#but it happening tonight gave me such a visceral sense memory

[halflingkima]

if i had a nickel for every time i popped a melotonin for the night and started feeling it when a concerned parent called my cell phone, i’d have two nickels

[shiversdownyerspine]

12. Touch

Miss me? :D

18+

Cheeks still burning from the prior antics of the Swedish men in your living room, you toss your leggings and underwear haphazardly to your laundry basket as you hear Otto enter their guestroom to change.  Normally you would have had the presence of mind to hold on to your perfectly fine leg wear, but you're a bit distracted with the lingering sensation of skin against skin and have gone into auto pilot.

Shiver curling down your spine at the memory of their teasing, you try to focus on the soft patter of rain against your bedroom window as you pace to your dresser for a change of clothes. To no avail, the rain isn't enough to keep you distracted.

Axel and Oscar had gotten you good, and just when you thought Otto had offered you respite from his roguish siblings, the biggest of the brothers had snuck in a cheeky kiss!

Well...a kiss on the cheek, to be precise.

Grabbing up replacement leggings and underwear, you refuse to let your mind sink into the concept of kisses. Because if you did, you would start thinking about lip to lip kisses instead. And your poor heart has just managed to settle its rapid pace, you don't need any more stimulation.

Clothing donned and dress smoothed, you breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. It doesn't eradicate the jittery butterflies as you had hoped it would, but it does help soothe them somewhat. Looking to your bathroom, you tiptoe to the door and quietly peek inside.

Looks like Thing 1 and 2 could care less about storms; curled up together inside the sink, the two appear to be enjoying a nap. Even with a soft lingering rumble of thunder, they are still. Not a twitch of the ear or tail to be seen. Hm. Might as well let them snooze. If the storm gets heavy, you'll check on them again.

Trusting that the kittens are house broken, you leave the bathroom door open a crack as a nice surprise for them and grab up the towel before heading out of your room. You'll have to remind yourself to do a load of laundry tonight. As you wander over to the washer to deposit the towel, your ears pick up the sound of the brothers softly conversing in Swedish. The squeak of the washing machine door seems to interrupt the conversation, and as you pop the door closed and wander back out to the living room, you find the brothers looking quite expectantly at you from the sofa.

Or at least Axel and Otto are on the sofa, Oscar had gotten up to give Butternut some attention. Still barechested, he cocks his head inquisitively at you.

"Kattungar...kittens good?"

"Mhm, they're napping. They don't really seem bothered by the storm so I'll leave them be for now."

Oscar nods, satisfied as he scratches a furry chin before lifting the fluffball up to deposit her on the armchair next to the sofa. Content on her throne, the cat purrs away as Oscar kneels in front of her to give extra scritches.

Armchair occupied, you sit in the only available spot on the sofa, settling comfortably on the end next to Axel. It would seem that when Otto had changed he had also grabbed his brothers some upper clothing, but the youngest had decided to use his as a makeshift cushion for Butternut's throne.

Clearing your throat, you pick up where you left off, "Sooo...yes, I have a 2nd Phase. And I'm not going to answer any questions about it, as the original intent was to stick to questions about my 1st Phase."

Hoping to get back on track, you watch as Oscar leaves Butternut to her oh so comfy chair and settles down next to you on the floor with his back against the sofa. He cranes his head a bit to watch you, face scrunched in thought. Mind made up, he raises his chin in defiance and says a single word.

"One."

You stiffen, looking down at a stubbornly focused Oscar. One, is it? Of course there is no doubt to what he is referring to; he wants a question, a single question about your 2nd Phase.

Arms folded, thoughts ebb and flow as you consider his request. How much would this effect you? Effect them? Would they even ask something you could answer? Regardless of the question they decide on, this is quite the heavy topic for you.

But they are now aware that you can be dangerous, and it's just one question after all.

Feeling their eyes on you, waiting patiently, your gaze drifts to your knees with a sigh.

"Just. One," You acquiesce, softening as the words slip from your lips.

Oscar perks up with eager surprise, prompting you to warn, "But keep in mind, I might not even be able to answer. My 2nd Phase is...complicated in a way. There's not much I can say because I don't know much about it."

Feeling Axel's eyes burning into you with arguably the most intensity, you peer to the side to address something that had been lingering on the edge of your mind since you woke in Otto's arms, "And could I ask for something in return?"

You take the curious tilt of the man's head as a good sign that he'd at least hear you out, which he confirms, "Yes. But it depends."

A bit bashful, you murmur, "Fair enough, it is sort of an odd request. Would you like to ask your question first?"

Axel throws a pointed stare to Oscar, a clear warning that he had better not try to steal this question as he had done previously. The youngest just relaxes comfortably back against the sofa, content to leave the rest up to his older siblings. In the meantime, he curiously eyes your leggings...something is odd...

Otto watches the eldest, knowing he was carefully considering options. If he had to guess, Axel was most likely trying to figure out what question would lead to giving them the most information. The oldest would have to compromise, seeing as how you had given them a limit. The mystery is tempting to linger on, but honestly Otto is more curious about just what you want to ask of them, what you could possibly want that the three could give.

Finally Axel decides upon the question, it's deceptive in its simplicity.

"What are differences between 1st Phase and 2nd?"

You relax, appreciative that this won't pry too much into your history nor ask that you go into detail about a certain something that the higher ups would rather you not mention.

"Really you can think of my 2nd Phase as being the natural progression of my 1st. If my 1st Phase is for when I'm hurt, then my 2nd Phase is for when I'm dying."

Fidgeting, your hands lightly clasp together as you continue, "I have more feathers, not just the.. fluffy down, but semiplume and contour feathers. More scales, but bigger. Much, much longer claws with a slight curve, and enhanced regeneration and senses. That's about it, I think."

There is further detail you could go into about the...visceral nature of your healing in that state, but you'd rather not. Not right now, but maybe another time. The brothers give a silent pause, one of acceptance, you hope, and then ask when you first discovered your ability.

Your hand drifts to the back of your neck, "Well, I discovered the feathers on my nape first. Very strange, almost panicked and tried to rip them out but eventually I just...got used to them. Surprisingly quickly. Kept them hidden as much as possible, so I would never let our caretaker cut my hair, no ponytails or buns or braids or anything. She was not pleased with me being a 'wild child' and 'rebelling'."

You grin, "One time, she had had enough and announced that next morning she would be cutting my hair short, right to my ears. And that there was no way I was getting out of it and I'd get no supper until it was done."

Otto questions, "Did she..?"

"Oh no, I um...that night after everyone went to bed, I crept out and hid every pair of scissors I could find. Even the pair in her office, had to sneak in through the window for that one. I was pretty thorough, come morning she couldn't find any, and by dinnertime she had given up. She couldn't prove it was me, but she gave me the stink eye for weeks."

Oscar sighs dramatically, "No dinner."

"Ah see, she tried to stick to her guns, but she was a big softie; came knocking on my door with a plate for me, but said, 'Only proper ladies get to eat with everyone, you will be eating alone to think about what you've done.' I should have just kept quiet but...I asked her what exactly I had done, and her face went so red! Didn't say a word and just walked right out, mumbling to herself the whole time."

Shaking your head with a soft smile, you murmur, "I caused that woman so much grief. Never really meant to...not usually."

Axel gets you back on track with an amused hum, "First Phase?"

"Well...I liked to climb trees when I was young. Quite a lot. But one day after a heavy storm...I think I was ten?...I slipped and landed badly, right on top of my wrist. I heard it crack and then suddenly...there it was. I noticed the changes and hurled myself into the forest as fast as I could before anyone could see me. Sat under a tree for a couple of hours, trying to figure out what happened. Then I realized that my arm was feeling better until eventually it didn't hurt at all. The changes went away soon after."

Everything had been so chaotic back then, nothing made sense anymore. The world had been turned on its head. And you had suddenly been given new rules to play by in hopes of keeping a secret you hadn't really known how to keep at the time.

"I stayed in the woods a while longer, not really sure what to do, worried it would come back. I was getting hungry and it was getting dark and cold, so that helped me make up my mind. I went back and...adapted. I couldn't let anyone see that side of me. People who are different aren't treated all that kindly. And I'm as different as they come, to say the least."

Otto frowns, expression lightly sullen before he points out the inevitable, "But you were found."

You hesitate a moment before relenting, "Mhm. When I was twelve years old a man broke the rules and faced the consequences. I suppose I did too, in a way."

A vague explanation. But it was something, some small piece of the puzzle.

The brothers had been wondering when and how you had gotten the attention of the Commission for recruitment. It was extremely rare, but sometimes adults with abilities were considered. However given your current role, perhaps it was decided you weren't fit for field or office work? It was very strange that the company would go out of its way to accommodate you like this, pretty much unheard of. Why would the Commission even consider this sort of work in the first place? The concerns of their employees are seldom acknowledged, so this was a little absurd.

Axel addresses this, "Your role in the Commission, how did it happen?"

The raised eyebrow you throw at him says it all; you've answered this question before, multiple times. What is he expecting to find?

He rephrases, "Not the usual work, instead they offer you this role in particular. Completely new role. Why?"

Mild surprise crosses your features; that's a good question, and given the previous conversation it shows they've still been wondering how your ability could possibly play a part in the Commission's interest in you. Not that you had expected them to drop it completely.

You give an honest answer.

"They most likely didn't think I was fit for any other role, maybe didn't trust me on the field given the nature of my ability. Can you imagine what would happen if I was on a mission and had my ability recorded and distributed? Sure they could probably cover it up as a hoax, but still! The sheer scale of the mess they'd have to clean up, the paperwork alone would be a nightmare. There's only so much I can do to prevent my changes. Besides, my 2nd Phase isn't the most...subtle."

A short wry laugh leaves your lips as you continue, "All in all, I think I'd be more trouble than I'd be worth. As for a desk job...well....could you imagine yourselves working in an office, stapling, photocopying, pushing papers for a living?"

Axel gives a huff of a laugh as his brothers grimace in disgust. Point taken.

"No offense to the people who do that sort of thing. And I do have to research and take notes when I'm taking care of my animals and my home, so there's still an aspect of that. But those lines of work weren't even offered. It was either this or..."

Oscar's brow furrows, "..Or?"

"..or basically be seen as an anomaly myself and responded to as such."

There's a pregnant pause as the brothers uncomfortably consider the choice given to you. It wasn't all that odd, the company has been known to strong-arm some prospective agents. But the choices given to you at the time, to die or become, of all things, an animal caretaker? That was bizarre.

Perhaps there was something they weren't seeing.

You sigh in response to their silence, "I can understand how they would be concerned that I might one day become a threat. I can't expect them to just leave it to chance."

Oscar nudges your leg with an elbow, prompting you to turn your attention to him.

"Trust issues."

With a smile you return the nudge with your knee, giggling when he curls his arm around your lower leg for a possessive squeeze, "I think that's something every powerful corporation has in common."

Another rumble of thunder has you peering at the window; it would seem the storm has grown a bit, if the considerable amount of rain assaulting the glass isn't evidence enough. Nothing too bad though.

A brush to your arm redirects your attention; Axel pulls his hand back, resting it on his thigh as he asks what your request is.

The butterflies are back, despite your best efforts.

"Like I said, it's a little strange."

You peer down at your hands, pushing yourself onwards, "If I am overstepping boundaries, please let me know, but...it has to do with my condition. Last night was fairly bad, so I want to see if I can keep it from getting to such a point. At least until I can find something more permanent."

Professional. That's what this has to be, what you have to be. Otherwise your face is going to erupt into flames.

Their eyes on you are heavy, quizzical yet patient. Otto's suspicions, however, are quickly being aroused.

"So..seeing as how...physical contact works? That's what I'm asking for."

There. It's out. Now it's up to them.

And yet you can't help but still feel a bit...twitchy. On edge. It's as if something has changed, the air feels almost...charged.

The eldest brother throws professionalism out the window.

"You want us to touch you?"

Axel's question is murmured softly, yet the way it pierces your heart is in clear contrast. His words slide over your skin and between your legs in a provocative tingle.

The deer in headlights look that you sport is too charming. The brothers half-expect you to scold their older brother's subtly vulgar teasing, but to their surprise after a second you're heaving a heavy sigh and nodding.

"Basically, yes."

With a huff you defend your request, "Otherwise I will most likely be hoarding all the hot drinks in this house and waking you all up late in the night."

You don't know for sure if it would work, as even without the chill of winter you had still needed a warm embrace. Otto's hands on you hadn't been enough. Your body had insisted on more to the point that you had thrown caution to the wind, scooted in close, and wrapped your arms around his neck. Still you had hope that even if this didn't work completely, you could still greatly delay reaching that point.

Oscar peers out the window at the weather; Fall is approaching, and thus an even bigger issue for your condition is looming on the horizon, "Winter?"

"Okay so..when the cold season comes...I have a feeling I'd need more..of...um," your hand rises to sheepishly rub your brow, "..of what happened with you, Otto."

Otto perks up, but masks his interest as he considers your approaching problem with a serious disposition, all while recalling the weight of you in his arms as he carried you, how snuggly you had pressed to him as you slept. He knew he wouldn't mind a repeat. He knew his brothers wouldn't mind having you wrapped around them either.

The youngest can't resist teasing, "You liked sleeping with Otto? Want us too? Girig tjej."

Flustered but cautiously optimistic that they hadn't refused yet, you murmur, "Only if you're all comfortable with it. It was nice being able to sleep through the night."

A soft tug on a lock of your hair gives Axel your full attention. He lightly strokes the wisps between thumb and forefinger, watching the strands separate and gather back together before his eyes bore into yours. His hand leaves your hair to return once more to his thigh, "We will help. If you are reaching limit, you tell us."

Little did you know, the brothers had already been planning on having this little chat about your condition with you. You have been good to them, so they had wanted to return the favor. Eye for an eye. They had originally planned on inquiring about space heaters or fireplaces but are quite pleased with the direction the conversation went instead. Perhaps they could bring up the other methods at a..better time.

Before you can thank the three or ask them about any other questions, you jolt, feeling a hand cup your calf and slide up.

You blink down at the top of the culprit's head, a fluttery emotion curling lightly in your chest.

"..Oscar?"

His hand softly squeezes as its owner turns to look at you, your leggings, and then back to you before he asks, "Different?"

...You have got to be kidding.

Realization dusts your cheeks pink, "Oh! Yes, uh..the water."

Otto tilts his head, regarding your clothing with curiosity.

Your change of leggings have been noticed. It's fine. This is fine. Everything is..

The question the youngest asks you is innocence peppered with a tinge of pseudo guilt, "I got you wet?"

Fudge.

He did. But it wasn't just him.

Fighting to keep your tone under control, you respond, "Just a little, you were still a bit damp from outside."

But if that was the case, why hadn't you also changed your dress? You pray they avoid that little detail.

Oscar gleefully waits for his brothers to catch up.

The two confused siblings eye your returning flush with mild interest before suspicion transitions quickly to hesitant disbelief.

Otto's eyes flash from your face to your lap and back up, fingers twitching as stubborn questions demand his utmost attention; how wet had you been? Could you have taken a finger? Two? With lidded eyes and red face, he directs his gaze away to the window in hopes of a distraction. It doesn't work.

Axel's breath catches and holds in his lungs, jaw tense as he recalls the slight almost imperceptible wobble of your legs when Otto had helped you remove yourself from them. Lustful frustration flares his nostrils as his own traitorous mind proposes a rhetorical question and also supplies possible answers; what had you done after you had escaped to your room? Ignored your body's need or...

Oscar glances from your face to his brothers and smirks. Mission clearly accomplished. As for whether or not their teasing had resulted in a wet pair of panties...well. The image itself is potent enough that his curiosity is sated. However he does allow himself a moment to wonder about that little article of clothing; the color, the texture, bows or lace, maybe both?

Still feigning innocence, the man slips his hand down your calf to wrap loosely around your ankle. He leans in and plants a quick kiss at the side of your knee, an action that immediately draws a reaction. As well as the attention of his brothers. The tension in the siblings is quickly reaching its limit; fraying and delicate, demanding to snap.

Bashful, you wiggle your leg but he refuses to grant you freedom, "You'll have to let go eventually, you know."

Tutting softly, Oscar coos, "Thought you wanted more touch? For cold."

Glancing up and down his bare upper torso, you say ever so matter-of-factly, "If anyone's cold right now, it's you Mister."

With a daring move, you rip a couple of fibers of that fragile thread yourself; sliding your hands deep into the folds of the quilt on your lap, you lunge. Before Oscar can react, still distracted by alluring thoughts of you, he's being smothered by the thick, soft material. It's for his own good, don't want him getting sick, after all.

Your ankle is released as the younger brother flails beneath, all the while snarling ferociously yet ineffectively. Grasping a throw pillow to use as a shield, you lift your legs up to the cushions and shuffle away from him and closer to Axel. You hadn't even noticed that the eldest had moved his arm up to the top of the sofa and was watching amused as you pressed right into his side.

Biting your lip to smother your laughter, you watch as Oscar finally breaks free from his prison; hair disheveled and face scrunched, he twists to stare you down, quilt dangling from his shoulder. Before he can get a foot under him to stand, a pillow beams him in the side of the head with wicked speed and accuracy, almost knocking the youngest off balance.

Axel takes a moment to admire Otto's throw before returning his attention to you, his face inches away. Your arm is wrapped tight around your plush shield, hugging it to you as you bury your giggles behind your free hand. He breathes deep, each breath filling his lungs with apples and cinnamon, good enough to eat.

Oscar glowers indignantly at Otto as a flash of lightning splits the air, followed quickly by a noisy crack of thunder. The brothers tilt their heads up to listen, distracted by the storm and then by the orange feline voicing her unhappiness on Otto's lap. You blink, registering where exactly you are...it's going to take some time to get used to being in close contact with them. Your thoughts are interrupted as the scent of cedar and sage drifts into your senses and warms your belly, the warmth of the man at your side now burning hot.

What have you gotten yourself into.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kattungar- Kittens

Girig tjej- Greedy girl

[arwenlalaith]

Crossed Wires

Ship: Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss

Summary: Alex is feeling lonely (and horny) and decides to take matters into her own hands.  (Un?)fortunately for her, though, her attempts at sexting go a little awry.

Warnings: explicit sexual content

Word Count: 2116

Alex Blake had never really been sexually adventurous. The opportunity to explore the possibilities had never really presented itself. When she'd first gotten married, she'd been barely twenty-one and their sex life mainly consisted of awkward clumsy movement as they figured things out together with very little knowledge of the subject on which to base their exploration.

Things never really improved from there. It got less awkward, sure, but never more exciting. Alex wasn't entirely sure what it was she wanted, but knew that it wasn't the thirty seconds of sweaty fumbling that it took James to orgasm, then immediately roll over and go to sleep.

By the time he left for Doctors Without Borders, it was almost a relief because at least with him gone, she could touch herself without feeling like she was doing something wrong...

___________

There was an unfamiliar ache in Alex's chest that night as she ran herself a bath. She couldn't quite place the feeling, but it was a lot like loneliness.

Maybe it was seeing Will with his arm wrapped around JJ's shoulders, the way he looked at her like she was his everything. Maybe it had just been far too long since she'd been held at all. Maybe it was a lot of things.

Mostly, she just didn't want to be alone.

She texted her husband that she missed him, then proceeded to consume more red wine than was entirely wise, especially considering she'd already had a drink or two at the bar. As she settled in the bath, an idea overcame her – she debated it briefly, ultimately deciding that if there was something she wanted, she was going to have to come right out and ask for it...

She opened up her phone's camera, almost immediately feeling shy as she turned her face first one way, then the other, examining the effect of the overhead lights on the angles of her face. Just barely in the frame, her wet breasts emerged from the top of the bubble bath and she tried to imagine what James might say about the image.

It took a few attempts, but she managed to capture a picture that she felt would be tantalizing enough to get her point across. Her hands shook slightly (whether from the nerves or the liquor, she couldn't be sure) as she flicked back to her contact list and selected her husband's name, sending the picture.

Immediately after hitting send, she set her phone aside like it had burned her. She wasn't entirely certain what she was expecting to happen upon having sent it, but it wasn't for her phone to buzz with a response in short order, especially considering the time difference.

She didn't realize she was holding her breath as she picked up her phone, only to let it out in a shaky exhale, a whisper of, "No!" as she saw that the response she'd received was not, in fact, from her husband, but from Emily Prentiss...

Cursing internally, she wished she'd never decided to be cute and romantic by saving her husband in her phone as Elskede – the Danish term meaning 'beloved' – resulting in his being listed right next to Emily Prentiss in her contacts...

She didn't know why she opened the response, loathe as she was to have to explain the mistake...but when she clicked on the notification, she found the last thing she expected: Emily had sent a picture back.

The picture looked like something straight out of a professional boudoir photoshoot: Emily was splayed out across the mussed sheets of her hotel room bed, she wore a lacy pair of red panties, a pair of elegant black heels, and nothing else, her perfect breasts on full display. She smiled up at the camera, her full red lips pouting slightly, and mischief glinting in her eyes.

In that moment, Alex's brain short-circuited. She had no experience when it came to this... She'd thought Emily would be upset, so the fact that she'd sent a picture back was confusing to say the least. Should she send another picture? Should she compliment Emily's body?

While she was puzzling over the correct response, a text from Emily came through. "I'm sorry," the message read, "It occurs to me that that picture likely wasn't intended for me. Please forgive me."

The problem was while the picture hadn't been meant for her, Emily's response had elicited a more visceral response from her than anything her husband could have sent back... One glimpse of Emily's naked body had her more turned on than her husband could ever accomplish by physically touching her.

"No need to apologize," Alex responded. "In fact..."

She didn't know what came over her in that moment, but she emerged from the bath and moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, letting her hand slip down between her legs and snapped a picture. Before she could second guess herself, she sent the picture to Emily.

She didn't know if Emily was going to respond, but at this point it didn't really matter. She was playing a dangerous game and regardless of anything else that happened tonight, she had enough material to fuel her fantasies for weeks.

Emily's next message was another picture, this one a close up of her breast – close enough that this time Alex could clearly see the jewelled nipple piercing punctuating her breast. Alex groaned audibly, feeling a surge of wetness between her legs.

She dipped her fingers inside herself, thumb brushing her clit.

"Like it?" Emily texted.

Alex swallowed hard. "Love it," she responded, in spite of the little voice in the back of her mind reminding her that this was wrong. Deliberately choosing to ignore the voice, she texted, "Do you want to come over?"

Emily's response was almost instantaneous. "Address?"

______________

Alex was very nearly trembling with desperate want when there was a knock on the front door and she threw it open to reveal Emily waiting with a mischievous smirk on her face. The second the door closed behind her, Emily slipped off her dress to reveal the red lingerie Alex had gotten a glimpse of in the first picture. It was infinitely more sinful in person and Alex was very nearly salivating.

While Alex's brain stalled, Emily took the opportunity to grab a fistful of her robe and tugged her into her body so she could kiss her, eager and passionate, causing Alex's mind to go blissfully blank. Emily's fingers worked the knot holding Alex's robe closed, letting it fall open to expose her naked body.

Alex gasped sharply as Emily's hand slipped down her body in search of her clit, fingers dancing over the sensitive bud with skill that clearly said this wasn't the first time she'd done this. "Please..." she found herself begging. "Please, fuck me..."

Emily's smirk was entirely too pleased with herself, but Alex certainly wasn't about to complain when her fingers were so deliciously skilled. "Bed?" she suggested.

Alex didn't need to be told twice, taking Emily up on the suggestion and leading her to the bedroom. She didn't have time to think about whether it was wise – or even wrong – to do this in the bed she shared with her husband because before her mind could even begin to comprehend the situation, Emily had pushed her to lie back.

For a few moments, Emily just stood there, drinking in the sight of Alex naked, legs spread, pussy dripping...all for her. Then, with a little smirk, she wriggled out of her panties and used them to tie her hair back in a messy ponytail. And then she was between her legs, pressing kisses to Alex's inner thighs until she was writhing and mewling, desperate for more.

When she reached her target, Emily nuzzled her nose against Alex's clit, inhaling deeply the scent of her arousal, before proceeding to lave her tongue across the sensitive bud, earning herself a throaty moan for her efforts.

With shaky hands, Alex tangled one hand in Emily's hair, unconsciously holding her in place. "God, Emily..." she moaned as Emily continued to work her clit with her tongue before dipping her tongue inside her. Eloquent speech was lost to her then and all she could do was curse.

Hands gripping Alex's thigh, Emily spread her legs wide, giving herself better access, determined to make her cum...and judging by the whimpers and whines falling from Alex's lips, she didn't think it would take long.

"Emily..." Alex moaned, back arching, "You feel so good... Fuck..."

Emily changed tactics then: she took her fingers into her mouth, slicking them up with saliva, then pulling them out with a wet pop. Teasingly slowly, she inserted her fingers inch by inch into her until she was practically begging for more. Once she was in to the hilt, she scissored her fingers, opening her up so she could press her tongue inside.

As much as she loved getting to taste her, though, what Emily really wanted was to watch...to stare into her eyes as she came undone beneath her, to memorize her face contorted in the throes of ecstasy so that later when she was touching herself to the memory, she could think of this moment.

Without removing her fingers from Alex's cunt, she moved to straddle Alex's thighs so that she could stare down into her eyes and watch the way her touch was effecting her. "I want you to cum for me," she instructed.

Alex nodded eagerly, hips jerking with every movement of Emily's fingers. She wasn't normally one for dirty talk, but Emily's words had her cunt flooding with wetness.

Lowering herself slightly, Emily pressed herself against Alex's thigh, riding it slowly. The friction was so good, though not nearly enough. Seeming to sense her need, Alex reached a hand between Emily's legs, thumb ghosting her clit as her finger slipped inside her. (She'd never done this before – any of it, to be honest – but specifically, had her fingers inside another woman, so she was flying blind, so to speak...) For all her cluelessness, though her efforts seemed to be working, based on the way Emily gave a breathless little laugh as she proceeded to ride her fingers.

"Cum with me," Alex begged, chest flushed and heaving. "Emily, cum with me..." If this was the only time she ever got to do this, she wanted to be certain it was well worth remembering.

Emily's eyes fluttered shut at the words, teeth scraping across her bottom lip, stifling a moan.

Alex was the first to cum, moaning Emily's name as her back arched off the bed. Emily followed shortly after with a string of curses while her body went taut, her cunt clenching around Alex's fingers, wetness soaking her thigh.

As she came down from her high, Emily pulled back to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Alex's ear, then stroked a tender finger along her jaw. She wrapped a hand around Alex's wrist – fingers still sticky with her cum – and brought them to her lips, laving her tongue along them.

When the heat of the moment faded, though, Emily became increasingly aware that she'd just fucked a married woman. "I... I should go..." she stammered, rolling off of Alex and moving to climb out of her bed.

Alex didn't let her get that far, though, reaching for her hand, squeezing it gently in a silent plea. "You could stay..." she whispered. "I mean, if you want to."

"Really?" she whispered, trying not to appear too hopeful.

"I don't want to be alone," she admitted softly.

Emily understood that sentiment all too well. She settled next to Alex in bed and was surprised when, without prompting, Alex moved closer. Close enough to rest her head on Emily's shoulder, arm slung over her hip. And, if a contented little smile crossed Emily's lips, well...Alex couldn't see it, so there was no harm.

"Thank you..." Alex whispered, voice barely audible and Emily couldn't have been certain whether she'd been intended to hear it or not.

Emily took a chance and pressed a kiss to the top of Alex's head and hoped she understood the words it had been intended to replace.

[memory-mortis]

Hi! How are you? :) Could I please request some Josuke angst? Maybe he's jealous? Maybe he's having a bad day?? Up to you but I love me some angst. tysm for your time

Hi there! I’m great, thanks! Thank you for the request <3 I’ve kind of deviated from the options you gave me? I hope you don’t mind, because I really enjoyed writing this one ahhh. Anyway, one Josuke angst coming right up!

High Visceral

TW: death WC: 1.5K

“God dammit!” The muffled voice of your boyfriend entered your ears. Everything was dark and fuzzy all around you. The coldness of your own body scared you, but you could not react in any way, completely paralyzed, stuck in the same position. You tried to make sense of what was around you. You were lying down, that's for sure, the gravel digging into your back indicated that you were facing the sky. But how did you get there? You tried to rewind the whole day.

It all started like usual. The ringing of your clock, sun beaming down on you through the window, breakfast with your parents. Ordinary events of an ordinary school day. You even managed to get out of the house earlier, so now you had the time to enjoy the walk to school at a slower pace. That was a luxury that your two best friends would not grant you, though. As soon as you heard Okuyasu yell your name from behind you, you just knew that all peace was gone. Not like you were complaining though. “Good morning, Okuyasu, Josuke,” you smiled at the two and Josuke pressed a kiss to your temple as a greeting. This made you flush bright red, as you hadn’t gotten used to all the affection yet. Right, Josuke wasn’t just your best friend anymore, he was your boyfriend. You resumed your walk to school, this time with the fun duo by your side, who didn’t fail to make you laugh as per usual.

The school day was also nothing but ordinary. You tried your best to pay attention in class and every break you would hang out with Josuke, Okuyasu, Koichi and Yukako. The time when it all went wrong was after school.

“Y/N, we’re going to meet up with Jotaro, are you coming with us?” Koichi asked and you looked at your boyfriend with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, looks like I won’t be able to aid you in finding Kira today. My parents want me to go home immediately,” you explained. Josuke walked up to you.

“Should I walk you home?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine, I can take care of myself. Don’t forget that I have a pretty fierce Stand!” you beamed up at him confidently. He pouted and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“Be careful, then,” he warned you, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah! See you tomorrow.”

And with that, you were off. Perhaps you should have accepted his offer to walk you home. Because no matter what, there were 2 facts you had no way of changing. Firstly, you were a woman. And secondly, you had a pair of very pretty hands, which caught the attention of a certain black-haired man.

The rest of your memories were a blur. You remembered running as fast as you could and being pulled into an alley. The more you tried to remember, the stronger the pulsating pain in your head got, however that didn’t stop your efforts. You fought the man with all your might - but in the end, there was an explosion. Your last memory was that of the sky above you, completely peaceful and serene, as if nothing had happened. The life around you kept going as you lay on the ground in a pool of blood, and as time passed, the pain in your entire body disappeared. You closed your eyes.

“Y/N!” you heard the voice once more. “Y/N! Please! Please, wake up, please!” This time it was choked, Josuke cried out his pleas among sobs. He was crying. This gorgeous boy that always smiled at you no matter how desperate he was, who was always there to cheer you up and make you laugh, was now weeping right next to you. You felt a pang in your chest at the way his voice broke and when you thought it couldn’t get worse, you heard Okuyasu crying in the background as well.

Something inside you started moving, the gears began to shift once again, and warmth filled your body in steady beats. A couple of salty teardrops fell onto your cheek. The darkness clouding your vision crawled away and your limbs didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Hunched over you was Josuke, bawling his eyes out, and your heart broke at the sight. You raised your hand with difficulty and cupped his cheek, which forced him to freeze and open his eyes in surprise. You stared back into the blue depths for a couple of seconds.

“Y/N…” He seemed to be in shock, but quickly broke out of it to pull you into a tight hug. “Y/N! You’re alive!” he cried out, now sobbing even more from what you presumed to be happiness. You smiled weakly and hugged him back.

“I’m back, Josuke,” you said, even though he probably didn’t even need your answer.

“Y/N!” Okuyasu screamed as he joined the hug and squeezed any remaining air out of your lungs.

“Oku- I can’t- breathe-” you wheezed and Okuyasu immediately let go, giving you space.

“S-Sorry! I got too excited,” he laughed nervously. God, you were happy to be back.

Still feeling weak after facing death, Josuke carried you on his back all the way to his house. His mother called your parents and let them know that you were staying over, thankfully they didn’t protest much. You slept through most of the journey, only waking up when the bright lights in his room hit you. You groaned in annoyance and rubbed your eyes as Josuke set you down on his bed. That’s when you noticed the concerning silence that surrounded him.

Josuke wasn’t a quiet type of person. Quite the opposite, really, even though he had a laid-back personality, he would always make some sort of noise or joke around to fill uncomfortable silence. This was a jarring difference from his usual self and you could tell that something was weighing down on him. You sat up on the bed and watched him walk to his desk and lean onto it, his head hanging low. Surely seeing you dead had to be traumatic to him.

“Josuke…” you whispered, and although he heard you and his head perked up a bit, he still didn’t turn around to face you. “Jojo. I’m… sorry that you had to see that.” No reaction. This was really bad. You got out of bed and walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his chest and resting your head on his back. He let out a hitched breath and finally reacted by cupping your hand in his. 

“Y/N… this... “ He paused for a moment, formulating a proper explanation in his head. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“What do you mean?” You stepped back as he turned around, tears in his eyes. He avoided eye contact at first, but eventually gathered enough courage to look at you, then cupped your cheeks and leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

“I’m such a bad boyfriend, Y/N. If I had gone with you, insisted on walking you home, you wouldn’t have had to face him. You… were dead for 2 minutes. No heartbeat, no breathing, even after Crazy D patched you up. It’s a miracle that you came back,” he began to vent, tears finally spilling over.

“No, no, no, Josuke,” you cupped his cheeks, eyebrows furrowed. It pained you to see him so broken up about it. Sure, it was the most terrifying moment of your life, but he couldn’t blame himself for it. “Stop this, it’s not your fault, okay? How were you supposed to know I’d meet him? What matters is that I’m here.” Josuke closed his eyes, his hands moving to grip your wrists gently.

“And besides,” you added, “I think… it was your voice that brought me back.”

Josuke’s eyes snapped back open. “Wh- what do you mean?”

“I… don’t really know. I remember lying in this darkness… everything was cold and dead silent. But then I heard your voice. At first it was muffled, but became more clear every time you called out to me.” Josuke’s jaw dropped at what you had just told him. He couldn’t believe his ears. Somehow you heard him when you were dead…

“But that’s not the point. Please don’t blame yourself, Josuke. Kira was the one truly responsible. We have to find him and put an end to this, and even though it’s been proving to be difficult lately, I know that eventually we will catch him. So let’s do our best.”

Josuke stared back at you with newfound determination, then smiled and pecked your lips.

“You never cease to amaze me, Y/N,” he said, picking you up and walking to the bed with you. Once he lay you down and crawled over you, he grinned from ear to ear. “I’m gonna have to work hard tonight to one up you, you know.”

You chuckled into the kiss he gave you.

“Trust me, you’re already doing a great job,” you said and giggled at the tickling sensation of his lips on your neck. You raised his chin up with your index finger to look him in the eyes. “I love you, Higashikata Josuke. Not even death can do us part.”

[thekytchensynk]

Daytime TV (Fictober Prompt 13)

Prompt number: 13

Fanfiction Fandom: Ducktales

Rating: G

Warnings: Gen

Read the story on AO3

In college, Fenton had steeled himself for the idea that sometimes, you have to work to the job, not the clock. He expected late nights in the lab with his colleagues, working on some new breakthrough. He’d imagined it over late-night papers: they would take turns making strong coffee for everyone and pour over the problem until -- eureka! -- the answer came and they could all go home, job well done.

While college-him would have been excited beyond measure to hear that he’d eventually be a superhero, he also expected that a late night might not mean eight or ten at night, and might instead mean one or two in the morning.

He dragged the duffle containing the suit through the front door as quietly as he could, hoping not to wake M’ma. Well after midnight on a Thursday night … it would just make her own Friday at work more difficult.

The house lay dark, but not quiet -- she’d left the TV on, volume low, showing syndicated episodes of El Amor y el Traicion. As Fendon eased the costume inside and locked the door behind him, a woman on the TV (Sofia, he thought her name was) clung to the arm of … was that Raul? Or Roberto? They’d been … twins, right? And one was the evil twin, but after about two years they’d revealed that all of the evil he did was to convince their godmother, who put a curse on them, that the curse was working and…

Oh man, He definitely needed some sleep.

He heaved to pull the bag up onto his shoulder and began creeping across the living room toward his room. If he could get to sleep in the next half hour he could get a good five hours before it was time to get up and go to work. It would be more than he got last night. Or the night before. Assuming he could get to sleep in the next half hour. Which, statistically speaking, was unlikely given the data from the last three months. But he could-

“Fenton?”

M’ma’s voice, unexpected in the darkness, brought him to a halt. For a second, he felt disoriented by it -- that didn’t sound like it came from her bedroom. It took another couple seconds for his brain to put it all together.

The TV was on because she was watching it.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.

“Can’t call and let your mother know you’re going to be late?” she replied wryly.

He glanced back toward the door, and in his mind, toward the accident out on the ocean. Everything was fine. Everyone was safe. But ferrying everyone from the sinking ship to safety on shore had been a near thing, and he’d pushed the engines in the suit right to the edge, just a little faster, because you didn’t want to be too late for the last survivors.

“Sorry. I was a little busy,” he replied, looking back but unable to look her in the eye.

“Come. Sit.”

He looked longingly toward his bedroom. That five hours of sleep was looking less and less likely. But what, was he going to blow off his mother after she waited up for him?

So he set the duffle down behind the couch and came around to sit next to her. His posture was that of a naughty child called to the principal’s office -- straight back, shoulders in, hands knotted together on his knees.

For a long few seconds, they sat there in near silence as Sofia exposited about finding her husband (or was it his twin?) in bed with another woman who worked with him at the hospital. She’s mad, he thought. Why else wait up? But about what. It can’t be tonight’s work. Did I forget to lock the door this morning? Did I do something that interfered in one of her investigations by accident? Maybe I-

“We used to watch this show back when you were just in grade school. Do you remember?”

Well, this wasn’t what he’d expected. “Kind of,” he said, not wanting to admit he could still remember the names, and some of the plotlines, of this convoluted old show.

She made a thoughtful little hum. “I think I remember the day we watched this episode. It was the day after the fifth grade science fair. You stayed home sick.”

He felt his face grow warm. “Ah. I think you might be right,” he said.

She chuckled a little. Clearly this was a far less embarrassing memory for her than for him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes, M’ma,” he said.

But as though she hadn’t heard him, she said, “You were going to make that volcano, but then you had an idea. Always with the ideas, even back then. You stayed up so late, working on it. Turning milk into…”

“Plastic,” he supplied, giving up and relaxing on the couch. He could still feel the tension in his limbs, a visceral force. As he sat on their familiar couch, he felt that start to ease away a bit. He really didn’t sit on the couch enough anymore.

“Ah, yes. With an entire gallon of milk from the fridge, then you asked for more.” Her tone was caught between chiding and chuckling. “I would tell you lights out, then I’d come back half an hour later to find you with the flashlight, working again. You got it done though. I wasn’t sure, but you did it.”

He laughed, remembering. The teacher had been surprised when the presentation wasn’t the same as what he’d submitted, but they’d had to admit he did a good job. And he had -- even if it took basically three straight overnights to put together. But once the idea had hit him, he’d had to see it through.

“You had a fever before we even got home,” she reminisced. “But you still wanted to go to school the next morning. Remember?”

“Ah… yeah.”

“I never understood that,” she said, nudging him. “Most kids want a day off from school. You cried over it.”

“Well…”

He wasn’t going to say anything more. But he was tired, and she was watching him with that curious look, the one that told him that she, at least, honestly wanted to hear what he had to say right now. So he explained with a bit of shame, “I thought you were disappointed in me. Because I got sick from not listening. I felt … guilty.”

“Ah, pollito.” She reached over with one arm to pull him into a hug and he accepted it. “Not disappointed. Worried. But never disappointed. And it was kind of nice, just sitting home for a day with you.”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes, letting the drama play out on the TV. The show had been out of production for years, and the video quality showed its age. It gave him a sense of nostalgia, just watching it. He remembered other days watching this with his mother -- snow days, or holidays. It felt … warm. Comfortable.

“So, what brought this on?” he asked after a bit.

She looked over at him, a flat, knowing look that spoke volumes. “Because I’m worried,” she said, as though that were obvious. And he guessed in retrospect, it was.

“It’s fine though,” he said. “I’m fine.”

She looked at him another couple seconds, then sighed heavily. “I know you are,” she said. “Until you’re not. Fenton. I know you. I know you do every job you have the best you possibly can. You take care of everything. Except yourself. Look at you. You’ve gotten, what, ten hours sleep in the last three days?”

“Eleven,” he said defensively. Then, under her gaze, he quietly added, “If you round up?” when she just raised an eyebrow, he deflated. “Yes. Fine. I admit it, there hasn’t been a lot of time lately. There’s work during the day, and lately it seems that bad luck is just striking all over. And nothing easy, no simple run in, pie in the face of a bank robber and I’m done. Complicated things. And it’s … I’m tired. I’m tired, but no one else can do it.”

He looked down at his clasped hands -- until he felt a gentle pressure on his cheek, lifting his face, turning it to face his mother.

“Listen,” she said. “You do … so much good. You save so many people. And you have to trust us sometimes.”

“I don’t get what you-”

“Trust us,” she said, gentle but unsmiling. Staring into his eyes, willing him to understand. “Before Gizmoduck, people were rescued. People were saved. If you take a night off, we will not all fall apart. And then you will be you when we need you. Do you understand?”

He thought about it. She wasn’t wrong. The world had other heroes -- it had people like her. Maybe… maybe he should think about that a little more. An exhaustion-born mistake could be disastrous. And maybe it didn’t even need to be the Gizmoduck side of his life he took some time from.

“You know,” he said, decision made. “I missed this. Is it OK if I watch the rest of the episode with you?”

“Are you sure you don’t need to get to bed?” she teased.

“Maybe I’ll just take tomorrow off from the lab,” he said, grinning back at her.

And on the TV, high drama continued.

[fiercestcorpse]

lan zhan transmigrator au part 2

part 1 is here. i will most likely be putting this up on ao3 once i’ve settled on a title.

By the time he and Lan Xichen had made it down from the Cold Pond and into the buildings of Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan had started to realise it was later in the day than he’d thought. He needed more information, but he wasn’t sure how to ask. Where had he been earlier that day, what had this body been doing? Lan Xichen had mentioned something about a fever. What was the story behind that? Lan Zhan didn’t recall anything about it being mentioned in the original novel, but maybe it had just escaped the protagonist’s notice.

“Brother,” he asked delicately. Addressing Lan Xichen by name seemed a bit too friendly for this reserved character. Lan Zhan certainly couldn’t call him by his personal name, because he didn’t know it. “How did you know to look for me in the Cold Pond?”

“One of the guards at the front gate came to tell me he’d seen you, and you were heading that way,” Lan Xichen replied. “He said you looked unwell. What were you doing leaving the Cloud Recesses, Wangji? You should have been resting.” A soulful expression of brotherly disappointment graced his perfectly proportioned face.

Of course Lan Zhan couldn’t answer his question! He had no memory of what this body had been doing before he’d occupied it. In the original, it had been implied that Lan Wangji had just returned from a night hunt, but Lan Zhan wasn’t sure if that was actually true or not, or how the original’s mysterious illness might have affected things.

However, this did give him one piece of unwelcome information: If Lan Wangji had come through the gate and re-entered the cloud recesses, then he had probably already encountered the Jiang disciples… and stopped them from entering!

There was not a lot Lan Zhan could do about this right now. Lan Xichen seemed to be leading him towards a specific building. From the sign above the door, it seemed to be the healing room, where sick or injured members of the Lan sect would go to be treated.

Lan Zhan had no idea that such a building had existed! It had never come up in the novel, though of course it made sense that it would be there. It would be difficult to go all the way down the mountain to the nearby Caiyi Town for a medical emergency, and the common people there might not know how to treat some of the problems a cultivator might encounter.

The room Lan Zhan was led into was elegant and spacious, with an astringent, herbal scent in the air. It had an overall light colour scheme-- white paper in the windows, white drapes dividing the room into sections-- but was furnished with contrasting dark wood. The source of the smell was a Lan disciple sitting at a low table, grinding some presumably medicinal herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Lan Xichen led Lan Zhan over to sit at a low bench, and hovered anxiously around him as an unfamiliar man came to attend to him. The man must have been some sort of doctor, but Lan Zhan had no way of knowing, as once again he had never been mentioned in the novel. The unknown doctor man pressed two fingers to Lan Zhan’s wrist to take his pulse. Lan Zhan gave what was surely a very OOC flinch at the feeling of foreign spiritual energy coming into contact with his own.

In his previous life, Lan Zhan had of course been aware of the idea that there was a network of qi flowing throughout his body. But having heard about a thing really couldn’t be compared to the experience of actually, viscerally feeling it! The tingling, flowing sensation felt somewhat similar to the time Lan Zhan had been in hospital when he was younger, and had been put on an intravenous drip. But this sensation wasn’t present in his veins, it was happening throughout an entirely new network that this body apparently had.

The doctor shared a brief look of concern with Lan Xichen. Lan Zhan frowned minutely at being glanced around as if he wasn’t there. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Lan-er-gongzi has had a minor qi deviation,” the doctor said, addressing Lan Xichen. “But he seems to have somehow brought his own meridians back into the proper alignment.”

A qi deviation! In the setting of Proud Immortal Founder of the Demon Way, that was serious! It wasn’t something that could happen due to just a minor issue, it was a symptom of something being very badly wrong with a person’s cultivation. And qi deviations were often fatal.

Now that he was aware of their presence, Lan Zhan noticed that this body’s meridians felt somewhat fragile, almost bruised. He didn’t really have anything to compare it to, but surely they weren’t supposed to feel like that.

“You will have to take extra time each morning to meditate and circulate your qi until you are fully recovered,” said the doctor. “It would also be beneficial for us to check up on you in the future, and determine if there is some imbalance or blockage that could cause another qi deviation.”

“Of course, we will make sure to do that,” said Lan Xichen. He was now looking extremely pale and worried. “Wangji, it seems like it really was the right thing to do, to go meditate in the Cold Pond,” he added. “You may have averted a catastrophe.”

Although he maintained a stoic expression, internally Lan Zhan shuddered to hear this. Averted a catastrophe? More likely, the feverish Lan Wangji had overtaxed himself, and caused his own qi deviation in the first place! And now… now he was gone, and Lan Zhan was occupying his body. Lan Zhan didn’t know if the qi deviation had been deadly, or if it had simply caused enough of a weakness for something to force Lan Wangji’s soul out of its rightful position, and replaced it with that of a clueless transmigrator. Either way, the original inhabitant was gone.

Still, Lan Zhan refused to feel bad about it. Lan Wangji was a fictional character, why should Lan Zhan be upset if he died? He was going to die anyway, due to his own bad decisions. It had simply happened a little sooner. Now that Lan Zhan was in his place, he’d take care to do a better job of it.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said to the doctor. That wasn’t out of character, right? Lan Wangji was always polite to people in positions of power or influence. “I think I will go and meditate now.” And change out of this damp clothing. He rose from the bench, ignoring Lan Xichen’s anxious gaze, and prayed he could find the disciple dormitories without getting too obviously lost.

--

As the head disciple, and son of the clan leader, it made sense that Lan Wangji’s dormitory was one of the biggest, set slightly apart from the rest. Lan Xichen accompanied him there, and Lan Zhan was able to walk behind him without making it look too obviously like he was following him. Lan Xichen kept shooting little glances at him back over his shoulder, like he was afraid Lan Zhan was going to fall over and start gushing blood from his face or something.

“Wangji,” said Lan Xichen. “I know you’ve volunteered to patrol Cloud Recesses tonight, but I think you should reconsider. You should stay behind and rest.”

Lan Zhan was about to agree, when he was interrupted by a ding. [Lan Wangji patrolling Cloud Recesses is an important plot point for establishing his rivalry with the protagonist! If this plot point is missed, 200 B Points will be deducted!]

… Tell me again, how many B Points did I start with? Lan Zhan asked the system.

[You were awarded 100 complimentary B Points at the start of your user experience! As you have done basically nothing so far except follow the character Lan Xichen around, your number remains the same!]

And if I lose more B Points than what I have…

[Your account will be terminated, and you will be deported back to your original world.]

Back to my original world, where I’m dead. Great. So there was no chance of skipping this encounter with the protagonist, then. 

“I will consider it,” Lan Zhan told Lan Xichen, meaning I am absolutely still going on patrol tonight, I haven’t got any choice.

But just because he still had to show up for the encounter, didn’t mean Lan Zhan had to act the same way. In the novel, Lan Wangji had scolded the protagonist for breaking curfew and drinking. He’d drawn his sword on him, broken the protagonist’s bottle of Emperor’s Smile, and reported his rule breaking to Master Lan Qiren. There was definitely some sort of compromise Lan Zhan could make, where he could still be in character but maybe let the protagonist off with a lighter punishment.

This reminded Lan Zhan of something else important. Before entering his dormitory room, Lan Zhan turned back towards Lan Xichen. “If you have the opportunity, you should send somebody to the main gate. The Jiang disciples misplaced their invitation.”

There! That shouldn’t be out of character, right? He’d just ratted the Jiangs out to an authority over their missing invitation. Knowing Lan Xichen, he would ensure the Jiang disciples were brought inside regardless, which was what Lan Zhan wanted, but he hadn’t actually asked Lan Xichen to do that.

[... 5 B Points deducted for clumsy loophole exploitation] said the System. Its mechanical voice sounded somehow exasperated. Well. That wasn’t too harsh a penalty.

“Of course! I’ll have it seen to,” said Lan Xichen. “In the meantime, take care of yourself.” Lan Xichen beamed at Lan Zhan, before leaving him in peace.

As Lan Zhan pushed open the door to the dormitory, the jade token attached to his belt gave a little flare of spiritual energy. Was it like some sort of keycard? Only people with the right level of permission could get into certain buildings in the Cloud Recesses? That was another element of worldbuilding that wasn’t in the novel! He wondered if there were any rooms he couldn’t enter, and what would happen if he tried.

Lan Wangji’s dormitory honestly looked quite acceptable, by Lan Zhan’s standards. It was almost uncomfortably sparse and tidy, much like Lan Zhan’s old bedroom had been. There were many books, carefully lined up on the shelves, and neatly stacked writing materials on a table, beside a cloth-covered guqin. The only hint of individuality was a tiny vase sitting by a window, containing a single purple-blue gentian flower.

Who could have guessed, one-dimensional villain Lan Wangji apparently liked flowers? Or maybe it had been put there by someone else. Soft-hearted Lan Xichen seemed like a likely culprit. Lan Zhan supposed it was up to him now, to decide for himself whether Lan Wangji liked flowers or not.

Ding! [Now you’re getting it! Good luck on your mission of adding sympathetic nuance to this scum villain, and improving this story’s many failings!]

Let’s not go too far. Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in being sympathetic, much less in improving the story now that he was living it rather than reading it. He just wanted to stay out of the protagonist’s way, thereby avoiding his own death. If he could read some interesting books and learn how to cultivate, maybe continue improving his guqin playing, that would be enough for him.

Of more immediate interest was the small mirror attached to one wall. On a shelf underneath it was a hairbrush, and a small jar of some sort. Lan Zhan immediately headed over there, to get a look at his new face.

It was… actually quite handsome! Just as expected in a cultivation setting. Lan Wangji had smooth skin, attractive features, and dark, piercing eyes. But wasn’t he a little bit too good looking? Pathetic minor villains shouldn’t be overly handsome, they would outshine the protagonist.

And anyway, weren’t he and Lan Xichen supposed to look alike? They had a somewhat similar bearing, that of an elegant and refined young master, although Lan Xichen had a friendlier look about him. But where Lan Xichen had broader shoulders and a square jaw, Lan Zhan’s new face was somewhat narrower and pointier. Still, he couldn’t complain. He thought this face rather suited him.

He forced a smile at the mirror, just to see what it would look like, then twisted his face up in a look of sadness and regret.

“Wei-gongzi, I apologise for my earlier actions,” he tried. That neither looked nor sounded appropriate for this character. And wasn’t it too dishonest to apologise for something he hadn’t even done? From the protagonist’s perspective he would still be that person who refused them entry, but to Lan Zhan, it didn’t feel right. Anyway, hadn’t he thought to himself that if he’d been in that position, he’d have done the same? If you carelessly leave behind your possessions, there should be consequences.

With or without the OOC function enabled, I can’t just go around lying about things. I don’t want to give the protagonist cause to kill me, but I don’t want to shamelessly pander to him either.

Having made up his mind on this matter, Lan Zhan got changed into another, nearly identical set of white-and-pale-blue robes. He also found his sword, which was a relief, as he’d been somewhat concerned he might have dropped it in the Cold Pond.

It wasn’t quite dark yet, but Lan Zhan didn’t want to miss the protagonist’s arrival. Not to mention, he thought he might have to search around to find the location where they would meet. So with this in mind, he set off early to find the perfect rooftop.

--

After spending a little while strolling through Cloud Recesses at a measured and dignified pace, Lan Zhan thought of a problem. He knew from the description in Proud Immortal Founder of the Demon Way that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian would confront each other on the roof of an outlying building. But he wasn’t actually sure how to get up on the roof in the first place. In cultivation settings, characters seemed to jump great heights and fly through the air like it was nothing. But Lan Zhan wasn’t actually a cultivator, he was only pretending to be one! He had no idea how to do any of that!

Could he just find a likely looking spot, and clamber up onto the roof the regular way? He might have to. And what would happen when it came time for him to draw his sword on the protagonist? Lan Wangji had been quite athletic in his previous life, but none of the sports he’d ever done involved swordfighting.

Forget deliberately breaking character, he might accidentally reveal himself as a fake whether he wanted to or not!

Lan Zhan frowned, and glanced around. He was in a quiet, secluded courtyard, and there was no one else out here. So no one would see him if he just…

He gave a little jump in place, and immediately felt rather foolish. Nobody is watching! He reminded himself. Your life might depend on this!

He tried again, this time reaching for the places where he’d felt that weird, tingly sensation when the doctor had been probing his spiritual pathways. There were several major channels of them, flowing throughout his limbs, forming little whirlpools of energy at certain points, and all flowing towards-- or possibly out from?-- some sort of central point deep within his body. If he jumped this time, while using this pool of energy to give himself a little push…

Lan Zhan went rocketing up into the cool night air. High above the rooftops, he felt his robes flare out dramatically around him as he hung there for a second, and then began to plummet back to earth. He had just enough time for a brief flare of wordless panic, before he grasped wildly for his qi again and somehow managed to slow his fall.

Hm. Maybe a bit more gently. This time, the qi-assisted boost he gave himself was just enough to get him to roof height, and then hover there momentarily, before he allowed himself to descend back to the ground.

Lan Zhan felt a quiet burst of delight. He was actually doing it, he was cultivating! It had felt quite natural to do it, almost instinctive, like his body had built up quite a respectable level of cultivation, and was used to reaching for it regularly. He was sure if he’d had to start from scratch, it would have been a lot harder, but this body already had a fully formed golden core and everything!

He remembered the assertion in Proud Immortal Founder of the Demon Way, that Lan Wangji had been jealous of the protagonist’s prodigious cultivation, and had wanted to sabotage him. But to Lan Zhan, that seemed ridiculous. As a newcomer to this world, there was no way he could manage to be the strongest or most talented cultivator, not without some practice. But to be able to cultivate at all was incredible.

In his previous life, Lan Zhan couldn’t precisely be called competitive. But rather, he’d known what he was good at, and strived to become even better. He didn’t worry about what other people were doing, the only standards that mattered were his own, and those of his uncle. In this life, he thought it would be much the same. He wanted to be good at cultivation, because it seemed like a worthwhile thing to work towards. But there was no point in trying to impede other people’s progress simply to make himself look better. In the end, he didn’t care how he looked to other people. He’d still know whether he was actually succeeding or not.

With this in mind, Lan Zhan practiced a few more jumps in the privacy of the empty courtyard. He managed to do some flips in mid-air, and didn’t even seem to get dizzy from it. Then he decided it was probably time to be moving on. It was nearly fully dark, and he didn’t want to be late for his meeting with the protagonist.

--

With the System’s help, Lan Zhan soon found the spot he needed to be in. There was a sort of upper balcony on one building, which gave a pretty good view out over the Cloud Recesses. Given that the Lan sect were all very well-behaved and went to bed early, and there were supposed to be wards preventing people from entering the area outside of curfew, Lan Zhan was not entirely sure what kind of wrongdoing he was expected to find on his patrol. If he didn’t already know the protagonist was going to attempt to sneak in after hours, he was sure he’d probably find the whole exercise pretty pointless. As it was, he simply stood on the balcony for a while, and watched clouds pass over the face of the moon. He also took a moment to smooth down his hair after his earlier acrobatics, and make sure his forehead ribbon was on straight.

He was alerted to the protagonist’s presence by the sound of a grunt as someone hoisted their body over the ridge of a roof, then the gentle clinking of ceramic jars, and a muffled giggle.

And there… there was the protagonist, Wei Wuxian. Right there in the flesh. He wasn’t looking in Lan Zhan’s direction, but rather gazing out over the courtyard below. He was maybe a little shorter than Lan Zhan had pictured him, and he looked very young, but his mischievous expression was exactly as expected.

Of course he looks young, he’s still a teenager like me at this point, thought Lan Zhan. Wait, is he even old enough to be buying alcohol? Lan Zhan knew some kids whose parents were fine with them drinking, but his uncle would have grounded him until he was thirty for trying to sneak alcohol into the house. Much less into somebody else’s house! That was just rude.

The protagonist jumped in surprise when he spotted Lan Zhan’s impassive figure on the balcony. “What a coincidence! We meet again!”

Lan Zhan was in no way prepared to actually be spoken to by the protagonist, and simply stared at him.

“Lan-er-gongzi, you’re out at this hour!” Wei Wuxian tried again. “Are you going to admire the moon?”

As a matter of fact, he had been doing exactly that, but he couldn’t just say that. He would be docked some points for breaking character for sure.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” said the protagonist, persistent in the face of adversity, “I came for my shijie. Oh! I found the invitation! It’s right here, I’ll show you.” He began to rummage inside his robes, presumably for said invitation. This confirmed Lan Zhan’s earlier suspicions that he had indeed met with the Jiang disciples earlier.

“Breaking through the wards is a violation of the Lan clan’s principles,” he said. He had to say something, and this was roughly what he remembered the rules-obsessed Lan Wangji having said. Really, that was a pretty mild rebuke, considering that Wei Wuxian had essentially just done the magical equivalent of throwing a rock through the Lan sect’s window. “Those who come at night should not be allowed in until the morning. Two violations of the Lan Clan’s principles. Unauthorised carrying of liquor. Three violations of the Lan Clan’s principles.”

The protagonist did not look thrilled by this stony reception. “Lan-er-gongzi, I am new to the Gusu Lan Clan, and not familiar with the rules. But I swear, these things won’t happen again!” As he said this, he held up three fingers in an earnest salute. Of course, having read the original novel, Lan Zhan knew he absolutely didn’t mean it. “Also, I was just in a hurry to find Jiang Cheng and shijie.” A calculating look stole over his face. “How about this? Just let me in for a glimpse. Just one glimpse!”

Seeming to consider the matter settled, the protagonist got to his feet. Acting purely on instinct, Lan Zhan vaulted over the edge of the balcony, and thrust his sword out to block the protagonist’s path. It slid a short way out of the scabbard, revealing a length of shining blade. The protagonist gave a nervous laugh.

“Well then, the Emperor’s Smile, I will spare you one pot,” he said, holding up one of the ceramic jars that were looped over the end of his sword. “Forget about this, deal?”

[That’s bribery!] the System sang out helpfully. [That is also a violation of the Lan clan’s rules!]

This actually… genuinely annoyed Lan Zhan! He may not have agreed with all of the original Lan Wangji’s actions or motivations, but the rules were the rules, and Wei Wuxian had broken them. But instead of apologising for his ignorance, he’d assumed Lan Zhan was so weak willed and dishonourable that he could be persuaded to reverse his decision with a jar of alcohol! “Attempting to bribe a law enforcer,” Lan Zhan snapped. “Doubly guilty.” Law enforcer, maybe he was taking himself a bit too seriously, but breaking the rules was a pretty serious matter.

“Lan-er-gongzi, are you seriously so inflexible?” the protagonist complained. “When we were at the gate, you put the silence spell on me for no reason! You are somehow responsible for that case, right?” saying this, he pushed Lan Zhan’s sword back into its scabbard, and attempted to leave again.

Lan Zhan didn’t need the System to tell him that he could not let the protagonist just run off like that. He thrust out his sword in much the same way as before-- and then found himself twisting back from Wei Wuxian’s block, and coming around for another strike. Before Lan Zhan could really comprehend what was happening, they were fighting, actually fighting! Wei Wuxian was blocking and ducking under his slashes, then tumbling up and out of the way.

Lan Zhan remembered how to jump, of course. And he remembered how to use his qi to keep that momentum up, as he soared through the air after Wei Wuxian’s graceful, fleeing figure. They faced each other from opposite sides of the roof, as Wei Wuxian eyed him consideringly. Lan Zhan couldn’t help but wonder what he saw.

“I’m occupied today. Excuse me,” the protagonist said. His perfect veneer of audacity hadn’t been so much as chipped by their fight. He turned and fled once more, and once more Lan Zhan gave chase. They clashed again, and this time Lan Zhan actually managed to sever the cord connecting the two jars of Emperor’s Smile. The protagonist dived off the roof to catch them, but he missed one, and it shattered on the white gravel path below.

“Lan Wangji!” the protagonist called out, all pretense at politeness abandoned. “Pay for my Emperor’s Smile!”

Lan Zhan leapt down from the roof after him. He was glad now he’d gotten in a bit of practice earlier, as he now managed to make a perfectly elegant landing. Composing his face into a stern glare, he stared the protagonist down. As he did so, he noticed something he hadn’t seen earlier.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

“Ah? What’s this?” said Wei Wuxian, walking over to study it more closely.

It was a large block of stone, with column upon column of writing carved into it. These were of course the famous rules of the Gusu Lan sect. Lan Zhan realised he’d better take a look over them himself, at some point, if he was going to be trying to enforce them.

“The principles of the Gusu Lan Clan,” Lan Zhan answered.

The protagonist was astonished. “This many?” he said, sounding horrified. He clutched his remaining jar of Emperor’s Smile protectively to his chest.

“Put the alcohol down,” said Lan Zhan. “Since you came for the lecture, let’s count how many principles you have violated tonight.” He paused. He knew there were at least four by now. Wasn’t there some rule about not fighting, too? But that probably didn’t count, since Lan Zhan had actually started the fight! Oh no, had he just added “hypocrite” to the list of scum villain Lan Wangji’s numerous misdeeds?

The protagonist shook his head and scoffed. “Well, I’m so fortunate that I wasn’t born into the stiff and horrible Gusu Lan Clan.” With that, he took the opportunity to run off again, leaping over to a nearby roof. He then sat down in a most inelegant manner. “Liquor is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. Well, I can stay outside and sit here to drink! This won’t count, right?” Saying this, he unstoppered his jar, and tipped a stream of clear, fragrant liquor into his mouth.

Lan Zhan was infuriated. Now he knew how the System had felt earlier, when he’d tried to argue technicalities with it! The protagonist’s behaviour had seemed amusing as a reader, but from this position, Lan Zhan was beginning to find him impossibly smug and arrogant! Who would make such a big deal about not being permitted to drink alcohol? Just apologise and follow the rules next time!

“So disobedient!” Lan Zhan snapped. He felt his hand, held behind his back, clench into a fist.

“The female cultivators in every clan are all admiring the famous Lan-er-gongzi!” the protagonist called down from the roof. The return to Lan Zhan’s title was clearly not meant to be a gesture of respect. “What a pity!”

“A pity?” Lan Zhan found himself baffled by these words, and also distracted by a single drop of Emperor’s Smile that had beaded on Wei Wuxian’s chin. What on earth did he mean, about the female cultivators admiring Lan Wangji? That hadn’t been in the original novel!

Wei Wuxian grinned. “What a pity that they don’t know the person they are admiring is relentless, unreasonable, and rigid!” 

Lan Zhan glared. Well, he wasn’t wrong, Lan Wangji certainly was all those things. And maybe Lan Zhan was too! But that was better than being a shameless, disrespectful, irresponsible rule breaker, who tipped illicit alcohol all over his chin!

Ding! went the System. [Would you like to spend 50 B Points to unlock the Lan sect special ability, “Silencing Spell”?]

Yes! Anything to shut this smug protagonist up! Lan Zhan was accepting the offer before he’d even thought it through, or considered the fact that the cost was over half his remaining B Points.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Wei Wuxian continued, like he was giving a speech to a greater audience than just one mad and frustrated teenager glaring up at him from the ground. “When I go back to Yunmeng, I’m going to--”

His words were suddenly cut off, and his lips appeared inseparably sealed together! Lan Zhan had cast the silencing spell!

Wei Wuxian leapt back down from the roof, and got up in Lan Zhan’s personal space. He was able to make inarticulate noises of protest, though it appeared somewhat painful to do so, but he could neither continue with his speech nor drink any more of his Emperor’s Smile.

Lan Zhan had won. This fact was suddenly more important to him than the story, or his original plan not to get on the protagonist’s bad side. He’d made his point, and now he was going to take Wei Wuxian to receive the proper punishment.

[Congratulations! Achievement “Youthful Rivalry” unlocked! 200 B Points awarded!]

“Let’s go,” Lan Zhan said, turning on his heel to walk off. The protagonist, inexplicably, followed him.

[theimpossiblescheme]

Broader Shoulders

@orgyofthedamned and especially @hereissomething got me feeling some kind of way about their Hammer Horror/Fright Night/Bloodborne crossover, and the idea of Peter Vincent coming across Vicar Amelia has been living rent-free in my head for over an hour now... so here’s this.  Trigger warning for body horror and animal death (in a sense)...

He was running low on bullets… that would teach him to rely on his gun moreso than his other weapons. So sue him if he preferred facing these things not at close range.  Peter Vincent sighed heavily as he heaved himself up onto a low ledge to sit as he reloaded the chamber.  Tonight had already been a hell of a night, and it was nowhere near over.  And somehow the worst thing about it hadn’t been the various beasts.  No, it had been the people.  He didn’t have the heart to tell that poor little girl what had happened to her father… and if he’d known what would become of her, he would never have spoken to her at all.  Finding her little hair ribbon in the sewer had made him sick with sorrow and rage, and he’d considered giving up the hunt right then and there before he caused any more harm to anyone.  But he couldn’t.  Not if any more children were to avoid her fate tonight.  So he’d dragged himself through the sewers, through what was left of Old Yharnam, and now here he was back at the Cathedral Ward.  Tasked with rescuing survivors and bringing them here to safety, no matter where they were.

I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders.  The proverb sang gently through his mind, like the memory of a lullaby. Tonight of all nights, he needed to remember that.  Clicking the chamber back into place and placing the gun back in his belt, Peter got back to his feet and proceeded into the cathedral tower.

There, in front of a great golden altar covered in candles and praying saints, wreathed in the glow of the rose window above her, he saw a woman in white kneeling on the floor in prayer. A single candle sputtered next to her, and as Peter crept closer, he could see that her clothes were tattered and stained with what he hoped was merely rust.  In her hands she clutched a small pendant as if it were her only friend in the world.

Immediately Peter could feel his chest clench looking at her.  This was no place for a lady all alone—not tonight.  “Miss?” he ventured quietly, trying his luck and coming closer. “Miss, you need to come with me—it’s not safe up here by yourself…”

She didn’t hear him. Or if she did, she paid him no mind. She simply continued muttering a feverish prayer under her breath, clutching her pendant even tighter.  Rising from her kowtowed position, she pressed it to her heart…

And then it happened. She gave a mighty scream as her head snapped back and her spine made an audible sickening crack.  Peter wanted to rush forward, but terror rooted him to the spot as she curled in on herself, a mass of grey and white spines erupting across her back and through her white robes, her hands clawing desperately at her throat as though to keep whatever was bursting through inside.  Finally, it was as though the tiny human body could no longer keep the beast at bay—there was a spray of blood that spattered the faces of the saints, and the young woman was no more.  In her place was a towering creature covered in grey and white matted fur, barely supporting its own weight on spindly, arthritic limbs and paws that only served to pad the long gnarled claws.  Its head was contorted into a long canine muzzle, short twisted antlers emerging from behind its ears and a frayed white cloth covering its eyes.

And in its hands, it still clutched the golden pendant.

The world spun around Peter, and he wanted to vomit.  For a moment, all he could see was Ed… that poor boy, crouching under the stairs, hands covered in blood as he tried to pull the splintered table leg from his chest… human eyes staring agonizingly out of his beastly face, begging to know what he’d done wrong… begging for Peter to ease his pain.  But what could he do?  What could he do but stay… stay so the boy didn’t die alone… he couldn’t see this creature’s eyes, but he could imagine the pain in them.  He could see them as clearly as he could see Ed’s right now.

“Miss…”  Blinking away tears, Peter reached out his hand…

And the creature—or the poor woman trapped inside—let out another bloodcurdling scream.  It—she—swiped out blindly with one of her massive hands, catching Peter square in the stomach and sending him tumbling across the floor. His head swam horribly, but he managed to stay conscious and watched as she writhed above him and slashed at the air with her claws, battling an enemy that wasn’t there and careening unevenly across the floor as she did so, still letting out her terrible cry.  She reminded him of a rabid dog racing wildly through the streets as if trying to escape its own disease eating them from the inside. Only there was no Gregory Peck waiting at the end of the road with a shotgun to put her out of her misery.

There was only Peter. And his gun.

So he fired straight into her chest from where he sat.  Six bullets, emptying the chamber.  Each shot struck home, causing her to shriek even louder as her fur ran with blood. In a haze of pain and rage, she slammed her clasped paws on the ground and triggered a massive shockwave that sent Peter sprawling again and cracked the stone floor beneath them.  Scrambling to his feet, he unsheathed the saw cleaver from his belt and rushed at her—it was time for a more direct approach.  If he could just make this quick…

But she must have heard him coming because she whipped her head around and snapped her enormous jaws at him.  As he jumped back, she lashed out with her claws again, slicing open a part of his shoulder and making him cry out in pain.  He didn’t dare stop, though.  Instead Peter rushed forward, slashing at any part of her he could reach, hoping to reach her heart and put a humane end to her suffering.  All the while, she clawed and snapped at him, staggering across the floor and occasionally leaping out of his way as her new overlong joints audibly creaked and cracked, but he never relented.  Every so often, she would freeze in place and clasp her amulet even tighter, as if starting to remember who she had been before.  It never lasted though—even when Peter stayed his hand and dared to hope, the visceral roar that followed was all the more horrible, and he was forced to forge on ahead.  The fight seemed to last for hours.  She was damnably strong, and so many of his blows seemed to merely bounce off of her, but very slowly he could sense her weakening.  Her front legs were splintering like decaying wood, and Peter realized with a sickening jolt how he could bring an end to this.

Swinging the saw cleaver in front of him and wildly praying it would work, he sliced right above her wrists, sending her toppling to the ground at last.  And as she tried vainly to stand, he drove the blade once more into her chest as if thrusting a stake into the heart of a vampire.  That was it.  Her screams died away into a low whining keen as she sagged forward and pressed her paws against her heart in a useless attempt to stop the bleeding.  Peter pulled the blade free just in time for his knees to give out in exhaustion, and he hit the ground just in time to catch the very tip of the creature’s muzzle over his knees.  They were both covered in her blood, and he could see frantic movement under her blindfold as her eyelids fluttered, trying desperately to stay open through the pain.

“Ssssssshhhhh.” Peter shifted so more of her head was in his lap, stroking back her fur as she gasped.  Every inch of his body hurt, his injured shoulder was throbbing mercilessly, and he could feel more tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t dare move.  “Sssshhhh… it’s all right, it’s over now… it’s over… it won’t hurt anymore.”  Her fur was surprisingly thick and soft, and it was a moment before he remembered that he couldn’t simply scoop her up and cradle her like a scared dog.  If only he’d done this for Ed years ago… was it enough for him to be here now?  Did this even begin to make up for it?  After killing two innocent, terrified souls… “I’m so sorry.”

It was a very long time—almost as long as his struggle against her had been—but eventually the motion behind her blindfold ground to a stop, and her labored breathing slowed to a gentle rasp and finally stopped.  Her claws unclenched, and her head went limp in his lap.  For a moment Peter stayed with her, still stroking her fur. Then something clattered quietly to the floor beside her… her pendant.  When Peter picked it up and turned it over, he could see the inscription carved on the other side, even with how much it had been scored with claw and stone.

Vicar Amelia.  Servite cum hominibus sanguinem Christi.

Amelia… so that was her name.  

“May your memory be a blessing, Amelia,” he whispered as he eased her head from off his lap and got slowly to his feet, tucking her pendant back into her hand and closing her fingers around it.  He couldn’t imagine what would happen to her now… perhaps it was best to leave her here, let the other members of the church take care of her.  First Father Gascoigne and his family, and now this poor woman. Peter could only hope this night came to a swift end.  There had been enough suffering.

[katlyn1948]

The Birth of a Baratheon

So if you happen to have an Archive of our Own, or you read fanfics on there, I will be cross posting these one shots/drabbles on there as well. This is the first of many and I hope you all like! 

The babe came in the dead of night. Arya had remembered the visceral pain from when she had Bella, and this was no different. It started in the back and then radiated down to the very tips of her toes. The jolt had woken her from her sleep making her gasp with pain, clutching her stomach. Her husband had continued to snore gently beside her, oblivious to the wet bedding pooling around Arya’s bum.

She envied his ability to sleep through anything. Even through the worst storms, he would continue to bask in his dreams, unaware of the world around him. Arya cursed at him and began to shake him violently. The labor pains were stronger than that of her previous pregnancy, making her panic just slightly.

Gendry remained in his slumber; frustrating Arya beyond the seven hells. She raised her free hand and brought her palm down forcefully onto his cheek, leaving a sweltering red mark behind. Gendry woke with wide eyes and a look of confusion on his face. He could hardly see around the room; the only source of light coming from the dim embers of a dying fire. He felt around their bedding, searching for his wife, when he felt the wetness just beside Arya’s leg.

“Is it time?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes, you stupid bull!” Arya huffed. She could barley make her voice louder than a whisper, her chords already aching from the impending screams she would later do.

Gendry scrambled from their bed and raced to their chamber door, throwing it open. He ran down a flight of stairs and banged on the maester’s door with all the strength he could muster. There was a slight shuffle and muffled bang before the maester opened his door, clutching his aching toe.

“My lord? What is ever the matter?” The maester asked the frantic man.

“Maester Carmichael, the babe…it’s coming!” Gendry was out of breath. His chest was rising and falling at a pace he did not recognize.

The maester gave a swift nod, pushing Gendry out of way.

“Get Sienna, considering she help Arya with her last birth, she may prove vital.” The maester instructed the young lord.

Gendry nodded and descended a second flight of stairs to Sienna’s chambers. He began to bang just as violently as he had with the maester. The only difference, Sienna was already awake and ready to make her way up to Arya.

“You’ve woken the whole bloody castle with that insensitive banging. I heard all the way down here, which probably means the young wolf has gone into labor.” She stated as she pushed passed Gendry to ascend the stairs.

She glanced at his face and saw the look that was plaster upon it. “Not to worry, all will be well. I’ve instructed Alyse to care for Bella, if she wakes, so you can come with me.”

“I-I don’t think that is wise.” He said to Sienna as they began to make their way to his chambers. He could feel his own panic set in. He had no idea what would happen during a birth, aside from the babe itself. He had never seen, nor even heard a birth of child and yet he was climbing the stairs to see the birth of his.

Sienna turned midway and gave a good old smack across Gendry’s head. She was trying to knock some sense in the young lord brain.

“For all the Gods in the world, pull yourself together. Your wife is about to give birth to your babe. Now is not the time for silly words. Your only job for tonight is to be by her side. Your other child is being tended to, either by Alyse of by Mya; which I’m sure news has now reached her. Now march your arse up there and be there for Arya!” Sienna hadn’t meant for her words to sound harsh, especially to her high lord, but now was not the time for formalities. She needed to get him to see that he was acting stupid.

Gendry shook his head to clear it. He had to rid himself of his panic and be there for Arya. He took a deep breath and continued to follow Sienna to their chambers.

Arya was now up and pacing the floor. The maester had instructed to return to the bed, but Arya had refused, feeling more comfortable if she stood. She could feel her pains getting closer together and it would only be a matter of time before her babe made its presence into the world.

She felt another wave of pain and clutched her stomach, bending over slightly to catch her breath. At that time Sienna and Gendry had entered the room.

He immediately went by her side, cradling her close to his chest.

“Love? Why are you out of bed?” He asked her.

“Ugh! Because I feel better standing and pacing. Why is that so difficult to understand?” She chastised.

Gendry gave a small smile and turned to see the maester and Sienna readying the clean cloths and hot water.

Gendry’s gaze met that of the maester’s and a sudden look of shock came onto his face,

“What are you doing in here? The husbands wait outside, so I must ask you to leave.” Maester Carmichael informed.

Gendry moved from Arya’s side to meet the maester head on.

“I will do no such thing! This is my wife and my babe. I will not leave their side and that is finale.” His voice was low but was dripping with venom. He dared the maester to tell him to leave again. Maester Carmichael gulped and gave small nod, the fear never leaving his face.

Gendry retuned to Arya, who was now doubled over in pain.

She could feel that familiar sensation and began to make her way to the bed, but before she could reach it, she tumbled to floor with her night dress hiked up to her hips.

“Arya, what is it?” Gendry asked. He had positioned himself behind her, so she could lay against him for support. She was nothing but dead weight, but somehow Gendry knew she would need the support of him behind her.

“I…the babe…push!” She managed to get out. This babe was coming faster than Bella and the sudden urge to push was becoming overwhelming. Sienna and the maester were now stationed in front of Arya’s hips, readying themselves for the babe.

“Lady Arya, your babe is coming, so I need you to push.” The maester instructed.

Arya gave a nod of understanding and began to push with all her might.  Her whole body was pressing into Gendry’s and she was squeezing his hands so tightly, he feared she would break them.

She pushed three times, a scream escaping her lips each time she did, until finally she felt the sudden relief of pressure and heard a piercing scream fill the air around them.

“It’s a girl!” Sienna exclaimed.

Tears were falling from her face and she looked up to see the wiggling babe in the maester’s arms. She was precious, just like her sister. Her hair was the infamous coal black, but her eyes were the storm gray that Arya had possessed.

“She’s perfect.” Gendry whispered into Arya’s ear.

Arya nodded and turned her head, so she could look Gendry in the eyes.

“Aye, she is. You name her.”

Gendry lost his breath, but only for a moment. They hadn’t talked about names when Arya was carrying, and he assumed she would be the one to name their child. The request had shocked him, and he wasn’t certain if he could think of a name.

“Are you certain?” He asked her.

Arya nodded, and Gendry took a moment to think. He racked his memory for a name suitable for her newborn daughter, until finally he found the name he was looking for. A smile spread to his face as the babe was placed into Arya’s arms. He looked down at his daughter and couldn’t help but feel so much happiness in his heart. She was so small compared to his large form and was sure he would break her if she was handed to him. But she was perfect none the less, and he could tell that she would have a warrior heart, just like his cousin that he never had the pleasure to meet.

“Her name is Shireen Baratheon of Storm’s End.” Gendry smiled.

[beatrice-otter]

That Tender Light

Title: That Tender Light

Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series

Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura (TOS)

Written for: LittleRaven in Star Trek Holidays 2019

Betaed by: phnelt

Word count: 11,497 words

Rating: teen

Summary: Spock and Nyota are colleagues and friends, nothing more. But now that Spock's bond with T'Pring has been broken, he can't help noticing Nyota in new ways.

On AO3. On Dreamwidth. On ff.net

Nyota was sitting at her desk playing games on her PADD while she waited for Christine. They'd been on opposite schedules for a couple of weeks and hadn't gotten a chance to talk. But now they were on the same shift again, so they could get together for tea and games, and given the rumors flying around the ship, Nyota wanted to check in to see that Christine was alright.

Half the rumors painted Spock as some sort of cave-man sexist pig throwing a temper tantrum. Half of them painted Christine as some sort of sex-crazed nymphomaniac. All of them had Christine as the subject of a brutal dressing-down.

None of it made any sense. Spock was unfailingly courteous and respectful in the best sense, and, like Captain Kirk, never failed to support the female officers and crew under his command when the situation called for it. Nor was he prone to viciousness of any kind. Sardonic was as bad as he got. Christine was a professional and would never sexually harass anyone, but especially not a patient.

And none of that even took into account what came after, with Spock countermanding the Admiralty's orders, the back-and-forth to Vulcan or not, Spock having a wife no one knew about (with poor Christine being right there when the surprise was sprung, which hadn't exactly quieted the rumors down any), and then the captain coming back to the ship unconscious. From Vulcan, of all places! One of the safest planets in the Federation! Nyota was confused and upset, and she didn't like either feeling.

The door chime rang. "Enter!" Nyota said.

It was Christine, impeccably groomed and styled as always, but still visibly worn.

"Christine!" Nyota said, tossing her PADD aside. She got up and hugged her friend. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, please, Nyota, not you too," Christine said with a groan, sinking into one of the chairs. She buried her face in her hands. "Spock was ill and not himself, and anything else is bound up in patient confidentiality."

Nyota took the other chair across from her friend. Christine was so obviously disturbed by the whole thing that that couldn't be the whole story even without considering the rumors. "Must have been some illness," she observed carefully.

Christine snorted. "You don't even know the half of it, and that's all I'm going to say. But I can tell you that if Vulcan actually gave Starfleet Medical details on certain aspects of Vulcan biology, along with the cultural issues surrounding them, this whole mess would have been handled quite differently. And that's all I'm going to say. Frankly, this whole week has been hellish and I don't want to think about it one minute longer."

"All right," Nyota said quietly, taking her curiosity and locking it away for now. She wouldn't want to challenge Christine's professional ethics, and in any case, supporting her friend was more important than Nyota's questions getting answered. "What are you up for tonight? Game? Movie? Do you want distraction or just relaxation?"

Two days later, Spock asked her if she would like to resume their weekly jam sessions. He'd skipped the last two without notifying her; looking back, Nyota wondered if that missed session had been the first sign something was wrong.

She had to think about it; she'd always enjoyed playing with Spock, he was the only musician on the ship who could really keep up with her. And she considered him a friend (although, given Vulcan emotional reticence, she had no idea whether he considered her a friend). But that had been before he'd said … whatever he'd said to Christine. Before she'd been so forcefully reminded that he was alien, and that there was a lot about Vulcans that nobody knew because Vulcans just didn't talk about themselves.

Nyota got along just fine with people of many different races; you had to, as a communications officer. But she didn't like how he'd treated Christine, and she didn't like realizing she understood him less well than she'd believed she did. They'd never been close, but they'd been comfortable in each others' presence, and Nyota was decidedly uncomfortable now.

In the end, she went; whatever had happened between him and Christine, he'd been ill at the time and Christine didn't seem to be holding a grudge. If Christine wasn't, then it would be unreasonable of Nyota to do so when she didn't even know what had happened. And it was in one of the private gathering spaces on the rec deck, which was neutral territory if anything was.

Besides, the underlying problem was that Nyota had thought she'd understood Spock, and realized she was wrong, and a lack of understanding wasn't a problem that could be solved by avoidance.

"I apologize for missing our last two sessions without notifying you," Spock said as he tuned his lyre and she soaked the reed of her algaita.

"Apology accepted, Mister Spock," Nyota said. "I understand you weren't yourself." That she was not holding against him. The inconvenience was minor, and it was likely a symptom of his illness. It didn't make her any more comfortable about the rest of the situation, but she appreciated the courtesy.

"I was not," Spock said briefly. Was she imagining things, or was he uncomfortable? Sometimes Spock was surprisingly easy to read, for a Vulcan; sometimes he was perfectly opaque.

"Can I ask if you've apologized to Christine?"

That stopped him. His head shot up and he frowned slightly. "What should I be apologizing for?"

"What should you be apologizing for?" Nyota was incensed. "I don't know what happened because the rumor mill has gone crazy and she won't tell me because of confidentiality issues—although how you can claim confidentiality when it was in a public corridor with multiple crew members walking past is beyond me—but you tore a bloody strip off of her in public, and started a lot of very nasty rumors about both you and her, and you're the first officer and you've been mostly off duty since then so you may not have gotten any grief for it yet, but she has had no such protection."

He was very nearly green. "I did not—there are a number of substantial gaps in my memory of the last week. And there were occasional hallucinations and a number of very odd and lifelike dreams. I do not remember any such exchange, but that means little; and I cannot give you any idea of what my mental state was at that particular moment."

"Then why weren't you in sickbay?" Nyota demanded. "You were even still on the duty roster at that point, and if what you say is true you were certainly not competent to be giving orders for lunch, much less anything else."

"Unfortunately," Spock said, "when one's mind is imbalanced, rational judgment is often an early casualty. By the time the symptoms were undeniable, I was not capable of formulating a logical response to them." He hesitated. "May I ask what the rumors are?"

Nyota summarized them briefly for him, not going into the gory details but giving him the broad strokes of the main rumors.

"I see," he said, when she had finished. His shoulders were drooping, and he would not meet her eyes. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. She had rarely seen him this discomposed. "Yes. I shall have to apologize. The altercation, whatever it was, was undoubtedly my fault, as was the public nature of it." He looked troubled, and slightly folded in on himself, and Nyota felt sorry for him. The whole thing must have been a nightmare—possibly literally.

"But you are better now?" Nyota said. "And Doctor McCoy knows what he needs to know should it happen again?" She was dying to know the whole story, but it wasn't her business as long as it didn't interfere with the running of the ship.

"Correct on both counts," Spock said, "although the chances of it recurring during the rest of Enterprise's five-year mission are miniscule."

"All right then," Nyota said, reassured that things would return to normal between them. She checked to see if her reed was ready. "Since the last time we met, I finished transcribing the next duet in the sequence into European musical notation, would you like to try it?"

"Certainly," Spock said, sitting up straighter so that he was a model of Vulcan stoicism. Nyota tucked her curiosity away and turned her attention to the music.

Spock took his time putting his lyre back in its case, so that Uhura left the practice room before him. He very carefully and deliberately did not watch her go, focusing instead on asserting his biophysical control so that he could stand and walk back to his quarters with no outward sign of his arousal.

He had always known that Uhura was a beautiful woman; that was obvious to anyone with eyes. But he'd never reacted so viscerally to her or any woman before, save T'Pring at the wedding-that-was-not.

Her hands as she'd trilled! The dance of her fingers over the instrument! So precise, so graceful! He had not been able to tear his eyes away, and felt ashamed at how he had gawked at her. She, of course, had not noticed; hands were not generally a major part of human visual erotic stimulation, and Vulcans certainly did not spread the details of their own sexuality around. Spock could not quite decide whether it was better that she had been unaware of his gaze (thus sparing him embarrassment) or if would have been better had she had known (thus being able to decide whether or not she wanted to be so gazed at).

Spock walked quickly to his quarters and took out the medical tricorder Doctor McCoy had given him for self-monitoring. His endocrine system was within normal tolerances, and none of the secondary symptoms of Pon Farr were showing. He was merely aroused.

He should have expected something like this. Vulcans matured differently than humans did, with two puberties, one in adolescence and the other at first Pon Farr. He was now fully adult, not subadult, and sexual responses were stronger in this stage of life. Moreover, he was no longer married; his bond with T'Pring had ever been tenuous, but it had curbed and absorbed some of what little sexual drive he had had as a subadult. Now, he needed a new mate, and every fiber of his body and brain knew it.

Nyota Uhura was beautiful, intelligent, competent, compassionate, and musical, and he respected her a great deal. Moreover, she was the woman he spent the most time with both in public and in private. It was only natural that he should find her alluring. If she were Vulcan, and not his subordinate, she would have been very nearly the perfect woman for him.

Alas, even if he wished to have a human mate (and after T'Pring, the idea had a certain appeal regardless of Nyo—of Uhura's—personal attractions), she was still his subordinate, and the regulations concerning such relationships were stringent, for very good reason.

This would require a great deal of meditation.

Nyota was cursing Nomad and going through all the drawers in her cabin, trying to learn as much about herself as she could, when the door chime sounded.

"Come," she said, walking from the bedchamber into the living room/office.

It was the ship's first officer, Commander Spock. The only time she could remember meeting him was when he administered the professional tests so that she could be re-certified as an officer. He had been somber, but without the hesitation or pity that marked virtually all of her interactions these days, and pronounced her 'Remarkably proficient as always, Lieutenant.'

She didn't know if he was a friend. But his presence had been easier to bear than all the friends who stopped in to hover awkwardly and tried to bond over reminiscences of things that were forever lost to her.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said. "How are you settling in?" He was tall, the impression enhanced by his perfect posture. His face showed no emotion, but he didn't feel cold, merely still. He was very attractive, but somewhat intimidating. He entered her room with a catlike grace she couldn't help appreciating.

"Some moments better than others, Commander," she said. "Re-learning the academics is—well, not easy, but in some ways it was more of a refresher course than anything else. But anything personal—it feels like I'm a ghost in my own life. Some things I can piece together on my own from my records and the ship's log and conversations I've had since Nomad wiped my brain; other things, I really can't."

"I would be happy to help in any way I can," the Commander said. He had a nice voice, she noted, and wondered if he sang. "We regularly gathered to play music together, which you called our 'jam sessions.'"

"Ah!" Nyota said, brightening. "Then you can definitely help." She went to her bedroom and took out an instrument case. "What is this? It's obviously a double reed instrument of some sort, and it's not an oboe or one of the instruments in an Earth orchestra, and I haven't had time to dig through the computer's music database and figure out what it is."

"That is an algaita, an instrument from West Africa, especially prevalent among the Hausa and Kanuri peoples. You brought it because of all the African instruments you play, it was the smallest and thus easiest to fit in your mass allowance, thus serving double duty as a reminder of home and a musical instrument."

"But I'm not a Hausa, or Kanuri, am I?" Nyota said, frowning. "My file says I'm from Kenya in East Africa, part Kikuyu and part Luhya." And, judging from the items in her quarters, very proud of her heritage … which she no longer remembered anything about. Her insides twisted at another reminder of all that she had lost, and she carefully focused on keeping her breathing steady. She'd cried enough over her state, in the last few days; she was tired of feeling sorry for herself.

"That is true," said Spock, and she turned her attention back to him. "You never told me the story of how you came to learn that particular instrument."

"What other instruments do I play?" Nyota asked. Focusing on concrete things she could re-learn was much better than wallowing in grief.

"Your primary instrument is your voice," Spock said. "As for other instruments, you are competent on a wide variety of Terran stringed instruments, both African and other; most recently, I had been teaching you the Vulcan Lyre. You are apparently accomplished on the marimba, although I have never had the pleasure of hearing you play, for the Enterprise does not have one, nor any xylophones or other similar instrument."

"That's … a lot," Nyota said, dismayed. There was still so much to learn. Would she ever be back to what she had been?

"As with your hand-to-hand combat re-training and the operation of your station, muscle memory should make it easier to re-learn than it was to learn in the first place," Spock said.

"Yeah," Nyota said with a sigh. Well, start with the ones she had available on Enterprise, and the rest she could choose to re-learn—or not—at some later time when she had them available. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. Please, sit," she said, gesturing at one of the two chairs in the living room. "Would you like something to drink? I've got water and tea and some dehydrated drink mixes of various kinds."

"Tea would be appreciated," Spock said, taking the offered chair. He was easy on the eyes, and enjoyable to watch move, and she indulged in that for a second before getting out the tea caddy. She'd been through enough she deserved a bit of harmless pleasure.

Nyota let him choose what type of tea he wanted, and set the "hot" tap in the bathroom sink to the correct temperature for that type of tea. (Thankfully, it was labelled on the package, so she didn't have to look it up.)

"Well, Mister Spock, here you are," Nyota said when the tea was ready. She handed him one mug and sat down with her own, blowing on it to cool it. "I'm sorry, I don't know if there are any cultural things about hospitality I should be doing."

Spock tilted his head. "I cannot speak to your cultural practices, as I have never socialized with you in your quarters before. Were we on Vulcan, in a formal setting, the etiquette for serving refreshments is quite intricate. But we are not on Vulcan, we are not in a formal setting, and under the circumstances you have many other more important things to learn."

Nyota groaned. "I know. It's all so overwhelming and there is so much that I'll never get back. I want to take a break from thinking about it, and yet there's really nothing else I can think about." In a way, that first day or so had been the easy part. Everything had been so confusing, but she hadn't had any idea of just how much she needed to re-learn.

"As you know, I have been consulting with Doctor McCoy about your condition," Spock said.

"Yes," Nyota said, nodding. "Because Doctor McCoy knows the neurology, but if he were able to find a way of fixing my brain, he'd need some sort of specialized equipment and he's 'a doctor, dammit, not an engineer.'" She was quite proud of her mimicry of Doctor McCoy's irascible tone of voice.

"As you know, the chances are negligible that we shall find a technological solution at this point," Spock said. "However, from what scans have been able to determine, the majority of your memories are still there; Nomad did not erase the entire contents of your brain, merely severed the linkages necessary to access them."

"Yes, I know," Nyota said, a little irritated. "I have been paying attention to my own medical condition, Mister Spock."

"Of course," Spock said. "But while it is impossible at this time to build a device sensitive enough to physically rebuild those linkages, it has recently occurred to me that a sufficiently gifted and trained telepath might be able to do so."

"Really?" Nyota asked, feeling her heart begin to pound. "Where's the nearest telepath?"

Spock twitched, a little. "Vulcans are touch telepaths, however—"

"When can you do it?" she demanded. "Now?"

"No," Spock said. "I am not a trained healer. The nearest such is on Vulcan, a two week journey from here by shuttle."

"Shuttle?" Nyota sagged. "I'd have to leave Enterprise?" She had only a little over a week's worth of memories in her entire life, at least memories that she could access at the moment. The majority of that time, she'd been in sickbay. She had no memories of any place other than this ship. Something in her gut twisted at the thought.

"Possibly," Spock said. "I have not yet discussed this possible course of treatment with Doctor McCoy, and I would need to contact experts on Vulcan to make arrangements. But I wished for your consent before anything was done. Many humans would have qualms about allowing an alien telepath such intimate access to their mind; in order to work, the telepathic healer would have to have access to even the most personal of your thoughts and memories."

"Mister Spock, if it would get my memories back, I'd agree to have my memories broadcast across the quadrant!"

"Fortunately, that will not be necessary," Spock said, raising an eyebrow. "Very well. I will begin making arrangements."

Spock, Uhura, and Doctor McCoy had gathered in the Doctor's office to consult with a Vulcan healer over subspace. Spock was anxious to hear the verdict, for he very much hoped that the lieutenant's brain might be healed. It was more than the compassion he might feel for any sentient so injured, and more than the concern of a superior for one under his command. Uhura had handled her situation with a grace and courage and tenacity that Spock deeply admired. It spoke to the strength of her character, and his admiration for her had only increased.

He did not have long to dwell on this, however, as Healer T'Vyr was admirably prompt, and once the call had connected, wasted little time on pleasantries before sharing her conclusions. "While there is only a 29.4% chance of complete memory re-acquisition, your hypothesis is probably correct that a majority of the still-extant memories could be made accessible," Healer T'Vyr said over subspace.

"That's wonderful!" Uhura said. Indeed it was; Spock had to exert some control to keep his relief from showing.

"Indeed," T'Vyr said. "However, there remains a significant problem: no Vulcan mind-healer I have contacted has any experience with Human neural architecture. None have ever even mind-melded with a Human. Ideally, the healer would have melded with Lieutenant Uhura prior to the Nomad's attack, but failing that, they would need to have melded with multiple humans prior to the meld with the Lieutenant, so that they might know what a healthy human mind feels like."

"Where are we gonna find telepathic healers with that much experience, if there aren't any Vulcans?" Doctor McCoy asked. "Are there other species in the Federation with telepathic healers?"

"Possibly," Healer T'Vyr said. "However, there may be a simpler solution. This will require delicacy, but if Human brains are anything like Vulcan brains, the telepath will not be the one performing the re-association; the Lieutenant will be. Vulcan brains, and indeed those of most sapient species, make such connections easily so that memories may be formed in the first place."

"That's true of Human brains, too, ma'am," Doctor McCoy said. "Unless there's trauma of some sort involved."

Spock was filled with a sense of foreboding that was most illogical. He could predict the solution the healer was about to suggest, and it would be efficient and logical. While it would require him to reveal certain personal issues to the lieutenant, his privacy was not more important than her health.

"Spock, having studied your school records, I know that you melded with two humans over the course of your telepathic training, your mother and your foster-sister," Healer T'Vyr said. "Your instructors note that you have a delicate telepathic touch, and your instructor in telepathic ethics gave you a satisfactory report."

"I am not a healer," Spock noted.

"You may still be more qualified to help the Lieutenant than any Vulcan with healer training," T'Vyr said, "provided the Lieutenant is comfortable with accepting your help. In any case, as long as you do not try and force any connections, there should be no harm in trying. If you do not succeed, there would be nothing to stop the Lieutenant from travelling to Vulcan and being seen by a healer here. Or finding telepathic mind-healers elsewhere in the Federation."

"Well, that sounds like something we need to discuss on our end," Doctor McCoy said. "Thank you for your help. Lieutenant, you have any more questions?"

"I thought you didn't have any healers who had melded with humans on Vulcan," Uhura said. "Yet you still think I should come if Spock can't do it?"

"Lack of experience with Human brains is a solvable issue," T'Vyr said. "Although there are not many Humans on Vulcan, there are some, and the chances are very good that we would be able to find several who were willing to meld with your Healer to give them experience. It is not, however, ideal; mind-melds are, by their very nature, extremely intimate, and it is an enormous thing to ask of someone, to meld with a stranger, when they themselves have no medical or other need."

"I see," Uhura said.

There were no further questions, and so the communication was ended.

"Well, Spock, why didn't you say you could do it in the first place?" McCoy said.

"I am not a healer," Spock said. "If there were some sort of time pressure, and we could not wait to get Uhura to Vulcan or a healer here, then I would have volunteered."

"But—"

"If an away-team member had an injury requiring surgery," Spock said, "it would be appropriate for me to perform any emergency first-aid necessary, but not to perform the surgery myself, unless the landing party was cut off from the ship and the crew member would die without an immediate operation. The brain is a very delicate organ. Non-healers are taught to communicate through melds and regulate our own telepathy, not make adjustments in other peoples' minds."

"Point taken, Spock," McCoy said, crossing his arms. "But the Healer thinks you'd be capable, and I agree with her reasoning. What do you say, Nyota? Want to give Spock's magic fingers a try?"

Uhura frowned, looking him up and down. "Yes," she said, "but I think the Commander has reservations?"

Spock nodded. "As the situation is not time-critical, some discussion of the issues involved is necessary."

"Of course," McCoy said. "You can use my office, I'll be in the general sickbay."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Uhura turned to him with a frown. "Commander Spock, would you be okay with melding with me? If it's so intimate?"

"Under the circumstances, the intimacy would largely be on your side," Spock pointed out. "There would undoubtedly be some sharing on my part, as I do not have a healer's training in clinical shields. However, I would have to go through every memory of yours that I could find and present it to you so that your mind could make the appropriate connections. You would have no secrets from me, quite literally."

"That would be true of any telepath I saw, though, whether you or a healer on Vulcan," Uhura pointed out. She got up and began to pace. "The difference is, I know you, and I'm in comfortable surroundings here. My other option is travel to a place I've never been, trusting strangers with the secrets locked inside my skull that even I don't know about."

"The benefit to strangers doing this would be that you would never have to face anyone with that intimate knowledge of you again," Spock pointed out. "If I did it, and discovered things about you that you would rather I not know, you would have to see me every day, unless you transferred off of the Enterprise."

"Do you think I have any secrets that embarrassing?" Uhura asked, pausing.

"Unknown," Spock said. "You have always seemed to me to be a remarkably transparent individual, but you are also quite competent at undercover missions and any deception required professionally. And, obviously, you did not confide in me if you had any secrets you did not want me to know."

"Obviously," Uhura said with a snort, resuming her pacing. "You seem reluctant. It's your choice, Mister Spock, but I'd rather have you; I don't want to leave Enterprise and put myself in the hands of strangers. And then there's all the other people who'd have to have melds to give the healers experience, if I go that route, it's not any fairer to expect that of them than it is for me to expect it of you, if you would find it unpleasant."

"On the contrary, I suspect I would find it a pleasant experience," Spock said. "That is why I hesitate."

She stopped again and frowned at him. "I don't understand, Mister Spock, why would finding it nice be a problem?"

Spock gathered his courage. He would not have chosen telling her this way; might never have chosen to inform her of his feelings. Hours of meditation in the time since his … divorce … had been insufficient to settle within himself what his long-term personal goals should be, and until and unless he had decided to pursue a relationship with her it would be unprofessional to burden her with the knowledge of his affections. But there was no help for it. "I have recently discovered myself attracted to you, Ms. Uhura," he said. "Not merely to your body, but to your intelligence and quick-wittedness and personality, as well. I had not said anything yet because it was new, and I recently experienced a major life transition and wished to reach a state of personal equilibrium before making any large changes. In addition, given our respective ranks and positions in the ship's hierarchy, any relationship between us would require a great deal of care."

Uhura blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth before speaking. He studied her, and she returned the attention in kind. He could not trust himself to discern her reaction to his confession, but he hoped she was not offended. She did not seem to be.

"That's flattering, Mister Spock," she said at last, "but I don't know if I—"

"I am not asking for any reciprocity at this time, or even if such reciprocity might be possible in the future," Spock said. "If nothing else, your own mental state is such that you need time to recover and learn to stand on your own before making any serious relationship changes of your own. However, you needed to know before consenting to any mind-meld between us."

"Because I might find out during the meld?"

"Because if I wished to, I could almost certainly alter whatever feelings towards me you possess during the meld, and you would have no way of preventing it," Spock explained. "If nothing else, I could alter or create memories for you that would make you more disposed to accept my attentions, or simply prevent any memories critical of me from being remembered. I would never do any of those things because they would be an absolute violation of every ethical and moral standard, but I have the power to do them if I chose, and you have only my word and a week's acquaintance with me to base any decisions on."

"Oh," Uhura said, eyes wide. She swallowed. "But any telepath could do that, yes?"

"Yes," Spock said. "But a telepath who did not previously know you would have less motivation for such a crime, and tampering would be immediately obvious if, for example, you declared your undying love for someone you had only just met and wished to transfer to Space Central on Vulcan."

"Whereas you and I have served together for almost two years," Uhura said, thinking it through.

"And you have been known to flirt with me," Spock said. "As a sort of game, I believe, but an observer might not know that."

"And there's no one else here to double-check your work," Uhura said. Her body language was more closed off than it had been even thirty seconds earlier, and it grieved him to see, but it was better that she understand fully, and make an informed decision.

"Correct," Spock said. "I would never alter your thinking or your memories for my own benefit without your prior consent, but you have only my word for that. I can tell you that I would probably find exploring your mind to be a pleasurable experience, for I greatly admire you as a person and as an officer." He set aside his embarrassment to deal with later; right now, Uhura's future and mental health were the primary considerations.

Uhura made a face. "Would that be … an erotic sort of pleasure?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not in the physically arousing sense," Spock said, "although Vulcan notions of the erotic are different. I assure you, your memories would not become part of any fantasy life on my part."

"But, again, I would have only your word for that," Uhura said.

"Correct," Spock said. "I hope you understand why it is important that you understand fully the range of possibilities before consenting to any meld between us."

"Or between myself and any healer on Vulcan." Uhura closed her eyes and shook her head. "Can I talk with someone about this?"

Spock ignored his initial wish to deny her so that his private feelings might remain so. It was a logical question; since she had so little experience of his character to draw on, consulting with others who knew him better was the only way to get enough information to base a decision on. "If they understand that it is a private matter not to be gossiped about. Doctor McCoy would probably have a valuable perspective." Also, he understood the importance of patient confidentiality and would probably not tease Spock excessively about feelings he learned of in such circumstances.

"What about Christine?" Uhura asked. "She's been such a help since I lost my memory, and I know we were friends before Nomad's attack."

Spock swallowed. "Nurse Chapel would be acceptable," he said slowly, "and given her position as a nurse she has certainly seen me at my worst, in circumstances few others have. However, I believe she has an unrequited crush on me. She is a professional, and would not let it color any advice she gave you, but—"

"—but she might be hurt to know you were attracted to me and not her," Uhura said with a nod. "All right, I'll think about it and let you know."

Spock bowed in acknowledgment.

"You and Spock have a nice chat?" Doctor McCoy asked after Commander Spock had left.

"It was … revealing," Nyota said wryly. Flattering—she doubted he was the type to fall in love lightly, or based on superficial things, so to know he was attracted to her was a compliment both to who she was now and who she had been before the memory wipe. How she felt about him was a question she simply didn't have the energy to think about right now. Not while she had such a momentous decision to make.

"And? When are you going to do it?"

"You're so sure we're going to meld," Nyota said.

Doctor McCoy shrugged. "You heard Healer T'Vyr, he's the closest thing to an expert there is, and he'd make sure the job was done right. If you're not comfortable with him for some reason, you can go to Vulcan, of course, but I don't see why you'd spend that much time in a shuttle craft just to have a stranger poking at your brain."

"And I could trust him?"

"Yes," McCoy said without hesitation. "Absolutely. He drives me batty sometimes—and I do my best to return the favor—but his ethics are rock solid."

"Even when there's a lot of temptation?" Nyota asked. She was pretty sure she knew the answer.

"Yes," McCoy said. "That's when he tends to get the persnicketiest about things. Mind if I ask what exactly is bothering you? It'd help me to answer any specific questions you might have."

"He's attracted to me," Nyota said. "And … fairly deeply, if I was reading him right." His earnestness when he talked about all the things he saw in her, and the depth of his disquiet with confessing his feelings … no, this was no passing fancy.

"Spock's in love with you?" McCoy said with a splutter, standing up straighter.

"He didn't say he was in love with me," Nyota said. His surprise confirmed that Spock's affections weren't lightly or easily given. "He said he was attracted to me."

"Given how strictly he controls his emotions, it would have to be a pretty strong 'attraction' to be worth mentioning," McCoy said. "Why'd he tell you?"

"He wanted me to know because he wanted me to know what I was agreeing to, and tried to scare me off by pointing out that he could rearrange my mind to make me love him back." Nyota paused and thought for a few seconds. "Of course, if he were planning on doing something like that, he wouldn't have warned me ahead of time."

"That's Spock all over, though," McCoy said. "Making sure everything is done the right way, making sure you know exactly what you're getting into. Well, I can see why you'd want to ask about things, but I'd sooner believe he could fly without antigrav boots than that he'd take advantage of anyone telepathically like that. Still, if you'd rather go to Vulcan and have someone who's not in love with you rummaging around in your brain, I'll make the arrangements."

Nyota sighed. "I don't know. The idea of what he could do is frightening, but then, any telepath could do that. And this way I wouldn't have to leave Enterprise and have a stranger rummaging around in my mind."

She thought back to his confession that he would probably find pleasure in melding with her. She didn't begrudge him that; he was not the type to be creepy about it, and better that he liked it than imposing something he found distasteful. "I think I want Mister Spock to do it," she decided.

"You can have as much time to think about it as you want," Doctor McCoy said.

"More time won't change the options," Nyota pointed out. "I don't have enough experience to make judgments on how trustworthy any telepath is. You say he's trustworthy; well, I believe you. And I like him, what I've seen of him. And I am tired of wondering who I was before and what I'm missing now."

"Fair enough," McCoy said.

The meld was a success. When it was over, Spock left Uhura in McCoy's capable hands and retreated back to his cabin to meditate. He was in great need of it.

A deeper knowledge of Uhura's mind had only proven how fascinating a woman she was. His baser instincts were tempting him to dwell on what it might be like to have her in his mind always, but he had given her his word that he would not use what he had learned about her in the meld to fantasize about, and he intended to keep that word.

Still, he now knew first-hand that any bond with her would be completely different from that which he had shared with T'Pring, and only partially because she was human and T'Pring was Vulcan. T'Pring had isolated herself from him, responding in the most superficial way possible, and that only when ignoring him was not possible. Spock had responded in kind. But Uhura had welcomed him, in the meld, and he did not think merely because she desired his help. He doubted she would shut him out.

Of course, he acknowledged, the same might be said for any Vulcan woman who agreed to marry him. T'Pring had never desired to be his bondmate; it had been chosen for them, and her parents should have seen her reaction and found someone else for her. If he married now, it would be to a woman who had chosen him, and if T'Pau offered a potential match with a woman who was not compatible with him, it would be simple to decline. It was illogical to believe that because Uhura was the first eligible woman he had melded with who did not find his mental touch a burden, that she was the only such woman in existence.

It had been only a short time since T'Pring rejected him. Long-established research in both Vulcan and Human psychology clearly showed that making major decisions or changes too soon after a major loss such as a divorce or bereavement was likely to result in suboptimal results. Thus, as he had concluded from the beginning, it would be illogical to seriously consider a new relationship, either with Uhura or through the offices of T'Pau as matchmaker, until the debacle of his marriage was far enough in the past that he could view it with at least a degree of equanimity.

He turned his meditations to the now-familiar task of acknowledging and taming his feelings for Uhura.

Two days after the meld, Nyota laid on her bed in her quarters, staring up at the ceiling and trying to concentrate on the music she was listening to. It was completely different from any style of music in her personal playlists, and as far as she could tell she'd never heard anything like it before in her life. It was just what she needed: something unlikely to trigger any of the memories that she could now access, thanks to Spock.

Ironic, after spending a week digging for memories so frantically.

A lifetime of memories was a lot to go through, and the meld had been very intense. She felt like her brain was a dresser that had had its entire contents scattered about the room, examined, and then put back in place, and she wasn't quite sure there was room for everything. Her brain felt very … full.

The door chimed. "Come in," she said, sitting up.

It was Christine. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she walked through the sitting area to the bed chamber. "And what are you listening to?"

"Sixty-year-old popular music from a non-aligned world called S'hrevlar," Nyota said. "It's very distracting."

"I can tell," Christine said wryly.

Nyota turned it off. "And are you asking as my nurse or my friend?"

"Both," Christine said. "The meld took a lot out of you and Spock both, but he's back on duty and you're not."

Nyota sighed. The meld had taken hours, and been very draining. And then had come all the work of putting the memories she could now access into some sort of coherent order and narrative. In the two nights since, her dreams had been eventful, and Doctor McCoy thought that REM sleep was probably the best thing for her, so she was trying to take naps in addition to her normal sleep cycle. But even while she was awake, she was constantly seeing things with new eyes and putting together the puzzle pieces of her mind. "It's getting better," she said. "It's definitely much better today than it was yesterday, and better this afternoon than it was this morning when I had my checkup. It's just … it's just a lot, and I'm so tired. Not sleepy, just worn."

Christine hummed. "I can't even imagine."

"Hopefully, you won't ever have to," Nyota said, and changed the subject. She'd spent enough time dwelling on her own problems, recently, and not enough time just hanging out with her friend.

She and Christine had a nice chat, and after her friend left, Nyota flopped back on the bed. Now that she had (most of) her memories back, she was glad she hadn't told Christine about Spock's affections for her, when she'd asked Christine's opinion on Spock's ethics. That would have been awkward, and unnecessarily hurtful to Christine. (Reliving her memories of that mystery-shrouded trip to Vulcan had been one of the few times that Spock's own emotions had come through in the meld—he hadn't been able to hide how embarrassed he still was over the whole thing, how he'd treated Christine but also something deeper he hadn't shared with her. It felt like ages ago, but hadn't been all that long before the encounter with Nomad which had wiped her memories.)

Wait a minute. Nyota narrowed her eyes as something occurred to her. Spock was married! To that Vulcan woman who'd called them when they arrived at Vulcan! What was he doing falling in love with her if he was married? She'd thought Vulcans had better control over their feelings than that.

She rose, checked her appearance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable, and went to go ask him about it.

Spock was in his quarters and responded promptly when she pressed the door chime.

"Ms. Uhura," he said, inviting her to take a seat. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Thank you," she said, slightly taken aback. He'd never offered her tea before, but then, she'd never visited him in his quarters before.

"This is theris-na'na, which is more palatable to humans than most other Vulcan varieties of tea," Spock said, presenting her with a cup after a few minutes work.

"Thank you," she said, taking a sip. "It's good!" She didn't know how to describe it; it wasn't like any Earth tea she knew. But it didn't require sugar or milk or lemon or anything to make it drinkable.

"Kh'halwer nash-vey k'odu," Spock said. When Nyota hesitated, he went on. "The traditional response is th'i-oxolara kh'harwa."

She repeated it carefully. "I don't know that I've ever heard you speak Vulcan before."

"You still have not, as there is no single 'Vulcan' language."

Nyota felt her cheeks heat. She knew Vulcan, like most planets, had a plethora of languages; she so seldom fell prey to the common practice of labelling the most common language of a planet as the planet's only language. "Any language of Vulcan," she corrected herself. "What language were you speaking?"

"Shi'Kha'ri," Spock said.

Nyota raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean, the language that is most commonly called 'Vulcan' by offworlders?"

"Precision is important," he said severely, although she could tell he was amused.

"Are there any other cultural expectations?" Nyota asked.

Spock took a sip of his own tea. "Vulcans—at least, those following Shi'Kha'ri manners—do not typically speak when food or drink is being consumed. However, outsiders often find the silence to be … oppressive, and I have never minded one way or the other."

"Ah," Nyota said. She'd lost the momentum she'd had when she came here, but she still wanted to know the answer. "Spock, when you told me you had feelings for me, you implied you were considering asking to start a romantic relationship with me."

"Yes. Although I am not ready for any such step, just yet, and may not be any time in the immediate future."

"But you're married!" Nyota burst out. "Your wife called the bridge, what was her name—"

"T'Pring," Spock said, somewhat harshly. "She divorced me."

"Oh." Nyota was taken aback. "I'm sorry." She thought about the timing. "Wait, she divorced you when you were sick? So sick you could only be treated on your homeworld?"

"Yes." Spock sighed. "To be fair to her, Vulcan divorces require both spouses to be present with a priest or healer, so that the telepathic bond may be severed. I had not been back to Vulcan in many years."

"And if she'd asked for a divorce, would you have taken leave and gone to visit?" Nyota asked.

"Yes," Spock said, "although it is considerably more complicated, and difficult, than obtaining a divorce on Earth."

"Still!" Nyota said. She paused. "I'm sorry for bringing it up, it must still be a sore spot."

"Yes," Spock said dryly. He looked aside. "Vulcans prize marriage very deeply, and while my relationship with T'Pring was never close, it was still—I have not been alone in my own skull since we were betrothed at age seven. It is … more difficult than I would have thought, to adjust. A part of me would like to remarry immediately, merely so that I would not have to learn how to be … solitary."

Was he trying to hint that he wanted a serious relationship with her? No, Spock wasn't the type to beat around the bush. But it did put his feelings in a different light. "I'm not opposed to marriage, eventually, but there are a few necessary steps first," Nyota said. Such as deciding if she felt more for him than just 'very attractive man she liked a great deal.'

Spock blinked and looked at her. "I did not mean to imply that I wish to marry you in the immediate future. My apologies for the imprecision. No, if I wished to marry quickly, I would ask my clan matriarch T'Pau and she would find an appropriate Vulcan woman for me to marry. Indeed, I have no doubt that she will soon begin presenting me with possible options whether I ask her to or not."

"So Vulcans go in for arranged marriages," Nyota said, wondering if the T'Pau he named was the T'Pau—if so, no wonder the admiralty hadn't punished the captain for the diversion to Vulcan. "I'm sure based on all sorts of logical criteria."

"Yes," Spock said. "Telepathic and mental compatibility being one of those criteria—which is one reason I should not have been so surprised when T'Pring … did what she did. She and I were never close, even when we were first betrothed."

"And you were seven?" Nyota asked. That seemed terribly young. On a more personal note, the meld would have undoubtedly given him an idea of whether they were telepathically and mentally compatible. Now she was curious what she would have learned about him, if the meld had been more reciprocal.

"Yes," Spock said. "Seven is the customary age, in my clan."

"Why so young?"

"Vulcans are more psychologically stable when we have telepathic bonds, and that is around the age when our bonds with our parents begin to fade," Spock said. "And it is traditional. Not all clans bond their children, or do so that young, and not every House within every clan does it; but most do."

"And now you have no bond," Nyota said, softly, trying to imagine it. "What does that feel like to you? Do you miss it?"

"Like a missing limb," Spock said. "Understand, I do not wish T'Pring back; but I do wish to be bonded. However, the most expedient way to achieve that would be to marry whatever woman T'Pau suggests, and I do not know that marrying a stranger simply to be bonded would be an optimal long-term solution."

"Well, it's sure not the solution I would choose," Nyota said, shaking her head. "I suppose you don't know any unmarried Vulcan women?"

"No. I have spent most of my adult life in Starfleet, in majority-human environments, and approximately 90% of all adult Vulcans are married."

"Ninety percent?" Nyota said. "Wow!" She considered all that Spock had told her. "So when you said you were going through a major life change and needed to figure out what you wanted out of life before even considering whether to act on your feelings for me, you weren't exaggerating, were you."

"I do not exaggerate," Spock said. "In addition, there is another critical consideration: your feelings and wishes, which you have never discussed with me. And the fact that you are currently recovering from a significant trauma. Your resilience is most impressive, and I wish to support you in whatever way you require. Requesting major life changes on your part at this time would be … both selfish and thoughtless."

"Thank you, Spock," Nyota said, touched. "I do want to … settle back in to my life, so to speak, and I hope things will go back to normal as quickly as possible. Well," she said, correcting herself, "as normal as things ever get on Enterprise. I hope I didn't just jinx us."

"Luck—and jinxes—are illogical, Lieutenant," Spock said. "Statistical analyses will always reveal that, when the observer's biases are corrected for, improbable things do not correlate in statistically significant ways to any individual, object, or vessel."

"Spock, two things," Nyota said. She was happy they'd had the conversation, happy to have learned more about him, but still, she was relieved to have the conversation turn lighter. "First, when we're off-duty, you can call me Nyota." After rummaging through her brain, he knew her more intimately than any other person ever had, and it seemed silly to stand on formality. She'd never offered her first name before, but then she'd always felt constrained by the gap in their ranks, but then again, he'd never been this candid with her, either. "Second, how else do you explain all the things that happen to this ship without luck, good and bad alike?"

"Even million-to-one chances occur with some regularity given a large enough sample size," Spock said. "And calculating the odds of any given happenstance is difficult when one is studying the unknown."

"True," Nyota said, "but Enterprise isn't the only Federation starship exploring the unknown, and I've spend enough time gossiping with my fellow communications officers to know that odd and improbable things happen to us at a much higher rate than they do to our sister ships. Do you have any statistical explanation for that that doesn't boil down to 'we're just lucky that way'?"

Spock opened his mouth, but hesitated before speaking.

"I thought not," Nyota said triumphantly. "I'm back on duty starting tomorrow. I'll see you on the bridge in the morning, Spock." She slipped out the door with a smile on her face. It wasn't often she got the last word in a debate with him without cheating in some way.

It wasn't until she was back in her quarters that she realized he very carefully hadn't asked what her feelings toward him might be. Which was considerate of him, given how unsettled she was right now, but still left the question: how did she feel about him? He was very attractive and compelling, of course; she'd always been quite aware of that. And she enjoyed the challenge of sparring verbally with him (and flirting with him when she could get away with it). And he was a friend. But she had always considered him unattainable, and so never put much serious thought into the question.

He was very intense, and that was a quality she appreciated in a partner. The thought of all that intensity focused on her … she shivered, tingling a little. There was a reason she'd never let herself seriously consider his attractiveness. He'd been unapproachable, untouchable, and why open herself to that heartbreak? She'd had her fill of hopeless crushes as a teenager, thank you.

Except now he wasn't unapproachable.

Of course, part of that intensity meant that he wanted a serious relationship that might lead to marriage, and while Nyota had always thought she'd probably get married some day, it had always been something to set aside until some nebulous future after she was done with her adventuring. But a fellow officer on the same ship, that was a relationship she could have while adventuring. And once the Enterprise's five year mission was over, they could always ask to be posted together, if their relationship were still going strong then.

It was an appealing picture.

But what if they tried a relationship and it didn't work? He was much farther along in his attraction to her than she was to him. That might change, but it might not, and she didn't want to hurt him.

She laughed out loud at the absurdity of that thought. "Nobody knows how a relationship's going to end when they start it," she told herself. "And you never know, he might realize a relationship with a human is nicer in fantasy than reality and dump me."

Well. She wasn't ready for anything right this minute, but … it might be an interesting thing to try in the future.

Spock spent the rest of the evening working out a statistical analysis of the Enterprise's mission thus far, as compared to other starships on similar missions throughout Federation and pre-Federation history, and concluded that while the Enterprise was indeed (thus far) more likely to experience unusual events than other starships, it was not the only ship to experience such a pattern, and past performance was no indicator of future events, and so it was just as possible that Enterprise would soon experience no more than the normal unforseen events that happened to any exploratory vessel, while some other ship would find itself experiencing a string of unusual events.

The analysis was not as convincing as he had hoped it might be, but he sent it to Nyota's inbox anyway.

The next morning on the bridge, she got it, sent him a wry look, and set to annotating it in between her attention to her work responsibilities. By the end of the shift she had sent it back to him with insightful comments at every weak point in his analysis, and a note. "Still sounds like luck to me.—N"

Instead of allowing Nyota time to ease back into her life and work and Spock time to contemplate his wishes and priorities, the next mission was exactly the sort which happened to Enterprise more than other Starfleet vessels. The mission to Halka brought a dramatic twist and proof of alternate universes all at the same time. The scientific results were fascinating; the alternates of their crewmates were appalling.

It only took a brief interview with the alternates for a deep fear to plant itself in his gut: did his counterpart harbor similar feelings for the other Nyota, and, if so, what would such a man do to the object of his affections? It was illogical to dwell on the possibilities. Spock was certainly not responsible for the conduct of his alternate, and there was nothing he could do to protect Nyota except finding a way to retrieve the stranded away team, which he and the entire science and engineering teams were working on as quickly as they could. Meditation sufficed to keep his fear leashed, but could not relieve it.

It took a great deal of effort to maintain his control when the away team returned safe and sound, and Nyota showing no signs of trauma beyond that of a stressful undercover mission.

"Still don't believe in luck, Spock?" Nyota asked, after the debriefings were over and she'd had time to rest and write her report. "What other ship would have run into such a thing?" She proved quite immune to his logic and statistics, but the debate was entertaining anyway.

After that were a string of missions that, while noteworthy in themselves, were hardly out of the normal range of their experiences, and then came a mission Spock had been dreading since it was put on their schedule: a trip back into the Federation to pick up ambassadors and escort them to a neutral location for a summit. While he was grateful for the opportunity to see his mother, he could quite easily have gone another eighteen years without speaking to his father. But that was not an option as first officer of a ship his father was travelling on.

Nyota got to their usual practice room before Spock, and was warming up on her algaita by playing a song that had been popular when she'd been a teenager. She was surprised when he walked in with a middle-aged Human woman wearing Vulcan robes. "Hello," Nyota said. "I'm Lieutenant Uhura. Spock, do you need to reschedule?" Maybe the woman was a diplomat and needed something.

"Oh, please don't on my account, I've been looking forward to hearing him play," the woman said with a fond look at Spock, patting him gently on the arm. Spock looked mildly embarrassed.

His mother, perhaps? Spock's mother was Human, though Nyota hadn't known his mother was a diplomat. And why had he brought her here? They weren't even dating yet, much less at the meet-the-parents stage. And wasn't that telling, she realized, that apparently her subconscious thought of dating Spock as a matter of 'when' and not 'if.'

"Lieutenant Uhura, this is my mother," Spock said, confirming her guess. "Doctor Amanda Grayson."

Nyota blinked. "The Doctor Grayson, who worked on the Universal Translator team? The first Human to teach at the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," Doctor Grayson said with a smile.

"I don't want to take time away from you and Spock, because I'm sure it's been a while since you've seen one another, but I would love to talk with you about your work," Nyota gushed. "As head of Communications, so much of what I do uses your translator as a base."

"Not just my translator, I was one of a large team," Doctor Grayson said with a smile. "But I bet Spock would find the conversation interesting as well."

"Languages are a hobby for me, not a vocation," Spock said, "but I do have some interest in the field, and even more in the computer programming which undergirds the Universal Translator's work. I would be quite interested in such a conversation as well."

"Wonderful!" Doctor Grayson said, clapping her hands. "I'll listen to you practice—please don't mind me, or think you have to perform for me; I'm just interested to hear what my son is up to these days—and then we can go get some lunch and talk linguistics, as I know Spock won't mind talking during his meal."

That lunch with Nyota and his mother was the pleasantest two hours Spock had spent in a long time. Of course his mother got along well with Nyota; they both were good people with excellent taste and similar interests. (He steadfastly did not contemplate how his father would react to learning his son wished to marry a human instead of a Vulcan woman of sufficient standing to make up for the alliance lost with T'Pring's challenge; in this, as in most things familial, Spock had no doubt that his father would be deeply hypocritical.)

After the surgery which saved his father's life, Nyota came to visit Spock in his quarters while he recovered. He'd been lying in bed in his meditation robe when she chimed for admittance. The doctor had been forced to take a significant amount of blood, and Spock was on strict orders to rest and eat well for a day or two while his body replenished the supply.

"Come in," he said at the door's chime, rolling out of bed and wincing at the lingering light-headedness.

Nyota stepped in. She was beautiful as ever, and it was pleasant to see her in something other than a uniform. The colorful caftan suited her, as everything did. "I'm not much of a chess player," she said, "and I know that's your game, and I don't know any Vulcan games, but if you'd like to play a game I could learn. I know when I'm sick or injured, the boredom is almost the worst part and I can't imagine it's any better for you."

"An untaxing entertainment to pass the time would be appreciated," Spock said. "If there is a game you are fond of, I am sure I could learn well enough for our purposes."

"You're the one who's under the weather, so we'll play one of your games," Nyota said. "When I'm injured, you can return the favor."

"Very well," Spock said, and got out his kal toh set, putting it in the simplest mode. As both a musician and a linguist, Nyota's skill at pattern-recognition was significantly above average for a Human, and she might find the game interesting.

"I noticed your parents touched a great deal, just their fingertips," Nyota said, making conversation in the middle of their second game. "It surprised me, because Vulcans generally avoid touching other people."

"Being touch telepaths, touching others with bare skin can easily result in unwanted reading of surface thoughts," Spock said. "Given that the majority of nerves which carry telepathic information in Vulcans are in the hands, touching hands is far more intimate than any other part of the body. But Vulcan marriage includes not just physical and emotional intimacy, but mental and telepathic intimacy as well."

"And that touch was … intimate?" Nyota asked.

Spock sighed. "As a child, I was often embarrassed by how visibly and frequently they touched in that manner."

Nyota laughed. "I was embarrassed by my parents kissing. But that didn't stop them—my dad would make their kisses noisier and more theatrical to tease me."

"My mother had that impulse as well, although my father would rarely indulge her outside our home," Spock said.

Nyota hummed and reached out to touch a piece.

"I would not advise that," Spock said.

"Why? No, no, don't tell me, I'll figure it out." Nyota frowned and studied the set for a few minutes, before her expression cleared and she made a much better move.

Nyota sat in the rec deck chatting and laughing with Christine and a few other friends. Spock was sitting on the other side with the Captain, and she couldn't help sneaking looks at him. She had a very good view of him from here, long and lean and graceful, relaxed and content.

He really was very attractive. And she knew him much better now than she had a few months ago. They played kal-to regularly now, in addition to their jam sessions. Even their music had changed. Where once they had focused exclusively on the music, now it was a jumping off point for discussions about music theory, other musical experiences they'd had, and anything else that came up. They'd been growing closer, and she enjoyed spending time with him.

That internal slip she'd made when he introduced his mother really had been telling, she realized. It was a 'when' and not an 'if,' at least from her point of view. And she was ready to be done with waiting.

"What do you think, Nyota?" Christine asked, and Nyota turned her attention back to her friends.

She did make a point of rubbing her fingers together where Spock could see. And from the looks he was sending her way, he'd noticed. She smiled.

Nyota left the rec room, headed for her quarters. "Lieutenant, may I speak with you?" Spock was always more formal in the corridors and other public spaces.

"Why, of course, Commander," she said, voice honeyed. She waited for him to catch up at the turbolift.

"May I ask the purpose of that display?" he asked, once they were inside. He was tense, every line of his body taut.

"I'm back to normal, and I'd be interested in trying a relationship if you are, Spock," Nyota said. "And I thought I'd give you incentive to make up your mind, one way or the other."

"I—you are sure?" he asked, hesitant in a way she'd never seen him be.

"Yes, Spock, I am," Nyota said. "I wouldn't tease about that." She shrugged. "Now, I know you have a lot of decisions to make, and this is probably a bigger deal for you than for me, as Vulcans don't date casually the way Humans do. I don't know if you want to actually try something, but I'm ready if you are."

"I am very unlikely to be content with casual anything," Spock said.

"I kind of figured," Nyota said. "I can't say I'd be willing to marry you right now, if you asked me, but I can't say I'd mind that as a direction to explore. And if we're going to start exploring in that direction, I'm as ready now as I'll ever be. You might need more time, and I respect that. But if all you need is a sign from me, well.…" She held up two fingers, as she'd seen his parents do. His eyes widened and from this close she could see his pupils dilate.

Slowly he stretched out a hand to match, and his eyes closed.

Oh.

That—she hadn't expected to get anything out of the finger caress. But she could feel him, not as clearly as in the meld, no direct thoughts, but she could feel the pulse of them, and the arousal that had been thrumming through him since she started flirting in the rec room. Then he began stroking his fingers against hers, and that was even better.

She really wanted to kiss him, and she leaned in to do just that. He met her halfway; well, of course, he could feel what she wanted. And the kiss was even better, because he didn't let go of her hand and she could still feel him, and he her.

Most first kisses were just a little awkward as you got to know your partner's body, but not this one. Spock could tell exactly what she wanted, and the result was a kiss that made her toes curl and her knees go slightly weak.

The turbolift beeped as they arrived at their destination, and they disengaged. Fortunately, there weren't any people waiting for the turbolift, because if she looked as dazed as Spock did, and people saw them, the rumors would spread at lightspeed.

"Well, Mister Spock," Nyota said, "I call that a promising experiment. But I think it needs further testing, don't you?"

"Indeed," Spock intoned, following her down the corridor.

[gotatext]

PREFERRED NAME — nora. i think i started going by it in like, 2009?? my full name is eleanor but i hated it n thought it was way too pretentious n i never felt like it fitted me so when i started writing on forums i decided i’d be a nora rather than eleanor and then my school friends called me it and it just kinda stuck, the only person who calls me eleanor is my mum

PRONOUNS — she / her / ethereal being beyond comprehension

AGE — 23 but i tell everyone im 21 because even tho time is literally fake im desperately clinging to that fleeting thing we call youth trying to catch it like smoke in my hands

PINTEREST — i actually have two. this one is my main one where i just cram all my shit n i’ve had it for years and some of its super unorganised. then i also have this one which is one i made for exclusively female characters. it started as mythological figures but now its like, women in literature and the occasional oc as well. variety is the spice of life!

DISCORD — lindsay lohan’s meth#8664

TUMBLR (PERSONAL/MUSE/RPH) — i used to be froseths but now im pvrscphones cos ya gal is a fucking whore for mythology 

OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE — oi oi guvna ere’s me twitta. also here’s my letterboxd n my goodreads if anyone still uses tht

MYER-BRIGGS — enfp / infp border .... the classic profile of a lit student

HP HOUSE — hufflepuff, am fuckin mad. 

ZODIAC — libra which is a joke because i am in no way balanced but i guess i AM indecisive and a peacekeeper so?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN ASTROLOGY? — i believe it when it says good shits gonna happen in my life and blame it if bad shit happens but i don’t strongly follow it i just find it interesting

HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU STARTED RPING ON TUMBLR — maybe like 14?? my first rp blog here is literally so embarassing i wrote as clove from the hunger games n my best friend irl wrote cato :/ it was wild

WHAT YEAR WAS IT? — like 9 years ago?? 2010 maybs

NAME A RANDOM ROLEPLAY THAT STICKS OUT IN YOUR MEMORY — me n my friend ellie made this really cool group the summer before we left for uni which was loosely based on a concept mentioned mayb once in the divergent series, but it gave us loads of freedom to make it our own thing. it was called the fringe n it was like..... this dystopian society where people with different genes were cut off from the rest of society n lived in overrun slum cities where different groups had like, a monopoly over weapons, produce, etc.... my character jack was the leader of this lost-boy-esque tribe called the wolf pack who were hunters n used to run across the rooftops wearing the skins of animals they’d killed and engage in tribal rituals with sacrifices to the gods n shit. sounds lame but everyone there was so invested in their character arcs that it was a shame to see it go. but ! it kind of reached its end point so we blew it up w nukes n they all died. tragic.

WHAT WEIRD ANIMAL WOULD YOU HAVE AS A PET IF IT WAS REALISTIC — a fox?? do ppl keep foxes? idk i’ve always just felt a sense of connection w them like when a fox stares at me im like this shit is life i am living and breathing in this bitch.... visceral

NAME THE FIRST SONG ON YOUR DISCOVER WEEKLY ON SPOTIFY OR THE FIRST SONG THAT COMES ON APPLE MUSIC / ITUNES SHUFFLE — everbody party tonight by cobra man n summer girl by haim..... not my usual stuff but big summer chillin vibes,.....

NAME A BOOK THAT YOU READ IN SCHOOL THAT YOU SURPRISINGLY LIKED — lord of the flies and also the handmaid’s tale. one of assignments was to write a chapter from another character’s perspective n i chose moira

NAME A BOOK YOU HATED THAT MOST PEOPLE LIKED — skellig. fuck off with ur asprin ugly bat man i don’t care. also of mice and men. don’t care about the rabbits or curley’s goddamn wife.

WHAT TV SHOW DID YOU RECENTLY BINGE? — im not a big binger bc i find it jst makes me depressed if i watch tv all day but im nearly finished stranger things season 3 n i recently finished euphoria (big rec but proceed w caution as quite triggering content)

FAVOURITE QUOTE — cool girl speech from gone girl. but also “there’s something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls” i know its like.... such an overused quote but it really encapsulates this kind of feral girlhood that a few of my characters like bridget n greta have tapped into. i also loved the line “i feel like i could eat the world raw” from song of achilles, that really captures this kind of.... pure n childlike enthusiasm tht i wanna achieve w rory 

LINK TO A VINE THAT EXUDES YOUR ‘ENERGY’ — this is my energy completely am always covered in glitter n staring broodily out of the windows of ubers at 4am like im in the sad bit of an indie film 

DO YOU WRITE OUTSIDE OF RP? WHAT DO YOU WRITE? — uhh.... not as much as i shd.... i want to be a writer so i shd be makin some effort to get my stuff Out Into The World but im just not.... lol. ive done a lot of poetry collections . i wnt to finish a novel @ some point too.

THREE YOUTUBERS YOU STILL TRUST — bold of you to assume i trust any youtubers

A CELEBRITY CRUSH THAT JUST WON’T QUIT — id literally die for saoirse ronan n timothee chalamet :/ chance perdomo also owns my ass. 

EVER MEET A CELEBRITY? SHARE YOUR STORY — i once high-fived dani harmer, the actress who played tracy beaker. today my sister text me tryin to make me guess what celebrity she just saw on holiday in wales and for ages she let me think it was timmothee but it was actually bradley walsh from the chase :/

WHAT’S YOUR PICTURE-PERFECT NIGHT? — i am in a bomb ass crop top and mini skirt, several scrunchies in my hair, glitter all over my face, wearing cowboy boots. we eat dinner in a trendy but affordable pub that doubles up as a cocktail bar n then we drink zombies or sex on the beaches n go to a rave where everyone is on the same wavelength n i share drugs with girls in the toilets and we swap numbers knowing we will never text each other but its ok bc in that moment we feel like we are soulmates and everyone is super drunk n touching everyone else n its all very visceral and we walk through the woods when the rave ends and lie in the grass because we wish to suck out all the marrow of life 

A CONSPIRACY THEORY YOU KINDA BELIEVE IN — princess diana was murdered 

ARE ALIENS REAL? — maybe the real aliens are the friends we made along the way

PLAY ANY PHONE GAMES? WHICH ONES? — love island game im addicted and way too invested in my fictional relationship with bobby, a cartoon

WHAT’S A FILM YOU LOVED WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG AND RECENTLY WATCHED, ONLY TO FIND OUT YOU DON’T ANYMORE — bold of u to assume i remember my childhood. but if we’re talking last 10 years angust, thongs n perfect snogging is so so cringe 

DO YOU COLLECT ANYTHING? — pairs of glasses belonging to other ppl when they break / get new ones even though i can see perfectly well. 

WHAT’S SOMETHING YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT BUT YOU’RE TOO LAZY? — mythology...... always a craving and a wish i’d read like ancient texts but my school wasn’t good enough to do greek or latin or any of that shit n even tho i could read english translations i cant be bothered. also criminal psychology

THREE LANGUAGES YOU DON’T SPEAK, BUT WISH YOU COULD — italian, french and latin

MOVIE YOU’VE WATCHED MORE THAN 5 TIMES — ladybird, about time, angus thongs, shrek 2, what we do in the shadows, the history boys, atonement, coraline, the breakfast club, ferris bueller’s day off

NAME A FICTIONAL CHARACTER FROM TV/FILM/MOVIE/GAME/BOOK THAT YOU FIND YOURSELF PROJECTING ON / YOU RELATE TO — cecilia lisbon. rue in euphoria. alison brie in glow. adam parrish in the raven cycle. richard papen. olivia cooke’s character in thoroughbreds. allen ginsberg in kill your darlings. lily in sex education. holliday grainger’s character in the film animals --- i too am an aspiring writer who never writes and just gets drunk instead .

DO YOU FOLLOW ANY SPORTS? WHO DO YOU ROOT FOR? — no. cba

HOBBIES BESIDES WASTING AWAY HERE? — i go to the movies basically every day bcos i work in a cinema. im also a voracious reader n i occasionally do theatre or costume making

PLUG A TV SHOW / MOVIE / BOOK / VIDEO GAME / ETC… YOU WISH MORE PEOPLE WOULD CHECK OUT — where the wild things are (film by spike jonze).  animals. beats. the book fen by daisy johnson and a girl is a half formed thing by eimar mcbride. andy warhol’s biography from a to b and back again

WHOSE BRAIN WOULD YOU LIKE TO PICK, ALIVE OR DEAD? — phoebe waller-bridge on how i get her life. carey mulligan on how she got to be such a good actress n how i can become her. maybs wes anderson. maybs gillian flynn. i tend to listen to podcasts w the ppl i really wanna pick the brains of.

TEAM EDWARD OR JACOB? — edward :/

LAST MOVIE SEEN IN THEATRE — blinded by the light n i lovd it

DO YOU STILL READ? — when i finished uni i kinda got out of the habit but this week i finished two books so ive set myself the challenge of a book a week.

IF SO, WHAT ARE YOU CURRENTLY READING? — i finished song of achilles yesterday n i also finished call me by your name yesterday. started circe by madeline miller today, im also partway through milkman by anna burns and the plays of annie barker

ON A SCALE OF 1-10, HOW MUCH DID YOU HATE FILLING THIS OUT? – 3 i didnt hate it bcos at heart i am self-indulgent and love fashioning some sense of self when i feel lost in a world that is scary and constantly changing 

[hush-falls-the-evening]

Solace

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)

Rating: G Words: 1611

Synopsis: Every now and then, Jonathan is acutely reminded how time does not heal all wounds, but gives you better tools to cope. Edward is no tool, however. A fact Jonathan appreciates more than he will ever admit.

misc info: slice of life, comfort, domestic, this fic was inspired by @edwxrdnxgmapost a few days ago. Thank you for the inspiration, I needed that.

You can also read it here on AO3

This kind of the weather would usually bring fond memories to Jonathan Crane.

Not nice ones, other than perhaps the glimpse of a moment, a younger version of himself taking in a particularly pristine sight. A vision that appealed to his eyes alone, frozen in time, seemingly unseen by all who lacked an eye for details.

They never lasted, of course. Gone in a blink, ruined by a shout, renewed dread crawling up his spine in a visceral grip. Bitter reminders that he would never have the luxury to forget who he was.

Which, ironically, he had come to be thankful for. Thankful, but not forgiving. And that trail of thoughts would usually lead to a set of grim yet pleasant recollections of his past retaliations.

... But every now and then, neither his diligent work nor his methodical scheming were enough to give a positive spin on his restless ghosts. Every now and then, a familiar voice across the street would remind him of someone long dead and gone. Sometimes, the sound of rain clattering against his window would rouse imagines of flying terrors. An ageless angst scratching at the edge of his consciousness, settling into his bones where it made itself a niche a long, long time ago.

It was with great distaste that he had come to recognize this affected side of his psyche. And with great zealousness that he delved into the science of the human mind. To find a cure, to find an explanation. For himself, for others. Because understanding was the first step in healing. Because understanding was a weapon few had the chance to yield, and he proved to be extremely good at it.  

However, understanding one-self didn’t erase the vestigial imprints of a past upbringing, particularly in environments that would shame an individual for showing vulnerability of any kind. You could distance yourself from the past, but the past remained. And hence it made sense that someone who had fought and survived on their own, for the most of their life, would inherently feel a crippling sense of weakness toward showing this side of themselves, as they had been raised to lick their wounds in silence, or denied any veracity from their anguish.

Jonathan could recognize the logic of his anxiety, for example, and he knew it was not to be seen as a weakness, neither was seeking help to alleviate its effects. Those were truths he had come to repeat to his patients, to his (former)students, to his questionable friends. But he was nowhere near happy about it when he happened to be the one in that position

And it was with that conflicted irrationality of thoughts that he left his office, his legs leading him inexorably toward the riddling mastermind he shared his current lair with. 

The man was found in one of their common rooms.... sketching. He seemed to be scribbling notes and mechanical designs for future projects, with a few stray question marks decorating the margins. There was an array of laptops surrounding him, warming the room unpleasantly. Well. Three laptops was still far too many, which Jon would normally dispute, should be kept in Edward’s own workshop. To which Edward would retort that working in a different environment helped freshen up his ideas and hence they would normally bicker until one of them rolled their eyes and ignore the argument altogether In favor of something of equal bantering but-...

But, not tonight. And as he stepped into the room quietly, Edward raised a brow at his unusual lack of snark. Jon simply went to sit on the remaining side of the couch.

“I would move that one away, if I were you.” Jon said, pointing at the laptop sitting between them. 

“And what if I don’t?”

“Well, I’m lying down whether it’s there or not so, there’s always the risk that I might ‘accidentally’ throw one of your gadget on the ground in the process.”

The Riddler seemed intrigued, and gave a rich laugh. “Oh, trust me, Jonathan. My ‘gadgets’ are more likely to maim you than you are to damage them.”

“Oh, well then don’t mind if I-”

“No-, you.” He snatched the device away, giving him a particularly nasty glare. Jonathan almost chuckled. Almost. Edward positively sneered.

Jon somehow shifted his elongated frame to lay beside the redhead, who begrudgingly offered a wayward pillow for his head.

“I recall you saying my laps were quite comfortable,” he offered with faux triviality.

“They surely cannot be compared to mine, or so I’ve heard.”

“A mystery to none. However?”

“I’m going to be there for a while. I though I could be considerate of your thighs.”

“Oh how very thoughtful of you,” he offered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

But he was smiling, actually putting his work aside (for now) to lean over him, one arm pressed against the back of the couch, the other twirling a strand of dark peppered hair. “But enlighten me, my friend. What can I do for you on this fine stormy evening?”

Jon took a moment to consider his reasons, and went on to a whole new topic. “I’m actually quite impressed you haven’t turned on that ridiculous electrical fireplace of yours.”

“Well-... There’s no need for a fire, Jon. Anyone with an ounce of logic would understand that, what with all of this equipment running at once...” He trailed off, but added dramatically. “Although, with a bit of warning I could prepared a thematic scenery to exasperate you further, Lenore.”

“And come to find you draping the furnitures? How dreadful.”

Edward laughed delightfully. “Now now, we both know you love it.”

The tall man didn’t answer at that but chuckled deeply, closing his eyes. After a moment, he quietly fetched the hand above him, keeping it close to his chest. This had the simultaneous reaction of silencing the man in green. Jon felt the other freckled hand combing through his wiry scalp soothingly.

“I need to know what I’m working with, if you don’t mind.” Edward’s voice was soft, but with an unmistakable purpose. 

Edward Nygma was a man of many talents. Many one could ponder over on a daily basis. His life and personal knack for trouble had led him to hone a remarkable set of skills, and personality traits, that proved themselves immeasurably useful- 

Well, not all of them useful. Inconvenient at best, but that was for a different rant.

There was the undeniable fact that the man bolstered about himself a great deal, but only a fool would think he was not paying attention, not using the exact tone, with the exact tilt, for his exact goal. To you, the exact person he knew you were when you entered the room. Said fool(you) would found themselves led astray under his persuasive words faster than one could possibly conceive.

It was an ability that Jon had refined as well, for his own nefarious deeds. He could recognize the cleverness with which the freckled man earned the reputation of an efficient silver-tongued businessman over the years. For better or for worse, depending where his interests laid.

And sometimes, his interests laid with Jonathan’s.

Jon rested still for a moment, focusing on feeling the fading scratches on the palm resting underneath his own calloused grip. The hand in his hair softly tracing the outline of his ear.

“Bad night, perhaps?” he inquired, although he knew the answer already. 

“Something like that.” Jonathan drawled, bracing himself despite any rational reasoning. Bickering was a lot more familiar than asking for his assistance.

A moment of calm settled. Jon found a haven in the tactile familiarity between them. When at last Jonathan spoke, his tone was shaped with stoical clarity, as he preferred to view his state in a clinical light.

“Perhaps you could indulge me in any remote subject until this storm passes.” 

He did not try to see the reaction on his partner’s face, as he had very little care in it at the moment. He presumed the man considered his request from the thoughtful thumb was drawing half circles against his skin. 

“Perhaps I could,” he said, his voice the same calming quality as earlier. “Although, the weatherman claimed it would be thundering all night. Do you have any strong arguments as to make it worth my time?” he asked in jest, effortlessly pleased with the idea.

“Aside retrieving the use of your hands?”

“Oh now it’s a hostage situation, I see how it is.”

Jonathan smirked, amused by the thought. He shifted the caged arm so as to run his nose against the sensitive skin, following the junctions of palpitating veins threateningly. He knew Edward was holding his breath as a shiver ran past the limb in his grasp. 

Only then did he crane his head to look back at the riddle mastermind. Jonathan’s pale gaze bored into emeralds as he ran his own calloused thumb over the tender flesh of his forearm.

“Edward,” he began softly. “Your voice would be a most welcomed indulgence for me tonight, if you could oblige,” he finally asked, remaining as matter-of-factly as possible.

Jonathan then released him at last, folded his hands over his gaunt middle and sighed deeply, closing his eyes once more.

Edward had yet to move, reclaimed freedom be damned, his freed fingers softly drumming with irritation, as if to match the rhythm of his own beating heart. 

After a silence, Jon could hear him settle more comfortably, seemingly resolved on keeping his hand where it was resting for a while longer.

They fell back into the familiar setting they’ve come to adopt every now and then, when Jonathan would come to seek for his assistance. Edward reciting the flow of his latest interests with a voice meant to soothe an interlocutor, and Jonathan listening intently, letting the sound cover the clattering windows, the vague echos of chatters bordering his consciousness, the shrieks of the winds...

Jon knew he must had fallen asleep after a while. He could briefly recall the faint sound of scribbling. A soothing on-and-off-toned tenor humming the lullaby he had taught him a long, long time ago. One dark and stormy night.

[fadedtoblue]

Recap of the Defenders panel at SDCC 2017, Part 1

OH HEY Y’ALL. I’m still alive, thanks for asking, though I might as well be DEAD bc of the INSANITY that was that panel today. I really appreciate you all sitting through my incoherent, flail-y live posts (so many exclamation points! Yet also not enough!) and I loved reading the all caps commentary in my notes. I know everyone wants more details so I’m going to try my best to recap the happenings as thoroughly as possible, though I think I’ll have to split this into two parts and save all the juicy first episode stuff in Part 2. Anyway, let’s begin!

First of all, I want to point out that I was repping my girl Elektra all day and hustled my ass up to the sixth? Seventh row? by the end of the day, which was fabulous. 

These are the important details you were waiting for, right?! Ha ha I kid. 

Anyway, the panel started a little past 5:15pm, and like last year’s Luke Cage panel, they throw up a Defenders branded countdown clock to get the room hyped...not that we need it, but it’s effective and everyone is cheering. Marvel is always good at putting on a show for their fans :). The Defenders title card shows up on screen and segues into an introduction of Jeph Loeb (who needs no introduction!). He geeks out over the fact Defenders is in Hall H and it’s the first time a Marvel Television show has been in that room! He also starts a little bit with the crowd about surprise guest stars and the road to getting to the Defenders show. 

Part way through, however, he gets interrupted by the Director of Programming at Comic-Con, who surprises him with an Inkpot Award. I’m not entirely clear on what it is, but it seems like a tremendous honor and Jeph is genuinely shocked. We give him a standing O and I’m kind of tearing up tbh -- this guy IS Marvel Television and I’m incredibly appreciative of that!

After this quick detour, Jeph tries to get things back on track, and we kick things off with a surprise visit by the Punisher himself, Jon Bernthal, who looks incredible as always. 

Raucous cheers, as expected, and a bit of chatting about Jon and the Punisher show. Jon made a lovely little speech about reprising the role of Frank and gave a shout out to the men and women of law enforcement and the military as well as the comic book fans, and how he hopes they got it right.

Then of course, the moment we were all waiting for: a sneak peek at footage from The Punisher! I’ve seen a few posts that have already gone into some detail about the contents of the clip but the most striking thing to me the very specific sense of style we got from the footage -- the content of the footage pulls heavily from the foundation built for the character in Daredevil but Punisher the show definitely feels like its own beautiful, unique thing. I was flipping my shit at the incredible scene that kicked off the footage -- Frank, alone with a guitar, plucking out a song, which is intercut with flashback footage of Frank teaching Lisa how to play the same song on the same guitar, and you see the anguish on Frank’s face and the demons he’s trying to exorcise. The footage of Frank laying absolute waste to the Dogs of Hell, cartel, and random money guy (I confess I can’t really remember what this guy’s deal was) -- it was visceral, unrelenting, and also a touch of humor (particularly in how they shot the latter two scenes). Frank was fully suited in Punisher armor, so I imagine this happens pre-shaggy haired Frank.

Anyway, everyone is THRILLED with the footage but we can’t linger too long -- we have to move onto the main show!! Jeph introduces the cast one by one, and though there’s a bit of difficulty getting everyone in the right spot (the girl setting up the name cards ended up switching them in backwards order -- whoops!!), they manage to get these beautiful people out there and smiling for the crowd!

Left to right: Charlie Cox, Krysten Ritter, Mike Colter, Finn Jones, Sigourney Weaver, Elodie Yung, Deborah Ann Woll, Jessica Henwick, and showrunner Marco Ramirez.

The first major announcement Jeph drops once the cast is assembled is the official announcement that Iron Fist is starting production on Season 2! He very specifically name drops Misty Knight in connection with Colleen Wing, heavily teasing a Daughters of the Dragon tie in for S2. No other details shared but Finn Jones is visibly delighted and shares a high five with Krysten and a hug with Sigourney!

After this announcement, we pretty much get started on the panel, and Jeph goes down the line and does a combination of introducing the person + asking them some questions about their role (my memory is probably the most spotty on this part, so I’ll try my best to summarize the key details). 

Showrunner Marco Ramirez was basically asked about his experience putting together the Defenders.

Jessica Henwick discussed the journey of Colleen’s character on Iron Fist and how that carries over into The Defenders.

Deborah Ann Woll talked briefly about the experience of filming two shows at the same time -- they specifically mentioned that in at least one instance she was filming Defenders during the day and Punisher by night. She joked about going to Rosario and begging her to share how she does it.

Elodie Yung (look at how adorable she is, I can’t even you guys) talks more about where we find Elektra in The Defenders.

Sigourney Weaver is an absolute class act and clearly everyone loves her. She speaks briefly about what a fan she is of the previous shows and how she’s enjoyed working with everyone. They’ve been purposely very evasive about the background of her character, though she does specifically touch on the nature of her and Elektra’s relationship, which she describes as being one of the most unusual things she’s ever experienced. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?? I don’t know :p.

Okay, my memory starts to fail me on the next few, but I’m pretty sure Finn sticks to talking about his journey on Iron Fist S1 and how it picks back up in The Defenders.

The ladies wouldn’t stop cheering for lady killer Mike Colter. I can’t really remember the substance of what he talked about, but it focused mainly on the relationships he’s built between him and other characters, as well as how much he’s enjoyed working with the other actors.

Krysten Ritter is positively gorgeous and ugh, I can’t remember what Jeph asked her. I have this sense that it was probably about Jessica Jones having to work together with other people because everyone has asked her about it already :). 

Charlie Cox talks about being the risks of being the first show out of this group of 4. I just realized the man in the beginning yells “My wife loves you!” and I’m fairly sure my husband was thinking the exact same thing LOL.

Now at this point, I’m starting to shoot another video, thinking it’s going to be some more banter or something -- Jeph talking about the cast behind the scenes and screwing around, and then Charlie pipes up “I think we should just show the people some stuff.” At which point everyone cheers, while Jeph mock protests, which prompts Sigourney to stand up about it too, which prompts more cheering.

Now at this point, we were probably all thinking, another full length trailer? Maybe some exclusive clips? And then Jeph says something along the lines of, “We have a clip to show you that’s about the same length as the first episode of the series. Tonight we’re showing you the first episode of the Defenders.”

AND THE ROOM FLIPPED ITS COLLECTIVE SHIT. It all happened so fast that my husband was literally trying to tear the phone out of my hand while I live blogged my post about the first ep (Marvel snipers are real) and now I have to stop and put it, and reaction to the full length trailer, which they debuted after we finished the eipsode, in another post!!!

Also tagging everyone that left breathless comments asking for more details in my notes: @matt-and-elektra​, @protect-frankcastle​, @msdevald​, @darkphoenixgoddess10​, @dmcreif​, @emillarke, @wallahlesbian. MORE SOON!