#do i give this the rogue tag despite her not appearing here (she's in the mall but y'know)

[ultalliance]

@thenten gets a starter (you can't escape me, darling.)

At the very least, the omniversal portal mishap this time around had seemingly put him in a friendly place, for once. Rather, he wasn't shunted directly into a wild firefight before he could catch his bearings. No, instead, Ben found himself in a large shopping mall. Casual chatter all throughout, people going this way and that, and a lovely skylight several stories up.

All in all, a perfectly normal and drab locale to catch his bearings before disaster would, with his luck, strike. Unfortunately soon, given the briefest sight of someone in yellow hazmat-like suit quickly weave into the backrooms of the mall as Ben likely was looking about.

Something that might have been forgiven if it weren't for the high-tech equipment he had, and what could have been clocked as likely a gun of some sort.

Something was about to happen, undoubtedly, and the only lead he had now was in the back of the mall before a lot of innocent people risked being caught in the crossfire.

[bg-brainrot]

Day 3 of winter fluff! A bit more sappy than fluffy but hey, sometimes they need some sap.

Prompt: Gifts

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Part of Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Premise: Astarion and you love stealing gifts for each other all the time, so when it comes to a Winter Solstice present, you’re stumped on what to give him. You’re not particularly talented at things that aren’t killing, so you ask your good friend Shadowheart for advice. It turns out Astarion had much the same issue.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, post-canon

Word count: 1.5k

“Shadowheart, I need your help!” you say to the cleric, who’s currently sitting at your dining table. She'd come over for drinks and stayed the night, providing you with the perfect opportunity to get her opinion.

She looks up from her morning meal to your sudden, panicked appearance. “Good morning to you too.”

“Good morning,” you say with a huff. “Now, would you please help me?”

“That depends,” she says, lolling her head to the side pensively. “Are you here for the exact same reason Astarion ambushed me this morning?”

You give her a confused look, as if to say, ‘how-the-hells-am-I-supposed-to-know-that’ and respond with a pleading, “Shadowheart.”

"You're both so predictable," she says with a sigh. "Very well, what do you need help with?"

"It's almost the Winter Solstice and I don't know what to get Astarion." It's the first Winter Solstice you'll spend together, and while you were looking forward to having some company over for a Midwinter celebration in a few weeks, this holiday would just be for the two of you.

Shadowheart purses her lips knowingly, and you belatedly realize what she'd meant.

"He asked you too, didn't he?"

"He did," she says, taking an excruciatingly long sip from her goblet of what you strongly suspect is more wine. "And I'm going to tell you the exact same thing I told him: you're the only one who knows what would be meaningful."

"What kind of advice is that?" you ask with a scoff, before you start to walk off.

"Funny, he said the same thing."

__

Despite your complaints, Shadowheart's advice does prove useful. When you finally sit down to think, you come up with a few strong candidates for presents.

A new dagger– he keeps talking about how one of his current ones has a hilt that cuts into his thumb.

A new pomade for his curls– he’s noted a few times that the kind he uses doesn't take well to the cold.

A skeleton key – you're not sure how difficult it would be to obtain, but he's mentioned one more than enough times that you're certain he would make good use of it. 

But all of these things are so… normal. After all of the adventures you've lived though together in such a short amount of time, none of these items feel like enough.

What can I get him? You pace, you yell, you assure the man in question that you're perfectly fine, thanks for asking.

It's not until Astarion's distracted by his meditation that an idea finally clicks. Aha!

__

"Well darling, I know we said nothing too much this year– after all we found each other, the greatest gift of all," Astarion says with an exaggerated hair toss, to which you give an amused snort. "But I couldn't help myself." 

He hands you an ornate metal box, atop which a large red ribbon is expertly tied. "Astarion," you say with a gasp. "This looks too nice!"

"If you think the wrapping is nice, wait until you open it," he says with a cheeky, fanged grin.

"Wait– before I open it!" 

You're both seated before your fireplace, cuddled up on a couch. So when you suddenly jolt up, ruining Astarion's cozy lean into you, you just hear a disgruntled, 'really, darling!' 

Paying no mind to his complaint, you go to where you hid your present for him. You have a quick moment of concern, is it enough? Will he like it? But your excitement to give him the gift overrides all others, so you scoop it up and return to your lover.

"Here, let’s open them together,” you say, depositing your far-less-impressive gift box on his lap. It’s still a nice wooden box with a gold ribbon tying it together, which Astarion gladly takes.

“Oh darling, you shouldn’t have,” he says, with unabashed joy on his face. 

You sit facing one another and open your gifts on the count of three. 1… 2… 3!

A moment later you have the ribbon off and the box opened in front of you to see a set of three items, each more beautifully embroidered than the last: a silken black scarf, a pair of delicate black lambskin leather gloves, and a black hooded cloak.

On the first, you see a pattern of red azaleas along the edges, a flower with nectar often used in poisons. Your knowledge of toxins was one of the things you’d first bonded over– you remember entering a vivid conversation with him over the merits of various poisonous plants and which venoms were worth using in combat.

On the second, you see a gold pattern of thieves’ cant symbols along the rim of the gloves. You take a moment to read the text, easily slipping into the written language of rogues. The left glove says, ‘together we fight’ and the right glove says, ‘together we stay.’ How appropriate for a matching set of gloves, you think.

On the third, the cloak, the embroidery is done in a dark gray thread, likely to keep it practical for hiding in the shadows. The effect is subtle but beautiful, as you see that Astarion has detailed out two sections of the cloak. On one side is a deadly looking dagger, a snake wrapped around it. Next to that is a matching dagger with a bat hanging from it. You smile at it, a deep affection gripping your heart– it’s the two of you.

“Oh Astarion,” you say, looking back to him with a lump in your throat.

The man in question is still absorbed with one of your gifts, and you realize he’s likely unable to hear you right now. 

Before him lay your own presents: a new dagger, like you’d planned for, a new pommade which it appears he’s already opened, and the object he’s currently using. In his hands is a smooth, fist-sized orb, glassy in appearance but clouded over now as Astarion uses it. With some assistance from Gale, you’d managed to procure a memory orb, an object that allows you to store up to ten minutes of memories and relive those memories by concentrating on the object. 

You’d filled it with memories of the two of you, including hugs, kisses, moments of love and excitement. It was a cacophonous melody of your time together so far, and one that seems to be a tune to Astarion’s liking, judging from the smile on his face as he concentrates on the object.

After the ten minutes elapses, he emerges from the memory to find you already wearing the gifts he’s made you. “Astarion, I can’t believe you made these in such a short amount of time,” you say, as soon as he’s back. “They’re amazing.”

He laughs breathlessly, head still swimming with memories. “I’m glad you like them, dear. It certainly helps that I can embroider while you sleep.”

“Well, you outdid yourself,” you say, showing off your gloved hands to him. “Every little detail is just so perfect. Thank you, love.”

“Of course,” he says and his smile overwhelms you with its brilliance. “And your gifts, especially the orb... darling, that was…” He trails off, looking at you with glassy eyes. 

“It wasn’t too sappy?” you ask him, knowing how uncomfortable he gets when things get too mushy.

He shakes his head at you, and grabs your gloved hands in his. “Not at all. It was fantastic. Seeing myself through your memories… I guess I see why you fell for me.” His fanged grin is wicked, but the love behind his eyes is unmistakable. 

“You were annoying easily to fall for, love,” you say with a wistful sigh. You pause a moment and tug on his arms. “I confess, I also wanted to get you a skeleton key, but I’m starting to think those are a myth.”

Astarion laughs, placing the rest of the presents on a side table and pulling you closer. “Isn’t that sweet of you? No need dear, there’s nothing behind a lock that I need that badly, not when I have you.” He presses a soft peck on your lips as he drags you onto him.

“Wintertime has done something to you, love,” you say, curling into his lap. “I’ve never seen you so sappy.”

The man grimaces, but holds you close all the same. “Please don’t say that near Shadowheart, she’s already accused me of something heinous.” 

“Oh? What’s that?”

“She said I was ‘getting into the holiday spirit’,” he answers, all but gagging on his own words. “Ridiculous. I just enjoy lavishing you with gifts.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and say, “You are quite good at that.”

“Mmhm,” he murmurs happily at your praise. Carefully unwrapping your new scarf from your neck, he begins peppering you with kisses. Each sends a jolt of electricity down your spine and you only hold him tighter. “You know, some of those memories were quite… well, memorable. Would you care to recreate any?”

The only response you can manage under his fervent kisses is a pleased hum. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you make a note to thank Shadowheart for her sage gift-giving advice.

[flowering-darkness]

I would like to share some analysis of the last piece of writing I posted, if that’s alright, because I think being able to do something like this is good even/especially? if it’s on my own work:

(the writing itself is linked here if you’d like to read it - it’s the Aria-in-Clio’s-dream scene~)

As this piece takes place within Clio’s dream, Clio doesn’t currently remember it in this much detail - she knows she had a nightmare, and that Aria appeared in it, but it’ll only be after further dreams (where Aria keeps appearing to her) that more pieces of the puzzle fall together. She doesn’t yet realise that it’s the real Aria infiltrating her dreams instead of her just dreaming of her(?), which is probably going to be the focus of a slightly later piece.

At this point in time, Aria is still very much an antagonist, and is still intending to exploit the connection she’s made to Clio in whatever way is most useful to her(?) - which could include anything from forcing information out of her, to making her nightmares worse using darkness, to trying to corrupt her with darkness while she’s vulnerable to it in her dreams (from not having her Chirithy). But.. she’s also already found herself opening up to Clio, complimenting her battle prowess, and pitying the fact she naturally suffers from nightmares so chronically, so.. we’ll have to see how that pans out~

For some more specific details.. I usually like to specify which Keyblade Clio is using in a given situation, since she has the ability and experience to summon a number of different ones using the corresponding Keychain. However, I chose not to in this case, just to make things feel a bit more vague and thus more how they would be in a dream.

The overall sense of “things are a bit weird because it’s in a dream” is one I also tried to convey throughout with things like the Lux from the Heartless fading away instead of Clio collecting it, the fountain square feeling like a summer’s night despite it not being summer, the fog coming in from the sides despite the sun being visible, and so on.

When Clio properly spots Aria (though she’d felt her presence in the two previous instances, where she’d turned around too quickly), she specifically says “You’re that Rogue girl!” to make it obvious beyond doubt that she is visible as herself. Prior to this, Aria didn’t think Clio would be able to see her, but still would have retreated from being so close again (just in case), if Clio hadn’t made it clear it was her she had spotted.

As I said before, Clio doesn’t know at the moment that Aria appearing in her dream is because she was tagged with darkness by her(?) in their first encounter, essentially giving her an access point that Clio can’t get rid of (because she doesn’t yet know about it - it’ll eventually be visible on her back as time passes and Aria makes more use of it, but Clio can’t see that on herself and neither can anyone else from how her outfit sits!). However, the mention of Aria having her hood down - which reveals her flower in her hairpiece, which Clio wouldn’t otherwise have yet been able to see - is supposed to be a subtle indication that Aria has infiltrated her dream from the real world, instead of Clio’s mind putting her in the dream based on her memory.

(..The more I try to explain this, the more I realise it makes Aria sound like a Nightmare Dream Eater instead of a Heartless (which is what she is), but.. I’m justifying that by saying it’s only because she tagged Clio with darkness - and Clio doesn’t have a way to defend herself from darkness properly while she’s sleeping, because she doesn’t have a Chirithy - that she(?) can do this.)

On the note of how the piece ends: Fiore is what I normally use as Aria’s surname that she made up for herself, but it’s actually technically more of a name that’s just hers than Aria itself is (since that was derived from what she first overheard when she took over her vessel to gain her current form - which was, unbeknownst to her, Aquila crying out for Linaria). Despite this, she does see Aria as more of her name than Fiore (since that just translates to “flower”, and.. while Aria also just translates to “air”, it’s more of a name than a word, one could argue). That’s why she doesn’t tell it to Clio just yet - but she also just doesn’t want Clio calling her Rogue, because she’s sick of that being treated as her name by the antagonists she has to work for.

This is admittedly not something that comes through in the writing itself, but when Aria appears in Clio’s dream, her eyes look more alive there than in the real world. I’ve attached some brief screenshots to demonstrate; hopefully you can spot the icon difference!

This trait is one I put in to signify that.. by infiltrating Clio’s dreams, “Rogue” (Aria) is in an environment where she(?) can more confidently express herself without being overheard. She has a desire to break away from those whom she takes orders from, but does not currently see this as possible - yet having this space where she can not only spy on/track the heroes down, but also unexpectedly can talk to one of them as well, means she can arguably be more true to herself within that environment, instead of being forced to follow orders. This is also why her hood is down, since doing that reveals her flower, which is otherwise covered up!

On a more general note, she(?)/her(?) pronouns - or variations like she?/her? - are in fact pronouns you can use to refer to me if you want to, and it’s actually because of this self-insert (Aria) that I realised this, thanks to friends using feminine titles for her with uncertainty, like “girl(?)”. This was something that felt like it fit me very well, hence why I now use them much more consistently for her(?) in the writing (as well as to better convey whether I’m referring to Aria or to Clio without the context of the tuppers on the document). I simply like the concept of being more confident about my own gender than anyone else is.

..Okay, I think that’s everything, or certainly at least enough for the moment. I don’t actually know whether anyone will take the time to read any of this, but.. if you have, then seriously thank you so so much, it really means a lot. I hope it was nice to read - and if you happen to have any questions or comments at all, then please know you can always say them!!

[goblinselfshippr]

Intro for Kurt’s fic!!

Words: 711 Warnings: First person/Caz pov, familials mentioned, she thinks her magic abilities are delusions. Additional notes: I’m not writing in Kurt’s accent bc it makes me feel icky. Please let me know if there’s something I missed in the tags.

 Being the middle management for a demon king was definitely not for the faint of heart, but returning to the Xavier Institute had a certain nostalgia for me. Sam had dropped me here multiple times over the years when he was too busy to watch me. Xavier's was one of the few places equipped to handle a volatile angel child with impulse issues, and Samael had partially seen to that.

I appeared instantly at the front gates, Xavier already waiting for me. "I thought your father would be the one visiting today," He called. The professor rubbed his forehead, irritated by the demon's flightiness. I tucked my hands behind my back, "He said it would be nice for you to see me."

"It is good to see you, Cazimir. It would just be nice to see your father for once, too..."

"He's busy with his school, you know? New little brothers running rampant and all."

"Another one? How old?"

"Twins, both sixteen. Rin and Yukio."

"I see. I'll forgive him, for now, then," he decided, thinking for a moment. I felt eyes on me, but I was unsure from where. Charles goaded, "Stay for dinner, I'll make sure there's food you can eat.” At the end of his sentence, there was the distinct sound of magic, and a man appeared beside the professor. I jumped back a little, laughing off my shock. Amaimon played these games, too. He greeted the man beside him with a curt, "Professor." Oh no.

I knew this one. I had seen him long before he saw me, the opposite of his usual dynamic. I was hit with the memory of a vision I'd had years ago. Flashes of midnight blue fur, glowing gold eyes, and a fanged smile that made my cheeks sting. This was a fated meeting.

Despite my inner turmoil, the professor introduced me easily, "This is Cazimir Faust. Her father helps with the institute's upkeep and has his own program overseas. Caz, this is one of my X-men, he uses the name Nightcrawler." I smiled a little brighter, hoping that the heat from my face didn't burn outward when his eyes met mine skeptically. "So you're a mutant as well?" The newcomer asked. I shook my head, stunned, "Oh, no, I..."

I trailed off, meeting the professor's eyes, and sending a telepathic message:

Do I tell him?

He tilted his head just slightly to the side towards the man:

If you'd like, he doesn't bite.

As if sensing our conversation, Nightcrawler's tail flicked towards us, "Just an ally then. Got it." I felt a thought appear and then get snatched away just as quickly. My head whipped around to the professor, "Hey! Give that back!" Charles only laughed, and I knew from his mind that my face was red.

"Stay for dinner, I'm sure Logan will be thrilled to see you again."

Logan, despite his usual grumpy demeanor, was overjoyed. It was obvious from the way his teasing didn't stop since the moment he saw me. My pink dress, my grown-out undercut, and my obvious lack of sun were all fair game for him. He didn't mean it. It was all play, of course. Until he looked me over and asked,

"Where are your wings?"

Right. That uncomfortable question. I avoided it with a shrug, thankful for someone else catching his attention. Rogue, another person I had seen but never personally met before. The woman invited him to play basketball. She was nice enough to me, and had also assumed that I was a human. These people had real powers. I was just delusional. I sat lazily against the building, enjoying the sun from the sidelines. As I watched the others play, my mind wandered back to the man I met earlier. The professor called him Nightcrawler, though I wasn't sure of his actual name. I didn't call Logan or my old babysitters by code names. It would feel weird to call only him by his alias. But there was something else there, deep down.

I don't want to call him by his alias. I want to call him by his name and to feel close enough to him to do so

[omg-imagine]

All We Are

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst

A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)

Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif?? 

The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.

And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.

A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”

Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.

“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.

“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”

A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.

V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.

Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.

And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.

But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.

“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”

She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.

“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.

V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.

In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.

But then where does that leave V?

“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”

Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.

Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.

“V… Tell me.”

V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.

A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.

“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.

It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”

“Why not?”

“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”

V nods.

“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”

“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”

“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”

V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.

And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.

“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.

Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.

—

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*If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to send me an ask or DM!

[elizabeethan]

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly​ for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

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~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat. 

 Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person. 

 Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog. 

 The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together. 

 Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them. 

 Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier. 

 At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

 It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse. 

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat. 

 The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing. 

 Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard. 

 It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is. 

 He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff. 

 “It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

 “The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

 She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again. 

 It’ll be a long season. 

 ~~~~

 He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented. 

 Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy. 

 “Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

 She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

 “You’re a brilliant cook.”

 “Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

 “Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.” 

 “That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.” 

 He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes. 

 They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair. 

 “It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

 “Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?” 

 “Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

 “Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

 “You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?” 

 He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

 ~~~~

 Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks. 

 Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high. 

 Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away. 

 He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result. 

 Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened. 

 Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves. 

 They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes. 

 They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much. 

 He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard. 

 “Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

 She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free. 

 She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off. 

 “Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten. 

 “Are you--” 

 “The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

 A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright. 

 “She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

 “Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

 He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

 “Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified. 

 “No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

 “Killian!” 

 He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

 She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?” 

 “Is it hurting you?”

 She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.” 

 They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks. 

 He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

 “No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

 When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

 “You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.” 

 He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

 She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere. 

 “I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

 “Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.” 

 “I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.” 

 In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking. 

 She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her. 

 She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded. 

 Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want. 

 His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

 “I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions. 

 “Take me. Take what you need, please.” 

 Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter. 

 “I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him. 

 He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut. 

 The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

 “Emma, fuck.” 

 “Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

 So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds. 

 She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache. 

 He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another. 

 Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said. 

 “You’re okay?” he asks in clarification. 

 “I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.” 

 “I’m always here.” 

 “Then I’m always okay.” 

 He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

 “I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.” 

 With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.” 

 “Only because I love you very, very much.” 

 “I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

 She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.” 

 “You’re quite something.”

 “Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

 “It’s only four thirty.” 

 She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers. 

 “Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.” 

 He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.” 

 She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?” 

 He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

 “You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.” 

 “When did you get so deep?” 

 “The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.” 

 He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else. 

 She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.” 

 He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…” 

 “I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

 Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was. 

 “I know,” he concedes. 

 “And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

 He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know. 

 “It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.” 

 There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish. 

 “They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

 With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.” 

 “Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?” 

 “Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

 “They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.” 

 “I know, I just--” 

 “And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.” 

 He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?” 

 With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

 “It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.” 

 Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him. 

 “You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.” 

 “Aye, I know.” 

 “And you love me more.” 

 He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.” 

 “And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly. 

 “Emma--” 

 “I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

 All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent. 

 Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things. 

 “Your life as a child who was, well--”

 “An orphan,” she tells him firmly. 

 “An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

 With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug. 

 His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.” 

 She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs. 

 “We are.” 

 “Are you sure?” 

 With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.” 

 She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

 “I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her. 

 “I love you more than everything.” 

 “Cheeky scoundrel, you are.” 

 “For you, babe.” 

 “When did you start calling me babe?” 

 She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here. 

 He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family. 

 ~~~~

 Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel. 

 When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was. 

 Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

 Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.” 

 Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

 David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

 The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?” 

 “My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?” 

 “No,” Leo laughs. 

 Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?” 

 “Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!” 

 “Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!” 

 “I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.” 

 “I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface. 

 “Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.” 

 Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

 David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.” 

 In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

 He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer. 

 “Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

 Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

 David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.” 

 “We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.” 

 She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back. 

 David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.” 

 Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.” 

 “I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

 “We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down. 

 “We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.” 

 There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing. 

 “We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.” 

 It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him. 

 “I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.” 

 She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

 ~~~~

 The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it. 

 “Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose. 

 “Hi babe.”

 The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

 “And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple. 

 “You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

 “Those are my options?” 

 “Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” 

 His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.” 

 “Just like I told you.”

 “Aye.”

 “You should listen to your wife, Jones.” 

 “I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

 “It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater. 

 “My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

 They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

 “Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves. 

 “Aye, are you? Are you cold?” 

 “No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?” 

 With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.” 

 “And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice. 

 “Well, no one messed up my boat.” 

 She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.” 

 He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

 “I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.” 

 She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

 “Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.” 

 “Yeah.” 

 More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

 “I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would. 

 “I love you, too, babe. More than anything.” 

 He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers. 

 She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat. 

 She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves. 

 Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard. 

 Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.” 

 He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.” 

 She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.” 

 He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

 “Agreed.” 

 Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect. 

 The End

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4​ @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @laschatzi​ @emelizabeth88​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says��� @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​ @batana54​​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​​ @zaharadessert​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @pirateprincessofpizza​​ @captainswan21​​ @hookedmom​​ @lostintheskyfaraway​​ @undercaffinatednightmare​​ @strangestarlighttree​​

[lexicals]

So, a not-so-short summary of the last few strabo sessions (If you're playing curse of strahd and not blocking my strabo tag some of this does contain campaign spoilers!):

The party reach vallaki with ireena in tow. They spend One Whole Night there, decide that it's not nearly good enough for their special girl, and endeavour to leave bright and early the next morning

Ireena, despite being the reason they want to get going so fast, digs her heels in. This town is obviously suffering, and she wants to do at least one good thing here before they move on (partially because I don't want my level 4 party wandering into a lv6 area just yet lmao)

The party say "oh my god FINE" and agree to go see the baron to try to get him to release the poor people he's got locked in the stocks for no reason

On the way out, they bump into rictavio. The evening before, they were sniffing around his wagon and realised there was something alive in there, so they decide to grill him about it

Rictavio is evasive and tells them not to worry about it. It becomes the party's new purpose in life to go see what's in the mystery wagon

They basically bully rictavio into letting them look inside the wagon. They are satisfied with this result, and then realise that they were being watched the whole time

They chase down the spy, and then proceed to have a long discussion about what to do with him while the dwarven monk sits directly on his chest to keep him on the ground. They decide that the best option is to put him in the town stocks, and when ireena asks if the guards won't notice an extra person, decide to swap him out with one of the people already in there

Somehow, they manage this without the guards noticing. The same cannot be said for literally every other townsfolk in the square

Having stashed their man, they now have a new man to decide what to do with. After initially just turning him loose, they feel bad for him and decide to escort him to the church

Father lucien agrees to keep him there as long as he can, and also says "heyyyy while you're here, don't suppose you can get these super important magic bones back for me?"

The party say "ugh fineeeee"

They bully the teenage groundskeeper into telling them what he did with the bones, and he points them at the local coffin maker, henrik, who our monk already happens to have beef with because he wouldn't let him buy woodcarving tools from him

They go to henrik's house. They kick down the door. Henrik says "oh man yeah you got me, bones are upstairs. There's vampires up there btw"

The party says "AHEM IREENA WHY DON'T YOU STAY DOWN HERE OKAY. BACK IN A MINUTE."

They search the first floor. There are several human-sized boxes up there. Helpfully, a spectral glowing drawing of a sun appears above one of them, and a drawing of a skull appears above another four

The party says "cool, now we know where the vampires are!"

And smashes

One of the boxes

With a skull on it

Predictably, all hell breaks loose. The bard loses half his health in a single attack. They soon realise that none of the damage they're doing to these things is sticking. Everything is going great

Having realised that things are not in fact going great, we start the next session with a new goal: get the fuck out of here

The rogue zooms across the room to the correct box and grabs the bones. Everyone else starts to leg it, except the poor monk, who can't get out of his grapple. Fortunately, one of the vampires seems to have a sudden change of heart and starts attacking the others. Unfortunately, it fails to release the monk from the grapple. I start preparing funeral rites for him.

Some well-used paladin spells result in three turned vampires and one freed monk. The party promptly get the fuck out of there, but stop to thank their new friend, vampire #2, who says they'll hold the rest of them off as long as they can

They get back downstairs. The monk decides the only sensible option is to set fire to the house. Some other party members feel that henrik doesn't quite deserve to burn alive, and try to convince him to leave, but he doesn't really care enough. Ever the pragmatist, ireena just picks him up and slings him over her shoulder

Weirdly, this is the second time my party has fled a burning house heavily injured and carrying a bunch of old bones. I ponder what this could mean

There's some brief discussion. Two of the party decide to run the bones back to the church with ireena and henrik, while the other three insist on staying behind to ensure the vampires burn with the house. This is a great plan.

The ireena group manages to make their way through back alleys towards the church without being seen kidnapping an old man, but in the end decide to follow their possibly-friendly raven acquaintance and end up at the inn

The group at the house see three of the vampires break through the roof, realise that they're unbothered by the minimal daylight, and promptly think "oh shit" and make a run for it. The house is fully on fire, and going by the screaming, friendly vampire #2 didn't make it

They see some guards. They try to turn and fight alongside the guards. The monk is reduced to 1hp (thanks to some clutch healing and a VERY lucky damage roll), and their new friends are slaughtered in seconds. More guards, including that one big scary guy, are on their way, and they decide to just make a run for it

They're also shepherded to the inn, and that's where we left it. I now have to resolve the fight between a dozen town guards and three vampire spawn. This takes me one whole hour

(If you are one of my players stop reading here 💕)

The guards do not fare well. They do their best, but in the end izek and the single surviving guard, guard #8, decide to fall back. Izek does manage to crit fireball (not Fireball, but close enough) one of the spawn to death, but the others give chase

Guard #8 runs out of steam and is overrun. I mourn her passing 😔

Izek manages to get to the baron's mansion and barricade himself inside. We'll see how that goes for him

Final count: 9 guards dead, 2 mortally wounded and keeping their heads down having fled the fight, 2 barbecued vampire spawn, and 1 flaming coffin shop that my random roll for wind direction determined has not spread to the nearby houses just yet

Somehow, it is not yet midday

[spookyold-saintjm]

Touch

Mandalorian x female reader

Part of the Pilot series [Masterlist]

Warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, sexual references, Mando is a little handsy.

Word Count: 2,805

Using prompt 38 (“What did they do to you?!”) from my prompt list. Requested anonymously.

So many of you loved my first Mando fic (read it here), so I’ve decided to do more! While this isn’t a direct sequel to The Pilot, I’ll be doing plenty of drabbles and short fics that will tie in to that plot line, like this one!

As always, your thoughts are greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be tagged in future Mando works, I would be honored and happy to add you to the list! Enjoy. x

—

Shock does strange things to your body.

You knew you should be feeling pain, exhaustion, or, you know, anything at all. But you were numb. 

You vision was sharper than ever, though. As you jogged over to the Razor Crest, you became aware of finite details of the ship you’d never noticed before. A scratch here, a loose panel there, chipping paint over there…

Your feet felt like they were floating above the air as you stumbled into the ship, and you had to remind yourself to take steps, left foot right foot left foot right foot, until you were completely inside. 

The figure of a beskar-clad bounty hunter sat at the cockpit of the ship, and you slumped against the back of the pilot’s seat with a weighted sigh as he flipped switches and pressed the necessary buttons to get you in the air and off of this gods-forsaken planet.

“You’re late. So I’m getting us out of here.” His voice, altered slightly by the modulator built into his helmet, was a jolt to your eardrums. He was clearly agitated, maybe even flat-out angry. But you couldn’t will yourself to be bothered. 

You shrugged as you stared at a single, fixed point on the control panel of the ship, unable to move or think about anything else.

“Trouble.” Your voice had a light lilt to it when you uttered the single word. There was now a persistent throbbing feeling crossing diagonally along your ribs and down your side. The sensation was almost ticklish, yet you didn’t really feel like laughing.

“What kind of—”

That heightened vision you’d held onto for a moment longer faded, fast, and the cockpit swirled and wavered around you. Suddenly the roof of the ship was far, far above you as you registered a distant thudding sound. You felt like you were sinking into a deep pool of water.

There was a pause, and then a deep voice was shouting a single word, once, twice. A familiar, broad-shouldered figure with long, dark hair was hovering over you, waving a hand in front of your face.

“Huh? Ca—Car—” you sputtered out coughs in attempts to say her name. Her head jerked upward and off to her right, barking out words at the occupant of the pilot’s seat. 

“Stay with us, y/n. Come on.” Cara was hovered over you now, poking and prodding at your neck, your wrist. You tried to wave her away, but your hand was too heavy, and it dropped back down over your chest. 

“I’m—I’m fine. I—“ You inhaled sharply when you felt something poke the arm you had just tried to move. Cara had grabbed you by the wrist and you squinted your eyes at her grasp on you to see that she had inserted some sort of gods-awful long needle into your arm. You hissed at the intense burning sensation of whatever was in the vial spreading through your system, and you spat a foul curse at the former shock trooper. 

Her eyes widened slightly at your words, and despite the apparent intensity of the moment you caught her half-grin. 

“Your fly-girl’s got a mouth on her, Mando.”

Mando. It finally registered with you that the Mandalorian was piloting the ship, not you. You weren’t even doing the single job you’d been hired for. In fact, you weren’t quite sure what you were doing at that particular moment, but you did know that you had suddenly started to feel oh so good as whatever had been in that vial trickled through your body.

The bounty hunter had switched spots with Cara moments later, although it took you a bit longer to actually register the change in the body hovering over yours. You felt a rush of cool air as his leather-clad gloves lifted up the right side of your blood-stained shirt.

“Hey now, mister,” you slurred, your eyes narrowing as you lazily grinned up at him. He lifted your off the cold floor of the ship just enough to raise your shirt higher and keep it staying put, taking caution to make sure he didn’t reveal anything that wasn’t necessary. “Maybe you want to think about takin' me to dinner or something before you just—” 

“Stop talking.” He ordered. You immediately obeyed, although the grin on your lips lingered a while longer. He was pulling other supplies from the med kit Cara had hauled over, and then you were feeling something cold and mildly stinging on the skin over your ribs. The eventual light tugging of bandages came soon after, and through your thickening haze you realized that he was speaking to you again.

“What did they do to you?” he questioned, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.

“Got cornered,” you attempted to answer through the sudden dryness in your throat. “Saw you, but. You. K-kid. Didn’t want—”

You couldn’t will more words to come. You titled your head back flat onto the floor, your gaze meeting the visor on Mando’s helmet. Your eyes were quickly drooping, a black fog slowly filling the space around you. The more you willed it away, attempting to turn your head and force your eyes open again, the faster things began to fade. 

“M-Mando, I…”

Then there was nothing at all.

—

You awoke to distant, quiet sounds of whirring ship machinery, flat on your back with your arms at your sides.

Opening your eyes was initially a chore; they felt like they’d been weighed down by some invisible pressure. When you finally adjusted to the dim light in the room, you glanced around with a slight turn of your sore neck. 

This wasn’t where you normally found yourself waking up. This was…this was his bed. His. 

It wasn’t much of a bed, to be fair. Little more than a cot extending from the wall of the ship but…still yet. You were in his realm. 

Attempting to raise yourself up was your next mistake. You cried out at the shockwave of sharp pain that blasted through your side. You collapsed back onto the sheets as you tried to catch your breath.

“S’not a good idea.”

You hadn’t heard the door slide open, but there he was, crossing into the room. His footsteps were slow, measured, as always. You looked over to him, instantly annoyed at how helpless you must have appeared.

He reached your side, his form towering over you as his arms reached out toward you.

“Sit or stand?” he asked.

“Sit, I guess.”

He helped ease you up into a sitting position, and you turned so that your legs hung off the side of the bed. The motion caused your vision to spin, and you pressed a hand to the side of your head as you looked up to him.

“What—what happened?” You’d tried to meet his eyes, well, in the way that you could, but you found you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the stare you knew he was giving you beneath the helmet. “We split up and they caught up with me. I couldn’t get to you, Cara had vanished somewhere, and I…" you hesitated as the memories somewhat stuttered there.

“You lost some blood.” Mando stated simply. “You got back to the ship. Gave you something to knock you out. Something else to help you recover.”

You somewhat recalled being sprawled on the floor of the cockpit. “Yeah…” You pressed your fingers to your temple, and winced at the soreness. “Stars, what was in that thing? Is that even on the market?” 

The slight tilt of Mando’s head was enough to tell you that you didn’t want to know the answer. 

“I need to see. Is that okay?” he asked after a moment. At first you pursed your lips at him, confused, until you realized what he meant.

Oh. Yeah. The massive gash along your side that was the whole reason you were in this situation to begin with.

“Uh…” why were you hesitating? “Y-yeah. That’s okay.” 

You scooted closer to the edge of the bed and straightened your posture. There was a moment of stiff stillness between the two of you; were you going to lift your shirt or should he do it? 

You settled on being the one to move, and reached to pull up your shirt by the hem. You let in bunch up in your fingers as you pulled it higher, higher, stopping right where the wound began. You held it in place with your right hand, internally cringing when you felt the faint crunch of dried blood in the fabric. The bandaging was somewhat haphazard, but thorough, and seemed to be enough to have held back the bleeding from getting any worse. 

Mando took a half-step closer, his hand twitching at his side as if he’d suddenly remembered to ask. “You want to, or me?”

“Ah, I can do it,” you replied. You reached down with your free hand and slowly began to peel away the bandaging that covered your wound. The tug of it against your skin was dulled by the sight of the thing underneath; deep and red and brutal. And this was hours after whatever had been in that e-bacta injection.

You inhaled with a hiss at the sight of it. They’d outnumbered you, normally not an issue because they still couldn’t shoot for shit and you’d been up against much worse countless times before, but one of those rogue bastards just happened to have a jagged-edged viroblade tucked away, ready for the opportunity to strike when you made one wrong half-step. 

You were suddenly flooded with anger and shame for allowing this to happen to yourself, and clenched your fist tighter around your shirt as Mando studied the wound for himself.

“Lucky you didn’t lose anything important.” You assumed that was his way of saying that it looked like it hurt. 

You muttered some offhanded curse under your breath, the heat from your agitation suddenly turning to something else you couldn’t identify when he knelt face-level you and a gloved finger began to ghost over the gash in your skin.

“Why’d an Imp have one of those things?” he questioned, more to himself as he continued to study the wound. You only half-heard him, something about his touch on your skin giving you the sudden urge to launch yourself through the ceiling. 

“Don’t know why you call them that,” you forced yourself to speak, although the falter in your voice most definitely wasn’t subtle. Another finger began to glide along your skin as well, as his touch slowly drifted from where the gash tapered off at your hip.

“That’s not what they are anymore.” Along your ribcage. "They’re just the the shit leftovers.” One fingertip’s length away from the underside of your breast. "I—ah, Mando could you—"

His fingers had stopped running along the wound when you’d spoken, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. Yet he hadn’t pulled away. His head tilted up to yours, and you could feel his gaze from underneath his helmet. That kriffing helmet…

His hand abruptly dropped to rest on his beskar-clad knee. The silence that passed between you was nearly a beat too long to be comfortable for either of you, his concealed stare somehow still burning through you in places that you wouldn’t care to admit, until he stood again and turned to pull something from the opened med pack that rested on the shelf next to his bed. You recognized the jar in his hands to contain some sort of healing salve that, much like the injection, you weren’t entirely sure that just anyone should possess. He held it out to you, not making the offer to touch you again.

Slowly, you rose from the bed, then took the jar. Standing on your feet felt strange, the after-effects of the drugs in your system still giving you the faint feeling of floating.

“You got a mirror?” You asked.

He gestured with his head to the opposite side of the small room. “‘Fresher.”

You nodded and carefully treaded over, getting reacquainted with the feeling in your legs. You stepped into the refresher and placed the jar down on the sink after opening the lid, the chemical-and-plant smell rushing to your nose. You glanced over to a tiny shelf, where a fresh set of your clothes rested. You prayed to some god that might be listening that Cara was the one who had dug through your things to find them and not Mando.

You turned to the mirror then, and saw that you looked just like you thought you would: dark circles under your eyes, dull skin, a bruise under your left eye and a small cut along your cheek.

You didn’t dwell on it for long, and instead began to scoop the salve from the jar and spread it across your wound with light strokes. It was an instant, cooling relief and you nearly sighed at the feeling as you continued to apply it to the entire area. Whatever was in it, albeit primitive and definitely not entirely legal, was already making you feel infinitely better than you’d been when you’d first woken up. 

Mando’s voice came from the other room after a couple minute’s silence.

“Hey, look. I’m…I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that. When you made it back to the ship.” His voice was deeper than you’d heard it before, heavy. “I didn’t know—and I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s alright,” you replied, stepping out to face him again when you’d finished. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

You walked over to meet him, the two of you finally standing face-to-face. “I have a job to do, and I wasn’t here to do it when it mattered. I got caught. I deserved it.”

Mando hadn’t moved toward the bandages as you spoke, leaving you just somewhat awkwardly standing there, holding your dirty shirt halfway off your body in front of him. 

He still didn’t move when he replied. “No. These things happen.”

You found yourself curiously tilting your head at him, a peculiar thudding echoing in your chest. You weren’t used to this. He felt guilty about this? He was just going to accept your mistake? And that was it? 

You could only give him a stiff nod in reply. “O-okay.”

He looked back at you for a brief instance longer before starting to help you re-bandage the wound in your side. No more words were spoken, not until you had dropped your shirt back down over your torso. Not until, again, Mando’s touch had lingered for a little too long, as if something about touching you was something familiar and foreign and entrancing, all at once. You didn’t mind.

Your ears suddenly picked up a shrill chattering that you knew could be nothing other than the child, who was currently squeezing himself between Mando’s feet. The Mandalorian moved so that the little green thing could waddle through, over to you. His huge eyes blinked long and slow, and his tiny, clawed hands reached up towards you.

Mando picked him up instead, and the small creature shot an angry pout toward him. 

“She’s still hurt. Let’s leave her alone for a while."

The child whimpered, his ears drooped low as he turned back to look at you. You smiled weakly at him.

“Hey, kid. We’ll play later, okay?” You reached to rub your thumb and forefinger on one of his dropping ears, causing him to give you a contented sigh of acceptance.

“You can take over when you’re ready.” Mando stated, knowing that already, you were itching to get behind the controls again. It was your job, after all. One scrape wasn’t going to stop you anytime soon. And he wasn’t going to be the one to deny that.

The door shut behind him as he and the kid left, leaving you standing in the center of the room.

On the opposite side, Mando was all but ready to collapse as he leaned his back against the door.

He’d only just been able to quiet the frantic pace of his heartbeat, calmed the heat that had raged through his every nerve at your closeness. The feeling of your skin was intoxicating, even through his gloves, and his brain was still begging for him to just turn back around, take the damned gloves off and—

The child’s puzzled cooing at his ear brought him back down to reality, and he released a breath that he’d been holding for far too long as he lifted himself from the door and began to make his way down the hall.

Oh, was he fucked.

—

tags: @jamesdeerest @nadia-rosea @sanslover69 @backontheolebullshit @sunkissed-winter @rogrsnbarnes @capsironunderoos (If you were tagged you commented on The Pilot and I think you rock! I guess I’ll start an official tag list for this now; if you want to be added please let me know!)

[meetthetank]

Beast Code Chapter 1: The Twilit City

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationship: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), Original YoRHa Characters (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Transformation, gothic horror, Android Lycanthropy...sort of, Inspired by Bloodborne (Video Game), Everyday i get closer to just writing a Bloodborne AU

Summary:  Break the vicious cycle with tooth and claw. Unleash the beast within and destroy your chains. But the strength to defy fate comes at a grave cost. Will it be enough, little doll? Or will you succumb to despair once more?

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31546982

The assignment to the Twilight Belt comes as a shock to 2B and 9S. Rarely, if ever, are YorHa units sent to this border of perpetual daylight and eternal night. Conditions are always reported as unstable by the infrequent scans by one of the other satellite bases that orbit earth, too dangerous to deploy scanners by themselves, and too depleted of resources for the Council to care about. The mystery surrounding the strip of permanent twilight goads curious operators and scanners alike to comb through files searching for nuggets of data, image or video files, anything they can get their hands on. All but a few pieces of data reveal tantalizing scraps and clues to the puzzle of the Sunset Belt. Photographs of dead machines with toothy, gaping maws that split their spherical heads in two and minerals warped in peculiar shapes. According to one of the situation reports from a scanner that had been sent there, there was an eerie, foreboding feeling about the place; that strange and frightening sounds would echo across the landscape and that he felt close to a forbidden barrier that separated this world from another. Though the file and its contents are now treated as a human “ghost story”, many androids, including 2B and 9S, believe at least some portion of the tale.

9S relays this story to 2B as they descend to Earth’s surface, his chattering easing some of 2B’s trepidation. The pair had fallen into an easy rhythm over the course of several assignments to Earth, most of which involved retrieving data from lost servers buried in rubble or clearing out an area of machine lifeforms. Despite her outwardly cold demeanor, 9S wormed his way past all of her defenses, forming a strong, solid relationship with the battler android. His voice is a centering point for her and assists in ignoring the gut churning possibilities of what could be waiting for them below.

“...What do you think, 2B?” his voice crackles from the comms system inside her flight unit.

“Hm?” she shifts her head to the side, glancing at his jet black flight unit cruising beside hers.

“What do you think made the target go rogue?”

She bites her lower lip. There are a thousand possible answers as to why a normally punctual, efficient YorHa Battle unit would suddenly stop responding to command and not checking in at required times. Only a few of those options were machine lifeform related complications.

“We’ll find out when we arrive, 9S.” she says curtly, eager to shut down the conversation, “Focus on landing protocol.”

He sighs, a sound of annoyance and frustration, “Yeah, yeah.”

“One affirmation will-”

“Fiiiiiiiine.”

The final phase of their descent is spent in silence. They pass through the Earth’s atmosphere in streaks of fire and light towards the border of day and night, and a continent that humans called Europe. Even as they descend, the outlines of ancient, massive structures come into view. Both androids are used to the thick vegetation eating away at the remains of human structures, but here the trees are gnarled, twisted, and void of leaves or blossoms. Their branches reach to the crimson sky and permanently setting sun like bony hands in prayer or a stag’s antlers. As 2B and 9S set their flight units down a few miles away from the outskirts of a sprawling, ancient city. It amazes 9S, as he exits his own unit, that the buildings are in such good condition considering the millenia that have passed it by. Great spires of countless cathedrals pierce the heavens, casting an ominous, looming shadow over the otherwise barren landscape. A well worn cobblestone road, lined with rusted iron lighting fixtures long since burnt out, leads into the city proper. 

2B and 9S stand at the precipice of this ancient beast of stone and metal in awe of its size, and terrified of what might lurk within. A hoarse bird’s caw, jolts the androids back into awareness, 2B drawing her katana and prepares for battle.

“Heh,” 9S laughs, trying to calm them both down, “Just a raven, 2B.”

“What?”

“A large black bird. Harmless to us.” He doesn’t tell her about the chill he gets down his spine as he watches the corvid gaze down at them with beady black eyes, or how humans saw these birds as ill omens or prophets of death.

They begin the trek into the forgotten city. 2B doesn’t put Virtuous Contract away.

Pod 042 alerts 2B to the presence of an unidentifiable android signal, marking the location on both hers and 9S’ map. Since the area has yet to be properly mapped out by satellite imagery (as inaccurate as that process is) only a vague street layout is available through a very low power scan. They have no way of judging what might block their path to the target beyond featureless grey masses depicting buildings, rubble, large trees, or whatever else may lie in wait. Their target, represented by a small orange dot on the map, appears to be near the city’s main gate and inside one of the larger buildings. 2B refuses to admit it to herself, but she’s relieved to not have to delve too far into this labyrinthine city.

“I’ve never seen the sky this color…” 9S muses as he stares up, transfixed by the blood red sky and orange sun hanging low.

Though hauntingly beautiful, she won’t deny, 2B keeps her gaze fixed on the wrought iron gate ahead of them. The heavens disturb her; they are the color of death. Of war. And the sun is… wrong. 

She snaps at 9S to keep focused as they approach the gate to the city. Though scans indicate there are no machine lifeforms, or any lifeforms beyond their target, she’s learned from countless combat assignments to not rely totally on what the support unit reports. She’s encountered and seen machines that mask themselves from scans or camouflage themselves in the environment, and in a place like this anything could be hiding in the shadows just outside of view. 

The iron gate lies ajar, worn from millennia of neglect. Clouds of rust particles burst from the hinges as 2B shoves it open further, the metal grinding against itself with a horrible grating shriek. The sound makes them both wince, and they slip through the partially opened gate as soon as they can.

Standing inside the city gates, 9S can’t shake the uneasy feeling that claws at the back of his mind. The great ancient human structures loom above them, and though he knows that the buildings themselves aren’t alive, he can’t shake the notion that he’s being watched by them. The windows are dark, but when he passes by the light of the setting sun reflects off of them, giving them the illusion of intelligence. Suddenly, 9S feels as if he’s inside a cave, or locked in a room with no exit. Suddenly… He finds it hard to breathe. 9S tugs at the collar of his jacket as if it's tightening around his throat. His synthetic lungs fill with air as much as he can take, then he releases it moments later. It calms him, if only a little.

2B’s gaze is fixed ahead on the building Pod 042 marked as the rogue android’s hiding place. It’s a much smaller structure than the others that choke the sky, but its reach stretches across the streets like a tree’s roots. Judging by the well preserved signs that hang from crumbled doors it looked to have multiple uses. 9S commands his own Pod to run scans on the words and symbols for later analysis. 

“The target’s in here…” 2B murmurs, holding her free hand up in a tight fist, signaling 9S to stop behind her.

This portion of the sprawling building is similar in structure to the massive spires above. It has the same pointed section on the roof, but much smaller in scale, and similar symbols decorate the exterior. A cross, winged humans, various flowering plants, and a number of human figures bowing their heads or supplicating themselves to the winged humans.

“This must have been a place of worship,” 9S muses aloud.

“Focus.”

He nods. Typically 9S argues with his partner about the necessity for recording data like this, or excuse his wandering attention to his designation as a scanner, but he knows the danger within the house of worship, or rather, he doesn’t know. Neither one of them knows what this rouge android is capable of. 

2B presses her hand against the wooden doors to the chapel and pushes it open as slowly as possible. It groans in protest, dust falls from its hinges and frame, but it swings inward. A rush of warm air washes over them carrying the scent of stale incense and dead machines. Clouds of smoke billow out of the doorway, rising into the red sky like twisted fingers. 2B enters first, sliding in sword arm first. She motions for 9S to wait for a moment, then commands Pod 042 to switch on its flashlight. 

9S peeks his head around the door, keeping a few paces behind his partner. He switches on his own Pod’s flashlight to illuminate more of the pitch black interior. Long wooden benches are pushed up against the walls, opening up the center space. Ornate candle holders, rotting books, charred incense burners, and pieces of artwork among other things 9S has no name for are scattered across the ground, each one a priceless human artifact that could fuel hours of study. Yet it’s not these that hold 9S’ attention, but the statue at the far back of the chapel, and the figure kneeling in front of it.

It looks to be made of some kind of marble, a pristine white stone that has been sheltered from time and the elements. The subject is another winged human, this one wearing splendid armor and wielding a great spear. Beneath them, a grotesque, writhing beast bares its teeth and claws at the warrior as the blade pierces its throat. 9S has never seen anything like it in person, and very few records of these kinds of sculptures remain at all. It’s both horrific and beautiful at once. He wonders what the human who made this saw that inspired it. Did creatures like these roam the world during their time?

2B steps in front of him, Virtuous Contract at the ready. The figure in front of the statue rises to their feet as the Pod’s flashlights center on them. A cloak made of feathers conceals most of their form but they appear to be a female android, perhaps a YorHa model. Though, if that were the case it would have been in the mission briefing. That is, unless... 

The android turns her head to the side, glaring at the pair over her shoulder.

“So, Command sent the wolves, did they?” She asks, a distinct rumble in her voice.

2B raises her blade and keeps her gaze steady. She hears 9S also ready his weapon, the golden katana Cruel Oath. 

Lazily, the android turns her body to face them. Her clothes confirm her origins; there’s no mistaking the sharp white embellishments and black velvet of a YorHa uniform; however each piece is ripped, tattered, and stitched together with other scraps of clothing or… animal hide. 

The rouge android drags the blade of a bloodied top heavy sword between her fingers, cleaning the gore from it. “It doesn’t matter, dog.” Her eyes shine with a strange, purplish light that refracts around her collapsed, twisted pupils. “You will fall like the rest.”

It isn’t until the rogue android rushes forward, sword raised, that 2B sees the corpses of YorHa units piled in front of the statue, and the blood that soaks it.

She dashes backward and shoves the bewildered 9S out of harm's way. The android’s bloodied sword crashes into the stonework floor, sending thousands of years of dust into the air. 2B lunges, her katana poised to take advantage of the enemy’s opening, but she sidesteps much quicker than anticipated. The rogue’s fist slams into 2B’s chest, distorting her internal sensors and throwing her off balance. 2B watches in horror as the rogue drives her sword towards her, but a golden flash knocks the blade away. 

“2B!” 9S shouts, brandishing Cruel Oath. “Are you okay?!”

She shakes her head as if it would clear the internal errors from her vision, but she assumes her battle stance next to her partner. “Fine.”

Both androids launch into an assault on the rogue, attacking in tandem. Despite 2B’s scrambled sensors, she and 9S have an undeniable synergy that comes with countless missions. 2B forces the rogue back with singular, powerful blows, while 9S jabs at any opening he can reach from the sides. However, even with their combined might the rogue deflects and maneuvers out of the way of each attack as casually as one would flick away an insect or step around a puddle. She looks to be expending no effort at all as she dances around the two YorHa. Anger and frustration rises in 2B, culminating in a harsh growl. She mimics the rogue’s tactic from earlier, rushing forward and feinting with a crushing overhead strike that is easily dodged but allows no time for recovery. She slams her fist into the rogue android’s face, sending her stumbling backwards. Before 9S can dive in with a horizontal slash the rogue dashes backward, putting crucial distance between her and her hunters.

The rogue android lowers her gaze at the pair, sizing them up, taking stock of their abilities and assessing their weaknesses. 2B watches her eyes dart back and forth between her and 9S, then linger on 9S. Sensing the rogue’s motive and deciding at that moment that the outcome is unacceptable, 2B dives in front of the strike meant for 9S. The rogue’s sword slices cleanly through her chest, coating the rogue’s clothes in splatters of fresh blood. The battler falls to her knees, clutching the wound with one hand while supporting herself on her sword. 

“No!!” 9S screams and lunges at their target. “2B!!”

“Hm. Interesting.” The rogue murmurs, easily deflecting the scanner’s wild strikes.

2B watches through blurred, error obscured vision as 9S drives the rogue back. If she didn’t know any better it’d seem that he has the upper hand, but the rogue’s eyes glint in a way 2B recognizes all too well. She’s baiting him. 

9S slams his blade against the rogue’s, pressing all of his power and weight into the strike. It’s the moment she had been waiting for. Suddenly she pulls back, letting 9S’ weight fall forward and forcing him off balance. She kicks his legs out from under him then shoves him into the floor. 9S lets out a startled, choked gasp as his weight and the force of the rogue’s attack cracks the stone floor, sending up more clouds of dust into the air. 

Clutching her chest, 2B roars and charges at the target with blinding speed. When she sees the smirk twisting the rogue’s lips and the pointed iron rod in her grip, it’s too late. With a flash of her crowfeather cape, the android meets 2B’s charge with her own, the skewer aimed at her wounded chest. 2B tries to divert her body away, but the momentum is too strong. It’s just enough to roll her body to the side so that the spike pierces clean through her shoulder, clear of critical systems. 

The pain, however, is agonizing. 

It’s different from the injuries 2B has suffered in the past. Countless machine swords, spears, and axes have torn through her body and of course all of those injuries hurt, but they were manageable. When the iron bar rips through layers of cloth, skin, carbon plating and frame, and synthetic muscle fibers it's as if her shoulder has been set on fire. She clenches her teeth, muffling a scream to a low growl. Her hand wraps around the skewer, close to the wound itself. Instinct tells her to tear it out immediately, but she knows that without treatment doing so would only worsen her condition. 2B doesn’t get to make that decision, unfortunately. The rogue grabs hold of the end of the iron rod and twists it side to side, driving it further into 2B’s shoulder. 

2B sinks to her knees and tries to hold back the cries of agony. Her injured arm stops responding to commands and lies limp and useless against her side. She swats at the rogue android with her weakening other arm, desperate to escape from this torment. Her strength fades along with her vision; it becomes impossible to even hold herself upright.

She must not fall, she must not… she must stay strong, she must stay alive.

She will not allow him to die… 

Not for the sake of a monster like her….

9S leaps into the fight as the rogue android prepares a killing blow. A flurry of Pod fire, sword strikes, and furious movement all blur together into a white, gold, and black haze. She fights to stay awake, she fights to stand, but her body begins to shut down non-vital systems and conserve as much energy as she can. First her tactile sensors switch off, leaving her in a numbing cold. Then her hearing, quickly followed by sight. A warning flashes across the last vestiges of her vision that she is entering a forced shutdown state, and despite her audio sensors being deactivated, she swears she hears 9S cry out for her.

….

….

…….

………

……….

……..

….

2B opens her eyes to the blinding, sterile white of hacking space. This itself is not shocking. Oftentimes she would run diagnostics on her critical systems when in a forced shutdown, both to manage critical systems and to keep herself busy. 

But now, in the distance, there is an anomaly.

A single figure, black as night, approaches her. It’s shape is human up till its head, which sports pointed ears and a long snout like that of a dog or wolf. It looms over her and leaves a black, fragmented mist in its wake. But most troubling of all in this world of stark monochrome is its eye…. or what 2B believes is an eye. In the center of its lupine face is a strange geometric sigil that emits a highly saturated purple light. It feels… malicious. The thought itself is insane to 2B. Light cannot possess intent or emotions, and yet… 

“This is an unacceptable outcome.” A voice booms in her head. Somehow she knows it is the entity speaking. 

2B opens her mouth to respond, but instead of words, thick crimson fluid leaks from her throat.

“You will die. He will die. You cannot abide by this.”

She shakes her head. Droplets of blood fall to the pristine floor. The entity is right. If she has any strength left, 9S will live.

“Stand, little doll,” the entity commands, “Stand and unleash y-...Be——…..d.”

The entity’s voice becomes warped and distorted with audio glitches, yet 2B understands its words with frightening clarity.

“Take-......l-...s within.” 

It holds a hand out to her, offering her something she can’t quite make out. The shape in its palm is amorphous, colorless, and flickers with lines of jumbled code. Somehow, she knows this piece of herself in intimate detail, yet cannot remember what this does or what its relation to the entity is. 

But it promises strength enough to save 9S.

2B reaches out and takes the code in her hand… 

….

………….

…………………………

………………………………………………………..

Her eyes snap open. A current of raw energy runs through her body, electrifying every nerve and sensor within her. She shakes with each pulse of her circulatory apparatus as a new, terrifying strength takes hold. 2B rises to her feet, flexing her hands, legs, arms. One arm’s movement is restricted by the iron bar still stuck in her shoulder. She tears it out with little effort, casting it to the floor. The rattling, hollow sound echoes against the stone chapel. 

The rogue’s head snaps up from her combat with 9S, who is barely able to hold his sword. Something in her expression changes. She kicks 9S and points her sword at 2B, her arms shaking in a way they had not before. 

2B lunges forward, her sword raised high. The rogue raises her own sword to deflect, but 2B’s newfound strength breaks her guard with one mighty strike. With blinding speed 2B slices through the rogue android’s body. Her crowfeather cape flutters to the floor, soon followed by her arm. The rouge android staggers back, an expression of shock and horror twisting her face. 2B drives her sword through the rogue’s chest, forcing her back further. Instead of drawing her sword back for another strike, a terrifying feeling takes over 2B. She leaves the sword inside the rogue’s chest and tackles her to the ground. With her bare hands and horrible strength, 2B delivers blow after blow to the android’s chest, shoulder, arms, head, and abdomen. Each piece is reduced to a pulp of flesh and metal one after the next until nothing remains but scrap. 

2B throws her head back as she straddles her victim, a horrible, twisted grin plastered across her face and arms outstretched. Her body feels wrong… horribly wrong, yet for the first time since she can remember, her chest is light. She gazes up at the morbid sculpture with an emotion she can’t quite describe. It isn’t the same as a combat high, she is intimately familiar with that heady rush. This is something akin to… euphoria. A laugh begins to bubble up in her throat-

“2B?”

She’s forced back to reality by the 9S’ voice, right beside her ear. Suddenly, the terrible strength from moments before fades from her body. Her arms go limp by her sides, and it becomes hard to sit upright. Even breathing is laborious. 9S wraps his arms around her shoulders and tugs her gently, laying her head and shoulders against his chest.

“I’ve got you. We… I think we’re safe.” His breathing is uneven and ragged, much like 2B’s. He swivels his head back and forth, searching for any lingering threats as quickly as possible. “Pod, run a scan for machine lifeform or android signals in the immediate area,” he commands.

Pod 153 is silent for a moment, then emits a grating, hideous garbled noise. Words try to break through the audio distortions but neither 2B or 9S is confident it isn’t simply what they wish to hear. 

“Alert:” Pod 042 begins, “Interference from unknown source is preventing accurate scans of the surrounding area. Proposal: Relocate to an elevated aaaaaaa…..a-r-....rrr……”

The same audio distortions come from 042, mingling with 153’s until they both cut off, leaving the androids in silence. “Pod?” 9S calls to the floating support unit. “Pod, respond. ... Pod?”

2B mutters weakly to her own Pod, but it's the same as 9S’. No response at all.

9S pulls up a small data screen, map data, from what 2B can tell. Or… where map data would be. Instead, there’s a blank, grey screen and a little message box that reads No Data. 

“What the-...” 9S whispers, flipping through different screens at a frantic pace. “Where-... There’s… all the data is gone!” he shouts, “No map, no signal scans… I can’t even connect to the Bunker…”

“We’re stranded…” 2B muses aloud.

Silence passes between them. Only the ominous wind passing through ancient wood and stone reminds them that the world hasn’t stopped moving around them. 

“We should move to a higher area, like your Pod said.” 9S suggests, rising to his feet. “Can you stand?”

When 9S offers a hand out to her, 2B takes it without thinking. His touch, even through his thick gloves, calms the beast pacing inside her. 

Beast? 

…..What does that mean?

2B rises to her feet, her hands lingering in 9S’ for a moment longer than she normally would. There’s a fog in her head that distorts her equilibrium. She leans on 9S for support, to which he wraps his arm around her waist and positions himself under her shoulder.

“I got you.” He says with a small smile.

2B feels just a bit lighter.

They exit the chapel and make for higher ground. 9S rationalizes that if they simply continue up stairs or inclines they would find a space clear of whatever is interfering with the Pod’s satellite connections. Perhaps it’s the fog that creeps across the cobblestone streets or the odd angle of the sun (not that it makes sense to 9S or 2B but they have to consider all possibilities), or perhaps it’s something beyond that. There’s a strange, eerie feeling about this city that neither can explain, and neither want to talk about. As if there’s a presence constantly watching over them.

They climb the stairs of one of the massive sprawling religious buildings. From what 9S assesses, it seems to have one of the tallest spires in the city. Only a larger time-keeping building looming in the distance is larger. If he could reach the top he should be far enough above whatever is interfering with the Pods. When he relays his plan to 2B who only nods, her eyes unfocused and breathing shallow, worry starts to lace its icy fingers through his chest. Something is wrong with her. 

9S’ first instinct is to prepare a data backup with the bunker, but the Pods are both out of commission for the time being. His next is to contact command and ask how they should proceed, to the same conclusion. Climbing the spire is the only course of action he can take, but first, he has to make sure 2B is safe.

He leads her through the castle of worship, now supporting most of her weight. That… frightening show of strength must have exhausted her power supply. There are plenty of well preserved wooden benches that stretch across half of the main worship chambers, at least it would be more comfortable than the stone floors. Under watch by the countless grotesque statues that sit in the rafters, 9S helps 2B onto a long bench, laying her on her back. She hisses and grinds her teeth as she moves. She must have sustained internal damage from that fight… 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, “I’m going to go to the roof to get a clear signal.”

All 2B gives in response is a slow nod. He lingers by her side before leaving, a moment longer than needed.

Now alone in this spacious, hollow, human structure, 2B takes stock of her condition. There’s pain in her shoulders, particularly her right arm. Her legs are tight, most locking up from the strain of the previous battle and trekking up to her current location. Her back, as well, is tense beyond discomfort. It spasms and jolts if she breathes too hard. At least these are injury related, explainable. The black wolfman with purple eyes lingering in the corners of her vision, is not. 

She sees the entity in the shadows, lurking just out of view. 9S walks right past it, not even sparing a glance at the tall, gangly creature. It doesn’t respond to 9S either, instead focusing on 2B and only 2B. 

The sight of it makes her stomach turn. She tries to close her eyes, but the glowing, purple sigil is burned into her vision. With a groan she digs her knuckles into her eyelids as if she could carve the hallucination out of the air. Defeated, 2B lets her arms down once more. One hand touches the cool stone floor, decorated with elegant mosaics, and she suddenly realizes how warm she is. According to the warning messages displayed in her vision her body temperature is ten degrees above normal levels. 

“Pod,” she groans, forcing herself to sit up, “retrieve water from storage-”

“Report: Mail notification received from Command.”

The monotone voice of her support unit shocks her. Pod 042 had been silent up until now due to whatever interference was in the area, and now it’s getting messages from Command? 9S must have established a connection from the roof.

Her heart sinks. If that’s the case he would contact her. The first thing she’d hear would be his voice.

She opens the message, dreading its contents.

Subject has accessed confidential records. Eliminate the Target.

At the top of the spire 9S takes in the view of the entire city, the wind rushing through his hair. It’s breathtaking. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. The sky dyes the entire urban sprawl red, as well as the mountains on the horizon. His pulse races as he drinks in the terrifying awe of what the ancient humans were capable of, hoping to remember every last detail of the buildings, the streets, and the magnificent sculptures that litter the city. It’s all so well preserved that he feels as though a human might appear, walking down the cobblestone streets as if nothing were wrong. As if they didn’t go extinct. 

Reluctantly he draws his attention away from the splendor of humanity’s ruins, and shakes away the creeping emptiness that comes with that line of thought. He can’t think about that now. He and 2B are stranded. 9S produces a holographic terminal that mirrors Pod 153’s settings menu. Pod’s diagnostics on his end show buildup of foreign material in and around certain receivers, something that 9S expects, but that is only part of the problem. It seems that the atmosphere in this place is clogged with various chemicals and particles that make satellite transmissions more difficult. Considering all of the decaying metal and stone it’s no wonder that there’s so much particulate in the air. Once Pod’s receivers are clear 9S has Pod 153 hover just above the spire’s tip. It stays suspended in the air, the small light on the top of its body turning on and off at regular intervals.

“Connection established.” Pod 153 announces moments later. “Proposal: Contact the Bunker for support.”

“Great! Set up a relay connection for Pod 042 as well.”

“Affirmative.”

9S opens a data screen laden with information and begins composing his message to Operator 21O. With an unreliable connection a live call would be too risky, a simple text based message won’t be distorted or cut out. He records a brief message, attaches a transcription of his words, and sends it to the Bunker. Hopefully 21O would send something quickly-

A flash of movement in the streets below catches his eye. Something running on all fours... “Pod… run a scan for machine lifeforms…” He says, a chill creeping up his spine.

Pod 153 floats down to his side. “Alert: Multiple machine lifeforms detected. Proposal: Regroup with Unit 2B.”

“But-” 

That thing didn’t look like a machine…

“Alert: Anomalous signal detect-”

Pod 153’s words are drowned by a horrific, mournful howl that reverberates through the entire building. 9S clings to the ornate decorations on the spire and covers his ears with his free hand. His body runs cold. He’s never heard a sound like that before. Nothing the machines make comes close to that. The pain and sorrow in that noise is something that no animal could produce either. That left only one possibility…

Another roar wracks the building from within… 

2B clutches the sides of her head, the data screen long dismissed.

No…

Her chest strains under her panicked breaths. 

No.

She hadn’t been watching him. She hadn’t been keeping track of his questions and behavior…

No… No.

And now she…

No no no no no .

She has to…

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.

NO.

She will not do this. Not again. 

Her skin feels… tight. 

She will fight off every single goddamn android Command sends until there are none left but her and him. She will not be a part of this cycle again. Her hands curl into fists as a surge rushes through her body, alighting her nerves with energy. With power.

A shadow moves across the stone floor of the castle of worship. The entity, its form inky black, its sigil emitting a baleful purple light, glides towards her. It bathes her in the highly saturated light, a light not even shielding her eyes can diffuse. It bores into her core, it peers into her mind. It speaks into her mind.

“You will not allow this to happen.” Its voice echoes off the hollow shell of where humans once sought God. “But strength comes at a price, little doll.”

The entity plunges its claws into her chest. Heat explodes throughout her body to the point where she fears she might self-destruct. The boiling tendrils of this ethereal monster sink into her artificial heart and her Black Box. Something activates, or… unlocks, and suddenly she feels… confined. Her body… it’s too small….

“Time to pay the toll…”

It rips its claws, now writhing shadow-like whips, out of her chest, then vanishes. 2B’s vision is obscured, but not by warnings and error messages, by blood. Red veins pulse on the edges of her sight in time with her heart. Each beat sends waves of heat, electricity, and agony through her body.

“Stand, little doll. Stand, and unleash your beasthood.”

A scream forms in 2B’s throat, but it cannot break through her swelling throat and gritted teeth. She takes frantic, shallow breaths. Her limbs shake, her fingernails dig into the stonework floor. It’s so hot… 

2B rolls onto the floor and rips away her tight uniform. Far too tight. Parts of her dress were already beginning to tear as her muscles swell. Blood trickles from various wounds where her skin has split, revealing the thick, synthetic muscle cords that lie beneath. Her blindfold is next, but removing it does not help her vision. One eye is unfocused, blurring all of her vision.

She drags her fingernails across her body and lets out a deep, animal snarl when she tears into her own flesh. Looking down at her hands, she recoils at the sight of long, black claws that split her fingers down the center. Skin falls from them in long strips to the point where the mechanical joints of her hands are exposed.

Something snaps inside her, somewhere in her upper back. She howls in agony, in sorrow, as her spine lengthens, twists, and grows too fast for her body to maintain. Her insides are compacted and grind against each other, sending sickening vibrations throughout her. Her throat finally opens up, allowing her to breathe. She watches as puffs of steam escape her mouth into the warm twilight air. 

Another crack and something explodes out of her lower back. Her balance is thrown off and she falls forward, smashing her face into stone. Another snarl, this one combined with the gnashing of fangs. Her mouth warps, splitting out of her face into a muzzle. Eyes follow, one swelling to fit its now spacious socket while the other stunts and refuses to change. She claws at the peeling skin of whatever she can reach, spilling more of her blood in the process. Everything hurts, everything itches, but oh god the power feels so good.

A growth springs from above her unchanged eye, weighing her head down and hunching her body over. She supports herself with one enormous hand, the other scooping the wires and tubing that spills out of her torn stomach and forcing them back inside her abdominal cavity. The twisting extension of her spine, a tail, thuds against the floor and counters the weight of her head. 

2B shakes the mane of bloodied, white hair from her functioning eye, turns her head to the sky, and roars.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Dick and Jason are Robins at the same time

(titans ‘verse. au after 1.06)

(tagging @superohclair and @cautiousamber!)

-

1.

dick has to admit that it’s not the worst arrangement: jason continues to be robin in gotham, and dick travels across the country with his little family while running from a homicidal cult, wearing the costume every now and then when he has no choice but to fight. this way batman is covered, dick still has access to some advanced gear and weaponry now that he needs it, and internet sleuths are kept on their toes when robin shows up in different ends of the country on the same day.

so what if reading news coverage of batman and robin in gotham feels like being punched in the chest, or hearing jason’s stories about learning new things from bruce everyday makes dick want to scream into a pillow? he is fine with this.

he. is. fine--

(kory knows he’s fraying at the edges. she watches, and she says nothing.)

2.

the fight to help rachel and defeat trigon is long and hard, and involves painstakingly unravelling kory’s memories. they manage to find her spaceship, and it becomes their base for a good long while. they stay there long enough that dick loses some of the tension that’s had him on edge for... well. the better part of the last five years, to be honest.

dick begins training rachel and gar in earnest. kory is able to coax some memories of tamaranean cuisine and culture out, and dick is reminded more and more of the team that he lost everyday. despite his best efforts he’s invested now. he cooks and dances with kory (good thing he’s so flexible because the tamaranean version of a waltz is like a particularly sadistic game of twister), teaches rachel algebra and does yoga with gar. he even manages to forget about bruce for a bit.

jason shows up quite often when he figures out where they’re based, and after some initial tension, he becomes an unofficial member of their team (though at this stage dick is still reluctant to use that word). dick and jason patrol in the nearby city some nights, then go for ice cream later. dick’s even starting to see the strategic (and frankly comedic) potential of two robins on the same patrol. 

time and familiarity softens how dick perceives jason: less reckless asshole and more bright young kid full of curiosity and a need to prove himself. he continues to tend towards gratuitous violence, but dick learns his triggers and helps jason recognise them as well. he soaks up the info on alien cultures and battles on kory’s ship faster than dick himself could hope to, and there is a terrible sort of tenderness to how he talks to the people he saves while on patrol. terrible, dick thinks, because he doesn’t know if he comes across like that now at all: soft and empathetic instead of aloof and shaking, too caught up in his own neuroses.

here’s the thing, the crux of it, the faultline that’s always threatening to break dick apart: he’s so afraid that he’s taken robin, his legacy, the ideals and persona that he modelled as a tribute to his parents, and made it into something so dark and broken that only batman could pass it on. jason showing up as his replacement one day only seemed to affirm that fear. but now, swinging through the skies with this kid who’s taken robin as an opportunity to learn and grow and be better, dick’s reminded of the best of his early days in the costume. 

for the first time in what feels like forever, dick feels good about putting on the robin costume again.

3.

(are you asking if dick tried to call home? of course he did. he chickens out and cuts the call to bruce after only a few rings, and feels a sad sort of vindication in noticing how bruce never attempts to call him back.

alfred picks up his call on the second ring, and dick feels like the smallest person in the world when he hears the genuine warmth, joy and relief in alfred’s voice as he greets him. there’s no excuse for dick refusing to talk to the man that practically raised him after his parents died and he knows it. 

they talk for an hours while skirting around anything to do with bruce, which is an impressive feat all in itself. they finally talk about jason, and there’s a wistful sort of fondness in alfred’s voice as he says, “you’ve been a good influence on master jason.”

dick laughs. “he’s been a good influence on me.” it’s the first time he���s said it loud, but it feels true.

“you mustn’t underestimate the ways in which you change people, master dick,” alfred says. “you have been a light in our lives for so long.”

dick’s jaw clenches. all his memories of batman smudge together in never-ending shadow; when he thinks of bruce, he can only remember that remote expression on his face, that expression dick can project all his disgust and loathing and disappointment onto. maybe people should start considering how they influence me, dick wants to say. sometimes i can’t recognise who i’m seeing in the mirror every day and other times i hate him so much i want to--

“i miss you, alf,” he says instead, softly.

“my dear boy,” alfred starts, but he sounds choked. it’s ok. dick understands.)

4.

things get worse, quickly. their enemies find and destroy their spaceship base, and they’re not nearly ready to take on trigon yet. they’re on the run again, alternating between motel rooms and empty warehouses. 

the cult finally catches up to them; they are kidnapped and tortured for days in an abandoned asylum. they eventually escape, the building and the organisation in flames behind them, but the scars from the experience are deep: rachel is anxious and tearful almost all the time, gar’s usual cheer is replaced by a quiet, simmering self-loathing, kory refuses to talk about her experience but flinches at every touch, and dick... he feels like he’s been flayed, his mind and body laid raw and bleeding until nothing recognisable, nothing human is left. he can’t think, he can barely feel. half the time it feels like he’s observing what’s happening to him like it’s happening to somebody else entirely.

they’re a mess. he can’t do this, not when he feels like--like this. he resists calling anybody for help, but one night he breaks down and calls donna. he doesn’t remember what he says on the call, but wakes up the next morning, eyes raw, tear tracks on his face, and a text from donna that says: i’ll be there in a day. stay put, bw,

“wow you’re a mess,” jason says from a corner of the room. any other time, dick would be on his feet, demanding to know how jason found them. now though, he’s feeling out of his body again, and so he says, “i kind of am, aren’t i?” and watches the words float, parting the air above him.

jason sighs.

being with donna helps get his head on straight, even though at first her appearance threatened to bring back even more traumatic memories. she’s a soothing, sobering presence not just for him, but for the others as well. they continue to motel-hop as they prepare for their big final battle against trigon.

jason continues to find them, somehow. (dick wouldn’t put installing a tracker on one of them beyond him, but he’s much too tired to feel angry about that.) he chats with dick and sometimes they bond by watching a movie together or swinging from buildings in the chill, crisp night air, jason’s cackling laugh echoing in dick’s ears. 

jason always leaves as quickly as he appears, but dick is grateful for his presence.

5.

they defeat trigon, and there’s a party. even hank and dawn show up. jason is conspicuous in his absence.

after several unanswered texts and calls, dick bites the bullet and calls alfred. “hey alf,” he says when the man picks up, “is jason there?”

there’s a long pause at the other end of the line. then: “did master bruce not tell you?” his voice sounds uncharacteristically hoarse.

dick’s stomach starts to sink. he steps away from the others and into a quiet room. “tell me what?”

“master jason...” alfred sighs. “he--he was killed by the joker two months ago. the funeral was last week.”

dick stumbles back to sit on the bed. the phone threatens to fall from his numb fingers even while his heart thunders against his ribs. “that’s impossible,” he manages. “i saw him five days ago. we saw--” there’s a hysterical laugh building in his chest, howling like a thunderstorm, “fuck we saw moulin rogue together. he told me how much he fucking loves musicals, i--”

alfred’s voice is suddenly distant and tinny. dick looks down to see his phone on the floor. he’s suddenly very, very aware of the dryness of his palms, the hot flush at the tips of his ears, the tears that are starting to slide down his cheeks, the way his lungs are burning with shock and grief and rage--

“hey, dickie,” jason says, smiling at him. “glad you finally caught up.”

-

( send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons! )

[splendidlyimperfect]

When Natsu runs into five-year-old Sting and Rogue at the Grand Magic Games, he thinks they’re cute kids with a serious case of hero worship. But when it turns out that they’re both Dragon Slayers and they belong to the ruthless Sabertooth Guild, something doesn’t feel quite right. Natsu and Gray quickly grow protective of the two little kids, and they do their best to build a relationship with them to try to keep them safe and figure out what exactly is going on at Sabertooth.

Chapter Summary: As Gray heals from his wounds, Lucy helps him and Natsu try to figure out how to get the kids away from Sabertooth.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Natsu/Gray, Rogue/Sting Characters: Natsu, Gray, Sting, Rogue, Lucy, Erza, Yukino Tags: Canon Universe, Dragon Slayers, Parenting, Adoption, PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, basically stingue are adorable baby dragon slayers and Natsu wants to adopt them, and then he kind of does, Trans Gray, Trans Sting, Nonbinary Rogue, ADHD Natsu, ADHD Sting, Autistic Rogue

**tw for talk of child abuse and descriptions of injuries from abuse**

-----

Gray woke slowly to a pressure on his chest, and the sound of giggling. He slowly cracked open one eye, wincing at the bright light that filled his vision.

“Uncle Gray!”

The light quickly disappeared, and a small, pudgy face took its place in Gray’s field of vision. Sting’s curls were wild and tangled, but a bright smile crossed his face when Gray managed to focus on him.

“Hi.” He poked Gray’s cheek. “You sleeped for a long time. I maked the bad stuff go away and it was yesterday but now it’s today and the sun is up.”

Continue reading on AO3

Gray blinked a few times, trying to focus his blurry vision. He attempted to move his arm up to rub his face, but a heavy weight kept it at his side. When he looked down, he realized that Rogue was curled up next to him. They gave him a shy smile and cuddled closer.

“Hey,” Gray said, voice hoarse. A dull ache radiated from his chest, and he looked down to see several raised scars across his skin. Sting placed a hand on his forehead and a soft, warm light spread through him, pushing the pain away. He blinked in surprise and looked at Sting. “How did you…”

“It’s his magic.” Natsu appeared beside the bed and ruffled Sting’s hair affectionately. “He saved you.” His voice was bright, but Gray could see the deep lines of concern behind the casual words. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got my ass handed to me,” Gray admitted, letting Natsu help him sit up against the headboard. The pain was gone, but he still felt a bone-deep exhaustion and a tightness in his chest.

“You kinda did,” Natsu said as he sat down onto the bed next to Gray. Sting happily settled onto Natsu’s lap, while Rogue moved with Gray and stayed curled up under his arm. “You almost died,” Natsu added softly. He took Gray’s hand and squeezed it. “The medic said the poison had spread too far and she couldn’t do anything, but…”

“I fixed it,” Sting said when Natsu looked down at him. His expression was a mix of pride and uncertainty. “I taked the bad stuff and put good stuff instead.” He tentatively touched the scars on Gray’s chest. Gray frowned when he saw tears welling up in Sting’s eyes.

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching out for the little boy. “C’mere.” Sting let Gray pull him into a hug, and he wrapped his arms tightly around Gray’s neck. “Thank you,” Gray said, pressing a kiss to the mess of curls. He frowned in confusion at Natsu over Sting’s shoulder, but Natsu just shook his head – I’ll explain later. Gray held Sting closer, and when Rogue looked up at him, he pulled them into the embrace too.

“You’re awake!” Gray looked up to see Yukino standing in the doorway, holding a tray with coffee and pastries. He gave her a weak smile as the two kids hugged him tighter. “Let Uncle Gray breathe,” Yukino chided, making her way to the bed, and touching Sting’s back. “He’s probably still very tired.”

Sting reluctantly let go of Gray and shuffled back into Natsu’s lap. “We have to go?” he asked Yukino. She gave him a soft smile and nodded, and his lower lip quickly curled into a pout. “I don’t want to.”

“We have to, sunshine,” Yukino said. She ran her fingers through Rogue’s long hair and nudged them up as well. “We’ve already been away longer than we said we would.”

Sting sniffed, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. Anxiety thrummed in Gray’s chest as Yukino helped Sting and Rogue off the bed.

“Don’t go,” he said quietly, reaching out and touching Yukino’s arm. She frowned at him, gesturing for both kids to go stand by the door before responding.

“What do you mean?”

“Come back with us.” Gray’s anxiety was quickly turning to desperation as he watched the kids over Yukino’s shoulder. Sting’s bright smile was fading, and Gray wanted so badly to bring it back. “Back to Fairy Tail,” he clarified, looking back at Yukino. “You know they don’t belong there. And neither do you.”

Yukino sighed and gently pulled her arm from Gray’s grasp. “It’s not that easy,” she said softly.

“It could be,” Natsu interjected.  

She shook her head. “They can’t just leave, they’re members, they took an oath, and they can’t—”

“They were three,” Natsu hissed. “You can’t hold toddlers to a binding agreement, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not just the guild,” Yukino said. “Jiemma has legal rights to them.”

Gray frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s their guardian,” Yukino explained. “When their parents died and the guild took them in, Jiemma gained guardianship as the guild leader. Fairy Tail probably did the same thing with you – it’s like an adoption.”

“Not with me,” Gray said. “But I still have family in Isvan who took guardianship when my parents died. I dunno about you, though,” he added, gesturing to Natsu.

Natsu growled, running his hands through his hair. “Who cares about a stupid piece of paper?” he insisted. “We all know it’s not right.”

“You can’t just break laws because you don’t like them,” Yukino said. Gray raised his eyebrows at Natsu and Yukino sighed. “Look, I have to go, and so do they. We can meet you again tomorrow morning.”

Gray sighed, then cut off Natsu before he could keep arguing. “Okay,” he said softly. “Just…be safe, okay?”

Yukino gave him a thin smile. “I’ll try my best,” she said, before turning and leading the boys out of the room.

~

Yukino and the kids didn’t show up the next day.

“Natsu, sit down.” Gray gestured to the chair next to him, but Natsu shook his head and continued to pace back and forth in front of the café. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“They’re supposed to be here,” Natsu insisted. His stomach twisted with anxiety as he looked back and forth down the streets, hoping to see a head of white hair. “Something’s wrong.”

“I know,” Gray said. He made a pained sound and Natsu turned to see him press a hand to his chest. Natsu quickly sat down next to him and put a hand on his thigh. “’m okay,” Gray insisted, waving off the concern, but his voice was tight.

“You almost died yesterday, you’re not fine,” Natsu argued. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” Gray admitted. He shifted uncomfortably and took a few deep breaths. “It just feels like a bruise. The magic he used to take the pain away just wore off – I am actually fine, I promise.” He took Natsu’s hand and squeezed it.

Natsu searched Gray’s face for a sign that the pain was worse than he was letting on but didn’t find any. He sighed and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Gray’s cheek.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just worried. About everyone.”

Gray pressed his forehead to Natsu’s in an uncharacteristic display of public affection. “I know,” he said. “I just don’t know what we can do.”

Natsu sighed, giving Gray a quick kiss before pulling back. Part of him was ready to charge down to the guild and kick in the front door. The other part of him reluctantly clung to Yukino’s words from yesterday. You can’t just break laws because you don’t like them.

“Did you try texting Yukino again?” he asked.

Gray nodded to his lacrima phone, which was sitting on the café table. “The messages are going through but she’s not answering.” He hesitated. “It might be nothing. Maybe Jiemma changed their training schedule or something. It’s happened before.”

Natsu tipped his head back and forth uncertainly. “Something feels wrong, though,” he said. “It’s hard to explain, I just…”

“I trust you,” Gray said. Natsu looked up at him, and the conviction in Gray’s gaze left him feeling breathless. For as long as they’d known each other, Gray had never done anything by halves. He put all of himself into everything he did. Now that they were together, Natsu was starting to realize that extended to the way Gray loved him – deeply and fiercely, despite his seemingly reserved nature.

Natsu swallowed, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. Gray gave him a shy half-smile, then stood up and pulled Natsu to his feet.

“C’mon,” he said as he slid his fingers between Natsu’s. “Let’s go to Sabertooth.”

~

“They kicked you out?” Lucy’s voice was tinny through the lacrima phone.

“Well, they called it ‘escorting him off the premises’,” Gray said. It was later that afternoon, and he was sitting on the bed in the inn, leaning back against the pillows Natsu had stacked against the headboard. Despite Sting healing the wound, Gray’s chest still ached.

“Assholes,” Natsu muttered from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “Can they even do that?”

“They can,” Lucy said regretfully. “Guild halls are private property; they can bar entry to whoever they like.”  

“Well, it’s suspicious as hell,” Natsu said. He sighed and moved over to the bed to sit next to Gray. “Luce, do you know anything about guardianships?”

“You mean custody?” Lucy asked.

“Sorta. Yukino said that Jiemma had ‘guild guardianship’ of Sting and Rogue.”

“Oh, yes, guilds do that all the time,” Lucy said. “You were under guardianship with Fairy Tail, Natsu. Don’t you remember Makarov talking about it with you?” When Natsu didn’t answer, Lucy sighed, and Gray could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “It ended when you turned seventeen, that’s when you got control of all your accounts and your home.”

“Oh!” Natsu brightened. “Yeah, he said something one time about being an adult and not a…ward? I think? I don’t remember.”

Natsu’s cheeks turned pink with embarrassment and Gray reached out to squeeze his hand. When they were kids, Gray had teased Natsu about his terrible memory, but Erza had eventually confronted him about it, telling him that it was another symptom of what Natsu called his ‘messy brain.’ Seeing Sting struggle with the same thing over the last few months had made Gray realize how difficult it must have been for Natsu growing up, and now he always tried to be as kind about it as possible.

“Can guardianship be transferred?” Gray asked Lucy.

“You mean to another guild?” she asked. “I’m not sure. I doubt it would be possible without consent from both guilds.”

“Jiemma would never go for that,” Natsu grumbled. He shuffled closer to Gray and rested his head on his shoulder.

“I can look into it,” Lucy said. “I could ask Master Makarov if he knows anything.”

“Maybe the library?” Natsu suggested. He made a contented sound when Gray started to run gentle fingers through his hair. “There’s books about laws and stuff, in the basement.”

“Freed let you into the library?” Gray poked Natsu. “I thought you were banned.”

Natsu huffed. “I lit one book on fire one time, and it wasn’t my fault.”

“Uhuh.”  

Gray heard Lucy sigh fondly again, then shuffle some papers in the background. “Are you staying in Ciralto?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Natsu picked at his nails. “For a few days, anyway. I know we can’t get close to Sabertooth, but maybe we’ll run into Yukino or something.”

“Good luck,” Lucy said, voice soft with sympathy. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

 ~

They didn’t find Yukino or the kids the next day, or the day after. They both tried several times to covertly get close to Sabertooth, but the gates that had previously been open were now locked, and guarded day and night.

“I swear I’m just gonna break down the goddamn doors,” Natsu growled after the third day of waiting. He sat down on the bed, sighing and rubbing his face. He was about to say something else when Gray’s lacrima phone started to ring.

“I think I might have a solution,” Lucy said as soon as Gray answered. Natsu leaned forward eagerly when Gray sat down beside him. “Freed helped me find some legal documentation that might help.”

“What’s documentation?” Natsu frowned.

“Paperwork,” Gray said. “Laws and stuff.”

“There are strict rules governing guild guardianship,” Lucy continued. She cleared her throat and started to read. “Guardianship of a minor can be transferred to a guild master if their parents or guardians voluntarily relinquish parental responsibilities; or if the minor is orphaned and has no living relations who are able to accept guardianship. Guild guardianship of minors confers all rights and responsibilities of the minor’s family of origin and continues until they are 17 years of age.”

“We already knew that,” Natsu interrupted, but Gray gestured for him to be quiet.

“There wasn’t anything about transferring guardianship,” Lucy continued, “but I did find a set of rules about contesting it. There are certain circumstances where people can argue against the guild – like if the find a living relative, or if the minor applies for emancipation. They would have to be thirteen for that, though, so it wouldn’t work in this situation.”

“So how does any of this help?” Natsu asked, sighing in frustration.

“I’m getting to that,” Lucy said. “There is one other option. A petition may be made to remove guild guardianship if the minor is in danger of being harmed; this can include emotional, verbal, physical, financial, and social harm or abuse, or neglect of the minor’s needs.”

All three of them were quiet for a second as they absorbed the information.

“So…we could petition for them to be removed?” Natsu asked finally.

“Technically, yes,” Lucy said.

Gray sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “But we can’t prove anything,” he said. “And even if we could, then what? Fairy Tail would have to apply for guild guardianship, and if it was denied, they’d probably end up separated with some families in Ciralto, or sent back to Isvan, or…”

“We have to do something,” Natsu insisted. “Sting saved your fucking life, and that asshole treats him like shit. They’re kids, and they’re being hurt, and we have to help them.”

Lucy didn’t say anything. Gray groaned and rubbed his temples. His heart hurt. Natsu was right, obviously, but it was all so complicated, and Sabertooth was so powerful. Gray knew Natsu was ready for a fight, but what if it was a fight they couldn’t win?

Then he thought about Rogue’s shy smile and the way they sat in Gray’s lap, about Sting’s gap-toothed grin and gentle magic. Gray brought his hand up to his chest and rubbed at the scars through his shirt. If Sting hadn’t been there…

Gray looked up at Natsu, who was staring at him with the same determined expression Gray had seen on him hundreds of times. “Okay,” Gray said. “We can—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a movement in the corner of the room caught his eye. The shadows behind the dresser rippled and started to move, then quickly melded into the shape of a child.

“Rogue?” Gray said, pushing himself up off the bed and moving over to the little Dragon Slayer. Relief filled him, but it was quickly replaced by apprehension when Rogue didn’t respond. They just stood with their body half-hidden behind the dresser and their hair hanging in tangles over their face. “What’s wrong?”

Rogue sniffed and rubbed their face with the back of their hand, dragging the sleeve of their too-long sweatshirt over their face. They mumbled something Gray didn’t quite catch and Gray crouched down until he was at eye level.

“Are you hurt?” Gray asked, trying to see their face behind their hair. Rogue shook their head. Natsu appeared next to Gray and knelt down as well.

“Is Sting hurt?” he asked.

There was a long pause, then a tiny nod. Natsu cursed under his breath. Gray’s chest ached, and not from the scars. Fear was starting to take over the confusion but he tried his best to keep it hidden.

“Where is he?” Gray asked gently. Seeing Rogue without Sting was unsettling – usually they were the one trailing behind Sting like his shadow while he talked a thousand words a minute.

“He saided it was an accident.” Rogue’s words were as soft and delicate as their magic. Gray shifted closer – he could see tear tracks on Rogue’s cheeks now, and a spot of blood from where they’d been chewing their lip. “But Yukino telled me to find you.”

“It’s okay,” Gray reassured Rogue, holding out his hand. Rogue shied away from it at first, looking at Gray with their oddly colored eyes. Gray could feel the tension radiating from Natsu, and he tried his best to project a sense of calm and confidence. “Why don’t you take us to Sting,” he suggested, giving Rogue what he hoped was a comforting smile. “We’ve got lots of practice patching each other up when we get hurt.”

Rogue shifted from foot to foot for a second, then finally reached out and took Gray’s hand.

“There you go,” Gray said, sighing in relief when Rogue moved forward and wrapped both arms around his neck. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re safe.” He kissed the top of Rogue’s head and looked at Natsu over their shoulder. Natsu’s jaw was tight, and his face was set in determination as he pushed himself to his feet.

Rogue let Gray carry them, giving him quiet directions through the city. They passed the Sabertooth guild hall, turning down a back alley that led through several residential areas until it opened into a small park. A large tree hung out over the water and Gray could just see Sting sitting up there – a small flash of white hidden behind green leaves. Yukino, who was standing at the base of the tree, sighed in relief when she saw them.

“He won’t come down,” Rogue said, pointing at the tree. “I went up the shadow and he telled me to go away.” They rubbed their face again. “He never telled me to go away before.”

“It’s okay,” Natsu reassured them, squeezing Gray’s arm and gesturing for him to head to Yukino. “I’ll go get him.”

 ~

 It didn’t take long to make it up the tree. Sting was curled up between two branches with his legs pulled up to his chest and his forehead on his knees. As soon as he saw Natsu he curled up tighter and growled.

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” he said. “Go away.”

Natsu balanced carefully on the branch below where Sting was sitting as he tried to check him for injuries. “Rogue’s worried about you,” he said. “Why don’t you come down and we can make sure you’re okay?”

Sting finally looked up at him, glaring at him from behind a black eye. “I’m fine,” he said. “It doesn’t even hurt.” The way he held his arm against his chest made it clear that he was lying. His eyes were bright with tears he was barely holding in, but he managed to add, “I’m strong.”

“I know you are, bud,” Natsu said gently, heart aching at the pain on the little boy’s face. “That doesn’t mean—”

“I’m strong like you.” Sting’s voice wobbled. “I’m strong an’ brave and it doesn’t hurt.” A few stray tears slipped down Sting’s cheek, and he wiped them away angrily. “An’ I’m not crying.” He swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to his folded arms.

“Crying doesn’t mean you’re not strong,” Natsu said, but Sting shook his head vehemently.

“Yes it does. Only babies cry.”

“Sting.” Natsu’s voice softened, and he shifted closer, but Sting flinched away from him. “Who told you that?” Sting bit his lip and stared stubbornly at his bare feet. “Was it the person who did this?” Natsu gestured to Sting’s arm, even though he already knew the answer.

“No.” Sting’s voice wavered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Nobody did. ‘m fine.”

A low, thrumming anger simmered in Natsu’s stomach as he thought of Jiemma’s cruel eyes and vicious gaze.

“Last week Uncle Gray and I went on a job,” he said, pushing the anger away as he tried a different tactic. He glanced back down at the ground where Gray was sitting on the riverbank with his arm around a somber Rogue. “I got knocked down and hit my head on the stairs really hard, and it hurt so bad that I cried.”

Sting looked up at him with wide eyes. “You cried?”

“Yup.” Natsu pushed back his bangs to show Sting the spot where the bruise on his forehead was still healing. “It’s okay to cry when it hurts.” Sting didn’t look convinced, but Natsu added, “And it’s okay to let people help you. Uncle Gray used his ice on the bruise after the fight and it felt a lot better.”  

“But Master saided—” Sting cut himself off, shaking his head. The angry spark flared again in Natsu’s chest.

“He said what?”

Sting stared miserably at the tree branch next to Natsu’s feet, chewing on his lip, but he didn’t answer. Natsu sighed.

“Sometimes, people who are strong aren’t always good,” he said gently. “Strength is something that should be used to protect and help people. Nobody should be using it to hurt you.”

“He... I...” Sting swallowed. “It was a—a lesson. I did something wrong. I had to be punished.”

Natsu shook his head. “No, not like this.” He moved a little closer and was relieved when Sting didn’t flinch. “A punishment – a consequence – is like... not getting a cookie for lunch when you steal one for breakfast. Or having to help clean up a broken window when you accidentally break it. Not somebody hitting you. That's never, ever okay.”

Sting rubbed furiously at his face again, trying to hide his tears. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “I just wanna be strong and brave.”

“You are,” Natsu reassured him. “You’re strong when you climb super tall trees, or when you swim the whole way across the river, or when you told that kid to stop teasing Rogue. And you’re being really brave right now.”

Sting frowned, looking over at Natsu. “But...”

“Being brave doesn’t mean that you’re never afraid, it means that you try to do right and good things even when they’re scary.”

Sting couldn’t hold the tears in anymore and he let out a quiet, wounded sound as he whispered, “I’m sorry.” Natsu held out his arm and breathed a silent sigh of relief when Sting leaned into the embrace.

“It’s okay,” Natsu said gently as Sting curled into him. “You’re okay. Nobody’s upset and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sting sniffled and Natsu kissed the top of his head as he considered his options. Sending the two of them back to Sabertooth was out of the question – there was no way Natsu was letting either of them out of his sight again. If he brought them back to Fairy Tail, Gramps would obviously welcome them and find them a place to stay, but they needed more than that. Rogue and Sting needed somewhere to feel safe.

“Do you want to come stay with me and Uncle Gray?” Natsu asked.

Sting froze. “Like a sleepover?”

“Longer than a sleepover.”

There was a long silence before Sting said, “We don’t have to go back?”

“No.”

“What about Master?”

“That’s a grownup problem, you let me deal with that.”

Sting went quiet again, but he leaned heavier against Natsu, and he seemed to have stopped crying. “I like Orga,” he said eventually. “And Rufus, sometimes. Are you gonna deal with them too?”

“No. I’m not gonna hurt anyone.”

Sting looked up at him, and his eyes were full of so much trust that it almost brought Natsu to tears. “Promise?” he asked.

Natsu nodded as he brushed a wayward curl out of Sting’s face and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I promise.”

[plush-anon]

Happy Halloween Scooby Doo! Review

Muahahhhahahhahahaha! Thanks to the Walmart tradition of stocking movies for sale weeks before the intended release date, I have myself a copy of what claims to be Scooby Doo’s FIRST Halloween adventure!

…in spite of movies like Witch’s Ghost and Goblin King, holiday specials like WNSD’s A Scooby Doo Halloween (which had a haunted Scarecrow too…), BCSD’s EL Bandito (for Dia de los Muertos - obvs not the same, but most companies act like it) and Halloween, The NSDM’s Halloween Hassle at Dracula’s Castle, and the DTV short film Scooby Doo and the Spooky Scarecrow (which, ironically enough, did NOT take the opportunity to feature Dr. Jonathan Crane). 

So let us take a look now at Happy Halloween Scooby Doo! and see whether this film will be a graveyard smash of a treat, or a black licorice bomb of disappointment.

Full review (and SPOILERS TO GO WITH IT) are below the cut in my new review format; if all goes smoothly, I’ll go with this for future Scooby films.

WARNING: This review is very long.

One minor note before we begin: the Special Features actually include BCSD’s Halloween, WNSD’s A Scooby Doo Halloween, and PNSD’s Ghost Who’s Coming to Dinner

...so they were AWARE this was not the first Halloween adventure of the Scooby gang, and yet still use that tag line. Hm. 

Still, kudos for including them - this’ll help boost the reasons to keep this movie, if it turns out to be a real Milk Dud of a movie *ba-dum tish* :D

-----------

The movie starts off rather abruptly, actually - no slow pan over the setting, just WB Animation credit and BOOM, we’ve cut to a Halloween parade and Elvira is talking. 

I’m of a mixed opinion including Elvira on top of having Bill Nye and a Batman Rogue - while she most certainly fits the Scooby aesthetic, it doesn’t feel as grand an impact after her weird little cameo in Return to Zombie Island (ugh) and I’m not sure how well the movie will balance her in wait a minute

wait just a

WAIT A MINUTE

Did - did that parade float skeleton just sing Crystal Cove as the town’s name?

oh no. 

Oh No.

....also their song is terrible and they should feel terrible.

-------

Fred: We got him! Banh Mi Shop, second floor!

me: the heck is a Banh Mi Shop? *mild googling noises*

So I guess Jonathan Crane really had a craving for a Vietnamese sandwich before he enacted his Halloween scheme.

...you think he’s a lemongrass chicken type of guy or a BBQ pork guy? It’s always hard to guess at these things, esp when coffee and pumpkin spice aren’t on the table (as per fanon, of course)

-----

Velma: We have a flawless track record!

So I guess WB is just gonna ignore the past few DTV retcons established in 13 Ghosts and Return to Zombie Island?

I mean that rather defeats the purpose of them existing at all, but fcuk YEAH I can get behind throwing that retcon garbage out of canon!

And STAY OUT!!

------

Shaggy, talking about ghosts being real: I’m like the boy who cried wolf - I keep warning you but like, you won’t believe me until I finally get eaten!

Yet again, Warner Bros makes a wolf reference to Shaggy. Yet again, I am torn asunder between wanting werewolf!Shaggy in a new Scooby property, and fearing for the appearance of werewolf!Shaggy in a new Scooby property. 

-------

Velma: Point is, being afraid is a waste of time!

Scarecrow, LITERALLY EXPLODING THROUGH A BRICK WALL three buildings away:

------

He’s floating through the air and t-posing to assert his dominance 🤣🤣🤣

Gods bless animation 😁

------

Daphne @ Shag and Scoob locking themselves in the van: Are you serial?

Me: wait, SERIAL? *re-reads captions* yup, that says “serial”.  

Is this an editing mistake? I don’t think that works here…unless that’s supposed to be a joke on how they always do this. But then why would that be an irritating surprise, they literally do this EVERY episode 🙄

-------

Oh hey, Red Herring’s Party Screams truck has Red Herring running out of it

Could this be a hint to how the story goes? The villain appearing on a literal Red Herring?

Naaaaaah, WB’s not THAT smart

-------

So if we take @captainbaddecisions​​ crack theory on Jonathan Crane being Shaggy’s uncle seriously, does this mean that Jonathan is using magic to fly, float fear toxin orbs around himself, and making things explode, a la the family trait of Crack Theory A? 

Logically he’s probs using wires or magnets or some shit, but it’s a fun thought to entertain 😁

------

Welp, we finally get the opening credits! … with Jonathan Crane smashing through the Mystery Machine’s windshield, set to a slow poppy song straight from the 60s, and spewing the title of the film out in glittery pink mist.

All the while Scooby and Shaggy throw candy at each other, deliberately obtuse to the cloud of fear toxin enveloping their friends and the townsfolk, the steady destruction of the Mystery Machine they’re laying in as multiple cars crash into it and send it spiraling, and the general mayhem and destruction that Scarecrow is causing

Never change, guys, never change

--------

I just choked on my lemonade

There’s an article plastered to the roof of the Mystery Machine titled “Talking Dog Confounds, Ignites Ethics Debate Over Dog Labor”

ahahahahaha

-------

Annnnnnnnd there goes the Mystery Machine, tumbling in the air and over the roads with Shaggy and Scooby still inside without seat belts. Will they perish in this horrible road accident? Will Death finally come to claim them at last?

Of course not. This is Shaggy and Scooby we’re talking about - I’m almost positive they can survive anything up to and including a nuclear bomb. This is child’s play to them.

-------

So they “capture” Scarecrow… by pinning his cape to a tree with crossbow bolts. 

And they do not try to at least tie up his arms or his hands in ANY capacity. 

JUST the cape. 

...you know, Velma, for a team with a “flawless” track record, you guys are making a hecking TON of mistakes in facing against one of Batman’s ROGUES GALLERY, ESPECIALLY with no Batman in sight, good freakin’ grief. 😩

------

Yaaaaaaaaas, this Scarecrow design is LUSH

He’s got the lank, the height, the BTAS costume colors, the elongated face with beaky nose and pointed chin and angular cheekbones, the eyebags like Gucci, the furrowed brow… honestly the only thing missing is the more reddish color hair, and even that isn’t mandatory. I love 😍

Not to mention the HOT DAYUM voice he has - low and velvet rough and so godsdamned particular in a way that could either tie in to obscuring a southern accent as in fanon or just as a stringent academic, oh my yes. He’s voiced by someone called Dwight Schultz, who’s most well known for playing Captain ‘Howling Mad’ Murdock in the OG A-Team show, and someone called Reginald Barclay in Star Trek TNG and Voyager, if any of y’all know that character in particular. 

And of course, the first line he says is a delightfully wry “Oh, but I AM getting away with it,” with the sort of smirk that absolutely lends credence to why he’s a threat to Batman, and not some simpering wimp that can be defeated with some crossbow bolts in a tree.

I think I’m going to enjoy this movie at least somewhat, so long as we get to see him 🥰🥰🥰

(tho on a side note: Daphne why on EARTH are you trying to film Crane saying the meddling kids line? Do you have a video compilation of past villains who’ve done that, and you hope to add his to it? Was your phone damaged when you went up against the Riddler a few DTVs ago and you want a second shot at recording a Gotham Rogue saying it? Bc I don’t think a Gotham Rogue would be too pleased with seeing himself as a Mystery Meme on the Youtubes, you get what I’m saying?)

-------

Okay, so the floating orb things are explained away as fear toxin bomb drones somehow… despite looking nothing like the other drones and being much smaller with no visible propulsion, while also flying unassisted through and around objects to explode against places once flung…

(tho interesting note, none of them are aimed directly at the crowds, just behind them - odd, that)

But how did he heckin’ FLY at the beginning?

Yeah, they show him wearing wrist-mounted grappling hooks at the end of the intro song sequence, but they are NOWHERE IN SIGHT at the beginning - and I do mean in sight, since he emerges against a backdrop of flames. There was nothing there (see the T-pose above for further evidence), and nothing there when he FLEW THROUGH THE MYSTERY MACHINE’S WINDSHIELD AND FLEW BACK OUT AGAIN. And these things are pale silver, which stands out like crazy against the darker backgrounds, so no hand-wavy ‘they were always being used’ bullcrap we’ve seen in other movies. 

Hmmm *scribbles in notepad* note to self, add notation concerning Crack Theory A on magic!Shaggy to “Uncle Crane” theory files - evidence denotes that Crane is able to fly (or at least hover in mid-air unassisted) for terrorization purposes. May boost strength of CTA by family association, lending credence to magic inheritance along the bloodline...

------

“Avocado Toast Generation”? Crane, I honestly don’t know if you really mean that, or if you understand just how much that phrase gets under any Millennial/Gen Z kid’s skin. Having seen multiple variations of your character, it really could swing either way (tho kudos on the dead switch idea - very nice 👍🏻) 

Although this does lead to an interesting stand-off: Fred, upon seeing the town threatened with 3 days worth of fear toxin, immediately moves to let Crane go, while Velma stops him and refuses to consider compromising if it means Crane escapes.  They both look legitimately frustrated at the other for taking the stance they do. 

Fascinating~

------

Hmmm

Crane honey, I don’t know if your drones are made of flash paper and hope, or if Scooby and Shaggy are using the reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaally old candy (the stuff made about ~3 years ago most neighborhoods give out to the teenagers that knock around midnight on Halloween) to shoot them down, but either way you may wish to speak with the manufacturer about this

Then again, this IS Shaggy and Scooby - they probably could’ve spat marshmallows at the drones and brought them down with equal success and explosions 

(and good on them for shooting those down! Atta boy 👍🏻)

-------

Aw dang it

1. They still have Crane captured and now in handcuffs (despite having… you know… NOT been bound by anything except cross bolts in his curtain cape thing)

2. Dwight Schultz has decided to pitch his voice higher and more nasally than what he has. Hopefully this is more of an incredulous sort of pitch than something that sticks for the rest of the movie, ugh.

Also, I think they’re framing the movie to be more Velma-centric this time around - she’s the one explaining to Crane how they tracked him down, apparently through a piece of fan mail he sent Elvira (is that the only reason she’s there? Also why was Velma examining random pieces of fan mail for toxins, Elvira probs gets hundreds a week irl) and it looks like they’re framing something up on how fear isn’t something you can pretend isn’t there. neat!

------

whajit

53rd? 

53rd?!?!

ONLY 53rd?!?!?!?!

Boooo, Scarecrow’s WAY more popular than that! I call foul

---

Okay why is Daphne’s schtick so far to spit laaaaaaame slang after every sentence Velma says

I would rather this not be her schtick

Actually could she go back to filming mystery stuff, bc at least I can pretend it’ll build into the OG Zombie Island Daphne

----

Phew, his voice has returned to its low, raspy goodness

also, Crane needs to learn about personal space, good grief

(interesting clue brought up tho - Crane only steals tech that CAN’T leak his toxin, ergo it can’t be tracked until he releases it. Sensible use, given that Batman probs tracks it if it does.)

----

Velma: I’m not afraid of you, Crane. Fear is an illogical reaction to an imagined threat. 

Crane:

-----

Crane: Fearless, then. Intelligent. Proud and stubborn. You remind me very much of the one person in this world I care about. 

uhhhhhh

Yourself? Harley? Edward Nygma? Ichabod the raven? Idk, I’m honestly curious as to where this thread will go 🤔🤔🤔

-----

Fred, leaning against the Mystery Machine: Guys, it’s gonna be okay. She told me!

O_o

Fred? Honey? Are you sure you weren’t supposed to join Crane in the transport vehicle back to Arkham? 

----

OH SWEET JESUS SHAGGY GREW YAOI HANDS

WHAT THE HECK 

THAT’S WAY MORE UNNERVING THEN YOU GUYS NOT BEING AFRAID ANYMORE

(although the fact that they’re both unsettled by NOT constantly shaking or having their heart racing is honestly kind of heartbreaking. Y’all need therapy, good grief)

----

Shaggy and Scooby just chewed up candy (wrapper and all) to make themselves a Halloween costume of… what looks like barfed-up candy (ew)

Before then proceeding to dance so well that everyone around them also starts dancing in a 60s-70s era rainbow light show and giving them candy

I worry for these two sometimes - that kind of power seems to be getting to their head 😬😬😬

---

Oh hey, acid green toxic waste is spilling from an 18-wheeler onto the Fear Toxin drones and emitting a purple pink haze that envelops a pumpkin patch! That won’t do anything suspicious at all I bet!

(wait is Poison Ivy going to come into this at some point)

(also major kudos to the music here - very 80s horror synth, I like)

----

So the Pumpkins have grown faces, limbs, consciousness, the ability to fly and a lust for human flesh

And they appear to be led by the Pumpkin King of the Pumpkin Patch mentioned in the Charlie Brown Halloween special

He’s not as friendly as I pictured him being, sadly 😕

---

Why is this random ass cop coming up to FD&V to say that they’re in over their heads… AFTER the mystery’s been solved?

Like dude, you’re only making yourself suspicious at this point, go home

----

Huh, interesting - the gang are being interviewed for a tv news network while they’re considered the town heroes

Why am I getting bad vibes from this…

Eh, it’s probably nothing

----

Velma: {Shaggy and Scooby} are, um… REALLY into the Halloween spirit. 

Shaggy: THIS ISN’T COSPLAY, VELMA!

I’m dying 😂

------

Holy Shit

Velma just snapped and went off on Shaggy and Scooby for acting scared and doing nothing to help wrap up the mystery

(even though these guys are the ONLY reason that the gang didn’t have to choose between setting Scarecrow free and poisoning the entire town for 3 days straight, but hey, what do I know - I’m just writing an in-depth reaction post to this movie and taking note of details like this, clearly I know nothing *eye roll*)

Last time I saw Velma critique the guys’ usual mystery solving shenanigans, it was much more low-key and without knowing they were nearby

But I’m sure that’s just a coincidence

------

What the

Bills?

Bills?!?!

Fred just mentioned that fixing the Mystery Machine was going to leave a hefty bill and that they may need to get dishwashing jobs to earn money

Which is more of a job you might expect a high schooler to get on the go and yet

They actually have to pay bills 

How old are they here??!

------

wait a tic

THIS is how they introduce Bill Nye?

He just calls up Velma with no explanation other than Velma saying “Oh hey, it’s Bill Nye!”

I just - what?!?!

How do you know him so well that he can just pull up your number and call you, and then geT YOU A NEW FREAKING CAR LIKE

WHAT?!?!?!?

Was there a Scooby episode with him in the past two years where the fcuk did this come from

------

Also the car is dressed like Bill Nye

And he can talk to the gang directly as the car

So that he can solve mysteries with them whenever he wants

This… this was not what I was expecting to come about from the Bill Nye cameo 

(alas, poor predictions of being Crane’s roommate, you will not come to pass this day) 😔

-------

Ooooo, purple haze throbbing on the horizon! That’s always a good sign of things to come! 😀

------

 And now Daphne’s… asking Elvira to mentor her fashion wise. And Elvira’s taking her on as her unpaid intern/personal assistant.

Yooo, movie, can you pick a direction and stick with it for Daphne? You’ve gone from her spewing outdated slang to wanting a costume for trick-or-treating, and now this. 

-------

Welp, now I can say I saw a giant pumpkin dog vore an old woman

I didn’t WANT to see that mind, but I guess I can say it now 😐

------

OH SHIT NO

IT TURNED HER INTO A FLYING PUMPKIN SHAPED LIKE HER FACE

ABSOLUTELY UNSETTLING, 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND

-------

At least we get a nice scene of Daphne kicking the pumpkins’ collective butt

Something normal

------

Elvira: WOW! You’re a regular Mary Sue!

*falls over cackling*

------

And now there’s a giant purple fissure opening up in the concrete to swallow the town of Crystal Cove whole 

(good, i whisper softly into the darkness of my living room. Let it fall)

--------

Man, I feel so bad for this single father right now

He’s gotten wrapped up in all of this nonsense with his daughter, and he is just Distraught at being chased by Jackal Lanterns, having the town collapsing under his feet, and having to gorge jump in his sedan to get away from the worst of it

It’s okay, Mike Dad - we would feel the same way in your shoes

-------

Hologram Bill Nye is wearing Cat ears and cat whiskers/nose, and is cleaning his hands like a cat cleans its paws

Why was this the movie we found out Bill Nye was a furry

Why Warner Bros 

Why would you inflict this upon us in a Scooby Doo-Scarecrow mystery

-------

Hey, can Jonathan Crane return now? The movie needs its dignity back. 

------

A clue on the whys here - the town was built on top of a MASSIVE lithium deposit, with the talks to mine it being scrapped due to environmental concerns. That’s actually a decent lead in for why some 

-------

Welp

The Jackal Lanterns just went full Mad Max with the Halloween Parade floats and cars

No, I don’t have any idea why either, just roll with it

-------

Nice, they confirmed that Fred’s full name is still Frederick Herman Jones XD

Also a great little action sequence with Daphne - while there’s not much movement, they frame the scene dynamically, with some good quick wordplay. Very nice. 

--------

Velma has a mind palace

Aight

--------

Velma: Shaggy, I could kiss you!

Oh, to hear this as a child, when I still hardcore shipped Shelma *sigh*

------

Oh thank gods we’re going back to Scarecrow again

------

Shaggy ate some Scooby Snacks, leapt out of a moving vehicle, and onto the backs of two flying pumpkins that he promptly reined in to fly to Crane’s prison transport

...yet again, I am amazed at the sentences I am led to type for Scooby Doo DTVs

------

Ah, how very Hannibal Lector of you, Jon 

Man, he actually looks very meek in normal clothes - red long-sleeved shirt and grey slacks

-----

Hmmm

So Crane ISN’T behind the Jackal Lanterns - in fact he’s outright befuddled by them. This means his whole spiel to Velma earlier about both of them being caught in the same trap was… metaphorical? The breakdown doesn’t actually go into WHY he thinks they’re in the same trap - Crane’s whole schtick is tied to accepting fear, not denying it, so why would they be the same?

Either way, someone is using both him and Mystery Inc to do something to Crystal Cove (please be Red Herring, please be Red Herring, please be Red Herring)

Actually, that reference at the beginning really WAS a red herring - they framed it as being Jon the whole time when it wasn’t. Kudos!

Additional kudos to having Jon be seen more out of mask than in - he is a looker, and I aim to look as much as I can ;)

-------

Annnnd Daphne’s now trying to convince Elvira to switch clothes with her

I don’t get it - how on earth did we get from Daphne trying to find a good costume for trick-or-treating to asking Elvira to switch oh there it is nevermind.

-----

There is literally a scene where a giant buzzsaw is slicing towards Crane

and he just

stares at it

going “huh, that’s different”

And I LOVE IT

------

And here we have another fascinating scene: Velma going to free Crane from his cell, as Daphne tells her to just leave him to die by pumpkin

I’m wondering if they meant to draw a parallel between the two here - Velma starts by reciting a nursery rhyme, then overcoming her fears in order to release madness to take control. It’s not done very cleanly - mainly bc we barely have any time with Crane in this movie - but I wonder if they meant to insinuate that Crane was like Velma once, where he refused to acknowledge he was afraid, which caused him to lose focus on his initial goals

Idk, ignore my ramblings

---

Crane, smirking: I’ll need my personal effects - extenuating circumstances.

Me, fanning myself: I’ll need you to remove yours first

(i am not even kidding, Crane is an absolute DILF in this movie and it flusters me. Stupid sexy animation)

---

YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSS

SCARECROW TO THE MOTHERFCUKING RESCUE BABY, SCYTHE AND FCUKING ALL!!!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

----

FCUK YEAH THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

HE HAS A DANCE LIKE QUALITY WITH SOME OF HIS FIGHTING MOVES

VIOLENT DANCING BRINGS THE GIANT JACKAL LANTERN DOWN BABY

THEN HE BACKFLIPS AND GYMNASTIC SWINGS INTO THE VAN

ROCK IT SCARECROW FCUKING ROCK IT

(minor note here, but the subtitles show Dr. Crane instead of Scarecrow - unsure if that’s more that the movie calls him Dr Crane or if it indicates he’s acting more heroic than villainous)

---

GODDAMNIT

THE GIANT PUMPKIN SNUCK VINES INTO THE VAN AND STOLE HIM BACK 

WHEN CRANE WAS... wearing a seatbelt before, but isn’t now.

...

BOOOOO

---

Yet again, we find a Scooby movie that attempts character development, but with Velma

Unlike Shaggy’s Showdown however, I’m mixed on how successful it is.

For starters, Velma hasn’t been this cocksure in other DTVs we’ve seen, so it’s a bit odd to see it now. While not 100% out of place - after all, the gang DID capture one of Batman’s Rogues Gallery on their own - it still feels a touch forced. Compare that to Shaggy’s Showdown, where Shaggy has ALWAYS been a coward (one that, in more recent years, writers have had willing to abandon his friends for safety), so the character development there feels more natural. 

The progression of events with Velma actually work somewhat okay - but again, here’s where past DTVs come to bite them in the ass. The past handful have had the gang be wrong, have had them fail, or catch the wrong guy. This makes Velma’s attitude here at odds with the other films, something that sticks more due to a character that’s appeared in the past few films as a minor inconvenience - a Sheriff who keeps telling the gang not to interfere, they’re doing things wrong, etc. If this had been a character who was completely wrong in the past AND SHOWN TO BE WRONG FOR HIS OPINIONS, while the gang never guessed wrong, this would work much better. Unfortunately, it doesn’t, and here we are. 

I think it would have flowed better if Velma’s cockiness came solely from catching Crane on their own. Have a random cop character or reporter or whatever (just not the recurring cop), insinuate that the gang is in too deep with Scarecrow, that he should be handled by the adults or professionals or whatever. Velma could bristle, overcompensate, and THEN fall from her pedestal like we see, reach out to the gang and commiserate over feeling scared, and grow. Again, it’s not too far to reach for, but they handle it poorly; as a result, the outcome feels a little more shoehorned in. 

It’s an honest shame, bc we haven’t had a Velma centered story since Frankencreepy, and we all remember what a hideous fcuking mess THAT was *shudders*. Still, it somewhat gets its point across, I guess.

---

Fred why did you rip your shirt off

Actually better question why do you not have nipples

--- 

Awwwwwww

Velma just apologized to Shag and Scoob for snapping at them earlier, and admits how she doesn’t appreciate how much they make Mystery Inc what it is

Also she eats a Scooby Snack with them and admits they taste pretty good

----

Huh

Velma’s mind palace is the Mystery Machine driving through space

Also Shaggy and Scooby are able to telepathically follow her in and communicate with her

Literally, they actually followed her into her head telepathically, and show her their memories of things she hasn’t gotten to see tonight (while also possibly enhancing her ability to remember things, given how much DETAIL she captures perfectly of things that she would maybe have glimpsed in a millisecond AT MOST)

...another tally for Crack Theory A of magic! Shaggy and Scooby *scribbles*

-------

Fred, be very very thankful that there are no people operating those pumpkins in person cause uhhhh

Those traps would be spraying red instead of orange

------

Another weird music choice - the gang goes up to fight the Jackal Lanterns, but the music is the same 60s bubble we heard earlier 

Not terribly atmospheric, really

(wouldn’t a Smashing Pumpkins cover of Scooby Doo be more appropriate, or did you guys spend all your money on hiring Elvira and Bill Nye?)

------

Dang

Velma just admitted her fears and jumped into the mouth of the Mega Pumpkin, before getting Fred to use the app from earlier to shut it down, revealing it to be a giant drone surrounded by smaller pumpkin drones

This feels… counterintuitive, but I’ll try to explain at the end

---

Okay

I’ll admit it

The Whodunnit is actually pretty decent in concept

There was a sprinkling of tidbits that could be assembled for the final conclusion and still make a decent amount of sense, all to find the sheriff doing it 

Only he isn’t a sheriff

He’s a former Tech CEO who was also busted by the gang years ago in a case the Sheriff kept bringing up throughout the movie - due to his prison sentence, he lost more than half his wealth and the opportunity to expand it further with the Crystal Cove Lithium deposits

He was also someone who sold tech to Crane for his fear toxin distribution, where he got the idea to frame him for it

(tho on a side note, Crane is an absolute dork and a terrible liar - just look at the email he sent XD and that profile pic, my gods)

He deliberately picked at the gang for the past few DTVs (specifically 2: Return to Zombie Island and Curse of the 13th Ghost) to fracture their confidence, undermine them, etc - all so that in one fell swoop, he could retake his fortune, frighten everyone in town away from the mines so they couldn’t interfere, frighten away the gang (while also ruining their reputation as mystery solvers), and take Crane off the docket so he couldn’t identify the CEO when he pretended to be the sheriff

This… is actually a pretty damn good plan, for a Scooby villain. He was patient, manipulative, and clever, learning how best to tie up loose ends and win back what he lost. A clever revenge story that came so close to coming to fruition, and could have honestly been sold convincingly… 

...if it hadn’t been done so much better in Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed. 

Yeeeaaaah, this movie basically lifts the rough framework up from that one - past mystery villain comes back to attack the gang and ruin their reputation (tho this one decides to also make his fortune back and tie up loose ends with former criminal contacts, a la Crane). Gang is embarrassed in front of the news folk, another villain is framed for it (like Old Man Wickles of the Black Knight fame), and the gang must reconcile to foil the villain for good.

Although it also??? Merges elements of Frankencreepy in it?? The movie is focused on Velma, who is struggling to admit when she’s wrong (which ties into her fear, somehow… I’ll think on that point a little) and things purportedly go haywire when she won’t bend. This… isn’t illustrated as well here, since there’s very little direct cause-and-effect from Velma’s actions that would prove this point - that insisting her way is the right, best, and therefore only way to go ends up making things worse.  

As much as I despised Frankencreepy (and I DESPISED IT), it did do that part well - showing that refusing to budge on something can lead to you hurting your friends (literally, in that one), and that admitting you were wrong and need help isn’t the end of the world. 

(that movie also had former villains returning to gain vengeance upon the gang using psychological warfare, hm - may need to go over that one again, unfortunately).

It’s a shame, too -  the basic elements for this plot are all here, they just need to be polished and reworked a bit to make a really fascinating movie. 

------

Anyways, back to the asshat CEO who just… faked being a sheriff. Because white people can get away with that so long as they have the outfit and the car *throws up hands* (the sad part is this is probably something that actually happens)

As he drives away we see a familiar silhouette looming in the cornfields, watching him approach

Velma had Bill Nye on speaker, so he could record the entire confession for the federal officers nearby (who were taking Scarecrow back to Arkham), and track the phone signal to his exact location

And right as his holographic call cuts out, we see the shadow of a Scarecrow looming over him, causing him to scream.

When the feds arrive at his final location, both his body and the money have vanished. The car still sits, engine running, before the crows leering over him from the field vanish into the sky. 

-------

Now that he’s dead, the gang walks and finds themselves at a Halloween party, with friendly faces and good food. The mystery is solved, though the culprit may never be found again. 

Then Daphne admits to NOT trying to steal Elvira’s costume for Halloween, but instead trying to steal Elvira’s identity and replace her. 

Something that she’s apparently nearly gotten away with on past mysteries working with Phillis Diller

*sighs* movie, why couldn’t you just stick to the costume schtick? This is just… so much worse. 

-----

From there, Elvira walks off to wrap things up, reveal the monster face on the back of her head sans wig (which was also a monkey), and start the credits, where we see the gang working to bring the Mystery Machine back to its former glory a la Frankenstein pastiche. 

This movie… this movie is a hot mess, but at least it’s an OKAY hot mess. 

It really does feel like someone started writing a decent Velma-focused movie concerning the Scarecrow and a past Mystery Inc villain interfering, but was bogged down by notes from higher-ups: Wait! Write in Elvira! Also write in Bill Nye! Hey, let’s have a Mad Max car chase with the Jackal Lanterns! And have Daphne obsessed with literally becoming Elvira! Also make reference to things that we’ll insist be explained this way instead of a way that makes sense! Great!

(seriously tho, we never find out who Crane cares about most that reminds him of Velma, what the heck?)

It’s like two or three different scripts were smooshed together without being cleaned up - stuff is said that doesn’t get resolved, the celebrity guests don’t get to breathe much and feel squished together, and the build-up for the villain feels… less impactful, even knowing that he’s been in the past two films. 

It might have worked if he’d been in… let’s say like 5 or 6 DTVs in a row, speaking roles for dissing the gang growing in each (ex start with “Good job kids! But maybe next time, leave it to the professionals, okay?” and growing more bitter from there), but only 2 feels kind of meh. Still, I do appreciate the clues we got to collect together, and they all work in the final breakdown of the scheme - some DTVs can feel like they pull stuff completely out of nowhere, so kudos there. 

I appreciate what they wanted to do with Velma - give her a character development arc similar to Shaggy’s in Shaggy’s Showdown. Unfortunately, it wasn’t set up quite so neatly: they blended her ‘refusal to admit fear’ with her overconfidence that she was always right, and it led to a weird conclusion. To face her fears, she leapt into the Giant Pumpkin, which… proved that she was right all along about it being fake, and that solves things somehow. It doesn’t address how she can get something wrong sometimes, it doesn’t really address what she’s afraid of (which is honestly quite good: she’s afraid of failing in a way that allows bad guys to escape justice and in a way that hurts her friends), it’s just a bit of a mess. Points for aiming the focus the right way (and in a way that DOESN’T sexualize the underage teenage girl, unlike some DTVs cough cough Frankencreepy cough cough), but it’s very very messy how it goes about it. 

The movie actually balanced pretty well for the whole gang - no excessive focus on one leaving the rest in the dust (too much at least - Fred was a touch underdeveloped, but nowhere near as annoying as past iterations have been. Shaggy and Scooby were kind of meh in some places but great in others, while Daphne was just odd. I think they were trying to recapture the BCSD Daphne characterization, but they failed. Still, she did spend some good time kicking ass with the pumpkins, so that was fun.

Now for the Rogue, Jonathan Crane. If you like Crane, this movie gives you: maniacal Scarecrow, calm and creepy Crane, a brief glimpse at fanboy!Crane (he admits in his own awkward way that he’s a fan of Elvira, and later tells her he loves her work - it’s fun), and (best of all for me) a heroic Crane - one who helps the protagonists and ends up kicking ass pretty damn well, brief as it was. And while DILF Crane is always a treat, he feels underutilized in this. In comparison, Scooby Doo/Batman Brave and the Bold really utilized a lot of different aspects of Riddler, to the point he actually does feel pretty menacing by the third act. It’s a shame we don’t quite get that with Crane, but I do love seeing him 1. More out of mask, and 2. Acting as a good guy (in his own way), so he’s enjoyable on the whole. 

I kind of wish that the whole movie was spent more with Crane, but again, the script is a bit of a mess on this part - the fact that he’s not completely screwed over is a goddamn miracle. 

Elvira was… okay. She didn’t have much of a purpose beyond getting the plot started and giving Daphne some hooks to play off of. Bill Nye (abrupt as his introduction was) did provide some necessary elements to the mystery, as well as the tech; he wasn’t too bad by the end. (still a touch bitter we didn’t get ex roommate Nye, but hey, what can you do)

Humor was… mixed. Some good, some meh, but very few long enough to feel painful. Some bits felt extraneous at times, but they did help to build to the conclusion, so points for effort.

At the end of the day though, I’m probably keeping this more for Jonathan Crane than anyone else. It does have a lot of fanfic potential tho 🤔🤔🤔

That’s all from me tonight, folks! Hope you enjoyed my own little breakdown of the movie. 

[krispydefendorpolice]

The Demon’s Bride (9)

Ok, here’s the next update of The Demon’s Bride. We are taking a bit of a turn and following Mari as she faces the akuma. And surprise we get a bit of a glimpse in how things have changed in the Demon’s verse. I would like feedback on the changes. Questions you have, things I can clarify.

Thank you for reading.

Beginning Previous Next Masterpost

——————————

Marinette and Max stepped through the portal onto a roof top in Paris, adjusting their body cams and turning on the comm units they used while fighting. Luka, Kagami and Chloé, in costume as Viperion, Ryuko, and Abielle, were already there and looking out where smoke was already rising above the rooftops.

“Status report,” she demanded.

“We are eight minutes into the attack. Early reports indicate the Akuma victim is 13 year old Amelia Soran. Her father’s statement to the reporting system said they had just received news about her mother’s death from the hospital before the butterfly was spotted,” Viperion gave her the current information they had. “Street support is sweeping through the area and evacuating any unaffected civilians.”

Marinette nodded, she had seen the specialist team as they passed their spot on the roof. “Any alley cat sightings?”

“Not yet,” Abeille said.

After a moments thought Marinette straightened, “Alright the first objective is capture of the akuma. The Commandant is in a meeting so we have Lieutenant Cheng and Lieutenant Intern Mullins for support. Abeille and Pegasi, you are on back up, keep the minions within the confinement area and assist the Lieutenant Intern and his team in evacuating the civilians. Viperion and Ryuko, you’re with me on Akuma fighting. Pegasi be ready for an emergency transport of Jiuweihu and the rest of team beta.

“The second objective as always, is containment of the rogue, Chat Noir, if possible. Questions?”

“No,” they responded in unison.

“Questions Lieutenant Cheng?” She said into the comm unit.

“None Lieutenant LadyBug, your plan is sound and we’ll keep updates coming from our end.” Mme. Anne Cheng replied an ocean away in Gotham city.

Marinette pulled out her Yo-yo. Spinning it in preparation, her smile almost feral, she said, “Bug out.”

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

Bruce Wayne, dressed in his costume as the Batman, sat in a meeting held in one of the conference rooms in the Hall of Justice in Washington D.C. He, Clark, Diana, Arthur, and J’onn also in their Hero Persona’s were meeting in with French military men from Paris to discuss why Paris had banned the ability of known heroes to travel within the borders of the city.

Commandant Zhao was a Chinese immigrant that worked with a team they were claiming was made up of magic users turned heroes. The trouble with the story was that despite some claims a few years ago of a terrorist, there was no evidence to support the stories they were telling. When he had been informed of the meeting, Bruce had done some research into the early requests for aid. He had found video’s of what appeared a child in costume claiming to be a hero and requesting aid from the Justice League.

After the first request from the mayor and several other well connected citizens had been received they had sent a league civilian administrator to investigate. They had found nothing in the two weeks they had been there and the files had been closed and subsequent requests had been filed as false claims.

The Commandant and several Parisian citizens had come to the United

States to have this meeting with the League in person and arrange to have their “Hero” Ladybug come and speak on the behalf of Paris.

The Commandant had his phone out and it had buzzed once almost thirty minutes ago but he had only glanced at it before putting it aside once more with a message to his assistant to “begin a timer”.

Currently he and Clark were arguing about expanding the French attendee list to include additional “heroes” to the French/League resolution announcement in two days when his phone began ringing.

Bruce was surprised by the immediate change in the French delegation. The Commandant picked up the call with a bark to “report” while his assistant picked up and booted a computer he had kept with him and insisted he maintain internet connection on.

“What’s the time,” Zhao asked the man.

“47 minutes,” he replied with a quick glance at his phone. “What’s the code for your monitors,” he asked one of the League techies that were present with a nod to the monitors on the wall behind the American heroes.

Bruce nodded for the techie to supply it and he turned to see what the man would pull up. He was surprised when he saw five different video feeds. It took him a moment but he surmised that they were likely body cam footage based on movement and point of view of arms moving in and out of frame. One showed an individual in a black costume reminiscent of a cat in an enclosed room. Two others were following behind another in a blue green costume, carrying another person in red and black. Video from the blue and green person showed the one he carried grimacing and tightly holding a hand to their side.

“Ryuko report,” the Commandant demanded.

A voice came over the speakers in French, “We are currently engaged in a tactical retreat. LadyBug was injured by the akuma when Chat Noir entered the fight. We are attempting to assess her status.”

“Why wasn’t Second Chance used immediately?” He asked.

Another voice, a male answered, “She vetoed my using it as Pegasi was able to capture Chat due to her injury.”

They watched as the video’s slowed and stopped on a roof. While the one they assumed was LadyBug was placed against a chimney the other two fighters turned back to look out for approaching dangers.

The American heroes watched as blue green hands moved over the red clad hero. Moving her hand they could see a stab wound in her upper abdomen.

Bruce glanced at Diana when she let out a soft moan at seeing the red hero face on from the video. She had her hands covering her mouth and she was looking on in horror at the scene.

“It’s bad Commandant,” the male voice came in again, “it’s definitely damaged something internally based on placement. We need to wrap up the fight fast if LB is going to be able to use a Miraculous to undo the damage.”

“Understood. We’ll need Pegasi to get Jiuweihu and go to Emergency Phase II Protocol. Abeille you’ll be on guard duty for LadyBug until the fight is finished and the akuma is captured...”

“Too late,” another voice interrupted and the heroes could see the red hero struggling to stand, using the chimney she was leaning against as a support. It was then that they realized that all three feeds were directed on her and hers was blocked by the blue hero in front of her. The three outer heroes pivoted to face the direction LadyBug was looking.

The Americans were face with their first akuma. She was small, obviously a child in appearance but her costume was strange. It seemed to be based on Ladybugs costume but inverted. Where hers was red the Akuma’s was black and vice versa.

“I need your Miraculous, LadyBug. Give it to me.”

——————————

So this chapter is a little shorter than I usually make them, only 1.1k words instead of my usual 1.5k, but this was a good place to end it. Feedback on questions I’ve left unanswered due to writer brain is appreciated.

In other news I’m opening a Patreon page. I would appreciate any readers that can subscribe for early access to my stories and eventually some original stories as well (right now I’m pretty focused on fan fics and exploring the craft). I’ll also have actual craft activities (scarves, gloves and other items) I do and raffles to give away some crafts to my patrons.

I’ll be moving out of state soon so won’t be posting new chapters for current stories for a bit though the next Demon’s Bride Drabble - When Sabine Met Tom will debut on Patreon on 2/23. My stories will resume being added onto tumblr as of 3/1 following my move. Thank you for all your support.

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Tag list capped out but it is changing with every post.

[whirlybirbs]

;   ---   SHATTERED HILT   /   01

summary: ru’kali survives order 66. cal kestis does, too. while cal spends his days on bracca, stripping starships for parts, ru spends her days earning her protection from the empire in the fighting pits on ordo eris; both do what it takes to survive. but, when a wayward quest and a plethora of owed debts lead cal kestis straight back to his fellow padawan -- a once shy girl turned raging fire -- the pit fighter is left with a choice: leave, or spend the rest of her life a pawn in a game much bigger than her. pairing: cal kestis / original female character, ru’kali lof word count: 2k a/n: i cannot remember the last time i wrote something that wasn’t a reader-insert, and i’m not sure how this will do -- feedback is genuinely appreciated on this, since i know i’m mostly a reader writer! everyone loved ru from her intro to my clone trooper squad, which you can read here! 

Ru’kali Lof startles awake to the sound of three loud, rough bangs on the door to her quarters. 

She wonders bitterly, as she blinks up at the ceiling, if she can just ignore the sound. With any luck, they’ll leave her alone and Ru can go back to bed --

Then, the knocks come again. Louder and faster. 

“Rise ‘n’ shine, sweetheart!”

Ru snarls.

Beneath the durasteel door, she can see the long shadow of someone shifting back and forth in their boots -- immediately, the Mirialan, as she stands and throws herself to the door, knows it’s Atticus. The sheer bombastic chaos that follows the bounty hunter swims through the force to greet her before she even opens the door.

When she does, he’s got an arm on the doorframe and he’s leering. 

Atticus Rex isn’t much to look at, nor is he kind nor smart, but he’s muscle -- his head is shaved in a tight buzz, littered with scars, and his muzzled grin is picked clean with a toothpick that hangs from his lips. 

He smells like day-old ale and sweat.

“Where y’ been, Ru?”

It leaks out of him like a jab. She has to restrain the snarl that threatens to leap across her face. Her attitude is sharp and wants to go straight for the Haxion Brood Lieutenant’s throat. 

“Asleep,” she bites, crossing her arms and cocking a hip as she goes to hit the switch and shut the door, “Do you mind?”

Atticus snorts, hand planted on the frame and forcing the door to stay open. 

Ru leans back, peering into her room, to eye the chronometer hanging on the wall. The digits read 1038 -- it’s late, and she’d finally fallen asleep after she’d managed to quiet down the usual roaring river in her mind. Not an easy task. 

"Get dressed,” the Bounty Hunter chirps, “S’ fight night, sunshine.”

--

Fight nights were common.

But, fight nights were Ru fought? Those were rare -- and though she’s sure Sorc Tormo would put her in the ring every night if he could, she’s also aware that to the Umbaran crime-lord she’s an asset. A big asset. A big, money-making asset that draws a big crowd and big bets.

Huge bets.

(The exact kind of bets that got Greez Dritus into this mess in the first place, and by proxy his new-found friend.)

Ordo Eris, on fight nights, becomes more like a city than the cold, lonely, terrible astroid colony it really is. The space station fills with scoundrels and thugs from all across the galaxy who traverse the rocky space around the arena’s hub to get a spot around the ring -- Ru eyes the growing crowd, nearly every attendee with credits in hand, as the lift carries her upwards to the top level of the arena’s loge.

Beside her Atticus flicks the smoldering bud of his deathstick down the shaft.

Speaking of Sorc Tormo, the sleaze ball greets Ru’kali with wide open arms and a devious grin. 

“Ah! My prized warrior princess!”

Ru cross her arms and swaggers forward -- the small rope of lucky beads tied to her sash tinkers as she does, knocking against the chromium smelted hilt of one of her two sabers. One is hers from when she was a Padawan. The other is a recent build and it’s temperamental. Using a stolen, mined kyber crystal is to blame, no doubt.

Master Yoda was right -- the crystals are supposed to pick the Jedi. 

Atticus meanders along behind you. Skulking as per usual.

Ru looks out past the arena to the screens bolted up along the pit. Pale blue eyes narrow tightly, the deep scar over her right eye warping slightly as she does. The broadcast is in the lower levels. Some idiot running around on the walls. Plugging wires in. 

A show, for sure.

Ru raise a brow.

“What’s all this about?” she asks, turning to eye Sorc Tormo.

The Umbaran man is eccentric, to say the least. His facial hair runs right down his chin in one fine line, green in color. That same green, punchy and vomit-reminiscent, echoes in his Canto Bight-esque outfit. Large, pompous sleeves and pants that are three sizes too tight. All green. 

He looks like seventy kliks of bad road, honestly. 

Hell, everyone on Ordo Eris does. 

Ru’kali is no exception -- she’s rougher than she was when she first arrived here. Littered in scars and bitter. The years of pit fighting have settled in her stance and though she’s athletic, she’s a rogue brawler with enough crackling, dangerous rage to power an entire Star Destroyer.

Fighting takes the edge off. Makes her feel less afraid. 

“Well,” the lone, pale fingers of the Umbaran curl around Ru’kali’s pale pink shoulders, nails drumming against the diamond shaped markings there, “I am glad you asked, my dear. We have a special contender for you --”

“Cut to the chase, Tormo.”

The egg shaped head of the Umbaran rolls as he steps away, waving off Ru’s evident irritation; the crime-lord gestures to the screen. “He’s friends with someone who owes me a lotta money. He was carrying this around --”

His fingers snap twice.

“Atticus --”

Ru’kali was not expecting Atticus Rex to procure, from the back of his belt, a lightsaber.

And she certainly wasn’t expecting him to hand it to Tormo and for the Umbaran to ignite it, presenting a glimmering yellow blade. 

The Mirialan’s face falls -- anger bubbles up there, warping the navy tattooed features of her face as she steps forward and yanks the hilt from the hands of the crime-lord.

Her lips twitches.

“What?” she sneers vengefully, “Did he pull this from a corpse, then?”

She has seen another Jedi’s saber three times now in this station. Once on the belt of a traveler who’d laughed in her face and waved the blue thing around, proudly proclaiming they’d bought it off clone trooper for drinking money. The second time, on a bounty hunter -- he’d murdered a Jedi Knight for Imperial credits, kept the blade though. The third, was now. 

Ru could only assume the weapon to be another stolen relic, a ground-in-the-dirt memory of her life before Ordo Eris. This contender probably had no idea how to use it, let alone the life this saber had before now.

A laxidasical wave. “Maybe. Don’t care. But! My sweet, sweet, Jedi -- I want you to kill him. Seeing two saber swordsmen dueling... Goodness, me oh my, that will certainly bring in the money, won’t it, Atticus?”

“Sure will.”

And it does.

--

Cal Kestis is having a pretty shit day.

Not that he’d ever say so -- no, because, sure, it might be terrible and he might be navigating some wild underground dungeon maze, but Cal has BD-1 back on his shoulder and that’s all that matters. 

He’s got a mission, he’s got BD-1, and despite being a little sore, he’s good. All good. Everything’s good. Totally good. 

As he rides the lift to the upper levels of this... place... Cal wonders if he’s gonna eat that sentiment.

The first thing he hears is the chants -- raucous roars of a large crowd. Before him lays a large square space, illuminated by stark spotlights and swarmed with drone droids, each with blinking red lights on their helms to show their recording status. 

It becomes abundantly clear to Cal that he’s suddenly in the spotlight. And, that the itching feeling that he was being watched was correct. 

The redheaded Jedi steps out from under the bay, suddenly exposed to the bright light of the arena. 

Around him on the upper decks are hundreds of people, all clamoring to get a view of him -- the large screens on the sides of the loge show him squinting, raising a hand and grimacing into the light. 

BD-1 gives a worried boowoop. 

“I got a bad feeling about this too, lil’ buddy.”

Suddenly, a holo-projection fizzles in before Cal -- large and tall and to the excitement of the crowd. The man’s appearance is met with a rise in cheers, rolling off the voices of the spectators with thirst for action. 

Sorc Tormo laughs.

“Ah, finally he arrives!” 

The projection waves wildly, spinning about, and Cal watches carefully as this eccentric ego-maniac waves his hand with a grandiose flourishes as he speaks. 

“We had action on how long it would take for you to get here!”

Yeah, well, BD-1 was kinda his priority.

Irritation bites at Cal’s features. The Jedi scowls. His stance is tense.

“And who are you?” Cal calls out, voice rising over the roar of the crowd.

“Ha ha ha! Who am I? I’m Sorc Tormo, baby! I’m the boss of this operation!”

The crowd goes wild at that, whoops and hollers serenading the arena to the tune of the crimelord’s name. A television drone swoops close to Cal’s head and the Jedi side-steps it with a disgusted look on his face. 

“Right,” Cal snarks, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Maybe not you, but to your friend Greezy Four-arms it does! You’ve got him to thank for gettin’ you into this pickle!”

Of course. 

Cere had made a comment off-hand about the pilot’s penchant for gambling -- not that Cal was any stranger to the concept. Back on Bracca, Prauf had muscled Cal into tagging along to a few card games here and there. And though the redhead never partook in wagering his entire week’s pay on precious metals, Prauf had once or twice. On those nights that Prauf lost -- because he always lost -- there was nothing that could lift the Abednedo’s mood. 

Not even a signature Cal Kestis smile 'n’ pat on the back. 

Cal could use one of those right about now. 

“Yeah, well, once I’m finished with you, I will thank Greez,” it comes out just as cocky as it feels -- and maybe Cal shouldn’t had tried the attitude. 

Either way, when this Sorc Tormo guy laughs and waves his hand, proclaiming, “No, no, my friend, you won’t be fighting me...”

Suddenly, the air becomes electric.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the crime-lord turns on a heel, gesturing to the crowd with the all the practiced cool of an entertainer, “Our lovely little guest will be going head to head with our favorite...”

There’s a crescendo of excitement. Cal notices an uptick on the counter on the broadcast screens -- he realize, quickly, that they’re bets and currently, someone named Fropolo’f is betting the most money against him. Real confidence booster that is. 

“Someone get baby his toy! He’s gonna need it!”

His lightsaber is launched from the loge, and the Jedi catches it quickly, igniting it on instinct as his skin crawls in anticipation. The redhead looks around, eyes cast on the crowds of smugglers and thugs lining the balcony.

The wide angle shot of fear on his face is painted across the rumbling arena’s screens.

Before Cal can bite in a retort, the echo of boots on durasteel begins -- coordinated and rhythmic. Boom... boom... boom... boom, boom, boom.

“You know her well -- a pure whirlwind of rage! She’s pink, she’s tatted, she’s daaaaaaaangerous!” 

Boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom.

BD makes a nervous boo-weeeeeeeep as the pace picks up. Cal swallows, gloved fist tightening nervously around the hilt of his glowing, golden blade. Green eyes dart around the square expanse of the arena, trying to get a gauge on where this opponent might appear from --

“Give it up for our girl...”

Boomboomboom, boomboomboom. 

“RUUUUUUUU’KALLLLI!”

The roar is deafening. 

Suddenly, the paneling in the floor separates, and from it emerges --

“...Ru?”

Ru’kali Lof is suddenly staring face-to-face with a ghost.

Her stance, wide-set with double blades humming in a hot white, seems to crack when she finally sees the face of her opponent.

She’s a handful of meters away but she’d know that flash of red hair anywhere.

Cal Kestis.

Cal fucking Kestis.

Oh, this is bad. 

This is really bad. 

[snarkwrites]

"I learned so much more just being out in the world, you know, and a little bit in jail." This quote made me laugh, and now I wonder what kind of headcanons you'd come up with on that theme. (Maybe something with Rick & Shane?) 🌻

I had so much time to think about this whilst sick, my darling sunflower anon and... This is what I came up with. No real appearances of my original character Evie here, btw, so I’m sorry in advance if you were hoping for that? Anyway... This is merely a what if... What if Shane hadn’t gone into law enforcement? What if he’d given into the dark side much much earlier?

If you’ve ever found yourself wondering that, by all means, keep reading.

Is it wrong that I’m tempted to write an AU of walking dead where like... it starts out like this? Maaybe.. But I doubt I do it, lmao.

WARNING:

Heavy on the angst. Mentions of Rick being shot, a bank robbery, several wrong choices in life made by Shane.. Possibly OOC, idk though.. ANGSTY AF.

TAGGING:

@rampagewriting - I guess maybe you’d wanna see this idk? @chasingeverybreakingwave - bc I know you like Shane so I thought maybe this would be of interest... @missjennferb - i thought you might like this idk... 

If anyone wants to be tagged, add yourself to my multifandom doc, otherwise I don’t tag.

OTHER STUFF:

[ masterlist - about - tag list doc ] 

Everyone always told them both “You’re going places, kid.” For Rick, it was surprisingly simple. The world, for whatever reason, deemed him as someone who had great things ahead in life. Rick seemed to rise above and beyond everyone’s expectations. Even those of his father, which were astronomical because the old man was nothing if not a perfectionist. A trait which was definitely passed down to Rick in spades...

-- Shane, not so much. Having a rough around the edges drunk burn out former football star for a daddy only means one thing... Either you get out of his footsteps and you do better, you go farther than the old man, or you succumb to all the pressure and the negativity the old man feeds you and you wind up crushed under it’s weight. 

-- At first, it certainly seemed as if Shane Walsh were destined for great things like Rick, his chosen ‘brother’ from another mother. All-Star on their high school’s football team, took them all the way to state two or three years on the team... But even having that damn State Championship ring wasn’t enough. The harder Shane Walsh pushed the world, the harder the world pushed back until that fateful game day senior year when Shane Walsh finally pushed too fucking hard. The end result was an injury that left his football aspirations shattered on the ground. 

-- Rick did everything he could to keep his best friend uplifted. He was at every single procedure and every single therapy session but Shane was really starting to give up. To lose any shred of hope that he ever held. As a result, he started to resent Rick’s success (and the fact that Rick was the one that their coach chose to fill Shane’s spot didn’t help matters any)... Shane’s father didn’t help either, what with the constant remarks about Shane having never been anything but trash, destined for the same life he lead.

-- Rick went on to the police academy after his own injuries put a stop to his dream of playing college ball. His father was more encouraging. Caring... Despite neither man being able to show emotions all that well. Rick knew he had the love and support of his family, this is something that Shane probably never knew the feeling of.

-- I firmly believe that if Evie were an actual character during this whole universe, she would’ve TRIED and fought like hell for Shane but ultimately, Shane would’ve pushed her away just as he did Rick. I know, I know... This is the only mention I intend of putting about Evie in here though. Anyway, yeah...

Shane goes career military. And at first, he’s fine with it. But he’s sent overseas and he’s exposed to nightmarish conditions, he’s forced to choose between his humanity or caving, giving into darkness and corruption even further. Doesn’t help that during this time, a high ranking officer takes the young man under his wing and basically turns him into a glorified killing machine, puts him into situations that will later spell disaster for the young man.

-- Shane goes awol after a mission goes wrong and he’s left with mild PTSD in the days and weeks following. 

-- I know this wouldn’t happen IRL, but.. for whatever reason, the government chooses not to pursue the rogue officer Shane Walsh. Shane goes back home to King County and he’s a changed man... Darker... More cynical.. Angrier. With time, this grows and festers to a point where Shane is now living an almost sub-human life, taunted by the lives he’s taken and seen taken in front of him. He turns to a life of crime.

This, of course, all comes to a head when Shane’s accepted into a group of known thieves. The bank heist nearly goes off without a hitch until Shane is face to face with his old pal Rick... He freezes, which is a stupid.. stupid.. thing to do. He has to choose between shooting a friend that he still very much cares about and losing that last shred of humanity or running for it, knowing Rick will find him and he will take him into custody. 

-- I say he has to choose but it turns out that he doesn’t. See, one of the guys, a guy named One Hand Fred... He makes the choice for SHane. Shoots Rick in the chest. Shane is then torn between leaving with their score and his ‘crew’ or staying to make sure Rick sees safety.

-- Shane chooses to stay. This is how Shane’s story ends, with him taking the fall for the entirety of the bank heist and being sentenced to prison. Rick knows the truth. Rick TRIES to fight for a better deal, a fairer sentence.. Doesn’t work. Rick asks for one last favor from his co-workers, and that’s that he gets to be the one who escorts Shane to prison... On the way in, the two have a long and deep conversation in which your quote comes into play. Rick asks Shane if he’s really learned anything at all about the path he’s taken in life and all Shane can do is throw up those walls again and shrug it off. “Dunno, Grimes. Ask me again in 15 to 25 years, man.”

[fizzyxcustard]

Fear and Loathing (2)

Chapter 1

Masterlist

Fandom: seaQuest 2032

Summary: (Part 2 of The Right Thing - this will be a chaptered fic) Captain Hudson knows that you and Lucas are more than just friends, and after changing your shift rotations to make sure you’re not on duty together, you take things into your own hands and request a transfer from seaQuest. Before your transfer can be processed, officers and crew begin showing signs of extreme anxiety, anger and paranoia. Some are worse affected than others, you being one of them. Can you fight for not only your relationship with Lucas but your state of mind?

Pairings: Ensign Lucas Wolenczak x FemLieutenant!Reader, Commander Jonathan Ford x Lieutenant Lonnie Henderson (only slight)

Warnings: Language, violence, insecurity, angst, paranoia, anxiety, mental instability, very mild sexual references, age difference/gap.

Comments: If you wish to be added to my seaQuest tag list, which will be separate from all my other tags, let me know, and I will only tag you in these if you specifically request to be tagged. This is practically a dead fandom now, but I would still like to share my writings with you. If you would like to ask any questions, then by all means just ask!

Captain Hudson ushered you into his quarters, and Lucas automatically followed on behind without any prompt. Lucas’ heart was racing frantically. He was losing you. And how could he stop it?

With a loud sigh, Hudson sat behind his desk. “I hope to get back to running this vessel sometime today,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you apologised. “I’m aware of problems that have occurred due to my personal conduct with Ensign Wolenczak, and that is why I wish to request a transfer.” You stood upright, your hands behind your back, much in contrast to Lucas’ defensive posture of his crossed arms.

Lucas was aghast at you. “You can’t!”

You placed your official request of transfer down on Hudson’s desk. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Hudson said.

“You can’t actually accept this!” Lucas shouted, glaring at the Captain and pointing at the white envelope for emphasis.

Hudson’s jaw clenched in frustration and his eyes darkened. “You will control yourself, Ensign, or it will be you I transfer. She has every right to request transfer, and I thank you for your professionalism, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir,” you replied, still remaining composed.

“Ensign, please return to your station. Lieutenant, I’d like a word.”

Lucas looked at you sadly, a stray tear falling down his cheek. Then he left the room, his shoulders hunched, the weight of the world resting upon them.

You continued to be composed, despite your heart shattering. By giving in to your feelings and instincts, you were now jeopardising your career.

“Take a seat,” Hudson instructed. It was quite plain for him to see the pain in your eyes that you were trying so hard to conceal. Hudson’s face softened and he sighed. “I was his age once, believe it or not, and he still has a lot of growing up to do in order to fill that uniform. Losing either of you is the last thing that I want to see happen, but may I give you a piece of advice?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t keep letting him push you to take full responsibility for this. Be accountable for your actions, and yours alone. Maybe the shift rotation change was a little harsh. Whilst I consider your transfer request, you’ll go back to your original shift pattern as of now. However, outside of duty and meal times, you and Mr. Wolenczak are under strict orders to remain separated. If I find that either of you have broken this order, you’ll both be dismissed from duty immediately.”

“Thank you for understanding, Sir,” you said, saluted, and left.

You returned to the bridge and sat beside Lucas in your usual spot. “Keep quiet, and that’s an order, Ensign,” you instructed, never looking at him. However, you could imagine his expression, but couldn’t bring yourself to look.

“Is everything alright, Lieutenant?” Commander Ford asked, approaching your station.

“Yes, Commander. Captain Hudson has changed my shift rotation back to its original pattern while my request for transfer is considered.” You knew that the others on the bridge were having their ears filled with your personal business, but you resigned yourself to the fact that they would all eventually find out what was happening.

For the rest of the day you and Lucas remained quiet, barely speaking but a handful of words to each other, which were always in connection with duty. Each time Hudson gave an order, you could see Lucas’ jaw clench tight and sheer loathing flash in his eyes. Hudson had understood you far more than you ever thought he would, and considering his authority, he hadn’t brought punishment down upon you that was as firm as other captains. The very first captain of seaQuest, Marilyn Stark, who perished after going rogue in her extreme ideas, would have probably recommended complete stripping of your rank and Lucas’, calling for your dismissal from the Navy and UEO. No way would you have been employed for either again, not even for a desk job in headquarters. There were certainly harsher captains to serve under.

At dinner, Lucas came behind you, holding an empty food tray. “What are you doing?” he growled in your ear.

“I’m doing what needs to be done, Lucas,” you hissed back in response. You never turned to see his face, but you could imagine his infamous sulking pout. The food you had put on your tray didn’t seem all that appealing, and as you gazed over it, your stomach began to lurch, and you could feel the all too familiar palpitations in your chest. It all seemed stronger than usual, until you lost your grip on the tray and it fell to the floor. All of a sudden you found yourself on the floor next to your tray. Lucas’ voice broke through the cloud of grogginess and dizziness that was surrounding you. Every breath you took and it felt like splintered glass in your chest.

“I’ll take her to Med Bay,” Lucas told the small gathering around you. Eyes were looking down on you and voices were loud, chattering at you and through you. The faces looked as though they were dissolving; you blinked hard, causing flashes of light to break through the darkness beneath your eyelids. Lucas tried to help you up, but you toppled to the side, nearly taking him down to the floor with you.

There was a small commotion around you as officers flitted in and out, and Lonnie finally returned with a wheelchair.

Lucas wheeled you out, and still your vision remained blurred. It was like a sheet of blue and silver before your eyes with flashes of beige and other colours, moving this way and that. Breath was passing through you a little easier now and the chest pain was subsiding.

In the Med Bay and the doctor, a middle-aged Irish fellow with glasses, began to inspect you, asking about your symptoms. By now and you felt jittery, as if your muscles were contracting more than they should have been. A fluttering was still present in your gut and chest.

“It sounds like a panic attack to me,” the doctor mused. “But the fact you fainted and have blurred vision is what is concerning me. Maybe a sudden change in blood pressure? I’d like to take blood samples and keep you in overnight.”

“Do you think it’s serious?” Lucas asked in concern.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your fingers gripping the sheets. Lucas and the doctor’s voices seemed to drift away as you felt the hair on your neck stand to attention, and subconsciously your teeth ground against one another.

Captain Hudson appeared at your bedside after he’d heard of what had happened. “Lieutenant,” he began. Then his suspicious gaze shot to Lucas, who was stood the other side of your bed. “Ensign, the doctor can do his job from here.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas replied, venom dripping from his tone. He shot one last concerned and sad glance at you before disappearing.

“I want to keep her overnight for observation, Captain,” the doctor began. “The passing out and blurred vision is what’s concerning me.”

“Do what you need to, Doctor. I just want my Lieutenant back in one piece,” Hudson said.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a spot of admiration for your captain. He may have been stern and abrupt, but he cared for his crew and looked after them well.

“I admired your actions today. It’s your integrity that I greatly appreciate. Get some rest,” Hudson said, shooting you a faint smile before walking out of the room.

The next half an hour was the doctor examining you. Eye test, hearing test, blood pressure, blood test and urine sample. Naturally your blood pressure was a little elevated due to the stressors on your body. The blood test would be ready the following morning; every aspect of your body’s function would be tested.

Lonnie came to visit shortly before the doctor was due to finish. “Do you want me to bring you anything?” she asked kindly. You asked for your journal and current novel you were reading.

By the time that it was half ten, you could feel fatigue setting in. Calm had come over you again, and you lay down, closing your eyes. Waves and the moon. Black sky and sparkling stars. Lucas holding you. They way it should have been. And as you drifted away into sleep, you never noticed one tear fall down your cheek.

As you ate breakfast the next morning in the Med Bay, the doctor began reading through your test results. He furrowed his eyebrows; the blood test showed normal activity for your immune system, sugar and lipids, but your hormone levels showed a significant drop in serotonin and high adrenaline levels. An unknown viral strain was present but its DNA did not match anything in the medical database.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said. He pulled up a chair next to your bed.

“Morning, Doctor,” you replied, swallowing a mouthful of toast.

“I’ve looked over your blood test results this morning, and whilst most of it is normal, your blood is showing a dip in serotonin levels and an unknown viral toxin.”

“Virus?” you asked, shocked. You had been under the impression that all this was was a panic attack induced by stress.

“A panic attack makes sense with the lowered levels of serotonin and elevated adrenaline. But this virus concerns me as I’m not sure if it was responsible for the symptoms in the first place.”

“I’ve suffered with anxiety for some years, Doctor. And I stopped taking medication for it when I enlisted at twenty-two.”

“I’d like to keep you here for another few hours and take regular blood samples. I intend to send them to the main lab at the UEO headquarters and see what their thoughts are. Maybe we can look at online counselling to help with the anxiety.”

Lucas visited you that morning before his shift. He stood at your bedside and smiled sadly. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot calmer but tired. The doctor says I have a virus which isn’t identified, and isn’t sure if it’s linked to my panic attack and passing out last night.”

“If you need anything at all, I’m here. Just ask.” He reached out and touched your hand, but you flinched and pulled away.

“Don’t!” you said sternly.

“You’re letting Captain Hudson dictate our lives!” Lucas hissed.

Your heart began to pound again and the sharp pains built, radiating through your chest like forks of electricity. You gasped, trying desperately to get your breath. “Get….out….” you were able to say.

“Ensign, please leave,” the doctor ordered.

Later that morning and Lucas was pulled into Captain Hudson’s quarters. Lucas, as usual, stood with his jaw clenched and his eyes glaring in anger at the captain.

“You are not to visit her again, Ensign! Do I make myself clear?” Hudson boomed. “It’s funny how both attacks she’s suffered have been when in your company. Not only does she have more moral integrity than you and professionalism by requesting a transfer, but she’s fighting an unknown virus. I will not have you put more on her shoulders.”

“I’ve put nothing…”

“Enough!” Hudson shouted. “I’m thisclose,” he began, holding his forefinger and thumb close together for emphasis, “to shredding her transfer request and putting you aboard another vessel instead. Captain Bridger allowed you far too much freedom on this boat. You’ll learn to keep your mouth shut, follow orders and not back answer me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas growled.

“Good. Get out of my sight,” Hudson shot back.

You remained in the Med Bay for the rest of the day. Lonnie came to visit and brought you fresh underwear and toiletries to wash with. She stayed for a little while, comfortable in your bedside chair, talking about what had happened on the bridge that day. “Be glad that you can have a break,” she giggled. “It’s not right without you though.”

“I’m hoping to be back in a couple of days. The doctor wants me to rest and de-stress, which is easier said than done in this place, especially with Lucas’ constant sulking.” You sighed.

“Hey, I know you think the world of him, but you can’t let him keep putting on to you. He’s stressing you to the point of making you sick. I know you requested a transfer and it’s because of him. He still has a lot of growing up to do.”

“You’re right. He does.”