#like if you must- MUST- do it....prosthetic wings have been seen in the show?? as well as flight (starlight) spells that can be done

[sonicrainbooms]

every day of my life is spent hunting down mlp fan artists/writers who do fanart or fanfiction set in the future where scootaloo is able to fly as an adult because her "wings finally grew" like no. she literally never was able to fly. that's the whole point. she's disabled. and that's okay. stop being ableist about it.

[linkemon]

Doki Doki (Hyakkimaru x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴇᴘɪꜱᴏᴅᴇ 5 ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ. ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ, ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴ ɪᴛᴀʟɪᴄꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜʏᴀᴋᴋɪᴍᴀʀᴜ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀ��ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ʏᴇᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴅᴏʀᴏʀᴏ'ꜱ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪᴇᴡᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ.

— Dororo-chan, give it to me — [Reader] whispered.

Then she gently wrapped the cloth around Hyakkimaru's head.

She watched for any human reflex on his part. But the hazel, dead eyes were fixed on some other point. Perhaps they were staring into her soul, debating what colour it had become.

— It's so quiet in this wilderness that it gives me chills. What if it's still too loud for him?

— There's not much we can do for now.

— Hearing is the most shocking sense he has regained so far. He sank into an ocean of sound. He must learn to choose only what he wants to hear — said the blind, old man.

The girl walked up to the man, staring at the dark, dense forest around them. She didn't feel safe. She was right. She managed to retreat towards the trees in time because a moment later Hyakkimaru sensed the monster.

The huge bird fell from the sky with an impact, then snapped its beak, almost cutting its opponent in half. However, Hyakkimaru threw away his prosthetics, revealing two deadly blades. He was ready to fight.

— Dororo-chan! — a scream tore from [Reader's] throat, confusing the boy.

She felt the blood begin to circulate faster in her veins at one moment.

With her head bowed, she ran the distance, catching the child. She saved it from the feathered beast.

It was only on the other side of the camp that she realized she had been holding her breath. Her head was pounding and she was sure she was going to faint but just in time she felt Dororo holding her.

Red soul

Evil

Death

The fight continued. Hyakkimaru, confused by his sudden recovery of hearing, was coping hopelessly. His ragged breathing could be seen. Unlike the bird, which attacked second by second, not caring about the blood flowing from its wing. However, before the claws reached the victim, the old man took action. In a few deft, murderous moves, he slaughtered the monster.

The worst was behind them but for a long time it was difficult to calm their frayed nerves. Especially since the boy had cut himself off completely, more than usual. He flinched when the child raised his voice, then swatted away the hand of the monk who began to speak loudly into his ear but those were the only reactions. He was lying on his back, his head wrapped in cloth, showing no signs of life other than blinking and breathing.

[Reader] encouraged Dororo to go to sleep but the older man was in no rush to do so.

— I wonder why you're traveling with them anyway? — asked the saviour.

— Are you really interested in this?

He nodded.

— Because they are not like others. Especially him.

It was a short answer. However, she seemed to have satisfied the man, who assumed a strange, thoughtful expression on his face. She didn't feel like continuing the exchange. She felt uncomfortable every time she had to explain to others how she felt.

Feeling her eyelids heavy, she lay down on the ground and fell asleep.

— Look what I have!

A little girl happily waved a wreath of wildflowers.

— [Teacher's name]-sensei asked me today what I wanted to be in the future. And I told her that when I grow up, I want to be a beautiful princess and marry a handsome prince, and be like my mother, and rule the clan well...

The servants gathered around the old cherry tree smiled at the sight of the heir to the family. She was running with disheveled hair, almost tripping over the ends of her robe. However, her charm could not be denied.

Suddenly there was a series of bows — the Lady honored them with her presence.

— Of course, dear. The mother lifted the little girl up, earning a giggle in return.

The young teenager felt a dormant rage.

— I don't want this burden, I don't want this marriage, I don't want to be like my mother, I don't want to live like this!

— Silence! You don't appreciate how much your father and I sacrificed for you.

She saw tears in her mother's eyes. She hated her. She hated that she could always summon up tears that made her feel guilty.

She knew she couldn't protest anymore. She has already taken advantage of all the opportunities she had. She didn't have a single card left up her sleeve.

— This marriage is beneficial to both clans and he is delighted with your beauty...

She cast a pleading look, which was met with a cold refusal — all in the name of tradition.

— I see. — She bowed.

She left quietly and silently, as befits a clan heiress. She could not abandon the respect due to her parents.

It was only in the garden that she gave vent to her emotions.

— You don't want to jump.

— What? — She turned back.

She saw a child and an unnaturally still boy standing at the edge of the forest.

— You've been standing here for a while, so I don't think you're actually going to do it.

— You do not know anything about me.

— You're that beautiful princess whose engagement everyone is talking about, aren't you? — She saw wide, curious eyes.

— Yes I am. And my future fiancé is a mean old snake who sees me as just a pretty doll to play with and wants to take me abroad but that's not my only problem.

— You know, people have it much worse than you. Look at this one here. — She pointed at the strange companion. — He was born without any body parts and for each one he got back, he had to kill a monster.

— Stop making me feel guilty. My mother did exactly the same. — She furiously moved towards the edge.

— He sees souls. He came here because of yours.

— Did he like the inside of the degenerate daughter and irresponsible heir to the clan?

— He wouldn't have dragged me here if he hadn't seen something good in you.

This was too much. The would-be suicide fell to her knees and realized that the child was right — she didn't want to die. She burst into heartbreaking sobs.

— You can run away from here, you know? — There are still many things in the world that you haven't seen. There's no point in ending a game that hasn't even started yet. I'm Dororo.

The girl raised her tearful head and turned it towards the house for the last time and then, wiping her tears, she accepted the hand extended to her.

— From now on, call me [Reader].

She woke up, gasping for air. She felt her clothes sticking to her sweaty skin. It wasn't a nightmare but she definitely didn't like remembering unpleasant events from her short life. It happened too often for her liking.

She glanced at the sky. There were still about three hours until sunrise.

The grass was covered with dew, soaking her clothes. The summer wind cheerfully moved the green leaves. A brisk morning. No sign of war.

She lumbered towards Hyakkimaru and sat down next to him. She brushed away strands of black hair, examining his features.

Who was he really to her?

She sighed quietly, feeling her heart beating faster.

He didn't know what she looked like. He wasn't like the people around her all her life. He did not admire her for her origins or beauty. He saw only her soul and as a colourful blur. He cared about what was in her heart, not what was on the outside. She believed he would remain that way even when he regained his sight. Moreover, he didn't judge her at every step. She finally felt free, like she used to when she was a child. She could finally forget who she was and decide about her own life.

She was grateful that he stopped her then.

Suddenly she noticed that Hyakkimaru was rising to a sitting position and removing the blindfold he had worn yesterday from his ears. He moved closer to her chest, causing her to panic slightly. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. However, she quickly realized the situation. He approached from the left. She couldn't be angry at him. On the contrary, it brought a gentle smile to her face.

She placed his head on her lap, giving him close access to a new sound that interested him.

— It's a heartbeat — she whispered as quietly as she could, afraid to scare him.

He turned his brown eyes towards her for a split second and then looked back at the place where the steady knocking was coming from.

White Soul

Ba-dum Ba-dum

Warmth

Ba-dum Ba-dum

Life

Ba-dum Ba-dum

[smokeygrayrabbits]

so leg prosthetics au right? I'm a BIG FAN of all the duality in trigun so I feel like it would be really cool for there to be that contrast between different elements of vash's backstory and his injurys. since vash lost his arm to knives protecting plants and humans ,showing his dedication to peace and love and also his self-sacrificing tendencies, I really like the idea of vash loosing his legs in a similar way, but at the hands of humans.

[ok imma give this a quick lil content warning cuz it's kinda body horror/generally kinda messed up? so yeah readers discretion advised keepy yourself safe 💜]

what if plants have a natural instinct to give? we've seen that they're sentient, so it would make sense for them to have some kind of reason to just chill in tanks and let humans take advantage of their abilities. hence, plants naturally want to give. and vash, being a plant, isnt exempt from this. he gives himself away in everything he does. bending over backwards for everyone he meets, even to the point of snapping his own spine. never complaining, never asking for thanks, or even thinking he's deserving of it.

so what does a young vash, tiny and alone and reeling from the crash, from his brothers betrayalmurdersin left me, nai left me alone, I have nothing he took everything Iwannagohome, tiny vash, so alone, so desperate to atone, come across a town. a town that's plant is dead he couldn't save them, not himself, not the ships, not rem, not nai. if he'd been betterfasterstongersmarter . . . their plant is dead they killed it. the last run. he'd seen it. he knows they did. he can't say no, their plant is dead and soon they will be too and it would only be for a little while, just to get by, please we need your help he sees the way their smiles don't quite reach their eyes. sees how they're tears arent quite real. he tells himself it doesn't matter. this is his atonement. his punishment he says yes. he says of course. he says I'll help however I can whatever you need.

it's to late for a mechanic. they need a plant.

he says yes anyway. they wouldn't right? they'll be kind.

theres no room for kindness when people are so thirsty.

he's to tall to fit in the tank. so they make him fit. generators don't need legs.

he's there for so long. vash loses track of how long he's in the tank for. days? weeks? years?

his marking spread. feathers molt off generators don't fly

they clip his wings. generators dont need to run, fly, walk.

they get another plant, eventually. he's still in the tank.

they said they'd let him go. it's fine. it's ok. they must still need him, populations gorow after all. he ignores his sister screaming in his head. he tells her it's fine! they need me here more than I need to be anywhere else (he'd rather be anywhere else. he wants to go home. he doesnt want to do this anymore but he hastohastohastogivegivegivegiveGIVEREPENT)

he learns to breath liquid. he learns to float and provide and it's ok. its not. he's getting weaker and weaker. he can't give what they're asking

his sister is dying. it's his fault if he was betterfasterstonger he could take the burden from her, make more, GIVE more. he doesn't think about how he's already giving everything how they've taken everything

his sister is dying. they don't realize it yet he can help he can save her he knows he can he's done it so many times it's all hes good for all he can do heneexstohelplethimhelplethimhelpherplease.

for the first time since they put him in here, vash cries. he pounds the glass with the only limb he has left weak and atrophied from disuse weak just like the rest of him uselessuselessuseless. when his arm gives out he uses his head. banging the glass, filling the tank with red red like geraniums red like the last run red tanks mean death death deathmurder nai

they don't listen. his bubbling screams in the tank are distracting apparently, so they muzzle him.

he watches as she dies. his sisters last run fuels their holiday light show.

vash cries. his tears lost in the fluid of the tank.||

more time passes. the plant operators get bored. they've never had an independent before. they want to research. they want to open, cut, understand.

more time. floating. creating. being sucked dry, not that vash would think of it that way. he CAN'T. can't think of it that way, it would mean it was all for nothing. it would mean nai was right. it would mean they leftfoughtbleddied for nothing oh god what has he done, what have they done

nai comes to town. vash can feel him, in his mind, in their bond. he tries to tell his brother to run.

nai hears his brother. his twin. his angel. his other half. in a nowhere town in this forsaken desert. he hears vash cry, beg nai to leave. he tracks his angel down, finds the plant operation. he sees the tank. he sees the angel floating.

he sees vash smile.

how dare they how dare they WHAT HAVE THEY DONE HE KNEW THEY WERE GREEDY AND CRUEL AND ABHORRENT BUT WHATHAVETHEYDONE

Millions Knives razes the city to the ground.

vash cries for them. for the monsters that did this to him.

vash begs their forgiveness

nai knows then and there, his brother will never take his revenge on these parasites because that's what they are. they were given the blessing of an angel, and they tore his wings off. like the legends of old, humans would always be Icarus, flying to the sun by any means necessary, clipping others wings to fly themselves that much quicker to their meaningless deaths. they forced nais brother to be their wings, so knives will be the hellfire that melts their wax and throws them to the damned earth they came from. no, vash won't take revenge.

so millions Knives will do it for him.

[firsthumandisaster]

fortheloveofpeaceandpeople​:

Vash felt that; like the force of a door shutting fast to obscure what was behind it. Not hard, but definitely quickly, and he… probably couldn’t blame him, honestly. The Veteran Vash was a vision of a future that was rapidly approaching– so, he wouldn’t pry. No, he’d keep his focus on the feathers furling out from the other’s arm.

Trying to swipe through the base of the feathers proved that they weren’t something he could physically manipulate– doing it didn’t even disrupt the feathers in the way he imagined it would, surprising the younger Plant. The way he connected to Plants wasn’t like this, it was… well. Different. But he could show him.

He could connect to another Independent. Something he’d never done before– never gotten the chance to do before.

His eyes flicked from the other’s hand to his eyes, then back again before closing, squeezing Vet’s hand gently. He hoped to mirror the feeling of a door, but one that was opening, nice and slow. Letting in more of Vet’s emotional tide so he could sync better, follow the same wavelength… and allow the array of patterns typically undetectable on his skin to slowly light up… a warmth ebbing from him. Something soothing and soft and equally curious…

| 🌱/🌌 | Everything about this moment had awakened an inner core in the older Vash. It normally woke turbulently, leeching his thoughts away and leaving behind only the sharpened focus and vibrant heat that was the essence of his being a Plant. This was.. curiosity waking curiosity. The ‘door’ that opened did not disrupt him the way Knives had, but then...perhaps it was the difference in their natures that led to how those outcomes had become. The nature of these two Vashes, and perhaps any incarnation of Vash, were similar enough that they fell together neatly, calmly. Safe. Quiet.

Quiet, distant eyes watched the younger Vash as the patterns slowly woke across his skin. He would feel the softened surprise, the awe and how captivating his counterpart though it was. Clearly it was not something he had ever seen between himself and his Knives. Images of feathers or vaguely wing-shaped sharpened blades were in his mind in response. 

And the flow of energy, the warmth it created, fizzled under Vet’s skin, longer feathers stretched from his arm, these much more solid, and colored grey at the tips as they formed, glowing faintly purple-blue where they rose from his skin and through the sleeve of his coat.

The younger would feel the wonderment of Vet’s own power, so tame for once in sync with his mirror self. Tears prickled at his eyes again, that he should see his power manifest this way and not fear it hurting people.

You are a wonder, Vash thought at his other self. He touched Vash’s cheek with gentle, cool prosthetic fingers, moving over the glowing lines with admiration passing between them. Truly, you will succeed. Edged with determination, and a certainty that unlike himself, this seemingly younger Vash already had a step ahead of him at this point in his life. Something that must have been different, better, and veteran Vash was grateful for that in such a powerful way the hope of it almost hurt to feel.

| 🌱 | “Yes, some things are absolutes, and I believe Rem and her kindness must be one of those things.” Vash looked at his counterpart’s face, a tear on his own cheek, and a kindred smile on his face. With his prosthetic, he ruffled the fluffy spikes of Vash’s hair and brought the hand to rest on his shoulder. He hadn’t realized the feathering had appeared, until the touch across his hand but his usual worry of it was muted, more surprise than anything. Even if his counterpart was different in that way, too, he still understood that it was just a … Plant thing to happen.

“They must be a reaction to our connection,” he murmured and smiled a funny little smile. Funny, because being connected to Knives had caused turbulence in his power flow. That having lent to the events in July�� No. Vash closed that part of his mind with effort, returning to the more prominent memories of Rem, and their shared grief. This was more important. The feathers were barely more than wisps of light, not even tangible to physical touch, but if Greenie had touched them, he would feel the energy that created them.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | A MYSTERIOUS INTERLUDE

first time reader click here

This is a scrapped chapter. Originally, I was planning to 1) give Reader a longer, more intense destructive streak before her ending up with Tony. I planned three or so chapters that involved an abusive Quentin Beck, but, ultimately decided that to be too cliché. 2) I had planned to write at least 30% of the fanfic in Tony's/third person POV. This chapter would have been number 11/12 - Tony would have rejected her advances in the lab & she would have got hooked on Beck's charming facade.

Why am I publishing this? It seems like a waste if effort to shelf it, plus, it's Tony's POV. You can skip it since it has no relation/bearing on the current story. Just a tiny "what might have been" tidbit.

It was a moment's notice. One second, they're standing in a group, laughing, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace, chattering amongst themselves, telling tall tales and sipping their liquor. It all goes black briefly, and then they are surrounded by darkness - it's nearly impenetrable, so thick that their voices echo in it.

Tony's body was encompassed by the nanotech suit immediately after his eyes and his brain adjusted to the rapid change of surroundings. His teammates, too, had their skills honed on an instinctive level - the faint thump of Mjölnir in Thor's hands, the golden-green glow of his brother's magic, whirring of Barnes' prosthetic arm. Steve's shield stayed tucked behind the living room couch but his enhanced physique and readiness to fight 24/7 has him covering the unenhanced Clint and Natasha in mere seconds.

Tony was mostly angry rather than afraid. The team was having a good time at his party and the chance encounters of weird shit like this had been reduced to nearly zero percent possibility thanks to Friday's screening process: supervillains, Hydra agents and the likes strictly prohibited on Stark-owned premises.

It was a strange coincidence Banner had to take a break to check up on one of his experiments not even five minutes before the rest of the team was experiencing the strange change in scenery. Speaking of Strange, the sorcerer also was nowhere to be seen - Tony distinctively remembered seeing Stephen ten feet away from the bar, engaged in a hearty debate with the lead of SI's Medical Engineering department.

"This is not magic," Wanda piped up from behind him, confused. "I don't feel anything on the usual frequency. It sounds more like Friday humming in the walls, like electricity."

Good to know, Tony thought. It was nice having someone who was familiar with the undiscovered side of science - after all, Tony had always considered anything 'magical' to be science he had not personally understood yet. Wanda's most redeeming quality in Tony's eyes was the fact that more often than not she seemed to be as clueless as everyone else when it came to her powers and didn't act so high and mighty as some other people. Cloaked people, and horned people, for example.

"The fuck, man? I was hoping, just one evening, one normal evening with my beer and wings," Clint whined. Tony could hear Natasha huffing in annoyed agreement.

"Mr. Stark, what are we going to do?" His very own spider-child, on the other hand, sounded distraught. Peter's voice has this funny thing it does when the boy is upset but tries to hide it: it quivers on the vowels, wobbles slightly.

Tony had to blindly grope the air for a moment before his arm found Peter's shoulder. The boy was shivering and took the offered comfort eagerly, folding into the older man.

"Okay, whoever is pulling this stunt, my advice is: don't," Tony sighed, 12 000% Done With This Shit™, exclaiming loudly. "If that's a prank, stop it or speak up. If you got beef, then you got some nerve doing this in my tower. Show yourself."

He could feel the fine hairs on his neck stand up as the team tensed next to him, readily gearing up to pounce. Peter was vibrating in Tony's arms and the billionaire suddenly remembered the curious side-effects of Peter's powers, the spidey-sense. It must have been going absolutely haywire - the kid nearly hyperventilated himself into a heart attack.

"Stark, I must apologise for the uncomfortable circumstances. Believe me, it was a necessity - you always demand attention, whereas I need people to pay attention to me for a moment. Don't worry, you'll get yours when the time is due."

The voice was vaguely familiar. Male, slightly nasal but quiet and creeping. Insinuating. It lacked the usual boisterous bravado of a mid-grade bad guy, Tony had to take an educated guess that the owner of the mysterious voice was well-off, white. Privileged. No hint of desperation in it, as if the man was pitying everybody.

"The fuck? Q, is that you?"

Oh shit, Tony realized in muted horror. She must've been hanging around somewhere in their vicinity - which wasn't unusual, the girl usually orbited around Barnes, Wanda, Peter or Bruce. All of whom were present at the party. Tony had forgotten about her, to his shame, somehow having had automatically assumed she trotted out of the room on Bruce's heels. His science bro and her acted like conjoined twins when it came to their scientific ventures.

"Stop talking," The man growled, the voice suddenly coming from a very different direction. Tony heard a distinctively feminine yelp, albeit muffled. Peter violently jerked in Tony's arms. The engineer put the superstrength of his suit to use, holding the teenager down.

"Aw, hell no!" She yelled, the indignant shrieking followed by the sound of a moist palm slapping something glass...y? "What the fuck? I am asking you again. Are you... Oh my God, are you wearing a fishbowl on your head? Ow, motherfu-" The rest of the sentence is muffled, garbled. Whoever this "Q" was, she obviously knew him and he had silenced her. And, apparently, Q had an uncanny choice of headwear.

Tony was sure the rest of the team had followed his lead on doing a spit-take. They've fought enough supervillains with more than questionable fashion sense but a fishbowl? That was new.

"Be quiet, baby. It's for your own good. I don't want to hurt you if I can help it," The Fishbowl chastised her.

Tony's confusion once again returned to irritation at the frivolous way the villain addressed his science buddy. Peter's friend would have been more accurate but Tony had put her into the 'science bro' category not too long ago. They were close, as much as they could be, with the age gap and totally different interests and... The immense amount of guilt Tony felt for his attraction towards the girl. He was a dirty old man and she was barely an adult.

Every damn day Tony did his best to avoid making a shiny, big, new problem. Yet her brains and her wit and the uncanny ability to pull anybody into a conversation had a firm hold on his attention.

"Leave her alone," Stark angrily declared, powering up a repulsor. "What do you want? Party crashing isn't allowed in my tower anymore."

"What I want, Stark, is for you to give credit where it's due," The man answered simply, giving Tony just enough time to shove Peter behind him towards Natasha and take a tentative step forward.

The soft glow emanating from the repulsor illuminated barely two inches around his hand. The darkness surrounding it seemed to swallow the light. Tony moved on quiet feet towards the voice, easily avoiding furniture. His memory was good and he knew his tower, his home, better than anyone else.

"Did I hear that correctly, you're accusing me of plagiarism?" Tony tried for indignant, hoping to provoke the man into an inevitable, drawn-out speech where he lists all the wrongs Tony ever did him, giving the team precious time to regroup and form some semblance of a plan.

"Yes," Q simply answered, pausing for a second. "I hope you enjoy your next adventure. It certainly will show you the potential of my creation."

Tony shared a muted sound of confusion with the rest of the team.

"Q, I am very disappointed," To Tony's horror, th girl stared talking again. She sounded somewhat breathless, and closer to him than before. "Stop it with the dick measuring contest, you're a grown ass man. Go work for OsCorp, or Hammer, drink your sorrows away." She sounded so tired. And even closer to him.

"This is not a dick measuring contest!" Q roared suddenly and wow, that man was unstable. "This was my life's work, my creation, he insulted, berated and threw away!"

"I get it, I really get the whole 'being discarded and thrown away' thing," She replied, somewhat sarcastically. "But you know what? I'll be damned and I'll be fucked if I give some piece of shit any more of my undivided attention. They don't want me? Fine, they can fuck off and take their complaints with them." Her speech was periodically interrupted by shuffling noises.

Tony didn't dare to interrupt, seeing now the possibility of Q being actually calmed down by a teenager (probably) quoting some teen drama TV show.

"But going full Joker? You're a brilliant man, Quen, I wouldn't even look at you twice if not for your brains and your baby blues, however I don't fuck with the bad guys. That shit kills," The hand that rested on the wrist cuff of Tony's suit unmistakably belonged to her. She had the remnants of some sort of wire around it, sleek and quicksilver-shiny, irritating the tender skin under it. "And I want to live. You've gone and pissed off an entire crew of supers and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think, Quen," There was genuine sadness in her voice.

Tony stood silent in confusion.

Whoever this Quen was, they obviously shared a close relationship. Tony's brain ran through the list of her friends, her relatives - there was nobody named Q, Quen or even remotely similar. Natasha had mentioned a possible boyfriend at some point but the man sounded too old for that, he was at least thirty. Or maybe? Tony wouldn't put it completely past the girl, if judging by the blatant way she flirted with Bruce. With himself.

"Baby, this is not about you. I don't want to hurt you," Quen replied, a hysterical edge to his voice. Something began flickering in the distance, attracting Tony's attention to the shape of a man with a round sort of helmet and a red, billowing cape (hello, 2012-Thor!).

"Too late, Quen. You've tied me up and you went on to attack my friends. I've already told you that if you yell at me one more time, I will leave you. So I guess this is it," Her voice broke at the end, pitiful sniffles following the statement.

Tony watched the exchange, mildly uncomfortable and very concerned. The man yelled at her? That was absolutely unacceptable, however, what else could one expect from a maniac with a flair for the dramatic?

The girl bodily placed herself in front of Tony, standing, doing nothing but rubbing her wrists. It was then that the engineer noticed Q nearing them, the shape becoming distinctively closer. And - yep, there it was - the fishbowl on his head. It completely obscured him, making his face invisible, unrecognisable.

The man seemed rather fixated on the girl standing in front of Tony. He floated in front of her, ignoring Tony, taking her bound hands in his own. A brief click and a hiss later, her wrists were released and the contraption fell freely to the floor where it landed with an oddly heavy thud. Tony hoped there was no lead in that thing - supervillains were dangerous but lead poisoning was cancerous and fatal.

"Baby..." Quen timidly touched her face with a leather-bound glove. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry." Tony took the chance to examine the man's costume. If anything, it looked somewhat steampunk-y? There was a lot of bronze, and the chest brace had some sort of glowing lines on it. Power storage units?

She stared up, towards the man's hidden face. "M'sorry, Quen," She mumbled, going in for a hug. Or that's what Tony thought. The majestic cape that billowed behind Quen was unceremoniously yanked from his body as the girl ducked, covering herself with it, yelling: "TONY, NOW, SHOOT, SHOOT!"

Tony did just that, shot Quen flat in the chest and the man stumbled backwards, tripping on the cape - such a stupid, unexpected thing. But Tony knew, his girl was clever and resourceful. Pride swelled in his chest as he shot the man again, Rogers running out from behind him blindly, body-slamming Quen into the ground for good measure. Two hundred pounds of supersoldier later, the battle was over before it even started.

"No!" The villain shouted as Steve pressed and popped the hilarious glass contraption on his head. The accessory was no match for the Captain's super strength. Tony immediately recognised the man as his former employee, Quentin Beck, and it clicked for him. It was totally a personal vendetta.

"This stuff is tough, plexiglass, maybe," The Captain remarked, pointing at the scattered shards around Beck's head. "It appears to be augmented too, some kind of tech, I don't know. You're good at this, Tony," Steve chuckled humorlessly, roughly turning Beck around and securing his hands with a pair of vibranium-reinforced handcuffs. God only knew where he'd gotten those from.

"Good at what? Making enemies?" Stark couldn't resist the self-depricating joke.

"Stop it, Tony," Natasha's gently admonishing voice interrupted Steve's incoming lecture. Tony, for once, was thankful that the Widow interrupted. He was in no mood to listen to another one of Steve's speeches.

"Who do you work for?" That deadly gleam in Natasha's eyes was terrifying and Beck was only a man.

"I don't work for anyone but myself, thanks to Stark," He spat venomously.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Fired him years ago, this guy was going nuts. Brilliant but crazier than a bag of cats," Tony replied, feigning nonchalance. He could feel a mild headache begin to gnaw at his skull. "We worked on a project together, he got upset that I refused to weaponize it. We had a falling out. End of story." With that, Tony stood up, retracing his suit to only leave the gauntlets on his hands, gathered the various pieces of tech the good captain had removed from Beck's persona and made way towards the nearest table.

Or where he thought it was. All of them were still surrounded by the uncanny darkness. The anxiety that Tony forcefully shut down reared it's ugly head as soon as he lost physical touch with his teammates. He stumbled, his foot catching onto something on the ground.

"Ow, motherfucker!"

"Buttercup, I haven't fucked your mother nor I plan to," He snarked back automatically, flooded with relief at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Hope so. She'd probably bite your dick off if you try," A hand was groping his calf and then she stood up in front of him, still clutching the ridiculous cape. It appeared to be a source of light, which was very strange. The girl looked positively demonic, illuminated by red light, face scrunched up, eyes puffy, and clothing in disarray.

"You good?" Tony managed to choke out, confusion and worry and anxiety making his chest tight.

"Balmy. My boyfriend is a homicidal maniac with an inferiority complex," She sassed, an edge of panic to her voice. "Oh, and he tried to kill one of my best friends. I am fine and dandy."

"Your boyfriend?" That was the only thing Tony heard. Bat-shit crazy Beck, his babygirl's boyfriend? There was no way in Hell he'd allow such a thing...

"My ex-boyfriend, I guess," She sighed, removing the cape from her persona. Refusing to meet his eyes, fiddling with the hem of her top. "Here," The girl abruptly thrust the cape at him. "This is a funny thing, it's like a hologram but you can actually touch it. You should, uh, probably disinfect it, or something. I've been on-uh, around it many times," It was so unlike her, the fumbling, the embarrassment, Tony wanted to wheel her straight to medical to check if she's gotten concussed again.

Then his brain caught up and all he saw was red. Figuratively and literally - the cape was still in his face, loosely hanging from her outstretched hand. She must've seen the look on his face.

The step she took back was quick and worrying. "Forget I said that, I don't know why I said that. Oh, god."

"What were you thinking?" Tony inhaled a solid lungful, prepared to make his opinion very clear. "Getting involved with a lunatic! For a second I actually thought you were smart, there isn't a chance you missed that the guy is short of a few marbles," His voice was quiet, the one of a calm fury. His words cut deeply and he could see the hurt, the shame in her eyes, on her face. Tony knew he'd regret it later however his brain insisted it was a necessary evil. He continued ranting until he ran out of breath. "Not to mention he's, what, twice your age? And he yells at you and tells you to shut up? It didn't ring any alarm bells in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Tony, stop," Steve's hand landed on the engineer's shoulder and he simply shrugged it off, staring at the quivering girl in front of him.

She was crying, silently, few tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, leaving ugly streaks in her make-up. Tony expected her to sass him, to argue back, to yell obscenities like she usually did when something or someone upset her but he was met with hurt, stunned silence. His worst fear came true when she looked away, shrugging.

He'd seen this sort of dejected shrug the time her father drugged her and... She just took it. She expected it, even, his outrage, his disappointment. Being hurt and mistreated was the norm for her, Tony realized belatedly. There were too many parallels between them both that made him uncomfortable deep inside. His chest felt tight, regret washing over him like a tsunami wave.

"I'm turning on the lights, close your eyes for maximum comfort," Strange's voice announced suddenly, causing everybody to jump and shudder. Tony complied begrudgingly. The sudden influx of light was painful even from behind closed eyelids. His headache became a full-on dull throb.

"What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Is everybody alive?" Resonated across the room. Tony spied several small drones smoking and crackling next to the exit door, Stephen Strange closing a portal he must've used to evacuate the civilians.

The puddle of red holographic cape on the floor. And her hastily retreating back. Damn.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[psycho-slytherin]

Turtledove

Your love of nature pays off... in an unexpected way.

Request: Could you do fae prince!Jungkook who has stolen you away? 

Pairing: Fae Prince!Jungkook x Reader

WC: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, drabble, idk?

A/N I just like bees, ok? Thanks for the request, anonie!

|mlist|

“Let me be your ruler, ruler, you can call me queen bee…” You sing to yourself as you weed your backyard. You’ve got half a dozen lavender bushes waiting to be planted, but first you’ve got to prepare the soil. Just as you’ve finally yanked out a particularly stubborn nettle, you feel a soft tingle on your skin. A bee has apparently made itself comfortable on your wrist.

“Hey, little lady,” you say with a smile. Maybe this is your signal to take a break from the relentless sun. You’ve never been scared of bees. Even as a child, you always seemed to attract insects and animals. Your mom called it magic; you’re of the opinion that good souls can sense each other. “It’s hot today, huh?” You ask the bee, who buzzes contentedly on your hand as you move back into a shady patch beneath the cherry tree. “You’re gonna like the lavender once it’s all grown up, there’ll be plenty of pollen.” It must be your imagination, but it seems like the bee buzzes more happily at your words. “Well, go on,” you say, waving your hand lightly to encourage its flight. “Get back to your queen, honey- ow!”

Almost in slow motion, you watch the bee press its stinger into the flesh of your palm before looking right into your eyes. The world tilts sideways and everything goes black.

Something cold pokes your cheek and you suppress a groan. You feel dirt and leaves beneath your feet, and something softer, wet– moss?

“Mina, you weren’t supposed to kill it,” an airy, male voice says.

“I didn’t mean to,” a girl whines. “I panicked.”

Your head is killing you, and when you at last open your eyes, you blink weakly. “Where…?”

“Ah, good, it’s awake.” And in front of your eyes is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen– his hair is a soft forest green, his skin inhumanly perfect, his nose tilted up just slightly and his ears pointed, as though he’s wearing prosthetics. He’s draped in shimmering green-blue robes that seem to move despite the stillness of the air. “I’m sorry for Mina.”

“Who…?” Normally you’d be scared, but the ethereal man in front of you practically radiates calm; against your instincts, you feel yourself relaxing. “Who are you?”

The man opens his mouth but before he can respond, a blue-haired girl– this must be Mina– claps her hands excitedly. “This is his royal highness, heir to the forest fae kingdom, the Crown Prince Jungkook!”

“Thank you, Mina,” the… prince? Responds bemusedly. “This is Mina, my aide, and the one who brought you here.”

You stand up groggily. “Where’s here?” You’re in a forest, certainly: tall trees with broad leaves create a dappled pattern of sunlight on the soft floor. You don’t hear even the hint of civilization. No cars, no chatter, just the occasional bird call.

“Oh, this is my kingdom. And you, human, are my guest.” He snaps his fingers and it’s like reality melts away. Where there were nests or messy branches suddenly appear small treehouses. What you thought was an animal’s burrow transforms into a beautifully decorated hut built into the earth. The messy rocks and moss beneath your feet rearrange themselves into neat paths leading throughout the forest. And right behind the prince, an enormous redwood tree simply becomes a magnificent palace, complete with arching doorways and large windows, perfect except for its size.

“Wo-woah…” you take a step backwards in wonder, suddenly feeling dizzy. You’re hallucinating, right? An allergic reaction to the bee sting? Or you’ve been kidnapped by a very handsome and definitely psycho magician?

Although… You know it’s irrational, but you can’t help but sense goodness in him. And Mina too.

“Am I dreaming?” You whisper, suddenly realizing that those pointy-ear prosthetics look very real.

“You’re not dreaming.” Prince Jungkook draws closer. He smells like clover and rain and lavender. “Human, all your life you have been good to us. The butterflies and bees for whom you planted flowers, the hummingbirds and squirrels you kept well-fed, and the very earth beneath your feet, which was always left fertile and healthy. I have watched you save my subjects from ill-meaning humans, from injuries, from cold.” He reaches out a hand and lightly touches a finger to your chest, right above your heart. You can feel it beat faster in response. “And for that, I shall reward you with a glimpse into my world. Will you come?”

His eyes are a deep green, and staring into them, you feel like your every sense has been heightened. If you’re dreaming, it’s the most intensely sensory dream you can remember. And if not… “Yes.”

The prince’s eyes flash. “This may hurt a little.”

From his finger on your chest you feel warmth spreading throughout your body. “Ah!” What began as a pleasant warmth morphs into pain; You feel a sharp, searing ache shoot through you. Your ears, eyes, and back especially feel as though they’re burning. “Stop it!”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the pain stops and you collapse onto the moss, which seems bigger now. Your body feels inexplicably light, and when you look back at the prince and Mina, your jaw drops.

“Holy– you have wings!” Tossing your confusion to the side– it’s a dream anyways, it doesn’t have to make sense– you bound over to Mina, who indeed stands before you with beautiful blue and black wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. Prince Jungkook’s wings are silver, almost transparent, and yet so bright they practically glow. “Can I…” you reach forward cautiously. “Can I touch them?”

“Gently,” the prince replies.

“But, your highness–” Mina says, falling silent as you lightly stroke the prince’s wing. They seem to emerge from between his shoulder blades, and though you thought they’d be light and fragile, you can feel a strength in the material. You notice the prince tensing slightly at your touch.

“This is all so beautiful.” You finally take a step back and look beyond the fae in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

The burrows and treehouses have grown in size. The palace that seemed awkwardly small now looms over you, impossibly large. In fact, everything seems much bigger now. You stare at your hands and finally notice that they look tiny in comparison to the humble blade of grass beside you. Nothing’s grown– you and the faeries have shrunken.

“Do you remember some fifteen years ago? You were just a child when you found a turtledove with a broken wing.” Prince Jungkook says with a soft smile.

You do remember the incident– you’d come into the house crying, asking your parents to help you bring it inside.

“You spent days and sleepless nights nursing it back to health. And for years the turtledove would return, wouldn’t it, to say hello?”

“Y-Yes. It always slept in the fig tree outside my window.” The dove stopped visiting four or five years later; you figured it had died.

“That turtledove, lovely human, was me. And this is my kingdom.” He gestures, and the silent forest suddenly bursts into chatter, movement, noise. Hundreds of faeries appear as though they’d been there all along, walking or flying, dressed in all manner of tunics and robes. Most seem to be going about their business, running errands, or doing work. Some stop and stare at you, or greet the prince with a bow. The doors to the redwood palace swing open, and you hear an unfamiliar kind of music fill the air.

“Will you join me?” Prince Jungkook asks, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.

You grin mischievously. “That depends, do I get wings too?”

“Oh, Y/n. Look behind you.”

“What?” You crane your neck and yelp in surprise; In your peripheral vision you can see the edges of black-and-yellow wings, the pattern resembling a cross between a monarch butterfly’s and a bee’s. You focus intently on your back muscles and for a brief moment, you see the tips of your wings flutter.

“Er… your highness, can I keep them?” You ask the prince, hurrying to keep up with him and Mina as they enter the palace. The interior is beautiful, perfectly blending the decor in with the natural color of the wood. Patterns and symbols you don’t recognize are carved into the walls, and well-dressed faeries turn to eye you from around the foyer.

“Call me Jungkook. The wings are yours within the fae world– and you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like, princess.”

Your heart seems to glow. You’re a faery, a real faery! Even if it is just a dream… you never want to wake up.

“Jungkook!” You say his name like it’s a ray of sunshine, laughing at the pure delight flowing through you. The prince stands next to you, his wings catching the light of the lanterns. “Jungkook, thank you. Your world is so wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Jungkook takes your hand and draws it to him, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. “No, thank you. You’re all goodness, princess. Now, let me show you around.”

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Comfortember Day 1: We’re Here For You

Summary: Written for Comfortember Day 1. Takes place in the Httyd Zombie AU, follow-up to Whumptober Day 27's "I'll Be Right Here, Bud". After waiting and waiting, their friends finally come for them.

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Stormfly

Pairing: None

Words: 1 436

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Rescue”

Whumpee: Toothless

Author’s Notes: You would think that I would be done with the month-long prompts after completing Whumptober. APPARENTLY, I'm not quite done yet.

I don't know if I'll do the entire month, but it seemed like fun to do "whump" prompts that are more focussed on the comfort after the whump.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3 for Comfortember Day 1

Ao3 for Whumptober Day 27

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hiccup?! Toothless?!"

That's Astrid's voice that's calling out to him and his Bud, Hiccup lifts his head up from Toothless' and looks up to the night sky, the stars twinkling far above their heads. The remains of the sunset can still be seen in the far distance.

"We're down here!" Hiccup calls out to them and he can hear them running towards them.

Toothless' head is still on his lap. In the hours they've been waiting, neither of them has moved much. Hiccup's injured knee is bend beneath him and it has swollen that way, too.

"Hey, they're here! And they're alive!" Ruffnut happily announces and ten different faces appear where the front of the house should be and Hiccup is happy to see them, though he does have some questions.

So his smile melts just a tad, but only a tad. He's still happy to finally see them all.

"So mind telling me where you guys have been this whole time?" He asks. Considering how long it's been, he believes he has a right to know.

"I'm sorry, Hiccup, we got held up." Astrid apologizes, Stormfly chirps to back her up.

"We ran into some of those Hunters and then we all got caught in that earthquake!" Snotlout adds, wanting to be sure that Hiccup knows that it isn't their fault they got held up. They didn't just forget about their friends and then didn't worry about them the entire time it took them to get back to their leading duo.

"Okay! So can you guys come get us out? Toothless can't be moved before we get all of this off him first." Hiccup asks of them, gesturing to the wood and brick and dust covering his dragon, and they don't need to respond. Of course, they'll help them out.

Hiccup sees their faces disappear from view, without a doubt they're searching for a way down.

"And Fishlegs? Bring medical supplies!" Hiccup shouts up to him.

"Oh-okay!" Not the most reassuring thing you want to be asked, but not too surprising either considering their situation.

"Over there!" Astrid tells the Riders as she might've found a way into the basement and while they're on their way to them, Hiccup pets Toothless' head and shakes him lightly to rouse him out of his sleep.

"Hey Bud, wake up! They're here!" It doesn't take much as Toothless isn't sleeping that deeply. He can't with that wound in his wing.

Tiredly, Toothless wakes up and croons hopefully to his Rider, but doesn't lift his head from Hiccup's lap. Hiccup doesn't want him to either, he's lying just fine.

The knee that he dislocated earlier that day has probably swollen beyond use by now anyway, but that is of little concern to him.

The Riders reach them, climbing over and under the debris all around them.

"Wow, this earthquake wasn't nice to this neighborhood." Ruffnut remarks.

"Well, this neighborhood could've done with the occasional upkeep. The street, too." Hiccup says to her.

There have been a few aftershocks, too. When they happened, instead of leaving his Bud behind to get to infinitely safer ground, Hiccup had draped himself over his head and hoped for the best. Though this house that they're in is mostly ruined, there is still plenty of it left to fall.

Some smaller parts of it did, but not on them, fortunately.

"So what's the situation?" Astrid asks and kneels by the duo. Obviously, there's something wrong or they wouldn't still be sitting here in what looks like a basement.

She pets the Night Fury's head, too, and Toothless purrs appreciatively at the show of affection.

"His wing is hurt. Some wood broke off from somewhere and pierced his wing." Hiccup points it out. The bleeding has stopped a long while ago and the puddle that he had originally found hasn't grown much. The wood must be stopping it.

"Oh, that could be bad," Fishlegs states and stands there with all of their medical supplies. This place is quite cramped for someone his size. This place is quite cramped for everyone involved.

"So what do we do?" Tuffnut asks and they all look to Hiccup as maybe he already has an idea on how to handle this situation.

"We remove the debris lying on Toothless. Start from the top, that way we won't risk hurting him further. And someone hold that wood in his wing still, we can't risk moving that either. Fishlegs, keep an eye out for an opening to help. I'm going to stay here." He tells them swiftly. His part of the plan is not only to keep his dragon calm as he probably won't be getting up with that knee of his anyway. Not easily, at least. He might even be a detriment to Toothless' health if he tries to help out.

But the Riders agree with the plan and they get to it. Excluding Hiccup and Fishlegs, they still have a total of four pairs of hands to help all of that junk off Toothless.

They get to work and Hiccup looks down on his Bud, petting the top of his head with a smile.

"It's going to be okay soon, Toothless. We're here for you. We're going to get you out of here and fix that wing. Everything's going to be okay." Hiccup leans down and hugs the dragon's head, who lifts it and purrs knowingly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took some doing to get Toothless out of that basement. First to get all that rubble off him without disturbing the object impaling him, then removing that object itself, and then they had to take care of that tear in his wing. And as wings tend to bleed profusely, it had to be done quickly.

After all of that was taken care of, Stormfly had to lift him out of there before they could search for a campsite to settle down in for the night.

And in the meantime, the Dragon Riders found out about Hiccup's once dislocated knee and that means they have two injured friends in their group.

But they found a nice place to stay in the form of a hotel with a lot of nice and big beds to rest in, certainly big enough for a Night Fury. Though this injury isn't nearly enough to stop him for long, flying won't be such a good idea for at least the next week or so. The good news is that dragons are fast healers.

The rest for tonight and tomorrow, it's merely to recover from the events of the day.

The doors of the hotel are big enough for a dragon Toothless' size to just fit through and he and Hiccup take one on the second floor. The Riders each have their own room on one of the upper floors, close to the Dragons, which have settled on the roof.

"Here it is, Bud! Our very own suite!" Hiccup tells his Bud, limping into the room with a crutch to aid him. He always has at least one with them ever since the loss of his leg. With his chronic pain, it's handy to have one with him for his bad days.

Toothless comes in with a rumble and looks around the room. It quickly becomes clear that he has little interest in anything present and swiftly climbs onto the bed. It's a miracle it can even hold him.

Hiccup lets out a chuckle and watches Toothless get comfortable, the frame creaking horribly all the way.

"Don't break it, Bud." He tells him, Toothless rumbling indignantly, but in a teasing manner.

He settles, bed groaning beneath him as he does, and Hiccup lets out a laugh when Toothless pats on a spot next to him with a paw.

Placing the crutch down on the ground by the bed, Hiccup gets on it and removes his shoes, deciding to leave his prosthetic on. It doesn't feel too pleasant on his knee to crawl up on the mattress to reach his dragon, but Hiccup manages and looks at his Bud.

"We made it. At least for today." He tells him with a smile, Toothless croons in agreement.

"I told you we would be there for you, didn't I?" Hiccup asks and pats him on the nose, which coaxes Toothless into laying his head on the human's uninjured knee. His smile widening, Hiccup pets him.

It's well past midnight by now and all they have for light is the moon, but there is still plenty of hours to go before the sun rises again. Until then, Toothless can rest and so can he.

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER FOUR

The rest of the day passes in a haze. Loud cheers met Nadia’s announcement and Portia slipped into the rush just in time to board the carriage, tear-stained but determined to fight through it.

I must have been imagining things. I don’t want to think poorly of Julian, but I have to face facts: people will do and say anything to keep themselves off the gallows. He’s smart. He’s charismatic. He knows I’m working with the Palace. I can’t help but think he was just trying to endear himself to me, taking advantage of how obviously attracted to him I am. I can’t blame him for that. It’s my own fault for chasing what was a pathetic pipe dream from the start.

I retreat to my room after we return to the palace. It’s not unreasonable, considering I haven’t slept much in the past few days. From my bed, I watch spots of sunlight creep across the ceiling until I fall asleep. At least it’s dreamless this time.

Portia comes to get me for dinner in the late evening, when the sky’s turned purple. She’s itching with curiosity, peeking at me from the corner of her eye the whole way to the dining hall. Before we enter, she clears her throat.

“So, um.”

“It was nothing.” If I keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll hurt less. “Did you—?”

“Safe and sound. At least as much as he can be.”

“How long had it been since—?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth just like he does. “Ten years, give or take. The last time I saw him was right after his apprenticeship. He came back to Nevivon for a few months while he was figuring out what else to do. I was only sixteen, so he must’ve been… twenty-five?”

The same age I am now. I didn’t realize he was that much older than me, though I suppose it makes sense. He’s lived quite a life. Yet more reason for him to see nothing of interest in me.

Portia pushes on: “What will you say to—?”

“I’m not telling her anything.” I shake my head and look away. “I don’t have anything to tell her anyway.”

That’s not a lie. I may know more about him now, but nothing pertinent.

“She’ll ask.”

“I know.”

I must not be doing as good of a job hiding my sadness as I thought I was, because Portia rests her hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I don’t have it in me to say that whatever she’s imagining isn’t true.

I can’t do this.

“Could you tell Nadia that I—” Humiliated, I choke on my tears. “I'm— I’ll be in the library.”

I’m already around the corner by the time she agrees. I don't know what I’m going to do there, but at least I’ll be alone. Again.

I may not remember beyond the last three years, but I know in my heart that I’ve never been loved like I am in my dreams. I probably never will be. With all the beautiful people out there, who would choose me, the fat twenty-five-year-old virgin so gullible she falls for every man who looks at her twice? What could I possibly offer someone like him?

Nothing.

Painful, empty nothing.

I end up at the library eventually. At least I can navigate the palace better than I could the South End. My tears have almost stopped before I feel the metal arc of the crescent moon still hanging around my neck and break apart again. I manage to reach an armchair, nestled in an alcove near a half-flight of stairs, and curl up in it as best I can to weather the storm.

I’m so ugly when I cry. Thank god no one can see it. No one ever should.

When the waves settle and my breath doesn’t feel so foreign in my lungs, I press my palms to my eyes and sigh heavily. I have a headache now, as I always do after I cry like that. I know I should be hungry, but I’m not. I don’t know what I am.

But I made a promise. To Nadia and to Julian. Even if I never see him again, I’ll help him as much as I can. And with all of his research, all the palace staff who knew both him and Lucio, all the magic echoes swirling around waiting for someone to hear them, I think I can help him a lot.

------

I was always more comfortable at night. I sleep a little bit, curled up in the armchair, but it’s not very comfortable and I wake up sore. I’m glad I came to the library, though: Julian’s desk is a mess of torn papers and marked-up books, underlines and strikethroughs and question marks in the margins, and I have so little time to piece it all together. If I hadn’t slept yesterday away… yesterday. I shouldn’t be thinking about yesterday. It was nothing. It is nothing.

He’ll be nothing if I can’t figure this out.

Portia brings me something to eat in the very early hours, right before dawn. Without saying a word, she draws up another chair and starts sorting through things too. She can read his handwriting much more easily than I can.

And Count Lucio’s name shows up. And again, and again. Lucio’s temperature rising. Lucio says wine tastes metallic. Alchemical fluid in Lucio’s prosthetic turned red, wouldn’t survive replacement. Observations in clipped clinical speech, but scrawled with ever-increasing desperation. Lucio spitting up blood. Lucio not sleeping, complaining of bad dreams. Lucio too weak to eat, still alive.

Notes on the dissection of a beetle, a cross-section of a human brain, a map of the palace with large red Xs over half the rooms in the east wing. Peeking over my shoulder, Portia points at them.

“That’s the Count’s Suite. He had the whole wing, actually. No one goes up there anymore.”

I straighten up, my joints crackling from the hours I've spent hunched over. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Nadia had the whole thing blocked off. It’s really dirty, from the— all the ash and stuff. And people say it’s haunted.”

“By Lucio?”

“I guess. One of the other housekeepers swears they saw the ghost of a weird guy at the top of the stairs once. That it looked right at them with spooky red eyes. I think they’re full of shit, but maybe it’s worth a look?”

There could be a thousand things worth a look. If I had more time… “I don’t know. I have a couple spells that might be able to pin down a ghost, but I’ve never actually tried them.”

“If it is Lucio, though, wouldn’t he be able to say who killed him?”

“Hm. That’s true. Is the wing locked?”

Portia grins and fishes in her pocket. “Not if you have keys.”

The main staircase is close to the library. I feel the air get colder as we approach, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck start to stand up even before Portia unlocks the corridor that leads to Lucio’s bedroom. It’s eerily quiet, all gray and black, luxury gone to ruin in the wake of a disaster. I’ve seen reproductions of burned-out buildings that look like this, after heavy battles. It crosses my mind that destruction of that caliber had taken extremely powerful magic to accomplish, not the actions of a single man weakened by pressure and long hours in the midst of a plague. Julian can’t even do magic. He said as much during our long conversation at the Raven. I can’t imagine anything else that would do this much damage without bringing the entire palace down.

Interesting.

Cinders crunch underfoot. Charred paintings watch us pass. A primal fear creeps along just behind us, whispering then asking then screaming at us to flee. I can feel my heart in my throat and adrenaline in my blood, every sense heightened. Tattered curtains move at the corner of my eye: I’m terrified to look and even more terrified not to.

But I can tell without bringing magic to my hand that there’s nothing here. At least nothing that wants to make itself known. There’s just a spark of pure rage somewhere deep inside the wing, but it doesn’t want to be seen. No ghosts, no goats, no ghost goats. No spooky red eyes. Just soot and smoke stains and three years of neglect. The fear lurking in the back of my mind isn’t supernatural, just the normal human mistrust of the dark and abandoned.

We go all the way to the end of the suite to no avail. Part of me thinks I should stay, but I’m getting tired now and the idea of sleeping in these rooms isn’t appealing. Portia takes my sigh as an admission of defeat and pats my arm. It was a distant hope anyway.

Near the end of the corridor as we leave, a small glimmer catches my attention. If I hadn’t been looking that way to start with, I never would’ve noticed it.

“Hey Portia, what’s in there?”

She lifts up the lantern and peers into the room. “Bath chamber, I think.”

We see it at the same time, as the light catches the red gleam again: falling from the sink are drops of blood. More of it trickles across the floor. The walls are stained from it, up to the window.

“What the fuck?”

My sentiments exactly. What is this? It can’t be actual blood, can it? This is the top floor of the palace. Is it bubbling up through the plumbing?

“Nadia’s gonna want to know about this,” Portia says in a small voice.

“Wait. Let me check it out first.”

She turns to look at me, pale in the lantern’s glow. “This is way beyond whatever my brother might have done. It could infect the whole palace!”

“Do you think it’s infectious?”

Portia frowns. “Did you… Were you in Vesuvia back then? During the Plague?”

There’s no point in lying. “No.”

“Neither was I, but I heard about it. Before I left Nevivon, some sailors docked and told everyone what they’d seen. People died so quickly, there wasn’t space to keep their bodies. And they were all red, their eyes and their fingertips, everywhere you could see veins.” She shudders. “I can’t believe Ilya worked with it and… and…”

She must’ve been so scared, knowing that he could die any day.

“You know that big ugly crematorium out in the bay?” she asks.

“The Lazaret.” Everyone knows about that. You can see it from shore, a jagged silhouette reminding everyone of the toll the Plague took on the city. I don’t like looking at it: it makes my heart ache.

“Yeah. Even with that, there were too many bodies. So many people… There was a rumor that the Palace stored the extra ones, until they could be burned.”

“Where would they have been able to keep them?”

“Dunno. But there’s a huge tunnel system under here, all the way down into the cliffs. And the dungeon’s really big.”

I’d wondered how Julian could escape the prison cells, when the only way out was through the palace itself. Tunnels would explain that, I suppose. “So do you think there’s still something tainting the water?”

Her eyes are wide in the dark. “There might be. Kinda like here, no one’s been in the dungeons for ages. Probably since then.”

I frown. It’s unlikely, but I can’t deny the evidence right in front of me. I take another step into the washroom and trace the flow towards the wall. Some of the stones are loose now, after years of water damage. There’s more than enough room for it all to drain away between them.

Weak dawn sunlight floods the horizon as I stand up and glance out the window. I can see most of the city from here, out across the harbor to the Lazaret and down through the South End and directly into the lush gardens below.

And beyond the gardens, flowing from the palace along the channel of an aqueduct, is a stream of blood red.

------

Nadia scowls at the dripping red water, then summons her bodyguard to her side and dispatches them with a whispered order. Both Portia and I follow her out of the wing, but Portia splits off at the base of the stairs to see to her duties while Nadia invites me into the dining hall for breakfast.

A massive, gaudy painting hangs over the table, eyeing us as we pick over the array of egg dishes and sliced fruit. It depicts a celebration scene, I think, presided over by a muscular blond man with his arms spread wide over a crowd of adoring citizens. Nadia notices me looking at it and chuckles.

“Admiring my late husband’s art sense, are you, Reyja?”

I don’t want to offend her, but I think Count Lucio should’ve stuck to partying. “It’s, um, very vibrant.”

“That was typical of him,” she laughs. “Ostentatious to a fault.”

People don’t talk about Lucio much, unless they’re cursing his name for all the damage he did to the city with his warmongering and overspending. I’m trying to solve his murder, but now that I think of it, I don’t know much about the man himself. “What was he like?”

Nadia grimaces. “Much as you’ve heard, I expect. Loud, brash, insolent. Committed to his life of luxury. I would not have married him, had I been sober when he proposed.”

She must catch my surprise, because she fixes me in her dark eyes and raises a brow as if daring me to judge her.

Of course I won’t. “How did you two meet?”

“He was visiting Prakra,” she says. “To present himself to Empress Nasrin, my mother, as the Count of Vesuvia. He had been in power for some time by then, as I recall. I believe he told me that he’d first come to this city nearly twenty years before, on a mercenary contract.”

“He wasn’t from here?”

“No. He was of the Southern tribes.”

That’s confusing. “How did he get to be Count?”

“The former Count grew quite fond of him. Lucio was named his heir shortly after he arrived, and took the throne shortly after that. He spoke often of the battle in which he lost his arm—” She points at the painting. Lucio’s left arm shines, gilded in gold leaf. “—the same in which Spada was killed.”

Lucio may have been bloodthirsty, especially fond of the fights to the death at the coliseum Vesuvia used to be famous for, but everyone knew his roots as a successful mercenary. Even in his forties, when he died, he was strong and virile.

Which was why his death came as such a shock. Who would’ve thought such a man would die in his bed, ravished by sickness and weak enough to fall to an unskilled assassin?

“What about the Plague?” I ask quietly. People talk about Lucio a little bit, but no one discusses the Plague at all, as if the mere mention of it will cause its return.

Nadia nods. “It appeared nearly overnight, five years ago. No one had seen its like before. To my knowledge, nothing like it has been seen since, either.”

“Do we know where it came from?”

“I’m afraid not. Little is known of it, save that it killed thirty thousand of my people in two years.”

Her people. Nadia may have been Prakran by birth, but this was her city now.

“I had been visiting my sisters when it struck,” Nadia continues, gaze unfocused as she looks back through her memories. “As such, I was forbidden from returning until we were certain it had passed.”

I remember the parade that welcomed her back, but I didn’t realize she’d been gone that long. It’s been less than a year: she must be so busy, trying to pull Vesuvia together again. No wonder the search for her husband’s murderer hadn’t been her top priority until now. “I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head, looking at me. “Understand this, Reyja: if the Plague has not truly left the city, and what you and dear Portia discovered today is proof of that, then the search for Doctor Devorak must be set aside. I am eager to see justice done, but one man’s life, when weighed against the lives of thousands, will not tip the scales. I hope I may rely upon your services regardless of that outcome.”

Her visit to the shop feels very far away. I’m attached to this now, however big it gets. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you. I have sent Yazakh to fetch an expert on the Plague from their estate. I hope they will return soon, but in the meantime, I urge you to rest. We may have much to consider in the coming days.”

I take a small pastry with me when I leave the table and make my way back to my room. I don’t doubt that she’s right, but even with this additional set of problems, I can’t keep my mind away from Julian. Thoughts of him cloud my head as I lay down for a nap and they’re still there when I wake up. My stomach isn’t happy with me, swirling with guilt and humiliation and anxiety, but I don’t know what to do about it.

The expert still hasn’t arrived when I go up to Lucio’s suite to check. I pass the library on the way back and my fingers fly to the silver moon pendant still around my neck, following the divot Julian’s own nerves wore in the metal. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look through his notes while I wait, if I can concentrate enough to get anything useful out of them.

I can’t.

When the sun sets again, I give up. Another day gone, and I’ve only discovered more things to do. I need something to focus on, something with a solution, something… something that might distract me from the fact that I’m no closer to clearing Julian’s name.

I can follow that water, if nothing else. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but maybe I can learn where it’s going. And I can get out of the palace, maybe work off some of this nervous energy. And I won’t be surrounded by pieces of him, distracting me from my mission. It’ll be perfect.

---------------

prev || next

[nitewrighter]

I'm weak for pre-fall Gency. Could you write some angsty but soft-at-the-end prompt for them?? :3

With all this AU stuff, it feels like forever since I’ve written Gency Proper. I gotta get back to my roots.

-----

Genji sat on a bench in a locker room and nervously tested the plates of his new prosthetic arm, sliding them back and forth into place. He lifted his head to see Mercy, her back to him, putting her hair up in a mirror. Tracer was stretching and Winston was fiddling with his shield projector. They were all dressed in their black, gray and orange training jumpsuits, save for Mercy, who was in a less-armored version of her Valkyrie suit, though the lines of the training jumpsuit were visible underneath. Genji’s jumpsuit was sleeveless to accommodate for the heat sinks on his shoulders.

“Right, team,” said Tracer, “We’re staying focused, it’s just like any other training session.”

“Except Morrison is watching,” said Winston, readjusting his glasses, clearly nervous.

“And we aren’t going to worry about that,” said Tracer, putting her hands on her hips before looking at Genji, “None of us are.”

Genji apparently wasn’t paying attention until he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head jerked up to see Mercy smiling down at him.

“Just a normal training session, right Genji?” said Mercy.

“Oh--uh--right...right,” said Genji pushing up off the bench.

“Morrison wants a new strike team, and that’s exactly what we’re going to show him!” said Tracer. She stuck her hand out, palm down and looked at the other three. “New strike team?”

“Oh!” Winston stuck a hand out over her hand, “New strike team!”

“New Strike team,” said Mercy, putting her hand over Winston’s, “You’re going to be a wonderful leader, Tracer.”

“Aw, Doc!” said Tracer, rubbing the back of her head with her free hand bashfully.

“New Strike Team,” said Genji, putting his hand over Mercy’s.

“Aaaaand break!” said Tracer, pressing her hand down before throwing it up as the rest of the team followed her lead, “Let’s go!”

She darted down the corridor to the training area and Winston lumbered quickly after her, “I still think we should run through our strategy one more time--!”

Mercy and Genji followed after them at their own pace.

“I still can’t believe they’re giving me this chance,” he murmured, “McCree was the one Reyes was grooming---he should--”

“Tracer wanted you, Genji,” said Mercy, “And I wanted you too.”

Genji’s shoulder vents steamed. “Uh--”

Mercy suddenly reddened and caught herself. “Bad phrasing! Bad phrasing!” she said waving her hands nervously, “What I’m saying is, you trained Tracer. She knows how to work with you. And as important as McCree is to Reyes and everyone, you have to admit he’s been...out of sorts... since Venice.”

“Not to mention Reyes probably likes having him on reserve for more ‘vacations,’” muttered Genji.

“But you’re going to be a great addition to the team,” she said.

“...if Morrison approves,” said Genji as they stepped out into the sunlight of the Zurich training field.

----

“...I’m still not sure how good of an idea this is,” Jack murmured, standing on an observation deck overlooking Zurich’s biggest training area, watching as several maintenance workers prepped the area.

“You wanted our input, and here it is,” said Sojourn, standing next to him.

“We benched Blackwatch for a reason, and he was one of the most volatile agents on it--granted ‘Volatile’ and ‘Blackwatch’ sounds redundant but...” Jack trailed off.

“He’s made a lot of progress,” said Sojourn, “And he and Oxton have built up a strong rapport these past few months. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re more concerned about the ninja than the gorilla.”

“Overwatch has never shied away from an unconventional image,” said Jack with a shrug, “Plus he’s... y’know, cute. Kids’ll like him.”

Sojourn snorted. “Always thinking of what looks good on a poster, huh? Let’s just hope he’s as good in a fight as he is in a lab,” said Sojourn as they watched the four figures take their places at the edge of the training field.

“Is that Genji?” he said, looking at a figure in a silver helmet with only the green line of a glowing visor at his face.

“You haven’t seen the new prosthetics, yet?” said Sojourn.

“No I--It’s a good look. He’s...”

“Less terrifying?” said Sojourn arching an eyebrow and smirking.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah but it’s fun making you uncomfortable,” said Sojourn, rolling her shoulders, “So--what should we throw at them? I took the liberty of customizing some of the training bot AI’s.”

“Let’s not softball it,” said Jack, “We aren’t just putting this team together to sell posters.”

---

“Take a deep breath, everyone,” said Mercy.

Genji heard Winston audibly inhale and exhale and he elbowed him a bit playfully. “You’ve got this, Winston,” he said. Tracer pulled her goggles down over her eyes and readied her pulse pistols.

“I sure hope so,” said Winston. A loud buzzer sounded and Jack Morrison spoke over the loudspeakers.

“Good afternoon, agents, this is Commander Morrison. As you know, with the impending retirement of Lieutenant Wilhelm, and Chief Engineer Lindholm’s transference out of field missions, we need to restructure our primary strike team. You are our top candidates for that team, but obviously you need to demonstrate an ability to work together before we can send you out in the field.”

He means us, thought Genji, looking over at Winston, He already knows Tracer and Mercy can work together--if we blow this, I’m back on the bench and Winston’s back in the lab. I don’t know how much longer I can stand being cooped up here if I mess this u--

He felt a hand touch his arm and startled slightly, glancing over at Mercy. She brought her hand away from him and mouthed ‘Deep breath,’ then demonstratively closed her eyes and drew in a steady breath through her nose, lifting her chin as she did so, before exhaling out of her mouth and relaxing her shoulders. He matched her breath as Jack Morrison went on.

“Your test is to break through enemy defenses and secure two objective sites. The objectives are indicated on your HUD and holographically indicated in the field. The training bots will maintain an assault on you throughout this whole mission, and there is a time limit so you don’t back yourselves into a corner and hope to mow them down slowly.”

Sojourn cut in here, “The training bots’ blaster rounds are nonlethal, but they have been known to break the odd bone or cause second degree burns here and there, and your suits are equipped with sensors that recognize the damage done as equivalent to pulsefire. Basically: Once your suit reaches and registers ‘critical damage’ from enemy fire, you’ll be flagged as ‘dead’--and if you’re dead, you’ve failed the test. No miracles here, Doc.”

Tracer swallowed hard at this but Mercy just furrowed her brow with determination.

“Of course, we’ve taken the liberty of replacing Ziegler’s traditional biotics with an anti-damage ion tether that functions, in the eyes of our sensors, as healing. So your role, Doctor Ziegler, will be essentially the same, just with no risk of anyone actually dying.”

“Except for the second degree burn part...” murmured Winston.

And the risk of never having a field mission again for the rest of my career, thought Genji.

“Any questions?” said Sojourn.

“Yeah!” Tracer spun her pistols, “Is that all?”

“Don’t get too cocky, Oxton,” Sojourn playfully chided over the intercom, “Test begins in 3, 2, 1--”

A loud buzzer sounded and suddenly training bots were flooding into the training area.

“Keep it tight, loves!” said Tracer, already firing off her pulse pistols, “Winston! You and the Doc go high and head for that objective site! Genji! Cut a path for them! I’ll run interference! Break!”

Mercy kept a damage boost on Winston as he hurtled upward in a leap. Genji had to trust Winston would be able to body-block her from incoming damage as he and Tracer went low. These bots were faster, more armored, and more aggressive than the usual goofy, doddering training bots he was so used to effortlessly destroying. They must have taken some notes from the Null Sector attacks, thought Genji as he did several backhand springs out of the crossfire of several training bots before Tracer plowed through them in a blaze of pulsefire. Winston slammed down onto the objective point, crushing two training bots before hauling up his tesla cannon and unleashing a braid of sparks across the training bots, short-circuiting them. Mercy slowed her own descent with her valkyrie wings, taking advantage of her higher perspective to knock out a few training bots before their return fire forced her to drop down to the ground and take cover behind Winston, keeping a steady stream of her ‘healing’ ions so that he could draw the brunt of enemy fire.

“How are you holding up?” she called to him over the high-pitched sounds of pulsefire.

“No second degree burns, yet!” said Winston and Mercy smiled a little.

“Doc! Incoming!” Tracer called and Mercy had to pivot on her feet and draw her blaster to take out a flanking training bot before seeing a flash of green corkscrew through a mess of bots and see Genji burst out of the skirmish, sword drawn and bots exploding behind him.

“Are you both all right?” said Genji, deflecting several shots from various angles as he backed up to rejoin them.

“We’re fine!” said Mercy, “You seem to be handling yourself well!”

Genji just chuckled as he kept up his deflection, “Well, being benched, there wasn’t much to do besides wrecking training bots,” he said with a shrug.

“Don’t jinx it!” said Tracer, darting into formation with them, “Okay, big guy! Your cue!”

“Right!” said Winston, slamming a shield projector down. The four of them stood back to back on the objective, protected by Winston’s shield, keeping the waves of training bots at bay. Mercy patched up any damage indicated on their suits before drawing her blaster and helping them maintain the perimeter with her own fire. Genji sent out fans of shuriken, just enough to split the training bots’ attention between himself and Tracer and to make up for the lack of range on Winston’s tesla cannon. Even though he could see fissures already running through Winston’s shield. there was a comfort on this team that he couldn’t remember ever having on Blackwatch.

It’s probably the shields, he thought a bit ruefully, but then he saw Mercy’s feathery ponytail bob into the periphery of his vision as she fired off her blaster, and it occurred to him how at ease she made him feel. Moira as a medic was a far less comforting presence---those unsettling heterochromatic eyes dissecting him, the fact that he could feel the amusement emanating from her as he limped after a biotic orb, and the odd rapport she seemed to have with Reyes that made Genji very uneasy with what should be ‘routine compartmentalization’ of Blackwatch’s intel. Mercy, meanwhile, would zip right to him in the thick of battle to heal him. The team clearly trusted her. He trusted her. She felt constant. Just having her at his back made him feel like no opponent was too tough. Then a loud chime sounded over the speakers.

“Objective A captured,” Athena spoke over the intercom, “Commence attack on Objective B.”

---

“Mm,” Jack Morrison watched, unimpressed.

“Yeah I agree,” said Sojourn, “Not much compared to London, huh?” She stooped over one of the monitors controlling the training bots on the field and typed in some new commands, “Maybe my buddy from Toronto can give them a challenge.”

“Toronto...?” said Jack.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sojourn, hitting a few keys.

---

“Didn’t I tell you this was like any other training session? I don’t know what you and Genji were getting so worked up about!” said Tracer, as the four of them ran out from the previous objective.

“I wasn’t getting worked up,” said Genji, a bit sorely, but he heard a gentle snicker from Mercy and he just huffed.

“Stay focused, team! Next objective!” said Winston as they rounded a corner on the training field. They had reached a rhythm now, Tracer and Genji breaking off to flank the training bots converging on them from all sides, Winston barreling forward, and Mercy darting between all three of them to keep the damage indicators on their suits at a minimum. Mercy had to admit she felt a lot better about having Tracer flanking when Genji was backing her up--during her missions with Reinhardt and Torbjörn, Tracer could hardly stand to stay near Torbjörn’s turret--she simply wasn’t a “maintain the perimeter” sort of fighter, often to the frustration of Torbjörn and Reinhardt--but Genji and Winston greatly increased the team’s mobility. And Mercy couldn’t deny the grace with which Genji moved. When Genji talked about his missions, he usually did so in a minimal manner, as if every move was simply the next logical step, but watching him cut through training bots, run along walls, run on enemy’s heads, it seemed almost like a dance. Plus (And she would never bring this up to Tracer) Genji couldn’t recall and leave her in a patch of enemies. Which was nice. 

Her wings blazed as she kept a damage boost on Genji to quickly dispatch the high turrets pointed down on their objective as Winston touched down and lay down a shield generator.

“Taking the point,” said Tracer, darting around Winston and laying down cover fire, “Last one and we’re home free, loves!”

Genji and Mercy touched down onto the point alongside Winston and Tracer.

“Easy peasy!” said Tracer. But then a loud, droning horn sounded.

“...please tell me that was the ‘we took the point’ sound,” said Winston.

“It was not, “ said Genji as two massive steel doors just behind the objective point.

The whole team fell silent as a massive robot emerged from the steel doors.

---

“Is that pushbot?” said Jack, looking at Sojourn.

“He’s called TW-1,” said Sojourn.

“That isn’t a training bot, that’s a piece of industrial machinery,” said Jack.

“It’s a challenge,” said Sojourn with a slight smile as they both watched Pushbot slam Tracer and Winston off of the point with a swipe of its massive arm.

---

Both Winston and Tracer thudded hard into the walls bordering the end of the training field. Winston pulled himself up and tried to shake off his disorientation from the blow.

“Are you all right?” said Winston, looking over Tracer.

Tracer grunted, shot a training bot over Winston’s shoulder, and popped up to her feet. “Why is pushbot here!?” she said, firing off her pulse pistols on a few more training bots.

“Move!” said Genji and they all dove out of the way of another swipe from Pushbot. Tracer zipped around the heels of the robot, unleashing bright bursts of pulsefire until it pivoted and swiped at her and she recalled back to the team’s previous position before blinking over to them. Genji lost count of how many shuriken he had embedded into the robot’s plating, but still it lumbered around them, protecting the objective like an oversized goalie. He felt a tingle jolt up his spine from Mercy’s damage boost, yet even with the additional force, the robot’s movements weren’t slowing in the slightest.

“That armor’s too thick---” said Genji.

“My HUD indicates less than two minutes to take the point,” said Winston.

“That’s not enough time for any of us to get through that robot’s plating!” said Tracer.

“Is this part of the test!? Do they want us to fail?!” said Winston and Genji’s stomach lurched at the thought.

“Just stay calm--I can figure this out--” said Tracer.

“Violence isn’t the solution--” said Mercy, suddenly.

“Doc--Now’s not the time to go all pacifist--” said Tracer, shooting off several more training bots.

“No, I mean the test is about taking the point, not taking the robot down!” said Mercy.

“We only need one person on the point,” said Genji.

Tracer’s face lit up.

“60 Seconds remaining,” said Athena.

“Doc! Genji! You go high! Winston, knock him off-kilter!” said Tracer, darting off.

“Oh! Uhhh right!” said Winston. He took off his glasses, tucked them into a protective pouch, cleared his throat, then let out a near deafening roar as he leapt at the pushbot in a primal rage. Tracer dipped past the pushbot in a blue flash and darted about on the point, doing her best to keep the waves of training bots from overwhelming it. Genji quickly scaled the body of the Pushbot and drew his sword while Mercy flitted about its head, firing at it with her blaster. Between Winston at its midsection and Mercy at its head, Pushbot didn’t even notice Tracer holding down the point, but it did notice Genji jamming his blade through its shoulder. Winston, still in a haze of primal rage, was now working on knocking back several training bots from Tracer. Pushbot suddenly seized Genji and threw him hard. Genji sailed through the air, partially regretting how easy the lightness of his prosthetics made him to throw. He braced for the impact of a wall, but Mercy tackled him in mid-air instead. They tangled in the air only briefly before she loosed him from her arms and he found himself below her, her holding onto him by his forearm, his shuriken-bearing arm free.

“Are you all right?” she said, breathlessly.

“Ryū-Ichimonji is still jammed in its plating!” said Genji as Mercy tried to keep Pushbot’s attention on them by firing her blaster at its face. Genji did his best to back her up with his shuriken. Slowly the robot lumbered toward them.

“As long as Winston and Tracer are holding down the point, we can--” Mercy cut herself off as there was a high-pitched chirping sound from the point. Tracer had apparently set off one of her pulse bombs to knock back another wave of training bots, and caught the attention of Pushbot. Pushbot pivoted and started heading back to the point.

“Oh no--” said Genji.

“...I’m going to try something stupid,” said Mercy.

“Stupid?! Stupid how?!” said Genji. Mercy was not a ‘Try something stupid’ kind of person. 

“Just trust me and get your sword!” said Mercy, holstering her blaster, wrapping her other hand around Genji’s arm, spinning around hard in the air, using Genji’s own inertia to swing him around and increase her speed until she let him go like a hammer throw. A surprised yelp escaped Genji as he hurtled through the air, limbs flailing, but he turned a somersault to re-orient himself before making impact against the pushbot. He scrambled up and took ahold of Ryū Ichimonji’s handle and yanked down. There was a scream of metal and a blaze of green as Ryū Ichimonji tore down through Pushbot’s chassis. Genji yanked his blade out and pushed off or the robot, backflipping through the air to bounce back on his feet. Mercy aimed her blaster at the new fissure funning down the side of Pushbot’s chestplate as she drifted to the ground next to Genji. The robot lurched toward them and Genji instinctively stepped in front of Mercy with his blade in a defensive position, but then a loud chime sounded.

“Objective B captured,” announced Athena.

Winston and Tracer were whooping and cheering on the objective point as the remaining training bots shut down and slumped over. Even Pushbot powered down to a slumping position.

“Sorry about the, um... throw,” said Mercy, twisting her grip on her staff nervously.

“No--that was--that was incredible. You’re really strong,” said Genji, sheathing his blade.

“Well, you’re pretty light so...” Mercy was pushing her hair back from her face and smiling.

“.087 seconds remaining,” Jack Morrison’s voice came in from the periphery and all four agents turned around to see him walking amidst the mess of broken training bots, “Cutting it a bit close, but... congratulations.”

“Uh--thank you, sir,” said Winston, clumsily putting his glasses back on.

“That shield generator’s very impressive, Winston,” said Jack, walking past him.

“Thank you! I mean--I already said that--not that I don’t mean it again!” Winston was nervously stammering before Tracer playfully elbowed him and he eased up a bit.

Jack Morrison came to a stop in front of Genji.

“Agent Shimada,” he said.

“Commander Morrison,” said Genji.

“Your combat style has gotten more... collaborative,” he gave a glance over to Mercy.

“Most of the credit should go to Doctor Ziegler,” Genji started on reflex, “I was just--”

“Genji was reviewing strike team mission logs from under Lieutenant Wilhelm’s command for months,” Mercy cut in, “And he trained Tracer in close quarters’ combat. He possesses incredible intuition with regards to the team.”

“...right,” said Morrison, before turning back to Genji, “I hope you understand this team won’t be operating like Blackwatch. There’s going to be a lot more eyes on you.”

“I understand,” said Genji, “I am thankful for this opportunity, commander.”

“Spotlight’s not easy, Shimada, the spotlight isn’t easy,” said Jack.

“How about we lighten up and just be happy for ‘em, Jack?” said Sojourn, stepping up alongside Jack, “We have our strike team.”

“We’ll see how they do in the field before we pop any champagne bottles,” said Jack.

Tracer’s shoulders slumped slightly but Sojourn cleared her throat “Buuuut,” Sojourn added.

“But...we... did take the liberty of getting a cake in the event that you passed this appraisal,” said Jack, “Which... you did.”

“Cake!?” Tracer’s face lit up.

----

Genji wasn’t in the habit of eating in front of other people, but Tracer still insisted on sending him off with a slice of cake. He stood awkwardly with the plate full of cake for a few minutes in the conference room, watching as the others mingled and answering the odd question from Sojourn or Jack, until their attentions trailed over to WInston and Tracer. Genji quietly excused himself from the room and started walking through the hallways of Zurich headquarters. He stared at the quaint little slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting with flakes of toasted coconut as he walked away from the conference room. He heard Mercy’s valkyrie boots tok-tok-tokking up briskly behind him and he slowed his pace and turned around.

Mercy was holding her own plate, already a few bites taken out of her own slice of cake.

“You should be celebrating with the others,” said Genji.

“Jack’s doting on Tracer and Sojourn’s interrogating Winston,” said Mercy.

“Jack dotes?” said Genji with a slight chuckle.

“Only on Tracer,” said Mercy with a smile, she gestured over her shoulder, “If you wanted to eat alone I can...”

“No--” said Genji, “I--um...I mean, I’d appreciate the company.”

“I imagine we’ll be spending a lot more time together,” said Mercy.

“Really?” said Genji, his visor brightening.

“Well... yes,” said Mercy, looking at him a bit oddly.

Genji suddenly caught himself, “Oh--Strike team,” he said after a beat.

“Yes, strike team,” said Mercy, smiling wryly, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Genji looked out the hallway window out over Zurich headquarters. Custodial workers were still carting out training bot wreckage from the practice range. His initial discomfort at first, standing with a piece of food he didn’t really feel comfortable eating in front of others, but now it was hitting him that he was off the bench. He would be going on missions again. Suddenly the world past the window glass seemed so much larger. He gave a glance back to Mercy, chewing on a bit of cake and following his line of sight nonchalantly.

“I’m looking forward to it, too, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji.

[aceofwhump]

Do you have any Lucifer fic recs? Especially anything involving wings?

Do I!!! I have so many Lucifer fic recs (161 to be precise) and that includes 31 fics involving his wings. This includes him cutting them off, him being insecure about them, his grooming them, team lucifer seeing them, etc.

Free the Devil from Pain by Navaros: “Looks like those sick bastards sewed the prosthetics onto his back.”Sick indeed. Chloe wanted to vomit at that thought, the bile already rising in her throat.“Give me a few more minutes, I’ll free the wings too. I can’t cut them loose in this position.”And with that the young forensic expert was back at work.

The Breakdown by SilverWolf7: Raphael visits Lucifer early in the morning to apologise to Lucifer. Lucifer lets out emotions he has been holding in for a very long time. Wing grooming.

Fluffy Blankets and Crossed Fingers  by procrastinatingbookworm: In the God Johnson episode, Lucifer ends up being so high on the haldol that he can’t hide his wings. Besides dealing with this incredible revelation, Dan, Ella, and Chloe have to get a very loopy and not-at-all-helpful winged civilian consultant out of the building before anyone realizes he has wings. Bonus points if their methods for doing so involve a fluffy blanket and a lot of crossed fingers.

I’m Sorry by StrayDevil15: In the aftermath of 3x24, Lucifer is having a really hard time. Ella comes to the rescue. Self harm tw.

Castaway  by ariaadagio: The Devil is real. A sentence Chloe Decker never believed until Lucifer Morningstar burned out her skepticism with his hellfire eyes. It’s a “Hell” of a reality shift, but Chloe realizes she may not have time for gradual acceptance when she discovers that one of the bodies in her most recent murder investigation isn’t human. Worse still, the next target might be Lucifer. A story that begs the question: who prays for Satan?

Malediction by orchidcactus: Chloe and Lucifer must face the consequences of 3x24, as well as dealing with new events that unfold around them.

It’s Only Me by mishasan7: She started to back up, back away from him, her eyes never leaving his face, and gasped, “It’s all true.”Lucifer felt a prickle of unease. What was true? She already knew Pierce was the Sinnerman, how could this possibly be a surprise to her now?“Detective?”What was wrong? Why was she looking at him like that?

Lucifer’s Protector by JAKishu: Trixie and Lucifer have been kidnapped, locked in a small cell and used as leverage against Chloe and her case.

Detour (with Jigsaw Puzzles) by HiroMyStory: An accident leaves Chloe and Lucifer snowed in.

Revealing  by shadowolfhunter: He’s badly hurt. Chloe’s seen his true face, and Lucifer thinks she doesn’t want to know him any more.Ella’s mapped the scene. She knows what has to have happened. There’s only one answer she needs. She goes back to Lucifer’s loft apartment.

Ashes  by theleafpile: Lucifer burned his wings, severing his connection to Hell.And Heaven.He vastly underestimated how much it would affect him.

And There Was Light by ariaadagio: When Lucifer Morningstar is found half dead in the desert, Chloe Decker is determined to find out why. The problem is … not even Lucifer knows the answer. As Chloe’s world is flipped upside down by incontrovertible evidence of the divine, Lucifer grapples with feelings of violation and futility. God’s meddling has started a chain reaction, but to what end?

Cleanse by ScooterThyme: After the chaotic events in the loft, Lucifer flees back to his penthouse. Once she’s dealt with the fallout at the scene as much as humanly possible, Chloe follows.Lucifer changes his mind about his wings.

Domini Canis by WhenFandomStrikes: When a strange and mysterious group of religious zealots known as the Domini Canis come to Los Angeles in search of the divine, they manage to kidnap Lucifer, Amenadiel, Charlotte and Chloe. The results of which brings a lot of secrets out of the dark and into the light.

The Bitter End by lucidwaking: SPOILERS FOR 3.24 this is my take on what happens next. Title may be deceiving this is coming out a lot less dark than I thought it would. I just had Blind Pilot stuck in my head when I named it.

After by apparition: Chloe comes face to face with the Devil. She’s terrified, but it’s his vulnerability that reminds her that he’s still the same Lucifer.

Broken Inside by fandomoverload: Chloe and Lucifer end up at a survivor’s meeting and Lucifer decides to tell a story. He gets a lot off of his chest, and Chloe draws the wrong conclusions. A one shot for now, more notes in the story.

Knives and wings don’t mix, Luciben8615: Lucifer groaned again, then inched the blade further into his traitorous muscle. Nearly there, just a bit more-The demon blade hit a clump of nerves, and Lucifer’s vision whited out as he screamed.

Home by Navaros: After waking up in the middle of nowhere, burned, exhausted and with those stupid, useless, feathered appendages on his back, he had no idea why they were back or who knocked him out. But that wasn’t important right now. He wanted to go home. The long forgotten and atrophied muscles screamed when he tried to move the wings more than just to open them or lay them against his back, and even that was painful.

Devil’s Advocate by Praemonitor: Non-chronological though interconnected ‘minisodes’ to catalogue the misadventures of Lucifer and Chloe, squeezed in-between their respective and occasionally overlapping day jobs. Minisode I - Lucifer babysits. That’s all.Minisode II - Lucifer and Chloe weather a storm.Minisode III - Lucifer earns back his wings in a bloodier fashion.Minisode IV - Chloe learns a thing or two from Dante’s Inferno.Minisode V - Maze and Chloe take on the original she-devil.Minisode VI - The Christmas Minisode. My personal favorite.Minisode VII - Chloe meets the family.Minisode VIII - Enter a certain petty dabbler in the dark arts.Minisode IX - Lucifer fractures a wing.Minisode X - Lucifer and Chloe go to Hell. Literally.

A Mutual Friend by jumble_of_fandoms: Pierce finds out some information about Lucifer that changes everything. If the Devil himself is going to break his deal, then Pierce is determined to do everything he can to break Lucifer. How far will Lucifer go to protect the woman he cares for?And how far is Pierce willing to go to break Lucifer?

Fever Dreams by Antarctic_Echoes: Lucifer isn’t about to let an odd chill stop him from seeing Chloe. He wants to tell her everything…. No more going backwards.And so he reveals himself – just not in the way he intended.

I Cut My Wings Off: A Lucifer TV Fanfiction by Anna_Erishkgal: Irritating, arrogant, and full of himself, Chloe goes to Lucifer Morningstar’s apartment to see if he made good on his promise to set up a meeting, but what she finds there only leaves her with more questions than answers. A one-shot drabble (at least for now).

Sympathy for an Angel by FearTheSpock: In the aftermath of the Season Finale, Chloe wakes in the middle of the night to a very clumsy home invasion.

If I Lose Myself by BurningUpASunJustToSayHello: If Lucifer’s fall from Heaven was a tragedy, then falling for Chloe was a goddamn sin.

Avenging Angel by Chlucifiction: It’s not Lucifer who finds the auctioneer, and his wings. Instead, Chloe beats him to it. (New story - not related to previous works). Comments encouraged :)

Wings are for Chickens by FearTheSpork: When Lucifer does a good deed for Chloe and Trixie, he’s rewarded. Although he isn’t too sure if he likes what he’s got.

Damnatio Memoriae by iceQueen1: Chloe tries to solve the riddle that is Lucifer Morningstar. Dan even manages to help. When mysterious ritualized killings start showing up, Chloe suspects Lucifer may know more than he lets on. Problem is, she doesn’t know what she thinks she does. Eventual Lucifer Whump.

A Walk in the Desert by Yunnaros: After waking up in the desert, Lucifer fly back to Chloe’s house to find a surprising number of people concerned by his disappearance.

Faint by chashkieh: Prompt: The pain of injuries and amputation never really go away. When Lucifer cut off his wings there was likely phantom pains of a lost limb in the immediate aftermath that faded as he adjusted but occasionally rears its ugly head on a rainy or hot/humid like most injuries. One day it flares in the middle of a case and is aggravated by one of Dan’s casual clap on the back. Basica

[erictmason]

INKTOBER DAT TWENTY ONE AND TWENTY TWO: Freedom Is The Greatest Treasure (And We Even Have A Ghost On Our Side!)

No matter how many seas will separate us I'll always be there for you Without any fear, heading straight Don't ever forget We fight together

So I might have gone a bit crazy on this one?  

For context: recently @thankskenpenders’ ongoing retrospective of the Archie “Sonic the Hedgehog” came across something very rare: a story I didn’t just not remember but in fact had never read before.  Said story, “Fairy Tale (Or The Adventures of Pirate Sally)”, is, to be clear, Not Very Good?  But the premise was just so 1000% Up My Alley that it lodged itself into my brain anyway, and before I knew it I had in fact dreamed up a whole-hog Pirate Alternate Universe for the Archie “Sonic” crew (with ideas for others not even seen here!).  And this is the result!  If you want to know the details of these takes on the characters (which I have written at length because again this idea just took me like fire), feel free to check under the Read More.

 SALLY ACORN (Captain)

Once, Sally was the Princess of the powerful kingdom of Mobotropolis…until the day, not long after her eighth birthday, the evil Baron Robotnik came to her home.  With his mechanized army he ravaged the land and attempted to hunt Sally and all her family down.  The King attempted to evacuate Sally, her family, and her closest friends out of the city safely…but the ship meant to take them all to safety was sunk, and all aboard were taken for dead.  In truth, however, Sally and her lady-in-waiting, Bunnie, had survived (though Sally had lost an eye in the attack), drifting through the ocean on wreckage from the ship…until they were found by the Dread Pirate Shadow and his young boatswain Sonic. Though Shadow was no friend of the Crown, he ultimately took pity on the lost children and took them under his wing and onto his crew.  Years passed; Sally excelled in her duties aboard Shadow’s ship (the Dark Rider), proving herself exceptionally intelligent, fierce in a fight, and able to shape the most effective plans…but always she dreamed of the home she’d lost, and the monster she’d lost it to.  Ten years later, having risen through the ranks, Sally was made Captain of the ship when Shadow, for reasons he chose to keep secret, decided to step down and leave for parts unknown.  Re-christening the ship The Freedom Stormer, Sally dedicates herself and her crew toward a new mission: acquire enough wealth and forge enough alliances to mount a full-scale attack against Baron Robotnik and reclaim her fallen kingdom.

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG (Gunner)

Sonic has never known his parents or his home; the only memories he has of either are about being on the run.  From who? Why?  He doesn’t really know the answer to that either.  But as a young boy, gifted with supernaturally incredible speed, his aimless travels led him out to sea (an irony, as the hedgehog could not swim), where his tenacity earned him the respect of the Dread Pirate Shadow, who chose to take him aboard his ship as a junior member of his crew. Thus was Sonic there when Shadow took two other children onto his ship, the young Princess Sally and her lady in waiting Bunnie.  Sonic had never shared Shadow’s distaste for the crown (indeed he barely understood what that even really meant) so he bonded with Sally very quickly, and the two became nearly inseparable from that point forwards; as time passed, and their bond deepened, the two learned well how they could always depend and lean on each other in times of need, and it helped both to manage the struggles they held in their hearts.  When Shadow chose to step down as Captain and handed the mantle over to Sally, Sonic held no jealousy; he’d never desired the role of leadership anyway, and was only too happy when Sally named him the ship’s chief Gunner, allowing him to be at the front lines of the action he so craved.  He still doesn’t have that strong an understanding of the politics and conflicts of Sally’s homeland, but he also feels he doesn’t NEED to understand that much: he believes in freedom, and he believes in Sally, and that is motive enough to make him a fiery fighter for the cause he now works so strongly towards.

 BUNNIE RABBOT (Quartermaster)

It was a quirk of fate that led Bunnie to become Sally’s lady in waiting: her parents, wealthy land-owners of the long-lived Rabbaeux family, often attended parties at the palace, and every single time they did, Bunnie and Sally managed to find each other, becoming fast friends who could spend hours at a time playing together. Bunnie’s parents and Sally’s thus agreed to make Bunnie Sally’s lady in waiting so that the two could spend even more time playing together, which they did happily until the day of Baron Robotnik’s invasion.  Though she and Sally managed to escape the sinking of the ship meant to evacuate them, the attack severely wounded Bunnie’s arm and leg; after the Dread Pirate Shadow took her and Sally aboard his ship, both limbs had to be amputated, and ever since, Bunnie has been outfitted with special multi-functioning prosthetics (upgraded over time as she grew older and thus bigger).  Her friendship with Sally has never wavered; the two remain close confidants who place a great deal of trust in each other and it was thus only natural that upon becoming Captain Sally named Bunnie her quartermaster, a role she has fulfilled with her bright spirit, strong fighting skills, and reliable courage.  As well, she’s able to keep the ship one step ahead of the Baron’s fleet, as she has formed a secret relationship with the captain of the fleet’s flagship, Antoine D’Coolette.

 TAILS (Boatswain)

Not long after Sally was made captain of the Freedom Stormer, a mysterious item crossed the ship’s path: a small life boat, a woven basket the only thing to be found on it. How the boat had managed so long without anyone to steer it was a mystery but even more mysterious was what the basket contained: an infant fox with two tails.  There was no indication of where he had come from or why he was adrift at sea, but Sally and the rest of the crew all agreed: as Shadow had done for many of them, so too would they take this child onto their ship and raise him as their own.  Sonic and Sally especially took a key role in taking care of the young boy, who they named Miles for the long journey they knew he must have had on that boat, and he in turn grew up to idolize them both, hoping to one day be a great Pirate just like them. For now, though, he helps around the ship as best he can (in particular acting as look-out, since he absolutely loves being high up in the ship’s crow’s nest) helped by his unique ability to fly with his twin tails; indeed he has begun insisting that he be called Tails, following advice from Sonic that he should not be ashamed of his second tail, but instead take pride in it and the special things it allows him to do that others can’t.

 ROTOR WALRUS (Navigator, Medical Officer)

Hailing from the far arctic, Rotor set out from home as a teenager with the intent of learning everything he could about the world: every discipline, every fact, every skill.  His travelling studies thus enabled him to become a talented medical doctor, cartographer, and even engineer.  That great collection of talents eventually brought him to the attention of Baron Robotnik, who attempted to use his mechanical agents to forcibly recruit Rotor into his service; not desiring to work under the baron, Rotor attempted to flee and was only successful because of the intervention of the Dread Pirate Shadow.  Realizing he would be safest from the Baron aboard Shadow’s ship, Rotor thus offered to work for him instead, acting as the ship’s doctor and navigator. Impressed with Rotor’s show of skills, Shadow accepted, and thus did Rotor enter the position he has retained even now that Sally is Captain.  Sally’s new mission, however, has meant the walrus has also begun having to make more use of his mechanical skills to not only maintain and repair the ship’s existing weapons (and Bunnie’s prosthetics for that matter), but to begin experimenting with and designing entirely new weapons to give them an edge against Robotnik’s forces.

 ANTOINE D’COOLETTE (Royal Captain)

In days of old, Antoine’s father, Armand D’Coolette, served as the Fleet Commander for the Royal House of Acorn…but when the Acorn Family was deposed and Mobotropolis fell under the control of Baron Robotnik, Armand chose to save his family by offering to serve under Robotnik.  The Baron accepted his terms, and the agreement held until Armand’s death several years later. Hoping to protect his mother and younger siblings, Antoine chose to continue to uphold the agreement, and became Captain of the Baron’s Flagship, the Dragoon.  Eventually, the Dragoon was assigned to deal with the Freedom Stormer, which had begun to interfere with Robotnik’s activities more and more.  It was during the pursuit of the Stormer and the many battles the two ships fell into that Antoine came to meet Bunnie Rabbot; impressed not only by her skill in battle but by her strong spirit.  Over time she too came to respect his abilities and realized he served the Baron not out of loyalty but because he wanted to keep his loved ones safe; she thus decided to convince him to act as a kind of Inside Man for the crew of the Freedom Stormer, passing along secret information that could help them counter Robotnik’s moves and keep them safe. Antoine agreed, and has been helping the Pirates ever since, as well as gradually growing closer and closer to Bunnie via the letters they exchange as part of the agreement.

  NICOLE (Ghost)

Before Bunnie and Sally met, the princess’ closest friend was a young girl named Nicole, the daughter of renowned inventor Doctor Ellidy.  But alas, only a year prior to the invasion of Baron Robotnik, Nicole was struck with a deathly illness.  Her father tried everything to save her, but no medicine or science on record seemed effective, and so he resorted to drastic measures, turning to the arcane and occult: through the Ritual of Ixis, he sought to transfer Nicole’s soul into an enchanted gem stone, believing it would cause her original body to fall into a kind of coma that would keep it preserved until such time as a proper cure could be found.  However, the ritual seemingly failed, and Nicole’s body finally gave out. Heartbroken at his failure, Ellidy chose to leave the Kingdom of Mobotropolis, but he gave the stone he had used in the ritual to Sally in honor of her and Nicole’s friendship.  Many years later, however, upon becoming Captain of the Freedom Stormer, Sally, who had taken to wearing the stone as a necklace, would learn the ritual HAD succeeded: Nicole’s spirit lived on within the stone and, through the connection she shared with Sally, she could even emerge in a ghostly form (which for reasons neither Sally nor Nicole fully understands has somehow “aged” the way Nicole would have if she were still alive)!  She cannot retain this state for long as it drains both her and Sally of a great amount of energy to do so, but even so Nicole now uses her ghostly powers to aid Sally and the others in their quest, and Sally has vowed to one day find a way to create a new body for Nicole to inhabit and live anew.

[silvokrent]

The Prices We’ve Paid - 1

In the aftermath of the Fall, Emerald starts to realize she might be out of her depth.

There were days—once far and few in-between, but now becoming increasingly more frequent—when Emerald was relieved the entirety of their plans didn’t hinge solely on Cinder’s confidence.

Not that the surety was unwarranted. Tonight had been the culmination of months spent carefully vetting and recruiting numbers to their cause, compromising the kingdom’s defenses, theft and sabotage and infiltration and death of a magnitude that Remnant hadn’t seen in nearly a century. Cinder had been meticulous in leaving little to chance, and in the end, they succeeded.

Or very nearly, anyway.

Emerald struggled not to lose her footing on the gnarled root of a tree, nearly-overbalancing to compensate for the weight borne between them. Beside her, Mercury faltered in his pace, pausing long enough to readjust the limp form braced by his shoulder. The light of the shattered moon and distant flames illuminated the sheen of sweat on his face, and the haunted, hunted look he did little to hide. She never thought she would have found herself missing his obnoxious arrogance or haughty disdain for everyone around him, if only because it was something familiar. Anything would have been better than the sobering panic he wore, that she was sure perfectly mirrored her own.

“We’re close to the extraction point, right?” Emerald asked, when the silence became too much. Well, no, silence wasn’t the right word. Even with all the distance they’d put between themselves and the city wall, she could still hear the screams of people and the spine-chilling ululations of the Grimm.

Mercury pulled out his scroll and thumbed through a mess of readouts on the screen. “It’s about thirty meters northeast from here. Rendezvous’s gonna be a spot in Forever Fall. Figure it should only be another ten minutes.” He scowled. “Probably not though, seeing as we’re sort of inconvenienced at the moment. We could get there faster if we just—”

“Don’t,” Emerald snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, Emerald, look at her.” It was kind of hard not to, with her adrenaline-overdosed brain jumping back and forth between spellbound morbid curiosity and gut-churning disgust. Emerald made an effort to keep her eyes fixed ahead, determinedly ignoring Mercury’s glare. “She’s slowing us down. And if by some miracle the Grimm don’t pursue us, she’s lost a lot of blood. Who knows if there’s anything left to even save.”

Her pulse jumped in her throat. “The Grimm aren’t going to go after three people while there’s still the entirety of Vale,” Emerald said in what she hoped passed for a reasonable tone. “And—” She weighed her options against all the things she actually wanted to say (she’s our leader, we wouldn’t be here without her, we’ve survived worse, abandoning her is wrong) and decided that appealing to Mercury’s self-interest would get her the results she wanted. “What happens when we show up without her? What happens when she finds out we made that call?”

A vicious satisfaction surged through her as Mercury, however discreetly, flinched.

“We already lost our chance at getting the Relic. How forgiving do you think she’d be if she found out we lost the Fall Maiden, too?”

Very faintly, she could make out the sound of teeth grinding together.

In the end self-preservation won out, and to her relief Mercury didn’t argue. On some tacit agreement they resumed their trek in tense silence, with the only interruptions being the occasional grunt of exertion, the snap of a twig underfoot, or an incoherent noise of pain. Fortunately her theory held true and they moved through the shadows of the trees unaccosted, though it did little to quell the anxiety savagely beating against her ribs. The thoughts came unbidden, and Emerald tried (and failed) to not dwell on the very real possibility of Mercury’s words.

There had been a lot of blood. And in the pandemonium of the aftermath, they’d had little time to make a full assessment between digging through rubble and sprinting through the hysteria-induced crowds toward the outskirts of the commercial district. Were it not for the shallows puffs of air against the side of her neck, she could have forgiven him for assuming otherwise.

She could have, but the odds of that were up there with the ones of ripping off one of his prosthetic legs and proceeding to bludgeon him to death. For now, at least, he was keeping his spiteful cynicism to himself.

Her uneasy train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a dim glow in the gap of the trees.

Emerald stopped and gestured with her free arm in the direction of the light. After briefly consulting his scroll, Mercury nodded, and they pushed their way through the undergrowth.

During the final stages of preparation it had been a foregone conclusion that Atlas’ fleet would be too preoccupied with the White Fang, Grimm, and overridden mechs to pay mind to any lone airship that just so happened to blip on the edge of their radar. Despite this, Cinder had been loathe to let a getaway vehicle anywhere near her preparations, with the merest hint at a contingency plan from Torchwick nearly earning him a second-degree burn. To even suggest the need for one implied failure, an implication which Cinder did not take to kindly. It was only when Salem was consulted on the matter, and made it clear that retreat must be considered a possible outcome, did Cinder relent.

It made sense, really, when Emerald had tried to approach the issue from Cinder’s perspective. Contingency plans were a sign of ineptitude. That you didn’t posses the resolve or skill to succeed, that you openly acknowledged your inability to account for what could go wrong. Cinder had accounted for everything, and therefore nothing could go wrong.

A mutinous voice at the back of her mind (the one Mercury liked to mock whenever they were beset by boredom and passed the time by bickering) tried to empathize. Emerald had wanted to believe her. And as she’d watched from the rooftop—the wyvern perched atop Beacon Tower, stygian tar dripping from its wings and Cinder’s outstretched hand caressing its skeletal maw as the world burned below them—she had.

Their encumbered pace brought them to the edge of the small clearing where the airship idled. A seamless door slid open on the hull, pooling light on the ground ahead of them. Emerald squinted against the glare as a familiar silhouette stepped into view.

“Just because the CCT has fallen does not mean local communication was disrupted,” said Watts, by way of greeting. They’d only dealt with him a handful of times in the last year, as Cinder preferred to minimize her and her team’s interactions with him. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out why. Salem made sure to fill the ranks of her council with people of varying occupations and skillsets, and it had taken all of thirty seconds of listening to Watts talk before Emerald had filed him under the heading of Professional Bastard.

Of course it was their luck that he’d been assigned to extraction, in the event of a worst-case scenario.

Then again, he was apparently some sort of doctor, so maybe it was their luck.

Time to find out.

Mercury bristled. “Sorry, but it’s kind of hard to call ahead when we’re running and avoiding capture.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Watts said. He brushed his hands down the front of his overcoat, narrowed eyes peering into the darkness where he couldn’t see, but still heard them approach. “Were I not concerned with the impending consequences, I would congratulate you on the manner in which you failed. I suppose if you were going to waste our one chance at victory, then might as well do it with style. That was quite the lightshow. I think there were a few people in Mantle that didn’t go blind just now.”

“That wasn’t us,” Emerald said, an edge creeping into her voice. She took another step toward their escape, desperately trying to ignore the stab of agitation at the seconds ticking by. “We need to get onboard and leave. Cinder is—”

“Ah, yes. Our fledgling Maiden. I did wonder how she fared.” He had the audacity to smirk. Were she not making the effort to fight off exhaustion, Emerald might have considered the risk worth striking him. Agitation and fear were quickly fraying what little patience she had left, and if Mercury’s clenched fist was any indicator, consequences be damned was going to become a battle cry very soon. “Our lady invested quite the time and resources into her training. It would be a shame to learn that it had all been for naught.”

“Then see for yourself,” Mercury spat. At last he stepped forward and pulled Emerald with him into full view, carrying with them the third member of their party.

The emotion slid from Watts’ face.

“Bring her onboard and set her down, now,” he ordered.

“What did you think we were trying to tell you?” Mercury’s barbed remark was predictably ignored, not that Emerald really cared. Watts had already disappeared to the front of the ship by the time they’d hastened Cinder’s limp form onto one of the benches by the wall.

For the first time since they’d hauled Cinder from the wreckage, Emerald was able to get a clear, unobstructed look at the extent of her injuries. It occurred to her, somewhere, in the region of her brain not preoccupied with gaping like a fish, that a lifetime spent in poverty had given her a pretty great front row seat to the unflinching horrors of the world. What people looked like as they starved to death, what people smelled like as untreated wounds turned gangrene from medical neglect. What people sounded like as they died in anonymity, begging for help from passersby that would avert their gaze and double their pace. The familiarity had taken on a role reversal in recent months, courtesy of Cinder’s benefactors, and Emerald could now say that she’d perpetrated quite a few of those horrors herself, with the odd homicide or two thrown in for good measure.

A lifetime of horror had made Emerald assume she was immune to the worst of it by now, only to realize she needed to seriously update her definition of worst.

The arm was the most immediate and visually arresting. Halfway down the appendage, just above where the elbow should have been, hung strips of mangled flesh. Debris and bone fragments sullied the wound, darkening the blood that had begun to trickle around the remains of the limb.

There was a sudden, plummeting sensation in her midriff, accompanied by a bout of nausea Emerald very nearly failed to suppress. Not wanting to vomit on her boss, she decided to focus on Cinder’s face instead.

And immediately regretted it.

A mutilated stump was a lot to take in, but at least it still looked like a limb. Cinder’s face was all but unrecognizable. Skin had been asymmetrically burned away into a topographic map of red-and-white flesh that furrowed here, peaked there, as if it were suspended in the process of melting. Where an eye should have been was a congealed mass of raw flesh and fluid that pooled into the socket. Only the right side of Cinder’s face remained unmarred, comparatively speaking. Amidst the pallor of the skin her remaining eye shone wetly, the pupil dilated to a pinprick, unfocused on the people crowding above her.

“She looks…bad,” Emerald managed, when her vocal cords finally remembered how to work. As far as descriptors went it was pretty underwhelming, and judging by Mercury’s unimpressed frown, he agreed.

“She looks nearly dead,” Mercury corrected her, rather unnecessarily at that. Okay, it was more accurate than “bad,” but it still made Emerald want to punch him. Common sense quickly banished the impulse from her thoughts. Both of them were low on Aura and running on fumes, and getting into an impromptu fistfight on a moving aircraft probably wasn’t the smartest plan she could’ve come up with. Instead, she focused on trying to drag air through her lungs, wincing at the burning sensation from the smoke she’d inhaled. The gesture did enough to clear her mind though, and bring with it another intrusive thought.

“Why hasn’t she said anything?” Torn between the desire to touch and the instinctive fear of Cinder lashing out at any physical contact, Emerald hovered nearby, arms folded over her chest. “She made noise when we transported her, so she’s definitely conscious. I think.”

Mercury frowned, this time in thought rather than contempt. “It could be some injury we’re not seeing.”

“Perhaps if you moved,” said a voice from behind, “I could find out why.”

In the time between configuring the flight controls and rejoining them, Watts had donned a blue-gray lab coat and retrieved a pinstriped physician’s bag. With an impatient shooing gesture he strode past them and set it down on the benchside table.

“Formalities first. Cinder”—Watts leaned forward—“if you’re alert then I need you to prove it. Can you speak?”

His only answer was a faint, rasping breath.

“I assumed as much.” A critical eye swept lengthwise over his patient as he removed a pair of latex gloves from his bag. “Not that it particularly matters, but in the event you can still hear me, I assume you’re consenting to whatever treatment methods I deem necessary.”

She could've imagined it, but Emerald thought she saw Cinder’s chest rise and fall a little faster.

Mercury, meanwhile, had made himself comfortable leaning against a nearby wall, close enough that he could still watch the proceedings. It was a deceptively casual gesture that to the untrained eye would have given the impression of indifference. It was also a complete lie and fooling no one, so Emerald really didn’t see why he bothered. Couldn’t he at least pretend to look worried?

Then, to her surprise, he spoke up: “You’re not seriously going to perform surgery on her now, are you? Right here? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“More or less dangerous than leaving her to hemorrhage everywhere?” Watts asked dryly. He arched a slender brow at Mercury. “If you’re squeamish then by all means, you’re welcome to leave the room.”

“Leave the—? It’s an airship with one room and a cockpit.”

“Precisely,” Watts drawled. He slipped a surgical mask over his face, but not before Emerald caught a flash of teeth. “So I suggest you get over yourself rather quickly.”

There was a pause as he removed another piece of equipment from his bag, before he added, almost as an afterthought: “And to answer your earlier question, no. I’m merely seeing that she arrives in stable condition. We’ll operate upon our return.”

That got her attention. Emerald exchanged a wary glance with Mercury, before curiosity got the better of her. “You actually never said where we were—”

That was exactly when Cinder decided she’d had enough, and with an incoherent cry slammed the heel of her foot into Watts’ ribs.

The blow caused him to stagger backward, although it lacked any of the usual strength behind it. The most it achieved was creating a meter gap between them. With a swear Watts closed the distance, sidestepping a second kick aimed for his head and pinning her with the weight of his arm in the same fluid motion. The proximity caused Cinder to thrash harder, teeth bared in a snarl.

It took Emerald a stupidly long moment to realize she was still standing there, occupying about the same level of uselessness as Mercury, who hadn’t even vacated his spot by the wall. Uncertainly she took a step forward, wanting to intervene but not sure how, or even who, to help.

It was a decision that became irrelevant a second later, as Watts had finally managed to wrestle what looked like a syringe out of his bag. Before either of them had the chance to react, he’d stretched out her intact arm and jabbed the needle into the skin. An eerie, cold sensation, like the kind Emerald got whenever in the presence of Grimm, settled in her gut as she watched the fire fade from Cinder’s remaining eye. Her face slackened into an emotion that she couldn’t read (not that it was necessarily a good one), and with a final gasp the tension bled from her body.

Cautiously, Watts straightened to his full height. He collected himself with a quiet exhale, and then scowled at the copious blood stains that had soaked their way into his coat.

“I suppose I’ll have to dry clean this,” he announced to no one in particular.

Emerald must have been telegraphing her thoughts pretty hard, so she didn’t exactly jump so much as dramatically fidget when Watts answered her unspoken question: “That was a general anesthetic. It should keep her unconscious for…well, for however long I decide. If nothing else, the silence is an improvement.”

Prick.

Weighing the pros and cons, Emerald crept a little closer, while maintaining an apprehensive amount of space. It wasn’t so much a lack of faith in the drug so much as it was a lot of faith in Cinder. And the reasonably healthy paranoia of nothing short of a rhino tranquilizer keeping her boss down. A paranoia that may or may not have been stoked a little by the sight of Watts touching her arm and fastening a tourniquet to the bicep.

“Why did she do that?” Not that Emerald blamed Cinder in the slightest. “How was she even able to do any of that?”

“You’d think bleeding to death would take a lot out of you," Mercury added. Emerald shot him a glare.

“It does, or hadn’t you noticed her inability to fight?” What would have ordinarily been a derisive remark sounded almost pleasantly neutral—or rather, what passed for “pleasantly neutral” from Watts, if only because his focus was on the windlass he was torqueing against her skin. “That little outburst certainly clarified a few things in retrospect. I suspected this would be the case, if the earlier unresponsiveness and confusion hadn’t been dead giveaways—oh dear, that was rather insensitive, wasn’t it?”

If she concentrated hard enough, Emerald could picture the smirk beneath the surgical mask.

“Clarified what, exactly?” Mercury prompted, after a beat of silence.

Watts clipped the windlass into place and jotted something down on the strap. “Her current condition, which lines up with the other symptoms she’s been exhibiting since you dragged her onto the ship.” He reached down and secured Cinder’s wrist with one hand, pressing two of his fingers against the skin. He lapsed into a momentary silence before releasing the appendage, and inscribing something on a holographic tablet with a stylus. “Reduced temperature to extremities, pale complexion and clamminess, pulse one hundred and thirty beats per minute, heightened anxiety and panic, respiratory rate estimated at thirty breaths per minute.” He tsk’d. “Even without the measurements for systolic and diastolic pressure it’s safe to infer she’s in the early onset of hypervolemic shock. That would place blood loss at…” Watts tapped the end of the stylus to his chin. “About a liter and a half, give or take.”

“What?” Emerald lurched forward. Out of her periphery she saw Mercury’s expression go blank. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, quite.” Watts’ eyes didn’t stray from whatever was so fucking fascinating on his screen. “Do bear in mind that she’s lost an arm. Amputations tend to be rather bloody affairs.”

“Then do something about it!” Mercury snapped. For a moment, Emerald was taken aback by the venom in his voice, only to belatedly remember that she’d convinced him that making sure Cinder didn’t die was in their best interest. Well, that was reassuring. In a messed-up sort of way.

“I am,” Watts said. Rather pointedly he set down the tablet and went about retrieving his supply bag. “The pressure I set in place is constricting the blood vessels. Not that it matters, seeing as her brachial artery was completely severed by whatever put her in this sorry condition. That's some good news, I suppose.”

“Good news?” Emerald made a strangled, indignant sound. “How is a severed artery good news?”

“Because it induces a process called vasospasm.” With an elastic snap Watts removed his gloves. “In any other circumstance that would be a problem, as it would lead to ischemia and tissue death. Here, it’s acting like a clamp and preventing the artery from hosing everything in blood. Factor in what I’ve already done to minimize blood loss, and dear Cinder shouldn’t be losing another liter any time soon.”

What should have been reassuring only dialed up Emerald’s stress to an eleven. It seemed to be a mutual sentiment, as Mercury didn’t resume his original post by the wall, but actually came to stand next to her. If Watts cared about having an audience then he didn’t show it, as he busied himself with swapping out a fresh pair of gloves and fetching a tube he’d left off to the side of the bench.

A thrill of revulsion and discomfort shot through her as Watts dabbed the ointment onto his fingers, and with obscene gentleness, began to massage it into the burns on Cinder’s face. Just the mere act of watching him touch her made Emerald want to do—something. Probably something dramatic and stupid and not at all helpful to their current predicament. In a vain effort to distract herself from the whooshing sensation in her gut, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Thank the gods or pathetically good timing that Mercury decided at that moment to offer a distraction, in the form of what seemed like a fairly obvious question: “Look, I’m not going to pretend to know anything about medicine—”

“And yet you’re still talking,” Watts said.

“—but shouldn’t she be hooked up to IVs and crap? What about an oxygen mask?”

Weird how that was the thing that got Watts to stop, long enough to shoot the pair a withering look. “Does this look like a hospital to you?”

Only Mercury could make a talent of taking all the insolence in the world and packaging it into a single shrug.

“This model of airship is designed for fast transport, not medical intervention and treatment. The extent of what I can do is everything laid out before you.” He’d gone for a second application of the topical cream—Emerald could make out the words silver sulfadiazine on the label, though what that was or what it did she had no idea—and resumed rubbing it into the skin. “Once I have access to my equipment I can begin a blood transfusion, and get her on a saline drip. For now, we make do.”

Which wasn’t exactly great news, but Watts seemed to know what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like they had any other options. Mercifully he withdrew his hand and binned the soiled gloves.

“What about her Aura?” Emerald asked. “I know depleted Auras can take a while to recover, but they’re part of the healing process for us. Shouldn’t hers have started to come back?”

It didn’t sound nearly as reasoned-out as it had in her head, and Emerald might have been grasping at straws by that point. She’d hit a profoundly new degree of desperate if she was relying on conversations with Watts for reassurance

But at least he was humoring her, even if the scornful eye-roll indicated that such questions were beneath him and a clear waste of his time. “That depends on the extent of the injuries, which in her case are rather impressive, if you can describe incompetence as such.”

A hand shot out and grabbed Emerald by the shoulder. Thankfully Watts missed Mercury’s warning headshake. With a long exhale Emerald extricated herself from his grip and stepped back.

“Until her body has healed up a bit on its own, her Aura won’t be regenerating any time soon.” Then, to her surprise, Watts pocketed his scroll and turned to face them, arms braced against the bench. “Of course, I could expedite that process if I knew what caused it.”

Emerald briefly faltered under his scrutiny and shot a helpless glance at Mercury. “We…actually don’t know what happened,” she answered, after a brief internal debate. “She was like that when we found her.”

“Oh?” he drawled. “Do tell.”

“There’s nothing really to tell.” Mercury crossed his arms. “We were the first people to get there. There weren’t any signs of what did that to her. Cinder was delirious and sort of confused, and that dragon-Grimm was turned to stone.”

Watts’ eyes narrowed, and he inclined his head to the side. Emerald didn’t like the sudden interest.

“And her assailant?” he asked. “Had they already fled?”

It took a second for her brain to connect his question with what she’d seen, and even then, Emerald really wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it certainly wasn’t what they’d found. “There was another student—a girl who goes to Beacon. She was out cold when we got there. No injuries. At least, none we could see.”

“Not like we were taking the time to give her a full-body physical,” Mercury added. Though that hadn’t stopped him from kicking Ruby in the torso as they’d collected their half-conscious employer and scrambled back down the tower.

Whatever Watts thought of that, he didn’t say. There was an assessing quality to his expression as he gave them a precursory once-over. “Were either of you injured during the battle?”

“No,” said Mercury. Emerald shook her head.

“Good. Leave it that way.”

Emerald recognized a dismissal when she heard one, and frankly, she didn’t need to be told twice. That went double for Mercury, who wasted no time in staking out a corner of the ship that was relatively free of clutter, and with a grunt, prizing off Talaria. He’d produced a screwdriver from somewhere on his person (seriously, where was he hiding all these tools?) and began to make adjustments to his protheses. Watts, meanwhile, went about cleaning up his work station, discarding the facial mask and sanitizing any surfaces of blood.

Which left Emerald rather aimless. Down time hadn’t exactly been a thing during her childhood, with every moment spent pickpocketing strangers, stealing food, or looking for shelter. Her upgrade from homeless street rat to criminal accomplice hadn’t changed much there either, as she’d immediately been consulted on everything, from planning heists to acquiring assets. It was only during their undercover operation at Beacon she’d found herself with a sudden surplus of free time, and an overwhelming uncertainty of what to do with it, exactly.

Standing in the middle of the ship, Emerald realized she still hadn’t figured out what to do with it, and it was eating away at her nerves. The offer to help Mercury with maintenance momentarily crossed her mind, only to be discarded just as quickly. He would have thrown her off the airship just for bringing it up. And she’d rather jam scalpels into her eyes before she asked Watts if he needed a hand.

And so, with nothing better to do, Emerald began to pace the length of the ship.

It was on her fifteenth pass when Watts finally looked up from whatever he’d been doing by the bench. “You know,” he said, in a voice that went for impassive and fell a little short, “it’s going to be a rather long flight. You might consider getting some sleep.”

And stop annoying me. He didn’t voice that part. Not that he needed to.

“I’m not tired,” Emerald answered, only to be betrayed by the yawn she wasn’t quick enough to hide.

Watts’ lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk. “Clearly.”

Just the suggestion of sleep opened the floodgates for all the exhaustion of the past few hours, from wherever it had been conveniently stashed away until now. Brains were funny like that. “No, really, I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep.”

“Would you like a second opinion from a licensed physician?” Watts asked meanly.

Emerald turned to face him, and was struck by the sight of him standing by Cinder, another syringe in hand. Suspicion crowded out any previous fatigue. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take turns keeping an eye on her,” she offered, in what she hoped passed for nonchalance. “I could take the first watch.”

Watts studied her for all of three seconds before he let out a low chuckle. (This time, Emerald did jump.) “Do you honestly believe I spent the last hour patching up the little drama queen only to off her the second your eyes were closed?” He sneered. “For that matter, do you think either of you is in fit enough condition to stop me, even if I wanted to?”

Emerald really wished she had some clever insult to fire back with. That he’d seen right through her was making it a little hard to concentrate.

“I’m merely giving her another sedative, so she doesn’t wake up and try to put a hole in the ship.” Watts stroked his chin. “I couldn’t allow it in good conscience if you were deliberately neglecting your rest. Perhaps I could help with that.” He gestured ever-so-minutely with the syringe.

Message received. Emerald warily retreated a step or two back. The other implication in his words finally caught up to her, about patching Cinder up, and she spoke before she could stop herself. “So she’s really going to live?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

“But you can fix her?” Emerald gestured to what was left of the arm, now obscured by some sort of tarp.

Watts heaved a sigh that was more theatrics than sincere. “If I wasn’t the most distinguished person in my field, some other hapless soul would be standing here, tending to this mess. Yes, I can fix her.”

A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding shakily left her.

“Now either find something useful to do or make yourself scarce. You don’t want to leave that choice up to me.”

“Em.”

Emerald turned to see Mercury regarding her with a look that, while not friendly, was a step up from his usual stick-up-the-ass MO. He appeared to be deliberating on something that he hadn’t yet come to regret, but was about to any moment.

Honestly, she really, really didn’t have time for this.

Before Emerald could say as much (along with a couple other mean things) Mercury reached a decision. Very awkwardly, he patted the spot next to him.

Emerald blinked.

Apparently she took too long for his liking, because he snorted and went back to tightening a bolt on one of the legs.

Much as she wanted to stand there and contemplate the universe and whatever planetary alignment was causing him to act like a decent person, sleep beckoned. On unsteady feet she trod over to the wall, and slid down to the floor next to Mercury. For a moment Emerald entertained the hilarious thought of using his shoulder as a pillow, but decided not to push her luck. She’d slept in worse conditions. A little discomfort was doable.

Very doable, in fact. She was out before she had the chance to think about the horrible neck pain that would be awaiting her when she woke up.

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 16

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

“Hey Gobber,” Hiccup’s voice called from the arena floor, standing by casually as a Deadly Nadder chased the other teens in training. “I noticed the book had nothing on Night Furies. Is there another book? A sequel? Maybe a Night Fury pamphlet?”

A blast suddenly scorched the wall beside him. Astrid resisted the urge to not jump down through the chained roof and shake her husband back to his senses.

“Focus, Hiccup!” Gobber yelled, “you’re not even trying!”

Hiccup seized up as the Deadly Nadder spotted him and made a mad dash his way. He looked almost comical as he sped off this way and that before choosing a path through the maze.

“How’s your hand, lass?” Gobber’s question shook Astrid from her focus on Hiccup and his lack of trying to fight the Deadly Nadder tearing through the maze.

“Better,” she replied, distantly. She flexed her right hand, the sting not as sharp as it had been. “I think I’ll be ready to return tomorrow.”

Gobber’s students raced around the maze like trapped mice with Hiccup trailing behind them. The Nadder cornered the twins, both trying to fit in its blind spot but failing. Hiccup slowed right under where Gobber and Astrid were observing.

“Hey, how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?”

Gobber did not look amused. “One has never seen a Night Fury and lived to tell the tale.” He stabbed a finger through the air. “Now get in there!”

Astrid rolled her eyes. It was strange, she mused. Ever since the whole Night Fury fiasco, Hiccup had become overly interested in the elusive dragon species. It was almost like the incident changed his perspective.

Fishleg ran by screaming as the Nadder threw spikes at him, the deadly objects penetrating his shield.

Gobber sighed in frustration and rubbed his aching head. “I fear for our tribe’s survival with this lot.” His hammer prosthetic gestured toward Astrid. “You’re the only one that has any sense around here.”

“I don’t think Hiccup will ever be ready for battle,” Astrid pointed out. She’d been adamantly against his involvement in dragon training, but the Chief had spoken and there was no going back on his order.

“None of these knuckleheads are,” Gobber flung an appendage out toward the arena floor, “so he fits right in!”

As if on cue, Snotlout threw his hammer at the Nadder missing it by a mile. “The sun was in my eyes!”

The lame excuse made Astrid roll her eyes. Gobber was right. These knuckleheads weren’t fit for battle. She itched to get in there and show them how it was done.

The Nadder hopped onto the top of the maze walls, it’s weight no match for the wooden structure and it began to topple like a domino effect.

Hiccup was back again, standing under them. “Has anyone ever seen one in person?” he asked, paying absolutely no mind to the other teens running in terror right passed him.

“Hiccup!” Gobber pointed to the Nadder practically surfing upon the wooden walls as they collapsed.

“Idiot!” Astrid hissed through gritted teeth. She ducked underneath the rails, unsheathing her axe from her back as she leapt down without a thought for her own safety.

She toppled upon Hiccup and they both hit the dusty floor. She shook the stars from her vision, her face incredibly close to her husband’s. She tried untangling herself from him, but he ramblings and struggling weren’t helping.

“Oooo…love on the battlefield,” neither was Tuffnut’s remark.

The impact of her jump had caused her axe to embed in Hiccup’s shield. She tugged with all her strength to dislodge it, but it wouldn’t budge. She gasps at the Nadder came barreling toward them. It took several yanks, but she finally dislodged the shield from Hiccup’s grip and smashed it on the Nadder’s head just in the nick of time. The dragon retreated, shaking its spiky head.

Adrenaline had taken over in that critical moment. Astrid’s hand throbbed and she curled it into itself, ignoring the sharp sting. So much for returning to training tomorrow. Her breathing began to calm, and she spun around to find her husband curled up on the ground.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” she spat at him, pointing her axe that still had a chunk of broken shield stuck to it. “At least try to do something, Hiccup! Anything besides paying no attention to the death machine coming at you!”

Astrid pivoted toward the arena entrance and stormed off, her anger lingering in the air. She wanted so badly to keep him safe, but he was making that rather difficult when he freely put himself in the path of danger.

***

It was passed sunset when the front door creaked open. Hiccup had run off – again – and stayed gone practically the entire day. Gobber was fit to be tied that his apprentice was slacking on the job for a second day in the row.

Astrid was waiting for him, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl that could spoil milk. “Where were you this time?”

Hiccup froze still holding the door handle. He looked positively stunned and guilty. He swallowed hard then threw on a quirky attitude that was fooling no one. “I went for another walk in the forest. Had to clear my head after training.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes. “Should I be jealous of the forest? It seems you two have been spending way too much time together.”

Hiccup took her hand and rested it over his heart. “My heart only belongs to you, milady.”

Astrid huffed then gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the little tingle in her chest. She was supposed to be mad at him! For what happened in training and slacking on his duties! He’d fallen back into his irresponsible behavior ever since the dragon raid. His unexpected fascination with Night Furies was becoming a distraction.

But somehow, he’d softened her like butter sitting on a windowsill.

Astrid glared for an extended moment, causing Hiccup’s cheesy smile to droop. His hand was still atop hers over his heart, and she twisted her wrist to grab his.

“Come on.”

“Where’re we going?” nervousness tinged his voice as she dragged him out the door.

“To eat,” she replied, moving to grip his hand instead. “Gobber and the rest of the gang are eating around a fire atop the lookout pillar. We’re joining them.”

It was hard enough being in training with the other teens. “I really don’t—”

Astrid gave his arm a quick tug. “Oh, you are.”

She heard him groan. There was no escaping this time. After the last few days of screw ups, she was through treating him gently (as gentle as she could manage) as she had been the first few weeks of marriage.

They trekked along in silence for a couple minutes, their footfalls the only sound. Darkness had fallen over Berk and most individuals were either at home or in the Great Hall. She felt Hiccup finally relax in her grip. She focused on his hand in hers. They’d never held hands this long, and it was another little intimate gesture that Astrid could learn to enjoy.

“Y’know,” she cut through the quiet of the evening, her recent contemplations manifesting into words, “I bet you and Fishlegs would get along. You’re both huge geeks, and Fishlegs knows a hel of a lot about dragons.”

“I don’t know.” The hefty boy was usually projecting the stink eye at Hiccup. “He seems to look down on me.”

Astrid glanced over her shoulder, flashing a grin that was caught in the passing torch light. “That’s because he’s taller than you.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Har har, Astrid.”

Astrid laugh rang out as she playfully gave his arm another yank. “But really, I think you two would make good friends.”

“Maybe—” Hiccup mumbled, unconvinced.

They arrived at the lookout tower, firelight glowing bright from the top. Astrid inwardly lamented releasing Hiccup’s hand as they began to climb the stairs. The haughty voice of Snotlout then Gobber’s knowledgeable lilt filled the night air. Already a rollicking conversation was in full swing.

“You two made it!” Gobber smiled as they approached the deck. His wrath must have been dissolved – at least, until morning – by a few drinks already in his gullet. “Grab a stick and your choice of meat.” He waved at the two buckets of raw chicken and fish.

Astrid glanced at Hiccup, noticing his posture was less than confident. His head hung and an arm was secured across his torso as if to shield himself. In training, he seemed fine around the other teens. There was (loose) structure in training and he wasn’t put on the spot to socialize with the others. In this situation though, there was more chance of interacting.

She promised him she’d take care of him in situations like this, so Astrid reached for his hand once more. Hiccup snapped up his gaze to meet her encouraging smile that she hoped to show him that they were in this together.

Astrid chose the chicken while Hiccup chose a fish. They skewered their meats on the sticks provided and sat down on the bench near the stairs.

It was a perfect night. A full moon illuminated the sea, the gentle churn of the water rippling its light. The fire’s heat was just right, driving away the night’s chill. The conversation was…lively to say the least. Fishlegs brought up an outrageous thought about if a you could still control your hand after a dragon swallows it. Snotlout, in all his thick-witted glory, proclaimed he’d chop off the legs of any dragon he found…with his face. Yep, he said that.

Astrid shook her head. No wonder why this group was doing so poorly in dragon training. She looked at Hiccup as he listlessly picked at his fish. She softly bumped his shoulder with hers grabbing his attention to exchange small smiles.

“It’s the tails and wings you want,” Gobber corrected, ripping off a wing from the whole chicken carcass he planned to eat. “A downed dragon is a dead dragon.”

A rustle beside her drew Astrid’s attention. Hiccup had gotten to his feet and was setting his half-eaten fish dinner down. “Where’re you going?”

Hiccup gestured for her to join him on the stairs so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice over the boisterous conversation taking place. “I just thought of something I really need to get done at the forge.”

“Do you want some company?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll probably work late. You stay here and enjoy the nice evening and,” he glanced around her, “fascinating conversation.”

“Okay.” Astrid couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that she couldn’t join him, “I’ll see at home.”

Hiccup leaned up to press a kiss to her cheek. Astrid fingertips touched where his lips had just been, shook by how much a simple kiss on the cheek could affect her. She watched him disappear down the spiraling stairs then made her way back to the circle.

She felt someone’s gaze on her and looked over to find Ruffnut nodding her head and gawking. The other girl waggled her eyebrows suggestively. All Astrid could do was roll her eyes and go back to roasting her chicken leg, tucking away one more weird behavior from her husband in the past few days.

***

She’d fallen asleep with her arm draped over his pillow waiting for him to come home. Hiccup was burning the midnight oil at the forge. How Hiccup could live off a few hours of sleep was a mystery to her.

After weeks and weeks of awaking to his charcoal pencil scratching over parchment, she was in tune to listening for him. She was roused from slumber at a noise of metal thudding on wood. Astrid opened her eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep.

Hiccup had set his lantern down on his desk, his back to her. He pulled off his tunic, exposing his skinny form. Astrid watched entranced by finally catching a glimpse of the skin underneath his usually fully covered body.

She’d become comfortable removing her clothing in front of him. Though Hiccup had not seen her front half completely nude, he’d seen her bare back multiple times. During those times, she could sense his gaze upon her. It was a bit unsettling at first with a boy catching a glimpse of a state that only her mother had seen in recent years. But now that she was used to it, his gaze sent lovely little shivers along her skin without even a single touch.

She continued to watch, the fur blanket tucked under her chin, as Hiccup covered himself with his white nightshirt and removed his tights. He turned and gave a comical double take at finding her staring at him.

“Were in waiting for me?” he asked in a whisper as if speaking any louder would be wrong.

“I tried, but dozed off.”

A warm ball of contentment rested in her chest as she watched him join her in bed. It was strange how the haze of sleepiness could affect your way of thinking. All Astrid wanted right there was to be close to her husband, and that same sleepy haze gave her fortitude to be forward about it.

She sidled over to Hiccup, lifted his arm, and cuddled up against his side with her head resting on his chest. She barely noticed the hesitancy of his arm wrapping around her as she snuggled her head to find the most comfortable place on his bony chest. She finally settled on his right breast.

A comfortable warmth radiated from him that seeped into Astrid’s skin. His palm idly rubbed across her back. This was what she had been craving.

“I’m happy your home,” she murmured into his nightshirt.

She vaguely registered his cheek pressing gently onto the crown of her head. “Me too.”

Tags: @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @lauracalabresi 

***

Writer’s note: I'd been wanting to have Hiccup and Astrid cuddle for a while now! I wasn't sure if they were at that point in their relationship, but it felt like this was a good spot to put it. AND Stef (@chiefhiccstrid) convinced me that it was time for them to cuddle :D Thank you Stef for the input!! <3 

Hope yall enjoyed this chapter! It's moving along at a nice, steady pace!

[snowbellewells]

A Year in the Court of Misthaven: Part V “Becoming One”

At long last, the next addition to my “Year in the Court of Misthaven” Lieutenant Duckling series.  I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but this one really took some doing. However, I hope you will enjoy this. It’s a step out of my comfort zone, in that I attempted to write a legitimate love scene.  That said, this is probably the first piece I feel like should be rated M, so if that is a concern I wanted to let readers know up front.  (I hope it isn’t too cringe-y, but I did try my best.)  As always, this is for @kmomof4 who wanted to see more of this universe beyond the original one shot.  If nothing else, I’m hoping you’ll like it, Krystal! :) 

from the beginning of this series...

Part V: Becoming One

By: @snowbellewells

Now that their pledged troth was once again assured, Emma could happily show Killian the preparations which had been made in his absence for their wedding celebration, and begin to gain his approval, opinions, and preferences on those things and upon the details she had refrained from deciding without him. Whenever possible, Emma had sought to choose colors, food, and decor which she had believed Killian would prefer - or knew that he liked - still, now that he was at her side once more, she wanted her fiancé to have his part in the festivities and to know that how their nuptials were carried out was as much up to him as it was to her. Their wedding day was his as well after all, and she wanted her lieutenant to feel it so.

Life returned as much to normal as possible around them - at least as much as it would ever be for the Princess and sole heir of Misthaven and her intended consort. Their court physician had finally declared, not only Killian, but his brother as well, in the rehabilitative stages of their recoveries; no longer in danger of infection, further blood loss, or relapse, but instead working to regain their strength and adapt to life with the lasting ramifications of their injuries. To that end, Killian had worked with the physician, along with numerous assistants and craftsmen, to come up with some sort of prosthetic he could wear in place of his amputated hand. Though wooden models designed to look like a hand had been offered him, they had not the ability to move and grip which would be needed if he were to return to any sort of naval activities. In the end, he had settled on a sort of metal hook for everyday use which looked not much different from ones that could be found on the rigging of ships. Most of his everyday tasks could be handled better with such a utilitarian instrument, and though there was a fake hand chosen to wear at more formal occasions, learning to use the replacement which suited him best was all with which Killian, or any of those who cared about him, were concerned.

Though Killian had hand and arm exercises to perform, which could frustrate and pain him, he was as diligent in completing them as in any task he had ever undertaken. His ability to return to naval service was as yet uncertain, but if the outcome could be achieved through sheer determination and effort, he would be well on his way. Emma couldn’t help traitorously thinking to herself that his having to stay safe within their own kingdom was not such a horrible thing, but she also hated to think what it might do to her sailor’s pride, and - almost - his sense of self. She would never truly wish him to be kept away from the wind and waves he loved, only that he would always return to her hale and whole - or, better yet, that she could venture forth with him.

Liam had a longer road of recovery to tread, but the eventual outcome was also much clearer. Killian’s elder brother and Captain should, once his strength and function were restored, as they were assured would occur given proper time, be able to retake command of his vessel in her Majesty’s royal fleet.  It had been a frighteningly close call; he had lost almost more blood than any single man could spare. To Killian, who was still forced to relive the immediate aftermath in gory, vivid detail in his worst nightmares, it had seemed his brother’s very insides were littering the ship’s deck in horrifying red resplendence. In the end, however, he had not lost any major organs, nor did there seem to be evidence of permanent ill effects once he could fully recoup the weakness and blood loss.

Two of the brothers Jones’ most regular visitors continually warmed Emma’s heart with their arrival. One, of course, was Belle. The petite brunette had always been helpful and kind to Emma, able to find exactly what the Princess sought in moments when she came to the castle library on a mission, and able to keep up a candid and spritely conversation with the young royal whenever Killian, Liam, Ruby or Graham had not been available to do so. Clearly she felt a more than casual concern for Captain Jones’ recovery however, which Emma had not seen coming. Sill, the other woman was often already seated by Liam’s side when Emma and Killian reached his room in the mornings, either already reading something to him, sharing breakfast, or simply sitting with him listening to the early morning bird songs outside.

Killian had already been released to return to the apartments he and Liam had made use of since they were children, rather than having to remain in the hospital wing. Though he liked to spend as much time as possible with his brother, doubtless knowing Liam must feel anxious and useless with his forced convalescence, and Emma felt no hardship in joining him in his visits as long as she was welcome. She had found herself growing even closer to Belle in the interim.

One morning, the had even found the pensive librarian fast asleep in the overstuffed chair at Liam’s bedside, head resting on folded arms while he was awake, hand raised as if almost ready to brush it over her rich, mahogany tresses when they had made their entrance just before his breakfast tray. Liam’s hand had pulled back so quickly Emma had needed to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing both at the motion and his flushed, sheepish expression as well. Belle, however, had not roused, and the elder Jones brother’s gentle, rapt glances over at her whenever he thought they wouldn’t notice were pathetically obvious and endearing. 

Emma hadn’t stayed long that morning, meandering down to where her mother and Ruby sat in the sunroom making plans for ceremony and reception color schemes, flower arrangements, and seating. She knew that it would already feel crowded in the room if Killian tried to genuinely speak with his elder sibling as he needed to, and she also knew Belle well enough to not wish the other woman rapidly becoming more friend than pleasant acquaintance to be distressed by waking to find herself ‘asleep at her post’ or caught ‘neglecting her duty’ or whatever ridiculous notion the conscientious brunette would concoct. Giving Liam a truly happy smile and bending to kiss her fiancé’s cheek where he had settled at his brother’s opposite elbow, she had slipped from the room with a promise to return within the hour.

The second heartwarming recurrent guest, the one who made Emma’s chest swell almost beyond what she could stand without bursting, was her own father, King David. From the moment of their return, the man had been anxious to be apprised of both Jones brothers’ conditions and progress, anxiously questioning doctors, nurses, and even household staff when he could not visit the castle’s sick wing in person. Emma knew part of it was concern for her - her father not wanting his beloved daughter to suffer the loss of her partner and chosen mate, it went beyond that as well, to a depth that reminds her once again just what a good heart this man - once a shepherd whom True Love made a King - possesses and makes her adore her papa even more than she always has. He and her mother took these two orphan brothers in, raised them as their own, and their reaching adulthood has not made the crown regents any less attached to or concerned for their charges.

Though he does not tend to linger, probably sensing that both young men wish to be back at their duties onboard ship and do not wish for their monarch to see them as weak, the King is also more than obviously making his support and concern known. The two boys he raised alongside his precious daughter, whom he has watched grow into brave, honorable young men proudly serving his wife’s kingdom, hold a special place in David’s heart - as an adoptive father… and as a soon-to-be father-in-law. He will be certain that they both receive the very best care which can be provided, and clearly wishes to see Killian and Liam improving daily. She has always been her father’s darling, and daddy’s girl down to her bones, but if possible, his care for her fiancé and his brother made Emma adore her papa even more.

Slowly but surely first Killian, and then eventually Liam as well, began to venture from the recovery wing and back into as much of their daily lives as possible. Emma thrilled with any little jaunt Killian made alongside her, whether it be to the kitchens to test the batter for various cakes Granny Lucas was testing for their wedding reception, venturing to their secret garden arbor overlooking the sea, or even down at the docks where he laughingly started teaching her to fish. Though it might take him longer than before to accomplish some tasks with one hand, he was coping, and it did Emma’s heart good to see.

Unfortunately, she could also see quite well that the missing hand and the arm left behind still pained him, much as he might try to hide it or to appear as if everything was fine. At times sharp twinges seemed to strike him unawares, and he would wince or jerk in reaction before schooling his features to hide it. Emma in turn, could not help but to reach for him, wanting to soothe the ache, to offer comfort, to do anything to help. Despite the discomfort or distress he might be in however, Killian would not suffer her to touch the truncated limb, nor to see it without the brace that covered the amputation site. Though he had thankfully stopped trying to convince her to move on from him or that they should no longer marry, it would take a fool not to see that he still feared the full extent of his mutilation would disgust her or finally cause her to turn her back.

Nothing could be further from the truth; yet, Emma didn’t wish to push her lieutenant too hard or too far. He had been through a horrific trauma, one that - as much as she might wish to aid or lessen - he must deal with in his own way. When his pained reactions occurred she bit her lip firmly, forcibly holding back either comforting platitudes or questions about what troubled him. She genuinely attempted to allow him the moments which fooled no one to school his infinitely expressive features and pull the mask back into place as though nothing were wrong. The tautness of his voice betraying pain and tension despite his projected nonchalance nearly made her heart crack and brought tears to her eyes, but she always found the strength to hold them back, if only to stay near him and to perhaps distract her sailor from the torment he suffered in silence.

Early evening on the day before their wedding at last, they had been fishing at the docks and were walking back to the palace over the weathered wooden planks of the dock, a small bucket of their day’s catch over his whole arm, and her small, delicate hand tucked into his other elbow as he led her gallantly home for the night, when she noticed him shifting uncomfortably, his lips pressed together tightly against any sound. To some it might seem peculiar to go fishing on the eve of their nuptials, but both were anxious in their own ways, and being together, doing something simple and familiar was the best pastime for them it seemed. All was ready, prepared, not a single loose end left to be tied, and so they had slipped off to the waterfront.

“What is it?” Emma asked gently, worry creasing her brow in concern as she looked up into her beloved’s face; his dark brows pulled low over eyes scrunched near closed in intense pain, his shoulders hunching slightly in spite of his best efforts, and the truncated limb pulling in toward his torso unconsciously, even with her fingers still resting upon it. 

Killian shook his head at her question, almost as though he had not the breath to speak as much as he wished to avoid giving straight answer. He moved them forward several more steps, before a low grunt of misery escaped under his breath, and he tripped slightly in his next step.

Her concern had not abated since her question went unanswered, and Emma was immediately anxious for him once more as he faltered. Not brooking any sort of opposition, she pulled him to the side of the path by his good hand, taking the basket from him first. Once off the walk and out of the way and attention of passerby, Emma pressed Killian onto a bench placed along the way, and knelt before him, peering up into his face with an intent scrutiny he couldn’t avoid.  “It’s your arm, isn’t it?” she murmured sadly, already well aware she was right. “What can I do?”

She waited, hoping that he would not dismiss her concern, put up a front and pretend all was well when that clearly was not the truth. Her breath nearly caught in her throat, choking her on a gasp when he surprised her by meeting her gaze head on and answering with honest vulnerability. 

His voice was a pant as he doubled over slightly in the seat, the blue of his eyes slightly diluted by tears she saw gathered but which he refused to let fall. “Aye, phantom pain…” he hissed, the words choppy as he forced them out. “The doc warned me about it...feels as though my hand...though it’s not even there...is burning.”

The explanation was simple and blunt, but Emma could easily sense the agony unspoken behind her sailor’s mere words.  “It’s going to be alright, Killian,” she promised, forcing herself to project a calm she didn’t feel in hopes of helping him. “I can’t imagine what it feels like. I won’t pretend I can.  But you are going to be alright.”

He nodded bleakly at her words, clearly using all his might to hold back a tormented sob.

Pressing on, Emma raised herself up just enough to rest her forehead against his, hoping to gently offer the contact and lead his breathing to slowly match her own at such close proximity. One hand slipped beneath the collar of his button-down shirt to rest over his heart, ignoring the way her own pulse stuttered and then tripled in speed at the feel of warm skin and coarsely curling hair across his chest, and instead further urging him to draw deep, steadying breaths. “Please, Killian, tell me what I can do to make it better.”

He knew exactly what would help, had done it in his solitary chambers on many an occasion though he had never been willing to allow any other to perform the task or even see his stump uncovered as such action necessitated. He did not intend to have his beautiful princess, his own pure paragon of perfection, be the first, though he had to grit his teeth to keep from telling her what would bring him ease. However, one glance at her determined and beseeching expression and how close she was, as if trying to read his face through sheer proximity, also alerted him to the fact that his princess would not be easily denied.

Brokenly, he finally answered in hoarse tones, “Sometimes...if I uncover it...and massage the stump...working those muscles can relieve some of the pain...but you don’t…” Already shaking his head, he began to pull away from her in hopes of dissuading her suddenly tenacious hands as she ran them up his arms to his shoulders, dexterous fingers slipping beneath the collar to seek out the straps and buckles holding the molded leather sheath over his blunted forearm.

Killian tried once more to protest, desperation rising within him as he felt exposed, out in the open, and more and more certain with each rapid heartbeat that once she truly saw the extent of the carnage, what - to him - seemed the mangled stump of flesh where once his other hand and wrist had been, that she would at last understand his fear and be disgusted enough to indeed pull away, leaving him wrecked and ruined. “Please, Emma…” he pled futilely, knowing it was no use, that there was no changing her mind once that particular furrow of determination settled upon her brow. “There’s no need, Lass. You shouldn’t have to see… Once I’m back in my room, I can…”

But his Princess was having none of it, shaking her head in denial of his excuses and pressing on, until he felt her unhook the buckle which held the entire contraption upon his shoulder. The release of pressure in itself was enough to ease some of the throbbing  that radiated up and down his arm, even as it caused him to suck in a tight breath, feeling his doom about to unfold as hook and brace fell away into her careful hands before she gently set them aside next to him on the bench.

Her next move though, startled him enough to snap him from his dread and terror and transfix him, unmoving and completely attuned to her will. Even as her hands moved back to the end of his shortened forearm, wrapping with a soothing, gentle warmth over the scarred pink flesh, her eyes never fell to take it in; her gaze remained firmly and completely locked on his, promising that she was right there and that she would never leave. With a firm, but still tender, grip, Emma began to knead his stump expertly. Her face never changing to register disgust or regret, only that loving concern which had always been there any time he was hurting or troubled since he was seven years old and her father had brought he and Liam home. Her touch seemed so helpful and so assured in fact that he wondered if she had not researched different massage techniques or questioned the doctors and nurses at her family’s beck and call, in order to be ready if she might be able to help him.  And he was then hit by the obvious realization that of course that was exactly what she had done. Why would he have expected anything else?

Ever so slowly, though he knew in truth it had been mere minutes, the pain ebbed at her calm, sure ministrations. Looking up at his lovely princess in wonder, Killian drew a ragged breath, hardly able to believe her goodness and devotion as the panic and fear receded.  “You truly are a marvel, my Love,” he murmured, stunned voice soft and affectionate.

Emma shook her head slightly, a teary, lopsided smile lighting her face as she responded, “Did you really think I’d let you suffer if it were in my power to help you?”  Her dainty hands still smoothed over his tormented flesh, easing him as she continued.

Several more minutes passed with them simply gazing into each other’s eyes, then gently the princess’ fingers trailed down to clasp her lieutenant’s other hand and to brace on her knees and stand. Pulling lightly, she urged him up after her. Wordlessly she turned back toward the palace once more, and Killian followed with their fingers intertwined, without hesitation.

Though wondering what his headstrong beloved had in mind, Killian didn’t question, merely walked behind her as they entered the courtyard and slipped through the entry hall. For a moment he thought Emma might be taking him to Doc, but as they began to climb the grand staircase, the idea was discarded. No one stopped them, even as they made their way along the second floor toward her apartments. Neither of them spoke, but then, Killian was not sure he would be able to anyway. He had just decided that she must be seeing him safely to his own room, wanting to be certain he was well and able to rest, when she pulled him to the right, drawing even closer to the royal family’s private wing, before leading clearly to her own apartments. The realization struck him, and his mouth went dry while his heart began to pound.

At last they stood outside her bedroom door, still silent in the gathering dusk, and Emma turned to look up at him, her beguilingly dark lashes fluttering over the transfixing green of her eyes and drawing him closer rather than taking his leave as he knew he should.

“Come in with me, Lieutenant?” she asked, biting her lower lip in playful query as she gazed into his startled face, unable to agree to something which might attach scandal to his intended bride just a day before the wedding, but equally unable to deny her. As if sensing his indecision, Emma ran her nimble fingers under the loose sleeve of his shirt, ghosting over still raised and somewhat tender scars and knowingly traced her pretty pink tongue over her upper lip in anticipation, pressing her advantage. “If you would, I could take good care of you…”

Though he knew that claim was large made of need and bravado, having only their own curious forays together to guide them, in that moment, Emma was a temptress Killian could hardly resist. He practically trembled as she continued to run her fingertips over the skin of his maimed forearm, jaw clenched so tightly to hold himself still that a muscle visibly worked in his cheek.

Emma raised her other hand to cup his cheek soothingly at the sight. Her heart stuttered to think that she might have caused him more pain and distress, or… was she wrong?  Did he no longer want her?

He didn’t allow that thought to linger, instead startling her when he shook his head in frustration and backed away from her, dislodging her delicate touch and desperately searching her eyes with his own. “W-what are you doing t-to me, Emma?  We can’t…” His chest heaved, and Killian downed a lungful of air before he could continue. “Stars above, do I want to… but you should take tonight… now that… now that you’ve really s-seen the damage… and be certain you don’t… want to back out while you still can?” His face fell to study the rich carpet at their feet with those words and the next were nearly inaudible when he added, “I would understand if you did.”

However, it is that declaration which galvanized Emma to action. Not allowing her face to fall with the return of his fear that her love could be so fickle, and without another moment’s hesitation, seeing clearly that it was not an issue of wish or desire, but that her brave, beautiful lieutenant was still trying to look out for her, at the expense of his own heart, she drew near to face him once again. He still feared her feeling trapped in their union, that she could not still want to bind herself to him, but in truth there was nothing she could want more. If she couldn’t convince him with sweet reassurance and heartfelt vows, then she would show him in a way that was impossible to doubt.

Killian was thrown slightly off balance by the way Emma suddenly latched onto his good arm and pulled him into her chambers, quickly closing the door behind them before they were seen, and then pressing him against it with her own body as she delved her hands into his dark, messy hair and kissed him for all she was worth. Still more than a bit disoriented, and not at all certain how to respond to her onslaught turning his body traitor to his mind, Killian was struggling to right himself, and mentally fighting not to surge forward and take over the kiss, spinning them to press her against the door and ravish her as she seemed to be demanding.

Neither of them had any wealth of experience beyond what they had explored with each other, and yet, as the emotion that had always been present between them swelled and began to guide them, hesitance and insecurity melted away. Now fully kissing his princess back, Killian just managed not to carry her across the room and press her to her mattress - but only just. Instead, his arms rose, meaning to cradle her precious face as he continued worshipfully drinking from her lips. His right hand did just that, calloused thumb stroking over her soft, porcelain cheek. Unfortunately, he caught sight of his blunted left arm and the mass of scars covering it as it rose to her face as well, and he jerked it back instinctively, hating the vision of it against such pale perfection. 

Emma felt him flinch away, even as he tried to steady himself and continue kissing her. The catch in his throat and the tremble she felt where she clutched his shoulders gave him away, no matter how little he might want pity.

“Killian,” she murmured, her lips still brushing his, soft as rose petals and full of the solace only she can give. “What is it?”

He shook his head, having already tried to explain it to her, and knowing she would only argue with his fear now, even if it proved true once she genuinely looked at the ravages to his body bared before her eyes. Squeezing his own shut to avoid her searching green gaze, Killian instead rested his forehead against her own, drawing in her sweet scent and trying valiantly to memorize every detail in what he is sure might be the last time he was ever able to hold her so close.

As if needing nothing further to read his mind, understanding dawned on Emma as she took in her sailor before her. Taking a definite step back, she reached for his hook and its brace where it had fallen to the floor at their feet. Upon her picking it up and pushing it into his grasp, the air left his lungs in a rush; he was sure she had now awoken from her blindness and was about to send him away as he had feared. But then Emma, his stunning princess, caught him by surprise once more.

With only the barest of whispers to break the charged silence between them, she guided his arm across the space between them to place the sharpened metal point of the hook at the edge of her gown’s bodice, before biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes with determined and sultry fervence. “Go ahead, rip it,” she commanded hoarsely, only the barest quaver to the words. “I want you to… and I need you to believe me.”

In truth, one hard downward swipe would slice through the material that covered her swiftly rising and falling chest, baring Emma completely to his eyes for the first time, but Killian had to stop himself, had to bring this back under control. It was folly, and could ruin her if anyone found out, even if they were to be married on the morrow. And not only that, he shook his head and blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the haze of lust her actions had brought before his eyes, beyond that, he had meant to release her, not make her more inclined to coddle him than ever. 

When she saw that even with this further incentive Killian intended to balk, to cling to his blasted honor while it tore him apart, a spark of fiery ardor kindled in Emma’s green gaze, not giving up in her mission for even a second; instead, he had merely pushed her to retain the lead. “Killian,” she spoke again, her voice passionate and sincere as she took his chin between her fingers and forced his eyes to meet her own crackling with resolve. “I mean it. I want every part of you… Just you. No one else.  That hasn’t changed… and it’s never going to.”  

Wrapping both her small hands around his one holding the hook, she pushed downward in guidance until, with a sharp tear, the fabric gave and soon the rip sliced down the center until her dress fell open and Emma stepped from the folds of fabric to stand before her slack-jawed lieutenant. His eyes were round with wonder as he reached forward and then pulled back, as if aching to touch her with all the reverence and love she could read on his face, and yet, at the same time not quite sure he should truly be allowed to do so.

For the first time, the certainty on Emma’s face wavered, and a slight tremor ran through her limbs as her intended continued to stare in appreciation but made no movement forward. It was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over herself, but her resolution held her fast as she urged once more. “Touch me, Killian. Please…”

This time the gentle plea in her sweet, beloved voice seemed to press Killian forward, finally breaking him free of the hesitance which had held him back and allowing him to close the distance between he and his princess until they were practically nose to nose. With the most tender gesture it seemed she had ever felt, Emma’s breath caught as he brought the gleaming curve of his metal appendage up to lightly brush a blond strand of her hair over her shoulder adeptly, and then ran the steely edge down her neck, out along her shoulder, and then over the outer curve of her breast and along her side to pause at her waist. It was now his chest rising and falling rapidly with the speed of his breath as his eyes followed the same paths along her body, seemingly heating her skin with his gaze as he did so. 

“You’re so beautiful…” he rasped, his voice a raw husk of its usual timbre. For a moment, they merely gazed at one another, finally seeming in perfect accord, each loving the other so much no flaws or scars merited notice. Then, as if afraid to break the spell, but having to move, Emma raised one hand to brush her fingertips along that same long-healed scratch high on his cheek; a move of affection to ground herself in the familiar before venturing on.

“So are you,” she whispered sweetly, meaning every word and marvelling at how with those long, dark lashes mirroring the light blue, his strong jaw and the tilt upward of his soft, full lips, how he could ever doubt it. Letting her hand trail down the side of his face to his chest, the other one joined it, soon pushing his jacket from his shoulders to the floor and then going to work on the buttons of the loose-bloused shirt beneath.

Killian seemed to have finally given himself over to her will and the heat of the moment, merely shuddering at the sensation of her hands darting within the shirt once opened, skimming over his ribs and the quivering muscles of his stomach before shoving it from his arms and letting it fall to the floor atop the crumpled jacket.

Before he could protest or pull back within himself once more, Emma quickly grasped her sailor’s shortened arm, still reddened from the brace, but healed over and, to her, no deterrent in the slightest. Bending her head, she pressed her lips to the scarred flesh, lingering in what she could only hope might be a soothing kiss, holding his arm close, caressing the skin and cradling it to her chest.

A sort of half-whine escaped his throat, and then, as if the last of his restraint had at last been shattered, he surged forward, mouth claiming Emma’s and taking her over, just as she had hoped. Mindlessly, he was moving her backwards toward her fine canopy bed and leaning over her as her knees hit the mattress and they both sank down upon its soft surface. 

Soon his firm, well-muscled legs were pressing against her own bare thighs, the pleasant weight of him hovering over her enticing, but also using just enough care not to crush her or squash the air from her lungs. His hand and left elbow were bracketing her shoulders, only awkward for a moment at the slightly unbalanced length of his arms before her clever lieutenant adapted and dove back in for another breath-taking kiss Emma could hardly match. Her heart beat wildly, near frantic in its exaltation as he continued to drink from her lips like a man who had been dying of thirst finally led to water.

Raising up only slightly, then sitting back on his haunches to study her, there was a darkening hunger in Killian’s eyes that she had never seen before. “So beautiful, my Love,” he whispered, bringing his hand to the side of her face, where she caught it in her own to hold close. Then he was bringing his bare forearm down her other side, taking a slow, leisurely path all the way from her neck to her hips, tingling flame and electricity skittering through her pores as he continued. It felt as though her brain was misfiring, unable to truly process all the sensations he was creating within her. He paused only slightly before his hand began to inch from her waist, where his scarred forearm remained steadingly reassuring her, over to her inner thigh and up toward her center, where she was practically trembling, vibrating for him, and for what came next.

Still, he waited, gaining her full and coherent attention before ascertaining once more, “Are you certain, Emma? Is this truly what you want?”

In spite of how badly she needed his long, graceful fingers to continue their quest, she was also practically clenching her thighs as much as possible against the desire running through her, merely to keep herself from flying into a million pieces. She nodded vehemently, trying to convey how much she wanted even though no words would come. “Yes… please…” she finally managed to grit out. “I c-can’t stand it if you s-stop now…”

Killian’s eyes seemed to light with an almost devious twinkle behind the way they had darkened to midnight hue. When his tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip, his eyes leaving her face to watch where his fingers ghosted over tender skin, previously unseen by any other, her stomach lurched in a way that was intense, rattling, but not unpleasant. She felt moisture seep from between her legs, where his pointer and middle fingers were now deftly playing, tracing along her opening and dipping within in a touch that made her legs tremble, and her hips rise to him in supplication, whining fruitlessly for more as he looked both intent in his foray, focused on eliciting yet more sounds and feelings from her, and curious, as if she were a riddle laid out before him that he hoped to study from every angle and master completely.

Soon both those probing fingers were inside her, stroking so that Emma was now writhing beneath him, pressing her lips together to hold back more pitiful begging sounds than she had already let escape as she thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow.

Stilling his ministrations, Killian leaned down once more to press a kiss to her chin, her mouth, her forehead. “Please,” he whispered in her ear, before rising once again to watch his digits resume their rhythm along her inner walls as if entranced. “Don’t hold back any sound you want to make. I wish to know what pleases you.” 

Emma’s hands had fisted in her sheets in desperation as he ceased his deft swipes and brushes, but when he upped the speed of his strokes, pulling his fingers nearly from her completely then back in, his stump all along stroking over her hipbone as if to soothe and keep her in place all at the same time, Emma’s hips began to move in response, trying to meet a thrust that wasn’t truly present yet, but that her body instinctively knew, as old as life itself. When Killian’s thumb at last joined in, pressing effectively against the small spot that made light and color burst behind her eyelids, Emma couldn’t stop the cry that tore from her throat as her entire body from fingertips to the ends of her hair to her very toenails seemed to seize in euphoria, crest and then burst. She went limp on the bed, shivering in the aftermath. It was like he’d had one of his beloved maps, she marveled, half consciously, only to guide him over her body instead of across waves. She didn’t know how Killian had done it so easily, but she was little more than a melted puddle in his hands.

“Alright there, Princess?” he asked, voice somewhat strained, but a tinge of pleased humor present as well. 

This time, words did escape her. Emma merely cracked one eye open enough to regard him dreamily and hum as she attempted to brush one hand along his arm before it fell back to the bed.

“Hmm…” his deep voice hummed low enough to almost be to himself. “Good to know.”

Emma watched for a moment, appreciating the sparkling affection in his once more light, sea-blue eyes, the shock of dark hair that had fallen over his brow, the way his tempting, hair-covered chest heaved almost as much as her own, and the tight set of his sharply cut jaw. She loved him so much, and he had just made her feel so good - better than she had known she could feel - and she wanted to tell him so, wanted to make him feel the same, if only she could bring all her limbs back under her command and string a full sentence together.

Her eyes fell to his quivering stomach muscles, and then to where a thick bulge stood out within the breeches which still covered his lower half. Sense returned enough to her to realize that of course he had not yet reached the heights he had just made her ascend. They had yet to find completion together, and she reached forward with as much curiosity as he had earlier, and begin to work clumsily with the unfamiliar fastenings of his waistband.

Of course, her faithful, honorable betrothed had seen to her pleasure first, but she did not intend to leave Killian wanting - not after the satisfaction he had gifted her. And she wished to finally be joined with him fully and completely, in every way possible.

Killian’s larger, surer hands quickly covered hers and rapidly undid the buttons she had fumbled with, shimmying the pants over his hips and divesting himself of them entirely with a flick of his foot. Emma almost giggled aloud, regardless of what they had already done, at the image of his last article of clothing flying through the air to land haphazardly on her floor. However, the sight of her fiancé, her love, bared before her, nothing hiding any part of him, stilled the breath in her throat and the laughter on her tongue.

Just as he was in every other way, Killian uncovered was magnificent. True, she was also a bit intimidated, not sure now how the member she saw would fit where his fingers had so deliciously only a short time ago. Yet, though she swallowed hard, feeling her pulse pound a bit more erratically, she also trusted this man she knew as well as she knew herself. He would never hurt her, would sooner die himself than see her harmed. And she could see the straining state he was in and knew had to be painful. She no sooner wanted to him hurt than he did her. He had given her such gratification, could she not do the same for him?  Despite her trepidation and uncertainty, she also wanted to know, craved that connection with him, that final bond they had yet to experience.

Her eyes drifted up from his rigid manhood, following the trail of thick dark hair up his lean torso to the darkly curling thatch covering his well-formed chest. She caressed his toned shoulders and arms with her gaze, having a hard time not rising to meet him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and never letting him go.

She found that her voice had deserted her altogether, but she beckoned him to her once more. This time as Killian swept in to kiss her ardently, tongue stealing forth to duel with her own, she noticed the quivering in his arms, the exertion showing on his face along with his love and devotion. He was holding himself back, but it was nearly all he could do. Making up her mind, Emma craned her neck slightly to catch his stare once more. When she was certain he read her resolve, her decision, and her heart’s desire clearly, she spoke at last. “Go on, Killian. I’m ready…. I - I want to be yours. You told me not to hold back, but you needn’t do so either. I belong to you…. now and forever.”

The sound that escaped him then was almost a growl, plunging back in with teeth and tongue to kiss her more fervently than ever. It seemed his hand and his stump were everywhere, no longer holding back in the slightest. Something about the stiff propriety to which he held himself loosening at last, took away the bit of breath she had regained.

In the next moment, Killian had rolled them so they faced each other on their sides. His eyes darkened to a deep cobalt again with desire as they searched for just a second before trailing nips and licks along her neck and across her collarbones, even as his shortened arm drew her leg up to rest it over his hip, opening her to him intimately. Pausing only briefly, Emma’s heart pounded at the way he whispered against her ear. “I’ll try to make this as good as I can for you, my Love. There may be pain for a bit, I’m told. Just hang onto me, aye?”

Emma nodded wordlessly, already clinging to him tightly as he shuffled just a moment to get them in place. She felt him at her entrance only briefly and then he thrust home, making everything else center at that point inside her until nothing seemed to exist beyond where they met. She felt stretched, filled, and there was a sharp pain against which she bit her lip and tried to hold back a few rogue tears.

Killian of course, ever watching her and seeing to her comfort, was already brushing his lips across her face, murmuring assurances, apologies, and kissing away those tears, even as he began to move in a steady, rolling pace that he couldn’t hold back any longer. Even as she winced slightly, anxious to adjust, Emma also felt something building beyond the initial discomfort. Warmth and sensation swelled and grew, pleasure vibrating within as Killian stroked places inside she hadn’t even known to exist.

Soon she was gripping him so tightly she knew her nails must be leaving indents on his flesh, moans and pleas for more mixed with his name falling from her mouth in shameless desperation. By the time the center of pleasure pulsed and burst rattling her to her core until she fell boneless from the heights, her eyes were squeezed closed and she was gasping for breath as Killian stilled his rocking motion, trembling in her loose-armed embrace as he found his own release.

As spent as he was, Killan still had the thought to gather her close as they both regained their breath, bundling her against his chest and nuzzling his nose against her earlobe. “Are you… alright, Emma?” he questioned earnestly.

She nodded, interlocking her fingers with his where his good arm rested beneath her. “I am. Very much so,” she assured him breathily. Snuggling closer still, their legs entwined, the sheet just barely pulled up to their waists, Emma stroked her fingers along his forearm, revelling in the intense connection she felt after what they’d just shared.

Probably she should urge him to catch his breath, then be up and back to his own rooms until the morning. Yet, she did no such thing. When Killian’s breathing evened out and his eyes slid closed, she studied his gentle, handsome face in sleep, his worries about their end finally defeated. Tracing a hand over his brow, she closed her own eyes too.  When slumber came to her as well, Emma’s last thought was that she didn’t want to spend even one more night without him. Tomorrow they would be man and wife, but they had already become one.

Tagging a few others who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @let-it-raines @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @blackwidownat2814 @gingerchangeling @branlovestowrite

[wildtige429]

Bad Boy

He was bored. Oh so bored. There’s nothing new in this dimension and no girl has got his attention.

Axel leaned back on his stool in the bar, arms behind his head and puffing out a huge cloud of smoke from his cigar. Littered all over the ground, many bar-goers were found knocked out and beaten up, with one holding up a wanted poster of his bounty. 15000000000000000000000000 dollars for his capture, dead or alive.

“Wish I’ve gone to that Neverzone Dimension, their babes are hotter here,” he grumbled to himself as he snuffed out his cigar.

Hopping off his stool, he left a tip behind and strolled out of the saloon that was entire littered with beaten up bodies of bounty hunters and those who want the bounty, all hanging and propped up against the walls, railings, windows and stairs. He jogged down the stairs, not caring that he stepped on the backs of his former opponents, and walked straight up to his dragon cycle.

“Let’s get outta here, Spitfire,” he told it, earning a chuff of agreement from the beast. He mounted onto its back and gently revved it up to drive down the lane slowly and calmly.

And he caught something at the corner of his left eye.

“Hello~” He braked to a stop, earning a growl at the sudden action. He softly told it to be quiet so he can gaze at whoever caught his attention.

A nice-looking girl, with the finest grey scales, black hair, green eyes and tail was loitering around in an alley, appearing to be waiting for someone. No matter how she looked through that clothing, she was the hottest lizard she has ever seen.

“Jackpot,” he smirked to himself, hopping off and with a flick of his tail, Spitfire followed him to the girl.

-

“Excuse me miss, you looking lost?” a voice startled Mint. A horned lizard guy approached her with a Chinese-looking dragon cycle behind him. He has a smirk on his face that made her feel suspicious and he smells of booze and danger.

“Yeah? What do you want?” she questioned, suspiciously.

“Nah, just wanna.......get to know you that’s all,” he answered, “Never seen a beauty like you here before.”

“Beauty? Seriously? The only guy who calls me a beauty is my boyfriend, thank you,” she retorted.

“No need to be hostile with me,” he held his hands to signal her to calm down, “Just some passing lone rider. Wanna talk to someone and get a little booze you know?”

“Passing lone rider?” she retorted again, holding up his wanted poster that surprises him, “I know who you are, Axel. Or maybe, Scourge Rider, Axel if I’m right. Responsible for bank heists, vandalism and raids in numerous dimensions who have put a number of zeroes on your head of every crime you committed and never ever been caught in your life.”

“And I recognise any Dragontail like you among other Dragontails, buster,” she finished with a snarl.

Rasticore has told her about his tribe, the Dragontails. Septarians with dragon blood flowing through their veins, they inherited their predecessor’s traits; horns, ear fins, frills, wings or even all in one. They have strong vocal chords and large lungs that are as tough as boulders that enables them to release an intimidating roar that whoever hears it head on will be paralysed by the intimidation and become deaf for 2 hours. They even have night vision and often use their bestial instincts in difficult situations. Despite there are Septarians with ear fins and frills, to know that he or she is a Dragontail is by their draconic growls and snarls.

And she has to be careful with this Dragontail.

“Well, well, well, it seems someone knows me,” he smirked, leaning forward and making her reel back with disgust, “How about I take you around town and show you some places that I never been to? Need someone to tell me about this dimension.”

He was getting to close for comfort, cringing when she feels the cold steel fingers of his metallic prosthetic hand caressing her cheek. “I advise you...to get outta my FACE!” And she lands a powerful slap across his face. She thought he was stunned by the sudden action, until she saw his lips curve upward in an excited grin and slowly turned his face to her.

Now she felt really cornered and scared.

“Feisty,” he purred. He suddenly snatched her wrists, pinning her to the wall, “I love it when girls get feisty with me!”

She tried to shout back when all of a sudden, she found herself hovering and planted unceremoniously on his left shoulder. She felt him grip her waist and pinning her kicking legs together.

“PUT ME DOWN, YOU BRUTE!!!” She screamed in rage.

“Nu-uh,” he shook his head with a smirk, “You and I are going to know each other for a long time.” He drawled at the last two words with a purr of satisfaction.

“If Toffee were to see me in this situation, you are DEAD MEAT!” she shrieked. 

“Then two feisty girls is all I need!” he chuckled, almost getting onto his dragon cycle.

Mint blinked in surprise that he is misunderstanding Toffee, “Uhm? Toffee isn’t a girl.”

He tilted his head so his left eye can glance up to her, “What do you mean, Toffee isn’t a -”

WHACK!!

“OOF!” A fist came flying into his face and he was launched off his dragon cycle, flopping onto his back with Mint tumbling away from him. He was dazed from the punch and he could feel a small trickle of blood dribbling down his left nostril and he was suddenly grabbed by the collar of his vest and was lifted upward till his toes were inches off the ground.

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING WITH HER!?” An angry voice demanded him.

His vision clearing, he sees a long haired, red jacket-wearing lizard scowling murderously at him as he has him lifted off his feet. Even though Axel is a few feet taller than him, this shrimp carried him like he were a bag of potatoes.

“Scourge Rider, Axel was about to kidnap me and planning on wooing me,” Mint told the newcomer.

“Wait, wait, wait, this guy is the Toffee you speak off?” Axel pointed at the still scowling Toffee. In a second, he burst into mad laughter, making Toffee scowl even more murderously, until his stomach felt like bursting, “You must be very sad to have a GIRL’S name, shorty!?”

With a snarl, Toffee threw him to the ground with such might, he was left skidding across the ground, leaving a trail. Stunned, Axel felt a surge of fear and panic when he sees Toffee approach Spitfire from behind and raising his palm up in the air.

“No, please don,” he warned.

“It’s too late,” Toffee darkly informed him, raising his palm even more higher in a striking position.

“If you do what I think you’re doing, you’re dead meat, buster!” Axel snarled. Toffee narrows his eyes at him, “I would rather die.”

With such swiftness, the grey lizard smacked Spitfire’s rump so hard, it sent the dragon cycle screeching and roaring in total panic, shooting out lightning bolts out of its mouth, before driving off into the distance in full throttle, leaving it’s rider behind.

“Spitfire!” Axel quickly got up, “SPITFIRE!!!” 

He growled in anger of what the shrimp did as Mint went up to Toffee, her hands on his left arm. His growling then turn into an amused chuckle, confusing the two, and he turned around on his heel, his sly grin making him resemble a hungry shark.

“You just started a war, pretty boy,” he announced, “I ain’t leaving this dimension until I get your gal. Besides, it won’t be long until I get the thing I need here.”

His gaze fixed onto Mint, her face changing from a frown to a glare, “I’ll be seeing you around, hot stuff. Never forget that Axel is still here to woo you in his arms. Ciao.”

He gave them a two finger salute and began to walk off, following the trail left by his startled dragon cycle. Minutes after he left the area, Mint couldn’t help but sneer in disgust at Axel’s path. Even Toffee felt the same way.

“I hope you kick his ass,” she hoped.

“I will,” Toffee promised her, “Because if he does, I’ll shove his horns into his throat.”

(Epilogue)

Mint, now in her half monster form, was fishing at a river in the woods, hoping to get something to snack on. As she waits for any tugging from her line, she hears the sounds of a dragon cycle stopping behind her and a shadow loomed over her.

“Excuse me?” an oh-so-familiar Western-accented voice called out.

She turned her head around and found herself looking at the Scourge Rider himself. She thought he was going to grin and say some woeful stuff at her but she realised that he doesn’t recognise her as the lizard girl he has his eyes on days ago.

“Have you seen a pretty lizard lady around here? Slim and tall, green-eyed like yours and grey-scaled like yours?” he asked her.

She pursed her lips in full thought at the oblivious Axel and she gave him a pretending shrug, “Nope. Haven’t seen her.”

“Oh thanks, little lady,” Axel thanked her, his hands gripping the horns, “If you see her, tell her that Axel is here and wanted to ask her out for a little booze drinking.”

She snorted, trying to hide her giggle as she rolled her eyes. Revving Spitfire to full max, Axel did a full wheelie and flew off into the distance. With a satisfied sigh, she resumed her fishing and continued waiting for the tugging.

Axel doesn’t know that the pretty Lacertian and half monster Mint are the same person.

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@lynea-kureji  The epilogue is a little present for the running gag you imagined. And thank you so much for loving Axel! I hope I get to see Toffee and Axel battle it out for Lizard! Mint’s hand.

[writethisway-blog2]

Prompt 1 - Kaylee H.

Prompt: A sci-fi short story with us as character, must use the word “Salamander.”

-----

Kaylee could not help but think that this job would have been better suited for someone a bit better suited to the heat. Why the hell the Director thought to send a Michigander to Death Valley, she would never understand. But the Director insisted that she was the only one who could perform this particular mission. And was she ever one to go against the Director’s orders? She knew what happened to those that tried, and shuddered at the thought of whatever the Director kept in that pit, more so at how long it had been since it was fed. Failure was not an option.

As she trekked through the 5,000 square foot valley, she repeated the mission details out loud to herself if only to pass the time without her normal travelling companion. It had been decades since anyone came through this valley. Joey’s disappearance was sudden, and she couldn’t bear to think about the blood anymore. He was so new, so young. How could he have possibly been of use to the Agency? Everyone knows that the Agency didn’t kill for no reason. Joey had something that they didn’t. And he clearly put up a fight, the damage to his sleeping quarters was all the evidence the Director needed to see that.

Kaylee only travelled alone now. There was no way she would go to another memorial for someone she was in charge of training. There wasn’t even a body to bury, just a foot next to the shackle that kept him in the room that would bring upon his demise. The Agency had not considered their target was on probation for speaking out and must’ve assumed the fastest way to get out with Joey was to just remove what kept him behind.

She shook the thought from her memory and once again repeated the directions that had become her mantra for this mission. “West to the Rock Garden, drop the charge and run like hell.” The Director mentioned that the “Rock Garden” would be heavily cloaked by Agency tech and she might not find it without walking directly into it. This “Garden” supposedly was filled with boulders the size of a yacht. Well, as close as they could imagine a yacht to be in size, there wasn’t enough water on the planet to need a boat anymore and most had never seen one. There was no way that the Agency could possibly disguise something that large, but the Director seemed to believe it was out here somewhere.

Kaylee stopped to drink one of her E.N.R.R.s before moving forward. Energy and Nutrition Replacement Rations. Developed after the war that destroyed the planet’s resources, this slimy concoction was best consumed cold as it seemed to be the best way to not have to taste the shit. Seeing as there wasn’t a fridge in the middle of Death Valley, Kaylee slammed it back knowing that it was the only thing keeping her body moving towards whatever lay ahead. She grimaced and capped the jar, unzipping her back to save it for later. Suddenly there was a scratching sensation across her foot and she jumped back, pistol in hand and aimed before a second thought could be had. As she realized it was just a salamander, she sighed and lowered her weapon.

Kaylee chuckled and watched it scamper west. The sun was slowly setting in the direction she was headed and the salamander was easy to watch for quite some distance, with no foliage or rocks large enough to conceal it. After about 10 yards, the salamander appeared to be lifted into the air by something unseen. Kaylee furrowed her brow in thought. “I didn’t see any wings…” she mused out loud to herself. It was not uncommon after the war to see animals with strange features from the radiation that eradicated much of the planet’s life. House pets with extra eyes or limbs, fish with fur, and the occasional lizard with wings or an extra tail. She thought nothing of it until she realized its legs were still moving as if it was…crawling? That couldn’t be right. There was nothing there. Before the thought even crossed her mind, she sprang into action. She took the makeshift bomb out of her pack, sprinted forward, and began to pull the intricate series of pins and levers that would start the timer. Whatever was here, wouldn’t be soon. Kaylee followed footprints that were barely there, zigzagging between what could only be the massive stones that made up the Garden. As she moved forward, Kaylee felt a sharp blow to her right shoulder. She dropped the charge before she could finish setting the sequence. There was nothing there to hit her that hard, and Kaylee reached up blindly to see what struck her. Her hand met solid stone, which was not visible. The Director was right, they were cloaked entirely. This rock happened to stick out at shoulder level and she could already feel the tender spot that would need attention later.

She didn’t have time to think of that right now though. She got up and moved towards the charge which skidded about 15 feet away. As she approached, she heard uneven footsteps becoming louder as they drew near. Uneven, with a grunt every other step and a soft thud that accompanied each grunt. Whoever was coming for her did not have any idea what stealth meant, and she removed her own cloaking device from her pack to disguise herself. A chuckle came from what seemed to be directly next to her, but no one could be seen.

“Do you really think I won’t find you with the cloaking turned on, Agent 17? You disappoint me.”

Kaylee dropped her device in utter disbelief. “Is this some sort of sick joke? Show yourself!” She tried sounding as demanding as possible, but could not disguise the shake of her voice. There is no way Joey would be here. But that pitch, that tone, she would recognize it the rest of her life. That voice would never leave her memory and she thought this must be something technological far beyond her understanding.

And yet, there he was. He stepped out from around one of the cloaked rocks, limping, with a makeshift cane. A prosthetic was pieced together from some metal should could not recognize, but it bore the unmistakable emblem of the Agency. A red asterisk surrounded by black olive branches. An ironic symbol of peace for the faction that had murdered millions, as if to say “We strive for peace, *but only our own.” Kaylee dropped to her knees and sobbed, her relief from seeing him alive turning quickly to rage over the apparent betrayal.

“I don’t have time to explain but I need you to trust me. The Agency is not what you think it is, and the Director is wrong. About everything.”