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luciusmalfoysimp · 4 years ago

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Using Your SafeWord For the First Time With Lucius Malfoy (one shot)

this one shot is going to be nsfw, and it will involve mentions of poor mental health/depression and anxiety. if you are in fact struggling with either of those two, please know you are loved by so many people. message me anytime :)

this is gonna have a dom!Lucius (of course) and a relationship involving bdsm.

warnings: impact (ie spanking and more), restraint, mentions of poor mental health

Your cries of pain rang through the air and echoed against the walls as you received another harsh strike to your rear. You currently found yourself bent over your partner’s bed, your hands harshly tied together behind you with a thick, dark green rope, a piece of black silk covering your eyes, and your ass red, sore, and exposed to Lucius, who stood behind you, staring at your state.

The past few days had been incredibly rough for you mentally. Your mind was filled with all sorts of intrusive and unhealthy thoughts, plagued by depression and anxiety. As much as you wanted to open up, your anxiety only told you that Lucius didn’t want to hear them, as he already had enough stress with work; he didn’t need to be concerned about you.

Your mind was getting so rotted and poisoned that you needed a release. You decided to turn to your partner in a different way, and asked him to just let you have it, hoping the physical pain he’d inflict on you would drown out the mental.

Ragged breaths shook from your body as you anticipated your dominant’s next move. You could hear his quiet footsteps as he paced back and forth, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. In a condescending voice, he asked you if you were enjoying yourself, and you replied with a hoarse “yes, sir.” The fluttering of the tassels on the flogger in his hand was a noise you were all too familiar with, and you wondered when his next strike would be. You shivered as he chuckled quietly and you heard him walk away. What is he grabbing now...

Your question was quickly answered as you felt the cold metal of your dominant’s cane lightly rub against your flesh. Beneath the blindfold, you felt your eyes widen as you realized what tool he would be using next on you. Can I really handle his cane today...? No, I know I can... Despite what you told yourself, you could feel a pang of doubt in your stomach. A hand suddenly gripped your hair and you felt Lucius’s hot breath on the shell of your ear.

“I’d prepare yourself if I were you...” His voice was a seductive snarl, and your only response was a quiet whine. As he backed away, you could feel your already sweat-slicked palms get damper from anxiety. Your heart began to race as Lucius intentionally stood still, leaving you to wonder when he’d at last begin the torture.

It almost seemed like slow motion. You could hear the air being cut by the sharp swing of the cane, and then the white-hot pain spread all across your rear. Instantly, you let out a voice-clawing yell of surprise and pain, and you felt tears fill your eyes. You couldn’t see it, but Lucius smirked down at you with pride. He loved seeing you so vulnerable and completely his.

Another shriek left your throat as you were hit again, and you gritted your teeth, letting a groan out through your tightly clamped jaw. You didn’t want to cry, you were too strong for that. You needed to focus on the pain...

Even though you told yourself this, you felt your mind wander to the thoughts that clouded all things positive. As you were struck a third time, these thoughts seemed to amplify in volume, with words of not being good enough and feelings of unworthiness getting louder in your head. The silk against your eyes started to dampen, and the shockwave of pain coursed through you, this one being much worse as Lucius decided to put his whole arm into the swing.

Your reaction was instant, as you screeched from the incredible ache on your already burning backside. You instinctively pulled against the ropes restraining your wrists as you felt tears slip from beneath the soft fabric of your blindfold. Internally, you hoped that the next impact would be lighter, but to your horror, it quickly became apparent that he put the same amount of strength in this hit as the last one. You went to scream but no noise came out, only an inhale. Lucius hadn’t put much time between his strikes, and the sting from the last was now more intense.

That’s when your mind began to explode. Hurtful phrases towards yourself began to just completely rip through your brain at what seemed a million miles an hour. Everything became 100% more intense as you began to go into sensory overload. Lucius’s breaths and footsteps from behind you sounded like it was being played through a concert amp at full blast, the light you could vaguely see through the blindfold suddenly was in competition with the sun, the blanket beneath you became course and uncomfortable, the light saltiness from your tears was suddenly the same taste of sea water...

And Lucius struck again.

I can’t fucking do this, I can’t fucking do this...

This phrase drowned out the rest of your thoughts, and with a deep breath...

“WHIPLASH.” You sobbed, your body completely trembling.

This had never happened during a scene before, and Lucius’s then sadistic mindset completely shattered at the raw desperation in your voice. It completely shook him, actually confused him at first, and it took only a split second to ground him and melt from his current headspace. In an instant, he threw the cane to the side, the clattering of it hitting the ground unknowingly frightening you and making you shrink into the mattress, bringing your bound hands closer to your head to protect yourself in some way. Instinctively, you began to repeatedly say your safeword in a hoarse voice, tears flowing faster.

It nearly broke Lucius to see you this distraught. He grabbed his wand and with a flick of his wrist pointed towards your tied hands, the rope loosened. You shuddered as you felt him quickly pull the rope away from you, and despite him removing your blindfold, you kept your eyes screwed shut. Lucius pulled your torso up as he sat in front of you, his hands going to the sides of your face while you sat on your haunches.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone was so soothing and you could feel yourself calm ever so slightly. The warmth from his hands left your face momentarily and you heard some rustling of a soft blanket nearby. Kitten-soft fabric wrapped around your bare shoulders and went down your back, warming up the fabric from your thin black camisole. You gripped the blanket and pulled it tight against you.

“My love, please look at me.” Lucius’s voice was as soft as the blanket, you allowed your eyes to open. His face was clouded by tears, but you could make out his rare worried expression and his beautiful hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The tears flooded and your sight was cleared better.

His expression, which was usually cold as ice, was one that you’d only seen on a few occasions, usually when you’d accidentally get hurt or when you got separated from him on Diagon Alley for a good fifteen minutes. His brows were furrowed, his piercing eyes glinting with concern, lips slightly parted as he awaited your response.

Opening your mouth, you went to explain yourself, only to be overwhelmed with emotion. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t get a word out as your crying took over you, your body shaking with each sob. When you looked at Lucius through your tears, all you could see was an expression of heartbreak on your lover’s face, and you buried your face into your palms, trying to hide your hurt.

He truly was heartbroken as he watched you completely break down in front of him. All he wanted to give you in life was joy, pleasure, and safety. The thought of you experiencing any kind of negative emotion honestly slightly scared him. He’d always hoped to see you content and full of smiles. Of course he knew that you were human and you experienced other emotions than happiness, but seeing this intensity of utter distress and sadness gave him a cold pain in his chest.

You felt his hands move to yours, lightly gripping them and prying them away. You hesitated, but let him remove your shielding hands as you sniffled, your throat burning as you tried to keep yourself from crying any further. All you could do was stare at your hands in your dom’s, trying to avoid eye contact as much as you could. This attempt failed as one of his hands left yours to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up and eventually meeting his incredible blue-green eyes.

“My love...” His tone gave away his concern as well. There was a slight tremble to it that you picked up on. “Please, tell me what is going on.”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to express your recent painful thoughts to him, instantly tearing up again. You told him your hopes of coping with his sadism, hoping that the pain would overshadow your thoughts, and how when he used his cane, it only amplified everything: your thoughts, your senses, and your pain. A flicker of regret could be seen in Lucius’s eyes as you said this. Lastly, you told him how you didn’t want to burden him with your struggles.

The entire time you spoke, Lucius never broke eye contact, and would stop you to make you look at him when you’d look away. He wanted you to know you had his complete undivided attention and that you yourself wouldn’t get distracted in anyway. As you spoke, his hand ran up and down your shoulder, a reassuring gesture that he was there for you. His other hand lightly wiped your tears away and cupped your face, another soft action to help you feel secure.

Once you’d finally finished your explanation, your dominant pulled you into his lap, his arms around your waist. You put your arms around his neck and buried your face into his shoulder, enjoying his warmth and closeness. His left hand came up from your waist and cupped the back of your head. The two of you sat for a minute in silence as silent tears went down your face.

“Darling...” Lucius’s rich voice broke the silence. “You never, ever need to fear that your feelings can’t be shared with me. I need to know when you are unwell. I absolutely adore you, and I want to make things better for you when you’re hurting.” You felt his embrace tighten. “Let me take care of you...”

And with that, the two of you stayed together for a bit longer before he insisted on you taking a warm, comforting bath, which you agreed to. He gently brought you to his master bathroom, which had a luxurious jacuzzi tub, and sat you on the edge as he waved his wand and the taps turned on instantly, warm water filling the tub quickly.

As the tub filled, you vacantly stared into the water, feeling out-of-body in a way. Your mind felt heavy yet empty, like TV static. While you stared, Lucius was quick to grab a few of your favorite essential oils and drop some into the tub, the water becoming silky. He noticed your vacant gaze and walked over to you, cupping your chin to make you face him. His other hand tugged at the hem of your camisole, asking to take it off. You hazily lifted your arms and allowed your partner to take off your last piece of clothing, throwing it aside. Once the bath was filled (which didn’t take very long), you sank into the warm water and allowed yourself to relax.

Lucius’s hands ran down the back of your neck and landed on your shoulders, which he lightly began to massage. You closed your eyes in bliss at the magic of his hands, which were able to find every knot and tense spot and diffuse it quickly. As he did this, he brought his lips to your ear, whispering nothing but sweet praises to you.

“You’re alright.” “I’m here.” “You’re safe.” “You took everything so well.” “I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so lucky to have you.” “I’m so glad you’re mine.” “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Each time he spoke did more to ease your mind, and you eventually found yourself crying quietly once again, but tears of relief. He was right: you were safe. Lucius would always be there to protect you and be right by your side.

At last, the water of the tub started to get cold. Lucius helped get you to your feet and wrap you in an incredibly soft towel. As you stood before him, towel covering you from your chest to your knees, your tearstained face finally dry, Lucius couldn’t help but to pull you into a quick embrace, his lips solftly touching your forehead.

“Would you like to get changed into anything, my pet?” He asked in a soft voice. You nodded and Lucius sat you on his bed and left for a minute. When he returned, he produced a long nightgown (or a matching pajama shirt and pants if you’d prefer) and slowly eased you into them.

Usually, when your naked form was in view of your dominant, he couldn’t help but just absolutely salavate at the sight, wanting to indulge you in nothing but utter pleasure until you were seeing stars. But in this moment, your nudity wasn’t anything sexual to him. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable after all that you’d endured.

Finally dressed, you were brought to his bed and you climbed in, allowing yourself some peace. After lighting a fire in the fireplace from his wand with a mutter of a spell, Lucius changed out of your view into a simple black pair of elegant silk pajamas and then got into bed behind you, his face going into the back of your neck as his arms went around your torso. You turned over as he held you and buried your face into his chest, your arms returning the embrace. You ended up falling asleep to the blissful sound of your lover’s voice quietly praising you, the fireplace cracking in the background, the warmth of his body against yours, and his hand lightly petting your hair.

Once he noticed you were asleep, Lucius sighed quietly to himself, content to see you at ease. He closed his eyes, thinking to himself how lucky he is to have you in his arms at that moment, and with that, he fell into a peaceful slumber beside you.

#lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy x you #lucius malfoy one shot #x reader

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elindae-writes · 4 years ago

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I do wonder a little. If in your fic skyfire had lived through his crash and had a scenerio similar to them unearthing him like in g1 and found him well alive, what things will occur from it?

I’ve debated having this happen in Unburied. I think I might have him get unburied (hA) but I could change my mind on that. Just assume that the scenario I’ve outlined below could potentially appear in the story, so think of this all as potential spoilers!

The Decepticons would find him first. It’s just snazzier that way. I’m going for Maximum Shuttle Angst. They discover him and they of course instantly know who he is because Megatron and Soundwave did some sleuthing work on Starscream and discovered that he was falsely accused of murdering this guy.

They’d use him to do labwork and energon refinement work. When the Autobots find out about him and are like “give him over” Megatron would then use him as leverage. The ‘Cons would threaten to hurt him if the Autobots don’t let them do whatever they want.

Skyfire would at first have no clue Starscream is even still alive and would just be told “hey, there’s a war, the ‘Bots are evil, you should totally live with us ‘Cons on the totally cool not-crashed warship that is absolutely meant to be on the bottom of the Atlantic ;).” Skyfire would join but would also sense that Something Is Up and would be unsure if his anxiety is over being displaced in time or due to there being something actually wrong.

I think I’d make his personality like that of Steve Roger’s. They both get stuck in ice for an extremely long amount of time, both experience culture shock, and are also both goody-two-shoes who gasp in horror at swear words. (Which begs the question--who would be Tony? Probably Knock Out.)

Knock Out: I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous raging cargo plane monster.

Skyfire: ...You’re a racecar covered in polish. Take that off, what are you?

Knock Out: Still quite sexy.

(Would Skyfire actually say that? Maybe not. He’d probably just silently stand there all flustered and confused and wonder where his favorite jet is. I have only seen Cap in his first debut movie and in the 2012 Avengers so that’s the version of him Skyfire would be based off of)

Skyfire would refuse to be a 50-foot tall shuttle damsel in distress and try to escape.

They would decide to get him an Earth alt-mode. Knock Out and Breakdown would break into a museum and have him scan a space shuttle. They’ve broken into museums before in this show. Fowler would march into the Autobot base angrily pointing at grainy security footage of KO and BD polishing a space shuttle as a giant partially visible mech scans it.

Perhaps Skyfire would be visible in the footage or maybe not at all. Either way the Autobots would soon realize that the Decepticons have a new massive bot on their servos and the Autobots would get really anxious. If Skyfire is in the camera frame, even partially, Starscream would recognize him in just nanoseconds.

Fowler: Prime! The ‘Cons have a new recruit. We can only see the new guy’s kneecaps in this footage due to his big size. Who’s this chonker?

Optimus: This is a dark time for us. The Decepticons are expanding their ranks and we must be prepared to face a new large physically powerful foe in battle--

Starscream: *sobbing* THAT’S MY 50-FOOT TALL BABY SHUTTLE WHO I LOST IN THE SNOW

Megatron is upset he isn’t the tallest bot around anymore. He seems like the kind of person to be needlessly smug about being tall. I bet he made fun of Starscream for being short (even though he’s the one who fragging MADE Starscream short by giving him a new frame!)

Breakdown and Knock Out would glomp onto Skyfire (if they haven’t already joined the Autobots that is). Picture two gay guys adopting a space shuttle.

Knock Out: This is our son :)

Skyfire: Oh, uh, thanks! But... I’m older than you?

Megatron: He looks nothing like you two charlatans.

Knock Out: STOP TRYING TO TEAR THIS FAMILY APART

The meeting between Skyfire and Bulkhead would be... interesting. Skyfire knows diddly squat about Bulkhead but Bulkhead on the other servo probably knows more about Skyfire than Skyfire knows about himself. Bulkhead would awkwardly explain to Skyfire the fate of the data cylinder he launched towards Earth.

Bulkhead: So, uh, you know those... logs you made?

Skyfire: You discovered my data cylinder?!

Bulkhead: Eh, yeah. It caused a skoosh of a problem.

Skyfire: A ‘skoosh’ of a problem?

Bulkhead: It maybe kinda sorta overwrote my memories?

Skyfire: ...wHAT--

Bulkhead: Eh, it wasn’t your fault, y’know? Ahhh, we all make mistakes. I once sneezed on Miko. I once drove into a tree and got stuck. You accidentally created a device that erased my personality. Just another roadbump in the road of life hahaaa ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Skyfire: *panicked shuttle noises*

The public would be perplexed by him. Trending headlines would read “WHY WAS SPACE SHUTTLE ENDEAVOUR SIGHTED OVER A CITY?” and the government would have to scramble to explain why.

I need to keep a good ratio of good guys vs villains. Knock Out, Breakdown, Soundwave, and obviously Skyfire are good guys. Dreadwing will become an ally of the Autobots so he’ll slot into the good guy category as well. Megatron, M.E.C.H., Shockwave, and Airachnid will all continue to be villains. As for Predaking, I really don’t know. Then Darksteel and Skylynx come in and it’s just a lot of bots and a lot of potential villains and good guys. If Skyfire is introduced I’d make at least one of the members of the Predacon Trio a really big villain in order to balance things out. I’ll most likely pick Predaking because he could be a foil for Skyfire due to their massive sizes.

#unburied #fanfiction #skyfire #starscream #knock out #ask #transformers

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escriveine · 3 years ago

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Panic Attacks, in 3 Acts (Act II)

Content Warning: explicit discussion of panic attacks and related anxiety disorder NB: There will be 3 acts because that’s the number of different kinds of panic attacks I’ve personally experienced. A panic attack is, at its most fundamental, a story. And what that story is — or may mean — depends almost entirely on your point of view.

Act II: The Lasso Way

There are certain telltales that you only see afterwards. I don’t mean the hindsight related to a recent panic attack, wherein you replay the time leading up to it, ruminating over what happened, what went wrong, what inflection points you missed (those fleeting instants where we like to think we could have changed course to a better outcome, had we but known they were approaching). I’m talking about the bigger division of life into Before I Ever Had a Panic Attack (of this kind) and After. Watching Ted Lasso last year (2021 being well into my After time), I picked up on the telltales that insinuated themselves into the narrative in much the same way they would in a real-life panic attack. The sensory overload. Familiar shapes of people and objects smearing into streaks of color, sounds elongating and overlapping into an arrhythmic cacophony. Cold sweat forming in the middle of relentlessly trembling palms. Reality slewing into a microcosm of shallow, tight breaths and the syncopated tattoo flailing in place of a steady heartbeat. As the panic attack gathers steam it becomes more and more obvious to everyone around you. There’s an edge of hilarity to it, really. The herky-jerky movements of your eyes tracking those colors and sounds you alone are mis-perceiving, the bellows action of your lungs moving huge gulps of air in and out to little effect. The slip and dip maneuver you instinctively execute like you can either fade into the background away from the overwhelming stimuli or outrun the panic that’s rushing through your veins like a fucking shockwave. Once you’re out of the room, the show’s over as far as most everyone else is concerned. Honestly, it probably happened so fast it was barely a funny little blip on their radar; the kind of glitch that people ellide and smooth over all the time. Sometimes, though, just sometimes, you get lucky — though it feels like anything but good fortune in the moment — and some concerned soul follows you out. Sometimes you get a Rebecca. Maybe your Rebecca has had a panic attack in the past; maybe they saw one happen in person before; maybe they were just paying enough attention to know you were in distress, not doing an absurdist bit. Regardless, your Rebecca sees that you’re caught in what amounts to a horror boss fight loop. Then out of the bedlam comes a low murmur, a steady rhythm of reassurance overriding your fractured control signals until you can see and hear and breathe again. A hand on your shoulder becomes both tether and beacon back to the reality you left behind for those fleeting, yet excruciatingly endless moments. And then you’re back in your own skin, shaken by the sudden snap back to whatever passes for normal these days. It was an awful trip, but this time you didn’t have to struggle through the long, strange journey all alone. Because your Rebecca noticed.

Read Act I: The Invisible Woman

#cw: panic attack #anxiety #panic attacks #Act II: The Lasso Way #escriveine writes

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nightofnetter · 4 years ago

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After a mission gone wrong, Raz’s and Loboto’s minds have swapped places! The Psychonauts must help Raz get used to his new situation before Loboto can cause too much trouble!

Please note that this is not a story per say, it’s an outline of a chapter or two, and some pictures by @overgrowthgrimm ! They brought up the idea on our Psychonauts discord and we’ve been bouncing ideas back and forth. I decided to put the outline here for convenience.

Psychonauts Body Swap AU Outline

Scene: abandoned warehouse, there are flashes of light flying through the air. RAZ and OLEANDER are crouching behind some boxes, flinching each time a blast rocks the area around them.

Raz whisper-shouts at Oleander “Where’s Sasha and Milla? We need backup!”

Oleander’s “working on it, son! Backup in on its way, just stall for time while I get the device working!”

Raz nods. He does some acrobatics, staying out of the blast range of the enemies’ (psi-blasts?).

Some more fighting ensues, and oleander gets the ‘device’ working “remember that this is an untested hunk of metal! Get Loboto into position!”

Loboto stalks into view with some kind of helmet on, and there are psi-blasts rocketing from his head.

Raz dodges some more, but loboto takes another shot and Raz trips and lands in front of loboto.

Pleader calls out that the ‘device’ is ready, and that he’s going to fire it

Loboto picks up Raz in his claw and charges a psi-blast from the helmet.

Raz is panicking, two weapons are about to fire at him! Before he can wrestle out of loboto’s grip, he fires off a psi-blast, oleander fires, and so does loboto.

Bright flash, Oleander shouting “what the-?” Raz and Loboto scream at the same time in the same way, then all goes quiet as they all fall to the ground because of the psychic shockwaves.

Fade to black, “Raz” wakes up. “oh what happened, where am I, etc” He stretches out a limb and lo and behold! It’s a metal claw. He gets up awkwardly, and takes in that he was not this talk before. Nor was he wearing a smock/lab coat. He catches the shocked reflection of Dr. Loboto’s face in his metal arm. this is familiar he thinks, remembering when he had to disguise as Loboto at Thorney Towers.

Oleander gets up next, and when he sees “”Loboto”” standing over an unconscious “”Raz,”” he assumes the worst and gets into an offensive position.

Wait wait wait!” “”Loboto”” says in panicked strange voice. it’s me! It’s Raz!”

Oleander is confused, Raz tries to explain that he is not loboto. Oleander wants Raz to prove it, Raz recalls oleander trying to take over the camp because of deep seated issues with his father.

A short, comedic pause. Oleander says that everyone knew that. Raz facepalms, but hits his face with the metal claw. Ouch. Raz then blurts out that oleander sang in from a crowd of fish people and swim away in a mermaid tail, to which oleander yells that he was supposed to keep that in between themselves! Then he’s like “wait, RAZPUTIN??”

They’re like “oh no this is bad how did this happen? We can fix it though” and they shake hands because they are a team! But it’s bad timing because their backup arrives just in time to see them shaking hands and it looks really bad because Oleander and Loboto are shaking hands now??they’re all “WAIT WE CAN EXPLAIN” but they all hear a slow chuckle and look over to the unconscious form of “”Raz”” laughing as he slowly gets up.

“”Raz”” is all like “this is so much better than what I could have imagined! I’ll be unstoppable now!” and he freaking backflips out a window as everyone watches in confusion.

One of the “backup” (probably lily cause she shows up too) says “did Raz just manically laugh and then backflip out a window or was that just me”

Scene break/cliffhanger

The real Raz says that that wasn’t loboto, that HE’S Raz, and the others are confused. Raz and Oleander explain what happened, and the others are worried.

(My working thing is that the device loboto had was some sort of psychic siphoned that stole power and converted it into power that loboto coulde use, and the device oleander had was some sort of amplifier/blocker but they collided and along with Raz’s psi blast, caused the mind swap. Not exactly a brain swap but it’s an AU so itll work the same way so...)

Sasha is all “ach this is terrible, who knows what that lunatic could get up to?”

Oleander is all “I know what he could get up to, and it isn’t good. We need to stop him before it’s too late!”

Lily’s like “how dare that creep steal my boyfriend’s body! He’s so gonna burn from that” and Raz is distressed cause That’s still his body!! Don’t do that please!!

And Milla comforts Lily and with her optimism, she knows that they’ll save the day, oh loboto’s wouldn’t be able to get up to THAT much trouble in such a short time.

Cut to an image of “”Raz”” standing in front a burning city laughing manically. The image poofs out of view, and the psychonaut crew gulp because what if he DID get into that much trouble in a short amount of time, they gotta get out of there and get the minds back in their proper bodies!

#psychonauts #razputin aquato #caligusto loboto #dr loboto #sasha nein #milla vodello #lili zanotto #fanfic #fanfiction #body swap #mind swap #brain swap?#humor #nightofnetter nonsense

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starlightsearches · 5 years ago

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Could you write something where the reader and Kylo love each other but refuse to admit it because the first order would disapprove of high ranking members being together and then the reader gets hurt or something and Kylo basically says fuck it and admits that he loves her!!! That was a mouth full lmao

Work Something Out

Absolutely! Thank you for your patience, I know you sent this in a while ago!

Requests are open ✨

Pairing: Kylo Ren X Female Reader

Warnings: Language and a blaster wound, enjoy!

“Stay away from the commander today,” you hear one of the officers whisper quietly as you work on rewiring the control panel in front of you, “He’s in a bad mood.” The others chuckle, but you tense, listening more closely as you work.

“Isn’t he always?” One says, rolling his eyes, throwing an exasperated glance your way, and you try to look at ease, smiling back in a way you hope looks natural.

“It’s different today—worse,” the first officer whispers more urgently, “He took out a sentry droid and trashed an interrogation room on one of the upper floors. I was there when a Trooper reported the damage to the general; he was livid.” Shit. You focused on calming your breathing, trying to reason with yourself. There were lots of reasons why Ren would lash out, it didn’t have to be because of you.

“Speak of the devil,” the other officer mumbles, and a pair of shiny, black boots appears on the deck of the bridge in front of you. Shit, shit, shit, fucking shit.

“A word, Lieutenant?” You look up, and see General Hux standing above you, and you can already tell that he’s more irritable than usual. Today is not your day.

“Of course, General.” You add a few finishing touches to the newly-repaired panel, and head to the upper deck of the bridge. As you walk, you try to soothe yourself. He doesn’t know anything, you repeat in your mind, how could he? He just wants you to fix the damage. You approach the general from behind; he’s all clean lines, not a crease or a hair out of place, and you feel a little self-conscious standing next to him, in your simple and not particularly neat jumpsuit. Since your promotion to the head of the maintenance team, you’ve had to deal with increasing amounts of impostor syndrome, even though your new ranking was more than deserved. You worked harder than practically anyone else on the ship, and your team had shown great improvements since you took control. Still, standing next to General Hux, it’s hard not to feel inadequate and unprepared, especially when you’re keeping a secret.

“You’re needed on a repair,” he says, walking down the bridge and you try to keep up with his brisk pace, “I’ve sent the location to your data pad.”

“Of course, sir,” you respond, and you check your data pad to make sure you received the message. The sooner you’re out of his presence the better, but the general makes no move to leave.

“You are still planning on participating in the mission tomorrow?” he asks, and you pause. Had he managed to figure out why Ren was so upset? You know the general is an intelligent man, it’s entirely possible that he had discerned the true reason. Would he fire you? Or move you to some god-forsaken base in the middle of nowhere? A flash of anger passes through you; the whole reason you and Ren had decided on the current situation was so that you could avoid these feelings of guilt, but here they are, and it annoys you immensely.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, aiming for nonchalance, “I am.”

“Make sure the repairs are done before then,” he says without giving anything away, turning back to the bridge and leaving you alone in the hallway.

Upon finding the correct interrogation room, you realize that the other officer had not been exaggerating Ren’s bad mood. You are used to seeing lightsaber damage, but this is … next level, and your mood doesn’t improve as you begin cataloguing the materials you’ll need for the repairs.

Ren’s shadow crosses the floor and the door closes behind you. His hand finds your shoulder, and he runs a finger down your bicep, a shiver tracing its way lazily up your spine despite your anger. When did you become so accustomed to his touch? You’re spiraling into your frustration, and you don’t want to be mad at him, but he can be so difficult.

“What do you want, Ren?” you ask, shrugging away from his hand.

“You are a difficult person to get alone,” he says through his mask.

“Wasn’t that the point?” There’s more anger in your voice than you’d like, but you’re not in the right state of mind to have this conversation, and he knows it.

“Tell the general that you will not be participating in the mission tomorrow.” He delivers it like an order, but you can still hear the emotion behind it, and it takes the edge off your anger.

“What would I say, Ren? He’d find out the truth, and then where would we be?” Ren doesn’t respond, just stares you down, and you’re both trapped in this misery together. It’s not a consolation.

“I know you’re worried about me, but I have to do this. If this mission goes well, it could make a huge difference for me. I could be noticed, promoted again,” you know you’re in private, but you check for watchful eyes out of habit, and then rest your hand on his arm, trying to offer him some comfort.

“I didn’t join the First Order so I could sit back safely and watch everyone else fight. I need you to trust me when I say that I can do this.”

“What if something goes wrong? What if-” he hesitates; even with the mask on, you can read him, know what he’s feeling as intimately as you know your own thoughts, “what if you get hurt?”

“I can’t promise anything. I will do my best to make it back, and when- if I do, we can work something out. I want to be with you. We’ll work something out.” He can’t respond, the raw distress of the moment is too much for him to process, but he brushes one hand into your hair and pulls you close, your forehead meeting with the cool metal of his helmet, and then he’s gone, down the hallway and out of view. You hope you made the right choice.

When the transport lands, you don’t have time to think before the door is opened to the blinding light of the sun outside the headquarters, and you run out into the middle of the action. There’s blasters being fired from both sides, and you try your best to dodge out of the way, hoping that the Trooper assigned to protect you is doing their job.

There’s an entrance twenty yards ahead, and you run for it, your chest pounding from the adrenaline as you race towards your goal. You don’t let your eyes observe the ongoing battle, knowing that if you do, you’ll try to find Ren in the chaos, and that’s a distraction you can’t afford right now. He’s out there, there’s no question of that, and you won’t worry about it. You know he’ll make it.

“Cover me!” You call to the Trooper behind you, careening in through the entrance and taking in your surroundings. It’s dark in the base, and in the moment before your eyes adjust, everything is pitch black. You feel your way through the curved corridor and activate your portable holo-map with the layouts, discerning the correct direction for your destination. The base is quiet, all of the guild members are outside fighting off the First Order, and you walk through the hallways on high-alert.

“Let’s get in and get out as fast as we can,” says ZT-1481, his blaster at the ready. He’s jumpy, pausing at the slightest of sounds, and you ignore him, fully focused on taking the right path. You find the control room unguarded, and get ready to go to work.

Despite his worry, Ren is in his element, so immersed in the fight that for a moment he stops thinking about your safety and concentrates on the task at hand. The bounty hunters guild is woefully unprepared for the attack, and Ren is beginning to believe that both you and he will make it out alive. That’s when he feels it.

It’s like a shockwave when it hits him, pulsing through his entire body and stopping him in place. Something has gone wrong. There’s a crackle of static, and his worst fears are confirmed.

“ZT-1481 in the base, we need backup. Doors are barred but they won’t hold long, the maintenance officer has been shot.” Ren is running before the message has even finished, unable and unwilling to think how this would look from the outside, the questions that will inevitably be asked when he returns to the Finalizer later. He’s crashing through the conflict, indiscriminate in the damage he causes. No one will get in his way.

He reaches the base and races through the hallways. Your presence is near and he doesn’t have to think about where he’s going; he could find you blind. You’re last words to him are playing on repeat in his mind, and he holds on to them desperately, he wants to work something out. He needs you alive to work something out.

The door to the control room has been busted open, but there’s no sign of life, and he walks in, looking for someone he can kill. He sees the bodies first, a few bounty hunters and the Trooper you were with, and then his eyes find you. Your face is twisted in pain, and he stops when he sees the vibroblade blade at your neck, and the blaster wound on your leg. There’s a man holding you to him, gripping at your waist in a way Ren had done so many times before.

“Don’t come any closer-” the man says but Ren doesn’t wait to let him finish, throwing him across the room with the force so powerfully that he can hear the man’s spine snap when he hits the wall. You drop to the floor, unable to stand on your own and Ren runs to you.

“Ren!” your voice is tight when you speak, and you’re crying, thin trails of tears running down your cheeks as you grip at your thigh. The wound is bad, and he can’t look at it too closely, already feeling your pain through the force.

“We need to get you back to the ship,” he says, lifting you gingerly into his arms and you gasp when he moves you.

“No, don’t,” you whisper, but your heart’s not in it, and wrap your arms around his neck. You’re still protesting as he carries you out into the daylight, shielding you from the blaster fire as he runs.

“People will talk,” you whisper, “this won’t end well.” You’re looking up at him with a terrible sadness, so convinced that everything is doomed before it’s even started; but there’s love there, and gratitude too, and he chooses to focus on that instead, allowing himself to feel hopeful only once he reaches the ship. A medic approaches nervously, and he sets you down so that they can work on your leg. He should probably go back, help finish the fight, but he stands over the medic instead. He wants to stay by your side.

“We’ll work something out,” he says to you as they bandage your leg, and you know what he means is I love you.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #my writing #requests

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riverboundao3ff · 4 years ago

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Riverbound, Chapter 21

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you can’t stop thinking of that video John showed you that one time with the human gamer yelling “CAPTAIN! LOOOOOK!” even though this is very much real life and there is a fucking enormous pirate ship barrelling right at you.

You barely have your sickles out before Vriska comes barging out of her cabin in full pirate ensemble, sword strapped to her waist and fangs bared. “Eridan, take the lead with me! Aradia, Terezi, and Karkat follow. Try not to get yourselves killed. Micah, up to the crow’s nest and see what the enemy is doing. Feferi, keep us at full clip in a circle.”

“I’m not a very good captain!” Feferi yelps as she almost snaps the wheel in half.

“Don’t worry about it, the 8rigantine’s been through some serious shit. She can take a rookie at the wheel!”

Micah zaps up to the crow’s nest with the eyepiece and trains it on the enemy ship. Despite your bloodpusher hammering away in your chest cavity, your feet carry you over to Aradia and Terezi, both grinning ear-to-ear like the maniacs they are. Both are amazing fighters, and you are… very small. Small, and not very strong.

If Crabdad could see you right now you know the old guy would shit himself on the spot.

“Why am I here,” you mutter, gripping your sickles for all they’re worth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck--”

“Shouldn’t Feferi be giving the orders?” Eridan mutters to Vriska, scowling.

Vriska sneers back at him. “My ship, my rules. If you don’t like it you can swim back to shore.”

“I’ll throw you overboard first, bitch.”

“Good to see some things never change,” Aradia snickers, but you can’t bring yourself to rib Eridan for his black crush as you watch the other ship pull right up against the 8rigantine.

“What’s it look like?” Terezi asks.

“Big. Probably one-and-a-half times the size of the 8rigantine…” You trail off as you see the hostages on board and do a quick count. “There’s about fifteen lowbloods on board. Most of them are rusts and bronzes. I see one gold.”

“A psionic?”

“Yep.”

“Dibs,” Aradia calls.

“He’s all yours,” you mumble, beginning to regret being hatched.

Well, it’s too late to back out now. Aradia lays out the plank with her telekinesis and sends a massive shockwave across to the other ship before the terrified hostages can so much as try to rally together.

“Aradia! Don’t hurt them!” Micah wails in protest.

“Sorry!”

She doesn’t look very sorry, but Vriska and Eridan are already charging across the plank together with fearsome battle cries, Terezi right behind them with swords drawn and Aradia bringing up the rear. From the crow’s nest, Micah yells something about the violetblood captain being in his cabin.

“Oh, I am so getting grounded for this,” you tell nobody in particular, and then you bound across the plank in four quick strides, ignoring the dark, churning waters below, and fling yourself into the fray.

Some bronzeblood takes a swing at you the second your feet hit the deck, but you can tell her bloodpusher really isn’t in it when she scrambles back as you knick her cheek with one of your blades. You dodge around a pair of unarmed rustbloods, sweep the feet out from underneath another bronze, and end up back-to-back with Terezi.

Not too long ago you would have been losing your mind at the thought of fighting alongside the girl you crushed on for a pretty sizable amount of your miserable existence, but at the moment you kind of want to smack her upside the head for letting Vriska drag you guys into this. “Where’s your crazy-ass moirail?”

“Looking for our target! Micah said he’s in his cabin,” she yells over a rustblood girl’s furious screeches as Terezi is able to deflect every blow.

You swipe at a boy who tries to lunge for your arm. “Well I wish she’d hurry--”

A shockwave knocks your flat on your ass before you can finish that sentence. Your ears ring, and you roll over with a groan to see Aradia and the goldblood psionic circling each other, both crackling with invisible energy.

“Back off! Back!” the psionic shrieks, blasting yellow sparks at Aradia. “He’ll kill us all if we lose the session!”

“Nobody’s dying today,” Aradia tells him calmly.

“What?!”

“Just keep fighting. We’re here to help.”

Some of the other hostages obviously overheard the whole thing, because you see several stop circling a hissing Eridan to turn and stare at her. None of them have even tried to attack him. He uses the opportunity to break free and roundhouse the psionic into the mast, knocking him out cold and sending cracks up the wood.

A nearby zap alerts you to the cavalry’s arrival. “Eridan!”

“He was attacking Aradia-!”

“Micahlookout!”

The mast splinters apart at the base and comes down through the deck, before toppling over towards your alien friend. They teleport out of the way just in time, reappearing to grab the unconscious goldblood and disappearing again.

The bronzeblood boy you’ve been swatting at scrubs furiously at his ganderbulbs. “What the-- did I just-?”

“Yeah, they do that,” you explain.

“I wanna go home.”

“Same.”

The sound of glass breaking has everybody jumping back as Vriska and the violetblood dude come tumbling out of the cabin window, screaming and clawing each other up with no mercy whatsoever. Serket’s metal arm is making progress in tearing a gash in the violetblood’s side, but he’s still way stronger than her and just as angry.

“You fucking bitch! This isn’t how you play the game!” he snarls, kneeing her in the gut so hard you hear something snap.

She spits blue blood into his face. “This isn’t a game anymore.”

He kicks her off him and springs to his feet, only for a blast of energy to carve a perfect hole through the center of his chest before he can so much as cuss her out again. There’s no blood, no bits of flesh dangling down into the gap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eridan lower his rifle, brows drawn together in concentration.

You stare in shock as Vriska kicks the still-standing corpse overboard.

The following splash is the only sound to be heard for the next couple of moments. You and Micah make eye contact and stare at each other for a little bit. Eridan and Vriska high-five and start ushering the hostages across the plank to the 8rigantine. Aradia just shrugs and helps a bronze girl with a bad knee to her feet so they can go, guiding Terezi along with her other hand.

“Well, that was quick,” you mumble, making your way over to Micah.

They don’t show any outward signs of distress, but the way their gaze doesn’t focus on anything in particular once you both make it to the other side tells you everything you need to know. You want to throw Serket overboard as well; for fuck’s sake, she knows humans are fragile about these sort of things!

They look over at you. “Guess that’s one way to do it.”

“Yeah.” You look out at the horizon, where a pod of skywhales are surfacing to breathe. “I’ll be honest. This rebellion stuff is way less fun than I thought it was gonna be.”

“Me too. Wanna get out of here once we get the hostages back to shore?”

Oh, fuck yes. “Sure. Can we get some of your weird human food?”

“Ask Dave, my guy. I’m broke as hell.”

“Fine.”

You wait impatiently as Micah helps the others down to the beach once the 8rigantine makes it to shore, but you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth when you see the dawning realization on the former prisoners’ faces when they realize that they’ll be going home. You’re smiling as a few of the younger kids grow brave enough to give Micah hugs, which is understandable given that the alien is very soft and huggable. It’s no surprise to you that they’ve managed to land in somebody’s diamond.

“Nothing like trauma to help bring people together,” they say as you watch the group walk off together towards town. “One of them said that they’re gonna make a group chat and call it ‘Hostage Gang’.”

Everybody gets a good chuckle out of that, and most of the tension leaves as you guys head back to Vriska’s hive. Terezi and Aradia start arguing about what blood caste has the thickest skull bone, with Terezi in favor of seadwellers and Aradia insisting it’s the indigos.

Micah bumps your arm. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. Lemme grab my backpack.”

They zap away and are back in the span of two seconds, backpack slung over their shoulder. You have to tell yourself not to stare, even if you’re still definitely not used to your weird alien friend’s wacky spacetime powers.

Vriska’s face falls. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna bring Karkat to Earth to hang out. I’ll be back soon,” Micah tells her.

“... Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Aw, missing your lusus already?” Eridan taunts, before hightailing it back up the path to Vriska’s hive with a furious pirate girl on his heels. Terezi takes off after them with a shriek of delight, with Feferi begging them not to start a fight and Aradia waving back at you as she pelts sand at the back of Eridan’s head.

“Good god,” you mutter.

“Love those assholes,” Micah says, every word laced with affection. They hold out their hand, and with a lot less caution than you used to, you take it.

In the blink of an eye, the both of you are outside Dave’s apartment building with the sun going down behind the skyscrapers in the west. It’s hot as fuck, even for you, and teleporting never fails to make you a little dizzy.

You look up and down the alleyway. Cool, no other humans around.

Taking a running start, you kick off the dumpster underneath the fire escape and grab on to the last rung of the rusty ladder. You pull yourself up with a grunt and start hiking on up to the top floor, concentrating on the horizon to calm down your tilting vision. A bang of boot against metal lets you know Micah is right behind you.

“Why don’t you just teleport up?” you ask.

“Do you want me to take you up?”

“No. It makes me dizzy.”

“Sorry, dude.” They yank off their hoodie with a huff. “I need the exercise.”

“Don’t let Equius hear you say anything like that. For my wriggling day last sweep he gave me an exercise regime and video-called me to personally ensure that I was doing it. It was fucking terrible. Every time I see a stretching mat my ass clenches up so hard I taste shit.”

“... Do you think he’ll come around?” they ask.

You snort. “Who knows. I like the guy, don’t get me wrong, but… he’s pretty set in his ways about the authority of the Empire and the hemospectrum. If Nepeta can’t get through to him, nobody can.”

“Eridan decided he wants to change. So did Vriska.”

You bite your tongue before you can tell Micah that they unwittingly became the lusus-figure of those two jackasses the second they waltzed into their lives. “Yeah, well. Equius is a whole other hoofbeast, pun intended.”

By the time you reach the top level, your thighs are burning, you’re out of breath, and Micah has to brace themselves on their knees while sucking in air like an upright mechanical cleaning device. The usually pale skin is flushed red, and they’re making absolutely no attempt to cover themselves.

All humans have red blood, dumbass. Get over yourself. “How come you can go for three hours straight on Just Dance but get winded going up a few flights of stairs?”

“Man, shut up. You’re breathing heavy, too,” they wheeze.

“Barely.” You pull out your palmhusk and shoot a quick text to Dave, telling him to check the fire escape. Your palmhusk is barely back inside your sweatpants pocket before the window you and Micah are under slides open.

A messy head of blonde hair pokes out, and your gastric tract does a flip when a smirk lifts up the corners of Dave’s mouth. “Two aliens, chillin’ on my fire escape, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay.”

“I regret ever letting you in on the incredible gift that awaits this world that is Vine,” Micah sighs. “All those iconic seven-second videos, all those memes that have yet to define Gen Z as a culture… and some greasy millennial Texas kid gets the first crack at it?”

“Micah. Mickey. Mickaroonie. Gen Z was born at the start of 1995. I was born in 1996. I barely made it, but I made it. Slipped right in there like the intruder through Annie’s window, RIP Michael Jackson. Vine is my birthright, same as yours.”

“It will be your birthright.”

“What the fuck is a Vine?” you demand. Stupid humans and their stupid human culture. You still have difficulty believing that their planet is divided up into thousands of different sectors, each with their own laws and languages and governments. How come they just can’t pick one thing and go with it?

“Hush up and get inside, Karkles, both of you are letting all the cold air out,” Dave drawls, backing away from the window so you and Micah can hop in.

You do so and almost immediately eat shit when you land on a pile of comic books that slip out from underneath your feet. “Fuck!”

“Keep it down, bro, the walls are thin.” Dave chucks an empty juice bottle into the trash can across the room. “Thin as a rin-tin-tin, gotta keep on silencin’, can’t let the haters in from the world that keeps on burnin’--”

“If you shut up we’ll tell you about the rebellion that’s happening on Alternia. Past Alternia, that is,” you offer.

That gets his attention. He turns to you, brows drawing tightly together. “A revolution? On your hellhole of a planet? Isn’t that, I dunno, really frickin’ risky? You’re not in danger, are you?”

“Not in my time period, dummy,” you say, crossing your arms to block out the surge of warmth inside of you that has nothing to do with the Texas heat. He cares about your safety. “It’s like, ten sweeps ago? Fifteen? I dunno, Micah’s the one who’s actually in it.”

“Yeah… I don’t know, either. Alternian measurements of time are confusing. But yeah. Me and a bunch of my friends are gonna overthrow the government,” Micah explains.

“Hell yeah, stick it to the man. But, like, be careful.”

“I will. Time shenanigans are kind of my thing.”

“Can we get food now?” you demand.

“Hell yeah we can.” Dave glances behind him, but there’s nobody there. “Yeah… let’s see, Bro’s not gonna be back until Saturday, so we’re good.”

Micah glances over at the calendar on the wall and frowns. It’s Tuesday. You’re not sure what Tuesday is in relation to Saturday, but they don’t seem happy about it.

The three of you end up sneaking around downtown Houston until you locate a McDonald’s. It’s weird, how much safer you feel on Earth in comparison to Alternia. These aren’t your people, and this isn’t your planet, and yet when a group of teenagers pass under the tree you and Micah hide in while Dave goes inside to order you don’t even flinch. It helps that the sun has gone down and you know that humans can’t see in the dark.

“So…” they say, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Do you want me to leave you guys alone? You know, city lights, fast food, two teenagers sitting together under the stars…”

FUCK. You slap at them with a furious hiss. “No! I-- what, no! Who told you? Was it Sollux? It was fucking Sollux.”

“It wasn’t Sollux. You’re pretty obvious, dude,” they remark.

You scrub your face with your hands. “I… he’s just so great, which is stupid because he pisses me off, and he’s an alien, and it’s just impossible. A-And he’s human-heterosexual!”

“Hey. Look at me.”

You look at them.

They smile at you, and your racing bloodpusher calms as you remember that this person is one of the few you can trust with your life. “No relationship is ever easy. You know this. But what you don’t know is that people always find ways to come together. My moirail is an oliveblood assassin, and she’s easily one of the top three things that’s ever happened to me.”

You can’t help it: you smile a little. “What are the other two things?”

“Rice bowls at Chipotle. Meeting you guys.”

“You’re a sappy fuck,” you tell them, even as you snort into the crook of your elbow.

“I sure am, hotshot. Oh, hey, here’s Dave--”

“--eeeeeEEEEEE here it is! Help me up,” a familiar voice announces. You look over the branch you’re stretched out on and reach down to help Dave up while Micah grabs the bags of food from him. His palm is just as warm and sweaty as yours, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once everybody is settled in and munching away on shitty, delicious human food you break out the big guns. “Micah has a moirail.”

“Which one is that?”

“They have a girlfriend. Ew, can’t believe I’m resorting to highblood slang.”

That gets his attention. “Oh, real shit? Is she hot?”

“Yes, Dave. She is hot.”

“What’s she like?”

“Kind. Shredded as all hell. Loves sappy romance novels. Lowkey murders people for a living. Gets embarrassed easily. Like, I’ll say something like ‘I’m gonna shooshpap the anxiety right out of your soul, honey-bunches’ and she absolutely loses her goddamn mind--”

You shriek and slam your hands over your ears, trying to not blush and give yourself away. “No, no, noooooooooo, Micah I’m under nine sweeps old please-!”

“I don’t get it! Why is talking about feelings so sexy?” they yell, throwing their hands up while Dave loses his mind. “Damn! I touched my friend’s cheek the other night ‘cause he was messed up about my ribs being broken and he just about exploded.”

“Slut,” you wheeze.

“Your ribs are broken?” Dave stops laughing and starts poking at the other human. “What? Are you okay? How did you even climb this tree?”

“I’m fine now, buddy, Alternian medical tech is pretty great,” they assure him, ruffling his hair as he swats at them.

“Wack. One time I was in the ER ‘cause I needed stitches and the nurse didn’t even numb me up, she just frickin’ went for it. Big-ass needle, big-ass thread, screaming six-year-old, I think I scared the whole McFrickin’ clinic half to death--”

You want to hear everything about Dave’s bravery in the face of a mediculler, but before you can ask for more details a beam of bright light hits Micah right in the face, making them reel back with an arm thrown over their face.

“What are you kids doing up there, huh?” a deep voice calls.

You look down and almost shit yourself.

Underneath the tree are four fully-grown adult males, all big and with guns strapped to their belts (seriously, why the fuck do humans run around with so many weapons on them when they’re so stupid?) and wearing blue uniforms.

Oh, shit. Dave told you to never trust the ones with the blue uniforms.

“We’re eating McDonald’s in a tree, officer,” Micah explains cheerfully.

“Can I ask why?” The one in the front glares up at you. You shrink back into the foliage as much as you can. Dave grabs your hand, squeezing tightly, and you squeeze back.

“Why not?”

“Can I see some I.D?”

“No. We’re not breaking any laws. This is public property.”

You stare in disbelief as Micah pulls out a fry and munches on it without a care in the world. Were they really not afraid? Did humans just… not fear their authority figures?

They can teleport. Of course they’re not afraid, you remind yourself.

“How many of you are up there?” another one asks.

“Three.”

“Are any of you armed?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you come down, please?”

“No, thanks. We’re fine where we are.”

“You guys want a cheeseburger? The lady who took our order gave me an extra,” Dave offers. “It’s got onions, though. Onions are nasty.”

The one farthest to the left says something into his walkie-talkie. Micah grins.

You know that grin. “What are you--”

“Hey, officers! Wanna see something cool?” they yell. “Watch this!”

They push off the branch they’re leaning on and lunge towards you and Dave. You barely have time to yelp before they’re grabbing your arm and zapping you guys out of there.

Delighted peals of laughter fills the whole apartment as you land face-first into Dave’s bed. You spit out a dirty sock that somehow ended up in your mouth and shove them off the end of the mattress, but you’re laughing too. You’ve never seen anything like that.

Dave looks over at you, gorgeous red eyes twinkling behind his shades and a big smile lighting up his respiteblock, and just for a moment, everything is perfect.

#homestuck #riverbound #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim trolls #pesterquest #Dave strider #Karkat vantas #c21 #the guardian #mspa reader

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ladyshandioftheendless · 4 years ago

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Shandi’s KISSteria drabbles 32!

Last part of the BIG FIGHT!!

~Shandi

The battle of KISSteria: The Necromancer thinks he’s won..but has he?

ONE SMALL LIFE Part 18

The air in the Star Tower was tense as the party waited… for what, they weren’t sure. The only ones who were the most relaxed were Ayesha and the Rock of KISSteria, which was still dimly pulsing in time with the baby’s breaths as she slept. Mick, who was still over by a window, happened to look out in time to see a flash of red lightning strike the ground somewhere on the battlefield. “What the fuck was that?”

The Elder went to join him at the window. “What did you see?”

“I saw red lightning strike the battlefield somewhere. But it didn’t look like normal lightning. It looked… wrong.” Wrong was the only word Mick could come up with to describe it.

“The Necromancer,” Radames reasoned. “It must have been.”

“Okay, but what’s it mean?” Mick’s arms tightened fractionally around Ayesha, and he had the feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

Red Lotus’s jaw was set. “Either something has happened to the Necromancer on the battlefield, or he is making his escape to find the child.”

“Fuckin’... so what do we do?”

“What we originally planned to do: guard the Rock and protect the child.”

“They won’t stop me..they can’t stop me.. I won’t let them.”

The Necromancer knew the Star Tower would be well guarded. But he was so close! He could almost taste the Rock’s power! There was no doubt in his mind that the sacrifice would be here as well. He grinned manically, pulling out his dagger. He chanted the spell once more as he cut into his wrists to summon more Blood Pawns. “Go, my lovelies..go and kill them all! Carve me a path to what I seek through their flesh!!” The Pawns shrieked and slinked off, attacking everyone. Guards. Servants. No one was safe from the Pawns’ relentless blades.

Red Lotus gripped her staff and scowled. “Ready yourselves. He is coming.”

“Fuck..” Mick cursed under his breath, holding Ayesha tighter. “Stay behind me.” Radames said, immediately setting up a barrier around them. “I will protect you with the best of my ability. You have my word.” As if sensing the coming danger, Ayesha’s tiny fingers clenched Mick’s shirt tightly and she started to whine. Mick held her close and tried to hush her. “I know, kiddo I know..you sense it. We won’t let him touch you.” Ayesha gurgled, reaching out to tug on Mick’s hair and giving him a wide-eyed, frightened look. “It’s real sweet that you’re worried about me but we don’t have much of a choice here. They’re gettin' too close.”

“And too desperate.” the Elder said, hearing the Pawns screeching. A sound that she never thought she would hear again. “He has resorted to using his own blood for his spells. There is no telling what he will do next.” As Ayesha grew more distressed the Rock pulsed brighter and more frequently. A powerful shockwave crashed against the barrier followed by a pained yell from the High Priestess. Despite all of her power, the Pawns quickly overwhelmed her with their deadly agility.

“You are beaten!!” the Necromancer’s mocking laughter echoed in the hallway. “You will not keep me from my prize, woman!!” He then appeared in the doorway, pointing his dagger. “You..all of you!! Your dear High Priestess is at the mercy of my lovelies~ However..I will spare her life if you give me the child..and the Rock. Lower the barrier now! Or she will suffer!!”

“Don’t!!” Red Lotus tried to reach for her staff, but a Pawn pushed it out of reach with its blade. “Don’t worry about me! I am ready to die to keep that poor child safe!”

“You are fools..you are all fools!! THE MISTRESS WILL RISE AGAIN!! AND YOUR BLOOD WILL HASTEN HER RETURN!!”

Ayesha let out a frightened sob, and the Rock’s light flashed briefly. Both went unnoticed, though, as the Elder’s face markings glowed purple. “You are a devil, Necromancer,” her voice boomed, strong and regal. “You will never have the child or the Rock.”

“Oh, but I will. I am tired of entertaining foolish babble.” Raising his hands in the air, the Necromancer chanted again. Radames raised his sword in the air while the Elder narrowed her eyes and grit her teeth…

… and then they froze. Whatever spell the Necromancer had cast had frozen them in place like statues. Only Mick and Ayesha were still able to move. Ayesha’s fingers still clenched on Mick’s shirt, and the Rock’s light was flashing and fading, rather like a heartbeat.

Mick shifted so that Ayesha was secure in one arm, and in his free hand crackling electricity formed. It wasn’t the amount of power he would have liked, but it would have to do. He would still be able to deliver a powerful shock.

The Necromancer snarled at him. “Give. Me. The child!”

Mick glared back. “Over my dead body, asshole.”

A ball of red energy appeared in the Necromancer’s hand. “That’s the idea~”

He threw it, and with Radames unable to enforce the barrier around the two it was quickly destroyed. Then he ran and lunged for Ayesha. Punches and kicks were thrown from both men, while Ayesha was outright crying. The Rock’s light was pulsing dangerously now. Then the Necromancer gave a hard kick to Mick’s stomach, weakening him enough to wrench Ayesha free and push him to the floor.

Mick lay groaning on the floor as the Necromancer lifted Ayesha into the air, a mad glint in his eye. “Finally… the host for my Mistress! The Crimson Witch shall rise again! REJOICE!!”

In his exhilaration, he let the spell over the Elder and Radames lift, and they immediately raised their weapons, joined by Red Lotus running in and raising her staff. “Release that child now!” the Elder demanded. “Or you will pay the price!”

“Ah ah ah,” the Necromancer lowered Ayesha and unsheathed his dagger, pointing it at her neck. “I wouldn’t do that.” All three froze. “That’s better. Tell that brat Star Prince to call off his armies and surrender, and give me the Rock. Or I will kill this child right here.”

Ayesha began to struggle and kick against the Necromancer’s body, wailing loudly. Growling, the Necromancer shook her roughly. “Be silent, you little brat!”

Ayesha screamed.

And then many things happened at once. On the battlefield, Demon and Vinneketh froze and looked up at the Star Tower. StarChild, Ace, CatMan, and Demon felt a strange sensation in their bodies. A sudden, ominous calm swept over the battlefield.

In the Star Tower, the Rock’s light exploded, filling the room and blinding the Necromancer. He cried out in surprise and pain and shielded his eyes. Mick suddenly felt the pain fade and strength rush back into his system, and he leapt to his feet and dove for Ayesha. After a moment of wrestling, Ayesha was pulled free, and Mick backed away as the Rock’s light seemed to surround the Necromancer on all sides. Musical notes filled the room, and they sounded cosmic and unearthly… and angry.

The Necromancer suddenly looked very afraid. “What is this? What’s happening?!”

The Rock’s light seemed to close in on him, the notes growing louder. A crimson aura formed around his body, and after a moment the aura began to be sucked away from him. As it did, the Necromancer suddenly began to change; lines formed on his face, his hair slowly lightened from a dark grey to white, until he had turned completely into a frail old man.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!” he screamed.

“As I said,” the Elder said from behind him. “You will pay the price for your cruelty and bloodshed. The Rock will not allow you to kill this child, or anyone else.”

Then the Rock emitted a loud, sharp note. Its light surrounded the Necromancer once again, and this time he began to be pulled towards the Rock’s pedestal. Although he struggled, he was quickly overpowered.

“No! No, you can’t do this!” he screamed out as he was pulled towards the pedestal. “My Mistress—!” The Rock interrupted with an angry clashing note. “NO!”

The Necromancer’s arms were forced up in front of him, and even as he tried to pull them away, he was roughly pulled towards the pedestal until his fingertips touched the Rock.

Bright purple light exploded across the Necromancer’s body, encasing him, and he gave a nearly unearthly screech.

On the battlefield, the Necromancer’s screech echoed from the Star Tower, and the remaining members of the Cult grabbed their heads and fell to their knees, crying out in pain. The Blood Pawns and the undead army froze in place and began to shake, shifting wildly in their forms and shrieking themselves.

Mick turned Ayesha around to press her face to his chest, not wanting her to see what was happening. But even he couldn’t look away as the Necromancer’s body twisted and jerked. Then the Rock sounded out a final, loud note, that on the battlefield overpowered the Necromancer’s screech, and there was one last blinding flash of light. Everyone in the Tower was forced to cover their eyes.

When the light faded, the Necromancer was released, and he fell to the stone floor with a dull thud. His skin was paper white, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was open in a silent scream.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of Ayesha’s tearful whimpering. Then the Rock let out a soft, crooning note, and she slowly settled in Mick’s arms, closing her eyes and falling back asleep. Everyone else stared at the Necromancer’s body in silent shock.

“... Is he dead?” Mick finally managed to say.

Red Lotus approached the body and, in a move almost comical given their situation, gingerly poked it with the tip of her staff. “He is dead. And if I am not mistaken, his powers have been drained from him.”

Sighing heavily, Mick looked down at Ayesha. She was just sleeping peacefully as if nothing had happened. He stared at her in silent awe. “Did she..really do all that..?”

“She did.” After dusting off his robes Radames came over to place a gentle hand on her head. “She called for help and the Rock answered. Incredible is it not?”

“That’s one word for it, yeah.”

“Master!!”

Vinneketh came running in with Demon not far behind. “Master..Ayesha..is she..?” Radames just smiled. “Have no fear, my son. She is perfectly safe~” While Mick handed her over Demon stared at the Necromancer on the floor. “So this is what has become of you..” He growled and set the corpse ablaze. “It’s no less than what you deserve. The fires of Hell will welcome you with open arms.”

To be Continued!!

#Shandi's drabbles #Shandi's KISSteriaverse #One Small Life #not gonna spoil #just enjoy!#Liv and I are super proud of this~

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katalicz · 5 years ago

Note

19 bliban if it tickles your fancy

of course my friend, here you go!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440433/chapters/49387754

“I could kill you right now!”

Blitz has been awake for long enough to realise that he is, once more, in a hospital, when the door to his room swings open and Bandit appears, still in his gear and with a furious look on his face.

“You’re an idiot!” he bites out, striding forwards and throwing himself into the chair by Blitz’s bedside before Blitz can open his mouth to say hello. He can’t even protest that he isn't an idiot, because he isn't exactly sure what he’s done this time to end up here. The painkillers are making his entire body feel horribly fuzzy and his mind is still mostly blank from the anaesthetic, which is enough to tell him that he’s had more than a little fall, at least.

“Hi,” he says – or croaks, rather, since his throat feels as though he’s gargled a handful of gravel, and Bandit scowls before carefully guiding a cup of water he’s procured from seemingly nowhere to Blitz’s lips to allow him to drink.

“What time is it?” Blitz asks when he’s finished, watching as Bandit tosses the cup over his shoulder to land neatly in the bin. It’s very impressive, he thinks, but doesn’t say it for the fear of annoying Bandit more.

“It’s almost seven,” Bandit replies, crossing his arms. Blitz doesn’t have the strength to reach out and take one of his hands, which is a little concerning, but overall, that’s not too bad considering that the raid had started at eleven.

The thought must show on his face, because Bandit closes his eyes in frustration and says, “Seven am. You’ve been here for 15 hours, you idiot.”

Ah. That explains the fury, then, as well as the dark bags sitting like bruises beneath Bandit’s eyes. Knowing him, which Blitz is pleased to say he does, he’ll have been awake all this time, prowling through the hospital ward and making anyone he encounters shy away in terror.

“I feel fine,” he says mildly, and tries to wiggle his toes. They respond after a few attempts, thankfully, and he looks back up to see Bandit watching him with a worryingly unreadable look on his face. “It can’t have been that bad.”

“You don’t remember what happened,” Bandit says flatly, a statement instead of a question. Blitz winces when he has try harder than usual to shake his head no. “And stop moving before Doc sees you and ties you to the damn bench.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Blitz muses, still trying and failing to read the look in Bandit’s eyes. He hopes it’s just the drugs making him slow; he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time learning to read Bandit’s many, many faces, and really doesn’t want to consider that he’s forgotten any of them. He’d probably earn an award for being a terrible boyfriend, if he had. “He likes me, I’m a good patient.”

Bandit blinks at him once, and Blitz’s heart lurches in his chest as the look fades from unreadable to completely blank in the way it only does when Bandit is shutting himself away from the world and away from any kind of emotion and away from Blitz.

“Dom?” he says, as gently as he can, and forces his arm out to grasp weakly at Bandit’s clenched hands.

It’s the wrong thing to do; Bandit lurches to his feet with a snarl, sending his chair clattering to the floor. His body is wrought with a tension that makes Blitz’s shoulders ache to look at, and he wants to reach out, to sit up and draw him close, but he can’t.

“Bandit—” he starts weakly, not knowing what else to do. For a painful beat nothing happens, then Bandit is turning on his heal and storming away with a cold fury that makes Blitz’s chest hurt to watch.

“You almost died!” Bandit snaps, eyes glinting dangerously when he turns, and Blitz’s breath catches in his throat as the meaning of the words sink in. “You took a bullet an inch away from your goddamn spine, you absolute fucking idiot—”

“I didn’t, though,” Blitz hears himself say, even as his blood seems to freeze in his veins with terror, as his pulse thunders in his ears. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

Bandit pauses in his tracks to stare at him, and Blitz’s skin prickles under the intensity of his gaze. “I could kill you right now!” Bandit snarls, resuming his pacing of the room, his hands clenched into tight fists that will leave him with a headache if he carries on much longer.

“Please don’t, we spent a lot of time fixing him,” Doc interrupts, appearing in the doorway and smiling wanly at Blitz.

Bandit throws a thunderous glare at him but doesn’t reply, and Doc watches him for a moment before cautiously making his way to Blitz’s bedside.

“How do you feel?” he asks gently, and Blitz closes his eyes for a moment to pull himself together. When he opens them, Doc is watching calmly, the eye of the storm that’s still quite literally raging around them.

“Sore,” he replies, wincing as his voice cracks and gratefully accepting the cup of water Doc offers him.

“As you’ve probably heard, you were quite lucky,” Doc says as Blitz drinks, and Blitz has the feeling that he’d be in for a lecture if Doc weren’t looking so worn out. “It wasn’t quite so bad as Bandit was making out, since he ran off when one of the nurses told him to prepare for the worst, which due to the position of the bullet, we initially believed were paralysis or stroke.”

There’s a distressed sound at that which Blitz eventually realises came from him, and a brief pause in pacing when Bandit appears to trip over his own feet. Blitz inhales deeply, holds it for a count of five to try and stop himself from panicking, and exhales.

“What was it actually, then?” he asks quietly, and Doc smiles wanly.

“The bullet was almost stopped by your armour and ended up lodged four centimetres to the left of your upper thoracic spine. The shockwave from the impact would have done the most damage, and whilst we were worried about the risk of paralysis for a while, the MRIs and ultrasound show no damage to the spinal cord or surrounding structures due to low-velocity and low-calibre.” Doc folds his hands together and shrugs. “We did surgery to remove the bullet, flushed the area to prevent infection, sealed a small tear to your dura, and stitched you up. Easy as that.”

Nothing about it seems easy to Blitz but he nods weakly anyway and closes his eyes again, unwilling to look at Doc’s tired face, at Bandit’s wrath. “That’s good,” he says weakly, and hears Bandit snort from somewhere to his left. “I’m glad it wasn’t a rifle shot.” He’s only half joking, and winces with regret when Bandit curses at him and resumes his stomping with increased vigour.

“So am I,” Doc says quietly, “because then we would be faced with the worst.”

There’s sombre silence for a second, broken only by Bandit’s frantic footsteps, before Doc sighs. “Will you please sit down?” he asks quietly, and the pacing stops, leaving the room uncomfortably quiet. “I’ll sedate you if not; you’re only making yourself worse.”

“Fuck you,” Bandit growls, from much closer now, and a hot hand closes around Blitz’s own. If he clings onto it with enough force to feel the bones shift slightly, Bandit doesn’t seem to notice, and Doc doesn’t seem to care.

He forces his eyes open to find Bandit sat down again, elbow on his knee and face hidden by his free hand. Doc is still watching worriedly, and shrugs a shoulder when Blitz meets his eyes.

“We’ll need to keep you here overnight before returning to base,” he says apologetically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just to make sure there are no complications from the surgery. Then we’ll do some tests to ensure the nervous system is functioning properly, which shouldn’t take too long.”

Blitz nods, even as fear flutters through his stomach. Bandit’s grip tightens on his hand to the point where it’s almost painful. “How long will it take to recover?” he asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

Doc sighs. “Not too long, we hope. There will be some muscle weakness due to the surgery but that should pass within a week, and you should be back to normal within a month, with any luck.”

Blitz squeezes Bandit’s hand again and relaxes for the first time since waking up. “That’s not too bad then,” he says, and Doc smiles again.

“Not too bad at all,” he confirms. “Though if you do it again, you’ll be benched from the team until you learn not to run directly into the line of fire like an idiot.”

“I’ll kill you myself if you do it again,” Bandit says hoarsely, peering up through his fingers and scowling fiercely. The effect is ruined by the redness rimming his eyes and the slight tremble to his shoulders, and Blitz’s heart aches for him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, smiling tiredly at the small “fuck you,” he earns for his trouble, and startling when Doc stands up to stretch.

“Anyway,” Doc says, stepping back and checking the line of machines along the wall. “I’ll give you another dose of painkillers but won’t bother putting you under again so we can finish the tests. And if you can persuade him to at least get changed, we’d all be very grateful.” He shoots a mildly amused look at Bandit, who flips him off half-heartedly, and Blitz wrinkles his nose in sympathy with the medical staff. His gear is still filthy with the usual dust and grime from being in the field, and he probably stinks of sweat and gunpowder too.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises, grimacing as Doc fiddles with the machine hooked to the IV line and sends an uncomfortably cool flood of fluid into his veins. The pain that had slowly been building up between his shoulders lessens immediately, though, and he can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes him.

Doc rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “You should have said it was hurting,” he scolds, “I would have given them to you first.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Blitz replies mildly, but Doc’s already gone, and suddenly the room feels far smaller.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” Bandit says quietly, voice gravelly and breathing loud. “I’m serious. I thought you were dead, when you went down.”

A painful lump forms in Blitz’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, closing his eyes. He’s hit with a wave of exhaustion, the painkillers and emotions and adrenaline getting the better of him, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s unsurprised to find his vision blurred and cheeks damp.

Bandit watches him quietly, thumb pressing firmly into the back of his hand. The empty storm in his eyes is gone, replaced with a tired sort of fear that Blitz is all too familiar with, from missions gone wrong and too many close calls, from nightmares and memories and silly accidents on base that shouldn’t be as frightening as walking into a gunfight but somehow are.

When he’s pulled himself together, he squeezes Bandit’s hand again and smiles weakly at him. “You look like shit, by the way,” he says teasingly. “It’s a good job I can’t smell you or I’d probably be in a coma.”

Bandit rolls his eyes and leans forward to rest his elbow on the bed. “I’ll go and shower when they come and do your tests,” he promises. “The nurses here are a bit nervous.”

“They’re probably not usually, you’re just a bit terrifying,” Blitz yawns. “You knocked over a chair, nearly stomped through the floor, and threatened to kill me. Twice. It’s enough to make anyone nervous.”

Bandit rolls his eyes, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and doesn’t look sorry in the slightest.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #bliban #guess who's back babey!!#if this is bad im sorry i just gotta write at the moment to keep the juices flowing lmao #Anonymous

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freds-keep · 5 years ago

Note

24, 36, 7 and 43 for the writing prompts

7. silent fury

Jesse and the others exchanged quiet, almost mournful looks, before Jesse took a step towards Doppler, putting a hand on his shoulder. Doppler tensed up almost immediately - Jesse had never gotten this close before, and surely not with anything with regards to Radar...

“I... Gosh, I’m sorry, Doppler. He... Radar... He...” Jesse looked away, voice shaking slightly - He hadn’t planned to be breaking the news so soon, apparently.

Petra stepped forward, putting her hand on Dop’s other shoulder. “He stayed behind. Sacrificed himself to buy us all some time.” She pointed to the small group of townsfolk behind herself, the leader waving quietly.

Doppler felt... something, all right. He rolled his shoulders, both Jesse and Petra losing their grip on him, as he turned around, stepping backwards onto the grass, before turning around and sprinting away,

His blood was boiling. His face grew hot, tears welling up in his eyes.

They let him die. THEY LET. HIM DIE.

THEY LET HIM DIE. how could they? Why? Why did it have to be him? Why wasn’t it one of them? Why did it have to be the one person closest to him?

He slammed open the door to his house and picked up a notebook, tearing out a page and grabbing a quill.

Jessey -

If I catch hide or hair of you near my house, you had better know how to pry an arrow from your neck.

He sighed, grabbing a slime ball from the chest and sticking the scrawled note to the door before slamming it closed, sprinting off towards the south.

24. tender

The door quietly creaked open as Radar tiptoed into the house, closing the door in a way he hoped didn’t make too much noise. He quietly tiptoed up the stairs, making his way to the bed as he tossed his hoodie and shirt into the chest, quietly climbing in.

Almost immediately, Doppler rolled over - though, it was more like flopping onto his other side, wrapping his arms tightly around his smaller, warmer partner. Radar smiled, hands gently grabbing at Dop’s elbows as he adjusted himself to be a bit more comfortable, the two of them sighing happily as Radar snuggled himself closer to Doppler.

“Sorry I’m late.” He whispered quietly, Dop chuckling softly as he let out a happy sigh. “Got swamped with stuff at the last second, had to make sure everything was in order....”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dop mumbled, resting his head against Radar’s. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

36. total control (conclusion of this)

Doppler’s hands gripped his hair, knuckles glowing a faint periwinkle color as he tried to take deep breaths. Radar’s - The others - The amount of negativity...

His head was spinning. He couldn’t find a single positive emotion to track. Everyone was confused. Or scared. Or afraid. Or distressed. Or in tears.

He quaked, rising into the air, staring at the three on the ground with wide, terrified eyes. He couldn’t hold it back. If he tried to he’d die for sure. His hands pulled at his hair, a great and terrible scream leaving him and sending purple shockwaves out from under him, knocking anyone who tried to come near to their rear ends.

He wailed, hands slamming down to his sides as if he were slamming a table in objection.

43. undone (finishing the above)

He could barely speak, too overcome by the emotions of everyone else to comprehend anything - his hands moved like fluid, sending blocks and humans careening towards anyone who may try to accost him.

The two looked at each other, then up at the rampaging pseudo-deity. Radar shuffled backwards, the two following him as they looked back at each other, each on either side of Radar.

“I’ll knock him down.” The purple-haired one said. Radar and the redhead looked at her.

“But that means Romeo would--”

“I can handle it.” Romeo nodded, trying to puff out his chest. “How’s your aim, Xara?”

“Precise as usual. Trust me, if I wanted to render this punk a pile of inventory, I’d have done it by now.”

“Please don’t shoot my boyfriend in the chest.” Radar mumbled. Xara rolled her eyes, pulling her bow out as the three dodged a wayward door (still gripped tightly by its owner)

“Not my plan.” She took a deep breath, aiming for his left shoulder and releasing a precise arrow.

It hit, right between the collar and the shoulderblade, and he dropped the stick, falling to the ground as Romeo jumped to his feet, leaping for the falling stick.

The last thing Doppler saw before passing out from the pain was a pair of brilliant orange-yellow eyes, holding the stick to both of their faces... and snapping it in two.

“Friends... do not need anything.. besides each other.”

#asks #romeoburg #micro story ask game #mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm radar #my oc #mcsm doppler #debug stick AU #come get yr lore

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kumkaniudaku · 6 years ago

Text

Ladies Night

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: SMUT, Language

Light chatter harmonized with the sounds of glasses and silverware clinking in the quaint West Hollywood restaurant chosen as the month’s “girl’s night” location. Around the round table situated in the back of the establishment, you laughed a full belly laugh with your girls at Tanisha’s long-winded explanation of how she planned to get her black porn streaming service off the ground.

“Girl, don’t nobody wanna see no flip phone backshots,” Yvonne laughed before taking a bite from her salad. “All you see is Toy Story sheets and a bonnet.”

“Speak for yourself, sis. Me and Aaron enjoy the occasional amateur ebony flick.”

“Hearing about my brother-in-law’s sexual escapades with my sister will never not be gross. Pass me the wine.”

The table fell into a fit of laughter as Tiana filled her wine glass to the brim with sweet red wine, taking a long sip before dramatically repeating the motion.

“You know how Tasha can get,” Devin smile over her wine glass. “She’s right past tipsy and willing to share just about anything. Tell us, Miss CoCo, when is the last time you put those jaws to work?”

“I am not tipsy.” A small hiccup interrupted your sentence, earning four accusatory looks from the women around the table. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Maybe a little means Terrible T is on the way. You know you can’t drink!”

“Shut up, Tanisha! Tasha, answer the question. When’s the last time you gave Chadwick the ole two hand twist?”

“I can’t hear you. Lalalalalala,” Tiana sang over the conversation.

“You’re so childish, TiTi,” Taking another sip of your wine, you attempted to focus your blurred vision on Devin. “To answer your question, it was one, two, four weeks ago. Actually, Micah knocked on the bathroom door and we had to stop. Does that count?”

Assorted “oh hell no’s” rang out around the table, leaving you wide-eyed and a bit embarrassed. None of them understood the impossible nature of remaining sexually active in a house teeming with toys, annoying children’s songs about sharks, and two children that knew not, nor cared about the meaning of privacy.

There was no such thing as “mommy and daddy time” when an inquisitive six-year-old and busy 11-month-old roamed the hallways looking for trouble. After having the door nearly kicked down in the middle of the night while Chadwick positioned you over his knee to test out the new flog ended with an earlier than expected lesson on the birds and bees, you and your husband had been forced into a sexual hiatus. Chadwick had no problem waiting it out. You couldn’t say the same.

“So you tellin’ me that you and Big Dic-”

“Tanisha!”

“You and Chad ain’t done the horizontal tango in a month?!”

“Thirty-one days?”

“Four consecutive weeks?”

“Giiiiirl!”

The genuine shock etched across the faces staring back at you penetrated the wine induced haze to convey the gravity of the situation.

“Oh my God. I haven’t had sex with my husband in a month. He’s - he’s gonna leave me!”

“Aaaaand here we go,” Tiana groaned as she took the opportunity to finish off the last of the Colomé, "Estate" Malbec on the table. Catching the waiters eye, she simply lifted the bottle to gesture for another round on your tab.

Assuming her usual role as comforter, Devin rubbed circles against your back to soothe the mix of tears and uncontrolled hiccups rising from your sudden distress.

“Oh, honey, he’s not going to leave you. Christine and I don’t get to have sex for at least two weeks out of the month and we’re fine.”

“It’s not the same,” you croaked before taking a sip from your glass. “You guys are women. Women are smart and have feelings and shit. I know he wants his dick sucked. I know it!”

Your fist hit the table in a drunken rage, getting the attention of a few parties in the area.

“Oh-kay, let’s get you into a more private space,” Yvonne suggested, grabbing her purse. “C’mon, to the bathroom you go.”

“He’s probably packing his things right now. He better leave that sweater I got him for Christmas. I paid for that with his money!”

Yvonne did her best to quiet your hysterics on the way to the bathroom in an effort to save your public image. The firestorm that resulted from the Black Panther’s wife drunk and crying in Nobu would not be pretty once sobriety returned.

Once the smoke had cleared and you were reassured that Chadwick was not planning on divorcing you, you were left to rest against the bathroom sink and purse watch while Yvonne relieved herself in the stall nearby. A loud yawn left you mortified at the stale alcohol taste in your mouth. Deciding to travel light with only your wallet and phone meant no gum, and you preferred not to ask others face to face with offensive breath.

“‘Vonne, do you have some gum in your bag. My mouth tastes like despair.”

“What does that even taste like, fool?”

“Like that time you let weird Bernard from work take you to that rib shack for a date.”

An audible shudder sounded from the other side of the stall before Yvonne could respond, “Please, never bring that up again. The gum is in the left zip compartment. In the tin foil package.”

“What are you? 65?”

“How about you shut your drunk ass up and chew the gum!”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed as you rummaged through her purse. The search for gum turned into a pulling out various lipstick and gloss components to hold against your lips and decide what you would ask for later.

When the toilet flushed to remind you of your original purpose for taking a deep dive into her bag, you hastily grabbed the first package you saw and popped the bitter blue tablet into your mouth. Your quiet gag went undetected before Yvonne could round the corner to wash her hands and follow you back into the main dining area.

With the sex crisis handled, you were able to enjoy your creamy spicy snow crab with your girls and discuss more pressing issues.

“You’re telling me you didn’t cry during the last scene in Dreamgirls? I don’t believe you,” Tiana accused Tanisha across the table.

“What was so sad about it?! They were just singing, then Effie came out in that horrible ensemble. You know what, that was sad. Why they ain’t get my sis a better dress?”

“Tanisha, why are you like this,” you jokingly questioned.

“Y’all need rappers like me,” she answered, imitating Nicki Minaj’s declaration in Chun Li. “Hey, anybody have some gum? This garlic has my breath smelling like weird ass Bernard.”

“Can we please leave that in the past!”

The table fell into another fit of laughter at Yvonne’s expense and the memory of her first attempt at dating after relocating from Atlanta to Los Angeles.

“Sure, ‘Vonne, we won’t bring it up again...tonight,” you taunted, earning an exaggerated eye roll. “You don’t want any of her gum anyway, Nish. It’s bitter, chalky, and dissolves before you can even chew!”

“What are you talking about? Dentyne Ice has never given me those problems.” Pulling her hand from the depths of her bag, Yvonne waved the foil gum package to reveal contents far different from what you had ingested 20 minutes earlier.

“But...I...okay, wait.” Curious stares watched you run your hands over the front of your hair to smooth non-existent flyaways in your low bun. “If that’s the gum in your purse, what were the blue tablets?”

“Blue tablets? What are you -” Yvonne stopped herself as realization came crashing down. “T, that was not gum. Tell me you didn’t have more than one.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WASN’T GUM?”

Yvonne rushed to quiet you down before explaining the situation. “Girl, that was,” a beat to lean closer and lower her voice. “Girl, that was Viagra.”

“What!”

“Girl, what are you doing with Viagra,” Tiana asked, raising the question that everyone wanted to ask. “Is there something you need to tell us? This is a safe space, sis.”

“First of all, everything is perfect in my bedroom.”

Tiana threw up her arms in faux surrender at Yvonne’s glare, “Okay! I’ll take your word for it. That still doesn’t explain why you’re walking around like Morpheus.”

“I pick up my Dad’s prescriptions when he and my step-mom are out of town. I swear I was just holding them for him until he came home. I must’ve forgotten to take them out of my purse.”

“Devin. Devin, look at me,” you demanded through labored breaths. “Am I going to be okay? I’m slightly intoxicated and I can feel the flames of hell all over my skin. Oh my God, there’s an itch on my back. Devin, there is an itch on my back! Help me, Devin, please!”

“Okay, calm down, Tasha. Calm down.” Devin took your face in her hands to get a better understanding of the symptoms you described. Just as she thought, you were suffering from a mild panic attack, and only marginally warmer than your normal temperature. As for the itch, she surmised that it was most likely an exaggeration. Still, she raked her fingernails across the center of your back to calm you. “You will be just fine, Tasha. Viagra comes with usually mild side effects so you may feel a headache or nausea aside from the expected arousal.”

“So, I’ll just be horny?”

“Just horny,” she assured you. “And, who knows, this could be what you need to get things moving at home. Or, you may not feel a thing. Either way, you’ll be fine.”

As you took in the information and murmurs of agreement from the group, most of your worry dissipated. The worst that could happen was a bout of nausea that you could explain away with the amount of wine you consumed during dinner. Sure, Chadwick would be upset, but it beat explaining you accidentally took a Viagra any day. The more time continued to tick away and the lights of Downtown Los Angeles faded into the tranquility of suburbia with no signs of abnormal arousal, the more you were sure that you had overrated.

A rare pothole in the neighborhood proved you wrong. The slight bump sent shockwaves through your lower half, pulling an unexpected and embarrassing moan from your throat. You were throbbing, confused, and begging for more at the same time.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Um, how much longer until we reach the destination?”

“Say about...four minutes.”

“Is there a way I can pay you extra to get me there in one?”

The driver chuckled as he turned onto your street, “No can do. This is my only stream of income right now. I just got laid off and…”

The middle-aged man’s life story faded into the background, leaving you to face the dull thump between your thighs and your nipples straining against the lace of your bra. By the time the heels of your Manolo pumps were clicking against the hardwood of your home’s foyer, you could feel the honey from your center coating inside of your thighs.

For a moment, all you could hear was your heart thumping wildly in your chest as you looked for any sign of your man. You were met with near silence and darkness in the kitchen and living room, leading you to believe that Chadwick was asleep and you would be left high and the complete opposite of dry for the night. The sound of the television in the home office down the lower level hallway gave you renewed hope that God had heard your prayers, seen your pain, and decided to end your suffering.

Removing your shoes, you tipped toed down the hallway to peek in the room, finding Chadwick sipping a beer with his feet propped on the ottoman while the Clippers game played on the projector against the wall. You let go of a relieved sigh and slowly crept into his line of vision. The blue light on his mahogany skin gave him a celestial glow to match the award-winning smile on his face.

“Look who’s home. D’you have a good time, baby? C’mere.” Chadwick opened his arms for you to join him on the couch, leaving your breath to hitch at the thought of being in such close proximity. His shirtless frame revealed a toned abdomen and sculpted chest. Cautiously, you placed your belongings on the ottoman before occupying the space on his lap. “Mmmm, I missed you. You would think I’d be able to handle a couple of hours without you in the house.”

Your nervous laughter pulled in the scent of his body wash and cologne, forcing you to stifle a needy whimper. “Well, I’m home now. How were the kids?”

“They were actually little angels. Micah helped me make tacos, Noah didn’t take off his diaper like last time, and both of them were asleep by nine. I think I’m getting the hang of this Dad thing. How were the girls?”

“You know, everyone is great. S-same ol -” Chadwick’s fingertips dragging up and down your exposed thigh put in a brief daze that you fought to snap out of.

“Co, are you okay?” Pulling away to get a look at your face, he caught a glimpse your eyes full of lust and partially covered with hooded lids. “Are you drunk?”

“Me? Drunk? Nooooooo. No, no, no, no. I’m not drunk at all.”

Your attempt at convincing your husband of your sobriety was unsuccessful, causing him to continue to press you for answers. “Yeah? If you ain’t drunk, then why you giving me the look?”

A staring contest commenced, the twinkle in his eye meeting the blank look in yours, as you cycled through various response options in your mind. You could admit to the four glasses of wine and pill or conveniently omit the latter altogether. Your therapist’s warning about half-truths still being lies picked the most inconvenient time to play on a loop in your mind, forcing you to come clean.

“Okay, so I did get drunk, but honestly what is drunk for me? You know my tolerance is low. I got a headache from all the wine and crying about you leaving me because we don’t have sex anymore so Vonne took me to the bathroom and told me to take an aspirin out of her purse except I took viagra by accident. What even is Viagra? Long story short, I’m so wet right now I might slip and fall if I stand up and I need you so bad right now! Please...help me.” Your admission came out in one breath and ended with a feeble plea for relief.

Chadwick stared back at you for a moment, confusion turning into a Cheshire smile and a light chuckle.

“You said all of that to tell me you want to make love?”

“No, you aren’t hearing me.” Pushing your body from his arms, you swung a leg over his waist to straddle his lap. His speed was no match for yours as you made quick work of cupping his face and pressing your lips onto his for a fiery kiss. His hands roamed your bottom half until he reached the hem of your dress to lift it to your waist.

Letting his bottom lip go with a whisper quiet pop, you focused your attention on his dazed expression.

“I need to fuck tonight. I want to be pounded, baby. Ruin me. Fuck. Me.”

“I think I can do that for you,” he purred, voice buzzing against your cheek as he leaned forward to nip and suck at a spot on your throat.

The feeling of his lips commanding goosebumps to prickle the skin on your arms and chest sent your mind into a fog. It was a battle between mind and body that forced you to press your palms flat against Chadwick’s chest to push your body off his lap.

“Take it off. All of it,” you commanded as you pulled the zipper down the front of your dress to reveal your lace bra and panty set. It was the first time you could remember wearing a pair of panties that didn’t cover every square inch of your ass, much less match your bra. None of that mattered as you discarded the damp item somewhere across the room.

Chadwick stood to his full height in front of you, displaying his body in all its beauty and glory. A split second of thick sexual energy turned into an all-out race to touch and taste whatever skin was available on each other’s bodies. Chadwick settled on your lips while took a firm hold on one of your ass cheeks, kneading the supple area and groaning at the feeling. As much as you loved his sensuality, now was not the time.

Breaking the kiss, you pushed your husband back onto the couch before dropping to your knees in front of him. You were too focused on running your hands down his stomach and thighs to notice Chadwick's head fall against the back of the couch at the simple sensation of your skin on his. For weeks he’d tried his best to hide his frustration at the lack of contact, often returning to the activities of his teenage years to stay sane. When your tongue licked a long stripe from base to tip, he could’ve sworn he saw his soul pack up and walk out of the room.

You were a woman on a mission. At some point, as you used both hands to twist around his shaft in alternating directions while you sucked as much as you could fit into your mouth, you forgot he was even in the room.

Sensing he was growing weak from the intensity of your oral demonstration, you took pause to show him some attention elsewhere. Your full lips pressed against his balls to hum a made-up tune, earning hushed curses and a near painful grip on your hair.

“Look at you,” he half spoke, half moaned. “You look so pretty with Daddy’s balls in your mouth. You gon’ make me cum?”

Flickering your eyes up to meet his, you moaned a sultry “mhmm” with your lips still wrapped around him.

“Good girl. Fuck, baby, just like that.”

You stuck around for a few moments longer to lightly suck and grip until the desire to return to his dick was too overwhelming. Moments later, with his hands on either side of your head, Chadwick held you in place while he released inside your mouth.

While always game for sex, Chadwick wasn’t prepared for you to move on so quickly. He was expecting a few minutes of touching, maybe even some reciprocity on his end, but you had other plans. Taking a swipe from your slick entrance, you used your essence as lubrication to jerk his member and speed up the arousal process. It didn’t take long for Chadwick to return to his full erect length. Both of you let out loud sighs of relief and bliss as you sunk down onto his dick, taking each inch bit by bit.

Chadwick watched you in awe as you took control, switching between positions with a dancer’s grace. Your control turned him on to no end while you rode him in whatever way you saw fit, and drank in all of your facial expressions and slurred praises when he plundered you across the arm of the couch.

By the time he found himself fucking into you against the wall with distorted images from the projector danced across your bodies, he was finding it hard to give you the intensity you desired while holding your legs around his waist. Your weight mixed with his aching muscles were becoming a recipe for disaster. Still, he allowed you to bounce in his lap well past his own orgasm in hopes that round four would be the knockout round.

Your body stiffened in his arms as your cried out his name, clawing at his back and tucking your nose into the crook of his neck while hot shoots of white light clouded your vision.

“That’s it, girl, let it go,” He murmured against your skin once he felt you begin to relax. His fingertips drew soothing circles at the small of your back as you began to pepper kisses along his collarbone.

“Oh my God.” The sparks of euphoria were beginning to wane, leaving you wanting more. “I feel like I just ran a mile.”

“You should! It’s been a while since you reached that far in your bag of tricks,” A long yawn left his lips as he reached around you to steady himself on the wall so that you could have room to dismount his waist and stand on your own. When you didn’t let go, he began to worry. “Is something w-”

“More.”

Your abrupt interruption made Chadwick raise his eyebrow in confusion. “What did you say?”

“I need more. You promised, Daddy.”

Chadwick’s jaw slackened in shock as you peered up at him with pleading eyes. He’d just poured his entire being into pleasing you for as long as he could muster, and you still were asking for more. What would’ve turned him on to no end was confusing and a bit demoralizing.

“You are...a monster,” he whispered more to himself than to you.

“Oh, please don’t start the dramatics, Aaron. Just say no if you don’t want to.”

“I just gave you my best performance in months and you want more? Am I only a sex object to you?” Chadwick watched you push away from his body to gather the clothes you could find before making your way to the doorway. “Where are you going? You can’t just walk out on me after this. I deserve to be big spooned after the work I just put in!”

His childish request for cuddling was equally amusing and irritating, forcing you to choke back a smile as you turned to answer his question. “I am going to finish in the bedroom. You can either sit down here and pout or come watch me put the Rabbit to use. Either way, I’m not done. Good night.”

Initially, Chadwick felt proud of himself for making his feelings known without receiving significant pushback. It wasn’t often that he told you no, and even when he did, he would always end up relenting in one way or another. The thought of you accepting a blatant refusal to continue without so much of a pout and one-sided argument became more perplexing the longer he sat (naked) on the couch. The thought of you upstairs, sprawled across the bed while you brought yourself to climax made Chadwick’s mind race and hands roam aimlessly around his body until he was feeling a familiar stiffening below.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he slouched against the couch, fighting the urge to accept defeat and race upstairs to join you. A small moan, one he was sure he wasn’t meant to hear, sent a chill down his spine while sending his resolve out of the room. Looking down, he addressed his member. “You think you got one more in you, bro? Good. Let’s go.”

_________

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#Chadwick Boseman #chad x coco #coco x chad #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman fan fiction

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aquaquadrant · 5 years ago

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Title: it wears a mask Chapter Warnings: Nightmare, claustrophobia, panic attacks, slight dysphoria. Summary: Beck has a change of heart at the trainyard and takes Peter captive instead. In many ways, it turns out much, much worse. (NOT SLASH)

Chapter Eleven

~*~

It’s dark.

Peter’s not sure how he knows this. He can’t open his eyes, they’re too heavy, like his eyelashes have turned to lead- why is that, can’t he just look around? It’s a blackness that seems to sink through his lids, so heavy, wrapping him up like a cocoon, he can almost feel it like arms wrapping around his middle and squeezing.

His body feels slow and big and awkward, why can’t he move- trapped trapped trapped trapped- there’s something pressing against him on all sides, he can sense it, a hard flat surface jostles the back of his head and his breath fogs above him, warm steam on his face, almost wet- wet like water, dripping, rushing through the concrete debris of a destroyed warehouse as pain rips through his leg and he screams for help but no one hears-

He’s alone, so alone, he hears nothing but his own heart and it’s loud, it’s impossibly loud, why can he hear it so loud? It’s beating too loud, too fast, he’s panicking- he tries to call out. His body doesn’t respond, doesn’t move- he’s so heavy- and breath hisses out of him, quick and low. It’s more of a vibration than anything, a sound he feels in his muscles more than he hears, and it’s like nothing he’s felt before. It confuses and terrifies him and his heart beats faster, faster, faster-

Light, suddenly. He shies from it violently, some wordless sound getting strangled in his throat, flinching as he tries to move away from it. His body doesn’t respond- he’s heavy- it can’t, there’s something holding him down, keeping him trapped, and his skin crawls.

New sensations flood over him, each other them too loud, too much- voices, he doesn’t recognize, doesn’t process, all of the words crashing to pieces in his ears and sending shockwaves through his body. The light is unceasing, and his world shakes, tips, jolts. He feels new air on his face and the sounds get louder and the light gets brighter and a strong sudden scent floods his nose, rushing blood, warm bodies, acrid smoke and rubber tires and wet pavement. It all trembles through him, he can feel himself shaking from the force of it.

Hands press onto him, the weight is light but he feels every inch of it, every vibration, every small amount of force pressing down, down, down, too heavy, like a ton of concrete. He hisses at it, tries to pull away, tries to strike out, tries to bite, sink his fangs into-

Fangs?

The thought freezes him. For a heart-lurching moment, his consciousness wrestles with itself inside his head. What fangs? Why does that sound wrong? (Right?) He doesn’t have- does he have-?

Then something sharp pricks his arm, and everything slips away.

~*~

“Where does this load go?”

Beck swiftly eyes the boxes. “Main command center,” he says. “That’s part of the security system circuit.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Beck watches the man wheel away the stack of boxes, his hands on his hips.

The transport didn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped it would. About halfway through, Peter woke up. Beck wasn’t there, of course, travelling in a completely different vehicle. But he’s been told that while Peter wasn’t fully conscious- unable to do more than thrash a bit in his restraints- he was much more so than he should’ve been. They’d only discovered this when his monitoring system reported his heart rate had jumped to one-hundred and twenty.

Since then, Beck has checked and double-checked the dose of tranquilizer he gave Peter; it should’ve been more than sufficient to keep him under for the entire duration of the trip. So he’s left with the unsettling puzzle of why Peter wasn’t affected by the drug the way he should’ve been, the way he was last time.

He’s also trying to make sure everything gets unpacked and set up smoothly. It’s a big compound to fill, and the sooner they get the surveillance equipment back up, the better. Edith keeps him updated via his watch, but he’ll feel a lot better to have eyes on his targets again.

Beck lifts his wrist up to speak into his watch. “Edith, status report on the barrier.”

“Status; unchanged. Cloaking technology is functioning properly.”

“Thanks, dear.” Beck runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. Moving day is always stressful. But this is a good change. Now he has a proper hero hideout, safe and secure from prying government eyes, with the space and freedom to do whatever he needs. That Wakandan tech is fierce stuff; to the outside eye, there’s nothing here but empty, rolling fields, dotted with clumps of woodland.

Another pair of team members comes by with a rolling stack of crates. “Where are we setting up the lab?” one asks.

Beck glances over at them. “Lab is the next floor up, elevators are down the hall and to the-”

Edith’s voice comes from his watch.

“Target is awake and distressed.”

Beck turns away from the men abruptly. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He briskly walks away, to one of several small offices on this level, and closes the door behind him. “Edith, display feed.”

From his watch, a holographic projection flickers into the room. It’s the view of Peter’s room, nearly identical to his previous one, except made of sturdy metal alloy instead of concrete and with a nicer- but just as sparse- bathroom.

Peter’s awake and pacing rapidly, his projection flitting back and forth in front of Beck. The hologram technology Edith has is quite impressive, so there isn’t a lot of detail lost in the image. Beck can clearly see the anxiety in Peter’s face, and can see his lips moving ever so slightly as he mumbles to himself.

“Put me through.” Beck clears his throat, holding his arm out so Peter will be able to see his image clearly as it projects into the room. “Welcome home, Peter. Enjoy your little nap?”

Peter rounds on him, not even sparing a moment to look surprised to see his holographic image, or to look insulted by his jab. “What did you do to me?” he demands.

Beck chuckles. “Relax, it was just another tranquilizer.”

“What? No, not- not that.” Peter backs away, shaking his head. “It was so- everything was so intense, I could hear, and- and- and smell everything? More than usual, it was so intense, it hurt.” His hands rake through his hair. “And that- that feeling, inside me, like there was something in there with me and I could sense it and it could sense me? But it was me. And I was it, but it wasn’t right.”

Beck blinks. Well, that’s… different.

“… gee, they must’ve hit you with more than I thought,” he mutters finally. “You should lay down, sleep the rest of it off.”

“I’m not delirious!” Peter snaps. “Whatever you gave me-”

“It was the exact same tranquilizer as before!” Beck interrupts. “The exact same dose!”

“Well it did something!” Peter insists, a hint of desperation coloring his voice. He’s trembling. “Those feelings, those thoughts, they- they weren’t normal.”

Beck frowns. “You were barely conscious, Peter, you weren’t thinking clearly,” he says patiently. “Just lay down, get some rest, and you’ll feel better.” This extreme reaction is a bit unnerving- maybe something in the drug went bad and caused an unexpected reaction in the kid.

“It wasn’t normal.” Peter wraps his arms around himself, glancing away. He takes a deep breath. “… please, can’t you let Virgil check it out? Just to be safe?”

It’s suddenly crystal clear. Beck can feel the way his expression darkens, and it’s an ugly thing, mimicking the ugly feeling knotting up in his stomach.

“Now I see,” Beck says lowly. “You want your good friend Virgil to come chat with you, huh? That’s what this is about?”

Peter looks up in surprise. “What? No, I-”

“You shouldn’t lie about these things to get your way, Peter. It’s unbecoming of you.” Beck’s voice is hard with anger, to the point that he barely recognizes it. His hand aches from the fist he’s clenched it in.

Beck has made it explicitly clear that Virgil isn’t a friend for Peter to hang around with, or try to garner sympathy from. But instead of accepting it, Peter’s trying to make up some far-fetched excuse to get time with Virgil again. It’s sneaky, and defiant, and Beck might be impressed if he wasn’t so furious.

“I’m not lying!” Peter protests. “I just want to-”

“That’s enough,” Beck hisses. “I don’t want to hear anything more about this, or you lose your exercise privileges. Do you understand me?”

Peter’s eyes flare wide with emotion. Shock, confusion, hurt, anger. It twists his features, pulling the jagged scar along the side of his face out of symmetry. It’s interesting, that despite fully knowing his limited freedom is conditional, Peter is still so thrown by Beck threatening to take it away.

“Fine,” Peter answers finally, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Good.” Beck can’t even feel satisfied at the show of obedience, and ends the transmission without another word, Peter’s image blinking away. He stands there for a moment, fuming.

“Ooh, Virgil’s the best,” Beck mocks to himself, imitating Peter’s higher voice. “I wanna hang out with my best pal, Virgil. Ugh. Unbelievable.” He shakes his head. “Edith, what are we gonna do with that boy?”

“Request unclear, please rephrase.”

“Nevermind.” Beck heaves a sigh, and opens the office door.

The two men are still waiting there with their stack of crates, looking sheepish. Beck rubs his face. “Down the hall and to the left,” he answers, before they can ask.

With hurried thank you’s, the men leave. Beck looks out the window to see several more moving vans still in the process of being unloaded. He can feel a headache coming on.

‘Patience, Beck,’ he reminds himself. The sooner they get everything settled, the sooner Phase Two can begin. And once that happens, he has a feeling Peter’s behavioral problems won’t be much of a concern. After all, escaping is a lot less appealing when you don’t have a life to escape back to.

“Edith, when is Mr. Jenkins scheduled to arrive?” Beck asks.

“Mr. Jenkins is scheduled to arrive in thirty-seven hours.”

Crunch time, then. The compound has to be set up beforehand, and there’s still details to be worked out before the launch. Drones to fine-tune, recordings to be made, payment to be settled. But assuming all goes well, ‘Spider-Man’ will be dead within the week.

And Mysterio will emerge as the true next great hero of humanity.

~*~

#spiderman far from home #spiderman ffh #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #my writing

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airanke · 6 years ago

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49. “It doesn’t matter to me, though.” - For Nadia/Trigon :D

Trigon x Nadia49. “It doesn’t matter to me, though.”

(( This one got long so I need to put it under a cut! ))

Trigon let his dagger dance between his fingers. It poured outside, heavy drops of rain tearing through the canopy of trees.

Then again, it always rained in the Crying Grove.

Maps were strewn about in front of Trigon. Chalk, charcoal, and pins were scattered around as well, and most of the maps were weighed down by books.

Or bodies, considering Trigon’s Azerothian companions had been up through the night with him trying to sort out the portal issue, even though that’s not what they did at all. The advisor despised the fact that they’d been forced to come to Ether. He despised that Khadgar had insisted, and despised further that Jaina had insisted, because of course that meant that Nadia had to insist.

He’d had enough trouble as it was keeping the dark haired woman out of his hair ever since she’d discovered just what Trigon, and Khadgar were trying to keep from her.

And so, here they were, hunting down one of the portals from Ether’s side.

‘At least, that had been the plan,’ Trigon rose to his feet, twirling his dagger some more, ‘somewhere down the line, they forgot why we even came here. There isn’t a portal in the Grove–’ he sighed, shaking his head, and stepped out into the rain.

There was a portal here - it simply wasn’t one of the ones that had been open. Beltanes had a strong presence in the Grove, and beneath the rocks, and trees, were lake-dwelling merfolk. In fact, a glance up into the trees informed Trigon that many of the kitsune that proweld the Grove were sitting amongst the branches, watching. One was clearly visible, bright flower pink fur against the lush green and blues of the grove, three tails flicking to and fro. Her companions were invisible to the naked eye. Trigon only knew of their presence by the slight rustle in the leaves every time they moved.

He only hoped their curiosity wouldn’t encourage them to get any closer, ‘the last thing I need is for these fucking mages to take them as another excuse to extend our stay. I know that my people are over on Azeroth now, helping with the remaining portals, but this was not the time for a fucking expedition to Ether!’

In his frustration, Trigon whipped the dagger in his hand at the nearest tree. The thunk it made was muffled under the rain.

Right next to his dagger, another kitsune appeared. Unlike the pink one, this one had all nine tails.

An older one, then; perhaps even one of the high guards. The Beltane would always ensure one of their high guards was present if anyone ever entered the Grove.

‘And while one high guard isn’t enough to deter the Bane, the Beltane won’t sit idly by - none of us would. That’s why none of the portals in any of the major cities or towns were opened, and that’s why they’re so difficult to find from our side,’ Trigon raked his hand through his hair. The rain impaired Trigon’s vision somewhat, but this kitsune was black, and brilliant teal. Their tails swayed from side to side.

They shifted to their humanoid form, eyes as black as their skin - or in this case, his. Trigon watched, ear flicking. No one inside the old house stirred, though the kitsune that surrounded the area shuffled around in the trees. Several dropped down, allowing Trigon the briefest moment to see them before they encased themselves in camouflage once more.

“It does not normally rain this hard in the Grove,” the kitsune mused, wrapping his long fingers around the hilt of Trigon’s dagger.

“I was wondering about that,” the troll replied, crossing his arms over his chest. The cold metal of his own weapon was soon pressed along the underside of his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back. The kitsune’s eyes were narrowed - and with a flick of his wrist, had the dagger down by his side. Trigon rolled his shoulders.

“Eldravo,” the man introduced, sheathing Trigon’s dagger where it belonged before raising the hand he’d held the weapon in to gesture to himself, “there is a storm above us.”

“Have you sought me out for a reason, Eldravo?”

“Yes. The Summer King received word that your presence is needed back on this place they call Azeroth. It took some time for the sprites to find you.”

If it weren’t raining so hard, Trigon was certain that a bead of sweat would have rolled down his forehead.

“I and my foxes were tasked with escorting you to Weave,” Eldravo looked around Trigon at the house, “you, and your…. companions.”

“How long?” Trigon found himself asking, voice barely audible over the rain. Eldravo shook his head,

“A week and a half.”

Trigon’s scars flickered: brilliant orange to black, and a furious snarl fought to escape the confines of his chest. He stormed back to the house, which was now covered with kitsunes, some in their humanoid forms. Trigon wasted no time in roughly shaking Khadgar awake.

“Wh– uh ah oh! Trigon–”

“Get up. We have ta go, now,” Trigon hissed, pointing at the doorway where Eldravo now stood, “the Summer King sent one o’ his own royal fuckin’ guards ta find us.”

“You,” Eldravo corrected, “specifically. Your companions were an afterthought.”

Khadgar stared at Eldravo, fascinated, but when Trigon cuffed the mage’s shoulder he snapped out of his stupor. Stooping, he hurriedly began to collect the maps and books and other articles off the floor. Eldravo observed for a moment, then strode in to assist.

Trigon grabbed Jaina, jerking her to her feet. She was barely awake, and Trigon spent only a second longer steadying her before jerking Nadia to her feet as well.

“I was having a–”

“I don’ have fuckin’ time fah ya sass right now, Nadia!” Trigon interrupted, dragging her toward the door, cursing repeatedly under his breath. He shoved her into the nearest kitsune, and turned to Eldravo, “you bring them, I’m going ahead.”

The high guard nodded, then released a series of yaps and hisses. Trigon turned; he knew where Weave was, getting there wouldn’t take him long.

‘A week and a fucking half.’

He didn’t take too kindly to it when someone grasped his cloak tightly.

Every scar lit up, as did the interior of his mouth, and the roar he released - right into Nadia’s face, no less - sent a shockwave through the rain. It was quiet around them for several seconds before the rain filled the space again.

“De kitsunes will bring you ta Weave. I’m going, ahead,” Trigon spoke through his teeth. Nadia stared at him with wide eyes - frightened, yes, but it was mostly shock. He wasted not another second, and raced off through the trees.

Not too far into his race did a pixie begin to dance ahead of him. He followed. The small fae led him right to Weave, and the guards at the gate pointed toward the spire. Trigon went.

The second his foot touched the tile of the spire, the portal ahead of him flickered to life. His mind pricked painfully, but he let the portal master in, for that brief second, to show her Dalaran.

It was all the woman needed. Her portal flickered to life, and Trigon was gone.

He landed in the meeting room, where he found Varian and Vol’jin. The human was pacing.

“We–”

“Been tryna’ find me, I know - tell me wat’s goin’ on.”

“Dere’s some Bane commandah here,” Vol’jin began, grabbing Varian by the shoulder to stop him from pacing, “he don’ be wit’ a battalion, he be traveling alone–…. Trigon, I don’ be tinking dat I like how pale ya be.”

The assassin had to sit down at the nearby mapping table, eyes wide. Blood had drained from his face. He stared at the map, stared at all the pieces, hardly heard Vol’jin and Varian as their concerned words became a drone in Trigon’s ear.

“Who do I be havin’ on de field, right now.”

“Shayon and his druids. Daydream at Night and the third company, that you put him in charge of, are out as well.”

Trigon spat a flurry of curses under his breath, gaze hyper focused on the table as the map came to life before him. He could see his people moving; they marched, and sprinted over Azeroth. Thirty portals had been opened, five were closed, and only five battalions had been forced back to Ether. There were still twenty-five battalions here, still twenty-five commanders, and - gods, Trigon didn’t even want to think about it - five hundred elites, accompanied by thousands of troops.

It didn’t sound like a lot, but when the elites were as powerful as - if not more powerful than - the heroes of Azeroth, and the commanders were people even ten heroes couldn’t hope to fight together, the small amount was enough to cause Trigon great distress.

“Who else?”

“Timbah’s military squad, as well as de high elven king, Ecodo of House Ensorcell. Ya also have de ninth, an’ twelfth companies here,” the warchief fell silent while Trigon’s mind raced.

“Cardinal is in Stormwind with his own contingent of druids, who are accompanied by several na– sea gypsies, and rub’ al khali.”

Trigon’s thoughts stopped.

Cardinal.

Stormwind.

Khadgar, Nadia, and Jaina stumbled through the portal as Trigon lurched to his feet, “where did ya last see dis lone commandah?”

“He was in the Eastern Kingdoms,” Varian replied, while Vol’jin held his hand up to the mages as various questions poured past their lips.

“Stormwind is in de Eastern Kingdoms…” Trigon muttered to himself. Jaina shoved past Vol’jin.

“Trig–!!”

She released a sharp gasp of pain when Trigon gripped her tightly by the shoulders, “send me to Stormwind, now!”

“Trigon, what–”

“DO IT!”

Perhaps it was the fear in his eyes that made Jaina act. She touched glowing hands to his chest, before Nadia could get so much as a word in, and Trigon was standing in Stormwind seconds later.

It was utter chaos.

He grabbed the nearest druid, barking orders, willing a memory of Stormwind’s map to come to mind. A rub’ al khali sprinted to him, announcing that the safest district was the Mage Quarter, where Trigon currently was. He instructed the woman to spread the word to her fellow Etherians, and then raced toward the keep.

Most of the Etherian nagas were in their snake forms, bearing as many people as they could. Two lay dead, surrounded by human corpses. Trigon assumed that the ones who were still alive from whatever they had suffered had already been born away by his troops.

There was only one commander who travelled alone.

He was aptly named God Killer.

Trigon knew he was after Cardinal - the Arachnaea druid was one of the biggest threats to the Bane army, and if he was in a city, he was less likely to fight to his full capacity. As a therian druid with the nature affinity, it would be too easy for him to mistakenly level Stormwind in his efforts to defend himself. It had happened before. Not many had survived. The incident haunted the Arachnaea for decades.

Stormwind keep was encased in vines. Trigon could hear Anduin screaming from inside, and caught the barest glimpse of the priest’s hands trying to reach through said vines.

Cardinal was bloodied and bruised, barely holding himself upright. He stayed just out of Anduin’s reach, and God Killer was slowly ascending the stairs. Based on the blood splattered across the grounds, and the still twitching spider legs that lay scattered in bits, Cardinal had retreated to the keep not too long before Trigon arrived.

He didn’t know if the lieutenant general would survive another blow. Blood poured from the lower part of his face, implying that his jaw had been cut in half.

Trigon wasn’t sure he’d survive one.

Regardless of the outcome, Trigon was between God Killer and Cardinal before either could blink.

The templar was startled, but already swinging his broadsword.

It was sharp. It cut into Trigon’s armor, biting into his skin and muscle and his body barely had time to respond - but it did. He was sent careening into the nearest building, breaking every inch of the front wall. His head raged, vision dark, ears ringing.

Cardinal’s howl of fury was piercing. Trigon gasped against the rocks, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t get a proper, full breath.

He could pick up on other sounds: Anduin’s yelling had joined the fray of noise, and Trigon shakily raised a hand to his side. By the Great one, his arm was like jello. It took him several tries before he was able to touch his wound.

Under his fingers, he could feel the parasites that made up his armor moving. The fibers had yet to come together fully; the trauma from the blow was greater than Trigon had anticipated. He walked his fingers along the cut. Around him, sounds of conflict continued. A familiar swell of magic sent his heart into a panicked rhythm, and he lurched off the broken bricks, only to collapse to the ground.

‘Get up, get up, get up,’ Trigon took in labored breath after labored breath. His gasps were wheezes at this point, and black splotches impaired most of his vision. His steps were uneven, and he staggered toward the broken portion of the wall that was still standing.

With the way his left leg was dragging, Trigon could deduce that his body had been partially severed. He prodded at his side again: the parasites were still frantically trying to fix themselves, and until they did, he knew his body wouldn’t regenerate correctly.

“TRIGON!”

He knew that voice. He knew he shouldn’t keep going; he should sit down, and rest, and let his armor fix itself so that his body could follow suit.

Trigon shoved away from the wall, shaking with the effort to keep himself upright. He clutched his side - as if that was going to do anything to keep him together.

Nadia’s hand connected solidly with his cheek. Trigon hardly acknowledged the blow.

“SIT DOWN!” she screamed at him, grabbing him by the arms as much as she could. Trigon’s words came out in a jumbled mess, and Nadia pulled at him, “Trigon please!”

“Where… God Killer…?”

Other people began to arrive, most of whom joined in with Nadia, trying to force the assassin to sit down. In defiance, he leaned heavily against the nearest wall, still struggling to breathe. Perhaps one of his lungs had been ruptured? He wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Hit that wall pretty hard.’

“Where?” he tried again, black splotches still invading his vision. A glance at Nadia quickly had him looking away, for any other face.

She was crying openly, pulling weakly at his arms, begging him to stop, begging him to sit down because he was in no condition to keep going.

“Where’s kuh-” he choked on the word, dry retching, before he raised his gaze to a mortified Khadgar and tried again, “where’s Cardinal?”

The archmage’s mouth flapped, so Trigon turned his gaze to Anduin, who was one of the others trying to force him to sit down, “where’s Cardinal?”

“Trigon that doesn’t matter right now!” Nadia wailed, “would you sit your stubborn ass down!? Your– you– your body is practically hanging open!!”

Trigon stared blankly at her. This was not new information to him.

“Where’s God Killer?”

“Encased in ice,” Khadgar finally found his voice, “he’s a fair distance off the harbor now, uh, Vol’jin has shaman here doing everything they can to push him further out to sea. Nadia, Jaina, and I froze him - he… he seemed to accept it, he made no attempts to fight back, just let– just let us all freeze him. A-as I stated, we’re pushing him further out to sea as best we can, he uh, his plate armor should prove too big a weight for him to possibly survive sinking to the bottom of the ocean.”

“Where’s Cardinal?” Trigon asked yet again, and if he weren’t in such a delirious state he might have been frustrated enough to snarl it.

“Here.”

Trigon looked up, and up, and up, and up, until he could barely make out Cardinal’s face amidst the bark and leaves and branches that he was now made of. As Trigon had assumed, part of the ent’s lower jaw was missing.

“Oh. Good. That’s good,” he muttered, before finally collapsing to one knee. The people around him followed, and soon enough Nadia had his head cradled in her lap. If Cardinal was safe, and God Killer was dealt with - for now - then perhaps Trigon could let himself rest.

Cardinal shifted back to his troll form, and immediately vomited up blood. He waved someone away, and released an ear-splitting screech; his druids would come to him. Trigon swam in and out of consciousness, aware that Cardinal was giving orders. He nearly chuckled when he heard the druid request that someone please go find his missing jaw.

He could hear the argument about getting Trigon back to Dalaran. Jaina vehemently demanded that he stay in Stormwind until he was fully healed; teleporting him, or even going through a portal would merely make his injuries worse, if not cause him to be cut fully in half.

Cardinal appeared in his vision, readjusting his jaw. The large troll stooped, “I’ll carry him. You be telling me where to take him.”

“Alright, good, great, follow me,” this voice belonged to Varian. There was an angry lilt to his voice. Trigon allowed himself to be carried. He could still hear Nadia crying into her hands, while Jaina and Khadgar did what they could to comfort her.

Varian led Cardinal to the keep, and up the twisting stairs, straight to one of the various guest rooms. Excess blankets and pillows were shoved off the bed, and milliseconds after Trigon was set down, Anduin was there.

“Light – where - damn this– AH-HAH!!” he fumbled with the high collar of Trigon’s armor, finally getting his finger in just the right spot to cause it to collapse onto itself. Trigon closed his eyes. There was no point in trying to fight.

Hours later, when he awoke, it was dark outside. He could make out the sounds of hammers - of course his soldiers would have already begun repairs.

‘I should be out there with them.’

Trigon struggled to push himself up, only to find that there was a weight against his chest. His fingers twitched at the sight of long, dark raven hair draped over his bandaged torso.

“Get up,” he sighed, though instead of nudging Nadia with his hand, he ran his claws through her dark hair.

Nadia jolted upright, eyes frantic. Trigon’s brows pinched inward, and he pushed himself all the way up, “I be fine.”

“Fine enough to stay lying down,” Nadia snapped. She pressed one of her hands firmly to his shoulder. Trigon sighed heavily.

“I need ta go.”

“You need to rest.”

“My soldiers are out dere rebuilding, I need ta help dem.”

“Trigon, you need to fucking rest.”

He stared blankly at her. It wasn’t every day that her face was flushed with anger, but that was certainly the case right now. If Trigon weren’t feeling so empty headed he’d surely snark at her.

Instead, Trigon moved to get out of the bed on the side Nadia wasn’t blocking. She grabbed him tightly by the shoulders, and with all of her might, managed to force him back down against the mattress. He narrowed his eyes at her, but the usual growl wasn’t there. His usual bite wasn’t there either.

“Nadia–”

“You could have died!” she shrieked, “you could have lost your life, Trigon!”

Without thinking, Trigon snapped, “it doesn’t mattah to me, though.”

He realized it before Nadia’s expression even changed. His own eyes widened, and the snarl that had been on his lips flattened itself into a stunned line.

The anger drained from Nadia’s face, replaced by hurt.

‘That was definitely not the right thing to say,’ Trigon’s thoughts lay scattered as Nadia slowly drew away. He sat up again, making no effort to try and stop her from turning around and striding toward the door. Discomfort lodged itself in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping all of his usual pretense, “I shouldn’t’ve said that. Not ta you.”

“Then why did you?” she spat. Trigon had moved himself to the edge of the bed, his back to her.

“Dat’s wat happens when you trust someone too much,” he clenched his teeth together for a moment, “you let dem in.”

He chose not to dwell on it further - and it was ironic to say that Trigon had his inner demons.

“To be fair, I be lucky,” he muttered, filling the silence, “if my body hadn’t hardened itself, you fah sure woulda’ found me in two pieces.”

“Stop.”

“Nobody be likin’ ta hear de truth - don’ make me explain my scars ta you again,” he continued, hardly registering that Nadia had chosen to walk away from the door, and toward him, “though in dat case, it was de repetitive trauma dat made my skin harden like rock.”

Nadia grasped Trigon’s face in her hands, and he looked up at her in distress, “Nadia–”

She pressed her lips firmly to his.

“I said stop,” she muttered, “how about you listen to me for once?”

Once again, he stared at her blankly. Trigon would never admit that he was too tired to fight. It meant that he felt safe - and Nadia deserved to know that. She deserved to know that he felt safe enough with her to close his eyes, and rest.

“I-I know you care about your soldiers. That’s,” Nadia swallowed thickly before continuing, “that’s obvious. It’s not like you nearly got cut in half to save one of your officers.”

Trigon merely nodded his head. Nadia gave him a weak smile, before guilt overtook her expression, “and I know that this happening is… my fault. Not explicitly mine alone, but, I contributed… Jaina, Khadgar, and I all kept you from coming back to Azeroth, because we were so fascinated by Ether.”

Hope made her eyes sparkle like gemstones, and Trigon breathed deeply. He closed his eyes, and inclined his head forward, pressing both of his cheeks more firmly into Nadia’s hands. Her lips pressed against head, brushing over his dark hair.

“When all of this is over, I would like to go back.”

“When dis is over,” he repeated, lifting his head out of her hands - but he shook his head, refraining from saying anything more. Perhaps when all of this was over, proper portals could be opened. There would have to be rules, of course. The Hode and the Alliance would, under no circumstance, be permitted to bring their petty squabbles to Ether. Trigon’s home world had more than enough troubles of its own, with few of those being between the factions - especially considered Za’hal rallied nearly every royal faction under the United banner, including a few odd factions here and there.

But perhaps that could end up being the case. Azerothians could be required to go through Arielustria, and only “heroes”, emissaries, and important figures - political and not - would be permitted to stay for extended periods of time.

The troll scoffed, shaking his head again, ‘and why am I wasting my time thinking about this right now?’

Nadia pushed against his shoulders, “lie down, Trigon.”

He sighed, “alright.”

“I’ll let you get up to stretch your legs soon, I promise.”

“I c’n do a few stretches on de bed, don’ worry ‘bout dat.”

“Hah! You really do have an answer for everything.”

A smirk pulled at Trigon’s lips, “funny, I thought you’d be used ta it by now– see? Dere I go again.”

Nadia attempted a pout, but as he settled himself back onto the bed, and laid down, he could see the stress visibly leave her. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled onto his side. Nadia stayed with him for another hour, running her fingers through his hair, humming some soft tune he’d not yet heard under her breath. Dreamless sleep came to him soon enough.

#WoW #World of Warcraft #Nadia Ravenscroft #Trigon #Champions #Air writes #prompt #Transference prompts #writing prompt #writing

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writesandramblings · 6 years ago

Text

The Captain’s Secret - p.97

“Facing the Music”

A/N: This takes place during episode 14, "The War Without, the War Within."

If you’re wondering why this and the previous chapter are coming to tumblr late, it’s the abusive trolls on this site. Honestly, that person was so ridiculous and mean-spirited, I was sorely tempted to post this and the previous chapter without any readmore cuts at all just to spite them. Since I didn’t want to do that to my actual followers, I waited until the urge had passed.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 96 - Nowhere and Everywhere 98 - A Fate Worse Than Death >>

They were home, but they had not arrived as intended.

Nine months. That was how far they had missed their mark. They had been thrown nine months forward in time and the war they left was not the war they returned to. As the strategic display automatically updated itself with the latest battle and territory information from Federation communication relays, Saru and the bridge crew watched the map turn from blue to red and faced the grim reality of their new circumstance.

They had been gone nine months and the Klingons had won. The Federation lay almost wholly under Klingon control.

Their first order of business was to try and contact whatever remained of Starfleet, but there was no response.

The second was to assess the state of the ship. Riding the mycelial shockwave had left Discovery heavily damaged and on auxiliary power. Saru ordered all available personnel to repair assignments. Under the circumstances, they could not expect any help to come.

That left the matter of unwanted passengers. Lorca was not in sickbay as Saru, Burnham, and Georgiou expected. They found an entirely different set of patients laid out under the bright, silvery-white lights, and one very agitated, hovering lawyer who, when questioned as to the whereabouts of their former captain, said with a shrug:

"Dead."

Georgiou smirked with a mixture of satisfaction and curiosity. "Is he, now."

"Yeah, that's what happens when you're stabbed through the chest," Groves spat. The words verged on comical, but the tone was angry and bitter.

As the medical staff treated Georgiou behind the vague safety of an isolation forcefield, Saru attempted to ascertain what had happened to O'Malley and Mischkelovitz. This time Groves' explanation was less clear.

"I don’t know. He—Lorca was dying and Lalana said goodbye and Mac had—was injured, and Melly tried... something, I don't know what, and..."

When it came to lies, Groves really put all of them to shame. He had learned at a very young age how to appear convincingly flummoxed. He was the perfect combination of confusion and nerves, frustration and upset. He sounded completely unrehearsed and in the middle of processing the situation. Burnham and Saru judged him to be a complete wreck. But then, from where they were standing, he was a civilian who never should have been on the ship in the first place. They hardly expected grace under pressure from someone who lacked the experience and training to be on a mission in deep space or a ship in the midst of war. When Groves asked to leave, claiming he could no longer bear being in the room, Saru granted the request.

Neither of them realized exactly how right Lalana was about the similarities between Groves and Lorca. Like Lorca and Lalana, Groves knew the kernel of a good lie was a central truth and when he spoke the words in the moment, he truly did not know what had happened to Mischkelovitz, which made it the perfect excuse to go and find out from someone who did.

Dr. Pollard offered her medical assessment of the patients. "The colonel has lost a significant amount of blood, but he'll make a full recovery. Dr. Mischkelovitz..." Pollard took a breath. The exact nature of the issue was confusing. "It appears her implants overloaded, terminating her neural activity."

"Alert me to any changes," instructed Saru. Pollard returned to her patients. Saru addressed Burnham again. "I must inform you as to a change in our status. As of our last jump..."

Most anyone else on the ship would have been elated to learn that Discovery had returned to its home universe, but Burnham, with her Vulcan upbringing, received the information calmly and coolly, glancing at Georgiou as she processed the ramifications.

"Which makes this a very sensitive situation," Saru concluded. "I must ask, what were you thinking?"

Burnham shook her head sadly. "The truth is that I just couldn't watch her die again, Saru. I wanted to offer her more. I am sorry."

"Saving Georgiou may indeed prove to be a grave error in judgment, but, no one else could have done what you did aboard that Terran flagship. You are alive, and we are home."

The medical technician assessing Georgiou completed his examination and the forcefield lowered. "I told you I did not require assistance," was Georgiou's seething indictment as security personnel moved to surround her. She sneered at the display of supposed strength. She could have taken all four of the officers with ease, but not the many dozens that would have followed on a ship that she did not control.

"It is protocol," Saru informed her.

"Where I come from, protocol demands that I eat you," said Georgiou.

Burnham moved between Georgiou and Saru defensively. "This Kelpien is my captain."

"You let livestock command your ships? Yesterday we dined on the entrails of his brethren."

Saru's mouth tightened. Burnham, as always, was treating Saru as if he was incapable of fighting his own battles, and then there was the clear implication that Burnham had eaten at least one member of his species during her time with the Terrans. His voice was firm as he ordered, "Transport our visitor to guest quarters on deck three and confine her there now."

"Is that what I am? Your guest?"

"For now," said Saru as the white light of the transport enveloped the former emperor. He turned to Burnham.

"I'm sorry. I hoped to spare you the pain," Burnham offered.

Saru grimaced. Perhaps she had, but it still hurt to know that out of everyone Saru had ever met, the person who respected him the least was the one he had known the longest. He pushed the matter aside for the moment and addressed the room. "The presence of a Terran defector on this ship is to be regarded as classified. Its utterance will carry a penalty of treason. Is that understood?"

The chorus of ayes in the room reflected the truth. Burnham might not have moved past her perceptions of Saru from their history together, but everyone else had.

Saru returned to the bridge just as scanners picked up an approaching vessel with a Federation signature. "Hail them at once," said Saru, taking over the captain's chair from Airiam.

The hail was not returned. "Captain," said Owosekun, "its shields are up. I-it's phasers are charged and targeting."

"Shields up!" said Saru, but it was too late.

"I'm picking up incoming transporter signatures," said Rhys. "We're being boarded."

Armed figures appeared in cascades of light around the bridge. Saru's command was simultaneous to the eruption of chaos and confusion as the intruders took up positions targeting each station and hapless crewmembers withdrew their hands from their controls. "Identify yourselves!"

The boarding party was being led by a familiar face, Captain Sherak. "Hands where we can see them!" he ordered.

"I demand an explanation for this intrusion," said Saru.

"We ask the questions," Sherak warned. "Clear for transport."

Two final figures appeared on the bridge. Ambassador Sarek and Admiral Cornwell.

"Where's Captain Lorca?" Cornwell demanded. When the answer did not come quickly enough, she followed with, "Computer, initiate command level override. Authorization, Admiral Katrina Cornwell, Pi-Beta-6. Start with him."

Sarek strode towards Saru. "Ambassador, what are you doing!"

"What the times require," said Sarek, pressing his hands to Saru's face. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

Saru's jaw clicked in distress as Sarek overrode his psyche, peeling away the layers like petals on a flower and digging deep into the events of the past few days because for Discovery, that was all it had been.

"Mr. Saru is who he appears to be," Sarek concluded, but the calm Vulcan exterior broke a moment. "The Discovery has been through an inconceivable ordeal."

"Then where the hell is her commanding officer?"

Sarek turned back to Cornwell, emotionless façade restored. "Captain Lorca is dead."

Cornwell convened a meeting in the conference room with Saru, Sarek, Burnham, and Stamets. Hearing the full details of Lorca's subterfuge, Cornwell could scarcely contain her shock and anger. To think the man she had been championing, consoling, and had slept with all those months ago had been an impostor the whole time. She took her phaser, adjusted it to full, and fired on a bowl of fortune cookies sitting on the table. Her outburst concluded, they proceeded with other subjects.

The situation was as bad as it seemed. There was one spark of hope in all the calamity: Discovery had not returned from the other universe empty-handed, it had brought with it the cloak-breaking algorithm. Cornwell had immediately disseminated the algorithm to Starfleet's remaining ships, but as she explained the tactical situation to Saru, Burnham, and Stamets, she expressed the very real possibility that the cloaking algorithm had arrived far too late to make a difference.

As she listed out atrocities committed by the Klingons during their advance, the situation began to seem worse and worse. One-third of the fleet had been eradicated. Outposts, starbases, and whole colonies had been wiped from the map. Kol's death had fractured the Klingon leadership and now all twenty-four houses were acting as independent marauders, greedily engulfing Federation territory as they competed for renown and glory, making impossible any negotiation.

Cornwell's directive was clear. "Discovery will jump to Starbase 1 immediately. All evidence of your recent journey will be classified and destroyed. We cannot risk the knowledge of this alternate universe leaving the confines of Discovery."

Stamets shook his head. "We used up the last of our supply of spores to get us home and I can't jump without them."

They would have to make the journey at warp, across sectors full of Klingons.

"We will also have to dispose of Lorca's remains," said Saru.

A ripple of shock passed across Cornwell's face. "He's... he's here on Discovery?"

"His body was recovered," confirmed Saru.

"I would like to see it for myself," announced Burnham. It seemed an odd request, but Georgiou had put a kernel of doubt in the back of Burnham's mind back in sickbay. Such doubts were not easily shaken.

"Admiral?"

"Make sure it's incinerated," was all Cornwell said. Perhaps the better thing would have been to see the body herself, obtain some closure, but it felt like the only closure she needed was knowing every last trace of that impostor was gone from their universe.

When Burnham and Saru stepped into the turbolift, Stamets stepped in with them. "Deck nine," said Saru, and Stamets did not call out otherwise. It turned out they were all headed for the same destination.

"You have some business in Lab 26, lieutenant?" asked Saru.

"Just a quick word with Lalana," said Stamets.

"Who is Lalana?"

Saru and Stamets realized Burnham had never encountered the lului. "That's..." Stamets was unsure how to answer the question. A friend of Lorca's? A secret crewmember? A hitchhiker?

"She is a member of a classified research team," said Saru. "She was... acquainted with the captain."

"Are you familiar with 'Lorca's alien?'" offered Stamets, because that was what Lorca had called her when they first met and he had forgotten the actual species name. The designation did not ring any bells for Burnham.

"She is a lului," clarified Saru.

"Ah," said Burnham, "the technophobic species discovered in 2247 and designated as a Federation protectorate." She knew several other facts from the anthropological report but kept them to herself.

The Lab 26 doors did not answer to Saru's command. They had to wait for Groves to let them in, which took so long that two security personnel arrived with a gurney to move the body while they waited and Saru began to feel agitated, sensing something was up.

When the doors finally opened, Groves mumbled a vague apology about the delay, citing "O'Malley's security procedures."

The lab felt empty without Mischkelovitz. Evidence of her was everywhere—in the piles of abandoned junk and half-finished engineering projects scattered throughout the room—but there was an unsettling quietude to the place.

"He's in there," Groves told them when asked, waving his hand in the direction of Lalana's door. "But I wouldn't go in if I were you."

"We have seen dead bodies before, specialist," Saru said reassuringly. Groves only shrugged, thinking that it was their funeral.

They had seen dead bodies, but they were unprepared for what awaited them. The body lay on a couch soaked through by an enormous black stain of dried blood extending all the way to the carpet. Burnham, Saru, and Stamets recognized the dark uniform and silver-black armor worn by Lorca aboard the Charon and the familiar crop of short, brown-black hair on his head, but little else. There was a void of raw flesh and exposed bone where his face should have been. Lalana was crouched on the back of the couch above him, her tail draped down across his collar.

If they had looked closely enough, they would have noticed a distinctive, lacelike pattern of brown across the body's hands and the fact the hands were too big for the man they thought they were looking at, but no one wanted to look that closely.

"What did you do?" asked Burnham, the only one with enough presence of mind to ask the question.

"His face was my most favorite part of him, so I made it a part of me," said Lalana.

Stamets covered his mouth, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat. Beside him, Saru straightened, shocked by the idea of it. He had seen images of his own kind flayed for food, so the sight of this mutilated corpse was not wholly unfamiliar, but it felt too close to that not-so-distant reality.

Lalana could see their revulsion and confusion. She happily explained, "I know cannibalism is not favored among your species, but it is among mine. The original Captain Lorca's body was incinerated, so there was nothing for me to eat. I am very glad to have gotten the chance to amend that."

"I warned you," Groves called out from the main lab area. There was a reason he had chosen not to reenter the room.

The security officers went to work, sealing the body in a bag and lifting it onto the gurney to move to the corridor outside where it could be beamed away. Burnham left with them, having confirmed what she came for, but Saru remained in the main lab to order Groves to disable the lab's independent security protocols. Groves uncharacteristically mumbled an explanation about having coopted O'Malley's security protocols in the event of an incursion while they were under Terran threat and being unable to reset them.

The whole time, Stamets stood there wondering if he had made a mistake, but he was there because he wanted to say something important, difficult as it was after what he had just witnessed. It felt important because he was not sure anyone would say it to Lalana and in the wake of his own loss, someone ought to. "I'm sorry. I know he meant something to you."

"Thank you, Paul. You meant something to him, too. You were... he... he very much enjoyed..."

Something happened in Lalana's eyes. Her pupils quivered, dilating and constricting, as if rapidly shifting focus. She seemed to wobble on her perch. Then she pitched forward on the couch, half-rolling, half-bouncing off the cushions and slamming against the edge of the coffee table as she landed between the table and couch. Mischkelovitz's leftover tools clattered loudly against the glass surface of the table.

Stamets rushed forward, yelling for Saru, but stopped short of actually touching Lalana. Black ichor bubbled up from various spots along her body. Her tongue shifted, barely managing to produce syllables, but the translator eked out, "Too much... poison..."

Saru attempted to contact sickbay. "Unable to comply," intoned the computer.

"Probably something she ate," Groves quipped. "Don't worry, I know what to do. I'll take care of it."

"She has been poisoned," said Saru. "We must begin biological containment procedures until we have identified the contaminant. Contact the medical bay immediately, Specialist Groves."

"I'll take her there myself! Here, just let me—" Stamets blocked Groves. The black ichor, for all they knew, was toxic to the touch.

"Specialist! That was an order," Saru said in a tone that invited no further objections.

Groves stood there, staring blankly at Saru and failing to comply. The minute someone walked in with a medical tricorder, the jig was going to be up. Any scan of the room would make obvious the subterfuge. "Trust me, you don't want me to do that. Everything in existence is at stake—"

"You will comply immediately or—"

There was a bang from the wall to the left of the couch. A muffled voice came from within. "Give it up, Groves! Let me out!"

Even muffled it was clear who the voice belonged to. That voice had been barking orders at them all for months now. Stamets noticed a panel fastening tool incongruously sitting on the floor at the base of the wall and grabbed it, prying open the panel. Lorca pushed from the inside and the panel went careening away to the side, falling flat against the ground and reverberating like a gong.

"What is going on here!" exclaimed Saru.

"What the hell does it look like, Saru," said Lorca acidly as he stepped down from the alcove in the wall, rubbing his shoulder at the lingering ache of being shoved into an access space not designed for a human.

"I do not think you want me to answer that," Saru replied sharply, "as it appears we have yet again fallen prey to another of your manipulations."

"You think I did this?" asked Lorca with exaggerated incredulity. "I'm the victim here!"

"If anyone's the victim, it's your little alien friend!" exclaimed Stamets.

"She'll be fine," Lorca replied. "Poison's out. She just needs to rest."

Groves was genuinely panicked. "Everyone, stop! Shut up and listen to me!"

The one thing Groves' explanation made clear was that he believed the idea of a manifest paradox with such fervency he was willing to do almost anything to make sure no one knew Lorca was alive. Saru and Stamets listened carefully and concluded that, as uncertain as this was, there was a nonzero chance Groves was right. There was no telling what would happen if some action taken in the future destabilized the probability of an event in the past. So far, they would seem to have disrupted nothing, and the safest course of action was to make sure this remained true.

The only person who seemed not to believe Groves was Lorca. He still found the paradox theory more frustrating than believable and its only virtue from his perspective was that it provided an incentive to give him what he wanted. "Look, you're back on your feet," he said to Stamets casually, "just jump me home. No one will ever know I was alive if I'm not here. And I'll shut down the reactor on the Charon, I promise. There's no Stamets over there to turn it back on, so reality'll be safe."

It sounded like Lorca was spinning a fairytale and clearly he was missing some key facts, but Stamets' first instinct was to clear up the last part of Lorca's statement. "What happened to the other me? Did—did you kill him?" (He knew, from his dreamlike encounter with the other Stamets in the mycelial network during his period of unconsciousness, that his counterpart had no love for Lorca.)

"You wouldn't have liked him, anyway," shrugged Lorca.

"I met him. I didn't like him. The point still stands!"

"It does not matter," said Saru, "as we have no spores left and the reactor has already been destroyed."

"I couldn't jump you anywhere even if I wanted to," said Stamets curtly, making it very clear he had zero intention of doing any more jumps for Lorca.

Shocked, Lorca sat down on the couch, dried blood crunching beneath him. The bulk of his most loyal supporters and his most powerful asset had just been stripped away. His position was untenable.

A fury rose in Lorca so black it could have collapsed the room into a hole. He slammed both his fists down so hard on the coffee table everything on its surface bounced several inches into the air and objects went flying off onto the floor like engineering confetti, but the synthetic glass was too strong to break under the impact and the force traveled back up his arms. He grabbed his chest in pain. A gasp escaped, soundless but for the croak of air in his throat, and he doubled over. A moment later, he upended the table with a kick that sent it tumbling halfway to the door. Then he sat in quiet agony with his head by his knees, air hissing through his teeth.

"Where is the recording from the alternate future?" asked Saru. His ganglia itched along the back of his skull.

They searched the room, a task made harder by the scattered mess Lorca had created. The holodisc was missing. Suspicion immediately fell on Lorca, but when he turned out his pockets in furious annoyance, the only thing he had on him was Allan's tooth. (Saru wondered why Lorca had a human tooth in his pocket but decided it was better not to ask.)

"It's possible," said Groves, "that the disc vanished because we're experiencing temporal instability."

"More likely it rolled off into a corner when you threw it," Lorca sniped at Groves. He nudged Lalana's shoulder with his foot, reaching a hand down towards her.

"I wouldn't do that, she's covered in poison," Stamets advised.

Lorca's shirt was in a sorry state after everything he had been through, slashed and cut and soaked through with dried blood. "I would." He pulled it off and wrapped Lalana in it, grimacing and grunting as he lifted her up and carried her to the back wall. His chest screamed at him. It was a welcome sensation, a physical pain to match the acute disappointment he was feeling.

On a hunch, Lorca went for the biggest storage compartment and was rewarded by the sight of a sealed vat of biomimetic gel sliding out. He carefully lowered Lalana inside and stood there, frowning and shirtless, leaning with his hands on the edge of the drawer. Lalana's eyes stared blankly up at him, the pupils fully constricted.

"This is completely unacceptable," Saru admonished Groves. "We must inform the admiral. Release the control override on the lab."

"You're gonna sell me out to that Vulcan taskmaster?" asked Lorca, wiping the gel from his forearms. "After everything I've done for you?"

"I do not know where Admiral Terral is. Admiral Cornwell is aboard Discovery."

Lorca shook his head and sneered with disdain. Unbelievable. He described Cornwell in a set of entirely unflattering and unrepeatable terms, adding, "I spent two days in Klingon prison and she thinks I should be stripped of command? They've had her for weeks! The gall of it."

"It has been nine months since Admiral Cornwell was captured," corrected Saru.

Groves saw an opportunity to hit Lorca in the side of the head with a proverbial curveball and jumped on it gleefully. "Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. We're nine months in the future from when we left. We didn't just slip through two universes, we basically slipped on a banana peel through time."

Something happened none of them had ever seen before.

Lorca's face went blank.

Cornwell's arrival provided Petrellovitz a unique opportunity and created a pressing need for her to execute her plan swiftly lest the assembled pieces become scattered.

"I'll bring you out soon," were the last words she said to L'Rell as she tucked a pile of blankets into her bunk and beamed out of the brig while the guard was distracted by a strange whistling sound coming from behind a wall panel. A minor tweak to the pressure of a plasma conduit. Discovery's crew was largely young and inexperienced and easy to trick. After a few minutes of frustration, the guard called for a repair tech to come address the issue and resumed his watch of the brig cells, confident he was looking at one sleeping human and one scarily alert Klingon, none the wiser as to the deception.

Next came the call: the Klingon prisoner was being transported to the USS Khorana. Brig to brig transport, nothing to be concerned about. The guard accepted the command completely, accompanied as it was by the proper security codes authorizing the transfer.

L'Rell found herself in a cargo bay surrounded by crates of supplies. Petrellovitz was putting on a set of fabricated surgical clothing, momentarily naked and entirely concerned about it. "If you're thinking about overpowering me, know that the computer will automatically alert them to your presence if I don't supply it with the correct codeword every ten minutes. You might get to the shuttlebay, but I wouldn't count on getting much farther." She finished off her look with a surgical mask and a short blonde wig. Then she briefly conversed with the medical bay, alerting them that a specialist was coming over from the Khorana to take a look at Mischkelovitz, and beamed away.

L'Rell stood in the cargo bay and waited. Two minutes later, the light of the transporter enveloped her again.

This time, she materialized in one of the private offices off the main area of the medical bay. The lights were low, the window was set to opaque for privacy, and it was presently configured as a surgical suite.

The woman on the slab was identical to Petrellovitz in almost every regard except one. Where Petrellovitz was marked by countless scars on her face and body, the woman on the slab was entirely unblemished. Other than that, they could have been the same person, so close was the resemblance. L'Rell gazed in amazement. Now she understood Petrellovitz's previous questions. "This is... How?"

"We're clones," said Petrellovitz flatly. "I hope this is everything you need."

A wide array of surgical tools lay at L'Rell's disposal. "Yes, this will do. Computer, lights to full." Petrellovitz winced at the change.

"What is wrong with you?" asked L'Rell, noticing the reaction to the lights. She had seen that reaction before with Lorca when she was torturing him.

"Minor radiation incident," muttered Petrellovitz. "Give me her eyes if you can."

"Could you not simply fix your scars?"

The difference in quantum signatures between the two universes was not limited to inanimate objects. In time, Petrellovitz's own skin would be replaced by skin that matched this universe as her cells were naturally replaced by new ones created after ingesting this universe's food and drink, but until then, she was taking no chances. "I prefer this. It's symbolic."

L'Rell began. Every ten minutes, as promised, the computer prompted Petrellovitz for a word. "Fox" was the first one. The implants on either side of the skull provided some trouble—they seemed to be integrated into the surrounding tissue to an alarming extent—but L'Rell managed to cut around them and excised the face into a fleshy sleeve ready for transplant. The next step was to remove Petrellovitz's skin.

"Albatross," said Petrellovitz.

"Give me the words in case you lose consciousness," said L'Rell.

"I won't," promised Petrellovitz. "Do your worst."

L'Rell removed Petrellovitz's skin in record time. There was no need to do a clean job; the skin was not going to be retained. Remarkably, Petrellovitz stayed awake as L'Rell worked from back to front, administering her own local anesthetic. The sounds she occasionally made did not seem to be of pain. "Most humans would not be able to take this," noted L'Rell, reminded again of Lorca.

"There's no one else like me." It seemed an odd statement from an admitted clone. Petrellovitz stopped L'Rell only when the Klingon was about to remove the first eye. "I'm trusting you."

"And I am trusting you," replied L'Rell.

"The next word is zebra, followed by turtle and canary."

"Zebra, turtle, canary," repeated L'Rell, and repeated the words again when the computer prompted. Petrellovitz did not completely lose consciousness, but she did begin to drift in and out.

L'Rell finished the first eye. "Marvelous," said Petrellovitz, testing the function. It was a little blurry, but the bright lights in the room were no longer an issue. L'Rell moved on to the next and marveled at how easy this was when the source and target were so similar. There weren't even any tissue compatibility issues to worry about; Petrellovitz's biology accepted the transplanted material as if it were her own native biology.

Horse and rattlesnake came and went. L'Rell finished the skull work and began on the first hand, emboldened by their quick progress to take almost the whole forearm up to the elbow. She was sliding it into place when the alarm sounded.

"Forget the left hand," said Petrellovitz, keying commands into the terminal beside her. "Close up. I can buy us a few minutes."

Petrellovitz dispensed something in a hypospray. L'Rell asked what it was. "Vetroxican. Should knock me out for an hour or two. Take her." Petrellovitz shoved her double's body off the slab into L'Rell's waiting arms and took Mischkelovitz's place. "Stick to the story. We sink or swim on how well you play this."

Cornwell ordered every record of Discovery's jaunt into the mirror universe destroyed. The risk of proof escaping the ship and disrupting everything in their universe was too great.

To her surprise, someone had beaten her to the punch. All the security footage was already gone.

"That's convenient," said Cornwell darkly.

"I'm sorry, admiral," said Rhys, roughly the third time in as many minutes he had spoken those words. He was updating her as to the situation in the captain's ready room. Cornwell had set the lights higher so the room felt less like Lorca. "The system registered a power overload when we jumped. It wiped everything, main and backups."

Cornwell chewed her lip. "You're telling me this was an accidental power overload? That only wiped your security footage?"

Rhys visibly paled. "I'm sorry, admiral. That's what it looks like."

That made no sense. It reeked of sabotage. But who would want the footage wiped? And why? "What about the prisoners in the brig?" Georgiou was not the only refugee that would need to be dealt with, though she was the one less inclined to try and take over the ship.

"We just have the one, ah, Emellia Petrellovitz—"

"Hang on. What about L'Rell?"

"The Klingon? She was transferred to the Khorana."

"On whose authority!"

Somehow Rhys got paler. The authorization codes were right there on the padd in his hand. "Yours?"

"Give me that," said Cornwell, snatching the padd and glancing down at it. There it was, plain as day. The same authorization codes she had used to take command of Discovery were staring her in the face. "I didn't order that. Contact the Khorana." This took some doing—Sherak was running his ship as stealthily as possible—but they eventually made contact and Cornwell took the reply hail from the captain's chair on the bridge.

The Khorana did not have the Klingon. "There are no records of any transport," said Sherak. "We have no prisoners in our brig and all life signs are accounted for. I will check again if you require, admiral." If Sherak sounded curt, it was largely because all tempers were frayed at this point, Cornwell's included. No one in Starfleet much cared for niceties these days.

"No, Cornwell out. Lieutenant, scan and account for all life signs on this ship."

Owosekun hastened to comply and immediately identified the problem. "Admiral, the internal scanners have been compromised."

"What?"

"Attempting to bypass." The full technical explanation was too much to relay to Cornwell in the moment, but Owosekun could clearly see someone had told the computer to pull its internal scanner data not from the scanners themselves but from a set of dummy data. "It's the Mudd protocols. After Mudd took over the ship, we developed a backdoor in the event someone boarded."

There was more to the protocol than a simple command backdoor. It also let the intruder think they had control of the ship so that the officer who was actually in control could retake the ship at a moment's notice once the time was right, and allowed all authorized personnel to maintain covert communications access. All in all, Lorca had been very pleased with the idea, especially since at the time it had been keyed to revert all control to him should someone like Mudd or Cornwell come aboard.

In other words, the protocol contravened the very thing Cornwell's command codes were supposed to let her do: walk onto a starship and seize control from its captain.

"Who is in command of this ship!"

Owosekun traced the protocol. The answer to that question should have been Saru, but someone had coopted the protocol. "It's... the Brig Chess program! I'm locked out of it."

At her station, Airiam immediately launched into an investigation of her own. Owosekun was locked out, but Airiam had her personal alert node, provided to her by Groves. "I can access the program," she reported. "One moment." She sat at her engineering console, stiff and upright, appearing to do nothing. In her head, she was parsing the recent player access logs.

There was Groves, his last access right at the moment of their jump back home, but since then, he had been inactive and the only active player was... "Pet 'R,'" reported Airiam, turning to face the captain's chair. "The Terran, Petra."

"She's in the brig," Rhys said, bringing up the security feed to the main viewscreen, but immediately realized the error of his statement. From the camera angle offered by the security feed in the cell, it was clear they were looking at a pile of blankets. (There was only supposed to be a single blanket in the cell, but Petrellovitz had deemed it insufficient to craft her hoax and told the computer to provide her a couple extra.)

"Red alert," said Cornwell.

"Wait!" said Owosekun, but too late. Rhys had already triggered the alarm. For a moment, Owosekun wished Lorca were in command. Cornwell had just tipped Petrellovitz off and Lorca would have seen that from a mile away. Lorca always made it a point to mislead his enemies. His allies, too, when it came down to it. "She's in the system again."

The bridge crew sprang to life around Cornwell like a well-oiled machine. The admiral was entirely redundant in the face of their collective competency.

"Attempting to locate her access point," Owosekun declared.

"Revoking Brig Chess command access," said Airiam, mentally throwing a message to Groves as she did.

"Checking transporter logs," Bryce reported from his station.

"Dispatching security teams to shuttlebay and transporter rooms," said Rhys. "Turbolifts are locked." He reorganized the orders to have any available personnel at critical positions arm themselves in place.

"Find her!" demanded Cornwell. If anyone heard her desperate attempt at relevance, they made no sign of it.

Saru was already en route to the bridge when the red alert sounded. "Bridge," he said as he stepped into the turbolift. The doors closed and the turbolift began to move.

Then it stopped.

After spending the better part of an hour in a room whose security protocols had been coopted by a civilian and having reached a decision that same civilian did not agree with, Saru had a guess as to what was going on. "Saru to Groves! This is a red alert! Release the turbolift immediately!"

"It's not me!"

Saru could hear the panic in Groves' voice. "Saru to bridge! Status report."

Bryce was not panicked. "Sir, the Terran prisoner escaped the brig and took control of the Mudd protocols."

"Keep me updated," was Saru's order. He knew the two best people to handle that problem on the ship were Owosekun and Airiam, both of whom were currently on the bridge.

After a few minutes, Bryce reported the protocols were disabled and the turbolift resumed. Saru found the bridge fully engaged in the task at hand. He stepped into position at the science console.

"I've located them. They're in Cargo Bay 3," said Owosekun.

"Dispatching," confirmed Rhys, bringing up the security feeds. Most of the views were obstructed by rows of cargo crates stacked to the ceiling, but in one angle, L'Rell was visible pummeling a body clad in a brig-issue jumpsuit. Her fists had reduced the head to a pulp.

The security team beamed in at a safe distance from L'Rell, shouting and raising their weapons towards her. Saru watched the Klingon's shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths of exertion as she released the body and turned to face the officers, raising her hands in surrender.

"Take her to the brig," ordered Cornwell, rising from the captain's chair.

"Admiral, there is something I must speak to you about. In private," Saru said.

"I look forward to hearing it," said Cornwell joylessly. "Commander, with me."

In the turbolift, Cornwell requested Saru speak his mind.

"It is of a classified nature," said Saru. The turbolift was hardly a secure space to speak. The same went for the brig, where L'Rell offered an explanation as to what had happened.

"She took me," said L'Rell, "said she wanted to broadcast to my people and turn over Discovery. She did not understand that I left, or that there are many Klingon houses. She made me tell her about them. I did. Then you became aware of her. She was distracted dealing with your people. I stopped her."

A crucial detail Saru had missed during his turbolift confinement was that the Mudd protocols had been overridden not thanks to the combined skills of Owosekun, Airiam, and Groves, but because their opponent had suddenly stopped fighting.

"Brig Chess," said Cornwell when they were back in the hall.

"It was a program that was added during the null time incident when Mr. Groves was confined to the brig," said Saru. It seemed unwise to mention the program's enduring popularity in light of the problems it had caused.

"Who added it?"

"Dr. Mischkelovitz."

"I want to talk to her."

"Dr. Pollard does not think it likely she will recover from her neural injury."

Cornwell grimaced, pressing her thumb to her mouth in agitated thought. "I want a full review of that program."

"I recommend Commander Airiam lead the investigation. There is also the other issue I must speak with you about," Saru reminded her.

They headed back to the bridge, intending to use the ready room, but when Airiam was informed of her new task, she asked, "Should I ask Mr. Groves to assist?"

"Groves?" echoed Saru, feeling a gnawing alarm in his stomach.

"He wrote the program."

"You said it was Mischkelovitz," said Cornwell.

Saru assumed it was Mischkelovitz because Groves had been in the brig. Groves could not have...

But he had. The Lab 26 protocols, which he claimed were O'Malley's. Saru realized the reason his mind had jumped to Groves when the turbolift stopped working was that, subconsciously, he had already figured it out.

"Admiral, I did not think it possible, but I believe Mr. Groves programmed the game from the confines of the brig. I must speak with you immediately. It cannot wait any longer."

Groves let them into the lab because resistance would have been futile in the long run. "You have to keep this secret or the whole universe is gonna go poof," was his greeting to Cornwell.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Groves," said Saru, "it has come to our attention that you have compromised several of the ship's systems and I'm afraid I must take you into custody."

"Know a good lawyer?" said Groves, smiling with amusement at his own terrible joke.

Cornwell did not hang around to hear Groves plead his case with Saru. She was no longer interested in Groves or his chess program. She attempted to open the door to Lalana's room, the controls buzzing negatively in response, and Groves opened the door for her from across the room.

For a long moment after she entered and the door slid shut behind her, there were no words. Cornwell stared at Lorca, his bare chest displaying the confused mess of tissue left by Mischkelovitz, and he stared at her from his position on the couch, trying to find something in her face besides bitter anger. "Kat," he finally said.

"You," she seethed, "do not get to call me that. You do not get to speak. You... monster."

Lorca's face settled into a dry glower. Not everyone hated monsters as much as Cornwell apparently did. "Guess the cat's out of the bag." It was as much an admission that he was a monster as a clever little workaround to show that, even if he wasn't using her nickname, he could still use it. He could still play tricks on her and get the better of her.

Cornwell drew her phaser and pointed it at Lorca, exactly as she had done with the bowl of fortune cookies. Her finger hovered on the trigger.

"You gonna kill me?" he asked. "That's very Starfleet of you."

"You don't know anything about Starfleet," she said.

"Don't I? I know that you're the self-proclaimed good guys, protecting innocent aliens. Like I did at Pahvo. But you were still gonna take my ship away, weren't you?"

She could scarcely believe her ears. Her mouth fell open. The shock lasted only a moment. "This isn't your ship!" Her phaser pointed away from him, at least, because she was so angry she realized she was at risk of shooting him unintentionally.

"I built this ship!" Lorca shouted back. "I gave you the idea! Win the war with science and cookies, the 'Starfleet' way. You crewed me up with a bunch of damn cadets and I turned them into a fighting force capable of winning this war. All you had to do was let me keep Discovery! But you couldn't do that, could you? Because—"

"Because you aren't him! You lied to me!"

Lorca's face twisted into mocking indignation. "You think he never lied to you?"

Cornwell gasped involuntarily. They had that in common, the two of them. They were always playing with their cards against their chest, never sharing, misdirecting to get what they wanted, using her affection as a way to get what they wanted. They were both of them manipulative bastards and they always had been.

"Don't you dare," she said, wagging her finger, but she put her phaser back in its holster. "You don't know anything about my Gabriel."

The truth was Lorca knew more about her Lorca than she did not just because Lalana had told him the man's entire life story, but because he knew for a fact he thought like the other Lorca did. He had realized as much reading the other Lorca's logs. They were more alike than probably anyone wanted to admit. (Except Lalana, who was clinging to this fact like it was a tree in San Francisco.)

Lorca could have pressed the point with Cornwell, really beaten her up with it, but there seemed to be nothing more to gain from the venture. Instead, he said, "I know that he wouldn't be capable of winning this war, but I am."

There was a point in there. Perhaps a Terran could win this war, but Cornwell was dead-set on making sure it would not be Lorca. "You're too late. We've been overrun. The Klingons are everywhere."

This was Lorca's first update as to the tactical situation and it did not mesh with what he expected to hear. "How—I destroyed the Sarcophagus for you!"

"And now, instead of one enemy to negotiate with, we have twenty-four."

Lorca immediately realized that, while the destruction of the Sarcophagus should have given Starfleet the opportunity to retaliate in full force against a disorganized enemy, rather than go on the offensive, the Federation had probably turned the momentary strategic advantage into an attempt to negotiate. (They had. Any advantage Kol's death offered was lost when the Federation reached out, suggested this was an opportunity for peaceful resolution while the Klingons recovered from the loss of their leader, and twenty-four Klingon houses had laughed at the implication Kol's death meant anything to them and gone on to prove exactly how wrong the Federation was.)

"You—nimrods! You had everything you needed to win! I handed you victory on a platter!"

"You took our cloaking algorithm to another universe! Nine months!"

In nine months, they had not been able to craft another, not without the spore drive to gather all the data before the Klingons could disable any sensors planted on their ships. They had tried it and failed. Lorca's anger fell away, replaced by a very real regret. It was a look of regret she recognized from their ill-fated night together. "I didn't mean to," he said.

"That doesn't change the fact you did," she said, icily now that she realized this had not been his ultimate intention.

"I thought Discovery'd be gone a few weeks," he said. "Just long enough..." He looked away.

"Just long enough for us to think we needed you?" she asked. He swallowed and grimaced; that was a yes. "We did need you. As much as it pains me to admit it."

"I'm here now," he said.

Her head shook faintly. "I don't know you are. Who are you?" She had been asking that question ever since the moment she learned the truth.

"I'm Gabriel Lorca." And as if he needed to convince himself of it as much as her: "I'm still Gabriel Lorca."

Part 98

#Star Trek Discovery #fanfic #fanfiction #Mirror Lorca #Mirror Georgiou #Michael Burnham #Katrina Cornwell #Admiral Cornwell #Gabriel Lorca #Saru #Commander Saru #Paul Stamets #Emperor Georgiou #Star Trek #Discovery #The War Without #The War Within #s01e14

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