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onepagelovestories · 2 months

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I made a discovery/theory that I thought I might share in case it's of use or interest to anyone else!

How big is Valisthea?

TL;DR - It's just Scotland, Cymru (Wales), Ireland, and England but flipped upside-down and photo bashed a bit.

These are just purely my observations, so I'm throwing them into the void!

So, for fan fiction purposes (and just general peace of mind), I really wanted to figure out exactly how big the twins were, considering how insanely quick everyone moves around. This is obviously true for video games in general but I felt it a lot more in FFXVI than other comparable games imo.

There's not a ton to go off of, just some throwaway dialogue lines here and there that give you the general sense that you can move from one location to the next in a day or two primarily by foot (chocobos are a whole other side tangent, as is the Enterprise or whatever the hell Dominants are capable of).

Some of those specific references include;

The trip from Rosalith to Pheonix Gate and back taking an expected 5 days total (with Clive, Tyler, and Wade arriving that night despite the detour through the marshes),

The boat ride from Port Isolde to Drake's Breath taking 3 days,

Someone from the hideaway referencing that they leave for Lostwing each day for work. (Couldn't find the exact example don't quote me on that one.)

Twinsides/Origin being "Hundreds of Leagues" away from The Hideaway

There's probably a few others, but most of the other examples I could find were open to interpretation, merely implying that travel took place in the same day but could be interpreted to have been spread out over longer were it not for 'video game logic and scale'.

That being said, I like things being a little more grounded for head canon purposes and wanted to know how much down time was reasonable in and between trips back and forth.

In general, I feel like the game should have been spread out over the full 5 years. But understanding game development limits, I get why that'd have been a nightmare! So the time skip makes sense practically, and I just choose to headcanon that events are a little more spread out. (Like them taking the full year in 873, from Clive and Jills rescue to destroying Drakes Head, rather than a couple of weeks like it seems in game.)

Shout out to this reddit post for doing an awesome estimate based on an average measure of the aforementioned "hundreds of leagues" quote. This was my starting point.

They concluded that Valisthea was likely closer in size to India or Australia, which I like a lot in terms of Valisthea being a full-scale continent. However, it does mess with the timeline a lot.

Also, I'm from a large country so my sense of what is a "reasonable" distance is pretty thrown off compared to a lot of other places. A 2-5 hour (200-400km) car ride to another city is nothing in my head until you realize that distance would take 1-4 weeks to walk or even ride (Horse metrics. Again chocobos are weird and probably a bit faster due to being all terrain and more robust than horses but are also birds so I don't know what endurance levels carrying heavy loads would be like).

Soooo, I began looking for European contemporaries since the game is very eurocentric (and all the criticisms that come with that).

Which led me to the realization that Valisthea is literally just the UK and Ireland, but flipped.

Now. Am I 100% certain this is what the devs did? Of course not. Is it so damn close that I'm 99.9% certain? Yes. Storm is Britain, and Cymru. The Northern Kingdom and the Iron Kingdom are Scotland but broken up. And Ash is Ireland and Northern Ireland.

Major cities or points of interest all have approximate real-world contemporaries and even follow geographical features on the map in that there are matching rivers, topography and even highways.

The biggest giveaway to me was Pheonix Gate just literally being London, as well as Norvant Valley matching exactly in shape with an upside down Bristol Channel (which would put Caer Norvent in Swansea). Even The Greatwood lines up relative to a major national park (forgive me UK peeps, it's hard to tell from a map alone if that's all one giant forest or several parks smooshed together).

So, if we're working off that assessment, with the quote from Tomes where he mentions that Valisthea is a small continent, then the time/distance ratio makes a lot more sense!

Of course, by our world standards – the UK alone does not a continent make.

But I'm honestly ok with that? I'd rather the land mass be small to match the timeline rather than warp the timeline to match the land mass.

So, here's a list of some of my estimated real-world contemporaries for all major landmarks on the Valisthean Map. Of course, they don't line up 1-1, and are not at all reflective of the locations themselves. It's all just for a relative sense of scale.

Rosaria;

Martha's Rest - Oxford

Eastpool - Reading

Pheonix Gate - London

Rosalith - Cambridge

Port Isolde - Peterborough (ignoring that it's not on the coast)

Deadlands

Cid's Hideaway - Stratford-Upon-Avon

Clive's Hideaway - Birmingham

Sanbreque;

Lostwing - Tauton

Caer Norvent - Swansea

Northreach - Exeter

Oriflamme - Kingsbridge

Kingsfall - Salisbury

Dhalmekian Republic;

Kostnice - Leicester

Drake's Fang - Sheffield

Dhalamil - Derby

Dravozd - Wolverhampton

Tabor - Shrewsbury

Boklad - Lampeter

Ran'Dallah- Tregaron

Waloed;

Shadow Coast - Belfast

Eistla - Kinnegad

Edge of Infinity - Westport

Ravenwit Walls - Wenagh

Stonhyrr - Cork

Other;

Twinsides - Fishguard

Kanvar - Chester

Drake's Breath - Ipswich

Dzemekys - Aberystwyth

Going off of those locations, I was able to get the rough time/distance of certain trips (using google maps metrics in pure walking hours not how long it took them because of *variables*)

Routes;

Rosalith to Pheonix Gate: 86km, 20hrs

Hideaway to Pheonix Gate: 172km, 39hrs (to Martha's Rest: 67km, 15hrs; +Eastpool: 41km, 9hrs; then to Pheonix Gate: 64km, 15hrs)

Hideaway to Oriflamme: 295km, 68hrs (Hideaway to Lostwing: 184km, 43hrs. What shortcut Cid?? +Northreach: 48km, 11hrs; +Oriflamme: 63km, 14hrs)

Lostwing to Caer Norvent: 199km, 46hrs (Benedika and Co were at that fort for days, not hours. Also, how hard did Cid knock Clive out if it took more than a week to get back to the Hideaway after the Garuda Fight?)

Shadow Coast to Stonhyrr: 755km, 171hrs. (Shadow Coast to Eistla: 169km, 38hrs; +Edge of Infinity and back: 181km, 41hrs x2; +Stonhyrr: 224km, 51hrs) meaning crew were gone in Waleod for WEEKS.)

So, all in all a bit longer than in seems in game but still well within range given that they probably shaved off arbitrary travel days for narrative flow.

That being said, I love the potential of more "down time" moments. And it really shows just how often/long everyone would be gone from the Hideaway at any given moment.

It puts into perspective Gav's side quest, "You keep sending me wherever you need to, I'll keep going. Safe in the knowledge that I'll have a home to come back to." And how they all remark that they never seen each other, or how much their trips away together were really meaningful.

(Also kinda excuses the fact it took Clive and Jill 5 freaking years to get together. They were too busy walking everywhere!)

Is it possible to just pop down to Martha's for a quick supply run? Yes. But unless you're on a chocobo, you're camping out at Three Reeds then staying the night at the Inn before heading back. It's more of a 4-7 day trip rather than an afternoon and back.

Anyhow, I hope this all makes sense!

Now, time to go write about Clive/Cid camping overnight in the Greatwood together on Clive's first real night of freedom. 😭😭😭

#ffxvi #ff16 #final fantasy 16 #valisthea #fan fiction

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redwinterroses · 3 years

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RIIIIIIIIIGHT SO.

I just finished chapter 13 of Dog At The Door and holy hot cross buns batman if you're not reading this fic you NEED to. It's literally one of the best written fics I have ever read in my life and I've been reading fanfiction for over 15 years, lol.

I went back and reread the entire fic to lead up to chapter 13 and I decided to treat it like I used to treat things I had to read in college so I took notes as I went and please I am warning you this post is incredibly long. Almost 3k words. PLEASE do not hit that "read more" button unless you're good with having to scroll past it all and also spoilers ahead. Proceed with caution.

~*~

Rereading Dog at the Door reactions (spoilers, obviously):

· Doc finding Ren’s body to be cold and for a second thinking he’s actually dead—my heart

· “That’s Ren, alive and kicking.” Oh…no, Doc. No it’s not.

· The first “Where is my hand?” hits different the second time through

· Gah the ice and winter imagery ALL over the place—my English degree brain wants to watch and see if that shifts to warmth at any point as we go? Thoughts for future Red to think.

· It’s fascinating to me to see Doc constantly thrust into the prey role. This is a guy who is very much not that person normally, but something about the Red King is beyond anything he’s really encountered before—or at least not since Dinnerbone—and it pushes him into an entirely new role that he clearly chafes in

· “I should get back to work on your new arm soon,” he says, making a mental note to add claws to the fingertips. Honestly Doc why tho. XD

· “It feels like something Ren would want him to do.” </3

· Side note: I just watched Doc’s freaking hour long shulker farm vid, and that’s making it a lot easier to hear his voice in this fic

· I’m more curious about the hand.” New Ren laughs a bit at his own words, as though there’s something funny about that phrasing. I MISSED THIS LINE THE FIRST TIME THROUGH

· The bead curtain being cursed hippie treasure XD

· The fact that Doc just so quickly accepts that Ren is gone—maybe not permanently, but at least for now—is kind of heartbreaking. Because you know he hasn’t really accepted it, he’s just… deciding not to feel anything about it. Just nod and move on and pretend you don’t need to stop and cope with the possible/probable death of your best friend and the fact that Someone Else is wearing his skin. That’s so sad.

· “high-fiving the finished hand with his own metal hand.” Aww… Doccy.

· “He shoos away the images of New Ren holding him up by the throat supervillain-style and turns around.” Hmmmmmmm want that fanart. Scary New Ren/RK is good stuff. (post-chapter-13 Red popping in with a WHAT THE HECK)

· “that makes him seem like a ghost in Ren’s body.” YA KNOW. LIKE HE IS.

· Okay side note time: why is the Red King here? Ya know? Like – in 3rdLife the idea of a possessing spirit of bloodlust makes some sense. But why stick around? Was RK trying to escape the 3L server, or was this not deliberate? At what point did he take over from Ren—at Black Heart Altar? In which case, was the whole idea Ren’s to begin with, or was he influenced? Maybe it happened the first time Ren died? The Red King took over then—or at least started to? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts…

· Wait more theories—what if RK is connected to the ????? entity that spoke to Martyn when he died? In which case, cMartyn said he was considering making that canonically a Watcher (he ended up not doing it, but he also didn’t do anything that contradicted it either). I’m not saying RK is a Watcher… but boy he sure does stare a lot, don’t he.

· Holding the screwdriver like a dagger—mmmm

· Okay funny thought: all this frost, RK’s gonna need to be real careful about rust lol. And straining the metal, tbh, all that freezing and thawing is going to have an effect but the rust idea is making me laugh

· Until I realized it would look like blood and it’s not funny anymore

· “Renbob is in the beanbag stuffed next to the driver’s seat” right so is this where Renbob sleeps because I have been wondering—

· “something about having two people look like Ren when neither of them are makes Doc stop to take a shaky breath” *sob*

· “Renbob clears his throat, looking up at Doc with a smile that is so obviously fake that it hurts.” Ugh the LOT of you stop repressing everything you’ll give yourselves a collective hernia

· “he’ll probably have to break the news to the other hermits, too, Iskall and False and all the others.” All these painful lines I somehow missed the first time through

· Awww warm air comes in when Renbob opens the door—with the flowers and everything, Renbob is so easily associated with spring, I love this contrast.

· Aaand there it is, yup, RK is shocked to see his face on Renbob, and Renbob is shocked to see that this is so clearly Not Ren.

· They both recover pretty quickly, though. Survivors, both of them.

· RK calls Renbob their “ferryman” and I’m not sure if I was supposed to get “crossing the river Styx” vibes from that But I Did. (does RK think he’s dead? That they’re all dead?) (post-chapter-13 Red here with a little bit of wordless screaming.) (and also a bit of pride that I picked up on this.)

· “And what a help you’ve been! Fixing me up, replacing my hand.” Hi yes, 911? there’s a dagger stabbed into my feels.

· “he’d rather remember rage than see another person’s heart break.” Dang that’s such a raw line. Oof.

· ”the Red King says, his voice hoarse with tears.” Really interesting that this blood deity can feel such emotions—like, anger or even fear, I can get. But to see this entity upset to the point of tears is fascinating.

· “There is a crown on Doc’s workbench.” Right, yeah so like—is RK unwillingly manifesting these artifacts? Because that’s wild, man. …how long before he manifests an “enchanter”?

· “I’ve never seen it [the crown] clean before.” Okay that definitely implies that maybe RK didn’t come around until after Black Heart Altar?

· “The Red King has the crown in his lap when Doc turns back around, claws gently tracing over the engravings, leaving frost patterns behind.” I really wish I had art skills because there’s this image in my head of a drawing of the crown held in RK’s hands, with his face (one eye glowing, one in shadow) reflected in the surface, and frost patterns following behind a claw that’s daintily tracing the surface. But I can’t draw so—

· RK asks for a change of clothes. What was he wearing when they rescued him, I wonder? The Red King outfit with the fur capelet? Or Ren’s Stargazer outfit? Which begs the question: where does Stargazer fit into all this? Was Ren’s return to Hermitcraft RK free, but when he came so close to dying to Sith, RK found that as a gateway to take over? (Post-13 Red here, Looking Intently at this note.)

· Awww… the image of a one-legged RK clutching new clothes to his chest and hopping down to change in the bathroom… That’s weirdly endearing. He’s less menacing when he stands up somehow. Less lurking, maybe.

· Oooohhhhh he messed up his back sleeping on the floor. Gotcha.

· Doc keeps telling himself (and RK) that saving him and working on these parts is “the right thing to do” and while he’s not WRONG I just want to see him realize that it’s not only the right thing, it’s realistically the only thing, because if he didn’t, then he’d have to deal with the fact that he’s lost his best friend and we can’t have that.

· “I don’t need to eat” ummmmmm no hold on this definitely implies that RK is possessing a dead body and I’m not okay with that where is Ren

· LOLOL “I can’t stand to see [you do] this” is such a raw line to be about watching Doc eat cereal with his hands

· “The voice doesn’t belong to who he thinks it does.” Ugh, Doc. This isn’t the first time he’s lost a close friend to Something Else, something otherworldly.

· “All of them are waiting for him, waiting for him to do something more, something better—” aaand there it is. Doc’s characterization in this fic in a single sentence.

· Doc waking up and thinking he’s seeing Ren and RK’s hesitation and the gentle “I’m not Ren”—OH MY HEART

· RK’s coffee = Renbob’s friendship bracelets

· Randomly can I just say that I love how RK’s dialog is all in italics? It concerned me at first because I thought it was going to keep pulling me out of the narrative, but instead it really just feels right. Also I’m looking forward to the moment when he says something and it’s not in italics because it’s REN and oh my lands please give this to me I beg you (post-13 Red here with a bit more mindless screaming)

· “watch your tongue with me, Atlas, because I’m the one person you can pass the sky to.” Okay okay okay—English studies brain coming out. This suggests that there is a burden RK and Doc can share: something Doc is currently struggling against that only RK can help him with. In the moment, I don’t know if this is really fair of RK to say—after all, Doc does technically have Renbob too, if we’re just talking about Doc’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. In fact, if that’s the context, then Renbob is a much better fellow-Atlas because he and Doc have known each other much longer and they’re both dealing with the loss of Ren. BUT, knowing about the upcoming conversation where Doc and RK both realize that they’ve lost someone (Ren for Doc, Martyn for RK) this line suddenly has a lot more weight. Again, I don’t think that in that moment RK quite has the right to pull this zinger. But in later context, it turns out to be true after all. They are the only two with this particular shared pain.

· Doc upset with himself because he can’t get over his “stupid hang-ups” DOC MY LAD. “I’ve lost my best friend, you’re in his body, and I don’t know how to process any of these emotions” is not a “stupid hang-up” PLEASE stop blaming yourself for everything!?

· “I’m so tired” in the middle of his nightmare—oh my gosh. That hurts so much for some reason.

· I also very much wish I had the ability to draw the image of Doc with tears on his face, staring dead-eyed down at his workbench while RK looms over from behind, pinning his wrists to the table with one metal arm and one frost-bitten one, a look of exasperation and concern on his face. Why can’t I draw the things

· “How do you know Etho” “I watched him die.” OW ow ow ow ow

· Doc takes this as calmly as only someone used to living in a world where death has low consequences can. Oh. Oh—that means… huh. Doc isn’t used to losing people permanently on any basis, especially not death. So no wonder he doesn’t know how to process Ren being gone (I can’t bear to write “dead” there). He literally doesn’t have context for it… and what context he DOES have is like—I mean, Etho and Bdubs came back. Ouch.

· “Twenty-five.” The Red King makes the number sound like a threat. Yet another banger line I missed the first time through. Imagine waking up and thinking you’re in 3rd Life again but instead of 14 players there’s almost twice that many and you think you don’t know any of them.

· I still don’t quite understand the “when was etho added/should have known there was something different” bit or why RK is so emotional about it… but I have trust that it’ll make sense at some point. (post-13 Red: ...is this something about the fact that he thinks he's dead...so he thinks Etho has died before? Like, that 3rd Life wasn't Etho's first hardcore? ...I feel like I'm almost grasping this but I'm missing an element somewhere.)

· And now a sword. RK. My man. You need to stop manifesting things—especially when they scare the ever-living daylights out of you.

· I absolutely adore the in-universe lore that Fire Aspect is a PvP enchantment because it threatens dropped loot, and yeah I very well might steal that. (Along with something I read at one point who-even-knows-where that Knockback is a coward’s enchantment, because I love that too.)

· He really shouldn’t. / Doc picks up the sword by the scabbard and hands it to him, hilt extended. Doc you already trust this guy so much and you don’t even know it—but is it just because you still subconsciously trust the face he wears? Or is it something deeper?

· Ugh, the “I was supposed to kill someone for him” conversation/scene is SO FREAKING GOOD

· “I don’t want it. Not like the crown.” Why, though? Why doesn’t he want it? Because it’s more to do with death than kingship? OH. Oh, I hadn’t even considered that. I’ve been thinking of RK as this like, god of blood and vengeance but maybe he’s not. Maybe he hates the bloodshed (“the blood! It’s drippin’ in me eyes… I’ve been blinded by the violence…”) just as much—more?—than Ren did/would have. Huh. That’s a new facet.

· Oh my heart the “have you ever lost someone and it was your fault” line. Dagger to the feels. Dagger to the feels.

· This like… “I’m on a roll and even though I know I should stop I really don’t want to” mode? Man. That’s relatable. Especially when you’re working to avoid dealing with something else.

· “Not making it for you—it’s for Ren” oh ouch ouch ouch the denial suddenly breaks through it’s okay, Doc I’m with you on this

· The second time reading through it’s far clearer that Doc has a blind panic attack here—when he starts rambling that Ren’s coming back, he’ll be there for season eight and RK goes to…do whatever he was going to do and Doc just blanks out. The manic productivity should have been a warning sign, the poor guy is crumbling.

· “Doctor” and “he’s not sure he deserves that title right now” UGH Doc needs a hug someone please hug him and tell him it’s all going to be okay. Someone please hug me and tell me it’s all going to be okay.

· “his hand on his throat” over the scar from the Red Winter axe? </3

· “I did do that. I have done that.” RK admitting to it actually having been him in Doc’s nightmares?

· Okay sorry the conversation about beating Dinnerbone will never not be funny to me

· RK mentions that people used to call him m’lord or Ren, and then mere minutes later you have “Ren. You couldn’t save him because of me, could you?” He knows exactly what’s going on here. Not maliciously, but he’s no dense-head, he’s put the pieces together. (post-13 Red: MOST of the pieces. Most of them.)

· Watching Doc slowly stop fighting his nightmares—like, the first time, he fights. The second time, he accepts it but still struggles. And this time… this time he gives up before it even starts. That hurts, man.

· Good grief the whole “get my head chopped off” / “you really don’t want that” bit. O.O I’m not sure what emotion I’m feeling but I’m Feeling An Emotion.

· “Snow’s new. Dream’s not.” </3

· …Doc’s not gonna be a fan of snowier-snow after this trip…

· "Dr. M77" Actually he’s Doc Monster, RK, but we’ll let it go. XD

· OKAY BUT THIS EXCHANGE? The “how are you feeling” / “better” / “you’re a bad liar” / “I said better not great” that’s such a good exchange and I don’t know why every other time I’ve ever seen it used they stop at the lying accusation? Doc with the snappy comebacks, man.

· Aaah, Doc and RK, two establishment bros bonding over a shared disdain for hippies.

· The bit about the fella who wore an iron helmet and called it a powdered wig—fear is in my heart. *shoves Scar into an obsidian box and blocks it closed*

· “Who was Ren to you?” </3

· Doc is more than willing to spread the flames, to sear his loss into RK’s bones. / The king’s face stops him. Ren’s face stops him. Holy CRAP is that a good set of lines. So much going on there, and ALL of it good.

· Again. I wish I could draw. I would draw RK sitting on the edge of the bed, gently hugging a collapsed-in-on-himself Doc. </3

· “And I hate the devil that forced us apart, that mixed my blood with his.” *adds another layer to Scar’s obsidian fort*

· OKAY STARTING CHAPTER THIRTEEN I made the mistake of logging into Tumblr earlier and saw people screaming so I’m sure I’m not ready for this but here we go

· Oh no RK has been hippie-ified

· “You started a paramilitary organization because you have hay fever?” *dies laughing*

· Ugh I need to go back and watch s6 I’ve only seen the tail end of Mumbo’s side of things and there’s so much I don’t know.

· HAHAHAHAH I do know the trident bit though—

· Wait he said Scar

· PANIC

· “Kingslayer. bloodthirsty. Time King. The coward. And the mastermind behind it all, the loyal soldier to the very end, the whole damn reason either of us are in this mess.”

· HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY—

· “Is this the afterlife I deserve? After everything, this is the hell I’m going to endure?” I AM SCREAMING

· Doc pinned to the wall with ice, struggling to breathe—I CAN’T WHAT IS HAPPENING

· ((You know I’d get through this a lot faster if I stopped pausing to write reactions—))

· “A break in the ice. A whisper of spring.” Symbolism. Symbolism.

· “Ren was dead when I found him again,” NO I REFUSE TO READ THIS

· “don’t use the hand I built you to hurt yourself” DOC. SIR. MY HEART.

· RK don't run, RK get back here—what are you—

· I

· JUST

· ACTUALLY

· SCREAMED

· AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

· *several long moments of just breathing*

· *rereads*

· Holy crap on a garbage cracker with an extra serving of what-the-heck sauce

· REN

· Okay lol okay hahaha calming down

· I literally threw myself back in my chair away from the computer reading that last paragraph. I don't usually... physically react to things I read. LOL. Heh. I’m. Ah. I’m not emotionally invested in this or anything.

· Holy crap.

· Okay. Okay. Okay.

· Um.

· Great chapter, guys. Awesome stuff. Really good. I’m absolutely okay right now and it’s all totally fine.

· …please enjoy your break and get lots of rest and I very much look forward to the return of this fic you have no idea.

· I need to go breathe for a little bit.

EDIT: no, you know what--I'm not going to be a nice polite fangirl over here and quietly hope y'all see this I'm straight up tagging you, @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands. THANK YOU but also how dare.

#The only reason I'm even posting this is for my own remembering later #and i guess if fluffy or solar want to see my mindless ramblings -- go nuts #long post #redwinterreacts #redwintertalks #dog at the door

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goldenwanderer · 3 years

Note

D, I and S for Siuraine?

Prompt List Here

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Sorry to be grim when this is supposed to be fluff, but neither Moiraine nor Siuan is convinced that they will live long enough to have a future together. Not only is the Last Battle coming, but they are both actively engaged in a highly dangerous secret mission that could get either of them killed - or stilled - at any point. Honestly, it's a miracle they've had as much time as they've had. They are both practical women, not prone to daydreaming or wishing for things that can't happen.

Yet in the backs of their minds, they still dream. Of a world after the Last Battle, that they are both alive to see. Of a quiet house in a little village, preferably near a river. Of long hours of reading (for Moiraine) or fishing (for Siuan), with no other concern other than when to prepare supper. Of warm, languid nights spend lovemaking - and of nights without lovemaking, just spent sleeping, because now they have enough time to do either. Of the chance to hold hands in front of other people, because their love is no longer dangerous. Of peace and quiet and finally a time to rest.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Siuan brings Moiraine out of her shell. She encourages her to be more open and vulnerable with her emotions, both good and bad. It isn't that Siuan's changed her, per se - it's more than Siuan knows how to draw out the real Moiraine in a way that almost no one else can. Moiraine laughs more, cries more, even gets angry more when she's with Siuan because she has the freedom to do so (and also Siuan is a master of pushing her buttons).

Moiraine also helps Siuan to be more truly herself, but in a different way. Ever since they were novices, Moiraine has been a regular source of encouragement and support for Siuan, constantly reminding Siuan that she is stronger and kinder and cleverer than she believes. Moiraine refuses to see Siuan as anything but a brilliant mind, a devoted friend, and a wise leader, and won't let Siuan put herself down either. Siuan never had trouble being free with her emotions, but she's always struggled - at least internally - with the gut feeling that she's an imposter, that she's not good enough. Moiraine won't let her get away with that. Moiraine always builds Siuan up, whenever she needs it.

Also, you can bet they've taught each other some other, less important things as well. Like I am convinced that Moiraine can fish bare-handed because Siuan taught her. And at least some of Siuan's mastery of Daes Dae'mar has to come from her Cairhienin noble girlfriend. Siuan was probably the mastermind for their prank war, but I'm sure Moiraine came up with a few ideas as well. But Moiraine never quite managed to imprint her love of horses on Siuan, for all that she tried.

Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

In short, emphatically yes, but also a little bit no. It is explicitly canon that they share the same primary goal for their lives. Literally their whole arc in the story is about helping each other find the Dragon Reborn and get him to the Last Battle alive. Everything else in their lives - including each other - has to come second, because their ultimate goal is nothing less than saving the entire goddamn world. They both believe in this goal 150% percent. Both Moiraine and Siuan would do anything or sacrifice anything in order to stop the Dark One - including themselves or each other, though they wouldn't be happy about the latter.

The problem is, they can't really help each directly, not when it comes to the actual execution of the mission. Siuan is stuck in Tar Valon, working politics and rising up the ranks to in hopes of getting the White Tower ready for the Dragon. Meanwhile Moiraine is nearly always on the road, doing the actual search-and-rescue part of the mission. There's only so much aid they can offer each other, since they're in totally different locations doing totally different things - and also if anyone sees them not hating each other, they might get suspicious. They try to keep in contact, but most of the time it's just not possible.

#wheel of time #moiraine damodred #siuan sanche #moiraine x siuan #gw.replies #gw.all #siuaraine

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 10/11

Here’s another M rated chapter, and this time for a more enjoyable reason :) In addition to sexy times, there are a lot of revelations in this chapter. I can’t believe we are almost to the end! You all have been so supportive of this story, especially those of you who were fans of the original. Thank you for trusting me and sticking with this new version!

Thank you once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for hosting the Captain Swan Rewrite a Thon. Also massive thanks to my betas @shippingtheswann and @optimisticgirl. I also owe a lot to all of my fellow writers in the discord chats for your conversations about creating my own version of Neverland and the other realms.

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: About 5k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Chapter Ten: No Lovelier Sight

Killian stands behind the wheel, the biting air here above the clouds cutting across his cheeks. Above him, the pegasus sail snaps in the breeze as they make their way to Neverland. Below him, Emma stands looking out at the blue sky and wispy clouds, her hair flying around her like an enchantress. Milah’s old skirts billow around her as well, the bottom hem only hitting the top of her boots. After all, their former owner was but seventeen when she died, and Emma is a woman of twenty-three.

He had sat upon the edge of his cot earlier after retrieving Milah’s things from her old trunk, Emma next to him, and told her more about the girl they had once belonged to as well as what she had meant to him. He doesn’t plan on hiding anything from Emma, especially not when she walked away from the only realm that has ever been her home.

Yet Emma had barely reacted to his story, simply staring straight ahead, her occasional nods the only sign that she was listening at all. She hasn’t spoken much at all since he told her about Henry.

“Starkey,” Killian calls, “can you take over?”

“Of course sir,” his first mate answers, handing the sextant over to Curly.

With the ship in capable hands, Killian moves to the lower deck and slowly approaches Emma. She turns to him, managing a trembling smile as she pushes her hair out of her eyes.

“The air is thin and cold at this altitude,” Killian says, “are you sure you don’t want my coat?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t feel it,” she tells him softly, “I don’t feel anything.”

He isn’t sure what comfort she needs from him, but he opens his arms for her. Emma comes willingly, pressing her face to his collarbone and grasping him tightly about the waist. She shudders, and he wraps his arms around her.

“You’ve had a lot to process in a very short amount of time,” he tells her soothingly as he rubs her back gently. “First your attack, and then the news about your son . . . “

“I just don’t understand,” Emma mumbles against his chest. “He was a newborn baby. A woman was adopting him. A woman with a nice home in a nice little town.”

“I don’t know, love,” Killian sighs, wishing he could help her more. “Tink said that giving him up wasn’t easy for John Darling. He had him for two years before he brought him to Neverland. I think he got a bit attached.”

“But he didn’t love him,” Emma says bitterly, stepping out of Killian’s embrace and swiping angrily at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “Not enough, anyway.”

Killian can only nod, for he fully agrees. There’s really nothing more he can say. Emma reaches for his hand, and he takes it, lacing their fingers together. She pulls him near as she turns back to look at the clouds as they roll by. She pulls his arms around her waist and leans her back against his chest. Her hair smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Her hand slides down his left arm to grasp his hook, and he can hardly breathe past the lump in his throat.

“He’s five years old now, Killian. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to grow up like me.”

“There’s one difference between your childhood and his, though. His mother is on her way to rescue him.”

Emma turns in his embrace, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if he hates me?”

Killian catches the tear with the pad of his thumb, then caresses the dimple in her chin. “I don’t see how anyone can hate you, my love. And children are infinitely forgiving. Think back to when you were five, Emma.”

She gives him a tremulous smile even as her eyes flood with more tears. He lets his forehead drop to hers, though he won’t initiate a kiss. That will be on her timetable, not his.

“My love,” she whispers, “I like the sound of that.”

She turns her head into his shoulder and wraps her arms around his neck as he holds her tighter.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want for you.”

“What I want is my son. To love him and have him love me back. Is that selfish?”

Killian buries his fingers in her hair. “Not at all. I believe that’s called a mother’s heart.”

*****************************************

“It’s beautiful,” Emma breathes as soon as the Jolly Roger settles upon the waves after her magical flight. Killian comes to stand at Emma’s side, taking in the sight of Neverland on the horizon with fresh eyes. Dead Man’s Peak is no longer a hulk of jagged rock, but a verdant mountain. Skull Rock has mostly crumbled into the sea, leaving behind a shimmering coral reef. The ribbon of Rainbow Falls can even be seen cascading down into the valley.

“It wasn’t always,” Killian sighs, “but you’re right, it’s gorgeous now.”

Emma grins as she leans farther over the railing of the ship, and Killian’s heart is warmed to see it upon her face. She awoke this morning in a cold sweat, thrashing against an unseen foe. When she finally calmed in the circle of his arms, she explained the nightmare. She was back in that crumbling house, being attacked by those men, only her lad was there too. She was reliving her trauma, that Killian knew all too well, but he also guessed that her fears about meeting her son were also wrapped up in her nightmares.

“Mermaids!” she exclaims, pointing.

Killian leans over with her, and sure enough, a school of mermaids are leaping through the water alongside the ship. Frankly, he feels they’re showing off with their over-the-top acrobatics.

“They’re so colorful,” Emma observes.

“Aye,” Killian says, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulder, “they’re happy to have their lagoon back. Soon the island will be teeming with the mystical creatures that used to live here so long ago.”

Emma shakes her head. “I still can’t believe Peter Pan was evil in real life.” Then she frowns. “And I’m a little pissed that I don’t get to kill him myself for what he did to my son.”

Killian holds back a chuckle, for he knows her anger is real. It makes his blood boil as well. Yet he loves this bold and brilliant woman, and admires her avenging spirit probably more than he should. He brushes a kiss to her temple.

“I would bring him back if I could, just so I could see you unleash your wrath on him. The gods know he deserves it.”

Emma wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest. “Thank you for saving Henry.”

“You’ve said that far too many times already, Swan.”

“Well, you’ll just have to hear me say it again.”

Hook and his crew sail the Jolly Roger into Pirate’s Cove as they always have, but even his men are struck silent at how the island has changed. Bright flowers bloom, and the songs of tropical birds fill the air. The remnants of Rainbow Falls trickles over the rocks of the bluffs ahead in a soothing rhythm.

Killian leaves his men with the ship and guides Emma through the thick trees, following the river that cuts through the island. Tink and Tiger Lily told him that no more dreamshade grows here. Every time a pixie dust tree blooms with new life, every dreamshade plant in its vicinity shrivels up and dies. Killian is glad he no longer has to fear the evil plant.

Emma is quiet as they walk along the path to the home of the fairies. He senses her nerves, and gives her hand a comforting squeeze. The smile she gives him is forced, but she squeezes back.

Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell no longer have reason to hide their domicile, so the cave is now open to the sunshine, and smoke rises cheerily from the chimney.

“This looks cozy,” Emma says, biting her lip.

“Aye, though the smoke there is just for show. Tink has this idea that every home needs a fire going, even when it’s bloody 99 degrees outside.”

Emma manages a nervous laugh and follows him down the short passageway to the main part of the house. Killian taps his hook in the open doorway to alert those inside to their presence.

Tiger Lily, unsurprisingly, isn’t home. Tink is at the sink doing dishes, but gasps and drops a bowl into the sudsy water when she sees her guests. Her hands fly to her mouth as she dashes across the room.

“You’re . . . you’re Henry’s mother!”

Emma gives Killian a surprised look, and he shakes his head in confusion.

“How in the world do you know that, Tink?”

“Oh Hook, really? I’m a fairy, I know these things.”

“She’s been impossible since she got her wings back,” Killian tells Emma.

Said wings flutter in indignation as Tink glares at him. “And you, Hook, have no manners. You haven’t even introduced me to our guest.”

“I didn’t have a chance the way you’ve been blubbering on.”

“I’m Emma,” Swan interrupts, giving Killian a pointed look, “and yes, I’m Henry’s mother.” She glances around the room, worrying once again at her bottom lip. “Where is he?”

“He’s napping,” Tink says, “but we could tiptoe in there if you like.”

“Should I?” Emma asks nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to scare him.”

Tink waves her hand. “He sleeps like a rock, believe me. Such a pleasant, sweet child, really.”

Emma’s cheeks pink and her hands twist nervously as she follows Tink down the short hallway. The fairy opens the door slowly to reveal a darkened room with twinkling lights strung from the ceiling. In one corner is a twin sleigh bed, and snuggled under the soft blankets is a little boy with chestnut hair. Emma’s trembling hand flies to her lips as she tiptoes closer. His cheeks are plump, his ears stick out from his head in an adorable way, and Emma can’t help noticing that he has Neal’s nose. She glances behind her and sees that Killian and Tink have slipped away to give her privacy.

Emma sinks to her knees beside the bed, her hand hovering over the child’s head. A half sob chokes in her throat as she gently strokes her little boy’s soft hair. He shifts in his sleep, clutching the teddy bear at his chest a bit tighter, and Emma quickly pulls her hand back. He rolls over, flinging one arm out, and that’s when Emma sees it: the buttercup birthmark that matches hers. The one she hasn’t seen since the day he was born. There’s no mistaking it, this is her son.

She rises from the floor and tiptoes back out of the room and down the hall. When she sees Killian, he gives her a concerned look, and she flies to him. He lets out a puff of breath when she collides with his chest, but he instinctively holds her tight.

“He’s beautiful,” she chokes out.

******************************

“John Darling adopted Henry when he was three years old. Apparently, he had terrible colic as an infant and severe night terrors after that, so he had been difficult for children’s services to place.”

Tink’s words seem to have little effect on Emma. Killian watches her with concern. The cup of tea in her hands is surely cold by now, and Emma hasn’t lifted it to her lips once since Tink gave it to her. She stares into the flames of the enchanted fire and idly pushes Wendy’s old rocking chair back and forth with her foot. Tink catches Killian’s gaze in concern, but he gives her a barely perceptible shake of his head. If Emma wants to engage, she can, but he won’t force her.

Tink clears her throat and leans towards Emma. “I believe Henry’s difficulties - the colic and the night terrors - has to do with him being a child of two realms.”

That catches Emma’s attention, and her gaze snaps quickly to Tink. “Two realms?”

Tink opens her mouth, but before she can explain, a small voice pipes up from the hallway, and Henry shuffles in. His face is flushed and sweaty from sleep, his hair is sticking up crazily, and he drags his teddy bear behind him by one leg. He freezes when he sees Emma and Killian. Tink notices and rushes to scoop the boy up on her lap.

“Henry, you remember Killian, right?” She brushes at his hair as Henry nods shyly. “And this . . . “

Tink edges towards Emma slowly, and Emma sets down her cup of tea with shaking hands. She edges onto her knees so she is eye level with Henry.

“ . . . this,” Tink continues, “is your mother, Henry. She’s come for you.”

“Hi, Henry,” Emma whispers, smiling despite her choked voice.

The boy blinks as he takes Emma in, then he eases off Tink’s lap and comes closer to the mother he hasn’t seen since the day of his birth. Killian can tell Emma is overwhelmed and that she longs to touch her son. He also knows she won’t until the child is ready.

Henry pulls his teddy bear closer and rests his chin between the toy’s ears. “Do you want to see my other toys?” he asks Emma softly.

Emma’s smile is wide and beaming. “Yes, I would like that.”

Henry reaches out and takes Emma’s hand. Once they’re out of sight, Killian drops his face to his hands, unable to help the tears that leak out of the corners of his eyes.

*******************************

“I can scarcely believe how much it’s changed,” Killian muses to Tinkerbell as he looks around him, “we were only gone a few days.”

He’s lounging on a picnic blanket, Tink sitting cross-legged next to him. Emma has taken Henry down to the edge of the water for a swim. The blanket is scattered with the remains of their lunch.

“It truly is beautiful,” Tink says with a sigh.

Killian tosses an apple core into the woods behind him, then lays back, flinging his arm across his eyes and resting his hook on his stomach. Tink gives a sardonic half laugh, haugh snort.

“Don’t get too comfortable, pirate, there are still a few lost boys out there.”

Killian rises up on his elbows and arches a brow at the fairy. “You think they’d cause trouble?”

Tink shrugs, squinting out at the water. “Felix was loyal to Pan almost to the point of obsession. They’ve melted into the deepest part of the jungle and are quiet for now, but . . . “

“Well, I’m not borrowing trouble,” Killian grumbles. His eyes find Emma and Henry, and his voice grows thick with emotion. “I’d rather enjoy a quiet moment while I have it.”

The sun shines on the water of Mermaid Lagoon, making it sparkle like diamonds. The songs of the mermaids float on the air, and it’s just as beautiful as Tink had always said. Henry is knee deep in the water, laughing every time one of the mermaids flicks her tail at him. They’ve learned that the creatures can be rather mischievous, but one named Ariel has taken a particular liking to Henry. Ariel’s their princess, actually, and her fondness for the boy means they all remain on their best behavior with him.

Killian laughs at Henry’s antics. Each time he lunges for a mermaid tail, said mermaid darts away, and the five year old ends up splashing face first into the water. Yet every time, he resurfaces with a sputtering giggle. Killian’s gaze shifts to Emma. She and Tink are the same size, so the fairy has loaned her some clothes. Emma is currently wearing a one-shouldered dress of ocean green that hugs her figure. The skirt normally hits just below her calves, but Emma has it hitched up to her knees. She sits on a rock next to Henry, her legs in the water. Henry splashes her, and she splashes back. Then Emma opens her arms wide, and Henry launches himself into her embrace. Emma presses him close, not caring that he’s getting her completely wet.

“These two weeks have been good for both of them,” Tink comments.

“Aye,” Killian agrees, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman he loves. Emma rises from the rock, cradling Henry like a baby, and walks up the beach towards them. Killian can see that Henry is getting sleepy by the way his arms have gone slack in his mother’s arms. Sure enough, when Emma deposits him on the picnic blanket, the lad’s eyelids are drooping. Emma wraps him up in a towel, and Henry curls up in a ball on the blanket, hugging his teddy bear close. Emma catches Killian’s gaze and smiles as she brushes Henry’s wet hair out of his face. Soon, the boy’s breaths even out, and he’s fast asleep.

Emma frowns. “Do you think it’s okay for him to sleep out here? He’s wet.”

“Don’t fret, my love,” Killian tells her, “the sun is warm, and you have him wrapped up snugly.”

Emma nods, but still bites her lip in concern. She’s only been a mother for two weeks, after all. What does she know? Killian probably knows more than she does after all his years of rescuing lost boys. Mason was Henry’s age when he joined the crew, so Killian had practically been a teen father.

“Swan,” Killian says gently, taking her hand and rubbing her knuckles gently, “you’re wonderful with him. A natural.”

She lets out a long sigh and gives him a wobbly smile. How he manages to read her like that is another thing she’s having to get used to. She watches her son sleep, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. Once he allowed her to touch him, she couldn't seem to get enough: hugs, rubbing noses, brushing his hair off his forehead, cheek kisses. Henry loves the affection too, often leaping onto her lap and cupping her face with his chubby little hands. One of Henry’s arms is flung out in sleep, a habit of his that Emma finds adorable. His birthmark catches her eye, as it often does.

“Tink,” she says softly, “these two weeks have been great. But don’t you think it’s time you explained to me what the hell this all means?”

Emma doesn’t miss the glance Tink tosses Killian’s way, yet the furrow upon Killian’s brow likely matches hers. He’s already told her about Pan searching for the heart of the truest believer and about the significance of Henry’s birthmark. What neither of them can understand is how she fits into all of this.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tink hedges.

“None of that, you bloody stubborn fairy,” Killian admonishes in a teasing voice. “You said that Henry would be a child of two realms, but from what Emma and I can gather, he’s a child of only one. A land without magic.”

Tink sighs, then looks at Emma questioningly. “Tell me about his father again.”

Emma shrugs. “He was just a boy. An ordinary runaway.”

“A right jackass is what he was.”

“Killian!”

“Well he was!” Killian protests, and Emma can’t help but smile at his indignation. They’ve had many long nights filling in all the details of their time apart, and Killian is definitely not a fan of Neal.

Tink says nothing, her gaze distant, and Emma can practically see gears turning in her head. Killian looks nervous too, for some reason. Emma glances back and forth between them.

“What are the two of you not telling me?”

“A child of two realms,” Killian says, his gaze falling on Henry, “and . . . “

“A child of royalty,” Tink fills in.

Emma blinks and gasps, “You can’t be saying . . . I mean, you don’t really think . . . but I’m no different than Neal! A nobody, nothing, I -”

“You were never nothing,” Killian interrupts her firmly.

Her gaze softens at the intensity in his voice, but then she shakes her head, the implications of it all overwhelming.

“You’re from a realm of magic, Emma,” Tink says, “it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I was abandoned,” Emma argues.

“Think about it, darling,” Killian says softly, “you were found wrapped in a blanket that had your name stitched into it. Does that sound like careless parents to you?”

Emma rubs at her temple.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Tink says, “but the prophecy about the truest believer was very clear. You , Emma Swan, are not only from a magical realm, you’re also -”

“A princess,” Killian finishes for the fairy. Emma’s head snaps up at the sadness in his voice. His jaw clenches as he rises to his feet. “Which is why this idyllic little holiday must come to an end. My ship and my crew are at your disposal, your highness. I swear to you, we will find your family and your kingdom.”

Before she can process what he’s saying or the sudden formality in his voice, he’s turning away and striding quickly back through the jungle. Emma looks at Tink, her eyes blinking in confusion.

“What the hell is up with him?”

Tink sighs. “Captain Hook has quite the problem with self-loathing, I’m afraid.”

***********************************

Killian is slowly coming up from the depths of a deep sleep, fighting the persistent whisper of his name. Then soft lips brush across his, and he doesn’t want to fight it. His eyes blink open, and he squints in the dark, trying to see. A cool hand, a whisp of soft hair, and those lips again on the shell of his ear.

“Follow me, Killian.”

He thinks he’s dreaming at first, but when his arms reach for Emma’s side of the bed, and he finds it empty, the last cobwebs of sleep flee his brain. He sits up, heart pounding at first until he sees Emma in the doorway, smiling at him. She tilts her head in a gesture that says come on, and seems to glide out into the hallway. He knows it’s the illusion of her long, white satin nightgown, but it makes her look ethereal all the same.

Once he’s up and doing her bidding, she picks up her skirts and runs on her bare feet down the hall, through the parlor, and out of the cave. He swears he hears her giggle once they’re out in the moonlight, but he’s beginning to wonder again if this is a dream.

She stops at the edge of Mermaid Lagoon, and whirls to face him. He skids to a stop at the picture she makes, the light of the full moon pouring over her figure and illuminating her hair. That damn nightgown leaves little to the imagination, honestly, especially in this lighting. She smirks at him, as if she’s read his mind. Then she’s slipping the straps of the nightgown from her shoulders, letting the satin fall soundlessly around her feet. He’s completely shell-shocked now, blinking and practically gasping for air as he takes in her naked form, flawless and strong in the moonlight. They haven’t been intimate since her attack, and the sight before him causes an instant physical reaction. He suddenly realizes that he rushed after Emma without a shirt, without his brace, without his hook.

Without a weapon. He glances nervously at the jungle behind them, but Emma laughs.

“Is this a dream? A trick?”

She shakes her head and gives him a soft smile. “Killian. Seriously? I just felt we needed some time alone.”

That last word - alone - falls from her lips with weighted meaning. Then before he can respond or take another step, she turns and slips into the waters of the lagoon. She goes under soundlessly, then comes back up, only her head out of the water.

“Aren’t you coming, pirate? Or do you not know how to swim?”

It’s Killian’s turn now to smirk as he quickly discards his sleeping pants. “Oh believe me, love, I’m good in the water.”

He dives in, cutting across the lagoon with easy strokes. He breaks the surface right in front of her, and Emma immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her naked body to his. He shouldn’t succumb to this temptation, not when he knows now who she really is and where she comes from. Yet his arms go around her automatically, and his forehead drops to hers.

“Emma,” he groans, “why are you torturing me?”

“Why are you torturing me?” she counters.

“I’m sorry?”

Emma’s fingers find his wet hair as she presses herself ever closer. “It’s been over two weeks, Killian. I miss you.”

“I didn’t want to push you.”

She smiles, nuzzling her nose against his, “I know, and God, I love you for that, but I’m ready.”

“But since then we’ve . . . well, now we know -”

“Stop it,” she commands, pressing a finger to his lips. Lips that curl up into a smile before pressing a kiss to the pad of her finger. “What was that for?”

“You sounded so regal just then.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn princess.”

Killian frowns. “Yes you are, and we should be reuniting you with your parents, your kingdo-”

Emma cuts him off with a fierce kiss, her tongue assaulting his, telling him far more with her actions than she ever could with words. He shouldn’t kiss her back, but their wet skin is pressed together, her fingers are digging into his scalp, and fire is coursing through his veins. Emma wraps her legs around his waist, and he’s completely incapable of rational thought. He slides his hand and stump down to hoist her up, grabbing her flesh in the process and eliciting a groan from deep in her throat. He shifts her so they are lined up perfectly, and she moans as he enters her. It’s quick, and slightly awkward in the water, but it’s been so long that neither of them mind. Emma’s legs tremble around him, and she drops her head to his shoulder as they both come down.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Killian tells her breathlessly.

“I did.”

He kisses her then, tenderly and with wonder. The jungle isn’t quiet; the water laps at the shore, crickets chirp, and leaves rustle. It feels like they can both finally breathe. He never wants it to end.

They stay in the water for a long time, never leaving one another’s embrace. Neither wants to break the spell of the night with words, so they speak with kisses instead. When they first try to leave the water, they make it only as far as the beach. He presses Emma into the sand with his weight, claiming her lips once again. Yet she’s the one who takes him, switching their positions and pinning his arms above his head. The moonlight is spilling over her again as she moves above him, her head thrown back, her breasts glorious. They come at the same time, and then Emma collapses against him, her hair everywhere. He gathers it in his hand as he presses a kiss to her shoulder.

The first light of dawn is just tinting the horizon when they finally get dressed. Killian tries not to look Emma in the eyes, worried still that this was all some sort of hazy dream, or worse, a goodbye.

He’s just slid his pants up to his waist when Emma comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her cheek to his back.

“This isn’t me saying goodbye, if that’s what you're thinking.”

His breath catches in shock. He’s not the only one who is perceptive. She’s smirking at him when he turns around, and she reaches up to cup his face in her hands.

“I love you, Killian Jones.”

“I love you, too.”

She searches his eyes. “I feel like my whole life, until now, I was just searching for something.”

He threads his fingers through her hair. “Aye love, I feel the same. Perhaps I have always been trying to find my way back to you.”

She gives him a tremulous smile, and he exults at what he sees in her eyes. Her next words, however, steal his breath.

“I don’t want to look for my parents.”

Killian frowns. “Emma, I’m sure they’ve been waiting for you all this time. Hoping, maybe even searching.”

She shakes her head. “I’m tired of living in the past. I’m ready to look forward - with you and with my son.” She presses a kiss to his lips and then drops her hands from his cheeks. Instead, she clasps both his hand and his stump and presses them to her chest.

Killian can scarcely breathe. “Swan, do you mean that you would . . . that is to say . . . “

Emma laughs as a single tear slips down her cheek. “Don’t make me ask you, pirate.”

He grins broadly as he presses his forehead to hers. “Marry me? Let me always, always be by your side? Let me be a father to Henry?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Killian kisses her again as the sun breaks forth across Neverland.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #soul mates #fate #angst #slow burn #childhood sweethearts

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whirlybirdwhat · 4 years

Text

Accidental Family Man Au

remember that one ask where I talked about some projects? This is one of them. Enjoy dad franky!

So it begins with Franky – a back alley repair in the illustrious mechanic city of Water 7 – a miracle engineering city, they call it, with intertwining roads of cars and rivers. Venice, if Venice was made of concrete and had a road system above its water system, twisting above houses and everything.

Franky used to be one of those engineers that created those miracles, but an accident later, and he’s the scourge of the city and half bionic, making his living in back alley repair shops where you either pay with cash or your life.

He never said he was a good guy, did he Ice Burg?

He still has connections though – and these connections lead to Iceburg, and to the Straw Hats.

Iceburg’s the mayor, of course, and while he doesn’t care much for his public image, he knows that if he starts accepting money from shady kids who showed up to his doorstep possibly covered in blood with a woman who he swears he’s seen before beside him, that maybe Water 7’s people will take a hit for harboring criminals.

But hey, He knows a guy already doesn’t he?

So he sends these kids and their broken van down to the Franky House to see if he would fix their beloved, broken, van.

The Straw Hats never reach it, because the woman (Robin) gets kidnapped and a fight breaks out, leading to the separation of the group,

So the story really begins with Franky and the little broken down RV called The Going Merry, previously belonging to the kid who’s standing in front of him, begging him to fix it.

More Hcs Below cut including actual dad Franky stuff lol

That kid is Usopp, and he’s asking because Franky’s the only repair man in the illustrious city of Water 7 that will possibly accept the cash that Usopp has to offer.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he attempts to kick the kid out and gets kidnapped in return.

Oops

So, Franky’s introduced to Ennies Lobby one of the worst places this side of the country – where people go and never come back, and hey, whats this kid doing kicking down the door?

Safe to say, Franky is rescued, and learns a little more of their story.

And Safe to say, Franky sees the woman they are going to save (him, and a bunch of teenagers and some 12 year old brat) and he near damn falls in love with her on sight and definitely does when he actually talks to her.

They save Robin, and start running – of course, Merry the van is just barely struggling to save all their added weight but they make it but also merry’s totaled.

So Franky shows them his pet project, The Thousand Sunny, supposed to be his super get away, home a way from home rv but with a few modifcations… the Straw Hat Gang has a new home. And a new crew member.

Franky learns everyone’s stories and about all the absolutely shady shit they are into. He learns he fits right in.

And then… then the moments start happening.

He helps Usopp fix up the Sunny, and teachers him about cars and such.

He and Chopper start bonding over bionics and medical shit that went into building his body.

Zoro and him geek out over comic heroes (this, at least in zoro’s part, is canon the big nerd.)

He helps Nami out with some headings and listens to her troubles.

Sanji and him go fishing one day and it’s the most surreal experience of Franky’s life because this teen is in a three-piece suit and catching giant fish out on the shore of some lake? What?

Franky gives Luffy advice and pulls him out of fights and shows him cool robot things.

And its two months in when Franky realizes – here is it actually typed out lmao

“In all honesty, Franky doesn’t know how it happens.

Well.

He has a vague idea.

(Can you save her? Please? Merry’s the best.)

But still – tracing the events that led up to him frantically calling Ice-for-brains at one am in the morning at a near abandoned gas station on the west coast was a hard task.

“Hello?”

Finally.

“Ice-for-brains,” He starts using the familiar name.

“Flunky? The hell? What are you calling me now?”

“Iceberg.” The use of his real name quiets him. He knows this is serious. Franky takes a deep breath, and exhales, saying the next words in a single breath. “I accidently became a dad to six crazy teenagers. Help.”

…

“Goddamnit bastard-berg this is no time to laugh!””

AND THEN HE GOES ON TO HAVE MORE DAD ADVENTURES INCLUDING:

Organizing the kids at Sabaody Park

being emotional support for all these kids trauma please world, give them a break

doing his best to say no to allowing luffy to swim with sharks but giving in anyway

being a component (aka fierce menacing bodyguard) in his daughter’s nami’s schemes

breaking up fights

Attempting to ground known criminals who may or may not be stronger than him

Modifying the RV so that they can have Brook and Jimbe on it as well

“MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS!”

Overthrowing the government in at least three different countries because his kids wanted to

Doing experiments with illegal fireworks on Usopp’s behest

“Do you want to play catch” “Franky that’s dynamite that we found in the stach what the fuck- “Do you want to play catch” “…Yes.”

Explaining Safe Sex to teenagers who have biggers worries such as the government

Teaching them all how to drive. He thinks hius heart has popped out of his chest.

Snoring loudly on their tiny couch and everyone just dogpiling on him

Also I had this in my notes

So that’s a thing that’s going to happen!

Uh anyway uh PART TWO – THE OTHER FCKING STRAWHATS

Note: Everyone is aged down three years from pre TS ages to enforce the fact that 1) the government is fucking nuts for assigning bounties to these kids in this au 2) give more dad moments as while we all need a dad in our lives at any age it gives me more plausible reason here 3) plot related issues and the fact that this story takes place over several years and 4) the image of a 14 year old taking down the government is hilarious to me.

So.

Moving on.

Luffy – 14 years old and an absolute bastard

Luffy grew up in the port city of Fuusha as a way for Garp to keep an eye on him because of his family connections and make sure nothing bad happened to him - didn’t quite work out.

dads a terrorist, his brothers a world class criminal, his gramps is an abusive piece of shit but also weirdly protective marine officer, his family’s complicated.

he grew up in the seedy underbelly of the city and made friends with a lot of criminals (who helped him get out because hey that five year old who used to steal our food is a brat and maybe we should help him get out before he becomes to chaotic (too late) and becomes our friend (also too late) )

Among these criminals are Shanks, who wanders through once in a while, Buggy, begrudging friend, Jimbe, because he has connections, Crocodile, because this brats a bastard, and Rayleigh, among others.

Annoys them to make him his friend, continues annoying them afterwards.

He just thinks they’re neat.

Luffy leaves two months after Ace, his brother under Dadan’s, the local gang leaders, roof, leaves because Ace can’t tell him to stay behind anymore

but the govt got word now he’s on the run – Coby helps him escape

As such, Luffy grows up with a very very skewed moral compass as in canon but a bit more, and now literally is almost ten times more feral as he should be.

His goal is now to do whatever he wants, without people telling him what to do or that he can’t do that – He’s going to be free, damnit.

Franky understands and learns over time to adjust his Parenting Skills accordingly

Zoro – 16 and illegally owning a motorcycle because he thought the best way to improve his skill was to go out and hunt down people to fight, and of course he needs a motorcycle to do that, doesn’t he?

He was pulled over for speeding then taken in for being underage

He is also caught up in some bad stuff (fight circles, bounty’s, etc. this kids 16 and breaking grown men’s spines.)

Then comes Luffy who was also arrested for dine and dashing and is in the back seat.

Luffy, who after the police car pulls over, punches out the police officer, unlocks Zoros cuffs and tells him “Drive”

So they drive

“Hey, hey Zoro. Join my crew. It’ll be fun.”

“Anything you say captain”

knows Luffy for three seconds and is immediately down to murder with him

Its great

He wants to become the greatest sword fighter still, which is still a thing in my fantasy modern world, so anyway, picture this 16 year old going up to you and tell you to fight but he has a sword in his mouth and in both hands and the most dangerous look in his eye.

He and Luffy immediately rob a sword shop to find him new swords after they meet, it becomes a thing later on where they will steal (horribly, they literally crash in through the window every time because they have no subtly) something small from each city they visit.

Nami - 15 year old pick pocket in the city where luffy and zoro stop, just trying to scrap up some money to pay off her family’s debt.

Bellmere’s still alive damnit.

Nami thought Zoro and Luffy were police originally (because they are driving around in stolen police car) and tried to pull the ‘oh officer help me’ card when the people she stole from chased after her

To her surprise, it was two kids her age in the front seat.

Luffy: “get in”

she gets in

they dont talk about it

The people who were chasing her was Buggy’s gang who Luffy waves at as he goes by

Buggy sends a message to Shanks which is essentially “hey that brat u liked is still alive”

And Shanks is like “oh thank god” not knowing the terror he has unleashed upon the world

A month later Arlong has mysteriously disappeared and the Bell-mere farm is flourishing while the second daughter becomes a world class criminal.

Bell’meres never been prouder and it gives Nojiko a great conversation starter.

Usopp’s 14 and lives in a trailer park called syrup alone

Has a business where he sells odd herbs and such, passing them off as anything that will get him some money – think of it as Toad Oil from Wano but with some popgreens and such mixed in.

His goal is get enough money to stand on his own and leave the park but its slow going. And then…

Luffy punches the heck outta the creep that was creeping on the owner of the park, kaya, and think’s Usopp’s stories are super cool.

Usopp wants to go with them, to explore the world With Luffy.

At this point, the Straw Hats have realized that driving a stolen police car around is a bad idea

so they take the huge van - a gift from Kaya named The Going Merry, and set off, using Nami’s stolen funds to get them by.

Sanji - 16 year old who longs to be a chef with the best food and just wants to feed people who need it

He hates government cause they don’t feed people and has a lot of petty grudges and helps Zeff run a lot of kitchens to help people.

He’s still the Sous chef of the Baratie and still has a penchant for kicking unruly customers around. Baratie has a less then stellar reputation for service but the food? The best in the land.

He feeds Luffy the food.

Luffy likes the food.

Luffy kidnaps Sanji

Zeff worries about it but he can’t do jack since he actually is not Sanjis legal guardian (he kidnapped the kid first on accident after they both were stranded. He still tries to call anyway, and is proud of the change his son is making in the world. He’s currently working to get suspicious government people off his back about his missing Sous chef with the unique curly eyebrow…

Anyway, Sanji becomes the cook for the strawhats and is really happy because everyone likes his food and he can help anyone along the way and send business to the baratie

Its a good deal for him, and with all the places he visits his skill grows as a chef.

Chopper - 12 year old prodigy who really wants to be a doctor but both his legal guardians are out of the way

Hiruluks dead and Kureha, against her will because she’s still beautiful at 100 dammnit, is in a nursing home trying to break out

Chopper has nowhere to go but still tries to pursue his medical career, and this fucking twelve year old does so by patching up people from bar and gang fights.

The Straw Hats pick him up and Usopp hacks into a govt control thing to sign him up for online medical course

Kureha’s proud and gives him a book of pressed cherry blossoms that was Hiruluk’s

He cries

Chopper gets lots of practice for medical stuff with Luffy and Zoro who like to fight in fighting rings just for the heck of it, and for the money that Nami wants.

Robin – 25 year old depressed archeologist (and assassin) they found in a mafia in the next country over (Vivi’s)

Crocodile’s running it, aka Luffy’s criminal uncle number 500

Luffy’s pissed about it and smacks him into the dust because it’s his friends country, and then drags Robin along because she needs to have some adventure, and hey, they are checking out the ruin’s next, wont that be cool?

So robin comes along as the ‘adult super vision’, at least in Nami and Usopp and Chopper’s mind.

She learns that these kids have some how been able to dodge school, and starts teaching them the basics of what they would need to know, and then any thing else they want to know. (Zoro, she finds, is extremely good at math while Sanji enjoys chemistry. Nami and Usopp catch on quick, while Chopper has his own studies already but enjoys talking to her. Luffy dislikes learning, but if the promise of pirates or foods or letters that wont spin in his head is involved, he’ll gladly sit down for a bit. He especially loves the stories however.)

Robin finds herself inching dangerously into mom territory, and accepts it whole heartedly after meeting Franky, who she finds handsomely hilarious.

She has a shady past but is slowly opening up about it, and knows she will watch the world burn for this crew.

Y’all know about Franky already so im gonna move on.

Brook – super fucking Old musician they found on the street looking for his dog Laboon

He used to be a star but lost his fame but doesn’t care – he only wants to make people happy with his music.

Luffy just straight up just drags him into the sunny, its becoming a habit of him kidnapping people, that’s not how you make friends Luffy (or at least it shouldn’t be – he always seems to make it work.)

Everyone just goes with it at this point while Franky sighs and triie sto figure out how to make a giant RV even bigger

The Crew find out his dog is living in luffy’s home town and used to play with Luffy when his friends weren’t around. They vow to go back once everything dies down, but in the mean time Dadan gets a new guard dog in her house hold

Usopp posts one (1) video of Brook (on Halloween in skeleton make up) and he instantly becomes a revived star, thriving on the mytery of the Skeleton Soul King.

He now posts videos from around the world of him singing but its impossible to predict where he will be next, and he’s invisible with out his make up to the internet, so its good for the whole criminal thing.

Jimbe

(best) Criminal uncle 501

No one knows exactly how he knows luffy beyond luffy himself but they are 90% sure its something to do with the underground warlord system that Luffy has connections too

He gives the best hugs, Uncle Iroh but without the well-meaning manipulation.

He’s tired of responsibility that he has in his underground position and kinda wants to fuck off to the Caribbean but then he meets luffy again and is like this is better

He Leaves the fishman gang behind with subordinate in charge and joins strawhats

He becomes stressed - “Why did you choose an archeologist and a man who wears speedos for adult supervision, how are you alive, do you need a hug, do you know basic math, have you even gone to school, oh thank god Robin is here - ”

Two minutes later

“Do you have code names, can I have one,”

He’s a big faker the dummy everyone can see right through you, you’re aren’t on this crew if you have common sense

Between dad moments, essentially its just the Straw hats breaking in and causing havoc where ever they go, building their bounties and being a found family.

That’s it for now, but please ask questions! Sorry this was so long lmao, ill also add something for Vivi later!

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viciousgracearc · 4 years

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LYANNA STARK IS A WARG & A GREEN SEER

I would like to preface this headcanon by saying that this is borne out of my own imagination + analysis of the text + hours of conversation with @luxfurem. There’s a very high possibility that I’m completely off the mark here and of course, you don’t have to agree with me on this headcanon specifically. But as far as this interpretation is concerned, I’M ADAPTING THIS HEADCANON IN ALL OF LYANNA’S MAIN VERSES.

THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND BEFORE READING FURTHER (based off of my PREVIOUS HEADCANON):

LYANNA IS THE KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE. I think this is as good as canon at this point.

RHAEGAR FOUND OUT THAT LYANNA WAS THE KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE. As a sort of acknowledgment, he crowned her The Queen of Love and Beauty by the end of the tourney at Harrenhal. It doesn’t go any deeper than that (a.k.a. they’re not secretly in-love, sorry).

THE MAD KING ALSO FOUND OUT AND ORDERED FOR LYANNA’S ARREST. I’ve written extensively about this in the headcanon linked above, but pretty much the mad king was triggered by the KOTLT and couldn’t let shit go.

ADDITIONALLY, CONTRARY TO FANON:

LYANNA DID NOT RUN AWAY WITH RHAEGAR TO ESCAPE THE BETROTHAL WITH ROBERT. While I don’t think Lyanna was the most eager to be married to Robert Baratheon (or to be married at all ), I also don’t think she ran away with Rhaegar to escape her betrothal. She could have run away, point blank period. But with a married prince? I don’t think so. (Considering too, that Lyanna’s initial reservation against Robert was his inability to keep to one bed. Based off of that alone, I don’t think Lyanna would willingly participate in infidelity of any kind. In this separate essay I will –)

LYANNA WAS DUTIFUL to a certain degree, but not in the same way as Brandon could have been or Eddard was. Lyanna’s upbringing was focused on being a proper lady who would marry a highborn lord someday, so she can pop off male heirs. She won’t inherit Winterfell, unlike Brandon, and she’s not even next in line unlike Ned. The expectations of her were quite different compared to the expectations of her brothers, thus, she wasn’t as committed as they were to the idea of duty, or at least not in the same way. That being said, she still held her family’s honor to great esteem and she went out of her way to defend and uphold that honor.

LYANNA WAS NOT SELFISH. I see this around a lot and it’s the most mind-boggling of all. This was the girl who, at 14 years old, was ready to throw down against three grown squires to defend the honor of her father’s bannerman. She later fought in a tourney and won, and asked the lords that the squires served to teach them manners. If she would go that far to defend a sworn bannerman to House Stark, who was not just being bullied but also discriminated upon because of his culture, then I’m pretty certain she’s the type to stand up to injustice without regard for herself. In that similar vein, I don’t think she would besmirch her family’s honor on a whim, knowing how seriously she took the meaning of that honor as made clear by her defense of Howland Reed.

Now that we’ve gotten all of those out of the way, it’s time to dive in into the void.

As is already previously established by canon, ALL STARK CHILDREN ARE WARGS. I know this mostly pertains to the six children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, but there’s literally no reason why it could not extend to the generation of Starks that came before them. Brandon and Lyanna for example, possess the legendary “wolf-blood” of the Starks of old, and thus are tied very closely to the Stark mythos of being descended from the First Men. According to AWOIAF, “Greenseers had the greensight and were wargs as well.” While not all wargs are greenseers, we have evidence in Bran that the greensight is definitely alive and well in the Stark line (and in the North, as evidenced by Jojen Reed, a crannogman, and Brynden Rivers a.k.a. Bloodraven, whose mother was a Blackwood).

Following this logic, I don’t think it’s far-fetched at all to say that Lyanna might have been a green seer (and a warg). The ability in Bran was triggered by his fall, whereas it almost came too easily and too naturally to Rickon. Rickon and Bran shared the same dream about Ned’s death (which they predicted even before Maester Luwin made the announcement), and Rickon also knew when Catelyn and Robb left that they would never see them again.

In Lyanna’s case, I don’t think she knew what she was (I don’t think the Starks ever realized how closely they were tied to what’s left of magic in the world). She knew she was said to have the wolf-blood, which she thought had something to do with her temperament (a trait she shared with Brandon). By all accounts, Lyanna was wild and brave; she thrived off of independence and did not do well with restrictions. She rode horses “like she was half a horse herself” according to Roose Bolton, and maybe that’s because she understood horses like no ordinary human could?

I’ve already headcanoned that my Lyanna is a warg, so I’m going to take it a step further and say that she’s a green seer as well. No, she’s not as good at it as Bran, mainly because it was not a talent she cared to develop. But this ability ties her up with Rhaegar, who we know to be prophecy-obsessed. This even ties her up with with the Ghost of High Heart, who Rhaegar sought out time and time again just to hear her foretell the future, no matter how disjointed these predictions were.

So my theory essentially is that Lyanna had a run in with a wildling (most likely raiders caught by Rickard’s men) and before this wildling was executed, they told Lyanna something about the same prophecy that consumed Rhaegar to the end of his days. I imagine it had something to do with blue roses and blood, which are the images / symbols closely associated with Lyanna. I also imagine it mentioned the same fire and ice prophecy that Rhaegar so determinedly chased throughout his short life. In addition, I also think that on the way home from Harrenhall, Lyanna contracted a fever which triggered her green dreams. This drove home the urgency of the prophecy and you could even say, it gave Lyanna clues — about what she should do and where she should go to play her part in it.

In my FIRST HEADCANON, I speculated that Rhaegar (a good year after Harrenhal) went to rescue Lyanna in the Riverlands from his father’s men (who found out she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree), but I also think that for some reason they were fated to cross each other’s path, and they knew it, because by this point both of them were aware of the prophecy (by virtue of each of them being in contact with green seers, by virtue of Lyanna being a green seer herself albeit an untrained and unskilled one). But before any plans were set in motion, they visited the Ghost of High Heart to confirm the prophecy, and only then did they decide that yes, for mankind, we will fulfill our roles in this prophecy TOGETHER.

Worth noting: At some point, Lyanna realized that the prophecy, to come into fruition, would have to mean her death (blue roses and blood). But after everything she’d seen through her green dreams and after what she’d been told by the wildling green seer, by Rhaegar, and by the Ghost of High Heart, she determined that this cause — saving the world — was worth losing her life over.

Something you have to understand about Lyanna Stark: she wanted to be more than just someone’s betrothed, someone’s wife, someone’s mother. This prophecy — to a young, idealistic, romantic, wild, and by all accounts, good girl — was almost irresistible. This was something bigger than herself; she had a real chance to do something here, to be both the maiden AND the hero in a tale where she saves the realm from an ominous threat (and wasn’t Lyanna like Sansa in this way? In love with stories of maidens and heroes?). The KOTLT incident showed us that Lyanna had a strong sense of morality, and also a penchant for risky yet grand gestures of bravery. Saving the world was the kind of thing that she would not even think twice of doing, no matter the cost to herself.

Things Lyanna did not foresee: Brandon’s reaction to the news that she was missing and Brandon’s fast assumption that it was Rhaegar who took her. AT MOST, LYANNA EXPECTED THEY WOULD NOTICE HER ABSENCE AND WOULD ASSUME SHE RAN AWAY FROM HER BETROTHAL, BUT FOR HER BROTHER TO ACCUSE THE CROWN PRINCE AND STORM THE CAPITAL WHILE DOING SO… DID NOT OCCUR TO HER. Also, IMPORTANT: Lyanna and Rhaegar had no idea about Rickard and Brandon’s death until after the Battle of the Bells, when Gerold Hightower finally found them in TOJ and asked Rhaegar to return to King’s Landing. By this time, Lyanna was already pregnant.

Whether or not Rhaegar and Lyanna were right about the prophecy doesn’t really matter here. They could be completely wrong. Dany could be the TPWWP and not Jon. Heck, it could be Aegon (who really isn’t Aegon, LBR). Basically, this was just how they interpreted the prophecy, and they both paid in blood for it. Since they’re both alive in mine and Bubbles’ main timeline verses, the blood is of their loved ones, which was infinitely worse for both of them than if it were their own blood.

Is this a ship now? Well, no. At least not during TOJ, and heck, not many years after that. Lyanna was miserable in that tower and I can’t imagine Rhaegar was all too happy either. They’re doing what they thought they had to do, and Lyanna was going into it thinking she would die. All things considered, that might have been her preferred outcome, now that she knew just how much blood she had to pay to assume the role that would make the prophecy come true. The only real consolation in the aftermath was Ned’s forgiveness and the fact that Jon was kept alive because her brother loved her enough to give up his honor for her. But even then, it was a bitter consolation, and Lyanna would spend all her life trying to make up for her mistakes.

#* ic. / headcanons #headcanon: lyanna stark #blood tw #death tw

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yesokayiknow · 4 years

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I trust your taste so, I'm doing a rewatch right now but I was going to skip all of 11 cause I don't have the patience at my old age but also I vaguely remember there being some standout episodes that I probably should revisit. So, your top ten (or so) 11th doctor episodes, please?

idk why you'd trust my taste at ALL but okay! (they're in canonical order btw!! not like the order of how much i like them or anything)

vincent and the doctor - look i don't need to explain this one we've all sobbed at it we will all continue to sob at it

the impossible astronaut/day of the moon - You Gotta Have Some River Eps Okay also canton is !! so good (points taken away obvs for 11 manipulating his friends & completely ignoring amy's right to know abt her own body but oh well i guess !!)

the doctor's wife - on one hand u have the ultimate in mansplaining in this ep as 11 tries to tell the tardis?? how to build a tardis???? on the other hand. somft. and also i'm gay for suranne jones but Who Isn't

the girl who waited - real bastard hours for 11 right here but god,,,,karen gillan,,,,,,breaking my heart with her acting,,,,,,,,,,also she has a sword,,,,,,,,,

the god complex - gotta love an ep where the doctor gets called out!! god i love those kind of eps okay also rory not being affected at all by the alien's abilities is still legitimately the funniest thing ever agkdha

the asylum of the daleks - yes i'm gay for jenna coleman we been knew BUT also this is a dope plot anyway (even if the subplot makes me want to lock moffat & whedon in a room and tell them to never write about infertile women again please and thanks)

the power of three - introduction of the love of my life kate stewart 🥰🥰 also as much as i do hate 11,,,,,the ponds + 11 ARE soft ok

the crimson horror - aka that time the doctor & clara were so shit at their jobs they needed to be rescued agkdhajs but it's just a really neat framing device and the villain is legit terrifying and also the paternoster gang???? so good (but yep!! 11 sure does just kiss his friend that he knows is a lesbian huh!!! just kisses her without yknow asking or saying anything and it's played as laughs!!!!!!! ffs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

the day of the doctor - worth it just for war doctor immediately dissing 10 & 11 tbh but also! kate!! osgood!!! clara rescuing the doctor(s)!!! the moment!!!!!!!!

the time of the doctor - look i do hate 11 but matt smith is SUCH a good actor & 'amelia?' 'raggedy man,,,,,goodnight' gets me every TIME (even tho yeah damn he really just straight up ignored that clara was even THERE huh)

#asks #anon #doctor who #the doctor #eleventh doctor #yes i skipped like nearly every ep of 7b and that's v valid of me i think #u could substitute the astronaut 2parter for the angels 2parter or the pandorica 2parter if u wanted!! the main part is that River Is There #i picked the astronaut one bc it also has canton & he's So Good also the ponds all get to interact in this one #and we get one of our rare rory & river scenes!!!!!!!!!! love them wish they'd interacted more onscreen >:(

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tact-and-impulse · 5 years

Text

Shinkane Week Day 4

I love how it’s essentially canon that Kougami’s the only one who tolerates and likes her cooking.

Prompt: Sweetness

“I’m so grateful you’re taking care of the house, Acchan. But I do feel bad that you won’t be with your friends during your summer break.”

Akane moved the phone to her other hand as she took off her shoes. “It’s okay, Kaori’s busy with her internship and Yuki’s going to be overseas. Just focus on getting better, Obaa-chan.”

“Yes. Oh, and don’t forget to leave some wagashi on the front porch.”

“Eh? What for?”

“For the youkai, of course!”

She wryly smiled. “Obaa-chan, you still believe in that superstition?”

“It doesn’t hurt. And I still haven’t forgotten how you survived falling in the river, when you couldn’t swim. Something must have rescued you.”

“That was a long time ago. Your accident was much more recent.”

“Well, my injuries could have been worse. The nurse is here, so I have to hang up. Good night, Acchan.”

“Good night.”

She finished unpacking first, assuming there’d be mochi or konpeito lying around. However, she was soon proven wrong. She looked in the refrigerator, then the cupboards, with growing concern. How strange, there weren’t any sweets left. Well, she could probably make some instead. Obaa-chan had plenty of cookbooks, and she was good at following instructions. She rolled up her sleeves and set to work.

***

“Finished it off again, huh?” She couldn’t help smiling as she looked at the empty plate on the porch. Over the past week, she had made yokan, leaving a handful of cubes out every night. And every morning, they were gone. She assumed some animal must have eaten them, but she was growing fond of whatever it was. It had a good appetite; nothing was left behind.

As she was hanging the laundry out to dry, she noticed something strange. A misshapen indent in the ground. Drawing closer, she slowly realized it was a footprint.

It looks like a dog’s, but it’s very big. If one paw is bigger than my hands…

Aware that she was alone in the countryside, she desperately looked around. Dense foliage met her gaze. But…other than the footprint, there were no other signs of a large creature. Perhaps, it was a youkai. Akane pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh at herself. She was being silly for even entertaining such a thought.

Nevertheless, she decided to switch it up.

In the middle of the night, Akane woke to a dry throat. She poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen and for some reason, she thought of checking the plate of dango. Groggily, she made her way through the dark house and opened the door to the porch.

What she saw instantly dispelled her sleepiness. In the yard, a weasel was lying belly up, pink tongue lolling out. A fox urgently patted its face.

But Akane was drawn to the figure sitting on the porch. He was strikingly handsome in the moonlight. One hand held a half-eaten skewer, and sharp teeth gleamed as he bit into the syrupy dumplings. A fluffy black tail swished in the air, brushing the fabric of his dark gray yukata.

The fox gave a mournful cry and it almost sounded human. “Kagari!!!”

“Oi, Gino, quiet down.” Then, the stranger looked at her, and pointed canine ears perked up above his wayward hair. “Ah…”

Akane grasped the sliding door, needing something to anchor herself. This was real, this was actually happening. “Are you…a youkai?”

“Yeah. Are you the one who’s been making the wagashi?” He finished off the dango.

“Only this past week.” She dazedly replied. “My grandmother’s usually the one who leaves them out, but I’m taking care of the house in her absence. But um, is there something wrong with your friend?” She pointed to the fallen weasel.

“He’s fainted!” The fox glared at her. “What did you put in those dumplings?!”

“Oh, you can talk!” Akane blinked in surprise. “And I just tweaked the recipe. I didn’t have enough ginger so I added horseradish.”

“That’s it! The wasabi. Kagari can’t handle spicy food.”

“Is that so? Should I add milk?”

“Mi…why?!”

The only one eating interjected, licking syrup off his fingers. Akane had trouble focusing as he said. “Gino, calm down. Her cooking’s just fine.”

“Well, now I can’t change back because I had one too. Seriously, Kougami, how are you alright and maintaining human form?”

“What’s the matter with you?” He retorted. “The wagashi taste great.”

Akane blushed, but the fox grabbed the weasel by the scruff. With one last glare, the two vanished into the undergrowth.

“Don’t mind them. Gino’s a stickler for tradition, even though the offerings don’t mean anything. It’s not like we’ll starve if we don’t have them and our group will protect this area regardless.”

She mulled over his words. “If it’s not to promote good fortune, why do you eat the sweets?”

“Anybody can appreciate a snack. Plus, it’s nice to know that our existences haven’t been forgotten. By the way, I’m Kougami. The fox is Ginoza and the weasel is Kagari.”

“I’m Tsunemori Akane. I’m here for the summer, for the first time in years. As long as I’m staying in this house, I won’t forget the wagashi for all of you.” She watched him polish off the last skewer.

He wiped his mouth and bowed his head. “Thank you for the dango. You probably won’t see us around but just know we’re nearby.”

“Then, that makes us neighbors. I hope to meet everyone again soon.” And she meant it.

His smile was surprisingly gentle. He stepped off the porch, and his figure transformed in a flash. One moment, he was a man. The next, he was a massive black wolf, easily towering above her. In a single leap, he crossed the yard and sprinted deeper within the forest.

How could she possibly sleep after such an encounter?

***

She never told Obaa-chan; it was better that her grandmother recover without distractions. Akane was also becoming more self-sufficient. One morning at dawn, she finally gathered enough courage to traverse the mountainside, resting a woven basket on her hip. A familiar river ran adjacent to the worn path and she gave it a wide berth.

A shadow rose from the water with a loud splash. She recognized Kougami in his partly human form; only this time, he was shirtless from the waist up. His hakama clung to his legs, and he ran a hand through his drenched hair. Water droplets slid over his well-defined abdominal muscles. When he caught her gaze, she almost dropped her basket.

“Tsunemori! Are you here to cool off too?”

She shook her head. “I was looking for wild herbs. I can’t swim. It’s probably because of my bad memory associated with this river.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? What happened?”

“When I was little, I was ‘adventuring’ and fell in. I don’t remember much of it, but I held onto something. Whatever it was, it was solid enough. I was pulled out of the water and carried home, because the next thing I knew, I was on the porch and my family was rushing to me.”

He was giving her a rather contemplative stare, but before she could ask, he turned away. “I’m a little hungry. I’m off to go hunting.”

“Do you hunt people, Kougami-san?” Maybe that was a childish question, though he tossed a smirk in her direction.

“No, I prefer burgers over people. See you later.” In a flash, he was a wolf again and bounded away. Her grandmother did think her savior was a youkai and now that she met a few…Obaa-chan could be right. But that didn’t mean Kougami was that youkai.

In the evening, she set out a plate of cream puffs, flavored with some of the mint she had harvested. Her attempt at Western sweets wasn’t too bad to look at, and it wasn’t long before Kougami visited. He immediately shoved a cream puff into his mouth and gave her a thumbs up.

“I’m happy they turned out well. It’s a shame no one else came with you tonight.” She noted.

“They all had things to do. Well, more for me. I like your sweets.” Kougami enthusiastically swallowed another cream puff.

Akane beamed. “Thank you! I’ll definitely make more.”

Anmitsu, pudding, daifuku, melon bread. The possibilities were suddenly endless, and her summer vacation seemed a lot more exciting.

#psycho pass #shinkane #shinkaneweek #kougami shinya #tsunemori akane

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galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

A Funeral: Chapter 20 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to the insidious dangers of the natural world, as well as to one another, and to their future.

Credit to @bearly-tolerable for the banner!! Art is my own.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 20: A Man of No Mystery

They walked along the swampy river bank. Dutch had his hands in his pockets. He seemed highly contemplative, almost dreamy. Arthur was curious and unperturbed, but he did feel distant—in a way he had not truly felt before. Like he was on the outside of things now, looking in. He adjusted his hat, lit a cigarette, smoked casually. Once they got far enough away from the property, he heard Dutch make a huge, walloping sigh. Then Dutch stopped, hands still shoved in his pockets. He stared up at the long, white clouds.

“How are you, son?” he said, searching.

“I’m good,” said Arthur. “I heard things was quiet, while we was gone.”

“That, they were,” said Dutch. He nodded, as if affirming his own sense of solace. “That they were.”

“What’s going on, Dutch?”

“I heard that you and Miss Gaskill—you’ve kindled something. Something…real.” Finally, he looked at Arthur. “Is that true?”

Arthur smoked. He tried seeing the earnestness in Dutch’s eyes. He thought, maybe it was true. Maybe it was. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Is that what you wanna talk about?”

“It is,” said Dutch. “I mean, there’s a great deal to talk about, but we could start…there. It interests me greatly.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Just—” Dutch took a deep breath. “Just tell tell me about it.”

Arthur took a long drag off the cigarette, smoking it down to his fingertips. He blew the smoke tossed the nubbin to the grass. “Up north, we ran into some bad, bad characters.”

“Everything turned out okay, I expect?”

“It’s fine,” said Arthur. “But at the time, it wasn’t fine. It made things desperate. It took us by surprise and put things into perspective a little. We’ve always been friends, but I think we just realized, after that, that we was more. More than friends. Things changed.”

Dutch seemed pained at this, but desperately curious. “Hosea came to me today,” he said, rubbing the scruff at his chin. “He told me that you love her.”

“I do,” said Arthur. He shrugged. He smiled. “She gets me, Dutch.”

Dutch smiled, like he was wondering wistfully at what it was to be got. “Tell me about that.”

Arthur looked out at the river, surveying the fish, the huge and the brown fish splashing around in the water. “She lets me be…me. She listens to me. She makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” said Dutch.

“Yes, sir.”

“You gonna marry her, son?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “As soon as I can. I don’t wanna wait on it too long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s time,” said Arthur. “It's just time. I’m thirty-six years old, Dutch. I’m a man without any mystery left inside me. She's good with that, and I ain’t letting her get away.”

“That's...inspiring, Arthur,” said Dutch. "Really."

Arthur gave him a look, not entirely sure what to say next. “So, what?” said Arthur, squaring up with him. "That's all?"

“Excuse me?"

Arthur shoved his own hands in his own pockets. “I don't know. I just keep waiting for you to...call me into question. You keep doing that, Dutch. Like you don't trust my judgment. Like you ain't known me for...twenty-two years."

Dutch shook his head out, once, real quickly. He seemed lost. “I trust your judgment. I just wanted to hear it from you, about your relationship with Mary Beth. I'm happy for you, Arthur. Is that what you want to hear?"

Arthur sighed, he looked down at his boots. He felt bad, and then he looked back up at Dutch. “Maybe," he said.

“Well then, there you have it."

“I just—I assumed this talk here, the one we’re having, is a product of whatever Hosea said to you in St. Denis, and that really, it's about what comes next. That it’s about us leaving.”

“I—” Dutch trailed off. “That is a part of it, yes."

“Can I say something?” said Arthur. "Before you go on."

“Of course,” said Dutch.

“Just in my own defense. I feel like—I feel you’ve known me for a long time, and I need to just…explain something to you.”

“Arthur. Please. Talk.”

“Okay,” said Arthur. He took a deep breath, very serious. He took his hands out of his pockets and sort of held them out in front of him, a peace offering. “I love you, Dutch,” he said, looking him in the eye. “I do.”

“I love you, too, son.”

“And I mean it. This ain’t no ploy for your sympathies. I know how you feel about loyalty. I care about it, a lot, too. You and Hosea, you been like a couple of fathers to me, and I ain’t calculating to do anything without telling the two of you. I know I’ve screwed up my share of relationships with women. You’re probably looking me right now like I’m goddam crazy. Because I’ll admit, I’ve fucked up a lot, in the past. I’ve ruined so much. Eliza. Mary. I lost—I lost a great deal. But this ain’t about me repeating my old mistakes. That I promise you. It’s about me making a life I can be proud of, something of my own, and living it with a person who I care about, and who cares about me. Who don’t try to—to change me.” He looked down at his hands, such battered creatures, this old habit he could not shake. “I wanna be with her, so badly. It strangles me, Dutch. I ain’t felt this way in—hell I’m not sure I ever have. And I just—the way things look right now, with the gang and what we’re doing and the hell we’re getting ourselves into, everything we’re running from—I can’t protect her forever in this sorry state in which we’ve found ourselves. And if—when there’s a child. My child, in the mix of all this—I won't fuck that up. Not again.”

“Arthur—”

“I’m almost finished,” said Arthur. “I swear.”

Dutch nodded.

“I just want you to know,” he went on, “that this ain’t about you.” Arthur lit another cigarette, smoked somewhat frantically. He felt stripped, kind of cracked for some reason. He closed his eyes. “It’s about me and her,” he said. “That’s all. I will always be loyal to you, Dutch. But I can no longer put myself at risk for this life that we lead, when I don’t even know what I’m fighting for anymore. It’s too dangerous. It’s too uncertain.” He opened his eyes again, looking right at Dutch, the smoke crawling in the air between them. “The way I see it sometimes, the only way out of this for me is at the end of a rope, or on a chain gang somewhere, digging holes in the long, hot sun—a fate I probably deserve, to be honest. But I won’t do that to her, Dutch. I won’t. I can’t.”

Dutch watched him closely. He had his hands on his hips, had been nodding along, listening with intent. Or at least it seemed that way. Sometimes, when he was talking to Dutch, Arthur felt as if he were talking into an empty village. A place where loved ones used to live and thrive but have since migrated elsewhere. He was desperate not to feel this way. He harbored so much guilt, so much ugly weight inside. He wanted freedom, but he was terrified of losing Dutch for reasons he could not always comprehend, explain, or even deal with anymore.

"You do not deserve that fate," said Dutch. "You deserve happiness."

“I'm trying to get there," said Arthur.

“Everything you're saying to me," said Dutch, "I hear you, and I think it's beautiful. I am not here to stop you from pursuing a life and family of your own. How could I? After what happened to Eliza, and your son. I remember that like it was yesterday. I remember what it did to you, what it did to all of us. How I almost lost you that year. And I won’t ask you to give up your shot at a second chance with Mary Beth.”

Arthur just stared at him, almost confused. “Thank you,” he said, again.

“You’re welcome, son,” said Dutch. He looked out at the brown water. Way, way out in the distance, you could see a river boat, coming down the aisle, with a couple men fishing off the ledge. “But, Arthur,” he went on.

Arthur followed his gaze. He sighed. He knew there had to be something. He polished off the cigarette and tossed it into the river. “What, Dutch.”

“Can you just give me…a little more time.”

Arthur squinted at him, trying to suss out his agenda. “More time.”

“Yes,” said Dutch, releasing his shoulders back, holding out his hands in reason. “Just a little…more…time.”

“Time for what, Dutch?”

“Time to—to get us out of this…this mess that you so deftly pointed out. All of us. Time for me to do my part in giving you and yours a real chance at a better life.”

“In Tahiti?” said Arthur. “I don’t wanna go to Tahiti, Dutch. That life, that fantasy. It ain’t for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Tahiti,” said Dutch. “That’s a—a pipe dream. It’s over there.”

“Over where?”

“You know what I’m saying,” said Dutch. “I just mean—help me, Arthur.”

“Help you?”

“Help me figure out what to do. We can…have your wedding. Reverend Swanson, assuming we can get him sober enough for the day, can do it right here, at Shady Belle. Or we’ll get a church. A river boat with a ship captain. Whatever you and Miss Gaskill would prefer. We’ll get her a dress, a ring. We’ll get all the women dresses, and we’ll see the two of you through this. Like a family. And in our execution of your day—this monumental moment for you, and for her, we get a little. More. Time.”

Arthur studied him. He didn’t feel turned around, though he was surprised. “You wanna throw us a wedding?”

“Of course I do,” said Dutch. “You’re my children. Both of you. I want to give you the goddam world, Arthur.”

“And during this…time you’re asking for,” said Arthur. “While Mary Beth is busy with Abigail and Tilly, picking out a dress and a church, a ring from the jewelry shop in St. Denis, what’re you gonna ask me to do? Odd jobs for Mr. Angelo Bronte? Rob a bank? Collect debts? Get shot?”

Dutch shook his head right away. “No, son. No. Like I said before, I hear everything you’re saying. I won’t ask you to do anything if it means risking your life.”

“You won’t.”

“No. That is what you want, isn't it?"

Arthur nodded, once.

"I just—help me," pleaded Dutch.

“Help you what?”

“Help me formulate a plan, Arthur. To get us out of here.”

“You want my help, formulating a plan to get us out of here?”

“Yes. Yours. And Hosea’s, of course. The three of us, we work together, not separately—with and not against one another—I think we can do it, Arthur. I really do.”

Arthur pressed his eyes shut. He shook his head. "Are you gonna actually listen to me, Dutch?" he said. "Are you gonna keep accusing me of things like betrayal and losing my faith? Because I hear it when you say those things to me, and they don't feel good."

"I'll listen," said Dutch, straightening up, appearing to be strong and focused. Maybe like the old Dutch, before Annabelle got taken away. "I will."

Staring at him hard, Arthur was picking through a fiery landscape trying to figure out whether this was a reliable pledge. "Can I believe you?"

“Yes,” said Dutch. "And I'll prove it. I just need a little more time."

“How much time,” said Arthur. “In this grand scheme of yours, how much time do you reckon you need.”

“One month,” said Dutch, hands on his hips again. “The way I see it, Arthur, we don’t have much longer than that anyway. The Pinkertons—somebody’s gonna find us eventually.”

“And I should take that gamble. For one month,” said Arthur.

“I am not telling you what to do,” said Dutch. “I am only. Asking.”

Arthur bit down, flexed his jaw real hard. “I need to talk to her,” he said. “I need to see what—how she’s feeling.”

“By all means,” said Dutch, back on his toes again, full of hope and that tell tale van der Linde idealism. “Take the night. Take tomorrow, too. Talk to Mary Beth. Let me know what it is you decide. When you decide.”

Arthur nodded. He looked over to the side of the house, by the medicine wagon. He saw Tilly playing fetch with Cain the dog. “Fine.”

“One more thing,” said Dutch.

Arthur sighed. “What’s that.”

“It ain’t specifically about you and Mary Beth—who, by the way, I think is a splendid woman—a beautiful woman at that, and I have no doubt she’ll bring you infinite happiness for the rest of your days—”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it. This is about Bronte, I presume?”

“It is, my good sir.” He turned to look back at the house, with Arthur. Together, they measured its dying grace. “Mr. Bronte has invited us, meaning me and my associates, to the gilded cage.”

“Which is?”

“A party. A fabulous social engagement to be attended by the likes of every important person in this greater southern region of the United States. It’s in St. Denis, at the Mayor’s house.”

“A party?” said Arthur, disbelieving. “He’s invited us to a party? At the Mayor’s house?”

“Yes, sir. I was thinking you, me, Hosea, maybe Bill—”

“Bill?”

“Well, we can’t bring Javier or Lenny or Charles, not to an event populated by the veritable scum of the earth. And we need a seasoned man on the job. Somebody who can keep his mouth shut and just look…big.”

Arthur waved him off. “If you say so.”

“Anyway, you didn’t let me finish.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Arthur. “Please, continue.”

“As I was saying,” said Dutch. “You, me, Hosea, Bill, and Miss Gaskill are going to the ball.”

Full surprised, Arthur balked. “Miss Gaskill?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“You wanna bring Mary Beth on a job?”

“I do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Just hear me out, Arthur.”

“The answer is no.”

“Please.”

Arthur sighed, hands on his hips.

“There will be no guns at this job, Arthur,” said Dutch. “No guns. No violence. No danger whatsoever. It’s a party. It’s…reconnaissance.”

“Reconnaissance for what?” said Arthur.

“Reconnaissance for...what we might be able to get out of all this. If there's anything to be gotten, of course.”

“And how can Miss Gaskill aid us in our…reconnaissance?”

“We dress her up. We call her your wife—an oil heiress from Galveston, Texas. She injects enough charm into the situation to throw Bronte off by even a sliver, and she elevates us and our station in the meantime. With oil money at our back, Bronte will be far less likely to mess with our intentions, Arthur.”

“But we don’t got no oil money at our back.”

“Details, my boy,” said Dutch. “Details.”

Arthur dropped his chin to his chest, shook his head like he’d never heard something both so certifiably insane and yet oddly ingenious. “Why Mary Beth? Why not Abigail?”

“Because we need him to believe the story,” said Dutch. “Surely a true romantic I-talian like himself will appreciate the heat between you. It’ll add a whole new layer of truth to the plan. And we can’t bring John. Those fresh scars of his are likely to...scare the delicate nobles. Plus, Mary Beth has a quintessential American style. Big hair, big eyes, freckles. She looks like an oil heiress, and you know it.”

Arthur gave him a long and careful look, almost scathing. Dutch was holding up his hands, as if in surrender. “It ain’t a bad plan,” said Arthur. “But I don’t know.”

“No guns,” said Dutch. “I promise you. Talk to Hosea. He’ll back me up on this.”

“I will talk to Hosea,” said Arthur. “And this is another thing I need to talk to Mary Beth about, since I don’t know that she’ll go for it.”

“In which case, we’ll ask fair Abigail,” said Dutch. “A worthy understudy, by all means. The two of you have...a history anyway, don't you?”

Arthur gave him a look. "I ain't got no history with Abigail, sir. We've only ever been friends."

"Well, then, you'll fake it."

“When’s the party," said Arthur.

“The day after tomorrow, in the evening.”

“Fine,” said Arthur. He adjusted his hat, looked around. “Fine. We done here?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Good,” said Arthur. Somewhere up in the yard, you could hear a scuffle take place. Likely Bill, already punch drunk at six in the evening. Arthur looked right at Dutch then, very serious and very hard. “I’m choosing to trust you, Dutch,” he said. “I’ll talk to Mary Beth. You and me, we can reconvene tomorrow.”

Dutch leaned in close then, real close to Arthur’s face. He clapped one hand to each of Arthur’s shoulders, lowered his voice. “Thank you, son.” Then he pushed off, tipped his hat, and went up the porch steps and into the house.

Arthur took a very deep breath.

That night, Arthur and Mary Beth lie in Arthur’s bed, entangled and post-sex, with Mary Beth’s hair big and everywhere, and Arthur lighting another cigarette. He'd been smoking a lot that night—all through dinner, more than usual. He smoked, sure, thought Mary Beth, but he wasn’t really the chain-smoking variety by any means. She mostly saw him smoke under two circumstances—nerves and idle boredom. He was flexing his hand open and shut when she plucked the cigarette from between his lips and brought it to her own. She took a single drag and then handed it back to him.

“You’re smoking a lot,” she said.

He seemed surprised. "I am?"

“You gonna tell me what happened with Dutch?”

Arthur glanced down at the cigarette. He put it out on the window sill. Then he looked at her. She looked real pretty in the light from the moon, as it was coming through the window casting all in its lines of silver. He sighed. He kissed her. “A lot happened with Dutch,” he said.

“Tell me.”

Arthur put a little bit of hair behind her ear. He told her all about their conversation, starting with the beginning, skipping over the Bronte stuff for the time being. Mary Beth listened with intent. She held his hands as he talked. "He's happy?" she said at some point. She had had her misgivings, it was true. She didn't know what to expect.

“Well, he’s a difficult man to read,” said Arthur. “I don’t always trust him. But he did seem—I don’t know—halfway sincere in all this. I known the man a long time. I like to think I can see some stuff coming, or at least for what it is. He was happy for us, in his way. He didn’t try to poison me or challenge me. At least not in any overt fashion. But he did ask for more time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he wants us to wait a little bit before we cut and run.”

Mary Beth picked up Arthur’s hand. She traced the calluses and how they ran like little mountain ranges through his palm. “How much time?” she said.

“A month,” he said.

“That ain’t so bad,” said Mary Beth, shrugging. “What does he want you to do, in the meantime, I mean?”

“That’s just the thing,” said Arthur, tracing his big fingers past her arm. “He said he wanted me to stick with him, to try and help him formulate a plan to get us all out of here. He said he wouldn’t subject me to no violence. He said it didn’t have to be like that no more, said he understood why I needed to protect myself. I thought it sounded insane, but I had to believe him, in the moment.”

Mary Beth was looking at him. She palmed his jaw to make him look at her. “Do you believe him?” she said.

Arthur blinked, nodded. “I think so,” he said. “It still don’t mean nothing. I need to know how you feel. What you wanna do, Mary Beth.”

“You know me, Arthur,” she said. “I been doing this for five years. What’s another month?”

“Because a month, Mary Beth, turns into two months, turns into six, turns into a year.”

“That won’t happen,” she said.

Arthur thought on this, kissed the back of her hand, grazing his thumb past her delicate knuckles. She had a way with simple truths. She was right.

“Give him his month,” she went on. “Unless you sincerely don’t want to, Arthur. If that’s the case, and you ain't trusting in him, or the situation, then let’s go. Let’s leave in the morning. I’m with you. I wanna go, too. I don't wanna be a...van der Linde girl forever. I wanna be your girl. Wherever we end up. But I can be practical, too, Arthur, and I also know that it don’t have to be right this minute in order to come true.”

Staring at her, he got calm. Got peaceful. Wanted to rest. He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “We'll give him his month and try to stay...I don't know...positive I guess. But we’ll play it by ear, too. If things get…out of hand for any reason, we’re gone. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and she kissed him on the forehead. Then she kissed him on the mouth. They kissed more. It was moving back in that heated direction again like it always seemed to be. She was always wanting for him in those days, and so she reached into the sheets to find him half-hard—but he stopped her, smiling, took her by the wrist. “What’s the matter?” she said.

“There’s one more thing,” he said, looking at her.

“With what?” she said. She was trying not to get too dreamy.

“Dutch wants you to come on a job with us,” he said. “Day after tomorrow.”

“What?” she said, sort of coming to. She sat up real straight and pushed the hair off her face. She had forgotten all about what she'd just been doing. “What kind of job?”

“A party,” he said. He placed his big hand on her knee. “A fancy party, at the Mayor’s house in St. Denis. Dutch called it reconnaissance. He wants you to come along and pretend to be some oil man’s daughter, from Texas.”

Mary Beth covered her mouth and started laughing. “An oil man’s daughter from Texas?”

“That’s right. You’d be posing as my wife. He thinks having some sort of status, running with us, that might keep Bronte in check.”

“Why me?” she said.

“Because you’re with me,” he said. “Makes it more…believable. I don’t know. Plus, you’re you. You got the right look. It makes sense, I just—I don’t know, Mary Beth. What do you think?”

“Just a party?” she said. “With people everywhere?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Dutch said no guns. No fighting or anything like that. Just surveying. I'm gonna double-check with Hosea, but also, I know that Dutch is planning to bring Hosea with on the job. My feelings is, he wouldn't be doing that unless he knew it was guaranteed to be safe."

"Why's that?"

"Because Dutch don't like risking Hosea's life," said Arthur. "I seen it. Only lately, since Hosea's health has started to...decline. It's one of the reasons I keep finding myself believing him when he says he won't put me at no unnecessary risk either. Though I suppose that could also be my childish naiveté talking."

"You ain't childish," said Mary Beth. "What you're saying makes perfect sense."

Arthur shrugged. "Thanks, Mary Beth."

“Do you think I can pull it off?” she said.

"Pull what off?"

"Being an oil man's daughter? From Texas?"

Arthur renewed his grip on her knee. “I think you can pull off anything, Mary Beth. It’s just a matter of whether you’re comfortable with the situation or not.”

She sighed, thought about it, looking out the window. Outside, there were coyotes yelping and howling in the distance. You could hear rummaging, too, throughout the camp, while Pearson and Susan packed up their business from the day. “Do I get to wear a fancy dress?” said Mary Beth after a little while.

Arthur found this amusing. He nodded, smiling real low. “Yes, you do.”

“Then count me in,” she said. She grabbed his face with both hands, and she kissed him good. “I never been to a fancy party before.”

“Me neither,” said Arthur.

“Then at least it’ll be memorable,” she said.

“Hopefully not too memorable.”

She kissed his eyes. He was relaxed now. Soft and sleepy. She was, too. Like a big blanket of cotton pulled over them. Like they were floating out on a limb somewhere, in the clouds.

Arthur pushed the hair all off her shoulders then, kissed the top of her head as she nestled in beside him.

After a little while of leaning, Arthur realized he had been listening to himself breathing in a slow and even fashion. He thought about what he had said to Dutch that day, about feeling safe, and feeling got, and how Dutch didn't seem to recognize these concepts, and that made Arthur sad. He decided to just take a risk that night, though he knew it was a good risk with plentiful odds, it was still a risk, but one worth taking nonetheless. The beauty and softness of this moment was too good and too pure. He took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes.

“Marry me,” he said to her, almost like he was not even thinking.

"What?" she said.

“Mary Beth," he said. "Marry me.”

She sat up then. Right away. She was alert. He just let his eyes fall open, looking up at her, lazy like. “Really?” she said.

He took her hand, his head heavy against the pillow. He had no fears at all. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t see no point in denying my intentions, or wasting time. Unless you’d like to wait, or you’re not sure—”

She gathered up his hands, brought them to her lips, smiling, listening.

“I ain’t got no ring, not yet at least," Arthur continued. "I’m sorry about that. Maybe I should’ve…planned this out better.”

“Don’t need a ring,” she said, almost crying. She put both of her hands on top of his head, like she was covering him, and she kissed his hair. She whispered, "Yes."

He just smiled. He put his arms around her and it was like sinking—through the mattress, through the floor, into the earth. A familiar sensation he felt, being with Mary Beth. He loved her so much. It was like a story. She made the future seem possible and less like dying every day. The coyotes were still howling in the swamps, but he didn't care. He could already hear Javier, just swearing up a storm, heading out to shoot them quiet, or at least chase them off into the terrain. He and Mary Beth talked a little bit more before they fell asleep. She was shaken and excited but she did manage to tell him about how Charles had taught her how to make poison for dipping arrows.

Arthur laughed. "What'll do with your poison arrows?" said Arthur.

"Shoot all our enemies," she said, matter of fact. His eyes were closed, but he could hear the smiling in her voice. "What else?"

Arthur nodded. He could see it. He fell asleep after that, dreaming of river boats.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #mary beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #dutch van der linde #a funeral

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gabriel4sam · 6 years

Text

The Starbird Corp, a Star Wars fanfic

This one is for @igaveyoufairwarning , because of something said in a discussion about the pairing in Mace Windu Fandom Safe Space.

So of course when I was in the idea to write a small drabble, it’s now a 5,000 words fic about Mace Windu and the clones post Order 66 and about finding love again, with extra Force Ghost and Boil sleeping his way all over the Yavin’s base.

And for one, it’s no more than Teen for the rating.

Under the cut, the fic:

They didn't see it coming. The troopers went to sleep one night in the barrack, a night like any other on Thyferra, hot, humid, unpleasant to human lungs, and they didn't feel the gas that was slowly invading room after room. The mist was tasteless, scentless, almost colourless. Soon, the whole base was full of its insidious presence.

Next morning every stormtrooper, every officer, every technicians still here to feel it woke up with a terrible hungover. There was a lot of swearing and throwing up as haggard men tumbled from their bunks in an effort to reach the fresher, or woke up on the floors of the hallways.

And the discovery of the thefts didn’t help. The hangar was empty of the aircrafts, the computers neatly sliced and the weapons stock stolen. Everything that could be taken apart and shipped off in a few hours had disappeared, including food, medication and even the Commander’s uniforms.

“The Moff will have my head,” the Commander had lamented and he immediately had started to search for someone to throw to the wolves instead.

For a moment he thought he had found it.

From the five hundred men of the garrison, eighty were missing. Had they done that? He couldn't be guilty if this was some spy work. And they were all the old model, to use the officer's favourite expression, clones instead of real men like him.

But the holosurveillance’s tapes proved him wrong.

Stormtroopers had come, or well, men armoured like stormtroopers, and dismantled and stolen everything...and when they had gone, they had taken the clones on stretcher.

With a sight, the officer marked them on the stolen goods list.

******************************

The world was long to come back. For long, there was only fog and whispers.

Boil saw Waxer.

He tasted bacta, the thing coating his tongue.

He saw a body cloaked in brown, the face hidden to him.

He heard a canon and there was only silence after, something falling from a high cliff.

He saw bodies, piles of bodies burning and the smell was so terrible that even the filters of his helmet weren't enough.

He saw blood, so much blood, rivers of it, and he was walking in it, and the level was rising so much he was at danger of drowning.

Then he woke up, a yell to his lips, his heart in danger of exploding for how strong it was beating.

"Vod, vod, everything is safe. You're safe, safe, vod," The voice was familiar, he couldn't place it, everything was too much, too bright, too noisy, too moving... He turned around and threw up.

Someone was rubbing his back and he felt a glass pressed to his hand.

"Here. Rinse, spit."

He leaned down against a body. After a moment, his sight adjusted enough and he saw the face, the same as his.

"Waxer?" But no, the hair was wrong, and the scar around the eye, he knew that scar.

"Commander? Commander, what happened?"

Cody's expression was pained and in Boil's head, everything was blending in some sort of mess, nothing made sense. Had he shoot....he was sure he had shoot civilians!!

"Oh Kriff, am I malfunctioning? Am I being decommissioned?"

"No, brother, you functioned exactly like you were supposed to. Drink the rest of the water. There is a shower with your name on it, and then I will explain everything."

*********************

Yavin 4's base was an organised mess. It was nothing like Boil remembered the GAR or the Empire's army. It was logical: secret rebellions have slightly more difficulties obtaining pieces for their ships!

He followed Cody from hangars to hallways, listening to his crash course about the Rebel Alliance. After years in the Empire's army, with almost only human males, it was strange to see so many races working together, all genders, all colours, all shapes, united in one common goal : to make the galaxy a better place in restoring democracy.

He saw brothers, here and here, some with fresh scars on the side of their heads, some with hairs already grown back.

He even recognized some who had been in his last posting in the Empire. It was quite a shock to realize he didn't know their names. All of them, he had meet in the Empire and there, only their numbers had had an importance. What had become of his batch brothers? Of the other brothers of Ghost Company?

“Commander...”

“Yes, you have many questions I suppose.”

They went to the mess and took two serving of some stews and two canteens of water, and went to eat outside, in the shadow of a tree, close enough from the base but far away enough for their conservation to not be overhead.

“I don't remember the last time I had real food,” Boil half-marvelled. The stew seemed the best thing in the world.

“I know, brother,” Cody answered, his smile tight.

The things the former Commander had to explain to him, Boil didn’t like them. He cried, he wasn’t ashamed of it. What other answer could there be to the revelation that you were never more than a tool fated to water with his blood the birth of a Sith Empire?

Cody let him cry all he could, an arm around Boil’s shoulder. He was just there, silent, the support his brother needed in that moment.

And then came the question.

The question every brother had asked, after waking up with his mind free in the Rebel Alliance’s base or ships. From the pilots to the foot soldiers, the cavalry, the demolition specialists…Every one of them, free of the chip, had asked the same question:

“How can I help?”

“There is no obligation,” Cody said, “The Alliance doesn’t force anyone. If you ask, they can offer you a small stipend to go your own way and search for a better life. In the Empire, you would be too much recognizable, of course, but a few brothers have left for the Unknown regions and can always be relied on, whether you want to stay with them or just make it a first stop.”

“How can I help?” Boil only insisted.

“…We have a special section.”

“We? The vode?”

“Not only.”

That’s when Boil saw them, disembarking from a shuttle, right in the axe of their tree.

A group of brothers, he would have recognized them everywhere, even if they weren’t wearing armours but the mismatch mix of uniform, personal choices and strange ideas that seemed to be the usual for the rebels.

In the middle of the group was a man in Mandalorian armour, helmet under his arm, towering over the brothers. The nature of the Mandalorian armour was evident. That man couldn’t go in mission with his face uncovered.

Because that man was the very-officially dead Mace Windu.

“What the kriff?” Boil said and Cody put a nastily sharp elbow in his ribs.

“Don’t talk like that about one of your commanding officers.”

“One of…”

“Meet the Starbird Corp. Well, a part of. We are more or less four thousand angry vode and something like twenty surviving Jedi. We give a hand to the Rebellion when we can, of course, but we have one speciality.”

“Which is?”

Cody smiled.

“Well, you, of course. And every brother still in the clutches of the Empire. We find them, rescue them and dechipp them.”

“And the Rebels just…just let you? Instead of working for them?”

“We aren’t slaves, vode. We are members of the Rebel Alliance and the vode still chipped in the Empire’s ranks are victims to be rescued.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You should meet Senator Mon Mothma, once. She’s the one who insisted with the Alliance High Command for giving us free reign on our missions and a good chunk of the budget. And now, come, it’s time to meet the others.”

That night, Boil went to sleep in an individual room for the first time in his life. The quartermaster had given him everything he had asked for, colourful clothes and some perfumed shower gel, and every brother on base had insisted to add to his new possessions. A holobook. Chocolate. A nice razor. There was a wonderfully soft jacket that was apparently from Senator Organa, who wasn’t on base right now but had left standing orders and a provision of clothes as gifts for newly liberated clones.

There had been a small party, apparently the norm for every new brother freed.

“You have a previously undiscovered allergy to the sedative the medics use on the brothers during de-chipping,” Cody had explained, “We almost lost you and they kept you in artificial coma for a week to let your body time to heal. That’s why the others who were with you when you stole you woke up before you. We already had a party for them, but every occasion is good here.”

Boil had too many cups of some nice Bothan wine, meet many brothers, and also others Rebels, some who were in the habits to work with the Starbirds, some who had only saw the lights in the hangar used for the party and come for a drink. General Windu didn’t come, which Boil didn’t know what to think about, and he knew the reality would crash on him soon, but for now he was free and he wanted to savour it a little, before the rage about their fate settled in.

He even drunkenly made out with an equally drunk Devaronian cargo pilot, before Cody stopped them, grumbling that it was every time the same thing, that he was tired of playing the old duenna and that they could resume the next day if they still wanted.

That night, Boil dreamed of General Kenobi.

The Jedi was standing on the cliff where he had died. He wasn’t looking at Boil but at the small pool, so far away below, where his body had fallen.

Next to him, a brother Boil didn��t know was standing, his hand on General Kenobi’s shoulder. Kenobi was shaking, bruises on his face, and right on the heart, a blaster burn as big as the fist. At every breath, a little white from the bones could be seen.

The Jedi turned to Boil. His eyes were unseeing, as white as an old sentient with cataract.

“It’s important, Boil. You have to tell them.”

In the dream, it didn’t seem strange to speak to a dead man.

“Sir, I will,” Boil said, “what is the message?”

“You have to tell them, Boil. It’s so important.” Blood was pouring from his mouth with every breath and his tone was begging.

Boil woke up in cold sweat.

“What the fuck?”

************************************************************************************

Cody was yawning by the time he reached his quarters, the closest possible from the centre of command. The day had been busy, from a briefing first thing in the morning for Rex’s strike team, which had been followed by too much paperwork and an Intelligence briefing, to his usual row with Borsk Fey'lya, and the emotions of seeing Boil again and sharing with him the truth of what had happened…

No matters how many times he did it, it was never easy to reveal to a brother the depth of their slavery.

The chips, the Sith, Order 66, the years of mindless automaton slaughtering civilians, every brother had a breaking point, and every brother reached it, broke, yell, wept, all in Cody’s arms.

It had been eight years since the birth of the Empire, six years and a few months since Cody himself had been freed and taken his place as one of the members of the Alliance High Command, and it was never easier.

There was light in his quarters when the door opened. The man he shared them with was already there, engrossed in something in his holopad.

“You could have come to Boil’s party,” Cody remarked in entering, but the other didn’t answer.

Cody always did thing in the same order; first his shoes left next to the door, then he washed up his hands and his face, put his comm’ on ‘important communications only’ then and only then he felt more like a man, less like the de facto leader of the Starbirds troops.

“Mace?” He tried again, when he sat next to him and took a look at what had the other man fascinated. It was an intelligence report on the Wookies enslaving.

Cody sighed. There was keeping himself aware of the state of the Empire, and there was torturing himself with it. He took his blaster out and put it on the small table. He didn’t like when the weapon was too far away, even on base.

“I brought you back something to eat from Boil’s party. Where you should have come.”

That snapped Mace Windu out of his musing.

“I didn’t want…I wanted him to have time before being forced to see a Jedi. He already will have to work with me in the Starbird Corp-”

“Once again, no one of us feels forced to work with you,” Cody said, even if it was for the billionth time.

A shadow passed on Mace Windu’s face. The freedom the Rebel Alliance offered to the clones was for him a proof that the Jedi had failed themselves, when faced with the same question. The Korrun bore that guilt, and many others, like an anchor around his neck; dragging him to the bottom, no matters how many hours of meditation, and no matters what Cody and the other said.

One of the other Jedi surviving had once tried to explain something to Cody about Mace’s dark thoughts, about shatterpoints and the Force’s tainted state, and how it felt, but there were so many philosophical reference that they had lost Cody early in the explanation.

“Eat,” Cody insisted, pushing in his direction the box he had bought back. It seemed his fate would forever include taking care of stubborn Jedi who thought, like the big idiots they could be, that they transcended the need of the body.

Mace turned his head, as if caught by a rightful reproach. He always knew when Cody thought about Obi-Wan.

Another guilt to add to the string of them, as if he had taken something from the dead Jedi, when working together had brought Cody and him closer, three years before.

Cody pinched his lips.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he announced and fled to the bathroom.

Under the warm water, he calmed. Yes, Mace had issues. It wasn’t exactly surprising, with him being the only surviving Jedi Master of an Order slaughtered to the last Younglings. Cody had a whole mess of issues himself, despite the help offered by the medics of the Rebel Alliance, and Obi-Wan was also one of them, if for vastly different reasons from Mace. And sometimes, their issues collided.

When he left the bathroom, it was with the special medical kit of Mace, as a peace offering.

Mace had eaten everything obediently and was preparing the infusion of berries they liked to drink in the evening. It had interesting medical properties and helped with the pain of old wounds, something both of them desperately needed. He smiled to Cody, nothing more than a quick shadow of a smile, but he wasn’t a man of big, extravagant moments.

Cody helped him with the prosthesis, unfastening one of them from his forearm, letting visible the stump and the neural electrodes in it. When Mace Windu had fallen from Palpatine’s office window, his two hands had been cut by Skywalker’s lightsaber and in those first times of the Empire, in the panic and the disorganisation of the few people who didn’t believe in Palpatine’s tales, Mace had received the proper care neither for those wounds, nor for those caused by the fall, or the electrocution which had happened just before.

Consequently, his body had rejected the first prosthesis so violently his immune system had staged a revolt against the neural implant, and the Rebel Alliance had almost lost what had been at the time their only Jedi. Rex, the only free brother at the time, and already a rebel, had recounted to Cody the efforts of the medics and the way all the members of the burgeoning Rebel Alliance had gravitated to the infirmary and the bacta tube. Like there was a correlation between the survival of Master Windu and the survival of their growing rebellion.

If Mace had received proper care fast enough, he could have worn prosthesis which would have been almost as good as his lost hands, like Skywalker, damn him, had worn. Now, he had to take them down regularly and to care for the stumps with great meticulousness to stop infection. Before they became closer, Mace had done it himself, but his prosthesis didn’t have the fine motor controls of a hand and it was easier when Cody helped.

It would be quicker if Cody could do the two at the same time, but neither of them was comfortable with the idea of Mace without a hand, even for a moment, even on Yavin 4.

Cody cleaned up the stump, coated it in bacta cream, then they read together one of the Starbird squad mission review. One hour after, Cody washed away what was left of the cream and helped Mace put on his prosthesis again, then they did the other one. That one, they let free for the night, with only a light bandage. It was better for the stump.

Mace didn’t meditate that night, which was rare. And when the lights were out, Cody felt his body plaster itself against him closer than Yavin 4’s climate made them in the habits to.

“I will go and welcome Boil tomorrow,” Mace said in the dark.

“You know it’s not obligatory. You’re no more chained to our team than any newly freed brother is.”

“I know. But it is important work. Whatever time I have left, helping you free your brothers is a good use of it.”

“I know that Bothan went to you again-“ Cody said, because he knew how some members of High Command still thought using so much people and money for the clones was a waste of time, and said Bothan was the worst of them.

“Fey'lya prides himself so much in seeing what he believes is the big picture that he can forget the most important. All the galaxy is enslaved right now, but your brothers don’t even have their own mind and are doubly prisoners of the Sith.”

Mace kissed Cody behind the ear.

“I choose the vode. And I will never regret it,” He said, his voice vibrant.

Cody turned to him and kissed him, hard. Sleep suddenly seemed uninteresting.

Yes, they had issues.

So, so many issues.

Nevertheless, happiness could be found even after the darkest hour. He had lost the first Jedi he had loved and Mace had lost the first man he had broken the Code for. They could be killed almost every day.

They were still happy.

Sometimes, it could be a little hesitating. But it was good.

He had loved and killed Obi-Wan and the time he had shared with Mace was now thrice longer that the year he had had with Obi-Wan.

Mace had loved and lost Ponds, and had been with Ponds’s brother for a time that was almost five times longer than the one he had shared with Ponds.

Cody rolled them over, pining Mace under him, then he attacked his lover’s light tunic, pressing feverish kisses against the skin of Mace’s throat. He groped blindly for the light on the bedside table. He wanted to see him. He wanted to see Mace and for Mace to see him, to know who he was with.

“I see you,” Mace said, “I see you, Cody,” and he drew him closer into his arms.

***************************************

Life wasn’t exactly easy in the Starbird Corp, Boil discovered. Hard work, long hours, frustrating results.

But it was good, so good. There was something powerful in waking up in the mornings knowing it was to make the galaxy a better place.

He was working with brothers again, true brothers, free brothers, not the mindless automatons of the last year, and the Rebels themselves were good people. They threw medical help at him until he accepted to speak to someone about his years in the Empire, and didn’t even frown when he choose to deal with the trauma in sleeping with half the cargo pilots contingents, Devanorian from the first night included.

Then he settled down on Yavin 4, mission after mission. He worked with Cody, with Rex, with Gregor, with Wolffe. With Mace Windu, even if he didn’t exactly like it: the man tried so hard to protect the clones that he put himself in stupid danger for it, which in turn very much complicated the brothers’ mission.

Boil even saved Senator Mon Mothma’s life once and if the adrenaline gave them some probably bad ideas, in the time needed by the rest of the Alliance to find them, nobody had to know. And if sometimes they had another go at it, they were both adults and it concerned nobody else.

It would have been as good as he could wish for without Kenobi’s kriffin ghost.

Every night, his former General haunted Boil’s dreams. Night after night, he looked less like the corpse they had left on Umbara after Order 66 and more like their beloved General, but it was still a nightmare.

Every morning, Boil woke up with the same sense of urgency, of an important duty, but never, in all this nightmares, Kenobi told him anything more useful than “You have to tell them”. Boil talked about it, again and again, with his therapist. Guilt about the Jedi’s slaughter wasn’t probably a new one for the Rebel Alliance’s medics, who were in the habits to work with the vode, but at some facial tics on the Rhodian’s face, Boil was sure the woman was surprised about the specifics of the form it took with him.

“You have to help me,” Boil pleaded to Kenobi, dream after dream, “you have to give me the message!”

“You have to tell them”, Kenobi repeated, eyes begging. He looked healthy and healed by now. At his side, that brother Boil didn’t know had the same expression.

He taken to roam the base, late in the night, trying to recover from the nightmares. He often ran into Mace Windu, but they ignored each other and went their way, busy with their own guilt and bad dreams. The Jedi didn’t really frequent anyone but Cody, from what Boil had seen. Not even the other Rebels Jedi, led conjointly by Quinlan Vos and T'ra Saa. Windu had even left to T'ra Saa his place on the High Command, when she had joined the Alliance after having tracked down and killed Vader.

In missions, Mace Windu was the most efficient agent the Starbird Corp could dream of, and perhaps also the most death-wishing idiot Jedi who ever was. Outside, he retreated in his shell.

“You have to tell them,” Obi-Wan Kenobi pleaded, again and again, and Boil would have given a hand for that to stop. One night, Boil changed his method.

He turned to the unknown brother, who still had his hand on Kenobi’s shoulder in a show of support.

“What’s your name, vode?” Boil tried, and to his intense surprise, he received an answer.

Ponds.

Ten minutes after, he entered this name into the Alliance’s computers. The free vode had begun to detail in the mainframe a list of all brothers, dead and alive, using files sliced of Kamino. It would serve in their search for other brothers to rescue, but also as a way to remember all the brothers it was too late for.

If Ponds was a delirious creation of his mind, he would go to the medics to be declared unfit, because he would be a risk in mission.

But the computer spit up a result.

Kriff.

Commander Ponds, of Lightning Squadron. Served on Simocadia, Juma 9, Behpour, Malastare. Died on Year 14 after the Great ReSynchronization. In cause of death, instead of the reference of the battle, the person who had entered Ponds into the computer had put down: murdered.

Kriff.

Lightning Squadron. He knew about them. They were part of of the 91st Reconnaissance Corps. They were Mace Windu’s troops.

What the kriff?

It was so early it could still be considered night. Boil was in his pyjamas, the bluest and silkiest thing he had found in the quartermaster’s stock, with only his boots and his jacket.

He still went to drum on Cody and Windu’s door. But as he considered himself smart, he made a detour to the mess for three cups of caff.

“The base better be burning,” Cody said when he opened the door and found him.

Boil offered one of the cups as a peace offering to his glaring brother.

“I need to tell you something, like, right now,” He said to him and Cody let him pass. The quarters were slightly bigger than Boil’s own, but not so much for two people and from the door on the other wall, he could see a bed still unmade, before Mace Windu stepped through the door of the bedroom and it closed. Apparently, he slept with a tunic more open that what he wore in daylight, letting Boil see the nice, purple bite on the side of the collarbone, and it broke Boil’s mind, until Cody nudged him from his elbow.

“The important thing you woke us up for?”

“Oh yes. Hem, I think I’m haunted by our former General and by Master Windu former Commander,” Boil answered, and because he hadn’t know a good night of sleep since his arrival here and was pretty sure it was in fact, partly the fault of Cody and Windu, he timed it just when his brother took a large sip of the caff.

“What the kriff?” Cody spluttered, caff flying everywhere.

They made him meditate.

Of course they did.

Boil sat down all night on the highest degree of the Yavin 4’s pyramid, Mace Windu exactly in the same position facing him, Cody next to Boil and nudging him every time Boil fall asleep.

It wasn’t probably the first meditation session for Cody, Boil remarked in petto. His position seemed as flawless as Master Windu. Probably a consequence of having a thing for Jedi.

The gigantic Yavin ran its course across the sky and Boil’s ass hurt from sitting on the stone for so long, and he was hungry, thirsty and sleepy and suddenly, he realized he couldn’t hear anymore the night’s noises, from the wind in the foliage, to the base noises.

He opened his eyes. Across the platform, he could see two transparent silhouettes, one brighter than other. Ponds was filtering in and out of view, except for his hand in General Kenobi’s hand. It was like the clone was draining the mean to appear from that point of contact. Heart in his throat, Boil stood up, hearing the other two do the same at his side. Cody made a noise that could have been a sob, and that Boil immediately swore to himself he would forget.

General Kenobi had a smile. He looked younger than Boil had ever saw him.

“I thought I would never succeed to reach you,” he said, “I have been yelling in the void so long.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody said, his voice wet and Boil wished so hard he wasn’t there, because it was too intimate for witnesses.

“I’m so proud of you,” Obi-Wan continued, and his free hand passed across Cody’s cheek, “I’m so proud of you and I forgive you. You were never guilty, Cody, but if you need to hear it, know that I forgive you. For my death, and for continuing to live.”

“Ponds, oh Ponds,” Mace murmured and for Boil it was even worse than Cody, to hear the Jedi like that.

The dead Commander had a gest, like to touch Mace Windu’s prosthesis.

“Your poor hands,” he said, “and your poor heart. Mace, I’m so happy my brother is there to take care of you.”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t search to replace you…” Mace Windu insisted, and Ponds smiled.

“I know, love, I know. And I’m happy you found each other,” he said, flittering out of view.

“You need to live,” Obi-Wan said, and he was becoming more transparent every second,“ and you need to continue the good work you’re doing. The Starbird Corp are already wrapping the time line into a better one. But there is important mission, for them and the Alliance, a mission that will quicken the end of the Empire.”

“Genosis,” Ponds continued, and only his voice reached them now “the Alliance needs to send spies to Genosis. What is being prepared there would give the Emperor the reach to do such harm….”

“We’ll go,” Cody swore, “We’ll go. Don’t leave –“

“We never really will,” Obi-Wan answered, “We’ll be with you, always. Now live, my love, my friend. Live, the two of you, and we’ll see each other in the Force.”

And at that point, Boil woke up, on his side on the stone, trembling like he was crashing from stims poisoning and crying like he hadn’t since Waxer’s death. Mace Windu and Cody were even worse. Supporting each other, they hobbled to the mess.

“Caff, and perhaps alcohol, and send a message to High Command. Meeting at the first hour” Cody said to the first brother who saw them and they collapsed on a nearby table.

“Kriff,” Boil said, “my head feels like an X-Wing crashed on it. Why couldn’t they find someone else to play ghostly-radio?”

“An excellent question,” Mace Windu answered and he pinned Boil’s under his gaze. Boil gulped. It was like trying to stay calm under a predator’s gaze. He had never remarked how the dark eyes could become cold and piercing.

Suddenly, the tension abated and Windu looked less like a warrior ready to strike and more like an exhausted man, in need of a good meal and a twenty hours nap.

“Kriff,” he said and Cody did a double take at the word.

“I owe you two apologies, Boil,” Windu said.

“Eh, sir, not really-“

“Obi-Wan didn’t succeed in contacting me because I wasn’t listening. I was too busy feeling guilty about my relationship with your brother, thinking I had either stolen something from my dead friend-“

“Not a thing to be stolen, thank you very much,” Cody remarked.

“- or either that I was replacing Ponds by his brother and that it was really uncouth. And the second apology is more about the how Obi-Wan succeed in contacting you.”

“I’m one of his former men?”

“Yes, you are, and it probably helped, but it isn’t the most important reason. I suppose it has always been in you but the chip erased it. Still, I should have feel it the second you woke up here, your brain free. Only my refusal to really connect with you and your brothers, the guilt I feel about your fate, stopped me from feeling it. I saw you were a gigantic shatterpoint, of course, but I thought you would soon be on a very vital mission for the Alliance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Boil, you’re Force Sensitive. Have you ever thought about Jedi training?”

And around them, the base slowly woke up, as they talked and set in motion what would one day be the end of the Empire.

#mace windu #commander cody #clone trooper boil #star wars #my fics #Rebel era

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conceptofzero · 7 years

Note

17, 21, 22 for the ask meme, please)

17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…

I have long ass WIPs and half-baked ideas from so many shows and fandoms. But the #1 thing, the one that even fucking nearly a decade later still fills me with rage... is season 2/3 of Heroes. What a fucking WASTE of immortality. What a fucking wet fart with Arthur. And what a goddamn WASTE of the Sylar plotline on every possible level. I’ve rewritten it a thousand times in my head.

More relevant to fandoms I’ve written for - Burial at Sea. I would have entirely overhauled the second act - Elizabeth is rescuing Sally because she’s the one who kidnapped her and sold her off to get back at Comstock and now she’s got a real reason to feel guilty, Elizabeth working with Suchong (who is perhaps written in a way that’s not hideously racist), Elizabeth realizes Atlas = Frank and gets an opportunity to either rat him out to Atlas & escape Rapture (and leave everyone to rot) or else goes out fighting with the knowledge that she’s ensured Ryan and Frank’s deaths (with a coda where Elizabeth sees that Sally is safe and in Kansas - focusing less on her sacrificing herself for Jack and more on her sacrificing herself for Sally, her life for a child’s life vs her life for Glorious Saint Jack).

Oh yes, Part 3 - More ladies, more ladies, more ladies. More ally ladies, more bad ladies, more ladies. Same with Part 4 and 5. Just more ladies.

21. What are your thoughts on crack ships?

I love them so long as everybody’s in character, I’m right on board. My faovirtes are absolutely crackships that have half a canon basis (eg Pucci/any part 3 character, because they could have met and that’s so much fun) but have no on-screen interaction. I’m also into AUs where two character meet for whatever reason. I only get snitty when the pairing ends up twisting someone completely OOC.

22. Popular character you hate?

I just polled my friends because I was having trouble remembering who I hate and all we can come up with is like

Everyone in Bioshock Infinite.

Eridan (FUCK. ERIDAN. but also like, carapacians 4 life so shrugs at trolls)

Bean Bean.

Jotaro, at first, but then I read Stone Ocean and I came around to enjoying him retroactively, and when fandom gets too loud, I can just close my eyes and remember those gentle lapping- FUCK THE RIVER BY CAPE CANAVERAL IS CALLED THE BANANA RIVER, THIS IS THE GREATEST DISCOVERY OF MY FUCKING LIFE.

I did reaffirm my unironic love of the mancats though. I love them so much. I love Dio’s fucking wild experimental year. Oh add this to the rewrite question - add more mancats to Part 3. Ladycats. Just Dio and a bunch of horrible ladycats.

#Anonymous

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moonshroooms · 7 years

Text

I’m bored and feel like answering random questions

and also no one is gonna ask me them so I’m gonna do it A++

Do you prefer city lights, or stars?

Stars. City lights are pretty since there’s much more color variety, but stars mean you’re probably around nature and less civilization. And city lights mean I have to go somewhere near the city. not my cup of tea. Unless we’re talking about photos. Then stars still win. What is the most romantic thing that's happened to you?

You know I’m not sure if this really qualifies. But one of my close friends had a crush on me, but hadn’t told me yet. I don’t remember the conversation, but I’d said something along the lines of “cause I’m fantastic!” And I’d been walking away and I think I heard him sigh “and beautiful” and I don’t think he really intended for me to hear it (if I did infact hear him right), but I did my brain kinda went ‘wut the faaack’ cause it was really sweet and a little embarrassing to hear. And while I didn’t return his feelings, I kinda think about sometimes and get a little twitterpated.

Describe the image that comes into your head when you see the word "ethereal".

Most often the image that comes to my mind is something of a ghostly creature. I think what creature comes to mind depends on the moment. But they might be white, with just the faintest blue tinge. And whether the blue is from their body or the faint glow around them you aren’t really sure. An eternal mist flowing from their body and dissipating into the air. They have bright eyes that glow stronger than the rest of them. And they move with a slow grace, a calm walk, a flowing movement. And when you lock eyes you’re frozen, and it pierces you. And you can’t describe the emotion that is evoked from their gaze, you only know that it’s strong, and changed something in you, even if it’s only a small thing.

What would someone have to do to earn your trust?

Die.

Describe the outfit you truly want to wear. Anything, a spacesuit, an Elizabethan style gown, a cape made from spider silk, reality doesn't matter.

To be honest, I like a lot of stereotypical ‘jungle warrior woman’ type outfits. Those ones that are basically a bra and a skirt with those leg slits. Kind of like what you see in the Disney move Atlantis. I’m far too self-conscious about showing skin to wear revealing things in my day-to-day life (I think only just started wearing shorts when I was like, 20. And even then I have like 2 pairs and barely wear them). I find it funny that while I could barely bring myself to wear basic shorts, I wear a bikini when swimming. I think that’s attributed to the fact that a lot of people wear skimpy swimwear though, so I feel like I stick out less. But I digress. A ‘shirt’ that goes across the chest, like tropical wear you often see. A really long skirt that’s knee-length or nearly floor-length, but there’s no real sides to the skirt. And like, cool swirly or squarish symbols all over my skin. And I want multiple ones of different colors. Also a robe/robe + hood for when it’s cold and because whipping those around is cool.

What impossible thing do you wish was real?

For me, and anyone I deemed worthy, to have super powers.

What kind of adventure would you like to have?

Something dangerous, something exciting. Traveling amongst nature, having to fend for myself. Exploring new lands, meeting interesting and previously unknown cultures, finding mystical creatures that are truly of magic. Keeping in mind in my adventure I’m perfectly equipped and knowledgeable to handle all of the things and wouldn’t die the second I poked the wrong plant.

What is the worst way for you to die? (In your opinion).

Parasites. OR, being stabbed to death by thousands of dirty and contaminated hospital needles. Just. Things that can eat me that are difficult to punch creep me the frick out. And as for hospital needles: there are so many infections and diseases on those things, and they sit there in their plastic containers. Festering off each other. And as if being stabbed by needles wasn’t enough, if you managed to survive the impaling, your body would fall apart because of the hundreds or thousands of festering plagues you just contracted.

(P.S. the hospital needle horror happened to be spawned from a really good comic called Awful Hospital located right the flip here: http://www.bogleech.com/awfulhospital/intro.html)

Seriously go check it out it’s really good, funny, dramatic, weird, interactive, and (as of May 3, 2017 as I post this), regularly updated!

Can you dance?

No. And I desperately want to. I think I can keep beat, but I have no idea what to do with my legs really. Most of my dancing includes acting out what the mood/lyrics of the song are, or aggressive tribal dancing. Make an obscure reference.

“Greetings my Tallest, it is I, invader Kiiiiish!”

What is your favorite color for a balloon?

Blue looks good on everything.

What store would you be the least likely to be found in?

A weed shop.

Bowties or Ties?

Bowties. They can be on your head or on your neck.

What’s wrong with taking the backstreets?

Being mugged or someone or their dog probably pooped back there and left it.

What is your favorite Pokemon type?

Poison and Dragon (though I like the concept of poison types rather than the actual Pokemon in it. When a poison eeveelution comes out I can die happy). And dragons are just dragons.

What if I told you that you were pretty?

Ikr, thx m8

What turns you on?

Stomachs, sour punch straws.

Sign?

Scorpio! :D

Who is your OTP?

Kisshu x Ichigi from Tokyo Mew Mew, and yes I know they’re unhealthy, dysfunctional, and also not canon, but dammit they were my first OTP and remain stubbornly at the top after all these years. They are my guilt OTP.

Shion x Nezumi from No. 6. Best part is I went into No. 6 not reading the description and going in completely clueless, so their romance blindsided me. Either way they’re just really cute and I’m not sure why I like them better than some older ships I like.

If you could dye your hair any color right now, what would it be?

A sunset gradient or a silver/blue gradient!

Put your songs on shuffle, and tell me the first song that plays.

What Can I Do For You? - Steven Universe

How do you compare to people’s expectations of you?

I fail them completely.

A fictional character you familiarize yourself with.

Rin and Razo from the Books of Bayern (Forest Born and River Secrets are their books specifically).

Favorite Animal?

I’ve been in love with beluga whales for my whole life. White lions are a close second!

Name a few of your insecurities.

Whether or not people think I’m stupid, and whether I am intelligent or not. Being myself, because I fear people would find me annoying. My opinions on the world, and if others would view them as childish or ignorant or naive. Mostly just a lot of how others view me.

What brings out a mean streak in you?

People that slight me.

Describe a person who would be the polar opposite to yourself.

Confident, social, aggressive, forgiving, outgoing, worldly, a people-person, strict, self-righteous, noticeable, impressive, rebellious, happy.

Have you ever helped/rescued a wild animal in trouble?

When I was younger my cat brought in a lot of animals she hunted as gifts. I did my best to nurse them back to health (mostly lizards. Anything warm-blooded was dead if she brought it back). Some lived, some didn’t and I was always happy to watch them zip back into the wild like a bullet.

Describe the backstory for a character you’ve created.

A siren who comes across a werewolf child she takes interest in and befriends. Through some ups and down she decides she won’t eat the souls of humans anymore, despite the fact that means she also gives up living forever and growing new powers/strengths as a result. If/when that kid dies, however, she plans on going straight back into her old ways. She believes that she is an inherently evil creature, and no amount of pretending to be good will ever change that.

What’s your signature scent?

Cherry Blossom lotions/perfumes, mint chapstick.

Favorite school subject?

Science, P.E.

What is the closest framed picture around you a picture of?

My late cat, Princess.

The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?

Their face.

Is cheating ever okay?

No.

What’s a nickname only your family calls you?

Peanut. Cause apparently when I was born I was shaped like a peanut.

What was your first stuffed animal and it’s name?

Probably not the ‘first’ per-say, but the first I remember was a big, sparkly, rainbow, beanie-filled boa constrictor that I named Bo-Rainbow. I still have him to this day :’D

Whats drink you always order at Starbucks?

Water.

Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?

Whatever position I happened to leave it in.

Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?

No sheets, useless piece of fabric and makes the bed to hot >3<!

Do you have freckles?

Kinda? Not typical freckles, but a few sun-kisses on the right side of my face and on random spots on my body.

What size is your bed?

Twin.

Ever used a gun?

Yes, a few times! But thankfully not against anything living!

Can you curl your tongue?

Yup, yup!

Are you open about your feelings?

Depends on the feelings. Usually no.

If you could choose between being able to play any instrument in the world, or being able to speak any language, which would you choose?

Speak any language. Singing’s the only instrument I like!

#personal #ramble #about me

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galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

A Funeral: Chapter 17 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood

Credit to @bearly-tolerable for the banner! Art is my own.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 17: The Sons

“You wanna talk about me and Arthur?” said Mary Beth, looking down at her hands. Abigail was holding them real tight.

“It’s so romantic," said Abigail. "I been hoping for this, Mary Beth.”

“You have?”

“Of course,” said Abigail. “The two of you together—you’re so right for each other. With the books and the poetry and all that. Now what happened on that trip of yours? Tell me.”

Mary Beth got a little bashful. "A lot happened."

“Like what?"

Mary Beth smiled and gave her a look. “How much do you think I'm gonna spill?"

"As much as you're willing."

Mary Beth's cheeks felt very red.

Abigail became tender then, and kind, like she was reading the moment. “It's no bother,” she said. “I'm just so happy for you. And I just—Arthur. He’s so…stoic, you know? So strong and silent. Mysterious. What’s he like, all close like that? I’m just being nosy. You don't have to tell me anything, but I got to ask.”

“He's just...Arthur," said Mary Beth, a little shy. She was embarrassed in a way. "You know?"

“Not really," said Abigail.

Mary Beth was confused. She felt stupid all of a sudden, flustered. "Oh," she said, realizing. "I—I'm such a moron. I'm sorry, Abigail."

"What, you thought I slept with him?"

Mary Beth nodded, kind of sheepish. "I shouldn't have assumed."

Abigail laughed, at herself more than anything. She looked away, still holding Mary Beth's hands. "You got every reason to assume," she said. "And I ain't ashamed. Not no more. But I never took a turn with Arthur, Mary Beth. Not once. I swear."

Outside, you could hear people talking, getting to work on the day. The sounds of chickens and metal clanging. Mary Beth sighed. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be sorry."

"It's good to know, I guess," said Mary Beth. "Not that it really matters."

“We was only ever friends,” said Abigail, real earnest. “And it does matter. I understand. In any case, he's a different man now than he was when I met him. Things have changed so much."

"You mean for Arthur?"

“Of course." Abigail sighed. “You know, that year I got here, it was just a year or so before you got here."

"I know."

"You missed the worst of it. Lucky you. But back then, Arthur was...kind of a mess. You know about Mary Gillis?”

"Mary Gillis?" said Mary Beth. "Yeah. I mean, everybody does."

“Well, when I showed up, they had just ended things. For good. And he was so goddam busted up about it. I never seen a man wallow and brood like that, and with it, he was a fuckin derelict drunk.”

"A drunk?"

“Now don’t get me wrong,” continued Abigail. “He was a chivalrous drunk. He was still Arthur. Never raised his voice to no woman, certainly never imposed on no woman physically. But he drank, and he kept to himself. And when he didn’t, he was just getting in fuckin brawls in the saloons, and punching holes in pianos and getting thrown in jail for drunk and disorderly. Once when Hosea went to bust him free, he said he just wanted to die there. Wouldn't budge. Hosea literally put him on a salvaged barn door, tied it to the back of his horse, and drug him back to camp like a invalid. He made Uncle look sober that day.”

Mary Beth was surprised, but also somewhat amused. She didn't know why. It wasn't funny. But something about the image, looking back, knowing how things turned out, that made it less pressing somehow. ”Arthur punched a hole in a piano?” she said.

”Yeah,” said Abigail. “He did. Bloodied his hand something awful, too. But for all them antics, Arthur was never the type to buy a working girl. I mean, I'm sure he has, at one point or another, but as a general rule, he's got plenty of vices, it's just that none of them has ever been women."

"I know that," said Mary Beth. "I mean, he told me that."

"I was truly sad for him, in those days," said Abigail, "the better I got to know him, seeing how he'd been done. He didn't deserve that, getting so messed up over some uppity bitch trying to get above her station. Or, well, that's what Miss Grimshaw used to call her. Arthur has always been good to me and Jack. He protected us—that year John disappeared, he made sure we was taken care of, every day. He listened to me. He supported me. He's a good man.”

Mary Beth was just staring, listening. She was grateful for Abigail's honesty and her kindness and her earnest nature. “Thank you for telling me," said Mary Beth. "About you and him. And I'm sorry again, for assuming like I did. I guess I just got...kind of nervous."

“Why?"

“Because I ain’t so experienced.” Mary Beth looked away, out the window, to where the birds were singing. There was a quiet breeze coming in off the river now, too, cooling things down.

“That would never matter to Arthur," said Abigail. "And there's different kinds of experience. Trust me."

“I mean, it’s not like he was my first or anything," Mary Beth continued, "but he might as well’ve been, in some respects. I mean, a man like Arthur? I just got insecure for a minute that you’d—you know…”

“That I’d been there first?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, it ain’t true.”

Mary Beth smiled. She was, in truth, relieved, though she did not make a show of it. “Did Arthur ever propose to Mary?” she said.

“He did,” said Abigail. “He’d bought a ring and everything. And I believe she said yes at first, but then she broke it off. Kept the ring and everything."

“Jesus Christ,” said Mary Beth.

“Yeah,” said Abigail. “But none of that matters now.”

“The drinking,” said Mary Beth. “Is that why he don’t get drunk much no more? But for seldom occasions, I guess.”

“Probably,” said Abigail. “It weren’t pretty.”

Mary Beth sighed.

“You really love him, don’t you?” said Abigail. “I can see it in your eyes. He's caught your heart. You worry about him.”

“I do love him,” said Mary Beth. “He’s easy to love.”

“It’s just so romantic,” said Abigail.

Mary Beth felt herself relax a little then. Her shoulders loose. She studied Abigail’s hands. They were clean. The nails were very clear. “He’s real giving,” she said, suddenly wanting to open up, to talk.

"Like how?" said Abigail.

“In all sorts of ways," said Mary Beth. "Generous. With talking, and touching. He never told me about that drinking thing, but I get why. It’s of no consequence. He told me so much else. Sad things. Real sad. He has all of these…layers. I see it sometimes, like he’s so nervous that I’m just gonna…disappear. He’s such a good man. He’s smart and his brain is so strong and it works so fine. I just want him to know this, you know? Sometimes I get the sense that he don’t love himself, not like he should. You know?”

“I get it.”

“I know people think I’m some sort of dippy idiot,” Mary Beth continued. “That all I do is walk around with my head in the clouds. But it ain’t like that with Arthur. It’s like having my feet on the ground for the first time, and not feeling like I gotta run from nothing. Like I’m safe. And I don’t just mean physically. I mean like—in my soul.”

Abigail was breathless, put a piece of hair behind Mary Beth’s ear in a sisterly fashion. “That’s beautiful,” she said.

“Anyway,” said Mary Beth, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. “I’ve talked enough about myself. You get it.”

“Has he asked you to marry him?”

“No,” said Mary Beth. “We ain’t discussed marriage. I think though—I think with Arthur, that’s sort of implied.”

“How many of his babies you gonna have?”

Mary Beth blushed. Her face got hot. She took back her hands to push the hair off her cheeks. “As many as I can.”

“He’ll be such a good daddy.”

“I know.”

Abigail sighed. She was so genuine in her happiness for them. She was this pure soul.

“You know,” said Abigail. “John is—he’s starting to come around, and I think it’s a lot because of Arthur.”

“That don’t surprise me.”

“Yeah. After Jack got taken by that fuckin snake, Angelo Whatever, and the boys went after him in the city, John changed. It was like—on a dime. He listens to me now. He’s here. He reads to Jack, though he ain’t no good. He tries. It’s sweet.”

“You still love him, don’t you, Abigail?”

Abigail straightened her skirt, looked down at her knees. “Of course,” she said. “I’m all bluster sometimes, but inside, I am a woman like any other. I am soft for that man. And him coming around like this, trying to be better, it’s made me miss him like I never knew I could.” She looked up then, hardened a little, but seeming desperate. “Do you think I’m a fool, Mary Beth? For having faith?”

Mary Beth was surprised by the question, the outpouring. She didn’t know that she was worthy to answer, but she tried anyway. “No,” she said, being as honest as she could. “Of course not. If anyone knows John, it’s you, Abigail. And if you got faith in him and the man he’s becoming, that’s all that matters.”

Abigail sat up a little, smiling after this, like she was relieved and so gracious. Her eyes got full, glassy. “Thank you,” she said.

“Any time.”

She wiped a quick tear from her cheek now. More seemed to be coming. “Gosh, I’m such a dumbass,” she said.

“No you ain’t.”

“Don’t go telling no one I’m saying these things,” Abigail went on. “I can’t have them all thinking I’ve done forgiven John Marston.”

“Why not?” said Mary Beth.

“Because it’s none of their goddam business,” she said, smiling now, stopping her crying. She sniffled a little, held Mary Beth’s hand again. “You can know though, Mary Beth. You understand.”

“I will always try.”

“Anyway,” said Abigail. “I hope I haven’t scared the shit out of you here. I didn’t mean to cloister you off and force you to confess your love for Arthur, and then start going off about my own complicated carryings-on with John Marston.”

Mary Beth laughed. “It’s fine,” she said. “It saved me a trip to go see Miss Grimshaw.”

Abigail waved her off then and became exasperated. “That woman needs a vacation.”

“She definitely does,” said Mary Beth.

They sat together as the breeze came in through the window, blowing their hair, making the air smell good.

Outside, Arthur chopped some firewood. The exertion made him feel clean and strong. He said hello to Cain, patted him on the head, and he said hello to Tilly and to Jack. They were happy to see him, sitting together beside one of the covered wagons, drawing pictures of trees and people on paper with crayons.

He found John then, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette by the scout fire. He was silent and content, wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, staring off into some infinite distance all by himself.

“Marston,” said Arthur, coming up along side him. He had his thumbs hooked through his belt loops, his hat on to guard his face from the southern sun.

“Arthur,” said John, flicking his cigarette. “You’re back.”

“That I am.”

“How was your trip?” He sipped his coffee. “You look rested.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “And the trip was fine. Just fine.”

“Good," said John.

“What are you up to?” said Arthur. "You got plans for the day?"

They both looked at the fire. Somewhere nearby, there was a sound in the trees. A boar went flying through, squealing like an idiot.

“Nothing much,” said John, studying the tip of that cigarette. “It’s warm today. I was thinking of maybe heading out in a bit, fishing some.”

“You know any good spots?” said Arthur.

“A couple. Javier gave me some tips last week. Nice and shady." He finished his coffee down to the sludge, dumped that out to the earth. "You wanna come?” he said.

Arthur nodded, regarding the warm air on his skin. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?” He lit a cigarette.

“Sounds good," said John. "Let me just go grab my gear and tell Abigail.”

“She’s, uh, she’s up in the house, with Mary Beth,” said Arthur, smoking. “You mention it to both of them, okay?”

John gave him a look, interested. He smiled. “Okay.”

They cut through Scarlet Meadows, north of Braithwaite Manor till they found a nice shady spot down the banks from Clemens Point. It was nearby to where Arthur had gone fishing once with Kieran, many months before when the world did not yet seem like it was coming to an end. Hitching their horses, they went along in a comfortable silence, Arthur carrying the tackle, John carrying a crate full of beer, each of them with their fishing rods resting on their shoulders.

They set up with their boots close to the water. John cracked a couple bottles of beer and passed one to Arthur who took a long drink. It wasn’t cold, but it was good. They cast their lines with the beer bottles stuck in the sand. They fished like that, for a while. After some time with nothing biting, Arthur took a deep breath, and then John glanced over looking expectant. He reached for his beer, took a long drink, set it back in the sand.

“So,” said John, rocking back on his heels.

“So.”

“What’s going on with you and Mary Beth?” he said. “She your girl now?”

“She is,” said Arthur.

John smiled, kind of sly, squinting past the sun. Arthur was looking out at the water. “That’s great,” said John. “I'm happy for you two. How’d it happen?”

Arthur sighed, gently spinning the reel. “The trip, north. It just kind of...put things into perspective a little bit. We met with some danger up there, a lot of beauty, too. She makes it easy.”

“Makes what easy?”

“Living,” said Arthur.

John was looking at him, like he didn’t quite catch his drift.

But something bit on Arthur’s line then. They both flung their heads to see. John got big with excitement and encouraged him on as Arthur dug back into his heels and reeled in hard. After a minute or two, Arthur pulled in a real sturdy Steelhead. It must’ve weighed fourteen or fifteen pounds, a delightful catch.

“Look at that!” said John as Arthur steadied the fish. “We can cook that one up for the both of us.”

“And we shall,” said Arthur, smiling. He was proud of this one. He gave it a nice, hearty shake.

Once it quit the fight and its gills went steady, Arthur wrapped it up in a big cut of paper and went over to Sarah, stashing it on the back of her saddle. He dusted his hands, went back to the lake, picked up his beer and drank. He gestured to John, then to the water. “Your turn, brother.”

“I can’t top that,” said John, recasting.

“You never know until you try,” said Arthur.

John continued fishing. Arthur finished his beer, decided to cast out one more time. It was a fine temperature in the shade. Not too humid. The day felt good.

After a little while, John spoke. “Hey,” he said. "Arthur."

“What’s up.”

But then John got stopped up. He seemed stifled. He seemed like he was going to say something, something big and important, and then he choked.

“You were saying?” said Arthur.

“I just—I been thinking.”

“Thinking about what,” said Arthur.

“Thinking about…that year." He got quiet, lowered his voice like he was embarrassed. "That year I spent away. How it—how it weren’t right. How angry you were. After what happened to Jack, I been thinking about it a lot.”

“Is that so,” said Arthur.

“Yeah,” said John. “It is. And I just—I’m glad you’re here, with me now. So I can tell you.”

“Tell me what.”

“That I’m sorry,” said John.

They got steady, together. Arthur looked at him, but he was looking at his boots, in the sand. The fishing rod was sagging. He had all but abandoned it. Arthur pulled in his line, set the rod against his shoulder. “I appreciate that,” he said.

John swallowed something, hard, glanced up at Arthur very seriously, as if ashamed. “You took care of her,” he said. “While I was gone. You helped me get Jack back. You done nothing but look after me and mine over the years, and I just—thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur felt full up, heavy and still. He nodded, adjusted his hat, looked back out to the water. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“I just—” John continued. “At the time, I was so inside my own head, you know? I couldn’t see straight. I never understood why you were so goddam angry. Why the hell you cared so much.”

Arthur looked down at his boots.

“But I get it now,” said John. “I get it.”

“What do you get?” said Arthur.

“It wasn’t long after Mary, you losing her. What that did to you, and how it drug up bad things. Real bad things, Arthur. Maybe you don’t think I saw, but I remember. And seeing me, running out on Abigail, this little baby—it was like me, repeating your old mistakes, wasn’t it?”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Marston,” said Arthur. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Eliza,” he said. “And Isaac.”

Arthur blinked, quickly, finished his beer, tossed the bottle to the water. He looked down. He said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” said John. “Arthur, I am.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur, squaring up with him. “You’re a better man now. That’s what matters.”

“You are, too,” said John.

“Yeah well,” said Arthur, “Mary Beth keeps trying to convince me of that. I keep telling myself, if she thinks it’s true, then true it must be.”

They looked at each other, real earnest, like brothers.

Then, John lurched toward the lake as something bit on the line. “Oh, shit,” he said, nearly stumbling into the water. He steadied himself, reeling in perhaps a little too hard.

“Ease off the reel, Marston,” said Arthur. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna break the line. Ain’t you fished before?”

“It’s strong,” said John.

“Guide it in,” said Arthur. “Real easy. Easy. Like that. There you go.”

“Like that?”

“Yep,” said Arthur, giving him a long look as he finally got the damn fish under control. “Patience is not your virtue.”

John smiled. “You’re right about that.”

He brought in the fish. It was another Steelhead, as big as Arthur’s catch, maybe bigger.

“Now look at that,” said Arthur, clapping him on the shoulder. “You did it. Nearly all by yourself.”

“Shut up, Arthur,” said John, but he was joking. He wrapped the fish. Together, they decided to call it quits. They built a little fire. Arthur cleaned up and fileted one of the trout, sprinkled it with salt and a little bit of ground pepper. He pan-fried it while John led the horses over to the water and opened a couple more bottles of beer. He came back and sat down across the fire from Arthur. When the fish was done, Arthur served them both. It was a fine lunch.

The sun was getting long over the water by now. It was afternoon. They leaned, looking at the water with their legs straight out. Some canoeists went by, a man and a woman who looked happily in love.

After a little while, Arthur spoke. “So,” he said. “How’s it been going. With Abigail.”

John sighed. “It’s going,” he said. He sat forward, plucked a couple long blades of grass from the earth, began shredding them between his fingers. “I been trying to get back there, you know? To where it was when it was good. She even looks at me now. Sometimes like she used to.”

“And how’s that?” said Arthur.

“Like she can stand me.”

Arthur laughed.

“How’s it with Mary Beth?” said John.

“It’s new, but we already know each other pretty well. So it’s steady, too.”

“I mean, the two of you? You’re perfect for each other if you ask me.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because,” said John. “She’s kind of…you know.”

“She’s kind of what?” said Arthur, sipping his beer.

“She likes the things you like.”

“Which are?”

“Writing,” said John, tossing the pieces of grass to the fire. “Words and drawings and stories and all that. I think a girl like her, especially in a life like ours, that’s one in a million, Arthur. And she’s nice to boot.”

“That, she is,” said Arthur.

“Pretty, too.”

“You wanna marry her?” said Arthur. “Or, shall I?”

John laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“I know,” said Arthur. “And I appreciate it.” He finished off the beer. John popped the top off another, handed it to him with an absent mind. Arthur thanked him, cleared his throat. “You ever think about leaving?” he said.

John cracked another open for himself. “Leaving Shady Belle?”

“Leaving the gang,” said Arthur. “Packing up your family, getting lost.”

John paused, gave him a look, curious. “Have you?”

Arthur nodded, looked back out toward the water. He took a long drink. “Yes,” he said. He could almost picture it now. The more he said it out loud, the more real it seemed to become. “We are leaving," he went on. "Mary Beth and me. I don’t know exactly when, but soon. That's why I asked.”

The world seemed to get real quiet around them. If you listened close, you could hear the sounds of nature, birds and bugs and rushing water. “You and Mary Beth?” said John. “You’re gonna leave?”

“That’s right.”

“What’ll you do?”

“I don’t know,” said Arthur, peering down into the bottle. “Anything." He looked up, looked at John. "You know, you could come with us.”

“Me and Abigail and Jack?”

“That's right," he said. "You could come along, and our luck might be that much better.”

“You think?” said John. He was staring at Arthur, staring at him hard, listening really close, rapt.

“I do,” said Arthur. “Between you and me, we got a lot of know-how, plenty of skill. Mary Beth and Abigail, they’re capable women, and little Jack, well he won’t be little forever.”

“What are you thinking?” said John, taking a long drink. “Buying a ranch or something? Headed back west?”

“Not west,” said Arthur. “No, there’s too much unfinished business back there for us.”

“Then where?”

“North,” said Arthur.

“North?”

“The Midwest.”

This seemed to concern John at first. “I don’t wanna go back to Chicago. There's nothing there for me, Arthur.”

“Not Chicago,” said Arthur. “No, closer to the Mississippi. Wisconsin, maybe.”

“I ain’t never been to Wisconsin,” said John.

“Me neither,” said Arthur. “But I know somebody who spent time there in his youth, and I think there’s a life to be made. An honest life.”

John finished his beer. He chucked the bottle. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees. He seemed torn and contentious all of a sudden. Real young, thought Arthur. Still searching, cynical and unsure. “You really think we could make it work?” he said, looking at Arthur. “You and me? After years of living outside the law.”

“I ain’t saying it’ll be easy,” said Arthur. “It’ll take…patience. But it’s a possibility, and I think between the two of us, along with the girls, we could get it done.”

John nodded along. He was thinking about it. He was. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I have,” said Arthur. “In truth, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I just never had a reason before.”

“You talked to Dutch? Hosea?”

“Only Hosea,” said Arthur. “He supports it. It was his idea I come talk to you.”

John hung his head. He closed his eyes. “And Dutch? What’s he gonna say?”

“The way I see it, John, we do this, he don’t have much of a choice.”

John sighed, real big. He was picking at the grass again. “This whole thing—it’s crazy,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything that’s happened,” said John. “Since Blackwater. I mean, how the hell did we end up in the goddam swamps?”

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “But that’s part of the reason I need to get Mary Beth out of here. It’s too much goddam uncertainty for my comfort.”

“Is she pregnant?” said John, looking at him, in earnest.

Arthur took a drink, looked down at his hands. “She could be,” he said. “I don’t know. If she ain’t now, she will be soon. And I just—after what happened to Jack. That was a best case scenario. You realize that, John, don’t you? It could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

“You mean like, not getting him back?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

John straightened up then, his jaw real firm. The day was already getting on. Some ducks and geese had come to float in the water. The fire was low. “What does Mary Beth think?” he said.

“She’s ready,” said Arthur. “She don’t push me, but I know she’s done with this place. It ain’t for her.”

“It ain’t for Abigail either,” said John. “And it definitely ain’t for Jack.”

Arthur sighed. Together, they watched the ducks, cleaning and pruning their feathers in the dark water. They thought about life, and madness, and what it would take to get gone with the wind.

“Let me talk to Abigail,” said John.

Arthur nodded, finishing his beer. “You do that.”

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #mary beth gaskill #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #a funeral

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