “Whattaya gonna do about it, Pines?” sneered Tom.  Stan could feel the bricks of the building digging into his back as he pressed up against it.  Every inch of him was shaking in fear.

              “Look, Tom, I don’t think that we need to get physical about this-” Stan started. Tom leaned in, close enough for Stan to feel his breath.

              “I think we do, charity case.  You and that freak brother of yours don’t belong here.  You know that.”  Stan clenched his hands into fists.  Before he could respond to Tom’s insult about Ford, a female voice spoke.

              “Tommy boy, what are ya doin’?”  Stan and Tom looked over.  A girl Stan had seen around campus a few times was idly leaning against the wall, chewing gum.  She blew a large bubble and popped it.  Tom took a step away from Stan.

              “N-nothing,” Tom stammered.  Stan glanced at Tom in surprise, then turned his attention back to the girl.  Her hair was roughly chopped short and dyed a bright magenta, popping against her dark leather jacket.  She cocked her head curiously.

              “Sure ‘bout that?” she asked.  “‘Cause it looks to me like you were messin’ with this poor feller.  Intimidatin’ him, perhaps?”  Her voice was breezy, but an undertone of threat wove in with her southern accent.  Tom swallowed.

              “Nope.  Not- not at all, Quinn.”

              “See, I don’t think I believe that,” the girl – Quinn – drawled.  She stood straight.  The arm she was holding behind her back fell to her side, revealing that she was holding a large, wooden baseball bat.  Tom blanched and stepped further away from Stan.  “You know I don’t tolerate folks beratin’ other folks.”

              “I wasn’t-”

              “Kid,” Quinn barked.  Stan stood up straight.

              “Y-yes?”

              “Was he botherin’ ya?”

              “…yes,” Stan said.  Quinn glared at Tom.

              “I’m gonna- I’m gonna leave,” Tom stammered.  Quinn’s eyes narrowed.

              “I think that’s fer the best.  You can get a head start that way,” she said in a low voice.  Tom sprinted away.  Quinn strode over to Stan.  She looked him up and down.  “He didn’t hurt ya, did he?” she asked.

              “N-no,” Stan mumbled.  Quinn frowned.

              “Ya sure?  You seem a bit…quiet.”

              “I’m- um-”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  Quinn stuck out her hand.

              “Quinn.  Quinn McGucket.”  Stan shook the offered hand.

              “Uh, Stan.  Stan Pines.”

              “Stan…”  Quinn’s eyes widened.  “Oh! You and yer brother work on that comic strip in the school paper, don’t ya?”

              “Y-yeah.”

              “I like it.  It’s funny.” Quinn cocked her head, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth.  “Think you’ll show me how ya make it sometime?”

              “M-maybe.”

              “I’d like that.”  Quinn sighed and looked over in the direction Tom had run off.  “But right now, I’ve got other fish to fry.  See ya ‘round campus!”  She marched away, whistling a tune that sounded vaguely familiar to Stan, but he couldn’t quite put a name to it.  Stan felt a slight flush spread across his features.

              That was…the most badass girl I’ve ever met.

-----

              Ford didn’t turn when the door to his and Stan’s dorm room opened.  He was too engrossed in his biology assignment. He scowled at the worksheet.

              Why is this so difficult?  It’s a simple pairing question.

              “This is where the magic happens,” Stan’s voice said proudly. There was a soft chuckle.

              “The magic, huh?  Ya have a mighty big opinion of yer lil comic strip, don’t ya?” a southern voice asked. Ford’s head shot up.

              A female southern voice.  He spun his chair around to face the door.  Immediately, dread dropped into his gut.  Oh, no.  Standing in the doorway with Stan was a young woman Ford had seen around campus.  From her brightly colored hair to her thick combat boots, every inch of her stuck out like a sore thumb among the other students, who tended to come from upper-class backgrounds.  Most likely, she does that on purpose.

              “Oh!  Quinn, this is my twin brother, Ford,” Stan said, gesturing towards Ford.  Ford inclined his head slightly in a small nod. “He co-creates the comic strip with me. Ford, this is Quinn McGucket.”

              “I know who she is,” Ford said.  Quinn raised a blonde eyebrow.

              “My reputation precedes me, I see.”  She grinned viciously.  “Good.”

              “So, Stan, how did you meet Quinn?” Ford asked.  Stan shoved his hands in his pants pockets and grinned.

              “She saved me from getting my ass kicked and realized that I work on the comic strip.  Turns out she’s a big fan.”

              “Yes, I am,” Quinn said.  She shrugged. “It’s funny.”

              “Yeah, that part’s all me,” Stan said proudly.  Ford quirked a small smile.

              “He’s right.  Stan’s the comedic genius of the two of us,” Ford said.  Quinn chuckled softly.  “What are you majoring in, Quinn?”

              “Biology.”

              “Ah.  A noble field.  Not as noble as some fields of science, but-”

              “Let me guess,” Quinn said.  “Yer a physics major?”

              “How did you-”

              “All the physics majors I’ve met act that way ‘bout biology.”  Quinn turned to Stan.  “So, where do ya get yer ideas?” she asked in a low tone. Satisfied that his role in the conversation was finished, Ford turned back to his homework.  He didn’t realize Quinn had crossed over to his desk until she spoke behind him.

              “You’ve got that wrong,” she said lightly.  Ford’s arm jerked in surprise, leaving a streak across his worksheet. Quinn pointed at the matching problem Ford had been having such a difficult time with.  “That’s not the coccyx.  It should be the pharyngeal arches.”

              “How did you know that?” Ford asked, erasing the streak as well as the incorrect answer.

              “Uh, did ya not hear me say I’m a biology major?”

              “No, I did, I just assumed that you weren’t-” Ford started.

              “Oh.”  Quinn’s voice was completely flat.  Ford looked over at her.  She had stepped away from his desk and was watching him with a disgusted expression. “I see.”

              “I- I just mean- you come from an upper-class background-”

              “No, I don’t,” Quinn snapped.  She crossed her arms.  “My parents run a farm.”

              “Then how did you get into West Coast Tech?” Ford asked.  Quinn’s eyes flashed with fury.

              “On my merit,” she snarled.  “Just like you and yer brother.  What, ‘cause I’m a girl, I can’t get in on my brains?”

              “No, not-”

              “Or is it ‘cause I’m southern?”  Quinn’s voice became harsher as she continued to speak, viciously biting off the end of each syllable.  “Maybe ‘cause I grew up in the country?  ‘Cause of course, no southern hick chick could ever be smart?”

              “No!” Ford said desperately, holding his hands up.  Quinn did a double-take at the sight of his splayed fingers, but returned her fierce gaze to his eyes.  “No, none of those things!  You’re just- with the-”  It was one of the few times in his life Ford found himself at a loss for words.  His explanation died on his tongue as Quinn’s raw anger magnified.  “The hair and the jacket and the boots-”

              “Oh!  It’s ‘cause I’m tough!” Quinn said.  “I get it.” She looked around, caught sight of a stack of books on Ford’s bed, and shoved them onto the floor.  “You should learn how to judge people by gettin’ to know ‘em, not by rumors or appearances,” she spat.  “You seem like the kind of person who has a lot of experience with folks judgin’ ya exactly fer those things.”  With that, she spun around and stormed out of the dorm room, slamming the door shut behind her.  Stan crossed his arms, glaring at Ford.

              “I didn’t mean to-”

              “Yeah, Sixer, that’s pretty obvious.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “C’mon, man! My first shot at a friend here, and that’s how you treat her?”  Stan shook his head, then exited the room.  Ford pursed his lips.

              Should I follow?  At least to apologize?  I don’t want Stan to socialize with a delinquent like her, but he could use a friend other than me.  He has higher social needs than I do, after all.  With a sigh, Ford got up and walked to the door.  Before he could open it, he picked up on muffled voices.  He pressed his ear to the door.

              “I’m sorry,” Quinn’s voice said.  “That was- that was rude of me, to push someone’s things ‘round when I’m a guest in their livin’ space.  I do apologize fer that.”

              “It’s fine.  Ford was being a dick,” Stan’s voice said.  “He deserved it.”

              “Maybe.  I just- I have to go study fer class.”

              “…Oh.”  Stan sounded disappointed.  “I guess I’ll-”

              “-have to give me the grand tour when Ford’s not home,” Quinn finished for Stan. Ford couldn’t see his twin, but could easily picture the broad grin stretched across Stan’s face.

              “Yeah.  Definitely.”

-----

              Ford turned his head to the side.  Being pressed up against the side of the chemistry building and threatened was rote at this point.  His primary concern was to avoid Bennett’s disgusting breath.  It was futile.

              Did he eat onions marinated in garlic?  It reeks.

              “I told you before, freak,” Bennett breathed.  “I don’t like it when people show me up.  I warned you last time not to open your damn dirty mouth in class, and you didn’t listen.  So.” Bennett grabbed Ford’s shirt, snagging Ford’s skin in his roughness.  Ford’s eyes began to water, both from the pain and the smell of Bennett’s breath.  “You’re gonna pay, freak.”  Ford resisted the urge to point out that Bennett had used the insult mere moment ago. Abruptly, Bennett was pulled off Ford, startled enough to let go of Ford’s shirt.  Bennett hit the ground, landing on his back with a heavy thump.  Ford looked over at his rescuer.

              “Bennett Thompson,” Quinn snarled, standing over Bennett.  “Prep school bully extraordinaire.”  She tossed her bright purple locks.  “Remember how you asked me out last week?”  Quinn smirked at him.  “Yer insistence on harassin’ folks was just one of the reasons I said no.  The other one is yer nasty-ass breath.”  Quinn cocked her head.  “Have ya ever even heard of a toothbrush before?”

              “Quinn, I-” Bennett started.  Quinn’s face hardened.

              “No,” she said flatly.  She slammed a boot-clad foot onto one of Bennett’s hands.  There was a sickening crunch.  Bennett let out a yelp.  Quinn leaned over and whispered something in Bennett’s ear.  Bennett nodded, his face pale as a sheet.  Quinn straightened again.  “Good.”  She slowly lifted her foot off Bennett’s hand.  “Skedaddle.”  Bennett jumped to his feet and rushed away, cradling his hand.  Quinn turned to Ford.  “You all right?” she asked gently.

              “I- you-”  Ford stared at Bennett, quickly disappearing into the distance.  “Quinn, that was vicious.”

              “I don’t pussyfoot around.  But you knew that.”

              “Yes, I suppose I did, I just-”  Ford swallowed.  “You used such force to assist with someone who isn’t even a friend of yours, I-”  He stopped at the sight of Quinn’s heartbroken expression.

              “…We’re not friends?” Quinn whispered.  Ford’s heard plummeted.

              Oh no, I’ve offended her.  Quinn looked away, blinking rapidly, as though she was fighting back tears.  No.  I’ve hurt her feelings.  That’s worse.

              “I didn’t mean-” Ford started.  Quinn let out a harsh laugh.

              “Is that yer catchphrase or somethin’?  I hear it come out of ya all the flippin’ time,” she said.  She was attempting to portray a light tone, but her voice was thick with emotion.  Ford thought back to his first impression of Quinn.

              That she’s insisting on being a lone wolf because she knows she’ll be mostly on her own as is.  Quinn kicked a pebble.  It bounced a short distance away.  She’s decided to lean into it, embrace it.  It’s the same principle behind Stan’s motto when he was hospitalized but still cracking jokes.  You either laugh or you cry.  You find a way to spin it in a positive way, even if it feels like you can’t or shouldn’t.

              “Whatever,” Quinn muttered.  She began to walk away.

              “Wait!” Ford blurted out.  Quinn stopped by the stairs leading into the building.  She turned.

              “Yes?”

              “I- I do apologize.  Sincerely,” Ford said.  Quinn rolled her eyes.

              “Sure.”  She crossed her arms.  “Look, I get it.  You think I’m a delinquent.  I’ve heard ya say as much to Stan.”

              “Yes, well…”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  Quinn scoffed.  She began to turn away.  “No, Quinn, I- thank you.”  Quinn stopped.  She stared at him.  “Not just for saving me, but also for saving Stan.  It’s- I- to be frank, we could use the protection.”

              “I ain’t yer personal bodyguard.”

              “No, I know, I just-”  Ford swallowed.

              Let’s try a different tactic.

              “I get the feeling that you have roughly the same amount of experience with friendships that I do.”  Quinn’s expression changed from frustrated to bemused.  “That is, minimal outside of family members.”  Quinn leaned against the stair handrail.

              “Is this yer way of sayin’ that ya suck at communication?” she asked.

              “I- yes.”

              “Hmm.”  Quinn looked away.  “That explains why ya keep puttin’ yer foot in yer mouth.”  She sighed.  “Didn’t know ya were observant enough to catch onto my own…social deficits.”

              “Wh- I’m very observant!” Ford protested.  Quinn shrugged.

              “Sure, with science ‘n data.  But with people?  I’d say yer more oblivious than observant.  Or did ya forget ya managed to insult me within ten minutes of meetin’ me? Or what just happened a few seconds ago, where ya upset me after I saved yer ass from bein’ turned to creamed corn?”

              “Creamed corn?” Ford asked.  Quinn scowled at him.  “Never mind.” Ford looked down at his feet. “You’re still upset that I had made an impression of you even before we met.”

              “Yup.”

              “You can’t honestly blame me for thinking you might be dangerous after hearing about the numerous occasions in which you beat someone up with a baseball bat.”

              “Sure, I can,” Quinn drawled.  She looked off into the distance.  “All those folks deserved a good kneecapping.”

              “I-”  Ford let out a wry laugh.  “Fair point.” He chewed on his lip, thinking. “Why do you do it?”

              “Kneecap folks?  ‘Cause they deserve it.”

              “No, not that.  Well, not that alone.  Your entire…thing.”  Ford walked over to Quinn and leaned against the handrail as well.  “I know how it feels to stick out.  Why would you choose to do it, when you could easily fit in?”

              “You have far too much faith in our classmates,” Quinn said dryly.  “I doubt I could ever fit in with them boys in letterman jackets and boat shoes.”  She was silent for a moment.  “I don’t need to prove myself to others,” she said softly.  “I don’t need to bend to the whims of what society says a lady should be.  I can succeed without doin’ either of those things.”

              “That’s…not an answer.”

              “Yup.”  Quinn grinned crookedly.  “It’s only part of one.”

              “What’s the full answer?”

              “Oh, I ain’t tellin’ ya.”  Quinn met Ford’s eyes.  “It’s somethin’ I’d only tell a friend.”  A challenge sparked in her gaze, daring Ford to say they were friends just to get a full answer.

              “Cruel, but fair,” Ford said, backing down from the unspoken challenge. Quinn raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.

              “Hmm.”  She looked away.

              “I suppose I could always get Stan to ask, and then he would tell me,” Ford remarked.  “Since the two of you are friends.”  Quinn rolled her eyes, but a small smile played around her lips.  “By the way, Stan wants to be more than friends with you.”

              “Oh, I know,” Quinn said.  A faint pink blush began to spread across her cheeks.  She ducked her head, hiding her smile, which was getting stronger.

              “You do?”

              “Yes.  I might not have a lot of experience with friends, but I know my way ‘round body language and social cues.  Unlike some folks.”

              “Ouch.”  Ford watched Quinn’s face continue to flush.  “I take it you feel the same way about him?”

              “It don’t matter if I do or not.”  Quinn stood straight and stepped away from the handrail.  “He can’t handle me.  Not yet.”  She glanced at her wristwatch.  “Biochem starts soon.  We should head inside.  I’ll walk with ya.  Someone’s got to protect ya from bullies.”

              “Maybe I should hire you as my personal bodyguard,” Ford mumbled. Quinn laughed.

              “Nah.  You couldn’t afford me.”

[thetranquilteal]

Heal You Anyway [AO3] by @thetranquilteal

After eight years of marriage, four children, immigrating to a new country, and a traumatic amputation sustained while deployed overseas, Marsali Fraser loves her husband Fergus just as much (if not more) than the day they wed. So much so, that she would be furious with anyone who dared hurt him… including Fergus, himself.

Fersali. Modern Day AU. One Shot. Inspired by “The Cure” by Lady Gaga.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Nothing Graphic, But Warnings Still Apply, Think ABOSSA

“You’re angry.” 

It wasn’t a question. Fergus knew she was angry with him. If not for their eight years or marriage where he had learned to judge her inner emotions by her stance, the shade of her ears or the specific way she would brush the hair out of her face, it was obvious by the set of her mouth and the look in her eyes. 

“Yes,” Marsali confirmed. “I am.”

He continued to watch her face as she tended to his injuries. First his right hand, bruised and bloodied, his skin and bone no match for solid brick, and then his other arm that ended in a stump that was in no better - perhaps even worse - condition. 

He had been so angry when he had done it. Pounding both his fist and stump so hard against the wall had been almost therapeutic - certainly more so than any of the therapy sessions he had been attending. The smeared blood that had been left in his wake was more satisfying to witness than anything else, as though it were physical evidence that he still have something left to give. 

Ever since he had returned home from deployment early and with only one hand, no less, he had been angry. Angry about what had happened. Angry at himself for letting it happen. Angry at everyone else for pretending like nothing had changed. As though he was still the same person he was when he had left.

Jamie was the only one who didn’t make him feel like he was walking this line alone. The much older Scot had been the first to reach it him after it happened 

“Dinna be feart, Fergus, laddie,” Jamie had told him as he laid there in shock, staring at the place his hand used to be while the torn sleeve of his fatigues turned a disturbing shade of red. “I’ve watched milady do this many times.” 

He could remember letting out a pained chuckle and Jamie had kept him on the edge of consciousness long enough for their crew medic to arrive. Almost everything after that seemed like a blur, the only consistent thing being Jamie staying by his side. He trusted him to be there, to be honest and, most importantly, look after his family in his absence.

But it was also Jamie who had pulled him away from the edge tonight and now all he felt was numb. It was as if his body had reached full capacity and, unable to take on any more, had simply shut itself down. Now all that remained of him was an impenetrable barrier, a piece of armour that had wrapped itself tightly around his chest and fused itself shut. 

If not for the way Marsali was now looking at him he might have thought himself already a ghost, nothing more than a memory floating through the halls of their ramshackle two bedroom house. 

His wife was fiercely proud of their home, he knew. Thanks to her never ending effort it was always nice and clean, free of clutter and not even a speck of dust to be seen - certainly very little evidence that six people, including four young children, resided there. Yet all he could see were its faults. The burner on the stove that refused to work. The paint that was peeling away from the corners. The cupboard door that hung diagonally and creaked when opened. The burn mark in the linoleum from the time a tray had fallen from his grasp. The broken high chair that he had promised to fix but couldn't even bear to look at.

“Weel? What do ye have to say fer yerself, Fergus Fraser?” Marsali asked, bringing him back to the present. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other gripping the leftover gauze in the other. Seemingly unsurprised by his silence she continued on. “Receivin’ a phone call from Da sayin’ ye were in need of a ride and some medical attention was no’ the way I expected my Friday evening tae go, I can tell ye that much. So, why I am here in the kitchen wi’ ye - bandagin’ up cuts and scrapes that Claire could have tended to far better than me, by the way -  instead of in bed sleepin’ just like I had planned?”

“I assumed Milord would have told you,” he raised one corner of his mouth in which he hoped replicated a grin but quickly realised his attempted light-heartedness was not going to work when his moniker for Jamie had failed to get any reaction out of his wife at all.

“Oh, he told me but I want tae hear it from you.”

Fergus took in a deep breath and tried to think of what to say. No matter how hard he tried nothing came to mind. Instead he only found himself surrounded by a fog so heavy it infiltrated his mind and settled like cement, intent to fill every crack and crevice in both his mind and heart. Perhaps even his soul.

“Why?” He asked eventually, the single word being the only one that came to mind.

“Why what?” Marsali asked patiently as though it were any other night when they would sit at the kitchen table and share a pot of tea after the children had all gone to bed, and not…

Fergus shook his head slightly and tried to refocus. Once again he had no clue how to answer her. What exactly he had he been referring to? Why didn't his brain want to work? Why he was like this? Why he was here sitting here in the kitchen when he could have- should have- taken care of things once and for all? Why did Marsali care? Why did anyone care? All of the above and more, most likely. 

“Why would you still want me?” He finally decided upon.

“Why would I still want you?” Marsali repeated back to him.

“Oui,” he nodded hoping, praying, that she understood his words even when he didn't.

“Tell me then, husband,” Marsali crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him, “what makes ye think that I wouldna want ye?”

“I don’t know, I... I don’t know what to say to you, Marsali.”

“Just tell me what ye think! Tell me how ye feel! I canna read yer mind, Fergus! I canna help ye if I dinna ken what is going through yer heid!!”

She whipped her arm up and slammed her closed fist on the table, the impact making his jaw drop and words that he had forgotten even existed spilled out of his mouth at a rate he had no hope of controlling.

“I have no job, no career. I have no prospects. No future! All because I have no hand!”

“It’s no-”

“I cannot give you or les enfants what you deserve,” he grasped onto her hand with his own and squeezed hard, his desperation for her to understand overriding any pain his action caused. “Not a house big enough for everyone to have their own room, not a car that you could drive for more than a few hundred kilometres without worrying that it will break down, or even an anniversary gift that you so deserve. I cannot even provide you with money so that you might get these things for yourself.”

“I can live without those things,” she said simply as if they were of no consequence, as if their neighbours didn’t judge the state of their house or people didn’t whisper as they walked around the supermarket filling their shopping trolley with all they could afford on their measly budget, “but I canna live without you.”

“Nor can I,” he whispered as he shrank back into his seat and his grip on her loosened. “I cannot protect you, any of you. I could never live with myself if anything were to happen and now with Henri-Christian... Don’t you see?”

“See what?” Marsali’s face had hardened at the mention of their youngest son and now she was practically growling, the fire in her eyes enough to make even the most fearsome predator take a step back. Born with a rare form of dwarfism, their son had been the centre of attention for all the wrong reasons and Marsali was all too ready to snap at anyone who dared make a fuss. That apparently included him.

“That you would be better off without me. You could remarry,” Marsali pulled her hand away sharply as though she had finally realised just what he was - or, more specifically, what he wasn’t. “Find someone who’s whole, someone who can look after you - all of you. I have seen... the things I have seen, Marsali, not only during the war but when I was growing up on the streets of Paris - you must understand. The thought of something like that happening... I would do anything to prevent it. Anything.”

Marsali turned and walked over to the sink to wash her hands with the aromatic hand wash Claire had lovingly made from the things that grew in her garden. She stood there longer than he knew she really needed to and when she finally reached out for the hand towel he was ready for her to turn around. She walked towards him and he prepared himself to be kicked him out of the house and onto the curb just like he deserved.  

What he wasn’t ready for was for the way she reached out and gently pulled him out of his seat.

Wordlessly, she guided him down the hall to their bedroom. He simply stood there as she stripped down to her bra and panties before she moved on to him, first pulling off his t-shirt and then undoing his belt. His pants dropped to the floor and he automatically stepped out them without thinking. Feeling freer than he had felt in a long time he floated alongside her to the bed and allowed his wife to lay him down on his back.

“Just say yes,” she said as she swung her leg over him slowly and straddle him so gently he could hardly feel the weight of her.

She watched him carefully and waited.

All it took was the slightest nod of his chin for her to bend down and kiss him softly on the lips. There was nothing sexual about the way she was touching him yet it was more intimate than anything he had ever experienced. 

Right then and there, he felt his chest cracking open. Not just the armour that had wrapped itself around him but that which laid underneath it. He gasped into her mouth and raised his arms so that his forearms cradled her torso, suddenly desperate just to touch her in any way he could. The feeling of her skin against his did something to him that he never thought possible. Not anymore. Goosebumps covered him from to toe as his body came alive and she kissed him harder this time, conveying the message that she wasn’t leaving nor was she ever going to let him leave her. Not now.

How could he have ever forgotten how determined she was?

On any other occasion he would happily surrender himself to her in the bedroom but this time things seemed different. He knew they were different. He pushed up and kissed her back. The sound that was emitted from the back of her throat at his action prompted him to move again, this time up and over so that she was now beneath him with his bandaged hand and stump on either side of her head. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled until he dropped all of his weight onto her. 

“I’m yours,” she growled at him, “and you are mine. I will never not want you.”

A sob escaped him and she kissed him again. This time they didn’t stop, instead kissing and touching each other wherever they could. They removed each others underclothes without losing contact and she gasped as he slid slowly inside of her. He held still for a moment, relishing in the feeling of having her wrapped around him before moving slowly, the warmth of her centre spreading throughout the rest of his body. He considered himself a humble man but in times like this he proved to be more selfish than anyone. He let himself go, trusting that she would catch hold of his soul and hold on tight.

It wasn’t until they were both sated and gasping for breath that their rocking ceased and they shifted themselves into a more comfortable position where neither was on top of the other but instead laying side by side, him all the while still inside her.

“I dinna mind,” she whispered and Fergus turned his head to see her more clearly. “If yer angry then be angry. Smash things - I don’t care what just so long as it’s not yerself. I don’t need things, Fergus. I just need you.”

She blinked and he watched as a teardrop escaped, making its way down the side of her nose. Her reached out to catch it with the pad of his thumb before it made its way any further and brushed his hand over her porcelain skin, made even more pale by the soft moonlight shining through the window. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, the pain in his chest increasing tenfold at the sight of more tears following the first.

“Don’t be sorry,” she answered hoarsely but firmly. “Just be here. With me.”

“Always,” he promised and pulled her light form tighter against him until there was nothing between them at all, not even a single wisp of air. He felt her relax into his hold and squeezed tighter still. “Always.”

In that very moment he meant it, and he knew Marsali did too.

All he had to do was say 'yes' and she would be right by his side. Even if he said he was okay, she was going to heal him anyway.

[televinita]

Zoo, 3.03 (super late)

Once upon a time I posted one short Feeling Explosion in the middle of this episode, then forced myself to stop and deal with a work-nado, and before I could claw my way back I heard "Welcome to the O.C., bitch," and that's the last thing I remember before waking up from my coma 6 weeks later. That's my story and I’m sticking to it. Claims that I may have woken up briefly to comment on bits of episodes 4 and 8 are unsubstantiated because officially, until last night I had not yet finished episode 3. (and that is the actual truth. I technically got to the end and a bit beyond, but only because I tore both apart for Mitch/Jamie content just like I feared I would and left the rest to spoil. Guilt may have played a part in my inability to come out of the coma.)

As I am Very Stubborn about not watching the next episode of anything until I have thoroughly spun the last one around in my head, dissected my feelings about it and processed them into text product, and I struggled with what to say, I got stuck in Zoo purgatory. But after an hour of freewriting, I think I have enough babble to feel content. This is mostly for me, but perhaps you’ll enjoy following my journey.

Originally Planned Opening Statement: Hey, remember when this show was was about weird mutant animals and not bizarre government conspiracies to abduct and experiment on children? Because I do. This is not the show I signed up for and it makes my soul feel gross.

(more evidence for the “why I had trouble moving forward” file, I think) Television Parents Council So we're three episodes in and I am really feeling like dramatic anguish is not Alyssa Diaz's strong suit in the acting department. It all feels kind of strained and forced? But hang on, I gotta go be way more outraged about her character's choices, as seen in this live reaction note: "WHAT IN THE FRICKITING FRACK DARIELA WTF. Is this* why you got divorced last time, 'cause I'm gonna have to assume it is seeing's as we literally never got any other reasoning for that random-ass info drop last year and I keep waiting for an explanation." *cheating on her husband

(and oh man, for the first time I am so glad it's these two who got the kid and not Mitch and Jamie, because can you imagine if I had to hear Jamie had cheated on Mitch with Logan and wrecked their relationship that bad? I would perform brain surgery on everyone with a power drill.) (nobody talk at me about the almost as distasteful thing that happened with them)

To be fair to Dariela, she and Abe mostly bonded over having a kid right after they met; I can't really say it feels like she betrayed an epic soulmate bond. I can muster up some sympathy for her feeling lonely and abandoned.)

Except that's not even her last horrible reveal of the episode*. What are you trying to do, run this character I miraculously chose to accept into the ground??

*possibly selling out Clementine to rescue her own kid from a sketchy situation. I will make a lot of allowances for putting yourself and your family's comfort and safety over the needs of strangers, but this does not fall under that header.

But, um, other than that, Papa Lion Abe is intense and amazing and I thought the whole desperate chase-after-the-military-convoy aspect was really well done.

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Television Parents Council Pt. II Live Reaction Note: "Mitch is a testy bitch in this episode and I love him." (I remember this being debated, but part of the reason I love his Testy Bitch self is what you see at the end of the episode. If he doesn't wrap himself in defensive anger, cling to it like a buoy, the pain of confronting everything he lost and missed will win.) I really love Mitch's two seconds of happiness when he thinks Jamie raised Clem in her fancy penthouse and they ended up thick as thieves. I am less fond of the reality that Max took her away when she turned 14, so the only solace I can take away, before I spiral into that "who TF invited Logan to this party" post we started with is "SWEET HALLELUJAH AT LEAST JAMIE GOT OVER THREE YEARS TO BOND WITH HER." Also, Jamie is so the adult who gives the kids beer to supervise them. I still think it's hilarious that Mitch assumed any adult gave her a beer at 14, because don't most teenagers just have friends who come up with it? I mean, I couldn't even find alcohol on my college campus so I am not the authority on this by any means, but that is the impression I get from books. My point being, I like to think that even in the happy world where 2x12 is the series finale and they had a life together after, this would still have happened and he and Jamie would have had more than one clash regarding her blurring the line between parental authority and friend, and it would have sounded exactly like this, so...thanks Zoo, for accidentally fulfilling my Domestic AU interests in the weirdest possible way! Awww @ Mitch's impatient little "hey" when Clem casts doubt on Jamie's ability to perform brain surgery with a power drill, and then uses that particular tone of voice to tell her it's going to be fine. Awww @ Clem sticking up for Jamie's parenting skills. You know what, just assume that I loved any and everything else that happened when these three were on screen. And I maintain that Jamie, while willing to stop him if he gets too far out of line, also remembers very well what it's like to wake up with missing time where everything's changed and gone wrong, and that means he gets the time and space he needs, within reason, to lash out and come to terms with it while she waits for the worst of the storm to pass. She does point out when Clem's upset, and she checks him with "she turned out okay," but never once do I get the sense that she takes any criticism he lobs at her personally.

(I might have said this before. I tagged wrong and can’t find it.)

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JKras and Emily Blunt's Alt Reality Doppelgangers (shhh just go with it)

Guess what I started shipping exactly two seconds before we went with the "slapping men across the face isn't domestic violence" trope on top of the "this one piece of information that is not about how you assaulted or killed someone in cold blood invalidates absolutely everything I love about you" trope. It's a two-fer of ship torpedoing. (How do you say no to that face! Look how tragic and sad it is on top of its normal rugged handsomeness and love for helping people! Also, guess who is probably gonna quit shippin' it and throw the lady right back out the door if/when she returns and eliminates Jackson's need to talk to the people I care about. That's just how I unfairly do. The Chloe-shaped hole in my heart won't heal, it's weird.) --------------- I LOVE YOU, MAN

And then this episode ends with Jackson's face lighting up at the sight of Alive!Mitch and glomping on him in a bear hug, and everything is right with the world now that my two faves are together again. ---------------

Yet More Thoughts

-Live reaction note: “I am glad to see that Mitch has shaved the beard and subsequently restored his powers of snark to full glory. They must have been suffocating under that thing.” -I loved Clem's montage of practicing how to tell her dad she's pregnant. These are useful sound bites for alternate takes.

-”Everything went wrong. The world went wrong.” This is somehow the most poetic thing I have ever heard on Zoo? Between the writing and her specific cadence, it sounds like something you'd hear in an award-winning speech, dressed up in voiceovers for trailers; IDK, I just really love it.

-Who even are you Abigail; your name and your hair make me want to get to know you but everything else (including my fandom girl-bros reacting to you with all the love they had for Logan last year and essentially forming a rousing chorus of "Don't need another You Part 2"), very much makes me want to not. -LOOK AT THESE GIANT UGLY WORM TUNNELING DINO-VULTURES, I LOVE THEM. -Mitch's JAMIE WHAT THE FUCK reaction to her stabbing her prisoner through the hand was pretty amazing. -In case you were wondering how appropriate for polite company my reaction to Jackson hotly threatening "I am gonna find you, and I am gonna stop you" is, the answer is "not very." -Quick question: how did Mitch's sacrifice save the world, exactly? I'm fuzzy on this. I wasn't tracking plot very well after Mitch "died" last year, but I thought it was a very personal sacrifice meant to save Clem alone.

-Well. That ending sounds like a fun little sophie's choice of "death vs. memory loss." Looking forward to seeing what episode 12 or 13 does with that. (If you kill him again, all the protection of "reality" in the world won't save you from the worm dino vulture pack I will summon to come after you.)