#if i could draw more Scourge angst i would but i am but a simple wee human

[coolcoolcoolbutwtf]

Don't know where you all came from or what happened but I appreciate you <3

We love making Scourge suffer that's what happened, probably... Yeah that sounds about right.

Ps the Scourge prison angst is coming but let me cook. Have had multiple people asking for it, it's coming just taking longer. Meanwhile have a scourge for your wait.

To all the people sending in requests. love you and thank you! It might just take a while but I'll get to it!

[eirian-houpe]

The Pawn Shop On Main Street - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Grace | Paige, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Widow Lucas | Granny, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Grumpy | Leroy, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Sneezy | Tom Clark, Merida (Once Upon a Time), Cloe, Mother Trude, Dove (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Romance, Eventual Smut, Will add more as apropriate

Summary: Gold is suddenly awakened from the curse, not by the fail-safe that he programmed into his mind, but by the unexpected presence of his long lost maid, with whom he fell in love well before Regina cast his Dark Curse, Rumplestiltskin must now find a way past Belle's disbelief and fear. She is still under the influence of the curse. With the help of his dear - his oldest - friend, Gold seeks a way past obstacles so that he can rekindle the love which he rejected back in the Dark Castle. 

The story is set in the same 'verse as The Library Beneath the Clock Tower, and could be considered a sequel of sorts.

Chapter 1 - Old Friends

He felt drawn to her. He could not look away, his gaze transfixed as her eyes took in the fireworks bursting overhead. They paled by comparison. Nothing could compare.

…a brief flicker of light in an ocean of darkness.

The thought caught him off guard, as if he were standing on the edge of a fall, with a gust of wind buffeting him toward the edge. He felt suddenly thirsty - the earth waiting for the cloud above his head to burst like the sparkles and fizzles overhead.

All this time she had been right there, within reach, the meaning that had been missing for as long as he could remember - as long as he had been in Storybrooke. It made sense of everything he’d done, but at the same time made no sense at all.

Suddenly afraid, for no reason he could understand, he took a step closer, right behind her, caressing her fingers softly, before taking her hands, slowly, into his own. Their fingers entwined.

It flashed through him in a pulse; bright, vibrant, burning away the fog of years and realms.

She mocked him.  Regina mocked him - how dare she, and yet, he had no energy, and even less will to react to her impudence.

“Is this about that girl I met on the road?” She laughed and stalked the room, her hips swaying in exaggerated sensuality. It reminded him of Cora, and that did little to change his mood… the reminder of other betrayals, other… abandonments. Regina glanced his way. “What was her name? Margie? Verna?

Rumplestiltskin barely breathed her name. “Belle.”

Suddenly business-like, this evil queen he had created, said matter-of-fact as she fixed herself some tea - uninvited, “Right. Well... you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy.”

He stopped idly spinning the wheel and turned to walk toward her, all but willing pox into the cup she was stirring, “What… tragedy?”

“You don't know?” Regina asked as though scandalized, then chuckled as she cleaned the spoon with her mouth and set it down.  “Well, After she got home… her fiancé had gone missing.” He feigned innocence, but Regina knew. Her expression told him so. She took only a few steps away before turning around. “And after her stay here, her… association… with you, no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out.”

Hope flared in his heart, and in an unguarded moment, he let the words slip from deep within that hope. “So she needs… a home?”

Regina laughed cruelly, though whether at what had happened, or at him for his weakness he was uncertain, then went on, “He was cruel to her. He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower. She died.”

She spoke the last two words with such careless triumph that the urge to throttle the life from the conniving bitch almost choked him… murdered his hope.

“You're lying,” he growled.

“Am I?” she countered, leaving him cold and dead inside.

He wanted to be angry now, to rail against the lies Regina had told him, blatant fabrications, right to his face, and yet… Here was his light.  Hale, whole and…

“You’re real,” he breathed. “You’re alive!”

He moved closer yet, moving his fingers again in a soft, quiet caress.  The curse was lifted, he remembered. Everything, and oh, how beastly he had been when they had last seen one another. When he had sent her away.

”I’m not a coward, dearie. It’s quite simple really… my power… means more to me than you.”  

She pulled herself up to her full, diminutive height, and looked him full in the face. “No. No, it doesn't. You just don't think I can love you. Now, you've made your choice. And you're going to regret it.”

His heart broke as her voice quivered - a roar of pain that almost drowned out her following word, “Forever.”

He curled his hands into fists. His hard, pointed talons left wheal marks in his palms, but he couldn’t allow her to see how much her words affected him.

“And all you'll have... is an empty heart,” her voice broke, and she forced herself to go on, “and a chipped cup.”

Her eyes were filled with tears, but she held his gaze, and he had to push his own rising tears deep inside lest he belie his words.  Not until she had turned, and walked away, out of the cell, and out of his life… forever… and he could no longer see or hear her, did he move - and then only to close his eyes.

Was she feeling this too? Did she remember?  A part of him hoped not; hoped that fate had delivered him a way to right the wrongs of his past; to woo her, to love her as she deserved to be loved, and yet, the Dark One knew that ‘loopholes’ was another word for lies. Gold wanted no more lies.

For a moment, one sweet, sharp moment she leaned against him, tightened her fingers around his, and he knew… he knew without any doubt that she remembered. At least in that moment, she remembered.

“Belle,” he whispered.

Then, like the icy fall of rain that dampened even the hottest fire, she snatched her hands from his, and he was suddenly frozen, bereft. Helpless to do anything other that watch with mounting fear as she turned to face him; tried with all his heart to let her see that she had been right all along - that she had the measure of him, and not only that - but now, in the face of seeing her again, though he wanted nothing more than to reach out and draw her into his arms, hold her forever - protected, loved - he was still a coward.

“Belle,” he whispered again, reaching too late to catch her as she picked up her skirts and fled.  He cried out for her, as he should have done then, in the Dark Castle - called her back, “Belle!”

His cry was echoed a moment later and he registered a familiar voice behind the calling. His friend, Jefferson. A Storybrooke friend, yes, but the Dark One’s only friend through all the ages. How could he not have known?

He stared. He stared after Belle, who stopped at neither of their calling, and he stared toward Jefferson, meeting the horrified expression that mirrored his own.

The Hatter seemed torn, glanced away as if to find Belle in the crowd, but ultimately turned his steps and hurried to Gold’s side.

"You knew!" Gold almost sobbed, and reaching out, grabbed Jefferson by the lapels of his flamboyant, silk tailcoat and pulled him closer, almost shaking the man. "How could you know… know me and yet say nothing?"

Jefferson’s long fingers closed around his wrists, not to prevent, but to anchor, as if the Portal Jumper feared to let go and needed to hold him close as he spoke.

"The man you are here and I said that?" Jefferson said, pained, and only then Gold saw the tears that were gathered in the other man’s blue eyes. "How could I, and not have you cast me away?"

For all that he saw, for all that he felt, still Gold gave vent to his own pain. "But you were my… we were friends!"

Instead of words, Jefferson answered with cry, almost of anguish, and suddenly releasing his wrists, clutched Gold close.

"We are friends," he sobbed, clinging tightly. "We are!"

At first, startled, Gold struggled, tried to push Jefferson away, but as the present melted away leaving just the two of them alone on the rise above where the other revelers were lost in their drunken celebrations of the night, Gold… Rumplestiltskin missed his friend, and already held tightly in Jefferson’s embrace, pulled the man closer still, and held him through the maelstrom of all that he was - pawnbroker, landlord, deal maker, sorcerer, master, Dark One, killer, father, husband, lover… coward - all of it, every little piece of him returning in a rush, he clung to Jefferson like a man drowning.

Eventually, both spent, they each slumped, exhausted to the ground, mute and panting for breath, though as he looked across at Jefferson, Rumplestiltskin saw that silent tears still ran down Jefferson’s face. Intuitively he knew the cause.

“I didn’t know,” he said, and Jefferson raised his face to look at him, incomprehension in his wet and shining eyes. “Grace,” Gold offered. “I didn’t know what Regina planned.”

“I know,” Jefferson whispered, before finding his voice. “I have always known it was her doing, and hers alone.” He reached out for Gold’s hand, and he took it without hesitation, listening as Jefferson continued. “For all that we didn’t see things the same way much of the time; for all that we fought, I knew and never once doubted that you’d ever do something like that to another man, another father. I saw what you did for Baelfire and—”

“Bae,” Gold interrupted. His voice hoarse and rasping. He felt Jefferson’s fingers tighten around his own, and he took a breath. “If I had the power,” he said, “to undo what she did.”

“No!” Jefferson sounded alarmed, almost terrified, then went on more calmly, “No. Not until we can be together. Not until I can be sure she won’t hate me for abandoning her. She can’t know.” His voice cracked as he went on. “Cloe’s her mother here. She knows nothing about a foolish man who made a promise and then broke it; who abandoned her to ignominy and hardship.”

“Jefferson…”

The other man blanched, and releasing his grip on Gold held up both hands in surrender, as if he thought he’d just delivered some kind of terrible insult.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Gold murmured quietly.

“Then whose?” Jefferson shook his head; argued. “I can recite a whole litany of ‘if I hadn’ts’ going all the way back to before we first met. Who else’s fault can it be?”

Gold fixed him with a level, uncompromising look.

“No,” Jefferson said firmly. “You are not responsible for all the ills of every realm.”

Gold was silent for a long time. He knew Jefferson well enough to understand that when he had his mind fixed on something - especially something self-deprecating - there could be no moving him; not until he saw the truth of it for himself.

Both men sighed, almost at the same time, and that made Gold chuckle just a little, with a good deal of his own self-deprecation, before he said, “And that… that, my good man, is why you are the Dark One’s only true friend.”

Jefferson let out another sigh, then offered Gold a smile through half-pursed lips, and then started to push himself up off the ground where they had both fallen.

“I’ll find her,” he promised softly. “Make sure she’s safe and gets home all right. We can fix this. We’ll find a way.”

“Ever the optimist, Jefferson.”

“Hardly,” the Hatter said dryly, before turning, ready to begin his descent from the hill. He stopped after just a few steps, and turned back. “Rumplestiltskin?”

Gold looked up, his head tipped to one side. “Hmm?”

“How long?”

Gold looked skyward, as if the position of the stars could give him the answer to Jefferson’s question, and they might well have - had time not been motionless in Storybrooke these past…  He shook his head. He knew the answer. It was written into the fabric of the Dark Curse, into the single drop of ‘True Love’ he had dripped onto the parchment; The single drop that would herald the arrival of The Savior.

“Twenty-eight years,” he answered quietly. “Twenty-eight years.”

[cyb3rbvlly]

> terezi: recall.

the conversation continues. terezi goes on a lengthy outpouring of their feelings. vriska pretends that their words do not penetrate the walls of her heart, but she cannot lie to me. i know her true thoughts, feelings, and intentions. hence why i do not find the upcoming course of action shocking, as opposed to a narrator less focused on the characterization presented in front of him Fuck you, I wanted the VrisRezi angst., and more keen on manipulating fate. i am merely here to relay events as they were, and as they are.

the exchange escalates. what was clear to both sisters in this moment was that a victor was to be essential. terezi drew their blade in one fluid motion. the metal rasped against the grain of its sheath, rather loudly, the noise So we’re doing this again. calling the hairs on the back of vriska’s neck to attention. vriska backed up and rolled her dice, but without her godhood on the results were left to the universe, and vriska serket had never been lucky. 

an obvious conclusion, had one little detail and you expect them to pick it up. When was the last time anyone’s looked at Vriska killing her mom? Even when you explain it, only the die hard fans are gonna know the specific thing I’m talkin’ about here. This is why you have to slowly feed it to thembeen paying attention.

vriska was confronted with the fact that she made a bad roll. a very sad, crumpled, and perhaps “shitty” bonnet appeared from thin the air, drifting slowly to the ground before it landed gracefully between the two trolls. vriska boggled at her bad luck. terezi pressed on.

a true seer would know where luck is a given, where it is absent, and most importantly, where it doesn’t matter at all. and they would know victory doesn’t matter in a reality where all else is doomed to fail. A little dramatic for a breakup, don’t you think?

the hero of mind backed away. their arms pulled back and fell to their sides like two lifeless bodies, floating gently in the styx. it was then that terezi understood that vriska was rejecting them.

vriska attempted to deny these claims, but terezi is far too smart to fall for yet another web strewn by a cerulean temptress. or so they thought. try as they might to fool themself into believing a life of domesticity could exist for the scourge, in the back of their mind, as well as the forefront of mine, we both knew the truth. 

but the thief refused.

vriska’s hand clasped one of terezi’s wrists as they began to turn away, her heart in her throat. she felt her palm grow steadily more sweaty as her hold on the other troll lingered, and she couldn’t tell if this was from the decision she was about to make or the fact that terezi was crying. 

from this angle vriska was able to peer down terezi’s shades. their eyes were puffy, a diluted teal leaked from them despite their best attempts to gain control over their emotions. vriska hardly noticed this beyond the simple acknowledgement of it happening. her attention was far more concerned with the way terezi’s eyelashes fluttered with every attempt to blink away their tears, and how one was then left behind on their cheek. the urge to bring her thumb up and brush it away was overwhelming, as was the temptation to kiss them.

terezi’s lower lip visibly trembled. a deep, visceral pity filled vriska, as did something else.

let it be known that the thief had grown considerably more cunning as the years had dragged on. her methods of manipulation, while impressive in their prowess, were still juvenile, but she knew the seer was blinded by her light.

seeing as she was essentially holding terezi’s hand, it was not too much of a stretch to draw them in, pressing their lips together. the air between them was tense, but quickly dissipated into something richer. try as she might to fight it, vriska was just as invested in the affair as terezi was, who was a snotty, sobbing mess. years and years of feeling so incomplete and alone, so pathetic on their own (and only to still feel that way); but in that moment, terezi felt the joy of what they presumed was fully reciprocated love.

and this was what vriska was going for, as she fully intended on dashing terezi’s upcoming hopes at almost every step. 

vriska was never seen again. 

[saintjosaphime]

Wishful Thinking|| Morgan and Josephine

Just your average run to the witch supply store.

After being in White Crest for so long, one would naturally develop a curiosity for things that weren’t quite within their realm. And although Josephine understood that her abilities were gifted through magic and used powerful magicks, she found herself quite interested in the more...mortal versions of it. There were so many kinds! Alchemy, elemental, summoning, healing! It was absolutely fascinating. And it was with this mindset that Josephine found herself at one of the local magic shops-- a real magic shop, not the magic shop downtown that sold “energized crystals” that were just painted quartz-- perusing the shelves for anything that caught her eye. But halfway through her shopping, something else caught her eye, something much more interesting. A someone, technically. 

She’d walked into the shop with a bit of a sulk, but it wasn’t her saunter that gave her away-- no, it was the waves and waves of sadness and angst rolling off of her. Buried deep underneath it all, an anger. One that Josephine felt herself all too eager for. It was a familiar anger. The kind she dealt in. Someone close to this woman had wronged her, and by the way her curls sagged on her head, it was someone she had cared for very much. Josephine put on a grin. She sidled around the corner, pretending to be occupied with something or other, before reaching out as if to grab the same thing this woman was reaching for. “Oh! I’m sorry, you go ahead,” she said, giving a pleasant smile.

Morgan was just going to pick up some good basics for her supply box--now that she and Cece were out in the open about the whole magic thing, she could grab more than just what she could hide under the bed or in her thermos. Just a run, like going to the supermarket, and maybe if she’d managed to go right after classes it would have been, but now it was past five. The sun was already quitting on the world for the day and the working witches were strolling the aisles with their families. It was stupid--everyone had a family, even if it wasn’t alays a good one--but something about Mom, Dad, and Screaming Baby made the boards that held up her soul threaten to give. And maybe it was creepy, following the sound of stroller wheels over an aisle and becoming super fascinated with some mugwort she did not need, but Morgan couldn’t help herself. The kid was in a princess elsa onesie, kicking her little feet and grasping clumsily for rune stones she couldn’t reach. She was crying. Aren’t you going to do anything? It’s not that hard, just fix it. Fix it. And in came the dad, some ritual urn on his hip, scooped up his little bundle of hope and gave her a good rock. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid, she thought. The girl looked up from her Dad’s shoulder and flashed a toothless smile.

Morgan turned away and reached for the glass phials she's actually come for. Too much. Way too much. Time to get home, grade papers, and find out whether it was going to be a cuddle and fuck the pain away kind of night or the stare into the dark and pray for sleep kind. 

There was a woman’s hand next to hers, brushing close. Morgan jumped back. “Sorry!” she said. “No, I didn’t see you. You can, um, go ahead. I should’ve been paying attention. Really.” Her smile was big, even pleasant, as she insisted, but her arms locked tight around her chest, holding herself up until the exchange could be over. 

Oh, this was much worse off than Josephine had originally thought. The way the other woman held herself, the jerk when they’re hands touched, that look on her face that said ‘Please just let this be over’. It bothered Josephine. Whoever had done this to this poor woman, they deserved to suffer. A frown furrowed Josephine’s face, unable to stop the involuntary motion. “I don’t mean to pry,” she found herself saying, pulling a phial off and holding it out to her, “but you seem a bit...down for the wear.” Hmm, was that saying still a current one? Sometimes her age showed, but perhaps this woman, so distracted by her pain, wouldn’t care nor notice. She tilted her head. “Everything alright?”

Morgan tried to keep the horror of being recognized out of her eyes as best she could. “What?” She said, laughing incredulously. “No, I’m--I was just distracted. Thinking too much, you know?” She did not want to take the phial from the lady, it seemed charged somehow, like admitting she needed pity, or wanted it. Here she was, flying into regular panics over balancing her life so everyone stayed at an even distance, and the Universe, her parents, who the hell ever had tripped the curse back when, hadn’t given her even half that consideration. “I’m okay,” she managed, smiling again as best she could. “T-thank you though.” She checked her view of the cash register-- the family had just taken their spot in line. Baby girl was sucking on the rim of the urn like it belonged to her. Fuck the universe. “It’s nothing serious,” she said quietly. “You’re kind to ask, but I’ve got it.” She plucked the vial up quickly and shifted her gaze around the store, looking for somewhere else to be. 

Josephine tilted her head in concern. Someone in denial was always harder to get through, but she literally couldn’t walk away at this point. The pull of her burden was too strong. She followed her line of sight. The family standing at the register. So it was likely her parents that had dug this deep pit inside of her. Josephine could relate, and it made her angry, a brief flash of it crossing her face. “Must be nice, right?” she said, knowing that she, too, used to look longingly at happy families, talking in public, eating together, doing simple things like walking through a park or getting groceries. “I hope she realizes how good she’s got it.”

“Oh god, right?” Morgan said back. It was just so true, it slipped out of her like air. “If she’s real lucky she’ll never have to figure it out.” And that hurt. Morgan didn’t know who she’d be at all if this hadn’t happened to her, if she’d never been given a reason to even think something was off with her life. But that wasn’t going to get her anywhere to be and she shouldn’t be dumping this out loud on random strangers. She turned back to the woman, looking her over carefully for the first time. “I’m sorry--who are you, exactly? I mean--do you always strike up conversations with sad people?”

“Oh, sorry,” Josephine said, giving a slight smile. She couldn’t make it go any bigger, both for the ache inside of her and the ache coming from the other woman’s heart. “My name’s Josephine. And no, not usually, but…” she glanced around, then back to Morgan, “it’s hard to watch someone suffer without at least trying to help. I didn’t mean to drag stuff out...but I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t relate.” She set the offered phial down into Morgan’s basket before reaching up to grab her own. “But we can talk about something else, or pretend this never happened, if that’s what you want.” Turned to look back at her, putting the phials in her own basket. 

“Josephine,” Morgan repeated. That sounded like something. “Guidance counselor Josephine?” Oh, no. Not another one. Between Remmy, Cassie, Blanche, and whoever else she was forgetting, Morgan had all the absurdly kind people near her that she could bear. If she was really as kind as all that she would just run, maybe even be rude, and let Josephine get on with her life. And what was the point of convincing her about her sad story anyway? She was normal, wasn’t she? “I spoke with you online! Briefly. I meant to show and see that the community part of White Crest was all about, but Valentine’s Day turned out to be pretty rough, mostly. I’m Morgan, by the way. I um-didn’t think I’d be running into you here. Color me at least a little surprised.” This wasn’t really the muggle-type place to shop now that she thought about it. She scrutinized Josephine a little more carefully. Was she somehow...not normal? 

“Morgan!” Josephine said, a little brighter. So she’d been right. And she liked being right. “You can just call me Josphine, though, Guidance counselor Josephine was my mom.” Her face soured at the mention, though, because her mother was anything but a counselor. Her mother was a scourge on Earth. The only good thing she’d done was give birth to Josephine and MJ. She snapped back from the thought. “Why? Because I seem so normal?” she gave a flashing grin, before shrugging, “I guess I’m a little too good at it now, but I’d rather not lose my job because someone called me a witch on main.”

Morgan sputtered. This was a lot, and Josephine’s being a witch didn’t really mitigate her concerns over her being too upsettingly nice to be around for long. “--Okay, kind of, yes. Not that I don’t understand! Hunters are real and humans, normal ones, can be really horrible with things they don’t understand. I get flack sometimes for naming my crystal shop a witchery, but I just can’t bear to be completely closeted about everything. But it’s a balancing act, you know?”

“You have your own shop?” Josephine asked, genuinely curious. She supposed she could understand that. Josephine hated it as well, but growing up black and queer in the 60’s didn’t exactly allow for an leeway in not hiding. “I can get that. I do. But perhaps it was my experience that showed me that hiding, while sometimes unbearable, was safer than being out.  In any sense.” Gave her a glance. “I’m almost jealous of you. It’d be nice to just be out about...what I am, but secrets have kept me alive and so...I’ll keep them.” She gave Morgan a tight lipped look. It would be hard to pry into her in a public place like this, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself away. The draw of Morgan’s resent was too strong and too familiar. “Hey, looks like the counter is open,” she pointed, as the family with the little girl made their leave. “Ladies first,” she offered, smiling somberly at Morgan.

“Etsy shop,” Morgan clarified, bracing herself for whatever kind of way Josephine wanted to feel about it. She held Josephine’s glance and felt immediately abashed. Oh, so not a witch. Something with a lot more risk involved. Fae? Wolf? Zombie? Morgan wasn’t sure if it was her place to ask. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “About whatever...happened, or came after you. You’re a really kind person and you didn’t deserve that.” She smiled back, plucked up a bushel of dried herbs from another shelf and made for the check out line with a mumbled thank you.

“Esty shop? That’s admirable. It’s hard to make a living off small businesses like that,” Josephine commented truthfully. She did admire small business owners and operators. It took much more gusto and determination to do something like that. “Oh, nothing came after me, except life, I guess. It came after me and my sister and it took things from me that I can never get back.” She stuffed one more thing into her basket. “Being queer didn’t help.” She followed Morgan up to the counter. She was itching to ask her, itching to tell her, that she could probably solve all her problems, if only Morgan would let her. But it was still too early and they were still in too public a place. “I’m sorry, too. For whatever’s making you...hurt right now.” A subtle hint, maybe Morgan would take it.

Morgan laughed dryly, “Oh, I don’t. I also work for two departments in the College of Arts and Sciences at UMAC, adjuncting. And then, after taxes, I kinda get by.” She laid all her things out in neat stacks and took out her very real card to pay with fresh, real, deposited funds. “No, it definitely wouldn’t have,” she said quietly. “We’re about the same age--” Unless she was some 200 year old fae. “--Maybe. And it was hard even for me.” Josephine would’ve grown up alongside the same broadcasts and speeches as she had. Read the same headlines. Seen the same arrests. The same bodies. She leaned in between making small talk with the cashier and asked, “Was I really that obvious?”

Josephine gave a small chuckle. “Typical. I wouldn’t say I make a killing, either, but I’ve learned how to manage my money better because of it.” She watched the stuff Morgan was buying with curiosity, but didn’t say anything. She doubted Morgan was close to her age, unless she was really good at illusions, and by the ingredients in her basket, that seemed unlikely. “Hmmm,” was all she said to that, giving a nod. They weren’t fond memories or fond times, but they were events that had led to the world being the way it was now. When Morgan whispered her question, Josephine softened her expression. “No, not really,” she said back, just as quietly, giving a bit of a rougher bite to her voice, “I’m just really good at telling these things.”

Morgan knew by now when someone was trying to supernatural code at her, but she was not especially gifted at deciphering it. She wanted to ask Jospehine to just tell her before she made some weird gaffe about the wrong species, to say whatever she wanted to ask of her in return. Because Josephine did seem to think she knew something. She lingered after she paid for her things, her canvas shopping bag held close over her with leftover nerves. When Joephine finished, she walked out the store with her, checking there was no one else within hearing. “I’m really bad at the guessing game,” she said. “I’ve learned about at least five new supernatural species in the last month so I may not even know what you’re trying to say, so can you just...say?”

Morgan was forward, Josephine couldn’t deny that, but she imagined the wear of her sadness was making things harder to give an effort for. Sighing, Josephine shrugged. “It’s a big world out there, isn’t it?” she said, holding her bag loosely. “I’m sure it can get daunting at times.” But Morgan was trying to be genuine, and Josephine was sure, by her own description, that it was unlikely she’d know what species Josephine was. “I’m going to tell you this because you seem trustworthy, but also because I believe that I can help you.” She paused. “But, I’m going to ask for discretion in return, of course. You understand, right?” she asked, looking over at her as they shuffled along. She waited for confirmation before continuing on. If Morgan did end up telling someone, it wouldn’t matter too much. But getting on the bad side of an Erinyes wasn’t the brightest idea. “I’m something called an Erinyes. I’m...magical in nature. But I promise you, this isn’t any sort of “baby’s first illusion” magic. I use my magic to...help people. To grant them the opportunity to stand up to someone-- or something-- that’s wronged them.”

Morgan kept her eyes focused on the dimming sky ahead of them in case they actually were trying to bug out of her face. Erinyes were real now? As in furies? What did she smell or taste like to Josephine that made her want to talk? “Make that six new species,” Morgan said, swallowing for composure. “I uh...I should probably tell you now that just about everyone I might have any feelings that strong about are dead.” She slid her gaze sidelong at Josephine, as if the new revelation between them might change how they were seen. “This is normally where I insist you don’t want to hear my sad little story, partly because I hate telling it sometimes, but since that’s the only reason you talked to me, you should know there’s nothing to be done about it. I’m a dead end.” 

Josephine didn’t like that answer. “I think you massively underestimate my power, Morgan,” she said flatly, but kept her same demeanour, same composure. “No one with feelings as powerful as yours could be a dead end.” She turned her head enough to look at the woman walking beside her. “But I won’t pry. Your story is yours. And your narrative is yours. But I’m guessing if you’ve ended up in a place like this, you’re at your grasp’s end. So what harm could trying, do?” She turned her gaze back to watch the sidewalk in front them. “For what it’s worth, though, that wasn’t the only reason I talked to you. It might’ve been the initial draw, but...I talked to you because I know how you feel. That pain inside of you....” she was quiet for a moment. This wasn’t something she’d shared with anyone in a while. “I know that pain first hand. It’s why I do the things I do, now. So that one will have to feel this way, if I can help it.”

Morgan took her time down the street as she tried to take all this in. She didn’t know much about furies and now was a terrible time to be finding out. She was afraid, damnit, but only because she didn’t know what she was up against. And because she had been seen, really and horribly seen, out of nowhere. Without saying anything. She listened, forcing her breath to steady as she walked. Oh. Oh no. She stopped, not quite able to face her. “I am really sorry, if you actually felt like this. If someone—if the people who were supposed to take care of you didn’t do that. But what’s happening to me is magic power, and…” How to put this? She didn’t share this with strangers. But hasn’t she been saying she wished for help a little less personally invested? But Josephine was kind. She chose to work with high school kids. She was one more absurdly kind person Morgan couldn’t shake her awareness of. “I just need a minute!” she said, and plopped herself onto the nearest bench. 

Josephine stopped when Morgan did. She didn’t sit on the bench with her right away, but stood by her, contemplating her next move. The power inside her told her to push and pry and make Morgan take a deal. She deserved it, after all. To be free of this pain. But the person in Josephine told her it wasn’t going to be so easy. Morgan’s problems were dead, which meant Josephine couldn’t wrap her own hands around their necks to watch their life drain, but souls in the ether were still prone to punishment, even if it meant reaching through planes to rip their back down to suffer for all eternity. She could do that. But only if Morgan let her. Only if Morgan accepted her help. Finally, she sat. “Take your time,” she said quietly. She turned enough to look Morgan square in the eyes, burning with something that she didn’t often let to the surface. “But whatever magic has cursed you, it’s nothing compared to what I can do.”

Morgan tapped her fingers over her chest. She’d just been saying it would be easy if she didn’t know the person willing to help, if she didn’t have to care or worry. If she could see them more like her piles of sand and glass, objects to be weighed, negotiated, exchanged. Not wronged, not used, exactly, but balanced. So why was she scared? Why not seize this right now?

Because it was easy. 

Too easy for someone like her.

How many times did her freshman students bemoan the idiot heroes who said yes to the first spirit who offered everything they ever wanted? Why is he so dumb? They’d ask. You don’t get things free. So how long before it bites him in the ass? 

And Morgan would explain, kindly, ideas beyond common sense and consequence. Why is a good question. What would make you do something like that? How bad would you need it, what’s worth the denial it takes to say yes to something like that? But those were ideas. This was her.

“I--think there’s more I need to understand right now,” she stammered. “What do you get out of this? Hypothetically, you fix my life, or you make it worth dying with a curse on my shoulders, but what’s the cost?”

As Josephine waited, she took the time to look Morgan over properly. She was a smaller woman, cozy in her dressings today. She had curls which probably sagged more today than most, and little creases around her eyes were forced smiles had worn away at her. Josephine looked down. Age wasn’t a thing that she’d ever have to worry about wearing on her, and sometimes she felt pity for the people who were already being dragged down with it. Morgan didn’t look too old, but she had mentioned going through some of the same times Josephine had. It was a stab in the dark, but she couldn’t be any younger than 35. What could have wearied someone like this by only their 30s? So early in life, even for a mortal. “Must there be a cost?” she said evenly, leaning back and tilting her head to look up at the sky. “Must there be some ulterior motive on my end?” It was a fair question. And while there technically was, it didn’t change the situation. She glanced sideways to look at Morgan, head still leaned back. “If you must know, granting these...opportunities is what fuels my power. It’s how I feed, I suppose you could say. But I choose to believe it’s because this is my duty to the world. And while I can take in return for those who ask a lot, I don’t have to. Duty is more important than material gains.” She looked back at Morgan. “But do not misunderstand me, Morgan-- I can not fix your life. That’s up to you. What I can do is grant you a wish that can change your circumstance. Rid you of something that looms over you, or destroy someone who has wronged your heart. That’s what I can do. And I can do it all with a snap.”

Morgan sagged back on the bench. “I’m a cosmically screwed alchemist,” she sighed, rubbing away at the worry wrinkle on her forehead. “I know about cost.” And then Josephine went on. Not about kindness, but duty. Stars above, did every supernatural femme in town have a secret pledge to something? Was that what she was missing from her life? Morgan smirked and held herself a little more loosely, turned to look at Josephine, smiling in her small, soft way, her first and last line of defense with the world. “Sorry. You just reminded me of someone. In a good way, mostly. And I do appreciate you not proposing the sun and stars and a fresh start or an insta-happy-ever-after. But I can’t be any more of a game for the universe than I already am. Can you magic promise me to disclose the fine print or something?”

“Sure,” Josephine said, “there’s usually a cost for everything. On a human level. But that’s not exactly what we’re dealing with, now is it?” She gave her a look, noting the small smile, the wall, the lock, the key all in one. She leaned forward again, turning on the bench to face Morgan more. “I hope it’s a good reminder. I can’t promise bind like fae can, but you can look at me here and now, in the eyes, and I can tell you that I will disclose anything you want me to. I’m not malicious, my powers aren’t evil-- they’re a gift. Divine, if those such things truly existed. I was born into obscurity and found my way into becoming something that truly has the power to right wrongs and change the world. I’m not out to hurt you, Morgan. Just the opposite. I help. I help those who can not help themselves, not for lack of trying, but lack of circumstance.” She held out her hand-- a symbolic gesture this time. There were no deals behind this handshake. “Promise.”

Morgan looked, tapping her fingers still, breathing deep and silent. She didn’t have any duty or grand principles. Once it had been her family and what they needed, what was best for them. Then it was just her. She tried to make fair bargains with the universe, but the universe always held back, and she always kept a half useless card up her sleeve, just in case she lost her hand.  But at least this was magic. Magic, for all its mystery, was bound by rules. Magic couldn’t play dirty, just the ones who used it. And this was just for full disclosure, right? If she could spot the trap, if there was one, she wouldn’t have to fall in. If she really wanted, she could stay at her safe remove between all options at once. Cassie, the Vurals, Blanche, and Remmy to one side; this to another. Just a little longer. Slowly, Morgan took Josephine’s hand. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. We--don’t have to do this right now. Or right here, at least.” The dark was closing in, and the shadows were stretching on the ground like monsters. “I don’t know how, uh, hungry you are in any sense, but we could always...do something less horror movie than sit on a bench in the dark. Unless that’s your thing! In which case, there are at least more picturesque choices.”

“I keep well fed here,” Josephine said simply, as Morgan took her hand. “So you can take your time. I didn’t come to you out of desperation, I came to you because your pain touched something familiar in me.” Josephine smiled sweetly at her, withdrawing her hand. “We can go wherever you want. I don’t mind the dark, but sitting on a bench at night isn’t technically my favorite thing to do, no.” A tease, to help lighten the mood a bit. “You can take your time.This is a big decision, and it should be made right. We can go somewhere else. Or we can get a drink and go for a walk. The ball is in your court, and I like to think I’m a pretty open gal.” She stood, held her hand out to Morgan again, this time in a gesture to help her up from the bench, a kind smile on her face and in her eyes. “Or we can go our separate ways while you think. Like I said, there’s no rush. I’m good at other things, too. Of the not talking variety.”

Morgan gave a breathless, flustered laugh. Was Josephine--? She hadn’t even been flirting. She had, in fact, been costing through a spectacular variety of anxieties this whole time. She fussed with the ends of her hair and smiled a little wider. She had a preference for how she spent her nights, of course, but there was plenty of room around Deirdre for a little fun. Fun, and maybe even a way out of her mess of a life. “I’ll...keep that in mind,” she said. Waited a moment, still breathing. “Where do you like to drink anyways?”

Josephine just smiled. “Just an offer. Not too many older queer women around here,” she answered. “Not that we’re old, of course. My favorite bar is Dell’s, but that’s mainly because it’s close to home and work. The Magic Circle and the Seven Selkies are nice for when you’re too tired to pretend to be normal anymore. They’re more our kind of scene than Mary from accountings kind,” she said simply. 

“Oh, I know,” Morgan said, getting up with Josephine’s help at last. “Until you, I was starting to think I was the oldest queer woman in town.” She held herself against the night air and began to walk beside her. “I’m kind of surprised I’ve been able to meet anyone here who I can really connect with. The world is so big and somehow so small at the same time. But, anyway,” She was getting off the beaten path with that way of thinking, and no one liked a date distracted by someone else. She drew herself up and mustered some cheer, “Put a cocktail in my hand and I’ll give you my story.”

“The world is smaller than we think,” Josephine answered. “Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure there are even some older than me. But unless you remember President Eisenhauer, I think I’ve got a couple decades on you.” She flashed another grin. “This town is special like that. It draws in a certain type of person.” She lead them down the sidewalk, feeling the brisk air cool her skin as the sun dipped ever lower. “Well, we’re right nearby the magic circle, and it seems rather fitting, considering,” she said, “Drinks on me.” She moved to open the door, giving a bit of more playful smirk this time, “I’ll even pay, too.” 

Wow, that was old. “Nope, Reagan baby,” Morgan admitted. “You wear it amazingly. “ She curtsied with appreciation as Josephine opened the door. “You’re too kind, Josephine.” But not so much that Morgan wouldn’t happily let her. She went and found them a booth tucked away in the back and let the stuffed backing swallow her a little. Maybe don’t think too hard about it, she thought. Maybe just...see what’s possible. She reached up to help Josephine set the drinks down when she appeared and took a good gulp. “Thank you for this,” she said.

“Ah..that asshole,” Josephine said with a knowing nod. “And thank you. I think so, too.” Immortality helped, as well. She followed Morgan in and watched which booth she tucked herself into before going up to the counter to order them both an old fashioned. They needed something strong for this, and Josephine’s tolerance was higher, anyway. She took the drinks back and set Morgan’s down. “Hope you’ve got a high tolerance,” she said, sliding into the booth opposite. Held a hand. “No need to thank me. I don’t do it for the thanks,” she said, a smile brimming on her face. She couldn’t help but get excited about granting a wish for someone like Morgan. Her pain and resent would fill Josephine up for weeks. That was thanks enough.

Morgan shrugged. “Moderate enough. So--” And Morgan worked her way through the bones of the story. She went down the list of so-called accidents and sudden losses. She explained about her mother, how she’d had to be asked, point blank, after the funeral, because Morgan was sure she had done this just by existing. And how she had died hiding something else: that she had come here before. That she had a whole life that would never be known now. She explained about Agnes, and Sean. When she was done, she rewarded herself with another gulp of her drink and steadied her breath. “So, I’m carrying some shit someone did however many hundred years ago on my shoulders, but I didn’t ask for any of it. All I ever wanted was a nice life. So what, hypothetically, could your magic do for that?”

It was quite the explanation. And quite the curse. But Josephine was positive, if spun in the right way, she could easily rewrite a few chapters of history here and there to get rid of the curse. If that’s what Morgan wanted. It would change her entire life, after all, and that was a big thing to swallow. If not that, then perhaps a different spin on her current situation. She could give Morgan the power to dispell the curse herself, or maybe give her the chance to take revenge on the one who cast it in the first place. Drag their soul up from the ether or whatever new form it had taken, and smash it into a rotting corpse for her to pummel. “Well...it depends on what you want my magic to do for you. The caveat, I should say, is that my magic works by...fulfilling retribution. I can not simply wave away your curse because that’s where your pain lies. But I can reach into the ether and find the soul of whoever cursed you and send them to eternal suffering. Or rewrite their history so that the inciting event never happens. The list goes on.” 

Sometime after Josephine made it clear she couldn’t wipe the pain off Morgan’s shoulders, her brain went quiet. Of course she couldn’t. Not even an old fury could save her that neatly. There was no cash-in system for all the suffering credit she’d accumulated. It couldn’t carry its own weight to buy her some simplicity and peace of mind. No, instead they had to break the world, or steal a soul just for the catharsis of the thing. And what would she have to give up for that? Her own humanity? Her life? For something that fundamentally screwed, would she have to Marty McFly herself out of existence? Or lose all the kind people she was trying to balance? How was this cost going to be any better than what she was doing already? Morgan stared into her drink, and even that wasn’t much for comfort. “I can’t do this right now,” she murmured sadly. “I thought I could, at least understand the basics, but--” she breathed, sniffled, and raised her eyes to the ceiling to keep them focused and dry. “I think I need to get home. I’m sorry.”

This didn’t bode well. Morgan’s silence was deafening to Josephine. She recalled the dozens of times she’d sat across from her sister in their room, or at the table, or hiding in their closet. And they’d just been quiet. Drowning in their own silence. Looking at each other wondering if it would ever end. Her heart burned with an anger unlike most at the thought and Josephine had to hide it behind a large gulp of her drink. “I understand,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her card, the same one she’d given Dot a few nights ago. “If you change your mind,” slid the card across the table, “or just want someone to talk to, give me a call.” Then sat back and took another drink. Morgan wasn’t a loss, though. No, this wasn’t the end of this. Josephine would get her deal from Morgan, because she knew what kind of person Morgan was. And she knew what kind of person anger like that made people into. 

[do-i-love-jaal-today]

Bc I am a sucker for the trope: Jaal finding his S/O sitting in the cryo bay, talking to a pod, bc theyve been thawed but the rest of their family have not yet.

Me: I’ll save this for later.Also Me, a sucker for gentle angst: No I won’t.    I also wasn’t thinking and instinctively used Pathfinder!Reader, so if you want me to adjust this later with a civilian Reader, just lemme know~

   Fifteen minutes have trekked on by and this “short stop” to the Nexus still wasn’t over. Usually, Jaal wouldn’t have minded that. Being on the Nexus meant studying the odd little life forms that now shared their galaxy. While Jaal only got better acquainted on humans through Liam and the Pathfinder, he was still a bit lacking on the other races. What of the krogan and asari? The turians, salarians...and even the left behind drell, quarians, and hanar? What were they like? What had been left behind in that Milky Way?

   Still. Even with all this research he could do, questions he could ask... There was a lot to be done with the kett. His people still needed help and it made him a bit antsy to know that Ryder hadn’t gotten back yet. Where had they gone? Where was there to go...? So Jaal set out to find out.

   He started with the main area, wandering into the bar as he looked for the familiar glimpse of the Pathfinder...with no luck. No sight of the Pathfinder in their typical casual wear anywhere.

   When sight can’t help, turn to the people. And Vetra, stationed not too far from the Tempest in her favorite hangout spot, seemed like a good start.

   “Vetra!” His voice is louder than he means it to be, but few look over at him anymore. Angara aren’t a new idea to the Nexus and neither is Jaal, having worked alongside Ryder for as long as he has. If anything, those that do start are watching the interesting trot of his legs as he hurries over to Vetra, rofjinn swaying as he stops before her. “I wanted to know if you’ve seen the Pathfinder.”

   “Ryder?” She echoes, looking around a moment...then shrugging. “Well, if not around here, maybe deeper in the Nexus. I hear they’ve still got family in cryo.” Cryo...? It hits Jaal that- for all the thoughts of his own family- he really hasn’t paid enough attention to Ryder’s own. It’s a rather embarrassing thought, really, and there’s a slight, vibrant hue to his face that rises over the purple.

   “Hey, don’t be too embarrassed,” Vetra chirps up, a kind twinkle in her eye as she pauses her work to reach up and pat his shoulder. “We’re all a bit focused on our own thing right now. The fact that you’re worried for them at all means more than you’ll know... Anyways. You’ll have to take the tram back that way,” and here, she points back farther, to a dark little hallway, “and onto the Hyperion. They’ve got their cryo bay there.”

   “Ah, thank you, Vetra. Isharay.”

   “Uh, later.” She watches him go for a moment before turning back to her work for the Tempest, while Jaal is already halfway up the ramp and moving something like an alien cheetah to the tram, stepping inside with a bit more hesitance as he looks at the screen.

   ...Does he just...click where he needs to go? Should’ve asked Vetra, but then again, he’s never used this part of the Nexus before. At least finding the Hyperion is easy enough. From there it’s... Ah! There’s the Cryo Bay! A gentle press of a button has the doors firmly shut and the car lurch into action, sending Jaal off to the Hyperion.

   Plenty of humans give Jaal weird, dirty looks for being on the Hyperion, but he doesn’t pay them much mind. The path from here on is a simple one and he doesn’t need to mind any of the weird looks people are trying to shoot his way. Give him a moment to get the Pathfinder back, and then they’ll be on their way....

   Though even before he can step into the cryo bay, he spots them. They’re nervously hovering beside a pod that hasn’t been opened yet, and seems a little damaged. However, with the people fussing around it- going to and fro like insects- he supposes they’ll be getting the person out sooner rather than later.

   ...Is that one of their family...?

   Now finding himself hesitant, he steps forward some more, until his hand can gently press against their back and draw their eyes up to his in surprise.

   They’ve been crying.

   “J-Jaal... What are you doing here?”

   “It’s been quite some time... I wondered where you’d gone.” The Pathfinder looks around a moment, freezes, then blinks into reality, sighing. Jaal isn’t quite used to this all yet, but it wouldn’t take a genius to assume SAM had cued in to tell the current time.

   “Gosh, I-I’m sorry... I wanted to run an errand, but then I wanted to check up on my sib, see how they were doing...” A pause, the soft sound of them swallowing hard. “...They’re gonna get them out of there today, you know. But they still can’t wake up yet... The pod malfunctioned. They’ll have to put ‘em through a medically induced coma before....” Ryder sniffed, raising a hand to wipe at their eyes as they sighed...and Jaal could only stare.

   How could he only think of himself? His own people’s problems? The scourge posed more problems to all of them... What could the kett do to the humans? To Ryder’s own sibling? It...worried him. So much more than he could ever find to put into words.

   Slowly, gently, he pulled Ryder into a hug, the tears moving a little faster...and Jaal, too, even cried. What must it be like, to see family that you’re so close to...be so close? Yet not there with you? They didn’t have their sibling on their first trip in Andromeda (as dangerous as it had ended up being), they wouldn’t have them for some time yet...and Ryder had already willingly told Jaal their parents were both gone.

   The humans lost plenty coming here, too. One shouldn’t shoulder all burdens...but to ignore others own hurt was terrible in its own way, too, wasn’t it?

   “Things will be alright,” he assured gently, one hand moving up to cup the back of their head. “Stay strong and clear. Remember that... I will say it, until you can say it with me.” They nodded, clinging to him a little more as the doctors set up a bed and way to get the other Ryder out of the cryo pod and into the next step...

   ...Despite everything about present circumstances, Jaal could barely wait for the day in which they could properly meet....and all the stories that would likely come from their lips. The embarrassment, the joy...and the peace that family would live on and stay together, forevermore.

[dancerwrites]

Searching to Find Myself (and all I find is you)

Written for Day 1 of CritRole RS Week, for which my first two people happened to be one of my favorite ships, the beautiful and perfect Kimallura. I am incapable of not writing angst, apparently, and it’s difficult for me to write short things, so we’re starting off the week with a bit of a bang. ^_^

Takes place during Episode 84, so a few spoilers, and the title comes from the song “Every Night” by Imagine Dragons, which I only recently discovered was perfect for these two. 

Words: 2.8k, Warnings: None [AO3]

“You know, fighting dragons isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Kima said, pulling off her plate armor and the thin green boots she’d been given by Vox Machina. She wondered if they’d let her keep them, and decided not to make mention of it unless they asked for them back.  

“Mmm,” Allura hummed, sounding distracted. The blue of her dressing down dropped through the air in Kima’s peripheral vision, slipping over Allura’s head as the archanist continued, “Is that so?”

“Well when you can’t fly, it’s kind of shit.”

The words had their intended effect, and Allura snorted, glancing over toward Kima, who grinned in spite of herself. Sure, she hadn’t been able to deal much damage to the dragons at all, but they were all alive, weren’t they?

“I can’t fly,” she pointed out, and Kima rolled her eyes.  

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Allura said, nodding, even as her fingers began to deftly unbraid her hair. “Though, not all of Vox Machina can fly, either. It’s really just the twins-“

“With your magic carpet?” Kima asked, smirking and leaning against the foot of the bed. “I swear, I saw that thing while we were in the Underdark and I was astounded you’d let it out of your sight.”

“You well know I didn’t give it to them,” Allura said, rolling her eyes as she took out her other braid. “I do believe they acquired it trying to escape my collapsing tower when they accidentally set off my security measures, before they went to find you. I’d thought it had gotten lost in the wreckage and confusion, but…”

“Remember when we found it and discovered what it really was? Dohla was over the moon,” Kima remembered, picturing their old friend fawning over the flying carpet. “I swear, I see more and more of her in Vex, what with the penny-pinching…”

Allura laughed, her fingers dropping from her freshly-freed hair as she leaned back against the vainity. “Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten – Vex really does remind me of her – our group’s treasurer, headstrong and confident… Though she wasn’t as quick with her words, was she? I remember once, when we were in Ank’harel looking for information on the Scourged Rider-“

“And she ended up punching the bartender in the nose because she thought he was leading her on!” Kima finished, feeling a large smile draw at her lips. She could practically see their former companion’s fist impacting the lined face of the bartender they’d been trying to talk with, and she easily remembered the chaos that followed. “Those were good times.”

“The best,” Allura said, glancing upwards, past the ceiling and the brick in front of them.

Kima glanced up in time to see the grin fade from Allura’s face, a familiar look of longing and exhaustion settling back onto her features.

“Hey, do you remember-“

Kima was cut off by a knock on the door to Allura’s room, and Allura stood straight up, her cheeks flushing just slightly. She glanced at the door, then at Kima, then at the door, mouth gaping ever so slightly.

Kima put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at the Allura she knew and loved – the one who didn’t always stay perfectly poised and primped as she usually did around the council or in public.

“Allura, are you in there?” Keyleth asked through the door, and Allura blinked twice, then shook her head.

“Yes, Keyleth, just give me a moment!” she called, taking a deep breath and pushing Kima out of sight behind the wall next to the door.

It took everything Kima had not to chuckle at Allura’s attempt to remain subtle. They were fifteen years past adventuring for heaven’s sake – they had no reason to be coy around their friends, especially not when half of Vox Machina were in relationships of their own. Leaning back against the wall, Kima saw her large pile of armor she hadn’t yet gotten around to folding and nearly started cackling again at the blatant indication of who was sharing the room with Allura.

Allura glanced back into the room before opening the door and seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“Fuck,” she whispered, but she opened the door anyway, a carefully reserved expression on her face, and Kima nearly burst out laughing again, holding it back by biting her fist.

Oh, she’d missed this side of Allura.

“Hey, Allura, I was just- I was just wondering…”

“Yes?” Allura asked, only just stepping out through the door, so as not to open it too far so Kima’s armor would be visible.

“Um, I wondered if you could get a message to Vex in Kymal – some way of letting her know he made it, that Scanlan came back?”

“Oh, um, yes, actually,” Allura said with a nod, extricating herself from the door knob and stepping out to stand face-to-face with the druid. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Yeah, I was just- she must be… insane, right now. Or half-drunk, or both.”

“Probably both,” Allura said with a chuckle, though her words sounded suddenly stilted to Kima. The paladin tried to peer out the door to see Allura’s face, but she couldn’t do so without Keyleth seeing her, and as Allura seemed to desire some amount of secrecy and privacy about their rekindled relationship, she stayed back.

Honestly, it was probably the best idea.

Vox Machina was pretty shit at keeping secrets.

Keyleth and Allura finished up their conversation, Allura assuring the druid that she would let Vex know that Scanlan was alive, and Keyleth mentioning that they wanted to return to Emon with her the next day.

Kima, who had already decided she was returning to Emon with Allura (she wasn’t letting the woman out of her sight for a good long while), had to do some quick math in her head, but it seemed that everything would work out. And hopefully with Vox Machina off checking on their keep she and Allura could have at least a bit of downtime together after she finished her business in the city.

Downtime was a precious commodity in their previous circumstances, but luckily the dragons were gone for good now.

“Good night,” Allura finally said, nodding to Keyleth, who wished her a good night in return.

Allura slipped back inside and closed the door gently behind her, then immediately rushed to her clothes that she’d folded, grabbing her components pouch and fumbling with the clasp.

“I should have thought of it – I knew there was something I was forgetting,” she mumbled, and Kima, concerned, drew near to help and realized there were tears gathering in the corners of Allura’s eyes.

“Allie,” Kima said, trying to get her attention. “Allie.”

“Give me a moment, Kima, I just need to cast the spell-“

Allura was fumbling through the components pouch, a couple dried leaves falling to the ground as her hands shook. Kima, instead of trying to get her attention again, simply plucked the pouch out of her hands and held it behind her back.

“Kima!”

Allura swiped at Kima’s hands and missed, and Kima stepped back a bit, keeping the pouch out of Allura’s reach.

“What are you doing – I need to get the message to Vex!” Allura exclaimed, her fists clenching in a very un-Allura manner, and Kima only felt a little guilty about it.

“Not in this state, you don’t!” Kima exclaimed, dropping the pouch behind her pile of armor, but keeping her eyes on Allura’s face to make sure she hadn’t noticed it fall.

She hadn’t.

“I’m perfectly fine!” Allura lied, betrayed by the higher tone in her voice and the still-clenched fists at her sides, not to mention the tears that finally began dripping down her cheeks. “It’s a simple Sending spell – it won’t be any trouble, Kima.”

“And you want Vex to hear you sounding like this?” Kima asked, hands still behind her back as if she had the small bag in them. “She already waited a couple hours, she can wait five more minutes so you can tell me what’s wrong.”

“But she shouldn’t have to!” Allura exclaimed, her fingers abruptly wiping at her cheeks. “To think he’s dead, or to not know whether he is or not-“

Her voice broke, and Allura covered her mouth with a hand as a stifled sob escaped her throat.

The two of them stood there, the tension in the air palpable, Allura’s blue eyes wide and staring at Kima as though she were the only thing in the world that still existed.

Kima knew that look, had seen it on the faces of those desperate for understanding, those who had only barely survived a battle, those who had nothing left to lose.

She’d seen it on Allura’s face after their struggle to trap Thordak in the fire plane, and she remembered promising herself that she would never let that happen again.

“Allie?” she asked, stepping forward, trying not to startle the woman who looked like she was about to bolt.

Allura blinked a few times, more tears falling, then leaned again one of the bedpoles as her eyes closed, her shoulders quaking in the silence.

“Allie, talk to me,” Kima said, dropping her hands and the pretense that she still had the pouch. She took a couple of steps toward Allura and reached out a hand to her, but the archanist flinched away, another sob wrenched from her throat. “Allie, you’re scaring me.”

“It’s a terrible feeling,” Allura said through tears. “To not know if a friend is dead or alive, to have no way of knowing whether they’ll come back to you.”

Kima felt a chill run down her spine as a heavy weight settled in her stomach and Allura turned away, arms falling to wrap around her stomach, as if holding herself together.

“And all you can do is wait and wonder and hope for something, someone to tell you that it’ll be alright, that they’re okay, but until then…”

Her voice trailed off, her shoulders curling in on themselves as she continued to sob.

“Allie, hey, hey, come here,” Kima said, rushing in front of Allura and pulling on her arm. Not for the first time she wished she was taller, so she could meet Allura at her level instead of Allura coming down to hers, but no matter. Allura sank to her knees in front of Kima and their faces were at the same height, though Allura’s was still turned away, tears still glistening in her eyes and in the rivulets that had worked their way down her cheeks.

“Allie, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Kima said, lifting her hand to turn Allura’s face to her own and brush the hair back behind her ear. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Allura didn’t open her eyes, her head bowing forward as her sobs turned into gasps and then deep, heaving breaths, and Kima quickly grabbed one of Allura’s hands with her free hand, squeezing the fingers tightly.

“Hey, breathe with me, okay?” Kima asked, exaggerating her breathing so it was clear and audible, syncing her inhale with an increased pressure on Allura’s fingers so she might get the message. “In and out, in and out…”

It took a good minute or so for Allura to calm down and her breathing to return entirely to normal, the hyperventilating replaced with steady inhales and exhales, and as she came back to herself her fingers started following Kima’s, the pressure returned and relaxing in time with Kima’s puffs of air until she opened her eyes.

“Better?” Kima murmured, chest aching with a sharp, familiar mix of love and regret. “I’m sorry.”

“It…” Allura trailed off, voice shaking, then sighed and unfolded her arms, still keeping hold of Kima’s hand. “It was a long time coming.”

Kima thought of leaving for the Underdark, her last letter to Allura mentioning the vision quest she’d been given and her intention to follow that to completion. It had been nearly six months ago that she’d left, and close to five since she’d been rescued by Vox Machina, but she and Allura had never had an actual discussion about it, the topic mentioned in passing, then brushed aside for more important or pressing matters.

“I’m sorry,” Kima said again, closing her own eyes as she pulled Allura’s face close so their foreheads could touch, the warm presence of life against her face helping to keep her own tears at bay.

“You’d better be,” Allura said, her voice thick as she turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss to Kima’s lips.

Kima returned the kiss, and she thought of how she had gone to fight Vorugal and Thordak with Vox Machina, leaving Allura behind. She remembered the tension on Allura’s face when she had mentioned going to fight the white dragon, and she could picture the ill-concealed fear that she’d seen Allura try to hide when asked if she would accompany Vox Machina to fight Thordak.

Kima had assumed it was worry about fighting a dragon, about her own concerns and past memories.

Kima hadn’t considered Allura’s change of heart when they went to fight Raishan.

(How could she have not seen it? How could she have been so stupid?)

The kiss ended and time seemed to stand still for a moment, until Kima spoke up again.

“You know, I followed you through that teleportation circle today for a reason, even though I knew something was wrong.”

There was a sharp gasp of air from Allura as she pulled back, and Kima opened her eyes to see Allura’s face, shocked and slightly pale, staring back at her.

“You knew something was wrong?”

“Well, I knew it didn’t look like any teleportation circle I’d ever seen before.”

“But you shouldn’t have-“

“Allie, I didn’t have a choice,” Kima said, lips twisting into a smile. “I’ve never had as much self-control as you. I’m the one always running into danger, right?”

Allura nodded, and Kima grinned in spite of herself. “So even though I knew something was wrong, I made the split-second decision to not let you deal with whatever was on the other side of that portal on your own. I just didn’t know it was an ocean that we would be fighting, instead of more zombies or something.”

Allura chuckled at that, and Kima stroked her cheek with a thumb, feeling like she was trying to coax out a smile.

“I’ve never been one to sit still in the face of a fight; you know that, right?” she asked.

“I do.”

“But I’ve always come back home to you, right?”

“You have,” Allura said, nodding, a couple more tears trickling from her eyes.

“I swear to you, Allura Vysoren, on the Platinum Dragon himself, that I will come home to you,” Kima said, staring into Allura’s eyes, praying that she understood the sincerity behind her words.

“I don’t think that’ll stop me from worrying.”

Kima barked out a laugh, some of the held-back tears bursting their dams and trailing down her cheeks.

“Well, hopefully you won’t need to for a while now,” Kima said, moving her hands to Allura’s shoulders. “The dragons are dead, we made it, and I’m not leaving you for a good long while.”

“But the Sanctuary-“

“Fuck the Sanctuary,” Kima scoffed, tightening her grip on Allura’s shoulders. “They’ve got enough paladins.”

“But won’t Vord-“

“Fuck Vord! Well, actually, don’t do that,” Kima said, smirking. “But to be honest, I feel like Tal’dorei and Emon need me just a bit more than Issylra and Vasselheim right now.”

Allura smiled as well, and Kima felt warmth bloom in her chest.

“Are you sure?” Allura asked, and Kima just smiled, leaning forward to peck Allura’s lips again.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything,” she said, pulling Allura into a tight hug.

There was a momentary pause before Allura’s arms mimicked Kima’s and she returned the hug, and Kima felt Allura’s head fall onto her shoulder, the heat from her breath cutting through her linen shirt. Kima pulled her in tightly, fingers tangling in the long blonde hair, and they sat for a long moment, breathing together and feeling life pulse through the other’s veins.

“Now, you’re gonna cast Sending to get the message to Vex while I get cleaned up, alright?” Kima said, not waiting for an answer before continuing, “And then we’re gonna get in bed and sleep until noon because we fought a fucking dragon today and we all survived – got that?”

“Send a message, sleep until noon,” Allura parroted back, and Kima grinned.

She wasn’t leaving Allura, at least not for a good long while, and it didn’t matter if they ended up fighting another conclave of dragons or simply needed to work on rebuilding the city and the lives of those who had fallen to ruin under the dragons’ flight. They push onward the way they had since teaming up with their companions against the Scourged Rider all those years ago.

They would get through things together.