#rather than feeding more slowly throughout the day. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

driftward · 2 months

Text

Folks don't talk much about the war around these parts, but you can see its scars in the people it touched. Not much more to say about that, but you best be aware of that history. For some folk, it stays with them.

A Desertwalkers story.

The Engineer in the Machine

The military was a mighty machine, the treads of which rolled across oceans and valleys, powerful gears upon which to grind policy and the will of the people. And Ada Fairlight was a dutiful cog in that mighty edifice, doing her part as mighty gears moved slowly around her, directing the will of a nation.

Today, that machine would be put to different purpose. Smaller, finer gears would come into play today, for it was a delicate work they would be doing. Information and logs and testimony would be fed in, and from that material and with those fuels, the machine would grind fine, until nothing but truth remained.

And then the machine would deliver justice.

It was with this in her mind that she entered the chambers of the military court, a somber affair in which she would play her part, same as she always had, every day since she had been commissioned to be part of the machine.

Fellow officers and bureaucrats moved around the chamber as she took her seat, enlisted men and women seeing to their various needs. It was an affair of quiet, hushed noise, full of murmurs and humming as people spoke. But at last, the place fell silent, as everyone took their place.

“Captain Fairlight,” the Master at Arms called, and she responded, arriving at the podium in accordance with rule and regulation.

“Do you swear that the witness you bear today shall be whole and truthful under the watchful gaze of the Fury and the Twelve?”

“I do.”

The Master at Arms gave her a salute, which she returned.

The Admiral in charge of the hearing cleared his throat. “Captain Fairlight, if you would please explain the circumstances and situation leading up to the incident aboard the Royal Service Ship Uragnite on the date in question.”

~*~

Captain Ada Fairlight was in the engineering spaces of the R.S.S. Uragnite, inspecting the equipment. As the chief maintenance officer onboard, she had responsibilities, and it was one of these responsibilities she was tending to now.

The ship was, in her opinion, in shambles. Operational, but she was constantly finding maintenance that needed to be done. She felt that it was bad enough to violate operational doctrine, but Major Mirkasch, Head of Engineering disagreed and overrode her every time she submitted her findings. Every sennight was another argument with him. She had plans that would allow them to repair while underway and still keep the ship going, but he was obsessed with the ledger and meeting aggressive deployment schedules.

She could smell the faint acridity from overworked electrical wiring as she made her way through the engineering spaces to inspect one of the gas cutoff valves. The ship had a mess of steam and ceruleum pipes serving as veins to feed it its lifeblood, and the valves were critical for their safe operation.

And also the subject of another ongoing argument between Captain Fairlight and Major Mirkasch.

With a sigh, she turned to the maintenance log locker to review it. Before she could open its latch, however, she was thrown up against it, or rather it rocked forward and slammed into her, as the deck under her feet became unstable and she felt, more than heard, a boom crack throughout the ship.

They were still in port. There was no possibility of that being an enemy attack. Almost on instinct, she reached up into the overhead, pulling herself up to touch a hand to the ceruleum line.

It was warm, it was vibrating, and it was howling.

She ran to the cutoff valve, where its motor was already making a valiant effort, yet failing. The emergency alarm began to sound as she got to it, just in time to hear it make a terrible grinding noise, and stop, all life gone from it. She leapt for its clutch, and wrenched it, throwing her whole body into disengaging it.

“Emergency report, emergency report,” sounded over the loudspeakers, from a voice that had been trained to maintain utter calm in any calamity. “Gas rupture in berthing.”

There was another engineering compartment between here and there. The hatch to one of them was in front of her. Anyone already in there was trapped until the gas flow could be stopped.

She grabbed the oversized valve, nearly two fulms across. Its size meant it was an absolute bear to operate manually. One hand on either side of it, she began to work it, even as she snapped orders out, even as she tried to get the situation under control.

“Contact control! Tell them the bravo gas cutoff valve is stuck.” An enlisted man rushed forward to take her spot, but she was already in motion, her hand a vice on the valve as she wedged her knee underneath a convenient piece of machinery and used her stomach, her legs, gravity, her arms, every onze available to her to pull that side down. “I have this! Retrieve respirators, make sure the O2 lines are running!” As her first hand made its way to the bottom of the valve’s motion, on the other side she secured her grip, and now she pushed up, continuing the rotation of the valve, every muscle from her toes up through her legs, her spine, and her arm serving as a kinetic chain. “Get ready for egress! Chief, charge water to the fire main!”

Gods, she hoped the gas would not ignite. Right now this was just an emergency. A spark would turn it into a catastrophe of conflagration.

The people in the space moved to carry out her orders, and she remained in motion on the valve. Down on one side, up on the other. Pull, push. It did not take long before her muscles were burning, her breathing labored, but she continued on. She could hear sounds on the other side of the compartment door, good men and women waiting to escape before the ceruleum turned their lungs into caustic soup.

Down. Up. Wrench. Turn.

The record for closing the valve manually was thirty six seconds. She was determined to do better.

At last, the valve hit its stop, and would go no further. The little needle indicator showed it was shut. Her entire body slick with sweat, she let go, and wobbled as she tried to steady herself.

Already exhausted, but there was more to do. She pointed to a nearby enlisted person.

“Verify that valve and report!” she commanded as she went to the hatch, placing one hand on its wheel as the enlisted person scampered to take her place on the valve.

“Secure!”

“Report to control! Everyone else, stand back!”

She quickly spun the wheel, and slammed the hatch open into its catch. A wave of the stench of vaporized ceruleum slammed into her senses at the same time several people spilled out. Some were coughing, wheezing into their masks, quickly trying to get clear, trying to escape.

With them was Alastor. Of course he was with them. The infantry were his responsibility, and he was carrying two of them, both unconscious.

“Where is your respirator?” demanded Ada.

His voice had a pitched creak to it as he spoke. “Not enough to go around. Had to give it away. Let me just grab someone else’s, I have to go back in-”

He made to move around her, but she shoved her shoulder into his, bodily dragging him to the side.

“You can’t go back in! Those fumes are already eating your lungs!”

He glared at her, and coughed heavily, as if to prove her point. Thick mucous flecked from his mouth, globs of it landing to wobble on his chin.

“I have more people in there.”

Ada glanced back at the open hatch. It stunk, and the air had that wavey, purple quality to it that told her that there was far too much gas in there.

She pointed, giving an order. “You, fetch me a respirator,” she said. She turned to Alastor. “You will sit this out. This is not up for debate. Grab a respirator, sit down for at least a count of thirty, clear out your lungs. I will get your people.”

Alastor glared at her, unruly. He was older than her, but she outranked him. After a moment, though, he nodded, and sat on the ground.

“Good man,” she said, taking the respirator as it was handed to her. No flash hood. Risk of fire was too great, she would need to find one. She checked its bladders. It would need to be topped off as she went, but at least she would not be breathing in any fumes. “Report to damage control command, let them know that Captain Fairlight is entering the -”

Her ears were ringing, and the world’s sounds were subdued, distant. She was in so much pain, she was not quite sure where she hurt and where she didn’t. She rolled over, and pushed herself off the deck. She could feel a wave of heat flowing by above her, searing the air. Her skull felt like it may near as well have been exploded. As she struggled to stand, she looked around, and saw smoke. There were bodies on the floor, some like her, struggling to stand.

Others were slicked with blood. Some were not moving.

Some were on fire.

She saw a ripple of purple in the air turn blue with flame and burn itself out.

She looked back to the hatch to the other compartment, and she saw flames in the air, dancing, lighting and dying and lighting again in turn as they met purple waves and broiled.

And nearby was her brother.

He was writhing on the deck, seemingly unable to control his limbs. He was kicking his legs out spastically, his arms trying to grab any surface. It was as though he was panicked, trying to escape some terrible thing. He was gasping, and blue fire sputtered from his mouth, and died, and came back to life.

His lungs were on fire.

Ada dived for him, having to fight him to the ground. She got her arms and legs around him, trying to wrap them around his, trying to keep him from getting leverage, trying to keep him on the deck. Long enough for her to wrap a hand around his mouth, and to get her fingers around his nose, and to pinch it shut.

He writhed in her arms, his back arching and his gut spasming, as he continued to try to fight her. But she held on, rocking with him, refusing to let go. Refusing to let him escape. Refusing to let him take another breath.

He grew weak, and then he stilled, ultimately collapsing against him. She waited.

Held on.

Gave him a count of thirty.

Around her, people rushed, trying to salvage the situation. Two fire hoses were spilled out, and one of them was pointed into the next compartment. It could not put out a fire of this nature, but the deluge of water might keep the compartment cool enough to reduce further damage.

The fire would burn itself out soon enough.

Just as she hoped it had done in his lungs.

At last, she let go, and pushed her brother off of her, wedging him into a corner. She did not know if he was alive or dead. Either way, he would need to be out of the way until the medical team could tend to him.

She got up to her feet, and walked over to the door to the next compartment. An oppressive heat rolled out of it, warning her away. If she was to go in there now, without a flash hood, the heat would well be enough to melt her respirator to her face.

But there were still people in there.

She retrieved several ratchet straps, and grabbed the second fire main away from the person holding it. They just watched as she shoved the hose up the front hem of her uniform top, up the front of her chest, sticking its nozzle just under her chin, and then used the ratchet straps to make sure it stayed in place.

Once she was certain it was secure, she headed for the hatch.

One of the enlisted tried to stop her.

“Ser, you can’t go in there,” they said.

She shrugged them off, not breaking stride. “There are people in there. I need to get them out,” she said.

She had told Alastor she would get them.

She would have done it anyroad.

Nobody deserved this hell.

When the heat became too much to bear, she wrenched open the nozzle on the firemain. A deluge of freezing water exploded under her chin, soaking her immediately.

Thus protected, she made her way into the next compartment.

She quickly found two people, one unconscious, the other struggling to get them out. She took over, and pointed back to where she had come from. “Go! I have this one!” she yelled, as she planted her body under the unconscious one and hoisted them into the air. The first one nodded, and together, they made their way back out. She dumped her human cargo on the floor without ceremony, and dove back in.

The next one was harder. She found them unconscious, one arm stuck in between ladder rungs where they had tried to escape. She almost burned her hands getting them free before she retreated to a locker to retrieve a pair of heavy leather gauntlets. She came back, pulled them out, and carried them to the exit before immediately returning.

Overhead, the loudspeaker continued to make announcements. “Fire in forward engineering compartment upper level. Fire in aft infantry berthing upper level. Plant steam out in progress. Prepare to receive emergency recovery teams.”

The next one, she pulled off the deck, having to peel their face off the grating where they had melted and become stuck. She ran back with them, set them down, returned. Her arms burned. Her lungs burned from exertion. Freezing water continued to rush into her face, but the heat of the space leaned against her on all sides. She could feel it on her skin, clawing into her.

She had to duck lower, stay down close to the deck. If she looked up, she could see the air above her rippling and writhing, a living thing, roiling and wavy from the heat. Under her heavy leather clad boots, the metal grating that made up the floor was sagging.

She kept moving.

There was less and less purple in the air as the vaporized ceruleum burnt itself out. With the cutoff valve closed, no more could enter the space. But the damage had been done, and she came across insulation that had been crisped, blackened on its edges. As she carried one person out, she could see metal sagging, melting in terrible heat, on the edge of the compartment. It looked as though it was beginning to sweat little metal droplets.

She saw a body too close to the slag as she moved.

They would have to rest there. She could only spare time for the living.

The fire hose could not make it all the way to the next compartment over, but there was another fire hose on the way. She took several long precious moments to undo her ad-hoc ratchet strap arrangement, swapping out one hose for the other, and abandoning the first one, being careful to make sure that she always had at least one with its nozzle open and spraying water into her head.

Her face was sore from the constant deluge. She had to stop to refill the respirator several times. Everything hurt, and nothing was getting better.

Nevertheless, she persisted, pulling out as many as she could find, until finally she set one body down on the deck out in safety, out where she had started, and two people grabbed her from either side. One of them turned off the hose keeping her cool.

She fought against them. “There is more in there! I have to go back!”

“Your job is done, Captain!” one of them yelled. “The recovery team is here!”

She pulled against them, one last time, almost out of reflex. But they were right. In her haste, in her single minded determination, she had missed that several men and women had finally arrived, dressed in the oversized puffy suits meant for exactly this kind of work. Fully sealed. Fully insulated. Even now, they were pushing past other people, and entering the hell beyond.

She stopped fighting, and nodded. One of the people on her let go, but the other held on. She got her legs firmly under her, and tried to push to stand taller, to get leverage and move, but he kept her.

“Let me go,” she said.

“Respirator off, captain,” he said.

After a moment, she pulled it off, and winced. Her face hurt. She took a deep breath in, and her wince became a grimace. Breathing, cooler air against her face, everything hurt.

She realized she must look a mess. Her uniform was in tatters. She became aware that her legs and arms must have been terribly burnt. She was drenched from head to toe in dirty water from the fire system, and stunk, of that, of ceruleum, of engineering, of sweat. She could feel her hair matted against her skull, gross and slimy.

She finally got a look at the person who had been helping to hold her back, and noted the medical symbol on his uniform as he looked her over.

He finished his examination, reached up, and drew something on her forehead.

“You’ve been triaged,” he said. “Unfit. Get yourself out of the way, captain, before you become another casualty.”

She wanted to fight him on that.

But she looked around. There were already people here, and more coming in. While she had been rushing back and forth, fires had been put out. Equipment had been turned off. Other medics were present, tending to other bodies.

She swallowed, and nodded, and finally at last he let her go. She stumbled away from him, trying to stay out of the way of the others as they did their work, searching until she found the corner she had tucked her brother in.

She sat down heavily on the ground, and pushed herself against him, and felt the fight leave her.

She was tired.

But the plant was in good hands. The plant was safe. She had done what she could, and it would have to be enough.

~*~

Ada walked out of the courtroom, and was surprised to see Alastor sitting on a bench in the hallway.

“Do not stand up,” she said as she began to walk over him. “Do not stand up, do not salute me, stop it, do not-”

But he had come to full attention, and his hand came up in a sharp salute.

“Ser Fairlight.”

She came to a stop, pulling herself up to return the salute. “I hate you so much.”

“You hate me so much… what?”

“I hate you so much, Ser Fairlight. Sit down.”

He grinned, and released his salute, allowing her to drop hers as he lowered himself carefully to the bench. Ada sat primly next to him, and wrinkled her nose angrily at him, which caused him to let out a wheezing laugh.

“What are you even doing here? I was certain your hearing was not until tomorrow?”

“It isn’t. I thought I’d see how my little sister was doing.”

“I am both taller and heavier than you.”

“Fine, my bigger sister.”

“You should be in the infirmary. You are crippled.”

“Not yet, I’m not.”

She frowned at him.

“At least, not until they declare it during my hearing, right?” he said, as he wheeze-laughed again.

“The only thing keeping me from hitting you is sympathy.”

“And your overly keen sense of propriety.”

“There are rules to society, Alastor. You should learn a few sometime.”

He grinned as he sat back, and she sighed at him.

“How’s it going in there?” he asked.

“Going from the top down. We just finished my testimony on the accident. Questioning will continue when I go back in there, as they decide what to do with me.”

Alastor leaned forward slowly, a frown creasing his forehead.

“What do you mean, what to do with you?”

“I suspect I shall be asked for my resignation.”

“What? Why!? That doesn’t make any sense - you’re a bloody hero!”

Ada did not look at her brother.

“No commanding officer will ever trust me again.”

Alastor opened his mouth to respond, but a polite cough stopped him.

“Ser Fairlight?”

“Yes?” they both responded, looking up.

The enlistedperson looked momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly.

“Captain Ada Fairlight,” he said. “The court is ready.”

“More testimony,” she said. “I will meet you after, Alastor.”

~*~

Captain Ada Fairlight frowned as she looked through the maintenance logs.

Main machinery upper level was still in terrible disarray. Red tags fluttered in fan driven breeze, marking equipment that was out of service or otherwise not to be operated. Workers made their way through the space and around her, working on repairs as they were able, while she and the watch tried to stay out of their way.

Above her head as she read, the bravo ceruleum cutoff valve was one of the items that had a red tag hung from it. The valve stem was suspected to be bent, which was part of what made it so difficult to open or shut. It was a problem Ada had known about for some time, and one of many matters on which she and the Head Engineer had often argued.

Before the accident, she had ordered it and that side of the ceruleum system to be taken out of service pending further inspection and repair.

Someone had marked it as repaired, put it back into service, and signed off on it being in good function. In the maintenance log, she found the name of the enlistedperson who had supposedly done the work.

None of their initials or signatures were anywhere in the log, however. Nor that of their supervisor, or anyone who might have helped them.

Just Captain Mirkasch’s signature, at the very end, verifying the work complete.

She looked at the name of the worker again. One of hers, but they had not been in the engineering spaces as of late, even before the accident. Indeed, they had been a near neighbor of hers these past few days. She tapped her finger on their name.

The safety officer came up to her while she was thinking. “I’ve accounted for most of the emergency kits. It’s possible that some material was destroyed during the accident, but I think we’re still shorter than we should be.”

“Thank you, captain,” she said. “Have you reviewed my work so far?”

“I have, and added my own,” they said. “Soon as you sign, I will countersign.”

She nodded.

It was not until the next day that she made her way down to the Head Engineer’s office, knocking on the door as she arrived.

“Enter,” she heard through the door, and she let herself in.

The office was familiar to her. About the size of two of the junior officer’s wardrooms, it was dominated by a large desk, which in turn was covered with diagrams, charts, and reference books. Each wall of the room had a different diagram on it, one showing the steam and gas plant schematic, another showing electrical wiring throughout the ship, another showing a full layout of where all the equipment was.

Captain Mirkasch was sitting at his desk, reviewing paperwork. He glanced up at Ada as she entered.

“Captain Fairlight,” he said dryly. “The infirmary release you early?”

Ada stopped in front of the desk, and saluted. “Major Mirkasch. I wished to speak with you regarding the gas leak incident.”

“Repairs are still under way, Captain, and engineering has the matter well in hand,” he said dismissively.

“The original gas line rupture was probably just an act of nature,” she began.

“Oh good, finally, a matter on which we can agree.”

“But I believe that the resulting explosion and follow on series of events were completely avoidable.”

He looked up at her, frowning.

“You see, ser,” she continued. “I think the cascade of failures began with the bravo cutout valve. We have known for some time that the stem on the valve was bent. A bent stem meant the valve was very difficult to operate, open or shut. If you perhaps had let me place a Pattern on the valve-”

“Yes, yes, we have had this argument a dozen dozen times, Captain, and let me remind you, once again, that the use of your superstitions is permitted, but not required. This ship has one mission, and one mission only. We deliver troops to the front line. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything that might interfere with that mission is, or might prevent us from deploying, is simply out of the question. Now, if that’s all, I would like to get back to work.”

Ada bristled at the use of the word superstitions, but let it go. She had a more important point to pursue.

“Not all, Major. Leaving aside the matter of my plan to keep the plant operational and safe, I believe that, over time, the operation of that valve became too much for the motor to handle. This placed repeated strain on it, leading to its failure. With that motor, the valve can be closed in four to five seconds. Without it, that valve takes near half a minute to close for even our best operators, during which time forward engineering and berthing were flooded with volatile ceruleum. Resulting in an explosive air mix.”

“Supposedly,” said Mirkasch. “And what do you want me to do about it, captain, go back in time and replace the valve?”

“I will get to that,” said Ada. “Another factor that I think led to the explosion was poor conditions in the electrics. A lot of that gear was rather warmer than it should have been, with insulation missing in places. Heat or a spark, plus the volatile air mixture, led to the explosion, injuring several. More were injured or killed due to a lack of available safety gear.”

“Need I remind you, Captain, we are at war. Supplies can be difficult to obtain, and the mission of this ship is paramount. A few missing respirators or a shortage in flash gear is to be expected.”

“We are failing to accomplish that mission now, ser.”

“Yes, thanks to an accident outside of our control. Is there anything else, Captain? I have better things to do than talk in circles around you today.”

Ada clasped her hands behind her back. “I remember that motor failing, Major. I personally saw it taken out of commission. A look into the maintenance logs showed that someone placed it back in to service. I believe they did so without actually performing the maintenance in question, judging from the condition of the motor.”

Major Mirkasch studied her carefully, steeping his fingers in front of him.

“Whoever they are, they will be in serious trouble if so,” he said, carefully.

“You signed off on their work, ser.”

He nodded. “I sign off on all work in the plant, Captain, but I cannot review every single maintenance task that has to be done. Spot checks are the standard. And if this person elected to not perform the maintenance in question, then there would have been nothing for me to check.”

Not how that works, thought Ada to herself.

“Anyroad. Pass their name to me, I will investigate further.”

“I already have, ser,” she said. “I wondered, at first, how they had done the maintenance at all.”

The Major raised his eyebrows.

“Fireman Rhotflamsyn has been in the infirmary since shortly after coming aboard. Fell down a ladder well, broke his leg. We have not been able to spare the time to return him home to a proper hospital, so the medical staff set his leg and have been keeping him as still as possible.”

She continued as the Major frowned at her. “You would know that, of course, ser, if you bothered to keep track of our people at any other time besides morning muster.”

“…watch your tone, Captain. What are you trying to say?”

“I am trying to say nothing, ser. The logs, however, say much. My predecessor also had much to say about the condition of the electronics, but it seems you repeatedly overrode him on the matter. The safety officer claims that the responsibility for plant safety equipment falls upon you, and yet our inventory of such seems to be short of what it should be. And the logs tell of maintenance done on my motor, but my motor is dead. Three people with it. Plus fifteen injured.”

The Major’s lip curled, and he looked as though he was about to say something terrible, but he stopped himself, leaning back in his chair, and taking the time to compose himself.

“Supposedly, Captain. Supposedly. Let me tell you what I see. I see a Captain, upset over the unfortunate circumstances that led to her brother getting hurt. Unable to find fault, she has exceeded her duties and the bounds of propriety, is finding fault where there is none, and is thinking to turn a tragedy into a drumhead.”

“My brother was far from the only person hurt, ser.”

“Nevertheless. This is all pointless conjecture. We shall wait and see what the official report says, which I am certain will find that this entire incident, while tragic, was simply an accident.”

Ada took a deep breath in.

“We will not need to wait, ser.”

The Major became very, very still.

“What?”

“I am allowed to compile such a report, per regulation. It falls within my duties and responsibilities, and by the letter of law, I am empowered to make such a report if I see fit. I have seen fit. My report has been fact checked and signed off by a fellow officer, and as of this morning, is up before the executive officer for review. The intent of this meeting is to inform you of my findings, as well as to inform you that the report has been submitted.”

The Major stood up slowly, leaning on his knuckles on the desk.

“You went over my head,” he said, measuring his words out.

“Which is also permitted by regulation, ser,” she said.

“You went over. My head,” he said again. “You are out of line, Captain.”

“What I did was fully within the code of,” she began, her voice ice.

“Captain Fairlight. Attention!” he barked.

Ada snapped immediately to stand fully at attention.

“You went over my head,” he snarled. “You have violated the chain of command for your own selfish, stupid, petty purposes. You have -”

He stopped, and turned his head to the side to growl, as he took several deep breaths. When he spoke next, his voice grinded, growled, threatening.

“You are insubordinate, and you have violated a sacred trust, Captain. You will give me your resignation before the end of the day.”

“That is explicitly called out in the regulations as an illegal order, Major, and I shall not follow it.”

“While you are at attention, Captain, you do not speak unless asked a direct question.”

Ada’s jaw tightened.

He stared at her, waiting, daring her to speak again, but she remained silent.

“You are relieved of your duties, Captain. When I dismiss you, you are to return to your quarters, and you will stay there. And if I see you anywhere else before you are sent for, you won’t have to wait for the court martial. Do I make myself clear?”

Ada continued to stare past the wall at nothing. “Aye, ser.”

The Major sat back down at his desk, and he glared at her, challenging, but she did not respond.

“Get out of my sight.”

Ada saluted him, pivoted, and left.

~*~

Final closing statements had been made, and the Admiralty had convened to close out. Ada sat amongst those under judgement, listening carefully, as findings and judgements were passed. Judgement of the ship’s captain was first, as everything that happened under his command was automatically his responsibility, by long tradition. The admiralty declared him innocent of malfeasance, and the events that had happened under his command an act of the gods. He would be removed from duty for reassignment to a shore command.

A relatively light sentence, given what had occurred, but Ada frowned at the declaration of the ‘act of the gods’.

The executive officer was next, and his judgement was much the same, and Ada began to feel unease.

Then Major Mirkasch.

“Major Mirkasch, attention.”

Ada was now paying keen attention.

“In the matter of the incident onboard the R.S.S. Uragnite on the date in question, on the question of whether or not Major Mirkasch is guilty of gross malfeasance, dereliction of duty, falsifying logs, and related charges, the Admiralty has reviewed the evidence and found him not guilty.”

The courtroom remained otherwise silent as the Admiral continued. Ada became aware of a terrible pain in her jaw, radiating up through her skull and threatening to crush her restraint.

“Major Mirkasch, you will remain onboard the R.S.S. Uragnite pending completion of turnover duties. Once those are complete, you will be given new orders to be transferred to another fleet. Do you understand this order?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, ser.”

“You may be seated.”

Major Mirkasch saluted, and sat down. Ada could feel her nails biting into her palms.

“Captain Fairlight, attention.”

Ada came to her feet smartly.

“In the matter of Captain Fairlight’s guilt regarding insubordination, conduct unbecoming of an officer, disobeying a direct order, dereliction of duty, and related charges, the Admiralty has reviewed the evidence and found her not guilty.”

Ada stood stock still.

“Captain Fairlight, you are hereby removed from your post. You are detached from the R.S.S. Uragnite effective immediately. Upon the closing of these proceedings, you will proceed to personnel, to retrieve your new orders to another ship in the fleet. Do you understand this order?”

No.

“Yes, ser.”

“Do you have any questions?”

Just one.

“No, ser.”

“You may be seated.”

Ada saluted, and sat, feeling as though she was snapping down into her seat like a spring being violently brought to full compression. The hearing continued, as the admiralty worked their way through the other officers, chiefs, and enlisted, thorough in their judgement of the accident.

She paid little attention, stunned. None of it made any sense. One of them had to be right. Either herself or Major Mirkasch. The court had found both of them not guilty. Exonerated them both. Had even set them on paths to continue to serve.

He had gotten people killed.

She would never be trusted by any command ever again.

This was all wrong.

At last, the hearing came to an end. The entire room came to their feet on command, and then, once dismissed, began to file out of the room. Ada just sat back down in her chair, still unbelieving in the outcome, still uncertain of what to do next.

As he passed by her, Major Mirkasch just nodded in her direction. “Captain,” he said, no malice, no heat, just a flat acknowledgement, simply stated. He did not seem to expect a response, not pausing for one as he continued to make his way out.

Finally, at last, it was just her, the Master at Arms, and one of the admirals in the courtroom.

The admiral continued to scribble something for his notes. The Master at Arms cleared his throat politely. Ada took the hint, and stood up, but at the same time, the admiral glanced up to see her.

“Did you have a question, Captain?” asked the admiral.

She did. But did she wish to pursue it?

“Aye, ser. Permission to approach and speak, ser.”

“Approach and ask your question.”

She walked up to the row of judge’s desks where the admiralty had sat on high and listened to testimony, deliberated their decisions, and passed judgement. Once she was close, she saluted, and waited until the admiral saluted back before she spoke.

“Just… why, ser?”

The admiral looked her over.

“My testimony and Mirkasch’s were in opposition, ser. Either he could be guilty, or I am, or both of us. But to dismiss the charges? And send us back to fleet? I do not understand, ser.”

The admiral sighed, and sat back in his seat, and considered Ada for a moment.

“Plainspeak, then, Captain. Major Mirkasch is well liked by his peers, and is the son of retired Admiral Mirkasch. You will note also that he has made it to Major. He has done his job well enough up until now, without major incident. To dismiss him would require a political will we simply do not have at the moment. No. We will see him assigned somewhere with a stricter XO who will do a somewhat better job keeping an eye on him. In addition, one of the officers who will be reporting to him may be subordinate in the rank structure, but his family has rather more pull than his. We’ll see him do his job.”

“What of the dead and injured?”

“Plainspeak, Captain, plainspeak. What of them? We are at war. Casualties happen. Unfortunate, but the machine must move on.”

More like a beast, if it was eating its people like this, thought Ada.

“And what of me, ser?”

“You have family of your own which we wish to be careful of. And in addition, Captain, frankly, you are too valuable to go away. Now, I will confess, I do not fully understand the full extent of all of this Pattern and new engineering, but we recognize that it, and you, are extremely valuable. You will find the ship you are going to will be rather more, ah, accommodating of your more… radical ideas.”

Ada shook her head. “I turned in my superior officer, ser. I … was right to go past him in the chain of command, but I also recognize that nobody else will see it that way. My career is effectively over.”

“Plainspeak is the word of the day, captain. And the word of this admiralty is thus.”

He put his pen down for a moment, clasped his hands in front of him, and leaned forward to look her in the eye.

“We do not give a damn.”

Ada felt her temper turn to ice.

“I shall turn in my resignation, then.”

“Should have thought to do that earlier. Too late now. I will personally reject any such letter that you submit.”

She glared at him.

“For that matter, why did you wait to do so? Might have avoided charges. It’s not generally in our best interest to go after someone for insubordination if they leave of their volition.”

“I wanted to see how this turned out, ser. And … and I wanted to see the right thing done, ser.”

The admiral drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully.

“You were never going to turn in a resignation letter. I’ve met officers like you before, and that’s what I think. No, I know your kind. You signed a contract and took an oath, and you’ll see them both through before the military is done with you. No, I think you’ll be staying, Captain. We’ll be better for it.”

She hated that he was right.

He capped his pen, and began to organize his papers. “If it makes you feel any better, we will be keeping a very close eye on the Major, family connections or no. Was there anything else?”

“No, ser.”

“Very well. Dismissed, Captain Fairlight.”

Ada came to attention, saluted, turned, and left.

~*~

Alastor was no longer in the hallway when she left, which was just as well at the moment. She did not feel like talking to him.

She did not feel like telling him that she had failed.

She did not feel like telling him that they had both been failed.

She walked, steadily, stiffly, keeping herself composed, keeping her head high.

And she thought of the one bit of testimony that she did not tell in the courtroom.

Of how she sat next to his still body. How she had reached over. How weak she had felt, after all had been said and done. How dead she felt.

How dead he felt.

How she had pulled him into her arms, and curled up around him, and began to sob as the ship around her creaked, as its mighty metal groaned, as the great vessel struggled to keep itself alive. Of how it felt that the death was reaching through its bones, threatening to drag the whole crew down.

She did not tell them that she felt she had left her feelings there, in that moment, sobbing against a body she did not know was alive.

She turned and looked up at the large military complex building. A gigantic edifice of stone, gray and imposing. A beast, in truth, whose belly consumed lives and delivered nothing of worth.

The machine had always been an illusion. Slick and clean, efficient and capable to outside eyes.

But she knew better, now.

The machine was bleeding to death, but the beast fed well.

She turned her back to it, and walked away.

#final fantasy xiv #weird wild west au #desertwalkers #backstory #biot writes #ada fairlight #one of two

13 notes · View notes

roamingtigress · 7 months

Text

Desire

Hosea and Dutch, who have been inseparable for over thirty years, are now old men. Though their love has remained the same, their bodies have changed over the years, changes that have left them feeling a bit self-conscious and vulnerable.

One Valentine's Day though changes their perspective, and they both learn to embrace the beauty of aging. (It's safe for work just a bit lengthy! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Even if you just want to call me a nerd.)

It's Valentine's Day, a day we forego going on trade runs and bounty hunts, to make it a day just for ourselves and, well, what one often does on Valentine's Day.

Our Valentine's Days are also never without the theme of trying to outdo each other. If Dutch gets me orchids and chocolates that are just the right size to hand-feed to me, I'll set up a bathtub littered with rose petals with classic music being played in the background. You can call us sappy if you'd like; we've been called worse.

"This will be the year I will outdo you, Hosea!"

I roll my eyes inwardly, scoffing. Truth be told, there is, of course, no real winner in this competition; we both benefit when we try to out-spoil each other. Eventually, we both end up being naked at some point in the day, sometimes throughout the whole day. If you can guess it was Dutch who started it all, you'd be right. He wanted to make our Valentine's Day more romantic than anyone else's and wanted to see how far we'd take it. It's one of the plans he has put together that hasn't turned into a disaster, for the most part. There was that one disastrous breakfast in bed which he burned, but he meant well.

I roll aside and sit up in bed, playfully tapping him on his nose. "Game on, Dutch, game on."

Dutch just giggles, the winter sun reflecting beautifully on his features. They also expose the scars he's gained over the years from misadventures, some of which he exaggerates; the one on his chin was from when he dared to shave himself in the dark. Mistake. I've seen his hair in better shape; the messiness of it adds to his decidedly playful demeanor this morning. He pokes my nose back.

"It'll be hard to beat last year."

Yes, last year. We stowed away on a classy passenger ship, that lovely Grand Korrigan. I had intentions to buy tickets but they were sold out, so we did what we did, with the added thrill of the idea of being caught being a stowaway. We managed to stay off the radar, up until . . .

"We emptied everyone's wallets in poker, and we ran out on the deck . . ."

As Dutch chuckles, there is as much laughter in his eyes as there is in his voice. "We had that mob of stuffed shirts chase us back inside, down the hall towards our room --"

"And I was so turned on by the way you handled the table, that you had to relieve me. I couldn't make it to the room and well, it was getting awkward trying to run with an erection." I let my finger drag along the side of his cheek as I lay back down beside him.

"Stroking me off in the hallway, while we kissed . . ."

Dutch's eyes take on a mischievous glint. "And we got caught."

"We did!"

The fellows we played with weren't so disgusted at us for doing what we were doing (I suspected a few were queer; one just gets a vibe from another) but rather that we parted with their money and they finally caught the miscreants who robbed them. There was that one comment about 'I knew you two were's queer before you two even sat at the table together.' I threw them an empty wallet that I had often carried around with me to throw off someone's game (fancy wording for scamming) and dragged Dutch down the hallway and into our room.

I lean over, kiss him softly on his lips, and slowly pull away just to make soft eye contact. Perhaps it wasn't a traditionally, conventionally romantic moment; there was the thrill of being caught and sure enough, it happened. For us, it was thrillingly romantic; our hearts pounded when we heard those footsteps rushing towards us and before we could pull away (not that we wanted to), they caught it.

"Oh, it was so much fun."

Dutch's hand softly cups the side of my face, as he looks into my eyes. "Unbelievably so."

Dutch later got a fancy bath prepared for us, complete with champagne and rose petals. Securing that arrangement was interesting. I stole a man's identity when we were playing poker, and the fellow who was smooth-talked into arranging the bath assumed the fancy lady who accompanied the stolen man's identity was going to join Dutch; ironically some raven-haired dutchess from Europe. It would come as no surprise if I told you we made love in that tub; not merely sex, but making love. When Dutch puts his weird little mind to it, he is something. We both deserved a little reward for that collaboration.

"Got any plans, Dutch?" I had to ask.

Dutch looks like he's in thought as if he hadn't planned for weeks. I know better and he knows that I know better. "I might have a few . . ." He muses. "But they're for me to know and for you to find out!"

"You little shit!"

My husband, finding amusement at my expense once more, I have a way of bringing it out in him. He pulls me up on top of him as if I were a blanket, in such a position that I would be facing him; I can't complain. His body is so warm that it felt like I was pulled up over a hot water bottle.

"I thought I'd surprise you, 'sea."

I couldn't help but notice that when he pulled me up on top of him, his pyjamas (surprisingly with mangos and books and cigars printed on them) had shifted in such a way that revealed a nipple; it stared up at me. What a tease.

"With a nipple reveal, Dutch? What a slut."

I lean in and kiss it, I just had to. He squeaks.

"T-they might make an appearance."

I smile a mischievous smile. "Well, I would hope so. It's Valentine's Day! So what if Hosea Fucks Friday was the other day. If we don't take our clothes off at some point of the day, then it's just another day."

I close my eyes as I feel a big hand slip underneath my pyjama shirt, finding its way to my back. He rubs in a smooth massage, his fingers gracefully working their magic. "Patience, Mr. Matthews. I have a plan!"

Of course he does.

If that plan involves him massaging me all day, I'll take it. I arch my back, encouraging him. Sure enough, he gets the hint and works in a firmer caress and I let out a long sigh; the combination of the warm body against mine, his touch, his heart and my heart beating against each other.

"You're off to a good start . . . " I murmur, my eyes closing.

Dutch of course, almost; in that childish sort of way he does over every little thing he does that goes without a hitch. "Had to start somewhere." There's a spark to his eyes. "You know how it goes with us, once one touches another . . ."

"Of course . . . " I murmur, framing his jaw in my hands. "Both of us are just so . . . Easy."

I study his face for a long time, taking in the contours of his cheekbones and how the light played on them. There are scars scattered across his cheek and chin; the one you might see most noticeably is from a shaving challenge if you will. He thought he could shave just as well in the dark as in the daytime, I dared him to do it, and well, he did, and removed a little piece of chin. He tells everyone it was from a grazed bullet. I then feel his face studying mine. He had a sort of dreamy look to his face, almost . . . Almost like when we first met. We 'looked into each other's eyes and saw something', and it would seem he's seeing something. He's eyeing me like a beautiful painting, a statue, a prize-winning stallion.

We've been together for over thirty years. Things have changed over those decades. We both have wrinkles and curves in places that didn't have them before. Certain things are sagging a bit. We both have a bit of a paunch, one of us more than the other and by 'other' I'm not referring to myself.

"My days of looking good are long over, Dutch."

"Nonsense!" Dutch scoffed, giving my nose a gentle tweak. "And as part of my plan, I'll show you!"

Now I've heard him say 'I have a plan many a time and for the most part, nothing of note comes of it (minus those plans that go awry and end up in absolute chaos) . . . But, I was curious, given what day it is.

Dutch carefully rolls me off of him and heads to our bookcase which is a glorified small library. I watch curiously as he meanders over to the bookcase. His once rolling strut now takes on a bit of a shuffle, the limp that he's had since his forties has gotten more obvious. The life that we led had caught up to us both. I shake my head as I note his pyjama pants have hiked down a bit, I see the crack of his ass; that ass isn't as supple as you can say these days but still something to grab. I have to reassure him that he looks as handsome as ever, as he doesn't think so. Words aren't always enough; I have to show him, touch him in those special spots he feels vulnerable about, and make him feel beautiful. Likewise, Dutch still thinks I'm as handsome as ever. I'm a weathered old man of seventy-five, but . .. He has his way of bringing me around. He's a man who can master words, and know how to say the right things even if if I'm not feeling the words he's describing. Some say that's mere manipulation, but speaking of someone who has such an intimately deep connection, I can tell you it's the intimacy of the soulmate.

I watch curiously as he picks up a long green-covered book, of medium thickness and then a stick of graphite from a box on the bookshelf and slides on his thick black-framed glasses; I raise an eyebrow. It then occurs to me . . .

Did this man creep into my head, and rob me of my plan? Now I taught him a few things but I don't think I've taught him *that* well. I want to tell him that I have the same idea where I'd be drawing, but . . . No. I'll surprise him.

"Oh, I'm sure there are prettier things that you can draw. Like what's outside the window, that Heartlands landscape—"

Dutch lets out a deep belly laugh as he sits down, clapping my knee as he perches on the edge of the bed, facing me. "Am I married to the landscape?"

I retort; he opened the door for it. "Sometimes I think life would be easier If I was married to the Heartland Overflow! With all the frogs and the muskrats . . . "

"Destined to live with pests then, huh?"

That idiot just laughs again knowing it was my turn to walk into it, hugging that book to him as I give him a halfhearted kick. He then studies me for a long moment, his eyes twinkling as he just looks over at me. I can't deny he's being adorable; I can't get seriously annoyed. Yes, he's still frustratingly charming and uses it at every opportunity to get his way. Very frustrating.

"How do you want me posed?" I ask, remembering the last time we've drawn each other . . . Oh, it's been years.

We were both young and took up (illegal) residence in a shoreside house on Iron Lake. It belonged to an artist who was at the time, away in Paris and as something to do to pass the time when it was raining, we took time drawing one another. We were fitter then, with fewer wrinkles in some places, fresher faced. The drawings are still framed over our bed. That house went from being owned by an artist to a fisherman and now it's abandoned when he packed up his fishing gear and took up residence that was owned by some fellow named Hamish. Maybe one day, we'll get our boys to fix it up for a little family retreat.

I watch Dutch's face take on a pondering expression, his eyes softly scanning my form, mentally taking note of every detail. I find myself doing the same with him; there's love in those eyes, a certain twinkle to go with it that tells me this is a fun little activity borne out of love. I could tell him that there are more attractive, younger models out there he could use. I'm sure some art school out Saint Denis could provide them, but he'd argue that there'd be no one else that he'd want to draw.

"Natural, with that faraway look I often catch you in. Y'know, the look I catch you when you're reading and tryin' to ignore me."

I laugh but sit up in bed, keeping one knee up and bracing myself with my left arm, while the other casually drapes down.

"A little overdressed there, Mr. Matthews?" Dutch warmly teases; that twinkle in his eyes, that playful but loving tone in his voice... I suppose he loves me. "I... I want to show how handsome you are still."

I sigh. There's no fighting with him over this; he'll think I'm gorgeous if I'm wearing a paper bag. With some feigned reluctance, I shed off my pyjamas, putting on a little show for him because I do like that stupid smile and making him a little thirsty somehow, before placing them on the bedside dresser.

As Dutch makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, I reposition and take on that look he so desires. He's got that mustache twisted up into a smile as he starts. He's posing rather artistically himself; he's got his ass sinking into the corner of the mattress, one ankle and foot tucked up behind his knee which belongs to a leg he lets lazily dangle off the mattress. His head is tilted in that way when he's about to cause a stir with me, complete with that damn spark in his eye. He's got that damn pyjama top unbuttoned to his navel and has a nipple staring out at me. I'm not sure if this 'wardrobe malfunction' (as you kids call it) is intentional or accidental, but knowing him so intimately I'm going with the latter. It drives me nuts when he dresses like that, I can't keep my eyes off him, I can't keep my hands off of him, and he knows it; what an old tart.

As Dutch makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, I reposition and adopt the look he desires. He's got that mustache twisted up into a smile as he starts posing rather artistically; his ass sinking into the corner of the mattress, one ankle and foot tucked up behind his knee, lazily dangling off the mattress. His head is tilted in that way when he's about to cause a stir with me, complete with that damn spark in his eye. He's got that damn pyjama top unbuttoned to his navel, and a nipple is staring out at me. I'm not sure if this 'wardrobe malfunction' (as you kids call it) is intentional or accidental, but knowing him so intimately, I'm going with the latter. It drives me nuts when he dresses like that; I can't keep my eyes off him, I can't keep my hands off of him, and he knows it; what an old tart.

I decide to poke him in his belly with a toe, making him squeak; he's still stupidly ticklish. "Dutch, you're distracting me."

Dutch's silly smile turns into a grin. He felt my eyes on him; I was egging him on. "Pretend I'm being an annoying shit when you're reading, and you're trying to engross yourself in your fictional fantasy."

I scoff, somehow managing to retain my expression and pose. I scoldingly point and shake my finger at him, and that grin just widens, with a chuckle. "When aren't you being an annoying shit? And when I do engross myself in my fictional fantasies, you decide it's time to get needy and crawl into my lap for your hair to be played with and your belly to be rubbed." Admittedly, I inadvertently encourage that because I can't resist; once he brings out the puppy eyes act, I can't resist.

"Point taken!" Dutch's voice is boisterous at my rebuttal; he rolls with my punches and brings out another zinger at me as he points the graphite stick at me.

"Now who's distracting who? With you thinkin' about touching me and all."

I roll my eyes and shake my head at that sass, which he accentuates with a squirm of his ass. "Dutch . . ." I could go on with this back-and-forth banter all day; I enjoy it more than I let on. A big part of me wants to keep poking the bear, to see what he comes up with next, and to surprise him with what I'm capable of. But . . . I am curious to see this masterpiece he's working on, and I'd like to see it before I head off to the afterlife.

Dutch starts at his work slowly, his hand moving at a slow, fluid pace for the most part, intermittently peppered with rapid flicks of his wrist.

"This isn't one of those caricature pieces, is it?" I ask curiously, maybe with some caution; we have such a piece above our dresser; some silly Frenchman did it for us when we made a trip to, ugh, Saint Denis when I visited family and Dutch insisted on tagging along. It's a cute style, a cute piece, but I'd rather some of my features not be exaggerated if he's drawing me in the nude.

"Real-life study, Old Girl!" Dutch beamed, creases forming in the corners of his eyes; he's frustratingly adorable when he's enthusiastic about something to the point where the crow's feet arrive to roost.

I feel like disappearing into the bedsheets as I sense a wave of vulnerability washing over me. It's not often I feel vulnerable. He means well; the love is evident in his eyes, though; I can't bring myself to say no to this thing.

"You . . . You don't have to draw every detail."

Dutch frowns, tipping his head in that way when he's puzzled by something, not dissimilar to a dog puzzled by some strange sound that it doesn't know what it is. Occasionally, he'll do that in an argument, as if not understanding why I'm upset with him.

"I find every detail of you to be beautiful, 'sea."

"Every bit?" I ask, tilting my head as well.

As a spouse with over twenty years of experience, it's natural to find at least one part of your partner's body to be, well, not beautiful. For Dutch, it's that damn ugly right toe of his, crooked and bigger than the other, and yet it's the one that he likes to poke me with.

Dutch gently insisted, his face taking on a sort of dreamy expression. "Every bit. And I love to kiss every bit of your body --"

I gently but firmly interrupt; if I don't, there goes his plan, and it'd be another on the pile of failed plans. How do I know this? Because that silly man has a hard time keeping his hands off of me (and I admit the feeling is mutual for as much of a pain in the ass he is and how much it just encourages him), or his lips off my body, and this drawing will never get done! Maybe if he doesn't interrupt me again, he can get what he wants. It is lovely having him kiss over my body, and they can be the softest, sweetest little kisses. He's a bit slower at them these days, as if memorizing every inch of my body.

"Dutch, you're distracting me."

Dutch snickers, outright snickers, and returns to work once I roll my eyes and regain my composure, repositioning myself.

"Cheekbones . . . " Dutch whispers, half to himself; it was one of those cases where he thinks his thoughts are still inside his head but he lets them spill out. "Still beautiful, defined cheekbones . . . "

I have a tiny smile threatening to grow. My cheekbones are one feature of me that I'm still rather fond of. My face has sunken with age, as Dutch's has; his cheekbones are more prominent than when I first met him. I often catch him running a thumb over mine as he looks into my eyes. Sometimes before a kiss, sometimes as he's telling me how much he loves me or something equally sappy. He likes to kiss them in the morning, trying to butter me up after he stirs me awake because, with certainty, I can say that he's the thing that stirs me awake, and I'm not a morning person.

"Eyes that look into my soul . . . "

Now he's getting a bit sappy. I've heard him describe my eyes as having a lot of soul and, at times, a certain weariness to them (I can't imagine why). I manage that faraway look, though my focus isn't entirely so far away, but at the man drawing me and beyond.

"I'm so attractive you can't keep your eyes on me." Dutch teases, snickering again when I scoff. He is indeed a lovely specimen to look at but at this moment, he's more silly than sexy, but I'll let an old manchild dream that he's still a Roman sculpture of a man.

"I'm looking behind you." I'm trying to focus on the painting of our dearly departed Labrador, Matilda -- who was buried between Silver Charm and The Count -- emphasis on trying, as he's 'caught' me.

My dear husband is onto me, scoffing away. "Sure, sure . . . "

Dutch studies me for a long time, just smiling, looking at me the way a schoolboy looks at his crush, and I let out an exasperated sigh when he itches at his chest. It looked a little planned, to tease me, to show a little skin, which isn't as taut as it used to be; I might have caught a bit of a jiggle on that tit. But he's still gorgeous to me, jiggly bits and all. "Hey, when you got an itch, you scratch it!" Dutch tsk tsks as he catches me glancing at him for half a second.

"Slut!" I retort.

The idiot just grins like the Cheshire Cat; he knows that I know that was an attempt to flirt. Love. He's in love. I've had fleeting moments where I think life without him would be easier but they're fleeting when I think how much life would be. . . Well, duller, without him. He does provide unexpected moments of amusement like this, he's a warm body to snuggle up to at night and a damn good kisser. In my prime, I could have found someone better in bed (he's a bottom through and through and a bratty sub at that), but, well, I suppose I'm in love, too. I take on that faraway look, just 'thinking.'

"You know, I've always loved your nose. Perfectly kissable!" Dutch will be narrating this whole thing, just wait; he doesn't have to give progress reports but he feels it's his duty.

"You think every part of my body is kissable."

I'm convinced that the smile on Dutch's face will freeze on his face permanently. "Oh, I do . . . " He plans on kissing every inch of my body when we're done with this thing, I just know it. And I plan on doing the same for him.

All banter aside, as I put on my 'faraway stare', I feel exposed, but at the same time . . . Desired. Now and then we put each other in such a position where we will feel vulnerable; some may say it's 'toxic' but it's one of our ways of showing the trust we have in each other, a sort of gentle surrender in our dynamics; normally I'm the head of the household here but once in a while I'll let him take the reins and see what he does with them before taking hold of them, where I'll remind him. I would never shed my clothes in the name of art for anyone other than this man. In his younger years, Dutch would have jumped at the chance to be drawn in the nude, but with the contours he's gained over the years and knowing how self-conscious he can be of them, it's likely he too would only do this for me.

I can't help but be drawn by the elegance of his hand movements, even the movements he's making for what I'm assuming is shading; those are more deliberate. "Right after your hands, my favourite part of you is your chest. It's a safe for your heart and there's no force on earth or beyond that can bust it open."

The damn fool thinks I'm invincible. I know it's a lie he tells himself that he believes and tells me and tells others, as I know losing me is one of his greatest fears. It's a lie he uses to comfort himself and I won't take it away from him. Deep down, with my decade age gap, I fear I may go first, and one of my fears is leaving him behind. Dutch is much more fragile than he lets on. He won't do well without me. Not one bit.

But enough of the depressing talk.

Going from the circular motions of his hand, I can tell he's drawing my nipples, a part of my body that I don't think much of. That is until my mustached companion here decides to play with them and then I'm convinced they're hooked up with electricity with all its nerves. We both alike used to be firmer on that region on the map, like everything else but, we'll live with what we have.

"Do you know why men have nipples for, 'sea?"

Ahah! I knew it.

I think for a moment, though. I could think of some smartass response, but then I decided to show I know as much as he does. "They're leftover from when us fellows are developing in the womb if my memory serves me." I vaguely remember those details; it's been a bit since I've looked up the medical books. The last time I read one was when Dutch got a boil on the inside of one of his ass cheeks a few years ago and I wanted to get it properly drained; pardon me, that was too much information. I'm sure nobody wanted to know about an old man's bottom.

Dutch decides to be the smartass.

"Well, that's the boring answer."

"I was going for the scientific explanation."

"You can call it what you want," Dutch insisted with a smirk. "Medical professionals say they serve no purpose as we develop, but I disagree. These medical 'professionals' as they call themselves, must have less of a sex life than us old wrinklies."

I scoff. No doubt some of those experts are 'old wrinklies themselves, not much younger than us, but . . . "You can call yourself an old wrinkly. I prefer to use the term 'senior citizen.'"

Dutch can't help himself. "With citizenship, comes governance!"

Yes, he's still a rebel. He has trouble now and then getting up on his horse, an Irish Cob gelding named Blagdon, but he still thinks he's a revolutionary. I'll let him dream on.

Dutch is putting details into the collarbone; I can just tell from the expression alone; a soft, reflective expression as his eyes fall on my chest. Though the connection was there right at the beginning -- we looked into each other's eyes and saw something -- Dutch was, possibly to your surprise, socially charming at the start of our dating -- he could charm the socks off of you -- but awkward when it came to the art of seduction; maybe he was shy. I was his first experience with another man and I thought at the time he was a bit intimidated; my age gap didn't help, I thought. I was gentle, I was patient, and we took that part slowly. He loved to linger on my chest; he still does. He peppers a series of kisses along my collarbone before working his way downwards. It feels wonderful, and I can even remember the first time he did it; I ran my hands through his hair, giving the softest of kisses, and the lightest of nibbles as if he was eating corn on the cob.

"Such an underrated part of the body . . . " I think out loud, amazed at myself for remembering those little memories. "And yet you give it so much love . . ."

There's a warm twinkle in Dutch's eyes. "First place I kissed south of your lips. Every part of the body needs a bit of attention; everything is connected."

He works on my arms and shoulders next; those admittedly are still decently toned, as are his. We often don't think about how often we use them in our day-to-day lives. Even at my age of seventy-five and him at sixty-five, we still dance with our arms around each other, we enwrap each other around with them at nighttime. We often get nightmares; I suppose with the lifestyle we led before retiring, it comes naturally, so those embraces at night can get tight. Often, we wake up with crescent marks on our skin from our nails, and our ribs feeling bruised, and we don't even realize that we've been clinging to each other so hard. We use them to embrace each other during our lovemaking; we don't leave dents in the wall much anymore, but us 'old wrinklies' as Dutch refers to us as, do have sex. It's a little slower now, but still so good, even better as we've become so at one with each other's bodies.

Pardon me.

Attached to arms, of course, are hands, which his focus floats on next. I've mentioned before in another story that they're Dutch's favourite part of me, tied with my heart. Well, as an update, Dutch still loves the way I touch him. I love how they glide over the contours of his body, how they'll move about like a spider when I scritch and tickle, which he acts like he hates but I know he loves it, and eventually surrenders to. I love the way our fingers interlace; despite the difference in size and shape of our fingers. I love how they fit in with each other.

"I should do a study on your hands, Old Girl," Dutch purred, taking his time; I know he won't skimp on their details; every line on my knuckles will be drawn. "I still remember the first time you touched me, just a quick touch on the top of my hand when you brought that pan of bacon and eggs over to me, but I felt 'something' even there. And did I ever do things where you could 'accidentally' touch me."

I laugh, having a memory of him 'accidentally' brushing his hand against mine as we walked through some town. I don't know where it was, but I damn well knew he was flirting with me and I had to take him back behind somewhere to give him my first kiss. I wish I could remember where it was; I'd be happy to recreate it with him.

After a moment, he puts the graphite stick down for a moment and swallows hard. There's something he was trying to forget; I know the look he gets when he does that.

"Dutch . . . ?" I asked softly, concerned; I want to hold him and will.

"I'm just scared . . . " A word he doesn't use often; now it was his turn to feel vulnerable. "Of losing our memories."

I want to reach out and hold him, and I will. Sometimes I find myself forgetting about mundane things, locking the door and such, and it scares me. Dutch will forget things and will put on a stoic act; except today. Today was the first day where I caught him afraid of losing his most precious memories. The fear of getting dementia for people of our age is very real; we've built a life together, raised a family, lived out some dreams and let others slip through our fingers. To help us preserve those memories, we've created journals, and photographs taken of us, and now . . . Drawing each other again, this time as old men.

"I'll help you with that, my love," I speak softly. "It's why I agreed to do this."

I get a smile out of him again, and I'm glad of it. I don't like letting him stray into dark thoughts for long; it can be hard to bring him out of it. "I thought it was because you knew I was going to bring out the puppy eyes." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he still uses them to try and get his way and yes, it's still very effective; damn manipulative old fart.

"That was part of it," I scoff. "I've never been good at resisting those."

Dutch gave me that look as he continued to draw, presumably my torso next. I know he won't spare any details. "There were maybe a handful of times when they didn't work. You put up one of those big personal space bubbles. I didn't care to cross those. You'd chase me off, and I knew how good you were with the gun." He laughed, still that husky laugh from all those years ago.

I smirk. I admit I got a bit of a power trip out of that. The others . . . Oh, they couldn't help but stop and watch. Maybe I earned more respect from them, and I might have carried a little swagger with them as well. Everyone needs a little ego boost.

"But . . . You'd always charmed and wormed your way back into my heart," I laugh, fondly remembering; putting up those invisible barriers was for the best when I felt my blood boiling after he said or did something particularly stupid, but it was so hard on both of us. "You did your damned 'I'll lie in your lap while you read so you pay complete attention to me' thing, to buying expensive things for me from chocolate to wine and silly imported cologne and gold watches and other expensive trinkets." Truthfully, one could think he was trying to buy off my anger, and maybe it was an attempt to do that, but . . . I found it amusing to see how far he'd go with it.

"You still have that gold watch from when that happened the first time," Dutch said, a certain twinkle in his eye; it still works after all these years. "Bought it with the money I got from that bank job."

There were so many opportunities that he had where he could just steal something for me but just didn't. "You never did like stealing my gifts directly."

"I find it more rewarding," Dutch murmured, a wide smile appearing across his face; from the motions of his hand, he's working on some shading. "Besides, we got the money, might as well put it to some use."

I find that charming. And one of his best assets is that he's charming, and he can be an absolute menace with it. It's why, of course, I've gone softer on him than I should have over the years. I could have rejected those little gifts when I dropped my invisible barrier, could have shoved him off my lap when he crawled into it, but . . . Sigh. He's impossible.

Then, Dutch charms me yet again.

He turns the sketchbook around to show me the progress of his work.

I'm speechless.

"You like it, Hosea?"

I swallow hard. I feel vulnerable once again, but . . . Something else.

Desired.

Laid out in front of me in that drawing is a portrait of an aged man. He has skin that has sagged in places, wrinkles, and contours that weren't there before. He has a slight paunch, very slight, that was once flat. Details of the legs haven't been completed, but there's already the start of some muscle definition there. And yet he carries himself with an air of dignity and wisdom. The shoulders and arms that he's bracing himself on are still nicely toned; maybe not as toned as they were in his youth, but no judgment. He's looking off to some faraway destination, that if I didn't know better, was miles away versus the other handsome elder man a few feet away.

"Yes . . . Yes, I do."

I seem transfixed for a long moment; we just give each other soft eye contact, saying so much with that alone. How we love each other, how we trust each other. He slowly moves back to drawing but peeks out at me from the top of the book as he does.

"What would you say about getting this framed?"

I break my expression to smile. "I'll steal the damn frame for you."

I get another hearty laugh out of him. He works on my legs next, and then my. . . assets. He's a study in concentration, not letting one bit of detail escape him. He knows his way around my body better than I do. Even at our age, we still explore each other as if it is the first time again; truthfully, with that familiarity he has of my body, he probably could have done this drawing blindfolded.

When he's completed, Dutch slips up next to me with the sketchbook clutched to his chest. He has a smile that wouldn't have just lit up our house with electricity, but also the next residence a few miles away that belongs to Lenny. He wraps an arm around my shoulder as he shows me the completed drawing, and I feel a hint of that strength that he still has as he gives me even a gentle squeeze.

I swallow hard, snuggling into his embrace. He senses that I'm getting emotional and kisses me on the top of my head, then my shoulder, and that spot between my head and shoulder. I feel myself nearly speechless, and the words that tumble out of my mouth don't seem enough to convey how I feel. Every detail was etched in; he even drew in scars I've collected over the years. I still feel an edge of vulnerability, but . . .

"It's wonderful, Dutch, thank you . . . " I turn in his hold and hug him tight, lightly rubbing his back as I do; although it still feels strong, the skin shifts there more easily these days and ripples underneath my fingers.

"You make me feel . . . Handsome."

Dutch gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Because you are, Old Girl."

"It's been a while since I've done some drawing, mostly landscapes and rabbits and things as you know, but I promise that I'll try to do you justice."

He nuzzles a kiss on my cheek. I still love the feeling of his bristly stubble on my cheek.

"Don't worry, Old Girl, I'll love it."

There is both unpredictability and predictability to Dutch, even now; he's frustrating in that regard. At the same time, he's a boy who's insecure and needy, craving every scrap of attention and affection that can come his way. He gets plenty of both, but Dutch is Dutch, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

I take the graphite stick and sketchbook from him as he hands them over, kissing him on the cheek reluctantly as I break away from the hug and shift over to sit at the corner of the bed. "Now, pyjamas off. If I had to, you have to too." I sneak a playful wink.

Dutch chuckles and strips off the pyjamas, deciding to make a little show of it just as I did for him because Dutch is Dutch. He's already front and centre of attention as he's about to restart his modelling career, who thought he'd get back into it at sixty-five? I scoff and roll my eyes; this man amuses me as much as he can frustrate me.

I think for a moment about what pose he should get himself into. He does look rather sexy when he's brooding and smoking a cigar, is still rather delicious when he takes on a pinup girl pose, a silly thing he sometimes does to help get me in the mood. I could have him pose on his hands and knees, but I fear that would be too distracting for me. Then I had another idea, one pose of his that I find so underratedly sexy and beautiful.

"Now something... Vulnerable," I warmly suggest, my eyes gently meeting Dutch's eager gaze as he waits for further instruction. "Maybe that pose you often take after we've had sex, after the aftercare, where you look so... Delectably submissive." As much as the sex is still good and as much as we enjoy, I relish that period afterwards; I often lie in the crook of his arm as we lazily trace patterns on each other's skin, sometimes blowing raspberries on each other if we're feeling silly, and if this isn't unfolding at night, it causes us to happily put off whatever else needs to be done in the day.

Dutch smiles shyly at me and slowly lies on his back. He tucks one hand behind his head, as if playing with his hair (something he does when caught in a lie or playing coy with me for one reason or another), while the other is tucked up on his chest, not unlike a dog who wants his belly rubbed. His legs sprawl out, openly exposing his genitals. His expression is soft, trusting, and loving, his body language submissive and vulnerable, echoing the trust in his expression. At once, he looks incredibly sexy and slutty, yet adorable; a wonderful contradiction before my eyes that I could just about gobble up. Cute aggression, as they call it, is very real.

"You look comfortable," I murmur, letting my eyes roam over him before I start; my voice is soft and soothing, as if calming a restless horse instead of the man who looks anything but restless. "And absolutely... Precious."

Dutch almost whispers; many of you know him as someone who can be, well, loud. "The only way I could be more comfortable would be if you'd be snuggled up against me."

"That'll come when I'm done, Dutch," I smile, deciding to start with his face; I know how hard it is to maintain expression, so I thought it'd be humane to start with that first. "You still have such a gorgeous face."

Truthfully, I feel his face looks wiser than he is, but I love framing it in my hands as I look into those eyes. That big nose is a feature that some (wrongly, in my eyes) view as 'ugly,' but I find it to be wonderful, so unique, and I kiss it at every opportunity. Likewise, I find something special about that cleft chin, which he loves getting scratched. I love tracing a finger along his jawline, along those cheekbones, and of course, kissing those lips. I admit, I enjoy scratching that stupid soul patch, and I can't resist tracing a finger along that mustache as those early morning rays peek through the curtains. I draw each of these features in order of my narration in this paragraph and pour my heart into putting as much detail into them as possible.

Just as he had done with me, I want Dutch to feel as handsome as I see him.

"We should do this more often," Dutch spoke with a slight catch in his voice in his suggestion. "I think... I think it'd be a good way to remind us of the beauty of growing old."

I was touched by that and swallowed hard. He's right; there should be no shame in growing old. Old age shouldn't be something to be ashamed of; it's an accomplishment. I waste no time in making my decision.

"Absolutely," I answer softly, thinking of how beautiful the flowers are in spring in our surrounding area; we reside at what was once called Hanging Dog Ranch. Dutch decided to call it Casa Van der Linde. Are you surprised?

"During nice weather, we could even do it outside. I think that'd be lovely out by the flowers, by the creek."

There was no argument from Dutch. It's one of his favorite spots to read, go for a ride. I've once worried he had gone missing, but I've found him napping against a boulder among the lupins with that damn Evelyn Miller in his lap.

One of his novels, you perverts.

Once I was done with his other facial features, after I etched in my last detail for his ears, I shift my focus to his hair. It's still beautiful, and even more so now that it's silvered, and long! It hangs down his shoulders like a lion; magnificent. And it shines so nicely in those warm sunsets and sunrises and in the candlelight. His hairline has been receding, but he still has those lovely ringlets which I love to twirl between my fingers, and Dutch gets just as much enjoyment out of it. He still pushes his head back against my fingers, his eyes closed in contentment; it's not unheard of that my scalp massages, my playing with his hair goes on for hours. At times, I use his hair as something to grip onto for more risqué purposes. I know what you're thinking, but no, that's not the reason behind his receding hairline.

When I reluctantly pulled my attention away from his hair as I drew one more curl in, I worked on his neck next. The skin there had lost some elasticity, as mine had done as well, but still strong enough to carry that big head of his; it's weighed down with mangoes and plans. Then, his shoulders are my next target. They still have some nice muscle tone to them, and attached, long, lean strong arms (whose skin is thinner these days) that still hold me close and strong at night, as if protecting me from the boogeyman at night.

"I always liked your arms, you know," I muse, taking my time and shading them. "Lean and long and strong, and how I just... fit so well in them."

Dutch looks lost in thought for a moment, though I knew he was listening. There's a warm look in his eyes as if he was reliving a memory. "I remember holding you for the first time. It was that cold night . . . Someplace in West Elizabeth, before there was more development out in Strawberry. The fire wasn't doing a good enough job at keeping you warm and I thought, you'd be warmer up against me."

I chuckle, remembering. We tried to get back there for our latest anniversary; alas, the location was turned into a hunter's lodge for the rich, some big gaudy thing. It made our hearts sink. "It was when we were getting to know each other a little more. Truthfully, I thought you were coming onto me, holding me that close, and so tight. Not that I minded if you were, of course. I kept warm."

There's a spark in Dutch's eyes as he remembered. When you're married to someone as I have been, you notice little things that they tell you with their eyes. "I opened up my coat and pulled you into it, couldn't get all the way closed but I think the combination of our body temperatures compensated."

I can almost feel that warmth again. He had a massive Grizzly Bearskin coat that was an import from Canada, before getting that Black Bear one you might have seen him in; he unfortunately lost it during a train robbery.

Once I finished the shading on his shoulders and his arms, I start sketching out those big hands. I love them. His long, lean fingers are a bit stiffer these days, particularly in the colder months, but still do what they need to do; Special Tonic helps our old man hands tremendously. I massage his hands when they get particularly ouchy, as he does with me; Dutch always gets a bit grumpy when I start, but eventually, he gives in and enjoys it. If you guessed it, yes, he's still a bit of a baby at times over things. He still touches me in the right way, in the right places; they work well for that.

Just to tease me, Dutch plays with that hair a titch, giving me the puppy eyes look for no reason other than he can. I shake my head, scoffing. "You are really trying to prolong this, aren't you, Dutch?" I tease.

"Just got some locks caught up in my fingers, is all," Dutch teases, knowing that I know better. "I want my hair to look presentable for the drawing."

I scoff again, turning the book around to show the progress. "I've already drawn it."

"Oh, he's handsome!" Dutch grinned, giving his hips a bit of a squirm. "If you're not careful, I might flirt with him."

Flirting at an illustration of himself! It's just so... him. I just had to laugh, even if I encouraged him.

"You are impossible, Dutch."

Dutch just chuckles, giving that waist a bit of a squirm because he can. I pause the drawing for a moment because he is simply being too distracting.

"And now you're flirting with me!"

"When don't I?"

That old imp got me then. He always flirts with me; I could be reading the paper while sipping my coffee when he decides to pull my attention away by kissing me on the neck. It comes off as a bit silly these days rather than sexy. I haven't been able to fully read a newspaper in the morning in over thirty years, I'm secretly amused, and I think he knows it.

I eventually do get back to the drawing, moving my attention onto his chest. As mentioned earlier, the skin is, well, less taut there these days. He's never been the most barrel-chested fellow but looks even less so these days; all the same, I still love laying my head on it, feeling, and loving the warmth from it. I still love blowing kisses right over that heart, as he does with me. I etch in the details as I see them presented before me, details that took him a long time to come around to accepting, with some convincing from me. He's been gaining positive associations, learning to like parts of his body better through my kissing them more. Over time, Dutch has been feeling more handsome these days, something I regret from time to time!

"You ain't drawing me with saggy tits, are you?" Dutch teased; he's growing more comfortable with his aging body, so much so that he'll crack a joke about it.

"You drew me with a potbelly," I playfully retort, though I won't live in denial; I do have a tiny bit of one these days that has been resistant towards me working it off, but alas, it remains. "It's only fair."

The graphite stick does its job as I gradually work my way down towards his lower torso, along that ribcage that carries a bit more flesh on it these days. Like the rest of his torso, he's still very ticklish there; I just have to dig in a little deeper when I poke him there, still often in public when I need to keep him in line. Most recently, Dutch got a good jab when he flirted with the new bartender in Valentine; a rather handsome, big Irish fellow of around our age who took a liking to us. I got a little jealous!

It was during that flirty moment that I cut short that we get older it's not uncommon for us seniors to... Get a little daring, and explore different things with each other. Maybe next time we're in town, we'll ask that Irish gentleman if he has any plans for the afternoon outside of pouring beer and cleaning glasses.

But! There's a drawing that needs to be done.

I etch in some more details on that mid-torso; one being a bit of a roll of his waist; a lovely love handle. I love them. They're something extra for me to grab that wasn't there all those years ago, and it's a secret kissing spot. That spot on his right hip is as sensitive as it ever was, though like his ribs I have to dig in just a little more to get a reaction out of him. Just because those hips, that waist, are a little thicker these days, doesn't mean they're any less slutty. Oh, they are. I'd be lying if I said he didn't use them to get his way from time to time. Imagine being manipulated by a sixty-five-year-old man's waist, complete with love handles! It's not something I'll openly brag about.

Dutch's ass is largely absent in this drawing; it's buried itself comfortably into the bedspread but a teasing hint of it is seen.

The next stop on the drawing Dutch tour, his belly. It was once so flat you could drive a train on it, and well, now, that train would fall off the rails. To put it bluntly, Dutch has developed a paunch (which I love), that I could just bury my face in — and I do. It sits like a well-used cushion as he lays in the manner in which he is posing, the lower roll slightly curtaining his groin. The married life has been suiting him well; there are some consequences to hand-feeding each other expensive imported chocolate from Europe every evening, but we've earned it for living as long as we have with the lifestyle we've led. If I want to hear his laugh, I'll blow a kiss on that irresistible belly button that doesn't know it wants in or out.

It makes me sad to think that he had once been so self-conscious about the changes to his body. To me, with more flesh on him, more of him to love, he looks even more handsome as he's aged.

Dutch's genitals, which he openly has exposed in a show of voluntary vulnerability and submission, weren't spared of aging, but they still do their job. They're dipped down between his legs that lay sprawled before him, his pubic hair as grey as the hair on his head and chest. A lot of men of our age have trouble getting it up; we are not foolproof in this regard. As mentioned earlier, sex is still good, but when we can't get it up, we've found other ways to deliver pleasure to each other, and in many ways, sex is even more enjoyable as a result.

His legs are part of the final journey in this session. Dutch's are long and lean, and thanks to daily horseback riding, their musculature is still damn fine. Their appearance hides the stiffness that's in them these days; for us both, our walks take us a little more time. Now, before you take, would you be shocked to learn though that I suspect he milks it now and then through so that he gets leg massages?

Dutch's feet are my last target. Those too get massaged, sigh. I again leave no detail undrawn; yes, I even drew that gross big toe of his. He says it happened many years ago during a heist when he accidentally dropped a safe on his foot, but I know damn well it's because The Count stomped one night at camp. He had a few drinks and forgot his boots and well, bare feet around horse hooves aren't among the best combinations out there. Dutchi is a little dramatic; he likes to exaggerate from time to time.

I finish the drawing with some extra shading around those soft curves of his body and etch in a few details here and there that I have accidentally left out. I finish the drawing off with those rings of his, and I set the graphite stick on the bedside table. Just as he had done with me, I slip up into bed next to him, kiss him on the forehead, and open up the book to him with my arms around him as he cuddles up close into my lap.

Dutch gets emotional. We all know he's emotional, that's nothing to be alarmed at, but there are times when I think he's just going to crumble. I thought one of those moments was unfolding before my eyes as he rapidly blinks back tears. He's come so far in regaining self-esteem over the changes to his body; had I undone all of that?

Dutch shifts half of his torso into my lap to get a better look at my work, his eyes taking in the details. There's a noticeable waver to his voice as he speaks, but there's a smile on his face, and it can be heard in his voice.

"I don't think the finest artists out of Europe could draw a better likeness of me."

I was touched, honestly touched, but I laugh. Someone who hadn't drawn much lately aside from the odd rabbit and deer, and maybe the odd folks in town (clothed in case you get any ideas), better than those highly fluent artists who have their artwork displayed in major art galleries around the world? Dutch is still a charmer.

"Oh, you flatter me," I laugh, hugging as much of Dutch as I can. "But I think we both know you'd be thrown out of their studios. You talk and fidget too damn much for a model! You'd be a pain in the ass and go off on some philosophical rant about art and man."

Dutch belts out a laugh, turning over onto his back with a big, silly smile. We know each other a bit too well. "Oh, I thought I was being a bit on the quiet side."

I grab a lock of that hair, twirl a long silver strand between my fingers, and give it a playful tug. "Only because I didn't actively engage in conversation!"

"And you flirt! You'd be kicked out for that. Something about needing to maintain professional conduct between artist and model." As if to emphasize, I poke him on his chest and then his belly, because I had to make him squeak. He deserves it.

There's a playful twinkle in Dutch's eyes as he positions himself to be poked again; he secretly loves it. I can also almost see the wheels, rusted as they might be, turning in his head. He's planning something and plays it coy.

Oh, but I think we don't have to maintain any of that pompous professional conduct here. We're small gallery-type artists. Flirting just grows familiarity with the model and artist. We have the perfect formulation."

I sigh, shaking my head, but decide to play along and see how far he goes. I smirk a knowing smirk, knowing it'll just egg him on. "What if the artist and model have already grown very familiar with each other?"

"Then, flirting becomes flirting with creativity," Dutch speaks a bit lower, dragging a finger along my jawline, to my neck, to the base of my ear. My breath hitches sharply; he knows damn well how that touch affects me.

"It can change perspective, explore new art concepts."

The moment I saw that glint in his eyes, that smirk, I knew Dutch was going to make good on my promise to 'kiss every inch of my body.'

"It's important for artists to study their subject before they even pick up their medium of choice," Dutch perfects the voice of an artist giving a speech at one of those big art galleries as he sets the book on the bedside table.

"You want to take in what you see in front of you and decide, what style should I use? Should this be realism, or should it be abstract? What medium should I use? And what will the meaning be behind the result?"

Dutch gently, smoothly, lays me down and starts to kiss my neck. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth from his lips, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs on my neck. He slowly trails more kisses down towards my collarbone, spending some time there before making his way down further on my chest. My back involuntarily arches up off the mattress as I feel his tongue just lightly tease a nipple, urging more out of him.

In between those kisses though, and the further he shifts his way down my body, Dutch starts to offer a string of names and dates of some famous paintings throughout history. He's trying to impress me with his artisan knowledge. Sometimes, I think there's a library in that thick skull of his, but a library where the books have all fallen off the shelves following a tornado. It all becomes a mess of dates and names that I cannot possibly save for later reference.

I roll my eyes, trying to tune out Dutch's voice as I focus on the sensation of his lips and tongue exploring me as if it were the first time. I encourage him when he's quiet, my hands roaming through those long locks of hair, savoring how nice it feels after all these years and just how thick it still is. While my hair hasn't turned to shit, I might be envying his.

And then, Dutch brings up the subject of man and art and how it will change humanity.

Oh God. He's going philosophical.

I'll have to stop this or he'll be talking at all hours of the night.

I know that to interrupt his ramble, I'll have to put the kisses—wonderful as they are—on pause. I firmly guide him up so that we're facing each other and roll my eyes as he gives a look that resembles a love-struck teenager, wanting to kiss again after stopping to catch a breath after a lengthy makeout session. Only this is a sixty-five-year-old man who thinks he could kiss every inch of my body while rambling about the history of art and its philosophy without me falling asleep.

I smirk and, after wrapping my legs around him, I turn him over so that I'm on top of him; there's very little resistance from him. Before he can get another word in about 18th-century philosophy in paintings, I entangle my fingers through that gorgeous silver hair and ease him in for a long, lingering kiss on his lips, which he returns in earnest. It does a damn good job of shutting him up, and well, I rarely turn down an opportunity to kiss that man. His lips are still so soft, and that mustache creates a ticklish sort of feeling on my skin that might turn others off, but I rather enjoy it.

Despite our age, something primal sometimes stirs within us when our lips are locked and tongues slip into each other's mouths, and I love it. This was one of those times.

There's a subtle battle of dominance taking shape. Dutch rolls me back over as he pushes his tongue against mine, a low, animalistic growl erupting from his chest. Being that I'm still very much top dog in this relationship (something that certain someone needs to be reminded about), I simply can't allow that. I push him right back with all my might, which isn't much these days, but he doesn't fight back too strongly, knowing. As evident from how easily it was to turn him over, I would say some of that strength reserve of his isn't quite at full tilt either. He tries once more to gain control of the situation -- complete with a playful grab of my ass. Naughty boy! I give his hand a light smack as I turn him back over, and finally hold him down with my legs possessively wrapped around him.

When we break from the kiss, Dutch looks at me that way again, as if I were some magnificent sculpture in Italy instead of this old man lying on top of him. I smack him on his ass with a snort; there's a satisfying sound that sounds not unlike what you'd get from smacking the rear of a pig, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm not one of those people, so you'll have to use your imagination. He loves it, evident from his boyish giggle.

"Happy Valentine's Day, you old rogue."

Dutch just looks at me with that lovestruck puppy expression. I can't resist, and I kiss him again.

25 notes · View notes

goosita · 2 years

Text

on a pillow of blue bonnets

pairing: young!joel x reader

tags: fluff, pining, texas if that matters to you, soft baby joel, no use of “y/n”

summary: joel works all summer on your dad's ranch, and you've been the only thing on his mind every day since he showed up. one late afternoon, you come home to find a note stuck to your window asking you to come meet him in the field behind the cow pasture. (college-age joel and reader, age not specified. very very very pre-outbreak obviously lmao. based on the song cowboy take me away by the chicks)

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

meet me in the field behind the pasture at 7pm? i'll try to make it worth your while. -joel

you stared down at the note with your lip caught between your teeth, trying to bite down the giddy smile that threatened to break out on your face as you set it back down again on your dresser. it was almost 7 o'clock and you had spent the last 30 minutes trying to fix your hair in the mirror and trying on every outfit you had. your mama would be so irritated if she saw the state your room was in right now, clothes thrown left and right all over your bed and the floor. you wanted to look perfect for him, wanted him to think you were pretty.

when joel miller had first started working on your father’s ranch, you hadn’t paid him any mind. you had only seen glances of the back of him, never really having had any interactions with the guy. but three weeks into the summer, you had gone out to feed the barn cats and saw him rifling through a stack of feed for the cattle. when his head lifted at the sound of you cooing to the kitties, you’d been glued right to the spot you stood. you’d never seen someone so handsome in your entire life. his big, soft brown eyes looked over you curiously before the left side of his mouth quirked up slightly.

“you must be the boss’s kid,” he guessed. you slowly nodded, offering your name. he grinned even wider in response

“i’m joel. joel miller. i’d shake your hand, but…” he nodded to his hands covered in dirt and dust from having worked all morning and afternoon. you smiled and shook your head.

“that’s alright. it’s nice to meet you, joel.”

from that moment on, you’d been a little bit infatuated with the boy. sometimes you’d see him outside when you took food out to the barn cats, like the day you met him. other times, you would go outside to enjoy the sunshine, carrying a book with you to sit and read, and he’d catch your eye and offer you that thousand-watt smile that told you maybe, just maybe, he was a little infatuated with you too. it became a little routine for you, and you wondered if he knew you did it on purpose. if he noticed that you’d go out of your way to find him throughout the day just to catch a glimpse of him hard at work in the hot texas sun. his broad shoulders caught your attention more often than not, and the way he was so clearly strong and capable when he worked with the land or the cattle. it made your face burn hot, your cheeks radiating even more when he would turn and catch you looking. sometimes he’d even throw you a cheeky wink, though rather than being a seductive gesture, it gave off much more of a boyish charm.

you finally settled on an outfit and your hair finally looked how you wanted it, with a few minutes to spare. luckily your parents had already left; they had some dinner party with friends tonight and you’d told them you weren’t feeling great so you could stay home. in all actuality, you were ecstatic (albeit incredibly nervous) about meeting up with joel. you couldn’t tell your parents that though, your dad might actually strangle the young man he’d hired.

you made your way out to the field past the pasture, the sun low in the sky casting everything golden. it was warm and balmy, cicadas already beginning to sing from their homes in the tall grass. this particular field stretched far and wide, covered in blooming blue bonnets.

“you…you actually came.”

it came out like a breathe, a sigh of relief, and you smiled at him. of course you came; how could you have said no?

“yeah. i did.”

joel grinned at you, bigger than you’d ever seen him grin before. he was sitting on the edge of his truck bed where he’d lowered the tailgate to wait for you. he hopped down and took a few strides to stand closer to you, and suddenly his big silly grin turned a bit shy.

“i’m…i’m really not good at this, darlin’,” he admitted, biting his lip. darlin’. no boy had ever called you that before, and it did funny things to your tummy. “but i just really, really wanted to see you. and not just…not in passing. you know?”

you nodded again, taking a tiny step closer to him in response. “i know what you mean. i’m happy you asked,” you told him, tipping your head up to meet his pretty eyes. “i…” you trailed off, too shy to say what you’ve been dying to tell him. you wanna spill everything to him. the way he’s gazing at you now, lips tipped up in the faintest smile, you want to tell him you can’t get him out of your mind. god, you barely know the boy, but something about him is just….special. you want to know everything there is to know about joel miller. luckily, he seems to finish your exact thought.

“i just can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he murmurs, lifting a tentative hand to brush against your cheek; almost like he can’t believe you’re real, and standing right in front of him. when you don’t flinch or lean away, he follows the curve of your cheek up before gently tucking your hair behind your ear where it had been blowing across your face in the breeze.

“just so damn pretty,” he whispers, looking down at you with the most reverent gaze. he says it like he doesn’t mean for it to come out, but you’re glad it does. if not for anything else, for the way it makes your heart flutter in your chest excitedly.

“i’m really not good at this,” he repeats with a tiny, sardonic laugh. it tinkles like bells in your ears. “but i really wanna get to know you. i think i might go crazy if i don’t,” he tells you.

so when he lays out a worn blanket over the overgrown grass, you sit down next to him and let him ask you everything he can think of. and you do the same to him. you learn each other easily, the ebb and flow of your conversations coming as smoothly as breathing in the humid texas air as the sun goes down and the moon replaces the sunlight, swapping shimmery gold for pale white light and a blanket of bright stars.

it’s so easy to lay back on the cozy flannel of the blanket beside him, where if you were to both turn to each other, your noses would brush at the tips. you can feel his body heat from where you lay, everything in your veins screaming at you, begging you to move closer, until you can feel it against you from his skin to yours. but you’re not bold enough yet. instead, you try to calm your heart as he tells you about his favorite songs, his hobbies, his plans for the rest of the summer into fall. as he speaks, it’s like he can sense your body’s urge to touch touch touch, and his fingers hesitantly graze the back of your hand. like they have a connected mind of their own, your hands both turn to press your palms together, fingers sliding between each other easily. a perfect fit.

more time passes, and your touches become more insistent. more confident. of course, still innocent and careful, but you both let your hands explore a little more. a brush against his arm, a graze of his fingers against the dip in your waist. joel smiles, slow and syrupy, when you let him pick the brightest blue bonnet he can find and tuck it into your hair, just above your ear.

“perfect. pretty, perfect girl,” he whispers.

it makes you ache when you both realize the time after what feels like both years and only minutes have passed. he helps you up easily, watching you dust the stray grass off you before letting you hop in his truck so you don’t have to walk back up to your house. when you notice your parents aren’t home yet, he wanders up the porch steps with you, lingering by the door.

“i had a really nice time, joel,” you tell him, unable to wipe the smile off your face. it’s okay though, because he wears one that matches.

“i did too. i can’t tell you how happy i am that you actually came, darlin’,” he says, his cheeks dusted with the prettiest rosie tint you’ve ever seen. “if you want i…i’d really like to see you again. we still have half a summer before you gotta go back to school.”

he sounds hopeful, and it makes your chest flood with something that feels bubbly and bright. you eagerly nod, telling him that you’d love to see him again. as many times as he wants. he chuckles at that, slow and dreamy and tender. when the laughter dies on his tongue, his smile remains as he looks down at you for a moment, lifting his hand to tuck his finger just below your chin. you tip up slightly, your blood flooding with electricity when he leans down and you can feel his breath on your lips.

“can i kiss you?” he asks, voice low between the two of you. “please?”

you mirror his last word in the softest whisper you’ve ever let out, not even fully finished saying the word before his lips are brushing against yours so softly you think you might float away. his mouth his warm, so warm and so gentle when he kisses you, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek in his palm, thumb caressing your skin. his kisses are like silk, smooth and calm and serene as he takes his time, feeling you melt into him. when he reluctantly pulls away, it only leaves you wanting more of him. you think you might want his kisses forever, actually.

“i better let you get inside before your folks get home. your dad’ll kick my ass,” he says with a laugh.

“wouldn’t want that to happen, cowboy,” you tease, leaning up to steal one more short kiss before your hand falls to the doorknob. he laughs at the nickname, liking the way it rolls off your tongue like you’ve known him for years. like you’ve always teased him with so much fondness in your voice and in your eyes.

thank god your dad doesn’t notice that there’s a new blue bonnet resting on your window ledge every day for the rest of the summer.

#aaaAAAAA #SOFT SOFT SOFT #this is so soft this is so baby joel #before anyone hurt him or the world turned on him #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller blurb #the last of us

60 notes · View notes

betterillusionist · 7 months

Text

Theory as to the Nature of Shadow Magic

The following is a small excerpt from a study about Shadow magic, author unknown. The two primary subjects that were studied are only referred to as A and B throughout the text. Due to the stigma around Shadow magic, the study quickly fell into obscurity. Even so, there is much debate surrounding the overall accuracy and ethics of the study.

------

Shadow Creatures

The most unique part of Shadow magic are its twisted Moon creatures. Their presences radiate elegant power whenever they appear, and their abilities are beyond that of any normal wizard.

However, where creatures of the Moon are little more than simple transformations of the body and magic, creatures of the Shadow appear to have their own characters. Thoughts, feelings, wants, needs.

Note: It is my own conclusion that Shadow creatures are little more than parasites that adapt to their "host", being whatever wizard calls upon their transformations, that feed off of the vitality and sanity of the "host" in order to maintain their powers. Each type of creature can see this differently; some revel in the slow decline of the condition of their "host", some lament over this unfortunate fact, and some are unaware of the problem entirely. A's creatures were generally less aware of A's growing madness as opposed to B's creatures; they were all aware to some extent, but their feelings about B's condition were much more extreme. Some of the creatures were apathetic with others in complete distress. No doubt this stark divide is what led to B's much speedier spiral into insanity over A.

Between A and B, the following observations were made:

While transformed, the Shadow creatures do not always take full control. A and B were still lucid for most of the time, with brief flashes of the creature's here and there. The creatures will take control if they deem it necessary. This usually happens when great danger is sensed, though they also appear if they feel a strong moral obligation to do so. But for the most part, the creatures seem content with letting the wizards act however they please.

Depending on the wizard's own personality, there will be a "favorite" creature. For A, it was the noble Sentinel. For B, it was the mysterious yet deadly Fiend. Whenever asked to transform, these were the two creatures that would be summoned first. The "favorite" creature seem to have much more personality to them when compared to the other creature transformations.

Despite the creature's own personalities varying from wizard to wizard, there are still some consistencies to each creature type. For example, the Seraph is graceful and calm, whereas the Nova is brutish and moody.

/--~~~--\

Madness

"Madness" in this sense is a very subjective term. From my observations and conversations with A and B throughout their declines, there seemed to be at the very least three different avenues that the "madness" could manifest itself:

Path 1: Merging - The wizard slowly begins to take on the personality of their "favorite" creature(s), rather than the other way around.

Path 2: Death of Personality - The creature(s) "strangle" the personality of the wizard over time, gradually taking more control over them.

Path 3: Insanity - Similar to Path 2, except that it happens in the opposite direction, where the wizard completely overrides the personality of the creature(s), usually in an effort to pursue their deepest desires or, more simply, to preserve themselves. However, in their battle against their inner demons, the wizard, for a lack of a better term, snaps.

No matter what happens, the creature transformations start to become much more permanent, with the wizard spending little to no time at all as their regular selves as the "madness" becomes more entrenched.

There is no set frame of time or any clear-cut stages for how fast the decent can happen. B's mental state fell off a cliff practically overnight, despite having been stable for many days prior. A's decent started out fast but eventually evened out into a slow burn as time went on.

#wizard101 #writing #fanfic #short story #headcanon #totally normal thoughts about shadow magic #beware duncan >:3 #i wanted to write a short but head empty so here you go #okay now back to not existing #shadow magic

7 notes · View notes

scotianostra · 2 years

Text

January 23rd is National Pie day.

Is it really a year since I last posted on this? Last year I took us on a journey of our Nations favourite, The Scotch Pie, everyone has their go to Butchers or even Bakers for theirs. The Killie Pie is legendary, The Macaroni Pie is another legend, you can still get this elsewhere, but Greggs discontinued their version in 2015. The Mince Tattie and Baked Bean Pie was always a favourite of mine growing up, our local bakers did a great job of this, sadly the bakers is no more. And this time of year you can find Bells Steak and Haggis usually on offer at the supermarkets throughout Scotland, especially for Burns Night, which is only a couple days away.

Anyway this year I want to concentrate on the Steak Pie.

Us Scots love a steak pie to celebrate the New Year and cannot get enough of them, according to industry experts. But why has it become an annual tradition across the country?

One theory holds that steak pie became the national dish at New Years because January 1 wasn’t generally taken as a holiday so families were too busy to cook.

They would buy steak pies to feed their families instead, this continues to this day as people want a delicious meal after the previous night’s celebrations. So you could say it was essentially one of the first ready meals.

Or is it that the Steak pie is the nation’s hangover cure on what is often the roughest morning of the year for many, after a night of celebratory drinking?

Another theory is that because it is a big meal you can keep warm and serve to visitors throughout the day, as people come to the house. I don't buy into that one, we Scots always put on a spread on the table, Shortbread, Black Bun, even Dundee Cake was waiting for any first footers and others coming through the door in the wee sma' hours.

In days gone by oor mammies used to cook their own steak pies. so here's a recipe for a traditional Scottish steak pie, as seen in the main pic.

Things you’ll need to make a Scottish Steak Pie

Large Pot/Pan

Mixing Bowl

Pie Dish.

Ingredients

800g Diced Beef Stewing Steak (Approx 2lb)

2 tbsp Plain Flour

2 tbsp Olive Oil/Butter

2 Large Roughly Chopped Onions

500ml Beef Stock (Approx 2 cups)

35ml Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce, Pronounced – Wooster-sher ( Approx 0.14 cups)

1 tbsp Tomato Puree

1 tsp Dijon Mustard

Salt and Pepper to taste.

Now my mum always cheated buy buying ready made Puff Pastr, but you can make your own.

Add ons

Many Scots swear by a Steak and Sausage pie, rather than just steak alone. We don’t mind adding sausages also, but personally like to have just steak most of the time. However, this recipe is easy to adapt if you want to! We’ll share more in variations below, but you can add 4-6 sausages if you like as well.

ake your mixing bowl and toss the beef in the plain flour, this will help insulate the meat while browning as well as helping the sauce to thicken. You can season the flour to help add an extra depth of flavour if you’d like.

Heat your pan and oil/butter, once hot add the onions and cook until soft.

Once the onions are soft add the beef to brown it, this should only take a few minutes.

This process of browning simply means to lightly cook the surface of the steak to caramelize it and add a richer flavour to the meat.

Once browned add the stock, Worcester Sauce, Tomato puree, Dijon mustard and seasoning.

Bring the mixture slowly to the boil.

Once it begins to boil reduce the heat and allow to gently simmer for 2.5 hrs.

During this time stir occasionally and, if you have a gas stove that doesn’t have a low enough setting to simmer keep rotating the pan to avoid too much heat in one place.

If you’re adding sausages (see variations) then you can chop and add them about halfway through cooking. If they have a high fat content you may want to fry off in a separate pan or even boil for 10 minutes to remove some of the fat so that the pie won’t get too greasy.

Once the sauce is good and thick and the meat is breaking apart nicely tip the mixture into the pie dish, it should be roughly 3/4 full.

Preheat your oven to 180°C or 356°F, approx gas mark 4.

Cover the top of the pie dish with the rolled puff pastry, use your thumb or a fork to push down or crimp the edge of the pastry along the rim of the dish, helping to seal the mixture and the flavour in.

Make a hole in the centre of the pie to allow steam to exit during cooking.

Place your pie into the preheated oven for roughly 30 mins or until the pastry has risen and is golden brown.

You can find this recipe and more like it at https://scottishscran.com

#scotland #scottish #pies #national pie day

59 notes · View notes

valiantheartofficial · 6 months

Text

Valiant Heart: And The Impossible World

“Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.”

- The Great Dictator 1940

Valiant Heart & The Impossible World

Chapter one: A New Beginning

Beep, Beep, Beep.

Merely opening one eye was an arduous task. Her eyelid felt heavy, and her vision was blurry.

Her eyes were normally a brown comparable to the bark of an oak tree on a warm summer's day, with a small ring of yellow around her pupil reminiscent of golden sap. Yet now if gazed upon it would be the myriad of reds and purples of violent bruising that one would notice first, as one eye could barely open and the other was too swollen to comply with such a simple command.

She opted to move her head and was immediately rewarded by a sharp pain in her neck. She tried to move her one ‘good’ eye and found she couldn’t focus on any one object in her barely functional line of sight, other than the glowing of lights above. Abandoning her mostly useless eye, she instead tried to focus on other sensations instead.

The dulled clatter of tools in trays. The squeak of wheels on the floor far away from her. Hushed chatter she couldn’t make sense of. Her entire head throbbed with pain. It took all of her concentration to put what limited intelligence she collected to form a guess.

“I’m in a room.”

She thought to herself. On a bed in a room to be precise.

“Nice work, Sherlock.”

She chided herself. Even trying to quip was a strain. Maybe she could sit up? She made to move her arm and found it held firmly in place, and another twinge of pain for her effort. The attempt to move her other arm bore similar results, nor would her legs yield to her will. Her body was sluggish and limp, though not of her own volition or tiredness. Rather by some contraption weighing on her; Some harness that held her securely down and in a perfectly fixed position. Both arms and legs aimed straight down. A metal casket or helmet of some kind kept her head snug and facing forward.

She could hear small clinks and ticks around and on her. The sound of small sputters of steam from a radiator perhaps? She breathed in deep and could feel the metal casing over her mouth, feeding her cold, sterile air. The dull drum of pumps nearby? She had been laying next to some kind of respirator.

“I’m in a hospital, I think. But why?”

She tried to think back to the previous night, but everything was foggy. She woke up, didn’t eat breakfast, ignored her dying plant in the windowsill, didn’t take out the trash, went to work, had another uninspired day at the office, walked to her car-

Her train of thought was interrupted by a muffled ‘clank’ sound. The bed began to shift. Something had changed. The small clinks and sputters of hissing air around her grew more frequent. Her heart rate began to speed up. This was no hospital she was used to. All she could do was watch as a plate of metal slowly raised itself up from the top of her head and descended down over her face. Even with her dulled senses she felt the shift in her limb restraints as well. Little pricks and pokes on her bruised body as her ‘bed’ whirred to life. This machine had begun to dig into her flesh.

Being consumed by darkness, coupled with the feeling of being sliced open after being fully restrained was enough to finally break the dam of composure she had been holding onto. She began to struggle, the pain running throughout her body doing little to abate the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins in this acute moment of panic. While trying to thrash in her metal sarcophagus as best she could, the beeps that had awoken her grew louder and more frequent.

Beep Beep BeepBeep Beep

Even in her desperation and near feral state of fear, she could hear a multitude of frantic footsteps sprinting towards her. In but seconds she was surrounded by muffled panicked voices. Fingers prodding her mechanical tormentor and carts of tools being wheeled across the room to her side. This only exacerbated the situation in her mind. She tried to scream for them to let her go; At least she was certain that’s what she screamed. Even her own words sounded slurred and faint, overshadowed by a harsh and growing ring in her ears. She tried in futility to wiggle the mask off of her face. One voice silenced the others as it commanded them to hold her steady.

Her fight intensified, but against so many in her battered state she fared little chance of success. Her own unintelligible shouting and screams dissolved into unanswered pleas for help. She heard among the sounds of her bed’s motor and creaking pistons, a distinct “click” and all at once, her arm became numb, warm, and completely unresponsive. The creeping feeling of warmth spread to her legs shortly after, then her chest, and neck. Before she could croak out another feeble plea of mercy, the darkness claimed her.

~~~

The sound of tearing metal, cracking thunder, and the sudden force of the collision was enough to wake her. She opened her eyes right as her car went through the retaining fence. Everything around her slowed to a crawl. Even the feeling of her falling into the ocean seemed to play in slow motion before her. The rain falling looked so clear. She could see the surface of the water shatter like glass as the front of her car met head on with it. She could count entire seconds while the hard jerking motion forward sent her face into the steering wheel.

Then it all went dark again. What should have been the sharp pain of glass shards biting into her skin felt numb and easily ignored. The sounds of car tires screeching to a halt on the road far above her. Voices of people screaming and calling for help sounded so very distant and so much like a choir to the rhythmic drum of rain on her car. Frigid water was pouring into the cab from all sides, and yet all she felt was a warm and gentle caress on her skin. Like slipping under the covers after another long and thankless day at work. The sea under a stormy sky looked more akin to that of unforgiving tar then life giving water. As the windows creaked and cracked under the strain of the pressure. She drifted off to sleep for the last time.

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep.

~~~

A grogginess entered her consciousness, and she noticed the heaviness of her limbs. Turning her head to the right revealed a spacious room with wood plank flooring. dark green painted walls with gold filigree designs, and white trim floor moldings. A three foot rectangle brown sheet covered some kind of machine next to her bed; Small beeps and clicks emanated from underneath, with a set of rubber covered wires leading out from the base of the sheet, snaking their way up under the bed covers. The corner of her room had a lovely wooden round table and two chairs, and large potted plant sat by a large bay style window. Tilting her head up she saw a wooden fan gently spinning from the ceiling above the foot of her bed. The bed she laid in looked nothing like the one from her nightmare with it's wooden posts and frame, and a mattress with a heavy brown comforter and linen sheets of a soft grassy green hue.

Groaning with effort, she slowly lifted herself to a sitting position and rolled down the blankets. In doing so she noticed her body wrapped in bandages head to toe. Her skin seemed to slightly tickle as well. Like a small current off electricity was running through her. Looking to her chest, an exposed bit of skin was noticeable where a sticky pad of some kind was applied. It was square with rounded edges, the top of which had two affixed metal bits where the rubber tubes were connected.

She fiddled with the square for a moment before peeling it off, leaving a slightly discolored mark on her dark skin. As soon as the pad was removed, the beeps under the sheet covered machine fell silent but the clicks and whirring continued. A small light caught her attention above an ornate wooden door as its’ dark glass bulb flicked to bright red. That couldn’t be a good sign. Immediately she swung her legs over the side of the bed and made to stand. She felt a rumble in the ground that vibrated her legs. There was also an odd current in the air that tingled her skin.

What is that feeling?

She put those thoughts aside as she walked from the bed. There was a stiffness and soreness in her joints made every movement an uphill climb. Her body felt heavy and sluggish, and every step from the bed was exponentially more difficult than the last. By the time she reached the door her body felt ready to collapse under it's own weight. She slowly reached up for the door handle and tried to pull it down.

Her efforts were rewarded with a soft 'click' to tell her it was locked. She pulled down with as much strength as she had to the same result. Her frustration with the door was short lived as a sound filled her ears. The sound of rolling wheels and the clacking of heels on the floor from outside. Someone was coming and she was trapped. The adrenaline began to pump as she left the door and began looking around the room for another way out. She looked out of the window to see some sort of garden with trees and shrubs.

That'll do

She spotted a plant in a clay pot next to her bed and an idea for escape formed in her mind. Even with the pain shooting through her body, she felt a little less stiff with every step towards the bed. Just a bit lighter with every inch. Her adrenaline must have been working overtime to propel her towards salvation. She reached the plant and grasped the sides of the pot. She gave a great heave, and plant responded by barely raising a few inches off of the ground as a jolt of pain shot up Amelia's back and arms.

It's just a plant, why can't I-

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of jingling keys. She wouldn't reach the window in her condition let alone be able to escape through it in time. She needed a plan B and now. She mustered as much strength as she had left and slowly but surely the plant came off of the floor. The tumblers in the lock clicked. Sweat rolled down her back as the plant was raised higher and higher. The door handle jiggled and moved. It was now or never.

The door slowly opened and revealed a woman wearing a white coat that draped down to her heals. About six feet tall with a brass name tag on her chest and a red cross with a number 1 on a patch on her right shoulder. A starched Flossie upon her head to keep her blonde hair in a bun firmly secured, her coat sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and a pair of black leather gloves over her hands. Her coat lapels were connected by a large silver chain, and a small pair of round rim glasses sat out in front of her eyes. She pushed a large wooden cart with brass décor covered in a large white sheet out in front of her.

The bandaged woman reacted quickly enough with the pot at chest level now. She brought it down hard enough onto the ground to shatter it on the floor. The blonde haired woman jumped with a shock when the injured woman grabbed a piece of broken pottery in her hand like a makeshift blade to protect herself.

“Don’t. . . take. . another step!” she hissed with ragged breaths while gripping her jagged pottery. The blonde woman’s features dissolved from shock to concern as she watched the injured woman fight just to keep herself upright.

“Goodness gracious, Miss! Stop! You’ll hurt yourself!” she pointed and yelled. She made to move forward but stopped under the concern of being stabbed.

“Better. . . than being hurt by. . . whatever you have under. . . there.” the injured woman seethed and pointed with her weapon to clarify. The coated lady looked at her, almost like she was waiting for her to make her move before cracking a small smile. “What’s so funny!?” The bandaged woman barked.

“Pfft. . . My apologies, love. I just never thought of trying to attack someone with. . . breakfast.”

Lifting the tapered cloth revealed trays of food. Eggs, both scrambled and sunny side up. A few slices of golden brown toast beside still sizzling bacon and small sausages on a hot plate. Sliced apples next to a large stack of fluffy pancakes, and seared fish fillet. A glass pitcher of water next to a visible breath of steam emanating from the spout of a copper pot. No doubt coffee bubbled within. A tall glass of lemonade with ice and a set of small, neatly folded cloths atop a collection fine china plates and bowls.

The static in the air died nearly all at once as a wave of newly released aromas assailed her nose. Her adrenaline began to fail her as the hunger took hold, and her grip on the shard failed as well. Her shaking hand lost its strength and the piece of sharpened clay fell to rest on the now un-potted plant. A noticeable groan from her stomach broke the stalemate of following silence. She looked to the woman and then down to the food on the cart, then back to the eyes of the woman, still stifling a small laugh.

~~~

“So, what is this feisty young ladies’ name?”The blonde woman asked as she served more pancakes to the starving woman. The dark skinned girl shoveled the last piece of its predecessor into her mouth, eyes never leaving her host while she ate. She grabbed the glass of lemonade and chugged it fast enough to nearly incite choking on it. She stabbed the new stack with her fork and popped a chunk in her mouth to chase the sweetened fruit juice. With her spare hand she plucked a piece of apple and threw into her maw with the piece of fluffy brown morsel to be chewed together. The blonde woman sat politely and waited for her answer. The bandaged woman slowed her chewing long enough to squint suspiciously at the newcomer. A few more chews and all food in her mouth slid toward her belly.

“This is a hospital right? Shouldn’t you have my medical record?” she retorted dryly before taking a large gulp of water. The woman laughed again.

“That would be quite a challenge! The medical report says you were found floating in the sea with only some tattered slops to your name.”

The brown woman quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Clothes, love.”

She thought for a moment, and then kicked herself mentally. A memory of throwing her wallet into the seat next to her before starting her drive home yesterday entered her mind.

“Amelia. My name is Amelia Carver.” She said quietly, her eyes still fixed on the other woman. Her gaze only broke away to look down to see her remove one glove and outstretch her open hand. Her hand was fair skinned and delicate looking with red nail polish and a band on her ring finger.

“Selena. Selena Loch. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear.”

Amelia made no move to reciprocate her gesture, and simply prodded a piece of apple with her fork and shoved it into her mouth.

Selena’s smile shrank some at this, and pulled her hand back before putting her glove back on. “Not the trusting type, are you?”

Amelia looked into her emerald green eyes. She read Selena’s face carefully before answering. “Give me a reason to trust you.” she asked stoically.

Selena’s face lit up again. “Alright, love. A little tit-for-tat, eh? You ask me a question. I’ll give my best answer. Then I ask you one, fair?” she asked, watching as Amelia slowly nodded.

Alright, Wait for her to prod me about home and family. She probably wants to know if I have immediate family who would look for me if I went missing, or-

“You like the food?” Amelia looked puzzled at the question. That was her first question?

Probably asking small stuff to butter me up first.

“It tastes fine.” Amelia answered dismissively. Her vision now locked on her plate. Some seconds passed, and Selena was still quiet. Amelia looked up to see her sitting back straight with one leg crossed over the other. Her hands folded and patiently waiting for Amelia’s question.

Start with something small, but personal.

“How long have you worked here?”

Let’s see how long it-

“It’ll be 16 years in two months.” Selena replied immediately. Amelia sat back at her answer. It was far faster than she had expected. “Alright Ms. Amelia, my question. How old are you?”

She can’t possibly be serious.

“I’m 27.” Amelia scoffed.

“A fine, young woman in her prime. You struck me as such!” Selena laughed.

If she wants to waste her questions, fine by me. I need to learn whatever I can about this place anyway.

“Alright, my question now. What happened to my clothes?” Amelia lifted her arms up to display her starched hospital gown for emphasis.

What excuse do you have for getting rid of my stuff?

“Right here, love!” The doctor replied merrily as she opened a swinging side door on the cart. She reached inside and pulled out a leather satchel. She handed it over to Amelia who immediately began to fight to undo the belts of the flap. It felt heavy and unyielding in her hands and took nearly 10 seconds to get it open.

Sweater, shredded. Tee, shredded. Jeans, shredded. Shoes, surprisingly in one piece.

“I'm sorry dear. There wasn't much of your clothes left to mend. I had to fight the other staff doctors just to get them back. Hopefully getting what’s left of them will ease some of your troubled mind.” Selena forced a broader smile. Perhaps trying to extend an olive branch. Although judging by Amelia's scowl, that was clearly going to be an uphill battle.

Does this chick really think I'm going to be so easily played?

“Did you sleep well?” Selena asked, her words practically dripping with concern. Amelia’s face twisted at the audacity of her question.

“No.” she practically spit before dropping the satchel down next to her chair before slipping her shoes on. Selena’s smile faltered again. Amelia officially had enough of the games.

I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S MOCKING ME!

“That machine I was strapped into last night. What was it doing to me?” Amelia’s eyes narrowed.

“Machine? We had you on an examination desk.” Selena answered.

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I know that thing wasn’t an examination table.” Amelia’s voice started to raise.

“What did it look like?” Selena asked, reclaiming her cheerful manner.

“What?”

“You said you knew it wasn't an examination table. What did it look like? That’s my question.” Amelia leaned back threw her fork down with a “clink!” A look of dissatisfaction and annoyance on her face. She looked side to side. Selena sat quietly, waiting for her answer. Seconds passed, but they felt like minutes. Every so often Amelia would lock eyes with Selena. Seeing her still sitting all prim and proper like a statue, with that same stupid smile, still waiting for an answer. Amelia slumped down a little in her chair.

“I don’t know. . .” she conceded under her breath.

“I’m sorry, love. I couldn’t make that out-”

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?!” Amelia finally screamed. “I COULDN’T SEE ANYTHING! MY SIGHT WAS BLURRY! BUT I COULD FEEL THAT THING DIGGING INTO MY SKIN, CUTTING ME OPEN LIKE SOME KIND OF NASTY FROG IN A SCHOOL LAB!” Amelia waved her bandaged arms in front of Selena to accentuate her argument. Selena finally changed her expression. Her face shifted to one of curiosity and concern. She reached over to the cart next to them and pulled out a clipboard with paper on it. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket and with a ‘click’ she began writing something.

“I was hoping to save this for later, but you said your vision was blurry? Your hearing was muffled as well, correct?” Amelia shifted in her seat.

“Well yes, but-”

“And your speech was slurred and incomprehensible to even you?”

“Yeah but-”

“And you said you could feel painful sensations running throughout your body, correct?”

“Don't change the-” Amelia was cut off when Selena handed her some large negatives and paperwork.

“Near as we could tell. You suffered a TBI. A Traumatic Brain Injury. The swelling in your eyes and face in general were caused by a sudden and very forceful impact to the face. A miracle your nose wasn’t shattered by the blow.” Amelia remembered the drop into the water. The steering wheel.

“But-”

“What kind of accident were you in?” Selena asked. Her pen at the ready.

“I’m not crazy.” Amelia growled. Her voiced coated in venom.

“I didn’t say that.” Selena winced at her words.

“But you’re insinuating it.”

“I am not.”

“You’re trying to lead me and make he doubt what I saw.”

Now Selena cocked her eyebrow at Amelia’s bold statement. “What you saw?”

Amelia had finally had enough. She staggered to her quaking feet, and even managing to knock the heavy chair over backwards with a hefty shove. Selena leaned back and looked to reach for something in her coat. The now frantic Amelia clawed at the bandages and ripped them off of her left arm. The tattered gauze fell to the floor in strips revealing nothing more than small light colored lines on her skin. Barely scratches by any real standards. No wounds, no stitches. Only scratches, old scars on her arms, and sore muscles.

“But. . . But the machine. . .” Her words were cracking now. She ran her fingers over her arms to find something, anything to prove she wasn't crazy. “I'm. . . I know I'm not.” She slowly drew her fingers over her forearms. She looked back at Selena, with misty eyes. Selena leaned in and put her paperwork down. She took off her glasses and laid them on top of her pile.

“You. Are. Not. Crazy. But you were hurt. The dulled senses and machine you claimed that was attacking you was your mind trying to make sense of your accident. You were in a panicked state. You couldn’t get suitable information from your eyes or ears and you were hallucinating your situation. Numerous blood vessels in your eyes had ruptured. Your eardrums were blown out.”

She looked Amelia in the eyes. Her own green orbs were unflinching, caring, and honest. Amelia felt a lump in her throat now, and tried to think of what happened the night before. Sensations and pain were all that came to mind. She was screaming at a doctor with no evidence to her claims and even threatened her life when they met. She felt her face flush with shame and just looked down. Her legs were wobbling, barely keeping her up any longer. Her knees buckled. There was a clattering of dishes and a scraping of wood.

Amelia looked over to Selena supporting her. Her left arm was draped over Selena’s shoulder to keep her standing. After some fidgeting and a few tears, Amelia was sitting in a wheelchair. A decorated wood and brass frame with large rubber wheels. The cushion under her butt and behind her back felt like a cloud on her sore body. The cloth covered machine she woke up to had been mounted to the back and Selena was pushing her down a long hallway. Stark white with other similar ornate doors. Amelia was looking at some paperwork in her lap. Although, ‘paperwork' may not have been apt. More akin to that of a coloring book sitting atop her patient files and photos.

“So what is this for?” Amelia asked as she flipped through the pages.

“We need to assess whether or not all of your cognitive faculties are still present. Memories, motor skills, and basic knowledge can be damaged, warped, or be lost entirely. Please, it may seem silly, but do take it as seriously as any test.”

“Fine.” Amelia flipped back to the first page of the bound packet of paper. “Question 1. What is your favorite color? Orange.” She scribbled it in.

“Is your penmanship suffering at all?” Selena asked as she walked her around a corner.

“No.”

“Very good then.” Selena replied jovially.

“Hey, doctor.”

“Yes, love?”

“When do I get to be released?”

“Two weeks.”

“Do I have to spend all of it being wheeled around like an old lady?”

“Oh course not!” Selena laughed. “By our results, you should be able to walk freely by as early as tomorrow. Just so long as you don't cause trouble for the other patients.”

“Fair enough. Question 2. Which of these animal groups are extinct?” She scanned the paper over carefully. There were pictures of fish, mammals, birds, insects, dinosaurs? Weird cloud things? And something that resembled a cross between a robot and a jellyfish? Among other things that just looked fake. She rolled her eyes.

What kind of stupid question is this?

She quickly circled all the numbers of things that were clearly extinct and pure absurdity. She flipped the page. “What animal did humans evolve from? That isn't exactly proven yet.”

“Prevailing theories are acceptable answers.” Amelia shrugged, and wrote primates.

“Is the world round or flat? Oh come on!”

“I know some questions are ludicrous, but please don't scoff.” Selena hummed as she parked the wheelchair to open some large double doors. Amelia quickened her pace to finish this insulting test. Basic math, recite the alphabet. Draw this animal from memory. How many chromosomes do you have? Fill in the blank. Historical figures. Geography. Music. Vehicles. Chemistry. Oxygen concentration in the air? Name as many revolutions as you can? She moved through page after page and filled in whatever she could. She closed the thick binder as Selena parked the wheelchair in what seemed to be the opening of a large garden.

“Done.” Amelia stated as she passed the test over her shoulder to Selena. When she looked up however she was met with glare of golden light spilling through a large dome of glass up above, and the garden before her. It was the same garden she saw through the window and for the first time in a long while, she genuinely smiled.

She took the initiative and began wheeling herself out to the small stone path to see everything she could. Amelia couldn't explain it, but now she felt lighter. Whereas she struggled to lift a plant a quarter of her size. Now in the chair, she felt almost normal barring the pulses of soreness. Selena smiled at her childlike wonder before flipping through the pages. Carefully going over each answer and making a note next to some. Selena flipped back to the front page and made one more note in bold letters-

Level 8 Mental Hazard: Extreme care required.

Selena opened up a vertical sliding hatch in the wall next to the doorway and placed the test inside of a metal box inside. She closed the lid of the box, slid the door down and began to move a series of inconspicuous dials before pressing the center dial in with a 'click'. A small rumble moved throughout the wall and for a few seconds before returning to silence.

~~~

Amelia had to admit that the sun felt nice on her skin and eyes. She even took a moment to breathe in the sweet aroma of the flowers around her. The roses and sunflowers. Some she couldn't readily identify by the brown spiral shaped petals, or a pink one that looked just like a bird. She simply couldn’t take her eyes off one in particular. A flower that looked close to a lily is shape, however it bore a vibrant mixture of purples, reds, and blues with little spots of white on it’s petals. It looked almost like space. Amelia could have sworn it was just a trick, but the galactic design almost looked like it was moving.

Never seen one like you before.

Amelia smiled wider as she leaned in to touch a the enrapturing plant. With the disadvantage of being confined to a chair, the desirable flora was just out of reach. She tossed a cautious glance over her shoulder to see the good doctor was out of sight. This was her chance. She locked the wood and brass chair with a small lever. Planting both of her feet on the wooden slats they rested on, she slowly pushed herself up with one hand while reaching for the flower with her other.

“Oh shoot.” she whispered as her files and photos slipped off of her lap and onto the cobblestone path. She gave a heavy sigh. “Hey doc!” she called out. Silence was her only reply among the foliage. She sighed again. “The hard way then.” She slowly lowered herself off of the chair and onto her knees. She snagged the loose papers, photos, and x-ray negatives. Pulling them into a neat pile, but stopping on one in particular. A picture of her face.

“Girl, you’ve certainly seen better days.” she mused while looking over the picture. The image showed numerous bandages all over her head. The red spots on the gauze over her ears, her nose crooked, her eyes swollen shut. She could hardly believe that was her yesterday. It seemed impossible.

“A miracle your nose wasn’t shattered.”

“Numerous blood vessels in your eyes ruptured. Your eardrums were blown out.”

Amelia looked over the photo again. Yeah, she looked practically dead just the day before. Yet here she was, awake and talking. It seemed impossible for that to be her in the photograph. Her smile shrank, and an all too familiar anger began to swell in her chest. Her breathing quickened. She began going through the rest of the medical examinations. Every page seemed to contradict her state.

“Broken bones and numerous lacerations.” She looked at her arms and legs, just thin discolored lines.

Then why the bandages?

Pulling herself back into the chair, she grabbed the satchel off the back and opened it. She examined her shirt closely and saw that it was ripped up all throughout. Hundreds of little holes and tears at the torso. Her sleeves, ribbons. Her sweater and denim jeans were just as bad. Her clothes were completely destroyed and smelled of ammonia.

And yet.

Amelia clenched her hand into a shaking fist and crumpled what was left of her shirt in the process.

~~~

“Amelia!” Selena called out as she walked down the cobblestone path. The heels of her boots making and audible 'clack!' with each step. There were plenty of branching paths Amelia could have taken. Twisting around many large plots of soil, filled with exotic flowers, shrubs, and trees. “Where has that silly girl wheeled off to? Ms. Carver!” she called again.

“Over here.” Selena tuned left and followed the voice down a curved path to her left. She rounded what looked similar to a palm tree and saw Amelia sitting in her chair, next to a bench. The yellow rays of the early sun drenched her clearly with no trees in the way. Selena stopped just short and stood under the shade of a nearby tree.

“Ah, Amelia! I was just about to start worrying. You’re surprisingly fast for someone in your condition.” She laughed.

“Yeah, I imagine you’d want to keep an eye on me at all times.” Her tone sounded drastically different. She no longer carried a sense of careful optimism. Her voice had a distinct contrast to the warming sun. It was cold and calculated. Selena made to walk towards her patient.

“Hey doc, can we play that game again?” Selena stopped stopped walking just short of the shade she was standing in, and gave a small head tilt in concern.

“Something wrong, love?”

“That’s what I want to find out.” Selena felt the bite in those words. This felt vastly different from last time.

“Okay then.” Selena stated with some renewed confidence. “Should I-”

“I’ll go first. Where are we?”

“Well, your in-”

“Hold on now, I’m not asking some broad question, like what building are we in? Or what garden? I’m asking you where exactly is the location of this hospital on the map? I felt it from the moment I stood up, and I thought it was just my legs. But I still feel it, even sitting down in this chair.” Selena’s eyes widened slightly. “The floor, it’s all got this slight rumble in it, like it’s moving. You’ve been here what was it again? 16 years. I’m not surprised you don’t notice it anymore.”

“We’re. . . Over the sea right now.” Amelia cocked an eyebrow.

“You expect me to believe we’re on a boat.”

“A ship of sorts. . . I mean, you were found in the water.” She tried to laugh, but there was nervousness mixed into it. Amelia’s eyes narrowed.

“Alright, lets say I believe that. Lets say I believe this MASSIVE building can somehow stay afloat in the water. Strange that I would never hear or see anything in the news about this building sized ‘boat’ hospital, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, our facility is relatively new-”

“16 years isn’t relatively new.”

“AND we value our privacy on these matters.”

I’ve caught you slipping. Now just add pressure.

“Now I believe I can ask a question? Are you enjoying the garden?”

She’s trying to control the conversation again. Not this time.

“Yeah, yeah. These flowers are lovely.” Amelia half-heatedly answered.

“That’s wonderful to hear, love.”

“Yeah. Ya know, I’ve never seen flowers like this one. Where are these from?” Amelia Pointed to the ones that looked like a yellow bird.

“They’re from Asia.” Selena replied instantly.

“Where in Asia?”

“East Asia.”

She’s being vague. I need specific questions.

“So. . . Has your breakfast settled? OOOO maybe you and I could go sneak some deserts eh?”

“Sure, you have ice cream?”

“Oh my favorite! We have sooooo many flavors! What kind would you like? Chocolate? Vanilla?”

“Ya got cookies and cream?” There was a slight pause in Selena’s face at the name and Amelia’s eye twitched in agitation.

“I’m sure we have something that’ll suit your specific tastes, love!” Selena lowered her hands as she saw Amelia’s embittered expression.

“Why do I have these bandages on me if I don’t need them?”

“They’re sanitized and insulated to ensure you don’t catch anything and help you warm up from the water.” Selena’s answer was more robotic and stilted this time. Almost an automatic response.

“So let me get this straight. You wrapped me in sanitized bandages that also somehow keep me warm when I have no injuries?” Amelia opened up the satchel and pulled out her clothes. “How is it that I don’t have a single cut on my legs, arms, or body, but these were completely trashed?” Amelia lifted her shirt and jeans, letting them unfurl in front of Selena. The tears were significant. Her jeans looked closer to a long pleated skirt. Her sweater sleeves were hanging by threads. She let them drop to the ground.

“We’re as perplexed as you are. . . It must have been by some miracle-”

“Like the same kind of miracle that my nose wasn’t shattered by the blow? But it was broken. Lots of my bones were, And my eardrums were blown out, and my eyes had practically burst. It’s right here in the medical report.” Selena looked down to file in her lap and her smile wavered slightly.

“We reduced the swelling and a good night’s rest can-”

“Broken bones don’t heal in a night. Neither do eardrums, or soft tissue damage to eyes. It takes months. Sometimes years. It takes surgery, not sleep. You don’t need a degree to figure that out.” Selena bit her lip.

Did you really think I’m that stupid? I need to keep pressing her.

“Are you enjoying the sun?” She asked in a strained voice now.

“Yes. Now where am I?”

“You're out at sea.”

“What sea are we in?”

“That’s two questions.” Selena responded. Her smile cracking.

“You haven’t really answered any of my questions.” Amelia shot back.

“The Atlantic.”

“I crashed on the west coast. We should be in the pacific ocean.”

“You put-”

“I lied. Who are you?” Amelia’s voice was raising now as she crossed her hands in her lap.

“My name is Selena Loch. . . Head. . . Head doctor of this facility.” she was sweating now.

“What’s this facility’s name?”

“It’s name is Britannia Oceanic General.”

“As in England the country that’s part of Britain? Or United Britain, the landmass?”

“I’m. . .I’m not-?” Selena’s words were starting to crack.

“You’re not familiar with England? One of the most well known countries of the world. Even children know where England is and you somehow don’t?” Amelia let out a long sigh. “What is the United States of America?”

“Where. . . You live.” Amelia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright. Now that I know you’ve been lying about everything. Do you want to tell me anything that’s actually true?” Amelia emphasized her point by throwing her file at Selena. It didn’t even make it half way before falling apart. Selena didn’t flinch at her aggression, she simply looked down and stepped forward. She knelt down and started picking up the file’s contents. Amelia sat still, watching and staring daggers.

“I don’t know why I thought I could do the Ethic department’s job.” Selena chuckled. “I’m a doctor, not a briefing officer.” She shook a little dirt off of the manila file cover before feeding everything back inside. She walked in front of Amelia and held the file out to her. Amelia just stared back. She looked tired and understandably angry. Selena frowned. “That’s fair.” She whispered.

They were both quiet for a minute or two before Selena finally broke the air of silence. “You never let me ask my question.” As she sat down on the bench next to Amelia.

“Do I actually have a choice?” Amelia asked quietly.

“You always have a choice.” Selena whispered.

“I don’t believe you.” She whispered back. Her whole body was shaking. Selena leaned forward. Her perfect posture had dissolved as she looked down and folded her hands. She closed her eyes in thought for a moment before opening them again. “Whatever. Just ask.”

“Do you think I’m trying to hurt you?” Amelia leaned back and gently punched the arm of her chair. She huffed and scowled while Selena waited for an answer.

“No. Somehow I don’t think you’re trying to hurt me. . . Even though you hurt me.” Amelia felt a tightness in her chest. Selena felt heat in her cheeks.

“Do you know why I lied to you?” Selena still didn’t look up.

“That’s two questions.” Amelia countered.

“You asked me two questions in a row.”

“You asked me like 10 earlier.” They both fell silent again. Selena with shame and Amelia with anger and sadness.

“I’m sorry for trying to deceive you. It was wrong.” A single tear escaped Amelia’s eye. This time Selena offered her a soft cloth from her coat pocket. Her eyes still showed the same genuine care as before despite the serious look. Amelia slowly reached up and took it from her.

“So, my question.” Selena’s eyes seemed to have a fire igniting in them.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Very, yes.”

“Fine.”

“You asked me for a reason to be trusted, right?” Amelia stopped wiping her eye and gave her a cautious glance. “Can I still earn that trust?”

“What are you going to do?” Amelia said with a distant disinterest.

“Something. . .Adventurous!” Selena offered with a bright, toothy smile. “Now, please watch your feet.” Amelia looked down and saw a round metallic disc in the center of the walkway. Brass colored and about two feet in diameter, the center had segmented lines and small gaps. Selena knelt down next to it and grabbed the center segment and pulled. A brass colored bar slipped up from the ground with her hand. She twisted the vertical bar horizontally with a series of 'clicks' like the tumbler of a lock and then pushed it down.

A great hiss of steam erupted from around the disk as the plate split in half. The ground under their feet shook and rumbled as each half of the plate then slid in opposite directions under the walkway with the sound of heavy gears spinning underneath. Amelia slowly wheeled herself over to Selena’s side, eyes wide with bewilderment and curiosity. A tall brass cylinder rose from the floor. Small pistons, gears, and shifting panels placed in particular segments on it’s surface moved in unison to raise it up from the ground.

It stopped raising just at Selena’s waistline with one last hiss of steam. Selena looked over to Amelia with one more smile before she stepped forward. A flat, rectangular piece of brass on top of the cylinder seemed to pop up slightly on two small metal arms. Gears at the joint of the arms began to to spin quickly as the plate flipped over, revealing a decorative wood and brass adorned keyboard. It lowered itself back into place with a ‘click’ before the keys lit up. A green light erupted from the top of the cylinder and words seemed to write themselves inside its luminescence.

Please Insert Password.

Amelia sat as far back in her chair as she could. Her eyes wide with confusion. Selena began deftly typing on the keyboard while Amelia’s eyes darted back and forth, starting at the doctor and then to the machine, trying her best to fathom what was unfolding before her as the doctor hit the enter key. There was a small pause before the a new prompt appeared in the light.

Password accepted. Please state name, rank and your channel of communication.

Selena grabbed a small device from next to the keyboard and pulled up a small circular thick disk like plate attached to a spiraling rubber cord that connected back to the base of the console. The top of the plate unfolded in her palm revealing a small grid-like mesh of metal. She pressed a button on the side and cleared her throat. “My name is Selena Loch. Commander of squad 1 of the 336th battalion Venerate class carrier

VALIANT HEART

I am sending a direct message to every ship channel. Both private, and open.” The column of brass hummed in response.

VOICE RECOGNITION AUTHORIZED. OPENING ALL VISUAL AND VOCAL CHANNELS, COMMANDER LOCH.

Amelia slowly turned from the console to Selena who was removing her Flossie and tucking it into her pocket. She reached up and pulled two small pins from the tight hair bun that was hidden under her hat. In but a second, her long wavy blonde hair flowed down over one of her eyes, past her shoulders and down to her hips. She undid the buttons on her lab coat and pulled it open.

Underneath her coat she wore a brown corset with small belts and zippers that hugged her body. Underneath was a sleeveless military frock. Her striped leggings had numerous belts of their own around her thighs attached to her larger waist belt. Her black, button up boots reached up to her knees. Selena pulled a new hat from inside her coat. An officers cap that she brushed off and firmly secured to her head. Her doctor’s coat was now draped around her shoulders and secured only by the chain on her lapels. She straightened her stance and spread her feet to be affixed at shoulder width. Her left arm tucked behind her back and her right hand laid gently over her heart.

ALL CHANNELS CONNECTED, COMMANDER.

A small panel above the keyboard flipped open. Inside a long cylinder of brass extended. The base of the bar had an orb of some kind attached. Small spinning gears and minute pistons spouted steam as it began to vibrate. The whole of it’s body was no longer than Amelia’s forearm. The bar split open into thirds and opened up. Each third of the bar pieces tilted slightly, bearing resemblance to a propeller. A small hum and they began to spin. The device ascended from it’s dock and floated towards Selena. Surprisingly quiet for it’s parts, the only sound it made was the clicking of small gears, and sputters of occasional steam from it’s vents.

The front of the orb split open, revealing a dark green lens. The orb hummed for a second and then a small green beam of light jettisoned from the lens at Selena’s boots. The beam worked it’s way up her legs, torso and finally her head. Her entire body was shrouded in a bright green light that lingered on her a second or two before receding into the orb’s eye. Another hum and a perfect model of Selena appeared in the light of the main console’s beam.

“Attention all crew mates. I Commander Selena Loch, am now posting a priority alpha message to you. I am canceling phase one of the ‘MERMAID PROTOCOL’. You have exactly two hours to assemble on the main deck in front of conference room 1 to meet our new guest. End of transmission.” With her message delivered, the floating orb’s hatch closed around it’s eye. It turned from her and hovered back to the console where it docked, and receded. The beam dissipated with a ‘bwip’ sound. The floor rumbled again, and with another cranking of gears and hisses of steam the metallic column slowly sank back into the ground.

“So, Ms. Carver. How was that?” Selena asked rather stoically as she turned to the chair-bound woman. Amelia sat quietly. Her hands shaking, and small beads of sweat rolling down her brow. “Ms. Carver?” Her words were lost on her patient. Her breaths were sharp and fast. Selena prepared herself for the worst.

“THAT WAS AMAZING!-” Amelia squealed. Her eyes were wide and pupils dilated. Selena shifted slightly. Her worry turned to confusion. “THE MACHINE! WITH THE LASER! AND THE FLYING EYE THING!

“Amelia, breathe.”

“THEN THE GROUND SHOOK. THAT HOLOGRAM, AND ROBOT COMPUTER GUY! AND YOU’RE A COMMANDER! AND THAT FIRE OUTFIT!” The sound of her frantic heartbeat filled her ears.

“Amelia, focus.” She couldn’t. It felt as though the entire room had begun to spin. She truly had no idea what was happening anymore. Her trembling hands began clutching at her chest. Her nails digging into the fabric and even skin. She hunched over in her chair. She teetered on falling off altogether.

CHEST. . . CHEST HURTS-

Just as her vision began to go dark again Amelia felt something warm break through the fog of her panic. Something was holding her up. She could feel another heartbeat close to her. Another person breathing in her ear. Slow and rhythmic. Some kind of anchor to hold onto. Amelia focused on it. Clinging to those feelings. The garden started coming back into focus. Her own heartbeat slowed to match the pace of her savior. The skipping in her mind eased. Her gaze slowly brought Selena’s shoulder into focus. Selena had pulled her into a hug.

“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you. Just take your time, and come back to us.” Amelia’s breathing steadied, and slowed. She slowly brought her hands up and reciprocated Selena’s affection with a hug of her own. Selena held on to Amelia for a minute or two more before letting her go.

“What. . . what was all that?” Selena’s smile softened as she rested her hand on Amelia’s.

“That. . . Was the truth. And I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from you, especially based on your test. Most people tend to have whats called a 'negative experience'.” she emphasized her point with air quotes.

“Well we do have holograms, just not as cool as that!”

“Well, if you liked something small like this. You’re going to absolutely adore what comes next. But! Only if you relax. Can you do that?” Amelia gave a small nod. There was excitement in her eyes.

“Yes! Yes I can do that!”

“Good. Luckily for you, we have two hours to get you up to speed. . . You know, so you don’t have a heart-attack.”

“So. . .What do we do next?”

“Next? We take a little walk.”

4 notes · View notes

kneelmylucille · 1 year

Text

Skin

Oliver Thredson x OC

Warnings: This is an Oliver Thredson fanfiction. Meaning, virtually anything could be expected. Mentions of trauma, abuse, neglect, sexual abuse, murder, smut, gore, breathplay, knifeplay, etc. 18+

Chapter 1

“Daddy?”

The wide-eyed girl takes a timid step into the shadowed hallway, her bare feet making contact with the hardwood floor, sending shivers throughout her entire body.

A resounding thud had carried itself through the otherwise voiceless house, and she had gotten out of bed to inspect the source. It was not the jarring sound which had concerned her, as she was accustomed to such things, but it was the silence which followed.

“Daddy?”

The floorboards creak beneath her frigid feet as she continues down the hall, eyeing the doorway leading to the kitchen.

With her next step, her foot kicks an empty can across the floor, causing a loud clatter to reverberate off of the walls. She jumps back, awaiting a reaction, but the house falls silent once again.

Slowly entering the dimly lit kitchen, her eyes fall upon her father, sitting slumped in the foldout kitchen chair, his face down on the surface of the table.

His once blue jeans are covered in mud and grass stains, the soles of his boots are worn down to nothing, and the posture of his stocky form signifies defeat.

“Daddy?”

He seems to stop breathing for a moment, and she follows his lead, as his head rises from the table, staring straight forward for a few long moments, before slowly turning to face her.

His eyes are devoid of emotion, yet his mouth forms a close-mouthed smile as he stands and lurks toward the girl.

Rosalie’s eyes fly awake, adjusting to the darkness around her. Her face remains stoic, yet her body shakes involuntarily, and her heart feels as if it may leap from her chest.

The anguished shrieks resounding from the near and many dark corners of Briarcliff do nothing to ease her racing mind.

“36,” She whispers to herself. She had made certain to keep track of each day that passed by while she was trapped in this place. She worried that if she were to lose track of time, then she would lose track of herself. “Today is day thirty-six. It is November of 1964. You are in Briarcliff. Your name is Rosalie Amor.”

Rosalie had managed to steer clear of the harsh hand of the staff, keeping quiet, only speaking when spoken to. While at times, in order to keep her temper in check, she did have to bite her tongue so hard that it bled, she believed this to be much preferred to the abuse that she had seen patients subjected to.

Abruptly, the door to her room, or rather cell, is unlocked and swung open with careless force, and she is met with the unforgiving gaze of Sister Jude.

“Common room. Let’s go.”

“Dominique -nique -nique s’en allait tout simplement”

Though Rosalie had only been shown the horrors of Briarcliff for little more than a month, she was beginning to believe that this repetitive song playing on a never-ending loop would be the inconsequential thing which finally drives her over the edge.

Kit Walker, Bloodyface, had arrived only a few days prior, and Rosalie had been studying him from afar, having nothing better to do with her free time than to feed her curiosities. That and reading when she could get her hands on a book, due to Frank’s kindness toward her.

Though her mind may wonder, Rosalie made certain to keep to herself, as she had learned that she sees far more watching from afar, remaining nothing more than a fly on the wall.

Kit Walker was not only a supposed woman killer, but he was a man, and that fact alone told Rosalie that she should be weary of him. However, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t seem like an inherently violent person.

While Rosalie was not naive enough to believe that what he chooses to present to the world is his true self, she couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t give her the slightest of uneasy feelings, no more than any other man does at least. His smile was kind and his eyes showed depth. His actions, especially with the girl that Rosalie had come to know as Grace, were gentle. Perhaps he’s simply an amazing actor.

Or, maybe, he truly was psychotic and only believed himself to be innocent.

Little did Rosalie know that, while she was studying Kit, someone else had been studying her from their own corner of the common room.

Thredson’s POV

She is radiant.

The way her dark hair flows past her delicate shoulders. The manner in which she sits, solitary and content, lost in thought as her eyes slowly analyze those around her, particularly Kit Walker.

Interesting. I light a fresh cigarette at this thought, taking a long draw before returning my gaze to her.

Her porcelain, freckled, skin glowing under the vibrant sunlight pouring in through the common room windows.

It looks so soft.

Untouched by the, from what I have witnessed, barbaric nature of Briarcliff. Everything about her is simply…

Warm.

I need to learn more.

Silently excusing myself from the common room and making my way up the main staircase, I find myself at the door of Sister Jude’s office.

Knocking a few times, I wait for a response, but am met with silence from the other side.

Cautiously checking my surroundings, I make my way inside, gently shutting the door behind me and making my way to the single file cabinet which sits adjacent to her desk.

Checking one of the drawers, I find it unlocked.

Perhaps Sister Jude isn’t as clever as she prides herself on.

Swiftly inspecting through the files, I find her.

“Rosalie Amor”

“Born June of 1939 — Struggles with the sin of lies — Admitted to Briarcliff by her father after she spread false rumors in order to ruin Mr. Amor’s career — cannot seem to discern reality from fiction”

How brilliantly vague.

No clear diagnosis, likely due to the fact that a psychiatrist had never set foot on the premises prior to my arrival.

I will have to get my own answers. After all,

she could be the one.

Removing all traces of my ever being here, I exit the office and, only making it a few strides down the dark hall, turn the corner nearly colliding with Sister Jude.

“Sister.”

She glares, glancing in my wake inquisitively.

“I was meaning to speak with you regarding one of your patients.”

#american horror story #doctor thredson #american horror asylum #american horror story fanfic #ahs #ahs asylum #asylum #oliver thredson #thredson #ahs fanfic #american horror story asylum #kit walker #oliver thredson fanfic #doctor thredson fanfic #james patrick march #ahs asylum fanfic

25 notes · View notes

judgementdaysunshine · 7 months

Text

Side effects

Pairing: Mustafa Ali x Fem reader

Description: Mustafa takes care of you while you're sick and suddenly dealing with the side effects of cold medicine

This fever was taking everything out of you even just turning while laying in bed left you more fatigued and exhausted than you already were for the most of the day finding some fever and cold medicine taking some managing to fall asleep for awhile before waking back up when Mustafa walks through the door. He walks in to find you standing up only to fall forward catching you right before you landed on the floor carefully laying you back in bed "Baby God you're burning up and pale" he quickly grabs you water and a cold wash rag reading the fever and cold medicine bottle only to realize that not only were you badly sick but that you were having bad side effects of nausea, drowsiness, trouble with sleep, and dizziness keeping a close eye on you "Have you eaten? You need to eat" he quickly makes you soup adding rice to make it a bit more solid rather than straight up soup feeding it to you before putting it in the microwave for later smiling when he sees you asleep under the covers rewetting and ringing out the rag before it was back on your forehead grabbing a flu medicine which he gave to you that next morning instead being sure to give you nausea medicine a little bit after before you slowly finished the rice soup in between sips of gatorade to rehydrate yourself in between water sleeping throughout the day due to your low energy but he didn't mind always holding you under the covers. He stands in the bathroom making sure you were okay while you showered smiling when he dries you off laying you in bed after getting in bed watching TV dozing on and off as he cooks dinner bringing you warm stew which relaxes you leading to now as he sits next to you while you sleep soundly feeling your energy slowly come back over the next few days as you got better without mustafa being with you since he had to wrestle but the day after you were finally better he comes home smiling as he pulls you in his arms kissing your face making you laugh "Baby stop" he shakes his head as he begins to tickle you despite your pleas "You're better! I can finally hold and kiss you again and see you smile and not all pale and burnt up" he was so glad that you were better holding you in his arms as uncontrollable laughter is heard throughout the house.

#nxt x reader #mustafa ali #mustafa ali x reader #nxt

3 notes · View notes

magravenwrites · 2 years

Text

The Ghosts of Christmas' Past

Finan x Eadith

(GIF not mine)

Summary: After a year of plague, hard fighting and heartbreak, Uhtred and his men are ready to celebrate Yule with Coccham's newest residents; Aethelstan and Eadith. While the rest of the party seem to enjoy the festivities, Finan is disturbed at how little joy the season brings to Eadith. After following her outside, they talk of what it is to really have a home and a family.

Requested: Yes

A/N: This was posted on ao3 a while ago but thought it was about time I posted it here too. Set after season 4 but before season 5.

Thanks to @axe-does-writing for beta-reading this for me 💕

Enjoy!

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

The fire in the hearth cast a golden glow across the hall, its warmth could be felt throughout the room.

Finan relaxed back into his chair, letting the heat and contentment settle in his bones. It was nice to experience some peace for once. Particularly after their year of running up and down the country, losing loved one's, fighting in battles and evading the dreaded sickness.

Now, it was a time for peace, before Uhtred undoubtedly dragged them all into his mess once more.

He would take what he could while he had the chance.

It was nice for everyone to be together, laughing, drinking and feasting with their families.

While Uhtred was Pagan, he had still agreed to host a feast for Christmas. No doubt persuaded by Hild, who may or may not have threatened him had he not agreed to host the celebrations.

Uhtred had argued he would host the feast to celebrate Yule, rather than the Christian celebrations, but they all knew he did not need an excuse to hold a feast.

Finan gazed around the room, taking in the sound of laughter from the far side of the table where Sihtric sat with his wife, entertaining their many children.

Osferth had not long arrived after praying in the makeshift church with Hild. He now sat next to Sihtric, throwing the occasional comment here and there while eating his fill of the feast.

Aethelstan was sitting next to Finan; it would be the boy's first Yule with them and Finan was intent on making it a good one.

He knew what it was like to grow up too quickly, to have so much responsibility forced on his young shoulders. He'd be damned if he didn't let Aethelstan enjoy just one Yule as a child should.

With fun. With a family.

It was heartwarming to see the young boy sat at the table with a smile on his face, laughing at the stories Sihtric was telling, and eating his fill of the feast. He was slowly but surely coming out of his shell.

"Once you've finished your plate, you can go and listen to Sihtric's stories with the other children." He told him gently. "-and if you have a second helpin' of vegetables then I'll tell ya how to beat Young Sihtric in your next sparring match." He winked, chucking when the young boy immediately reached to spoon more of the vegetables onto his plate.

Osferth sent him a shrewd look from across the table "Are you not above bribing children Finan?" He teased.

"It's not bribin' - more… gentle persuasion. Besides, the boy needs feeding up if he's to be a big, strong, warrior one day." He argued lightly, ruffling Aethelstan's hair.

Finan's eyes moved past Osferth's shoulder, and settled on the latest edition to their ragtag group - Eadith, where she was sat warming herself in front of the fire.

If it wasn't for her bravery, they would all be dead. At first she had intended to go to Frankia, she had some family there. Finan was only glad when she had decided to return to Coocham with them instead.

He had not trusted her at first, but over the months he spent in her company he had grown to admire her. More than admire her, if truth be told.

She was sat by the fire, her gaze lost in the dancing flames. Finans breath hitched at her beauty. The golden glow of the flames shone off her hair and dress, making her look as though she were an angel. A fallen angel just for him.

Eadith gracefully rose from her seat, making her way for the door and exiting without even looking back at them once. She hadn't even taken her cloak with her.

Finans eyebrows furrowed in concern at her sudden exit. She had been relatively quiet all evening, but he thought that she was just enjoying the peace of the festivities.

He felt a sharp boot kick him from under the table, looking away from the door, he turned to glare at the offender.

He saw Baby Monk giving him a pointed look, inclining his head toward the door.

"Go after her, you know you want to. I'll keep an eye on the boy." He said.

After debating it a while in his head, he nodded in agreement, standing from the table to rush after her.

"Bless ya Baby Monk".

He only made it to the end of the table before turning on his heel back to Aethelstan's side.

"Make sure he finishes his plate." He warned, pointing a threatening finger between Osferth and the boy.

Osferth only rolled his eyes at his antics.

"I will, now stop stalling and go!"

Finally satisfied, Finan swiftly marched to the door, grabbing his cloak before heading outside.

Letting the door fall closed behind him, Finan was surprised to see it was still snowing outside. His breath instantly clouded in front of his face.

He spotted Eadith not too far away, sat on the bottom step to the hall, staring up at the snow. Her arms were wrapped around herself, shielding her from the cold.

He usually hated the cold. He had spent too many winters freezing his arse off at sea to hold any love of it now.

But he had to admit, there was a beauty and a stillness that snow brought like nothing else could. Or perhaps that was just the effect Eadith had on him.

As he descended the steps, getting closer to her, he noticed how the snowflakes settled on her hair and eyelashes, making her look even more beautiful.

"May I join you?" He asked as he stood a step behind her, not wanting to intrude.

Eadith looked over her shoulder at him, giving a small nod of her head with a gentle smile.

Finan gave a smile in return, glad she hadn't turned him away. He settled himself on the step next to her with a groan, making sure his cloak was securely around him to fight off the chill air.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a little while. Neither one of them wanted to break the peace.

Finan felt like a fool. He came out here to woo her. Now he couldn't think if a single thing to say.

He blew warm air into his hands, rubbing them together to keep them warm, in an attempt to stop fidgeting from nerves.

"Are you alright?" He asked, cringing internally at how awkward he sounded.

"I mean - you left the hall in a hurry - I just wanted to make sure you were alright?" He stumbled, by way of an explanation.

He wanted to kick himself. He prided himself on being able to be confident in any situation, particularly when it came to charming the ladies. So why was he now struggling to string two sentences together, as if he were a boy with his first crush?

Eadith, either oblivious to his awkwardness or choosing to ignore it, simply smiled lightly, taking a deep breath of the night air.

"I just needed some air," She replied quietly.

"You don't have ta hide things from me. There is something bothering you. If you feel ya need to talk, then you can always come ta me. If you want to. You're safe here."

"I fear that is part of the problem. I find that being here… I have never known such security before. Such comfort. Such peace. I am unused to not having to look over my shoulder, or not being seen as an object to use. It can be so…" She vaguely waved her hands in front of her, as if wanting to grasp the right word from the air.

"Overwhelming." Finan finished for her.

"Exactly." She gave him a puzzled expression, surprised he had managed to sum up how she was feeling so simply.

"I have never spent a Christmas amongst people I feel at home with. It is a foreign feeling. I always had my brother by my side, but we were always jumping from one court to another, trying to redeem our family name. It was never a happy time for us, and now he is not here either." Her arms tightened around herself, though whether it was for warmth or to comfort herself, Finan couldn't tell. He guessed it was probably a little of both.

He remained silent, letting her work through her thoughts and feelings, before he comforted her. He knew the importance of needing to process things first.

"I know he betrayed us. But I still miss him. He was the only family I had left." She sighed, holding back tears.

He shuffled closer to her, getting so close that their knees were lightly brushing together. He reached over, taking her hand in his.

Her hand felt like ice in his own, she had goosebumps raised on her arms, and he only just noticed how her teeth were beginning to chatter.

"Good God woman, you're freezing!" He exclaimed, immediately moving to cover her with his cloak. Shuffling closer still so they could share its warmth.

"I am fine," She protested lightly, giggling over his fussing.

"Don't be so stubborn, you'll catch your death in the cold like this." He enclosed his hands around her own, rubbing them to instill some warmth, trying to ignore the way just holding her hand made his palms tingle and his head spin.

"Thank you." She relented, sighing at the warmth he provided.

Unconsciously, she leant closer toward him, leaning on his shoulder.

Finan smiled softly at the weight of her pressed to his side, glad she was comfortable enough with him to be so close.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, each enjoying the other's presence, but as the minutes passed by, Finan felt he had to broach the subject of their conversation once more.

"I understand, y'know - about not having a family or a home ta call your own. Probably better than most." He started.

"Of course, you have been away from your homeland for so long. You must miss it dearly."

Finan huffed a laugh at that. If only it were so simple.

"Not quite. You may not know this… but I first met Uhtred on a slave ship." He told her looking her in the eye, watching the suprise cross her face.

"I am so sorry, I did not know…"

He shook his head, not wanting her sympathy. He swallowed thickly, attempting to hold back the tumultuous array of emotions that were threatening to burst from him. It was important she heard this.

"I was a foolish young man and I made mistakes. I spent three Winters pulling at the oar in payment for those mistakes.

My life in Ireland - it was not my own life. Everything was planned out for me, and I wanted to escape. It has been a long time since I have considered Ireland my home." He admitted.

Eadith listened in silence, her heart heavy knowing he had been through such torments.

"It took me time to adjust, but my home is now here." Finan continued, looking over their shoulders at the doors to the hall with a fondness in his eyes.

"Home is not always a place, Eadith, it is the people that make it so. Uhtred, Sihtric, Osferth, and the children… As long as I am with them, I know I am home. It is why I would follow them anywhere. It is my wish that one day, you will come to see this - us - as your new home too." He turned back to face her, their eyes meeting.

"I think I am already beginning to see it as one." She whispered, a small smile pulling at her lips.

Her eyes darted down to his lips before darting back to meet his gaze once more.

A smile grew on Finans own features, happy to hear the news. He leaned in closer to her, his smile turning into a smirk as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know, back in Ireland, to kiss an Irishman during a Christmas festival is considered good luck".

"Is it indeed?" Eadith laughed.

Finan beamed, adoring the sound.

"Well then, I am in need of some good luck." She leaned forward.

Finan closed the distance between them, his lips meeting her own. It was sweet and tender, and everything else around them seemed to disappear.

Eventually the need to breathe overpowered their ability to keep kissing, causing them to separate, their breaths heavy.

They shared a smile, letting their foreheads rest against each other, their fingers lacing together. Their breaths mingled in the cold air between them.

They sat there together in the quiet of the night, taking in the moment and considering what lay ahead of them in the future.

"What are you both doing freezing your arses off out here?" A voice shouted, startling the pair apart, both clearing their throats acting as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn't.

Looking ahead of them, Finan saw Uhtred making his way over to them, ascending the steps past them and to the doors of the hall with a grin on his face.

"Just takin' in the night air, Lord," Finan replied, getting to his feet and sending a scathing look to his friend at his untimely interruption.

"And will you be rejoining us in the hall, or will you be taking the fair lady home for the evening?" Uhtred smirked, eyebrow raised in question while he opened the door to the hall.

Finan looked to Eadith, unsure if she would want to return to being in company just yet. He could always offer to walk her home if she did not. Though not in the way Uhtred had intended it.

"We will rejoin the party Lord, I am not finished listening to tales of all your past misadventures yet." She giggled.

Finan offered her his hand, helping her to her feet. Not letting go even once she had caught her balance.

"I am happy for you both." Uhtred said seriously, before disappearing inside, leaving the door open for them.

Finan and Eadith shared a last breathless smile with each other before making their way up the steps and back to the feast.

Whatever had happened in their pasts, Finan was sure that they would continue onwards, able to finally find a home in each other.

Home was certainly where the heart is.

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

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Tags:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @morosemagick @madrielite @axe-does-writing @lauwrite1225

#The Last Kingdom #tlk #finan #finan the agile #eadith #finan x eadith #uhtred #osferth #baby monk #aethelstan

36 notes · View notes

baeshijima · 1 year

Note

To: Sophie

Subject: So, I was thinking of Neuvillette..

The weather where I live atm is like it's raining heavily. The cloudy grey sky, the strong winds... the rain, however, is missing (basically, it looks like it's going to rain). And it instantly made me think of: "hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry."

So, I bring you this:

Imagine being close to Monsieur Neuvillette. It was an unspoken rule that you followed strictly: walk Neuvillette home every evening. A rather odd rule, you sometimes think, but you know very well of how that (very pretty) man would overstay his work hours, drowning in a flood of documents. You had to basically drag him away and tuck him in bed. But you, of course, loved this little task. You remember the one time you met him late at night, and the horror upon finding that the last meal he had, was in fact, breakfast.

The way you dragged him home and prepped up a quick meal always comes as a reminder for Neuvillette to have his meals or he would worry you (and the melusines who see him work so hard throughout the day). Ever since that night, you would pack up some food and skip your way towards Palais Mermonia to share dinner with him in his office. It was routine at this point, Neuvillette would anticipate your arrival as soon as the clock struck eight.

However, he waited, and waited, but the sound of your fingers delicately hitting his door with three knocks, didn't come.

You had stayed back at your place of work to quickly wrap up what little was left of your task for the day, and time flew by. By the time you were walking home, you couldn't help but notice the way the sky darkened up with grey clouds, strong winds beginning to blow. It made you worry. You had always made note of how the skies were dark and the light rain that falls everytime you would find Neuvillette in his office, elegantly brooding at his workload. Everytime... it was like the skies were giving you a sign to go search for the Chief Justice. And so you picked up your pace, you had a little sea otter to feed you couldn't ignore your responsibility!

And so when you knocked on the door to Neuvillette's office, you expected the "come in" that you heard every time. You didn't hear it tonight. You stepped back, gazing over the place to check for any sign of people or melusines, but you didn't need to set up a search party consisting of just you (maybe add in a few Melusines, they dearly love their Chief Justice).

A click got your attention as you saw the doors to Neuvillette's office opened slowly, his eyes met yours and... he looked surprised.

"I brought us dinner!" Again. You always did, so why the surprise?

"I thought you were held up with something."

"Nothing would be more important than dinner with you!"

You swear you saw the clouds disperse through the window in the office. Truly, you must have some extra ordinary powers, being able to predict the mood of the beloved Iudex by the weather.

(This was a little long, wasn't it?) But man I still can't believe it– just a few days till Neuvillette becomes playable!! Too bad I can't pull for him...

Hoping you have a great week ahead!

🍀

clover nonnie. clover nonnie. cLOVER NONNIE.

OUURRGHHH THIS IS DOING SO MANY THINGS TO ME AND MY BRAIN AND OH MY GOSH I WAS SO GIDDY READING THIS AARRGHFKHDSKH

"Nothing would be more important than dinner with you!" MC DO U NOT SEE THE RING NEUVILLETTE HAS IN MIND THE MOMENT U SAID THOSE WORDS???? mans has scenarios running through his mind like theres no tmrw and will now mark dinner as the prime time 🐥

no but clover nonnie i loved this little scenario so much???? its such a cute idea and *clutches heart falls to the floor passes away*

#omg a convo !?#clover nonnie !!#SCREAMS HES SUCH A GUY #I LOVE GUYS #RAWR

4 notes · View notes

untoterxhund · 1 year

Note

[ Terry ] Damn this evening got cold really freaking fast! Shouldn't be too surprising though, this time of the year the weather is always super freaking weird. All nice and sunny all throughout the day and then boom! 5 pm rolls around and suddenly it's damp and cold and she just needs to constantly rub her palms together to keep feeling her fingers. Doesn't help that she naturally has cold extremities to begin with.

Fortunately though, she's not alone out here tonight, Khaz just kinda lingered around after their hanging out for the day and now she's waiting for the bus alongside him. It's just them here and there aren't a whole lotta cars around, but she's about 79% certain there should be another bus going on this route. Sooooo all that's left is to wait for it. While slowly feeling like freezing to death. Maybe it's the cold that got to her brain, but Terry could swear up and down that she could actually feel the warmth radiating from the man besides her.

So, as minutes passed by, she scurried closer and closer, at first just leaning her arm against him, then hunching over against his shoulder and... somehow she ended up curled up against his chest with her knees up to her chin. It was the perfect position to not be seem with how red in the face she'd become.

Don't get her wrong, she knew it was kinda awkward. Especially since she never actually asked him out loud to keep her warm, but the outside cold combined with a healthy dose of 'ok, we're doing this now' and there she is. Might as well ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

"...Hey---" she called out softly. "---You're really, really warm, ya know that? It--- it feels pretty nice." cue her slightly nudging her forehead up against his jawline in appreciation. "...Thanks for that."

@of-elitiism He was certainly used to the cold but that doesn't mean that he liked the cold, as a matter of fact sometimes that cold would make old scars ache and throb. Although the machine on his back kept him unnaturally warm without any negative repercussions, that is until the spine reaches critical-mass, in which case he will overheat and collapse.

Khaz noticed her inching closer and closer until she rested against his torso, face hidden behind her knees, her head resting just below his chin, enough space for her to nudge him with ease. Truth be told, he wasn't expecting this at all, at the very least he was expecting to be seated close, not having her practically curled up against him like a household feline and a space-heater. The albino's pale complexion would also take on a much noticeable blush against his scarred nose and along the tips of his cold-bitten ears. Gloved hands move hesitantly at first, second-guessing his own judgement for a brief moment before his touch finally connects gently with her shoulder while his other hand took a more secure hold of her elbow, stretching a little more of the warmth he'd supply as much as he could. Or at least he thought as much since they were already that far ahead of things. Ideally, he had his own home that he was even willingly to walk to if need be, he thought as much as that's how every encounter had played out so far but honestly? He was quite content with what was happening now, even if it was for a brief period, the coyote did not mind sharing his warmth, he was quite happy too.

She calls out to him rather gently, comfortably soft on his ears, a nice change for once. Terry thanks him for the service, despite it not being planned, purely coincidental, she even goes as far as thanking him. For what exactly? For being unnaturally warm, a result of something he'd rather not have happened to him if given the chance. Although, it has given the biproduct of plenty of positive uses to people who needed the help, feeding into the validation that he very much loves receiving. The addition of her forehead affectionately being pressed against his jawline was something certainly new but definitely also something he could go for again, her forehead was cool, pleasingly different from how he felt. "Don' mention it-- y' never mentioned when th' bus was supposed t' show up, reckon that's on purpose though? Or jus' city municipality bein' garbage as per usual?"

#of-elitiism

2 notes · View notes

winchesterszvonecek · 7 days

Text

I See Red 18+

Chapter 9 - It Hurts to Know That I Can’t Have You

Word Count: 4260

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

Like most demons, Crowley disliked Hell. In fact he downright hated it. Despised it with an absolute passion and if he could he’d never step foot in that horrid place for as long as he lived.

It didn’t matter that he ruled it. That he’d been named the King of it. He still hated the place with every fibre of his being and would do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t have to descend into the pit unless absolutely necessary. And today just happened to be one of those days.

Today Crowley found himself to be rather enjoying his time surrounded by fire and brimstone, you know, if he ignored everything else and focused solely on his reasoning for being there. Which was to feed a particular rumour spreading demon to his hound, who was very much looking forward to sinking her teeth into some more demon tainted meat as she’d developed quite a taste for it. And who better than the demon responsible for jumpstarting the rumour about Crowley saving Selina and sending her human attacker straight to the deepest, darkest pits of Hell?

Not that it was a rumour as it was very true in every sense of the matter but still, Crowley wasn’t about to abide by such behaviour. An example clearly needed to be made of any demon willing to participate in such gossip and where better to start than with the one responsible for it in the first place? Besides who knows, perhaps seeing what happens to those stupid enough to talk behind the King’s back might make other demons less inclined to do so.

“Please, your majesty.” Arman begged, his voice trembling as he was forced down onto his knees upon the filthy, blood soaked ground of Hell’s kennels. “I didn’t…”

“I don’t like rumours, Arman. I never have and I never will.” Crowley said coolly, pacing before the rightfully scared demon. Arman was about to speak once again until Crowley raised his hand, silencing him before any words could pass his lips. “I especially don’t like those that involve myself and any personal business that I may have with ones such as the Winchesters.”

“Last I checked…” Arman spat, his behaviour changing so drastically that it caused Crowley to stop in his tracks, brows furrowed as he finally dropped his eyes to meet the strangely brazen demon. “The Winchesters are supposed to be the enemy. God knows how many of our kind they’ve killed over the years. Selina especially. So you can go ahead and kill me all you want but I can promise you… That whore is gonna get what’s coming to her.”

“Is that so?” Crowley hummed out, playing it casual despite the intense rage he felt bubbling away inside him. He smiled, one that lacked any form of happiness before his lips pressed together and a loud whistle echoed throughout the room, wiping Arman’s smugness clean off his face as it was pretty obvious that his attempts at riling Crowley up enough to result in a quick death had failed. Miserably.

Crowley had learned from his brief interaction with Damien that slow, painful deaths were absolutely the right way to go when it came to Selina and everything to do with her. Therefore he was well and truly able to control his own emotions long enough to see that through with Arman.

The moment Juliet sunk her teeth into his flesh that rage slowly drew to a simmer. Before dying down completely alongside Arman’s screams as the hound picked him clean and left nothing but bones where he once stood.

“Good girl.” Crowley said happily, patting Juliet gently atop her rather head before she skulked away into the darkness of the kennels.

The soft clacks of Juliet’s claws had barely begun to fade away when Crowley’s phone rang. One of the perks of being King was that he never once lost service, no matter how deep beneath the Earth he was and for once he found himself to be incredibly grateful for that when he saw exactly who was calling him.

“Selina.” Crowley exhaled as he picked up, after having returned Earthside as the last thing he wanted was for Selina to hear the souls of the damned wailing around him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Alright, look just… Just let us go and we’ll forget any of this ever happened, huh? How does that sound?”

“Dean?” Crowley’s brow furrowed a touch at the sound of the eldest Winchester. He dropped the phone from his ear, double checking that he hadn’t just imagined Selina’s name on his screen.

But he hadn’t.

Selina had called him and therefore it only raised a few questions. And concerns.

Raising the phone back to his ear, Crowley was just in time to hear his new favourite voice mutter sarcastically, “Great negotiating skills, Dean. Really, top marks.”

“I don’t see you doing anything to help ease the situation.” Dean fired back, only adding to Crowley’s confusion greatly and part of him suspected that he’d been accidentally butt dialled.

“Shut up!” An unfamiliar voice yelled angrily, making Crowley’s stomach churn in an almost human way as the situation was becoming ever so clear the more time went on.

“Everyone just relax…”

“Easy for you to say, Dean. You’re not the one with a knife to your throat.”

Crowley had never moved so quickly in the span of his very long life as the world around him shifted. Selina’s words were like a punch to the gut as he couldn’t fathom the idea of anything happening to her. Again. Especially if it involved her dying as in that case, he’d never see her again and would resort to ripping Heaven apart in order to find her.

Now, he may not have the power to actually do that but so help him God he would try.

Appearing in what looked to be an old warehouse, Crowley remained hidden by the cover of darkness as the scene before him began to unfold in real time. Sam and Dean were unarmed, as was a third, unfamiliar man, their hands behind their heads as they openly surrendered. And no doubt due to the fact that some idiot cop had Selina pressed up against him with a knife to her throat.

A second assailant, who was clad in an odd looking black tunic, was holding a gun to yet another unfamiliar man's head. But Crowley didn’t care about him whatsoever, sorry Harry, not when Selina’s life was at stake.

“If anyone says another word I’ll slit her throat, I swear to God!” The cop yelled, adding a touch more pressure to the blade that sliced ever so slightly into Selina’s skin, making her wince softly as she felt the warmth of blood trickle down her throat.

“Do that and you’ll be dead before she hits the ground.” Crowley said nonchalantly, despite his worry. He stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself just as the hostage takers spun swiftly on their heels.

“Who are you? How did you find us?” The cop asked, tightening his hold on Selina in such a way that made Crowley all but seethe with anger. He kept his cool though, stalking towards them with such casualness that Selina couldn’t help but smile as trust him to put on a show.

“Me? I’m the King of Hell.” Crowley said plainly, flashing them a grin when all they did was furrow their brows at him. He blinked once, clouding his eyes with his essence and finding amusement when those unfamiliar with demons let out frightened whimpers. “Now, I’ll give you five seconds to let her go. Five…”

Crowley was cut off before he’d even made it to four. The cop thrust Selina towards him, practically throwing her into his arms where he caught her with both ease and relief. He had a hard time even letting her out of them, much preferring to keep her within their safety but he was fully aware that this wasn't the time nor the place for his protectiveness to rear its head. Not when Sam and Dean were in direct line of sight of the King and their sister.

“Same goes for him.” Crowley motioned towards Harry, sensing Selina's concerns for the young man and within the blink of an eye the Ghostfacer had joined them, seeking protection behind Selina as he wasn’t sure who he was more afraid off. The hostage takers or the strange man with the piercing red eyes.

Glancing to his side, needing more reassurance that Selina was truly alive and well, Crowley was met with her grateful eyes and a soft smile, one that was barely noticeable but enough for him to make out. He happily returned it, briefly, as a split second later his eyes dropped to the cut on her neck, bright red and still dripping blood down the length of her pale skin. His jaw tensed, anger once again beginning to boil inside him and with a quick twist of his hand the hostage takers fell to the ground.

Dead. He’d snapped their necks and as far as regret goes, he felt none.

“Crowley, what the Hell are you doing here?” Sam asked, eyebrows knitted together tightly over his confusion riddled eyes as he, along with everyone else, ignored the fear filled rambles of both bewildered Ghostfacers.

They’d give the boys the riviting talk that is all things demon later but for now they were much more concerned with exactly how, and why, Crowley was even here.

“I called him.” Selina confessed, pulling her phone from her pocket to reveal the call that Crowley had forgotten to hang up on in his haste to show up and save the day. She ended the call, locking her phone with a quiet click as both of her brothers just tilted their heads in question, making her sigh softly to herself before adding, “I figured he was the best chance I had of not getting my throat slit, okay? So sue me.”

“I had things under control.” Dean replied, but not without hesitance. And a frown from his sister in response as they both knew he did not have anything under control and truth be told, that cop was about five seconds away from killing Selina therefore Crowley had been her best chance.

But Dean wasn’t about to openly admit that. He still had some dignity left that he’d like to keep and he wasn’t about to let Crowley take that from him.

Satisfied, yet minutely irritated, Sam and Dean collected their discarded weapons before ushering the still unnerved Ed and Harry out of the warehouse, leaving Selina with Crowley as she figured thanking him in private would be less embarrassing for all of them. She waited until the outer door swung shut, the clanging of it settling fully into silence before she finally mustered up the courage to turn and face the demon.

“You seem to be making a habit of coming to my rescue.” Selina said playfully, folding her arms over her rapidly beating chest as she did everything she could not to look him directly in the eye.

Especially now that she was alone with him. Again. She could already feel that familiar tension forming in the air. Thicker than before. Suffocating to a point where her lungs felt tight. And boy was it desperate… So, so desperate to finally be broken that if they weren’t careful, it might end up just that.

“I’ll always come when you call, darling.” Crowley replied softly, stepping forwards a little as he brought his hand up to cup her face, using the hold to gently raise it so she would look him in the eyes.

He could feel her own hand begin to graze slowly up his arm, carrying a chill he hadn’t felt in centuries up with it. Her touch contuined on across the warmth of his chest, where she immediately gripped one of the lapels of his jacket with such force he jerked forward a little.

“I’m starting to see that.” Selina whispered, her eyes falling from his as she smiled sweetly, and in such a way that it had Crowley lean that much closer to her.

As the distance between them grew shorter, Selina’s stomach fluttered so furiously that it made her a little scared that a swarm of butterflies were about to come flying out of her mouth like some horror flick. She took a breath, gathering all the strength she needed to look back up at him, meeting his eyes that were so utterly soft she might have melted to the floor.

Even despite that she couldn’t stop her gaze from continuously dropping to his lips, where she could see the tip of his tongue poking through a little. She couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like. What he’d feel like, and that was partially the reason why she leaned in to the point where there was barely two inches of air left between them.

“And there’s something else I’d like to see too.” Selina whispered, her breath puffing out over Crowley’s skin with such heat that for the first time in… forever, his eyelids actually fluttered. “Or rather, something I’d like to try.”

“Then try it.” Crowley urged, in a tone so quiet he wasn't sure whether or not she had heard him.

But it didn’t matter if she had. Not when the way his lips brushed over hers was all that was needed to add more than enough fuel to the raging fire that was swiftly igniting between them. In one fluid motion Selina tugged on his jacket with enough force that his lips planted firmly against hers, allowing them both to feel exactly what they’d craved since that day outside Jody’s.

Crowley’s hand slid around the back of Selina’s neck, moving up just enough to cradle the back of her head and deepen the kiss neither of them ever wanted to end. It didn’t matter that they shouldn’t be doing this. That it was wrong on so many different levels, yet at the same time felt soright.

They simply didn’t care about anything else but the sensation of one another. The world around them stopped turning, becoming nothing but a noiseless blur as they got lost in the overwhelming passion of a kiss that was, quite frankly, overdue. But no matter how lost Selina seemed to get in the moment, or how badly the roughness of Crowley’s stubble against her skin made her never want to part from him, she couldn’t seem to stop the alarm bells in the back of her mind from going off. Loudly.

Reluctantly Selina pulled back, panting softly for air as she hadn’t realised how little was left in her lungs and she was surprised she hadn’t passed out. It took her a few seconds longer than normal to open her eyes and when she did her heart screamed for different words to leave her mouth. But unfortunately for both parties, it didn’t quite scream loud enough to overthrow her conscience.

“I’m sorry.” Selina whispered, her heart sinking as her head fell forwards, where she was unable to see the drop of Crowley’s lips when he realised exactly what she was sorry for. “I wish things were different.”

“They can be.” Crowley said softly, gently hooking his finger underneath her chin and tilting it back up. Her eyes were glistening in the dim light of the warehouse. Full of regret and if he looked deep enough he was fairly certain he could see a hint of love behind that which she was trying her hardest to keep on show.

Nothing.

Selina was trying so hard to show no emotion over what was to come and yet at the same time she was telling him everything he needed to know and more.

“How? How can they be different?” Selina asked, practically choking out the words as this felt more difficult than anything she'd ever faced in her life. And yes, she was including the apocalypse in that. “Last I checked, you’re still a demon. Still the King of Hell. In what sense could this ever be different?”

Crowley remained silent, his eyebrows drawing together as he fell deep into thought, looking for anything in the vast amount of knowledge he’d gained over the years that he could use to answer her question. No matter how hard he searched though, he couldn’t seem to find anything.

“You have no idea how much I want this.” Selina carried on, bringing one hand up to gently cup the side of his face. She ran her thumb over the lining of his beard, feeling her heart break that much more when he leaned into what was probably the first non-harmful human touch he’d had in a while. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this… Ever since that night I’ve only wanted you and I don’t know why. Or how. But I do… I want you , Crowley. And it hurts to know that I can’t have you.”

“What makes you think you can’t?” Crowley asked, genuinely curious as to her answer yet at the same time dreading it.

“You know why.” Selina whispered, ghosting her thumb alongside Crowley’s eye in indication of what lay beyond them. “What you are… What I am. It would never work. Not when I know that what I might feel for you, you could never feel for me.”

“You don’t know that.” Crowley said softly, lightly brushing a few strands of Selina’s purple hair behind her ear before his hand came to settle aside her saddened face.

He wanted to tell her, of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? If he told her the truth, that he was able to feel things, human things. Like sadness, happiness, maybe even love then perhaps this scenario would have a different outcome to that which he feared. But no matter how badly he wanted to confess that, he couldn’t.

Truthfully, part of him was scared that his ability to feel emotions would wear off after a time. That in a few weeks, months, or maybe even a year, he’d resort back to the demon that he once was. The cruel, capricious demon who’d once cut off the finger of a prophet and attempted to have the very woman he had now fallen for killed. And Crowley simply wouldn’t allow himself to do that to Selina.

Better she go on by herself and figure out a way to get over him than have him string her along for a few months only for her to end up having to get over him anyway. Crowley knew that would be a whole lot tougher. If what she was saying was true then she might have grown to love him by then. She might have given him the one thing he truly desired and if that was the case, then it would only make it that much harder for her to let him go and demon or not, he couldn’t break her heart like that.

So he had to let her do this.

“You’re right.” Selina exhaled, her breath trembling a touch and almost making Crowley slip up and blurt out his deep seated feelings for her as he couldn’t stand to see her like this. But better he see her like this now than have to go about seeing her brokenhearted later. “I don’t know that. But I can’t take the chance… So I think it’s best that we just… Go back to how things were before.”

“If that’s what you want then I will oblige.” Crowley said painfully, forcing his lips to twitch upwards a little to hopefully offer Selina even a hint of ease over having to do this. “Only, I hope you don’t mean all the way back as I very much enjoy the occasional text message.”

“Me too.” Selina smiled, and genuinely too even despite the pain blooming in her once cold chest.

She’d never had true feelings for someone before. Never had the opportunity to and in all honesty she was kind of glad for it otherwise she’d have been subjected to a lifetime of feeling like this. Empty and numb, yet at the same time overcome with immense heartache.

“I just think it’s better if we stick to that side of things… Before someone gets hurt.” Like me, Selina added mentally.

“Of course, darling.” Crowley agreed, barely as it was taking everything in him not to fight for her. But like she said, someone could get hurt and given the darkness still lingering inside him he wouldn’t be the one getting the shorter end of that stick and he’d be damned if he burdened Selina with it either.

Best they both go about feeling equally as disappointed over the outcome of this moment than one feeling worse than the other. At least that way Crowley would sleep better at night. Figuratively of course. Unless he had Selina tucked safely by his side then he’d never sleep, but as the saying goes and all that.

“Well I should probably leave.” Selina sighed, forcing herself to step away from Crowley and his intoxicating nature.

Only, she didn’t move more than a few inches back before it started getting difficult. Like seriously, did he have a magnet in his pocket or something because why the Hell was it so hard for her to move away from him? She sucked in a breath, her eyes flicking down to his lips that she was so badly drawn to.

Fuck it, Selina thought to herself. What harm would one more kiss do?

Other than make leaving all the more difficult. But it’s not like she was even thinking about that as before Selina knew it her lips were back on Crowley’s once more. He grabbed hold of her waist, securing her against his body and relishing in the slow drag of her fingers through his hair as she lost any and all control over herself.

“I must say darling, you and I have very different definitions of leaving.”

“Shut up and keep kissing me.” Selina was quick to take his lips in hers again, happily allowing him to take control whilst she did nothing but indulge in her plainly obvious weakness before she truly had to leave.

If this is how she planned to go about things then Crowley wasn’t about to say no. No matter how loud his thoughts were telling him to. His tongue delved deeper into her mouth of its own accord, tasting every single taste present on her own and bringing her to a state of heightened bliss that she never wanted to fall from.

“I’m not known for my self-restraint, Selina.” Crowley said breathlessly between kisses, his beard scratching over Selina’s skin in a way that had her hum softly into his mouth and make him all the more unable to control himself. But he did warn her, which is why she appeared to have no issue with him backing her up against a pillar.

Thankfully the sound of a door opening pulled them apart before things could get too steamy, Dean’s voice echoing throughout the building as he called out, “Cat, let’s go already! What’s the hold up?”

Crowley vanished, along with the bodies of the former hostage takers, leaving Selina to think on her feet as to an explanation for what was keeping her. She couldn’t exactly tell Dean the truth otherwise he’d kill Crowley and lock her in the dungeon, accusing her of being hopped up on demon blood or something equally as idiotic.

In a minor fluster she pulled her phone from her pocket, almost dropping it in her haste to raise it to her ear where she was just in time to babble out some words before Dean came rounding the corner towards her, eyebrows raised as he expected an explanation for her dawdling.

“Just do what Jody tells you and you’ll be fine.” Selina said, motioning for Dean to give her a second as she played this off. And of course Dean just rolled his eyes, allowing her to sign off on her pretend phone call with Claire before turning her attention towards him. “Sorry… Lost track of time.”

“You don’t say.” Dean scoffed, eyes casting over the warehouse to see the bodies gone and to that he couldn’t help but smile a little. Perhaps they’d be calling Crowley more often if it meant no cleaning up. “Hurry it up will you? I’m starving.”

“No surprises there.” Selina mumbled, making her move towards the direction of the door when Dean shoved her a little. She managed to keep her footing, firing a glare over her shoulder at him as she straightened her jacket and smoothed down her hair.

That had been far too close for comfort, she thought to herself. It was bad enough that she’d almost let Crowley absolutely ravish her in a dirty, old warehouse but with her brothers waiting for her outside? That was a danger even in itself and if she wanted to avoid her own stint in the dungeon and Crowley's untimely demise then she’d need to be more careful.

And by that she meant absolutely no more kissing the King of Hell. But you know what they say… Things are a whole lot easier said than done and when it came to Crowley, Selina would quickly find out just how much of a weakness he truly was.

Chapter 10 ->

#supernatural #crowley #crowley x original character #crowley x oc #supernatural fanfic series

1 note · View note

bluewavesofchange · 3 months

Text

The guardians of the Pharaoh

The rise of a new darkness

I don't own Yugioh or it's characters

Chapter 6

The day had come when Atem sacrificed himself to lock away the darkness he had unleashed several years ago. It may have been to protect his people and the world but he didn’t think what it would do to the creature that shared his soul.

Rozu tried to reason with the pharaoh, to convince him that there had to be another way but he wouldn’t listen. He had stopped listening to her the day he nearly lost his beloved little light, believing Rozu to be nothing more than his shadow having gained sentience, not realizing that she was the goddess of darkness itself.

She was fuming with rage, after all she had done for him over the years, having raised him and teaching him the dark magic he used so well. She had been a companion to him when he was alone before the other boy arrived…a deep seed of hatred started to grow within her already black heart which blossomed into full blown fury when she was sealed away within the Millennium Puzzle alongside Atem.

She cursed him as she was dragged into the darkness, being locked away within the object, her prison becoming a tomb for the next 5000 years. She was surrounded by cold and ravenous shadows, each one finding a way to torment her, feeding off her anger and grief to sustain them till the time when they would be released unto the world again. As the years passed by she grew accustomed to the pain of the beasts that ripped her soul apart day after day.

Her screams travel through the darkness, echoing throughout the void of nothingness. Slowly as the centuries went by her screams slowly turned to laugher. But not from joy or happiness, rather the madness that had settled into as her mind was broken. She became manic and unhinged as she started to feast upon the very shadows that had tormented her. The person she once was now corrupted by the poisonous creatures that surrounded her.

But amongst the insanity that now plagued her very being, there was one vein of thought that was constantly flowing…revenge…she vowed to make the brat suffer for imprisoning her. After everything she did for him he just threw her aside like she was nothing and the sealing her away for years of endless suffering. She would inflict her full wrath upon him and make him beg for mercy. She would tear him apart and strip him of his sanity just like the shadows did to her. There wasn’t much she could do for the time being as her powers were weakened but she would wait and bide her time…the day of his reckoning would come.

And sure enough it did.

The day came when the puzzle was finally solved and Atem’s soul was awoken from its 5000 year slumber. In turn the doors to Rozu’s prison started to crack, the darkness of her soul able to seep out and manipulate any shadow game the once great pharaoh played. She dragged the souls of those that had lost into her cell and devoured them, ripping them apart as she feasted on their essences. Slowly she started to regain her strength, her prison starting to crumble, the last straw coming from energy that seeped into the pharaoh’s room from Lillian’s song when she was trying to save her brother’s soul.

Her spirit rushed out of the doors and searched for a way to escape the cursed artefact which came in the form of Shadi who had been foolish enough to open the way out when he entered Yugi’s mind.

She searched for a host, needing to find someone who she could hide within until she could create her own body. To her surprise the person she found was the Siren she had been searching for, the reason she and her sister had returned to this realm for. In a way it angered her as the fish was the reason she was trapped in this world and had to endure years of suffering. She would enact her vengeance on the girl too but in time…for now she would hide herself within the other goddess until the time was right…

The morning of Battle City had come. Yugi had been up late the previous night working on his deck with Yami. The two boys were confident in their cards and believed it to be as strong as it was gonna get. Yugi was still asleep long after the sun had risen, grandpa deciding that the boy deserves to sleep in a little and get some rest before the tournament started.

Lillian had also been awake into the early hours of morning working on her own deck. She had gotten a few new cards and figured out as few strategies to get her divine beasts onto the field, though she was hesitant about one of the cards…the Dark Queen…

She didn’t know what it was about the card but it gave off a strange aura that sent shivers down Lillian’s spine. It was a powerful card and had a one hit kill attack if the monster was summoned correctly. But it still felt too dangerous to use. Lillian spent hours considering if she should use the card for the tournament or not, eventually deciding that it would probably come in handy. She hesitantly added it to her deck before putting it away.

She got up early, dressing in a white button up blouse with ¾ sleeves, a pair of light blue shorts with white leggings underneath and a new pair of dark blue sneakers. She tied her hair back in low hanging ponytail and made sure she had her dragon necklace around her neck. She never got her mother’s necklace back from Yugi, rather letting him keep it since she was able to use it to save him when his soul was nearly destroyed in the duel against Pegasus (or at least that’s what she believed happened.)

She headed downstairs and started making breakfast her and her brother. Their mother had left town for a while, going to visit her parents for a while. Lillian was humming softly as she fried some bacon in a pan, the smell slowly filling the room and filtering throughout the house. This was enough to rouse Yugi from his sleep. He yawned softly as he sat up, rubbing his eyes as Yami watched his little light waking up, his dishevelled hair and sweet face was an adorable site.

The boys greeted each other as Yugi got dressed, putting on one of his new shirts and pants as well as his boots, slipping the cuffs onto his wrists and putting on his thick collar. He had started wearing it when he completed the puzzle and started wearing the heavy object. The leather collar helped to keep the cord (no chain) from digging into his skin too much.

Yami lay on the bed while watching his partner getting ready for the day. He had to admit that with the shorter teen’s kind heart and brave spirit…he was beauty too. His creamy pale skin, his bright amethyst eyes and his sweet innocent face. He was a rare gem in this modern world that Yami had found himself in and he found himself lucky to be able to share his space with the young teen. Despite this he felt a tinge of grief every time he looked at the other, a sorrow that he was missing something but couldn’t remember why or what it was…

Yugi glanced at Yami and tilted his head, noticing the far off look in his eyes as he gazed at the teen, “Everything ok? Something on your mind?” he walked over and sat beside the spirit. The pharaoh shook his head, bringing himself back to reality as he gave the other boy a soft smile, “Just thinking about the days to come…and admiring the view.” He winked at Yugi causing the other to blush.

He wanted to say something but was interrupted by his sister calling him for breakfast. Yami disappeared back into the puzzle as Yugi headed to the kitchen, his eyes nearly popping out of his head when he saw the amount of food she had made. Everything from bacon and eggs to French toast and pancakes.

Lillian was making herself some coffee when she turned to her brother, “Morning Pip-squeak. You sleep well?” she put the milk away in the fridge and grabbed the box of orange juice, setting it down on the table. The boy nodded as he sat down and started dishing up for himself as his sister sit down across from him, “You and Yami ready for today?” she asked as she sipped her coffee, filling her plate with food.

Yugi gave a small nod, “We’re as ready as we can be. And with you and Joey duelling with me we’ll be able to face anything that comes our way.” He smiles as he digs in, enjoying his breakfast. Lillian smiles softly as she watches her brother, hiding the dread she was feeling inside. The shorter teen may have been positive about the whole situation, Lillian didn’t think he realized the dangers they would be facing.

The finished their food before finishing up and gathering their things. They said goodbye to grandpa (who would be going to watch the tournament a bit later) before heading off to the city centre where the event would begin. Lillian and Yugi walked around for a bit, seeing who was there to compete. They ran into Mai, the blond greeting them with a smile. Yugi was glad to see her again, though he wasn’t so happy to see Weevil and Rex. Maiko Tsunami was there to and caught Lillian‘s attention when he mentioned the type of deck he used. It was interesting to know there was someone else that duelled using a sea themed deck.

Mai noticed the custom Duel disk on Lillian’s arm, asking the girl where she got it. The raven head was about to answer when a familiar voice is heard from above, everyone’s eyes turning upwards as a massive blimp with the Kaiba Corp logo printed on one side and a screen on the other playing a live recording of none other than Seto Kaiba. ‘Well he certainly doesn’t do anything small.’ Lillian thought to herself.

She tried to listen to what he was saying as he explained the rules of the tournament but found herself gazing at him, a feeling of longing in her heart. Maybe it was time to go see him again…to have a talk that was long overdue.

With introductions over, Lillian and Yugi walked through the streets. The shorter of the two wondering who he would be facing first while his sister was keeping an eye out for rare hunters. Her plan was to get rid as many of them as possible before they had a chance to go after her brother. But that wasn’t all. She wanted to draw out their leader…Marik…

Thanks to Ishizu she knew the Egyptian’s brother was the holder of the Millennium rod and she was aware of the powers it possessed. The tomb keeper had told her the story of how her brother suffered as a child under their father and how he was driven mad…killing the old man after slicing off the guys back skin and offering it to their adopted brother Odion…

Lillian had been horrified when she first heard the story…in some way she felt sorry for Marik. No kid deserves to go through what he went through. But that didn’t excuse the fact that he was taking his anger out on the world. She knew that he would be after the Millennium Puzzle and the power of the Pharaoh (whatever that was) which meant he was after Yugi. He had already tried to take his puzzle once, she would not let that happen again or she would die trying.

There was someone else she was concerned about and that was Seto. Marik had also been after the Egyptian god cards, he had 2 of 3…Kaiba owning the third. This meant that the hunters would be knocking at his door too. It wasn’t that she doubted his ability as a duellist, however she knew that these mean used underhanded tactics to get what they wanted which included anything from cheating to death traps.

So her plan: draw Marik out and getting rid of him solving all her problems and protecting the people she loved. How she would accomplish that was unclear…but she would find a way.

The siblings soon came across Joey who was trying to challenge the guy who took his Red Eyes. Lillian had to admit how stupid the hunter looked, he wasn’t exactly blending in. His cloak was hanging over the back of his chair, how obvious could he be.

She wanted to challenge him but Yami stepped in before she could do anything, wanting to get back his friends card and teach the hunter a lesson. Lillian stood back and watched the duel unfold, she had to admit the guy’s deck was powerful but it was also a cope out. There was no honour and it was an easy win. And Yami had found it’s weakness, defeating the skinny creep.

What Lillian wasn’t expecting was for the guy to suddenly scream for mercy as a glowing eye formed on his forehead, speaking in an unsettling voice. The words coming from his mouth was not his own, introducing itself as Marik, giving the spirit a name to the person who was behind all this…

After Yami tried to return Joey’s Red Eye’s and the blond refused to take it, the boys came to an agreement that they would face each other when the time comes and Joey would earn his right to hold the card again. Lillian approached Yami once the blond left to go look for an opponent, “I’m gonna head of. Are you two going to be ok?” she asked with concern. The pharaoh nodded with a confident smirk on his face, “Of course, there’s nothing we can’t do when we are together.”

Lillian smiled softly as she rested her hand on his shoulder, “I need you to promise me that you’ll both be safe. We’ll meet back here at sun down alright?”

“We will. And you be safe as well…you’re not in this alone. We’re all in this together.”

Lillian shook her head as she ruffled his hair, “You sound so corny. Good luck.” Yami pouted as he tried to fix his hair while he watched the raven head walk away, Yugi coming out of the puzzle and standing beside the pharaoh was he watches his sister, hoping she knew what she was doing.

A few hours later.

The Kaiba brothers were at Kaiba Corp, standing in a room designed for monitor all the duellists taking part in the tournament. Seto had devised a plan to root out the rare hunters, his security team on standby to apprehend them once they were caught.

He wasn’t surprised when Yugi’s profile was the first to appear on one of the monitors in the room, indicating his duel disk had activated, the person facing him using an Exodia deck. He had to admit it felt good knowing that the kid was facing a deck with the same monster that Seto had lost to. But as usual the shorter teen had won.

The opponent’s name wasn’t on the list of people who were permitted to join the event. When the security team arrived a few minutes later they found the hunter unresponsive, dragging him away…well that’s one down.

After spending a few hours observing the progress of tournament Seto decided it was time for him to find some opponents, feeling the itch to duel. As he was leaving an alarm went off, one of the ladies who had been monitoring the duels, alerting the CEO that an unknown duel disk had been activated and that some form of god card (divine beast) had been played. The brunet walked over to the woman’s station and read the information that was one the screen. This should not be possible, every duel disk that had been created had an ID code and all of them were linked to Kaiba Corp’s mainframe…well all except one…the only one he had given as a gift to someone special to him…

His eye slowly widened as the woman brought up the duel disks code…0,0,255…

He rushed out of the building with Mokuba hot on his tail. They found the alleyway where the duel disk had been activated, only to find one of the rare hunters, curled up on the ground, shaking as he kept repeating to himself ‘It’s not real’ over and over again., his eyes wide as it was glazed over with ear.

The only thought’s going through the brother’s minds was what had happened here…

A few blocks away Lillian was walking down the street, holding her first locator card in her one hand and the Queen of Darkness card in the other…her eyes flashing gold for a second before putting the cards away and searching for the next rare hunter to face.

#yugioh #yugi mutou #yami yugi #seto kaiba #mokuba kaiba #puzzleshipping #fantasy #ocs

1 note · View note