#⸙ I’LL RISE UNAFRAID (ic)

[tgmsunmontue]

Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide 10/?

Maverick is unknowingly surrounded by Transformers. He knows something is up though. Just not quite what it is exactly.

Bradley and Jake, having never met, are embarking on their own journeys and will have to learn to deal with the fact that they've both been adopted by Transformers.

Despite having years more experience, Maverick is no help at all.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN

                Jake is so glad that he’s not in any of this alone. Sure it was all exciting and new, but it has suddenly become very fucking real and he doesn’t like the looks that some of the brass are giving him, it makes his skin crawl and he edges closer to Bradley and Maverick just slightly, knowing that there is strength in numbers. The fact that he has somehow stumbled into this weird family and all these other Transformers gives him hope that he’s not going to suddenly mysteriously go missing, or die in action; leaving his parents left to wonder exactly what happened. Actually, thinking about his parents he should probably touch base with them, because sending messages aren’t going to cut it three days in a row, not when he’s on leave.

                He focusses back in on the conversation and realizes that Admiral Cain is spitting mad about something, his face almost purple, and he can’t even tell if it’s something Maverick or Admiral Kazansky said, because Captain Mitchell is smirking and Admiral Kazansky is looking cooly impassive. Fuck Jake wants to be like them, either of them.

                “We’re the same rank,” Cain spits out.

                “And yet you’re not the one with a house or hangar filled with Transformers, so I think that gives us the edge regardless of rank, hmm?” Admiral Kazansky states calmly, and god the man must have balls of titanium. Jake had already admired the theoretical idea of Admiral Kazansky, his rise through the ranks and dedication to remaining an active pilot for as long as possible. Now though? Knowing he’s done it while also hiding his relationship with none other than Maverick Mitchell, and is clearly unafraid of standing up to the brass or his own peers. Jake will trust him and his leadership, and not only because he also suspects that his fatherly love of Bradley means that protection reaches and envelopes Jake by default. The wave of relief he’d had moments ago returns ten-fold.

                “Stop being difficult Cain, or you can step back. Kazansky has a valid point. Now, let us go and meet these Transformers.”

                They walk to the hangar where Bronco and Hound are, and he glances around at the other vehicles. None of them seem to also be Transformers, although he wouldn’t bet any money on the fact either way. Bronco and Hound are in their robot states, chatting what he assumes is meant to be quietly, although Hound doesn’t seem to have much of a volume control. He reminds Jake of his grandpa, with the hearing aids he forgets to turn on. There’s a general conversation about how everyone is travelling, until once again Cain looks horrified at the idea of travelling inside a Transformer. Bradley is clearly trying not to laugh outright, his face schooled, but Captain Mitchell clearly looks like he wishes he had Ninja to just jump on.

…            …            …

                “No! I don’t want to travel inside it!”

                “What’s wrong with going with me?” Hound asks, his weird moustache trembling and jangling, and he sounds insulted.

                “I’ll go with Hound. You can drive Ice’s car. I mean Admiral Kazansky’s,” Mav amends and Bradley can tell he’s trying not to laugh outright.

                “It’s definitely a car right?”

                “As far as we can figure out. We can simply pop into existence though,” Bronco states, head tilted to one side and Bradley knows that’s a bunch of bullshit, at least he thinks it is. He has no idea about the procreative habits of Transformers. However Dustdrift had just confirmed that Ice’s car was a simply mundane vehicle j that morning, so he knows Bronco is just being a bit of a shit-stirrer. He can appreciate that, especially with regards to Admiral Cain so he simply nods and looks considering, like he knows exactly what Bronco is referring to.

                Bronco and Hound both transform to the vehicle states and he doesn’t think he will ever get sick of seeing that. Because there are so many humans now they have to take some of the other staff vehicles, as well as Ice’s car. The Secretary of State with his own car and driver, has invited Ice and Mav to go with him, which leaves him with Bronco and a couple of admirals he doesn’t really know.

                “I’ll drive lieutenant,” one of them says, holding his hand out for the keys and Bradley nods, sucks his lips into his mouth and knows this isn’t going to end well.

                “Uh. That… Bronco can be a little… selective, sir,” Bradley states, trying to find a word that suits but also won’t insult Bronco. Because Bradley’s yelled a few choice words at him over the years. Then again, Bronco has thrown a fair few back, but usually through the music.

                “What do you mean?”

                “He doesn’t usually drive anywhere unless it’s me in the driver seat sir.”

                “What? That’s ridiculous!”

                “That may be the case sir, but it’s often just how it is. Bronco won’t even start for Mav, uh, Captain Mitchell. Sir.”

                The man’s eyes narrow and Bradley shrugs helplessly, completely unsurprised when Bronco refuses to start. He’s not going to apologize, just gives a tight smile and accepts the keys back when they’re slapped into his hand with more force than necessary. He slides into the driver’s seat, doesn’t bother with the keys and just pats the dash a couple of times.

                “Take us back to the hangar I guess buddy…”

                “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…” Bronco plays through his radio and Bradley lets out a sigh.

                He guesses it is home once again.

…            …            …

                He’s not quite prepared for the push out of the car, but he’s not as shocked or surprised as the Admiral who chose to rise with him in Hound. Hound had been grumbling almost the entire way, and something sets him off enough to start transforming as they hit the edge of the runway near the hangar and while he staggers a little the admiral with him falls into the rocks and dust and Jake reaches a hand to help him up.

                “You okay sir?”

                “Of course. Is that… standard?”

                “Uh. No. I expect something has set him off…” Jake starts, and he glances around before raising his eyes to the sky. “Oh for… goodness sake.”

                “What?”

                “That’s Starscream sir…” Jake says, pointing up, because he’s familiar enough with the size and shape or the flying and robot forms to be able to recognize him easily now. And the fact he’s up there flying around is probably what has Hound all annoyed.

                “Your one.”

                “No. He doesn’t belong to anyone. None of them do sir. They might agree to assist with us with some jobs, but they’re not… subservient.”

                “I don’t need to ask my microwave its permission before I reheat my dinner.”

                “Your microwave isn’t part of an alien race sir. That you know of, anyway.”

                He looks a little taken aback at that thought and Jake’s glad, because he’s certain that one of the Transformers in Captain Mitchell’s collection is indeed a microwave, and he’d love to see it burn everything to a crisp if it was misused or disrespected in any way. They start the long walk down the runway toward the hangar and Jake wonders if he needs to make polite conversation, can’t help but feel a sense of relief when he sees Starscream get lower and closer and then he’s landing and transforming in one smooth movement and Jake doesn’t know his expressions well, but he thinks Starscream looks pleased to see him.

                “Jake! You’re back!”

                “Yeah. You enjoy the flying?”

                “Sally said I wasn’t allowed to go far. Something about humans getting scared… I don’t understand why. There are plenty of planes in the sky.”

                “Uh, it’s more about the other planes,” Jake starts to explain, wondering just how much detail he needs to go into. Admiral Courtney is clearly listening and watching the interaction with a keen eye and Jake wonders if he should introduce them first.

                “Uh, Starscream, this is Admiral Courtney. Admiral Courtney, this is my friend Starscream,” Jake supplies, settling on friend for lack of any other word or term that might fit the situation, and Starscream definitely looks pleased now.

                “So uh, it’s not about the planes seeing you, or the humans seeing you, it’s more about the fact they’re not expecting you to be there…”

                “No one sees me!”

                “What about the other planes?”

                “They don’t have eyes!”

                “The people in the planes…”

                “They can’t tell there is no one flying me!”

                Jake bites back a grin.

                “Starscream, it’s not about them seeing you. Human pilots talk to a series of towers that manage air traffic. You’d have been an aircraft on no one’s radar and it would freaked the pilots out when you were just suddenly there. They didn’t know you weren’t going to crash into them.”

                “Oh. Well. That’s stupid.”

                “Yeah well, welcome to Earth I guess? There’s lots of rules humans have to make the technology they have work for them. I’m sure we’ll figure out some better flying space for you.”

                “Good. I got bored,” Starscream grumbles and Jake has to bite back a laugh this time.

…            …            …

                Bradley watches as Jake, Starscream and Admiral Courtney get closer. Hound is having a good old rant at Sally, who simply looks like she is entertaining him. The rest of the brass along with Maverick and Ice are standing around, and a couple of the Admirals who Bradley doesn’t like are agreeing with Hound, about how Sally should have stopped Starscream from making himself known.

                “We are at an airstrip, planes taking off have been known to use them now and again,” Sally says dryly and Maverick doesn’t even bother to hold back his bark of laughter, but he keeps an impassive face himself, sees it mirrored by Ice. Jake and Starscream are close enough now that he walks out to meet them, jogging a little to get away from the building tension.

                “It’s fine man, what are they going to do to you? Dismantle you?”

                “I’d like to see them try…” Starscream snarls and Jake holds his hands up immediately, shooting Bradley a grin and he grins back, glad to have someone else his age in this with him.

                “No one is fucking touching you. Except maybe me or Maverick and that’ll only be so you can teach us stuff so we can build Jetfire back together.”

                “I do not need your help to rebuild my friend…”

                “Bet it would go much faster with help though. And friends help friends right?”

                The expression on Starcream’s face is a little horrified and Bradley’s not sure what’s causing it, but Jake is snorting in amusement so he guesses they already have in-jokes.

[ourdawncomes]

Stories of Thedas. Volume Two.

1. Campfire. (Read on AO3)

“I’ve got a story.”

The campfire flares as though in response, casting the small circle of companions in orange light as the Herald leans forward, bracing herself on her knees. Her eyes sweep across the faces of the people she’d come to know so well so quickly, a self-satisfied grin steals across her expression as she notes how they all turn to listen. Those who’d busied themselves with their hands paused their work, looking across the fire to where Thora sits. It’s a new feeling for the dwarf, who had learned long ago that the closer you are to the ground the less likely they are to listen. She lets the prelude hang pregnant in the air, cutting through the atmosphere mired in tales. Some real, some legends, all with a touch of fantasy that made one question which were which. When the time’s right, she sits up a little straighter, feigning hesitancy. “Though I’m not sure any of you’d believe me if I told it.” “Stop playin’ and tell us already,” Sera moans. “Before Varric tells another.” The man in question laughs. “Come to think of it, there was that Pride demon in Darktown.” With a dramatic groan, Sera throws boot over his head, only encouraging his laughter. When at last contains himself, he throws an apologetic look Thora’s way, grin still creasing the corners of his eyes. “We’re all ears, Sunflower.”

She’s biting back a grin, herself, struggling to contain herself for the sake of the mood. “Alright,” she begins, collecting herself. “This was in Ferelden, Amaranthine, in the days not long after the Blight. Ferelden was a strange place to be in those days, the memories from the Blight still hung heavy over its people, but there was hope, too. All the more since the Hero of Ferelden had chosen to make the arling her home.” She’d worried for a time if operating so close to a new Warden stronghold was wise, but as it turned out Wardens needed lyrium, too, and even after they’d saved the world official channels were still reluctant to relinquish any power. That’s where the Carta steps in. Same was true of the Conclave. A finger in every pie, that was the Carta motto, sometimes two if things seemed especially promising. “Good thing she did, too, or I’m not sure I’d have made it out of Amaranthine alive.”

Thora rocks back in her seat, eyes sweeping across the faces of her companions, wondering to herself if this is how the Hero felt during those days in Ferelden. Retiring to a well-lit campfire, surrounded by the strangest collection of people Thedas had to offer.

“It was in the weeks after the Darkspawn sieged Amaranthine that it happened. Cool Harvestmere evening, not so different from this one, when a stranger approached our camp. He had a hood on, threadbare, pulled all the way over his face so all we could see was the shadow cast by the fire. He asked for a bit of shelter from the road, and I couldn’t see a reason to refuse him.”

A disbelieving snort shoots from Varric’s nose. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “A mysterious stranger oozes from the shadows asking for a place at your fire and you just… let him?”

“My mama taught me the meaning of the word ‘hospitality,’ Master Tethras.”

Varric breathes a sigh, though he can’t fight his amusement anymore now than he could before. “I suppose it explains the company you keep.”

“Mhm, now, as I was saying.” She doesn’t continue right away, trying to seize her train of thought where it had left her behind. “He asked for shelter, and we let him. We’d… lost someone escaping Amaranthine, and had a bedroll to spare. It only seemed right. He was polite, a little odd, we taught him how to play Diamondback with only a half-deck of cards, never saw a man so happy to win a couple coppers, but times were hard enough I couldn’t say I was surprised.” Thora recalls how he fumbled them between his fingers like he was unaccustomed to the sensation of his fingers in thick leather gloves, after he put them away he kept patting his pocket just to make sure he could still feel the impression of them in his coat. “He thanked us before bed, and by morning he was gone. Not too out of the ordinary, most people have business on the roads. Only I noticed the grass where he’d pitched his tent had wilted overnight, like winter came early. In the weeks that followed we heard rumours, talk of Darkspawn who spoke King’s Tongue, and a friendly stranger who seemed to always precede a sudden breakout of the Blight.”

As she finishes her tale, a quiet settles over the camp. Varric’s face had grown paler in the telling, the dwarf uncharacteristically silent as he avoided her eye.

“Intriguing,” Solas says, “that is, of course, assuming it is true.”

“Would I lie to you, Solas?” She winks his way. “Could be he’s still wandering Ferelden, maybe we’ll meet up again. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

[arcdancing-blog]

⸙ - “The Vanguard ain’t been doing shit lately.  I think Drifter’s got the right of it.  The Light might not be enough.  I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure out survival.  And if that means dabbling in the Dark a lil bit?  The so be it.”

[myelocin]

here to there | oikawa t.

synopsis: between the question of “what if i go?” and “what if i stay?” oikawa’s answer always is the same.

genre: fluff, domestic fluff | wc: 1200+

characters: oikawa tooru

a/n: this is a commissioned piece by @starlightte <33 girl tenk u sa patience omgjkfgh

commissions | ko-fi 

“You’re a little stressed, and that’s okay,” Oikawa hums, taking the empty seat beside you and leaning close.

You roll your eyes, slumping your shoulders as you lean forward on your elbows. “You say that because you’ve got your whole route planned out.”

“Says who?” he questions.

“Says the sponsorship offer you have waiting for you in Argentina when we get out of here.”

“What if I don’t take it?” he retorts, resting his chin on your shoulder.

For a second, you let yourself sit still and ponder over his words. If you were being honest, the possibility’s always been poking at the back of your head. There’s a different ending waiting to be found, and a different story waiting to be lived between “what if he stays,” and “what if he goes?”

“What if I stay?” he asks you, as his first question, so you sit still and keep your silence, waiting for him to continue.

Oikawa looks at you in the way that says he already knows the thoughts that are running through your head, but still, he doesn’t say anything. The way he quirks his brow isn’t unfamiliar to you, and you smile, realizing that at this point of your relationship, you both really have a way of communicating without words.

Oikawa smiles, and you know he means to say that his thoughts are just a what if. There’s still a one way ticket to Argentina waiting for him after graduation, while there’s an acceptance letter from the university you’ve been pining for in your drawer.

When he presses his cheek against the slope of your shoulder as you sit back on your chair and exhale, you know it means that he’s proud of you.

So you smile, because you are too.

A touch to his hand, from yours is enough to tell him just that. When he leans in, the smell of your perfume is what reminds him that he’s grounded, and home, and that love, is this.

Love, as your name, and the smile you give him that has his heart feeling more than full. “I believe in you, Tooru,” from the way your eyes scrunch into crescents when you smile, while his “I believe in you, Klaire,” is told through cheeky smiles and glimmering eyes.

Brown like hazel in the sun—while every shade of the sunset swirl within them as if the sun sets and rises every day just to be reflected in your eyes.

But it’s “What if I stay?” that he asks you again, and you only squeeze his hand and nod your head once, because you know the message will always be received before it’s even sent.

“If you stay, I’m still here,” he catches, and he knows you mean it.

“What if you stay?” you return the question to him, craning your head to catch a peek of him.

Oikawa huffs his cheeks, but humors you anyway, blinking a couple of times to think about your question.

“If I stay, then I’ll probably be bothering you every three minutes in class.”

“I’m studying Psych, Tooru.”

“I can study that too,” he rebuts.

You smirk, reaching over to pinch his cheek. “Would you be happy?”

He relaxes, shoulders slumping in time right as you shift your position, turning to watch right as he leans back against his seat, closing his eyes. A few beats of silence passes right before he eventually cracks one eye open, peeking at you. “Of course I would,” he mumbles, the lilt in his tone telling you that he means the truth he says.

“I think we’ll always be happy together, Tooru, but would you be happy when you’re alone in your room and writing a paper about Sigmund Freud for sixth time that semester?”

“So you’re saying you’re not gonna help me?”

“I’m saying,” you laugh, “I want to see you at your happiest.”

He’s quick to soften at your words. Saying that you want to see him at his happiest has been your always truth, and Oikawa’s known that much. Goals and hopes about the future was everything that you are, and even if he knows he’s the kind to get side tracked sometimes—because love can be that too—he does so unafraid because he’s always steady with the assurance that you’ll drag him back to his path in less than a day.

“I’m at my happiest when I’m with you, though,” he tells you anyway, just because.

“There’s a different kind of happiness when you’re with someone and when you’re by yourself,” you tell him, folding one arm over the other as you lean forward and focus on the framed photos on your desk.

The first is you with Oikawa. He’s smiling, as you are—the kind that reminds you that the love you’ve shared with him has always been true.

“When I’m with you, I’m at my happiest. I like it when you hold my hand, and remember the kind of ice cream I like even if I barely mention that kinda stuff,” you tell him. “Happiness like that.”

Oikawa smiles.

Your eyes shift to look at the second photograph: a solo portrait of you, after your high school graduation. Diploma in hand, tassel finally in the place where it’s meant to be flipped to, and a smile on your face.

Oikawa’s smiling before you even have time to react, because he knows you’re just as happy in that photo as you are in the one beside him.

“And when you’re with your own company, you’re at your happiest too,” he says, for you. “I know you love your café dates alone sometimes, and your self care routine, because you know you best.”

You smile.

“—and I love you even more, because of that,” Oikawa says, meeting your eyes halfway with a smile.

“It’s the same as when I see you at court,” you smile. “You’re at your happiest then, so when opportunities come like these, I always want you to chase what helps you grow the most.”

“Even when we’re apart?” he grins, already knowing your answer.

“Are we ever really apart?” you counter anyway.

We aren’t, he means to say, but stays quiet instead. The message reaches you, none the less, because it’s not just the sentiment that has you believing in his words, but rather the little roots he’s scattered throughout the different foundations of your life. He’s the first contact on speed dial, and the first face that calls you every morning—even if the sun will be setting in his end of the world.

Tooru’s the face you see when you think of love, as the number two, and the concept of home as something that can be shared outside of what you just have.

The smile he wears is the same, because he knows that in time, it’ll be your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, and your perfume beside his aftershave in the cabinet. He’ll have to start buying the kind of coffee that you like, and learn exactly how you like yours done, and set another time on his alarm in case you like to wake up earlier.

“And what if I go?” he asks, thinking of the second question that counters the first.

You smile, and hold his hand—squeezing tight.

“We both do our own thing but come home to each other after it anyway,” you exhale, the answer rolling off of your tongue easy.

“Yeah,” Oikawa nods. “Home.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Good Pitches

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3179

Read it on AO3

@today-in-fic

Summary: post-ep for Milagro/The Unnatural

April 1999

Something had shifted after Padgett. She’d been afraid that this would end like it had with Jerse, Mulder angry at her indiscretion and further than ever from understanding her. Maybe this was different because they were different, closer than they were when she met Jerse. Maybe it was what Padgett had said, about her being in love. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to refute that statement, but she also hadn’t been able to meet Mulder’s eye. Did he know? She could admit to herself that she wanted him to. Maybe if he knew, he’d be brave enough to take the leap that they were both too chickenshit to take, each of them too fearful of learning that they were wrong, of being rejected. How could they carry on after that? If Mulder knew how she felt about him, maybe that would be all it took.

The way he treated her after he found her blood-soaked on his apartment floor was nothing like the derisive cut of his words after Jerse. He was so incredibly tender with her, holding her like a glass vase, soothing her like a brittle plant. Even in her abject terror, she had noted the feel of his fingers against her sternum while he unbuttoned her blouse, and the gentle flutter of his touch as he explored her torso for wounds. If not for the state of shock she was in, she may have caught his eye, and told him without words that Padgett was right, she was in love. Instead she folded her tiny body into his, tucked safely against his chest. Even as the crime scene investigators wandered in and out, even as Skinner came by and eyed them suspiciously, she never let go of him. She was unashamed, for once, of needing him. And he was unashamed, as always, of wanting to be needed by her.

That night, after her bloody clothes had been collected as evidence, he drove her back to her apartment wearing his t shirt and basketball shorts, which fit her like capri pants. He’d packed himself a bag under the excuse of his apartment being tended to by the crime scene cleanup crew, but really he just didn’t want her to leave her alone. He’d stood by her side in the bathroom and chivalrously turned his back so she could step into the shower, standing guard nearby in case she needed him. Watching blood swirl around the drain as it sloughed off her skin, still unsure of it’s origin, she’d wished desperately he were right beside her under the water, something sturdy to lean against. Her touchstone. Knowing that he would be here in a heartbeat, if only she’d ask him, somehow made it even worse. When she shut off the water, he stood just outside the curtain with a towel held open wide, protecting her privacy until he wrapped it around her shivering frame, and she steadied herself against him, breathing in the smell of his skin through his t shirt. They stood there like that for a long time, until finally he wordlessly scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom, seeming to sense that she didn’t have the strength to get herself there. Seeming to know that she would allow and even welcome this particular show of intimacy and care. She’d had the overwhelming urge to tell him she loved him, but she didn’t. Sitting on the edge of her bed he’d dressed her, first pulling her t shirt over her neck and then allowing her to pull her arms free from the towel one at a time and thread them through the sleeves. She was relatively sure that he could see her breasts, but it didn’t seem to matter. What was a breast when he had seen her broken open in grief, in pain, in fear? Her nakedness hardly seemed as private as all that. Next he’d held her pajama pants at her feet so that she could slip each leg in before standing to pull them over her hips, discarding the towel. He didn’t give her underwear and she didn’t question it, knowing him well enough to predict that he thought it would be an invasion of privacy to open her underwear drawer, and seeing that she was too distraught to care about underwear.

“You should eat something” he told her as she crawled under the covers, his voice laden with concern.

She shook her head; food was a foreign object right now. All she needed was sleep. When he went to leave the room, she sat up, her eyes full of fear. She didn’t need to voice the question.

“I’m going to take a shower, is that okay? I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

She nodded solemnly.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to sleep on the couch…” his voice trailed off as her face answered him. She wanted him close. Needed him there. He nodded. “I’ll be right here, just give me a few minutes.”

She lay there, listening to the rush of the water, waiting for him to return to her side. She was so incredibly exhausted, but unable to sleep. Each shadow seemed to take the form of the psychic surgeon, each creak of the floorboards was Padgett here to look into her soul. Within 5 minutes, Mulder slipped into the bed beside her in a t shirt and his boxer shorts, his skin warm and welcoming, his hair wet and spiked. She went to him, without regard for personal space, professionalism, boundaries or logic. Tucking her head just under his chin, she pressed the length of her body to his and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her somehow even closer than she had gotten herself. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and dampened his shirt, and his hand gently rubbed her back, his lips planting soft kisses to her hair.

“You’re okay, I’m here” he told her, and she wished she could somehow crawl inside his body, needing him even closer than this, wanting him in more ways than she had previously understood.

She fell asleep to the sound of his heart beating, the metronome to which she kept the time of her life. A rhythm unwritten but that she knew by memory. The sweet song of Mulder.

Since that night, something was different, but delightfully so. She felt less guarded with him, more free to laugh and be silly. Unafraid of incidental flirting or mixed messages. When he’d asked her to meet him at the office on a sunny Saturday afternoon, she’d had the girlish idea that he had ulterior motives and that this would be something like a date. She was disappointed to find that he just wanted her help digging through the archives, but the playful way he interacted with her, culminating in him stealing a bite of her ice cream, set off butterflies in her belly in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. She’d spent the rest of that day in a dreamy stupor, smiling idiotically at nothing, garnering friendly hellos from passers by and her neighbors. Had love made her more approachable? Returning from the grocery store to his message, she’d talked herself out of changing her clothes or freshening her makeup, not wanting to read into this something that wasn’t there. The case he was researching was baseball related, after all, so in all likelihood he was asking her to join him there for help with the case.

She was able to keep her demeanor cool and unaffected right up until he put the baseball bat in her hands and curled his long body around hers. His breath hot on her neck and his fingertips on her hip bone made her heart race; this definitely wasn’t work related. When the kid running the pitching machine told Mulder that his mother was expecting him home and took off, she’d felt the words rising in her throat to bid him a good night and go home herself; that’s what she would typically do, after all. Instead she swallowed and waited to see what would happen if she didn’t leave. What would have happened so many nights if she’d simply stuck around?

Mulder walked into the small dugout, sized for little leaguers so that he had to duck a little to fit. He was putting the bat, glove and baseballs into a large duffel bag, perhaps also preparing himself for the night to end. Ignoring the nervous flutter in her gut, she followed him into the dugout and sat down on the little bench that ran along the back wall. How was it that after as many dangerous situations as she’d been in, as many times her life was at risk, that this felt scarier than any of them? How could she know exactly what to do with a gun pointed at her, but be completely lost when it came to something as simple as telling him how she felt? When the choice was possible death or possible rejection, she only knew how to risk her life, not her heart.

Mulder sat down beside her, an open bag of sunflower seeds in his hand, and propped his feet up on the half-wall that faced the field. He held out the bag and she took a handful, which was a rare occurrence. He always offered them to her, though 98% of the time she declined. The few times she had accepted, the delighted smiled on his face was worth the unpleasantness of picking shards of shell out of her teeth for hours (she wasn’t nearly as skilled as he was at cracking them). She felt like now was a good time to make that sacrifice and see that smile, and he delivered. She held his gaze for a moment as he beamed at her, the doubled joy of her sharing his interest in baseball and sunflower seeds apparent on his face.

“How do you open these things without destroying the shell, Mulder? What’s the secret?” For every time she’d rolled her eyes at the things that excited him, she was going to make up for it now.

“It’s all about breaking the shell at the right angle, watch.” He held a seed between his front teeth with his lips pulled back so she could see how he applied pressure until it split evenly along the seam, then deftly used his tongue to pull the seed into his mouth, flicking the shell away with his breath. She mimicked him and he laughed when the shell and the seed splintered, an inseparable mess. They shifted their bodies so that they were turned towards each other, one leg bent against the back wall of the dugout. He showed her several more times and she was an eager student, studying the position of the seed, but also taking the opportunity to admire the fullness of his bottom lip and the shadow of his stubble sprouting so late in the evening. When she finally got it, the seed emerging intact, she smiled at him so broadly her gums showed, a rare sight. He gave her a high-five and their fingers instinctively threaded together upon contact, dropping down to rest between on the bench them still interlaced. Her heart started to race, recognizing the tension in the moment and the desire that flickered in his hazel eyes. She knew he wanted to kiss her, and she knew she wanted him to, so why was this so hard? She was afraid the moment would pass, but she couldn’t figure out how to capture it. Should she lean forward to signal him? If she did and he didn’t reciprocate, she’d die of embarrassment.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice startled her, and she was suddenly afraid he could hear her thoughts.

She gave him a shy smile and chuckled, averting her gaze.

“I was thinking about” he started, “being up to bat, playing baseball.”

She gave him an incredulous look. Maybe she had misread his signals after all. Their hands were still wrapped together between them.

“Hear me out, Scully.” He responded to her expression. “I was thinking about being up to bat and looking for the good pitches. You only want to swing on the good ones, or you’ll strike out, right?”

She nodded, indicating that she was following him.

“But sometimes, you’re so afraid of swinging on the bad pitches that you miss the good ones too. And I was thinking that….sometimes I feel like that with you. I’m not sure if it’s a good pitch, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to strike out, so I don’t swing at all.”

She met his eye and smiled coyly at him, understanding. Feeling a surge of bravery.

“You could always ask, Mulder.”

“No, that’s definitely against the rules, Scully. You’re not allowed to ask.” He was being glib, a typical response to his own discomfort.

“Different game, different rules” she offered, shifting slightly towards him, almost imperceptibly, but he picked up on it.

“So, if I were to ask you.” He paused to take a breath. “If I were to ask you if it would be okay if I kissed you right now, would that be a strike or a run?”

“The baseball metaphor lost me, Mulder” she answered, the lean of her torso increasing towards him steadily, the hand that wasn’t holding his floating up to meet with his jaw, her thumb brushing his cheek.

He slowly closed the remaining space between them, his lips meeting hers in a gentle brush, then sighing as she slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him into her and pressing the full pout of her mouth against his. His free hand found her waist as their lips separated briefly and then met again, this time slightly parted, and she darted her tongue out to slide against his lower lip before she pulled it into her mouth and sucked it gently. He made a little sound in the back of his throat that sent a rush through her pelvis and she had an overwhelming urge to crawl into his lap. Mulder must have intuited that urge because he let go of her hand and slipped both palms under her thighs, pulling her on to him. Pivoting his body so that he was again facing forward, towards the ball field, she steadied herself with a knee on the bench on either side of his hips and sat on the tops of his thighs, the suggestive nature of the position sending a thrill through her. Her hands on his neck and his on her hips, they explored each other’s mouths, licking, tasting and nipping each surface, recognizing something familiar and yet entirely new. When his hands pushed down to cup her ass, a little moan escaped her lips and he growled in response. Breaking the kiss, she pulled back a little, breathless and flushed.

“We should probably go” she heard herself say. The reasonable side of her brain was taking back over.

“Probably should. Go where?” He asked, unsure if this proposition was a conclusion or a location change. His hands were still on her ass.

She laughed “It occurs to me that we’re in a children’s baseball dugout. I’m not sure it’s the most appropriate venue.”

He nodded, agreeing begrudgingly. “I just need a minute, if you don’t mind.”

She laughed again, ignoring the new wave of desire that sent through her, and stood up, moving to sit on the half-wall opposite him.

He took a deep breath, blowing it out hard through puffed cheeks, then looked at her with adoring eyes. She felt so beautiful when he looked at her, especially like that. She resisted the urge to go back to him and and pick up where they’d left off. After a moment, he slowly stood and picked up his duffel bag, and she followed him out of the dugout and towards the parking lot. He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked, neither of them speaking. What was there to say? This moment, a culmination of years of tiny brushes of intimacy, didn’t need explanation or discussion. They both knew, intuitively, that it was the start of a new chapter, perhaps even the opening of a new book, and that they’d discover where the plot took them as they went along, just as they always did. They reached her car and he set the bag on the ground as she opened the door, leaning against the body of the car instead of getting inside. They stood there facing each other for a moment, awkwardness again taking root, both knowing what they wanted but unsure of how, or who, to initiate. Finally Mulder spoke.

“Thanks for coming. I had fun.”

She dipped her chin with a smirk and a blush, the implication of his statement both exciting and embarrassing.

“Likewise” she forced out, meeting his eyes only momentarily. She wished they had driven together so there would be a reason for them both to end up at one of their apartments, and at the same time she was grateful that wasn’t the case because it would probably be too much, too quickly. He stepped toward her, but the lack of height in her shoes meant he towered over her, a full foot between their faces.

“I’ve always known you were short, but it’s suddenly much more noticeable” he cracked, and she turned her face up to his, smiling softly.

“You’re a smart guy, Mulder. I’m sure you can problem-solve your way out of that conundrum.”

He stooped a little and lifted her by the hips, eliciting a delighted squeal, and pinned her against the car with the weight of his body so that they were face to face, his hips planted firmly between her thighs. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders for stability and her breath caught at the feel of his groin pressed firmly between her legs.

“See, I knew you’d figure it out” she teased as his hands danced under the hem of her shirt, lightly grazing the skin of her sides. Her pulse was quickening again, but there was even less privacy here than in the dugout.

He shook his head at her as if to chastise. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, G-woman.”

“I’ve never known you to avoid trouble, Mulder.”

He laughed then, and kissed her, softly, twice on the lips before dropping her back down to the ground. She was surprised that she felt disappointed that it hadn’t continued, but given the venue she knew it was for the best. She climbed in to the driver’s seat of her car and buckled her seat belt, leaving the door open. Mulder leaned in as she turned the key in the ignition and kissed her again, three times, before pulling back.

“To be continued” he said, then closed the door and walked towards his own car several spaces away.

[essayofthoughts]

Fic Interview Meme

Tagged by @cosmonauthill all the way Last Year.

This gets long so I’m putting it below a cut and as ever, I am tagging no one for I am where tag games go to die.

--

How many works do you have on AO3?

At time of writing, 321. More to come soon.

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

~1.2million at present

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Cutting duplicates/overlapping fandoms:

Marvel Cinematic Universe & X-Men

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Critical Role & TLOVM

Star Wars - All

A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Les Misérables (Film)

Hannibal (TV)

Riverdale (TV)

Norse Religion & Lore

Crimson Peak

His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

Jupiter Ascending (2015)

Ancient Greek Religion & Lore

In the Flesh (TV)

Hellboy (Movies 2004-2008)

Forgotten Realms

Elsewhere University (Webcomic)

Mad Max Series (Movies)

Pacific Rim

Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)

Penny Dreadful (TV)

The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types

Flight Rising 

Daredevil (TV)

John Wick (Movies)

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017)

Temeraire - Naomi Novik

Gotham (TV)

Shadowhunters (TV)

Dunkirk (2017)

From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series 

DCU

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Questions - Set in @fialleril‘s Double Agent Vader verse, Leia has some questions.

A Whisper On My Shoulder - The first arc of Ghost Cass, where Cass does die but her ghost is lodged in Percy.

unafraid of toil - Oneshot where Harry sorts Hufflepuff and likes to bake.

A Snake of Red and Gold - Oneshot where Draco sorts Gryffindor.

That balance may return - Percy Whump. First chapter is hurt, the rest is healing.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Usually! If someone takes the time to not only read my fic but tell me their thoughts on it it feels only fair to reply and let them know they were heard.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I... do not know. I write almost exclusively angst but I tend to end things with at least the hope of things getting better. You’d be better off asking my readers what they think is the angstiest ending.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Probably the MCU/Les Mis oneshot series.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I received some... interesting comments from tonkies when I was writing MCU fanfic. If I think someone has a point I’ll address it, if it seems clear to me they’re just being a shit I generally delete the comment.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

So. For the longest time I didn’t really write smut - if I did I wrote it indirectly or with humour because I wasn’t very comfortable with it and every time I tried to sincerely write it it felt clunky as fuck. But... it got to a point where, for some things I wanted to write, I knew I need to improve in that area, so I went out and read some smutfics I liked with the express intent of learning what about them made them work mechanically.

It did not help. I could see the puzzle pieces but could not make them fit non-awkwardly.

And then I wrote Ripley’s Assistant. And I realised I can write smut - when there’s trauma in play, or some other emotional fuckery to add an extra level to the smut. I cannot write simple, straightforward, horny smut. I can write all the weird stuff going on in a character’s head while the smut also happens, because the split focus prevents me from getting awkward and lets me swap as required to avoid frustration.

I am not sure how I feel about this, but! Progress!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Had to deal with someone plagiarising a whole chunk of story beats from one of my fics one time. AO3 handled it. Also have had people use stuff from my monsterblog without attribution before - but everytime I’ve messaged someone about that they’re very quick to fix it; usually they didn’t realise what exactly the useage policy meant and were happy to provide more complete crediting links.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple times! A few of my Maximoff fics have been translated into Russian. It’s very flattering when I get a translation request.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I am credited as Co-Author on a friend’s fic, because I helped them iron out plot problems, plot a whole arc, and have written portions of chapters with characters they struggle with before. I do not consider it co-writing really, because I was originally asked to help as a beta reader and general help with the Maximoff twins and for the most part Aster writes it all, but I am credited as such there because Aster feels it’s fair. So. *shrug emoji*

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t really get into shipping. For the longest time I did not understand people getting into arguments over ships. I did not understand how they could be so invested - I wrote ships based on what seemed interesting or plausible and that was about it.

And then Critical Role happened to me.

It’s Perc’ahlia.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Several of my old HP ideas. I want to finish them! But also JKR is a TERFy piece of shit and I don’t know if I can actually be bothered to wade in and arrange the story how I want given the uh... pretty extensive backlash fandom has had to other members of fandom - punching sideways or down instead of up.

What are your writing strengths?

I can pin out a pretty nice niche AU in a small vignette. Also, angst.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Smut, fluff, comedy & crack.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I usually state it’s another language in dialogue tags and if there’s a few words I can easily put in I do that (have done that with German, Drow and Elvish so far) to give some idea of what the language looks/sounds like. I generally only write an accent for dialect or niche verbal tics and even then I try to keep it to contractions and sentence structure.

Also one time I used glitchscript because there were no Infernal or Abyssal swearwords I could find.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

HP. I wrote ficlets for it for yonks.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Far and away to cancel half a Line. Yes, even now. When I finish certain of my Critical Role fics perhaps they will supersede it, but not just yet - I’m so proud of this obnoxious niche beast of a fic and new comments on it always make my day.

[reinerispretty]

beneath the moon. (sokka x reader) pt15

OH WOW okay so because i felt so bad about not updating this for...two weeks? this chapter is extra long. i’m talkin over 5,000 words long. it is also my apology for not updating in so long teehee!!! 

pt1

pt14

pt16

“Friends get excited to see each other,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t know about you, Aang, but my friends don’t normally kiss me on the cheek when they see me.” Aang laughed as he steered Appa, but Sokka’s expression was less than exuberant. (Y/N) knocked her shoulder against his. “I’m just teasing,” She said lowly, so only Sokka would hear. “I think you guys-“

(Y/N) scrunched her nose in distaste. “This is Lake Laogai?” The place that Joo Dee had mentioned numerous times and Jet had said he had been taken to be brainwashed seemed rather…underwhelming. It was just a lake, albeit an expansive one, with blue green water and a beach surrounding it.  Sokka nudged her side with his elbow. Although she knew he was standing right beside her, the feeling of his touch startled her. She could feel her heartbeat thundering against her chest.

“Come on, Princess. Not everywhere can be a brilliant ice palace.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“I get that, but if they’re going to say that a bunch of people go here for vacation all the time, the least they can do is make it look nice. Did they just think no one would come out here to visit?”

“I think it looks just fine,” Toph said as she strolled past the pair. (Y/N) and Sokka gave her a disapproving look that was completely lost on the young girl.

“All I’m saying is having a few beach chairs wouldn’t kill them. I mean, have you seen the Earth King’s palace! He could definitely spare a few coins.”

“I honestly doubt the Earth King knows this place exists,” Katara said.

“What a chump,” Toph said. She walked to the very edge of the lake and knelt down to the ground, her small hand hovering above the sand. “There’s a whole cave underneath the lake.” With one swift earthbending move, she exposed a platform with a large, round entryway at the end. She moved its cover to the side, and their large group hovered over it and stared into the dark cavern below. Jet went first, since he was leading the group, and Aang followed closely behind. The rest of the group followed one by one until eventually, they were all in the underground cave.

“There should be a cell large enough for Appa up ahead,” Jet whispered. “Follow me!” He led them down the hallway, but (Y/N) found herself breaking away from the group. She stopped in front of a room, peering inside to see countless women being brainwashed. It broke (Y/N’s) heart that she could not help them right now. To rescue those women would be to jeopardize their entire mission and risk captivity.

Katara appeared at her side then, grabbing her by the hand and squeezing her fingers. “We’ll help them,” She whispered, a reassuring Katara smile on her lips, and (Y/N) nodded in agreement. She just wished they didn’t have to pick and choose who they could save.

They reached the room where Appa would have been. (Y/N) could see large shackles on the ground in the dim light, where he probably once was, but then she heard the door being earthbended behind her. Instantly, she and her friends realized they were being surrounded. Dozens of Dai Lee agents dangled from the ceiling, and Long Feng stood at the center of the room with a look of harsh disapproval on his face. (Y/N) knew that the entire time she and her friends had been in Ba Sing Se, he had been trying to intimidate and manipulate them, but she still found herself unafraid of his presence. The agents hanging down from above certainly unsettled her, but Long Feng was like every other tribe elder that had told her what she had done throughout her entire life was wrong. If she had an opportunity, she’d like to toss an ice ball at his face.

“You’ve made yourselves enemies of the state,” Long Feng said, and just as (Y/N) slowly inched her fingers toward the cap of her water satchel on her hip, she was forced back, her wrists clamped against the wall by a Dai Lee agent’s rock glove. She cried out in pain, feeling an uncomfortable sensation in one of her wrists.

“(Y/N)!” She heard Sokka shout, just as Toph released her with one movement and knocked a Dai Lee agent into the wall with another. (Y/N) felt the anger rise within her and with a swift flick of her wrist she started to waterbend, but the crippling pain in her wrist nearly caused her to scream. “Are you okay?” Sokka asked, suddenly at her side. His boomerang was poised in his hands. He took her wrist in his hands, his long fingers wrapping around the already bruising skin. (Y/N) couldn’t find the words to answer him. He stared at her with furrowed brows and bounced on anxious feet, eager to join the fight but remaining with her for a reason (Y/N) couldn’t piece together.

She started to panic. She needed to help her friends, but fighting with waterbending was the sort of thing she had to do with two hands, and Katara didn’t have time to quickly heal her wrist. When she finally pulled her eyes away from Sokka’s, she caught a dark green figure running toward them. She pushed Sokka behind her with her good hand and swiftly lifted her leg up high into the air, her water following its direction, and kicked forward. The stream of water followed exactly what she had intended for it to do, hitting the Dai Lee agent harshly and sending him flying backward into the rock wall.

When (Y/N) turned back to Sokka, his eyes were wide. “That was amazing!” (Y/N) grinned at him. Sokka threw his boomerang at an agent coming from her blind spot and the two spent the remainder of the fight watching each other’s backs.  

The fight against the Dai Lee agents continued, but (Y/N) was quickly getting better at waterbending with her legs. It felt a bit unnatural. Waterbending was about moving the energy through your body, and this transference of energy usually took place within your arms and hands. Very little of the whole body was used in waterbending, but she was still able to help her friends with what she could do, and that was all that mattered to her.

Aang and Jet had followed Long Feng as he fled into another room. It took a while for the remainder of the group to subdue the Dai Lee agents, but by the time they had and reunited, they came upon a grave situation. Jet lay on the floor with Aang by his side. Katara rushed to him and immediately started the healing process, but (Y/N) recognized the scared look on her friend’s face that told her it wasn’t working. (Y/N) looked down at Jet, whose face was soft with acceptance, and felt a tug at her heart. This wasn’t fair. Nothing about this war was fair. Innocent people shouldn’t have to die simply because they want to make the world a better place.

She clenched her hands at her sides, feeling the pain in her wrist but ignoring it. Much to her surprise, Sokka placed his own hand over her fist. (Y/N) refused to look up at him, but she refused to pull away.

They resurfaced as their original group. Jet’s friends, Longshot and Smellerbee, had chosen to stay with him. Although she hadn’t known him long, (Y/N) still shed tears over the loss of Jet’s life. She and her friends had felt too much sorrow for a group of kids. It seemed like it would never end. And the Dai Lee agents standing on the beach nearly confirmed this fact.

“Do you think we can outrun them?” Sokka asked Aang as the agents surrounded them on all sides. There was nowhere for them to run to.

“I don’t think it’ll matter,” Aang said. As he finished his statement, Momo landed on his shoulder, chittering loudly in Aang’s ear. “What is it, Momo?” The lemur monkey soared back into the sky, where a large shadow blocked the light of the sun. Appa dropped to the beach, a hefty groan coming from his chest, as he began blowing the agents away with his own airbending. Toph and Aang used earthbending to send the other Dai Lee agents soaring through the air and into the lake.

“I’ll handle you myself,” Long Feng growled, but Appa was too quick for him. He took Long Feng in his mouth by the leg and flung him into Lake Laogai. (Y/N) and her friends cheered and rushed forward to hug the sky bison.

---

Their group had flown to a small piece of land within the lake to rest. (Y/N) sat on the ground with Katara kneeling beside her as she healed her wrist. Toph laid on the ground beside them, her arms tucked behind her head and her eyes closed, face tilted toward the warmth of the sun. Aang had stuck by Appa the entire time they had been there. (Y/N) figured she wouldn’t have wanted to let Appa out of her sight either, if she were in her shoes.

Katara smiled at (Y/N) as she finished healing her. “Should be good as new in an hour or so.” (Y/N) thanked her friend and rotated her wrist. It was sore more than anything now, but the pain had completely disappeared.

“Listen, Katara, I’m sorry about-“ The pained expression on Katara’s face cut her off. (Y/N) bit her bottom lip so hard until it bled. She was still learning how to comfort people who weren’t Yue.

“It’s okay,” Katara said quietly. “I’ll be okay.” (Y/N) smiled, because Katara was right, as she often tended to be. If there was anyone who could handle any challenge thrown at her, it was Katara.

A shadow stood in front of them, blocking the warmth of the sun from the girls. Toph groaned from her position on the ground. “You’re blocking my light!”

“Look, I think we need to head to the Earth King right away and tell him about our plan. We’re on a roll!” Sokka said.

“I hardly think one good hour is a roll,” Katara said.

“I’d say it was a good forty-five minutes,” (Y/N) added. Sokka rolled his eyes at that.

“Whatever it is, we can build on it. We need the Earth King’s support if we want to invade the Fire Nation in time for the eclipse.” Katara shook her head.

“Sokka, Long Feng controls the city. His conspiracy with the Dai Lee is too powerful. I say we fly away and never turn back.”

“I’m with Sweetness,” Toph said. “I’ve been wanting to get out of here as soon as we step foot in this place.”

(Y/N) frowned. As much as it pained her to agree with Sokka, she said, “But we can’t just let those people suffer at the hands of Long Feng. The quicker we expose him, the quicker this whole Dai Lee business can be over. Those women down there can go back to their normal lives.”

“And since we have Appa back,” Aang said, “There’s nothing holding us back from telling the Earth King about everything. The conspiracy and the war.”

“See!” Sokka said, a bright smile on his face. “Aang and (Y/N) are on my side!”

“I guess if the Earth King knew the truth, things would change…” Katara muttered.

“I don’t like new positive Sokka,” Toph grumbled. As they decided what steps to take next, Sokka noticed ships floating across the lake.

“That’s probably the Dai Lee searching for us.” He turned to Katara. “So?” She narrowed her eyes in determination.

“Let’s fly.”

It was a horrifying flight on the way back to Ba Sing Se. With no saddle, everyone had to hold on to Appa’s fur for dear life. (Y/N’s) wrist was still weak, so her grip kept coming loose as she held on. Sokka reached for her, clasping her hand in his so she had an easier time staying on. (Y/N) felt her face grow warm. This was the second time Sokka had held her hand in a day. She hated that she was reading too much into it despite herself. He’s just trying to be a good friend, she thought. “A good friend,” She repeated quietly, because sometimes hearing the words out loud made them seem more real.

“There it is!” Sokka shouted as they flew over the Inner Ring of Ba Sing Se. “That whole thing’s the palace! The Earth King’s chambers must be in the center!”

“We have to be careful,” Katara said. “Long Feng’s probably already warned the Earth King that we’re coming.”

“What makes you say that?” Sokka asked. “I bet from now on it’s gonna be smooth-“ His sentence was interrupted with a shout as a giant boulder flew past them, narrowly missing him.

“What was that?” Toph asked.

“Rocks!” (Y/N) shouted back.

“More incoming!” Sokka called. A boulder came directly at Aang, but he broke it with one swift move of his hand. He rushed forward and sliced through another boulder with his staff, landing on the ground and creating a harsh seismic wave to knock the rest of the soldiers off of their feet. Appa landed behind him and the rest of their team immediately jumped to the ground.

(Y/N’s) wrist was still sore, but she felt reinvigorated from the break she had with her friends and the success of getting Appa back. She and Katara both formed waterwhips with their hands to knock soldiers out of their way. “Sorry!” Katara called to the guards. “We just need to get through to see the Earth King!”

“Katara!” (Y/N) groaned. “They’re attacking us! You don’t have to apologize to them!”

“I just want them to know I’m not trying to hurt them!” As she said this, (Y/N’s) waterwhip wrapped itself around a soldier, lifting him into the air and slamming him down into the ground. The other guards that had surrounded him scattered in fear. “(Y/N)! They’re on the same side as us!”

“If they’re not holding back, why should I?”

They ran to the stairs of the palace, which Toph and Aang turned into a ramp, causing the remainder of the Earth Kingdom guards to slide down the steps. Aang and Toph then earthbended their group up the ramp to the main entryway of the palace. After a few mishaps, they finally found where they were supposed to go. “Through there!” Sokka shouted, and their group ran through the large, ornately decorated double doors that led into the Earth King’s throne room.

Convincing the Earth King that there was a war happening outside of the walls of his city was no easy task. The Dai Lee had destroyed their cave under Lake Laogai, disrupting their plan of showing King Kuei that evidence. It was only when they finally showed him the Fire Nation drill, still sticking halfway through the outermost wall, that he had started to believe they were telling the truth. He had Long Feng arrested for conspiracy and his office searched and agreed to give his troops to help fight the Fire Nation.

As their group was celebrating this massive victory for their cause, one of the generals entered the king’s quarters. “Your majesty,” said General How. “We searched Long Feng’s office and found something that would be of interest to everybody.” He set a box down on the king’s desk, opening it to reveal dozens of scrolls. “Secret records about everyone in the city, including you kids.” He handed Toph her scroll first, who passed it to Katara to read.

“It’s a letter from your mom! She’s in the city and wants to see you!” And Toph smiled the brightest smile that (Y/N) had ever seen.

“Long Feng intercepted letters from home? That’s just sad.” The General then passed Aang a letter that had been tied to Appa’s horn when he first came to the city. It was from a guru at the Eastern Air Temple who offered help on learning how to control the Avatar State.

“Is there anything for me?” (Y/N) asked, peering into the box. General How pulled out a thinly rolled scroll with her name written on it in small letters. She unrolled it, with all of her friends except Toph looking over her shoulder to see what it said. (Y/N) rolled her eyes as she finished reading it, tearing the letter to shreds.

“What was it?” Toph asked.

“A marriage proposal,” (Y/N) grumbled, crossing her arms. It was another proposal from Hahn, the very same person that had been engaged to her sister and who (Y/N) had punched in the face. It seemed he was bent on gaining access to the throne of the Northern Water Tribe and would do whatever was necessary to obtain it. Even if it was pestering her with another lousy proposal.

“Are you…Are you gonna accept it?” Aang asked, and (Y/N) scoffed.

“Of course not!”

“Is there anything for us?” Katara asked the General, who solemnly shook his head.

“But there is an intelligence report.” He passed it to Katara, who unrolled the scroll and read it with her head pressed against Sokka’s.

“A small fleet of Water Tribe ships,” Katara read aloud, “Protecting the mouth of Chameleon Bay…Led by Hakoda—It is dad!” The siblings hugged each other in their excitement.

It was decided then, after finding out about the different paths they could each go on, that it would be best if the group split up. Toph would reunite with her mother, Aang would travel to the Eastern Air Temple, Sokka and Katara could go see their dad, and (Y/N) supposed she would remain with the Earth King. Someone had to, after all, and it wasn’t like she had received any urgent letters from her own family. The rumors about the state of her tribe that Jet had told her settled in an uncomfortable pit in her stomach, but she didn’t want to ruin the chance of Sokka and Katara reuniting with their father.

“If I’m going to the Eastern Air Temple,” Aang said, “I can drop you off at Chameleon Bay to see your dad.”

“Someone has to stay here and help the Earth King plan the invasion,” Sokka said with a sigh. “I guess that’s me.”

“No, Sokka, I know how much you wanna see Dad. I’ll stay,” Katara offered.

“I could stay,” (Y/N) countered. “I didn’t get any urgent messages or have any family members to see.”

“But didn’t you say things weren’t going well back in your tribe?” Toph asked.  

“Well, yes, but-“

“We could use the military help from the Northern Tribe,” Sokka said, stroking his chin. “And if the Princess goes back there, we could convince them to help!”

“Then it’s settled!” Katara clasped her hands together. “Aang will drop off Sokka and (Y/N) at Chameleon Bay. There, they can take a ship back to the North and work on gathering more volunteers!”

“Katara, I can really stay, I don’t mind!” Part of (Y/N) was eager to go back home and deal with these throne challengers, but another part of her dreaded the idea of going back. It had been so long, and she had wanted to escape from the Northern Water Tribe for so long.

“No, it’s a great plan!” Katara smiled at her friend, who sighed and glanced at Sokka. His own eyes were cast her way and a soft smile rested on his lips.

A few hours later, they were preparing to say their goodbyes to one another. (Y/N) gripped onto Katara tightly as she hugged her, feeling stupid tears welling at the backs of her eyes. The trip to the Northern Water Tribe would take weeks, so it would probably be months before they saw each other again. Katara pulled away from the hug, her own eyes shiny. “Take good care of my idiot brother, okay?” (Y/N) laughed as she wiped away a stray tear with the heel of her hand.

“Your majesty!” An Earth Kingdom soldier approached their group. “A group of female warriors are here to see you. They’re from Kyoshi.”

(Y/N) heard a thud and then Sokka was on the ground, when just a moment ago he had been on top of Appa’s back. “That’s Suki!”

“You know these warriors?” The king asked.

“Oh yeah. The Kyoshi Warriors are a skilled group of fighters. Trustworthy, too. They’re good friends of ours.” As Sokka finished his sentence, (Y/N) couldn’t help but remember just how good of friends he had been with Suki, that night on the Serpent’s Pass. She inhaled a deep breath and forced a smile to her face. Despite her jealousy, she really liked Suki, and was disappointed that they wouldn’t get to see each other.

“Then we will treat them as honored guests.” The Earth King gave a final bow before marching back into the palace.

“I’m really gonna miss you guys,” Toph said, rubbing the bottoms of her feet against the bare rock. (Y/N) wrapped her in a hug.

“It’s not going to be for long!” She reassured her, and before she knew it, Katara had joined their hug, then Aang, until finally Sokka wrapped his arms around all of them. Then (Y/N), Aang, and Sokka climbed into Appa’s saddle and took off into the sky. Their journey to Chameleon Bay wouldn’t be that long; less than a day at most.

“It’s a bummer we couldn’t see Suki,” Aang said. “You’re probably super disappointed, huh Sokka?” Aang smiled up at Sokka innocently, but both he and (Y/N) knew exactly what he was insinuating. (Y/N) looked at Sokka, curious to see what his answer would be.

“Yeah, you guys were pretty close when we were on the Serpent’s Pass.” She knew she was pressing his buttons, but annoying Sokka distracted her from the annoying jealousy she felt. He rolled his eyes.

“Friends get excited to see each other,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t know about you, Aang, but my friends don’t normally kiss me on the cheek when they see me.” Aang laughed as he steered Appa, but Sokka’s expression was less than exuberant. (Y/N) knocked her shoulder against his. “I’m just teasing,” She said lowly, so only Sokka would hear. “I think you guys-“

“Speaking of excited!” Aang cut her off, having not heard that she was talking. “You haven’t seen your dad in two years! You must be so excited!”

“I know I should be, but I just feel sick to my stomach,” Sokka said, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“I’m sure your dad will be excited enough for the both of you. What’s he like?” (Y/N) rested her chin on her kneecaps to listen to Sokka’s description of his father.

“Well he’s just like me, super intelligent and smart with ruggedly good looks-“

“Intelligent and smart are the same thing.”

“Stop interrupting! Anyway, he was chief back in the Southern Water Tribe, but he kind of passed that role onto Gran Gran when he had to fight the Fire Nation. The last time I saw him he could only stay home for a day, but he spent the whole day playing with Katara and I. He’s a great dad.”

“He sounds really nice.” Sokka smiled at her, resulting in her own smile.

They landed at Chameleon Bay under an hour later. Sokka and (Y/N) said their goodbyes to Aang before walking along the beach to where the men of the Southern Water Tribe were camped. (Y/N) couldn’t help her own nerves. Besides Sokka and Katara, she had never met anyone else from the Southern Water Tribe before. She worried that they would think less of her because she was from the North, where their practices were very backwards.

“Do you think they’ll help me?” She asked suddenly. Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Our two tribes haven’t exactly had the best communication over the years. Why should they help me if my tribe hasn’t helped you all? I mean, we’ve been completely complacent in this war besides what happened a few months ago.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Sokka said. “To convince your tribe that this is a cause worth fighting for! And by doing that, you’d singlehandedly be helping my tribe and the rest of the world.” (Y/N) gulped, not only from the circumstances but from the fact that Sokka had just laced his fingers through hers. “If you’re scared about them not liking you, that’s all you have to say.”

“I’m not scared of that!” (Y/N) snapped. “I don’t care what people think of me.” Sokka snorted.

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He tugged on her hand to lead her forward to camp, but was still holding it as they stepped foot inside.

“Sokka, good to see you,” one of the warriors said, and Sokka gave him a pleasant nod before heading to the war tent. (Y/N) pulled her hand from his as they approached the entrance.

“I’ll wait outside so you guys can have a proper reunion,” She stretched out her hand. Was it possible to still feel someone’s touch after they were done touching you? Sokka hesitated in front of the door flap and (Y/N) rolled her eyes, giving him a hard shove forward. “Go!”

She waited outside the tent for a few minutes, wringing her hands out of nervousness. So maybe Sokka had been just a bit right: she was scared of the people of this tribe not liking her. She was royalty of the Northern Water Tribe, after all. As far as (Y/N) knew, when Sokka and Katara’s tribe had been raided over the years, her tribe hadn’t offered any help. They had locked themselves behind their high ice walls and refused to come out. If (Y/N) ever returned to her tribe to lead it, she wouldn’t be that kind of chief. She had seen how much pain there was in the world and she wanted to do everything in her power to alleviate it.

Sokka left the tent first, with a tall, tanned man following closely behind him. (Y/N) could see the resemblance almost instantly. The man held the same striking blue eyes that Sokka and Katara had and his build was nearly identical to Sokka’s. He looked at her with a soft smile that reached his eyes. “You must be the friend Sokka was telling me about. I’m Hakoda.” (Y/N) bowed.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sokka and Katara have told me so much about you.”

“(Y/N’s) from the Northern Water Tribe,” Sokka said, and she glared at him because she hadn’t exactly been ready to delve into that information just yet. He gave her a bright grin in return.

“Really! That must be a popular name up there, last I heard there was a princess in the North with the same name.”

“That, um, would be me.” (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. Hakoda’s eyes widened.

“Apologies, Princess (Y/N), my son neglected to tell me that you were royalty!” He let out a hefty laugh that all dads had in common.

“It’s really alright, I’m not much of a princess anymore.”

“Are you both hungry? Our camp was just about to eat lunch.” Sokka’s stomach grumbled, answering his father’s question. Hakoda led the both of them to the center of the camp, where logs surrounded the campfire. A pot of stew bubbled atop it as men stood in line to gather their bowls.

“I can get your stew for you,” Sokka said, taking (Y/N’s) bowl from her hands. “Can you find us a seat?” She took a seat at a log to the right of the campfire and placed her bag in the spot beside her to signify that someone would be sitting there. Sokka rejoined her just a few minutes later, speed-walking over to her as he wore a pained expression on his face. “These bowls get really hot!” He said with a hissing voice as he handed her one of the bowls. (Y/N) giggled.

Hakoda stood at the front of the beach, where all eyes could see him. “As many of you know, my son Sokka arrived at our camp today.” The men whooped and hollered for him and (Y/N) smiled at the light blush that dusted Sokka’s cheeks. “He brought along his friend and our sister from the Northern Water Tribe, Princess (Y/N).” There were more cheers, but also whispers and murmurs passing through the camp. Suddenly it felt like every eye was on her as Hakoda took his seat beside on the other side of Sokka. Was she supposed to say something? Yue was always the one that addressed the crowds at any gathering, since she was the oldest.

(Y/N) gave a panicked look to Sokka. He placed his hand on her shoulder and stood, his fingertips just barely grazing her and he spoke to the men of his tribe. “(Y/N) and I came here to not only reunite with you all, but to ask for your help. If we sail a few of your ships to the North, we think that (Y/N) can convince them to contribute members of their own military to the war effort.”

“Sokka,” Hakoda said, his voice low in warning. “The Northern tribe hasn’t fought in the war for almost as long as it’s been happening. Do you really think you kids can do this?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath and stood. As she stared at the crowd of men, she thought of how Yue would act in situations like these. “A few months ago, the Fire Nation attacked the Northern Water Tribe. We were able to fight them off, but only because my older sister sacrificed her life to save all of us. I didn’t have much of a say in anything before I left home. I’m sure you’ve heard of some of our more backwards traditions. But I’ve seen what the war is like, what it has done to people and to our world. It is mine and Sokka’s belief that if we go back and tell them, whether it be through your stories or through mine, we can get my father and his troops to back us in this war.” She paused for a moment, her hands tightening in the fabric of her dress. “My people haven’t been good to yours, but I’m devoted to changing that. If you’ll let me.” She sat back down and took her bowl into her hands only to realize that they were shaking. Sokka took his seat once more.

“You did great!” He cheered. “You sounded so…so…princess-y! How did you do that?”

“Well I’m kind of a princess, if you haven’t noticed.” Sokka rolled his eyes.

“You sounded like a leader.” Hakoda leaned behind his son to smile at (Y/N).

A warrior approached them just a few moments later. “Hakoda, our scouts have spotted Fire Nation ships nearby!” All three of them stood as Hakoda began calling out orders.

“Bato! Get those mines loaded up! The rest of you men, prepare for battle!”

“What should I do, Dad?” Hakoda smiled down at his son.

“Aren’t you listening? I said, ‘The rest of you men, prepare for battle.’” He ran off to gather his armor and weapons. Sokka turned back to (Y/N).

“If I asked you to stay here, would you?”

“Absolutely not! There’s got to be some armor around here that will fit me.” He guided her through the camp to where the men were gathering their armor and weapons. (Y/N) had no training in anything other than waterbending, so she avoided the sharp objects and settled for pulling on the pieces of armor that looked like they would fit. Sokka helped her tie the straps and adjust her waterbending pouch on her hip. The armor was heavier than she expected, but (Y/N) hopefully wouldn’t be doing any physical fighting.

Once everything had been properly placed, she turned to look at Sokka. “Do I look ridiculous?” She asked, a light laugh following her question. Sokka looked her up and down, another blush rising to his cheeks as he shook his head and put on his wolf helmet. He and (Y/N) walked side-by-side onto the war ship where his father was waiting.

“I’m fighting too,” Was all (Y/N) said to Hakoda. He smiled.

“Happy to have you.” As they prepared to cast off from shore, (Y/N) filled her waterbending pouch with seawater as Sokka talked to his father. Then she heard a familiar groan coming from the skies and looked up to see Appa close to landing on the beach.

“Sokka…” (Y/N) said. He looked back and gripped his boomerang tightly.

“That can’t be good.”

---

Tag List!  If you’d like to be added pls send me an ask :)

PERM TAGLIST: 

@beifongsss , @aroyaldarknessblr , @musicalkeys , @thefandomimagines , @blondie0458 , @kairiririri , @awesomelupe , @zukosvice , @tomshollandz , @lavendercrystals , @astralsaf , @realimbo , @mycollectionofnuts , @wingeddemonclub , @gingersnap126126 , @aangsupremacy , @marvel-ing-at-it-all , @davnwillcome , @someoneovertherainboww , @bigbuckyenergy , @breadqueen95 , @buttholland , @noodlesfluffy , @busyforkuvira , @error-loading-sorry , @bombardia , @la3divine , @just-a-teal-android , @theeavtrkyoshi , @brokennerdalert , @sukifans 

FIC TAGLIST: 

@aangsupremacy , @treestarrrrrrrr , @beifongsss , @mdgrdians , @aroyaldarknessblr , @musicalkeys , @aimee1602 , @plxstic-rose , @davnwillcome @squeamishdionysus , @clowninfortodoroki @thia-aep , @jinxed-tea @sara5208 @valiantprincessthea @alrightazula , @awesomelupe , @itsivyberry , @thebluelcdy , @samsmultifandomblogs , @loganrwebb , @minifruity , @cuddlykoala101 , @dionnaea , @alive-ahahah-fuck , @pipsqeak1326 , @krxliesdexd , @wastelandbbyg , @milk-n-cheese , @the-firebender-girl , @zukosvice , @justab-eautifulmess , @awkwardnesshabitat , @tomshollandz , @mmmidek-blog , @lavendercrystals , @dailytrashypanda , @bigbuckyenergy , @honey-ruel , @jackbamexpress , @astralsaf , @thebluelcdy , @solarsuki , @sometimeseverythingsucks , @nataliahaslosthershit , @teenbiology , @eridanuswave , @izzieserra , @astroninaaa , @jaylarkson , @realimbo , @chilifrylizard2 , @barnesdameron , @spacelesbianfanclub , @loser-keiji , @atlafanforlife , @mycollectionofnuts , @sokka-simp-420 , @thefandomimagines , @11mb0 , @wingeddemondclub , @waves-and-sunflowers , @none-of-ur-frackin-business , @alive-ahah-fuk , @hola-ninos , @maruchan77 , @killjoyybsinner , @jasminecalia , @moon-spirit-yue , @buttholland , 

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 25- Checkmate

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Captured by Dolios, it’s up to TFC to decide who lives, who dies, and who gets to walk away from the game Dolios plays with them. 

Chapter idea credit to @whumpster-dumpster

_____________________________________________

“How about a game of chess, guildmaster?” Dolios waves the hermits into the antechamber of the prison. The death dungeons Galena warned them of. TFC is pushed forward, standing before and alone from his friends. He stumbles and turns, head spinning from the sleep he was awoken from as he  looks at them all. Helmets cover the faces of the guards standing behind each hermit, but he can clearly see the knives at their throats. Every single one, a hair’s breadth from death. Some are stoic, like Doc. Unafraid and unblinking to the cold blade. Others are nearly collapsing to their knees- if doing so didn’t mean being cut by the knife. 

TFC turns back, a fierce growl rising from his throat “What is this about?” 

“I’m trying to be civil, can’t you see?” Dolios sweeps his purple robes to the side, revealing a table and two chairs. Atop the table, crystal and obsidian chess pieces glitter in the torchlight. “I’m letting you decide your team's fate. You see, each piece is a member of your illegal guild. On both sides. Each one that’s captured is eventual doom. Play my game, and decide the fate of your beloved friends. Who is more important, who will live? Who is sacrificed for the good of the cause?” 

“What kind of sick game-!” Grian claws his way out of his captor’s grip, biting down on the gloved hand before the masked man regains control over the spitfire. 

“And what happens when I win?” TFC puts a hand on his waist and raises a silvery eyebrow. 

“You won’t, but just to ease your fears, when you win your friends will get to live. It won’t be a nice time living, but they’ll be alive.” Dolios chuckles. “If you lose, those who are captured are killed and become another husk to add to my army. The rest may leave, in fact. But trust me- I won’t leave anyone alive. I play to dominate.” 

“What if I just don’t play?” TFC looks at the chess pieces. He picks up a knight, turning it over. Scrawled on the bottom of the crystal white horse, he can see Wels’s name. One piece, but one real life in this game of strategy. He has to be smarter than Dolios. 

“Then we can just make this fast and kill them all right now. I’m giving you the chance to free some, or all! Of your friends.” Dolios pulls out a chair and motions to it, brushing the cushioned velvet flat. “Sit, guildmaster. Let’s play a game. Show me your true worth as a champion guild.” 

Reluctantly, he does. He has no choice. This is the only way he can ensure some sort of life for his friends. But at the expense of others. As soon as he pulls his chair in, a blast of air and magic reverberates from the chess board. He winces, his hair blowing back and gripping the chair for support. When TFC reopens his eyes, the prison chamber has changed. 

Dolios and him are floating above the ground. Just beneath them, a massive chess board has appeared. The guards are gone, and on each checkered color stands a hermit. Only a few pieces are actual stone. Grian opens his wings, attempting to fly free from his place as bishop. But as soon as he takes off from the ground, his eyes widen and pain laces across his face. He crashes to the stone, black lightning shooting up his skin. Iskall and others step forward, before hesitating. They’re chess pieces now. Pawns. They can only move when the player moves them. Dolios looks down, chuckling. “He’s quite the wild child. Completely different from the last angel I quarreled with.” 

“Why are you doing this?” TFC hisses. “This isn’t fair!” 

“Since when did things ever become fair, guildmaster? You’re already playing with their lives by challenging me. Now you can see how your own mistakes led you here.” Dolios intertwines his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table. He leans his chin on his hands, a coy smile making his brown beard scratch at his skin. “I’ll let you make the first move, TFC.” 

The guildmaster looks across his chess board, as well as below him. It’s not just his pieces that are hermits, that are his friends. Dolios has some as well. Standing deathly still, waiting for the first move to be taken. TFC closes his eyes, thinking. He needs to be smart, to be a better strategist than the magistrate of Lairyon. This isn’t just a game. This is beyond what happens at the table before him. He needs to think of the repercussions each move will make. He has to make the least bloody moves as possible. Save as many of his friend’s lives as possible. 

“You promise no harm will come to my friends that survive?” TFC’s eyes open, realizing what he has to do. Without hesitation, TFC picks up a pawn, directly in front of Grian. It’s Mumbo. 

“I promise, on my word as the magistrate of Lairyon. May the ancient ones strike me down themselves.” TFC sets the pawn two spaces forward. Below him, he hears Mumbo’s yelp, followed by a cry of pain and feet scrabbling forward. When the crystal mage looks up, Dolios is grinning. “So the game begins.” 

He shoves his own pawn forward, moving exactly as TFC wants him to. The one directly in front of the king- of Dolios himself. TFC looks down, seeing Ren shuffle forward. He’s missing a sandal, only one flopping against the cold marble chess board beneath him. Two moves in front of him and to the left is Mumbo, shaking in his boots. 

TFC moves a second pawn- Scar. “You have my friends marked wrong. None of them are pawns. They’re all stronger than you could ever hope to be.” Wels is exposed, Scar standing beside Mumbo. 

“Tell that to this- checkmate.” TFC straightens his back, staring directly at Dolios as the magistrate shoves his queen diagonally. It’s not linked to any hermit, so a stone statue moves into the corner of the board. Turning and facing the white king. Capturing TFC. “You stupid mining moron! You lost in two moves!” Dolios cheers, his chair knocking backwards as he pumps his fist to the air and stands. “I didn’t even lose a single damned piece!” 

“Neither did I.” TFC whispers. “Now let my friends go.” 

Dolios stills, freezing mid celebration. His head turns, looking to TFC. He can see the magistrate slowly piece it all together, and the moment he realizes what’s happened. Elation breaks away in seething anger. A rage so bright and hot TFC swears he can feel it from his chair. “You tricked me!” 

“No, I played your game.” TFC’s voice is calm, collected. “You just happened to win. What was it you said before… you play to dominate? And dominate you did. Shouldn’t a good leader find a way to win without bloodshed?” 

Dolios waves his hand, a black magic circle appearing. A reverberating sonic wave shoves TFC out of his chair, throwing chess pieces all around him. Floating above his friends, he can hear them gasp. Only able to watch. Unable to move, to help their guildmaster. Their friend. Doc reaches out, but the black veins quickly reach back towards him. Towards his heart. TFC winces, sitting up. “You swore on your seat to let them go if I lost! If you go back on your word, everyone will know!” 

“Oh, I don’t plan on going back on my words.” Dolios snaps his fingers, and the hermits warp back to reality. The chamber is it’s old dull hall, torches and stone bricks. Hermits collapse together, checking one another for wounds sustained while apart. Grasping to stay together, to piece what happened between their last memory and now. Most only remember the capitol hall, then being woken up by the masked guards in individual cells.

 Dolios approaches TFC, setting his grey leather boot on the older man’s chest. Pressing his gilded heels harsh against his ribs. “But you still lost, you were captured. And all the pain your friends avoided? I’m going to do it tenfold to you!” 

A black ball of lightning grows as Dolios snarls, hand winding back and aiming directly for TFC. His eyes are wild, unhinged and untethered to reality. TFC raises his hand, a weak attempt to stop the growing dark magic before him. 

“Oh no you don’t!” X’s voice is sure, loud and reverberating off the stone walls. Unhindered by his mask. A snap follows soon after, and the dark lightning is dragged into nothingness. Into the void as X’s black hole grows. It threatened to eat up Dolios then and there, had he not taken an alarmed step back. 

“How? You shouldn’t be able to do that! You’re weak! My sleep spell should’ve...” Dolios turns, staring down the other hermits. Not noticing that Cub was hidden behind the others, or that TFC was no longer at his feet. 

“Nah, I’d say we’re pretty strong. Especially together.” X shrugs, and lets his black hole explode in a miniature big bang. 

With Dolios distracted, the crew makes their escape. Wels casts a shield and speed buffs, one hand raised to protect the retreat. Etho disappears down the hall, bouncing through shadows and silently taking out the guards ahead. At the top of the stairs, Mumbo hacks his way into the redstone powered door. Focusing all of his strength into forcing it open. Stress releases a sheet of ice before them, Jevin wraps everyone together into a bundle of bodies, and Impulse takes up a position next to Wels and his shield. Bracing against his friends, he casts his magic. Short spurts of explosions erupt from his hands, jetting the guild down the hall. 

Etho appears above the group from an arching shadow, grabbing Doc’s hand and joining them as they careen through the halls of the capitol building. Zipping past guards and wizards before anyone can even realize what they’ve seen, like a roller coaster ride. They don’t stop until they’ve burst out the back doors. Stress still doesn’t stop making a highway of ice, not until they’re well beyond the city limits, skating out into the open marshes that surround Milliara. 

Only then does the crew stop, breathing heavily and taking a moment to realize what just happened. And once they come to the same conclusion- they drown TFC in hugs. 

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

“Sir… they escaped. Again.” Apatia runs up, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls. “They’re well beyond the walls. Should we send the Arcane guard after them?” 

“No. I don’t want anyone to question why we’re chasing after our champions. Erase all memories to anyone that saw their escape.” Dolios growls, rubbing his hand. Feeling the void still against his skin, trying to tear it apart. 

“But what about the illegal guild? They know-” 

Dolios turns away from the guildmaster, forcing the redstone door closed. Hiding the dungeons beneath the capitol building. “They are not our main concern. Let them squirm, let them think they’ve won. I have more important things to deal with. I have more power to gain.” 

Dolios looks down as something rattles against the floor. He stoops low, picking up the black pawn. It’s chipped, the onyx stone heavy in his hand. The Order of Hermits have captured this pawn, but he’s just setting the stage. Playing the whole field. “Check.”

[mememanufactorum]

Final Fantasy XIV Primal lyric starters

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED.

-Under the Weight-

Cold are the hands that grasp at your soul

Bound to the dark, for the light I shun

Succumb to the hate that corrupts your fate

In spite of the blood that was spilt before, you whet your blades, you thirst for more

Now kneel, overdweller, your lord commands

There’s no salvation for the sons of man

The skies will tremble and the earth will quake

From the crumbling walls, no one escapes

I’ll drag you down to the seventh gate

-Thunder Rolls-

Thine advent quelleth creeping night

The wicked burn, their pyres bright

Soul without a name, heed my call

Sin doth stain the hearts of us all

Soon he too shall reap what is sown

Step into the storm, know its mercy

Let the wind and the rain crash down over thee

Soul fallen from grace, ware thee well

Judgment thou must face, thine own hell

Soul, thine end is nigh

Take my hand

All life must return to the land

Purge thy flesh of fear and be strong

Step in from the storm, praise its mercy

Let the sting of the rain never stray far from thee

Now lift thine heavy head and vanquish thine sorrow

Now turn thy gaze ahead and look to the morrow

-Oblivion-

There’s nothing left

Now close my eyes for one last time and say goodbye

The pain won’t cease

I’ll find no peace

We are taught to fear the reaper

I try and try but I can’t say no

This endless nightmare has just begun

My heart is dragging me down unto oblivion

The endless lies, I’ve cast aside

Steeled is my soul, my blood grown cold

I gain control

We all learn to fight the reaper

Can’t defeat her, so instead I’ll have to be her

My mind’s made up, my fear is gone

-Unbending Steel-

Red bloometh the rose of conviction

Red bloometh the rose of hate

Red bloometh the rose of conquest

Only blood will sate

The war, it wageth on

The storm, it rageth on

The bold ever fight on, their lives echo in song

All, like snow, they fall, petals plucked and strewn

The war still wageth on

The storm still rageth on

The bold blindly march on, their lives lost in a song

-Fiend-

What is it like when you pull back the curtain and realize every wrong is a right?

Your world is rusted like a dirty razor

You walk the path laid before you

The call of reason, you refuse to abide

Necessity is an inventive mother

You’ll find slumber when the world comes tumbling down

Retreat where lesser men lead

Flee from what you do not see

Heed the dark within your being

Waste no more time fighting your demons

Lay down your arms and let the evil inside

You let it eat until there’s nothing left at all, so you can feel that you are truly alive

Better to serve in a waking nightmare than to live in their paradise

What is gold always glitters, but it still comes with an unpayable price

You are the night at the end of the tunnel

The angels graze in the meadows of excess

-Equilibrium-

A heartbeat without harmony is moonlight without dark

The heart seeketh equilibrium

With balance will your worry part

-Locus-

Let go this destiny

You’re caught in a trance

The mortal coil we serve is taut like a spring

Our world’s a fantasy, no more than a test

No time enough tomorrow for turning back to where we began

This mortal coil we serve is naught but a spring

Your world’s a fantasy, you’ve failed the test

-Beauty’s Wicked Wiles-

In time, you shall follow

Behold as our burdens become south with the sun

Step from the dark to the light

Give into your hunger

Cast off inhibition, let passion run wild

Fuel the unquenchable fire

You needn’t hide

-Wayward Daughter-

Each petal a promise torn, shorn one by one and cast to the winds

I gave unto them my all

Wayward daughter, step into the night

Naught save the night shall know our sorrow

We give unto it our all

-Amatsu Kaze-

Is this divine torment or judgment, I know not

To the end of the world I flee to surrender to the whims of fate

He shirks not from my rage and speaks of destiny and defiance

Surrender to the wind

Surrender to the rage

-Sunrise-

Stranger to kindness until freed by love eternal, you and I

Honor binds me unto errant kin

If here I find my end, stay your tears for we shall meet again

As the light of the setting sun fades, bid farewell to me, beloved

In these fleeting moments, hold my hand as I whisper a silent prayer

Should dawn never break on this thousand thousand year night, I promise

Should I take to wing and seek you in every distant sky

One more life for us, one more chance – for this I pray, I beg, I plead

Dreams of you and me in my heart I hold forevermore

Wait for me, wait for me, my love

-eScape-

Come ride, heroes, ride

The storm heads gather

Why do weathered warriors wander their way whither wanting wonders wait?

Twixt the leaves you’ll find naught amiss – missing aughts and crossing fates

Dare the dead tread ahead on a road that was borrowed design

Through the sum of their suns do they seek tomorrow

Witness as the end shall begin what was final

-What Angel Wakes Me-

Yet with each descent do we rise again to our hearts’ content

Fly away, my friend, for a day and then we’ll begin again

Do you love me not?

Will you, when I’m gone, remember me?

Braving anything together, we learn to play our part

Catch a falling star, lock it in our hearts eternally

To these crowns we cling for we’ll all be kings tomorrow

Summer child with heavy eyes, come our angel nigh, sing in our sweet lullaby

Time wilts and fades, luster lost in the rain, bows to the blade, till the spring calls again

-Invincible-

These memories ache with the weight of fate

Ever we fight, never we fly

Ever we fall, forever we fall

Now breathe deep of the darkness beneath the flood, where all of the proud angels drink to their deeds of blood

Their lies, twisted and torn, into dreams they’ve spun

Yet ever we will stand stall, invincible

-Return to Oblivion-

My sins claim me

How long have I waited to open my wings?

The soul longs for oblivion

A slave to my fate, ever doomed to repeat this

No more goodbyes, though my heart is still aching

Now open my eyes one more time, here I come

Spring’s promise of sun is honored when winter’s weighed upon us

Clear as diamond, yet fragile as ice

My heart is racing

Falling too fast, but the fall will not break me

No more goodbyes, I am tired of waiting

-To The Edge-

All our splendor bathed black in silence, our surrender, a somber reverie

Know our places, for worth is wordless

Brother, stay this descent to madness

Come and save us

Catch us before we fall

Don’t lose hope

Like broken angels, wingless, cast from heaven’s gates, we only fly when falling far from grace

Hell can take us, heaven can wait

Quick to their ends, our candles burn until we’re free

In monochrome melodies, our tears are painted in red

Deep inside, we’re nothing more than scions and sinners

In the rain do light and darkness fade

Time circles endlessly, the hands of fate trained ahead

All things change, drawn to the flame to rise from the ashes

To begin, we first must see the end

Rock of ages, we cast the first stone

We know not what we do

Tomorrow’s come too soon

Follow blindly like lambs to slaughter, at the mercy of those who ply the sword

We’re forgotten, now and forevermore

Without a compass, wandering lost in lies and faith, only alive when fighting death’s amber embrace

Our hearts beat loud, unafraid

On hands and knees we pray to gods we’ve never seen

Come, shadow, come follow me

The final hour upon us, no more time to breathe

[ourdawncomes]

Varric & Thora

Varric: You know, I keep feeling like I’ve seen your face before.

Thora: I was in Kirkwall a few years back, little before the qunari started kicking up shit. You might’ve seen me in the Hanged Man, wasn’t like there were many other places to be in Lowtown.

Varric: Shit, I knew it! Small world, but I’m a little insulted you never came to say hello.

Thora: We knew your brother’s reputation. It was no coincidence we showed up only after his, uh… disappearance. Tetrak and I figured it’d be better we keep our distance.

Varric: My brother and I’ve never had much in common.

Thora: You both had money, that was more than enough for us.

Thora: Mind if I ask a personal question?

Varric: Sure, why not?

Thora: Your family know what they did to get kicked Topside?

Varric: Oh, yeah. My father was caught fixing a Proving, before I was born, but, happened recently enough that we haven’t forgotten– even if the Memories have.

Thora: That’s a rough one.

Varric: Worked out for me alright.

Thora: For you, sure. I’m guessing it was more than just your father they exiled.

Varric: Everyone from him to the people who cleaned his bed pans, far as I know.

Thora: Yeah. That’s what I figured. Hope things shook out alright for them, too.

(in the Hissing Wastes)

Thora: It’s amazing what our people can build.

Varric: Not enough windows for my liking.

Thora: Maybe you should leave something in the suggestion box. I’m just saying, this stuff is impressive. Makes you wonder what else we used to do.

Varric: Sometimes you sound like Chuckles, with all that talk of what we were.

Thora: I’ll take that as a compliment.

Thora & Vivienne

(in Val Royeaux)

Thora: I– just saw a woman with a basket of fruit in her hair…

Vivienne: Did you? Perhaps we’ve stepped back in time yet again. That look went out of fashion months ago.

Thora: But if you all thought it looked good then, what’s different now?

Vivienne: Fashion is a living, breathing art. Wear the same thing too long and it grows stale and common, it’s only by moving forward we stay relevant.

Solas: (if present) A pity Orlesians don’t apply this logic to more than fashion.

(in Val Royeaux)

Vivienne: I passed by the most darling headscarf this morning. I took the liberty of buying it for you.

Thora: You didn’t have to– oh. It’s beautiful.

Vivienne: Isn’t it just? I noticed you seemed to be growing your hair out, these scarves are perfect when you come to that length where nothing seems to look good.

Thora: I’m guessing you know from personal experience?

Vivienne: Unfortunately.

[arcdancing-blog]

@notpetals // s.c.

⸙ - There are bars everywhere out in the wilds, if you know where to find them.  Whether in small settlements, hidden Guardian alcoves, or just gathering places for those traveling the wastelands, there’s always somewhere to stop and get a drink.

It’s in one of these bars that Willow finds herself sitting in, sipping a glass of whiskey.  She prefers the bars outside the City to the ones in it, if she’s honest with herself.  Out here no one asks questions.  Out here, no one bickers with her for fifteen minutes about her apparent age.  Her glimmer is good, and that’s all that matters.

There’s eyes on her - another parton nearby with sickly green eyes.  Something off about him, but she tries to shrug it off.  There’s something off about a lot of people in the wilds.

She looks towards him, raising her glass in acknowledgement before swallowing another mouthful of whiskey.  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she murmurs, rolling her eyes.

[myfanwymusings]

LIGHTS / THE LISTENING

A collection of lyrics from LIGHTS’ 2009 album, The Listening. Some lyrics have been modified for roleplay use. This has been reposted from my former blog.

saviour

I know that something is missing

I’m a bit of a manic when it’s not as a planned it

Remember when we were kids and always knew when to quit it

I don’t want to know.

I just want to be so much

Shake off the dust that turned you to rust

It will never change if you want it to stay the same

Its getting harder to let it go

Break off the chains and throw them away

Sooner than later, I’ll need a saviour

Save me

drive my soul

The road is a minefield

I can’t see past the shadows

You make the darkness disappear

I know where I am when you are near

You’re the only road I know

I can’t expect the hard curves

When you’re gone, will I lose control?

river

I wanna go where your going

I wish I could discover something that doesn’t expire

Take me over to some other unknown

Such are the things that make a kingdom rumble and shatter

Things that don’t make sense are always a little deceiving

Come and humble me

the listening

Please excuse me, I’m not thinking clear

It must just be stress

I’m such a mess

I never really ever know what to say when all of my emotions get in the way

I’m just trying to get us to the same page

How come I can never get the right words I need to convey?

Wish I could explain the things I have to work out

I don’t feel right

I’m about to lose my mind

ice

You’re making it hard for me

What I mean is, all I need is just a little emotion

I tried to do you right

I don't think you know how hard this is for me

I’m not the type to say sorry constantly

Your ego is old

How did you get so cold?

What can I do but say sorry?

I just want you to be happy

I know your upset and your happy to just to sit and hate me

You’d be better to forget about me

Your giving me nothing nice

pretend

Once and a while, act like a child to feel like a kid again

It gets like a prison in the body I’m living in

Everyone’s watching and quick to start talking

I’m losing my innocence

It would be nice to start over again

Check your attitude

I guess I’ll never know

the last thing on your mind

Don’t think too hard

Don’t let it get you down

Just let it go

Say the last thing on your mind

I’ll keep you at your best

I’ll be the one to keep you one disaster less

I’ll be okay

Shut up about it

second go

How can you love me when I am ugly?

Guess I can only hope

Give me a second go

You saw me at my worst

You caught me falling first

Don’t let me go alone

Conquer a ladder than slip on a snake

How can you save me when I am angry?

Reasons I’ll never know

I’m half alive

I’m out of line

I’m not myself

february air

You don’t believe me

Please don’t lose hold of me out there

I know your face like the back of my hands

I know this place like the back of my hand

You don’t like my plans

Say that your with me

My arms get cold in February air

Say you know my face like the back of your hand

face up

I don’t wanna go but I know I gotta go

Don’t want to move an inch, let alone a million miles

I just want to feel alive

The sun is always gonna rise up

There’re times I dont wanna wake up

In your sleep it’s never over when you give up

You need to wake up

Gotta keep your head up

The way you’re feeling is something everybody goes through

Seems like the more you grow, the more time you spend alone.

I ended up perfectly on my own

The city’s shining bright

How can I concentrate on things that don’t make me feel right?

I just want to feel alright

You need to get up

lions!

Give me a disaster

Give me emergency

Stand me at the head of the crusade

Show me how a heartbreaks

Be steady on your feet

Death is charade

You don’t have to feel safe to feel unafraid

I’m learning how to get up off my knees and all it takes is practice

I’m not the hunter, I’m not the marked

quiet

I’m not yours and you’re not mine.

We can sit and pass the time

Tell me when you feel ready

Keep me steady

I could wait a thousand hours

I’m the one, there’s not too many

I like it here beside you, dear

You’re even more than you appear

Here’s my heart and here’s my mouth, and air can’t help if things come out

There are words I want to shout

Maybe I’ll stay low

up, up and away

We couldn’t stop it

We couldn’t control it

Sometimes the mind fools

Sometimes a heart cools after the heat goes

Forget me, go your own way

[babbushka]

Winter Wonderland

Flip Zimmerman x Reader ; 2k 

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening

In the lane, snow is glistening

A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight

Walking in a winter wonderland

 Flip’s got butterflies in his stomach, as he fixes his hair for the fourth time in front of the mirror. It’s the first night of Hanukkah, and your parents are out of town, leaving you all alone for the holiday. Being your newly agreed upon boyfriend, Flip can’t have you all by yourself, not when he’s finally gotten permission to hug and kiss and hold you. He plans on hugging and kissing and holding you for eight nights straight, if he can get away with it.

But he’s nervous, it’s the first holiday the two of you will spend together as boyfriend and girlfriend. He grins in the mirror just thinking about it, about the way those words sound in his head. He feels a little too old to be somebody’s boyfriend, but he’s yours.

And so, he’s fixing his hair, and grinning like a lunatic, and he’s two steps to grabbing the keys on his dad’s Oldsmobile, when his mother appears in the hallway, seemingly out of thin air.

“Chamudi, where are you going?” She asks, a bemused smile on her round face.

“I’m going to go pick up (Y/N).” Flip replies.

“So early! But dinner isn’t for another few hours.” His mother raises a brow, and Flip blushes.

He had asked his mother if you could spend the holiday with him, and she was, of course, ecstatic. But he wanted some time alone with you before subjecting you to the havoc that was his family. It was a selfish desire, to keep you all to himself, he knew that. But he couldn’t help it, you were everything he’s ever wanted.  

“I know Ma.” He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck, afraid she’s going to make him help with dinner, cutting his hand on the potato-grater instead.

But he’s wrong, and she just clasps her hands together and Flip can already see the happy wobble in her chin when she realizes that the look on his face is love.

“Philly!” She starts, rushes over to him and pulls him down by his ears, presses a big kiss to his cheek.

“Ma, please.” Flip is blushing proper now, and he’s worried his face will still be red when he shows up at your door, so he lets out a nervous chuckle or two and his mom gets the hint.

“Okay okay, go along.” She puts her hands up in surrender and just gives him a look of pure joy when she says, “Oh Philip I’m just so happy to see you so happy.”

“We’ll be back in time for dinner.” Flip says instead, bashful that it’s so obvious how much he cares about you.

 Gone away is the bluebird

Here to stay is a new bird

He sings a love song as we go along

Walking in a winter wonderland

 When he shows up at your doorstep, he runs his hand through his hair again. He rings the doorbell and squares his shoulders, wanting to look nice and, well, he didn’t know. He wanted to look nice for you. You were so beautiful, all the time – and his jaw drops when he sees you in your holiday outfit.

You’ve got on all white, a sweater-dress that’s hidden by a white fur coat, a matching fur hat keeping your head warm. He can’t stop blinking, stunned by the way your blush creeps up into your smile, as you look at him looking at you.  

“Chag sameach. You look really pretty.” He blurts out, and then immediately kicking himself, not wanting to insinuate anything, so he tries to backtrack, trips all over his own tongue, “Not that you don’t always look pretty! But – well – you look – ”

You cut him off by rising up onto your tippy-toes, shutting him up with a kiss that has the tips of his ears burning. He’s got this tight feeling in his chest, this loud thumping in his ear, every single time you kiss him. Every time, it’s like the first time – that disastrous date where he burned all the food and pretended that Chinese takeout was his own cooking. Every time, he’s on cloud nine, and all the tension drops from his shoulders as he pulls you into his arms fully, kisses you properly, right there on the front step.

“Thanks Flip.” You say softly, eyes fond and sparkling with mirth when you pull away and ask, “What are we doing today?”

Flip hadn’t told you, he had wanted to keep the whole thing a surprise, and now that the time has come, he’s terrified you’re going to think it’s a stupid idea, that you’re going to give him one of your signature really, Phil? looks, and this whole thing will be a bust.

“I thought that before the candles and dinner, you and me could take a walk.” He says, offering you his arm, escorting you to the Oldsmobile that he kept running so the seats would be nice and warm for you.

You laugh brightly, but not at him, and that makes Flip feel a whole lot better about the date.

“A walk? Flip it’s freezing out.” You hold out a gloved hand and let a flurry of snow fall onto your palm, holding it up to him as evidence.

“Yeah but I figure, you stick real close to me, and then you won’t get cold.” He says, all nonchalantly, and you laugh again, huddling closer to his side for the warmth he’s promised.

“Oh is that so?” You ask playfully as he opens the car door for you like the gentleman his mother raised him to be.

And when you’re sitting safely inside, he closes the door, walks around to the driver’s side, and kisses you once more, lips tingling and plush and he nods, “Yeah it is.”

 In the meadow, we can build a snowman

Then pretend that he is Parson Brown

He'll say, "Are you married?" We'll say, "No man"

But you can do the job when you're in town

 The drive to the park is short and filled with laughter. You talked about everything that had happened to you since you saw him last, and he listened intently, chiming in with related stories of his own past few days.

The park itself was kind of crowded, all sorts of families out and about, enjoying the winter snow. It really wasn’t so cold outside, and there wasn’t any wind, so the sound of children’s laughter rang through the place, as the kids who were lucky enough to have their school canceled were playing in the field.

You and Flip didn’t play, not today anyway. Instead you were walking arm in arm, your head resting on his shoulder. He couldn’t get those damn butterflies to quit, especially not when you pressed your whole body right up against his side, when the two of you walked in time, slowly meandering down the paths that had been cleared.

Every now and again, Flip would steal a kiss. He’d press one to your temple where he could reach, and you’d hum happily, a little laugh that couldn’t be anything other than love, plain and simple. He wanted to tell you, wanted to shout it out right then and there, that he loved you.

But he was afraid, didn’t want to go too fast, didn’t want to scare you, make you uncomfortable. So instead he stole those small kisses, little reminders of his affection, his adoration that he felt towards you.

You passed kids making snowmen, snow angels, winning and losing in snowball fights. You watched kids with sleds, both homemade and fancy department store bought ones, sliding down hills and rolling into big piles. People ice-skated on the frozen pond, lovers hand in hand or arm in arm, spinning and grinning like the two of you were.

He’d have to take you ice skating one day, he decides.

He’d have to learn how to, first, he reasons.

“You know what I was just thinking about?” You ask softly, face turning towards his like all the flowers that bloom in spring, how they turn towards the sun.

“Hm?” He smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, lets his heart thump wildly when he sees you wearing the small diamond earrings he bought you for your birthday.

You sigh dreamily, looking out at the kids playing and laughing.

“One day, we’re going to have a big house of our own, and we’ll be inviting your family over for dinner that I’ll cook.” You say, and Flip swears he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Don’t you mean that we’ll cook?” He tries to pass it off with humor, but you just give him your signature, really Phil? look then.

“No.” You say, before the two of you burst out into laughter, the prospect of him cooking entirely too funny to be taken serious, and you both know it.

“Yeah that’s fair.” He concedes, before the laughter dies down to chuckles, before he licks his lips nervously and asks, “You want a big house?”

“Yes, a big house, for all the kids.” You reply like it’s not some grand declaration, and all of Flip’s worries about moving too quickly immediately get thrown out the window.

“Okay.” He nods, grinning, because really he’s so overwhelmed with joy that he doesn’t know if he could say anything else without tripping over his tongue again and making himself look like a fool in love, even though he was, he really was.

“You’ll have to marry me, you know.” You grin right back at him, and he can see relief in your eyes too, which is something that catches him off-guard.

He realizes in that moment, that it never occurred to him, that you would be afraid of rejection. He never would have guessed that you had doubts about him, about how stupidly, madly, deeply he loved you. To see you so pleased, so happy, that he would want to spend the rest of his life with you fills him with a bittersweet pride; you both could have had this a year ago, if only he had been brave enough to ask.

“Can’t I take you to dinner first?” Flip asks this now instead, because a year is a year, and it’s nothing compared to the rest of the time he’ll get to spend with you.

“I suppose so.” You tease, bumping your hip against his as he bumps yours right back, making the two of you laugh and laugh because how could life get any better, when you were with your best friend?

 Later on, we'll conspire

As we dream by the fire

To face unafraid, the plans that we've made

Walking in a winter wonderland

 When the sun begins to set, Flip steers you both in the direction of a beautiful lights display the park had set up. Jimmy had told him about it the day prior, and he knew it was the perfect way to end the date before going home and having dinner with his family, and beginning the celebration of the festival of lights.

He turns to ask you what you think about it, about the day, about everything, when he sees you subtly trying to wipe away tears with the back of your gloved hand, and his heart thuds wild wild wild again in his chest.

“Was this a good idea?” He whispers, feeling like he’s completely ruined it, like he’s ruined everything, but then you’re laughing, and you’re smiling up at him, and he realizes your tears aren’t from him screwing up.

“Yeah, it really was.” You nod, pulling him down and kissing him deep.

 It’s not until later – years later, when the two of you are married and you do have a great big house that he built and fixed himself, when the two of you do invite his family over for a Hanukkah dinner that you cooked yourself, when you are expecting the first of many baby Zimmermans to be running around in the snow – does he realize those tears were the realization that that date was the first time that things felt more real than they ever had, the first time you knew the two of you were soulmates.

But in the moment, he’s just happy to see you smiling, happy to see you look up in wonder at the lights that flash, even if they don’t flash in colors for the holiday you celebrate.

And while the kids play and the ice skaters skate and the lights twinkle, the gentle music of Bing Crosby croons from speakers around the park, a warm fuzzy crackling that has you humming along.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening In the lane, snow is glistening A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight Walking in a winter wonderland

Walking in a winter wonderland Walking in a winter wonderland…

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

Tagging some Flip lovin’ friends! <3  @dreamboatdriver​​ @kylo-renne​​ @callmehopeless​​ @kyloxfem​​ @formerly-anonhamster​​ @thepilotanon​​ @solotriplets​​   @fullofbees​​ @spinebarrel​​ @bourbonboredom​​ @driverficarchive​​ @rosalynbair​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​ @glitzescape​​ @adamsnacc-kler​​  @ladygrey03​​ @venusianmaiden​​ marvelous-blog-221 @edwardseyelashes​​ @softcrybabykid​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @magikevalynn​ @scheherazades-horcrux​ @whiskey-bumblebee​ @riseofkylo​

[katefiction]

Cora, Chapter 3: Highland Fling

by katefiction (Maria) / 2013

Annie could always see right through me. I was completely transparent around her. From the moment we’d met at her Californian beach house, where my father was visiting her father, an old boarding school friend, she’d been able to suss me out.

As a nine year old, I was a stubborn and spoilt product of two parents who no longer communicated. I was also an arch manipulator. Standing in Annie’s large, marble covered kitchen, I decided that I didn’t want to leave yet as Dad had planned.

‘But Daddy, I feel sick, and the car will make me feel sicker’, I said weakly, nuzzling my face into his stomach.

‘Cora, sweetie, we have to go, we have other people we have to visit too’, he stroked my hair the way he always did when I was ill.

‘But what if I be sick in the car? Please can we stay here, please please please?’. I fluttered my long dark eyelashes at him, widening my eyes like saucers.

Dad sighed, ‘ok, alright, if you’re not feeling well, I suppose we’ll have to stay’.

I bounded up the stairs with Annie, pleased at my latest Oscar-winning performance.

As soon as we got into her room, she rounded on me, ‘I know you were lying!’, she said with the voice of someone way past her nine years.

My face turned puce, ‘no I wasn’t!’

‘It’s ok’, she shrugged, ‘it means we can hang out more!’ She lifted her hand to the air, a gesture I wasn’t used to doing back home.

I mimicked her and she slapped my hand with force, ‘good one!’

From that moment, I could hide nothing from Annie. We became the best of friends and the keepers of each other’s’ deepest secrets. Which is why, sitting on the floor in one of the many bedrooms of Dunrobin Castle as she curls my hair, I watch her face react in the mirror as I tell her the trouble I’ve found myself in.

‘YOU DID WHAT?!’ she exclaims.

‘Oh Annie, don’t make a big deal out of it, please!’

‘You dark horse!’, she says excitedly. ‘Does Nicholas know you’ve invited Ben?’

‘Yes’, I say, my stomach churning.

I had texted Nicholas to ask him if it was ok, and attempted to convince him to say no. Unfortunately for me, he was too nice for that, texting me back, ‘the more the merrier!’

As for Ben, I had sent him the details as well as the offer to bring a friend, secretly hoping he didn’t bring another girl. Not that I was one to talk.

‘So which one do you want in your panties by the end of the night?’, Annie continues.

I scowl at her in the reflection, ‘shut up’. This is gonna be a long night.

*

Make-up and hair done, Annie and I climb into our tartan dresses. Annie’s, as short as can be, is dark green and black, complimenting her fiery red hair, with a netted underskirt to give it more volume.

In contrast, I’m in the grey and red tones of the Balmoral Tartan, draped around my body and falling almost to the floor, with a slit up the side so I can dance.

Nicholas had given us a room to get ready in, and as we leave the confines of its deep stone walls, the humming sound of chattering voices rises from the ground floor as guests begin to arrive. My stomach churns again uncomfortably.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Annie gives my hand a quick squeeze as we descend the staircase, ‘chill, it’ll be fine’.

Nicholas greets me from the bottom of the stairs; his arms open wide, clad in a bright blue kilt. ‘You both look wonderful!’

‘Thank you Nick’, I glance around the foyer at the arriving guests. No sign of him.

‘Shall we?’, he loops out his arm for me to take and we walk to the main hall together, leaving Annie to find some friends.

As we enter the main hall, all mahogany flooring and wainscoting, with low lighting and decorated with the Sutherland tartan, we are greeted with the rousing sound of bagpipes and the smell of a delicious roast cooking in the kitchens.

‘Wow’, is all I can muster at the sights, sounds and smells around me.

‘Whisky?’ Nicholas says, pushing a glass into my hand as if by magic. I’ve never really liked whisky, but take it anyway. ‘Ah, there’s my brother, you must meet him’.

Nicholas leads me through the crowd, where a tall, well turned out man with a matching kilt stands eying us suspiciously. He is most definitely Nicholas’s brother. Next to him, is a petite blonde woman, who I recognise immediately by her pursed lips and tiny features – Lady Louisa Devonshire.

‘Jonathan, Louisa, meet Cora’, Nicholas says proudly.

‘Nice to meet you’, Jonathan and I say to each other.

‘Cora and I go way back’, Louisa says in a high pitched, overly-friendly tone. ‘We went to boarding school together.’

She smiles at me, her lips pursing together once more. It is a smile that anyone else would take on face value. But I knew better. Louisa and I had despised each other at boarding school. By all accounts, she always had acted like more of a spoilt little princess than I ever did.

‘So are you two an item?’, I ask.

Jonathan places a stiff arm around Louisa’s shoulders, ‘we are indeed, and looks like my brother’s done quite well for himself too’

The two brothers glare at each other, a silent tension between them. Nicholas is clearly not impressed by his brother’s comment, but chooses not to say anything in retort.

Instead, the topic changes to something lighter, and the three of them merrily discuss their last group holiday in Greece. I’m sure Nicholas doesn’t intend to make me feel like a spare part, but as they recall wild nights in Santorini, I’m left standing and nodding along, praying that the dancing will begin soon.

As Jonathan begins another story, making Louisa screech a fake laugh, I feel my phone buzz in my clutch bag. Ordinarily, I would ignore it, but under the circumstances, I’m grateful for the distraction.

A message pops up onto the screen.

‘Try not to look quite so bored’

Ben. My heart jumps. I spin around, trying to catch sight of him; he must be watching me from somewhere.

Another message comes through. ‘What are you all talking about?’

I write back quickly, my fingers fumbling over the keys. ‘Come over here and you’ll find out’

‘It’s much more fun watching you from here – nice dress by the way’

I smile to myself, then realise he can probably see my grinning like an idiot.

Just as I’m about to reply, the music stops suddenly, replaced by a booming voice from a microphone.

‘Ladies and gentleman, we will now begin with the first dance, please find a partner for the Quarrie’s Jig’

‘It’s tradition that I dance with my mother first’, Jonathan says to a sulking Louisa. ‘Nicholas will dance with you though’

Nicholas looks furious for a second.

‘It’s fine Nick, you go ahead’, I say, probably a little too enthusiastically.

‘Yeah Nick, it’s fine’, Jonathan says with a hint of childish teasing.

After promises that we’ll catch up with each other, I attempt to find a partner, scanning the room for someone who isn’t already half cut. 

‘Any chance you could show me how this is done?’ a voice comes, close to my ear.

I swivel around to see him standing there, decked out in the full gear. A read kilt and navy blue doublet jacket, a sporran and socks to his knees.

I let out an uncontrolled laugh, ‘you have made an effort, haven’t you?’

‘I try’, he smirks.

The mass of people around us begin to stand into place, a line of men facing a line of women, travelling the length of the hall. Ben and I follow suit, squeezing into a place at the far end of the line.

The instructor for the night patiently explains the steps of the jig – which I and many others here already know – a few setting steps, followed by some travelling steps and the highland step, where the man and woman interlock arms and swing around to the opposite side.

I glance over to Ben as the instructor explains, a look of complete bewilderment on his face. I stifle a giggle and he catches my eye.

‘What the fuck?’ he mouths, making it ever harder to stop my laugh.

The music begins in earnest, and the instructor yells along the steps for the first round, ‘AND SETTING STEP, SETTING STEP…’

My legs move instinctively to the sound of the tin fiddle, tin whistles and drums. Opposite me, in the middle of the line of men, Nicholas is doing the same, guiding an embarrassed looking Lousia effortlessly.

Ben however looks like Bambi on ice, his legs flailing in every direction, his head directed down the line of men, trying to mimic them.

‘AND HIGHLAND STEP!’

I grab Ben’s arm and swing him over to my side.

‘Oh shit’, I hear him say.

‘Concentrate this time!’ I shout over the music as we begin the same moves.

‘I’m trying!’, he shouts back, his legs still doing their own thing again.

We begin again, this time faster, as Ben jumps around the floorboards, showing none of the grace he does on court. He is so uncontrolled, so unafraid to look stupid, the opposite of the man I met that June day. The opposite of me. I continue in my vain attempt to keep him going in the right direction, but as I take his arm for the highland step, he swings me backwards, sending us hurtling away from the group.

‘Sorry!’, he laughs, grabbing my waist to stop me from toppling to the ground.

‘That whisky’s gone to your head’, I say, my stomach aching from laughter.

‘I think it’s the outfit, I’m in character’

‘What character?!’, I say, straightening up my dress.

‘Braveheart? I bet Braveheart couldn’t dance either’

I shake my head, ‘you’re an idiot’

With that, he takes me by the hand and drags me back into the dance.

After ten minutes of relentless jigging, and just at the point Ben had finally got the hang of it, we’re granted a short rest. The group breaks apart, all heading to one of the drinks tables that are scattered around the room.

‘I thought you were supposed to be fit’, I tease, my ears still ringing.

‘I’ll have to tell Rob to add that to my training regime’, he pants, bending over momentarily to catch his breath.

‘Do you want to go outside for some fresh air?’, I ask. I know I shouldn’t, that I’m playing with fire. But I want to be alone with him.

‘Sure’, he smiles, like he’s thinking the same thing.

‘Ben isn’t it?’ Nicholas’ voice comes from nowhere, as he glides in between us. ‘I’m Nicholas. Great to meet you’

He sticks out his hand and Ben takes it, shaking it firmly. ‘Cora here has a little thing for tennis’, he puts his arm around me, and I see Ben’s jaw clench.

‘I think it might be a bit more than that…’ Ben looks at me, and I can’t help but look away. Please don’t make a scene.

‘You here with someone Ben?’, I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I sense some of Nicholas’ charm disappear from his voice.

‘Just a friend’, he gestures over to his friend, who is currently occupied in the corner with three girls.

‘So how do you and Cora know each other?’, Nicholas asks.

I butt in before Ben can speak, ‘like I told you, we met at Wimbledon and I might be getting involved in Ben’s Trust’

‘Always nice to make new friends’, Nicholas says, his hand curling around my waist.  ‘Especially someone as great as Cora’

‘She’s quite something’, Ben says in return.

‘Hopefully we can catch up later, but I must insist that I have this next dance’, Nicholas says to me.

‘Of course’, I say, sounding much too much like Lousia. ‘I’ll see you later?’

‘I’ll see you later, Cora’, Ben nods.

His expression is impenetrable. But I really hope he means it.

The dance with Nicholas is much smoother. He doesn’t put a foot out of place, his legs swinging high into the air like a gazelle. Strong and calm, just like him.

As we dance across the hall, swopping partners as we travel down the line, I watch Nicholas, charming to every lady opposite him, polite and goodness personified. My father would love him, the country would love him. He would be kind to me, treat me well, and probably never make me angry. Of that I was sure.

Sitting at the edge of the room, Ben is being fawned over by a tipsy lady in her 50’s. He laughs along kindly, his legs dangerously open enough that I can almost see what’s under his kilt. It’s just lust, Cora. Lust will get you nowhere.

As the music ends, I’m back I’m Nicholas’ safe hands. ‘I’m sure my last partner was trying to grope my bum!’, I joke, pointing out the pensioner I’d just danced with.

‘I wouldn’t say that too loudly, someone might get offended’, he gives me a serious look.

‘Oh…sorry’

He face softens, ‘not to worry, they’re old family friends that’s all, you’ll learn’, he squeezes his palm around my waist again.

I’ll learn? Did I really want to learn?

Was lust all that bad anyway?

My thoughts are interrupted by Jonathan’s voice sweeping through the hall over the microphone. He stands proudly in front of the grand fireplace, a moose head set on the Sutherland shield, is attached to the wall above him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Lassies and Laddies’, the room laughs, but I don’t. ‘Thank you for joining us tonight. I know you’re probably expecting my father to do the speech as usual, but I’ve taken the reigns just for tonight’

Louisa is front and centre, hanging on his every word.

‘As you know, as the eldest of the Egerton brothers, I will one day inherit this beautiful castle and the title of Duke of Sutherland’

I look to Nicholas, whose face is like stone.

‘And every duke needs a duchess’

I roll my eyes. How romantic.

Instinctively, I look over to Louisa, whose bright blue eyes widen excitedly. Jonathan puts down the microphone and heads towards her, pulling a box from his sporran. He bends onto one knee and presents her with an enormous diamond, sparkling under the chandelier.

‘Louisa. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Louisa jumps up and down like a child and shrieks a ‘yes’. Only the dogs can hear you now.

The room erupts into cheers, friends and family crowding around the couple to congratulate them. I clap politely from the side. Next to me, Nicholas hasn’t moved. His eyes betray nothing, but there is a certain coldness I’ve never seen before.

‘Aren’t you going to congratulate your brother?’

‘Yes, I suppose I should’, he says distantly, looking pained as he pushes through the crowd to pat Jonathan on the back without a smile passing his lips.

I see a life ahead of me, one where I’m the lucky girl receiving the diamond. My family and friends congratulating me on my future life with Nicholas. A life where I’d never have to worry about a thing. But it would be a life where I can’t make jokes about old perverts, one where my partner’s hand around my waist doesn’t send tingles of pleasure up my spine. Like that night.

*

Pulling Nicholas away from the dinner table was difficult. The meal was more like a feast and the Duke of Sutherland has taken his finest wines from the cellar to celebrate the engagement. I had avoided eye contact with Ben, thinking that even looking at him would be a further betrayal to Nicholas. Eventually, I’d managed to convince him to join me in the drawing room. The same room he’d asked me on our first date in.

‘Nick, I need to talk to you’, I start, shutting the door.

‘I can’t believe Father got out Tuscan, he said that would be for a special occasion’, he ignores me.

‘It is a special occasion, isn’t it?’

‘Not special enough to use the Tuscan’

I have a feeling this may turn into a full on rant if I don’t stop it soon. ‘It’s just a wine, there’ll be more’

‘I suppose…you always know what to say, don’t you?’, I touches my arm gently.

I pull away deliberately. ‘Look Nick, I really like you…I mean, I think you’re lovely and everything…’

‘But?’

‘But I think we’re better off as friends’, I say it quickly, hoping it doesn’t come off as too harsh.

‘I thought we were getting along’, he suddenly looks so child-like.

‘We were, we are! I just don’t think it’s quite right, I’m sorry, I really am’, I’m not lying, if things were different, maybe Nicholas and  I would work.

‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed’

‘I’m sorry to do this to you on such a happy night, I just didn’t want to lead you on’

‘Fair enough’, he says dismissively.

‘Still friends?’, I say, careful not to overdo it.

‘Course’, he forces a smile for me, but as soon as I leave the room, I feel it drop behind me.

*

I scuttle through the castle feeling guilty and excited in equal measure. Part of me is disgusted at myself that I’ve broken it off with one (very lovely) guy to find another. I force myself to bring out the Annie in me.

He was never your boyfriend.

I bump into her as I hurry towards the hall.

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’, she asks, clearly suspicious.

‘Nothing. I mean nowhere’, I blush.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, she winks and wonders off.

Arriving back in the hall, I see Ben enjoying after dinner drinks with his middle-aged admirer, her hand on his knee.

I stride up to them, tidying my hair in the process.

‘Sorry to interrupt’, I grin.

The woman scowls at me before recognising my face. ‘Not at all your majesty!’

 ‘It’s Your Royal Highness’, Ben teases.

‘No no no, just Cora, please’, I say at the look of horror of the woman’s face. ‘May I steal him away for a moment?’

‘Oh I suppose’, she chuckles.

But Ben is already half way out of his seat. ‘Shall we go get that air, your majesty?’

We stroll outdoors onto the large grounds of the castle, where small groups and couples are dotted around in the shadows.

 ‘Is your boyfriend ok with you being alone with me?’, Ben asks as we find somewhere private behind a large oak tree.

‘He’s not my boyfriend, we’re just friends…’, I say, suddenly incredibly nervous.

‘Then why did you want to speak to me?’

I’m puzzled, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I’d assumed you’d asked for a moment with me to tell me to stay away from you, I thought your boyfriend might’ve had a word’

‘I told you he’s not my boyfriend, we’ve been on one date and now it’s over’, I say impatiently, ‘and I just wanted to tell you that’

‘Because?’ he lifts his eyebrow.

Shit. Have I got this all wrong?. Does he really not see it?

‘Because…well I…’

He leans back against the tree, ‘is it that hard to say you like me?’

Heat flushes from my toes to the top of my head, ‘you haven’t said it either!’

He leans forward, getting closer to my face, ‘Cora, do you really think I came all the way to Scotland for the dancing?’

I feel a glow ignite in my chest.

‘Oh’

‘If you’re not interested, I can always fall back on my lady friend back in there’, he says, trying to lighten the mood.

‘I am interested’, I’m surprised at my own honesty. He must be rubbing off on me.

‘Do I need to worry about competition from your friend?’

He’s paranoid about Nicholas, of course he is. I’m practically jumping from one date to another. ‘I know what I must look like, but if I had met you a few weeks earlier, I don’t think Nicholas and I would have ever happened’

‘Shit happens’, he says simply.

‘So you don’t think I’m a total whore?’

He laughs, ‘no’

‘Good. Because you should know that I’m not gonna sleep with you tonight or anytime soon, in fact. I will make you wait, and you’ll probably get really frustrated because I won’t put out, but I need to trust someone first. And I can be really stubborn, I don’t like to be told I’m wrong…’

What am I doing? Am I trying to put him off before we’ve even started.

‘…I’m a bit of a spoilt brat too, and then there’s the whole thing with my family, I know you hate the spotlight…’

‘Cora, hold on…’, Ben holds his hands up like he’s trying to stop a runaway train hurtling before him. ‘Can we just get to know each other first?!’

He’s right of course, but the wary princess inside me needs to let him know what he’s getting himself into.

‘Sorry’

‘I do have a question though’, he says with a glint in his eye.

‘Go on…’

‘Am I still allowed to kiss you, because you seemed to enjoy it last time’

I whack him on the arm with my clutch, ‘shut up… yes you are, just maybe not here, it’s not fair on Nicholas’

He pulls me towards him, both hands around my waist, a fizz runs through my body. We swop places so I’m hidden from view, my back pushed against the oak tree as Ben caresses my waist and hair gently, trying his best not to touch my lips with his. He bends and leaves small kisses on my cheek.

I pull away to stop it going any further, running my hands over the buttons on his jacket. ‘There was someone you should be worried about actually; he might be a threat to you…’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘There’s an old man in there that was groping my bum during the dancing’

‘Dirty old perv’, he laughs, ‘you do attract some odd people, don’t you Cora?’

God, I love how he says my name.

‘So it seems’, I tilt my head at him.

As we stand and talk, his hands trying not to touch me, (but failing now and again), the feel of his lips still on my cheek, and his wood and honey smell rousing my senses, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. My surroundings fall away, and it’s just him and me, with the promise to get to know each other, the sound of stirring Scottish music just audible in the distance.  

[afarcryfromgotham]

A Far Cry From Gotham

Jason’s story if he didn't go back to Gotham after leaving the League

He gulps down air, sitting on his knees, face staring up to the sky. White and auburn hair plastered to his forehead. Birds circle overhead occasionally blotting out the unforgiving sun. Eyes open as a shadow falls over him. He meets the steeled grey eyes of the older woman, biting his tongue as he learned to do a lifetime ago.

“Well done Jason.” the skin wrinkles around her eyes as she shows her gratitude, “Not only did you survive the trials, but you survived the cleansing. I have nothing else I can teach you.” 

Jason raises an eyebrow, huffing a laugh as she hits him on the head before poking him in the chest, “Control your Rage, little one.”. She cups his face with a calloused hand, “One day your heart will shine brighter than that dark fury inside you, when that day comes it will be glorious.” she smiles at him “tonight you rest; tomorrow you will continue on your quest for knowledge.” she turns walking away, her robes drag over the stone floor as she hobbles away

Jason rises to his feet, stumbling on limbs that feel like jelly “I thought you said-”

“I know what I said, man child.” she glares back at him “you have learned all the all caste can teach you. I know you will not stay here, you are not one who enjoys clipped wings. You will leave tomorrow to find your father for a study in Tranquility.”

Jason scoffs as he follows after her into the mountain face 

The next day sees Jason on a jet funded by the League of Assassins, flying halfway around the world, and air dropping into the wilderness of California.

The next month is spent tracking trails that barely exist, of searching abandoned safe houses and truckstops, all signs are directing him to Hope County, Montana. A name, Richard Dragon, and a reputation, as one of the best Martial Artists in the world, is all he has as he hitchhikes into the southwest corner of Montana.

Jason squints against the sun as the truck rumbles to a stop. He swings down off the bed waving his thanks to the driver. 

He looks up at the Water Tower looming above the town, Falls End, it reads across the side. He raises a hand to block out the sun as he looks around, a pristine white church is to his right, a broken-down bus blocks half the road ahead of him, the town lays beyond it. Light glints off the broken windows of the bus.

“You look lost.” a calm voice comes from the direction of the church. An older African American man is leaning on the fence work around the church, in one hand he loosely holds a bible, the golden cross glinting light back at him “It's okay to be lost, the Lord leads us places all the time, often without us knowing where we’re going.”

“I'm looking for someone,” Jason says, shifting his backpack up onto his shoulders, more than ready to book it up the rock face to his back.

The pastor, signaled by the white-collar, and white leather-bound bible, hums in response, his eyes roaming over Jason. His body language is curious but relaxed, unafraid of him. He's open and patient and Jason doesn't trust it. “Perhaps I can help, do you have a name?”

“Mine or who I'm looking for?” Jason responds shifting in the shadow of the bus so he can see the man across the road better.

“Either. I'm Pastor Jerom Jefferies, this is my church.” he waves to the building behind him as an introduction. 

Ok well now he has to introduce himself, Jason Grumbles “I'm Jason, looking for Richard Dragon.” he sees the man stand up a little more at that, a little more guarded, a little more cautious. So he knows Richard Dragon, or at least the reputation of the man.

“You a student of his?” Jerome asks he friendly tone still his voice

“I'm his son.” Jason finds joy in how startled the other man seems by the declaration “come on in, I’ll give him a call to come down.”

Jason follows under the arch and into the church. The pews are simple and wooden, a few knitted blankets sit on them. The sunlight filters through stained glass windows painting the floor and pews a rainbow of colors. He drops into a pew where he can see the front door and the door in the back and takes a deep breath practicing the meditation Ducra had been into him. He listens to the pastors' voice in the office space not actually paying attention to what's being said. 

“His shift at the lumber yard ends in a few hours,” Jerome says and sits on the opposite side of the pew, “would you like something to eat?”

Jason looks around studying every crack in the wall, and the building in general before shrugging 

Jerome stands to motion for Jason to follow. He shoulders his bag and follows him. 

Jerome asks him questions that Jason barely answers saying he's from Gotham and well-traveled.

Jason looks up at the bar, the neon sign is out but it still shows a woman on the sign with the words SPREAD EAGLE.

The door opens and a girl a few years older then Jason is working the register, two older men are cooking and running food.

Two other patrons, one is carrying a flame thrower the other has a taser. Jason looks around, a set of stairs to his left windows along the back, he can hear a door in the back, it smells pretty good though.

“Jerome” one of the guys greets “whos your new friend.”

“Apparently, he's Dragons son.” Jerome greets

Everyone is looking at him now in surprise, Jason shifts his weight slightly “Jason, sir” he nods hello keeping his hands hooked into the backpack straps

“I can see it, Mary why don't you go help your mother upstairs.”

“But,” the girl pouts 

“Go.” he says his eyes never leaving Jason

Jason stares back, he can see the man is worried and curious. He wants to protect his family. He's got a pistol on his hip tucked under the apron, and a knife on his belt, that Jason doubts he's good enough to use.

“Gary Fairgrave, nice to meet you son.” he cleans the glass he has in hand looking to Jerome

“A table for three, Richard’ll join us when he gets off.” Jerome says

They're seated at a four-person table away from the other patrons. Jason doesn't trust any of it, but he appreciates being sat by a window

“So where’d you serve?” Gary asks as he hands them menus

Jason blinks “I don't understand.”

“Son, you picked out my peacemaker almost as soon as you walked in the door, where’d you serve?” he asks

“I didn't, I grew up on the streets in Gotham,” he responds glancing the room over again

Gary whistles “been there once, back when the Waynes were alive, it was a shit hole then, can't imagine what it's like now.” 

“Hell would be kinder,” Jason responds before looking at the menu

Two glasses of water are set down before Jason decide to just order what the Pastor orders

Jason meets Jerome's eyes and the Pastor is studying him, in return, he sees the Pastor is curious but not concerned by Jasons appearance. He's relaxed even, confident that Jason won't do anything. He's right but he doesn't know that. He bleeds a patience that so sickeningly familiar to his past life it makes Jason want to punch him, the face of an older English butler flashes across his memories. Jason breaks eye contact to look around again, counting anything that could be a weapon “so what's it like here?”

“Falls End is fairly quiet, we’re the only constructed town here, good people, reliable people. What about you?”

“Not much a good people, but I'm reliable,” Jason says with a shrug taking a sip of water before crunching down on an ice cube.

“What makes you say that?” Jerome asks

“Everyone from Gotham is a sinner of some sort, pastor,” he shrugs looking anywhere but at the man in front of him mostly out the window at the slow traffic “you do what you have to to survive.”

‘You've killed.” Jerome concludes Jason nods not supplying that he was an assassin or killed other assassins.

Burgers and fries are set in front of them, they pick at the food, Jason answering his questions.

Jason's eyes go to the door, as the man who walked past the window walks in. The older man is dressed in sawdust-covered jeans, and a sweat-stained shirt, his hair is red with streaks of grey through it, similar to Jason's dark auburn with the white stripe. He smiles talking lowly to Gary at the register before turning and walking towards them. He doesn't carry a weapon, but he doesn't need one. He reminds Jason of a tiger, all lean muscle, coiled and ready to pounce.

Jason meets his eyes, the crystal blue, like what he had before, widen slightly. He wonders what the man sees as Jason stands.

“You look so much like your mother.” is what the man says silencing the bar beside the radio. Everyone's attention is on them again

“I think I look like you.” he responds offering his hand “Jason”

“Richard, but you knew that.” he sits beside Jerome, a beer and an order of fries appear on the table soon after

Jason meets his eyes and is surprised when he can't get a read on the man, beyond the surface level. His hands are scarred from fighting and work, he's content because he has nothing to fear.

“If I’d known about you, you would have been living with me and not him.” the venom in the Russians' voice is surprising. His hand clenches around the bottle. A silent agreement of the two to not speak of the other life before till in private

Jason hums “who was she?”

“Her name is Sandra WOo-San, one of my biggest rivals in the Martial Arts scenes, she had you, then not too long after she slept with that Cain fella, and had your half-sister. I don't know what her name is or where she is, just that Cain raised her to be a fighter.” he polished off his beer and fries as he talked. The man looks at Jason 

“Come on i'll take you back to the house, and we can talk more there.” Richard hums standing tossing down a couple of bills “thanks, Jerome.”

“Of course Richard, call if you need anything. That goes for both of you.” he nods to Jason.

Jason climbs into the passenger seat of an old ford escalade that has seen better days. 

Dragon just sits there for a second “I am really sorry, I wish I knew about you before your passing. Sandra, you’d know her better as Shiva, only told me about you after you were dead in the ground.“ he shifts the truck into reverse and backs out onto the road, before pulling onto the road 

Jason looks out the window as he rides, unable to look at the older man whose regret is nearly palatable. “I was only dead for five months. no one knows what brought me back. I only got my mind back after Talia dropped me in the pit.”

He hears the shocked inhale “where. Where have you been this whole time?”

“Talia found me wandering Gotham as a Zombie. She took me back to Nana Parbat. We guessed at first at how long I'd been back. I was mindless for over a year, she said. Left her son with me. Damian is his name. He brought me out of pit madness after I was put under. I spent a year and a half on her Leviathan guard before Ras started to take notice of me. She sent me around the world to various teachers before I spent the last year training with the All Caste.” 

Jason looks over when the man doesn't say anything, there's pride radiating off him, “sounds like you've learned a lot. Why did you come here, Jerome said you asked for me by name.”

“Ducra sent me here said I need to learn tranquility” he responded 

“And Talia?” Dragon asks slowing to turn 

“She knows I'm looking for you, I haven't told her anything,” he responds 

Dragon nods “good, it'll stay that way, I have no need for the Demons to come for me.”

“Does anyone?” Jason asks and Dragon huffs a laugh

“Absolutely not. “ a small ranch house comes into view surrounded by cars and trucks in various states of disrepair. Jason climbs out looking around his eyes going to the muscle cars 

He hears Dragon grunt, turning to face the man, he's pulling metal and scrap work out of the bed of the truck. Jason moves to help but is waved off. 

“Go inside, the guest room is straight back past the kitchen across from the backdoor” Jason nods and after a moment heads inside. It's a standard hunters cabin on the interior, several sets of various deer and Moose antlers line the wall up the stairs. The kitchen counters are covered in fresh produce and cleaned dishes. He continues past into the narrow hall, the guest room as a bed, a dresser, and a safe in the closet.

Jason sits on the bed listening to the springs squeak and the birds outside. He fishes the burner phone out of his backpack looking at Talias number

“Help yourself to the kitchen kid, I'll be out in the barn if you need anything.” Dragons say after knocking on the door frame

Jason turns the phone off and stands “anything I can help with?”

Dragon smiles and waves for him to follow. Jason tosses the phone on to the bed without a second look. NEXT

[scrollsofeternity]

POETIC JUSTICE

[♫♫♫]

Much like the creative process, at first, there’s nothing. The canvas is an empty, pitch black. There’s the murmuring of voices, the faint grumble of an audience impatiently waiting for the show to begin. Elysium’s mortal heroes and immortal saviors weren’t the only ones who were clamoring for the Tyrant King’s execution. This will be a spectacle for the ages.

The spotlight turns on. Hisato Kaneshiro stands beneath it, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the light.

A microphone’s before him, adjusted to his height. He steps up to it, still struggling to gather his bearings.

“Get on with it already!” someone shouts from the seats he can’t see.

The rest of the lights power on to fix that. Rows of people, some recognizable as being from the villages seen during the dungeon runs, stare back at Hisato. He clutches the microphone stand, wincing at the immediate flash of pain that curls around his fingers.

“My name is Hisato Kaneshiro,” he begins.

Something whizzes past his face. It slices his cheek open and lands against the backdrop with a THUNK! Pressing his fingertips to his wound, he turns to look at what narrowly avoided hitting him.

A tomato, crisscrossed with razor sharp wires.

“Death by a thousand cuts,” he says, as he faces the mob. If they want poetry, he'll give it to them.

“The ancient art of lingchi.

Is this how you’ll carry out your plan?

Is this how you’ll go on and lynch me?”

Paper cranes and doves alike flutter in from the rafters. They fly around him, slicing through the air with a level of force that rustles his hair. Unafraid, he raises a hand to allow one to perch. It stains blood-red, the color taken from what’s yet to spill.

“Worry not, you’ll have your fill,

I am the blood-covered key,

I am the roses, the hedges, the tower, the fairies,

The witches, the curses, the burning wings, and the giver of the box.”

Every item that he speaks of joins him on his stage. First, a human-sized key that drops straight down. It stabs through the wooden floor, getting stuck upright. Within the sheen of the metal, eagle eyes can spot revolving reflections of the living among you.

Thorny vines crawl across the floor, peppered with maroon roses. They slither and they split and they swirl. They ensnare Hisato, wrapping around his ankles to bind him. He’s a willing prisoner. He’s not a man who wants to escape.

The silhouette of a crooked tower, foundationally poor, falls in the background. Fairies, resembling glowing orbs of light, join the paper birds in an ethereal game of tag. They dance along each other’s flight paths. Zigzagging magic crackles around Hisato, none of it stealing his focus away.

Wings of fire spread from his back. Weak as a flame balanced on a candlewick, they blow out at a moment's notice. Smoke rises as the only signal that they were there to begin with.

“I’ll become the seafoam

And that which unlocks

The gate to the lives I tried to save you from.

Soar, set sail, and leap from these docks!”

Hisato frees the microphone from the stand, in time for the vines to drag him downwards. The bloodied paper dove flies from him. He lands onto his chest, the crunch of something breaking amplified by the mic in his hand. His next breath comes out wet, gurgled as his air bubbles in his mouth.

He swallows the disgusting, metallic taste of his own blood. There’s more he must say. Things he must remind everyone of. Platitudes that no one wants, nor needs, to hear from him.

“Crunching everyone into ice cold numbers like stocks,

All according to the flawed Morality market we had in mind,

We constantly broke ourselves down like mistimed clocks,

And missed who should count as the worst in what we designed.”

The Morality Chart floats above him. You know it well by now.

It’s changing. Hisato Kaneshiro’s points decrease. His ranking lowers. It audibly clicks with every downward shift it makes.

“Be better than I was,

Do your best to always be kind—”

Tomatoes, thrown in an arc, pelt his back. They slice his shirt into ribbons. He grits his teeth, unable to track his words. The poem he’d been freestyling is lost. A message from a dying man takes over, aimed at the coding that functions as this world’s spine.

“I just, I just want to come back happy, please, please let me be happy when I come back. I’m begging you. All I wanted was to be happy somewhere—to finally be happy! I didn’t, I didn’t want to hate myself anymore! I wanted to belong!”

He’ll return to clay and be molded again. His multitude of problems will be coaxed out of him as he’s reworked into an improved state. There’s happiness waiting for him around the corner. There has to be. He can’t come back and still be this wrong.

Hisato cries out in pain as more tomatoes rain down on his legs, piercing him every time they bounce and make contact. The crowd cheers. Laughter and applause roar in tandem.

His points on the chart plummet to a staggering -6500 and keep dropping. -500 for each death that occurred here, and then, more negatives for other infractions he’s earned throughout his stay in Elysium. His tyranny’s enumerated for all to see.

The finality of judgement will be upon him soon.

"...C-Camerado, I give you my hand!

I give you my soul, forever and ever, longer than water ebbs and flows,

There is no unreturn'd love,

I am to meet you again,

Sh...shall we stick by each other as long as we live?"

A spliced collection of Walt Whitman quotes. One more time for the road.

Hisato shakily reaches out a hand that no one can reach.

The remaining birds and fairies depart from the stage. They won’t be in the way for what’s about to happen.

He smiles for the last time.

“I’ll find you. This isn’t the end.”

The Morality Chart falls—

It guillotines him, separating his head from his body in one clean slice.

CONGRATULATIONS!

THE TYRANT KING HAS BEEN BEHEADED.

HISATO KANESHIRO HAS BEEN EXECUTED.