#alight motion nearly crashed

[gay-opossum-in-the-garbage]

Confessions of a Rotten Baker

(Song is Confessions of a Rotten Girl by Sawtowne btw)

[cheriladycl01]

How the fuck has a bird been the reason I DNFed - Grid x Driver! Reader

Plot: Y/N is racing in Silverstone when a Pigeon flies into her and is stuck to her while she's driving at 200mph around the track until it starts to fly away but gets pulled under the car and causes Y/N to crash out.

"Y/N you are currently P2, Lewis ahead 2.6 second gap" your radio engineer says.

"Copy, increasing" you report.

Sky Sports: Commentator - It's really been a fantastic race at Silverstone, with only 4 laps left to go, it's looking like a Lewis win, Y/N behind him in P2 and Oscar Piastri who just overtook Max Verstappen. WHAT'S THIS Y/N JUST HAD A BIT OF A TWITCH ON TRACK! She remains steady but... was that debris? Commentator - Lets look at that on-board, to me it looks like Y/N's had a bird attack. Oh woah yeah look at that, it flies straight into her. She flinches which is what that twitch was, but she's recovered so well and the birds still in there with her. Commentator - Let's look at that radio.

Y/N Radio: Y/N - A fucking bird just flew into me Radio Engineer - Copy that Y/N - What do you mean copy that, what do i do. It's covering my vision from the left with its wing! Radio Engineer - Go into turn 14, and try shift it off. If not then pull it off on the straight Y/N - I'm driving 200mph and you want me to take my hands off the wheel?

As you swoop round that corner the bird manages to jump out all on its own, without you having to nudge it, where you were slower. However next thing you know as your speeding down the straight is you see a large mass get sucked under you car. You car jumps slightly with the intrusion under the car and you spin a little, recovering it once again.

"Fuck fuck" you mutter to yourself as the car starts to spit the engine.

"Did you just take the bird under the car?" you engineer asks and you let out a small whimper. You couldn't believe you'd just killed a bird with your car.

"The car's fuck-" you start, but something gives out in you car and in a freak accident your car skids as you attempt to break. However with the motion of your car clipping the race edging you car flips over multiple times. Where you car was flipping, the gravel wasn't much help to slow you down, and you colliding into the barriers was the only thing you remembered.

Sky Sports: Commentator - And what a nasty crash that is for Y/N, really unfortunate where she was gaining on Lewis. And i think that's a red flag because of the amount of debris and that crash. Everyone's being called back to the pits and the Red Bull Team are looking extremely worried for their youngest driver. Commentator - this just isn't looking good David, no Marshalls have arrived on scene, Y/N isn't replying to her Engineer... everyone in the pits looks worried. These are those crashes that, you just really don't know the outcome...

Y/N Radio: Radio Engineer - Y/N please come in, Y/N are you okay? *Static* Radio Engineer - Y/N, the Marshalls are nearly with you, if the radio is broken, please just give us a hand gesture of something. *static* Radio Engineer - Christian, she's not replying Y/N - How- Radio Engineer - Y/N! Y/N - How the fuck has a bird been the reason I DNFed

Sky Sports: Commentator - Her voice sounds a little strained but, she's getting herself out that wreck as the Marshalls approach. The car engine has just caught alight as well, so the Marshalls will need to look at that.

You pulled yourself out, before putting a week thumbs up to the fans who were all standing round near the barrier waiting to see if you really were okay!

Marshalls came running over, two of three going to defuse the car and the others coming to check on you.

"You okay kid?" a man asks you, you had your arm wrapped round the front of you, by your ribs. They were most definitely bruised for sure.

"Smells like a fucking fuel infused Christmas dinner" you shout over the loud noises of the crowd and the car being put out before pointing at the roasted Pigeon on the floor next to your car.

The medic bursts out laughing, happy to see that you were okay and cracking jokes.

"Fuck, I just lost P2" you say kicking some of the gravel. You look up seeing the medical car come up to you. You walk over to it explaining your okay, but they refuse saying they need you to come in for observation.

After a long time in observation coming out with a mild concussion, bruised ribs and a sprain you were sent back to see the last few laps of the race. You saw some crew from various new channels film you, making you wave and smile.

You saw Christian and he immediately came from the Pit Wall pulling you into a hug.

"Hey its okay, it's okay! I'm just glad you are okay. That was a freak accident and there wasn't much else we could have done" Christian says rubbing your shoulder.

Everyone was happy too see you, Max ended up overtaking both Oscar and Lewis, coming in first place as a make up for what happened with you.

After the podium you were directed to post race interviews.

"Well, Y/N what a race that was. Could have been a race win but ... talk us through what happened" Will says looking at you and pushing the mic forward.

"Well, its uncommon but yeah. I was driving, pigeon flew into my cockpit and gave me the scare of my life. It hit my chest and helmet hard which caused that spin. And from there on it was a shit show, and I ended up crashing. Considering that wasn't a crash with another car, that's one of the worst I've been in! I blacked out and don't remember too much" you explain and he nods in thought.

"Yeah, you definitely had us all worries there! That's up there with the nastiest crashes I've witnessed. We're just all glad your okay!" he smiles and with that your sent off.

You went online to see everyone making memes of you and the bird and your funny radios.

All the other drivers had messaged you to make sure that you were okay, and you'd been treated to dinner by Max and Christian who felt bad about your scare today.

But overall, if you ever see a bird on the track again, you'll probably cry!

A/N: Just a small little drabble!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo

[toon-melody]

Day 23 | File

The past remains buried for your brother set it alight

It only happened once. Suddenly. Only once. But it was horrific.

The PC had crashed while Alan was working. Between animate on frame 92, the stickfight page running a movie, and Minecraft trying to summon another fluffle of bunnies it was to much. The next thing Blue knew she was plunged into darkness. It was cold and her body ached as if dunked into icy water and held under despite her protests and pleas. Thoughts trailing into a mumbled haze as her senses seemed to betray her. And then it was over.

The first thing that she heard was a scream. Anguished and painful and…..off. She had curled tighter around herself, trying to right herself and fight the vertigo wanting to keep her down. “BLUE!!” Red was screaming now. That got Blue back up, surveying the pc. Her friends clustered around… “Orange?!” It…looked like him. For moments. Blue got a better look as she ran closer to the group. Lying in Green’s lap his form flickered. From orange to black in an erratic fashion Orange lay twitching and thrashing. Green held Orange’s arms and torso while Yellow held his legs. Even with their efforts in helping the hollow head still thrashed and screamed. Glassy eyes looking everywhere as if trying to find an exit for the pain Blue could only imagine. The most concerning parts were the flames. Each inch of Orange that had shifted to black had the occasional burst of fire accompanying it. Along his arms and legs and even a few screams had a burst of heat nearly singe Green’s face off. He still spoke gently to the quartet’s “leader”, despite the fear in his face and the look he shared with Yellow. “I know I know. We’ve got you Sec…you’re gonna be ok! We’re right here!”

All Green got was another choked scream and burst of flames from Orange’s hand. Searing his leg. “DO SOMETHING!” Blue wanted to answer that she didn't know what she Could do. But Red’s question wasn’t aimed at her. It was for Alan. The user stared dumbfounded at the screen. A hand moved over his mouth as the gears turned in his head. Blue didn’t even know if Alan could hear them let alone understand what was happening to Orange. But she screamed with Red nonetheless. “Please! You have to do something!” She gestured to Orange still spasming and then back at Alan “YOU MADE HIM! YOU CAN FIX HIM!!” Another beat of silence. Then the mouse started to move. Quickly moving to the task manager as Alan leaned in towards the monitor. With a click it opened. Blue tried to ignore the sinking feeling it gave her. The memory of being erased for a moment, the fear even if she returned to the site unharmed, clawing at the recesses of her mind wanting attention. She ignored the plea as Alan’s mouse hovered over Orange’s file. He hesitated for a moment, unsure. Ending the task didn’t work….and where would he even end up? Yellow pulled back, nearly avoiding a kick from Orange, as they ran to the window. Climbing up the side they dived into the file, feet barely visible as they did….something. Blue wasn’t sure what. But Orange’s screams quieted to whimpers and the jolts slowed to small twitches. “DONE!” Yellow sat back up, hands raised to not touch anything else. It worked. Orange sagged into Green, a puff of smoke leaving his mouth with a sob. Green petted his head, squeezing their friend. “See…….it’s fine……you’re ok Orange…....it's all ok...” . . .

Yellow paced outside the group’s room, letting their head bob back and forth as they walked. A hand was placed on their cheek to stop the motion. “You’re gonna make yourself dizzy.” Yellow jumped a little hearing Blue, but relaxed into her touch. “....how is fae?” “Faer ok. Exhausted and has some burns on his hand, but he’ll live.” Another sigh of relief from Yellow, pressing more into Blue’s hand. “Thank goodness….”

A beat of silence. “......what did you do?” Blue asked “When you went into the files.” “....straightin’ things out?”

It had been a mess when Yellow dipped their head into the file. Reeking of smoke lines of code were warped and distorted. Their hands ache and felt like an icicle was drived into their palms as Yellow grabbed the lines and put them back where they prayed they belonged.

“I….dunno. I just reacted? Put things where I thought they’re meant to go. It worked ‘least…”

“It did.”

“.....I’m…..gonna take a walk.”

“Ok…let me know if you need-”

“I know…”

Yellow didn’t let Blue finish as they walked off. Missing their friends worried look, but she didn't follow. Disappearing back into the room. Orange’s code…..it scared Yellow a little. It wasn't Like the rest of them. It was more compact. Loaded with lines and commands that seemed to lead to nowhere. Variables and signatures that seemed to advanced for what Orange was made for. Along with smoke they felt their skin prick with electricity. Shaking their head Yellow headed towards the dining room. They could only hope it wouldn't happen again. They wouldn't find out Why.

[aramis-dagaz]

Writober Day 10: Bats, Roots

((Jacky is from Faded Scars and used with permission))

They halted, immediately pressing against the walls the moment they heard the squeaking sounds echoing faintly from up the tunnel.  They braced themselves, waiting for a swarm of moths to rush them, but none came.  Jacky strained her ears, trying to identify where the noise was going, but the echoing stone walls confounded her senses and rattled her already jumpy nerves.  And yet, there seemed to be something different this time, though she had a hard time determining how as her pulse pounded in her head.

Rails, however, had a look of intense concentration in his eyes, which softened into pensiveness.  He cocked his head, as though in vague recognition.  Finally, his eyes widened into cautious excitement and he motioned for Jacky to cross over to his side of the tunnel.  She hesitated, then slowly made her way to the other wall, her revolver in hand and pointed down the tunnel even though she knew it would do nothing against the moths.

Rails leaned in close and whispered one word: “Bats.”  For a moment Jacky was not sure what he meant, but then hope sprang forth in her chest.  Bats.  Which meant that they were close to the surface and a way out of this nightmare.

They advanced cautiously, but as they drew closer and the bat-like squeaking more distinct, they started to rush forward more and more.  Some part of Jacky’s mind screamed at her to slow down and be careful, but all she could consciously think of was getting away from the horrific monsters and dread beings lurking in the dim, crimson shadows and heavy air with the weight of the stone cliff looming over their heads.  She would’ve happily thrown her life away for a gasp of fresh air.

Her whiskers felt a breeze.  The reek of guano and saltwater filled her nostrils.  A distant crash of tides against rock and sand.  Jacky never wanted anything more in her life.

They stopped when they turned a corner and saw the bright hole in the dark.  A cry of joy turned the squeaking up ahead into shrieks of fright as tiny, flittering shadows flickered in front of the pinprick of sunlight.  They ran, so desperate to see the sun again and feel its warmth upon them.

They nearly crashed into the wall surrounding the narrow gap, barely large enough for Rails to stick one of his thick arms through.  The sight of the craggy coast beyond beckoned them tauntingly.

Rails growled and began tearing at the rock and dirt around the gap, the thick roots holding the earth in place styming his progress.  Jacky whirled about the small cave, hoping to find another way out.  They were so close, she wasn’t about to give up so easily.

Her eyes alighted on part of the wall where the hard-packed dirt gave way to stone.  It wasn’t natural or hewn rock, but stone brick.  A closer inspection revealed that these weren’t the cyclopean, red-tinged blocks far below, but smaller and more crudely cut in comparison.  More normal, as though made by ordinary mortal hands.

Recognition dawned on her: these were the bricks of the lighthouse basement.

She pressed her hands against the stone blocks, giving them an experimental shove.  To her surprise and excitement, the wall bowed outward with ease, held back by something from the other side.  She called over to Rails, who had made little progress despite his frenzy, and the two of them shoved, kicked, and tore at the brick wall.

They felt something slowly give and then snap, sending the wall tumbling into the chamber beyond.  They were in the root cellar, illuminated by the cracks in the door leading up and out.

The sight within froze them in place.  Thick roots and vines clung to the walls and surrounded the crushed barrels and sacks of preserved victuals.  Nearly buried out of sight was a skeleton covered in tattered rags, tendrils woven through ribs and eye sockets.

None of this was present when they made their first search of the lighthouse for the missing keeper.

Despite the gruesome sight, they weren’t deterred from heading towards the cellar doors.  Thick, dark roots covered the exit, blocking their escape.  Jacky started sawing at the roots with her broken knife while Rails tore at them, but the tendrils were too strong to be removed so easily.

Finally Rails roared in frustration.  “Zog dis!  Jack, get outta da way!”  He drew his hand cannon and fired the moment Jacky was clear.  The roots fell away under the deafening onslaught, as round after round punched holes in woody stem and reinforced plank alike.  Rails finally punched the doors open, letting the blessed sunlight spill in.

They both leapt out of the cellar and flopped onto the ground like exhausted swimmers onto land, reveling in the blinding light and sounds and smells of the world above.

[b-u-g-g-y]

Just a little sumthin sumthin (as my dad would say) that I found sitting around in a google doc from nearly a year ago.

Sirius doesn’t know why now is the time that he’s chosen to do this, but somehow, it seems right. They’re sitting on the small window sill in their dorm, window open enough to let the smoke from their shared cigarette escape. It’s much too small a space for two almost full grown boys, but they make it work. Their legs tangle between them, bent knees brushing and ankles intertwined.

Sirius watches as Remus exhales, smoke pouring from his parted lips. He’s looking out the window, face lax and eyelids heavy. Sirius thinks he can see reflections of the stars in his eyes. 

“Moony,” he starts quietly, because it’s now or never. 

Remus turns to face him when he doesn’t continue, features pulled together in concern. “Everything okay?”

Sirius fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. He feels the sudden urge to book it out of the dorm, he can almost feel the motion in his legs. Right out the door, down the stairs and away. Away from what he wants to say, no, needs to say. Away from Remus. It would be so much easier.

But, no, he can’t do that. He’s not a fucking coward. So he continues, voice barely even loud enough to reach his own ears.

“I need to tell you something.”

The cigarette lays forgotten between Remus’ fingers now, slowly burning away. Sirius watches as the smoke travels out the window, avoiding facing the other boy.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks and bumps his knee against Sirius’. “You’re kind of worrying me here, Sirius.”

“Sorry.”

The words are stuck in his throat. A tangle of letters spreading down and into his chest, taking hold of his lungs and threatening to choke him. 

“Sirius?”

He takes as deep of a breath as his body will let him, and finally says, “I like you.”

Remus freezes for a second, before chuckling breathlessly. “Well, I’d hope so, Padfoot. Considering we’ve been friends for the better part of six years.” He finally returns his attention to the cigarette, but his hands shake slightly as he brings it to his lips.

“No, Remus. Not like that,” Sirius says frustratingly. He has the fabric of his sleeves wound tightly around his thumbs now. He’s surely going to rip them. “I mean that I have feelings for you. Like, um, romantic feelings.” His voice quiets as he speaks, ending in no more than an embarrassed whisper. 

Remus is staring at him. Mouth open and eyes wide and– fuck, he shouldn't have said anything. 

“Sorry,” he mutters as he gets up with shaky legs, ignoring the heat behind his eyes. “Sorry…just– forget I said anything.”

“Wait,” Remus chokes out, grabbing his wrist before he can leave. He quickly stubs out the cigarette in their little ash tray and takes Sirius’ other wrist in his now free hand. “Are you being serious?”

Sirius laughs, a little deliriously, as he answers with a soft, “Yes. Of course.”

Something softens in Remus’ gaze before he’s suddenly pulling Sirius forward– to him. 

They’re mere inches apart now, and Sirius is sure he can see the stars in his golden eyes. 

“Sirius,” he says softly. He places one hand on his cheek, the other still wrapped around his wrist. “Kiss me? Please?”

The lump in his throat dissipates, the nerves alight throughout his body settle, and his heart begins to race– not in nervousness, but in anticipation. 

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yes.”

They lean in simultaneously, quickly crashing together. Remus’s lips are chapped against his own, and he can faintly taste the bitter smoke on his tongue, but Merlin, it’s perfect.

“You know,” Remus whispers against his mouth once they break for air, breath hot against Sirius’ face. He’s smiling, and Sirius can’t help but join him. “I have feelings for you too.”

[balemouns]

[ goose ]　/　short-bobbed curls bounce as head jolts up behind the kamera. oh! that one that'd flown across the lens just now— that was— "wait!" she calls cheerfully, haplessly, after the broad-winged bird, hurrying to gather one edge of her sun skirt in one hand to break into a run across the uneven sandbar in pursuit.

fortunately, it doesn't go far, and she can see it easily ahead, alighting with grace upon the white-tipped surf not far out to sea. the elegantly spoon-shaped neck, the ivory head and breast blending to shades of gradually darkening blue up to its short tail feathers ; yes! even all the way out here here on these tropical islands, that has to be one of fontaine's very own snow-winged geese!

—oh, and not far from it, also perched on a wavetip. . . its umbral partner, the darkwing goose, with its cloak of vintage, velvet-like maroon. it didn't blend quite as well as the other with the locale's festive atmosphere, but certainly dazzling in its own crepuscular, cryptic way.

and didn't it remind her of something, now that she looked at it more closely?

. . . ah. or, rather. . . someone?

hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and she nearly dreads the slow action of pulling her face from the kamera again to peer to the side. . .

"eep! k-knave! you— when did you—" oh, was she. . . here too. . . "when did you, ah, get here. . . "

now, this she was always fond of: the sound and sight of vast blue swallowing the horizon before her. with the cool breeze along the shore, the soft crash of waves against sand, the occasional sparkle of a sea in motion, maybe it wasn't such a horrible idea after all to take a break here.

in fact, arlecchino had been led to this particular shoreline by the sight of a dark, long-necked bird, a strangely familiar sight that she hadn't expected to see here. where was it going? ( somewhere lovely, undoubtedly. for a moment while she followed, she almost hoped for a cove decorated with cliffs and palms, but... where it had landed was fine, too. vast, open, familiar in its own way. )

as the darkwing goose settled on the waves several yards off the sandbank, seemingly waiting for something, arlecchino decided to wait and see what it was hoping for --- and took a seat herself on the beach, crisp white slacks folded together at knees, arms propped behind with palms flat against the sand, dark eyes marked with red looking out over the rim of glasses intended to protect her vision from the sun.

and so, together, they waited.

and waited.

head turns when the sound of something seems to be fluttering along parallel to the shore catches the darkwing's attention, neck rising and wings flapping where it floats -- she, too, turns to look, seeing a mirrored person following the pale goose along the sand. ( also fluttering, in a sense... wind catches a long dress, barely held up at one side. )

eyes still sitting above the rim of shades try to make out who it might be, but the other quickly covers her face with a kamera pointed at the birds, and a broad sunhat flops over the rest of her in the breeze -- but that pale hair with hints of blue, even the posture the other stands in... recognition comes almost the same moment the girl turns and notices her, and lips that had parted to greet a familiar face close into a tight smile at the girl's sound of surprise.

"... miss furina. lovely to see you too," a single breath almost sounds like a laugh -- as one hand comes up from behind her to push up sunglasses, arlecchino turns back towards the pair of geese, who seem to be greeting one another more closely on the waves. "do you mean on this beach, or in general? ... at least at this spot, I've been here a little while, now. seems both the darkwing and I were waiting to see who else would come along... certainly didn't expect to see fontainan birds like these here. want to watch with me? I'm interested in seeing what the two of them do next."

[theodoradevlin]

Theo's head is buzzing happily for two reasons

She's nearly half pissed with all the firewhisky coursing through her body.

There's a tingle of something pleasant on her forehead, and she is delighted to find a pair of shiny, new, growing horns. Or were they antlers?

As Theo reaches up to touch whatever Sebastian has just hexed her with, she means to be angry. She really wants to be. And yet…. She lets out a giddy laugh. 

The antlers make her feel…. excited. So excited, in fact…that IF it was an attempt to satisfy her antler fixation, it had failed poorly because all it did now was make her greedy for more. 

And more was….the big boys. 

The ruckus of the full out brawl below barely registers to her, because all she has in her eye-line is the sight of her beloved and the most beautiful pair of antlers of all, shining majestically on the wall.

She hears the increasingly Scottish shouts from Sebastian, just as she hears the absolute unhinged laughter from Monty. But it was child’s play compared to what was on her agenda.

And anyway, if she did need to get down there to break up the fight..she knew what the quickest way down was.

And besides, what were friends for besides a very fun unsolicited trust fall? She wasn’t one to shy away from a leap of faith. 

It was now or never. 

She backs up before moving her body at a sprint, hurling herself over the bannister in a surprisingly deft movement. For a split second there is just air, and perhaps a curse from one of her friends below. 

 But she reaches, hands somehow finding the chain of the chandelier a she hangs for a moment before her feet find some type of grounding on its wooden spokes.

The wooden structure creaks as it spins with her weight, much like the wheel it looks like, and she cries in disbelief to find that she is not a flattened Hufflepuff….yet. 

She almost wants to look down to her friends, but she can’t let anything stop her know.

She flexes her arms to lift upwards, using her weight and the tug of the chain to spin the chandelier into motion. It takes a quarter turn, and she doesn’t hesitate before launching herself again. 

Perhaps Sebastian should have made her a flying squirrel instead. 

There’s a minute she’s not sure if she’s going to make it. Was this all for naught?! Was she going to need to be mopped up with the rest of the mess of the bar? But her arms kept reaching outwards, fingers stretching...

Willing. It. Into. Existence. 

Her body strains. Reaching, reaching. AND THEN….then her breath leaves her body as she slams into the wall, her hands making contact with the antlers. She lets out an exclamation of euphoria, despite herself, and for a moment she only hangs there. But she needs to move fast. There would be time for antler cuddles later.

She heaves herself up, and then with all the body weight she can throw, she tugs down on them HARD. 

With a deafening groan, the antlers, and Theo, fall to the pit below where she lands ungracefully right on her behind. She crashes right next to where Monty is also laying, currently stuffed with a shirt in his mouth. 

She looks over to him, with a crazy smile, not minding the bruises that are surely forming as she does. He’s so shocked he spits out the dirtied shirt. Theo glares. Nope. Not today Satan. 

Before he can say anything else she shoves it RIGHT back into his mouth, groaning to right herself up with the prize held tightly in both of her hands. 

Eyes alight with victory, she takes one quick look at Seb with a cheeky lick to the antlers. She didn’t have to explain it’s meaning. 

They were certainly hers now. 

She turns to hold the prize up, facing Allegra and Wren and Will. 

“Might not have been a win for you tonight Montrose, but at least one of us is coming out on top.” She gives a cheeky wink and Montrose just glares at her and closes his eyes. Game over. 

She can barely take her eyes off of her prize as she looks back towards Will and says:

“Good luck. He's your responsibility now...” 

Theo already has her beloved after all. 

@ask-elland-n-will @ask-andrew-montrose @ask-wren-zhang @adallegra @ask-sebastian

A Badger, a Snake, and an Eagle Walk Into a Bar

Theo was in the business of chaos this weekend, rather more so than usual. After all, when she was in such colorful company ...how would that not be the case?

She finds @adallegra and @ask-wren-zhang waiting for her by the North Exit, deciding to not announce herself but tackle them both from behind.

"Evening, duckies. Shall we?"

She loops her arms in both of theirs, linking them all with a tug towards Hogsmeade. The night air is cool and clear, much unlike their intentions for the weekend. She knew they had all been entirely too cooped up in the castle recently, and her professional opinion was that letting a little steam out seemed to be the best remedy.

Walking into the fine establishment of the Three Broomsticks was always like walking into a warm hug that may end up setting you on your behind by the end of the night, but was a welcome sight all the same.

The fire was roaring, there was a band already playing in the corner, and it looked like Sirona was behind the bar for the time being. The night was off to a good start with the conversations of various witches and wizards already starting to pick up in a cheery buzz.

Theo looks to Allegra and Wren, with one simple declaration to start.

"First round's on me!"

[totallysharkycomplete]

Waiting For You Part Six (Ford Pines x Reader) Home In Your Arms

She awoke before the dawn as usual. Under the blankets was warm. Although the boat was cold Ford’s body, which was firmly pressed against hers, provided plenty of heat. The gentle swaying of the boat would have made it easy to fall back asleep, but since the weather was supposed to be clear today, she decided to get up and watch the sunrise.

Gently slipping out of the covers, and out of Ford’s grasp, she quickly dresses into more layers before quietly stalking up on the deck. She could still hear the heavy breaths and snores coming from the cabin below. The deck was even colder than the cabin, and there was a layer of frost on the upper windows. She quickly made a cup of coffee then downed it, then leaned against the front railing, and waited for the sunrise as the clouds on the horizon turned pink.

She was lost in thought, so when someone wrapped their arms around her waist she jumped. The person behind her chuckled and she let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ford’s lips are right next to her ears, his stubble is scratchy on her skin.

She lets out a hum, then turns around in his arms to face him. “You could still be sleeping.”

He begins to plant gentle kisses to her cheek. “Couldn’t without you.”

She giggles and places a hand on his cheek, her thumb runs over his stubble.

“Why are you up so early?” He almost whines against her skin, still leaving soft kisses on the small amount of skin exposed on her cheeks and upper neck.

She let out a content sigh. “Weather is supposed to be clear. I wanted to watch the sunrise. Would you like to join me?”

He moves his head up and presses his forehead to hers. “I’d love to.”

She leans forward the inch she needs to so she can plant a kiss on Ford’s lips. It’s soft, but conveys so many feelings. Love, affection, the sense of being home.

Ford tries to lean forward for another kiss but she quickly turns around. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Sorry, but the sun rises this way.” She teases.

Ford’s hand is on the back of her neck, moving the hair away from it so he can press more kisses to her skin.

“You’re in a very touchy mood this morning.” She comments, leaning her back against his chest.

“Do you want me to stop?” He murmurs, lips still on her skin.

“No,” she quickly tells him. “Just an observation.”

He leaves a few more kisses on her skin before her hand wraps around his. “Ford, look.”

The sun had just peaked above the horizon, brilliant oranges and yellow began to fill the sky, casting warm rays of light on the small sleepy fishing village they had docked near. Soon the warm rays fell onto her face. “Isn't it beautiful?”

“Not more so than you.” Ford tightens his grip around her waist and rests his chin against the top of her head.

She’s glad Ford can’t see the blush on her face. Even after thirty plus years had passed, he could still make her blush. She was about to say something modest back to Ford until she heard a burp and scratching noises.

“Ugh, get a room.” Stanley had obviously joined them on deck.

“We have a room.” She rolls her eyes. “I think you forget we share sometimes. Your memory is slipping old man.” She teases without moving from Ford’s grip.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves her comment away before heading inside the upper cabin to the coffee she had prepared.

There's a moment of peace, you might almost call it pure bliss. To spend the sunrise wrapped in your lover's arms, their warm breath leaving them in clouds of hot air, the boat gently rocking them as the morning tide rolled in.

“Everytime I wrap my arms around you, it feels like coming home all over again, to where I belong.” Ford whispers.

She turns to face him again and cups his face with both her hands, and kisses the tip of his nose. “When did you become so romantic?”

Ford leans into her touch. “I mean it.” He pauses for a second. “I don’t think I ever told you, but when I first came back and saw you, my first thought was that I had died and gone to heaven. Being with you again is everything I’ve ever wanted and more.”

“If you had died and gone to heaven then that would have meant Stan was in your heaven too.” She laughs.

“He’s still her now.” He grabs her hand to hold it still so he can tilt his head and kiss her thumb.

She laughs even louder this time, then wraps her arms around his neck to draw him into another kiss. “I love being in your arms. I love being your home, because you’re mine too.”

The boat rocks them gently as the morning sun warms their bodies. Their hearts are full of love for one another. “Let’s stay like this forever, and just let the world drift away.”

Ford is about the respond before Stan interrupts.

“Hey love birds! We gonna explore some anomalies today or what?” Stan barks from behind them.

Ford's eyebrows furrow and he goes to turn his head to snap at Stanley, but her hands catch his chin and turn his face back to her. She kisses him passionately three times and he’s breathless. She untangles herself from Ford and heads towards Stan.

“What’s on the agenda for today co-captain Stanley?” She smiles.

Ford is left standing there speechless and in a daze.

“Are you coming, co-captain Ford?”

Ford looks over at her. She squinting her eyes as the morning sun washes over her features, her cheeks pink from the cold. He has never been more in love with her.

“Coming, associate co-captain.”

---------- By the time the sun was high in the sky he three of them had docked the boat and climbed halfway up the mountain. The town folks had told them about strange flying creatures that lived near the top of the mountain.

The sun beat down on them, and they soon found themselves needing to take off some of the many layers of winter clothes they had dressed in for the day. About an hour into the hike Stan speaks up.

“Hey poindexter, how bout a break?” He huffs as he wipes sweat from his brow.

“We’re very close to where the creatures were reported being seen.” Ford is warm, sweat gleams on his brow, but his attitude is chipper and he’s not as nearly out of breath.

“Even the kid needs a break.” Stan motions towards her.

She rolls her eyes at Stan still calling her a kid. She’s also out of breath, almost as bad as Stan. The high altitude is getting to her, but she wouldn’t voice it.

Ford places a hand on her shoulder. “What do you think? Would you like to take a short rest.”

She smiles and nods. “Let’s take a short rest. We wouldn’t want Stan passing out on us.”

Stan grunts but doesn’t say anything. Glad to finally have a break from hiking. The three of them sit on the ground and drink their water. Ford is sitting as close as he can to her. She shivers as a cold breeze blows past them, feeling a little cold now that they have stopped moving. Ford wraps an arm around her shoulder, she looks up at him and smiles a wordless thank you.

After a few minutes they stand up and begin to get moving again. She groans as she stretches, and once they start moving again she is behind both the boys on the path.

“You alight? You’re normally faster than me.” Stan turns his head to talk to her while they move up the narrow mountain path.

“I’m fine, my legs are just a bit sore.” She tells him.

They continue their hike until they break through the tree line. They can see the horizon on the sea, and far below them is the small fishing village where they left the Stan O’ War II docked.

She’s stunned by the beautiful view and almost doesn’t realise Stan and Ford haven’t stopped walking like she had. She scurries to catch up to them, until she sees a bush near her shake. Looking over she sees a small head of a rat pop out.

“Aww.” She says softly to not scare the rodent away. “Hey little fella.” She coos.

The rat scurried back into the bush at the sound of her voice, much to her disappointment. She turns to catch up to the boys, After a few steps she hears a strange sound. Somewhere between a squeak and a squawk. Turning around she sees the rat has raised itself out of the bush with a pair of wings. This must be the creature they had been looking for!

“Fascinating!” She says to herself and pulls out her sketchbook and begins to jot down a quick doodle on the animal. The sun catches on her silvery pen and flashes a light up at the rat-like creature. It squawks loudly then dives towards her.

Further up the path Ford is mumbling to himself and Stan is tuning him out. Both of them freeze when they hear a shriek. They both stop dead in their tracks and whip around to see she is no longer behind either of them. The brothers share a second of a glance before booking it back down the trail.

It doesn’t take them long to get back to her. When she comes into sight they can see she's using one arm to shield her face, the other is holding her notebook and waving it aimlessly behind her, trying to hit the creature that’s attacking her hair.

Stan is the first to her, he pulls her to his chest with one arm and throws a left hook at the creature, sending it crashing into a tree. There's a moment of silence before Ford is pulling her into his arms. Stan makes his way over towards the tree.

“What happened? I thought you were right behind us?” Ford’s hands are on her face, tilting her head around and looking for any sign of injury. Her hands rest on his chest.

“Ford, I’m okay, promise. You were both further up the path when I noticed the creature. I thought if I called to you I’d scare it off. So I tried to get a quick sketch, and I must have scared it because it started attacking my hair.” She can’t help as a laugh escapes her.

“You could have been hurt.” Ford’s voice is soft as he scoulds her.

“But I wasn’t.” She teases.

“Please promise me you won’t go off on your own again? I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” Ford told her seriously.

She stops smiling when she realises Ford is actually upset, not with her, but by the fact she could have been hurt. She takes his hands, which were still on her face, and holds them in hers. She leans up and gives him a soft, reassuring kiss.

“I promise.” She whispers.

“Check this out!” Stan shouts and holds the unconscious ratbird in between them by its feet.

She shrieks with surprise and jumps away from Ford. “Stanley that’s disgusting!”

“What!? I thought you like rodents!” He laughs, shaking the bird closer towards her as she takes another step back.

“I wouldn’t pick up a wild rat or bird with my hands, or let it that close to my face! Who knows where that thing has been!” She scolds him. “If it wakes up and bites you I’m not helping you.”

In the commotion Ford slipped on some protective gloves from his pack. “Hold it still please Stanley.” Stan complies and Ford gently stretches its wings open and begins to list off observations about it that she quickly sketches down. “It’s wingspan is too small to carry it far. That’s probably why it is native only to this island.” He lists other things off like teeth size and tail length.

Stan gently set the animal down. “Think that’s enough for today right?”

The other two agree and they begin their trek back down the mountain. She is in front of them now to set the pace, and so the boys can’t lose sight of her. When the path begins to get wider, Ford falls back a bit to walk besides Stan.

“Thank you for earlier.” Ford tells his brother.

Stan looks at him confused. “Didn’t do nothing.”

“You were able to get to her first and protect her from the rat bird.�� Ford reminds him.

Stan waves it off. “Don’t mention it.” Stan wouldn’t admit to Ford how scared he was to see her get attacked like that, he’d rather not think about it.

When they make it back to the ship the sun is already touching the horizon. It was Ford’s night to cook and the other two went to rest in their beds. When the food was ready Ford headed below deck to find them both asleep. He wasn’t surprised Stan had nodded off. Almost anytime he wasn’t actively moving or engaged in an activity he would fall asleep. But his believed fiance would normally be reading a book or be annotating her notes.

He gently brushes some hair out of her face and she stirs. She smiles up at him and grabs his hand and brings it down to her lips to kiss his palm. His heart flutters at her sweet act.

“I fell asleep.” She murmurs, voice heavy with sleep.

“I noticed.” He leans down to kiss her. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I feel perfect now that you’re here.” She giggles and he frowns. She frowns too, but only to mock him. “I feel fine Stanford. I guess today was just too exciting is all.”

“Well, why don’t we have dinner then we can go right back to bed?” He suggested.

“You’re perfect. I love you” She smiles up at him, eyes half lidded.

“I love you too.”

They stare into each other's eye, and neither of them notice the loud snoring has stopped. There’s a loud groan announcing Stan has awoken.

“If you love him so much why don’t you marry him?” Stan teases, she rolls her eyes.

The next morning Ford is the first to wake up. His love is tucked close to his side, buried under the blankets. He turns on his side to draw her impossibly closer. She makes a noise at the movement but doesn't awaken.

The bed feels a little warmer than normal. Maybe the day will be warmer than the forecast had predicted Ford thinks. Ford lays there for a while, enjoying the silence and warmth for a while until she begins to stir.

He feels her stretch under his grasp and she looks up at him eyes still droopy from sleep.

“Good morning my dear. Would you like to join me for some coffee?” Ford murmurs into her hair.

She shakes her head no. “It’s too cold.” She tries to burrow closer to Ford to get any extra warmth.

“I’ll go turn the heater on upstairs, join me when you’re ready.” Ford moves the hair away from her forehead and kisses her there then freezes. He moves the back of his hand to her forehead, then his cheek to confirm his thought. “You’re burning up!”

“No, it’s cold.” She denies.

“You must have a fever. Do you feel alright? When did you start feeling sick?” Ford doesn’t bother keeping his voice down and clearly wakes up his brother.

Stan rolls his eyes at the commotion and makes his way to the upper deck.

Ford quickly stands. “I’m going to get dressed then go find a doctor in town. With a town this small there must be one to make house calls.”

“Ford, please, there’s no need for that.” She sniffs, still laying in the bed, pulling the covers closer around her.

“There really isn’t.” Stan grumbled, coming back down the stairs, a cup of water in one hand. The other was full of an assortment of pills. “Take these.” He gruffly shoved both the water and pills at her. She obeyed, sat up, and quickly tooked the unknown pills Stan had handed her. “Go back to sleep.” She layed down and closed her eyes, rolling over to face the wall away from the brothers.

“What did you give her?” Ford whispered, concerned.

Stan places a finger over his lips and motions towards the upper deck. They sit inside the cabin where Stan had turned on the space heater.

“She of course came prepared and packed herself cold medicine.” Stan slides the first aid box across the table so Ford can examine the medicine boxes of everything he had given her. “Almost every winter she gets a cold or two. Her legs start to hurt and she gets really tired. Should have seen it coming’ yesterday but was a little distracted by the birds. She must have noticed, but she never says anything. Thinks she can power through a fever.” Stan pauses a moment to laugh. “There was one time I caught her working on the portal shivering and sweating’ bucket. Practically had to drag her back to bed. The older we’ve gotten through, the less stubborn she’s gotten at admitting she’s actually sick.”

It finally dawns on Ford just how much Stanley had taken care of her while he was gone. Sure, she had told Ford directly that he had, but he thought she was just putting in a good word for her friend. Ford knows it to be true now. He remembers once in college she went to class with a fever just to be sent back to her dorm. If Stan hadn’t been here to make her rest when she was sick, she would have worked herself until she passed out or worse.

The cabin is silent for a moment.

“Thank you, Stan.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, Stanley, listen.” Ford looks at his brother and there are visible tears in his eyes. “She had told me before that you had taken care of her in my absence. I hadn’t thought much about it, since she's always been so strong and independent. I know she's also stubborn. If you hadn’t been there to make her rest… Thank you Stanley, truly, for taking care of her while I was gone.” Ford places his hand on his brother’s shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. Stan returns the action, not commenting on the noticeable tears.

“She’d probably be happy to have you back downstairs to keep her warm.” Stan says, looking away from his brother. He doesn't want to see him cry, or he knows he will cry as well.

“I think you’re right.” Ford stands and goes to join her back in bed.

---------- Ford wasn’t exactly excited to go to the carnival on the boardwalk, but her and Stan conveyed it would be fun.

“It’ll be like the one back home! Remember when we tried to join the circus with our pet possum?” Stan laughed a deep belly laugh as they made their way past the ticket booth.

“You never told me you had a pet possum.” She's walking next to Ford, his hand is held tight in hers.

“But he told you about trying to join the circus?” Stan inquires.

“I’d argue he was more your pet than mine.” Ford argues.

They make their way around the attractions, eat some fair food, and play a few games. She has two stuffed animals they boys had won for her in her hands, and is filled with joy.

“You there, miss, would you like to know your future?” A voice calls to her, and she turns to see a fortune teller beckoning her towards their tent. The fortune teller's eyes are glassy and they don’t hold her gaze, they hold a long cane indicating they are blind. She feels an arm tighten around her shoulder.

“Fortune tellers aren’t to be trusted.” Ford tells her.

“It’s just for fun,” she comments. “There’s no way they could actually know my future.”

“I’ve traveled to different dimensions. I think almost anything is possible at this point.” Ford reminds her.

“I say we do it. I’d like to know when I get filthy rich.” Stan begins walking into the tent.

She tried to follow in after him but the fortune teller held up their hand. “Only one person inside the tent at a time please.”

So Ford and her wait outside the tent. It’s only a few minutes later when Stan exits with a huff. “You’re right, total scam, they don't know anything.”

The fortune teller exits the tent again and points over to her and Ford. “The six fingered one next.” Then enters the tent.

A chill runs up her spine. The teller was clearly blind, but to call Ford out like that. She shares a surprised look with Ford, who surprisingly goes into the tent after them.

Stan is clearly still mad about whatever he had been told, so she takes his hand. “I’m sure whatever they said it wasn’t true. Like you said, probably just a scam.”

Stan looks down at her warm smile and sighs. “You’re right kid. Just a scam. I should know.” They both share a laugh.

Ford exits the tent looking lost in thought.

“You’re next girly.” The teller holds open the flap for the tent and she makes her way in. The room looks bigger on the inside and there are two chairs on either side of a table with a fake looking crystal ball.

She sits and watches the fortune teller places their hands on the ball and thinks for a second before speaking. The ball lights up and smoke swirls around in it. “I would ask what you’d like to know about your future, but I already know what knowledge you seek. It weighs heavy on your heart. Knowing the truth might be even more of a burden. Would you still like to know?”

She thinks for a second. If the fortune teller was being honest and knew what she wanted to know, what she always thinks about, then she wants to know. “Will Ford and Stan die before me? I don’t think I could lose Ford again, and well, Stan is my best friend.”

The teller nods their head and hums. “As I suspected. Losing the ones you love is a heavy buren. Unfortunately you must bear the burden again, fortunately you only must bear it once.”

“Who?” Her voice quivers.

“As I said, losing someone you love is difficult, as you know. He cannot see his brother lost again. He will go first. You will be needed to comfort the six fingered one. This universe isn’t always fair, but it seems it will go easy on you, and you will not have to lose him again.” They remove their hand from the ball and the lights and smoke fade. “Now you know, you must live with this knowledge the rest of your life.”

She looks down at her hands and nods, then stands to exit the tent. She finds her boys standing exactly where she left them. Still looking lost in thought and a little angry. She pulls Ford into a hug and draws him from his thoughts.

“What did they tell you?” Ford asks, returning the hug.

She rests her chin on his chest to look up at him with a small smile. “That I’ll get to spend the rest of my life with you, and that’s all I want.”

“They really tell you that?” Stan grunts, clearly not happy with what he was told.

“No,” she confesses. “But they didn’t have to say that for me to know it, and-” She turns to look back at the tent and sees it's gone. She turns quickly to confirm what she sees if real. Then turns back to the twins, whose jaws are dropped.

The three share a look then agree to head back to the ship for the night.

Stan tosses and turns that night. He can’t seem to sleep. What the fortune teller had told his replays in the back of his mind and he’s still pissed about it. He throws off the sheets and puts on his coats and boots and heads to the upper deck. To his surprise, he wasn’t alone.

“Why are you up so late kid?” Stan slumps down onto the bench by her.

“I imagine for the same reason you can’t sleep.” She leans her head against her friend with her sigh.

There's a moment of silence between them. The only sound is the waves gently crashing on the nearby shore and the soft groan of the boat as it moves gently with the sea.

“What did they tell you?” They ask in unison. They both breath out a laugh.

“You first.” She says.

He thinks for a moment. “They told me I’m going to die before you and Ford. Ford, I get, he’s healthy and in shape.” She elbows him. “Not implying you ain’t! It’s just, I didn’t want to die before you is all. I’ve caused you enough suffering.”

She places her hand on his shoulder. “Stanley, don’t think like that. You haven’t caused me any suffering. You’re my best friend.”

He runs his hands down his face. “It’s my fault Ford got lost in the portal for thirty years, it’s my fault you didn’t get to start a family with him like you had planned to. It’s my fault you didn’t get to get married yet. It’s my fault that-”

“Stanley!” She shouts sternly at him and he turns to face her, surprised by the authority in her voice. She takes his hand in hers. “Stan you can’t think like that. You know I’ve forgiven you a long time ago with what happened with Ford. The rest of it… It doesn’t matter, because if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have him back. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have met the most amazing great niece and nephew ever. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be sailing the seas right now with the two people I care the most about in the world, discovering amazing anomalies like I’ve always wanted to.”

Stan’s face is turned from hers but he gives her hand that’s holding his a tight squeeze. There's another moment of silence. “What did they tell you?” His voice croaks, she wouldn’t mention how he reached his free hand up to wipe his tears.

“They told me about the same.” She confesses. “That you’ll die before me, but I’ll be here for Ford.”

Stan Turns back to look at her. “Do you…” Stan doesn’t really want to finish the thought. He doesn’t want to think about their mortality.

“I’ll go before Ford. They said it was the universe going easy on me.” She smiles up at Stan, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

He pulls her into a tight hug. “Should we tell Ford?” She sniffs as tears sting her eyes.

“No. He wouldn’t want to know.”

----------- “Do you hear that?” Stan asks.

Ford and her are both sitting at the table noses in a book in the upper cabin of the ship. She and Ford listen, share a glance with each other, then look back at Stan.

“No,” they chime in unison.

Stan is driving the boat towards their next destination where there had been reports of strange ocean tides. He smacks his ear with the hearing aid.

“I must be picking up radio waves again.” He grumbles.

An hour later the two bookworms are asleep as Stan still mans the wheel, this time he hears the sound again. His head feels hazy and his body feels warm. He turns the boat towards the sound and begins to follow it.

Ford and her are jostled awake as the ship hits a large wave. They’re both lifted for a second from their seats before landing back down with a thump.

“Stanley what the hell is happening?” Ford is the first to notice the situation. The weather around them is awful. Rain pounds onto the ship, the boat jumps as it passes over enormous waves, going faster than she's ever seen it go. Lighting and thunder crash outside. Stan should have seen the storm coming.

Speaking of Stan. He’s standing at the wheel of the ship, eyes glued forwards, he doesn’t even notice Ford yelling at him. Ford pushes Stan out of the way and he falls to the floor. Suddenly Stan sits up and looks around.

“Where the hell are we?” He asks, hand held to his head.

“We should be asking you that, seeing as you were the one driving the last two hours!” She barks before reaching under the chairs for their life vests. She tosses the boys theirs and secures her own, they quickly buckle theirs as well.

“I don’t, I don’t know what happened.” Stan looks lost for a second. “I can’t remember.”

Her heart hurts for her friend. She knows that must be scary for him but now isn’t the time for comfort. Ford begins to bark orders, she helps Stan to his feet.

They begin securing lines and sails, making sure all objects are secured down so they won’t cause the three of them harm.

Suddenly she hears a noise and freezes. Her head feels hazy and her body feels warm. It seems as if her body is moving on it’s own as she begins to walk towards the door and exits the cabin. A strong hand grabs her arm.

“What are you doing?” Ford screams over the rain. Stan had taken the wheel again.

Her eyes are glazed over and she tries to continue walking towards the railing. Ford begins to drag her back inside but she resits. She freezes and he stops trying to pull her. She turns and points.

“There.”

Ford turns to see what she’s pointing at, and it’s the largest wave he’s seen in his whole life. He quickly wraps his body around her and tries to make it back into the cabin before the wave hits, but he’s not quick enough. The water envelops their bodies and they are thrown against the railing. The ship pops back up over the waves again and Ford looks into her eyes.

She's over the railing, dangling off the ship, her only tether is Ford’s hand.

“Don’t let go! I’ve got you!” He shouts desperately holding onto her and the ship.

Her body is like a rag doll as it’s slammed into the ship with the waves. She looks back up at Ford, eyes still glazed, and lets go of his hand, falling into the inky water below.

The second her body pops back up from water her head clears. Her life jacket inflated when she hit the water. The last thing she remembers was she was on the ship with the boys. A wave overtook her and she pushed back under the water. When she comes back up she realises she hears Ford screaming.

It’s dark and all Ford can see is the automatic light on her life vest getting further and further from them. He’s screaming for her, and for Stan to move the boat in her direction.

She tries to scream for him but is pushed under water again. When her head resurfaces she struggles for a breath before the same thing happens again. Coming back up this time she sees the ship be covered by a wave, then herself. This time when she comes back up she sees the light of the ship are gone. She feels something grab her foot, and is dragged under the water.

Ford feels warmth all around him. His eyes fluttered open and he squints as rays of sun blind his eyes. Waves softly lap and his boots and he quickly sit up as the events that just unfolded flood his mind. He looks around quickly hoping to see his love, or his brother.

Stan isn’t far from him and Ford hops to his feet to run from him. He falls to his knees and sees he’s breathing, Ford begins to shake his brother. “Stanley! Are you alright?”

Stan’s hand comes up to swat his brother away. “Five more minutes.” He mumbles.

Ford doesn't hesitate to slap him across the cheek.

Stan is quick to sit up. “What the hell was that for?”

“Do you not remember what just happened?” Ford barks.

Stan’s eyes grow wide in horror. “She went overboard… Didn’t she?”

Ford slumps forward and his hands cover his face. “I had her, she was in my hands and she… She let go.”

“She let go?” Stan echos in confusion.

“She had the same look in her eyes that you did when we found you steering the ship into the storm.” Ford breathing is quick and ragged, the panic of what’s happened starts to over take him. “I… Oh god, I-,”

“Shut your yap,” Stan commands. “You hear that?”

At first all Ford can hear is the gentle crashing of the waves onto the shore, then he hears it. The distant call of a voice. A very familiar feminine voice.

Ford’s eyes frantically scan the beach both ways looking for the source when he sees her. She must have spotted him at the same time because she begins to sprint towards him. Ford is quick to his feet and meets her halfway. Ford pulls her into a crushingly tight hug as tears fill both of their eyes.

“I thought I had lost you.” He cries into her hair. “I don’t know what I would do if I had.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” She sobs. “We’re safe now.” She whimpers against his chest.”

They stay there in each other’s embrace, until Stan slowly walks over to them.

“Glad you’re alright kid.” Stan smiles.

She grabs Stan and pulls him into the hug. He grumbles something but hugs both of them. After a moment they pull back. Ford’s hands are still clutching the back of her wet, sandy shirt. Ford and her look at each other and share a breathy laugh, and begin to wipe the tears away from their eyes.

“Now that we’ve had that lovely reunion, where are we and where’s the ship?” Stan frowns.

“Destroyed, I'd imagine.” Ford clears his throat.

“Actually…” She takes Ford’s hand and begins to lead them down the beach the way she had come. “When I had gone overboard, my mind cleared when I hit the water. I saw the ship get taken over by a wave and thought the worst. Something grabbed my foot and dragged me under, but…”

They round the corner on the beach and see Stan O’ War II, unharmed, anchored off shore. Ford and Stan both notice some splashing around the ship that wasn’t like normal waves. The brothers share a look.

“How is it not damaged?” Ford is in awe of the vessel's perfect condition.

“Turns out, we’ve had a guardian angel this whole trip we didn’t know about.” She smiles.

“Who?” Stan asks.

“Mable.” She laughs as theirs another splash in the water, this time closer to the shore.

The brothers both see the end of a tail then a few seconds later, a head pops up.

“Ford, you might remember what Mable had written in the journal about meeting her friend, Mermando. Turns out she still writes to him and told him about our trip and asked him and his people to look out for us.” She waves over at the head that had popped up signaling to him it was safe.

“It’s the least I can do to repay my friend. If it wasn’t for her then I might still be trapped in Gravity Falls.” Mermando smiles. He had swum over to them as far as he could without leaving the water.

“A real mermaid, huh?” Stan grunts.

“Fascinating.” Ford muses.

“He and a few others were able to pull us to safety after we were lured into the storm.” She tells them.

“Lured?” Ford repeats.

“Yes, unfortunately two of you had been affected by a siren’s song. They’re like merpeople, only they crave violence.” Mermando shakes his head.

“We really can’t thank you enough.” She sighs, giving Ford’s hand a squeeze. “And please, don’t mention this to Mable. I wouldn't want her to worry.”

“She will hear nothing of it. You have my word. Farwell Pines!” And with that, Mermando splashes under the water and is gone.

“Darn it, I should have asked him some questions while I had him here.” Ford brings a hand to his mouth in thought.

She playfully shoves him. “I say we should be happy that we’re alive.”

“You know what I say?” Stan asks and begins stripping his clothes. “I say we have a beach day! Been forever since we were in a warmer climate like this!” He splashes into the water in just his underwear, leaving the other two behind.

“What do you say, my love?” Ford pulls her to his chest.

She wraps her arms around his neck. “Having a nice calm day after almost drowning to death? I think we deserve it.” She plants a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away and begins striping down to her underwear. “Race you to the water.”

Ford doesn’t have to be asked twice before he follows suit removing his clothes.

After hours of relaxing on the beach and playing in the water like children, the sun had begun to set. Stan had made his way back to the boat leaving only her and Ford on the beach.

Ford is laying on his back, her head rests against his shoulder. His arms are tightly wrapped around her. Her fingers absentmindedly trace the knit pattern on his sweater.

“I can’t believe out of anywhere I could be in the world right now, I’m here with you.” She whispers.

He hums and she can feel his chest vibrate under her cheek. She turns her head to look at him. His eyes are closed but there's a smile on his face.

“Are you asleep?” She giggles.

He hummed a sound to tell her no.

She breathes out a laugh and sits up. “Let’s head back before the sun sets all the way.”

He opens his eyes half lidded and smiles at her. She takes his hand and helps him sit up. His hands move to her face to draw her in for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

---------- “Alright, there. I think that will work.” She places the tablet down on the table she and her boys are sat at.

“Are you sure you set it up right?” Ford asks.

She rolls her eyes. “I helped build an interdimensional portal. I think I can figure it out.”

“I just wanted to make sure. You remember what happened when you tried to set up our vhs to record Saturday Night Dead.” Ford reminds her.

“That was one time! It’s not my fault the vhs caught fire!” She huffs.

“Can you two stop arguing like an old married for a couple?” Stan groans.

Ford and her share a look and smile. Their attention is pulled away from each other when the tablet begins to make noise.

“Oh, it’s ringing!” She leans forward and presses the green answer button. “Hello? Kids, can you hear us?”

She's greeted with the sound of laughter. “You’re too close to the camera. Move back a little.” She moves back and the screen reveals Dipper and Mable.

“I told you I set it up just fine!” She pats Ford’s chest.

“Kids! It’s good to see you!” Stan greets.

“You guys look so cute in all your boat gear!” Mable squeals.

“Yeah you guys look really cool!” Dipper confirms.

“How has school been going!” Ford asks.

“Great! I got accepted into some senior level classes for next semester.” Dipper cheers.

Mable pushes dipper aside to hog the camera. “And I got a boyfriend!”

Dipper shoves Mabel back to get back in frame. “Yeah, and he’s actually not awful and kinda normal?”

“Congratulations to you both.” She smiles and leans her head against Ford’s shoulder.

They continue to talk and catch up for almost an hour.

“So we can come back to Gravity Falls next summer for sure?” Dipper inquires.

“Absolutely! I've been in contact with Fiddleford and he said we are more than welcome to stay with him in the old Northwest manor.” Ford confirms.

“Soos also said you’re welcome to sleep over at the shack whenever you want.” Stan chimes in.

“I can’t wait to see you two again! You’re really the best great niece and nephew ever.” She comments.

“You’re the best graunt ever!” Dipper and Mabel speak in unison, then begin to giggle and shove each other.

“See you two in a few months!” With that they end the call.

“A month and four weeks, four days, and six hours.” Ford says precisely.

“But who's counting?” She teases.

“And only a month, fours weeks, two days, and four hours until you become my wife.” Ford pulls her close, Stan rolls his eyes and leaves the upper cabin.

“Now that I am counting down to.” She plants a kiss to his cheek. “Mrs.Pines, I love how that sounds.”

“Well then, Mrs. Pines?” He kisses her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. “Will you do the honor of being mine?”

“I already agreed to marry you, that’s why we’re getting married.” She laughs.

“I know, but I love hearing you say it. I still can’t believe you agreed to marry me.” He jokes. “Will you say it? Say you’ll be mine? Forever and always?”

Her finger came up to trace his jawline and lead his lips to hers. “Forever and always.”

[jackarychaoti]

DWC2021-#1 - Rebirth.

- [Music] -

Ardenweald.

Going through the motions in the Shadowlands, Jackary had only one goal. His original intentions were to find Darnath and get him the hell out of here, to be reunited with his mate. Yet a snare in those plans overtook the dragon’s entire world by storm. It was in the endless glimmer of the forest of rebirth that Jackary had felt at peace and like he was home for the first time in years. No matter how long he spent in The Dream, it was always truly empty… Empty without her.

But here?

He couldn’t explain it until he began to watch the guardians be drained of their own anima, their own power of rebirth to be brought back into the world. A haunting notion for any druidic being and though he wanted to save them all, the closer to the Heart of The Forest he wandered in aimless pursuit, the more he could feel a familiar tugging at his own heart, his whole chest lit aflame. And that was when he saw it.

A mere seed, larger than the others but something called him forth, the warmth in his chest only grew when he came ever closer and unknowing why a single tear escape without warning to cut through the dirt on his cheek. Jack could only feel a hand on his shoulder by an ally he’d grown to respect in Ardenweald and in that moment, it all became clear.

“It seems to know you. But its death was so violent…”

No, it couldn’t have been.

“Will you help me calm this one? The spirit is restless.”

Nodding in agreement, Jackary reached forth to aid his own spiritual energy to try and calm the soul, but where he was taken was a haunting memory.

‘STOP! STOP YOU’RE GOING TO KILL HER!!!’

Fear.

That stench of dragon’s blood splattered all across white marble stone as Darnath stood there, shaking and trying not to cry as his arms were being clamped down on by a powerful set of fangs. He was trying to protect those around him, particularly Jack from falling to a fate darker than the Nightmare that was already consuming him. The pleading Death Knight looked up into the Emerald’s corrupt eyes, storm grey met crimson in silent begging.

Not like this. Please... Not like this.

‘STOP IT!!’ Jack’s plight rang out on deaf ears, his hands shoved hard at anyone he could reach to stop their casting, their attacks, and yet he was frozen in place, even unable to save his own Knight through blurred eyes.

‘MOTHER!’

Yanking his hand back, Jackary zoned back into the reality of where he stood, those same tears that flowed back then again ran down his cheeks, not for the sudden realization of who he stood before, but also the knowledge that the reason he had hated Darnath that night, that he hadn’t tended to the grievous wounds wasn’t that his Knight had slain the creature that adopted him in this world…. But because at that moment, Jackary realized that Darnath had been trying to save him and those around them. All Jack could do was come to terms with was that his mate truly was trying to save…

“Mother...”

The search for Darnath halted. Jack remained close to the pod for as long as he could, resting against it to ease his weary soul, his tired heart, and hurting body. He’d been through so much and it was comforting, up until a moment where it was nearly all taken away again.

“We cannot afford to continue giving it anima, even if it is my sister’s pet.”

There Jack stood, boiling in anger as the White Queen he served had threatened to simply snuff out the only light his heart had been able to find. Would he attack such a diety? Without hesitation.

“SHE IS NEEDED! DON’T DO THIS!” Again he pleaded those words, once more his breathing was erratic and he was hunched over but this time… This time he was ready to fight. “DO NOT LET HIS ACTIONS BE IN VAIN! SHE IS NEEDED MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW!” Darnath needed her… Leon, Sulfyr, Fang… Every Druid, every Emerald, everyone who had ever been in her grace or was there the day she was struck down.

“I need her…” Sniffling, Jack moved to wipe his face furiously, unable to will the tears away from his stinging eyes. “I don’t want to lose my mom again…” Like a child, lost and helpless, Jack further felt his world shatter around him until a soft sigh sounded and caught his ears. Such rendered the pathetic expression to pull up from his arm, emerald eyes were nearly red from the growing Nightmare that was willing to spill forth and plague the entire lands to save a single pod… a single seed.

“Bring her to the Heart.”

Something spiked a small glimmer of hope in Jack’s chest and through the procession to escort the anima pod, Jack’s form returned to its original shape, the wingless dragon stayed close to flank the living soul, protecting it with everything he had. What felt like an eternity of holding his breath, the Heart was finally revealed and with that, the very life essence was given to grant the wish that Jack had begged the stars for since that fateful night.

The pod sprang alight with the warm glow and with each cracking bloom, it peeled open like a flower greeting the spring after a long, harsh winter. Tendrils of a familiar soul escaped, writhing upward until familiar wings formed and with a loud, chest-rattling roar, the Aspect sprang back to life, taking her full shape in all of the former glory that it was.

The Rebirth of Ysera.

Struck in shock to see her again, Jack stood there awkwardly, his tail coiled around himself akin to a whelp, uncertain if it was alright to run over and latch onto something. Jack found himself shy - what if she didn’t remember him? He watched several others rush to greet her and once she raised her vision to him, a low rumbling purr called to him.

There was no hesitation and the dragon sprang forth, and no matter how large Jack truly was, he was dwarfed at that moment by the Aspect - his Aspect. Crashing into Ysera, the smaller dragon writhed against her, nuzzling in a ferocity that was desperate for attention until he hid away under her wing. Claws clung tightly, his tail coiled around her where it could.

“Jackary…” It was a gentle coo but she still was soft with the fragile beast, for even now she could see the new scars, the new wounds, and a broken heart. “Where is your Champion?”

“I d-don’t know…” How could he? He couldn’t even feel his bond with Darnath anymore and the painful reminder had him shove his face hard into her side, coiling up like a timid whelp too scared to leave the nest.

“I wanted to thank him… He sacrificed so much that day for us.”

Something inside broke when a warm feeling came over him and through the streams of tears he’d suffered through The Maw and since realizing it was her, his heart slowed its racing. Her confirmations that Darnath’s actions had been for the betterness of Ysera and Jack’s own safety caused his head to lower and--

Eyes snapped open, feeling uncomfortable wetness down his face. Peridot hues darted this way and that to look around in the darkened room, the sun had already begun to set - but how long had he been asleep? The brief, existential dread that it may have been another two years was quelled with a soft coo.

“Hey…”

Jack turned his attention to face the voice, that familiar soft grin plastered on the handsome face of his Champion, his Knight, his mate. A hand reached up to cup along Darnath’s jawline a moment to assure he was real, to feel over the familiar skin and runes that were there to keep the man’s face intact.

“It was just a dream.”

But it wasn’t… It was a reminder. A reminder of how far they’d come and how far they still had to go. A reminder to look beyond and see past the veil of emotions, to trust.

- | @daily-writing-challenge | @darnath (Mention) | -

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 8

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 8 - Chaos

Words: 5.8k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: sexual references/scenes (undressing, consensual touching), mentions of medical procedures/injuries, use of canon-based weapons, enemy invasion, enemy fatalities, descriptions of severe injury, taking of a hostage

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

I rushed to my quarter’s door, opening and closing it behind me in one swift action, eyes latching onto Poe's shape as he walked across the frame of the hallway. My legs weren’t quick enough as I moved down, impatient, a flurry of sparks in my abdomen beginning to crackle as embers of desire ignited into smoldering flames.

Poe glanced up instantly when he heard my hurried movement, confusion settling into his expression as I came into view.

My thoughts of dashing directly to him were momentarily on hold when I noticed the change in his appearance, wearing the clothes I had set aside for his to return to the Resistance base. Dark trousers, the calves covered by a set of heavy boots that luckily matched his size. A white cotton shirt draped by a mahogany stained leather jacket.

It was so plain, a mundane outfit for everyday wear. And it was driving me insane.

I surged forward, eyes blistering into his. He looked worried, bewildered at my purposeful expression and tense strides. But as soon as I was before him, looking up, his face millimetres from mine, he knew.

He sensed all of it bursting in the energy around me. The desire, the need, the longing I’d been holding back.

Scooping my face into his hands, Poe pressed our lips together, wasting no time with the politeness he'd executed the last instance he attempted to kiss me, slanting his lips over mine, so desperate, so hungry. I responded just as eagerly, massaging our mouths together, slipping one of my palms to his freshly shaved jaw, relishing the luxurious smell that sifted into my nose.

The softness of his lips, the heat of his exhale, it was utterly intoxicating, my fingers coiling into his still slightly dampened hair, wrenching him closer.

I needed more.

As if my thoughts were transferred to him by our connection, he moved his lips away, beginning to trail hot kisses over the line of my jaw and down my neck, as I leaned my head back to give him every ounce of exposure to my skin. His hands slid down to my torso, placed roughly at either side of my ribs, gripping tightly as the delicate touch of his lips at the line of my clavicle pulled a soft moan from my throat, feeling almost lightheaded at the pleasure it rushed through me.

The sound made him frenzied, returning to crush his mouth to mine, slipping his tongue past the boundary of my teeth, completely enraptured, almost greedy. Using his grip on my waist, I felt him begin to push me, guiding me in a haphazard walk until my lower back connected against a hard piece of furniture. The hospital bed.

In a fluid motion, he clutched my hips and hoisted me upwards, my rear perched on the edge of the mattress, a small gasp escaping at his boldness. The tightened material of my skirt held my legs annoyingly close together, impeding his clear desire to keep his body pressed to mine. Fingers snatched at the hem, impatiently pushing the fabric up my thighs, daring to expose my underwear.

Poe immediately shifted to wedge himself in between my legs, and I took the opportunity to wrap them around him, pulling him close. The height of the bed put our hips at a matching angle, allowing me to feel him, all of him, his hard arousal grinding into the thin fabric of my panties.

While our lips continued to caress each other’s with increasing fervour, an impossibly delicious groan left him, relishing the sensation of his cock pressed into me.

Oh maker, that sound is heavenly.

Instinct took control, my fingers moving blindly to find the collar of his jacket, tugging it back over his shoulders, Poe helping me to pull the leather sleeves past his wrists, refusing to let our faces disconnect. My actions weren’t nearly as graceful, scrunching my hands impatiently into the bottom of his shirt, desperate to finally get the chance to trace my fingers over his bare chest. He barely hesitated in pulling back for the second it took to tug the cotton over his head, returning to my lips again like the momentary pause left him starving for them.

I was all fire inside, searing heat lighting up my skin in the most enchanting way, the intensity only getting hotter as I snaked my arms around Poe’s torso, letting my fingers dig into the toned muscles of his back. He growled in between impassioned kisses, his hands sliding from where they had found themselves on my hips, up over my breasts, only lingering briefly. One by one, he begin to unlock the buttons of my blouse, hurriedly wanting to expose my skin to the cold air of night resting around us. Returning his previous favour, I yanked out the material tucked into my skirt, allowing him to finish pulling the last buttons apart and hastily wrench the piece of clothing away.

Feeling his fingertips run up the lengths of my arms, I could have sworn there were marks left in the shape of his movement, a crimson red pleasure burning into my skin at his touch. Our kiss had maintained its intensity, but I could sense his focus drifting towards other parts of me, a hand gliding down my chest, slipping gently into the cup of my bra, fingers squeezing at my breast tenderly before a thumb grazed lightly over the already hardened nipple.

I gasped, my head leaning back in delight, as he continued to tease the nub, his face nuzzling into my neck, brushing his lips just under my ear. The whistle of his breath sent a glittering shiver all through my nerve endings, setting my skin alight with electricity. Nails dug harder into his back, my whole body beginning to pulse with lust, radiating solely from my centre, a wetness extremely noticeable underneath my panties. And somehow, Poe read my mind again, with a hand trailing down, irritatingly slowly. I soon felt his fingers cautiously skim the inside of my thigh, testing me, possibly still waiting for me to flee.

There was no way. My regard for that pointless line I'd been so fearful to traverse was so far behind me in the horizon, I could barely sense it anymore.

I pulled back to meet his face, only to move in to gently bite his lower lip, a way to indicate I was ready, to push him to keep going. His growl was almost fierce as we connected in a kiss once more, fingers now finding their confidence to graze from the bottom of my entrance all the way up.

Even with fabric dulling the exquisite sensation, my hips jerked into his hand, legs clamping around him harder, lungs sucking in an impassioned breath. I could feel him smile under my lips, smugly enjoying the reaction one simple touch produced. Two fingers continued to brush up and down my covered slit, gauging my response as he moved, before landing on the place that made me bite back a moan.

“Don’t hold it back,” he whispered into my ear. “I want to memorise the sound.”

I could have burst into a ball of flames right then, leaving behind nothing but embers and ash. The pleasure that rippled through me at the low rumble of his voice, combined with the increased swirling of his fingers over my sweet spot, was unparalleled to anything I’d experienced before. Completely drowned in the luscious motion, equally enraptured by his touch and warm, panting breath seeping into my ear. I was already so high on the feel of him, the twitching of my thighs signifying a climbing need for release. Yet I was suddenly acutely aware of seconds ticking away too swiftly, worried at any moment this scene could be snatched away by interruption.

“We don’t have much time,” I breathed, slipping my hands to his cheeks, forcing him look at me. His eyes held mine for a single moment before his fingers increased their pace, and I was helpless but to let out a pitiful whimper.

His breath grew heavier at the sound, and when I was able to reclaim enough composure to look back into his eyes again, they were fiery, animalistic.

“I want you,” I all but begged. “I need you, right now.”

A low groan seeped from his throat, eyes clenching shut as he pushed his hardness against me once more, refusing to cease the perfect swirl of his touch. “I need to hear you tip over the edge, at least once, before I leave,” he murmured.

My mouth enveloped his moments after he spoke the words, the strength of his lust radiating harshly into me. I was defenseless against it, wanting nothing more than to give him what he desired, thrusting myself against his hand, ravenously eager for the release he craved.

Finally, he hooked a lone finger into the top of my panties, ready to pull them down.

A shrill tone echoed through the clinic.

They were here.

We were out of time.

We both shot our eyes to the door, Poe’s head whipping around after hearing the familiar sound of my door alarm.

“Frack!” he exclaimed, before snapping his face back to mine.

A longing gaze exchanged between us, shared anguish over the night we could have spent together, as the reality of distance separating our bodies for an unknown time, maybe to never meet again, came crashing down in an instant.

Within the next moment he had his fingers laced through my hair, pulling me into an ardent kiss, intimate and slow, lips moving purposefully over mine.

I tried desperately to savour the feeling of it, the taste, the smell of him, all of it, into my memory. It would never compare to this moment, yet I still grasped onto every little piece and locked the fragments into my mind.

We didn’t have the time to relish in each other anymore, the concealment of our indiscretion now immediately important before I could open the clinic door.

I moved messily to replace my blouse, brain still blurry with the sudden fall of my ascending pleasure, struggling with the buttons under the pressure of seconds ticking by. Poe plucked his shirt and jacket off the floor, shrugging them on one after the other, still looking as effortlessly handsome as before I rushed into his arms.

He held his hand out to help me off the bed and I took it gladly, stepping down with a gentle hop, shimmying down the tight fabric of my skirt as I walked to the door. Poe followed behind me, noticing in my peripheries as he held back to reposition himself, the evidence of our close contact harder for him to hide.

Taking one last moment to flatten the hair Poe had disrupted from my ponytail, I inhaled hard, focusing all my energy on the locked box hidden in the depths of my brain, covering it in as many invisible layers I could muster in the moment before opening the door.

Inquisitive faces greeted me, somehow both familiar and extremely foreign.

Finn, dark skinned and looking every bit of the typical rebel fighter, a tan pocketed jacket emblazoned with the Resistance insignia draping his torso, a blaster discretely holstered to his hip.

Rey was precisely how I imagined a young female Jedi to look, glowing sun-speckled skin with brown hair curled into three distinct buns, roughened white fabric wrapped meticulously around her petite yet strong looking frame, cinched at the waist by a thick brown strap where a silver lightsaber handle hung.

“Dr Jago?” Finn asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed in confusion.

I smiled sweetly, pretending these people hadn’t shown up in perfect time to rip Poe and I from our long-awaited entanglement. “That’s me, but please just call me Alex. You must be Finn.” I held out my hand for him to shake, and he took it strongly, face still contorted in doubt. I ignored it to greet Rey in the same fashion. “And you’re Rey, right? Poe told me you were coming.”

I tried to ignore the burning sensation of my lips, hoping they didn’t seem as swollen as they felt. She smiled just as kindly back at me, a radiance bursting from her expression so bright that I could feel it pulse into the shield I held around my shape.

She’s already so strong.

“It’s so good to meet you,” she greeted. “We’ve been told you’re to thank for saving our Commander’s life.”

“I was just doing my job,” I replied modestly, the itchy feeling of praise scratching me again.

Poe stepped into their view just as my words were spoken, pulling all of their focus with him. I slipped back to allow their joyful reunion to occur without the interruption of a stranger, each entering into an emotional hug, exclaiming how glad they were to see him alive and well. They seemed close, and it warmed me to see Poe so relieved to be in the presence of his friends.

They dived quickly into conversation, Finn and Rey describing their perilous journey here, having to navigate their way around the Indrexu Spiral, an asteroid and comet debris filled nebula separating Raxus from much of the galaxy.

As they spoke, I couldn’t help but study Rey’s face for any recognition, any single trace of suspicion connected to what I had buried away. There was nothing of note, no sliver of energy examining me. She seemed at rest, barely a fragment of attention focused in my direction.

It was towards the end of their conversing I noticed Poe glancing at me, implicating me as their topic of discussion. Finn and Rey had also looked my way, waiting for an answer.

“Sorry what?” I sputtered, broken free of my internal musings.

“The crash?” Finn repeated. “Did you see it happen?”

I shook my head, a memory of the booming sound it had made flashing in my mind. “Only the aftermath. But it was an incredibly hard collision, made the walls shake and everything.”

“And Poe hadn’t performed an emergency ejection, right?” Rey queried, significance weighing her question. It was obvious they were trying to collect some clues to the moments leading up to Poe’s accident.

“That’s right. He’d blown right through the transparisteel and landed not far from the hull. I believe it was that impact that broke his bones. His burns however, definitely occurred before that, since I’d found him in a space that hadn’t caught fire.”

Rey creased her eyebrows together. “So the X-wing was already on fire? Before it crashed?”

“That’s what we can gather,” Poe concurred while nodding to me, reiterating a conversation we’d had during our Sabbac game, when I was detailing the events from the night I found him. “Alex had already gotten me inside the clinic before the whole ship exploded, so there wasn’t really anything left to search over, to see what might have happened before I lost consciousness and crashed here.”

“Well, that pile of rubble won’t be giving us an answer anytime soon,” Finn agreed. His eyes then glanced to Poe, looking over him carefully, absorbed in his own thoughts before speaking up again. “Hey, what kind of bacta do you keep here? This guy barely looks like he’s had a dent put in him.”

Poe and Rey both shot him irritated looks.

“What? I’m just asking,” he huffed back.

I laughed cautiously. “It was decent quality bacta, I guess. I’d show you my stock but Poe’s injuries kinda cleaned me out.”

Hold on to that lie for dear life.

“It mustn’t have been that bad then? I mean, it took me two weeks soaking in a bacta coma to fix the cracks in my back. How come you got him walking within three days?”

“Finn!” Rey hissed.

Poe rolled his eyes. “Trust me. I felt the pain. It was bad,” he murmured. It still troubled him, the memory of it. I could tell in the smallest fluctuation in his voice.

Rather than retort with words I moved to find my data pad at the tech station, flicking the screen to the images of Poe’s X-rays, handing it to Finn. “Those were taken after I managed to pull the bone back under his skin,” I said curtly. I couldn’t help but feel a wash of insult come over me with his questioning. I still might have fixed that break just fine if it hadn’t caused a waterfall of blood to spurt out.

It was then a tendril of what felt like heavy smoke brushed at my skin, invisible, moving slowly over me, searching for an opening inside.

Rey had sensed the shift in my mood and was evidently trying to find the thought that caused it.

The cloud surrounded me in an instant, striving to break into the impenetrable shield.

It was time.

A moment I’d avoided for years, finally staring me in the face, here to test the defenses I'd worked so hard to build. The fog persisted to waft over, and I could feel Rey’s curiosity through the energy field she was secretly emitting. I didn’t dare look to her face, not wanting to seem as though I could sense what was happening, to give any evidence to her suspicion.

Finn had continued to look through my notes on Poe’s progress, his eyes scanning and widening as he read over the intimate details. The facts were there, with a small fabrication as to the method of mending the severed artery. I’d written that I’d managed to patch it with military grade fibrin glue, something I would never be able to afford or even have sent here in a zillion years.

But they wouldn’t know that.

It felt dirty inputting the forgery within Poe's notes, as dirty as I felt every other time I'd been forced to explain how a patient pulled through under my care. It was for their benefit, their life, but it still felt so unethical to lie.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Finn finally asked, acknowledging the effort I had put into getting Poe back into the picture of health that stood with us.

“Coruscant, and a myriad of other planets I was sent to while stationed on hospital ships for war relief efforts.” Evidently Poe hadn’t gone into too much detail about my past, which I was grateful for.

“Well, you’re damn good, especially being so young,” Finn complimented, finally relaxing his stance. “Maybe if you were with the Resistance I wouldn’t have been in a bacta bubble for so long.”

I let my lips curl into an awkward smile. “I’m sure I would have done no better than the doctors there.”

“You sure? We could really use-”

“Finn,” Poe stopped, chuckling. “Don’t try the spiel on her. She’s not interested.” He gave me a comforting look, and it made me desperately want to turn back time, just to find myself in his arms again once more.

Finn shrugged, and turned to look at Rey, as I used the opportunity to peek at her face. Her head was tilted in subtle confusion, instantly knowing it was due to my shield holding strong against the inquisitive mist that wished to search through my mind. When my eyes drifted to hers it retracted, the intense haze promptly recoiling back into her body.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” Finn posed, raising his hand to pat Poe on the arm. “We’ve got orders to get our Commander back ASAP.”

Rey nodded, focused back onto the current circumstance. “Right,” she agreed, looking to Poe's tense expression. “Let’s get you home. Leia’s waiting for you.”

I felt the blood drain from my face, a cold shock fizzling in my bones. I had no willpower available to prevent myself from fixing my gaze to Poe's face, watching as he immediately glared back, a similar distress glowing in his irises.

“BB-8!” he suddenly yelled. “We can’t leave without him.”

His friends were in agreement, quickly realising the droid had yet to make his entrance.

“Oh! He’s, uh, in my quarters,” I mumbled, recalling I’d closed the door behind me with him still inside. “He barged in while you were in the ‘fresher.”

An immense awareness overcame Poe’s face, realising exactly what his little robot friend had done.

I motioned my head towards the hallway. “Let’s go retrieve him, and we can get your things from the office while we’re at it.”

He was responsive to the hidden meaning behind my request, explaining quickly to Finn and Rey, “We’ll be right back.”

He was at my heels, following me down the hallway, before I turned quickly into the darkened study, both of us slipping behind the door and clicking it shut. I was suddenly pressed against the wall, hands grasping at my waist as Poe’s lips found mine in the shadowed blackness. I kissed him urgently, clawing my fingers into his jacket to pull him closer.

This was it, our secret goodbye.

“He showed you,” Poe said softly after pulling away, forehead leaning into mine. I opened my lids, his eyes only barely visible by the subtle illumination afforded from the rim of the entryway.

“Only the important things,” I smirked. “Nothing confidential about your mission.”

He exhaled, breath brushing my cheeks. “Should have known he was recording, sneaky little droid.” His tone turned grim, a heavy moment hanging in the air between us. “So you understand why I have to leave.”

I brought my hand to his cheek, grazing my fingers on the skin. “I do. In the same way you know why I can’t go with you.”

Poe swallowed hard, his hands tensing their grip on me. “I’ll come back. If I get through this, I’ll come back to you. To finish what we started.”

“Okay,” I breathed. “Please don’t crash on another planet.”

He chuckled lowly before sinking onto my lips again, a kiss sweetened with meaning and... hope.

Hope for another chance to be in each other’s arms again.

*

I was the first to exit the study, a cold shiver moving through me, trying to grapple with my gloom while maintaining the buffer around my mind in case Rey made another effort to reach out again. Opening the door to my quarters, BB-8 waiting impatiently behind it. I kneeled down to speak to him directly, leaning in close. “Thank you BB,” I whispered.

He beeped expectantly at me, asking a question I somehow knew the answer to. When I nodded back, he wiggled his body gleefully, chattering a cascade of sweetened beeps. My smile was hard to contain, only slightly curious as to why this little droid was so invested in his owner’s love life.

I’d stood back up just as Poe pulled the office door closed, a satchel over his shoulder filled with some of the tools and spare parts I was more than happy to have offloaded, as well as some of the remnant tech of his flight suit that had survived after I’d ripped it to pieces.

He squinted at BB-8. “We’re going to have a stern discussion when we get on the Falcon,” he rumbled.

But BB-8 didn’t seem to care, squealing happily as he whizzed off down the hallway.

Poe and I took one last moment together, alone, in silence. I took his hand, squeezing it. “I’ll be waiting. You know where to find me,” I murmured delicately, motioning for him to lead the way.

There was an obvious turmoil in Poe's eyes, his jaw tense as pupils studied my face, strengthening our grip, before letting his hand slip from mine.

BB-8 was cheerfully enjoying the welcoming scritches of Rey as we entered into the clinic room, Finn bending down to pat the droids head. Both were clearly pleased he had managed to survive the ordeal as intact as Poe. On noticing our return, their postures straightened, an aura of urgency seeming to fill the atmosphere.

“Come on, Chewie’s waiting,” Finn encouraged. Each made their move to exit out the front door of the clinic as I followed slowly behind them, leaning my form against the frame of the door, watching hopelessly as Poe walked away.

I was furiously clutching the impulse to beg for him to stay when Rey veered back to me. Her abrupt turn set me on high alert, bracing my shield against any inquisitive energy. She leaned in close, a gentle kindness set in her demeanour. “Thank you. For what you did. If you ever need anything, the Resistance would be more than willing to help.”

I let go of the breath I was holding, beaming back at her. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Suddenly, an invisible pounding force hit my body, rattling every one of my senses. As my view came into focus again, Rey still standing before me, I knew she had felt the same thing.

Our eyes darted to the sky above us, a flickering light emanating from a lone ship only barely visible in the night sky. Reactions were synchronised, stares shooting back to each other, instantly comprehending exactly what was about to happen.

“Come with us,” she pleaded. “We can keep you safe.”

Finn and Poe had already looked back, not sensing the entrance of an enemy force into the atmosphere, only hearing Rey's hushed, imploring tone.

“Get out of here, while you can still do it unnoticed,” I hissed. “I can handle it.”

Poe stormed back over where we stood, already perceiving a rising problem. “What? What’s wrong?”

Rey and I looked to each other, gauging the thoughts showing in our eyes. I recklessly spoke first, regretting it the instant I slipped the words. “Poe, if you want to complete that mission, you need to get on that ship. Now.”

His face became hardened. “They found us, didn’t they?” His fiery stare moved between Rey and I, a heated impatience exploding in his expression when we didn’t answer immediately.

Eventually, Rey spoke calmly. “They’ll make landfall within the minute.” 

“Please go,” I begged. “They won’t hurt me as long as you make yourself scarce.”

“No,” he snarled. “I’m not leaving you here to face them.”

Rey rushed to face him, frantic. “She’s right. They’ll see she’s innocent in this. And then we can get far enough away that they won’t be able to track us.”

“You’ve seen how they interrogate people of interest Rey,” he protested. “They won’t just ask some questions and move on.”

“Poe!” Finn hollered, being privy to our conversation. “Stop being heroic for five minutes and let’s go!”

But, the moment for fleeing had passed.

A sleek black transporter ship was careening directly for us, no doubt having already spotted the unmistakable form of the Millennium Falcon. Poe rushed to me in long strides, gripping my wrist and attempting to pull me with him. “You have to come with us! They won’t let you stay here.” His eyes were frantic with fear.

He was right. I was now entangled within their web, simply by being seen fraternising with Resistance fighters. And the First Order wouldn’t take that lightly.

Damn it. Damn it all.

“Get on the Falcon,” Rey instructed, her voice formidable, turning to her comrades. “We’ll need to incapacitate whoever’s on this ship before we have a chance of leaving. She unclipped her lightsaber, looking to Finn with an unspoken message, before calling towards the ship. “Chewie! We need you! And bring an extra blaster!”

The ship had made a swift landing, dust swirling in the harsh white lights that illuminated the scene, hatch opening down in a speedy thunk.

I barely had time to peer at the figures exiting into the earthy fog before Poe had begun to usher me toward the Millennium Falcon, pressing hard on the small of my back, urging me to hurry. I heard the sound of Rey’s lightsaber springing to life with a low hum, before a distressed shout.

“Death troopers!”

I twisted around to face the enemy shapes, at least six of what looked like Stormtroopers, heavily clad in armour as black as the night around us, a green glow at the bottom of their helmets.

“I thought the First Order didn’t use them!” Poe bellowed.

“Well they do now!” Rey hollered, placing herself in a defensive stance.

The world around me erupted into chaos, a mess of blaster fire screeching into the spaces surrounding us. A red bolt shot towards Poe and I, barely allowing time to flee before it struck the ground in a sizzling puff of embers. I’d thrown myself onto my knees, covering my head as if it would be enough to shield me. Hesitantly, I looked up again to see a blaster flying over me, thrown from the looming Wookie storming towards us.

“Run Alex! Run to the ship!” Poe ordered, catching it easily within his grasp, firing directly into the fray of hostile soldiers. I straightened to follow his instruction, adrenaline making my legs feel like static, taking only a few irritatingly slow steps before a shower of blaster fire raced past my leg.

Truly the worst day to be wearing a skirt.

The shots were so close to my skin I could feel the heat sting me, causing a pain that made it even harder to keep my steps moving. I raced past Chewie, who had quickly joined his friends in returning fire on the encroaching Death troopers. Behind me I made out the noise of a lightsaber blade scorching against armour, another pained grunt filling the air amongst the discharge of lasers. The sound burned me, familiar and agonising, guilt uncontrollably surging through my body.

I was almost at the ramp when another Death trooper entered from under the cover of night, blaster raised with threatening intent.

Asshole must have slipped around in the darkness.

I froze immediately, waiting for the pain of burning laser to hit. But the trooper simply moved forward, and instinct caused me to step backward in panic, legs shaking. My hands were quivering just as much, raising them up in a signal of surrender. I wanted to speak, to attempt to explain my lack of allegiance to the group they were hunting, but it occurred to me - I would probably be wasting my words.

The trooper continued to edge me back towards the skirmish playing out behind us, forcing me away from the shelter of the Falcon. He had brought his blaster higher to his helmet, aiming, poised to shoot if I made the slightest move to run again.

The barrage of blaster fire continued to pierce the atmosphere, and I was desperate to turn around, only to see if Poe and his friends were still alive in the midst of it all. But I was forced into submission by the menacing stranger in front of me, now pushing as much distance as they could between me and my escape.

A lone shot then flew past my hip, hitting the Death trooper in an apparent weak spot on his knee, the laser searing through his armour and into the skin beneath. He fell to the ground gasping in pain, the recognisable smell of burnt flesh filtering into my nose.

My head swivelled to the origin of the well-placed shot, seeing Chewie let out a bellowing growl, before returning to the direction where two Death troopers still remained standing. I scanned quickly to find Poe and Finn engaged in combat with a sole trooper, ducking and weaving out of the melee strikes of their opponent, trying to gain an opportunity to use their blasters to break through the thick armour. My attention was suddenly called to the body on the ground next to me, as I made out the crackle of a transmission message. “The rebels were here, including the Jedi,” the distorted voice shouted behind his helmet. “Alert the Supreme Leader. And send assistance.”

“They’re calling for backup!” I yelled, running over to the scene of battle, hoping my voice would carry over the swish of Rey’s lightsaber and countless blaster bolts. “Kylo Ren knows you’re here!”

My shriek sprouted a moment of distraction from the Death troopers, allowing Rey to make a fatal swing into her opponents back, his figure crumbling to the ground in a sizzling heap. Finn was also able to make a daring move to sweep his foot around the ankle of the second trooper, causing him to stagger into the bombardment of shots from Poe’s blaster.

“Everybody on the Falcon, now!” Poe ordered.

Our movements were synchronised as we made a break for the ship from differing points on the field. I wasn’t as quick as the others, the burns on my legs not dulled by adrenaline anymore, limping into a run. Each had already made it up the ramp when I felt two excruciating scalds strike my thigh, making me tumble to the ground, screeching in pain.

“Alex!” I heard Poe shout, the thump of my heartbeat drowning out the sound. I could barely make out his figure on the ramp of the ship, my eyes blurred in agony.

“Go! You don’t have time!” I heaved back, breathless.

“She’s right Poe!” Finn had his hand gripped around his arm, trying to pull him up into the ship’s interior. “We’ll all die if we stay any longer!”

My strength to stay alert was wavering, feeling the wounds already seeping blood onto my skin and into the ground beneath me. Poe wrestled under Finn’s clutch, fighting the truth of his statement. But the logical side of his brain was triumphant, ending his defiance against the pull on his body inside the Falcon.

“I’ll find you! I promise!” he shouted in the moment before the ships ramp retracted and the engines roared into life. It moved swiftly into the sky, disappearing into the night within seconds, a burst of light glinting into a brushed line, zooming into hyperspace before I even took my next breath.

I turned myself onto my back, gasping through the throbbing ache of my leg wound. Using my last whispers of strength, I rose into a seated position, flinching hard at the jolt of pain caused by movement. I then ripped one of my sleeves off from the shoulder stitch, tearing the fabric into two strips. One was folded into a square, placing it over as much of the two blaster wounds as I could. The other I wrapped around my leg, holding the makeshift gauze in place. When the knot was tied I crashed into the ground, energy swiftly dissolving.

Only minutes had passed before I heard the sounds of more transports landing, a cold rush of fear swarming through my chest. I didn’t move, but the crunching steps that exited the ships still made their way directly towards my body. A collection of white Stormtrooper helmets came into view above, circling around my vision.

“Only one rebel in the vicinity. Should we terminate?” one of the masked figures questioned into his headset.

“I’m not with the Resistance,” I huffed, my voice losing power. One of the troopers kicked me, sending a thrill of pain from my wound into the rest of my body, my eyes stinging with tears.

“Bring them back to the Finalizer,” a grizzled voice responded on the comm-system. “Alive.”

~

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk​ @lightsinthedistancee​ @paterson-blue​

(Please let me know if you wanted to be added or removed!)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 29

First

Previous

Next

Chat was still reeling from the bombshell that was ‘everyone apparently knows about his family life’ when Master Fu had told them that he probably knew Hawkmoth… and then, because apparently the universe wasn’t done with him, Master Fu had told them that he had personally chosen Hawkmoth.

Master Fu sighed as he looked over all their faces and then motioned for them to sit down. They did so without question or complaint, though it was mostly because everyone was in shock and on autopilot.

He leaned heavily against his cane.

“You all know the way the story started. About thirty years ago, a woman calling herself Paon started terrorizing Paris with what she called Sentimonsters using the peacock miraculous.”

Of course they knew the story. They had only been alive for a little more than half of it, but that didn’t mean they didn’t remember the giant Sentimonsters wreaking havoc every day. Those kinds of memories stick with you.

“To counter her, a man called Pieris, with powers that varied by the battle, rose to counteract her.”

They all nodded. They were beginning to piece together who Hawkmoth was, they weren’t stupid, but… one thing didn’t make sense:

“But Pieris would have been an akuma, not Hawkmoth,” said Rena, frowning.

“Who says Hawkmoth can’t akumatize himself?” Said Master Fu quietly. He sighed again, looking even older than usual. “Anyways, you all know that it took about twenty years for him to defeat her.”

They all nodded again. Chat hadn’t been allowed out, but he remembered all of the parties and celebrations when it had been announced that Paon’s reign of terror was over.

(Not that he’d wanted to be let out at the time. His mother had just died, going out and having fun had felt wrong. How could he be happy when his mother would never be able to do so again?)

“But… it turned out that the man that I had chosen to be Pieris was Paon’s husband. When he found out what he had done to his wife, he was overcome with grief. His miraculous corrupted him.”

Beside him, Rena clenched her fists. “So… did you choose Paon, too? Is this just our fate? One day we’ll just go evil and there’s nothing --?”

“No,” Master Fu cut her off. “Paon… it was passed through her family. Sometimes the person would use it for good, other times bad, but no matter what they passed it on once the eldest child became an adult.”

Rena relaxed, but only slightly.

Chat couldn’t find it in himself to do the same.

He turned and buried his face in Rena’s shoulder, unsure what to do. There was no way...

Right?

Chat bit his lip.

His parents had always been very busy and a little bit distant, though he had just attributed that to their jobs. Then there was the fact that his mother’s death coincided with the day that Paon had last been seen. When Paon and Pieris had disappeared his father had been more present, and when Hawkmoth had appeared his father had suddenly had a heavy workload again...

But that could be explained away, he thought. The death could be an unlucky coincidence, and who wants to do extra work when their wife has just died? And then who’s to say that his father couldn’t get back into work again by the time Hawkmoth had appeared? No, that could make sense.

His father HAD been really interested in his ring, though --.

No.

Gabriel Agreste COULDN’T be Hawkmoth. Chat didn’t have any proof of it, but he knew it to be true. Sure, the man was distant, but that didn’t mean he was evil. After all, Chat still had memories of his father sitting him on his lap and letting him color a design he’d made. He could still remember all the times his father had shifted aside in bed so he could cuddle after a nightmare. How could a man like that be evil?

How could a man like that knowingly endanger his son every day?

No. There were other people.

Sure, there were only a few people he could consider himself close to, but that didn’t mean he never talked to anyone outside of his family, servants, Kagami, and Chloe. As an Agreste, he’d attended many different balls and galas and even business meetings to represent his family, he was acquainted with plenty other rich people.

Yeah. There were other options. He was just jumping to conclusions because of the Traitor Scare a few days beforehand. Yeah. It was someone else. It had to be.

~

Rena had been the one to escort Master Fu home. Maybe it was to question him further, they didn’t know. They were all pretty sure they didn’t want to ask, though, because she came home looking even more dejected than before.

When she got back she took a seat on the table. Chat had perched himself in the window. Chloe had laid across the couch, legs in Ladybug’s lap. Carapace had slung himself across the armchair.

Despite the disparity in their positions, however, all their faces had the same contemplative look.

Rena was the first one to speak: “Fuck that guy, am I right?”

Ladybug laughed a little, though it sounded forced. “Yeah. All I’m getting is that the bitch didn’t use to have child heroes.”

There was a beat, and then Carapace sat up suddenly. “Wait a minute, you’re right! Pieris was an adult!”

“It’s probably because kids are easier to manipulate,” said Chloe quietly. All eyes fell on her. “Think about it. Chat, Ladybug, and Carapace never really defend themselves -- Carapace defends other people, sure, but he wasn’t close enough to any of us to bother before. Rena and I both started out practically worshiping at least one of you guys. For one reason or another, we were all pretty easy to manage.”

The silence that followed the statement was deafening.

The longer they stewed in it the angrier they got and the luckier they were that Hawkmoth had already used up his akumitization of the day.

“Can’t believe that he did this to stop me from retiring -- actually, no, I can believe it,” muttered Carapace. “I shouldn’t have told him I was thinking about leaving for college. Should’ve just applied, made a public statement, and then dropped the bracelet on his doorstep… damn him...”

Rena laughed bitterly. “‘Damn him’ is right. Really, though, I should’ve known he was fucked from the start. Who the hell goes up to someone and says ‘I have been looking for a person like you for a while now’?”

“You punched him, right?” Said Chloe with a frown.

“Obviously. I punched him and ran. Went the wrong way, though, and ended up cornered in an alley.”

“You definitely should’ve been wary of him after that one,” agreed Ladybug. “If he had done that to me I wouldn’t have trusted anything he tried to put on my neck even if I saw a God coming out of it... maybe I would’ve trusted him less if that happened, actually.”

“Things have gone downhill since I was recruited, apparently.” Chat said with a weak grin, and Ladybug nodded her agreement. “I had to save him from getting run over. Which was stupid, might I add. What if I hadn’t looked up in time? Did he have a backup plan or was he just going to let himself get hit if I didn’t notice?”

“Wait, go back. You had to save him from a car?” Said Chloe. “I had to pick up his cane for him! Where was my super cool trial?”

“I think I can answer both of you guys’ questions…”

Everyone looked at Carapace, but he was determinedly looking at his phone.

“Well, for one, no, he did not have a backup plan.”

Rena’s hand flew to her mouth. “You let him get hit?!”

Carapace winced. “Okay, wait, hold up. I did not ‘let him get hit’. I just… didn’t notice that he was in danger until he was hit, there’s a difference.”

Ladybug and Chat looked at each other and their eyes widened as they realized something at the same time.

“Oh my kwami, are you the reason he has to use a cane?”

He didn’t seem to hear this, apparently very interested in something on his phone.

“Are you the reason he has to use a cane?” Chat repeated.

Still nothing.

“Carapace… Carapace… please tell me you’re not the reason,” said Ladybug. Her voice wobbled with either laughter or tears, Chat wasn’t sure.

Apparently their friend had gone deaf without them noticing.

Chloe’s eyes were alight with what was definitely laughter. “Your first day was even worse than mine!”

“PLEASE,” said the no longer deaf Carapace. He briefly set his phone down to count off on his fingers: “Let’s see… revealed your identity, covered half the city with honey, nearly crashed a train, got akumatized --.”

He never got to finish, because Chloe had thrown herself at him and started trying to smother him with a pillow.

“That’s a throw pillow, Chlo, you’re supposed to throw them,” supplied Rena.

He tried to yell something through the pillow, probably ‘traitor’, but it sounded like “Huhu!”

Chat smiled and walked over to Carapace’s fallen phone and started recording.

~

There was no context for the video that showed up on Carapace’s account that night.

All the people of Paris got was a video of Chloe and Carapace rolling around on the floor, laughing as they took part in what was essentially a pillow fight at that point.

Rena was in the background. She was goading them on, yelling encouragement for whoever she wanted and switching sides at the drop of a hat.

Ladybug was also there, her lips pressed together thinly in an attempt to hide a smile as she made eye contact with the camera and gave an eyeroll.

Chat’s laughter, which had been a soft but constant sound throughout the video, picked up briefly at the eyeroll.

The video cut.

~

Despite his exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to sleep. So, at four in the morning, he shuffled downstairs with a blanket wrapped around himself.

He started towards the kitchen for something to eat, only to stop cold when he heard a quiet scraping sound from inside.

The lights were still off in the kitchen… and everyone should have been asleep or out on patrols...

Many thoughts ran through his head. Hawkmoth could be back. Robbers could be in the house.

He pulled out his phone and transformed. If it was people robbing the place he’d need proof for the police, and if it was Hawkmoth Rena would kill him if he didn’t get a picture (if Hawkmoth didn’t kill him first, of course).

He started recording and then walked to the door, flicking the light on.

Ladybug was sitting on the counter in a Totoro onesie, eating mac and cheese straight from the pot.

He relaxed and let his phone arm fall limply to his side. “Oh, it’s just you.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I was hungry.”

“I can see that.” He realized something as she pulled more food to her mouth and he squinted just to make sure. “Is that… is that brown?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Put coffee in it.”

He was tempted to try and clean out his ears, because there was no way she should have been able to say that so nonchalantly.

“WHY?!”

“Wanted to see if it tasted better.”

He stared at her, trying to gauge if she was messing with him… and then, because he simply had to know, he asked: “And… and does it?”

She looked down at the abomination she had created sadly.

“No.”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet @melicmusicmagic @meimei3841 @roseliali

[inkformyblood]

he is all and he’s more (Geraskier)

“Ah, Witcher!”

Geralt grunted, twitched, his ever-present scowl only deepening in hopes of driving away whichever noble — emboldened by drink or song — would leave him alone. It had worked only an hour previously as the woman, cheeks pink and the flush spreading across her neck and shoulders, squeaked in fright, changing course so abruptly that she nearly crashed into a dancing couple. But this man would not be so easily dissuaded.

Valdo Marx didn’t walk, he strutted, the motion calculated to draw attention to the golden thread that twisted through the embroidery on his doublet, and Geralt couldn’t help but think of Jaskier.

His bard was wearing his best doublet. Geralt had seen him carefully pull it out of their packs that morning — the scent of lavender spilling out along with the carefully maintained fabric and Geralt had watched the water run down the curve of Jaskier’s spine, droplets darkening the fabric — but they both knew eyes lingered on the embroidery that covered the worn patches and the space where a clasp had fallen off.

“Must be my lucky day to find you here,” Valdo grinned, but it failed to meet his eyes, cold and empty like a dead fish, and Geralt felt his lip curl in revulsion.

He had promised Jaskier though, and it was that promise — the sensation of Jaskier’s hands so warm in his own as the bard had squeezed them tightly — that caused Geralt to simply sigh low in his throat, and continue staring out over the crowd.

Jaskier moved through the crowd as if he had been born to do so, his smile never leaving his face as he sang; and when his eyes met Geralt’s, it was as if his chest was filled with liquid sunlight at the way Jaskier’s grin only brightened, eyes alight.

“It is about our mutual friend,” Valdo drew out the word as if it repulsed him, reclining onto the wall next to Geralt and lifting a drink from a passing servant’s tray, “that I wanted to speak to you about.”

Geralt glanced at Valdo out of the corner of his eye, one hand rising to grip the curved knife at his belt. “What about Jaskier?”

“Julian was always an odd sort.” Geralt bit back a growl, only growing tenser at the almost conversational note in Valdo’s voice. “Always running around with his head full of flights of fancy and adventure. Hardly suitable topics for the son of a lord, but he was always stubborn.”

Geralt watched Jaskier through a gap in the crowd, the way he bowed to a passing gentleman and winked with an ease that Geralt could never possess. The song grew and swelled, shifting into a familiar refrain.

“ When a humble bard… ”

“Oh dear.” Valdo laughed, a cruel note twisting through the sound, and Geralt’s grip tightened on his knife, his arm beginning to tremble with the strain. “I suppose if he only has the one known song, then it makes sense that he would sing it here, rather than in the taverns and whorehouses I’m sure he’s used to.”

“Get to the point,” Geralt growled, his voice dipping into a lower register that rumbled through his bones.

Valdo flinched, a sheer animalistic reaction, and Geralt couldn’t help but smile, the action all teeth.

“Why him?”

Geralt turned to stare, pinning the other man with his gaze as easily as he would a knife. This close, he could see the faint sheen of sweat that was beading along his hairline where the powder didn’t cover, could smell the sickly sweet scent of wine that rolled from his breath.

“You’re a Witcher, you would be welcomed at all the finest courts, live in luxury as payment for your services, and have the greatest bards sing your exploits rather than,” Valdo scoffed, glancing over at Jaskier dismissively, “some two-bit hack.”

He moved closer, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm. “Why not travel with me instead?”

Jaskier was everything Geralt was not — even if he protested when Geralt said that, warmth in his voice even as he argued against him — and he still didn’t understand why Jaskier had chosen to travel with him year after year. That Jaskier loved him — and that he let Geralt love him in return — was incomprehensible, and Geralt was grateful for every touch, for every kiss.

“Jaskier is more to me than you will ever know,” Geralt hissed, roughly yanking his arm away. “There is nothing you could say to make him any less to me.”

Jaskier was the sun in Geralt’s world of night, and as such, Geralt always knew where the other man was when they were together.

“Valdo! You shit-eating bastard!”

Geralt moved back half a step to give Jaskier the room he needed to swing his lute — borrowed for this event, a heavy piece of wood, covered in careful engravings — at Valdo. It broke with a resounding crash, silence settling like a fog over the event.

Jaskier’s grin was sharp, shoulders heaving. His hair had fallen loose and hung like spears over his forehead. “I think we can leave now, Geralt.”

The crowd parted as they moved through, whispers erupting in their wake, and Geralt twisted his fingers into Jaskier’s, drawing their joined hands up to press a careful kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles the moment they were out of sight. Jaskier laughed, a helpless nervous chuckle, but pulled Geralt down into a kiss, smiling against his mouth.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

[basilone]

The inimitable @mercurygray set us a lovely writer’s challenge for this weekend and I’m really excited to see what people came up with! I had a bit of time on my hands on this fine Saturday, so am posting mine now..

The challenge:  Using one of my Central Casting generators or another random generator of your choice, pick an a name, and, if desired, the backstory given, for a new character. Write a short snippet or create a drawing/sketch that introduces them to the fandom property of your choice, and establishes them as a leading person worth paying attention to. (Bonus points if they play opposite to a canon character you don’t usually write. Blind dates for the muse, remember?)

I drew a brand new someone out of one of the mentioned name generators (things of beauty, those are!) and decided to.. pick on Mr George Luz for once. I haven’t written him before much at all, and I’m not sure how much of him shines through in this, but putting him with this particular OC was really cool! 

salvage

She knew these paratroopers were going to be a hassle.

Bette sighs as the telltale sound of someone splashing around in water reaches her ears long before she lays eyes on the man. There is something panicked about his motions, even though he seems to be uninjured so far. He sounds like one of ’em gators from back home, truth be told, making a godawful racket in the water the second it’s caught some prey.

He hasn’t seen her yet. She doesn’t think she can blame him, not when the sky overhead is aflame and death crashes into the woods and fields of Normandy. And even in the silver sheen the moon casts over his features, he’s young. Small beneath the remnants of his gear, wide-eyed at the fury of warfare, and cursing to himself in increasingly creative ways. She can make out something about a radio, a leg bag, and goddamn officers he’ll complain about until, apparently, the cows come home.

Bette sighs. Steps closer to the water. Raises her voice just loudly enough to be heard.

“Flash!”

He whirls around at the sound of her voice. He takes a step back – splash! – and squints at her in the moonlight.

“T-thunder.”

She doesn’t begrudge him the stutter. Doesn’t begrudge his hands straying to all the spaces she knows paratroopers use to store their weapons. He comes up empty, she can tell, and there’s something of casual toughness in his shrug. There’s something of her philosophy in that one – this might as well happen and we’ll make do when it does – and she very nearly smiles at him for it. She’s made friends over less, after all.

At least he’s finally smart enough to make his way out of the water and edge closer to her shelter between the tree and hedgerow.

“Which company?”

Her demand comes easy. She doesn’t know if she should make an order out of it.

“Easy, ma’am.”

He’s polite, then. His voice doesn’t shake. He’s a little taller than her, but not as tall as most of the men she’s worked with. His mouth’s that of a man who likes to laugh – all quirked corners tinged with good humor – and his eyes are alight with curiosity the likes of which she hasn’t seen in a good long while.

Curiosity gets you killed out here.

“Boy, you’re out of your DZ by a few miles,” she says, affecting a low whistle of displeasure to fortify how displeased she is by this development. Easy? She’d been told to expect Dog at best. Had been told none of them would really get in her way, but here she is stranded with an unarmed paratrooper right after the night she’s had. “You hurt? Or just lost?”

“Lost, ma’am, and so is my radio. Think it must be in a million pieces all over France by now,” he says, so sheepishly she almost laughs. And he’s trusting, isn’t he, this one, which makes her hand curl around her stiff and bloodied sleeve in an attempt to erase all her own shortcomings. He offers his name just like that. Like names aren’t currency to him. “I’m Luz. George Luz.”

“Bette.” She offers only a shortening of her first name. Keeps her voice soft and her next admission even softer. “I’m with the OSS. Your regroup location’s the same as mine.”

“Guess they want us to work –”

Her eyes widen. She claps a hand over his mouth before he can finish speaking. The hedgerows around them rustle with sound, louder than any of his splashes in the water were, and there’s carelessness in the voices that carry on the breeze.

Paratroopers have been briefed about safety in numbers. Bette knows this – mon Dieu, she’d had a good laugh about it with Jack when he’d mentioned it – but hearing it in action truly is something else.

There’s a group of paratroopers out there, not too far away from where they are, and she can tell it’s them because they’re loudly discussing chutes and dropzones without a care in the world. As though they’re not in enemy territory. As though they’re not behind enemy lines at all.

She pulls Luz – George, she reminds herself – down and keeps her hand clasped firmly over his mouth. His eyes are wide, but he’s not prone to fighting her. Not even when it’s his buddies out there, or at least other paratroopers, loudly being very American in all the ways that speak of invincibility and stupidity. And maybe there’s survival in him, after all, because he grabs hold of a prickly-looking branch and his body coils in on itself as he pulls her closer to him.

Voices carry. They carry loudest in the dark.

She removes her hand from his mouth. Coils it around the foreign knife in her boot instead. She’s taken one enemy’s life like this tonight – murdered with his own weapon, in the bed he’d taken her into while laughing in her ear – and she’s going to be damned if she lets her own life be wrenched away from her by her allies.

George’s head raises as the voices edge closer. She slips the knife free.

The ignition of colors overhead – the shouts, cut off – the flash and bang of death that comes so quick out here in Normandy, so quick she can’t breathe before it’s done – it’s all familiar to her. It’s not familiar to these paratroopers, and they pay for it dearly.

“No,” she murmurs, humming dissent into George’s ear before the noise dies down, “nothing you can do.”

His eyes are wide. His body so tense she thinks he’s going to leave her hand all bruised from the way he’s gripping it. She lets it happen, lets him hold on – heaven knows she clutched Jack’s hand just as tight the first time – and prays they won’t come looking for more. Prays she’s not going to die like this, holding hands with a paratrooper while the blood of their commandant stiffens her clothes and paints her guilty.

Bette hears the confusion – Fallschirmjäger, hier? – and then the fury – warum erzählen sie uns nichts, hä, warum – and a good many other German gripes as the voices of the enemy carry louder before they die away in the dark. She counts the footsteps that march past. Five of them, maybe six. Too many to take, but they’re not looking for more enemies. They’re the stomping boots of men who’d just had their own world turned upside down – how do you like your fucking Blitzkrieg now, assholes – and are on the warpath to find the brass in charge of their brand of mishaps.

She needs to move. She needs to move right now, before –

“Wait!”

“No,” she breathes as she scrambles to her feet and stumbles out of the hedgerow. She pulls George with her – pulls him along, quick as anything, past the bodies of paratroopers she can only hope he doesn’t recognize – and marches away from all things enemy as quick as her feet can carry her. “We can’t wait.”

“Why? Bette, Bette, hey,” he says, and damn if she doesn’t like the hoarse whisper with which he says her name, “slow down, will ya?”

“Can’t.” She knows her eyes are wild, now, but she can’t stop feeling some kind of terrified any more than she can stop the sky from catching fire tonight. She’s always going to be scared in this war, always going to scramble to keep her wits about her, and the things she does to live and make sure others live too aren’t the kind of things she will write home about. “We gotta get outta here,” she decides, “before they come back.”

She can’t be found here. Can’t have them find George, either, not when he’s one of the radio operators for his company and likely to get shot at before long the same way Susan always complains they shoot at radio and comms. She tugs him along with her. Walks him past the hedgerows, past the treeline, past the open fields that sprawl out and carry too much light now that parts of them have caught flame.

“Can’t argue with that.”

His voice shakes a little. There’s something of mimicry in it, as though he is thinking of someone else who’d normally say something like that and letting the memory color his voice. He’s a little white beneath his war paint. A little queasy-looking, too, and she sighs as she squeezes his hand. He can’t fall apart on her now.

“Breathe,” she orders, slipping into the voice that keeps her breathing too. “You’re gonna be all right, George. Just do what I say.”

He’s probably never seen death come this close before. She’d seen her grandmaman die, ages past on a warm summer’s evening, and thought she’d known its sight and sound and devastation then. Maybe George has seen someone die as well – he seems like a family man, now that his fingers lock with hers and he squeezes back in reassurance – but she knows that seeing someone die in peace is different from the way they pass in war.

She breathes deep. Tries to be his anchor, because she’s been here longer and she didn’t fall out the sky overnight.

“Come on,” she says. Her other hand clenches around the knife she’d liberated from a bedside table not two miles away from here. Her shoes slip in the dirt. There’s mud all over her bare legs. Her hair’s come too loose, but she’s lost the pins somewhere on a French bedroom floor. Problems for a later day, at a later hour, that are less important than the more pressing issues at hand. “Let’s get you a new radio, and find us a crew.”

[emachinescat]

Dying Is Easy, Living (Without You) Is Harder

A Tales of Arcadia: Wizards Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat

@febuwhump​ day 5 - “Take me instead”

Summary:  AU of episode 8. Douxie sacrifices himself for Merlin in a desperate display of magic he didn’t know he was capable of.  Letting his apprentice die is not on Merlin’s agenda, however - the old wizard still has some tricks up his sleeves, but they will cost him dearly.

Characters: Douxie, Merlin

Words: 2,309

TW: blood, canonical character death

Keep reading here or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging! :) 

Head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr…

Dying is easy, young man.  Living is harder.

I was just like you when I was younger,

- From “Right Hand Man” by Lin-Manuel Miranda

The world tilted into slow-motion, like those lingering moments between sleep and waking.

Douxie saw what was going to happen seconds before it did.  The ghastly shell of what had once been King Arthur was crashing toward Merlin, sword held aloft, and Merlin was so busy defending his apprentice that he hadn’t seen the attack coming in time.  He didn’t have time to prepare, to defend.

Douxie struggled madly in the stone grip, crushed into the floor by the twisted version of one of the bravest kids he knew.  It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he was like this, turned against his friends, but that knowledge did nothing to quell the rage and anguish of being helpless while his master, his friend, his father in all but blood was killed by one of his oldest friends.

No!

No.

He didn’t know how it happened.  He couldn’t explain it, even years later when he was older and wiser and had learned far more advanced magic than anything he possessed now.  Perhaps it was his potential power, lying dormant inside of him, stirred awake by the screaming of his soul, the refusal to lose the person who had been his whole world for centuries.  Merlin was stubborn and rude, and he didn’t always get along with others, and often he’d shut Douxie out or wave him aside or refuse to listen - but he was also good, where it counted, and had taught Douxie so much, rescued him from so much more than death because of his magic.  

He couldn’t die.  Not like this.

A burst of raw energy exploded from Douxie - it was exhilarating, like nothing he’d ever felt before.  It was like lightning, like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket, dropped a hair dryer into the bath.  It burned and froze and sizzled inside of him, waiting impatiently for an outlet, demanding release.  In retrospect, he should have shot it at Arthur, or blown hulk-Jim off his feet and come to Merlin’s aid himself.  But only one thought was flying through his head in that moment, a plea that he only half-registered, one that the screaming inferno inside of him took as a command - 

Not Merlin.  Anyone but him.  Please, not him - take me instead.

And then there was a swirl of light and color and suddenly Douxie wasn’t being held back by Jim anymore.  From his new place across the room, he had just enough time to see his mentor lying face-down on the floor, exactly as Douxie had been seconds earlier, before an armored hand wrapped around his neck, cutting of his air and together he and Arthur smashed him into the back wall, the stone cracking against his head and making him see stars.  He struggled, bringing his hands weakly up to bat at the corrupted king’s grip, and he thought, maybe for a second, that the hold weakened and - 

Pain

It coursed through him like water from a broken dam, radiating from his stomach and lighting every single nerve alight.  He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t … he couldn’t …

And there it went again, the world around him crawling like someone had hit the half speed button on Netflix.  Unable to comprehend what was happening, his senses went mad as time meandered languidly, stretching out each moment of pain and fear and confusion like a slowly unwinding slinky.

Something cold and hard, something foreign, was inside of him, through him, but something else, something warm, pooled around it, the smell of iron, thick and cloying, someone screaming, a roar of rage or pain - was he near water? What was that rushing in his ears? - and there were white spots blotting out his already hazy vision and someone had clamped a hand around his lungs, squeezing them dry, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and it hurt…

Then the thing running through him - a sword, he thought vaguely - was wrenched out, and he realized that he hadn’t even known what pain was until now.  His mouth opened around a scream that had no voice, he felt his chest heaving, screaming for air that wouldn’t come, and Arthur still had him by the neck.  Blood poured from the gaping wound, pitter-pattering on the ground as the world went cold and white, and then he was flying, the sound of breaking glass, and now falling, falling, into the darkness, into the cold and the unknown.

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was a shooting star zipping from the same window he’d just been tossed from, heading straight for him.

Make a wish.

He wished that he hadn’t failed.  He wished that Merlin was still alive, and that his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

The hands of death wrapped around him, and pulled him close.

Funny, though, the hands of death were a lot more solid, a lot warmer and stronger than he would've thought.

“Hisirdoux!”

Huh.  That was odd.  Death knew his name, and he sounded an awful lot like Merlin.

He felt something soft beneath him and felt hands on his face, and though all he wanted to do was slip away and make the pain stop, his stubborn curiosity got the better of him and he forced his eyes to open, one last time.

What he saw surprised him.  Merlin kneeled above him, a look that he had never seen before on his face, one that he couldn’t quite place but that radiated so much pain that Douxie wondered for a second if he had failed, if they were both dead, but then he realized that he was shivering from cold and that he could still feel the edge of pain through the seeping numbness, and he didn’t think that one could feel in death.

He couldn’t move his body at all; his limbs were limp, his whole body was being crushed by gravity, he felt as if he were sinking, being pressed into the earth below, like his grave was already opening up its cavernous maw to swallow him whole.  What did it care that he was still alive?  He would be dead in minutes, and the earth was hungry.

Using every ounce of strength left in his fading body, he spoke, the words barely a whisper.  “M-Merlin?”

“You foolish boy,” Merlin chided, but his soft tone and dewy eyes belayed the harsh words.  One of Merlin’s hands cupped his cheek, wiping away a tear that Douxie hadn’t even known was there.  

“H-had t-to save--”

“I don’t even know how you managed magic that powerful.”  Merlin’s words had a choked quality to them, a rawness, as he continued, “But you always were full of surprises.  I suppose you always will be.”

Douxie coughed, but it didn’t even hurt anymore.  Gurgling out a weak chuckle through the blood in his mouth, he said, “For all of t-t-wo min-minutes.”  He was so cold.

“No, my boy,” Merlin said, and somehow the warmth of the sound held the chill of death at bay a moment longer.  “You will have a lifetime.”

“B-but--”

“This old wizard still has one last trick up his sleeve,” Merlin said gently.  “Open your eyes, Hisirdoux.”  Douxie hadn’t even realized they’d closed.  He fought to obey, and was rewarded with Merlin’s face, benevolent and sad but somehow content.  “There you go,” Merlin congratulated.  His voice broke slightly, and Douxie felt a hand carding through his hair, a show of comfort and affection that he would have never thought possible from the wizard.

“‘S cold,” he gasped, and he knew this was it.  The forest around him was a vignette now, closing rapidly.

“I know,” said Merlin, “but not for long.”  A beat.  “Promise me you’ll be great, Hisirdoux.  Greater than I ever was.”

Light flared against Douxie’s eyelids, but he didn’t bother to open them - he couldn’t open them - but then the cold and numb and pain ebbed away until he felt nothing at all, not even the ground beneath him or Merlin’s touch.  Only then did he open his eyes, slowly, and at last he understood.

He and Merlin were cocooned in a great whirl of color and fire, and even as Douxie felt himself inching away from death’s embrace, he saw the taut pull of the skin on Merlin’s face and the dimming of the light in his eyes.

He tried to sit up, to put a stop to it, but he couldn’t move.  He couldn’t feel anything else, but somehow he felt the tears, hot and desperate as they made their pilgrimage across his cheekbones and into his hair.  “No,” he said, his voice oddly calm, belying the injustice of it all that howled inside of him like a caged wolf.

“I cannot let you die for me,” Merlin said.  

“That was my decision to make!  Not yours!”

“I made it my decision.”  Merlin’s tone brooked no argument.

“This is forbidden magic,” Douxie protested.  “There has to be equal exchange!  You can’t play with life and death, Merlin - if you save me, you’ll die!”

“Maybe,” Merlin said sagely, “it’s time.”

“NO!”  This time Douxie roared the word, angry at Merlin for trying to leave him like this, angry at his body for refusing to move, angry with himself for allowing this - somehow - to happen.  “I put myself in your place.  I took a sword for you. And you’re going to just throw it all away, and for what?!”  He was sobbing now. 

Merlin barely looked like himself anymore, with sunken eyes and nearly translucent skin, but his voice was stronger than ever as he answered, “For you.”

The impact of those two words knocked the air out of Douxie’s chest almost as completely as being impaled by a sword had.  The anger faded, and he wanted it back, because now his heart was splintering like the glass of the window he’d been thrown through…

“I can’t,” he started, made a noble effort to compose himself, and tried again, “I can’t live without you.”

“Well, Hisirdoux Casperan, like everything else I’ve tried to teach you over the past centuries, that is just going to be something you’re going to have to learn how to do on your own.”

“Please -- I tried -- I wanted to -- I died for you!”  

Another chuckle, this one the crackle of dead leaves under foot - brittle.  “Well, you certainly gave it your best shot.”  The hand was back on his face, thinner and frailer than Douxie had ever seen.  It was cold, like bone.  “I am honored that you would sacrifice your life for me, but I’ve had 900 years.  You’re still young.”

Stifling a sob, Douxie argued, “I’m 701.”

“Pah.  That’s nothing for wizards.”

“How am I supposed to go on after this? What will I do without you?”

Merlin was fading in earnest now, and the light of the exchange spell flickered.  “Defeat Morgana and Arthur.  Overturn the Arcane Order.  Save my Trollhunter.  Protect Nari.  And know that none of this is your fault, Hisirdoux, and I am so very proud of you.  But just as you made the choice to sacrifice yourself for me, I am making this choice of my own free will.  This is not your fault.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Don’t think this is the end.  I expect you’ll see me again, one last time.”

“When?  How?!”

But Merlin was gone and Douxie’s world folded into blackness and all was still and quiet.

***

He awoke to someone shaking him.  Loud, frantic voices sounded above him.  

He opened his eyes, weaker than he had ever felt before.  Claire stood over him, brown eyes huge with mingling worry and relief. “Douxie!  You’re alive!”

Something soft rubbed up against his hand that lay at his side, and he glanced over to see Archie.  “I thought we’d lost you,” the bespectacled cat said, nuzzling Douxie’s arm affectionately.  

Slowly, with the help of Claire, Douxie sat up.  His shirt was wet and tacky with blood - so much of it - and he wondered how he had even survived long enough for Merlin to work his forbidden life exchange magic.  Feeling had returned to his body, but he was numb inside.  Merlin’s last words echoed in his head.  This is not your fault.

He could tell that the wizard had truly meant what he said, and he knew he should try to believe him, should honor Merlin’s memory and sacrifice by accepting the choice to take his place.  But Merlin was dead, and it certainly felt like Douxie’s fault.  Maybe if he had channeled the strange magic another way, if he had had more control over it, then Merlin might still be alive.  They might both be, together.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now.  Merlin had been right about one thing, at least - there was important work to be done, and the role of leader had fallen upon Douxie’s shoulders.  

He stood, weary and hollow, and stumbled over to Merlin’s book and staff - the only things left of his master who had so audaciously spit in the eyes of fate.  He bent over slowly, head spinning, not yet recovered from his encounter with death.

A puzzled voice came from behind him and he felt the soft puffs of air from the flaps of Archie’s wing tickled the back of his neck.  “Where’s Merlin?” the dragon asked.

Without turning around, Douxie said, “He’s gone.”  He took the book in his hands, ran his fingers across its ornate surface, wrapped trembling fingers around the staff, and straightened, squaring his shoulders.

Merlin had given him a second chance.  He’d be damned if he wasted it.

He had a lot of work to do.  

[of-frost-and-fire]

The Element’s Clash

Part 4 The loud shriek of the once composed woman was a sound he wasn't sure he'd enjoy hearing, though now that he had he'd say it wasn't quite unlike music to his ears. Though, it wasn't necessarily the sound that pleased him, rather it was the implications such a pained sound held; it meant that the icicles had managed to do their job, even if but a single one managed to pierce her~ And so he smirked behind his mask, his eyes alighting with a newfound sense of excitement as he quickly turned to move from his hiding spot... only for an extremely vibrant, radiant, and destructive ball of flames to come crashing towards him in a quick flurry of rage. Quickly raising his cloak in a desperate attempt to defend himself, the edges of its cloth began to glow a faint white as the frost air around him began to come together and harden into a large, thick, frosty shield of pure ice that took the brunt of the dangerous collision.

But it wasn't enough.

Detonating on impact, the fireball - seemingly much more powerful than the previous - erupted in an unforeseen rage that caught even the rather calculative man off guard. The explosion pushed against his shield, the initial devastation being held at bay, though its effect was very much present, sending spiderweb-like cracks throughout the face of the icy guard. And whilst it definitely held back some of the power, the cracks quickly grew wider and wider until the entirety of the shield was far too weak to sustain, shattering away as the flames burst through whilst also surrounding him and coating the cart in its destructive hunger that so easily burned away the wood and sent the chest flying. And when his shield shattered he, too, was sent flying by the immense force exerted against then, the flames ripping away at the edge of his cloak as it burned through a few inches of the cloth before being snuffed out by the cold mist it consistently produced.

His body crashed into the gravel road an astounding twenty meters behind him, his breath escaping his lungs as the force of his body against the rocks caused multiple pulses of pain to ring true against his back. And as the momentum carried his body continued to roll against the coarse road, not much unlike the woman but a few moments earlier, until he managed to dig the claws of one of his frosted gauntlets into some of the loose stones as icy mist began to course through the stonework as it formed an ice wall behind him that stopped him in his tracks as his back crashed against it, up-righting himself as he let out a deep breath, attempting to regain his footing. Only he was hardly allowed time to rest as the road before him began to crackle and shatter, ripples of flames spiking up from the ground as it was practically split apart by the torrent of flames that shot towards him. Not wanting to try and take a defensive stance against her unforgiving flames, the man instead opted to attempt a counter. Raising his frost-covered hands before himself in a rather quick, powerful motion, the palms of each collided together with a rather loud, crackling SMACK. What followed was a sudden rush of cold wind that coursed itself from behind the wall and around his arms, trailing up his forearms and the back of his hands before coming to the apex of his fingertips and melding as it whisked itself into a wisp-like ball of pure cold, the likes of which grew larger and larger the closer the flames got. And right as they were upon him, ready to tear through his rather lean form, he pulled his hands apart, bowed his head forward, and lightly blew a cold, frosty breath forward...

And despite how calm his breath was, the orb of frost ebbing for a moment before unleashing an immense wave of cold that returned the fire's fury tenfold. The two elements crashed together in a beautiful spectacle of fire and ice, plumes of vibrant steam rising as the many loose stones that made up the gravel streets were set flying in many different directions, the entirety of the surrounding stone and dirt being cracked, shattered, and brushed away by the spiraling mix of heat and cold that created a secondary explosion of pure force that racked against the walls of nearby buildings and cracked against the Dark Magician's chest, stealing his breath yet again. Crouching down he took several deep breaths and held a hand against his chest, the throbbing of both his back and chest creating a pulsing pain that left him... breathless. But he didn't have time to waste, his obscured eyes barely managing to catch the visage of the cracked yet closed-chest falling along the horizon line and out of sight, the fiery footsteps left behind by the female leaving a rather clear trail to follow. Dashing forth through the whirling steam he grimaced slightly, the mist much hotter than he initially expected leaving unseen burns on what little skin of his was exposed. He pushed forward regardless, pursuing the pyromancer with great speed as he smirked to himself. Soon the secondary effect of the icicle onslaught would begin... the piercing was for bodily damage, however the cold would forever last, the icy frost filling their body and making them feel much more sluggish. And to further slow her pace he raised his hand toward the sky, a secondary spiral of frost culminating into a dove made of ice that he released towards the heavens above, the animal-construct quickly taking flight as it sought after the woman and passed her, diving down but a few meters in front of her before it detonated in a large storm of ice that caused many ice spikes to raise from the ground below her feet.  

At the edge of her sight, the vaquero caught glimpse of the mage flying backward across the street, and such a vision brought her a moment's bliss of content as she turned her gaze back to the large wooden crate that flew across the sky. Her legs turning like working gears as she easily neared the chest. The fire within her, powering every muscle in her body as its pure fuel, forcing her forward, there were no limits when the everlasting flame powered her very being.

However, what happened when that very fire snuffed out?

Well, the woman hadn't accounted for that- in fact...she never had, and once those same churning gears within her body grinded and grated against each other in consequence to the invasion of ice that crept through her, the female slowed. For once in her life, a cold shiver went down her spine, and she felt the urge to pull her arms in upon herself as if to salvage some kind of last bit of warmth, however, to her, the mere idea was foreign. After a moment of running, she fell to a knee, her legs finally giving out as they buckled beneath her. Raspy breaths plummeted from her lips as she nearly struggled to breathe, and the world around her slowed, her senses deluded with the lack of oxygen that absently filled her lungs. A glance toward the open wound in her shoulder, the sight of her own blood as dark as her skin, why, even out of her body it was as deadly as acid, but this,- that cheap shot to her shoulder; it was freezing her from the inside.

A knee rose as her left hand braced against the ground, pushing herself to her feet. Her whole right arm, nearly useless as the usual lack of feeling she typically dealt with was modified by the frigid serpents that now slithered through her veins. Attempting to shut down each limb by limb; but- that shot had to hit the heart to do such a thing, as long as her blood still pumped through, she'd make do.

Slowed, weary, but moving, one step at a time.

Letting out a pained grunt, she ran toward the visible broken chest that laid not far away. Though, as she began to get close, what shot passed her seemed to be some kind of-..bird? Only it wasn't, as it fluttered majestically in front of her gait before swooping down and colliding into the rock before her.  And with the clash, the ice that seeped into the rock spread like water, before quickly frosting over with a pernicious cracking that summoned an array of spikes to shoot out of the ground. The woman, her reaction time considerably slowed, lept as high as she could, and at the moment of the most lethal spikes' approach, her blood instinctively rushed toward her left hand, and that was all she needed as the female rotated at an angle and swept her arm across her form. slicing at the roots at the advancing ice spikes. Managing to evade the direct assails to her chest and torso, however, the licks from the dozens of others that failed to avoid took their toll. She felt it first at her shin, then her arm, and then she was lucky enough to have her armor take the impact of the last spike, so much so, that a steel black plate was sent straight up into the air.

At this point, her whole ariel direction had altered, and the gunslinger's jaw was the first to hit the hard and cold surface of the streets before her body followed. A still few seconds passed by, as the woman took several long breaths, pulses of pain ringing through her nerves. She was down, but like hell, she'd be out. A fist smashed against the stone rock before her, and after lifting her palm, a crack was left inside its form. The woman pulled herself to her feet, taking no more time to waste as she moved her feet once more to the chest that laid a few meters in front of her. She had it, it was hers, but strangely...the smashed crate was empty, and what laid a full few good yards away was a jeweled relic that had rolled out of its chest. One of which, the mage was heading right for. The forearm of her left arm ignited with a furious flame as her eyes raged with a flaring fire, all quite literally blaring out of her literal sockets. With a swift punt into the smashed wood of the crate, the mere impact simply tossed the material to the side as it combusted into a bright flame. Half of its mass having instantly turned to ash once her foot made first contact.

The nerves within her body that were coated with frost ever so slowly melted as her anger rose, she was growing tired of this man's insolence by the second. She watched his run, let him come closer to the artifact, his eyes upon him as would a hawk's upon its prey. Then finally, once the moment was perfect, she rose her arm, and let her magic boil the claret liquid within her palm before slamming it into the ground. The stones around her glowed a bright red, though all seemed still....

Bright plumes of fire would suddenly splew from the surface of the ground, creating a radius around the artifact, keeping it from the mage's hands, and even so possibly burning the frost witch to mere cinders. Though- this time, she didn't expect a perfect outcome. Should he prosper, she pulled out both revolvers with a swift equip, and fired the last of her rounds upon the mage. Each bullet delivered a harder impact than the last as her fire fueled the launch of the small bullet. She only had four bullets left, but no matter, as once she ran out, she flicked her wrist up into the air and two chambers were tossed into the open air. With the few skilled movements of her thumbs, the empty rounds dropped to the ground, and all she did was angle her firearms sideways and the falling chambers fell into place. Within a fraction of a second, she firing again, emptying her revolvers of 11 total shots. Although her shots were no mere bullets, the fire that coursed through her, flowed into each piece of metal, as the bullets were shot in unison, her fire wrapped around them pulling them close and spinning them in a deadly cycle that made an impact a lethal toll against regular individuals.

Whether he was ready or not, once she finished with her barrage, her legs began their familiar churn, slow to start as the ice within her tugged at her exhaustion, but she moved. Her teeth clenched as she focused forward.

Breathe.... That same voice whispered, this time as if to plead for her wits to gather...

But it was too late, her fury was already blurring her sight, and that known black poison crept up her right arm. However, the pain only pushed her forward, forcing her hands to clench in such a way that nearly made them bleed. It was time to get up and personal with this insolent bastard....

She jumped, raising both her hands before her, both of them lighting aflame this time, once she landed, the woman gave a pained holler as she swept them across her chest and sent a wave of fire toward him. Only to follow her attack with two hard and brutal jabs to his face, her eyes bright with an immortal flame. Except-..she didn't stop, each attack holding no pattern or specific purpose, only aimed to maim and obliterate.