#better than the previous dream where i shot a man's eyes out with a knife gun

[robocracker]

love it when my brain is too lazy to come up with proper dreams so it just switches on the subconscious radio and calls it a day

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

next

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics. 

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had. 

*

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead. 

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat. 

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke. 

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife. 

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?” 

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

*

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye. 

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed. 

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward. 

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

[fandomwriterstuff]

Traumtänzer (Pt. 2)

Rated T

German Translations:

Mein Gott - My God

Der Herr de Ringe - The Lord of the Rings

Il Principe - The Prince

Part 1

Part 3

“So… He went back in time to meet up with a woman he kissed once and who was happily married with children?” You asked skeptically. That didn’t sound like the Steven you’d known. But then again, you hadn’t known him all that well.

“It’s confusing, but that’s the gist of it,” Sam interjected, taking a sip of his tea. The four of you were getting cozy in your living room, though it was a bit small. Sam and James shared the couch and you and the Baron found yourselves in arm chairs.

“Why are you so willing to stick your neck out for him?” James asked, looking for more information.

“He,” you paused. How much should you say? “He helped me out when I had nothing,” you shrugged and looked down into your empty teacup. Chamomile had always been a favorite of yours.

“That explains why you owe him a favor, but you’re really going out of your way. You know we’re harboring a criminal,” James nodded towards the Baron. You squinted your eyes at him, wondering if he could be trusted.

“He kept my secret… He found out my background and he didn’t turn me over to the authorities or insist I go get tested on,” you could tell you’d piqued their attention with that one. It was true, what you’d been thinking before. You didn’t tell anyone about your background, but Wanda had seen you and told Steven, and he helped you get off the grid. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” the Baron finally spoke up. “But we’re not in a place to be helping SHIELD out considering the circumstances, so we have no real reason to turn you over.” You accepted his answer with a frown. It wasn’t a lot but he was right.

“I knew the Maximoffs when they worked for HYDRA because my parents were secretly HYDRA agents,” you looked down into the teacup again, fighting the tensing of your muscles and the urge to run. “They sent me in to be experimented on by the-” You lost the word for scepter. Damn it all. “The thing, you know.” You rolled your eyes and growled, swearing in Sokovian. The Baron smirked at that. “ The scepter, god what’s the fucking word,” you mumbled in Sokovian. You knew James and Sam wouldn’t understand but the Baron was Sokovian and should be helping you out. “ Help a girl out,” you pleaded in Sokovian, and you could tell he was holding back a laugh.

“The scepter?” He added in English.

“Yes!” You exclaimed. “They experimented on me with the scepter!” You were so excited to have found the correct word, you didn’t notice the silence or meaningful glances James and Sam sent each other. “So I got some cool powers, they ran a lot of tests, terrible time,” You continued quickly, wanting to get this part over with. “Steven knew this, and helped me get off the grid. I owe him more than a favor, I owe him my freedom, my life,” you said emphatically.

“So you’re HYDRA?” James asked, tensing up. You glared over at him.

“I do not associate myself with Nazis, James,” you were cold, but this was a tough topic. “I was forcibly experimented on for years, and you think I would willingly associate myself with them? You should know better.”

He had the self-awareness to look a little ashamed, though you couldn’t care less. You didn’t need his shame or his pity.

After a brief pause, you sighed. “You can stay here for a little bit. Where are you going next?”

“Madripoor,” the Baron answered smoothly, and you choked on your own spit.

“ Mein Gott,” you mumbled. “Why on Earth would you want to go there?”

“We have business there,” he said, noncommittal. You raised your eyebrows, so it was top secret. Interesting. You stared at each other for a moment, unsure where your next words would lead you. You didn’t want to push too far but your curiosity was burning.

“I suppose I will prepare dinner,” you finally said after losing a staring contest with a criminal.

It was an uneventful night. You prepared food and you all ate in silence. It was only later when you were sitting in the living room reading Der Herr der Ringe that things got weird. James was sharpening a knife while Sam fiddled with some electronics. The Baron was reading your copy of Il Principe quietly.

“ What is your superpower, then? Wanda has her mind tricks and Pietro had his speed,” the Baron was speaking in quiet Sokovian, though he didn’t even glance up from his book. You noticed James side-eye him, but he left it for the moment.

“ I hardly think I should tell you,” you huffed. He raised a single eyebrow, still looking down at the book.

“ Indulge a poor curious man,” he finally looked up and caught you in his gaze. You felt pulled towards him, like his fluent Sokovian was a homing beacon and you just wanted to be near him. It was dangerous, but you hadn’t spoken Sokovian in ages, nobody here knew it and it was becoming a dead language.

“ They called me a dreamwalker,” you whispered in your native language. “ I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you frowned at yourself. You couldn’t trust him. But he was right, who was he going to tell? Alerting the authorities to you would also alert the authorities to him. You kept eye contact with him this time, tilting your head.

“ Tell me, Maus. How does dreamwalking work?”

“ I-”

“English please,” Sam groaned. You pursed your lips and made a quick decision to lie to him. He would have no such issues alerting the authorities. He was an Avenger.

“I was simply telling the Baron about my book. Der Herr der Ringe. The Lord of the Rings,” you replied smoothly.

“What’s so interesting about it?” James asked, this time genuinely curious. Though what was more curious was the small smile the Baron was giving you. You felt your cheeks burn at the attention and tried to hide it by glancing back down at your book.

“It’s the follow on to The Hobbit and follows the third age of Middle Earth,” you began, but James’ jaw had dropped.

“There was a sequel to the Hobbit and you didn’t tell me,” he glared at Sam, who only raised his hands placatingly.

“Dude, I didn’t know you were so into fantasy,” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“It’s actually three books,” you added. “Not just a sequel.”

“Oh man,” James shook his head. “I have been missing out. Is Gandalf still in it?”

You nodded, smiling. The previous topic was forgotten, you started telling him about the movies and how they helped you learn English.

All throughout the evening though, the Baron was glancing at you, trying to figure you out. You were sure he was curious about your powers, though you were sort of afraid to tell him. At the same time… It would be such a relief to talk to somebody about it.

You retired early after setting up the pull out couch and allowing the three men to figure out where they would sleep. They agreed that Sam and James would share the couch and the Baron would take the single bed in the guest room. Their explanation was that they’d be closest to the door if he tried to escape. You couldn’t sleep though, images from your past running through your mind.

It was nearing four when you simply decided to get up, make some tea, grab your book, and return to your room.

However, when you got to the kitchen, the Baron was sitting quietly at the table in the dark sipping on some tea.

“ Good morning,” you whispered in Sokovian, trying not to wake the men in the next room over. The Baron tilted his head towards you and smiled softly, the dark shadowed his face but you could see his features fine. You’d always preferred the night time and the darkness that came with it.

“ Couldn’t sleep? ” He replied in the same language. It must be nice for him to be able to speak it again, just like it was for her.

“ No,” you sighed. “ My mind was racing. And on top of that I’m not used to having guests.”

“You’re uncomfortable being vulnerable around us?” He asked softly, but you shook your head.

“ That’s not it.  I don’t want to accidentally walk into one of your dreams. I’m out of practice.”

He nodded sagely, it would make sense. You seemed like a polite girl and you likely wouldn’t want to intrude.

“ Tea? I made extra,” he gestured towards the teapot where steam was still rising and you smiled, smelling the chamomile.

“ Thank you,” you murmured and poured yourself a cup before sitting down at the table with him. “ You couldn’t sleep either?”

“Too much to do and plan,” he replied with a shrug of one shoulder. “ Will you tell me about your powers?”

You sighed, resigned, and nodded.

“ I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I can walk through dreams and change them. It works for daydreams too, when people are in ‘the zone,’”  you explained. “ Though it’s harder then, when people are awake.”

I can also project my thoughts into other people’s minds you spoke this time directly in his head and his eyebrows shot up.

I haven’t figured out how to read minds per se, but I’m hoping I can learn.

“ Fascinating. Absolutely sensational,” you blinked and blushed at the praise, hoping he wouldn’t notice in the dark room. “ You’re incredible, Maus. Is there anything you can’t do?” He chuckled and you ducked your head, looking up at him through your lashes with a small smile. “ Oh, that’s not all, is it?” He wondered, a slow smile spreading on his face when you nodded your agreement.

“ It’s new… I have only developed it since my time in this flat. But just as I can project my thoughts, I can project my body. Sort of like teleporting,”  you murmured, smiling again when he looked at you, astounded.

“ You truly are wonderful,” he praised you again, this time noting your reaction. You spoke with him for a little while after that about the places you’d teleported to, but you found you’d drifted off when you ‘awoke’ in the dreamscape.

It looked like a forest, this place that your mind conjured. In the forest were many trees and shrubs but also little glimmering puddles. Those were the dreams. You walked as if in a trance, sometimes you had no control in the dreamscape. The puddle nearest to you was dark and murky, you were frightened and your chest tightened up, but you couldn’t hold back as you dipped your toes in and were immersed in the dream.

It was dark. It was always dark at first. But then there was a light and a voice.

You searched and walked around, looking for it, but you regretted entering this… this… this nightmare.

It was James as the Winter Soldier on a dark, cold night. You watched the scene as if in slow motion, and screamed as he killed his friend and his wife.

He jerked back to look at you, noticing you for the first time, and stalked towards you.

“You’re next,” he growled at you, but you scrambled backwards, trying to find your way out of the dream. You tried to conjure something to snap him out of it. You could usually do whatever you wanted, so you changed the scenery. You were on a hot beach, white sand beneath our bare feet, and the Winter Soldier kept stalking towards you.

“Let me out!” you screamed at him. “Let me out!”

You gasped and fell from your chair, and the Baron shot up to catch you.

“ Maus? Are you alright?” his arms were warm around you as you shook off the last of the terror. You were afraid of dying in a dream. You weren’t sure if you’d wake up.

“What the fuck?” James growled from the door frame, rumpled and angry.

“I am sorry,” you choked out. “I did not mean-”

“Stay out of my head,” he cut you off and retreated to the couch, where Sam sat, confused.

“ You might want to stay out of his dreams,” the Baron whispered, arms still caging you in, but you appreciated the strength as tears pricked at your eyes. You hated when people raised their voices.

“ I can’t always control it. I couldn’t get out,” you choked on the words. You huffed a ragged breath and righted yourself, finally pulling away from the Baron. “ I’ll start breakfast,” you mumbled and turned away from him so he couldn’t see the few tears you allowed to fall from fear and apprehension.

Masterlist

[alia-turin-fanfiction]

@golden-olea​ something for you hopefully to satisfy your Aedan needs. Always happy to write more on the subject if interested.

NSFW below.

Aedan opened his eyes, the place was familiar, he couldn’t remember how or why. The forest was something he knew as well as he knew his face in the mirror. So close, so...home. A boy walked out of the woods, blonde hair reaching up to his shoulders, bright blue eyes...he knew the boy, that was him. 

“What…” the boy passed just next to him and did not hear him. What was going on? The kid continued walking to the house nearby, Aedan followed. He didn’t remember that moment in particular, but he somehow knew it. 

There was a woman in the house, her long golden hair reaching up to her waist. She turned around as the boy walked in, smiled warmly and took the rabbits from him. 

“Your father will be proud.” she said. 

His father was fighting somewhere, Aedan remembered how much he begged him as a child to take him away. 

Show me who you are.

A voice. 

He felt a presence but couldn’t identify what.

He looked around but didn’t see anyone. It felt like...someone was behind him but every time he looked back, there was no one. 

Show me who you are. 

He opened his eyes. Different house, no forest, big barren field. A boy, barely a teenager, longer golden hair falling past his shoulders. He was saddling a horse. A man walked to him, messy silver hair covered his head, sharp blue eyes were now watery, defeated. 

“You can’t win with that horse.” his father placed a hand on the horse’s neck. 

“You can’t grow crops here, but here we are.” The words were bitter and now Aedan can see they wounded his old man, but he didn’t know it then. He had been frustrated, working hard and getting nothing in return. His father made a better soldier than farmer, and so was true for Aedan. 

This is not who you are. Show me who you are. 

That presence again. 

Aedan opened his eyes. Horse race. The blonde boy was the same age as in the previous memory, he knew that had happened just hours later. He jumped off the animal, people cheering, the other riders looking at him in disbelief. 

“That was a good ride, son.” a man in cavalry boots approached him. The boy smiled, he was high on adrenaline. “You ride as if you were born on a horse, your poor mother.” 

The boy was too young to understand the joke, too young to be racing, too young to have this conversation. Aedan wanted to scream at himself and tell himself to walk away, have that conversation three years later, not now. He wanted to tell the boy that he needs to fall in love, live some more before he gave his life away.  

The boy nodded, too proud with himself, his arrogance and confidence already beyond anyone’s control. 

“Do you want to be a cavalryman, son?” the older elf asked and the teenager’s eyes lit. All his life he had wanted to be a soldier like his father, he could be a cavalryman, he could be better than his father. 

He was too young, but no one was there to tell him that. 

“What is the point of that?” he screamed at the invisible presence but all he got in response was laughter. 

When he opened his eyes again, the boy was older, just a couple of years, still foolish, still a teenager, not even a man. 

No. 

He had already earned some scars, already seen a good friend die, lost a horse, that  hurt more. There was a girl in the room. Aedan could still remember the smell of her hair even after so many years. She watched as the boy walked in. Warm brown eyes filled with...what? He didn’t know then, he knew now. 

The boy smiled and walked toward her, grabbed her face in his hands, but she stepped away. 

“You can’t do that. We need to talk.” she said, he didn’t care. 

“Do what?” The arrogant smile on his lips never disappeared and he stepped closer again, trying to pull her in his arms, but she walked away, further from him. 

“I’m not a whore, you can’t be gone for months and then come back for a night, then be gone again and come back for a night.” he didn’t understand her words then, he wasn’t sure he understood them now. “I love you, but I need you for more than a night every few months.” 

Aedan remembered that her words lit a fire in him that he couldn’t understand. Rejection turned into anger and malice. If he were older he would have understood, he understood now, but then? He was a boy living a man’s life. He wasn’t ready.

“We are all whores my dear, we just sell different parts of us.” his arrogant smile changed to something more vicious. “I sell my skills, you...well the best parts of you.”

She slapped him, Aedan actually did not remember that. He remembered what followed. 

“Eilis, are you okay?” a man walked in from the other room. The boy tilted his head. 

“As I said, selling the best parts of yourself.” he walked out, not a word. The fool he was, none of that was what it seemed.

That hurt. He had hurt himself, all that could have been avoided. He had met her years later. She had a family, a son, he had his sword and his horse, they both seemed happy even if he wished she was in his life. 

Nothing was the same afterwards. Different women followed, different rooms, sometimes he didn’t even need a room. Never in the same bed unless it was his own and he was alone. 

“Not funny whoever you are.” he was trying to figure out what was going on. It felt like dreaming, was he dreaming? Maybe. He could however feel. There was this presence, unnerving, like an enemy that sneaked way too close. There was also sensation, as if his wrists and feet were not getting enough blood. He looked down, but there was nothing to see. 

He opened his eyes. He was in the training yard…

The teenager was a young man, way too young. Aedan could see the anger, fists tight, the fire in his eyes burning like nothing before. His gaze was fixed on an older man training further away. Aedan wanted to slap himself, it was the day he was told he cannot lead and that some lordling from Tir na Lia will be their new leader. He had just seen his captain die, in his arms, and now this dark haired man who was no one to any of them had to lead.  

He walked to the lordling, when something made him look to his right and duck. His attacker missed the young man and his punch hit the new captain right in the chest.

The young man stepped away, it was the blacksmith. The man was not phased at all that he just hit the lordling, but turned around and launched again. 

“You bastard!” the blacksmith shouted as the young man pulled a knife. 

“My mother would be surprised to hear that.'' The man was about to punch him but then a figure moved between the two of them, placing one hand on the backsmith’s shoulder, another grabbing the the young man’s hand so he couldn’t move. 

“What is going on here?” his captain’s emerald eyes moving between the two. 

“He slept with my sister!” the man roared. 

“I would apologize, but she seemed happy to me.” The young man grinned. 

Aedan actually laughed. The blacksmith punching Eredin instead of him was among his favorite moments in life. Especially because it was over something so silly. He hated Eredin then, 

He was in the forest again, the young man was on the ground bleeding, his leg had been shot by an arrow, he pulled it out, but the blood was just pouring. 

Eredin rushed to him, his shoulder was bleeding, Aedan noticed that just now. His captain applied pressure on the wound, the younger man almost losing consciousness but he did not make a sound.  

“Pouch at the back.” Eredin said and the young man reached there pulling a potion that the captain poured on his leg. 

“Where is your horse?” Eredin asked. 

He pointed back to the animal, heavy breathing suddenly filled the air, the horse was dying. 

Eredin reached for his knife, but the young man stopped him. He stood up and walked to the animal. It wasn’t his first time when he had to do it, but it was never easier. He could drive his knife in a man’s heart while watching him in the eyes, he could never do that with a horse. The young man knelt, found the heart and pushed his knife in. It was quick and bloody.

“We need to move.” Eredin gave him his hand. “The rest should be south of here.” 

“Never got used to the horses dying.” the young man walked like a drunk man, he had lost too much blood. “I’m okay with men dying, I don't like it, but I get over it. The horses get to me. I won’t be sad if you die lordling”

Eredin turned toward him with a raised eyebrow. 

“No offence lordling, but why are you here? Daddy didn’t love you? Need something to brag to your lordly friends in Tir na Lia?” no answer. “I mean I appreciate the help and all, I probably would have bled to death but…”

“Do you ever shut up?” Eredin stopped and turned around. The young man stood in his place even. Aedan had to admire himself, knowing what he knew now about Eredin, he was lucky he was alive. 

“No.” he finally answered with a smile. 

“Fall in line. Or don’t. I don’t care. I can make you and I can break you, up to you.” 

This was not your home. How did you get there, I see who you are, show me how you found the place. We don’t have time That presence again...they didn’t have time for...what?

Aedan opened his eyes, he walked through the portal, his whole body shaking from the jolt. He rubbed the ring on his left index finger, the gemstone missing. 

He woke up. 

As his consciousness started coming to him again he groaned, unable to move. His eyes were looking at an unfamiliar ceiling. He wanted to rub his forehead, maybe that will force the headache away, but as he tried to move his arm he felt it bound. He looked to where his hand was, his wrists were tied to the bedpost with ribbons. His brain was working now faster he looked around, he could not recognize the room. Stone walls, dark grey colour almost black in places? Bed in the center of the room, interesting choice, dresser in one end of the room. His shirt was gone, he had only his pants on, even his boots were gone. He tried to remember how he got himself in this situation but he couldn’t. Last thing he remembered was going trough a portal. He didn’t even recall where the portal led. 

He pulled on the ribbons again with all his strength, he could see the veins on his arms filling with blood as he put all his power into it but as fragile as the bonds looked they did not move, just dug deeper in his skin. 

“Welcome.” He didn't see the woman until she spoke, she was behind him and then walked around the bed. Aedan stared at her, she had a small frame, shorter than him, if he could stand up she would probably reach to his chest or below. Her hair was raven black falling down her back, a golden tiara placed on her head, her body was covered in a sheer black dress that was leaving nothing for his imagination. She moved with confidence he had seen in a few others. She wasn’t elf, but her features were not entirely human either, more elegant, more refined...more beautiful.

“I usually don’t complain when women tie me to a bed, but asking me first would have been nice.” he forced a smile on his lips, but he wasn’t really in a playful mood. Whoever she was, she tied him to that bed, and that ribbon was pure magic otherwise he would be able to tear it. What bothered him more was he couldn’t even remember himself being captured or even walking into that building, whatever it was. He remembered walking through the portal and then...nothing. He dreamt and he woke up here. 

“I saw who you are.” she ran a finger over his forearm tracing one of the visible veins, she moved slowly to his biceps and then his shoulder. His body tensed, there was no malice in her action, if it wasn’t for the confusion he would probably even find it erotic, but he had to wonder how long before she pulled a knife. 

“Do I need to pay extra for it?” Aedan pulled again on his restraints, the muscles on his shoulders tightening under her fingers, but the ribbons did not move. “I’m more fun with my hands free.”

“You are a beast.'' She moved her hand from his shoulder and traced a scar on the right side of his chest. “I saw how you fight.” her fingers reaching to the side of his ribcage and tracing the fine lines of his tattoo there, horse standing on its feet and breathing fire. “Is that your god?” 

“No.” he looked around trying to find something that might help him.. There was a fountain in the furthest corner that he did not see before but he wasn’t sure where the water came from. “I think you owe me at least your name, given how helpless I am.”

“You have never been helpless, Aedan, even when you were bleeding in the woods and you needed your friend to help you. Or was he your enemy then? Hard to say with these memories.” the woman looked at him as she spoke, copper eyes pinned on his as if she was looking in his soul. Just now he realized it. The presence in his dreams, that was her. She was that voice in his head. “My name is Fay, I’m the Queen of this world.” He looked at her as she continued tracing his body, her small gentle fingers tracing another scar on his abdomen, until she stopped at his belt. “Why are you here?”

“You tell me, your highness, I’m tied to a bed” Aedan smiled in the way that always got him what he wanted and he could see the curiosity in her eyes. 

“I don’t mean you.” she pointed at him. “I mean your kind. You are just the hunting dog, loyal, good at what it does.” 

“If I am a dog, why are you looking at me the way you are?” He smiled at her again, but this time his eyes were not fixed on hers, he was looking at her body fully aware she knew what he was staring at. “Release me, I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

“I saw what your kind does to other worlds.” she stepped closer to his head again. “You are here to conquer and take.”

“Not always.” it was true, they didn’t always do that, it just so happened he was a soldier and soldiers usually didn’t go on exploration. “A predator will always hunt a prey, no matter the prey. You don’t strike me as prey.” He wasn’t coy with her, she was half his size, but she probably knew magic that could unmake him.

“My people are.” That was the first time he sensed any emotion in her voice. It wasn’t fear, probably concern or something stronger. She cared. “If I free you, do you promise to leave my people alone.” 

“Yes.” he couldn’t do that, in fact he had no idea if her people were of any interest to Eredin. He didn’t remember. He was going to cross that bridge when he came to it. 

“If you are lying to me I will curse you.” she placed her hand on the ribbon over his wrist, her skin felt so warm. He wasn’t really lying. He wouldn’t hurt her people, now Eredin and the rest were a different story. 

“What’s one more curse to the list?” he tugged on the restraints and he felt them lighter. He pulled again using all his strength and the ribbons tore, freeing his arms. Aedan pulled himself up and untied the ribbons around his feet and then he sat on the bed. The woman had stepped back watching him carefully. She was a witch that much he knew, he couldn’t kill her even if he wanted to. “What now, Your Highness?” he had no idea what to do...or where he was. He knew he had to find Eredin and the rest, but where? For all he knew they might not be here anymore. No. Eredin would not leave his men behind until he found at least a corpse. 

“Do you want me?” Aedan almost choked as he heard her question. He wasn’t shy by any standard and it was not like the first time a woman asked him that, but a moment ago he was tied to a bed, now...and the confidence in her voice...no shyness, no embarrassment. 

“Where is your king, Queen Fay?” he got up and stretched, his body felt as if he had been sleeping for days, it was good to feel his muscles. He stretched every single part on his torso, not failing to notice the way she watched him. 

“Does a Queen need a King? I cannot rule over this place alone?” she stepped toward him, her voice harsh now, she found his words offensive and they were not meant as such. 

“In my experience they go in pairs. Need? No. Can you rule alone? I’m sure you can, you tied me to that bed and you are half my size.” She was close enough to him and he touched her face, her skin softer than anything his fingers had caressed. “Kings have other uses.” He didn't care about that, he did not want to be stabbed in the back as he was too lost in his own pleasure. He placed his thumb on her lips, he wanted to kiss her. She was beautiful, but there was magic around her, something that attracted him in a way he could not explain. He had been in love a long time ago, that was not love, but it was an attraction like he had not felt. 

“What if there is? I have seen your memories, you are not really worried about stepping on another man’s territory.” she wrapped her small fingers around his hand and pushed his thumb in her mouth, her tongue rubbing against his skin, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. 

“Never knowingly and I avoid it when I can.” That wasn’t a lie, there were things even he wouldn’t do. 

Aedan pulled his hand away from her mouth and she looked at him confused. He didn’t  give her a chance to think about it, his hands were at the collar for her dress, gripping it as hard as he could before he tore the fabric. 

“Animal.” she hissed at him teasingly. 

“You knew that before you asked.” he watched the torn dress fall at her feet, her body was absolute perfection. She reached for his belt but she grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “No, Highness, you have been playing games with me all day, it’s my turn.” Her head was barely reaching his shoulders. He grabbed her throat, but he didn’t squeeze, applied enough pressure to remind her he was there. Her eyes fixed on him with so much confidence, someone else in her place would be alarmed, her reaction excited him more than her naked figure. He could break her neck easily like that, so thin and fragile under his grip, she probably won’t even be able to cast a spell. 

“I want you.” he watched every sound leave her mouth. 

He leaned forward to kiss her deeply, stealing the air from her. She moaned as he pushed her a step back, and then another one, until her back hit the cold wall next to the door. Aedan might be losing himself but his instincts were still working for now. He turned her around, her hands pressing against the wall and her back against his already hard cock. 

“I think you are about to beg.” she turned her head so she could see him but Aedan smiled. He could wait. He leaned forward and moved her long hair to the side revealing her thin neck and elegant shoulders. He placed a kiss just below her ear, one arm wrapping around her body, his hand easily finding her breast and pinching a nipple making her moan and jerk herself toward him. His fingers didn’t stop playing with her sensitive skin as his other hand found its way between her legs, feeling the wetness and the heat. He ran a finger over her clit, gently, easily until he pushed a finger in her, slowly circling inside, enough to allow her to feel him, but not enough to please. 

“Is it me who turned you on?” he nipped on her neck leaving a red mark. “Or the thought that I am below you and I’m about to do you dirty?” he bit again, lower harder. Her copper eyes looked at him surprised. He knew she had seen who he was, just a random boy, he was no king, not a nobleman, he was even bad at helping his dad with the crops, no talent for this sort of work, just very good hunter and killer and now she was his prey. 

He pulled his finger out of her moving back to her clit, he made soft circles until he felt her relax and then increased the pressure. She gasped, her nails scratching against the wall. 

“His Highness must be negligent.” he whispered in her ear then bit the earlobe, his fingers dripping down to her entrance but he didn’t push it, just rubbed the wetness he found all over. “You are a mess, Your Highness.” he teased her, his fingers just circling her entrance until he finally pushed two of them inside. He felt her stretching, her body jerking in pleasure in his embrace. He wasn’t slow this time, but his pace was nowhere near what he thought would make her come in his arms. He constantly changed the pace, going from faster to slower, curling his fingers in her or just using them to stretch her further, she groaned in frustration and he smiled. 

“You will pay for that.” she said as he pulled his fingers out of her. Aedan almost laughed as he moved his fingers back to her clit, but he moved slowly knowing that was not what she wanted. 

He stepped away, she turned around looking at him angry, he was chuckling, he could kill for the look she was giving him. 

“What is it, Your Highness?” He teased his, eyes drinking her flushed body, wanting to take her right now against the wall. 

“Insolent…” he leaned forward and kissed her before she could finish. As he pulled from her she gasped for breath. “On your knees.”

Aedan looked at her with all the arrogance in his body, he obeyed, he was going to give her as much. His eyes fixed on hers as he went on his knees, she reached for his head, but he was not going to allow her that. He placed his hand on her stomach and pushed her against the wall, before she could understand what was happening he reached for her legs and lifted her with ease, placing her legs on his shoulders and pushing her against the wall. His mouth was just where his fingers had been a second ago. He was no longer in the mood for teasing, he licked a long stripe before his tongue started mercilessly working on and around her clit, his mouth sucking as his fingers dug in her flesh trying to keep her stable on his shoulders. Her fingers dig in his hair trying to maintain some control, but the pose did not allow her to do anything more than that. Aedan knew that frustrated her, but she was too far lost in her pleasure to complain. Her legs tighten around his head, he knew she was close but he didn’t stop, his tongue had found that one sweet stop and he was moving mercilessly as she came around him, body shaking as he increased his grip so she didn’t fall. He gave her a second to calm before he placed one final lick, her body shivering from the sensitivity. He let her step on the ground gently and he got up as well, towering over her small frame. 

“You are absolute mess, Highness.” he reached to adjust the tiara on her head mockingly. “My mess.” his voice was husky and lit a fire in her eyes he had not seen yet, she slapped him. Aedan’s head turning to the side, more for dramatic effect rather than from her strength. He ran his finger through his jaw, then turned around bending down and lifting her up against the wall. “I will nail you to that wall.'' He moved one hand away, he was strong enough to support her with just one arm. He unbuckled his belt, letting his pants hall around his ankles. He didn’t give her a warning as he pushed his length in her, slowly, but her tightness and wetness around him was so much that he barely could control himself. He stopped halfway, looking in her eyes, making sure she was well. She had bitten her lips but her eyes were fixed on him pleading to go further. It was all he needed. He had no idea it was a spell or just her, but he couldn’t stop the most animalistic instincts in himself. He picked up a harsh rhythm, his fingers leaving bruises where they dug into her skin. As he found the right spot in her he moved faster and harder, her moans filling the room. He couldn’t get enough of the way he felt and the way she was just falling to pieces in his arms. 

“Touch yourself highness.” he chuckled as he said that her eyes shooting him a surprised look. “It’s an order.” he said teasingly and stopped his move, his cock sheltered deep in her, but he did not move. 

“Insolent dog.” she hissed at him. 

“And I’m still balls deep in you.” he used again one hand to support her as he reached for hers, his large palm guiding her fingers where the two of them were connected. He waited. Her fingers started slowly circling around her clit. “Good girl.” He started moving in her again, as fast as he had been just a moment ago. Both of his hands back on her hips, holding her tight as his rhythm was becoming more uneven, his hips crashing against hers and pushing her to the wall. He was getting close and he could feel her fingers trying to get her faster over the edge. He felt her tighten around him, hard, he couldn’t control it anymore, his own orgasm hitting him with force, he came harder than he had in years, the whole room suddenly spinning as he had to put whatever little effort he had into holding her. 

A moment passed and he stepped back, pulling out of her letting her legs step on the ground gently. Fay’s back was pressed against the wall, she was breathing heavily, her breast raising and falling with each gasp for air, the same way his chats and abs were moving as he was trying to even his breaths. 

Aedan reached to pull his pants up when he felt a smirk. 

“A pity.” she said as he was tightening his belt. “You are quite a sight without your pants.”

“First time is free, second time will cost you.” he chuckled. “Now I will need my shirt and my armor.” He didn’t mind a second time. Or a third. He had not felt so attracted to a woman in very long time, even if in this case it was only physical. 

She just smiled and walked to the nearby dresser, slowly opening it, his eyes not leaving her naked shape. She wrapped herself in a robe and tossed something at him. His shirt. He put it on, wondering where the rest of his things were. Sword, knife, bow, armor…

“So business-like.” she turned toward him with a teasing smile. “And you were all charm prior to that.” 

“I’m still charming. I’m just not stupid.” he knew whatever that was it was just a game. A good game, he liked it, but he had to find a way out of here, and she had to do whatever she had to do. No pint to lie to himself even if sex had been good and he liked the little dominance dance they did. Maybe if there were next time he would allow her to tie him again. He wanted to see her small body move as she fucked herself on him.

“Come.” she made a sign with her hand for him to follow as she walked to the random fountain in the room. “If you look into it, you can see your future.” 

“I prefer surprises.” Despite his words he looked down. It wasn’t really curiosity that drove him, more like someone saying look and you feel the need to look. He saw a stone wall, a room, not familiar, he had never seen this place, a man with a sword in front of him, Aedan flicked his knife in hand. The vision vanished. 

“This is where you die.” she said, concern in her face. “Hundreds of years from now.” 

“We all will die one day, if it’s a sword that kills me, so be it.” He had made his peace with that a long time ago. He wrote his goodbye letter to his father when he was just a month in the cavalry, a stupid kid, at that point not even sure how a naked woman looked like, but he wrote his last words, they had not changed much since then even if he revised the letter every year or so. 

“You can stay here, just the two of us.” she placed a hand on his chest, her touch bringing back memories of what they did just minutes ago. His eyes looked at the bed behind her. His thought was interrupted by the sound of horses. “Your friends found you it seems.” She looked at him and she looked at the window. Aedan wasn’t sure what to do. Grab her? Just wait and see how that played out?

Steps followed, the door opened, Ciaran walked in first, sword in hand, Eredin followed. His general lifted his sword and pointed it at Fay, she wasn’t moving, she wasn’t a threat, but Eredin did it all the same. 

“Aedan.” The dark haired man greeted him. “I see you are alive. Want to introduce us?” 

“You are not welcome in my home soldier.” Fay spoke before he could even open his mouth. 

“You have something that belongs to me.” Eredin pointed at Aedan with his sword; it wasn’t a threat just making sure they were all clear where they stood. “You also killed two of my men.”

Aedan looked at her confused, two of his men? A memory came to him, he was in the woods, scouting, there were two others with him, yes. A bright light, so bright that everything turned black. Then he woke up in the bed. Yes, there were two others with him. She killed them? 

“He is lying.” Fay turned to Aedan, her eyes pleading with him. “I never saw your men. Someone else did it.” 

“She is a witch.” someone spoke but Aedan couldn’t recognize the voice, it was all the same. 

“You can stay here. Stay with me.” she ran a hand down her body, over her breast and stopped at her belly. “You will not lose your head here.” 

“No.” Aedan took a step back, it was probably the second hardest thing he had done in his life. He saw Eredin chuckle, a knife flew out of somewhere, Fay disappeared in front of him, a bunch of black feathers spread in the air as if a pillow was opened, but the woman was gone without a trace as if she was never in the room.

“Damn it.” someone swore but all he could do was watch the father as he grabbed one. Raven feathers. 

“Aedan.” Eredin was now in front of him, he never noticed the man moving. “You are drugged.” his general said as he held his jaw with a hand and turned his head left to right. “What happened?”

“I…” he couldn’t tell him what happened, that would be awkward. He went for the next thing he remembered. “I don’t recall.” 

“You were gone for two days.” was that concern in Eredin’s voice. “You don't remember anything?” Aedan shook his head. He really did not remember anything that happened today. He looked at the feather. Beside that. He remembered that.

[liquid-luck-00]

Connections 2

Chapter 2

this is based on @thepeacetea daminette soulmate au

Masterlist *** Previous *** Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One year has passed and Marinette couldn’t be happier with her dad and Penny. She has been on tour with her dad and has thus been home schooled for a year. Then final performance is in Gotham city and she is going to the Wayne Gala with her dad. After only a year she has gained and adopted the name Marinette Stone, and you would not believe how much the media fell in love with her.

 ---

 Jagged’s tour was going to end in Gotham and Tim couldn’t be happier. He practically begged Bruce to send him and Invite to the Gala in an attempt to meet the Rockstar. Bruce eventually gave in and invited the Rockstar and Tim was ecstatic.

 ---

 To say he was surprised was an understatement, Jagged couldn’t believe that he was being invited to the Wayne Gala. His answer was immediate, he accepted the offer, not because of the Wayne name but because of what the Gala was for. Every Gala was for a charity and Jagged couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“What’s this dad?” Mari asked him as he set the invite down.

“It’s an invite to a big fancy party”

“Are we going?”

“It’s a Rock’ in cause so ya”

“oh!” Marinette shot up and ran from the room only to comeback with a book. She stood next to him as she flipped though her drawings before finding the one, she liked. “do you like it dad”

It was a simple black tux with dark purple accents but what shot it over was that there were music notes everywhere they were meant to catch the light and reflect at angles. The suit was perfect and they both knew it.

“that’s amazing little rocker! Any ideas for Penny?” she only responded with a smirk and flipped a page. The dress she showed him was stunning, it was a mermaid dress that was a deep dark purple an had an open back. Over the whole dress was a lace that incorporated music notes that draped from her shoulders to the ground perfectly over the dress. “I think she’ll like it Mari, but what about you?” now her smirk grew wider.

“it’s a surprise”

“well it will be beautiful” with that Mari ran up to her room and you could hear her working and patterning until it would be perfect.

 ---

 Ever since moving in with her uncle he really did become her dad. He supported her in her fashion dreams and has even worn some of her pieces on stage. She didn’t want anyone to know it was her so papa only said they were from a little online shop, but that he couldn’t give out the name yet.

Mari couldn’t believe her luck she was originally going to give them the outfits for their birthdays, but this was better. She had been trying to keep them secret, but this was perfectly timed.

 ---

 The day of the Gala arrived and the three of then went out to the limo. Marinette couldn’t believe that she finished all three outfits, but she was more than pleased with the results. She was dressed in a purple to pink dress with musical notes and a black velvet sash tied in a bow. Her hair was in a simple chunky braid that was pinned into a loose bun. Dad couldn’t stop smiling and Penny was gushing how cute she was and how well the three looked.

When they arrived at the Gala, they walked the red carpet and Marinette stayed close to her dad. She smiled and waved for the pictures while dad dropped hints that the three were dressed by his mysterious designer.

Mari could tell instantly she was the youngest as soon as they stepped into the ballroom, so she hid behind her dad but still made polite conversation with those who spoke with her.

 ---

 Tim was bouncing on his feet trying to catch a glimpse of the Rockstar.

“Tim” Bruce cut into his searching.

“Yes?” Tim immediately stopped his searching and looked at his father.

“Sigh. Come on let’s look” Tim was on his heals. They walked around the room until they saw the Rocker. But they were having trouble the rocker was with a woman and child and almost every woman there seemed to be fawning over the child and Rocker.

That was when Tim noticed the child, she was calm and courteous but when her eyes saw him, she excused herself and ran towards him. She had to be about six from her height, but her motions were fluid and not without purpose.

“Hi there” the child extended her hand “I’m Marinette, nice to meet you”

Tim went through the motions and shook her hand, “Hi I’m Tim” he gave her a polite smile and then looked back at Jagged. That was when he heard her laugh and he looked at the child and frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“You” she stated it and continued to giggle, that only deepened his frown. She then Turned around and called “Papa, I think someone wants to meet you” she still was giggling.

“Little Star! I told you not to leave my side” The rocker said with a chuckle and a glint in his eye. “Looks like Mari’s taken a liking to you, nice to meet you I’m Jagged Stone” he held out his hand and in that moment Tim .exe stopped working. And almost as suddenly shook his idol’s hand.

“OMGItsapleasuretomeetyou”

“Tim” Bruce called “breathe” Tim shook his head took a breath and seemed to regain some composure while Bruce only seemed to laugh.

“Hello Mr. Stone, my name is Tim” the little girl seemed to have stopped giggling, but she was looking between Tim and Bruce and then something seemed to click, and she was giggling again.

“What’s so funny star?” the girl took a deep breath.

She turned to Bruce and extended a hand “Hello Mr. Wayne” and the look on Bruce’s face was priceless. This little girl seemed to not only recognize Bruce without him ever introducing himself, but even the Rocker was shocked.

 ---

 Bruce didn’t understand what was going on and that was surprising. A six-year-old was able to identify him and what he knows of Jagged she would never have visited Gotham before. But he was never going to be prepared by what happens next.

This giggling girl suddenly stopped and went quiet. She looked behind him for only a moment before her attention was back on him. Her blue eyes lost in thought, when almost a suddenly they snapped to attention. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the side as a man dressed as a server was holding a knife. This little girl just pulled him away from an attacker without a giveaway.

She turned around as the attacker spun around and charged. She didn’t move, hell she didn’t flinch as he ran towards her with a knife. She was small and she used her size to her advantage but that didn’t stop the punch that she hit the attacker with on his leg. Almost instantly the man went down, and this little girl just took him down. Bruce didn’t know how this child was able to hit the spleen 11 pressure point, but she did.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice rang in his ears and saw the sweet little girl again.

“Yes, I am…” Bruce was confused to say the least, and his confusion only grew when he heard laughter.

“Little Star that was dangerous” Jagged Stone scolded, and he laughed. The girl looked sheepish and just like a child should.

“How?” was the only thing that registered in his mind.

“Dunno she’s always been a little badass.” The Rockstar laughed.

This child is something else.

 ---

 The five of them stayed together the rest of the night and by the end Little Marinette was practically adopted by the Wayne family as a niece to Bruce. As she referred to him as Uncle Bruce and called Tim Tim-Tam.

The Stones were invited the next day for lunch at the manor where Marinette met Dick and Jason. Jason who when told couldn’t believe it until he saw the video and hasn’t stopped laughing except to call her his sister and give her the nickname Pixie Pop to which she responded to call him Jay-Jay. Dick practically fell in love with his new sister and she fell in love with him calling him Blue Bird.

Marinette loved Gotham because of her new brother’s and she practically begged to stay longer. It was Alfred who spoke up asking about her education. Dad saying, she was doing classes online. And Bruce asking if they would like she can attend Gotham Academy and stay with them in the manor while Jagged was on tour. Marinette couldn’t be happier, all that was left was a concert in Paris then school would start.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A quick doodle of young Marinette. I think that after the gala the people of Gotham call her Gotham’s Pixie

Taglist🐞🦇

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[fandom-collective-writers]

The Cries of Lovers (Nobunaga Oda x MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Nobunaga Oda x MC

Prompt: ghosts, full moon, ghost stories

Warning: Smut!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 5,632

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsisterxotome​ (Click here to support me on ko-fi!<3)

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Sengoku or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

       Something tickled her cheek, her hand batting aimlessly at the sensation as MC turned away in her sleep.

       The tickle came again, more insistent this time, and she made a soft noise of complaint, brows furrowing as she turned over again.

       A soft breeze made her shiver...but had she left a window open? 

       The quiet shattered around a scream, felt more than heard as it set every nerve alight with the urge to flee, violently jerking her from the safety of sleep.

       MC gasped deep lungfuls of air as she shot up, meeting the man beside her halfway as he reached for her. “Nobunaga-!” her voice trembled with fear and adrenaline as she clutched at him, eyes wide as she peered at him in the darkness. 

       “Shh, it was just an owl.”

       “An owl?” Sure, she wasn’t familiar with owl calls, but she could’ve sworn the sound had come from something human...or something that had once been human. She swallowed, shivering as she asked, “Are you...Are you sure?”

       Nobunaga nodded in the darkness, but his reassurance did very little to calm her racing heart, still thumping hard in her chest.

       Settling back into the covers, she shivered as she curled closer to him, seeking his sturdy warmth. His fingers carded through her hair, but her mind refused to calm, still suffused with fear. Every touch against her skin felt like it could have been a thousand spiders, her hands reaching to nervously brush stray hairs away from tickling her cheeks.

       More than anything, MC wished she was back home in Azuchi, in their bed in the tenshu. Hopefully Nobunaga would be able to finish his business with the daimyo who lived here soon. She didn’t like this place. It was colder than Azuchi, a strange loneliness clinging to the walls and making her skin crawl as she walked the halls. Every noise made her jump, her steps quickening as she nearly ran in search of her lover.

       She had never been the superstitious type, but something felt wrong about this place, a strange heaviness to the very air she breathed. The people seemed amiable enough, but it clung to them too, this weight. Sometimes she swore she caught the hint of a more desolate expression beneath their careful smiles, like peeking beneath a mask.

       When she had mentioned it to Nobunaga, hoping he could assuage her anxiety after they had been escorted to their room for the evening, she felt her heart do a little fearful dive in her chest when his eyes had narrowed, lips curling down in a frown as he said, “You noticed it too?”

       Burying her face against his chest, she tried to focus on his steady breathing, on the beat of his heart, letting the comforting, strong sound calm her as she slowly sank back into the sweet embrace of sleep and dreams of home. She wanted to leave soon...

       MC woke from a fitful sleep the next day, stirring when her boyfriend’s warmth left her side.

       ��Nobunaga?” she called, searching for him through sleep-bleary eyes.

       “I want to get an early start on today’s business,” he answered, sitting down beside her on the futon, fully dressed. Her head rested on his thigh as he ran his fingers through her hair, almost lulling her back to sleep. “The sooner we’re finished here the better.”

       “Agreed.”

       His hand gripped her chin and she tilted her face to meet his as he bent to kiss her. She was grateful for the affection, for the warmth it spread through her tight muscles. “You may sleep longer if you wish. It’s still early,” he murmured against her mouth.

       “No. I don’t think I could sleep without you.” The thought of being in this strange room alone with the walls was more than enough to drive the last of the sleepiness from her form. “I’ll be with Lady Yamayo all day.”

       “Enjoying tea ceremonies?” he chuckled. The daimyo’s wife was obsessed with tea ceremonies. MC hadn’t even thought that was possible until now.

       “Let me restrain my excitement,” she grumbled. Maybe she would take her chances with the walls and the eyes that seemed to follow her every move. They would be more interesting company, that was for sure.

       “Retreat to me if it gets to be too much,” he said, punctuating his words with another kiss.

       She couldn’t help but smile as he rose from the futon, the constant prickling at the back of her head momentarily forgotten. “I love you.”

       The smile he returned had a pure, delighted edge to it as he answered, “I love you, too.” Nobunaga could deny it all he wanted, but she knew he melted inside when she said it. “I’ll see you later.”

       She waved him out and then rolled over onto her back, blowing out a long breath as she stared up at the ceiling. Even the wooden beams looked too dark, as if damp from the inside out, and she half expected to see centipedes crawling among the shadows.

       It had happened several times throughout their stay that MC had caught sight of some phantom movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to see what it was, there was nothing there. The first few times it happened, she dismissed it as nothing more than her eyes playing tricks on her, but as the occurrences increased, she began to grow more suspicious. A couple of times, she thought she felt a tug at the hem of her kimono or a movement under her foot, but again there was nothing there. It didn’t help her nerves at all, but she wasn’t about to hide away in bed all day like a child and wait for the ghosts to get her.

       Throwing off the covers, she dressed and freshened up, giving her cheeks a few pats for strength. She tried to keep her paces even as she walked down the hall to take her breakfast with Lady Yamayo, a smile on her face as she made small talk with the older woman.

       She only had to suffer through a couple of rounds of tea ceremony before lunch, and then something odd occurred.

       Honestly, she had very little in common with Lady Yamayo, the woman’s values a little more traditional than her own, but she got along with her well enough as long as she didn’t accidentally try to discuss deeper topics like the recent rice shortages in the neighboring province or the new irrigation systems used in the fields bordering Azuchi. No, the most important subjects she discussed with Lady Yamayo included new designs on porcelain, new strains of tea from China, and, worst of all, when she would bear Nobunaga children.

       They were in the middle of a discussion *cough* interrogation *cough* concerning the last topic when MC had taken a glance outside and caught a glimpse of the nearly full moon hanging in the evening sky. A second later a shatter broke the murmur of conversation, making her jump in her seat. Lady Yamayo’s face was stuck in a look of fear and horror, her hand trembling in the air where she’d once been holding her cup.

       “Are you alright?” she asked, making the other woman start.

       “Y-Yes, my apologies,” she stuttered, patting her pale cheeks. “You’ll have to excuse me, Princess, I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

       “Yes, please, I hope you feel better,” MC called after her as Lady Yamayo stumbled from the room, nearly tripping over the hem of her kimono in her rush. She continued to stare after her as a maid came in to take care of the mess, a basket under her arm.

       “You’ll have to forgive my lady,” the young woman spoke softly, an apologetic look in her gaze as she knelt on the tatami floor. “We’re all a little anxious with the tenth full moon approaching.”

       That made MC blink. “The full moon?”

       The maid’s face pinched in a look of confusion as she regarded MC with a mix of surprise and anxiety. “My lady, you haven’t heard the story?”

       Warning bells went off in her mind. Of course there was a story. There had to be a story to add to the creepy feeling. If this didn’t feel like some horror story already, it sure was beginning to feel that way now. She debated whether she really wanted to know as she asked, “What story?”

       The maid busied herself with the bits of broken pottery, fiddling with them as she placed them in her basket. “It happened many years ago. Lady Inume, the previous daimyo’s daughter, was betrothed to the lord of the neighboring province. She was a lovely woman, graceful in all things, so it came as a surprise when she revealed that she had fallen in love with a farmer’s son.” Scooting forward, she helped with the smaller pieces of pottery as the maid continued. It was too easy to see where this was going. “The daimyo was outraged and banned them from ever seeing each other again…” she trailed off.

       “And then?” she urged, her voice quiet.

       “On the day of Lady Inume’s wedding to the lord, the farmer’s son appeared to rescue her, but he was killed by her father in the attempt.” MC felt her jaw drop, her worst fears about where this story was going confirmed. “Lady Inume found out, and, before the priest, her betrothed, and all those gathered, she took out a knife she’d hidden in her wedding robes and laid a curse on the daimyo and this manor before taking her own life.”

       Her heart dropped in her chest, a burn forming in the back of her throat in sympathy for the poor young lovers, driven to such lengths with their love on the line. “That’s awful,” she said, and the maid nodded in agreement.

       “It was a terrible tragedy, to be sure, but no one took her curse seriously...until a month later, on the night of the full moon, the tenth of that year.” The maid’s hands gripped the edge of her basket hard.

       “What happened?”

       “A yurei in blood spattered wedding robes terrorized the halls, tearing up the floors, flinging doors open, and wreaking havoc. Her screams for her lost lover could be heard in all corners of the manor. Lady Inume’s curse embedded itself in the house, in the walls and floors. The daimyo was found dead the next morning, scared to death. Several have tried to destroy this manor to rid it of the curse, but it remains even if every piece is burned to the ground, simply renewing itself when the manor is rebuilt. Holy men have been called from far and wide to try their hand at it but none have succeeded. If anything, they simply irritate Lady Inume’s yurei further. Every year since, on the tenth full moon, she roams the halls again, searching for her lost lover in her wedding garb.”

       “But then that would be this full moon. The one happening in a couple of days?”

       “Tomorrow,” the maid corrected, the word heavy with dread. “Pray that your business here is finished by then, my lady.”

       The maid’s words stuck with her for the rest of the day, and she suddenly felt more in tune to the sense of disquiet that grew among the staff and daimyo’s family as the moon rose higher in the sky, so close to being full. It was a relief when the sliding door of their room finally opened to admit her lover, crimson eyes meeting hers.

       “Nobunaga!” Scrambling to her feet, MC ran to give him a hug, her shoulders loosening in the safety of his hold. Her eyes sparkled as she tilted her head to look up at him, smiling wide. “Welcome back! How was your day?”

       “Fruitful enough.” Leaning down, he gave her a soft kiss. “I imagine we’ll only need to stay here another few days. And yours?”

       A few days? Then they would have to stay through the full moon after all. Parting from him, she sat down on the futon while he changed into his night clothes. “Listen, I heard a story about this place today, about...why it is the way it is.”

       Peering over his shoulder at her, he lifted a curious brow. “Oh?”

       Nobunaga listened attentively while she recounted the story of Lady Inume and her love, her curse, and her ghost, his expression narrowing as he hummed occasionally. “Do you believe it?” she asked when she’d finished the grim tale.

       “Do you?” he responded.

       Biting her lip, she tried to put the feeling she got from this place into words. “I’ve never been the kind to believe in ghosts, but this is a strange place. Something doesn’t feel right here.”

       “I see.” He was silent for a couple moments, contemplating, before he suddenly smirked. “Meet me at the old shrine up the hill at sunset tomorrow.” 

       “The old shrine?” The maid had told her that after the incident with Lady Inume, the structure had fallen out of use, everyone in the area too afraid of the woman’s yurei to care for it. “Why?”

       “I have something in mind, something that might appease whatever rattling spirits may or may not be causing a fuss. Either way, I promise it’ll be enjoyable for us.”

       MC gave him a suspicious look as he joined her at the futon, tugging her into his arms as his smirk widened, turning downright mischievous. “Nobunaga, what do you have planned? You better not be messing around, especially with these poor people scared out of their minds.”

       “It’s a surprise, but I promise you I’m not just doing this for entertainment. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”

       She regarded him through a playfully narrowed gaze for another moment or so before sighing. “Fine. I’ll go along with whatever it is, so long as we don’t get in trouble, okay?”

       “Deal,” he said, satisfied. “So what did you and Lady Yamayo do today?”

       Groaning, she turned her face into the blankets. “You’ll never guess how many times she asked me why I wasn’t with child yet.”

       Nobunaga’s deep, resounding laughter made the room a little less dark, the shadows retreating a little further into their corners.

       Sure enough, the next evening MC found herself climbing the short incline up to the shrine at the top of the hill behind the manor, the trees bathed in an orange-red glow as the sun sank closer to the horizon behind her. The manor itself may have been dreary, but the surrounding forest was actually quite spectacular, animals chittering in the trees turned orange by the amber hold of autumn. No shadows lurked here, no eyes to watch her or phantom hands to reach out to grab at her. She could breathe here.

       “Nobunaga!” she called his name when she reached the end of the overgrown path, beholding what once must have been a beautiful shrine. Nature had since set itself to reclaiming the structure, grass and vines climbing over the peeling red wood. One would never have guessed what terrible event had happened here so long ago.

       “I’m here.”

       She looked over to see her boyfriend rise from where he has been sitting at the shadowed edge of the wooden steps, the setting sun lending his hair a red tint and highlighting his strong, masculine features.

       “Will you tell me what you’re planning now?” MC asked as he came closer. “We should probably get back before the moon rises.” She had barely been able to leave with the maids and Lady Yamayo warning and fussing over her.

       “We won’t be returning to the manor tonight,” he rumbled, and she blinked at him as he offered her his hand. “Come,” he ordered when she looked at it questioningly, “There’s nothing to fear so long as I’m at your side.”

       Without another thought, she placed her hand in his, following as he led her up the creaky steps of the shrine. She half expected to see blood stains covering the floors and walls, overturned bottles and cups hinting at what had occurred here, but the sight that greeted her was much more surprising. A gasp fell from her lips as she took in the room with wide eyes, new colors and scents greeting her with each turn of her head.

       Flowers burst through the wooden floorboards and rotten tatami mats, of every brilliant shade and variety, perfuming the air. Lush vines climbed over the walls and stretched across the ceiling, draped with lengths of sweet, purple wisteria. Butterflies fluttered here and there, resting on the blooms.

       How such a garden had grown, she didn’t know, but everywhere she looked, there was life, growing and vibrant and, most importantly, gentle. The maid had said that the shrine had been abandoned due to the curse laid upon it, but there was no malice here. Instead, all she felt from this place was-

       “Love.”

       She spun to look at Nobunaga. “What?”

       “There’s nothing but love in this place,” he clarified. “Don’t you think so?”

       Squeezing his hand, MC leaned into his side. “I do. It’s beautiful.” Heartachingly beautiful.  “How do you think it grew so well?”

       “I imagine it’s simply the course of nature and its mysterious workings, but if you wish to put it in terms of what happened here, I would say this too is part of the curse.”

       “As a remnant of Lady Inume’s love?” 

       Nobunaga nodded. “Precisely.”

       “She laid the curse as a result of her heartbreak, but behind it all was love,” she said idly, before smiling at the man beside her. “I’m surprised you thought of that. It isn’t like you to be so sentimental.”

       He smiled in return, chuckling, “Of course, I don’t believe in such things as curses.” Looking back at the garden, he continued, “But when I realized this was here, I couldn’t help but think of you. When you told me the story of this place, I had to show it to you.”

       She felt the love in her gaze as she looked at him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he encircled her in a strong arm. “Thank you.” The disquiet she’d felt since they’d arrived had all but disappeared, evaporated by the warmth spreading through her chest. All she felt now was love, from the inside and out.

       Leaning up, MC planted a soft, lingering kiss on his waiting lips, feeling him groan when she pulled away.

       “Kiss me more,” he murmured, “as my thank you.”

       “Here?” she laughed, kissing him again. 

       “It’s better than the madness that’ll most certainly take hold of the manor tonight. So.” Taking her hand, he guided her through the flowers to a small back room she hadn’t noticed before. “Will you stay the night with me in this cursed place?”

       “I can’t think of anything I would like more.”

       The back room was dim in the evening light and a little dusty, but warm and comfortable. Some of the wilderness that dominated the main room had spread here as well, growing up the walls and blanketing the floor. The sweet smell of wisteria made her sigh, her muscles loose and relaxed under her lover’s hands as he caressed up and down her body behind her. Leaning into his hold, she reached back to tangle her fingers in Nobunaga’s hair as his hot mouth attached to her neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. Strong fingers smoothed across her hips to her obi, loosening the chords before letting the whole garment fall to the floor. 

       Slipping her kimono down her shoulder, he kissed at every inch of new skin that came into view, leaving love bites in his wake. The kimono soon joined her obi on the floor, and she turned in his arms, completely bare. Her hands went to his haori and slipped it off his broad shoulders as he pulled her close to him, swallowing the soft noises she made as he kissed her, licking past her parted lips.

       Her hands smoothed over the bare skin of his chest as MC parted his robes, letting his clothes join hers. She whimpered as his naked erection pressed against her hip, squeaking when his hands gripped her rear and hoisted her up, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist.

       Night had almost completely fallen by now, only a smudge of orange light left on the horizon, but the back room was already dark, the shushing sound of cicadas in the forest beyond. The flowers and grass were soft against her back as Nobunaga laid her down, his weight between her legs as he kissed across her jaw and down the column of her throat. She moaned as he lavished her collarbones in love bites before moving on to her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth as his hand made itself busy with the twin globe.

       His groans vibrated pleasurably against her skin as he sucked the hardened peak, slowly grinding his erection through her dampening heat. A cry fell from her lips when the tip of his cock prodded her clit, her body arching into him as her arms wrapped around his neck, hugging his face closer to her breasts.

       “You make such beautiful sounds for me,” Nobunaga panted, releasing her swollen nipple with a wet pop. He lavished the same attention on the other nipple, teasing the sensitive bud after his fingers had pinched and twisted and rolled it to his satisfaction.

       “Nobunaga, please!” she whined, rolling her hips against his to create more of that delicious friction. An ache was beginning to form in her lower belly, her core clenching around nothing as his thick length slid through her folds and coated the hot, velvety skin in her slick.

       He chuckled, hot breath fanning against her cheek as he nipped at the soft spot beneath her ear. “Patience, fireball, I’ll take you soon enough, but I intend to bring you to the brink of pleasure first, until you’re begging for me to shove myself inside of you.”

       Whining, MC writhed under his hands as he groped down her body, hoisting one leg over his hip while the other spread her other leg to the side. She felt his stare in the darkness, spread open for his taking, and his growl echoed through the small room. “You’re positively glistening, my love. You have no idea how much I desire you.”

       “Then take me!” she whispered, biting her lip. She could feel her arousal seeping through her folds, drenching her inner thighs.

       His fingers brushed through the delicate petals of her entrance, gathering her sweetness on the digits. “So wet for me,” he rumbled as she trembled under the touch, rolling her hips into his hand. “And so sensitive,” he finished, his voice a deep, satisfied purr.

       Without warning, Nobunaga sank a finger deep into her heat, his thumb brushing her swollen clit as her back arched and a cry of pleasure filled the room. MC almost feared disturbing the flowers with the sound, but she could barely bring herself to care with her lover crooking his fingers so deliciously inside of her, rubbing harshly at her clit as he did. The pleasure made stars bloom across the dimness, her hands running through the grass and stems at her sides in search of a handhold.

       “Ah!” His fingers found the sensitive spot inside of her, her hands flying to his shoulders to dig her nails into his muscles. “Yes, right there!”

       She felt his smirk widen against her breast, mouthing at the skin as he continued to rub that spot inside of her, scissoring his fingers in preparation for something much larger. The lewd sounds of his digits disappearing inside of her filled the space, and the grass scraped softly against her back as MC moaned and twisted, the smell of her lover and wisteria filling her senses in a heavenly combination.

       She was getting close, so, so close, her pleasure intensifying as her climax approached. Tears of pleasure beaded at the corners of her eyes as his thumb swiped against her clit again, sending shockwaves through her body. “N-Nobunaga, I’m-!” she whined, feeling herself approaching the brink of her climax, but just as she thought it would overtake her in sweet ecstasy, his fingers pulled out of her, making her cry out in frustration as her orgasm fell away.

       His weight fell over her, skin to skin, and she screamed his name as he sheathed himself inside of her in one smooth stroke, his fingers digging into her hips and rumbling a groan of her name as her clenching heat welcomed him. Sensitive as she was from his foreplay, her climax seized her at the feeling of his thick, hot weight stretching and filling her so perfectly, the vein that ran along the underside of his cock pulsing against her g-spot.

       Nobunaga grunted and growled as she came around him, drenching him in her release. His fingers tore at the grass next to her, dropping his head to the crook of her shoulder as he gasped. Breathless chuckles fanned against her skin as he leaned back to look at her, a bead of sweat running down the side of his neck. “You almost made me come there, fireball.” Reaching up, he brushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead. “So tight and sensitive for me…”

       MC had barely recovered before he pulled away to thrust back into her hard, drawing screams from her in the aftershocks of her climax. “Too much!” she cried, holding on to him for dear life as he plunged into her again and again, pounding her into the soft bed of flowers.

       “Take it,” he grunted, grasping her hips to pull her impossibly closer, impaling her on his cock. His lips captured hers in a sloppy kiss, brimming with passion and need as he dominated her mouth. “Take it all!”

       Here, in this backroom garden, it felt like they were the only people in the entire world, just them and the flowers and the ghosts of a time long passed, the proof of those old lovers’ bond in the air and ground and walls.

       In the arms of the one she loved most, flowers caressing her cheeks and tangling in her hair, MC cried with love and need, her body aglow with the heat and intensity of her ardor. She needed him like the air she breathed, a part of her just as her heart and mind were.

       “I love you,” Nobunaga murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. “I need you. You’re my better half, my reason to do good.” His lips brushed the corners of her eyes in a rare show of tenderness, kissing her pleasured tears away. “Everything good in my world stems from you.”

       There was something desperate in his voice, echoing from a fear of loss buried deep inside of him. Faintly, her mind wandered to Lady Inume and her farmer, to the troubles they were unable to overcome and the tragic ending that awaited them. It was too sad to think they were never able to be together even in the afterlife. She and Nobunaga had been through their fair share of troubles as well, but through pain and love and sheer force of will they’d managed to work their way through it. If she had been in Lady Inume’s position, if Nobunaga had been that farmer’s son, would she have had the strength to do the same?

       Biting her lip, she drew her lover impossibly closer, wrapping him tight in her arms. If she could’ve she would’ve never let him go, kept him safe from everything and everyone that would dare harm him.  “I love you, too,” she panted, gazing into those wide red eyes as she cupped his cheek in her palm. “Never let go of me.”

       “Never,” he vowed, and she mewled and cried his name as the angle of his thrusts changed, turning more forceful as he hilted inside of her, branding his name into the deepest parts of her. She nearly came when the tip of his cock slammed into the sweet spot deep inside of her, ramming into it again and again as he worked her closer to her climax.

       “I won’t last much longer if you keep squeezing me like that,” he growled, his hips moving with primal, wild abandon and his balls smacking against her ass. The sound of skin against skin echoed around the room, almost too loud in the quiet of the night.

       “Please! Hah…! I’m - I’m so close! Don’t stop!” she begged, the heel of the leg wrapped around his waist digging into the base of his spine, urging him to keep going.

       “Give me all of your pleasure,” he demanded, biting at her neck and shoulders, “Give me everything.” With a rough pinch to her clit and another deep thrust, MC came around him, her scream echoing off the ivy covered walls of the small room. Nobunaga followed close behind, rocking into her through his orgasm as he muffled his grunt against her skin, shooting his seed deep into her core.

       Strong arms wrapped around her, keeping her close as he rolled off of her. Neither of them said anything, exhausted, but the soft kiss he placed to her forehead conveyed more than enough. The sweet scent of the flowers and their lovemaking filling the air around them, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, comforted on a bed of flowers.

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       Later that night, MC found herself sitting on the steps of the shrine, having left her lover peacefully sleeping in the back room.

       The full moon had risen high in the sky, illuminating the manor at the base of the hill. From here, she could see that there were lights on inside the building, and she wondered if Lady Inume’s yurei had indeed appeared as they had feared, the pain of losing the one she loved reaching beyond the grave. 

       “What are you doing out here?” Turning, she smiled as Nobunaga emerged from the shrine, a frown on his face. “I was cold, sleeping without you.”

       “Sorry. I just wanted to look at the moon.”

       “Hmm.” Taking a seat behind her, Nobunaga wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Do you think the yurei appeared?”

       “I hope not,” she sighed, snuggling into the warmth of his hold to fend off the night chill. “And I hope they aren’t worried when they find we haven’t returned.”

       The man behind her scoffed, kissing one of the marks he had left on her neck earlier. “Pay that no mind. Just think of me right now.”

       “As you wish,” MC chuckled, expecting more kisses, but just then she felt him stiffen behind her, his grip on her tightening protectively. “Nobunaga?” A large hand covered her mouth, silencing her. A little annoyed and more alarmed, she raised a brow at him over her shoulder, but he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes fixed on something on the path ahead.

       Turning to see what he was looking at, she gasped and pressed back into him, clutching at his arms around her.

       The forest had gone completely silent except for the sound of dead leaves scuttling across the ground, carried along by a cold wind. Standing on the path, just in sight of the shrine, was a pale figure clad entirely in white. She stood far away, but it was obvious she was looking their way, locks of wispy black hair blowing in the breeze. It was impossible to make out her expression or any features, but a dark smudge marred the front of her white wedding robes, stark in the light of the full moon. 

       The woman stood like that, staring at them, for several moments, and MC thought she could surely hear her heart pounding in her chest, hear proof of the life rushing through her veins. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up and she could feel goose bumps rising on her arms. The logical part of her tried to reason that it must be one of the villagers or someone from the manor, out for a late night stroll, but the other, more instinctual part of her screamed, urging her to cower and run from this being that she sensed as inhuman.

       The stillness almost grew to be too much, nearing its breaking point, but as they watched, a second figure appeared from the treeline along the path, drawing the woman’s attention. A tall male approached her without fear, clad in simple brown robes. They seemed to exchange a few words, too distant to hear, and then he took her hand, drawing her close to him. 

       With a last look at Nobunaga and MC, the couple disappeared out of sight down the path, fading into thin air. She held her breath long after they were gone, the sounds of the forest steadily coming back to life.

       When she tried to speak her lover’s name nothing came out, so she turned to curl into him instead, shaking. 

       “Gods,” he invoked quietly, his voice a little strained. “That had to have been one of the villagers,” he grunted, “Or a trick of the eyes?”

       “That we both saw?” she whispered.

       Looking at each other, a couple of heartbeats passed and then they burst into laughter, the kind tinged with adrenaline and relief, hearts beating madly in their chests as a reminder that they were alive and real...even if what they had just witnessed was questionably so.

       Somehow MC didn’t think Lady Inume’s yurei was all that vengeful anymore.

[firefly464]

The Real World - Chapter 4

Uhhh so I may have gotten a bit carried away writing this chapter... Oh well! I had lots of fun writing it :D

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

~~~

Tommy stared out the window of his small wooden shack. He had been relocated from the broken down van to a new, hastily put together room in the corner of L’manberg. Everyone had figured that the van was due to collapse at any second, and they didn’t exactly want the teenager in there when it did. After all, it wasn’t like he could just go back to his own base. That was directly in the middle of the Dream SMP. Going back there would be like signing a death warrant. 

He understood his friends thought process, he really did. But just because he understood it didn’t mean he was happy about it. Ever since he arrived in this strange world, the broken down van had been his home away from home. He knew that just being in it was dangerous, but that didn’t really matter. It was important to him. He was just glad they hadn’t forced him to stay in the underground bunker with everyone else. 

He sighed as he stared up at the night sky. What time was it now anyways. 2am? Maybe 3? Didn’t really matter either way. His mind was too full for sleep. He kept thinking about his home. His real home. He thought about his family and friends. He thought about his dogs, his favorite foods. How long had it been since he last slept in his own bed? Since he had eaten something that wasn’t just bread and steak? 

A tear slid down his face. He wanted to go home… But he had no idea how he had even gotten to this world, much less how to get out. Hell, there wasn’t even anyone who he could talk to about it. Unless…

A thought crossed his mind. He recalled how Dream had acted during the duel, in the seconds before he had lost consciousness. He had screamed and ran over to his side, as if trying to check on him. It was something that didn’t match up with the stories tubbo had told him. Whenever Tubbo had brought up Dream, his eyes filled with genuine anger and hatred. He spoke of a ruthless man who had destroyed their lives. A man who wasted no time in attempting to blow them all up. A man who had laid down explosives just to prove a point. It was a story that just hadn’t made sense to Tommy. 

Dream was a nice guy, and a friend. Sure he would tease and poke fun, but that didn’t change the fact that he meant well. It also didn’t make sense with what he had seen. After the duel, Tommy hadn’t seen Dream at all. If the stories Tubbo told were true, then it would have made sense for him to attack while he was unconscious or wounded. 

Maybe… Maybe Dream was connected to what was happening to him? He knew that it was a stretch, but at this point he had no other leads. He just wanted to figure out what was going on and how he could leave. 

He scanned the dark L’manberg property. Empty. Not a single torch or lantern was lit. Which meant… it was clear for him to make a run for it. He knew for a fact that none of his friends would support him going to visit the enemy. If they had any idea what he was trying to do, they would lock him inside the wooden shack until the nether froze over.

Quietly, he slipped out into the warm summer night. As quietly as he could, Tommy crept across the terrain to a small hole in the wall. He couldn’t go out the main entrance, it was completely caved in from the explosion. Trying to climb it would only end poorly. 

He was nearly out of the L’manberg property when a voice cut through the silent night air. “Tommy? Where are you going?”

The teenager swore under his breath. Of course Wilbur was out here. He had even said earlier that he was going to try to keep watch. Tommy turned to where the voice had come from, and nearly shrieked. In the pale moonlight, Wilbur looked like a monster straight out of a story book. His eyes were blood-shot and puffy. Pale, almost translucent looking skin was stretched across his face. His cheeks were sunken in , giving him a ghostly appearance. 

Tommy stepped closer to the older man, now feeling concerned more than anything “I was just… going for a walk…” he said, trying to make the lie sound convincing. 

Wilbur scoffed. “At 2 in the morning? I thought you were supposed to be resting.” he raised an eyebrow 

“I um… got better?” he responded, running his hand through his hair, “and I just wanted to go look around a bit… I’ve been inside for the past week.” he chuckles nervously

“Chugging 5 health potions if not enough to be considered ‘better,’ Tommy. I thought you already learned your lesson.” He made air quotes with his fingers to send his message across.

Tommy’s eyes widened “how did you…” his voice trailed off

His friend laughed at his confusion. “I saw you on the roof of the van earlier. No way would you have been able to make it up there if you were still injured. A quick check on our potion supply was all it took to confirm my suspicions.” 

“W-well then you should know that I’m perfectly capable of going on there on my own! I’m healed up now!” 

“Tommy, I don’t care how healed you are. You aren’t going out there on your own. Understood?”

Tommy’s jaw dropped open “What? Why the fuck not?”

“Because it's dangerous! Who knows what could happen to you if you went out there. Dream already tried to kill you once, who's to say that it won't happen again?” 

“I can take care of myself! I’m not going to do anything stupid” 

“Do you really expect me to believe that? You literally challenged Dream to a fucking duel while we tried negotiating peace treaties. If that isn’t idiotic then I don’t know what is.”

Tommy took a deep breath. Of course Wilbur didn’t trust him to go out on his own. Pretty much every other choice he had made was rash and dumb. Even if it had been mostly for the sake of entertainment in the real world, that wasn’t the case in this world. He was just a brash teenager here. “Will, I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need a chance to go and clear my head. We both know that I won’t get a chance to during the day.” 

Wilbur closed his eyes, considering Tommy’s offer. He did understand where he was coming from. The L’manberg territory wasn’t that big, and it could feel suffocating at times. Besides, he needed to trust his second in command, didn’t he? “Fine. But I expect you to be back by dawn. And I want you to come back and report to me immediately if you see anything suspicious. Understood?” 

He nodded, releasing a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. “Of course,” he said, taking a step towards the hold in the wall. “Go get some rest Wilbur. You look terrible” 

He shook his head “I’m fine. I just need to keep everyone safe”

“You can’t keep people safe if you’re passed out. Go rest. I’ll wake you up if I see anything.” 

“... Fine. Just be careful” Wilbur stood and walked away from the tree he was sitting against. Tommy stared at his friend’s retreating figure for a moment, before walking out into the crisp summer night. 

As soon as he knew Tommy had left, Wilbur turned and rushed towards the hole in the wall. Like hell was he going to let Tommy go off on his own. The kid was going to do something stupid with no one to back him up. Will wasn’t going to let that happen.

~~~

Dream stood in the training grounds above his home. With a wooden training sword in his hand, he attempted to practice some of the techniques that George had used earlier that day. God, why was he so fucking useless? 

24 seconds. That was how long the longest bout had lasted. 24 seconds before Dream surrendered. It had taken George 4 different bouts before he had called it a day. Dream had refused. He begged his friend to teach him how to use the sword, making up some bull shit excuse about the lingering effects from the poison to justify it. He wanted to learn how to fight. After all, he was apparently the best at combat in the smp. It made sense. After all, he was a world record holder. So why on earth was he so useless?!

“Because its not a fucking game anymore,” he said out loud, frustration seeping into his voice. He was glad no one was around to hear him, or to see him stumbling around with the practice sword. 

“Here I thought you were supposed to be good at PVP,” said a voice behind him. Tommy's voice… Dream whirled around, still holding the sword. 

On one hand, he felt a rush of relief at the words. Tommy had survived. He was ok. But on the other, he was still the second in command of L’manberg. For all Dream knew, Tommy could have been sent to assassinate him. It was a theory that was only made more likely when he considered his failure from earlier that day. Wilbur had somehow heard about how weak and pathetic he had become, and sent Tommy to kill him while he couldn’t fight back. 

Dream locked eyes with his friend. Tommy stood at the opposite side of the small training grounds, watching Dream practice. The teenager stepped onto the wooden floor and picked up one of the practice swords. He held it in his hand for a moment, before making a couple swings and stabs. He may not have fallen over, but he still looked like a dork. 

Tommy let out a laugh, “This is so cool. This is so fucking cool!” he spun and pointed the sword at Dream. His face had a massive grin on it, making him look like a little kid. “Come at me bitch boy, I’ve got a knife! What are you gonna do about it!” 

Dream raised an eyebrow. Tommy was acting as if he had never held a sword in his life. But that didn’t make sense. In this world, sword fighting seemed to be rather common. And Tommy had been rather skilled at minecraft PVP. That should have translated to his combat abilities in this world. So why was he acting like a 5 year old? “You act like you’ve never held a sword before,” Dream said. 

Tommy stared at Dream, trying to gauge his reaction. He tried to figure out the best response. He had heard Dream muttering about it not being a game anymore, but that wasn’t nearly enough to risk revealing himself. So instead he pushed just a little more. “Says the one flailing around like a headless chicken. Aren’t you supposed to be the Minecraft god? Or are you just bad?”

Dream froze. No one had even mentioned the word Minecraft since he had arrived here. Whenever he tried bringing it up in conversation, his friends had just looked at him like he was crazy. But here Tommy was just saying it like it was nothing. “How do you-” he began to ask, but was cut off by the sound of metal. 

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. Dream knew something. And he wasn’t sharing. In a single motion, he drew his netherite sword and pointed it at Dream’s throat. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his hand from trembling. Dream dropped his practice sword and raised his hands in the air. Tommy was seething with anger. “I fucking knew it! You stupid son of a bitch I knew you had something to do with this! What did you do to me?! Where am I?! Why can’t I go home?!”

“I-”

“What are you planning Dream? What are you trying to get out of this?” He growled. 

“I don’t know!” Dream said desperately “I don’t know what's going on!” 

“Bullshit! You’re the only one who’s even remotely reacted to something from the real world. You must know something!” 

“Tommy I just want to go home!” Dream shouts “I don’t fucking belong here! Don’t you think if I knew how to leave, I would?!” 

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” he said, stepping forward slightly so that the tip of the blade rested against Dream’s throat. 

“Because you’re my friend!” he yelled. “If I knew how to help you, or what to do, then I would!”

Tommy considered Dream’s words. He had a point… the two of them were friends, weren’t they? Tommy should at least give him the courtesy of listening to his side of the story before jumping to any conclusions. Dream’s appearance only solidified his decision. His eyes were red and swollen from lack of sleep. He looked like he was in a similar condition to Wilbur. Except instead of stress and worry, Dream’s declining health was due to frustration and fear. 

He lowered the blade to his side and stepped back. “Fine. I’ll believe you for now.” He looked down at his hand “When were you brought here?” 

Dream let out a breath of relief. He knew that if Tommy had really wanted to, he could have run him through, no questions asked. And Dream didn’t even know how to defend himself. “About a week ago I think? It was during the bow duel…” 

Tommy nodded. “Same. All I remember was being on the computer, and then suddenly I held a bow and had an arrow through my chest.”

Dream winced “Are you ok now at least? I’ve been really scared that I actually killed you…” 

“Fine. I drank a couple health pots earlier today, so at least my wound is healed. It’s been more boring than anything else” he was silent for a moment, thinking. “Dream… How much do you know about the war?” 

“Um, wasn’t it pretty much the same as it was in game?” 

Tommy shook his head “No. According to Tubbo, it was so much worse here… Apparently the war has been going on for over half a year now. I guess the only reason everyone lasted so long was because they were constantly downing health and regen pots. But even so, I guess it was a bloodbath…” his voice trailed off, remembering the pained and weary expression on Tubbo’s face when he had talked about it. 

“Are you serious…?” 

“Yeah. Everyone back in L’manberg is terrified of you. They all despise you for what you’ve done to them. I guess the other you was a ruthless monster…” 

The concerned look on Dream's face only grew more and more as Tommy continued talking. The two of them stood in silence once Tommy had finished. After a couple minutes of thinking, he finally spoke. “Tomorrow, I’ll be calling a council to negotiate a peace treaty. I’m going to put an end to this war, once and for all.”

Tommy nodded “that sounds… good. It’ll be nice to not have everyone look so fucking scared all the time” He glanced up at the moon in the sky. “I need to be heading back. Will is gonna be worried if I’m not back soon.”

“Oh yeah, isn’t it past your bedtime?” he asked with a chuckle

A smile broke out onto tommys face “I’ll have you know, I am far too old and mature for bedtimes.” 

“Right. I’m sure that everyone would agree with that” 

“Oh they most definitely would. After all, I’m the second in command to Wilbur! It takes a lot of maturity to do that.” 

“Uh huh. Get going you freaking child” 

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of your stupidity!” Tommy called out as he walked away from Dream and back to L’manberg. For the first time since he had woken up, he felt actually hopeful. Hopeful that he would find a way home. Hopeful that maybe things would turn out ok. He grinned to himself as he jogged down the wooden path, mostly just grateful that he was no longer all alone.

~~~ Wilbur paced in his small room, trying to figure out what to do. The conversation between Tommy and Dream echoed in his mind. At first, he had been following Tommy to protect him and make sure he didn’t do anything rash. He had very nearly revealed himself to the teenager when he had approached the training grounds. But then he had heard him start to speak.

Tommy may have baited and attacked Dream at first, but then Dream had claimed to be a friend. Wilbur wasn’t sure what bothered him more. The fact that Dream was claiming to be an ally, or the fact that those words had caused Tommy to spare him. Just last week, Tommy had sworn to kill Dream, no matter what. Why on earth had he suddenly changed his mind? 

Unless… Unless it was all an act. An act to get close to them, then stab them in the backs. No. No Tommy would never do that. There had to be some other explanation. Some other reasoning for his behavior. 

Wilbur hadn’t heard the conversation after Tommy had spared Dream. He knew that he should have stayed, but he couldn’t bear watching his friend betray him. Better to live in the dark. He would just have to keep an eye on him. Yeah. Keep an eye on him, and make sure that he didn’t do anything to hurt them. 

It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

~~~

“Look. If you’re here to ask about Tommy or Dream, then you can piss off. I came back to streaming for a break from all that,” Tubbo told his viewers. His eyes involuntarily drifted towards his other monitor, as they often did when he thinking about his missing friends. His second monitor was where he had Discord open. Where Tommy and Dream still sat in the main voice channel, completely silent. Neither of their families had the heart to turn off their computers, so they just sat there, exactly as they were before they vanished. Tubbo liked to sit in the vc whenever he was streaming. Something about it was… comforting to him. He wasn’t sure why. 

His attention was drawn back to the stream chat by a donation. It was filled with questions about his missing friends.

He let out a groan of frustration. “All right, we’re going on sub only mode for a bit. I can’t deal with this shit right now. Thanks mods,” he told the chat, “I know, I know, I don’t like it either. But I just can’t deal with questions about them right now. Sorry guys.” 

That was when it happened. A rustling sound. A voice very quietly saying, “what the…” 

Tubbo frowned in confusion. “Can you guys hear that? Or is it just me?” he asked. 

That was when he heard it. Tommy's voice. Tommy’s voice coming in from the discord vc. All he said were two words. “Hello? Tubbo?” 

The stream went offline.

~~~

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk

Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth. 

Word Count: 13,335

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.

The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.

“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.

“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.

“It grows on you.”

“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.”  Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"

“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”

“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.

“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”

“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”  

With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol,  it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.

“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.

A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.

“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.

“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”

"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.

“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”

“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “

“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”

“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”  

V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.

“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.

V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.

“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”

V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.

The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless.  There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.

“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.

V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.

“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”

Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.

“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.

“Drop him quiet, V.”

V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.

In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.

“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.

“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.

Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her.  The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.

“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “

Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.

“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”

V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.

“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”

She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.

“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.

Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around  Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.

V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.

“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”

“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.

V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.

“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.

“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.

And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.

Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way.  Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.

“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.

“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”

“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”

“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.

And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.

Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!

“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.

“Fuck!”

“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”

“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”

“How do I get there?”

“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”

“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”

V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.

A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger

“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”

“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.

“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”

“Holy fuck.”

V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.

“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.

V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub.  The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.

“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.

Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.

Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.

“We make it, she alive?”

“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck  and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.

“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”

“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.

“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”

“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run.  Jack into her biomon.”

“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”

“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?

“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”

“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains.  Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.

“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”

V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.

“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.

“Check the biomon. Anything change?”

“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains,  “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”

“Trauma will be here in three.”

“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.

“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”

V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.

“Shit!”  V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.

“She's flatlining!”

“V, need to know what's going' on!”

“Jackie, airhypo, now!”

“¡Ey, catch chica!”

Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.

“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.

“You alright, jaina?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”

“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”

The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands.  She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure.  But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.

She’s always been surrounded by death but in this  bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.

“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”

“Course, gotta save who we can.”

V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.

“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.

A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them.  Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.

“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.

“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.

“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.

Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands.  After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.

“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.

“All dead long before we got here.”

“Fuck…”

“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”

“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.

Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.

“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”

“A thing?”

“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.

“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”

“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.

The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place, 

“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”

V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.

“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”

“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.

“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.

“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.

Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.

“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.

“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City

“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”

“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.

“You know it, jaina.”

“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”

“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”

“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”

Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day.  She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.

“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”

“Blackhand is dead.”

“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.

“You don’t?”

“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”

“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”

“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”

“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”

“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”

V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.

“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”

And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it,  in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.

“Come on, V, shoot!”

“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”

With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.

But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.

The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.

She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.

“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.

“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”

The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.

She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.

“What are you-”

V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.

“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”

V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.

“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.

“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.

“I was sick!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”

“It was all you can eat!”

“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”

“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”

Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head  against the seat in frustration.

“Fuck me.”

“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.

Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.

A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.

“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.

“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”

“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”

“Your… girl?”

“Hm… that's a shame.”

“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.  

There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.

Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”

“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.

V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.

“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.

“When am I not nice?”

“Uhhh, always!”

“I'm always never not nice!”

“Puh-lease!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with.  But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”

“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”

“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”

“What? No!”

Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.

“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at  a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.

“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.

“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.

“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.

“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”

“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”

“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”

“To put on a show of intimidation.”

“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over.  Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”

They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.

Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out.  She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.

“Whatcha doing, jaina?”

“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain,  “y’know how it is.”

“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”

“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.

“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”

“I think we might just be perverts.”

“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”

“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.

“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”

He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.

“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”

“I will. Ahí luego.”

Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.

V: you @ work???

The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits.  Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.

T-Bug: Forgot earlier,  a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.

For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon.  But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.

V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!

She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back,  and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.

“Good evening, Night City!~”

The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.

“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”

The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.

“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”

“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”

“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him,  bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”

“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”

“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”

“Immortality? Really?”

V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.

“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you  forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”

“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”

“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”

“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”

“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.

“Excuse me!?”

“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”

“Wha- how dare you?”

“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”

“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”

“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”

“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”

“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests,  “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”

V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.

Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?

V: i have a proposition

Cecelia: ???

V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)

V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc,  so that’s really on her at this point.

Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?

V: yee

Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?

V:  pls and thanx! :3

V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood.  Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.

She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.

She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.

V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.

Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years.  She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.

Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back.  She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.

There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.

Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings.  Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.

V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.

A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.

“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.

She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.

“I got extra honey and syrup for-”

She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.

“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”

V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.

“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.

“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.

“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.

“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”

“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’

“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.

“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.

“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”

V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.

“St-stop!”

V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.

“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”

V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.

“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and  steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.

“Much.”

Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.

“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.

Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.

V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.

“What hap-”

V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”

“Want me to fuck you with it?”

“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”

V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her.  The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.

Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.

“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.

V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now.  Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy  and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.

She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her.  The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.

The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.

She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.

“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-

Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food

“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”

“Not answering that.”

V brings the food back to the bedside table,  throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.

“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”

V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.

“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”

Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.

“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”

“Not mine, don’t wear that one!”  V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still  smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.

“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.

The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.

“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”

V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head,  but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.

“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”

V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably.  Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.

“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”

V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.

“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.

“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”

“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”

“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”

“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”

“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”

“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.

“Gross.”

“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.

“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.

Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.

Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~

V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match.  She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.

[wolfcha1k]

"One look and I can't catch my breath Two souls into one flesh When you're not next to me I'm incomplete 'Cause I'm on fire like a thousand suns I couldn't put it out even if I wanted to These flames tonight Look into my eyes and say you want me, too Like I want you"

"All my life I've been looking for a place my parents wanted me to find, and I found it… but now? All I can think about is Eep. My best friend, my first… and only love."

Summary: Guy and Eep reflect on what has happened in the wake of these two crazy moons since their Tomorrow was challenged. There's damage that needs to be fixed and broken hearts to mend. - <3 - I used a ton of references from the movie as well as loosely traced bits, the kiss was referenced from the ending of "A New Age". I wanted to draw a proper cover for my new "chapter" for my "The Sun Was a Wayfarer" series, which is a bunch of one shots/little stand alone stories set in the same timeline despite it kinda skipping around a bunch. This one is "All I Can Think Of" as of now it takes place after "It's Our Nature" and before "A Tomorrow of Our Own", ngl, this chapter was mostly to practice writing kisses, I had some fun actually writing it. Usually I get hella embarrased lol I'm gonna paste the story beneath the picture, hope you like ~

The Sun Was a Wayfarer - Series

<Previous> Its Our Nature <next> A Tomorrow of Our Own

The moment Guy saw a chance to get away from the Pack he took it, quickly grabbing for Eep's hand to pull her down a random direction into the garden. She started in surprise before willingly following him with a trust Guy didn't feel he deserved anymore after last night. Guy didn't stop until he felt they were far enough away that nobody would find them without looking very hard, hidden behind some of the large gourds and corn.

He spun around to face her, letting out a long sigh. Guy just needed a moment to look at her, dark eyes worried and concerned as the adrenaline of what happened just a few hours ago finally seeped out of his body. Guy was covered in bruises and ached all over but it was nothing compared to the pain of when he thought he lost her forever three times in the span of just two terrifying days of his life. Somehow The End of the World felt miniscule in comparison now that Eep was his world.

His Tomorrow.

He rested his shaky hands on her shoulders, relief making him dizzy. Eep supported the sudden slumping of his weight, her green eyes wide with concern. "Guy! What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," he said, a tired smile on his face as he looked at her.

She held him up by the arms before lifting him up into hers. Eep sat down on the grass and positioned him on her lap, stroking the fringe of hair away from his face.

She could see the swollen purple bruises on his cheek and the black eye he had, his lower lip looked swollen and puffy. "You had a bad day," she sighed, cuddling him close.

"Yeah," he managed to chuckle, finding some amusement out of her words. "But it's better now that you're here…" He pressed a tired, sloppy kiss to her shoulder and rested his forehead there after. "Empathis on the better."

She just tugged him closer, as if her arms could squeeze the exhaustion and nerves right out of him. "I'm sorry," Eep suddenly said, muffling her face against his cheek. He felt moisture against his skin and the slight tremor in her arms and shoulders. "I'm really sorry."

Her warbled words cut him like a knife and he used his head to nudge her back so he could look at her. He could see the beginnings of tears on her eyelashes, gaze watery as she blinked it away stubbornly. Guy reached his hand to touch her face, feeling her recoil a bit before relaxing into his palm. He wiped his thumb under her eye, catching a tear.

He realized his own eyes felt moist all of a sudden, it'd been an emotionally charged couple of days. "It's okay, Eep. You didn't do anything wrong, I was just so stupid."

She sighed heavily, unwinding an arm from around his body so she could cover his hand with her calloused palm. Eep said nothing for several long moments, just clutched his hand like a life line.

"Eep?"

Eep finally looked at him, tearing her eyes from the random direction she'd sent her sights towards. "Yeah?"

"You're not hurt, are you?" Guy sat up a bit in her lap, cautiously letting his palms trace her broad shoulders, fingers squeezing tentatively to see if she would flinch. He knew she was good at hiding things like injuries, nursing them in private as to avoid upsetting Grug, it'd also extended to him now. She was strong but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to worry over her.

"No, I don't have a scratch on me," she assured him but Guy didn't stop checking her. Eep let him fuss though, knowing it would make him feel better if he came to the conclusion himself. His touch felt nice though, Eep realizing how starved she was for it since being separated from each other.

He touched her back, her arms, her ribs, anywhere his hands could reach in a modest way, careful in his examination. After running a hand down her leg, his eyes fell to where the prohestic was once on her pinkie toe. "I'm so, so glad you actually don't have a toe there," he sighed, knowing it was one of the most nonsensical, bizarre phrases he'd ever uttered in his seventeen years of life.

"Guess getting bit by that bearyena came in handy for once," Eep quipped, trying to lighten the mood a little.

He also was relieved she hadn't been ripped in half during the struggle, it had to be a miracle of some kind. Guy didn't voice this though, just traced his hands slowly back up her body so he could hold her waist. He missed her so much and he was quick to show her that, words failing him as he gently brushed her lips in a kiss. He let his hands slide up her back to lovingly stroke her shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under his palms. She shivered and he shook, he pulled her closer as if to warm them both but still the trembling never stopped.

He always did love her shoulders and muscles, the clinical and practical part of him admired the strength and power there, how they could flex and be used to take down beasts twice her size. Then there was the simplicity of just being a man who loved a beautiful woman and it inspired a different kind of appreciation in him.

One that he knew Grug who absolutely skewer him alive for, his heart longing and aching as he hugged Eep. He never knew he could be so needy, it should have been pathetic as a puppy following its master for attention, never satisfied.

They'd shared an intense kiss over the raging flames but it still wasn't enough after the longest dry spell he had ever known since meeting her. After that first kiss in the ocean, he never got enough of her now. He was greedy and never was ashamed of that when it came to loving her.

He only wanted to be with her until there were no more Tomorrows that crossed the sky.

Eep quickly cupped his face in her hands and surged forward against him, her ferocity taking him by surprise. He practically squeaked when he felt the nip of her teeth on his bruised lip but somehow he couldn't care less. Just welcomed it, tilting his head and taking in the taste of her as he brushed her tongue with his. It was like fire and he was more than happy to be burned, letting Eep fly with him like the wild tiger in his stories.

He drew away a moment, just the slightest breath away as he spoke, pressing a few rapid kisses to her lips with each word. "You." Kiss. "Have." Kiss. "No idea." Kiss. Kiss. "How much I missed you," Guy finished in a rush, breathless as he lowered his head to trail a series of kisses down the column of her throat, grazing his teeth lightly on the skin of her collarbone.

There was a hitch in her breath at the affection. "Can't be more than I missed you."

He went to nuzzle her ear, placing a chase kiss on her earlobe. Eep arched into him and he clutched her tight as if she were water slipping through his fingers. "I thought I was going to die seeing you up there," Guy uttered in a strained voice. He could picture it so clearly, seeing her leaping and bounding across skeletal remains hanging precariously from old tendrils of vine. The spiny mandrilla closed on her heels and he could do nothing but watch, screaming her name out in desperation until his throat went raw. "I screwed up and almost didn't get to fix it."

Guy felt Eep nudge his head away from her so they could look at each other properly again. She just traced her thumb over his cheek, tender as she marked one of his hand print shaped bruises. "You saved me," she finally said, leaning forward to steal a kiss, smiling against his lips as they brushed, once, twice and finally a proper one that had Guy's toes curling and his head fuzzy. "I was so happy when I saw you again, Guy."

He'd been more than shocked to have seen Eep and the others arrive, riding Chunky and a pack of wolfspiders. He had practically given his last rights, resolving painfully he would never see her again, never fix what he had done to her. His first and only love, he didn't need to meet any other girls to know what he felt was real and it was more than just a beautiful teenage romance.

"You want to talk about heroics? How many people come swooping in on a tiger and take on a giant monster single handedly," Guy pressed his forehead against hers, awed by her courage and humbled by her love for him. "And here I picked a tree over you."

"It wasn't just a tree," she lightly scolded him much to his surprise. "I get it now."

Guy felt moisture collect on his eyelashes and without another thought, closed the distance between them once more. He let his hands roam, touching every part of her out of fear he would forget how warm and solid her body felt in his arms. It was almost like a dream, eyes shut tightly and listening to the soft little gasps in her breath, the way her chest heaved against his own. He hated needing to breathe when all he wanted was this, reluctantly pulling away as he felt light headed, exhilarated and breathless.

"Never again," he promised her, nuzzling his nose against hers. Eep practically purred at the loving attention, letting her palms rest on his shoulders to gently knead the tension there. He shuddered, forehead pressed into hers, knowing the gesture meant so much more than simple touch to her. "I'd rather chop off both my legs than lose you again. Please never scare me like that, I couldn't bare it."

She kissed his lips, gentle before in all her passionate nature, looped her arms around his neck and kissed him enough that Guy was convinced he'd forget his own name.

But that was okay, because she reminded him, pulling away. "Guy, I love you," she only said, beaming at him.

"Please say it again," he pleaded.

"I love you."

He felt his eyes growing glassy again and Eep kissed a tear away from below his eye, soft and tender. He smiled at her, embracing her tightly once more from his comfortable position in her lap. "I love you more," he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

"I love you more," she protested, lightly shoving him to nibble his ear, feeling his weight push into her.

"No, I said I love you more first."

"And I'm telling you I love you more right back," she purred, lifting her neck to give him better access to her jawline when he started to press an open mouth kiss there.

He felt her pulse rush under his lips like she'd ran a marathon, skin flushed as red as her hair. He couldn't help but kiss her again and again.

"You're so stubborn," he grumbled good naturedly, nuzzling her.

"Takes one to know one, babe." Eep grinned at him, stroking the nape of his neck and fiddling with his top knot.

It was just them now and feeling thrilled that he had her to himself, gently nudged her down, feeling her eyes bore into his. Guy braced his arms above her, not caring his muscles throbbed in protest. He could see the sun as it set shimmering there, burning with more than mere fire.

Her eyes were nearly amber in the low light of the evening, glinting with love. Those same eyes reminded him of the first night they met, curious and glowing as the fire flickered. He touched her face, fingers curling under her chin, taking in her flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips. It was a good look for her. She was beautiful, and no amount of sleeping suns in the sky would ever compare.

There must have been something in his expression for he saw her tremble and emotion swelled within him as he shut his eyes. He ached in more ways than just the pain from the ordeal with getting pummeled by a bunch of punch monkeys.

No more words were spoken for a long time, whoever reached for whom first he didn't care. All that mattered was now she was in his arms, heart pressed against heart and the gentle whispers of breath against lips. She arched into him and it took all his might to remember how to breathe. She palmed his shoulder suddenly with a growl, pushing him beneath her and he didn't fight her.

No one and no thing would ever separate them again, he thought as he caught her lips once more in a fluid movement.

Grug had panicked when he realized Guy and Eep had disappeared. After today, who could really blame him for it? Everyone was quick to volunteer to find them, Ugga crouching to encourage Sandy to use that skilled sense of smell of hers. The fierce little tot bounded into the fields, disappearing into the tall grass and crops.

"She's got the scent!" Gran exclaimed, hobbling after her youngest granddaughter.

Grug just worried and worried, Ugga absently massaging a kink out of his large neck. "Relax, the farm is safe. I'm sure Eep and Guy are alright, Grug."

"Still," he began with a frown. "I'd feel better knowing that with my own eyes, honey."

They'd followed Sandy through the gardens, the farther they went the more Grug fretted. It felt too long when Sandy finally paused, several large bushes and crops shielding the view. She pawed in the direction of it, turning to giggle and pounce into Ugga's awaiting arms.

"Good girl, Sandy," she praised, pressing her cheek against hers fondly.

Grug lead the way, parting the foliage. Everyone shoved about behind him and attempted to peak around him, making the caveman huff in annoyance.

The family came upon the couple hidden amongst the fields of other worldly produce, cozy together on the grass as they traded needy little kisses. Alternating between whispering, giggling and pressing a small kiss here or there, Guy and Eep were content in their bubble. Guy was curled up as content as a house cat right in her lap, Eep's arms around him in a hug. The sight would have infuriated Grug once upon a time ago but he'd seen a lot in just two days.

Things changed and so did he. His daughter deserved happiness and having seen just how broken Guy had been over her, he knew it wasn't just puppy love.

It was full grown.

"Aw," Dawn gushed as she peeked over Grug's shoulders, standing on her tiptoes. "How cute, are they always like that?"

The typical young boy that he was, Thunk made a face, his travel window lowering. "Bleh," he only said. "Again already?"

Gran snorted and leaned over to Dawn to say inconspicuously, "You have no idea, smart girl."

Belt's only response from around Dawn's torso was to make a swooning gesture, unwinding an arm to drape it over his face. Dawn chuckled when immediately after the sloth was gushing over Sash who'd leaned down to nuzzle noses with Guy's little friend. "I get the picture."

Hope folded her hands to her chest, "I can't believe we tried breaking them up… who does that?"

The words Hope said affected Grug more than he wanted to admit and guilt swelled inside him.

Ugga patted him gently on the shoulder, rousing her mate's quiet contemplation. "Well?" Ugga asked him in that soft voice of hers, gray eyes shifting back towards Guy and Eep.

"Leave them be," Grug told her and the others, shaking his head with a reserved little smile. He felt sad but there was a fatherly resolve in his heart. Eep would always be his little girl but he had to accept she had her own life to live now.

One with many Tomorrows that he knew Guy could give her, there was no doubt the young man was going to give her the world on a silver platter. The thought of her leaving was like a knife in his heart, even Guy would be a tough bone to swallow, after all, Grug had called him son. And as a father, he only wanted what was best for them, even if it meant it wasn't here with him anymore.

Gran stomped her cane on the grass. "Who are you and what have you done with our Lunkhead?"

Grug grunted, "What? I'm not allowed to have a change of heart now?"

Ugga leaned her head against his fondly. "I'm proud of you, big guy."

Grug didn't want to get emotional, feeling the moisture gather in his eyes. Phil threw an arm over his shoulders on the side Ugga didn't occupy.

"Something on your mind, bro?" His eyes were sympathetic.

He sniffled, "Nothing, really." Grug shrugged Phil's arm off and sighed.

"You can tell me," Phil encouraged, lifting a hand in an encouraging manner.

"I don't wanna."

"I'm knocking on the door, big guy. Let me in!" He persisted.

Grug side eyed him, knowing no matter what he said the lanky Betterman was going to get his way. "It's just… gonna be hard to let them go," he said, the words slightly warbled. He was a big scary caveman but he'd always been soft in the heart despite the stoney exterior.

Gran scoffed, the old matriarch beginning to hobble away. "There's our Grug now. The big baby."

Phil patted him on the back, "There, there, it'll be alright. Besides, I have a solution to your little problem."

He looked uncertain as Phil led him away from the serene couple, the rest of the family following behind. "What do you mean 'solution'?"

"Let's just say it's a wedding present for our favorite pair of lovebirds, Gruggers. You can help me get it ready, they'll take one look at it and want to stay forever." Phil then fondly nudged his friend's back. "Just please learn to use doors, Guy won't be happy if you tear a hole in their little love nest. Knocking will save you a lot of grief too."

"Love nest?" Grug echoed and for a moment the protective father that wanted to smother his daughter peeked out.

Before he could regret his decision, it was a joint effort to shove him towards the large tree on the property, hefting a sigh and pouting as Ugga just laughed.

And oblivious to the world around them, Guy and Eep stayed stuck together, joint by the heart.

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapters 263 & 264 - personal disappointment.

I left off at the end of chapter 262 when Boutarou got shot and I was curious how things were going to pan out.  Chapter 263 starts off with the action of the men being pursued by Hijikata.  And not shockingly at all, he single-handedly defeats all of them to determine that he was chasing a decoy bag of barley for the malting process in the brewery.  Honestly, this isn’t all that effective in the story but does feed the needs of Hijikata fans to watch him kick ass.

A more interesting action shot happens between Sugimoto and Kikuta.  In his usual form, Sugimoto swings at Kikuta with his rifle.

This catches Kikuta by surprise at the rifle swung at him.

He’s able to hit one of his hands where a Nagant revolver is sent flying.  Of course we even have Kikuta commenting at the loss of one of his babies off into the road.  Tsurumi turns to see Sugimoto and calls him out.  Of course he takes two shots at Sugimoto regardless of Kikuta in between the two of them.

We see that Sugimoto is trying to grab Kikuta’s other hand with his other current Nagant and Kikuta remarks that Tsurumi’s behavior is dangerous, since he’s in the line of fire.

The action then shifts back to the beer bottle mobile with a [sadly] dying Boutarou. Shiraishi asks Boutarou, what he was thinking and points out that he would have no problem letting Shiraishi get shot.  He rightly points out that it was uncharacteristic behavior for him.

Shiraishi despite stating this obvious fact does look gravely concerned.  Boutarou tells him that he messed up, and uses this as a time to make a dying wish/request of Shiraishi.  Unable to realize his dream of having his personal kingdom and lots of children, he passes his goal for memory to be achieved through Shiraishi and his future family instead. 

This leaves Shiraishi to only quietly reply with a soft and hesitant yeah.  Boutarou was an astute observer of people, he clearly had seen that Shiraishi is a decent guy who has matured since he last encountered him in prison.  I think this is also a sort of confidence in Shiraishi for the potential to be a good parent since he’s overall a good person.  We’ve learned that he ended up in the system because he was an abandoned child who never knew family but could change and grow as a person. 

Boutarou hands him the skins he took from Kadokura and tells him that he needs to make something of his life.  With a calm and serious expression he replies that he understands the dying man’s wish and he pulls him close to whisper something in Shiraishi’s ear.

The look of shock tells us, that what ever Boutarou said was a huge deal.  The next page is a single page panel of Shiraishi confirming that Boutarou got more information from the Ainu about where the gold started from.  Or more exactly, the place where all of the gold was gathered before Wilk stole it and moved it to the unknown location.

Of course, we didn’t hear that information so only Shiraishi knows the exact location. With that, Boutarou dies and Shiraishi tells him that he will not forget him and he drives the car off from the location.

As a reader, I’m more than disappointed by this event.  Shiraishi has watched another person he clearly had a friendship with die in front of him.  When Kiro died he was too far away to witness the exact event, but he buried his friend.  This time, his life was saved by Boutarou who, in part saved him, to keep his own dream alive through Shiraishi. 

Shiraishi is one of the more innocent cast members, who does small things that are questionable, but compared to many others does not kill people or act super greedy since his lame use for the gold would to do what he already does, which implies in part he’s content with his life.  I really wanted him to not have to watch another person die before him, but nope, Noda decided to make him suffer. 

Now, the fanbook had comments from Noda about how Boutarou would be important for how he’d impact other characters - clearly this is one aspect of that, but I was looking forward to more time with our pirate.  He was a more interesting convict and I wanted to see more from him.

The action shifts back to Sugimoto fighting Kikuta and Tsurumi has thankfully, returned to driving the fire engine and let Kikuta deal with Sugimoto.  Though he keeps his eyes on the two men, just to make sure he’s observing as much as possible.  This is clear for two pages as Sugimoto is working very hard to not have Kikuta shoot hi with the revolver.  Of course, he demands that he gives Asirpa back and about sending him to hell.

Smoothly and calmly, Kikuta smirks back and tells him to go ahead and kill him since ‘they’ll rolls out the red carpet’ for him.  This causes Sugimoto to pause has he goes from having murder eyes to normal eyes.  He has recognized Kikuta.  Something about him has caused Sugimoto to freeze and the next page shows him recognizing him fully.  As he asks him if he’s ‘Mr. Kikuta?’  This situation has caused him to snap out of his usual murder rage attack.

Then, Kikuta makes a connection, that Sugimoto is someone he refers to as a ‘vagrant boy’ implying they have crossed paths before, if he’s got a nickname for Sugimoto.

Now we know that Tsurumi has been watching them the entire time and he takes this pause as a chance to try to shoot Sugimoto.  Sugimoto is caught off guard by the shots and Kikuta takes this chance to literally give him the boot.  KIkuta does not look happy as he pulls his leg back before kicking Sugimoto off the fire engine and he flies off with his rifle.

Of course Sugimoto runs after the engine while screaming Asirpa’s name and she tries to yell back to Sugimoto while bound and gagged.  It is unclear where Asirpa is.  Is she on the fire engine?  Or is she with Tsukishima?  Still hard to tell at this point.  Koito then starts off by mentioning that they are currently not being chased and they head to the meeting point.

Suddenly, Koito’s horse is shot as he calls otu to Tsukishima as his horse collapses.  Next Sofia leaps from a roof onto Tsukishima on his horse.  And the chapter ends.

Overall, the pacing in this chapter was a bit odd.  We learned that Hijikata was following a dead end, Boutarou dramatically dies while telling some sort of secret info to Shiraishi, Kikuta and Sugimoto know each other and Sofia has made her move meaning she followed Tsukishima and Koito from Otaru to Sapporo.

The next chapter picks up wit the action. Sofia spurs Tsukishima’s horse on to separate him and his bag from Koito and Nikaido.  A smart plan as two of her men work to take out Nikaido’s horse as well and Koito quickly orders Nikaido what to do next, which again shows us that he’s improved in his management of others in the absence of Tsukishima.

Sofia moves quickly to cut the rope around the bag and pulls a revolver on Tsukishima.  Sofia’s eyes are pure white, never a good sign but Tsukishima thinks fast to headbutt her in the face and she misfires.

This entire fight scene between Tsukishima and Sofia is 100x better than our previous chapter’s Hijikata vs nameless lame members of the 27th.  The seasoned combat experience of both of them is incredible. Tsukishima grabs her wrist with the revolver while elbowing her in the face, but she shoots the horse bringing them to a dead stop and Tsukishima has a look of panic while she is behind him.

The bag then rolls forward and under the indication that it has Asirpa, Sofia throws herself out to protect the bag.  Unfortunately, she rolls headfirst into a telegraph pole (?) which would had to give her a concussion.  She opens the bag to reveal odds and ends that they had stuffed into the bag when changing into the firemen outfit/uniforms.  As she reaches for her revolver, Tsukishima kicks it away so she just punches him instead.  She charges to him when she suddenly collapses (likely due to the concussion).

Tsukishima is in shock at her tenacity as he sits up from the ground.  Meanwhile, Koito and Nikaido pursue the two other men.  The one Russian man says the other guy should call some of their compatriots or even most of them in Otaru. . .

Unfortunately, Tsurumi roles by and Kikuta lurks in the background revolvers already drawn.  Both Kikuta and Tsurumi make quick work of taking the other two men out and they meet up with Koito and Tsukishima.  Tsukishima makes it clear that she was speaking Russian, and Kikuta notes the other men are not Japanese and being the firearms nerd that he is, the rifles are Swiss made. 

Tsukishima also remarks how he saw her in Otaru near the hospital.  Koito then notices that Kiro’s knife is on the ground near her.  He asks if they were pursued all the way from Akou prison and he should damn well know that the knife was Kiro’s.

Shiraishi left it with Kiro when he buried him, but it is clear that Sofia took it from him and now has it as a part of her possessions.  Tsukishima noticed that she has a clear grudge against them and Nikaido states it would be good to kill her now.  Tsurumi instead decides to take her hostage, not yet knowing who she is.  He just knows that she’s associated with Kiro and definitely knows that he has more allies and they are nearby so it would be better to get information out of her.

Realizing they are at risk, Tsurumi changes their plans and we finally learn that Asirpa has been on the fire engine the entire time!  I guess they ditched Usami’s body back at the brewery and it will go up in smoke?

Sugimoto continues to run after the fire engine and stops to vomit in exhaustion as Shiraishi drives up to him with the car.  As expected, Sugimoto’s appreciation of Shiraishi quickly fades as he then insults his poor driving skills.  He tells him to drive faster and they get passed by a cat, which looks kind of like Edogai’s cat but Japanese twitter already figured out was a similar cat with a different black fur pattern.  I had wanted it to be Edogai’s cat to be in search of the fake skins as a plot point. . .

Sugimoto then shoves Shiraishi out of the way saying he’ll drive even though he has no idea and he then beats on it just like on the blimp as he hits the steering wheel.  Instead of Ogata looking at him oddly, Shiraishi describes how the clutch and throttle work since it is far to early for the invention of automatic.  Sugimoto crashes the car into some lumber and Boutarou’s body flies out.  Interestingly, Sugimoto apologies to the dead man while Shiraishi tells him to put his body in the back.

As they drive, Sugimoto asks Shiraishi if he recognized ‘the guy with the two pistols’.  Even though Sugimoto already confirmed Kikuta’s identity, he wonders if he remembers him.  Shiraishi didn’t recognize him from the group even though he was present in Karafuto.

Sugimoto then stays silent as he thinks about something that relates to Kikuta and changes the subject to if Boutarou said anything [of interest] in the end. So, desipte knowing more about Kikuta, he doesn’t share this information with Shiraishi.

Almost in response to Sugimoto’s question Shiraishi also doesn’t tell him all he knows.  He repeats the request to settle down and have kids so they can learn about Boutarou’s heroic actions.  He also adds in his own observation that despite the pirate’s less than ideal methods, he just wanted to have a family.

While Shiraishi is talking Sugimoto thinks back to Kikuta and we see him asking Sugimoto where he lives.  Kikuta is dressed in casual clothing and unfortunately, I lack the ability to try to identify the building in the background . . . .

All we can tell is that it is a more modern building and likely in a city - so Tokyo perhaps?  The fanbook tells us that Kikuta is from Saitama prefecture which like the Kanagawa prefecture are all in the Tokyo region, so maybe Kikuta was back visiting his family and he crossed paths with Sugimoto while he wandered around the area. 

It would be interesting to learn that Kikuta recruited Sugimoto to the army through his actions or advice. Sugimoto frowns before he replies.  Is he upset that Kikuta works for Tsurumi?  That he’s not getting enough information about Boutarou?  Or both?  He then asks Shiraishi further to confirm that he didn’t learn anything else from Boutarou.

It is clear that the car still isn’t going too fast as a dog runs along in the background.  The phrasing of their conversation is translated in such a way that is a little unclear to me as a reader.  Sugimoto is asking for him to confirm that he didn’t get any of the Ainu information out of him.

Shiraishi replies with a no and then he pauses that ‘he told me, all right’.  Is this a you didn’t get any information? with a no as a confirmation.  Or are we to read that Shiraishi should have said yes that he didn’t get any information out of him.  Or that he got information and he’s telling Sugimoto to relax and he knows the information. 

This is one of those moments where I wish I had a better understanding of Japanese, but it is a more fuzzy language than English to begin with.  I’ll go with the idea that Shiraishi is confirming that he got useful information, but he’s not telling Sugimoto in this exact moment.  I’m definitely overthinking this line of dialogue.

The action returns to a church at night where Kiro’s makkiri, as well as both of Asirpa’s knives are placed on what appears to be the lectern of the church.

Tsurumi gives out his current orders.  Koito, Tsukishima and Kikuta are sent out to collect the rest of their group, but they can’t return until they’ve prevented anyone from following them.  This means that Hijikata’s group won’t be a threat since they have already decided on a strategic retreat.  The only group still a threat are possible Russians and Sugimoto and Shiraishi.  But really, Sugimoto is in no shape to take them.

Asirpa and Sofia are on the pew and she tries to speak to her after Tsukishima searches her.  Koito is keeping an eye on the entrance and Tsurumi decides that they stay in hiding until they can get more men from Asahikawa.  Tsukishima then produces an item to Tsurumi.

It is the photo that Tsurumi took of Wilk, Kiro and Sofia.  He had thought that he destroyed all of his photos, but it is clear that Sofia grabbed the photo before the Russian secret police came for him.  In this moment, he’s confirmed Sofia’s identity and he knows that she very well may have been the person who shot and killed Fina and Olga.

Keep in mind that Kiro tried to tell her that she could never confirm that she was the person who killed them, but Tsurumi saw her grief and apology first hand.  The fact we don’t see his face but his odd brain leak, means that he very well likely blamed her for the death of his family.

And with that the chapter ends!

As I stated at the beginning, this wasn’t what I expected to happen. 

Boutarou’s death - I was totally bummed out by this event.  He was such an interesting character and I liked how he made Sugimoto squirm in awkwardness to his own acts.  I really liked his character, by no means would I want to be friends with him, but he was a more interesting convict; clever, observant and dynamic.  I wanted to see more of what he’d do and he ended up having a villain death like he was from ‘Gintama’.  I love Gintama, don’t get me wrong, but he had a typical death as a serious arc from that series would have.  Boutarou deserved better.

Sugimoto backstory - Sugimoto has more backstory that is going to come forth.  We got our first peek at it from Boutarou and it looks like it will now continue with Kikuta.  Who was Kikuta to Sugimoto?  A mentor?  Did he convince him to enlist as a senior enlisted man?  He likely crossed paths with him around/after Koito’s kidnapping in 1902. I for one, invite more Sugimoto backstory - we need to know what shaped his very rigid judgement of others and why he distrusts and hates others for unclear reasons.

This also makes it interesting that Kikuta will stumble upon Sugimoto again and try to talk to him as a representative of Central.  It would also force Sugimoto to explain to Shiraishi why this random guy from the 27th knows him.

Sofia and Tsurumi meet again - Sofia was watching what happened from afar.  How did she know what was going on?  Why did she think for sure that she was rescuing Asirpa?  It is clear that she was with only a small part of her group and hopefully, they will hang back to determine what to do next.  Like Kiro, she had very bad luck.  She fought Tsukishima who should never be underestimated, got a concussion and it was the only reason she couldn’t keep fighting.  Based on his reaction, he’s not going to be nice to her.  I have been curious how this ‘reunion’ was going to go down since the Karafuto arc and we will finally see what happens.

Shiraishi hesitates - I’ve read things to imply that Shiraishi may be picking up on Sugimoto’s missing information and he’s also reluctant to divulge Boutarou’s information to Sugimoto immediately.  Does this mean that his original gold theory that Sugimoto mocked is totally spot on and the additional information verifies what they had worked to before becoming distracted by Jack?

And all while this chaos unfolds, where is Ogata?  Where is Vasily?  Are they still having their sniper battle?  Was Vasily the intel for Sofia’s men?  Or Ogata since he can speak Russian and relay that information along to Sofia?  As usual we are still lacking information which would make for a clearer picture.

We’ll have to see what happens next, but I predict that Sugimoto and Shiraishi may have to retreat and regroup either alone or hold his nose and rejoin Hijikata.  As useful as the bottle car is, it is pretty obvious and I don’t see how they get away from it to evade detection by the 27th or Hijikata who many seek them out to bring them back to his group in retreat.

[thewatsonbeekeepers]

Chapter 6 – So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish [TST 1/2]

The chapter title comes from the wonderful Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy book series – drop this meta and read them immediately.

No, no he [Moriarty] would never be that disappointing. He’s planned something, something long-term. Something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive. Posthumous revenge – no, better than that. Posthumous game.

This is what Sherlock says about Moriarty in the very first scene of TST, and on rewatch the application to Mofftiss is startling. Trust the writers – a short-term disappointment for a long-term excitement, if you will. The reference to the rooftop is a way of pointing out just how far back this has been planned – in other words, the seeming randomness of the series is not in fact random. But let’s see how that plays out in TST.

This episode opens, as so many have pointed out, with doctored footage, as though deliberately showing us how stories can be rewritten. However, we only get glimpses of the footage at the start of the episode – the extensive old footage is not security camera footage, but recap footage from s3, and specifically the end of HLV. The idea that there is something classified, hidden, that we don’t have the full story, is meant to be associated with the actual show Sherlock, not just the camera footage – it would have been very easy to give us most of the same footage in security camera style, but they deliberately reused shots from the show to make us doubt their own authenticity. So far, so good.

The first thing that I (and most of my friends) noticed about this scene, however, is that it’s not good. The writing is questionable, to say the least. The serious resolution to the problem of Magnussen’s murder is interrupted by Sherlock tweeting, brotherly bickering, hyperactive and possibly high Sherlock being played for comedy (complete with mock opera). And then, perhaps the worst lines of the show so far:

SHERLOCK: I always know when the game is on. Do you know why?

SMALLWOOD: Why?

SHERLOCK: Because I love it.

Like a lot of this show, think about those lines for more than a nanosecond and they really don’t make sense. You’ve got to think about them for a lot longer before they start to again. This, I think, is where BBC Sherlock’s self-parody really starts. TAB focuses on parodying, critiquing and rewriting historical adaptations, but it’s easy to see the merging of all of the undeniably Sherlock elements into one parodically awful scene. The quick quips that are supposed to be clever and that are so common in Moffat’s dialogue are seen in that moment of dialogue – but the quip isn’t clever anymore, it’s empty. The same catchphrase of ‘the game is on’ comes back, and the quintessential use of technology is referenced in Sherlock’s Twitter account, where again his #OhWhatABeautifulMorning is unfathomably glib. Our Sherlock is also better known than previous adaptations for his drug abuse, and this also gets referenced, but here it gets played for comedy, which is incongruous with the rest of the show – in fact, THoB, HLV and TAB all take it pretty seriously, so to see it played off as a joke is tonally questionable. In other words, here we have Sherlock caricatured as a programme, in one scene – and it’s horrible.

(We should also notice that the use of Twitter is important – it underlies a lot of the glib comedy in this episode, with Sherlock later Tweeting #221BringIt (which is so unbelievably queer?). In Sherlock, Moffat use Twitter rather than Tumblr to comment on fan reaction to Sherlock, probably because their older audience will have no idea what Tumblr is, but also because Twitter is much more mainstream in its appreciation. Twitter takes centre stage in TEH, with #SherlockLives and the scene with the support group. The joke there is about the sheer level of how-did-he-do-it mania that gripped the public – so when we see Twitter again, we should be thinking about an extratextual as well as a textual response to Sherlock, and how Sherlock’s behaviour on Twitter in this episode might caricature the way that he is seen from the outside.)

I don’t truly buy that (in this scene, at least) Mofftiss are critiquing their own show in a straightforward sense, because they have dealt with technology better than this (words on screen, technology as useful within mysteries), drugs better than this (John’s, Mycroft’s and Molly’s reactions to Sherlock’s behaviour as well as Sherlock’s own difficulties) and clever quips far better (pick any episode). But in deconstructing this show to its instantly recognisable elements, and making them worse to hyperbolise the point, that scene strips the show of its heart. Interestingly, it’s also stripped of John, who will be the metaphorical heart of Sherlock through the EMP, but is also the part of the show that is missing when it is caricatured as the Benedict-Cumberbatch-being-clever show. This is also a critique of most people’s perception of Sherlock Holmes as a character through history in the sense of the reductive cleverness – Mofftiss are showing us that this is completely empty.

What does this mean for Sherlock himself, bearing in mind that this is taking place in his Mind Palace? The answer is pretty grim – remember that Sherlock is metatextually grappling with his own identity at this point; he needs to discover the man he is, rather than is portrayed as, in order to get out of this alive. In a psychological sense, then, the opening of TST sees Sherlock deconstruct himself as seen from the outside, and as his psyche has traditionally perceived himself, and realise that that version of himself is hollow. This scene, then, is a rejection of the Sherlock of the public eye, as well as Sherlock’s own eyes.

There is a non-explanation for how the Secret Service doctored the footage of Sherlock shooting Magnussen, the response simply being that they have the tech. If the answer is going to be that vague, there is little reason to bring up the question – except to raise it in the viewers’ minds. Making the audience question their belief in the s4 universe is something that happens very frequently, and this is the start of it. A later chapter goes into the parallels that Sherlock and Doctor Who have, but there’s an important bit from Last Christmas (DW Christmas Special 2014) that is relevant here – the main characters, all dreaming, whenever they are asked any questions that can’t be explained in the dream universe, simply reply ‘it’s a long story’. This is a ‘long story’ moment – where no explanation is given, so questions about reality are raised and unanswered.

Another similar moment comes when Sherlock says he knows exactly what Moriarty is going to do next – how? And, more to the point, it becomes hugely obvious that he doesn’t. Yet, for the first time in history, he feels happy to sit back and wait on Moriarty, because he knows that what will come will come. This insistence that the future will take its course as it needs to might draw our minds ahead to the frankly ridiculous reliance on predictions that we see in TLD – however, it should also draw our minds across to Doctor Who, and to Amy’s Choice, a series five episode I’m going to delve deeper into later, but where because it’s a dream, the Doctor is able to predict every word the monsters say.

Notice that ‘glad to be alive’ is followed by Vivian saying her name – we’ll come back to this later.

Cue opening credits!

Before going anywhere else with TST, required reading is this meta by LSiT (X). I can’t make these points better than she has, nor can I take credit for them. I’m particularly invested in her description of the aquarium and the Samarra story, as well as the client cases that appear and aren’t updated on John’s blog. Our reading will diverge later on – I think this series is a lot more metaphorical than it is hypothesis-testing, although the latter is a notable feature of ACD canon (see the original THotB) that definitely does happen here as well. I’m going to leave the Samarra story, the aquarium and the cases for LSiT to explain, however, and move on.

When we move into 221B, the fuckiness is instantly apparent from the mirror. You can go here (X) to navigate the whole inside of 221B, and I suggest you do; it’s a fantastic resource. The mirror showing the green wall is simply wrong – the angle that this is shot from suggests that we should see the black and white wallpaper, complete with skull etc. Instead, we see the green wall – and the door. We can tell this is wrong because in the ‘wrong thumb’ case about thirty seconds later, the right wallpaper is reflected in the mirror. Another note of fuckiness that we should spot is that Sherlock seems to be taking his cases from letters, in the mail he has knifed into the mantelpiece – this show has been really keen on emphasising that he uses email for the last three series, so the implication that people are sending him letters is even odder than it would be in a modern show anyway.

(Everybody in the world has commented on the ‘it’s never twins’ line – but to reiterate its importance. Firstly, it’s almost identical to the line in TAB, just with ‘it’s’ instead of ‘it is’. TAB repeats lots of things though, because it’s a dream – well yes, but dreams can’t tell the future. So material from TAB being recycled doesn’t point to TAB being a dream, it points to TST being a continuation of the dream in TAB. The fact that they saw fit to reiterate this line in a series about secret siblings also puts paid to the theory that s4 was plotted in a rush and not in line with previous series – there is a theme here, and they’re pushing it.)

And so we move to Sherlock relentlessly texting through the birth, through the christening – horrible, ooc behaviour for him if we think back to how emotional he was at the wedding. Importantly, this behaviour is all tied up with his obsessive Tweeting, which in turn links in to how the outside world (i.e. us) perceive Sherlock – is this the Sherlock that people want to see on screen? Doesn’t he feel wrong? Sure, there’s an element of self-critique in there from Mofftiss, but the incorporation of the phone obsession leaves the blame squarely with the audience. In case we couldn’t already feel that Sherlock’s character is way off, we have his Siri loudly say that she can’t understand him.

We remember from TAB that Sherlock sees himself as cleverer through John’s eyes, and the reasonably sympathetic portrayal we get in TAB we can probably put down to this attempt at understanding himself from the outside. The water in TST is showing us that we’re going in, and the sad thing is that this is almost definitely how Sherlock has come to perceive himself, but just like Siri he doesn’t truly recognise it. It’s also worth noting here the emphasis placed on God in godfather and later the deliberate mentions of Christianity at the Christening – there is also a tuning out of a culture he can’t really align himself with here, which is more important when we think about the fact that this character has been around since the 19th century.

Water tells us we’re sinking deep into Sherlock’s mind, as discussed in a previous chapter. Water imagery is going to be hugely prevalent in TST, but I want to talk quickly about the subtle hints at water even when we’re not in a giant fuck-off aquarium. Take a look at the rattle scene (which always sparks joy). When we get a side angle that shows both Sherlock and Rosie, there’s a black chest of some description behind Rosie – the top is glowing slightly blue, for reasons I can’t fathom. Then we’re going to cut to a shot of Rosie – despite seeing only a second before that there is nothing on her head, there is a glow of blue on it that looks almost like a skullcap. Cut back to Sherlock getting a rattle in the face, and the mirror is glowing the same blue colour behind him. This is all fucky, and it’s a fuckiness which is aesthetically tied to the waters of Sherlock’s mind perfectly. It suggests that Rosie isn’t real, but more important is the mirror. Earlier on I pointed out how the mirror was showing the wrong reflection; here, the mirror is glowing blue, linking it thematically to Sherlock’s subconsciousness. Visually, we’re being hinted at the process of self-reflection that’s going on in Sherlock’s brain – and the opening of TST is showing him getting it terribly wrong. Note that when the mirror jolted right earlier, Sherlock was proclaiming that it had been the wrong thumb – god knows what thumbs have to do with this, but there’s a question of shifting perception on his person, like he’s trying to locate himself.

The glowing blue light sticks around, and seems particularly associated with Rosie, like she’s the focus of much of Sherlock’s thought at the moment. LSiT’s meta linked above has already picked up on the many dangers in Rosie’s cradle decoration, from the Moriarty linked images to the killer whale mobile. Due purely to a lucky pause, I caught the killer whale’s eyes glowing blue, just like the blue from the rattle scene. He’s thinking about her in terms of the key villains of the show as well as the villains in his mind.

I’m not going to comment on the bus scene because I have a chapter dedicated to Eurus moments before TFP – jumping straight ahead.

We then find our first Thatcher case – others have been pretty quick to point out the significance of the blue power ranger in gay tv history (X), and infer that Charlie is queer coded – much like David Yost, who played the blue power ranger, he is not able to come out without being treated badly. This is undoubtedly important, as is the fact that this is the second time in 12 minutes of this show that they’ve shown us how easily film footage can be faked, and someone can be lied to – you don’t need to have Mycroft Holmes levels of clearance, just a Zoom background. This is important too. But the other thing I want to focus on is that he says he’s in Tibet.

Sherlock comes pretty high on my list of top TV shows, but currently Twin Peaks holds the top spot – it’s an unashamedly cryptic show all about solving mysteries through dreams, so no wonder I like it. It’s made by David Lynch, and in the TAB chapter I talk about how TAB takes a lot of structural inspiration from his most famous film, Mulholland Drive, which has similar themes. I don’t think this is anything particularly interesting beyond an attempt to reference the defining work in the field of it-was-all-a-dream film and tv – David Lynch and Mofftiss and Victor Fleming are the only people I can think of who can actually make that plot look good. But this Tibet moment, particularly as we’re going to be hit by another reference to Tibet later, underlining its importance, I think is a reference to this scene (X) where the protagonist, Cooper, outlines a dream in which the Dalai Lama spoke to him and gave him the power to use magic to solve mysteries. Fans of Twin Peaks will know that the magic doesn’t last long – it’s pretty much an introductory way in, and most of the rest of his important deductions will all be made in dreams. This is one of the most famous scenes in the whole programme, because it introduced the world to the weirdness of what had been set up as a straightforward cop show, and despite Cooper rarely (possibly never?) mentioning Tibet again, it’s still highly quoted and recognisable. As a watershed moment in bringing dream worlds into normal detective dramas (something highly frowned upon according to any theory of storytelling!) this is a gamechanging moment, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to point to Sherlock’s several references to Tibet as a link back to this moment.

We then cut back to Sherlock thinking whilst Lestrade tells him more about the case – what is bizarre here, is that John and Lestrade are clearly visible through what can only be described as a rearview mirror attached to the side of Sherlock’s head. If anyone can tell me what that is, I would love to know. I’m going to assume it’s a fucky mirror, because it’s in keeping with the other fucky mirrors so far. The visibility of John and Lestrade in the mirror is even more odd because it doesn’t match the colour palette of 221B at all. Sherlock is lit largely in warm, brown colours, as is Charlie’s father in the previous scene we’re transitioning from – Lestrade and John are lit in dark blue, to the point where they’re barely visible. This looks like a rearview mirror, but not like the one on the power ranger car – it’s a much older car, out of a different time, like so much in this dream world. The only colour palette they seem to match is the one from the s4 promotion photos – you know, when Baker Street is completely underwater.

Drowning in the Mind Palace. Here we are, back where we started. Sherlock might be thinking about the case of Charlie, but he’s actually reflecting on that world we saw in the promo photos, where he’s struggling to stay alive in his brain. Notice that this isn’t just a split shot, it’s specifically a mirror, so we’re meant to focus on this episode as an act of reflection. There are great parallels between Sherlock and the Charlie case which you can find here (X) – essentially, Charlie and Carl Powers from TGG are mirrors for one another both in their names and in the manner they die (a fit in a tight place, basically). Carl Powers is already a mirror for Sherlock – obsessively targeted by Jim for being the best at what he does. Charlie mirrors Sherlock through their shared trip to Tibet (dreamscape alert) and, we think, through the metatextual link of the blue power ranger. In case you hadn’t spotted it, Powers links back to that too – probably coincidence, but a nice one nevertheless. Carl Powers’s death is by drowning, which we shouldn’t ignore in an episode as loaded with ideas about drowning in the mind palace. The fact that the mirror reflects drowning Baker Street aesthetics should make us think that Charlie is asking us to reflect on Carl Powers’s death, but also on Sherlock’s own – already fatally injured (by a fit or by Mary), he is going to die smothered, unable to cry for help (in a swimming pool/carseat costume (?!)/mind palace). The idea that none of these people could cry for help is particularly poignant because so much of series 4 is about Sherlock being unable to voice his own identity, and as we’ll see once he’s able to do that, that may give him the impetus to escape his death. Think of ‘John Watson is definitely in danger’ back in HLV.

Now. Why is Sherlock so keen for Lestrade to take the credit? It’s another reason to bring up the fact that John’s blog is constantly updating – it’s dropped in a lot in this series as opposed to others – and to make us think about why nothing is happening in real life. But, given that this episode is about Sherlock trying to find who he is, is it a rejection of the persona that goes along with being Sherlock Holmes? Possibly, but he’s going to have to go to a lot more effort than that. John’s blog is the real problem here, making not just Sherlock but Lestrade out to be like they’re not. John’s blog is a stand in for the original stories, which were supposed to be written by John Watson, but TAB has already (drawing on TPLoSH) laid the groundwork for the idea that John’s blog/those stories really do not tell the whole story. So this is coming back with a vengeance here, even though for the first time Sherlock is properly moving against the persona in there, not just bitching about John’s writing style, which is a theme more common to Sherlock Holmes across the ages. John then says that it’s obvious, and when pressed just laughs and says that it’s normally what Sherlock says at this point – so again, when Sherlock stops filling the intense caricature of arrogance and bravado, John the storyteller steps in to put him back in line, even though that means pulling him back to being a much more unpleasant character.

A note here: most of the time in EMP theory, I think John represents Sherlock’s heart, and I try to refer to John as heart!John as much as possible when that’s the case. There are a few cases which are different, but most notable are when the blog comes up – then John becomes John the blogger, and our symbolism shifts over to the repressive features of the original stories and how that’s playing out in the modern world. Although a pain to analyse sometimes, I find it incredibly neat that the two of them are bound up in John as source of both love and pain, which fits our story beautifully.

John as blogger continues in the baby joke that he and Lestrade have going down the stairs – they continue with their caricature of Sherlock, but he doesn’t recognise himself in it. Or rather, there’s a moment when he seems to, but he can’t quite grasp onto it. This is typical of the way he recognises himself in the programme. It’s also worth noting that the image of John as a father is particularly tied into ACD, as the creator of Sherlock Holmes, so tying together blogger and father in this scene cements our theme.

Going into the Welsborough house, we get a slip of the tongue from Sherlock which is fantastic. He tells them that he is really sorry about their daughter, which at an earlier point in the show might just be a classic Sherlock slip-up. But mixing up genders is actually something which happens quite a lot in this show, and it’s something drawn attention to as significant in TAB.

Sherlock asks John “How did he survive?” of Emelia Ricoletti, when of course he’s thinking about Moriarty, and John corrects him quickly, much like here. A coincidental callback? Maybe not. What’s the first mistake that Sherlock ever makes? Thinking that Harry Watson is a man. What’s the big trick they pull at the end of S4? Sherlock has a secret sister – and Eurus points out that her gender is the surprise at the end of TLD. Eurus is also an opposite-sex mirror for John and for Sherlock at various points and this allows Sherlock to approach their relations from a heterosexual standpoint and thus interrogate them – more on that later. So gender-swapping is a theme that runs through the show a lot. But the similarity to TAB in particular is important here, because in TAB that was our first obvious declaration that this wasn’t just a mirror to be analysed by the tumblr crowd, this was a mirror on the superficial level that had to be broken through. This callback to TAB is a callback to the mirrored dreamscape. Don’t believe me? Look at what happens next. The second Sherlock sees Thatcher the whole room not only goes underwater, but actually starts to shake – another throwback to recognising that Emelia was Moriarty, when the whole room shakes and the elephant in the room smashes. So, again, we’re being told that this isn’t about this case – it’s about something else, and that something is the elephant in the room. Just like the shaking smashes the elephant in the room, the shaking is what tells us about the smashed bust of Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher, whose laws on “promoting homosexuality” were infamous. Smashing the elephant in the room and Thatcher simultaneously between 2015, the 1980s and 1895 is hitting the history of British homophobia for the last hundred years summed up as quickly as possible, and tearing it down through Sherlock’s self-exploration. This is a good fucking show.

You’ll also notice that Sherlock is alone in the room, just for a second, when he has his Thatcher revelation – everybody else vanishes. Again, we’re seeing that the rest of the case is an illusion, providing just enough storytime to keep the audience believing in the dream, and possibly Sherlock too.

[There’s a fantastic framing of Sherlock here between two portraits, a man and a woman, seemingly ancestral – I would love to know more about these, because if I know Arwel they’re significant, and the way they hang over Sherlock is really metaphorically suggestive. If anyone has any info on that, it looks like a really good avenue to explore.]

Blue. Blue is the colour of Sherlock’s mind palace, but this scene ties it firmly to the Conservative party. The dark blue of Sherlock’s scarf nearly matches Welsborough’s jumper, which is in fact a better match for the mind palace aesthetic generally. Thatcher unsurprisingly wears blue as well. If blue is the water that Sherlock is drowning in, how interesting that it’s being tied to the most homophobic prime minister of the last 50 years. There was absolutely no need to make this guy a cabinet minister, dress him in blue, even make Thatcher replace Napoleon – I would actually argue that Churchill is a figure who matches Napoleon’s distance and stature much better for our time. Thatcher is an odd choice, and therefore significant. To tie this to the mind palace further, we then get a shot of Sherlock reflected in the picture of Thatcher as he analyses it – a reflection of him reflecting. In case we forgot what this was actually about.

Sherlock not knowing who Thatcher is – perfectly feasible and actually quite important, although something that I’m not going to resolve until my meta on TFP, because that’s where it comes together for me. But Sherlock playing for time with his further jokes about being oblivious (‘female?’) – that, again, is Sherlock actively playing a caricature of himself. He’s not doing it for fun – he’s doing it to cover up his concern about the smashed elephant in the room Thatcher bust.

The weird thing about the reveal of how Charlie died is that we see what should have happened, if everything had gone right, before we see how he died. I can’t recall this happening in another episode of Sherlock, although I could be wrong. It’s marked by the really noticeable scene transition of crackling television static, as though the signal is cutting out. This is possibly a bit of a reach, but there’s one obvious place where we’ve seen a lot of static before.

Moriarty coming back isn’t what’s supposed to happen. It doesn’t happen in the books. We’re telling the wrong story here. (Bear in mind, from previous chapters, that Jim represents Sherlock’s fear that John’s life is in danger.) Just like Jim returning isn’t the right story, but it’s the one that happened, Charlie’s story isn’t the right story but it’s the one that happened – and indeed, Sherlock needing to save John from a dangerous marriage + suicide is not what is supposed to happen – John and Mary are supposed to be married for good (until she dies) in canon. A whole load of false endings – new stories superseding old ones. Mofftiss has an idea that there’s a new story that’s going to be told, and our strongest canon divergence is the end of s3, when we get into the EMP – and from thereon in to TAB it’s off the deep end, and the same is seen here. That TV static is talking about a new medium for a new age and their refusal to deal with established canon norms. Just in case we didn’t remember, outside in the porch we even get a visual reminder of the TV static with a second’s flashback to ‘Miss Me?’ Bad news is, that means Sherlock Holmes rejecting the norms he’s been given (feasibly represented by the hyperbolic nuclear family here) and instead… dying in his mind palace. Less fun. Carl Powers died too. Sherlock still hasn’t got there quite yet – let’s hope he doesn’t.

The next scene is, I think, very important. We come across Mycroft in a dark room with a tiny bit of light – this is really odd, as the obvious place to put Mycroft would be the Diogenes Club. Yet, although clearly more modern, this reminds me most of all of the room we meet Mycroft in in TAB.

The colour palette is the same as the top photo, and the similar chunks of light falling through suggest that we’re in the same place. I’ve brought in a photo from the aeroplane in TAB to show how the light is designed to mirror that of the Diogenes Club in TAB as well – there is a unity in all these Mycroft’s that we shouldn’t miss. Here I can’t imagine I’m the first one to notice that the light in Mycroft’s office is designed to look like a chessboard, which was an important motif in the promotional pictures for s4. Chess is associated with Sherlock’s brain through Mycroft, most notably in THE where it is contrasted with Operation which represents their emotional (in)capacities. So here we are – Mycroft is the brain, if we didn’t already know, and Sherlock has gone to speak to his brain alone much like he did in TAB. Mycroft has already been associated with the queen a lot; they meet in Buckingham Palace in ASiB, where there is a jibe about Mycroft being the queen of England – we can see here in Sherlock’s head that the brain’s power is vastly reduced by comparing these two episodes. The first time we see Mycroft in connection to the Queen we go to the most famous building in the UK. The second time, Sherlock says he’s going to the Mall, which is the street that Buckingham Palace is on, so we are led to expect a reprisal – and instead come here. There is still a picture of the queen on the wall, but apart from that we are in the darkest room of the show so far, whose grating makes it look under siege. Mycroft’s power in Sherlock’s head is vastly reduced, and indeed the brain’s influence (represented by the queen) over Sherlock’s character is waning as Sherlock struggles to come to terms with his emotional identity.

[Crack/tenuous theory: when Sherlock asks John if he is the king of England in s3, in the drunk knee grope scene, this shows that his brain’s control over his emotions have slipped; references to the queen in relation to Mycroft before have shown that Sherlock does know about the royal family, so this has to metaphorically refer to his own psyche and letting go of his brain’s anti-emotion side. Like I say, crack. But I believe it.]

Again, if we weren’t sure about Mycroft representing the brain without the heart, his rejection of the baby photos is sending out a clear message of juxtaposition with John, who represents the heart. We also shouldn’t fail to notice the water coming over Sherlock’s face again as he struggles to recognise what is important about this. This comes as he is trying to recognise what is important about the Thatchers case. I’m going to try to lay it out as best I can here.

We’ve been through what Thatcher represents to queer people of Sherlock’s age, so there’s already a strong metaphor for homophobia being smashed there. However, let’s look at the AGRA memory stick being uncovered. We know (X) that Sherlock deduced his feelings for John as he was marrying Mary, and so having the smashing of the Thatcher bust at the AGRA memory stick reveal is pretty devastating metaphorically. Why does Sherlock constantly think Moriarty is involved? Well, HLV tells us that the Jim in Sherlock’s mind is his darkest fear – and he’s originally tied up in Sherlock’s mind when he’s first shot, but he pretty quickly gets loose. That darkest fear is exactly what Jim says in that episode: ‘John Watson is definitely in danger’. The reason we bring Jim in to represent this is part of deconstructing the myth of Sherlock Holmes. The whole concept of an arch enemy is made fun of in the show, and rightly so; Moriarty himself tells the Sir Boastalot story which lines Sherlock up with that ridiculous heroic tradition that he’s set himself into, which isn’t what Sherlock Holmes is really about at all. Holmes has never really been particularly invested in individual criminals (although there are exceptions –  Irene Adler, for example) – the time he gets most het up is The Three Garridebs, as we all know, when he thinks Watson is dying. It’s his greatest fear, and it’s also what Jim threatens, so Jim has become a proxy for that – and to understand that Sherlock Holmes is not the great Sherlock Holmes of the last hundred years, we have to get under and beyond Jim. Hence what we’re about to see. It’s not Jim, it’s Mary – and this is in very real terms, because Mary’s assassination attempt on Sherlock has left John in danger – but Sherlock won’t put the pieces together until the end of this episode, as we will see.

We should also pause over Mycroft asking Sherlock whether he’s having a premonition – Mycroft is laughing at the concept of Sherlock being able to envisage the future here, which we should remember when it comes to the frankly ludicrous plot of the next episode. Much like the much commented upon “it’s not like it is in the movies” which is there to undermine TST, this line is here to undermine TLD and point out the fact that it can’t possibly be real.

Sherlock describes predestination as like a spider’s web and like mathematics – both of these are to do with Moriarty. In the original stories, Moriarty is a mathematician, and one of the most famous lines from both the stories and the show describes Moriarty as a spider. This predestined future is one that Sherlock doesn’t like – Mycroft points out that predestination ends in death, which is what Sherlock is trying to avoid in this episode, and although Moriarty is never mentioned explicitly, his inflection here suggests that Sherlock is thinking about John subconsciously, without even understanding it. The Samarra discussion brings us back to the question of Sherlock’s death, and links it in with the deep waters of the mind he’s currently drowning in – the pirate imagery becomes really important here, because a pirate is someone who stays alive on the high seas and fights against them. The merchant of Samarra becoming a pirate is not merely a joke about a little boy, it’s a point about fighting for survival – and how will Sherlock later fight for survival? We’ll see him battle Eurus (his trauma, more on that later) head on, literally describing himself as a pirate. Fantastic stuff.

The scene transition where all of the glass breaks and then we cut to a background of what looks like blue water is a motif that runs through this entire episode – we’re smashing down walls in Sherlock’s mind, most particularly the Thatcher wall of 1980s homophobia, and indeed the first picture we see is that of the smashed bust.

Moving on – before we go back to Baker Street, there’s a shot of the outside – that features a mirror, reflecting back on 221B in a distorted, twisted way. Another mirror that is wrong – we’re reflecting in an alternate reality. These images keep popping up. It’s echoed in Sherlock’s deduction a few seconds later – by the side of his chair is what looks like either a car mirror or a magnifying glass, possibly the one from the Charlie scene, distorting his arm. It’s placed to look like a magnifying glass, whether it is or not, which ties in with the classic image of Holmes – but that image is distorted, remember.

Others have pointed out that when Sherlock falsely deduces that the client’s wife is a spy working for Moriarty, he should really be talking to John – and, in fact, this is another proof that this isn’t really, because otherwise this is pretty touchy stuff to be making light of in front of John. Instead, let’s remember this is Sherlock’s Mind Palace – John isn’t John here. What Sherlock does a lot in s4 – and nowhere more than the finale of TST – is displace a lot of his real world problems onto other people because he cannot handle the emotional impact of them, and that’s what he’s doing here. He’s trying to come to terms with the danger that Mary poses, but he can’t do it with John – hence why this scene has a John substitute, because that’s what the client is.

Note that the red balloon is over the Union Jack cushion, reminding us that this scene is about John in danger (see this post X). However, what’s important here is that Sherlock has got it wrong. He’s currently trying to work out why what has just happened with Mary poses so much danger, and he’s imagining Mary as the worst threat he possibly could – in a word, this Mary is a supervillain. But Mary is not a supervillain; he’s got this all wrong, and even as he says it, it’s completely ridiculous. This is not the danger Mary poses – and so out the door the client goes, and we’re back to square one, trying to work out exactly why John is in so much danger.

I’m not going to pause over the next moment of importance for too long because many have covered it – let’s just notice that Sherlock’s face is overlaid with a smashed Thatcher bust, and remind ourselves that these are the walls of homophobia in Sherlock’s brain. Also note that this matches the half-face overlay of the water in the previous scene, linking the two (although the scene with Ajay later will cement that anyway).

Next up: Craig and his dog. Nothing can be said about dogs that hasn’t be said in these wonderful metas by @sagestreet (X). Nevertheless, let’s note that this dog is coloured the same as Redbeard, and Mary (a Sherlock mirror in this episode, and in this scene – their clothing matches, and their joining of skillsets to exclude John is the link that has always united them as mirrors) compares John to the dog. We know from the metas linked above that dogs are linked to queerness in the show, but let’s remember that John here is not John – John represents Sherlock’s own heart. It’s going to take longer than this for Sherlock to acknowledge John’s queerness. I don’t think Toby the dog is that important – instead, this is foreshadowing for the more significant dog to come in TFP. The dog also allows for another bit of self-parody in the show – the close-up on the dog running through chemical symbols and the map link directly back to the chase scene in ASiP, but this time everything is different. We have no clue really what Toby is chasing or what the crime that has been committed is – they’re not even running, they’re walking! All we have are cool, if ridiculous, graphics – and, brought down to style without substance, it’s nothing but comic parody. This is important because the opening of TST is so parodic – we’re back to questioning whether the things that people associate with Sherlock and think they like about Sherlock are the right things. The fact that Toby reaches a dead end here is important – he’s a weird loose end to have hanging through the episode. When things in Sherlock normally tie together so nicely, this is a section which has absolutely no bearing on the rest of the plot other than to look a bit silly. But fundamentally, we’re talking about the superfluity of style and image here; we’ve been talking about it for a long time in relation to previous adaptations, but TST brings it in in relation to Sherlock itself.

Skipping past more bust breakages, the next scene is John and Mary in bed together – and the first thing we see is them, once again, in a mirror. There’s nothing wrong with this mirror (as far as I can tell) – everything seems to be in order! But it doesn’t break the theme of mirrors misreflecting, because this is the scene that introduces unreliable narration on a big level – this is the scene which deliberately excludes John’s texts to E. John and Eurus are gone into in another chapter so we’ll move on again.

Craig’s quote about people being weird for missing the olden days is, of course, crucial to this reading of Sherlock. It’s pretty on the nose for a show whose protagonist is idealised in the Victorian age – and sums up Mofftiss’s feelings towards the Vincent Starrett 221B poem that I elaborated on in the TAB chapter of this meta: essentially, that it always being 1895 is a very bad thing! Craig’s mockery of this nostalgia puts it into more comprehensible modern terms for us, but it also links Thatcher and 1895 again as pasts to be broken with. It’s also important that Craig says that Thatcher is like Napoleon now – although the titles of most episodes are taken from ACD stories, it’s rare that an explicit reference is made to the link between the titles (nobody mentions scarlet vs. pink in ASiP, for example). This is the first time that I can find that Sherlock shows self-awareness from within the narrative that there are extranarrative stories being played out. I’ve said before that I don’t think Thatcher and Napoleon are a good comparison; whether it is or not, Craig’s reference is actively pulling a metatextual part of Sherlock’s history into his story and forcing him to reckon with it. This is important, because he develops expectations of how this story is going to play out (black pearl of the Borgias) which are wrong – because they’re based on what he has learned to expect of himself as fictional character. We could only have such a reference within the Mind Palace.

For the sake of splitting this meta up to make it readable, I’m going to call time on this half of TST, and we’ll pick it up tomorrow at Jack Sandiford’s house. (Also I don’t know how much text tumblr allows and this is a long document.) Until then!

[hecohansen31]

To Kill A King

Ivar+Saxon Princess! Reader

The Scheming Genius:

“Just when I thought I was Running out of time The King stood trembling at my bedside”

“To Kill A King” by Hungry Lucy

(Masterlist) (Previous Chapter)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know it’s been along time since I have last updated one of my series but... I have just been having a lot of problems with the newest chapters of this series, because basically... I do know the events I want to take, but not what I want to write, so I can’t help but feel like what I write is never enough.

So I just wanted to apologize if this is utter shit.

Also this is shorter than usual and I just want to say that this should have been longer but I just... I just felt like I had to post this and then add more, also because I know that all my chapters are just too long.

I do hope that even if it isn’t the best you’ll enjoy it!

As always: this series means so so much to me, so any feedback is more than welcome, everything starting from comments to reblogs, just LET ME NOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Feedback makes our fingers write faster and our heart beat faster!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: The truth is out and the heart that you gave so freely is now broken and yet your strength never falters, conjuring a dangerous plan to be finally free. But is it truly what you want.

WORDS: 10, 9 K

WARNINGS: Arranged Marriage, Mention of Domestical Abuse and Rape, Violence (Strong Themes), Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Historically inaccurate, Blood and Period.

Your breath came harder and harder till it choked and you lost your rhythm.

Your legs failed under you and you were solely able to stop yourself from completely falling head first on the ground, pushing your legs towards the earth.

You did bruise them, but you didn’t care as you brought them in your unfocused stare.

They were dirtied and bloody.

Not solely because you had fallen down.

And the blood on them wasn’t solely yours.

Still you hadn’t much time to think, as you heard male-like steps, hard and heavy on the ground, breaking twigs under their boots.

And fear flooded your system as you reached out for a knife trying to search at your belt and then lower, on your thigh, where you remembered having strapped up a knife.

But now it wasn’t there.

And you realized that it was probably still in the body of the man you had stabbed.

That certainly didn’t ease any of your fear, but your body seemed to have set itself up on either a running away or fighting stance, hence the sense of guilt for having stabbed a man etched itself in the back of your mind as you tried to move away.

Your legs were still too weak and soon you were dragged against the cold soil again.

And there you stayed, your nails pushing themselves in the dirt, as you tried to push yourself flush against the ground, hoping that confusing yourself with the ground would help.

And you prayed with all your last beliefs that you would be spared.

Your lungs constricted and before you knew it you were choking on air.

‘Not again’ you prayed desperately, closing your eyes ‘… I don’t want to die’.

It was now day after the revelation of the previous night.

You had been accompanied by both Caryn and Lia back in your tent, the women trying to coo you in a comforting way, but you didn’t even notice it in your unresponsive state.

It was as if you had closed yourself completely from the world, in a way that left you only overthinking yourself constantly.

You felt stupid.

Which was an awful thing to feel for you, having always considered your intelligence your sole talent.

And to know that it had failed you this much, it only brought you to the realization that your father’s poisonous words were true.

‘You, stupid girl with no purpose’

They echoed, right as you saw the room in front of you deforming into something awful,: your room in the castle as figures appeared in front of you, Kathleen laying on the ground having been struck down, meanwhile Abigail knelt in front of her shaking her awake, as you pushed yourself in front of your father.

One last attempt to protect Kathleen.

But as his eyes met yours, they were daringly blue.

Ivar’s.

That was what brought you back from that horrid vision.

And then there was ruffling with your tent, as you turned to its door, finding thankfully that it was Caryn, her dark curls lightly exiting the tight hairstyle she had chosen for the day.

She looked so beautiful.

And it just reminded you of how truly cunning Ivar could be.

He had outsmarted you, once, and he would do it again.

“You look like you haven’t slept, my lady” commented Caryn, unsure, although her voice was so sweet that it broke you inside and before you knew it, sobbing escaped your chest.

“… I did” because a paralyzing deep slumber had taken you, but it hadn’t brought you neither relief neither comfort, and it was difficult for you to remember the sole dream of that night.

Which meant it wasn’t something that you wanted to remember

“… but my body wishes for a sweet dream, before it faces the reality of things”.

Caryn smiled halfheartedly, something nostalgic in her plump lips and her longing eyes, as if she knew and could understand what you felt deep down, something that only awakened rage in your body.

You had always been babied like you didn’t have a brain and the way she acted with you just brought that back.

You had always believed what others had told you.

What your own father fed you through fear and harsh teachings.

What your books had fed you, fantasies and love stories that had now brought you to believe that the touch of a pure maiden might tame the beast.

But the beast was already corrupted.

And it would have just eaten the maiden, had she come too close.

For a moment yesterday, at the feast, you had thought about a possible life with him.

A life in which you didn’t have to be your father’s spy and you could enjoy the tenderness of the soft feelings you were starting to develop for Ivar.

But you would never have the chance to do such a thing, now.

He had killed his own brother in cold blood.

You had read that on his face when you had asked him if it was the truth.

If Ubbe hadn’t simply said a lie to tear you apart.

And you didn’t know what his brother had done, but it never could be as much as the treason that you’d have to do to him on your father’s beliefs.

Just because he had showed you some love it didn’t mean that this would be how your life would have for ever been.

You had always lost yourself too easily in the fantasy of perfect worlds, fantastic beyond everything and where you could live happily ever after, like the few fables you enjoyed listening when you were smaller.

You had been the biggest fool, truly believing that this would be just another one of them.

You got yourself dressed mechanically, but your mind didn’t shut down in the slightest as it elaborated strategies and thoughts till it got too much and you were suddenly locked inside of your mind in a drunken stupor for everything around you.

Till Hvitserk showed up in your tent.

You didn’t want to see him, but deep down a desperate part of you ached for some kind of confront with the brothers.

To know something that could justify Ivar’s actions.

But deep down you knew it wouldn’t have eased your aching soul.

“… you looked like you haven’t…”.

Why was everyone so concerned with your sleeping?

“… I know” you shot back, with an harsh glare on your face, no need of any pretense with the man you had thought was your brother, although he had betrayed you two times.

“(Y/N)…” he rushed in immediately, probably hearing the annoyance in your tone, the tight rumble of the last word “… this isn’t something that…”.

“… that might concern me?” now your rage, which had been shot down by your tiredness and sleepless night, flared up completely “… he is my husband, Hvitserk! And Sigurd would have been my brother-in-law!”.

“You don’t know nothing about Sigurd!” the comment burned you, but your entire body felt as if it had been set on fire, and for somebody who had never been able to express her own rage, it felt damnably magnificent and tiring “… he and Ivar hated themselves and we all knew it would have come to that end, one or the other”.

“That doesn’t justify Ivar’s actions” your voice was now lowered, but it echoed deeply in the tent, suddenly feeling so closed inside of her, meanwhile Hvitserk took a step back.

Something burning on his tongue, but his brain holding it back.

“… it’s a different culture, princess (Y/N)” your full title now sounded liked disdain “… you wouldn’t understand it…”.

 “No, I wouldn’t” the words were now a full offense for you, but again that quiet before the tempest filled your tone and her mouth and you spit everything out as a cascade at the end of a smooth river “… I was thrust in this reality not by my choice and I had to adapt, to learn and to survive. So, I might not understand it, but this doesn’t justify it in any way”.

And before Hvitserk could say anything you pushed out of the tent, the whole place becoming much more intolerable than before, the tightness of your chest being slightly eased out by the air outside.

The sun shone there, although it seemed just like the umpteenth attempt of the whole universe to make fun of you.

But you breathed better and deeper.

But did it soothe you, in any way? No.

You felt your name called out, but you simply kept on running.

It was the only way you could achieve some sense of freedom.

It was your last freedom.

And before you even realized it, your feet took you in front of the place you needed to go to finish all of this.

Heahmund’s tent.

The man looked surprised by your presence there, even more because she was quite aware of the fact that you looked like some kind of savage nymph with your hair unbound and your feet bare.

But he welcomed you inside.

‘… I wasn’t expecting you princess to be here’ he commented, meanwhile he gestured outside, as you entered the tent, noticing the minimal objects and furniture in it, but nonetheless it was Saxon to the core.

Unlike and like you.

‘… I heard that there has been quite the celebration yesterday’ it was obvious that to him all the rituals happening were nothing but heathen dances in the full moonlight and he frowned upon them.

And upon the Christian princess that had joined them.

And for a moment you wondered about what you were truly doing with him.

Was it be a good choice?

“I want a divorce” Heahmund definitely didn’t seem to think it was a good choice, although surprise shone brightly on his face after your affirmation “… something that’ll annul my wedding, although I already know it is illegal for Christians”.

“What?” Heahmund was definitely trying to make sense of the same princess who had told him to mind his own business the previous day, and then today appeared in his tent, just a few days later to pretend a divorce.

You were definitely full of surprises.

Exactly like Ivar.

“… did you know that my husband killed his brother?” you didn’t know why you asked that to Heahmund, but the mindless expression he gave you, confirming that he did know about it, made you feel even more betrayed “… and do you think that isn’t something that might make my husband dangerous to me?”.

“I am here to protect you, princess” it was almost an automatic response, the sole he could give with such short pretense.

“… like you protected me when I was accused of having tried poisoning Ivar?” you had definitely hit a sore spot as the bishop lowered his head and launched himself on the sole chair in the room.

You were happy of standing, able to tower over him, as if to ensure your power over him.

Your father would have been proud of you.

And disgust just flooded on your tongue, at that thought.

“… if he killed his brother, think what he’ll do to me, when he’ll discover what you and my father planned to do with our marriage. All the spying and lying” you knew you must have sounded pathetic, and it made you feel almost like you were chewing onto glass.

But you felt betrayed by everyone.

Because what made you speak and what you had just asked was the rage you had ignored for all your life, the one that had come out of being constantly belittled, scared and taunted, to the point that you felt like you couldn’t react.

You couldn’t show anything that you wanted to feel truly.

And you started being sick of this.

“You knew who he was when you married him, princess” Heahmund’s tone tasted of threat and you weren’t able to stop yourself from grimacing at that, although you gripped tighter your fists, Nanna’s teachings about how to attack definitely coming to your mind.

“… but did I have any choice other than marrying him?” the words echoed in the room in a way that hang on heavy around you, like a humid cloud involving you both and Heahmund wasn’t able to turn his head to the other side, as he had always done “… my father would have thrown me out, if I hadn’t accepted it…”.

“He won’t hurt you, my princess” and strangely you were aware of it.

But… yet… your soul was scared, left betrayed by your own thought of having believed that Ivar could be different from your father, when they were two men who wielded power through violence.

You shouldn’t have been surprised but yet scenes of ordinary sweetness between you and Ivar appeared in your mind and they kept on bothering you, because the revelation made you feel like there were two Ivars, something that you had seen before.

There was the one that would cradle you close to his chest, when you didn’t feel well enough, bringing you to his own private heaven so that you could share a moment, in something that nobody had ever bothered to do for you.

And then there was this disruptive creature, some kind of hungry wolf that trashed anything and anybody that came on his way, something that made you wary, not scared, but your self-respect wanted you to run on your own feet.

And only some basilar sense of honor held you there.

And the knowledge that running away would have solely given you more problems.

“… arrange the divorce” it was an order mixed with a threat, something that you learned from Heahmund’s tone itself, the man quirking an eyebrow at you, although his mouth kept itself in a straight line “… or I’ll handle it myself”.

And as you had come you exited the tent, noticing that life had started going on as usual again.

Everybody had somewhere to go and the sounds of an active army camp filled the air and for a moment you desperately wished to disappear in it, closing your eyes and hoping that, as an enchantment, your own will could bring you away from here.

In a place where you could be safe with your sisters.

Kathleen wouldn’t have felt this powerless, she would have fought, she would have stood her ground, meanwhile Abigail would have charmed everybody in giving her what she asked…

… and then there was you, who felt like everything was lost.

Your feet brought you to place where the boats were being repaired, the entire process having come to some kind of halt, since the workers who had been taking care of the boats to come back home, had been moved to make sure Bjorn’s would be ready for his and Halfdan’s departure.

Something bitter was in your mouth at the thought.

At Ivar’s first betrayal and lie.

You shouldn’t have been this surprised after all.

“I knew I’d found you here” the voice was slightly lighter than Ivar and spoke English graciously with no inflection in his tone and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Alexander.

You breathed out a breath of relief.

“… if you are here to tell me you were right, please don’t”.

You were already hard enough on yourself, on your own.

“I won’t” Alexander sat next to you, and although you felt the distance between you two, it brought you pack to a past time, when you were each other’s confessor, although there were things you hadn’t been able to tell even to him.

And now they damned your body to this kind of pain and loss.

“… good” it was so low that you were sure that it dispersed itself in the wind “… because I am already feeling like I lost everything and to know that I have lost also your friendship and respect it would… destroy me”.

What was this show of sincerity?

This sudden opening up to everybody.

It felt like weakness…

… and yet the way Alexander’s arm slung loosely over your shoulder felt heavenly and before you knew it the tears you hadn’t shed but needed to, escaped your control and soon you were crying on his chest desperately.

He simply caressed your back till sobs became sighs and eventually silence enveloped you both.

“… you’ll never lose something that is sacred to my heart” he commented once you had calmed down, gently bringing your hands in his, as you raised softly your head to meet his eyes, and he shook lightly his head “… I shouldn’t have said those things… I spoke of love, but the truth was that I had no right to it…”.

“… I am sorry my feelings can’t be…” but he shushed you softly.

“You can’t oblige your feelings to feel something that you don’t believe in” he spoke softly, measuring his words because they held an equal side of wisdom and pain “… that’s why you are feeling like everything is lost… because your head tells you to feel one thing and your heart… your heart is treacherous”.

“He is a murderer…” your voice was low and yet it could have shaken mountains.

It shook your soul to the core.

“… he… he isn’t the man that I was supposed to love” it felt like a justification.

A flimsy one.

“Love isn’t about deserving or earning” Alexander spoke slowly “… I know it on my own skin, but this doesn’t make it any less easy or more… simple”.

“… I can’t stay here” your legs lightly moved underneath you as if to reinforce the concept “… I shouldn’t have ever come, I should have done what Kathleen wanted me to do, run”.

“And when have you ever followed Kathleen’s advises?” now Alexander’s mouth was quirking up in a smile, a sarcastic one matched on your face, properly “… you are (Y/N), not Kathleen, don’t ever forget”.

“But I do wish I was her!” now your voice was loud enough to make a few of the workers turn around, but Alexander’s eyes shot to them to tell them to return to work, something they did without any questions “… I can’t do this… I can’t… anymore”.

Your hands gripped the earth beneath you, probably dirtying your nails but you needed to anchor yourself down as your lungs slowly started filling themselves slowly, meanwhile you pushed your hands underneath you, stretching your body.

“Then change” it felt natural the way he said it, like it was the only natural solution, but how could you even think about that, when you were stuck as nothing more than a glorified prisoner.

“… how?”.

“We’ll grab a few horses and we’ll make a fun for it” Alexander, always the knight in the shining armor, the one who played Arthur in your games because he was ‘the Just’, certainly wouldn’t have thought about anything more than that.

To him, it would have been a knightly ballad.

And to you a true nightmare.

That was why this would never work out between you two.

He was a dreamer and you had had too much reality in your own blood to believe in those fairytales.

As you had learned in the hard way, they always disappointed you.

“… this isn’t easy, Alexander” your tone was patient and yet tight, as if you couldn’t understand Alexander’s thoughts and point of view “… Heahmund won’t even grant me a divorce”.

“… then the only way is to run”.

This, indeed, sounded like Kathleen.

But (Y/N) was already asking herself where they’d go and hide, what they’d need for it.

And how it would influence the ones she left behind.

Ivar would have probably marched to your father to ask him to find you again to bring you back and your father would have absolutely tried his best to find you, using your sisters against you.

And yet, you couldn’t stay here.

Your hands let go of the earth as if it was poisonous.

But maybe you were what was truly poisonous.

“… I can’t”.

Because Alexander could look forward, like Kathleen.

But you couldn’t.

You hadn’t been able to, since your father had taken away the possibility of a future without him from you.

His actions had never let you think with your own head, with your wishes and your own taste and now you were broken completely.

And stuck in the middle.

Waiting for something.

“Then I’ll stay with you a bit longer…” Alexander’s voice was soothing and comforting and again you leaned your head against his shoulder “… my princess”.

---

When you arrived back in your tent, rigorously escorted by Alexander in a silence that was terrible and your sole solution, you found all your ‘handmaidens’ reunited around your bed, their hands threaded together and their lips muttering a prayer that was too silent to reach your ears.

But you knew that they were praying for your protection, because as soon as you bumped into something with your knee, making enough noise to make your presence known to each of them, their eyes almost madly raised to you.

“Princess!” called out Lia, meanwhile Angelika’s slight smirk became as cold as the rocks outside and Caryn’s sweet smile faltered lightly again seeing your tired and disappointed smile “… we were worried! You didn’t… come for us, this morning”.

You wondered whether they knew.

None of them had followed you outside after you had received the news.

They had been all too busy dancing their hearts out and you couldn’t blame them.

You had always thought and felt like they were your friends and because of that they were happy of being so far away from their home, in a place where they had no real family and friend.

You had always been too naïve.

You wondered how far the word of your fight with Ivar had spread.

Part of you worried for what this might bring onto the scheme that you and Ivar had created.

You knew that Ubbe had told you this secret, because he hoped to bring whatever deal you and Ivar had done down, and he had succeeded in this brilliantly, because had the fight become of public domain, it would have brought down whatever appearance of romance you and Ivar had set up for each other.

Alongside your image of beloved leaders.

But part of you, the one that you had denied for so long, wanted to just push everything out in the open, to be able to mourn your pain publicly and have your own revenge on Ivar’s omitted pieces.

It felt so vile and yet it just felt right.

“… I just had to clear my mind” worry continued on lacing your handmaidens’ eyes, but the part of you that felt the need to doubt everything, now wasn’t able to look at them back.

You weren’t able to look at them without wondering whether it was genuine.

What was true, after all, in this settlement of liars and lies?

Your father would have called you melodramatic and even naïve, because to think that the truth was what you saw was the greatest trick that the Devil had played on humanity.

And who didn’t understand this would have been completely destroyed by others

“Is… your mind… clear, now?” it was obvious that Angelika’s words were a polished version of what she truly wanted to say.

And do, with her way her fists tightened around the pretty fabric of her lovely bluish dress.

She wouldn’t have been as naïve as you, in your place.

“… a bit” words were difficult and you excused Alexander quickly with a few more, not truly wanting him to see what you felt, unable to conceal your ache for what he had proposed, alongside the knowledge that you wouldn’t have ever been able to realize his plan “… I’d like to lay down, alone”.

It was lunch time, but you felt like you would have pushed out anything that you’d have eaten, so you thought that the only way you could tolerate the passing of the day was alone.

With your books.

“… it wouldn’t be wise to leave you…” tried to start Solveig, her voice and her Nordic accent, a small memory of your husband’s one “… we should…”.

“Leave me, alone”.

You must have sounded like a spoiled brat, but you knew that your eyes held the wound of your pride and your imagination.

And soon you heard a fluttering of feet and curt bows, meanwhile dresses grated almost noiseless against the floor, wiping it clean in some kind of ritual that left you to push yourself on the ground, on your knees.

And silently cry.

You dragged your tired body as some kind of wounded beast till the trunk with all your books and searched through it for some old books about laws, most importantly wedding laws, even getting the Bible out.

It was a small one that Father Peter had gifted you when you weren’t anything more than a small crumb, in hopes it’d guide you to sanctity.

How far were you from it…

But the truth was that you could have wielded the book with all the world’s knowledge and yet you wouldn’t have found a solution to your own dilemma, because your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a divorce or annulled the marriage.

You were his little bishop, on his own personal chessboard, willing to the ultimate sacrifice and honored for the protection of the king, something that made you unable to follow a proper trajectory on her own.

Just another piece on the board.

If you asked for a divorce your father would have immediately denied it, because you were a precious spy.

And had you tried to escape, he would have turned himself against your sisters, till he brought you right back where he had always had you.

There was no way to escape his grip.

In the end, you hadn’t had many choices when the marriage had been set up.

And now that it was celebrated and you were the wife of a monster, you had even less.

There was a third way.

That was something stories had always told you.

And as your hands were in search for many more books, almost frantic in their movements, they brushed against the leather sheath of the dagger your father had given you to achieve the most utter level of betrayal towards Ivar.

But could you kill somebody?

The dagger weighted heavily on your hands, but you knew just how to grip it to be sure to stabilize it in your grip, thank to Nanna’s lessons, since you had trained with wooden knives, in your latest lessons.

‘Held it with one hand’ and you followed the instructions in your mind, grabbing the handle with strength, as your fingers pushed up their to wrap against the metal, to grip it steadily ‘… this way you’ll have much more strength from your upper arms’.

And then you’d pierce Ivar’s skin.

And not the bottom of the trunk.

Would it have made so much difference?

Would you have found resistance?

Would you have survived the attack, had you been able to catch Ivar by surprise, finishing the fatal mission her father had given you?

But right when the dagger was through piercing itself in the trunk your hand trembled and soon the trembling pushed itself up to your whole body in a way that made goosebumps appear on your skin, a slight shade of red appearing on you cheeks.

And you felt it because they burned.

Like your arms.

As if you had received some kind of premonition, the knife slipped from your grip, as you felt somebody entering the tent.

And you had gotten yourself used to those dragged out steps.

You had cherished them just a few days ago.

And you knew that Ivar had almost caught you in a dangerous experimentation.

But nothing in you wanted to be careful.

You had been focusing all your energy on hiding the double-play you had brought in your dowry and now you were so tired of everything.

So tired of Ivar’s and your father’s games.

You should have seen how similar they were from the start.

How deceitful and monstrous they both were.

Drenched in violence and unable to love others.

And yet, as Ivar’s eyes met yours, tired and disappointed, all the flashes of your happy moments appeared in front of your eyes, again, and for a moment you felt like throwing your arms around him.

And then the image of blood, tears and smoke filled your eyes.

You had been already too foolish.

And your eyes became of ice.

“… would you like to talk?” Ivar’s voice was as dry as your mouth, but yet it felt like a dam holding back something more and you trained your eyes to the ground, to avoid seeing what he hid in his eyes.

Because they’d have made you think you were talking with a human.

“I sent  away my handmaidens away for a reason” you hadn’t ever been this cold and this angry and it felt like every hit you sent his way was one to yourself and you couldn’t help but clutch your fists tight by your side, adjusting your dress just to look busy “… and Hvitserk already tried to say something”.

“He ran out of the tent with his tail between his legs” his attempt at humor was welcomed by a dry glare and this time in your eyes there wasn’t anything to be held back.

They were pure flames.

“… he told me that I don’t understand your ways” suddenly your own dam was broken and before you knew it, you were pushing out all the shit that you had swallowed all these years “… but the truth is that I was pushed in this, without anybody asking me what I wanted and what I preferred”.

“I had to learn on my own how to behave, how to act, how to fucking survive” Ivar backed off lightly, and your body raised in a swift move “… I had to learn how to fight back, how to defend myself from all the ones around me and not to trust anybody…”.

“You are a princess, you should have known these things” now Ivar’s tone was as dark as yours, and as you turned to look at him in the eyes you spotted that he hadn’t been able to conceal that you had hurt him.

And it made you feel good.

It made you take that step forward that separated you.

“… you are right” your voice was the calm before the storm, mirroring completely the static energy that followed lighting, meanwhile your voice became the booming power of a thunder “… I am a fucking believer of stories and you thought that you could control me easily because of that”.

Ivar seemed taken aback by your affirmation, and raised his arms as if to grab your attention but now you were utterly done and if he wanted to make you suffer, you’d drag him with you

“… for all my life I had somebody that controlled me, so it should have been easy for you to do the same for me, it was nice when you could make me act the role of the nice wife, the one that’d have stood by your side, no matter what…” a light of protest appeared in Ivar’s eyes and you chastised it with a look of your own “… don’t fucking deny it, my prince”.

You could have screamed and it would have done less damage than it did now, as Ivar lost suddenly his balance on his own braces and although everything in your body ached to desperately cradle him closer to you, help him up…

… your soul was frozen.

“… but I am done playing these games” and you let Ivar catch a glimpse in your tiredness “… and from now on, I wish you not to be my husband anymore in our tent, I’ll keep up the dutiful wife act outside of here, but I just can’t… I won’t be your bride in anything but my body”.

Ivar reached out for your dress, as you exited the tent, but you were faster.

Running away was your sole weapon.

And it struck deeper than a dagger.

---

Nanna noticed your uneasiness to even look towards a weapon immediately, as you came to here to train, and sent you through a run of the woods, to stretch your muscles before the real training, some kind of hand to hand combat that you had practiced till you knew the moves by heart.

For which you were grateful since your mind was completely gone.

And you couldn’t seriously do much more than crouch down and avoid hit after hit, meanwhile your attacks were lethal, enough that this time you almost hit Lia, the poor girl having to shield herself through a big push onto your chest, which sent you tumbling down.

And you welcomed the fall.

The loss of control was dizzying and maddening and for somebody who was a step close to losing it completely it was refreshing like rain on your face in a hot summer day.

And Nanna caught on all of this immediately.

She approached you as you came back to Bukefalos.

‘… whatever you have in mind, you should know that the brothers never liked each other” you rolled your eyes at her, a bold move that accompanied your own insanity since you wouldn’t have ever dared doing anything like that.

But the truth was that if you had gone through so much shit because of others, it was because you, firstly, had let yourself go through it, eventually creating a patterns of behaviors that you’d assume to avoid angering others.

You thought they’d spare you from pain.

But they had never worked truly.

And now you raged with intensity.

“… Hvitserk already tried this discourse with me” you counterattacked before Nanna could finish whatever she was saying, but unlike with Hvitserk, she held her own ground and waited for your outburst to end “… it doesn’t justify him”.

“It doesn’t, it never will” there was something deeper in Nanna’s eyes “… I am the first to say such a thing, because you see… I was Sigurd’s trainer, I taught him how to fight, although he wasn’t in the slightest talented for it, he was a great musician…”.

The confession seemed to cost Nanna years as her face became suddenly older and you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and think about what she had truly gone through.

You didn’t know Nanna, exactly as you didn’t know perfectly your handmaidens, so to be the witness of such a concealed pain it made your soul suddenly shift onto the most compassionate mood, although rage still burned and asked explanations.

“… I hate him, you know” Nanna’s voice was a soft whisper, her face holding a tight smirk, a sad one that spoke of many nights wasted to overthinking and distrusting anybody “… that’s why I wasn’t kind to you, when you first came, I thought that you were nothing but a meek little mannequin here for his schemes”.

“I am that” your voice tasted like a harsh bite, and Nanna sent you a compassionate look, but no pity in it, as if she knew deep down that that rage simply concealed much more.

“… you were” corrected her Nanna, coming closer to you, and lightly brushed away strand of hair drenched with sweat you hadn’t noticed you had shed “… but the truth is that you weren’t ever meek and stupid, someone easy to manipulate? Maybe at the start, but not anymore. That’s just a front and this strength that you are destroying through your rage… it’s the true you”.

Nobody had ever said something like that to you

You had loved Kathleen to Death and back, and yet, she had always treated her as if you were the meek little girl that your father had wanted you to be, and she couldn’t see past it, in the end becoming one of the many golden cages that wrapped you too tight.

You had always felt helpless.

Even when your strength had been reinforced.

But now somebody had finally acknowledged it…

… it felt like a freedom.

Like a beacon of hope.

That your rage shoved back inside.

“… he is a monster”.

“No” Nanna voice echoed through the empty spot of the forest she had brought you so that you could be more private “… he isn’t a monster, because those exist only in fairytales, little princess, he is a boy who has done and will for ever do monstrous things”.

“… is there any difference?”.

Your voice was slightly broken and even more importantly it seemed almost frail in the way it trembled in your own mouth, as if you wanted to eat it right back, because it was the breaking point.

Your breaking point.

Could you love somebody that would have tainted you?

Somebody who wouldn’t have hesitated to bring you down for his own plans?

No matter the fact that he had promised that he wouldn’t have ever done such a thing.

Could you turn a blind eye to all the monstrous things he did?

What would have made you?

A coward or a hypocrite?

“… there is” Nanna’s voice was instead low as if it was tasting the words, making sure they were the right ones “… being a monster isn’t a choice, doing monstrous thing is, and it only depends on us”.

“This doesn’t make everything better in any way”.

“It isn’t meant to” Nanna’s eyes settled on you unrelenting and piercing “… it is meant to bring knowledge to you. Even you would do something monstrous if you were given the proper stimulus believe me”.

The words seemed so foreign to you.

And yet hadn’t you cheated, lied and hidden?

Could you seriously blame Ivar for his lies?

Still you held your position strongly.

“… this isn’t some kind of silly courtly game, princess” Nanna’s hand shot out to your wrist and before she could grab, your reflexes acted up and you pushed it back “… and look at you, you already know the first step of it: don’t trust anybody”.

“… why don’t you cut Ivar’s throat off in his sleep?” it was treason what you had suggested, your father would have had the people saying it dead, but Nanna simply sent you a soft laugh.

“Because then I wouldn’t be different from him” it felt such an obvious choice and yet it clashed so deeply with the warrior image she had of Nanna “… the difference between me and Ivar it is that I can become a monster to defend what I believe in and he becomes a monster because he has been taught to hate whatever doesn’t agree with him”.

A logic came in front of your eyes.

“… he was born to be king, shaped by an overprotective mother who loved him and a father that hated what he truly was and taught him that love and happiness wouldn’t have been what was in his Destiny” the image of Ivar became much more complex at all these revelations “… this isn’t to justify him, but the first step to stop being afraid of people who do monstrous things is to understand them”.

Nanna’s hand now gently moved onto your shoulder, the grip strangely comforting, since it didn’t coddle you in any way.

But it stood with her.

“… I know you aren’t scared” she commented, as she slowly distanced herself from you “… and know that you are confused, so I hope that knowledge will help you in your choice”.

“As if I had one” you were simply able to mutter.

“… life is a path and you always come at crossroad, little princess”.

---

When you had come back to tent you had soon found out that you were alone, and you couldn’t exactly blame Ivar for not wanting to share the room with you.

But at the same time, you were almost grateful he had left your space.

Nanna’s talk had certainly cleared you a few things, if not about yourself, about Ivar.

But everything inside of you raged and ached for an answer that could calm your fear, ease your worries and finally find a solution to the enigma inside your heart: were you allowed to feel what you had started feeling for Ivar, or had it been all a mistake?

Your feelings were so confused that your feet just wanted to bring you away from there, if not for yourself, for the simple calm of mind that being far away from anybody would have given you.

You wanted just a bit freedom.

But you had taken your first steps in a priced cage.

So, how could you exit when the cage was smaller, and you knew nothing of it…

Your fist punched the light cupboard you had beside the entrance, where you knew that Ivar kept your nuptial gifts and you hit a bit too hard because the cupboard was slightly shaken and before you knew it, something fell right on the floor in front of you.

Floki’s gift, the small box with the moving sides, was now on the ground and as you rushed to grab it, already worried of having broken it, you noticed that out of pure luck you hadn’t broken it, completely.

But the box was now open lightly at the center and you moved yourself to collect it, finding much more than you had bargained for, because the broken box revealed a small piece of paper, which you grabbed, knowing quite well that you Vikings didn’t have written language, although you had received a book with a few runes and the proper pronunciation for words…

… and in fact, the paper didn’t contain any writing.

But it was a map.

A map, that contained all the villages around the settlement, signaling the ones that were already occupied by Vikings troupes and the ones that weren’t, making you discover that you had a convent nearby, a few days of travels.

But, again, you knew that escaping wouldn’t have been useful to anybody.

Unless… unless you managed to maintain the pact with Ivar.

And unless anything happened to you.

Had you died, accidentally, Ivar wouldn’t have been able to break the oath of protection to your father and your father wouldn’t have harmed your sister to try to get you back to him.

But you didn’t have any intention to cut your life so shortly, not only because you were coward and too attached to the life you had just started living, but you knew that suicide might destroy the oath, almost as much as a direct betrayal to either your father or Ivar.

But suddenly more and more ideas set up in your mind, as you remembered Nanna’s discourse.

A terrible and monstrous idea came to you, as you watched at the map, clutching it tighter in your hands till it appeared lightly crisped and marks of your nails etched in it.

You pushed it in your sleeve, and for the second time in that day you went to visit Alexander.

You noticed that a few guards followed you, although not closely and you were even more surprised to discover that Alexander and a few of his men had been asked to stay for a few days more.

‘To ease the princess’ nostalgy’ had mumbled Alexander, recalling the small meeting he had had that morning with Heahmund after you had left, the man looking as desperate as annoyed, and when your best friend discovered what you had asked of the bishop…

… he laughed loudly.

“… I don’t trust Heahmund, in the slightest” you mumbled, under your breath, but were still thankful for having Alexander with you a bit, even more with the plan your mind had conjured.

You showed Alexander the map you had found.

‘They probably wanted to use it to conquer more lands’ commented the blonde-haired knight, as he examined the countries that were left unconquered ‘… they couldn’t know that Ivar would have married an English princess, sealing peace with king Alfred and your father’.

‘… that gives me more credit than I have really’ you mumbled, but more because Ivar being brought in this conversation would have risked ruining all your coherent thoughts and confidence.

“This morning you said we should run away” your voice was low, although the guards outside hadn’t seemed to understand any English, but you tried your best to avoid being discovered “… but for me it isn’t just possible, I do know that if I just run away, my father would bring me back, using my sisters against me”.

“… so, you haven’t changed idea?” Alexander’s tone was slightly pensive and heavy, enough that you were very aware that he stood by your side no matter what.

And you needed that loyalty for your plan.

Something that still made you a bit icky to use, since you were aware that you were partly using Alexander’s fascination for you to get him to collaborate with you.

And it was horrible.

It felt awful.

And it was something that you could feel both Ivar and your father would have done.

Nanna had talked with you about creatures doing monstrous things, but not about the influence they’d have on the people around them,

“… my father wouldn’t search for me if I was dead”.

In Alexander’s eyes a flash of hurt and surprise appeared and immediately he reached out to you, trying to grab your wrist, but you snatched it quickly, as he instead went to gently caress one of your cheeks, as you kept your eyes down.

Unable to see the commotion and devotion in his eyes.

It reminded you of Ivar’s quiet misery of this morning.

Why had you this effect on men?

They were all moved by you and yet they wouldn’t listen on anything you had to say.

“… I won’t help you on your path to self-destruction, (Y/N)” Alexander told you, looking at you attentively “… I can’t… truly… I’ll swear my sword to your protection, but not to your destruction”.

“I wouldn’t need to die, to be thought dead” you added, trying to ease the worry in Alexander’s eyes “… I… if I was thought to be dead through some accident, leaving behind some of my things, I wouldn’t… I would be able to start again a new life, in a convent, where nobody has heard of me”.

The plan was crazy and Alexander did look at you as if you had definitely suggested something blasphemous, and honestly…

… had you had any other chance, you wouldn’t have suggested it.

But Heahmund or your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a chance of divorce.

And running out would have resulted in simply being brought back by force, either using it on you or your sisters.

And you couldn’t stay here.

Not when you had people pushing you through situation you didn’t belong in.

No matter how much you had thought of loving Ivar, your father expected you to do something against him and had Ivar discovered anything about what you had done and what you intended to do, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.

And you had enough of being controlled and used for others’ plans.

You had now your own.

Your life at a convent wouldn’t have been perfect.

But you wouldn’t have risked your life, daily basically.

“This isn’t… this is…” Alexander’s eyes searched yours, hoping to find some gleam of sanity but you simply held yourself strong in your conviction, because had you lost also that…

… you would have completely vanished.

“… crazy”.

“That’s my only chance” you insisted loudly “… I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t. I know that you want the best for me, but I can’t simply hide behind you anymore”.

Something in his eyes became sad and you had to admit what stood on your tongue, ready to be swallowed, because it was the truth.

And you knew that truth never paid off.

“… I know that you are in love with me” you admitted “… and I know that you want to protect me because of that, but I … Alexander I grew out of the fairytale, I don’t think it ever was. I don’t want you to do this because you expect something in return or because it is what virtuous knights do. I want you to do this because… you think it is the right thing”.

Alexander’s hand fell from your face and for a moment you were sure that you had done the wrong thing, you had chosen the wrong road and now you could only hope that Alexander would at least respect the secret of your words.

But for the second time in this day, you found a bit of luck, in this unlucky situation.

“I am not going to help you, as a lover” it hit you deeply, but Alexander’s eyes stared right back in yours, full of support “… I am going to help you, because I should have done all of this before”.

You looked at him curious about what he’d say next, but you couldn’t have ever foreseen what he’d say next.

“… I should have helped you and your sisters with your father”.

And for somebody who had never admitted what your father had made you go through, although solely emotionally, the knowledge that somebody had been witness to it took you like a sword straight up in your chest.

A bleak kind of pain hit you and you almost felt ashamed that he had found out about this.

“… how?” the words got all confused in your mouth “… how did you know?”.

“I didn’t… I just connected the dots” you didn’t know whether you wanted to hide all of this further in your heart, because shame just took you fully, or to finally breath out the truth.

Because finally you had received some respect, and somebody saw all of you.

“… once… when we were children… I accidentally ripped Kathleen’s gown, meanwhile we were fighting, and I found a big… big bruise on it”.

“… I didn’t realize back then that it came from your father, but I saw the way you flinched whenever he was slightly displeased with you, even more when I saw Kathleen flinching of pain if we ever fought, and seeing bruises on here that she justified as old wounds…”.

Alexander’s knowledge made you sick to your stomach.

Had others known about your father’s actions?

Had they known all this time and never done anything?

Although you were the first to admit that your father’s actions would have put the fear of God in everyone, you couldn’t believe that so many had stayed silent, at seeing the constant ruination of you and your beloved sisters.

“… and as a child I believed it, but when we started growing up we became more and more tight knit and I wasn’t able to ignore the way you’d shift away from your father, or the way Abigail would have her eyes trained down on the ground, whenever he was near… or how much Kathleen limped after she had answered her father’s provocations…”.

Painful memories overcame you as you choked on your own words.

“… that’s why I told you we should have run away, when we were still at the castle, before I got recruited in the army, I wanted to keep you safe, but…” a shade of guilt dyed his eyes “… I was just a boy and there wasn’t much I could do, I didn’t have the power and neither the money to convince your father to let you marry me”.

“And then my brother died and the only that kept me going was the fact that I could have finally been enough in your father’s eyes…” and his eyes showed the idealistic beliefs you had always loved about him “… but right when I came back, I found out that your father had sold you off to somebody’s else”.

The way he pronounced the word ‘sold you off’ made you feel so heavy and ashamed.

But it was the truth.

Your father had sold you like a priced cow.

And you wouldn’t have simply ‘mooed’ your annoyance, anymore.

You would have done something with it.

“… so, I’ll help you, my princess” Alexander sealed off his oath, as his hand reached out to you, nothing romantical in the way that he gripped your small hand in his “… for all the times that I couldn’t”.

You simply nodded, not trusting your voice, as you turned to the map

“... but we’ll need a well-thought plan”

“I have one” you commented lowly “… have you ever heard of the novella of the matron of Efeso?”.

---

You and Alexander had been talking about the plans for quite some time, estimating how much time it’d take you both to get ready.

You ran on stolen time, barely a week from when you’d be leaving for Kattegat, and Alexander’s staying had been extended for a few days, a whole week, if the heathens felt generous, something that made you both anxious.

And yet adrenaline filled your brain.

You almost hadn’t wanted to stop yourself from your plotting schemes with Alexander, but you knew that staying in his tent for more than it was proper would have costed you whispers.

Even more when the crisis between you and Ivar was evident.

So, you had tried to hide your schemes, through various visits, moving again to Heahmund, with the excuse to thank him for Alexander’s prolonged staying, appearing the image of the docile sheep, as the bishop complimented your virtues of patience and perseverance.

‘The ones of a true queen’ he had said, a strange gleam in his eyes, but you had chosen to ignore it, sick in the stomach at the sole thought that he had known about your father’s abuse against you and your sister.

And had never done anything.

Alexander’s confession of knowledge had opened your eyes and what you had thought was a closed world of violence and cunningness, had been open to the whole court to see and witness.

And nobody had done something against it.

They had all been cowards.

Like you.

And yet, a new kind of rage followed these new revelations, because you understood that many nobles completely depended upon your father, but yet, so many had even taken part in your father’s plan with no intention to even try to shed a glance your way.

You and your sisters had been left alone, to be adored and wished upon, and yet beaten down till your resistance broke.

But the truth was that it had never broken.

Kathleen was the portrait of that, and Abigail had much more cunningness than her soft preface gave the appearance of.

And as of you, the time in the Viking settlement had revealed to you, skills that you had never thought you owned.

You had always sold yourself short, and now it was time that you took the power away from all the men in your life that had taken it for you, doing not what Kathleen would have done, but what (Y/N) would have done.

Your father had thought that he had raised a stupid daughter, one that would be the perfect shy wife to a prince that wanted her simply to lay in bed, but you were far more than that.

And you wondered whether Ivar had known it from the start.

But these were questions you couldn’t allow yourself to have.

There were questions you’d leave behind as you took the vows and the veil.

‘… you’d have to change your appearance’ had mentioned Alexander meanwhile you talked about what you’d need to do to be accepted in a convent: money would have bought silence, but it wouldn’t have been enough to stop people from talking once it was finished ‘… maybe dye or cut your hair’.

And all these transformations had all seemed to you one more way to leave that life behind.

Your only regret was leaving your sisters.

The thought of never having to see them again, would have been difficult for you, to say the least, but Alexander had assured you that now that he had his brother’s inheritance he’d be able to move in court and he’d be by your sisters’ side.

He had sworn an oath to it, but you already believed him blindly.

You knew that you’d for ever regret the thought of him not being the one you had married and the one your heart loved, but there wasn’t much you could do, except be grateful for the support of such a friend.

After the visit to bishop Heahmund, you had tried your best to appear in public, wandering through the market alongside a few girls, till the night overtook the light of the day and you chose to dine alone in your room.

You hoped Ivar would ignore you like he had done for the whole afternoon (or better, as you had done with him for the whole afternoon).

But apparently, lady Luck had helped you too much this evening.

And your husband met you in your tent for a private dinner.

This was what he said to your handmaidens, as he sent them away, although Angelika had be to dragged away by a rather annoyed Solveig, the older woman, halfway through pushing her by the hair, something that brought a dry giggle to your mouth.

But as you turned to face Ivar, the giggle got stuck in your throat.

You had expected him to be angry, and although you had armed yourself with a good amount of your own anger, ready to spit back and fight…

… he just looked old.

As if tiredness had cursed his handsome image.

His eyes weighted heavily in their sockets and they hanged down, staring at his bracing, still on him and for a moment your hands shot forward almost wanting to do what you had started doing for him, your nimble fingers more able than the ones of any guard.

But you bit back your lips and pushed your hands away.

Many thought that the curse of sin could be transmitted through touch.

And yet, your whole body ached to give him some kind of comfort.

“… I’ll have dinner, in here, hope you don’t mind” your voice was slightly unsure and trembling, and you thought that it hadn’t reached Ivar truly, till he simply gave you a light shoulder nod, a moan of pain exiting his mouth as he moved his body “… are you hurt?”.

“What do you care?” that voice was so cutting that it was aimed to hurt you, without any doubts “… you aren’t my wife, anymore in this tent”.

You bit your lips, because your tantrum against him in that tent hadn’t been fair both to your strategy, but also to him, because as much as you hated the thought of what he had done, the rage you had shot him with was partly towards you.

You just changed the direction of it.

“… I might not be your wife, but…”.

He raised himself so swiftly and all the food that had been laid on the tray on the bed, fell in a cacophony of sounds that brought you to immediately cover your ears with your hands.

“What are you to me princess, truly?!” he was using the same tone you had used with him this morning, cutting and made to hurt your opponent, in a vocal sparring you had just learned.

And he was a champion in it.

“… you think that it is easy for me…” your words sounded frail to you, so it didn’t surprise you that Ivar destroyed them with a bloodied look and another shout.

This time your hands remained paralyzed to your torso.

“This isn’t about what I fucking did to Sigurd!” he shouted back to you “… this what is going to fucking happen in this tent! We had a fucking deal!”.

You were paralyzed and you felt bile coming back in your mouth, and before you knew it you pushed yourself outside of the tent, and emptied all your empty stomach on the ground, although you didn’t vomit anything much more than mead and water.

You stood with your body bent in two, your stomach aching and your mind running around, in a way that made you lightly scrunch your eyebrows in a way to calm your soul.

But nothing eased the confusion in your whole body.

The way it trembled so lowly.

And then rage filled you.

And you pushed yourself back in that tent.

“… you are right!” you didn’t even look at Ivar, as your hands hastily ripped off the slight nightgown you had been wearing, lowering it over your night garments “… we have a deal, then fucking take what I offered you, be the fucking prince you think yourself to be!”.

Your voices sounded so rough and so broken that they didn’t belong to you but to some wounded animal.

And Ivar looked at you surprised, as you made the nightgown pool at your feet, revealing your body barely covered by the rough fabric of your garments, your nipples piercing through the fabric for the coldness of the room.

A fire was blaring in the fireplace, but it wasn’t in any way of some use to you both.

You were looking at each other as two wounded lions, prideful and yet asking the other to quit this pretense and to help each other.

And you pierced your palms with your nails to make that thought vanish.

“… you seriously married me thinking that I wouldn’t someday protest against everything you have taken me away from…” your words echoed in the air and you weren’t able to stop yourself from the step forward you took.

“I always thought that you were smart” his voice was finally the truth.

But they weren’t of any consolation to you.

“You fell in love with a fantasy, Ivar” you spoke, your voice appearing in all the sadness of your condition “… I am not a fantasy, I am a person, and not a pawn, one that will simply stand by your side, without fear or…”.

“I would never hurt you”.

You refused to meet his eyes, because you knew it would have been the truth.

And it would have undone you.

“… those are words, not fact” and you smiled softy and tragically “… not facts”.

“I wouldn’t….” his voice was finally showing his age, a few years older than yours, and yet infinitely younger in a way that made you wonder whether you had been talking with a child

An unloved one.

“… what do I have to do to show you that you wouldn’t ever be hurt?”.

“… nothing, Ivar” your voice was flat, because otherwise it would have begged for more.

“… there must be something!” his voice was now the tantrum of a child, and as you finally raised your eyes again, you found them laced with a rejection he had known all too well.

When you had first met him, you had thought that the sadness you had seen in his eyes was due to the fact that you were both forgotten children, alone in their thoughts and ideas.

And yet, something in his eyes reeked of the same martyrdom you had put yourself through.

Hadn’t Nanna told you that his own father hadn’t ever had any gentle words for him?

But did this seriously make any excuse for him?

You had grown with a father that had abused you emotionally and you hadn’t ever thought about killing one of your sisters.

“Sometimes the only solution we can offer is simply to leave things as they are” your voice didn’t sound convinced, but there wasn’t much comfort you could offer to Ivar, not when you knew yourself what was going on in your head “… I’ll keep up part of my deal outside of here, but I don’t… “.

“… but you’ll never be my lover” now Ivar’s words made a defeated sound in his mouth “… I wonder why I ever thought that you could be that”.

The words hanged in the air heavily, as Ivar lightly turned on the bed away from you, facing the opposite part and although you had been prepared for worse, the way he had chosen all of this… it destroyed you.

But you couldn’t do much more than adjust yourself on the opposite side of him.

You just needed to hold on till Alexander would have the money and the things you needed and then you’d be able to leave all of this behind.

And yet, like some silly child, your hands reached out to the cold middle of your bed.

---

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[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse ch. 4

First - Previous - Read on AO3!

Chapters are getting longer, so you know what else is!! The content warnings. I wish I wanted to apologize. Also we’re finally in Crutchie’s pov??? I can’t believe it took me until chapter four when it’s a Crutchie-centric fic lol

cw: graphic depictions of violence (beatings, whipping, dislocation), blood, lots of it, brief mentions of food, thoughts of death (not suicide, but the main character is fairly certain he won’t survive)

~

Crutchie had been priding himself on not passing out, laying with his face smushed into the dirt outside. That is, until he blinked and was suddenly in a cool, dark room, the only light coming through a tiny barred window up high. He tried not to admit it to himself, but he was a little scared that someone had moved him and he hadn’t even stirred. He had no idea what time it was, how long he’d been out.

He blinked a few more times, then put his palms to the ground, grimacing as they scraped against the stone. He gasped when he tried to push himself up--there was--a knife, a knife in his chest, he was dying dying dying--Crutchie looked down. He wasn’t dying, there was no knife there, but it hurt so much he couldn’t even see right--Crutchie’s hands suddenly fell out from under him and he hit the ground, too lightly to cause as much rebounding pain as it did. This was bad.

“The boys been saying that you won’t work,” a voice spoke from somewhere behind him. Crutchie shivered--the same voice who had let the Delanceys swing at him endlessly for not telling where Jack was. Snyder the good old Spider.

“How’s a nice ‘pology sound?” Crutchie grunted. It felt like the inside of his throat was peeling, just from a few words. When could he get some water? Snyder laughed.

“The first day one of yous delinquents gives me an honest apology is the day I retire.”

Crutchie took several shallow breaths, steeled himself, then rolled over. He tried to not gasp in pain too much, but it was certainly showing on his face--the way his bad leg got caught under his good one, something in his chest scraped, blood trickled down the side of his face from some unseen mark on his cheek. Still, he looked up at Snyder, bringing out the doe eyes and what Jack affectionately called his ‘poor baby orphan’ face.

“For what it’s worth, Mr. Snyder, I really is sorry.” That I got caught.

Snyder pretended to consider it, his face twisting in mock thoughtfulness. “Not good enough,” he decided after two seconds. It was worth a shot, Crutchie figured. He didn’t think it would actually work, but he had hoped that maybe it would make the man go easy on him.

“Ten lashes for shirkin’, then another ten for ignoring the guards,” Snyder said, and Crutchie closed his eyes so that Snyder wouldn’t see them rolling up into his head and take it as a sign of insolence. He probably ought to roll back over, but he couldn’t find the strength. Then he heard Snyder’s belt unbuckle.

Crutchie’s system shot with adrenaline and he found himself on his stomach, the current pain barely noticeable when his body was prepping for the next bout. He took a shuddering breath, his heart pounding a tattoo into his head. He could survive this. He’d already survived the beating earlier today, this would be no problem. He remembered, vaguely, something that Romeo had told him a while back--“If it looks like you’s ain’t gettin’ out of it, breathe real slow and steady. Try ta breathe out with the hits, you’s fine.” He’d never asked Romeo why he knew that. No one had.

Crutchie began to follow the instructions, breathing in as calmly as possible as he felt Snyder pull up his shirt to bare his back to the chilly room. His breath out, however, was cut off with a choked gasp as the belt smacked against his skin. Snyder barely paused, letting it hit again before he could even take a new breath.

The third time it fell, Crutchie had his breath back and did exactly what he was supposed to, and surprisingly, it helped. It almost doused the panic choking him, giving him something steady to rely on. Breathing in through his nose and then out through his mouth helped even more, he found on the seventh hit, giving him something to focus on.

The eleventh lash broke skin, and Crutchie felt his nose burn and drip, his teeth suddenly clenched as a scream tried to escape. All thoughts of breathing calmly flew out of his mind as he tried to hold the yell back. The thirteenth landed with a wet smacking sound, and Crutchie couldn’t breathe at all anymore, was trying to crawl away, was biting his tongue so hard he couldn’t feel it--

The fifteenth was the worst so far, Crutchie thought desperately, so the sixteenth had to be better. Then it wasn’t, it was worse, and Crutchie nearly sobbed, swallowing it away. The seventeenth was worse still, and the eighteenth--the nineteenth--

Twenty. Crutchie couldn’t see, his face pressed into the floor as he gasped for air and swallowed repeatedly, trying to not make a sound besides the whistling of his broken nose. He was alive, he was alive, he had survived this so he could survive the next minute, and the next after that.

He couldn’t believe he was already counting minutes.

When he finally felt like he had some semblance of control over himself and an awareness of the room, Crutchie noticed that Snyder had left, the door at the top of the stairs closed. Crutchie took as deep a breath as he could without making his chest explode, then another. He was alive--and better yet, he hadn’t even made a noise. Crutchie couldn’t quite find it in himself to be proud about it, but he knew Jack would be.

All the aches and pains from all day came back at once, leaving him gritting his teeth and shaking. His hands spasmed--he was certain he had at least a few broken fingers--along with his feet, causing a more familiar ache to spread through his bum leg. Familiar enough that he held onto it, relished in something that reminded him of home.

The room was almost completely dark now, the slats of sunlight falling in through the window reduced to the light from the streetlamp nearby. Everything here was foreign, dangerous, everything Crutchie had tried to avoid for years. Most of all, though, it was lonely.

Crutchie hated to think of himself as a dependent person (even though he undeniably was, wasn’t he), but he sure missed the company of all the guys and Jack right now. Had it only been a few days back when he and Jack talked about their dreams on the rooftop? It seemed so long ago, like something that had happened to a very different Crutchie in a very different world. This Crutchie’s world was limited to pain, darkness, cold floors, and the wheezing of his own breath. He couldn’t be here any longer.

Crutchie lay there, motionless, on the floor of the musty cellar, until he had left his body and retreated into the back of his head, to a place where none of this had ever happened. Where the strike didn’t matter, and his leg was good, and he and Jack were leaping down the streets of Santa Fe, freer than ever before.

When he felt himself slipping into darkness, he let it happen. Anything to get out of here right now. A dreamless sleep relieved him of his pain.

-

Crutchie woke up to considerable pain in his legs and his head bumping against the steps, which he wished he could say was the strangest way he’d ever woken up. Before he could react or even totally process what was happening, they were up the stairs and into some light, which was just dim enough he didn’t need to squint to see. It was the little things.

Whoever was dragging him paused in the hall they were in, letting go of him completely. For half a second, Crutchie absently entertained a fantasy of hopping up, kicking this guy to the ground, then running out through the front door and right back to the lodging house.

Then he was being hauled up again--and there were two people now, where had the second man come from?--this time under his armpits, and once again practically dragged down the hall and up some more stairs. He hissed as his bad leg bumped against each step, steps that seemed endless. Where was he going now? It was night, maybe there were beds around here somewhere?

He didn’t know it was the last step until he heard a door open, and blinked his eyes open to see a dimly lit room full of dirty boys. Then he was pushed forward, hitting the floor with an impact that he felt to his very bones.

Crutchie let himself lie still for a few moments, moments that he wished could extend into forever. Eventually, he spoke, swallowing around the desert that had taken up lodging in his throat. “What’s a guy gotta do ta get a welcome ‘round here?”

-

Dear Jack,

Crutchie paused. What usually came in a letter after that? He didn’t get too many letters. Probably he should check that Jack’s okay, right?

How are you? I’m okay.

He wasn’t. 

If he felt safe in the room, Crutchie wouldn’t be writing this letter, he would be passed out on this bed that another boy had crawled into earlier. But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that these kids were ruthless, and would do anything to survive, even if that meant hurting him. So, instead of resting, here he was at sometime early in the morning writing a letter to Jack with the scrap of paper and pencil he’d found in his front pocket.

It had taken what felt like hours to check over his entire body and clean his wounds the best he could with the tiny bit of water one of those boys had brought him. He was bleeding from what felt like all over, and there just wasn’t enough to wash it off, so his face was going to be plastered with blood for a while.

He couldn’t quite reach the stinging lashes on his back, so he made do by ripping a part of his shirt off, dipping it in the water, then shoving it under his back. On his chest there was a scary-looking cut, surrounded by a mass of purple. He wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, but it was clearly part of why his chest hurt so much to breathe. The other part was made clear in the crutch-shaped swathes of bruises all over his body.

His legs weren’t in terrible shape, apart from his right, which had been stomped on by both of the Delanceys as soon as they got the chance, but it wasn’t the worst it had ever looked. Being dragged around by it hadn’t helped matters, though, and it hurt like it had been run over by a carriage.

After careful examination of his fingers, he decided that only three of them were broken, two of which were on his right hand. It was better than he had hoped, seeing as all of them were discolored and swollen.

Now, however, Crutchie continued to write, not entirely sure what he was putting on the paper, just wanting to make sure Jack knew he was alive. If he could get it to him. The room was close to silent, just a few snuffles and snores here and there, so Crutchie knew he ought to get to sleep soon, he just wanted to finish this up. He didn’t think he was making much noise, but he must’ve been whispering about Santa Fe while lost in his daydream, because he was suddenly shushed by several people.

Crutchie shifted--then nearly cried when his entire body complained. How could it be this bad? It was only his first day! Jack had spent months at a time in here, couldn’t he be just a bit more like him? All he had written so far were complaints, exhausted ramblings that showed very clearly that they were nothing like each other. A little bit about how hard it was here, more about wishing he was out. 

And out of nowhere, Crutchie saw clearly.

There was no way out.

Even if the strike succeeded, he was going to be stuck here for another three months at least. He couldn’t escape because of his stupid leg, and the only person who had ever truly escaped was Jack. It was impossible for everyone. But while plenty of kids were released after serving their time, Crutchie . . . wasn’t going to survive that. The almost overwhelming pain that pervaded his body was all from one day. Even if he survived beating after beating, and the manual labor, and the lack of food, this place was ripe for illnesses and infections. When Crutchie got ill, he always got it worse than the other boys. If he got sick here, with his injuries and weakness, he would be gone instantly.

Crutchie almost wrote a goodbye right there and then. This would probably be the only chance to say it. Then he remembered that Jack didn’t get things like that.

Jack was incredible, the best friend a kid could ask for, but he was stubborn and made up his mind pretty quickly as to what the best way would be--and it was usually his own. If Crutchie said something, he would get himself locked up in here in a matter of minutes, and then he would just have to watch as Crutchie failed. The strike wouldn’t succeed without Jack, he needed to be out there.

I’ll be fine, Crutchie wrote instead. Good as new. His heart broke, having to lie to Jack in what would probably be his final words to him, but the strike had to continue. This was bigger than him, more important than one crippled kid stuck in kid jail.

He wasn’t going to deny himself a final request, though, so he asked, in shaky letters, for Jack to tell everyone to look out for one another. That way, they could know he was thinking of them.

Finally, he was at the sign-off, and friend didn’t seem like enough. Best friend?

Brother.

The letter was done, and just in time to get complaints from the beds around him for still having a candle on. Quickly, Crutchie blew it out and laid down, the letter tucked into his pocket. He tried not to move around too much so as to not disturb his bunkmate, but everything just hurt so much. No position was in any way comfortable. He eventually managed to stay in one place long enough to doze off. It was just his luck that a tapping on the window started.

-

All things considered, Crutchie’s second day in the Refuge was better than his first. For one thing, he got a spot of water when he woke up. According to one of the other boys, there was a well out back that they snuck out to in shifts to get some water from. Not that that would be possible for Crutchie, but it was nice of the boy--Red, his name was--to mention it.

There was no digging for Crutchie today. Instead, he was assigned to polishing the staircase--difficult work, but something he was capable of doing without needing to stand. He wasn’t quite sure how to polish something, and he also didn’t know why he needed to, but it was better than being kicked repeatedly and threatened while he struggled to dig a pointless hole.

Snyder was leaving him completely alone so far, and he’d actually walked by twice. The guards were still targeting him though, which Crutchie discovered when one of them pushed him down the seven steps he’d climbed so far.

As he lay on the floor at the bottom, trying to regain his breath and not scream, another kick came from behind. Cruel laughter came from around him, but Crutchie knew, somewhere, that if he didn’t get up now he never would again. His vision was sliding into a mixture of tinted red and completely black with flashes of white, the pain almost putting him out. Still, with strength summoned from who knows where, Crutchie got his arms under himself and pushed up. Sure, he was going to die anyways, but he had to make it until at least Jack got his letter. Ideally longer than that, but Crutchie didn’t know that he could cope with such a distant goal.

With immense effort, he managed to drag himself back to the stairs, not quite able to stifle a cry as a foot connected with his bad leg. Stars were dancing in his reddened vision, but he was almost there. He just had to get up a few steps, back to whatever the polishing stuff was. He’d have to redo the top steps, ruined by the footprints of the guards. That was okay. He had all day.

The laughter faded, and for a moment Crutchie wondered if he was actually passing out, before realizing that the guards were just leaving. All but one of the four in the area wandered separate ways, leaving the last one to start talking at Crutchie.

Clearly, Crutchie wasn’t supposed to speak back unless asked a direct question, so he stayed silent, gritting his teeth against the pain. He probably wouldn’t still be conscious, but between the strong scent of the polish and the ever-rambling guard, he couldn’t help but stay awake. The guard was derisive, rude, and just all-around disgusting, but at least it wasn’t active violence. For the second time, his head completely cleared and Crutchie despaired at the hopelessness. He was a cripple, stuck in the Refuge. He’d be lucky to survive a week. It would be a miracle if he survived at all.

If a guard or some other staff member passed by, they’d not only completely screw up his work, but also add to his collection of abrasions. His legs were a favorite target, his hands a close second. Those were coated in polish and his fingers were swollen beyond recognition, barely able to grip the rag he was working with.

After the entire day, less than half this one staircase was complete and dried, though sure to look like it had never been polished in a matter of days. The guard had walked off eventually, leaving Crutchie alone with his pounding head and aching body for hours. He had probably ought to get a drink of water if he didn’t want to die of dehydration before the injuries did him in, but there was no way he could get anywhere water was in his condition. Nobody had returned his crutch to him, so he wouldn’t have even been able to get there if he was in perfect shape.

Less and less people passed, and the stairwell grew darker and darker, but Crutchie kept working, taking breaks every few minutes just to psych himself up for the next bit of work. No one had told him to leave his work, so he didn’t dare try to find someone to ask.

When boys started to pass him on the stairs, they came in differently than he expected--no running, taking steps two at a time, jumping around each other. Instead, he was greeted with head-hanging trudges, each kid looking more tired than the last. Crutchie wanted to join them, abandon the rag and container of polish and walk to what was surely bed, but he’d been crouched for so long that he was certain straightening out would tear his muscles in half. Not that the pain from that would be too bad, all things considered. It couldn’t be anything compared to this.

Still, Crutchie only curled up to the side, waiting for someone to drag him up the stairs. A few of the boys shot him curious or pitying looks, but most of them didn’t even notice him. Most of them didn’t seem to notice anything.

As predicted, once most everyone had passed, a guard grabbed him by his bad leg and began to pull him up the stairs with no concern for his head knocking against steps and walls. Crutchie couldn’t keep from whimpering, even crying as the guard gripped his foot in a way that was just wrong, twisting it terribly and causing burns to shoot up it straight to his waist. He did his best to keep his other leg out of the way, but he couldn’t focus, it all just hurt so so much--

His good leg caught on a step, and try frantically as he might, he couldn’t get it unstuck before--pop!

Crutchie lost all his breath in a silent scream, his vision (which had been gradually clearing all afternoon) vacillating between red and white faster than he could see. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel his left foot but holy cripes could he feel his left leg. Bursts of passionate agony shot through his hip, the roof of his mouth heavy with the vague taste of blood that he was sure came from his splitting head. He barely noticed when the guard dropped his leg and left, he couldn’t hear or see or even smell anything, all his senses overwhelmed entirely.

When a burning sensation attacked his shoulder, Crutchie couldn’t even jerk away, just sobbed drily. He was dying, this had to be death, there was no way he could survive this without his body just shutting down. . . .

Distantly, a voice permeated everything, saying unfamiliar words that didn’t make any sort of sense.

“Bad disc’lation,” it said, “hold . . . need ta . . . so I cans. . . .”

More fiery touches, all over, too many places, gripping him so painfully, what was happening, why wasn’t he gone yet. . . .

Then the pain at his hip went white-hot and Crutchie screamed, and immediately something was covering his mouth as he found the energy to thrash away from the torture at his hip. Some of the hands let go of him, but not the one at his hip, and then--

Then he blinked, and Crutchie could see, through watery eyes, an arm in front of his face. A strange pool of relief was gathering in his stomach, and despite being able to feel too much and everything all at once and not even know what pain came from which part of his body, he could feel his left foot again.

All the rest of the hands released him and Crutchie relaxed slightly, and he was able to stop screaming. The hand covering his mouth left as well, and Crutchie blinked a few times and took a shallow breath only to see a face swimming over him.

“All right, kid?” the face asked, but Crutchie could only stare. Was he expected to respond? The thought slipped away as soon as it entered his head, and Crutchie thought he heard a sigh before the world went completely dark, completely silent, completely nothing.

-

“Psst. Kid. You. Kid. Crutchie.”

Crutchie’s eyes shot open, and he turned to--ouch.

Ouch.

Why did moving his neck hurt?

Scratch that, everything hurt. Right, he’d fallen asleep like that. In pain.

Crutchie swallowed a few times, pleased to find that his throat wasn’t as bad as he remembered it feeling. Then he scrunched his eyes closed and turned his head. Someone--the leader, what was his name? Harley?--was standing there, in the dark.

“Hm?” Crutchie mumbled.

“Ya got a visitor. Jack Kelly.”

Why was Jack here? He was supposed to be running the union, and striking, and definitely not worrying about him. That’s why he had written that letter, to try and reassure him.

Crutchie didn’t dare hope that Jack was here to get him out.

He tried to sit up, but Harley pushed him back down, none too gently. “Ain’t nobody helpin’ you up, I’s takin’ a message.”

“I don’ give messages,” Crutchie said stubbornly, his head clearing a bit. He must’ve been asleep for a while, judging by the level of darkness in the room. Not that he could remember much about getting into bed, or even into the room. How much time had he lost?

Despite his words, Harley kept his hand on Crutchie’s chest, refusing to move it when he pulled away. If anything, he was beginning to feel worse than he did yesterday.

“I’s already told him you ain’t gettin’ up, and he’s tryin’a fit through the window,” Harley whispered, “but he ain’t gonna do it. So--anything ta say?”

Crutchie searched his brain a little frantically, still not totally conscious and in almost too much agony to think. “Tell him . . .” he said finally, his tongue heavy, “that, uh, I’m doin’ better than I seems.”

Harley snorted. “You wants me ta lie to the famous Jack Kelly?”

Crutchie sighed, his face heating up in embarrassment. “I does it all the time. Jus’ . . . tell ‘im I’m gonna be okay, and that he needs to be workin’ on the strike.”

Harley watched him for a long moment, his face too shadowed to give anything away. Then he nodded and left, quickly out of Crutchie’s very short sightline.

That reminded Crutchie that Jack was here, actually here, breathing in the same stuffy air, and that somehow gave him the strength to shift himself up against the headboard, gasping in short little bursts, until he had a view of the window.

There Jack was--or, a figure that looked like him against the minimal amount of light coming from the street outside. Harley was blocking part of the window, but Crutchie could see that their whispered conversation was escalating, judging by the gestures. Finally, an exchange of some sort happened, and both boys spit and shook, Jack swaying dangerously on the windowsill.

Crutchie let himself fall back into a lying position, completely exhausted. The pain didn’t even matter too much anymore. He was too tired to care about it.

“Kelly says go back ta sleep,” a voice--Harley--whispered close to his ear. “And don’ worry about ‘scapin’ if ya can’t. Just survive.” Survive. He was alive. That was good, Jack wanted him to do that.

Crutchie wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but boy was he grateful for it. Closing them seemed like it would sap the last bit of energy he had. With that thought, Crutchie slipped back into a dreamless sleep, dead to the world and all that was in it.

[falling-pages]

Won’t they?

Here is my first post for @ohshc-week​

I’m a little late due to some writer’s block (which is still inflicting me) so this one shot is thoroughly unedited. Please be nice and show me some grace when reading :) Gosh, this is messy.

-

Title: Won’t They?

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OHSHC fan fest Day 1

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Found Family Dynamics

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Characters: Tamaki (main), hosts (mentioned)

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Word Count: 1,332

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Genre: Angst

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Warnings: Kidnapping, light violence

-

-

- Harsh white light blinded Tamaki as soon as he opened his eyes. The dark fabric that had covered them was ripped away, leading to a starkly-contrasting massive shining lightbulb less than a foot away. He lurched his hands up to shield his eyes, but his wrists tugged against plastic, ripping and tearing at his skin.

He looked down to see his hands bound to the arms of a chair by zip ties, cutting into his flesh so deeply to already leave marks. His legs were no better off; stripped of their shoes, fastened to their respective legs of the chair, he was trapped, helpless, unable to escape.

His mouth was free, he noticed, as a whimper crawled up the back of his throat and strayed from his lips. The back of his throat scalded in pain, the rough, dry muscle hacking to produce any moisture at all. Combined with the light shooting daggers into his eyes, he felt a nasty headache brewing in his head.

He didn’t remember how he had gotten tied to this chair, only waking up to darkness and numbness over his limbs. He had half a mind to think it was a dream, the overstimulation of a series of nightmarish events. If he turned over and went back to sleep, maybe he would wake up and the headache would be gone.

“Welcome, Mr. Suoh.”

The thick gravity of a voice struck his hurting head like a thunderbolt. Fresh pain washed over him as the light was turned slightly away, scraping along the edge of its stand. By the sound of it, it was a lamp. And by what little he could see of the offending room, he was in a bunker. Grimy walls, cool water dripping down the sides, the soundproof absorption swallowing his heartbeat as it pounded in his ears.

It did no good to scream, but Tamaki tried anyways. His vocal chords curdled against the harsh wish, but all he could muster in his dehydrated state was a meek grunt. 

“You think you can scream?” the voice said again. “You think your little friends are looking for you and will come rescue you?”

Tamaki swallowed, desperately reaching into his heart and mind to call on the other hosts. Below ground, there was no way to tell what time it was, or even if it was day or night. Maybe a whole other day had passed--he didn’t know how long he had been knocked out for--but with enough time gone by, surely they would miss him?

“It’s too bad.” The voice, manly, deep, rough, suddenly came from behind him. Tamaki saw the lamp swirling on the table, manipulated by a ghostly hand, and jumped when he felt the person’s voice dip into his ear. “No one can hear you scream.”

“What do you want?” Tamaki croaked. HIs red, raw hands scraped against the metal arms, fingernails chipping as they dug for purchase to counterweigh the pressure. Without his shoes, his slick socks couldn’t stabilize on the cement floor enough to wiggle out.

The man chuckled, returning the lamp to its previous place. He stepped in front of his captive, twirling the blindfold around a finger. He didn’t wear a uniform, but as Tamaki squinted he could see something stitched onto a breast pocket in cordial white letters. 

“They said you weren’t very bright, Mr. Suoh, but I didn’t expect you to be stupid.”

The voice had a sharp grin in it, a tone meant for digging a knife into a chest. Tamaki had always imagined that voice when reading crime stories or watching murder documentaries. He had never wanted to, but Haruhi said she was interested, so he turned it on. 

There was only one thing that man would want, and Tamaki knew it. 

“The funds aren’t in my name yet,” he whispered, wetting his lips. “My father only just died a couple of days ago--and I’m not yet a legal adult. It will be at least a year before that account is unlocked and I can access the money.”

A hand came down and slapped him hard enough to see stars. Fingers gripped his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat to the open air. He scrambled to keep his balance, letting out a guttural cry. The man above him leered. Like holding a magnifying glass above a beetle stuck on its back, waiting for the sun to hit the right angle.

“I can wait.”

Chills raced down Tamaki’s spine. The man hurled Tamaki’s head forward, tipping the chair dangerously forward. Tamaki tensed in preparation for hitting the floor face-first, but he never made it--the man grabbed him again and settled the chair onto its four legs.

“As much as I would love to see your face shatter against my feet, I need you alive,” he grumbled. “They will have no motivation if you are dead.”

Fear pierced Tamaki’s very core. “What?”

“Your little group of friends.”

“What are you doing with them?”

“Nothing, yet.” The man paced. “That’s why you’re here. As much as I could make off of your inheritance, all six of you are worth more. You’re the bait to draw them in.”

“But--”

“Before you protest, the commoner is of no use to us,” he said. “She will be dealt with.”

“No!”

Tamaki thrashed in his chair, bucking his wrists against his bonds until the skin broke and blood slipped to coat the arm. He finally found the strength to scream, and he did until his lungs dried out--and his captor let him. 

“Do you really think your little family can hear you all the way down here?” he sneered. “They can’t hear you. No one can.”

“But they’re my family. They will come for me,” Tamaki panted. “I--I know they will.”

Despite his hopeful tone, he felt the dark evil in what the man would say next. 

“Will they? Are you sure?”

Tamaki shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. He pictured each of his friends in his mind. Rolling over how much he loved them, how he treasured them, how they became friends. They would come for him. Of course they would.

Won’t they?

“Because,” the man said, “I’ve held you here for three days, even sent urgent instructions to them, and they have not yet replied. No armies have come to break down this door. No friend has replied to my ransom note.” He leaned down into Tamaki’s face, allowing him his first good look at the monster. Dank breath and dark eyes were all he could focus on as tears streamed down his cheeks, soothing the burn where the man had struck him.

“Because, Mr. Suoh,” the man whispered, pinching Tamaki’s chin between his fingers, “found family means nothing when it comes to exterminating the weakest link.”

“That’s not true,” Tamaki gasped, but even as he muttered the words he could feel a fraction of hope dying. Why hadn’t they come for him? The host club had always been his family, especially after his father just passed. They loved him, didn’t they? Weren’t they worried? Or were they relieved that their obnoxious king had disappeared?

“If that’s what you want to believe, then by all means.” The hand disappeared from his face. “If I’m right, then I’ll just have one handsome allowance. But if I’m wrong--if they are your family--if the love that you speak of really does hold so true--then I’ll have six ransoms. Family or not, I win.”

Tamaki wept, too sad and tired and scared to even resist when the man tied the blindfold back over his eyes. His heart ached for his friends, wanting them but at the same time hoping they would stay far, far away. Just before a final blow knocked him unconscious again, he heard the man speak into his ear.

“Which is worse, Mr. Suoh? Having your family die for you, or never having one to begin with?”

-

-

[vanillawinston]

Mad World| Chapter FOUR

Joker x OC(Jane Parker)

Summary: Jane was in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly her life was falling apart. The past and future of a dangerous obsession which changed his life and destroyed hers completely.

Warning for this chapter: death, brutal

Back to the start HERE

Previous part HERE

Words: 1833

Joker

I saw their fear. I saw their incredible fear like it was screaming right to my face. Shaking, completely scared and with a wet face from all their shed tears they were kneeling right in front of me, wouldn't dare to look in my face, knowing exactly that all of this would be over soon, or more they hoped it would be over soon. Ohhh no, they could wish for it to be over, a wish I would for sure not grant them.

"You thought you could play a game," I said and walked a little bit closer to the two whimpering men, "a game with ME?" I screamed the last word, saw gladly how one of them sobbed pathetically. Oh, it would be so much fun taking their lives, taking it slowly, painfully and showing them what a huge mistake they've made to anger me. It would be the greatest fun I had for a long, long time. I cocked my head, eyed both of them more precisely, saw how their faces showed some wounds, how their clothes were ripped into shreds. They had no similarities to the noble men they once were, I have taken care of that.

"I-I'm s-so...s-so sorry, Mr. J..." "Na, na, na, na," I rebuked him and interrupted him by this. Even the men who were holding those two pricks seemed scared, feared me in this mood, and they should. Today wasn't a day anyone should anger me, goad me, oh no!

"No one is betraying me, haven't I tried my best to teach you this, Sam?" I asked and knelt in front of the man who hold his eyes shut, too afraid to look me in the eyes, and whose tears, mixed with snot, were falling on the ground.

"I've tried everything," he screamed pathetically and only managed it to make me angrier. Furious I slapped his face, over and over again, laughed loudly while doing so, saw how his blood was splattered everywhere. It was hard to force myself to stop, but I had to if I wanted to make sure, he wouldn't die so fast. He should suffer, he should feel my pain, he should always feel my pain, and I would make sure of it!

"It is your fault she is gone, and I will make you suffer for it!" I said and pulled him closer to me, saw into his swollen face

"S-she..." "She trusted you, right," I laughed and took his face in both of my hands, "And now she is gone, because of you. Bring him away. Let him live, I need to torture him for the rest of his life, will have so much fun with him as my new toy." With these words I stood up, saw how some of my guys took him away, dragged him away, heard him screaming and begging for mercy I would never show him. He begged me to forgive him, begged me to kill him now, but he would never get an easy death, he would suffer like she had to because of him. He would be sorry, I will make him sorry! She was dead because of a mistake he had made, and I could never forgive him.

"What about him?" The other guard asked, and I sighed annoyed of this question, took my gun and shot my other prisoner, who fell to the ground.

"Who?" I asked unimpressed, "Take care of the plan, I want everything to happen smoothly." I left the room, had enough of this mess for today. I would get Harley back. Today I needed her more than ever, today was the day which would always remind me of what they have taken away from me, and I would never let this happen again. Harley would never be Jane, she would always be unable to hold a candle to Jane, but for now she was good enough.

Jane

It was scary and I kind of felt like I was part of one of the Horror games my brother always had played while walking through the destroyed and abandoned city. Instead of my old clothes, I've gotten some new stuff, everything in black, tight to my body, and a belt full of knives, including a gun, was now my only accessories. I followed the rest of my group, hold one of my many knives in my hand, knew there was a high chance of dying soon, but this was just creepy. What the hell had happened here? Why wasn't anyone talking to us? Informing us about what the hell is going on here? Where are we even going? What was the destination?

"If you won't breath more quietly, I will rip your lungs out," Katana hissed threatening to Boomerang who really was breathing loudly like he just was part of a marathon, even though we were walking so slowly, even a snail could overtake us in this pace.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and I smiled shortly when I saw how humble he seemed to be, but fast remembered again where I was and how serious this mission was which I realized when Rick exhaled hardly in front of us, and the reason why was found fast.

"Are those humans?" Harley asked with disgust, and I also looked with horror to the dead bodies in front of us which for sure were humans... some time ago.

"Seems like it," Floyd mumbled, and I swallowed hardly. In this moment the reason for all the dead people mad themselves noticeable, and I really had no idea what the hell this was, but when I saw the monsters, I thought this all must be nothing but a sick dream.

"Holy shit," Boomerang breathed when these weird creatures started attacking us, and I was completely devastated to see things, creatures like this. But what the hell was that? What the hell was happening here? Automatically I stumbled back, saw how the other guys of Rick started to fight against those things while our little group was just standing still, didn't do anything at all. I wanted to help, I really wanted to fight, to feel the same things I've felt in the past when I had to defend myself, it always had been so exciting, but I haven't had to do anything like this for over two years, I would probably die within a minute. What the problems of the others were, was uncertain for me, but they presumably just didn't want to help Rick. This is when Floyd remembered again that Rick was the keeper of all our lives and if he dies, we all would die with him!

I saw how Boomerang, Floyd, Harley and Crow helped the others, started to fight, keep Rick safe, only Diablo stayed next to me.

"Won't you help them?" I asked reproachfully, but I've heard about his powers, they were part of him, he wouldn't have to be scared to forget how they work, he would be able to help.

"No," he simply said, and I saw with a scared look to the fight, how there were more and more of those monsters, and I knew that I had to help, I had to help Floyd! If I die, it would be for something good and in freedom, it was better than dying in the prison. I ran to one of those monsters, threw my knife and saw happily how it landed right in the middle if his head.

"Jane, watch out!" Floyd screamed, and I had to duck away from one of those things, run my next knife in his throat before pulling it out again. I ran to the next monster, was completely out of breath from this little motion, but it was so weird to actually run again, to fight.

"You are better than I thought, little one," Boomerang laughed while I killed the next monster right next to him, smiled happily because of it. I never thought I would still be able to do this, to kill so easily, but seemed like it was part of me, just like he had told me all the time.

"You are not bad either," I said, smiling and I knew it was crazy, but it really was funny to run around, kill those monsters, to fight for your own life, it was exciting, it made me feel so alive. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw how Floyd shot every monster he saw, how Rick fought with all his power and how Harley was hitting some of those things with her bat. Most of Ricks other guys died, only Katana seemed to really be able to protect herself, to kill everything standing in her way. Never would I've thought that one day I would fight next to all those people, not because of some rivalry or because out of fun, but because we had to, because we had to protect ourselves. How could I imagine it? It was absurd, like some dream, and maybe all of this was just that, a weird dream? Maybe being locked up finally made me lose my mind.

"Watch out!" someone screamed right behind me while I was completely lost in my own mind, and before I could react, someone grabbed me by my hips and pulled me away just in time. I screamed when in the same moment a monster landed right where I was standing a second ago, and without thinking twice, I threw my knife at it, killed the last of these monsters.

"Thank you," I said out of breath, looked to Diablo who once again had saved my life and who was now nodding. He hadn't done anything, he hadn't fought with us, and I really couldn't get why, after all, he was the strongest of all of us with his power.

"Why were you just standing here?" I asked reproachful while putting my hair back to a ponytail. This fight had destroyed my last one completely, I must look like a mess, but I couldn't care less about something like this right now.

"Maybe all the stories are nothing but fairy tales?" Harley asked and walked to us, smiling.

"Even if so, he could have done anything to help," I said, but there had to be some sort of weapon he could use, he could handle. He was a prisoner, for some reason he had been locked up, so he was for sure capable to fight! I wouldn't understand him. He didn't seem to care that much, just shrugged and walked away, to the rest of the group, simply didn't care about anything, and still he had saved my life, twice now. What was his problem? Why was he like that?

Aloha :) I hope you liked it. Sorry for any grammar or editing mistakes, tell me if you like to be tagged and the Gif is not mine xx

Tag: @xxqueenwxtchxx

[missfangirll]

I miss you, I’m sorry

This is the last prompt from the follower thing and I’m sorry it took so long.. Initially I planned a case fic (which is ~3k by now and not nearly finished), so I figured I had to write something else for you first ^^ Inspiration came in the form of this absolutely gorgeous song which I strongly recommend while reading ^^

Anyway, I went a bit ham with the angst, but it has a happy ending and hopefully is as fluffy as you wanted :) -------------------------------------------------------

Fandom: SCI Mystery Relationship: Zhan Yao / Bai Yutong Tags: Fluff, Angst with a happy ending Words: 2278 Summary: After a fight Zhan Yao leaves the apartment. Bai Yutong tries to cope.

Read on AO3

I still love you, I promise Nothing happened in the way I wanted But I miss you, I'm sorry

I don't wanna go, think I'll make it worse Everything I know brings me back to us I don't wanna go, we've been here before Everywhere I go leads me back to you

I miss you, I'm sorry

Gracie Abrams - I miss you, I'm sorry

* * *

It had been the worst fight they ever had in their relationship, hypnosis and Zhao Jue included, and it had left Bai Yutong with a hollow feeling in his stomach, sitting lost and miserable in the silent apartment. Earlier that day, Zhan Yao had accompanied him on a case and, because he was a fucking idiot, provoked the suspect to such an extent that the man managed to swing a knife at him and graze Zhan Yao’s shoulder before Bai Yutong could bring him down. And of course Zhan Yao had seen no fault in his behaviour, told him about the end that had justified the means and that it was his job, then had gotten cranky when Bai Yutong had pointed out that he technically wasn't even a police officer. It had only escalated from there and Bai Yutong still could hear the echo of their words in the silent apartment, taste their bitterness on his tongue. After the last remark had hit home, Zhan Yao had just looked at him with a blank expression, grabbed his conference suitcase and left the apartment without a word. And without his keys.

Bai Yutong let his face sink into his hands and let out a groan. The day had been awful from the start and this was just the grand finale. There was nothing he could do at the moment, he decided and got up from the sofa. Glancing at the kitchen for a moment, he opted for a hot bath instead. He could cook dinner in a few hours, maybe Zhan Yao would come home later. He nodded to himself and tried not to think about the fact that the cat had taken his weekend suitcase with him.

He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, opened the tap and started to undress. He would sit there quietly and relax, maybe watch a movie on his phone. He would not call his cat. Zhan Yao probably wouldn't answer anyway. Bai Yutong sighed to himself and stepped into the bathtub, ignoring the strange feeling of having leg room because the usual other occupant was missing. He sighed again and slid deeper into the water, resting his head on the edge and closing his eyes.

When he awoke with a start, the first thing he noticed was the darkness outside the window. Judging by the water which had cooled to almost room temperature, he must have been out for a while. Shivering, he climbed out, towelling himself off quickly. His phone told him it was right after midnight and he tried to suppress the growing unease in his stomach that Zhan Yao had neither come home nor called. Well, he would give the cat space if he wanted space. Lips pressed together and shoulders tense he went to bed, laying on his side facing the wall, stubbornly ignoring the empty space behind him.

* * *

His alarm went off at the usual time, but that was about all that was usual about this morning. In the daze between dreaming and waking he wondered briefly why Zhan Yao wasn't plastered to his back, breathing warm into his neck, when the memory of the previous evening hit him like a freight-train and he had to swallow hard, closing his eyes to will down the tears that had started rising. With a deep breath to brace himself to face the day he got out of bed, still stubbornly avoiding to look at the untouched pillow next to his.

The day passed by in a daze of interviews and meetings, all blending together after a while. His team had looked at him questioningly when he had arrived alone in the morning, but he had mumbled something about a short-notice conference and they had left him alone, probably also because they had seen his expression. Bai Chi was the only one brave – or socially inept – enough to actually ask a question over lunch that had Bai Yutong level such a murderous gaze at him that he almost choked on his rice and didn’t look up for the rest of their break.

By six o’clock his whole body ached with a sensation he couldn’t quite name. It had started in the early afternoon. First he had thought it was a pending migraine, but then his chest had started to burn as well. After subtly checking his temperature, he was sure he wasn't going to be ill either. That left an explanation he wasn't quite ready to address. Gritting his teeth, he sent his team home, standing in his empty office. He dreaded coming home to the empty, silent apartment, but staying here was probably worse. Sighing, he checked his phone again, still hoping for a message from his cat. When the notifications stayed stubbornly silent, he shoved the phone back in his pocket and went to his car.

The second night alone was even worse. He had half-heartedly thrown together a stir-fry and taken a short and uninspirational shower before retreating to the sofa. Staring distractedly at the TV screen, he pondered if he should call the cat. He had resigned himself to give Zhan Yao some space, but that had been a day ago and maybe he didn’t need it that much anymore. Gnawing his bottom lip, he finally reached for his phone, dialling the familiar number. The first call ended abruptly after two rings, apparently having been ended by someone. Irritated, Bai Yutong stared at his phone and frowned. When the second call went straight to voicemail, he couldn’t suppress an angry sound and flung the phone into a pillow. Fine. If the cat didn’t want to talk, Bai Yutong didn’t need to either.

He slept on the sofa that night, not being able to face the empty bedroom.

* * *

The day that followed was unsurprisingly terrible. He lashed out to his team more than once, regretting it immediately and apologizing to them, only to explode again at the next opportunity. After their lunch break, Ma Han approached him slowly, suggesting in carefully chosen words that he might want to take the rest of the day off, they had the paperwork covered. He nodded curtly to all of them and was out of the office in a heartbeat.

He didn’t have anywhere to go specifically, but everything was better than shouting at his team. He grimaced and began walking, letting his feet choose the direction. When he looked up, he was in front of the university building where he used to wait for Zhan Yao after his lessons. Groaning internally he turned around, deliberately avoiding to acknowledge the dull ache in his chest.

When he returned home later that afternoon, the ache had grown into a painful pulse he could feel in his whole body. Instead of clearing his head on the walk, he had unconsciously gone to places that held a significance for them. The park where they spent their lunch breaks, the bridge where he had hung a lock with their initials – to a lot of eye-rolling and groaning from Zhan Yao – on their anniversary, their favourite restaurant. A bus stop where they had found shelter from a downpour when neither had brought an umbrella, where he had kissed Zhan Yao breathless in the dim light. The corner where he almost had caused a car crash because the cat had chosen that exact moment to tell him he loved him for the first time.

He sat down on the sofa and exhaled slowly, blinking back the tears that had been lingering under the surface for the whole day. He had tried to call the cat a few times, but every call had gone to voicemail and he had ended it before the automatic voice was finished telling him he should leave a message. He still didn’t know what to say and if Zhan Yao would want to hear it.

I miss you. I’m sorry.

Leaning back into the pillows he closed his eyes, not able to hold back the tears anymore.

* * *

A sound startled him and he shot up from under the pillows. Disoriented he reached for his phone. Shortly after ten, which meant he had slept for three hours. No wonder his head felt fuzzy. A repetition of the same sound had him freeze, head cocked in the direction of – – – the door. A knock. Zhan Yao.

He almost tripped over the blanket he had wrapped around himself in his haste and had to grab the back of the sofa to steady himself. At the third knock, he flung the door open to reveal a slightly startled Zhan Yao, eyes wide, hand still raised to knock another time.

“Cat.”

He almost flung himself at Zhan Yao, but stopped abruptly when he saw the other’s face. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks pale and his hair looked like he had pulled several all-nighters. He probably had.

“Can I come in?”

Bai Yutong bit his lip at the uncertain tone and nodded, stepping aside to let the other in. He noticed Zhan Yao hadn’t brought the suitcase and tears welled up again in his eyes when he tried not think about what that meant. Furiously wiping his face, he turned his back to the cat and walked back to the sofa. He briefly considered getting a drink before they had that inevitable talk, but decided against it. If Zhan Yao wanted to break up with him, he might need a clear head.

The cat looked at him with an expression Bai Yutong couldn’t quite place and cautiously sat down on the sofa. Taking a shaky breath, he turned to face Zhan Yao.

“Cat, I’m sorr--”

“I need to--”

The both stared at each other, surprised. Bai Yutong pressed his lips together and motioned for the other to continue. Zhan Yao gave him that look again and inhaled deeply, before letting his breath out slowly.

“I need to apologize, Mouse.”

Bai Yutong startled, staring at Zhan Yao. “What? I mean, I...,” he trailed off when he saw the other’s pained expression and pressed his lips shut.

“I am sorry,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have left like that and then ignored your calls. That was childish and immature and I’m sorry.” He looked directly at Bai Yutong, a pleading look in his eyes. When he received no response, he laid his hand on the other’s arm. “Please, Mouse, say something. I am sorry, believe me. I had plenty of time to think about what an idiot I am.” He grinned wryly, his thumb stroking tiny circles on Bai Yutong’s arm. The other had to swallow hard, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, because he didn’t trust his voice at all at that moment, he lunged forward to wrap his arms around Zhan Yao, almost sending them both off the sofa. Hiding his face in the other’s neck, he couldn’t stop the sobs rising in his throat. Zhan Yao’s arms came around his back, gripping tightly, as if he too was afraid to let go, and he let his face sink onto Bai Yutong’s shoulder.

They stayed like this for a while, just breathing each other’s scent, until Zhan Yao made a sound. “Your knee is in my side, Mouse. Move over.” Hearing the familiar annoyed tone, Bai Yutong couldn’t help but grin. He tightened his grip on the other, but making sure to move his knee away. “I love you,” he mumbled into Zhan Yao’s neck and could feel a grin form against his temple. “I couldn’t hear you,” Zhan Yao teased. “Say it again.”

Bai Yutong bit his neck, just to be difficult, and pulled away to sit on his haunches. He still hadn’t let go of Zhan Yao’s hand and now tightened his grip. Looking directly at the other, he said softly, “I love you, Cat. And I’m sorry too. I said some things that were…” He trailed off, feeling miserable all over again.

“I know you didn’t mean them,” assured him Zhan Yao. “Still. It wasn't true,” he insisted. “Cat, you are the most capable person in the whole SCI.” Zhan Yao snorted. “Don’t let your team hear that.” Bai Yutong huffed. “I mean it. You are fiercely intelligent, unbelievably kind, so damn brave, and I really don’t know what we would do without you.” He paused for a second. “And it is our team, not just mine,” he added softly.

Zhan Yao smiled so happily at this that Bai Yutong couldn’t hold back any longer. With a groan, he captured the other’s mouth in a scorching kiss, weaving his free hand in his tousled hair to keep him close. He pressed against Zhan Yao, licking in his mouth, relishing in the feeling of soft, plush lips against his. Inevitably, they both had to come up for air after a while, but left just enough space between them to breathe, not being able to part from each other.

“I love you,” Bai Yutong said against the other’s lips, and the grin that followed felt like a balm for his still tender heart. “I love you too, Mouse,” he heard, and something in his soul clicked back into place.