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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 | Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N: Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed). It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will. Keep your hate to yourself.

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt. Tom has an idea to solve all their problems. Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts. Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else. In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards. And the press are having a field day. Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt. An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning. Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem. All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of: child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED! THANK YOU FOR READING!

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

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protectchara201x · 3 years ago

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(ignoring all the other juicy Deltarune 2 stuff to shove Chara Talks into it lololol)

I haven’t been super active on this blog because frankly I have like, three? looong analysis/theorycrafting posts I’ve been putting off working on and it fills me with shame to log in and see them waiting in my drafts.

But.

With the release of Deltarune Chapter 2, I wanted to talk kinda in general about how I thought it could impact the fandom’s perception of Everybody’s Favorite Demon Baby, and also point out something in specific about the Weird Route that might connect back to Undertale.

Putting it under the cut to avoid spoilers and long-winded ramblings for the unwilling. Includes spoilers for the Weird Route.

(NOTE: may update later if I notice more things for to put in section II. I’d like to make a full list of parallels if I can tidy them up.)

I. Pre- vs Post-Release Thoughts (you can skip down to II if you don’t care, it is genuinely Long and Pointless)

Okay, so first off. I got SO worried like, the day before the new chapter dropped? It hit me that whatever new stuff we got out of this, people would connect back to Undertale, and. Honestly, I really do hate connecting everything back to Chara, because I do think of Kris as their own character and I really like them and don’t want to ignore everything they got going on. But, I am first and foremost a shameless Chara stan and they’re very important to me, so I kinda... did spend a few minutes reeling from all the new DR stuff as its own stuff, and then immediately started thinking about how this would reflect back on Chara in Undertale lol.

But that’s ok for me to do here because this is my All Chara, Only Chara, All The Time blog, so I am gonna only really talk about Deltarune here to talk about them lol.

So yeah, I started getting anxious beforehand worrying about how everyone would take any and all implications and apply it to mean “aha, Chara IS evil!” The fakeout with the pie reveal in the anniversary stream was a big relief, but I still got worried leading up to the release about what could be in it.

Because part of why I’ve always thought that “Chara was genuinely evil from the start” and even “ok maybe not TOTALLY evil, but Chara was still a kinda bad person” were unlikely was, even if you throw out all the other popular Chara-sympathetic theories. To me, both these takes just seemed too below TF’s talent and the way he wrote all his other characters with depth and love; a Chara like the one these theories propose just doesn’t belong in a world created by TF, and the way the Dreemurrs talk about them overall, the way TF made a point of having Chara say they were guided and repeatedly, correctly blame you the player for the destruction in Kill-All, I was sure that he never intended them to ever be as bad as the fandom sometimes tried to make them out to be.

... Like, mostly sure. Like, 80% sure? Because he never ever talks about them, so it’s impossible say for sure, and it is still theoretically possible that “Chara was and is bad” was the cold-ass take he’d intended all along. So yeah, leading up to the release, I started getting antsy that whatever new lore came out of it, either he’d directly confirm “Chara was a villain?” “*cocks gun* Always has been” or there’d be something that’d at least heavily implicate them, or could be twisted to implicate them, as a negative force. More ammo to be used against them in the Chara Debate Circles would be a drag, and outright confirmation of them as a villain would honestly break my heart and I’d be forced to disown Toby Fox, My Beloved Cool Dad.

And, right now? Tell the truth, I’m SO relieved and I am SO happy. And not just because of how much depth and characterization it seems Kris is getting! (imo, because rn I just headcanon them as an unhappy teen desperately trying to keep their new friends going on adventures with them and trying to fight back against the player’s control)

I love how this chapter seems to be TF doing course-correcting based on fandom interpretations. Because Kris just isn’t evil, even if they are a knife teen, even if they are the Knight, they’re just NOT evil and that’s canon, baybeeee; it’s made clear in this chapter and the previous one that they love their family even outside of the player’s control, they care about their new friends even outside of the player’s control, they’re established as a weird creepy kid but no one sees them as scary or evil, they’re just Kris, and even in the Weird Route, TF made a point of hammering in the differences between Kris and the player in the Weird Route: Susie and Ralsei notice how distressed Kris seemed after you have Noelle ice Berdly, Noelle heard a voice that she said wasn’t Kris telling her to kill, and the FUCKING Spamton fight: “Kris called for help... but nobody came” again and again, and then “You whispered Noelle’s name”... you, not Kris.

I know TF has never commented much on fans’ perceptions of Frisk and Chara, or who exactly is pulling strings in different routes. But after all this, and especially after seeing all the little winks and nods to fandom jokes in this chapter (what comes to mind: pulling everyone’s leg by seeming to have Kris attack Toriel with a knife only to reveal that pie theory was right, Susie not liking Ralsei’s real face as much as his shadowed one, Ralsei with a gun getting referenced with the ad, Kris getting a joke fixation with knives after the fans made Chara and Kris have knife obsessions as a joke), and seeing what looks like him try to correct some things (what stuck out to me was doubling down on showing that Kris is loved and valued in their family: lots of fans came away from Chapter 1 thinking that Kris was not valued as much as Asriel, but here we see that Toriel is supportive of Kris’ friendship with Susie, and it’s stated that Asriel is the one who used the crappy controller, not Kris) -

I think while he hasn’t commented directly, while he admitted to being overwhelmed by Undertale’s success, while he tends to be pretty tight-lipped about the lore (whether that’s because it’ll be addressed by future chapters or because he prefers to let fans sleuth it out), this chapter convinced me that Toby does keep tabs on fan reactions in Deltarune, so he probably does with Undertale too and would know about all The Discourse surrounding Little Mx Pink Cheeks (and in turn, popular theories like Narrator Chara... Toby if you integrate Narrator Chara into Deltarune being a borderline creepypasta and have the narrator start talking directly to the characters or to the player or the characters start talking to the narrator I will lose my damn B E A N S).

(Kris and Chara not being demonized and the narrator interacting directly with the characters were the only two things on my wishlist going in, I was fine with literally anything else happening lmao)

I even kinda think he’s going out of his way to separate Kris and the player because we didn’t get it before with Undertale, we still insisted that Frisk or Chara was the one doing it, and he’s even using Kris to show that even if this kid can be scary, maybe even mean, and maybe they’re even the Knight (with their reasons unknown), they’re still not a bad kid, they’re still funny and likable, and they still genuinely love their family and friends - which falls in line with Undertale’s cast of complex but likable people who can be antagonists and make mistakes but still aren’t truly bad people, and imo is a direct response to some people fixating on the idea that Chara was always evil because they seem scary/complicated.

... Which is a long way to say that I came out of Deltarune with my confidence fully restored about TF’s intentions with Chara and Kris. Even if he never comments on Chara directly, now I really don’t think TF thinks they’re evil or ever intended for them to be. Deltarune convinced me more than ever that Chara is meant to be complex, yes, and able to be influenced to do horrible things, but they were never intended to be as malicious or shallow as some fans insist.

TLDR:

Toby Fox read your mean fanfiction where Chara is a bad abusive serial killer no one likes, and he made Deltarune in revenge.

... Hm? Ah, you’d like me to get to the point! Right this way!

II. Undertale, Deltarune, and The Point

While no doubt some will still take the voice Noelle hears to be Chara influencing her to turn her into a murderer (I haven’t gone looking for it yet, but I’m sure it’s already a thing because I know this fandom), since it’s made too clear by the game that they can’t blame Kris for this one, I think at this point that’s just being too stubborn to consider other ideas.

If you believe in the totally made up idea used in so many fanfics that Chara is an evil spirit trying to whisper in Frisk’s ear to kill everyone, literally (for some reason) the embodiment of raising stats, and gets more control over people who have increased LV to take over their body... sure. Could be them, they did talk about moving on to the next world and all. I mean, that wouldn’t really make sense because it’s literally never implied in the actual game that Chara encourages you to kill outside of the Kill-All Run or even wants you to, certainly not as the narrator and we get no hint of them doing this as an unseen, unheard third-party either.

Not to mention they’re NOT literally possessing you because of increased LV; they don’t control you even with high LV in any Undertale route other than arguably the Kill-All, and if you fail the Kill-All and it turns into a high-body count Neutral, Chara suddenly stops using first-person narration and showing up in mirrors entirely even though they were showing themself before, the LV remains the same or even can get raised as high as LV 19, nor do they suddenly take over in any other Neutral runs. We can speculate on why (personally, I’d place this either on Chara’s mindset, such as them sinking into shock from the trauma or becoming more assertive as the player feeds their megalomania, or as a sign of Frisk’s withdrawal, leaving Chara alone in the body to take the reins and act out the player’s orders), but canonically, no, Chara does not take over due to high stats.

In fact, there’s even more evidence against this. First-person narration also exists for fleeing your battles in Undertale, even on Pacifist runs with base stats, 0 EXP, and an LV of 1. Since Chara is established to use first-person narration to refer to themself, is the only one who canonically does so, and is confirmed to be present even in all runs through their name and memories always showing up, it seems pretty likely that Chara can take control to flee battle. That means an increase in stats is not a sign of their presence or control, in Undertale or Deltarune.

The most damning blow to the idea that Chara is the voice corrupting Noelle are the lines in the fight with Spamton I mentioned. Kris called for help, but nobody came. You whispered Noelle’s name. Well hold on. If that’s Chara, shouldn’t it be “I whispered Noelle’s name”? As soon as you’ve officially started the Kill-All in Undertale, Chara starts up their “It’s me, Chara” schtick right away, right there in Toriel’s home in the first area, and if they weren’t the narrator before, they’re beginning to speak through the narration now. If the voice was Chara, surely Toby Fox knows it’d be a way bigger “oh shit” moment if the creepy scary hidden route once again switched into first-person, scaring us the same way he did before when we first saw “It’s me, Chara” and knew something was wrong; unfairly or not, their reputation as a villain is still well established and hinting to Chara’s presence with a simple “I” would drive the menace even further, if he intended for them to simply be a demon that possesses player characters when you grind enough. But it’s still just you. The player.

The Weird Route does even more to help Chara’s case than that. Not only is it made pretty clear that Kris and the player are separate, and the player is the one responsible for corrupting Noelle and making her kill... consider how similar Noelle and Chara are, in the Weird Route and the Kill-All Route.

This “voice” that “guides” them in growing strong, compelling them to kill everyone in order to fight for them, eventually driving them to murder people they know. Chara calls themself “the demon that comes when people call its name”, and you whisper Noelle’s name to have her appear to kill Spamton. Noelle’s conflicting emotions towards Kris and the voice as she is manipulated, as she becomes more violent and sadistic, as she goes into shock; does that not sound like Chara, who flipflops between holding you dear as their partner and wanting to move on to the next world together, to be together forever, and them being disgusted by your refusal to accept consequences and the perverse enjoyment you get in killing everyone again and again? Chara, who clings to their quirky narration for much of the Kill-All, but keeps slipping up, who becomes terrifyingly cold, aggressive, power-hungry, and even sadistic, yet still calls Undyne “the heroine”, still seems to still care about their locket, still has moments where they seem to falter?

Noelle does put up significantly more resistance to the voice’s commands than Chara does, and at least much more visibly shows distress and trauma. I don’t think this is a black mark on Chara’s chara-cter either, or an indication of them being more violent or cruel.

For one, while Noelle is still herself with her own soul, it is heavily implied by Chara, Flowey, and Undertale’s lore that Chara was reincarnated without their own soul, at best perhaps attached to Frisk’s (or yours): as I speculate in one of my currently unfinished theories, while monster souls are made up of love, compassion, and hope and thus Asriel was reincarnated without these qualities, it could well be that human souls are correspondingly made up of their own multiple traits, namely determination, patience, bravery, integrity, perseverance, kindness, and justice; if true, a soulless Chara would be lacking these qualities, which would make them less equipped to resist the player’s commands or to feel as torn up about it.

Also, the player has a hold on them both as “party members” to the player’s vessels, but it is also possible that the player naming Chara and having them directly attached to Frisk also gives them a stronger connection to Chara they can abuse, similar to how Kris and Frisk (as the player’s direct vessels) have much less autonomy than Kris’ party members.

(Fun observation: We know that when the thing controlling Kris forced Noelle into becoming a killer and using her to kill Berdly, Kris was horrified and shaken-up according to Susie and Ralsei. How do you think Frisk felt watching Chara be used to slaughter the Underground and then erasing the world when they’re totally corrupted?)

And lastly... look, Noelle and Chara are both minors, but Chara is significantly younger - a small child compared to Noelle’s teen. I know it’s fiction and strong wills and determination and anime is real and all, but a traumatized young child who died two violent and awful deaths back-to-back, may have literally experienced being a corpse in their own coffin/grave for who knows how long, and then came back ”confused” only to immediately start hearing a voice relentlessly commanding them to kill everyone?? I can absolutely see a traumatized kid shutting down and just going with it out of fear at first, before the LV sets in.

TLDR:

What you do to Noelle in the Weird Route is the same fucking thing you do to Chara in the Kill-All Route.

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chipper9906 · 3 years ago

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 8: Homesick

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 7,142

Overall Word Count: 72,547

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (8/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

CRACK

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* * *

The morning after was never usually so comfortable for Sylvie.

That was because most of the time… there was no morning after. It didn’t matter how kindly her partner for the evening has treated her, or how clingy they became — whether they knew the Apocalypse was upon them or not. She would never, ever, let herself fall asleep in a strangers bed, or… or couch, or… well, sometimes in an Apocalypse, it’s more of a ‘hook up in this dark alley’ kind of moment, so it wasn’t like she would be getting any sleep there, either.

It was a new experience for her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure why she had awoken with a smile on her face, given that there isn’t usually anything good happening in her life to warrant its presence. But then her sleep-addled mind registered the sensation of arms securely wrapped around her, of warm, bare skin pressed against her own, and the memories of last night came flooding back: clothes haphazardly tossed to the side, slick mouths sliding together, hands exploring toned muscles that danced under each others touch, fingers tangling into long locks as breathy moans are panted against each other's lips, the feel of sweat covered skin as they moved against one another.

She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted this, how much she had been missing. She had only really known the physical side of sex, because… it is a very physical act. But now she knows how different it is when she’s not letting some random stranger be the one to explore her body, but someone she cares for, and someone she knows cares for her in return. No, not just cares for her, but loves her.

She still couldn’t quite believe it, even though Loki had repeated the confession a few times at her request. She had never really considered the possibility of love — both loving someone, and having someone love her back. There had been no room for it in her life, living the way that she did, and she could never look past the mission. It hadn’t seemed to matter what became of her life once she took down the TVA; revenge had been all she knew, and all she ever wanted.

It was strange that now, that want had transitioned from one singular mission to… a person. Actually, when she thought about it… that was greatly oversimplifying things. She wanted more than just Loki, she wanted… a life with him, some sense of normalcy — as normal as normal can be in their life, anyway. Something other than being on the run constantly, or being hunted down, or being the one doing the hunting.

Even now, living in this small slice of domesticity with Loki, she still struggled to see that future. Not just because she’s never lived that kind of life, but because… she couldn’t see an end to this. It had taken all this time to kill one man, and now… they have to kill endless amounts of that same man?

They still had so much to learn about the Multiverse. Even if she could wrap her head around the number of timelines that now exist, and even if they could kill every version of He Who Remains in those timelines… wouldn’t there always be timelines popping up into existence with every small alteration? From one singular timeline, there had been an eruption of other timelines, to which those timelines bred their own timelines, and so on and so on. Killing every version of He Who Remains — or at least, the bad versions — didn’t seem like a job they could just… wrap up and then carry on with their lives. It wasn’t even a job that seemed achievable in their lifetimes. They would have to pass it on to someone else — which then brought up the question of who they would pass such a burden onto, especially when… when all this was on her.

Or… or they’d have to find a way to run things from outside the limits of time. Set up shop in the citadel at the end of time, keeping them from aging so they can do this… endlessly. Never growing old, never able to find a moment of peace. It would make these little moments they found within Apocalypses seem like dream vacations in comparison…

“Should I be worried over whatever you’re worrying about?”

Sylvie startles at the sound of Loki’s voice, shuffling around and glancing up to see him peering down at her with groggy eyes.

The clarity slowly comes back into Loki’s eyes as he wakes up. It was surprisingly easy for Sylvie to lose track of her thoughts when his eyes met hers, still able to picture the way they had looked last night: the blue of his irises all but disappearing as his pupils took over; darkened eyes hungrily taking her in, drinking in every detail and preserving it to memory like he may never get the chance to see her like this again—

“Sylvie?”

“Uh…” Sylvie snaps herself back to the present. “…What makes you think I’m worrying over anything?”

Sylvie feels Loki’s arms shrug around her. “Call it a hunch. Or… call it the fact that you feel so tense, I was wondering if you were about to bolt from the bed.”

Loki’s tone was a joking one, but Sylvie could hear that little tidbit of anxiety hidden in there, too. He genuinely thought that the last part was a possibility, and whilst she knew that wasn’t going to happen, she couldn’t blame Loki for thinking so.

“Nothing, just… overthinking, as usual.” She gives him a small smile, one that he mirrors back at her.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m… just getting used to the feeling of all this, I suppose.”

Loki chuckles in agreement, glancing around at the cozy wooden and stone walls of the Inn that sheltered them from the elements. The single window situated in the wall to the left of them showed views of the snow-covered forest they had come from, the few snowflakes they could see lazily drifting to the ground in no way an indicator of the deathly snowstorm that was supposed to befall this picturesque little village.

Sylvie turns herself around in Loki’s arms until they were face to face. “Aren’t we supposed to be out there saving all the universes?” she asks teasingly, playfully nudging her knee against his.

Loki lets out an odd mixture between a hum and a groan. “We probably should be, yes. Doesn’t mean I want to right this minute, though.”

Loki was much too comfortable right now to do much of anything. He didn’t want this small bubble of peace they were engulfed in to be burst — which it would be. It always is. But if he could just get a few extra minutes of this, then… He’d do whatever good deed the universe… universes —plural — was now apparently expecting of him.

Sylvie apparently agreed with him, seeming in no hurry to escape the comfort of the bed’s plush blankets — or his arms, for that matter.

“How did you end up being the big spoon?” Sylvie asks him, referring to the sleeping position she had woken up in.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki was getting strangely offended at the challenge to his role in spooning. “I am the taller one; it makes more sense for me to be the big spoon.”

“Hmm… you didn’t exactly have that kind of mentality last night,” Sylvie’s words land exactly the way she intended, grinning at the flush that steadily made its way across Loki’s face. “The man who clamors for control… actually prefers being dominated.”

“When it’s you,” Loki grumbled.

“Oh? So you’re more… ‘in control’ with other partners?”

“Yes,” Loki asserts, trying to claw back some of his pride. “I usually prefer being the one who dictates the flow of things… leaving my partner at my mercy — and my mercy alone.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Sylvie hums thoughtfully, peering up at Loki through squinted eyes. “So… why did you leave all that to me last night?”

“Because, when I typically take control, I intend for my partner to thoroughly enjoy it,” Loki answers. “With you… I didn’t think you’d like that all that much; losing control, especially when in... in such a vulnerable state. I…”

Loki paused for a moment, frowning in concentration as he tried to find the right words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think we both know that all of your previous partners have been one-time affairs, have they not? With this, I…”

“Were you… worried you wouldn’t compare?” Sylvie asks.

“What? No—” It was kind of that, but it wasn’t the main point Loki was trying to get across. “—No, it’s…” Loki sighed harshly. “Call me sappy if you’d like, but… I guess a part of me was scared you might see this as another one of those one-time things. I… I didn’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, so I just let you take the reins, because… the last thing I wanted to do was scare you off. I wanted to ensure that this, that our first time with each other, would be one to deposit into your good memories. Because, whilst it might be our first time, I was rather quite hoping that it would be the first of many.”

Oh…

Loki’s eyes dropped down and away from her, and just like that, any pretensions of teasing him any further had flown right out the window. Sylvie lifted up her hand from where it rested against the bed, placing it tenderly across his cheek. Her thumb slowly drifted up and down across the sharp edge of his jaw, drawing his line of sight back to hers.

“First of all? You don’t need to worry about comparing yourself to the others. Not one bit,” Sylvie assures him. “In fact, it doesn’t even compare. None of them do.”

Her words at least seem to be reaching Loki as the truth she intended them to be, the corner of his lips curling up by just the slightest. A part of her wondered if he was playing this as a whole ‘self-conscious lover’ kind of thing so she’d sit here and boost his ego. Then again, she’d probably do the same thing…

“Secondly, I fully intend for this to be a regular occurrence,” Sylvie states like it’s a matter of fact. Loki raises an eyebrow in surprise at the confidence in her voice — but naturally, he doesn’t question it. He’d have to be crazy to question such a thing. “And… okay, so you might have been right—”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Loki asks in disbelief, untangling one of his arms to cup his hand around his ear. “My, my… hearing that might just have felt better than—”

Sylvie shut him up with a swift punch to the arm, glaring at his ear-to-ear grin. “Egotistical bastard…”

“Sorry, sorry -- you were saying?”

Sylvie kept up the glare for a good few seconds more before she continued. “I was just going to say… thank you. Letting me… be the one in charge, it… it helped keep me at ease. And I know you wouldn’t do anything to me, but… bad habits die hard, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Loki reassured her, lazily drifting his knuckles across the soft skin of her chin. “Having this… it’s already more than I ever thought I’d have. One step at a time, right? These are big changes; I wouldn’t just expect you to jump between them like it they’re no problem.”

“No -- but I’ll still give it my all.” Sylvie surges up to plant a soft kiss on his lips, pulling away before she lets it lead into a repeat of last night that they, unfortunately, didn’t have time for.

Ironic, considering they had two devices in their possession capable of transporting them through time and space.

“But that means you’ve got to start pushing me a little, too. Sometimes I’m going to need some help, someone to nudge me out of my comfort zones, okay? I want to start meeting this other Loki your other partners have had the privilege to meet.”

Loki grins unabashedly at her, raising a hand to his head in a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now, come on—” Sylvie makes a start to get up, pulling herself out of Loki’s grip. “We should really start getting ready—”

Loki’s arms almost immediately snake back around her, dragging her back towards the warmth of the bed. Loki’s smile was nearly bright enough to match the pure white of the snow-blanketed on the windowsill, placed there not because of his actions, but because of hers. He knew that, if she really didn’t want to be pulled back into the bed, she would have stopped him. The fact that he was able to pull her back into his arms was because she was letting him.

Because she didn’t fancy leaving the bed as much as he didn’t

“Five more minutes?” he offers when she falls back into his chest. He uses his free hand to pull the blankets back around them before she even has a chance to respond to his offer.

“Fine.” Sylvie sounded annoyed, but Loki could hear the pleased undercurrents to her tone. “Just five more minutes.”

Two hours later, Sylvie was perched on the edge of the bed, finishing up tying the laces on her boots. She watched Loki out of the corner of her eye as he crouched by the fireplace, extinguishing the last few stubborn embers that continued to burn despite most of the fire having burnt out during the night.

Sylvie shrugged on the fur coat Loki had created for her — and then later discarded to the ground in his haste last night — reaching into its pockets and pulling out the TemPad. She slides it over her hand, squeezing her hand into a fist as she stares down at the TemPad.

“Would be nice to stay here forever, wouldn’t it?” Loki says wistfully, leaning back from the now-empty fireplace with a bitter-sounding sigh.

Sylvie barely hears him, too preoccupied with running a finger down the singular timeline that glowed up at her. Loki looks over at her silence, standing up from the fireplace and making his way over to her. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, cocking his head at Sylvie as he comes to a stop in front of her.

“Is it whispering secrets to you that I can’t hear?” he asks teasingly, leaning forward as if trying to listen in closer.

“Oh, definitely.” Sylvie looks up from the TemPad with a sly smile. “It’s telling me every little dirty secret you’ve been trying to hide from me.”

“Ah… I’m afraid I don’t have any,” Loki counters. “At least, none that I’m aware I’m keeping from you.”

“Well, that’s not ominous…” Sylvie returns her gaze to the TemPad, tapping her finger against its surface. Not to input or choose anything, from what Loki could see.

“Are you keeping secrets?” Loki jokes… for the most part.

“None worth telling.”

Now that was ominous, Loki thought.

Loki takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to her, sighing softly as he runs a hand across the top of his head to push his hair back and out of the way. “You going to tell me what you’re thinking about? Is it… something to do with what you were worrying about earlier?”

“No,” Sylvie answers, and it’s the truth. She wasn’t thinking about that — not right now, anyway. “I was… thinking of doing something selfish.”

A beat of tense silence passes between them. Sylvie glances up to see Loki looking rather concerned, his eyes darting between her and the TemPad she held. It was only natural that he was thinking back to the time she last used the TemPad doing something ‘selfish’, resulting in him tumbling back through a Time-Door and nearly ending up imprisoned and potentially reset.

“...And… what exactly is that?” Loki finally gathers up the courage to ask.

“I… I know that we should really get a start on this whole… saving everyone thing…” Sylvie begins, her choice of words getting a hushed snort of laughter from Loki. “But… ever since what Mobius told us, I… I haven’t been able to get them out of my head.”

“Get… who out of your head?”

Sylvie taps at the TemPad, the patterns of squiggly lines atop its surface shifting around until one lone timeline shone up at them. “My family. I know they’re out there now; my past life -- the life I could have lived.”

“You want to see them.” Loki didn’t phrase it as a question.

“I know I probably shouldn’t. I know it… it won’t do me much good, to see everything I missed out on. But… it’s…”

“It’s home,” Loki uttered softly.

“Is it selfish?” she asks him, dropping her hand back down to her lap.

Loki takes in a deep breath through his nose, rocking back slightly. “If it is… I think you’re permitted to be, after everything that’s happened; everything that was taken from you. And besides—” Loki gestures to the TemPad. “—Maybe after we regale them with stories of the terrifying dictator we are courageously facing, we might just sway them into giving us a helping hand. The soldiers of Asgard would certainly be a good acquisition in the coming fight. We’ll need all the help we can get…”

“Kind of sounds like we’re building our own army…” Sylvie notes.

“I suppose… we are,” Loki realizes. “But… not in the traditional way. There’s a difference, fighting using those under your command, than with… fighting alongside allies.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sylvie says with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. “The only other person I’ve had fight by my side is… you.”

“Well... it won’t be long before we have more allies for you to compare.” Loki stands from the bed, nodding his head towards the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand. “And family is as good a place to start as any.”

A grateful smile hitches at the corner of Sylvie’s lips. She looks down to the TemPad, letting her finger hover over it for a moment before she pressed down on her timeline. The lights of the TemPad pulse with her touch, fading away as the Time Door materializes into existence in front of them.

“Do you… want me to come with you?”

Sylvie whips her head around at his offer, confused as to why it was even a question of whether he was coming with her. She had thought it would be a given by this point.

“I understand if you’d rather not have me there for something like this. That’s not to say I feel particularly comfortable with the thought of you being quite so far out of reach, but… if that’s something you want, then I can stay here with the other TemPad and meet up with you on a different—”

“Loki?”

Loki stops in his ramblings when she says his name, mouth snapping shut at the part-adoration-part-exasperation on her face.

“...Yes?”

“Are you always this much of an idiot the morning after, or is this just a rare occurrence?”

Loki shoots her quite the impressive bitch-face.

“You’re coming with.” Sylvie reinforces this by grabbing hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze as they move towards the shimmering time-door. “Let’s go home.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Loki splutters urgently, digging his heels into the ground to bring Sylvie to a stop. She does so, looking back at him expectantly. “Just thought I’d check… you did enter a time before the events of Ragnarok, right? Just… you know, to make sure there’s actually a home to go back to…”

* * *

They hadn’t moved an inch since stepping through the Time-Door.

It was quite the juxtaposition: them, stood hidden within the shadows of the forest that sat on the outskirts of the city, whilst the streets of the city itself were bustling with life, crowded with people as they went about their lives.

It was both overwhelming and not enough at the same time. Neither one of them had said a word, greedily taking in every sight of the place they both once called home.

The palace stood proud and tall as always, golden and gleaming in the afternoon’s sun, casting an impressive shadow across the city it sat within. Loki wasn’t too sure if it was just nostalgic memories taking effect, but even the bridge itself seemed to be sparkling just that little bit more than what he remembers.

“Does it live up to your memories?” Loki breaks the silence, somehow finding a way to tear his gaze away to look down to Sylvie.

“I don’t know yet.” Sylvie’s eyes dance across the sights of the city, repeatedly landing back on the palace. “It… it doesn’t feel like I’m home. If anything, it’s more like… this weird sense of Deja-Vu. It feels familiar, and yet… like it’s the first time I’ve stepped foot in this place.

“Well… maybe your memory will be jogged as we take a closer look,” Loki offers, gesturing towards the city. “…That is why we’re here, isn’t it? To see home, see our -- your -- family?”

Sylvie nods, unable to hide the nerves that were on full display. Loki steps in front of her, blocking her view of Asgard as he wraps his hands around the top of her arms. “I won't pretend to know how you’re feeling right now. Our memories of home are different; the way we see our home is different. But I know you want to do this.”

“I do,” Sylvie agrees, a glint of determination in her eyes. “I’m just… I never thought I’d get this, you know? Returning home was never something I thought I could do, because… because there wasn’t a home to return to. And now… I don’t know. I guess I’m worried it won't be the way I’m thinking it’ll be.”

“It probably won't be.” Loki surprises Sylvie with his answer — not at all the reassurance she thought she’d hear from him. “Expectations are almost always impossible to reach. But whatever home ends up being for you… surely it’ll be better than never knowing?”

Sylvie’s eyes drift to the small sliver of the palace she can see past Loki. Somewhere in there, is her family. Her mother, her father, her sister… even herself. She can’t walk away from them. She can’t just… leave them again.

“Okay…” Sylvie modifies her fur coat with a burst of magic, forming a hood that she flips over her head. Loki raises an eyebrow as she hides her face within the shadows of the hood, reminded just a bit too much of the mysterious figure of her that he face to face with back in the RoxxCart. “You should be fine to walk the streets, but I’d rather not risk our people catching sight of two of me if my other self is out there somewhere.”

“Right…” Loki steps back to her side, joining her as they take one last look at the city from this distance. “Do we… do we want to meet the other you?”

“Could be fun,” Sylvie says with the beginnings of a smile. “It’d be interesting to see the type of person I became if… you know — the TVA had never decided to ruin my life.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

Sylvie frowns. “Worried about what?”

“Another version of you out there…” Sylvie could hear the smile in his voice before she saw it on his face, knowing right away he’s about to say something stupid as a joke. “Better hope I don’t go and fall in love with her, too…”

Sylvie slowly turns her head to face him, sporting a bitch-face that looked almost identical to Loki's. She steps up in front of him, wiping the joking smile off his face as she grabs hold of the neckline of his coat, tugging his face closer to hers. Loki swallows nervously, eyes flickering from the eerily calm look in hers to her lips oh so close to his. He wasn’t too sure whether she was trying to terrify him, or turn him on. Either way… both were working.

“I suppose I’d have to get rid of my competition.” Sylvie’s other hand brushes agonizingly slowly up his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake despite the thick clothing he wore. Loki finds himself leaning towards her, eager to close the minuscule gap between their lips. Sylvie jerks her head back before he gets what he wants, forcing him away with a firm push of her hand against his chest and a teasing smile on her face. “Or I suppose I could call you out for the idiot you’re being and leave your dumb-ass behind.”

Sylvie turns around and walks away from him, heading in the direction of the city and leaving a rather stunned-looking Loki behind. Loki stands there watching her retreating form for a moment until coming back to himself, shaking his head as he hurries after her.

“So, just to be clear—” Loki starts as they approach the beginning of the city, emerging from the cover of the trees. “—Making jokes about myself and the other you are strictly off the table?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether you value your jokes over my affection.”

“Consider them off the table,” Loki asserts with a wave of his hand. “In fact, they’re more than just off the table; they’re no longer on this plane of existence, reduced to nothing more than a wisp of a former construct developed from—”

The first impression of the two Loki’s this universe is not entirely familiar with is seen through the eyes of a young Asgardian child, who watched as Sylvie unceremoniously shoved Loki into a stall to shut him up.

“My deepest apologies, I must have tripped over my own feet.” Sylvie bit back a smirk as she continued walking, waiting for Loki to catch up with her after apologizing to the bewildered-looking owner of the stall.

“Sorry, that was a tad bit harsh of me.” Sylvie has the decency to apologize to Loki as he reaches her side with a huff.

“I think I might have landed on a wedge of cheese…” Loki wonders out loud, getting a snort of laughter from Sylvie. “If that man chases us down and demands payment for damages, I’ll pass the bill along to you…”

The people of Asgard were all wrapped up in their personal lives, some making their way through the busy streets as they make their way home, others congregated in small groups that added to the bustling crowds within the center of the city. All around them was the buzz of multiple conversations all occurring at once, muted laughter from their people as they went about their day, all sounds of… life.

Sylvie had lost count of the number of people who had bumped her shoulder as they passed by each other in the crowded streets, tensing up at every touch as she waited for the inevitable moment they would recognize the Princess of Asgard mingling among the common people. Every time, she would pull her hood just that little more over her head, turning her entire body towards Loki as they walked.

Yet… no one seemed to notice. She was just another name-less and face-less person to these people, going about her business the same as they were. Loki’s towering presence next to her was comforting, his hand wrapped securely around hers, appearing as just another couple walking the streets of Asgard.

“They look happy,” Loki points out, referring to the swaths of people they had walked through. “It’s… good. Nice.”

“I’m just glad to see that me not being pruned doesn’t result in the destruction of our home…” Sylvie murmurs quietly, still not wanting to attract too much attention to herself.

Sylvie went to continue forward, only to find herself being pulled to a stop. She glances behind her shoulder, confused to see Loki frozen in place, staring at something to their right. She slowly turns towards the direction he was looking to, immediately laying eyes on what had brought him to a standstill.

It was… her. Not the actual her, but a statue. Its well-polished bronze surface shone brightly as the sun beat down on it, displaying her in a rather impressive looking set of Asgardian Armor. Her metal figure stood proudly, wielding a familiar-looking sword in her hand that she held pointed to the ground, looking out towards the city and its inhabitants.

“Huh.” Is all Loki can think to say. “That’s, um… that’s something.”

“I don’t know whether to take this as a good sign, or… a very bad sign.”

“...Bad as in…?”

“As in, this version of me had a similar hunger for ruling that you did.” Sylvie glowers up at the bronze cast version of herself. She shifts her gaze from the statue to the palace, the golden spires now looming over them, having inched closer and closer to home.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Loki says. “We can't be sure of anything until we get in there, and… see exactly who it is that sits on the throne.”

* * *

The Palace was as beautiful as she remembered.

She would have dreams of walking these halls, albeit from a much shorter height perspective. Everything was as pristine as usual, still clearly well looked after by those that serve her family. Sylvie was only really able to get a few moments to reminisce before yet another patrol of Einherjar would appear, this now being the fourth time she and Loki have had to duck and hide from their watchful eyes.

“You know, Thor and I did something similar when we snuck out one night.” Loki’s breath tickles the side of her face as he whispers, the two of them hiding behind a marble pillar after waiting for the next set of patrols to pass.

“What for?”

“We were young, and decided that the fading of the sunlight shouldn’t dictate when the fun was to come to an end.”

Sylvie quickly checks to make sure the coast was clear before tugging at Loki’s sleeve to signal for him to move with her. Their footsteps are near-silent as they make their way down the hall, each step careful and deliberate to reduce the amount of noise they make.

“Were you caught?” Sylvie whispers in asking.

“Of course we were caught,” Loki answers. “Two foolish children stood no chance hiding from father's guards. I had only just started learning magic from mother, and to say I wasn’t particularly well-rehearsed in the art of deception and mischief at the time would be an understatement.”

“They realized you had snuck out, then?”

“Realized? They saw us making our escape attempt from a balcony. We weren’t terribly subtle with the way we went about it…”

"I can believe that." Sylvie holds out a hand to stop Loki as they approach a corner. They stand flush against the wall, Loki waiting just behind Sylvie as she cranes her head around the corner, taking a peek at what lies ahead. Or, more in particular, to see just who stood in the way between them and the throne room.

Between her, and..her family.

Or... Her and whatever this other version of herself had become...

"Two guards stationed outside the door," Sylvie whispers over her shoulder to Loki. "We could enchant them, but... I don't see a way we could get close enough to do it before they spot us."

"Hmm... If we can't rely on the element of surprise, then..."

Sylvie glances back over her shoulder, waiting for Loki to finish his sentence. She nearly has a heart attack when, instead of Loki, she comes face to face with one of the Einherjar. Her hand twitches, reaching for her sword, when something in the man's eyes brings her to a stop. There was something... Familiar shining in them. An odd sort of... Glee...

Oh, right, of course... Illusion Casting. What else did she expect from the God of Mischief…?

"Bit of warning next time, Loki," Sylvie grumbles under her breath.

“I did,” Loki counters. “I said ‘we can’t rely on the element of surprise.’ That was my warning I was about to do something.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes with a barely audible sigh, leaning back around the corner to check on the guards. They were still stood ramrod straight in position, attentive eyes staring dead-ahead, as they usually were.

“I could pretend to be escorting you, like I did on Lamentis,” Loki suggests.

“Except the guards would probably be wondering why you’re escorting their Princess,” Sylvie shoots down his idea. “Also, there’s every chance you might be escorting me into the throne room, and in front of… me.”

“Right…” Loki mumbled in defeat. “Um… Illusion Casting requires a little bit more tutoring than a basic crash course, so… unless you suddenly become a master at that, too… we’re running out of options.”

Sylvie sighs from frustration, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip as she thinks. She takes another glance at the still stoic guards, quickly ducking back behind the corner to avoid being spotted.

“Wait -- I think have a plan!” Loki whispers excitedly, bringing Sylvie’s attention back to him. “You need to punch me in the face.”

Sylvie was sure she hadn’t heard that right. “You… you want me to punch you in the face?”

“Need, not want; big difference between the two.” Loki lets the illusion of the spear in his hand fade away. He grabs Sylvie by the shoulders, maneuvering them around until he was the one standing by the corner, his back to the edge as he places Sylvie directly in front of him. “You need to get me right in the nose -- make me bleed.”

“You still haven’t explained to me what for?”

“To make it believable, of course!” Loki states like that helped explain his plan any further. “You’re going to hit me as hard as you can, and I’m going to be sent flying backward. The guards are going to rush to help me, and that’s when you step in and enchant one of them.”

“And what about the other one? I can’t enchant both at the same time.”

“I’ll enchant him from the ground,” Loki answered with a grin full of confidence. “Then we can just… put them to sleep and store them somewhere for the time being, steal their armor, and waltz right into that throne room.”

“I don’t know…” Sylvie didn’t hold quite the same confidence in Loki’s plan that he did, given that his last few plans have been less than stellar in both execution and their outcomes…

“You have any better ideas?” Loki asked, and he had her there. “Look, I have complete faith that the both of us could… go rush them and subdue them ourselves. But could we do it quietly enough that no one hears us on the other side of the door? This way, we bring the guards to us, and take care of them before anyone knows what’s going on. It’s perfect!”

“I think ‘feasible’ would be a better word than ‘perfect…’”

CRACK

Sylvie’s knuckles land squarely in the center of Loki’s nose, the force of the impact sending Loki crashing into the wall opposite. She winced, both from not meaning to hit him that hard, and because the punch was forceful enough that it had ripped open the skin above her knuckles. Loki’s nose was — as expected — bleeding quite profusely from the hit, made all the worse by the edge of the TemPad on her hand catching him right across the bridge of the nose.

Loki groaned from where he had crumpled down to the ground, and Sylvie had to remind herself to stick to where she was and keep to the plan than go over and help him. She wasn’t too sure whether he was struggling so much to push himself up because it was all part of the act, or… if she had perhaps gone a bit overboard with her punch.

Either way, what mattered was that the plan, miraculously, was working. The guards had sprung into action the second they heard the crash of metal from Loki’s fake armor smashing into the wall, their weapons held tightly in their hands as they marched over to him.

Sylvie waited until their echoing footsteps were upon her before darting out from her hiding spot, grasping onto the closest guard's arm whilst yanking the spear out from his other hand. The man underneath the armor didn’t even get a chance to voice his protests before her magic was flowing into his mind, his face going slack as his eyes pulse with a burst of green light.

Thankfully, Loki was not concussed from the hit, and still had the mental capacity to carry out his part of the plan. His hand had shot out towards the other guard who had come to his aid, wrapping it around his ankle and hoping more than anything that his first time using enchantment on his own on someone that wasn’t Sylvie would work. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, focusing every little drop of concentration he has towards the task at hand.

Loki’s eyes pop open in surprise when he feels the man’s foot shift under his hold, greeted by the sight of the guard going slack and collapsing to the ground next to him, landing in a less than graceful heap. Seconds later, the guard is joined by his friend as Sylvie releases her hold on the other guard's arm — although Sylvie does at least do the man a kindness and slowly releases her hold so he drops down gently.

“Ow…” Loki groans from the ground, letting his hand flop down the ground as he rolls over onto his back. He raises his hand to his nose, wiping away the excess blood that had congealed around his face, wincing as he brushes across the tenderized skin.

“Gods -- are you okay?” Sylvie hurriedly steps over the unconscious guards, rushing to get to Loki’s side. “I probably shouldn’t have hit you that hard…”

“I said to make me bleed and to hit me as hard as you can…” Loki says, his voice nasally due to the blood blocking his sinuses. “You certainly did as I asked.”

Sylvie grabs hold of one of his arms, helping him get back to his feet. Loki groans as he gets upright, pinching up and down his nose to check for any breakages.

“In my defense, you were doing everything you could to rile me up,” Sylvie says, gently knocking his hands away to check his injury for herself. Loki lets her examine him, surprised by the gentleness of her hands as they brush across his skin, feather-light and delicate as they pass by the area of his nose where the skin had been broken. “And for the record? That wasn’t me hitting you as hard as I could.”

It probably shouldn’t make her feel proud of herself that Loki looked genuinely afraid of her. And… a little bit awed by her. “It wasn’t?”

“Not even close.”

Loki’s nose had long since stopped bleeding by the time they had stealthily moved the guards to an unused room nearby. Whilst he didn’t need to steal the guard's armor given his abilities to cast Illusions, it was much easier to do so than use up most of his focus on keeping the Illusion up and —more importantly — believable.

Sylvie finished up the last of her temporary golden armor, securing the helmet over her head and making sure it fits snugly. It was a little loose given that the man she had taken it from was slightly taller than her, but not so much that anyone would question it. She looked over to Loki as he scooped up the guard's weapons and shields, nodding in appreciation as he passes one of each to her.

“Wait—” Sylvie stops him just as they reach the doors to the throne room. Loki looks to her with a questioning frown, to which she gestures to her own face with a twirl of her hand. “You’ve still got blood all over your face.”

“Oh.” It only takes a small wave of magic washing over him for the blood to be wiped clean like chalk off a chalkboard. Sylvie nods her approval when he looks back to her, turning back with a shaky breath to the door that, just beyond it, held the answers to what was supposed to become of her family.

What was supposed to become of her.

Loki didn’t say a word next to her, which she was infinitely grateful for. He was doing all that she wanted from him, which was… just to be there, standing by her side. He knew how important this was for her. He knew that now, more than ever, she just needed to know he was there for her if she needed him.

And it was rather terrifying just how much she did need him.

“Okay…” Sylvie breathes out, steeling herself for whatever is about to come their way. She just about catches sight of a flicker of a proud smile from Loki out of the corner of her eye as she nods to herself, raising a hand up and placing her palm against the intricately engraved golden doors. Loki’s hand joins her seconds later, her eyes trained on the door under her hand whilst his were focused solely on her, waiting for her to make the first move. Sylvie pushes hard against the solid metal, Loki following suit and joining her as they push against the heavy weight of the doors.

Slowly… the doors open.

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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ryik-the-writer · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER 29: Instincts

A03

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy

· Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story)

· Chapter 3: Day One

· Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies

· Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars

· Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress

· Chapter 7: Operation Spotless!

· Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down

· Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil

· Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake

· Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1

· Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2

· Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground

· Chapter 14. Recovery

· Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more

· Chapter 15: Trapped

Chapter 16: Filth

Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1

Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2

Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3

Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2

Chapter 21: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3

Chapter 22: Reflections pt. 1

Chapter 23: Reflections pt. 2

Chapter 24: Closing

Chapter 25: Felix is helping Pan

Chapter 26: Temporary Fix

Chapter 27: The Search Begins

Chapter 28: The Missing Pan

So this is what death feels like? It’s not terrible, just incredibly long.

Dehydration had long set in, so much so that even Pan’s eyes were dry.

Jones was refusing to give him food and water until he “revealed what he knew.”

Pan would, of course, tell him to fuck himself. Nevermind that he had no idea what the fuck he was talking about.

Maybe it was journalistic instincts or his own, but Pan wanted to know what Jones was going on about, why he thought kidnapping him would give him what he wanted.

He had been waiting for the man to finally spill, but Jones seemed to be as clever as he was.

Pan would die a slow painful death with an unknown secret. He could only hope it tore Jones to pieces.

But it was harder for him to focus on disemboweling Jones when his own demise were front and center.

It was odd how unafraid he was. Annoyed and pained, yes, but not necessarily scared.

He remembered wanting to die on plenty of occasions: when he was a snot-nosed little punk in Scotland and his father used to wail on him, when he found out Belle was in love with his fucking brother of all people. When he’d be on a high after writing an amazing story that ruined someone’s life. Even in between the better moments of his life, when he was investigating with Felix or having drinks with Tink and Lily, when he just couldn’t find peace.

When he was with Wendy and he felt so grounded he couldn’t take it.

Shit. He swore he wouldn’t think about her. Wouldn’t think about any of the people he gave a shit about.

Yeah, now that he was on death’s door, he could finally admit to himself that he kind of gave a shit about something.

His pride and his ambition had stood in the way for so long, he had plenty of time to realize when those walls had come down.

Wendy fucking Darling.

She’d gotten under his skin, into his veins. He’d become desperate for her presence, for her validation.

For her smile.

“She’s really beautiful you know,” Jones had gloated to him last night as he drunk from that damned flask of his. “Really something. I might just get a taste of her myself.”

A weak snarl was all Pan was able to muster, but his brain was burning with all the things he was going to do to him the second he had these fucking cuffs off.

Maybe that’s part of the reason he was still hanging on. He wanted Jones’s blood to soak his lips, give him the hydration he had denied him for days now.

Or maybe he truly had gone soft and he wanted to see her and everyone else again.

All the people who hated him and cared for him…he was going to be lost to them now.

It was true then: Peter Pan didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be forgotten about.

And he wanted to see her again.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“What are we doing?” Wendy laughed as Killian drug her up the boat.

Jones hid his smile well. “You shall soon see, Miss Darling.”

Wendy shrugged and followed, charmed that he still referred her to something so gentle. He’d been courting her for three days now, and each time they were together she found herself a bit more star struck.

Killian was so far advanced in the world than she. He had seen things, been places she’d only seen on maps, lived as a person she was far from being.

But Wendy ate up his stories, usually told over brunch or a nice picnic.

Tonight however would be the first time they’d have dinner, and have it on his vast ship she’d been admiring from the dock for some time now.

She was grateful for his company just as much as she was for the distraction from her current dilemmas.

Pan still had yet to return or make his location known. They were both set to return to the Mirror in a few days with their suspension ending, and she only hoped he thought to come back by then.

She could honestly care less at this point, she had decided, squashing the guilt she felt. Pan had made his decision, had chosen to push her so far away he could never find her again. She wouldn’t be the one to try to make amends if he returned.

The “if” part was what was keeping her from falling asleep at night. If he’d been more ceremonial in his departure, she might be more relaxed. But he just vanished. No note, no hints. Not even a plan for his cat. He pretty much left the poor thing to starve.

Wendy still checked in on the creature, but had slowly made the transition to her own apartment. Sometimes at night, when she was getting out of the tub or combing her hair, she’d look down her window at his building and spare the thought that he was coming back soon.

But it was just a flutter of a thought, and she would return to the present. Story ideas for when she returned to work, making peace with Tink, and Jones.

Wendy would be the first to admit she was naïve when it came to dating. Her first and only beau, Edward, had been more boring than a sack of flour and their breakup had been a celebration for her.

What she had with Pan was more of a fight to the death speckled with quick moments of peace. It was stimulating but painful all at once.

Whatever she was building with Jones excited her. It wasn’t the back and forth screaming match she had with Pan. It was tamer, and felt unabashedly like romance.

“You know, the last time my view was obstructed I solved a nearly decade’s old mystery in this town,” Wendy deadpanned as she felt a railing under her hand. They were going up something. And they were on the docks judging by the scent of salt in the air.

Killian’s chuckle rumbled through her back. “I’ve heard a great many about your adventures in town. You’ll have to tell me all about them.”

Wendy felt around until she found his hand, and he paused.

“I haven’t finished learning about you,” Wendy pointed out, her heart speeding up.

She felt Killian’s warm breath on the edge of her ear. “I have to keep some of my secrets, love.”

Wendy swallowed hard. Damn. Now it was more than the darkness that made her heart swell.

Thankfully though, that part soon passed and Killian removed the blindfold.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the setting sun, and then the sight before her made her gasp.

A well-set table decorated the deck of Killian’s ship, complete with a bucket of ice and what looked like champagne.

She could smell garlic in the air, not doubt encased in whatever was under the metal dishes on the table.

Killian had passed her and began lighting the elongated candles on the table.

“What is all this?” Wendy laughed.

“An anniversary dinner of sorts,” Jones winked.

“We’ve barely been acquainted a full week,” Wendy pointed out, following him when he motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs that he had pulled out.

“Then we have something to celebrate,”

Wendy watched him, amused as he popped open the champagne and poured them each a glass. He raised his, tipping it towards her.

“To five days of a beautiful relationship,”

Wendy scoffed. She could toast to that, and she did, tapping her glass to his.

She took a slow sip of the bubbly drink, stilling her flinch at the strong alcohol. She’d never had anything stronger than a glass of wine at her college graduation and she knew her tolerance would be very low.

He drained his glass quickly but made no attempt to refill his or hers.

“And now,” he bowed, lifting the lid off their plates.

Wendy witnessed a well-crafted dish of crispy fish surrounded by colorful vegetables in a sort of white broth.

She glanced up at Killian and noticed the slight hesitation in his eyes.

Oh my gods, she thought, he’s nervous about his food!

Wendy picked up her fork, getting a bite of everything on the utensil. The vegetables were a bit salty for her preference, but the fish melted on her tongue.

She chuckled. Of course someone who lived on a ship would know how to cook a good fish.

She smiled as to ease Killian’s mind.

“Delicious.”

He glowed at the compliment and comfortably began to eat his own dish.

Wendy continued to examine him, wishing more than anything that she could figure out his game. Jones didn’t make her uncomfortable, not really, but he did make her question his motive and his interest in her.

“You’re quite distracted for someone eating some of the highest quality crawfish on this side of Maine,” Jones joked when he noticed her inquisitive expression.

He’d been taking small circles around her, disguising his intentions. Tonight was the final test, one last go before he decided—not if—but how he would eliminate her.

He was starting to doubt that she knew anything at all.

“I was just thinking about you,” Wendy said boldly.

Jones stopped chewing, the slightest tension curling his fingers.

“Aye?” he said, keeping his demeanor.

“I was thinking of me as well,” she admitted. “How I know so little of you yet came onto your ship—lovely craftsmenship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, easing a bit. Wendy was young, and hopefully easily distractible.

“I feel like I should be afraid of you,” she continued, not feeling the least bit foolish about the reveal of such a personal thought. She’d fought off maniacs and barely escaped with her life; she wasn’t afraid to admit if she was scared or not.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you, and for all I know you poisoned the very food I just ate, or you plan on knocking me cold and dumping me into the harbor.”

One out of two, not bad, he thought.

Still, he to keep the game going, had to pull her out of that state of uneasiness if he wanted to win.

“Allow me to put you more at ease,” he offered. He stood and made his way across the deck where he had set up an old vinyl player.

Wendy gasped when he turned on a gentle tune, looking up at him with stars in her eyes when he came back to her and held out his hand.

“Care for a dance, Miss Darling?”

Wendy’s stomach twisted, the memory of Pan twirling her around the club downtown causing a periscope of emotions to crash over her.

She took Jones’s hand and squeezed it, praying the memory would leave her.

As Jones guided her down the deck and positioned his hands like a true gentlemen, she decided she could leave it indeed.

“Now,” he said as they moved. “Allow me to ease your mind. Ask me a question, anything you like, but I want to ask you one in return.”

“I’m a journalist, Mr. Jones, I’m fairly good at asking questions.”

“Then make them count,” he grinned.

She accepted his challenge, licking her lips as she laid out in her mind exactly what she wanted to know.

“Do you live on this ship?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Hey now,” she chastised.

Jones chuckled. She really was a delight.

“It was an antique I restored for one of my clients,” he said. She didn’t need to know that said client had been disemboweled by him on the very deck they were dancing on.

“He practically gave it to me when I finished.”

“You’re a carpenter then. A traveler as well?”

“One question at a time, Miss Darling,”

“Not a question. More like an observation.” she corrected.

He smiled. Witty as well.

“Tell me, how did such a well-established lady like yourself end up in Maine of all places?”

Wendy scoffed, the life she had before Storybrooke seeming so long ago.

“An internship. It was really an excuse to leave home and see a bit of the world, but I decided to try to make it a career. It’s been…”

Jones’s smile faded when Wendy’s tenseness caused them to stop. As if sensing her distress, the vinyl player abruptly stopped its song.

“Are you alright,” Jones inquired.

Wendy gulped, memories of that devil woman Cruella and that sick bastard Jekyll crawling through her brain.

“It hasn’t been easy being here,” she said.

It hasn’t been easy being with Pan, she wanted to say.

“That lad, the one who abandoned you” Jones pushed. “Does he have anything to do with that?”

Of course, Jones knew the answer to that, having had said lad in his company for several days now.

“More than you could ever know.”

Jones tilted his head. It was really tragic, watching such a vibrant creature fade over such a wretched little creature.

He cupped her cheek and turned her to him, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin.

“Let him go, love,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”

Wendy Darling was innocent, both in spirit and in the crimes he had stacked against her. It didn’t stop what he had to do, but he would prefer that her last memories were pleasant.

But Wendy was plagued by the pandemic that was Pan. She told him in her message to him that she had to let him go, there was no room anymore to wait on him.

Yet he was still in her mind. She wanted to let him go, needed to.

She looked into Jones’s smiling eyes, this enigma of a man who had wondered into her life. Maybe it was fate’s way of telling her to move on, or perhaps just a coincidence.

Either way, she needed his help.

She cupped the hand on her face, keeping him where he was.

He didn’t move, perhaps sensing what she wanted to do, needed to do.

She leaned in, leaning up just enough so that their lips touched.

Kissing Killian was like tasting the rarest of liquor: it was addictive, intoxicating, dangerous. Wendy weaved her fingers into his hair, her other hand unsure quite where to venture next.

But Jones did. He led it to his chest, one of his hands cupping her waist with purpose, the other traveling to tangle in her locks.

He felt Wendy tensed under his touch and he pulled back.

“Please, not my hair,” she said, ashamed.

He nodded, uncertain and shocked when his heart lurched at her pained expressin. “Do you want to stop?:

Wendy wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Was she really about to go through with this? Have relations with someone she’d only known a few days?

She thought about all the morals that had been lodged into her mind since girlhood. They seemed so faint now, a side effect, she thought, of being in the presence of someone as moralless like Pan.

Truth was she wanted to do it, wanted to fill that emptiness Pan had created in her.

“Where…is there…”

He nodded, knowing her mind and lead her to his sleeping quaters.

He sat her down on his bed, hands twitching by his side while the rest of him remained still.

This had to be her choice. He couldn’t continue unless she made the first move.

They stared at each for a moment, their heavy breathing subsiding as Wendy made up her mind.

She reached a hand out, inviting him.

A small smile curled on his lips. He took it and got down on one knew, hands guiding up her smooth knees.

Wendy leaned forward and began to remove his shirt as he lifted his arms up to let her.

The weight of her inexperience began to thrive as she gazed upon his lean, mature form. He had little knicks and scars on his arms and chest, tales of a life he . Just like her.

She felt so small compared to him, so young. She considered calling this whole thing off—she knew he’d respect it.

“Nervous, love?” he inquired.

He intertwined his fingers in the hand that had undressed him.

“Let me lead, Wendy,”

She allowed it. Allowed his hands and lips to seek her out.

He was gentle. He wanted to be.

Wendy wasn’t like the other women he’d bedded in the past. She had this air of sophistication he hadn’t known before, cutting deeply into the innocence she wore like a torn coat.

But her passion, bless her. She allowed the instinct to take over, to guide her hands and lips to places he wants them to be.

He’s struggling to contain himself, his own instinct telling him to conquer, but Wendy doesn’t deserve that.

It was part of the game, after all. Seduce the pretty girl woman, kill her and be done with it. One last round of euphoria before he moved on to the next target.

His kisses are heated, biting, but patient – she allows him to remove her clothes, carefully.

He moans when her soft, round lips mouth down his neck, and he wraps his arms around her waist, caressing her bareness possessively, greedily. He soon draws her mouth to his own once more.

“Wendy,” he breathes, almost trembling. Her name alone is so delicate.

She looks at him and he is so proud of the fire in her eyes.

“I…” she begins, stopping and laughing nervously.

He couldn’t stop his own from breaking free. He picks her up just enough to spread her on his sheets, ready for the next bit.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. It’s a line he’s used on his targets before as he’s reeled them in. The answer’s always the same. Of course they do, why wouldn’t they?

But something in Wendy’s expression changes. There’s no hesitation in her eyes, but an unwavering defiance that changes everything.

“No, Killian,” she said with a sad smile. “I don’t trust you at all.”

Indeed, those few words change everything.

When she leans up to kiss him, he doesn’t return the gesture right away.

Wendy Darling is indeed not like the other women he’s dealt with. She’s young, charismatic, and worst of all, far from a fool.

Her hand strokes his jaw, turning him back to her.

“But I still want you,” she says, her very being glowing. “Is that alright?”

The man between her legs accepts her in earnest, those predatory eyes fluttered shut as he pressed into her hand.

Oh Wendy, run, he wants to say.

“That it is, love,” he says instead, sealing her fate.

Hours later Jones examined her in the fading moon light. The game had stopped. Maybe it had been over the second he asked Wendy her name.

She was breathing so tenderly, so calm despite the fact that she had just slept with someone who had been killing people longer than she’d been alive.

Unperturbed that she and her little friend below were teetering on death’s door.

He rose and dressed quietly, slipping the sheet fully around her body, but he didn’t kiss her temple despite how he desperately wanted to.

He heads below, pausing to grab a bottle of water, an act that surprises even him.

He makes his way below deck slowly, the form of his captive becoming clearer the closer he gets. Within a moment he make out the lad’s deadly glare.

“You fucker,” he wheezes.

Jones smirks. “Oh, so you heard?”

Pan lurched forward, thwarted by his shackles but the malice in his eyes didn’t die.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this!”

Jones chuckled, pulling a barrel forward as he reveled in one-upping the pious lad.

His smirk faded though as he thought of Wendy.

He was due to report back to his contact tomorrow afternoon. He was expected to report two deaths and he hadn’t managed to kill off the one before him.

Now as he stared at the glaring youth and his thoughts stayed on the blonde goddess above his head, for the first in his like Killian Jones was having second thoughts…about everything.

“You don’t know anything, do you?” Jones tested. Of course Pan didn’t respond.

Jones sighed. He couldn’t just let him go. He had been noticed by now. Jones heard whispers in the street of his disappearance. He needed to be dealt with now.

Jones uncapped the bottle he brought with him. Pan struggled to keep his eyes from following the sloshing of the water.

His capture held it out to his cracked lips. “Take it.”

Pan turned his head. No matter how much he needed it, he wouldn’t give in.

Jones growled and grabbed Pan by his hair, forcing his head down. He squeezed the bottle and water spewed all over Pan’s face and hair, the lad struggling fruitlessly in his grip as he cough and wheezed.

Jones threw him back, glaring at him as he cursed and shook the water off.

“What the fuck do you want!” Pan yelled.

Jones stood and backhanded him. “Shut up. You’ll wake her.”

Blood oozed from Pan’s right nostril, moistening his lips.

“I’m going to break your fucking neck!”

“I’m afraid you won’t get the chance,” Jones sighed as he flicked stray water droplets off his hands. “You see, boy, I have to end you soon.”

Pan’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t fret, I’ll be quick, simple. I’ll grant you that.”

“It’s lasted for days,” Pan reminded him with a snarl.

Jones shrugged. “As for our lovely Miss Darling …”

Pan paused, dreading the words that would come from his mouth next.

“Tell me,” Jones said, his tone sincere. “Do you think she’d dig further if I let her alone? Do you think she’d try to find your murderer once your bloated corpse washes up on shore?”

Pan gritted his teeth. Hearing her passion had disturbed him. He had yet to picture her in such a way, let alone with his damn kidnapper.

Now she was above him more close to death than he was, and he couldn’t save her.

And then there was the question of would she try to avenge him.

He hoped not. He truly did.

Jones tilted his head as Pan’s mind raced. He almost felt sorry for the boy, having such a lovely creature so close to his closed-off heart.

He stood, his decision made.

“Good night, boy,” he sighed, closing the door on his returning remarks.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Wendy’s eyes opened, the earliest rays of a new day awakening her.

She hadn’t meant to spend the night here, didn’t expect she’d be welcome.

Yet her bed partner was sleeping comfortably beside her, one his arms draped loosely on her waist, and she did indeed feel welcomed.

Maybe she could stay here a bit longer and enjoy the smell of sea air and warmth.

But natured called, and she did have to at least check her phone.

Maybe Pan…

No, she wouldn’t think about him.

Let him go…

She sighed and regrettably removed herself from Jones’s hold, blushing when the sheets scraped her naked skin.

It was hard to believe. She’d been beaten and traumatized but the idea of giving up her womanhood was what was having the most profound effect on her.

She wasn’t a virgin anymore. It was the last thing she’d managed to hold on to from before Storybrooke before all its insanity got its hooks into her.

Now, with her short hair and circled eyes, she truly wasn’t the same girl who’d left London over two months ago.

She was new, darker.

Pan had given her her start; Jones had pushed her over the edge.

And, despite the morals swimming in her head, she was glad.

She was glad it had been her choice, that it was something she had had complete control of.

She smiled as she put on her underthings and dress, stalling her movements to prevent from making a noise. Perhaps Jones would be interested in hearing her revelation when he awoke?

Perhaps he also wouldn’t mind if she searched for substance in his kitchen? That crawfish from last night was long gone.

She located her bag and cellphone and quietly escaped the room, swiping through app notifications that had all but drained her battery.

She stopped in the hallway when she saw she had seven missed calls, three of which were from Tink.

She had a series of missed texts from her as well.

Wendy, please call me.

Wendy, it’s important.

I know I hurt you, but please I need you to call me.

Do you know what happened to Pan? Have you see him at all?

Wendy glanced around and found a random door. The room seemed to be an office of sorts, or a collection room judging by all the memorabilia, but quiet enough to make a phone call.

She called Tink, her stomach turning with apprehension. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had noticed Pan’s absence then.

Tink answered after two rings.

“Wendy!” she said, her voice winded.

“Hey,” Wendy answered uncertainly. “What’s—”

“Where are you?” she cut in. “You – here – as soon as –”

“Tink?” Wendy said, moving around the room for a better signal. “You’re breaking up. What’s going on?”

“Wend—”

The line abruptly went quiet and Wendy cursed when she saw her phone had died.

She tossed her bag on Jones’s desk and untangled her charger from the rest of her belongings.

She squatted down to search under the desk, hoping to see a charging port, but there were too many boxes in the way.

She made a note to tease Jones’s about his hoarding as she pulled boxes out of the way, one of which was surprisingly lite and came out easily.

She stumbled a bit, tipping the box over and causing its contents to spill.

“Bloody hell,” she growled, her hands gathering the sheets of papers that had slipped out.

She shouldn’t have looked. Maybe it was journalist instincts that caused her to look down. It was defiantly trauma that made her bolt back when she saw the face on the paper.

Jekyll.

“No.”

No…no no��

It couldn’t be. How could Jones … why would he …

Her opposite hand fluttered around her, searching desperately for something to grab on to.

It brushed against something hard—a beeper? Hand’s shaking, she picked it up. She wasn’t sure what force was making her turn it on. She should be throwing it.

But it came to life and revealed its secrets.

WHY HAVEN’T YOU RESPONDED?

COMPRIMISED. BLUE EYES FOUND.

“Blue eyes,” Wendy pondered before the bluest pair of eyes she knew flashed across her mind. “Belle?”

PITY. YOU ARE NO LONGER OF ANY USED TO ME THEN.

GOODBYE.

That was it, and if Wendy had to guess Jekyll had had his brains blown out after receiving that message.

She dropped the beeper, wiping her hands frantically on her dress, not wanting any part of her on him.

She had been searching for Pan that night at the club. He had disappeared. She thought he abandoned her.

Jones had it. All this evidence that had been taken from…where? His secret lab under the hospital…

The car his corpse had been rotting in?

“I … I …”

Panic was setting in. The roots of her hair were standing straight up.

She could see Jekyll’s rotting corpse so clearly.

Pan had been there too. Talking to her. Keeping her from losing her mind.

She was searching for him in a sea of strangers. She felt so lost.

There had to be a logical explanation, right? Jones just picked up the beeper, found it somewhere …

She glanced at the overturned box again, full of Jekyll’s fucking face.

He didn’t pull them out of a dead man’s car, did he?

“Wendy?”

He heard him stop, seeing the mess around her.

She looked up at him and saw everything. The guilt of being caught, the secret of a man who had too many secrets.

And she knew right then that Jekyll wasn’t the only one.

It was like an arrow had gone straight through her skull, carrying a physical rage and boiling hurt that settled into one acidic fire.

She shot around, staring at the man who shot her, but only one thing—one person—had squirmed past the pain.

Pan hadn’t abandoned her…

And she needed him now.

She abandoned him.

“Where is he?”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Yeah, I don’t write sex scenes sorry ;p

Still, sorry for the, what, year-long wait? Yikes. Going through some stuff and I just haven’t felt like writing. Trying to get into again, so hold on tight!

#darling pan #darling pan fic #papers and sleuthers #wendy darling #peter pan #ouat #ouat fic #ryik's fics #captain hook #killian jones

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the-midnight-writer · 3 years ago

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Mafia Stories

One family, three separate gangs, three different stories. After the death of their father, the Rizzo family scrambles to get revenge. Mia enters a loveless and seemingly hopeless marriage. Enzo rushes to find a wife, when his feelings may get in the way. And Dante? Dante just uses his fist instead of his head. What will happen when buried secrets are uncovered and blood is shed?

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

Part 1: Mia Rizzo

It took seven hours to kill my father, and seven more to arrange my wedding. The Cartel murdered him, kidnapped him and beat him to death. The entire time he was gone, my brothers were going mad. Dante spoke of killing the entire Cartel family, and my oldest brother, Enzo stood silent.

That was until he left to make a phone call. By morning, he had a plan.

I was to be married to the leader of the Dragons, Mr. Yeomara. Our alliance would give us enough power to overtake the Cartel family. My brother never asked what I wanted. He didn’t have to. He was the new boss, the new Capo. Whatever he ordered of me was a direct command.

The days went by that I barely spoke to anyone. Barely ate. Barely slept. This marriage was consuming me from the inside out, until the very day.

****

I didn’t plan the wedding. Someone had, and I doubt it would have been my brother. I couldn’t picture Enzo sitting at a desk with wedding venues laying out in front of him. Even the thought of Enzo and wedding made me stifle a laugh.

“Is something funny?”

There was one person who I had by my side, Sophia.

“No, I was just thinking about the wedding.” I took a long look in the mirror at the stranger. It was me, but not. “Who chose this dress? Do you know?”

“Dante told me it was your mother. Maybe the wedding planner. It doesn’t really suit your style. Way too simple.”

She was right. My mother had picked out a wedding dress with long sleeves and a plunging neckline, made entirely out of silk. I would have preferred something not so bold when I met my husband for the first time.

“So you and Dante?” I said, really just trying for a moment to dissociate from my wedding. “You two seem to be getting along.”

I noticed that the corner of her lip lifted shyly. “It’s nothing. I wouldn’t date him unless my life depended on it. Besides, I don’t think he’s ready for a wife. Have you seen him brooding? It’s creepy.”

“He’ll get over it eventually.” I lied.

“Soon can’t come quick enough.” She took another strand of my brown hair and fasted to the back. The only authentic thing about my appearance was my hairstyle, even the diamond earrings I wore were a gift from Mr. Yeomara.

We both turn to the footsteps in the doorway. My brain has trained itself over time to listen carefully. That’s one of the perks in being a Rizzo. We listen better than anyone else.

“It’s time.” My brother, Enzo, extends an arm out for me to take. Since my father can’t walk me down the aisle, he saw it fitting that he would. Besides, It would solidify the rumor that he was in charge of this alliance, and therefore, he was responsible for the newfound Rizzo power.

My soon-to-be fiancé was standing at the end of the aisle, a cold unreadable look on his face. He was handsome, that I had to admit, but I barely knew him.

My mind floated outside of my body for the rest of the ceremony. It was like I wasn’t even there. I muttered “I do,” like I could even refuse and behaved like the obedient wife I was supposed to be.

I wouldn't love him, I promised. If I couldn’t control my life, then I would with my feelings and whatever happened, I would not allow myself to love him. Love had gotten my father killed, and love for power had gotten me here. Only when he kissed me, his cold lips pressed on mine, did I come back into myself.

#writing #mafia au #arranged marriage #enemies to lovers #fiction

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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 4 years ago

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Today in Strongly Worded Opinions (That You Didn't Ask For), I'm going to assert that there are too objective ways to measure whether or not a relationship is strong in story terms – by which I mean, unrelated to whether or not readers/viewers personally like the dynamic or the chemistry of the actors (in such cases as there are actors involved).

So for the sake of clarity, be ye advised: this isn't about shipping, fuck it, ship whatever you want idc. Shipping a strong relationship isn't inherently better than shipping a weak one – heck, you could just as easily argue that it's the lazier, less creative route. Also, I don't care? I don't care, it's just fandom. Follow your arrow. This is about ways to discuss whether or not a relationship introduced into a text succeeds or fails as an element of the story – or really as I'm going to prefer calling it, if a given relationship forms a strong or weak story element.

For this I'm presuming that you're creating a relationship between a protagonist and a secondary character introduced as a piece of the protagonist's overall story – protagonist/protagonist relationships aren't really a different situation, but they do have more moving parts, so for simplicity's sake, let's stick with a Main Character (we'll call that M) and a Significant Other (S for short). Also, these relationships by no means have to be romantic; any relationship can be measured as weak or strong in story terms.

Also, I'm going to say everything here as though it were factually true, even though it's just my opinion, which is correct, but if you disagree then it's only my opinion, but I am correct. Ready? Okay!

Strong relationships have story functions; in reality nothing means anything and people just like each other because they do, but fuck reality, it's a huge narrative mess. And my basic premise here is that the story function of a strong relationship falls under one (or more, if you wanna get real fancy) of these three categories:

The relationship can unlock under-explored elements of M's story or character through mirroring or intimacy (often shows up as “friends to lovers”). There is backstory that hasn't been unearthed yet, or some reaction or experience in M's life that could advance the story, and S can serve as a means to get at it. Maybe M and S share a similar trauma or life story; maybe S is the first person M feels able to open up to about something profound and relevant. Maybe part of M's story is a conflict between how they seem to others and how they see themselves or their own potential; maybe S is the person who sees them the way they see themselves...or sees M as the person they're afraid they'll never be. The story goal being met here is giving M a boost toward successful completion of their story arc, so even though there could be conflict, S is fundamentally pulling on the same side as M in the major story conflicts, in such a way that by the end, the reader should feel like M's success is at least in part because of what they gain from their relationship with S.

The relationship can function as a piece of the story's overall conflict, or as a secondary subplot conflict (often shows up as “enemies to lovers”). Traditional romance novel plotting effectively slots the love interest into the role of “antagonist,” because the romance's conflict is generally driven by people not getting what they want from each other until certain win conditions are met. In this kind of relationship, M and S might be actual-facts competitors, or be divided by ideological concerns, or they might be forced into proximity by the plot but clash on some personality level. The arc of this relationship is typically going to be about the M softening up as the relationship develops – if M starts out ruthlessly single-minded, maybe realizing that they're running roughshod over S in the process is part of their character breakthrough; if the story is about M realizing that they've underestimated the complexity of the world around them, maybe coming to recognize S as an equal is how that gets concretized for the reader. Basically this is a story where S presents a problem that M has to solve, and the more central to the narrative solving that problem is, the stronger the relationship is.

The relationship can serve to divide M's goals (often shows up as “love versus duty”). This is a story where M has to accomplish two separate things in order to fulfill their arc, but those two things aren't easily integrated. One of M's goals might be fulfilling a vow, or filial duty, or seeking revenge, and the other goal is some form of protecting or obtaining S. If the story puts M in a position of having to choose, then the relationship is inherently strong; it's providing narrative drive, whether or not S is especially well-developed as an individual character. This one can be tricky, because a very weak relationship can serve a superficially similar purpose, by demonstrating M's devotion to duty or obsessive pursuit of whatever when M rebuffs S to keep them out of harm's way or to avoid distraction or whatever. The difference is that in those superficial cases, the audience is meant to recognize that aw, that's sad, M has really had to Make Sacrifices – but there's really no dramatic tension involved; we know all along that M is going to Make Sacrifices in purusit of the real goal. When this is done seriously with a strong relationship, the audience is meant to feel divided as well; Romeo and Juliet just doesn't work as a story unless the audience likes Juliet and Mercutio, unless they fully identify with the dilemma that Romeo is in when he has to either avenge Mercutio's death or spare Tybalt for Juliet's sake and the sake of their future together. That's a big fucking story moment, and it only works because the audience buys both relationships – Romeo's with Mercutio and with Juliet – as narratively strong, to the point where Romeo's choice is not a forgone conclusion. This one is much easier to get wrong, I think, than the other two are!

What I'm saying here is that a strong relationship isn't really determined by how personally compatible two characters seem to be; a lot of movies that fridge a character's wife, for example, rely on actors convincingly portraying, in a brief window of time, two compatible people who care for each other – I'm thinking of, like, Richard Kimble and his wife in The Fugitive, who I think do sell the idea of a loving and happy marriage, but the relationship itself is a weak one. The story only really needs the bare fact of it – “Kimble had a wife that he loved and then this happened” – to kick off the actual story; the relationship between Kimble and Gerard is a stronger one narratively, because much of the emotional tension of the movie, what makes it more effective than just a series of chase scenes, is the way their mutual respect evolves as they compete against each other, and the story question of “Kimble really needs an ally, is this the right person for him to trust?” It's such a strong relationship that it comes as a huge relief of tension when he does make that gesture of trust and it turns out to be the right choice. The audience is happy that Kimble will be exonerated, but the audience is equally happy that the conflict between these two charcters is over – we didn't like them being at odds because we didn't want either of them to lose! Now, would these two people ever be close friends, let alone come to love each other? No? Yes? Who cares? Kimble loves his wife more, but has a stronger relationship in this story with Gerard. From a writing perspective, it's trivially easy to introduce an S and say “M loves this person,” but it means relatively little. It's harder to introduce an S and say “some part of this story now hinges on how M navigates knowing this person,” but that's kind of what has to happen in order to create a payoff that's worth the effort. A strong relationship provides skeletal structure for the story; it can't be stitched on at the margins.

This is an even tougher sell in something like a television series, where the introduction of S may come in well after the story is underway and the bulk of M's characterization is already in place. That's why introducing a late-season love interest is a notoriously dodgy proposition! To demonstrate weak vs strong relationship in action, I'm going to take an example of what I think was a failed attempt and pitch some ways to doctor it up into a strong relationship: Sam Winchester and Eileen Leahy.

This is objectively a weak relationship. She doesn't materially affect the metaplot of the series, or drive any major choices, or reveal anything about Sam's character. She's just, you know, generally nice and attractive and Sam likes her, which is a fine start, but then the writers just leave her idling in the garage forever. But it didn't have to be that way! Say we wanted to make it a Type 1 relationship: super easy, barely an inconvenience! Eileen is very like Sam, actually, in that she lost her parents as an infant and then had the entire rest of her life shaped by the trauma and the pursuit of revenge. That's amazing. How many other people, even hunters, share that specific experience with Sam Winchester? Sam was physically changed by drinking demon blood in infancy; Eileen was physically changed by being deafened by the banshee or whatever it was in infancy. Even just allowing them to talk about that would have made the relationship stronger. Sam is affected by the fact that there is no Before Time for him; even now that they've long since had their revenge on ol' Yellow Eyes himself, he grapples with the fact that he's forever robbed of any memories of innocence or safety or a life that wasn't lived in the shadow of this killing. Eileen also has had her life's quest for revenge fulfilled, and also has to reckon with the fact that it doesn't actually give her access to the innocence that was stolen from her. Maybe she struggles with that. Maybe Sam can open up to her because she knows what it's like to look back on your child self and feel that however strong you've made yourself, you're never strong enough to protect that child.

What if you want to write something spicier than Sam and Eileen talking about their sad feelings? Okay, let's take a Type 2 story. Eileen has been a lone hunter with a disability all her life; it's fair to guess that even if she can't match Sam's physical strength, the fact that she's survived at all means that she's pretty indomitable. Maybe she's had to be ruthless, even brutal in her hunting style; maybe she has a shoot-first-ask-questions-never approach to hunting that she credits with her very survival, but that Sam finds excessively rash and bloody. Maybe they fight about it. Have her kill some ambiguous, maybe-not-dangerous monstery types, a werewolf or something, and Sam's like, hey, we really can't just-- and Eileen is like, look, I hunt how I hunt, come with me or don't. I mean, this is a retread in some ways of early season conflicts about who to kill and when, but everything in the latter seasons is a retread anyway, so whatever, and it provides something interesting to have Sam deal with this whiplash of how there seem to be two Eileens, the smiley, jocular sweetheart who eats pancakes with him and the one who kills like she's swatting flies. What if he wants one but not the other? It doesn't really work that way, does it? Is this something he can dismiss as a foible, or is this a dealbreaker? The dude is almost forty, if he distances himself from Eileen, how many more hunters does he think he has a chance to meet and marry? If she won't even listen to his concerns seriously, is it really a good relationship anyway, or will Sam's needs always end up taking a backseat to Eileen's?

A Type 3 fix could just come down quite plainly to, what if Eileen is ready to retire? She's had her revenge. She's lived her life on the hunt. Maybe she's done, and maybe she wants Sam to be done with her. Doing this in season 15 would circle Sam back to his season 1 story conflicts in a nice way, I think – why does Sam do this at all, if it's not for revenge any longer? Does he feel personally responsible for every dead person he could've saved but didn't – is that a reasonable boundary, or lack thereof, to set? Is a compromise possible – could he continue to coordinate hunts while also getting out of the field and starting a family, or is that still putting his family in the shadow of too much violence and danger to tolerate? What's Dean going to say? He's pitched a fit in the past when Sam said he wanted out, but he's mellowed with age, hasn't he? Maybe he'll get it now? But maybe Sam also feels guilty and fearful, because he knows Dean will hunt without him, so now he's in more danger because of Sam's choices, if Sam makes this choice. It's a little heteronormative, as story conflicts go, but it's thematically appropriate to Supernatural, and the fact that Eileen isn't speaking out of timidity but out of the same weariness that Sam has so often felt about the whole endless cycle makes it feel a little less “the little lady won't let me go on adventures anymore.” This might not be my pick of the three, but the point is that it makes for a strong conflict, a legitimate divided loyalty for Sam to wrestle with, and one that doesn't have a clear right answer.

Anyway, hopefully that helps illustrate what I mean when I say that the narrative strength of a relationship doesn't have anything to do with how likeable an S character is – Eileen is very likeable! But that doesn't substitute for building her into the fabric of the story in some way. My expectation is that a serious protagonist relationship should bend the story arc in a way that requires response, and if it doesn't, I don't take that relationship particularly seriously. Canon can declare a relationship real by fiat, but it can't automatically declare a relationship meaningful without, you know, making meaning of it.

Oh, and there's not anything really wrong with weak relationships – most M's are going to have several in the story. My point is just that the difference between a weak relationship and a strong one isn't really a matter of taste or preference, but has a functional meaning that can be tested and measured, and if there's argument to be had about it, the argument can take place on evidentiary grounds. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

#apparently i give writing advice now?

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years ago

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Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

“Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise.

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury.

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky…

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here.

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury @aberrant-annie

#inhuman #loki x reader #loki x soulmate reader #loki #mcu #marvel #avengers #Captain america #steve rogers #iron man #tony stark #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanoff #black widow #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch

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whentheynameyoujoy · 4 years ago

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Women in SPN—Is it Really That Bad?

TL;DR: Somewhat, yeah, it kinda is.

This is going to be a series of long ones, people.

Before I jump head first into this giant vat of weird toxic shit, let me say something:

The thing about most of the female characters is that on their own? They’re perfectly fine, ranging from serviceable to the occasional flash of thematic brilliance. Barely any of them qualify as “this is hateful on its face and incompetent regardless of context and the writers should feel bad for ever conceiving of it”, i.e. the normie benchmark for justified criticism. It’s only when you put these characters next to each other that a worrying pattern emerges;

Although discussions about sexism in the media were very much a thing in the mid-2000s, as well as shows with characters whose primary role wasn’t to serve a man’s needs, I can’t honestly claim that the flaws of SPN are out of the norm for its time; and

The first few seasons could really do with a PSA at the start of each episode, something along the lines of “A part of the reason why female characters are killed off or written out with such regularity is rabid superfans who couldn’t abide anything with tits brushing against J2, srsly, the writing team and the 2000s’ fan base were a match made in hell, except it wasn’t the writers who couldn’t do with bitching on their LiveJournals about the gall of women to exist in the show, choosing instead to harass the creators and actresses and wives and call them every sexist insult under the sun AND I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE HAS THERE EVER BEEN A CESSPIT AS DISGUSTING AND NUKEWORTHY AS THE SPN FANDO—“

Anyway.

SPN has a legacy (as a posterchild for not knowing when to bow out gracefully, but legacy nonetheless) and isn’t watched in 2005 but in the year of our Lord Today. Meaning that as time goes by, the issues surrounding the show’s production retreat into the background and only what’s on the screen remains, to be judged on its own merits.

So let’s run down a list of the more noteworthy and relevant female characters of the first arc, focusing on their characterization, role in the narrative, and end. In the conclusion to this series of posts, the sum of characters will be analyzed as a whole to see if there are any unique tendencies in the show’s handling of women as opposed to that of men. I’ll do this for the original five seasons as the recent finale went out of its way to say that nothing after season 5 was strictly speaking necessary so why bother.

(Also because I died of frustration in season 8 and vowed not to subject myself to any more of the post-apocalypse fanfic era)

Angels, while strictly speaking genderless clouds of energy, will be classified as men or women depending on the apparent gender of the vessel they spend most of the time riding. The same goes for demons where I also take into account their stated gender while they were alive. That’s because although beings like Meg, Ruby, Anna, or Lilith can’t technically be considered women in the show’s present day, their consistent preference for conventionally attractive and/or female vessels throughout the original arc makes claims of genderlessness essentially meaningless. For all intents and purposes, we’re watching girls and women on screen.

Baby—the only true NB of the first run

All right, time to jump.

Say hi to our ladies!

Mary Winchester

Killed in the very first scene to give the story a reason to exist, she remains an active presence throughout the first arc where she has a wide-reaching influence on the plot and characters, driving the conflict on several levels. Fleshed-out more and more with each appearance to be more than just “the dead mom”, she’s portrayed as protective, pro-active, capable, and assertive, mirroring the duo’s desire for normal life and their inability to have it. Her story comes full-circle in season 5 when the personal tragedy of her fate is embedded in the wider tragedy of the Winchester family curse and the overall theme of destiny.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major

On her own: Textbook example of fridging… and that tropes aren’t bad in and of themselves.

Jessica Moore

Comparatively, if anyone doubts fridging can evolve into something meaningful, Jess drives the point home by having no personality and no point but to prop up her boyfriend before she ends up pinned to the ceiling, the reveal of which is the most interesting thing about her entire existence. At best she’s a symbol of Sam’s civilian life, at worst an obstacle to be removed for the story to happen.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major in terms of manpain, non-existent otherwise

On her own: A cardboard cut-out, barely qualifies as a character

Missouri Moseley

A psychic and the primary reason why John Winchester even knows to wipe his ass. Appears once over the course of the first arc yet everyone wants her to come back years later—that’s how awesome she is. Has this fantastic trait of being compassionate and empathetic while not taking a single speck of shit from anyone, especially when it comes from the two main dumbos who might just as well have been raised in a barn. Is very particular about the pristine state of her coffee table.

Status: Alive as of s5, killed in s13 (wait, what?)

Importance: Major…ly wasted potential

On her own: As strong a character as Bobby Singer, and as worthy of being elevated to the main cast.

Lori Sorensen

The writers can’t figure out why anyone in the universe would care about Jess either so they insert an intentionally awkward romance subplot to convince people the time’s not yet ripe for Sam to stop grieving and start slaying. The result’s… erm… well, awkward. Lori’s naïve, sheltered, devout though accepting of her non-repressed friend, and sort of on a religious crossroads because of her hypocritical preacher father. I guess the virginal power of her virginal virginity does… something in the plot? Primarily a vehicle for Sam to mark the stages of his moving on.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: A bit done. Like a bit lot. Like a “could be a trope namer” bit lot.

Meg

Boom, baby!

Arguably the chief antagonist of season 1 and one of the best things about it. The first one to point out the pervasive toxicity of the Winchester family business, so props for perceptiveness. Possesses the standard qualities of a lower-level henchman—manipulative, no-nonsense, and quietly sinister which, while not exactly groundbreaking, sets her apart from the other bad guys in the season as they tend to have no distinguishing characteristics at all. Plus Nicki Aycox makes the role seem more unique and “lived-in” by projecting a sense of understated amusement at the two main chucklefucks. Is one of S1’s turning points in blurring the lines between monsters and humanity. Has a face transplant twice—once to have revenge (good on her) and the other time to pursue someone else’s goals again before getting stomped into the ground like a mook.

Status: Alive as of s5 (?), killed in s8

Importance: Major

On her own: The actresses do most of the heavy lifting. Which doesn’t mean I don’t love watching the character burst onto the scene and announcing the end of the Winchester brand of bullshit.

Layla Rourke

A terminal cancer patient in a religious cult, she’s a more mature take on a Lori-type character and the themes of faith and doubt. Serves as a conduit for Dean’s budding survivor guilt, self-loathing, and sense of worthlessness. Is kind and cheerful, with strong hints that she’s relying on forced optimism to get through the days; also understanding of the circumstances of others while realistically freaked about the possibility of death. Weirdly, she enters the episode already in a state of acceptance and leaves it just as accepting when it’s confirmed that yeah, she’ll die soon. All expressions of anger at the injustice and senselessness are left to her mother which somewhat undermines the “struggling” portion of Layla’s character and renders the final scene where she makes peace with her fate a bit hollow.

Status: Implied dead

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Dean’s development

On her own: I want to like her, I really do, just… if only she were allowed to get pissed, once.

Cassie Robinson

Dean’s ex and that’s pretty much all there is to her. I struggle to pinpoint a single personality trait of hers—the 2000s idea of a “strong woman” and “not like other girls”, perhaps? Undermined as a love interest because TPTB don’t show the happy or any parts of her relationship with Dean so really, why should anyone care if two sniping assholes with little to no chemistry get back together? Memorable for being in a horribly scored softcore scene which YouTube tries to convince me lasts for shy over a minute, not the week I remember it to. Involved in the show’s first and last attempt at incorporating the issue of anti-black racism.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: She’s in the racist truck episode. ‘Nuff said.

Sarah Blake

A sophisticated people-person conversationalist with a love of high art and a deep sense of introspection. Ascends to the state of godhood by being able to pull off pigtails while adult. Bonds with Sam over responding to loss by crawling into a shell but deciding to move on. Doesn’t care for your fancy schmancy fine dining, Romeo. Isn’t ashamed to openly talk feelings which includes her explicitly asking Sam if they have a thing going on (honestly, this is such a breath of fresh air for a normcore romance). Despite being scared out of her wits, she refuses to be shoved into the helpless civilian box after learning about the existence of the supernatural; Dean creates a Pinterest wedding board in response.

Status: Alive as of s5, pointlessly dragged back to be murdered in s8

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Sam’s development

On her own: A great love interest that has enough writing behind her to fool you into thinking she’s something more.

Up next, whenever I feel like it, seasons 2 and 3!

#spn #spn critical #supernatural #supernatural critical #sexist writing #mary winchester #missouri moseley #meg masters #sarah blake #layla rourke

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1-800-seo · 5 years ago

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1-800-𝗦𝗘𝖮'𝘀 𖣘 "𝗬𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝘆 (𝗨𝗻𝗶)𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲"

- 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗑 𝖸/𝖭

- 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿/𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄/𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖽/𝖾2𝗅/𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾 𝖠𝖴

- 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 (𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌), 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗃𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌

- 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 2984

- 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾'𝗌 𝗀𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗄.

doing laundry is absolutely one of your least favourite things in the world beside soggy socks

so you’re in a bad mood as soon as you walk into the campus launderette to say the least

the launderette is empty bar one dude you’d seen around the global technics centre

if you remember rightly he’s a European studies major

odd choice but you do you and all that

now you’re not weird or anything but you have a preference on what type of washing machine you use

I know I know kind of unorthodox

but the old washing machines take 30 mins longer so you’d prefer a newer one

unfortunately the only one left is directly next to this familiar-faced stranger and his laundry

your better judgement is telling you no but your impatience is telling you yes

and so you dump your laundry onto the floor next to the stranger and his and start sorting through for all your whites

your piles mingle a tad as they overlap beside each other like Venn diagrams of assorted underwear and other garments

his consisting of only whites

yours a jumbled mess since you had to wash all of your stuff

in sync you both pick up your washing and put it into the machine

you catch his dark wide eyes as you both straighten up and he lets out an awkward low-voiced giggle

your cheeks immediately flush pink and a bashful smile creeps up to your lips

“you’re from the global centre, right?”

you ask testing the waters

“I am, I’m a European studies major, my name’s Jungkook. I recognise you, you’re in linguistics class right?”

“Yeah, I’m a linguistics major so you’ll mostly see me there, it’s nice to meet you Jungkook”

you say with a smile as your hands fidget with the door handle of the washing machine

“It’s nice to meet you too, I thought I recognised you from somewhere, but it’s because I see you sometimes when I have to do extra credit European language projects. What’s your name?”

he says tilting his head like a curious puppy

“its ______”

you say as you bow to him politely

“Can I ask you something? I have to do a project on European languages and their similarities to others. The professor wants us to speak to outsiders for references so would I be able to collab on a project with you sometime in the future, if it’s not too much to ask?”

he averts his eyes from yours and blushes lightly

“Oh yeah sure, that’s no issue! It’ll be beneficial to me too because the linguistics portion of the course is coming up soon, so it’s a great idea.”

you beam at him

“Could I get your number?”

their is a pause that feels like an eternity between your next words and his last

the cause of this is your mind being far too focused on his wavy dark hair and his clear doe eyes

you snap out of your daze

“yeah totally, one sec”

you pull out your phone from your backpack on top of the washing machine and input his contact name and number as he reads it out

“Thanks for that, it’ll be a big help, let me know when you want to link up” he replies

and with that you had his number and continued on with your washing

21/10 18:32

Jungkook ༄ : not to be accusatory but do you happen to own a pair of RED socks?

You: yes, why do you ask??

Jungkook ༄ : well ALL of my washing seems to be PINK!!

You: just because I own a pair of red socks doesn’t mean it was me 😠

Jungkook ༄ : yes but you were the only one in the launderette when I was there,,

Jungkook ༄ : smh gonna be turning up to class in pink tshirts and and socks, everyone be thinking ive made a new fashion choices when it’s really just because SOMEONE can’t keep their clothes separate from others B/

You: 1) it’s not my fault that my socks decided to migrate to new lands

You: 2) why, are you scared of pink or something? your ego too fragile to wear a ‘woman’s colour’?

You: 3) did you really use a sunglasses sad face emoticon lol

Jungkook ༄ : girl u owe me big time for all these clothes you ruined 😩

Jungkook ༄ : also im not scared of pink I just dont want to be wearing pink shirts to all of my formal events for the next ten years

Jungkook ༄ : and yes im sWaG so my emoticons are sWaG duh

You : ruined? ruINED? RUINED? I did not ruin anything, I simply spiced up your wardrobe boo x

You : oh no he’s a 2012 hype beast 🤦🏻‍♀️

Jungkook ༄ : how dare you call me something so sacreligious as a hypebeast!!

Jungkook ༄ : I am gucci not channel thank you very much

Jungkook ༄ : anyways I gtg write a report, speak soon red socks

Seen ✓

Jungkook was in fact not writing a report

he was planning revenge dun dun dun~~~

his plan was to do the exact same thing you had done to him

but he had to be cunning about it

and so the week went on

he was scrolling through twt when he received a new follower

it was the one and only @_______

and lo and behold their last tweet was “tysm Seokjin oppa for buying me a personal washing machine,, now I can do my most hated thing but at home!!”

hehehe

an idea sprung into kookie’s head

he didn’t have to try and spike your washing at the launderette

he could do it in a place you’d never suspect,, your home

now he only had to find out where you lived

just stalkerish tingz

he had to be lowkey about this

so he decided to ask his best mate and social butterfly of a friend Taehyung whether he knew you

and of course he did lol

“Hell yeah I know where she lives, she had the best party of the whole term, Jimin was so drunk he started chatting himself up in the mirror”

“Damn that sounds like a good time, probs should start going to these parties you invite me to”

“defo should, anyways I’ll tell u as long as you promise not to spread the information or use it for pervy or questionable reasons”

“I promise not to spread it or use it for pervy or questionable reasons”

he replies in monotone voice and his hand on his chest like an oath

and so that was how he acquired your address

simple enough really

and so that’s the events that lead him to be crawling through your dorm window however paused like a deer in headlights at the questionable sounds coming from the room across

he was squatted on the window ledge like spider man, red sock in hand and hood up

it was 9:00pm and your university apartment was supposed to be empty at this time

you had your class on now but he hadn’t accounted for your roommate

hence why he had frozen at the unsavoury sounds echoing round the apartment

low moans and grunts emanated from the room across

dEsGöStEn

he had to get to the kitchen without alerting the dusk time love makers

he could do it if the floor plan was the same as his apartment block and he bet his reputation on that

if he got caught he’d never hear the end of it from his mates and your roommate might even call the campus police if they were spooked enough

and so he clambered through your bedroom window and onto your bed underneath

unmade bed might he add but what did he expect from a uni student

with wide eyes he listened for any noise of suspecting roommates and examined your room

the desk was littered with papers and an oversized lava lamp stood stout in the corner of the room

a lacy bra was hung over your wardrobe handle

he shoved away the idea of you wearing it and continued with his night time plot

slowly and stealthily he crept through the halls of the apartment and out to the kitchen

on the maiden was already a neatly hung load of whites

he’d have to assume it was yours otherwise he’d have to go back to your room to get laundry

he bundled up the clothes and shoved them in the washing machine with the incriminating red sock he’d brought and set it to economy spin

round and round it spun, getting progressively louder as it went

he had to get out of there asap

tip-toeing as he went past the questionable lewd noises, he finally made it to your bedroom

he made one last check to see if he’d left any damage in your room

his eyes fell upon that same bra

damn his manhood making him think predictably

he shoved the thought away and departed

25/10 22:08

You: what in the hell did you do to my washing!!!?!!!

You: unless it was a ghost it HAD TO BE YOU JEON 🤬

Jungkook ༄ : wym I don’t even know where you live 😑

Jungkook ༄ : what’ve you done now?

You: IT HAS TO BE YOU!! SOMEONE FRIGGIN TURNED MY WASHING PINK AND I PROMISE YOU IT WASNT ME

Jungkook ༄ : how would i do that?? I don’t have like magic clothes dyeing skills boo

You: I SWEAR it was you!!

You: what do you want to bet it was u

Jungkook ༄ : I won’t bet anything I’m poor

You: that means you did it!

Jungkook ༄ : if you come with me to Taehyung’s party tomorrow I’ll tell u everything

Jungkook ༄ : but only if you go, that’s the terms of agreement

You: that’s all the incriminating evidence I need!! you basically just admitted to it you know?

You: however for reasons sake I will attend 👀

Jungkook ༄ : see you then red socks x

You: I suppose u will x

time passed quickly and soon it was Taehyung’s party

You’d known Taehyung since middle school however since starting college you hadn’t seen much of him

schedules clashed often so the only time you got to see him was at a good party

nothing wrong with that, you just probably haven’t had a completely sober conversation with him in 2 years

he’s good fun, Taehyung, so you hoped Jungkook wasn’t as much as a killjoy as he’d been this week

his little antics (that you’d yet to figure out) had caused your work uniform to turn bright pink

and thus the ‘pink princess’ nickname at work began

you felt like sharpay, everyone in white, but you pink

you’d quite like to knock Jungkook down a peg after that

and so you made your way to the infamous Taehyung’s party

he welcomed you as you entered the large door of his fraternity house

behind his head of black curls you could see the mess that is a raging college party

young people, at assumably different levels of intoxication, were everywhere

some were stood all the way up the expanse of the stairs even

you looked around and spotted a familiar brunette in the kitchen sat on the large marble counter tops

he’s chatting to some pink haired girl beside him

you stalk up to him like a woman on a mission and jokingly (a little too hard for jokingly) push his shoulders with both hands

he immediately snaps his head round to face you and his eyes widen with shock

“I have a bone to pick with you.” you say as stern as you can

you grab hold a fistful of his black T-shirt and drag him into a side room

once you enter only then do you realise it’s a laundry room

how fitting 👀

you say “Come on, tell me how you did it.” as you cross your arms and glare at him

“Did what?”

“you know what I mean, don’t play dumb with me, how did you turn all of my washing pink, and might I add, my work uniform too!”

“Ohhh that, it was far too easy. You really should keep your windows locked when you’re out.” he says as he laughs, like the whole thing is amusing

“So you’re telling me you broke into my apartment?! How did u know where I live??”

at this point you’re pacing around the room, arms flailing wide at the sudden discovery

“Well, I may or may not have asked Taehyung, and he told me, and then I entered, I did not break into your apartment. Anyway, I didn’t touch anything but the washing machine and I had the lovely experience of being serenaded by your roommate’s sex symphony.”

he made a step forward towards you, almost in a challenging way

“Oh I’ll be having harsh words with him later...” you say as you uncross your arms and put them on your hips.

you stand thinking for a second before it sinks in

“Wait.. what did you hear? You said sex symphony, right?”

“Uh yeah, your roommate was proper going at it with someone. At least he had the decency to do it whilst you were out, I guess.” He chuckled

“Oh my days, that means Hobi must’ve had Hyerim round! Go him I guess, but also ewww”

“Anyways we’ve bounced around the issue enough here, you ruined my clothes and broke into my apartment!” you exclaim backing up against the wall

Jungkook starts to close the gap between you two

“So? What’re you going to do about?”

your back pressed flush with the wall, you start to realise how close he really is

you can see the small freckles that dot the bridge of his nose, the thick eyelashes that frame his eyelids, the totally sinful look in his eyes

like this you start to realise how shockingly handsome he is

no wonder he has a slight reputation in class

you had no idea why he was looking at you this way

“I-I’ll call campus security..” You begin

“Will you really now?” he retorts as he slams his hand into the wall behind you, caging you in

“I w-will” a whisper that falls on deaf ears

before you even register, his lips have attached themselves to yours and you feel his thumb under your jaw

he works his lips against yours and you feel your legs start to tremble

he tastes sweet and robust, like syrup on your tastebuds

you mould into his kiss and then break away, panting for air, wanting more

everything felt so wrong, yet so right at the same time

it was as if your current issue had melted away and the only thing you could focus on was the way he looked at you and how his soft lips felt against yours

“J-Jungkook? What’re we doing?” you asked, a giggle leaving you

you rest your head against chest, clasping at his tshirt

“I couldn’t resist, you’re so hot when you’re angry”

he places a firm kiss against your cheek, takes your hand in his, and leads you back to the party

you couldn’t believe you’d just done that, let him kiss you so easily

but once you let him, it felt so right, like it was supposed to be that way, him lapping you up like a parched man to water

it felt so natural to have his arm round your waist like it was now

the pair of you approached Taehyung, still clutched together

“What happened to you two? I heard _____ went off on one and then you both were missing for ages. And now you both show up all over each other... what went down 👀”

“Well you know, hate and love are both forms of passion.” Jungkook says with a smirk

“excuse me? Assuming I love you? I let you kiss me once and you say it’s love? I’ll show you love” you retort

“Oooh she’s feisty; so you kissed? Damn, things’re moving quickly for you two, one minute Jungkook’s asking me for your address, the next you’re sucking each other’s faces off. I’m one of hell of a wing man, if I do say so myself.”

Taehyung flips an imaginary lock of hair out of his way like a sassy high school cheerleader

You both just laugh, at Taehyung, and because of how crazy it is,

It’s almost like you didn’t know you liked him like that until it smacked you in the face

“Do you want a drink? A beer?” Jungkook asks pouring himself a glass of punch

“That’d be great, thank you” you reply as you realise how much more time you want to spend with this annoying but totally handsome dork of a boy

༄ 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀! ༄

This was just a little fic I wrote a while ago which had formatting errors so I fixed it for y’alI, Hope you enjoyed it ☺️ Let me know what you thought of it and feel free to like and reblog <3

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lovebitesimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Dangerous Love- Coffin.

Guys. We are almost at the end of Dangerous Love, my very first series. My baby. I don’t know how to feel!

Masterlist.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

Tag list: @happyhostforsymbiotes @brianaisasongbird @crazymofos021 @lifetimeofadventue @itsmissdahliahayward @1opinionshared @arthurscarnival @thinkingsofamadwoman @shadow-of-wonder @anytimebitches @christinawxxx @biba3434 @onlythechicagoway @accio-aesthetic @mortalflower @mollybegger-blog @13frogges @queencoraline3 @dylanlover24

@blindedbytheblinderss

Wanna be on the tagged list? Just drop me a message! x

Warnings: small spaces, implications of death, violence, kidnapping, swearing.

This is an emotional chapter. Please do not read if you believe you may be affected x

A coffin arrives at the Shelby’s door.

TOMMYS POV.

Tommy had done a lot of bad things within his lifetime, a lot of things he shrugged off. He was an expert in hiding his true emotions from everyone and everything, masking how he felt within countless amounts of opium. Everyone knew of Tommy Shelby as the cold hearted, calculated leader of the Peaky Blinders. Everyone thought of him as incapable of loving anyone but himself. He could no longer keep up this insensitive charade, the mask he had spent so long forming, slowly slipping. He had failed at the one thing he had promised, the singular most important thing to him.

He had failed at protecting you.

Tommy knew that the moment he had laid eyes upon Alfie, that you were not with him. Alfie Solomons was a lot of things, but a good liar he was not. There was no possible way that he could hide his true emotions for you, Tommy knew that. When he saw a broken version of the typically hardened London gangster, he knew that he had no idea where you were. Panic rose in Tommy’s throat, tightening its grip around his pale skin.

“(Y/N) is missing. We haven’t seen her in three days”

Tommy could barely get the words out of his mouth, as he met Alfie’s eyes. The mans expression mirrored his own, worn out and anxious. Tommy barely flinched when Alfie shot up, an animalistic roar tearing out from his throat. He barely moved as the mans fingers locked around his throat, only to hold a hand up to stop his brothers from intervening. His eyes never left Alfie’s, watching as his grip loosened, the gangster breaking down in front of him. He held Alfie as he sank to his knees, tightening his jaw as he held back emotions of his own.

“I fuckin’ love her Tommy” Alfie stated, the four words loud and heavy within the room.

“I know. We’ll fix this. We’ll find her. I promise” Tommy responded; his own words weighted around his throat. Tommy Shelby had made a lot of promises that he could not keep.

What if this, was one of those?

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

Three days soon melted into a week. Each passing day that dragged by with no sign of you, chipped away at any hope that your family had. They were no closer to knowing who you were with, where you were, if you were safe. Tommy had every Peaky Blinder and Alfie Solomons out searching for you, and he was still no closer to finding out.

He sat down alone at the dining table, sinking his head into his hands. His head felt heavy, his eyes drooping down with sleep. Yet he could not bring himself to close his eyes, because every time he did, the darkness conjured up images of you. His mind kept on turning to your childhood, and how he had sworn on that day he would protect you. Tommy swallowed hard, as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. As a result of his own selfishness, he had failed and the knowledge tormented him.

Tommy was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps entering the room. He glanced up, the eyes of his family and Alfie refusing to meet his own. He could read their thoughts, written clear upon their faces. They stunk of disappointment, both in him and the lack of information surrounding your disappearance. Everybody was desperate to find you, frustration growing as each day passed without you.

“Any update?” Tommy asked with a sigh, sitting up straighter within his chair. His heart sunk at the sight of his family, their shoulders drooped in despair. Arthur shook his head, his eyes briefly looking up to meet Tommy’s.

“None. Still got Isaiah and Finn out there with the lads now” Arthur grunted in response, his eyes flickering back down to where his hands rested upon the table. Tommy swallowed back the disappointment that was thick in his throat. It was an answer he had expected, yet the bitter taste still poisoned him.

“We can’t give up hope yet. We will find (Y/N)” Tommy stated, hoping his voice would sound optimistic within the darkness of the room.

“It’s been a week Tommy. A fucking week. We’ll be lucky to find her alive” Pol snapped, her hand resting upon Alfie’s arm, comforting him. Her words stung, yet it was what had been taunting everyone’s thoughts. It was a scenario they had all privately prepared themselves for.

“I’m fucking trying, alright?” Tommy snapped, casting his head back in frustration. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fingers tightening their grip upon the arm rests of his chair. “I want to find her just as much as you all”.

The conversation was interrupted by a loud banging, the doors slamming open, the wood panels splintering as they crashed against walls. Finn ran into the room, his skin pale as he struggled to catch his breath. Chairs scraped against the tiles, as everyone stood up in anticipation.

“What’s the matter Finn?” Tommy asked, making his way over to his younger brother.

“Coffin. A coffin has been delivered outside” Finn stated, struggling to get his words out in between each breath.

A coffin.

What if this was a sign?*****************************************************************************************************

ALFIES POV

Alfie wasn’t a good man. He had done some terrible things within his lifetime and had built up a reputation that many feared. He knew what strangers thought about him, the ways their eyes refused to meet his own speaking volumes. You were different. You had never made Alfie feel like an outcast, or that his reputation was one to be feared. In fact, you were the only person who had never shied away from him, who was never afraid to stand up to him. You had made him a better man.

And now you were gone.

And Alfie was lost.

He hadn’t slept in a week. Every time Alfie had closed his eyes in an attempt to snatch a few moments, he was haunted by the endless possibilities of what had happened to you, each image far more darker than the last. He couldn’t help but assume the worst, due to the nature of your relationship and who you were. Countless people wanted a taste of revenge.

Alfie sat down beside Pol, the two forming a close friendship over the past couple of days. He had shared moments of grief with each member of the Shelby family, something which had surprised him. His eyes where focused upon the table in front of him, transfixed by the etches within the wood. He did not care much for conversations right now, preferring to be out on the streets helping find you. Pol and Esme had insisted that he take a few moments rest, refusing to accept no for an answer.

He jumped up at the sound of the doors slamming open, ignoring the way that hope cruelly rose within him. What if it was you? What if you had come back?

Alfie frowned slightly as Finn came running in, his heart sinking at the clear signs of distress the young man displayed. He was frantically trying to catch his breath, having obviously rushed to get here. Panic gripped at Alfies throat. Whatever the news was, he knew that it wasn’t good.

“Coffin. A coffin has been delivered outside” Finn breathed. Alfie pushed past him, rushing out to the front door, the members of the Shelby family following close behind.

And there it was.

Alfie sunk to his knees, unable to verbally express his despair as he became strangled by grief. His whole word had been knocked out from underneath his feet. A coffin lay in front of him, blood stains decorating the brown oak. Nails where haphazardly stuck upon the lid and the sides, the wood dented in places. You were in there; he just knew it. He felt Esme place a hand upon his shoulder, watching as the other members of the family succumbed to their emotions, instantly assuming the worst.

He couldn’t save you.

“Isaiah. Crowbar. Now!” Tommy yelled, watching as the young man scuttled off in search for one. Silence fell upon the family for a few brief moments, broken by the occasional heartbroken sob. Alfie hadn’t moved, his eyes focused upon the coffin which lay before him, his mind whirling back to the last moments you had spent together.

If only he could turn back time.

Isaiah came back after a few minutes, silently passing the crowbar over to Tommy. He placed the tip at the edge of the lid, prizing the lid open with a grunt, the wood splintering with the force. Metal clattered against the concrete floor, as Tommy dropped the crowbar.

What had he seen?

*****************************************************************************************************

YOUR POV

You hadn’t much memory of the past week, having been locked away in darkness. You had rarely heard voices, apart from the occasional few that had shouted through the door at you. You could tell that these where amateurs, not used to the business which they had thrust themselves into. That fact had brought you little comfort.

You hadn’t flinched when they lashed out at you, inflicting endless amounts of torture in an attempt to steal information from you. You hadn’t flinched when they had plotted your death, the words floating through into your room. You hadn’t flinched when they had bound your wrists tightly together, the rope sharply cutting through your skin. You hadn’t flinched when they stuffed fabric within your mouth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of you choking. You hadn’t flinched when they slammed the lid down on the coffin, the nails digging into your skin.

It was the end, and you had accepted that. You had nothing to live for anymore, the loss of Alfie destroying any motivation you once had to fight. You were numb, emotionless and prepared. Death would be a welcome friend, and you could not wait to fall into its arms.

You had heard the engine start, felt the vibrations as you moved along the road. Each bump causing the nails to gouge deeper into your skin. It hurt, you could not deny that, as tears began to stream down your face, pooling in the shallows of your collarbone. You could feel your blood begin to stain your skin.

This was how it ended.

You cried out as they slammed the coffin down upon concrete floor, once the engine had come to a stop, the fabric pushing down further into your throat. Your eyes closed as gun shots rang out within the car, a silent prayer forming within your mind. You had never prayed to a God before, but now? Now you were desperate. You felt as if you were floating, beginning to grow numb to the pain, each breath beginning to become rare. Time was running out.

This was how it ended.

“Isaiah. Crowbar. Now!”.

You heard your elder brother yell, your eyes shooting open at the familiar sound. You wanted to scream out that you were in the coffin, fighting against the urge to slam your hands against the lid. You wanted to let your family know that you were alive, that everything was okay.

You wanted to see them, before time ran out.

The lid splintered in front of you, wincing as the nails where sharply pulled from your skin. You blinked, adjusting to the almost unfamiliar light, the sound of metal ringing as it hit the floor. You felt arms around you, lifting you up from where you had laid, the fabric pulled from your throat. You gasped, welcoming the cool air that filled your lungs, your eyes meeting that of your brothers. You began to sob, your fingers weakly clinging onto the fabric of his shirt. Your eyes scanned over your family members, watching relief wash over them, before you met Alfies.

He slowly reached out for you, Tommy gently passing you into his arms. You buried your head into his neck, his familiar, musky scent calming you. His arms wrapped tightly around you, as if they were afraid you would disappear if he let you go.

“Come back to me love” he whispered so only you could hear. You lifted your head up slightly, pressing your lips gently against his own.

This was how everything began.

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tuxiedjabberwock · 4 years ago

Text

The Centurion and the Black Angel - Kid Icarus one-shot

When Pit gives his life on the battlefield to save Dark Pit's, he decides to look into a new Mirror of Truth in order to bring him back. ...He really should have thought things through better.

Category: Games » Kid Icarus Author: Sqydd Language: English, Rating: Rated: T Genre: Angst/Tragedy Published: 11-04-20, Updated: 11-04-20 Chapters: 1, Words: 11,074

Fanfiction.net

AO3

Quotev

"Pittoo?"

A dream. A bad, horrible, dreadful, unthinkable dream, that's what it was. After all, it was too improbable to be the real deal, wasn't it? To see that insufferable mouth sealed shut, a deep crimson staining his lips; those blue eyes which always sparkled with energy and life gazing blankly to the sky.

"Pittoo? What's the situation? Where is Pit?"

I'm wondering that too, he thought, slipping a hand under dampened hair and lifting his head from where it fell into the shallows. Pit's laurel crown was buried in the pond's muck; Dark Pit pulled it free with his other hand and replaced it where it belonged.

"I'm coming down there to check on you. Don't move, especially if you're badly injured; you can bleed out."

Blood… That was a funny thing. Humans bled profusely when struck by divine weaponry. That blood was almost scalding until it began to cool against the lukewarm swamp water, and it congealed at Dark Pit's ankles where they rested at the shoreline. The shadow of his Silver Bow fell over them from where it stood impaled in a soldier's chest with the setting sun's rays falling over them in gentle reds and purples. His hands began shaking and his vision blurred with tears.

"Pit…you…damn…idiot," he whispered, bowing his head against the original's. His whole body was shaking and he couldn't stop it. Maybe it was compensating for his original, who could no longer tremble in fear. "Fucking…idiot…why did you…why did you even…don't you know…?"

A soft musical tone began behind him before something fell into the mud. Palutena gave a surprised cry, then she said tentatively, "Dark Pit? Are you alright?"

That was it. Those words severed the last bits of self-control Dark Pit held. The Goddess of Light asked if he was alright, and he was. I'm alright, he thought as tears poured down his cheeks and dripped onto Pit's face, cutting through the caked-on grime. His shoulders bowed and he gritted his teeth against the wails erupting from his throat.

I'm alright because your stupid angel gave his life for a copy.

There were a lot of tears shed in the heavens for the next week. Palutena did most of the crying, albeit out of sight, but Dark Pit could hear her moans in the middle of the night. Viridi saved hers until the golden tablet was placed over Pit's mouth, and Dark Pit turned to see her staring with wide and wet eyes. Phosphora retreated once his body was buried among the grass and fields, her cheeks already glistening, and Phos and Lux brayed in mourning.

Dark Pit had no tears left, but he made sure the Palutena Bow was clenched in Pit's hands before he went under. In case Hades tried to screw with him in the afterlife…or so his justification went. Mostly it made his heart ache to see the blades even after the human blood was meticulously scrubbed away.

"What happened?" Palutena's voice was soft and motherly as it always was, no trace of accusation there, but Dark Pit felt like sinking into the deepest hole anyway. He averted his eyes and stared at his fingers wrapped around the grip of his Silver Bow.

"It was a human army versus Hades' army running 10:1. The humans had the advantage, but the dark energy produced by the monsters made them wilder, more unpredictable." He spoke in a detached voice that kept him grounded; he stated the facts as telling a story, not reliving the worst day of his short life. "Not only did we have to fight back the monsters, we had to save them from themselves. Pit did, and he tried his damn hardest like always. Didn't let a single human die."

Not a human died. Not one human died under Pit's watch.

"And then?" Viridi, standing off to the side, looked on with an unreadable expression as Dark Pit's fingers tightened. He fought the urge to retreat into himself.

"One of the humans snuck up on me." Stupid him for not sensing the man's presence. Stupid him for being so slow to react. Stupid him for— "Pit covered me. A—…And it was the last thing he did."

She should have shouted at him. He wanted her to rebuke him for the worst mistake of his short life. Instead, she sighed and gave a little chuckle. "Heh. That's our stupid angel, alright."

He wasn't proud of it, but he took the holy weapon forged by the Goddess of Light and speared the human through the heart. He shoved the blades in with so much force that several ribs were also broken on impact, and the momentum carried the grown man deep into the dirt. He wasn't proud of it because he knew Pit would hate his weapon being sullied like that, even if it was in his name. Especially because it was in the name of revenge.

Pit suffered a painless death; before he hit the ground, he was gone, the sword's handle still protruding from his back like some sick joke. Dark Pit removed it with the utmost care and set him down in a more comfortable position, as if such a thing mattered in death, before taking up the Silver Bow. He couldn't recall much of what transpired after—it remained a stubborn blur in his mind to date—but his memories afterwards began with him standing amidst a sea of carnage. The Underworld Army, of course, left no trace, but human corpses decorated the ground around him.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

Subsequently, he spent a lot of time in Skyworld, ignoring Viridi's calls to lounge around in Pit's old hangout spots. He had a private hot spring not far from his quarters, shaded by white marble pillars holding up an arched roof and surrounded by lush green grass and wildflowers. Dark Pit enjoyed sitting at the shore, nude ankles submerged in the warm golden water.

"Viridi was asking about you." The grass crunched behind him before Palutena sat primly beside him, legs folded and dress fanning out around her. Dark Pit kept his gaze on the small waves.

"Viridi has hordes of acolytes to do her dirty work. I'm allowed to take a break. Let them scare off whatever human stepped on a sapling this time."

"That's not what she was asking about." Palutena's delicate hand landed atop his on the grass; he quickly pulled it away and she didn't react. "She and the rest of us are concerned. No one was closer in mind and spirit as you to Pit."

"Well don't be concerned. I'm fine." He spat the word like bitter poison, not at all helping his case, but he hated it. Hated being treated like paper, hated knowing Pit died for a stupid copy, hated knowing the only person who related to him in the world was gone and he was alone, would live alone for an angel's long long life and die alone…

"I didn't say you weren't," she said smoothly, "but that doesn't make me any less concerned for you. I care about you, Pittoo. And by the way, you've been brooding in this spot for five hours—that's not what fine people do."

"So what if I have been brooding? Aren't I allowed to grieve in my own way? You've been moaning up a storm like a ghost." He could hear her affronted gasp. "You may have been Pit's goddess, but I am not Pit. You don't need to give me your concern, nor do I need it. The only thing I need is for you to let me be, Palutena."

"…As you wish, then. But you know where to find me." She stood up, dusted herself off, and with a smile in Dark Pit's direction, she took her leave.

"The same goes for you, Viridi."

Puh-lease, Viridi said, voice echoing out from his fibula. The tough guy act may work on Palutena, but not on me. You're hurting.

"Aren't we all? Leave me alone."

Fine then. Don't do anything stupid. And she left with a poignant huff.

"Don't do anything stupid, huh…" He chuckled mirthlessly. His stupid acts only happened around Pit, though another person would call them selfless. Things like helping him fight the Chaos Kin to revive Palutena, and journeying to Hell to save Pit's life, destroying the gates to the Underworld and helping to weaken Hades. Yeah, when it came to Pit, he didn't think too rationally, and only now when it was too late to say so, he realized it was more than just an obligation to the "original." He cared deeply for Pit…and now he was gone forever.

"Dammit!" he roared, kicking the water at his feet. His reflection distorted before resettling, revealing the tear tracks running from his scarlet eyes. He hissed and threw an arm over his face, falling back onto the grass. "Stupid, stupid, why did he take that hit, why did he have to die…?"

He took longer than he wanted to calm down, and when he finally sat up again he felt drained, physically and emotionally. He knelt and lowered his face to the water, splashing the warmth across his splotchy cheeks to clean them up. He sighed when the soppy feeling left and glared down into his puffy-eyed reflection.

"Just a stupid reflection, is all I am…why did he have to—"

Dark Pit stopped cold and stared harder, digging his fingers into the soft dirt. "I'm a reflection," he breathed, eyes wide. An imperfect one, but a reflection nonetheless. If he could look into the Mirror of Truth again, another opposite would be created—a Pit would be created. It would fix everything!

But the Mirror was shattered when he was "born." He clearly remembered shattering it. But…but…Pandora had been revived in the Rewind Spring as Amazon Pandora. If she was still hanging around, perhaps she created another Mirror. It was a hell of a long shot, but honestly, what else did he have to lose?

The issue was locating her now. He would have to ask around on the surface, preferably not where they were last time. If only he had a contact…suddenly, Dark Pit recalled a story Pit told him of a human associate. Perhaps he did have a contact?

Vigor renewed, Dark Pit yanked on his sandals and raced to the edge of Skyworld, throwing himself into the cold clouds below. "Viridi, grant me the Power of Flight!" he shouted.

Someone's pushy about it, she grumbled, but her earthen energy filled him all the same. Where's the fire, angel boy?

He ignored her and folded his wings back in a dive, cutting through the air like a spear and towards the mountainous ground. Here's hoping he wasn't getting his spirit worked up for nothing.

In an out of the way town that reeked of danger and blood, Dark Pit walked into a bar. The decidedly unfriendly looking patrons turned to sneer at him, but his responding glare turned them right back around. He had eyes only for the broad leather-clad back sitting at the bar counter.

"Magnus?"

Said back turned, revealing a scruffy middle-aged human holding a cup of ale. He looked Dark Pit up and down and remarked, "Unless you've turned emo since I last saw you, which I somehow doubt, you must not be Pit?"

"Dark Pit," he said. "Pit has…Pit died in battle."

Magnus' previously lax expression turned blank, then he raised his ale. "Here's to him, then." He slammed back the alcohol and dropped the cup on the counter. "Terrible thing. That kid had a lot of fire."

"He did. Which is why I want to bring him back. Have you heard anything about Pandora?" Magnus raised an eyebrow.

"The goddess Pandora, I'm assuming? Yeah, I've heard a few things here and there." Dark Pit took a seat next to Magnus and waved down the bartender, holding up two fingers. The bartender set two glasses of ale down for each of them. Magnus looked on curiously as Dark Pit downed it in one gulp. "You two aren't the same, that's for sure," he remarked.

"Well, spill what you know."

"Normally I'd charge for my information, but call it a freebie for an old friend." Magnus took a few swallows before speaking again. "Heard she was seen on the outskirts of that huge forest where the town was, way up north."

Reset Bomb Forest. Viridi didn't keep tabs of the area anymore, so it was reasonable to assume Pandora was hiding out there. Dark Pit slapped down a few coins and slid off the stool.

"Thanks. I'll be heading out."

"One more thing." Magnus finished his ale and levelled a sober look at the dark angel. "Whatever you got in mind, don't let it be the death of ya. I barely knew angel-face and I could tell ya, he wouldn't like that."

"Trust me," Dark Pit muttered, turning away and sidling to the door, "I know."

Outside he took to the sky in one big leap. He had already used his Power of Flight, but this time the winds were in his favor; he glided across the small dilapidated buildings until they turned to naked rock, then lush pink foliage. He flapped his wings to gain some altitude as purple crystals jutted from the earth like spears, but very soon he was forced to land. The thick forestry cut the wind and he could glide no farther.

The forest was so thick only the barest lines of sun made it through; it was all he could do to see his own two feet as he fought not to trip and fall on a bed of random barbs…again.

"The things I do for this angel," he grumbled, picking a thorn out of his cheek. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, because then doubts would surface. What if the Mirror didn't work? What if there was no Mirror? What if he looked into it and nothing came, because…what if he didn't have a soul? He waved the thoughts away and moved a little faster, stumbling over a gnarled branch.

"Hey Pittoo, guess what?"

"Buzz off," Pittoo grumbled, not opening his eyes. "And don't call me that."

"It's my birthday!" Pit continued undaunted.

"Great. So what?"

Dark Pit was grabbed around the shoulders and pulled up from his lounging position. He growled and opened his eyes, watching Pit prance excitedly around on the green grass, wings stretched high and flapping madly. "Think about it," he said with a wide grin, coming to a stop a few feet away.

"The only thing I'm thinking about is kicking your ass and continuing my nap."

"Come on, don't you get tired of being a grouch all the time? Well anyway, this'll cheer you up." Pit suddenly thrust a messily wrapped brown package in Dark Pit's face. He took it with no small measure of confusion.

"Um. Thanks? What?"

"It's my birthday," Pit repeated, "and since you're me, it's your birthday to. So…happy birthday!"

Pittoo was absolutely floored and watched Pit gesture excitedly at the present. Haltingly, he pulled apart the thin paper to reveal a small cardboard box. He pulled the lid off and saw a small doll that sort of looked like him if he squinted. "Did you…make this?"

"Yeah. Um, I'm not too good at knitting, but Lady Palutena said it's the thought that counts." He laughed awkwardly and rubbed his neck. "And, uh, it's filled with your and my feathers? I'm thinking about it now and it seems a little creepy…"

"No, it's…uh…" He ducked his head a little to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "Um. Thanks, Pit."

Dark Pit gritted his teeth. That doll was still in his little alcove in Viridi's world. When he revived Pit—because he definitely would—he would come up with something equally as nice to give him.

He heard the faint sound of mumbling and picked up the pace as much as he could, flapping his wings to get the slightest bit above ground. He felt like a damn chicken without the Power of Flight.

He felt a thick branch sloping upwards and scaled up, avoiding the little thorns until it begins to level out. He peered through a break in the violet leaves and saw one of the old human structures, a large two storied building with crumbling walls interwoven by thick branches and curling ivy. Sunlight shone through the canopy above and coalesced on something at the tip of the structure.

"Why is Hades ignoring me now? Stupid bloathead," Pandora was saying as her back floated into view. Dark Pit leaned forward with a grimace. "I thought we had a nice thing going…and the Hearts he paid me were delightful." She rose higher to the ceiling of the building and glanced his way; he ducked his head. "Well, at least I managed to create this beautiful Mirror."

Mirror!

He leapt through the leaves and into the clearing. Pandora spun around and her face twisted in anger. "You stupid angel, you aren't shattering my Mirror a second time!"

He scanned the area until he spotted the Mirror on top of the building. The frame was made of twisted branches and the glass was reflecting the sunlight from the open canopy. He just needed to look into it and—

He dodged to the side as one of Pandora's heart missiles struck the ground where he was standing. He whipped out the Silver Bow and fired a volley of arrows; she twirled and vanished, avoiding the attack before reappearing above his head and dropping a large purple bomb. He fired an arrow and the explosion released a cloud of pink smoke, obscuring his vision.

"The last I heard, the cuter angel kicked the bucket. Is that true?"

Dark Pit growled and spun, not before taking a kick to the shoulder and falling in the dirt. He rolled out of the way of another projectile and to his feet, jumping above the smokescreen and onto a beam jutting from the building. Just one look, just one look and everything will be fine—

"No, don't look in the Mirror!" Pandora launched another heart right at the glass, then her eyes widened in shock. He was still too far, he had to stop it somehow; he couldn't let her shatter the mirror!

"No—!" Dark Pit launched himself in the air and intercepted the projectile, which slammed him in the gut like one of Pit's clubs. The air left his lungs in a pained gasp and his wings seized up, leaving only his momentum carrying him backwards into the Mirror of Truth. He felt the coldness of the glass for a mere moment before it shattered against his back, peppering his skin with tiny shards. He fell through the emptied frame and to the hard-packed dirt below.

"No…no!" He shot into a sitting position, eyes wide as he beheld the frame full of broken shards. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and his fists balled against his aching stomach. "D—Dammit…!"

Plunk.

"What? No!" Pandora's disbelieving shriek caught his attention. He looked past her floating form to the source of her ire…a small white-clothed form balled on the ground. Could it be…no…no, it had to be.

Pain forgotten, Dark Pit lurched to his feet and leapt forward, past the enraged goddess and to the prone form in the dirt. Pit was exactly as he had been, down to the untamed bedhead, though he was completely unconscious. A relieved, borderline dopey smile crossed Dark Pit's face, and tears did run down his cheeks, happy ones. He lifted Pit's face to press their foreheads together.

You're back…

Pandora's continued screams reminded Dark Pit there was an urgent matter to attend to. Glancing around, he quickly spotted his Silver Bow poking out from the mud nearby. He threw himself into a roll and snatched it up, notching an arrow and taking aim at Pandora. She looked down at him with an expression of pure fury.

"Do you know how hard I worked to revive that Mirror? You're dead!" She sent a flurry of purple hearts towards him and he released his arrow into the center of the storm before taking to the air. Pandora disappeared with a twirl and Dark Pit didn't have time to react before a slim hand latched around his neck. Her momentum carried him backwards into a pile of brambles; the thorns tore into his back and he gritted his teeth against the scream of pain that wanted to rise.

"You're the one who will die, Pandora." He broke the bow into swords and cut her hand at the wrist. She pulled away with a scream, her handless wrist streaming golden ichor, her wristless hand dripping onto Dark Pit's clothes like acid. He tore the hand away and righted himself, landing on his toes on a branch and launching himself up again. Pandora pulled her unharmed arm back for an attack and he tossed the sword like a knife. Another shield appeared, and her expression turned panicked when he broke the shield with his body, jabbing the remaining sword into her gut.

They fell back to earth and her face was frozen in shock even in her death. He leapt backwards before her body melted into ichor, scoffing quietly before turning to Pit. He hadn't moved and Dark Pit couldn't hide his concern. Collecting the Silver Bow, he returned to Pit's body and cradled him to his chest. "Palutena?" he called.

"Dark Pit, what's going on?"

"Take me to Skyworld, please."

She hesitated and he heard her swallow. A…Alright. Light surrounded him and lifted his wings; Pit's fluttered weakly but otherwise he didn't respond. Dark Pit's brow furrowed and his anxiety grew.

"What's wrong with him?"

Palutena and Viridi were waiting for him in the main hall. Palutena's eyes widened and she dropped her staff; Viridi's jaw dropped quite unattractively. Dark Pit stumbled his way to Palutena, whose arms raised automatically to catch Pit when he was all but dropped. "Help him," Dark Pit whispered before he hit the ground.

Dark Pit woke in a room unfamiliar to him. The bed was large and soft, made of down feathers and silk sheets rather than Viridi's rocks covered in leaves. He blinked groggily and looked around; a window looked out to the cover of clouds and there was a steel basin at the side of the bed. He peered over the lip and realized it was full of hot spring water.

Dragging his legs over the side of the bed, he forced them rigid and stood up, falling over and grabbing the nightstand before he faceplanted on the marble. His boy felt numb and heavy altogether and he kind of just wanted to lie down and die, but he had to make sure Pit was okay. He glanced around and saw his Silver Bow leaning against the wall; he took it and braced his boy against it with two hands, keeping his shaky body upright. His burnt robes were gone, leaving him only in his shorts and rings of slightly spotted bandages around his stomach and back. He gritted his teeth and pulled the door open.

He stumbled around blindly for a bit before catching wisps of Palutena and Viridi's voices. He followed the sounds down a branching hall and found them arguing softly in front of a door. Viridi was facing him and spotted him first; her hazel eyes narrowed slightly and she smirked.

"Well, let's let Pittoo clear up the details," she said. Palutena turned and Dark Pit was alarmed to see her eyes so bloodshot. It was like she was grieving a second time. His heart fell. No, don't let him have died a second time because of me…no, no way…

"Dark Pit?" she said softly. Dark Pit made his ambling way over until Palutena's hands laid on his shoulders, keeping him upright. "Please, can you tell us what happened?"

"First, I want to see Pit," he gasped. The goddesses exchanged a look and Viridi's smile soured.

"Why not?" she shrugged, passing Palutena to open the door. He caught a glance of Pit among a blue-sheeted bed and piles of stuffed animals—must be the idiot's bedroom—and he was no more awake than before. The door shut again and Viridi folded her arms across her chest. "Okay, explanation time."

"The Mirror of Truth," he said softly. Palutena gasped while Viridi gritted her teeth.

"Dark Pit," Palutena said urgently, "tell me you didn't create Pit using a Mirror." He hesitated before nodding and all the color left her face. "This is…oh, no, this can't be…"

"Why?"

"Because you're damaged goods," Viridi said bluntly. Had he possessed the energy, he would have lashed out, but so far it was taking everything he had to remain upright. "When you were created, it was with Pit, who has a complete soul; the Mirror was shattered halfway through and your soul wasn't completely formed. It's incomplete. Now you took that and made another half-copy."

"Are you saying there's something wrong with me?" he growled. Palutena huffed and turned his head back to her.

"It's just unnatural," she insisted. "In the first place, the Mirror is not meant for beings with souls; that's why it only worked on the Underworld Army. Pit's energy allowed you to be created. We just…we don't know what this can mean, especially since Pit is still unconscious. If he wakes, he could be what you were meant to: completely evil."

"Of course, if he wakes up," Viridi added casually. "The vegetable-hater could end up being a vegetable himself."

"Viridi!" he snapped, then groaned at the ache it left in his stomach. Palutena hushed him, running a hand through his hair. He hated how pleasing the gesture felt.

"Let's get you back to bed first. You're still too weak to be up and about."

He didn't have the energy to fight as Palutena took one of his arms and led him back to the room he woke up in. She laid him down and took a cloth from the basin, wringing it out before setting it on his forehead.

"You're a bit feverish," she said as way of explanation. Viridi sighed and sat in an ornate chair.

"There are many things that can go wrong, Pittoo. Don't you think we knew that Pandora had the Mirror? Why do you think we didn't try it ourselves?"

"Who's to say it will be 'Pit' in the end?" Palutena said softly. "Maybe he won't have any memories, maybe his personality will change… It was all just one big risk. It still is until he wakes and we can know for sure."

"So what if he doesn't remember? So what if he's a little different? He'll still be Pit," Dark Pit said. Palutena sighed.

"It's not only about that… We've moved on, we have accepted his death. It was a very terrible thing and we wish it didn't happen, but it did. He died protecting you, and we know he would be happy with that fact. You're the only one who isn't."

"Don't make me out to be in the wrong here," he muttered. "If you had a chance to bring Pit back, you would have too."

"Did you hear what she just said?" Viridi said derisively, then groaned. "It doesn't matter. It's already been ten days; Pit has no injuries but he won't wake. It's not looking good for him."

Dark Pit fought down his rising despair and scowled. "Just wait."

"And for how long exactly? We're immortal, but things can still be pointless."

"What Viridi is trying to say in her own tactless way," Palutena said, "Dark Pit…"

"I know what she's trying to say," he interjected. "I don't care. Let me be responsible for him then, however…he may come out of this." If at all. "I'm the one who made this decision, I will be accountable."

Palutena chewed her lower lip, then set her hands between her legs. The fabric couldn't quite hide their trembles. "Let's see how things look in another fortnight, then. It will take about that long for your injuries to fully heal."

"I can take care of myself," he said. Viridi rolled her eyes.

"And then he goes and throws himself through another magic mirror…"

"Viridi!" Palutena chided. Viridi threw her hands up placatingly with a shrug.

"Just saying."

Palutena appeared at least once a day to look over him and make sure he was healing properly. Once he was well enough to get around, he spent his evenings in Pit's hot spring, relishing the soothing heat against his torn back. The delicate bones of his wings had thankfully survived the fall, but some of his primary feathers were ripped out. They were already partly grown back.

When he returned to his unofficial room on the fourteenth day, he found new black robes neatly folded on the sheets that smelled like cow manure. He was already tired of Pit's white clothes, but he couldn't say the fertilizer smell was better. He slipped on the familiar colors and sighed, turning to his Silver Bow.

"Now or never…"

He slung the weapon across his back and relished the security it brought. He would need all his nerve for this.

Dark Pit had memorized the short journey to Pit's room in his convalescent time and made not one errant step on the way. He pushed the door open a crack and peered at the bed; he hadn't moved an inch same as before. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"It's now or never, idiot," he said, walking up to the bed. Floor to ceiling windows lined the adjacent wall, facing the gardens where centurions practiced their moves. The courtyard was empty now, leaving only the sense of what was once there.

Dark Pit sat in the chair at Pit's bedside; still, the angel did not stir. "I knew what I was risking when I went for the Mirror, but I did it anyway. So you can't just not wake up—you can't just not be Pit. I…I haven't moved on and I know it. I feel empty without you around, and it's ridiculous; since when have I needed your inane jokes to fill some void? But the fact is, Pit, I just…I j-ju…please, wake up already."

No movement on the bed. Dark Pit lowered his face to his hands, gripping it so tightly he felt sure his fingers would leave bruises. Good; he wanted his face to be different, wanted to look and see something other than the useless copy that not only killed Pit once, but twice…! Gods would he hate himself for this; he would curse his own name until the day the breath left his body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry, so so sorry…"

When he raised his head, Pit was sitting up in bed. Dark Pit nearly fell from the chair in shock.

Pit's eyes were fuzzy with sleep as they roamed the room. Dark Pit held his breath, waiting for something, anything. They finally landed on the black angel and no kind of recognition showed. He wondered if Pit really had lost his memories, or worse, as Viridi predicted.

"Pit?" Dark Pit hedged, leaning forward slightly. Pit blinked slowly, scanning his face for what felt like an hour. His white wings flapped with unease before curling around his skinny torso. "Do you…understand what I'm saying? Not that you really did before, moron," he muttered under his breath, more to soothe himself with some familiarity than actually throwing a jab out there. Then, to his utter shock:

"Not a moron!"

His head snapped back to Pit so quickly he nearly got whiplash. Pit's brows were drawn into a frown and his eyes were alight, polished by indignant anger. Dark Pit lunged onto the bed with one knee, grabbing Pit's cheeks and staring him down.

"Pit, is that you? For real?"

Pit fell silent again, eyes scanning Dark Pit once more, and he wondered if he imagined things. He didn't respond as the seconds ticked on and Dark Pit made to move away, but Pit's hands snapped up and gripped his wrists tightly. A tiny smile crossed his face.

"Hey, Pittoo, are you crying?"

His excitement overweighed his resentment at being caught teary-eyed—which he absolutely wasn't, by the way. His arms went around Pit and Palutena's angel let out a little surprised squeak. "You're okay," Pittoo said into his wing. Pit gasped, then relaxed into the hold.

"I'm okay," he repeated.

Palutena cried a lot. So much that Dark Pit felt awkward being there, but Pit didn't want him to leave. She held him close and sobbed and he nuzzled into the side of her neck without a word.

Viridi wasn't nearly so emotional. She looked Pit up and down with a derisive snort, nodded, and left. Dark Pit did catch an unnatural glisten to her eyes though.

Pit spent a lot of time asleep, but when he was awake he was very cognizant, albeit sluggish when it came to expressing his thoughts. Palutena wanted Dark Pit to monitor him since he hung around so often, but so far Dark Pit thought things worked out. There were no apparent drastic consequences apart from the lethargy—which he assumed to be temporary—and Pit was becoming more expressive by the day.

"Pittoo," he said, drawing him from his thoughts. He was hugging a star-shaped pillow to his chest and staring through the window at the clouds beyond. "D'ya think Lady Palutena would be okay with letting me fly?"

"Dunno, it's only been a few weeks—she's just barely managed to stop bawling her eyes out when you took a dump on your own."

"Yeah, but…I miss the air." Pit opened his mouth as if he had more to say, then shut it again. He didn't need to explain, Dark Pit understood. And, well, who was he to deny the one who rose from the grave anyway?

"Alright then. Let's go." Pit's head snapped back to his double, eyes comically wide and feathers askew.

"Right now?"

"I thought you meant right now. Cold feet?" Dark Pit smirked as he slid an arm around Pit's bony back, gripping him firmly on his ribcage. With his help, Pit slid to his feet and remained standing, although his wings fluttered reflexively to maintain his balance. Together, they ambled their slow way over to the gates of Skyworld, which parted in their presence and left them to face the great beyond.

"Palutena?" Pit said softly.

I don't think this is a good idea, Pit, Palutena responded, her voice ringing through Dark Pit's head as well as Pit's. You're still recovering, and I don't want anything to happen to you.

"Palutena, please. For a week all I've done is lie around and have people worry over me. At first, I was happy to have Pittoo at my beck and call," he sent a small smile in Pittoo's direction despite his scowl, "but I…I want to fly. I can't explain it."

"Remember it's my job to keep an eye on him," Dark Pit said. She was silent and he moved Pit forward. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he said. Dark Pit wrapped an arm around Pit's waist and they fell forward into the endless sky.

"Viridi, grant me the Power of Flight!"

Ya know, it'd be nice if you did me some favors once in a while, she said mockingly, but gave him the power all the same. His wings spread overhead, bathing Pit's face in the greens and golds as he looked at the clouds below in wonder.

"It'll get cold," Pittoo warned before they dove into the cloud cover. Pit's hair was plastered to his forehead from the damp and he shivered a bit but the grin never left his face.

"I missed this." The clouds passed and they were soaring over a human town. Pit frowned at the sight as a dark cloud passed over his face. "Dark Pit…you never told me how I came back."

Dark Pit sighed. Pit eventually recalled his death, though he never described it—not that the dark angel wanted to hear it—but no one really told him how he'd revived. Palutena mentioned Dark Pit was the cause but that was about it. "Well, before I begin, remember that you've done far stupider things."

"That's a good sign," he said with a little smile.

"It… I used—"

An arrow suddenly flew inches past Dark Pit's nose. They looked down to see a small portion of the Underworld Army at the outskirts of the town; the humans were fighting valiantly, but Twinbellows was heading the attack and they were losing ground.

"Let's get down there," Pit said immediately. Pittoo's face went cold.

"We…can't. As your goddess said, you're still healing." Pit was already shaking his head before Dark Pit finished speaking.

"Pit," Palutena interjected, anxiety clear in her tone.

"Lady Palutena, please," Pit said when Pittoo made no moves to lower them, "the Power of Flight."

"We can't lose you again. It's far too risky. You shouldn't have come out at all—"

"Palutena!" he shouted, startling even Dark Pit. "The Underworld Army is there!"

"…Dark Pit?"

"I won't…" Pit gave him a scathing look and Pittoo matched it. "I won't allow it."

"Fine then!" In an alarming show of strength, Pit ripped Dark Pit's hand from his side and began to plummet. Dark Pit folded his wings back and dove after, but Pit had already begun to glide. Dark Pit was shocked to see Pit had grabbed the Silver Bow from his back.

"Dark Pit!" Palutena cried.

"I know!"

Their midair chase continued until they were low enough that Dark Pit could see the humans' bloody and bruised faces. Truth be told, after what had happened, he cared much less for what became of them; something Viridi appreciated as her ecological escapades could be callous at best towards them. But if anything was an indication of Pit still being Pit, this was it: throwing himself headlong into the fray with a half-functioning body and non-functioning brain. Gods, he hated that kid sometimes.

Pit's first three shots were wobbly and terribly off-mark; he missed the Monoeye by a longshot, and that thing was the definition of a target. He didn't react initially and alighted directly behind them, stumbling a bit on weak legs. Dark Pit followed right after and seized him by the forearm, causing Pit to cry out in pain.

"I'm going to kill you," he ground out between his teeth, "if these damn demons don't do it first."

Pit yanked his arm free and scowled, hiding the fact he was struggling to get another arrow ready. "I appreciate your concern, Dark Pit, but—"

"—but you're going back to Skyworld yesterday." Pit narrowed his eyes; Pittoo narrowed his eyes as well.

"Make. Me."

"Is that a challenge?"

Pit's scowl deepened, then a wicked smile crossed his face, something that sent a chill down Pittoo's spine. "No," he said, and leveled an arrow at Dark Pit's heart. "It's a threat."

…

…Shit.

Is this guy serious?

Robotically, Dark Pit raised his open palms and took a step back. "Pit. Pit, you're not serious."

"No, I'm not." His face dropped into a grin and he leapt into the air, gliding above the fight with arrows flying like clockwork. He was still off mark but visibly improving by the moment. Dark Pit was rooted to his spot, eyes on the white angel.

"Hey, Palutena…"

"Pittoo?"

He didn't respond, the words stuck in his throat as enemy after enemy dropped steadily. Pit had taken up a rhythm: glide, shoot, land, and over and over again. His face was focused, a look he wore many times before, but Dark Pit couldn't help remembering the expression when he threatened to shoot.

Pit's efforts were small in the grand scheme of things, but the little aid he provided allowed the humans to gain a fighting advantage. Soon enough, it was down to them and Twinbellows. It growled, huge ropes of acidic drool falling to the earth and sizzling on contact. Pit's back was straight as he faced the flaming mutt, but Dark Pit could see the tired slump to his shoulders. Pit looked up to the sky for a moment, then the familiar light of extraction surrounded him. Without missing a beat, he ripped the fibula from his shoulder and tossed it into the dirt, cutting all contact with Skyworld. Dark Pit felt like ripping his hair out.

"Pittoo, please, at least give him this." The blue light shone down on him, bearing with it the Palutena Bow. "And watch his back."

"Tch. I already know." He took the bow and whistled sharply; a flaming head turned in his direction. "Hey, you overgrown mutt, how about you chew on one of these?" Twinbellows opened its mouth for a roar and Dark Pit fired an arrow right inside. Its jaws clamped shut and it stumbled backwards with a loud whine. The humans scattered to avoid being trampled but Pit was much slower; Pittoo lurched forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the way before he was squashed.

"Thanks," Pit said, holding out the Silver Bow. Dark Pit snatched it with a glare.

"We," he said lowly, tossing the Palutena Bow over, "are going to have a talk later. But for now—"

"Duck!" he cried and pushed the dark angel's head down, narrowly avoiding a flaming claw swipe. Dark Pit grabbed Pit's hand from his head and made sure he was making eye contact.

"For now, don't die. Again."

"Will do." Pit gestured to the human warriors backing away from Twinbellows' advances. The dog was leaving flaming trails wherever its paws landed; soon the blaze would reach their city. "We have to get them to safety first. Back to their city."

"Okay, but—" Dark Pit paused and his eyes narrowed at the entry gates. The wall was made of thick stone slabs, but the top seemed hollow… "That's an aqueduct." Pit followed his gaze and grinned.

"Wash out Twinbellows?"

"Get them in the town first."

"I'll distract Twinbellows," Pit said, and before Pittoo could protest he was running back into the fray, firing at its massive paws. This time, Dark Pit did yank a chunk of hair out. He tried to calm down as he faced the townspeople.

"Retreat! Retreat!" he called, then felt a blaze of heat prickling at his feathers. He turned and began spinning his bow at top speed, dissipating the massive fireball that had been sent their way. The townspeople needn't be told twice; they turned tail and ran back to their gates. Pittoo brought up the rear, redirecting any stray bolts of fire.

Pit was holding his own as well as he could. He alighted on rock outcroppings to give himself a bit of a height edge as he fired volleys of arrows, but they didn't shine as brightly as they ought to. Pit's next landed resulted in botched footing, and his wings flapped uselessly as he tumbled onto his stomach. Twinbellows roared and his rightmost head snapped out and gobbled him in one bite.

"Pit!" Dark Pit shouted. Twinbellows whinnied in pain and shook its heads; he realized Pit was using his bow to keep its jaws propped open. Pit was clinging for his life but he was slipping towards its throat. Dark Pit glanced over his shoulder; the last man was just making his way through the gates. He notched another arrow and let it fly. The arrow sliced a massive chunk through the gate, letting the heavy flow of water gush across the dirt. He raced ahead and soared into the air, landing on Twinbellows' nose. In the seconds before it was swept away, he grabbed the Palutena Bow and yanked it—along with the idiot clinging—and flew forward. Twinbellows was knocked off its feet and into the flow, its fire dousing in a massive puff of steam. Dark Pit landed several feet on a low cliff.

"Are you okay?" he asked Pit, who was kneeling on the ground. He dragged himself up with a weak chuckle.

"My clothes aren't," he said, indicating his heavily charred robes. They looked out when Twinbellows moaned and found it trying and failing to rise to its paws. Pit suddenly let out a little noise. "This. This is." Pit's eyes roamed the battlefield constantly like he was caught in some sort of dream. "I'm unsatisfied."

"You're what?" Dark Pit wanted to give Pit a break, he really did, but the kid was grinding his nerves and he was two seconds away from plucking him. "I've already put my feathers on the line taking you out here against your goddess' wishes, and you have the nerve to be unsatisfied? Sorry, did you want me to throw you into Twinbellows' maw instead?"

"No, that's not…it…" Pit trailed off and didn't continue. Dark Pit stepped closer, frustration melting into concern, and Pit suddenly pitched forward; Dark Pit glided the remaining distance to prevent him from face planting on the ground.

"Pit? Pit!" Pit remained unresponsive for several seconds, and just when Dark Pit was really beginning to freak out, Pit's eyes fluttered open.

"…Why are you holding me?"

Dark Pit dropped Pit, who hit the ground with a little oof. "She was right, you aren't well enough to be doing this," he said flatly, touching his fibula. "Palutena, take us back."

The extraction light surrounded them and lifted their wings to the heavens. Pit rolled over in midair and Dark Pit stared at his skinny back, the wings struggling to keep him aloft. "You really think this was a bad idea?" Pit said without looking at him. Dark Pit sighed.

"Yes, I do."

"I saw the fight, I had to come help."

"Pit—" He paused and looked harder at Pit's wings. A few of his underfeathers were black. Before, he would've thought it an insignificant side effect, but after the way Pit had acted… He hated it, but he had to speak with Palutena and Viridi. "Yeah, I understand, birdbrain."

Pit gave Pittoo a cross look and folded his arms. Then he smiled. "I forgot to say it earlier, but thanks for bringing me back."

Yeah, just hope it's not gonna bite me in the ass.

Palutena and Viridi were both waiting for their return. Palutena looked Pit over worriedly before sending him off to the hot springs. Dark Pit waited until he left hearing distance before facing the two goddesses.

"I'm guessing from your face that things didn't go all peachy," Viridi said. "Palutena doesn't want me to say I told you so…but I don't care. So. I told you so."

"Next time you want a bomb dropped on some playground, you do it yourself," Dark Pit said. Viridi huffed and turned her head.

"Dark Pit, please, what happened out there?" Palutena asked. He shook his head.

"I don't know… He was just, just weird most of it. If I had to describe it…I'd say he was more like me than anything." A little more caustic, certainly more forceful, and…Pit would never threaten another person's life. No way. But neither would Dark Pit—at least, he wouldn't do it unprovoked. He certainly wouldn't have threatened Pit in such a way. But if he had to say that Pit was even worse than him…no, he couldn't. He shook it off and pulled his wings tight against his shoulder blades. "He's more blockheaded than before, but he still went and stuck his neck out to fight the Underworld Army. He's fine, just a little different than expected."

I'm damaged goods, they said. What happens when half a soul is split in two?

"I'm going to go find him, make sure he's alright." Dark Pit dismissed himself and turned away, ignoring their whispered conversation behind his back. Things would be okay…they had to be.

Pit was at his hot spring stripped down to his short, drifting lazily on his back in the golden water. His eyes were lidded as they focused on Dark Pit. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, looking at the bundle in his hands.

"I couldn't find any of your robes, so here's one of mine." He set it on the grass and sat down. Pit hummed appreciatively.

"Don't you wanna soak?"

"Nope."

"Well suit yourself." Pit rolled over and ducked his head beneath the surface. Dark Pit stared at his wet wings and the stark black feathers stared back. Maybe it was the lack of adrenaline in his veins, but he could count more now than there were before. His mouth skewed and he looked at his feet. He had spent far too many hours sitting in this same spot mourning Pit; it was foolish to do the same when Pit was there in front of him, alive and whole.

"Actually…count me in." He shrugged off his robes and arm bracers. He kicked off his sandals and stepped into the water, pumping his wings to propel himself closer to Pit. "I didn't tell you how you came back, did I?"

Pit raised an eyebrow. "No, you didn't get to." Dark Pit told him about Pandora and the Mirror of Truth. At the end of it Pit let out a long breath and shrugged. "You're right, that was pretty dumb. But it worked out didn't it? I'm here, Lady Palutena's happy, Viridi is as happy as she'll get…I think it worked out."

"Yeah." They floated in silence for a few minutes, just feeling the healing water, until Dark Pit moved to the shore. "I'm feeling like a game of Smash."

"Sure." Pit stepped onto the grass and went to one of the supporting columns where a store of towels was sheltered inside. He dried his hair and flapped his wings a bit to get them fluffed up; several feathers came free and the black ones were more obvious than ever.

"Pit, did you notice you have some black feathers?" Dark Pit decided to address the elephant in Skyworld. Pit blinked and pulled the tip of his wing around with his fingers, examining the underside.

"…Yeah, I guess you're right." And that was that. He picked up the robes Dark Pit brought and slipped them over his head. "Hey, how do I look?"

Dark Pit frowned and grabbed a towel of his own. "Don't know, don't care."

"Hey, don't be like that." He looked up to see Pit had already moved ahead of him. "Come on, last one gets the beat-up Joy-Con." He turned and raced forward, flapping his wings for a little speed, and Dark Pit's frown deepened. There definitely were more black feathers than before. But what did it mean?

"That Palutena's Guidance stuff was really on the nose," Pit remarked as the GAME screen appeared. "Whoever wrote the script really knows his stuff."

"Says you. I only had three lines." Pit laughed while Pittoo kept his eyes on the results. His Bowser lost to Pit's Little Mac. The odd thing was Pit never played Little Mac before. Now, he'd never played Pit in Smash beforehand, but for all the challenges Pit gave him, he only ever swore by Yoshi and Olimar—Palutena, too, said Pit was atrocious with those two yet he never tried another character. So how was he suddenly an expert in an entirely different class of a character? And it wasn't a fluke either; he'd been losing for the last four hours. The sky had long since turned dark from when they began.

"Also, definitely my best voice acting," he continued. "You sounded a little gruff."

"Shove it." Part of his surliness arose from the fact that in giving Pit his last clean robes, he had nothing to wear but the centurion tunic. He retaliated by plucking one of Pit's black feathers. Pit yelped in surprise.

"Hey, you shove it!" He shoved Pittoo off his bed and he hit the ground in a heap. He grabbed one of Pit's pillows and threw it at his face. He stood up and went to the television.

"Anyway, I'm going to—"

He froze, and the Palutena Bow embedded itself into the screen blade first, shattering it into hundreds of tiny glass bits. A little piece cut his cheek and he touched the wound in surprise, turning to Pit. The angel in question was frozen as well, eyes wide and wings on end, then he sat back and curled them in tight.

"I just," he paused, "Don't do that again."

The pillow or the feather? he thought, but just as with Palutena, he couldn't vocalize. He nodded and left without another word, and as he trekked back to his unofficial room, he was forced to face facts: something was wrong with Pit. Now, how was he going to explain it to the goddesses?

He was lying in bed mulling it over when Palutena's frantic voice suddenly filled his head: "Pittoo, Pit just ran off!"

"He what?" he said, flummoxed at first.

"He took his bow and just left through his window. I didn't give him the Power of Flight and neither did Viridi. He also took off his fibula." He ground his teeth—was Pit trying to run away? "I'm begging you, please go after him."

"On it." Dark Pit got up, laced his sandals, strapped on his bow and was already heading to the exit doors. He could hear Palutena's faint cries in the back of his mind and grimaced. This whole thing was turning into one massive shitshow. He should have thought it through better. For now, he had to rectify the problem he created.

He leapt through the doors and with the Power of Flight he was cutting through the starry night sky. He had always had a faint sense of Pit's location, and though Pit never said as much he assumed it was mutual—this time, he sensed Pit farther to the east than he had ever been. He followed his instincts and shot across the sky.

"Soo," Viridi said, "what's the plan, Inkling?"

"The plan is to get Pit back."

"And theennn?" She sounded far too amused for the situation and he snapped at her. "Well, bringing him back is short-term, isn't it? Whatever's going on with him will still be there when you get back."

"I don't know. Shut up. I'll figure it out."

"I hope you do." And she left with that.

The pull between the angels grew stronger and Dark Pit's Power of Flight was down to less than a minute. Luckily it didn't seem to matter much, for the land ahead was wrought with massive brambles shining a sickly greenish grey in the moonlight. Another Reset Bomb Forest, it seemed, but even older than the last one; there wasn't even the tiniest hint of human interaction.

As he lowered himself to the earth he spotted strange shadows scattered across the dirt. The moon brightened and he realized they were the fresh bodies of Underworld enemies peppered with arrows; they had already begun to dissolve into Hearts, but it meant Pit hadn't gotten there too long ago. He hit the ground as his wings returned to normal size and tripped over something surprisingly corporeal. He rose to his rear with a groan and looked over what he fell—and his heart stopped cold.

T…That's a human.

Granted, a human speared through with a Monoeye like a kabob, but a human nonetheless. He slowly rose to his feet and looked around the battlefield more closely. There were some more humans, less than a dozen who appeared to have been caught in the crossfire. He swallowed and stepped carefully around their bodies to the cluster of forestry. There was a small entry point close to the ground; he lowered himself to his belly and crawled through.

The same as before, barely any light could shine through, just enough for him to see his fingers right in front of his face. His bow caught on a low hanging branch and he suddenly wondered why he brought it. He didn't expect to fight Pit…did he? Sure, if it came down to it, he would bonk some sense into that empty head, but a real fight—no, he couldn't. He couldn't. Everything had just become so terrible so quickly and he couldn't handle it.

He continued crawling until more light was shining through the small tunnel. He could make out a clearing at the end and picked up the pace until he could see into the forest. There was a large mossy rock at the center where Pit was perched, his wings folded in tightly and his head down. The bow was dangling loosely from his fingers as Dark Pit came into view.

"Pit, what happened?" He jumped a little in surprise, eyes wide in the moonlight. Suddenly Dark Pit realized they weren't quite blue; there were some flecks of red in there that made them more lapis colored. "What are you doing? What happened out there?"

"What, the Underworld Army? I destroyed them. That's what I do."

"But there were humans too."

"They were in the way," he shrugged. "I didn't want to, but they were." Pittoo's eyes narrowed.

"Pit wouldn't do that."

"So what, you're saying I'm not me?" He laughed aloud until he realized Pittoo wasn't following along. Pit stood up with the bow clenched tightly in both hands. "I am Pit," he said, glaring down at the other. "Servant to the Goddess of Light."

"Then why did you run away from her?" he challenged. Pit started to avert his eyes, then he raised his chin.

"I had to fight. It was…I just had to."

"Like you had to throw that blade at my hand, or had to threaten my life if I dragged you back to Skyworld. Do you see yourself, what you're doing? It's pretty messed up from my point of view."

"Who are you to tell me wrong from right?" he continued.

"Don't know, really. All I can say for sure is things aren't the way they're supposed to be. Here I am, dressed like a centurion, and there you are…the black angel."

A shadow passed over Pit's face as his wings stretched overhead. They were thickly mottled with black, so much that the white feathers were more like accents. "Leave," he said, raising the Palutena Bow, "or else."

"And there you go again with the threats. Don't worry, I'm not here to threaten you." Dark Pit split his bow into blades. "I'm bringing you back one way or another, and that's a promise."

Pit unleashed a volley of highspeed arrows that would've sent any human soldiers running for their lives. Pittoo deflected them smoothly with his two blades before lunging forward, tackling Pit from his rock and to the grass below. Pit gained the upper hand and Dark Pit struggled with his blades to keep the Palutena Bow from plunging into his ribcage; he brought up a foot and dug it into Pit's gut, sending him flying backwards with a heavy whump. Pit rolled to his feet instantly and launched an arrow with a massive energy trail. Dark Pit launched an arrow of his own and their collision led to a huge burst of wind which flattened all the surrounding trees. Leaves filled the air and rained down on them.

"What's the point of this?" Dark Pit said. "We are copies, even matches to one another."

Pit didn't respond, instead launching a blade of the Palutena Bow like a javelin once again. Dark Pit's left wing was pinned to the rock and he bit down a cry of pain. He yanked the sword free when Pit rushed him and slammed it against his intended swipe, cracking both blades. He twirled the Silver Bow in his free hand and cut a clean line of Pit's fringe before he managed to leap backwards. The lack of hair bared his raging expression to the moonlight.

Dark Pit loosed several tracking arrows that Pit easily avoided, circling the clearing before scaling the rock behind him. Dark Pit stumbled backwards when Pit pounced on him, his blades cutting into the dirt, then he threw himself up and forward in a wild flurry of disorganized slashes. Dark Pit struggled to parry with his own swords; this sloppy style was nothing he was used to, and he was being forced backwards. His heel caught on a rock and he tripped backwards, narrowly avoiding a slice that would've taken his head. Then, as his back hit the grass, he watched Pit's swords coming for his heart. He didn't think, didn't look who he was facing; he turned his blade out and struck.

Pit's blade slid heavy into the space between two ribs, just barely missing his lung but causing a few fractures. He missed Dark Pit's heart from the impact of the Silver Bow plunging into his gut. His eyes bugged.

"Pit—" Blood gushed from the point of impact, staining his hand and face before Pit fell forward onto the grass adjacent. Dark Pit struggled to sit up past the burning agony in his chest and rolled Pit onto his back. His face was screwed in pain and he was pressing both hands into the wound. When his eyes focused on Dark Pit he exploded into a wild series of expletives that would've made Viridi blush. It lasted for all of fifteen seconds before he ran out of breath and passed out cold.

"Pittoo?"

"Pittoo? What's the situation? Where is Pit?"

Déjà vu, Dark Pit thought with a sick laugh. "Palutena, take us back."

"Us?" she repeated, then fell silent as they were extracted.

They landed on the floor of Palutena's Temple with a whump. Centurions immediately rushed in, picking up Pit's still speared body and rushing him outside, presumably to the hot spring. Palutena knelt at Pittoo's side and helped him sit up. Her face was ashen and he gave her a small smile. "He's back. E-Excuse me if he isn't wh-whole." She helped him up and he pushed her away, pressing a hand to his damaged ribs. "I-I'm sorry. Th-This is all my f-fault."

"Pittoo—" She exhaled hard and wrapped her arms around herself. "I have to check on Pit. I just…we'll talk about this more when he's stable."

She turned away and hurried in the directions of the centurions. Dark Pit brought his knees up to his chest and bowed his face into them. His wings shielded him from the world when hot tears poured down his cheeks. "D-Dammit…dammit…"

Palutena was…occupied, so it was up to Viridi to get Dark Pit's side of the story, so she said. Dark Pit was content to just stay under the sheets and avoid the world.

"No one's blaming you for anything, ya know," she said with a sigh. "We just want the full story."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to talk. So beat it."

Viridi gave a much more dramatic sigh and Dark Pit's ankle was suddenly trapped in some thorny vise grip. He was yanked upside-down via a thick piece of ivy that had grown through the window and onto the ceiling. Viridi tapped his nose with her staff, eyes narrowed. "We dropped it before when you claimed Pit was fine. Now your sword's getting deeply acquainted with his insides. Something's missing here and you're the one that needs to clear it up."

His ribs felt like rolling hot coals in his chest and he was having some difficulty catching his breath. He might have cried if he felt like he had any tears left. "He tried to kill me."

"What? I couldn't hear you."

"He tried to kill me!" he shouted, looking Viridi right in the eyes. "He tried to kill me three times—this time, if I hadn't stabbed him, he would've done it. I saw in his eyes, he would've done it."

Viridi's eyes widened and for once the goddess was completely speechless. The vine unraveled and Dark Pit hit the bed in a heap; he groaned at the spike of pain from the impact. She sat heavily in a nice chair and brushed her hair from her eyes. "So," she said at length, "what shall we do?"

"I don't…rrgh…know."

"Actually, I was giving the illusion of choice. I know what I'm doing." She mimed slicing her throat and Pittoo growled.

"No, you're not."

"And if I don't then what, he'll come in for lucky try number four? Well, whatever; I know Palutena will want him to talk when he's well enough, and I'm sure as hell gonna be there to see it. Have fun writing your will." She stood and twirled her staff before disappearing in a flurry of leaves and a gust of wind.

Silence. A world of silence.

Days, weeks, perhaps even months later, Dark Pit woke in the dead of the night to see a winged figure crouched on the windowsill. Luminescent violet eyes turned to meet his.

"Hey," Pit said softly. Dark Pit nodded but couldn't find his words. Those black and white wings fluttered uneasily before wrapping around his bandaged torso. "I'm…sorry for trying to stab you."

"Are you really?" he snapped without thinking and hated himself for doing so. Pit frowned in the moonlight, eyes lowered.

"I don't know, but it seems the right thing to do. Apologizing."

Dark Pit sat up from the tangle of sheets. "Apologies mean nothing unless you understand what you did wrong."

"I do. At least, Lady Palutena told me. Something's…I'm not right, am I? I'm not the Pit you guys knew. I can see it in your eyes…you're disappointed." Dark Pit shrugged a shoulder, fighting to keep his face blank. Pit sighed. "I want to ask something." His eyes returned to Pittoo's, searching, wanting something. "What's wrong with me?"

"Who knows?" It was painful to admit, but there it was. Pit's wings tightened around himself. "But, Pit, running off isn't an answer."

"'Else what? I stay and endure this…these looks you guys give me?" he spat. "I'm not who you want me to be. No one ever went around forcing you to be Pit, right?"

"Well no one went around trying to impale me." His fists, previously knotted in the sheets, balled against his sides, and he threw the blanket aside to stand on his feet, wings taut against his back. "Pit—and that's who you are, you are still Pit—I don't care if you're a walking talking eggplant. What those goddesses were saying before…they said you might not have a soul at all. But they said the same thing about me, and look! I would risk my own life to save yours, because you went and did so for me. Your light is what sustains my shadow."

"So what do you expect me to do? Change to fit your mold?"

"Pit, I want to ask you something. Why did you try to kill me?" He struggled to maintain eye contact and so did Pit, but Pit was the first to look away, turning until he could sit with his back to the window. With his face in the shadows Dark Pit couldn't be sure, but it seemed his eyes were glistening.

"I'm sorry."

"Pit. Answer."

"I ju—I don't know! I was upset…every time, you'd upset me, and I j—I just wanted to cause some damage. Burn off steam."

"Even if the thing you're damaging is me?"

He turned his head away. "Made no difference to me. I guess that makes me depraved."

"It wasn't right," Pittoo agreed.

"Therein lies the problem. I don't know right from wrong, not anymore. Is this what it's like, lacking a soul? Feeling empty and lost all the time? Is this what you felt like, Dark Pit?" He looked at Pittoo again and this time he was certainly crying. Dark Pit smiled bitterly; at least he had some emotional capacity.

"More or less."

"…Can it really be fixed?" His voice was as soft as a breeze. Pittoo sighed and moved to sit next to Pit.

"You won't be the same. None of us will be, I guess. But it can be fixed, and you will be fine. And if not…well, I'll always be here. You'll have to try a lot harder to kill me, birdbrain."

"Promise?" He didn't know if Pit meant promising to fix him or promising not to die; either way, he had no plans on reneging on either. He set a hand on Pit's forearm, squeezing hard.

"Promise."

Pit stared at Dark Pit's hand for a long moment, lost in his thoughts. Then the corner of his lip twitched. "Should we hug now?"

"I'd rather not."

"But," he said sagely, eyes shining, "it would be the Pit thing to do."

He rolled his eyes so hard he thought they would pop out. "If it makes you feel better—"

He couldn't speak when Pit trapped him in a tight bear hug, his multicolored wings wrapped around Pittoo's head. He wanted to complain, but…his scent. Pit always sort of smelled like freedom, if he had to put it into words; a combination of sweet wild grass, tangy hot spring water, lemony laundry soap, and the clearness of the open sky. Though they said this Pit didn't have a soul, the smell was still there, and it was so poignant it made Pittoo's eyes cloud with tears. He sniffed as subtly as he could, but being next to Pit's ear, the boy noticed.

"Hey, Pittoo, are you crying?" he asked.

"I'm—shut up. Hug me."

"I am already," he said smartly, but complied anyway.

Pit was training on the grass, effortlessly sliding through various combat maneuvers with the Palutena Bow. It would have been nothing out of the ordinary if his wings weren't mottled black and his eyes shone violet in the sunlight. Palutena gripped her elbows and hummed with disconcert.

"Are you sure about this, Dark Pit?" she said softly, though he wouldn't be able to hear them from the gates of the palace.

"Not particularly," he said, seated on the windowsill and polishing the Silver Bow. "But I don't plan on offing another Pit."

"That may be so, but…"

"I believe things'll work out. I may not be an all-seeing goddess or whatever, but I'm walking proof." He slid to the tiled floor and strapped the bow across his back, joining Palutena in the doorway. Their shadows fell across the grass, not equal in size nor status. "Pit's the one who made me more human. The least I can do is return the favor."

She still seemed doubtful but held her grievances and tongue. Viridi, however, had so such qualms. Should he become a threat, he'll know the power of nature, she said with no traces of her usual dispassion or sarcasm—it was nothing short of a promise. So make sure I don't have to, Dark Pit.

"Put a seed in it," he replied, stepping onto the grass. "Gods and goddesses, you get hung up on the wrong things. That kid is no less an annoying pest than he was before, 'cept he's almost good enough to beat me in a swordfight. But he'll come to find," he grinned darkly, drawing the bow and holding the blade out, "a centurion is no match for a real black angel."

He ran out onto the green calling, "Yo, Pit, right here and now!" Pit, a bit out of breath from his training, nodded, and with a mutual grin, the two angels descended into a match of blows. Evenly matched, a show with no end in sight, a dance of two halves struggling to reform. But they would reform, that, Pittoo was confident in, for there was no shadow that could be without a source of light.

#kid icarus #kid icarus fanfiction #Kid Icarus Uprising #angst #tragedy #fanfiction

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years ago

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A Tumultuous Embrace (3/5) (Golden Hook)

Summary: Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin have wronged many a man in their days as villains, so many in fact that they’ve unknowingly overlapped on more than one occasion. What are they going to do when two of those cases want revenge and know exactly how to best take it? Now trapped together in a beyond compromising position, will Killian and Rumple be able to work together to fight against impossible odds and get home, or will their lingering hatred of each other prove to be their shared doom as they literally go down together?

(1) (2)

AO3 Fanfiction.net

A/N: I LOVED writing this chapter! It was a long, arduous, bonkers process, but I loved every freaking minute of it! Rumple and Killian being each other's unwitting, but forced-upon torture is my freakin' aesthetic and making a fic of that is essentially a dream come true!

This chapter is less whumpy, but more uncomfortable, and I think it's not only the longest chapter, but the funniest too!

Tagging @ponylasers, @sherlockianwhovian, @killian-whump, @z-aliada, @justsomewhump, @black-wolf066, @therooksshiningknight, @wyntereyez, @hollyethecurious and @darkpoisonouslove! If you want to get tagged for this fic (Or don’t -- I promise I won’t be offended), please let me know!

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CHAPTER 3: A TUMULTUOUS STROLL IN THE WOODS

Pirates were no stranger to the water. Everyone knew that. Water ruled their lives - it was their home, their source of food, and their best means of travel in a world unfriendly towards their kind. But, just as it provided for pirates, it also took away from them in that same vein. It was something of a system of its own personal brand of justice, often serving all at once as a pirate's judge, jury, and executioner for whatever walk of life came into its murky embrace.

And although it was often preferable to be above the water because of this, given his and Rumple's current circumstances, Killian was more than grateful to wake up only partially submerged in the stuff.

Thankfully, as it had been many times before, the water he'd found himself in took mercy on his soul.

As the sun shined a hopeful, speckled light onto him through the nearby trees aside a cloudless sky, Killian took a deep, thankful breath.

He was alive.

They had done it.

But that begged immediately begged the question: Did the other part of his unwitting duo fare so well?

Sure, Rumple couldn't die, but the very water that spared him may have drowned Rumple, leaving him in a catatonic state. That, especially given their circumstances, would actually be worse for the both of them.

Never before had Killian thought he'd wish Rumple was okay, but now, it was almost something of a prayer.

Damnit, he just HAD to make it out of this!

Killian leaned his head forward so that his ear was on Rumple's chest. As if an act of mercy for all they'd had to endure thus far, his heart was beating perfectly. Killian sighed.

He had to thank Zeus for that one - he'd made that bastard as good as surviving as him.

"Wake up!" he said, nudging at his neck as best as he could.

Immediately, Rumple moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He forewent meeting Killian's eyes following a brief few seconds in favor of exploring their new location with his limited viewpoint.

After a moment, Rumple released a breath that mirrored the one Killian took upon making the same realization. "We made it," he said, a calmness in his voice that Killian had never heard before, a calmness that was likely reserved for only Belle, Gideon, and Bae.

Despite everything, Killian smiled. "Indeed, we did. Told you I'd get us back safely. Now the only question is WHERE are we?" Killian looked around. Currently, they laid beside a big boulder inside a shallow brook. Above the brook's edge laid what was clearly a large and expansive forest, but he had no clue if they had remained in town or not.

Rumple examined the area. "I know this place. We're in a small brook by the northern part of Storybrooke's woods. Quite a far cry from the town."

Of course surviving the current and brutality of the very ocean itself would be the easiest part of this mess.

But really, what else would he expect from an adventure in Storybrooke?

"At least we made it out alive," Killian said, sighing.

"Now, tell me these binds loosened up a bit and that will really make my day."

Killian hadn't considered that possibility, but it was indeed quite feasible. The ocean was a harsh mistress to be sure, but maybe that could work to their benefit.

He tried pulling his arm and elbow, first close together and then apart, but much to his chagrin, the knot that bound him stayed just as tight as before. "No such luck. You try."

And try Rumple did - many times. Grunting, he pulled his hands closer and further apart, much like an accordion player.

However, it proved to be no use.

Any goodwill Rumple displayed on his features since waking up was gone now, replaced instead with the scowl that Killian had come to know and hate.

"Let's just get out of here," Rumple huffed. Killian nodded.

Using his free arm as leverage, Killian started to pick the two of them up...only to slip and be knocked down not two seconds later.

They hit the rocks with a thud, with Rumple taking the brunt of the fall.

"Can you TRY to be a bit more careful?" he barked.

"In case you haven't realized, we're in the midst of a brook and all I've on hand for leverage are slippery rocks," he said as they worked to sit up again. "And not only that, but the edge of my arm is completely smooth - thanks to you, by the way. I can only do so much."

Rumple looked to his left, either ignoring or not caring about how his chin hit Killian's nose in the process. Killian turned to face that way, pushing their cheeks together once more.

"Let's scoot over to the end of the brook," Rumple suggested. "With any luck, we'll be able to get up from there."

Killian agreed. The pair shifted onto Killian's back once more. From there, his arm pulled at the slippery rocks while both of their sets of legs pushed in the direction of the brook's edge.

It didn't take long before something harsh hit his shoe.

"Ow!" Killian snapped. "Be careful!"

"I can't see!" Rumple shot back.

"Then don't step so hard!"

"Yes," Rumple mocked, his tone as drenched in sarcasm as their bodies were in water, "because soft steps are what will get us out of here."

What came out next of Killian was a mix of a groan and a roar. "What the hell could I have done that warranted this kind of torture? Out of everyone in the all the realms I could've been stuck with this way, it HAD to be you!"

"I promise you, CAPTAIN: You were hardly my first choice either."

The two glared at each other, frustrated at how they could only just barely keep their noses from touching.

If Killian could have it his way, they'd be on opposite sides of the world.

Seething, Killian got back to work, with Rumple following suit, his steps somehow turning even harsher.

And Killian paid the deed in kind.

"Watch it," Rumple snarled when one of his foot stomps hit its semi-intended target.

"I will when you do."

"How much further do we have to go?"

Killian tilted his head back and was perturbed to see just how little progress they'd made.

"We're maybe halfway there."

"Please tell me this is one of your awful jokes."

"This isn't a joke," Killian commiserated. "It's a travesty."

Rumple sighed, his head landing on Killian's chest for the barest of seconds before he recoiled. "For once, I'll agree to that."

"Then let's work to end it," Killian said.

Killian and Rumple got back to work, pushing and pulling through the rocks silently while facing opposing directions. While Killian's arm would occasionally slip, Rumple didn't interrupt their progress to yell at him, instead just grunting as he got back to work.

As far as cooperation went for them, with their lives no longer so directly on the line, that was likely the best Killian could hope for.

However, that did paint a worrying picture for how they'd go about handling the next stage in their climb.

After about three minutes, Killian tilted his head back to see that they were nearly close enough for his arm to latch onto the grass of the forest.

"Look alive," he said. "We're closing in on the brook's edge."

Through his shirt, Killian could feel Rumple looking up to confirm his words.

"What do you think? How should we get up there?"

Killian took a moment to plot out his plan.

"We'll dig our side into the side of the brook and shimmy up the ledge. Once your arm can secure a hold on the ground, we'll push ourselves up onto it with our legs."

"This better work," Rumple grumbled.

"It will."

Killian dug his feet against the closest rock to them at the bottom of the brook and proceeded to shove his and Rumple's shoulders into the wet dirt that comprised the brook's ledge. He pushed his knees in between Rumple's legs, dug his feet in front of one of the rocks on the ground, and started the process of wedging their side up the ledge.

It wasn't an easy job by any means. Getting the rhythm for shimmying and moving up was by no means simple with two people constrained as they were and when those two people could just barely cooperate, it was especially challenging.

But it was working, slowly, but working all the same. They were making bits and bits of progress and it seemed like they would succeed.

Killian was so close to the top of the ledge, now able to make out not only a patch of grass, but a stretch of it.

He started to navigate his arm towards the ledge, but in that moment, his foot's traction against the rock it pushed against started to wane and wane fast.

His and Rumple's scramble for balance was fast given everything, but nowhere near fast nor study enough to save them from the fall.

The two of them shared the brunt of the drop, landing on the cobblestone-like seafloor of the brook. The oblong cobbles of the stones made the fall especially painful, even though the water did help a bit to ease it.

Because the brook was rather shallow, neither of them was submerged beyond a quarter of their faces.

That only served to help Rumple's rage fly faster.

"Yes, that plan of your really worked," Rumple grit, positively seething.

"At least it was something!" Killian shot back.

"What I'd give for use of my hands."

"Well, haven't I had thought THAT a million times before?"

"If you don't get moving, you're not going to be having ANY thoughts!"

Both men stopped to catch their breaths and strategize, but the animosity between the other didn't vanish for so much as a second.

God, HOW did Belle stand to share a house with Rumple, much less marry and raise a child with him? The two of them had been awake for less than twenty minutes and the bindings that kept them clung to each other was all that kept Killian from strangling him!

And this wasn't the end of their journey...likely not even close.

"We need to get up there," Rumple said, his angry expression now morphed into something close to determination.

Well, at least he was just as dead set on getting home as he was.

"Then let's try again."

Killian moved to get back into their previous position, but Rumple pulled him back into the water with his body. Irritation flared up and his blood felt like the innards of a volcano.

"What are you doing?" he nearly shouted.

"No," Rumple refuted. "We're not doing that again."

"Got any better ideas then?" Killian growled.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do."

"This should be good," Killian said, lacing his comment with all the venom he could muster.

Rumple seemed to have ignored the comment. "We'll push my back against the side of the brook. From there, you'll maneuver yourself onto your legs and stand up."

Killian had to admit that it was a good plan. He'd never say it outright, of course, but he agreed to do it nonetheless.

Once again, Killian maneuvered himself onto his knees, but this time pivoted himself so that he was facing the ledge of the brook. He pushed Rumple's back into the ledge as hard as he could.

"Now who's going too hard?" Rumple snipped. In truth, Killian found himself in pain too since the very ledge that was hurting Rumple was right beside his arms as well. It was almost enough to make him wince, but he wasn't about to let himself to it - not in front of his crocodile.

"You said it yourself: We need to get up there," Killian bit back. Rumple glared at him, but said nothing as Killian continued to push them upwards.

And much to his relief, in but a few moments, he and Rumple were standing upright.

Rumple smirked at him, causing Killian to rolls his eyes.

"You needn't thank me, but if you want to, I'll gladly accept it."

Of course he'd gloat about this, wouldn't he?

Killian didn't rush to answer the comment, instead looking forward - literally - towards their next course of action. Now that they were standing, how would they get on the ledge? The ledge went up to Killian's waist and while he was spry, there was no way he was going to be able to step that high unsupported.

But then he got an idea.

A devilish grin crossed his face and Rumple couldn't even utter a word in response before Killian pushed him - them - onto Rumple's back.

Upon landing, Rumple shot perhaps the most vicious glare Killian had ever seen from him in his life. However, Killian, in between barks of laughter, pushed his legs upon the ledge.

He then turned to Rumple, whose expression had gotten no better since he last looked at it.

To that, Killian smirked.

"Thank you," Killian joked.

By now, Rumple was fuming.

"Get OFF of me," he huffed, shoving Killian. The impact of the push ended up being more than likely either of them expected, sending them not only on their sides, but rolling a ways away from the brook in the direction of a tree. Their momentum was killed, as Killian's back slammed into a tree.

Both men exclaimed upon the crash, Rumple's balled fists pushing deeply into Killian's back, which only made the landing worse for Killian. They rolled out a bit so they were on their other side and a little bit away from the tree.

"You," Killian grunted, "are the worst."

"I couldn't breath with you on me!" Rumple bit back. "What was your excuse?"

"I was getting us up that ledge! What, would you have preferred we stay there for a drink?"

"You could've given me a warning!"

"You could've been less of an ass by the ledge!"

The both of them sighed and looked away from each other. It wasn't comfortable - none of this was - and it was only going to get worse from here. Killian reasoned they should probably get a move on while there was still daylight to burn.

"Let's just get this over with," Rumple said, beating Killian to the punch.

Killian looked at the tree that just two minutes ago got quite intimate with his spine. He thought back to the ledge they were trapped aside shortly before they landed here. Then, he turned to Rumple who was by now looking to him.

"Alright," Killian said. "Like before, I'm going to press your back to the tree and push us up form there. That okay?"

Rumple paused for a second, as if he was surprised by the gesture. To be fair, Killian supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He hadn't been the most gracious of cohorts today either.

"Yes," he seemed to settle on with a touch of hesitation. "Okay, let's get moving."

Once more, they rolled back to the tree, though more gently and with Rumple occupying Killian's prior spot. Killian pushed Rumple against the trunk, making a conscious effort to be just a little more gentle with his movements - if only to spare them both another spat. Slowly, he started stepping up, his arms grating sharply against the bark until finally, Killian was fully standing up again.

They both let out sighs of relief. For the first time in nearly half a day, some shred of normalcy and dignity returned to their lives...for about five seconds.

Then they realized their position once more.

How the HELL were they going to walk home like this?

And how long would it take?

Killian suspected that said answer was not one he was going to like.

Rumple seemed to already have an idea as to one of those question's answers. "Okay, lower me onto my feet," he instructed.

Killian obliged, but immediately regretted doing so. A feeling of anguish set in right in the center of his spine as soon as Rumple was settled on the ground. He grimaced and let out an unconscious wince. Rumple looked no happier with the arrangement, seemingly struggle just to see anything apart from Killian that was directly in front of him.

"Okay, let's try moving back," Killian said. He moved his feet first backwards from the tree and then Rumple moved his.

Not bad.

Not good either.

"Now let's turn." They started moving again, but the limitations of their position started to kick in with the tree no longer there to fall back on. The position was incredibly uncomfortable and difficult to move in. It required patience and a mutual understanding of their desired rhythm, neither of which they had. Rumple was moving too fast and Killian was moving too slow. They barely managed the turn, but then they tried walking towards Rumple.

Rumple's feet were once more too fast and Killian's too slow, but luck wasn't there this time to make up for their shoddy excuses for rhythm and balance.

All it took was one errant step for the pair to go tumbling down once more.

They landed on Rumple's back and Killian, not wanting a repeat of the last time that happened, quickly turned them onto their side. For a moment, the just laid atop the grass as they recovered from yet another painful fall.

"Not a great start," Killian assessed.

"No," Rumple concurred. "Not at all." They looked to the tree and then to each other.

Now they had to do that whole thing again.

Killian was a bit more successful this time at getting them up. It was still a hard process, but it was once more an effective one.

Upon thinking back to their last effort at walking, Killian decided there and then that they weren't about to try that abysmal attempt at walking again. Instead, he came up with another idea, once a bit less painful and taxing on both of them.

"Let me lead," Killian implored. Rumple didn't answer, and he took that as an agreement to his proposition.

On his own, Killian took a slow, careful step forward. It was incredibly wobbly and he almost didn't make it through the next one, but just managed to catch himself with the help of some of Rumple's movements. He took several more until they were beside the next closest tree.

A twig nearly had them, but Killian recovered just in time through a graceless bit of wiggling and commanding on his and Rumple's part to maintain their stance.

Upon finally finding some semblance of balance, Rumple and Killian looked around.

"We clearly didn't make it to the beach," Rumple commented.

"Not by a long shot," Killian agreed.

"So much for that plan of yours," Rumple snipped.

Killian glared at him. "I didn't see you suggesting anything better when we were flung into the ocean. And I told you there was a chance we'd lose to the current."

"Maybe we wouldn't have had you listened to me about the rocks," Rumple bit back.

"I could barely hear you over the ocean."

"More like your own stubbornness."

"Look who's talking. Had your stubbornness been allowed to win, we'd be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Let's just thank our gods we're still in Storybrooke."

Rumple looked peeved, but said nothing, gazing instead at the expansive forest beside them.

"How far off are we?" Killian asked.

"At least four, if not five miles from the town proper," Rumple groaned, something Killian quickly chorused with one of his own.

Killian took a deep breath. "And how long do you think it will take us to get there?"

"Considering how long it took us to get up and out of that brook, how bad those last few steps were, and the bumpiness of the woods...a day, at least," he assessed. "Maybe two."

"No," Killian moaned, trying through sheer force of denial to make it not so.

""Yes."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"How I wish that I were."

Killian sighed, squeezing his eyes shut with frustration. "Well, unless we're found, there's little we can do but walk ourselves back home."

"Kill me now," Rumple commiserated.

"And have to bring Belle your corpse? Not a chance, crocodile. Now come on, let's get a move on." Killian was about to take a step, when suddenly, Rumple spoke.

"Wait."

Killian exhaled far more roughly than he intended. "What?"

"You can't seriously expect us to travel like this," Rumple said, incredulity stretched across his face and words like a sheet of aluminum foil over a tray of leftover food.

Killian looked up and down - at least as well as he could - at how they stood. While he'd never deluded himself into thinking it was anything near normal, it was only now that he realized just how positively AWKWARD it was! Rumple's feet couldn't touch the ground and it made it look like Killian had a large baby strapped to his chest in a similar manner to how Belle held her son. It undoubtedly would've looked goofy to onlookers and as it stood, it was both humiliating and aggravating for them to endure.

Then again, Killian supposed that was Horace and Jasper's point in tying them up like this - to make their last moments as torturous as hell.

But the fact was that they had lived and now, it was quite literally their burden to bear.

"Given our circumstances, it's that or death," Killian replied. "I don't know about you, but I quite value my life."

"I'm not being carried," Rumple protested. Killian imagined that if he had use of his arms, they might be folded in front of him.

And Killian's, fueled by exasperation, would be at his hips.

"Well, seeing as how you can't lower yourself to the ground and our last attempts at me lowering you ended with us on the ground in a matter of seconds, unless you've got any better ideas — and trust me, I'd love to hear just about any alternative to this — then yes, you are being carried." Rumple growled, and taking that as the end of the matter, Killian started walking. "You do realize I hate this as much as you do, right?"

"I'd be disgusted if you didn't." From his backside, Killian could feel Rumple moving his feet up Killian's body.

"What are you doing?"

"If I've no use for my legs, I'm not just going to leave them dangling. So I'm putting them up."

That was all well and good, but it quickly stopped being so when Killian felt two feet pushing into his ass. The sudden shock of the feeling made Killian stumble, and despite trying to regain their balance, he was unable to.

"Well, can you not?" Killian growled as he picked his face up from the ground. Another groan escaped him as he realized that once more, they'd need to get back up again, something he was sure would be no more pleasant this time than any of the previous times had been.

And much to his aggravation, Rumple's feet started climbing up Killian's backside again.

"Stop," Killian commanded.

"If they're not dangling, they'll be out of our way while you walk," Rumple refuted.

Hearing the word 'our' being used so casually was torturous to Killians ears, an awful reminder of the long day that was to come.

Or possibly two days that were to come...

Killian groaned, for what had to be the eighth time in the span of maybe an hour.

"It's as you said," Rumple reminded him, "it's this or death and I know how you value your life. Now, come on, let's get back up."

They moved back towards the tree that had supported them last time. It was easier to get up this time, but easier was still by no means easy.

And if that weren't bad enough, once they were standing, Rumple, whose legs fell down during the climb back up, started moving his legs up Killian's again. Thankfully though, this time Rumple's legs were able to cling as far up as Killians waist, and only hit Killian's ass once along the way.

That said, it wasn't comfortable. None of this was. Now though, with Rumple's legs stacked on his waist, Killian felt even more of Rumple's weight on him. Not to mention, his legs now served as an additional bind, forcing even their hips that had been spared the initial bind together.

As if they weren't close enough...

"Let's just get this fresh Hell over with so we can end this awful adventure."

Having seemingly relented to his share of their misery, Rumple sighed. "Final question."

Killian stopped walking, exasperated. "What?" he half shouted.

"How are we going to use the bathroom?"

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Storybrooke's forests were never something Rumple felt intimidated by. He spent more than his fair share of time traversing them, both in his cursed and uncursed life and never found them too expansive to conquer.

But that no longer proved to be the case as he was bound by the wrists of another man who could walk at most maybe a quarter of a mile per hour balancing their shared weights. Now, the woods felt practically insurmountable. Every bump in the road was a test of their balance and every familiar looking patch of moss was a test of their patience and all of it only delayed their arrival home even further.

Hook's presence - unwitting for him and UNBEARABLE for Rumple - literally breathing down his neck as he did for Hook, made it all even worse. The only body part free of their embrace were their heads, but they clung close to each other as to not even worsen Hook's balance. They had both reluctantly accepted the fact that their chins - either directly or by their sides - would remain in a constant state of contact, whether they liked it or not.

And they definitely didn't.

Horace and Jasper had succeeded far better than they ever could've dreamed - Rumple and Hook may have lived, but this was some layer of Hell they had been thrust into.

If Rumple found them, he'd get his revenge - hell, he might even invite Hook to join the party.

Most of the day thus far had the two men walking in silence. Neither would describe it as comfortable considering everything that happened before - including a bathroom trip that was awkward to say the least and downright painful to say the most, leaving both of them unable to so much as look at the other for the following hour - but the silence was also far from unwanted.

And thankfully, after growing more accustomed to the feeling of their combined forms, Killian was able to pick up the pace, granted though, only a little. Like before, their balance left a lot to be desired and while Killian could hold himself and Rumple up well enough, the strain of such a feat required frequent pauses to catch their breath.

And frequent falls.

Rumple especially hated the falls.

Still, it was an improvement all the same and neither was about to argue with that.

But that didn't mean there weren't plenty of things to despise, and oh could Rumple go on a tirade if prompted.

Relying on Hook for so much of their journey home was quite literally a living nightmare. Rumple was acclimated to a large level of independence throughout much of his life thanks to his magic, domestic skills, and affluence, but right now, that was all stripped away. His feet were helplessly too short to allow him the dignity of walking alongside Hook, forcing him to allow Hook to lead the way while he just went along for the ride. He gave Hook directions, and thankfully, Hook took them all, but that was only because he had the power to do so and the basic competence to accept that Rumple simply knew better. Apart from that though, he was trapped.

And oh, what a situation to be trapped in. Every one of his senses was flared up with some manner of aggravating substances. His nose was entrenched in the smells of the forest, many of which were stuck on their clothes as a consequence of their multiple, multiple falls. His mouth still housed the bitter sting of salt water, even hours later. His eyes were caught between either looking at the endless forest they still had to slowly make their way through and Hook's face, neither of which were pleasant choices. The sound of Hook's deep breaths and the occasional annoying tweets from birds plagued his ears. And all he could touch was the body of his adversary, who he was forced to practically cuddle with through every single miserable step they took together.

All of that paired with the constant state of boredom the day had brought made the entire affair simply maddening. Engaging with Hook for about anything besides directions and was just about the last thing he wanted to commence, and Hook seemed in no hurry to start a conversation either, leaving him with little choice apart from looking out into the repetitive distance. Trees extended out as far as he could see and while there were small occasions of birds and squirrels passing the pair by, it was by no means long enough to entertain him in any way. That silence between them, for as merciful as it was solely because the only other party around was Hook, condemned him to being alone with his thoughts, which simply looped around to him thinking about every little annoying thing about this extended test of his very sanity.

How Rumple hadn't completely lost control was a mystery to even him.

He'd wanted to lash out - at the start, he did. He yelled at Hook to stop breathing so loudly and to walk faster and Hook would waste no time telling him to shut up. But every time it happened, Hook lost his balance, and the two of them were treated to a bone-rustling trip to the dirty ground and the frustrating and painful process of standing up again. After the fourth time - which funnily enough, at least to someone, came from a command to stop falling so much - Rumple finally decided it would be in his best interest to hold his tongue, no matter how crazy it drove him.

After all, for all he could do, Rumple figured he may as well have been in a straight jacket on top of it all.

So when a fork in their path at last came, Rumple found himself of all things relieved to see it. It was an excuse to think, and as much as Rumple maligned the prospect, it was an excuse to talk.

"What direction do we go next?" Hook asked.

Rumple looked around. He hated to admit it, but he wasn't sure. Both paths were going in the same general direction, but they did diverge even further after a point to go in completely different directions. Should they take the wrong one, correcting themselves could take hours and Rumple honestly didn't know which was the correct one to take. Then, just when he was about to admit his failing, he spotted something. To an ordinary eye, it wouldn't appear to be much, but if Rumple could say anything about himself, it was that he was he was far from ordinary.

"Over there," he said, pointing as best he could over to what he saw with his head in lieu of fingers and hands. Hook turned around to face what Rumple was aiming towards.

"What is it?"

"That lump of scat by that pile of leaves." Rumple knew the prospect was odd to say the least, and he could predict Hook's responses seconds before they showed themselves.

With a clenched, impatient jaw, Hook narrowed his eyes. "You can't be serious."

"You need to get me close enough so I can figure out what animal made it," Rumple urged, ignoring Hook's protests.

"Why?" Hook practically whined.

"Because then I can find out where we're near based on what they've eaten."

Hook was clearly not convinced. "I won't do it."

But Rumple was nothing if not stubborn, at least as much as Hook was, though he'd never outright admit it. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he threatened.

"We'll do it NO way." Hook started to walk along the rightmost path, and Rumple, knowing no better solution and content enough with the warning he gave beforehand, shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright - hard way it is then."

With that, using all of his strength, Rumple pushed himself towards Hook.

Hook may have gotten more used to their position, but his balance was still shoddy at best.

"Rumple!" Hook cried, just barely able to regain his balance.

But Rumple wasn't about to give up.

Once more, he pushed.

And with a thud, they fell.

Immediately, Rumple started pushing them towards the scat.

That became a challenge when Hook started pushing them in the opposite direction.

"What the hell, crocodile?!" Hook shouted

"I'm trying to get us out of this mess," Rumple snarled.

"I'm not smelling shit!"

"Then I'll do it!"

"I'm still going to have to face it!"

"Oh, get over yourself!"

They struggled against one another and fortunately for Rumple, while Hook often had more physical prowess between the two of them, hours of walking with Rumple's additional weight had tuckered him out, allowing Rumple to secure the upper hand.

Rumple began rolling their bodies in the direction of the scat. He could see Hook glaring at him the whole while, but this was their best hope of getting out of this disaster. If Hook wanted to pout about it all the way from here to Storybrooke, he could for all Rumple cared, but he'd get them to that scat first.

When they arrived, Rumple leaned in and took a whiff of the scat. As expected, it smelled horrible, but Rumple was well used to the stench of lanolin, so it was hardly the worst thing to ever pass through his nose. But that very stench, for as awful as it was, confirmed what he was hoping it would.

"It's fresh," he assessed.

Hook scoffed with disgust so obvious, it could rival the fact that the grass is green. "No kidding."

From there, Rumple examined the scat's outward appearance and texture. He looked for little bits of food and an overall consistency to fill in the blanks of what he still wanted to know.

One long look was all he needed.

"Our furry friend just treated himself to a nice helping of pokeweed berries."

Much to Rumple's surprise, Hook grinned at the bit of information.

"Thank God," Hook said, sighing. "Finally, some food."

Rumple shook his head. "Afraid not. Pokeweed berries are poisonous to humans."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, how I wish that I was."

"So where do we go from here?"

"Those squirrels nest to the opposite side of town. Once we get back up, veer left."

With that, they rolled back to the nearest tree and started inching their way up once more before going left.

From there, the crossed paths became simpler to navigate. Much to Hook's clear appreciation, Rumple could navigate from there without the use of scat. It didn't make the trip much better, but the improved sense of direction did makes things better nonetheless and in their situation, it was honestly the most he or Hook could ask for.

Hours passed. To Rumple, they felt like days, but he knew in fact that they were indeed hours that were creeping forward like snails carrying anvils on their backs.

Rumple looked up at the leaf-patched sky. One skill he had retained from his previous life in the Enchanted Forest was the ability to tell the time by means of the sun's trajectory. So he used that long underutilized ability to get some semblance of understanding where and when they were going. With no means of looking at his watch and no desire to ask Hook to do yet another thing for him, he had actively started checking the time this way since they woke up. It was ten in the morning when that happened and it was about eleven when they finally started steadily - and oh, so slowly - walking through the woods. Now, it was around four and the time was beginning to show itself through his fellow captive's abilities.

He could feel Hook's endurance draining with every fibre of his hostaged being. Hook's speed, may have increased for a bit earlier in the day, but Rumple was starting to feel it fall once more, now closer to when they began their travels. His breaths were becoming more labored and the tension in his muscles were thinning.

Hook had taken pauses over the past few hours, but they were relatively short and he hadn't given his legs a single break apart from their encounter with the scat, choosing to lean them against a tree. Rumple couldn't blame him for not wanting to spare the time forcing them to get back up once more, but now, the consequences were starting to prove too much to push through. If he didn't take a break soon, his stamina would deplete itself.

Of course though, Hook was a stubborn ass. Rumple had several lifetimes of experience to attest to that and today had given him by far the most instances of it.

This was going to be anything but easy.

But then again, what HAD been easy since this whole mess started?

"Stop," Rumple commanded.

Hook obliged, but turned to him with a skeptical air about him. "What's wrong?"

"You need to take a break."

As Rumple expected, he received an incredulous look for his reasoning.

"No, I don't," Hook denied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For Hook, to Rumple's chagrin, it likely WAS the most natural thing in the world.

Rumple gave him a strict look. "You've been walking nonstop for hours now and like it or not, you're getting weaker. I can feel it. Take a break."

"I'm fine, Rumple."

"Look," Rumple said, not letting up for a second, "we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Now, after our last disagreement, I'd imagine you'd opt for the former, so you best sit down before I make you, and we both know right now, as per usual, I can."

Hook clenched his jaw as he stared at Rumple, as if he was trying to find a reason to say no beyond his own resolve to get out of here.

Rumple would be lying if he said he took no satisfaction in seeing Hook relent.

"Ten minutes and we're back up," Hook said as he started to walk them towards the nearest tree.

"Thirty," Rumple shot back.

A huff pushed itself out of Hook's nose.

"Twenty," he offered.

Rumple smirked. "Deal."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Today...hadn't been the best day of Killian's life.

That was the MILDEST way he could put things.

For years, he'd considered Rumple to be a plight upon this world.

Right now though, he was a plight on Killian's entire personal being.

Rumple...was a pest. He had been a relatively quiet pest today, all things considered, but a pest nonetheless.

Killian could tell on the inside he was seething though, but that was fine because he was seething too.

He had carried heavier things and people than Rumple - he'd just never had to carry them for nearly as long.

The sun was a good measure of the day, and by his calculations, it had been four hours since they started this journey from the very bowels of hell. That was four awkward, painful, disgusting, quiet hours between himself and Rumple.

He'd been to the literal Underworld and it wasn't a quarter as bad as everything he'd endured today.

Rumple had badgered him into taking a twenty minute break and though the last thing he'd do was say it to his companion's face, Killian had to admit that it was one sorely needed.

It was only upon sitting down that he realized just how much the day had taken its toll on his body. Everything ached. His legs felt as if he'd spent the last four hours in a chain gang and each and every one of his muscles felt like they were comprised of little red balloons. Only now could he hear how deep his breaths had become and only now could he hope to reclaim some sort of equilibrium in his lungs. Opposite the rest of his body, while Killian couldn't see his arms and hand, he could feel the blood that was only now starting to clot dripping down him and the stinging pain that attempting to move or even soothe them with the free part of his arm caused.

Killian closed his eyes, a shallow attempt to lick his proverbial wounds in any way possible. In truth, it did him little good. With Rumple pressed right up to him, everything not only ached, but continued to suffer under the pressure of his fellow captive's weight.

The break also afforded Killian the first bit of mental freedom he was afforded since waking up. All of their trudgings had imposed upon Killian a responsibility to keep them moving and vertical as best as he could. Few steps allowed for his mind to wander, for every inch of the woods came with its own dangers to the two of them. There were twigs and rocks to be avoided, paths to stay on, and hills and slopes to manage. Walking was a job that oddly enough one of the hardest he'd ever had the misfortune to do in his life.

Still, if that focus thrust upon Killian had done one thing for him, it allowed him to be distracted from the rest of his body - and he wasn't even referring to Rumple, or at least not strictly. One day without food and water was bad enough, but when one was also forced to perform feats of physical strength such as what he had to do, it was even worse. His tongue still had remnants of the ocean's salt in it, but that only served to make him thirstier and how his stomach hadn't rumbled yet when his last meal was a burger from yesterday's lunch was just as much a mystery to him as that 'Snappy-Chatty' app Henry sometimes went on about.

And now that he was temporarily relieved of his responsibilities, his body was free to unleash its wrath of deprivation upon him.

Rumple himself wasn't even capable of such wrath, even on his worst days.

"Any chance of water coming up soon?" The words left his mouth before he could even hope to control them. In truth, while he didn't like admitting weaknesses to Rumple, he didn't care enough to hold it in, especially if there was hope of filling that need.

"Not on our path, unfortunately."

Stupid hopes.

"What about food?"

"Yes, but we've still quite a ways to go before we approach it."

Killian groaned openly. "I feel like my stomach is about to cannibalize my liver."

Rumple snickered maliciously. "Well, don't go doing that. I can't imagine Miss Swan would be too happy if after all that pesky surviving of yours, you succumb to alcohol poisoning. Can't say I'd be too disappointed, though."

And just like that, Killian felt his eyes succumbing not to alcohol poisoning, but instead to a hearty roll.

How long was left until Rumple let him get back up?

Too long, especially when he was thinking about his hunger and even more so when he was stuck to HIM, the very man coercing him to stay here and do nothing but think about his hunger.

Speaking of the proverbial devil, Killian realized that bit of bickering had been the most they'd spoken in hours.

And upon catching Rumple's eye looking at him in a way that expected a response or at least another prompt to speak, Killian had a feeling Rumple didn't want to be done.

And much to Killian's chagrin, he realized that he didn't want to be done either.

But if Rumple wanted to say something, why didn't he just say it?

Then again, Killian reminded himself that convenient silence was all but Rumple's calling card.

The quiet they'd shared thus far today served its purpose of keeping them from killing each other well, but if they were to be trapped in this standstill, Killian would forego it in favor of doing just about anything to take his mind off his body's seamingly ceaseless turmoil.

And as the woods quickly proved themselves to be about as interesting as a glass of tepid water, any sort of entertainment was going to come from talking, and the only person for miles who he could talk to that could actually talk back was Rumple.

Bloody hell.

How the hell did Rumple come out the better of the two options when compared to silence?

Who knew, but now, Killian was made painfully aware that if he wanted any kind of a break that wouldn't lead him closer to the brink of madness, he'd need to find something to talk about with Rumple, no matter the result.

Thinking about it now, Killian had to wonder a bit what Rumple's day must've been like. If a mere few minutes of a devout attention to their shared quiet and physical pain was enough to bother Killian, what were four hours comprised of so much quiet between them for Rumple? Apart from their confrontation over the scat and Rumple's occasional directions, they'd hardly exchanged two words to each other over the course of their day, and both of those came at Killian's prompting. And while Rumple was a key part of his balancing, he likely required a lot less focus than Killian was forced to take on. Sure, he knew Rumple was no stranger to time alone - after all, who outside of the victims of his deals would've willingly spent time with him in his more crocodile-like form - but he had his magic back then, or at least freedom. Here, the most he had to enthrall him were the very woods that were currently doing nothing for Killian. What must it have been like to go so long without any real stimulation?

Well, it was probably just a different kind, though likely equally awful, type of misery in line with what Killian's day had been.

And Killian had to confess that he sympathized with that.

Admitting it was just as hard as admitting that the demand for a break was well-timed, but Killian did appreciate the effort on Rumple's part to make sure he took one in the first place. Was it likely out of completely selfish desires? Undeniably, but Killian would be absolutely lying if he said he couldn't see a scenario where Rumple pushed him to his absolute limit and then mocked him once that limit ran him dry or yelled at him to push onwards, no matter his exhaustion.

Perhaps Rumple had considered those courses of action or something equally as spiteful, but even if he did, at the end of the day, he made the better choice, and Killian, even with his abundance of doubt towards Rumple concerning just about everything he did, could acknowledge that.

And perhaps it was time for Killian to try to return the favor.

If Rumple could be called one thing, it would be a stubborn ass. If he didn't want to expose a desire that he thought he had reason to hide, he damn well wouldn't. And talking to Killian was no doubt for him an admission of a boredom and loneliness that Killian would wager his life that Rumple would sooner die than confess, especially to Killian of all people. Even without looking Rumple directly in the face, Killian could tell from the looks he caught that both of those desires were present, reluctantly so, but present all the same, and they would remain so for as long as he refused to say something.

However, if Killian talked to him, yes, he was confident that Rumple would talk back. It wasn't necessarily something he wanted, but compared to the prospect of spending the next fifteen or so minutes with nothing but his hunger pangs and sore muscles to focus on, it wasn't the worst of options.

Well, if talking was truly his only option to fill the time, he may as well bring up the only thing that bound their struggle for survival, even more than the ropes that surrounded their conjoined limbs.

"What do you think they're doing right now?" Killian asked, turning to Rumple.

With a raised brow, Rumple stared back.

"Who?"

"Our families," Killian elaborated. "Emma and Henry, Belle and Gideon. We've been gone for about a day now. They've undeniably noticed our absence."

Rumple looked at him for a moment, as if trying to dissect some foul motive of Killian's. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it or was at least too exhausted to try any harder, so with a sigh, he spoke.

"No doubt looking for us," he said. "But I can't imagine they'll have all that much luck."

Killian could surmise why pretty easily, both in Rumple's case as well as his own.

"I take it you never talked of Jasper and Horace to Emma before?" Rumple continued.

"Just as confidently as I can say you've never discussed them with Belle."

Rumple frowned, but not bitterly.

"You should know the feeling of shame just as well as I do," he said, "especially when it comes to deeds long since passed to the point of near irrelevancy. Why expose them to that darkness if you don't have to?" It was a rhetorical question - Killian wasn't stupid - but if living amongst heroes had taught him anything, it was that some rhetorical questions did, in fact, have answers.

"Because eventually, as we both know, it all comes back one way or another."

The last thing Killian expected Rumple to do was concede to his point.

That made the fact that he did damn near shocking.

"Forget the Underworld," Rumple said instead. "The world of the living is where the true ghosts reside."

"Until we go there, that is," Killian pointed out, somewhat jestfully.

Rumple scoffed, though it was removed from the condescending tone that it often was delivered with. "I suppose you're not wrong. After all, if Horace and Jasper still wanted revenge after all this time, and they were foolish enough to go after the Dark One, even if I'd escaped them in life, they'd have come after me in death. What else would they have to live for?"

"Besides a lackluster chimney cleaning service that was so underwhelming, it actually managed to hide in plain sight from us for years."

"Give them credit though - they know damn well how to punish their adversaries."

If Killian ever agreed to a single thing Rumplestiltskin ever said, it would be that.

They sighed.

"This day has been nothing short of hell, hasn't it?" Killian commiserated.

"I guess we'd know that better than anyone else."

Killian snorted, neither entirely positively or negatively. "Right you are."

They spent the next few minutes sitting in a silence that for the first time was more comfortable than uncomfortable, or at least a halfway point between comfort and discomfort. It was the most Killian figured he could expect.

If nothing else, they could at least bond over their shared torment.

After a few minutes, Rumple spoke up.

"Let's get going," he said.

"Aye," Killian returned, readying to climb them up the tree's trunk once more.

'Finally' is what he'd wanted to say, but he held back.

Theirs was an uneasy truce and, some level of solace had been reached after hours of ceaseless seething on both of their parts.

It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to let it last a little bit longer.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The latter half of the day wasn't much different than the first half.

Even after their conversation during their break, talking didn't pick up between them afterwards. Bits of small talk about the weather were exchanged on the breaks that Rumple and Hook decided would be regularly taken for ten minutes once an hour. But apart from that, their speed, balance, and silence stayed pretty much the same.

It was monotonous, but the slowly setting sun and the emergence of a couple of nocturnal creatures helped Rumple starve off the boredom somewhat.

A darker shade of gold that bordered on a burnt orange color painted the woods a striking color, one made more brilliant as he and Hook entered a small clearing.

Hook began to direct them to a tree across the way. Rumple expected him to keep going, but when Hook was close enough to the tree, he simply leaned against it and started scouting out the land.

"Time for a break?" Rumple looked to the sun. Sure enough, it looked to be about eight, so it made sense.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Hook shook his head. "No," he stated. "This is as far as we'll go today. We'll need to camp out here tonight."

"Are you serious?" Rumple hoped against hope that such an inquiry might make Hook reconsider.

Alas, much like most of the past two days, he had no such luck.

"As the dead," Hook confirmed, sealing their fates. "It gets dark in these woods at night and without a flashlight or a lantern, we'll walk our way to our deaths - that or get hopelessly lost. This journey's gone long enough already without any extensions on our parts. Let's settle down while we have a safe clearing to work with."

In truth, Rumple in hindsight didn't know what he was expecting. The matter of daylight and the consequences of proceeding on after its end was something he disregarded. When it came to their situation, he was prepared to get out of it as quickly as possible, let caution be damned.

Hook didn't seem to agree.

And while Rumple was willing to acknowledge that such a line of thinking was a bit naive, he wasn't about to be too happy about being proven wrong, nor the prospect of them spending yet another night asleep by each other's sides.

"Just what I need - to freeze my ass off in the forest," Rumple muttered.

"Well, as loathe as I am to admit it, we'll be sharing body heat, so we shan't fear growing too cold."

Rumple groaned.

"I think I prefered drowning in the ocean."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

After the slow and awkward process of lowering themselves to the ground, Rumple and Killian agreed that they'd best sleep on Killian's back.

Sleeping on Rumple's back wouldn't work out. With Rumple deprived of his magic and given Killian's weight relative to him, it would make breathing on his part damn near impossible and although the idea of crushing his adversary made for a fun thought, he had a feeling that if Rumple actually died while in his charge, he wouldn't be welcomed home so warmly when he at last escaped this wretched forest, nor would he be guaranteed to leave at all without Rumple's aid navigating the twisted paths.

Sleeping on their side initially seemed like the best option, but neither man liked the idea of sleeping with half of their face in the dirt, bringing that notion to a quick end.

So with no other viable choice, it once again fell upon Killian's back to support them.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"No."

"Me neither."

That was about as much of a good night as either man was about to offer the other, so Killian did their best to leave it at that.

But then came the matter of actually sleeping.

Sleeping in their current position was about as comfortable as sleeping in a cabinet - that was to say, not at all.

Killian was uncomfortable laying on his back, Rumple made no secret about how much hated facing the dirt, and neither's neck was comfortable as they were forced by their situation to crane it to one side.

Fearing a crick in his neck, Killian started to shift to the other side.

That would've been all well and good had Killian not moved to do the very same thing at the very same time.

Just as both were about to protest the other's action at the halfway point of their trips, their lips thrust into each other, locking tightly against each other.

The unintentional kiss lingered for a couple of seconds, albeit the reason being purely out of shock, before both men pulled back, desperately moving in the opposite direction from each other. When they landed in their respective destination, neither wasted time before letting their disgust out, with groans and obscenities quickly filling the night's air.

Of all the people he could've accidentally kissed...how did it end up being RUMPLE?

Through some likely subconscious but still moronic move, Rumple pushed Killian away with his body, but the subsequent and admittedly inevitable slam back into each other almost resulted in another locking of their lips. It was only Killian's premature swerve right that prevented the repeat offense from being anything more than a cheek marred in much the same manner - not that Rumple was about to thank him for it.

"This is unbearable," Rumple snarled, lurching through the statement.

"I can guarantee you, today's been no picnic for me either." Killian spat.

The tension that had temporarily left them throughout much of the afternoon's latter half came back with the force of a freight train.

They both took deep breaths, trying to regain their composures.

But Killian found it hard to do so, for one question - rhetorical in nature, but one he wanted an answer for nonetheless - banged in his head like a drum.

Of all people, why did it have to be RUMPLE?

And as he asked over and over again for the upteenth time today, he knew that question stretched far beyond one simple kiss.

It was everything - the bind, the escape in the ocean, the pain, the walking, the hunger and thirst, and every other argument and inconvenience that plagued this accursed day.

And it was everything from before too.

If it had been anyone else, maybe it wouldn't have been so terrible.

But it wasn't anyone else - it was Rumple.

Killian felt his anger flare up, but pushed himself away from letting it out.

Regardless of what he wanted, yes - it was Rumple and nobody else he had to work with.

Only together could they get back home to their families.

Only with his help would they escape this nightmare.

Reminding himself of that helped...not fully, but enough for the moment.

Rumple shuddered and groaned. "Well, that was the second worst kiss of my life."

"I promise you, Rumple: The sentiment is quite returned," Killian said through a series of splutters to the dirt at his side. "What I'd give for a bottle of mouthwash right now." Then realizing something, he paused and quirked his eyebrow. "Second?" he asked.

"Zelena," Rumple sneered. "At least the one we just had was an abysmal accident."

"To be fair," Killian pointed out, "I'm also an astounding kisser. You merely got a sneak peek of the real show." Killian wiggled his eyebrows jokingly.

Look, the night was tense and if Killian was to survive this, he needed to allow himself the occasional harmless joke.

Rumple wasn't amused.

"I'm going to bed before this ego trip of yours goes any further," Rumple said flatly as he closed his eyes tighter than their current embrace was.

"Fine by me," Killian sighed, settling into his new spot and shutting his own eyes as the pull of sleep started to clasp at him.

Things were good. Their night had been tough so far, but they'd somehow managed to get through it without strangling each other - there had to be something said for that.

Now all they needed to do was sleep and tomorrow, they'd hopefully be ready for anything.

...That sentiment lasted for all of two minutes.

Then Killian heard a sound, and with that, the embrace of sleep broke off and his eyes snapped open like blinds in the summer.

The sound, it was like a musical instrument, but a bad one. It made a shrill noise that altered between two notes.

Others of the same rhythm joined in seconds later.

Soon, several could be heard in the spaces surrounding them.

Killian looked to Rumple for answers, only to see his face scrunched up with his own sounds leaving his mouth.

"Rumple, what is that?"

"Oh no," Rumple groaned.

"Rumple, what is that?" Killian repeated.

He didn't get an answer, merely an extended groan instead.

"Rumple, what the HELL is that?"

Rumple sighed and opened his eyes. "That is the call of dozens of squirrels in heat."

"Oh no." Killian was soon dissolving from words into his own elongated groan.

This had to be a nightmare. Killian had to already be asleep.

But no, just like all of today, he was wide awake, and Rumple's next dry and clearly resigned words gave final confirmation to yet another insufferable part of this already insufferable day.

"Welcome to mating season."

()()()()()()()()()()()()

How the HELL did Emma Swan manage to share the same bed as her oaf of a husband every single night?

That was a question that Rumple could only try to guess at as yet another snore left Hook's mouth.

It took about a half hour, but finally, the overpowering mating sounds of the squirrels started to dwindle, and Hook was able to fall asleep.

Rumple would've liked to do so himself, but Hook had neglected to let him in on the fact that he snored louder than all of the mating sounds their ears had been assaulted with COMBINED.

He refused to ignore it - not after everything today had wrought on him - the all out attack from Hook and Mother Nature itself on his senses, the helplessness, the boredom, the hunger, the pain, and everything else between them - it was all too much.

So no, he wasn't about to accept snoring on top of all of that.

Rumple pulled back his head as far as it could go and with all the strength he could muster, violently jabbed Hook's neck.

Hook was up immediately. A glare coursed through his eyes. If looks could kill, Rumple was sure he'd be in the ground with two holes through his eyes and hair.

But Rumple didn't care.

"What the HELL?" Hook hissed upon opening his eyes.

"You're SNORING," Rumple grunted.

Hook's glare only deepend, his resolve clearly still very much present. "And you're DROOLING, but I'm not forcing you up!"

"I don't drool."

"Tell that to my soggy cheekbone." Hook growled.

Rumple huffed his response.

"YOU'RE disgusting," Hook sneered.

"And YOU'RE no better."

Hook shouted nothing in particular into the air and then turned his face away from Rumple.

"Go. To. Hell," he grit.

"With you snoring, I'm already there."

"I'm going back to bed. If you wake me up again, I promise you you'll pay."

"How so?" Rumple snipped. "In case you forgot, I'M the only one who can navigate us to the outskirts of these woods!"

Hook snapped his head back to Rumple. "And in case YOU forgot, I'M the only one who can carry us there!"

Neither responded, simply seething as they violently turned to face the opposite side of each other.

But it didn't matter. Hook was right beside Rumple and Rumple was right beside Hook. They didn't even need to so much as move a muscle to feel the other pressed against nearly every limb of their body.

It was enough to make Rumple's skin crawl.

And their journey was maybe half over.

By Rumple's estimation, they made it about two miles today over the course if the eight hours they traveled. There were at least another two to get through before they made it back to Storybrooke.

That meant there would be at least another eight hours of slowly crawling through the placid, yet still painfully difficult to manage forest.

That meant there would be at least another eight hours of physical torment plaguing most every part of their bodies..

And of course, that meant there would be at least another eight hours mercilessly strapped to Hook, with nowhere else to go and their truce quite possibly now thrown to the wayside.

What had he done to deserve this?

...Well, if he were being honest with himself, that answer involved an awfully long list of deeds.

And if he were being even MORE honest with himself, waking up Hook the way he did was just the most recent of those deeds. That had launched them in this most recent and harshest of spats.

Neither of them chose to be in this situation.

Rumple CHOSE to do that.

Bouts of bickering aside and everything else considered, they worked well enough together. Their quest was anything but harmonious, but their progress wasn't bad, and in the small instances where they'd done right by the other, that progress almost approached what could be called 'good.'

Still though, they had to contend with that bickering and everything else that made it all so difficult.

It was so much.

It had been too much, really. Each and every factor of contention - and numerous, they were - were all quite literally in his face at all hours of the day and had been building and building and building.

So could he be blamed for snapping at yet another one of them?

Rumple didn't think he was fast to anger, but he was only human all the same.

Maybe not in most scenarios, that snapping would've been fair, but the fact of the matter was that Rumple took the fight to Hook, and over something that wasn't even his fault. Hook couldn't control his snoring no more than he could control his...drooling.

He still refused to believe he actually drooled...No...

Still, it didn't matter. Hook hadn't smacked him with his head for it, ruining the one moment of blessed peace this living nightmare offered - Rumple did.

...And maybe, just maybe, despite how much he hated Hook, Rumple actually felt some remorse over that fact and wanted to right it.

Damnit, what was living in this town DOING to him?

Since when did he actually care about the feelings of his enemies?

Well, no matter. He knew he had to stop their fight in its tracks.

He only hoped Hook was still awake.

"Hook-"

"Rumple-"

Rumple stopped as he heard words exit another's mouth at the same time as his own.

Well, unless the squirrels had learned to speak English via-mating, there was only one other person around who could talk to him…

He turned to face Hook, who was already facing him once more.

Hook sighed and took it upon himself to go first. "We need to stop this," he said. "This situation's terrible enough as it is. We're already literally at each other's throats; we don't need to figuratively be too."

"No, we don't," Rumple concurred.

"I'm just as guilty of it as you," Hook continued, "but if we don't bring it to an end-"

"We'll never get home," Rumple finished.

"Aye."

The two of them sighed once more, now in perfect sync. Much to likely both of their chagrins, they were getting better at that.

Rumple then took a deep breath. It wasn't everyday he said this to anyone, and it was nothing short of a full blown anomaly that he was saying it to Hook. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have woken you."

Hook, for all that he said before, seemed positively shocked by the apology, as if he never expected to actually hear those words leave Rumple's mouth. He looked at Rumple like he just grew a third head and if he weren't in the midst of an apology, he'd probably laugh at that.

But the fact remained that he WAS in the midst of an apology, so Rumple took Hook's silence as an opportunity to continue.

"We need each other out here. I know you hate it and you know I hate it too. But there's no way around it. As long as we're trapped in this accursed forest, we're all each other has, and like you said, neither of us has any business making things even worse than they already are. I did...and I'm sorry."

Damnit, there really WAS some actual truth to that.

Fucking heroes...

Rumple waited for Hook's response. As Rumple spoke, Hook seemed to get over his shock, his face now neutral.

Hook sighed. "Horace and Jasper are real bastards, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are." Rumple couldn't say for certain, but the way Hook spoke gestured to him the words 'apology accepted.'

"There's a lot of bad blood between us."

Hook scoffed. "That's putting it mildly."

"I won't ignore it."

"I CAN'T ignore it," Hook remarked, an unmistakable sharpness in his tone. For a moment, Rumple felt a swelling of tension in Hook's body and worried that there might be a chance of another argument starting up.

Of course, it seemed like while reaching the conclusion of their mutual need for harmony was something he could say, actually putting it into practice was difficult.

He'd call Hook out as a hypocrite if he didn't feel the exact same way.

Still, at least they were owning up to it. There had to be something that could be said for that.

"Then let's not," Rumple resolved. "Let's just agree to starve off that animosity as best we can until we get home."

"Just another reason to want to get out of here," Hook said. "But I suppose we've got to try."

"I'll do better if you will."

Hook didn't smile, but Rumple felt the tension recede like the end of an ocean's tide.

"That's one deal I'll take with no complaints." Hook then smirked at him. "Promise not to hit me awake if I snore?"

Rumple silently snorted. "Sure."

"Good. Then I won't wake you if you drool."

"I don't drool," Rumple insisted.

"You do."

Rumple and Hook exchanged a stare, one now far less vitriolic than before.

Hook turned away from the stare to yawn and one of Rumple's followed but one second afterwards.

"Let's get some sleep," he said tiredly. "We can discuss the matter of your drool tomorrow."

"My non-existent drool, you mean," Rumple stated, allowing his eyes and body slink closer to sleep once more.

Who knew for certain what tomorrow would bring. If Rumple had learned anything from Storybrooke - and judging by that last conversation, he learned far more than that -he knew never to expect anything.

But as he succumbed to his desires for rest, he felt content in the knowledge that both physically and mentally, they were headed in the right direction.

#ouat #once upon a time #killian jones #rumple #Rumplestiltskin #golden hook #captain crocodile #my fanfiction

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swanqueeneverafter · 5 years ago

Text

Guardian Dragon, Pt.1

Set during the events of 'The Price of Gold'.

Just where did Regina go that Saturday? We know for certain it wasn't to a city council meeting.

Catching up with an old friend, Regina reflects on the events leading up to casting the Dark Curse and her mixed feelings about Emma Swan.

Storybrooke. Mills House. Present. (Standing in front of a mirror, applying her lipstick, Regina talks to her son, Henry.) Regina: “I know you think otherwise, but I don’t enjoy these Saturday city council meetings. Sometimes they’re just unavoidable. Now, you know the rules?” Henry: “Yes on homework, no on TV, and stay inside.” Regina: “Good boy. I’ll be checking your work when I get home. Under no circumstance do you leave this house.” Henry: “You mean don’t see my mom.” Regina: “She’s not your mother. So far she’s just a woman passing through. Walking you to and from school is one thing, but left unsupervised on a Saturday, anything could happen. Now do as I say or there will be consequences. I’ll be back at 5:00 sharp.” (Regina exits the house and drives away. Once she is gone, Henry grabs his backpack and leaves.) Storybrooke Library. (Checking that no one else is around, Regina unlocks the door of the disused library and enters, quickly closing the door firmly behind her. Walking towards a star-adorned wall, Regina checks herself in the mirror one more time before placing her hand on the glass in front of her. Almost immediately, the wall rises into the ceiling to reveal an old fashioned looking elevator. Reaching out and pulling a lever, Regina waits patiently for the doors to open.) Beneath The Library. (Stepping out of the elevator and walking along a dimly-lit passage, Regina arrives at her destination.) Regina: (Staring out at the seemingly empty canyon before her:) "It's been a long time, Mal. (Waiting for some kind of reaction:) I know you're here, I made sure of it. (Stepping closer to the edge, smiling:) Remember when you told me this place never existed?"

The Forbidden Fortress. Enchanted Forest. Past. (Seated atop a desk with her back arched, the Evil Queen wears a blissful expression upon her face. Smiling as she feels the person between her thighs rising to their feet, the queen voices her approval.) Evil Queen: (Practically purring:) "You certainly know how to make a convincing argument." Maleficent: (Kissing Regina's jaw:) "Why thank you. (Places something in the queen's hand and steps away:) Do we have a trade?" (Readjusting her dress, the queen jumps down from the desk and looks at the curse in her hand.) Evil Queen: "Can you guarantee this will work?" Maleficent: (Mock gasps:) "Regina. I'm almost offended. You above all know just how potent my sleeping curses are." Evil Queen: "Yes, but..." Maleficent: “You want Snow White to suffer, don't you?" Evil Queen: "In the worst way." Maleficent: (Pointing at the curse:) "That is answer." Evil Queen: (Frowning:) "But Rumple said-" Maleficent: "Rumplestiltskin is lying to you. A land without magic does not exist. Magic is everywhere." Evil Queen: "He seems certain that the Dark Curse will bring me everything I want." Maleficent: "Yes, and have you asked yourself why he would give you such a gift? Why the Dark One hasn't simply used the curse for himself?" Evil Queen: "Well, I suppose-" Maleficent: (Cutting in:) "I believe he's trying to trick you." Evil Queen: "Trick me?" Maleficent: "Mm. I think the Dark One fears you. (Regina snorts:) Honestly, Regina, I do. Think about it this way: If Rumplestiltskin truly cared for you, why would he not simply give you everything you wanted?" Evil Queen: (Holding up the Dark Curse:) "He has." Maleficent: "No. He has given you an untested, volatile curse. We have no idea what could happen to you once you cast it. You've come a long way from the girl I first met who could barely conjure a fireball. Your power is growing and I think that scares him. The imp cannot be trusted." Evil Queen: (Considering her words:) "What would you do if I gave you the Dark Curse?" Maleficent: (Shrugging:) "I'm just as curious as you to see what kind of power it has. I would study it, examine the intricacies of the evil involved in such a spell. (Sensing Regina's reluctance:) If revenge is what you seek, my sleeping curse can give you what you desire, with no risk involved for your part." (Weighing both curses in her hands, Regina approaches the older woman.) Evil Queen: "You’re always looking out for me, aren't you?" Maleficent: "Always." (Looking down at the curses one last time, Regina takes a deep breath and hands the Dark Curse to Maleficent.) Maleficent: "You won't regret this, Regina." Evil Queen: "Hm. (Smiling:) Shall we seal the deal?" Maleficent: "Absolutely." (They share a deep, fervent kiss, as Maleficent guides them both to her bed chamber.)

Storybrooke. Beneath The Library. Present. (Smiling at the memory, Regina paces back and forth, staring down at the canyon below.) Regina: "You always did know how to push my buttons. I can only imagine what Rumplestiltskin had to say once he found out you had taken possession of his Dark Curse." The Forbidden Fortress. Enchanted Forest. Past. (Maleficent stands listening to Rumplestiltskin rant and rave with a smile on her face.) Rumplestiltskin: "First, you steal my maid and now my curse. You really are asking for it, aren't you, dearie?" Maleficent: "Threats will do you no good here, Dark One. You can't harm me in my own fortress. And besides, it's not your curse. You have no more claim on it than I do, especially as I helped snatch it from the clutches of the Chernabog." Rumplestiltskin: "Regardless, I'd like it back, please." Maleficent: "No. Not after I've had time to examine the curse. The one who casts it will be left with a shattered soul. I will not allow you to do that to Regina." Rumplestiltskin: (Scoffs:) "What does it matter to you what I do with my protege?" Maleficent: "Your pawn, you mean." Rumplestiltskin: (Angry:) "I want that curse!" Maleficent: "Get used to disappointment. (Vanishes her staff and rolls up her sleeves:) The curse stays in my possession until I can figure out a way to destroy it. For the sake of everyone." Rumplestiltskin: "You don't understand. You're making a mistake." Maleficent: "My biggest mistake was ever trusting you. One I don't intend to repeat. (Standing tall and conjuring her magic:) Rumplestiltskin, you are hereby banished from this fortress!" (Snarling in anger, the Dark One disappears in a cloud of green smoke.)

Storybrooke. Beneath The Library. Present. (Standing beside the glass coffin that was meant to be Snow White's final resting place, Regina scowls before turning away from it.) Regina: "Now there's a new threat to my happiness. While I may have conquered Snow White and her sniveling friends, I was too late to stop the Savior from escaping me. (Walking away from the coffin:) Snow White sent her own child out into the world alone in an attempt to save her own skin. (Scoffs:) And they call me evil. (Resumes pacing as she speaks:) The Savior is not only the key to breaking my curse, she's also the birth mother of my son. (A low rumbling can be heard echoing along the walls of the cavern:) I thought you might find that amusing. Henry brought this woman to my town and now she refuses to leave. So far she insists that she's only here to help but, given Miss Swan's parentage, it will only be a matter of time before she attempts to claim Henry as her own. I can't let that happen. (Pauses:) And yet, when I see that fire in her eyes... I feel more alive than I have felt in years. (Another low rumble:) I know what you're thinking, but I won’t allow myself to be swayed by this woman. No matter how alluring she is... or how soft her lips are. (Images of Emma Swan flash in her mind's eye, causing Regina to lose her train of thought. Suddenly remembering something:) Unless..."

The Dark Palace. The Enchanted Forest. Past. (Emma Swan is being led into the chambers of the Evil Queen by guards. Glancing at her reflection in the magic mirror, Emma can see that Rumplestiltskin's glamour spell is still in effect.) Guard: "Kneel before the queen!" Emma: "Really?" Evil Queen: (Approaching:) "Yes, really. (Emma is shoved to her knees by the guards:) The bandit Snow White, where is she?" Emma: "I already told your guards, I have no idea." Evil Queen: "I don't know what Kingdom you come from, Princess Leia, but here the price for aiding Snow White is steep." Emma: "I don't know where she is, but if you let me go I'll help you find her." (The Evil Queen sneers down at Emma. Inching forward, she sniffs the air disdainfully.) Evil Queen: "You're no princess. (Pointing:) I know a dirty street rat when I see one. And I know not to trust such creatures." Emma: "Please, Your Majesty, if you let me go, I promise I'll help you find your happiness." Evil Queen: (Chuckles:) "Oh yes, that. (To guards:) Take her to the dungeons." (The Evil Queen turns her back as Emma is dragged from the room.) The Dungeons. A Short Time Later. (Emma and her cellmate are talking when The Evil Queen enters the dungeons. The woman scrambles to her feet, terrified, as the Queen approaches.) Evil Queen: (Waving her hand, magically knocking the woman in the other cell unconscious, to Emma:) “If we’re to discuss my future, I prefer privacy.” Emma: (Approaching the bars:) “So, you believe me?” Evil Queen: “I’ll admit you piqued my interest, Leia, if that is your real name. Tell me what you know about my happy ending.” Emma: “I can’t. If you know too much, it may change your fate.” Evil Queen: “Why don’t you just let me worry about my fate, hm?” Emma: “Because it affects mine too.” Evil Queen: “Your future ends with a trip to the guillotine unless you start talking, princess.” Emma: “Believe me, if there was a way to spare you years of loneliness and rage then I would do it. But unfortunately, for both of us, that’s just the way it has to be.” Evil Queen: “I will do whatever it takes to have my vengeance.” Emma: “Ain’t that the truth.” Evil Queen: “Insolent girl. Tell me what I wish to know. How long until I have my revenge?!” Emma: (Sighs:) “You don’t. (Regina glares at her:) I mean, you do, for a long time, you have your revenge. But that’s not your happy ending. Look, your destiny involves a land without magic and Rumplestiltskin and that’s all I’m gonna say.” Evil Queen: (Moves closer to the bars:) “Do I defeat Snow White?” Emma: (Hesitates:) “She is the key to you finding your happiness. Now, you have to let me go or none of what I’ve told you will ever happen.” Evil Queen: (Considers:) “A land without magic? (Emma nods:) Well we’ll just see about that.” (The Queen turns and leaves the dungeons.)

Enchanted Forest. Harbour. (Hook and his crew turn and watch as the Queen approaches.) Hook: “Your Majesty. (Bows:) To what do we owe this particular honour?” Evil Queen: “Well, I’m certainly not commissioning you and your crew for a day cruise, Captain…?” Hook: “Killian Jones. Though most people now know me simply as…” (Holds up his arm.) Evil Queen: “Hook. (Smiles:) I see. Well, Captain, I’m in need of a man with your particular experience. Rumour has it the Jolly Roger has been known to jump realms?” Hook: “That it has, Milady.” Evil Queen: “Have you ever been to a land without magic?” Hook: (Thinks:) “Without magic? I can’t say I have. (Remembers:) I do know that the Dark One was looking for such a place.” Evil Queen: “Apparently he still is. Although why he’d want to go to a land where he’d be powerless is beyond me.” Hook: “Your Majesty, you must know that if you’re looking to aid the Dark One, then I’m not the man with which you should be seeking counsel.” Evil Queen: “One step at a time, Captain. All I’m interested in right now is whether or not it’s possible to reach such a realm.” Hook: (Shakes his head:) “The Jolly Roger can take you to any place you wish to go. But not without a magic bean or some very powerful dark magic.” Evil Queen: “Dark magic you say?” Hook: (Nods:) “Perhaps if her majesty were to-” Evil Queen: “No. (Sighs:) Though my powers are vast, I have never yet been able to open a portal to another land. Besides, Rumplestiltskin was my mentor, if he was unable to do so…” Hook: “I see your point.” Evil Queen: “There may be another who could, however. She was also my mentor, for a time.” Hook: “She? You believe there to be a sorceress powerful enough to rival, even perhaps defeat the Dark One?” Evil Queen: “Anything is possible. (Smiles at him:) So, Captain, are you willing to go on this quest for me? To see if she has the key to this new land?” Hook: “If she’s as powerful as you say and she leads Rumplestiltskin to a place without his powers, I can finally have my revenge. Of course I’m in.” Evil Queen: (Conjures a map from thin air:) “The directions to her Fortress. Good luck, Captain.” (The Queen uses her magic to disappear as Hook hands the map to Mr. Smee.) Forbidden Fortress. (Hook enters a large, dark room. The only light coming from the substantial fireplace. Spotting someone sitting beside it, the pirate clears his throat and makes his way toward them.) Hook: “Apologies for the intrusion, but your door was open.” Maleficent: “That’s because I didn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to enter my domain.” Hook: (Chuckles:) “Captain Killian Jones, at your service.” Maleficent: “Captain? (Leans forward in her chair, revealing her face for the first time:) My, aren’t we handsome?” Hook: (Bows slightly:) “My lady.” Maleficent: “What do you want? Who sent you?” Hook: “I… I’m sorry. I’m a bit out of sorts. When the Evil Queen mentioned a powerful sorceress I just expected to find a horrible witch. And instead I find a beautiful woman before me.” (Gives a roguish smile.) Maleficent: “Beautiful? Bold and brave I see. My name is Maleficent, what is it that you seek from me?” Hook: “I’m here on a mission of revenge. Something I hear you know a lot about. The queen sent me to see if you could help open a portal to a land without magic so that I may vanquish a foul demon that has wronged me. Although, having met you, perhaps business can wait awhile.” Maleficent: (Mutters to herself, shaking her head:) “Regina, Regina, Regina.” Storybrooke. Beneath The Library. Present. (Striding through the caverns, Regina is angry.) Regina: "You lied to me, Mal. You tried to convince me a land without magic didn't exist. After everything we went through, I thought you'd be the one person who would understand. Instead, you tried to rob me of my happiness. And that's why you're down here, trapped. Do you hear me, Mal? This is your punishment for being just like all the others. Only yours is worse, because I trusted you." (After standing expectantly for several moments, Regina turns and heads back towards the exit, disgusted. As she walks away, a giant green eye opens, unseen by Regina, watching the woman sadly as she leaves the cavern.)

The Forbidden Fortress. Interior. Past. (Maleficent and the Queen sit in front of a fireplace, talking.) Maleficent: “How are you, dear?” Evil Queen: “I’m doing fine.” Maleficent: “Are you? (She pours herself a drink:) If it were me, I’d be simply tortured, watching that flake of snow so happy. Weren’t you about the same age when you were to be married? Before she ruined it all? (Raising her glass:) Yes, you were.” Evil Queen: “Yes, it was about the same age you were when that sleeping beauty got the best of you, my dear Maleficent.” Maleficent: “I soldiered on, as you will, too… Hopefully.” Evil Queen: “Enough games. You know why I’m here. I need my curse back.” Maleficent: “It’s not yours anymore. A deal’s a deal. I traded you my Sleeping Curse.” Evil Queen: “Which failed. Undone by a simple kiss. Now please, return what’s mine.” Maleficent: “The Dark Curse, really? You must know that not even its unholy power can bring your loved one back from the dead. Have you considered a pet? (She strokes her unicorn’s muzzle:) They can be quite comforting.” Evil Queen: “The only comfort for me is Snow White’s suffering.” Maleficent: “Well, it’s her wedding night, I doubt she’s suffering right now.” Evil Queen: “I need that curse. I know you keep it hidden in the orb above your staff.” Maleficent: “Hidden for the good of all, old friend. Whoever created that monstrosity makes the two of us look positively… moral.” Evil Queen: (Standing:) “Hand it back.” Maleficent: “Must we do this?” Evil Queen: “Alas, we must.” (A fight ensues. Queen Regina using her magic to draw fire from the fireplace and launch it at Maleficent, who uses her staff to deflect it. The Queen then uses magic to levitate the various weapons in the room and points them toward Maleficent. The unicorn whinnies, and the Queen points the weapons at it.) Maleficent: “NOO!” (She moves quickly and protects her unicorn. The Queen drops a chandelier on Maleficent, using the curved metal to ensnare her. Maleficent drops her staff.) Evil Queen: (Picking up the staff:) “Love is weakness, Maleficent. I thought you knew that.“ Maleficent: “If you’re going to kill me, kill me!” Evil Queen: “Why would I do that? You’re my only friend.” Maleficent: “Don’t do this. This curse… there are lines even we should not cross. (The Queen turns the staff upside down and breaks the orb against the floor:) All power comes with a price. (The Queen picks up a small scroll:) Enacting it will take a terrible toll… It will leave an emptiness inside you… A void you will never be able to fill.” Evil Queen: “So be it.”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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