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corvus--rex · 3 years ago

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Another one that's soundly asleep and not abandoned. Non-canon compliant, and all 7 of them are lgbt+ (I also may, possibly, be projecting onto Keith - just a little). And Lance is a they/them enby.

~*~*~*~

Liberating the planet Artrax was the easy part. Eliminating the Galra presence was simple. Voltron’s Paladins had done their job in securing the planet’s freedom. No different from any other occupied planet they’d been to. The Artraxians were holding a celebratory festival both in honor of the Paladins and in anticipation of joining the Voltron Coalition. Not complicated. It wasn’t something they hadn’t done many times before. And while every planet’s traditions and customs were different, they more or less knew what to expect. At least, they thought they knew what to expect. They were apparently wrong about that.

Allura dropped into her usual seat at the head of the dining table with a heavy sigh, the tablet in her hand clattering to the table’s surface. A lack of her usual composure was evident in the way her shoulders slumped, the annoyance and displeasure clear on her face. She sighed again before facing the Paladins.

“I’ve just spoken with Artrax’s leaders. They are going forward with the celebration in our honor and over joining the Coalition,” she said, heavy with exhaustion.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Lance said cautiously.

“The Artraxians have a very rigid society when it comes to gender roles and sexuality. They are also insisting that, as distinguished guests, we are to dress according to their standards. At the very least I got them to agree to modify their fashions to our anatomy. But they will not back down from their views on gender. Not even for us. Alteans may not believe in those strict lines, but they do.”

“And combined with their enhanced sense of smell, especially when it comes to hormones and pheromones, there’s no way we can get around it,” Pidge noted disappointedly.

“Unfortunately. Please know that I would never ask any of you to do something that makes you uncomfortable in that way. But they would consider it a personal insult not to attend, or abide by their customs. And their trade routes are invaluable to the Coalition. I am so sorry.” Allura slumped back into her seat, gaze dropping to the table.

The room was silent for a long minute as they all considered their options and what the Artraxian societal standards meant for them. Three fifths of the Paladins didn’t identify with their assigned genders and none of them, Allura and Coran included, were straight. Hiding their sexual orientations was manageable, their gender identities far less so. Neither Lance nor Pidge in any way liked the idea of being forced into presenting as their assigned genders. After expanding their wardrobes beyond what they had worn into space, there was no telling what Lance would appear in on any given day, while Pidge’s remained as non-gendered as physically possible.

It had only been a few months since Pidge had come out to the team as agender, aromantic, and asexual. “Triple-A Queer” they had called it. They had known for some time before, but their disguise to get into the Galaxy Garrison was important to their self-imposed mission to find Sam and Matt, and so allowed everyone to believe that they were male. Lance, on the other hand, had never made their semi-fluid nonbinary identity a secret. Being bisexual and nonbinary at the Garrison had been an unpleasant experience at times, until the day when Tommy Bailey was harassing them for it again and Hunk simply appeared behind Lance without a sound, glaring. Tommy was too afraid of Hunk after that to try anything again.

While Lance and Pidge – as much as they hated it – could power through the discomfort of dressing to their physical sex, it was a little harder for Keith. He had kept it a secret at the Garrison, Griffin’s homophobia and “teasing” about Keith’s parents was bad enough. The only ones who had known were Shiro, Adam, and Garrison medical staff. He figured his life was hard enough being the gay, orphaned, golden boy without adding his trans status on top of it. His recovery time after top surgery was dismissed (by him) as having been sick, and hormone shots as being for specific, undisclosed allergies. (“Yeah, I’m allergic to being female,” he’d told Shiro with a laugh when they decided that was going to be the “official” story.)

He’d been off hormones since not long after leaving the Garrison, and told the team shortly after settling into the castle. He wanted to, but even if he hadn’t, it was going to show itself sooner or later. He’d rather they were prepared for bitchy, PMS-ing Keith, followed by angry, period Keith. It was not a side of himself he liked anyone seeing, but without access to his hormones, they were going to whether he liked it or not. He had the grace of the gods in that respect. Shiro handled it the same way he always had – from a distance and with care. Pidge was right there with him, commiserating over a bodily function neither of them wanted. Hunk had two moms and a younger sister, so he understood, even if it was from the outside. It was the same for Lance, with both of their sisters, one of whom was their twin, so they’d seen what she went through a little more closely than they’d wanted. Allura and Coran didn’t understand human reproductive cycles, but understood that it was an uncomfortable process, and did what they could.

But all that meant that he was going to be the one out of all of them in the most discomfort. It had been years since he’d had to pretend like he wasn’t in the wrong body, and now he was having to face that all over again. He knew that if they’d had any kind of leeway, Lance and Allura would be there to help him to be as comfortable as possible while stuck in a dress. But they didn’t. They were going to be in a modified version of the planet’s inhabitants’ traditional costume. None of the paladins knew what it looked like, but from how upset Allura was, it couldn’t be good.

Keith decided to rip off the band-aid. “So, what do these outfits look like?” he asked.

Allura played with the tablet she’d brought with her for a moment before turning it on. The images projected over the table were of the Artraxian people modeling their traditional clothing. Their race was in an eternal transitional period between reptilian and avian. Mostly scaled, and more closely resembling their reptile ancestors, they also had patches of brightly colored feathers and slightly wing-like arms with retractable membranes. The feathers that grew along their shoulders, forearms, and thighs were short, and nearly mistakeable for scales if it weren’t for their texture. They also had feathers that grew in a swath from forehead to neck, but these were longer, some trailing down their backs. Artraxian scale colors ranged from pale, leaf green to deep forest, those colors determined by regional origin. Unlike what the paladins would have expected of either reptiles or birds, Artraxians were a live-birth species, and so had some features more like Earth mammals, most notably two close-set rows of three breasts. Six-titted aliens was not what they were expecting. But combined with their long, thick, tapering tails and wing-arms, the paladins could see why their clothes would have to be adapted for human and Altean anatomy.

The clothing itself was as brightly colored as their feathers. It appeared light, soft, and silky, but was wrapped around their bodies like bandages, ultimately not leaving much to the imagination. Some of the wrappings were sheer, showing off the scales beneath. The females wore a two-paneled, A-line skirt over their leg wraps that ran to mid-calf, completely sheer and split at the sides to the waist. Males wore something similar, but slightly shorter and opaque. Both sexes went barefoot, no doubt a necessity due to their sharp claws. All five paladins looked over the projection with varying degrees of curiosity, anxiety, and fear.

“We’ll be providing the Artraxians with our physical measurements from here, and they will send us our…outfits,” Allura said, eyeing the female Artraxian with trepidation.

Keith was sorry he’d asked; he felt sick.

Lance was sitting directly across from him and was the first to notice it. Leaning over the table slightly, they nudged his foot. “You ok?” they asked quietly.

“No.” It was all he could get out before bolting from the room.

Shiro started to get up, but Lance stopped him. “I’ll go. No offense, but I don’t think a cis guy is what he needs right now.”

“Want me to come too?” Pidge asked.

“Maybe in a little bit. I think too many people will be too much for him.”

Pidge nodded at the same time Shiro spoke. “I’m not offended, Lance. You’re the best suited out of all of us to talk to him right now.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll call if I need anyone.”

Lance paused in the hallway, considering the possibilities of where Keith was most likely to be. Training deck? Always a possibility, but it didn’t seem as probable at that moment. He’d been genuinely upset, not just aggravated or frustrated. So not there. Holed up in his bedroom? Maybe, but it felt a little too obvious. The shock of seeing what he was expected to wear had made him bolt, and Lance knew he’d gone to ground. Ok, so not his bedroom either. The castle was not a small place, but there were only a handful of places Keith would go. If not the training deck or his bedroom, he had most probably run for his favorite of the observation decks, and that was where Lance set off for.

Walking the halls of the castle, Lance enjoyed the feeling of the soft fabric of their long skirt and fluffy cropped sweater. They liked the way the silky material flowed around their legs, and how their sweater floated and felt like it was made of clouds. It also made them think about their own coming out process. How their twin sister Rachel was the first person they’d told at age 12. Barely a month before their thirteenth birthday, Lance had taken Rachel on the short walk to the beach, to the spot away from where even the locals stayed. Their favorite place where they went swimming all summer long. Where their older siblings taught them to surf, and where their mother had shown them the constellations and sparked a love of space in Lance.

That’s where they’d gone with Rachel on a hot day in June. Lance remembered standing ankle-deep in the warm, clear water. They couldn’t look at her, too nervous about what she’d say. But looking out over the Atlantic, they’d found the courage they needed, and told Rachel everything. About how they’d been thinking about how they noticed they liked girls ok, but also boys and nonbinary people too, and considered themselves bi. It led them into talking about their own gender. That they didn’t feel much like a boy, but that they felt kinda like a boy sometimes, kinda like a girl sometimes, but mostly felt nonbinary. Lance told her that they felt like gender didn’t matter as much to them, and that while they didn’t feel the need to change their name, their preferred pronouns going forward were they and them.

Rachel had sat on the beach and listened. She thought it over while Lance was talking, and when they were done, she got up without a word, left her flip flops on the sand, and joined her sibling in the water. She crushed them in the tightest hug of their life and told Lance that they were her twin, nothing in the known universe could stop that, and that the absolute most important thing was that they were comfortable in their own skin. If there were a few tears before they left for home, no one needed to know. With Rachel firmly beside them, they told the rest of the immediate family that night, getting almost the same reaction from them as they had from their twin. Their father Diego was only a little more reserved, admitting that he didn’t understand the nonbinary part, but as long as Lance was safe and happy, that was all he cared about. By the time Lance had left Earth, Diego had come to understand what being nonbinary meant and that those five years of expressing themselves freely had been the happiest of Lance’s life.

The memory of that summer day made them smile to themselves as they walked, but also made them miss home and family all over again. With a sharp shake of their head, they remembered what they were coming up to the observation deck for. They knew Keith understood how important this party was, but being forced into that was more than enough to cause that kind of reaction. Ironically, Lance thought, the Artraxian male fashion sense was actually feminine-leaning, non-gendered by human standards and didn’t bother them as much as they thought it would, although it still did upset them. But that was them, not Keith. Especially with what Artraxian women wore, they knew how much it upset Keith. And that was why they were there. Not to try to convince him to wear it, but to be supportive. Let him know that both they and the team had his back with this. That Lance would be there for him however he needed.

Lance knocked on the door, walking in when they didn’t get an answer anyway. Keith was sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees as he watched the stars. Lance curled up beside him without looking over.

“Hey. It’ll be ok. I know it really, really, sucks, and I wish we didn’t have to do it, but we do. We’re all here for you, you know that right?”

Keith sighed, rolling his head from where it rested on his knees to look over at Lance. “I know you are. Doesn’t make it any easier. I thought I was past all that. Having to pretend to be something I'm not. It’s been hard enough being out here without even the possibility of access to my T shots. And now this. I think I would have been more ok with it if it didn’t look like that.”

“Yeah, I get that. Kinda exposes almost everything. None of us like it, even if I know Allura and Shiro are gonna look amazing in it, but Pidge and Hunk will be really uncomfortable. Hunk doesn’t like going to the beach without a shirt on unless he’s really comfortable with the people around him. And I don’t think I can even imagine Pidge in anything girly, let alone that. And even I’m not really comfortable with it. Way too much skin on display, y’know? I mean, I say this while wearing a crop top, but…” they trailed off with a soft laugh and turned to face Keith. “Really what I’m saying is that we’re all uncomfortable. I know it’s not exactly the same, but you’re not alone. If you need to stay close to one of us for the party to feel safe, it’s ok. No one will mind.”

Lance thought that the soft huffing sound that came from Keith might have been a laugh until they heard the sniffle and realized that he was wiping away tears.

“Thanks, Lance,” Keith said softly.

“Anytime, Samurai.”

It was barely a day after transmitting the team’s measurements to the planet’s surface before an unmanned shuttle landed onboard the castle. They realized that color preferences hadn’t been asked of them, and that their “outfits” were all individually wrapped in black tissue and labelled with their names. Coran busied himself with handing out the packages and sent Allura and the paladins off to change.

“Hey, Lance?” Keith called quietly.

They turned to him and immediately saw the discomfort and anxiety all over his face. “Hey, it’s ok. What do you need?”

“I think I need to call in that favor.”

“Ok. Would having Allura there help?”

Keith thought for a few seconds. “…Yeah, I think so.”

Lance turned to where the princess was making her way across the pod bay floor. “Allura, I have a question for you.”

She stopped and waited for both of them to catch up with her. “Yes? What is it?”

Lance looked to Keith first for his silent confirmation before continuing. “Keith’s gonna need some help with this. I figured you being the only girl here would help with making him as comfortable as we can.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Allow me to change and then we can meet.”

“My room?” Lance suggested.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

#my writing #abandoned wips #klance #keith x lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender

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tcookies777 · 3 years ago

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Here is a sneak peek at a side story I've written for The Anatomy of Love (a KakaSaku modern college au - AO3 hyperlink included)! You don't need to have read the fic to read this side story since this is a flashback to Kakashi's past when he was a teen, but it does help to understand since it's in the context of the fic itself!

The Anatomy of Love: Side Story - The Angel from Hell

About 14 years ago….

Summer in Sound country was utter shit.

Fire country had its droughts for sure during this season, and more often than not the trees would catch fire just from the mere glare of the sun on a dried leaf. But at least the trees also offered plenty of protection from the heat so long as the Firewatch was making sure those trees weren’t burning first.

Sound country, on the other hand, had nothing but empty golden plains that seemed to stretch on for eternity. If it didn’t look like a sort of heaven, Kakashi would’ve thought he was in hell what with the sun burning through his clothes and the scorched patches of earth peppered throughout the fields—a telltale sign of the bombs that had rained down on the area not too long ago.

A summer thunderstorm last week had given them a brief reprieve from the intense heat wave, but it had still left them uncomfortably soaked in their own clothes. A week later, the sun was back with a fiery vengeance, and they were back to soaking through their tactical gear in their own stink and sweat again, but this time with the muck of the marshlands clinging to their boots.

It had taken almost the whole day to sludge through the marshes and find shelter at a farmhouse that seemed to have been completely abandoned days ago. They’d cleared the house and finished in disappointment upon finding that all of the livestock were either gone or already getting feasted on by the maggots. Most of the food in the pantry had also long been raided save for a single jar of strawberry jam and a cracked egg left to spoil on a shelf. It wasn’t that everyone was starving—although they were certainly hungry after a day out trudging through a war zone—but a jar of sweet strawberry jelly was practically bliss compared to their MRE rations. Even Kakashi himself was getting wearier and wearier over every pound of rice he had to eat with the bland curry packed in his ration meal.

So the moment Anzu had spotted the bright red jar, there had immediately been a scuffle over who got to eat it. Being the fifth in command (and with the first four already dead), Kakashi had asserted the order that each person would get their fair share of strawberry jelly: one scoop and only after they’d finished their MREs for tonight. Everyone except Obito had glanced warily at each other, reluctant to follow the command of a 17-year-old boy despite him outranking them all. But, not wanting to throw a tantrum over strawberry fucking jelly of all things, they’d each grunted in answer.

And now that last bit of the jelly was getting scraped out of its jar by Obito after Kakashi had passed his share over to him. Sweets weren’t his thing anyway even if he would kill for something homemade rather than a meal full of preservatives.

The leftover spicy powder clung to the base of Kakashi’s back teeth no matter how many times he swigged down some water from his canteen. It was like chewing on sediment, and judging by the faces of everyone else, he was willing to bet none of them were intent on eating curry anytime soon after the end of this tour. He didn’t blame them.

“Piece of shit!” Tsutomu suddenly snarled, unsheathing his kukri to swipe at the fly that had been assaulting his face for the last half hour. The fat insect buzzed around him before disappearing into the man’s beard that was still coated with the blood from when a Sound soldier had tried to bash his face in back at the marshes. With a growl, Tsutomu swatted at his beard, prompting two flies to crawl out and give him double the work.

Sitting closest to him, Yori ducked when his blade nearly chopped her ear off. “Watch it!” she barked at him, flicking her chocolate brown braid aside to pick up some of the cards she’d dropped. She was the only woman among the twelve of them here, and she was also the only one besides Kakashi who had the guts to speak up against Tsutomu whenever his bitching got too loud or too obnoxious. Usually both.

The rest of the unit was in the middle of a very intense game of Spoons, using a beat up pair of playing cards someone had the smarts to bring. Considering it was his first tour though, Kakashi initially could not fathom who would want to play a card game in the middle of a war zone, and especially deep in the trenches of enemy territory. But he’d soon discovered that a card game was the best way to pass the time when there wasn’t much else to do but scout, kill, and sit on their asses to do it all over again. As it was now, they were on their thirty-fourth round of Spoons, and he just needed an Ace of Hearts to complete the set in his hand.

Passing another card to Obito, Kakashi wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow. Tucked beneath his shirt, the hot metal of his dog tags rubbed uncomfortably against his slick chest. Summer nights in Sound country were almost as bad as during the day. The good thing about it was that the humidity dropped, leaving the air so dry that his tongue felt like paper every time he opened his mouth. The bad thing was that, with the place so arid, they couldn’t risk lighting a fire lest they burn down their only shelter for the night (or attract the wrong kind of attention). So they’d turned on their flashlights, thankful that the equipment had somehow survived the trip through the marshes but not so happy that they couldn’t even light a cigarette.

Even without a fire, the summer heat had become far more unbearable than the mosquitoes that assaulted them every hour of the day. By midnight, everyone had resorted to stripping their tops off and leaving only their tactical vests on, filling the small space with their stinky sweat. It went against protocol, but nobody—not even Obito—listened to him when he offhandedly commented that they were sooner to die from a mosquito bite than a bullet wound if they dawdled around half-naked like that. Even Yori had given up, leaving Kakashi as the only one fully clothed in his combat fatigues.

“Bet you we could cook an egg on the ground with this heat,” Obito rasped out, pressing the cool, flat edge of his kukri against his cheek. Not the smartest move unless he wanted to risk stabbing his eye out, but he was far too desperate to care at this point. “Fuck, man, what I wouldn’t give for a sunnyside egg.”

“There’s one on the pantry shelf downstairs if the flies haven’t got to it yet,” Kakashi replied dismissively, passing a Queen of Hearts card to him and then picking up—ah-ha!

Holding his fourth and final Ace, Kakashi surreptitiously slid a hand out to grab one of the eight bullets that sat on the stool they were all sitting around. It took twenty seconds for anyone to notice that there were now only seven bullets remaining, and then chaos ensued as the rest of the unit members wrestled for the last bullets.

Once the dust had cleared and the knocked-over flashlights were propped back up, they each opened their hands to show who had a bullet and who didn’t. Tsutomu didn’t, and he did not look pleased about it.

“All right, who won it this time?” Midori sighed even as everyone looked expectantly to Kakashi who’d already flipped his deck around to show them his complete set of Aces.

“Fuck this!” Tsutomu threw his cards down and jabbed his kukri in Kakashi’s direction. “He’s always winning!”

“And you’re always too slow,” Yori said with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t hear me bitchin’ about it.”

“Maybe because I would’ve made you shut the fuck up!”

Before the two could begin snapping at each other's throats again, Midori was already nudging his glasses up as he said aloud, “He’s a Hatake. They don’t call him the prodigal White Fang for nothing, so of course he'd win. He's one of those freakin' geniuses who excel at everything.”

One of the Aces in Kakashi’s hand folded slightly under his grip, but he said nothing as Obito glanced his way.

“Sounds like a freak to me,” someone mumbled.

With Anzu collecting all the playing cards to reshuffle, everyone had time to listen in on the conversation now.

“Ah, yeah, your old man was one of the hotshots in the military, right?” Genki sneered at him. His face looked like a weasel’s what with his long, sharp nose, narrow jaw, and beady eyes that twinkled as if he was constantly thinking of an insulting joke for anyone who caught his attention. But he was also the kind of weasel that shrunk back when a predator stared him down, and he did just that when Kakashi calmly turned his sights onto him. “B-Bet he has plenty of medals to show for it.”

Kakashi quickly looked away in disinterest. Fuck if he cared about his father’s medals. They were probably collecting dust and cobwebs somewhere in the back of a closet.

“Heard his Pops always carried a lil’ sword around in battle,” Tsutomu nodded to the hilt jutting out from behind Kakashi’s lower back. “Just like that one.”

“Who the fuck brings a sword to a gunfight?” Genki sniggered but just as soon stopped when he saw nobody else was laughing.

“It’s a tantō, you nitwit,” Obito said, slamming down the empty jar of jam with more force than necessary. Genki jolted in his seat from the harsh sound. “And it’s really no different from the standard-issued kukris we all carry.”

Tsutomu frowned at the knife in his hand that was almost double the length of Kakashi’s shortsword. He met Kakashi’s gaze over the curved blade, tawny eyes squinting at him for a second as if they were having a dick-measuring contest. Pleased with the extra inches he had over the younger man, Tsutomu lowered the knife to give Kakashi a smug grin. His shit-eating grin instantly flipped into a scowl, however, when the two flies from earlier suddenly appeared to attack his lips.

His breath must be that rancid, Kakashi thought with faint bemusement. While he could stand the pompous ass and his snide remarks, he couldn’t stand to watch Yori have to consistently dodge Tsutomu’s knife as he returned to stabbing at the flies with a vengeance.

Kakashi nodded towards the staircase that led to the bedrooms upstairs. “Tsutomu, Genki, switch off with Haya and Jun. It’s your turn to be on lookout.”

They clicked their tongues in unison but obeyed without question, grabbing their flashlights to head upstairs and keep watch for the next hour. As soon as they left the cramped room, the stink seemed to follow after them (although that wasn’t much of a surprise). Haya and Jun came in, propping their sniper rifles against a cabinet that held nothing but smashed plates within. As they searched for a decent seat where they could put their feet up and relax as well as they could in a warzone, Kakashi pulled out a map from his pack and spread it out on the floor. With the beckon of his hand, he urged everyone to pay attention.

“Amegakure is fifty miles from here,” he explained, tapping a finger on the northeast quadrant of the map. “The package is reported to be held within an underground bunker disguised on the topside as a water tower. At 0600, we’ll be leaving to cut through the Dead Marshes to reach Ame by 1800.”

“Why is it called the Dead Marshes again?” Anzu asked before slapping a fly off his sweaty face.

“Because a hundred of our men died there just last month. Cut down in an ambush after the enemy got ahold of our intel. Everyone’s been calling it the Dead Marshes since then.”

“So why the fuck are we going there?” Yori demanded. “I'm betting those corpses are still floating around for all the fishies to nibble on.”

“Then that just means we have even more cover,” Kakashi said.

Jun snorted and leaned over to snatch the map off the ground. Like most of the other survivors here, Jun liked to question Kakashi’s leadership at every chance. In fact, he was the kind of guy whom teachers would rip their hair out over had he chosen to stay in high school rather than head straight into the military academy. Running a hand through his greasy blonde hair, he snorted at the map before tossing it back to Kakashi. “There’s a river that we can follow for a few miles. It’ll lead us straight to Amegakure much faster than the marshes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because it's too tiresome to explain to a numbskull like you. “Because I said so.”

“A fucking kid said so.”

“At least I have a high school diploma.”

“And a Bachelor's and a Master’s,” Midori coughed out. When Jun glared at him, he took off his glasses and pretended to get busy cleaning them.

With a sneer, Jun pointed his flashlight directly into Kakashi's face. “I don’t care if you're a Hatake. I don't care if you're some genius with a dozen degrees. And I definitely don’t give a flying fuck if our superiors kiss your ass and call you the White Flash—”

‘Fang’, Kakashi almost corrected him, but even he found the nickname distasteful.

“—I'm not going to put my life in the hands of some kid who cares more about the mission than his own comrades,” Jun spat out.

“Look,” Obito sat forward, prying the map from Kakashi’s grip and smoothing it back down on the floor. “The obvious choice is the river, right?”

Jun nodded and then stepped on the foot of Haya who’d been too busy staring at Yori’s cleavage. “Y-Yeah, duh!” Haya nodded vigorously until the heel digging onto his toes relented.

Obito spread open his palms in gesture. “Then you would think they’d have an ambush set up for us there too since it’s the ‘obvious choice’. The river will be guarded, but Sound won’t expect more Fire soldiers to try the marshes after the first group failed.”

“Ah, so reverse psychology?” Yori still didn’t look so convinced, but she was already eyeing the marshes on the map again with renewed interest. She frowned and then looked to Kakashi. “You said you want to use the dead bodies for cover?”

“The marshes are our best bet if we want to get to the package on time. And without getting butchered,” Kakashi added firmly. “We’re the only ones left of our unit, so we need to play it safe but right. But I also wouldn’t expect Sound to turn a blind eye, so we need to move with stealth.”

Yori rolled her eyes. “Tsutomu is the opposite of stealth, but I guess we could always use his bitch ass for cover if needed. I just fucking hate the marshes,” she said with a sigh, sagging in her rickety chair, still exhausted from slugging through the marshes all day. “But Hatake’s idea makes more sense.”

“The fuck it does not!” Jun snapped at her. “I say we take the river—”

“And I say we’re taking the marshes,” Kakashi said, his voice low but harsh enough to make the fresh graduate stiffen. When Jun fell silent, Kakashi swept his gaze around all the others sitting and staring at him. He took turns challenging each and every one of them silently for a moment, daring them to question his orders anymore. “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care if you don’t like swimming with the fishes and corpses. I don’t care if any of you live or die. I care about completing the mission—and that is securing the package. That is our duty as a soldier and if you disagree then you are free to take off your vests and dog tags, put down your guns, and walk out that door and all the way back home.”

Everyone shut up at that, and for the first time in six months, Kakashi was finally afforded the peace of silence without someone bitching about the insects, the commercial taste of their rations, or a stone that had found its way inside their boot. Satisfied with the room’s consensus, Kakashi leaned back in his chair, unsheathing his tantō to wipe off today’s coat of blood and mud that stained the edges.

It was Yori who broke the begrudging silence first when she suddenly withdrew her pistol from its holster. “You keep staring at my tits, Haya, and I'll blow you a new eye. Right in the center of your fucking forehead.”

“Chill, darlin'!” Haya raised his hands placatingly. “I was just checking out your tags.” As if to prove his point, he leaned closer to her, training his eyes on the cleavage that could be seen just above the collar of her vest. Still under the pretense of reading her tags, he hummed and stroked his chin. “Impressive.”

Yori cocked her gun in warning.

“Hey, I got a place where you can blow me,” Jun snickered at her, prompting Haya to do the same.

“That’s it—”

“Enough,” Kakashi leaned across to grab Yori’s hand that was reaching for the kukri at her hip. Something then slipped out of his front pocket, fluttering down until it landed atop of the map to reveal little Rin shyly hugging onto a scrawny boy with silver hair and a dead gaze.

Jun swooped down in the blink of an eye, snatching up the photo with his blood-stained fingers. He whistled low, angling the photo for Haya to see. “Damn, Hatake! You like your girls really young, huh? But I didn't take you as a guy who likes four-year-old pussy! Or is she three?”

Over the men’s cackles, Kakashi resisted the urge to skewer the Private 1st Class with the tip of his tantō. Especially not when he had just finished wiping the blade clean of today’s muck. “The only pussy here is the one in front of me,” he replied coolly.

Midori choked on the water he’d been sipping from his canteen, letting it splash all over the glasses he’d just finished cleaning.

While Jun was still sputtering from the retort, Obito stole the photo away from him. He peeked at it for just a split second before handing the picture back to Kakashi who immediately tucked it back into the safety of his pocket. He wiped his sword down one last time and then sheathed it loudly enough for both Jun and Haya to flinch.

A grim silence fell over the group as everyone else seemed to recall all the beloved people they themselves carried in their pockets. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers. They were all waiting for their soldiers to return home—even if it meant in body bags or as dog tags.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Obito quietly asked as Anzu started to deal cards for the others to play a round of Thirteen with.

It was a sincere question, but it was still a personal one that had Kakashi scrubbing a hand over his jaw. His hand came away tinged with the thin film of blood that had yet to finish congealing on his mask. He could smell the sharp notes of copper with every intake of breath, so he made a mental note to retreat to the bathroom later and wash off the grime. It was pointless, he knew that. By tomorrow noon, his mask would be dyed in splotches of red again, but tonight he wanted to sleep without inhaling the stench of a dead man.

Sensing Obito still waiting for an answer, Kakashi wiped his hand on his trousers and then sighed.

“She's a girl. And she's my friend….” And he had kissed Rin before, but that was more out of curiosity than desire. Besides, he didn't count it as an actual kiss since he'd just been seven years old at the time. “She's… special to me,” was all Kakashi gave in answer. “What about you? You got anyone back home?”

This time, it was Obito’s turn to shift in discomfort. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Nah, I was... disowned by my family. I was always the black sheep, but one day, I fucked up and...” He paused to scratch his cheek for a moment. “And it cost my twin brother’s life. I mean, he’s not dead,” he added quickly. “But he got fucked up pretty badly from the accident to the point that... he’s like a shadow of himself. So I got kicked out of the family after that, got put in a group home, then joined the academy as soon as I could. I haven’t talked to my family or my twin brother ever since, so if I die... guess that’s it for me.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the end for you. I mean, you’re free to haunt me if you’d like.”

Obito's mouth quirked into a grin. “You don’t mind me pulling all that poltergeist shit on you?”

Kakashi snorted. “With your butterfingers, you’d be dropping shit rather than throwing it.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Obito shoved at his shoulder with a laugh.

His laughter was cut short, however, when the heavy tread of boots stampeding down the staircase followed by the most unholy screeching interrupted everyone. Genki and Tsutomu appeared at the threshold, faces flushed with angry scratched lines marking their cheeks as if a cat had gotten the jump on them. But it wasn’t a cat that was making that screeching noise; it was a girl. Slung between them with her wrists bound in ripped sheets, she thrashed around wildly in search of an opportunity to—not escape but to bite at the men holding her captive.

White teeth flashed between long tresses of ebony hair as she tried to snap her jaws at Tsutomu’s thick neck. The man responded with a harsh slap that sent her face whipping towards Genki who was forced to reel back to avoid her bites.

“Lookie what I caught!” Tsutomu announced, grinning proudly as he grabbed the girl by the base of her head and yanked it back. She winced but made no sound that she was in pain. Even though her whole face was streaked with filth, it was obvious that she couldn’t be any older than fifteen years old. Only two years younger than Kakashi himself, but already looking as if she’d lived through an entire war. “Caught this lil’ bitch skulking around in one of the bedrooms. Probably was finding a spot to hide in so that she could slit our throats while we slept.”

There was no way she could’ve taken on twelve armed soldiers even with the element of surprise, but Kakashi didn’t doubt that she would’ve tried it anyway.

“I would’ve shat on your corpses too afterward!” she sneered at Tsutomu, earning a second slap to the cheek and making Genki flinch when specks of blood from her mouth landed all over his face.

“How the hell did we miss her?” Jun asked, stopping Tsutomu from slapping the girl again. “I thought we cleared this house from top to bottom.”

Apparently, you guys were sloppy about it, Kakashi was half-tempted to say. Instead, he stood up and yanked the girl out of Genki and Tsutomu's clutches by her bound hands. She struggled against him but just as soon froze when she felt the sharp tip of his tantō dig into the small of her back. Don’t move, Kakashi told her with a mere prod of his sword.

“Hey! Finders keepers,” Tsutomu growled, displeased that his catch was being taken away from him. His grubby hands reached for the girl, but Kakashi pulled her away from him and towards the staircase.

“We’re guests of this house,” Kakashi said aloud despite knowing that there wasn’t much of this house or its occupants left anymore. “This girl will be locked up in the master bedroom where no one is to touch her. Is that understood?”

Tsutomu took a heavy step forward to protest but stopped when the young Hatake turned his steely gaze onto him.

“Is that understood?” Kakashi spoke low, the lethal edge in his voice cutting through the tension like the blade in his hand. When Tsutomu bowed his head in answer, Kakashi glanced over at Obito who was looking at him strangely. “Relay to Tsutomu and Genki the plan for tomorrow.”

With a sharp nudge of the sword against the girl’s back, Kakashi prompted her to continue up the stairs. She remained silent on the way to the bedroom, but she didn’t stop trying to squirm out of the sheets roped tightly around her wrists. Kakashi took the moment to observe her calloused hands, deducing that she was a surviving member of this household. Probably the daughter of the farmer who’d lived here.

He didn’t ask where her parents were or why she was still here. Even though there hadn’t been any bloodstains found while clearing the house, he guessed that the rest of the girl’s family was already dead in a ditch somewhere.

“If you’re going to kill me then just do it already,” she finally said the moment she stumbled into the bedroom.

Kakashi closed the door first, watching her flinch at the sound of the latch clicking in place. “Turn around.”

She hesitated for a moment before obeying with a slow, reluctant pivot. Under the sharp beam of his flashlight, Kakashi could see the tear tracks that left a clean streak through the cake of dirt and dried blood on her cheeks. He raised his sword and she bunched her shoulders up despite the defiant tilt of her chin. The tantō flashed under the moonlight for a split second as he swung it down upon the girl.

She squeezed her eyes shut but then opened them when she found herself still alive... and with her hands free now.

Kakashi jut his chin towards the bed. Its sheets were still made as if nobody had ever slept in them at all. “Lay down there.”

She stiffened at this order, her body locking up more notably than the last time she’d hesitated. She took one step forward, and Kakashi caught the way her whole frame seemed to tremble before she hurriedly crossed the room and laid down on the bed, stiff as a board. The springs of the mattress creaked harshly, and her eyes widened as if the sound was a threat itself.

Grabbing a chair by the vanity mirror, Kakashi dragged it to the side of the bed before plopping down. His sudden close proximity to her had her sitting up rigidly, slim hands squeezing into fists on her lap. He would've preferred for her to remain lying down, but it seemed she was more comfortable sitting up, so he let her.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he took the moment to study the girl. She had a split lip, a small cut above her brow, the red mark of a building bruise on her cheek (no doubt courtesy of Tsutomu and Genki), and dark bags of exhaustion weighed heavy beneath her eyes—eyes so black that they seemed to pierce right into Kakashi’s soul the longer he held her sharp gaze.

He looked away to reach for something in his pocket, pausing only when he sensed the girl stiffen again. Slowly, he withdrew the white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the girl. “Wipe your face.”

She scowled at the implication but snatched the cloth from him. Glimpsing the little sunflower design Rin had sewn into the corner of the cloth, the girl stared at it first before remembering to wipe the dirt off her face.

“My name is Hatake Kakashi,” he said as she cleaned herself. “What’s yours?”

When she refused to answer, he reached into another pocket, slowly again like last time. He watched as her wary eyes flicked down from his to the orange thing in his hand.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, peeling the fruit for her. “It’s a mandarin orange.”

A rare delicacy among their rations, but he was never one for sweets anyway.

The girl watched him peel the skin of the orange off like a hawk would with its prey. As soon as he offered her a slice, she seized the small piece from his fingers and stuffed it into her mouth. Her lashes fluttered slightly as she took that first bite of tangy sweetness.

“Good?”

She froze at the question as if she was a thief who’d been caught stealing the mandarin he’d offered her. Without warning, she spat the mashed bits of orange to his face, her frown deepening when she saw Kakashi didn’t even flinch from the attack.

“You’re a bastard!” she said as he casually brushed off the pieces of orange clinging to his mask. In an effort to add insult to the non-existent injury, she flung the now dirty handkerchief back at him. Kakashi merely plucked it off his chest, folded it two times into a small square, and then tucked it into one of his pockets before placing the rest of the orange in front of her.

He stood up and she shrunk back from him after clutching the orange to her chest.

“We’ll be gone in the morning,” Kakashi said as he scanned the room for any dangerous objects she might try to use in retaliation. “You can rest easy tonight. I’ll make sure no one touches you.”

Although he was kind of late for that.

“But if you try anything, we will have to use force.”

The warning was vague, but it left her shivering and glaring at him with enough spite to make any man give pause. He gave her one final look of caution before leaving the room to make his way to the bathroom. The farmhouse was old, and every floorboard creaked under his boots, but he preferred it that way. It kept him on edge—kept him alert for any signs of danger that may be lurking around the corner.

Even upon entering the bathroom, he swept aside the shower curtain just to make sure no other stray kid was waiting in the tub to ambush him with a butterknife or whatever these civilians resorted to.

Seeing the coast was clear, he stripped off his tactical vest and then the black sleeveless shirt underneath. The water ran lukewarm as he turned the knob of the faucet, and he splashed a handful down his chest for a brief respite from the blistering heat. Taking his shirt, he detached his mask and held it beneath the stream. Black, brown, and red tainted the pool of water along with loose sediment of dried mud. He grabbed the soap bar from the corner and scrubbed his mask inside and out, letting the bubbles froth.

After rinsing his mask, he wrung out the excess water before hanging the cloth on the edge of the sink to let it finish dripping.

A shout could be heard from downstairs—either Tsutomu or Jun since those two loved to butt heads with everyone—but Kakashi didn’t care so long as heads weren’t rolling. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he shrugged on his shirt and vest but paused upon hearing a sharp creak just outside his door.

Creak...

There it was again, but further this time.

Kakashi heaved a sigh and then yanked his mask back on, unsurprised to find it already dry. Tugging the door open, he stepped out of the hallway and was met with the hulking figure of Tsutomu. His burly back was hunched over as if the guy was in the middle of sneaking... towards the girl’s room.

The rest of this side story chapter will be published soon on AO3 and Fanfiction.Net! Thank you for reading!

#the anatomy of love #kakasaku

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quickspinner · 5 years ago

Text

Triple Threat

Here it is, the 500 followers special, posted hot off the presses as promised because not only did I hit 500 followers before the poll even closed, I’m now at 520! My mind is blown. Thank you all for sticking around this little corner of the lukanette trash heap and especially for all your replies/comments/reblogs, I covet every single one.

So you guys voted and you wanted to see Multimouse flirting with Viperion, and Marinette flirting with Viperion was a very close runner up, so I decided to do both, and I threw in a little Viperbug flirting for you just because I love you. So I hope you enjoy, and extra love to @livrever for giving me a sanity check when I needed it because y’all, I love you so much I wrote an akuma for you and even though most of the battle happened off-screen I still wasn’t sure whether the whole thing would hang together or not.

I hate long author’s notes and this one is already wordy, but I just want to say again, thank you for being here and I appreciate all 520 of you that are here now and everyone who stumbles on this in the future.

“Stupid Chat,” Ladybug muttered to herself between swings. “Stupid, overprotective Chat, making everything more complicated than it needs to be because of this stupid identity bullshit again and why am I still keeping up this ridiculousness now that Master Fu’s gone I have no idea…”

She ought to be grateful, she knew. Later, she would be touched by Chat’s affection and protectiveness towards her civilian self, but right now it was just a pain in her red-and-black spotted ass. Fortunately, the akuma knew her name but not much else about her, which meant Chat was able to fool it into following him on a wild goose chase to buy Ladybug time to get help that they didn’t actually need but whatever.

But it was fine. This was fine. She had a plan. In the three years that she’d been Ladybug she’d gotten very good at thinking on her feet. She tried not to call on Viperion too often, because it seemed like a bad idea to muck around with time too much, but the fact was, his power was both incredibly useful and incredibly reassuring for her.

And, either because Luka was older or perhaps because he was simply more mature than the rest of the team, he’d been the first to push his powers past his original time limit, and he still had the longest time limit on the team, though he wasn’t anywhere near the unlimited time that supposedly came with being “an adult.” Marinette had questioned Tikki about that, whether it was a question of physical maturity or mental maturity or both, but it turned out that questioning a being as old as Tikki about the minutiae of human growth was...frustrating. Tikki’s concept of time was colored by her nearly-eternal perspective, and the markers of adulthood changed and shifted over the centuries.

In any case, second chances were all too scarce in her life and it was only the knowledge that all magic had a price and the fear that there had to be a catch somewhere kept her from calling on it more frequently.

Seeing the Captain and Juleka both on deck, Ladybug crouched on the bank and squinted. It looked like Juleka and Luka’s room was empty, so she should be able to just slip through the porthole if she timed it right.

Well, regardless of whatever method the Miraculous used to measure adultness, Marinette thought as she made her way through the porthole with some Miraculous-aided acrobatics, Luka had matured in the three years they’d known each other both mentally, and...and physically...oh dear. Ladybug gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth, which did absolutely nothing to salvage the situation, since her eyes were still wide and staring.

Luka was standing in the doorway in his boxers, hair dripping into the towel around his shoulders, a faint blush growing on his face. “Ladybug. I wasn’t expecting you. Obviously.”

Ladybug yelped and turned her back, this time slapping her hands over her eyes, though too late to do either of them any good. “I’m sorry!” Ladybug cried. “I just—your family was on deck and I didn’t want anyone to see me coming in and the room was empty so I thought I could just—but I didn’t expect you to—“‘

“It’s fine,” Luka chuckled weakly, and she could hear him moving around behind her. “Nothing you wouldn’t see at the beach. Living in a house full of girls I don’t actually make it a practice to run around naked. You can look now.”

“Good. Sound policy,” Ladybug managed, like she wasn’t dying of embarrassment. She dropped her hands and turned around and then bit the inside of her cheek to keep in another scream. He had his jeans on now but he was still digging through a pile of shirts on the end of his bed and she was staring at his bare back. Which wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, really, but only when she was prepared and had Alya to smack her if she started...staring. Not ogling. Definitely not.

“I’m assuming you need me for something?” he prompted, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes! Uh…” Ladybug shook herself back to reality and outlined the situation. How there had been a big design contest this week and one of the losers was taking it badly and had it out for the winner, a girl named—

“Marinette?” Luka turned to look at her sharply, now fully clothed (which, it turned out, helped less than it should have since knowing what he looked like under the shirt made her more than able to trace the lines his body made in it NOT THAT SHE WAS OH GOD) “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

“Ah, yes,” Ladybug said, surprised enough to be shocked out of her absolutely-not-ogling. “You, um...know her?”

“Yes, of course I do. If Marinette’s in trouble, I’ll do anything you need,” Luka declared, a fire in his eyes that almost made her step back. Ladybug paused and studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Can you do this, Luka?” Ladybug asked, folding her arms. “The last thing I need is to suddenly be facing an akumatized Viperion with time reset powers. I know you guys are friends but if you’re more than that I need to know now.” What was she doing? It was a good thing she was still blushing from earlier. Why was she asking this, she knew he was over her, she was like a little sister to him and—wait, was he blushing?

Luka looked away, but she was sure she saw red in his face. “We’re just friends,” he said softly. “Even if I sometimes wish we were more.” He glanced at her, and his blush deepened as he dropped his eyes again. “Maybe more than sometimes. I can do this, Ladybug. I won’t let my feelings for Marinette interfere. I promise.” He gave a lopsided smile. “I’ve gotten pretty good at keeping a lid on it.”

“Oh,” Ladybug blinked. “I see.” She...wasn’t as surprised as she should be. Luka had never really made a secret of his feelings, but even if she hadn’t quite believed herself every time she told herself he was over her, she hadn’t expected him to be so...passionate about it. Especially after all this time. Especially after everything that had happened. “Well—well okay, if you think you can do this then I trust you.” She held out the box.

Luka took the bracelet, greeted Sass briefly and transformed as Ladybug continued her instructions.

“I wanted to just hide Marinette but Chat thinks she needs more protection. He’s distracting the akuma now. You pick Marinette up at her home and keep her with you. Obviously, you’ll use Second Chance to keep her safe, but it might also take a few tries for Rena to get the illusion right, so you’ll also need to be in position to observe and report.” She couldn’t help a smile, feeling a rush of affection as the familiar green eyes blinked back at her. “I trust your judgement, so I’m not going to micromanage you; figure out what works and do it. Here’s the catch, though.” She folded her arms. “I won’t be there. I can’t explain to you why. Once the akuma’s focus is off Marinette, take her home, and proceed to Phase Two.” She continued giving him instructions and he listened attentively, asking only a few questions.

Luka nodded as she finished. “I won’t let you down,” he said firmly.

“You never have,” Ladybug smiled, and Luka looked...flattered? Almost shy. And that was kind of weird. Luka was reserved, sure, but never shy.

People did seem to find Ladybug intimidating, though. And it was kind of...cute. “You know,” she found herself saying as she strolled closer to him. “I think this Marinette girl’s awfully lucky to have caught your eye. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your help. I know I do.” Ladybug gave him a slow smile. She reached up and touched his mask with two fingers. Viperion’s eyes widened slightly. “I think I prefer blue eyes to green though.”

“Me too,” he said almost absently, searching her face, and she thought she saw a hint of color just below the line of his mask. That made her smile wider.

“It’s a bit of a complicated plan today, but I think you can handle it. Good luck.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek, and before Luka could react, she dove out of the porthole, yo-yo catching just in time to send her skimming away above the water.

Luka—Viperion, now—swallowed hard, swaying slightly in place. Because it was a plain fact that Ladybug was hot, as well as strong, smart as a whip, and tough as nails. All things that very much appealed to him, even if his heart was still given elsewhere, and he...didn’t quite know what to do with the last few minutes.

Viperion shook himself. He had more important things to worry about.

...Starting with how to leave the boat without being seen by his family. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ladybug had caught him off guard this morning, and between having just woken up and running into Ladybug in his underwear—not to mention whatever that was just now—he was feeling a little off balance. It should have occurred to him to wait until he was off the boat to transform.

Well, he’d figure something out. It sounded like his job was simple enough. He wasn’t super happy about having Marinette actually at the battle site, but he could see Chat’s point; it was the only way they knew she was absolutely protected and the akuma couldn’t pull a double-fake on them to come back for her. It had happened before. Hanging back with him, Marinette would be as protected as possible, out of sight of the villain to keep her from accidentally interfering with Rena’s illusion, with Second Chance as a backup if something went wrong.

Somehow, he just had to try and not be too Luka around Marinette. Best to keep things chill and aloof if he could, he supposed.

Viperion could see her on her balcony as he approached, that would help. His last leap took him soaring in a flip to land on her balcony railing with a bit more show than was probably necessary.

“Marinette?” he smiled. “Nice to meet you. Ladybug told you to expect me, I hope?”

“Wow,” Marinette breathed, blinking up at him. “She said she was sending someone but not who. You’re...you’re Viperion, right?” Her big blue eyes were round in her face. “You’re like—the most mysterious of all the heroes. You’re hardly ever on the Ladyblog.”

“Not mysterious, just...quiet,” Viperion smiled with a shrug, feeling a little warm suddenly beneath his mask as he hopped off the rail. “I’m not really a front line fighter like Chat. I do my best work behind the scenes.”

“Really? But you’re so strong—” Marinette’s eyes traveled down his body, rather blatantly checking him out. “Wow,” she breathed. “I thought the suit was just armored, but that’s actually you.”

Viperion shifted a little uncomfortably under her gaze. Not that he minded, just...it was Marinette and she’d never looked at him like that before and...he kinda liked it.

Okay, he really liked it.

But Ladybug was counting on him to be professional.

Viperion cleared his throat. “Did Ladybug brief you on the plan?”

Marinette nodded, still studying him though her expression turned serious. “Yes. I’m supposed to stick to you like glue and follow any orders you give.”

Viperion nodded. “We’ll be out of the main battle so you shouldn’t be in any danger, but that last part is really important. You’re a smart girl though so I’m not worried.” Much. He offered her a hand. “We should go so we’re in place before Chat gets there.”

Marinette met his eyes and—shit, there went his traitor heart, suddenly galloping a mile a minute. Help me out here, Sass, he thought desperately, but his pulse continued to pound as Marinette put her hand in his and smiled up at him. Shyly, but also...mischievously? Her lips twitched just slightly, like they wanted to twist in a smirk, and crap why was he even looking at her lips, look away, Luka.

If she smirked at him now he’d never be able to keep his cool.

Taking a deep breath and hoping against hope that he wasn’t blushing too obviously, he tugged her closer to him and dropped her hand to put his on her back. “May I?” he asked, and when she nodded he lifted Marinette in his arms and settled her close against him, making sure he had a firm grip. She put one arm around his neck but ran her other hand across his chest, firm enough for him to feel the pressure even through the suit. His breath caught as she exclaimed “Cool! The material’s so different from Chat’s. Neat texture.” Her tone turned flirtatious. “Fits you really well too.”

“Ah—” He couldn’t think.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing up at him and looking not sorry at all. “I’m a fashion designer. You’re—inspiring.” She used the arm around his neck to pull herself up to look in his face, and he had to adjust his grip quickly. “I have to tell you I love your mask.” And there was the smirk, even more devastating at close range as she ran her fingertips along the bottom of his mask.

Viperion felt dizzy as she settled back again with a cheerful, “Ready when you are!”

***

She wouldn’t stop touching him. Tracing the lines of his suit where the different materials met, outlining the yellow diamond on his chest with one finger, not-so-subtly feeling up his arm…

Chill and aloof was obviously not going to be an option, he admitted to himself. He needed a new plan.

When her fingers traced his collar, actually brushed his skin at the hollow of his throat, he stumbled and nearly dropped her, landing hard on his knees.

“Are you okay?” she gasped, snatching her hand back guiltily.

“I’m fine.” Viperion sighed and set her down, getting to his feet and brushing off his knees before turning to face her, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say without hurting her feelings.

He thought he understood what was going on. Marinette was always under a huge amount of stress. Pretty as she was, she didn’t get out much, and probably didn’t get to do a lot of flirting. She wouldn’t flirt with him—Luka him—because she knew he had feelings for her and she worried about leading him on. She couldn’t flirt with Adrien, partly because he was dating her friend and largely because she could still barely speak a coherent word to him.

As Viperion, he was a safe option. Marinette spent too much time lonely and sad. As far as she was concerned, she’d only just met Viperion, and when the mission was over he would disappear. She didn’t have to follow through on anything she said to him. Nothing she did raised any expectations. She didn’t have to worry about leading him on or breaking his heart. The situation must be frustrating for her. She was a doer. Being a spectator at best and a victim at worst in this situation, it made total sense that she would need something else to think about and focus on, a chance to blow off a little steam without consequences.

And honestly, Luka was fine with indulging her. It fed his ego that she found him attractive enough to flirt with, even tease, but more importantly, if he could make Marinette happy, he wanted to. If he could make her feel pretty and valued and wanted, like the attractive young woman she was but never seemed to have time to be, then he wanted to, even if he had to wear a mask.

There was just one little problem.

“Marinette,” he said, as gently as he could, “I get that you’re interested in the suit and I’m more happy to let you look at it, but first I’d like to get us where we’re going without faceplanting us both into the pavement, okay?”

“Right,” Marinette said, looking horrified and completely embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I should have known better, if course you’re a professional and I’m being horrible, aren’t I, making you uncomfortable when you’re just trying to do your job—“

Well, that wouldn’t do. He placed two fingers over her lips.

“Don’t be sorry,” he told her when she stopped talking, and chucked her under the chin gently. “I don’t mind you touching me at all. In fact—“ he leaned into her space, just a little. “I like it. Certainly worse things than having a hot girl put her hands on me, even if it’s just for the suit.” He gave her an appreciative look and a wink and had the satisfaction of seeing her blush. “I just don’t want you to be hurt. Ladybug’s counting on me to keep you safe after all.”

He could see instantly that it was the wrong thing to say, though he couldn’t fathom why. The color creeping up her face drained away and her smile turned plastic.

“Right,” Marinette said cheerfully, but the sound was hollow. “Wouldn’t want to let Ladybug down.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Vierion repeated, putting his hand on her shoulder, all playfulness gone as he hunched slightly to look into her face. “Ever, but definitely not on my watch. Marinette, it would kill me if anything happened to you because I was distracted. And you can be…” He gave her a lopsided grin and a quick up and down look. “Very distracting.”

She hunched her shoulders slightly, blushing, in a way that took him back to another time when he’d felt the urgent need to tell her how important she was. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said warmly, squeezing her shoulder before letting go. “You can check out the suit as much as you want when we get where we’re going.”

“Right,” she breathed as he picked her up again. She put her arms around his neck and tucked her head down, pressing her eyes against his neck. “Because it was totally all about the suit.”

Viperion chuckled. “You can check me out too if you want, I don’t mind.”

He cradled her a little tighter as he ran, aware his heart was pounding from more than the run.

***

“There you go, Marinette. We made it.” Viperion let her feet drop, keeping his arm around her back. Marinette slid down his body until her feet touched the ground, her arms still around his neck. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Rena Rouge,” he added, gesturing at the hero in question. “Rena, Marinette.”

“Hi,” Marinette said, sliding around to his side as she hunched her shoulders and waved with an awkward smile. “Um, sorry about all the trouble here.”

“It’s not your fault, Marinette,” Viperion said warmly, squeezing her against his side before Rena could even speak.

Rena was looking at them with raised eyebrows. “You two are certainly...friendly,” she commented.

“Are we?” Viperion said, lips twitching with the effort not to laugh as he looked down at Marinette still pressed against his side. “Sorry if I’m being too familiar,” he told her insincerely. She covered a giggle herself as he continued, “It’s just, well.” He gave Marinette a sly grin and a wink. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng is a bit of a mouthful.”

She looked up at him with a wicked twinkle in her pretty eyes. “I think you could handle it.”

He had to look away for just a moment before he could keep a straight face as he told her in a low voice, “I’d certainly try if you wanted me to.” Marinette giggled again behind her hand.

Rena’s eyebrows looked likely to shoot off her head entirely. “Well, it certainly seems like there’s something going on here that I missed.”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Viperion shrugged as Marinette unplastered herself from his side and wrapped her hands around his bicep instead.

Probably fortunately, Chat showed up right then and ran through the plan again. Marinette continued clinging to Viperion’s arm throughout the briefing, which got looks from both Rena and Chat, but Viperion’s face remained impassive.

“Don’t get distracted,” Chat warned him before leaping away.

Marinette snorted softly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Viperion coughed to cover an embarrassed laugh.

“Looks like it’s just you and me now,” he remarked.

Marinette perked up a little bit, squeezing his arm. “Do you work out? Or is it just part of being a hero? Do magic muscles come with the suit?”

Viperion laughed as he reached back for his lyre and shook his earpiece out of its compartment. “A little more strength, yeah, but no extra magic muscles. Let’s just say I lead an active lifestyle.”

“One that includes a lot of time in the sun,” Marinette giggled, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You’re pretty tanned. You definitely didn’t get that from being a hero.”

“Kind of hard to sunbathe in the suit,” Viperion agreed, running a finger along the edge of his mask. “Leaves awkward tan lines.”

Marinette buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her laugh. “So the tan goes all the way down then?” she asked, when she could.

Viperion smirked at her. “Yep. All the way.” Marinette turned red and sputtered, and he looked away, grinning as he slipped his earpiece into place. Went a little further than you meant to, didn’t you? he thought with amusement. Too bad for you Couffaines have no shame. “Chat, Rena, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Gotcha, Scales.”

“Let me know when you’re in position,” he said, and then movement caught his eye.

“Akuma,” he said urgently, growing serious at once. He put his arm out to move Marinette behind him, and felt her hands on his back as she moved close. “Here we go,” he said grimly. “Second Chance.” He slid the snake head back and touched his communicator. “Chat, Rena, she’s here. Checkpoint set. Round one.”

Marinette’s hands moved over his back and down to his sides, and he sucked in a breath as they slid up the smoother texture of the darker panels on his side. “This part is kind of like Chat’s suit,” she murmured. “But this part must be armored,” she ran her hands forward over the ridged teal armor over his belly.

Dear God, what had he gotten himself into?

She must have noticed his tension. “You said I could touch you,” she reminded him.

He had to swallow before he could answer. “I did.”

“Did you change your mind?”

Luka closed his eyes for a moment. He’d always known she was attracted to him but it wasn’t a thought he normally allowed himself to indulge in much. It just made knowing she didn’t actually want him worse. If he wanted to back out, now was the time. “No,” he said finally. “It’s okay.”

Viperion drew back slightly as the akuma passed by below them. He felt Marinette peek over his shoulder.

“Oh, she’s scary,” Marinette whispered, and pressed her face into the back of his neck. “You’re sure you can’t see us?”

He turned his head toward her for just a moment and leaned it on hers. “It’s fine, we’re out of sight. Don’t be scared, we’re all here to protect you.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’m not scared if I’m with you.”

He had to shift his position to cover the shiver that sent through him. The akuma was past them now and Rena was casting her illusion.

She ran her fingers through the tips of his hair at the nape of his neck. “Your hair’s so soft. Guess a Miraculous dye job will do that, huh?”

Oh, that felt amazing, but Viperion could see the akuma shriek and begin to flee. “Second Chance,” he breathed. A flash of white, and then he gave his debrief over the comm so that Rena could adjust her illusion. Then Marinette’s hands were sliding up his sides again.

It took nine resets before Rena got her illusion refined enough to fool the Akuma into thinking she’d gotten her revenge on Marinette and for Chat to successfully lure her away. Nine times he recounted the battle over the comms and suggested changes.

Nine times he’d steadfastly kept his attention on the akuma while he let Marinette run her hands over his sides, up his belly and chest. Nine times he felt her press her face to the back of his neck and rest her cheek on his back while she toyed with his hair. He knew every line of her teasing by heart. His own varied, partially depending on his own sense of whether he was going to have to reset again. The only reason he hadn’t just given in and kissed her (or tackled her to the floor, if he was honest) was the combined knowledge that his friends were still in harm's way and that Sass would give him a lecture about the responsibilities that came with time powers.

He was maybe wound a little bit tight by the time he took her home.

“Well,” he said, setting her down on her balcony. “Here we are, beautiful. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” she asked, not unhooking her arms from around his neck.

“I’ve never enjoyed an akuma battle so much,” he told her, voice low, one hand sliding onto her hip while the other gripped the railing behind him in a desperate attempt to ground himself before he did something stupid. “Whoever catches your heart will be one lucky guy.”

“Thanks for being my hero today,” she smiled up at him through her lashes, a pretty pink tinting her cheeks the only warning he got that she was about to wreck him again. “I think a kiss is the traditional reward?”

“I don’t hold with those kinds of traditions,” he said a little roughly, hand tightening on the rail behind him. “But if you want to kiss me, I’m not about to say no.”

“If I do, are you going to kiss me back?” she asked, and though her tone was teasing her eyes were anxious.

Viperion hummed thoughtfully, the hand on her hip sliding around to press into her lower back, pulling her closer. “I guess that’s just a chance you’ll have to take. If you decide you want to.”

“I want to,” she breathed, and he bent down until his forehead touched hers, eyes on hers the whole time. He felt her breath hitch and closed his eyes, waiting, as always, for her to choose, and trying to pretend his heart wasn’t racing just at the thought.

Her fingertips touched his cheek, hesitating, and then her palm fitted itself to the curve. It occurred to him to be glad he’d had time to shave before Ladybug showed up. He did kiss her back and she grew more confident, pressing into him, and the next thing he knew her hands were in his hair and her tongue was in his mouth and he made an extremely unheroic noise even as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her up into him.

Viperion’s bracelet beeped and he felt Marinette sigh as she pulled back from him. “That means you have to go, right?”

“I, um,” he blinked as she began to back away from him and his hands slid from her back to her arms, and then to her hands, which softly squeezed before letting go completely.

“Please be safe, Viperion,” she said, her brow creasing as she undoubtedly remembered that he still had an akuma to defeat. Viperion swallowed and shook his head quickly, mustering a Chat-worthy grin that was entirely fake.

“Don’t worry,” he winked. “That Akuma’s not even close to being the most dangerous thing I’ve been around today. I’ll be fine. Go inside now and stay there until Ladybug does her thing, okay?” Viperion turned away quickly, pulling in a deep breath before he vaulted over the balcony railing.

***

His bracelet beeped a final warning about three rooftops later. He quickly found a place in the shadow of the building’s roof entry hutch and put his back against the wall. His transformation released and he met Sass’s highly amused eyes before he put his hands on his face and slid to the ground with a muffled whine.

Sass’s hissing laughter was deeply unhelpful.

“Sass,” Luka said from behind his hands. “What the hell was that?”

“At a guess,” Sass replied, smirking—Luka didn’t have to look at him to know it—“Hormonesss.”

Luka slid his hands down to glare at Sass over his fingers. “That’s your input? Ladybug and Marinette both decide to try and make me combust today and the best you’ve got is hormones?”

Sass laughed at him again and Luka groaned.

“What do you wissssh me to sssay?” the kwami chuckled. “I have myssself heard Ladybug refer to Viperion as a ‘ssssnack.’ I don’t sssee any reason Marinette should think differently. Unless I mistake the meaning of the word in this contexsst, that should be ssssufficient anssswer.” He flicked his tail. “Ssssspeaking of which.”

Luka groaned. “I could have lived without knowing that, thanks.” He pulled the little baggie full of chopped hardboiled egg out of his pocket and tossed it to the kwami without even looking. “Eat fast, we have to go meet Ladybug’s other contact.”

Sass just chuckled and pulled the bag open.

***

She didn’t have a lot of time, she was on a schedule, but Marinette couldn’t resist throwing herself on her bed and squealing into her pillow. Then she rolled over onto her back. “I can’t believe I did all that,” she gasped, fingers flying to her lips “What’s wrong with me?”

Tikki floated nearby, giggling. “You like Luka, Marinette, you know you do. I think you just felt a little bit bolder knowing he was wearing the mask.” She flew close and poked Marinette’s cheek. “Was it everything you thought it would be.”

Tikki zipped back quickly as Marinette pulled her pillow back over her red face and squealed into it again. She never thought she would be bold enough to do such things, but...but it felt good. And Luka...he’d been thrown at first, clearly, but then he’d rolled with it, because Luka was super good at rolling with things, even, apparently, if those things included her touching him and teasing him and flirting and trading innuendo she never could have spoken to his unmasked face.

Would it...be like that? If it wasn’t Marinette and Viperion, but Marinette and Luka, and they were in a relationship, is that...is that how it would feel? Not awkward and embarrassing, but...fun and teasing and exciting. Was that how it felt when you liked someone who liked you back? Would he look at her like that every day with those soft eyes, and talk to her in that warm, low voice, and stand with his arm around her, pulling her close into his side, and...and let her kiss him like that...or maybe kiss her like—

She felt Tikki land on her head and pat her hair. “Come on Marinette! You’d better get ready for the next part. You don’t want to keep Viperion waiting,” she finished in a singsong.

“Right,” Marinette sighed. She got off her bed and pulled the Miracle Box out from under it. As soon as it opened, she picked up the mouse Miraculous and weighed it thoughtfully in her hand. It had been a couple of years since Multimouse’s last appearance. Surely she was safe to try it again. Mylène had done a great job with it but she was out of the country on one of her eco projects for the moment, so it was up to Marinette.

Not that she minded the chance to work with Viperion a little longer. Not that she minded at all.

Marinette put on the necklace and smiled at Mullo, eyes sparkling. Moments later, she was leaping off her balcony in the familiar pink and grey suit, on her way to meet Viperion, her heart beating with anticipation.

***

Viperion was leaning against a wall, idly strumming his lyre and daydreaming about Marinette, when his mission partner hit the roof and rolled to her feet. It took him a moment to totally focus on her but when he did it took all of his natural stoicism to keep his jaw from dropping.

That...was not the mouse he expected.

Holy shit.

Until today, Luka would have denied that he had a type, but God. Clearly he was weak for tiny blue-eyed dynamos with dark hair. He’d never seen eyes that could kill like that except on Marinette. Her suit was fitted like Ladybug’s rather than padded and armored like his or Chat’s or Carpace’s, or flared like Rena’s. While all the boys had gotten used to seeing, or avoiding seeing, Ladybug’s curves in the suit, Viperion suddenly realized that the red and black spotted pattern did a much better job of distracting from the more subtle lines of her body, and the new mouse’s light grey suit...did not.

She cleared her throat, and he realized that he was staring at her abs and straightened off the wall, tucking his lyre away.

“Sorry, I was expecting someone else,” he said as smoothly as he could, offering his hand. “Viperion.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said brightly, shaking his hand and then planting one hand on her cocked hip and saluting with the other. “I’m afraid your regularly scheduled mouse couldn’t be here today, so I’m Multimouse, at your service.” She winked one big blue eye and Viperion’s knees went weak.

He decided he was taking a very long, very cold shower when he got home. Assuming he survived. The universe really had it in for him today.

Well it’s a hell of a way to go, he thought to himself, taking a steadying breath.

“Happy to work with you,” Viperion smiled. “I’m sure Ladybug briefed you on the plan, any questions?”

“Plenty,” she grinned with another devastating wink. “But we’re supposed to be working.”

Viperion folded his arms and smirked despite the heat he felt in his face. “I’m almost afraid to ask if there’s anything I should know.”

“Just follow my lead, handsome,” she grinned, turning away as she unlooped her jump rope belt with an entirely unnecessary swing of her hips. “Think you can do that?”

Oh, Mousey was a flirt. He grinned. “I’ll certainly enjoy trying,” he murmured, quiet enough that she could ignore it if she chose.

Instead Multimouse looked back at him over her shoulder with a mischievous smile. “I know you’ve had a long day already, so just let me know if you get tired.”

Viperion chuckled. “I think I’m getting my second wind,” he winked. “By all means, after you.”

“Catch me if you can, handsome!” Multimouse swung from the building and Viperion took a running leap after her.

Multimouse led him to a warehouse, and after he smashed the lock, they slipped inside. It was deserted and Chat was supposed to be keeping the akuma occupied and after his ring, but there was no harm in being cautious. “You’re a handy partner to have,” Multimouse said, looping one arm through his. “This plan shouldn’t be difficult at all.”

“Ladybug did the hard work,” Viperion commented. “I’m just the muscle today. Have to hand it to her, she’s got a mind like a steel trap.”

“Ooh, watch your phrasing,” Multimouse winced, swinging her hip into him. “Remember your company, handsome.”

“Sorry,” Viperion chuckled. “You’re right, poor choice of words.”

“If you’re nice for the rest of the mission maybe I’ll let you make it up to me,” Multimouse teased, fingers curling around his bicep. “Hmm, Ladybug knew what she was doing.”

Viperion plucked her hand off him. “Don’t do that, please.”

“Oh,” her eyes widened slightly, the first sign of hesitancy he’d seen from her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Viiperion told her, squeezing the hand he was still holding before letting go. “I’d just rather we keep this hands off, if you don’t mind. No hard feelings.”

“Sure,” Multimouse perked up again, though he thought he saw a hint of pink under her mask.

“Can’t say I mind being on pretty girl detail for the day,” he said lightly, hoping to put her back at ease. “Where to, ma’am? I’m supposed to follow your lead.”

“This way,” Multimouse tugged him towards a corridor. “The akuma victim rents a space back here to use for her studio. Ladybug wants us to get there, take a look around, and see if we can get the akumatized item. She thinks it’s probably boobytrapped, so that’s where I come in. You’ll set second chance before I go just in case anything goes wrong.”

Viperion followed her and they started slowly down the long, echoey hallway. So much for stealth, he thought, wincing slightly. Multimouse must have thought so too because while she kept her alert posture, she smiled back at him and said, “So, did you know that you came up second on the Ladyblog’s Hottest Hero: Male Edition survey?”

Viperion chuckled awkwardly, trying not to blush. “Chat’s hard to compete with,” he replied with a crooked smile.

“You were robbed, if you ask me,” Multimouse said in a conversational tone, winking at him when he glanced over at her. She really needs to stop doing that. He swallowed and took a slow breath before he answered her. He had a feeling he was going to be doing a lot of belly breathing today.

“Everybody has their own taste,” Viperion shrugged. “Guess not everybody goes for ‘mysterious, aloof, and quiet.’”

“You read your own profile?” Multimouse giggled.

“I was curious,” he grinned. “Haven’t you read yours?”

“Don’t have one,” Multimouse held up her hands and pretended to pout. “I’m so overlooked.”

“I can’t imagine anyone overlooking you.”

“Ooh, flatterer,” she giggled, and then sobered. “This is actually only my second time out. The first time was years ago and it didn’t end so great.”

“Really? That surprises me. You seem so natural,” Viperion said, following her down the corridor.

“Why thank you,” Multimouse grinned over her shoulder at him, and his heart skipped a beat.

Marinette, he reminded himself firmly, although she technically had no claim on him and he certainly had none on her. He blew out another breath, and then inhaled deeply—and abruptly wrinkled his nose. “Fabric dye,” he muttered. He’d been over to Marinette’s once while she was dying fabric and even with her windows open the smell had driven him up to her balcony.

“Yes, this is the place,” Multimouse confirmed. She opened the door a crack and peeked inside, and Viperion readied himself to jerk her back in case of any unexpected surprises. “You don’t have to go any further,” she said, her flirtatious air gone and replaced with an intense focus that impressed him. “I know you hate the smell. Multitude!”

Viperion looked at her sharply but was blinded by the light of her power activating. He took a step back as she glowed brightly, and when he could see again, his partner was gone. He looked down to see the Multimice grinning up at him. One of them waved him down. Viperion knelt and put his hand down. One of the Multimice climbed onto his palm and he lifted her to his face. “I’ll stay with you,” she said cheerfully, hands on her hips. “Wouldn’t want you to get lonely.”

Viperion chuckled. “Welcome aboard.” He brought his hand up to his shoulder and the Multimouse hopped up.

“The rest of me will go scout and report back,” she said, and then pointed to his bracelet. “If you could?”

“Second Chance.” Viperion slid the bracelet back.

The Multimice still on the floor blew him a kiss in unison, and then ran off in different directions. Viperion couldn’t help a smile, though he directed it at the ground. She—they? were really too cute.

“So,” Multimouse said, reclining on her side along his shoulder and propping her face on one hand, “Just you and me now. Does my handsome partner have a girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend,” he sighed, a wistful smile taking over his face. “Just a girl. One amazing girl. You’re cute, Mousey, and I’m sure you’ve got a style of amazing all your own, but my girl...she’s not my girl, she doesn’t like me that way, but...anyway, there’s no one like her. Not even Ladybug.” He looked at her and she jumped, shutting her mouth quickly and looking down as she ran her finger across the texture of his suit. “You? Anyone special in your life?”

“Hmm,” Multimouse twirled her jump rope absently. “Sort of. It’s...complicated.” She sighed dreamily. “And I really wish it wasn’t, because I really do like him. He’s sweet and talented and thoughtful...insightful, really.” She sat up, crossing her legs, and reached up to pinch his cheek, which felt really funny considering how small she was. “Almost as handsome as you. Nice muscles, too, though he doesn’t show them off nearly enough.” She bounced her foot and seemed to consider what she was about to say. “I thought I’d missed my chance though. I kept him waiting for a long time, and—” She looked at him, and then looked away quickly. “I was pretty sure he didn’t feel that way about me anymore, but...I’m starting to wonder if…” He turned his head slightly so that he could see her face better. She was smiling softly down at the jump rope in her hand, biting her full lower lip and blushing. Viperion smiled.

“Well, maybe it’s time you took a little chance then,” he said, shrugging his shoulder just enough to jostle her slightly. “If he’s been waiting all that time, then he’s probably not going to make a move unless you do. He’s kinda put himself out there enough, don’t you think?”

Multimouse frowned, blinking at him. “But if he was still into me, wouldn’t he keep trying? Other...other guys have…”

Luka snorted softly. “Would you like him if he was like ‘other guys?’”

“I’d like him if he was like you,” Multimouse purred, leaning against his neck.

“Right, okay,” Viperion chuckled. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to. I’m just saying, if you are interested, then you’re going to have to make a move, because if he does still have feelings for you, he’s trying to respect you by keeping them to himself.” He turned his face toward her and winked. “Food for thought. Though I’m sure a girl like you has plenty of options.”

“Aw, I’ll bet you say that to all the girls you turn down.”

Luka chuckled. “Believe me, if it weren’t for M—my girl, I’d be first in line.”

Multimouse squeaked and nearly fell backwards off of his shoulder, and Luka bit his lip in a vain effort to contain his grin.

“Need a hand?” he asked, careful not to move.

“No, I’m good!” she gasped, clawing her way back up the seams of his suit. Then she turned her head and brightened. “Oh, here I come!”

The Minimice—nope, Viperion immediately crossed that name out in his mind—the Manymice—no, that was practically the same as Multimice. Copymice? Okay that just sounded dumb. This is why I let Rose write the lyrics, ugh. The Multimice returned, each of them with their arms full of...yarn? Viperion knelt and his Multimouse jumped down from his shoulder. They chattered amongst themselves, talking so fast that Viperion couldn’t quite keep up, and then they lined up and began knotting their pieces of yarn together.

One of them (he wasn’t sure if it was the same one that had been with him all this time; he wished they came in different colors or something so he could tell them apart) turned to him and said, “The akumatized object is defended by a weird sort of...maze made of yarn. Like one of those laser grids you see in spy movies? We’re pretty sure that if we can get above it, we can drop down through the maze. I’m not sure what the strands do but we’d just as soon not find out! I think we’ve got enough pieces here to reach from those girders up there.” She pointed up and Viperion looked up to the girders crossing the warehouse-style ceiling.

“Are you sure it’ll hold?” Viperion frowned. “I don’t want you to fall.”

“Check it,” Multimouse winked at him, holding it up. Viperion took yarn and held it up, inspecting the knots. His eyebrows went up.

“You know your knots,” he said, tugging the yarn carefully. The knots tightened and held. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Oh,” the mini Multimouse’s eyes went wide, and she blushed under her mask. “Umm...a friend taught me.”

“Your special friend?” Viperion teased, “Maybe more special than you said if he taught you knots like these.”

“It is not like that,” Multimouse insisted, growing pinker. She folded her arms and looking away from him. “He spends a lot of time around boats, that’s all. Maybe I should ask how you know them.”

“I’ve spent a little bit of time on boats as well,” Viperion chuckled. “Well, it looks pretty good. I think it should work. Everybody grab on, let’s give it a quick test and make sure it’ll hold your weights.”

The Multimice all grabbed onto the yarn rope in a line, and Luka carefully lifted it by one end, his other hand ready to catch anybody that fell. Finally all of the mice were off the ground, the end of the rope hovering an inch or so above the floor. “Okay,” Viperion nodded. “Okay, looks good. Nice work. I’ll take you up.” He looked up to the steel girders criss-crossing above him and then around, planning his route up.

It took some fumbling but after a few minutes, Viperion got to his feet with his arms full of clinging Multimice. “Everybody good?” he asked. “If you don’t feel secure, now’s the time to say.”

“We’re good!” chorused the girls, and Viperion chuckled, then looked up again and took a deep breath.

“Okay, here we go. One...two…” He felt them grip tighter. “Three!” Viperion leapt, resisting the instinct to use his arms for balance and momentum, and made it up to the steel crossbeam. He blew out a slow breath, relieved as he let the Multimice carefully down on the girder.

“Well done,” one said, patting his hand with a sympathetic look, and Viperion smiled tightly, a little more adrenaline in his system than he wanted to admit to from the effort of getting up here without dropping or crushing anyone.

“Be careful,” he said as the Multimice walked along the girder until they were all gathered above the glowing yarn maze, looking down into the center. Luka followed, careful not to knock anyone off as he looked down.

“Not scared of heights, are you?” Multimouse teased.

“Not at all,” Luka chuckled, sitting down on the girder and hanging his legs off as he looked down. “What is that? It looks like a stapler.”

“It’s a bedazzler,” said Multimouse, and all of them wrinkled their noses at once. “How cheap. Did she really think she was going to pass that off in front of those judges? Audrey Bourgeois might be the queen of glitter but I guarantee you the stuff she uses costs at least a hundred bucks a bottle and cheap rhinestones are not going to cut it. I can just hear her now.” She put her nose in the air, one hand on her hip and the other one out in an affected pose as she flapped her hand. “Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” Viperion’s breath caught, his eyes widening slightly.

“That’s...a pretty good impression,” he said slowly, looking intently at her. “Almost the best one I’ve seen.”

Multimouse just shook her head. “Poor thing was probably humiliated, no wonder Hawkmoth got to her.” She held up the end of their yarn rope. “Would you mind tying it?”

Viperion did so, hands working the tiny yarn rope almost automatically as his mind raced on other matters. He gave the Multimice a thoughtful look, but none of them noticed, all on their hands and knees staring down at the purple bedazzler. “This is really worrying,” one of them commented. “This is the first time an akuma’s actually hidden away from the akumatized person. This one’s simple enough, but they always get smarter.”

When the rope was secure, he lowered it carefully between the strands of the yarn maze. Four Multimice hopped onto it one by one and slid down.

Working together, they knotted the end of the yarn rope securely around the bedazzler, silently thanking Luka for his lessons on knots and ropes, and then one by one the Multimice shimmied back up the rope. Once there, they reformed into one large multimouse, who grinned up at Viperion triumphantly as she reached down and grabbed the yarn rope, hauling the bedazzler up hand over hand. “And there we go,” she grinned triumphantly, sitting down on the beam and crossing her legs, holding out the bedazzler triumphantly.

Viperion was looking at her strangely, one arm folded across his chest and the other propped up on it, fingers pressed to his lips. Multimouse cocked her head, and looked back at him. “Do I have something on my face?” she quipped. “Besides the mask.”

He didn’t answer.

“Care to do the honors?” Multimouse asked, setting the bedazzler down between them.

Viperion wordlessly took his lyre from the small of his back and smashed it down in a quick, violent movement that made Multimouse jump. It did the trick, though, and the akuma floated free.

“Wow,” Multimouse said absently, tracking the little butterfly. “Never thought I’d see you do that with an instrument. I’ll signal Ladybug and meet you on the next roof over.” She got to her feet and leapt nimbly across the beams, following the akuma. When she was sure she was out of Viperion’s sight, she whispered, “Come on out, Tikki.” Tikki popped out of one of her buns and came to float in front of her, beaming. “Ready?” Multimouse asked, and Tikki nodded. “Okay. Mullo, Tikki, unify.” A few minutes later, she’d captured the akuma and tossed her yoyo to cast the cure.

She stood weighing her yoyo in her hand. Technically speaking, Multibug supposed there was no need for her to meet up with Viperion again. She could have just sent him home, which was her original plan. But she hadn’t and he was expecting her and she felt unwilling to disappoint him. Marinette was used to the extra freedom that came with the mask and didn’t usually let it go to her head, but...well. She’d said a lot of things to Viperion today that Marinette had been longing to say to Luka for a while now and it felt good. He deserved to hear that he was brave and strong and kind and wonderful, and nobody said it to him the way they should.

Including her.

“Mullo, Tikki, divide,” she ordered, and Tikki flew free. She took one look at Multimouse’s face and giggled, hiding back in her bun again.

When Multimouse arrived on the roof, Viperion was sitting on the ledge of the roof, one knee bent and one hanging down, his eyes on the lyre in his hands as he idly plucked a tune. He looked like he’d been plucked from the gardens at Versaille and left there by accident. There was something about his posture that made her uneasy and she approached him with a little less swagger than she had planned. She opened her mouth to greet him but he spoke before she could.

“I was just thinking,” he said, eyes still down, “About that girl. The one I’m so crazy about. She’s a lot like you.”

Multimouse rocked back on her heels slightly, trying not to give away how thrown she was. She folded her arms and cocked her shoulders teasingly, closing one eye. “I thought you said there was nobody like her.”

Viperion chuckled, still strumming. Strumming...strumming Marinette’s song, she realized with a sudden jolt. “This girl, she’s amazing. I’ve been in love with her for years. She wasn’t interested though so I’ve been kinda hanging back for a while now.” He shook his head, and Multimouse was having trouble looking away from the fingers plucking the lyre. “I’m starting to think though...maybe she’s changing her mind. Maybe she’s starting to feel a little bit of what I feel for her.”

Marinette felt a thrill that sped up and down her body and took up residence in her stomach, electrifying the butterflies already fluttering there. “You still love her?”

Viperion smiled, and stopped playing, returning his lyre to the small of his back as he cocked his head to look at her, and the look in his eyes took her breath. “More and more as time passes. She just keeps getting more amazing, not less. I’ve dated other people, but never for long. Nobody measures up. I think maybe I can get over her then I see her again and it’s like no time has passed at all.”

Multimouse had no reason to blush at that, she reminded herself. She strolled over to him and turned, flattening her hands on the ledge where he was sitting and leaning back against it. “You should tell her, then. Maybe you’re right and her feelings are changing, but she thinks you’ve moved on so she’s too scared to say anything.”

“Well, you know. I might be wrong, but…” Viperion leaned toward her and put his mouth right by her ear. “I think I just did.”

She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her.

Viperion hopped off the ledge and turned to face her, placing one hand next to her on the ledge as he leaned in close. Just like Luka, she thought distantly, her heart racing, to not trap her in, to leave her an escape. “You know a little too much about me for coincidence, little mouse. And maybe I know you just a little bit too well. I’ve heard you do that Audrey Bourgeois impression a few thousand times.” Multmouse bit her lip. “You’ve been running me a merry chase all day but I’ve caught you now, haven’t I?” Viperion continued, his nose brushed lightly against her cheek, just under her mask. “Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t mind, handsome,” Multimouse said, as bravely as she could manage, even though having him so close was making her heart pound. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“Haven’t you heard?” She could see Viperion’s grin widen out of the corner of her eye. “I’m all about taking chances.”

Multimouse turned her face to give him a Look, lips parted for a retort, but as soon as she turned to him, he dipped down and kissed her—not the soft, careful way she’d always imagined Luka would kiss, but hard and hungry and fierce, like—

Like they were both wearing masks and they could pretend it never happened if they chose. Like it might be the only time she’d ever let him and he intended to make the most of it. Like she’d been torturing him all day and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Like he’d been in love with her for years and was finally feeling a tiny sliver of hope that she might have feelings for him too.

She felt him hesitate and begin to pull back, and suddenly she realized she hadn’t exactly stopped him, but she wasn’t really responding either, too caught off guard to do more than let her lips form to his. And if that wasn’t just like Luka, to kiss her like that and still wait for her.

Marinette might have hesitated. Ladybug would have delivered a lecture on professionalism in the suit.

Multimouse put her arms around his neck to stop his retreat and pressed into him, catching his lower lip between her teeth before pressing her mouth to his. His breath hitched and his hesitation disappeared and then they were really kissing, and it was like kissing him on her balcony only better, because this time he wasn’t shocked and hesitating and acting on instinct.

This time he wanted her and she wanted him and neither of them had to own up to it if they didn’t want to and it made them reckless.

By the time they stopped only his arm around her waist and the hand feeling up her back were keeping her from just toppling over the roof, he’d bent her so far back. They hung there for a moment, panting, and then he slowly straightened, bringing her back upright. He grinned at her, looking extremely pleased with himself as he eyed her. She felt a little cheated that his Miraculous lipstick wasn’t smudged, but his hair was a wreck, which made her smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he told her, voice deeper than she’d ever heard it outside of a performance.

Multimouse slipped out of his arms and turned half-away from him, hands on her hips. “You think you know who I am,” she said, pouting bruised lips. “But that doesn’t mean I know who you are.”

“Hmm,” he smiled indulgently, leaning back against the roof ledge. “If you didn’t know before, I think you know now. I’m planning to be at Cafe Belle about two o’clock tomorrow. If the girl I like just happens to wander by, I’ll ask her to join me for coffee and cheesecake.”

Multimouse wrinkled her nose. “Is that a mouse joke?”

Viperion’s low chuckle made her shiver. “If she doesn’t care for cheesecake I’m sure I can find something to her taste.”

“Hmm,” Multimouse said airily, twirling the end of her jump rope tail as she sauntered away from him. “Well, good luck with that…”

Viperion sighed, head cocking slightly. “I am going to miss that suit.”

Multimouse whirled, her hands on her hips. “And I thought you were such a gentleman.”

Viperion grinned, looking at her through his bangs, his green eyes looking somehow more intense and...predatory than Luka’s usual blue. “I guess we both learned something about each other today. I didn’t know you could be such a tease. You made it an awfully long day today, you know.”

Multimouse cocked a hip and folded her arms. “You still might be wrong.”

Viperion shrugged, but his grin didn’t budge. “Maybe.” He winked. “See you tomorrow.” He kicked up his legs and flipped over the roof ledge behind him.

Multimouse sighed. “I’m going to miss that suit too.”

***

Luka was sweating and exhausted by the time he got back to the boat. He’d run as Viperion as fast and as far as he could, teeth clenched to keep from whooping at the top of his lungs.

Even after his transformation dropped, he sprinted a couple of blocks just on his own. He had, after all, kind of a lot of energy to burn off. Every time he thought he was calming down, he remembered, and a grin split his face and he put on another burst of speed.

He could hear Sass laughing at him in his hood and he couldn’t care at all.

Luka arrived home panting and sweating and dishevelled. That wasn’t unusual for him; if anyone saw him they’d probably assume he’d been at work—which was sort of true, anyway, even if no one knew he occasionally moonlighted as a superhero and made out with pretty girls on rooftops how the hell did this become his life.

Sass eyed Luka as the kwami ate his snack. Luka grinned at him and then at the ground.

“May I asssk what that was?”

Luka shrugged his shoulders without looking up. “Hormones?”

Sass laughed. “Indeed.”

Luka risked a glance at him. “Are you going to yell at me?”

Sass snorted. “I am not. If you wissssh a lecture, I’m sure Ladybug can arrange a disssscusion with Tikki. Persssonally, I think if you are judged worthy to wield me, which you have done resssponssibly for yearsss, it isss reasssonable to asssume you are not a fool. You knew what you were doing, you knew the risssk you were taking. Ladybug trusssts you with the fate of the city; I trussst you to ssstand up to your choicesss, whatever the outcome.”

“I—” Luka sighed. “Thanks, Sass.”

Sass finished his food and came to land on Luka’s shoulder, wrapping his tail lightly around Luka’s neck. He patted Luka’s cheek gently.

Luka put the plate away and went back on deck to wait for Ladybug. Unsurprisingly, given how long it had taken him to get home, he didn’t have to wait long. He was leaning on his elbows staring at the water when her feet hit the deck and the zip of her retracting yoyo.

“You’re not playing your guitar,” she observed.

Luka turned and shrugged. “It’s been kind of a weird day,” he said, handing over the bracelet. “I think I’m still processing it.”

Ladybug’s eyebrow quirked and his heart jumped for no apparent reason. Habit, he supposed, at this point. Gorgeous blue-eyed girls had been wrecking him all day so why should now be any different?

Different.

It...wasn’t different. It wasn’t different at all. Luka swallowed, suddenly staring at Ladybug’s mouth.

“Good weird or bad weird?” Ladybug asked, tilting her head and studying him. He probably looked deranged, he realized, windblown and sweaty and suddenly having a lot of difficulty putting words together.

“Good,” he replied, barely managing not to stutter. “The good kind, the best, actually, um…” He pressed his lips together before he could babble anything else. Ladybug looked like she was fighting a smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am fantastic,” he said, collapsing more than leaning back against the rail. “Couldn’t be better.”

Ladybug giggled. “Well, that’s good to hear.” She gave him a smirk and flung her yoyo. “See you around, Luka.”

“Right,” he said numbly to the empty air, and then he bolted for the door to the cabin. He clattered down the stairs and burst into his thankfully-empty room where he could lose his shit in peace.

It was a little thing, really. Her lips were just a little redder than usual, but it was enough. The eyes, the lips, the hair—holy shit the smirk—he felt like an idiot. Luka’s legs went weak and he sat down on his bed.

He bent his head and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. “I need a shower,” he muttered absently.

“Didn’t you shower this morning?” Juleka grumbled from the doorway.

Luka stripped off his sweaty shirt and threw it in her face. “I’m a guy, I need another one.”

“Eeew!” she squealed, clawing it away. By the time she threw it to the floor, Luka had pushed past her and into the Liberty’s small bathroom, just about the only place where he could actually be alone on the whole boat.

He preferred to be alone while his brain was melting out of his ears.

Multimouse was Marinette. Marinette is Ladybug. It was clear as day now, it just plain wasn’t possible that there were two people like that in the world, let alone three. He felt like such a moron.

Marinette kissed him and he kissed Multmouse who was Marinette who was Ladybug and that he means he kissed Ladybug. Twice! Which, okay, he was in love with Marinette and always had been, and over the moon to have been kissing her, but he’d had some time to process that part and come on. Ladybug. If there was anyone in their age group who was attracted to girls who hadn’t fantasized about kissing Ladybug...well it was no one he’d ever met. Just nobody thought they’d ever actually get to, and he had, and that was kind of blowing his mind.

Juleka would be so jealous if she knew.

Of course she hadn’t been wearing the masks at the time, or at least not that mask, but Luka didn’t care. He’d kiss Marinette in any mask or no mask and he’d wear any damn thing she wanted him to because he was madly, stupidly in love with her, and she was three times as amazing as he ever thought and he had a date with her tomorrow.

After years of silent pining and half-hearted attempts to move on...he had a date with Marinette.

His hands were shaking.

Luka leaned his elbows on the tiny sink and grinned at himself in the mirror, shaking his head.

“You are one lucky bastard,” he muttered to his reflection, and laughed, giddy and breathless.

***

“What am I doing, Tikki?” Marinette breathed as she walked, briskly despite her nerves. “This is crazy. Right? Tell me this is crazy, Tikki.”

“Love is always a little crazy, Marinette,” Tikki giggled, peeking up from Marinette’s purse. “Just give it a chance! For once it’s not the world at stake. And it’s just Luka.”

“Right,” Marinette muttered. “Just Luka, that I climbed all over yesterday and now he knows it was me and—”

“And thinking that he wanted you to meet him today just to reject you would be crazy,” Tikki teased, poking Marinette’s side. “I know it’s scary, Marinette, but this is the good scary! The normal scary! The exciting scary!”

Marinette smiled and put her hand in her purse to stroke Tikki’s head lightly. “Thanks, Tikki.” She promptly faltered a step and tripped. “Oh no, there he is. Just like he said he would be.”

“That’s a good thing, Marinette!” Tikki giggled.

Luka was leaning against the wall between the cafe door and the alley separating it from the next building, hands shoved in his pockets. His jean pockets, because he wasn’t wearing the hoodie that she had seen on him at nearly every encounter for three years, just a Kitty Section t-shirt that Marinette had made him.

And because she’d made it, it fit him perfectly. And without his hoodie, it left his arms mostly bare. Marinette whimpered quietly, cursing yesterday-Marinette for making her admiration of his arms so...obvious.

“You can do it, Marinette,” Tikki whispered, sinking lower into the purse. Marinette gulped in a deep breath and started walking again.

“Hi Luka,” she called as she got closer, “Hey, what a surprise, running into you like this! I was just, um, just out and about.”

Luka looked up, giving her that same warm stare she’d last seen from masked green eyes, and a slow smile that made her skin tingle. “Hey Marinette. Fancy meeting you here. I was just thinking about getting a table to grab some lunch. His smile took on a cocky tilt that she had only rarely seen on him and for a moment she couldn’t decide if she was annoyed by it or something else entirely. “Care to join me? I hear they have great cheesecake here.”

Marinette stood, vibrating in indecision for just a moment. Luka’s eyes didn’t waver.

Well, maybe it’s time you took a little chance then. He’s kinda put himself out there enough, don’t you think?

He was right.

But first things first.

Marinette took a deep breath, steadied her nerves, and in a smoother motion than she would have thought she was capable of outside of the suit, she stepped up to him, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and swung him around into the alley entrance. “Woah,” he yelped, and then his eyes widened further as she planted a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed, backing him further down the (thankfully relatively clean) alley. Something in her face must have given him an inkling of her mood because he was slowly turning very red.

She changed her angle to back him into the wall and kept advancing until she was chest to chest with him, looking up into his face. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, with only a little tremble in her voice though she could feel her hands starting to shake, “Nothing on this earth will save you if you breathe a word of what you think you know to anyone.”

Luka’s eyes couldn’t get any wider. “Of course,” he gasped, breathlessly. “I wouldn’t, I would nev—mmph!” Marinette grabbed the back of his neck and jerked him down into a kiss that was harder than she meant it to be, just out of nerves. He must have liked it well enough, though, because he made the same noise he’d made yesterday when she kissed Viperion on her balcony. That sparked the memory of the look on his face afterwards, which made her giggle, and then she squeaked as he took advantage of her distraction and—wow, pulling him into the alley was a good decision because she did not want any witnesses to this.

This was so much better without the suits, she realized giddily as he pulled her up flush against him. He made that noise again when her hands slid up over his shoulders and slipped into his hair. It felt amazing and she could have kissed him forever but there were things she still needed to say.

Finally she put her hand on his shoulder, pushing lightly, and he stopped and drew back to look at her, lips red and hair even more tousled than usual, and Marinette was grateful he was still holding her because she wasn’t sure she could stand on her own at that point.

“A little mouse told me you still had feelings for me,” Marinette whispered. “Is it true? Because I—” she continued in a rush before he could answer. “Because I definitely have feelings for you and if it’s not true that’s okay, but if it—if it is then maybe we could go have that cheesecake and if you’re free maybe we could go see a movie and—”

He cut her off with another kiss, and it was softer and slower, more tender, more like how she had always imagined Luka would kiss, but it was no less thrilling.

“She also said you were a really good kisser,” Marinette added breathlessly when he drew back.

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth came up in a subtle smirk that she could definitely get used to seeing on him.

“Yeah,” Marinette shrugged one shoulder, aware that her intense blush belied her unusually calm attitude. “So I guess I’m kinda hoping that since she was right about that,” Marinette dropped her eyes and rubbed two fingers against the fabric of his t-shirt, “Maybe she was right about the other thing too?”

“If you mean the fact that I’m even more in love with you than I was the day you tripped into my room,” he lowered his forehead to rest on hers and took a shaky breath. “Then yeah, she was totally right. And that’s one secret I’m more than happy to be rid of.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette sighed, “For keeping you waiting so long, and then hesitating even when I knew what I wanted.”

Luka lifted one hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “If you think I’m even the slightest bit dissatisfied right now then by all means, let me convince you I’m not.” His hand turned and cupped her cheek as he leaned in. Marinette put a finger on his chin and he paused.

“So...about that cheesecake?” she smiled.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he told her, and his eyes—she couldn’t look away. “Today and any day. Every day, if you want. Whatever I have to do to make this real, just tell me, I’m there.”

Marinette smiled slowly. “Silly boy,” she said, letting her finger slide away from his chin. “It’s already real.”

He looked at her with soft eyes, and his voice was warm and low as he said, “Then let’s go have some cheesecake and go watch a movie that, I’m going to warn you now, I have no intention of remembering.” His arm slid around her, pulling her close into his side, and she smiled.

Luka smiled too as they strolled towards the cafe entrance together, not entirely convinced that his feet were touching the ground, and only the persistent pounding assured him his heart was still in his chest.

Luka held open the cafe door for her and she smiled up at him. As she passed him, he took a cookie out of his pocket and slipped it into her purse. He wanted to make a good impression, after all, even if he wasn’t quite ready to tell Marinette he’d figured out more of her secrets than she realized.

@wickidjennie

#quickspins #500 followers #thank you #hope you love it #triple threat #flirting #fluff #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlfics

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 4 years ago

Text

For we rise and we fall, and we crash on the coastlines (Only our love will last 'til the end); Chapter 1

thank you to @drowninginstarlights for editing! Heads up for Travis’ and Gable’s terrible dad’s and mom death!

the journey of a selkie, a cursed fisher, a lighthousekeeper, her aprentice and a very confused mortal as their lives intertwine and the magic around them grows.

or a selkie au with general folklore themes!

In the end, Uriel doesn’t even remember what happened. All they have are pieces of their memories, flashes of knowledge. They remember being afraid of the sea, ever since they were young. They grew up in a big coastal city, where the sea was as much your enemy as your only source of income. They remember their father, a deeply unpleasant man. They remember anger. They remember a fire, and a boat sinking, and they don’t think they’ll ever be sure what actually caused it, but that doesn’t matter. There was no doubt in their father’s mind that it was caused by them.

They remember, before that, being in school and being taught not to curse people, not even as a joke, and certainly not on the sea. Magic is finicky business. It doesn’t take much for things to get out of hand.

So here’s the thing. They remember their father spitting his last words at them, but they can never remember the exact phrasing. Must have been something like “may you dwell upon the sea forever,” or “may you never stray far from the sea.” It must have been, because they remember thinking Odd words for a dying man .

There is power in the last words of a dying man, they did not think.

After that, they couldn’t drown. They remember not being able to drown. They don’t remember the months after, the ones they must have spent on some shore somewhere, slowly realising something in their father’s wording must have made it so they couldn’t die. So they couldn’t ever leave.

They stared out to the vast expanse of the ocean, now both their prison and only companion.

William’s father hated magic. He was a wealthy man whose money made money, and he’d never seen any point in such frilly business as magic.

William’s mother, however, had loved magic. Not only that, she’d respected it, and believed that it was important to teach it, as much as any of the other fundamental truths about the universe. There were even whispers that her own mother had come from the sea itself.

Like anything his father hated and his mother loved, William adored magic. He’d stand and stare with great intent whenever his mother had shown him even the most basic of protection charms. But then she’d fallen ill, and then suddenly she was gone. Really gone, gone as in there was no trace of her left in the house, not even her body. It hadn’t taken long for Father to get rid of all her possessions too.

“She’s gone back to the sea,” William would tell people. They’d look at him uncomfortably, clearly thinking this was just a child struggling to process grief, but he always knew better. The only thing he always wondered is why she hadn’t taken him with her.

Years later, his father was on a trip and William was alone. He had grown up attempting to forget about his mother, about everything, but he couldn’t. He’d grown up to enjoy being left alone in his vast house where he never felt at home, spending the downtime between his father’s presence nursing his wounds.

He stared out of the window of the penthouse, dreading his father’s return, hoping with every inch of him that his father’s ship wouldn’t make it to port.

Eventually, he couldn’t stand there any longer, so he turned inwards. There wasn’t much left of his mother’s teachings in the house, his own memories turned fuzzy with time, but he had managed to snatch a single grimoire from the library. Bargains were easy, he imagined, and especially so for him. He too, in some way, belonged to the sea.

So in the middle of a dark, cold night, while the full moon hung heavy in the sky, he went to plead to the waters.

“I am not, I must admit, entirely sure what this whole deal is,” he said, the moonlight shining off the sand around him, “But you took my mother from me.”

He looked at the lapping edges of the water. The sea remained just the sea. The waves came and went.

“I get that you won’t just drown my father for me, and I don’t particularly have much to offer but-” he shuddered a bit, knowing what he was about to do was cruel and very dangerous, “You can take me, William.”

As he spoke his name, the wind picked up suddenly. It smelt of salt and distant rainfall.

“You can take me like you took my mother,” he continued, “And in exchange, I want you to make sure his ship doesn’t get here.”

The sea seemed to agitate, the waves picking up, dark even in the moonlight.

“Did you hear me?” he yelled, raising his voice over the rushing wind, “You just need to drown-”

As he spoke his father’s true name, the world went black.

He hadn’t expected to wake up, after that. It seemed fair enough, a life for a life. Maybe he would get to be a cool water spirit, scaring tourists. Or maybe a fish, with no memories at all. He did not expect to wake up and find himself a seal.

He knew about selkies, sure, but waking up and being a seal was still a shock. He stared at this new body, his new completely different body, attempting to rationalize what he knew was true - that it was him.

The other thing he did not expect was to wake up looking onto the ocean, and seeing a storm raging. There was a ship, tossing up and down with the waves, a very familiar ship. It was so close to port, but he knew that it couldn’t make it. It was sinking. His father’s ship was sinking.

He knew it was the sea showing him their deal was signed. He hadn’t known, not truly, the enormity of his choice until he stared at it, burning in front of him. He didn’t know how to feel as he stared into the sinking ship.

How many people had he just killed? What was he supposed to do?

He stayed there for a long time, looking on until the ship fully disappeared under the waves. Eventually, when there was nothing but dark wreckage on the surface, he dove down into the water. Time to learn how to be a seal.

At least now he didn’t have to be human anymore. At least then he could swim far away, see where the ocean currents take him.

It’s not like there was anyone at home missing him anyway.

Eventually, Uriel got their hands on two things: a small living, and a fishing boat. The boat was just a little too small for them, but it was cozy. She was old enough that her boards creaked in the wind, ropes faded and fraying, and the paint was so worn that her original name was entirely illegible.

Uriel couldn’t die, and they couldn’t leave the waters for too long,or they got antsy. They’d never gone away for long enough to test the ocean's patience, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the consequences. So living on the water was their only option, and as they still enjoyed food and food cost money, fishing it was.

It was a lonely existence, but they discover you can get used to even the loneliest things. They had eternity in front of them to learn how to do their job, and do it well.

They settled in a small town by the name of Safe Harbour. Uriel knew painfully little of magic to understand the how or why, but the town was protected somehow and the magic was strong. Everyone was perfectly content to buy Uriel’s fish, and never talk to them unless they spoke first.

Routine took over and life was almost pleasant. Uriel wasn’t exactly happy, but they imagined this is as happy as people like them got to be, so they pressed on. There was always more fish to be caught.

William met Uriel the only good way of meeting people, which is while robbing them. By now, he was perfectly capable of hunting for his own food, but it was such a chore, and a boring one at that. Other seals could tell he was different, that the sea owned him in a different way, and anway, he couldn’t actually talk to them. He didn’t have to be a seal, all the time. But it wasn’t like he could really talk to the humans either, and the vulnerability of being human once again always set him on edge. So he stayed a seal, and passed back and forth through towns, being a general nuisance.

The only consistent thing about his life these days was stealing, and that was practically second nature. So he didn’t think anything of it when he swam up to a small fishing vessel to get his lunch for the day.

He managed to climb up on the deck, and was about to flop back into the sea, triumphant with a fish in his mouth, when he heard a loud voice.

“Hey!” they shouted.

He froze, turning to look at the irate fisher. He wasn’t the type to be afraid, not anymore, but this person was incredibly tall with long, flowing hair that was almost stark white tied haphazardly back. They had the look of someone who had been on sea for years, but they also didn’t look older than maybe their late twenties. They were also holding a harpoon, pointed menacingly at him.

He wasn’t the type to be afraid, but he was, perhaps, a little nervous.

“I swear those damn seals get smarter every time,” they muttered.

He dropped the fish out of his mouth and sighed. “I have always been this smart, I'll have you know.”

This made them pause, looking at him baffled for a second before they let out a cry and charged at him with the harpoon.

“Whoa, okay no need to be rude,” he said, attempting to quickly move out of the way. But he was, in fact, a seal, and seals aren’t made for quick motions on land, to his dismay.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. He transformed into a man.

The stranger stopped again, the harpoon dangerously close to his body.

“Who are you? And what are you doing on my boat?” they say.

Travis couldn’t help but grin as he held up his hand, with his fish clutched in it. “I feel like it’s rather obvious.”

Uriel didn’t know how to feel. There was a man on their boat. That’s an undeniable fact. First there had been a seal, and now there was a very annoying silver haired stranger, wearing a ridiculous coat and actively stealing their fish with his bare hands.

They could deal with seals. They could deal with other sea creatures. They weren’t in any way prepared to deal with this.

“Asking for names, just like that?” he said, “How rude of you.”

They could feel more annoyance bubbling up inside them. “I wasn't asking for your name!”

The stranger smirked at them again, clearly enjoying getting them riled up. They should have harpooned him to death then and there. They’ll never know why they didn’t.

“Well, you may call me Travis Matagot anyway,” he said magnanimously, dropping the fish and extending a hand.

They stared at it incredulously, before deciding that their life was already so weird, this might as well happen. They shook it.

“You can call me, uh…” they said. It had been so long since they had to give out names like this. “Gable,” they settled on eventually.

“Like the roof thing,” he said, deadpan.

Gable felt their cheeks heating up. “Shut up!” they said, still holding a lowered harpoon in their other hand, “You were stealing from me, what makes you think-”

“I was hungry,” he said, shrugging. He seemed harmless, if very annoying, so they cautiously put the harpoon down.

“Can’t you fish? You are a seal part of the time, apparently.”

Travis visibly relaxed a little once they’re no longer armed. “Now, why would I, when I can have others do it for me?”

“You could have just asked me,” they said.

Now it was Travis’ turn to be taken aback. He stared at them. “What?” he said.

“I have a lot of fish soup,” Gable said, knowing what they were saying is surreal but being certain that by now they were far too late to stop this trainwreck of a conversation.

“Like in general?” he seemed almost amused.

“I always make too much,” they admit.

That's how Travis ended up in their painfully crowded combined kitchen and living room, his coat draped over the back of the chair he was sitting on, staring at a hot bowl of fish soup.

He almost wondered if he ought to accept food at all, but although he didn’t know what to make of Gable yet, they certainly didn’t seem the type to trap him eternally by feeding him.

Gable stared at him, almost self consciously. He almost wanted to pretend he didn’t like it, just to see how they’d react, but regrettably he was hungrier than he thought, and the soup was surprisingly good.

“You liked it,” they said, grinning.

“It was fine,” he said, stopping himself just short of asking for seconds.

“I have spent a lot of time perfecting that soup, Travis.”

He laughed. Time had been something of a laughable concept for a while now. “Well, can’t have been that long. How old are you, twenty five?”

That made his companion pause. They looked down and, honest to god, started counting on their fingers. “Probably forty by now,” they said, looking at him sheepishly. “No clue what that is in seal-man years, or whatever.”

He stared at them, somewhat intrigued at last. But not enough to pry, certainly. “First of all, you must have heard of selkies before,” he said. They gave him a blank stare that meant they honestly probably hadn’t. “And I don’t know either, we don’t age, exactly.”

Gable shrugged. “Sure, did you want more soup?”

“Well if you insist,” he said, passing his bowl to them.

They fell into this new routine together easily. Travis would come and try and steal things or otherwise be an annoyance. Gable would threaten him with increasingly odd weapons or just bodily throw him off the side.

And sometimes Travis stayed, and ate Gable’s repertoire of fish based dishes, or mucked about in the small space of the boat. They both occasionally went to town, although mostly separately, as Gable had the reputation of a gentle constant and Travis was rather more of a trickster cryptid.

They never talked about the pasts that plagued them or the curses on their heads, and they were both entirely too stubborn to admit this is the happiest they had been in a very, very long time.

There wasn’t a single moment that they realised they had become friends, and certainly not one they acknowledged. There was only a night, and a tipsy Travis falling asleep on the couch, his silver gray coat left behind, still slung over the chair he usually ate at. There was only a morning Gable spent staring at it wistfully, telling themselves they shouldn’t read into it.

There was him waking up, not for a second doubting his coat would still be there, safe and untouched.

And so in the fragile silence of their friendship, time pressed on.

#skyjacks #campaign podcast #campaign skyjacks #travis matagot #gable skyjacks #trable #selkie au

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sandpumpkin · 4 years ago

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Birthday King

Happy Birthday dear Tulip!!!

Selfship ahoy.

Under the cut because it’s a little long.

The moment Hana learnt of Kid’s birthday, she knew exactly what to make for it. Sure it could have been for Christmas but she held birthdays in higher regard. Locking herself in her sewing room, she sketched up her ideas. Needs a hat too..yes..and..some chains?..spikes?...Red..what shade..what fabric?

Once she was happy with the design she hurried to find the one person that knew Kid the best.

“Killer,” she found Killer in the kitchen as usual. He was in the middle of preparing the marinade the beef for cooking later, “sorry..I can come back later-”

“Did you need something?” he asked, noticing the drawing pad she was holding at her chest protectively.

“Yes..I just need your advice on something for Kid’s birthday.” she explained, shuffling nervously on the spot. Maybe this is a bad idea..maybe I should do something less extravagant?

“His birthday? You’ve got a while for that-” Killer hummed, setting a bottle of soy sauce down.

“Oh well..I need to start it soon or I won’t finish it,” walking towards Killer opening the book and showing him it “Sorry about the terrible drawing but..what do you think?” she asked, Killer cleaned his hands and took hold of the sketch pad.

“Isn’t this similar to Roger’s coat?” Killer stated, Hana jolted and panicked.

“Is it too similar? I wanted it to be Pirate king but Kid’s theme..if that makes sense..” she rambled “Oh! This is too much isn’t it?” Killer rested a hand on her head as if he were stopping an alarm clock ringing.

“It's fine, but why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well. He’s going to be King of the pirates eventually right?” Killer nodded “So King needs his robes..or coat in this case. Do you think he’ll like it?” she asked squirming on the spot.

Killer’s shoulders shuddered in a silent laugh and handed her the book back “he’ll love it. Don’t make it too red, a darker red would be better like his old coat, he won’t admit but he liked that coat.”Killer suggested.

“Duly noted! Thank you so much!” Hana smiled brightly and hurried on her way. She had much to do and time was of the essence. Oh...how do I get his measurements?!

“Just measure his current coat.” she replied to her own question out loud “I’m such an idiot.”

She made sure she collected the best fabrics for the coat and used the crew’s help smuggling large amounts of deep red fur and other elements onto the ship. Plaster after plaster was applied to her hands and fingers from her severe concentration. Each chain was clipped and twisted together to get the perfect drape and length. Killer had been roped in to test the width of the coat, since he was closest in shoulder size to the coat’s desired host and Hana’s mannequin lacked big shoulders. “It’s nowhere near finished but what do you think so far?” she asked nervously as Killer carefully set the coat onto the small mannequin best he could.

“It’s good. What are these bits for?” Killer asked, gesturing to the loops and pockets on the inside of the jacket.

“Oh, well you can never have too many pockets and well..maybe a hipflask, extra knives, compass, bullets? Treasure map.. Small stuff..” she rambled nervously, which made Killer uncharastically snort “bad idea?”

“Great idea. You got all bases covered it seems.” Killer ruffled her head and patted her shoulder proudly “keep up the good work. Don’t forget to sleep though.” he scolded.

Hana spent most of her free time toiling away on Kid’s new coat. sometimes losing track of time. It was a lot of new techniques and a good chance to practise her embroidery a little more. I can’t rush it. It has to be perfect!

Thankfully Kid was easily as absorbed in his work but he did start to notice her absence during the day when she would bring him lunch now it was Killer. Kid would grumble when Killer set his lunch on his workbench.

“She’s not your maid you know.” Killer chided,

“I know that, where is she?” Kid asked, sourly shoveling cabbage rolls into his mouth

Killer shrugged “busy.” Killer’s short responses made Kid grumble more.

Kid was not completely blind, he saw the plasters decorated most of her fingers and the weariness in her eyes when she finally shuffled into his cabin at night. But she was tight lipped as ever with her project. Kid had an inkling what she was making, he knew it was for him since everyone went to great lengths to keep him away from her sewing room, ushering him elsewhere with fake problems or promises of alcohol.

What a little troublemaker.

The day of Kid’s birthday came around sooner than she’d realised but it was done. She was proud of it. I hope Kid likes it...maybe I shouldn’t have made the hat. She held the large tricorn with Kid’s pirate logo embroidered on the front with a large feather and golden chain hanging between two of the points in her hands. It’s fine..it looks good.. I just hope he likes it...

Kid was a party person, he loved a good excuse to celebrate and drink and what better excuse than his birthday. Killer had made a huge feast, including his personal favourite: cabbage rolls. The crew often gifted Kid alcohol for his birthday or sometimes they enjoyed giving him prank gifts like: an udon bowl one year. Courtesy of Killer’s mentioning he later found out.

This year was different. This year there was a new addition to the crew. Hana had dressed up especially for this ‘little’ party wearing her best tartan dress and she was smiling and laughing with everyone, enjoying the atmosphere.

Childish as it was, Kid waited expectantly for her gift to be presented but everyone elses gifts were brought round in rotation. Once the last gift had been brought forward, Hana pushed her chair out “excuse me a moment.” she said, resting a hand on his arm and kissing his cheek softly.

Kid slumped in his chair and watched as she left the mess hall with Killer in tow. He grumbled reaching for one of the bottles of whiskey. The crew quickly set to entertaining Kid with various card games.

It felt like an eternity until three sharp knocks at the kitchen door. Everyone stopped what they were doing. “Oh, they're done.”

Kid frowned and watched them all rise looking at him expectantly. Some of the crew have huge grins across their faces: terrible poker faces these idiots.

Wire went first, his tall stature hiding the scene in front of them. They part as they get on deck, Kid still feeling salty about being ditched on his birthday but those feelings are quickly swept away by the crisp sea air when he spotted Hana shuffling nervously.

Once Kid was properly on deck, she stepped aside revealing the mass behind her. She..what a woman.. Kid closed his eyes and chuckled deeply. He recognized the gift before him.

“Happy birthday Kid..” she smiled, watching him stare at the coat taking in all the intricate detail. He almost didn’t watch to touch it. It was a coat that rivaled the great Gol.D Roger. No..this is better. His hand reached for the spiked pauldrons on one side of the side, trailing down to gold chains that formed an elaborate design down the front, the soft short pile fur and on the back his pirate flag carefully embroidered in gold.

“Kid..”

He didn’t reply, pulling his coat off his shoulders, chucking it to one of the crew to catch before he picked up the new coat and threw it over his shoulders, putting his good arm through the sleeve. It was heavy from the fabric and the metal accents but the love that had been woven into the jacket made him feel light as a feather. On one of the inside pockets he noticed a little pumpkin stitched there, he smiled softly, she too shared his dream. One day he would be pirate king and this coat was proof of it. He finally turned to face her with a faux stern look on his face.

"well..Pirate King needs a coat...and I couldn't resist a hat too,” She said, holding out the hat to him. Kid blinked and pulled his goggles around his neck, kneeling slightly to allow her to place the hat upon his head. “Happy Birthday my king." She smiled brightly, cupping his face and kissing him boldly in front of the whole crew.

Kid grinned, scooping her up in his metal arm “guess that makes you my queen then.” Hana blushed and threw her arms around his neck “well then you idiots, let's party and get back to conquering this damn ocean!” The crew cheered around him. “I am going to be Pirate King!” he declared loudly, which made them cheer again. The feel of pride swelling in his chest, how could he fail now with such high hopes resting upon his shoulders as well as such a splendid coat. He was invincible.

#pumpkin writes #eustass kid x pumpkin #eustass captain kid #Selfship #Happy Birthday Kid #softest metal boi

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walkingshcdow-a · 4 years ago

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Title: A Walk in the Garden Summary: Stolas and his Father walk in a garden paradise once more. AU Notes: This is for an AU I’m writing with @mytisanes. In it, Stolas, Blitzo, their children, and Moxxie and Millie are posing as humans in a sort of “Witness Protection Program”. Stolas and Blitzo are “married” and I love everything about this AU. Please note, according to Stolas’ page on the HB wiki, he’s a fallen angel.

They walk together through the garden, father and son. It’s been a while since you could see the resemblance but today it’s clear the father must have had the same dark hair in his youth, the same blue eyes. After all, his children are all in his image.

Stolas folds his hands behind his back to resist the urge to touch. It’s been so long and he wants to know that this is real, that he isn’t baked out of his mind with Loona, celebrating the end of exams for them both. The ground beneath him is soft; the grass springy under bare feet. Maybe this is real. It’s quieter than usual, mid-morning. He looks around for Blitzo or Octavia or Loona; even for Millie and Moxxie next door. He and his father could be alone in the neighborhood, in all the world, for all he can tell. Stolas walks with his father at a leisurely pace and every so often they stop and he tells him a little about the story of how the vegetable garden was started for a project for Octavia’s school or how Loona kept him company with merciless teasing as her snipped roses for Blitzo or how, when he’d come down with the flu, Blitzo and Moxxie and Millie all pitched in to keep the garden flourishing without his constant attentions. He strokes his Demonic Flytrap, which he smuggled seeds from Hell to Earth because he’d developed this subspecies himself. His father says nothing and smiles, hard to read. Stolas gets that from him. It’s a trick he learned in his youth, how to smile without revealing what kind of smile it is. It terrifies him to see his father make such a face. He gestures to the deck, the one that Blitzo insisted on building and only let him help to build because Millie had been too pregnant to help and the girls had homework and he would have rather put up with Stolas’ chipper questions than Moxxie’s because at least Stolas’ came with compliments and other things you didn’t tell your father, even if he was omniscient...

“It was a spectacular weekend,” he tells his father. “Just the two of us, making a home of this place. The girls are begging us for a pool next. We might say yes, but we haven’t given in just yet. It’s hard to deny them anything.”

“It’s always hard to say “no”,” his father says. “You’ve set good boundaries with the girls. I wish I’d set better ones with you and your siblings.”

Stolas blinks and then his eyes narrow. He didn’t expect such candor, so quickly and he doesn’t trust it. Stella used to set traps like this for him, before the fighting lost any veneer of civility. He used to fall for it nearly every time, trusting in her love for him, like a fool. Why trust his father’s love now?

“You set very firm boundaries, Father,” he says. “I can’t imagine what a ‘better’ boundary would have looked like.”

“Clearer,” his father amends. “I wish you all had understood that I didn’t stop loving you just because I told you “no”.”

“I think I understand that now,” Stolas says. He flexes his wings, which he has not worn in thousands of years. They ache with atrophy, trembling a little as he stretches. Will they carry him if he tries to fly? For how long? Will Via have hers, too? Would she have had them anyway, even if they hadn’t ended up here? He imagines her flying and imagines all his panicked rules for safety if and when that happened, smiling sheepishly. “Being a parent grants you a certain perspective.”

“Some of your brothers are parents now, too,” his father says. “It doesn’t guarantee understanding.”

“Yes, well, Luci’s always been a bit stubborn. There’s a reason he reigns over the ring of pride.”

“You didn’t claim a ring for yourself.”

Stolas shrugs. It had been a wise choice on his part - to have some of the power and some of the glory without all of the responsibility and all of the corruption. He wishes he could say it was foresight. He remembers Stella’s ire when he chose the grimoire over a ring of Hell as his spoils of war. You could have been so much more, you pathetic piece of-

“I preferred my freedom,” he says. “I wanted to study....Science, magic, all of creation. Even during the war, I didn’t want to fight. I wanted… this.”

He looks around his garden and sees a set of four bicycles leaned against the siding, shoes scattered by the glass sliding door, the giant plastic recycling bin Blitzo sometimes leaned him over when they wanted to show off for the neighbors. How does he tell his father that this life he’s made is better than anything even the Lord of all creation could have given him?

“You couldn’t have had it in Heaven.”

It’s a statement of fact, but Stolas dares to peer into his father’s face. There’s an ounce of regret in his eyes, making them shine with unshed tears. He will not get an apology. He’s too old and too content to want one, but he tries to cast his memory back to streets of light. What place did a muddy garden have there? And what place did something so alive and lovely have in Imp City?

“I couldn’t have had it in Hell, either,” Stolas says, shrugging. “I suppose I’ve always envied humans. Their lives are brief, but they’re theirs. They live to their accord and they love, my word, do they love as deeply and freely as they choose.”

“You weren’t always unhappy with the choice made for you.”

“No, but matches made in Heaven don’t fare so well in Hell.” A pause. “Why is it that a match made in Hell works as well as mine and Blitzy’s does?”

His father stops walking and sighs slowly, steadily. He looks at Stolas, who only cocks his head.

“Love works in mysterious ways,” his father says.

“So do you.”

“My son, I am more knowable than the power of love. You’ve seen the cosmos: is love common? Does it fit neatly into the sciences you so love?”

Stolas is quiet.

“You won’t take me from him now that....” He lifts his wings feebly. “Or Octavia or Loona or... “

His father puts a hand to his shoulder and it calms Stolas quickly. It quiets him, at least, and that’s something that Blitzo would tell anyone who asked (or didn’t ask) was a challenge not for the faint of heart.

“I will grant you eternity with them.”

“Here?”

“If you wish it.”

Stolas ponders. He thinks of his palace with its hundreds of rooms and how much closer this little house has brought them. He imagines Loona bossing servants around, Octavia searching familiar walls to find unfamiliar portraits, Blitzo picking fights at royal balls or dodging unwanted glances, burning his first marriage bed even though it’s also the first place he made love to Blitzo, too, and trying to convince all of Hell that they were really a happy, blended family, even if his ex-wife tried to kill him for it. He isn’t a half-bad speechmaker. Maybe he can say something to keep the peace, but the other Goetia will not love his family as he does. There would be whispers at best; more assassins at worst. Blitzo deserves to relax enough to take only jobs he wants, not ones he has to take. And the girls… they deserve the world, even if the world is a muddy garden and a little house in the suburbs.

“We cannot return to Hell.”

“No.”

“And your angels won’t welcome Blitzo and Loona into Heaven.”

Stolas’ father winces.

“Nor you. Their union has spoken to me about fears that reformed princes might reclaim their thrones.”

“And if I wanted my throne? And used that power to demand all Heaven accept my husband and daughters?”

“Could you have done such a thing in Hell?”

Again, Stolas is silent, a resounding no.

“Things are going to change,” his father said. “In time. Lucifer’s daughter has a project in Hell that will do great things for people of all realms.”

“That half-way house?” Stolas makes a skeptical sound. His father shoots him a look.

“I am as proud of Charlie as I am of Octavia,” he says sternly enough to kill Stolas’ laughter. “Your niece will do great things and you and your family is a shining example of what is possible for angels and demons, what might come next.”

“I have so many questions-”

And that is when the beach ball hits Stolas squarely in the nose. He opens his eyes to find himself lying in one of the deck chairs above the garden, book open across his chest.

His father is gone.

“Nice shot!” Loona says, bumping Octavia’s shoulder.

“Dad,” Octavia says Stolas groggily sits up. That hadn’t felt like a dream and yet… “Blitzo says the pool company is coming to measure the yard in fifteen minutes.”

“I thought Blitzo and I told you no to the pool…”

The girls exchange glances that say one thing very clearly: ‘Oh, shit’ before dashing around the side of the house. Stolas doesn’t know which of them had called the pool company or how much they had promised to pay, but as he shuffles to his feet, he tries to grab onto the dream as something real once more, wiggling his shoulders in search of the weight of wings. He could have sworn he feels something when he hears Blitzo yell from the front of the house: “Who the fuck called the pool company?!?”

He smiles before going inside. Maybe this is what paradise is, massaging your husband’s shoulders as he curses out the pool company you didn’t contract while saying, “Oh, Blitzy, we did say maybe…. We should have set clearer boundaries with them… but since they took the liberty.... It will do wonders for the resale value of this place and I do so enjoy the sight of you in a bathing suit...”

Yes, maybe this is paradise - the paradise they deserve at any rate, and, my, what a wonderful thing to deserve…!

#;;i used to think that i was bold | {stolas}#x. drabble #mytisanes #r: my knight in shining armor | {stolas x blitzo}

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grandcollections · 4 years ago

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by @bonearenaofmyskull

Summary:

While isolated from the rest of humanity as they escape the United States on their own sailing vessel, Will grapples with what he wants out of his renewed relationship with Hannibal.

Comments:

God, what a lovely, perfectly measured, somber post-fall fic. This is one out of maybe three perfectly executed post-fall fics that are my personal canon. This one... oh, THIS one!!!.... A somber sailboat fic composed of quiet moments and introspection, surprisingly short considering the amount of emotion and resolution it packs in its small real estate, it's the perfect fic to read the very night after you finish the last episode of Hannibal for a good, cleansing cry and a full heart before you go to bed.

Will had been afraid those few weightless moments: afraid and at peace, warmed by Hannibal’s body in his arms, and it had been so right. Right that they should die there together, right that they had killed together, right that Hannibal had known what was coming and still given himself over to Will as they stood on the eroding edge together. It was right when Hannibal’s arms tightened— desperately, compulsively— around Will. In those moments, Will had loved him more than he could reckon.

But here was Will, only a few feet away from him, his fingers thoughtlessly caressing the silver circle of wheel with just the pads, gripping, releasing. There he was, the toes on one foot curling and pressing into Cetus’s decking, his bare feet peeking out from new linen pants, slightly too long without shoes on. There—impossibly there, undeniably there, inconceivably there. Close enough to touch, if Hannibal reached for him. Hannibal stored him up in his mind, in a room encompassing all the oceans of the world.

“You are so consistently insistent," Will said. Hannibal smiled. "And you so persistently resistant."

TLDR: The writing is exquisite— the tone belongs to the show, pairs perfectly with it. It’s full of restrained sensuality, has an amazing grasp on nautical terminology, a mastery of setting the scene in the loveliest way possible, and a real grasp on Hannibal-esque dialogue that was so, so satisfying. It treats both Hannibal and Will individually with such respect; Hannibal’s yearning and penchant for manipulation and his constant pushing, Will’s reservations and melancholy and frustration. Both of their fears and their pain. Hannibal is allowed to be vulnerable and afraid (while giving us heaps of pining and possessive Hannibal) and Will is allowed to be strong in a way that rings true to both their characters. It highlights the bitterly circular nature of their relationship, the way pain and tenderness seem to always be intertwined. The fic has so much angst and little resolution (just how I like it— a bitch likes blue balls). What’s unique about this fic is how it refuses to shy away from any facet of the twisted, tremulous place Hannibal and Will would be post-fall — the immense confusion, the yearning and learning and re-learning, the sea of blood and betrayal between them. This fic is not an ending; it’s a beginning, and that’s its true strength.

(much) more detailed review below the cut!

I'll talk about the writing first! (I'm being shockingly coherent here considering how much I incoherently screamed while reading/ in the fic comments). The TONE! is literal perfection. IMMACULATE. Only a few paragraphs in and I felt like I was watching the show, I FELT the bond between the show and the fic. The aesthetics matched — a feat, as the author manages to do that with such tight, contained writing while the aesthetic of the show is outrageously, extraneously beautiful. At no point does this author resort to flowery writing or extraneous detail— every word is measured, purposeful, bare, yet bursting with feeling.

This translates to one of my favorite aspects of the writing: its restrained sensuality. I say “sensuality” instead of “sexuality” because that’s what it is— gentle, but roiling eroticism, barely communicated in the slightest of details:

He became slowly conscious of Hannibal’s steady gaze on him as he moved. He halted as he came to his door, hand on the latch. Somewhere in the back of his mind those words echoed again—Is Hannibal in love with me?—and Bedelia’s measured tones as she answered... Will turned his head but did not quite look at him. Hannibal’s attention remained steady, intent, curious. “Will?” he asked. Will went inside. Thereafter the association had him and would not let him go. He became aware of Hannibal’s attention in a manner he had never thought about much before.

... but instead he stayed with Hannibal, watching Hannibal’s face just inches from his own. Hannibal licked his lips and continued to apply pressure, watching Will watch him. They remained in this tableau, waiting for deliverance.

Hannibal peeled the shrimp and removed the veins with deft turns of his wrists, his sleeves rolled up halfway to his elbows. “I can help with that,” Will said.

Will could not resist testing his hand’s movement and felt it brush against the seam on the inside of Hannibal’s thigh. “Try to be still,” Hannibal murmured. He ran his warm palm over the muscles of Will’s shoulder again, much the same as he had smoothed the blanket fifteen minutes before, and as he had once drawn a blanket over Will’s chilled form and caressed him, Will thought idly, mere hours after shoving Abigail’s ear down his throat.

Hannibal’s lips were parted, and Will could feel his warm breath. He knew the look without needing to see it clearly: admiration and ache warring equally over his chiseled features. Consuming, as always. Drinking him in. Taking. He wondered what Hannibal saw in his own face.

What’s glorious about this style of muted sensuality is that the power is all left to the implications — which are infinitely more than a scene in which a finite ~thing~ happens— to what’s unsaid, not done (but yearned for). Yearning (oh, there is so much yearning) takes a front seat. As a huge fan of Hemingway’s iceberg theory and contained writing in general, I loved this style.

The physical descriptions of the boat and the beauty of the sea were always lovely and anchoring. This author has a ridiculous command of the nautical world, and even if I didn’t understand all of it I deeply appreciated the attention to detail —

Hannibal had been a long time indoors and not a molecule of this natural beauty was lost on him. But mostly he watched Will. Will did not see this world of ultraviolet glare and sunblind desaturation as Hannibal did, but rather with the eye of a mariner and a fisherman. In the previous week, Hannibal had coaxed him into voicing some of his observations, and seeing life through Will's eyes had been in its way as fascinating as viewing death. A loon's laughing cry rose and passed on more than one occasion, and Will commented that it was a good sign for the fishery, that there must be a good number of menhaden, a baitfish, in the Bay that year...

A diffuse glow of sunlight illuminated his face from below, as the sun peeked through the skylights and lit up the woodwork and white upholstery in the saloon. It warmed the recesses of Hannibal’s sculpted face and made his eyes glow, more amber than brown.

There was no word on the weather, of the hot and unnatural stillness that held Hannibal and himself in its unrelenting grip.

The quotes at the beginnings of the chapters were also a really nice touch!

Hannibal's voice, his elite brand of dialogue— cyclical, cutting, seemingly random but never actually so— is captured perfectly; a difficult feat. It was so satisfying to read:

“Moments are all that we need, Will. Enough moments, strung together, make eternity.”

"To feel intensely is not a symptom of weakness, Will. It's the mark of the truly alive."

This makes the hannigram conversations feel so authentic, so classically them, with Hannibal's philosophical overtures, the religious imagery, the refusing to shy away from previous interactions/conflict between them, and prodding and digging into Will as he loves to do, as he can't resist doing. Combined with Will’s insolence and the way he can surprise Hannibal, can (briefly) render hims speechless, the conversations could be scenes pulled from the show.

I deeply loved and appreciated the instances of Hannibal pushing, of refusing to let things go (more on that later), of behaving instinctually (especially when Will pulls strong emotion from him). It rings so true to the character— Hannibal’s worst vice (with Will at least) is his inability to control his black impulses when he's overcome with feeling when it comes to Will, especially if it's negative, burning emotion like betrayal, jealousy, or hurt. (See: Mizumono, Dolce). Then Hannibal becomes a viper, lunging and striking without thinking, poisoning the space between them.

Hannibal’s continuous pushing was a product of the author refusing to ignore the latent issues that would lie between our favorite murder husbands post-fall. A lot of fics jump straight into murder-husbands epilogue or Will-is-immediately-as-bloodthirsty-and-happily-cannibalistic-as-Hannibal (and I'm not gonna lie there's a couple of those that are favorites, writing makes all the difference for me) but this fic doesn't do that. I’ll admit that it’s very much not a focus of the fic, there is absolutely no exploration of how Will feels about killing or cannibalism, if he felt powerful, if he wants to chase that feeling, no exploration of “it’s beautiful”. It’s not a weakness of the fic, just very glaringly not a part of it. This fic is severely focused on Hannigram’s complicated feelings about each other, in a dreamlike isolated place. The fic doesn’t bother itself with morality, doesn’t place judgement, positive or negative, on any of those acts. It also doesn’t dismiss them from the future, and any realistic future would involve such acts. As I said before, this fic is a beginning.

But, yes, back to my point! The fic touches on issues such as Abigail, Molly and Walter, and even the fall off the cliff by having Hannibal push Will again and again (even literally). I’m hesitant to say “explores” rather than “touches on” because it doesn’t do that, doesn’t provide a full resolution— it acknowledges these issues, establishes that they would be part of a continued conversation, and moves on. (Like I said; a beginning).

Although Will rarely (or may actually never) bring up any of his own issues— he only engages when forced to by Hannibal— he does display strength in typical Will ways, through resistance and insolence.

What Hannibal wanted was what Will had shared with Molly and Walter... He did not want to give these things to Hannibal.

A lot of fics will have Will either shy away from any discussion of Molly and Walter, because they’re ugly and difficult to execute well, and so they are erased as if they never existed— or they will simply have Will completely demote and reject Molly and Walter and the life he lived in Maine. But in this fic, Will is still protective of them, even as a memory, even as something that exists completely in the past, even as he moves forward with Hannibal. It’s a display of strength, of non-compliance, that I love.

Will shows strength in other ways, too. While he doesn’t start many of the difficult conversations as Hannibal does (as only insightful Hannibal can do), once engaged he’s present and sharp, sometimes unyielding and even hurtful. Will doesn’t shy away from the bitterness of the walls placed between them, walls that aren’t made of matter but of space— space Will placed between them, space Hannibal took (and continues to try to take) from him.

The result are many (beautiful) references to their past, to the rivers of blood between them:

The grief of their years apart flooded after, with the weight of what they had done to each other and what they had suffered at each other’s hands. The shadows of pain and stains of blood surrounded them, filling the boat, threatening to sink it and carry them both to the bottom of the sea.

He had been sure, and he was still sure- they had to deal with each other, to grope their way through their shared maze of long-stored griefs and the dead ends of failed trust.

Hannibal had awoken, and Will’s peace fled.

This last gutting quote takes me to another hallmark of this fic for me— a truly beautiful and mature display of their mutual unhappiness, a living example of “be careful what you wish for”. Both men have wished for this (for different lengths of time and in different degrees, yes, but they wished for it)— to be alone together, which is to not be alone, finally (“we are both alone without each other”). But now that they have it, they learn that they have to actually be together, and that perhaps they don’t know to do that, or at least how best to do that. They learn that there’s so much pain and unresolved emotion to contend with, when faced with the nothing but the other and time.

And so, after the story ends, they don’t leap into happily-ever-after. Instead, they leap into explorations of their unresolved feelings and their own failings. There’s such a deep understanding of both men’s failings, the unique ways in which their hearts are broken — there’s even a beautiful mirror where both men (separately) reflect on the ways in which they’re not enough for the other.

As then, Hannibal knew he had little with which to fight this enemy. He had no secrets left to reveal, no curiosity to exploit, no monsters to fight, no daughter to share, no one left to save but Will himself. He had only Hannibal Lecter, and that had never been enough.

Will wondered what equally tender and ravenous urge had brought Hannibal forward to watch over him while he slept... He tried to imagine if there might ever be any way he could give Hannibal enough to sate him. Maybe there was, if Hannibal had succeeded in sawing his way into Will’s head and eaten his brain after all. Will could not see it otherwise. The whole of Will’s entire life and being was not enough. It had never been enough.

This whole thing is both gorgeous and tragic, both of them harboring imagined shortcomings and impossible desires. Will wonders if literal consumption, to be eaten or allowing himself to be possessed in every other way, is the only thing that will sate Hannibal. And this Will is, very definitively, not willing to do that. (I’m not averse to fics where Will is— when done well, it’s supremely good). And Hannibal has always used Something Else to hook Will, to keep Will, and so the tragedy is in the hypothetical— what could have happened had he resisted some of his own worst impulses? Did Hannibal behave this way because of Will’s resistance, or would Will not have resisted him, rejected him, had he not been so manipulative, coercive, demanding, taking? *Sigh.* I also love that Hannibal is allowed to acknowledge his own failings and betrayals in this fic; it doesn’t always exists in post-fall fics (again, it's usually Will apologizing for his false life with Molly, etc). It makes for some delicious angst.

And my god, is the angst good! Striking, painful, gutting, love that for meee!!!! (I genuinely do!)

Will did not speak, not even to thank Hannibal. It stung.

BABEYYYY NOOOO why do the SIMPLEST sentences fucking destROYYYY me?!!

Does that make you feel better?” Will asked in a low voice. “It’s not enough that you take everything else—you have to take even the symbols of anything I had that wasn’t about you?”

Reaching out, he gripped the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt in his hand, closing his fist around it slowly. “Maybe that should tell you something.” Hannibal twitched slightly—Will had caught some of his chest hair—but he remained passive. It was Will’s weak arm, his right, and so the gesture was just that: a gesture, made for no better reason than emphasis. But it felt good to have Hannibal under him, looking surprised.... “What should it tell me, Will?” “Some things”—Will breathed deeply through his nose, trying to steady himself—“do not belong to you.” His voice came low and quiet. Hannibal’s hand came up and touched his arm, moving up to the recently injured shoulder, running his palm over Will’s shirt, passing his fingers over the roughness of scars beneath. “I only wish to know you.”

literally SCREAMING INCOHERENTLY!!! I haven’t even used the worst (best) angsty bits — gotta save something for the actual fic! so go go go!!!

This deep understanding of both Will and Hannibal as separate individuals shines throughout the fic, but I’d like to showcase some really strong character lines. On Hannibal:

Hannibal was pleased with his age and the experiences that fueled it: every moment he lived he had snatched from God’s own sticky fingers.

He knew that Hannibal could and did partition his mind against such associations, that his affection was every bit as real as his violence... He could only find and explore this newly tender and painful place within him, like a man who cannot keep from tonguing an aching tooth.

... the mercurial author of both his pain and his relief.

He had probably investigated all of Will's belongings at some point.

Hannibal could believe, but he could never know.

(^ one of my favorite parts of the fic; the recurring explanation of Hannibal’s desire to possess Will is a product of his fear of not knowing him. This line is so simple and well done, yet full of anguish.)

Will had seen Hannibal’s heart break enough times to recognize it in his stillness, in the slight thrust of his jaw beneath closed lips, in the shifts between denial and acceptance in his brown eyes, which could find no safe place to rest in the landscape of Will’s face.

(i’m EMO.) Okayokay, Will’s character lines are just as fantastic:

He would be unable to tend his right arm well with his left hand, and Hannibal would insist, and he would be forced to give in. Will wished it did not matter.

(THIS. LINE. So much communicated about Will's mingled frustration and acceptance, about the power imbalance in this relationship, in just six words.?

He was so tired of it-tired of the vulnerability, of dependency, tired of the torture of needing comfort, of wanting comfort from his tormentor.

Will had adopted his trademark flat affect by the second of these sessions. He would stare ahead, at the pulse at the base of Hannibal’s throat, following Hannibal’s instructions to the letter, but he might as well have been the walking dead for all the emotion he expressed. He spoke when spoken to and offered nothing. (my chest hurts, oh will)

Will was a dark presence near him, slim and sharp as a cutlass.

And then he smiled, gray eyes lifting to Hannibal’s, bringing Hannibal’s heart into his throat. He smiled that sad smile of his, the smile that could contain oceans of sweetness and bitterness all at once.

✨ and this line, that encompasses both of them:

It still hurt, to be so vulnerable. It hurt that Hannibal had turned on him and could have drowned him or let him drown, yet again after so many times down this path. It hurt that Hannibal lived day to day and moment to moment, awaiting Will’s next betrayal.

and oh, oh this fic is rife with lovely hannigram passages:

Hannibal seemed to sense his weariness. “We’re always braver in the face of our own pain than in the face of the pain of those we love,” he said quietly. He turned his attention back to Will’s arm and let the conversation rest.

Is Hannibal in love with me? he had asked... Will had been enormously afraid of either answer. Hannibal continued to cut the bell pepper in to a twisting spiral of red, his face and body still, only his hands working. “I thought of you,” Will said finally. “Often.” Hannibal’s breath released in a slow sigh. Will watched the words fill him up, set him to rest, with no outward change in his demeanor. He wished it were always so easy. Or had it always been?

His movements were slow and deliberate, less like a doctor at work than a supplicant at prayer.

(^ okokok i'm NOT going feral i'm NOT! supplication/worship/devotee imagery in tender moments between lovers/from a hopeful lover to the object of his/her devotion is my WEAKNESS)

What would you give me?” Will asked finally. “What would you have of me?” “Would you give me”—Will articulated slowly, deliberately—“Bedelia du Maurier?” Hannibal felt a thrill of surprise in his chest. Will was steady, studying. Hannibal watched the gray-blue of his irises. His pupils were constricted in the harsh daylight. “Do you want her?” Hannibal asked curiously. “No.” “I would deny you nothing.”

But, there is resolution. (Some). There is peace to be found. It comes in the form of Will letting go of the desire to ever kill Hannibal:

... dim memory of the thrill he used to get while imagining killing Hannibal came and went, just a phantom—powerless, soon forgotten. There was something freeing in the knowledge that he could not kill Hannibal even if he tried.... Will held himself over Hannibal for several long seconds. He imagined hurting him, pressing a knee to his throat and crushing his voice box, silencing that voice forever. No thrill accompanied the thought now. No pain, either. Nothing. He would never do it, he knew; he had taken his opportunity at the top of the cliff, and it would never return.

and is completed when he lets go: All of it was lost to the sea.

There is such tangible relief in Will’s deciding to let go of any illusions of killing Hannibal, and in releasing his pain to the sea. (And remember, the entire premise of this fic is Will deciding what he wants from Hannibal in this new life they find themselves in... and he decides.) With it comes such hard won, painful freedom. I literally felt a surge of relief and a burden dropped; Will’s. He is freed from having to "seek justice" or do the right thing. It's over. He can just, BE (whatever that looks like).

ps: I haven’t quoted too much from the last two chapters, as that’s where the most “plot” happens and they’re phenomenal and I can’t just copy and paste the whole chapters here. Please, just go read it! And I will link my comments: chapter 13 | chapter 14

I just... can’t say enough good things about this fic, but I’ve thoughtfully laid out everything major. It’s tremendous, satisfying, lovely. Go give it a read.

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sesamestreep · 4 years ago

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stack the deck with wild cards (chapter 6)

(read on AO3)

(start from the beginning)

SUMMARY: One year later...

A/N: Here is the epilogue for my Obvious Child AU, which might be dorky but I really wanted to write some fluff to cap the whole thing off. Still mild content warnings for abortion and pregnancy here, so please check the AO3 link if you need more info on that. I can’t even begin to express my gratitude for the response this fic has gotten, everyone has been so lovely, and I want y’all to know how much it means to me. It may be September but you’re all my Valentines.

Jyn wakes up alone, which is surprising. It’s Saturday, so Cassian doesn’t have to work and he normally sleeps in like a teenager on the weekends, a habit she’d found hilarious at first. She would have figured him for an early riser, always up at the crack of dawn to work on some project or other, but more often than not, she’s up before him, sketching in bed until he finally wakes up. It was endearing, really, especially after she’d spent so much time thinking he was this perfectly responsible adult, to realize he had quirks just like anyone else, and not just the saintly or admirable kind, like how he can never leave his job at the office or how invested he gets in local elections no one else has even heard of. Being alone in bed on the weekend is unusual for her now that she's adjusted to his habits, though, and when she checks the clock on the bedside table, it’s only just past nine, which elevates this situation from weird to concerning. Even if he’s awake at this hour, he’s never out of bed by now. She throws off the covers and immediately regrets it when the cold air hits her all at once. Cassian better have a good reason for making her get out of bed to look for him, because she’d much rather stay under the cocoon of blankets all day.

For all Jyn’s concern, the mystery of his whereabouts is easily solved. She can hear him tinkering around in the kitchen before she turns the corner and sees him standing there, measuring flour into a mixing bowl. There’s ingredients scattered in front of him, and a container of strawberries sitting open on the part of the counter Jyn leans her hip against to watch him. She can smell coffee brewing too.

“Good morning,” she says, smiling at him.

He must be truly distracted, because he actually jumps at the sound of her voice. Normally, he’s pretty difficult to startle. “Jyn,” he says, like he’s somehow surprised to find her in his apartment. “You’re up early.”

“Not as early as you,” she replies. “What’s all this?”

“Uh, it’s…nothing.”

“Try again.”

Cassian sighs, defeated. “It’s for you. Well, it’s for us. For our anniversary.”

“What?”

“I was going to make you breakfast for our anniversary. It was going to be a surprise, but you woke up earlier than I expected.”

“It’s not our anniversary,” Jyn says, flatly.

He looks at her with concern. “Yes, it is,” he says, carefully. “We started dating a year ago.”

“That can’t be true. It can’t be a year already.”

“Well, it’s pretty easy to remember, since our anniversary is Valentine’s Day.”

Jyn groans and buries her face in her hands. “I’m the worst girlfriend in the history of the world.”

“That’s not true.”

“I forgot our anniversary and Valentine’s Day, Cassian! That’s awful!”

“I should have reminded you,” he says, like this is his fault somehow. “I just got caught up with the idea of surprising you with breakfast and I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He waves her apology away stiffly. “It’s okay. Really. You told me you weren’t into Valentine’s Day when we started dating. I didn’t expect anything.”

“I didn’t even know you counted today as our anniversary!”

“When else would it be?”

Jyn gestures emphatically at nothing in particular. “I don’t know, maybe not the day I got an abortion?”

“But that was our first date.”

“Most people wouldn’t find that romantic.”

“Most people would be wrong, then,” he says with a shrug, as he continues measuring out flour. “I thought it was very romantic.”

Jyn thinks back to that day, which was somehow a year ago. It feels simultaneously like it just happened and like it’s been an eternity since then. She thinks about Cassian bringing her flowers and holding her hand in the cab on the way to her appointment, about him keeping her calm in the waiting room by attempting a crossword in People Magazine that he clearly knew none of the answers to and asking for her help with all of them, and about him telling her later that he’d passed the time during her procedure by answering emails on his phone until his supervisor called and yelled at him for working when he’d called out for the day. She remembers him getting them a cab back to her place, even though she was still a little out of it from the anesthesia at the time, and that he made them tea in her tiny kitchen before convincing her to watch ‘The Sound of Music’ for the first time because it was his go-to sick day movie ever since he was a kid.

(She found out later that it’s actually his grandmother’s favorite movie because apparently Captain Von Trapp reminds her of her late husband, or so she told Cassian when he was a kid. She was always the one who stayed with him if he was home sick from school, because both his parents still had to go to work, which is how her favorite movie became his sick day movie, but it took him having a nasty head cold three months into them dating before he admitted any of this to Jyn. Until then, she just thought he really liked musicals).

She also remembers falling asleep after maybe thirty minutes of the movie, even though she really wanted to stay awake because Cassian had seemed so excited for her to see it. She drifted off to the feeling of him brushing his fingers gently through her hair and, when she woke up, it was the next morning and she was in her bed, which meant he’d carried her there from the couch and she’d been asleep the whole time, which was just unfair. He did have the good sense not to try to be chivalrous with her by sleeping on the floor or, worse, on the couch, so at least she’d gotten to wake up next to him, a pleasure she’d missed out on the first time they’d hooked up, when she’d fled immediately afterwards to avoid the very intimacy she found herself enjoying that day.

“You’re right,” she says, now, wrapping her arms around his middle. “It was romantic.”

Cassian lifts his arm to make room for her and then drapes it around her shoulders to pull her in closer. “But if you’d rather use a different day for our anniversary, we can. These can just be Valentine’s Day waffles.”

“You’re making me waffles?!”

“Yes?” He replies, sounding wary, like he’s afraid he’s done something wrong. She shouldn’t have yelled. That was probably confusing for him.

“God, I love you,” she says, pulling him down for a kiss that’s meant to be quick but then she gets distracted because kissing him is still so much fun, even though she can do it whenever she wants now.

“They’re not—that hard—to make,” he says, or tries to, between kisses. He seems like he might try to argue the point further, which Jyn absolutely doesn’t want to happen, so she slips her tongue into his mouth and deepens their kiss, making him groan in a way she recognizes as a sound of defeat. A moment later, he throws his arms around her waist and lifts her up onto the counter, narrowly avoiding knocking over the mixing bowl in the process.

She parts her legs so he can step in between them and smiles when he kisses her again. This is the thing they’ve always been good at, even before they were dating. She had worried (clearly unnecessarily) that putting a label on it, being serious and exclusive, would ruin this, but if anything, it’s only gotten better with time. The efforts she’d made to keep him at a distance during their first time together only seemed more and more foolish as she got to know him better and saw the lengths he went to in order to satisfy her and make her happy.

Her initial proposal, when they finally got their shit together and started dating, was for them to take things slow—at least, emotionally. When it came to their physical relationship, the doctor had told her she could have sex again as soon as she felt ready, which only took about a week after the abortion. Cassian was, of course, trying to be careful about it, not wanting to rush her when she’d been so clear about needing to ease her way back into dating. His gentlemanly willpower held out a little longer than she expected, leading Jyn to unapologetically sabotage their second attempt at a movie night together by making out with him the whole time and they’d ended up having sex right there on the couch. She can’t even remember what movie they were trying to watch that night.

Then again, sex had always been the easy part for them; it was everything else that was tricky. Jyn’s rules—don’t put a label on it, don’t call it a relationship, just take things slow—had worked wonders in the beginning, but the longer they dated, the more it was clear they needed to call this something . Jyn was surprised to find the idea didn’t terrify her as much as it once had and it only took one long weekend where Cassian was laid out by an awful cold and she made him (store bought and microwaved) soup while finally seeing ‘The Sound of Music’ all the way through (several times, in fact) before she realized that, whether she admitted it to herself or not, she was in a serious relationship. When Cassian finally recovered, he thanked her a little too profusely for taking care of him, and Jyn had been so flustered by his praise that she’d blurted out that she loved him before she could talk herself out of it. She would have been much more embarrassed if his face hadn’t lit up with the most beautiful smile as soon as she said it, and if he hadn’t kissed her senseless a moment later, saying he loved her too whenever they came up for air.

She doesn’t tell him now that, if she had to pick a date for their anniversary, it would be then, the day she finally got over herself and told him she loved him. Because that would be sappy and embarrassing and also his idea seems much easier to remember for next year, anyway.

“I’m going to make this up to you,” she says, against his mouth, as his hands are creeping up under her t-shirt.

Cassian laughs. “Are you going to get me one of those giant stuffed bears from Duane Reade with the hearts that say ‘I Love You Bear-y Much’ on them?”

“If that’s what you want,” Jyn says, pulling back to look at him quizzically. “I was just going to let you fuck me on the kitchen counter, but it’s up to you.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

“Oh my god, you’d rather have the bear, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” he says, burying his face in her shoulder. “I already know you love me bear-y much. I don’t need anything to remind me.”

Jyn swats at him half-heartedly. “Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just…this is where we prepare our food. It doesn’t feel sanitary to, well, you know…”

“Are you telling me that—on our anniversary of all days—you’d rather have boring, normal sex instead of weird, potentially unsanitary sex in the kitchen that you share with a roommate and where you’re currently preparing a meal?”

Cassian nods, looking like he’s putting on a contrite expression just for her sake. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes. Although, I don’t know if concern for Bodhi should even merit a mention. We both know he barely lives here anymore.”

Jyn does her best not to react to that, even though she knows Cassian is right. Bodhi is away for the weekend with Taidu and she’s fairly sure one or both of them are going to broach the topic of moving in together finally, since Bodhi spends most nights at Taidu’s studio apartment anyway, because it grants him access to a dog while also allowing him to spend more time alone with his boyfriend that he loves. If they move in together, though, that leaves Cassian without a roommate, which means he and Jyn will probably have to have a conversation about where their relationship is going.

It’s sooner than she’d normally consider even the possibility of moving in with someone, but she barely tolerates her current roommate as it is and, more importantly, she could see herself living with Cassian. It’s almost too easy to picture. Before, with Reece, they’d hit the two-year mark and she’d told herself that living together was the next logical step but it hadn’t been because she’d truly wanted it. It was just something people in relationships were supposed to do when they’d been together that long. Now, though, their circumstances might necessitate the conversation, but her excitement outweighs her feeling of obligation. It doesn’t stop her from being terrified that Cassian will think it’s too soon and she’ll scare him off, though, but they can burn that bridge when they get to it. There’s nothing to worry about until Bodhi comes home with news.

“And besides,” Cassian continues, interrupting her thoughts, “I wouldn’t call it boring to have sex with my beautiful girlfriend in our soft bed on our anniversary. That’s basically the dream.”

“Sap,” Jyn says, poking his cheek with her index finger and ignoring the way her heart races at how he thinks of the bed as theirs . “Can we at least bring the strawberries with us? Or is that too wild for you?”

“What are they gonna do, watch?”

“No, dumbass, we’re going to eat them. You know… sensually .”

“You can just admit you’re hungry,” he says, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“That too,” she says, smiling. He hands her the carton before he unceremoniously lifts her off the counter. She thinks he’s going to put her down at first, but he seems content to carry her all the way back to the bedroom. She makes an inelegant noise of surprise when he tosses her on the bed, which just makes him laugh in response.

“What? I thought you were worried our sex life was getting boring,” he says, unapologetically proud of himself.

She tosses the strawberries onto the side table, so her hands are free to grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss. “I promise I’m going to remember our anniversary next year,” she says, as he settles on top of her. “You’re not going to be able to move for Duane Reade bears.”

She expects him to smile at that, to laugh it off and kiss her again, but instead he stills. His eyes search her face as his hand comes to cup her cheek. “Next year?” He asks, his tone careful.

Jyn feels her heartbeat stutter in her chest—the old nerves and worries haven’t abandoned her completely, after all—but she still manages a smile before she leans in and kisses him again. “Next year,” she says, firmly. She can’t be sure, of course, but she has faith they’ll make it.

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #rogue one #stack the deck verse #obvious child #obvious child AU #star wars #pregnancy #pregnancy tw #abortion #abortion tw #my fic #my writing #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since #yes i am imagining that summary in the spongebob narrator voice thank you for asking #in conclusion REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS FOR EVERYBODY!!!

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dearophelia · 5 years ago

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gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 8

chapter 08: let it all come crashing down

An old friend from home needs to speak with you. [read on AO3]

(eternal thanks to @nightingaleseeking and @tarysande for their cheerleading on this project!!)

James reads the message again. And then a third time. The nine words don't change.

Mission FUBAR. Team captured. AA guns online. Nora compromised.

“Shit." The message is dated two days ago, picked up and forwarded by a long-range vorcha comm buoy this morning.

He takes a mental inventory. Chen and Rahiri are back from their mission, but Deck’s team isn’t due back for another three days. He checks the N team roster and comes up empty. Not even a single N1. He sends a message to Abby, hoping she knows something he doesn’t about who's available for a rescue mission, and then dials Liara.

The connection takes a while to establish as it navigates through Liara’s security measures. Though the delay isn’t any longer than usual, James starts to fidget in the silence.

“James,” she answers, smiling. But her smile fades instantly upon seeing his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to send a few agents out to Zorya. Follow up on that Cerberus intel you passed us. Immediately. Please,” he adds as an afterthought.

Her brow furrows, but she taps at her console out of view. “Done. What’s going on?”

Even if he wanted to, there’s no sense in hiding it from Liara: she’ll find out as soon as her agents report back. “I sent a squad to check it out. They’ve run into some trouble.” He pauses. “A lot of trouble,” he corrects the understatement. “And Nora’s on the team.”

Liara blinks at him a few times and her eyes widen. “Do you think –” she cuts herself off, as if not even wanting to imagine the end of that sentence, let alone speak it into the universe.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “They got a message out and that’s what it sounds like.”

“Goddess,” Liara exhales. “James, you have to tell her.”

“I’m not telling Shepard I lost her kid.” He’s certainly not telling Shepard that he lost her kid and that her kid’s under Cerberus control. He has to tell her. Shepard isn’t anywhere near his chain of command anymore, hasn’t been for a long time, but she’s a good friend and she can pull resources he currently can’t. But he doesn’t want to tell her.

Liara shakes her head. “You have two soldiers available who can stage a rescue: an adept and a Shadow, a pair very ill-equipped to storm a base this size.”

James frowns, but he’s long stopped asking how his wife knows everything she shouldn’t. She does well by the information. And Liara’s right: Chen and Rahiri are good soldiers, but there are only two of them and they’re far better suited to stealth and infiltration. They tried stealth and infiltration with the first team and that only resulted in one compromised soldier and the other five captured. It’s time to blow down the front door.

“Even if you add yourself and Abby…James, you cannot do this with four people, do not be that stubborn. We would all tear the galaxy apart for our kids, but Olivia actually has the power to do it.”

“I know,” he says. And so do you, he adds silently, gratefully, though he hopes with all his heart Liara will never have to. She’s right, again: putting an Alliance team together with the right skills and security clearance will take too long. The war may have ended thirty years ago, but Shepard and her role in it haven’t faded into irrelevance. She wouldn’t use Galactic Affairs resources for this – she and Garrus have always separated their family and their work – but that hardly seems to matter. He’d bet a year’s salary that she’ll have half her old crew assembled by day’s end, and probably even wrangled the Normandy. “I’ve had nightmares about this call,” he admits.

Liara offers him a reassuring smile. “Better it comes from you. And now.”

His omnitool beeps with a response from Abby. No joy. Even Abby isn’t available. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“When you have a plan, tell me where I should meet you,” she says.

Of course Liara’s coming; James doesn’t know why he ever considered otherwise. She’s Shepard’s best friend. Dropping everything for each other is what they do. “I will.” Their kids are with Aethyta for the summer; they don't even need to find a babysitter.

“As soon as my agents have anything, you will be the next to know. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he says. He’ll need it.

***

“I have a name and a paper trail a year old,” Liara says. “Which would you like first?”

Strange how this feels so much like a war council. Tablets scattered across the table, holographic projection in the middle, second cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Garrus at her right, Liara at her left, around the table with Miranda across from her between them. All they're missing is some bad lighting, Hackett on the QEC, and James lurking around the edges, unsure where he belongs.

Except this is their dining room, not the Normandy, and there aren’t any NCOs stationed outside, just their kids sleeping upstairs.

“Name,” Olivia says before anyone can say otherwise. Nora's been with them for three months and it's taken this long to find anything on Project Damocles. She's wanted a name since Chakwas pointed out the chip on that very first scan.

“Doctor Charlotte Turner, head of Project Damocles.” Liara calls up a holoimage of a pale blonde woman with strong cheekbones and an angular jaw.

“Turner’s still alive?” Miranda says, almost in awe. At the blank stares the others give her, she explains. “I lost track of her in the war. She’s brilliant.”

“She has her claws inside my kid’s head, Miranda,” Olivia snaps.

Miranda looks at her through the holoimage. “I realize that, Shepard. But Turner is formidably intelligent. Underestimating her would not be wise.”

Olivia takes a shallow, sharp breath. She isn’t sure whether she’d like to kill Charlotte Turner, or throw her into an Alliance cell deep underneath Vancouver and destroy the key. If they're both very lucky, she won't have to make that decision.

“Her trail goes cold about a year after the…surgery on Nora,” Liara says.

Olivia grimaces and doesn’t want to know what other words her friend may have used there. Bad enough she and Garrus use words like experiment and implantation regarding their daughter. Those words don’t need to see daylight, much less other people.

“But we think she’s still alive?” Garrus asks.

“I found no evidence otherwise,” Liara says. Her eyes flick toward Olivia before focusing again on Miranda. “There’s mention in this file that Turner worked on Lazarus.”

“Lovely,” Olivia mutters. Garrus rests his hand on her knee, beneath the table out of sight of the others. She drops her own hand down and gives his a gentle squeeze.

“She was an early consult,” Miranda brushes past the statement before any other implications have the chance to fall. “Her research was irrelevant to what we needed. She was moved onto other projects.”

Olivia bites her tongue about splitting a fine difference between irrelevant and unnecessary. It isn’t her mind she’s worried about anymore. Nora’s upstairs in her bedroom, sleeping soundly underneath a yellow comforter and glow-in-the-dark stars, blissfully unaware of this very disturbing conversation happening where she ate dinner a few hours earlier.

“And we lose her a few years ago?” Garrus brings everyone back to the present.

Liara nods. “Current Cerberus records are patchy at best and she drops out of them in early 2189. She may still be working for Cerberus, but the last record I have of her is security footage leaving Omega on a transport ship ostensibly headed to Virmire.” She brings up a new image. Despite the dark hair, it’s obviously Turner boarding the ship. “There’s no record of the ship ever landing on Virmire,” she continues. “But it does appear two years later on a cargo run through Aralakh for Kassa Fabrication. According to my agent, the owner either truly does not remember Turner, or is a very good liar with some incentive to cover for her. Likely the former."

Garrus sighs and leans back in his chair. “She could be anywhere.”

“The Alliance has spent the last few years knocking on the door of every Cerberus cell they can find,” Olivia says. “Any chance you know of any they may not have found?” she asks Miranda, though she’s asked it before.

“We were isolated from each other for precisely that question,” Miranda says, the same answer she’s always given.

It was worth a shot. “Here’s hoping she slips up,” Olivia says, though she’s been around the galaxy enough to know that people like Turner don’t slip up.

They only reappear of their own volition and only then when it’s already too late.

***

Olivia stares past the elcor ambassador at a spot on the wall behind him. They really should repaint the meeting room.

“This one disputes your claim.”

She shifts her gaze to the plant behind the hanar ambassador. They should also water the plants in here. Maybe replace them with synthetics.

She lets the elcor ambassador retort – with great irritation, I do not care – before she sits up straight and focuses her attention on the two. “Ambassadors,” she says, and then is interrupted by the door chime. Olivia furrows her brow. Molly’s new, but she knows not to interrupt these meetings. “Yes?”

The door slides open. “Director, Ambassadors, I’m so sorry for interrupting.” The young woman looks nervous. No, worried. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Director, you have an urgent call.”

“How urgent? Can it wait?” As much as Olivia would like to be just about anywhere else, economic tensions between the elcor and hanar have been rising lately; her office is the last stop before Council trade mediators get involved and come up with a solution that will probably piss off both races and the krogan.

Molly shakes her head. “An old friend from home needs to speak with you.”

Olivia’s blood runs cold.

Adrenaline sparks against her tongue. She swallows against a sharp wave of nausea and blinks rapidly, forcing her vision to clear. There’s a ringing in her ears as she turns back to the other two and she’s never been so thankful that neither race understands human facial expressions.

“Ambassadors,” she says, surprised at how calm her voice sounds while her heart pounds in her chest, “my apologies. This requires my immediate attention. Assistant Director Kali T’Vasa will take my place in these conversations." She stands and grits her teeth together against the vertigo that joins the nausea. Breathing slowly, she gathers her computer and, after giving both ambassadors a courtesy nod, steps out of the meeting room.

She whirls around on Molly as soon as the door closes, surging half a step into her assistant’s personal space. “Who the hell pulled that line?” she hisses.

Molly’s eyes go wide and she takes a step backward. “Commander James Vega?”

Olivia’s heart thunders in her ears and another wave of adrenaline crashes into her, freezing cold and frantic. “Okay.” She closes her eyes tight, forcing the tsunami of panic to hold off for just a little bit longer. Five minutes, that’s all she needs. Talk to Vega, find out what happened, then panic.

With a sharp exhale, she opens her eyes again. “Okay. Uh – pull Kali out of whatever she’s doing and send her in there so those two don’t do anything stupid. And reschedule everything for the next three days. No, a week. And,” she pauses. “I need coffee.”

“Large black triple shot hazelnut latte?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, Molly looks like she’s going to say something. But she doesn't. “Anything else?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Thank you,” she adds belatedly.

Molly nods. “He’s connected to your private terminal.”

Olivia manages a small smile for the young woman and steps into her office. She takes three deep breaths – good air in, bad air out – before picking up the call. “What happened?”

It’s a testament to how panicked James is that he doesn’t even say hello. “The mission Nora’s on went pear-shaped. Cerberus captured her team, but they got an SOS out. The chip’s active.”

Everything

just

stops.

Time, air, the galaxy. James on the vidcall.

Her brain ceases processing external signals. Everything freezes in place, silent and unmoving, except for Olivia’s shallow breath, in and out.

The chip’s active.

Air in, air out.

Not good, there’s no good air in here, there might not ever be any good air again, and there’s so much bad air in her lungs she could never hope to breathe it all out. Just…air. Keep breathing. Breathe. Inhale, exhale.

In. Out.

Her lungs burn with the force of it.

“…need your help,” James is saying when everything flips back on again. He stops. “Shepard?”

“Yeah,” she says, blinking a few times. She refocuses on his face on the screen in front of her. Just another crisis, that’s all. She’s spent her entire adult life managing any number of crises. If she can fool herself into thinking this is no different, she can make it through this conversation. Make it through this day. She exhales sharply, straightens her shoulders, and shoves the panic part of her five-minute plan to sometime several days from now. “Yeah. What do you need?”

Just another crisis. That her daughter is at the center of it is a fact she does not have time nor space to dwell on right now. Nora doesn’t need her to panic.

Nora needs her to help.

***

“Here’s a thought,” Alle says, staring up at the ceiling. The concrete floor isn’t particularly comfortable, but if she’s lying down, she isn’t pacing. And if she isn’t pacing, she isn’t driving herself and everyone who can see her insane. “I’d love to just sit here and wait for a rescue, but waiting at least another three days to see if our message even got out is probably not our wisest plan.”

"No," Carlos agrees, "probably not. But – and I'm not saying we shouldn't try – but we don't have any of our gear, our intel was wrong, and now we're down a person."

Alle sits up. She tugs her hair down from its mussed ponytail, runs her fingers through her hair, and then pulls it back up out of her face. Looking over at Rachel’s cell, she sighs. It’s been almost two days since they dragged an unconscious Nora out of the cell. And though the others all thought she was hearing things, Alle will swear to every known god and goddess in the galaxy – and a few she thinks she got from television – that she heard screaming late last night. “We've had worse odds," she says, because they have. This just feels worse. "Anyone got a way out of here?”

She’s met with silence for half a minute and then Micah speaks up.

“Getting out isn’t difficult,” he says. “We rush them when they bring food, that’s not an issue. The problem,” he sighs, “is what do we do beyond that door. Torrini's right: we have no gear, no idea what forces they have, and the blueprints we had are out of date. Any escape route isn’t guaranteed.”

“Yeah, but they can’t have changed it that much,” Carlos says. “It’s a concrete building in the middle of the jungle. We found some walls and doors in the wrong spot, but generally everything was right. They’re not gonna overhaul the entire infrastructure. Some rooms might be missing, but a hallway isn't going to go the wrong way. Right?”

Alle quirks her eyebrow. He has a point. But blind faith that Cerberus hasn’t blocked their exit strategy with their redecorating isn’t how she wants to rescue her best friend. She ultimately may not have a choice, but she’d like to avoid shouldering major parts of their plan onto Cerberus is too lazy to remodel their jungle base. “Doesn’t solve What’s Behind Door Number One, though.”

“And we’re unarmed,” Micah points out again.

“We have an omnitool,” Alle says.

“That hardly qualifies as ‘gear’,” Rachel says, putting air quotes around the word.

“No, but Torrini can walk Wu through how to hack into those force fields with it, and I distinctly remember the goons bringing food having guns. We can acquire gear.” Now that she’s made her way through half a plan – even a half that largely depends on Jonah being able to understand Carlos when he goes full tech nerd – Alle finds herself very reluctant to stop planning. Momentum has carried her through many a FUBARed mission. No reason that tradition should stop now.

With a deep breath, Jonah pushes himself upright from his silent corner. “Problem Number One, retrieve our gear. Our actual gear. I’m not running an extract with an aging pistol we took off someone on the prison catering staff. Number Two, find where they’re keeping Vakarian and spring her.”

Alle swallows. They all know how to leave people behind; they’ve all made that awful decision to choose the mission over people and sometimes she thinks it was a prerequisite for the program. If she’s being honest with herself – and honesty has always sucked but has also always kept her alive – the easiest way to get the five of them out is to ignore Problem Number Two entirely.

She knows she’d never forgive herself, never stop being haunted by a metallic orange stripe and the ghost of a grenade, but forgetting about Nora is how Alle guarantees she gets out of this alive.

Momentum she’ll keep, but fuck honesty.

Problem Number Two is on the board. Jonah put it there and the other three aren’t arguing and maybe they all had to leave someone behind to learn that it isn’t something you do twice.

Jonah cracks his neck. “Problem Number Three, get all of us out of this damn base.” He pauses, waiting for someone to bring up a fourth problem.

They have way more than three problems, but nothing worthy of the board.

“I’m looking for answers to any of those three problems.”

***

Garrus stops by the front door to double check the security system. All green, all safe. He turns off the downstairs lights and heads upstairs.

His omnitool beeps softly with a forwarded message from Liv: the Citadel building department finally signed off on their design, all the finances are authorized, and remodeling on their new place will start next week.

"Thank you," he whispers in relief to the universe for at least one bright spot in this evening of bad news. They didn't have space even before they brought Nora home. In a few months, the boys will have their own rooms, he and Liv will have their own offices again, they'll have a full dextro/levo kitchen big enough that they can both cook at the same time without tripping over each other, and they'll have enough closet space that they can stop storing everyone's shoes in a closet downstairs with the holiday decorations. They'll even have a real guest room, not just a pull-out couch shoved into the corner of Olivia's office, lost anyway when they converted the room for Nora.

He turns off the light at the top of the stairs, casting the hallway into shadows. He passes his sons’ room, pleased to see their light off. Quentus has been protesting the concept of bedtime lately,

Soft light spills out into the hallway from Nora's room, the warm glow of her nightlight. She doesn’t like sleeping with the door closed and it's cracked just enough to see in. He peeks his head around the door. She’s sound asleep, curled up tight around her teddy bear. The stars have lost their glow for the night, but the fish nightlight glows happily in the corner.

It’s hard to believe she’s the end result of some twisted Cerberus experiment. She’s sweet and shy and smiles and doesn’t deserve the horror show someone placed in her head.

No child does, but especially not his daughter.

Between Liara and Miranda, they’d been able to put together a good picture of Turner. Garrus had had enough somewhere around learning she’d worked on a project trying to meld AI with organics. That one wasn’t Cerberus, according to Miranda, which didn’t really make it better. Worse, somehow, when Liara found some tenuous connections to the Alliance. He’d walked away and busied himself with laundry until the other two had left.

Nora looks so peaceful, so unaware of the bomb in her head. He knows he can’t keep it that way forever, but spirits, will he try. He silently steps back out into the hallway and continues toward his own bed.

“You okay?” Olivia asks, shutting down her omnitool for the night.

Garrus sighs. “We’re caught up on laundry.”

“That’ll last until tomorrow,” Olivia observes.

He nods in agreement and walks into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When he comes back out, Olivia’s leaning on the wall, waiting.

“That wasn’t an answer,” she says.

“I know.” He brushes past her.

She pushes off the wall and silently follows him to bed. She doesn’t respond, but everything she isn’t saying resonates off of her: she’s worried, she’s concerned, she isn’t going to push him.

Garrus clenches his jaw and curls his talons tight around the blanket as he tugs the covers back. Her patience drives him insane sometimes. “Our daughter has a dormant control chip in her head. We have no idea what it will do to her, and the monster who put it there is still alive somewhere, doing who knows what. I don't know what you want me to say, Olivia.”

She looks up at him with kind, soft eyes. “You walked away in the middle of the conversation and did what I’m pretty sure is eight loads of laundry. I’m just checking in.”

“Nine,” he says quietly. He sighs and lets the blanket fall back to the bed. “No. I’m not okay. Are you?”

“Nope.”

Though Olivia’s terrible at telling him anything other than truth, Garrus makes a perplexed sound. She didn’t leave and do three hours of laundry.

“I’m very good at compartmentalizing,” she reminds him, climbing into bed.

Garrus nods and slides in beside her.

It’s always scared him a bit, how good she is at turning things off, packing them away to be dealt with later. They're both good at it; it comes with being a soldier, but Liv is the expert. He hasn’t seen her with that kind of targeted focus in years. He honestly hadn’t wanted to see it again.

***

Olivia sits down at the kitchen counter with a heaviness and exhaustion she hasn't felt in a long time. One more call and then her list is done. One more call and then there's nothing to do until the Normandy picks them up in eleven hours. She still has to pack, but she can't justify pushing this call off any longer.

She can tell herself that other things were more pressing, more urgent. That in the grand scheme of this particular problem, it was more important to track down Miranda and pull about a hundred strings with Alliance Command. Starting a plan in motion was, fundamentally, a more critical task than stopping to tell her husband what’s going on with their daughter.

Yet no matter how she spins it, no matter how much logic she puts onto all the other calls she made first, it doesn’t change that she’s calling him last because she doesn’t want to call him at all. Doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want to say the words out loud. Doesn't want to see his face when she tells him that their worst nightmare is now their reality. She’d much prefer fabricating a sudden work trip, disappearing for a week, and returning with Nora in tow, crisis already resolved.

But Garrus is her husband and he is Nora’s father, and she needs to tell him. He needs to know. He deserves to know. And as much as she'd like to never tell him about any of this, she needs him to know. She needs him beside her for whatever comes next.

Olivia clenches her back teeth and calls his office.

“Good evening, Director Shepard,” Kyra says.

No matter how hard Olivia’s tried to convince her otherwise, Kyra always addresses her by her title. Olivia gave up five years ago. Tonight, she wishes she’d tried a little harder: she’s Mom right now, not Olivia Shepard, Director of Galactic Affairs.

And Garrus is about to be Dad, not Garrus Vakarian, Turian Councilor.

“Hi, Kyra. I need to speak to Garrus, please.” Her voice sounds so much calmer than she feels.

“I’m sorry. The Council’s in a closed session.”

Olivia nods. “I know.” Her throat’s suddenly bone dry. She swallows a few times before she can get the words out. “Tell him an old friend from home needs to speak with him.”

#no this chapter doesn't give detailed insight into how my brain works during a crisis why do you ask #s:words #s:set your flag #nora vakarian: in any given storm #i feel like i ask this every time i post a chapter but how the fuck was i tagging this story

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scapegrace74-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Vacationland

A/N Written for the 50 States of Sex collaboration so brilliantly thought up by @viceversawrites and @softnow. I picked Maine, since I just visited this summer. Set during that vague timeframe that is post-Per Manum flashback, pre-Requiem. A bit of angst, but hopefully just enough to add some depth to what is otherwise pretty much a fluffy PWP. Rated NC-17, ‘natch.

It was possible that after many years of miscommunication, frustration and upset plans, it was time for Fox Mulder and Logan Airport to call it quits and go their separate ways.

He stared at the digital terminal display, lit up with row after row of on-time departures. All except the last remaining flight to Bangor, which had been winking a smug fifty minute delay for the past three hours. Outside their gate, the New England sky was a tint of robin’s egg blue only witnessed in early September when school was back in session. He remembered it well.

He paced back to where his partner sat, poised and still, staring out the concourse window at nothing. Her hands were folded in her lap as though in prayer, and he made a mid-second correction in course.

“I don’t think our plane is ever showing up, Scully. It’s a regional carrier - maybe they only fly when it’s foggy enough.”

She didn’t react to his stand-up routine, so he took matters into his own hands and lifted the handle on her roller bag. That got her attention.

“Mulder, what the hell? This is our gate. When the plane gets here, they’re not going to wait for us.”

“The plane’s not coming, Scully. Let’s grab a rental car and drive up. Bangor’s about four hours’ away on the interstate, and four hours in a moving vehicle will feel like heaven, after an afternoon in purgatory at Logan.”

She didn’t acquiesce, but she didn’t stay staring at the blank canvas of the sky either. He considered that a win.

***

“This isn’t the interstate, Mulder.”

Scully had dozed off somewhere near the New Hampshire border, and he’d taken the next exit to the coast road. They’d been averaging thirty miles an hour through one white clapboard hamlet after another since then.

“You’re very observant, Scully. You should consider a career in law enforcement.”

“Very funny. But seriously, where are we? It’s 6pm - we should be nearly in Bangor by now.”

Scully woke up grumpy. He had years of experience devising counter-measures; everything from grande cups of her favourite dark roast to humorous observations of local law enforcement. More recently, he’d developed a technique that included plucking her nipples like a harp and then anchoring his head between her thighs until she levitated, but he couldn’t very well do that and still drive. He handed her a blueberry fritter, still warm in its brown paper bag.

“We’re not nearly in Bangor,” he ventured after she’d inspected the treat.

“I can see that.” Her tone mellowed as she licked homemade lemon frosting from the tip of each finger.

“We’re actually closer to Wells. I decided to take the scenic route. We can grab a room here and still get to Bangor tomorrow in time for our ten o’clock interview.”

He glanced in her direction, trying to judge how this change in plans was landing. Scully could usually be counted on to let her strict professionalism lapse when he was the only witness, but she’d gone far inside herself these past few weeks, and he couldn’t blame her. This was his first attempt to coax her back out of her shell.

“A room, Mulder? A room, singular? We’re on the clock.” She was still prickly and resistant, however, and he found it endlessly heartening. A passive Scully was no Scully at all.

“Well, that clock had us landing in Bangor five hours ago. Right now, Agent Mulder and Agent Scully are sitting in their adjacent hotel rooms, chastely reviewing their case notes before retiring to their separate beds. You and I are grabbing a room in Wells. It’s September. Any one of these little roadside motels will have a vacancy.”

“A roadside motel? You really know how to treat a girl, Mulder.”

He made eye contact and gave her his best attempt at a sexy grin. He might know next to nothing about how to treat girls, plural, but he was the world’s leading expert on how to treat this one.

***

The little efficiency cottage was basic, but clean. They changed out of their travelling suits and into casual clothes before walking, hand-in-hand, up the main road through town.

“What exactly are you looking for, Mulder? These places all serve lobster.”

“Spoken like a true non-Yankee, Scully. There’s lobster, and then there’s lob-stah. I’ll know it when I see it.”

The restaurant had been there so long its shingle siding had weathered to a nondescript grey. You ordered at a take-out window, then ate at a collection of ramshackle picnic tables, spread on a sloping lawn overlooking the estuary.

They sat on the same seat bench, facing the marsh that dimmed into darker and darker shadows of green as the setting sun released the day. The lobster rolls were fresh and buttery, served with coleslaw and house-made pickles, and washed down by pints of pale blond beer. It was, in his estimation, the perfect meal.

Scully’s left hand crept over and stole his last pickle. Her hair was molten copper where the last rays of light caught it. He took a deep breath of salt air, then exhaled.

***

“I would, Mulder, but I don’t have my bathing suit. The hotel in Bangor - you know, the one where Agent Scully is staying right now - doesn’t have a pool.”

“Just go in your underwear. It’s dark out, and I doubt there’ll be anyone else swimming at this hour. This place empties out after Labour Day.”

He saw her struggle with propriety, and decided to stack the deck in his favour. He stripped off his shirt and jeans. He heard the little catch in her breath as he briefly bared his naked backside before donning his swim trunks.

In the three weeks since the last IVF attempt had ended in a whirlpool of blood and tears, they hadn’t made love. He was a psychologist, and he knew Scully was dealing with a lot of anger and ambivalence over her body’s failure to provide refuge for even one of their offspring. He doubted she’d even noticed, but she’d ceased to trim her nails, hadn’t gone to the gym, and her roots were growing in: all signs that she was denying her body loving care in the way it had denied her a child. So her reaction to his nakedness, no matter how minute, was reassuring.

“Oh, alright. But if I get arrested for public indecency, I’m taking you and those ridiculous board shorts down with me!”

***

The small fenced pool was tucked between the line of cottages and a copse of pine trees. You couldn’t see the ocean, but you could make out the dull thrum of its eternal give and take. A single flood light triggered by a motion sensor lit the shallow end, and the water itself glowed aquamarine from a series of underwater lights.

Scully was wrapped in one of the motel’s scrawny bath towels. She looked furtively towards the curtained windows that overlooked the pool. Other than their own, none of the cottages showed signs of habitation, so she slowly released the tuck of the towel and draped it over the fence.

She had lost weight. He could see it in the sharp nip of her waist and the loose fit of her panties. Still, she was pale and lovely as the moon, and he was struck anew by the juxtaposition of tenderness and lust she brought out in him. Thinking a tented swimsuit might betray his intentions, he jumped feet first into the deeper end of the pool, appreciating the coolness against his heated skin.

“How is it?” Cautious as ever, Scully was descending the steps slowly, and he grieved the slow disappearance of her body until he realized the underwater illumination acted like an aqueous spotlight, lighting her up from below.

“Come over here and find out,” he beckoned her towards the deeper water.

She dove fluidly beneath the surface, re-emerging two feet in front of him like a modern-day naiad, cedar-hued hanks of hair and eyes bluer than the sky that afternoon.

“Mmmm, this was a good idea, Mulder. Thank you.” She brushed against him, skin polished and warm, and dropped a chlorine kiss on his lips. He tried to pull her closer, but she pushed hard against the wall and floated away with a laugh.

They paddled languorously as the curious moon rose above the pines. The floodlight had long subsided into darkness. Scully drifted easily on her back, nipples and pubic hair umbra signals to his baser self through the opaque cotton covering. His cock twitched in the loose confines of his trunks, despite the coolish water. He could feel the tug of something primeval, dark and instinctual, coming from the endless wilderness to the north. This is your mate, it said.

As she drifted within reach, he pulled her easily into his embrace, kissing the damp from her eyelashes and cheeks. She settled her arms over his shoulders, light as a feather in the water’s buoyancy.

“I love kissing you, Scully,” he murmured between pecks. She chuckled at his juvenile admission.

“Yes, I got that impression. I love kissing you too, Mulder.” She licked his chin, to emphasize her point. He growled and initiated a hungrier kiss, holding her against him in the the ebb and flow of a subtle current, where she could certainly feel the physical proof that he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Is this okay?” he asked as he made his way down her arched neck, one hand now gripping her ass beneath the clinging fabric of her panties.

“Mmm, very okay. I missed this. Even when everything else feels wrong, you’re the only thing that still makes sense, Mulder.” She gasped out his name as he nipped her earlobe.

“That’s how I know you’re my one in five billion. You’re the only person who’d ever assert that I make sense,” he teased.

“What I don’t understand is why I make sense to you. Especially now...”

“Oh, Scully. Are you serious? You mean besides the fact that you’re the most stunning woman alive, and you put up with all of my shit? How about this - you’re the only person who already is what I want my future to be.”

She leaned back and observed him, limpid and wet, as though measuring the truth of his statement. Then, holding his head very still between her ragged fingernails, she kissed him deeper than all the oceans combined.

By the time they broke for air, they were mindlessly thrusting together, the surrounding water adding an erotic slickness to their movement.

“God, I want you. Is it too soon?” he gasped.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s okay. Let’s go back to the room.” She was panting like a frightened animal and pawing at the waist of his shorts.

“Mmm, no. Here. God, Scully.” This as her hands finally worked the knot at his waistband loose and dove inside to grab his cock.

“Mul-derrrrrr, we can’t. Bacteria, lubrication. C’mon.” She nodded towards the stairs, trying to encourage him into shallower water.

“I know what I’m doing. You trust me, don’t you Scully?”

Without waiting for her response, he lifted her even higher in the water, so her crotch rubbed his navel. He shunted his shorts downwards until they dropped to his ankles and he flicked them away. Tucking her knees beneath his armpits, he lifted the gusset of her panties out of the way, then slid his aching cock into the tight hot space between cotton and skin.

“Like this. See? Like this. Outside. Oh shit Scully.” He was frantic already, the head of his cock sliding up the seam of her body, over her clit and then against the elastic membrane of her underwear. It felt amazing.

“Jesus, Mulder. Where did you...? Nevermind. Just keep, yeah. Ohmygod yeah.” She had her elbows braced on the pool deck, her torso leaning away from him to create just the right angle for each exquisite slide. Her head fell limply backwards, chin tipping towards the night sky as she moaned so deeply he felt it inside his body.

“Fuck, Scully. So good, baby. So fucking good.”

He wasn’t going to last at this rate. He looked into the water to see the obscene bulge of the head of his cock advancing and retreating beneath the cotton’s opaque skin. Shit, that wasn’t helping. One hand dove down, pushing himself even deeper into her slit with each thrust, letting the ridge stroke over her hood until she let out a sharp yelp and began thrashing against him in ecstasy, stirring up a tiny tempest of waves between them.

“That’s it, Scully. Fucking come for me. Come on me.”

He grasped himself through the material, gave two quick tugs, and released what felt like a thousand lifetimes of fervour onto her skin. His agonized groan tapered off to a whispery chuckle.

“Fuck, I have the best ideas.”

***

Showered and tucked into bed, pink and boneless, he thought Scully was already asleep when she asked, “Do you really see your future in me, Mulder? Even now?”

He tightened his hold around her shoulders, tucking the damp crown of her head beneath his chin.

“They say the only thing that can make sense of the past is the future, Scully. You’re the only answer I want to find.”

#my writing #x-files #50 states of sex

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subetei-noykin · 6 years ago

Note

❥ - a childhood memory

“That’s a good lad. Now tighten t’ sails, jib needs t’ be tight ‘nough not t’ luff, but ye want a pocket for t’ wind curls.” the drawling words called as Subetei’s hands pulled at the saltwater worn ropes of the sail, the wind rough on his sun-burnt face. Three weeks he’d been aboard this merchant trawler, bringing a load of goods to a port in Othard, earning his pay by working as a deckhand mostly. Hauling and loading cargo. Today, the eternally patient bosun had started teaching him how to help with the sails after one of the bosun’s seconds had taken ill.

Most of the work was simple manual labor, like he’d been doing, but with more purpose to it. Not too tight or the ropes might snap, or the sails might be too taut to catch wind, and knots had to be precise so they wouldn’t fly loose in a gust. It also required a lot of physical strength, the one thing Subetei possessed in spades.

It had been half a year since he’d come to Limsa, though he couldn’t have told you that if you’d asked him directly. Telling time was difficult here, the sun wasn’t the same, nor was the moon. He felt disconnected from Nhaama here, the endless ocean and jagged shores of Vylbrand making him feel as if he was in a different world than what he’d been so used to.

Thoughts of home turned to a red rage that boiled across his entire being, igniting a fire that sent Subetei’s arms reeling back and the rope creaked loudly in his hands, and Subetei hardly noticed it’s fraying until the firm hand of the bosun came swingin’ round his face, slapping him upside the cheek like solid oak. Subetei, to his credit, didn’t go down, but his arms locked and he gritted his teeth as he tried not to turn that boiling temper on the man; He needed to work, to eat.

“Look at what ye be doin’, lad! T’ ropes fray and we’re all adrift the next time a storm hits.” the bosun bellowed with a heavy sigh of dismay in his voice. Subetei had picked up the language enough to understand, but speaking it was still…sketchy for him. Swallowing his temper as best he could, he nodded. “Y…yeh. I’m sorry.” he spoke, his rough voice still leaking his temperament and the bosun swung his hand again, this time in a gentler smack on the middle of Subetei’s back. It still cracked like old leather on his skin, but he minded it well.

Taking Subetei’s hand, the bosun lowered their joined grip to a peg on the side of the ship, off the railing, and began walking him through the process of tying it off but was interrupted by a call; “Ho! Ship fast off ta port!” came the rattle of the ship’s lookout, Subetei turning his head with the bosun.

It was a cutter, but Subetei had trouble making out the markings or signals on it. There wasn’t a flag, or anything identifying about it, and he curiously turned his head to the bosun who was sighing as he reached into his heavy trousers, lifting from them a flagon he now tipped back lightly. Seeing the xaela’s expression, the bosun shook his head. “Smugglers, lad. T’ be no flags so no one knows where they hail, and they be coming from Doma.” he explained, provoking a nod as Subetei dusted his hands on his own pants.

The moment would have passed uneventful, a smaller cutter passing their larger trading vessel in the midday sun, but then something happened. A woman had stepped near the railing holding a bundle of some sort on the other ship and the waters rocked the ship, a wave cresting that sent something loose; A rope, a peg, maybe a barrel lid left on the deck. It hit the woman and sent her forward, and the bundle turned into the flailing form of a child pitched forth into the water.

Everyone else seemed to lose their breath as the white-haired little one hit the water with a small splash, but Subetei had never exactly been known for his ease in shocking, or his impulse control. He threw himself towards the opposite side of the deck and before he could even hear his bosun cry out in alarm or warning, he dove headfirst off the boat. He’d swum only a handful of times since coming to this land and each time it had been in the relatively calm waters near shores or around the docks.

Currents dragged him as soon as he hit the water and he disappeared as a particularly heavy wave slammed down on him and he felt a surge of terror warp through him before his mind righted itself. He was already a few feet under the surface and he spun, the waters too murky to make much out. Until a shimmer of light caught what seemed like pearls in the water and he fixated on it. It was something. His legs began kicking and almost reflexively his tail began swaying behind him, cutting him through the water. He was practically pulling himself through the water with each swing of his arms.

There they were. A limp, sinking bundle of cloth and white hair with glimmering scales, an auri like himself, a raen. It changed nothing about what he’d dove in for, but the thought ran across his mind that this was the first time he’d seen a raen in his life. His chest was beginning to burn from the lack of air and he could feel tremors at the edge of his vision.

This had been a poorly thought out, terribly impulsive decision and if he managed to survive this, he made a personal vow to begin thinking out his decisions in the future.

Losing that thought almost immediately, he found himself within arm’s reach of the child and he swung forward, his arm pulling around her and clutching her to his chest as he turned upwards, or what -seemed- like upwards. It was lighter. The saltwater was like sandpaper on his eyes now and every movement was making his body ache like fire had been set in his veins.

The surface seemed so far away, but still he began kicking his legs. Tail waving behind him as he began swimming for his life, and the life of the child clutched to him. It felt like hours, agonizing hours of his vision slowly darkening, before it saw it. Someone had hurled rope into the water, and it was leading upwards. Then his hand hit it and he started, his mind focusing on the rope as everything else became fuzzy.

What had he been doing? The rope seemed important, and he could touch it. His hand knocked against it and he grabbed at it with all his strength which even in his state was enough, the rope was pulled at almost instantly. He was yanked through the water, the little one still held close to his chest, and then there was air.

Sea air had never tasted so good, and he inhaled deeply as the sunlight beat down on him. He could feel the girl limp in his arms and he lifted her higher, yelling out as the rope was pulled against the side of the ship. Dimly, he realized it was the cutter that had thrown the lifeline, but he didn’t care. Faces greeted him at the railing, a hardy crew of men helping him over the side and one of them pulled the child from his arms. Nearby, the injured woman from before was rushing to the child’s side.

Subetei had somewhat bigger concerns, like his collapse on the deck near the railing, his head hitting the coiled ropes that had pulled him up and one of the deckhands moved near him, shoving water in his face from a ceramic cup that he quickly grabbed at, gulping down. Then he turned his head, blearily watching as the crew made to revive the child.

Water burst from her lips once, then twice, before she rose from the deck. it was a young girl, with shining scales. Her face was contorted in confusion and fear but she made no sound as she raised for the woman who’d lost her, being immediately picked up and grasped firmly to the woman’s chest. On the very edges of his hearing he could make out a whimpered measure of thanks, with a deckhand trying to tell him they could make out his ship turning on the wind.

None of that much mattered, Subetei was too busy being half-delirious on the deck, his lungs still aching with heavy eyes. Glimmering scales caught his attention once more and he looked up into the bleary, tear-stained eyes of the little girl he’d rescued. For a moment, he’d have sworn her eyes were two different colors. There was no words from her lips, no thanks in her voice, but she had gratitude on her face. It was one of the last things he’d see before he blacked out.

Though the last thing he heard before he finally passed out was his captain, calling out something about ‘our wet fool’.

((Incase it isn’t obvous, this is how Neyuki played by @tarot-dancer and Subetei first met. They were both incredibly young, and they on’t exactly remember this encounter clearly yet, but they wouldn’t meet again for something going on fourteen years.))

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racingtoaredlight · 3 years ago

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Beans & Toast: Tubthumping

Beans leans against the rail on the deck of the Terroir, watching the waves crash against the hull. Typically in cases like these, you would build and build until you pieced together the whole story. Then, once you’ve figured out the target, you’d strike with maximum force and precision.

This time was different though. This time they already knew who to strike, had an idea of where to strike, knew what they were looking for, and yet he couldn’t even begin to form the bigger picture in his head.

He hid his surprise when an unrestrained Toast joined him on the deck.

“Beansy...Oi’m sorry.”

***

“Con, when’s Tommy back?”

“Tomorrow.”

Preston had a strange feeling in his gut. Connie first introduced him to Abeo six years ago, and since then, he’d been their best source of information regarding hijackings, kidnappings and the ensuing ransoms. He might not find this line of work particularly thrilling...but in the grand scheme of covert intelligence contractors, it was relatively safe, profitable, and it happened again and again and again.

Abeo was trustworthy as far as your dollar could go. Keep him paid and in work, and he’s as good of an asset as Preston had ever worked with. In particular, Abeo’s intelligence was incredibly valuable, detailed, and delivered promptly.

And in all these incidents they had collaborated on over the years, this demographic seemed peculiar. His interactions with mercenaries in this region were typically on the recovery side.

“Get your shit together and rent us a huey over there, we’re going to the Ivory Coast the minute Tommy gets back.”

***

“Bro, what’s that guy’s deal?”

Tommy du Pont handed a clipboard with the pre-flight checklist off to a crew member, while Nigel Fitzsimmons checks off another list standing next to him. Nigel immediately sympathized.

“The man you escorted here, Toast.” Fitzsimmons sighs, knowing the gravity of the story to come. “He was a reckless mercenary himself, available to the highest bidders. If you needed anything, Toast was the man to steal it for you. Beans and his wife...”

Tommy chuckles seeing an incoming text from Preston.

“Sorry, go on.”

“Beans and his wife were on holiday in Lisbon. Toast was on getaway from the local constabulary, took a turn too fast, clipping a table. As luck would have it, the table impaled Ms. Beans through the throat and she died in his arms.”

Tommy’s jaw drops.

“And some time later, Beans is in Kiev...unrelated case, of course...and he’s in the thick, surrounded from all sides. When out of nowhere, Toast mows down a half dozen of the enemy, allowing Beans to escape. So you can see, Beans has quite the emotional conflict in regards to Toast.”

“But I thought this Toast guy was just a mechanic who knew too much.”

“Anything but, sir. Anything but.”

***

“Sir, everyone is in position.”

An older gentleman, still strong and spry, lifts both his arms while a tailor dutifully measures the drape of his jacket. The olive-colored gun check jacket was almost perfect already, any alterations being minor. For what seems like an eternity, the tailor marks, measures, and marks again...the man’s question left hanging in the air.

The tailor finishes his measurements, jots them down in a small notebook, while the gentleman being fitted lowers his arms, adjusts his jacket and steps down. He moves only as quickly as he’s required to.

He looks the other man in the eye and nods silently, giving his affirmation.

***

Ben du Pont reclines poolside, a more beautiful day in the Hamptons he cannot recall. His children are off to college, his wife is happy and content, life is good. He thinks about how lucky he is to be in this place, right now, so content and happy. He wishes everyone could experience this, and then immediately thinks that everyone experiencing this would ruin his joy.

This brings him even more joy.

He hears the familiar chime of an incoming text. Maybe it’s Perry inviting him to go on a trip to Pebble Beach, he thinks to himself. Hopes to himself. He unlocks his phone to read the text, even though he sees it’s from an unfamiliar number.

“OH COME ON WHAT THE FUCK!?!”

***

“Oi can nevah replace your Ol’ Lady, mate...Oi’ll die knowing Oi was responsible. Oi know we’ve ‘ad our troubles, so lets get this cunt once and for all.”

Not the greatest apology, but Beans knew how much it took for Toast to say anything remotely like he did. Beans knew it came from the heart. Did he trust Toast? Think he could be a valuable part of this mission? Not yet, but this was a big step.

***

Whomever was on the Terroir was already scrambling to the scant few lifeboats when the second bomb exploded. This was a clandestine prison ship, after all. Rights of the prisoners were long abandoned, let alone considered for a possible rescue in the event of an emergency.

Beans knew that whomever placed these explosives knew what they were doing, given the speed and severity of the port-side listing. Most of the lifeboats aboard were on the starboard side...now unable to be lowered into the cold Atlantic waters as they crash against the exposed hull.

“BEANSY, UP ‘ERE!” Toast hops the railing and reaches down to grab Beans’ arm to help him up. If they can run along the exposed hull to the high point, they’ll stand a better chance.

As the last part of Terroir slips underneath the water’s surface, Beans and Toast jump into the near-freezing water, swim to the surface looking for any debris to cling onto.

“SIR!” Toast taps Beans’ arm to get his attention, and points to where the voice is coming from. It’s Fitzsimmons floating on a large chunk of a shipping container. They clumsily get onto this makeshift raft and immediately huddle together to share warmth. Fitzsimmons looks at his watch.

“Likely four hours until any type of rescue.”

***

The three survivors huddling together are all thinking the same thing. Will we even last four hours in this cold? Will anyone even come? Nobody knows we’re out here except for the CIA and MI-6.

All of the sudden, they hear a motor. Then see lights. Now, all of them are thinking they’re about to be mowed down by whomever planted these explosives. Gloom turns to joy when they see the Terroir’s bright neon orange dinghy plowing through the detritus.

“YOU BOYS NEED A LIFT?!?”

Tommy throws a life preserver at the trio, hitting Fitzsimmons in the forehead. “Heh, my bad Fitzy.”

They might have been knocked down, but they got up again.

***

TO BE CONTINUED

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steelfeather · 7 years ago

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Stowaway - Part Two (A Tom Holland x Reader Imagine)

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You start to learn what your future on Captain Holland’s ship may look like.

Ships: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Portrayal of an episode which I will loosely call a panic attack, and reference to past abuse.

*A/N: Enjoy. :)

Part One

You feel light on your eyelids and groan, your entire body hurting from yet another night spent on wooden planks. You miss your feather bed in your parents’ home. Perhaps when the ship docks, you can earn enough coin somehow to sleep in a real bed for one night…

“Finally awake, are we, sleeping beauty?” a sardonic voice greets you. You bolt upright, realization flooding you with an awful suddenness. Captain Holland, as he introduced himself, is sitting in a leisurely manner in his chair, his eyes fixed on you as he lounges.

You watch him wordlessly, fighting the urge to shrink in on yourself. When he leans forward, you notice a tray by his elbow with bread, hard cheese, and a pitcher of water on it. Nothing fancy, certainly nothing like the feasts you’ve attended in the past, but you haven’t eaten or drank in nearly three days, so the sight of it almost causes you to faint.

He notices your eyes fixed on the tray and gestures to it. “Would you care for some breakfast?” he asks, tone perfectly civil. You don’t trust it.

“How do I know you’re not going to drug me?” you ask, voice higher than you wish it was. “Or poison me?” At this, he throws his head back and actually laughs, a sound that bubbles up from deep inside him. After a moment, he meets your eyes again, face morphing back to a serious expression.

“Love,” he says, “I wouldn’t have to work that hard if I wanted to kill you, or” his gaze sweeps over you dismissively, “take advantage of you.”

You flush at the implied slight, but stand on unsteady legs and walk very cautiously to the desk, snatching the pitcher and drinking deeply from it as your eyes stay trained on the pirate captain, ready to bolt at the first sign of motion from him. When you’ve drunk as much as you think you should, you grab a slice of bread and a large piece of cheese and walk away backwards before sitting cross-legged to eat. You have to force yourself to chew slowly, breaking up the coarse bread and cheese before it hits your mostly-empty stomach. The captain watches you steadily, a finger to his temple as he considers you.

When the last morsel has passed your lips, he stands and extends a hand to you. “Come on, then,” he says, and you’re considering trusting him when you see the rope in his hand.

You scramble away, back hitting the wall, and shake your head repeatedly. “You’re not tying me up,” you tell him, trying to sound firm.

A tense moment passes before he says, “Have it your way.” His face is shuttered when he turns on his heel and leaves, closing the door behind him.

It isn’t until you hear the click of the padlock and his retreating footsteps that you realize he’s locked you in.

“No,” you breathe in horror, trying desperately to restrain the memories. “No, no, no…”

You shake your head from side to side rapidly, terrified to try the door. If you don’t check, maybe it won’t be true… but you can’t help yourself. You lurch over to the door and yank on the knob, but it doesn’t budge at all. For a moment, you alternate pushing and pulling without success, and then you back up blindly, landing on the bed in a heap as your breathing speeds.

The memories crowd in, and you have nothing to distract yourself with.

Father’s scowling face at the dinner table. A barked order to the housekeeper. Maids bustling in and out of your room, carrying your beloved books and toys and baubles. They shoot pitying glances sidelong at you when Father isn’t looking. Your room, empty of nearly all but the furniture and your clothes and a hairbrush. A key, turned in a lock, followed by days or weeks without a single human face. Food left just inside the door in the dead of night. Loneliness and isolation until you break and beg for forgiveness, followed by a few more days for good measure.

A choked sob bubbles up in your throat, and you bolt to the door, pounding your fists on it helplessly. Quiet whimpers escape as you hit the solid oak harder and harder, distantly registering your hands beginning to throb.

After what seems like an eternity, you stumble back and collapse on the bed, muffling your cries into your hands. You realize numbly that they’re bleeding, but that doesn’t matter. Father is angry.

You’ve been bad and Father is angry.

You back yourself into the corner of the bed, wrapping your arms around your knees and rocking back and forth, and it’s then that you quietly and completely break down, crying almost silently. Sometimes you beg in a whisper, even knowing that no one hears you.

Hours pass as you try desperately to hold on. Father will open the door again. He will.

As if from a distance, you hear the muffled click of a door opening, but your eyes are screwed shut, and you’re too far gone in your own head to react beyond whimpering, “Please, Father, I won’t do it again, I swear.”

There’s a pause, and then you think you hear furious whispers being exchanged.

“Tom, what’s wrong with her? What did you do?”

The next voice sounds horrified. “I don’t know. All I did was leave her…” Then, with a little more volume and decisiveness: “Make my excuses to the crew, Haz. Let them draw their own conclusions.”

Another soft click, followed by hesitant footsteps drawing near, and a hand laid on your arm gently. You lay your cheek against it and say, in a broken voice rough with tears: “Please, Father…”

He gathers you into his arms, making soft shushing noises, and you freeze for an instant before relaxing into it because you can’t remember Father ever embracing you before.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, “so, so sorry…”

“It’s all right, love,” he soothes, “I’m here now, it’s going to be all right.”

But something isn’t right. His voice is not so deep as Father’s. He smells better, and he’s smaller and more solid. Your eyes blink open, and you see wavy brown hair in front of your face as you feel his face buried in the crook of your neck, his lips resting stationary against your throat.

Everything comes flooding back. You’re not at home, and Father is far away. Instead, you are a prisoner on a pirate ship, and the captain appears to have you securely in his arms.

Your breathing picks up as you shudder; Captain Holland instantly lets go of you and draws back slightly to give you space. This close, his face looks quite young, and much softer than you would expect a killer and a criminal to look. In fact, he looks almost… concerned for you. It’s all very confusing.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks.

You school your features into composure and answer him in a ragged but calm voice. “I’m fine.”

A long, awkward pause follows.

“I think we should have a discussion,” he finally says, and you brace yourself at the sound of those words, so ominous in the present context.

“Perhaps we should.”

“It’s obvious you’re running from something,” he tells you, and you have to look down swiftly, afraid he will see too much in your eyes. “You’ve picked a very dangerous ship to stow away on, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” you insist, almost desperately. “I’m not anyone.”

He looks at you in a way intended to communicate his utter lack of belief in your words. “That’s irrelevant,” he says. “If you want to make it off this ship safely, I need you to trust me, and I need you to do as I say.”

You glance at him sharply, not expecting the turn the conversation has taken. “I’m listening, Sir.”

“We’re a month away from our next port,” he continues. “If you cooperate, I should be able to get you there safely and leave you. At that point, you’re free to be no one to your heart’s content.”

You bristle at the implied mockery. “And what, exactly, constitutes cooperation, Sir?” you ask venomously, for you have seen enough of the world to suspect what a man might want from a woman.

His face twists briefly in realization, followed by a smirk that seems just a touch calculated. “I’m not after a romp in the sheets with you, my lady,” he says, teeth flashing sharply. You get the oddest feeling that you’ve insulted his honor. “I simply need you to play a part. I have a certain reputation with my crew.” You stare him down until he speaks again.

“The men have to believe you’re a prisoner, and that I’m…” now he hesitates, “taking advantage of you.”

You blink. “I don’t understand.”

He huffs out a frustrated breath. “When I take you on deck with me, I need to tie your hands. I need you to walk by my side, and I need you to act subdued, like I’ve been having my way with you.”

“Why?” you ask incredulously. You think you hear him growl under his breath.

“Because some of my men think that a woman can only have one purpose on a ship,” he bites out, tone heavy with his intended meaning. “And while they’ll label you off-limits so long as I appear to have a claim to you, it would make my life quite difficult if they were to learn the truth. I would really prefer not to deal with certain crew members attempting an uprising because they want to be up your skirts.”

Your eyes are wide as you comprehend the situation, a bit shell-shocked. “I’m not wearing skirts,” you reply dumbly, and his lips tick upwards at the corners.

“Love, I need to know if we have a deal,” he insists.

Hesitantly, you stick out your hand. “We have a deal, Captain Holland.” He shakes it firmly, then raises your knuckles to his lips, giving them a delicate kiss. Your stomach drops and your mouth turns dry.

“Just call me Tom when we’re alone,” he says casually. “It’s easier than all this Captain Holland formality.”

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Why…” you swallow. “Why are you doing this? Why help me?”

His expression turns flinty. He crowds you against the wall and leans down to whisper in your ear as your breathing turns shallow. “Did you imagine a pirate could have no common decency, my lady?” he asks. “Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think.” With that, he turns away, and you’re left feeling inexplicably cold.

A whole month, you think. This is bound to be interesting. And incredibly risky.

Taglist: @spocksandsandals, @mc-universe, @cmonspiderling, @twiceinabluemoon, @mrshollandparker, @middlefingermichelle, @peterr-parqerr, @spideychelle-romanogers, @quacksonss, @friendlyneighborhoodgf, @dangerousluv1, @spideythewebsitter, @curly-haired-holland, @stanbroughing, @tomrannosaurusholland, @kaciidubs, @tomhstories, @thelovelyoldscentofabookshop, @lionfart, @johnmurphys-sass, @imwithyoutilltheendofthecredits, & @moonythewerwolf

#my writing #fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #pirate au

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writingsbyexiledfromazerath · 7 years ago

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Saudade; Chapter 10: Making Waves

“Double D, do you think space mutants would have red eyes or white eyes?”

“The beginning of last summer he put Kevin in the hospital for three weeks. It was really really scary.”

“Double D, cmon, what does science say?”

“He doesn’t want to leave Peach Creek.”

“Sockhead!?” Eddward felt himself be jolted from the confines of his mind, back to Ed’s living room rather than the high school basketball court. Ed frowned at his friend, white shirt covered in multicolored fluorescent paint. Ed had been working on this painting for weeks, and when he asked Edd to come keep him company as he finished, Eddward agreed. He hadn’t wanted to be alone. Now he realized he wasn’t being much company to Ed, either.

Eddward closed the textbook propped on his lap; he was barely reading it anyway.

“My apologizes, Ed. I think white would make more sense. “ Ed nodded, content with the answer before reaching for his bucket of paints.

"Look, Edd. I'm sorry about what I did to you. But I'm not gay. I can't be. I thought I was, but I was wrong. I didn't know how to tell you, and I'm sorry."

Was it heartbreak that he was feeling? Or anger?

“ Someone decked me at the football game this weekend. Are you done invading on my life again, you creep?"

Was he really being abused?

“Double D, if you keep thinking too hard your brain is going to ooze out your ears.” Eddward almost chuckled at the absurdity of the comment.

“You’re right. Forgive me, Ed.” Ed beamed at Eddward before placing his brush down and wiping his hands dry on an old cloth. He approached Eddward and plopped down onto the couch next to him with a groan of relief. He lifted his booted feet and propped them onto the coffee table. Eddward was too exhausted to lecture him.

Eddward peered down at his cell phone, almost wishing Kevin would text him with an explanation...anything really to put his mind at ease. His screen lit up, showing a picture of himself with his two best friends the goofy faces that normally made Edd chuckle suddenly made his heart sink.

“No one is going to call my friend a faggot."

He didn’t notice Ed peering over Eddward’s shoulder at the picture until he spoke up, his deepened voice graveling out into Eddward’s ears.

“You know, you’re are not a bad person for wanting to be yourself, Double D.”

Eddward’s breath hitched, his eyes slowly following the source of those comforting words.

Ed’s unwavering stare caused Eddward to avert his eyes and sigh in defeat.

“I...I suppose I know that, Ed.” Ed leaned back, draping his arms over the couch.

“Eddy isn’t trying to be an ass you know. He gets ahead of himself sometimes, but he’s just trying to protect you, Double D. He doesn’t trust Kevin; he never has, you know? He doesn’t want something bad happening to you over something he doesn’t really understand.” Ed paused, resting his head on the back of the couch and peering up at the ceiling.

Eddward looked down at his hands again. He sighed again before agreeing with Ed.

“I think he’s also afraid of us growing apart. Now that we’re in high school, our days are measurably numbered. I can imagine that he wouldn’t like the idea of us separating before we have to.” He chuckled to himself. “But it seems so silly. He should know that we will always be close, right?” Ed frowned.

“C’mon Sockhead. You know you’re going to get into some big fancy ivory school and me and Eddy are going to be left behind in Peach Creek.”

“Its Ivy, Ed. Ivy League…”

“Whatever. We have known our whole lives that our days are numbered as a trio. I’ve made peace with it, I mean, you’re the one kid in the cul-de-sac that we knew would eventually get the hell out of here. But Eddy? I don’t think he’s accepted it yet. I’m pretty sure he’s still looking for a way to keep us all together. I’m not the smartest guy around but I think he’s looking for a way for us to follow you.” Eddward’s eyes widened, his mind racing with the potential trouble Eddy could get himself into for the sake of leaving Peach Creek. Changing his grades, bribing a landlord, good lord there were so many possibilities with Eddy. He was so smart in all of the wrong ways.

Eddward did not speak for a moment, mulling over the conversation in his head. He knew he was heading towards elite schools. He has been pushed in that direction since elementary school.

Did it really matter how things turned out with Kevin? In the long run, even if they got together, the odds were strong that they would eventually have to seperate. There was no way he and Kevin would end up at the same University.

In all honesty, what did Eddward have to lose? Would confronting Kevin be the worst thing in the world knowing that he might never see him again after high school graduation?

A feeling began to rise in his chest. He was feeling almost confrontational.

“There are things that just cannot be changed, no matter how much we may want it to.” Eddward muttered. He stood up, hoping to act quickly before his bravery wore away.

“Alright, that settles it then. Come, Ed. We have a party to attend.”

It was easy to walk across the cul de sac to Nazz’s house. It was also easy to enter the pouding music and flashing lights and witness their classmates, once innocent children, dancing wildly to the loud music and guzzling questionable liquids.

But when Eddward saw Kevin, leaning up against the back living room wall, suddenly it became incredibly difficult to be there with him.

Kevin’s eyes disinterestedly glazed over the crowd. He didn’t want to be there, not that night. When his eyes landed on Eddward’s nervous face, his heart dropped into his stomach.

Their eyes met across the room, Kevin’s words from days before ringing in both of their minds.

“ I can't be associated with a faggot like you."

Eddward found his lips twisting into a scowl, eyes narrowing with an angry glare. Kevin’s eyes dropped to the floor. He pulled his hat over his eyes before ducking out onto the back porch.

“Oh no you don’t!” Eddward found himself growling. He pulled his head down over his hears and pushed past his peers onto the back deck. The cool hair hit his face, nipping at his nose and ears. Kevin was still walking to the opposite side of the deck. The dark water of Nazz’s pool waved quietly and reflected the glowing lights from the house.

“Kevin! Kevin Stop...Don’t think you can just walk away from me. ” Kevin slowed, flipping the color up on his dark dress shirt. It was certainly not the dress code that appeared to be expected at this party, but Kevin tended to overdress when he was nervous.

“Just leave me alone do-” Eddward interrupted.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t even….” He paused, pushing a frustrated breath through his nose and squaring his shoulders. This was it. This was the time to show Kevin that he could be a man too.

The two teenagers stared at each other from across the back deck for what felt like an eternity to Eddward. His heart swelled in his chest, rising to the top of his throat and the loud thumping in his ears draining out the thumping music from inside of the house. Suddenly he was too emotional to articulate his anger like he had originally intended to. Suddenly he felt as vulnerable as that first time alone in the library, or that first night that Kevin snuck through his window.

The words flowed from his mouth with no control, his tongue drying up as it carried the syllables out into the cool air around them.

“I still love you, Kevin” He started, tears already starting to pool in the corners of his eyes. Kevin couldn’t seem to make eye contact with him.

“Unlike you, I never lied, and I never took advantage of you like you had of me. Everything I said and felt was genuine. I hope you know that.” Kevin looked up, appearing angry.

“I never took advantage of you, Edd! I would never…” He exclaimed, before cutting himself off, pulling himself back.

“You would never what? Use me for your sick queer experimentation?! For your private glory hole?! Is that it?!” Kevin flinched, biting his lower lip.

“I am a person, Kevin! Not something you can toy around with and then throw away when you’re not interested anymore! If I’m not good enough for you, tell me! Don’t just erase what you did to me like it never happened!

“Of course not…You don’t understand, Edd…I’m not like you...I’m not”

“You’re not what? A decent human being?!” Kevin scowled before dropping himself into the nearest deck chair, thrusting his head back and covering his eyes with his hands. “I’m not strong enough, Edd….I am just….I’m not. Okay?”

Eddward paused, his furrowed brow relaxing as his heart started to slow. “What...What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve always been so good at being yourself, Edd. You’ve had your stupid dork friends to back you up and you’ve never been afraid to be brainy and nerdy and nice and….and you’re okay with being gay and I just…I can’t.”

He dropped his hands and lowered his face so he was looking at his sneakers and the wooden deck panels. Anything else but Eddwards’s face would have sufficed. Eddward bit his lip.

“Do you really think I’ve been okay with being gay? This hasn’t been easy for me either, Kevin. You’re the first person I’ve ever had any real feelings for.”

Eddward took a few steps forward slowly, lightly letting his feet tap against the hardwood.

“Kevin, it’s okay. People are generally so much more accepting nowadays. I know it's rough but….I really think our friends will be understanding. “

Kevin shook his head, still refusing to look up immediately.

“No,” He started, “Not in Peachcreek.” Eddward crossed his arms over his chest and shuffled his feet. His determined drive was starting to run low. Now he just wanted to hide anywhere else.

“Well, you can’t run away from yourself, Kevin. Not forever at least.” He started to turn away, feeling frustrated and defeated. Maybe he was wrong; maybe tonight just wasn’t the night to settle this.

Kevin’s eyes widened, a realization seeping into his brain.

“No, I can’t run from myself, but maybe…” He stood up, reaching out to Eddward’s hand as he started to walk away. He spun Eddward around and cupped his face between both of his chapped hands.

“Run away with me, Edd.” Eddward’s eyes widened before he pressed his hands into Kevin’s chest to push Kevin away

“Are you crazy, Kevin? We’ve talked about this! We’re too-”Kevin grabbed Eddward’s hands and held them.

“Not now, Dork. I realize that was an impulsive idea. We’d need a plan, a vehicle, money. What about after we graduate?”

“Kevin-” Kevin gripped Eddward’s hands tighter, pulling them to his chest.

“No, seriously. We finish high school and then get the hell out of here. No one will know what hit them and we’d be long gone before they do. That will give us time to come up with a plan.” Eddward shook his head. This was ludicrous, simply insane.

“Kevin there are more reasonable options than to simply run away and abandon everything in our lives.”

Kevin pressed Eddward’s palm to his chest, allowing Eddward to feel the erratic loud thumping of Kevin’s heart.

“You are everything in my life, Edd. Don’t you understand that? I can’t be gay here. We can’t be gay here. This town is too cut off from the rest of the world, too small. We’ll never be able to escape our reputations here.” His voice was low, rumbling in his throat. Eddward shakily placed his palms on Kevin’s cheeks.

“You’re starting to worry me, Kevin. What are you not telling me?” Kevin placed his hands over Eddwards, bringing them down from his face before lacing his own fingers through them.

“Can you wait for me, Edd? Can you wait for me until we graduate?” His pleading eyes struck Eddward’s heart deep. Kevin sounded almost like a maniac, illusioned with threats that Eddward could not see.

But Eddward had to remember that just because he could not see something didn't mean it was not there.

After all, isn’t that how they got to this conversation in the first place?

“I mean, you know, you don’t have to decide right away,” Kevin stuttered, face turning red. “We have plenty of time to think about it, you know? Just….think about it?”

Eddward nodded slowly, causing Kevin to grin before pressing his lips against his. His hands rose to Eddward’s face again, pulling him close. Eddward had almost forgotten what Kevin’s lips had felt like. He was almost ashamed to have considered forgetting. Kevin pulled his lips away, taking Eddward’s breath with him. His lungs struggled to recover.

The sliding back door opened, revealing Nazz in her favorite red mini skirt and black sweater. It was nights like these that Eddward remembered why Nazz was so popular with boys. Maybe she was hiding like Kevin was.

“Double D, could I, like, borrow you for a minute?” Kevin and Eddward pulled apart. Nazz either did not notice the two’s exchange or did not care.

“Of course Nazz, I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Kevin for the briefest second, releasing his hands from Kevins. As he started to walk back to the house, all he could hear his Kevin’s faint whisper from the deck.

“Wait for me.”