#<--truly dire ship name but alright !

[cyberdragoninfinity]

got the chance to draw a commissioned print design for the marvelous @podofgreed podcast last year!! family portrait :]

[star-whores-a-new-hoe]

A Painful Discovery//Obi Wan X Reader Forever Series: Part 8

Summary: You discover the truth about who you ended up on Courscant.

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Whole lotta angst! like, alot. tiny bit of fluff, typos, messy plot.

A/N:So.....This is the last official chapter in the series! There will be an epilogue wrapping everything up and I know that this is kinda....messy? idk. I’ll make a longer post about this but writing this series has been a wild ride and my writing has improved SOOOOOO much! Also, the name of the series is finally gonna make sense! Thank you to everyone who as been reading this!

Your hands laid tightly clasped in your lap as you looked out the ship’s window, into a world of seemingly endless stars. The sound of your foot tapping against the metal floor echoed through the otherwise silent ship. Your wide eyes stared at the book that sat in a nearby seat. It looked unassuming, as if someone dropped it there without a second thought, but truth be told it was the most honored and feared passenger aboard the ship. 

Your mind wandered back through time. To ignorantly picking up that book a lifetime ago, finding yourself in a strange space place, learning, growing, falling in love. Realizing that there was a possibility of going home again and knowing, deep in your heart that you had to figure it out what happened. 

Behind you, you heard the heavy footsteps of Obi Wan retreating from the cockpit. 

“Hi.” You said quietly, eyes still focused on the blue glow of the  window.

“How are you feeling?”  You bit your lip as you contemplated your answer. 

“Scared.” You decided finally. “I know that’s not very...Jedi of me.” 

His warm reassuring hand found its place on your shoulder.  “There is no shame in ‘scared,’ darling.” 

You looked up at him with grateful eyes. He moved to sit next to you, letting his hand come to rest protectively on your thigh. “We, um, we haven’t talked about some stuff yet.” A thick tension crawled between the two of you. It had a name, but you could place it at the moment.

“I know.” The two of you both had been regretting this conversation. You took a deep breath, before diving headfirst into the difficult. 

“If I figure out how I got here, figure out… how I can get home. What do we do?” You stared up at him, tearful, “I love you Obi Wan, but I also have a home. I...I know I can’t have both.  If I leave, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find my way back. I can feel that this is my only chance.” 

“Do you truly want my advice?” You nodded. “When the time comes, let go. Feel the force run through you, be one with it. You'll know what the right choice is.” 

Without a word you wrapped your arms around Obi’s neck and pulled him in a tight embrace, letting your tears dampen the shoulder of his robes. He cradled the back of your head, praying to whatever was out there that he would get to hold you like this a thousand times more. A lifetime more. But he wasn't going to hold you back if it was what you desired.

“I am very concerned for your safety, you know. The book's warnings seem...quite dire.” In unison, your eyes fell on the ever ominous book.

“I have to try.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. A silence once again filled the ship. “Whatever happens, I am so fucking glad I met you.” Obi Wan smiles before placing a gentle kiss on your head. 

“I love you too.”

The fear of saying goodbye. That was the name.

                                                           ***

Your limbs felt heavy as you walked off of the ship onto the planet, the book dragging you down as you cradled it in your arms. The planet was lush and green with mountains, fields, and a never ending downpour of rain assaulting from above. Obi walked down the ramp to meet you, carefully placing his cloak upon your shoulders.

“Thank you.” He nodded solemnly.

“I’m hoping that you have read about what we are to do?” 

“Yes, you see that hill.” You pointed towards a small hill a mile or so off. Even from where you stood you could see that it was surrounded by mammoth trees in a perfect circle. “We go there.”

“The book said this?”

“No. I did.”

The quiet trek towards your destination was grueling. The two of you were soaked to the bone when you arrived at the top. It was the best you could do to keep from shaking, from the cold or nerves, you knew not which. You stood there next to him for a moment, taking in the sight of the perfectly symmetrical circle of trees that towered above you, the branches reaching out, covering up any type of light with the exception of the center, which was clear, allowing the rain to pour down  in sheets.

“What does the translation say now?” You looked back down at the book in your hands, slightly damp from being hidden under your soaking robes. Pulling it close to you, you flipped through the pages to find the translation note.

“Meditate. Just sit wherever I’m drawn too, here, and meditate” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, seems a little anticlimactic.” You laughed nervously. You turned on your heel to look up at Obi, unsure of what to say. He softly brought his hand down to stroke your check before leaning down to press your lips to him. You closed your eyes and let yourself be enveloped in the tender embrace. It seemed that no words were needed. Reluctantly, you pulled back, staring up at him and his breathtaking blue eyes, wondering if it was the last time you'd ever see them. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you turned and walked out into the center of the clearing, letting the rain pour down on you as if it didn't exist. You sat yourself down on the grassy floor and let yourself simply be. You closed your eyes and tried your hardest to let everything go, to connect with everything and be one with it all. Instead it felt like you were standing on the edge of an empty void. Calling out impossible questions that it refused to answer. 

After an eternity, or at least several hours spent in the chilling outdoors, you broke your concentration to look at obi who was silently watching you from where he sat by the base of one of the trees. 

“This is taking a lot longer than I expected.” You said sheepishly.

“That's quite alright. I am very familiar with the difficulties of meditation.” You smiled.

“You can wait with the ship if you want, it is pretty nasty out here.”

“Darling, don't think for a second that I’ll leave your side.”

“I could be hours, and I might not actually find out anything today.” You told him playfully. “You say you’ll wait but how long are you actually willing to stay out here with me?”

He looked at you with a gaze that pierced right through your heart. “Forever.”

***

A few more hours had passed. The grey light that had once barely lit the sky transformed into an all-consuming black that even with the rain was somehow laced with the gentleness of the shining stars. Your fingertips lightly rested on the soft grass, letting you feel your energy connect with them, channeling it all the way down through the planet and up to the sky where it danced with the stars. Once again you were faced with that infinite void looming over you, holding the answers you so desperately needed. But instead of yelling, of trying to force your way in as you had been trying to do for hours, you tried something different. You took a deep breath and simply let it in as opposed to fighting it. 

It was as if a switch had been flicked. With that simple action everything was unveiled to you. You gasped out in pain as it all flashed through your head, almost too fast to comprehend. Obi Wan jumped up, knowing, feeling through the force that something had changed. You stood up as images filled your mind, overwhelming you. Destruction, chaos, and you? You were saved, by what, from what? There was something missing, a piece the universe still had to show you. 

“No, no no no.” You cried under your breath. It was too much. It hurt, it couldn't be possible, it wasn't. Tears streamed down your cloudy eyes as you screamed. Obi Wan ran towards you. He caught you as you collapsed under yourself, your eyes a strange milky white as if you were in some kind of trance. Or nightmare. 

You slowly recovered in his arms, wailing and clinging to him, unable to believe what you had witnessed. 

“What is it, What’s wrong?” 

“It's gone, it's all gone! I-I don’t know how.” You shook in his arms, the rain pouring down on the both of you. “Oh my god, I’m alone.” It was as if you simply broke. He held you, (For what else could he do?) as you fell apart in his grasp, your sobs blending in with the pitter patter of that rain.

Obi Wan could feel it too, In the force that surrounded you. He pieced it together as he held you tightly. He figured out that all this time, everything you knew, everything you fought to get back in your life, had been gone, obliterated, simply lost. And that you, by some miracle were different. He didn't know if it was the book or your force sensitivity but something had saved you. But could it really be called “saved” if everything you knew was gone? 

His heart ached for you as everything inside you collapsed. it was all he could do to hold you as the rain poured down. 

[wajjs]

Congratulations!!! If theres still a slott left. VLD LancexThace :D (somehow Thace survived or they meet him in another way) or LancexRegris *v* (sorry, I can't help but shipp him with the BOM xD)

Shine a light

First things first, and this is the only rule that truly matters at the end of every day:

Space is weird. Never act like you get it.

Once that particular lesson is learned and fully accepted, the amount of times surprise hits them doesn't really change—but it does help with the whole 'coping' thing.

Which is why Lance doesn't let hysterics take over him when he's separated from the team, locked inside a strange alien—okay, no, everything is alien in space, that doesn't define anything. Locked inside what seems to be a half dilapidated, hopefully abandoned, station. It's… creepy. It definitely is, and it doesn't help that it reminds him of, of, of Ulaz of all people. The remembrance should maybe comfort him but he's not taking his chances. Not when he's alone.

Incommunicated.

Activated bayard in hand, keeping his back to the walls and checking every corner, every possible hiding spot, Lance ventures further into the dark corridors. His steps barely make any noise. His breathing is loud in his ears but he knows that with the helmet on, no one else can hear it.

He's peeking into the next hallway, feeling like he's in a maze, when a shadow moves the opposite direction. Lance's heartbeat spikes.

In the second it takes him to redirect his line of vision and his bayard, he finds himself thrown to the floor. Knife to the throat, gun useless in this close range, a knee pressing down on his gut. He wheezes, tenses, tries to scramble away but the grip is tight. Then—then he takes a good look at the face of his attacker. His breath ends up caught in his throat.

"Thace?," he asks.

The knife doesn't let up.

-

A lot of reassurances and explanations later, Lance finds himself inside the only part of this station that's still functional. It's locked away, partially hidden, and only someone with those blades can access it. Which is the only reassurance he himself can ask for, because this means—this means it must really be Thace, and not, and not—

From where he's sitting on the edge of the small emergency cot, Lance can see all of the scars on the other's body. Places where… fur? hair? (he isn't too sure if it can be defined as either of those) is shorter than the others, scarce, and the skin underneath has long healed, with different kinds of discoloration. Lance thinks it's not too different from the burn scar taking all over his back. From shoulders to the curve of his spine, right where his ass starts. The skin is all one big mark, a patchwork that shows healing that happened at different rates.

He wonders if Thace also hates seeing them in passing reflections. Wonders if he feels shame.

"So," clearing his throat, he looks all over the room again, rubs his fingertips over the handle of his weapon, "how long—"

"I escaped the explosion out of sheer luck," Thace hums, writing down something, or perhaps going over stock or who knows, Lance doesn't understand their written language, "and then, well. I needed somewhere to hide. I knew they'd find out I was still alive, and they'd give chase. This was—this place wasn't my first option."

"Huh."

"My first four hideouts were… compromised. I found this place by accident, I didn't, didn't remember it from the records I'd read."

Lance blinks, does his best to suppress a shudder. "And then I showed up. By accident, as well."

Thace stops, then. He puts down the things he was using to write and turns around to look at the human. One side of his face is heavily marked by scars.

"I don't believe in accidents," he tells Lance, eyes shining under the flickering lights. "Something brought you here. Which is why we must run."

-

At the very least, the lion is bigger than those cramped up quarters. The two small rooms had been scraped clean as fast as possible and then they had quickly relocated to the lion. As far as stealth goes, the animal shaped ship certainly does them no favors, but it is fast, and, above all, still functioning. It only needed a handful of repairs, and with Thace helping him, Lance managed to get those done in record time.

Being out in open space will always remain a novelty. The stars are always different and the sense of voyage never ends. Lance sits on the pilot chair, stretches his back. Half turning to look at Thace by his side, he smiles and points with a hand towards the back.

"There's a cot if you want to rest some more. It's definitely bigger than the one you had, I mean, I bet we both can fit—"

For the first time, Thace's expression changes. It's… mischievous.

"Is that an offer?"

Lance halts all his thoughts. His face heats up in a matter of seconds.

"I—"

"Don't worry," smiling, which makes his eyes shimmer, Thace rests a hand on Lance's shoulder, looking out of the viewport again. "I'm far from tired. Besides, you need someone to help you navigate this sector."

"Ye-yeah," Lance tries not to shudder. "You-you are right."

-

Their comms signal is still a bust and perhaps that is for the better, considering they are being chased. Pidge's stealth mode goes haywire after a wide shot hit something and now it only works for a couple of minutes before it starts titillating. It's not enough time to cross a blockade.

"We can't fight all of them," Lance says, voice shaking but hands steady.

"If we can hide underneath the belly of one of those cruise ships��" Thace leans closer to the viewport and from where he's sitting, Lance gets distracted by the other's reflection. "Under that one," he points, frowning, "the stealth mode should give us enough time to get in position. Even if they start shooting, we'll remain covered by the bulk of the cruise."

Shifting his eyes from the serious face with the shining irises, Lance follows the path pointed. A small smile makes his lips curl.

"Alright. Let's do this!"

-

Passing through is a feat of good luck. When they make it safely to the other side of the blockade, Lance jumps up from the chair and onto Thace's chest, pulling him in for a hug.

"We did it!" he says with happiness and relief clear in his words and no self-consciousness creeping in just yet.

It makes Thace laugh, loud and clear, with no heavy weight bringing the sound down. He wraps an arm around Lance's small waist, and now their bodies are closer.

Ah, there it is. Self-consciousness.

"Yes," Thace doesn't let go and instead he nuzzles Lance's cheek, the part of it not fully covered by the helmet. It makes Lance's heart skip a few beats. "We did it."

-

After the scan, the small planet is deemed safe enough for them to hide, even if for just a couple of days. Traveling nonstop is tiring on both the body and mind. And they are both in dire need of a proper shower.

Luckily here the bodies of water are safe, and so after setting up camp (the lion hidden not too far away) Lance takes off his armor and the black suit underneath, staying only in his underwear. He runs to the shore, gets his feet wet and then he…

Thace smiles as he watches the other dive into the waters, laughing in such a carefree way, like they aren't being chased, like their heads don't have a reward attached to them. It must be nice, to be able to still enjoy living while the threat of death is after them. It must be—

"Thace!" Lance screams his name from where he's standing, water reaching well above his waist. "Come here! It's nice!"

He has scars, that's the thing. So many of them, from the explosion and from before. And the human has seen some of them, has seen the one taking over his face and the reaction was never one of disgust or fear. No. Lance treated him like nothing was wrong. And that, that was the greatest novelty of all.

So he follows suit, shedding his uniform, getting down to the bare minimum needed to keep him covered—blade securely strapped to his thigh—and he goes after the human. He all but jumps into the water, grins when he catches up to the other and then he—

Lance is looking at him with wonder. Not just that, no, there's also… there's also curiosity, and Thace holds his breath and Lance moves closer, as those hands rest on his chest, and Lance is leaning in, straining to reach his face and so Thace is leaning down on instinct, leaning till, till.

So this is a human kiss, Thace thinks as Lance's lips are on his. The touch is soft, delicate, unsure. It's. It's nice. It's really nice.

A squeak stumbles out of Lance's mouth when Thace picks him up, big hands enveloping his waist, and then they are both laughing, dripping water and fears and wrapped in warmth and certainty. This feels good. This feels right.

That night, when they go back to the camp, they share the same cot. It's a perfect fit.

-

When they finally make contact with Kolivan, Thace has already promised his blade to Lance. Even through the holoscreens of the lion's comms, it's painfully obvious that their togetherness is not simply partnership forged in survival. There's more, so much more, and Thace shrugs with a huge smile on his face when Kolivan sighs wearily.

"A rescue mission is on its way," the leader says.

"Cool," Thace winks at him just as the screen shuts off. He doesn't care too much, because he then turns to Lance and they are kissing again, like they can't stop.

And that is true. They really can't stop.

[lia-writes]

on our own

pairing: poe dameron x reader

summary: the final battle on exegol could go one of two ways - you win or you die & this time poe returns home to a life without you.

a/n: well, it’s pretty dark. also far out, i’m rusty at writing these - be kind. also killing me inside not have line breaks, won’t lie, so have a semicolon instead.

;

You’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had to say goodbye and as you think about what this mission to Exegol might mean for you, you realize you’ve never wanted... needed more time before leaving.  

A hand catches your shoulder as your mind turns to him - the grip is tight enough to make you stop and know who it is at the same time.  

“What, you were gonna leave without saying goodbye?” His tone is light, but his eyes stare at you like the first time you’d confessed how much you loved him. If it wasn’t for the deathly fight on the horizon, it may have made your knees weak.

“We’re going to be fine.” You wave a hand in front of you dismissively and he grabs it, pulling you against his chest. Your eyes shut and you sigh, “what if... I mean this time, the odds...”  

“Don't even mention the odds,” he smiles against the top of your head and for a moment, you just let him hold you. The sound of everyone else hurrying around the two of you quietens until in their rush, a technician bumps into you.

“Okay, okay, we should get going.” You pull back and straighten your shoulders, the death grip on his hands remaining.

“Love ya’,” He drags you back in for a kiss and then another one because, in such dire times, this was all you had. The thing about your goodbyes with Poe was that so far, you’d come back to him every single time.

“We’ll celebrate later,” you joke, kissing him once more before finally letting go of his hands, the warmth not leaving yours.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” he calls after you with that boyish smirk of his, as you begin moving in the direction of your X-Wing.

“I bet,” you throw over your shoulder with a laugh and then you stop as you realize you’ve yet to say those three words back to him. You turn quickly on the spot before you lose your chance.

“I love you too... Fly safe.” At this point, you swear you can hear your heartbeat as you stare at one another until again, you turn away.  With people dashing this way and that, you return each solemn smile and good luck that gets thrown your way, some from friends, most from strangers.

Reaching your ship, you pause and the warmth slowly ebbs away from your body. This time, you’re scared. Actually terrified to leave. Memories of being with the Resistance clamber over one another as you move around your X-Wing, taking note of the technicians making any final repairs. 

- 

Both of your parents had fought valiantly until death had eventually taken them. In the time you’d spent fighting for the Resistance, there had been many firsts in your life.  

There was the moment that you knew you wanted to be a pilot. Although you were a good technician and were able to appreciate each ship that came through needing your healing touch - flying an X-Wing and piloting it well was a steep learning curve.  

Training had beat you bloody, but it led you to the first moment where you truly felt something since your parent's death - your first mission alongside Black Squadron.  When you’d returned, he’d smiled and said you did good. A blush had spread across your cheeks, only worsening when he’d invited you for a drink. Of course, at that point, he’d not mentioned that he’d invited every other person that had returned in one piece as well.

The start of your relationship was mostly puppy love - on your behalf... Trailing around after him, the best pilot in the Resistance. He began noticing you too, the way you’d seek out your fellow Squadron members after returning from a mission and then you’d head straight back to your X-Wing to work on it.

There was the time he and BB-8 caught you fixing up your X-Wing late at night after an iffy mission. He’d teased you for months after hearing you talking to yourself about him. You had just about died.

Eventually, it came to the point that he asked just you for a drink. You never drank, so you ended up plastered and rambling on and on about how much you admired him. The following morning you’d woken in his bed, missing your shoes but still dressed and Poe asleep on the much too small couch.

For a time, you never truly understood how he saw you – a friend or something more? - until the night he came home injured, bypassing the medics and coming straight to your door. You’d never felt more needed. He let you tend to his wounds, with gentle hands and soft words. That night he slept with his head in your lap and you’d stayed awake, unable to stop thinking about how much you loved this man.  

Through all of it, he understood you. He understood your need to fight, regardless of the loss. Every time a resistance ship fell, regardless as to whether it was a friend or stranger, you would mourn the loss together with a newfound fight.

-

With heartfelt feelings eating away at you - that maybe this mission would be it, you clamber into the cockpit and pull on your helmet. It’s always at that same point that your emotions leave you. There’s something about the act of placing your helmet on your head that turns you from girlfriend, friend and loved one, to pilot.

The battle on Exegol is chaotic and immediately when you arrive, you begin feeling lost. The undying fight doesn’t leave you and every time his voice comes over the comms – never at you – your heart skips a little because you have to win this.  

Maybe it’s that you’re distracted this time, the only time that ever damn mattered. It’s touch and go, as you fire down several Tie Fighters and dodge many, many more shots directed at your X-Wing.  

A Tie Fighter on your right suddenly gets taken out by a fellow pilot and spins out of control, straight into you.

It’s an impact like no other, the sound of colliding metal shrieking in your ears. If it had just clipped your ship, maybe... Your X-Wing plummets and the first thought you have is Poe. It’s then that you realize you have absolutely nothing left to fight for and every single thing to lose.  

A voice crackles over the comms system until even the static fades out, all you wanted in those seconds was to hear his voice. You fight the controls and gain nothing back.

The second impact of your X-Wing crashing hardly registers in your brain. There’s no pain - you’re just gone.  

-

When the fight is finally won, it’s not until Poe returns to the resistance base, full of victory and the dying need to kiss you, that he feels a sense of dread in finding you.  

Someone claps him on the shoulder as they pass, two shake his hand and another pulls him in for a hug.  

No one mentions your name to him and there’s still no sight of you. He runs a hand through his curls as he becomes more frantic in his search. Eventually, Poe hurries in the direction of the medics, because it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d found you there.

But he doesn’t find you and they haven’t seen you come in. It’s another pilot - that he recognizes but does not know – who approaches him with a neutral expression. It wavers as she stands in front of him.  

“I’m so sorry, General but y/n... she didn't make it” she mumbles, unable to look at him and refusing to mention that it was the Tie Fighter she’s shot down that had taken you with it.  

“No... Come on, I bet I just missed her in the crowd. She’s probably lookin’ for me right now.” The false hope in his voice doesn’t meet his eyes.  

“I saw her ship get hit. It went down, badly.” The words she speaks are filled with pity that he can’t handle.  

The goodbye you two shared only a little earlier that day cements itself in his mind, how you’d let him hold you and the way you’d kissed him and told him that celebrations would come later because they always did.

All he wants at that moment is to hold your hand, hold you in his arms because he can’t function without you in his life. Instead, it’s a stranger that holds his hand and tells him everything will be alright despite the loss. That you would be proud of him. Her words are anything but comforting, so he shuts his eyes and pretends that it’s you holding his hand. 

He feels pain like never before, a heavy weight on his shoulders as he moves back through the now thinning crowd toward your room. Every time he’s met with overwhelming happiness from those he passes, it kills him a little more. His life with you had become too comfortable. Both of you always came home.  

Now, in the freedom of his destined future, he had absolutely nothing left.

[babbushka]

Beautiful, Beloved (3/8)

You had met three times: The first, an introduction. The second, a lunch. The third, your wedding. Can bonds be made in such short a time as a week long honeymoon aboard the immensely impressive RMS Titanic?

Yes, yes they can.

Kylo Ren x Reader

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: NSFW content

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

The train ride to the port was one filled with so much anticipation you were sure you would simply burst. The small sectioned off room where you and your husband sat was lavishly decorated with beautifully dark wood walls and paneling, brass fixtures, and blue velvet cushioned seats. There was a small table between you where Kylo sipped a drink and you lightly picked your fork at a warm cranberry muffin that you really had no interest in actually eating, your stomach too unsettled from the nerves of embarking on such an adventure as this, your honeymoon.

America, sailing to New York aboard the Titanic of all things! Never in a million years would you have ever dreamt that such a vacation would be yours.

You sat with your hand twined with Kylo’s, as you looked out the train window. True to his word, your husband rose exceptionally early, waking you with him. In no time at all, you found yourself dressed and eagerly making the journey from the estate to the docks of Southampton.

Dopheld and Rose had both joined you, although they sat in the next room over on the train, which was reserved for the servants of the first class passengers. You and Kylo were exchanging knowing smiles and excited glances as the overcast sky was broken by patches of sunshine. You longed to rest your head on his shoulder, but you had been done up completely in all your new finery from Paris, and the hat atop your head was so large that you’d most likely accidentally hit Kylo in the face with all your feathers, if you were to try.

So instead, you looked out the window, completely entranced, and Kylo looked at you, his free hand that was not being held by your own reaching up occasionally to brush against the soft skin just below your ear. It was a tender touch that had you smiling, a smile which only grew as the train chugged its way through the town, officially drawing the journey to a close.

“Kylo! My darling, is that it?” You asked, nearly plastering yourself to the window as a great ship came into view.

You were not the only one who had noticed or anticipated the arrival, and as the train got closer and closer to the port, there was a very palpable energy that could be felt throughout the entire room.

Kylo nodded, gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he sipped some brandy he had ordered from the food service aboard the train.

“I cannot think of anything else it could be.” Kylo said, peering around your hat to get a look at the ship, the RMS Titanic, “Isn’t she grand?”

It had to be nearly a thousand feet long, and it felt just as tall, the way the great smokestacks protruded into the air, only contributing to the England-typical foggy weather. Birds swirled around the cables and squawked and cawed, and you could see the small dots of crewman wandering the ship, preparing it for all the new passengers which would board it on its maiden voyage.

You were giddy from the size of it alone, wishing the train would finally come to a stop so that you could get off of it and onto the vessel.

“Oh Heavens it’s enormous! Absolutely enormous. I’ve never seen such a ship in all my life.” You grinned, and such a reaction made Kylo smile softly at you.

“Do you like it?” He asked, kissing your satin gloved hand, and you laughed brightly, for that would truly be the understatement of the century.

“Like it? I adore it! I have no idea how such a thing can float, surely it would be too heavy and sink – yet here she is, a true marvel.” You cannot stop looking at it, at this feat of engineering.

“The only thing worth marveling at, is you my sweet.” He said, making you blush and duck your chin just so, unused to such blatant confessions.

When the whistle of the train blew and the brakes came to a squeaky halt, it took everything in you to calmly stand and collect yourself, arm looped through Kylo’s as you made your way out of the train hall and down the stairs where you met up with Dopheld and Rose as the two handled your baggage.

Speaking of baggage, you cannot help but stare in wonder as great mechanical cranes lifted platforms piled high with trunks, high into the air and onto the ship from right there on the port. You thought of all the things they had to build specifically for this ship, for the whole of the White Star line. You imagined that the berth had to be custom built as well, not believing that any port could accommodate a ship of this magnitude with ease.

Being that it was the Titanic, the port was simply packed, swarming with people. From all walks of life and classes, passengers dressed in their absolute best awaited entry to the ship. The noise was practically deafening, between the overlapping conversations of a thousand men women and children, that you were so surprised that through it all, your husband’s name was uttered in a tone that offered nothing but suspicion and disrespect.

As you, Kylo, Dopheld and Rose made your way through the crowds of people who were disembarking from the train, you could feel the judgmental stares from higher society who had come off of the first train only moments prior.

“Look – everyone look it’s Lord Ren.” One of them, a woman wearing a fashionable black and white striped dress whispered loudly, not doing anything to really conceal her disdain.

“Oh and that must be his bride, wonder how she hasn’t hanged herself yet.” Her companion, another fashionable young woman in deep purple silks laughed behind her fan.

“Wonder how he hasn’t yet killed her himself.” A third wearing such a largely feathered hat that you wondered how she did not topple straight over, glared harshly in your direction.

Your grip on Kylo’s arm only tightened, and you take it upon yourself to put them in their place.

“Pay them no mind.” You said loudly to your husband, more so for the benefit of them hearing you say it than anything else, “One would think being in the presence of such breathtaking sights would inspire more stimulating conversation than this vapid group is spewing.”

The women gasp in shock, offended, affronted, and you only smirk to yourself and to Kylo, as he fights a smile of his own.

“I am sorry my darling, that you must bear witness to such frivolity. Shall we explore the docks?” He offers, going along with you, but you only shoot the women a look.

“Please.” You say, making a point to dramatically turn your back to the women, your own ruffles and lace and feathers coming across much more elegantly than their ill-fitting garments.

You don’t get too far, before other people begin to take notice.

“Lord Ren!” One of the crewmen came running up to you and Kylo, “Sir I beg your pardon, it is an honor to be in the presence of such nobility. Please, may I take your bags?” He asked, and Dopheld was more than eager to hand them all over, the many trunks and boxes that Kylo had packed for you.

“Oh yes thank you my good sir, I am putting my trust in you, these are mostly belonging to my wife, and we don’t dare want to misplace them.” Kylo slipped him a large note, and the man’s eyes widened, bowing in respect.

“No sir, not at all sir, right away sir!” He said, before disappearing towards where those large electric cranes were, no doubt knowing exactly which room would be yours to put them in.

Kylo leads the way through the people, and you can’t help but feel so excited, a true sense of adventure at this moment. You had never been to America before, never left the continent at all – and what a grand first journey this would be!

Suddenly, you are nearly knocked into quite harshly a young man with a shock of blonde hair comes darting between you and Kylo, whooping and cheering like he had just won the lottery. He’s shouting, held a big sack over his shoulder, and waves a slip of paper in his hand as he and a friend cut through the crowd.

“Watch it!” Kylo barked, immediately righting you in his arms, helping you regain your footing from where he had nearly made you go crashing to the ground.

“Sorry mister!” The young man tossed over his shoulder, but Kylo is far more interested in you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, checking you over, searching your face for any signs that you had been harmed. Instead he finds signs that you are on the verge of panicking – for you are, and you’re finding it difficult to breathe just from the sheer spectacle of it all.

“Yes, yes of course. Just a little overwhelmed is all, there are a great many people.” You tried to explain, but Kylo shushed you gently, held you close as he took your fan from your free hand and waved your face with it.

“You are in dire need of fresh air, Dopheld please, would you help clear a path for (Y/N)?” He asked, and the boy immediately nodded, more than willing to help you.

“Make way!” He shouted, parting a path like he were some prophet.

“Could we please just go onto the ship? I apologize, I didn’t realize how crowded it would be.” You tried to apologize, feeling terrible for ruining the good mood of the afternoon.

The clock was striking a quarter until noon, leaving only fifteen minutes before the ship was set to depart, and you very badly needed to lie down. Kylo thankfully was in no mood to argue with you, as he seemed to never be, and instead was leading you through the path that Dopheld had cleared.

“You have nothing to apologize for, the gangplank is right this way.” He kissed you, square on the lips, making those around you gasp at such a display of affection.

You smiled at the show, face hot from a slight embarrassment at being the center of such attention, but Kylo paid no one any mind as he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you some more, to help calm you down.

As his tongue slid against yours, his arms wound around you and you sighed into his embrace. The poor man had to tilt his head awkwardly to avoid knocking over your hat, but you were thankful for such the large brim, as it concealed just how passionate the kiss was – concealed it from one side of you, at the very least.

When the disgruntled men and women gave way to wolf-whistles and jeers from those of the lower classes, did Kylo then pull away.

“Perhaps we should find our cabin straight away.” You suggested, and he only laughed loud, the sound of it unfortunately swallowed by a great big horn that was blown from the ship.

Feeling a new sense of invigoration, you and Kylo ran towards the gangplank up the gangplank, and onto the ship.

You passed the third-class passengers who were getting their health inspection, men and women and children all opening their eyes and mouths and ears for doctors to ensure that no disease or illness could be spread to the others aboard, crew and passenger alike.

A few people were turned away, and you felt a pang of sorrow for them, for how must it feel to be denied entry to such an incredible ship as this?

If you were afraid of heights, you did not look down, but it wouldn’t have even occurred to you to do so, to look back at the hundreds of faces who were waving the ship off. No, you were far too occupied with looking forward, up at your husband, at his handsome face in the sun which had finally managed to beat away the clouds.

Once aboard the deck of the ship, you gasp, hand covering your mouth, at the view.

It was, in a word, breathtaking.

The sunshine really had transformed the entire ship, the white paint practically glittered and shone like the diamonds which were scattered atop the water of the English Channel, casting a bright glow over the entire port.

The deck was a flurry of activity, those very same cranes you had seen were now swinging over your head as they lowered all manner of things aboard – luggage yes, but also great cars which were highly polished, sending a sparkle of their own. There were all sorts of men doing inspections all across the ship, and you spotted one man entirely in white doing such checks as well.

“Do you think that’s the captain?” You asked, excitement showing through your voice and general demeanor.

“I do believe so my dear.” Kylo followed your gaze to the man in white, a thick white beard to boot, “Would you like to meet him?”

“Meet him! No, no we couldn’t possibly. He must be so busy.” Your eyed widen comically as you wave off your flustered appearance. Only Kylo would be so bold as to make introductions to someone so important as the captain of all people.

“Perhaps another night then, we have all week, after all.” Kylo said, making you only shake your head.

The ship had begun to set sail, and you were thrilled by this, by the cheering, the fanfare, the orchestra playing up grand music, until you saw something of a pitiful sight.

“Why do you suppose there are so many of the same ship, over in the berth?” You asked, gesturing to the row of nearly identical boats docked in the harbor, all laid up against one another, listing from side to side.

“Lack of coal,” Rose piped up, her eyes bright as she offered the information she had read in the paper only that morning, “The miners have just finished their strike, there isn’t enough coal yet for all the ships to set sail. I heard they’re consolidating the passengers from the other ships onto the Titanic.”

“Will there be enough space for them all?” You asked, but Rose nodded happily.

“Of course, there’s no sense in overloading a ship with passengers she can’t hold. It will all be fine. Besides, we are not going to be seeing them much anyway, as we’re on the top deck.” She said, pride clear in her voice.

“First class is such a luxury.” You sighed dreamily, proud in your own rights as well.

Kylo kissed your knuckles, before kissing your lips once more out in the open, like the right scoundrel he was.

“It is one that I hope you grow accustomed to, for from now on you’ll never travel with anything less.” He murmured against your lips, no doubt earning him some dirty glares from the elderly passengers which were making their way out and about on the deck.

“I would like to just go to our cabin, if we might?” You asked, lowering your voice as you pressed your lips closer to his ear, “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t get my hands on you this instant.”

Kylo only chuckled, and looked around as if he were a spy, searching for someone who might be after them. When he found no such pursuer, he pulled you back around one of the structures which housed a room you did not know. All that you knew was there was shade here in the back, and as Kylo pressed you up against the cool wall, you let yourself be kissed once again.

You had hoped that Rose and Dopheld had taken the hint, had gone to find the cabins themselves, or at the very least busy themselves while Kylo worked very hard at getting the bodice of your dress undone. It seemed to be a quiet corner of the ship, an intimate oasis where there was nothing but the wall, you, and the railing which gave a spectacular view of the port, of the channel beyond.

Kylo was not so concerned with the view, and was much more concerned with freeing your chest, with pulling your breasts up out of your corset so that he could bury his face between the cleavage. He sucked and kissed at your flesh, and you gasped lightly when you felt his fingers ruck up your skirt and petticoat, when you felt his hot hand branding your thigh as he searched through all the fabric to find the smooth skin between your legs, the wet slick of your pussy.

He truly was unashamed, as he released your cleavage from his mouth only to seal his lips over yours as you moaned into him, those deft fingers of his working you open more and more. It was entirely inappropriate, to do such a thing so out in the open, but there were no one around to judge you, not unless you counted the gulls which circled and flew low on the water.

“I am going to ravish you tonight.” Kylo promised, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you, “But I made a promise to myself to make you come as soon as you stepped foot on this ship, and that’s what I aim to do.” He grinned, those crooked teeth of his which you found so endearing shining pearly white.  

“Kylo – ” You laughed, a laugh which turned into a long and low moan, such a thing he had to capture in his lips so that no one would find you, would see how he was touching you so, with your tits out as they were.  

“Shh, shh just enjoy it.” Kylo said, a third finger joining the others in your pussy.

You leaned all of your weight against the wall, and held his arm in place as he made out with you, eliciting the sweetest sounds and sighs of pleasure. His wrist was turned just so, that he could rub his thumb in lazy little circles on your clit, make your chest heave.

Your hips were unable to sit still, pelvis thrusting down onto his hand, and you were so close to reaching your climax, so close to coming – when all of a sudden the sound of gunshots rang clear and bright through the air.

Kylo moved faster than you had ever seen him, pulling his hand out from between your legs, out from under your skirt, arranging your breasts so they sat comfortably back in your corset and buttoning you into your bodice in record time. He grabbed your hand and the two of your raced from the side of the boat where you had been hiding away, into the fray of scrambling passengers who had all heard the same shots.

“Get down!”

“What was that?”

“Does anyone know?”

“Can someone tell us?”

In all the confusion, dogs began to bark and children began to wail, but you only clutched onto Kylo until crewmen came pouring out of the ship onto the deck, blowing their whistles to gain attention. They were giving no information however, only blowing their whistles, and that wasn’t helping anyone, wasn’t making anyone calm down. You ran to the side of the ship, and watched with fear as more and more gunshots sounded.

“(Y/N)!” Kylo chased after you, holding onto your hand as best as he could while you maneuvered your way through the gathering which had amassed on the side of the ship to listen to the gunshots, to look for the criminal.

Except they weren’t gunshots at all, what everyone was hearing was the sound of cables snapping, of chords and wires tearing apart, breaking free from the hull of those ships which had been laid up in the port, those same ships which had donated their coal in exchange for the Titanic accepting their passengers for this voyage.

The other boats belonging to the White Star line had broken free from their moorings and were heading right for you.

“My god, the ships are turning this way!” You shouted, causing an entirely new panic all your own.

The force from the propellers of the Titanic had caused such a stir in the waters, that it had rocked and swayed those boats docked in the port until they had come breaking free, and now they were being sucked towards the Titanic due to the sheer size of the ship.

No sooner than those words had left your lips, did tug-boats pour out into the water from the docks, armed with many experienced crewmen who seemingly were prepared for an event such as this.

The presence of the boats must have done something to displace all the water, to set the gravitational pull to rights once again, because as one of the ships came ever closer, as the people gasped and backed away as quickly as they could, suddenly it was all still once again.

“All clear!” The foreman blew his whistle, trying to calm the mass of people who were now shouting and yelling, demanding a refund or to be let off the ship immediately. You didn’t blame them, the boat was close enough that you could probably reach out a hand and smack the hull. “Everything is fine! Passengers please being to settle, we will be departing in half an hour.”

Your heart was beating hard in your chest, but Kylo was right there, right there behind you, holding you tight.

He held you in a way that said, ‘I will never let you go,’ and that reassured you more than words probably ever could.

Once the initial shock of the almost crash had passed, you began to laugh, the anxiety bubbling up out of you in a hiccupping chuckle that had nearly everyone around you confused, concerned.

“What a dramatic start to the trip!” You explained to the questioning eyes, and only then did they all nod in understanding, letting out a few laughs of relief themselves.

Kylo wasted no more time in getting your party together, leading you and the servants inside the main area of the ship, away from the deck. He was not laughing, a dangerous, angry glare cast over his features that had you worried.

Was it the interruption of your moment of intimacy? Had you reacted poorly to the near-crash? Or was he simply worried, and this was how he showed it? You didn’t know, you’d have to ask him when you were both safely tucked away in your cabin.

“Could you imagine if the boats had crashed, right here in the harbor? What a waste that would be.” Rose tutted, but Dopheld only shook his head.

“I wouldn’t be worried, she is unsinkable after all.” He pointed out, echoing the same slogan which they had been advertising this ship under for so many weeks now.

“Right you are, Dopheld.” Kylo replied, opening the grand doors to the first class reception lobby, “Right you are.”

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

Tagging some pals! As always if you’d like to be taken off or added to the taglist, just send me a message <3  @adamsnackdriver​ @dreamboatdriver​ @plomblooms​ @kylo-renne​ @callmehopeless​ @imaginedreamwrite​ @formerly-anonhamster​ @kyloxfem​ @tinyplanet-explorers​ @zaneholtzwrites​ @heldcaptivebychaos​ @inkstaineddaughter​ @venusianmaiden​ @thepilotanon​ @solotriplets​ @autumnlovesadam​ @punk-in-docs​

[creative-type]

wake from death and return to life vi

AO3 First Previous Summary:  Zoro had always been told that Kuina died falling down the stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

AN: buckle up, kiddos. This is a long one

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“It goes like this.”

Danny and Kuina exited the canteen line each with a bowl of rice and limp vegetables. They’d had to wait nearly an hour for even that, the Revolution carefully rationing the stores they’d raided from Tolouse’s granaries in the short time they were in control of the city. Danny claimed they had enough for at least a week of fighting, longer, perhaps, if the situation grew truly dire. Kuina couldn’t help but wonder how many of the men and women of Tolouse were allied with the Revolution simply because they filled their bellies, and how many would turn against them as their supplies dwindled.

Together, Kuina and Danny found a quiet corner and crouched down in the shadows to eat. It felt criminal, but Kuina was hungry, and she didn’t want the others to hear that she was grilling the one member of de Gris’s crew she could trust to be honest with her.

“Aria came from some Grand Line island or other known for its fencers,” Danny said in a low tone. She was just as eager to be left alone as Kuina, and perfectly happy to share the information she knew. “I heard her mother ran one of the more successful ones before she was killed in a pirate attack. It was after that Aria joined the marines.”

“I knew it!” Kuina said triumphantly. That damn coat never lied.

Danny looked at her askance, before chuckling wrly to herself. “She’s not the only one. Lyudmila was a marine, too, though not near as distinguished. When Aria left she took her ship with her, the Lady Valor. It made quite the stir at the time, I remember my parents reading about it in the paper. Of course, that was before I joined the Revolution,” she added, somewhat bitterly.

They paused as a Revolutionary wearing a tiger mask walked past. Kuina ate a few spoonfuls in silence, unwilling to admit she didn’t trust the Government-controlled news, nor care enough about world events, to bother with the paper. But before Danny had a chance to continue, the question burning at the end of her tongue spilled out. “Lady Valor…That’s something I don’t understand. Why are all her subordinates women? Doesn’t that make you conspicuous when you go from port to port? It’s not like there are that many lady sailors in the world.”

Kuina was half-afraid the other woman would laugh, or at least chastise her, but Danny simply took another bite of rice. “If I understand correctly—and mind you I heard all this second-hand; Boss gets real persnickety when asked—Aria sailed for a time under Vice Admiral Tsuru. She’s pretty famous for having an all female squadron on the Grand Line, so I guess that’s where she picked it up. But her whole crew isn’t women.”

“Just the important ones,” Kuina said, not sure if she was making a statement or asking a question.

“More or less,” Danny agreed.

Kuina scowled down in the general direction of her shoes. “That is so weird.”

“Aria has an eye for finding talent, no matter where that talent comes from,” Danny said. “There are a lot of men out there who wouldn’t even see people like us, let alone think to recruit us for the Revolution, no matter how talented we are. I mean, Dara was a street thief before Aria picked her up, and now she’s one of our best spooks, Elizabeth was on the run after accidentally causing an explosion at a marine garrison...”

“What?” Kuina interjected. “How?”

“Dust explosion with their flour supply,” Danny said. Seeing Kuina’s bug-eyed look of shock, she added hastily, “I mean, not all recruitments are that dramatic—I was only a naive apprentice stuck working under a jackass of a master when I first met her—but the point stands.” She finished the rest of her food and leaned her head back against the wall with a contented sigh. “She’s a bitch to work under sometimes, but at the time I was thankful to be free.”

“And now?”

Danny shrugged. “The Revolution isn’t for everyone. I think the next time we stop off at a base I’ll request to stay behind. Just build and fix ships, without having to worry about all this.” She gestured broadly to the streets of Tolouse.

“You can do that?” Kuina asked, surprised. “Just...ask not to fight any more?”

“Oh, sure. The Revolution is nothing about giving people the freedom of choice,” Danny said. “In fact, Aria’s crew rotates pretty frequently depending on what job she’s working on. Before you came along, Elizabeth was newest. She’s still pretty hopeless when it comes to fighting and sailcraft, so I think she’ll transfer to HQ one of these days to work on making weapons full time. Lyudmila is pretty much the only constant, but then again they left the marines together, so that’s not that a big of a surprise.”

Kuina squinted at her suspiciously. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

Danny laughed. “Well, I haven’t heard much about you. What’s your story? No, wait, let me guess—You’re a failed kabuki actor who accidentally swapped a prop sword for the real deal and killed the trope’s best actor, forcing you to go on the lam.”

Kuina couldn’t help it. She laughed. There was something about Danny’s flippant tone mixed with the ridiculousness of what she’d said that broke something within her. The tension that had been building within her since Loguetown eased from Kuina’s shoulders, and despite the smoky air, she could actually breathe.

The weak attempt at a joke wasn’t even funny. If anything, the truth that she’d revealed her face to a marine who might as well be her twin was even more ridiculous. But Kuina laughed until she cried, not caring if the people who walked past thought she was crazy, or that she’d spent her morning witnessing the aftermath of a massacre and her afternoon trying to comfort the hurt and dying.

It was infectious. Danny held back as long as she could, but soon her shoulders were shaking as she tried unsuccessfully to suppress giggles of her own. Each errant snort or cackle made the cycle start anew, each feeding into the other until their energy was spent and they were sprawled out in the street like a pair of drunks.

“That’s good. No matter what happens, you can’t forget how to laugh,” Danny said as she tried to catch her breath.

“What are you now, a sage?” Kuina asked.

“Maybe,” she said mysteriously, before falling into another fit of giggles. When she finally got herself under control, she pushed herself upright. “You never did answer the question, by the way. What are you doing here if you’re not a part of the Revolution?”

“I’m…”

“There you are.”

The shadow of Aria de Gris fell over them. The sun was sinking fast, the last rays of light skimming over the top of the barricades to shroud her in a celestial glow. Kuina suddenly felt very small and very foolish, and chided herself for being caught off guard. Hastily she got to her feet, settling her mask back over her face.

“Come on,” de Gris said, seemingly unaware of how her very presence sucked what little joy and happiness Kuina had found since leaving Loguetown. “I’ve got a job for the both of you.”

They were led inside a tiny seamstress’s shop. What little space that was available was crowded by shelves full of vibrant bolts of fabric, while spools of thread organized by color hung on racks next to mannequins draped with half-finished dresses. At the back of the shop a table had been swept away of cutting boards, material, sewing machines, and needles, dominated instead by a large map of the city.

Spooled bobbins, blue thread indicating the position of the Revolutionaries and red the Tolouse army, had been set down marking their respective positions. Kuina was no master strategist, but it seemed to her that there was a lot more red than blue. She squeezed in a small space between Danny and Dara, who had beaten them to the meeting, glad to be next to the two members of de Gris’s crew she was most familiar with.

“Alright, ladies. I know it’s been a hell of a day already, but we’ve received new orders,” de Gris said once everyone was settled. She rested her hands against the table, staring down at the bobbins as if a glare was enough to wipe them off the face of the map. “To start with some good news, earlier today Betty was able to capture a couple ships without damaging them—one military, one merchant. Incorporating them into our plans going forward will be vital to our mission’s success.”

“I’ve seen those ships, Captain,” Camille interrupted. “They’re small, and the merchant vessel isn’t outfitted for battle. I’m not sure they’ll be of much help in a fight.”

Heads around the table nodded in unison. Of de Gris’s crewmembers Kuina had already met, only Lyudmila was missing, replaced by an old woman she had never seen before. The old woman had a stoop in her back that made her even shorter than Elizabeth and wore a pair of glasses so tiny that it was a wonder she could even see through them. She appeared to only half-listen to what de Gris was saying, concentrating more on a line of snail phones laying at the edge of the map.

The communications expert, then. Danny had said something of her earlier, but Kuina couldn’t recall her name. Ignoring her for the moment, she turned her attention back to de Gris.

“The surprise attack on the square and fires have cut deeply into our numbers,” Camille said. “Even with Betty’s tropes, I don’t know how we can undo the damage that’s been done. Perhaps if Dragon had stayed…”

“Dragon had his own business to attend to,” de Gris said sharply. “And we aren’t going to use those ships to attack. Betty has decided—-and I agree—-that it’s time for our squad to pull out. Reinforcements should be arriving from the Venn Islands within the week, and we’re needed elsewhere.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room, and de Gris continued, “Betty’s people are gathering those who wish to escape the island, and we are to help escort them to safety with a coordinated rearguard action. Those who wish to continue the liberation effort will flee from the city to an underground cave system to the north and hopefully live to fight another day.”

“You can’t just leave them.”

Aria de Gris looked up even as Kuina regretted the words that came out of her mouth, but to her immense surprise a few heads around the table bobbed in agreement.

“We stopped them once, we can do it again,” Dara said, putting a hand on Kuina’s shoulder. Her facepaint was worse for wear, smeared in some places and scraped off entirely in others, but that didn’t put a damper on her determination. “I was out there all day, and they’re no stronger than before. They caught us by surprise. That doesn’t mean they won.”

“This isn’t about winning,” de Gris said. Her voice was cold and her eyes shifted into the same ugly look they had upon arriving at Tolouse. Elizabeth, who happened to be nearest to her, took a small step to the side, until she was touching elbows with Clara Cross.

“This isn’t about winning,” she repeated after taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Our current position is indefensible. Military reinforcements will soon arrive from outside the city, and with them is a civilian army that thinks we killed their king in cold blood. The ones Betty had been grooming to take over once we secured control were murdered when the authorities purged the unions. Even here, half the men on our side believe we set the fires that destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones. If Betty were to use her ability now, there’s a fifty-fifty chance the riots would turn on the Revolution.

“There are powers at play trying very hard to ensure that we do not claim this island. For God’s sake, use your brain,” de Gris said harshly. “Why do you think Dragon came to the East Blue? Hell, why do you think he brought us to the East Blue, if he didn’t expect some sort of foul play?”

“Then why didn’t he stick around?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Because he thought we won,” Camille said slowly, comprehension dawning as she put together what de Gris was saying. “Because we all thought we won.”

“I don’t think anyone could have predicted them blowing up their king,” Clara said.

De Gris nodded. “We’ve been had. It’s dangerous for Dragon to stay in any one place for an extended period of time, and I think our enemy realized that when planning their counterattack. If the World Government knew he was in the East Blue for weeks on end they wouldn’t hesitate to send forces after him.”

“As if the marines could defeat Dragon,” Dara snorted.

“The collateral damage would be enormous. Would any of you like to face off against a Buster Call?” She paused for effect as the faces around the table paled. “I thought not.”

Tapping a finger against the map, de Gris continued, “In any case, the Revolution doesn’t overthrow islands with the intention of taking control for ourselves. We follow the will of the people, and, unfortunately, with the stories that have been circulated island-wide, we have lost the war of public opinion. The best thing is to cut our losses and regroup for a prolonged fight elsewhere. And that fight doesn’t include us.”

She fell silent, unease settling over the crew like a lead blanket. Kuina looked down at her sword. For the most part she agreed with de Gris’s logic, but the idea of de Gris abandoning the island didn’t sit well with her. Dara and Camille’s efforts getting Betty’s people ashore safely proved that a handful of skilled fighters could turn the tide of battle. Surely the rebellion on Tolouse needed doctors, and bomb makers, and...and…

God above, she was taking their side. Kuina didn’t even have proof that their war was justified, and she wanted to stay and help them fight it. What was wrong with her? They had promised her passage to the Grand Line, she couldn’t stay here and follow her ambition at the same time.

She wondered how disappointed Zoro would be if he could see her now.

“When’s the retreat?” Danny asked, propping her head up on her chin as she looked down at the map thoughtfully.

“Tonight. I take it the Valor is ready to sail?” de Gris said.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” Danny said.

“And our snails? Trini?”

The old woman blinked as she looked up. “I have attempted several frequencies across the natural spectrum den-den mushi are capable of, and each have been jammed. That means there are a large number of horned den-den mushi active, likely spread out across the city.”

“Horned den-den mushi?” Elizabeth asked.

“A new breed of snail, dear, just developed in the last several years. Instead of sending and receiving transmissions, the horn-like protrusions on their bodies instead send bursts of white noise that overload the wavelengths the snails use to communicate. They seem to be quite contrary little creatures.”

“Seem?” de Gris said. “You’ve never handled them?”

“Until today, no.”

Trini pulled a snail from the pocket of her apron and set it on the table. It was smaller than the snail typically used for making calls, but larger than a baby den-den mushi. Two small protrusions stuck out on either side, just below the head. Twin eyestalks glared balefully up Trini, as if showing how little it appreciated being stuffed in an old woman’s pocket.

“One of the lads found him on a windowsill. Bless his heart, he brought it here not even thirty minutes ago thinking it was one of mine that had run away. As if any snail of mine would be so ornery,” Trini said. She looked back up at de Gris regretfully.  “My dear, someone brought it here, likely after the barricades were placed.”

“Dear god, that means…” Danny breathed. She suddenly cut herself, unable to bring herself to say aloud what the presence of enemy snails in the heart of the Revolutionary’s stronghold meant.  

“If possible, Aria, I would like more,” Trini said. “They would be invaluable to the Revolution going forward.”

“That would necessitate finding the little beasts,” de Gris said, but even then a thoughtful look crossed over her face.”

“All the literature I’ve read suggests their range is limited. And, if I might add, they block all signals, not just ours. Considering the dearth of homing pigeons of late, I can only assume that Tolouse’s network is working without difficulty,” Trini said. “The one time I was able to contact you while at sea, I happened to be outside the barricades. I believe that if the Revolution leaves the city entirely, communications should be restored without need for further intervention.”

“Assuming no one brings the little bastards along with them,” de Gris said, her eyes narrowed into slits. Her crew didn’t say a word as she silently fumed.

Suddenly de Gris slammed a fist against the table, throwing bobbins into the air and making the wood crack under the blow. “They’ve had us outplayed from the very beginning,” she said darkly. “Trini, go to Betty with what you’ve found. I want this hellhole scoured for any more of those snails before we move. Clara, get back to the wounded. Make it so that those who are healthy enough to travel can travel. Camille, Danny, get to the Valor and make sure she’s ready for a hasty exit. Dara, there should be some scouts ensuring our path of retreat is clear, I want you to help them. Elizabeth, I want anyone who comes after the Revolution’s retreat to run into some surprises along the way. Understood?”

There were a few snapped salutes, a few more, yes ma’ams, and de Gris’s crew gathered their belongings and started for the exit. Kuina alone stayed in place, closing her eyes as the Revolutionary women brushed past her to leave. Someone clasped their hand on her shoulder, but her thoughts were too jumbled to try and figure out who.

In seconds she was alone with de Gris. Slowly Kuina opened her eyes, but de Gris didn’t seem to realize that she was still there. She was still staring down at the map as if had the answers that she sought.

“Uhh...” Kuina forced herself to keep her face neutral as de Gris’s head snapped up.

De Gris’s eyes bored into her, but Kuina got the feeling that it was looking without really seeing. Her mind was too busy elsewhere. “”What do you want?”

“Am I supposed to just go with Danny?” Kuina asked. You said this was an army. What are my orders?

De Gris let out a heavy breath, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. Her eyebrows knit together in an unhappy line. “No…” she said slowly. “We need strong swords to help escort the ones who are fleeing. They’re just ordinary people. Most don’t know how to hold themselves in a fight, and I can’t trust the few who do to keep a clear head in a sticky situation.”

She paused then. So long that Kuina wondered if she’d been dismissed, but before she could take her leave, de Gris said in a low voice, “I can’t promise I can get you to the Grand Line after this.”

Kuina froze in place.

“There’s too much here that doesn’t make sense. Too many resources being used to ensure we don’t win this island. I’m not going to be satisfied with running away with my tail tucked between my legs without bloodying their nose first. My pride won’t allow it. Do you understand, Swordsman?”

“You promised,” Kuina said, the buzz in her ears making her voice sound faint and very far away. “Dragon promised!”

“I know,” de Gris said. “That’s why I’m telling you I want you on that boat with the rest of the refugees. It’s headed for a Revolutionary stronghold at the entrance of the Grand Line. From there, you’re free to do as you please.”

At first Kuina didn’t hear the words that came out of her mouth. But when they pierced through her defensive walls of anger she deflated like a punctured balloon. “You’re going to just...let me go? Even after seeing one of your bases?”

De Gris showed what she thought about Kuina selling the Revolution out with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You said it yourself—the marines don’t like people who beat up their officers, even if the information’s good. I don’t know if that shot would have hit Elizabeth earlier today, but you saved me from having to find out. The Revolution saved your ass at Loguetown, but you’ve paid that debt. A life for a life.” She chuckled darkly to herself. “Hell, if you wanted to go out there and fight for the Tolouse army I wouldn’t stop you. But I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

“No, of course not.” Getting to the Grand Line was all that mattered.

“Then get out of my sight. God willing, we’ll never have to see one another again.”

Kuina’s frown deepened. It would take hours to organize the retreat. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t cross paths before then.

Unless…

“You told everyone else what their jobs were,” Kuina said carefully, “but you never said what you’re planning to do in all this mess.”

A wolfish grin spread across de Gris’s face. “You need to get your ears checked, kid. I told you already—there are some people out there who deserve to get their noses bloody, and I’m going to make sure they get what’s coming to them.”

She turned back to the table and carefully rolled up the map. Recognizing the dismissal when she saw it, Kuina left the shop, not sure if she should be apprehensive or jealous.

Elizabeth was just outside the doorway, talking with a Revolutionary in a fox helmet. Kuina stopped, a feeling that was strangely familiar to regret washing over her. It would have been so much easier if these were bad people, but they weren't. Making a snap decision, Kuina slung her bag from her shoulder and rummaged through its contents until she found a

her few remaining bills that had survived falling into the sea.

She counted out five hundred berries and shoved them into Elizabeth’s hand, ignoring the girl’s indignant, and then confused look as she stalked away.

After all, a swordsman always paid their debts.

Xxx

The Revolutionary Kuina was partnered with described sewers as the arteries of a city. Smelly, dirty arteries that were barely passable for a healthy, able-bodied person, and the majority of the men, women, and children that fleeing Tolouse couldn’t rightly be called either.

Kuina was glad that she didn’t have the thankless task of choosing between who had the opportunity to flee and the ones forced to stay. The Revolution didn’t have nearly enough ships to accommodate those whose homes had been destroyed, and even if they did, they had to be cautious who they allowed into their secret bases scattered throughout the world.

Instead she and a man called Azem shuffled small clusters of people through the city’s underground. They were one of several teams, each taking different routes to the various boats hidden up and down the coast. The hope was that the Revolutionaries above would provide enough of a distraction to the army for them to get away safely, but the depleted numbers of the Revolution meant they had to move quickly or risk being overrun.

That was a task easier said than done. Many of the people Kuina guided were in shock, some refusing to acknowledge that they may never return to their homes. Some screamed when they were forced to leave behind treasured belongings too heavy or awkward to carry. Kuina heard enough ungrateful grumbling to last a thousand lifetimes, and those who didn’t complain wept, an overwhelming sense of fear exuding from them that was more pungent than the foulness they were forced to travel through.

It was exhausting in a way her training had never prepared her for. Kuina made the last trip with a boy strapped across her back, his little arms like vice grips around her neck. Even though she could scarcely breathe, Kuina didn’t chastise him. Strangulation was better than him crying, which seemed inevitable by his hitched, haggard breathing every time she adjusted his weight on her back.

Clasped around her hand, equally tight, was the boy’s older sister. Kuina didn’t like having only one hand free for her sword, but the girl had refused to move unless she had someone to hold on to, and no one else volunteered for the task. The clothes of both children were well cared for and they lacked the thin-limbed, gaunt look of hunger, which meant that they had had someone to watch over them at one point in time, but who that person was Kuina had no idea. Asking had made fat tears fall down the girl’s face, and she eventually decided she was better off not knowing.

Every few minutes the walls of the sewer would shake and rumble from an explosion above ground, each one dislodging bits of mortar and grime overhead and sending a jolt of increased urgency and anxiety through their small group. It was in those tensest moments that Kuina was most grateful for Azem. He was a jovial, middle aged man who chose to go without a mask, going from person to person encouraging them onward, helping stragglers, and generally keeping this last group from panicking.

It was miserable, thankless work, but finally they reached the metal rungs that would lead them to safety. Azem climbed first, pausing to listen at the cover of the manhole before lifting it aside.

“Hurry,” he urged. “There’s not much time—”

A blinding flash of light flashed in the sky above, followed immediately by a roar of fire. Those trying to flee screamed, and Kuina had to catch one who tried to run back through the tunnels even as the girl at her side tried to bury her head in Kuina’s shirt.

Azem was knocked from the ladder and landed awkwardly on the walkway below. He cried out in pain, immediately clutching at his leg.

“We’re dead! They’ve found us and now we’re dead!” a woman screamed shrilly.

“No one’s dying!” Kuina snapped. She threw the attempted runaway back into the group and pried the children off of her body, handing them off to the nearest person who seemed willing to take them before rushing to Azem.

His right leg was obviously broken, but the bone hadn’t cut through the skin. Breathing a prayer for small mercies, Kuina looked up at the uncovered manhole. The moon was bright enough to break through the haze of smoke and ash. No further sounds of fighting filtered down below, and Kuina took a deep breath.

“It looks like it was an unlucky shot,” she said, keeping her voice calm and firm. She felt dozens of eyes boring into her back as she tried to think. “I’m going up to double check. Everyone stay put—running now probably will get you killed.”

She crouched down to Azem and asked quietly, “Did you hurt anything other than the leg?”

“No,” he gasped. “I don’t think so.”

Remembering one of the tricks the doctors used back at the Oldtown hospital, Kuina checked for the pulse by his ankle and found it was still strong. He was getting blood to his foot. With nothing here to help brace it, the best thing to do was probably get him to the ships to be looked after by someone who knew what they were doing.

That meant exiting the sewers.

Taking a deep breath, Kuina began to climb, straining her ears to hear anything that might have been amiss. When she reached the surface she lifted her head out carefully. She could hear the sound of fighting, but it was still in the distance. Chewing on her bottom lip, Kuina thought hard. The Tolouse Army was never supposed to get this close. Another misfired rocket could kill her whole group, but she didn’t know any other way to the ships.

They would have to be fast, but she couldn’t let them panic. Kuina lowered herself back into the tunnel.

“Definitely an unlucky shot,” she hissed. “Come on, we’re close now.”

The people looked at one another, naked fear in their expressions, but after a few tense seconds the man who’d tried to run stepped to the rungs. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not staying here.”

After that, they started fighting one another to escape. With her partner unable to organize the chaos below, it was all Kuina could do to pull them out of the hole as fast as they could climb. With her sword sheathed and her back to any potential enemy, the minutes passed with agonizing slowness, but Kuina was able to at least get them all out of the sewers.

All except Azem.

The sound of the battle grew louder. In her gut, Kuina knew that they only had before their position would be exposed. Her eyes flickered from the refugees to Azem and back again, while the people waited anxiously for her to tell them what to do.

“Do you remember where you’re going?” Kuina asked. A few nodded their heads hesitantly. “Then run. When you reach the ship tell the Revolutionaries to prepare ready to sail; I’ll be right behind you.”

Without waiting for their response, Kuina went down to the tunnel. Azem’s eyes bulged at the sight of her. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “The mission—”

“Do you want to die?” Kuina said sharply. “Because if I leave you here, that’s what’s going to happen.”

Kuina glanced up, but the shadows of the refugees were already gone. She hoped the little boy had found someone to carry him.

“My life isn’t what’s important here,” Azem said. “Besides, how the hell do you expect to get me out of here? You’ve condemned us both.”

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Kuina threw Azem over her shoulder. He bit back a groan, and without waiting for him to argue, Kuina began to climb.

It was neither elegant nor easy, but Kuina managed to get Azem out of the sewers. The fighting was even closer now. Kuina hadn’t managed more than a few steps before she heard someone yell, followed closely by the rapport of a rifle.

Kuina had no choice. She ran, the sound of her feet pounding against the ground in rhythm with the thundering of her heart. She smelt blood, but didn’t know where it was coming from. She ignored it. She ignored everything but the urge to run.

A bullet passed by overhead. Cursing, Kuina ducked down and forced herself faster. She could see the ocean now, and the silhouette of the Revolutionary’s ship against the backdrop of the rising moon. She was so close she could taste it…

A shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness and raised a gun. Kuina tried to stop, but she was going too fast, Azem’s weight making her clumsy. The flash of the muzzle blinded her vision, bullet missing her by inches.

When Kuina finally stopped, she recognized Danny’s terrified face. The shipwright fired twice more, and behind her, Kuina heard someone scream. A broken laugh bubbled through the terror.

“What are you doing?” Kuina screamed. “You’re supposed to be at the ship!”

“I...I couldn’t do it,” Danny said. “I can’t keep living like this. Weren’t you listening earlier? There a traitor leaking information to the marines. I know how Aria is. She won’t stop until she gets everyone under her command killed trying to figure out who.”

Danny fired twice more, and would have kept firing, except she’d run out of bullets. She had the wide-eyed look of a spooked horse and obviously wasn't thinking clearly. Kuina risked a glance behind her and swore. The battle was coming to them, and there was no time left to argue.

“Hold on Azem, almost there,” Kuina whispered, and once again she ran, grabbing Danny as she passed.

“I knew you’d understand,” she gasped. “That’s why I waited, I was so scared when you didn’t come with the rest, I thought you’d gone back to fight…”

“Less talking, more running,” Kuina growled. “I can’t carry the both of you—”

Sudden pain exploded in the back of her head. She barely felt the jolt as she collapsed to her knees, Azem sliding out of her arms, and was unconscious before ever hitting the ground

Xxx

Kuina woke in a dark, dingy room that smelled of shit and sweat. Clumsily she brought a hand to the back of her head, only to have it come back wet and sticky with blood. Even in the darkness she could feel the press of humanity around her, too many bodies in too close a space.

Someone had taken her sword.

“Wha...what happened?” she groaned. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she felt the gentle rock of water. A ship. She was on a ship.

Beams of moonlight came in from a hatch above, where bars of iron locked them away from their freedom. So not just a ship, she was in a brig. Groggily, Kuina got to her feet and looked around her, lurching forward without having any real idea where she was going.  

Someone tugged on her shirt. Kuina looked down to see the girl she’d helped guide through the sewers. De Gris said the Revolution had commandeered a military vessel, but there was no reason to force the refugees into a literal prison. Unless that was their way of hiding them until they reached their base on the Grand Line? It was the only explanation that made sense. Kuina couldn’t think. It hurt too much.

“Danny?” she groaned. “Azem?”

“They brought you in alone,” a man said hoarsely. Kuina recognized him, too. He’d tried to run away when Azem fell. The shadows of the night made the hollows of his cheeks seem deeper, his eyes more hopeless.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Kuina said.

“They captured us. Now they’re going to take us with all the rest.”

The words made someone else burst into a sob. Kuina looked all around, but only grew more confused. None of them were bound, yet they weren’t trying to escape. Nor was anyone in hysterics, or screaming for help. All around her Kuina saw faces drawn in weary resignation, as if they weren’t surprised by this turn of events.

“Take us with all the rest...where?” Kuina asked.

The man laughed a thin, reedy laugh. “They didn’t tell you? All criminals on Tolouse get shipped to Tequila Wolf. Damn you and your revolution, at least back home we could have died like men. You people have—” He cut himself off suddenly and turned his back on Kuina. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. Because of you, we’re all going to die.”

Kuina felt as if she’d been plunged in a bucket of ice water, but anger fueled by pain and confusion quickly burned through the shock. “No one forced you to come. You could have stayed and fought for your home, but you chose to flee. That’s not my fault.”

“I saw my wife burn!” the man screamed. “What was I supposed to do? I was a bricklayer, for god’s sake. I don’t know how to hold a sword or fire a gun. I didn’t ask for you to come, I didn’t want to fight!”

He came so close that Kuina began to see double, and for a moment it looked as if he might try to hit her. Kuina didn’t flinch as he grabbed a fist full of her jacket. Didn’t look away from the anguish burning in his eyes.

The only sound was of his labored breathing, his breath hot on her face. Still Kuina did not move. Then, all at once, his lip quivered, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. Kuina could do nothing as the man in front of her broke. Her jacket slid through his fingers as he slumped to his knees, face crumpled in abject misery before he buried it in his arms and wept.

“I remember when they took my uncle,” a woman said. “They stole him right from his bed, and we never saw him again.”

“The bastards got my best friend. Said he’d been stirring up sedition, whatever that means,” another said bitterly. “Found out later it was someone else handing out those fliers, but when we went to the judge asking them to bring him back he said there was nothing he could do.”

Others murmured in agreement, telling stories of other people They had gotten in the samed hushed tones children used for ghost stories, and with the same bone-chilling effect. Unease setting her teeth on edge, Kuina kneeled down to the man in front of her. Body-wracking sobs had overtaken him, and no matter what she did, Kuina couldn’t get him to even look at her.

The little girl pressed closer to her side, eyes wide as saucers. Kuina looked down at her and asked, “I don’t suppose you can tell me what Tequila Wolf is?”

When she spoke, the words came out in a little puff of air that scarcely bridged the distance between them. “It’s a place where bad people go until they learn how to be good.”

If the stories swirling around them were any indication, being good was a feat few managed to achieve. Head pounding, Kuina got to her feet and tried to think. The ship wasn’t sailing yet, but likely would be soon. She had to strain, but she could still hear the sounds of battle. Which she supposed was a good thing as it meant the Revolution hadn’t been overrun, but the plan had only been for short, distracting skirmishes to pull the Tolouse army’s attention away from the various retreats. They weren’t prepared to get dragged into a headon clash tonight.

There’s a traitor. Danny’s words rang in Kuina’s mind. That must have been how they knew to target the transport ships. Kuina didn’t know if any of the other ship’s locations had been compromised, but had to assume the worst. The Revolution’s closest reinforcements were still on the Venn Islands. No one was coming to rescue them once they got out to sea.

“Where’s your brother?” Kuina asked.

The girl shrugged. “They said he was too little and took him away. Can you find him? Please?”

Boots marched on the decks overhead. Over the murmuring of the captives Kuina heard the orders to raise anchor. Her eyes darted around looking for some escape, but it was a brig. Even if she stood on someone’s shoulders she didn’t think she’d be tall enough to reach the metal bars separating her from freedom.

If only I had my sword. But no. They’d taken it from her, along with her backpack and mask, and with her time and options dwindling to nothing, Kuina didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

It quickly became apparent that she couldn’t escape on her own, and the people around her were too busy wallowing in their own misery to be of much help. If she were somehow able to convince the sailors above she wasn’t a Revolutionary then maybe they might let her go, but based on the stories she was hearing even that seemed doubtful.

Kuina’s thought up and discarded several ideas in rapid succession, each more unlikely than the last, until she stumbled upon an idea that was insane enough to be worth trying. Not giving herself a chance to second guess her own stupidity, Kuina pushed through the crowd of people until she was directly under the hatch and bellowed at the top of her lungs,

“My name is Master Chief Petty Officer Tashigi of the 223rd Division, and I demand to speak with the captain of this ship!”

Ignoring the gasps of surprise from the Tolouse refugees, she cupped her hands against her face and repeated her demand. Her heart sank as she got no immediate answer, but she had never been one to let something as trifling as disappointment stop her before. Kuina bellowed her doppleganger’s name and rank again and again and again, until her voice cracked and her throat burned. Even if they did not believe her, Kuina hoped to at least annoy them enough to send someone to shut her up.

It took a few minutes of arduous effort, but eventually a head leaned over the iron bars, casting a shadow over Kuina. “Quit your hollering,” the sailor snapped. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I know for a fact there ain’t no marines in Tolouse.”

“I’m not from Tolouse you imbecile,” Kuina retorted. She tried to ape the same haughty manner she saw in the officers that came through Loguetown. It took a certain level of imperiousness that the real Tashigi had never managed to grasp, but this idiot wouldn’t know the difference. “Under the orders of Captain Smoker, I infiltrated a Revolutionary ship docked at Loguetown pretending to be a sympathizer. We had hoped to find out what the Revolutionary leader Dragon was doing stinking up our waters and would have notified local authorities through the proper channels if someone hadn’t decided to put horned snails all over the city.”

“The marines know better than to—”

“Do you think Captain Smoker has ever let anyone tell him what to do?” Kuina said, somehow managing to keep her voice cool and collected even as she scrambled for excuses. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased as punch when I tell him you assholes forced me to blow my cover. Or would you rather wait until I get to Tequila Wolf to deliver that bit of news?”

The sailor gulped. It seemed that Smoker’s reputation traveled farther than expected.

“I’m waiting,” Kuina said after giving the implications sink in properly.

“I, uh...I need to run this by my captain,” the sailor said. “If you don’t mind, can I have your identification number, just to be safe?”

Kuina gave it, having memorized Tashigi’s military ID through sheer repetition after years of filling paperwork verifying bounties. Between that and all the times Tashigi used Ipponmatsu’s shop to clean her sword, Kuina knew enough of her personal information to satisfy any interrogator, but if they actually contacted the base in Loguetown she was done for.

She held her breath as the sailor disappeared. Kuina hardly paid attention when one of the Tolouse refugees approached, an old woman that Kuina remembered having to carry through parts of the journey through the sewers.

“What is it?” Kuina asked impatiently.

“How dare you,” the woman said, her voice barely contained fury. “How dare the marines show their face here, after all you’ve done.”

She slapped Kuina across the face, hard, and spit at her feet. Kuina brought a hand to her now-burning cheek in shock, saying nothing as a wave of vitriol spilled from the old woman’s mouth. It was only when the woman raised her hand again Kuina moved, effortlessly catching her wrist.

“I let you hit me once, in deference to your age and obvious distress,” Kuina said in a low, dangerous voice, “but I will not suffer that indignity twice. You know nothing about me or my purpose for coming here, so shut up and leave me alone.” She shoved the hand away, causing the old woman to stumble back.  

Kuina eyed the rest warily, but they were too afraid to challenge her. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, mixing with the blood from the blow to the back of her skull. Her head pounded, making it hard to think much past the fear.

If I just had my sword…

It felt like an eternity past, but in all likelihood it had only been minutes before the sailor came back, this time with friends. He unlocked the hatch, swinging it open before lowering down a ladder. Kuina climbed her way to freedom, while the sailors used the butts of their rifles to keep any of the other prisoners from doing the same.

Kuina wasn’t sure she had ever been more glad for the fresh sea air, but one look at the sailors showed she wasn’t out of the woods yet. One sailor with a no-nonsense buzz cut and a muscular frame so compact it was nearly square snapped a salute, acting as the leader for the rest. “Our apologies for the inconvenience, Petty Officer, but the captain would like to speak with you.”

“I want my sword,” Kuina said.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but—”

“Someone knocked me unconscious this evening, sailor, and I don’t think it was the Revolution,” Kuina said. “Give me my sword or put me back in the brig and wait for Tequila Wolf. Your choice.”

“I...er, yes, ma’am. What I was trying to say was that your belongings have already been taken to the captain’s quarters.”

“...Oh.” Kuina almost apologized, but managed to stop herself in time. She’d never met a marine who would admit fault if they could help it, Tashigi being the exception that proved that rule. Instead she nodded curtly, and Buzz Cut snapped an order that was hastily obeyed by a pudgy-faced boy who didn’t look old enough to shave.

Kuina glanced out at Tolouse before letting them take her into the captain’s quarters. Explosions burst through the sky like fireworks in a New Year celebration, lighting up a skyline that flickered red and orange. The fires the Revolution had worked so hard to put out were back in full force, and under the light of the moon, Tolouse had transformed to hell on earth. And with the fighting still going in earnest, there wasn’t any way to stop it.

“There was a boy with this group of prisoners, couldn’t have been much older than five,” Kuina said. “Where is he?”

Buzz Cut’s poker face was excellent, his subordinates’, less so. Shame-faced, the pudgy boy opened the door to the captain’s quarters and bid her to enter. Frowning, Kuina squared her shoulders and tried to make herself as intimidating as a person who smelled like a sewer possibly could.

Buzz Cut didn’t even wait for Kuina to fully enter before he began shouting orders. “Prepare to sail. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

“No.”

Buzz Cut turned to Kuina in shock. “Petty Officer, with all due respect—”

“I said no,” Kuina said coldly. “And until I get in contact with Captain Smoker, I’m the voice of the World Government for this entire damn island. Right now you’d have better luck arguing with god than getting me to change my mind.”

Laughter rumbled deep within the captain’s quarters that made a chill crawl up Kuina’s spine. “My, my, my, look how assertive you’ve gotten since we’ve last met. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you, Petty Officer.”

Sitting behind an ornately carved desk was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing the long coat and epaulettes of a captain. His face might have been handsome once, but his features had the squashed, lumpy look of a brawler who’d lost more fights than they won. A saber hung at his hip.

“Close the door,” the captain said.

“But sir,” Buzz Cut protested, “our orders…”

“Our orders can wait the few minutes it will take to put our marine friend at ease. Now, shut the door. Please.”

While framed as a request, the order was anything but. Buzz Cut swallowed loudly and did as he was told. When they were alone, the captain reached behind his desk and retrieved Kuina’s sword. “I see you’re as obsessed as ever ‘bout your steel, Petty Officer. Always thought it were a shame you got leashed that wild dog Smoker, and it seems he’s baying just as loud as ever. You deserve a better sort of man than him.”

He laughed again, the sound like a rusty knife drug over stone. Confused and more than a little suspicious, Kuina quickly inspected its blade. When she was satisfied it hadn’t been damaged or tampered with, Kuina hung it at her hip.

“Do I know you?” she asked. The words had hardly escaped her lips before she regretted them, but the man snorted.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already, Petty Officer. It’ll wound me manly pride.” His grin widened, revealing a mouth full of blackened, rotting teeth. “Or are you really that blind without your glasses?”

“I’d like to think I purposefully forgot to save myself the pain of remembering that ugly mug of yours,” Kuina said. “Now identify yourself! What in the world is going on here? Why do you have children in your brig?”

“Is that what this is about?” the man said, sounding disappointed. “Smoker was the same way when I spoke to him last year. You soft-hearted types are why the world’s going to shit. You know as well as I do that age doesn’t matter when it comes to criminals. We have legal justification for every one of those rebels we locked up. Excusing your pretty face, o’ course. Or did you somehow miss the fucking war right outside these doors?”

Kuina balled her hands into fists and didn’t answer.

A look of satisfaction spread across the captain’s face. He bowed slightly, with a little, mocking flourish that made Kuina want to punch him in his ugly, leering face. “Captain Jack O’Neil at your service, of the Callihan Trading Company. It’s a pleasure to remake your acquaintance, Petty Officer. To be honest, it’s been far too long since a lady of your caliber graced these planks, and I’m sorry one of my men had to crack your skull to do it. Once we get this sorted I’ll have my men do everything in our power to ensure your stay on my ship is a comfortable one.”

Kuina’s frown deepened. She’d heard of the CTC—they were forever hanging advertisements near the docks of Loguetown in search of sailors and hired swords to protect their wares from pirates.There’d been a time when she’d been tempted to sign up for a voyage, but when she went to inquire about the post she was laughed out of the room by a pair of burly men with more muscles than sense.

The company dabbled in everything from the spice trade to arms transport and weren’t particularly picky about who they worked for. There were even rumors that pirates and crime lords used them as a front for their smuggling operations, but Kuina had always dismissed them as overblown talk from jealous competitors.

She was beginning to think now that there was some truth behind those allegations.  

Jack O’Neil cleared his throat when the silence stretched a beat too long to remain comfortable. “You and I both know that all this destruction could have been avoided if not for these rebels. You agree that the perpetrators need to be punished, doncha, Petty Officer?”

Kuina's eyes hardened. “The boy. Where is he?”

“Expedited sentence,” O’Neil said with a shrug. “Couldn’t be helped, ones that little are no good for hard labor. It’s the same with the known Revolutionaries, they’re too much of a risk to imprison, and the money on their heads is good even if we turn ‘em in cold. It’s just good business. You understand how it is.”

He’d killed him. The monster in front of her had killed a child in cold blood. He’d killed Azem. He’d killed Danny, who regretted joining the Revolution and had been trying to escape a life of violence and death.

Kuina’s world went red.

“No, Captain. I’m afraid I don’t.”

It was now O’Neil’s turn for silence. He squinted down at Kuina, perplexed and exasperated. “Did that blow to the head knock your common sense loose, Petty Officer? I don’t you recall you bein’ half this mouthy before, or didja spend enough time with the menfolk that you finally grew a pair of—”

Kuina struck before he could even think to move. A gurgled scream tore from his lips as O’Neil grasped the wound at the base of his throat. His eyes bulged in terror and pain, one hand trying to stem the bleeding while the other reached for the sword at his side.

Kuina didn’t give him the chance.

Stepping over O’Neil’s rapidly-cooling body. Behind his desk she found her bag, which had obviously been searched through and hastily repacked, and her mask. She put the latter in her bag after wrapping it in a shirt to keep it from breaking and slung it over her shoulder.

She wanted them to see her face before they died.

A den-den mushi at the corner of O’Neil’s desk caught her eye. It was attached to a machine that allowed faxes, and Kuina laughed when she saw that it hadn’t been used. The idiot captain hadn’t bothered to verify her story, trusting that he’d be able to recognize Tashigi on sight.

There were papers, too. Logs and ledgers and a map of the area. Kuina was in the process of stuffing them in her backpack when the door to the office opened, revealing the face of the pudgy boy.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mo wanted to know if we had permission to set sail yet. He says it’s getting bad…”

His voice trailed off into a whisper as his eyes followed the path of blood from O’Neil to Kuina. He stood, slack jawed and wide-eyed, swaying gently on his feet as if he were about to faint.

“Whu...what happened?”

Kuina leveled her sword at the boy. “Get off this ship, or I will kill you.”

The boy flinched. Kuina didn’t know if it was an attempt to draw his weapon or a visceral response to fear, but she took no chances. The boy screamed as she darted forward, but remained firmly rooted in place. He quickly joined his captain in death.

The advantage of stealth was gone with the cry of alarm. If nothing else, the men waiting on deck were professionals and quickly recovered from their initial shock. Kuina dodged the blow from a cutlass, her counter catching him on the wrist. The sailor screamed, clutching the bloody stump where his hand used to be.

“Call the alarm!” Buzz Cut bellowed, deflecting Kuina’s katana as she rushed toward him. “Bring reinforcements!”

Kuina ducked to avoid another slash, and was forced to roll to avoid being shot. She cursed as more men crawled out of the bowels of the ship like ants from an overturned hill. She disentangled herself from a block and cut down two more, managing to hamstrung a third before crossing blades with Buzz Cut once more.

“What are you doing?” he screamed. “We’re on the same side!”

“I don’t think we are,” Kuina said coldly. With a twist of her wrist she batted his sword aside and ran him through.

That was a mistake. Buzz Cut coughed bloody foam as he slumped to the ground, and it took Kuina too long to dislodge her sword from his body. She was forced to twist awkwardly to avoid the crushing blow of a weighted club, and doing so put her right in the path of another sailor’s saber.

Pure reflex saved Kuina from decapitation. She danced away from the saber, trying to keep herself in the middle of a crowd, using the threat of friendly fire to dissuade them from shooting. She was quickly surrounded, and a feral grin spread across her face. A distress flare shot into the night sky, burning boldly over the stolen ship.

This was it. This was where she belonged, with a blade in hand and nothing but her skill and fickle fortune between her from death. All the worry and anxiety of the last week melted away, replaced with pure bloodlust fueled by her fury.

“Gods above, she’s gone mad,” one of the sailors whispered, and the mixture of fear and awe like music to her ears.

It was the last thing she heard for a long time.

Xxx

Kuina came to her senses covered in blood that was not her own. She found herself standing over the Buzz Cut sailor, who was miraculously still alive, gasping erratically and frantically for air. Under the light of the moon the blood that bubbled out of the cut in his chest looked black. Pausing to flick the excess blood off her katana, Kuina kneeled beside him. He couldn’t die yet. Not when there was so much she didn’t know.

“Who hired you?” she asked calmly. “It’s not marines, or else they would have messaged Loguetown. Who’s paining you to murder little children.”

“You’re too late, bitch. Help is coming. Gemini will cut you down.” He looked weakly to the side and laughed. “They’re here already.”

Kuina followed his gaze. Soldiers were marching towards the ship, too many for any one person to deal with. Getting back to her feet, Kuina hurried to the brig. She had to shove aside a body before she could open it and lower the ladder.

“Do any of you know how to sail a ship?” Kuina called. To her surprise, the Tolouse refugees huddled in the corners, packed as close to one another as they could manage and refusing to move. Belatedly she realized they had no idea what happened other than what they’d overheard above. Drops of blood continued to drop down below.

“You’re safe,” she said. “None of them can hurt you, but you need to leave now.”

“And go where?” one asked. “I don’t know who you are, but the Revolutionaries who promised to get us to safety are dead.”

“And you’re about to join them if you don’t hurry up!” Kuina snapped. She looked over her shoulder. The soldiers were even closer now, and her energy was spent. A dozen shallow wounds slowed her movements, the blood loss making her vision hazy. And on top of it all, she had a pounding headache that would not stop.

“Look,” Kuina said to the terrified men and women below, “I can’t tell you where to go. No one, not even the Revolutionary Army, has the right to do that. But what I can do is buy you time to make that decision. For your sake, I hope it’s a quick one.”

She walked to the ship’s railing. The dying sailor laughed as she passed, and in a weak, sneering voice said, “What do you hope to accomplish, brat? They’ll be recaptured within the day. All you’ve done is prolong their execution.”

Kuina paused, looking down at the oncoming army, rage building once more as all the atrocities that she’d seen since arriving to Tolouse flashed through her mind: The bombing of the square, the fires, the desecration of the dead.

She remembered Danny and Azem, and the small, strong hands of the little boy grasping her neck. She remembered, and she felt the weight of unbalanced scales.

A life for a life. It was a saying that went both ways, and for the first time she thought she understood Aria de Gris’s desire to bloody some noses.

Kuina jumped down from the ship and landed in a summersault on the docks. Her arms trembled with fatigue and exhilaration as she raised her sword. She felt the heat and the smoke mix with the mists rolling off of the sea, obscuring the mass of bodies wearing the uniforms of the Tolouse army coming toward her.

Her blood hummed with anticipation. This was what she was made for. This was her purpose. Kuina couldn’t sail a ship. She couldn’t heal wounds or cook food or build ships or inspire others. But she could fight. She loved to fight, loved the synergy between body and blade. There was something beautiful testing her strength against another, her life hanging in the balance.

In the haze Kuina was almost invincible, striking down enemies before they knew she was there. Unlike the frenzied battle of the ship, this cat and mouse style suited the skills she’d honed over her years of bounty hunting.

The difference was she now had nowhere to retreat. Until the ship behind her set sail she couldn’t give up a single inch of ground. For the first time in her life, Kuina could not run.

And for the first time since she was eleven years old, Kuina felt alive.

It didn’t take long for the Tolouse army to retreat from the docks. Kuina couldn’t help but laugh as she caught her breath, allowing herself to believe for a brief moment that she’d won.

Then she heard orders being barked into snail phones, and in the distance saw the flash of matches being lit.

They had cannons.

Kuina jumped in the air in time to intercept the first shot with no thought other than to protect the ship behind her. She screamed as she slashed downward, cutting the iron cannonball neatly in two. The halves exploded on either side of her, momentarily filling the air with brilliant light.

She landed in a predator’s crouch, gasping for air. There was no time to process what she’d just done, because more shots followed the first, punctuated with the sharper fire of rifles.

Kuina cut a second cannonball just as easily as the first, but as she landed a third slammed into the docks behind her. Wood exploded, and the concussive blast of air threw Kuina onto the shore. The air was forced from her lungs, her katana thrown from her grasp. Kuina clasped her hands against her ears to stop the ringing, curled helplessly in a ball.

Get up!

She couldn’t. It hurt too much, and her body was too weak. Kuina dug her fingers into the sand and pushed, but there was nothing left for her to give.

You promised!

She’d promised a lot of things. She’d promised her father that she’d stay safe, and the refugees that she would buy them time, and herself that she would avenge the dead of Tolouse. Kuina had proven herself a liar time and time again. What chance did she have of fulfilling her promise to Zoro if she couldn’t manage something as simple as that?

So get up. Keep fighting.

Kuina groaned, a low, keening noise drawn directly from her soul. She rested her arms against the beach as the last of her strength bled from her limbs. Something brushed against her hand, and instinctively Kuina reached for it.

Her sword.

Kuina’s fingers wrapped around the wrapped leather handle. Was this how she wanted to die, like a dog beaten one too many times? Or would she fight with pride? With honor?

I’m going to be the greatest swordsman in the world, or die trying. Slowly Kuina rose to her feet. Decision made, there was nothing else to worry about. Nothing that required her to think. Bruised and bloody, Kuina raised her sword one last time just as the first rays of dawn spilled over the horizon.

The enemy came, and Kuina defeated them all. She didn’t care if they shot or stabbed at her. She didn’t care about anything at all.

The earlier bloodlust was gone, replaced with the mechanical, instinctive movements of a woman who’d spent her life learning to kill. The sun rose and the bodies multiplied, but Kuina didn’t stop. Cut by cut, slash by slash, the only thing that kept her moving was the strength of her ambition.

She didn’t know how long she lasted before she missed a parry, her opponent’s sword gliding against her arm. She stumbled back into the rising tide, her back hitting one of the few remaining posts of the splintered dock. It was the only thing that kept her upright as she ducked under the following slash. Blackness ate at the edge of her vision, her lungs burning for want of air.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to raise her sword in time.

Her opponent looked just like all the rest, just another young man wearing the grey uniform of the Tolouse army. There was nothing to differentiate him from the hundreds of others she’d seen since the night began. And yet, he would be the one to kill her.

Kuina laughed at the absurdity of it all.

The man yelled as he swung his sword. Kuina closed her eyes and waited, smile still spread across her face. But instead of death there was only a choked scream and the sound of a full grown man falling into the water.

Kuina blinked her eyes open. A figure in full armor, helmet shaped like a roaring lion, pulled a thin blade from the young soldier’s back. Kuina blinked again as the rising sun glinted off the polished steel, seeing but not understanding.

Then she felt it, a presence like wind swirling around the eye of a hurricane. Whoever this person was, was the real deal. A true swordsman.

“Wanna fight?” Kuina gasped, drawing enough energy to spit a mouth full of blood into the sea before raising her sword.

“It’s over, kid. You did good.”

“Did...good?” Kuina tried to take a step forward, but her vision went sideways. The armored swordsman caught her before she hit the ground. When Kuina looked up again the helmet was gone, and she stared into the dark eyes of Aria de Gris.

“C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

[goodluckdetective]

Fic: Burned

Length: 4.7k

Rating: T (non-descriptive wounds)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale

Warnings: Near-death experience, angst with a happy ending

AO3: Link

Summary:

Honestly, this whole mess wouldn’t have happened if Hell had properly informed all their staff that Anthony J. Crowley was off-limits.

Some demons try to attack Crowley, Aziraphale gets himself burned playing knight in shining armor and Hell really needs to switch to high-speed internet.

Authors Note:  Take this silly thing I have an upper respiratory infection, let me REST

Under the cut:

 Honestly, this whole mess wouldn’t have happened if Hell had properly informed all their staff that Anthony J Crowley was off-limits. Heaven had done their homework. They informed all their angels that Principality Aziraphale should, in the exact words of Archangel Gabriel “not be fucked with.” If Hell had done the same, then perhaps both angel and demon could have been spared a bit of a mess. But Hell unfortunately still used dial-up for all of their emails which half of the staff did not check (1). So a handful of demons thought that attacking known traitor and fun-ruiner Anthony J Crowley was both perfectly acceptable and entirely wise.

    That’s how Aziraphale ends up knocked to the ground in an alley, separated from Crowley by a wall of hellfire. How exactly it all happened isn’t quite clear, he was sure it involved being hit rather hard in the back of the head, but it took only seconds to understand the dire straits they were both in. Through the flames, Aziraphale sees three demons walking towards Crowley, who is knocked out onto the pavement. One of them holds a sword that appears to glow gold and Aziraphale stiffens at the sight. He knows that type of blade. 

    It’s hard to forget the few swords on Earth that could kill a demon (2).

    Aziraphale thinks of calling out for Crowley but thinks better of it as he sees the main demons’ pace. He’s likely the leader, given how the other two hang behind at least a solid meter. Aziraphale doesn’t recognize him, not that he could recognize most demons other than Crowley, but his mortal form is that of a short young man in a roadwork vest two sizes too big for him. He walks towards Crowley with long unsteady steps, like he’s taking care to make sure Crowley is actually knocked out.

He would not be walking that slow if he knew Aziraphale was awake so Aziraphale takes care to not make any sudden movements to alert him otherwise. Aziraphale instead tilts his head just a centimeter to look at Crowley. His sunglasses are cracked, Aziraphale can see that much, and his hair looks ruffled. Probably hit in the back of the head, given there’s no sign of blood or cuts on his clothing. Not hard enough to kill him, but enough to knock him out long enough to do it properly. And to set a wall of hellfire to keep Aziraphale from interfering. 

If Aziraphale knew all of this fuss could come of taking the scenic walk through the park, he would have just called a cab.

Aziraphale considers his options. He has nothing to pull Crowley out of the hellfire with. Crowley may wake within a second, but it seems unlikely. Aziraphale could try to fight the demons off himself, but that would be difficult with the wall of fire separating him from the fight proper. His fisticuffs, while excellent given his angelic training, aren’t very useful if he cannot actually grab his targets.  Given the current situation, the future lying in front of Aziraphale is quite grim. The demon will stab Crowley with his stolen holy sword, forged itself with holy water. Crowley will die. And Aziraphale would be forced to watch it all happen, helpless behind a wall of holy fire that some poor mortal has likely called the fire department about by now.

This isn’t an acceptable outcome. Anything that involves Aziraphale standing in a bookshelf alone for the first time in 6000 years will never be an acceptable outcome. So he reevaluates. He thinks of another handful of half-thought through solutions. He could throw something at the demons approaching, but that will only slow them down. He could try to bless some holy water himself to use as a weapon, but the possibility of hurting Crowley is too high. What he needs is an escape route. A way to grab Crowley and run. He could use one of the many power lines to transport them both to his flat where there enough sigils to keep unauthorized demons from following. But unless he can grab Crowley, he can’t take him with. And then he would be back at the first outcome, the unacceptable one.

The demon is getting closer. Aziraphale from his spot on the ground looks at Crowley. Within the hellfire, the demon does not stir. He is so close, just a few feet away. Even if Aziraphale could rouse him with his voice, Crowley would not wake in time to properly save himself from a swift end. If Aziraphale could just grab his shoulder-

It hits him much like being hit by a truck. No, a truck is too small, perhaps a cruise ship is a better metaphor. The solution, once out of grasp and hard to perceive becomes clear in an instant. It’s not a great plan, sure, far from it, but it’s not the worst he’s ever had (3). Plus it has the potential of letting them both walk away from this situation. And that is enough for Aziraphale to try it, caution be damned. 

The demon is in front of Crowley now, raising up his sword. He’s clearly never used it before with his grip and Aziraphale wonders if they’re teaching demons anything these days when it comes to handling weapons (4). He could cut himself with that posture. With speed Aziraphale rarely uses, he crawls over to the flames, far away enough to not be lit by accident but close enough that he could reach in and grab Crowley if he wanted to. He grits his teeth, knowing transporting them out of here will be hard after the stunt he is about to try and whispers a prayer.

“Please let this work,” he says under his breath. Then he turns to Crowley, Crowley who is still out cold, his sunglasses cracked, about to be stabbed by one of his own. What Aziraphale says to him Crowley doesn’t hear. He is too lost to the fog of unconsciousness. But the demon above him hears it and is startled enough to pause his planned execution.

“If this doesn’t work, forgive me.”

It is then, to the demon’s other astonishment, that the angel reaches his right arm into the hellfire itself. Like it is nothing like it won’t kill him. He watches the angel reach into his own death, grab Crowley’s shoulder and vanish.

When the demon drops his sword, he does, as Aziraphale predicted, cut himself given his poor grip. His friends are smart enough not to try to pick up the sword themselves after he melts into a pile of goo. Instead, they decide to swear off the assassination nonsense and steal some traffic signs instead. Which frankly, they should have done in the first place.

_______________________________________________________________________

Aziraphale does not so much land in his flat as he crashed into it. Both him and Crowley crumple onto the floor of his living room in a sprawl. For a brief moment, Aziraphale is so thrilled that his plan actually worked that he does not notice the smell of brimstone or the pain. But once he kneels, or at least attempts to, and feels the horrific pain in his right hand, that he remembers exactly how he pulled off this particular gamble.

He takes a deep breath before looking at his hand. On the positive side of things, it is still there, which honestly is much better than he’d been expecting. But it is burned alright, flesh bright red and covered in soot (5). And Aziraphale would be a fool indeed to not notice how the veins past the injury can be seen through his pale skin glowing red. It looks almost like embers are under his skin, burning away there, the remnants of a bigger flame. Or perhaps the start of a new wildfire given how that glow is spreading with a speed up his arm.

Aziraphale knows what comes next. They teach you about the dangers of partial hellfire burns in heaven. He knew exactly what he was risking when he reached into those flames and he’d do it again. But he can’t say it doesn’t turn his stomach as he looks down at his right arm and ponders the fate in store for him over the next three days.

    That is, if he lasts that long.

    “My head is killing me,” Crowley says from behind him. Aziraphale has to give him credit; his timing is impeccable. “That intern has one hell of a swing (6). Right Aziraphale-”

Aziraphale wants to respond, truly, but it’s hard to remain awake. The pain is settling in now, no longer localized. He can feel it creep up his arm, spread through his veins. Like pinpricks of endless cigarette burns going up his side, working their way down his spine.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley grabs his shoulder, gentle, and Aziraphale knows he’ll notice any moment.  “Those interns didn’t scare you too bad-no.”

Crowley reaches for his ruined right hand then stops as Aziraphale falls sideways, losing the strength to even kneel. Aziraphale stares up as Crowley shakes his shoulders. His sunglasses are off and Aziraphale can see yellow eyes peering down at him. They look terrified.

There are few things in the world as horrifying to witness as a demon’s pure unfiltered terror.

    “Shit shit shit, bloody hell, fuck-” Another hard shake. It isn’t helping, but Aziraphale can’t exactly blame him, all things considered. It’s not like normal human first aid will do him much good in this case. “What in the devil’s name did you do?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” Aziraphale wants to say, but the burning pain is beginning to become too much now. In what may be his last moment of lucidity, Aziraphale forces a smile. Tries to sound calm. Like he can be what Crowley needs right now.

“Spot of bad luck, I’m afraid.”

It is with those words that the pain gets far too much to bear, and he loses track of anything that isn’t the sensation of being burned from the inside out.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hellfire and holy water are surprisingly different at the end of the day. At least, when it comes to how they kill.

It only takes a little amount, really. Sure, if you want it to be quick and a sure thing, more is always better. But just a drop (or in hellfire’s case, a burn) can do all the hard work of consuming a supernatural being. Holy water just works faster. 

You see for holy water, it is far more rapid. If you’re, let’s say, a demon and you get sprinkled with holy water, the first sensation you will get is the burning pain of it, an open sore wherever it made contact. It can be as small as a pin prick. And then, well. It’s not pretty. If you don’t end up a puddle on the floor, you will be licking your grotesque wounds until at least the next century. 

Hellfire is different. For one, small burns don’t always kill; it’s just when they do, they work in a manner so hellish, that it is likely where hellfire got its name.  The smallest burn can do a lot of damage if you are a particularly unlucky angel. But unlike holy water, it is slow. That tiny burn, just the smallest scorch, can linger and spread.  Like an infection almost, to use human terms. Over the course of hours, a hacking cough starts, a fever that causes angels to feel as if they are perhaps falling themselves. Shivers followed shortly after and rapidly, much like the plagues that humanity once feared, a once perfectly healthy supernatural being becomes steps away from death’s door (7).

It poetic almost. Demons, you see, drown in their own filth upon contact with holy water. Angels, on the other hand, burn.

Aziraphale knew this. But it was different to experience the sensation than to hear about it. One could attempt to fathom boiling hot temperatures, but to experience them? It was impossible to describe. 

He’s in it now, the worst pain he has ever felt. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming, and the very nature of it makes it impossible to perceive the world around him. The best way to describe it, he thinks, is as if he has been placed in lava itself, left to drown in the pits of hell as they bury him in hot sand. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, he cannot tell if he is still on the floor of his flat or if he has been transported somewhere else. All he knows is that it hurts. That and there is a voice in his ear, low and desperate.

“Aziraphale.” Aziraphale knows this voice, but he cannot place a name to it at the moment, too consumed by the sensation of fire. Is this what the martyr’s felt, when heaven watched them burn? How did they have any faith at all, with this kind of agony? “Aziraphale, can you hear me?”

He trusts this voice, Aziraphale thinks, from within the flames. How he has no idea, but it reminds him of the comfort of his bookshop, even as he burns alive. It is something to hold onto. Maybe that is what the martyrs kept to carry them through their ordeal; the relief of faith.

“I need to get help.” The voice continues. “I have an idea. Called the witch about it; she thinks it might work. But I have to leave-”

Aziraphale makes a noise at that, one he can barely hear over the ringing in his ears. He does not want to voice to leave. He is a man dying in the desert; leave him alone and he will perish among the grains of sand. 

“I have to,” the voice pleads. “I have to make sure she gets it right. I’ll be gone for less than an hour.” He feels someone put a wet washcloth on his forehead. It doesn’t help; the water evaporates upon contact. The voice swears. “You cannot die on me while I’m gone, understand? You need to hold on.”

Things come into focus for a brief moment. Despite the flames, despite the pain, Aziraphale’s mind is able to conjure up a name, how he got here, the world outside of the fever.  Crowley. This is Crowley. Crowley is the one next to him, the one who tried in vain to place a washcloth on his head, who is now clasping Aziraphale’s good hand in both of his, begging him not to disappear. 

He tries to open his eyes but it hurts too much, so instead, he coughs, making sure his voice is clear enough to reply. 

“I’ve waited 6000 years,” Aziraphale says, voice raspy but strong enough to make out. “I can wait an hour.”

That is the last thing he remembers for a long time.

  _______________________________________________________________________

 After what feels like another eternity, he hears voices again. And another one, one he has not heard in perhaps two full years. One that reminds him of makeup and a poor excuse for a motorcycle. 

“He looks a sight, dear. You think this will work?”

“I don’t know. But it has to,” Aziraphale recognizes Crowley this time. He sounds so very tired. “The witch says he has to drink it. I’d give it to him myself but if he coughs it up-“

“Oh I know, you’ll become a right puddle. Don’t worry, I can do it. Just stand right there.” Aziraphale feels someone sit down next to him and a hand touch his forehead. They pull their palm away as soon as they make contact. “Well, that is some fever. Hello dearie. It has been awhile. I’m afraid I need you to drink something for me. I think it will help. Got it myself from the Vicar down the street. Perfectly nice bloke-”

 “Please cease with the chatter if you please.”

 “Sorry, sorry.” Aziraphale feels what seems to be a flask pressed to his lips and recoils away from it. The idea of drinking anything now is too much. He has burned for so long he must be no more than ash at this point. If he dares drink anything, he will wash away.”

 “Now, now, don’t be too stubborn with me,’ the voice that is not Crowley says. “Your friend went to quite a bit of effort to get this for you and he’ll be rather upset if you don’t actually have it. And I have things to do other than waiting on fussy angels. So drink up.”

It takes a few more tries but eventually Aziraphale relents. The water does not wash him away but instead provides the first bit of relief he has felt in hours. The fire dies down, replaced by an ache that makes Aziraphale feel all 6000 of his years on Earth.  

“He’s looking a little better,” The voice that is not Crowley says. Aziraphale is sure he could place it if he wasn’t so tired. He feels them press their hand to his forehead and this time the hand does not flinch away like it has been burnt. “And his fever is gone now.”

 “You think it will last?” Crowley sounds...worried? It is hard to place his tone without seeing him.

 “How am I supposed to know? I don’t know a lick about any of this stuff. But I would like to think so, at the very least. Now if you excuse me, I must get back to my work. I’m making hand-carved soaps now. They have fortunes in the center when you’re done using them.”

 “Do you write them yourself or do you pull them from the internet?” Now, this sounds more like the Crowley Aziraphale adores. Fond, a little mischievous, and not afraid to encourage a little harmless trouble. It’s a tone he fell in love with so many decades ago, a tone of voice that informed him that one of them had not forgotten Aziraphale’s books.

Aziraphale falls in and out of consciousness after that. At one point he awakens and heis sure he has fallen. The context of the situation slips his mind and he is positive that when he wakes proper, it will be as a demon. That the feeling of the host he can still sense is merely phantom pain. 

“I’ve fallen,” he says to no one in particular. It is a lament not intended conversation. But someone answers him anyway, holding his hands tight in their own.

 “No, you haven’t. You never could. You are better than the lot of them.” One of the hands wipes the sweat from his brow.

 “I’m alone,” Aziraphale says, still convinced of his fate. There is a hissing noise and when Crowley responds, his voice is fierce.

“You are not. Our side remember? I’m here. Now rest.”

Aziraphale does.

  _______________________________________________________________________

 After what feels like an eternity later, Aziraphale awakens with a lucidity he has not possessed in a long time.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley sounds hesitant like he’s had this conversation before. Aziraphale supposes he has; he just can’t remember it (8).  He shuffles just enough so his head is propped up on the pillows. They smell like wine and a hint of brimstone.

“Has it been that long since I’ve been with it?”Aziraphale’s voice comes out raspy. Like he’s been screaming. Which is a thought he doesn’t particularly want to linger on, given he feels comfortable for the first time in what might be days.

“It’s been three,” Crowley doesn’t sound much better. His voice is hushed, cautious like he’s afraid of being too loud. Like any noise above a whisper will shatter something precious.  

“Sorry for making you wait.” Aziraphale opens his eyes despite the effort and looks up. Crowley is next to him on the bed, his hand still in Aziraphale’s sweat-damp hair. He looks tired, worn, skinner than usual. It would worry Aziraphale dreadfully if it wasn’t for the fact Crowley was also wearing one of the red sweaters Aziraphale bought him for Christmas (9). 

“How do you feel?” Crowley says. Aziraphale considers this, taking stock of his body for a moment. He’s tired, yes, and his right-hand hurts something terrible, but there is no longer an all-consuming fire licking at his heels. 

“Much better,” he says. He smiles at Crowley, the soft fond ones that he only has when he’s particularly pleased with coming up with a good term of phrase. “For a demon, you are rather adept at pulling off miracles.”

Crowley doesn’t smile. That alone tells Aziraphale how bad this must have gotten and his heart sinks, for the pain, he has likely put the demon through but can’t remember. Sure, Aziraphale may have been the one physically hurt, but Crowley was the one who had to sit by and watch. Both of them know that the pain of waiting, not knowing when the end can come, can be the most vicious of wounds. 

“I had to call in some help for this one.” Crowley gestures to the bedside table where Aziraphale can see two items. The first is a flask with a cross on it, something that would make Aziraphale’s blood run cold if it wasn’t for the stack of mints next to it, a brand favored by Madam Tracy. 

“I owe that woman some expensive tea,” Aziraphale says, fond. Sharing a body often makes one fond of another person, no matter how different their interests may be. 

Crowley nods. “I gave her a bottle of my vintage.”

“That works too.” Aziraphale turns his head to look at his right hand. It is covered in bandages, but it is still there which is far more than he was expecting.  He can remember someone pouring water on it, water that soothed an endless burn, and decided vintage wine or not, he’s still buying Madam Tracy at least a fruit basket. “I see I kept my hand.”

Crowley takes in a shuddering breath. It sounds like a snake’s hiss. He tends to sound more like a snake when he’s upset, Aziraphale has found. “You’re an idiot. You could have lossssst your life.”

“You were about to lose yours.” Aziraphale wiggles the fingers on his right hand and while it hurts something terrible, he’s glad to see they respond to his commands. He turns his head back to Crowley and is unsurprised to find tears in those yellow eyes. He reaches up to brush one away with his good hand. “I had a choice, my dear. I could watch you die or I could try something foolish and potentially die in the process. I decided I favored the result where we possibly both survived.”

Crowley’s hand, which has been running through his hair this entire time stills. His other hand, which has remained firmly on Aziraphale’s shoulder, grasps it tight. Not enough to hurt, but with a strength that implies he’s holding on for dear life. “You couldn’t have known it would work. That you’d be able to get away. That if it lingered, I would find a way to stop the flames from consuming you entirely.”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale says, nonchalant. For being so very smart, Crowley can sometimes be so very dense. His hand brushes away another tear then cups Crowley’s cheek.  “But I know you well enough to be sure that if there was a way, neither heaven nor hell would stop you.” 

Crowley is still for a moment. When he speaks next, he sounds like he’s out of breath. Aziraphale has a way of doing that to him. “I’m pretty sure that’s sacrilege, angel.” 

“If having faith in you was sacrilege, God herself would have flung me down centuries ago.” 

“Don’t joke about that.” But there’s a smile on Crowley’s face now, a small one, but it’s there. Just peeking through the three days of worry and fear. 

“I almost died. I think I can joke about whatever I please.”

“You’re hand is going to scar you know.”

“I thought scars were sexy. Your side made that a thing back when the Vikings were about. (10)”

“No, we didn’t. ”

“Perhaps, but I’m sure you took credit for it all the same.”

Crowley leans down to give him a kiss on the head. It feels nice, though Aziraphale knows he likely smells from all that feverish sweating from earlier. When he feels better, he decides, the first thing he is going to do is take a nice long shower. Few things sound so refreshing after the sensation of being aflame.

 _______________________________________________________________________

 Crowley is right; Aziraphale’s brush with death does leave him with a scar. His entire right hand is entirely discolored from the incident, a shade of pinkish red that is fairly noticeable. He covers it for a bit while it’s still healing, but eventually, he stops entirely. Technically he’s a warrior angel; there’s no sense in being ashamed of them. Especially in the ones he gained doing something worthwhile. 

Crowley, Aziraphale thinks as the demon grabs his hand as they sit on a park bench, feeding the ducks, was the most worthwhile cause he could think of.

  FOOTNOTES

1. To be fair to Hell’s minions, all official notices were written in comic sans and written in red text on a deep violet background. And honestly, who could reach such an eyesore.

2. There was five total, and two were at the bottom of the ocean, long lost after Noah’s flood. This blade, in particular, was one usually kept in Hell as a victory of triumph but in actuality had just been stolen from a merchant who had no idea of iTs true rarity.

 3.  The worst plan Aziraphale has ever had is difficult to define as he has had a multitude of terrible plans, but it is likely a tie between getting crepes during the French revolution or running into the burning library of Alexandria for a scroll for his collection.

4. Hell decided to cut weapons training due to “budget cuts” in the 18th century. There were no actual budget cuts of course, despite creating capitalism Hell didn’t follow its rules. The actual reason they cut weapons training was due to the sheer amount of demons killing each other with their training in petty squabbles. They instead limited weapons training to demons who had proven themselves moderately competent and left it at that.

5. There are plenty of other descriptions of this wound that would be suitable to display the horrors of the damage done, but for the purposes of solely telling this story, we do not need to get into all the descriptive words that are best found in medical journals.

6. Crowley generally did not know random demons he ran into, but it was hard to forget Hell’s interns as the dark council had been trying to foist them upon him for decades. Crowley had always refused saying his operations were just far too complex for interns. This, of course, was a lie.

 7. For the record, Death’s door is rather pleasant. He has a rather nice doormat featuring some lilies to great visitors,

8. He has had this conversation before, though Aziraphale usually passed out right after Crowley said his name. On one notable occasion, Aziraphale had stayed awake long enough for Crowley to say “I love you. I have loved you for centuries and I will love you for centuries more. So please believe me when I say, I am not worth this. I will never be worth this.” Crowley of course, admitted this, because he was fairly sure Aziraphale would not remember said conversation but that was beside the point because if a demon makes a love-stricken confession and no one but him remembers, did he really make it at all? (Yes, he did).

9.  Said Christmas sweater had a nice little snake pattern on the front that was entirely tacky. Aziraphale thought it was the best thing he’d ever found on the internet since sites for used limited edition books.

10.  Hell did not make scars sexy. Scars have always been sexy because God thinks individuality and triumph over death is rather fetching. That and a nice pair of shoes.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Fate

Part 4

Summary: You confront Jon about his true parentage and discuss what to do next. You win a new ally but lose a person dear to you and become on the verge of exploding.

Part one, two, three

Warnings: GoT seaosn 8 episodes 4 & 5 spoilers, character death.

A/N: this was to be a three parts one shot, but it turned out to be a mini series. There are going to be one or two more parts. Also, I’m writing and posting this from my phone since I’m on vacation in Spain, so I won’t be able to add a keep reading link, sorry!

Word Count: 1777.

“Are you drunk?” after the celebration, you went to Jon’s room to talk about the situation. He was sitting on his bed and thinking about something.

”No” he stood up and tried to walk but almost fell” Only a little...I didn't know Ser Jorah well but I know this.

If he could have chosen a way to die, it would have been protecting you”.

“He loved my mother and me as if I was his own daughter. As much as I want to wish that I you'd never told me, I can’t. The truth hurts sometimes but I’m happy that you did- well, If I didn't know, I'd be happy right now. What I meant is that I appreciate your honesty and thank you for not keeping the truth from me even though you knew the risks of what might happen. I swore to my mother that I will take back what’s rightfully ours, but then you told me and

I saw them gathered around you. I saw the way they looked at you. I know that look. So many people have looked at me that way, but never here. Never on this side of the sea”.

“Y/n, I-“ he had an apologetic look on his face and was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“I have been thinking about that night and what you’ve told me an I couldn’t stop about the promise I made my mother, but she trusted me to do what’s right and she sent me here to make my own decisions and I have made a decision. You are the heir to the iron throne. You have a better claim to it that my mother or I. I promised her to take back what’s rightfully ours... but it isn’t rightfully ours, is it? I will not pursue the Iron Throne anymore. It’s all yours, Jon Snow”.

“what?-“.

“If it was any other man standing in front of me, I would’ve never given it up, even if he was the rightful heir to the throne. You know why? Because I know men. My mother warned me about them. She said there are only a few good incorruptible men left and it would be rare to find one, but I found you and Iove you. I believe you will make a good king and be just. I know you have no desire for whores or heavy drinking. You are an honorable man and would do the best you can when given a job and you take care of your people and are responsible for them. The truth is, I never wanted the throne. I never wanted to be a part of this. Power attracts the worst and corrupts the best and I’ve been playing this game for a long time. I don’t want to be a corrupt ruler”.

“I don't want it” after pouring your heart out that was all he said.

“Did you hear a word I said?” You questioned.

“I did. You are my queen and I don’t want it” he rejected and knelt in front of you.

“Then let’s just run away together. We’ll go somewhere peaceful where no one would recognize us. A warm place or cold” you chuckled and cupped his face in your hands. You knew it was not possible, but you had to try.

“I wish we could, but we can’t. We both have responsibilities that we can’t just run away from” he reminded.

“If you don’t want the throne and you don’t want to leave with me, then you can never tell anyone who you really are. Swear your brother and Samwell Tarly to secrecy, and tell no one else or it will take on a life of its own and you won't be able to control it or what it does to people-“ you caressed his face.

“I have to tell Sansa and Arya” he insisted.

“Sansa will want to see me gone and you on the Iron Throne”.

”She won't and even if people found out I’ll refuse. You are my queen and you always will be”.

“No matter how many times you bend the knee, no matter what you swear, it won’t stop them. I want us to be together. And if you truly don’t want it, then I will take the throne. I trust no one else with it. If you tell Sansa it will destroy us” you warned.

“It won’t”.

“It will. I’ve never begged for anything but I’m begging you, don’t do this, please! Everything my mother and I have worked for would be for nothing. Even if you don’t want the throne, they’ll never accept me as their queen and then another tyrant will sit on the throne. Please, Jon” you stood up and begged him, but it was no use.

“You are my queen. Nothing will change that. And they are my family. We can live together” he held your face in his hands, trying to convince you.

“We can. I've just told you how” you left him room angry.

—-

After discussing your plan of how to attack King’s Landing and destroy Cersei, you went for a walk outside and someone found you. It was Ghost. Jon hasn’t introduced you, so you didn’t know it was his.

He ran up to you but didn’t attack you, instead he just stood there and examined you.

“Hey there” you went on your knees and petted him, which he seemed to enjoy.

“I have never seen a dire wolf before. We don’t have them in Essos, I think. You’re beautiful! Where’s your family?” he started licking you and rubbed himself against you “good boy!”.

“Come here, boy!... I see you’ve met Ghost” Jon called him and he came.

“Oh, he’s yours?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“He is. Your grace, this is Ghost. Ghost, this is queen Y/n Targaryen” he introduced.

“You never mentioned you have any pets”.

“With all that’s been going on, I couldn’t find the right moment”.

“We’ve had plenty right moments, Jon Snow” now you were referring to your relationship.

You needed some time away from Jon, so you made him ride down the Kingsroad to Dragonstone with the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki, while a few of them were to sail from White Harbor and you flying from above.

Before you left, you tried to make Sansa an ally one last time.

“I’m glad you agreed to go on a walk with me, Lady Sansa” you expressed.

“You are the queen and your orders must be obeyed” she was displeased and didn't bother to hide it.

“It was merely a suggestion. I didn’t come here to make more enemies, I came to win allies. To free the world of tyrants and bad men. So just tell me what will make us allies?” you asked.

“We already are. Jon made sure of that” she reminded.

“But you don’t like me and I wish for us to be friends. What is it that I have to do for you to trust me and leave this hatred behind?” You knew the Starks were an honorable and powerful house, without them you can’t take back the seven kingdoms.

“The North. We’ve bent the knee one too many times. We’ve been betrayed as well. The men are tired and done kneeling” she admitted.

“Are you saying that you will defy me?”.

“No, your grace. You asked what would make us allies and friends and I just told you how and what people think of you”.

“Alright. If this would truly bring peace to the seven kingdoms and would make us allies and more importantly friends, then I will grant you independence once I take the seven kingdoms back, you have my word. I hope you are true to yours. After all, I’d never grant someone something this big, but I’m giving you the North because I trust you and your family and I hope you won’t disappoint or betray me or disgrace your family’s name in doing so”.

“I won’t, you have my word. Thank you, your grace” she finally smiled.

“Call me Y/n”.

“You really do love Jon, don’t you?”.

“I do. He’s the only man I’ve met who’s been honest from the start and didn’t lie to me once or break a promise. He’s also the reason, I’m trusting you with the North”.

—-

While sailing, the Iron Fleet surprised you and almost killed Rhaegal, but luckily the arrow only pierced his wing and then you managed to fly away with him and Drogon. Of course, not everyone was so lucky. Many men were attacked on the ships and killed and they took Missandei.

You have been patient for a long time, but now the time for waiting is over. You had to act and do it fast. You were angry and wanted to get Missandei back. She was your handmaiden. Your mother freed her, when she took Astapor back. She was a little girl then, a bit older than you. You grew up together and she took care of you, when your mother was hard on you. She was your best friend. She was like a big sister to you. Somehow, deep down inside, you knew she was as good as dead.

You wanted to attack the city with the dragons and get her back. Varys and Tyrion advised you not to, because you’d be killing innocent people. Instead, Tyrion suggested that you speak to her. You knew it’d be a waste of time, but you did it to prove a point. You also send people to tell everyone to evacuate the city when the fight starts, but the people chose Cersei’s side and decided to hide there.

The day came and Tyrion tried to negotiate a truce with Cersei, but as expected it didn’t work. At least, you were able to see Missandei. She looked strong, even though she was in chains and surrounded by enemies.You wanted to shout, cry or just talk to her but you couldn’t show weakness. Cersei made her guard behead Missandei and you had to watch. You didn’t close your eyes or turn away. You needed to see this, to be reminded of the cruel world and the tyrants who will misuse the power they have and do awful things. You needed to see this, so when you attack you’d have a strong reason to. The moment she was executed, you lost three fourth of your heart. Viserion was first, then Jorah and now Missandei. There was only one more part, before you exploded. You were filled with anger and hatred.

Tags: @simonsbluee @octaviareina @winterscommander @patdsinner @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @doctorswife221b @marvel-addict-95 @capsheadquaters

[wildshadowtamer]

Andy the Bird Boy [SDV Fanfic]

Dunno if this counts as a fanfic or not but I'm presuming it is!

Andy belongs to me and all the others belong to ConcernedApe, creator of Stardew Valley.

Warnings: Bit of angst/depression at the beginning but otherwise good. Also short gay boys.

Word Count: 3,170 Words 17,739 Characters 71 Sentences 108 Paragraphs

Story under the cut cuz It’s long:

"And for my very special grandson" Grandpa laid in his bed, a young blonde boy kneeling beside him "I want you to have this sealed envelope." He passed the child a white envelope with a purple seal on it, he tried to open it, but his Grandpa stopped him "No, no, don't open it yet. Have patience" His grandson stopped, looked at the seal and nodded 

"Now, listen close." the lad shuffled forward quietly "There will come a day when you feel crushed by the burden of modern life....and your bright spirit will fade before a growing emptiness." The tired man explained, "When that happens, my boy, you'll be ready for this gift."

"Now...let grandpa rest..." 

that was the last time he ever saw his Grandpa.

23 years later...

[His POV]

Same job, same work, same life over and over. That's how my life is going so far, just dull and repeating.

My nightmare.

You see, i work at Joja, a large office company that does nothing to make their employees lives good. We barely even get breaks.

For a smoker who can't sit still for too long without going insane like me, that's a few hundred layers of hell on the daily.

Today, i was feeling particularly pessimistic, hunched over at my desk, half-asleep and dreading the next eight hours that followed. That was, until, I remembered my grandfather's old letter he gave me "....hmm." 

I leaned back in my seat, opened my drawer next to me and removed the sealed envelope Grandpa had given me way back when I was a young boy "...well, can't get worse than this." I mumbled as i tore open the letter and straightened it out

It read:

"Dear Andy,

If you're reading this, then you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life...real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.

I've enclosed the deed to that place...my pride and joy: Sunflower Farm. It's located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It's the perfect place to start your new life.

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it's yours. I know you'll honour the family name, my boy.

Good Luck.

Love, Grandpa."

I couldn't help but cry, Grandpappy was the person i was closest to, I was so heartbroken that I wasn't given anything when he died but...I was wrong, Yoba was I wrong!

I flipped over the letter, and there was an extra piece of writing:

"P.S If Lewis is still alive, say Hi to the old guy for me, Will ya?"

I shakily laughed, tears rolling down my face and a goofy smile on my face.

I got up and headed shakily to the manager's office, there were already two tickets to the farm in the envelope so I didn't care what would happen

"Sir, I quit." I walk in, merely putting the letter on the desk and leaning against it, management nearly choked on his drink, he spluttered and looked at me like I had grown wings "w...what!? You can't do that!"

I looked at him with a completely straight and serious face, "Yes, I can. And I just did." I responded in such a monotone voice i was surprised my voice could even do that, but with that, I shrugged, took my letter, clocked out and went home.

I called my parents, and they were so happy, saying they'd call Lewis to tell him ahead of time since I couldn't go for another week.

One week later.

My alarm went off loudly, and I scrambled to get dressed in possibly the best clothes I have: a white undershirt with a fancy red waistcoat and matching red dress pants.

Terrance, my Mourning Dove, called hungrily, I quickly fed him and scurried to grab my tickets and brush my hair, which is now a flaring red compared to my old childhood blonde.

"Come on, Terry!" I grabbed his cage and made it down to the bus stop, adjusting the fabric cover so he wouldn't be too loud. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I couldn't help but grin happily, admittedly i did get some looks from the other people waiting since i was dressed like i was from the 1700s, but I like it so why should i care?

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

Andy waited patiently throughout the hour-long ride, keeping Terry's cage on his lap as he watched the city turn to landscape, then rolling fields and beautiful forests.

Eventually, the bus rolled to a stop, the young man, being the only passenger left jumped to his feet once he felt the bus stop, he grabbed Terry's cage carefully and stepped off the bus happily. 

A mid 40's woman with orange hair waved him over "Hello! You must be Andy!" She exclaimed happily as he approached "I'm Robin, the local carpenter. Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He's there right now, tidying things up for your arrival." Continuing, she held out a hand, to which Andy shook politely

"The farm's right over here, if you'll follow me." She grins, leading him over to a pathway, a small house in the distance.

"This is Sunflower Farm." Andy took a step back and gritted his teeth in surprise when he saw the state of his old grandfather's farm, overgrown with weeds and trees as far back as it went. "What's the matter?" Robin asked with a giggle, turning to speak to him clearly. "Sure, it's a bit overgrown, but there's some good soil underneath that mess!" she smiled, hands behind her back and giggling as Andy sighed, giving her a glance that read 'are you sure....?'

"With a little dedication, you'll have it cleaned up in no time!" She reassured the nervous boy, turning his attention to the humble little shack behind them "...and here we are, your new home!" She exclaimed; happily, the door slammed open, and an older gentleman with a well-kept mustache walked out "Ah, the new farmer!" He smiled, walking down the steps to stand beside the two redheads

"Welcome! I'm Lewis, Mayor of Pelican Town." he addressed himself, holding out a hand which Andy quickly took "Andy, s-sir." The boy stuttered as he formally addressed the mayor.

"Please, just call me Lewis." He smiled; Andy went red and nodded, pulling his hand away "Y-yes s- uh lewis." He stammered, keeping his hands formally behind his back.

"You know, everyone's been asking about you." Lewis continued, "It's not every day that someone new moves in. It's quite a big deal!" He exclaimed cheerfully; Andy was redder than his hair that resembled a lions mane, no matter how hard he tried.

"So..." Lewis went on "Your moving into your grandfather's old cottage." Andy nodded, the three of them turned and looked at the house once more "It's a good house, very...rustic." Lewis raised an eyebrow at the half-broken home

Robin snickered "Rustic? That's one way to put it! 'Crusty' might be a little more apt, though." Andy smiled awkwardly, trying not to insult his grandfather

Lewis rolled his eyes and glanced at Andy, smirking

"Don't listen to her, Andy. She's just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades." Andy giggled, and Robin gasped "Rude!" she crossed her arms and looked away "Anyway, you must be tired from the long journey, you should get some rest." Lewis nudged Andy towards the house a bit, to which he half-stumbled over the steps and brushed himself down once he got to the top of the two-step stairs

Lewis smiled "tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself" He proceeded "The townspeople would appreciate that." He nods absentmindedly, ignoring the bright red Andy standing in front of him barely able to stand from the embarrassment, Robin tried to hold back her laughter.

Lewis walked off, stopping at the big shipping box next to him "Oh, I almost forgot. If you have anything to sell, just place it in this box here. I'll come by during the night to collect it." and with that, the two walked off, leaving Andy red-faced, embarrassed and tired.

"...wait, what." the last half of Lewis' previous sentence caught up to him "Alright then." He mumbled to himself, calming down and opening the door to his new home "Ohhh boy" He looked around the small room:

a plant, a rug, a single bed, a fireplace, a table & chair and tv was all that stood, in what was mainly a wooden box.

Locking the door, he got changed from his smart clothes into his nightclothes: an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. "Well Terry," he placed the bird on the table "Welcome to our new home."

Terry started calling loudly from underneath the cover, to which Andy quickly fed him before readjusting the sheet one last time and collapsing into a tired heap on the small single bed.

He rolled over and sighed, smiling as he drifted to sleep.

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

Once he woke up, he could hear the birds tweeting outside, and his own hungrily cooing "Alright, alright, gimme a sec..." Andy mumbled, tired from his long day previously

It took him a bit to wake up, but he did eventually feed the Dove and collect the tools that he noticed at the foot of his bed, as well as a present on the floor.

"huh..."

He kneeled down and took a note off it along with some parsnip seeds:

"Here's a little something to get you started -Mayor Lewis." He giggled, grinning at the sight of Mayor Lewis leaving this hear for him in the middle of the night.

Coo! Terrance called loudly "Whaaaat? You're extra loud today!" Andy got up and took Terrance out of his cage, to which the bird flew onto his shoulder and shut up "...you wanna come with me." He sighs jokingly annoyed.

"Alright, fine, but just because your such a cute birdy." He stroked the bird lightly before stepping outside and sighing "... I'll just go meet the residents before I tackle that." Andy excuses it, hurrying over to the town-centre 

On his way over, he noticed some beautiful daffodils over by the bus stop, so he decided to pick them and throw them in the backpack he brought with him.

The town-centre was very lovely, clean and relatively old-fashioned from what he was used to, he even spotted a saloon opposite him.

"Oh! A calendar!" He exclaimed, reading the birthdays, he mentally noted that Lewis' was coming up 7 days from then, only then did he notice the sign above it "Pierre's" He mumbled, presuming it was were the glass doors lead to beside him.

"AND a help wanted board? Wow, this town is great!"

The boy continued to explore the town while nobody was up, but someone bumped into him while he was exploring:

"Whoever you are, I don't wanna talk, leave me alone." The man snapped harshly, making Andy stumble back in surprise and start blushing from embarrassment "O-oh, okay sir, s-sorry!" He backed away and hid behind a bush, his face extremely red

"...I didn't even catch his name..." He thought quietly, taking a deep breath and continuing his exploring.

On his way, he met multiple residents:

Gus, Penny, Pierre, Abigail, Caroline, and so many more.

Eventually, he skipped over the nearby bridge cheerfully, until he spotted a jojamart, and his stomach sank, he instinctively felt sick and started shaking. Trying to back away from it, he stumbled into a blonde boy who was just heading over the cobblestone bridge

"O-Oh! Oh, yoba i-i'm so sorry! i just...i..." He trailed off, barely able to stand "Woah, Hey, It's alright!" The blonde boy grabbed him, keeping him upright

"Take a deep breathe, what's wrong?" He asked cautiously, Andy breathed shakily and calmed a bit "I-It's just...I came here t-to get away from J-Joja and...It's just....h-hard to handle." He teared up, getting pulled into a hug by the stranger "Hey, it's alright, I work there too. I know it's pretty bad, but you don't have to go near it if you don't want to." He reassured the short man, rubbing circles into his back.

"S-sorry...U-um..." Andy pulled away, blushing through the tears "M-my name is Andy, I didn't mean t-to scare you." He nervously smiled, the other grinned and chuckled "It's no problem! The name's Sam! If you do need to go into there at any point, I'll stay with ya if you need it, okay?" He tells Andy, who nods shakily and waves him goodbye.

"Ack- No, Andy, don't be falling for cute boys just yet..." He mumbled to himself, his face redder than before.

Eventually, he went on with his day, Terry asleep on his shoulder and by night he decided to go to the saloon.

"Hey, Andy!" Sam called from the side room of the saloon, running over to hug the small, seemingly younger man "What brings you here tonight?" He asked, keeping one arm around him as he escorted him to the bar "Oh...just curious..." He mumbled quietly, his face bright red once again, about the 4th time today.

"Say...are you even allowed to drink? Legally, I mean?" He asked, Lewis rolled his eyes behind them "Uhh....do i really look that young?" He asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck

Sam glanced him up and down "Yeah, younger than me, and I'm only 20!" He chuckled, Andy went a shade of red that probably isn't possible

He laughed awkwardly "I'm....30..." He said slowly, he felt the whole place stop and stare at him in disbelief:

It was fair enough, he did have a baby face and sounded about 14, acted 17 and was about 5'4, the average height of a 14-year-old, so he was far from offended, just surprised.

"No, waaay!" Sam laughed "30? Damn, I wouldn't have guessed! If you were any shorter, I would have thought you were 10!" He teased, poking at Andy's waistcoat

"Yeeaaahhh..." He wanted the ground to eat him at this point "So, way over the legal age to drink aha" He joked, Sam nodded and gestured for Gus to get the two of them a drink.

"Huh, you're old." A Dark-haired emo appeared next to Sam, his hair covering one eye ", And you look like a vampire, what about it." Andy snapped suddenly, crossing his arms.

The room went dead silent once more, the tense atmosphere so thin you could cut it "....sassy, nice." The emo finally spoke up, Andy regained his usual nervous personality and continued to get redder in the face, especially after he noticed both Sam and emo boy were ever-so-slightly blushing.

"Right, so!" Sam interrupted "This is Sebastian, my best friend!" he put an arm around Sebastian instead "But I call 'im Sebby!" He grinned, Sebastian shrunk into his hoodie, getting more red-faced.

"...Out of all the places you chose to live, you chose Pelican Town?" Sebastian asked quietly, the entire bar focused on them "uhh...y-yeah, the city got a bit too much for me....B-but It's better here, so...hah." Andy grinned awkwardly, stroking Terry absentmindedly

"....what the hell is on your shoulder?" The emo pointed to Terrance, Sam nodding beside him

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

[Andy's POV]

The bar was silent and listening in, a few people whisper to one another about my bird "Oh, he's my Mourning Dove, T-Terrance! He doesn't tend to fly so h-he's completely safe, don't worry!" I reassure the two younger boys, Sebastian raises an eyebrow "....right." he mumbled, eyeing Terry cautiously 

I squirmed a bit before making a dove call, sending Terry awake instantly and calling back "See?" I hold a hand to Terry's feet, he gladly steps on and coos

"He's completely docile! Got his shots n' everything, so he's fine to hold!" I continued to explain, feeling my heartbeat quicken "Hey Terry, do a twirl!" And with that, Terry flew into the air and follow the instructions perfectly, twirling around and eventually landing on Sebastian's head, cooing softly

Sam suddenly laughed, and Sebby went so many shades of scarlet he resembled my waistcoat "H-HEY! GET YOUR DAMN BIRD OFFA ME!" He yelled, unable to move much "Aaawww Terry likes you!" I laughed, carefully picking Terry off Emo's head.

"....thankyou," he mumbled, redoing his hair now that a bird isn't in it.

"Holy s-" Sam laughed, practically doubled over, Abigail half-choking in the background too "Wooow Seb! Never knew you were a bird guy!" He joked, his friend glaring at him through his hair and blush.

After Sam and Abigail had calmed down, we continued to chat for a half-hour until I noticed someone in the corner of the room

"hm?" I stopped, staring at the familiar person "Oh hey! I think we met earlier, right?" I got up, approaching the man in the scruffy blue jacket

"i thought i told you to leave me the hell alone." He growled, taking another sip of beer from the can he's been drinking all night "Don't mind Shane, he's pretty antisocial" Emily, the bartender, piped up 

"...I like your hair." I mumble, trying to start a conversation "does it look like i care?" he shot my attempt down "....alright, sorry...." I mumble, half bowing and backing off

"Geez, what's wrong with that guy?" Sam asked as Andy returned to the group "I-I'm sure he'll lighten up eventually! You can't be salty forever... Besides, he looks older than me, I'm not gonna mess with him." I explained, feeling a bit more optimistic.

"Well, now that we've got hat over with, You three up for some pool!?" Sam jumped to his feet and ran to the back room where the pool table was, I scurried after him with Abigail behind me, Sebastian slowly following.

It was a few hours until people started to leave, but the four of us wanted to stay a little longer "Hey, Andy." Robin piped up before she left "You seem like a nice guy and that house is pretty broken down, how about i upgrade it for you? Free of charge, of course." She suggested, Sam gasped and Abigail grinned while I felt my ears go red 

"Uhh yeah sure, thankyousomuch miss Robin!" I stumbled over my words, bowing to her in thank, we waved her goodbye and turned back to the pool table

"Where you gonna sleep now." Sebastian asked quietly "...Sam?" I turned to Sam, who nodded and grinned "Then it's settled!" I giggle, leaning into Sam slightly, although barely noticeable.

Sam showed me where his house is, heading back first with me following, but not before i heard something from Abigail 

"Oh their so gay." and a chuckle from Sebastian, I went redder and chased after Sam, getting scolded by his mother for staying out so late without warning but then being welcomed and having a great sleepover.

I think I'm gonna fit in here.

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

[caseybanning]

The New Recruit

((a roleplay log from myself, @captainjanegreene, @ghosttmachine, and @zackoak from about a year ago, whoops. no big content warnings except maybe for a hand injury. not sure if Fay has their own RP blog?))

~

MONTHS IN THE PAST

The Dire Warning rests at dock, taking on cargo and crew for its next journey.  Visible on deck is its infamous captain.  Jane Greene was, legally speaking, perfectly within her rights to step into London, but, practically speaking, could not do so without inviting every other kind of trouble imaginable.

--

Make sure the blacksmith actually finishes this time," Casey's exhausted voice carries, coming up over Tallulah's deck. The captain, a scraggly-bearded fellow smelling of salt and tobacco shook his head.

"No second chances at zee. I've got a man who can finish in half the time."

Casey frowns, stopping at the bow to run their hand over the broken railing. "Fair enough," they concede, looking out to the docks. Zailors were milling about, quickly carrying cargo to and from the ships, boiling steam churning up from the pipes as one readies to head out, a familiar tall figure a couple ships down watching--wait, what?

--

Fayçal wanders the docks, scanning the ships and those accompanying them. They were searching for someone that met the description they had been given. They had been told that the captain they were looking for was rarely in London for long, and as such, were beginning to lose hope that they would find her. That is, however, until they saw someone that fit her description entirely that they had no doubt in their mind was her. They began making their way through crowds of zailors towards her ship.

--

Jane may have spotted Casey; she's looking in their direction, and while she doesn't wave she at least nods, and does a sort of beckoning gesture with her head.

(Down below...)

Fayçal finds that the crowd of zailors dries up a bit closer to the Dire Warning.  It's clear that this is a pretty dangerous ship to sign on with.

(Aboard Tallulah...)

The zailor follows Casey's gaze over to the Dire Warning and chuckles. "Careful with that one, she's--"

Casey is already partially down the staircase before hearing the end of his sentence. They almost run into a red-headed person who'd been staring up at Jane's ship ("Sorry!! So sorry!") before making a quick pace up to the stairs leading to the deck.

"Jane?!"

Fayçal hesitates before the ship when they see the others avoiding it, and hear the whispers and mutterings of passing zailors. They watch the ship for a moment before they are bumped into by someone else, running on to the ship and calling for Jane. That was all the more confirmation of her identity they needed.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Fayçal follows Casey onto the ship.

Jane stands with open arms, grinning as Casey approaches. "Good to see you, Casey.  Been a few months, I suppose?"

"Oh, just a few," They smile, giving her a warm hug. "It's good to see you too. I hope the zee has not been too cruel." There is a moment where it seems like they are about to say something else, but then pauses at the sound of footsteps close behind. Casey turns, seeing the person from before, and shifts a little to make they were standing partially in front of Jane.

"I'm truly sorry about earlier." Casey says. "I didn't mean to shoulder you, but if you needed to talk it out, we shouldn't be here to do so."

"Oh! No, no, it's fine," Fayçal says, raising a hand defensively. "I didn't come here for that. I was actually hoping to talk to, ah, Captain Greene," they say sheepishly.

"Here to sign on?  Let's have a look at you, then."  Jane  steps forward and circles Fayçal  once, assessing them.  They keep talking to Casey, however.  "I hope you'll stay for tea once I'm done here?  I figure we can catch up a bit more personally than through letters."

Casey is watching Jane circle the stranger with a slightly amused grin. "My business here is nearly finished... I'd love some tea." They tilt their head, studying Fayçal from where they're standing. "Have you ever been at zee?"

"I have, though not extensively," Fayçal says, glancing over at Jane as she circles them. They try to push the image of some small prey animal being circled by a hawk out of their mind. "I've also sailed on the surface, but I understand that's not entirely comparable."

"It's not, but your old skills will still help.  What's your name, then?"  Jane steps back.  Their eye bores into Fayçal, or maybe that's just the way Jane's face looks.

Casey leans in to Fayçal. "She's really a wonderful woman when you get to know her. Not entirely intimidating such as on a first glance." They said with a small smile.

Fayçal gives Casey a slight smile before glancing back up at Jane. "My name is Fayçal Descoteaux."

"French, eh?  Alright, Fayçal."  She says. "If you know enough about sailing I doubt you'll get under our feet when we're under way, but there's a few other things I have to check.  Strike me."  She instructs, with her tone obviously indicating she's not in the mood for objections. Casey is quick to stifle their surprise laugh, instead hastily coughing and stepping off to the side.

Fayçal looks up at Jane in surprise, before quickly looking her over. They knew there would likely be a catch to this- perhaps she would try to dodge or otherwise deflect the hit. This meant they had to act quickly if they wanted it be effective at all. They throw a hard punch at the most effective place they could reasonably reach- in the center of her torso, right under her ribcage. Jane grunts a bit, but far more important to Fayçal is the feeling of their fingers... crunching as they impact the armor hidden beneath the coat.

Fayçal quickly pulls their hand back, gasping and cursing under their breath. What the hell? They quickly look over their hand, then back up at Jane, surprised and perhaps a bit afraid. Had this meant they had failed her test? Surely she didn't actually expect them to have known she had armor on.

"Welcome aboard, zailor."  Jane says with a grin. "Let's get that patched up and get some tea brewed, then."

---

In the ship's kitchen, there's a table and some stools and a whistling kettle.  Jane proves to be quite a skillful surgeon, and quite a bit cleaner and neater as well; Faycal's fingers are now comfortably numb and bandaged up.

"You would have passed if you'd gone for the face as well, but I like that you went for the rib shot.  Shows you're thinking about more than my eyepatch."  Jane says conversationally.  "Tea should be in the cupboard right there, Casey." Casey patters about, retrieving the tea but also taking note of the ways Jane has secured the kitchen. They expected no less for it to be a central hub of safety, considering the who the captain is.

"I don't recognize most of these labels," They remark, carrying over a few selections. "It all certainly smells of tea, but... different."

"Some of them are from South, near the Mountain.  They'll clear a cough right up."  Jane says absentmindedly as she finishes patching Faycal up.  "There. Now, keep in mind... if we're boarded or otherwise find yourself in combat, and you see something wearing a coat, be wary of striking it with your bare hand.  There's no telling what's under there."

"I don't think I would have been able to reach your face well enough to actually hit you anyway," Fayçal says with a light laugh. "And yes, I'll be sure to keep that in mind," they say, and glance down at their bandages. "Thank you again for patching me up."

"It's not a problem.  We have quite a good surgeon working on this ship, but if they happen to be occupied you're always welcome to come to me for help.  I do my best to take care of my crew and compensate them fairly, but I won't hide that we go to dangerous places and engage in dangerous business.  That little test of mine covers quite a few bases, though... fighting instinct, reflexes, response to commands... pain threshold."  She grins at that morbid little joke.

"Nobody surpasses Jane in the pain threshold category," Casey chimes in, settling down on a stool. "That's one test that is rarely won."

"If you're in a situation where you're being tested at that level I'd be more concerned about you simply surviving than how well you're dealing with the pain."  Jane volleys back.

Fayçal laughs, albeit somewhat nervously. As time goes on, they were less and less sure that this was a good idea. However, that was not going to stop them. "I'm assuming you do that test with every new person who wants to join your crew?"

"Aye.  That's one of the reason I don't get the crowds some of the other ships do.  Word gets around.  Lots of zailors figure the Zee is dangerous enough without a madwoman who ventures its farthest reaches at the helm."

"Once you're in Jane's crew, however," Casey says. "You may find this is a startlingly safe ship. There is no protection left aside, so in truth she's probably the most sensible captain you'll meet. Everyone else is frightened."

"Were you on her crew?" Fayçal asks, giving Casey a curious glance.

Casey's smile is wry. "I just know her very well, and hear reports back from her crew. Her and I go back a few years."

Fayçal nods, and decides it'd be best not to question further. "My apologies for interrupting your visit with her."

"This meeting was a happy accident.  You weren't interrupting anything."  Jane says.

"Plus, the Dire Warning is set to head out of London as soon as everything is ready." Casey says. "You jumped on at precisely the right time."

"I don't stick around long.  There are groups who have... issues with me being in the area." Jane says.

"So I've heard,"  Fayçal says, frowning slightly. "You've got, ah, quite a reputation."

Casey, remembering the tea would be well brewed by now, starts pouring everyone's cups. "Rumours evolve and spread quickly in London. By now the most vile of the lot probably spreads the rumour that Jane ran from London and created a colony that cannibalizes infants."

"It's easier for everyone if I keep my visits short, at the moment."  Jane says stiffly.  "So, Fayçal.  Are you prepared to witness the sights of the furthest Zee?"

"I'm about as prepared as I think I could be," Fayçal says sheepishly, and takes the cup of tea in their non-injured hand.

Casey is quiet, casting a brief glance at Jane before looking back to Fay. "What stories have you heard about the risks that could occur at zee?" They ask.

"Well..." Fayçal says, considering the question a moment. "I've heard of many different kinds of sea-monsters, and a place where everything talks, and some place up north with deadly cold. I've also heard a great deal of stories of people going mad out there."

"All true.  Some of the more straightforward things, really.  Madness is a genuine threat.  The Zee is vast and dark; our lights can only define so much of it at any time, and there are many things out there happy to snuff those lights out if they take notice.  I've had a great deal of experience and practice sailing safely, but you must understand: you will need to learn how to wrestle with and overcome your terror if you're going to spend any length of time at Zee."

"That is precisely why I'm not a zailor," Casey says, pointing at Jane. "The sense of terror. I've been at zee, to the Iron Republic, but that's an experience best done once."

Jane nods solemnly at Casey. "I've learned to deal with it, but I'm sure you've heard the stories of how I must be a madwoman, doing the things I do, going the places I go."  She grins at Fay.  "Perhaps I am.  But I've learned a great deal.  I've gained quite a lot.  You could too, in time."

"For my sake I certainly hope so," Fayçal says with a laugh. They take a sip of their tea, and look back up at Jane. "Are you leaving later today? I'm assuming you're not staying in London long."

Jane rummages in their coat for a fine-looking pocketwatch of some silvery metal; it seems to be made of proper clockwork, not of moon-pearls. "Hm... Tomorrow morning.  I've got to give my existing crew time to enjoy themselves, after all."

"Any longer and certain unsavoury individuals will catch wind of her arrival here," Casey says. "But still enough time to try to relax and breathe for a moment... if you need me to hand off some information to Roland, I can do that tonight."

"Oh, yes, thank you for the reminder."  Jane nods appreciatively.  She goes to one of the cupboards, open it, removes a panel in the back, and then removes a panel at the bottom of that, then catches the sorrow-spider that leaps out of it with one hand; it's tossed to the floor and crushed underfoot a moment later, before she finally retrieves a small water-proof sack that seems just the right size to contain a journal of modest size.  "Nothing he hasn't anticipated, I should think, but still useful."  She tosses the sack gently to Casey.

--

Roland's office was one of the most luxurious in the city, provided your standards were nuanced.  There were no particularly gaudy displays, noting that, at a glance, would speak to opulent wealth... but simply existing within it for long enough would allow anyone with the eye to realize how comfortable the space was, how perfectly adjusted the feel of the space and its contents was, and how quietly stupendous the contents within were.

After knocking on the door and letting themselves in, Casey finds that both Roland and Elizabeth are already there.  Roland is at work, hunched slightly over the desk as he reads reports and writes notes, while Elizabeth has set herself up in the corner with an easel.  Dressed in a manner that would be scandalous to a stranger but which Casey knows from experience is simply what Elizabeth finds comfortable, she works steadily at a canvas, her eyes lovingly examining Roland every so often.

Casey has found themself settling on the chaise-lounge in the corner after hanging their coat up. "Jane acquired a fresh new crewperson for her ship... hopefully they'll last." They remark, flipping through but not really observing her notes closely. They're not one to follow zee life too closely. "She sends her love too."

That lights up Elizabeth's face.  "If you manage to catch her before she leaves again, give her mine as well?  Hopefully we'll be able to arrange for her to actually come into the city next time."

Roland looks up and smiles. "Oh, good. Has she been keeping well?"

"About as well as one can when living on a ship," They reply, standing back up to hand Roland the notes. "Whatever is in here was well protected behind several layers of security." Casey glances at Elizabeth with a silly grin. "Does she have any secret family recipes she'd like to keep safe?"

"Knowing our family, I doubt it."  Elizabeth's brow wrinkles for a moment, before returning the silly grin with one of her own. "She might have learned a thing or two of her own out on the Zee, though.  Perhaps we can convince her to make some fish next time."  

Roland sorts through the notes, then stands up, walking to a map of the Zee with them in hand. "These are supply lines and patrol routes for the Khanate. Places to avoid and blind spots to get through. If what I have in mind long-term will work, this is important."

--

The Dire Warning rests at dock. Most of its crew are out reveling; only a handful are at watch. They nod to Casey as they arrive, clearly familiar with them. The smell of darkdrop coffee wafts from the brew-up they have going.

"Captain's belowdeck. She'll be glad to see you before we ship out."

Beaming, Casey gives a courteous nod to the crew and a little wave. "Many thanks!" They call out as they stride aboard, making their way below deck.

The ship used to intimidate Casey only slightly, knowing there are far more hidden traps and defense mechanisms than one could immediately see. Regardless, they're at Jane's door in moments, and they knock thrice upon it.

There's a sound of heavy bolts sliding into the door, before a tiny slit opens near the top.

"Oh! One moment, Casey."

It takes several seconds for Jane to disengage the rest of the traps and locks, before the door cracks open.  Jane is in her nightwear, her prosthetic detached for the evening.  Casey can see a new scar along Jane's collarbone.  "Come on in. I was just updating my charts."

Jane's room is somewhere between a fortress and museum.  She carefully locks the door behind Casey.  "Elizabeth is well, I hope?"

"As always," Casey responds, removing their coat and setting it aside. "Working on a new painting last we met. You'll have to come back when it's finished."

Their eyes wander the room, trying to pick out what's new. Nothing seems to catch their interest until they look at Jane. "Hopefully you haven't had too much trouble.."

"I've been well enough." Jane says, rubbing her shoulder where skin met the prosthetic's mount as she double checks her charts. She always seems at least a little self-conscious around Casey.  "Maybe next time I'm in port I can sneak out to see her."

" That can definitely be arranged," Casey says, grinning. "We can all have a meal together and try to catch up! Make it a family affair. I have ways of sneaking around," They move to sit near her--just arm's length, as they sense she seems cautious, and continue. "I make a great body guard in a pinch too, should it come to that."

"That would be lovely." She does turn and grin at the bodyguard comment; absolutely towering over Casey and with the kind of build one associates with the battle-nuns of Abbey Rock, she doesn't seem the sort to need a bodyguard. "I have little to fear if you're watching my back." That part's completely sincere, at least. Jane takes a seat and lets her arm rest near Casey.

Their hand moves to rest stop her arm, then down to clasp her hand. "I've missed you," they say quietly. "Your reasons for staying away are valid, but the city feels strange without you here."

Casey glances at her. "Do you ever consider staying for good?"

"Of course. How could I not?" Jane's eye squints as she frowns. "But it would mean putting Elizabeth, and both you and Roland, in danger. Its easier for everyone if my enemies think I'm already out of the way. Besides, the pull it would take to make them forget what I've done to them..." Jane leaves it unsaid. Casey already knows a couple of the figures who would prefer Jane never step foot in London again.

"I'm capable of dispatching the risk," They say. There is a hardness to their expression, an almost too-direct way of looking at Jane to indicate they're serious, and then it fades. "Again... only if it comes to that. I've my own enemies to track and monitor."

"I appreciate your capability, but I have no wish to force you to bring it to bear.  As you say, you have problems of your own."  Jane squeezes Casey's hand. "Perhaps we'll see. Time might make them feel they have better things to focus their attention on, though my encounters with Hell's ships at zee suggest they're willing to bear the grudge for as long as it takes."

Casey sighs, leaning up against Jane's shoulder. "I hope your tiny new recruit can withstand it. Hell will remain here for long after we're all gone."

"Considering some of the things Roland has tasked me with finding out, he may have a plan for that.  As for my recruit... We'll see." Jane grins. "I've got a feeling they have quite a respectable amount of resolve." Jane's hand lightly grips Casey's waist.

"With the size of their overcoat, I imagine it'd have to be a lot of resolve, I mean... what else would that, uh.." their thought trails off when they catch Jane's eye.

"Conceal." Casey says. "...how late are you planning on staying docked?"

"Til' morning. We have quite a few hours."

--

Casey awakened groggily at the gentle shaking of their shoulder.

"I'm shipping out soon, dear.  I've got tea ready, but it's time you got back on shore, I think."  Jane had set a steaming cup of tea next to the bed; the good captain was looking perhaps a bit disheveled, her unbuttoned coat still open and her pants a bit loose, but she also wore a gentle smile.  To Casey, it might as well be the only thing Jane needed to wear.

"Mmm.  Don't you have time for-"

"I don't."  Jane said, her face growing a bit stern. "And you know that well."  She sat on the edge of the bed, cradled the back of Casey's head, and pulled them into a deep kiss.  Once their lips released each other, she whispered.  "Another time, I will.  But we both have things to see to. "

Casey did their best to delay. Underwear was lost, and all-too-rapidly found.  A second cup of tea was requested.  Finally, a mostly-clothed Casey was gently but firmly guided off the ship by Jane, even as she attempted to stifle giggles at the increasingly unlikely efforts of her lover.

[boojersey]

VIC DO ALL THE ASKS BC I LOVE U AND WANT U TO HAVE FUN

*SWEATS* AYE AYE CAPN

cw for like some common lgbt+ topics such as dysphoria violence discrimination etc just. tread carefully if u get triggered easily by bad lgbt experiences

What do you identify as and what are your pronouns? -im a gay trans man and my pronouns are he/him but they/them is also acceptable!

How did you discover your sexuality, tell your story?-oh wow i originally thought i was a lesbian because i didnt even know what transgender was i just thought wishing i was a man meant i was butch and then i met my friend donnie in eighth grade who told me he was trans and it was kinda a huge slap in the face but with a sack of gay bricks? and i found out i dont like women through actually having sex with cis women and finally realizing it. really wasnt for me so now im just a gay man as opposed to queer as an umbrella term but i periodically refer to myself as such

Have you experienced being misgendered? What happened and how did you overcome it?-oh yea i literally was misgendered today i just kinda brush it off but it can be hard sometimes especially when people know im trans and do it

Who was the first person you told, how did they react?-i first told donnie about my gender, it was a thing where i went to bed the night i met him and was like  .. wait holy fuck and then the next day i was like BRO HOLY FUCK but sexuality? i dont really know???? it was so long ago it was honestly probably my group of friends on kik that i had in 2013 (u were included in that mister!!!!)

Describe what it was like coming out, what did you feel?-im not actually fully out but the first time someone who was an adult knew about my trans-ness was what really set in for me the fact that i could come out one day; my friends mom referred to me as seance (and like. obviously she respected my gender she has a trans kid) but it was just super jarring bc no adult had known yet abt my identity in any way and as a result i was rlly glad it was nighttime in that car bc i cried almost immediately; the first time i came out on my Own was to my cousin and he laughed in my face so that was pretty damn awful and its kinda funny cuz the bastard is bi so u would think hed have been accepting but n0pe!

If you’re out, how did your parents/guardians/friends react?-im out to my friends now ! and the reception was generally positive bc i think i do an ok job at picking ppl to be around in terms of morals so there was little bad reception

What is one question you hate people asking about your sexuality?-i hate when ppl ask if im gay as in for men or gay as in for women because im trans, i am a man so when i say im gay i feel like that should be easy enough to put 2 and 2 together but when they ask that i feel as if they still view me as a woman

Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.-emo of the gods themselves it is absolute scene and emo vomit and i love it; its seriously hard for me to wear dresses and skirts without dysphoria and just general discomfort but i own a couple anyway bc theyre cute i just. never wear them

Who are your favourite lgbt+ ships?-my main thing at the moment is gerard/frank/grant morrison bc i love poly fics very dearly and gerard/bert because bert mccracken deserved better than gerawrds internalized homophobia lol

What does makeup mean to you? Do you wear any?-makeup to me is an androgynous thing so i wear eyeshadow a lot and lipstick sometimes, eyeshadow is easier on my eyes than eyeliner bc im allergic to a lot of makeup thats on the heavier side so if i put on eyeliner my eyes will water and burn throughout the day but with eyeshadow im mostly ok; other opinion is that makeup on Anyone can be sexy as hell if they do it for fun and wear literally what they truly want and not just what they think is accepted or what they Should wear

Do you experience dysphoria? If so, how does that affect you?-oh yeah my dysphoria is pretty debilitating if im gonna be honest; i used to have very little problems with it because my hold on reality was loose at best (before i was medicated to clarify) but now that i am almost completely Here my dysphoria is pretty bad and even just like. the knowledge that i have breasts is pretty awful; a few weeks ago i put on an outfit that i have to wear a victorias secret bra to fit properly in and just one look in the mirror had me sobbing and i had to change my clothes before i could leave the house and i havent worn a bra since because just the thought of showing off my chest makes this stark fuckin dread shoot through my veins but i also have dysphoria in regards to my voice that i discussed at my last trans therapy group meeting actually ; my voice has a tendency to bounce around my octave range so sometimes ill be like. excited then hear what i sound like. and ruin it for myself immediately u kno? im not even gonna talk about my dicksphoria bc thats just. awful. 

What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard said about the lgbt+ community?-ohhhhhhhh my god u know what? ive heard..so much .. that im gonna instead take this opportunity to mention my mother genuinely thinks dnd is satanic

What’s your favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?-the fact that were so strong. we are so fucking strong we deal with violence and opposition constantly and at staggering rates yet we stay strong and we continue loving through all of it, whether its in dark corners in secret or loudly in the streets we continue loving and do so with all of our beings because we know its our own truth and well gladly go to hell if it means we got to love on earth (not that everyone believes in hell or the idea that us gays go to hell but my point stands)

What’s your least favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?-we have this audacity to create divide (to the fault of mostly cis white gay men thank u very much) when what we need to do is love each other because we are different but at the end of the day we all need to remain in tandem and as a family or we will never get to where we need to in terms of acceptance and that means being uplifting and protecting our trans sisters of color, our disabled lgbt members, our autistic lgbt members, our anything past cis white gay man because we all need recognition, we all need love, and to exclude any letters of lgbt is to tear ourselves down and set ourselves on fire

Have you ever been to your cities pride event? Why or why not?-no :((( no one would drive me in the past and i dont think ill have a way to get there this year either

Who is your favourite lgbt+ Icon/Advocate/Celebrity?-brian molko! my bisexual, androgynistically-inclined father who birthed me at the tender age of 16 when i found placebo

Have you been in a relationship and how did you meet?-ya theres been a few and i dont rlly like to talk abt my relationships with anyone unless theyre online relationships so im just gonna leave it at that

What is your favourite lgbt+ book?-pantomime by laura lam! its one of if not my favorite book to this day

Have you ever faced discrimination? What happened?-y a every damn day bitch ! example is when i was deadnamed by my psychiatrist while she knows full well what my name is the other day; another is the countless times i get called a lesbian ???? and when strict lesbians ask me out i get a very bad taste in my mouth (i understand full well that sexuality is fluid, these are lesbians that spit the ‘penis is gross blegh’ rhetoric)

Your Favorite lgbt+ movie or show?-uh im just gonna say preacher bc its my favorite show altogether n cass is bi/pan/something similar

Who are some of your favourite lgbt+ bloggers?-@ble3dmagic is my boyfriend in crime (not rlly thats a joke) and @musicalsense​ is my sunburnt Brother

Which lgbt+ slur do you want to reclaim?-queer! i also use f*ggot a lot when talking about myself and my friends that are ok with it

Have you ever gone to a gay bar, or a drag show, how was it?-i went to a drag show and it was so amazing and one of the first times i felt accepted in my own community that i cried

How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that mean to you?-well i identify as a man with no leaning towards womanhood or nonbinaryhood in any way, its just . man . but in terms of Expression i am quite androgynous bc i can rlly appreciate femininity (NOT the same as womanhood) and being a man to me means just that ive always wanted to grow up with that “gender role” like i always wish i was raised as a stereotypical parent would raise a son and ive always been more interested in stereotypically masculine things and people since i can even remember and i feel like puberty was just this unpreventable spiral into something i didnt want. i didnt want it at all . this is tmi but when i got my first period i cried my eyes out bc the idea of being called a Woman repulsed me so much and since i didnt even know that being trans was a concept i was just this scared puppy full of confusion and fear aimed at myself because all the stuff i heard i was supposed to be proud of the change but i wasnt i was so ashamed of it and the idea of being called a woman made me sick to my stomach and i just wish i could go back in time and hold myself and tell me itll be alright 

Are you interested in having children? Why or why not?-absoLutely not i hate kids (and by that i mean i hate being around them and the culture that surrounds having children; i do not treat kids like shit and i do not act like hating children is a personality trait; i get migraines and usually the second a child starts screaming or crying i am on the floor of my brain writhing in dire pain and i have absolutely no desire to support another human life when frankly i cant even support myself; its also just not a lifestyle i want to live)

What identity advice would you give your younger self?-god so fucking much. so fucking much. so many things i wish i could say to myself

What do you think of gender roles in relationships?-i think if someone wants to adhere to them then hell yea go ahead just dont expect others to do it or try to tell other people its a Norm or something; theyre for the most part christian in nature so i dont have any desire to follow them myself, i want a relationship (if any) thats more of a coexistence if that makes sense, like. roommates plus dick

Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?-i always used to anxiously chew on the idea that my chest dysphoria is just me holding disdain for the shape and size of my breasts but let me tell you. the second i put on my binder for the first time i immediately started crying because i was so overwhelmed by the fact that i was looking at something one step closer to myself and i know full well i am never going to have that doubt again. this week has been exponentially cathartic and therapeutic for me

What is something you wish people know about being lgbt+?-i want the cisheteros to know that nothing they learn about us is new. everything about us has been around for so so long but has been silenced and erased to the point where a lot of us dont even know many things about our rich and beautiful history

Why are proud to be lgbt+?-honestly? its hard for me to not just straight up say im not proud of my identity. its taken me years to stamp down the plain grieving toward my identity and wishing i could have the easier path but frankly? the fact that i am choosing this path of hardship and hell on earth just to be who i truly am i think speaks volumes of my pride in my identity at this point; further back in my archive by a few years my posts are littered with sentiments of bitterness wherein i stated that i hate being trans and not just cis but i like to think ive finished hating myself for my identity. i like to think im proud now. to ask me why is to ask too much of me, all i know now is that i am proud and thats enough for me right now.

[grecoisms]

title: time of the singing birds (1/5)

pairing: cullen rutherford / cassandra pentaghast

summary: 

"She never made things easy. But she always made them possible."

Cullen and Cassandra across the years.

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

1. They are still cleaning blood off from the cobbled streets of Hightown when the Seekers prepare to leave, a whole army of them, the same way they have arrived: clad in the darkest of clothes and blankest of faces. Kirkwallers – what is left of them anyway – avoid them automatically, not quite aware what is happening, what will happen. It is hard to forget recent happenings, even if summer envelops the city in its hotbright arms.

The tail of the small army is almost out of the great market square when a solitary figures emerges from its mass, and hops off their horse, graceful and quick. Cullen, who is helping with reparations along with some remaining templars closely tagging at his heels, notices this warily. He doesn't stop the task at hand, which is presently to load the cart with salvaged Chantry stuff: a half-singed book here, a chipped Andraste statuette there. An Antivan leather rug. Letters carefully stacked into a smaller cabinet with rattling doors. Alphabetized. Cullen is impressed, which is a sort of miracle nowadays. 

At the end of the day, after leaving Darktown, he has to sit down at the dock to collect himself. Because despite sending food and finding shelter, the mass wails and blames and points. He doesn't shake before them, but he bites his tongue until he tastes blood.

He already sent two of such carts in Lowtown and plans to check the deal the templars made with the Blooming Rose and the Hanged Man. Shelter. Food. Order. Desperate times, desperate measures, he thinks, just when the figure who gets off from their horse starts to stride towards them.

The figure is a woman, all sharp edges and a strict expression. Cullen senses the leadership in her movements - no one moves quite as sure, quite as determined.

He is just about to throw Chancellor Uthric's Legendarium onto the cart when the Seeker stops before him. The youngest templar, Thomas, freezes. His mouth hangs open, all comical. Cullen bites his tongue before he can snap at him, and instead, crouches down to collect the loose papers that are falling out from the fractured spine of the codex.

"Knight-Captain Rutherford?" Nevarran accent, hard on the tongue. He looks up. The sun blinds him, catches the Seeker from behind, turning her into a dark silhouette.

Still, he doesn't stop his task. Up and down, left to right. From the ground, to the cart. From the Chantry tables, to the people's belly. Cullen laughs a bitter laugh.

"I am not Knight-Captain anymore" he'd address her properly, but he lacks this particular etiquette too, it seems. He wipes his face with the cleanest patch on his sleeves, careful of the fresh scars. "But I am Cullen Rutherford, yes."

His soldiers - Thomas and Lauranna - share a quick look between them. Their faces are shadowed and battered, their armours with the proper insignia thrown in the cool shade of the debris, discarded. They must be a sorry sight. Still, Cullen has never felt calmer, here, standing in the sun, moving objects with his own two hands. Survival, it seems, has turned boredom into safety.

When he stands up, straight as an arrow, the Seeker steps towards him, stepping onto the half shadows of the great white columns. She has a solemn face, all angles and dark eyes that do not shy from his gaze. An armored and strong and scarred woman, only a few years older than him. Though Cullen does not trust his own age anymore.

Because sometimes, when the sun sets red behind the Vimmark Mountains, Cullen would think of home, and his heart would feel ancient and lost - as if he dropped it somewhere between Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall. Perhaps it turned to stone, like Meredith, and sunk deep down to the bottom of the Waking Sea. Maybe this is why he favours the docks so much. He adamantly refuses to think of the docks at home, by the lake. 

Yet when Cullen looks at the woman and finds her face familiar, it does not hurt like violent sunsets and the deepdark waters. In fact, he trusts her scarred and stony face on sight, like he trusts the loops in Mia's handwriting. Even years later he would not be able to tell exactly why his heart calmed so under her eyes.

"Well, serah" the woman smiles a bit and her scar ripples with it. She speaks as if they had been talking for hours now. "There is a ship going to Highever tomorrow morning. Then we'll set for Haven, for the Conclave. Surely, you have heard of it."

"Yes" Cullen says, careful, because the scar on his mouth is still fresh and because he knows an offer when he hears it. "But I don't need to sail across the sea and listen to a council saying that there is a problem. I live it now. And I watched it happen." He motions to the cart, he points at the debris. He thinks of the hundreds of hungry mouths and the hushed wails when he crosses Lowtown. He thinks of Kirkwall, burning and mad and red.

Cullen doesn't add, because it is obvious: I made it happen.

The woman makes a barking sound - it takes a second for Cullen to realize this is her way of laughing.

"You are every bit the man I have heard about" she crosses her arms to hide the white symbol on her breastplate, an eye on bright fire. "We may be kindred souls, Commander. I, myself, also dislike idle talk and favour taking action."

"I am no Commander."

"You could be." the woman retorts, eyes flashing. "You should be. You were forged in an army. For an army. Better still, you are fit to lead, to plan, to command. Unless your idea of saving Thedas is to sort through Chantry Literature."

Her mouth is set in a thin line as she eyes the piles on the cart. Cullen locks his jaw and steels himself.

"That is also a commendable way of ensuring safety. And legacy, for the future."

"Legacy lies in people, not paper." she says. "And safety should be done with them and by them, and again, not through paper. But you know this, do you not, Rutherford?"

She points at her own scar and looks at his. Soldier to soldier.

"Alright, Seeker." he says, holding up his hands. "You have my attention. What is your proposal?"

"The Conclave is but theory. What the Divine truly wants is radical change to the order of things, so Thedas can survive the next age. What we think - what Justinia thinks, is that the Conclave will fail. More dire decisions are needed. For this reason, I have set out to collect a group of remarkable people to serve her and the Maker's will."

It is Cullen's turn to make his distaste visible.

"Am I to serve as a substitute for Hawke?"

"Maker no. The woman is a force of nature, but she has no finesse for battle strategies. And her presence, though sorely needed, is out of question as of the present, unfortunately. She'd have been the symbol for our cause. Alas. But no matter if Hawke returns or not: You are to be the Commander of the Armed Forces."

"If I accept."

"If you would, please."

"Hm" he scratches the beginnings of his sandblonde beard and knows he would not know himself now if he would stare at his reflection in the water. "You don't know me. Why the trust?"

The woman seems annoyed.

"Would you require a more elongated verbal foreplay? Take care, I am not a patient woman by far."

Cullen laughs, and this time, it is genuine. The woman laughs as well. When they calm, the woman's eyes are solemn again, almost angry. He doesn't know yet, but this is a sign of her passion.

"Listen" she says. "What I am, however, is a Seeker of the Truth. You know what that means, do you know? I know true men when I see them, and you look like one. Trust me. Trust yourself. Come with us, because we need your help."

She is shorter than him by an inch, but in the semi-sunlight and dark armour, she looks like a giant. His heart sinks.

"I cannot go with you tomorrow."

"But you will come." A hopeful lilt.

"But I will join you later. When I have finished the last of my dealings here."

"When you have filled the cart and the list, you mean."

"You got me." He smiles again, but it smaller and sadder this time.

"Well, Commander Rutherford" she says, and gives her hand for a shake. "Welcome aboard the Inquisition. Write to the Haven Chantry once you start your journey there."

Her grip is firm and warm. His is tentative.

The whole ordeal is a but seconds. She lets go, nods to the others and is already on her way back to her horse and to the docks.

Cullen almost crouches back again to read the burnt letters of some other book when he realizes something.

"Wait" his voice is a shout, all echo as it reaches her. She turns around, caught offguard."I didn't catch your name."

"Cassandra" her voice reverberates across the square, even and acute, like her. "My name is Cassandra Penteghast."

She disappears. 

The fleeting bells from the Viscount's Keep begin their solitary song under the scorching sun.