#ch; Carol Ferris

[snikt111]

hi hi hi hi I found out about Hal Jordan TODAY and am going so autistic over him it’s insane can you please give me a rundown on what his deal is I think you’re the Tumblr Green Lantern guy

omg hi, insane compliment btw, tysm! i'm glad to give you a rundown!! also definitely check out @katmaatui for more hal info, red is SUPER knowledgable abt him. @rillette, @catboyollie, @halcarols, @starsapphire and @yellowcorps (along with so many others that i cant think to tag off the top of my head) have some great hal takes too! (edited the post just to tag more ppl)

apologies if this is a bit rushed/messy, i'm doing this while i smelt stone in minecraft LMAO

that being said... i think this will be a long one, so more below the cut :3

(cw for light mentions of pedophilia, abuse, canon typical violence)

okay, so hal jordan is the first human green lantern of the GREEN LANTERN CORPS. it's important to note that there was technically a human green lantern before him (alan scott, originally from earth two/the justice society, but integrated into main DC canon after crisis), but his power comes from a different source- which is a whole different ballpark that would take ages to explain, lol, so i'll move on from that.

hal was originally introduced in a showcase issue in 1959, but ended up getting a solo run in the mid 60s because of his showcase issues doing well. he's been a test pilot, middle brother, compassionate, rule follower (although being surprisingly liberal for the time) with an interesting relationship with star sapphire carol ferris since those first appearances. for the first 20 odd years of his appearances we had no information on his parents, but we got a lot from other family members, such as uncle titus, cousin hal jr (aka airwave), younger brother jim jordan and older brother jack jordan. through the 60s and 70s those members of his family were developed along with him; with the audience learning that jim's wife sue thought jim was green lantern, rather than hal, and hal himself training his cousin, hal jr.

the most known version of how hal got the ring in the first place is probably based off of geoff john's rewrite in the mid 00s, reiterating the original story of abin sur crashing onto earth and dying, leaving hal with his ring to be trained by sinestro and the rest of the glc, while also changing miniscule details that had been developed in emerald dawn 1 & 2 (which was released in the 90s, more on that later). the main premise of abin sur's crash has stayed the same, but the story around hal's current life, job, family and stability keep changing. for instance, the original comic with abin sur in showcase only showed hal getting the ring, the guardians choosing him. the first rewrite i can think of was emerald dawn volume 1, published in 1989 and continued in emerald dawn v2 (1991). here we get the classic hal watches his father die in a plane crash with carol ferris beside him as a pre adolescent, and some of the biggest implications of the mistreatment from his father. we also get introduced to hal, despite his stick to the rules, straight edge attitude, making some serious mistakes and putting people in danger and even death- with the implication of alcohol abuse. the audience HAS known hal used to be in the air force since sometime in the late 60s or early 70s (sorry, i don't remember the exact issue!), but emerald dawn shows us that hal's moved on from the air force and into test piloting, and that his mother keeps having to bail him out for making mistakes. emerald dawn vol 1 shows the abin sur moment, followed by fights that cost hal's friends life, and is followed up by sinestro training hal in emerald dawn vol 2, where we get to see the iconic scenes of hal finding out about sinestro and his... dictatorship.

along with that; how the guardians and rings are treated and hal and the glc's perception of them is vastly changed over time. in the early days of gl in the 60s, the guardians were really never to be seen. hal was repeatedly summoned to them and then had his memory almost fully wiped- only leaving a vague notion of his orders. the guardian's called hal to them at seemingly the worst times, ending up with him almost getting injured, getting in trouble at work, and even ending up jobless and homeless. the chaos of being a green lantern has been around the WHOLE time, but originally, the green lanterns didnt really... fight it. the guardian's were their masters (and even father figures, to hal) and not to be questioned. the rings in the 60s were also much more powerful, despite the yellow weakness (the yellow weakness is the notion that from about the 60s to the mid 90s the green lantern rings were completely unable to be used against anything yellow). time travel, phasing, teleporting, etc were all very viable and common things- as well as forceful shapeshifting, invisibility, mind control, mind reading, etc etc. these days, writers have dampened these powers down to mostly shooting light and constructs.

okay, it's parallax time. the emerald twilight arc from the mid 90s wasn't an arc that was as thoroughly planned out over a long period of time as it probably should have been. a lot of fans at the time (and even now) hated what happened there, and claimed it ruined hal's character entirely. i can understand why! but, at it's core, the parallax arc is a story about a broken man pushed to the limit, fully grieving his home and family (originally, he lost his brother jim in the destruction of coast city, along with a lot of other family members) and being goddamn fed up with how his "masters" treated him and the rest of the corps. the so called "perfect lantern" (no, he wasn't that much of a rebel, despite what johns wants you to think) snapped and essentially tried to gain as much power as he could to bring back coast city. when the guardians stripped him of his powers so he couldn't, hal became enraged and took down every lantern in his path, just to get to the guardians and that power. long story short, he kills the guardians and absorbs all the energy from the central power battery on oa, becoming parallax- essentially a god. this marks the start of zero hour, an event made by dc to restructure and reset; giving the comics a new generation of heroes. hal destroys the world and remakes it, but is ultimately taken down by kyle rayner, the new green lantern, with the help of the jla, jsa and associates. there are a few more run ins with parallax after this, before kyle convinces parallax/hal that he can make up for all of this by reigniting the sun after it went out- aka killing himself. hal does it, is stuck in limbo for awhile and then becomes the spectre to continue to make up for the horrible things he did as parallax. the spectre is the spirit of god's wrath and vengeance, a weapon used to drag sinners to their very own, self made hells, and scare the shit out of people. the spectre, from it's very first appearance, is a ghost like spirit that takes on a host, and is primarily described using christian terms and is used in a very... christian ideology. HOWEVER, the spectre 2001 confirms that hal is jewish (jewish mom, catholic dad) and that belief system, plus his personality as a whole, literally makes him change the spirit of vengeance into the spirit of redemption, for at least as long as they are bonded. the whole parallax to spectre arc is about grief, pain, cycles of abuse and terror, redemption and guilt. it is NOT about a fear bug that possess hal. (im so serious though, the spectre 2001 is one of the best comics ive ever read. amazing. changed my world view) but... geoff johns changed all of it, decanonized the spectre, and ruined the legacy of parallax and hal's growth as a person by releasing green lantern: rebirth in 2004/2005. this retcons hal's breakdown and journey through grief into him BEING POSSESSED BY AN ENTITY CONTROLLED BY SINESTRO THAT FULLY CHANGES PREVIOUS GREEN LANTERN CANON AND IMPLICATIONS. also, fucks up the importance of kyle becoming ion, but whatever. geoff johns writes hal (and even more so, carol) so very wrong, and change their stories so vastly in ways that go against the stories very meanings.

SIGH.

now... time to get started on some rougher stuff. hal jordan misconceptions. i'm saving that arc for last.

- hal jordan wasn't much of a rule breaker or rebel until the 70s/80s, where he BEGAN (very slowly, mind you) to be radicalized by oliver queen during denny o'neil's green lantern/green arrow. hal was painted as more of a conservative during this period (which, admittedly, kind of goes against previous canon... he's always been relatively central to liberal, not to any extremes like ollie though, lol) but gets more and more understanding of how power structures work and how lower classes are mistreated during this time- which ends up opening his eyes a bit to how shitty the guardians are. (this is helped by the guardians literally just. leaving. the green lanterns and kind of disbanding them so they can go fuck the zamarons, lmao). geoff johns tried to change this narrative into making hal a very... maverick-from-top-gun type of character, who punched his way out of the military (when, in reality, the original story during emerald knights in the late 90s was that hal had been framed for stealing a jet and was dishonorably discharged, which he took the punishment for because he knew someone had to) and hits on women constantly and gets ladies and allat (which, funnily enough hal was awful at getting carol to like him for a long time, since carol fell for green lantern rather than hal. not to mention the awkwardness of carol's proposals or hal's many, many failed relationships). hal has always been insecure and lowkey boyfailure, he is NOT a top gun maverick tom cruise sorta guy! fuck you jeremy adams!

- hes not that much of an idiot asshole. hal can be a real dick, he's had that going for him since the beginning, but he isn't what you read in batfam fics. he's not stupid and shouldn't be the laughingstock of the justice league. i assume this idea started from the obsession with batfam and the fact that the jla has quite the history of ignoring hal and his issues (as well as. all of their issues. theyre not so great at work life balance), but it's gone too far. hal isn't making fun of the robins and pissing bruce off bc of that. hal isnt fooling around on the job 24/7 (he takes being a gl and pilot VERY seriously, although he does enjoy some danger and high stakes) or slacking off to get girls. again. not top gun maverick.

- hal has not been a creep since the beginnings. hal was not weird with carol in the 60s. things were weird between them, yeah, but that's based off circumstance and the craziness of star sapphire and green lantern. he was NOT being horribly sleazy! i hate that i even need to say this, but i see this take too much not to

- going off of what was said above, lets discuss the arisia arc. if you want to be a real hal fan, this is unfortunately something you need to know about. in action comics, after crisis and the guardians left to go fuck the zamarons, most of the green lanterns fell apart and seperated. a small group went to earth- led by hal and consisting of hal, john stewart, katma tui, kilowog, salaakk, ch'p and arisia rrab. (also sometimes guy gardner, but that's complicated) previously to this arc, hal treated 14 year old arisia like a beloved little sister, welcoming her and leading her into the corps just like everyone else. things started to change once the timeline gets closer and closer to crisis, where arisia starts showing that she has a crush on hal (who is roughly 30s at this point). any advances made by arisia are shut down by hal at the beginning, because she's a child. now, it's unfortunately a common thing to just call hal a "pedophile" because of what happens in this arc- but it really isn't that simple. still weird and icky, but definitely not to the degree of which some fans like to act like it is- esp to attack hal fans for, which is... an odd choice regarding how many fucked up things every character (esp male characters) did back in the day. arisia ends up using her power ring to artifically age herself up, making her body AND MIND into that of a young adult (the comic makes this very clear). once this happens... hal stops rejecting her. they get together, they kiss. the only person in the group of green latnerns who actually has an issue with it is john (salaakk is meh about it, but he just doesn't like human-esque romance no matter what), and katma even directly encourages their relationship. kilowog ends up crushing on arisia as well, and guy gardner hits on her repeatedly throughout the whole period. eventually, hal and arisia break up, but this legacy (thank so much englehart, for wrtiting this. /sarc) is a big controversy among the comics crowd. "is hal jordan a predator?" personally, and i know a lot of friends/mutuals/other gl fans choose to erase the arisia arc entirely (versus how canon ended up retconning it to be 14 earth years is equal to that of an adult and she didn't really get super ages up, or whatever) and go with the familial relationship between hal and her. that's my preferred version! i know red (@katmaatui) has explored that version as well as an alternate version where the arisia arc did happen, and how it affects arisia in particular, which is really depressing but super interesting. anyway, it's complicated and weird and nuanced, but that whole occurence doesn't mean hal's a bad character or person (cause yk. retcons) and it's certainly not bad to like his character. (definitely ignore any guy gardner fans who try to bitch about this arc. cough cough. guy was ALSO into her and hit on her repeatedly. smfh) most people who bring this up to demonize fans didn't even read the arc, and don't know the nuance or the other weird shit that happens in it. (hal is not a horse, sigh)

OVERALL NOTES!

hal jordan is a super complicated character with an extensive history spanning from the 60s to his worse written appearances in modern age. it's okay to like any version of the character, but it is important to note the changes that have been made, the storylines butchered and lost, and more. he has quite the legacy, and he's particularly interesting as from a moral standpoint. hal's a real sweetie though, when it gets down to it! he's neurodivergent coded (imo at least.. his dad very much gets onto him for being disrtracted, hes kinda shit at social interaction (and then amazing at it the other half of the time) etc etc. "spacecase") and his dad is an abusive asshole, who he desperately doesnt want to be like but thinks he NEEDS to be like!

[skyler10fic]

Wonder: Ch. 1 - By Day

Summary: In a world of elemental magic, orders and houses train novices in the ancient mystical arts and help them find suitable careers to use their talents. But for young witches, the power of true love can tempt them away from the high ambitions their magical families have for them. Can Daisy of the House of Shield and Carol, Captain of the Mar-Vell Order, have it all?

For Witches in the @augustwritingchallenge and Flight, just in time for @sapphic-september

Read on Ao3 (chapter 1: rated G, chapter 2 will be M)

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

Magic isn’t consistent from person to person. It’s as unique as a fingerprint. Or the flecks of hazel in brown eyes. Or the kiss of a woman who knows what she wants.

And Carol, witch of the Order of Mar-Vell, knew exactly what she wanted—or rather, who. And every time Carol saw her beloved in the village marketplace, her fire magic sparked inside with longing and warmth. The jewel of her affections was Daisy, witch of the House of Shield. Daisy was beautiful in the wild charm of the fae folk. Her raven hair, dark almond eyes, and quick smile made Carol’s heart melt.

But it was her kindness to young and old that drew Carol to her. Well, and her sheer power. Knowing Daisy was skilled in the destructive art of earth magic made her gentleness all the more attractive. It is sweet to observe the weak helping the weaker, and it’s impressive to watch the powerful at work, but to see someone capable of such powerful magic use it for small delights for children or favors for the elderly, so quick to offer help to any in need… that’s what won Carol’s heart forever. It also challenged Carol to use her fire magic for the benefit of others and not simply for pragmatic needs or dangerous tricks.

As they walked and browsed the market under the late summer sun, Mother Mar-Vell, head of Carol’s order, sighed and rolled her eyes at Carol’s obvious pining. She turned away to pick some powders on a display outside the apothecary for their potion stock and Carol reluctantly joined her.

“You could browse for some charmed objects at the House of Shield tents,” Mother Mar-Vell offered. “I know you’ve been saving up your wages from the Bird. Even taking extra cargo flights after the passenger ferries are done for the day?”

“But I’ve been saving up to buy something for her, not from her. I want to impress her. Ask her on a dazzling first date, you know? Something…”

“Magical?” Mother Mar-Vell laughed. Young love delighted her, but she needed her pilot to keep her head in the skies, not on Daisy of Shield. And the only cure for that was for the heart-eyed witches to settle into a comfortable but ordinary, boring, ol’ established partnership. In the meantime, Carol and Daisy would have to slowly progress through the stages of flirtation to bliss to honeymoon to the steady ground of taking each other for granted and mundanity. And the rest of the village would just have to pretend like their love story wasn’t as obvious as if it were written in the stars. And though the celestial witches would say the stars in the sky don’t work like that, the stars in their eyes as they blushed and fumbled their way toward their destiny certainly told everyone without the need for prophecy or divination.

Carol stayed outside the apothecary, leaning on the open wooden doorway to dreamily watch Daisy work her family’s shop at the market. Their large silver caravans, pulled by two giant eagles, traveled the county’s green hills, bringing trinkets, charmed objects, and enchanted wares to all, which they displayed under a row of tents. Some tables displayed the latest in magical innovation, and others showed antiques of legendary power—if one only had the right powers to unlock them.

The order settled here in the largest village on the days in between their travels, at a tall, grand house of similarly gleaming silver. Carol had walked by one day and seen Daisy training in the front garden, and every day after, she made it a point to walk that way every opportunity she had just on the chance that Daisy would be outside. They had gotten close, literally, as Daisy taught Carol the archery she was practicing, and Carol turned the bolts to flaming arrows to impress Daisy, extinguishing them as soon as they hit the target. They’d made an art form of flirting by magic tricks in the year since.

They were still novices when they met, forbidden from romantic partnerships until they learned to master their witchcraft. But now, they’d each earned their places in their orders, though they maintained a friendship of innocent banter and undeclared yearning. Nearly everyone could see they were essentially courting, but the villagers didn’t consider it their place to assume or intervene. Countryside magical culture taught them to leave people to their business and what would come to be would be. (Not that it kept them from gossiping when the subjects of their talk weren’t around, of course.) But no one dared mention it to Daisy’s parents, the Lord and Lady of the House of Shield.

Mother Mar-vell exited the apothecary with purchases in hand and tsked at Carol still standing there, exchanging blushing smiles with Daisy but not actually approaching her in public.

“C’mon, Captain,” she scolded and continued on in the opposite direction from the House of Shield tents and tables in the market square. “You missed your chance. We’re off to the bookshop.”

Carol pouted slightly, like a pagegirl half her age, but continued to walk through the marketplace beside her mentor. She usually enjoyed the special attention Mother Mar-vell gave her and the privilege of spending a day off in the village together one-on-one. And the older woman was almost literally her mother. Carol’s own parents had dropped her off at the order at the earliest possible age, just (an admittedly highly flammable) 10 years old. She grew tough as the little sister of all the teens and young adults, rising quickly in the ranks and learning to control her fire magic from hard-earned experience and training from the Mother herself. They didn’t spend as much time together now that Carol was fully certified as a pilot and spent all her work time in the flying machine. She should be grateful for a day with her kind, generous matriarch.

Still, Carol couldn’t help but wish she could spend all day browsing the House of Shield shop, getting Daisy to tell her about each knick-knack and bobble. She only perked back up when the bookshop keeper showed her a new atlas called a Grand Perspective System, or GPS for short.

“See,” the old man gestured as he flipped the cover open, “you just find the right page for the part of the world you’re flying over, then say the enchantment for your destination, and it shows you the grand perspective of your route as well as how to get there and how long it will take.”

“That’s incredible,” Mother Mar-vell praised as Carol fiddled with the features along the edge of the book.

The shopkeeper whispered, “They say the next model is going to be able to fly the Bird for you.”

Carol let out a laugh, “Well, that seems to be the only thing this doesn’t do, so I suppose it’d have to.”

Pleased, the shopkeeper offered his top price for a case of them, one for each Bird in the fleet, but Mother Mar-Vell countered until they reached an amicable agreement. Carol had managed to get her mind off the daughter of the House of Shield for a while, until, of course, she thought of the awed grin Daisy would make if she could show it to her.

—-------------

Daisy was almost relieved when Carol disappeared with the head of her order into the crowd. The Shield shop was too busy for her to get distracted, and with the blonde pilot watching her, Daisy could barely breathe, much less make correct change. She’d had to use the counting machine for even the simplest exchanges and simultaneously hide how flustered she was from the customers.

“Stay focused,” her mom, Lady Melinda, reprimanded. “What’s gotten into you today?”

Her dad, Lord Philip, placed a large crate of cauldron-stirring utensils on the table. “I know what it is. Same problem I had.”

He winked at his wife as she raised a questioning eyebrow, but he just went back to the storage wagon to get more, so Melinda redirected her attention to Daisy, awaiting an explanation.

Daisy took a deep breath. “You know how you were a pilot of Mar-Vell before you met Dad?”

“That’s how we met,” Phil added. “She flew the cargo machines. Her air magic swept me off my feet.”

“Right,” Daisy picked back up, “well, there’s this witch. She’s a pilot too. But with fire magic. She’s ….” Daisy trailed off and searched for the right words to describe Carol to her mom.

“Dangerous?” Melinda filled in. “A distraction?”

“Mom!” Daisy protested. “That’s not fair. Just because she has fire magic!”

“Sweetheart,” Melinda warned, “the last time you were courted by a fire magic user, he made his way racing fire-powered carriages, and need I remind you of the light magic user before that from the Eternal Valley…”

“She’s not like those boys! Or anyone. She grew up in the order of Mar-Vell. Your order!”

Melinda rubbed her forehead. “Daisy. Tell me that young woman watching you today isn’t the same 12-year-old that set her cat on fire the first day Mother Mar-Vell brought him home.”

“No,” Daisy protested in a small voice, “okay, yes, but that was a long time ago! We’re adults now. And he was fine. He’s a magic kind of cat.”

“I may not spend much time with the order anymore, but I’ve heard stories about this girl. And I know young pilots. You aren’t a novice anymore, so you’re free to make your own choices, but just be careful.”

“I know, Mom.” Daisy helped her father unpack a new crate of anti-anxiety soaps and lotions. If only her mom would use some, maybe Daisy could get some peace around here. She knew her mom couldn’t forbid her from seeing Carol anymore, but doing it anyway also meant going against her mom’s wishes. And try as she might to be a rebel, Daisy did deeply care about making her parents proud. At least her dad seemed supportive.

When Melinda had left, Phil said softly to Daisy, “You know, sometimes the best way to win her over is to prove her wrong. If you start courting Carol, can you keep up with your duties here and your new product ideas and the repair work you promised the Eternal Valley?”

Hands braced on the edges of the empty wood crate in front of her, Daisy hesitated but looked her father in the eye to instill confidence in them both. “Definitely.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her flicker of uncertainty but let her off the hook. “Then prove that to your mother. And use your powers responsibly. I don’t want to hear about hills turning into volcanos or anything because you two tried to combine your magic.”

“Wait, could we do that?” Daisy’s curiosity did not help her cause. Before her dad could take back his support, she changed the subject. “Not that we would, I’m just interested in how different magic types work together. For work. It could help us make new charms other sellers can’t?”

“Good save, but keep that one academic for now. We have enough trouble on our hands. The Eternal Valley is tightening restrictions on outsiders.” He sighed and surveyed the products that were selling and the ones that weren’t. He picked up a box of quick-healing bandages. “Take this to Jemma. She’ll sell them faster than we will, and it opens up space for Wanda’s Washer Wands.”

“Will do.” Daisy took the box from him and put it in her bag with magically enhanced storage capacity. To the nonmagical, this feat would have astonished the eyes and defied the imagination, but for the House of Shield, it was unremarkably common. “Have you told Wanda we can’t keep those in stock? The new stain-removing ones are sold out before I can get to the taverns. They want me to take orders so they can have enough for their whole staff.”

Phil turned and blinked at her in awe. “You’re selling them to the taverns? I hadn’t thought of that.”

Daisy shrugged. “Parents aren’t the only ones who need Washer Wands. I know Wanda made them with other moms in mind, but why not double our profits with the industrial uses as well?”

A proud smile bloomed on Phil’s face. “Brilliant.”

Daisy turned to walk away but paused. “Do you think they remove blood?”

“Sometimes you ask really disturbing questions, you know that?” He picked up a wand and read the note Wanda had attached to each. “Huh. Looks like they do.”

“What if I ordered a few for Jemma? Healers need Washer Wands as much as taverns do.” She shrugged a little too casually. “It could be useful.”

“You can ask her, but sure, and we can offer them to the healers in other villages. You’re full of uses for these!”

Daisy grinned. “That last one was Carol’s idea.”

With that, she sauntered off to Jemma’s clinic where she could get some real advice about courting Carol without dropping the ball on anything else.

—-----------------

As usual, Carol ferried passengers in the big metal Bird across the skies. Some were headed to the gleaming city to visit the palace, whether as tourists or as guests of the queen and king. Others left the city for the lakeside towns, ready for a business deal or a relaxing getaway. And the lakeside region provided plenty of passengers and cargo headed to the valley for trade or to visit family or to seek the solace of the forests. Most cargo floated down the river to the lake ports via boats with enchanted sails, but Carol took the more urgent packages and perishables.

On the last flight of the day, one passenger stayed onboard after all the others had left. The flight attendant gave up trying to persuade the woman to get off and informed Carol, “She insisted that she speak to the pilot.”

Carol groaned and emerged from the cockpit, hands red and painfully swollen from a full day of channeling her power into the Bird.

“Sorry, ma’am, this is the last stop. Oh!” Carol startled as she saw who it was. She bowed her head in respect and hid her hands behind her back. “Lady Melinda, I didn’t realize…”

Lady Melinda didn’t react. “I see you watching my shop. And I know why.”

Carol hesitated, but from what Daisy said, honesty was her best route to the good graces of the House of Shield. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I could ask you to stop, to stay away from her, but I won’t.”

“You won’t?” asked Carol, genuinely surprised. “I mean, thank you.”

Lady Melinda huffed. “Don’t thank me yet. I am only here because I know it’s out of my hands. My daughter is going to court you, no matter what I say. But you are going to listen very carefully.”

Carol tried to contain the flood of joy at the news. Daisy wanted to court her. “Anything! Whatever you ask.”

Lady Melinda stepped closer to Carol with a look of challenge, the kind that left no doubt as to who was in charge. “If you hurt her, or if any harm comes to her because of you, you will feel the wrath of the House of Shield.”

Carol swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

She heard and then felt a rush of air from the open door, but didn’t see anything there. Then, when she looked back to the woman she needed to impress with promises of devotion, Melinda of Shield was gone. In her place, a flat box laid as if it had been there the whole time. When Carol opened it, she saw a pair of pilot’s gloves sat neatly inside. The instructions promised that they would protect a pilot’s hands from getting overworked while channeling her magic. The credit to the designer was marked, of course, with a stamp of a daisy flower.

Carol relaxed, but then she realized what this visit meant. She was being given a fair chance to prove herself worthy of the heir to the House of Shield. Courting Daisy wouldn’t be as simple as flirting over charmed objects in the marketplace and flying her anywhere she desired. Daisy had something Carol never did: a family legacy to carry. The House of Shield had taken in many over the years into its order of magic, training curious students into healers and tinkerers and much more. But none were under as much scrutiny as Lady Daisy to make a name for themselves and simultaneously carry generations of hopes and dreams. Their highly selective elite order of applied magic served as a portal to a wide variety of trades. As a lady of the House, Daisy would be expected to understand the material needs of each and use magic to manipulate objects to help meet those needs.

The Order of Mar-Vell, on the other hand, tended to rely on sheer power: piloting massive vessels, for example. Speaking of, the day wasn’t over yet. Carol had two more cargo flights on another Bird built for the purpose. She had to focus while doing her work, but as soon as she was done, she knew exactly where to find Daisy of Shield.

[theyvolunteered-arch]

@lightsxinthedarkx     x

“Are you trying to charm me, Jordan?” She asked but her blue eyes are bright. “Thank you though. I feel beautiful.”

“ I think that would be pretty obvious Ferris.’ He admired her eyes in particularly before sneaking a look around, “ Can I tempt you to some time alone?’

[dcmultiverse]

Jessica Cruz and Carol Ferris in DC Superhero Girls: Spaced Out #9 (2018)

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Dolls’ Eyes — A Jaws AU

Pairings: established Peggy/Steve, developing Brunnhilde/Carol Rating: T Chapters: 14/14

Summary: Tony Stark snapped his fingers and the vanished half of the universe returned, but Thanos escaped the battlefield, fleeing into space. Now that he’s virtually powerless, most of the Avengers consider chasing him all over the universe a waste of resources, but Peggy Carter—newly deposited in the 21st century—is determined to finish the job. Brunnhilde and Carol Danvers have the same idea.

When scattered rumours of fresh killings escalate to the death of one of their own, the three women team up to defeat Thanos once and for all.

read the prologue

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen

After everything, Carol wasn’t surprised that Brunnhilde put up a fight over being told to just rest. Carol reminded her that she was lucky to be alive, to which Brunnhilde responded that it wasn’t anything like luck, and went on to list the incredible, lifesaving properties of her fine armour, explain the enhanced durability provided by her Asgardian biology, and enumerate all of the injuries she’d previously sustained that were apparently worse than being electrocuted half to death, and then nearly drowning while incapacitated. Carol didn’t believe half of it, but it was kinda hot when Brunnhilde bragged.

So, in spite of Carol’s efforts, Brunnhilde kept getting up the second her back was turned in order to haul bodies off of Thanos’s ship. As they started to fix everything Carol had broken (including a patch job of that hole in the roof), a scan of the local environment informed them that almost all of the life on this planet was aquatic. They left the stack of corpses on land. Whatever water critters were around, they didn’t need toxic eyeball goo leeching into their habitat.

Carol caught Brunnhilde shaking out a twitching arm and made her sit to do electronic repairs rather than manual labour. (Carol had that handled anyway, plus, she knew where all the bodies were because she was the one who’d left them there.) Brunnhilde protested that she was the captain. Carol came way too close to saying not of this ship, but stopped herself. Instead, she suggested Brunnhilde do like any other captain would and let her underlings take on the grunt work. That got a smile, if not verbal agreement.

Thankfully, Peggy was a fast learner; Carol explained the basics of what she’d done to wreck something and Peggy quickly understood how to walk back the damage. They worked their way through the ship, staying at neighbouring stations so Carol would be there if Peggy had questions, and Peggy would be there if (when) Carol had messed something up so badly that it needed four hands to fix.

“Maria would’ve been great with this,” she said without thinking, holding up a fistful of wires while Peggy tinkered beneath.

“Maria?”

It was easier to talk about her than it had ever been before. Like with the repairs, she could tell that Peggy understood without Carol having to do much more than gush over how good Maria had been at fixing stuff, how thorough she’d been with the plane she’d kept in the hangar on her property, how reliable, how trustworthy, how patient…

“Yes,” Peggy told her with a smile. “She sounds like she was wonderful.”

“She was.”

But when the two of them had finished their circuit of the ship and Carol went to tell Brunnhilde they were good to go, she wasn’t there. Carol panicked, worried that Brunnhilde had overheard all her praise of Maria and somehow missed the tone of a person who was in the late stages of grief, who had accepted the worst and was keen to keep living, maybe even loving.

When she couldn’t find her on the ship, she jogged down the ramp, intending to look for her outside. The second she turned to face the water, she spotted Brunnhilde coming towards her from the escape vessel. Carol ran out to meet her.

“What’s all this?” she asked in a tone of amusement, because Brunnhilde had her arms full.

“Food, Peggy’s jacket, a couple beers that didn’t get smashed when Thanos rammed us, uh…” She tried to examine the rest of the pile she was carrying, but it teetered and slipped; laughing, Carol scooped a few things out of her arms before they could end up in the shallow water.

“I thought you might’ve taken off on us,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t think you thought I’d be capable of that after getting zapped.”

“I was just…”

Brunnhilde walked close, pressing her arm into Carol’s.

“I know. I would’ve been the same way if it’d been you.”

“I don’t even know if I can get electrocuted,” Carol said.

“I’m not gonna recommend trying it for fun,” Brunnhilde told her. “Anyway, I used all my discs on Thanos and I dropped the remote in the water somewhere… You’d have to go to Thor with your request, ask him to bring the lightning down.”

“Straight to Thor?!” Carol laughed. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Or you could just stand around outside in New Asgard during a storm and wait for it to happen naturally.”

“And why would I need to be in New Asgard specifically?” Carol asked in a teasing voice. “I could get struck by lightning anywhere.”

She watched Brunnhilde flounder but couldn’t get an answer out of her, not on the way to the ship, not while she was distracted with Peggy asking her a slew of health questions, and not while they were trying to figure out how to get this humongous spaceship off the ground with a crew of only three people.

As they made their rocky assent, Carol was too busy to wonder whether Brunnhilde had heard her talking about Maria before she’d left the ship to scavenge from the escape craft. They had just broken through the atmosphere, blue sky giving way to black, when Brunnhilde spoke.

“Love’s like war.”

It was so sudden that Carol snorted a laugh.

“Ok, poet,” she said. She was tempted to devote some time to getting Thanos’s ship to play her music, if only to put on ‘Love Is a Battlefield’ for Brunnhilde. To let her know what had been said on the subject already.

She smirked to herself when Brunnhilde continued, clearly not giving a shit about her interruption or joking criticism.

“It is.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked more seriously.

Brunnhilde shifted in her seat, engaging different protocols for outer space travel. Carol noticed the tremor had gone from her arm.

“You do better in both because of experience,” Brunnhilde said, looking straight out the viewport. “Anybody who can’t appreciate the benefit of falling for someone who’s been in love before is a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“I hope that isn’t a question.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. They flew in silence for a while.

“When we get back,” she said eventually, peering shyly over at her captain, “I owe someone important to me a visit, but then I’m coming to see you. Just a heads-up.”

“Vaguely threatening.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Brunnhilde told her, grabbing her forearm to get her full attention, “I liked it.”

Heat raced up Carol’s neck until she was blushing as bright red as her suit, or the dumb acid burn on her arm.

Just then, Peggy’s agitated voice came from the other end of the wide flight deck.

“Someone’s coming right at us!”

Before Carol had the chance to say what the hell? or who? or again?, an incoming message threw a distantly familiar face up in front of them, hovering in the form of a hologram.

“Hey,” Carol greeted. “Small universe.”

—

Peggy had never thought to imagine what Gamora might be like. She’d had an account of Peter Quill’s affection for her from Rocket, but had recognized that a portrayal of the woman that crew had known—the woman Peter had loved enough to forfeit his life in the quest for reunion—couldn’t be fully accurate. At best, the Gamora they described would be one layer removed from the real person. The Gamora they had known and the one whose hologram had just appeared before Peggy, Carol, and Brunnhilde were a handful of years and a thousand experiences apart.

It seemed absurd to Peggy that this woman may wish to harm them, but she really ought to have considered it.

“Was it your distress signal I picked up?” Gamora asked flatly, eyes locked on Carol in the pilot’s seat.

“Umm… yep.”

“And you still require assistance?”

Carol glanced at Brunnhilde, then over to Peggy, who nodded. They certainly had worked wonders, she felt, in getting this massive spaceship off the planet, but who knew how many things could go wrong between here and Earth? Peggy doubted either of her shipmates had told her the half of it. They were simply short-staffed, too few fingers available to plug any metaphorical leaks they might spring on the journey.

“Yes please,” Carol told her.

With a nod, 2014 Gamora went from unknown quantity to ally. Peggy sighed in relief.

The three of them were transported directly from Thanos’s ship to Gamora’s. The process was quite indescribable, Peggy thought. Tingly, quick, with a bit of a lurch as she rematerialized on an entirely different flight deck from the one she’d just left. Had the transfer been instantaneous? Had she, perhaps, ceased to exist for a moment or two? She was full of questions but unsure to whom she should direct them.

Gamora, while welcoming in deed, was somewhat inscrutable when they met her face-to-face. Standoffish. Unsure of herself, Peggy realized. Immediately, she warmed to the woman. She had been in her place herself once, sort of, if not precisely in her intimidating boots. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been ferried through time to find the world completely changed. What Gamora needed was a reason to trust them the way they were trusting her.

“I take it you killed my father?” Gamora asked plainly once they were aboard.

Oh dear. It seemed they weren’t off to a very auspicious start.

Brunnhilde stepped in front of Carol, who’d just been opening her mouth to speak, presumably to claim responsibility.

“I was the captain,” she stated. “Thanos was killed on my orders.”

“Uh, no, not explicitly,” Carol argued.

“Anyway,” Peggy piped up, “I’m the one who shot him in the head.”

“And he was only vulnerable to that because I electrocuted him to within an inch of his despicable life and his helmet fell off,” Brunnhilde countered.

“On a planet I flew us to,” Carol reminded them.

“We’ll be sharing the blame,” Peggy informed Gamora on behalf of her crewmates.

Gamora cocked her head consideringly.

“And if it’s approval?” To their universal silence, she explained, “I know what he was capable of in my time, and I saw enough of Earth to get a general idea of what he was set to accomplish if he wasn’t stopped.”

“Were you out here hunting him too?” Peggy took a step towards her.

Directing her gaze away from them, Gamora blinked rapidly, looking momentarily confused and upset. In the next second, she’d hidden any outward hint of those feelings.

“I should’ve been,” she said, “but I’ve never been able to stand up to him like I should have. After I left your planet… for a while, I wasn’t looking for him. But I began to see signs. And then Peter Quill came.”

“Peter!” Carol said. “You saw him? Did you talk to him? Rocket never said—”

“No. I just watched. I followed him for a while. I knew he was looking for me. He was so… loud.” Gamora made a face. “Leaving word for me everywhere, telling traders and transports that he was my boyfriend. He was an idiot, but an entertaining idiot… I barely noticed that I’d stopped keeping track of Thanos until he just showed up…

“I was a coward,” Gamora went on. “I saw my father intercept Peter’s ship and I knew what would probably happen, but I couldn’t put myself between the two of them. Was I supposed to stand up for this guy when I’d never been able to stand up for myself? I was raised to be cruel, to think of myself, that attachments formed to accomplish anything but the acquisition of power make you weak. I know Thanos killed Peter. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Peggy stood in front of her, refraining from placing a reassuring hand on Gamora’s shoulder when she gave her cagey eyes.

“It’s not,” Peggy told her firmly.

“I only heard your distress signal because I heard Peter’s first,” Gamora said. “I went onboard after my father had left; it was days before I could force myself to do it, maybe longer. I used his communications system to speak to his crewmates on Earth.”

“You must’ve just missed us leaving,” Brunnhilde said.

“That’s what he told me. He said three more morons had left the planet, on their way to hunt down Thanos.”

“And you’ve helped us,” Peggy said, tone insistent. “If you do feel any responsibility for what happened to Peter, then surely you should also believe that you’ve redeemed yourself by saving our backsides.”

Gamora’s eyes squinted as though she were in pain.

“I owed him more than this and I hate it,” she said, jaw clenched. “He was no one to me. He knew someone I’m never going to become.”

“Shhh. I know,” Peggy said soothingly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Have you ever had someone tell you they love you when it feels like it’s impossible that they even know you? That whoever they loved had to be a different person from who you are?”

Peggy’s shoulders fell. She could feel the bittersweet smile on her face.

“Actually, yes.”

Gamora appeared surprised to have been brought up short in such a manner.

“Do you have any advice?” Peggy urged softly.

For a minute, Gamora was quiet, staring hard at the wall. Peggy could feel that the others had backed away, giving them time and space when Gamora’s stream of information had been diverted by the confusing grief she was obviously experiencing.

“Whatever lengths he goes to because he thinks you’re better than you are…” Gamora finally said, turning her head to look Peggy in the eye. “Try to be worth it.”

“Got it.”

Peggy folded her hands together, pressing her right palm to her wedding ring.

—

They were about to get underway, their new crew of four on a significantly smaller, though sleeker, ship. (Brunnhilde didn’t mourn for the one they’d left in the shallows; it had served them well, first the Asgardians and now the team responsible for the death of Thanos.) However, staring out the viewport from the seat in which she’d been installed as the effective second-in-command, Brunnhilde didn’t feel right. The sight of Thanos’s ship just hanging there in space unnerved her. It would be better if no trace of the Titan remained.

“Let’s blast it,” she suggested to the deck at large.

“Thanos’s spaceship?” Peggy checked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Carol said, “we aren’t near anything. There’s nothing for the debris to hit…”

Brunnhilde smiled slightly and looked to the captain.

“Gamora? Do you have any weapons on this ship that could do the job?”

“There is one thing I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Gamora said, gaze fixed on Thanos’s ship. “First, we’re going to need to get clear.”

She piloted them away—away from the planet, away from the ship. Part of Brunnhilde wanted to request the honour of launching the torpedo Gamora was setting the coordinates for, locking it onto her late father’s final vessel, but she was already satisfied with the role she’d played. Let Gamora take this final, symbolic step. It was like Thor’s hideous couch; Brunnhilde had helped him lug the thing into the open air, but permitted him to drop the match (once she’d soaked the cushions in lighter fluid, just in case it wasn’t sufficiently saturated in spilled beer). She would content herself with watching it go up in flames.

And it did. It was an impressive explosion, scattering wreckage in a wide perimeter Gamora had kept them outside of. They were briefly silent as jagged hunks of metal twisted in the void.

“That’s one way to get the stink of dead bodies out,” Carol noted, and Brunnhilde turned to her, shoulders shaking with laughter Carol quickly joined in on.

They flew for some time, and it was good just to relax, to stretch in her seat and tilt her head from side to side so that her neck cracked horrendously and Peggy said things like “good lord!” while Carol laughed her ass off. Brunnhilde remained alert though. She couldn’t help it. In the old days, with the Valkyrie, there’d been a certain relief when the battle in which they’d been engaged was done, but they’d only known true rest once they’d returned to Asgard. Home. The last time she’d been on a ship bound for Earth, the atmosphere had been one of intense grief, muffled weeping in the corridors. They’d known Earth as Midgard and had little admiration for its country of Norway, chilly with fog and swathed in the bleak colours that reflected their inner emptiness. Nothing they loved was there—not their people, not their gleaming towers and soaring statues. How could it ever possibly feel like coming home?

Brunnhilde had honestly believed she’d lost her ability to experience that feeling, that, without her sisters-in-arms, the sensation was lost to her. Yet, despite the tension she still carried from the fight, she felt it easing. She felt herself longing for home, her little house at the water’s edge. For the chance to return to her people as their king and announce a great evil defeated. Maybe this tension was only anticipation after all.

In contrast to the fruits of her own contemplation and revelation, Gamora’s private thoughts had left her expression mournful and roving. Brunnhilde exited the deck to relieve herself and find something to eat in Gamora’s stores, and when she returned, she addressed her.

“You’re not taking us all the way to Earth, are you?”

Gamora flicked her gaze sideways to assess her. Brunnhilde knew there was no judgement to be found in her face, so she stared back calmly.

“I’m taking you to Quill’s ship. Thanos, in his infinite arrogance, didn’t damage it. Maybe he thought he might like to return to it some time and claim it as part of his fleet. It’s a tribute to how much I continue to feel my father’s influence that I planned to do the same. Not build a fleet, but go back. There’s something about that ship… I find it comforting.”

Brunnhilde frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it and leave this one for us?”

“No. What I felt when I was onboard, examining it and… and removing Quill’s body for space burial… that was just a feeling of, I don’t know, another life. There’s a group on Earth for whom that ship means something. And it’s the only thing they have of him. I couldn’t keep it.”

“One of those people is your sister,” Brunnhilde said carefully.

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t like me very much. I don’t blame her,” she added as Gamora gave her a wary look. “She was upset.”

“Nebula is at her most dangerous when upset, and she’s always upset, so she’s always dangerous.”

“She was upset about Peter’s death. But I think also because, without him, no one was out here looking for you.”

Gamora stiffened.

“If she really wants to find me, she can come look for me herself. I’ll be ready.”

“She doesn’t want to fight you,” Brunnhilde said. “She misses you. I think. It’s really none of my business.”

“Why would you wish to get involved in our family affairs?” Gamora’s voice was more curious than accusing. “Besides murdering our father, of course.”

Brunnhilde sighed before answering.

“I’ve lost many people I cared about. I don’t have a family anymore.” She glanced over to see Carol and Peggy bent over a screen together, Carol’s sudden snort infecting Peggy until they were both laughing. “I mean,” Brunnhilde corrected herself, “I didn’t.”

When they arrived at the Benatar and Gamora transported Carol and Peggy off her ship, Brunnhilde motioned for Gamora to hold off a moment on removing her.

“If we don’t meet again,” she said, sticking out her arm for Gamora to grasp.

Gamora gripped her tightly and nodded.

“I think we might though. I thought about it and realized it’s easier for me to find Nebula than for her to find me.”

“I may have left you her coordinates.” Brunnhilde released Gamora’s arm. “Enjoy Missouri.”

She joined Peggy and Carol on the Benatar, pausing to bend over Carol’s seat to surprise her with a deep kiss before she took up her own position. She brushed stray strands of hair back out of Carol’s dancing eyes.

“I’m going to have to redo your braid,” Brunnhilde told her.

“Oh, we’ll have time. We’ve got quite a road trip ahead of us. Luckily… Peter left us his tunes.” Beaming, she started up a song with a bright beat.

Brunnhilde smiled and went to her seat, fastening herself in as Carol readied the vessel for launch.

“You know,” Peggy said thoughtfully, slinging her jacket over the back of her chosen seat, “before all of this, I was actually quite afraid of outer space.”

Carol laughed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

[platypanthewriter]

The Keg-King of Elfland’s Sword: REWRITTEN Ch. 4/10

Billy Hargrove and his sister travel across the ocean to his mother’s hometown, looking for answers about his past--but he’s distracted the very first night by a man he meets at the Hunt Ball, and starts to wonder whether the past or the future is more important.

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten

Once they had Harrington’s bleeding mostly stopped, Buckley glanced at Billy, holding up the bag she’d pulled the bandages from—he waved her away—and turned to Carol, who yelped at Buckley’s single-minded yank at her torn shirt.

​Carol flushed as Buckley wiped at her shoulder, and cleaned gravel out of her arm, and checked under her hair where blood smeared her neck. When Buckley was done, she seemed to abruptly realize she’d torn Carol’s shirt half asunder, and muttered red-faced as she yanked at her jacket and threw it around Carol’s shoulders. Carol tilted to lean against her, and Buckley shoved her off, flailing a hand at her, but Carol just laughed and dropped her head against Buckley’s shoulder.

Harrington had gone quiet, his head on Billy’s thigh, and Billy ran his fingers through the man’s wet locks as he watched Buckley and Carol mutter to each other, and snicker. Billy raised his eyebrows, glancing over at Thomas, who was glaring back at him.

As they neared the dock, motion came visible through the fog. Little Will Byers was there, held firmly by his mother, both of their nightshirts soaked through in the pattering rain. “Take me back,” he yelled hoarsely. “She is searching—”

Nan Wheeler bounded from the ferry to the dock, kicking off so hard the ferry rocked and splashed against the water, and put her arms around them. “Unload,” she called. “I’ll help her with Will.”

“She wants her child!” Will shrieked, and Ms. Byers shouted, “No, Will, you’re mine—”

“Quickly, now.” Buckley steadied them with her oar against the dock. “Hargrove—can you take Harrington home?”

“Gladly.” Billy looked up at her steady feet and set jaw. “I—should I—”

“We’ll send a healer.”

“I can take him.” Thomas stomped close, and Steve’s horse flicked her ears, huffing.

“Go for the healer, or go to Hopper, he needs to hear the dire tidings,” Buckley shot Thomas down in mid-bluster, and Billy lowered his head to hide a grin.

Harrington squeezed his hand.

Thomas grabbed Carol’s arm, shouted something about the healer, and stomped to the edge to leap the gap.

Once they tied off the ferry, Billy scooped Harrington up entire, though he protested he could walk. He couldn’t, as Billy and Buckley learned while trying to tip him upright so Billy might swing up onto Mairead. The horse kept trying to turn and inspect Harrington’s crushed leg (an impulse Billy had to respect), but they finally managed, with Billy hauling and Buckley boosting Harrington from below, to get the man settled sideways against Billy’s shoulder. Buckley tied Harrington’s reins to Mairead’s saddle, and Harrington took a few strained panting breaths against Billy’s neck.

“Which way,” Billy asked against his hair, switching the reins to his left hand so as to hold Harrington secure.

“D’n—down the—just keep going,” Harrington grunted. “Big house.”

They rode along the river. It seemed to Billy that it had been lower, before, not this roiling mass of white water and silvery crabs, gushing across the paving stones, and he kept an uneasy eye on it. “That...the Nuckelavee,” he said, stumbling over the odd syllables. “It can’t follow? It can’t get to the town?”

“...it can’t,” Harrington mumbled into his shoulder, then sighed, rolling his head to talk into the air instead of Billy’s shirt. “It can’t, but other things can.”

“The water-horses?” Billy asked.

“...and other things. I don’t—” Harrington paused to swallow, his voice shaken. “—one of, ah, one of my friends sought a favor only—only a fortnight ago. It was a—an easy thing, for Fair folk, and they granted it for only the price of rare flowers. Why—why would they—”

“What was the favor?” Billy asked, and Harrington paused.

“Ah. Well, it—it—you know how—sometimes—” he said, then hrrrm’d.

“...yes?”

“Sometimes—sometimes a, ah, a person—a person is born who is a boy or a girl—”

“Often,” Billy couldn’t help interjecting, fascinated.

“Stuff it,” Harrington muttered. “They’re—it’s a mistake, you know? They look like one, when it should be something entirely—”

“And the...Fair folk...changed how they looked?” Billy asked, pulling Harrington closer as the rain soaked their clothes.

“It was—it was kind,” Harrington sighed. “We’ve always—we've always trusted that they—would be kind, here. There's no knowing what to prepare for, now.”

Billy wondered about the safety of the inn, and reminded himself they were on an upper storey, and unlikely to be washed away. It’s a stone house, Billy, Max’s voice teased him in his head. The Big Bad Wolf can’t blow it down.

“This wasn’t much of a favor, was it,” Harrington said suddenly, his laugh warm against Billy’s neck. “Coming along. Meeting the Nuckelavee.”

“You never introduced me, even,” Billy told him, ready for a distraction, as the blood from Harrington’s pant leg soaked into his. Harrington had more color in his cheeks, after Buckley had wrapped his leg, whispering rhymes, and Billy wondered whether it was magic, or superstition. He wiped the rain from his face. “Are you embarrassed to know me, Harrington? Or questioning whether you should count someone who throws tombstones among your acquaintance?”

“I am questioning that, now you mention it,” Harrington laughed tiredly. “Unbelievable rudeness, when we rode so far to come calling.”

“What...was it?” Billy asked cautiously. “I didn’t...”

Harrington was quiet for a long moment, and Billy opened his mouth to change the subject just when he finally started to speak. “You ask so few questions,” he mumbled, “—I forget you don’t...belong here. The Nuckelavee is...an enemy, to humans. We don’t know why, some say the mining awoke it—and while the other Fair folk welcomed us—some of them, anyway—it attacked. The Lady fights it, for our sakes. But even she cannot win, not truly. She beats it back into hiding. And now it is free.”

“It will...come for the town?” Billy asked, wondering whether he ought to throw Max and Harrington into a carriage for London, and apologize later.

“Maybe the Lady will fight it for us,” Harrington sighed. “Except humans attacked her home with iron and fire. Maybe she released it. The only way down from the mountain is the ferry, though. Across the water.”

Billy took a long breath, glad he wouldn’t have to haul Max to a carriage, clawing and snarling like a badger, and tie her to the luggage rack. “What about...the Lady?”

“She took children,” Harrington said, sounding bewildered. “She—she stole children. Ellie from the—that camp, but little Will Byers, too, and Callie—”

“Younger than Max?” Billy pressed. “She wouldn’t—”

“She’d hardly go out alone, your sister,” Harrington laughed. “In this rain?”

Billy thought she might, if only to show the weather who made decisions for Maxine Mayfield. “...Wheeler doesn’t know what happened?” Billy asked, and Harrington took his head.

“She said the Door has been closed. The Lady—”

“She’s not home to callers?” Billy asked, smiling, but his stomach was sinking as he wondered why he’d thought an errand for his father would be safe for Max.

“She’s not like a human,” Harrington said, and Billy flinched. “She vanishes for years, or she rides the Hunt through the town, and everyone is afraid to sleep for fear of the dreams. I—we don’t know what she’ll do.”

Billy bit back how could you not tell me, and why did I not ask, and hoped Max was continuing her journal of their travels, and waiting for his return in front of the fire. “...not much of a favor, indeed,” he sighed.

Harrington took a deep breath, held it, and then only sighed.

“...are you saying you’ll give me leave to choose again?” Billy asked, and Harrington hummed, as though considering. “Maybe a kiss,” Billy whispered.

“Perhaps,” Harrington whispered, smiling, and Billy didn’t push.

Mairead wasn’t the smoothest ride, but she paced along steadily even after a day of climbing mountains and running from monsters. He told her she was very brave, and her dapple gray coat was lovely, and when they arrived he would not rest until he had depopulated the county of dandelions and daisies for her voracious and sinister appetite, and Harrington laughed against his shoulder.

When the road split into two, divided by a thin belt of green, Billy veered to the side and rode along under the dogwood trees. They were blooming like burst feather pillows. Mairead puttered along until they came to a stone house, tall, with wide windows, and a statue of a deer drinking from the fountain, and Billy held Harrington tighter, in case he tried to get down on his own.

“...that’s just the gatehouse,” Harrington muttered, as Billy nearly tugged Mairead to a stop, then turned to continue along the way.

“Do you live in a castle—” Billy hissed, as they passed through gates taller than the trees, and iron fences barely visible in the massive hedges.

Harrington cleared his throat, shifting. “...didn’t you ask about me? Tommy said—”

“Max asked around.” Billy nodded, leaning his head to try and see around the bends in the road, and swallowed back a wash of guilt. “She told me you risked your life to save two children, not of your own family, and I could see you teasing the girl into a smile.”

“Nobody said, ‘he owns Harrington House, he has tens of thousands of pounds a year,’” Harrington mumbled against his shoulder, and Billy bit his lips together, considering his story.

“You were wearing fine silks to hunt monsters,” he said aloud. “Either the mark of a spendthrift, an idiot, or a man with no worry about affording shirts; and at the ball they spoke of you with smiling respect. You rode a mop of woolens like the rest of us—”

“Mairead, he’s insulting you,” Harrington whispered. She flicked an ear.

“—but your tack was fine indeed, new, and some of it gilt—”

“—it was very fine, I thought,” Harrington sighed.

“And,” Billy said, and kissed Harrington’s hair, tightening his embrace as they rounded another turn up the long hill, and squinting through the orchard wondering whether there was a house at all, “—you have a rather gaudy new watch, not monogrammed, with an antlered hart on it; I can only imagine because of Wheeler—”

Harrington’s face felt hot against his neck. “Mercy.”

“—and from her face, I think it was not a gift from her. To her, perhaps—perhaps you intended to present her with it at—”

“Mercy, man!” Harrington grunted with pain as he pushed away enough to lift his head and kiss Billy, who made a noise less dignified than he’d have liked. “Is this the only way to shut you up? Why were you studying me?”

Billy licked his lips, considering whether to say something more to bring the color up in Harrington’s cheeks, in hopes of another kiss. “You are a fine dancer,” he whispered, trying for a kiss, which Harrington allowed, then gathering the man back against his shoulder. “I could not look away, well before I knew your name,” which was true enough, “—but I mislike your sweaty pallor; let us get you in a bed, and I’ll fetch a doctor, if one hasn’t come.” He squinted again through the blooming apple trees. “Is that it?”

“That’s the cat’s house,” Harrington mumbled against his neck, then slowly heated again, until his skin felt like it would leave a brand on Billy’s neck.

“...the...cat’s house?” he asked, already smiling.

Harrington groaned. “When I was a child—”

“So, last week.”

“Brute. I'm wounded, be kind—when I was very, very small, I desired that the cat might stay with me, in my rooms, so as to have some company in the night.”

Billy bit his lips, brows drawing together as he imagined a small and lonely Harrington, inviting the cat. “They wouldn’t allow it?!”

“The cat did not wish to stay; she had an appointment with the groundskeeper’s fireplace, and beef stew. So I was told she had her own home to go to, and I—I, quite frequently, would visit the ‘cat’s house’.”

“During polite hours,” Billy said, and then his throat closed inexplicably; he cleared it, tucking Harrington’s head under his chin. “Leaving your calling card.”

“I did not leave a card,” Harrington snorted, shifting to slump more easily against Billy’s chest, and sliding a cold hand inside his jacket.

“Do you have a cat now?”

“Oh,” and Harrington’s hand slid up and down Billy’s ribs, “—no, I—I never thought to ask for one.”

“They never thought to give you a kitten? Is—” Billy narrowed his eyes through the trees as they came over a little rise, and finally the House loomed before them. “...it’s a castle. You live in a castle.”

“It’s not!” Harrington huffed. “There’s an old keep, in the center, but it’s just a wretchedly massive house.”

“How do you live there?” Billy asked, keeping his voice teasing, but sliding out of his jacket to wrap Harrington’s shivering shoulders. “Start a brisk walking circuit through with your morning tea, round the second floor after lunch? Can’t let the—” He waved a hand. “—east wing get jealous of the kitchen—”

Harrington snorted, sliding his arms around Billy’s waist. “It was my parents’. After my father died at sea, my mother, uh, she left for London. It’s locked.” His voice was muffled against Billy’s neck. “My rooms are next to the library. My father wanted to…”

“Hrm?” Billy prompted, and Steve shook his head, sighing. The enormous doors made Billy feel they were visitors from Lilliput. “I feel like Tom Thumb,” he said into Harrington’s hair. “Will someone meet us?”

“I have keys in my saddlebag,” Harrington mumbled, and Billy steadied him against the saddle.

“Will you fall?”

“No,” Harrington said, swaying, and Billy raised his eyebrows, and frowned around. Harrington’s arms trembled as he tried to steady himself against the saddle, and Mairead’s withers. “I’m fine.” Harrington pushed an inch or so back from Billy, his jaw set, and Billy forgot about the keys, and kissed him.

“—ah.” He remembered his goal, as Harrington shivered, but leaned to press another couple of kisses to Harrington’s jaw.

“The doctor’s going to arrive and find us standing here in the drive,” Harrington whispered, grinning, and Billy kissed him again.

“I’ll get down,” he murmured against Harrington’s smile, “—and catch you. We can send someone out for the horses?”

“We can ring the bell,” Harrington grunted, knuckles whitening as Billy swung down and he clung to the saddle. Billy watched him, then turned to grab their bags, filled with a wriggling sickness as he felt in Harrington’s for the heavy iron keyring. By the time he had the bags slung over his shoulder, Harrington was shaking, leaning forward to prop himself against his horse’s neck. Billy nearly dropped it all again running to grip Harrington around the thighs, steadying him as he tipped forward and slid down, then manhandling him until his face was against Billy’s shoulder again, Billy’s other arm under his thighs.

“My hero,” Harrington snorted, slumping against him, and Billy laughed, kissing his hair, gently enough for him not to notice.

The journey to Harrington’s room was long, for which he apologized, at first, before he started asking questions.

“Why are you doing this,” he mumbled, and Billy stopped, panting, at the top of the stairs, and tromped over to a loveseat that appeared to be mostly gilt. It creaked as he dropped into it, freezing at Harrington’s swallowed moan.

“Any one of your friends today would carry you up these three stories,” Billy told him, sidestepping the question, and Harrington laughed. “They’d have to sit down on your embroidered cushions, here—”

Harrington snorted, his cold hands shaking around Billy’s neck. Billy kept whispering into his hair.

“—and they’d curse you for weighing as much as your horse, but they’d carry you up another three stories, and another—”

“My house isn’t that huge,” Harrington said, smiling, and Billy leaned to kiss his forehead.

“And up the beanstalk, and into the castle of the giant—” he announced, getting into the spirit of the thing, “—and fight him for you—”

“Fight my own giants,” Harrington whispered.

“Are you saying you can walk?” Billy asked, running his fingers through Harrington’s hair, and wishing he hadn’t, quite fairly, sent the single responding servant to mind the horses, instead of running to see what the devil was delaying the doctor.

“Why did you come back for me,” Harrington asked, for about the seventieth time, and Billy groaned, swallowing back an honest answer that it didn’t particularly matter, what happened to Billy Hargrove.

“Because I’m Prince Charming,” he answered, hoping the guilt didn’t show in his face. It must not have, because Harrington leaned his head back for a kiss.

“You could have died,” he whispered.

“So could you,” Billy sighed.

The next landing had a painting whose gilt frame started at the carpet and reached the ceiling, and Billy settled them on the loveseat facing it, his legs trembling. “That...you?” he asked, and Harrington groaned, his face hot against Billy’s neck.

Billy studied the painting, his lungs aching after hauling Harrington’s dead weight up three flights of stairs. A somewhat younger Harrington—maybe four or five years ago—looked miserable in it. The man standing over him and the woman seated next to him were looking at the viewer, while Harrington was staring off into the distance, his shoulders hunched, wearing a piece of clothing that could only very charitably be called a dress. “Who dressed you in that,” Billy panted, feeling Harrington’s fingers dig into his arm. “I only mean, it’s—it’s impressive. Is what it is. You could—you could wear anything. Make it look good, and yet. Yet that thing exists. It’s like an that—you know. The unstoppable force, immovable object. Paradox.”

Harrington snickered, and pressed warm lips against Billy’s neck. “...my mother...picked it. She—would like a different child.”

Billy leaned to whisper in his hair, “—does that mean I may have this one?”

Harrington laughed, but Billy could feel his heart pounding.

While they waited for the doctor, Billy got Harrington settled in his room, somewhat bandaged him up, and stuck some pillows under his leg.

“...I’ll be fine,” Harrington said, watching him. “Robin used a magic poultice—ffmmmgh,” he muttered, as Billy pulled the blankets over his face.

Billy dunked the shaving towel in the basin, and wrung it out, returning to wipe at Harrington’s face. “Is that blood yours?” he asked, biting his lip as he dabbed above Harrington’s eye.

“Maybe,” Harrington returned, smiling, then wincing, so Billy leaned in to kiss him again.

“Does it hurt here?” he whispered, brushing his lips over the bloody side of Harrington’s mouth. He could feel the man grin, and then flinch. “Stop smiling,” Billy told him, watching Harrington fight a laugh. “...that’s not a good way to test for injuries.”

“Stop making me smile, then,” Harrington mumbled against his face, and Billy brushed a soft kiss on the spot between Harrington’s eyebrow and hairline, where he’d wiped it clean.

He dabbed down Harrington’s whole face, following with kisses. He could feel Harrington’s face heat. “Are you clean yet?” he whispered.

“Not remotely,” Harrington laughed. The scrape along the side of his face flexed, and bled again, and Billy leaned in to press their mouths together. Harrington hummed.

“Do you want me to sponge you down?” Billy asked, flicking his tongue over Harrington’s lips, and Harrington snorted, snickering.

“No, you—” He smiled up, wide-eyed. “—you’re going to stay with me? Here?”

“You can’t walk.” Billy ran his knuckles along Harrington’s cheek, and Harrington grabbed his hand, laughing.

“I—it’ll be only a short while, until the doctor comes, I won't die, I won’t...starve,” he protested, but his smile was so wide, Billy had no difficulty in answering correctly.

“Are you ordering me to leave your side,” he whispered, stroking Harrington’s fingers, “—liege of my heart?”

Harrington cackled, then groaned, paling. He squeezed his eyes shut, and nearly crushed Billy’s hand. “Oh, don’t,” he begged, gasping. “Save your charm for when I can laugh.”

“I’m mortally offended you’d laugh.” Billy kissed his hand, biting his own lip in concern. “You’ve certainly forgone poetry, you...uncouth barbarian. There will be no serenades.”

“...you sing?”

Billy paused, cocking his head. “...when the spirit moves me,” he answered, “—by which I mean the spirits in my flask—”

“So, you sing badly.” Harrington’s smile widened again. “A drunken yowl.”

“Like a cat,” Billy confessed, untruthfully, to see Harrington’s eyes sparkle again as he attempted not to laugh.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, closing his eyes again. “Do not tease me, mercy.”

“Shall I let you sleep?” Billy asked, tucking a bloody hank of Harrington’s hair back and behind his ear.

“No,” Harrington whispered, flapping his hand out, grasping Billy’s tightly. His hand was cold, and felt damp, and Billy covered it with his other hand. “No, I take it back, speak.”

Billy bit his lips, then pressed them to Harrington’s palm. “As you wish, my liege.” He looked around for something to comment on, and found too much. “This was...the nursery? Play with the jack-in-the-box often, do you?”

“Usually I let you do it,” Harrington whispered, and opened his eyes, rolling his head to take in the dusty shelves.

“Maybe later,” Billy told him, squeezing his hand. The toys were the kind he saw in shopfront windows—clockwork monkeys, armies of tiny soldiers with cannons, and a theater with a real curtain, his height, in the corner. There was a dusty atlas on the window seat, left open, and small, perfect sailing ships, with anchors and rigging. On top of the shelves was a dragon ship nearly six feet long, and Billy considered the ladders and servants necessary to get it down, wondering whether Harrington had often stared at it forlornly, wishing to play. “Looks like you could summon an entire armada.”

“Oh, I could,” Harrington laughed, and winced. “Tommy would rouse the staff, and we’d take them down to the pond, and he’d tip me in.”

“I’ll tip him in, with interest,” Billy offered, leaning to the side to see the dragon’s face. “Is that...Gauvin? Max would talk of nothing else but the pirate queen and her dragon, on our journey—” Harrington bit his lip, then stuck his tongue in his cheek, looking like an idiot, and Billy laughed. “She caught your imagination as well,” he said, smiling up at the ship. “How old were you?”

“...young,” Harrington admitted.

“Did you buy a fancy hat?” Billy asked, his grin widening. “Did you carry a toy sword and gun?”

“I...named my pony after Gauvin,” Harrington said with a grimace. “And yes.”

“Do you still have the hat?”

“Somewhere,” Harrington replied, and sighed, watching him. He snorted softly, then asked, “Would...you like to hear the story of Jacqueline de Corriveau, the pirate queen?”

“I would, absolutely, yes,” Billy said, turning to face him, but Steve shook his head, pointing.

“The magic lantern,” he said, waving his arm at a low shelf with a handled case on it.

“You have slides about her?” Billy squeezed Harrington’s hand one last time, and lowered it, before walking over and hefting the case. “...and your pony in here?”

“I couldn’t lift it, so I used to just leave it on the bed,” Harrington admitted, and Billy’s lips thinned, his theories about tiny lonely Harrington seeming likely.

When he placed it next to Harrington, he tried to jar the bed as little as possible. Still, Harrington grunted, his jaw working as Billy crawled up beside him. Billy bit his lips together, clenching his fists to avoid patting uselessly at Harrington’s leg, and Harrington glanced at them, and smiled.

He cocked his head, biting his lip, and raised his eyebrows, and Billy leaned in closer for a kiss. He rolled to his stomach, half on top of the magic lantern case, so as to lick more deeply into Harrington’s mouth.

Billy had the feeling no one had taken their time, courting Harrington—he certainly wasn’t, fearing the onset of common sense on Harrington’s part—but he had a few hours to spare to make sure someone was properly appreciating Harrington’s mouth, and the shift from startled to sly in his grin.

When he started to pant, his lips red from Billy’s, and squirm against the bed, Billy slid a hand down and under the edge of Harrington’s trousers. “No—no, wait,” Harrington whispered, and Billy pulled his hand back.

“Does it hurt?”

Harrington glared at him, teeth clenched.

“I can tug your jack-in-the-box later,” Billy whispered, kissing his forehead.

“Wait, I—I can—” Harrington flapped his hand over, and Billy laughed, kissing him again.

“You can’t,” he whispered against Harrington’s mouth, biting at the man's lower lip, and letting it pull through his teeth.

Harrington groaned, twitching. “I could at least—I can—”

“Mmm,” Billy hummed back, leaning his face into Harrington’s neck. “Tell me about the Pirate Queen.”

Harrington laughed, trailing off into a pained mutter. “Bastard. Tempting— devil.”

“That is all true,” Billy ran his thumb along Harrington’s side, and he made an undignified wheezing yelp, and then a growling moan, like a stuffed toy.

“I changed my mind,” he muttered, red-faced.

Billy leaned to whisper against his hair, “Show me your magic lantern show.”

“Set it up, then,” Harrington muttered back, and Billy scooted down, grimacing at Harrington’s hiss at the movement of the bed. He opened the case on a marvel of brass, copper, and glass lenses, lifted it out, and Harrington reached over to tap it to life. A flame leapt up inside, like the lanterns along the steep trail up the mountain, and Billy jerked back, then leaned in, squinting through his fingers.

“It’s not hot,” he realized aloud.

“I’m not allowed to set my room on fire,” Harrington said, smiling, and straining as he patted at the case.

Billy tipped it towards him, raising his eyebrows. "Were you trying to make dragon fire in here?"

Harrington huffed. “There—was reason, for that rule.”

“...what are cannons for, after all.” Billy nodded, eyeing the tiny soldiers, and Harrington smacked a slide into his hand, choking on a laugh.

“I knew you’d understand.”

The slide barely showed on the shelves, and Billy frowned over, then clambered gingerly off the bed to roll down a screen. It showed, shakily lettered, Being A General Hiftory Of The Remarkable Actionf And Adventuref of P Y R A T E Jacqueline de Corriveau . Billy stopped, then slowly turned. “Harrington.”

“Never mind,” Harrington muttered, grabbing another pillow, and pulling it over his face.

“...Harrington,” Billy whispered, circling the bed to crouch at his side. “Did you make these slides? You wrote that, didn’t you. How old were you?!”

“Let me die,” Harrington moaned into the pillow.

Billy turned to regard the screen. “Harrington. I’ll tell your future lovers you build a man up, then leave him like this. Leave him hungry.”

“I should have shoved you off the ferry,” Harrington muttered, then grimaced, sitting up enough to tuck the pillow under his head. “Fine. Come over here.”

“Anything, my pirate king, pirate king,” Billy sang, watching Harrington’s cheeks flush as he rattled through the slides.

“Do you know the story of how she—”

“Hold up,” Billy said, waving, and drew his keepsake out of his shirt, pointing its aperture at Harrington. “—Max will want to hear this.”

Harrington just looked at him for a long second, then pulled out a slide. “...do you know the story of how she acquired her dragon, Gauvin?” Billy grinned, waiting, and Harrington’s mouth quirked. He cleared his throat. “...you know her beginning.”

“She was kidnapped—” Billy answered, but Harrington huffed a laugh.

“Not exactly.” He handed over a new slide, and Billy fished out the previous, half expecting it to be hot despite the rules against child-Harrington setting his bed on fire. The new slide was a child’s drawing of a ship—three-masted, and a beach, with a line of...people? Billy squinted at the art.

“Enough skulls, do you think?”

Harrington made a face at him. “It was kidnapping, but it was also a different crime, called slavery. Selling people to be chained up, and forced to work for no pay, until they died. Their children, after them.”

“What?!” Billy stared, the childish picture no longer quite as amusing. “Who would—that can’t be—”

“It was a burgeoning trade, until Jacqueline de Corriveau,” Harrington smiled. “Until it had her attention.”

“How—how widespread?!” Billy asked, his voice barely emerging, such was his horror.

“A few trade routes,” Harrington said. “A few ports. The structure was in place to expand, and they thought—they thought they were protected,” he laughed. “By their money, and their power.”

“Who?!” Billy whispered, wide-eyed, and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Do you want to see the magic lantern show?” he asked, and Billy pretended to button his lips.

“First,” Harrington began, in the tones of one reciting a familiar fairy tale. “First, the slavers took her friends, while she protected her family. Then, they took her family, while she hunted for her friends.

“Finally, she let the twenty strongest capture her, to find out where they were going,” Harrington said, handing over another slide. This time it was a woman in a huge tricorner hat, punching the air, while a bunch of bodies flew away from her fist. “But she wasn’t fighting hard, because she wanted to know where they’d taken everyone…” he trailed off, and Billy turned to crawl closer, when another slide smacked into his hand. It was two women this time, holding hands high in the air, one in the hat, the other with a hook hand. “She freed the captives on the ship, and asked about her friends, and her family, and learned they—they had already gone.”

The pictures were exuberant stick figures, and Billy longed to see the rest of the slides, but Harrington's skin had gone grey. “Harrington,” Billy whispered, eyeing his leg. “Maybe you should rest.”

“Mmm. Some of the captives," Harrington said doggedly, "—agreed to come with her. To steal the ship, and rescue their families,” he said, handing over another slide—a fleet of ships, with faces. Billy covered a grin at the now-familiar cutlass-waving hat wearer standing on the deck of the the biggest one. “She did not find her family first, or second, but by the time she did, she was the Pirate Admiral of a fleet of ships taken by slaves, and in less than a year, there was no safety for slavers in the waters between Europe, and Africa, and the Americas.”

“Good.” Billy raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “How could—surely that wouldn’t work well? Stealing people? Someone would find out, they’d find them, and rescue—”

“It made money,” Harrington said, laughed sharply, and paled, clenching his teeth. “The right people looked away. But she made herself the Pirate Queen, and she was—she didn’t care where they were going, she freed them. The slaves to pick the Queen of England’s tea, even, headed to India. And—she made powerful people angry.”

“They knew?” Billy whispered, accepting a new slide of a fleet with frowning little faces, surrounding her single ship in a mass of clouds and lightning. The pirate queen held the cutlass outstretched, standing on top of her main mast. "They knew the workers were kidnapped?! The Queen—”

Steve nodded. “And...they came for her. They sent soldiers. But she had the first captain’s cutlass, still, and—” Harrington paused to take a deep breath, and Billy watched him, biting his lip. “—he was an evil man. He had—the things she had seen on that ship haunted her, and the cutlass was always, always cold. So she held it up, and she yelled for the Devil.”

Billy waited for the slide of the Devil, hearing her call, but Harrington didn’t move.

“She yelled for him, and she said, ‘Devil! I have here the most evil that there is in this world, why don’t you take it?’” The bed squeaked as Billy leaned in, and Harrington smiled at the box of slides. “She lit the fuse to her barrels of gunpowder, and then the Devil came, and he said, ‘Why didn’t you wait for me? You’ll die too.’ She said, ‘That doesn’t matter.’ He said, ‘Ask and I’ll save you,’ and she said, ‘You aren’t anybody I’m wanting to owe a favor, boy.’”

The cadence of Harrington’s voice had changed as he remembered the familiar words, and Billy leaned his chin on his hand, wondering whether it had been a picture book, or a particularly grisly bedtime story. He tried not to think about the favor he’d demanded of Harrington.

“‘A wager, then,’ said the Devil.” Harrington growled for the devil-voice, and Billy felt his cheeks getting tired with smiling, as he accepted a slide that turned out to be the pirate queen herself, her cutlass in one hand, and what might have been a parrot in the other. She was pointing both at a frowning imp that seemed to be floating in midair, slightly crooked. “‘Flip a coin. You lose, and you enter the briny deep. You win,’ said the Devil, ‘and I save you, your treasure, and your life.’”

“Not a bad deal,” Billy whispered, not wanting to interrupt, and Harrington shook his head.

“It was a good deal. She flipped the coin, and as it flipped, she saw it change to heads on both sides, for that’s what she had called—and she was more trouble on Earth than the Devil wanted in all of Hell.”

Billy covered his mouth against a full belly laugh, and Harrington smirked, turning the next slide in his hand.

“He gathered all the gold, and silks, and cotton she’d taken from the slave ships and took them into Hell. Then he brought back a great blackness, a piece of Hell itself, and as the fuse burned low, he formed it into the great dragon, Gauvin.” The slide of the dragon’s forming was not dignified, with the crooked floating imp grabbing at the cautious dragon’s big round startled eyes. “She ran up Gauvin’s neck, and it grabbed the best ship amongst them, and shook the slavers out.”

The slide with the intent smoke-dragon shaking a ship in midair, and a load of angry falling slavers had Billy laughing so hard his lungs hurt.

“Gauvin flew her high, high above the explosion, where they circled until there were only scraps of wood left. Once she had her dragon to carry her ship, she rode all around the world, chasing down the last of the slavers with the dragon's black flames that burn underwater. Some of the slavers were...very powerful. It took years, tracing letters, and finding names, but she hunted them down. And that,” here Harrington handed over a last slide of the pirate queen on the dragon’s back—Billy wasn’t sure why, from the side of a flying dragon, he could see all of every single appendage—“that is how,” Harrington finished, “—my...father died.”

“What,” Billy choked, scrambling to close his keepsake, to stop it remembering Harrington’s voice. “What—your—”

“I stopped playing pirate, then,” Harrington told the ceiling. “I thought she might come for me, and my toys, bought with his dirty money.”

Billy grabbed the lantern, and moved it and the slides off to a pile next to the bed, before carefully crawling to lie alongside Harrington again. “...if she comes, I’ll use her own methods. I’ll point a parrot at her,” he said, and Harrington snorted a laugh, swallowing hard.

“My hero always.”

“You should rest,” Billy whispered, glancing back out the window, and wondering whether he was going to have to track down a doctor himself. Harrington’s cold hand closed over his, and he settled in to wait.

The clock chimed an hour after Harrington’s eyes had closed, and still Billy sat, stroking his thumb down the side of Harrington’s jaw and neck, and sliding his fingers through his hair. It chimed another quarter hour, and Harrington rolled his head away. Billy’s side felt cold, without snores pressed into it, and he winced as he tried to uncrick his neck. He sat up, watching Harrington crinkle his nose, then turn farther into his pillow.

Billy waited, lying back on his elbows, for another quarter hour, finally nudging Harrington’s good leg with his foot, but Harrington snored on, and so he sat up, rubbing his face. He sighed, looking at the keys on the desk, then braced himself over Harrington’s shoulder, and pressed stubbly kisses into the soft skin of his neck. Harrington shivered, but didn’t stir, and Billy finally drew himself away.

The keyring was massive. It got him into Harrington’s desk—a dead end, as he’d suspected, but he unclasped his keepsake necklace and swung it over the whole mess he’d made. “Finders keepers,” he whispered, thinking of Max. “Losers weepers, finders keepers…”

It didn’t so much as waver meaningfully. He looked at the ring of keys again, and wiped his hands on his trousers, before walking around to crouch next to Harrington’s side of the bed and pinch his nose.

Harrington snorted awake, flapped a hand out, and yanked Billy’s close, hugging it to his chest.

Billy groaned, dropping his face to the edge of the bed. The eiderdown felt cold against the heat in his cheeks. He leaned there for a while, watching Harrington sleep, before drawing his hand away.

The keyring opened Harrington’s wardrobe, and his bureau—even the small, secret false-bottomed drawer that contained only a tied bunch of lavender, turning to dust. He swung his pendant over it, just in case. That done, he sat back on the floor, and looked out the window, wondering whether he should close the drawers back up, or whether Harrington would wake, and see them, and throw him out. In the end he dropped the rifled papers back in the drawers and pushed them closed, wondering whether Max would be proud to see him preserving the chance at Harrington not finding out. I could lie to him indefinitely, then, he thought, jangling the keys in his hand. Harrington grunted, rolling onto his back, and Billy jangled them again.

Harrington slept on.

Twirling his pendant led to a tug towards the east wing, and Billy ran his fingers through his hair, turning in a circle on the marble. It clacked under his boots, and he wandered over to lean his elbows on the gallery railing, looking out over the front hall, and the chandeliers, and letting the iron turn his stomach sour and his knees to jelly. He dropped his face in his arms, taking a long breath of soot and dust, and then set his shoulders, and went to break into the rooms of Harrington’s dead father.

Previous | Next​

Completed on Ao3 as peterqpan, but I’ll post the whole rewritten work here! 

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 29

AO3 link here

They had planned to spend Christmas up in Brooklyn, but two weeks beforehand, Bucky calls and ruefully announces that the chickenpox have gotten ahold of his kids. Steve knows that there’s nothing to be done - Steve has had them, obviously, as has Peggy, but they’re the only Carters who have that they know of, and it’s particularly important that Drea not get sick - but he still lets himself groan along with the kids when he tells them at dinner that night.

“You know,” Peggy says, brushing out her hair in front of her vanity that night, once she’s gotten home from her late meeting, “Howard mentioned that he’s giving Jarvis the week off - his first vacation in years.”

“Where are they going?” Steve asks, sitting on the edge of the bed to strip off one sock and then the other.

“He promised Ana that he would take her to some exciting ski resort.” Steve snorts, and Peggy smiles at him in the mirror and adds, “Well, I’m certain that for Mr. Jarvis, it will be closer to an exciting book in front of a fireplace. Perhaps an extreme cup of tea if he’s feeling adventurous. But regardless, it means that Howard and Maria are alone for the holiday as well. We might ask if they would like for us to host them.”

Steve calls Maria the next day and asks if the Starks would join them for the holiday.

“Oh, you know how it is with the baby,” Maria says. “I don’t know how well he would put up with the trip. Why don’t you come here? I can take care of everything.”

He tries to imagine her doing all that cooking with Tony on her hip or whining from his seat - he has no confidence at all in Howard’s helpfulness - and tries tactfully suggesting that the Stark home could be the site of the festivities with all the preparations left up to him. But Maria’s hostess sensibilities simply cannot allow for a guest to take care of things that way…

It takes a bit more wrestling back and forth before they agree that they will all travel to the Stark’s home in Maine, and Steve and Maria will do the cooking together.

(“Now we’ll both be a little inconvenienced and probably step on each other’s toes, but I guess it’s a compromise,” Steve tells Peggy the next morning.)

Christmas Day is on a Tuesday this year, and the Carters leave on Saturday afternoon, sleeping over for the night in Connecticut and pulling up to the house just before noon on Sunday. The kids know the routine and join their parents in unpacking the car; several trips ferrying suitcases and the boxes of supplies that Steve had brought, and they’re done and ringing the doorbell.

Howard and Maria step out onto the porch, Tony forced to hold one of each of their hands because of the wind and the icy steps (he keeps straining away from them and pouting when he can’t seem to best their strength). There is a flurry of greetings before the kids slip through the doorway to choose bedrooms and set up games, somehow stealing Tony from under his parents’ noses and swooping him inside with them as well.

(Steve has the feeling that Em is going to regret thinking he is going to be a discreet and amenable accessory.)

There are plenty of trees on the property, and Howard, who had offered to pay someone to cut one down, leaves his wife behind serving drinks to Peggy and reluctantly bundles up and shows Steve to the caretaker’s shed where they find a saw and round tape measure. That evening, they all have hot chocolate while trimming the tree with a combination of decorations brought from the Carters’ home and the Starks’. If Howard is proprietary about the tree, primping its branches, making sure the ornaments are properly balanced so it can look its best, commenting every so often about how he’d spotted it behind a larger, showier one and knew it was the perfect candidate, Steve only lifts an amused eyebrow to Peggy and says nothing.

Later, he is in the kitchen, taking advantage of Maria having gone to take Tony to bed by putting away the supper leftovers that she had told him she would take care of. In the hall, the phone rings. The kids have the TV up, watching Mary Tyler Moore, and he barely registers it until his wife joins him in the kitchen. Without a word, she begins covering dishes, arranging the refrigerator, judging whether the last dinner roll is worth saving on its own.

“Who was that calling?” Steve asks after several minutes of quiet. There’s an edge to this particular silence of hers, a feeling of suspended breath.

Peggy stands with the refrigerator door open, scanning over the shelves. “Mrs. Truman,” she says finally, closing the door. “Her husband wants to see Howard and myself.”

“He doesn’t have long?” Steve leans against the counter. The newspapers and broadcasters have been reporting each turn of President Truman’s declining health over the past weeks.

“He was apparently barely awake long enough to ask for us. I expect—” Her mouth pulls inward. "I expect he will try to request our reassurance about the bomb again.” Peggy’s tone does not speak to any futility she might see in obeying such a summons, especially at this particular time, when the man in question might not be aware enough to receive them, might not even be alive when they arrive. It is as if she is already preparing herself for the visit, even here with him, setting on a mask. But then she steps toward him, taking advantage of his open arms and pressing herself against his chest. “I’ll tell the children,” she says, muffled against his neck as he moves automatically to hold her. “I know they’ll be disappointed.”“We’ll do it together.”

Their kids are old enough to handle their mother potentially missing Christmas with a decent amount of grace - even Nate is thirteen, though he would likely have accepted the news with equanimity even before - and Tony is too young to really understand what is happening and too accustomed to his father’s travel besides. Still, there is an air of slightly forced cheer replacing the natural cousin of past holidays. As dusk falls on Christmas Eve, Emma bakes several trays of gingerbread cookies, the scent filling the house warmly. Rosie lights the fireplace and suggests/pressures them into singing carols; Maria has a lovely voice and somehow manages to hit some fairly impressive notes even as she must redirect a scrabbling Tony away from the flames. Steve grins at her, one parent to another.

He had revived his old skill and crocheted the stockings for each of his children, along with ones for himself and Peggy, and though he’s offered to make new ones over the years, the most they have ever agreed to is repairs as necessary. The last thing they do before the kids head to bed is hang them over the now-cooling fireplace. The Stark stockings are far more elaborate than his simple ones, but he feels a little sad seeing Maria hanging them herself, Tony having exhausted himself several hours ago.

She sits looking at them with an afghan draped over her lap, head tipped gently to one side, while he mixes a martini and gets her one of Emma’s cookies. (He would have poured some eggnog, but he doesn’t know her feelings on it.)

“Are you alright?” he asks softly once he’s settled on the couch next to her. This might be the first time they have been alone together. He likes Maria and considers her a friend, but they have rarely had occasion to talk just the two of them, without Howard or Peggy or both. He isn’t even sure that he’s correctly reading the sadness in her expression.

She breaks off a piece of gingerbread (the point of a star: Steve didn’t bring cookie cutters, so Em did the best she could with a knife; it’s resulted in some slightly lopsided but tasty shapes) and bites into it.

After a moment, she says slowly, “I know that marriage is hard, every marriage is in its own way. But sometimes being married to Howard...It’s different, and lonelier than I thought it would be.” She breaks off another point, but sits looking at it rather than eating it. “Sometimes I don’t know what he was imagining in a wife, and I don’t know that he does either. It’s hard to build a family, a life, a home, all the traditions that come with it, when it seems you’re doing it by yourself. Not that Jarvis and Ana aren’t darling, the most wonderful, and I’m so grateful for them but—I married Howard, not the Jarvises, and he’s so busy all of the time, rarely shares his work with me. I know what he does is important, but it would be—I would—I wish things would just stop, so I could have my husband for a while. I wish he would make the time, even when things haven’t stopped.”

Setting the cookie down, she meets Steve’s eye and takes a hasty sip of her drink. “You and Peggy must have had some of the same problems, though. I know that she’s different from Howard, but the things she can’t tell you, the times when she works late or has to travel and leave you alone with the kids…”

“It is hard,” he says gently, and she lets out a breath of relief, as if she feared he would say that he’s never been bothered, it’s only her. “It’s hard knowing that something urgent can call her away when the kids need her - and maybe it’s selfish, but sometimes I need her too and she can’t be there. It’s hard being the one at home, knowing that the work can be dangerous, feeling as if no story about a dry-cleaning mixup or a good sale on cereal can match up with what she deals with every day. Going back to school, finding friends and hobbies of my own, that’s helped. We’ve also been at this a long time. We’ve learned to talk about the way we feel and, as much as we can, about the work. Sometimes there isn’t anything she’s able to say, and all I can do is make her a cup of tea or settle an argument between the kids so she doesn’t have to do it. But she always knows that I’m there to listen if she needs it.”

Maria nods, looking down at the blanket on her lap. She picks a little at the stitching before seeming to catch herself and smooth it back. “You’re right,” she says, a little overly bright. “I’m glad I’m not the only one. And it’s probably different because Peggy is Peggy and not Howard, and she’s not married to me, she’s married to Captain America.”

Steve’s instinct is, strangely, to freeze, as if he might sit still enough to rewind time. When he gathers himself, seconds that feel like an eternity later, he says, very carefully, “I hadn’t realized that Howard told you.”

“Told me?” She finally pops the little piece of gingerbread into her mouth, chewing a little puzzledly. “Oh, that you’re Captain America? Well, Howard didn’t need to tell me that. I knew that he did a lot of top-secret work during the war, it’s what brought him to SHIELD now, and you knew him and Peggy from back then. The two of them never call you Grant, only Steve, just like Bucky and his family, and that crew who attended our wedding - the Howling Commandos, even if no one introduced them that way. I didn’t realize it was meant to be a real secret.”

“You’re a smart woman,” is all Steve can manage, torn between the urge to review the last twenty years for any others who might have caught on, and the urge to laugh because despite the apparently shoddy cover story and his proximity to the US intelligence apparatus, Maria is probably the only one who ever has.

“I know I am,” she says simply. From what Steve’s been told over the past few years, she had graduated top of her high school class and gone right out to work - perfume counter jobs, secretarial work, bank teller. The academic scholarships she’d earned, in and out of state, hadn’t made a difference when there were still room and board and fees to be covered, and parents and three younger siblings to support besides. “But apparently not smart enough for my husband to want to share much of anything with me, even the identity of one of his best friends, who happens to be my son’s godfather.”

He’s still a little overwhelmed by the idea that she even knows who she is - that she has for nearly this whole time, that she just figured it out on her own and it didn’t seem to matter to her - but he knows that it’s less important right now. He rests his hand atop hers. “It has nothing to do with how smart you are, or how trustworthy. With this, and of his work, Howard—He’s my friend, and I know that he loves you, but I also know how he gets caught up in things. Doesn’t always remember the value of what he has, and it shouldn’t have to be your job to constantly remind him. So if you put your foot down, if you put in the effort, and he doesn’t really change, I hope you know that whatever decision you make for yourself, and for Tony, I’ll support you. And I think I can speak for Peggy when I say she’ll support you too.” He smiles. “If anyone can sympathize with having to deal with Howard….” She smiles back, though it is bent at the corners.

“I think,” she tells him, “that nearly anyone else would have said that there was no decision to make, that it was simply my lot to stand by him, for our child or whatever status our marriage grants me, or because that is a wife’s duty. Even with all the change in the last decade, all the lectures I’ve gone to, the legislation I supported, the women who I know do things differently, it sometimes seems as if that’s only for other people - stronger women, or more exceptional ones.”

“I’d say that you’re a strong woman, and an exceptional one,” Steve says in return. “But you shouldn’t need to be. All the changes being made are important, of course they are, they’re necessary, but you don’t need to think about it as setting an example or being an inspiration for others. You can just be a person making the right choice for herself.”

She takes down the last of her drink, the remains of the ice chips tinkling in the bottom of the glass as she gestures to the mantle. “Good advice, handy with a needle - those stockings you made are darling, I saw how much the children adore them - and you say you cook too,” she jokes. “Peggy’s lucky to have you.”

And although he knows that she’s trying to change the tone of things, he shakes his head. “I’m luckier to have her. And you deserve to have the same, whether it’s Howard or someone else or no one.” She looks past him and her breath catches, but finally she meets his eyes and nods.

“And I don’t say I cook, I’ve proved it more than once,” he says, teasing now, allowing things to move forward. “But we might want to head to bed ourselves if we want to be awake enough to pull off the menu for tomorrow.”

They tidy up a bit, making sure the fire has entirely burned itself out before they walk down the hall together. As Steve goes to turn the knob on the guest bedroom where he and Peggy are staying, Maria puts a hand on his wrist to stop him.

“It’s hard finding someone who understands,” she says, coming up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Steve, for listening.”

How strange to hear her say his name. It’s been such a long time since someone new called him by it. He smiles. “Any time. Really.”

The next morning, as the kids are unwrapping presents and Tony is collecting the wrapping paper to hoard, Maria looks to see what’s been added to her stocking in the night. Along with a small box of chocolates, there are three crocheted stockings, a little hastily made and clearly with some yarn remainders patched in where certain colors have run out, but in corresponding plaids with names stitched at the top. The note inside reads, Always time to start new traditions if you want to.

Steve is bent over the open oven with a meat thermometer, listening with one ear to Tony who is ignoring his new Fisher-Price farm set and play telephone in favor of crumpling, uncrumpling, and tearing up his wrapping paper stash, when he hears footsteps entering the kitchen behind him; probably Maria coming back from showing the kids where the plates are.

“Do you want to take care of dessert, or getting the Brussels sprouts ready to roast?” he asks.

“I hope you didn’t think I’d learned to bake in just a day.”

He closes the oven and puts the thermometer on the counter before turning to see his wife standing, arms crossed, in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says, the smile coming to his face without thought at all. His chest is filled suddenly with a tenderness. He hadn’t even fully realized how much he missed her until he has her back here with him.

She steps forward and he does the same, meeting her in the middle of the kitchen tile. Her kiss is brief and sweet, so sweet, against his mouth.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks softly, knowing without having to be told that she’s come back troubled, and her head barely considers a nod. “Well, I have a lot to tell you,” he murmurs into her hair, and she steps back to look at him, seeing something in his face that makes her nod and put a hand to his cheek.

“Later tonight, we’ll talk,” she says, as good as a promise. And he feels lucky, so lucky, not just at everyone together for the holiday, the warm smells of food around them, his family laughing in the next room, but because he is able to have this woman by his side, all of their yesterdays and today and the tomorrows too. He turns his head just so, and touches a kiss to her palm, and hears her breath catch for just that second.

“I’ll—I’ll cut the sprouts, shall I?” she says, indicating the knife and cutting board on the counter. He nods, pressing one last kiss to her hair before she moves to rinse her hands and roll up her sleeves. “What exactly are you looking at?” she asks, concentrating on the vegetables, when he still hasn’t moved a minute later, still watching her.

“Merry Christmas, Peg,” is all he says. She smiles over at him before saying mock severely, “Not if there isn’t cake, it won’t be,” and he laughs and goes to gather ingredients. He’ll make her favorite, but he knows that it will be a good day either way. With their kids all safe and healthy and her back with them again, it already is.

More chapters here

[sararaiden]

DC moodboards ( c ): Carol Ferris﹙Sᴛᴀʀ Sᴀᴘᴘʜɪʀᴇ ₂₈₁₄﹚

Love is beautiful. Love is inspiring. But love is also lethal.

[galahadwilder]

For Hearts Long Lost and Full of Fright, Ch. 1: Highball

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Hearts Long Lost Archive

AO3

*

It’s peaceful up here, he thinks. This high. Just him, alone in the cockpit, the rumble of the engine and the vast blue sky. If he could, he’d ride this wave forever.

”Dammit, Highball, eject!”

Well, there is the fact that when he looks up he sees ground. That’s not supposed to happen.

”Hal! Bail the fuck out!”

”I’ve got this, Carol,” he snaps, yanking on the stick, trying to correct the roll. The plane yaws the wrong way. “Crap!”

”I feel like ‘got this’ means something different in Hal,” Tom interjects.

”Yeah, no shit,” Carol says. “Eject, dammit!”

”I am busy...” Hal yells through gritted teeth, “...saving...” He yanks the stick the other way. The plane spins wildly. “...your plane!”

”I’d rather not lose a pilot!” Carol yells. “Where’s your damn ring?”

”Uh, Ms. Ferris?” Tom says. Hal knows he’s probably holding it up to her. She’s right, he’s been wearing it too much lately, but now was probably a stupid time to start listening to her. Too late now.

“Shit.” Carol sighs over the intercom. “Okay, hold onto your ass.”

The air outside the cockpit turns bright pink.

In the control room, Carol massages her temples. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay okay."

*

Tom is still holding onto Hal's ring—what the hell was that idiot flyboy thinking, leaving it on the ground?—but everything is under control now. She's caught the plane in a crystal construct, and it's going to the ground at a more reasonable pace. She leaves the plane upside-down though. Let the jackass sweat for a bit.

She focuses on splitting her attention the way Aga'po taught her, making sure not to drop her pilot. "Ring," she says, holding up her hand. "Scan the plane for any structural or mechanical abnormalities."

[Scan complete,] the ring responds. [Hydraulics failed.]

She sighs. "Mr. Kalmaku."

Tom immediately snaps to attention. "Yes, Ms. Ferris?"

"Who did the work on the plane's hydraulics?"

Tom swallows. "Jackson, ma'am."

"Right." She clenches her fist. "Jackson's on probation, as of now." She leans forward, pressing the intercom button. “Captain Pearlman.”

Jillian’s voice comes clean over the intercom; Carol threaded Kryptonian data tech throughout the facility months ago to make sure the emergency crews were never out of contact, which came with a side benefit of crystal clear audio. “What’s up, C?”

”I need a favor,” Carol says. “Can you head down to the hangar and slap Hal for me?”

Jillian giggles. “With pleasure,” she says, and then the intercom cuts off.

Carol collapsed back into her chair. “I think,” she says, “that’s enough excitement for today.”

”The hydraulics snapped, Hal,” she says, projecting the ring scan in violet-pink directly in front of his face. “Landing that plane wasn’t possible, even for you.”

”It worked out, didn’t it?” Hal says, unzipping his flight suit. He has a fresh red mark on his face from where Jillian slapped him.

”Only because one of us thought to wear their goddamn ring today,” she says. “You’re lucky I even had it on me.” She steps toward him, jabs him in the chest. “You’re not Laminsky, dammit! I put you in the prototypes because I know that no matter what goes wrong, you have an out!”

”I’m fine, Carol!” he snaps. He’s not looking at her.

She crosses her arms. “Uh huh,” she says. “How many times have you died?”

He stares at the floor. “...Four.”

”Right.” She purses her lips. “You’re benched until further notice.”

He glances up at her as if to protest—but her ring cuts him off.

[Warning. Will detec—Love dete—Will detected.]

She turns to the window just in time to see a young woman in green plow headfirst into the tarmac at 180 miles per hour.

*

Hearts Long Lost Archive

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[snikt111]

i can be normal about halcarol

[skyler10fic]

Sweet Like Honey: Ch. 3 The Dessert Game

Carol has a gift for Daisy, which kicks off with dinner and dancing—and a special plan for dessert. Once again, the theme of this fic is sickeningly sweet and explicitly sexual. :) 

Read on Ao3

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

Carol brought a small gift bag with her to the restaurant, and Daisy let her order for them both, including a wine to pair with their dishes. The waiter looked to Daisy for confirmation that the meal and drink were what she wanted and her date wasn’t being overbearing, but Daisy simply thanked him and smiled easily.

“I have an idea for dessert too,” Carol hinted. “But we’ll take that to-go.”

“Back to the room?” Daisy assumed.

“Mmhm.” Carol’s naughty smile told her it was a sensual plan, whatever it was. She handed Daisy the bag. “Open your gift!”

“Ooo yes, please.” Daisy pulled out the tissue paper and found a flat box. Inside was a deck of cards, but instead of suits and numbers, each of them had an activity written on it and an illustration.

“I made them on this website,” Carol explained. “You can create custom decks. Each one has something for us to do together. There are 52, but we don’t have to do them all before our first anniversary. Just if we want to.”

“Aw, I love it.” Daisy read them card by card: “Kiss on a Ferris wheel, go hiking, lie out stargazing, make a playlist of our first year of marriage that we add to all year, sing a karaoke duet, take a bike tour of a new city, take a cooking class and learn to make three new dishes… ooh, not reading that one out loud. Or that one. But I’m all in, for the record. Babe, these are great ideas!”

“Yeah? If there are some in there you don’t want to do, it’s okay, we can skip them.”

“No, really, these are so good. Thank you.” Daisy looked through a few more before putting them back in the box. “And earlier you said it might be silly, but it’s not at all. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we stop going on dates, and we always need ideas. I’m impressed you could think of this many we haven’t done.”

Carol cringed. “I copied most of them off of date idea articles. I ran out around 15 and had to do some research.”

Daisy laughed. “You are very good at research. You’re so good at research and putting other people’s theories into practice that they put things you worked on in space. Date ideas? Definitely don’t have to be original to us.”

Their food came and just as Carol predicted, Daisy loved it, especially when paired with the wine. It was a beautifully romantic meal, and a small dance floor filled as the live string quartet started to play.

When they’d been finished eating for a while, Carol noticed Daisy’s attention drifting away from their conversation to the dancing couples. Most were older seniors who had probably been coming here for ages, since the years when it was far more dangerous to do so and risk being outed back at work or at home if anyone found out. But there were a few middle-age and younger couples too.

Carol stood and offered Daisy her hand. “Dance with me?”

“Always.” Daisy took it and followed her to the dance floor. The current song was a slow one, something instrumental they didn’t recognize, and they rested their temples against each other as they danced, making an elegant sight with Daisy in her black dress with a slit up her thigh and Carol in her black pantsuit with a white blouse. They had exchanged their silicone rings for their real ones, and it secretly thrilled each of them to see their diamonds sparkling in the light of the room.

Eyes closed and hands possessively holding Daisy’s lower back, Carol wished this feeling could last forever. As if reading her mind, Daisy kissed Carol’s cheek and said softly, “Let’s always remember this. Promise me.”

Carol moved to meet Daisy’s earnest eyes. “I promise.” They kissed through the last notes of the song until a faster one came on. Carol took Daisy’s hands and they attempted their best at swing dancing without getting too dizzy and without getting in the way of the retirees who ruled the dance floor, jiving and swinging better than any of the young folks.

Carol and Daisy danced on and on until they were too tired and their feet hurt too much to keep going, so they returned to their table long enough to get their chocolate cake in a to-go box.

—-----------------------

Back in their room, Carol revealed the plan: “Naked dessert night.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” Daisy finished taking off her heels and jewelry and turned her attention to Carol as she explained.

“I read about this in my research for your gift and thought originally that we would feed each other, like with the wedding cake, but then you mentioned you like it when I take control… so what if you sit in my lap and I feed you? And myself. I’ll take turns.”

“That could be messy, depending on how this cake looks.” Daisy got up to open the box and noticed something. “Did you tell them to only put one fork in the box?”

Carol came over to look. “No, but see, that’s proof that it’s fate.”

“Uh-huh,” Daisy affirmed, sounding skeptical but in. “Let’s try it, and if we end up getting too much cake on each other, we’ll just have to lick it off.” She shrugged, knowing that would send Carol’s mind spinning in a whole new direction.

Carol helped Daisy unzip her dress, and they hung their formal clothes back in the closet, safely out of the way of the cake. Carol’s heart sped up at Daisy's lingerie, and Daisy admired Carol’s. They had seen each other get dressed, so it wasn’t a total surprise, but now they had time to appreciate them with proper reverence for the lace and tiny bows and silk.

“Mmm, yes,” Carol said simply as her finger traced down Daisy’s cleavage, which was pushed together from the strapless black bra.

“I can leave it on if you want,” Daisy offered. “But you have to leave yours on too.” Her right hand traced up Carol’s side to palm her thin, white, lace bra cup and rub her thumb over the exposed skin of her breast.

“C’mere.” Carol sat in the chair at the small table with the cake and opened her arms for Daisy. Daisy sat on her lap and draped an arm around Carol’s left shoulder, but returned the other hand to just under Carol’s breast. Ready to begin, Carol steadied Daisy with her left arm, picked up the fork, and started poking at the small round cake. It was just enough for their game, especially split between them, a little taste of decadent chocolate to kickstart their further activities.

She brought the first taste to Daisy’s lips and Daisy accepted it with a seductive glint in her eyes. It was even better than she was expecting, distracted by the method of delivery, so she hummed in surprise.

“Mmm, wow, this is really good.” She looked at the cake more closely. The inside showed a thin line of cherry filling, just as she suspected. She pointed it out to Carol. “Yep. Cherry.”

Carol took her bite in curiosity and her eyes widened. “Oh my god, that is really good.”

“See?” Daisy smiled until Carol was ready to feed her another bite. They continued until the cake was nearly done, but what got messy wasn’t Carol’s skill so much as their giggles at how they couldn’t resist kissing each other between bites.

“If you want this, you have to stay still,” Carol warned through laughter, but half of it fell down Daisy’s bra between her cleavage.

“Shit.” Daisy grabbed Carol’s hand holding the fork and brought the rest to her mouth before it could fall too, and then went fishing for the piece in her bra. She gave up and tried to reach around. She whined, “Help me take it off.”

Carol put down the fork and was glad to help. Luckily, the piece was just cake, no cherry filling or anything that would leave a sticky mess on the bra, so Daisy relaxed and put the rogue piece on the table. She tossed the bra to her open suitcase.

“Does that mean mine can come off now too?” Carol asked.

Daisy answered by reaching around Carol and unhooking it for her. She threw it toward Carol’s suitcase and it landed. “Yes! Two for two.”

“You’ve found your sport,” Carol teased. “That deserves two bites of cake.”

Daisy accepted her reward proudly and saw they were down to the last bite. “Can I feed you one?”

“Mmhm.” Carol handed Daisy the fork, and she brought her other hand from Carol’s shoulder to cup under the fork just in case it fell. That would be an anticlimactic way to end the game.

Carol ate it as seductively as she could, licking the chocolate from her lips. Daisy watched her, captivated, and put down the fork on the table without looking behind her.

“You missed a bit,” Daisy mumbled before kissing Carol fervently again. She sucked Carol’s bottom lip between her own, lightly lapping at it with her tongue. Carol opened and pressed her tongue in to get Daisy’s top lip in on the action. Their hands grasped each other’s breasts and backs and shoulders. Daisy backed away and stood, slowly stripping off her black lace panties.

Carol lifted her hips to take off her black and white silk and lace boyshorts without getting up, and in an instant, Daisy was back on her lap, but straddling her this time. Their kisses grew more frantic as the heat between them ramped up. Daisy rolled her hips against Carol, and Carol massaged Daisy’s ass with one hand while the thumb of the other snuck in to rub Daisy’s clit.

Daisy bucked her hips against Carol involuntarily, and her teasing of Carol’s nipples became rougher and faster. Carol felt Daisy’s cum dripping against her, and that was all the foreplay she could take.

“Hold on to me,” Carol instructed, and Daisy barely had time to react before Carol stood and carried Daisy the few feet to the bed. She laid her down but let go a little too high, and Daisy giggled in anticipation as she bounced. She scooted back on the bed as Carol climbed over her until they hit the pillows. They grinded on each other’s thighs with fingers to help.

“Don’t move.” Carol knew exactly what she wanted and what would send Daisy over the edge. She retrieved a double-ended dildo they liked especially for this and was back in half a second, but Daisy still whined and begged for her.

“Turn over,” Carol commanded. Daisy saw the dildo and her desperation turned to eager obedience. She knelt on the bed and gripped the pillows as Carol inserted the smaller end in herself first. It was designed perfectly so her tight inner muscles would keep it in place. She applied the silky smooth lube Daisy liked so much to the dildo and noticed Daisy was touching herself with one hand.

“I’ll take care of that.” Carol replaced Daisy’s fingers with her own as she slid the dildo into Daisy’s warm, slick core. Once inside, her other hand braced herself on Daisy’s hip and began guiding her as they rocked. As Carol’s thrusts increased in power, the dildo slid against each of them in rhythm. This only worked when Daisy was this wet and turned on, and their earlier rounds that morning had relaxed her muscles so they didn’t fight her for control of the dildo. Instead, it glided in and out easily as Carol’s hips demanded. Faster and harder under they were panting and their little noises were getting louder.

“Ohhh UNHHH, yes,” Daisy cried in reply to the thrusts. “Ca—fuck—yes, baby, fuck me!”

“Like this?” Carol panted and stroked Daisy’s clit more deeply. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

“MMmm yes!” Daisy called out as she came so hard her body shook. Carol moaned and rutted into her, chasing her own orgasm. Daisy realized Carol hadn’t come yet but was right on the edge and reached a hand back to help. A few rough strokes against her clit and Carol was gone to the heights of pleasure too.

She let the dildo slide out of Daisy and pulled it out of herself. It was all a blur in the moment, throwing it to the end of the bed as Daisy turned around and they returned to making out and grinding on each other’s fingers and thighs. The outside world held no power here; the only reality narrowed to this bed and their bodies and breath and ecstasy for every nerve ending. Generosity and passion, desire and reciprocation, softening to pure lovemaking and contentment while entwined as one. They each came again, with smaller, gentler orgasms this time, and eventually, they slowed to light kisses and nuzzles.

“Mmm, I like naked dessert night,” Daisy hummed lowly.

“Me too.” Carol leaned back to admire her wife in the afterglow. She stroked a knuckle down Daisy’s pink cheek. “I love how happy you look after I make you come.”

Daisy’s breath shuddered at how strongly Carol’s words affected her.

“Don’t start that or we’ll be going all night.” Her honey-sweet husky tone betrayed the warning in her words.

“Well, it is our honeymoon,” Carol pointed out and kissed Daisy’s neck. Daisy melted into her, of course.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered and stroked her fingers in between Carol’s thighs, which parted for her again. Just as she predicted, they caressed and kissed and cuddled late into the night.

It was nearing dawn on the horizon before Carol realized they had fallen asleep naked, curled up together at some point in the haze of so many orgasms that they’d lost count. She got up to use the restroom and brush her teeth but didn’t bother with PJs, noting Daisy’s toothbrush was in a different place than earlier and she must have done the same. When she got back in bed, Carol simply pulled the sheets over them and spooned up against Daisy fully. Daisy’s body had been tense and her face had been frowning in her dream, but she relaxed with Carol’s warm, bare body against hers.

So this is what honeymoons are all about, Carol thought contentedly as she drifted back off to sleep.

[snikt111]

welcome to the xmen. hope you survive the experience! (or dont.)

m ✨ he/no prns+ 🦦 yt + ndn 🕯️ a dult

anarkist. pumpkin rubber duck enthusiast. clifford AND snoopy lover. indigenous wolverines & northstar truther. glc’s fav faggot. converted sabrevine enjoyer. average the authority fan. secretly cringe. irl otter. fagdyke, gay both ways.

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who is hal jordan?

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#get the queue ball rollin — queue tag :3

#check out my playlists — what do you think this means?

#ch: whos got time for heavenly things? // #hal jordan — hal jordan character tag

#kyle rayner — kyle rayner character tag

#wolverine // #ch: i aint alone ive got you bub — wolverine character tag

#death stranding // #it takes a real man to be a cringeful motherfather — death stranding game tag

#SIR BEETLESON 🙏 — blue beetle (ted kord) character tag

#jo mullein — jo mullein character tag

#ch: awooo — jack russell (wbn) character tag

#ch: masked marvel — speedball character tag

#ch: i have forgotten who i am — azrael/jean paul valley character tag

#ch: give jp back his medal — jean-paul beaubier character tag

#ch: boy who shatters stars — shatterstar character tag

#ch: ALL HAIL STAR SAPPHIRE! — carol ferris character tag

#ch: i ask the questions here — the question (vic sage) character tag

#ch: bloodlust — astarion

note: i will update these when i think of it, and not ALL of my posts with these characters will be tagged bc quite frankly i always forget

[skyler10fic]

To Have and to Hold: Ch. 7 Captured

By Skyler10

Summary: Honeymoon destination revealed, Bobbi and Hunter come back into the picture ;) (pun intended), and Daisy and Carol stretch that Mature-for-sexy-times rating after some dressing and undressing.

Read on Ao3

------

Spring indulged the city with a sneak preview of its glory with a sunny, warm week to end March. All knew that it wasn’t here to stay just quite yet, but it was coming in full soon, a promise, a kiss of days approaching. 

For the past rainy week, Carol had dedicated her free time to honeymoon planning. She knew they wanted something relaxing, beachy, and new to both of them. After her talk with Daisy about making more decisions regarding the wedding, though, she was careful not to lean too hard on Daisy to make the final call. She clicked through search results for LGBTQ-friendly honeymoon destinations. There was no point in looking at islands that didn’t want them there in the first place. Every destination listed in Europe looked gorgeous but far away. Within the US, Hawaii seemed ideal but also far in the other direction. Miami seemed within their budget and fun, but not as relaxing. And hot and humid. They needed something farther north. 

One website offered just the thing: Pegasus Resort on Cape Cod, especially run by and for LGBTQ couples. They would take a ferry boat ride to and from the cape. Besides planning their activities, all she would have to do is book their flights and hotels. And a dinner for the resort’s upscale restaurant, of course. The other restaurants were more casual, and Provincetown had more options, but a special romantic dinner was basically a requirement for their honeymoon.  

Carol heard Daisy come in from her yoga class and called to her. “Hey! How was yoga?” 

“Hi. Good.” Daisy walked into the dining area where Carol was sitting at the table with her laptop and snacks. She leaned down to peck a kiss to Carol’s cheek. 

“I’ve got a honeymoon plan ready if you want to hear it?”  

“Ooo honeymoon? Uh, yes, obviously.” Daisy scooted one of the other chairs next to Carol’s so she could see the screen and took a few grapes from the snack plate. 

Carol took her through the Pegasus Resort website, photos of the area, and a few ideas of things to do. 

“And best of all, it fits the budget.” 

Daisy’s eyes widened. “For real? Babe, I’m so impressed. I’ve never been to Cape Cod.” 

“Me either! It’s not set in stone yet, so if you want to change anything, we can, but if not, I’m going to get it booked.” Carol’s mouse hovered over the Book Now button. 

Daisy bounced in excitement. “Yes, book it! While it’s still miraculously affordable.”  

Carol set to work filling out the information. Daisy weighed in when necessary, and soon enough, they had all the transportation and accommodation confirmation emails in their inboxes. 

Carol relaxed into her chair. “Whew, it feels good to have that done.” 

Daisy stood and reminded her, “Next up, our appointment with Bobbi and Hunter to talk about decorations and photos. We have about half an hour.” 

“Half an hour, huh?” Carol let her eyes linger over Daisy’s sports bra, bare midriff, and form-fitting yoga pants. 

“Unh-uh,” Daisy shut down her line of thinking. “I have to actually shower and get ready, and that is not enough time. Tonight. After.”

Carol stood and kissed Daisy with a promise on her lips. “Tonight it is.”

Daisy smiled against her and pulled away reluctantly. The clock was ticking and they couldn’t miss this crucial appointment.  

—----------- 

When Daisy and Carol arrived at the cottage and half-acre grounds that now served as Bobbi and Hunter’s office, they learned Hunter was out shooting some B-roll for another wedding video, but Bobbi was ready for action. She had only been in the business a few years, hence her availability so soon to their date, but she already had a system for each element: decoration packages, florists she worked with, photoshoot options… she even had suggestions based on their colors. She may not have had a long resume in the business, but she certainly had the skills, style, and strategy to be a rising star within it. 

Daisy lit up at Bobbi’s guidance and competence. Carol still didn’t know the difference between a dahlia and a peony, but seeing Daisy happy was all that mattered to her. Being out of her element didn’t help with her resolution to be a more active participant, however, so she relied on Bobbi’s photos for visual references. 

After hours of decoration options and floral arrangement talk, Bobbi sent them outside to walk around the grounds for a break. Bobbi said it would help her get a sense for how they interacted naturally. She’d be nearby if they needed anything, and she would shoot a few practice candids but not close enough to hear them talk. 

The spring breeze was still chilly enough for them to wear their leather jackets (brown and relaxed fit for Carol, black and stylishly cut for Daisy), but the fresh air helped them unwind. They made their way down a dirt path to a pond lined with willows. Carol slipped her hand into Daisy’s as they walked and tried not to be self-conscious that Bobbi was watching them. 

“So,” Daisy began as they reached the pond, “what are you thinking of all this? You’ve been quiet.” 

“Right now,” Carol stalled, “I’m thinking about how your hand fits in mine and how beautiful this all is. If we weren’t already here to plan our wedding, I might propose.” She leaned in toward Daisy and winked. 

Daisy smiled but didn’t let her off the hook that easily. “And what about in there?” She tilted her head toward the cottage. “I know this isn’t really your thing, but I want you to be happy with it too.” 

Carol tried to put some of the terms together correctly. “I think the corsage ideas are exactly what your mom, grandma, and Aunt Wendy and Victoria would all wear, which is a wide range of personalities, so that’s something. And the… mmm… hanging things for the chapel walls? Also good. How about you?” 

“Yeah, for sure.” Daisy squinted against the sun as she looked out to the pond. “I’m honestly not sure we need decorations for the aisle. The chapel is so small, you know? I also wanted to ask you first, before Bobbi brings it up, what do you think about a unity candle in the ceremony? Or something like that?” 

“Unity candle? I don’t know. Tell me more.” Carol furrowed her brow and tuned in. The flowers and ribbons and table centerpieces were one thing, but ceremony symbolism and meaning-laden rituals were another. 

Daisy let go of Carol’s hand and held up two imaginary candlesticks. “Okay, so we’d each have our own candles lit before the ceremony, or we can light them, but the point is we would use them together at the same time to light a bigger middle candle. The important part to me is that we don’t blow out the individual candles.” 

“Ah. Right!” Carol followed the metaphor. “So we’re still individual people, but also we’re a couple. And getting married doesn’t change that we’re each our own person.”

“Exactly.” Daisy shrugged. “If you want to. If that’s too cliche or cheesy, we don’t have to, though.” 

“No, no, I like it. So Bobbi’s going to ask us to pick out candles then, right? Because I have to be honest, I haven’t given much thought to wax color and consistency or height or whatever.” 

Daisy smiled and slipped her arms around Carol’s waist. “I don’t think we need to stress about it too much. They are pretty basic and I have one or two in mind.”

“Thank you.” Carol leaned in and kissed Daisy sweetly. “And the candle is accurate because you light me up.” 

Daisy pulled back but kept her arms firmly around Carol. “The fire-themed puns are already starting?” 

“Well, you do set my heart aflame,” Carol explained. 

“Here we go,” Daisy sighed. 

“One, this was your idea, and two, you are the light of my life. You might even say my love burns for you.”   

“Done?”  

“For now, yes. For the rest of our lives? Just getting started.” Carol assured. 

Daisy rolled her eyes and kissed her. When they parted, she shook her head. “Now you’ve got me thinking of them too.” 

“Yes! I want to hear it!” 

Daisy dropped into a sultry voice. “Babe, you’re the hottest thing since fire was discovered.” 

Carol tried not to laugh. “Okay, we’ll work on it, but a solid start. A+ for the sexy tone, though.”

“Thank you,” Daisy said proudly and then noticed the sun was lowering in the sky. “We should wrap this up. But I haven’t forgotten about tonight.”

“Me either.” Carol winked. 

They walked back to the cottage to finish their appointment with Bobbi and discuss photo poses and locations. Bobbi showed them the practice shots she had taken of their break, and they scheduled some photos of the two of them in normal clothes and some in their gowns. 

—--------- 

On Sunday afternoon, picking outfits for the photoshoot (besides the wedding gowns, of course) led to a full circle moment. As Daisy sat on the bed looking at makeup pro tips and couple posing ideas, Carol put on her deep red jumpsuit and black blazer that looked like the one she had tried on in white at the bridal shop. 

“How about this?” she asked to get Daisy’s attention. Daisy looked up from her computer and took in Carol’s outfit. 

“Yes, please.” She didn’t hide her lingering gaze. “I know exactly what I would wear with that one too.” 

“Yeah?” Carol stepped in front of the closet door mirror, which was long enough to reflect the whole outfit.

Daisy set her laptop on the bedside table and walked up behind Carol. “Three words. Little. Black. Dress.” 

Carol’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “But which one?” 

“My turn to try on.” She closed the closet door behind her so it would be a surprise until she had it on. When she opened it, Carol was sitting on the side of the bed, idly scrolling through the poses Daisy had left open on her computer. 

“How’s this?” Daisy asked, one hand on her hip with the other gesturing down the dress. Carol’s eyes followed her hand and continued down Daisy’s strong legs. Daisy had added heels for maximum effect, highlighting her calves. 

Carol walked over and stood beside her in the mirror. “Very sexy. Look at that power couple. Damn.” 

Daisy turned and pulled Carol in by the hips for a surprise kiss and then backed away just as quickly. “Okay, we have to pick out the casual outfits before I jump you for real.�� 

“We have time for both,” Carol pointed out and took off the blazer. She hung it on the hanger and then took off her jumpsuit. “Your choice. I can put on my shirt or not.” 

“Stop,” Daisy whined. “You know I’m highly distractable. Shirt on first, I find something that looks good with it, and then I take it off. In that order.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Carol winked. She decided to speed up the process by walking into the closet and picking out a navy and lavender plaid button-up for herself and a blouse in a matching lavender top for Daisy. “I figured out we have these weeks ago and thought they might be good.” 

“Our wedding colors! Wow, these colors really are us.” 

Carol handed her the blouse. “And I figured we’d just wear jeans with them.” 

Daisy took off her black dress and heels and put on the blouse. She passed Carol and picked out a pair of jeans from the closet. “Hmm, these.” 

They were not her most comfy jeans for everyday wear, but they complemented her form in the right ways for a photoshoot. Carol picked a similar pair for herself. 

When they were dressed, they stood in the mirror together again. 

“What do you think?” Daisy asked.

“I think this is it.” Carol flattened her collar. Daisy turned to check out how her outfit looked from the back, and Carol wet her lips. “God, those jeans were made for your butt. I’m always both jealous and turned on when you wear those. It’s very confusing.”

Daisy laughed. “Like you can talk.” She swiftly squeezed Carol’s round bum in her tight jeans. 

“Hey!” Carol laughed. “Okay. That’s a casual outfit, a dressy outfit, and our wedding dresses. That’s enough, right? We still have two hours until we’re meeting Elena and Mack for dinner and to talk about the ceremony.”

“Yep,” Daisy popped the p. She grabbed a small black gym bag with rainbow handles they had gotten free at Pride but hadn’t used. “Anything we need for the photoshoot can go in here, and we can hang the other clothes in the garment bags with the bridal gowns.”

“Good plan.” Carol took the bag from Daisy and dropped it near the foot of the bed. “Okay, that’s enough dressing. Time for undressing.” 

Daisy kissed her and, as promised, unbuttoned her shirt until it was free. Carol took it and her undershirt off, and Daisy stripped off her own blouse and paused to kiss her again. She pulled away to hang the shirts on hangers so they wouldn’t wrinkle. Impatient, Carol wrapped her arms around Daisy from behind and unbuttoned her jeans while she was hanging the shirts. Daisy grinded back against her in retaliation, and Carol kissed her neck. 

“You know,” Daisy said, turning to unbutton Carol’s jeans in return. “This would go faster if we did one thing at a time.” 

“Okay.” Carol took off her jeans, laid them out on the bed, and stuck out her bum as she leaned over the bed and slowly and deliberately rolled them into a tight, neat log. She raised an eyebrow at Daisy, who was staring with her own jeans around her ankles. 

“Point made.” Daisy rolled up her jeans quickly and stuck both pairs in the bag. “We can worry about shoes later.” 

“Exactly.” Carol led her to the bed and in seconds, they were entangled, with hands tugging at undergarments and lips meeting again and again and thighs slotting naturally between each other. 

Daisy had an odd thought cross her mind that she was grateful to not only be born in an era and culture where they didn’t have to hide their relationship and could be married but also one in which they didn’t have to wait until marriage to have this. Not that it had ever been particularly accepted for queer couples to marry as long as they refrained from premarital sex, but it was more that she was relieved that figuring out sex wasn’t part of their wedding stress. Getting married had plenty of complications and emotions attached without that element. 

“What are you thinking about?” Carol asked as she saw the pensive expression on Daisy’s face. Carol stroked up and down Daisy’s side, and Daisy’s expression softened. 

“Just that I’m so glad we don’t have to figure this part out on our wedding night.” 

Carol involuntarily let out a little laugh and then agreed. “We would not have made it this long if we were supposed to wait.” 

“True, but can you imagine having to worry about not even knowing what to do and having our first time after all of this? Months of planning and scheduling vendors and life commitment, then to also be like sooo how does sex work anyway?” Daisy ran her fingers up Carol’s stomach to her breast and teased her nipple in emphasis. 

“That is way too much pressure for a honeymoon.” Carol rolled on top of Daisy and teased her inner thighs before working in to her warm, wet core. “Knowing every part of you, years of memorizing every sigh and gasp and moan… that’s what our honeymoon is going to be, and I wouldn’t trade one messy, imperfect night of all the time it took learning each other.”

Daisy bucked her hips into Carol’s touch and let out one of those moans. “Fuck, yes. Mmmn!” 

It hadn’t always been sexy to learn what they liked in sex, and they still tried new positions and toys on occasion that might or might not be for them, but their “Is this normal? How do we even do this?” days were worked out in college, during dates that turned into sleepovers and late nights studying for anatomy exams turned “studying” each other’s anatomy, so to speak. They had been young and awkward and new to it all together, and they found through experience what online advice in sapphic sex articles worked and didn’t for them. Now, as an established couple about to be married, they hardly had to think anymore about what to do with their hands, getting twisted up in the sheets, or being embarrassed or self-conscious about their bodies. Their legs and arms and lips and tongues seemed to just simply fit, as if they were made to be intertwined in lovemaking. But every movement and muscle memory was from years of vulnerable communication, awareness, and practice bringing them higher and higher out of the awkwardness of inexperience into the ecstasy of expertise. 

The wisdom from experience helped Carol time Daisy’s orgasm just so she was desperate but not frustrated. And it helped Daisy know when to reach for one of their vibrators, and which one, when Carol needed more to finally crest over the edge of pleasure. After Carol came, they kissed deeply, letting their tongues play, as the vibe still buzzed beside them. Daisy retrieved it and placed it between them, aligning with Carol’s folds so it was securely held against them both. She knew by now exactly where to put it and how to keep it there with their position.

“That took practice, for example,” Daisy panted. 

“It did, mmmhmm,” Carol agreed, turning it into a moan of pleasure.

Daisy did have to adjust it as her hips bucked, but they ended up coming together nearly at the same time, a rare feat, providing further emphasis that the work they had put in over the years was well worth every awkward, weird, imperfect moment it took to get there. 

—--------------- 

That night, as Carol was in the shower, Daisy had an idea of what her wedding gift to her would be. She searched her favorite wedding websites for the new-to-her term: boudoir photography.  She’d seen packages on Bobbi’s website, and looking into it, she thought Carol would appreciate it. It was a bit challenging to find pose ideas for brides that didn’t seem porny or made for the male gaze, but she could do the solo ones herself, and then if Carol was interested in some together, they could finish the shoot after the wedding with some creativity and adapting.

[dcmultiverse]

You have been chosen, Carol Ferris of Earth. You will be the queen. Queen of earth.

Carol Ferris by Daniel Acuña in GREEN LANTERN (2005)

[dcmultiverse]

Carol Ferris in GREEN LANTERN: NEW GUARDIANS Annual #1 (2013)

[platypanthewriter]

Stories of the past:  Billy

The Keg-King of Elfland’s Sword, Ch. 8 for @ihni​

Here are links to the other chapters

As they approached the docks, they could see flashes lighting the night sky up dark blue from across the lake, showing the the legs of an enormous spider crab overarching the lake, silvery in the ferry lanterns, but black against the sky. The gleaming light shone off the flank of Wheeler’s white deer, tiny against the backdrop of waves, mountain, and lightning.

“The Lady of the Salt Lake,” said one of the boys, pointing, and Max stared. “She rides it, when she fights against the Nuckelavee.”

“Now she rides against us,” said the little one, Will Byers, the one who ought to sound angrier, Billy thought, after escaping with a body full of crustaceans.

“She can try,” said Max, readying her sword.

“They’ve been herding us here,” said the curly one, with the club. “Because we’re children. Makes it easier to find her, at least.”

Harrington snorted, and held a hand out for his club.

“I can stop her,” said the little girl—Ellie, Billy remembered, the one who’d been held captive by the men with cannons. The spindly-legged crabs spilled over the stones at the river’s edge as they ran, and Ellie turned, set her feet, and whipped her hand through the air at them. The crabs scattered like a glittering pile of mica in wind, and Billy’s mouth fell open. He nearly tripped, then registered Harrington’s voice in his ear.

“She may be one of the Fair Folk herself,” Harrington whispered. “That’s—that would be why she believes she is the child. The one the Lady seeks.” She’d escaped, somehow, and Billy abruptly wondered whether it hadn’t been the Nuckelavee, but her, causing the skeletons. He would have been tempted to ask, if the children, even Max, hadn’t been sending him glances like he was some storybook bogeyman: He Who Strikes From Behind.

“You can’t go with her,” one of the assorted boys took Ellie’s hands. “She can’t make you leave—”

Billy, who was trying to place him, thought he might have been at the Ball. There were too damn many children, as far as he was concerned, though he was fairly certain this was neither the one who puked crabs, nor one of the two who had held weapons on him, so if he needed to save any, he decided, he’d be the first after Max. Ellie, apparently, could handle herself.

“I’m the one she stole,” said the one Billy believed to be a fellow William, the crab-puker. “It’s me she wants, Ellie, you don’t have to—”

“What would she want with any of you,” Steve groaned, and Billy resisted the urge to nod.

“The Fair Folk like children,” said the one with Billy’s sword. “She’s not hunting one of us. She hasn’t given Callie back. She’s herding us all here—”

“We do not— we don’t all steal people—” said the hitherto Least Objectionable Child, and Billy raised his eyebrows, wondering who he was.

“She’s never taken children before, either—” Curly said, and Ellie spun on her heel to yell “I will stop her.”

Harrington set his jaw, swallowing. “They were coming anyway,” he told Billy, under his breath. “I—I couldn’t let the little goblins come alone.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Billy whispered back, with a snort, and yanked Harrington’s head closer to kiss his temple. “Hero Harrington. Max can be hard to—”

Harrington rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to be a hero—”

“You aren’t,” Billy pulled him close again, licking his ear, and Harrington shoved him, laughing. “That’s why I—want you. Wanted you. When I heard about you, at the Ball.”

“...I thought it was my looks,” Harrington said, snickering, and the children stopped to glare back at them, white-faced, tight-jawed, and teary-eyed.

“I thought you two hated each other!” wailed Curls, and Max swiveled to fix her fury on him.

“Billy’s staying,” she hissed, and Harrington yanked Billy close, pressing warm kisses to his face.

“You intended to stay,” he whispered, laughing. “Even—even—after. Before.”

Billy hadn’t, and yet, he couldn’t imagine himself having left without fixing like a post under Harrington’s chamber window, standing in wind and weather until Harrington let him speak. “I could hardly leave without you hogtied over my saddle,” he whispered back, and Harrington burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the silvery night.

At just that moment, there was another crash ahead, and a scream. Little Will-of-the-crabs shoved away, running to the docks, and the others followed, their footsteps smacking loud against the paving stones over the sounds of the rushing river. Billy stopped, squinting, when his footsteps changed to hollow thuds on boards, but Harrington drug him forward across the dock, to where they could see Ms. Byers, Will, and Ellie trying to keep the Sheriff from sinking in the roiling foam. In the darkness, the dock looked too short, and Billy realized it was broken, the jagged edges breaking away as Ms. Byers tilted forward with another scream, and Max charged in, throwing her sword to the side.

Billy dodged back as Wheeler’s white stag clattered up, joined by Buckley and the others, and the children gathered around trying to help everyone out of the water as the ferry jutted up sideways and slammed into the docks hard enough that the horses staggered and reared.

Thomas fired off a crossbow bolt at the dark shapes above, then fell as the great silvery tree trunk of the Lady’s steed-crab’s leg came down on the docks, amid shrieks from the children. Billy nearly fell to his knees, supporting Harrington.

“I am here, children,” said the Lady, and the silvery light around them grew. It was bluish, and the small hairs on the backs of Billy’s arms and neck lifted. “This town that harms children will be washed clean. Come.”

“No,” cried one of the boys, and Billy wished him luck. “You’re the only one hurting anyone! Give Callie back! And my sister’s friend, Barbara Holland!”

Harrington hauled him closer, as Billy tried to find Max. Buckley was standing next to Wheeler, with another crossbow, and Carol alongside, the three of them placing themselves between the Lady and the panicked confusion over the disintegrating dock. It looked like everyone was out of the water, crawling away from the building waves.

“These people have frightened children,” the Lady told them, her hair lifting and crackling from her head. “They have stolen from me. Ellie,” she held out a hand. “Dear one. I saved you. Why did you run?”

Ellie shook her head, sniffling.

“She wanted to be with her real mom,” the boy holding Ellie’s hand yelled back.

“I will wash this place down to its stones,” the Lady told him. “I have fought for them. Every spring, for their sakes, I have fought the Nuckelavee back into its lair. I have—I have suffered for them. We—” she held a long, pale hand out to Wheeler, who shook her head, raising her crossbow. “We of the mountain have protected their fragile lives, and in return they captured a child—” she waved a graceful hand at Ellie, “—and threatened her into breaking a hole between worlds. Much sadness will come of that,” she whispered, staring over them all with fixed eyes that shone with their own inner light. “Many of their lives will be further shortened. Animals, running in fear. But come, it needn’t all be grief. Come, children. You shall be harmed no more.”

“No!” Ellie yelled back, trying to stand as the roiling sea shook the dock.

“Wait,” Thomas shouted suddenly. “What did we steal?”

“Shut your mouth, Tommy,” Billy heard Carol hiss, but he ignored her.

“No, really, we didn’t blow up her house, but I know what she means—but what exactly did we steal?”

“Me,” said Ellie, and Will nodded.

“Ellie left her, and then came with us,” Thomas yelled. “What did we steal?”

“My own child,” the Lady hissed, swiping her hand around her, and the deep, chill water pulled back to leave a sphere of crackling air around the docks, leaving only glistening rocks, mud, and gasping fish. The darkness was split by surges of light from the Lady, dazzling their eyes and reflecting off the wall of ocean growing taller than they could see.

“What did those letters say, Steven Harrington,” Thomas turned, holding his hands around his mouth to project his voice. It quavered. “Madness in his blood. Witchcraft, from a woman who thought she was a fae princess. He’s looking for his mother.”

“Shut your mouth, Thomas,” Carol yelled, raising her sword, and he bared his teeth at her.

“It’s important,” Thomas yelled, “Young Master Harrington. He’s lied about everything. He’s brought her on this town. Give him back to her.”

Billy felt as though he’d gone numb, his brain trying to take in the phosphorescent shape of a floating woman, and the towering cliff face of water, lifting over Hawkins.

“...Billy,” Steve whispered, clenching his hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“No,” Billy shook his head. “No. I can’t—Harrington—”

“What nonsense to you speak,” the Lady asked, with a snap in her voice they could taste. “The people of this place will hurt no more children—”

“When I was a child, a wave took the lower town,” Harrington whispered, staring at Billy. “When we were children. Billy, how old are you? When did your father move to Australia?”

Billy shook his head, swallowing. “No! I—I’m two and twenty—I was six, but—”

“She’s here because of you,” Harrington said, and Billy flinched, shaking his head. Harrington ran his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths. “She—she called the ocean, and sixteen years ago, she took the lower town. Because her lover took her child... very, very far away. She couldn’t find him—”

Billy shook his head, swallowing. He could hear Max yelling something, obscured by the rushing in his ears. “No. She—she tried to drown me, she—”

“She doesn’t understand humans,” Harrington stared into his face. “She thought she was helping Ellie. She’s the Mother of the Sea, Billy, she thought you’d be able to breathe water.”

“No,” Billy shook his head harder, feeling Harrington pull away as he stood. “No, Harrington, I can’t—”

Thomas hailed the Lady. “This is him. Your child,” he waved a hand. “He came back looking for you.”

“...no,” said the Lady, stepping off the crab to land in the middle of the ferry with a loud crunch of wood. She jerked her foot back out of the broken decking, and walked across the water and collapsing wreckage to stare into Billy’s face. “You are not he,” she said, and his eyes burned, as though, he thought, he’d wanted, just for a moment, to be claimed. He staggered forward at a grating blow to the back and sides of his neck, and she stepped back, a gleaming trail dangling from her hand in the uneven light, the chain of Billy’s necklace broken from his neck. “Yet you have my gift.”

“No,” Billy forced his voice through his raw throat. “No, the-that’s mine—”

“You are not my child, you are another thief,” she said, energy crackling around them, and Billy shook his head, unable to find his words. In the dazzle, he felt hands on his arm, and heard Harrington’s urgent voice.

“It’s the necklace you gave him! It’s been twenty years! Babies grow!”

“...that is so.” The crackling light dimmed, and Billy could see again, a little. His throat ached. “But it cannot have been so long. This stranger—”

“I’m sorry,” Billy breathed, reaching for the necklace, as she clicked it. Harrington’s voice came out, and she threw it down, leaving a blackened hole in the dock.

“You traded my voice,” she whispered, as Billy watched it fall, dropping to his knees next to the hole. “Was it so valueless, to you?”

“...he recieved it with no voice,” Harrington said, and Billy jerked back to attention, standing up.

“Lies. I sang to my child,” she said, stepping close, so every hair on Billy’s body lifted, and his clothed fluttered as though there was wind. “I could not keep him safe, but I told him of his home, and of my love.”

“...he—he must have—wiped it clean,” Billy whispered, shaking. “My—my father. I carried it as a gift from—from you, but I had no—I thought you had...nothing to say.”

“I had the world to say,” she whispered back, and his eyes blurred. Harrington’s fingers were bruisingly tight in his shoulder.

“I didn’t steal it,” Billy told her, glancing past her at the enormous wave suspended over the town. His voice shook. “I’ve always worn it—”

The great silver crab crushed another piling holding up the dock, and Hopper swore as the boards under them juddered and creaked. He and the Byers woman were dragging the children ashore.

Buckley shouted, “—we didn’t steal him. Can’t you—can we—take him back, if that—”

“Wait, we only have his word he didn’t know,” Thomas yelled over her. “He probably knew all along. Only the Lady can control the Nuckelavee, Harrington! The Sea Mither. His mother. He was never in danger at all, he probably called it—”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Harrington said through gritted teeth.

“Why have you never sent word,” the Lady asked Billy, reaching out. “I would speak with you, my own. Dear one. Where came you these bruises? Who has assailed you?”

Billy fought to talk, his muscles spasming at her closeness. His jaw wouldn’t open until she lowered her hand, and he wheezed deep breaths.

“I knew he was hiding something else,” Thomas laughed, and Harrington yanked Billy closer, but the Lady turned her gaze on Thomas.

“My child’s blood is upon you,” she whispered, floating higher, and raised her hand. The wave began to fall.

Everyone ran to get off the dock, stumbling, screaming, and swinging up on horses—except Thomas, who stared out at the wave, then swung around on Billy, grabbing his shirt. “You’ve killed him,” he hissed. "You've killed us all."

Billy swung at him, trying to free himself, but Carol, Robin, and Harrington started hauling them towards the town.

“There’s no time!” Carol screamed, shoving at Tommy’s hands.

Tommy reached past Robin to grab for Billy, teeth bared, and Robin staggered at the edge of the dock, when Carol shoved past Thomas to grab Robin around the waist, hauling her bodily back towards town. Thomas hung in the air for a moment, and then the water struck.

Billy heard a yell from Harrington as the air was smacked from his lungs, and tried to kick towards him. The roiling foam was white, and bright turquoise, and a green so dark it was almost black, and he was knocked sideways by the coils of the eels and the tree-trunk-sized leg of the Lady’s spider crab steed. He couldn’t find anyone, any frantic flailing arms, or limp, drifting bodies. Harrington’s voice rang in his head, saying ‘she took the lower town, one day.’ And Thomas’, ‘You’ve killed us all.’ The water numbed his skin, and the remaining air in his lungs went sour. It was as dark with his eyes closed as open, and he closed them against the sting, curling into a ball as his shoulder thudded and scraped against something else, knocking bubbles out of his mouth. He saw something glint, and reached out, feeling the shape of a shell, and the broken chain.

He kept swimming, though he didn’t know which direction to go.