#is or how to fix it like if they were just slippy? that’s fine I can work with that but they’re TIGHT and can’t fucking DEALL. AGAGGGAGGGGGG

[peapod20001]

Ouuu why do I gotta be blind and need glasses that are fucked up and won’t fix no matter how much you adjust them

[blindbeta]

hi, this is like, a REALLY oddly specific question, but i wanted to ask. would it be seen as wrong if i were to have my character's guide dog be in some way magical?

for more context on the specific situation, my characters are in a world where basically nothing is without some level of magic to it. my character has a guide dog, but i felt like it didn't fit the theme to have just. a normal dog? because i wouldn't put a normal dog somewhere else. the dog isn't like, telepathic or able to fix her blindness, (ive made it VERY clear to myself that at no point will i do that) i was mostly thinking something like the dog having some sort of elemental component to it, which would be a pretty common power in this world.

I just wanted to make sure it fit in with the rest of the characters in its world, instead of sticking out as just kinda being shoved in with no worldbuilding around it. there wouldn't really be 'normal' animals normally, so it feels like underdeveloped worldbuilding if i don't.

I'm worried though, that this is going to be wrong in the way that it'd seem... glamorizing? that's not what i intend, but I don't want it to come off as something in that vein. if that makes sense.

i hope this is like. sensible to ask about and not wasting your time. thank you so much, and thank you in general for running this blog, i think it's a really great resource.

I think having a magical guide dog is fine. You aren’t using the magic to erase the handler’s disability, as you mentioned. As long as you are actively working on that, it seems fine to me.

As long as the animal can make a good guide, be trained from infancy, and can navigate well, it doesn’t matter if they are a magical creature.

I list some qualities a guide should have in this post if it helps.

@moth-time created an excellent addition to this post in the notes:

i reread the guide linked by OP and now I'm thinking some kind of earth elemental or otherwise particularly magically heavy/stocky dog could be neat, bc it provides more stability than a regular dog (so more like a miniature horse). it could have a rocky/armored back that is easier to lean on than slippy dog skin, for example. Much like irl certain dog breeds are favored as guide dogs bc of breed specs, a magical universe could favor "earth elemental dogs" for same reason

you could have some magical component of the dog be helpful to the guided person, though i am struggling to come up with a good one for a blind guide dog. But for example a fire elemental therapy dog that can regulate it's body to be toasty warm and offer deep pressure and temperature therapy would be neat. It doesn't negate or "fix" the disability, but it's a little different/more magical while still recognizable

BlindBeta’s thoughts:

So I love this. An earth type dog would add excellent stabilization, orientation, and be additionally good at avoiding obstacles such as uneven ground. They could be great for balance and probably deep pressure therapy as well. Maybe they are favored as guide dogs because they are dependable, while also good at selective disobedience to keep a blind person safe, such as refusing to cross the street when it is dangerous (due to quiet cars or such). I could also see water or air type dogs being good alert dogs, perhaps.

Also not sure how common this is, but on this page about seizure alert dogs from the epilepsy foundation, it says some dogs are trained to put their body between the handler and the floor to cushion falls. Air type dogs might good at this because they are probably softer and could gently cushion a falling person without them hitting the floor.

I also had an idea that wood types might be more flexible and good assistance dogs for older adults, wheelchair users, etc. Like dog breeds, they have certain qualities that make them good at assistance, such as being depended on to retrieve any number of items, pull door handles, etc.

This is fun. I would love to see ideas from anyone else.

[thatvictorian]

Love Aflame

 Love, Aflame

Pov: You’re a maid who had been working for Lady Dimitrescu for quite some time. Recently you’ve caught the flu and have been reduced to bedrest. 

Warnings: Some slight anger from Lady Dimitrescu and a small argument between them. Other than that, this is fluff! A word a few might not know! Pulchritudinous! It means beautiful.  This was written for @alcinasdarling but also for @ladydimitrescuworship

Working in House Dimitrescu wasn’t exactly easy. The Lady’s daughters tended to be very aggressive in a playful way, and the Lady herself could have a bit of a temper. Although, you had worked up quite the good relationship between you. After the first year, you had been promoted to grand chambermaid due to your ability to follow orders and sarcastic sense of humor.  Perhaps the work had bored you way more than you had cared to notice, as you had taken up writing down your thoughts in a journal. 

The journal, old but usable, had been gifted to you. And by that, it was really just left on your nightstand. Usually when Lady Dimitrescu left you small gifts of appreciation, they were left with some sort of note. However when you had found it, there were none. 

December 18th, 

“I have begun my daily tasks as per usual, getting dressed and fixing my hair. The Lady has requested I clean the ballroom for she intends to host a ball. Of course, after eavesdropping   over-hearing a conversation between her and Mother Miranda, I knew this was really a ploy to hunt for test subjects and prey. It is now time for the Lady’s bath.”   

 “That’s an old entry.. Perhaps it’s about time I write another,”  You thought, picking up a pen that looked like a quill. After all, it could be quite frustrating trying to write with actual ink. The ball itself hadn’t actually been that interesting aside from sharing your first kiss with the Lady. Socializing isn't exactly easy when you know what the real reason was behind the whole event. The girls had been cleaned up and put in fine dresses, and the Lady wore a glorious red dress with fur on the shoulders.

December 20th, 

It has been sometime since I last wrote, perhaps I should do this more often now that the Lady has restricted me to bedrest. It is quite frustrating, as I can’t do any of my regular duties and feel quite useless just laying here. The ball itself was full of the usual boring guests, people from the village. No one I knew however. But I got the most incredible gift I could’ve ever asked for. Alcina had kissed me, her wine flavored lips pressed against mine. And when she kissed me for the first time, I felt something of which I could not name. At the time, I could not find the right words. Even when she had asked me how it made me feel. When I had told her I could not say, her lips upturned into a grin. As if the mere idea of making words incomprehensible to me was the most enjoyable thing in the world.

“Y/N, I have come to inspect your health,” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice called from the other side of the door.  You jumped, startled by the suddenness of her presence. The door began to open as you scrambled to hide the journal under the covers of your sheets.  Lady Dimitrescu stood high above you, moving to sit on your bed. Her weight tilting you slightly, she smiled.   “How are you feeling darling?” She purred, her golden eyes puncturing you with their gaze. You hesitated to answer her, causing her smile to drop. “I asked you a question, you are expected to answer. Or have you lost that precious voice of yours?” She growled. “No mistress, I have not.. I am feeling better.  I only ask to return to my work. It’s killing me just sitting here, I feel suffocated,” You said, clutching the sheets nervously. Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze softened as you coughed a few times, a light burn in your throat. “My dear, you are not well and I will not have you making yourself worse,” She stated firmly. Scoffing and rolling your eyes you tried to get up but were held down firmly by the woman, the journal slipping out from the covers and onto the floor.

“Oh? What’s this?” Lady Dimitrescu bent slightly to reach the item, easily holding your frantic self down. “N-nothing stop! Put it down! Hey! Can you hear me up there!?” You rambled on until she covered your mouth. Her eyes scanned the entry before she snapped the journal shut.  “Well.. isn’t this interesting..” she murmured, scooping you gently out of the bed. The urge to protest was quickly swallowed by the excitement and admiration rising in your chest. For a murderer, she truly was beautiful. Her ebony hair in soft curls, her porcelain skin, and most of all her air.  She carried you for a while through the hallways, soft candlelight warming your skin.  

Eventually you reached her room, she didn’t drop you for a moment. Not even as she bent slightly to enter the room. 

Finally she sat you on her bed. “Now pet, I want you to stay there until I return alright?” She purred. You nodded, swinging your legs. “Sure why not, after I assist you in–”, She raised a finger.  Lady Dimitrescu slipped into her bathroom, returning a short moment later in a white nightgown that, if the light landed on it right, was slightly transparent. “Wow.. just wow.. She’s.. incredible..”  You thought as she strode around to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers. Moving quickly to avoid her crushing you, you pulled the covers around you. A coughing fit racked your body as you leaned back against the pillows. 

“Easy my dear..” Alcina whispered, rubbing your stomach. Her fingers against your thin nightgown sent cold shivers throughout your body. Her smell, her touch. The way she carried herself so restrained so as to not hurt you by accident. God just her… 

It was hard not to leap up and kiss her, but the fear of destroying the relationship restrained you very well. “Thank you mistress, I appreciate it,” You whispered.  She smiled again, tilting your head over. She ran a finger across your lips before pulling you closer so that your noses were almost touching. “May I kiss you?” She asked in a breathy whisper. Your answer was pressing your lips against hers, rolling over her to straddle her lower stomach. At first you had been lifting yourself up but she pulled forward, cupping your cheeks with both hands. At last, your lips were touching. Her breath filling your lungs, the smell of the wine she drank filling your nose. The kiss lasted for a while, neither of you stopping to properly breathe. “My my draga mea, you taste so sweet..” 

All you could do was stare at her pulchritudinous body. “And you too mistress, I apologize for staring.” You tried to match her formal tone, even though your size made the romantic pose quite a funny scene. She chuckled, bouncing you slightly. In order to stop yourself from falling face forward onto her face, you rested your head on her chest.  “Rest now my dear, do not worry about your weight. I assure you, I am comfortable,” she said in a hushed tone. Soon the room had become quiet, the only sounds being Alcina’s breathy sighs of contentment as she breathed. Her skin and nightgown, warm. Sleep soon came to take you under its wing, Alcina stroking your hair.

Thank you for reading!! This is my first fic so I apologize for it being so short!

[icenicemice]

Stormy Concerns

Raindrops fell onto the windshield, making noisy *pops* as they bounced off. The sky was a dark grey, the heavy clouds looming over the park. In the distance, not too far, you could occasionally see bright lightning strike the woods below. Thunder would shake the camper barely after. It was dangerous, dark, wet, and loud.

And it was beautiful.

Boat sat in the driver's seat, hugging her knees to her chest. Her electric yellow eyes, as striking as the lightning itself, watched as the drops rolled down the windshield. She traced her hands down her arms, which were trickled with goosebumps. It was freezing, the heating in the camper broke months ago but they had never bothered getting it fixed. They just loaded up on blankets and space heaters. But where Boat sat there was nothing to keep her warm, and she was ok with that.

Another strike of lightning snapped at the woods, making thunder boom across the trailer park. Boat sighed in satisfaction, she adored the rain. She loved the cold, and the wet puddles, and the darkness, and the beautiful lightning and loud thunder. Everything about storms were just so gloomy, and so fantastic.

Suddenly everything went dark with a quick rustle, something soft had been wrapped around her face. "You looked cold.", she heard a familiar voice say. Her favorite voice.

Boat grabbed at the softness and pulled it away from her, it was one of the many blankets Destiny had made them. This particular one was a thick quilt, covered with purple squares in many shades and patterns. Perci wrapped it around her, tucking it behind her back.

He fell back into the passengers seat, gripping a steaming cup of green tea. He smiled at her, "Looks like I made a Boat-Burrito!", he said before taking a small sip of his tea. Boat smirked and glanced back out the windshield. The storm was getting worse, the rain was pounding harder against the roof of the camper and the trees were struggling to stay standing against the wind.

"I put the eggs in their slippies and wrapped them in blankets, they're right next to the space heater too.", Perci commented, reassuring Boat the eggs were being kept warm. Destiny has made them "slippies" to keep them toasty, and she had already knitted them a truckload of clothes and plushies and blankets. She was obsessive to say the least, but she does the same thing whenever anyone (even herself) is having a baby. This time she just had to make three times more.

"We should really get to fixing this heater soon", Boat said, "we'll have triplets in here any day now". Another loud boom shook the camper, but Boat hardly noticed it.

Perci sighed. "Yeah, I think I saw a ad for some guy who fixes electric furnaces. Maybe I'll call him tomorrow and we could spit up some money to fix this thing". He sunk deeper into his layers of hoodies, either from the cold or from sadness. He knew they were low on money, paying for his treatments and preparing for three kids while working a few part time jobs each isn't exactly expanding their budget.

Boat turned to face him, her expression frozen like a statue as usual. "Perci, are you scared?".

The question came out of nowhere, but after a few moments Perci answered. "All the time, you?".

"...I'm terrifed".

"Well that's new, how does it feel?".

Boat's eyebrows fell into a irritated stare. Perci raised his hands in surrender. "Fine fine!". His took another drink of his tea. "...what are you terrified of?".

Boat was silent for a minute, her eyes focused on the raging storm once more. "I'm scared that we can't do this, that we'll make our kids miserable, that we'll be awful parents, that they would've been better off at an orphanage. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever gone through.".

"..."

Perci stared at the rain for a moment, and took a long drink of his tea. The thunder didn't even phase them at this point.

"Well, sorry that I gotta break it to you, but I think every parent in the history of ever has been scared of that. You're just getting motherly instincts and fears, I think.".

Boat stayed quiet for a long time before she spoke again, "Do you think they'll love us?".

"Maybe".

"You're really not helping.".

"Sorry.".

The rain pattered on the windshield loudly, lightning struck so far away there was no way thunder could be heard from the trailer park. It was so chaotic in a calming way, and they both listened to it for what seemed like eternity.

"Boat?".

Boat turned back towards Perci. "Hm?"

He swirled the remaining tea in his mug, staring into the whirlpool. "I think we'll be okay parents, and I think the triplets will grow up and be functional members of society and not live in a camper with no high school degrees, and most likely love us very much and be very rich and put us in a very nice house and-".

"Ok I get it, you're just trying to make me feel better."

"Is it working?"

"...yeah."

"Want me to keep going?".

Boat glanced out at the storm one last time, it had calmed down a bit. Less thunder, less wind, it was much more peaceful. She unwrapped her blanket and stood up.

Perci gasped, "Not my Boat-Burrito! It's ruined!". Boat half smiled at him as he stood up too. They walked through the curtains, into the main room. Boat crashed onto their mattress, wrapping herself in blankets and curling up in a fetal position. She could see the eggs, each in a different colored slippie, in their nest of heated blankets. She felt the bed sink as Perci laid down next to her on their awful excuse of a bed, wrapping his arms around her.

"Night night, soon-to-be-mama."

"Goodnight, future-father".

"Mine was better."

"I said goodnight."

[nebulous-frog]

I Love You S’more

Summary: Dan and Phil had never had s'mores, and their American crew members decided that it was their duty to fix that. Phil makes some messes and Dan is FondTM.

Word count: 3050

Rating: G

Warnings: Some swearing, Food mentions

Genre: Fluff

Author’s Note: Thank you @danhasacrushonphil for betaing, you’re the best!

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

It was a cultural experience that Dan and Phil were apparently absolutely required to have:

Roasting marshmallows and eating s’mores.

Their American crew members had insisted that they be the ones to help Dan and Phil remedy the complete tragedy that was their inexperience with s’mores.

So there Dan and Phil were, being taught how to make their first deliciously gooey treats.

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to give Phil a pointy stick to put into actual flames?” Dan announced teasingly.

“Hey! You’re just as clumsy as I am, so shut up!” Phil laughed, bumping his shoulder into Dan’s.

Dan took his marshmallow and carefully impaled it on the stick, then watched as Phil did the same.

They approached the small grill that everyone was using to roast their marshmallows.

One of the crew members set her marshmallow on fire, much to her dismay.

“Ooooh, set it on fire. Way to go, Ann,” Sophie teased.

Ann desperately blew on the flaming marshmallow, then pouted at Sophie.

“Well, I guess my marshmallow is cooked,” she said, then turned to assemble her s’more at the table a few feet away.

Dan and Phil shared a glance.

“You can actually set the marshmallow on fire?” Dan asked tentatively.

Sophie turned to him with a confused expression. “Of course you can? Just blow it out if that happens, it’s fine.”

Dan and Phil looked at each other again, concerned.

“Phil is clearly going to set a marshmallow on fire and kill us all, but don’t worry, flaming marshmallows on wooden sticks is nothing to be concerned about,” Dan exclaimed dramatically.

Sophie laughed. “Really, it’ll be fine. I’m sure you won’t set it on fire, Phil.”

Phil grinned. “See, Dan? Someone trusts me!”

“Oh, whatever. Let’s just do it. We have to know what everyone says we’ve been missing.”

Dan stuck his marshmallow over the flames from the grill. He watched what the others were doing, trying to figure out how to get it right.

Phil’s marshmallow joined the party, bumping into Dan’s.

“Stay in your lane, marshmallow man!” Dan bumped Phil’s hip with his own.

“Sorry!” Phil giggled, nudging Dan’s elbow with his own.

They were quiet for a moment, carefully watching their marshmallows for any sign of flames.

“Make sure you’re turning those, otherwise they won’t roast well,” advised their bus driver.

Dan and Phil immediately began rotating the marshmallows constantly, until their group laughed and told them no, now they won’t roast at all. Rotate slowly, it takes patience.

“I’m so impatient, though! Everyone’s s’mores look so good,” Phil whined playfully.

“Phil needs a constant stream of sugar in his system or he’ll go crazy,” Dan explained to the group.

“We noticed,” joked Sophie.

Phil’s thoughts wandered, and he accidentally left his marshmallow still for too long and too close to the flames.

When he saw something flickering in front of him, he tuned back into his surroundings and yelped.

“Ah! It’s on fire!”

He quickly pulled it out of the grill and began flapping it around wildly in an attempt to put it out before anything else caught fire.

The Americans in the vicinity all shrieked in unison, ducking for cover as Phil waved a literal ball of fire on a stick in the air.

“No! Stop waving it around and blow it out! Blow on it!” someone shouted.

Phil wasn’t listening, so Dan reached a hand over and grabbed Phil’s arm. He pulled Phil’s marshmallow stick closer to his face and blew on the marshmallow, quickly putting out the flames.

Dan and Phil made eye contact for a moment, Phil’s expression full of shock and fear, before Dan’s face cracked into a grin and he shook his head.

“Oops,” Phil said sheepishly. Dan’s smile was contagious, and soon Phil was beaming again and returning his marshmallow to the flames.

Not long later, Dan pulled out his phone and recorded a short video for his instagram story.

And, of course, that was the exact moment that Phil set his marshmallow on fire for the second time.

Once the camera was put away, Dan’s voice got soft as he teased Phil fondly.

“Twice, Phil? Really? You didn’t even learn from the first time, oh dear,” he said in a slightly nasally tone.

Phil laughed, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. “Shut up,” he managed to say through his embarrassment.

Their marshmallows were finally done, so they brought them over to the table with the chocolate and graham crackers. The crew helped them assemble their s’mores as Dan documented the event for instagram.

Dan and Phil both thought s’mores were absolutely amazing. Messier than anticipated, but so delicious.

After their reviews for instagram, Dan and Phil sat down on some large rocks near the edge of the car park to finish eating their s’mores.

“They were right,” Dan moaned. “This shit is fantastic.”

He looked over to see Phil take another big bite, watching as Phil’s eyes lit up at another burst of gooey goodness.

Somehow in the process of that bite, Phil managed to get marshmallow on the tip of his nose, of all places. It wasn’t that surprising, necessarily, as neither one of them had figured out how to eat their s’mores with dignity yet, but Dan couldn’t help but laugh.

Phil looked up at Dan curiously.

“What? What did I miss?”

“You got marshmallow on your nose, you spoon!” Dan leaned into Phil’s space. “I’ll get it for you, okay?”

Dan gently kissed away the marshmallow from Phil’s nose, then gave Phil a quick peck on the lips before leaning back and returning to his own s’more.

Phil smiled softly.

“You’re really cute,” he said.

The rosy patch on Dan’s cheek darkened, and he smiled.

“...For a rat, anyway,” Phil added.

Dan snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Way to kill the moment, Phil,” he groaned. He was smiling, though, so Phil knew he wasn’t actually upset.

Once they finished their s’mores, they decided to each make one more, now that they sort of knew what to do.

They carefully stabbed their marshmallows onto the sticks again and carried them over to the grill.

“Try not to burn this one,” Dan teased.

“You say that like I tried to burn the other ones,” Phil shot back goodnaturedly.

Dan replied in a high pitched whine, “Oh I didn’t try to burn the othe- well, ya did, you impatient buffoon.”

“Your mum’s a buffoon,” Phil retorted on instinct.

Dan laughed. “I’m quaking, Phil, genuinely quaking.”

Realizing nothing he said would get Dan to stop anymore, Phil just pushed Dan a little with his shoulder and ignored him to roast his marshmallow.

They fell into a companionable silence as they toasted the marshmallows, then both turned to finish making their second s’mores.

Dan walked slightly ahead of Phil, but stopped when he heard a squawk of dismay behind him. He turned around to face Phil again, and was met with a deep pout. It was utterly adorable.

“What did you do now?” Dan asked with a chuckle.

“My marshmallow fell,” Phil mumbled. He was staring at the ground, where there now sat a blob of gooey sugar.

Dan followed Phil’s gaze, then burst into his hyena laugh.

“Oh my god, Phil,” he said through his laughter. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen in my life! Just a sad little plop of goo.”

Phil’s pout deepened.

“I did so well with that one, as well. I was so excited to eat it,” Phil complained.

Dan rolled his eyes, then turned and kept walking.

“Come on, then. You can share mine.”

Phil responded with a cute little “yay!” and hurried to catch up with Dan.

Stopping at the s’more building station the crew had set up, Dan seemed determined to build his s’more himself this time.

He reached for the graham crackers carefully, trying to make sure he didn’t accidentally bump his marshmallow or let it fall off the stick. Once he had the cracker in hand, he assessed the situation, looking from the marshmallow to the cracker and back again.

“Shit,” Dan muttered. “I need two hands to break the cracker but I’m holding the marshmallow.”

“Here, give me that,” Phil said, taking the cracker from Dan’s hands.

He began trying to break the cracker along the slight perforations, but it was harder than he expected.

“Use your muscles, Phil, come on! Hurry up the marshmallow is slippi-”

“I’m scared! It’s gonna crumble!”

“The marshmallow is slipping, Phil, hurry up! The marshmallow is slipping, the marshmallow is slipping, the marshmallow is slipping-”

Phil let out a short yelp of surprise when the cracker snapped, then quickly put one half under their marshmallow.

“Um,” Phil said. “Now what?”

Apparently, Dan had been exaggerating- the marshmallow was only sort of slipping off the stick. Mostly, the weight had just redistributed to the bottom side of the marshmallow and was slowly beginning to drip off.

“Pull the marshmallow with the crackers, maybe?” Dan suggested.

“Oh, right.” Phil moved his hands so one half of the cracker was on either side of the marshmallow, then squished down and gently slid the marshmallow off the stick.

“Brilliant, now we just need the chocolate,” Dan said. He set down the stick and broke off a few squares of one of the Hershey’s bars then turned to finish assembling the s’more now in Phil’s hands.

Phil pulled one graham cracker away from the other to let Dan slide the chocolate in, but they quickly realized there was a problem.

“Um. The marshmallow is stuck to both sides. We can’t put the chocolate in there,” Phil said.

They both stared at their failed s’more for a moment, debating how to fix this disaster.

“Fuck it, I’m just gonna shove it into the marshmallow and hope for the best,” Dan declared. “Open the crackers again.”

Phil did as he was told, and Dan shoved the chocolate in, making the s’more significantly messier than it had been a few seconds before.

“Well, that’s- that’s something,” Phil remarked.

The graham cracker hadn’t broken evenly, so one side had an extra triangle sticking out and the other was missing a rather large portion of cracker. The marshmallow was a gooey mess, as was to be expected, except that it seemed to ooze out the sides and somehow stick to the top of the graham crackers on either side. The chocolate was sandwiched in the middle of everything, making the s’more look totally unlike the first s’mores Dan and Phil ate.

Dan giggled. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Phil shook his head with a soft smile. “It’s really hideous, I’m sorry.”

“That’s so rude, Phil, you would call your own child ugly?” Dan shook his head, then took the s’more from Phil’s hands. “You don’t deserve it, then.”

Dan began walking back to where they had sat together for their first s’mores, and Phil followed close behind.

“Alright, then, let’s try our collective first solo attempt at making a s’more,” Dan said once they had sat down.

“We should take a bite at the same time,” Phil proposed.

Dan looked from the s’more to Phil and back a few times.

“What, you mean we should both just Lady and the Tramp it?”

Phil nodded. “It’s already so much of a mess anyway, we might as well.”

Hesitating a moment longer, skepticism clear on Dan’s face, Dan eventually agreed.

“Fine, let’s do it.”

He held up the s’more and let Phil take one end of it. They both leaned in and carefully took a bite, making the s’more crumble in half.

Big smiles lit up their faces at the sugar and crunch of the s’more.

“That was really disgusting, not gonna lie,” Dan commented when he had swallowed his bite.

Phil sent him a slightly exasperated look, rolling his eyes. “It was cute and you know it. I was literally Lady and you were literally the Tramp.”

Dan scoffed. “Thanks, Phil.”

“Besides, you’ve definitely had your mouth on more objectively disgusting things. Not that I’m complaining,” Phil stated casually, putting the rest of his half of the s’more in his mouth.

“Philip Lester!” Dan shrieked in shock. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you?!” A hyena laugh burst out, despite Dan’s attempts to keep up the facade of disappointment.

Phil grinned through his s’more at Dan’s reaction, then decided to push it a little further. He swallowed the last of his s’more and waited for Dan to calm down and finish his.

Dan shook his head one more time, sending Phil a fondly annoyed glance, then finished off his piece of the s’more.

As soon as he had, Phil reached out and took Dan’s hand by the wrist, bringing it up to his face.

“You have marshmallow all over your hands, oh my god!” Phil exclaimed as if he had only just noticed.

“Well, I did just shove some chocolate into a marshmallow and then eat a s’more, so it’s not exactly surpri-”

Dan cut himself off as Phil brought a sticky finger to his mouth and licked the sugar off it.

Phil stared into Dan’s eyes as he slowly sucked each of Dan’s fingers to clean off the gooey marshmallow. He took his time, loving the effect he was clearly having on Dan.

The rosy patch on Dan’s jaw was a flaming pink and his mouth hung open slightly. Dan’s eyes flickered between Phil’s gaze and his mouth, as if he couldn’t decide which was better to look at, until he finally settled on staring at Phil’s mouth wrapped around each of his fingers. Dan made a weak little whimpering noise at the soft pop as Phil removed the last finger from his mouth.

Phil smirked, leaning back from Dan. He dropped Dan’s wrist and looked up at the clear blue sky, feigning indifference and effectively ending the tense moment.

Dan blinked, breath still caught in his throat for a moment. When his brain started working again, he took in a shuddery breath.

“Wha-” Dan’s voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “What the hell, Phil?”

Phil looked back at Dan innocently, eyes wide. Dan knew better, though- he could see the ghost of a smirk on Phil’s lips, the bastard. “Something the matter, Dan?”

Dan decided nothing he could say would make the situation better, so he broke eye contact to shake his head at the ground and grumble incoherently.

Phil giggled, leaning over to peck Dan’s cheek. “You’re adorable.”

The blush on Dan’s cheeks had only just lessened, and then Phil had to go and be all cute like that and all of a sudden Dan was bright red again.

He glanced back up at Phil, taking in the playful expression on Phil’s face and feeling a surge of affection for his goofy boyfriend.

Dan gently took the back of Phil’s head and brought him in for a short, sweet kiss.

When he pulled away, he took Phil’s hand in his own.

“You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, and I love you,” Dan said, fondness dripping from every part of him.

Phil beamed and pulled Dan back in to kiss him again. He rested his forehead against Dan’s a moment later.

“You know what, Dan?” he whispered, enjoying the full force of Heart-Eyes Howell.

“What?” Dan whispered back with a small smile.

“I love you s’more,” Phil replied, a self-satisfied grin quickly sliding onto his face.

“Phiwwwwwww,” Dan groaned, eyes slipping closed as if that could purge the horrific pun from his memory.

Phil cackled in delight, revelling in Dan’s perfect response to his pun.

“You’re so cheesy, oh my god,” Dan groaned again.

Phil’s eyes lit up, seeing another perfect opportunity.

“You mean, I’m sweet.”

Dan’s eyes snapped open and he pushed Phil, who was now practically howling with laughter, away.

“Unacceptable. The last straw. I’m done with you and your godforsaken puns,” Dan declared, dramatically standing to leave Phil behind.

“Aww,” Phil pouted, although he was still giggling. “But, deep down, I know you really think I’m as’moreable!”

Dan turned around and glared at Phil, but there was no heat in it. It was supposed to be a withering gaze, dammit, not a beam of love and affection.

“Philip Michael Les-”

“You’ve- you’ve finally gone crackers from my fire puns,” Phil managed to get out. He stood up and rested a hand on Dan’s shoulder.

“Phiwwwww stop!” Dan whined. He buried his face in Phil’s neck to hide from the jokes.

Phil was wheezing with laughter at his own jokes and his over-dramatic boyfriend.

He opened his mouth for just one more, but Dan spoke before Phil could say anything.

“Lester, I will turn you into a human marshmallow, impale you, and roast you over a fire if you say anymore goddamn puns, you spork.”

“How camp I be sure you’re telling the truth?”

Dan’s head snapped up. “Oh my god, shut up! That one was so bad, oh my god. Why do I put up with you?”

Phil’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Because you’re stuck with me like a marshmallow to a graham cracker.”

“Oh my-” Dan rolled his eyes, and decided to shut Phil up the only way he knew how- kissing him senseless so that, by the time they pulled away, Phil would have no idea what they had been talking about.

The kiss was heated- it had to be, if Dan wanted to distract Phil. Dan passionately attacked Phil’s mouth, pulling Phil’s bottom lip into his mouth and biting down slightly. Phil’s mouth was sweet with the lingering taste of marshmallow, which Dan chased with his tongue as he deepened the kiss. Their lips moved together fervently and he pushed a hand up into Phil’s hair and tugged just the way Phil liked, pulling a soft moan out of him.

Dan finally pulled away, satisfied at the sight of Phil’s glazed eyes. He was definitely successful.

“Wow,” Phil sighed.

Smiling, Dan nodded, his nose brushing Phil’s.

Phil moved as if to kiss Dan again, but paused just before their lips could touch again. He looked up through his eyelashes and into Dan’s eyes, then breathed a soft question into Dan’s lips.

“Can I have s’more?”

“Phil!”

[wolfpawn]

When Ghosts Come For Us

Chapter 11

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

The night in Mr Brown’s went exactly as they suspected. Thomas was adamant his wife remain firmly by his side for it, and the only time she would leave it, was with Lucille, who shadowed her brother and sister-in-law when possible. When it was requested Lucille play the piano, Charlotte stayed by Thomas's side without question, so much so, she maintained a grip on him for a large portion of it.

‘Lottie?’ She looked up at him. ‘Mr Brown is coming this way.’ She pressed in against him. ‘How is your waltz?’

‘I am somewhat decent at it.’

‘Come.’ He took her hand and brought her onto the floor. Smiling encouragingly, he put his hand on her waist and leant in. ‘I suppose we were overdue a dance as husband and wife.’

‘Forty-six days overdue by my calculation.’ She smiled before a moment later, they started to dance. They moved perfectly in sync, Thomas taking into account the difference in their leg length so not to overstretch Charlotte, and she trusting his movements. The entire time they only looked at one another, smiling.

Lucille watched, displeased at the manner in which her brother looked at his wife. The whole room watched with keen interest. They had heard from Mr Brown that the once destitute Sharpes were now the wealthiest family in Cumbria in one fell swoop as a result of a very strategic marriage to the bright smiling, wealthy, yet unintelligent Lady Charlotte. When people saw them enter, they had already decided that the Sharpes were nothing more than opportunistic gold diggers, seeing Sir Sharpe dance with his wife, however, had people doubting their previous assumptions.

When the dance ended, she leant forward and kissed her husband’s cheek excitedly. ‘Thank you.’

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘It is my greatest pleasure.’ Placing his arm around her, he walked them to the side of the dancefloor, Mr Brown immediately made his way to them again. Thomas kept Charlotte by his side as they smiled at the oncoming man. ‘Mr Brown, such a wonderful evening you have put on.’

‘Yes, it is very good, if I may say so myself, Sir Sharpe. Lady Sharpe.’

‘The food is wonderful, as is your home, it is very beautiful. I love the marble, is it Italian?’

‘Thank you, Lady Sharpe, and yes, you have a keen eye. The design is that of my wife, she has impeccable taste. Would you see yourself doing the same to Allerdale Hall.’

‘My good sir, I do not think myself to have right to do so. It is my husband’s home and if I am honest, as a lover of all things artistic, I find I like things to remain in their original manner when possible. We are currently returning her to her former glory, as you saw for yourself.’

‘You are an artist, Lady Sharpe?’

‘I think the use of such a term on myself to be a gross exaggeration, I enjoy art, and dabble in such myself, but I am no artist.’

‘I disagree.’ Thomas declared. ‘I have borne witness to your work and I am proud to declare that I am fortunate to be in residence with two incredibly talented women, one of music and the other of art.’

‘And I seem to be in the presence of a man not of fit sight.’ Charlotte jested.

‘You do not see your talent, dear wife. I can attest, you are very capable.’ Thomas smirked back.

‘Capable I can accept, it does not suggest me somewhat proficient.’ She smiled.

‘I cannot get my good wife to take a compliment.’ Thomas grinned at Mr Brown.

Lucille, to their surprise, had ceased playing and returned to them. ‘Forgive my interrupting, but I require Charlotte to come with me.’ She stated.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen.’ Charlotte gave a slight curtsey and left with Lucille.

‘I have heard rumours, do not drink any wine.’ Lucille commented in a hushed tone.

‘I despise it anyway.’ Charlotte responded. ‘But dare I ask?’

‘Let me just say, you are not safe here.’ Charlotte looked at her. ‘You are too delicate for the harsh world of cutthroats and other such moralless men. How were you not harmed in your time alone?’

‘I went to three events in all that time, the rest of it, I spent by myself.’

‘Why those three?’

‘Because even I get lonely.’ She shrugged.

*

The evening became something of a cat and mouse game, Charlotte and Thomas used dancing to strategically avoid Mr Brown for too much time and Lucille would whisk Charlotte away if they were caught talking too long. By the end of it, Charlotte’s feet hurt considerably, but she avoided having too much time around Mr Brown, something that pleased her and the Sharpes, all knowing that she would be his main focus for the night. He tried to convince Thomas into playing a few rounds of cards, but every time, Thomas declined politely, stating himself not to be much of a player and that he never saw the appeal. When Mr Brown began to become adamant, he seemingly had a mild disagreement with his liquor, resulting in him becoming so inebriated that he was unable to speak or stand unassisted. At first, Thomas was convinced Lucille had done something, but she revealed that no, she had not.

When they arrived back at Allerdale Hall, it was almost morning. Charlotte thought it wise to make a small breakfast for them all before they got some rest, which Thomas thanked her for, while Lucille, as she almost always did, took her food to her quarters and said nothing.

There was silence between Thomas and Charlotte for the majority of their meal, neither looking at much other than their plates as they ate.

‘You are quite the dancer.’ Thomas looked up from his meal to see Charlotte smiling at him. ‘I suspected you would know how, but not be so...natural.’

‘It is expected to know how to dance.’

‘I think you to enjoy it, though. I do not think you merely do it out of expectation, not with the manner you did it.’ She smiled.

‘I must commend you also, I did not think you knew the Five-Step Waltz.’

‘I must confess, dear husband, I am something of a proficient in such.’ She beamed.

‘What others do you enjoy?’

‘A few, perhaps, if we were to dance again, you might find out.’

‘I will have to ensure we go to more dances if that is the case.’ He smiled playfully.

‘Perhaps we should.’ She returned the expression. ‘Thank you, Thomas, for protecting me from him. I could not bear if he were to act in a manner which would cause problems for your being permitted to reopen the mine as well as...I could not imagine something worse than what he does. I...I could imagine such, it truly would be a hellish prospect.’

‘I saw the child in question.’

‘I could not think of a worse prospect, a woman should never have to carry any but her husband’s child, the suffering childbearing can have, and for it to...’ She shook her head, she paused for a moment before rising from the table and walking over to the oven.

‘Lottie?’ She refused to turn around. ‘Charlotte?’

‘I...I need to go to bed.’ She walked out of the room and to the elevator to get upstairs, not paying any attention to the concerned look on Thomas’ face. She closed the elevator door and pressed the lever for it to move. Only a moment after she did so, she realised the elevator was going down instead of up. ‘Thomas!’ She shrieked. ‘Thomas!’

‘Charlotte?’ He rushed into the room and watched as the elevator went down. Seeing Charlotte looked at him in terror, he rushed to the stairwell that also led to the basement area and reached it mere few moments after her, seeing Charlotte shaking and looking around wide-eyed. ‘Charlotte, what happened?’ He opened the gate of the elevator. ‘Charlotte...Lottie, look at me.’ He urged.

Charlotte swallowed. ‘I...I pressed for it to go up, but it didn’t, it didn’t go up.’

‘It’s alright.’ Thomas hushed. ‘You must have just pressed the wrong way on the lever.’ He dismissed for a moment before looking at said lever and frowning. Sure enough, it was pressed correctly, she had done as she was supposed to. ‘It must be faulty, I will fix it.’

‘Get me away from here.’ She whispered against him.

‘It is not too bad here, just a little slippy and cold, not a pleasant place to be, it is not overly safe but there is nothing here to harm you.’ He stated, pulling her against him and taking her out of the elevator and through the room to the stairwell. When they got back to the main hallway, Lucille was halfway down the main stairs to them. ‘The elevator is malfunctioning, I will fix it.’

‘Is she alright?’

‘She just got a scare, nothing more.’

‘Her dress is stained.’

‘Somehow, I doubt that will be the highest concern.’ Thomas dismissed. ‘Go back to bed. I will bring her upstairs.’

‘Fine.’ Lucille, unbothered, turned and went back up the stairs.

‘Come on, Lottie.’ He gently guided her upstairs and to their room. When he got there he did not know what he should do, leave her in her dress or assist her out of it. Knowing that is was not possible for something so tight to be comfortable, he decided to assist her by untying a few buttons and fastenings. As he did so, he slowly was given access to more and more of her skin underneath. Finally, the scars that Charlotte had mentioned came into view. He swallowed as he looked at the deep and wide welts that were now permanently in her skin.

‘I am hideous.’

He was somewhat startled by Charlotte speaking. ‘You are not.’ He dismissed, opening more buttons and helping get the dress off her shoulders. Underneath, was a light slip that prevented her from being nude. She pulled the dress the rest of the way off and looked at it for a moment before placing it on a chair and taking a shawl, and placing it on her shoulders before glancing around, looking lost. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘I don’t know.’ She confessed. ‘Between tiredness and shock, I cannot recall.’ She simply just walked to the bed and got in, facing away from him.

‘Charlotte?’

‘Yes?’

‘May I…join you?’

‘It is your bed.’

Thomas undid his waistcoat and his shirt buttons and got into a lighter shirt and a pair of old pants no longer fit for public use before getting into the other side of the bed, Charlotte’s back to him the entire time. ‘I am sorry, for earlier.’ She turned slightly to look at him. ‘Whatever I said to make you rush off, I apologise for it.’

‘It was not you, it is just a memory.’ She stated. ‘Thank you, for saving me, again. All you ever seem to be doing is saving me. From Mr Hall, Mr Brown, rogue elevators. Thank you.’

Thomas felt his gut clench at her words, guilt pouring through his veins. ‘You make me sound almost as though I am a good person.’

‘Do you not see yourself as such?’

‘No, I am anything but.’

‘I think you wrong.’ She smiled, gently caressing his face before turning to have her back against him again and tried to fall asleep.

Thomas only looked at her, wishing he could bring himself to unleash all that tormented him to her, but knowing he never could.

Outside the room, Lucille leant back before heading back to her own room, satisfied at how once more, Charlotte was disinterested in consummating her marriage.

Tags

@sigridlaufeyson @wolfsmom1 @ilovekingt @whovianwookie86-captainxev @texmexdarling @lokiloveheart

[littleshebear]

The Narrow Road, Chapter Two; Training.

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER ONE |

This fic is taking a long time because of how I’ve decided to structure it. Flashbacks are bullshit, don’t do it fam. Anyway, onwards and upwards. In which Zavala gets beaten up a whole bunch, Sasha’s having none of it and the Titan Bros meet. 

Commander Zavala | OC: Sasha | Zavala x Female OC  | Zavala x Sasha | Lord Shaxx | Lord Saladin | Various OC’s | The Dark Age | Angst | Romance | Canon typical violence | Zavala getting in the ribs. Again. | Titan Bro Bants.

“The moon’s good”: They kick off their hakama for wrestling

- Hokushi.

“You’re going to die, you know.”

Zavala looked up at Shaxx quizzically, wondering how he could say something so ghoulish in such a casual tone of voice. They were on their way to combat training, Zavala’s first session. Shaxx was clearly an old hand, or at least he acted like one. Zavala couldn’t tell if he was trying to prepare him or if he was winding him up.

“Sorry but it’s true, you’re going to die today. More than once.” Zavala stopped in his tracks and kept staring at him. “You’ll get used to it. It’s all part of the experience.”

“Uh. Thanks for the heads up?” Zavala resumed walking and they carried on towards the sparring grounds on the outskirts of the settlement. “It’s fine. I’ve died before. Plenty of times.”

“In quick succession?”

“No can’t say it’s ever been more than once in twenty-four hours.”

“Get ready for more than once in twenty minutes.” They came to a halt with the other Risen from the settlement, who were gathered in a circle, waiting for the instructors to make themselves known. Shaxx leaned down and whispered, “People tend to be harsh with the new arrivals. Be prepared for that. You can team up with me if you like.”

“Would you go easy on me?”

“No.”

Zavala chuckled, then fell silent as an instructor entered the circle, and began to speak, projecting his voice across the field. “All right, pair up. Hand to hand combat today, Light abilities are not only allowed they are encouraged. Show us what you’ve got. Best of three, get to it!”

Zavala turned to Shaxx and asked, “Best of three?”

“Deaths,” Shaxx answered bluntly.

“Ah.” Zavala nodded. Shaxx wasn’t kidding about how many times he might die today. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. “Okay, so are we-”

“New guy!” Shaxx and Zavala turned to see Iakin glaring in Zavala’s direction. “With me.”

“He wants a rematch?” Zavala muttered.

While Shaxx shook his head slowly, Zavala suspected he was rolling his eyes behind that helmet. “Kick the little twerp’s arse. I’ll see you after.” He turned to the rest of the assembly and pounded a fist into his open palm. “Okay, who’s with me? Come on, step up. Anyone?” The other Risen avoided making eye contact and steadily drifted away from him, as though he had plague. “Oh come on. Come on! Oh, you bunch of wusses.” He eventually managed to grab a retreating Risen by the collar. “Come here. Oh it’s okay, it’ll be over soon.”

Zavala trudged toward his opponent, taking note of the state of the ground as he did. The foot traffic in this area had turned most of the snow to a treacherously slippy, brown, slush.

“All right,” the instructor called out once the group had been paired off. “Ghosts to a safe distance please.”

Izanami shuddered and turned her optic to Zavala for reassurance. “It’s fine, Iz.” Zavala cupped her shell in the palm of his hand. “It’s just to avoid friendly fire, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like this,” she glanced around nervously.

“Go with the other ghosts. It’s just a precaution, I’ll see you soon.”

“Very soon,” said Iakin, a smirk fixed on his face. She spun her shell to face Iakin and contorted her top two spines into a sharp ‘v’ shape. After she floated away to the edge of the sparring ground, Iakin asked, “Why does your Ghost have separation anxiety?”

“I told you, we’ve been through a-” He was suddenly interrupted by Iakin’s fist smashing into his face. Zavala staggered backward, tasting blood at the back of his throat. He spluttered and gingerly covered his nose with his hand. His nose was broken for sure, that would be Izanami’s first job when they were reunited. He suddenly realised Iakin was coming for him again and blocked his punch with his forearm. Iakin kept advancing, swinging left and right while Zavala was forced backwards, still not having recovered from that first sucker-punch. He eventually slipped and fell. He both felt and heard the crack when his head hit a rock, then everything went dark.

Alexandra had brought her bike to a halt at the crest of a hill overlooking a vast expanse of water, with a town nestled beside it. She chugs from a water flask before offering to Zavala who politely declines. He’s far too busy staring at the sight before him.

“Is...is that the ocean?” He supposes it must be the ocean, the water extends as far as the eye can see. He’s never seen this much water, not since he was revived and then he was eager to get away from the shallow sea he had obviously died in. His heart beats faster as images of darkness and cold panic skirt at the edge of his memories.

“Traveler help you, you really are lost, aren’t you?” She shakes her head, “No. We’re well inland here. That’s Lake Baikal. You’ll be staying at the Ranger Station there until we decide what to do with you.”

“What to do with me?” He wrenches his gaze away from the lake and frowns at his new-found...What is she to him? His guide? His protector? Or his captor perhaps?

Alexandra shrugs and screws the cap back on her flask. “You were out in the middle of nowhere, no weapons, no equipment. That’s unusual to say the least. The others will have questions about how you survived alone like that.”

Zavala drops his gaze to the floor, contemplating if he should just tell her the truth; that he didn’t survive, that he died over and over. What if his Ghost is being too cautious? This Ranger seems reasonable, terrifying when she has a knife in her hand but reasonable.

The crackle of a radio, then the sound of a woman’s voice interrupts the ensuing silence. “Sasha? You coming home tonight? Your dinner’s getting cold.”

She grins and picks up the radio and replies, “Yes, I’m on my way. Just pop my dinner in the oven for me, I promise I won’t be up past my bedtime. Seriously though, just taking a little pit-stop then we’ll be down.”

“We? Ah, yes, your stray. How long?”

“About half an hour, so don’t shoot.”

“Oh come on.”

“I’ve seen how bad your aim is, Dolores, your eyesight’s terrible. Wouldn’t put it past you to mistake us for Dregs.”

“Have a care. Age comes not alone, child, it’ll happen to you too. See you soon”

She pockets the radio and gets back on the bike. “Come on, let’s go.” Zavala ambles over and rides pillion behind her.

“Who was that? Another Ranger? How many of you are there?”

Alexandra pulls on her helmet and starts the ignition on the bike. “Not enough,” she sighs before setting off.

When they arrive, they’re waved through a massive gate set into a protective outer wall. After parking the bike, Alexandra beckons for Zavala to follow her through what pass for streets in this conflagration of humanity. The town is a mixture of crumbling Golden Age buildings, huts, lean-tos and what looked like converted shipping containers piled on top of eachother. Zavala winces at his Awoken senses picking up on the sudden cacophony of minds crammed into this space. The noise gradually quiets as he erects mental defences, more from instinct than anything else, he has no memory of learning how to do this. The occasional pointed, curious thought from someone staring at him in cuts through. The people here are dressed for hardship; tattered furs, cracked leathers and worn boots. Zavala is keenly aware of how out of place his white flight suit looks here.

He looks in the direction of the latest mental enquiry to breach his mental levees and sees that it’s Alexandra, staring at him intently. “You all right? You’re wincing.”

“I’m not used to this many people.”

“This an Awoken thing? I heard you people can sense things we can’t.” Zavala just nods, beginning to accept that he’ll most likely end up with a splitting headache before he gets used to this.  

“These people can’t all be headed for the Traveler?” He asks, looking around in amazement.

“No. You get all sorts here. Pilgrims, merchants, descendants of people who tried to get to the Cosmodrome during the Collapse. The Road is dangerous but it’s relatively safe here so some Pilgrims abandon the idea and settle. There’s some unsavoury types too, so stay close.”  They turn a corner and come to a ramshackle mess-hall set up in a large tent. “Get something to eat, I need to go debrief, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She points at him as though he’s a naughty child liable to run off. “Stay here. I mean it, don’t wander.” She shepherds him to the back of the queue before telling a man in armour similar to hers to watch him.

The line moves slowly and Zavala shuffles his way along, shoulders hunched and head down.

[I think I preferred it when it was just us.] Izanami complains.

[It’ll be fine, this is only temporary.] As he nears the head of the queue, the aroma from a massive pot of stew wafts towards him. He doesn’t recognise the smells, he just knows that they make his stomach clench and rumble. [Besides, it might be nice to rest properly. Hot meals. Sleep in a bed.]

[Zavala. Three o’clock.] Izanami says in a nervous, warning tone. [And nine o’clock and six...oh dear.] The others in the queue have stepped back while two men and one woman position themselves around Zavala. Their feet are planted far apart, their arms folded.

Zavala glances between the three of them. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the guy Sasha brought in?” Asks the woman.

“You mean Alexandra Ivanova? The Ranger? Yes.” Zavala unfolds his arms slowly, letting them drop to his sides. “Word travels fast, apparently.”

The three of them begin circling him and take turns firing questions at him, one after the other, “How long were you out there alone? Why don’t you have a weapon? How did you survive? Why are you dressed like that? You a pilot? Where’s your ship?”

Zavala does his best to keep an eye on each of them. His lips curls into a snarl, his annoyance overriding his sense of caution. “Do actually want me to answer these, or are you just trying to make a point?”

“Fulgrim sent you didn’t he? What is he after?”

“I’ll tell you what I told Alex- Sasha. Whatever. I don’t work for him. I’d never even heard of Fulgrim until today.”

“Liar!” One of the men yells. He’s stick-thin and wiry so Zavala is completely taken aback by his strength when he lands a punch in Zavala’s gut. He gasps and tries to back away, doubled-over.

He wraps one protective arm around his stomach and holds his other hand out, palm-up, in an entreating gesture. “Please don’t.” With that, the three of them set upon him, punching, kicking, scratching. Zavala collapses to the floor and curls into a fetal position.

[Fight back!] Izanami pleads.

[I can’t.]

[Yes you can! You’ve fought off Vandals hand-to-hand, this is nothing!]

[I might kill them.] Zavala screws his eyes shut, fighting against the brewing anger inside him. He doesn’t want his Light to manifest, not now but each blow from his attackers cause that little spark of heat in his chest grow and grow and until his skin begins to prickle and he feels that tell-tale jolt of power in his fingertips. He screws his eyes shut, crosses his arms  and balls his fists against his chest. He’s just about to yell, to scream a warning to his assailants to get back when a gunshot sounds just a few feet away. Zavala forces his eyes open to see who fired.

“What in the Traveler’s name are you doing?” Sasha is standing with a massive pistol aimed skywards, wearing a facial expression that’s one part incredulity, three parts murder.  She lowers her gun to point it in the direction of Zavala’s assailants. “Get back. All of you!” They shuffle backward, hands up. She holsters her gun and scowls in the direction of the armoured man toward the back of the mess. “What the hell, Goran? I told you to watch him.”

The man shrugs, leaning nonchalantly against one of the mess’ support beams. “I did watch.”

“They could have killed him!”

“I wouldn’t have let it get that far. You gotta admit, Sasha, it’s more than a little suss. You shouldn’t have brought him back here, you know he’s probably a scout.”

“You ever see a spy look as incongruous as him? Not much use as a spy, don’t you think?”

“Why take the risk?” One of the men who attacked speaks up. His gaze is still full of venom but he looks decidedly less confident than before. “Just chuck him back over the wall and be done with it.”

“He is my responsibility. If any of you touch him again, you can make your way to the Traveler by yourselves. How about we put you outside the wall with a couple days’ rations? You fancy traveling alone? During winter? Like the sound of that?

“You can’t make that decision, Sasha. You’re not in charge,” the ranger called Goran protests.

“Dolores can. Want me to call her?” Sasha’s suggestion is met with grumbling and shuffling. “That’s what I thought. Get out of here, all of you.” She glares after them as they retreat and the other pilgrims gradually gather back around to queue for food again, giving Sasha and Zavala a wide berth. She kneels at his side to help him up. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, wincing at a sharp pain in his chest as he gets to his feet.

[I beg to differ,”] Izanami interjects across their Link. [Two of your ribs are broken. You’ll have some serious contusions too, if you don’t let me do something about them.]

“Come on,” Sasha takes him by the elbow and steers him away from the mess tent. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Zavala nods, taking as deep breaths as his aching ribs will allow, not permitting himself to relax until he’s sure his Light has abated.

���Listen,” Sasha says as they walk side-by-side, “If anyone gets you on the ground like that again, kick at their legs. Strike with your heel, hard, and follow through. If you get the angle right, you might just break their shin or their knee.”

Zavala laughs softly and instantly regrets it as a fresh spike of pain lances through him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little scary?”

She smirks, not looking offended in the slightest. “I’m just practical.” She pats his arm. “Stick with me, you’ll be fine.”

Zavala gasped as his lungs filled with air. He blinked furiously as the world came back into focus and he saw Izanami hovering over him.

[Get out of the way] he told her silently. Iakin was standing with his back to them, laughing uproariously, calling to someone across the field.

“Did you see that? He must have a skull like an eggshell!”

Zavala waited until his Ghost was safely away before silently maneuvering himself around. He drew one leg back and kicked out hard, feeling his heel crash into the side of Iakin’s knee. There was a sickening snap and Iakin immediately dropped to the ground with an agonised scream. Zavala sprang to his feet and grabbed the back of Iakin’s head, fisted his fingers in his hair, pulled his head back then smashed his knee into his face. He let go of his hair and let him fall backwards, lifeless, like a rag-doll.

“WHOO! Yeah, that’ll learn him!” Izanami hollered from the sidelines, spinning her shell in jubilation. She noticed Iakin’s ghost staring at her. “What?” The other Ghost dipped the points of its shell in what could almost be a sigh before floating over to revive their Risen.

“All right,” Iakin said, getting to his feet after his Ghost brought him back, “All right. I got cocky. I’ll give you that one.”

Zavala resisted the urge to reply with a sarcastic quip and instead concentrated on finding a strong stance and anticipating Iakin’s next gambit. He brought his arms up to a defensive position and kept still, waiting for Iakin to attack. He watched him pace back and forth, trying to goad him into making the first move but Zavala remained impassive, staring him down. Iakin eventually gave in to impatience and charged at him, swinging wildly with his fists. Zavala blocked as best he could until he feels the hairs on his arms rise and his skin erupt in gooseflesh; there’s arc energy nearby. He raised a void overshield in response.

Iakin backed off when he realised his blows were to no avail. “That overshield won’t last forever, you know. Are you going to land a punch or-”

Zavala took Iakin’s jibe as an opportunity to drop the shield and summed the arc aspect of his Light. He rushed him, turning to a bright, crackling blur as he rammed his shoulder into Iakin at full force. He vapourised mid-taunt and Zavala stepped back, allowing himself a small, satisfied smile.

“Best of three, right?” He said, turning to the other sparring couples for confirmation. They had all stopped and were staring at him. A few whispers broke out and Zavala’s smile vanished. He looked around uncertainly until he found Shaxx, also staring at him. “What?” He mouthed.

With that, Iakin’s Ghost revived him and he immediately started yelling in the instructor’s direction. “That doesn’t count! This isn’t fair, how was I supposed to know he could do that?”

Zavala scurried over to Shaxx. “Do what? What did I do? you said we were meant to die, best of three deaths, that’s what you said.”

Shaxx cocked his head. “Uh, you switched between void and arc Light as though it was nothing.”

“So?” Zavala shrugged, nonplussed. “Was I not supposed to? No one told me I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“It’s not that you’re not supposed to. It’s rare. Especially for a youngster.” He looked toward Iakin, still protesting the injustice of it all. “He wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh.” Zavala nodded. “Oh, I see. Am I supposed to pick one or the other?”

“Not for me to say.” He jutted his chin toward another Risen walking toward the sparring ground. “Better to ask him.” This newcomer was dressed in armour that put most of them to shame. Aside from the ornately inlaid helmet, there was a slightly ramshackle feel to it. The parts didn’t all exactly match, there were obvious dents and scuffs, and it was complemented by somewhat ragged-looking cloth accoutrements. The effect was all the more intimidating though, he was a clearly a man who was no stranger to battle.

“Do you think the Fallen care one whit for fairness?” He spoke in a low growl that somehow managed to cut right through Iakin’s histrionics. He fell silent, bowing his head in deference. “You think a gang of Vandals will back off if you cry ‘fair play?’ Do honestly believe a Captain won’t use your bones as a boundary marker because you invoke rules of engagement?”

“No, my Lord.” Iakin mumbled in response.

“What have you learned?”

Iakin shot a surly glare in Zavala’s direction before responding, “Don’t underestimate your opponent.”

“And?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

“Good.” He nodded once before turning away. He stopped in front of Shaxx who nodded respectfully.

“Lord Saladin.”

“Shaxx. Vicious as ever.” A note of amusement had crept into that gravelly voice.

“Thank you m’lord.”

“And I see you’ve made friend. Good for you.” He turned to look at Zavala. “This one might give you a run for your money.”

“I hope so,” Shaxx said, giving Zavala a playful punch to the shoulder. “I was getting bored.”

“I won’t be here for the next couple of weeks at least, a matter in Old Russia requires our attention.” He glanced at Zavala, then back at Shaxx. “Keep an eye on this one for me. He’s got potential.”

“Will do. Is...” Shaxx hesitated. “Is Lady Efrideet going with you?”

Saladin snorted and turned to leave the sparring ground. He called back over his shoulder, “I’ll give her your regards.”

Zavala waited until Saladin was out of earshot before grabbing Shaxx’s arm. “Lord Saladin?” He whispered urgently. “As in war Lord?”

“No! No fear.” Shaxx assured him. “Iron Lord. They’re the ones who put Warlords down.”

“Oh,” Zavala visibly relaxed. “I don’t like Warlords.”

Shaxx looked at him askance. “You’ve had run-ins with Warlords? Zavala you’ve got stories to tell, why don’t you talk more?”

He gave a lopsided shrug and stammered, “I uh, I heard things. Never good things.” He took a deep breath and decided to change the subject. “So who’s Efrideet?”

“Ah,” Shaxx put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out. “Lady Efrideet.” He drew out the second syllable of ‘Lady’ in a happy sigh. “I like Lady Efrideet.” He clapped an arm around Zavala’s shoulder and walked him back towards the camp. “Let me tell you about Lady Efrideet…”

[ataraxetta]

2500 words of hurt!Noct ignoct (with bonus Gladio carrying Noct bridal style), by me, in hopes of one day finishing it! Canon-divergent AU, because Ifrit is a summon in it (as he damn well should have been in the game,tyvm)

=========

There’s something to be said of their luck since leaving Insomnia - or rather the lack thereof - but stumbling into an actual nest of Malboros is a new low, even for them.

Ignis can only recall bits of the battle between crashing waves of illness, blindness, and disorientation. The monsters’ fetid breath, the slimy tentacles leaving blistering burns on skin, the sound of glass breaking and blessed cool energy soaking in, coming to his senses in time to see Prompto or Gladio or all three go down, tossing Phoenix Downs and Fire spells between them without having to pause or even look at each other, listening to his friends’ screams of pain beneath the shrieks of furious monsters, finally slaying one only for three more to surge forward. Prompto’s perfect aim and magic-infused bullets taking the heads off two of the young Malboros one after the other, Gladio’s greatsword cleaving another in two, trading his own daggers for a spear to break through the hard outer layer and pierce the heart of a fully mature one. And Noctis.

Noctis, a blur of energy and magic, feet never touching the ground, slashing and hacking and cleaving, fire surging from his hand one moment and the cool green relief of restorative magic the next, taking hard hits and picking himself back up, taking harder ones and lying unmoving until the skies rip apart and Ramuh picks him up instead.

Together the four of them kill two, six, nine of the twenty or so in the nest, but in the end it’s the Astrals that win the battle for them. They’ve run out of items, out of energy, out of strength. As seamless as the four of them have become in battle, they’re outmatched, end up helpless, struggling to keep their heads above swamp water, blind and deaf and dumb from the Malboros’ attack.

Fitting, then, that the monumental magic of the Crystal is a visceral, otherworldly thing. Ignis doesn’t need to see or hear - he can feel it in Noctis’s power that binds them, in the ethereal crackle of energy in the air. Noctis holds nothing back, terrified and furious, calling on the gods who have willingly bowed down before him and offered their aid. He calls them sparingly at the start of the battle and then one after another - Ramuh, Titan, Leviathan, Shiva, Bahamut - over and over until finally the most stubborn of them heeds his summons and appears, sweltering heat as the earth shakes and groans and opens up for Ifrit to rise. Ignis is swept out of the way by an enormous paw, hits the ground hard and lies dazed. His hearing returns in time to take in the agonized shrieks of the Malboros in the throes of Ifrit’s Hell Fire.

Then it’s over.

There’s a wash of cool light, a touch of soft fur across Ignis’s arm and then the now-familiar feeling of a pointed little horn pressing delicately to the center of his chest, and the sickness and blindness go too. The evening air is cool, crisp. Birds are singing, a creek is trickling somewhere nearby into the swamp. Ignis rolls to his front and gets to his knees, straightens his glasses to see Prompto and Gladio nearby doing the same.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Prompto’s saying, laughing a little wetly, a little hysterically. “Holy <i>shit!</i> I can’t believe we made it.”

“Yeah, thought we were done,” Gladio admits, sounding rather shaken.

Ignis doesn’t say anything, his eyes on Noctis, who is standing thirty or so feet away at the edge of the swamp with his arm still outstretched, the pure light of a Cure spell still shimmering at his fingertips. His breathing is wet and audible even from so far away, his eyes a deep crimson. Slowly, his arm lowers. He sways, blinks.

His eyes are blue again when he opens them, and then they’re bleeding, blood falling like tears from the outside corners, gushing from his nose, dripping slick and wet from both ears. Ignis is stunned still; they all are, frozen with fear and horror. Noctis stumbles a step toward them, stops. He lifts his hand to his ashen face, and when it comes back stained red his eyes widen, expression changing under the blood, terrified. Ignis can feel him, Noctis’s magic weak but reaching for him anyway, always, urgent and vital and tinged sharp with his fear. In a small voice, Noctis says, “Ignis?”  He manages one more unsteady step before his legs give out beneath him, his face suddenly slack and waxen, mouth open and eyes rolling back into his head as his body begins to seize. He falls. Ignis’s world stops spinning, tilts on its axis.

He hears the yell of <i>“Noct!”</i> echoing around the clearing before he realises he’s spoken, dragged out of him, tearing from his throat to hit the air raw and bloody.  Gladio is closer, and the faster mover even with his bulk. He manages to get to Noct just in time to stop him from hitting his head on the ground, grunting with effort as he takes Noctis’s deadweight. Ignis skids to a halt on his knees next to them a moment later and Gladio doesn’t fight as Ignis pulls Noctis from him and into his own lap, bending over him, frantic.

His hands are covered in Noctis’s blood almost immediately, slippy-red and so much of it it feels fake, like a costume Noctis has put on, like a practical joke and any minute he’ll wipe it away and open his eyes and laugh at Ignis for worrying.

It doesn’t happen. Noctis isn’t joking. He doesn’t even move, still and limp. Noctis’s blood pressure must be rising through the roof, stasis so complete he’s in danger of stroking out, still trickling blood from nose and mouth and eyes. Ignis ignores it, fingers shaking as he feels for Noctis’s pulse.

“Noct, Noct,” Prompto pants, dropping to his knees next to them, his voice tremulous with terror and exertion. He’s as grubby and exhausted and worried as any of them, the fight taking a toll on them all, but Ignis hardly notices any of that. Can’t, not when Noctis’s breaths are fading in his lap. When Prompto shuffles closer, accidentally jostling Ignis and Noctis in his arms as he leans closer over his friend, and Ignis forgets himself in his panic.

“Give him space!” he snarls, and chokes himself off at the sharp slice of guilt that cuts into him when Prompto shrinks away from him, eyes big with shock and wet with tears. Noctis’s pulse is beating under Ignis’s fingers, slow, too slow, and soft, but steady.

“C’mon, hey, it’s okay,” Gladio says, drawing Prompto away and into his side, dropping an arm around his shoulders in a comforting half-hug as Prompto leans on him, gaze fixed on Noctis. Gladio says, “Ignis. <i>Ignis</i>. I got no potions left, you got anything?”

No. No, Ignis doesn’t have any left, because he’d used them all, back in the fight, because in the middle of that wretched battle he’d thought he’d known what desperation was.

“I got one,” Prompto blurts, delving into his pockets. He looks almost afraid to creep back in close enough to hand it to Ignis, but Ignis doesn’t need him to; he’s not going to take his hands off Noct even long enough to pour a potion down his unresisting throat. He wants to apologize but can’t pry the words from his trembling mouth, able only to think them uselessly as he manages a sick-feeling smile and jerks his head to invite Prompto closer, <i>I’m sorry</i>.

Nevertheless, Prompto seems to understand. He grins back, always so easy to forgive, and unearths the potion from one of his pockets with a triumphant sound as he scrambles back to Noctis’s side. He’s about to break the potion over Noctis like usual, but Gladio catches his hand and says, “He needs to drink some first, in case there’s anything internal.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Prompto says in a high, quick voice, nodding so vigorously his head must rattle, and rearranges his grip on the flask to  pulls the seal away and open the mouth of it instead. Ignis tilts Noctis’s head up a little and between them Gladio and Prompto manage to get a little bit of the potion into him, Ignis stroking gentle fingers over his throat to encourage him to swallow and feel the movement when he does. They wait for a short eternity for the magic to take, and when Noctis finally takes a shuddery breath, slowly rouses enough to actively swallow another mouthful, the relief leaves Ignis trembling. He brushes Noctis’s hair out of his eyes as they flutter open, glazed and dull with exhaustion.

“There he is,” Gladio says, sounding as weak with relief as Ignis feels, smile obvious in his tone. He checks Noctis’s pulse with steady fingers and then pats his torso down gently, feeling for injuries, before taking the open flask from Prompto’s unresisting hands and breaking it over Noctis’s middle. The remainder of their lone potion splashes over his thin chest and torso and is immediately absorbed, leaving behind only the residue of the catalyst that Noctis had used when he created the curative, fizzy bright green energy drink staining his t-shirt and sticky on the patches of skin showing through where the fabric has been shredded. Gladio says, “All right, how we feelin’, princess?”

Noctis croaks out a, “Fine,” and hardly reacts when Gladio gives his hair an affectionate ruffle. His glazed eyes follow Gladio’s hand as it lifts away, gaze passing slowly over Prompto and Gladio, filthy and bruised and grinning, and then up to Ignis, who smiles down at him weakly. Noctis’s brow furrows and he lifts a hand glimmering with healing magic to Ignis’s cheek, where a cut is still bleeding sluggishly. Ignis takes his hand before he can touch it and expend more energy that he doesn’t have and lowers it back down, squeezing briefly when Noctis frowns at him. It would be cute if his face wasn’t still gruesomely streaked in blood.

“Don’t start,” he scolds.

“That was fucking awesome, Noct,” Prompto says earnestly. “Don’t ever do it again, okay?”

Noctis makes a pathetic attempt to wave a hand at him and Prompto laughs, reckless drawn out giggles that are most certainly hysterical this time. He keels over exhaustedly and drops onto his backside in the grass, covering his eyes with shaking hands. “God, what a day. I can’t believe that happened. Did that really happen? That tipster guy at Meldacio said it was just one. He even had a <i>flyer</i>. You know how many Malboros were on that flyer?” Prompto holds up a single finger, ever theatric. “You guessed it, one. There was only supposed to be <i>one.</i>” He huffs a loud sigh and rakes his fingers through his hair, dragging it back off his forehead and pulling it tight with his hands flat on top of his head so his whole face moves with it, making him look three-quarters crazed instead of just half. “I knew that was too much cash for a single monster hunt. Bullshit. I’m sleeping for the next ten years.”

Gladio snorts and catches Prompto by the shoulder to keep him upright when he tries to flop onto his back. “Not yet, kid. We still got a nice long hike back to the car, and it’ll be dark soon.” He pats Prompto vaguely on the head at the answering groan of despair. “We can loosen the purse strings a little though, get a room tonight. Right, Iggy? ”

Ignis nods, still unable to tear his eyes away from Noctis and using the time to gently clean the blood from his face with the hem of his soaked shirt. “Yes, of course. We should have enough for a suite, and the reward money for this should cover us for a few days once we cash it in.”

“Days?” Prompto says hopefully.

“We could all use the rest,” Ignis replies. Noctis lies shivering and pale in Ignis’s lap, abnormally quiet even for him, his gaze distant and unfocused and his reaction time slow when Ignis strokes his wrist and says his name. He’s still dangerously drained and very weak, lacking the energy to even keep his body heat at a normal level in the cold air, and Ignis can tell how shaken he is by what happened. He needs real rest. They all do.

No one is faring well after such an absolute clusterfuck of a battle, and even with the motivation of a hot shower and a real bed at the finish line, it takes longer than it should to finally gather their wits enough to move, spurred on by the sudden crash of thunder and the clouds opening up overhead with a steady rainfall. Gladio gathers Noctis carefully up into his arms and stands, and it’s testament to how poorly Noctis must be feeling that he doesn’t protest being picked up like a child or insist on trying to make it to the car on his own two feet as he normally would, but curls up a bit as though to make himself smaller and tiredly rests his cheek on Gladio’s chest.

“Noct,” Prompto says gently, apparently lost for other words. He’s twitchy and restless with worry, freckles stark on his too-pale face and fists clenched at his sides. As Gladio turns and starts to make his way out of the swamp toward the walking trail, Ignis hangs back with Prompto for a moment and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“He’ll be all right,” says Ignis.

“Yeah, I know. He’s just…” Prompto murmurs, trailing off into silence for several seconds, lost in thought as they start off after Gladio’s retreating form. Eventually, he says, “He seems scared, y'know? Seems unlike him. Or, I dunno, maybe it’s not. He’s been dealing with this stuff his whole life, right? Maybe he’s always been scared and I just never knew.”

Ignis feels a tug at his heartstrings in the face of his friend’s obvious uncertainty, wishing he could offer some encouragement or words of comfort and reassurance that Prompto’s chronic insecurity would allow him to actually believe and knowing nothing but time and experience will be able to bolster his fractured confidence.

“I know, as are we all,” Ignis tells him in his kindest voice, returning the faint grateful smile Prompto gives him, “but Noct will be fine. We’ll make sure of it, as soon as we’re out of this bloody swamp. Shall we?”

[magicalbuffalotransformerman]

urban legend wrestle time

[i have a big brain, goddamn. alright, let's do this. basically: autobot!rocketjumper and supercannibal!bonecrusher have a brawl, and then they reconcile and fuck on the mountain. not very creative, but it's fun. enjoy. also: i explicitly wrote the bit where they fuck. so. watch out. for that. yeah. oh, right: this is non-canon towards the current events in the bone gang. don't worry.]

[On a snowy night in the Canadian Rockies, stationed in an Autobot outpost, a bored Rocketjumper stares out the open window. The sole weapons expert (or the most famous one) that resides within this outpost, Ironhide, strolls up the stairs with two cubes of Energon.]

Ironhide: Hey. How'zit goin' up here?

A!RJ: Have you heard the rumors, that Bonecrusher still functions?

Ironhide: Please don' tell me you wan' t' hunt 'im down.

A!RJ: Sorry, dude. Studying the abnormal weather patterns out here has got my processor all numbed, and I don't want to waste the weather today. Is one of those cubes for me, by any chance?

Ironhide: Yea, I'm jus' gonna leave it in th' fridge.

A!RJ: Oh no, don't worry about it, Ironhide. I'm topped up already.

[She gets off of the couch, and sits in the windowframe.]

Ironhide: Y' could always tell me t' get outta the way, y'know.

A!RJ: Nah, I might as well give him an advantage. See you later!

[She hops out of the window.]

Ironhide, facepalming with a free hand: Primus, give m' strength.

-

[starving. nobody around. twitchy monster. self-hate incarnate. scream to assert dominance? no. new scent... r o҉ ́c̕ k e͟ ̡t j u ̨m ͘p e͠ r͠ . looking for a spar or a fight. three miles away̡̨͟. get to the cave and wait.]

-

[Rocketjumper scales her way up the slippery slopes of the mountainside. She thinks about searching in some of the caves, presuming that that's where Bonecrusher would hide first, if he were sane. If he IS sane. She didn't believe that the rumors were true at first, but upon looking up, three miles away... a trail of snow is being kicked up by a Buffalo MPV. She starts a sprint, and transforms, maneuvering around any imperfections in the mountain below her.]

-

[THERE SHE IS. s̴̴̷̸̨t̕͢͢omp on the gas. drive through t̷̀h̡͢͏͝e̷̛͠ cave systems. lose her in there.]

-

[Mnnnyyeeerrrr... She's focused on slicing Bonecrusher up into a little pile of ground chicken. Rocketjumper isn't sure if Bonecrusher is still sane. He seems so, maneuvering into the cave ahead. Maybe he thinks he can lose her in there. We'll see. She might not even fit in there.]

-

[echoes of engines. an hour later. in the cave, at the deepest part of the mou͞nt̡ain above. C͟H̨́͟͟K̵̵̨̛͢-̵̛͘͡C̵̛H̵̶̛̀͜K̛͡-̵̵̀͞͏C̴҉H̸̕͞K͞. she won't follow. too narrow. hide in a cove in case.]

-

[Rocketjumper activates her echolocation systems, and honks her horn. A fury of noise rumbles throughout the cave, until... Five miles down, there lies the legend himself. The opening above him seems thin. He can't escape from anywhere else. She sees this as the perfect time to strike, transforming and going for a ride.]

-

[what was that? a horn? what's she think she's gonna do with a horn from 5 miles above? wait... INCOMING. prepare claws. lose to the instincts. k̵ i͏͜͠ l l͢ ̧̕.]

-

[Rocketjumper uses one of her blades as well as her feet to slow down, once she arrives at the opening. Seeing as... yeah, no, that won't fit her thicc ass, she chooses to kick this obstacle so that it opens wider.]

[shesc͘o͢m̷̀͡i҉n͘gdowns̸̷̛͘h͏̵̡e̴̛͞ś̛͞c͞͏omingdow͞҉n̴͢s̸͢ǹa̵͟R̷̶̕͜Ļ̧҉̛́Ś̸͝Ǹ͢͠Ą̵͡R̷̛̀͟͢Ĺ̶͘̕S̵͜͢͢͡N̡̛A͏̷̡̛҉R҉̛Ļ͟]

[Hmm. A snarl? She decides to bait Bonecrusher into chasing her back up the 5-mile-long slippy slide she just endured, with her boot.]

[F͏͡O҉Ò̶̶͟͟Ţ̸͡-̸̨͝B̨̢͡Į̸͟T̸̀È̡̧͠-̴̴͢B��̸͏̢́I҉̧̕҉T҉͜͞͝E̸̸͝͞͠-҉̵̢͜B͜͟Ì̶̵Ţ̴́́E҉̵-͏̶̵̢B̸̛I͢͟T̷̛̀͜E̛̕͜͝-̵̵S̷̶͟͟͢Ĺ̡̢A҉͟S̵̸H̸̵͠-҉̷̴S̵̨͜͜L̶̢A̵̷̛͢S̴̨͜͟͠H͘͝-̸͜Ś҉̨L҉̸̴̧͠A͟͜͝S̵̕͝H̶]

[Ohp, that got him riled up. She begins her ascent, with a very ballistic cannibal hot on her tail.]

-

[Once she reaches the cave mouth, she slides on her feet a bit, and waits for Bonecrusher to come rolling out, roaring like a rabid wolf.]

[iG̕K̡͠J́D̛̕NSGSLg͞lhld... s͡hh҉.͡m. hhh. h. cool it. slowly now. click the mine claws.]

[That's not what she gets, however, and she's fine with it.]

A!RJ: So, you still function. How's it going, midget?

BC: h̩̟̖̼̬͜h̰͙̭̺̻̯͇̲h̡͉͎ͅ.̡̟̖͖̯̮̩.҉͙̜̖̜͈̯͉͕́ͅ.̭̦̣̙̯͎̰͡ͅ ҉̯ͅh͍̟̗͈͖̘͞h͈̪̩̭͙̜̀͞h҉̼͓͓̤̥͡.̡̼̝̤̰̮̼̩͎.̴͏̦̣̖.͏̱͔̹̩̮̖̳͇̗͟ ̳̹̖̝̬͘̕͢b̡͈̭̱̪͙͎͞e͏̨̨̘̦͔͍̰͉t̨҉̨̰̱̙͎͎̯̟͖ͅr̹͍̝̗̙͍̗a̩̣̣y̷̮̰͈̠̱͝a͖̻̺͚̼l̝̮̪͡ͅ ̙̩̯́͠s̠̩͉̗̝̜̣̩͜͢͞t̬̭̮̰͖̕a̗͎̜̣͙͢͡͝r̦̲͍͢͟͝i̷̹̰̖n̴͕͔͢g͚͕͇̥̹͈ͅ ̢҉͇̯̗͙̲̮̘m̷̤̺͉͟͡e̶̤͓̗͝ ̛͉̳̯͞d̛͕͈̮͉̠̼̥͕o̸͓͍̲̠͇̝̣̤w҉͈̟̞̠̤̞̗n̨͎̹̤̺.͉ ͜͏̦̼̙̠̟y̷̥̹̬̯̳͝͠o̙͈̬̹̩̫͢u҉͏̛͖̯ͅ'͍͍͓̕͘v̫̬͉͢è͈͙̳̤͕̙͖̱͘ ̮̳̝́ņ̳͘͡o̖̖̬̣̜̖̦͘ͅt̤̝̯͖͕͖͘͡ ̨̘̝͙̳̤̻͙̭̀c̢̖͓͎̣͓h̺̞̮̭̜̻̱͡o̷̙̞̫̯̞s̝͙̫̦̲̟͚̝͘͡e̴̹̺̱̻̬̜n̙͉͎̜̠ ͇̻̙̳͙̫̝̜̮a̖̭͡ ̵͖̭ͅg̬͈̺͕͔̹͔o̟̗̺̳͍͘ơ͙͕d̨͞҉̗̘̯͉̺ ̧̖͖̭͔̠d͙͇́a͚͞y̸̩̳͈ ̩̗̣̟̯̘̺̜t̴̢҉͓̞̹̭o̪̗̱̜͠ ̛͈̟̯͈̯́á̫̫̺̤̼g̟̘̭̭̰̥̱͈͝͡i̢̹̰͇̬̗̱̭͕͡t҉̺̘̟̤̭̤͝ͅa̞͘ţ̷̺͚̟̪͉̻̜͜ͅę̩̮̘ ̼̮̬̯̗m̸̬͇͓̻̞é͉̀͠.̵̸͎͔̩͈

[Oh, did I mention his voice box is fucked up from her blade slicing through it, back in Antarctica? My apologies. He can even barely speak Cybertronian at this rate.]

A!RJ: Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you all the way down there.

BC: ģ̷è̢̕t̛͢t̀͜͏i̴҉͢ņ̧͞ǵ̢̡̨ ͠͝c͏ớ͞c̸̴̢̛k̕y̡͢҉,̕͢͞͡͏ ̴̸͢͟͞a͏҉̴̕r̛͢e̷̶̛̕͜ ̧͢ẁ͠e̸͝?̢̢͠

A!RJ: I still remember when you tried to take on Prime, you know. Watched it through his optics with a special optical camera system. If you couldn't kill that prick, then what chance do you have against me?

BC: i̴̡̕͡ ͘҉̢́w̷̴̧o̴n̢͘d̸̷̡èr͟͢ ͠͠w͏̴҉͝h͘͢a̵̢t̸͏̴͜ ̷̡͢y̨̛o̶̢̡͝ú̶̷̷́ ̢t҉҉̛͡a̷̛͡͡҉s͢͡t́͢͠e̡͢͝ ͟͞l̢͘͝í̷̶͘k̕͟͠e̸̢̛͞͞.̷̀̕͠

[r̷͠͞͡u͏͡s͘͠h̢̛̀̀́]

[Oh, here he comes. She blocks his first mine claw attack, yet fails to realize that he tackled her like he did Optimus. He gets some good flesh wounds (and removes some skin chunks) in through her armor, before she knocks him down into the snow.]

A!RJ: Hey, at least y-

[S̶̨͟T̶̷̷̴͟Ŕ̛̀̕͝ÍK̶̷̷͢͠E͘͝N̶̶͠Ò̀̕͜W̨͝͠͏͢]

[He managed to catch Rocketjumper during an attempt at a monologue, digging his digits into her abs. She retaliates by trying to stab him.]

[ḑ̛̛͡o̴͜҉d̸̨̨͠͝g̨̀è̡a̵̛ń̷̢͟͠d̵̢c̢͘͜ò̶̡͜͠ų̴̡̛ņ͜͞͞t̸̸͘̕e͟r̴̛͜͞͝]

[She misses. He swings at her face, ripping her mask (and a bit of her cheek) off. She's not prepared for the fury of a bot scorned, as it seems.]

[̷̵͞t̴̶͟͝h̨̕͝͡͞e̡͏̡b̧̡́͢o̵̶͏o̷͢b̸̨͝҉ş̛͘ḩ҉̧̛u͏̢̡͜͜r͟͜͡t̵́̀͜t̀͞h̷̵̕e̷͞҉m͝͞͏o̸̸̕͘͝s͢͞͞͝t͏̡̛͟]͜͠

[HE'S TRYING TO RIP HER TITS OFF. Foul move, as he comes to realize, when an equally foul sword chops into him like a lumberjack's axe into a tree.]

[̕͢d̶̸ì̴̛̕͟ḑ̛i̷͏s҉̵̷̧͜a̶̢͜͞͠y͢͠i͏́c̸̷̢͢ớ̵u͘͏l͏̡d̴̶̢̧̕d̵͏i͟҉̡e̡͝͠͠e̸̕͢͠͞e͢ę̧̨͝]̵̵͠

[He's not reacted to that, and he instead goes for the eyes, knocking Rocketjumper into the snow.]

BC: i̡̕͘͜͡ ̴̨͟҉w̵͟͏̵̕ó̴̡ń̢̛͡͏d̵͠͝e̴̶̛̕ŗ̶̛͝ ̡̢̧͡w̡͜h҉͡ą̧͞͡͏t҉̷ ͠ì̸̷͟͢t̵̴͞'҉̷̨̛͠s̷̢̡͢͏ ̧́͞l̕͡i̷̶̷͠k͢͝e͜͜͝҉ ̶͢͢͠b̵̢͞҉e̴͠i̴̷��̛͟ǹ̢͠g҉̴ ̨̡͞b̶͘҉l̸̴͢͏i̡͢ǹ̴̵͡d̶̴̛͞.̵̸̸͝

A!RJ: GET OFF OF ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT.

[She delivers a mighty boot into Bonecrusher's back, and knocks him a good couple dozens of feet down the mountain. She gets up onto her feet, and wipes her swords clean of energon.]

[.̛.͏.̶]

[She's waiting for a response.]

[...r҉.eco̷̕͝ncKỊ̡̜̲̹̙͓͟͜L̢͏̞̲͓̦́̕L̛͖̞͇̳͈̺̲͜͠]

[He charges, and swipes near Rocketjumper's face, just enough to give her some good scars, maybe even blind her. She decides to stop playing fair with him, and sends a blade through his spine.]

[̴͞N̵̴̕Ò͏͝Ņ̸͜O̴͜Ǹ̨̕͝͝O͠҉N̕O͢N̛O҉͡҉̷N̸̛͠Ơ̸̢͟N҉͝O͟͠͏͡Ņ̵͠҉O̧͘͟͜N̸͢͡O͞͏N͢͏̀O̴̕҉]̧҉

[He manages to get up from this, digging his mine claw deep into Rocketjumper's chest to help him get some footing, before knocking her over and holding onto his own legs to continue moving.]

A!RJ: [Coughing up a bit of energon.] What the fuck? WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING UP?

[She uses a rocket tube to send some high-heat destruction point-blank. She scores a direct hit...]

[...and it didn't affect Bonecrusher in the slightest. He pounces onto Rocketjumper. (Hey, did you know that these bots' pupils change shape into hearts when they see a loved one? That's what's going on here. One of his eyes has got a cat pupil, and the other is a heart. He's also got a death grip around her ribs.)]

BC: ŕ̕.̡ ̴r̸͘͞ock̸ì̧è͟͡.͏̡̀ í.҉͢..̢̡̕

A!RJ: [spits some energon into his face] So what? Stop being sappy and kill me already.

BC: N̷͢O̷̷̢͞.͡͏͟ i ͢͠w͢͡a̵͝nt́͢ ҉t̷́͢o̶ ̡̨͞rę̕c̵ǫ̸n͠c̷̕ile͢.̡̛

A!RJ: Wouldn't've expected this from any other rabid beast, to be honest... well. You've got me down, but not out.

BC: ...jųs̢t͟ ҉l̶̨͡i̸ḱ̷̡e͟͢͡ ̷old̷̡͠ ̴̛t͢͏i̡͠͞m͜es̡?

A!RJ: Ah, fuck it. Nobody else has been bold enough to give me a pounding, and it's been kinda painful the last couple of months. I haven't even been able to touch myself, because everyone's been giving me tasks. This shit is exhausting, dude.

[She's given a cute-yet-menacing smile by Bonecrusher, as he descends and gets inbetween her thighs, delicately moving past her armor skirt and sport shorts. She adjusts herself so that she's more comfortable.]

A!RJ: What kinda monster possessed you to keep your sanity in the first place, anyway?

BC: were͢ ̨you t͝r͞ying͢ to̕ g̸o f��o̷r̶ ͏m͢y p͘roc͞esso̴r̸?̶ ̸be̢c̕a̕u̸se ͝y͞o͝ư m͠i͞s͏s͞e̢d̨,̡ ͏if͝ sơ.͘ ҉o͟ţh̵e͝ŕwi͠se͟, ͏i d̷u̢n͢ņo.̸

A!RJ: Hmm. I've got some lube in a backpocket if you wanna get to the nitty gritty, 'less you're alright with foreplay.

BC: oơh,̴ l̕úbe?̢ ̕s҉ur͏ȩ!̢

A!RJ: Alright, hold on a minute.

[She reaches into a backpocket, feeling around. She feels the bottle almost immediately, and pulls it out, pulling her pocket inside out. She hands it over to Bonecrusher, and fixes her pocket.]

[rubadub. rubadub. apply it everywhere. maximum slippy. perfect. entry sequence.]

[Feeling Bonecrusher's dick back inside of her after 4 years of impleasure has got her going. She begins purring like a cat, while Bonecrusher starts out gentle with her. He's... gotten a lot bigger than she remembers.]

A!RJ: H-hoogh,,, this feels fucking surreal.

[Bonecrusher is keeping down some noises of his own. Very disturbing-sounding noises, but pleasurable noises nonetheless.]

BC: it'̶s.͡.̨.̶ be҉eǹ ̢s̸o͜ ̢l͟o̶n̢g͢ si̕nce ̢w͠e la͜st fu̸c͠k͟ed.̵ i̕ ̀ca̛n̶'t. ̨th͝in̛k ̸s̷t̵r̀ài͞ght.

A!RJ: Well... got any top-hhgnnm,,, topics for discussion? Or are you not into fuck-versations anym-nn..n...more?

BC: no̧t͢ ͘s̴u̵r̨e. i d̵o ̡mi̸s̴s th͡e͜ f̕em̸b-̷g̡͢h̴̢go̴o̸͜ḩ͟g̨͟h̕̕h͜.̛͏̷..̸͡ ͠..͠.à-̡a͘n̨d̢ the͘ g̨r̴ump͏, ͟and͞ ever̢y̷on̕e e̕lse̷. ͘i'̨m̶ ́gl͝a̵d m̡ar̨r̕o͘w̷b͝-͘ ̸ḩ̷̵͘͡Á͜A̴͟G͏͏̕͜g̸̨͟͝͠ḩ̴.͏̵.͘͞-mmm͏b̧e͡r t̕ried̷ ͢his͡ b̨est͢ ̶to h͜el͞p̡ mé ͟ou̵t.̛ ͏i̛ w̵ońd͘e̢r̨ wher͜e ̴th̛ę ҉p̛oor bu̧g̶ger is- ̷s̵͜s̶s̵͠h̴̕̕͡h̶͞i̴̸͘t̶͠.̨͏̨.͝͠͡.̡̨.́

A!RJ: heh... Yeah. Marrowbomber. I haven't seen that guy since I first got to the base. Kinda wish the Autobots didn't k- hhh.h... kidnap me, but hey. I got to let out some frustration, and that's always fun.

BC: on̴ly̢ ḱin͠da?

A!RJ: ...Yeah. Brainw- mm.... brainwashing has that kinda effect on you sometime, y-y,.y,y,,, y-know?

BC: g͠o͝d daM͠ni̶t.͡ ìt fe͞èls ͢ļiķe̵ yo̵u̡'r̕e̴ ̀t̸ryna m̛ilk me҉ o̶v̶er ̷he͡r͏e.̛

A!RJ: And what's so wrong about that?

BC: y̢ou̴ ̸̴mi̡̨n̷͜d ̵͞i̵͏f̢͜ ҉͠i.̷͠.̸̨.͝͝?̴͢

A!RJ: What's stopping you?

BC: h̴͢͠h͢͟͢h͟.͞.̧.́.͢

[With that thought, Bonecrusher lets loose a good ol' torrent of cum, right then and there. Did you know that cum glows in the dark?]

A!RJ: Oohohhoh.... [giggle]

BC: [accelerated twitching, and a ferocious SNAP.]

A!RJ: ...Was that your spine?

BC: i ̡can̴ f̛e͢el ̨my͝ ̶le̷g͜s͠ ͡a͡gain.̀ ̶g҉od be dam̴ned.̧

A!RJ: Hey, uhm... You wanna come live with me in the outpost a couple miles away, Boney?

BC: ...i͞'̧d̛ l̸o͡v͝e͡ t̡ó.

[And so, with that, Rocketjumper and her ex-husband head back to the outpost, with a... very confused Ironhide ahead.]

-

[Knock knock.]

Ironhide: C'm'in.

[Rocketjumper opens the door. Ironhide looks over, and raises an eyebrow.]

Ironhide: What happened t' you?

A!RJ: Well, I found Bonecrusher. He's still alive, and he's... well, he's right here.

[in comes the cannibal.]

BC: ir̢onh̀i̴de̡.͠ h͠av͡e͠n͝'t͜ ͞s̶e̷e҉ǹ ̀yòu͠ ͡sinc҉e 200͞7҉, ͡m̀y͡ guý. ̶h͘ow'̕s i҉t g̢o͞in͏g?

Ironhide: ...Uh. I've been alright. You?

BC: to ͏p̵u҉t̷ i͢t ͢l̨i͠ghtly.̢.͠. a ̧mílli̧o͘n̸ th̢in͟gs̕ ha͞ve happenéd.͘

-

[and that's all your getting. have a good rest of your day, i'm going to bleach my mind. i do hope you enjoyed this, to be honest, i haven't explicitly wrote nsfw in a little bit.]

[bby-calum]

We’ll Try Again - Tom Holland Imagine

request: could you do a tom imagine where you have a miscarriage

a/n: this is sad guys i’m sorry

word count: 1725

masterlist: (x)

“I thought women weren’t supposed to get their periods when they were pregnant,” Harry whispered into Sam’s ear as they sat around the dining table, noting the blood stain on the back of your light wash jeans as you stood peeling carrots with Paddy at the kitchen counter, your backs turned towards them. Sam shook his head, leaning away from Harry and towards his mother. He nudged her with his elbow, disrupting her conversation with his father.

“Mum, she’s bleeding,” Sam said quietly, nodding his head in your direction. Her eyes widened as she acknowledged the bleeding and stood up quickly, the wooden chair scraping along the kitchen tiles, waking Tessa from her nap on the floor. She shrugged her cardigan off as she came up behind you and wrapped it around your waist. “Sweetheart,” she whispered calmly in your ear. “Come upstairs, love.” You dropped the half-peeled carrot onto the chopping board, Sam standing up to take over the task as Nikki took you into her bedroom, still confused as to why you now had her cardigan around you, the knot she tied resting just below your swollen belly. “Honey, you’re bleeding, did you know you were bleeding?” She asked. The panic in your eyes told her you didn’t. “Don’t panic, love, don’t panic.” She sat you down on her bed as she fumbled in her drawers for some spare trousers for you to wear. “Put these on sweetheart, I’ve got sanitary towels in the cupboard under the sink, okay?” You nodded. “Are you feeling any pain, sweetie?” She asked. Her voice was gentle, reassuring you with her soothing tone, like your own mother’s had sounded when you were a child.

Ever since Tom had brought you home all those years ago, Nikki had warmed to you immediately, treating you as her own daughter, finally having some female company. You were grateful, since your own mother had passed away years before you’d met Tom. She filled a mother shaped space in your life, and even though she could never compare to your own sweet mother, Nikki was the next best thing.  

“No, no,” you half stuttered. “I didn’t even know I was bleeding.” Your voice was shaky and your throat was dry. You could almost hear your heart pounding through your chest. “Alright, listen,” she sat down next to you. “I’m going to drive you to the hospital okay? I’m sure it’s going to be nothing, some women bleed sometimes during pregnancy but we’ll just get you checked out okay. You haven’t had a bleed before since you found out you were pregnant?” You shook your head, biting down on your lip to try and stop the tears. Nikki smiled at you, some sadness in her eyes, as she pulled you into a hug. “It’s alright.” “You should phone Tom,” you said, your voice coming out as a whisper. “I will do, poppet. Go and get changed, I’ll try and get hold of him.”

Tom was currently on the last day of the promo tour for his latest film, and right now he was on the other side of London, filming for a chat show. You’d planned a family dinner with his parents and brothers as a treat for when he got home this evening. This would be the last time he would have to work before the baby arrived. You were almost eight months pregnant, finally expecting after almost two years of trying. Tom was ecstatic, he’d been longing for a baby ever since Harrison’s wife gave birth four years ago. You were a little less keen to begin with, but the heartbreak of months and months of negative pregnancy tests hit you all the same. When you finally had one positive test, you cried for almost three hours, Tom sobbing, equally as happy beside you in bed. Your pregnancy had been easy, and although the doctors had noticed you were carrying on the small side, they hadn't had any major concerns. Until now.

They rushed you to the maternity ward almost as soon as Nikki had told them the situation. They ran tests and performed scans and talked in hushed tones across the room as you lay in an uncomfortable bed, still bleeding.

“I can’t reach him, or his manager,” Nikki said, smoothing out your messy hair. “There mustn’t be any service in the studio.” You felt a small pain in your lower stomach, your hand moving to the spot instantly. Nikki’s hand held your own as the doctor came closer to you. “Mrs Holland,” he said. Both of you looked towards him. “There’s no easy way to say this,” he continued. Your hand squeezed Nikki’s a little tighter. You knew what was coming. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you’ve suffered a miscarriage.” You hadn’t heard what he said after that. His medical babble became white noise as you felt your heart shatter. The tears that had been threatening you finally spilled and you longed for Tom by your side.

You hadn’t noticed the doctor leave but you were brought back from your daze by the sound of Nikki’s phone ringing from her coat pocket. She fumbled with the buttons, answering her son’s call.

“Mum?” You heard Tom’s muffled voice through the phone. “I’ve got twelve missed calls, is everything alright?” Your heart ached. He had no idea what was about to hit him. “Tom,” Nikki said quietly. “You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can, love.” “W-why what’s going on? Is it Nan again? Oh God, Mum-” “Tom, Nan’s fine. It’s- it’s the baby,” you could tell it hurt her to say it. “It’s gone, Tom.” “Gone? Gone? What do you mean gone?” He said, the panic rising in his voice. “Y/N had a miscarriage.” “No.”


“Tom just get to the hospital.” “Is she okay? Mum, is Y/N okay?” “She’s fine, sweetheart, she’s right next to me in bed. They’re going to take her into surgery soon. Just hurry, love.” She sighed sadly. “She needs you, Tom.”

When you woke from your surgery, Tom was by your side, still wearing the suit his stylist had chosen for his chat show appearance. His tie was off, the jacket had been thrown onto the empty chair beside him and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. His hair was messy from where his fingers had ran through it. His head rested in his hands. “Tom,” you croaked. “Sweetheart,” he said, almost jumping out of his seat to be closer to you. He held your hand, stroking it with his thumb. “I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, unable to control the fresh tears. He hugged you gently, kissing your hair as he soothed you. “It’s okay, darling. It’s not your fault.” “I- I just- I don’t know what happened. It was all fine, and, and then, and then it wasn’t,” you cried into his chest. “Mum explained everything, love. It’s okay.” You shook your head, leaning back into the bed. Tom was trying not to cry, he wanted to be strong for you. “It’s not okay, Tom. Our baby is dead!” You cried some more. He tried to quieten you. “We were gonna be so happy. And I ruined everything.” “It’s not your fault, babe. Please don’t blame yourself. They said there was nothing you did wrong. Absolutely nothing. Alright?” He kissed your forehead. “You’re okay, sweetheart, that’s all that matters right now, okay?”

The truth was, Tom was cut up inside. He had been desperate for a baby, and now his hopes of holding his newborn babe in his arms were dashed. He’d watched from the surgery theatre, dressed in blues over his suit, as they pulled the lifeless baby from you. 

He had dreamed for months of the birth of his first child, how happy you two would be as you held your baby in your arms for the first time. Both of you would be crying as your baby entered the world, screaming loudly and kicking its fat pink legs around as soon as they took their first breath of air. He’d help the midwives dress your child in the tiny baby-grow the two of you had picked out months ago, and he’d watch protectively as you fixed the carseat in the back of his car, ready to bring your new family member home. He’d had the whole thing planned in his head. But life rarely ever went to plan.

“It was a girl,” he said after a while. “She- she was a girl.” The two of you sat in silence for a while, until a nurse came in, interrupting the quiet. She was cheery, doing her best to lighten a damp mood. After checking you over, you were allowed home.

The drive home felt long. Every speed bump and pot hole Tom’s car hit made you wince with pain. Tom guided you into the silent house, hurrying to shut the nursery door before you walked past. He helped you into bed, climbing in next to you so you could cuddle into him.

“We’ll try again,” he said quietly, kissing your forehead. “We can try again.”

“Tom!” You squealed, hurrying into the kitchen where Tom was making a coffee, almost skidding on the slippy tiles in your socks. You handed him the pee stick, pushing it into his hands. “Oh my god,” he said, shocked, almost in disbelief as he saw the plus sign on the small screen of the stick. “You’re-” “Yep!” You smiled. “Tom, we’re having a baby.” He hugged you tightly. “We’re having another baby.” You corrected yourself, a flash of worry present in your voice. “Hey,” he said, stroking the side of your face with his thumb. “It’s gonna be okay.” You nodded. “Everything is gonna be fine.” He pressed his forehead against yours, both of you thinking back to the heartbreak you had suffered earlier in the year. “We’re having a baby,” he said, almost reassuring himself. You nodded again. He smiled. “I love you, darlin’, and our little bean,” he pressed his hand to your flat stomach. “I love you so much,” he said more quietly. You kissed him softly. “Come on,” he said, pulling you into the hallway, reaching into his pocket for his car keys. “Put your shoes on, we’re gonna tell mum and dad.”

[echoeternally]

Birthday Gift! (Falco/Fox)

Hello matsutzu & readers! By following this story, from the index here, you’re agreeing that you ship Fox with Falco above all else. Because, let’s be real, that’s the biggest gay ship of the series.

Anyway, continue on ahead if you want some Falox romance! And enjoy! 

[HANGAR/FALCO]

 Taking the door to the hangar, Fox stepped in, and gazed around. He glanced at the docked Landmaster, a tank that was covered with a sheet and due for upgrades. A board was across from it, usually used for blueprints and schematics, though it was currently switched off.

 Further along, toward the hangar gates, a quartet of Arwings rested. Between them, a blue-feathered bird ambled by, squinting at a computer behind them and nodding.

 “Falco!”

 Raising his head, the bird glanced up and waved to Fox.

 “Yo, Fox! Come on down, let’s have a race!”

 “Pass. I mean I’m coming down, but not to race.”

 Taking a lift that lowered to the base level for the hangar, Fox walked across the hangar and to the Arwings. Falco stepped from between them and folded his arms, wearing a smirk on his face.

 “Ah, why no race?” Falco rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we have anything better to do now, do we?”

 “Well, no, but—”

 “So what’s the problem?” He nudged Fox and beckoned him back. “Come on, I’m fixing for a flight, and I’m looking to whoop your butt again.”

 “It’s late,” reminded Fox, “we don’t need to tear through the night sky at blazing speeds for fun.”

 “Under all the stars, over Corneria’s open waters? That’s the kind of stuff folks find romantic.” He blinked and jerked his head back. “Not that I would, I just wanna fly, but, ah, you know what I mean.”

 “Falco Lombardi, are you getting softer these days?” Fox mockingly gasped and touched his chest. “Goodness, it’s almost like you’re interested in other things besides just proving how great you are at flying!”

 “Ok, ok, you can take it easy on the insults there, Foxie,” grumbled Falco. “Sheesh, I try to talk about a nice time just once, and you go to town on me for it.”

 “Ha, I’m sorry Falco. I couldn’t resist.” Fox patted his friend’s shoulder. “You never really loosen up, or open up, and it’s nice to see and hear that from you now and again.”

 “Hey, I’m plenty open!” Falco folded his arms as Fox lowered his eyes. “…When I, ah, want to be, that is.” Falco smirked and shrugged. “Whatever, Fox, you want to sit up in the Great Fox tonight, be my guest. I’m sure you can fool around with Slippy or Peppy, right?”

 “They’re both busy.” Fox smirked. “You, on the other hand—”

 “Ouch. Fox, it’s almost like your insults are getting as sharp as mine.” Falco rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s better if we’re not hanging out, then.”

 “Or…?”

 Fox folded his arms and waited as Falco blinked. He shifted his eyes around the room, and shrugged.

 “Uh…you wanna finish that thought?”

 “And here I thought you were getting good at opening up,” mocked Fox. “I was waiting for you to suggest something else.”

 “Me? Geez, just spit out, Fox!”

 “You could too, you know.”

 “Huh? W-what?”

 “Suggest something else for us to do, Falco.”

 “Oh. Yeah! I knew that!” Falco paused and tapped on his head. “Uh…gimme a sec.”

 “Take your time.” Fox grinned and opened his mouth to continue, but had a wing press against his lips.

 “Yeah, no, don’t need that next part, thanks.” Falco sighed and tapped his foot. “…You know what? We are flying tonight!”

 “Again, I’m not in the mood—”

 “To race, sure you’re not. But how about you let me do the flying, and you just come along for a ride?”

 “Uh, sure, I guess.” Fox shrugged. “You know, I could just follow in another Arwing.”

 “Yeah, but uh, I don’t have anywhere in particular to go,” admitted Falco. “So, it’s better to, um, just take out one ship and we won’t go far. Just…around a few times in the air. Sound good?”

 “Why do I get the feeling that you have some, I don’t know, ulterior motives?”

 “Me? Nah, you’re crazy, Fox,” insisted Falco. “Just wanna get some fresh air, and I’m kidnapping you for fun too. How about it?”

 “Ah…well, sure,” relented Fox. “Let’s just not stay out all night.”

 “Foxie, I’d never!” He grinned as Fox rolled his eyes. “I promise I’ll be good tonight, honest.”

 “If you insist.”

 Unfolding his arms, Fox followed Falco to one of the Arwings. He paused and scratched his head as Falco opened the fighter’s cockpit.

 “Uh…Falco, the Arwings aren’t exactly roomy.”

 “What’s wrong? You got a problem sitting on my lap?” Falco winked. “I won’t tell the others much if you enjoy it.”

 “Wow, that’s not even…fine, your lap’s funeral, then.”

 Laughing, Falco climbed into the Arwing, followed by a hesitant Fox. He slid in as Falco scooted back in the seat, slowly lowering himself against his teammate, and then blushed as the bird reached around his waist for the controls.

 “Ooh, Fox, you sure know how to make a move,” teased Falco. “Must have been your plan all along.”

 “What are you talking about? This was your idea!”

 “Sure, that’s what you’d want me to think.”

 “Just shut up and fly.”

 With another fit of snickers, Falco closed the ship and readied it for launch. The pair stared out of the hangar gate, and the Arwing rocketed off.

 Fox gazed from the window and watched the night sky whip past him, as Falco took the ship onward. He watched as it lowered toward Corneria’s open waters, and observed the buildings in the distance.

 “It really does look beautiful,” admitted Fox.

 “Yeah…sure does.”

 “Can you even see that well?” Fox’s ears twitched. “I feel like I’m in the way.”

 “What? No way, I’m taller than you.” Falco chuckled. “Plus, I’ve got a perfect view, so I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

 “…Uh…if you’re sure.”

 “Of course.” He leaned forward against Fox. “Now hang on. We’re gonna have some fun.”

 The Arwing rolled around as Falco had the ship flip. He brought it closer to the water, as Fox grabbed at the sides of the ship, clutching tightly against it. Spiraling around again, Falco let the wings dip against the water’s surface, and boosted back into the air.

 “Ha, see that?” Falco grinned. “Now that’s how to really enjoy a flight!”

 “Falco, you’re insane.”

 “Maybe a little bit.” He forced the ship to climb upward. “Come on, let’s get a nice view of the sky, huh?”

 “Geez, Falco, cool it!”

 “Come on, you’re enjoying yourself, right?” Falco leaned in again. “You liked what you saw before, didn’t you?”

 “Well, yeah—”

 “Then trust me a little.”

 Sighing, Fox eased back against Falco, relenting. Blushing a bit, Falco brought the ship up further into the sky, before leveling it out. Slowing the pace, he and Fox gazed outside of the cockpit, admiring the dark clouds and studying their shapes.

 “There’s no way to travel like flying,” claimed Falco. “This kind of view is everything right…”

 “Yeah, it’s pretty great up here.” Fox smiled. “It’s been fun, Falco.”

 “Aw, you’re not bored already, are you?”

 “No, but, we should get back soon.”

 “Ah, fine, you do need your beauty sleep.” Falco brought the ship down in a nosedive. “Although…let’s pass back this way, so we can catch one more great view.”

 Though Fox opened his mouth to protest, he slowly closed it and let Falco guide them forward. He brought the Arwing back up, and it burst from a sea of clouds, emerging near Corneria City.

 Fox gawked and gazed at the city lights, enjoying the night view of skyscrapers and small buildings alike. Falco guided them around Corneria Command, soaring past the tower and back around, zipping away from the city once more.

 “Bet you hardly ever take the time to enjoy that view,” wagered Falco.

 “Well, I’ll admit that I don’t get to fly around like that, and…not as often as I’d like, no,” confessed Fox.

 “Thought so.” Falco nodded. “So, how about we make this more of a regular thing? Let me take you out when you’re done with being cooped up all night, and we can just fly off, enjoy the air, and take time to relax in Corneria’s skies.”

 “That sounds great, Falco, but…I don’t know.”

 “Figured you’d give me that answer.” Falco scoffed. “Never can let Fox out to relax for too long, huh?”

 “Look, it’s not—”

 “Nah, I get it. Let’s get back to the Great Fox.”

 Flying the ship onward once more, Falco guided the Arwing back to the flagship. He slowed the ship’s descent as they reached the hangar, and carefully landed it inside. Once it stopped, he sighed and released the controls, opening the pilot’s seat.

 “Safe and sound,” announced Falco. “Please watch your arms and legs as you exit the Arwing. Thank you for flying Air Falco, have a nice night.”

 “Adorable, thanks,” teased Fox, as he climbed from the cockpit. He waited on the ship’s edge, and turned back to Falco. “Are you coming?”

 “Uh, yeah, in a bit.” He smirked at Fox. “Ladies first, you know?”

 “Slippy’s right, you know how to ruin a good moment.”

 “Knew that twerp talked behind my back,” grumbled Falco. “Whatever, just hop down, and I’ll be out in a sec.”

 “No you won’t, I know this act.” Fox folded his arms. “You’re going to take off and go somewhere on your own, sulking about whatever has you in a mood right now, rather than coming out and talking to me about it instead.”

 “…Nothing gets past our great Fox, huh?” Falco scoffed. “Fine, yeah, maybe I wanted to go for a personal cruise next. Is that an issue? We don’t have anything else to do tomorrow.”

 “We don’t know that.”

 “Doesn’t matter, I’d be fine.” Falco shrugged. “It’s not like anyone can doubt my flying.”

 “That’s not the point,” argued Fox. “My issue is that you’re running off, again, rather than just talking about whatever it is that’s got you worked up.”

 “It’s you,” snapped Falco. “You’re the one that’s got me so ticked, ok?”

 “Why?” Fox swayed his tail as he watched Falco seethe. “What did I do?”

 “Just leave it be, Fox.” Falco groaned and dragged his wing over his face. “You go get some rest, I’ll go fly, and we’ll be good by morning.”

 “Falco, please!” Fox slid back into the ship. “I don’t like arguing with you, honest! Just tell me what’s wrong. What did I do, why did I make you angry?”

 “Look, I’m not really angry, or I wasn’t until right now!”

 “Then what is it?”

 “You’re not happy!” Falco through his arms in the air and flailed. “Fox, I took you out for a nice ride on a great night, and you just…I don’t know, had such a controlled reaction. It seemed like you enjoyed it, and I thought you’d let yourself go a little, but you just…I don’t know, you never cut loose!” Falco shook his head. “You’re so uptight, you have to stick to schedules, and you never…you never just enjoy a moment for what it is.”

 “…Falco, I’m sorry.” Fox dropped his head. “I did really have a nice time. It was something that I needed and I really appreciated you taking me out.” He sighed. “But I’m leading a team, and I have to be able to keep up with it. I’d love to stay out all night with you, but…I guess you’re right. I can’t shirk on my work.”

 “Fox—”

 “Look, if you want to go flying to clear your air, you can.” Fox spun around, sliding from the Arwing. “I’m sorry that I always bring out this sour side of you…”

 “Aw, don’t give me that. Fox.” Falco hopped up from his seat. “Hey, Fox!”

 Jumping from the Arwing, Falco chased after Fox, stopping him before he left the other Arwings. He tugged him back around and the two gazed quietly at one another for a moment. Falco pulled back, and glanced away, as Fox exhaled.

 “If you want to go—”

 “You already talked me out of it.”

 “Fine, sorry for that too.” Fox shrugged. “If you’re sure that you can handle it—”

 “No, no, you ruined it.” Falco flopped his wings, a few feathers flying off. “Look, I can’t leave you, because now I’m going to feel even worse after that guilt trip.”

 “Now you’re making me feel worse.”

 “But I’m not trying to!” Falco clasped his wings on Fox’s shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry too, ok? I just want you to be happy too, and then I got all huffy because I thought you weren’t enjoying yourself. You’re right, you do need to be at the top of your game, no matter what.” Falco exhaled and shook his head. “I’m selfish, ok? I want to go out and have a good time when we get a minute. That’s just…that’s me.”

 “That’s not you at all,” countered Fox. “You changed whatever plans you had the second I came down here. You went from going alone for a flight to taking me out for the night. Falco, that’s literally the opposite of selfish, that’s selfless.”

 “Yeah, but…I don’t know, I wanted to keep having a nice night with you.” Falco shrugged. “We never get to bond that much, and…I don’t know, I’m kind of jealous.”

 “Jealous? Of what?”

 “The others,” admitted Falco. “Both of them have had more history with you. Slippy’s been your buddy since you were kids, Peppy’s been in your life for pretty much the same amount of time or longer, and I…I don’t know, I wasn’t always.” Falco rubbed his beak. “I just, I don’t know, I want to fly solo a lot of times, but I…I like flying around with you too, Fox.” He huffed and turned away. “Now we know I’ve gone soft.”

 “Definitely.” Fox chuckled. “But, that…means a lot to me. You’re a valuable member of this team, Falco, regardless of history. And you mean a lot to me.” Fox blushed and smiled. “You’re more than just a pilot and teammate; you’ve become a great friend to me. And I’m hoping that goes beyond Star Fox.”

 “If it does for you, and it does for me, then it will.” Falco smirked. “This the part where we confess our feelings for each other, admit that we make each other’s hearts throb, and all of that mushy junk?”

 “…I, uh…well, I…”

 “I’m teasing, Fox.” Falco chuckled, but stopped as Fox rubbed his shoulder. “…Fox?”

 “Well, I doubt you’d be the one to make a first move,” determined Fox. “So, I might as well do it.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 “That mushy junk you mentioned, it’s…well, I guess I do feel some of that around you, sometimes,” confessed Fox. “Um…maybe more often than some of the time. Maybe a lot of times, but, it’s…if you’re not really—”

 “Whoa, whoa, back up, you’re not fooling around, are you?”

 “…No.” Fox shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s, or if I’m…to your interests, but…”

 “Wow, wait, y-yeah.” Falco’s face burned into a blush as he grinned to Fox. “You are definitely someone that I’m interested in Fox. And yes, in that way! I’m…w-well, I’m, y-you know…I play for that team?”

 “Smooth.”

 “Shut it, I’m trying to open up just for you.”

 “Then, go on.”

 “Look, I…ok, I-I admit it, I really wanted to make swoon and go crazy from tonight,” admitted Falco. “Me snapping before and, ah, and getting so worked up, I…I wanted you to tell m-me that you loved our night out, that you did want to do it more often, and that…that we could be…”

 “You’re adorable when you stammer, you know?”

 “Quit teasing me, Fox.”

 “Just spit it out, then, Falco.”

 “Fox, you make my heart throb, I’ve got the most ridiculous feelings for you, and I want to share all kinds of mushy junk and tender moments with you, even more nights like tonight, and I want to be yours, ok?” Falco threw his wings out. “There, that’s everything. You happy?”

 “You know, I did go first.”

 “First is the worst, second’s the best.” Falco smirked as Fox rolled his eyes. “So, uh, h-how about that one, Fox?”

 “Hmm. Well, I did have a nice night, and you did finally talk it out with me,” surmised Fox. “So…I think you earned this next part.”

 “What next—?”

 Falco choked on his next words, as Fox pressed his lips against his beak. He froze for a moment, and then wrapped his wings against Fox’s back, moving into the kiss. They pressed into one another for a minute or two before parting, just slightly.

 “…So that’s what it is.”

 “Like it?”

 “Almost as much as sliding your butt around on my lap,” teased Falco. “So, how often can I get my leader back into the Arwing, huh?”

 “Just for that, not often at all,” fired back Fox.

 “What?! You can’t be serious.” Falco pushed back into Fox, who smirked and chuckled. “Don’t do that to me!”

 “Come on, you asked for it.”

 “All I asked for was you.”

 “And you got me.”

 “…Yeah, I did.” Falco beamed. “And you got me, too.”

 They rested in one another’s arms for a little while longer, teasing and flirting with each other. After a little while, though, Fox yawned, and prompted Falco to guide him back into the ship, heading in together for the night.

[artandteaandstuff-blog]

Strange Places - Part 9

Summary: Emma Swan is only just getting to grips with the whole fairy-tale thing, let alone the villains. She’s already defeated the Evil Queen. But the Evil Queen’s mother is a new story entirely. Not to mention Captain Hook. She will do whatever she has to do to take him out. Until one day she wakes up in an entirely different bed, only to find out she’s married to him. | Captain Swan.

Author’s Notes:

Tagging a few people who are/ were reading! If you want to be taken off this list or added to it, please let me know! Also if I missed you, shout at me!!

@pottlock @killian_whump @silmarilswan @katromine @like-waves-on-the-beach@the-selfish-heart @galadriel26 @elaine-spades@blackwidownat2814@spartanguard @lifeismadeup-ofmoments@superchocovian @linda8084@georgianablythe16@revanmeetra87 @swanslieutenant @swanandapirate@dreadpirateemma@ofshipsandswans @superchocovian

FF.NET

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

The Evil Queen

The next few days were torture as Emma waited for news from Belle. She peeked out the window at any sound she heard- be that the crunch of car wheels against tarmac, or a creek of a gate- and she rushed to the other side of the house every time the phone rang. But it always turned out to be nothing.

Belle said herself that it might take awhile to get hold of Gold. She'd kept in contact with him throughout the years, and they'd been on friendly-enough terms, but their conversations were often stunted and awkward.

But if Gold's cryptic messages were anything to go by, and luck was in their favour, they might hear from him soon. According to her, his messages often contained hints at his longing to come back, but Belle usually shut him down and told him that this wasn't his town, and he couldn't hurt anyone else here, not anymore. He would jump at the chance to return, even if he had to help Emma to do that.

When Emma asked whether that was manipulating him a little, Belle gave a nonchalant shrug.

"He's made his bed. I seem to remember he didn't have any problem manipulating people to get what he wanted." Though Emma couldn't help but notice something in her eyes. A flash of pain. A sparkle of longing.

Killian paid no mind to the way she kept jumping like a startled cat at every noise, or the way her head snapped to the window at every sound of a car door, or the sound of shoes against the pavement. He still wasn't on speaking terms with her, except for when Lizzie was around, of course. That was fine by her. Every time she looked at him, she felt a surge of guilt and she did not like it. She didn't like it one bit.

Perhaps his curiosity got the better of him because when she pulled back the curtain to stare out into the pouring rain for what must have been the seventh time, he cleared his throat. She turned to look at him. He was stood in the doorway, a mug of steaming tea in his hand.

"What are you looking for?" His tone was careful, like he was testing the waters.

"Belle," she said. "She might have a lead on why I don't remember you." There was no need to tell him about Gold.

"You went to Belle?"

"Henry went to Belle." The curtain slipped from her fingertips and she let it drop back into place. "She agreed to help us."

"Us?"

"Yeah."

His expression was unreadable. Then again, almost all of his expressions were unreadable. She didn't know how to read him at all, even though she was usually good at working out people's emotions. It was another thing about their relationship that put her on edge; the fact that he knew everything about her, that he could read her as easily as an open book, and yet she knew nothing about him.

That was perhaps why she was so surprised when he said, "I might perhaps have a lead."

"You do?"

She'd thought that he'd decided against helping her, that he'd just told her he would to shut her up. He was well within his rights to after the way she'd treated him.

"Aye," he said.

He ventured further into the room and placed his mug of tea on the coffee table as he approached her cautiously. "I'll admit, I wasn't entirely sure how to address the situation but yesterday I had a breakthrough. I decided to go to the person I believe most qualified to help."

She found herself gravitating towards him. "Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"Regina."

She stared at him, blinking furiously, wondering if he'd actually said what she thought he said.

"Something wrong?"

"You have got to be kidding me," she said. "Regina?"

"Yes, Regina." His lips twitched in the first smile she'd seen for the past week.

"No," she said.

"No?"

"No way." When Hook just raised his eyebrows, she said, "C'mon. You're talking about a woman whose mother sent me through the portal. I am not going to ask Regina for help. Belle's on the case. She'll work it out."

"Forgive me, Emma." He closed the distance between them. His voice was soft. "But wouldn't it be better to explore all our options?"

She folded her arms. "Not Regina."

"Regina is a changed woman."

"It seems everyone's changed in this Godforsaken town." Even me, she thought, but she didn't say it.

"You need to have more faith in people, love."

She looked up into his face and she saw that smile again; the way his lips curled, the way his eyes lit up. She found herself looking into those eyes too long. She found herself doing that with the normal Hook often, but she'd look away quickly and pretend she didn't. Here, she couldn't look away.

And just like that, his soft smile was gone. He cleared his throat and took a step back from her, returning to his usual position of distance. Her chest almost ached for closeness, but she shut her feelings down straight away. There was no point accepting Killian when it wasn't real. Gold would come back into town and send her straight back to the real Storybrooke. She couldn't fall for him, knowing she would be forced to live with the normal- villain Hook.

Fall for him?

Whoa, Emma. C'mon.

She was not falling for him. Hell, she'd been determined to destroy him a few days ago. What had changed?

He had.

No. No.

"So, would you like to come or not?" he asked, expression neutral. "We can't keep her waiting all day."

Emma bounced on her heels, placing her hands on her hips, biting her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was find Regina and explain the situation. It made her feel vulnerable and feeling vulnerable around the Evil Queen was a big no no.

"What's the matter, Swan?" The smirk was back. "Scared?"

"I can handle Regina."

"Prove it."

He had her and he knew it. She sighed, fell back on the balls of her feet, and grabbed her leather jacket from over the sofa.

"Alright," she said.

"Let's go. We can drop Lizzie off at your parents' on the way to Regina's."

Emma had the job of fitting Lizzie in her coat whilst Hook checked that all the windows were closed and locked. The last thing they wanted was a villain getting into the house. According to Hook, that had happened before. They'd taken the bastard out of course, but it still wasn't a nice feeling knowing a stranger had walked their hallways, had been so close to their daughter. Anything could have happened. Hook explained that villains weren't above taking children for leverage, that was for sure.

"We don't want a repeat of Pan."

"Of what?"

"Nevermind."

Emma watched as Lizzie placed an arm in the coat. She was twittering on about something or another, but Emma wasn't listening. She was too busy thinking about Belle, Gold and Regina. She was so close to getting answers. She could feel it. With all these helping hands, she was sure to return to the real Storybrooke in no time. She could almost taste it.

"Are you listening to me?" came Lizzie's demanding voice.

"What?"

"You're not listening to me!"

She had managed to get her coat on. She was stood in front of Emma, hands on her hips, glaring at her between narrowed eyes.

"Of course I'm listening to you," she said.

"Oh yeah. What did I say?"

Emma sighed. She had to go ahead and inherit Emma's perception, didn't she?

"You and daddy don't listen to me any more," she said.

"Of course we do," Emma said, trying to keep her voice calm.

She could hear the alarm bells going off in her head. She didn't know what to say to Lizzie. Some things came naturally to her, but other things were such a mystery. How could she speak to a child so perceptive, so wonderful? It was like Henry all over again. She didn't miss a trick.

"Sure," she said.

When Emma tried to place a hand on her shoulder, she turned away. Emma felt a stab of cold run through her.

"Lizzie…" she said softly, but Lizzie didn't turn. She folded her arms and glared at the floor.

It was then that Hook decided to return. Emma heard the sound of his boots before she saw him. He was attaching his hook.

"All ready?" he asked.

"All ready," Emma confirmed, eyes on Lizzie.

By the time they got to Regina's, the rain had stopped, but the long pathway up to her house was slippy. She walked slowly, trailing behind Hook, eyes fixed on the house.

It was weird to think she was going to knock on the door, and Henry wouldn't be there any more. It was just Regina's house. It was strange going there without having Henry as a reason. She knew there would be no other circumstance that would make her set foot on Regina's premises.

Hook rang the doorbell. There was a sound of heels clicking on the other side of the door and then it opened.

Emma blinked. The woman in the doorway was not Regina - unless Regina was some sort of shapeshifter, and in this world, Emma wouldn't be surprised. She had long, curly red hair and a thin, pointed face. She wore a hugging green dress.

"Who the hell are you?" Emma blurted out before she could stop herself.

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Rude."

British. She was british.

"It's a serious question."

The woman's eyes travelled to Hook. "Captain, I think your wife woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Uh- hello? I'd rather you didn't speak about me as if I'm not here." She scowled.

"I concur," Hook said, raising his eyebrows.

"Whatever." The woman rolled her eyes. "I take it you're here to see Regina? Unless, of course, there's anything I can help you with?"

"Sorry, love. It's definitely Regina we need to see."

"Then by all means, come on in."

She disappeared into the house. Hook took a step to follow, but Emma grabbed his arm sharper than she intended. He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. She dropped his arm at once.

"Who the hell was what?" she hissed.

"Ah, that's Zelena, Regina's sister."

"Regina has a sister?"

"Yes. She came over from Oz, caused quite a stir. If your memory doesn't come back, remind me to tell you the fun she had with us."

'The fun she had with us', should have caught Emma's attention, but she was too focused on the word 'Oz'. Oz? As in… Oz? Oz existed?

"She can't be from Oz. She's british."

Hook just chuckled and disappeared into the house.

She was so out of her depth. Shaking her head, she followed Hook into the house.

It was just how she remembered. Regina hadn't redecorated. There was still the same theme of black, white and grey. She had near enough the same plant pots, the same expensive mirrors that probably cost more than Emma's entire apartment back in Boston.

She followed them into the office. Regina was sat, pouring over a spellbook. With a jolt, Emma realised that she'd changed. She should have known- everyone she'd met had changed- but Regina was someone she expected to remain young and immortal forever. Her hair was longer, curling past her shoulders. She was older; there were a few lines around her face, like there were around Emma's. She stood when they entered, showing off her slim-fitted coal dress.

"The Saviour's being insufferable today," Zelena said, by way of greeting. Emma couldn't help but watch her hips sway as she strutted.

"Yeah, it's okay," Regina said. "It's not her fault. She's lost her memories."

Oh right. So they might as well have just told the whole town. Emma has forgotten that there wasn't such a thing as privacy in this town.

"Regina," Emma said cooly.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Can we skip this, please? Sounds like you're having a hard time accepting that people can change. At least, that's what Mary Margaret said the other day during coffee."

Mary Margaret? Since when was Regina on speaking terms with her step-daughter? Since when were they on coffee terms? Just when Emma thought she was getting a handle on this place, something else happened that baffled her into an oblivion.

Just send me home, she thought. Just send me home.

"Look, I don't know what kind of woman you are now," she said. "All I do know is that last time I spoke to you, you were working with Cora. I trust what I know."

She sighed. "My mother is long gone. I'll spare you the details." She made her way around to the other side of her desk and perched on the end, crossing one leg over the other. "So, do you want the bad news or the good news?"

"I thought you said there wasn't any good news?" Zelena asked, folding her arms.

"Okay, so there isn't any good news," Regina sighed.

Emma folded her arms, glaring at the floor. Of course. Of course there wouldn't be any good news. Dammit. It was like one step forward and three steps back. She had hoped to see some breakthroughs.

"Then what is the bloody point?" Hook hissed.

Zelena rolled her eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist because of a bump in the road, Captain. As I recall, you've faced tougher problems than this and worked it out. Take my curse, for example. I didn't think anyone would beat that. And then there was that pesky problem when you became a Dark One…"

Emma's head snapped to Zelena. "What?" Hook? A Dark One?

"Oops. Have I said too much?" The way she bit her lip and the mysterious glint in her green eyes proved that yes, she had said too much, and that was exactly what she intended.

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut?" Hook snapped.

And just like that, the glint was gone, and her eyes became slits. "Watch your tone with me. Unless you want to lose the other hand, that is."

"For God's sake, stop it, both of you," Regina hissed.

Hook turned to her, and his face was much more reminiscent of the old Hook. There was venom behind it. Regina didn't even bat an eyelid, she just sighed again, and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"So what did you find?" Hook asked through gritted teeth. It was like every word caused him pain.

"Nothing. That's the thing, I didn't find anything. The only things I could find were on amnesia." She threw a look at Emma. "But even that wasn't black and white. I don't know what happened here. It's frustrating me to no end. Usually I have some idea."

Hook's fist clenched. "So that's it? We're out of options?"

"Not completely," Emma said. Everyone turned to look at her. "Belle's on the case. She hasn't found anything yet, but hopefully there will be a breakthrough. I mean, I'm optimistic." That was, if Gold could help. Though there was every chance he wouldn't.

"Why didn't you say?" Regina said. Her face broke into a slow, cat-like smile. "I might have to see if the bookworm needs a hand. With both of our heads, we should be able to work it out."

"Three heads," Zelena said. "I'll help."

You don't even know me, Emma thought. Why would you help?

That's if they really were helping her. Despite everyone's assurances, Emma wasn't completely convinced that Regina was a changed woman. She felt even more confused than ever as she watched this stranger and the Evil Queen decide to band together to help her.

"We better get started then," said Regina.

And that was that.

Hook and Emma picked Lizzie up on the way back from Regina's house. They took Emma's bug, and parked outside Mary Margaret's apartment. It was dark and it had been raining again. Water made the pavements sparkle in the lamplight.

The car grumbled to a stop as Emma yanked the key out of the ignition. Hook made to open the door but Emma put a hand on his arm.

"Wait."

He froze and looked at her. Though she felt his eyes on her, she couldn't look at him. She just kept her eyes on the sparkling pavement ahead. She knew what she needed to say, but she was having a hard time getting the words past her tongue.

"What's wrong?" he asked, softly.

She drew in a breath, eyes closing momentarily. When she finally turned to look at him, his eyes were shining. Or perhaps it was just the light.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"I want to thank you."

He shook his head, ripping his gaze from hers. "It's fine."

He went to open the car door again but Emma touched him gently.

"I mean it. Thank you, Killian."

At the mention of his name, he turned to her. He fixed her with a gaze so blue, her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't caught herself staring into the eyes of Captain Hook so unguarded before, yet here she was, and it was like he was looking into her very soul.

"We haven't found anything yet," he said, softly, eyes still on hers.

"No. But we will."

He looked down at her arm in his and then back up at her. He didn't speak for a moment, but his forehead creased like he was thinking, choosing his words carefully. When he eventually spoke, his voice still soft.

"Do you honestly believe that this isn't real? That we aren't married? That our lives are works of fiction?"

"I don't know what to believe." The truth of her words scared her.

"It's not that I don't want to believe you, Emma," he said. "I am willing to believe anything you tell me, and I'm willing to help you in any way I can. But what I feel-" He moved his hand up to her cheek. For once, she didn't move away. She let him touch her. "It can't be an illusion."

He stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes at the touch. The air was too thick, and she could feel his breathing mirroring hers. Her heart was beating erratically in her chest; she felt it in her throat, in her wrists. His touch was soft against her skin and it brought another feeling altogether; a sense of familiarity, as if he'd been touching her this way her whole life.

Her eyes snapped open. No, this was wrong. It was still Hook, and this wasn't real.

She hadn't been feeling it her whole life.

They weren't really married.

She wasn't in love with him.

She moved her face away from his hand. She caught sight of his expression, hurt, confused and sad, all wrapped up into one, before she opened the door and escaped into the cool night air.

"We better get Lizzie," she said before she slammed the car door shut.

A few long seconds passed before he finally opened the car door and stepped out himself. She couldn't even look at him.

They made their way up to her parent's apartment side-by-side. She felt his eyes on her the whole way, burning into her skin, but she refused to look at him. By the time they got upstairs, she distracted herself with Lizzie, keeping her eyes on her instead of him.

She couldn't help but notice how Mary Margaret's eyes seemed to watch her, though not in the soft way. They were hard. Whenever she looked up, Mary Margaret looked away. It put Emma on edge, and she didn't like it one bit.

"C'mon kid, get your coat."

They all left together. Lizzie said goodbye to her Grandparents and Neal, kissing them each on the cheek. She even kissed Archie on the forehead and it was sweet, if a little sloppy.

They made their way down the stairs together and out into the street. They'd only just stepped out onto the pavement when they heard a shout from behind them.

"Emma!"

Mary Margaret ran towards them, David following closely behind. Emma stopped in her tracks and all three of them turned to look at her. Her dress was rippling in the wind.

"Yeah?"

"Can I… talk to you?" Her eyes flickered to Hook. "Alone?"

Emma frowned. "Sure. Hook, take Lizzie to the car."

He gave them a concerned look as he took Lizzie's hand with a soft, "C'mon, love."

Mary Margaret waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke. "What are you doing, Emma?"

Emma frowned even more. "What do you mean, what am I doing?"

"Going to see Regina?"

"What about me going to see Regina?"

She shared a look with David. Emma knew at once they'd been talking about her. "I mean, do you think that's wise?"

"What do you mean? I thought you'd be happy?"

And she did think her mother would be happy. She was finally doing something; she was taking the initiative. Belle and Regina were the first step to finding out what really happened. She could find a way to fix it.

"Quite frankly, I'm not."

"Snow-" David reached out to take her arm but she snatched it away.

"No, David. She needs to know." Mary Margaret turned back to Emma, and her face was so uncharacteristically full of fury, it made Emma speechless. "Lizzie came to me."

"What?"

"She told me that she didn't know what was going on with you and Killian. She cried. She just wants her parents back, but they're too wrapped up in themselves to take notice of her."

The guilt that hit Emma felt like a brick wall, but she did her best to conceal it. It must have shown on her face because Mary Margaret used that as an opening.

"How do you think she feels about this? She feels neglected. You are neglecting her and it's selfish."

"You really think you're qualified to offer me advice on how to raise my kid!" she said. "Really? You sent me through a wardrobe for twenty-eight years and you accuse me of neglect?"

"Emma!" David shouted. "We did that to give you your best chance."

"And you really think growing up without parents was a good thing for me? You abandoned me."

"You know why," he said.

"Do I?"

She couldn't accept their reasoning, as much as she tried. Okay, so she was supposed to break a curse, but by doing so she ended up miserable. They put her through that wardrobe like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"That's neither here nor there," Mary Margaret said, though her face was flushed. "What's important is Lizzie. She needs you. You just need to focus on remembering who you are, that's all."

"That's not what's wrong with me," she shouted. "I haven't forgotten. I don't have amnesia. Why can't you just accept that something is seriously wrong and that I don't belong here?"

"Because we've worked too hard to have our happiness destroyed."

"Your happiness? What about my happiness? How would you feel if I didn't believe you? Why are you so hellbent on proving I didn't go through a portal."

"Because we fought Cora!" Snow shouted. "We fought her and we defeated her and there was no portal, okay?"

"But there was!"

They were truly yelling at each other, David watching helplessly from the sidelines.

"It doesn't make sense! Time portals don't work like that. You have amnesia. Nothing else makes sense."

"Actually, I think you'll find it makes perfect sense," came an altogether different voice from behind them. They turned to see Gold walking towards them in a suit. "Mrs. Jones doesn't have amnesia at all."

[echoeternally]

Nexus Support: Slippy/Fox (2)

“Right, well, I guess I can start with Falco’s comments,” decided Slippy. “I know he’s just being his usual self, and I don’t usually take it so hard, but I guess I’ve been a little self-conscious lately.”

 “Want me to have a word with him?”

 “No, Fox, it’s fine,” insisted Slippy. “Falco’s always mocking my flying, but he’s like that with Krystal sometimes too. Even Peppy and you, right?”

 “Yep. Falco can be a bit bigheaded,” agreed Fox, “but he does mean well.”

 “He does, and I know he only picks on me because he really wants me to improve,” rationalized Slippy. “He’s not like the bullies back at school.”

 “Slip…”

 “Yeah, that’s been on my mind a bit too, lately,” admitted Slippy. “I don’t know why I’m thinking about the past so much, but I guess I can never really get it out of my head. Just really lousy incidents from when I was younger, getting picked on for being the ‘mechanical whiz kid,’ and whatever else they could make fun of me for.” He glanced down and patted his stomach. “Like this, for example. I wish this gut went away ages ago.”

 “They were idiots for picking on your skills and your weight,” grumbled Fox. “Probably just jealous. Besides, you’re really not that heavy.”

 “I’ve looked at a mirror Fox.”

 “Ok, and you’re still not obese,” argued Fox. “Just round around the middle. And you’ve got some muscle too.” Fox poked at Slippy’s arm, and then traced his biceps down to the stronger muscles in his forearms. “You’re tough, too.”

 “That’s just from lifting junk around.”

 “And working out; I’ve seen you, and you’ve gotten into it, lately.”

 “A little,” giggled Slippy. “Thanks for noticing. But yeah, I guess I shouldn’t get hung up over what they made of me over. It just doesn’t completely go away, though, not easily.”

 “True, and I’ve had a fair share of insults that bothered me for more than a day,” recalled Fox. “It’s harder when it comes from jerks that you can’t blast out of the sky.”

 At that, Slippy laughed. “You got that right!” Fox grinned at Slippy, but it dropped as Slippy slowed back to his somber state. “Sorry, Fox. I know you didn’t come here to hear my sob stories or watch me pout.”

 “I came to help my friend,” clarified Fox. “…I just figured it would be with tools, but this works fine as well.”

 “Ha, sorry to deviate from expectations.”

 “Not a problem.” Fox lightly tapped Slippy’s foot with his own. “I’m here to help.”

 “Ok. Well…there’s other stuff, too.” Slippy glanced down at his device and shrugged. “Well, besides these things.”

 “You’re working on the Reflectors again?”

 “Just a few clean ups with them,” detailed Slippy. “You and Falco have made use of them for some field missions before, but I wanted to make sure we had a bigger supply to pull from. Krystal, Peppy, and I should carry them around too, and I wanted to make sure that yours was properly functional again.” Slippy sighed. “And that Falco’s could withstand getting kicked around.” He shook the two pieces of the opened Reflector. “His was next in line.”

 “What’s the difference between them?” Fox tilted his head and looked them over. “I can’t exactly tell.”

 “Oh, I just know based on their data of their usage,” elucidated Slippy. “I check in with some statics on my computer over here. You used yours more, but Falco’s kicked his around so many times that it’s taken more of a beating.”

 “Classic Falco.”

 “Aggravatingly so. I have to make sure that everything’s fixed up inside, so that way it still works well for him.” Slippy adjusted his cap and studied the gadget. “Last thing I need keeping me up at night is how Falco tried kicking this to knock back a laser and instead it breaks on him and he gets shot, hurt, or…worse.”

 “He’s a big bird, Slippy,” joked Fox. “He can handle himself.”

 “…Right…but still…” Slippy shook his head. “Sorry, we all worry about that stuff. And you more than everyone else, I’m sure. But I guess that’s why I think about it too; I want to make it easier on you too. And actually, I’m just as responsible, since I work on everyone’s equipment, so I always need to give it my best with this work.”

 “You always do great work, Slippy,” comforted Fox. “Even if I worry a lot, I know I’m in good hands with our tech and equipment.” He picked up his Reflector from the desk. “Though, these are a little extra, aren’t they? We already have barriers.”

 “Hey, it’s one thing to defend, and something else to retaliate.”

 “That’s true. And so is everything else that I mentioned.”

 “Thanks, Fox.” Slippy forced up a smile. “You’re good at this.”

 “You’ve been my best friend since we were kids, Slippy.” Fox smirked. “I should hope I know you a little bit better than most, even now.”

 “Definitely, no one knows me better!” Slippy’s smile relaxed a bit, now more genuine. “Well, ok, no one besides my dad, but he’s family, so that doesn’t count.”

 The pair laughed for a bit again, slowly settling back down. Slippy smiled for a bit while facing Fox, but exhaled and glanced down again.

 “What else is on your mind, Slippy?”

 “I…I’m still worried about you too, Fox.”

 “Me? Why?”

 “Well, you worry about the rest of us and run yourself ragged over it, I’m sure.” Slippy inhaled and exhaled quickly, noticing that Fox was about to butt in. “I know, you have it all mostly under control, and you’re going to tell me that you help make it easier, fine. But I still…it’s hard for you, and there’s nothing that can convince me otherwise.” Fox’s shoulders dropped as Slippy frowned. “I just wish there was a way that I could help you more. And all of that recent information on your mom’s work coming up? That’s only giving you more emotional stress, and as your best friend, I can tell that much.”

 “You’re right,” admitted Fox. “It does get to me when they dig up information about her, because then I’ve got others asking me about her, to which I don’t have many answers to.” Fox shook his head. “In a twisted sense, I’m actually interested in what they’ve been finding, since…well, I’m learning more about her myself. My father never did go over everything in extensive detail.”

 “And…?”

 “And I do worry about everything that I’m doing with you guys, hoping that I’m not screwing up any of your lives more than I already have.”

 Slippy tilted his head and placed the Reflector back on the desk. “What are you talking about?”

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