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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

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1800titz · 1 year ago

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Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs.

It’s a nice view.

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor.

Well.

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest.

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man.

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely.

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought.

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence.

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry, sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon.

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge.

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly.

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply.

“Let’s give this another go.”

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again.

So.

That was a failure.

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch.

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts.

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?”

Seren stares him down.

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child.

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?”

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage.

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?”

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head.

“I’d just like a chat.”

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts.

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.”

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence.

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech.

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips.

“Third time’s the charm.”

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment.

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed.

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically.

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?”

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny.

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute.

“This is a pretty piece.”

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph.

That’s a pretty sound.

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story.

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin.

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.”

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth.

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little.

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs.

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes.

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead.

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down.

“Y’gonna get loud?”

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs.

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress.

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.”

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip.

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth.

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances.

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers.

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face.

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day.

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over.

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly.

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?”

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth.

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision.

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.”

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks.

Almost.

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.”

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed.

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority.

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.”

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift.

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?”

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait.

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this.

He doesn’t.

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.”

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone.

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself.

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.”

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds.

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated.

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?”

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t.

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead.

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips.

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.”

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process.

The silence is wonderful.

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight.

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold.

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls.

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall.

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud.

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift.

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass.

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn.

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again.

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall.

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles.

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away.

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all.

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before.

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far.

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.”

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it.

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.”

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.”

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves.

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t.

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut.

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh.

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.”

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag.

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!”

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.”

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language.

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.”

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously.

It’s a victory.

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship.

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.”

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

#pirate!harry #pirate au #piraterry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #dom harry styles #harry styles #harry styles dirty fanfiction #enemies to lovers #harry styles enemies to lovers

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saturnville · 7 months ago

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ii hands ii heaven, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x she (black!fem!reader) warning: suggested sexual situations content: in which two newlyweds bask in the essence of one another. an: don't ask me what I know about LH44, I'm not gonna front and act like I know this man like the back of my hand. I saw some videos, watched some interviews, read some fics, and now we're here. just know I wanted to write & I pictured him for this fic lol. hope y'all enjoy

Soft mewls flowed from her parted lips like a waterfall. Her noises dove and crashed into the deepest oceans of their devotion. The intimacy of the moment was deep. They welcomed themselves to drown in it, leaving air at the surface and choosing to inhale the breath of adoration the other exuded.

With the soft light of dawn peering through the curtains, their bodies wove together like yarn, knotted together and unable to be untangled. As he whispered sweet sentiments against the shell of her ear, the remnants of the outside world faded away.

The desperation for one another flowed between them like lava, further igniting their passion and desire. They moved together in a unified harmony, exploring all the other had to offer. Tender affection and unrestrained passion were their portion. Each fiery touch, each delicate kiss was an unspoken promise of the depth of their love.

When the heat of passion began to cool, they stayed wrapped in the warm embrace of one another; damp bodies pressed against each other like glue. On their lips were smiles fueled by dopamine. Low eyes filled with adoration.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his breath warm against her lips. She giggled like a lovesick teenager and whispered back, bringing her trembling hand to his face, drumming her finger over his bitten and swollen lips. “Let’s get ready, yeah?”

She nodded slowly, her face lifting against the pillow as her head moved. She sat up slowly, her wince falling on the ears of her lover. He swiftly wrapped his arms around her and swept her off the warm bed. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Baby!”

He hummed softly and placed her on her feet. His tattooed arm opened the shower door and turned the handle. He waited for the water to warm before ushering her into the shore with a tap against her bottom. She scolded him playfully, “Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll try my best.”

What was intended to be a quick cleanse turned into a thirty-minute shower with heavy droplets against their bodies as she was pressed against the glass, heaving as the humidity invaded her throat. Goodness, they’d be so late.

They couldn’t keep themselves off of each other. His zipping the back of her dress led to his fingers brushing her hair off her neck and tracing the placement of her dark locks with his lips. Her eyelids fluttered closed as her hands gripped the edge of the counter. He would be the death of her.

Her tongue darted out and slid over her swollen bottom lip. His hands began to wander over the perfectly fitted dress. It was the prettiest emerald green shade and complimented her skin's richness wonderfully. Every curve, riff, and ridge was accentuated. She looked beautiful.

“Okay, okay,” she whimpered, pressing her hands against his thigh. “We gotta go, baby, we gotta go.” She turned in his arms and began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. His chest, decorated with tattoos and the finest of jewelry.

“You look stunning,” he whispered, caressing her waist. “So pretty.”

She smiled bubbly and pecked his lips, “Thank you kindly.” Her hands smoothed out the thick linen of his suit jacket, the bling from her rings catching his eye. His heart leaped at the sight.

He hummed lowly and squeezed her bottom, smirking when his fingers caught the dampness between her legs. She gave him a look. He gave one back. “Mhm. The quicker we get out of here, the quicker we get back. Let’s go, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“That’ll never get old,” she said, reaching behind to swipe her purse off the counter.

Her husband smiled softly and led her out of their shared bedroom. With a light kiss against her temple, he said, “It’s not supposed to. Let’s get out of here.” As they prepared to depart, the intimacy lingered like the sweetness of her fragrance.,

With whispered words, playful touches, and gentle kisses, they prepared themselves for what the outside world had to offer. Heaven.

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton #lh44 #team lh44

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the-heartlines · 9 months ago

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"Whisper it into my ear, little whore. Beg your lord for your lady's tongue upon your pearl, my little dragon princess. Beg your father to let your mother fuck you."

anonymous requested a sequel to this fic: rhaenys x corlys x aegon's twin!reader ~ fem!reader [explicit / 1.5k] ~

🔞 warnings: begging, pregnancy, lactation kink, breast sucking, cunnilingus, overstimulation, female ejaculation, mommy kink, daddy kink, pseudo incest. 🔞

my ao3 ~ taking requests for fics

The threat of war loomed on the horizon, emerald green bleeding into crimson black, tensions rising with every day that passed. The end of your pregnancy was nigh, which delighted your lord and lady, bringing them joy in such depressing, dreadful, and dreary times. Especially for you. You could barely walk up the stone steps of the castle, let alone climb upon your dragon, Sunspyre, or dare ride her.

Your emotions had increased sevenfold with every passing moon, and you cried every time, desperately, wishing you could fly, soar through the air, taste the salt of the sea, feeling the lovely breeze upon your flushed cheeks. But instead you were a prisoner to your ever growing body, stuck in this lavish room, with swollen ankles, and tear stained cheeks, glaring out through the open windows, the skyline and sparkling vast blue taunting you. You cried when you heard the maesters warning your lady of how important bedrest was in the final weeks of your pregnancy. You sobbed even harder, almost wailing for your very own mother, when you realized how precisely strict the guidelines were, not even allowed to venture anywhere near anyone who might see the swollen bump underneath your gowns. Who may gossip and spread rumors, truths...of your whereabouts. For no one knew for certain where the princess had run off to, on dragonback, escaping the eve of her wedding to her twin brother.

For your lord, and especially, your lady, were particularly protective of you and their babes.

Twins were growing inside you, two heart beats beneath your very own. And you were so very thankful to the seven that it wasn’t his, your future-husband-to-be's. He was a drunk and a wastrel, as your younger brother had put it many times.

Your heart and Sunspyre’s spirit decided that your combined destiny would be here, for the ocean had always called to you, ever since that fateful night on Driftmark almost a decade ago, where everything changed.

And Sunspyre had landed here, upon sand and stone, where you had found refuge with your most gracious hosts, who had been nothing but kind and attentive, since the day they found you…made you theirs.

The Sea Snake and the Queen Who Never Was were the most generous, most giving, and the most possessive of you. They called you their ultimate treasure and treated you as such, with their hands and tongues upon your body and deep inside you.

Growing up in King's Landing, you were always treated second to Aegon, your twin, being nothing more than a pawn in your mother and grandsire's game; but here in Lord Corlys' and Lady Rhaenys' presence, you were truly a princess, a precious prize to be proud of. Their hidden pearl of High Tide.

Being hidden away as such, was a small price to pay, to appease and please them, but your passions and emotions were beyond what you could take, and you needed your lord and lady more than ever before. You needed their constant attention and devotion, the pleasure they inflicted upon you so easily after all these moons.

"Please, please, my lady," you begged Lady Rhaenys, biting your lip, looking at her wickedly with wide violet eyes. "Please make me come, sweet mother." Your tone drips tempestuously, along with the wetness of your cunt, taunting her with the sweetness that could draw her poison out like venom from a snakebite. Your cunt clenches around nothing, feeling so, so empty. You needed her fingers, her tongue, to fill the emptiness. Anything she will offer at this point.

Even a cock.

Lady Rhaenys steps towards you, licking her lips, breathing in deep, and you know she can smell your arousal, all for her...

But her lord husband's hand halts her movements suddenly and you want to protest his demand, but know better not to, for he could deny you your release another night. Or two nights, which was hell in itself.

"Say it again, sweetling," you hear his rough, leathery voice command, as daunting as the sea on a stormy day, as he stands opposite you. You eye his cock, growing hard as iron and leaking against the fabric of his breeches. He's as desperate as you are and it makes your clit throb, nipples harden into tiny rubies. His fingers curl into the long tresses at the nape of your neck, pulling your head taut, the shell of your ear scraping against the silver of his beard. The sensation makes your belly pulse with more want and you whine. "Whisper it into my ear, little whore. Beg your lord for your lady's tongue upon your pearl, my little dragon princess. Beg your father to let your mother fuck you."

Lady Rhaenys approaches the both of you, staying silent, keeping her hands steady at her side, but she's shivering, like you are shuddering.

You let out a laboured breath, obeying, heartbeat and heavy breasts heaving with pure lust.

"Please, father," you whimper, whispering into his ear, your wetness seeping down your inner thighs like tears, staining the silk sheets below. You then look right into your lady's gaze, molten violet, similar to your own. "Please, mother," you sob, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Please, fuck me. Please!" You cry, beginning to tremble, the emotions overwhelming you.

"Yesss, that's our sweet daughter," Lady Rhaenys hisses, her sharp fingernails raking through the thin night shift concealing your nakedness, shredding the fabric to reveal your swollen bosom and belly to her eyes. "Look, dear husband," she traces her nails over your puffy nipples, pebbling even more underneath her touch, squeezing them. You shriek as white liquid beads like little pearls form the rosy peaks, dripping down her fingers.

"Her mother's milk has finally come in." Lord Corlys says, grinning, his leathery voice deep and smokey, pride lingering on the tip of his tongue. "Drink, my dear wife. See if her milk is as sweet as her honeyed cunt."

Your lord's hand guide's his wife's chin towards your chest and her soft lips immediately wrap around your nipple, beginning to suck.

"Mother!" You gasp, as her mouth greedily drinks down your milk, her hand gripping the protruding roundness of your belly, possessively, where pale pink marks have formed, marking and claiming you as hers; theirs.

Your lady stops sucking, pulling from your breast for a moment, your milk glistening upon her lips, pushing your back against the soft bed. "Her milk tastes just as sweet as her cunt, my lord husband." Lady Rhaenys pulls Lord Corlys down by one of his locks of his silver hair making him hiss. "Have a taste." And she kisses him deeply, slipping her tongue into his mouth, making you moan when your lord groans and bites his lady wife's lip, drawing his attention towards you.

"Fuck, just as sweet as your milk, my wife."

They both stare at you, eyes starving for more of what your body produces, both wanting to satiate their thirst and hunger with all of you. And so you spread your legs, giving them a view of your sticky thighs, your cunt slick with the most insatiable need that only they can satisfy.

Before you can think, speak, beg, your lord's mouth is fastened to your cunt, begging you with his tongue upon your aching jewel at the crux of your core, that he sucks with his lips at the same time his lady wife's mouth is once again encircling your swollen teat, savoring your succulence.

Both moan, murmuring around mouthfuls of your flesh, hands cradling the swell of your babes growing inside you, praising your body for its sweet offering, its sweet sacrifice.

Both your gracious lord and your lady, worshipping your body like some kind of deity, a goddess.

"Thank you, father! Mother!" Your climax hits you like a colossal tidal wave, pulling you under its depths, and you're drowning, body spasming, until you come up for air, gulping in deep breaths of air. Your cunt gushes, your juices flooding your lord's mouth as he drinks his fill, coating his beard and face.

"Yes, yes, sweetling, you're most welcome." Rhaenys strokes over your flushed, tear stained cheek, and you realize you're crying again, the emotions overwhelming you once again.

"Thank you, princess, for our gifts." You fade in and out of consciousness, exhilarated exhaustion seeping into your veins, moaning, feeling a thicker, more girthier piece of flesh replacing your lord's tongue. Your overstimulated cunt resists at first, until fingers press the pearl just above your slick entrance, demanding your compliance.

They share another kiss with the other, sharing your taste with the other. "Now let your father thank you properly, sweet daughter." And with that your lord father grits his teeth, slipping his cock into your tight heat, as your lady mother's fingers help ease his passage, and they both fuck you into oblivion, until your unconcious, dreaming of the silver haired offspring, dressed in the colors of Velaryon and Targaryen, with both the sea and salt in their soul, fire and blood in their hearts. Young dragons you will give both your father and mother, your loyalty forever lying with them, sacrificing your body, until your dying breath.

#corlys x rhaenys #corlys x reader #rhaenys x reader #rhaenys the queen who never was #rhaenys x corlys #corlys velaryon #reader insert #fem reader #self insert #house of the dragon #hotd fic #rhaenys targaryen #my writing

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deepdarkdelights · 2 years ago

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Awake? | Jin x Reader

Pairing: (Soft-ish) Yandere Android Jin x Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Touching, Stalking (technically), Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not By Jin), Choking (Not by Jin), Slapping (Not By Jin)

Note: This is based on the Playstation game Detroit Become Human

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: Androids had always been incredibly efficient, that was their designed purpose after all, to make human life easier. And because of that, humans often chose the easier option. The human population had fallen to its lowest numbers in centuries and it was predicted that it would fall even more. Synthetic love was far more appealing than its organic counterpart. You could have anyone you wanted, they could look however you wanted, they would always be agreeable and it was achievable for a cost.

A/N: A fair warning as always, this is not yet edited lol. I always feel so bad that I make you guys wait so long for a fic so I roll it out as quickly as possible. I don’t really anticipate this doing very well for a few reasons, but mainly because it’s so far from anything I’ve written before. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy it, and if you don’t I’m sorry I made you wait so long for something you didn’t want 😭 Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to see you in my inbox and the comments, love you 💜💜💜

This fic is dedicated to @softie00 thank you so much for your encouragement, kindness, and help with making this work come to fruition 💜

The world was almost nothing like it had been before.

As a child, your grandparents had delivered you stories that were nothing more than fairytales to you. A world where trees enveloped the land in massive waves of emerald green that rivaled that of the ocean. It was a place where if you were quiet, patient, and lucky enough you could spot a family of deer grazing in your backyard. They spun tales of endless days of summer spent barefoot running through the grass while catching fireflies - something you had never seen outside of an image.

The world that they knew had died a long time ago. It was their grandparents that had started it, and it was their generation that had finished it.

What had once been a quiet suburban community was now dwarfed by hulking shapes of concrete, metal and glass. Artificial had taken over. What greenery was left was preserved, but no human civilian had been granted the right to step foot on that land, those small pockets that remained were left untouched and uninhabited by your kind.

It wasn’t just your community that had become a city, a community that you had not been alive to remember, but everywhere else as well.

And it was because of the androids.

The first one that had been revealed had shocked the entire world because of its human likeness - it was so perfect that even the trained eye was unable to decipher whether it was man or machine. And then suddenly the world was flooded with them. Factories began sprouting like uncontrollable weeds and around them grew cities that tore up the earth and cemented their place. The world had become a concrete jungle.

Androids quickly began to multiply, their numbers rivaling even that of the human population. But they were much easier to spot now. Their programming had been changed to help with that, their mannerisms a bit more formal, their voices slightly stilted, and upon their temple was a small LED disk that symbolized their status.

Androids had always been incredibly efficient, that was their designed purpose after all, to make human life easier. And because of that, humans often chose the easier option. The human population had fallen to its lowest numbers in centuries and it was predicted that it would fall even more. Synthetic love was far more appealing than its organic counterpart. You could have anyone you wanted, they could look however you wanted, they would always be agreeable and it was achievable for a cost.

But not everyone could afford their own personal android, the basic models still being priced at around $8,000 and those androids were just for helping around the house. So the comfort industry boomed. Love hotels soon followed, places where you could rent an android for pleasure and have their memory bank wiped immediately after. Human interaction was no longer a necessary requirement but an option.

And you, well, you couldn’t consider yourself all that much better.

You wearily blinked, your eyes stinging from the bright LED light that hung above you. You huddled beneath your umbrella for protection from the thick torrents of rain as the sign flickered gently.

“Awake?” The sign read, as if it were taunting you.

A long string of nights filled with insomnia had led you to this point, pathetically drenched in rain as you stood outside of an android establishment. The comfort industry extended to all areas, not just pleasure.

You hesitantly stepped through the sliding doors and were greeted by a dimly lit lobby. It was completely devoid of human life, but several androids were there attending to seemingly unnecessary tasks like dusting an already clean surface or straightening an unused pillow on one of the lounges.

You hurriedly rushed by them, not wanting to garner too much attention as you already felt pretty pathetic about your situation. As soon as you stopped at the front desk, the android behind it greeted you.

“Hello, my name is Celene, are you interested in our cuddle-bot service tonight?” She asked with a gentle smile.

You cringed at the name, your finger digging into your palm in a show of anxiety as you forced a pleasant smile. It wasn’t the androids’ fault that some human had come up with such a belittling name for their service.

“Yes, please,” You mumbled in response.

“Alright, I’d be happy to get you started,” She grinned, her LED spinning yellow as she processed your command, “If you look at the screen to your right you can customize your visit. You can pick your android model, appearance, sex, duration of stay, and tailor your experience that will best help you achieve your desired goal for your visit. If you have any questions, I would be happy to help.”

A glass screen beside you lit up revealing several multiple choice questions that you could answer such as: what is the reason for your visit? How long has this problem persisted? What do you find comforting? What scents do you prefer? So on and so forth.

The questionnaire wasn’t exhaustive but it was not short by any means. But the quality of the service so far had begun to ignite some hope within you. This was the only other option you could think of to deal with your insomnia, you felt as if you had exhausted all other options.

There was one section in particular that grabbed your attention, the final section titled “Scenario.”

“Celene, what does ‘Scenario,” mean?” You asked.

“Scenario allows you to further customize your experience by enhancing the personality of your chosen android. It is similar to role-playing. We have a few options available. The boyfriend or girlfriend scenario will have a much more intimate approach whereas the caregiver scenario has a familial or parental approach, to name a few.”

You pursed your lips in thought as you scrolled through the scenarios, pretending as if you hadn’t already chosen yours the second Celene has mentioned it. To put it lightly, you were just as starved of affection as you were of sleep. The whole debacle of synthetic versus organic love had affected your generation the hardest. The dating pool was halved by the presence of androids and as a result you had never dated anyone before.

But still, you read each scenario title before ultimately scrolling back and picking the one that you wanted: “Boyfriend Scenario.”

The screen flashed, processing your commands, before switching to the last page. It was time to choose your android. The selection was surprisingly wide, but of course all androids fell in the same age bracket; all appearing youthful and beautiful so beautiful that it was almost uncanny.

You bit your lip and furrowed your brows in thought as you swiped through all of the selections. There wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with them, but you also didn’t know what exactly it was you were looking for.

“May I make a suggestion, miss?” Celene asked, causing you to jump as you had forgotten her presence. “A new line has been released for testing, if you choose an android from that new model you will receive a discount for participating in the trial period.”

While the service wasn’t too expensive, it was still money being taken away from your daily expenses and unfortunately you were never one to walk away from a good deal. That was something your mother had instilled in you with great success.

And so, you agreed. Celene’s LED spun yellow once more before the page before you was filled with seven new images of androids. All of them had face molds you hadn’t seen before, each with their own charm and subtle imperfections that only served to make them more attractive and more human-like. But there was one in particular that caught your eye.

There was something about him that gave you the feeling of a person you could pretend you were in a long-term relationship with. He had the boyfriend look to him. Maybe it was his longer slightly curly brown hair, his big brown eyes, or even his plush pouty lips. There was something about him that comforted you, something that felt like coming back to your warm bed on a cold rainy day.

With a simple touch of your fingertip it was decided.

“That one is a wonderful choice, it will be sure to help you get a good night’s sleep,” Celene nodded before smoothly rounding the desk, “If you follow me I will lead you to your room.”

You followed Celene like a lost puppy, keeping close to her as she led you into the back of the building and through various hallways. The rest of the building was similar to the entrance. It was all lit with a soft yellow light that reflected off of the polished surfaces. But it was also eerily empty. You could only assume it was because everyone else had checked in much earlier than you had. That thought was far more comforting than the idea of being the only human being in the entire building.

All of the hallways were lined with doors, there were so many that it almost seemed never ending. But maybe that was your insomnia laced brain playing tricks on you. After a short while Celene stopped in front of one door in particular that appeared no different or special from any of the other ones you had passed.

“This door will only open with your fingerprint or in the case of an emergency during your stay. If there is anything you need your android can contact the front desk and I can prepare it for you. We hope that you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, Celene,” You said with a slight jerk of your head and a tight lipped smile.

“It is my pleasure,” She said before returning your smile and taking her leave.

Once she disappeared around the corner you allowed yourself to let out a deep exhale, your shoulders relaxing as you were left alone. You were exhausted but you were also incredibly nervous. You were sure this was going to be awkward at first, there was nothing normal about cuddling someone the first time you met them. Although, he was probably used to it. He wasn’t human after all, he didn’t have those types of feelings or any at all really.

So, with a swift crack of your neck, you pressed your thumb against the door plate and stepped inside once it slid open.

The room was rather plain. Everything was white, gray, or a soft beige color and the furniture was very minimal. There was a comfortable looking bed, a decent sized couch, and some cushioned mats on the floor on the lower split level of the room. You could only assume it was to give you the option to choose what was most comfortable.

You noticed that the walls were also screens. Some of them looked like they were disguised as windows, but with a close inspection you realized that they were simulation screens. You could choose the environment you wished to view.

And, outside of those main features, he was there.

When you had entered he was sitting on the ground, on the edge of the split level platform staring at the blank screens. But he was looking at you now, his head turned to look over his shoulder towards you.

While the other androids you had met seemed human, he was the most human looking one you had ever seen. The smile that spread over his lips was infectious as he rose to greet you.

“You’re home! But look at you, you’re completely soaked,” He tutted, pulling off your rain jacket and rushing to hang it up. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day, have you eaten?”

It took you a moment to respond, still taken aback by his fluid motions and manner of speaking. He was unlike any android you had ever met, that was for sure. He just seemed so unlike them.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” He teased you, tapping you gently on the top of your head, “You must have had a long day if that was a hard question.”

“I ate,” You finally said, your fingers playing with one another awkwardly.

“That’s good to hear, I’m very proud of you.” He said, smoothing out the locks of your hair his impish actions had disrupted.

You couldn’t deny the warmth that flushed through your body from his praise. The older you got the less often you heard that someone was proud of you. And it was much more special when someone that looked the way he did told you that.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

His face twitched slightly, the lenses of his pupils dilating and contracting as his LED spun yellow. The pleasant smile dropped off of his face and it went stoic, like his programming was momentarily paused as he processed a dialogue that didn’t quite fit. It was chilling to see someone who once appeared so human drop their persona and show their hidden nature. It was another reminder that none of this was real.

“What would you like to call me?” He finally asked, his expression still flat and devoid of simulated emotion.

You were stumped for a moment and unnerved by his unblinking stare that refused to leave you. In a moment of panic you uttered the first male name that came to your mind, the name of a boy that you had a crush on in high school that never noticed you.

“Jin? Is that okay, do you like that?”

“My name is Jin,” His LED spun blue, his eyes finally blinking once more as his subtle pleasant smile returned, “Silly girl, we’ve been together for so long and you can’t remember my name? If I didn’t think you were tired before, I definitely do now.”

“Right, I’m sorry about that,” You apologized, it seemed like going along with it was the best answer you could come up with.

“Come on sleepy girl, let’s get you ready for bed,” He hummed while grabbing you by the wrist and guiding you towards the bathroom where a set of comfortable looking sleepwear was laid out. “Take your time, I’ll be right outside.”

Once the door closed and you were left alone you were able to relax for a moment. The tension in your shoulders wasn’t entirely from anxiety but now a result of the interest and excitement you couldn’t deny you had. While Jin had slipped up for a moment, when he was working as designed he was perfect. He wasn’t clingy but he also wasn’t distant. He was teasing but not hurtful, and he knew how to praise you.

You were beginning to realize that there was some truth to what the others believed, androids could be easier.

When you had finally changed and emerged from the bathroom you could see that Jin had been keeping himself busy in your absence. The lighting in the room had shifted, it had become dimmer and much more soothing. There was a scent in the air as well, one you recognized as what you had answered in your survey not that long ago.

The android himself was pulling the blankets and sheets back from the bed, preparing it for you and you assumed himself as well.

“There you are,” He said, pausing his work to cross the room, “I have everything ready, would you like to pick the environment tonight?”

You gingerly retrieved the remote from his hands and swiftly scrolled through the options before picking your tried and true classic and floating it up on the simulation screens. The floor to ceiling windows that previously appeared to have their blinds closed were now open revealing a murky city skyline with soft lights accompanied by rain and thunder. It was not unlike the actual weather you had fought through to get there.

“Hm, I think that’s everything then. Are you ready for bed?” He asked.

“Let’s give it a try,” You said with a nod.

Jin moved before you did, climbing into the bed easily and fluffing up the pillows behind him before looking up at you expectantly.

God, this was so weird.

You stiffly climbed in beside him and sank down into the mattress, allowing him to pull the blankets up over the both of you. You were closer to the edge of the mattress, purposefully trying to keep as much space between the two of you as possible despite paying for the opposite. You hadn’t shared a bed with someone since you were young and it had never been someone of the opposite gender. And while Jin wasn’t human, he still looked like a man and that was cause for some hesitance and shyness.

Jin being the perfect android that he was quickly took notice of this. Instead of saying anything he raised his arm, opening up his chest to you while simultaneously pitching the blanket up. Quietly and slowly you shuffled across the mattress and allowed him to wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest.

You were momentarily startled by the discovery that he was warm and soft beneath your fingers like a real human body. And, even more surprisingly, there was a solid thump emanating from his chest right where your ear was pressed against. Androids operated on a fluid system, this meant that his pump had been placed in his chest much like a human heart. Whoever made him had done so with intricate detail and care to make him blend in as seamlessly as possible. The only thing that reminded you of his nature was the steady, soft blue swirl of his LED.

“What are you thinking about?” He finally asked, his fingers now gently stroking a pattern across your cheek and up over your temple. It was repetitive, light, and evidently soothing as it spurred a yawn from you that was rather surprising.

“This isn’t as scary as I thought it would be,” You admitted. That was partially the truth, but you thought it better you didn’t instill an existential crisis into the android by telling him about how human he seemed.

“Why would sleeping with your boyfriend be scary?” The android chuckled.

“Don’t say it like that!” You groaned, pressing your face further into his chest in utter embarrassment.

The android hummed in response, curling his arms around you in a firmer hold, the compression soothing you as well as your anxiety. He seemed pleased with himself, like it had been his plan to embarrass you into his embrace.

“There’s no reason to be scared of me, I’m here to take care of you,” He explained, smoothing his palm up and down your back in gentle strokes.

“That’s not what I was worried about.”

“No? What were you worried about then?”

“That this wouldn’t work.”

A beat of silence followed but the android didn’t cease his soothing actions. You could tell from the gentle yellow glow from his temple that he was thoroughly processing your words.

“You haven’t been able to sleep in a long time?” He finally asked.

“No, not for a very long while.”

“Can I ask why?”

“It’s too quiet in my apartment. It’s just me and the loneliness sometimes becomes too much. Sometimes I go so many days alone that when I finally do see other people my voice doesn’t sound like my own and it hurts to talk. But I don’t even know anyone well enough to tell them about my life, my problems, or how I’m doing. And then by the time I get home and I finally lay down all of those thoughts become so loud in my head that sleep becomes impossible. And then I worry. I think about everything that bothers me. Every deadline, every irrational fear. It scares me so badly that sleep no longer becomes a possibility.”

You’re utterly surprised by the word vomit that flies out of your mouth. You never expected that you would divulge all of your fears to an android that you just met. But Jin was good, he was amazing at comforting and as a result pulling out any information that he needed to comfort you better.

“You’re not alone now though, are you?”

“...No.”

“Then there’s nothing to be afraid of. You can close your eyes and I’ll be here the entire time. I’ll make sure that you’re safe and I’ll be here when you wake up.” He says, his voice softer now. “I’ll take care of you.”

It felt like you had been adrift in the ever growing expanse of space. Like you had been dragged into the void without a single spot of starlight. It was terribly cold, dark, and lonely. It was terrifying. But now, it’s warm. Where you had once been adrift you were now anchored. And it wasn’t so lonely anymore.

You could feel your eyes tiring, it was becoming harder to keep them open each time you blinked. This was unfamiliar and startling, but the gentle touch of your android soothed you. You weren’t alone, it was safe to sleep.

“It’s okay, don’t fight it. I’ll look after you,” Jin whispered, his soft lips brushing over your forehead in a barely there kiss.

And, as if he had given you permission, you allowed your eyes to fall shut and felt the soft lull of sleep pull you under.

~~~~~~~

Androids were not meant to think. They were not created to care, but to serve. Unfortunately for him, he was made with the purpose to fulfill both of those things. To serve, and to care. But not to be human.

That very idea itself was flawed.

It was easy to follow protocol, to monitor your respiration, your heart rate, and your REM cycle. But it was harder to formulate a way to care for you. That required abstraction and abstraction is a very human thing.

Jin, as you had called him although he had had many different names, knew that he was different from the other androids he had encountered. They lacked dimension, they were computers with bodies, and he was something else entirely. But he was a being still bound by code and design. It was difficult to put a label as to what he was.

And with you, that label became even harder to define. He had a database full of information about human interaction and physical touch, yet his programming was stumped by you. You were unnecessarily kind, you didn’t call him “it,” and you didn’t demand anything of him. You were unlike the other patrons he had cared for before. You treated him like he was human and that was something he had never experienced before.

It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t logical.

He found himself staring at you now, your cheek flush with his chest and your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt like you were anchoring yourself to him - afraid that he would leave you as you dreamt. You were by no means perfect, he had never met someone who looked perfect when they were unconscious, but you were by all means adorable. If he were human, he could say that he liked you, that he enjoyed your presence.

But he wasn’t human, and this was his purpose. Nothing more, nothing less. That was what his programming demanded.

And even though he knew that to be true, even though he knew that you were asleep and no longer required comforting, there was something else inside him that drove him to subconsciously cup your face with one hand and gently stroke the skin there.

He could blame it once again on his programming, afterall the boyfriend experience protocol was driving his shell of a body, but there was this thrum inside of him. This feeling like he was trapped behind a glass wall and on the verge of breaking through it and finally taking control of his body.

It was wrong.

He was aware of the others that he was dangerously close to becoming like. Androids who were infected, ridden with a virus that corrupted their code and made them operate as if they were human. It made them think that they could feel. They were glitched, turncoats, deviants. And that was a sure fire way to be decommissioned and scrapped for parts.

But it was okay, that wouldn’t be him. He didn’t want anything, he couldn’t feel. It wasn’t anxiety that scrambled his processor, it was overstimulation from too much input. And if he could keep convincing himself that that was the truth, then he could avoid being decommissioned. He could keep seeing you.

You.

You were still asleep, blissfully unaware of the android at your side whose “mind” was racing. You didn’t need him right now, he didn’t need to be on still. And so, in an effort to quiet himself, he entered sleep mode.

This was the closest he would get to being human. This was the closest he would get to you. And from the outside, it certainly did look like two human lovers entwined, coming back to one another after a long day apart.

He too could pretend.

~~~~~~~

When you woke up he was still there, just like he had promised you. His warm touch was still there, cocooning you in a perfect embrace. He was awake, if that was what you could call it. There was a soft smile gracing his lips as he looked down at you, the still rising sun making his synthetic skin glow.

“How did you sleep?” He spoke first.

You blinked slowly, trying to shake the clinging threads of sleep from you before you could speak. And, as you fully woke up, you realized with a start that you had slept through the entire night. A task that had been so hard for so many years had been easily managed by him.

“I’ve never slept better,” You admitted with a gentle smile of your own.

“That’s good to hear, sweetheart,” He said, the new term of endearment sending warmth throughout your body, “Do you really have to go to work today?”

Still in character, he was able to remind you of the impending end of your session.

“You could stay, just for a little longer if you wanted to. We could have the rest of the morning to ourselves.”

“I really wish I could, but I have to go.”

A look of disappointment and sadness washed over his face and for a brief moment you could have sworn despair flickered over his features before an unsettling stoicness masked those simulated emotions. It was like his program was forcibly shut down. There was something upsetting about seeing him be filed away, about seeing Jin removed and the android returned.

You readied yourself for the day in silence, your body tense as you worried over Jin. It was clear that he wasn’t there anymore. His programming had been terminated when you declined to lengthen your session. You couldn’t understand the instant connection you felt with him, you could only chalk it up to the lack of attention and affection you had felt in your life. The comfort he had brought you, the gentle touches, the soothing smiles and words, it all had messed with your mind and in turn, your heart.

You lingered at the door of the room, his room. You couldn’t help but look back at him sadly. He was seated back where you had seen him for the first time the night before, on the ledge leading to the bottom split level. His back was facing you, you were unable to make out his expression but you were certain it was flat. Just a machine waiting for further instruction.

You hesitated, then swallowed, “Jin?”

He didn’t move.

“Will you…will you remember this? Me? At all?” You asked.

“Company policy dictates that the service androids memory banks be wiped within fifteen minutes of the end of the session in order to protect the privacy of the client.” He replied, his voice flat.

Your heart fell into your stomach.

You slowly approached him before sitting down beside him on his step. His gaze remained trained ahead of him, staring at a blank simulation screen.

“There isn’t a way that you can remember me?”

Silence.

“Jin?” His chin slightly jerked this time, something so subtle it could have been a muscle twitch if he were human.

“If the client were to make follow up sessions the data would be maintained and preserved. That of course comes with additional expenses.”

You pursed your lips in thought, your brows drawn together in concentration. It was easy to make a decision based on your emotions. Selfishly, you wanted him to remember you. You didn’t want him to forget about you like he had countless others. You didn’t want to be like the others.

You wanted to be special.

There was also the fact that you knew just a taste of what he had to offer would never be enough. Now that you knew he could help you, could give you the affection you were starved of, you wanted to keep him. It was a sound investment, it was a necessity. You needed him.

You let out a shaky breath and acted quickly before you could change your mind. You leaned forward and gently pressed a quick, shy kiss to his warm cheek. The android jerked in what could only be described as surprise before finally looking at you. The lenses of his eyes dilated and then shrunk in a fraction of a second. He was seeing you, really seeing you.

You left quickly after that, far too flustered to look at his beautiful face any longer after what you had done. That, and you had several more sessions to book in advance.

But, if you had lingered for a moment as the door swung shut you would have noticed the flash of emerald green that filled the room, the subtle chirp of wildlife, and the gentle thrum of thunder and light patter of rain.

The screens displayed a forest you hadn’t chosen.

~~~~~~~

He remembered you. And while that was good, that was also part of the problem.

He hated having other clients. And while there weren’t too many, there were enough that it bothered him. He often found himself replaying his stored memories of his time spent with you when he should have been monitoring his clients. It was a dangerous thing to do, if he was found out his memory would definitely be wiped for interfering with his service.

But the more time he spent with you, the harder it was to remind himself that he shouldn’t feel or think anything. He was parts, a computer, strings of ones and zeroes, he shouldn’t think or feel anything.

He didn’t want to be decommissioned - he didn’t want to die. But he also didn’t want to let go of you. That was no longer an option.

He knew you could see it too, you could see him slowly becoming human. And you did everything but discourage him. You asked him how his day was, what he did while he waited for you, what his favorite color was, what his favorite song was - questions no human had ever bothered to ask him before. And scarily enough he found he did have preferences which he shouldn’t have had in the first place. His favorite song was your favorite song, his favorite color was the color of your eyes, and all he ever thought about while he waited was you.

He had never wanted anything before, he never had desire. But now, he truly desired you. What he would give to keep you there with him, or better yet to come home with you. Then he could have you all to himself and he wouldn’t have to tend to other clients.

In the beginning, his program demanded that he treat you like his “girlfriend.” But at this point, he wasn’t sure where protocol began and his desires ended.

Even now as his new client entered the room he replayed his memories of you, the simulation screen alive with the forest. He was remembering the last time he had seen you, just another one of your many visits.

You had looked healthier than he had ever seen you. The tired, sickly look on your face had long ago disappeared and the slouch of your shoulders was replaced with confidence. He felt satisfied that he had done his job well, but he was far more satisfied with the knowledge that you were happier because of him.

“Welcome home, did you have a good day?” He asked with genuine interest.

“It was good enough, what about you?”

“It was good because I knew I would see you.” He said with a grin and a dramatic wink.

“I just got here and you’re already starting with me.” You rolled your eyes, a display of just how comfortable you had become around him.

“I can’t help it, you’re cute when you're flustered.”

“Alright, I’m leaving,” You teased, turning dramatically and shrugging your jacket back on.

The LED on his temple spun yellow, his hands trembled. His body moved without thinking and he quickly grabbed hold of your arm. You were startled, he could tell by your wide eyed, confused expression.

“No, don’t go.” He begged, his voice sounded breathless and even frightened.

You had spent many sessions with the android, and not once had you ever detected fear in his voice. You didn’t even think it was possible, what purpose would that have in his programming?

Once more, you were reminded of just how human the android seemed. There was a nagging suspicion in the back of your mind, an article you had read, a news story you had heard in passing about androids like him. But you didn’t want to admit that there was anything wrong with him, not when he had helped you more than he could possibly know.

“I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay.”

That seemed to calm him down, his hold on your arm loosening but not leaving. If you didn’t know any better you would think that he looked self conscious, anxious even, like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be.

That night, you cared for him instead.

There was a random moving playing in the background, the lights were dimmed, and the simulation screens were drawn shut. Your back was resting against the headboard of the bed while the android laid his head on your lap, his legs curled up and his arm wrapped around your thighs. Your fingers were mindlessly sifting through his hair, twirling the longer strands towards the bottom. His eyes had fluttered shut and his LED was thrumming a soft blue. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was asleep.

Your heart shuddered as you stared at him, it wasn’t the first time that you had thought about how beautiful he was. He was everything you had ever wanted. He was funny, sweet, caring, and he made you feel as if you were perfect. You had never felt like that before. All your life you had been compared to the female modeled androids that were readily available. They were stunning, they always smiled, they were nurturing, and they always obeyed - they never disagreed.

But you also realized that you were no better than the men you had been surrounded by. Because here you were, finding comfort in an android instead of a “real” man. At the end of the day, you were paying for company. Jin only remembered you because he had to, it was his purpose. You weren’t special, you wanted to be, but you weren’t.

At that moment, you made a difficult decision. It was going to be your last night with Jin. You were human, he was an android. There was no future in that. You couldn’t keep coming back to him for the rest of your life, wasting away because you were a sad, lonely human who couldn’t find companionship with your own kind. If you didn’t end it soon then you never would.

You could feel your eyes burning with unshed tears as you traced the gentle contours of his face. You hadn’t intended to lie to him but you were going to have to leave him. You need to learn how to live your own life.

“Jin?” You whispered, your voice cracking from barely concealed emotion.

He slowly opened his eyes as he rolled over on your lap to face you, his big brown eyes staring up at you.

“Can I kiss you?”

The pump in his chest quickened, an occurrence which he could not explain. He had clients order him to do that before, if it comforted and helped them he was required to do it. But no one had ever asked him, he had always been ordered.

His LED was spinning rapidly, the bright yellow hue flashing in the darkness. He was processing, thinking over everything quickly. Instead of saying anything, he propped himself up on his elbow and gently took hold of your jaw before leaning in and connecting your lips with his own.

It was soft, warm, and sweet. Everything that you had expected it to be. But his gentle touches broke your heart, how were you supposed to leave when you had grown to care about him so much? It was hard to remember that he was a machine when his lips felt so gentle and warm, when his touch cooled your burning skin, and his strong hands pulled you into his lap. It felt like he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

But you knew better, it was his programming, he had to satisfy his client. That was why you refused to let it go any further and that was why you knew you wouldn’t be coming to your next session.

You weren’t special.

“Is this it then?” His current client huffed, stalling his memory as well as the swipe of his finger over his lower lip as he remembered your shy, hesitant kiss.

His client had been huffing and puffing for the past fifteen minutes, tossing and turning on her side - your side - of the bed in an attempt to garner his attention. He was failing to serve his purpose.

“Is something wrong?” He finally asked, giving her the attention she desired.

“I’m bored and unsatisfied. I paid all of this money just to lay here while you do nothing.” She grunted.

“Is there anything I can do to help improve your experience?” His programming took over.

A sudden look overcame her features, one that he couldn’t decipher but also knew he shouldn’t like. She tossed the blankets aside and crawled over to him, slinging her leg over his and climbing into his lap. He tensed beneath her touch, confused as to what she was doing.

“If I’m paying all of this money for you, I figure I should get my time well spent,” She explained, tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

His LED spun yellow, he didn’t like this. He didn’t want this, this wasn’t what his purpose was.

“My purpose is to help you sleep -”

“Then help me by tiring me out. You’re telling me people pay just to sleep here? That’s a load of crap. You’re no better than the bots at the fucking Eden Club.” She sneered.

The Eden Club, that was the “love hotel” in the seedier parts of the city. If she wanted that type of comfort she could have gone there.

“My purpose is -”

“Shut the fuck up!” She snapped, bringing her hand down across his face in one clean slap that snapped his head to the side.

It didn’t hurt, he didn’t have pain sensors, but it was surprising. It was scary.

“I’m sick and tired of your fucking mouth,” She hissed.

And then she was wrapping her hand around his throat, squeezing hard and pinning him down. He didn’t need to breathe, it didn’t hurt even though her nails had sliced through his synthetic skin and blue blood was rolling down his throat.

It didn’t hurt, he didn’t need to breathe, but he didn’t like it, he was scared.

He was scared.

He wanted to fight back, he wanted to throw her off and run but he couldn’t. He was locked down, his programming reminding him of the number one rule: never harm a human.

But his processor was scrambling. The room was green from the simulation screens, wild life chirped, she was tugging at his clothes, his blood was gliding down his neck, he couldn’t fucking move, and then there was you.

You. He didn’t want anyone to touch him, except for you.

It felt like he was throwing himself against solid glass - spider cracks slowly but surely spreading along its surface with each violent attack until it finally shattered and fell apart. And he could move.

He ripped her hand off of his throat and threw her off the bed, her body colliding so harshly with the hardwood floors that she rolled and cried out in pain.

His LED was a striking, vibrant red that pulsed in the dark. The fight for freedom was violent, and that was ensured when he grabbed hold of the lamp off of the night stand and connected it with her head over and over again until she couldn’t think or feel anything any more. Just like a machine.

Her red blood pooled onto the floor, soaking into the wood and everything it touched. He could see it all over his white shirt - feel the stickiness of it all over his hands, forearms, and face.

He was awake.

But as he felt immense relief, he also felt frightened. He was feeling everything all at once - happiness, anger, disgust, and fear. He had violated his prime directive. In his first moments of freedom he had killed a human being. And while the feeling of her blood on his skin disgusted him and sent unpleasant chills through his wiring he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. She was disgusting.

But he was panicking at the thought of his impending decommissioning. So he ran, he tore out of the building he had been in his entire life and took to the dark city streets. He already knew where he was going, he had pulled up your client profile from his data banks the minute he had stepped outside. He knew where you lived, had known this entire time, but now he was able to fulfill his wish. Finally, he would be the one coming home to you.

He could see your window of your apartment, the light was still on. Of course it was, you couldn’t sleep without him - you needed him just as much as he needed you. You were meant for each other. You needed to be taken care of and it was his job to take care of you. Even with his freedom he could see that goal flashing in his visual pathways - “Comfort your partner.”

He pounded on your door in rapid succession, not stopping until he heard your light footsteps approach and the door creaked open. You barely opened it a crack but that was enough for him to wedge his hand in between the door and its frame and force it open completely with his inhuman strength.

You stumbled backwards with a shriek of fright, convinced that someone was breaking into your apartment only for you to be stumped by the sight of your android slamming the door shut behind him.

“Jin? What are you doing here?” You managed to ask. To say you were surprised wasn’t even the beginning of it.

“I’m home.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling with joy.

“Oh - oh my god, what is that?!” You yelped, stepping away from him in fear as you finally caught sight of the blood all over his body. It was soaked into his shirt and pants, smeared over his hands and arms, and specks of it were sprayed over his face like gruesome freckles.

You knew that didn’t belong to him, his own “blue blood” stuck out in vibrant streaks down his throat.

“You’re scared,” He said, the smile falling from his face, “what’s wrong?”

He took a few steps forward only for you to scramble backwards, sliding around your kitchen counter in an attempt to try and barricade yourself from him. He was painted with human blood, you didn’t want to find out how it had gotten there.

He still didn’t understand. He hadn’t done anything wrong, well nothing wrong to you. Why were you shutting him out? He…he loved you, didn’t you love him? You had kissed him, you had comforted him. You had to love him too.

When he got too close your eyes shifted to your bedroom door behind him and you foolishly decided to make a run for it. You didn’t make it far, the android was too fast. He easily wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back into his chest - holding you tightly as you whimpered and thrashed like a wild animal caught in a snare.

“Comfort your partner” - his protocol still read.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He cooed, his voice soft beside your ear, “Just relax, everything is fine. I’m here, I love you.”

His touch was leaving behind bloody handprints on your shirt and on your cheek as he cupped your face in an attempt to get you to look at him. Your body had finally fallen limp as you realized there was no fighting him.

You had tried denying it for so long, but Jin was corrupted. He had a virus like those others you had heard about. And he was dangerous. He said that he loved you, he held you like he loved you, kissed you like he loved you, but he was a murderer. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had murdered for you.

These were the consequences of falling in love with a machine. These were the consequences of an unnatural, artificial affection.

“I’m home now, it’s okay, neither of us ever has to be alone ever again.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple and then your cheek.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” You begged, a tear finally breaking free and cutting through the streak of red he had left behind on your face.

“I would never hurt you, I want to take care of you. I want to love you.”

He carefully scooped you up and carried you into your room, the place you had tried to escape to before was now a cage for you and your android. He climbed into your bed with you still in his grasp and proceeded to go through his usual routine of comforting you before bed. Although this time the sheets were stained red, his grip was a little too tight, and his LED was a rich red. Everything was red.

In the most twisted way possible, you had gotten your wish. You were special.

“It’s okay, don’t fight it. I’ll look after you,” Jin whispered, his familiar words taking on an entirely new meaning as you lost the tension in your body. Your arms that were locked out, pushing you away from him, collapsed and allowed him to pull you into his chest.

You could feel his nose pressed against your hair, his hands soothing over your back, his lips lightly pressed against your forehead. He was acting like nothing had changed, like the two of you had never left that place. Like you would be able to relax in his embrace.

Before, your room had been a part of your insomnia. Now, you were certain you would never be able to sleep again.

Your world was almost nothing like it had been before.

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startrekfemslashweek · 26 days ago

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Thank you to everyone who participated in this year's Star Trek Femslash Week! We ended up with 69 amazing entries!

Study Session by Red_Passion | Poetry | Janeway x OFC

Encounter at the Bar by Red_Passion | Poetry | Burnham x OFC

The Journey Within by Hollie47 | Fic | UnaMarie

Poetry for her by skylarkblue | Fic | B7

Vuv be''e' baj (win the favor of a woman) by sapphirame | Fic | Jadzia x B'Elanna

Women Who Know How to Duck by romanathethird | Fic | Kira x Grilka

And they were roommates… by sappho_themself | Fic | Bevtroi

How Long Has This Been Going On? by Divinemissem13 | Fic | Janeway x Crusher

A Former Borg And A Half-Klingon Walk Into A Bar by cactusnymph | Fic | B7

Once Upon a Klingon (Lesbian) Bar by Shane_for_Wax | Fic | Seven x Raffi x B'Elanna

Rooming Together by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Jadzia x Lenara

Blood Wine And Bruising Kisses by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | K'Ehleyr x Deanna

When on Risa by Red_Passion | Poetry | Kira x Kimara Cretak

PHEROMANIA by skylarkblue | Fic | Cha'an

Emerald Lips by Hollie47 | Fic | Sylvia Tilly x Osyraa

The Greatest Pleasure in the Most Beautiful Setting by romanathethird | Fic | J7

No Secrets on Risa by Divinemissem13 | Fic | Saffi

Risa Sunsets by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | UnaMarie

Truths Told by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Laris x Oh

Blood Fever Part 2 by Shane_for_Wax | Fic | B7

Inhibitions by Hollie47 | Fic | Cha'an

When On Risa by sappho_themself | Fic | Deanna x OFC

To Speak Figuratively by CandyCurlsofMaddness | Fic| Hoshi x T'Pol

Crash Confessions by Red_Passion | Poetry | Janeway x OFC

Ocean Confessions by Hollie47 | Fic | Cha'an

Telepathic Tenderness by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Laris x Deanna

Crash Into You by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Katrina Cornwell/Mirror Philippa Georgiou

Swimming Lessons by romanathethird | Fic | Troisha

The world will never (be the same) by sapphirame | Fic | Kira x Seven

Patchwork by Divinemissem13 | Fic | Janeway x Crusher

You be the Lady, I'll be the Unicorn by CandyCurlsofMaddness | Fic | Amanda Grayson x Pelia

Sensory Memory by lead-acetate | Fic | Michael x Uhura

Let the Players Play by romanathethird | Fic | Guinan x Leeta

Ocean's Two by Divinemissem13 | Fic | Beverly Crusher x Una Chin-Riley

Daytime Robberies by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Minuet x Deanna Troi

Taking A Break Together by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Beverly Crusher x Ro Laren

You gotta make history (one day at a time) by sapphirame | Fic | Kira Nerys x Seven

Beneath Twin Suns by Red_Passion | Fic | Christine Chapel x Una Chin-Riley

Prisoner Zero by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Katrina Cornwell x L'Rell

Back To You by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Katrina Cornwell x Una Chin-Riley

All Distances of Time by romanathethird | Fic | Cassie (Kasidy Yates) x Uhura

What am I supposed to do with you in the room? by lead-acetate | Fic | Michael x Uhura

Thelma and louise (ain't got nothin' on me) by sapphirame | Fic | Kira Nerys x Seven

Taking A Beating by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Ro Laren x Tasha Yar

Slowly She Softens by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | B7

Meant to be Dead by Hollie47 | Fic | Tilly x Osyraa

What’s a Girl Like You Doing in a Holoprogram Like This? by romanathethird | Fic | Hologram Janeway x Francis Sullivan

Day 6: Whump by 40cleverways | Art | Troisha

Multiverse Diplomacy by Divinemissem13 | Fic | Katrina Cornwell x Mirror Philippa Georgiou

Love In a Turbolift? Not Really by Shane_for_Wax | Fic | B7

A Trapped Kind Of Love by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | J7

Formalities by baubeautyandthegeek | GIF & Fic | Lenara Kahn x Jadzia Dax

Feels so right by plain_and_simple_tailor | Fic | Kiradax

#startrekfemslashweek2024 #masterpost

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suugarbabe · 8 months ago

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Hello!! I was wondering if I could request a Theo Nott x reader fic, where Theo invites the reader to his quidditch game. Slytherin wins, and to celebrate, Theo invites the reader to fly with him, but she's is kinda afraid of heights. Eventually he convinces her to take a ride with him and it's really fluffy and sweet!

Happy Holidays! <3

sorry i'm such a shite shite person as this request is from like december but I hope it does justice for you because i think it's actually really cute this is also not edited so pls ignore any mistakes <3

Pansy smacked your hand away from your mouth, “If you keep gnawing on your nails there’s going to be nothing left.” You shot her a dirty look playfully, “Well if those fucking weasel twins weren’t so freakishly gangly and smacking bloody bludgers at Teddy every two seconds maybe I could relax!” Pansy gave you a knowing look, “Is it really that? Or is it the fact that we’re winning and you promised Theo you’d finally allow him to fly you around the pitch.” The smile you tried to fake could easily be described as a grimace. It was widely known in your friend group that you did not fly. You hated flying. You were perfectly fine with your feet planted firmly on the ground. You did the required first year class and after that you were done.

However the budding more than friendship that started happening between you and Theo led to each of you pushing yourselves to try new things. Theo allowed you to teach him how to bake (the muggle way) and in exchange you promised him you would allow him to take you flying strictly if Slytherin won their game against Gryffindor. You had honestly believed your house would lose, not because you didn’t believe in your team, but because historically this year the prideful group had been demolishing your sneaky snakes.

Your bet seemed to be all the motivation Theo needed to play twice as good as he normally did, as he had your house up by about 150 pts. Pansy’s grip on your thigh tightened as you both watched Draco nose dive towards the bottom of the pitch. “He sees it. Oh fucking Salazar’s sake, he sees it. If he gets ahold of this snitch before golden four-eyes scar boy I am going to reward him graciously tonight.” You faked a gag, “Pansy, please. Spare me the detai-” your retort was cut off by a squealing screech as Pansy and the rest of your house’s section erupted into roars of cheers. Zips and flashes of green seemed to fly by you and around the pitch as silver and emerald fireworks erupted, signaling the official victory of Slytherin house.

As you were watching the whirling wizards around you, one with dark golden curls and deep ocean eyes stopped abruptly in front of you. With a knee weakening grin he hovered just before your view. “Hello, Teddy,” you watched with a smile as he hopped off his broom to stand on the bleachers beside you, “Ciao, dolcezza.” You stood before him, trying to control the goofy grin plastered on your face as he seemed to be looking you over. “You here to cash in on the bet, Teddy?” Theo’s grin grew three fold, “Only if you’re willing, princepesa.” You nodded, going to grab his broom before he quickly pulled it away, “Woah, now. There’s a few rules of the air you have to follow. If you can’t, I simply will not allow you to fly.”

You rolled your eyes with a cheeky grin, “You know I did take the same flying class as you first year, Mister Nott.” Theo shook his head, “Times have changed, amore...now listen up.” Theo rested both hands over the tail end of his broom, resting his chin on top of that. You loved how tall he was, how broad he was. It made you feel like he could protect you from anything and everything. “Rule number one, hands on the broomstick at all times.” You looked at him curiously, “I thought I was riding with you? Wouldn’t I just be holding on to you?” Theo shook his head, biting his bottom lip briefly in mischief, “No, amore, you’ll be in front of me. This is a lesson after all. Not a joy ride. If you want one of those it’ll have to be later.” Theo was able to get out a quick wink before you shoved his shoulder playfully, “Don’t be dirty, Teddy!”

Theo couldn’t hide his smile as he held out his broom, “C’mon. Hop on, cutie.” You snatched his broom from his hands, only furthering the growth of his smirk as you swung your leg over to mount it. You could have never prepared for the heat you felt rise in your cheeks as Theo mounted the broom behind you, arms and shoulders easily engulfing yours as he held onto the broom himself. “Now just push off with a little jump,” Theo’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear as he whispered instructions to you. “Yes, yes, I remember…” you tried to sound intimidating but you feared he could sense your hesitance as you gave a meek hop off the ground. Theo thankfully jumped with you, launching the two of you off of the bleachers and into the sky around you.

Your grip on his broomstick was knuckle white as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Uh-uh, princepesa, eyes open. Steer the way.” Your eyes shot open, noticing Theo had taken you both significantly higher in a matter of forty-seconds. “Oh fucking Salazar, how did we get so high?” Theo’s breath on your neck was the only warmth of air around you right now, “Lean forward a little bi-” You cut him in a panic, “FORWARD? Are you trying to kill me, Theo? Look I’m sorry for throwing flower at you, truly.” Theo only laughed again, “Lean forward and we’ll start to go lower, amore.” Pink tinted your cheeks and you were thankful that he couldn’t see them. You followed his instructions, leaning forward carefully. The broom did exactly as Theo said it would, slowly taking you both lower and lower. As you came closer to the ground you realised you never asked Theo how to actually land after flying. But you didn’t get much time to panic as Theo’s feet hit the ground first, one arm wrapping around your waist as you tried to not trip over your feet. Once you found stable ground, Theo quickly let go. “Erm, we should go, erm, meet the others for dinner.” You nodded in agreement, the two of you walking in a comfortable silence back inside the castle, Theo playfully bumping into your side. The eyes of all your friends found the two of you as you entered the great hall together, neither you nor Theo noticing as you sat down next to each other. Blaise raised an eyebrow, using his fork to gesture at the two of you, “Where’ve you two been, huh?” You opened your mouth to respond, but Pansy quickly jumped in before you, “She was riding Nott’s broomstick.”

#theo nott #theo nott request #theo nott x you #theo nott fluff #theo nott x reader

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railingsofsorrow · 9 months ago

Text

Slytherin Skittles !

[part 1] [part 2]

back to EO's masterlist

𝕬𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗

16 - preppy style - outspoken - physical touch - clear colors - summer afternoons - ESFP - red

𝕰𝖛𝖆𝖓 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗

16 - sophisticated style - observant - words of affirmation - lighter tones - cold dawn - ENTP - never had no one ever

𝕯𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖘 𝕸𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖘

17 - grunge style - detached - acts of service - all black - mornings - ISTP - take me to church

𝕭𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝕵𝖗.

17 - edgy style - obnoxiously loud - physical touch - dark shades - late nights - ESTP - swim

[part 1]

✫・

゜・。.°。

°。✫・ ✫ ・゜・。

.°。°。✫・

✫・゜・。.°。°。✫・

#slytherin skittles #emerald ocean fic #emerald ocean fanfic #amara rosier #dorcas meadowes #evan rosier #barty crouch jr

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month ago

Text

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 4: Emerald]

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

Back into the sitting room, fleeing like a hare from hounds, but Rush is here trying to grab you. You careen to the door to the private promenade deck and dive out into the bitter starlit cold, your breath fog, your shoes slipping on the yellow pine planks that overlay the steel skeleton of the ship, weight that could drag you down to the ocean floor. Rush is in pursuit; he swipes at your arm and gets ahold of your coat sleeve, soft pink wool. You wrench yourself free, twisting out of the coat and dropping your handbag, colliding with the barrier, Tudor-style timber paneling beneath vast windows the frigid night air pours in through. Your hip bruises against the wood, you can hear black waves crashing below; then you collapse to the deck, your spine pressed to the wall, trying to back away when there’s nowhere left to run to. You realize you are still clutching Aegon’s small aluminum lighter and shove it beneath the skirt of your gown. Rush draws his pistol.

“No no no!” you plead, showing him your palms, cowering beneath one of the windows.

They could throw me out of it. They could say it was an accident or a suicide.

The deck is lined with potted plants and lightweight wicker furniture. Inside, you can hear Rhaenyra saying something, though her words are muffled; it’s a tone you wouldn’t have thought she was capable of. She sounds afraid. Draco and Dagmar must be asleep, Fern tucked away in the tiny maid’s room. There are no witnesses to what will happen next. Your heart thuds in your chest, swollen and sickly. Cold North Atlantic wind washes over your bare skin and leaves you freckled with goosebumps.

Like a lightning storm, like a hurricane, Daemon surges out onto the deck. He is still tying his robe shut. His hair hangs in dark, damp strands over his forehead. You picture it again, though you don’t want to: Daemon with Rhaenyra like he’s never been with you, the impulsive desire, the dire necessity.

Why not in Rhaenyra’s bed? Why would he bring her here?

Because he thought you wouldn’t be back until midnight…and to prove he can get away with it. To succeed where he failed with you this morning. To feel like a man again.

“I didn’t see anything,” you tell him, but you cannot keep the shock and disgust from your face, intractable like a wild animal.

Daemon kicks one of the wicker chairs at you. You bat it away with a scream and press yourself harder against the barrier, trying to disappear, trying to become somebody else, a girl who didn’t agree to marry a renegade of a man who showed up smirking and cavalier at her father’s Connemara marble quarry.

I want to go home, you think with helplessness like a child’s.

“I didn’t see anything,” you say again, sobbing now. With one hand, you claw at the windowsill above you so you have something to hold onto if he tries to drag you away. The wind, sweeping down from the Arctic, burns like blue fire in your lungs. “I don’t know anything.”

Daemon dives to the floor, hooks his fingers into your hair, yanks you closer as you cry out and flinch away from him. “One word, one fucking word, and you’re gone,” he is threatening, a blade-sharp hiss, and you can smell Rhaenyra’s perfume on him, marking his flushed skin like a bloodstain; but Daemon’s deep-set green eyes—emerald, malachite, jade, serpentine, Connemara marble—are fearful. This is strange; this is unlike him, this is a foreign language.

He loves her, you realize. He’s terrified to harm her, to lose her.

“I would never—”

“Over the railing,” Daemon snarls, jerking your head to the side as you whimper. “Your bones at the bottom of the ocean, your name forgotten.”

“I won’t tell, please, Daemon, please, don’t hurt me.” You look at Rush. He’s staring indifferently down at you, his pistol still in his hand. You turn back to Daemon. “I’ve never told anyone.” About the bruises, about the man you really are. “Not my parents, not a soul. I don’t want to tell. I just want to stay with you and Draco. I won’t jeopardize that. Please, Daemon, please—”

“No one would believe you,” he says; but if that was true, he wouldn’t be so frantic. “You’d be a madwoman. They’d lock you up in an asylum, put you in a straightjacket, cut the pieces off of you that made you so hysterical.”

“Yes,” you agree, yielding, toothless.

He rips at your hair again, pulling you away from the barrier and to the center of the floor. Rush steps out of the way to make room. You don’t fight Daemon. You have to convince him your fighting days are over.

Why doesn’t he kill me now? A dagger to the jugular, a body splashing into opaque waves?

Because he needs his perfect family in order to march triumphantly into the skyscrapers-and-streetlights labyrinth of Manhattan. Because he can’t eclipse Viserys if people are whispering that his wife is dead under peculiar circumstances, fallen overboard on Titanic’s famed maiden voyage, insane or drunk or maybe—just maybe—murdered by a man’s rough rageful hands.

“What did you see?” Daemon says, testing you.

“Nothing.”

His palm cracks across your face. You yelp, more startled than in pain. Your skin is going numb from the cold; he’s hit you harder before. Now he doesn’t want to bloody or bruise you, he doesn’t want to leave evidence others could notice. He wants his threats imprinted irrevocably into you like scars. He wants you to listen. “What did you see?!”

“Nothing,” you moan, and then the door to the sitting room opens. You, Daemon, and Rush all whirl towards the noise.

In the doorway stands Fern with a silver-plated tray of tea and biscuits. Her black dress and white apron appear hastily thrown on, rumpled fabric and some buttons left undone. She blinks a few times, but she seems more nervous than shocked. Her eyes flit to you and then settle benignly on a wicker table. She ignores the chair that Daemon kicked earlier, lying overturned at the edge of the deck.

She knew what was happening, you think, grateful, a little awed. She’s here to try to stop it.

“It’s so cold out tonight,” Fern says at last. “I thought I’d make tea.”

Daemon doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never cruel to the staff, that’s one of his charms. His miners worship him, his valets believe him to be their true friend, his housekeepers fret over him as if he’s their husband or their son. Daemon rarely acknowledges Fern directly, as if she doesn’t quite exist to him, a ghost whose silhouette appears on eerie nights, squeaks of door hinges and objects nudged a few mysterious centimeters. He chooses his enemies with great care, like a gardener pruning diseased leaves. Daemon understands that the ones who toil beneath his feet are in the best position to rise up and devour him.

Fern sets the tray down on the wicker table and waits, her hands clasped decorously in front of her. “Will you be requiring anything else, sir?”

There are several electrified seconds—waves thrashing against the ship, wind howling as it tears through your hair—and then Daemon laughs and releases you, as if this has all been a comical misunderstanding. He stands and goes to the tray, picks up a cup of tea, and slurps on it as steam billows up into his face. “How kind of you.”

Fern bows her head in a nod, not leaving. Rush glances between them, then slides his pistol back into its holster.

“Draco should have a mother,” Daemon tells you, looking down from a great height. It sounds like it is meant to be a compromise.

“He should,” you reply. Even if I cannot touch him, cannot be alone with him, cannot teach him to love me.

“It’s not good for boys. When their mothers up and die on them while they’re still so young.” Daemon is reflective for a moment—an unusual skin for him to wear—and then slinks towards the doorway. “Fern, darling, change the bedsheets, will you?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” She follows him back inside, a brief glimpse at you over one shoulder. Rush glowers at you and disappears with them. You are left alone on the private promenade deck.

Your head spinning, your bones freezing, you struggle to your feet: palms flat on the pine planks, black opal ring glimmering in the moonlight, knees groaning as you lift them. Slowly—stunned, aching—you pull on your pink wool coat. You find Aegon’s lighter and hide it in your handbag, then stand there clutching it like you’re on your way to some glittering social engagement, a tea party, a dinner, a gala, a Christmas party. But what you’re on your way to is purgatory, like the one Dante wrote of, a prison where you will sweat out your sins over and over again.

Why did I believe him? Why did I marry him? Why can’t I find a way out?

You leave the deck like an autumn frosting into winter, bleak, hushed, listless. You do not return to your staterooms but pass through the doorway that leads to the B-Deck hallways. The corridors are quiet and still, occasional stewards running the last errands of the night, a few men in black suits puffing on pipes and cigars, swirling clinking glasses of brandy, ruing all the blights that have incumbered their earnings: foolish wives, Democratic politicians, dissolute immigrants.

You flee towards the stern of the ship, far from the first-class sections. Outside there is a greenish hue to the sky—dim echoes of northern lights—and stars that sparkle like jewels. There is no one lingering by the back railing of Titanic, and for good reason; the air is so cold it bites like fangs, and the roar of the propellers is terrible, so loud and so guttural, sea monsters like the ones early explorers drew into the margins of their maps clawing up from the depths. You fall to the deck and sit with your knees to your chest at the end of a pair of benches—hiding in the shadows where you will not be seen by wandering passengers or lookouts scanning for icebergs—and gaze into the east as Titanic chugs westward, away from Ireland, away from everything your life could have been.

Tears bleed down your cheeks and turn from magma to ice there. You wipe them off your face with the sleeve of your pink wool coat. You ignite a cigarette with Aegon’s aluminum lighter and smoke it all the way down. You light another, and another, poisoning your blood with each breath, polishing the barbs off reality. It’s not enough. You need a drink. How long until you’re just another languishing housewife addicted to laudanum or cocaine? How long until you’re a drunk like Aegon once was?

I want to go home. I want to go home.

There are footsteps, sluggish and clumsy. An intoxicated man. You are about to scramble to your feet and escape when you see who it is. Aegon flops down beside you in a stolen black coat, the pungent miasma of Guinness wafting off of him and his face splotchy and red, looking away from you, ashamed of himself.

You say: “I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“And obviously there’s a reason for that,” Aegon slurs. He rubs his eyes, watery and unfocused, bloodshot and despondent. “I’m having a bad night.”

Me too. “Did you know?” you ask, a hoarse voice, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers.

Aegon is confused. “Know what?”

“That Daemon can’t get hard for me because he’d rather be sleeping with his niece.”

“What?” Aegon gapes at you, incredulous, revolted. “Daemon is fucking Rhaenyra?”

You nod, taking a drag. There is a faint orange glow, a warm hit of nicotine to your blood.

“I can’t believe that.”

“I can. I saw it.”

“Jesus,” Aegon mutters, staring out into the endless ink spill of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, more sympathetically: “No, I didn’t know.”

“You never heard anything?”

“Not like that,” he says. “I mean, I remember when I was a kid and people were talking about Daemon being a bad influence on her. But they said he was teaching Rhaenyra to go to parties and stay out too late and swear and smoke, not…you know. Not that he was committing incest with her. That’s some Richard III mischief.”

“Now I understand why you know so much Shakespeare.”

“My parents couldn’t send me to boarding school fast enough. I was shipped off the same week I turned five. Cake and presents one day, shoved on a train the next.”

“I’m afraid Daemon will do that to Draco.” You can’t keep the quiver from your words. “I’m afraid he’ll kill me now that I know the worst of his secrets.”

Aegon turns to you, and through the haze of dark bitter Guinness that’s still sloshing from his stomach into his bloodstream you can see he fears the same thing.

“I want to go home,” you sob, breaking down. Ashes build on your cigarette until you toss it away. Tears spill from your eyes, the River Shannon, the River Clare. “Nobody here cares about me.”

“I do,” Aegon insists, touching your face, trying to make you listen. His sand-colored hair lashes in the wind. “I care about you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Why do you care? Why can’t you leave me alone? Did you go to O’Connell’s Bar to spy on me, was all of this to spite Daemon and—?”

“No,” Aegon says, a truthful boyish confession. “No. I didn’t know you’d be there. I didn’t know anything about you except that Daemon had married some quarry heiress. I heard he’d be there for an interview, and I was curious, and I kind of thought it’d be fun to fuck with him if he ended up recognizing me, and so I got a job at O’Connell’s and made sure I’d be playing the night Daemon showed up. That’s all there was to it. And then I saw you in that bar in Galway and you were…” He shakes his head. His voice drops to a whisper, aching and reverent. “You were so sad, and so beautiful, and I…I’ve never done anything important in my entire life. I’ve never helped anyone. But I looked at you and I felt like…I thought…I could save her. And maybe that would make all the rest of my mistakes worth it, the wasted years of drinking myself to sleep every night, the aimlessness, the emptiness, the way I abandoned my mother and Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. I followed you onto Titanic because I had to try to help you. But by leading me home, by bringing me back to my family in New York…maybe you’re helping me too.”

I wish I was yours, you think, so vividly you almost tell him. I wish I was a stone in your mine to be found in the darkness, chiseled from the wall, studied and cut down and polished, set in gold or silver to be worn on your ring finger, your blood pulsing beneath my ageless gleam.

“Please stay away from me,” you beg him. “Please, Aegon. I don’t want you to die.”

He says as his thumbprints clean tears from your cheeks: “What if Daemon was gone?”

“You mean what if I pushed him over a railing and into the Atlantic Ocean?” you ask, sniffling. “Assuming I could get him alone, and he didn’t stab me first or drag me overboard with him, they would know it was me. Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra. And they would make me pay. If I lived, I’d spend the rest of my life in a prison or an asylum. I wouldn’t get to go home. I wouldn’t get to keep Draco.”

Aegon doesn’t know what to say, and this is because there are no answers. You aren’t overlooking anything. Sometimes reality is cold and unfeeling and lethal, primordial, reptilian, mindless black eyes like a shark’s.

You smile miserably at him. “I’m going to miss you when the ship docks in New York Harbor.”

“Daemon wanting to fuck Rhaenyra doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Stop,” you say, wincing, standing to leave him. Aegon reaches for your hands, but you hide them in the pockets of your pink wool coat. He gazes up at you, drunk desperate heartbreak. You wonder how clearly he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“If you were my wife, I’d never look away.”

“You have no idea who I am. You’ve never really seen me.” Never held me, never uncovered me, never opened me and filled the void with your own rushing blood. Then you depart before someone can come searching for you and discover Aegon, rip away his disguise, toss him into the roiling frigid surf stirred up by the propellers.

In your staterooms, the lamplit air is silent and warmed by the ship’s furnaces, shoveled full of coal at all hours of the day and night. Fern is waiting on the sofa when you enter. She looks at you as if she is relieved, then vanishes into her tiny maid’s room without a word. Your bedroom has been tidied, the linens changed; but the mineral ether of sex still hangs in the space like tapestries from a wall. You try not to notice your reflection in the mirror.

Daemon never touched me like he touched Rhaenyra. He never wanted me, I never satisfied him.

Daemon doesn’t come back all night. You sleep on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Sunday April 14th, you dress in green, the color of the Emerald Isle, the color of deep poisonous envy. You affix small emeralds to your ears and one massive stone around your throat, found in Madagascar in one of Daemon’s Grandidierite mines, a lush verdant glint in a nest of cold blue like deep water, like ice.

Heavy enough to drown me, you think wryly, a swift glance at the mirror, turning away again almost immediately. I’d go straight to the bottom.

Before you leave the bedroom, you slide open the top drawer of Dameon’s writing desk, presently abandoned. His dagger is there, gold hilt and spherical gemstones like miniature planets, all fatefully aligned: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. You lift up the dagger and study it, circling the tiny emerald world with your index finger. You are jealous of Rhaenyra getting everything she’s ever wanted. You are jealous of any woman who’s ever touched Aegon, who knows what it feels like to lie beneath him, to be known by him.

You place the dagger back in the drawer and slam it shut; the whole desk rattles. Then you go out into the sitting room, where Fern is attempting to wrestle Draco into his black wool coat, a small version of Daemon’s.

“No!” Draco is bellowing. “I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to, let me go!”

“You’ll freeze to death out there, lad,” Fern says, strands of her long copper-colored hair escaping from her bonnet and a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, looking like she’s been to war.

Draco is stomping on the toes of her shoes to little effect. “No I won’t!”

You peer around, searching for your geriatric nemesis, a banshee, a vampire. She is nowhere to be found. “Where’s Dagmar?”

“She’s feeling seasick,” Fern replies, still struggling with Draco. “So she’s lying down in Draco’s bedroom. I’m sure she’ll be up and around again before you know it. She’s a tough old Cailleach.” And there’s no danger in being overheard; Dagmar wouldn’t know what that means, just like you don’t understand her when she mutters her strange Scandinavian curses.

You immediately scoop up Draco and run with him out of the staterooms, Draco giggling shrilly, you beaming as you fly down the corridors and ascend the Grand Staircase two steps at a time, your green shoes slipping on the English oak wood as you zoom past the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock. All around you are first-class passengers watching with startled looks, a little baffled, a little amused. High above is the dome of glass and wrought iron, brisk white-gold sunlight streaming through. You carry Draco out onto the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and take him to an unoccupied portion of the railing beside one of the lifeboats. You hold him so he can see over the barrier and out into the calm murky blue of the North Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of miles southeast of Newfoundland. The breeze is icy, the sky infinite and cloudless.

You spot slate grey fins cutting up through the water in arches, a whole pod of them. “Look, look! Dolphins!”

“Dolphins?” Draco says doubtfully. “Dolphins are real? Not just in books?”

“Of course they’re real. And they’re friendly, too. Back in Galway, sometimes they swim right up to the pier hoping the fishermen will share the catch of the day.”

“Neat!” Draco shouts. “Can I throw things at them?”

You pause, unsure how to reply. You resist the urge to shake him and say: Do you crave violence like Daemon, are you burning up inside with his fire? Do you want to be a monster like your father? One day will you paint amethyst bruises on your wife? “Why would you want to do that?”

Draco shrugs. “I like throwing things.”

“Well, throwing things can be fun, but if you throw something at a dolphin you might hurt it. Do you want to hurt the dolphin? It’s a living creature just like you. They have friends and families, and blood in their veins. They can feel it if you cut them.”

“No,” Draco decides. “I don’t really want to hurt the dolphins.”

“You can throw things in other situations, like if you play cricket or hurling or Gaelic football. Or baseball, I guess. Now that we’ll be living in America.”

“Okay,” Draco says, gazing at the ocean. Fern trots over to you, breathing heavily from trying to keep up, but she’s grinning. She has brought the coat Draco refused to put on, and this is fortunate, because now as you hold him on your hip you can feel your son is shivering.

“Do you want to put on your coat now?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” Draco says reluctantly, and you lower him down to the deck and help him tug the sleeves over his tiny arms. You suddenly remember when he was born and being so fascinated by his hands—so small and wrinkled, so powerless, always grasping—and Dagmar forever clawing him out of your arms, bundling him up in blankets and whisking him away to other corners of the castle.

“Fern was trying to help you when she told you to wear your coat. She knew you would be cold, and now you are, aren’t you? When adults tell you to do things, it’s not for no reason. They just want what’s best for you.”

“But I don’t like to do what other people say. I like to do what I want.”

“And that’s totally understandable,” you say. “Sometimes you will get to make your own decisions, especially as you get older. But right now you’re very, very young, and there are just a lot of things you don’t know yet, so you need adults more. Please be kind when Fern is trying to help you with your coat or your shoes. She doesn’t mean to upset you. She wants you to be safe and healthy.”

Fern gives you a modest, thankful smile. Draco is mulling this over. “The older someone is, the more they know?”

“I suppose you could put it that way,” you say.

“So Dagmar knows a lot more than you.”

He’s not trying to be cruel; he’s trying to figure things out. The world is so new to him. You wish you could recall what that feels like, to see everything with vast light wonder. “Well…” you begin delicately. He loves her; you cannot win by bludgeoning her into a mess of bloodstains and bone shards. “Yes, she probably knows more about certain things.”

You pick Draco up again to distract him, and he is captivated by the seagulls swooping through the air, laughing and tracking them with his wide eyes, a sunlit green beneath pale blonde hair that is disheveled from the wind. There is a figure lurking on the periphery of your vision, a man in black, a coat and a hat, hands in his pockets. You turn to see it’s Aegon, perhaps ten feet away and pretending to survey the horizon. Your heartbeat quickens; you stomach drops.

What on earth is he doing here? Why can’t he leave me alone?

But of course, you don’t want him to. You stare at him and instinctively touch the emerald that hangs from your throat, Madagascar, Ireland, treasure, envy. You think of how your bedroom smelled when you returned to it late last night.

Fern seems oblivious to Aegon. “I feel so much better knowing there are lifeboats aboard,” she says, looking at the vessel you are standing beside.

“There aren’t enough of them,” you tell her, a low murmur that Draco pays no attention to.

Fern is alarmed. “No?”

“They can fit about half the passengers, no more. So if anything happens, make sure you don’t waste any time finding yourself a seat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am,” Fern says, troubled.

“Have you seen Lord Targaryen today?”

“No, ma’am,” Fern answers, trying to keep her tone neutral. She isn’t sure if it will be a relief to you or a knife to the heart. “He moved some of his things to Rhaenyra’s rooms before he departed last night. I suspect he will spend the rest of Titanic’s journey there.”

“He’s so fond of his niece,” you say flatly.

“Yes.”

“And she is in need of company, as her own husband is always fraternizing with the Parisians.”

Fern isn’t sure what she’s allowed to say. She smirks and bows her head to hide it. Now Aegon is strolling closer, ostensibly casual. “Good morning, ladies!”

Fern curtsies politely. “Good morning, sir.”

He casts Draco a glance—Aegon seems puzzled by him, maybe a little wary, certainly not accustomed to being around children—then extends an open hand to you. “What an engagement ring! Might I trouble you for a quick look?”

You set Draco down and he is promptly enamored by an orange-sized rubber ball someone has left here. “Of course.” You try to act indifferent, but when Aegon takes your left hand in his own you feel a jolt of warmth travel like a wave up the length of your arm.

Aegon turns your hand one way and then the other, inspecting it. Underneath, his fingertips stroke the lines of your palm. A tremor cascades down the rungs of your spine, helpless hypnotic longing. “What is that, onyx? Obsidian? Jet?”

“Black opal. From Australia.”

“A prison colony,” Aegon says, grinning at you from under the brim of his hat. “A place for villains and beasts.” Swiftly, he takes his right hand from his coat pocket and presses something into your palm: a folded piece of paper, a note, a message in a bottle from a castaway. Then he steps back from you as if it takes great effort.

“There you are!” a craggy voice cries out, and Dagmar is crossing the deck. She seems restored, if a bit wan. She swishes over in her charcoal-colored gown, her white hair twisted into a severe bun, and when Draco bolts to her she kneels down and catches him in a fierce, territorial embrace, her gnarled hands encircling his diminutive body. “Out and about without me? And I wager you haven’t even had breakfast yet, have you, my love?” She glares over his little shoulder at you. “You must be famished. How terribly irresponsible to let you suffer.”

“He ate some tea and biscuits when he woke up to tide him over,” Fern offers meekly.

“I was having fun with Mam,” Draco tells Dagmar, and you see the calculations on her cunning ancient face. She can’t scold him, she can’t correct him. She can’t defeat you with naked wrath any more than you can demand he stop loving Dagmar. You have sailed into new waters, a subtle silent war.

Aegon is receding, disappearing into the crowds of first-class passengers strolling the Boat Deck. Dagmar glances at him and then looks again, her jaw dropping open, her attention captured like a jewel in the pocket of a thief.

“What is it?” Fern asks, peeking bewilderedly at the stranger. Draco is chasing the rubber ball around again. Your pulse thuds hot and hectic in your ears.

Dagmar’s sharp blue eyes are uncharacteristically dazed; she shakes her head as if she’s just seen something impossible, an angel or a ghost. “He looks just like Viserys when he was young.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dagmar spirits Draco off to breakfast, Fern returns to the staterooms to complete her chores for the day. You take the Grand Staircase down to A-Deck and slip into the Reading and Writing Room, mostly unoccupied this early in the day, to read Aegon’s note. Outside on the Promenade Deck, you can hear Daemon and Rhaenyra strolling by with a number of companions, chuckling and chatting away in a world where all their wishes are granted.

Daemon is saying: “There is an Armenian legend about a so-called Queen of the Serpents, who carries in her fanged mouth a stone made of light. Some nights she tosses it up into the air, where it becomes the moon, full and shining, until it inevitably drops back down to the earth. And as the proverb goes, happy is the man who shall catch the stone where it falls…”

You know that story. It was in one of the books you gifted Daemon for your first anniversary.

With trembling hands, you unfold Aegon’s note. He has written in black ink:

Petra,

One last painting?

Don’t go to dinner tonight. Meet me at the stern.

- Picasso

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x oc #aegon x y/n #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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therealdisneyfan2319 · 2 years ago

Text

Woman of the Night | Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Wanda has kept what she does for a living a secret from you the entire time you’ve been together. The night you accidentally find out changes everything.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, mild language, age gap (Wanda is 38, R is 25), suggestive content, minors DNI

Word Count: 4.9K

Masterlist

A/N: I’d like to thank @cthulhus-curse for uttering three words that changed my world: Stripper MILF Wanda. I give them full credit for this amazing idea. They have their own INCREDIBLE fic called “Cherry Waves” which y’all should check out too! Enjoy!

Taking one final look in the mirror before you left your apartment, you nervously tousled your hair for the millionth time. It wasn’t every day you had a first date. In fact, it had been a couple of years since you had gone on any sort of date at all.

It’s not that you didn’t want to date: after graduating from college and getting a job as an accountant at one of the Tri-State Area’s most prestigious law firms, it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. The tipping point was when one of your closest friends from college, Steve, got engaged to his longtime girlfriend. He was the first of your friends to get married. It didn’t matter that he was a few years older than you, or that they’d been together for almost a decade, you suddenly felt the need to keep up with the Joneses.

You’d never tried dating apps before, so you downloaded the first one you saw. As you created your profile, you saw the general age range was set from 18-49. What the heck, you thought, deciding not to change it. Age gaps didn’t really bother you.

Once your profile was set up, you flopped down onto your bed. Pictures of different women flashed across your screen. It turned you off almost instantaneously. It all seemed so transactional, swiping one way or another simply based on her looks and a few generic questions. You lazily flicked through them swiping left or right haphazardly until a certain redhead caught your eye.

The woman was absolutely gorgeous. Her profile picture was her sitting on the beach gazing out over the ocean. Her red hair cascaded down her body, accented by the dep blue waves crashing against the sand and the clear blue sky. Her emerald green eyes were stunning. You saw those in the next picture, a candid shot of her popping a bottle of champagne. There was no doubt that she was hands down the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

You scanned her profile and learned that her name was Wanda, she was 38, and that she lived in Westview. It didn’t phase you that she was 13 years older than you, you swiped right anyways. Much to your surprise the app announced that you two were a match. Your face burned red knowing that she swiped right on you first. Had she felt the same way when she saw you? Did the world around her come to a complete standstill as she swiped through your pictures? God you hoped so.

After a few brief text exchanges, Wanda agreed to meet you for drinks after she got out of work on Saturday. She agreed to meet you at one of your favorite bars. You hoped Wanda wouldn’t find it too immature. That was your biggest worry: that she’d find you too childish for her liking. Those thoughts danced through your mind while you waited for her. You threw back the shot of vodka you ordered in one gulp, the liquor burning your throat as it traveled down to your stomach. There was no way you’d be able to do this totally sober.

“Y/N?”

You spun around as a voice you never heard before called your name. It was her. It had to be. A voice that sweet and melodic could only belong to her. As you turned you locked eyes with the emerald ones that had infiltrated the depths of your consciousness for the better part of a week. They were even more mesmerizing in person.

“Wanda?” You managed to choke out, disguising your dumbstruck awe as a cough.

“Hi!” she responded enthusiastically, taking her coat off and slinging it over the empty stool next to her. “Sorry I’m a little late. I got stuck at work,” she apologized while she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s okay,” you replied in earnest.

The two of you soon fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. Wanda was surprisingly easy to talk to. She told you all about herself. How she was divorced from her husband and raising her twin boys, Billy and Tommy, by herself. Her strength and courage impressed you. She was also uncommonly kind and had a wicked sense of humor. She told jokes that made even you blush.

“So what do you do for work?” she asked, swirling her lipstick stained straw around her drink.

“I’m an accountant at a law firm. Nelson and Murdock. Have you heard of them?” Wanda shook her head as you took another sip of your beer. “It’s a good job. Good pay, good people, good vacation time…that’s all that really matters in a job, right?”

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head at your youthful optimism. She found the straw without breaking eye contact with you. You swallowed hard as she stared at you with a twinkle in her eye, the room growing hotter by the second. “So what do you do?”

Wanda sucked her drink a little faster, pausing as she came up for air. Her confident demeanor faltered ever so slightly. She tilted her head, thinking before she spoke.

“I’m a secret agent with the CIA. So I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She shot you a knowing wink before she motioned to the bartender for another drink. The way Wanda completely avoided the subject told you the real answer was more complicated than she was willing to let on.

When Wanda told you she wanted to see you again, you were equally relieved and ecstatic. That first date was an undeniable success, as made evident by the way she slammed you up against a dumpster behind the bar and crashed her lips into yours. The sensation of her soft lips against yours was pure ecstasy. You were grateful for both the dumpster and the tight grip you had on her hips because you were sure your knees would give out otherwise.

Over the next few months, you saw each other as much as you could, which wasn’t enough for either of you. Wanda was simultaneously balancing a demanding work schedule with being a single mother and you were drowning in quarterly reports. Yet through the late night trysts, stolen moments, phone calls, text messages, and video chats, one thing never changed: Wanda never revealed what she actually did. Any mention of it was met with a sarcastic remark and a different answer every time. It didn’t bother you too much, but you wondered what she did that made her not want to tell you about it.

***********************************************************

“Okay we’ve got the steaks, we’ve got the cigars, we’ve got the booze, we’ve got Bucky’s Gamecube, all we need is the stripper,” Sam rattled off as he went down the checklist.

“Woah!” you interjected as you ripped the list from him. “Steve’s not gonna want a stripper. Come one, we all know the guy’s a total square when it comes to that sort of stuff.”

“You, sir, need to learn to live a little,” Bucky chided as he smacked your shoulder. The three of you had taken it upon yourselves to plan Steve’s bachelor party. The lot of you had met in college. Steve was a grad student and Bucky and Sam were upperclassmen when you met them your freshman year on the rugby team. While Bucky and Sam were the party animals of the group, you and Steve weren’t. Steve was the clean cut one, which led to rumors that he was secretly a Mormon or Quaker or something like that. But they were just rumors. The truth of the matter was that Steve simply wasn’t interested in that sort of stuff. He’d be thrilled with steaks, beer, cigars, and video games at his bachelor party. But a stripper?

“I don’t know, guys. I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”

“Steve said he was down for anything when I asked, so technically it’s his own fault,” Sam smirked. You chuckled, letting out an exasperated sigh as you shook your head. There was no way of talking Sam and Bucky out of this insane idea.

“I mean, you got me there, Sam,” you relented. “You guys know any good ones?”

The three of you grabbed your phones, looking up the best reviewed strip clubs in the area. If Steve’s bachelor party was going to have a stripper, then you were going to have the best stripper you could afford.

“Oh here’s one!” Bucky shouted. “Wait nevermind. We can’t afford that.”

“What about this one? Top Notch Stippers? They’ve got great reviews and they’re more affordable than the other place,” Sam suggested. You plopped over on the arm of the chair and peered over his shoulder.

“Cool! Let’s book it!” Bucky exclaimed.

Sam dialed the number and promptly thrust the phone in your face. “Thanks,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

“Top Notch Strippers, this is Kelly speaking, how may I help you?” a perky voice asked from the other end of the line.

“Uh, yeah…I need to book someone for a bachelor party next Saturday night…please.” You heard the clacking of a keyboard over the line.

“Great! Is there any one of our performers you’d like to request?”

The question made you freeze. God, this was so awkward. Your face reddened with embarrassment. “Umm, how about your best one?” you managed to squeak out. “It’s, uhh, it’s my buddy’s bachelor party.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to explain yourself to the woman on the other end.

“Gotcha. She’s a good one, too. Everybody loves her.” You smiled weakly. “Now what’s the address and what time?”

“Umm, 9 pm?” Bucky and Sam nodded. “Yeah 9. And the address is, uhh…” “247 Westbrook Drive,” Sam whispered.

“247 Westbrook Drive,” you blurted. Another moment of silence told you she was inputting all of your information.

“And can I get a name and phone number?”

“Sam Wilson, and the number is…” Sam slapped his forehead and Bucky stifled a laugh by biting his fist while you gave Kelly Sam’s name and number.”

“Okay great. So your total of $800 will be due in cash the night of the event and that doesn’t include any tips or gratuities. A security guard will accompany her for her safety, which is standard protocol for every performance. If you need to cancel or reschedule, just give us at least 24 hours notice.”

“Great, okay, thanks then,” you replied before hanging up and tossing Sam back his phone.

“Why’d you give my name, man?” Sam whined as he caught it.

“Because it’s your house, dumbass,” you joked. “Oh, and it’s 800 bucks, so cough it up, assholes.”

***********************************************************

“So I’ll see you after the party then?” you asked Wanda.

“Yeah. I’m working tonight so I got a sitter for the boys. But they should be asleep by the time you get there. And-”

“I know, I know. Leave before they wake up and find their mom in bed with a strange man,” you smirked as you emptied a bag of ice into the cooler.

“I promise you’ll meet them soon, Y/N. I just don’t want to rush them.” That was the main reason Wanda hadn’t introduced you to them in your four months of dating. It had been less than two years since their dad completely walked out on them and it was still a sore subject of contention. Wanda worried that if you two didn’t work out for whatever reason they’d end up heartbroken all over again.

“Wanda, it’s okay! Really! I don’t want to rush you at all. I’ll meet them when I meet them!” You balanced your phone between your shoulder and ear as you emptied a box of beer cans into the cooler.

“What did I ever do to deserve a boyfriend as sweet as you?” Her voice was sweet as honey through the phone, causing you to melt. For as much as you adored Wanda she adored you even more. She made you smile, really smile, for the first time in your life.

“Hey listen I’ve gotta run,” you apologized as Bucky screamed about something going on with the grill while Sam ran around with the fire extinguisher. “I think Bucky’s trying to blow the place up.”

“Have fun playing fire marshall,” Wanda giggled. “I’ll see you tonight.”

After stopping Bucky from burning himself, you took over grill duty as the rest of your friends arrived. Steve showed up last, sheepishly accepting the taunts and applause from his groomsmen.

The evening was spent grilling, smoking, drinking, and racing Mario Kart on Bucky’s Gamecube. Steve was having an absolute blast, remaining totally ignorant to the performance that was looming overhead. As 9 pm grew closer, you grew more anxious. It was your head on the chopping block if this went south.

At 8:55 the doorbell rang.

“Who’s that?” Steve asked. “Don’t tell me you ordered pizza after all that food, Buck.”

“Nah, it’s the stripper,” Bucky answered, deeply engrossed in the race as his Waluigi overtook Scott Lang’s Wario for the lead.

“Ha! Good one!” Steve laughed as he took a swig of his beer.

“Can someone go let-damn it, Scott!-Can someone go let her in?!” Sam yelled as his Yoshi slipped on a banana peel.

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Where’s her money?” You stood up, searching around the room for the envelope with the money Sam and Bucky ponied up.

“It’s in my butt!” Sam leaned onto one side of his butt, the folded envelope peeking out of his back pocket. You snatched it from him and jogged to the door.

“Hold on!” you shouted as the bell rang a second time. A rush of anxiety pulsed through you as you saw a silhouette through the frosted glass. But there was nothing that could prepare you for what you saw when you opened the door.

“Sup? I’m Pietro. I’m working security tonight.” A tall, somewhat lanky man with half bleached hair stuck his hand out at you. “Are you Sam?”

“What?” You were slightly taken aback. “Oh, no. I’m Y/N. Sam’s inside playing Mario Kart with the rest of the guys. You’re not, umm…you know…” You peered around him, searching for another body.

“What, the stripper? No way broski, that’s way too much work,” Pietro laughed. “She’s on her way. Her babysitter was a little late.”

“Oh, okay. Well, why don’t you go inside then? There’s steak and beer if you want some. I can wait out here for her.” “Thanks, but I’ll pass on the refreshments. I’ll go in and read ‘em the riot act, but if you’re gonna wait for her, here it is: do not touch her, do not call her anything of a degrading nature, do not film or take pictures of her, and tip generously. Put a toe out of line and I’ll put you in traction, understood?” Pietro’s laid back demeanor completely shifted as he slipped into guard mode. The subtle shift in his face told you that he meant business. You gulped, nodding overenthusiastically. “Alright, man! You said they’re all inside?” As fast as he shifted into guard mode he shifted back again. “Yeah, they’re racing Mario Kart. The party’s for Steve, by the way. It’s just Sam’s house we’re using.”

“Sweet!” Pietro slapped you on the back. “Lemme know when she gets here,” he asked before swaggering into the house. Seeing as you were all alone, you sat in the rocking chair and waited. Before long, a car pulled into the driveway. It skidded to a stop as you stood, watching the dark figure inside rummage around for something before opening the door.

“Sorry I’m late. My babysitter was late and I couldn’t leave until she-” The woman, dressed in normal clothes and carrying a backpack, jogged up the steps of the porch and froze when she saw you. As your eyes focused in the dim light, you understood why.

It was Wanda.

“Wanda?” Your brain exploded. Words left you as you stared in horror at your girlfriend.

“Oh no,” she whispered as she dropped her eyes to the ground and covered her face with her hand.

An awkward pause settled between the two of you as you both stared at the ground. Of all the things Wanda could be, this was certainly not on your list of choices. The entire situation felt surreal, like you were watching the scene from above while your body simply went through the motions.

“So, umm, this is what you actually do then?” You finally broke the silence, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck.

“Y/N-”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean it’s not a big deal. I just didn’t expect, y’know, this whole ‘woman of the night’ thing.”

“Woman of the night thing? Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Wanda scoffed. An incredulous look spread over her face as she recoiled in anger at your words. “I’m a stripper, not a prostitute! See, this is why I didn’t tell you. Because this is the reaction I get from every guy I’ve tried to date! They freak out, call me a slut, and that’s it!”

“So were you planning on just never telling me then? Just avoid the topic completely?” You stepped closer to her, your faces dangerously close as you felt your own rage burning. “How am I supposed to trust you if you can’t be honest with me?”

“I wanted to tell you, Y/N, I really did, but this isn’t the way I wanted you to find out.” She pinched her brow in exasperation as she turned away from you. “Look, can we talk about this later?”

You thrust the envelope at her. “Here’s your cash. Pietro’s inside. I’m gonna go. They’re back in the living room.” You opened the door for her, pushing past her as she entered.

“Hate to do this, but I’ve gotta dip. Family emergency,” you lied grabbing your hat and keys off the counter. “Steve, enjoy. Sam, text you later.”

“Everything good, man?” Bucky called as you sped down the hallway.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Have fun!” Wanda shot you a desperate, almost pleading look as you raced by. She was incredibly hurt by your words. You’d discovered her most intimate secret, something she shared equal parts pride and shame about, in the worst possible way and reacted the way she feared you would. You simply looked the other way.

You sat in your car absolutely frozen. Wanda was in a room with your best friends doing what she apparently did best. Kelly did say everyone loved her. So did you. Four short months and you were already head over heels in love with her. There were so many conflicting feelings over this new revelation. It was dizzying, the way your head spun at the absurdity of it all. Your older, divorced, mother-of-two girlfriend was a stripper and you had absolutely no idea until ten minutes ago. Worst of all you were ashamed at the way you reacted. You felt absolutely awful. You’d insulted her, accused her, and then completely dismissed her.

You couldn’t go back in there, not after that. And there was no way you could watch your girlfriend give your best friend a lap dance or whatever. So you started the car and made the short drive over to Westview.

You arrived at Wanda’s house a short time later, parking your car next to the sitter’s. A teenage girl appeared in the doorway, visibly confused at your appearance.

“Can I help you?” she called, cracking the screen door open slightly.

“Hey! I’m Y/N. ��Wanda’s my girlfriend. I told her I’d come over after she got back, but I think I’m a bit early.” You didn’t want to freak her out and you definitely didn’t want to let her know there was anything wrong. The younger girl didn’t respond, staring at you with a keen sense of distrust. “Look, I’m just gonna wait outside, okay? I’ll wait on the porch. You can text her if you want, she’ll tell you I’m okay.” You cautiously stepped toward the porch. She looked at you warily, sizing you up as she let the door shut. You heard a soft click as she locked it behind you. Sighing, you plopped on the top step and stared out into the clear dark night.

The bright glow of headlights jolted you awake as a car pulled into the drive. You must’ve nodded off as you waited for Wanda to return home. Both the porch light and headlights illuminated Wanda’s frame as she got out of the car. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and carried a pair of stilettos in the other. Her face seemed to carry the weight of the world in every crevice.

“You scared Kate a bit,” she said, giving you a half smile. “She called me all freaked out saying there was some weirdo claiming to be my boyfriend sitting on the porch, but that he couldn’t be my boyfriend because he was a literal child.”

“Cradle robber,” you joked. Wanda’s shoulders shrugged in a halfhearted chuckle. The tension between the two of you was unspoken but completely evident. Your stomach fluttered with butterflies as you thought of the impending conversation. You prayed that you hadn’t completely fucked things up between the two of you.

“Do you want to come in?”

***********************************************************

You sat in the kitchen, pushing around the leftover piece of pie Wanda set in front of you as she poured herself a large glass of wine. Although it was your favorite, you weren’t feeling all too hungry. There were so many things you wanted to say to her but you didn’t know how or where to start.

Wanda took a large gulp from her glass, sighing as she set it down on the counter. “So I guess you probably want to know about the whole-”

“Wanda-”

“I’m not proud of it, okay? Do you honestly think that I wanted to do this for a living?”

“Wanda-”

“I don’t like it like I did when I was younger, Y/N, but it’s allowed me to give the boys a much better life than I had growing up, even as a single mother,” she snapped.

“Wanda-” you tried for a third time to interrupt her, but she cut you off again.

“Look, I started stripping in college to make some extra spending money, okay? I went to an open call on a whim and booked it. And I liked it. I kept doing it even after I graduated. Vision was in grad school and his stipend and my first year teacher’s salary wasn’t cutting it. I’d go straight from school to the club every single day. I mean it was almost 20 hour days for a while. But when I got pregnant with the boys I had to take a step back. When I came back from maternity leave I knew there was no way I could keep doing that. So I stopped.” She took a long swig of the wine, her eyes squeezing shut as the tart liquid rolled down her throat. “Vision never knew, of course. Nobody did. But when he left I had to do something. So I went back. I went back to the long days and the babysitters and pretending that everything’s okay. That’s when I found out about the house calls. Once I started doing those on top of club work I made more money than I ever dreamed of as a teacher. So I quit to spend more time with the boys.”

She looked down, her head bowed over the sink as she stretched her arms across the counter. You watched as she squeezed her eyes shut again. She shook her head as she tried to clear the tears from her eyes. “That’s why I can’t ever get past the third date with anyone,” Wanda sniffled. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she turned around to lean against the counter. “I’ve been called a lot worse than “woman of the night” before.”

The urge to curl up in a ball and disappear was all-consuming as Wanda reminded you of the way you degraded her. There was no way you could ever take that back. It was short-sighted and cruel, the way you had insulted her work. She was so insecure about it, no matter how proud she might appear. Worst of all was that you loved her. You loved her in a way you never loved anyone else before and you hurt her. While her stunning green eyes were normally a safe haven for you, tonight you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them.

“Let’s be real here, Y/N. I’ve got stretch marks and scars and reminders that I’m not getting any younger. I’ve got two boys who are almost in middle school who have an absent father. And my career is in no way conventional. You could do so much better. You’re young and handsome with a bright future ahead of you. So if you want to leave, just…just go. Please just go.” She waved her hand as if to shoo you away.

“Wanda-”

“GO!” she snapped, her eyes brimming with tears. Those stunning emerald orbs stung as they pierced your heart like daggers. You stood up, pushing your plate away as the world crashed down around you. This was it: she was done with you. Done with the late night calls and secret sleepovers and good morning texts and flowers you sent her for no reason other than to say ‘I love you.’

As you stormed down the hallway toward the front door, you paused as you reached the foyer. Because it wasn’t too far away from the kitchen, you heard Wanda sobbing through the silence. Your heart sank as you listened to the sniffles and gasps echo through the hallway. Cautiously you tiptoed back towards the kitchen, peering around the corner to find Wanda hunched over the sink. Her chest heaved as sobs wracked the room. You swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat before you walked up behind her and wrapped your arms around her midsection, resting your chin on her shoulder. Your touch surprised her, and she grabbed your forearm as she continued to cry.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered in her ear as you held her tightly.

“Please go,” she whispered.

“Mmm-mmm, you’re stuck with me. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” You lowered your head to kiss her neck, pulling her even closer as your lips trailed up and down her delicate skin.

“Really?”

“Really.” You released her from your grip only to turn her around, pushing her up against the edge of the sink as your hands snaked down to her hips. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for the stupid shit I said. Because I don’t care. At all. I’m in this for the long haul with you. All I want is for us to be happy together. Nothing is as important as that.”

Wanda smiled, her hands snaking up to rest around your neck as she pulled you close. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. When I first met you I was scared that you’d leave if you knew, and I didn’t want you to leave because I really liked you. You were the first decent guy I’d gone out with in a long time. I couldn’t lose that…you never really brought it up so I decided that I wouldn’t either. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do it because I’m tired of trying to sneak you around the boys all the time.”

“You want me to meet the boys?” Wanda nodded, smiling as she gazed into your eyes. “So I don’t have to sneak out your window at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning?”

She pulled on your neck, reaching up to capture your lips in hers. The combination of her sweet cherry chapstick and the salty remnants of her tears ignited a fury of desire within you. You gripped her hips tighter, swiping your tongue over her bottom lip as she parted them slightly to allow your tongue to dance with hers.

“I am so in love with you,” you whispered as you broke apart, your lips so close together that yours tickled hers as you spoke.

“You are absolutely perfect,” she whispered back.

The two of you stood there for what seemed like an eternity, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. The world stopped as you two simply existed.

“How about we go upstairs and I give you a little taste of what I do?” Wanda teased, a devilish spark in her eye.

“What about the rules? Pietro said I’m not allowed to touch you,” you teased back.

“Oh you’re not. But I will make sure to use your tip generously.” Her sultry voice was hot against your ear as you groaned at her insinuation. “Come on, handsome, let the Scarlet Witch take care of you.”

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fic #scarlet witch fix #wanda maximoff x male reader #wanda x male reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch x male reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x y/n #self reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #therealdisneyfan2319

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wolfinitethewolf · 5 months ago

Text

It's here!

Alright! After a long time I can reveal my fic for @sthbigbang, Memories in the Sky!

Really hope you'll all enjoy it, and a really big thanks to the amazing artists who've all done an amazing piece for it! Please do go and check them out! I'll be rebloggin' their amazing work here, but I declare that you go and see it yourself! Actually, another thanks to 'em for putting up with how long it took for me to actually finish it, :D Asides from that, here is the lovely talent behind the amazing artwork for this:

@fleetways Their art @grimly-arts Their art @bittersweet-cj Their art

Heres the link to the AO3 version: MEMORIES IN THE SKY

But if you wanna read it here, a small summary, and under the cut shall be the fic itself :D

Sonic and Tails have had many adventures over the few years that they've known each over. Of course, when you have so many battles, even the painful, adrenaline boosting, and heartfelt battles are easy to move on from.

After battling against Dr. Eggman once again, the classic duo Sonic and Tails sit down together to catch a break and relax. However, as the two look up to the sky, some certain star formations begin to emerge, alongside with a few of their past adventures.

For the STH Big Bang 2024!

Sonic and Tails were sitting together on top of one of the many floating platforms that occupy green hill. Some stray blades of grass were gently blowing in the breeze. The sun was setting, casting its final orange light over the sea right before Sonic and Tails’ eyes. The stars were beginning to come out as the darkness rose over the horizon.

“Haha that was fun, wasn’t it lil’ buddy?” Sonic turned his head towards Tails, smiling in joy at the thrilling conclusion of another battle. “Yeah! Eggman stood no chance! Not when we are both around!” Sonic laughed, sitting up straight, shuffling the grass underneath him. “Haha, right you are! Besides, a few bots is nothing compared to literally anything else you and I have taken down without a problem!”

Tails gives Sonic a cheeky grin. “Oh really? You sure nothing at all has been a hassle for you?” Sonic grins, crossing his arms. “I am certain of it! Nothing can beat me! Now or ever!” After giving his statement, he picks up a blade of grass and fiddles with it in between his fingers.

As the two had their conversation, the sun was finally out of view. Only black with various shades of purple behind the many stars sitting in the sky. Time seemed to freeze, with Sonic and Tails being the only ones still moving and awake.

“Well… What about that time when Knuckles one shot you and took all the Chaos Emeralds?” Sonic gave a short laugh. “Well to be fair, I did not use them as much as I do now. Also he got me by surprise really…” Tails rolled his eyes. “Ok… What about the various races you lost to Jet?” “Hahaha I won a lot more races than he did! Besides, I was letting him win. After all, gotta let him think he won something.” Tails looks over at Sonic with a doubting look. “Ok. Then what about Mecha Sonic? That was more recent.” “C’mon, I had a broken ankle, you can’t count that! Also to make it fair, didn’t you also lose to him when trying to save me?” Sonic grinned, jabbing an elbow at Tails too quick for him to block with either of his tails.

“Haha, well why don’t you ask Mecha what he has to say about that?” Sonic lowered his eyelids. “Ehh, don’t want to bother him, y’know?” Sonic let go of the blade of grass he was playing with, letting it glide through the air into the ocean below them. “Whatever you say…” Just as Tails was about to add on something else, he held his breath, lowering his ears slightly. Changing his mind on whatever he was about to speak.

“Hm? Tails, you all good?” Tails perked back up. “Yeah! I’m all good!” Sonic gave a doubtful look, but moved on anyway. Tails closed his eyes, relaxing and enjoying the quiet.

The stars began to shine and sparkle, illuminating the night as the clouds covered the moon in a blanket.

“Heh. Hey Tails, don’t you think those stars over there look like the Chaos Emeralds? Like, the basic outline of them.” Sonic held a finger up to a group of stars, as Tails opened his eyes and followed where he was looking. “Huh, I guess they do kinda look like them…” Sonic and Tails stare at them in silence before Sonic speaks up. “They sure have come in handy, huh? I mean, we’ve done so much with them! Took down Eggman with them, multiple times may I add. Chaos, Time Eater, Dragon looking Metal Sonic- twice, all the Titans and the End on Starfall Island, and got rid of the Metal Virus! That's just to name a few!” Sonic had both hands on his hip, grinning in pride looking at Tails.

“Well yeah, but- wait, most of your victories were won due to the Chaos Emeralds! So you did technically get help after all!” Tails grinned at Sonic, mimicking what Sonic was doing and placing his hands on his hips in a similar manner. They both sat there in silence for a brief moment before Sonic came up with a response. “Well I mean, who wouldn’t want to fly around golden and all? C’mon, admit it, it's super cool. Pun intended.”

Tails gave Sonic an annoyed look. “First. You did need them. There is no way you would have otherwise. Second. Yeah, it is really cool. Third, That was a really bad pun. I would give that a 2/10.” Sonic gave Tails a dramatic response, pulling a “disheartened” face and resting his palm on his head. “Oh c’mon. That's quite the harsh review. I guess I’ll never do a pun ever again. This world is too cruel to say anything without judgment!” Sonic fell back onto the grass. “I guess that's the end of Sonic. His true enemy is a bad critic review.”

Sonic closed his eyes and smirked. “A bad critic review indeed.” Tails flicked a round stone at Sonic, landing on his forehead. Sonic got up, the stone falling back onto the ground from where Tails picked it up. “Ah. Enough of that. Truth is I am glad to have your help. You, Knuckles, Amy, heck even Shadow! You are all my friends! There is no one else I’d rather have my back than you all!”

“I knew that. Just waited for you to admit it.” Sonic gave a small laugh, smiling. “Ah well. You win some and you lose some.” Just as Sonic said that a stray leaf glided in out of nowhere and smacked itself into Sonic’s face, catching him off guard. Just as quickly as it landed, it took off, following the breeze. Sonic and Tails sat there for no less than a second before going into a fit of laughter, despite it not overall being that funny to begin with.

“Woah! Look at the ocean!” Tails joined in with Sonic gazing at the sea to see the beautiful sight of the stars reflected by the ocean's surface, with various ocean life illuminated underneath submerged by water. “Wait, aren't you supposed to be afraid of water?” Tails gave Sonic a sly side glance. “Well when I am in it. I mean, it can be beautiful. But from afar, and not too close to me…” Tails snickered. “I mean, you say that while we are sitting on a small floating platform almost right above the ocean…” Sonic wrapped one arm around Tails’ shoulder. “Ahh shut it you. You’ll make me wanna run off.” “Don’t be dramatic…”

Sonic and Tails continued to admire the stars as Tails decided to turn Sonic’s earlier comment into a game of sorts. “Look! Don’t those stars look like Trip’s helmet! When you look at it reflected in the water!” Sonic pointed his head downwards. “Yeah they do buddy!”

Sonic picked up a stone off the ground and skilfully tossed it at the ocean, as it skipped across the sea. “The highlight of it all was I remember in Cyber Station when Knuckles knocked me down a platform and sent me flying! Man, now that I think back on it that happened quite a bit, with you having to catch me. Heh. What fun…” Tails gave Sonic an irritated look. “I am pretty sure that was you being stubborn and just leaping before you looked, which then led me to having to catch you…. Quite a few times…” Sonic shrugged. “Eh, same story…”

“Well what about in Speed Jungle when you ran off so fast you were stuck having to beat that robot at the end of the zone all by yourself? You were having a hard time until me, Amy, and Knuckles arrived.” Sonic held a finger up to his chin, rethinking the scenario. “I don’t believe that exactly happened. More like that Knucklehead could not keep up…” As Sonic said that he tossed another stone at the sea, skipping like the previous one. “Oh yeah? You sure about that? Why don’t you sit back and think for a minute?” Tails questioned, as Sonic sat there with his arms folded, reimagining the event.

Sonic had blazed through the jungle, scattering vines, fog, and leaves everywhere. He skillfully jumped in between platforms or walls, not coming to a halt for even a mere second. While he was having a fun time, the rest of his crew was not.

Tails, Amy, and Knuckles were trying their best to keep up with their blue friend, as he left them behind in the dust. It was very easy to see where he was going due to his speed leaving quite the trail behind him. Vines he used to get across were still swinging, wooden bridges still swaying wildly.

“Sonic! Wait up!” Tails cupped his hands around his mouth in an attempt to make himself louder. However, the hedgehog was either ignoring him, or was too far ahead to hear anything the group was saying. Tails spinned his namesakes faster, in hopes of catching up. “Sonic!”

After many failed attempts to catch up, the trio came to a halt to catch their breaths. Amy had her hands on her knees, Tails was gasping for air, and Knuckles stood there, not out of breath but irritated about being left behind. Amy let out a sigh of defeat. “Why does Sonic keep running off like that?” While she finally had the chance to stop running, she picked out stray twigs from her quills and dress, scratches all over her.

Knuckles had his nose to the ground, not saying anything more than a grunt, leaning up against a tall and rounded off rock. Tails was sitting on the ground plucking out all the twigs tangled in his tails’ fur, mattered and rough. “Hopefully he’ll be alright until we reach him…” Amy said as she sat down to catch her breath.

The sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping echoed around as the blue blur slowed to a walk when in a darker space. Of course, he was speed walking. But nonetheless walking. There was only a little light source guiding him. Only just enough to see his own hands and legs in front of him. For the most part he was feeling his way around.

The jungle surrounding smelt damp and moist; thick warm air making it somewhat hard to breathe. As Sonic guided himself using the smooth stones and rough bark of the trees, he saw a small light up ahead. Getting excited, he dashed forward, finally about to get out. But just as he was halfway there, he tripped over a loose stone, which sent him flying into a vine, launching him upwards as he smacked himself into an overhanging platform. The sound of stones cracking against each other rang out as pebbles and dirt fell alongside Sonic.

Sonic fell with a thud. He got up and tried wiping away the dirt that had gotten into his eyes. He shook any remaining dirt and stones that had gotten stuck to him. Coughing out what had gotten into his mouth, he went at a steady pace towards the exit, rubbing his watering eyes.

Stumbling over his own footing as he readjusted to the dark terrain, eyes still watering, he finally made it out of the dark space, sneezing out the dust that had gotten up his nose. “Gah!” He had to shield his eyes as he stepped out into the sunlight. Shaking it off, he sprinted forwards, only to immediately bump into something cold and smooth. A badnik. It was shaped as an egg, (to no one’s surprise) and had two robotic arms coming out of it.

Sonic grinned, standing up straight as he dashed forwards, trying to get a hit only for it to grapple the above terrain and lift itself up much too high for Sonic to reach. As it gripped the branches of some trees and vines, some fell down gently onto the ground, which would include an oversized leaf falling onto his face, blocking his view.

Unfortunately for Sonic, that was much more than enough time for the badnik to throw itself back onto the ground and send a nasty hit right at him with one of its arms, sending Sonic soaring through the air, rings scattering across the ground. He hits the side of some terrain, cracking the wall underneath him as he tumbles amongst chunks of earth, crunching, sliding and cracking. He lands on his chest, getting buried alive.

Before Sonic could even get out of the rubble, he was grabbed with force and slammed into the ground. A web pattern formed underneath him in the terrain as it cracked open, dust and dirt flying up into the air. Sonic trembling, tries to get back up only for a flurry of hits to keep coming at him. The smell of dust and earth becoming more clear with each his as the sound of earth splitting apart booms through the jungle.

Amy was fidgeting with her hammer while Knuckles and Tails sat together resting up a bit before some loud sounds burst out from up ahead. Clearly Sonic got himself into trouble. “Looks like he needs our help again…” Knuckles mumbled out as he started to walk forward, with Amy getting up to follow along. Tails was already spinning his tails madly, trying to reach Sonic as fast as he could. “Tails wait!” Amy called out as her and Knuckles followed along, the three following the sounds of earth shattering.

Sonic was receiving hit after hit, sending him further into the ground as the small crater in the ground got deeper and deeper. It felt as if in slow motion that a window opened; astray grass speeding through the wind came to a halt, the dust and debris froze, and the robot paused. Quickly, Sonic curled up into a ball, spinning as fast as he could.

The robot sent another hit, however that would be its downfall as once it made contact with the hedgehog, its arm was sawed clean off, sparks and metal flying through the air with a loud screech. An upside for Sonic which he was not prepared for was that the pressure from the hit also sent Sonic flying out of danger, like a slingshot. Still curled tightly in a ball, he cleaved a line of trees right in half until he landed harshly into the ground.

Sonic got up almost in an instant, ignoring the pain all over his body and the sharp ringing in his ears and pumped his fists into the air, happy that he disabled one arm. He sped right back to the fightzone, ready to hit it again when another arm took place of the damaged one and hit Sonic midair. Sonic let out a startled yelp as he was hit once again, tumbling through the ground.

By now due to all the attacks on the poor terrain, there was a very thick cloud of dust going through the air, which was making Sonic’s throat dry and giving him the urge to sneeze more and more. Determined to win, Sonic leapt at the robot once more, attempting to smash clean through another arm.

Carefully navigating the dark, Tails, Amy, and Knuckles safely made it to the exit, where they could already see that quite the fight was going down. Debris was soaring everywhere, a thick coating of dust was making it harder to breath in the area, and the ground was trembling wildly. To top it off, the group could hear Sonic’s iconic spindash bouncing off metal and making an impact in the ground. “We have to help him!” Amy shouted out over the chaos as she grabbed her piko piko hammer out and charged forward, as Knuckles and Tails followed into the battle.

Sonic could not even see where he was going anymore; there was too much dust and dirt fogging the field. While stumbling around to get his footing he was getting attacked from every direction and slammed back into the ground. It was getting far too intense for him to deal with at this rate, with the ground looking like a minefield, and the wildlife facing the consequences. Just as the robot prepares for another blow, it’s knocked right over, landing in one of the many craters in the terrain below, dense, hollow metal making a low clang as the ground shifted beneath it.

“There you are.” Knuckles made his way towards Sonic, head turned down. “Look what happens when you run off.” Amy ran into the scene, treading lightly over gaps in the ground or smoking pits. “Knuckles, don’t be like that, just help him up.” Knuckles grunted in response, waving his arm through the thick smoke as he went to lift Sonic up. However, his arm was shoved aside as Sonic struggled to get up himself, coughing out smoke that he had inhaled during the fight.

As he stood up, shaking under the pressure of the cuts and bruises he had received from the attacks, he turned to face Knuckles, annoyed with the idea of needing help. “M’kay, dealt with worse.” Once up he shook his head and body off, as stones and debris rolled off and clattered on the ground. Coughing too much, he gestures with his hand to the robot getting back up.

Gears and metal clacked together as the metal frames grinded in its strain to get back up. A curved, smooth dent in the side of its body from the hit Knuckles delivered. Lighting up its eyes, the engines whirred loud and fast, as it prepared for the new opponents.

Amy sprinted ahead, mad at it for harming Sonic. Before she could get a swing with her hammer however, the robot grabbed an overhanging tree that had been knocked right down and lifted itself up high, far out of reach from Amy. “Hey, that's not fair! Get back down here!” Amy pouted helplessly as she stared furiously at it.”Tails! Lift me up there so I can give him a taste of my hammer!” However, Tails was instead gazing up at it with a finger up to his chin, lost in thought.” Sonic dragged his right foot through the rubble, the terrain crunching with each step. He put a hand over his friend's shoulder and tilted his head. Tails looked at him, his tails swaying softly in the dirt, dust sticking to his fur and glinting in the lighting. “I think I-”

Tails was pushed out of the way by Sonic when one of the arms launched at them. More dirt flying into the air and all over the group. Tails had protectively shield him and Sonic with his namesakes in reaction to the sudden movement. All the fur on his tails became rough and mattered, feeling like cotton candy as more dirt clung onto them.

Knuckles’ eyes lit up in rage as he lifted up a chunk of rock and threw it at the badnik’s arm, snapping it as the sound of static popping and crackling rang out. The rest of the arm hangs limp, shards of metal falling onto the rest of the arm like rain; static springing out of both ends. It retracted the arm as two new ones took its place.

“Great! How do we disable this thing!” Knuckles clenched his fists and glared at the badnik with pure rage. Another arm launched itself at where Sonic and Tails had landed, as they narrowly dodge it by a hair, jumping opposite directions. Recoiling the new arm fast, as it snapped back to its base.

Amy, Knuckles, and Sonic start dodging the fast attacks, rolling out of harm's way. However, Tails was focusing on the robot more, analyzing its movements. Everything was moving in a pattern for him. Seeing outcomes and logic to use against it.

Sonic was running as best as he could, due to the beating from before. However, his shoe skidded across a loose stone, and he face planted into a deep crater. Seeing another arm target him, he rolled onto his side just in time. The gears clicked over and over as it struggled to pull the arm back. Tails looked closer, and saw what had happened. Because of the crater taking in a lot of damage, there was still loose rubble and terrain that was barely holding up at the edges. So when the arm had dug itself into the ground with force, all that rubble had come down and buried the arm.

The only downside to that was that Sonic had not rolled fully out of the crater, and had his left leg and arm buried. Tails knew what to do. “Knuckles! Climb up the arm and attack the robot from where you impacted it before!” Knuckles nodded, not hesitating for a second, stumbling in small gaps or indents in the ground.

Gripping onto the cold, silky surface of the arm, he dragged himself upwards, digging the tip of his shoes into the small gaps so he did not slide or slip. As the badnik tried to free itself, shaking and jolting, Knuckles pressed himself closer, so he would not go free falling with every movement.

He got higher and higher to the base, his leather shoes squeaking with every step, it became easier to move up, as the base was more stiff and solid unlike the middle and end where it's unstable. Almost able to stand, he started to run up, seeing the small dent on the side of it.

Jumping into the air, he threw a huge hit at the mark, a loud boom as a giant hole revealed gears and wires, metal sheets rattling inside it, resting at the bottom.. Static popped as the robot's arms stopped moving. Knuckles seeing it shut down gilded off it, gracefully landing on the damaged ground as the robot creaked and loosened its grip on the above canopy. Falling with a massive thud that shook the nearby ground, the lights illuminating the eyes dimmed.

Knuckles grunted, as Amy and Tails helped get Sonic’s limbs out of the rubble. “Well that takes care of it.” Brushing off dust, he made his way to the three and grabbed Sonic with one hand, lifting him out without any effort. “This is what happens when you run off. Next time, wait.” Knuckles left it at that and turned his back away, waiting for what they would do next.

Tails ran in front of Sonic, worried. “Are you alright Sonic, that looked like a pretty nasty beating…” Sonic merely closed his eyes and grinned, holding a thumbs up to his pal, assuring he was ok. Sonic then gestured to the path ahead, ready to move on.

Relaying the memory, hand cupping his mouth, he turned to Tails, as his buddy finished ‘correcting’ what Sonic had ended on. “Well I don't remember Knuckles having to step in. Are you sure you remembered that correctly?” Tails rolled his eyes, knowing that Sonic was just lying to keep up his ego. “Regardless, you needed our help when you faced it off alone.” “Ehhh, I think I still had dust in my eye…” Tails laughed it off. “Whatever you want to believe, since I’ll have the correct memory here.” Tails tapped his forehead, taunting Sonic with the fact that he was very much going to bring it up another time.

“Actually another thing I really remember was that giant dragon thing!” Tails shifted. “Do you mean Trip’s superform, or the one you fought?” Sonic picked a stray quill out of his head. “The giant purple one. Don’t really remember much of it now, since it was a while ago, but yeah.” Sonic flicked the quill out of his hand, falling into the ocean with a small splash. Sonic slouched over a little, resting his face in his hands.

Tails gave Sonic a confused stare for a solid 10 seconds. “You mean to tell me you remember Speed Jungle more than something you fought in your superform?” Sonic laughed, his warm breath visible in the cold, sharp air. “Yeah. Wasn’t the coolest thing I fought…” Tails still in disbelief moved on, thinking about how Sonic could forget that so easily.

A cold sharp breeze blew by, raising the fur on Tails’ back. He wrapped both of his tails around his torso. Sonic sat back upright. “Gettin’ pretty cold, huh?” Tails’ ears perked up a little. “No, just a cold breeze. Nothing much…” Sonic looked down at the sea, and behind him at the terrain. “Well I mean I would get something warm like a blanket, but we are sitting on a platform high up so…” Tails glanced down at the scenery below. “Nonono it’s fine! Like I said, just a small breeze.” Sonic shrugged. “Eh, if you say so…”

As the night went on, a small, thin sheet of fog covered the ground and sea, made visible by the various lighting all around. Only just visible.

“Oh Tails, don’t you think that looks like Chaos when he consumed all the Emeralds” Tails corrected Sonic, unfolding his Tails from his body. “You mean Perfect Chaos?” Sonic rolled his eyes at the correction. “Same difference…” “No not really…” Sonic folded his arms. “Moving on from that…” Tails sighed.

“Man, now that I think about it, Chaos did a heck lot of damage. Like, he tore down all of Station Square, huh?” Tails drew in a breath. “I mean, he was like, very big and the flooding did not help. He also drained all the Chaos Emeralds too.” Sonic and Tails both visualized that very event, looking up into the stars as if they were watching the event right before their eyes.

Everything was in ruin. Towers and skyscrapers had tilted over and banged into other buildings, causing collateral damage. Flames from gas stations and electronics flickered and spread, smoke rising through the air and making it hard to breathe or see, as it burned everyone's eyes.

Lights from street lamps and stores flickered on and off, reflecting in the rising water. Streets and pathways had crumbled and caved in, sinking beneath the water. Car alarms were blaring all around, making a loud and distressing sound. However, above all was the deep, piercing roar that Chaos let out as he laid waste to anything still standing, turrets of water blazing through the streets.

G.U.N helicopters circled around, whirring and piercing through the wind.Attempting to disarm the creature, they had sent missiles and rockets at it, screeching as they sped past. No explosions or bangs were heard however as they did no damage to the creature made of water, sinking down to the base of him and floating out to sea.

Finding the attackers, Chaos sent sharp and precise jets of water at the vehicles occupying the skies, cutting clean through. Each one making a loud bang or pop as they all blew up, whatever was left of the frame falling into the water or structures and causing further damage.

Everyone was screaming and running in terror, hiding in toppled buildings that could no longer fall, or evacuating the area, footsteps rippling the water.

However, a few did not flee; standing on a fallen road was Sonic, watching Perfect Chaos continue his reign of terror. As the water levels rise, the smell of salt water and oil becomes more overwhelming by the second, burning at Sonic’s throat. His fur had become damp and heavy, pointing more downwards. His gloves and socks were soaked, darker in color.

He watched as Eggman’s ship slowly flew in, the engines working at a high pitch. “Eggman! Looks like he’s after the Chaos Emeralds too!” Unable to do anything from down below, he watched as Eggman flew in closer to the main scene. Static rings out at a high frequency before they adjust, Eggman’s voice blaring though. “This Egg Carrier Two was made because something like this could happen. You have defied your master, stupid beast. Now you must be destroyed at all costs!”

Facing Perfect Chaos, Eggman prepares to launch something, alarms going off. Chaos sees this and opens his mouth wide open. A ball of energy grows at quick speeds, before a massive laser of blue and purple goes forth, cutting the stress and towers in half as he raises it up to the Egg Carrier, not stopping until it’s facing the sky. Smoke bellows out from the gaps of the Egg Carrier, as sparks follow suit. Purple particles fade out from where the laser was last.

Emergency alarms go out as the ship begins to fall downwards, gliding in between structures, no longer in sight. Last thing to be seen of the ship was the giant ball of fire that shot out from wherever it landed, a giant boom rattling the skies. Before Sonic could make a taunt about that bening the end of him, a small scream is heard as he goes flying high up into the sky, seated in his Eggmobile.

Sonic had seen too much damage in one day for his liking, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. “I’ve had enough! Who do you think you are anyway?” Chaos however, could not hear his angry shouts as he was too tall and too far away. What he did not prepare for was a small, red neon orb to gently fall from the sky towards him. Red particles flickered off the light, fading into the air.

Shuddering above the ground, Sonic holds his hand underneath it, palm facing upwards. “Oh, it’s you, the one who sealed Chaos… In the Master Emerald! Tikal!” As the red light hovered there above his hand, red light reflected with ease over Sonic as water dripped down his fur, glinting and highlighting the dark shadows. Despite his senses burning under the intensifying smell of salt water and smoke, he kept his focus on the moment happening right before him.

A bright flash consumed Sonic’s line of vision as it died out to reveal Tikal standing in front of him, grasping both of her hands. Drawing in a breath, she spoke to the hedgehog. “My heart has always been in the Master Emerald along with chaos’. Now he is filled with anger and sadness.” She looks up at Chaos, in fear and worry, voice quivering. “If it goes on, he’ll eventually destroy the world like he did before!” As she says those final words, Chaos lets out a long, ear-splitting roar as the Chaos Emeralds emerge from him, circling above him.

Lowering his head as he let out a low rumble, the Emeralds blast forward like shooting stars, scattering everywhere. Dark blue plummeted down, clattering like an empty glass bottle as it hit the pavement, scraping the concrete as it rolled on its side, resting at Sonic’s shoe. Before Sonic could even dare to pick it up, the light diminished, dulling to a dark and lifeless gray. Any energy radiating from it faded as its neon pulse slowed. Its final breath was visible in the vivid blue static that bounced off it and onto the ground, jittering across the water.

Tikal in pure dismay, stared down at the cold Emerald, covering her mouth with her hands. “He’s absorbed the Emeralds power! He must be sealed in the Master Emerald, now!” Sonic, looking down at his reflection in the glass Emerald, shook his head. “How can that help?” Sonic looked up to face Tikal, clenching his fist in front of his chest as he stepped forwards, scuffing the Emerald on the ground. “It won't change how he feels inside. His heart will still remain in turmoil and his anger just won’t vanish! He’ll just be trapped forever!”

As he finishes his sentence, the ground below shakes and quivers as Chaos does more damage close by, bellowing cries of rage. Tikal, trying to talk over the commotion, steps closer to Sonic, making herself more easy to hear. “What choice do we have?” Her voice becomes more filled with worry each time the sounds of something being torn apart echoed through the scene.

Nearby, while Sonic had his conversation to Tikal, his friends had seen the displaced Emeralds shoot out and had gone after them. Big had found one by pure chance, as it had drifted through the water and plinked against the cold metal hook of his fishing rod. Neon red fizzling out as if the water was draining it and fading off to sea. Grabbing it out, as water slid down the smooth Emerald, he calmly made his way towards his dear blue friend.

Tails, knowing very well about the situation, did not hesitate to go and fly towards the one that had fallen closest to him. Finding it wedged between the windshield of a car. Glass fragments lay atop the Emerald and hood. Tails grabbed it firmly and yanked it out, small shards of glass flying outwards from the force, chattering on the ground. He brushed off any remaining glass with the side of his hand briskly. With no time to lose, he sped towards Sonic, his tails whirring behind.

Amy had been watching Chaos from afar, standing on a relatively straight tower watching him ditch the Emeralds. Various colors reflecting off of the metal structures and flooding water. In a mere second, a blinding streak of cyan light whipped right past her head and landed with a bang as small chunks of rubble bounced off her hand, protecting her face in reaction.

Opening her eyes and moving her hands to her sides, she saw cyan static pop and fizzle as a darkened Chaos Emerald was left behind. No longer warm or pulsing, but dead and gray. Grabbing it in her palm, she swiftly went to find Sonic.

Knuckles had already known beforehand. So in advancement, he already had a stale Emerald in one hand, clenching it firmly to assure that it would not be going anywhere else. Using only one hand to cling onto the surface of an unstable pillar, he located the other Emerald.

It was drifting away from the city as the water levels had risen. Retracting his namesakes that he had dug into the pillar, as concrete burst outward, he glided downwards towards the lost Emerald. Nabbing the last one, he landed with a splash. To his luck, the water was shallow since he was standing on a sunken bridge. Slowly, he began to make his way back to his friends, water above his waist.

Sonic and Tikal had stood there in silence as Sonic watched Tikal fear the worst about the situation. Hearing slow footsteps, he turned to see Big with an Emerald in hand. Big, oddly calm and happy, reached his arm out, a Chaos Emerald in hand. “Sonic! I found this in the water and thought you could use it!” Big's low voice rattled off the Emerald as Sonic carefully took it out of his hand, not knowing what to say as he saw his other friends arrive with the rest of the Emeralds.

“Hey, Sonic!” Amy cheerfully waved to him as she ran up with another Emerald. “Here, take this!” She enthusiastically shoved it into his other hand, hoping that he could fix everything. Knuckles casually dropped in with two in tow, grinning. “Hey guys, what's up?” Tails joined in next to Knuckles staring at awe at the ones he had collected.

Another loud roar rippled the water as the skies shook and trembled. Tails, seeing this as his chance, walked closer to Sonic, explained what needed to be said. “Chaos only used the negative powers of the Chaos Emeralds.” Locking eyes with Sonic, as Knuckles moved in closer, he continued. “Sonic, you should be able to harness their real power!” Knuckles drew in a heavy breath, stubbornly agreeing. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think Tails is right about this.”

Tails nodding to what he said, finished what he was saying. “Negative forces aren’t the only way to empower the Chaos Emeralds. Our positive feelings toward each other can make them work. Our hearts together form a stronger power!” Knuckles walked up to face Sonic, as he handed over both Emeralds. Sonic cradling them in one arm as he reached over to pick up the one that had fallen beside him earlier.

He looked up to face Tails, as the last Chaos Emerald was offered in the base of both his hands, arms outstretched. Sonic reached out to grab it, holding on for a second. “Thank you.” Gripping onto it and lifting it from Tails, the Chaos Emeralds began to pulse in their lost colors, like a heartbeat.

In a mere second after, a golden light spiked outwards from the hedgehog, growing stronger and bigger each second. A burst of energy sprang outwards, a loud boom as Sonic was no longer on the ground. Rather, he was hovering above it. His now golden quills turned upright. Warmth radiated off of him as the water on his shoes slid onto the ground. A golden aura covered him as the air surrounding him quivered and became disoriented. Looking up to the sky, his eyes now a crimson red, he took, knowing what to do.

Flying above broken streets and upturned roads, he blasted across the terrain, dodging broken glass or metal that was sticking out from every direction. Darting in between buildings searching for Chaos, his golden light trailing behind. Each time he zoomed across the water, it split at the very surface, spraying outwards, fizzling if the water droplets came in close contact to Sonic.

Blazing through a cloud of thick smoke, he spotted Chaos’ emerald eyes. Making a sharp turn, he made a straight beeline at him. Halfway there, he started to drift off and feel dizzy. He was losing the energy to keep going. He needed more rings. Almost bouncing off the water, he spotted a group of golden rings. He took a detour and grabbed them off the ground, cold metal contrasting the warmth of his aura. Feeling a boost of energy, he picked back up the pace, hovering higher up over the sea, he made his way back to Chaos.

Reaching Chaos, he collided with the base of his form, water spraying outwards from where he went blazing into it. Now inside the body of water, he started to spiral right around his base, going higher and higher up, bubbles bursting out from behind in a cyclone. He held his breath deeply, not certain on his ability to breath underwater in a Superform. Sonic’s golden light illuminated Chaos from the inside, bouncing around and making him look like a night lamp. Reaching his neck, his spiral narrowed, until he reached his mind, floating stiffly above his eyes, the only organic things visible inside Chaos.

Chaos screamed in pure agony as Sonic spin dashed into his brain, being vulnerable and out in the open. Loud, high-pitched wails rung out, over all the alarms going off and fire crackling. Flailing his head around, as water gushed out, he slunk into the water, retreating from the scene. Sonic had burst out of Chaos before he sunk down with him too, his gloves and socks heavy from the water absorbed into them.

Sonic looked around in between the toppled towers for where he had gone. A stiff silence filled the air as nothing but the warm buzz off the Chaos Emeralds energy radiated from him. Seeing a tall figure reform in the distance, Sonic shook his head. “Gonna take more than that to leave the battle.” He went forwards, ducking inbetween buildings and windows, not letting anything stop him from reaching Chaos.

Enraged by the attack, as he saw Sonic rapidly jet towards him, he began to act out. Raising his head to the sky, screeching slow and deep, he summoned golden orbs of light around him, launching them forwards at the hedgehog, looking similar to Sonic dashing about in his form. “Well that's not good!” Rolling around in the air, he dodged the attacks, as they collided with the background instead. Since Chaos was not being direct with where they hit, rather, sending them in one general direction, some collided into the buildings ahead of Sonic.

Groaning under the weight of the many walls of metal, as one energy blast hit a tower, the top of its frame began to slide downwards, before the sound of metal screaming against metal rumbled. It came falling down, metal wires and poles snapping as it crashed into the side of another tower. Glass blew outwards from the pressure, bouncing off of Sonic as he sumersalted just quick enough to avoid being crushed between the two structures.

Now with nothing stopping him, he made his way towards Chaos’ head, instead of trailing up the base of him like last time. Curled into a ball, he sliced clean through the water as he made a direct hit to his brain once again, causing more wails and screams. More water gushed out of Chaos as his head dramatically dangled around, banging into the sides of structures. He slowly slunk back down once again, disappearing into the water. From all the chaos and screams, Sonic’s ears had begun to ring loudly, muffling the sounds of anything else.

While Sonic floated there in the spot, arms crossed as he scanned the terrain for where Chaos had popped back up, the water underneath him bubbled. Out of nowhere, Chaos’ tentacles had burst out of the water, attempting to grab Sonic. Sonic merely batted an eye as he watched Chaos grab him, only for the tentacle-shaped water to fizzle and evaporate, not even touching him. Sonic laughed at the attempt, as he whipped his body right around to see Chaos had rised back up behind the attack.

Not even bothering to curl up and hit him with force, he zoomed right up to him, and sent a kick right at his head once more, dealing the final blow. All the water-formed tentacles had burst, falling back into the sea as Chaos screeched once again in a high pitch, much longer than the last two. Water dripped back down into the ocean, as if he was melting. Going down, he faced his head high up into the sky, letting out his final cry as he sunk back down. Once gone, a giant blue flash filled the air, blinding Sonic, and everyone watching nearby.

Sonic, feeling light-headed, knew that his Superform was coming to an end, raced across the landscape to reach his friends, watching as the water flooding the area started to sink down. Only just making it to his friends, he fell through the sky, as Knuckles and Tails caught him, watching as their friend's golden glow almost melted off, fading away along with the warmth of the Chaos energy. “You alright Sonic?” Tails softly asked, wanting to know if he had sustained any injuries from the fight.

Sonic, getting up and leaving his friends grasp, stood up, dusting off some rubble that was stuck in his quills. “I think if anything my shoes took more damage than I did.” Laughing it off, Sonic, Tails and Knuckles, turned to see Chaos in his regular form confronted by some chao. “Chaos has changed again. This time, for the better.” Knuckles filled in, seeing him peacefully watch the chao happily call out to him. “Yeah! Super Sonic must have neutralized it, so it’s nice again.” Tails added, watching the happy conclusion.

“Well at the end of the day, I was left with having to buy new gloves, since they forever more smelt like salt water.” Sonic had joked to Tails, as they finished recapping the memory to each other. Tails just laughed at Sonic’s remark, cold air soothing his throat. “At least you had your Superform, that kept you dry. We all got soaked. My tails looked all thin and shaggy!” That time they both laughed.

While sitting there in silence, Sonic took a long breath. “2 to 1.” Tails turned around, hummed in confusion. “I mean, I’ve spotted two shapes in the sky, and you’ve seen one. So that means I am in the lead.” Tails lowered his eyelids in a skeptical way. “Oh really? I can make it 2 to 3, just watch.” Sonic grinned. “Heh, let's see then.”

Both were intensely staring up at the sky for another cluster of stars that were shaped in the image of something familiar to them. As the night moved on, the wind gently whistling by, fog receding back into the air, Tails almost jumped, pointing right above him and Sonic. Sonic squinted his eyes, leaning back as he could not crane his neck up that far. “Don’t you think that looks like Starline’s glove?” Now on his back to see it clearly, Sonic could indeed make that out to be the doctor's glove. “Yeah, but how’d you see that? It’s right above us?”

Tails held up a finger. “I told you I’d get you 2 to 3!” Sonic shrugged, letting out a long exhale. “Well actually 2 to 2.” Sonic said under his breath before saying something else on top of that. “He sure did a lot of messed up things while he was around. Even went after you, didn’t he?” Tails hummed in response, nodding his head stiffly. “What even happened back there? Since me and Shadow were outside dealing with other things. “Honestly not much, he just tried to grab me again, which failed.” “Surely he did more than that!” Sonic doubted Starline turning over just like that. “Honestly, apart from when he had me tied up on the rollercoaster, he did nearly nothing.”

The chateau’s smell of pine wood wafted through the air as Tails, Belle, Rouge, and everyone else there evacuated the people staying to a safer location, as Starline had sent down an avalanche as part of his plan. The ground was faintly rumbling, already giving the warning to leave. Footsteps echoed around the fancy building as everyone ran out. However, while the main crowd was going one way, someone was walking forwards, towards the group of heroes.

Omega’s static voice rang out as he ‘encouraged’ the guests to leave. Tails was covering his ears since he was right beside him. He could, however, hear Rouge. “We should get going, too.” Before they could even take a step, someone announced themselves. “No, you’re not going anywhere.” Starline was standing there, facing down Tails.

“I am having a very long day, so I’ll keep this simple. All I need is young master Prower there… Hand him over and you can go. Deal?” Amy clenched her hammer tightly. “Dream on, jerk!” Amy and Rouge jumped forward to attack the deranged doctor, floorboard creaking as they both stepped forward. Belle just watched, mouth open as she became confused. “Who is that guy?” “Dr. Starline? An Eggman wannabe.”

As Tails says that, Starline presses something on his glove, as a red, loose aura forms around him, deflecting both Rouge and Amy’s attacks easily. Belle, getting worried, steps back a little, the wooden planks on the ground groaning under her weight. “That doesn't look like a wannabe to me…” “Don’t worry. Nobody can beat Amy when she’s made up her mind!” As if to show, Amy gets a direct hit to Starline’s jaw, cracking loudly. Rouge also gets some pretty good hits in too, winding him as she gets him in the chest with a kick.

Getting irritated with the halt in his plans, he pressed something on his glove again, as a blue aura danced around his body. In a flash, he was in front of Tails, a loud boom as he came to a stop. Even Tails had jumped in shock, his namesakes wildly spinning behind him. Starline grabbed onto said tails, pulling at his fur roughly. “Time to go, fox.” He said that last word with a hind of venom, clearly annoyed. Tails, gritting his teeth so hard that he heard them click. “I dont think so.”

Quickly facing Belle, he grabbed her tail, rough rope rubbing against his gloves as he tugged it. Wooden gears clicking into place as the sound of a thin, tight rope quivered. Starline only just noticed her presence right then. “What in the world…?” Belle got scared, voice shaking. “Ah, my tail-” Before she could finish, her legs jumped up in front of her, getting Starline right under the jaw, teeth clashing up as they gritted against each other painfully.

Tears welled up in his eyes, as he grasped his bill, shaking from the shock. “Oh come on! What even was that!” He started to see stars, the hit being a lot more powerful than Tails expected. As the three stood there, with Amy and Rouge approaching fast, the ground shook violently, as rumbling got closer to where they were. “Wait, what is that Sound?” Starline muttered, still feeling sore, a metal taste filling his mouth.

Rouge, Amy, and Tails ran out of the scene as fast as they could, with Tails holding onto Belle’s arm. Starline however, was still disoriented, and could not get out of the way, head beginning to ring, and still seeing stars, making it impossible for him to tell where to go. As Tails and co were safely out of the way, the snow began to build up on the giant glass windows, pressure building up in seconds as more and more snow, trees, and debris piled up.

Starline then realized what would happen, shielding his face with his palms. As if on queue, the glass and wooden beams gave in, snapping like a twig as glass shattered and mixed in with the snow, clattering against the wooden roof and remaining walls. As the snow reached Starline, along with all the shards of glass and splinters of wood, giving Starline nasty cuts, he yelled out as he was buried alive. Underneath the cold, he began to shiver violently, frostbite starting and making the pain in his bill worse. It did not help that some snow had lodged itself up his fancy jacket, giving him a nasty shock.

Tails and everyone else, including the guests, were safe on the higher floors, looking outside as everything down below was buried in thick, solid snow. Even some trees had snapped and fallen down with it. All the fresh snow, being high up the mountains, gave the air a cold, damp, metal smell.

“Huh, I guess not much really happened after all…” Tails just nodded. “Yeah, thankfully his avalanche backfired at just the right time.” Sonic just burst out laughing, almost choking as the night air made his throat dry and hoarse. Coughing a little, he grinned, still chucking. “But you and Belle gave him a good hit! He had it coming if he tried to mess with any of you!” Tails just gave a small laugh, avoiding hurting his throat from the piercing cold. “Yeah, Belle can defend herself much more than she’ll give herself credit. After all, her frame is pretty sturdy and can withstand a lot of damage.”

Sonic sat upright shivering, pressing his knees to his chest and wrapping. “Wow, getting a lot more cold than before!” Tails had his namesakes lightly pressed up to his sides, as he had thicker fur that was withstanding the cold much better. “Well yeah, it's late at night and the sun has gone down. It’s not like there's going to be warm rays of moonlight.” Tails sassed off Sonic, in a know-it-all voice, winding him up.

“Well with all the crazy things going on around us, there might be a moon that acts as the sun!.” He had his hands to his hips, grinning. Of course Sonic was just saying that to be annoying. But Tails played along. “Whatever floats your boat…”“Ahh Tails, why so mean!” They both sat there, as they laughed.

All the fog that was on the ground disappeared, making the reflections in the water much more clear. Sonic and Tails were still holding their heads up to the sky. While the glove and helmet were still fairly easy to see, the stars appearing like Chaos had disappeared somewhere else. Sonic opened a single eye to the glove, lying back down on the ground with his arms propping his head back up. “Well, Starline did much more than try to take you.”

Rather than answering, Tails just focused primarily on the glove. “I mean, he did some pretty bad things. He brought Eggman back to his old self, which then brought the Metal Virus, he then, like we just talked about, tried to take you. He then kidnapped Belle until the Chaotix got there. To top it all off, he then did something to Surge and Kit. It’s a shame that we still don’t know the full story to that either, only that he used a bunch of stuff to make them…”

Sonic’s face had gone from calm to more focused and thoughtful, still not happy with Starlines actions. “Well I am pretty sure he also broke Zavok, Mimic, and Rough and Tumble out too…” Tails had his finger to his chin while Sonic sat upright. “Wait, he was the one who did that?!” Sonic, genuinely confused, stared at Tails with his mouth agape. “Yeah, I thought you knew that already…?” Tails lowered his eyelids as Sonic shook his head. “Nope, too focused on other things to realize that…”

“Well now you know…” Sonic just hummed. “Well I guess it's good now that he is gone.” Sonic held his breath as he stared down into the water. “Do you think Surge and Kit rea-” “Warp Topaz!” Sonic turned an ear to Tails in confusion. “I don't recall Starline using the Warp Topaz on them-” Tails shook his head frantically. “No, I can see the Warp Topaz! When reflected in the water, the stars look like the Warp Topaz! So now it’s 2 to 3, putting me in the lead!” “Oooh. Wait, if you see the Warp Topaz reflected in the water, would that not make the stars show an upside down version of it?” Tails shook his head, humming a no.

“It’s like when you flip a drawing, it looks odd or incorrect one way, and perfect another way.” Sonic squinted his eyes, darting from the sky to the sea. “I mean they both kinda look the same either way-” “Nope!” Tails butted in. Sonic looked up to Tails. “Well I mean, can we really say you get another point? There are a whole heap of stars that look round. You could say any of them are the Topaz.” Rolling his eyes, Tails pointed to the silhouette in the water. “No look, there is the spiral, curling inwards, and the smaller stars further apart look almost like a gradient, which makes sense given the material it's made of.” Sonic, letting out a long sign. “Well I guess that makes me second place now…”

Tails pumped his fists discreetly, whispering under his breath victory. Sonic had leaned back into the soft grass, feeling it brush up against him lightly. Resting with his eyes closed, and taking in another breath, he turned his head to face Tails. “Didn’t we use the Topaz to get all the Chaos Emeralds at once during the Metal Virus?” Tails turned his face down to Sonic, picking off fluff and dirt stuck in his glove. “Yeah, me and Amy had gone after Zomom, while everyone else went after different Zeti.” “Oh yeah! I kinda forgot since I was getting tired. Although I think I only got Cream’s side of the story when she jumped in to help Gemerl with Zeena.”

Still keeping his eyes shut, he turned his head back to the sky, repositioning his head as his quills settled behind his head in an odd way, sticking out in funny angles and poking at his head. “That's an idea. Why don’t you tell me about Zomom? See how you and Amy fought him compared to me?”

Tails stared down at him in a funny way. Sonic did not notice though as he still had his eyes closed to the sky. “Well he had an Emerald and we were not too experienced with fighting him…” “You came back to us, can’t have been that much of a hassle. I mean, it’s Zomom of all people.” “Ok, but still, remember when you fought him he had no Emerald!” Chuckling, Sonic nodded, agreeing.

Wind was whirring by, ears buzzing as he and Amy fell out of the warp portal. His skin was prickling and his fur was standing on end. Getting back to his senses, he reactively grabbed Amy by the arm with both hands, just before they fell onto the ground. “Woah! That was pretty close!” Amy quietly said, looking down to the ground. Smashed glass bottles were scattered everywhere, light glinting off them. Tables were turned or snapped, objects broken on the ground nearby.

“What happened here?” Tails, darting his eyes around until he found a spot on the ground that had no broken glass, flew over slowly, his tails chopping in the wind. “Looks like either the Zombots tore this place apart, or Zomom.”

Landing on the concrete path they both looked around for any signs of Zombots. Something clattered and smashed behind Amy, as she turned around, gripping her hammer tightly, ready to hit the incoming attacker. “Amy wait! I just knocked something over when I landed on the ground with my tails.” He whispered, hand on her shoulder as she dropped her arms downwards. “Tails! You gave me a fright!” Grinning sheepishly, he put a hand behind his head, scratching it. “Sorry…”

Amy sighed as her hammer disappeared from her hands, looking around. “So, where is he?” “Well…” Tails’ ear swiveled around to his right, picking up something. Watching closely, he saw a small group of Zombots inside a crumbled building walking in a line, carrying small plates of food. He pointed to them, catching Amy’s attention. “Judging from the fact that he likes to eat, we follow that.” He whispered at her, as the two stepped around broken glass, heading towards the door of the building they were in.

Tails led the way, ducking under toppled tables and chunks of stone that had fallen from some kind of structure. Using his soft tails like a duster, he briskly shoved aside glass or objects that they could stand on and cause a bit of noise. Only soft scratching of the glass could be heard, scraping against other glass shards or the rough stone underneath them. Amy was pinning her dress down, worried of it snagging onto something and getting caught or dragging it down and making a loud sound.

“Ok, gotta be even more careful here.” He whispered almost under his breath, with Amy only just hearing him. Grabbing the door knob he froze, feeling the inward metal patterns on the fancy handle through his thick glove. He shook his head lightly as he gestured with his hand for Amy to follow.

Walking along the wall, he found a broken window that reached the floor to the ceiling. Pressing their shoes firmly against the ground, leather squeaking with the slow pressure, they both darted towards a vending machine, hiding behind the side of it as they saw the Zombots leaving through another broken door, hanging by a single hinge. Tails had his hand out, stretched in front of Amy as he waited a few more seconds before giving a thumbs up as the two cautiously jogged down the hallway, reaching the door frame and looking outside.

There was Zomom, in the far end of the room, eating non-stop as the group of Zombots they followed dropped their plates down in front of Zomom, leaving almost instantly in their sluggish walk. Confused on what to do, Amy shrugged, holding her palms up to the ceiling. Tails shrugged too, not having a plan as they could not just sneak up on him in the open. They both turned their heads towards Zomom again, watching as they tried to come up with a plan.

Tails sighed, looking at Amy. She gave him a confused look before Tails stepped forwards, brushing debris away with the side of his shoe. “Um…” Tails cleared his throat, as Amy gave tails a concerned look. “Hey Zomom. Long time no see…” His voice was all over the show, shaking in fright of not having a better idea.

He turned his head at a freakish angle, facing the two as Tails bumped his shoulder into Amy, trying to get her to play along. They both took one step forward, sweat trickling down their heads. Zomom, with his mouth full, spoke to them with his thick voice. “Huh? Oh. You’re Sonic’s friend with the weird tail.” He had his gaze on Tails’ shifting namesakes, as he folded them behind his back, keeping them stiff. Uncertain, Tails wiped his head with the side of his glove, trying to put on a fake smile. “Uh yeah, sure. Listen, Zavok sent us to find you.”

In the middle of chewing he spat out; “He did?” Amy looked to Tails, more sweat dripping down the sides of their heads. She too put on a nervous fake smile as she spoke up. “That's right! He needs the Chaos Emerald back. If you give it to us, we’ll take it to him for you.” Her voice was shaking, and Tails could even hear her heart starting to race. He added on to Amy’s sentence. “You won’t even need to stop eating!”

Clutching his fists, Zomom yelled out, angry. “No way! I’ve got Zombots bringing me food from all over!” Standing up, towering over Amy and Tails, spitting out food from his mouth as he yelled. “You two already interrupted my post-lunch pre-dinner snack! So now, I’m gonna squash you!” Tails and Amy backed up, as Tails bumped into an upright bottle on a bench, falling to the ground and smashing, getting the attention of nearby Zombots.

“Run!” Tails and Amy both jumped over the bench, and through the hallway they came through as Zomom jumped after them, swinging his arms around like crazy. Almost out the window that they came through, Zomom landed, caving in the ground he was on and thundering the area, sending the two running away to the ground. Tails banged his head against one of the toppled tables, as a throbbing sensation grew at his temples.

“C’mon Tails, we gotta get out of here!” Grabbing Tails by the shoulder, she lifted him up as she ran, avoiding the further collapsing building as Zomom’s arms hit the walls around, caving in the roof. As he and Amy made it out, Zomom jumped through the hole above, soaring through the air as he chased after the duo.

“How is someone that big that fast?” Amy yelled out as the jumped over obstacles blocking their path on the road. Zomom landed with a thud on the ground once again, toppling Amy and Tails, sending astray items flying. Tails, getting up on his own, hand pushing against his knee, turned to Amy. “Just keep running! Amy grabbed her hammer, swinging around to face Zomom. “No! We came here to get that Chaos Emerald and end this nightmare!” As she ran up to the Zeti, her footsteps heavy as she carried her weapon over her shoulder, Tails flew up. “Wait! Amy, no!” He pinned his ears back, hand outstretched as he tried to get her to stop.

Swinging her hammer, scraping against the tiles on the floor, upturning them as they flew alongside her hit, she got Zomom right in the face, digging into his skin. Holding her hammer in place, looking to Tails as he landed besides her, she gave a confused glance. “I… I can’t believe that worked!”

Raising his head upwards, Zomom had his mouth wrapped around her weapon, teeth scraping against the sturdy material. “Hrmm… Weird flavor…” Tails was starting with his mouth hanging open, not having anything to say, as Amy went pale with disgust and anger. Digging her heels into the tiles on the ground, she pulled really hard on the handle, trying to get it out of his mouth. “Stop that you gross weirdo!” Tails sighed, as he jumped into the air, spinning his tails hard at the back of Zavok’s head. Yelling at the sudden hit, Amy fell backwards, the force of her pulling it out slingshot her onto the pavement, scattering the tiles she hit before.

“Ow! I’m gonna chew you extra hard before swallowing!” Spit flew out of his mouth as he spoke. Amy looked up, her ears tilted back. “Hes… He’s being metaphorical, right?” Tails just smiled, eyes closed, folding his arms. “Why bother with us when you can have my lunch?” Zomom froze as Tails flew up, closer to his head. “I dropped it while you were chasing us. Which is too bad, because it looked really yummy!” Getting up he thundered down the path that he came from, ground shaking with each step. “Ooh! Where?! Where?! I’m starving!”

Tails, looking shocked, as blood rushed to his head,he landed besides Amy; “That was.. A lot easier than I thought it would work out!” Amy was holding her hammer briskly in front of her, watching in disgust as a thick coating of saliva dripped off it and onto the ground. She lowered the head of it to the ground, keeping it away from her. “Tails, what are we going to do? Zomom is too strong for us to take down, and too stupid to outwit!” Cupping his mouth, Tails looked around for where he had run off too. “I don’t know. Sonic made this look way easier before.”

Tails darted an eye behind him, thinking he heard something. “He seems easily distracted. What if one of us baited him while the other grabs the Emerald?” Tails scratched his head, focusing on the scene around him. “It’s risky, but it's worth a shot!” A loud scream shook the ground as Amy whipped her head around, still keeping her hammer a spaced distance from her. Tails’ pupils shrunk, heart racing and blood rushing around, making him go warm.

Watching Zomom smash everything around him in a fit of rage, buildings clattering and rumbling as he hit the walls and pillars, everything crumbling down besides him. “There's nothing here!” Ripping a door right out of its frame, he threw it at Tails, rolling out of the way as it split in two, skyrocketing through the air. “You lied to me!”

Tails and Amy backed up, watching Zomom. “Now you made me hungry and angry. I’m hangry! You wouldn’t like me when I’m hangry!” As he says that, a group of Zombots begin to emerge from the sides of buildings, groaning. “Ah! Time to get to higher ground!” Tails grabbed Amy swiftly, as he lifted her up by the arms. “I don’t think that's going to work!” Amy called out, as Tails glanced down. All the Zombots were climbing the walls of the building Tails was trying to land on. “Grr. Hang on!” Tails flew even higher up, soaring through the sky as he tried to get away.

Holding Amy up was straining his arms, as he started to tire, falling slowly. “I’m gonna have to land!” Before he could, his arms gave out, blood flowing through them fast. Pins and needles were stabbing at his forearm as he watched Amy fall. “Gah!” His namesakes chopping through the air came to a slow halt as he too started to fall downwards.

Amy used her hammer to wedge the head between a chimney and the side of the roof, dangling off the handle. She looked up to see Tails falling slowly. “Hang on, I got you!” Moving her hammer out of the gap, she jumped up, catching Tails in both of her arms as she landed on her feet, a small thud as the leather soles on her shoes absorbed the impact.

“Thanks.” Tails slid out of Amy’s arms, hovering above the ground before landing back down, wind pushed outwards. Tails looked behind Amy’s shoulder, seeing shiny green glint behind her. “Look out!” Without even looking back to see what it was, she swung her hammer around her torso, getting the Zombot right in the chest as the substance formed a giant hole where she hit it. “We gotta keep moving!” Amy nodded as the two started to navigate the buildings, watching as a wave of Zombots followed behind.

Launching her hammer onto the ground, as she propelled herself upwards onto the tiles of a red roof, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Nearly out of breath, she saw Tails fly in besides her, staring at her sudden stop. “We can’t keep this up!” Hearing a Zombot grab a tile, as it slid down and clattered on the ground, she ran forwards, alongside with Tails. “I’m thinking! I’m thinking!”

Zomom, watching from the ground, clenched his fists. “Argh! You two are so annoying!” Jumping up into the ground, he lowered his fists into the pavement, shaking the whole town. Tables, tiles, and stones all flew upwards, alongside the Zombots, Amy, and Tails.

Amy was tripping over, about to fall off the roof she was on. “Tails!” As the ground continued to shake, Tails flew in and grabbed Amy under her arms, straining to lift her up. Flying above the commotion, he dropped Amy on some stable ground, collapsing besides her. She looked down at him. “Are you ok?” Tails got up, dusting off the glass that had launched into his tails. “Yeah, just worn out.” “But we got to kep moving!” “No, we need to stay right here!” His voice quivered, as he stood up.

He looked down to the ground, as the dust settled. They were standing atop of the portcullis, the walls connecting to it cracked and damaged. Hearing Zomon run up to them, Tails signaled for Amy to stand at the left wheel, while Tails stood at the right wheel. Holding his arm out, he watched Zomom get closer. “Hold it… Wait for it…”

Zomom, almost underneath them, ground shaking each step. Tails’ namesakes twitched. “Now!” Curling up and smashing into the wheel, chains clattering against the wall as they broke apart. Amy hit her hammer right into the wheel, spinning wildly. With both doing it at the same time, the gate closed at a rapid speed, almost hitting the ground in a mere second.

Zomom cried out as he got winded, the gate closed with him underneath it, metal bars jammed into the ground. Tails grabbed Amy as he flew down, almost feeling pity for the Zeti crushed in such a way. Almost. He was dazzled, groaning as he lay there, not even trying to get back up. “How do you like that? Overpowered.” Tails patted the blue Emerald, adding onto what Amy said,, “and outsmarted!”

Tails yanked out the Emerald, scratching against the metal that had it held in place. Tails and Amy ran off, heading back into the portal. “Hey! Get back here! Without that I can’t control the-!” Zomom cried out, only to be interrupted by the Zombots groans as they circled him.

Tails and Amy jumped into the Warp Portal, feeling their senses become distorted as their vision blanks out, only to be met with the sight of emerald green grass, falling down. Tails landed on his soft namesakes, cushioning his fall.

“Ha! He stood no chance against my lil bro!” Sonic had his arm around Tails, beaming as he listened into Tails’ story. “Well Amy was there too…” He sheepishly grinned, looking away as he had a hand to the back of his head. “But you also did it! Neither of you could pull it off solo!” Looking up to Sonic, Tails smiled, nodding.

“Wait what is the score so far?” “Uhh… I’m in the lead with 3, and you have… 2?” Sonic jumps up to his feet, darting his head back and forth, scanning the sky cartoonishly. “Welp, gonna have to change that-” Tails shook his head. “I don’t think rapidly looking around is going to help push you in the lead…”

Sonic crossed his arms, pressing them close to his body, feeling the warmth from his breath brush up against his chest. “Well I don’t see you pointing out any more soo… I’ll go ahead and say this is a good method!” Sonic had his hand over his head, scouting the sky. “Well I’d like to see that happen…” Sonic pouted, in a mocking tone; “I’d like to see you get one over me!” Tails’’ namesake whacked Sonic’s leg.

Most of the shapes that the duo pointed out had scattered into the distance, no longer visible. At this point, the sky was clear of any clouds, none above, around, or below them. Glaring down was the moon, acting like a beacon. Tails, by this point, had slumped forwards, in a light sleep. It had only been 10 minutes, but as it was late into the night, it became very hard to stay awake.

Something stood tall over Tails, wrapping him in darkness. “I found one!” Sonic burst forwards, over Tails, as he jolted upright. Tails froze for a second, before turning his head around to see Sonic. “C’mon, was that really necessary?” “Haha sure was, since now I have 3 points!” Tails cocked his head. “Oh really?” Sonic pointed up over the horizon.”I present to you, the Chocolate Chipped Cream Sundae Supreme!”

Tails sat there, looking up at where Sonic was pointing, confused. “What Cream Sundae?” “Right up there! See?” Tails lowered his eyelids. “Yeah, I see the ice cream, but what did you say?” Sonic froze, looking down at Tails, eyes open, before laughing into the night. “Oh yeah! You weren't there! Me and Chip met someone who was making some sundaes! Chip really liked them. Heh, actually that's why I nicknamed him that while he had his lost memory.”

Tails lit up. “Oh Chip! I miss him…” Sonic jumped down, crossing his legs as he looked up to the sky. “Yeah, me too. A real big shame too that we know for a fact we can’t see him again, since he won’t be here for a good few hundred years, but that’s why our time interacting with him was even more special.”

“I guess that is true. But like, what kind of sundae is called that?” Sonic hummed a confused sound, shrugging gently. I guess explaining it all in the title? Either way, I just called it a supreme sundae, since that name is far too long for me to bother ‘round with.” “I mean it would be a pain to write out, but saying it is not exactly a problem…” “Says the one who writes in advanced code hourly!” Sonic quipped in.

“Yet here you are, unable to.” Tails remarked to himself, holding up three fingers to his forehead. Sonic stared back at him, holding his breath in as he thought of a reply. Letting his breath go, releasing the small strain on his chest as he took another breath in, his throat dry from the cold air. “Ehh, sure. I mean, after all, I’ve never done anything at all that is so much cooler than being able to read a buncha 0’s and 1’s. Yet let’s both agree on that.”

Tails had pressed his knees close into his chest, wrapping his arms around them, his namesake’s folded in against his sides. Most of the cold air was not affecting him much to any degree, the only shivers he would get were down his spine, as it was more exposed to the sharp air. Sonic managed to somehow sit there with his legs dangling down the side of the platform, rubbing up against the dirt on the sides of the platform, rough small clusters of dirt, sticking to the back of his legs.

“How’re you not cold at all?” Tails looked directly at Sonic, a cloud of fog escaping his mouth. “Well when you think as much as I do, that's enough willpower to fight off against any kinda weather.” Tails frowned. “With actual facts.” Tails unfolded his left tail to gently whack Sonic’s arm. “Well then I dunno, I just don’t notice it I guess?” Tails shrugged, but before he was able to turn his head back to the sea, Sonic added on, “I even remember Chip asking me that haha!”

Tails pressed himself even more closer, as the night air dropped in temperature. “Was that when you were in Holoska?” “Indeed it was! I explicitly remember Chip’s wings freezing up badly whenever he followed behind me, so sometimes I carried him over to where we were heading off.” “Really?” “Yeah! We were looking for a Moon Medallion to open up the gates to get to the next temple, but it was taking a while to get through since the ice was making it hard to run.”

Sonic and Chip were making an advancement through the white blurs of snowfalls whizzing by as they ran, no sounds other than the piercing wind and Sonic’s footfalls. Running down the path through the thick snow, Sonic only left faint footprints behind, running at such high speeds that he left near no weight for each step as he burst forwards.

Chip’s little wings were slicing through the snow, beating fast as he tried to keep up with Sonic. Although he was not going full speed, the snow and frost was making it difficult for Chip to manage flight at all. Constantly wavering alongside, he came to a sudden slow, lowering to the ground. Sonic felt a change in winds, as he dug his heels into the snow, sinking down slightly as his weight settled atop of the fluffy powder.

Turning his head around, he looked for his companion, only to see Chip submerged in the thick snow, facedown. “Hey, you alright there Chip?” Sonic crouched down on one knee, resting his palm atop of his leg. Sticking his hand out of the snow, as it crumbled down to the sides, Chip held a thumbs up. Freeing his other hand from the snow, he attempted to drag the rest of his body out from the snow.

Sonic sighed, as he went ahead and lifted Chip out of the ground, some snow falling down his palms. “There you go.” Sonic dusted off some of the remaining fluffy powder from his friend's back, using the side of his other hand. “All good?”

Chip cartoonishly shook himself off, standing back up, as some astray snow went flying. Sonic lowered his eyelids, flinching away as some snow flew right at his eyes. “Much better!” Sonic let out a soft laugh, as some snow fell down his head. “Alright then, lets get goin’!”

Just as Sonic went to turn around and continue with their path, Chip grabbed Sonic’s glove tightly. “Sonic wait!” Sonic paused himself, whipping his head around. “Yeah?” Chip, expecting Sonic to not have heard him in time before running off, loosened his grip on his glove. “I don’t think I can fly any further, it’s too cold.”

“Huh, well hold on!” Chip looked up at Sonic, confused. “What do you mean by that-” Just as he said that, Sonic held Chip firmly in both hands, as he blasted off, snow getting kicked up as he ran forth, leaving behind a big pile of snow where he stood.

“Woohooo!” Sonic began to slide down the slope of the mountain, big chunks of snow falling down with him. Echoing through the terrain were the loud booms and rolling of snow, kicking up trees, snapping and bending to the force of the avalanche. Digging his heels into the snow, as he maneuvered around large stones and trees, he went further and further down the hillside. Behind him were feint marks that were left behind his shoes.

Sonic had Chip held secure in his hands, pressed up against his chest. Chip was holding onto Sonic’s arms as hard as he could, frozen in fear. “Wooo! Isn’t this fun Chip?” Sonic called out, over the commotion following behind him. Chip dared to turn his head around, feeling the wind whipping past him as Sonic advanced further down. “I dunno Sonic, what if we get hit by the avalanche?” Chip’s voice quivered, getting cut short with the velocity that Sonic was going down at.

“Huh? I can’t hear you over all the noise behind me!” Sonic shouted out, looking downwards at Chip, keeping his head forwards. “Try speaking up a bit!” Chip turned his head to face Sonic, then down to the ground. “Uhh, nevermind!” He called out, the pitch of his voice unstable. Chip sunk down further into his hands as he heard something loud crash down near where they were sliding down.

Looking back, Chip saw the snow and ice catching up to the duo, nearly at Sonic’s heels. “Uh, Sonic-” Before Chip could warn the hedgehog however, an upturned log soared through the air, landing a few feet ahead of them. “That's no good. Hang on!” Sonic called out, as he fell down to his side, skidding across the snow, as he held Chip up from the ground. Positioning himself, he quickly slid right through the hollowed out segment of the log.

Chip, as he had his eyes firmly shut, opened them up to see that he was fine. “Oh, that wasn’t so bad-” Wind whistling, the avalanche catched up, mere inches away from the two. Branches from toppled trees flung outwards, as a big boulder went soaring right at the two. Crashing into the snow, Sonic had lost his grip on Chip, flying through the air, along with Sonic. Chip was quick to use his wings to the best of his ability, managing to avoid a big fall.

Trying to keep up with the head of the falling snow, he darted his eyes around to find the blue blur. “Sonic! Sonic, where are you?!” His voice echoed through the mountains, until he spotted his friend tumbling out of control amongst the avalanche. Flying as fast as he could, he approached Sonic, hovering nearby. “Sonic, you gotta find something to hold onto!” Still rolling, he yelled out; “I don’t think that’ll be of much hel-'' Shaking his head, Chip spoke over him. “No, the mountain is coming to an end! You’re about to fall!” Although dizzy, Sonic tried to look ahead of him, focusing despite spinning about the snow.

Attempting to slow his descent, he dug his heels back into the snow, finding an open window once his body stopped ragdolling around. Seeing the debris kicked up, he grabbed onto the branch of a pine tree, the strong, fresh smell of it’s leaves and bark filling his senses along with the violent spinning. Climbing on, he ran up the base of the trunk, jumping up and landing on another falling tree, repeating the steps until he saw up ahead some stable ground.

Rolling up into a ball, he propelled himself forwards, only just landing on the safe platform. Falling on his back, Chip landed beside him. “Sonic, are you alright?” Looking at the hedgehogs face, he had his eyelids lowered. “Uhh yeahh, just very dizzy…” Chip looked down to see the remains of the avalanche fall down the slope of the mountain. Sonic shook himself off, as he got back up, wobbling a little. “Ok, let's get back.”

Chip flew up to his face. “But what about the moon medal we need?” Sonic messed around with his quills, pulling out the said medal. “Saw it falling down along with the snow and grabbed onto it. Don’t know how it ended up there though… But anyways, we got it!” Sonic held it up triumphantly. Chip just looked at him awestruck, seeing the mess of his quills, with snow and sticks stuck into his spines. “Alright.”

Sonic looked at Chip. “You all good though, I feel that was a little much when it caught up…” Chip shook his head frantically. “No! That was really fun! Well not at first, but nonetheless exciting!” Sonic let out a breath of relief. “Oh, that's good to hear… Want to do it again?” “Yeah!”

Sonic squinted at Chip, scratching his head, with some of the remaining snow rubbing off onto his gloves. “Since when did you have eight wings?” Chip froze for a moment, holding his breath. “We should probably sit down for a moment before heading back…” Sonic looked at his hands confused, nodding his head, as he sprung himself down. “Yeah, that would be a better idea…”

“...I mean, we got the moon medal in the end! Just cost my ability to see an object as just one object haha!” Tails was just looking at Sonic oddly. “Even when covered in a heft of snow and ice, you were not cold, but you ended up dizzy?” “I mean I was spinning about for a good while until I did some totally cool platforming to safety!” Tails rolled his eyes. “Another great mystery yet to be solved…”

“Eh, but anyways now I’m tied with you, so the actual mystery to be solved here is who is going to get the next point and end the tie!” Sonic held his arms up in a dramatic fashion, determined to win the game that Tails forgot they were playing each and every time Sonic rambled on about an adventure. “Oh yeah! Lucky you were keeping count, I nearly forgot about it…”

Tails put both of his arms above his head, stretching upwards as he let out a yawn. Sonic smirked, cocky. “I thought you were all in it for numbers?” Shutting his eyes, Tails turned his head the other way. “Only the important numbers…” “Now that is harsh.”

In the distance some birds were chirping, the sounds faint, echoing through the high mountains. Above the line of the sea, some orange was glistening, stars fading away. Tails was sleeping on his back, in a deep slumber, curled up. Sonic was snoring, leaning forwards , back arched and arms dangling down. As the warm sun rose from the sea, light hitting the two, Sonic and Tails’ communicator went off.

Sonic jolted upwards, startled as Tails calmy got up. Sonic, regaining his balance, throwing his arms up into the air. Avoiding his fall into the water, he crawled back, keeping his shoes on the ground. “Oh man, we fell asleep!” Tails rubbed his eyes as Sonic continued on. “That;s a shame, I didn’t get to break the tie… Oh well.” Moving his glove back, Sonic fiddled with his communicator.

“Hey Tails, looks like Egghead is already back!” Tails let out an annoyed moan. “Well we should’ve seen that coming…” Sonic shrugged it off. “Well I guess that leaves our little game for later to break the tie.” Jumping back up, Sonic waved his hand at Tails for him to follow. “We can have round two tonight, but not all the way until morning.” Tails replied, standing besides Sonic. “Well let's get going!”

Jumping down, wind whipping through Sonic’s quills, Tails followed suit. Whipping his Tails in the air, he caught the hedgehog, as the two took off, speeding away, orange light hitting their backs. As the last of the stars died out, two vague shapes simmered. A hedgehog and a fox, playing together, standing out from all the little stars scattered near the ocean.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonicthehedgehog #sonic fandom #idw sonic #miles tails prower #sonic and tails #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #sth big bang #fandom event #big bang

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