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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

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The Space Between Us

Alien au? Alien au! I have no self control! Please accept this one shot that quickly spiraled into 23 pages of Virgil being a disaster in space. (If you guys enjoy it, let me know because I’m considering making it a series.)

Summary: The cosmos is a Gigantic place and somehow Virgil’s past still catches up to him.

Words: 11400

TW: Human trafficking, Human experimentation, dehumanization, fighting rings,

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Masterlist

“Tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?” Virgil asked, watching Logan’s hands dance across the console. On any other day the sight would be comforting. Every time his digits landed on a key, his nerves glowed with sparks of multicolored light through his transparent crystal skin, creating a beautiful firework show right in front of them all. Logan had told him once it was called Lightdancing, an evolutionary adaptation of the Tenkarie people: their bodies were near invisible in dim light, and they could control the pulses of light just enough to attract other cave dwelling creatures to them before striking the killing blow.

Now, though, the sight made Virgil’s stomach churn. Logan’s lights were a calculated system that he had trained to hone better than most of his race: he could make any part of his body glow at a brightness ranging from a flickering candle light to a flood light, he could make his whole body radiate or he could make just the tip of one of his sixteen fingers, he could even change the color of the light with just a thought. Virgil had always been glad that Logan was the only Tenkarie that dared venture from their caves on L0-G1C; Logan’s kind had perfected the use lights and dancing which made all other creatures become so nauseated they couldn’t fight back or become so mesmerized by the swirling motions that they didn’t see the attacks.

(Of course, because Virgil was rather distinctly human, it took longer for either of the effects of Logan’s fighting to work, which had saved both their lives more than once.)

However, in contrast to the usual focus of Logan’s fingertips on the control panel, lights were flickering all over his body, up and down each of his four arms and burning from the notches around his neck. The lack of control was enough to make Virgil’s stomach churn.

“Because its Remus,” Roman replied, although it didn’t help that he said his brother's name the same way he might have said puppy kicker.

“And we care about Remus because....?” Virgil prompted, running his fingers over his satchel again, checking the latches to make sure they were still there, still closed, still containing the supplies within. “If my memory serves me correctly, Remus was the one that set us up to be ambushed by those space pirates the other week. You know, the ones that nearly killed Patton?”

“We care because, in Erefrenian customs, blood bonds are the most sacred of bonds.” Logan supplied distractedly. “And Remus invoked the Oath of Brothers, which means that if Roman were to ignore his call for aid, Roman’s honor would be forever stained which would prevent him from crossing to the planes of heroes after his death according to the religion of his people.”

“Yeah that,” Roman says, even less excited than Logan at the idea. The bone spikes along his spine had been secreting that red poison that usually only happened when he got annoyed or anxious. Virgil had learned quickly to stay away from him when he was like that: touching it merely made Virgil’s limbs feel pins and needles, but the Orlun thief had screamed until unconsciousness.

It was one of the (very) few perks of being a Deathworlder, Virgil supposed. Most of the things that hurt the other species out here usually had a looser effect on humans because humans rarely made it this far. In fact, it was illegal for humans to get this far by at least sixty doctrines (all of which Logan had filed away in his room).

Humans were juggernauts-- the alien versions of the boogie man told to children to keep them from acting out. Virgil had seen some of the written documents about his kind, and the tales of bloodshed and terror invoked by merely existing were pretty horrifying. Graphic depictions of humans tearing aliens limb from limb, scientific studies on the amounts of chemicals that humans had absorbed and withstood against, an interview with a survivor of a human rampage who revealed the bite marks left by the so-called beast.

Almost every species out here was just as scared of him as he was of them.

The problem came from the ones that weren’t scared.

Which, of course, was how Virgil had ended up hundreds of literal light-years from Earth, on a ship with three aliens whom he was pretty certain he would end up dying for sometime very soon. Yurinks were crafty, shameless, bold, creatures, and they were notorious for visiting Earth and abducting humans for individual sale. Weslors ran fighting rings and humans were almost always the safest bets for some quick cash. Quitans were a fan of skinwearing, which was not something that Virgil ever wanted to see, based on the name alone. And Pol’turs loved learning how things worked and paid very handsome prices for human subjects on the space black market.

Virgil, himself, had sold for 300 griot. (Which was apparently a lot, based on the way that Patton’s eyes had quite literally bugged out. Virgil was still trying to figure out the conversation ratio of American dollars to griot and getting nowhere with it.)

“I hate him,” Roman said under his breath as he threaded through the spare armored uniforms in the storage, trying to find one to fit over the rigid bone plates along his back. His tail squirmed behind him as he searched, dragging the spikes through the air. “I hate him so much.” His bone claws cut through the fabric and he growled as he tossed the ruined clothes to the floor. “We’re gonna save him and then I’m going to toss him off into space, myself.”

Logan made an affirming noise, using his lower left arm to nudge his visor back up his nose. Virgil had only caught sight of Logan’s eyes once or twice, as most light strained his sensitive eyes. They had paid a pretty griot for a repair and a spare of his light blocking visor after the first time some space smugglers had surprised them and managed to break the lens. Logan’s pained scream was the worst thing that Virgil had ever heard and he had sworn he’d do anything to avoid ever having to hear it again.

(That had been the first time that Roman and him had truly worked together on something, Virgil noted absently. Between Virgil’s uncharacteristic bloodlust and Roman’s furious wrath they had taken out the smugglers in less than five minutes and they hadn't been very nice about it.)

Looking from the back, Roman resembled a stegosaurus to Virgil. If, like....stegosauruses ran around on two legs, flourished a sword, and were prone to acting like every minor occurrence was a slight against them personally. His red-ish skin had the appearance of leather but was twice as thick, his bone plates were slimmer rounded triangles than Virgil remembered from his kindergarten picture books but they ran from the based of his neck all the way down his back and to the tips of his tail which he liked to use as a spike-ball-and-chain attack along with his ridiculous sword. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times that Roman had nearly taken him out along with the enemy. His claws were only a few inches long but Roman whined like a baby when they broke-- which was ridiculous because his bone plates literally grew back overnight, and the ones on his forearms were made to be taken off and thrown. (Logan had indeed informed Virgil that Erefren grow new bones every moon cycle and proceeded to lose the old ones which Virgil had then mentioned that humans did that too sorta! With their baby teeth! And Roman and Logan had both looked unnerved by that information.)

“I’ve got it!” A voice sang from the ceiling, which was about all the warning Virgil got before a child sized figure vaulted down from the rafters of the teleportation deck right onto his shoulders.

“Jesus! Pat!” Virgil yelled as he stumbled swaying to accommodate the new weight that had stuck itself to Virgil’s back and then wrapped around to hug his chest. “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Patton giggled, hooking his legs around Virgil’s waist so that he could sit comfortably, swinging the two other satchels he had been sent to fetch from his hands. Roman accepted one of them readily.

“What's a Jeeezus?” Patton asked, stressing the syllables as English terms never really fit right in his tongue. As far as Virgil was aware no species were equipped to speak human languages, although Roman’s Erefren dialect involved some rolling syllables. He probably could have picked up Spanish, if Virgil hadn’t barely passed Spanish III with a C minus.

To be fair though, that year had been bad. Janus had been in his class, and then he hadn’t. And it was hard to focus on conjugation of verbs when the golden student of the entire school who had sat next to him had been declared dead and Virgil had been the prime suspect of it.

That, and Virgil was pretty terrible at picking up new languages. He had only managed to figure out how to communicate with Logan by luck: hands raised with the fingers spread was a symbol of innocence and fear for the Tenkarie, while a sign of rage and fury for Yurink. This, of course, had also been in the middle of an illegal Weslor fighting ring which Logan had been dragged into and essentially sentenced to die in after being separated from Roman and Patton.

(Virgil tried not to think too much about those days. Alien blood was still blood and it was very not-good to feel dripping from his hands, even if it was him or them, even if it had been his life on the line, even if it wasn’t another human with heterochromic eyes and smug smirk. Virgil had fought nearly six times before Logan had been his opponent, and that was six times too many.)

Regardless, Virgil was lucky that when Roman and Patton had come for Logan, Logan had remembered his reluctance to fight and insisted that Virgil come with them in an escape. Roman and Patton had their hesitations but Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer.

(And Virgil who did not understand Common, had honestly thought that Logan had come back to kill him officially. Not a good first impression.)

Logan had made him flashcards to study from and taught him common in the sitting area of their ship. The endless hours of memorization, the drills, the sentences, all of which helped him more than he thought the others knew. They were something to do with his mind and Virgil had been in desperate need of something to do with his mind those first few months that wasn’t thinking about Earth or home or boys who were dead.

“We could go to Earth,” Logan had offered once during one of their sessions.

Virgil had blinked looking up to from the practice reading he had been studying with a bewildered look. “What?” It had taken a moment for him to realize that he had spoken in English rather than Common, but Logan must have picked up on the meaning of the foreign word anyway.

“You were… badly, ah, stolen,” Logan had said, pointing at the flashcards. “We could give you back.” He had used his lower two arms to mimic the motion of handing something off.

It had been so touching, the way that he had scaled down his speech to match Virgil’s progress, had offered despite Earth being the infamous Deathworld, had been looking at Virgil like he was living being and not just some animal. Virgil had cried.

He should have wanted to go back to Earth, should have wanted to go home, but instead he had begged in his broken, garbled Common for Logan to let him stay in space with them. And Logan had glowed nearly blindingly with purple light, a relief light, a content light, a happy light and promised that he wouldn’t have to go back if he didn’t want to.

Perhaps that had been the day the Virgil had realized he’d die for Logan.

And once Virgil had decided that for Logan it wasn’t hard to decide it for Patton too. The Reytin was just so nice. Even back in those first months when Virgil didn’t know how to talk to them and Patton had been so obviously terrified of him, the alien had made sure that Virgil was eating, that he was sleeping, that he had space when he needed it. Though, Virgil really suspected that their friendship had blossomed so quickly because of Patton's rare Reytin ability to see emotions with his frog-like eyes. Once he realized that Virgil was actually terrified of everything, and it wasn’t just ploy to kill them (or maybe despite that….Virgil hadn’t gotten a straight answer from him), Patton had done his best to befriend him back to good health.

And Virgil liked being on the ship. He liked his room, which was filled with stupid alien plants he had managed to collect and the weird shapes of the bed. He liked being right down the hall from the kitchen so he could smell when Patton was cooking something, and the way that he could always hear Roman singing in his room. He liked slipping out to the observation deck and just seeing Space the way no other human really had.

(Its stupid really, that sometimes he forgot it had been three years. Its stupid really, that sometimes he still turned to ask a question of someone who was never going to be there. Its stupid really that he could be so happy and still feel the gaping hole where someone used to be.)

“Oh this is so exciting!” Patton said happily, shaking his hands in the air to show his excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, guys?”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Virgil said hoisting the smaller creature from around his waist to settle him on the floor carefully.

“More like Vexing! Or perhaps burdensome! Irksome! Problematic!” Roman snarled, finally finding the armor that would fit around his plates and slipping it on. “You know what? Let’s forget it! Remus got himself into this mess and he can get himself out!”

“Now kiddo…” Patton warned, and wow, Virgil sometimes forgot that the alien who was half Virgil's height and twice as lively, was also older than all of them combined. Reytin lifespans were literally off the chart. Patton had been around way back when humans were first declared illegal on this side of the cosmos. “You know that we can’t do that! He invoked the Oath of Brothers so we have to!”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Roman griped. “Worse case, my soul just becomes eternally damned and I’m shamed by the rest of my race until I die a lonely, lonely death on some distant planet!”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Logan asked.

“You won't die alone!” Patton said, “We’ll be right there with you! Probably even die right next to you as well!”

“No offense Pat,” Roman said glumly, “But that makes me feel like I’m gonna be the cause of your death.”

“It’ll be fun!”

Thankfully before Roman could explain exactly there was nothing fun about making all his friends die, Logan cleared his throat and made his upper two palms glow with a soft blue light. Green and pink bulbs flashed up and down his neck. “I have mapped out the perceived trajectory of the enemy ship so we should be able to beam directly into the hold. However because of possible miscalculations I believe that I should be--”

“--The first to beam aboard as I am the only one who is not affected by the lack of gaseous properties and the extreme temperatures of the expanse of space.” Roman, Patton, and Virgil chorused together.

“Must you all?” Logan asked, with just enough fondness in his tone for Virgil to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.

“Change up your speech sometime, Teach,” Roman suggested, and then he sighed dropping his head. “You guys are really willing to do this for me? These are mercenaries, you know. If this doesn’t go well they’ll likely sell us for parts.”

Virgil really didn’t need the reminder. Just the thought of once again having his arms restrained, having his clothes striped away, being reduced from a person to a thing used for entertainment, was enough to have Virgil eyeing the door back to the rest of the ship. Even on the off chance that they didn’t try to take him apart to see how he ticked, they would still sell him for griot. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive being thrust back into the fighting rings. He’d shake himself apart before they managed to drag him into that dust riddled death trap.

Patton reached up and tugged the edge of Virgil’s under armor tunic, drawing his eyes away from the door and down to his friend. Patton, of course, was smiling, imitating the human action of bearing his teeth (something that Logan had explained was incredibly threatening to all other species and you may want to avoid participating in that activity with Roman in the vicinity, Virgil).

It was silly things like that that make Virgil hopelessly certain that he would do anything to protect his friends. He didn’t need to worry about being caught and sold off because the others wouldn’t let that happen again, and in turn, he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away either. They were a family, for better or worse.

(He wasn’t going to lose someone again. Not like before. Not without a fight, a trace-- not without Virgil doing every single thing he could to get them back first.)

“We’ll be fine!” Patton told Roman brightly.

“Yeah, cheer up, Princey,” Virgil added, hooking his satchel over his shoulder, “Worse case scenarios are my thing.” He offered out a folded fist, palm up and Roman dutifully knocked his own knuckles against it, as an upside down fistbump (a signal of friendship in Erefrenian).

Patton let out a chittering and jumped up to knock his own knuckles with them. And Logan’s left forearms flickered pastel pink from the wrist up to his neck and he begrudgingly added his own to the pile.

“Everyone remembers their part of the plan, correct?” Logan asked, letting his two lower arms finish typing a final sequence into the control panel.

Patton sprung in the air, jumping Virgil’s entire height, and shook his palms. “I’ve got the emergency pods and the armory, using Virgil’s thingies to shut down the access to the lower rooms and blocking off escapes as I make my way to the medic bay!”

“I’ve got the crew quarters to where I’ll use Virgil’s thingies--”

“Can we not call them thingies?” Virgil grumbled. “They’re just EMPs. Barely enough to take out the door locks. And it's likely they won’t do much of anything if this group has an emergency system reboot in case of an electrical surge. It’ll buy us five minutes, max.”

“--Virgil’s thingies,” Roman repeated with his tail rattling in that way that said he took pleasure in Virgil’s annoyance. “To lock as many of the doors as I can, before travelling to the cell blocks to get my brother and his crew and move them to the medic bay where Patton will have the necessary supplies ready incase of injuries.”

“I will take the Bridge,” Logan said, “and act as the major distraction, as Tenkarie are very rare and it is likely that they will have never encountered nor have preemptive measures against my Lightdancing. Once I have control of the bridge I will cut off the communications to other ships in the area and start inputting the redirection course. Once I have the new coordinates I will send them to Virgil for him to implement.”

“I’ve got the engineering deck,” Virgil said, finally, “To make sure they don’t try to blow us all up with the warp core and whatever. Then I’ll redirect the teleporting course and get us home while the rest of you take out the bad guys. Piece of cake.”

Logan’s neck notches glowed red, “There should be no stopping for cake--.”

“Idiom,” Virgil interrupted quickly, “Human saying. Means it should be easy.”

Logan hummed musically, which sent a vibration of multicolored lights off his shoulders and down under his clothes. “Ah, interesting. This should indeed then be a piece of cake.” He picked up one of the teleportation bracelets from their charging pads and fixed it on his upper right wrist. “I’ve already added in the coordinates to the watches, so merely wait for my signal and press the button.”

Virgil would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little bit of anxiety over their plan. It was pretty slapshot compared to the things that they had put together before, but Remus’s transmission had been shoddy, even after Roman and his combined efforts to clean it up. It was hard to remember that Remus was every bit a ship captain as Roman was with how he had appeared in the picture dressed in ripped and tattered clothes, oozing green poison from his forearm plates, and bleeding profusely from a wound on his forehead. He had been leaning heavily on the communication panel, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his tail had been dancing in the air behind him in the same motions that Roman’s did when he saw a new sword to add to his collection.

Remus had invoked the Oath of Brothers, spit up blood on the console, and then relayed as much information as he could about the attacking ship. They were lucky, in that way. Most of the Pol’tur ships followed the same base model, which meant that the Bridge was always going to be at the bottom, the engines would be at the top and the engine core center would be between them.

If it was possible Virgil was sure they all would have wanted more time to make a better plan, but they all knew that Pol’turs loved to work quickly. They had already lost three days chasing after the ship, and in that time, Pol’turs could cut apart fifty Reytins like Patton.

They were working mostly on the assumption that the Pol’turs would save Remus for near last, and they were going to be absolutely fucked if they had chosen to chop up the other Erefren first.

In addition, their plan had Virgil avoiding most of the fighting. well, as much as he could while being on an enemy ship. Virgil himself wasn’t sure how he would do in a lot of combat, but they had seen what happened when one of the others were in danger (when Logan’s glasses had broken, when the space pirates had almost shot Patton through both his hearts, when the spikes had been pulled from Roman’s spine by the Quitans before the new ones had grown in--). He could fight, and he could fight well, but the cost was a little bit of Virgil’s sanity and his ability to sleep through the night.

Patton plucked his own teleportation watch from the pad and hooked it on, before offering Virgil his. Well it wasn’t really his, the same way that the red one wasn’t Roman’s and Patton didn’t own the blue one. They were all Logan’s pet projects, but he had tailored them to their favorite colors. It felt a bit like coming home when Virgil clicked the locking mechanism into place and the screen lit up with the digital alien symbols.

“I shall see you all soon,” Logan said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn’t see all the ways that their plan could go wrong. Then with barely more than a breath he clicked the activation button and his form flickered out of existence.

Roman made a nervous noise with the back of his throat, which ended up sounding a bit like the first bars of a Disney song Virgil had forgotten. Virgil gently tapped his tail with the toe of his boot, avoiding the glisten poison spikes. Roman startled just enough to laugh.

“Its funny, you know?” He said, glancing towards Virgil. “A year ago Remus told me he had taken in a Deathworlder, and I thought he was crazy. A Deathworlder? But now that I know you guys I can’t believe I didn’t get my own sooner.”

“Remus has a human on his crew?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, I wonder if you know each other!” Patton added.

Virgil bit back his original comment, and let the weight settle in his stomach. If Remus had a human in his crew there was even more of a chance that Remus was dead, because the Pol’turs had chosen to save the mysterious human for last.

“Earth is a big place,” Virgil said instead. “Like really big. They’d probably be from like Russia or something.”

At the blank stares he got, Virgil tried rewording, “We probably never have met before. Or speak the same language.”

"There's more than one human language?"

Virgil breathed through his nose, warding off a memory of rolling Rs and failed pop quizzes. "Yeah," he said, "Humans can't agree on anything."

Roman thoughtfully crossed his arms, but Patton made a chittering again and bounced, “Oh well! Now you guys are gonna meet! All the way out in space! How cool is that?!”

Virgil hid a smile in his shoulder. Trust the Reytin to find the bright side to everything.

Roman looked like he had more questions (questions that Virgil wasn't exactly enthusiastic to answer; Earth was a sore topic for him) but mercifully each of their watches let out several musical bars from Patton’s favorite song. The alien shook his palms one last time, beaming at each of them.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun, guys!” He said right before pressing the activation button and disappearing.

“I’m so going to kill Remus for this,” Roman grumbled, one hand on his sword hilt.

And, really, Virgil agreed with him on that. Tossing Remus into the airlock and ejecting him directly into the void sounded like an excellent plan for when they got back to their ship alive and whole and safe.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil said and jabbed his thumb into the activation button.

***

Predictably, their flimsy plan fell apart within seconds of them appearing on the ship. Starting with, exactly, Virgil did not appear in or near the engineering deck. Instead he had landed approximately two feet above a box in the Cargo hold of the Pol’turian ship, which likely meant he was somewhere left of where he needed to be.

It also meant that the Pol’turs in the Cargo Hold had a grand view of his body blitzing into existence, landing on a crate, and then tumbling off it with a lot of English cursing. It was a mere matter of luck that Virgil was able to roll his body to the side just before the first BZZZTTRRRT of their blasters went off.

(There was an actual name for the guns that most aliens used, and Virgil was pretty sure that it started with a hard K sound but he had never been able to remember it. He stuck to calling them blasters in his head, and hoped somewhere back on Earth George Lucas was proud of himself.)

The Polyfurnish of the crate hissed and sizzled as it took the brunt of the attack meant to vaporize Virgil, and the human hissed another curse as his hands dug through his satchel.

One of the Pol’turs-- the deep purple one although Virgil hadn’t truly been able to catch sight of how many there were-- shouted something in its language. Probably something along the lines of “Stop”, “Surrender”, or “Kill him”. Virgil wasn’t exactly a fan of any of those options.

He had heard them before-- too many times. The hundreds of variations of the terms spat and yelled and cheered down at him, and he scrambled away from the edge of a sword, as he tasted nothing by dust and dirt as he dodged another attempt on his life, as he desperately backed away from an opponent who couldn’t understand that Virgil didn’t want to fight, please, stop, please, I’m sorry, please I don’t want to hurt anyone--

Virgil curled up as another gold blast ricocheted off the top of the crate he was cowering behind. The air was cooler here, he told himself, the air was cooler and the floor was slicker, and he was surrounded by shelves of goods. He was not in a colosseum and he was not in a fighting ring and he was not alone.

He had the others to regroup with and no time to panic over the past here and now. Virgil gritted his teeth, remembering the feel of Roman’s knuckles bumping his, the sight of Logan’s excited lights, the sound of Patton’s laughter, and then his hand wrapped around the homemade smoke bombs in his satchel.

He yanked the pins from their sockets, wound back, and launched them over the crate into the mass of where all the shooting was coming from. Almost immediately the shoots veered off course, and the cavernous room echoed with high pitched screams. Virgil ripped his turtleneck up and over his nose and then he grabbed the edges of the nearest shelf and hoisted himself to a higher area, out of the range of the low hanging gas.

It was a pale red, near pink thing: a concoction formed by Logan out of Roman’s poison that had taken them literal years to perfect. Virgil was mostly immune to it, the same way he was mostly immune to most poisons that horrified the other species. Inhaling it made his head dizzy and his limbs a little numb, which was just unpleasant enough that he tried to avoid inhaling anything when he had the chance. Other species though...they weren’t so lucky. According to Logan, inhaling it allowed it directly into the bloodstream where it would swiftly ignite all the pain sensors in the body and could make one feel like they were being stabbed everywhere at once.

(He knew this, Logan admitted, because it had taken him many times to get it right. His scientific journals recorded experiments #1 through #357 as “unpleasant” and “ill-advised” and Virgil had nearly throttled him when he discovered that Logan had used himself as a test subject.)

Using the shelves he boosted himself another level until his head was parallel with a box of what he thought were floating Welsor hearts, before he scanned the ground under him. There were three Pol’turs on the ground writhing in pain, blasters discarded, and pale smoke floating ominous above them. Their usually languid tentacles flopped up and down on the floor like a bunch of fish out of water.

The glass container next to his hip exploded, missing him by mere millimeters. Virgil cursed as he scrambled up another level, eyes darting around to find where the hell that shot came from. His armor took much of the hit but it was sizzling with heat in a way that was decidedly not-comforting.

“Up there!” Something shouted.

Another blast missed his ear and a container of Sblorp fangs shattered and sent the teeth spilling to the floor. Virgil kicked his feet through the lower shelf pushing through a crate and a dozen jars of various indeterminable body parts and squeezed his body in the place of them. The crashes on the next isle were rather satisfying.

He ripped the pin from another smoke bomb with his teeth, and felt his tongue buzz slightly as the proximity to the toxin before he launched it out at the direction of the other shooter. There was another scream and Virgil took the time to roll into the next isle and leap back down to the floor.

The gas still hadn’t cleared around the original three Pol’turs, but they had gone unconscious from the pain, with a few seizing tentacles here and there. Virgil would feel bad about it, really he would, but the last time he had been in a room of Pol’turs they had been discussing how nicely his skull would look in the centerpieces of their tables and tried to buy him for 270 griot.

His skin tingled the same way he thought it might right before he would get struck by lightning back on Earth. Virgil ignored the feeling in honor of sliding across the polished flooring to the nearest fallen mercenary and hoisting it up as a shield, while he grabbed its blaster from the floor.

Two blaster shots sunk into his Pol’tur shield and it dissolved into ashes in his hand. Virgil cursed again, raising the blaster with his other arm and using his ash coated hand to slide the trigger, because this blaster-- like all other blasters-- were not made for human anatomy at all.

The last Pol’tur was a sickly orange color, like some type of invasive evil moss with long arms. Virgil grinned as the blast exploded forth in a dangerous golden ray of death. The heat singed the edge of his fingers, although the mild numbness prevented him from feeling much more than the slight pressure he assumed was warmth. The shot went wide, and the kickback sent Virgil to the floor, but it was enough.

The blast shattered though several items on the shelves and Pol’tur scrambled back to avoid the avalanche of perishables-- scrambled back right into the pink fog of Virgil's last smoke bomb. It was screaming before Virgil could even sit back up.

Virgil inhaled heavily, sucking as much oxygen into his lung as he could afford and breathing it out through his nose. He squeezed his hand around the handle of the blaster, and tried to pretend like his skin didn’t feel too small. His empty hand-- the one that had held the Pol’tur-- was trembling, shaking, burning.

“I just think you’d be better off spending time with someone else.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Storm!”

“What was it like, Virgil? When you killed him?”

His hand was covered in soot, tingling from nerves and poison and the heat of the blast that had annihilated all evidence of the living, breathing alien.

“It wasn’t….” Virgil breathed heavily, “I didn’t….”

He sucked in another breath, two, three, seven breaths, until he could feel the masquerading gas in the air turn his face numb, and the voices in his head went back to threatening buzzing.

“Fuck,” he whispered softly, and pushed himself off the ground.

Virgil took the blaster with him, and made a private note to ask Logan to look into building communicators for times like this. There were an untold number of things that could have happened to get them mixed up: the Pol’tur ship could have barrel rolled at the time of, or before the final teleportation codes were in, it could have slowed or sped up, it could have marginally changed direction. All of which just proved that only stupid people like Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton would dare attempt a teleportation on a moving ship. Virgil tried not to think about what would have happened if his coordinates had been a little lower in space, a little closer to the box he had landed on, a little more personal and prompted whatever was inside of the crate merged with whatever was inside of Virgil.

It took him a moment to realize that the lights had started flashing an interspaced red and yellow series: a visual alarm to the crew.

“Fun,” Virgil mumbled, hugging the wall next to the exit, with one last breath, and then punching the exit lock. The hydraulics took a moment to work (probably due to excessive use of the doors and wear on the components), but it opened to reveal a brightly lit, completely empty hallway. Virgil raised his blaster, checking both the direction before he stepped out and punched the door closed behind him. Then he lined the blaster up with the door controls and fired.

You know, for safekeeping. The last thing they needed was the Pol’turs inside to wake up with a vengeance and come after them before they were off the ship.

(If he was still on the ship by the time that they woke up, Virgil was pretty sure he’d be dead. But hey! Surprising things happened all the time when one lived in fucking space.)

The floor was springy under his feet, some mixture of carpet and flooring that Virgil didn’t know the name of, just that it was weird and he didn’t want it in his Sims House. He could feel the fibers through his shoes as he hugged the wall and sprinted towards where he thought the Engine room would be located.

He could hear the sound of more blasters echoing from the depths of the ship, some yelling, some cursing: all lovely signs that Roman was doing his best to be the most annoying moving target anyone had ever seen. Virgil found his lips curling into a smile as he faintly at the noise.

“Oh come on!” Roman taunted, “I’m a big guy! Surely, you can’t be that bad of a shot!”

There was deafening BZZZTTRRRT, a clamorous crashing, and an ear splitting series of screams.

Virgil flung around the last corner but in time to see Roman stand up from a kneeling position over a clump of bodies that had probably been more alive a few seconds ago. There were blaster marks all along the walls, and several had blown through a wall revealing a cozy living quarters with giant sword slices in the beddings and floors.

“Oooh, so close!” Roman said with faux-empathy bordering on smugness which at this point should just be his default to the mass. “Maybe next time you’ll think more before attacking an Erefren!” He spun at the sight of Virgil coming around the corner, pointing his sword and then shaking his tail in a greeting.

“Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief. “You okay?”

“Virgil! It seems like I got a little off course! Checked the prisoner cells but they were all empty. And then a few new friends of mine had some fun things to say about Remus.” Roman looked feral as he bared his teeth. He jabbed his sword down into the corpses and something wheezed painfully. Virgil didn’t look at them, didn’t look at them, didn’t look.

“Do you know where he is?” Virgil asked.

Roman used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blue grey blood from the tip of his blade. “Not yet, but if you give me a few more minutes with these lovely fellows of mine I will!”

It did not take “a few more minutes”. Roman hoisted on still gasping Pol’tur up by its gangly neck and it had already started blubbering in a mix of languages. Virgil watched the halls while Roman took notes from their new best friend.

Half a minute later Roman dropped their captive to the ground with a fire in his eyes and turned to Virgil with his bone plates clinking, and dripping poison.

“He was on the Bridge.” He said, coldly, “He didn’t know if they had finished with Re or not, but he was up there”

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“The rest of his crew, Virgil,” Roman growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. “His friends! His family!” He stared down at the shaking cowering alien life. “They..!”

The back of Virgil’s throat tasted like his stomach acids.

Remus had tried to have them killed, he had sold them out, he had been a thorn in their side since before Virgil had become part of the team. Between the harrowing escapes and the near deaths, it wasn’t hard for Virgil to absolutely despise him.

But his crew? His entire crew? In three days?

Just….gone?

Condensed into the memories with a snap, removed from the future in just a blink. The initial attack on them must have been bad and bloody for Remus to call them for help, a surprise ambush type of attack. And for all Virgil hated Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder if Remus had had plans with them-- had they been discussing visiting the bars on L3-012 or shopping on K5-369 or relaxing on C2-276? Had Remus made plans with the people he had been close with and now those plans were meaningless because the people he had made them with were dead and gone and never coming ba--

The Pol’tur on the ground giggled something hysterically, one last brave blubbering comment, and Roman took the toe of his boot right into the creature's soft flesh. Its tentacles flopped on the floor with a plu-plat.

“Virgil,” Roman hissed, without looking up.

Virgil blinked and swallowed hard, “Right, Engines,” He said, turning to go back to his task but Roman reached out and hooked his claws on Virgil’s shoulder, stopping him there.

“Change of plans,” The Erefren said, “You’re coming with me to the Bridge to get my idiot brother.”

Logan was on the Bridge too. Roman didn’t need to have Virgil come with him-- in fact, Virgil shouldn’t come with him. Too many people, too close to fighting, and Virgil couldn’t wipe away the feeling of grit on his hand.

His entire crew. In just three days.

Roman didn’t mention anything about how Virgil was shaking from head to toe, and Virgil didn’t point out the way that Roman’s voice wobbled with silent pleading. He just nodded at the alien and let him lead the way towards where they suspected the examination rooms would be.

Two heads are better than one, and all that.

It was less of a guessing game when the halls and doors were labeled and Roman was very fluent in Pol’turian. Roman was quick to move, quick to sort his way through the poorly designed areas, quick to move. Virgil kept the pace as well as he could, watching the halls behind them for stragglers attempting to get the drop on them and Roman cut down anything in his way.

Blue grey blood splattered across their shoes, filling the air with a sickly sour smell that made Virgil want to gag. He settled for squeezing the handle of the balster and counting out his breaths again as he avoided Roman’s tail striking forward at astonishing speeds and squeezing his eyes shut when he thought he saw a pair of mismatching eyes in the reflection of the lights.

There was no way for them to go quietly through the halls, not with Roman stomping hard enough to shake the entire ship and his poison attacks turning every enemy into a screaming, begging, crying puddle.

“Roman!” Virgil yelled as heat billowed around them, and the taller alien stumbled back, hit the wall and fell to his knees.

Virgil snarled at one of the mercenaries and fired three times at them. Between the near misses and the scattered yells of “Deathworlder!” they retreated into nearby rooms and locked the doors after them. Virgil tore one of his EMPs from Roman’s belt and sent it flying down the hall to keep them trapped there for a little bit, before he turned to check on Roman.

His shirt was smoldering, and one of his bone plates were cracked, but he just looked out of breath and angry, “I’m fine.” His claws scraped the floor as he stood up. “Armor took most of it.”

Virgil checked the hallway again. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, like a cancerous lump that he couldn’t get rid off no matter how much he swallowed or coughed. It pulsed to a beat that he wasn’t sure he could replicate: too fast and yet the space between each thud had felt like forever. It was so loud he almost was afraid of missing the sounds of another attack.

(An attack where Roman’s armor wouldn’t be enough, where he wouldn’t be able to wheeze off the pain, where he’d hit the wall then the floor and he wouldn’t be able to get back up and it would be all Virgil’s faul--)

Roman’s claws pricked his shoulder as he looked. With a slightly trembling hand he pointed in the direction they needed to go and Virgil did his best not to let his churning stomach get the better of him.

“Virgil! Roman!” They both spun at the voice; Roman in particular struck out with his tail, and just narrowly avoided impaling Logan’s crystalline chest on spikes.

Logan didn’t even flinch, not that he could really. His lower arms spread with palms out to signal innocence but his upper arms were busy holding up the profusely bleeding Erefren that was leaning mostly on him. Logan’s arms were flickering with so many colors Virgil couldn’t keep track of them. (Vaguely it reminded him of a disco ball, of party lights, of something so Earthly it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to hold back a panic attack.)

“Remus,” Roman breathed, reaching forward, impossibly gently.

“Ro’mn,” Remus slurred, shifting his head ever so slightly. His blood was pooling down the left half of his face, his eyes were partially glassy, but other than that he looked remarkably like Roman: they shared the same face with a strong jawline, the same dark dark hair curled the same way, and the same long tail with dozens of bone plates. The only real difference was the tinge of white in Remus’s hair, the oozing green poison leaking from his bone structures in place of Roman’s red, and the gaps where someone had torn out his bone plates before Remus had grown new ones in.

“Didn’t think…” Remus’s head lulled to the side, showing off the smile he was desperately forcing on his face, “didn’t think… you were comin’.”

“I’m throwing you out of the airlock,” Roman told him.

“‘ounds fun…” Remus murmured, dropping his head back to Logan’s back, and wincing like each inhale was a battle.

“They had him on the Bridge,” Logan explained, “When I arrived, they were attempting to retrieve information from him through barbaric methods. I may have gone overboard with my retaliation.” Logan shifted Remus’s weight slightly, drawing a groan from the other alien. “I am by no means a medical examiner, however, I suspect that he may have several rib fractures, and a few wounds that need to be looked at and well bandaged.”

Roman nodded, although Virgil didn’t think he actually heard anything. Virgil was an only child himself, but he could guess that even if Remus had been the biggest asshole in the entire cosmos seeing him reduced to this weakened, bloody, broken mess was terrifying. From the stories of their childhood, Virgil had always guessed that Remus was as lively as they came. But this version of him couldn’t even stand by himself.

Roman’s head shot up, “Patton. Where’s Pat? We’ve got Re, now its time to get out of here and get him help--”

“NO!” Remus shouted lunging forward suddenly. Logan stumbled at the change of weight, nearly dropping him to the floor, but it seemed that the movement had taken most of the rest of his power. “I can’t… They have…Jay… I prom’sed…”

Virgil checked the hall for enemies because that was easier than looking at the desperation in Remus’s eyes. His voice was scratched and grated like a glass under the assault of a diamond. He coughed so violently it dragged out a glob of purple blood from him.

“Remus, you can’t--” Roman said.

And despite Remus looking like a simple breeze could end his life, he grabbed at Roman’s outreached arm, above the danger of the forearm spikes.“Me and... my crew,” Remus coughed, weakly. “The oath…”

“I talked to one of those bastards,” Roman countered, forcibly soft, forcibly strained. “Re, your crew is--”

“Ro…” He pleaded, “Please.”

Roman made a noise like something in him was physically shredding him apart. Virgil suspected it was his hero complex, which usually manifested the urge to save every living being he saw. Lost wasn’t a good look on Erefrens, Virgil decided right then and there. Hopeless and terrified and sad-- all of them made Roman look wrong.

“What's wrong, Vee? You look like you want to say something.”

“....It’s nothing.”

“What? Not even a joke? Come on, I know you--”

“Let it go, Ekans.”

Virgil blinked away the unwanted memory. He sighed out of his nose and reached up to hook on the back of Roman’s armor collar. “Let’s go.”

“Virge…” Roman murmured.

“If we don’t do this now,” Virgil said, “We’ll regret it.”

He didn’t wait for the others to catch up with his train of thought, or maybe he wasn’t waiting for his own train of thought to catch up. He tugged Roman back a step and nodded at Logan. “We’ll double back and find any crew that’s left and get Pat. You take Remus to the engine room room and get the codes ready for us to get back.”

“For real?” Roman said.

“Understood, Virgil.” Logan nodded back. He glowed purple softly, around his neck notches as if he had expected this after all. “Don’t be late.”

“Time is a construct.”

Remus laughed like he was choking on a handful of rusted nails. Roman tensed at the sound, gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip on his sword. Resolved hardened in his eyes, burning through the lost expression like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

“Right,” Roman said, “Let’s go.” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and took off in the direction they had come from. “Any guesses where the guy’s gonna be? Or where Pat is?”

Virgil felt his stomach churn. He closed his eyes and let Roman pull him along as he tried to remember the 3D diagram of a Pol’turian ship. “Well if I was in cargo, you landed near the prisoner blocks, while Logan was on the Bridge...that means that while Logan was doing the calculations the ship probably did a half roll on the longitudinal axis, which he couldn’t have accounted for. Since this ship appears to be the same as the other makes and models of Pol’turs that means that Patton probably ended up in the medical bay. And if I had to guess that’s where any last member of the crew would be as well. Take this left here.”

Roman nearly stumbled over his own feet. “How in the name of the Great God, Disney-- have you memorized all the maps?”

Virgil furrowed his brow at the alien, “Haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but--” Roman’s face flushed with a bit of his purple blood, “Nevermind, Deathworlder.”

The medical wing of the ship was easy to get to compared to the other places. It seemed that either the Pol’turs had wisened up for an ambush or they had fled when they had the chance. Either way they only came across two mercenaries and Roman made quick work of them.

He knew they had arrived by the buzzing of air, the tingle of his skin that made him feel too big and too small at the same time. The walls were bare and there were four rooms lining them, each with a number engraved in the door and the lock panels glowing red with what Virgil guessed was the Pol’turian symbol for “closed” or “locked” or “dangerous chemical inside do not release”. Virgil reached for another EMP, but his bag was empty. There were scents around them, faint scents: something metallic, something sour, something clean, something, something, something--

Something that smelled like blood. So many different kinds of blood.

Virgil swallowed hard. He hadn’t known a lot about Remus’s crew, but he knew that Remus had had a dozen different species with him. A dozen different species that hadn’t survived the encounter.

“Pat!” Roman yelled down the hall, brandishing his sword.

“Roman! In here! Help--” A voice that was most definitely Patton’s yelled out.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward to the room the voice had come from, almost feverishly, desperately, and he didn’t bother with the password. With a swift violent motion he jabbed his sword into the locking panel and then pried open the door with his claws and his hands.

Virgil thought that it would have been one hell of a sight: if he had been strapped to a table, a knife jab from death’s door, begging, pleading, crying and knowing that all his friends had been taking to the room before him and had not come back out intact? If Virgil had been bleeding out and clinging to the slippery bit of hope that was a miracle, and then he saw his captain’s brother literally prying open the door with his bare claws to get to him---

Virgil thought it would have been pretty awesome.

Not something that should have warranted a knife being thrown at them.

Roman let out a curse in Erefren and it was one of those don’t-repeat-this-don’t-tell-Patton curses that Roman specialized in. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where the knife had sunk in all the way to the hilt, Jesus! What the hell! Virgil kicked the rest of the door open, dropping low as scalpel skirted by where his body should have been, and then he sprung back up with his blaster set on that asshole.

Except.

“Virgil!”

The room was small, almost claustrophobically small. Just standing in the doorway made Virgil’s breath shorten (his cell back at the Welsor fighting rings had been bigger than this--). And it was lit with cold harsh white light, nearly blinding, if it weren’t for the greyed walls and the splashes-- the splashes of faded pink and blue and other colors that Virgil recognized all too well as blood. The table took up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a Pol’tur to sweep around and a small hand tray of twisted instruments.

In fact there was a Pol’tur on the ground right there. Limp and unmoving with an eye scoop so far in it’s skull there was no way it was coming back out.

But Virgil wasn’t staring at the body.

“Don’t you get tired of being everyone’s favorite person?”

It couldn’t--

��Just shut up and help me with these conjugations, will you?”

This wasn’t--

“What do you mean no one can find him?”

He hadn’t--

The detective had looked at him with such a pity that it had made Virgil’s entire body flinch. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, crushing it, letting the fragments cut into his skin. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. The man was still talking to him, talking softly like anything louder would shatter the fragile reality around them, talking so quietly Virgil couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying at all over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil had croaked. “He’s not dead.”

But he had been.

He had been for nearly two years now.

And everyone had thought that Virgil had done something to him, had thought that Virgil was the last to see him, had thought that his dark clothes and his eye shadow and a few sneers in the hall had meant that Virgil was suddenly capable of killing Janus Ekans in cold blood.

Except.

Except that Virgil was staring at Janus --fucking-- Ekans right now.

It was unmistakable, the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, the slimness of his nose. The wispy brown hair that turned golden under the summer sun, the mischievous eyes danced with different colors, the flick of his tongue that moved so freely when he let it, the tattoo of two theater masks on his chest that no one was supposed to know about-- Virgil could have spent days naming things, committing them to memory, staring in disbelief at him. This was the same boy who had sat next to him in Spanish. The same Janus who had been convinced he was so completely untouchable up until Virgil had dragged him off his stupid, golden pedastal.

It was the same Janus who was currently wrapped around Patton like a boa constrictor cutting off the alien’s ability to move and had a knife perched ever so closely to one of Patton’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Virgil had said because-- because--

Because Virgil had asked Logan once if there was a race that could pick through minds, pull memories from heads, change the way someone thought. And Logan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him. There were no alien types that could break into a mind and drag illusions into reality and there were no races that could bring ghosts back from oblivion.

“Virgil,” Janus said barely a whisper, barely enough to be heard, barely enough to mean anything. The knife was tilting in his hand, tipped like he wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What-?”

Partially drugged, Virgil thought with absolutely no room to breathe in his chest. Partially drugged, holding a knife to Patton’s weakest point, and alive.

“Janus,” Virgil said, ”Put down the knife.”

He’s still partially strapped to the table, bound by his left ankle and sporting a lovely series of cuts on the side of his face as if someone had started carving scales into his cheek for funsies. If Virgil had to hazard a guess he would have assumed that Patton had dropped in literally as the Pol’tur was taking Janus-- Janus, alive, breathing, real-- apart one centimeter at a time, then proceeded to win a very cramped fight in the room. Virgil would even say that Patton had started taking the restraints off of Janus when he had gained enough consciousness to realize that he needed to defend himself.

(The fact that they found something capable of drugging a human, a Deathworlder, was concerning, so concerning, terrifying--)

“Virgil….You are not real,” Janus said, slowly, blood dripping down his neck. “You cannot be real. None of this is real.”

“I’m the one thats not real?” Virgil muttered. “You’re the one that was declared dead.”

He laughed. Virgil’s stomach swooped.

For a second, a brief fleeting second, he could have sworn that this was all a dream. A fever dream in which Virgil would blink himself awake from and find himself on the floor of Janus’s stupid, giant ass room surrounded by a dozen cans of off-brand energy drinks, a half eaten bucket of popcorn, and the credits for a horror movie scrolling on the screen. For a second it felt like he would roll over and bump elbows with Janus who had woken up an hour previously to study for that stupid Spanish test that wasn’t until Monday. For a second it was like he was seventeen again and his biggest worry was figuring out if it was too weird to ask to run his hands through Janus’s silky hair.

“Of course, I was declared fucking dead!” Janus said, like it was the obvious thing that would happen, “I am dead. I have to be, because there’s no other way that the kid who's afraid of going outside made it this far into space.”

“Janus, put down the knife.” Virgil took a step forward, a half a step, but Janus just squeezed the knife tighter.

“Why don’t you come and make me?” Janus smiled at him, smiled, smiled, smiled.

Smiled like he knew that this was a dream and nothing he did was going to matter. Smiled like they were back on that balcony of his room with their feet swinging between the bars and two Seagrams gone each and they were going to get in a shit ton of trouble for it. Smiled like he had never been dead and Virgil hadn’t had to bury the thought of him.

Patton made a noise, a small whimper, and Virgil felt it in his chest. The near silence of the room, the soft muted buzzing in his head, the fuzzy dream like quality of reality-- it all shattered at the sound. Shattered like glass, like a mirror, like the concept of “forever”. It shattered and Virgil was suddenly hyperaware of how small the room was, how cold he felt, how metallic the air smelt.

“Hm, just as I thought,” Janus said softly, smile dropping into something wistful and disappointed, “I really am just seeing thin--”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing; he surged forward, throwing his blaster to the side, and using his left hand to catch Janus’s wrist millimeters from putting that knife in Patton. He twisted his hand, pining his fingers into the soft flesh of Janus’s nerves until his hand jerked open on reflex and the knife fell into the open air.

Janus froze, inhaling so sharply Virgil was certain that he took all the oxygen in the room away.

He was warm, Virgil realized absently. He was warm and had a pulse and for some reason both those things made Virgil’s chest hurt. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet and Virgil had gotten punch-drunk stupid on less.

Which probably explained why, how, when, Virgil’s lips ended up on his, pressing firmly, and tasting like something from a past Virgil had thought he had given up on. Virgil had always been stupid, but this was another level of stupid. This was incredibly dumb, unbelievable, ridiculous.

Janus’s mouth was on his, and Virgil’s hand was tipping his head back ever so slightly, and Patton had managed to scramble out of Janus’s absolutely shocked slacked hold.

“You’ve always been so annoying,” Virgil gasped between breaths, “Always thinking you know everything. Have you ever considered you might be wrong before?”

“You’re--” Janus whispered, “Real? For real?” Then, “Don’t you know what the fuck consent is?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil told him.

Janus grabbed him by his collar and yanked him forward again. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be coy.” Janus shot back because he was still the same asshole who needed to have the last word. He bit at Virgil’s lip, and then pulled back to show off a wolfish grin.

Virgil was stuck somewhere between wanting to smash his stupid smug face in and wanting to kiss him until he lost all sense of direction. Janus was like that, Virgil remembered suddenly, even when they were kids, when Janus was trapped on that pedestal everyone had put him on, when Virgil couldn’t have cared less about him and somehow had ended up unsure how to live without him.

“Not that this isn’t the fucking cutest shit I’ve ever seen--“ A voice behind them called and Virgil stiffened.

“Language!” Patton interrupted, as Roman grunted through the pain of still having a surgical knife in his shoulder.

“--But can the two of you save your weird-ass….human…. greeting custom…. for some other time?” The Erefren snarled with one hand clutching the hilt and then yanking it out with a wheeze that Virgil felt physically. His purple blood spouted out from the wound but Roman didn’t seem to care, beyond tossing the knife to the floor.

“That’s an Erefren,” Janus said because he’s just as good at stating the obvious as he is at kissing. “That is not Remus.”

Roman snapped out something in his native tongue, which by the stress on the syllables was probably not nice and definitely not Patton approved. The Reytin even puffed up, shaking his head in a way that normally prefaced an hour long lecture on manners and the reintroduction of a swear jar.

However, Janus just laughed that pretty stupid little laugh of his but when he opened his mouth the words were all forgein. It took Virgil a moment to catch up, a moment to realize that he hadn’t even fumbled, that Janus had actually spoken Erefrenian and it had been grammatically correct enough that stunned Roman for a whole half second.

“You speak Erefrenian?” Virgil asked.

Janus blinked up at him a smug looking expression on his face. “You don’t?”

Virgil had a good response, he did. It was a response that had been some-three years in the making and Virgil had been ready to wipe that prideful expression of his face. But before they could do anything the entire ship lurched to the side, taking gravity with it. Virgil let out a yelp and grabbed for Janus and clung for stability.

(Space had done wonders for Janus’s abs, Virgil thought distantly.)

Roman slammed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hall, with all the grace a drunken ballerina, and cursed again when Patton landed on top of him.

“That’s our cue to leave!” Roman growled.

“Ya think?” Virgil shot back. He lunged for the end of the table where Janus’s bare foot was still strapped to the table. He didn’t look at the rusted color on the buckle, at the stiffness of the leather strap, at the rawness of Janus’s skin where it was biting into his ankle. He didn’t, didn’t, didn’t--

His hands shook. Janus reached over and clasped his forearms, the fabric of his tunic, him.

“Virgil--” Janus said, softly, unsuredly, with no trace of that previous pompous expression on him. “I--”

There was blood on his face, trailing all the way down his neck in scarlet silvers from the cuts. His hair was sweat matted, pressed and tousled in a way that made Virgil feel a certain rage in his chest, like someone had been running fingers through his curls while they sliced him apart. His eyes were still slightly glassy from whatever they put in him. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in his eyes, through his fingers as he clung to Virgil.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil told him, practically scooping him up. Janus heaved a breath as his feet touched the ground again. “Us humans have to stick together, right?”

Janus Ekans was alive.

It sounded surreal even in the moment, because Virgil had been mourning him since they were seventeen and stupid. Everyone else had moved on, had buried his memory, had forgotten about him. But he was not dead, and Virgil had not killed him. Somehow he had ended up in space, ended up with Remus, ended up here on this ship in the several billions of lightyears from anything they had known previously.

There would be no more late-nights-turned-early-mornings study sessions, no more sneaking over the gated walls of the Ekans mansion, and no more scaling the lattice underneath Janus’s balcony. They were never going to go stargazing on the hills outside of town again, never going to ruthlessly text each other under the desk during History class, never going to skip prom together to go trespassing in the woods somewhere to find Mothman. He was never going to butcher Spanish past participles in the cozy corner of the school library after hours and he was never going to get to listen to Janus brag about obtaining his Seal of Biliteracy finally despite his proficiency in about three languages.

Janus had disappeared right before senior year. And Virgil, who had been the biggest thorn in his side, the biggest instigator of all their fights, the wild and unruly punk kid that lived in detention-- Virgil had stopped looking for him. Because everyone said he had died. Because everyone said that Virgil had killed him.

But Virgil could feel Janus’s pulse, could hear his heartbeat, could see the way his chest moved as they stumbled out of the room.

Part of him was afraid that if he let go now, later, ever, Janus would disappear again. Shimmer and fade like a mirage in the desert.

“Careful Virgil,” Janus said breathily. “I almost think you missed me.”

“I hate you so much,” Virgil said back, as Roman and Patton led the way toward the engine rooms by blade and alien jujutsu and well-placed pun.

“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that, at all.” Janus said, grinning.

And then he closed that last little bit of space between them again.

[Next installment: Stars Die (But We Don’t)]

#Sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Alien Au #Sympathetic Deceit #Sympathetic Remus #23 pages of Virgil in space #humans are space orcs #blood #Anxceit #background intrulogical #Probably will end up as part of series if you guys want more

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 7)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 6

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Your life was on the edge again as you were close to being sold to men in their dimension. With a kind and selfless heart; you've tried saving Cirilla. Though, despite of the failure of a rescue, a certain witcher wouldn't let you stay in danger as he came to your aid and massacred whoever comes in his way. Thus, he'd recognized the person holding you and it made him curse deep beneath his breath as he remembered what he wanted from him after years of avoiding them for their regal favors.

Warnings: Gore. (I’ve added a gif that kinda..ugh. You get my point. Hehehe.) Death. Swords. Curse words. Modern references. Hehehe. Blood. Anger. More descriptions than dialogues. (I mean, who fights while talking? XD Also, it’s Geralt. You know how he is. XD) Assholes selling women/children.

Words: 6.3k+

A/N: Chapter 7 is out now! I've used Gifs of Geralt while the story goes on. Heehee! Just wanted to. IT’S GETTIN’ LIT IN HERE. AYEEEE!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It took a narrow, derelict looking alleyway for Cirilla and her friend to be found. This was why you never trusted kids playing alone because they needed supervision at all times. There were black, grey and brown stone build houses designed for the outmoded era surrounding the alley.

You taciturnly stood in the middle of the dirt ground, scanning the whole place and finding a kid who wore a light blue kirtle. The sound of sand and gravel was apparent as you've taken conniving steps till you were about to enter another aisle that looked deserted. But, you were stopped as a silhouette of two men who wore dark brown furry sheep coats emerge from the gully.

The man holding Cirilla had a horrible beard looking like the man in the movie 300 with a sly smirk that could get you to know that he was part of the villains in a show while the other was a blonde chevalier that can pass as the prince's bodyguard.

They had sharp looking daggers across the children's necks and it made your heart cease because of the panic rising through your head. Yet, you try to calm down to make better decisions.

Not that it was a habit. You were bad a making decisions; look at how your life ended. Forgetting why you were drowning on a lake and suddenly emerging from another dimension like you had your next life in just a snap of Thanos' gauntlet.

"Nice, very nice." you mindlessly mumbled, avoiding their scowls and grins; giving the kids a once over as you've seen the fear straight out of their eyes.

There were no guns, anything to use for defense nor do you know any kung-fu that can make Jackie Chan watch you with popcorn on his hands.

You were currently a useless human especially that you were teleported with no supernatural powers or magic. What a nice way to be brought to a world you didn't know and had people who are experts in brutal fighting.

"Why, why, why," The man looking like King Leonidas mischievously announced as he tightened his hold around Cirilla and held the dagger close to her neck. The princess shrieked and growled before him, struggling against his hold as you winced at your mind who couldn't help but utter the most awkward sentences in panic.

"Delilah?" your nose scrunched so hard you were sure you looked constipated. It was a pun, and so it wasn't the best as you couldn't help but cringe for your stupidity.

"Ain't she a beaut," The blonde knight cackled as he strolled towards a wooden cage that can be used for lions or any feisty animal as Ethelia was dragged and locked in like a fauna being pulled around; never forgetting to give Cirilla's friend a pinch to her delicate cheeks as she flinched away from the asshole.

"Don't hurt Ethelia!" Cirilla struggled against her captor's arms, but he tightened his hold around her a lot more, "---Get her out of the cage!"

You've squinted your eyes at the large cage where Ethelia has been violently captured and saw not only one but a dozen of children taken to their account. Some were grubby and clean, though that one thing that made them all the same was that they were women.

They were freaking women and you definitely saw red because they all seemed innocent with all their wailing and bloodshot eyes.

The princess has managed to bite Tybalt on the arm; making the latter grab onto her roots brutally, igniting a frightened scream out of Cirilla, "You are next to this wench that shall be offered to the king!"

Thus, her screams made your palms sweat. You needed to do something and not just stand there like an idiot.

Tybalt's attention was suddenly turned to you; cocking his head to the side as smugly as he could, giving you a menacing grin that gave you the nervous shivers.

"---Or not?"

"Leave the child alone!" you suddenly had the courage to muster out loud; but it was no use as it didn't sound frightening for the party. Tybalt aimed the sharp edge of his dagger along Cirilla's neck as he moved them both forward, his appearance more discernable from the sudden cloudy day as he stepped outside his shadows. "---If it isn't another whore that I could sell to the duke,"

You could see how tall he was and utterly buff just like Geralt. His face was a complete epitome of a bandit as you noticed those sharp fangs and thinking he just had that type of teeth, "---Your beauty...Only passes for a knight's whore,"

Well, that sounded mean.

Tybalt continued, keeping Cirilla steady in the width of his arms as the child went on to struggle against his hold, her movements accidentally giving her a short slice of a wound that you quickly saw. Crimson liquid dripping down her neck like a breeze; not much, yet it was enough to give a wince, "---not for a king," the latter continued as he gave a low baleful laugh.

He'd studied you from head to toe, his gaze utterly making you feel uncomfortable. It was obvious that it consists of obscene thoughts running inside his brain. You couldn't help but feel your sweat turn cold from the panic you were feeling, "You are one short fella'! But, also kind of adorable like a dirty mouse not even worth for a penny,"

"Don't--Don't touch her," you stammered, biting on the insides of your lips as you tried thinking quicker. His wicked plans and diabolic ideas inside his head were enough to make your knees tremble; like you were being hunted by an Alghoul for the second time. You always had the luck in being involved with such ill-fate circumstances and it was making you crazy. Tybalt loudly scoffed, brown eyes glowing with malevolence and his smile turning sinister, "What are ye' going to do, little one? Cry like a bairn?"

The princess breathed in deep breaths, her heart beat running as fast as a cheetah. She'd gave you a look and you could quite see that she was deep in thought. Was Jaskier lying about her abilities? Was she a mutated one as well? Were the men holding her the Elvens?

"Cirilla," you subtly shook your head to distract her from doing anything that could give you both more peril than it should have.

"I can bring your little friend and this woman," Tybalt gestured to you and it made you step back; nevertheless, more of his bandits marched into view and roughly grabbed onto your arms, leaving you no chance to escape as you've tried to battle from their hold. "---Ethelia has been sold to the king by her father who had killed one of his knights. You know how King Viduka loves his knights,"

You wrestled against their hold. Two men strenghtened their grasp on you; rooting you to the ground as they were pretty much stronger, lanky and muscly with their fur coats. They were laughing on either side of you because of how you were struggling, "What is your name?" Tybalt drawled his words like a snake teasing his prey.

You loudly huffed and tried to wrench your arm away from both as you breathed hard; languidly feeling as if you were having a panic attack. It was there; again and it wasn't the right time, "You don't want me dropping down memes, I swear. I'm close to screaming John Cena," pause. "---You're gonna hate me, King Leonidas." A small guiltless smile was given to Cirilla's captor and it was enough to infuriate him because of how you didn't make sense.

Out of the blue, Tybalt unceremoniously pushed the princess off the ground; giving both his men that stood on either side of you a look as they roughly pushed you to him; passing you like a tennis ball as he caught you in his arms. You shrieked and have your heart flying off your chest as the chess piece suddenly moved and you were now their target.

Cirilla coughed her shock out of her chest; face scrubbing the ground which soiled her pretty face as she crawled and trembled away from you; sitting on her backside as she had her eyes focused on the the whole scene; thoroughly staggered at the sudden shift of victims.

Tybalt had his fingers grabbing onto your roots like a bitch; making you yelp as loud as you can to get anyone's attention from the other side of the city. But, no. There was no saviour. "Nobody owns ye', little scrubber! Come, to the palace!" he mercilessly yanked you with a handful of your hair, painfully dragging you to where the cages for humans stayed behind them; covered with a thick brown cloth for decency purposes if they even have dignity in their bloods.

"There's a place for little whores like ye'!" The other man who held you on the arm announced in a snobbish manner; ending his statement with a mirthful laugh that petrified you because of how presumptuous they were to find their actions fine for their world.

Your nerves were spiking up like a sparking electric circuit. The more closer you forcefully strided towards the cage, the more your emotions was flying up the sky. Adding the pain that Tybalt has been pouring on your roots was triggering your sensitive self to shed some tears from the fear of being sold by some dirty, old man who treats women like some kind of doll to relieve their sexual pleasures.

The lioness of Cintra dreaded the moment to see you walking towards a cage full of women going to be sold to different people. She couldn't do anything but think of ways that could get time ticking before Geralt could feel that there was something wrong. Accepting the fear of not saving you will never die down; if she would've not tried to help as she was saved by you.

Cirilla stood on her soles, feet shaking like a leaf as she had both hands in front; halting the forceful kidnap happening, "No! Stop! A man owns her with the name, Geralt! Geralt owns her! Geralt of Rivia! The Butcher of Blaviken!"

All men had their brows in a twist, tugging you back and making you face her. You were wincing and tears were falling from the hopeless feeling; it was much better to be living in their family rather than another man's home whom could have the power in owning you like a damn animal.

Tybalt jibed at the princess, poking fun at the lies she was saying. The name rang a bell; it was a name that they've been searching for so long but have been considered as a myth that isn't real. They've had their latest witcher be killed by a lethal beast. This known Witcher that they have been searching was no where to be found for years after years; or he just didn't want to be found was more of a logical reason at the same time.

"The Witcher?" he belittled with a grin, "---He's long gone, child. Hiding like a birdie! Cease your fantasy in having a witcher in the Kingdom of Kaedwen! We will all be killed by beasts! Just like them!"

Your captor tightened his hand on your head, giving it a sting that made you shriek. You didn't want to grow bald because of this. It was humiliating; you thought at the back of your mind as you sobbed from the fright. Tybalt inserted his dagger back in his pocket and swiftly opened the cloth to reveal ten children scared to death or even more, "This dirty maiden can be more useful than this lioness of a kid! It bites and roars too much!"

Thus, you never know how satisfying it was to hear a strum of a lute from afar. The echo resonated from the far end as you whipped around in zealous. Your heart beat coming to life as the hope flew back to where it should've been.

"That...is definitely not a good idea,"

Jaskier. There was Jaskier. Only Jaskier, but no Geralt. Still, it gave you a ton of hope to be saved.

"A bard," Tybalt rolled his eyes from all the pathetic interruption. Just getting you was thoroughly time consuming and he didn't know if he was already regretting it. He should be, when he's got his foot six feet on the ground already by touching Cirilla and you.

The bard stood where you could clearly see him. You eyed him with that agitated look. Nevertheless, he'd given you a cheeky wink as he continued to strum; his foot signalling Cirilla to take her flight and leave the hell hole before the men even had second thoughts of grabbing her again.

Hence, she hurriedly did; with a need to find the witcher.

You knew what Jaskier was doing. You've seen this in the movies for a lot of times. Some ended well while some didn't.

He was distracting Tybalt and his men. Hence, the bard was doing a damn great job at it because of how he was great at not showing his anxiety and trembles from being stabbed or beheaded like he was already...used to the thrill and danger.

"Get out of my way!" Tybalt frustratingly barked; giving him a nasty glare, "You are making the massive mistake ever---," Jaskier articulated, sounding like he was telling a story as he sounded informative and factual.

"---You are plotting your own demise, Berk."

The nickname was a wrong move for Jaskier. He'd wince after seeing Tybalt's nose flare like a dragon in heat. Now, it was the perfect time you've seen his fingers stop from strumming his lute and actually seeing the little tremble from his fingers.

He was doing good; so good, but he had to just insult the guy and let the mistakes flow.

You've sniffed and felt the tears have subsided. Eyes thoroughly bloodshot as well because of how you've felt the man holding you captive exhale a breath of vexation. Tybalt was mad.

Which gave you a reason to mouth at the bard that he had only one job, one job and he ruined it.

"What did you just call me?" Tybalt seethed like there was fire coming out of his mouth. Forehead creased to the extent that he was tempted for his horns to come out. "Ughm," Jaskier spluttered, eyes rolling elsewhere as he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.

"I'm--I'm--I'm just actually uttering out the most foolish things ever! Just wasting time until a witcher has your head in a platter or more so; cut in half!" Jaskier spun around and saw those two men who has held you was now treading near and his eyes wanted to come out of his eye sockets when he'd seen them scowling.

A tiny shriek came out of the bard as he swallowed his nervousness and swiftly spun and kept his lute behind him.

You've felt Tybalt shifting behind you; fishing for his dagger as you'd remember it from a while ago. "There are no more witchers in this kingdom," he harshly spat with spite, "---If so, Sorceress Ingrith and I would've found him and asked for help,"

The bard halted from backing away from the two men who wanted to corner him, peeking back at Tybalt as his back felt the stone walls and they were looming before him. "What?"

"---So, just let me take her, bard!"

Jaskier was swift enough to dodge out of being cornered, quickly jogging to where you were at arms reach from him as he had his hands on his hips; still having the time to be sassy after being threatened. "No, no! You cannot take her! I second the notion and refuse for you to take her!"

Those two bandits who had eyes on him unsheathed their swords from behind. He'd heard the metal slash out of its home as he felt the tip of the sword from one man on the edge of his neck; like a warning to shut his flowery mouth from even saying anything less.

"Impossible! You are close to being beheaded!" Tybalt scoffed, cackling as he saw the bard tap his foot in anxiety when he'd seen another pair of Tybalt's men emerge from behind you. Jaskier was thinking and also having an internal monologue of feeling the adrenaline rush. There were more; maybe a maximum of nine people who came with the kidnapping monster.

"Oh gods, where is Geralt when we need him," Jaskier mumbled to himself and calmly breathed out of his nose; languidly closing his eyes to keep him from panicking out loud.

Yet, the bard couldn't control it and began to yell for help.

"Fuck!---GERALT! This is no time for your bone aching moments because of how senile you are! You are certainly getting old when you want me bleeding after this just to rescue your darn midget!"

Jaskier was heaving deep breaths as he was having his panic attacks right now. He stared at you with hysteria and thinking if Geralt didn't come too early, he would already be beheaded. You swallowed the fear stuck in your throat for the third time around; patiently waiting for your demise that you had been wishing on the first day but was now dreading the idea of it when you had lived in for days in their dimension.

You thought it would take hours for the witcher to find you; or even days after being captured. But, seeing him make an appearance as he finally turned a corner was the best feeling you've ever felt.

Now, you know how it feels to be captured then saved by a man who lives in your fantasy. It felt utterly fulfilling and joyous. Specially, when he'd cautiously trudged along with that brooding facade he had.

You were elated to see him; huffing out a breath you were holding for far too long. Too happy as you were saved for the second time; having a chance to live for the second time.

"Geralt! Oh gods, great timing!" Jaskier yelped when a man roughly kept him still. The witcher came with nothing but his bag of sword strapped behind him and his brooding charm, his anger obvious on his face and a humorless expression.

"Fuck," thus, he deeply snarled beneath his chest; knowing what was bound to happen.

A look you have never seen before; ever. Hence, it was a facial expression you didn't want to encounter because it was as if you felt like he wouldn't bat an eyelid to everyone who would come his way and end up creating a massacre.

It technically resembles the look of destruction.

Geralt stood on the middle of the area, a few meters away from you; thoroughly calm and collected but with a stony-face you didn't want to poke on. Shoulders and chest puffed to an extent that screams strength and resilience. He'd given Jaskier a once over to check if he was okay and based on how talkative he still was; the bard was totally fine.

Then, he'd taken a look at you. Those golden eyes were blazing with indignation. His forehead slowly creasing together so tightly as he realized Tybalt's fingers grabbing onto your roots; a shiny dagger catching his eye that was hidden behind your clothing. Your attention right on the witcher as you didn't realize that it was painstakingly lifting Geralt's tunic in which you wore as the asshole grinned back at him with devilry.

"What took you so long?!" Jaskier still managed to hollered out loud. But, took no answer from the witcher as he squinted his eyes at you who was held captive.

You felt the cold, brisk wind hit your thighs; lately realizing that Tybalt was playing with your clothes like the debauched man that he is as he was slowly lifting the damn tunic and making people see your black underwear which made the man eyed it weirdly. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you stared back at the witcher who was sending a grimace at the man behind you.

Your eyes was pleading for him to come and get you. Geralt knew and could see it in your eyes and it was making his blood boil for everyone.

"The infamous witcher," Tybalt announced in shock. The tip of his dagger probing at the side of your hip like a warning to never move. Geralt hoarsely gave a groan deep within his chest, languorously unsheathing his sword from behind him and never shifting his eyes away from you.

“---He’d finally shown himself to us! Perhaps, you really aren’t just an epic created by the blue-eyed dunce!”

The men who held Jaskier was foolishly eyeing the witcher with their faces twisted like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. They've seen his face in the parchment paper that they had. Though, Geralt was considered as a myth that was never true. To Jaskier's luck, it was the right time to snatch the blade from one who has held it loosely; spinning on his heel and aiming the nib on his neck with an awkward stance. A triumphant grin given from the bard as his friend continued to gawk at the witcher like he'd seen the heavens.

"We've been finding yer' kind!" Tybalt grinned from ear to ear, feeling the tine of his whetted dagger pointed on top of your hip bone and you felt your blood rise from the adrenaline starting to take over. Your feet shuffled and it took one move for him to yank at your roots that was already throbbing from the soreness, "---Or a particular one! Long white hair, brooding and a stubborn arsehole who keeps on rejecting the king's favors like some notable man!"

You can feel Tybalt sniffing out loud, thus a loud shriek came out of you when he'd vulgarly dropped his head to inhale your scent in between the pillar of your neck which made your face twist in utter disgust because of how peculiar he was acting; like a vampire in the movies who couldn't get enough of your scent. "Oh, hell no! You're no Edward Cullen! I'm also no Bella! You don't glimmer against the sunlight and you're not as pale as I think you are!" you were terror-struck from his actions and tried to fight away from his face that was strapped on the edges of your neck and suddenly felt canines teasing that part of your neck where he wanted to bite, "---OH MY GOD, A VAMPIRE! PLEASE DON'T BITE MY NECK! NOBODY HAS DONE IT YET!"

All hell broke loose as Tybalt plunged his mouth on your neck like a deprived creature; but not giving a bite. Thus, his men rashly took charge from the moment Geralt lifted a foot as he fully drew his blade out from behind; including the man who'd tried threatening Jaskier; leaving the other weaponless man to the bard as they both looked at each other in wonder.

The witcher knew Tybalt was a vampire. A higher one. He sensed it and he knew him.

A knight from the palace was the first to pounce on the witcher with persistence, lunging after Geralt as he dodged his attack and stabbed him from the back with no penitence. His focal point on you and his senses were heightened a lot more than it ever does with a will to keep you from harm.

Without even batting an eyelid, the witcher was aware of the men ambushing him one by one. Second man who had an unlucky fate tried to strike a blow to his upper leg but the witcher was more skilled than the latter and shielded the attack by his sword; the loud metallic retorts when the blades collide with one another, it was ringing in your ears as you felt Tybalt licking a stripe from your nape to your jaw, making you shiver from disgust.

You shrieked out loud as you felt so gross from his ministrations; but never taking your eyes off Geralt who managed to skillfully dodge all blows from the fighters like a virtuoso as he stabbed them to anywhere they were vulnerable and fatal; giving them no chance to live. There was blood, lots of bloodshed happening as Tybalt cackled from behind you; watching his men be killed with one stab of the witcher's sword; amputating them with no pangs of conscience.

He was that dedicated that he'd assassinated five of his men without a blink of his eye.

You've felt the dagger poke at your sides, and you were too distracted on watching the witcher edge closer to where you were as he fought men. You didn't feel Tybalt stabbing you on the hip; not fully sheathing it inside you but it was enough to ignite a loud cry that made Geralt stop and snap his head away from the previous attacker as he fought him off, his Aurum eyes narrowing as he gruffly growled to himself and saw Crimson dripping from your hip to your thigh; tears dripping down the sides of your eyes when you've felt the excruciating pain sting like a damn train hitting you on the face.

Tybalt took a loud whiff as the pungy, metallic smell wafted through the air; from you and from his men that Geralt have slaughtered; his eyes burning you as it has been on you since the start of the fight. "She smells different," your captor mirthfully foretold to the witcher who was quick to cast a sign towards a charging man with a mere use of his palm and it was enough to make you breath hitch as it seemed to look like he just used a spell. It was magic. The man propelled backwards as his head hit the stone wall; knocking him out.

So, magic really does happen in their world. You silently thought to yourself.

The dagger was slowly being dragged out and it even hurt more than it ever should. You sobbed and felt your knees weakening from the pain because of how low your pain tolerance was. Tybalt dragged the dagger to his mouth, his sharp, long tongue giving himself a little taste of your blood, "---Even tastes different," he grinned, inhaling deep as your focus was on the witcher who penetratingly stabbed a man's mouth; slashing him open in between his head without regret with blood splashing his face and on the ground he stood. His focus on exterminating who comes in his way. Your face was twisting in a cringe by the pain on your hip and by also seeing the gore happening around the area made by the witcher.

"---Witcher got himself a bizarre woman!" Your captor announced out loud with a laugh when Geralt was finally close enough. Assassinating every bit of his men into lifeless dolls.

No exhaustion was written on his face except for the sweat. There were splutters of human blood soiling his dashing features. He'd relaxed his stance and had his hands on either side of him, palms on show but the other holding his sword, yielding it away from your captor, yet still showing sign that he wouldn't be doing any more violence.

Jaskier had managed to kick the unarmored man with his foot and hit the butt of the sword on the latter's head, knocking him unconscious as he scanned the whole area with a terrified look on his face.

It was a complete massacre.

The witcher had his eyes solely on you; your eyelashes batting languidly when you've taken a good look at your brawny savior and felt yourself turn jello from the blood pouring out of you. You didn't know if it was already hallucination but there was anger, dismay and fear pouring out of those blazing, golden peepers like he'd already seen the whole event, hoping it wouldn't end the way it was before.

"I take what's mine," Geralt rasped and firmly pressed with that low baritone of his. If one was aware of his change of emotions, you could hear how earnest he sounded as he took cautious steps closer; facial expressions still apathetic and non-readable for the people who sees him. The witcher kept his mouth closed as he breathed and looked away, before keeping a weather eye on you again. His half-tied hair disheveled, dirty and looking greasy from the sweat.

"---Release her," It was a demand from the witcher himself. An ultimatum sent as you've noticed Geralt's fingers tightly wrap around the handle of his silver sword; like he was trying hard not to stab Tybalt who stood behind you because he had you shackled.

Tybalt noticed Geralt who was stealthy prowling to reach you up close and so, he'd positioned his dagger across your neck as you heaved breaths; yanking your head back to show Geralt that he wouldn't think twice in slitting you dead. The witcher was quick to cease his steps when he was a meter away from you; tightly keeping his lips in a straight line as he exhaled a frustrated breath.

"The king will be delighted to see you," Tybalt deliberately observed the witcher from head to foot, shaking his head in disbelief that it only took one woman to kidnap for him to reveal himself from hiding. Your breathing was staggered as you blinked repeatedly back at the witcher as his nose was scrunched to his discontent for everything, "I don't have time for your royal shit," he seethed back at the man; giving him a tight scowl.

Tybalt frowned back at Geralt, feeling the tip of his dagger heavily pressing against the pulse on your neck; making you whimper, "---But, you wasted your time on killing my men for this useless wench, Witcher."

"She's...She's a different case," The witcher trailed off as you felt his stare on your face, definitely pining than it ever intended to before he'd given the stink eye to the vampire holding you captive, "---I don't want anything to do with the castle,"

"The prince is slowly losing himself, reaching his demise," Tybalt stressed; worried about the royal family whom he was devoted to for already a decade. Geralt scoffed back with a rude remark, "I don't have anything to do with any of their horseshit, Tybalt. I wasn't the witch who have cursed prince Althalos,"

He said his name out loud, catching you off guard as you peered back at the witcher with an intrigued haze of your bloodshot eyes because he knew him.

"You witchers are fucking useless!" Tybalt groaned and loudly sneered before violently fishing out his dagger. Geralt knew what he was about to do and your life held no value for Tybalt as he had no second thoughts on ending you with a stab to the chest.

Yet, from the moment Tybalt held the dagger over your chest; the witcher was fast enough to cast a sign towards the both of you; dragging you from the force as you were pushed off in the air. Though, Geralt was immediate enough to catch you around your wrist, pulling you to him before you could even fall flat on the ground.

The witcher secured his musclebound arms around you, his sky scraping height thoroughly used as your support as you were holding him for dear life. You didn't know how comforting his warmth was when he carefully sat you down against the stone walls as your vision was starting to spin a horizon.

"Ge...Geralt," you whispered as you heave for long breaths, tightly closing your eyes as you tried to take a good look at the witcher who was crouched in front of you; examining your face for more injuries and too dizzy to realized that he'd tuck a disheveled strand of your hair away from your face to observe your status.

You were probably losing blood, having a panic attack and feeling weak from the stab wound.

Your eyes were just straightaway staring at the witcher; seeing his face contort into pure rancor and you tried to smile despite of the pain. It took a kidnapping for him to finally notice you or even care in giving you his attention and you wanted to laugh by how you needed to shed blood for the witcher to care like this.

It looked entirely pleasing and also satisfying to see him care.

"I'm okay! J-Just bleeding--??" it was a yelp as you tried to move your hips and felt your muscles spasm as it gave you another strike of excruciating pain; making you moan and whimper; looking away from Geralt to inspect the cages for the poor children still in the background.

Jaskier finally got off on his feet, running towards where you were and you've seen him crouch beside the witcher with a look of panic and worry. Never uttering a word as his mind was in a mess at all the blood that was flowing. You languidly blinked; trying to fight off from fainting because you didn't want to fall unconscious. The heat from Geralt's palm cupping your face forcefully made you take a look at him and his expressions were unreadable as per usual, "The...The children,"

Geralt couldn't help but sigh; his face frowning from your words. Despite of being wounded and on the verge of fainting, you were still selfless enough to ask to release the children from their cage. Jaskier blinked at the image in front of him. The witcher was cupping your cheek as he worriedly stared into your eyes and the bard needed to blink to stop himself from watching; lifting himself off his feet to answer your requests. "I-I'll free them!"

The Ivory haired man checked your wounds; seeing Carmine liquid dripping from the wound like a slightly open faucet with every breath you take; staining his dark Tunic till blood was dripping down your unclothed thighs. He'd stood on his feet as he was sure to leave you in a position that would lessen for the blood to spill, his angered; golden eyes scanning the area as to where Tybalt was. But, to his dismay...He was gone.

"Worry no more, children or...women! The witcher has saved the day! Come on now!" the bard hooted as he freed the children; noticing some were teenagers and actually close to being young adults. Some of the women gasped at his words because of the fact that they were saved by a monster slayer who was only capable of taking lives and continued to gawk at the witcher who stood in the middle of the area; seeming to be in a deep contemplation within himself.

Geralt closed his eyes to try and get a scent from the vampire. Though, none. It was never found as the metallic scent of your blood has heightened it all; including those he have exterminated. A low grumble vibrated out of his chest as he sheathed his sword and kept it strapped on his back again despite of all the blood it had.

He thought Tybalt wouldn't have lasted long in the castle; even having the luck on earning a spot in the military forces despite of doing all the dirty work for the royalties. His hatred for the vampire growing back in a bigger fire; adding more wrath because he'd butchered the witcher that worked for the king last time because of certain purposes.

It wasn't a little later that you were being carried in somebody's arms. Based on the long hair hitting your face and the strong scent of blood, you knew it was Geralt. Your arms were feebly encircling his neck as you closed your eyes, fighting off from being knocked out. "I...don't...want to sleep," you saplessly whispered to the witcher who was talking to Jaskier and asking if remembers the healer that was close from the city.

You didn't want to sleep because you were worried that when you wake up, he would be back in being distant again; that everything that has happened was all a dream, being carried and saved by Geralt for the second time as he even had the look that he cared and not actually feel as if you were a baggage to their family.

Your forehead leaned on the witcher's neck as you could feel yourself smile as he'd hummed to inform you that he was listening; putting his attention solely on you alone, "I...I...didn't do anything...mean, right?" you continued to question and whispered against his neck, the beat of your heart skipping a beat despite of how shallow it was sounding right now.

Geralt exhaled a deep breath, giving you the side eye as he tried to peer down at you but it was impossible as you hid on the corner of his neck. A weak smile lifting your lips as you continued and felt your head so light; the words coming out of your mouth completely like a whistle of the wind as you accepted the daydream of talking your thoughts out in the open, "I..I...don't want you hating me..and I don't want you avoiding me...at all costs," the vulnerability of your words can be heard. You were too weak to even feel Geralt swallow that uncomfortable but equitable feeling down his throat as he strode past people who were looking at you in bafflement.

It took one last sigh before Geralt felt your head fall in between his neck in unconsciousness and for the first time, ever again. The witcher was scared.

Thus, you were sure you were thoroughly fond of his presence. As if, you were surprisingly taking more than a liking to a witcher without your consent and unbeknownst to your conscience, it has always been from the start as destiny made it out to be.

SO, I WAS SCREAMING WHEN GERALT SAID ‘I TAKE WHAT’S MINE’ (GERALT, YOU CAN TAKE ME HOWEVER YOU WANT---OOPS) OTHER THAN THE WORD FUCK THAT HE ALWAYS SAYS. *sCREAMS* WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS FOR THIS CHAPTER, TATER TOTSSSS!!?!?!?

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years ago

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Monday 10 August 1835

12 35

No kiss. very fine morning F70° at 10 am - note from Benjamin Brodie to say he would call from 4 ½ to 5 this afternoon - breakfast at 10 ¼ - out at 11 ¼ - drove to the central national school Westminster - Mr Johnson not there and had not been there this morning - agreed with the head mistress for A- to go tomorrow at 9am and stay till 12 - then to the temporary house of parliament - house of Lords a nice comfortable not large-looking room will hold 300 peers - crimson cloth cushioned bunches and curtains - very neatly done up - then to the house of commoners - what used to be (before the fire) the house of Lords - green leather cushions and deal oak-painted bench-backs looked dirtyish and plebeian - 500 members could sit in the bottom and 180 more in the galleries - a dirty-looking man wearing a brass-plate with an inscription ‘Parliament Duty n°2’ shewed us to the persons who shewed us both houses, and then called the carriage - asked him to whom I should apply for franks to him (he said) and gave his name which I forget - I asked what I should give him per frank -‘what you please ma’am’ - Before seeing the 2 houses had been an hour in Westminster abbey - A- much interested - shewed her Lady Nightingale’s monument - death coming out of the tomb to strike her and her husband Mr N- trying to avert the dart - in this chapel (the one just behind general Wolfe’s monument) is the monument by Nollekens to Sir Charles Stuart (Lord Stuart de R-‘s father) ob. 181 aetatis 47 - longish Latin inscription but good Latinity - beautiful head of Sir Charles Stuart and very like the picture of him at the Lodge - In the chapel next (north side) to Henry the 7th’s chapel in which has just been placed the magnificent colossal sitting whole length figure of James Watt by Chantrey is an old monument to the memory of Sir Henry Belasyse ob. 16 December 1717 in his 70th year and who married 1st Dorothy daughter of Tobias Jenkyn Esquire of Grimston and widow of Robert Benson Esquire of Wrenthorp [Wrenthorpe] both in Yorkshire - was this Jenkyn of the family of the Moses Jenkyn who married a Lister? - From the houses of parliament drove to Colnaghi’s - paid his bill - mentioned Lady Stuart de R- to raffle for ‘the poem of the heron’ a modern illuminated imitation of the antique by M. Castello - but Colnaghi said he had provided a person to raffle for the absentees, so that their invitations would not suffer, and I was so satisfied that A-‘s interest might be as safe with Colnaghi’s man as with anybody else, that I gave up caring much about asking Lady Stuart de R- there were to be 100 subscribers of one guinea each - only 13 are wanting but whether is complete or not the raffle is to take place tomorrow week the 18th instant - from Colnaghi’s to Hammersleys to ask if any letter for me - yes! one from Washington dated 6th (Thursday last) to say Mr Leather was still in London at Osborne’s hotel, Adelphi, where W- had written to him stating the particulars of the water guage etc relative to the intended Denmark engine-wheel Mr L- to send his answer if ready in time to me at Hammersleys as tomorrow - if not ready to W- at Crownest he bought the Hatters’ fold cottages for A- (on Wednesday the 5th instant) ‘for £525 after a hard struggle and a good deal of manoeuvring’ to be paid for the 1st of November - very well bought - much better than I expected - a piece of good luck or good management or both - from Hammerlseys to 11 Clarges street - Lady Henries at Ramsgate - left my card dated in pencil ‘Monday 10 August’ - then to 8 Curzon street - 10 minutes with the 2 Misses Berry - they were just going out - asked me to go to them tomorrow evening - will probably be in Paris again next year - very civil to me - A- had waited in the carriage we then drove to the panoramas Burford’s of Thebes and Jerusalem, the 1st up 6 weeks, the 2nd up 5 months - there from about 2 20 to 4 much interested particularly with Thebes - Jerusalem much better than the Jerusalem I had seen in Paris - this (here) taken from Pontius Pilate’s palace - that (in Paris) said the man this morning taken from the Mount of Olives - home at 4 5 - Sir Benjamin Brodie here about 4 3/4 till 5 - A- had her stays unloosed and he examined the back of her neck - did it very nicely - A- liked him very much - very quick clever little man - left 3 prescriptions for a belladonna plaster, and 2 tonics, and a formula for aperient pill when required - said the pain was merely nervous pain - had no doubt A- had been much worse - suffered much more from it sometime ago - there was no disease - in fact he entered into the case at once no humbug said she was just the sort of person for nervous pains but there was nothing to fear. Asked Sir B.B. what he had published lately, nothing said he but on my profession (surgery) - but this led him into a few minutes most agreeable conversation - I asked his opinion of Dr Philip’s notion of Galvanism being identical with the nervous influence (vide Vital Functions by Dr A.P.W. Phillip) - he had no faith in it - thinks our present faculties not sufficient for the comprehension of these matters - a superior being may see at a glance the connection of them - and how all proceeds perhaps from one simple principle, but we cannot see this - he hopes to turn back to his scientific pursuits on giving up his profession before his faculties are worn out - professional man do not retire soon enough - a lawyer may 1st find out when it is time to leave the field to others - asked if I knew how - no! because said he they are then employed by the Defendants - the plaintiff must always have the 1st rate man - said I would remember this observation which was very good - he said he would not labour as he did now for many years - could not do it - I civilly observed I hoped he would give up so as to have long to benefit science but hoped also that I might still have the privilege of being benefitted by his medical skill if I required it –

SH:7/ML/E/18/0079

read the Standand of this evening - dinner at 6 ¼ - out in the carriage at 7 till 8 40 - called at Pear’s about my saddle - harness (with arms as ornaments in brass - plated would be 40/ more) for 2 pair of horses £28 - then to Pearce’s - the tool-box will be ready tomorrow night - then to Barnard St Russell square n°27 about A-‘s Greenwood’s maps - then to Taylors Barnard’s Inn Holborn and changed the Perspective (duplicate - copy of) for Tredgold’s Essay by Smeaton etc on hydraulics giving the perspective and 1/. to boot - then left B-‘s prescriptions at Enson’s n°125 Oxford street and home at 8 40 - tea and gooseberries and mulberries the latter not so good - sat talking - and wrote the journal of today till 12 ¼ - very fine day F72° at 12 20 tonight

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mamacesawrites · 4 years ago

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Will Bring You to Your Knees

Part [3] in An Angel’s Smile Series

“In his naked glory, the mortals wept at the witness of true divinity-and confessed to their many sins”

Summary: Janus Ethan Dannecker starts college with only a box, backpack, $300, and a ton of emotional baggage that is overwhelming. The broken home he came from cast a shadow on him that he refused to let anyone see. The scars on his body were no match for the scars on his soul. He made it his mission to never let anyone see where he came from. See what he was really made of. See how messed up he would always be.

That is, until Patton Mavers smiled at him. Ao3 [First Part] [Previous Part] [Next Part Coming Soon] [Spotify Playlist]

Word Count: 1761

Story Warnings: past abusive childhood, angst, untreated/undiagnosed mental illness symptoms, detailed descriptions of abuse, cursing, implied/referenced substance abuse. Rated M for Mature audiences. Let me know if I need to add more, and read with caution!

Will Bring You to Your Knees

Janus woke up to the sound of Green Day’s ‘Holiday’. Well, more like he startled so hard he fell off of his bed and hit his head on the desk next to him. The sound of Virgil’s alarm blared in the small room obnoxiously. It was too early for that garage music, in his opinion. The assault on his ears seemed to have no effect on Virgil, who was the one who set the alarm in the first place.

Janus hissed in pain, rubbing the spot and watching his roommate shuffle in his bed to turn off the alarm. Virgil didn't even get up, he just rolled over in his bed and immediately started snoring. Janus took a moment to stare incredulously. Who set an alarm so loud and startling only to just fall back asleep after turning it off?

He cursed himself immediately. He had no right to judge how Virgil conducted his mornings. He was rude for even thinking about it. It was one more thing to hate about himself-the silent snap judgements about something that wasn’t that big of a deal.

He closed his eyes. He was so weary from his fitful sleep. He had once again been dreaming about his true self. The self he hid at all costs- the one who was evil. The version of him who was always screaming in his mind. He had dreamed of what his true self would say to Patton. He would break down. Scream in his face about how he would never be fine.

He sat there, leaning against the desk while he ran his hand through his greasy hair. He hadn’t been able to clean himself for a while before he arrived. He knew that the dorm had community showers, similar to what locker rooms were like. He had read about it in his brochure, and had dreaded the day he’d have to navigate the challenges it would pose.

Janus sighed after he pulled himself up. He had his first class in two and a half hours, he noted after glancing at the clock by his bed. He took out his phone-an old model on its last legs, which would need replacing soon-and gazed at it intensely, as if begging the device to magically tell him whether or not he had time for a shower and crisis before getting to class.

Realizing time was slipping away, he decided to go for it. He’d be in a dorm for a year, at least, and he needed to get over the fear of community showers at some point. It was ridiculous to be so embarrassed. He could probably easily avoid having people see the scars all over his body...he hoped.

Part of him thought it was too early in the morning to be paranoid. The other part laughed, because it wasn’t like Janus could ever settle down enough to let go of his insecurities. It was useless to even think he’d be done with his fear of the world. As long as his skin was marked, he would never be convinced of his freedom.

As he gathered his things, he started thinking of lies he could tell if anyone saw the marks covering his shoulders, back, and abdomen. He could say gruesome animal attack, but quickly discarded that. Too many follow up questions. Maybe a bully at school? No, too much sympathy. He grew frustrated at the lack of preparation for the inevitable question.

There was always the option of...not answering. Of saying it was private. There was the option for answering with that. Perhaps his father had been right after all.

It was better for him to be silent.

Especially his...if the angel were to ever see him bare chested. Those wonderful green eyes losing their light to the horrible sight. Janus conjured the image of Patton’s carefree face curled with disgust at the sight of him. He didn’t think of what he’d do in that scenario, and he wasn’t going to entertain that line of thinking further.

He grabbed his bag and towel. His heart was pounding as the worried thoughts fluttered through his mind like eagles diving towards their prey. He felt his heartbeat in his ears. The halls seemed to grow never ending as he made his way through the groups of students also just waking up. He felt like everyone was already staring at him. Gazes of disgust were surely being thrown against his back as he walked past. If it weren’t for the tags scratching his neck, he’d think he was already naked.

Finally, as if the walk was five years instead of ten minutes, he made it outside the doors to the showers. He steeled himself, put on his brave mask, and walked in.

He nearly ran into a shirtless Roman.

“Woah, hey there Janus!” Roman greeted enthusiastically. His strawberry blond hair was dripping wet, which was a compliment to his wide grin. He seemed a little too chipper for that early in the morning. How was this man with someone like Virgil?

“Hi,” Janus replied lamely. “Um…”

Roman was smarter than he looked, it seemed to Janus, because his face morphed into one of sympathy. His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at Janus. It was...unnerving.

The pair scooted out of the way as another person came in.

“You’ve never used one of these before, huh?” Roman’s voice was quiet, and he held that damn oversweet sympathy in his eyes. What had Patton said to him?

Janus just shook his head. He felt sick with himself, being so obviously out of his element, and the fact that Roman was being so kind about it made it even more of a slap to the face. Still, he stuck with the shy approach because defensiveness would not be helpful to him. Roman was probably trying to be kind.

“Well, it’s not as scary as it seems. You hang your towel and bag on the hook right next to the door inside your stall, do your thing, and get out to change your clothes in the changing stalls if you don’t want to do it on the shower bench.” Roman winked at Janus, “Unless you forget your shirt like I did.”

“It looks like they’re all in use…” Janus commented, feeling very aware of the time ticking by. What if he was late to his first class? What if he couldn’t do this after all? How much time had passed?

“Patton’s almost done I think, you can use that one after he’s done I’m sure.” Roman eyed Janus, his ocean blue eyes must have noticed more than Janus was choosing to show, because he offered to stay until a stall became available.

It was infuriating, on some level, to have people suddenly care about him. It was a blatant reminder that he was a fake. He wasn’t worth the attention. The only reason he was being treated nicely was because he had fooled Roman and the others that he was a likable person.

Then he had been rude to Patton. The angel with the loveable smile. His easy acceptance of Janus had been a shock, and he was met with dishonesty. Necessary little lies that Janus lived by. It was enough to affirm the belief that he wasn’t worth it. It was enough to make him want to confess it all to Patton-to keep him and the others away.

Janus denied the offer, but Roman stayed anyway. It was two minutes when the angel, that beautiful angel, walked out with a baby blue towel wrapped around his hips. His curly hair was a darker color from the wet, and barely touching his shoulders. The blue streak in his bangs was leaking some of it’s dye-Janus wondered if it would stain Patton’s skin.

He was holding a black net bag that held his things. His arms were thicker than Janus had realized, and it was obvious that Patton did some form of working out. He didn’t have a six pack, but his chest and abdomen were defined-with hints of softness where his hips and waist were. Janus refused to glance further, choosing to look back at the angel’s face again.

Heat of attraction that he never felt before was at the edge of his consciousness. Blood made of desire made its way to his cheeks. He was sure that his heart had quickened its pace. The beauty, the magnificence, the light of this beautiful man’s aura caused Janus to feel grounded where he stood.

Janus’s mask crumbled. He knew he was ogling, but it was as if there was a halo of light in the mist around Patton as he made his way with his clothing bag to one of the changing stalls. The spell broke, and he was grateful Patton hadn’t noticed him. He let out a breath, and looked to see Roman grinning at him cheekily.

“Did you like the view?” Roman teased. He wasn’t being mean, of course. Roman didn’t seem the type to be malicious.

Janus’ annoyance with Roman slipped through as he rolled his eyes. He refused to acknowledge that he was still blushing. “Thank you for your help Roman. Have a good day.”

Janus passed as Patton walked out of the stall dressed in a blue polo shirt with khaki pants. His face was clear of the leaked dye, miraculously. His hair was starting to curl again. He was wearing his glasses, framing his face perfectly. He looked like a baseball dad more than a college student. His hair was still wet, but shaggier from the towel. His face brightened when he caught Janus’ arm.

“Hi Janus,” he smiled, “Hope you have a good day. Good luck!”

Janus held onto that phrase. His arm was caught in tingles from the brief gesture of affection. He hadn’t even flinched! Even after he had acted rude the other night, Patton was still nice to him. Maybe the care the angel had for the stranger was real after all. Or maybe he was just nice to everyone. Either way, Janus felt a spark of what could be considered genuine joy.

“Darn it Roman, where is your shirt?” he heard Patton chastise his roommate. Roman naturally laughed off the question

Janus giggled to himself, and braved his first shower with ease. As he made his way to class after, all he could think about was Patton telling him to have a good day. He hadn’t even had time to worry about how he looked in front of the angel.

TAGLIST: @omgsomeonesomewhereonearth , @deceits-left-glove , @louistownsmyass

Let me know if you wanna be on the taglist for this story or any of my other ships!

[Masterpost of all my writings]

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crystalangelluna · 5 years ago

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A New Chance Chapter 2

Ao3 Part 1

I hope you enjoy the second chapter I tried...

But what can I say when you write a chapter really late instead of sleeping oh well... Mari does know their identities since they were comic book characters, etc.. Damien is only really here for 5 seconds but I plan on including him a lot more in the next chapter which will hopefully come out tomorrow. If you have suggestions or gave spotted and errors please let me know. Enjoy :)

It has been 9 months since her sacrifice, in those nine months a lot has changed, for example Hawkmoth has been put to jail for terrorism, and for manipulating paris to leave it in a depressed state for years but they couldn’t express it in fear of becoming an akuma victim. They slowly started recovering up after all the trauma.

The remaining members of the agreste family adopted the little girl who was akumatized. They welcomed Vivian Mari Agreste into the family 3 months later.

Marinette looking down below at them was very happy that Adrien has a sibling, and also happy for Adrien when he finally started being himself again after what happened.

During her funeral all of Paris went to express their appreciation for her, as she was the one who saved the world from the terrible fate of the wish. Her parents were proud and upset that their daughter was a hero of Paris, but upset that she had to pay the price

Heaven was beautiful, it was indescribable, unlike anything she ever thought it was. She got to meet all the past holders of the miraculouses and listening to their stories as heroes. They became the family she never had.

Even after all these months of thinking and trying to figure out the answer, she never knew why her last lucky charm was a Key Chain in the shape of a Robin. She figured it was one of those times where the lucky charm sends something that may represent the near future, like the time when she was forced into the Guardian title the prior year.

Every now and then she wonders what happened to the miracle box, where specifically in Earth B-42 did it appear etc. The PMH (Past Miraculous Holders) told her not to worry especially since they would be alerted if something happened. Her birthday was rolling in and was excited about spending her birthday with the PMS since they became like family to her.

On the day of her birthday the PMH made her favorite cake and all was fun and games until something happened. Marinette's necklace started glowing, The kwagatama had flown off her neck and landed on her hands. Everyone started gathering around her to see what was happening, curious as to why it would be reacting that way since their Kwagatamas never reacted that way. There was an image appearing out of and it appeared to be KWAMIIS!!!

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARINETTE!!!!” Yelled all the Kwamii’s excitedly from inside the Miracle Box.

Mari started tearing up, after a long time of not seeing them and wondering if they were ok, they were in right in front of her and she couldn’t be happier.

“H-Hi guys y-your ok”she couldn’t help but muster out.

“Aww bug don’t cry we’re ok what about you, are you ok?” Plagg was the one who spoke up.

“I am getting better, I had a lot of help.” She explained and looked towards where the rest of her family was behind her. They couldn’t help but melt a little.

“Mari since today is your 16th birthday we decided to give you your present.” Tikki spoke up barely containing her excitement.

“Ooh what is?”

“A new opportunity for you to start over in an alternate universe on Earth B-42!!” Yelled all the kwami’s

“ Wait-WHAT!!!” Mari was trying her best to process everything that was just revealed. A NEW CHANCE-ALTERNATE UNIVERSE-COMING BACK TO LIFE-LEAVING HER FAMILY THE PMH. She then realized that she never gave up her guardian title which meant that it was her duty to protect the magical beings to make sure they never end up in the wrong hands again.

“ I have a duty as Guardian of the Miraculouses, which means I have to protect you from evil at all costs. My journey is not over yet it had only just begun!!.” Mari spoke with the tone of a leader.”

The kwamiis were all excited to have their guardian/ladybug/Mari back with them. They all explained what she must do in order to go back to the world of the living. She said her goodbyes to her family and went off to bed knowing it would be the last time she would see them in a long time.

She awoke from her rest thinking that it was all a dream looking around she expected that she was back in her pick room at the bakery. But was instead met with a chamber of sorts. It seemed more like a room for royalty, she observed as she explored a little. There was a knock on the door, alert she got the nearest weapon-like thing to protect herself with. Instead a woman in her 40’s came in then kneeled at her feet and started exclaiming in an unfamiliar language that she somehow understood.

“ Oh great guardian please excuse my inappropriate behavior for intruding.” “Don’t worry, no harm done, just one question where am I?”

“ Why great guardian you are in the great temple of the Miraculouses. After 300 years of waiting you have finally come to us. We have so much stuff to get you ready for.”

All Mari could think about was…

WAIT WHAT…

(TIME SKIP)

Turns out she was in the original temple of the miraculouses and that same day she was named the Grand Guardian of the Miracle box.Also that the language the woman and her talked in was the Guardian Language. After a long talk with tikki and the rest of the kwami's, she decided to stay and learn all she can so she can be a great guardian. She learned multiple languages, all the types of martial arts, how to wield a sword, how to summon the miraculous powers in and out of costume, and much more.

Once she was done with her training she left the temple with the Miracle box on a mission. To destroy all lazarus pits and bring balance to the world.

Her first stop is Gotham, New Jersey, USA.

She is able to heal places by just being there for a period of time and using her ladybug powers.

On the first days she made sure not to appear on Batman's Bruce Wayne’s radar directly, so she goes out and heals Gotham during the day and transforms into Ladynoir at night to help with crime. She occasionally comes across some of the bat clan on their patrols hearing what they were saying using her super hearing, courtesy of the black cat miraculous.

Keeping her stealth in check she follows them around Gotham seeing as she is seeing her favorite heroes since she was little saving Gotham. Also since back in her universe everybody here were comic book characters or made into movies and tv shows.

Of course she forgot one tiny little detail…

She was wearing Plagg miraculous.

So eventually his bad luck caught up to her when she was following robin for the first time on a fateful night.

Knowing that Robin Damien was more observant, skillful, and gets mad easily she was extra careful not to get caught. Of course this wasn’t the case when he suddenly turned around and charged at her with a katana. Using the first thing of self defense she “accidentally” said…

“CATACLYSM!!”

And right there where the katana once was, aiming it directly towards Ladynoir Marinette…

Well lets just say the Katana was no more…

Realising what she had just done (which was getting caught and completely disintegrated Robin’s Damien’s katana into pieces) she well....

Ran away……

But before she ran away she yelled “Sorry!!!”

She could tell he was chasing her, since she kind of you know…

Did THAT…

She hears plagg cackling maniacally in her head.

At least someone is enjoying the Chaos am I RIGHT?

Taglist:

@thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @kceedraws

#daminette #damian x marinette #maribat #maridami #mlb x dc #ml x dc #damianette #marinette x damian

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shireness-says · 5 years ago

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coming ashore (to my lover’s arms)

Summary: For three years, Captain Killian Jones has been seeing Princess Emma of Misthaven in secret. When the Evil Queen kidnaps Emma's father, however, secrecy is set aside. Can they save the king and find their own happily ever after? ~10.5k. Rated T for language and fighting. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Back in March, I ran a giveaway after I published my 50th fic on Ao3, which was won by the lovely @ouatxxxxx. She requested Princess Emma and Pirate Killian, and an established relationship. Being me, I threw a little adventure in and some cute Captain Cobra moments. I don't think anyone is complaining. Sorry this took so long to finish - thanks for your patience!

Big thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing, as well as the whole host of people who listened to me spitball ideas.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @welllpthisishappening, @optomisticgirl, @scientificapricot, @let-it-raines, @thejollyroger-writer, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @searchingwardrobes

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

He used to love the sight of the open sea, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction like a vast unknown full of every possibility. The sea used to be home - the place in this world where he felt most like himself.

But times change, and people do too - even stubborn, 300 year old pirate captains. And these days, Killian finds himself much more drawn to land and one particular port.

Or rather, one particular lady in one particular port.

He hadn’t gone looking for love, of course; quite the opposite. He’d come looking for treasure, and met a different jewel altogether along the way.

Killian smiles at the memory. He’d had half a plan, a bit too much confidence, and rather more drink than anyone about to try and rob the royal palace ought to consume. The trail of ivy winding up to a non-descript third floor window had seemed like a stroke of luck; the real stroke of luck, he’d realize later, was reaching the top only to find himself face to face with a princess and her sword.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she’d demanded - in a tone rather less regal than he expected, he might add - and he’d had no choice but to surrender as her blade trained with deadly precision on his throat.

(He’d surrendered his heart at the same time, but that was yet another realization for later.)

“Well, I had planned on a bit of casual larceny, lass,” he’d said as nonchalantly as he could muster, “but I rather think that may not be in the cards tonight after all.”

“You think?”

“I’m smarter than I look, love,” he’d assured her with a smirk. “Now, the way I see it, we’ve got three options. First, you let me make my way back down the vine. Second, you lower your sword and we continue this lovely banter in a more civilized fashion - perhaps in those chairs — ” he’d nodded towards a pair of armchairs facing a cozy fire to demonstrate — “and with a bit of rum.”

“And the third option?” She’d sounded amused, at least, which Killian had thought at the time was a good sign.

“Ah. You run me through with this sword you apparently and inexplicably keep in your chambers, and that’s that. I’m admittedly rather less fond of the third option, I will say, but it seemed foolish not to point out the obvious.”

The lady had held her stance for a moment longer, staring down her steady blade with a confidence he wouldn’t have expected from a princess. Then again, nothing about this little excursion had gone the way he’d expected. Somehow, he’d felt as if she was evaluating him; holding a man at swordpoint certainly had given her one hell of an opportunity to do so. Finally, her blade had lowered, leaving Killian to breathe easy once again.

“You mentioned something about rum?” she’d asked, nodding towards the armchairs in invitation.

“What kind of pirate would I be otherwise?” Killian had smirked in return, sauntering over to drape himself over the flimsy seating. These chairs were clearly meant for little more than decoration.

“Can’t say I’ve met any pirates, so I couldn’t possibly say. A poor one, I take it.”

“You said it, not I.” After taking a hearty swig, Killian had passed the flask across to his unexpected companion. She’d taken to the liquor like a champ, just another unexpected thing about her. He’d started to realize that the lovely blonde in front of him was no ordinary princess. “As an aside, have you considered trimming the ivy outside your window? All manner of unsavory creatures might climb up - less chivalrous ones than I, who might wish to do harm to your lovely self.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to climb down,” she’d retorted with a sly smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

Not an ordinary princess at all.

They had only talked that night - two strangers, who never should have met, in an odd situation and bonding over the flask of rum. He’d learned about her parents who want to keep her safe at all costs, practically trapping her inside the walls of the castle except when she manages to sneak out down to the town and whatever darkened tavern she can pass unnoticed in, and about the magic she’s still learning how to use. She’d told him about her dead husband and the young son she loves more than anything in the world, and in turn he’d told her about his dearly departed brother and the way that he can’t help but feel these days that he’s on the wrong path, that Liam would be disappointed in him.

And it should just have been a one time thing - two ships passing in the night who were never meant to meet. She’s a princess, after all, and he’s nothing but a pirate. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and the next time he’d found himself in that port again, he’d dropped by the tavern she’d mentioned as her usual haunt on the off chance he might see her.

He had thanked every god that had long since abandoned him when he did.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” he had said in lieu of greeting, reveling in the smile that had inched its way across Emma’s lovely face, “about a princess in these parts sneaking down the vine outside her window. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Maybe,” she had smirked back. “Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

One drink became two; one night became many; and three years later, Killian finds himself the only captain in the seven seas who longs for land.

(For Emma; for home.)

This is the way things have to be, he knows - she’s a princess, after all, and he’s a pirate, and there’s no reality he can imagine where her parents readily accept him as a suitor for her hand. Hell, they’re more likely to throw him in the dungeon, maybe hang him, maybe give him to another country who will do the same. Still, Killian can’t help but want - want to wake up by Emma’s side every morning, want to meet and come to know her brilliant son, want to be her partner in a permanent way. Want to be the kind of man who would deserve that.

For now, though, that’s all a dream - just hopes and wishes that float away like a feather on the wind, perpetually out of grasp. This whole romance has been the stuff of fairy tales, Killian thinks sometimes, and not in the good way - rather, it’s been two lovers always separated by circumstance. Their current situation isn’t perfect, by any means, but it just might be the most they can hope for when they both are who they are.

(The fact of the matter, Killian has long since learned, is that he’ll do anything to be with Emma, anything to make her happy.)

This port is familiar now, Killian docking here every other month now in order to spend a few days with his princess. They have a routine; he docks the Jolly and makes sure to raise a flag up the mast for Emma to see from her balcony, then meet that night in the same tavern by the docks. It’s well practiced, reliable. Most importantly, it allows them to see each other without fear of her parents finding out. He’s still a pirate, after all, even if he limits his attacks to ships of other countries, even if he loves Emma more than he ever believed possible. He’s still not a suitable beau for the woman who will one day be queen.

That’s why it shocks him to finally dock only to find Emma already pacing along the boards. He can only imagine how she knew they were coming; she must have been watching for him. That doesn’t solve the mystery of why she’s here in the first place.

The gangplank barely hits the worn wood of the docks before Emma rushes to meet him. “Oh thank the gods you’re here,” she exhales as she throws her arms around his neck. Killian clasps her to him in turn, revelling in the feeling of her body close to his even as concern courses through his veins.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to brush a stray hair behind her ear. It’s obvious the comfort of his embrace is more important right now.

“Something terrible has happened,” she tells him with tears starting to glisten in her eyes. “My father has been kidnapped.”

———

He can’t say he expected the day to end like this - with Emma and her mother and son all on his ship, sailing into almost certain danger. It’s not how he pictured meeting her parents, either, but he supposes that it’s better than the alternative, where he assumed he would be thrown straight into the dungeons for besmirching their beloved daughter and heir. It’s probably something to do with the fact that he’d immediately offered Emma his ship and crew to help get her father back. It doesn’t hurt either that the Queen clearly has other matters on her mind.

Emma’s mother is a petite woman whose hair is still dark, if streaked with silver in places all the way through its neat coil at the back of her head. Killian sees a lot of Emma in her mother, actually; something about the set of their identical chins and their effortlessly graceful way of moving. The bow and arrows strapped to her back are certainly reminiscent of his and Emma’s first meeting, at least. Where Emma has proved to be all fiery determination after her little momentary breakdown at the docks, laying out a plan like a seasoned general with a spine of steel, her mother seems a little at odds - distracted, almost unable to truly focus on anything. Killian can understand that; after all, it’s the love of her life that’s missing, her true love, the man she’s spent every day with for decades. His absence must be jarring. Killian can’t even begin to imagine what he’d do if Emma were the one taken.

(That’s probably another reason Emma’s mother doesn’t put up a big fuss about the fact that she’s been seeing a pirate in secret - she just doesn’t have the energy or the attention for it.)

Emma’s lad, on the other hand, seems blissfully oblivious to the circumstances at hand, gleefully running up and down the Jolly’s deck with all the energy a five-year-old can muster. Killian would say this isn’t how he anticipated meeting Henry either, but truthfully, he’d never anticipated being allowed to meet the lad. Pirates don’t exactly make for the best role models, after all, the same way that small children don’t make the best secret-keepers. As much as Killian has secretly yearned for some kind of committed family life with Emma and her boy, he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that it’s unlikely due to his past and her future. Getting to meet the boy, see him and his mother on the Jolly, feels like a dream Killian never dared entertain.

“I’m going to have a ship like this one day,” Henry tells him very seriously.

The lad is a prince, one day heir to his mother’s throne; his words aren’t necessarily just youthful fancy, if he keeps that desire as he grows older. “I think that’s a fine idea, mate,” he smiles down. “A pretty navy clipper, maybe, or even the flagship?”

“Not a navy ship,” Henry tells him with a tone that communicates that Killian is clearly being ridiculous, even obtuse. “I’m going to have a pirate ship one day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…”

“How do you get a pirate ship?”

Killian flounders - that’s the only word for it. He can’t exactly tell a child who seems determined to acquire a pirate ship about how he stole his, betraying king and country. Emma watches nearby, but she clearly doesn’t intend to help him out of this mess; indeed, she looks rather closer to laughter. Then again, she knows the whole story, knows exactly what he doesn’t want to explain. “They, uh… well, they… save up for a long while,” he finally finishes in the lamest fashion imaginable. What an impression he’s likely made.

Emma finally swoops in to save him - though he rather thinks it’s too little, too late. “Did you get a chance to look below the decks, baby?” she asks Henry, brushing his hair back out of his face as she speaks. “I hear that Killian set aside a cabin, just for us.”

That bit is true; in fact, the royals have rather sent his crew’s usual bunking arrangements into upheaval. Queen Snow has been moved into the former first lieutenant’s cabin - once his own, now usually occupied by his first mate Smee and hastily scrubbed down - and Emma and Henry have been moved into one of the former officers’ cabins, those rooms’ usual occupants being assigned hammock space in the hold for the time being. Killian feels some residual guilt about not offering his own quarters for Emma or the Queen’s use, but his maps and weapons are all in there, and he’s a mite too selfish to willingly give up his own space, even if the former lieutenant within him knows that he should. But he is a pirate, after all.

(If he has secret, unspoken hopes that maybe Emma will sneak into his cabin the same way he’s snuck into her rooms so many times, well, a man can’t be blamed for dreaming.)

“I have indeed,” Killian finally replies with a smile for the boy.

Henry gasps in response, with all the dramatics of a child his age. “Is there a hammock?”

“No, there isn’t, lad,” Killian chuckles. “But there are bunks - one each for you and your mother. I know it’s not the same, but is it an acceptable substitute?”

Henry nods decisively in response. “That’s okay too. Bunks can be fun. Pirates sleep in bunks too.”

“That they do, lad.”

(Just as he’d hoped, Emma sneaks into his cabin that night, climbing into his own narrow bunk to press herself against his side. He doesn’t dare take this any further, not when Emma’s so emotionally compromised and her mother and son sleep just a few thin walls away; it would feel wrong, anyways, when Emma’s only here because her father has been kidnapped. Besides, he’s more than content just to exist like this, holding his love within his arms.

“Thank you for this,” she whispers into the dark. “I know this is asking a lot, and you didn’t have to do this —”

“Your heart’s desire, love,” he interrupts, unwilling to hear one more unnecessary apology. “I swear, that’s all I want for you.”

He’d do anything to make her happy, and when he knows that, this is the smallest ask.)

(His dreams that night are filled with visions of Emma in his arms every night, just like this.)

———

The situation as Emma and her mother describe it is this: the former “Evil Queen”, Snow’s stepmother Regina, had appeared in a dramatic cloud of purple smoke as the family had sat down to dinner, immobilizing everyone and snatching King David before dematerializing in the same fashion. Killian knows the story, at least to a certain extent; Regina had been banished to a far-off land nearly twenty years before after a decade of turmoil when Emma had been but a child, her magic bound by the fairies to protect them all. Regina had seized the throne after the death of Snow’s father and the young princess had been forced into hiding, the older woman swearing vengeance on the younger for the loss of a love she would never name. Even after Snow and David had regained the throne of Misthaven, driving Regina out, the sorceress had persisted, leaving the country to hover at the edge as an unseen danger for years until she was finally captured, her magic bound and her self banished to another realm. They’d foolishly assumed that would be the end of the matter.

They’d been wrong.

For Regina, as it turned out, had a long memory and a dangerous list of allies, and as soon as a corrupted fairy managed to lift the binding, she had resumed her plotting. Kidnapping the King was her revenge on Snow White, for condemning Regina’s own love so many years ago. The trade, Regina had cackled, was simple: if Snow relinquished the kingdom once again, then Regina would release David and maybe - just maybe - the Good Queen would be allowed to keep her own life in return. She’d given them ten days’ time to make the arrangements; it was obvious to all that she expected Snow to willingly sacrifice her kingdom for her true love.

The one thing Regina hadn’t anticipated, as Emma pointed out, was that the Royal Family of Misthaven - or at least the Crown Princess of Misthaven - had connections capable of getting things done through much less legal or expected means - namely, himself. And that just might include the ability to pull off a rescue mission, if they play their cards right.

Their advantages are limited - a pouch of fairy dust capable of transporting them between realms, a vial of squid ink, a singular magic bean, and Emma’s magic (“Whatever good that will do.”). Killian’s crew can fight, with the benefit of mostly acting unpredictably, unlike the disciplined armies Regina is doubtless used to facing, but their numbers are pitifully small. If Regina has amassed a force of Black Knights again - something Killian wouldn’t put past her, if she’s regained her magic and retained her taste for ripping out hearts - then they may be horribly outnumbered.

Still, Killian, Emma, and the Queen concoct a plan as best as they can. It’s far from perfect - Killian in particular doesn’t like that they’ve essentially got one chance to get this right - but it’s the best they’ve got. Emma’s mother is able to muster more energy and focus when she has something to direct it towards. Finally, he’s getting to see a little bit of the strong, determined woman Emma has told him about. That’s dangerous in its own way, though - after all, Emma still spends her nights in his bunk. They’ve made no secret of what they are to each other in daylight hours, either; Killian’s eyes and hands gravitate towards Emma at every opportunity, revelling in just the tamest affectionate touches, and Emma has absentmindedly kissed him - on the cheek, even the lips - when he knows they were in sight of the Queen. If they ever intended to continue keeping this under wraps, that proverbial ship has long since sailed, and Killian couldn’t be happier. Still, he doesn’t relish facing a mother that finally has the presence of mind to object.

It was inevitable, though. He and Emma stand at the ships’ wheel that night, watching the sun set over the waves. This will be the last time they do so, possibly ever if things go poorly; now that they’ve got a plan, they’ll be using the magic bean tomorrow morning to transport themselves to the realm where they hope Regina is still holed up, moving as fast as they safely can in order to rescue King David. Killian tries to savor the simple comfort of this moment; Emma’s head rests on his shoulder, and his arm rests gently around her waist, his fingers stroking along her hipbone almost without conscious thought. Emma had abandoned her skirts for breeches just as soon as they had gotten underway, and Killian must say, this new look suits her. With her blue vest and her hair pulled back, she looks like some kind of lady knight, or a fierce pirate queen - perfect for the helpless pirate captain she holds within her thrall.

(The breeches also afford him an excellent view of her perfectly formed arse and legs, but that’s a whole different story that he can’t admit to in public.)

“You’ll come to bed soon?” she murmurs into his neck once the sun finally slips below the waves.

“Aye, love,” he replies with a kiss to the crown of her hair, just where the golden strands are trying to pull loose from their leather strap. Emma likes to try and run her hand through her hair when she’s stressed, and there’s certainly been plenty of that lately.

As one lady walks away, however, Emma retreating below decks to his cabin, another one approaches - her mother. Maybe he won’t be coming to bed so soon after all.

“Your Majesty,” he acknowledges with a deferential nod of his head. It’s been a while, but Killian does still remember the little courtesy gestures, and is willing to use them to deflect whatever is about to befall him.

“Captain.” Snow White joins him beside the ship’s wheels with a grace that even Emma can’t imitate, the illusion that she perfectly belongs in any situation. He envies her that.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“It’s less about what you can do, and more about what you’ve already done,” she tells him with a wry smile that almost looks out of place on her face.

This conversation, then. Killian lets his head bob downwards again, this time in resignation. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” The silence sits heavy between them, both waiting for the other to speak. Surprisingly, it’s the Queen who caves first - though that’s likely only because Killian finds himself too nervous to speak. Not a position he ever expected to find himself in again as a pirate captain. “So how long have you and my daughter been…” The Queen trails off, clearly at a loss for the appropriate words. Their secret assignations certainly don’t qualify as courting, but they certainly go beyond friendship or fucking. He can’t imagine this woman saying the latter word in any case.

He ultimately takes pity on the queen. “Been me and your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“About three years.” Even if this conversation scares him half to death, Killian still can’t help but smile at the words. That’s the first time he’s had cause to say such a thing; it feels lovely, in a way, each one of those three words imbued with countless memories.

“Three years…” the Queen echoes on a murmur. It’s impossible to miss the guilt and mild melancholy in her tone. “I had no idea. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Killian glances around his ship in confusion. They’ve made no secret of the fact that he’s a pirate; it should be pretty obvious why he and Emma had kept their relationship a secret. “I’m not exactly a proper suitor, so to speak,” he tells her. “At first, we didn’t know where this was going, or if it’d be more than a fleeting thing, but then once it became more serious… we hadn’t figured out how to broach it.” Without me being thrown into the dungeon and executed, he doesn’t add, but that should be obvious.

“And now?”

“Pardon?” The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving Killian unprepared to answer.

“We’re here talking,” the Queen points out. “I’m all too aware that my daughter spends her nights in your cabin instead of her own. What’s changed, that you’re willing to be open about your relationship after three years of hiding?”

“Some things are more important,” he explains. “The life of your husband - Emma’s father - is more important. Supporting Emma when the rest of the world is falling down around her ears is more important. I hope that after all this, you won’t order my head on a pike,” Killian concedes, “but Emma needs me right now. That’s more important than… anything else.”

“You love her.” It’s not a question, or a realization - just a statement of fact, of the one truth that’s settled deep into Killian’s bones.

“I do. More than anything else in this realm, or any other.”

“Good.” After years of worry, the simple word is shocking to hear. This whole episode has cast things in a different light, though. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for her, you know. Someone to love her the way she deserves. Do you think you can be that someone?”

“I hope so. I want to be. Emma is… more than I’ll ever deserve. I just want to make her happy, in whatever way I can.”

“Good. Make sure you do.” And then, wonder of all wonders, Her Majesty actually smiles at him, a soft and maternal thing he never expected to see directed at him. “I think you ought to call me Snow, once all this is over.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Get some rest, Captain,” she tells him - a clear dismissal, her tone imbued with something regal he doesn’t dare question. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

(“What took you so long?” Emma mumbles as he crawls into the bunk behind her, already half asleep.

“Just a little chat with your mother,” he tells her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder where her shift is just starting to slip down. “Nothing to worry about.”

Emma hums in response - about all the response he expected from her in this state. “Love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Sleep well.”)

———

Morning inevitably dawns, bright and clear, perfect for their purposes. Maybe that’s why the dread in Killian’s stomach only deepens.

Traveling by portal is a dangerous business; Killian only had occasion to experience it a handful of times, back when he was still back in Glowerhaven’s navy, but he enjoyed exactly none of it. There’s something particularly unsettling about purposefully steering your vessel into a swirling void into the sea, whipped around in every direction before being spat back out again in another land, another realm. Time is of the essence here, though, and they don’t know exactly where Emma’s father is being kept. Travelling by portal is the fastest, best way to rescue him - unsettling as the journey may be.

He tries to enjoy these little moments while he can, watching Emma still in his bunk as he slips on a linen shirt and laces his pants up. His love is less delicate in sleep, those porcelain limbs sprawled across every inch of his mattress like she has a right to it all with her hair all in tangles. She’s just as lovely like this, in some kind of everyday, domestic way - unpolished, unpracticed. No trace of the princess here - just the amazing woman she is. They’re all about to dash into danger within the next hour or two, but this is worth remembering in the moment, a little vision to remember later when the going gets rough.

On the bed, Emma peels an eye open as Killian shrugs his leather vest back on. “That time already?” she mumbles in a voice still muddled with sleep.

“Aye, love, time to turn the plan into action.” He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead practically without thought, the most comforting kind of instinct. Emma hums, whether in appreciation or acknowledgement or expression of her own half asleep state. “Sleep a few minutes longer. I’m just going to check everything over again.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, though it’s obvious she doesn’t need to be told twice. Killian can see the muscles of her face relax as she falls back into a doze.

(Maybe, after all this is over, he’ll be treated to a lifetime of moments like this. That’s his dream, after all - and maybe, just maybe, helping rescue a captured King will earn him something close to redemption.)

With a last look at the lovely tableau Emma makes, Killian turns towards his safe. With a few flicks of his wrist, the lockbox opens, allowing him to pluck the little bag containing the single magic bean from within. No use beating around the bush, now.

When Killian ascends the ladder to the deck, he’s surprised to find the Queen - Snow already waiting on the sun-bleached planks.

“Couldn’t sleep, milady?” he calls gently as he gets closer, causing Snow to spin around to face him.

“Anxious,” she explains. “I caught a few hours, not to worry. But I’m ready to go find Charming.”

The nickname strikes a particular chord in his heart; as much as Killian may have heard about it from Emma, heard the whole story of her parents’ famous romance a million times over as a favorite local legend, it’s something else to hear it from Snow’s lips. It’s never been just a fanciful tale, even if that’s the way he’s always heard it told; it’s their life, for better or worse. “We’ll get him back, ma’am,” Killian assures her - a promise he can’t actually make, not that it’s stopped him.

She knows it, too, if that particular smile is anything to go off of - a little sad, a little knowing, a little pitying. “I hope so, Captain. Now, is there anything I can do before we travel?”

“You can check that everything is secured in your cabin and Henry’s,” Killian offers. It’s obvious that Snow needs something to do in this in-between time; he’s seen that already. He’s more than happy to pawn off one of his own checks to Emma’s mother. “You can check the hold too, for that matter, make sure everything’s tied down and stowed away.”

It’s crucial that everything be secured before they open the portal; in Kililan’s experience, realm travel tends to jostle things around. He’s just finishing his own checks up on deck, directing the crew and securing various lines and sails, when Emma makes her appearance at his side.

“You should be below decks with the lad, love,” he tells her gently. “It might be a rough ride.”

“I know,” she shrugs. “But maybe I want to be up here with you. Mom can more than handle Henry. Is that so wrong?”

“Not in the least, darling,” he smiles back. “But can you blame a man for wanting to make sure his lady love is safe?”

“Not when you phrase it like that.” He even gets a little laugh out of her; that’s good, at least. “But I want to be here, you know. With you. It’s… into the great unknown, right?” Killian nods. “Then I want to do that with you.”

He’s always been a sucker for that kind of sentiment.

That’s how Emma ends up the one to toss the magic bean into the calm sea an hour later, her mother and son and as much crew as they can spare stashed below decks to protect them all. As the waters open to a swirling vortex, Killian wraps his arm securely around her waist, the other on the ship’s wheel to steer them straight into danger. Ropes are tied around both their waists for an extra level of security - something Killian had insisted on - but Emma’s face is curiously unafraid.

(That’s the faith she has in you, a little voice in his head whispers. Gods, he hopes what they’re about to do doesn’t betray that.)

“Hold tight to me, love,” he murmurs, before turning his attention back to the few crew members left on deck. “Buckle down, lads,” he yells, just as the bow of the Jolly catches the swirling waters of the portal. “It’s rough seas ahead!”

Rough seas is rather an understatement. Once the ship fully enters the expanding mouth of the portal, control is wrenched from his hands, the waters spiralling them down and down and down. There’s no telling which way is up and which way is down, magic ruling over physics, with water seemingly all around them but never swallowing them. The wheel of the Jolly spins wild, forcing Killian to let go before the rudder snaps and cripples the vessel. He’s left with nothing else to do but clutch Emma close with both his arms, curl his body around hers, shut his eyes and try to block out the roar all around them and hope and hope and hope —

— and just as suddenly as this all commenced, the world rights itself again, the hull of the Jolly gliding through calm seas under a pink-tinted sky. They’re just offshore of their destination, where Killian can barely make out fantastically twisting trees and grotesque shrubberies and enormous mushrooms. Wonderland - a realm steeped in magic itself, where Regina’s mother had once seized power and she must have now have done the same. Arguably, one of the worst places they could face her. There’s no other option, however - not when King David’s life is on the line.

“We’re not doing that again, are we?” Emma mumbles against his neck, barely peeking out to see this realm they’ve found themselves in. “Because let me tell you, I’ve had smoother rides.”

With a final squeeze and a chuckle, Killian unwraps his arms from around her body where they’d been sheltering Emma from the worst of the journey. “Aye, I can promise that, love. Only one bean. We’ll have to resort to more mundane methods on our way back.”

“Good.” Emma brushes down her vest, as if any bit of it would dare be out of place. “Now, let’s go catch ourselves a witch.”

Most preparations had been made last night, anticipating the need for immediate action today. Basic supplies have been packed, blades sharpened, and the Queen’s arrows neatly aligned in their quiver with their tips dipped in squid ink. All Snow has to do is graze Regina with an arrow and it’s over; she’ll be frozen, absolutely immobile. The hardest thing left to do, now that the hour is nigh, is explain to little Henry why he can’t come with them. Emma had insisted; Queen Snow had insisted; Killian had concurred; there’s quite a difference between taking him this far for his own safety when there’s an evil witch on the loose, and taking him right into the heart of danger.

“But I want to come with you!” Henry whines with tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want to stay behind!”

“Henry, it’s for your own good.” Killian can tell Emma is trying to explain this as best as she can to her son, but her voice has started to betray a hint of begging. “We’ll be back before you know it. We just have to go save Grampa.”

“You don’t know that though!” Henry wails. “Something could happen and I don’t want to be by myself and—” Emma gathers the little boy into her arms as he dissolves into tears, the display cutting right into Killian’s heart.

Once Henry’s tears start to abate a few minutes later, Killian strokes a bit of his hair back to catch the lad’s attention. “You’re right,” he tells Henry. “This is really scary for your mother and I too. But I promise - I promise - that I’m going to do everything in my power to protect your mum, alright? I’ll make sure that she comes back to you. And in the meantime, Mr. Smee is going to be here to look after you. You won’t be alone.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Killian swears solemnly. “I’ll have your mum and your grandpa and your grandma back to you before you know it.”

He would have made sure, anyways - Emma is the most important thing in his life, and he’d do anything to keep her and her family safe - but his promise to Henry only strengthens that. He’ll lay down his life, if he has to, if only to keep that promise to the little lad. After all, he knows all too well the pain of losing his family.

When they finally set out for the shore in rowboats, Henry bravely waves them off from the railing of the Jolly, though Killian can see tears glistening at the corners of the boy’s eyes. For that matter, Emma’s eyes are moist too.

“We’ll be back before you know it, love,” he assures her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I promise.”

“I know.” Emma’s smile may be watery, but it’s there. “I trust you to make that happen.”

(And imagine that - a princess trusting an old pirate like him.)

Killian expects they’ll be dodging obstacles from Regina the whole time as they cautiously pick their way towards the ostentatious palace they spot from the beach; after all, it’s well known that Regina’s mother, in her time ruling Wonderland, had amassed an enormous army from those whose hearts she’d ripped out and held captive in her vaults. Her daughter doubtlessly controls the same. However, they meet no one more than Wonderland’s absurd wildlife - a fact that somehow feels even more concerning, under the circumstances. It likely means that Regina knows they’re coming, and has already centralized her forces to create a stronghold of that pretty palace estate. And that means they’re walking right into a death trap, fully aware of that very fact.

They’re all a bit jittery at this turn of events; Killian can tell that his crew is on edge, and he can’t keep his own fingers from drumming impatiently on the hilt of his sword, anxious for some kind of action, expecting danger around every corner all while knowing that the true danger is still ahead of them. Emma works out her own impatience by practicing her magic, blasting the enormous insects indigenous to this realm in some kind of bizarre target practice. It’s as good an outlet as any, and she’ll need every ounce of practice to take on the Evil Queen. Even after twenty years of having her magic suppressed, Killian knows Regina will be a formidable foe; she’d terrorized Misthaven for years under her tyranny and dark magic, and he somehow doubts 20 years wiped those skills from her memory.

“Bravo,” Killian tells Emma with a smile and a little nudge after she blasts a particularly large rendition of a hornet. To their left, a hookah-smoking caterpillar nods approvingly from an enormous mushroom at the side of this forgotten, multi-colored cobblestone path. Truly, this land seems crafted straight out of a fever dream.

“Thanks.” Emma twines her arm through his own, grounding them both in the process. It’s a lot harder to fidget with his love on his arm, and a great comfort at that. “I kind of need all the practice I can get.”

“It can’t hurt,” Killian agrees mildly. “Though I must say, darling, I’m certainly impressed.”

Emma’s sigh sounds like it carries the weight of all their worries; Killian isn’t entirely sure she isn’t trying to do exactly that. “Is it enough, though? Sure, you’re impressed, but… this is Regina. An ultra-powerful sorceress. And here I am, just taking pot-shots at bugs.”

“Big bugs.”

“Bugs,” she repeats with disgust. “All I’m saying is… is that enough? When it comes down to it, can we really go toe-to-toe with the Evil Queen?”

“Hey,” Killian draws them up short, grasping Emma by both arms to face him. “I have to believe we can, that you can. I believe that this is going to work. And you know why?” Emma just stares at him with wide eyes. “Because I believe in you, love. I think you can do anything you want to. And we’ll be here to back you up, to help you, every step of the way.”

“You really believe that?”

“I really do.” Gently, with the greatest comfort and reassurance he can muster, Killian presses a brief kiss to her lips. “Now, let’s go catch an Evil Queen, love. Together, you and I.”

As is the way of such things, just when Killian begins to relax into the comfort of Emma’s arm entwined through his own, their party reaches the outskirts of the Queen’s estate. The palace is an ornate affair, in marble and gilt with elaborate gardens and hedge mazes. It’s more than just a building or a dwelling - it’s a centerpiece, an architectural representation of Cora, and now Regina’s power. It’s perfect and picturesque and somehow all the more intimidating and imposing for it.

Killian does his best to nod reassuringly when Emma turns to meet his eyes, standing here at the gilded gates and about to walk into the heart of danger. It must work, thankfully; Emma smiles in response before turning to face her mother instead.

“You ready for this?” Emma asks, drawing her sword.

Snow takes a deep, steadying breath, but eventually nods, simultaneously reaching for an arrow from her quiver. “I’m ready. Let’s go save your father.”

They don’t have to search hard to find Regina; it seems like now that she’s lured them into her web, the Evil Queen is ready to set the proverbial ball rolling. As they approach the enormous iron-wrought doors to the palace proper, they swing open without any obvious human intervention to reveal a grand entrance hall paved in black and white marble tiles. Killian directs a weighted look and nod to his crew to be on their guard. Most of his men have long since unsheathed their swords and knives, but those few who haven’t take out their weapons now. Emma and her mother wear identical hard, determined looks on their face as their party creeps down the hall. What feels like an eternity later, another set of doors swings open at their approach, all to reveal the Evil Queen herself, perched on a gilded throne upon a dais with apparently every bit of drama she could muster.

“I was wondering when you’d bother to show up,” she comments with a devious little smirk. “I guess heroes just aren’t what they used to be.”

“Regina.” Snow practically growls the word - a tone of voice Killian hadn’t been aware the famously mild-mannered queen was capable of.

“I suppose you lot are rather out of practice, though,” Regina continues as if her rival never spoke, languidly pushing herself up out of the throne to slither and stalk in their direction. She looks good for a woman doubtless approaching sixty, regal with her straight back and raised chin and silver liberally streaked through her dark hair. Killian wonders how much of the display is natural, and how much is thanks to magic. “There never was anyone else who posed anything resembling a real threat.”

“Weird thing to brag about,” Emma comments dryly, catching Regina’s attention. In a dramatic swish of skirts, their foe turns to face her with a feral smile stretching slowly across her face.

“I don’t expect you to understand power, Princess, and how far it can take you,” she replies - smoothly, dangerously - “but I do expect you to recognize it when it stands in front of you. Even your naive parents aren’t that foolish.”

“Enough of the fronting,” Killian cuts in. “Where’s the king?”

“And they brought a little eye candy, too,” Regina smirks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that. Goody-two-shoes Snow White and her precious, perfect daughter consorting with pirates.”

“Well, desperate times call for unusual measures,” Killian replies with a casual wave of his hand. “Never let it be said I’m not willing to help a lovely lady or a worthy cause.”

“Is that all it is?” Regina’s head cocks in a way that makes Killian think she’s analyzing the situation, trying to pick up on any weaknesses. “Because I must say, Captain —”

“Stop stalling!” Snow barks out. “Where is Charming? What have you done with him?”

“Interrupting - tsk tsk, such impropriety. Whatever would your dearly departed father say?” Snow flushes red with rage - obviously exactly what Regina hoped for, if that smirk is anything to go off of. “If you must know, your precious prince is a little… shall we say, indisposed for the moment.”

“If you’ve hurt him —”

“Now what fun would that be?” Regina laughs. “No, I’ve arranged something much more entertaining - I’ve cursed him.”

And with a dramatic wave of her hand, the Evil Queen reveals her handiwork. Before them suddenly stands an enormous mirror - and just behind the glass, Emma’s father, pounding frantically at the surface.

Emma jolts beside him, clearly pulled towards her father. It’s undoubtedly exactly what Regina wants - perhaps their strongest weapon, distracted and out of commission. “Steady on, love,” Killian murmurs, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “Don’t give in to her, that’s what she wants.”

Emma nods imperceptibly, her sword arm strengthening as her other hand starts to twist and turn by her side - summoning her magic from deep within, he knows. “Let him go,” she commands.

The Evil Queen just laughs in response. “No, I don’t think I will. What are you going to do about it, princess?” As she speaks, Regina summons her own powers, lighting a ball of flame in her hand, primed and ready to attack. Simultaneously, the doors on each wall of the throne room open for a crush of Black Knights to pour through, surrounding their own party.

They’re outnumbered - but they’ve got the benefit of passion, of rage, of the willingness to do anything. And Killian has always liked those particular odds.

It seems Emma is much of the same mind as she throws herself into action, lunging at Regina with her sword arm while the other crackles with magic. A good thing, too - Regina easily bats the sword out of her way with a quick flick of her wrist and hurls her fireball for Emma to bat away in turn. There’s a savage beauty to their dueling, both women lobbing magical weapons at one another with deadly intent. If it was just the two of them, Killian might take another minute to marvel; unfortunately, there is still a force of Black Knights and red-festooned guards to deal with. Emma is the only one who can fight on equal footing with Regina; it’s up to Killian, Snow, and his crew to keep the rest of the combatants away from Emma for long enough for her to defeat the Evil Queen.

Killian falls into a dance of his own, aiming to knock the Knights out where he can instead of killing them outright; it’s well known that Regina, and her mother before her, is an expert at controlling people, ripping out their hearts and whispering commands like a demonic puppetmaster. It’s not always possible, though, and Emma’s safety is more important than anything when she has to channel all her focus into battling Regina; his blade has tasted blood several times over, now, more than he wants to think about. The dance of combat is complicated by curses flying all over the place, doubtless intended for Emma or their little party even if they occasionally strike one of Regina’s own forces.

It finally seems like they’re starting to have things in hand. For all their numbers, the Black Knights and Red Guards are poorly trained, a collection of poor souls used to doing Regina’s bidding by intimidation and by superior numbers. Snow, instead, is a deadly aim - presumably from her outlaw days - and Killian and his crew are used to fighting for their dinner and their salary and their lives, playing dirty if they need to in order to get the upper hand. King David doesn’t look particularly pleased with the way Killian keeps using the mirror as a shield or an obstacle or a hard surface to knock heads against, but that’s his problem; Killian is doing his best to save his holier-than-thou arse, after all. Foes still remain, but it feels like a manageable low tide now instead of breaking wave after breaking wave.

And maybe that’s what hurts them. Maybe, Killian lets his guard down more than he should have, surveying the room after dispatching another Red Guard. He doesn’t see Regina cast the curse, doesn’t see it head directly at him, doesn’t know what’s happening at all until he hears Emma shout. Killian whirls around, but it’s too late - only just in time to see Regina’s curse hit her squarely in the chest.

“Emma!” he yells, dashing to catch his love as she crumples towards the ground. Somewhere, he hears Regina cackle in triumph, but he can’t worry about that now, not when Emma —

But he doesn’t need to worry about it, as Snow takes advantage of Regina’s distraction to let loose an arrow, deadly and true, to pierce her long-time enemy’s heart.

Somewhere, Killian hears the clatter of metal as the Queen’s soldiers are released from her power. Somewhere, he hears glass shatter as David is finally freed from the mirror. Those things don’t matter, though, when Emma lies in his arms, eyes closed, pulse barely detectable.

“C’mon, love, open those pretty eyes,” he murmurs, but to no avail. His words fall only on deaf ears. He can feel her parents on either side, reaching for Emma, and he should give her to them. Snow strokes along her hair and face, trying to rouse her daughter, and David just behind at his wife’s shoulder, anxiously peering down with tears starting to glisten in his eyes. Killian should let go of Emma, give her to her parents. A less selfish man might. But he can’t, not when he’s only just started to dream of a happy ending, only to see it - her fall in front of him.

And it’s a long shot. There’s no promises here, but Emma is his joy, is every dream he never dared to dream, and it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? After growing up hearing about true love, maybe they share that too.

(If nothing else, it’s less heartbreaking to think of this as an attempt at true love’s kiss than as a kiss goodbye.)

“Come back to me, Emma,” he whispers, leaning down as he does so to press his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

There’s a split second where nothing happens, where Killian is sure it didn’t work. But then what feels like a wave of energy bursts from where their lips are joined, spreading through the room and causing even her parents to gasp.

Emma’s eyes flutter open slowly, but she smiles to see Killian still bending over her. “Did we win?” she mumbles, a tired sort of slur to her words.

Killian can’t help but laugh, even as happy and relieved tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes; it’s so like his Emma, so fierce, so determined. “Aye, love, we did. You did. Regina’s dead, and your father’s right here.”

Emma cranes her head with a wince to meet her father’s gaze. “I’m ok, sweetheart,” he assures her. “I’m proud of you.”

She nods tiredly before turning her attention back to Killian. “Can we go home now?”

“Anything you want, darling,” he chuckles. “Anything you want.”

———

Henry, as expected, is thrilled when they return with his grandfather now amongst their number. “I knew they’d save you,” he grins, arms wrapped tightly around David’s waist. “That’s what heroes do.”

“Hey now, lad, I’m a pirate, not some hero,” Killian can’t help but cut in with a smile and a teasing note in his voice.

“I don’t know, I think you could be both,” Emma adds with a smug little smile. As if it’s thanks to her that he’s anything resembling a hero.

(That might be a little true, actually. After all, she’s the reason he’s wanted to try.)

“Yeah!” Henry agrees readily. “You helped bring Gramps back! And you made sure Mom was safe, just like you promised!”

“Well, I couldn’t disappoint my best mate, could I? A promise is a promise.”

“I see you’ve swayed my grandson, too,” David interjects drolly. Killian isn’t sure the man will ever fully be a fan of his - Killian supposes he’d be the same way with a daughter of his own - but they’re mostly civil, at least. It’s more than he could have expected a week ago, at least.

“More like he swayed me.”

“I like Killian,” Henry proclaims, and, well, that’s that.

(“Killian says if I save up a lot, I can have my own pirate ship,” Killian hears Henry tell Charming later. “Do you know how much I have to save?”

Killian will probably be paying for that in other ways later.)

Suspicious fathers aside, the return trip is much less eventful. Applying fairy dust to his sails so they can fly between realms may make for a slower journey, but a calmer one; the necessary rush of their original travel to find David is no longer in play, anyways, and they can spare the time. It’s a good time for Emma’s family to get used to his presence in her life under more normal circumstances. There’s no putting the cat that is their relationship back in the metaphorical bag after this, not that Killian would ever want to. He’s loved Emma for a long, long time, and he’s just glad to finally now admit it in public.

By the time they dock back in Misthaven’s port, there’s something of an understanding. Snow openly likes him, as does Henry, and even David has reached a grudging acceptance after much discussion with his wife and daughter. It probably doesn’t hurt that Killian played an instrumental role in his rescue. There’s still the matter of public perception, however. There’s no hiding the fact that he was - is? - a pirate. What will the populace think of their beloved princess consorting with someone like him? How are they supposed to prove that he’s one of their fold, now, no longer a threat in the eyes of the royal family?

The answer, as it turns out, is a grand ball. It’s the Misthaven way, after all.

Killian can’t say that it’s his idea of a good time by any stretch of the imagination - a little too stifling for his taste - but there’s no real way to weasel out of it, not when he’s the guest of honor. Especially not when it means that the Queen and King see in him a man of honor, maybe even a man worthy of their daughter. He’d be a fool to spit in the face of such gestures.

Still, he doesn’t have to be entirely thrilled about it. There’s far too many diplomats to play nice with and not nearly enough time with Emma and the collar of his coat itches, dammit. The quilted bronze fabric is certainly striking, drawing more than his fair share of appreciative looks, but the folded black collar whacks at the bottom of his chin with every move, driving him mad. If these soirees are going to become a regular thing in his life - and by all appearances, they will be - he’ll have to speak with the palace seamstresses about making something less prominent.

(What an idea, that is - getting the chance to be around openly enough and long enough to need to speak with palace staff about his preferences.)

Emma, on the other hand, looks absolutely stunning. Beautiful. Ravishing. A whole host of other descriptors that never fully encompass the way she looks tonight, never quite do her justice. Her dress is red, with long sleeves and a full skirt and beading along her scooped neckline that highlights the peeking swells of her lovely breasts, all topped with a floral tiara. It’s by far the most traditionally princess-y that Killian has ever seen her look; it feels like his heart skips several beats as she makes her way into the crowded ballroom, skirt swishing about her just a split second after every move she makes.

(He may be the guest of honor, but she’s the star of this particular show, every eye drawn towards her grace and beauty like moths to a flame. Truthfully, he can’t blame them one bit.)

As much as Killian has enjoyed watching his princess in her element - something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to see - he’s been sadly limited to only looking, not touching. Emma is a dance partner in much demand, between visiting royalty and Misthaven’s own nobility and what he’s been told are friends of her parents and their children, and somehow, Killian can never find a moment to steal her away into his arms and make it obvious to anyone that Emma is his partner, and his alone.

(This is all part and parcel of being the future monarch, he knows, but Killian has always been a selfish bastard at heart, a pirate not skilled at sharing with others. Besides, they’ve only just been allowed to show their love openly; he can’t help but want to revel in that for all to see.)

He puts on as good a show as he can, smiling at the countless faces he’s introduced to and gritting his teeth against all the little snide, uppity comments he gets to hear in return. He dances, too - with Snow’s old friend Ruby and with Emma’s friend, the Queen of Arendelle (who is kind enough not to mention the piracy he’s doubtless committed against their ships in the past years) and even, eventually, with Queen Snow herself, twirling each across the marble floors in moves his body remembers from his Naval Academy days much better than his brain does.

“How are you holding up, Captain?” Emma’s mother asks once he pulls her back in from a particularly dramatic turn. Killian chooses to hum instead of answering, making the Queen laugh. “That well, huh?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Killian suggests. “Distance may make the memory fonder.”

“I strongly doubt that, but I’ll be sure to ask.”

Inevitably, Killian’s eye drifts back to Emma again, where she now dances with her father. He means no offense to his current partner, and he surely hopes Snow doesn’t take it as a slight; he just can’t help but seek for his love’s face and smile and self no matter what else is going on around him.

“You haven’t had much chance to be in each other’s company tonight, have you?” Snow comments wisely, drawing Killian’s attention back to his partner with a guilty little start that makes her chuckle again. “No, it’s quite alright,” she assures him. “I do remember young love, you know.”

“I’d never think to suggest otherwise,” he winks back. They’ve reached some kind of understanding, him and the queen; the kind of adventure they’ve shared will do that, he supposes.

“Wise man.” Once again, Killian turns the Queen beneath his arm. When she comes back to their proper waltz position, there’s an extra little twinkle in her eye. “Now, I know you’ll be terribly sorry to see me go,” she tells him, voice bubbling with mirth, “but I have the sudden desire to dance with my husband. If we switch partners, do you think you could possibly bear the terrible burden of dancing with my daughter?”

“I think I’ll manage somehow.”

Emma breaks into a smile as they approach, her entire visage brightening with the gesture and somehow rendering her even more stunning. At his side, the Queen is saying something doubtlessly witty or romantic to her own husband to orchestrate this partner switch; truthfully, Killian doesn’t hear a word. Watching Emma is a delightful tunnel vision, only heightened as her delicate hand brushes against his arm.

“I was wondering where you had gotten to,” she teases with a smile. “Having fun yet?”

“More with you here.” It’s all the truth he’s willing to admit to in this crush of other people; doubtless, Emma knows what he means anyways.

Sure enough: “I’ve got a feeling that wouldn’t take much.” Though she shakes her head, the smile still lingers on her lips. Killian knows this isn’t her idea of a good time, either, but she’s much more practiced in hiding it than he is.

(That’s a thing he’ll have to learn over time, he supposes; after all, where Emma is concerned, he’s in this for the long haul. Horrible state functions and all.)

“Guilty as charged,” he smiles back. “What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor with this old pirate?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not for lack of wanting, you know,” Killian assures her as they sort themselves into a proper waltz position and begin to move. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night. This is… stunning, love. Gods above, you look like a vision.”

Emma preens a bit at the compliment, a smug little smile and shake of her shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain,” she replies, nodding towards his jacket. “I might even say you clean up well.”

“I couldn’t exactly show up in my duster, you know. What a look that’d be. The entire idea has been not to look too much of an embarrassment, especially as an already… shall we say, unconventional suitor for the princess.”

“You never could, but I appreciate the thought.” The smile slides off her face then, only to be replaced by a hint of anxiety. “I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight, Killian - I really didn’t, I promise. I just… there’s so many people here and I had to greet everyone, and then there were so many people I needed to pay a little extra attention to, pay my respects or whatever, and —”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Killian cuts her off, accentuating the sentiment with a little squeeze of her hand. “I know these are things you have to do as the princess. It’s quite alright.”

“I never want you to think I’m abandoning you for some duty.” Killian wonders, briefly, if that’s something she’s experienced or been accused of before; in that moment, Killian swears never to make her feel that way again if he can help it.

“I promise, darling, I won’t. This is who you are, who you’re meant to be; I’ll just be privileged to watch you work.” If it weren’t for the crowded room, filled with people and expectations of how to behave, he’d kiss her right here. After all the scandal they’ve already made, though - the princess and the pirate, quite the pairing by anyone’s standards - he refrains, contenting himself for the moment just to hold his princess in his arms for this dance. That doesn’t mean he can’t do a little bit of plotting, though. “That being said…”

“Yes?”

“What do you say we sneak out of here early, darling?” Killian murmurs in Emma’s ear. His love has an excellent poker face; even as he whispers indecorous ideas in her ear, her face betrays only the slightest hint of a smile, visible only because Killian was watching for it.

“We’ll have to be sneaky about it,” she replies. “My father will never let you stay the night in my chambers.”

“Hmm. Well, you know, I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the ivy, for old times’ sake?”

The smile blooms over Emma’s face slowly, slowly enough for Killian to read every ounce of mischief and lascivious promise contained within, before she finally leans forward to whisper back in his own ear.

“I’ll bring the rum.”

Not your typical princess at all - but she’s his princess, and Killian finds that that makes all the difference.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain duckling #my writing #coming ashore (to my lover's arms)#princess emma #pirate killian #captain cobra

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deltas-writing-corner · 4 years ago

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Warmth: Prologue (1/3)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Disclaimers: Besides the prologues, I will be posting the first 1000 or so words of every new/next chapter. There will be a link to my AO3 at the end of the post, where the full chapters are at!

Warnings: none. (if there is something present in my writing that you would like tagged, please let me know!)

Masterlist: (coming soon)

Most people begin their lives as infants, screaming and flailing about in their first moments fresh out of the womb.

That was not the case for you.

Your life began when you opened your eyes and found yourself suddenly conscious. You were no infant, no toddler. You were as you are now, you, plain and simple.

You remember feeling what you now know as warmth enveloping your body, internally and externally. It was pleasant, and the sensation beheld a sort of indiscriminate love and care for your being. It makes you wonder who was it that gave life to you at that particular moment and why.

Blinking up at the world for the first time, you saw the sky. It beheld a perfect shade of rich blue, with a lone cloud slowly making its way across its vastness. You remember wanting to reach out to it. Your immature mind thinking that if you did you would feel its perceived softness.

As you began to lift your arm, you feel pain for the first time. It was an excruciating pain that permeated your entire body. No amount of scraped knees or nicked fingers could ever amount to the first pain you ever felt.

Next, you heard your first sound. Hissing. It was such a powerful hiss that it rattled your very body and brought about your first emotion, fear. Your eyes frantically scanned across the sky, trying to find where the source of your fear was. A disturbing tingle dragged across your body, going up higher and higher until your neck was completely locked in its clutches. It squeezed and squeezed and you found your once clear vision beginning to blur until blue turned into black.

When you woke up the next time and were suddenly able to move about fully, you found not a single mark on your body. Even now, you wonder if maybe what you thought to be your first memory was actually a nightmare.

You were by no means good at walking, at first. After tripping over your own feet and swaying back and forth for some time you were able to take wobbly, but certain footsteps. You found your first semblance of home within nature. Trees, patches of grass, exposed dirt, even a small but rigorously flowing river were amongst the first things you ever interacted with. You were like an excitable child. Stumbling from tree to tree, touching, smelling, examining each and every single one that grazed your immediate and peripheral vision.

________________________________________________________________

The aggressive ringing of your phone's alarm pulled you from your reminiscing thoughts. When you look up and see sunlight peeking through the edges of the fusuma doors, you realize that it's now morning. You had spent the entire night thinking and replaying the beginnings of your life for yet another time. Yet even without a wink of sleep, you were brimming with energy. For whatever reason, being a god meant not having to sleep as mortals had to.

Yes, you are a god. That is the conclusion you have determined through your nearly 300 years of life. Even if your inarguable immortality and powers were the cause of something else entirely, you had yet to hear about it.

To be exact, you are a god of healing. How you discovered your powers is a sad tale. During your tree exploring frenzy you had stumbled upon mortals for the first time. They were an elderly couple, withered but not at all bothered by their age. Thinking you to be abandoned and lost, they had taken you in under their care without a second thought. They had raised you as if you were their own child: clothing you, feeding you, instilling in you the values they have cultivated in their already long and fruitful lives.

In the year 1720, an illness had suddenly swept over the small village your family resided in. The elderly man who became your father had the unfortunate luck of catching it. For days you had to witness the once healthy man you had come to know be confined to his bed. He struggled to get through the nights coughing his lungs out and fluctuating from hot to cold. You had not experienced loss before, so to one day hear your father tell you that he has lived a satisfactory life and took pride in raising you in his last years, struck within you your first instance of sadness.

That night, as he had his most violent fit yet, you had quietly entered his room. His wife, your mother, had been sleeping in your room since he became infected. Sleep never came easy to her during these trying times, but this night you had done your best to put her to bed and ensure she got the rest she desperately needed.

As you knelt before your ill father, you recalled the warmth you first felt before the pain. The unmistakable feeling of fondness and protection that enveloped your body in its entirety. As you placed your hand atop your father's chest you merely thought that, if you were able, you would bestow upon him that same warmth you felt in place of all the pain that consumed his body.

And bestow you did, as a shine of light had suddenly sprung forth from the palm you had placed upon his chest. It was only for a brief moment, as you had yanked your hand back in shock. But that moment was just enough to stop his coughing and revert his sickly colored skin back into the healthy peachy tones they were before. He slept like a baby for the rest of the night.

He woke up the next morning not only without his recent life-threatening ailment, but without the ache in his joints and fingers he developed from his previous life as a rice farmer. Your mother, previously consumed with sadness, had perked up at the recuperation of her beloved husband. You and your family cried together with joy over the wonderful turn of events.

You kept what had happened that night to yourself, but that didn't stop you from healing the other villagers. For the next few nights, you snuck out and into the homes of the other infected. You did as you did before, recalled that same warmth you awakened with and light poured forth from your palm. Those beneath you slept soundly the rest of the night. Once morning came, they found themselves in better condition than they ever were.

As the villagers and even your own family contemplated their abrupt recovery, that is when you hear the word for the first time.

"It was a goddess. A goddess came and banished our sicknesses away."

Your family had been saved by your hands. The families within the village were healed by your hands. How could you not think of yourself as some blessed being? How could you not think of yourself as special, especially after the villagers threw a big festival as thanks to the unknown goddess that saved them from tragedy?

In your high, you failed to take notice of the dark snake setting its sights on your beloved parents.

The winter of that same year was a harsh one. You and your family were stuck inside your home most of the days due to the heavy snow. It was your first time seeing such a marvel. To see the green and luscious forest you were first awoken in, turn barren and coated in a heavy blanket of cold, powdery white was magical. You quickly found yourself despising the winter not only for the coldness that bit across your skin, but mainly due to your father deciding to fool around and shove a hefty amount of snow down your kimono.

Winter nights meant you all shared a room together; Your futons placed right next to one another in an attempt to generate as much warmth as you all could during the chilly nights. You didn't need to sleep, but you enjoyed the feeling of floating and stillness it gave you. While you lied in a state of deep unconsciousness, the dark snake that had been lingering and eyeing your parents slithered under the covers.

You were usually the last to wake up in the household. Your mother would have to really shake your body in order to pull you out of the depth of your blank dreams. When you woke up that morning you found yourself to be the first to be awake this time. Your parents were sound asleep and you, unknowing, left them to do some morning chores with the intention to impress them.

After making breakfast (that possibly wasn't the best, but you were still proud to not have burned anything) you went to go wake them up. At first, you thought they were pulling a joke on you. When you went to wake your mother, that was when you noticed something was off. Her hand was freezing cold despite being tucked under her heavy covers. You shook them, eventually screaming and crying out for them to open their eyes for who knows how long.

Your mother had taught you that if you ever needed help, to head to the village. Everyone knew and trusted each other, including yourself. You obediently obeyed her words, not knowing that there was nothing they, nor you, could do to revive a dead body.

Your morning routine is simple. At 8 a.m you get up from your futon and slide open all the shoji doors to let in the fresh morning air. You folded up your futon just as your mother taught you to (and scolded you for forgetting to do so nearly every morning). You didn't eat anymore, so breakfast was stripped from your routine. You found yourself filling in the time your parents would normally spend having breakfast with cleaning up the yard of any stray leaves. By the time you were all washed up and changed out of your pajamas, you headed straight for work.

You were inconsolable after your parents' death. The villagers, who had taken a liking to you and close to them, would often come to check up on you and help keep the house in order as you grieved. They did whatever they thought would help you perk up and return to your normal self. One of the women had even offered that you marry one of her brothers, who was in the market for a wife, and settle down to get your mind off of the pain.

It was an innocent offer, and she only had the best intentions for you. For some reason though, it made you snap. Something about the word "marriage" brought upon you an immense rage that you still, to this day, have no clue where it stems from. Your parents had made a few comments pertaining to the concept of marriage in regards to you. Even as they explained what it was , it was still a hard idea to wrap your head around.

You began to scream at her, pounding your fist against the tatami as you cursed her for suggesting such a thing. How marriage was the last thing on your mind and that you wouldn't date her brother if he was the last man on earth. Such words were never taught to you, yet you spoke them as if you had spoken them before. She all but scrambled out of your home, nearly tripping over her own two feet to get away from you. You were sure that what she saw was no longer an innocent girl, but an enraged boar readying its tusks to strike.

Once you snapped out of your rage, you just started to run. No shoes, and in only your nightwear. You were starting to suffocate in your own home. Their scents, their belongings, everything that reminded you of them was in that house and you wanted to get away from it. You wanted to just go somewhere else that wasn't touched or carried any semblance of them. You ran, through the day and night, until you found yourself standing before the ocean.

It took you 50 years to find your way back.

A buzz came from your back pocket as you slipped on your shoes. You pull out your phone and check your notifications. It was a message from your one and only co-worker.

'u coming in today?'

You text back that you were, in fact, on your way.

'cool! C u soon!'

Once your shoes are tied and your phone properly stuffed in your bag, you head out to work. Your job was simple, a mere aid to an elderly seamstress. Your mother had taught you some basics in sewing that you picked up pretty quickly, enjoyed it even.

After you found your way back home you realized that you were surrounded by new people. The children of the children of those who you once knew before had taken their place, but they no longer knew of you. Your home, seemingly abandoned and in disarray, was thankfully still standing.

50 years of trying to find your way back home didn't prepare you to integrate back into a new society and community. Things were different, but there were still some unchanged aspects of life from the time you were originally raised in. Your father once told you that it's important to make good first impressions, so you did just that. You went down to the village and introduced yourself to the new roster of residents. You eventually went about life as you did when your parents were alive, minus eating and sleeping. You would live a decade or so in the village before taking off as you did the first time, running until you reached the ocean and returning after 50 years. The only difference from the first time was that you had asked the villagers to upkeep your home while you were gone. It made coming back a bit easier, as you didn't have to go through the grueling process of restoring the property back to livable conditions and only worried about adding a few changes here and there that came about with the progression of technology.

Truly, the villagers were nothing but kind souls no matter the change in residents. As kind as they were, you took care to not grow too close to them. Even now, 3 centuries later, the pain of your parents' death still stung. This wasn't only to protect you from ever feeling that level of pain again, but your apparent immortality was something you thought better to keep a secret to allow for your 50-year marathon to continue on without suspicion. You'd rather be considered the new girl every 5 decades than draw attention towards yourself. In exchange for your detachment, you try to be what the original set of villagers unknowingly thought of you back when the plague hit. A goddess who would cast away their ailment in their hour of need.

After 15 minutes of walking, you find yourself in front of your workplace. The town has expanded little by little over the years, but still remained on the small and rural side. The nearest city was about half an hour away, but you wouldn't trade the peaceful life of a small town for the heavily polluted air and bustle of the metropolis.

"Good morning." The store owner, Fuku, greeted you with a bow. You reciprocate her greeting before heading to the backroom to put away your bag.

Your day to day workload was assisting Fuku as she ran her shop. She specialized in creating traditional clothing as well as mendings and the occasional custom orders. Your co-worker, Yuki, is the daughter of a family friend of Fuku's. She helped Fuku get her shop set up online, taking care of processing the orders and maintaining the online store as well as the physical storefront. A small team, but the three of you manage just fine, especially yourself. Your lack of a need for food or sleep means you can put all your focus on sewing and your many, many years of experience and practice could perhaps rival Fuku's.

"Y'know, out of all the 3 years you've worked here, I don't think you've ever been late once," Yuki says, as she types away on her laptop in the backroom.

"It's called having a consistent sleep schedule and a simple morning routine," you quip back.

"You sound like an old lady."

You're tempted to say that technically, you were. Instead, you laugh at her playful jab and head back out to the storefront to help your boss open up the shop.

________________________________________________________________

"Are you sure it's alright to close up shop this early?" you ask your boss.

"Yes, as I've said the last few times you've asked. It's a Saturday. You two deserve to be out and about, enjoying yourselves. Especially you, young lady. All you do is work, work, and work!"

Before you could say another word, both Fuku and Yuki push you out of the shop and onto the street, slamming the door behind you. Yuki made sure to pull you away the next street over before you could even think about turning back.

"C'mon!" she links her arm with your own, "It's a slow day anyway. Besides, I'm dead set on seeing your house this time!"

You found yourself struggling to keep up with her pace, as she was practically skipping the whole way to your house. It wasn't that far from the village's main street and residential area, but it was enough that the concrete ground would dissipate into a well-worn stone path as you came closer to it.

Once your house comes into view, Yuki's quick pace comes to an abrupt halt. You nearly trip as you bump front first into her back.

"Wow," is all she manages to gasp out. You look at your home in question. It was the same as it was when you left this morning. Not a single leaf littering the roof or ground. You were about to ask what was wrong when she speaks up. "It's so old, but a good kind of old. What's the word?"

"Retro?"

She snaps her finger, "Yeah, that! It's retro! I'm curious about what's inside. Hopefully nothing too embarrassing, huh?"

She wiggles her eyebrows at you, expecting you to roll your eyes or even blush like you had been prematurely caught red-handed. All she got in return was a tilt of the head and a questioning look from you.

You really are a strange one.

________________________________________________________________

Yuki decided to stay the night. You had no issues with it, as you always had an extra futon just for this sort of situation (that wasn't as serious as you were making it out to be). The problem came later in the evening. At this time time of night, Fuku, Yuki, and yourself would be cleaning up and getting ready to close the shop. Yuki decided to head to town to grab a few ingredients to make dinner for you two while also seeing Fuku one last time for the day.

When she returned to your house and told you Fuku had fainted, you had an inkling on what it might have been. Calm and collected, you and your co-worker headed to the store and helped take Fuku to her home, right above the shop.

"Really, I'm fine. This isn't the first time my back gave out and I tipped over," the elder woman tries to wave of your concerns.

"You hit your head pretty badly," you explained to her. "If Yuki hadn't found you, you could have ended up much worse."

At your comment of an even worse fate, your serpent guest inches closer towards your boss. You spare it a quick glare and it quickly back off. From an outside perspective, it must have looked like you were mad at the floor.

The black snake lingering in the room the very same one that took your parents' life as well as many more after. In your panic to awaken your already dead parents, before seeking out the help of the villagers, it had made itself known to you. No doubt to mock you; Perhaps it even wanted to revel in the presence of its latest victims.

Your father and mother always said to take caution around snakes, as they were deadly and could cause you some serious damage if you encounter the wrong one. Your father had even taken it upon himself to show you the proper way to kill one should you ever find yourself in a pinch.

An axe straight for the head, so they can't strike back at you.

You remember giving chase to the black snake. Kitchen knife in hand and dead set on chopping off its scaly head. This was no normal snake. No snake could outrun the quick strides you were making. The snake your father had trapped and demonstrated with you didn't evaporate once he lobbed its head off. It certainly didn't revive and come back after a few days, staring intently at you with slitted eyes to convey to you that it was only getting started.

The snake was your obstacle. A bringer of death, looming ever close to you, a bringer of life. It used you to search for its victims The moment you let your guard down, it would sink its fangs into mortal flesh and bestow upon them a dark end to their life. For every person you managed to save from its jaws, the snake would merely seek out another target and your battle would begin anew.

No matter how many times it would try to make a move on its next victim, you would make sure to keep the serpent at bay for however long you can. Death was an unavoidable aspect of life. Sooner or later people, would die, with or without your fateful enemy there to accelerate it or you to expel whatever ailment they had. However, it would have been far less painful to watch your parents fade out of this world naturally than to wake up as you did that day thinking nothing was wrong. If they had just died naturally, you would have had the chance to properly say goodbye.

Even if you couldn't keep death away forever, you would at least try to give people the chance to properly part with their loved ones.

Yuki and you stayed with Fuku until she fell asleep, closing up the shop in her place. Your co-worker, shaking like a leaf in the wind, struggled to light up her cigarette once the two of you stand outside again. You would normally scold her for her bad habit but decided to let it slide for just this once and held her lighter for her.

She inhaled, then exhaled a large cloud of smoke before saying, "This is the third time her hip gave out in a month. A month dammit!" She takes another hit. "What if I didn't stop by? She would have lied there the entire night and bled to death. If not she would have froze to death."

"I know it's tempting to think of the worse case scenarios but that won't change the fact you found her when you did."

She doesn't seem satisfied with your comment, flicking aside ashes on the ground and taking another deep drag of her cigarette.

"What if I don't find her early next time? We don't even have a doctor here, just a damn herbalist!"

"She's going to be fine," you tell her.

"But what if-"

"Yuki," you were now facing her straight on, your gaze boring into her certain. "She's going to be fine."

Your words get her to relax a bit, but she was still clearly stressed out of her mind. You don't blame her. If you were in her shoes you'd probably be smoking too. Speaking of cigarettes, she had dropped hers on the ground and stomped the embers out. "I think I'm going to go home. I'm just…" she makes a vague gesture with her hands.

You nod in understanding. "I'll bring your bag to work tomorrow."

She thanks you before turning away and walking home. You wait until she's no longer in sight before turning your vision back to the shop. As if on cue, the black snake suddenly reveals itself from the shadows and slithers its way towards you. You both have a stand-off under the moonlight. No words were spoken between either of you. Not that it could say a word if it wanted to. Yet, as silent as it was, you could almost hear exactly what it was thinking.

It's either Fuku or Yuki.

Like hell it is!

You were the first to crack, lunging at him like you've done many times. The snake was now in the clutches of your hands, jaw pried open by your index and thumb and fangs exposed to the cold air of the evening. It thrashed and hissed, desperately trying to escape your grasp.

Most people didn't know that you always carried a handaxe with you in your bag. It wasn't for protection; your town is as safe as can be. The purpose of the weapon was for chopping up the ophidian in your hands. Beheading it would cause it to evaporate into a puff of black dust. Each time you killed it and healed its intended target, it would find itself unable to go near them for some time once it returns. It was a temporary solution, but the most efficient so far in keeping it at bay.

It's wiggling and hissing grew more intense and frantic as you finally reach and begin to rummage around the small toolbox on the side of your house. You were pressing its head against the wall, skin stinging due to its elongated body repeatedly slapping against your arm. It gets in a good slap across your face.

You would be sure to chop it up real nicely this time.

________________________________________________________________

Once your axe was properly cleaned and stored away, you changed into a new set of clothes. It was currently 3 in the morning, snake chopping session lasting longer than you had hoped for. The night was chilly, and even after 300 years you still hated the cold. As you step back out into the night with a jacket zipped up to your mouth, you could still feel the freezing air nip at your skin.

Yuki leaving her bag at your home was a bit of a godsend (no pun intended). While you both had keys to the store, Yuki had keys to Fuku's small home on the second floor. It still felt dirty using the keys, but at least you wouldn't have to pick any locks and damage the mechanisms. You could effortlessly chop the head off of a snake, but couldn't pick a lock without feeling terrible about it afterwards.

You carefully tiptoed your way into Fuku's small but cozy home, pressing your feet against the wooden floorboards and testing them out for any loud creaks before fully sinking your weight into your step. Fuku was still in the same position as you left her, tucked under her futon with only her bandaged head sticking out. Blood had seeped through since you patched it up. You kneel down next to her and see that she was breathing deeply, an indication that she was lost in the realm of her dreams. You wondered for a moment what she could possibly be dreaming about. Perhaps reliving memories of her youth. From her occasional retellings' of her early 20's, she was quite the party animal. You found it hard to believe the sweet old lady you've gotten to know over the years was a wild child.

let's see if I can give you back a bit of your spunk.

You gently place a hand on top her head, right on her bandaged injury was and your palm quickly lights up. Your healing came more easily than it did the first time. You would have to stop for a long moment and really force yourself to bring forth the warmth within you. During your 50 years of traveling, you practiced your ability on animals. It made the journey much more tolerable, as the animals that you healed would grow attached to you and consider you a part of their unit. It sounds incredibly cheesy, but it's not every day you get smothered by an entire wolf pack or ride on the back of a fully grown black bear.

As you reminisce about your forest adventures, your healing had completed and the room was cast back into darkness. You watched Fuku's breathing again, still deep and steady. Seeing no negative changes, you carefully get up and head back home.

Next chapter

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #otome #ikemen sengoku writing #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen series #ao3 fanfic #writing #ikesen writing #ikesen fanfic #fanfic: warmth #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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arandompostarchive · 4 years ago

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SALEM - Ch. 3

SAVED WORK

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

You adjusted your skirt and sat down by the town’s pond, waiting for him to show up. It was a lovely day. Pure, sunny blue skies, with a touch of clouds. A perfect day.

He stood behind you and rested his hand on your shoulder making you jump.

“Loki, don’t do that. You scared me!” He laughed a bit before apologizing.

“I assure you that was not on purpose, my dear.” You smiled at him, leaning against his shoulder.

But that was a long, long time ago.

***

Bruce was the only one in the quinjet. You walked in and took a seat as close to the front as you could get. He immediately looked back at the entrance, waiting for everyone else to come.

“Uh, I assume something happened?” He looked over at you. He had plugged his equipment into the jet. You weren’t certain how all of it worked, but you had the basics of technology down.

“That would be a correct assumption.”

“Okay.” He sat down next to you. You weren’t completely sure if you wanted to have one of those ‘should we talk about it?’ sessions right now.

“It was Loki then? You didn’t seem psyched when Steve mentioned that part of this mission.”

You nodded slightly and Bruce continued. “Listen. I’m sure he’s coming with us. There’s no way Fury’s letting him just walk away. Whatever’s going on, you need to talk about it. To him.”

You nodded again. That would probably be best. If he managed to stay out of cell.

It wasn’t long before everyone else came aboard. Steve and Tony had given up their arguing and Tony immediately sat in the pilots seat next to Clint. Unsurprisingly, Loki was with them. He was in cuffs and was seated near the back of the jet, exactly where you thought he’d be.

He didn’t stop staring at you the entire flight home. Fortunately, it wasn’t a very long one. Part of you was thankful that you only had to go to Alaska, and not another mission in the middle of Europe.

Fury was still in the tower. You were certain Steve had made some attempt to let Fury know they had in fact found Loki. You were all called into the meeting room again. You chose to walk in slowly with Bucky. Thor, Tony and Steve were escorting Loki to what was probably a rather uncomfortable cell. For now.

You looked at Bucky. He seemed to be fairly deep in thought, while you were more worried than anything.

You cleared your throat a bit. “What do you think?”

He looked up at you with a questioning glance.

“Loki, I mean. What do you think happened.”

Bucky shook his head a bit. “I wasn’t here when he tried to take over New York, and he’s literally the god of lies but… I don’t know. I recognize that look. Like he’s certain no one will believe him. And he’s been telling Steve he’s innocent. Even Thor doesn’t seem convinced now that we literally found him in the middle of a mission from Fury.”

You nodded a bit. He was right. There was no way Steve was going to let this go.

“But what do you think?”

“I really don’t know. Thor’s pretty much the only one who ever says anything good about him.”

That was definitely true. You’d been part of the team for about a year now, and Thor was the only one out of every team member who held Loki in high regards. To be fair, no one else grew up with him.

When you got in, Fury was already in deep conversation with both Maria, Steve, Tony, and Thor. They had put Loki in a sort of holding cell. Not as bad as the one he probably would’ve been put in if it weren’t for Thor.

You knew what they were saying without even asking. Just knowing them was enough. Thor was trying to defend him, Steve and Tony weren’t having it, Maria was slightly convincing Fury to at least investigate. Just to make sure there are no alien loose ends.

You sat by Bucky in the middle of the commons. You really couldn’t blame Steve, from what you heard. Loki killed a lot of people. Thor was fairly quiet, especially for an argument about family. Normally he had so much to say about Loki. Mostly how he was upset his brother wanted nothing to do with him. Steve was the one leading this discussion.

“We can’t trust him. But we need the Tesseract, and we need an explanation. Now he doesn’t have it on him, but he probably knows where it is.”

Tony sighed, staring straight at Steve. “Well, for all we know our mystery Woman in Black has it. And she could be just about anywhere. Until it comes back to Earth or we get some kind of signal, the Tesseract could literally be anywhere in the galaxy. We need a quicker fix than that. We gotta have Loki explain himself.”

Steve did not like that answer.

“Tony we can’t trust him. Anything he says could be completely false. We can’t trust a single word out of his mouth. And Thor,” He turned to Thor, now solely addressing the god. “I hate to say it, but not even you know for sure. You’re better at it than the rest of it, but not foolproof.”

The argument continued. In all fairness, everyone had a good point. But this felt like your place to jump in.

“Let me talk to him.” You said, walking up to the group. Fury looked at you, more curious why than anything. Tony sighed a bit.

“No offence Voldemort, but you weren’t there in New York. You didn’t see him.”

“Voldemort? That’s all you got?” You laughed. He was a bit more creative than that.

“Hey I’m working on it.”

Steve sighed, “On topic please.”

“Fine, Steve. I knew him a long time ago. I know I wasn’t there, fighting him in New York, but I still lived here. I was still in New York at the time. Just not a part of the team. I didn’t see him, but I saw what happened. He’s changed a lot, but I’ve gotten good at knowing when he lies. And I know it’s not flawless, but we have next to no information here. Nothing. This is our best shot.”

They all looked at each other before Thor spoke up. “The lady is right. They used to be close. Much closer than he and I ever were. If anyone can talk to him, and I mean really talk to him, it’s her.” You smiled and nodded your thanks.

Fury looked at the group. “It’s worth a shot.” Steve and Tony nodded along, and it was decided.

Face your fears.

Tony led you to where they were keeping him. Despite him agreeing, he heavily advised against it.

“I just hope you know what your doing, kid.”

“Tony, I’m 300 years older.” He scoffed.

“Barely 290.”

He took you to the elevator then headed back to his lab. Something about making some sense out of whatever woman you saw in Alaska.

It was just an elevator ride.

Just one ride and you’d be face to face again. You held your hand over the button for at least a minute. Just wondering whether to even open it. You didn’t even notice someone come up behind you.

“Hi Ms. Salem!” Peter stood next to you and waved. You jumped a bit before smiling at him too.

“Hello Peter. And you can call me Y/n, I’ve told you this.”

He smiled back. “I know. Sorry Ms… Uh. Y/n. Are you going to see Loki?”

“Trying to at least.” You looked down a bit and noticed the books in his hands. “Working on something for school?”

He nodded a bit, looking slightly nervous. “Yeah actually. It’s a Greek history project, so I was wondering if I could have your help? I mean, after you talk to Loki or whatever. Please?” That boy always made you smile. It was sweet that he wanted to spend weekends here. It was perfect for some quality time. It usually started with some sort of project and ended with you slowly attaching more and more magnets onto Bucky’s arm. Allegedly.

“Sure Peter. I’ll have Friday let you know when I get back up.” You hit the button. Peter nodded and walked away as you stepped into the elevator. It can’t be that bad. And you can leave anytime you want. Benefits of not being in a cell.

Loki was a liar. As much as you hated it, it was just his nature. Hopefully, for once in his life he’d tell the truth.

***

#loki x reader #loki #salem #saved work #fanfic

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poetic-emptiness-fanfic · 4 years ago

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8th of May (Echoes of the Past 9: First loves)

Characters: Hande Kuura, Salma Kuura, Sargon Hakimi, Helena Kuura (mentioned), Sardar Gul (mentioned), Afsoun Gul (mentioned), Armas Vuorimaa (mentioned), Paavo Kuura (mentioned), Hugo Kuura (mentioned) & Taika Kuura (mentioned)

Content warnings: some profanities, mention of blood & death

Words: ~3 300

@arcana-echoes

[Extracts from Hande's diary – she writes alternately in Karnassian and Hongas; also letters]

17th April 828, Vesuvia

I think I'm going slightly mad... Today amme Afsoun summoned me to the shop after the post was delivered: I received a letter. Since I've only been in Vesuvia for two weeks, I was sure it was from home – not many people know I'm currently here. I don't wish everyone to know each and every move I make, so I appreciate that even Salma has kept her mouth shut. And speaking of the Devil, the letter was from her. Amme didn't want any help with the shop, so I went upstairs immediately, back to ”my” reading haunt (I just love that turquoise armchair...) to read what the Monkey had to say this time. I include the letter below:

15th April 828, Karnassos

My dearest Gorilla,

I hope you’re enjoying your time with Amme in Vesuvia. I’m still a little nettled that I got this stupid flu and couldn’t go with you - I miss Vesuvia’s marketplace and Amme. Don’t worry, I’m still happy for you; you get to see the Flower Festival and learn some awesome magic. You must show me, when you get back home!

Luckily, I no longer have a fever, but my throat is still sore and I feel tired all the time. Baba cheers me up by drawing beautiful pictures of animals and flowers - I’ve hanged the drawings on my wall! Äiti is quite busy with her clothing commissions, but in the evenings she comes to play chess with me. Otherwise I’m reading and daydreaming and listening to that music box - thank you for sending it to me! It has brought me a lot of joy!

By the way, Sargon visited here yesterday. He wanted to see you and was quite disappointed when he heard that you are visiting Amme. I bet my bottom daric he has a crush on you… ;) And don’t claim anything else, I’ve seen earlier, how he looks at you! You’d be a daft for not noticing that! He’ll be one lucky guy if you two started to date. Yeah, yeah, he’s handsome and kind and all… but we both know, which one of you is the awesome one! ;)

I’m not going to tease you anymore, I just want you to be happy, that’s all! But for now, make the most of your trip in Vesuvia! And please, write me as soon as you can.

Your oh, so darling sister,

Salma the Monkey

Yeah, she still mixes Karnassian and Hongas in one letter, but well, I find it fun – at least it'd be quite difficult for an outsider to read it. Good luck with two different alphabets, hah! But holy shit, I still can't believe that last part: Sargon has visited our home to see ME? And he was DISAPPOINTED, because I wasn't there??? Is Salma messing with me? But why would she – she may be even more mischevious than me, but she isn't mean. Oh, now I regret I told her I had fallen for a CHILDHOOD FRIEND... I'm so stupid... But what if Salma's right? What if Sargon has a crush on me? No, it can't be it... He's handsome, kind and rich... He's practically the most wanted boy of our age – many parents even try to arrange their children to get engaged with him. He's only 15, turns 16 in a couple of months... Argh, Salma, why did you make me confused?!

To be entirely honest, I still miss her. I've said it before, but I really am also nettled that she wasn't able to come with me – the carriage trip would've not been so boring if she was there keeping me company. Well, at least I got my books... Oh, speaking of books, I hope my package is delivered in time! Tomorrow is baba's birthday and I found a perfect book for him. I still hope he likes it – it's a little sad to be away during his big day, but oh well... Luckily he turns 41, so it's not anything too special... Ugh, I just can't stop thinking about Sargon, damn him! And damn me, now I hope I never get home, I'm going to be so screwed... Luckily I know a spell for invisibility so I can just avoid everyone if needed. Or I can escape to Hjalle, vaari¹ can keep me safe, heh.

Amme has already fallen asleep. I try to follow suit. Good night!

7th May 828, Karnassos

I'm really going mad! I must be imagining everything and I'll find out that I really am in a mental asylum... So much has happened after I returned back home. Äiti, baba and Salma surprised me on my birthday and brought me breakfast to bed. I also didn't have to attend agha Akhtar's lessons, he even made me a birthday card! I was really surprised he took the time – usually he just brings some sweets (and even that's so kind from him!). But that wasn't all: in the afternoon that day, Sargon came to say hi and he gave me a present! I didn't know he even remembers my birthday – he's a little absent-minded when it comes to birthdays or other important dates. He gave me a drawing set with pencils and a sketchbook with fine paper – it really felt too much... Of course the Monkey teased me THE WHOLE DAY after that so I might have hexed her... Nothing serious! She just couldn't remember where she did put her things for the rest of the day.

Yesterday wasn't any special, but today Sargon visited AGAIN. I'm a little mad at baba that he let him in... I just... Now I feel like äiti and baba also have figured out something and they have this conspiracy with Salma to try to play matchmakers for me... It feels so awkward... And now I really suspect it's just some kind of a sick joke and Sargon is plotting with them... Sargon asked me especially to go out with him – usually we go with Salma together, since they're also friends. I didn't have the courage to say no so I went. It was fun, actually: we were wondering along the bazaar, feeding stray animals and later Sargon took my to their estate to see his horse. She is beautiful, her name is Zeka – the wind. Their stablemaster even let me to ride with her. It was nice, although I was a little nervous, since I haven't ridden that much.

Well, when the sun set, Sargon walked me home (or more like offered a carriage ride – it's so strange how rich his family is, having their own carriages). When we were in front of my doorstep, he even opened the door for me! And when I said him goodbye and was going to open the door, he KISSED ME ON THE CHEEK! And he just left, without saying anything more!!! I just ran straight to my room and to my embarrassment I need to admit I screamed on one of my pillows so Salma or my parents woldn't hear me. I just can't believe it really happened... I love his smile and the way he fiddles his fingers when he's concentrated and... He can't feel the same for me, he just can't! I'm not that special (I can do magic, but that's about it)... Everyone says how Salma is the beautiful one, although she'll just turn 13 in a few days... I'm just a weirdo who happened to inherit the ”exotic” look from my äiti...

I don't think I'll get much sleep next night. Maybe I try to read or probably brew some calming potion, if I can concentrate enough... My life is a mess...

8th May 828, Karnassos

I can't believe it. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! Me and Sargon... We are a couple now!!! I feel like I'm in a wonderful dream and at any moment I might wake up. Today, when I was at the marketplace to buy new yarns and check if our bookseller had any new additions to their collection, I met Sargon again. My hands started sweating immediately and his face just lit up and he smiled so widely after he noticed me. I thought I must overreact and that's just how a friend would react... Well, he asked me to come to their place, he was trying to find a way to catch the cool air and push the warm air out and it could be used at homes. It was really fascinating, seeing his drawings and miniatures – he understands the physics way better than I do, but I could help him with chemistry. I'm sure he's going to be an engineer when he grows up!

But yeah, he always kept touching me a little: holding my hand, putting his hand on my back, even stroking my cheek. I thought I would explode! But still, I kept on thinking that I'm just imagining and overanalyzing and that was nothing... We talked and laughed and well, I even met the mayor (he's Sargon's uncle). I was so nervous, I've never met him like this before, only Sargon's parents. He told me he had heard about me and my sister, because Sargon has talked about us a lot during these years. The mayor of Karnassos KNEW ABOUT MY EXISTENCE??? Holy shit... But back to the matter at hand (I just can't help my mind, it keeps racing...): I spent the whole day at Hakimis, I even ate dinner with them.

Then Sargon again suggested that he'd escort me on my way home. Unlike usual, our carriage trip was spent in silence. It made me a little uneasy – I feared that I had disappointed Sargon somehow and that he was mad at me... Later, about halfway through the trip he suddenly took my hand in his. Then he just said my name and then he KISSED ME. Not on the cheek, but on the LIPS!!! I thought like I was struck by a lightning and luckily I was sitting, for I'm sure my legs would've given out if I was standing... After that we just kept staring each other, until I finally mustered my courage and whispered the words I had wanted to say for a long time: ”I love you.” He answered that he loves me too... The rest of the trip he came to sit next to me and we just hugged each other. I wished that the trip would never end, but eventually it did... Sargon opened the door for me again, but before I could get home, he kissed my hand. I also felt his stare in my back, until I turned around and waved him goodbye. But well, when I finally had floated to my room, I looked out the window and he was still there! He wanted to see I got there safely – what a moron, I was at my home already. xD But yes, I still found it cute.

He loves me. He really loves me...

22nd December 828, Karnassos

My dearest Ray of light,

Words can't describe, how much I miss you right now. Still, I'm happy you get the chance to spend some time with your family from your mother's side. I actually wish we'd also celebrate Midwinter Feast, it sounds so nice. Maybe I should ask mum if we could do that too next year...

Things here are the same: baba is always working and mama tries to entertain herself with dinner parties and theatre visits. I'm working on my studies and that ”ventilation system”. I hope I get it ready soon, it would be wonderful to try to test it! How's your short story doing? I really loved the previous one, it made me laugh so much! Do you let me read your next one when you get back home?

By the way, how's your family doing? I hope they are fine and your celebrations are going like planned. Is Salma still up to mischief? Well, I can imagine you'd be her partner of crime so Hjalleans and Forestian should keep their guard up! And let's pretend I'm not interested in your antics, but please, if you make any good jokes during your stay there, you must tell me when you get back!

I'm sorry that I'm not that good at words... You're so talented with them that I get nervous when I need to answer your letters. I can't do them justice and it makes me a little sad. I still keep trying for you, I really want to make you happy by writing back to you. You have made me so happy during these months and I really miss your voice and laughter and clever remarks.

Have a great Midwinter Feast! I send you lots of hugs and kisses! Remember, that I love you more than anything!

Forever yours,

Sargon

28th December 828, Hjalle

My lovely King²,

Thank you for your last letter! You don't need to worry about your writing – your letters always bring me great joy and I'll cherish them forever! I also miss you greatly, although I'm enjoying my time in Hjalle. It's been snowing for the last few days and the view when I look out of the window is spectacular! I made a drawing about it in my sketchbook – I hope I managed to capture the atmosphere...

My family is doing fine, thank you for asking! Baba and äiti enjoy the chance to relax, and vaari as well as Paavo-eno entertain me and Salma with playing funny games and of course we've played with our cousins, too. Erkki is 12 and Marjatta is 11, but they still are fun to be with and it's also nice to see our other uncles and aunt and their children. It's a little crowded here since the whole family is here, but in a good way.

Well, my short story is still a work in progress, but I guess I can show you some parts of it when we get back to Karnassos. And hah, I won't admit anything about making mischief! How could you even think of that of us, we are just little angles (heh)? I'm also very happy for you, I'm sure you'll get your invention ready soon!

I'm sorry about your baba. It must get lonely for you and your mama if he's not home very often... I wish I could do something to help for your situation... What if I make a potion for him that makes him stay at home and you slip it into his drink or something? Well, I don't think that's really very ethical thing to do... Maybe your mama should try to talk with him? And you, as well. I know it can be hard, but maybe he'll take more time for you if he learns that both of you feel lonely...

Although I've enjoyed my time in Hjalle, I really miss you, too. To be honest, I still get a little confused sometimes, about the fact that you're really with me. It's just like from a fairytale! Well, without the wicked witch part (there are just a few magicians, and they're harmless). But yeah, I really miss your cute eyes, babbling about your inventions and our trips together... Just remember, that we come back in two weeks, so it isn't that long time anymore (although for me, it feels like eternity).

I need to stop now, Taika asked me to join the dinner. Take care, lots of hugs and kisses! I love you very much!

Forever yours,

Hande

20th June 829, Karnassos

My love,

I hope the courier delivers this to you soon. I want to warn you: stay away from the Count of Vesuvia. He's dangerous. I won't say anymore until we meet face to face, but you will hear soon, that my uncle has died. That bastard killed him, because my uncle dared to complain that he stole our city's food storages. He's going to claim that my uncle was a demon, and that's why he killed him, but I don't believe it! Well, I guess you'd have known if he was a demon for real, since you're a magician...

But please, my mama is hysterical and baba is worried as well. They fear that the Count's army is going to occupy Karnassos because of this. We don't know how the Shah reacts to this... If the Count or his soldiers are in your neighbourhood, don't go near them. I don't want to lose you, too... We're staying at home just in case, so the Count can't think we're planning an uprising...

Please, stay safe, all of you! I love you!

Forever yours,

Sargon

27th June 829, Karnassos

Salma is dead... My little sister is dead... I don't want to talk about it...

15th November 829, Karnassos

It's over. My and Sargon's story I mean. I can't believe how he can be so cruel and heartless!!! I met him today at the park. He wanted to make out, but I didn't feel like it and he started to sulk like a little brat... How can I just ignore that we were meeting at the place where me and Salma used to play together for all these years? I didn't sleep well last night, I saw nightmares again... I must've screamed, because baba came into my room and woke me up. He stayed with me until I fell asleep... But yeah, I wanted to talk about my nightmares with Sargon, but he wouldn't listen. He just told me to think of something else. Something else??? He didn't see my sister crushed under the hooves of those BEASTS and he didn't have my sister's blood on his hands AGAIN!!! IT HAUNTS ME EVERY DAY AND I GET SICK!!!

I tried to ignore it and then suggested if we walk a little. I held his hand which seemed to make him a little happier. We just walked and neither of us talked for a long time, but then Sargon opened his stupid mouth, ”Look, Hande... My love... It's been four months since Salma died. You can't be sad all the time, it's giving me the creeps. Could you give me even a little smile?” I was shocked. How dared he?! MY SISTER HAS DIED, IT WAS THAT DICKHEAD'S FAULT, ÄITI AND BABA ARE CRYING ALL THE TIME AND I HAVE NIGHTMARES AND GET ANXIETY ATTACKS EVERY FUCKING DAY, AND I SHOULD SMILE A LITTLE BECAUSE HE'S GETTING THE CREEPS??? I yanked my hand away and just stared at him. Then something snapped in my head and I started to shout at him, everything I've been keeping in my chest for all these months. I also called him a spoiled brat who doesn't know anything about real life. I don't regret saying that, he was asking for it...

Sargon got alarmed and tried to calm me down, but I didn't want him to touch me. I told him I was not his plaything and that since he couldn't even respect my grief, he didn't earn my smile. I dumped him and told him to stay away from me or I would curse him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he looked at my face and left with tail between his legs. I just ran home and started crying when I finally got here... Shit, I'm still crying... He betrayed me... I love Sargon and he betrayed me too... I thought that he would stay by my side... Well, I guess he's just like those others, who just ditched me because I didn't play their clown anymore!!! Fucking traitors... At least Azita is still my friend... If she left me, I couldn't take it anymore...

I feel like shit... I hate myself, because I wasn't good enough for anyone... Not for Salma, not for my so-called ”friends” and now, not for Sargon... Love is just a trap to make you suffer! I was stupid to give my heart to that slimy snob... Well, like agha Akhtar, amme and Hugo have always said, I ALWAYS learn from my mistakes. I will NEVER give my heart to anyone again, mark my words!!!

TRANSLATIONS:

¹ grandpa in Hongas

² the name Sargon means ”king” in Karnassian, the inside joke between Hande and Sargon

My AO3

#the #fan apprentice #Hande the Apprentice #fanfic #my writing #my work #angst #fluff #arcana eotp

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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years ago

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Magnificent Scoundrels: Lock n’ Load

This one’s for all you people who are really into sci-fi gadgets like I do. It’s a little on the short side, so sorry for that. I’ll try and make the next one longer. Please note that, as always, only the Tongues of Fire characters belong to me. All others belong to their respective writers and owners. Now, sit back, relax, enjoy, and try not to die!

Tongues of Fire Galaxy, In the far reaches of system XBH-9974

The starships of the Magnificent Scoundrels arrived perfectly on time to the coordinates Thomas Drake had sent them. It was a dreary system in the middle of nowhere, with four barren rocks of planets orbiting a small star, and one that looked to be more mud than anything else. Drake had invited all of the Scoundrels and any of their retinues on board the Apocalypse for the mission briefing. They met him in the massive cargo bay of the ship; stainless steel walls and massive stacks of rectangular cargo pallets greeted the new arrivals. Drake himself was nowhere to be seen, and so they mingled, talking, gauging exactly what type of people they would be working with. Master Chief slid over to Cooper.

“How was the voyage?” he asked. Copper gave a long sigh.

“It was...long. And hard.”

“Thaaaaaattttt’s whaaaaat sheeee said!” came Drake’s much too over enthusiastic voice from one of the doorways leading into the cargo bay. Several snickers came at his words.

“I don’t get it...oh,” muttered someone. Copper just sighed and looked at Master Chief.

“That’s the type of shit I’ve had to deal with the entire voyage.” Drake grinned and held out his arms in greeting.

“Welcome aboard the Apocalypse everyone! You’re all looking fabulous today.” He swaggered towards them. “I’m assuming you’re all wondering why exactly we’re all here in the ass end of nowhere.” A handful of nods greeted his words. “Well I’m not a man to make extensive, complicated and loquacious speeches unless I need to, so I’ll put it simply. On the mudball planet is a group of thieves, pirates, mercenaries, whatever you want to call them. Point is, they stole something from a client of mine. We’re here to get it back, and I am here to see just exactly how good you are.” He grinned. “SO. We shall decide the details later. Right now, time to ah, get equipped.” He sauntered through the massive space, the rest of the Scoundrels following him, and touched several buttons on a wrist mounted computer. Massive panels on the walls slid open, and racks upon racks of weaponry and equipment was displayed for all to see. Drake grinned again. “While I was finding information about all of your galaxies, I took the liberty of...acquiring, yes, we’ll stick with that, acquiring quite a lot of things. Guns and gadgets and weapons and cool stuff! It’s gonna be glorious!” Most of the Scoundrels stared, open mouthed, at the truly staggering amount of stuff that Drake had just revealed. The tough-looking man with the purple masked figure in their retinue, who had been identified by Drake’s report as John Shepard, moved over to one of the weapon racks.

“Is that...a black hole gun?” he asked Drake.

“Yes,” replied Drake with a typical smirk. Ciaphas Cain looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his sockets. He touched a long barreled gun with a long sniper scope on it.

“Please tell me this isn’t an Exitus Rifle,” he half aske, half pleaded to Drake.

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“How did you get that?” asked Cain, a note of fear in his voice.

“It's probably best if you didn’t know.”

“Yeah. It is most definitely probably better if I didn’t know.” Adam Vir walked over to a glass case displaying a lithe grey suit on a manikin.

“This...this is Iron Eye armor,” he said with wonder. He frowned. “I’m not even going to ask where you got this.” Drake nodded.

“At least there’s someone with sense in this room.” Han Solo, ever the pragmatist, spoke up.

“Where did you get all of this?” Drake beamed.

“You of all people ought to be able to figure it out.”

“You stole it.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Oh no my dear man,” said Drake with a laugh, “I acquired it.” Jack Cooper sighed.

“I’m surprised you haven’t stolen a Titan yet.” Drake whirled around to face him.

“What a wonderful idea! I think I will. I’ll add it to the list.” He turned around and gestured to the various gear. “Now, I know how some of you like your stuff.” He spun to face Solo. “You. Jacket, boots, holster of unknown material but probably some sort of leather, DL-44 blaster.” He spun around to Vir. “You. Spear, Drev metal. Iron Eye armor, when necessary, but not a lot. Have an odd tendency to not wear armor and gasmask when out exploring planets and that has led to problems.” He wheeled away from Vir and slid up to Cooper. “You. Pilot’s suit with cloak, good with anything but like the Flatline. Prefer the new heavier x-shaped Militia visor as opposed to the old IMC one.” Drake spun on his heel and pointed at Starlord. “You. A rather odd sort of helmet that expands from the ear. Don’t know how it works, but I’ll find out. Jet boots, Quad blasters, had a Walkman but now a Zune.” The Scoundrels stared at Drake, mouths gaping like landed fish. “You.” Drake pointed at Master Chief “MJOLNIR armor, MA5D assault rifle, you’re a soldier so you bring grenades...and so on and so on. Point is, if you use it, if you want it, I've got it. Take your pick.” Shepard made some sort of gagging noise.

“Exactly how much do you know about us?” Drake gave a grin that was more like a predator baring its teeth than an actual smile.

“Everything. Including that one thing all of you seem to have that you’d rather me not know.”

Well shit.

“Really? You could just be bluffing. Prove it,” said Kirk. Drake held out his hand and a nearby Apocalypse crew member held out a data pad. Drake tapped several buttons, scanned his fingerprint, then, carefully hiding the surface so as no one else could see it, showed Kirk the contents. Kirk blanched and tugged at his collar.

“Uh, yeah...he’s not bluffing.” Drake smiled, this time genuinely.

“Don’t worry though. I won’t tell anyone your secrets unless you want me to.” He rubbed his hands together. “So. Let’s get to it, shall we?” He gestured at a large holographic projector in the corner of the room. Everyone walked over, Drake tapped his wrist mounted computer, and a glowing green projection of what looked like a military base appeared. Drake gestured at it.

“This is their base, if you haven’t guessed already. It was originally an observation outpost for the Federal Military, which is why it’s as formidable as it is, but it was abandoned, well, because it’s smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. Why they built it in the first place is a mystery. Anyway, they have about oh, say, 200 to 300 people there. All of them are armed, and while they don’t have anything too heavy, like, say, anti-aircraft or -tank weapons, they have quite the compilation of small arms. Nothing we shouldn’t be able to handle. We can also probably disable their long range sensors, allowing us to land on the planet without detection. The question is: what do you want to do from there?” He looked around at the group. “Oh come now. Any suggestions?”

“This is your party, your home galaxy; what do you suggest?” asked Shepard pointedly. Drake laughed.

“Well, there are usually two ways of retrieving an object of importance from a hostile group: either no bodies for the guards to notice or no guards left to notice the bodies.” Several of the team looked horrified at this, and Drake gave a bloodthirsty grin. “Option two is easier as there aren’t any local law enforcement. In fact, there isn’t anyone of significant authority to apprehend us within anywhere near here. Hell, we don’t even need to hide our presence. We have enough firepower to blow them into molten slag; we can retrieve the object afterwards.” He paused and considered it for a moment. “Although, if we go with an orbital bombardment we run the risk of destroying the object.” Vir stared at him in horror.

“An orbital bombardment? You can’t be serious.” Shepard and Kirk nodded at this. Drake scoffed.

“They’re a group of 200 pirates on an uninhabited mudball of a planet. No one’s gonna care.” Was Drake testing them? They looked at each other, and Shepard spoke.

“No. We’re going to go in stealthily. No need to get anyone hurt unnecessarily. We land undetected, we,” he gestured at himself, Vir and Master Chief, “go in, steal the thing, get out. You guys are our support.” He pointed at Drake and Cooper, “You two stay on that side,” he gestured at Cian and Quill, “you two on that side, and you two,” he looked at Solo and Kirk, “are ready to get us out if anything goes wrong. Any objections?” Most of the team nodded. Drake gave them an odd look.

“If that’s how you want to do it.” This was definitely a test. “Ok. If we’re all agreed, then let’s get to it. Take whatever you want, but tell me or the quartermaster first so I know what you’re taking. Other than that, I bid you good luck.” Now then, what to do? What to choose? Celeric, the Apocalypse's morose quartermaster, was demonstrating to some of the Scoundrels’ crewmembers the horrifying effects of some glowing green weapons. Cain and the officers of the Valhallan 597th were all buckling on bulky armored plates and picking up strange rectangular-looking rifles attached to heavy backpacks. Apparently they knew what they wanted. Master Chief wore full combat armor all the time, so he didn’t need anything. Solo had already disappeared, and Shepard and Cooper were browsing through gear from their home galaxy. That left two. Adam Vir and Peter Quill stared at each other awkwardly, then seemingly decided at the same time to walk over to where Drake was.

Drake was sitting next to a large rack of ornate black armor. While not exceptionally detailed, it looked extremely advanced and very expensive. Drake himself was humming along to some song playing from his wrist computer while fiddling with a sleek triple barreled weapon. A blueish-purple glow emitted from the center where a magazine would be on a normal weapon, and Drake seemed to be inspecting it for any flaws. He turned and stopped what he was doing when Vir and Quill approached.

“Ah! Can I help you?” he asked politely.

“What are you doing?” replied Vir in lieu of a response. Drake chuckled.

“Well, these are mine. Can’t be going into combat un-prepared, now, can I?” He indicated the armor and gun.

“What are they?” bath asked at the same time, then looked at each other, surprised.

“Modified armor and a modified triple-barreled supercooled assault plasma rifle. Cost me quite a lot, but worth every penny. And, of course, this.” He tapped the portable computer. “The best in the market, modified, of course, by yours truly. It can slice into almost any security system and can pull up anything from the Apocalypse's main computer. And it plays music.” This got their attention.

“What kind?” Drake shrugged.

“Oh, you know, the classics.”

“What do you consider ‘the classics’?” asked Vir.

“You know, the classics. Uh, Country Roads, 1812 Overture, I’m Sexy and I Know It…”

“One of those does not belong with the others,” muttered Quill.

“Eh, doesn’t matter. I know the both of you have quite good taste in music. Should be interesting. Talk to Celeric if you have any questions about the stuff.” Quill wandered off, and Drake took out some sort of screwdriver-like tool and fussed over a panel on the suit of armor. “Look at this. Best of the best. It’s got all the gadgets on it: enhanced strength and support, slot for the wrist computer, thermal vision, the works. But now...now the possibilities are endless! Built in flamethrowers, omnitools, cybernetic implants, personal shielding, digital weapons...oh it’s going to be glorious when I’m done with it.” He turned to Vir, who hadn’t moved. “Can I help you?”

“Er...yes, you can, actually.” Vir fidgeted with his collar and turned a slight shade of red. “What do you know about me?”

“You? Everything. I already told you that,” replied Drake as he turned back to his work.

“I mean...specifically.” Drake sighed and turned back towards him.

“Specifically? I know of your war record, which is painful, but not that deep of a secret.” He pursed his lips. “How shall I phrase this...does the acronym LFIL mean anything to you?” Vir turned a deeper shade of red.

“Uh...yes. Yes, it does.” Drake nodded.

“Good. Just so we’re on the same page. I won’t tell anyone, though. You can trust me with that. In fact,” he began to laugh, “In fact...well, I can’t tell you. But I shall ask. Worry not, for I shall ask.” Drake paused and seemed to consider something for a moment, then stood up and put a hand on Vir’s shoulder. His voice changed from light and breezy to serious and almost fatherly. “Let me give you a bit of advice. Do not ever let a servant of the Imperium of Man know. They will kill you for it.” He looked past Vir at something in the background and sighed. “Speaking of bloody which,” he turned and walked towards the Imperials, who were lugging crates emblazoned with the double headed Imperial eagle towards the exit. “Oi! You guys are just going to walk away with all my hellguns without telling me?” And while Drake was arguing with Cain, Adam Vir stood and pondered Drake’s words.

Due to the overwhelming technological superiority of the Scoundrels, the bases’ long and close range scanners were taken down with relative ease, and the assault was to commence. Drake had placed his own soldiers on board the various ships that would be landing outside the base, as a rather obvious attempt to see how good the rest of the Scoundrels really were. Shepherd stared in distaste at the sleazy looking man who accompanied them aboard his ship, the Normandy. Vir and the Chief were in the hold, ready and waiting, and Shepard was to bring them just outside the base. The rest were to be dropped off or teleported by the Millennium Falcon or the Enterprise. Shepard turned towards Drake’s armsman, named Nathaniel if he remembered correctly.

“So, Nathaniel. Drake seems a bit...off. Is he really, well, on top of things?” Nathaniel gave a sleazy smile.

“Here’s the thing. People don’t follow others because they’re popular or high born. People follow others because they’re good at what they do. Don’t matter if they’re nice, or rich, or sane, it matters if they’re competent. And the Captain? Well, he’s a little off. Whether he’s actually nuts or just likes acting like it doesn’t matter. He’s the best of the best at what he does and I’d follow him into hell.” Shepard didn’t have time to reply.

“Commander. We’ve arrived.”

Well, that’s it. Hope you liked it. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, reviews, advice or criticisms, feel free to ask. Hope you have a nice day!

#magnificent scoundrels #titanfall #empyrean iris #star trek #star wars #warhammer 40k #mass effect #halo #guardians of the glaxy #story

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aquariumcat-shdwpch · 4 years ago

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Hello! Invented my own chapter for the game "Dead By Daylight" :”D I decided to share with you^^

P.S. Actually i was planned to recive this stuff to BHVR, but when i send the message they don't responde (and this is kinda sad xD).

Chapter name HORROR OF DARKNESS.

The Survivor: Character info.

Overview:

Name: Ann Lightway

Difficulty rating: Intermediate.

Resolute altruist with spotless mind and pure soul. Being near, she supports hope of other survivors.

Her unique perks “Let there be light”, “Saving lighthouse” and “Random luck” help to find Flashlights for personal objectives, to escape last hit and leave or make the Killer confused.

Lore:

Since childhood, Ann was kind and impressionable child. That is why she could be surprised with every simple thing or situation: something like first snow or watching TV with family.

Sometimes luck was not on Ann’s side and something could going wrong, but Ann wasn’t upset anyway, she didn't even bet at luck. Moreover, why does she need luck, if there are family and friends who can help anytime?

Ann loved family walks around the lake in City Park, and feeding ducks, that could fight for food. Ann thought that childhood will be going forever, and all about will be only better and happier.Nevertheless, one evening, her father told about bad news: he is dying and has only few month before death. Ann’s father got deathly diagnosis. Since this moment, all was going broken. All family money was spending for trying to save dad’s life. Ann was trying to do all possible moves for making last moments of dad’s life happier. However, despite all efforts, every next day, something into Ann was broken.

She became more silent, dark and always into her own thoughts. Yes, she tried to pretend all is fine, but every night she tried to not screaming while she was crying into her pillow.Unfortunately, even spent a big money to specialists, it was not possible to save life of Ann’s father. Sometime after father’s funeral, Ann moved away from close people and specifically from her mom. Ann’s mother started to drink alcohol often, and every night she came home in terrible state. Few years ago, ended institute, Ann made a decision – she want to help everyone who needs help.

She thought, her dad would like it. In couple of days, Ann became volunteer and all her time she gave for helping to homeless people. Every evening Ann fed hungry homeless animals.After another argue with her mom, Ann took own stuff and leaved hometown (Sparks, Nevada). Ann did not come anywhere… Police got a phone call about missing Ann and reacted without waiting. Looking was doing few days, and after all, police found only Ann’s personal stuff by the road.It is all what they could find. Ann is hopelessly gone...

Detailed description for perks:

1. «Let there be light»

RARE ANN PERK

You have a knack to finding light in the darkness. “Let there be light” guarantees a standard Flashlight with common Add-ons on your first completed Chest Search.

Flashlight consumption will be slower by 10%/15%/20%. Impact to killer Increased by 0%/5%/10%

«Like I said, Light always wins Darkness.»

2. «Saving Lighthouse»

VERY RARE ANN PERK

Your aura is visible to other survivors in range of 10/15/20 meters.

When injured survivors are in your range of 3/5/10 meters and catch hit, they get Deep Wounds for 10/15/20 seconds. Survivor has this time for mending himself.

Perk “Saving Lighthouse” has cool down 300/250/200 sec.

«No matter what happens, I will help you. Just find me»

3. «Random Luck»

VERY RARE ANN PERK

On a failed Repair Skill Check will, Killer will see Alert of your and closest to you Generators. If all closest Generators are in Repair process by other survivors, “Random Luck” will not work.

Perk “Random Luck” has cool down 140/100/60 sec.

«Maybe I will be lucky today.»

Survivor’s look .

The girl with short curly hairs colored wheat. Long forelock is pinned at left side, and on the right side is little curly hair tail by few strands of hair. Eyes are dark-green with confident look. Snub nose and pale thin lips. Dressed in dirty white star print T-shirt, torn moderately wide jeans with few multi-colored patches. There is bloodied bandage on the left wrist. Light yellow suspenders attached to the top of the T-shirt to the jeans. White socks and ordinary shabby sneakers with dirty soles on their feet.

The Killer: Character info.

Overview:

Name: Andy Henderson (Obscurant)

Difficulty rating: Hard.

Killer absorbed by Darkness and Desperate, he can make a Gaps and make Survivors feel fear, because he has a Power – Bowels of Darkness. His unique perks are “Hex: of the Last Forces”, “Mark of Rejected one” and “Sacrifice of Courage” and make him use injured Survivors for him own objectives, make them slower and punish them for their mistakes.

Personal map: Amusement park «Happy World».

Properties:

Speed: 4.6 M/S

Terror Radius: 32 М

Height: Tall

Lore:

Being child, Andy Henderson already knew all about desperation, when he lost her father. In this cursed night, Andy was with his dad, who was hit a car by. There was road full of blood. The Man in a car just took more speed and leaved this crime place. Until dawn, Andy sat about dad’s body. Only in morning police found him, there was his mother too.

Since this moment a long time gone, but Andy did still see that terrible picture of Death. Visits to doctors never ended something good. His mental condition became worse every day: he got hysteria, non-controlled aggression and fear outbreaks. That is why medicine doctors made a decision to stop classic treatment and turn Andy to home learning and treatment with special medicine drugs.

Few years of persistent learning and rehabilitation helped Andy to start normal life slowly. When he ended his learning, he got job in old amusement park “Happy World”. It was necessity for Andy; he has to care to his old mother. He made all possible for making mom feel good. That is why he got this job without long thoughts.

Andy has a depression like his father and last months it was harder. It was so hard to deal with complicated situations. It seemed like nothing will be worse, because it is worst situation already. However, there was a surprise – amusement park “Happy World” became close because it has a little count of visitors. It was last straw of Andy’s patience and he got a disruption. Andy injured his arms, lost a lot of blood because he hit a tree many times in rampage outbreak.

Next evening Andy turned back in park with his mother for taking his own stuff home. When they came back to the car, they met few people in masks and with knifes. Andy got a strong hit by something heavy and fell immobilized passing out. Later he awoke in same night and first what he saw was a body... That was disfigured body of his mother in garbage bunch.

All human things that left into Andy was gone. There was a new start for deep, strong Darkness. This night he left. Next day there was founded few unknown bodies expiring some black matter.

Detailed description for perks:

1. «Hex: of the Last Forces»

VERY RARE OBSCURANT PERK

While the Hex Totem is active, hit on Survivor makes him feel Status Effect “Exhausted”, what spreads on 2/3/4 last Survivors get hit.

- Status Effect works until Hex Totem is still active.

«He feels your weakness.»

2. «Mark of Rejected one»

VERY RARE OBSCURANT PERK

You become Obsessed with one Survivor. Your Obsession got Status Effect “Oblivion”.

Every successful hit to your Obsession or becoming Obsession injure, this Survivor get decreasing speed of any moves by 10%/15%/20%.

Any survivor in range of 15 meters of Obsession become same decreasing by 2%/5%/10%

You can only be Obsessed with one Survivor at a time.

«He is enjoying your helpless…»

3. «Sacrifice of Courage»

RARE OBSCURANT PERK

You are summoning Entity for influencing to Exit Gates in last moment. You punish most boldness Survivors.

When Exit Gates will be able to open, perk “Sacrifice of Courage” will be active in 20/30/40 sec and Survivor will get Alert. Any Survivor, who will try to open Exit Gates, be injured and get new Health State (from Healthy to Injured, from Injured to Dying).

«He always overtakes most courage.»

BOWELS OF DARKNESS POWER.

Darkness inside supply limitless hating and eats by hopeless evil, inspiring fear to others. Press activity Power button for making Gap at any vertical surface. The longer Gap is active, than bigger is expiring Darkness*. - Available count of Gaps – 10; - Maximum range expiring Darkness from Gap – 10 meters; - Lighting from Flashlight, Darkness turning back at 5 meters every time; - Time for activating Darkness after Gap making – 15 sec; - While cleaning Gap up and there was failure of Skill Check, time for clean will be more on 2 sec; - If Gap cleaned by Survivor up, Darkness will gone. The longer Survivor get Darkness influence, than higher is Survivor’s Status Effect “Fear”. At the Fear I, Survivors get Darkness influence more than 10 sec, begin “Stumble**” while run, that makes them slower by 2 sec. At the Fear II, Survivors get Darkness influence more than 15 sec, get Status Effect “Dizziness***” and it complements with Fear I Effects before. At the Fear III, Survivors get Darkness influence more than 20 sec, suffer from “Hand Tremor****” Effect, and drops their Items every 8 sec. That Effect complements with Fear II Effects before. If Survivors are staying on the Light, Fear’s levels are turning after 20 sec down. 10 sec on the Light – stopping “Hand Tremor”. 15 sec on the Light – stopping “Dizziness”. 20 sec on the Light – Survivors don't “Stumble” anymore. _________________________________ * Darkness from the Gap - dense, black fog, that doesn't leave place for the Light. The closer to the Gap, the stuff around is darker. Survivor's vision there is worse. ** Stumble - New animation, there Survivor starts stumble; *** Dizziness – New Status Effect and Visual Effect on borders of screen, that makes vision worse; **** Hand Tremor – Survivor drops his Item and get Alert about it.

Description of Gap making animation.

Obscurant stands up about wall. Becoming little higher and stretching his hand out, makes sharp move from top to bottom. That makes very annoying sound with terrible noise. His claws make the Gap: from this Gap goes deep Darkness out.

Available Add-ons.

- 2 Ultra Rare; - 1 Very Rare; - 3 Rare; - 4 Uncommon; - 4 Common.

Detailed description of Add-ons.

1.BLOODIED GARBAGE

ULTRA RARE BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Bunch of bloodied garbage that was under body of Andy’s mother.

- Killer becomes Obsessed with one Survivor;

- Obsession can not to clean Gaps up;

- Killer can only be Obsessed with one Survivor at a time.

2.DIRTY BLOOD FROM THE ROAD

ULTRA RARE BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Traces of blood that left on the road at night when Andy’s dad was kill.

- The Darkness from Gap is longer by 10 meters;

- Survivors after being in the Darkness starting leave black traces while 15 sec.

3.RUSTY PIPE

VERY RARE BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Sudden hit, that done with this item, made Andy’s mind gone into darkness. Last what he saw was face of one of hitters without mask…

- After Survivor clean Gap up, his Aura is visible to you for 3 sec.

4.DEPRESSION PILLS

RARE BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Those strange pills, left by father, if you take it, all around seems like unreal, but it makes you courage.

- Moderately decreases cleaning of Gaps speed up;

- While cleaning Gap up, Survivor get Status Effect “”Oblivion”.

5.NEWSPAPER AD

RARE BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Advertisement about vacancy for amusement park “Happy World” that found Andy.

- Moderately increases speed of making Gap;

- While you make Gap, radius of you Terror are 3 meters more.

6.MASK OF HITTER

RARE BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Mask that has taken off, when Andy has been attacked. It supplies him rage and Darkness.

- Time to activate the Darkness from Gap decreases for 5 sec.

7.SHABBY SIGN

UNCOMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Old and shabby sign of amusement park inspires strange unsure feelings.

- While Survivor clean Gap and make failure of Skill Check, you see his placement with Sound Alert.

8.DOCTOR’S STATEMENT

UNCOMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Crumpled statement of therapist for taking Andy home treatment to.

- While Survivor clean Gap and make failure of Skill Check, cleaning process turning back by 10%.

9.SPECIAL PILLS

UNCOMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Pills for decreasing aggressive outbreaks and fear outbreaks.

- Decreases your Terror radius on 10 meters.

Count of available Gaps decreases on 4.

10.BLACK MATTER

UNCOMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Remains of weird black matter on unknown bodies that killed in amusement park.

- Time of repeated of activation Darkness from Gap, after lighting by Flashlight, decreases on 5 sec every time, until Gap is cleaned by Survivor up.

11.SLEEP MASK

COMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Mask for good sleeping that belonged to Andy’s mom. Sometimes it is useful.

- While Survivor is in Darkness from Gap area, he get Status Effect “Blindness” before leaving this area.

12.BLOODIED PATCH

COMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Used plasters with dried up blood from injured arms.

- While injured Survivor is in Darkness from Gap area, he get Status Effect “Hemorrhage” before leaving this area.

13.CONFUSION OF MIND

COMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

After pills, you get bad feelings by slowly body moves.

While Survivor is in Darkness from Gap area, he get Status Effect “Hindered” before leaving this area.

14.GROUND FULL OF NAILS

COMMON BOWELS OF DARKNESS ADD-ON

Torn nails of Andy’s mother left in dust after murder.

While Survivor is in Darkness from Gap area, he get Status Effect “Exhausted” before leaving this area.

MEMENTO MORI description.

Rising above the Survivor, Obscurant open his mouth and show white fangs. Parts of the Darkness* oozing from his mouth... Survivor begins to panic and try to leave and hide. Long and dirty with something hands of Killer catch Survivor for waist and bring him closer to his ugly face. One hand Killer still hold Survivor, and other hand catch him for his back and bends, that makes Survivor’s face freeze in painful grimace and open eyes and mouth wide. Next second into Survivor’s face start to flow Darkness. It is black, viscous. Darkness attacks Survivor’s eyes and mouth. Survivor begin to shudder in agony and soften lifelessly after it. Obscurant drops dead body carelessly.

Killer’s look.

The man with short black hair and disheveled in different directions bangs. His face looks mostly like beast’s face; he has big white eyes and creepy grinning fangs. Left side of face, few parts of body, eyes and mouth covered by black spots of oozing black substance. He looks like he is melting, but still hold human form. Hands and feet are unnaturally long; fingers with sharp talons little shiver. Hands, bottom of legs, shoulders, cheekbones and hips covered by black, hard sticky wool. Ears looks terrible long, like horns with dark short wool. He dressed in torn leftovers of clothes.

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight oc #dead by daylight killer #dead by daylight survivor #killer design #new killer #new survivor #dbd oc survivor #dbd oc killer #DBD #horror of darkness #obscurant #ann lightway

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thebeautyofdisorder · 5 years ago

Text

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 8

A/N: Okay, sorry it’s been like two weeks since I posted the last chapter. I am such a mess. This is a bit shorter, more of a set up than anything, but informative? I have so many ideas for this, that it took me a minute to figure out in sequence what’s going to happen when.

Pairing: Dracula & Agatha/Zoe, off and on Dracula/OFC

Rating: M, for blood, language, and mercenaries with guns.

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here - Chapter 6 Here - Chapter 7 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut

Chapter 8

By all accounts he appears as a human man, at varying states of age depending upon how regularly and well he is fed, lingering even at his most satiated at around 45-50 years – presumably the age of his death. His hair is thick and inky black, kept shorter and slicked back when in public view; his nose aquiline and aristocratic; his eyes appear black at a distance but in close quarters and lighting seem to have a dark mossy-brown hue; admirable bone structure, and a mouth that is at times both harsh and jovial depending upon what impression he wishes to put across at the time. His accent is tainted by those of his victims, but always holds a slight thickness and gravel, reminiscent of his native tongue. His teeth, even when not in the state of blood frenzy, still seem longer and sharper than normal, particularly the canines. His fingernails also are long and honed to a point, and seem to be of inhuman durability and sharpness. He is excessively tall and somewhat broad, though of a generally slim build regardless of his bestial strength. No physical deformities upon the rest of his body when in his humanoid state, though his eyes can seem to gleam in the darkness like those of other nocturnal beasts.

When in the presence of human blood, those eyes dilate and become ringed in crimson, and all blunt edges of his teeth sharpen to slight but lethal points. Animalistic tendencies manifest – hissing, snarling, growling, the hunched stance of a predator, etc. Interestingly, he also seems to bare all the normative signs of the common morphine addict – tension, restless movements, irritability, the inability to control his emotions and behavior. He possesses speed the likes of which the human eye can barely detect, but only in small bursts in the midst of attack, by my witness. He was able to manifest a continual fog, as stated earlier in my narrative, and could very well be at fault for the storm swirling in the seas now, as I write. He can deform himself to fit into any small space, one could assume, though I have only seen him do this by defiling the physical forms of other living beings – notably a wolf at the convent, and the late Jonathan Harker, who was also undead at the time. Whether that’s relevant to this ability, I don’t particularly know. He can call wolves and bats to his service, and possibly flies – whether this works with all creatures and he’s merely chosen these for theatrical purposes, or if he’s limited to creatures of darkness and decay, I have yet to discover.

The ‘kiss of the vampire’ is a strong opiate, meaning most victims are often unaware of his bite or the danger they are in until it is too late. He can create and control the dream state in which they enter, often choosing scenarios of an erotic nature. Whether this is for his own amusement or because of the effect it has on the blood, I can only deduce. This method seems to be equally employed through both sexes though I have yet to see any direct indications of intercourse, willing or unwilling. If he possesses a sex drive at all, it is seemingly outranked by his desire to feed.

He is highly intelligent and possesses a biting wit, which in another context might even be endearing, and his charm is carefully honed to attract potential victims. Though his mental weaknesses are notable, including his arrogance, lack of self-awareness, and dependence on his victims to take in and retain key skills and information. As opposed to learning the language of a new land through study, he merely drains one of its countrymen and absorbs their inherent knowledge. This leads to a flurry of unpredictable behavior and reckless death, and also speaks of his impatience and lack of discipline, which has undoubtedly lessened with age. He was, in life, an excellent ruler and even better general with a skill for strategy currently wasted on petty mind games. If he could ever reach a point of managing his appetite for blood and destruction, he could be an invaluable resource - a first-hand witness to the last four hundred years of European history.

I’m sure you will, dear brother, quickly dismiss this as folly, but however much you would like to categorize him as yet another mindless demon from the pit, I assure you he is anything but. He may fear the cross, but don’t think there is a heavenly power that instilled that fear. It reeks of an entirely human weakness. You would do well to remember that, should you run across him or any of his kind in the future. While his existence seems to have been very luck of the draw, it’s nowhere near as anomalous as Dracula himself would like us to believe. Others could have survived and done what he has done. In fact, I could almost guarantee it.

Zoe read through Agatha’s words again, this particular afterward for maybe the twentieth time since she’d found it. Not for any particular information, more over just marveling at the clarity, simplicity, and dare-she-say fondness with which it was written, in comparison to the information she’d been brought up with. Shockingly, the nun was able to more realistically sum up the vampire than any other Van Helsing before or after her (granted, she had the firsthand experience), and with so much less fire and brimstone, religious nonsense. It was half of why she’d spent so long away from ‘the family business’ as it were, until she’d had to take over the institute. Science had always been the only god she would acknowledge.

Whatever logic Agatha had administered from across the pond however, while well used, had been entirely riddled with her elder brother’s showmanship and particularly Catholic brand of fending off the forces of darkness. Agatha may have seen him as the devil incarnate, but that didn’t stop her from acknowledging his humanity – and in that, Zoe couldn’t help but agree. Dracula was very much still a man, no matter how immortal or powerful, and he still had all of man’s other weaknesses, sans physical vulnerabilities. Minor detail.

She supposed it had made it easier for both the zealot and the scientist to see their subject of animosity as no better than a rabid dog that needed to be analyzed and destroyed. But that had never been the case at all. A self-serving lesson to learn, she had to admit, but an important one. So long as he had retained some of his humanity, there was certainly hope for her.

It was the only thing keeping her sane through the mock trial this experiment had turned into. Every turn she was being questioned and analyzed harder than she had since grad school, and yet still regarded as the antagonistic and dangerous party. It was a contradiction that made her genuinely question the mental capacity of her colleagues.

Yes, let's aggravate the person we're terrified of. Honestly.

Their latest critique, however she loathed to admit it, was actually sound. They needed a control. A 'direct contact' feed to compare to her bottled one, and they all knew there was only one vampire to compare to. Clearly they didn't actually expect him to participate, they only wanted to de-legitimize her process.

But it would make an impact, wouldn't it?

-----

It was just before sunset, traces of red just beginning to seep onto the surface of the sun, and for the first time in a great while, Count Dracula was unenthused. He was beginning to be rather fond of daylight, even if it came with certain disadvantages, as he was beginning to discover. Perhaps vampires were better off as creatures of the night after all.

Most if not all of his preternatural abilities were greatly weakened by the sun, though why he wasn't sure. It made him feel languid and slow, which was perfectly fine for an afternoon on the beach, but highly inconvenient when he got hungry and none of his more willing resources were available. Physical conditioning or a lesser reality of the lore he'd always accepted, who was to say?

Who indeed.

He had given Zoe plenty of space to run her little experiments without interference, aside from keeping an 'eye' out to ensure she wasn't in any immediate danger. But there was only so long that would last, and despite having ample opportunity to create more brides...he felt like he needed more answers before that inevitability occurred.

Agatha had been right, annoyingly, as usual. Lab rats were not something he needed, especially ones who could question him on topics even he didn't fully understand anymore.

If the Van Helsing women were good for anything, aside from healthy competition, it was certainly bluntness and clarity. Being the only thing close to another vampire of any mental capacity to be in his proximity for over 300 years certainly didn't hurt.

Zoe Van Helsing was someone he needed, a concept he could scarcely understand and wasn't entirely fond of, but if he wasn't mistaken, she needed him as well - and hated it even more.

----

"Dr. Helsing, is this really necessary?"

Zoe found herself staring at the younger but far more egotistical doctor through the glass that separated them with an expression not unlike one would give a particularly frustrating insect who refused to die as fast as she wished it would.

"Is what necessary?"

The man, Dr. Connors, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, punctuating his next words with unnecessary flare.

"Well, our sponsor doesn't understand the necessity of this trial, when it cannot possibly prove anything. All of our intel on the 'vampiric condition' states simply that they require blood to sustain life, but also that it's nearly impossible to kill them. Surely your continued … existence without blood doesn't fully prove or disprove anything. And without anything to compare it to…"

"For now," she interrupted stubbornly, attempting to ignore his tendency to discuss her as though she were a theoretical construct.

"Even so," he continued blandly, "There are surely better uses of our time, in the face of an increasing number of...undead. Preventative measures, protection for the innocent. Unless you can get some sort of control data…"

Their 'sponsor' had sent this idiot to report back on how his precious money was being spent, and it had become an increasingly infuriating thorn in her side. Or stake in her heart, she was sure he hoped. Zoe had just begun to second guess her tendencies toward homicide, when she felt the tell-tale hairs begin to rise on the back of her neck.

"Oh fuck me," she cursed aloud, completely indifferent to the confused looks of those observing her. They wouldn't be confused for long.

"Careful what you wish for Doctor."

Everyone but Zoe took a startled glance around. She turned around, eyes directly finding the dark ones on the outside of the glass, quirking a stern brow despite the relative chaos of everyone else receding into the corners in panic.

Count Dracula merely flashed her a shit-eating grin in response, relishing her disapproval in equal measure to the human fear beginning to fill the room. Pungent and yet satisfying, she noted, rather unhappily.

"Oh Zoe how the tables have turned," he couldn't resist prodding at her through the encasement, ignoring the guns pointed at his back in favor of taunting her, hands in his pockets. The picture of malicious nonchalance.

She wasn't trapped, as he had been. They'd learned their lesson in that regard at least, but it was a barrier she'd permitted for her own sanity. Watching everyone walk on eggshells around her was grating, and it ruined her focus. Plus, it helped with the sensory overload until she got more accustomed to it.

"And yet you're still the one at gunpoint," Zoe shot back with a hint of a blithe smile.

He turned and directed his overly fond smile towards the tattooed gentleman with the over-sized assault weapon, greeting him like an old friend. The man that Zoe had never seen with a single facial expression looked so dumbstruck that she had to fight down a laugh. This was apparently the last straw for their visiting dictator.

"Count Dracula," came more of a squeak than a shout from the bespectacled doctor's mouth, with such a forced amount of distaste that Zoe was now certain he had lost his mind entirely. "You will not be permitted to attack anyone here."

Shooting Zoe an incredulous look, mostly as she could read translating to ‘Is he serious?’, the vampire watched her answering eye roll very obviously telling him ‘He's an idiot, but reports to the money’.

Dracula finally looked away from their silent exchange, and took out a small pocket flask, not unlike the one he'd left her before, and shook it in the other man's general direction as he passed by him with total indifference.

"Not to worry, I brought my own," he stated, opening it and taking a long swig. It cleared a direct pathway for him easily, bee-lining for Dr. Bloxham who sat at the control panel. She naturally flinched on his approach, despite trying to hide it. He noticed and flashed her a charming smile, to his credit only showing the slightest hint of fang.

"Terribly sorry about the finger," the Count apologized humbly, almost convincingly sincere as he draped a long arm over the back of her chair. "...But would you mind letting me in?"

Bloxham looked somewhat confused. "You want to go in there?" Her eyes shot up to the ceiling. The sun had not completely set. He gave her an encouraging smile with a faint trace of pity.

"I would love to go in there."

Zoe merely rolled her eyes and tapped on the table with relative impatience, as he paced through the parted seas of scientists and interns alike to join her in the completely ineffective glass prison.

"You evil little thing, you didn't tell them," he accused with quiet glee as he approached her from the opposite side of the table.

"If their superstitions help them feel safe, then all the better for me," she excused in a murmur, hoping he hadn't just given the game away completely.

His grin was one of near pride, as he bent his tall form forward to rest his hands on the table. "I can go slit his throat if you want me to. Heaven knows you won't."

She sighed, not trusting herself to answer. "Why are you here?" she asked instead.

"You needed me, didn't you?"

------

Okay, so this could go really amusingly or very terribly - we’ll see what I come up with, eh? Shouldn’t be as long of a wait this time, fingers crossed.

Tag List: @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @charlesdances @punk-courtesan @crowley-needs-a-hug @hoefordarkness @bellamortislife @malkaviangirl @imagineandimagine @chelsfic @dracula-s-bride @my-fanfic-library @hyacinth-meadow @mymagicsuitcase @littlemessyjessi @desperatefrenchwriter @ss9slb @crazytxgradstudent @claesbang @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @gettingcrazyforlife @carydorse @dreamerkim @gatissed @alhoyin @girlonfireice @festering-queen @jangleprojet @guardianbelle @vampiregirl1797

Share with your friends, if anyone else wants tagged let me know!

#bbc dracula #dracula 2020 #claes bang #dracula #dragatha #zoe van helsing #my writing #the undone & the divine

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