#since people requested more of these to be dug out of the archives

[quatregats]

Also hey look it's the lads! (Hornblower on the left? and Bush on the right? I think? It's them in some order according to the caption)

[the-bar-sinister]

Restructuring (2682 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 1/?

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng, Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII) Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Angst and Feels, During Canon, Missing Scene, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drama & Romance, Flirting, Romance, Trauma, Polyamorous Turks (Compilation of FFVII), POV Rufus Shinra, POV Reno (Compilation of FFVII), POV Rude (Compilation of FFVII)

Summary: In the aftermath of Sector 7's destruction and the death of president Shinra, things are changing. With enemies everywhere, Rufus and his turks have to rely on one another, watch each others backs, and gather their strength with new blood and old allies.

-

It was the best view in Midgar; not his father's office, choked in an excess of gold leaf and obsidian, but the helipad outside it. The office was his now— everything in Midgar was, now that the people of Shinra knew he'd taken the reins. Most of the city had yet to know. In the wake of the disasters, that was intentional.

There was too much confusion down below. The rubble that used to be Plate 7 and it's undercity still marred the skyline, and the ruins of the expressway and surrounding city still smoked in the wake of the tornado that chewed through it like nothing.

One disaster after another. 

Better to let it fall on his bastard of a father than himself, even as he orchestrated the salvage and rescue operations with the help of that walking ball of anxiety—Reeve—and of course, the Turks.

He didn't trust his father's executives, most of them, as far as he could throw them. Not now, anyway. Not when their loyalties to the former president showed in the way they'd still not gotten used to 'President Rufus Shinra' instead of 'Vice-president'. But he had the Turks, led by Tseng, who'd been following him around since the day of the takeover as a combination administrative assistant and stalwart bodyguard out of concern for an opportunistic attack from those foolish splinter cell Avalanche agents, or Wutai's recent delegation of thieves and assassins.

It was all such a headache. Wutai spies, the schism in Avalanche throwing off all his hard work with them behind the scenes, and all these disasters piling up around them— it made him feel in the need for a stiff drink.

He looked down at the city sprawling out below, wind whipping through his hair and called behind him. "Tseng." 

Tseng was at his side in hardly a moment, sharp, narrow features composed as usual, hands clasped behind his back, ready for whatever the president might need. If Midgar was a shifting sandpit, then Tseng was a steady rock.

"Sir."

A steady rock was needed—more than anything. Rufus pet Darkstar's ears, feeling the occasional light tap of his tentacle-like tail against his side. He wouldn't—couldn't— show it to the world, but without the steady presence of Tseng, Rufus would have struggled.

A new era never came easy; much less when you had to dig your way out of the pit your father dug with his fanaticism and hubris. He needed Tseng, as he knew Tseng needed him.

"I'd like an update on the Turks' situation." 

"The dispersed operatives have remained in contact. Individual reports available at your request. Core operatives are, as always, at your disposal… however…"

Rufus was keen enough, and knew Tseng well enough, to register the slight downturn of his lips where others would have missed the change in expression.

"Reno's injuries?" Rufus placed his fingers on his chin, looking over his shoulder at Tseng with a quiet huff of breath "I'd been concerned they were far worse than he'd let on." 

"They are." Tseng's jaw tensed subtly. "He's been trying to hide it. You know what he's like at the best of times."

The subtext was clear. These were not the best of times. Reno would be even more stubborn and cavalier than usual.

Rufus brushed his hand through his hair. "Then you and I both know how to deal with the situation. It's with a firm hand, and an unyielding spirit—"

By which he absolutely meant 'insist that Reno take vacation leave, and do not back down under any circumstances'. He was the president of Shinra—Reno could complain all he liked, but he'd be taking that break as ordered.

Rest did a body good, he'd heard.

Even if it wasn't advice he himself liked to take. 

"He's going to argue," Tseng sighed. "No, he has already been arguing. He doesn't want to leave you short handed during this… mess."

"Especially on the eve that I'm about to send you all away on a critical mission to tackle those—robed problems."

Darkstar huffed, and Rufus pet under his chin before giving Tseng a thin smile. "Simple then—it's a new era isn't it? Tell him we won't be short staffed. We have a promising young candidate for the Turks in line. We have her join your team and she can go in his stead on this particular mission." 

Tseng's mouth quirked again– this time in the opposite direction. Almost a smile.

"I think I know just the candidate you mean, sir. A new era, and an opportunity to expand the operations again after that… unfortunate incident. On that note, our candidate's sister isn't going to be pleased if she hears about this recruitment second hand."

The incident. That was one way to describe it. Only a few months ago the Turks had been a unit with almost two dozen operatives. Now it was down to three, and they'd barely been spared execution. The others were all in hiding, thought dead by the company at large.

It was clear what Tseng was suggesting. Now was an opportunity to recall them, if Rufus wanted.

"Oh I imagine she would be livid." Rufus' laugh was short, clipped and refined as it ever was—when he was composing himself outside the thrill of combat.

He tilted his head over his shoulder. "I think she—and her friends—deserve to hear about the restructuring of our beloved Shinra. We can let her know of her sister's orientation at the same time. That seems like a tidy way to kill two birds with a single stone."

His father was the one who'd whittled the Turks down into a shadow of their former selves. His father was the one with the order for their execution—but he wasn't his father, and he could use good men by his side again instead of the riff-raff his father kept close.

Like the detestable Hojo, or his corporate toadies.

"Consider it done then. I'll start opening channels, along with sending Elena the formal invitation to active duty. Rude can break the news to Reno."

Tseng stepped closer to Rufus, looking out on the view below, too. It was clear he was pleased.

"Good. It's only fitting for our new era to be guided by a strong hand—one I trust. And I trust the Turks more than Heidegger and his men."

Rufus reached out, his hand finding the small of Tseng's back as a smile crept over his lips. "So you'd best make sure they're up to muster, Tseng. I'm trusting you." 

Tseng leaned into him, his own gloved hand returning the gesture, resting on Rufus' shoulder. "As always, I'll strive to be worthy of that trust, sir. We all will."

-

Sector 8 was one of the hearts of the city—art, music, shops for the rich and fabulous of Midgar, and as much of Midgar's culture as you could take. But it was also home to one of the best noodle shops topside.

There was a better one—nestled deep in Wall Market, but with the tornado the trains had been all but shut down again. But topside—the Dancing Cactuar Noodle Bar was just the dive for you, nestled just out of sight of larger, more illustrious restaurants.

Down a cramped alleyway, past the peeling Loveless posters and forgotten Wutai War propaganda that had never been taken down—that was where a true gourmand could find the best ramen in Midgar.

Rude sat on the stool, sunglasses fogged with the steam from his bowl as he tilted a glass of beer back and forth in his fingers.

He'd taken Reno here to break a bit of news his partner wouldn't like—the least he could do was treat him to dinner.

Of course, Reno was already suspicious

-

Reno knew something was up when his partner offered to treat him to noodles. On a normal day it probably wouldn't have been anything to worry about; maybe Rude had a woman he wanted to complain about, or to loop him in on some rumor going around the Shinra offices.

But it wasn't a normal day. It had been a string of very not normal days.

And Reno could tell when his partner was going to tell him something he didn't like. He felt like he had a good idea what it might be about but considering all the chaos lately he wasn't about to make any firm guesses.

Well, at least he was treating him to dinner first.

He played it casual. He'd let Rude get to it when he got to it.

"Man, when's the last time we were here, huh?" Reno leaned on his elbow as he sipped his broth. "Been a hell of a few months."

"Few months, yeah. Back before any of the reactors went up in smoke. Think I was still dating Astrid. The actress who was in that musical down the street."

It hadn't gone well. 

"Woof, sorry I asked." He laughed and knocked his knee against Rude's companionably. He only regretted it slightly– that leg was the less injured one. "Hey at least that's in the past, right?"

"At least," Rude chuckled under his breath before nursing a sip of his beer. "all in the past—but the noodles taste the same."

He glanced sidelong at Reno. "How you holding up?" 

"Me?" He flashed Rude one of his charming, toothy smiles, but he didn't expect the expression to ward him off like it would anyone else. "I'm doing great, man. Never better. You know. except for the everything."

"Except for the everything," Rude agreed with a wry smile. "Things just keep getting worse."

From the plate drop, to the attack on Shinra HQ, to the tornado that seemed to move like a thing possessed, 'worse' was an understatement. 

Reno nodded, thinking it over as he shoveled an entire half an egg into his mouth. Things were escalating. Rufus being in charge now was great, but it sure wasn't going to make things less tumultuous. And who knew what was on the horizon? A fucking tornado wasn't something anyone could predict.

"Keeping us on our toes, huh, partner?"

Rude nodded as he slurped down some noodles. "...sure are." his leg—very lightly—tapped against Reno's knee. "Even our new President is. We're getting some fresh blood." 

That wasn't what Reno had expected to hear. He sat up straighter, resting his leg against Rude's as he looked at him curiously, studying his expression.

"Fresh blood? For real?"

Rude's expressions were often hard to read—for anyone that wasn't Reno. He glanced sidelong at him, the light catching his glasses as a rather amused uptick of his lips formed. 

"Yeah. Seems Rufus wants to help us get back to fighting shape." 

Reno pumped his fist. "Oh hell yeah! It's been a shit show since we got decimated like that!" For a moment, he lived in a beautiful world. Then a suspicion popped into his head. "Wait, this isn't because I got a little roughed up, is it?"

"I think mostly it's because the old President died," Rude said bluntly, pushing his glasses up "---you getting roughed up means she's being partnered with me for the next op while you take a brief vacation. Rufus is taking the chance to re-bolster the ranks." 

"She?" Reno leaned in closer. "Wait, you don't mean–"

Sure, they'd all been speculating when they were going to bring the rookie in, but now? She was barely out of the academy.

Rude placed his arm around Reno's shoulders. 

"Yeah. Emma's little sis. Elena. This next mission's going to be simple recon, Reno." His fingers lightly squeezed his shoulder "barely a training exercise. Rufus wants her in the field asap." 

"Yeah? and if she's going with you on this 'training exercise', what about me?" Reno was pouting. He knew he was pouting. Sulking even, under Rude's arm as he moved closer to him. 

He knew he was injured. He knew everyone wanted him to take some time off to recover. In an ideal world he'd love to do that, but he couldn't just dip out and leave everyone. Not right now, not with everything going on. What if something happened to them?

Rude let him rest against his shoulder, lifting his beer to his lips with a shake of his head. "President Rufus Shinra is ordering you to take a vacation to heal up, partner."

Reno let his head fall on Rude's shoulder, slumping down. Tseng, he could argue with. Tseng he could ignore.

"Aw man, orders from the Prez? For real?" He wasn't going to be able to say no to Rufus. He was really bad at saying no to Rufus and that was before he was president.

Rude's gloved fingers tugged at his ponytail gently as he let him collapse on him with a quiet sigh. "Yep. Pretty sure it's because he knows you're more banged up than you look." 

"You told Tseng." Reno huffed a breath. He knew Rude probably didn't have to tell Tseng, the man had eyes of his own, and Reno was a lot more banged up than he'd tried to pretend. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. "And Tseng told the boss."

"Didn't say a word, Reno." Rude tilted his glass towards him. "But Tseng's got eyes like a hawk. And he's worried that if we send you out there and we run into one more problem, you're gone." 

"But what if you guys run into problems and I'm not there to cover you?" It was a weak protest, but it was his real worry. If one of them got hurt— killed— while he was putting his feet up, he'd never forgive himself. His conscience was already in knots from the plate. His hands were shaking just thinking about losing someone he actually cared about.

The sight of Rude's sunglasses on the smashed concrete flashed through his mind again.

Rude's arm lifted, and his hand suddenly shadowed Reno's to squeeze it firmly as it shook.

"We'll handle it. Worse comes to worse, we retreat." He smiled thinly "---have to teach the new kid that tactic too, after all. Right?" 

"Yeah, I guess," he sighed. He poked his finger into Rude's chest. "You better, though! If you guys are gonna force me to take care of myself, you better be fucking careful too!"

"You want my word?" Rude's lips quirked under his sunglasses. He looked down at the finger jabbing his chest for a moment, the chatter in the quiet noodle shop filling the air around them. "Promise. Without me you'd cause way too much trouble."

"Alright." Reno sighed, and relented. Rude's word was as good as iron clad. "Then I'll get some rest while you have some fun with the new girl. Lucky bastard. You better buy me a drink after these noodles to make up for it."

He rested his whole hand on Rude's chest for just a moment, and then let it drop, their legs still touching.

Rude nodded. 

"Best drink our new salary can afford," he said with a low chuckle, before his voice dropped. "I'll make it up to you later, too."

He paused and let his voice raise a little more "I'll tell you all about it. Heard she's a charmer."

"Must have changed since she was bussing tables then," Reno teased. 

His mood was already improving, with Rude's latest little promise sending a shiver up his bruised spine. It'd be fine. It was all going to work out fine.

"I hear that kind of service work tends to bring out the angriest in folks," Rude smiled thinly. "Can't blame her for finding us annoying. On her paycheck, anyone would be." 

"What, a couple charmers like us? Guess she's gonna find out if we're more annoying as customers or co-workers." Reno laughed. "I'm gonna grill you on how it goes with her. I want every detail."

"Every last detail, Reno," he pushed up his glasses. "Right down to the type of gun she whips out." 

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 55: Assorted statements of the Magnus Institute archival staff and sundry associated, prior to their departure for Great Yarmouth.

[CLICK]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Regarding the upcoming…operation. Fourth April, 2017. Recorded direct from subject. Statement begins.

I-I wanted to get some thoughts down before…well, everything. We all should, actually. I’ll—I suppose I’ll mention it to them.

(sigh) God, I hate that I can’t just record my thoughts these days. I have to make it a statement anymore.

It looks like we’re all set. We hammered out the last of our plans last night, went over it to make sure we have everything timed as precisely as we can. Myself, Daisy, Basira, Tim…we’re all going to be heading off to this House of Wax. Sneak in as best we can. Daisy will set the charges while the rest of us run interference, then we’ll set them off once the ritual begins. All the research, both ours and Gertrude’s, shows that this is our only chance. Anything we do before the ritual can be easily repaired. But once it’s underway, if we stop it, it will be centuries before the Stranger can try again.

Of course, we know damn well it won’t succeed. If we let it play out, it will collapse on its own. The trouble is, we don’t know what that collapse will look like. Would that be anything more than a simple delay, as far as they’re concerned? Would the Stranger simply try again, in a year, two years, five years? Even if we destroy Nikola Orsinov—“the Dancer,” Gertrude called her—surely she can be rebuilt easily enough. And all the other players…no. It’s too great a risk to simply let it fold in on itself. The Stranger has been collecting skins for ten years. We owe it to them to put what’s left of them to rest.

Daisy’s made it clear that she thinks her best chance is to go in alone, and honestly, I struggle to disagree. But I have to go. Not because Elias is making me, or because I feel compelled to, but…(sigh) Tim. I can justify this operation all I like, but the truth of the matter is that we’re largely doing it for Tim. This…this ritual is the reason his brother died. The Circus, the Stranger, it stole his brother’s skin.

God. I’m the only one of us without…without a dog in this fight, I suppose? No, that’s not the right way of phrasing it. But Danny is undoubtedly going to be part of the Dance, however much we want to believe otherwise. And Gertrude…of course Orsinov is going to, how did she put it with me, “wear her to dance the world new.” Tim’s brother, Martin’s grandmother…

I’m, I’m almost tempted to look up my grandmother’s grave, or my father’s, and find out if they’ve been disturbed. I have to assume it’s been too many years, but I have no idea how long they’ve been collecting these skins, so what if—no. No, that’s not—it wouldn’t work like that. They only dug up Gertrude because they wanted her power. Everyone else, it appears, they took…alive. I don’t know enough about taxidermy to know how long a thing can be dead before its skin can’t be preserved, and frankly I don’t want to.

It’s enough to know what I know. Enough to be doing what I’m doing.

It has to be.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

SASHA

Statement of Sasha James, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding what I did not study Classics well enough to understand why it has been termed Operation Janus. Recorded by subject, fourth April, 2017.

I know why I’m staying back. I get it. It wasn’t the original plan, but I get why Jon gave in to it. He’s right, the more people go, the more dangerous it gets. It doesn’t take eight people to push a button. And with my uncle being back, I don’t—I owe it to him to stick around. Staying back here is going to be safer. Probably.

Still…I have to admit I’m a little jealous that I don’t get to go.

I’m curious. That’s the problem. Curious and excited in ways I shouldn’t be. The description of the last attempt at the Unknowing fascinates me, and I want to see the ways this one will be different. I want to see if I can stand in the face of the Stranger and come out on top. And…well, the Stranger is our antithesis, after all. We know and it conceals. It’s one of the few secrets I can’t just pluck from the air, and that excites me and infuriates me in equal measures.

I want to know.

(short laugh) God, that’s probably the other reason everyone got immediately on board with the whole “stay behind, Sasha” thing. They know I’m the most likely to be a…rogue element. They know that as much as I want this to work and want everyone to come home safe, I’d be the most likely to go poking around in places I shouldn’t, sneaking around trying to ferret out secrets, tape recorder in hand and eyes wide open. The chances of me doing something—incredibly stupid and getting caught in the middle of the Unknowing is high.

I would, too. I’d be the one that would screw everything up for everyone. Not on purpose. I know how much this means to Tim…and because it means a lot to Tim, it means a lot to Jon and Martin, too. We’ve put a lot of work into this and I don’t want to blow it.

But I—I know myself. If I were to go, there’d be that niggling little voice in the back of my head telling me that it doesn’t matter, that what we do won’t change the course of the world. That this ritual is doomed to fail anyway, so who cares if they can’t blow it up because I’m up there trying to watch it?

The trouble is that I wouldn’t tell them I was going. I’d just…slip off. Find a good vantage point to watch it all from. They’d never know I was up there and Tim would press that button and…

Anyway, I’m needed here. They’re right about that. This part of the plan needs all the people it can get. The more, the merrier, all that. And there are enough parts of it that I don’t know about—or don’t know the purpose of—that it’s built up my curiosity. It’s going to be pretty interesting, and I’ll get to be there to see it. I hope. And it’s not like I can’t get all the details out of the others easily enough afterwards.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

BASIRA

Statement of Basira Hussain, fourth April, 2017, at the request of Jonathan Sims.

I don’t have any idea why I’m doing this. I mean, I’m not talking about the actual…mission. I’m not talking about what we’ll be doing come Thursday. I know why I’m doing that. I don’t know why I’m doing this, except that Jon asked me to. Asked us all to, really. And Sasha passed me off the recorder, so…here I am.

I don’t want to be part of this. I never did. I never made a secret of the fact that I wanted nothing more to do with all this…paranormal and supernatural stuff. When I was done with the police, I was done with Section Thirty-One and all that entailed. And then I let myself get dragged back into it like I’d never left. I know what we’re likely to be up against and I’m doing it anyway.

Maybe that’s part of the reason why. I can’t let them go into this alone.

Let’s be honest. I’m not helping out because I want to save the world. Not even because I think this thing is all that dangerous. I’ve helped out up to this point because of Sasha. I’m going because of Daisy.

I’ll admit, I’m…torn. I want to be there for Daisy. She was always there for me. She’s…dependable. Solid. You know where you stand when you’re with her. I know the others don’t trust her all the way, but really, she’s always been a good partner to me. Maybe her methods weren’t always the greatest, but she knew what she was doing and why she was doing it. It’s easier to see the way straight with her. You go in, you blow things to hell, you get out. You stop the monsters. You fix the problems. Simple.

At the same time, I—I feel like I ought to be here. To help Sasha. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, that it would be a lot more suspicious if I stayed than if I go, since I don’t work at the Institute. There’s no reason for me to be hanging around here. I know she’ll have Melanie and…I know she’ll be okay. Logically, I know that. But still…

I don’t trust Elias. I mean, shocker, nobody trusts Elias. Just thought it might be useful for someone to know that it’s not just people who work here who don’t trust him. I’ve met him all of twice and I felt like I had to go take an immediate shower every time. But I feel like Sasha’s—the part of the plan Sasha is helping with has a lot more potential to go wrong. It relies too much on Elias Bouchard acting the way they’re predicting, and I don’t know about that. I think there’s going to be trouble.

Then again, I don’t know that it’s the kind of trouble I can help with, or if I need to be there to make sure Daisy doesn’t get in a sticky spot.

(deep breath) God, just make a decision, Basira.

I think I have to go. I think…they’re not going to have the kind of help Daisy might need if I don’t go. Sasha will—she’ll be okay. She’s got backup here. It’s going to be fine.

It’s fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

MELANIE

Melanie King, fifth of April, 2017, 8:21am.

All right, Jon, let’s make this clear: I’m still not doing this for you. I’m doing it because Martin asked me to.

Everyone’s leaving tomorrow. Everyone except those of us who are sticking around to deal with Elias. Um, I’m not sure what time everyone’s leaving. They’re going to let us know before they do and we’re all going to meet up at the Institute if we’re not already here, but I think there’s a lot of “if we don’t say when we’re leaving exactly, it’s harder for people to track us down” going on. Even though apparently Rosie booked them into a B&B, so it’s not like they can’t be traced.

I mean. I know what they’re doing is mostly superfluous. They’re not—it’s not going to make a difference if the Unknowing gets pushed back, ‘cause it won’t work. They can blow what���s left up after and it’ll still be fine. But I’m kind of worried that they’ll get caught ahead of time and…I don’t know how this stupid Dance is actually supposed to work.

My dad gave me this book of Hans Christian Andersen’s stories when I was a kid. Fake leather binding, gorgeous artwork. It had a picture of Kay asleep in the Snow Queen’s sleigh on the front and full-color plates in it. My favorite story was “The Red Shoes”. I don’t know why I liked that one so much, but I used to ask my dad to read it to me, over and over, and he always did the same voices and everything. Every time someone mentions the Dancer, or the Dance, I hear his voice, pretending to be the angel in the churchyard.

“Dance you shall,” said he, “dance in your red shoes till you are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and fear you! Dance you shall, dance—!”

It didn’t end happily, that story. Or it did, depending on how you look at it. She repented and got forgiven in the end, but then died immediately. Dad always said Andersen had to end it that way because he knew if she didn’t die right away, she’d fall right back into her old ways. I don’t know if that’s the parallel I’m thinking of with this…creepy puppet person or if I’m just thinking about it because of the dancing bit.

I think it helps that I got all that stuff about India off my chest already. I didn’t—there are universes where I didn’t talk about it and I was just so angry all the time. I’m always angry, let’s be honest. That hasn’t changed. But I didn’t let it…fester. There’s some things festering, sure, but not all of it, and I’m really glad of that, I think.

I can do this. We can do this. And (heh) I like this plan a lot. Don’t know much about it, but I know how it’s going to end, and I am completely on board with that.

Oh, and Martin—if you’re listening to this…you’ve got a deal. After everything is over, I’ll get Jon Prime to get that bullet out. I promise.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

TIM

Jon, Martin, if you’re listening to this before we leave…don’t. Please just don’t. You can listen to this later. After. Not now. I can’t say this if I know you’re going to listen to it before. And whatever else you are, whatever put these recorders here, I—if you tell them, I will find some way of making your existence miserable for all time. Don’t test me. I’ll manage it somehow.

I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to…you know what, no. It works when the others do it, so…what the hell.

Statement of Timothy Stoker, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, involving conclusions and endings. Given directly, fifth August, 2017. Statement begins.

I know I’m not coming back from this. I realized that a couple weeks ago. It’s been…not as hard as it should be, actually, to sit with them and smile and joke and be…me. I should feel worse about it. I should regret it more, mourn more for what I’m not getting, you know? There should have been more hesitancy. More melancholy.

It should’ve been harder for me to hide it from them.

But…it’s not. It’s like Jon’s dad said in his statement. Regretting the life you won’t get just means you waste the life you do. So even knowing I won’t live past…tomorrow, I’ve been making memories. For them if not for me. Charlie especially, he doesn’t need to…he’s lost enough in his life. Better for him not to dwell on it. But for all of them, I don’t want their memories of these last few days to be…tainted with knowing I’m going to die. Or with knowing that I knew I was going to die.

I—I need to do this. It’s not like it used to be. It used to be all revenge. Even a year ago, I would have gone full red rum on this museum and started hacking up waxworks to punish them for what they, it, did to Danny. It’s not the same now. I don’t have that burning hatred, that thirst for revenge…plus, you know, it might be kind of hard to swing an axe with one hand in a cast, so that’s out. Don’t get me wrong, I want to pay them back for skinning my brother. I want to pay them back for threatening Martin and torturing Jon. For what they did in that—that other universe to Sasha, to Jon Prime, and, well, maybe a little to me. I do want revenge for all of that.

It’s just that now it’s—I can get revenge just by watching it collapse. Don’t have to blow it all up for that. The best revenge might be seeing the look on Nikola Orsinov’s plastic face when she discovers that she hasn’t danced the world new after all. That it’s still the same old world and she hasn’t won a damn thing. Might be worth it for that.

But it won’t be. I have to—if we just let it collapse, they might still be able to try again. Who knows who else might be hurt, might be killed, because the Stranger has so much power just…swirling around? Whereas if we blow it up, we can disrupt all of that. We can keep anyone else from finding their brother’s skin pulled off like a tablecloth, or from being chased by a monster pretending to wear someone else’s skin, or from spending two weeks tied to a chair and being basted like a turkey. I can’t let the Stranger go near them again. I can’t let them be hurt.

So. Plastic explosives it is.

And I’m not—I know it’s not as easy as we want it to be. I talked to Daisy. I know what the range on that detonator is. Even if I know when the ritual starts, I won’t be able to clear the building completely before pushing the trigger or I’ll be too far away from the charges and they won’t blow. The only way to be sure they all go off is to still be underneath the building, right in the middle of everything. I might be able to run for it and get out in time, but it’d be touch and go. Daisy’s opinion is that I’ll have a better chance of survival if I stay put and hope the building collapses in such a way that I survive, but I don’t need freaky Eye powers to know she doesn’t think my chances are good either way.

Even before knowing that, though, I didn’t think I was going to live through this. And I’m—(small laugh) I’m not okay with that. I’m not! But I’ve come to terms with it, I guess. I don’t want to die, but if I have to…you know. As long as Jon and Martin are safe, it’s worth it.

(deep breath) That…that actually did help. Got it all out without stumbling over myself. So…thanks for that, I guess.

Oh, uh…Jon, Martin, there’s a file in the bottom drawer in the living room. It’s all my insurance paperwork. I, uh, I had my policy updated a couple weeks ago. It’s not much, but…it should at least help with the house payments. You know.

I know it’s not—if it’s not enough, it should at least be something.

And…I’m sorry.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

PAST MARTIN

(small sigh) Statement of Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding his final thoughts. Recorded direct from subject, fifth of August, 2017.

It’s almost the end of the day. We’ve already closed down everything, buttoned everything up. We’re just waiting for—Elias—to come down and confirm the arrangements like he threatened, and then we’ll leave. I think. I don’t think we’re planning to stay here overnight. Actually, I know we aren’t, because Jon just shoved the recorder and the tape everyone’s been putting their final thoughts on into my hands and pointed me at the War Room and asked me to please just get mine on here already.

I’m scared. I don’t think that’s a big secret. This might be it. This might be…when it’s all said and done, this tape might actually be everyone’s last words. Well, not everyone’s, but…well, maybe. We all pretend to think the people who are staying behind are going to be safer than the ones who go, but that’s not necessarily accurate. I mean, the first face of the plan is the one about Great Yarmouth and the House of Wax and blowing up the Stranger, which, you know, explosives and the Stranger. We know that’s going to be dangerous. But the other face is the one that’s going to be…

It’s going to be just as dangerous, I think. Maybe more. Because it’s about taking down Elias Bouchard.

It’s about taking down Jonah Magnus.

We don’t know all the details. Jon Prime has a plan, he seems pretty confident it’ll work, but he’s not telling us all the specifics. I don’t know if it’s because we can’t accidentally reveal what we don’t know or because he’s trying to protect us. Either way, he hasn’t told us any more beyond what it is he needs us to do. After that, he just said, “Leave it to me.”

I—I trust him. I do. I believe he has a plan, I believe that it’ll work. I’m sure everything is going to work out there. But if it goes wrong…

Something’s going to go wrong. I’m almost sure of it. It’s, it’s, my luck cannot be this good. There’s no way we come out of this all right. Something’s going to go wrong and, and we’re not going to succeed, or someone’s going to get badly hurt, or—

I can’t lose them now. I can’t.

God there’s—there’s so much I want to say. So much I should say. Jon, Tim, if you’re listening to this and—I-I’m sorry. I want to say it, but…but at the same time, I refuse to have the first time I tell you be on tape. It’s going to be in person or not at all. (heh) Maybe I’ll get the nerve up to say something tonight, but I doubt it. Don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable, just in case…just in case it’s just me that feels this way.

B-but, but you’re both smart. You can probably guess what I’m not saying. So if you’re listening to this, and I’m not…there, and I didn’t say anything before…yeah. I do. Both of you. Really and truly, from the bottom of my heart.

(sigh) I just need them to be safe. I can handle anything as long as they’re safe.

Wh—okay, okay, Elias is coming. I need to go.

Right, this is it. Here we go.

Good luck to all of us. I think we’re going to need it.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Right, I know you don’t expect me to say anything here, but…I’m having trouble settling down, and I’m hoping getting my thoughts out will help with that. So.

Statement of Jonathan Sims Prime, the Archivist, regarding…round two. Recorded direct from subject, fifth April, 2017…barely. Statement begins.

I am ready. I know I am ready. I will never be more ready. All our plans are laid, and this will be the best opportunity I have, we have, to carry them out. I also know this may be my only chance.

(sigh) That’s not quite true. It may be—it will be my only chance to take out Elias Bouchard, not Jonah Magnus. I don’t need the Eye’s power to know that. If he knows I’m here, if he knows I’m planning to destroy him, he’ll run. He’ll find someone he deems worthy to be his successor and take their place. Elias Bouchard’s body will be found…somewhere, and there will be another running around with Jonah Magnus’ eyes, someone I won’t recognize. He’ll find somewhere else to build up as the Eye’s new pedestal, find a new Archivist, someone to be a new linchpin for his plan. And the whole thing will start again.

There’s—there is a part of me that thinks, well, that won’t be so bad. As long as all of the others survive…as long as I haven’t failed them…it’s not the worst thing in the world. Certainly Jonah won’t try with anyone at the Institute again. It could take years for him to build up enough strength to attempt his ritual, to—to find a willing vessel, or at least a pliant one. Certainly I could try to hunt him down. With Tim’s ability to See marks, and with everyone else’s ability to Know and get answers—

No. No, I can’t think like this. I-I have to stay positive. We have a plan. It’s a good plan. It’s going to work.

If I’m honest, I am far more worried about the team heading to Great Yarmouth than I am about the ones staying here. I know I can protect the ones here. Jonah will threaten, he’ll torture, but he won’t risk trying to actually physically harm them or, God forbid, kill them. Not until they’re closer to where we’re going to spring the trap, and at that point, I’ll be there. No, Jonah isn’t the danger, not right now. Not…today, I guess. The danger is in the Unknowing.

I know what they face. I know what the risks are. I—God, sometimes I still think I can hear that music, see those…horrible dancers. I would have said it was the worst experience of my life, until…later. Until I had to face the possibility of losing Martin before I told him how I felt. But even so…it was terrifying, and dangerous, and so much more than we had ever expected.

And it cost us Tim.

I cannot, will not, pay that cost again. I didn’t—I wasn’t in a good place then, and I didn’t realize how much he might have meant to me, but…we were friends, once, even if we weren’t as close as he and Sasha were.  And it hurt me dreadfully to lose him. It was worse on Martin—God, poor Martin. He so very nearly lost us both, left alone with two people who never fully trusted him, who bonded with each other and excluded him, even when he was still trying to be a part of things…

That cannot happen. They have to be all right. All of them. They’ll—it’s going to be fine. I know what to warn them about. I know what they have to be aware of. They have all the tools they need. They will go in, set the charges, get out, detonate them, and collapse for a good night’s sleep. They’ll all be home tomorrow. It’s going to be fine.

This time tomorrow, it will all be over. Much of the Stranger’s power will be dissolved, the Unknowing a pile of rubble. Jonah Magnus will be gone for good. The world will be safe.

The team will be safe.

They have to be. I can’t let myself believe anything less.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

MARTIN

(haltingly) Statement of Martin Blackwood Prime, on the morning of his friends’ departure, again. Taken direct from subject, sixth April, 2017.

…

God. I—I didn’t realize that actually meant anything when I said it. Even back then. Even just me, just with the little I was doing…I guess I did actually manage to get enough of the Eye’s attention that it, it did a little, anyway. Not enough that I could get a coherent statement out of anyone else, o-or maybe it was by the time they left, but…it was enough.

I can’t feel it now. Not even a little bit. There’s—there’s nothing. I’m cut off from the Eye well and proper, which, I mean, that’s what we wanted, but…

Well. Except for the parts I let it have back.

So that’s why I’m awake doing this. I had the nightmare again. I’ve—I’ve had it a lot, especially lately. Reliving that gallery of horrors, the one I passed through on my trip back in time. I didn’t at first, and I think we both thought—we all thought—that I still had enough of a connection to the Eye not to satisfy it with my fear. But that’s not the case. I think it was just at first that Past Jon wasn’t strong enough to dream about me, and the others definitely weren’t, and the Eye didn’t quite know what to do with Jon. Then, um, then he took the doctor’s statement, and I-I think that woke the Eye up.

It’s only been since Christmas that I—that Jon and I, really—have been having that nightmare. Wasn’t until tonight that I figured it out. See, Jon and I sleep during the day most of the time, and then we’re up most of the night. So I’m the only one Jon can usually relive, because the other live statements he took this time around—he’s normally awake while they’re sleeping and vice versa. But then there’s me.

I still wouldn’t have figured it out, actually, except that I saw the others in my dream tonight, too. Past Jon and Tim and Sasha and Past Me, they were—they were all there, all watching. First time I’ve been asleep while they were. No idea how long they’ve been dreaming, but here we are.

Anyway, yeah. Woke up from that, Jon’s still asleep, so I slipped up here to add my voice to this tape. I’m assuming this is the right one, since it was, you know, sitting out invitingly and all. If I’m ruining another statement, um, sorry.

Okay. Anyway.

It doesn’t feel as hard, staying behind this time. If I’m being honest, a big part of why I hated staying back was because I didn’t want to let Jon go without me. I wasn’t…I hadn’t admitted how I felt. I mean, it’s not like nobody knew about my crush—I think just about everyone in the Institute except Jon knew about that—but I-I don’t think even Elias knew it was more than that. And I hadn’t said anything to Jon. I kept telling myself there’d be another chance, there’d be time later, but—even back then, I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe the universe would let me be happy.

Now I know I was wrong.

I had to work for it. I had to fight for it. But I got that second chance. I am loved, and I am in love. (heh) I’m engaged, and it’s the first time I’ve really thought about the future in…years. Maybe the universe doesn’t want to let me be happy, but I am happy, so—so suck it, Cosmic Entities.

But yeah. I’m staying here…obviously, I wouldn’t be any use at the Unknowing, and I have a pretty crucial part to play in Jon’s plan. But more importantly, Jon—my Jon—will be here, too. I can—I know he’ll be all right. I know I’ll be here for him if anything goes wrong.

He tried to find a way around me being involved. Wanted me to, I don’t know, stay in our room, stay out of it, stay safe. I wouldn’t let him. Not anymore. Not again. Even if there’s not a lot I can do…I can at least do something to help him. And even if I couldn’t, I’d at least be there for him. He’s not doing this alone. We do this together, or not at all. That’s the deal.

That’s always been the deal.

All right, that’s…I think those are all my thoughts on the matter. Going to go back down and curl up with Jon for a little while longer, at least until it’s time to get things moving. It might be our last chance. But then again, every time we get to do this might be our last chance. You never know what’s coming. So if you treat every moment you get to spend with the one you love as though it’s the last one you’ll spend together…well, it makes every moment special. A-and it, it kind of makes the next moment better, because it’s a moment you didn’t know you’d have.

Yeah, okay, I’m done being sappy and maudlin for now. Gonna go lie down.

Good luck, you lot. I know you can do it.

Oh, wait, one more thing. Jon, Tim, Martin…if you three haven’t said out loud that you’re in love with each other? For fuck’s sake, do it now. Whatever happens today, you don’t want to come out the other side wishing you hadn’t left something unsaid.

And it’s a lot easier to survive if you know someone who loves you is counting on it.

[CLICK]

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

“Berliner Fernsehturm” * Foto: BernardoUPloud

After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.

This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach​

Chapter 9: 14 Men (5)

      After she sat down and Jamie poured everyone a glass of water, Ferdinand Groide began:

        "Mrs. Beauchamp, Jamie, Mr. Fraser, told me that your husband is Dr. Frank Randall. Is that correct?"

(...)

        "As you may also know, I have left my husband. Our marriage had been on paper only for several years. I intend to ask for a divorce, if that's possible from here. But I still have to care about this man's life. I'm a doctor, I took an oath. If I reveal the secrets I have learned... what will you do to him?"

        "What do you mean? What are we going to do with him?"

        "Will you hurt him? I mean, will you let someone hurt him?"

        Ferdinand Groide and Jamie looked at each other in amazement.

        "Mrs. Beauchamp, we're not the Mafia. We don't hire hit men."

        "But you're in Intelligence, Mr. Groide."

        Claire said that sentence with the same calm and objectivity as if she was saying to Jenny:

        "If you put one more egg in the batter, it gets better."

        "And intelligence agencies do these things," she added to her statement with the same objectivity.

        "Well, maybe the CIA or the KGB. Let me answer you this way: In my opinion, a living Frank Randall is far more interesting and valuable to a secret service than a dead Frank Randall."

        "In other words, you guarantee me that the information I give you will not endanger his life."

        Groide and Jamie looked at each other again.

        "Promise me."

        It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request, it was a demand, and the words Claire used to make that demand left none of the men unaware that there was no alternative to this bargain for them.

        Groide struck the hand Claire held out to him.

        "You have my word, Mrs. Beauchamp. You don't know me yet and you probably mistrust me. That's only natural. But Jamie, Mr. Fraser, can assure you that I'm a man of my word."

        Claire looked over at Jamie. He nodded.

        "Done."

        She reached for the glass of water that Jamie had put in her hand and emptied it in one gulp.

        Then she began to talk.

"Microphone" by Florian-Media

        "It was in the year 2015, in late November 2015 to be exact."

        "Excuse me, Mrs. Beauchamp," Groide objected, "but we ought to do this properly."

        He removed from his briefcase a device whose rectangular clunkness was reminiscent of an early mobile phone. After placing it in the center of the table, he inserted two small, round microphones attached to longer cables, one pointing at Claire and one pointing at himself. Groide pressed the record button, then he gave the date, time, place, names of those present and, as the reason for the recording, ‘Statement by Dr. Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp’.

        Jamie had to smile. Ferdinand was a friendly person, but he was also a German bureaucrat. Everything had to follow the specific order and everything had to be done 'by the book'. Those Germans. They had rules for everything. They couldn't just have a conversation like that, it had to be a 'statement' and of course it had to be 'recorded'. In this country everything was recorded, either on paper or on tape. And then everything was filed, paginated, numbered and archived. Nothing was lost. They were so damn meticulous, these Germans, but also so damn effective.

        "Please begin with your personal life, Mrs. Beauchamp. Name, birthday, place of birth, family, etc."

        "My name is Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I was born in London on October 20, 1993, the only child of Julia, née Moriston, and Henry Montmorency Beauchamp. My mother was a primary school teacher, my father worked as a statistician for an insurance company. In the winter of 1998 my parents were killed in a car accident. My uncle, Lambert Quentin Beauchamp, was appointed by the authorities as my foster father and guardian. He was my only living relative, my father's only brother. Due to the activities of my uncle, who was an egyptologist and archaeologist, I grew up in England for only a short time, the rest of the time we spend abroad. When I was 16 years old, my uncle returned to England permanently and accepted a professorship at Oxford University. Shortly afterwards I began training as a nurse. Also in Oxford. At the age of 19, I had just completed my education, I met my future husband Franklin Wolverton Randall through my uncle. He also worked in the history department and specialised in Scottish history. At times he worked as an assistant to a professor. We married the following year. My uncle died only a few months later. His health had unfortunately not been the best at the end of his life. When my husband was called to Harvard University's history department, we moved to Boston.

"Oxford" by MarlonRondal        

         Groide nodded. Jamie was sure that nothing Claire had told him so far was new to his friend. Guaranteed, they had checked Claire from the day he requested the visa for her passport. And they had certainly not been idle since then. At "In Vino Veritas" there was a small but very effective group of staff who had certainly dug up everything they could find about the young woman in the past few days.

         "When and how did you learn of your husband's secret activities?"        

         "It was in the year 2015, in late November of that year to be exact. Does the name Jonathan Pollard mean anything to you?"        

         Jamie listened with new interest. Groide just nodded.        

         "Then you know that this man has served thirty years in the United States for espionage. In 2015 he was released on parole and in the American media there was a lot of coverage and discussion for days. I had never heard this man's name before and, to be honest, I didn't care about the whole thing. However, I listened up when my husband spoke about it. It was a Sunday, two days after Pollard was released. I remember the whole thing so well because that day was the day of the terrible accident in that jademine in Myanmar, where 90 people were killed and over 100 people were missing. We had had dinner and then Frank turned on the TV. There was a talk show where the case was discussed. My husband had already started drinking in the afternoon. While Frank was watching the talk show, I thought, ‘My goodness, they're talking about an age-old espionage case and people are dying elsewhere without the media even paying attention.’"        

         Claire reached for her glass, which Jamie had refilled in the meantime, and took a big sip.        

         "I didn't pay much attention to the discussion on TV. But then suddenly Frank started mumbling loudly:       

          'Spy! Spy! Spy! Nonsense! The man was an amateur! What real spy leaves secret documents openly on his desk in the office and his wife was stupid enough to leave a suitcase with secret documents with a neighbour who was in the military himself!’”

        Claire reached for her glass again and drank.        

         "What he said made me furious, so I said to him: 'Oh yes, but you know how a real spy behaves!’ I thought his reaction was terribly arrogant. To my surprise, he then turned down the TV. He came over and sat down with me on the sofa. He looked me in the eyes and grinned. Then he said, ‘Yes, my darling, I know that. The MI5 recruited and trained me while I was still studying at Oxford. Right after they heard I was going to specialise in Scottish history. With my family background and the good connections we had in the military and police through my cousin Jonathan, there were no obstacles.’”

"Books" by MichaelGaida        

         "How did you react to that?"        

         "Well, at first I was stumped. I thought he was just showing-off again. So I replied, ‘Why would the MI5 need an expert in Scottish history?’ He replied, ‘Well, of course you can't imagine, you little fool. Good God, Claire! The Scots want independence and just because last year's referendum went so well, they will not give up. It's their history they're drawing strength from! What do you think will happen if they really gain their independence? It could set off a chain reaction. You know that Prime Minister Cameron announced two years ago that he would hold a referendum on Britain's withdrawal from the EU if he was re-elected in 2015? So? He has been re-elected! Now there must be a referendum. And what if Britain's withdrawal from the EU is carried out but Scotland becomes independent and is then admitted to the EU as a member? Did you ever think about that? This is going to get us in big trouble! Then the EU will continue to stand with two legs on our island! We can't let that happen.’”

         Claire paused for a moment, then she went on:                  "I must have looked at him in wonder and disbelief, because suddenly he stormed out of the living room. I heard him looking for something in his study. When he came back he had a newspaper article in his hand which he held in front of my face. ‘Read it,’ he said to me. ‘Our government takes this danger seriously... and so should you!‘          I took the article and read. It was an article in the International Business Times in July 2015. It reported that the Prime Minister had met with the CEOs of a media company. The purpose of the meeting was allegedly to prevent the broadcast of a TV series about the Scottish Rebellion of 1746 before the referendum on Scottish independence. It seems that a request has been made to postpone the broadcast. I later found on his desk a copy of an article from ‘The Scotsman’, which also covered the subject in detail.”                  Groide and Jamie looked at each other and smiled. Both men nodded, but said nothing.        

         "Frankly," Claire continued, "I hadn't given the matter any thought at all. In the five years before, I had been mainly busy finishing my medical studies and gaining experience as a doctor. You don't have much time to worry about other things. Besides, due to my, well, somewhat non-conformist upbringing, I was never so much confined to one country alone ..."        

         "How is it that despite medical school, your husband still refers to you as..." Groide is looking for words, "intellectually... weaker...?”          "Frank believes that medical school would consist largely of memorizing the contents of textbooks. He thought that people's bodies were somehow all the same and that if you had learned the appropriate forms of treatment, then you could treat them. He never understood the diversity and complexity of the human body and how medical science reacts to it."                   "Did your husband explain his duties for the MI5 to you?"          "When I told him that Scotland's history, and Scotland's ambitions for independence, were well known, he told me not to think so superficially. He said that historians are not only concerned with the past. They can also make predictions about the future to a certain extent, based on their knowledge. I should think about what the clan system had meant and still means to the Scots. Why did the English central government everything to destroy it after the Jacobite uprising of 1746? England should not allow a united counter-power to be formed again in the north of the country. He was probably particularly concerned about this lobby group, One Banner for all Scots, which had formed the year before."

"Scottish Independence" by Emphyrio         Claire was focused on Ferdinand Groide and the recording equipment in front of her. She didn't see Jamie's face become more and more thoughtful.        

         "Mrs. Beauchamp, all this is interesting, but... not very specific."          "At first, I too got to know only general things. It only became more specific later when I did... well, my own... research.                  "You did your own research?"                  Groide suddenly seemed interested again. Jamie tried not to smile. What seemed like a minor revelation to his friend only confirmed what he had been thinking all along. Claire was an intelligent, strong woman. Her strength might have been broken for a time by what her husband had done to her. But Jamie was sure that she would find her way back to that strength. And he vowed to himself that he would do everything he could to help her.          "I thought Frank was a braggart for a long time, but... I can't describe it exactly. Something had caught my interest. Then a colleague asked me if I would trade a weekly shift with her. She would have had a night shift, but her babysitter was unavailable. I agreed and that same afternoon I went to the university library and borrowed books on Scottish history and the independence movement. The department where I was on night duty was not very labour-intensive. I had a lot of time to read and think during the nights of that week."          She paused for a moment.          "After that week, I became aware of the urgency of the issue."          Groide didn't say anything, but his gaze urged her to continue.          "National self-determination. Well, there's no need to explain that further. Scotland's oil. 64% of Europe's oil reserves are on Scottish territory. They're said to be worth 4 trillion pounds. Then there is the issue of renewable energy. I mean Scotland has 25 % of Europe's wind energy potential, 25 % of Europe's tidal energy potential and 10 % of Europe's wave energy potential. I do not have to tell you that these are also enormous financial potentials."          A fine smile appeared on Groide's face.          "And then, of course, there is the question of nuclear disarmament: with control of defence and foreign policy, an independent Scotland could tackle the elimination of Trident nuclear weapons, an issue long associated with the campaign for an independent Scotland. Trident class submarines carrying missiles with 120 nuclear warheads are based at the Clyde naval base near Glasgow. In the event of Scottish independence, England would have to withdraw these weapons and revise its defence strategy. I imagine that would be a thorn in the side of the American allies as well. There will certainly be a lot of diplomatic pressure behind the scenes."          Claire took a deep breath.          "Now you're going to tell me that this is all public information and I would agree with you. But I wasn't aware of it before. These informations woke me up. It took a while but when I had the opportunity to take on another week of night shifts I immediately agreed. In this time I developed a kind of plan. I was eager to find out if Frank's statement was true. At first I tried to track when he was going to conferences or work meetings. Not all of them, but several of them took him to England and Scotland. I can't prove it, but I had the impression that his travels became more frequent at times when 'the Scottish theme' was boiling up. Later, after 2015, and particularly after the brexite, his travels intensified.”          To Jamie's surprise, Claire reached into her handbag, which she had hung on the back of her chair, and pulled out a piece of paper she handed over to Ferdinand Groide.

"Tea" by Pexels          "This is a list of all the trips my husband has taken since 2013. supposedly for reasons of his work as a historian."          Groide skimmed the list, then put it aside.          "Thank you very much. We will try to verify the data."          "In the weeks that followed, I voluntarily took several weeks of night duty. Because there was another advantage to this. I was at home while my husband was at university and could look through his records almost undisturbed."        

         "Will you share the knowledge you have gained from this?"          "Yes. But perhaps we could have some tea?" Claire replied as she looked at Jamie.          "Certainly."          He got up and left the room. Ferdinand Groide pressed the 'stop' button on the recorder. Then he got up and stretched a bit. Claire did the same.

[reflectionsofacreator]

Shaun has some interesting things to say this time around, and I actually didn’t want to hit him even once! First conversation goes something like this, and you can watch here to listen to the voiced, if you like. 

Shaun: Oh, Desmond, there you are! Can I ask a favor?  Desmond (wary): Maybe... Shaun: When this is all over, I’d like to try turning the dial back on the Animus. Like ALL the way back. To the time of the first civilization.  Desmond: You think it would work?  Shaun: There was no real loss of fidelity when you visited Altair. Then again that was about a thousand years ago and I’m looking at going back at least seventy thousand more.  Desmond: Sure. I’d be up for it. Would be interesting to see what things were like back then.  Shaun: Excellent! I think it would prove most enlightening 

God, what I wouldn’t give to do the same, Shaun. Ever since we learned about Eve and stealing the Apple, the rebellion of humanity, and watched Ezio with the Apple in Brotherhood, I’ve always been so goddamn curious about how it went down. We know that digging back that far is possible, given how Clay went back that far and learned The Truth. It just... probably comes with a lot of issues, namely the Bleeding Effect. 

Aaaaand we’re probably never going to get a game like this, given how Ubisoft has firmly entrenched itself in “historical tourism” with barely any thought to their metaplot. Sighs. 

Second conversation has the Resident British Historian dig at the whole situation surrounding the Revolution, and I found it fascinating. 

Shaun: So this is how it started...  Desmond: What are you up to?  Shaun: Just brushing up on my American history, I ... I say history. They certainly teach you strange things in the states.  Desmond (small chuckle): Like what?  Shaun: Well - for all the talk of this being a “revolutionary” war. It was a civil one. Well, not that kind of civil. I mean there was no America versus Britain. It was Brit on Brit action. And you can clearly see how the whole thing got started: one war gave birth to the other.  Desmond: You mean the Seven Years War?  Shaun: Exactly. Seems the crown overspent in its attempts to keep the French out. Wound up with a great deal of debt. Believing that their colonists should help to shoulder the burden, new taxes were created. It was a reasonable request - even if parliament was rather well, undiplomatic about it.  Desmond: It’s not really fair to tax people for a war they didn’t want any part of... Shaun: What?! Didn’t want any part of? Did you not notice George Washington with Edward Braddock? He was right there in the middle of it! So here you have the Crown spending who knows how much money to secure a place for the colonists to thrive - and then when they ask for a little bit of help...  Shaun: Right, look, think of it this way. King George and the colonists, they all go out to dinner, right. And when the bill comes, George asks for them to kick in and pay their share. Fair enough! But keep in mind he’s been taking them out to dinner gratis for DECADES now. But the colonists, oh no, they insist they only had a glass of water and a side salad. Nevermind the table is FULL of half-eaten food and empty bottles of wine. And then when the King points this out, what do the colonists do? Oh! They flip the table over and storm out of the restaurant - probably intending to return later and burn it down.  Desmond: You left out the part where the king pointed a GUN at the colonists and asked them to cover dinner for EVERYONE at the restaurant.  Shaun: Riiiight. Right, yeah. Interesting take. IF he pulled out a gun - and I’m not sure he did - it would only have been after the hundredth failed attempt at getting them to pay their fair share.  Desmond (incredulous): But how do you define someone’s fair share?  Shaun: Well, with a war, apparently. 

Legit I can’t tell if this is nationalism on Shaun’s part or not. It’s certainly an really interesting view of history, and he’s right about “odd things being taught in the states”. It’s important to note that Ubisoft Montreal is a Canadian based company, and while I’m sure that a lot of Americans worked on this game, it’s distinctly lacking in a ... patriotic fervor. 

I was talking to a friend of mine (who is British) and making an observation that I don’t think this game could have been made by Americans, given the willingness to show different parts of the story. American nationalism probably wouldn’t have allowed for this sort of nuanced view. I’m absolutely not saying it’s perfect, but it’s a lot more than I was ever expecting -- I remember the marketing around ac3 being about how you were a patriot defending the colonies from the Evil Brits, but like... That isn’t really the game at all. It’s fascinating, really. 

It’s also worth noting that Shaun’s potshot at the American education system continues into the Database too -- of which all entries are written by him. That isn’t just a one off comment, but a consistent view that he holds. I don’t think he goes so far as to posit that the British education system is better, but he certainly challenges a lot of what Desmond (and by extension you, a theoretical American player) know about their own history. 

Shaun: I wonder how many other places like this exist... Desmond: There are dozens of them. All over the world.  Shaun: And somehow no one’s ever found one before us?  Desmond: I don’t think that’s true.  Shaun: Oh?  Desmond: When I was at Abstergo, Vidic talked about silencing discoveries made by non-Templars. And I’m sure Abstergo has dug up plenty.  Shaun (slightly wistful): The things they must know...  Desmond: Regretting throwing in with us?  Shaun: Ha. No. Just looking forward to when we can finally trounce those bastards so I can dive into their archives. 

Desmond, dangling Information in front of Shaun: I know what you likeeeeeeeee....

I do wonder what other places exist, and I know some of the DLC for AC Odyssey touches a little bit on that. I’m just. [shakes the games] give me LORE

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 5: Nukklebust Productions Presents

Kinktober Day 5 Prompts: Kneeling ~ Triple penetration ~ Video (being recorded) Fandom: Original (Auchendale Archives) Tags: exophilia, m/f, slight f/f, orgy, triple penetration, kneeling, video recording, pornography, group sex, anal plug, sex toys, Pairing:GoblinM/HumanF, GoblinM/ElfF, HumanF/ElfF

[Authors Note: This is purely self indulgent smut that I have written for my own personal enjoyment and it is loosely based on a dream I had a few weeks ago. I was torn between putting this in Warcraft or not and I decided to put it in the Auchendale universe so I can use Ember since I kind of fell in love with her, which was unintentional since I made her on a whim. Vyzzie was borrowed from a friend with permission.]

The owners of The Scarlet Eclipse had some very firm rules on photography and video being taken in the club. The top rule was that in general it wasnt allowed. This was to help enforce privacy rules and ensure that the people who came to the club felt safe. The exception to the rule was, of course, pornography. The owners had a relationship with a few directors in the industry and allowed some of their rooms to be used for photo shoots and film shoots as long as nothing got out of hand and it was kept quiet. The location was never allowed to be revealed. 

There were limitations of course, no large productions, and only so many rooms could be rented out for this purpose. The club still needed to cater to its own clientele of course, and it opened up the opportunity for people to explore their own exhibitionist and voyeuristic fetishes. Once it became known, it was an open secret around the club. Privacy was still respected, but the owners invested in a remodel that turned a couple of the rooms into permanent filming areas. They could be accessed through a special door and from the outside and the area could be locked down if needed.

When not in use by professionals, the owners allowed club members to book the rooms for a fee and they would get a copy of the finished product for their own personal enjoyment. Some allowed their amateur films to be released online, most kept them private. VIP members of the club were allowed to use these areas for free with enough prior notice. As it was, there was a waiting list, and sometimes it could take a few months to gain access to one of the rooms, especially if you needed a specific one. 

The club owners had made it easy to check the availability of the rooms online, and there was a link to the waiting list. Anyone already on it could also check their place in the queue. Vyzzie had been checking every day for the last few weeks to see if his request had been bumped up in the queue. He had paid extra and used his friends VIP access to cut in line as much as he could. He was eager to do the scene and had been making preparations for almost two months now. The preparations had to be changed multiple times already as people had backed out and Vyz knew the longer it took the harder it would be to do.

Thankfully his friend had promised not to back out and had even suggested bringing someone along so she wasn’t the only female in the scene. It meant they could do much more with what they had left and the plans for the scene had begun to change. It was shaping up to be one of his better ideas, he just had to make sure the people still on board stayed on board. 

The idea had come about after a wild night with two chicks he didn’t really know well. He ended up getting kind of close to one of them and she had expressed a desire to have another threesome but with two guys instead. He knew someone that would be interested and it had been fun, but then they got to thinking, why not invite more people, and the idea developed into something that Vyz was quite eager for, as was his new friend Ember. 

Vyzzie had promised that he would only invite people she trusted, and Ember offered to bring her elf friend from the first time. It was shaping up to be quite a scene and once it was settled the negotiations began and everything was put in place with an understanding of what was expected of everyone. Simple color codes would be used instead of safe words so that everyone could be on the same page and no one got lost or confused.

When the day finally came Vyz could barely contain his excitement. He had gone over the details with Ember so many times that they both decided to share control of the situation. It also lead to copious amounts of sex between the two of them as every time they discussed it the conversation would inevitably arouse one or both of them. They had pretty much fucked on every surface in Vyzzie’s apartment, including his roommate's bed. That one he wasn’t particularly proud of when it was discovered and he had to do a lot of apologizing to make up for it. 

With Ember in tow and some luggage Vyz arrived at the club a few hours before the filming was going to start. This was pretty standard to give them time to set up, and get everyone ready. He was practically vibrating with excitement the goblin looking up at his human companion with mischievous violet eyes. 

“Ok, so it’s gonna be an hour before the others show up. I thought we could get everything set up and go over the negotiations one last time. Make sure nothin essential god missed.” Vyz opened the door to the main room and dropped off his bags before peeking into the equipment room off to the side. It housed all the recording equipment, back up servers, everything they needed but it was empty. “Ok looks like the crew ain’t here yet. S’fine, gives us a bit more time.”

Ember moved around the room checking things out and setting her luggage near the back wall and out of the way. She could change later. For now the room needed some work. The bed would be plenty large enough for all of them, not much else in the room would make it into the shot, but it was still worth it to spruce up the room and make it look nice. Despite what they were going to be doing, Ember wanted it to have a soft feeling and she began digging through the chests full of props and accessories to see how they could alter the look and feel of the room.

“Whatcha got there dollface?” Vyz had slipped up behind Ember, placing a hand on her ass and peering into the chest she was digging through. 

“I was hoping to find something to help the room look less plain and sterile. The bed is nice, its a good size. The furniture all matches and it looks ok. Has a bit of a hotel feel which might be on purpose, but I was kind of hoping for something a little different?” She looked at him and rolled her eyes when she felt him rubbing her ass. “You are getting awfully friendly there Vyzzie.”

“Yer my friend.” He quipped and pinched her. “Don’t worry. I remember. No attachments. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the benefits package.” Smirking he dug through the chest with a free hand, black claws catching on some fabric. “I trust your taste. I know we were only at your place once, but I liked it. Lots of lights, colors. Had that weird gothic rainbow vibe going. You got a unique style Em, that is for sure.”

“How about we change the lamps, throw up some lights on the wall, drape some fabric around and soften the whole room up a bit. Considering what we are going to be doing, it will be a really interesting contrast I think.” Ember pulled some sheer fabric from the chest and began draping it on the headboard.

“I like how you think. Let the room be soft, the actions hard.” Vyz helped change out the room decor to match her vision. It was getting close to when the others should start arriving. “Hey, uh.. Emmy? You know if you aren’t sure about this or need to change some stuff I will understand. You know that right?”

Ember laughed. “Emmy?” She stepped over to Vyz, running a hand through his dark blue hair. “Yeah Vyz. I know. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t trust you.”

“I will make sure your boundaries ain’t crossed. I know ya got some hang ups and all that. Don’t want there to be any pressure in the moment to do anything you ain’t sure of. I know how it gets once a scene starts and ya get caught up in it. Don’t want that ta happen here.”

Ember nodded. “That is why I brought a precaution. I really don’t like anal, and I won’t be able to relax if I worry that it might happen, even accidentally. So I brought a plug with me to help. If something is already there that I am comfortable with, then nothing else can go in and I can relax. I know it sounds counter intuitive and it took me a long time to get to a point where I can even use it, but it actually helps and functions in a way that lets me maintain control over it.”

“Not weird, makes a lot of sense actually. You control its size, when you use it, and it prevents anyone you are with from just having an ‘oops’ moment or doin the whole ‘it's better to ask forgiveness than permission’ nonsense. I hear ya, I support it. Need any help or just some privacy?” 

“I can go put it in myself, wont take me too long I prepared myself for it but didn’t want to have it in all day. Give me a few minutes to get ready if you want to finish the room?”

“Sure, no problem, I can get it done.” Vyz went back to putting the finishing touches on the room when the crew arrived. 

They began setting up the cameras at the goblins' instruction and made sure all the equipment was well hidden so as to not ruin the scene. There would only be so many angles shot and the final product would time some time to edit and put together into something polished and finished, ready for release, but Vyz was fine with waiting. 

He had initially thought to hire a scene director, someone to keep everyone on track, but instead chose to work through the scenario with everyone, set a basic structure, and then just let things happen naturally. He wanted it to be real, visceral, and that wouldn't happen if there was a script or strict direction to follow. 

Ember came back into the room with nothing but a mask and some thigh high socks on. The masquerade mask was small, simple, and not too bulky. It would stay on easily, and leave her mouth and nose free. The thigh highs were a request from Vyz. The only other things she had on was special body make up that would hide her tattoos and dried down so it wouldn’t smear. She had practiced with it before, going through an intense sex scene to see how well it held up to sweat and other body fluids along with friction. It held up well enough that she was confident in being filmed. She knew her tattoos were recognizable enough that she just wasn’t willing to risk it since Vyz made it clear this wasn’t going to stay private.

The muscular goblin let out a low whistle when he saw Ember. The thigh high socks were perfect. A soft looking material, black, and they hugged her thighs in a way that made it clear they wouldn’t move. The mask was black with silver accents and it made her look elegant. “Damn, you sure do make a pretty picture there Em. So uh, when is Vela gonna arrive?”

“She should have already been here. I told her she needed to get here early to get ready. I hope everything is ok. Let me text her real fast.” Heading back to her bags to grab her phone Ember didn’t notice the door opening again.

The rest of the goblins arrived as a group. Vyz greeting his friends and acquaintances with a smile. “Glad ta see ya made it boys. Ember is in the back finishin up and we are just waitin on Velasara. I think you only met Ember though” Vyz commented to his friend. 

Coming back out Ember paused to see a room full of goblins standing around. All eyes were suddenly on her and never before had she felt more like prey. The moment passed quickly but it was hard to shake as a few sets of eyes lingered. 

“Here lemme introduce you. Ember you already know Krazz from the party. Those two are Riznik and Viznik, twins if it wasn’t obvious, and that is Zorblix.” Vyz finished the introductions.

“Just Blix.” 

Ember nodded and waved. “I would appreciate it if my name wasn’t used during filming, if it is all the same.”

“Sure thing, not a problem. Anyone else?” Vyz knew that both women would be in masks, but he wasn’t sure about anyone else.”

“I’m good with not using names. We all wearing masks or just the girls?” Krazz rolled his shoulders  and looked for a place to set down his bag. “I brought one with me just in case. No offence but I am not sure I want to be recognized.”

“We can just avoid names entirely if it helps. I can’t imagine there is gonna to be much talkin” Vyz chimed in, his accent sounding much thicker in comparison to his friend. 

“I don’t really give a shit either way. Not my first rodeo, so it is all fine with me.” Blix moved off to the back of the room and began stripping. 

There was a knock interrupting the conversation and the door slowly opened. “Hello? I am sorry I am late.” Vela stepped in looking a bit frazzled. “Sorry got caught up and it took me some time to get everything together. I hope I didn’t put us too far behind?” 

“Nah, yer good, we ain’t even started.” Vyz waved the lithe elf over and gestured to the back. “Go get ready and we can do a final run through and just make sure everyone is on the same page before we begin.” Vyz moved back to the recording room and spoke to the staff there, making sure that they would be ready to go as soon as the group finished their preparations. 

While Vyzzie was busy, the rest of the goblins stripped and got ready for the scene. The twins were engaged in a bout of rock paper scissors to decide who got which girl to start as they wanted some separation to start. Krazz slipped on his own mask, looking a bit like a corvid with the beak design. It was a little flashy for porn, but it went well with Ember's mask. He hoped that he would get a shot with the human at some point as he had been attracted to her since they met at a party Vyz had invited him to. 

Blix was busy strapping on his harness and cock ring. Fully prepared for taking over should the others struggle with any part of the scene. Of all of them he had the most experience performing for the camera,  he knew the best angles, how to position himself, and all the tricks needed to not blow his load too quickly. Considering how hot the girls were in this scene, those were some tricks he was going to have to utilize. 

Velasara came back looking an almost striking opposite of Ember. Her thigh highs were white with ruffles, her mask had white feathers and delicate gold filigree. She was taller than Ember with a lithe and delicate frame and soft features. Comparatively her body was a bit more slender when compared to Ember's more generous curves. The contrast made the pair enticing to look upon and the goblins in the room struggled to remain professional. 

Ember leaned up and tugged Vela down to whisper in a long ear. The tittering laugh from the elf filld the room as both women seemed quite amused about something. It made Vyz a little suspicious and he hoped that this wasn’t going to be something he needed to worry about later. 

“Ok, so here is the scene. I figure it will be easier if we don’t all start at first. I was thinking the girls could have a solo scene together or with one other person involved, then we can introduce some others, or if we are worried about time, then maybe we all just start? Opinions?” Vyz was looking around at the people gathered and realized how this looked. He hadn’t meant to only invite goblins, that was how it worked out. With all the cancellations and rescheduling, this was the group he ended up with and looking at it objectively, this would probably end up in a fetish category when released, even if there wasn’t a ton of kink involved. 

“Well are you looking to build a plot or not? Like do we want to have dialog, a wisp of a story, or just get to the fucking already?” Ember asked as she leaned into Vela

“Good question, uh, any thoughts, I know we ain’t got a ton of time. I booked us for the rest of the day, but gettin shots set up can eat into that, and we don’t really have a script. I kinda wanted this ta feel natural, a bit more amateur and spontaneous.” Vyz admitted.

“Eh, speaking as the one with experience here. Neither are going to work. It is too late to try and fudge a script and just jumpin in is going to get someone injured. I say let the girls warm each other up, that should also warm the rest of us up and get the mood set. I can tell first timers when I see em and there are some nervous faces in this group.” Blix walked up to Vyz and gestured to the setting. “Plus, with a setting like this, it just screams lesbian porno. So why not start that way? Then we transition into the spit roasting, the group sex, multiple penetration shots, all of that.” He shrugged and his eyes widened. “Oh, condoms? We doing condoms or creampies?”

“Creampies” Vyz interjected. “That is why this took so long. Everyone had to test clean and have alternative forms of birth control. We can switch to condoms if anyone is still uncomfortable with sloppy seconds or had some questionable interactions since getting tested.”

“Ok so it seems like we are ready. Vela, after you.” Ember gestured to the bed and smiled as her elvish friend climbed up on the bed. Ember followed staying on her hands and knees while Vela got situated. 

“What the fuck is that?” Blix blurted out and both girls fell into hysterical laughter. 

It took several moments for them to calm down enough for Ember to speak. “I have some hangups where anal sex is involved. I felt the only way I would be able to relax is to ensure that it couldn’t happen, even accidentally. Thus, an anal plug.”

“Ok, yeah, I get it, makes perfect sense. What I meant, was why is it flashing like a rave?”

Ember fell over laughing again and just shook her head, it took her a bit to compose herself. “Look, it is a thing with me. I never do anything even halfway normal. You see my  hair. My house look like a goth and a unicorn got into a fight. I like bright shiny things and honestly with the lights on it shouldn’t even be that noticeable or a distraction. I set it to slow strobe and match the lights hanging on the wall above the bed.”

“Ok, alright. One more question. Where did you get it and how much?” Blix was laughing and shrugging at the stares he was getting. “What? I wanna add one to my collection ok?”

“Let's talk after. I can give you all the details.” Ember slid up next to Vela and gave her friend a gentle kiss. 

Both women were clearly nervous to start and Vyz knew that the first several minutes of footage probably wouldn’t be used. Watching them slowly explore each other was a different kind of arousing entirely, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the moment and just be content with watching. The slide of their bodies together, the soft moans, the way the colors of their limited clothing contrasted, it was a truly beautiful sight. One that Vyz was loathe to interrupt, but knew he would have to if they were going to get to the point of the scene. 

The others held back waiting for Vyz to give the signal, It was hard not to be entranced, watching the women together. Especially once it was clear that they forgot where they were and were simply focused on the pleasure. Vyz held off a bit longer, watching with a slow smile as the women rocked slowly together at first, then sped up. The sound of their shared orgasm rang through the room snapping the goblins out of the spell they had been under. 

Ember lay next to Vela, her breathing slowing to normal as they nuzzled and kissed each other. Hands still exploring as they enjoyed the afterglow of their shared pleasure. Ember would have to remember this, maybe invite Vela over sometime to just see how things might work out between them. Up until this moment Ember was certain her elvish friend was straight, maybe that was not the case now and it was something worth exploring, only later. 

The bed shifted slightly as Vyz hopped up on the bed, crawling over to Ember and nipping her shoulder and neck. Pulling her gently and slowly to another part of the bed. The only way this would work was with a bit more space between the woman. Krazz was next on the bed, slipping up next to Vela and stroking over her sides and hip, his hands slipping up to her breast, fingertips teasing over her nipple. 

Riz and Blix joined Krazz by the elf, all of their touches light. Wanting to start slow, ease into it. Viz, was the last to join, slipping up next to Ember and Vyz, nuzzling at the human’s ample chest. Everything was slow to start, no one wanting to be the first to break the soft moment that had somehow been created. Vyz was the first to lose his battle with desire and pushed Ember onto her stomach, slipping a pillow under her hips and angling her face away from him. 

It was simply impossible to resist her, the scent of her, the sight of her, Vyzzie buried his face against her nether lips and pushed his tongue in, tasting her depths. Lips crooked up in a half smile at the sound of her moans suddenly being muffled. He didn’t have to look to know what had just happened and he was excited at how much Ember seemed to be enjoying it. Cutting his oral exploration short, Vyzzie lifted up and angled himself behind her, pushing his hard cock against her slick opening. She was so wet, so much wetter than he had expected and found it was far easier to slide in that usual. 

While the flashing light was a bit of a distraction, Vyz found it easier and easier to ignore the deeper he slid into Ember until he was balls deep and groaning. His claws dug into her skin as his control slipped for just a moment and he had to pause before thrusting. His ears twitched at the sounds coming from the other end of the bed and he risked a glance over at the elf. The sight was almost enough for him to lose it right there and he had to snap his gaze back down to Ember. 

Vela was up on her knees, Riding Riz, with Blix behind her, and Krazz standing with a firm grip on her head as he thrust into her mouth. Blix was still gently preparing her with some lube and a finger while he encouraged Riz with a quiet voice to keep a slow pace and to gently stimulate her clit. Blix knew that increasing the elfs pleasure was going to keep her relaxed and make penetration much easier. The extra lube helped as well and he wanted to make sure that she was fully ready before even attempting penetration. His experience was why he was the one handling preparing her and subsequently the one to be granted the pleasure of having her that way. 

Viz was careful, his hands resting on Ember’s head more than holding it as he thrust into her mouth. He was originally going to let her set the pace, and at first he did, but found that it just felt too good and he could not resist the urge to move his hips. He was focused, entirely on her and how it felt to be so far in her mouth and pushing into her throat. The feeling was unlike any other he had experienced, as this was his first time really trying anything with a human. He had a preference for orcish women, but now he wasn’t so sure that would be the case going forward. There was something softer, sweeter, more delicate about a human and he was eager to have his turn with the elf as well. 

Ember’s eyes rolled back in her head as Vyz snapped his hips forward hitting that spot so deep that only he ever seemed to hit just right. The feel of someone both in her throat and fucking her was becoming overwhelming. It was everything she had wanted from this experience and a little more. She could tell Viz was going easy on her, and she tried to encourage him when he began thrusting into her mouth. Closing her eyes she swallowed around him, letting her throat constrict around the head of his cock making him moan. It clearly worked to erode at his control as his hips snapped forward suddenly. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, his expression was one of slight concern. She just nodded, hoping he understood. 

It was pure heaven when Viz finally took the hint that she could handle it and threaded his fingers tighter in her hair, getting a good grip and tugging as he pushed his cock deeper into her throat. She was no longer giving him a blowjob, he was fucking her face, and her moans got louder and louder as she drew closer to release. The feel of her friend fucking her so hard and deep, his balls slapping against her clit as his sharp claws left little pinpricks of pain in her hips increased the sense of euphoria washing over her. Ember slipped into a more relaxed state, letting her body go slightly limp so that she could more easily be penetrated by both goblins. Soon her nose was pressed into the dark curls above Viz’s shaft as she felt his cock swell in her throat. A loud sharp moan from above her and the sudden heat in her throat let her know the goblin had reached climax.

Rope after rope of cum was pumped into her throat as Viz pulled out, some of his seed coating her mouth and lips, some hitting the mask as he fell back panting, clearly worried that he was choking her. With her airway free Ember could be better heard as she also reached climax almost the same time as Vyz did inside of her. The combined pleasure of dual penetration and stimulation was more than enough to send Ember over the edge hard. Vyz hunched over her back as he found his own release. 

Vela was on edge as well with Krazz thrusting more firmly into her mouth while Blix had slowly pushed inside of her. The feeling over all her holes being filled was one she had never thought she would enjoy and was now worried she would become addicted to. Somehow Riz and Blix found a Rhythm that kept almost constant stimulation within her, an almost overwhelming sensation as she was filled beyond anything she had ever experienced before. Surprisingly Vela was the first to reach release, easily, as Riz had continued stimulating her clit while she rode him. Since they were not closed to finished, the goblins did not stop and continued to fuck the elf right through her first orgasm. 

Blix helped Riz by taking over the clitoral stimulation so the other goblin could get a better grip on the elf to thrust deeper and faster up into her. Krazz kept his movements slow, despite wanting to just let go. He wanted to keep an eye on her to ensure that she remained ok, and he wanted to draw this out as much as possible. Vela was well on her way towards a second orgasm when Riz thrust up hard into her with a loud cry, his body shaking slightly as he emptied his seed inside of her. He could tell that Blix would probably be next and helped by reaching up and teasing Vela’s nipples to see if he could send the elf over the edge again.

Vela came almost at the same time as Blix who had snarled as he finally came, almost biting her and stopping himself at the last minute as he just pressed his forehead against her back and rode out his own pleasure while pumping his cum deep inside of her. The contractions of her body milking him for every drop he had as his grip on her remained tight. Krazz was the last to release, finally letting himself go and speeding up, pushing almost his full length into her throat with a loud cry. He almost fell over from the intense pleasure as he had unintentionally edged himself for the last bit of it. 

Carefully the goblins pulled out of their partners and all that could be heard was the sound of light panting and breathing normalizing. Vyz was the first one to speak. “Ok swap? Who wants to swap.”

Krazz raised his hand. “I call your position.” The others laughed at how quickly he responded. 

Blix shook his head. “I am good where I am if there are no complaints?” 

“Nah, I’m good, I’ll swap.” Riz offered. “Unless you want to stay with Ember Vyz?”

“That would put you and your brother on the same girl, that ok?”

“I don’t care, as long as our balls don’t touch it ain’t gay right?” Viz offered as a joke, he new that gay wasn’t the problem in that scenario, but it wouldn’t be the first time they had shared.

Ember lost it a little bit at that and then so did Vela. The boys had to wait for the giggling to die down before new positions could be achieved. Krazz rolled Ember onto her side, moving the pillow. 

“This ok?” He asked before positioning her leg up on his shoulder. 

Ember nodded and tilted her head up at Vyzzie. She had expected him to take a turn with Vela, and maybe he would, the night was young and there was no reason that they wouldn’t swap positions a few more times, especially with some of the ideas Vyz had shared with her during planning. He was smiling at her, stroking her hair away from her mask and carefully wiping the cum from it. Ember realized, from the look in his eyes that they might need to have a conversation later. It was clear an attachment might be forming and she just wasn’t ready for another relationship. Something she hoped wouldn’t ruin the friendship they already had. Glancing down she could see the eager look in Krazz’s eyes as he gazed down at her, positioning himself against her cum soaked folds. Ok, strike that, maybe a conversation with Vyz could happen after she got him and Krazz alone sometime and had them fuck her absolutely senseless. She had a feeling this was going to be a bit of a wild ride and while she still could she glanced over to see Vela being re positioned, clear glee on her friends face, even with the mask there was no missing that expression. 

The night was filled with the sounds of moans as the group quickly forgot the cameras and worked on trying as many different positions and combinations as they could before eventually collapsing in and exhausted heap and snuggling up together before the staff gently reminded them that closing time was less than an hour away. 

Overall, the experience had been one that wouldn’t be easily forgotten and new friends had been made from the most unlikely of scenarios. They all agreed that this was something they would like to try again, maybe with a script and more elaborate costumes, but that was a conversation for a later date when everyone was clean and well rested.

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

I keep forgetting to post my fics here. have some ladynoir angst, desperada + gamer 2.0 flavor. inspired by @marinetteplztakeabreak

Rating: T

Summary: Chat Noir refuses to let anyone else play as Desperada. Ladybug doesn't know why. But she /does/ know that if he sacrifices himself one more time, her heart won't be able to take it. He doesn't know how it feels to watch her vanish in front of him... right? (Ladynoir, Set during/after Gamer 2.0)

Word Count: 5771

XXX

“No!”

Marinette’s hand paused, leaving her red cursor highlighting the triangular icon for Desperada.  

“Chat?”  Her eyes darted around the cramped pyramid, wishing she could see him, but her field of vision was eclipsed with the akuma selection screen until she chose a fighter.  And even then, she’d enter the body of the akumatized victim; she still wouldn’t be able to reach her Kitty.  

Had Gamer 2.0 broken the rules?  Chat had seemed to be enjoying this game, but his voice just then— 

“Don’t pick Desperada,” his voice crackled through her earpiece.  Something was off for sure.

“Why not?”  She asked. “She’s got an easy power to win with.  I know you’re having fun, but we do still need to win.”

“I know, I know, but… please.  You can win with anyone, my Lady.  I’ll take Desperada.”

It was a strange request, but Marinette wasn’t picky.  He was right; her strategy didn’t require any overpowered finishing moves.

“Are we going to play or not?”  Gamer 2.0’s voice whined.

Marinette scrolled her cursor up and over to Gigantitan.  Chat was always willing to listen to her plans. Of course she would respect the one thing he asked of her.

Though she easily won the match, she couldn’t shake the echo of Chat Noir’s panicked voice.

XXX

Stupid, stupid.  Adrien’s hands still shook where they were trapped inside of the control console.

He should’ve just let Ladybug play as Desperada.  What safer place could there be for her than inside the villain—no, victim, he could usually remember that—who haunted his nightmares?  She couldn’t go up in golden smoke if she was the one wielding Desperada’s shapeshifting instrument.

But still, he wasn’t sure he could watch Desperada in action without clawing at his wrist, even if he knew his Lady was the one beneath her skin.  And he knew he couldn’t let Ladybug face her—and he couldn’t face her—so there was only one solution his suddenly-whirling mind provided him.

He selected Desperada and slammed the button.

His body flickered, leaving him weightless for a brief second before he was thrust into the akuma victim’s body.  He kept his eyes shut for as long as he could afford—not long, since Gamer 2.0 had chosen Pixelator.  Another villain with a one-hit k.o.

Just don’t think about it.  It’s just a game.  It’s not her, you’re not Aspik, you’re not going to be trapped here again, you’re Chat Noir and you LOVE video games it’s just a game it’s just a game it’s just— 

Pixelator’s blast nearly hit his feet.  Only a quick skid across the slick arena floor saved him.  Not that he’d be gone gone if he lost this match—but it would mean that Gamer 2.0 ended up with Desperada’s weapon.

Adrien grit his teeth.  He couldn’t risk that.  Her would win.

“Chat?  Are you okay?”  Ladybug’s voice came through his earpiece, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by her.  Not like he had been 25,913 times before.

“Fine!”  He managed to choke out before gripping the trombone in his hands.

Pixelator fired off a few more shots, but apparently Gamer 2.0’s practice hadn’t improved his hand-eye coordination.  The glitchy-looking projectiles flew wide enough for Adrien to scramble away, roll, take aim.

One shot.  He just needed one shot.  It would be easy.

But squeezing the modified trombone’s trigger?  Not so much.  

Panic gripped him, months upon months of memories slamming back into him as his gaze skirted the brass weapon.  Five thousand separate instances where his Lady had disintegrated at its hand.

“Chat!  Get your head in the game!”

Ladybug’s voice startled him enough that his hands clenched—squeezing the trigger and blasting that horrible, horrible noise.

Pixelator vanished in a spray of golden smoke.

Pixelator.  Not his Lady.

His hand squeezed the blood from his left wrist anyway.

“Desperada wins!”

The announcer’s voice hit like a punch to the gut, and his body reacted by leaking bile into his throat.

But he won. 

He won.

His body rematerialized in the control pyramid, and Ladybug wasted no time in picking her next fighter.  She was laughing, using Prime Queen to hurl Princess Fragrance against the ground. She was having fun.

She was here, with him, even if he couldn’t squeeze her hand to physically reassure himself.  She was here.

...And, he realized when it was his turn at the selection screen again, she still needed him.

If his time fighting Desperada had taught him anything, it was that he would never let down his Lady.

XXX

“The times when I have the most fun—my favorite moments— are when I'm with you, my Lady. And I would give up everything for just that.”

Chat Noir’s words echoed in Marinette’s mind hours after the fight with Gamer 2.0.  Hours after Max had left her house, cheered by the time spent with her and her parents.  Hours after she lady in bed, trying to convince herself to sleep.

He did give up everything for her.  All the time.  Including today.

Did he know how much it hurt to watch him fall out of the arena?  And he’d had the nerve to wink at her while he did it!  While she couldn’t doubt his logic—and while warmth pooled in her at his trust—what if she’d failed?  She’d been pushed to the brink today; she’d snapped and directed her frustrations from her civilian life at him.  And the whole time, he’d taken it, talked her down, taken the hit.

Just like he always did.

He always did.

She buried her face in her pillow, wishing she’d at least taken the time to thank him today.  He knew she couldn’t do this without him, didn’t he?  So much of their partnership went without saying… 

But then again, she hadn’t realized how much she meant to him until he’d said it, either.

“Marinette?”  Tikki whispered from her spot next to her pillow.  “I thought you’d be asleep by now.  You were exhausted today.”

“I am exhausted,” she groaned, squeezing the pillow against the sides of her head.  “But I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About who?”

Marinette peeked out enough to glare at her kwami.  She knew, of course—she’d said who, not what—but she was going to make Marinette say it.

“Chat Noir,” she huffed into the pillowcase.  “He sacrificed himself again today.”

Tikki nodded, even though she probably already knew that too.  Her kwami had a good sense of what happened while Marinette was in the suit, though she was unable to explain how it worked in a way that a human mind could understand.

“But you saved him,” Tikki said.  “Just like he knew you would.”

“I know I can, but… it still hurts, you know?”  Her voice came out as little more than a whimper.  “I know I’m Ladybug, and I have to purify the akuma, but still… I couldn’t do it without him.  And it’s like he didn’t even think before jumping today!”

“Because he trusts you, Marinette.”

“I know!  But—”

But what?  There really wasn’t anything else to it.  She’d tried talking Chat out of taking hits before.  She could never get him to promise to stop, not when Paris needed the Miraculous Cure more than it needed his Cataclysm.

But.

But.

She just wanted him to be okay.  He’d said he was fine—that his favorite moments were with her.

How could they be, when he was always in so much danger?

How would he feel if he knew how much she worried about him?  Not all the time, of course—just times like this, when she remembered him falling like a ragdoll, disappearing, fading from existence.  It hadn’t been as bad as Timebreaker for sure, or even the Puppeteer when he’d been briefly turned against her—but those had been so long ago.  Maybe it was just the recentness of it, reminding her again just how much she cherished her partner.

Not that she could tell him that so directly.  He’d never stop riding the high of it.

Tikki smiled knowingly.  “If you’re worried about Chat Noir, you should tell him.  He’s your partner. And I… don’t think he gets to hear how much he means to people very often.”

Of course, Tikki had managed to follow her train of thought.  Being literally merged as Ladybug tended to make that easier for her.

“You really think his ego isn’t big enough?”  Marinette grumbled.

Tikki’s eyes turned sad.  “This isn’t Chloe we’re talking about.  He’s your friend.”

Marinette’s brows drew together.  He was her friend, and her partner, and… and he couldn’t be more than that.  Today had reminded her why.

If it already hurt so much to watch Chat throw his life away, how could she handle it if she were in love with him?

“Right,” she mumbled, hating the way her exhaustion twisted her thoughts.  She couldn’t be in love with Chat anyway—because she was in love with Adrien.  She’d taken down some of his pictures since becoming better friends with him, but a few still peeked out from the top of her cork board.

She’d never displayed a picture of Chat Noir, even if she could easily pass herself off as a casual fan.  She wasn’t sure her heart would be able to take both blond-haired boys staring down at her.

This was useless.  She’d been worried about Chat’s safety, not whether or not she was in love with him!

“Tikki?  You think I could get out for a bit to clear my head?”  Lying here in the dark certainly wasn’t cutting it.

“Of course.  Just don’t stay out too long; you still need your rest.”

That much was obvious, especially if she was entertaining romantic thoughts of Chat Noir.

After a whispered “spots on,” she swung out into the night.

XXX

Adrien wound the red string around his left wrist.  Breathed in.

Unwound.  Breathed out.

Wound.  Breathed in.

Unwound.

The rooftop’s shingles still dug into Adrien’s back, but some of the tension uncoiled from his shoulders as he methodically twisted Marinette’s lucky charm.  Maybe it was silly, but more than anything else he’d tried, it worked.  Having something to replace the weight of the miraculous bracelet he’d worn for so long… maybe it should’ve been a reminder of all the times he’d failed, but instead it gave him hope.

How could anything bad happen to him while he held his friend’s lucky charm?

A gentle breeze kissed his masked face as he held his wrist up to the moon.  The green and pink beads glinted brightly against the inky black of his gloves.

He was glad the moon was the only one who could see him from his hiding spot on the abandoned roof.  What would Ladybug think if she knew he had such a weird way of clearing his head? Maybe she’d joke that she was being replaced, that he didn’t need her luck anymore if he had Marinette’s.  But no, that thought wouldn’t even occur to her.  Unlike Adrien, she knew she couldn’t be replaced.

“Chat Noir!  You know you’re irreplaceable.”

He tried to remember her reassuring words every time those doubts crept in.  She had needed him today.  Something had been off with her, a vulnerability he rarely got to see.

“Aren't you scared you'll eventually have to sacrifice everything you love for all of this?”

It would be hard to sacrifice everything he loved when everything he loved was her.  He’d toned down that sentiment out loud, but he still wished he could pull her into his arms, promise her that everything was going to be okay, that they’d beat Hawkmoth and steal his miraculous and reveal their identities to each other and fall and love and move to a private island with a hamster— 

He chuckled at his own fantasy.  He could dream, right?  He had to have something to get through the days when all he could remember was her vanishing over and over, golden smoke and shocked blue eyes— 

The charm bracelet was too tight on his wrist.  He quickly unwound it before the red string could snap.  

Breathed out.  Wound. Breathed in— 

And nearly choked when his staff started ringing.

He rolled over and whipped it out from behind his back, too shocked to even pretend he was busy before picking up.  “LB?  You okay?”

“Oh, um… I didn’t think you’d be up, honestly.”  Her awkward laugh echoed over the pounding of his heart.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m absolutely purrrrfect now, my Lady.”  He grinned.  Marinette’s lucky charm has paid off again.  “How about yourself?  Just wanted to have a chat on this feline evening?”

“Nope, nope, that’s it, I’m hanging up.”

“No no no don’t go,” he said in one breath, both hands tightening around his staff-phone.  “I mean. You didn’t even tell me why you called yet.”

“I can’t just want to chat with my kitty?”

Oh, that put fluttery feelings in his stomach.  It was probably for the best that she wasn’t there in person to see his absolutely smitten look.  “You made a pun.”

“Completely accidental!”

“Suuuure it was, bugaboo.”  He was pushing it, he knew, but she’d called her his kitty.  Either something was finally going right for him… or something was very, very wrong.  “Seriously, though.  You never make house calls.  What’s up?”

“I… nevermind, this was stupid,” she muttered.  

“No excuse to talk to you is stupid.”

She paused, and for a moment he was sure she’d hung up.  But then she said, “Meet me at the Eiffel Tower in ten minutes.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

He tucked Marinette’s lucky charm away in his pocket, making sure to zip it shut.  Then he vaulted off into the night, leaving memories of other bracelets and vanishing Ladybugs behind.

XXX

“We need to talk.”  Marinette crossed her arms to keep them from shaking.

Chat Noir dropped onto the crossbeam in front of her, a grin wide on his face.  “What, you’re not even going to take me out to dinner first?”  

She found herself wishing she’d brought some croissants, if only to have one to throw at him.  “Can you—can you be serious for once?”

Her voice cracked pitifully.  She was doing it again—taking out her fear and anger on him, and he didn’t deserve it, and she just…

She covered her eyes and crouched down on the cold crossbar.  “I’m sorry, Chat.  I—I shouldn’t have asked you to come out this late.”

“Hey.”

She felt more than saw Chat sit down beside her.  His arms came gently around her, slow enough that she could’ve chosen to pull away.

“You know I’ll always come when you call, little Bug.”

She tried to snort at the nickname, but it felt all too accurate.  She felt so, so small.

“I know you will,” she murmured, twisting to better return his undeserved embrace.  “I’m still sorry. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciated you today.  I’ve been… having a rough time in my civilian life.  It wasn’t fair to take it out on you.”

“We all have off days, LB.  Don’t worry about it.”

Of course, it hadn’t even fazed him.  How many times had she taken that for granted?

“I know you don’t want to reveal too much about our identities, but if you want to talk about anything that’s bothering you, I’m all ears.”  He pulled back just a little, enough for her to see him twitch his leather cat ears.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide a smile.  “I just took on too many obligations at the same time, that’s all.  It’s a problem I have.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”  He smiled sadly.  “You’re always sacrificing so much for others.  I can’t imagine your civilian self is any different.”

Her face warmed at his praise.  She did do a lot, but she doubted he’d find her exploits as Marinette half as impressive as Ladybug.  Besides—

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, the most self-sacrificing person I know.”  

Her gaze peeled away from him as his most recent sacrifice again flashed through her mind.  Would it be worth bringing up again?  He’d never stop choosing her safety over his own.  And she really didn’t want to argue after just apologizing to him.

“Sorry.”

His soft, sad voice surprised her.  Of course it hadn’t been hard for him to guess what she was thinking—he did that all the time when they fought side by side—but he’d never sounded so much like… like he understood.

“I should’ve thought a little harder before jumping today.  That was probably hard to watch.”

“Probably?”  She couldn’t help gaping.  “Chat, it hurts every time I see you throw yourself into danger.  We could’ve found a way to trick Gamer 2.0, or at least come up with a plan.  But you just…”

Left me.

That was it, wasn’t it?  It was supposed to be her and him against the world.  Even if the fight could technically be handled alone sometimes, she needed him.

Her partner’s claws scratched at his wrist, just below the leather brace.  His gaze wouldn’t focus on her.

“I’m sorry, Ladybug, I really am.  I wasn’t... having the best day either, I guess.”

“Hey,” she said, taking his hand—had his claws been digging into his suit?—and giving it a gentle squeeze.  “I’m sorry.  I know we’ve talked about this, and I don’t want to fight about it again.”  There had been too many tears last time, from both of them.  (Mostly her.)  “I’m sorry today was hard for you too.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  He shook his head, but his grip tightened on her hand, like she was anchoring him.  “It was nothing, really.  Just not at the top of my game.”

The pun was forced, and she knew it.  She frowned up at him.

“I’m not going to stop worrying about you just because you tell me to, Chat.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“Can’t.  Civilian stuff,” he said quickly.

“Really?  I guess I just thought… nevermind.”

“What?”

Maybe she’d misread the situation earlier—after all, she hadn’t been able to see his face while they were in the Gamer’s domain.  Could the strange panic she’d thought she heard in his voice just been her imagination?

“You didn’t want me to play as Desperada.  And you seemed a little off afterwards…” 

He shuddered at the akuma’s name.  “You noticed?”

“Of course I did.  You sounded scared, but I didn’t want to ask and give Gamer 2.0 anything he could use against you.”

“Smart,” he said under his breath.  “I should know I can’t hide anything from you.”

“I don’t know about that.  It’s not like I know your identity.”

He gave a shallow laugh at that.  “Right…”

There was an awkward silence, where nothing passed between them but Chat’s rapid pulse against her palm.  She still hadn’t let go of his hand.  He hadn’t teased her about it—which was more of a sign that something was wrong than anything.

“You know,” she said under her breath, tracing her thumb along the back of his hand, “keeping you safe is my number one priority, right?”

“No it’s not.”  He shook his head, but he didn’t sound bitter about it.  “Keeping Paris safe is your priority.  Keeping you safe is mine.”

She bit her lip.  Unfortunately, no matter how her heart felt, he was right.  

“I just mean… the rules we have, about identities and everything—it’s to protect us.”  She swallowed, wondering if she’d regret what she was about to say, if she was only considering it because she’d been worn down by the emotionally exhausting day.  “But if you need to talk about something related to your civilian identity that’s affecting you in battle, well… I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

His eyes snapped up to hers.  “Don’t say that.”

“W-what?”  His intensity caught her off guard.  She was always one to shut down conversations that danced too close to their civilian life, not him.

“If you give me permission to talk about this… I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop.”

His shoulders hunched; his knees pulled up to his chest.  For all that he’d called her Little Bug earlier, she’d never seen him look so small.  Not when she’d told him she was in love with someone else.  Not when they’d fought a horde of akumas turned by Scarlett Moth.  

But she’d rather face a hundred akumas then see her partner look so defeated.

“Chat Noir.”  She squeezed his hand tighter, afraid he would slip away.  “I trust you.  I know you wouldn’t reveal yourself to me on purpose.  I’m not trying to tempt you or anything, I just… I hate seeing you like this.”

Maybe it was selfish of her, but could he really blame her for wanting to help him?

“Let me protect you for once,” she whispered.

“You already have.”  He looked up, and to her surprise, tears welled in the corners of his green eyes.  “So many times.”

“Then let me do it again.  Maybe I can’t keep you from getting hurt, but at least let me be here for you.  You don’t have to pretend to be okay all the time, you know that, right?”

“I do, actually.”  He snorted, wiping at one eye with his free hand.  “Can’t get akumatized.”

Marinette could’ve punched Hawkmoth in the face right then.  Well, she wanted to punch Hawkmoth all the time, but especially now.

“Forget about that.  I’ll watch out for any butterflies, if you just want to… you know.”

Sometimes you just needed a good cry.  Marinette hadn’t had that luxury since becoming Ladybug two years ago—except for a few rare times where Tikki had kept watch for her—but she had no idea how much Chat might have been bottling up.

From the sound of his shaking sobs, it was a lot.

“It’s okay, kitty, I’ve got you.”

She released his hand, but only so she could better wrap her arms around him, curling into his side.  He collapsed into her embrace.

“It’s okay.  I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”  She ran her hands through his hair, scratched gently behind his cat ears, until a low rumble sounded in his chest.  She didn’t let that fool her though; she’d read that cats sometimes purred when they were in pain.

And her kitty was in more pain than she’d ever realized.

“I can’t lose you again,” he finally said against her collarbone.  “I can’t.  I know you won’t leave me on purpose, but—even just remembering it—”

“I’ll never leave you, Chaton.  It’s you and me against the world.”  She kept up her soothing touches, steadfastly ignoring just how nice it felt to her too.  She was here to comfort her partner, not get lost in the scent of his strawberry shampoo and leather suit.

“But what if I can’t save you?”  He finally burst, looking up at her with tearstained eyes.  “I… we don’t always get second chances…”

It wasn’t the first time she’d had that fear—though usually hers was the fear of failing as a whole, of watching Chat disappear forever, of watching Paris crumble around her.

“I know,” she murmured.  She wouldn’t lie and pretend there was nothing to be afraid of.  “But I also know that no matter what we’ve faced, you’ve always been here to save me.  You saved me today.”  

As much as it pained her to admit, his self-sacrificing stunt had allowed her to win.  While she understood his fear, why was it catching up to him now, of all times?  Maybe it was just remembering all the akumas they’d faced, all their close calls…

“Don’t pick Desperada.”

That one… hadn’t been worse than usual, had it?

“We don’t always get second chances…”

“I don’t always save you,” he said.  “I don’t, and—and I can’t tell you, and that’s what hurts more than anything.”  He squeezed his eyes shut before dropping his head back onto her shoulder.

“I don’t understand.  I’m still here.  Safe,” she reassured him while rubbing his back.  “That should be proof enough that you didn’t fail.”

“Only because you don’t remember.”

Didn’t… remember?  Had there been an akuma attack like Oblivio that she had no memory of?  But surely she would’ve remembered casting the Cure at least, and noticed that there was a gap in time that she’d missed…

And she still didn’t understand how any of this could relate to worries about Chat’s civilian identity, unless that had just been a bluff to keep her from asking.  But she doubted that—Chat Noir didn’t lie to her.

“25,913 times…”

She wasn’t supposed to hear that.  She knew that from the way it was mumbled despondently into the crook of her neck.  She knew it from the way his whole body froze at the admission.

She knew it from the way she had that number memorized.  If it had been anything else, any other number, she would’ve thought he was exaggerating, but— 

“It was the 25,913th time.  I don’t know what to do anymore!”

“No,” she gasped.  He was—and he had— “Adrien?”

Slowly, as if every degree he lifted his head caused him pain, he met her eyes.  His lips tried to twitch into a hopeful smile, but they wavered before letting out another sob.  

“I told you I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, even though it did matter, because the boy she loved was the other boy she loved, and—now was not the time to be coming out of denial!  “I mean, it does matter, of course I care who you are, but I’m not—we’ll get through it, okay?”

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”  He sniffed.

She squeezed him before he could pull out of her hug—even though he had every right to pull away.  She had been the one to give him the snake miraculous.  

Everything snapped into place.  Why Desperada had freaked him out.  His fear of failing her.  Why he would jump into danger so rashly.  

And she’d thought it was bad to watch Chat sacrifice himself.  He he’d been in love with her all along, and she’d made him watch her vanish 25,913 times.

She’d tried to check on Adrien as Ladybug shortly after the Desperada fight.  She’d known there was a chance that he’d be struggling, he said he’d been in the time loop for months, but every time she tried to visit he was gone or asleep (she knew she should’ve kept his schedule!) and then he’d come to school and he’d seemed fine, but all along…

“Talk to me, Bug, please,” he choked out.

“Sorry!”  She released him from her hug, but only so she could grab his hands instead.

(She was holding Adrien’s hands, the useless part of her brain screamed.)

(She told it to shut up.)

“I’m not mad, I promise.  I’m just so—so stupid,” she finally said, traitorous tears already welling in her own eyes, spilling over, clinging to the edge of her mask.  Blurring her view of the one person who meant more to her than anyone.  “I’m so sorry, chaton— if anyone should be mad it’s you.  I was the one who chose you to use the snake miraculous; I was so selfish—” 

“Ladybug, no.”  He shook his head, blond hair flaring out around his human ears.  “You couldn’t know I was Chat Noir.  I was… I was thrilled that you picked my civilian self.”

“But I shouldn’t have.  I should have used my head instead of my heart.”  She bit her lip.  How could he still look at her with such warmth when he’d been trapped trying to protect her for so long?

“You always use your head.  I’m the one who was stupid enough to keep trying.”

“Because you trusted me—”

“Because I love you.”

Her head snapped up, wet blue eyes locking on shimmering green ones.  Those were the words she’d wanted to hear ever since he’d caught her in the rain two years ago.  She’d never expected to hear them here, now, when she felt she least deserved them.

“You—still?”  Her breath caught.

He chuckled.  “I thought it was obvious, Bugaboo.”

“How do you stand it?”  She blurted.  Wrong time, wrong words, but she couldn’t stop.  “I mean… if you don’t want to talk about it, I get it, I really do, but—how did you watch me… get hit all those times, when you love me, and not—”

She wasn’t going to cry again.  She wasn’t.

“Go crazy?”  He smiled sadly.  “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Adrien…”

“But it means I know how you feel now.  I’m sorry I made you watch me disappear again today.  That wasn’t cool of me.”

“Stop it—stop apologizing, Chat, I mean—you—agh!”  She threw her arms around his neck, and from the brief look of panic on his face, he must have thought she was going to strangle him.  But she just pulled him into another crushing hug.  “You’re so much braver than I am.”

“Pawsitively untrue.”

“True!  I always knew I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I watched you take the hits you do, and I was… and I was… in love with you,” she mumbled.

This time his chuckle was hollow, echoing in the pit of her stomach.

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not in love with me, then.”

“I am.”

Cold clarity washed over her.  Did—did she really just say that?  No!  She wasn’t supposed to say it like that, when they’d both been crying and…

And it didn’t matter.

Because he was looking at her like she’d just cast the Miracle Cure over his whole world.

“You… you’re…”

“In love with you,” she said, because she could, oh she could and it felt like someone had finally breathed the air back into her lungs.  “I’m in love with you, Chat Noir. Adrien.  Both of you—just you, wow, that’s still going to take some getting used to…”

But it felt right.  ...Maybe just because she was relieved she didn’t have to choose between her all-consuming crush and her partner who she wouldn’t give up for the world.  But still.

“You’re in love with me,” he breathed.  The grin that spread across his face could’ve powered the whole Eiffel Tower—no, all of Paris.  She could still hardly believe he’d grace her with it, after everything that had happened— 

But they were partners.  They were friends.  Even if they weren’t in love—which they were, she thought with a giddy shiver—nothing could tear apart Ladybug and Chat Noir.

To her surprise, his hand detangled from hers to unzip his pocket.  But the even bigger surprise was what he fished out.

“I’m going to have to to thank Marinette again.”  He held up her old beaded bracelet by one end of the red string.  “I think her lucky charm works almost as well as yours.”

A laugh bubbled out of her.  Even when he’d been in love with Ladybug, he’d carried Marinette’s charm with him?  

The urge to yank his bell and kiss him punched her in the gut.  But she had to hold out for at least a little longer—just long enough to blow his mind, she hoped.

“You’re welcome, chaton,” she said with a smirk.  “I’m glad you’re making good use of it.  Seems like you needed it more than I did.”

He blinked, his jaw dropping open.  “Wh—no way, Marinette?”

Her face heated.  She was used to teasing and flirting with Chat, but hearing him say her name while she was suited up—there was something about it that shot lightning from her toes to the tips of her fingers.

“Er—surprise?”

“I love you,” he said before slapping his hands over his mouth.  Which was too bad, because she was really close to just pressing her own mouth over his.  Her lucky charm dangled teasingly between his fingers, probably touching his lips, not fair—

“Yep, you’ve said that.”  She giggled.

“Agh, I know, but—it was you!  Marinette!”

She wasn’t really sure what was playing out in his head right now.  His eyes shifted through so many expressions before settling on one that just about melted her insides.

“I know you said not to apologize—”

“Don’t you dare.”  She jabbed his chest.  “I’m just going to forgive you anyway.”

“Because you love me.”  He grinned dopily, clutching her lucky charm to the spot she’d poked.

“No.”  It was really hard to keep glaring when he just stared at her like she was the only star in the sky.

“Yes.”

“Yes, I love you, no, it’s because you’re my partner and I think we’ve both sacrificed ourselves enough for each other.  We’re both superheroes.  We’re going to have to take hard hits, it’s our job.”  She took a deep breath.  Even though it might hurt even more now… “I trust you, Chat.  You’re not going to jump in front of an akuma unless you really have to, right?”

“Of course.  Right.” He nodded.  “But that wasn’t what I was apologizing for this time.”

“Oh.”  She blinked.  She’d still forgive him anyway, but she had to admit she was curious now.

“I’m sorry I never noticed that the love of my life was in front of me this whole time.”

He twined their fingers, the red string of her charm tangling in between them.

She let out a half-laugh.  That was it?  

“I could apologize for the same thing, you know.”

“Or,” he said with a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips, “we could skip to the part where we kiss and make—mmpf!”

Her mouth was clumsy against his, but she was so high on the exhilaration of kissing him that it didn’t matter.  He followed her lips with equal fervor, no longer shaking, his claws digging wonderfully into the divot just to the side of her spine.

For that moment, they didn’t have to be superheroes.  They didn’t have to think about failing, about consequences—they were just two teenagers, in love, chasing each others breaths on the side of the Eiffel Tower.  

Kissing her partner wouldn’t fix everything. But for now it was a reprieve, and a promise.  

She would always, always be here for her kitty.

[wayward-mikaelson]

Winter’s Doll--Chapter Five

Word Count: 2052

About: Nadia learns the government won’t release documents to the Avengers and she tells the story about the night her brother died

Characters: Nadia, Bucky, Steve, Bruce, Tony, Natasha, Nikola (flashback) and Fury

Pairing: None

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Implied Sexual Encounter (Flashback), Mention of Character Death, Mention of Government Corruption

A/N: Sorry this is out late. I’ve been dealing with my mental health these last few weeks. I’m doing better a bit more myself. I also have a mini series coming very soon! 

*This contains content for the 18 and up crowd. Read at your own discretion

**Please do not copy and paste my work anywhere. You, however, are allowed to copy and paste and reblog the link

***This work is posted on WattPad and Archive of our Own. Links can be found in the pinned post on my profile

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*****Currently NOT taking requests

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Two weeks after the fake mission—that was a success by the way. If it weren’t for your quick thinking and thought process, Natasha would have gotten away with the flash drive. Nadia sat in the training room staring that the punching bag that hung in front of her. She passed all her tests. She was officially now an Avenger. She should be happy and stuff, but part of her wasn’t for some strange reason.

Nadia had been avoiding just about everyone since it was made official. Nadia dug down deep in her thoughts to try and figure out why she was the way she was. The only thought and person that she came to was Nikola. Her brother.

His death had drove her to become who she was now. The thing he died for, weather it was true or not, was shady all the way around. She had woken up discharged in a VA hospital back in the states. No one would tell her why but that it was a medical injury. She called their bullshit. Nadia was smart and she wanted to figure out what the hell happened to her brother and why they, the government, killed him.

***

“Nadie,” Nikola pulled his sister aside and pinned her against the wall. “You have to miss a few rounds, today. Don’t show them how good you are.”

Nadia coked her head the side. “Why not? I’m one of the best and if I screw up now, I will be relieved of my duties.”

Nikola looked over his shoulder and back at his sisters dark eyes. They were full of question and in a very need of answers. “Just trust me,” Nikola said. “I can’t have them doing what they do to others, to you. I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Nadia pushed her brother aside. “Okay, whatever you say Nik.”

***

That should have been Nadia’s first red flag. But it wasn’t. Nadia was too busy trying to prove herself and sleeping with her commanding officer. Nadia shivered at the memory of sleeping that man. That man almost ruined her life after Nikola died. But they were over seas and many of them were in desperate need of some sort of relief.

“Hey,” a familiar voice started Nadia.

“Oh, hey,” Nadia said once she realized it was Bucky. “What’s up?” she asked casually, trying to mask the unhappiness with a fake smile.

Bucky rose an eyebrow. Damn, Nadia thought, He sees through that. “Is everything alright?” He sets his gym bag down and walks over to Nadia. “You’ve been a little off lately.”

Nadia hugged her arms around her body. “I guess I’m missing my brother a bit lately.”

If it were possible, Bucky’s eyebrow rose higher. “Is that all?” He asked looking deep into her eyes.

“Yes,” Nadia said confidently. “My brother is supposed to be here but he’s dead. That’s all Bucky.” Nadia dropped her arms. “When we were in the military we actually talked about who would make it here first. My money was actually on him.”

“I’m sorry, Nadie,” Bucky softly said. “You guys were close, I assume.”

Nadia smiled and chuckled. “We were. It was just us two growing up. We were each others best friends. Nik, my brother, always had my back and I had his. We lost friends for it but we didn’t care. We joined together. We were stationed together a few times. We knew each others strength and weaknesses. He even knew that I was being stupid when I slept with my commanding officer.”

Nadia looked up at Bucky who just stared at her. It looked like he was about to say something but a cough had the both of the looking in the doorway. There stood Steve leaning on the door frame. By the way he stood it looked like he had been there for awhile. He pushed himself off the frame and walked in.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Steve started to say and both Bucky and Nadia noted a tone in his voice that meant he had more to say. “I’m afraid I have some bad news that concerns you and the death of your brother.”

***

Nadia sat in the conference room. All the blinds were drawn to give some sort of privacy but given that Wanda could read minds and stuff, there really wasn’t any sort of privacy. Tony and Steve sat next to each other. Natasha sat next to Nadia and patted her back at the news that had been delivered. Nadia had wished that Bucky was allowed in the room as it didn’t concern him. Bruce, who was in and out of the compound lately, stood in the corner. Nick Fury was on the phone.

“Nadia,” Tony called Nadia by her actual name. Under different circumstances she would probably be petty and teased him, but this wasn’t the time. “Why would the government not give us files related to the night your brother died or most importantly why you were discharged?”

Nadia took a deep breath and looked down at there folded hands. She could feel the shaking of her hands. Nadia took a few deep breaths and quickly threw her hands under the table and looked up.

“We went AWOL that night,” Nadia started to say.

“I knew there was something fishy about you,” Fury said over the phones speaker. Nadia’s eyes dropped down to the table top. Fury wasn’t making this any easier.

“Fury,” Natasha’s voice was firm. “Give her time to talk.”

“Why should I?” Fury’s voice rose an octave. “I didn’t want to hire her but Steve and Tony wanted us to take a chance on her. Now some shady dark shit is popping up. I saw we get rid of her.”

“Fury,” Steve’s voice. “Say another word and I’ll hang up this phone and block you number until we are done. Nadia, you can continue.”

Nadia licked her lips, her eyes not leaving the table top she stared at. “My brother thought the military was corrupt. He was in the process of convincing me when the building we snuck into blew up.”

“Why would your brother think that?” Natasha looked at Nadia.

Nadia fidgeted in her seat. This was the first time she was talking about this with anyone. She thought that she had given it time to settle in her being to talk about Nikola’s death. But Nadia guessed wrong. She felt like her brother was dying all over again.

“It’s okay,” Steve’s soft tone had Nadia looking up from the table. His eyes were softened and  the small smile on his lips told her that it was okay.

“Okay,” Nadia whispered. “My brother and I, we weren’t just Special Forces. You see there was a small program that is off books for those who are better. You don’t know it exists until you’re in it.”

Steve nodded and leaned back. “So your brother and you were apart of this program? What did you do?”

Nadia made a face. “We did everything that the US Government wouldn’t let other military branches do. We did stealth missions to retrieve whatever information we needed—whether it was a foreign country or our own. People were killed or hospitalized. Everything was kept off any government record.”

“They why go AWOL and why would they refuse records to us?” Tony asked.

“My brother believed that if we were too good the military sold us off to domestic terror groups,” Nadia continued. She felt the tears stinging her eyes as she got closer to telling her team about that night. “I thought he was crazy because he would keep telling me to slack and fail on things. That night we got into an argument about it and I told him to prove it.”

Nadia remembered in exact detail how her and Nikola snuck off that base. They wore their stealth gear and were armed just in case they had come into contact with anyone. Nadia didn’t realize it but she was gripping the table with such strength that her knuckles were white. She somewhat blamed herself for Nikola dying. But if he was right about any of what she was saying now, then his death saved her.

“What else happened?” Natasha asked.

“We snuck off base,” Nadia hurried to finish the story. She didn’t want to cry in front of her team. She didn’t believe it showed weakness, she just hated crying in front of people. “Nik, my brother, lead us to a building that had secure computers. He was smart with computers. We snuck in and he went away to hacking the computer files to get what he needed.” Nadia looked back on those final minutes before the blast. “He said he was close when we heard alarms go off in the building. He wanted me to leave but I said no.” Nadia’s voice broke. The long awaited tears fall down Nadia’s face as she buried her face in her hands.

Natasha rubbed Nadia’s back. “I know it hurts and that it sucks, but we need you to talk a little more.”

Nadia nodded and wiped her face. “He said that whatever happened to him, he was right. Then the building blew up. I woke up in a VA hospital to the news and discharge papers.”

“Discharge papers?” Bruce’s voice startled everyone. They had forgotten he was standing in the corner of the room.

Nadia nodded. “No reason too. The papers stated that I was just unfit to serve any longer.”

The room was then quiet. Nadia swore she could hear deep breathing outside of the room and was convinced that someone, maybe Bucky, was trying to eavesdrop. Nadia watched the blinking light on the phone. Fury hadn’t said anything at all. But she spoke too soon.

“Rogers, you know what that sounds like?” Fury asked.

“Hydra,” Steve answered.

***

Nadia sat in her room alone. She knew of and about Hydra. The secret evil organization that infiltrated SHIELD some years before. Nadia was certain it wasn’t Hydra but then part of her knew that it could be them.

She went to her closet and started to pour through box after box. Looking at old pictures and and stuff very closely. Looking for that one thing that would give it away that it could be them. But nothing showed up. It was possible that to avoid detection was to remove the Hydra symbol and blend right in with the real world.

“Fuck!” she threw a shoebox of photos across the room in time to hear a knock at the door. “It’s open,” she called out.

Steve opened the door. In hand was a sandwich on a plate and a two beer bottles. “I thought you would want something to eat. What’s all this?” he noticed the mess all over Nadia’s floor.

Nadia took the plate from Steve and took a bite of the sandwich. “I was trying to see if there was anything that could actually tell us if it was Hydra. I remembering taking so many photos over the years while over seas. I thought maybe I would have caught something without knowing.”

Steve was nodding his head. “Smart, did you find anything?”

“Nope,” Nadia took another bite. “My guess, they probably dropped the creepy octopus and stuff and blended in.”

Steve handed her an opened beer. “That’s smart too. After what happened to SHEILD, whatever is remaining of them, they could be trying not to be detected. They could be just about anywhere right now.”

Nadia and Steve poured over more pictures until late that night. Steve was a good person to talk to about this. He was calm and cool and collected about it all. Nadia would hand him one picture after the other. He would looked at them closely for anything that would spark something familiar to him.

Nothing.

“Here,” Nadia shoved all the photos into a single box and handed it off to Steve. “Maybe you can have someone else look these over just in case we missed something.”

Steve took the box and walked to the door. “You know,” he turned back. “If your brother is right about all of this, he save your life. You’re alive to make sure this is exposed. None of this is your fault.”

“Thanks, Cap,” Nadia smiled.

[ayarnofpearls]

Nolanverse Crane X Reader

Since I couldn't make a whole fic out of this scenario I'll put it down here. I just love me some Nolanverse Crane. This got weirdly fun. 

 For Jons plans work he needs complete access to the basement, for the most part no one goes down there except for the file wrangler (that's you).

 You manage the patient files for the entire asylum, you spend your days down there, near the 'cage' the nickname of the archives room. It's situated behind a locked door, full of filing cabinets to the ceiling. Most people call or email you the requests for files, you work alone because the current patient files are all digital. If you turned right from the elevator that's your office, to the left is where eventually the water pipe is dug up. Jon knows he needs to secure your cooperation. One way or another. 

When you hear the esteemed Doctor Crane knock on your squeaky door you aren't suspicious. It's rare that people come down to your drafty office but not unheard of. You take his list of files he wants and lead him back to the cage. 

 With Jon it's all about the mind games. He needs to establish his superiority in every relationship he has, after all he *is* the smartest man in every room. Plenty of people have tried to bully him and they all need to know their places. 

You ask him to hold the ladder as you book it on up for the files on the tip top of the cabinets that he requested. Bad move. He holds you hostage up there, shaking the ladder until you cooperate. He knew the names on the files would send you high up. 

You have to deal with his visits after that. He speaks to you like you are both a fool and yet worth his time distracting. He spends a few hours in the morning sitting across from your desk and ancient computer, talking about nothing but also he has a undercurrent of threatening. What he's waiting for is you to prove he should just remove you from this whole situation, but the fall out might be a even bigger pain in his ass. Still he studies you.  

His attempts to undermined your self esteem is almost cute, sure you are in a shitty situation but you play it cool. You evaluate things, as it stands no one would believe you, you know is a matter of staying level headed.

He can respect that. You aren't designed for these unsavory dealings. Eventually the prisoners start digging and you find yourself having to run past them, purposely pushing out any chatter they have. If things go south you know it's going to include you. The guards with guns and the chatter leave you unsettled and still, Jon shows up acting like nothing is weird.

 The strange intimidation tactics that Jon uses on you eventually just pisses you off, before he can even show up, you head to his office. You notice his office is lacking any personalization. Your office in contrast is covered in sentimental items. It unsettles you. Adding to your anger as you tell him that he doesn't need to play these games. You know you're screwed so just stop dicking you around. You think he's gonna loose his mind, but he takes it well. Raised eyebrows and a curt dismissal. He has even more respect for you after that. 

There's a incident, you hear yelling and you run out, one of the workers got a chemical burn and you quickly apply first aide. You get thank yous from some of the other inmates (co conspirators really) and from the masked guards. 

The first time you think he flirts is when he brings you a rabbit toy. "Left over from our plans, you seem the type to enjoy it." You end up putting the toy with your small collection. Toys that represent your graduation, a party for a niece and other such moments, you should throw it away but you allow it. You try not to think that his weird eye shift meant anything. 

The next day one of the guards gives you blue flowers as thank you. Jon arrives later and is extremely uncomfortable. You keep things neutral, you notice when his eyes look back at the flowers. 

"Be careful what weeds you keep around." 

He's not angry, angry leads to carelessness. The league sent those guards to watch him and oversee the progress of accessing the water line, if they want to waste time giving you, a no body their flowers it was none of his concern. But of course it was, he spots you hanging the blooms to dry out, the point at which they could be ground up to create hallucinations. You keep them around on purpose to test his reactions. They disappear one day and you can't help but pin it on him. The one thought that keeps coming back is that he is jealous. Or trying to push your boundaries, but nothing else was touched or moved.

 He disappears for a while, court dates, increased patient load, he had gotten to be an expected part of your life but you can't dwell. You immediately figure one of the guards is watching for you to step out of line.

 In cases of emergency you are to hide in the cage, lock it from the inside and wait for the all clear. You get shoved into the cage and Jon takes your key. When you get freed, a police officer, you can't possibly know it's a undercover league member. You go home and only after it all do you get a full picture, the narrows turns into a war zone and you watch it on tv. In the early dawn you find him on your balcony, beat up to hell. Why he came to you was confusing until he started muttering, small parts of things you've said before to him during your meetings. You leave him on your couch.

 You think over the way things have been reversed.. You went from vulnerable to in control and you find yourself waiting. When he finally gets his wits back you pretend things are totally fine making chit chat with him.  Once again you find yourself having to assess the situation, to evaluate the danger you are in.

 "Why'd you come here?"  "Our little talks are a comfort, in a very uncomfortable world." 

Any sense of vulnerability is an illusion, at least that's what he wants you to think. His eyes have always been a traitor to his thoughts. He takes off, and you over think the legality of housing a wanted criminal. Of how in your home he had become a familiar shadow. 

He's on the news every now and then and out of the blue he shows up, more like he was at the asylum. Confident, but now he doesn't pretend at being a polite member of society and seems to lack a filter now. 

"Why aren't you more afraid of me, I could kill you, you know."  "Yes, but you love the company too much to do that." 

By the time Bane shows up you think you've gone slightly mad. You listen to him complain about Batman and you try to pinpoint the moment that this started making sense.

 It's a dance of thoughts, you wouldn't say of brilliant minds or of wits, but of mutually obtuse ramblings. He’ll go silent and just watch you, and you refuse to be intimidated and pretend he isn’t staring. Maybe he’s waiting for you to toss him out. Call the police or something. Which you don’t. For his part he might have new odd habits but for all his delighted speeches about fear and control he hasn’t actually earned your fear. He’s odd and benign. You suppose that’s some kind of affection from him. 

 Before total immoral anarchy takes the streets of Gotham you go with him, the chaos that follows amuses him endlessly. You should fight it, argue about the morals and ethics of it all but you find yourself thinking you need his protection. He’s happy to give it. Are you trapped? Did you walk into this by not turning him in? 

You decide you like his company, this strange mutual companionship. The world might end but you can at least snark the master of fear.  

[inraindrawz]

Day 5 of @naruto-scifi-week, After Earth. Inspired by the anime Heroic Age (my references are getting more obscure lol), or the premise at least since I can’t for the life of me remember the plot despite really enjoying it when I watched it back in the days.

The screen says “Welcome Aboard” and Naruto says “We’re back, Mom.” It makes sense I swear.

A ficlet under the cut if you want to know kinda know what’s going on here.

Taka Ship Logbook – Stellar date 1207.3 – Day 451

Recorded by Haruno Sakura, second in command.

We are fast approaching the next planet on our list, yet another former colony ravaged by war and promptly abandoned. Karin dug into the archives and she pretends this is actually Earth One, the original planet, the one where humanity comes from. Who knows? And more importantly, who fucking cares. This one or another, it doesn’t matter. Once again there will be no sign of life. Once again, we will find nothing.

And we will have to journey to the next one.

In the beginning I thought maybe there was at least some truth in that legend, in those people inhabited by old gods and able to call to them immeasurable powers, hosts that would help us finally turn the tide of the war. Even if I know Sasuke was only assigned this mission to send him far away from his brother, for fear of a conflict of succession on top of everything else, I believed that this wasn’t entirely pointless, that we were truly looking for something.

Times passes and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep faith.

Sasuke knows this, Karin knows this, everybody on board knows this. Months and months we’ve been jumping from one corner of the map to the other, all for naught. No one wants to say it but it’s on everyone’s mind.

Will we ever be allowed to go back home? If we don’t find anything, will we travel in that ship forever?

.

They look up to the eye and its strange symbols that keep changing on the flat surface. Gaara says it translates the words Mom speaks aloud, but they have no way to know for sure. 

Gaara has a death grip on Naruto’s hand and Naruto can’t help but squeeze back, seized with a sense of urgency they can’t shake off. The flying dots that appeared in the sky a few hours ago will find them soon.

“They’re coming for us, Mom. We will have to say goodbye.”

“I didn’t understand your request. Please try again.”

She often says that.

Kurama grows and snarls at the bottom of his mind and Shukaku has to be doing the same. They don’t want to leave either. They don’t want to fight again.

But they don’t have a choice. It’s what they are meant to be. If ever humans come to find them – though they have been well hidden on that forgotten planet by the people who hosted the spirits before them – if humans come, they will receive help.

Naruto knows that, he always knew, and yet deep down maybe he had hoped they would get to stay here forever, to hunt down sand squids and grow leaves under the mountain’s shade.

“We will miss you, Mom,” he adds. There is a long pause �� she takes longer and longer to answer, and her eyes blink out sometimes, the light going on and off. She is getting old.

“I didn’t understand your request. Please try again.”

They will miss her dearly.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unlikely Bedfellows

This is for a request made by @rightfulkingofjotunheim and another reader on ao3. I hope that you like what I came up with! 💗

Warnings: noncon sex (oral, intercourse, multiple partners).

This is dark!Steve and dark!Loki and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader has a wild night out but it’s only just beginning.

It wasn’t often you got a night out. Usually you were kept late at the Tower, cloistered away in the file room. As chief archivist for Stark Industries, your days seemed never to end and bled into the nights. Wanda had visited you at your cluttered desk and asked you to tag along for her birthday celebration. You were hesitant at first. Nat had apparently chosen a nightclub for her little shindig and you hadn’t been in one of those since university. That had been a particularly eventful night which involved you scrubbing saliva off your neck in the bathroom.

Yet, you couldn’t deny Wanda or a chance to escape from the archives. You weren’t sure who was all going. Tony and Pepper were out of town and Nat hinted that Sam was bringing a few friend. Few was an understatement as he showed up not only with his usual entourage of Bucky and Steve, but the rarely seen Asgardians. Thor was quite at home as he promptly ordered a beer from the bar but Loki was visibly offended by this Midgardian debauchery. You chuckled and stayed with Vision as Wanda went to greet the newcomers. 

Nat was already on the floor with two bottles in her hands, dancing like the queen of New York. You decided to join her and pointed to her spare bottle with a raised brow. She took a sip from each enthusiastically and you shook your head. 

“You know, this isn’t a race.” You yelled over the music. “Besides, don’t you ever get tired of winning?”

“You can’t win if you don’t try, Y/N,” She held out a bottle to you. “Come on and have some fun for once.” He forced the drink into your hand, “Look at you. You’re not even out of those damn librarian clothes.”

“I had to finish up some work first,” You paused to take a gulp. Beer was never your favourite but you weren’t going to bite the hand that fed. “It’s not that bad. I took the blazer off at least.”

“Yeah,” She got close and reached out to pop the button on your blouse, then another, “Mmm, better.”

“Hey,” You shimmed away from her and took another sip. “I think that’s good.”

Wanda joined you, then Sam, and even Thor. The latter took to Midgardian dancing quite well. You were giggling and twirling, swaying your hips. You almost felt like a sophomore again. The rest of your party was hidden around the club. Steve and Bucky were at a table nursing some beers as the flashing lights scarred there elderly temperaments and Loki scowled in the corner with arms crossed; ready to snap at any who dared approach.

The night wore on with pumping bass and a few more beers. Sam had managed to convince Bucky to join you but not without a fearsome argument first. They were about to get in another as Sam roasted Bucky’s lack of rhythm. You finished the last of your beer and pushed through the bodies on the dance floor to place it on an empty table. As you turned to search for your group, you noticed two familiar faces in the far corner, though you rarely, if ever, saw them together.

It was almost funny. The sleek Asgardian trickster and the staunch American crusader together. Even more peculiar was that they were actually talking. They could barely manage an ounce of festivity for the night and yet they were conspiring in the background, but over what? They peeked over at the dance floor in unison and their eyes scoured the crowd. Loki’s gaze fell to you first and he quickly turned back to his unusual company. He kept his expression placid and you saw his lips move almost imperceptibly. Steve nodded just as subtly but only sipped his beer. You shrugged and dove back into the sea of dancers. 

-

Ooh, boy. You hadn’t drank so much in ages. You held in a belch as you followed Nat out of the sweaty club. Her hips were the only discernible shape in your blurred vision. Free of the stuffy dance floor, you stumbled for the front door and breathed a sigh of relief in the chill New York evening. You should have kept your blazer with you. You crossed your arms and shivered as the heat seeped from your body and your drunken adrenaline turned to unrelenting fatigue.

“Okay, designated drivers,” Vision tried to keep everyone in order, catching Nat before she could trip off the curve. “I’ll take Nat, Wanda, Thor, and Loki. Steve, you think you can handle the rest?”

“I’m not drunk,” Loki volunteered wryly.

“Can you drive, brother?” Thor hiccuped and hung off the slimmer Asgardian who swiftly slithered away from him.

“I could get us where we need to be without having to be trapped in a metal contraption full of drunken fools,” He snarled.

“We are guests on this planet, we must abide their house rules, brother,” Thor boomed and Loki shook his head darkly, his green eyes sparking. 

He muttered under his breath and his eyes hesitated for just a second. You glanced over as your teeth chattered and swore that Steve raised his brows at the trickster. Alright, that was the beer making you see things now.

You waited with the line of ambivalent drunks and Loki as Vision and Steve went to get their cars. You leaned against Wanda and yawned as Bucky and Sam giggled like teenagers over some ludicrous joke. You wondered if they should drink together more often; it would do wonders for their relationship.

Steve pulled up and Sam was the first in as Bucky shoved him to go faster. You climbed into the front seat to avoid their elbows and Steve turned around to reprimand them like a pair of children. 

“I’ll drop them off first. A wonder how they’re even roommates.” He straightened in his seat and looked out to street “Seat belts, people.” He pulled out as you buckled up and leaned heavily against the headrest.

The hushed whir of the car engine and occasional passing of another driver lulled you as Steve drove. Sam and Bucky continued their antics but it only made you grin in your half-stupor. You were glad you had said yes. It wasn’t often you got to hang out with the team outside of the Tower. Less often that you felt like one of them.

“Alright, idiots, out,” Steve stopped his car and you looked up to the building just outside, “Before I drag you out.” You could hear an uncharacteristic tone of exasperation in his voice, “Drink some water and sleep on your stomachs.” He waited for them to drag themselves out of the car, hanging onto each other as they stumbled up the steps of their apartment. You shook your head and sighed. “God knows what Bucky was drinking to get him in such a state.”

“A lot,” You laughed, “I saw at least two shots of tequila between all the beer.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you joined him for one,” Steve chided.

“Maybe,” You said guiltily, “Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m a tame drunk.” You held in a hiccup, “I jus’ wanna go home and snuggle into my bed.”

“Sounds like sober me,” He kidded, his blue eyes flicking from the road to you for just an instant. “Remind me where you live again.”

“Oh, yeah, uh…” You slurred your address and stared out the window; the streetlights blurring with the glowing neon monikers, hazed between the dark windows of walk-ups and skyscrapers. 

A silence pervaded the car; easy as your wits were dulled by alcohol and Steve seemed impatient to be home for the night. You couldn’t blame him; being the designated driver was never fun. You recognized your own building as he pulled into the lot. You unbuckled your seatbelt as he stopped and reached down to the floor for your purse. 

“Well, thanks,” You chimed and struggled to open the door. At last it did as you wanted it to and you planted a heeled foot unevenly on the tarmac. You clung to the door to keep yourself from collapsing.

“Woah, woah,” The engine died and you heard Steve’s door as you tried to take another step and nearly wiped out. “Let me help.”

“I’m good, I jus’ needa get my balance,” You protested as he neared you. He took your arm despite your insistence that you could manage it.

“I’m the designated driver, I am to get you home in one piece,” He sounded more amused than annoyed, “So, what apartment is it?”

You told him your number, knowing from experience that there wasn’t much argument to be had with him. You let him put his arm around your waist and help you walk to your building. You wobbled as you dug for your keys and he even had to help you unlock the door. The elevator ride was silent and you were eager to hide your drunken embarrassment beneath your covers.

You slid the keys into your apartment door and pushed it inward. “Thanks, you really didn’t have to…” Your voice died as Steve clung to you and angled you through the door.

“It’s fine, really,” His voice was airy, “You deserve a night to relax.”

You blinked at him and slowly turned as a spark of colour caught your eye. The door closed behind you, Steve’s warmth still against you. You stared at the eerie green glow radiating from your bedroom door. “What…” Your hazy mind couldn’t comprehend the duality. The light, Steve’s lingering presence; it was all too much.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Your spine went rigid at Steve’s tone. His timbre had changed entirely; you had never heard him sound so...determined. You looked to him, then the closed door, and you didn’t feel so tired anymore. The drunken blur of your mind was suddenly underlined with a hyper-aware dread.

“I’m fine,” You muttered weakly as he ushered you towards the bedroom, “Really.”

The fear was paralysing as you were led through the door. Your bedroom was cast in soft emerald shadows. A supernatural light with no source centered on the bed as if beckoning you. You planted your feet, or tried to, Steve easily urging you within. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry, and a flicker sparked at the edge of your view. You looked and another awaited you. Loki smirked as he crossed to the bed, bending to trace his fingers along the duvet. This was a trick; conspiracy even.

“What…” You croaked, your voice catching in your throat as the door shut behind Steve. You turned on him and failed to sidestep him. He was too big and you were too drunk.

“Shh,” You felt the long fingers crawl along your shoulders, caressing your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. Loki pressed himself to your back as Steve got closer. Your hands were on his chest as you tried to keep him away. You were trapped. Sandwiched between them. Your head was fuzzy but your skin was on fire. 

Steve’s hands were on yours, drawing them up to his shoulders as you stared up at him dumbly. The green light limned his features perfectly and you had to remind yourself that this wasn’t what you had planned. You should have been passed out face down on your bed.

“I told you, Y/N,” Steve purred as Loki’s hands fell to the zipper at the back of your skirt. The fabric slackened and Steve guided it easily down your legs. “You should just relax.”

He stood and began to unhook the buttons of your blouse. When he finished, he pushed the shirt back on your arms and Loki’s hands on your shoulders urged you backwards and you stepped out of your heels. You were dizzy but it wasn’t just the alcohol. The two men had your mind spinning.

Instead of pushing Steve away, you were clinging to him. You bra was easily unclasped and you gasped as it slipped away from your chest. Steve pulled it up your arms and tossed it away, Loki was tugging your panties down your legs and you trembled between them. Hands were all over you. Your tits, your ass, your hips. You were swept up as they methodically urged you towards the bed.

Loki got on the bed first as Steve gently nudged you backwards. You fell onto the mattress clumsily, your drunkenness still had hold of your wits. Loki sat above you and grasped your wrists, holding them above your head as your legs bent over the end of the bed. Steve pushed your knees apart and you stared down at him in awe. Maybe you had passed out and this was some twisted fantasy. It sure felt like one.

Thick fingers on your thighs. A swirl of excitement filled your lungs. Your eyes flicked up, Loki’s green eyes on your face; intent on every twitch, every blink. Steve’s hands framed your pussy, pressed firmly to your thighs. Your back arched slightly without a thought and you closed your eyes. The heat pooled in both your pelvis and face.

“Be calm, pet,” Loki leaned down to speak in your ear and a coolness spread along your hot pussy.

Steve dragged his tongue along your folds and you squirmed. Your breath slipped from you as your lips parted. You bit down on your bottom lip as he worked slowly; teasing you as he flicked across your clit. The first moan slipped from you and he applied pressure at last. You couldn’t withhold the pathetic noises and you lifted your pelvis, longing for more. Your breath hitched and your eyelids fluttered.

“You’re breathtaking, pet,” Loki whispered as he watched, “Mmm, yes. Let yourself go.”

Your head lolled back and forth as the flames licked at your flesh. You were panting, drunkenly babbling as the ripples began to twist in a maelstrom. You had never felt so entirely electric. Your arms were held firm as you tried to pull away, your back arching instead as your legs bent around Steve. Your nails dug into your palms and you whined in your climax, eyes in the back of your head.

“She’s ready,” Steve’s hot breath tickled you as he lifted his head.

“I can restrain her in another way,” Loki offered, cautiously releasing your wrists.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Steve assured him.

He was right. You were too confused to fight. Too drunk. When had they ever been anything close to friendly. Yet here they were; allies. Surely it had to be a hallucination. You rolled onto your side, their figures moving in a fog beside the bed. They spoke to each other but you couldn’t discern their words. You were both completely exhausted and painfully awake.

You were pulled up onto you knees and Steve was in front of you. He took your hand in his and placed it on his cock. Your eyes ran the breadth of his body and you realized he was naked. He closed your hand and held it for a moment until you kept it firm. You stared at his thick cock and slowly ran your grip along his length. He hummed as you repeated the motion, again and again.

You felt lithe hands on your shoulders, lightly grazing your back until they rested on your hips. They lingered there as Loki kneaded your hips. He removed one hand and pressed it between your legs, feeling around your slick pussy. He moved closer, his legs on either side of yours. He replaced his hand with his cock, his other pinched your hip so that you arched your back. He lined himself up with your entrance and your hand slipped from Steve.

As Loki entered you, Steve brushed his fingers through your hair. “It’s okay, baby. You can use your mouth.” He ran his hands down your arms and guided your hands to the bed so that you were on all fours. As you changed position, Loki impaled you more easily, bottoming out with an airy sigh.

Steve’s cock poked at your lips and you turned away, still trying to handle the sudden fullness below. He grabbed your head and pushed himself to your lips until you opened your mouth in surrender. “That’s it,” Steve shivered at the feeling of your tongue against him. “Such a good girl.” 

You struggled as Loki slowly began to fuck you; easy at first as you stretched your lips over Steve. You reached up to scratch at his thigh as he reached your throat and you choked around his girth. He pushed deeper and you fought not to revolt. “My little pet,” His fingers spread over your ass, “So eager. So tender.”

Loki only sped up as you pulled back and Steve forced himself back into your mouth. He steadily began to thrust into your face as he held your head in place. You were shuddering between them; the sensations from both ends melding together in a suffocating furor. Your pussy thrummed as your jaw began to ache but you hungrily moaned as another orgasm ripped through you.

They continued until you were certain you would collapsed and they’d be merely holding up a lifeless body. Steve removed himself and the slobber hung from your mouth as your arms folded and you fell face first into the duvet. Loki pulled out and were left to crumble into a mess across the bed. The bed rocked and you were lifted as if you weighed nothing.

You were placed with your back against Steve’s torso and he slipped his cock easily into your pussy. Your pussy throbbed around him, achy and needy. You cried out as he lowered you, your thighs draped over his as your walls pulsed around him. Loki stood on the bed before you, his cock just in front of your face. You hadn’t anything left; no strength only hunger. You opened your mouth and took him gratefully. So eager despite the shadow of disbelief which lingered.

With his hands on your hips, Steve lifted you up and down. Loki worked in tandem with him, his hand in your hair as he kept your head from lolling. You were cumming again and you barely noticed as the tide washed endlessly over you. He dipped into your throat, his thrusts growing deeper as Steve’s matched him. It was almost a battle between them; a race to see who finished first.

Loki was the first to burst. He pulled out just as he came and it spurted down your chin and chest. You were gasping and gaping as you tried to catch your breath. Steve wasn’t far behind as he shoved you forward and Loki caught you just as the warm cum spilled down the back of your thigh, your entire body twitching.

You were lowered to the mattress with care, laying in rapture as the alcoholic haze rose around you. You closed your eyes and felt the tender caress of fabric as the cum was wiped from your face and body, you legs lifted to clean you properly. The movement around you was dulled, almost distant through your heavy eyelids and buzzing ears.

“They’ll never believe her,” Loki’s voice drifted over you.

“If she even remembers,” Steve remarked slyly, “I know I will.”

+

tags:  @meaganottiz02 @patzammit @thepettyavenger @biasedtitties @thosecikinnn @glitterypinkkitty @thoughtlesstales @selinbaskaya @lattaex @vitamingrant @lilithhellfire @bbyspiiice @ironlady1993 @blackpantherimagines @kweenkxtrina @heavenlyblyss @letsagomario @shikin83 @collette04 @thirstyforsomeyandere @secretlyactivated @xxm3xxj @roses-and-absinthe @asleep-amid-the-flowers @sunstarskyhappiness @xxxelettaxxx @honeyofthegods @rainbowkisses31 @alphabloodfur @xdatbitch @quant-um-fizzx @peaceloveyesh @scarletlingeries @directionerfae @bodhi-black @kyllorren @captainarp @sargeant-bbarnes @tuyetnhivo @heartislubbingdubbing @kiwihoee @vanishingod @aekr @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @phoenix21love @momc95 @buckycaptspideypool @justballoonfishthings @ms-munchkin @whosmarisaaarw @kxllyxnnx @calspixie @imdiegohargreeves @satinprincessxo @amethyst-the-thot @docharleythegeekqueen @iiqueer-vibesii @carol-damn-vers @l0rd-disick @jilldsumner @hufflebucky @lanabanana-86 @nerdypinupcrystal @notyourtypicalrose @pink1031 @agent-spidey @wassupbitchesssss @lucifersnipnips @stuckybarton @ruff-m3rc @heartbeats-wildly @tea-with-seb @the-lululemon @abesottedlass @poppyshawn @obsesseds-world @jazztherebel @holylulusworld @yagurlrosie 

[sugarfreecapsicle]

eager

This is smut. Heed the warnings I list as well. Do not read if you are under the age of 18.

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, ownership, dirty talk, slight emasculation if you squint hard enough

okay, this was dug up in my ancient archives - @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan was kind enough to look this old piece over for me before I tweaked it for her follower celebration post, so major proper to her for being so kind. and to be totally up front, kids, I have no clue where this came from in my head and I doubt I’ll ever find out. feedback is appreciated, encouraged, coveted. nsfw content below the cut.

(gif credit)

Your stomach tied in knots, churning bile as your parents led you into the shop. Your skin crawled with cold sweat, goosebumps. If this is the precedent to nobility, you couldn’t be sure you wanted any part of it.

The clerk had welcomed your small party of three at the large cherry door, his words humming behind the echo of your heartbeat thrumming in your head. Father’s hand guided you between where he and your mother stood. "When you see one you like, speak up so you can inspect him before you settle on any of them, darling."

Dizziness whirled in your mind, walls spinning and painting a strange jewel toned mosaic of skin, dark aubergine walls, and cold metal. Chains rattled violently in rounds upon entrance to the hall, shaking through you like driving wind in a snowstorm. Eyes screwed shut while your entire body trembled, both parents now lamely attempting to soothe you as if the entire experience should be normal. 

"Look how eager they are for you, darling," Mother purred in your ear, brushing the hair out of your paling face. "As good little toys should be."

The underlying venom in your mother's voice implied punishment if her directions were not followed exactly, so you chanced a look towards the caged men, all in various forms of undress. Only a few looked utterly miserable, uninterested at the new visitors - those more eager, more desperate for escape, couldn't take their eyes off the three nobles. A handful of the men anticipated your mother to choose for you, one or two even eyeing your father as if maybe he shopped for another to call his own.

"Show us your more desirable toys," Father said to the shopkeep. "Only the best will do for my daughter."

For your birthday, as every noble would, you were to receive your first toy. With the coronation imminent the need to find a suitable toy was pressing, and your father insisted the council allow you to choose one for yourself.

Again your family was led out of the caged room and into a minimalistic lobby. The clerk excused himself, saying he would bring out three of his most expensive "models". Your fingers wrung together, dewy sweat blending between your palms as you waited for him to return with the men, Mother's hand playing with strands of her rose-blonde hair. 

"We have faith in you, sweetheart," she said. "You'll pick a beautiful toy the others will be jealous of."

As per custom, your parents kept their ranks secret from their children. You preferred to keep it that way,  rather not know which of your parents would've been sold off like this to a royal. There was a possibility, of course, that both were dominant and had toys on the side since many of your friends couldn't help but let their curiosity flourish into investigation. Their findings more often than not completely altered their familial relationship, one even ruining their claim to land and wealth.

The clerk returned with a proud grin, leading one shackled man into the room. Shirtless with a sheen of sweat to his light skin, fitted brown pants and military fatigue boots accented by golden handcuffs keeping his hands together. His eyes made him seem more like a trapped god than a toy. Blue - not quite sky and not quite ocean, but certainly rivaled any imagining of Poseidon. His jaw set into a firm clench, a defiant nature masked by protocol. Your dizziness popped into a tingling high. 

Oh. 

Your father’s smile bloomed as he  nodded at the clerk and stepped away to take care of payment while your mother's hand stilled on your back and gently patted your shoulders. 

"Well done, darling."

--------

"What's your name?" you asked softly, arms wrapped around your middle as you looked at the man purchased by your parents. “Your given one.”

He appeared solid and powerful, something not often seen in other toys. No wonder he was worth so much to the clerk - most preferred their toys to be purchased weak then improved upon in private however each noble saw fit. Sandy blonde hair, strong shoulders, rippling muscles as far as the eye could see. 

"Steven," he answered in a hushed tone. Given names weren't allowed once a toy was bought. Under more traditional circumstances a new name would be deemed by the master, but you could tell this - or whatever this could be - was different. You wanted to know him as is, not the person anyone else decided he should be.

"Steve," you echoed with a small smile, finding confidence and introducing yourself by given name. He nodded mutely and fought back a smile, memories of impenetrable metal cracking against his body in his transition. He held his hands together as if the cuffs still bound him, though now tossed away somewhere in your wardrobe. Steve’s eyes didn't meet yours, keeping them focused on the floor as he'd been taught. You stepped over to him and lifted his chin, forcing his pale blue eyes to meet yours. 

How could you expect to train him to do your bidding in every possible way when he loomed over you? The echoes of your lessons sang in the back of your mind as you held his chin in place and searched his eyes. Steve wasn't afraid or angry disorienting your logical path of thought. Everything you'd prepared for comprised of a rigid, stubborn man with no desire for you whatsoever. Steve's presence and power couldn’t hide behind any veil or mask - he actively chose to be putty in your hands.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure how to be a good master," you murmur with a flutter of eyelashes. "But I'll try my best. If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me. I don't want to hurt you."

Steve pursed his lips together and swallowed hard. "Yes, master."

The name shot through your core like lightning. "In private, you can call me by my name, not... that."

Steve nodded, raised your open palm to his lips and kissed a vague promise of honor to your hand. A somewhat bold move, being affectionate without your express permission or command, but you allowed it. His kisses warmed embers through your veins.

Carnal want pooled between your legs, but without specific instruction from you, Steve couldn’t satisfy if compulsory lessons could be trusted. With shaking hands, you felt across the expanse his shoulders, chest and torso moving slowly and deliberately to feel his breath hitch in particular spots. 

"I'm sure you've heard this from other...people," you tread carefully, hands resting at the waistband of his pants. "You're absolutely breath-taking."

He hummed and his balance wavered. "Thank you...m-may I have permission to speak?" 

You concede and lean into his body heat, feeling his tension radiate into you. 

"I don't ever want to take my eyes off you," he purred, vacillating closer to your touch as fingertips dipped behind linen. "I can hardly breathe when-"

Commentary interrupted by your hands pushing past his hips and thighs, a groan flows from his chest. You stopped, looking up at your with pants pooled at his ankles.

"When what, Stevie?"

Your hands pressed upwards again, pressing up his broad thighs and resting breaths away from where he pulsed, throbbed, ached. Thoughts of your lips, plump and soft surrounding his cock distracted him long enough to earn a bite at his hip.

"Tell me."

"When you look at me like that," he rushed. You lave the precum off him, twitching heartily under your tongue. Steve’s hands instinctively reached out for your hair, but he hesitates. Permission, he reminded himself.

You stood up, hands caressing with gentle persuasion, reassuring the trembling man of your permission. You pulled away long enough to give him verbal permission to touch you where he liked - and Steve wasted no time cocooning you in his arms. Calloused hands traveled down your back and rested just above your ass, the smallest finger skimming plump cheeks as you swayed towards the bed.

Pushed onto the mattress, he perches on his elbows, watching as you undress before him. His chest heaving breaths in frantic rhythm signaled his extensive use of self-control, limits pushed to a breaking point. Your thighs quivered beneath his survey, a predator locked in unspoken chains.

"I want you to fuck me," you assert firmly, "until our legs are so sore we can't walk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master.” Steve’s answer is gruff, without hesitation and full of impending fire. "May I make a request?"

"You may.” You hovered over his curved muscles, your hungry gaze insatiable.

"May I taste you?"

You smirked and bit your lip, relishing in the way he shivered beneath you. "Look at you, already such a good pet." 

A soft hand dragged down his chest, raking your nails as you went - his body curls towards the touch, searing a tattooed lust where you roamed.

"Please," he begged, a strained moan elongating the word. Steve whines when your form glides sinfully over his, your lips tickling the shell of his ear.

"Would you like me to sit on your face?"

"Yes, please," he prayed, hands eagerly at your hips as your thighs framed his ears.

Steve’s mouth works pure magic, licking at the softest parts of you. His tongue is warm velvet, teasing and prodding inside only to pull away and flick at your clit until your only hope of balance remained in your arms bracing against bedposts.

The bedframe squeaked outside of your pants and moans and his voracious hums of pleasure. Steve’s hold on you - purely for contact - awarded no resistance to your hips rocking downward, fucking yourself on his tongue. 

"Make me cum, Stevie," you moaned, finding a rhythm you knew would provide enough speed and pressure to give you what you wanted without hurting him. "Oh, god, Steve, make me cum."

His neck strains further, a vein prodding against his damp skin as he measured your keening hips. You shrieked when he dared use his teeth against your outer lips, letting them slide between the bones gently. The knots in your stomach snapped as he sucked you fully between his lips, your back bowing so far you nearly collapsed on top of him. Wobbly arms on the headboard, you crooned out gentle moans as tides waned.

Steve rubbed the backs of your thighs, resisting kisses to the inside knowing he could bring you to another climax too soon and risk angering you. All night wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you, and at this rate Steve doubted he could last more than three rounds. He'd anticipated an elderly noble whose funding would easily acquire a ready courtesan, not a youthful beauty the other captives had convinced him would be impossible.

"Fuck me, Steve," you panted, kissing your way from the top of his head down to his neck. The jolts of heat from your lips steadied him briefly, though he hadn't noticed your hand traveling down his waist to his sensitive, aching cock until you gripped him. A fingertip grazed the sensitive precipice just under the head, along a vein that made him see stars behind his screwed shut lids. "But I want you to keep your eyes on me."

Steve let out a guttural wail as you drew a nipple into your mouth and lapped your way down the length of his pert muscles. How he'd managed to last this long, he couldn’t decipher - not while you bathed him in languid trails of lust. He began to plead in whispers as you teased his lower half, hands stroking his thighs and hips, urging him to rock back and forth with you. 

"So obedient," you murmured, taking the tip into your mouth and suckling gently enough to gather more precum. "Do you want to cum in my mouth?"

Steve barely shook his head, arms unable to hold their station as he flopped and arched against the mattress. "P-please, inside y-you," he panted heavily. 

You sat up on your knees and brought his hand to the apex of your thighs. "Here?"

All he could manage was a strangled groan, tossing his head back into the pillow. You shift quickly over him, now at eye level with breath teasing his parted lips.

"Eyes on me," you bid firmly, watching him as you gently move his cock against your lower lips before inching your way down. You cried out at the initial entrance, his hips barely shifting upwards with restraint to keep from sheathing himself until you bid it.

You moved agonizingly slow - Steve began to worry about how much more he could take without completely losing control. The thought of punishment didn’t help matters, how hard you'd smack him with a whip or a crop, or the scratches you'd leave around his body too much to bear. Barely uttering coherent pleas for release, for speed, for more pressure, anything to bring you both to release.

"Please," he cried, "please let me fuck you."

An answering moan from you, legs wrapped around his hips providing the permission he needed. With a growl, he thrusts powerfully in and out, your heat and softness both building and melting tension. As directed, his eyes never left yours - a thrill rushing over him as he discovered a pleasure point within you that wrenched your gaze away. Hips rutted against his build innately, lifting to meet his compelling pace. Steve kissed your lips as he rockets forward, settling his cock deep inside you - slowly grinding your hips together, altering the speed and urgency into something dangerously intimate.

Steve bellows from his chest when you flutter around him, nearing something explosive. To his relief, you pushed against him and urged him on faster and harder, loving the way skin smacked together and sounds harmonized in echoes around the room. 

"Cum, Steve," you shrieked, "oh, fuck."

He shuddered over you, all strain in his body finally released within scream of pleasure. Almost painful after holding back for so long, but your answering pulse surrounding him was more than worth the wait. Your instructions thread like candy floss in his mind - until you couldn't walk; Steve couldn’t be sure in the midst of his unabashed pleasure he could achieve a breath on his own. Lazily he exits you, a chill zips up his spine at the sound of your whine at his absence. 

"Have I pleased you, master?" he panted out, sweat beading on the hair at his chest, over his skin. 

"Very much.” You’re breathless, sated, limp. "I will reward you in the morning. You may stay here with me tonight, if you want."

Steve pushed himself onto his side with a hushed hum, his hand warming just under your breast. Your shoulder kissed tenderly as you played with his sweaty hair, the two of you blinking yourselves to sleep.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Painful Death for the Lactose Intolerant - BCE (Before Cult Events) -

Words: 2,553 Warnings: Depression, Child abandonment, Food Characters: Virgil  Universe: Painful Death for the Lactose Intolerant Genre: Angst

Sanders Sides Teenager AU - Friendship - Humor - Angst

Virgil and Remus and Remy have been drunk idiots who are barely coping for a long time. Do you want more Teenage Debauchery? Because you’re getting teenage debauchery and a little angst, as a treat.

Please read Painful Death for the Lactose Intolerant First if you haven’t already- there are minor spoilers for it!

Chapter 7: That’s the Dream

   Virgil hated the days Remus didn’t stay over. This stupid house was too empty without Remus’s loud presence. Virgil shouted out in anger as he tossed his backpack on the ottoman just to listen to the echo. Virgil picked up the remote and turned on the TV, picking the first thing on his recently played to listen to while he nuked himself lunch. Well, if you could consider anything eaten after 3 PM lunch.

   He liked the noise, just leaving the TV on. It was a habit now, anyway. He wouldn’t even consider playing a game on the TV without Remus, honestly. It felt wrong. But having the TV on seemed right. Virgil sat on the kitchen counter and watched TV through the pass-through while he ate ‘lunch’, which was a microwave meal of biryani chicken. He finished and leaned over to rinse the container and the fork in the sink and left them to dry and climbed up the small backsplash over the sink to jump down into the living room.

   Leaving the door wide open to listen to the TV, he went into the small office just off the living room. His parents used the desktop in here. A long time ago. Virgil had just taken over the computer. It was clear they didn’t care about this workstation, just as much as they didn’t care about Virgil. He kicked off his shoes near the door and sat down at the desk, using his toe to turn on the desktop while he leaned back. He waited for it to boot. It was an older computer and took a bit. He chewed on his lip nervously.

   The TV wasn’t enough today, it seemed. It was still just so… empty. Virgil was freezing and lonely and sad. Sadder then he had any right to be. Nothing was really wrong. It’s not like his parents were hitting or yelling at him anymore. There was food in the fridge and alcohol on the shelf. They paid for the water and electricity. Nothing was actually a problem in his life. He had no right to feel this way.

   People always mentioned how they were jealous of him if he complained to anyone. They wished they were home alone. They wished they had the run of the house. They wished they got to pick the groceries. So Virgil knew he was wrong to hate it desperately. Everyone always told him that he was living the dream. It was stupid to hate it, right? It was stupid to be sad about it. His feelings about it were stupid. The empty house was the dream.

   It was so killer his parents bought him alcohol. He was so lucky that they didn’t care what he did or watch his grades or have discussions with him. How cool was it that no matter what Virgil did they’d never bother to reprimand him? He was just a whiner. He didn’t understand how good he had it. He didn’t understand how bad it was for other kids. Virgil groaned and dropped his head hard on the oak desk and the monitor creaked in protest. He tiredly reached up without looking and entered the password to log in.

   Time to pretend he wasn’t here all alone all evening! Virgil loaded up his favourite websites. Some art ones, YouTube, a crypid blog, Reddit, general places he could interact with people. Nothing really. Very few notifications. No new comments on his art. The Reddit didn’t have much to comment on. The blog hadn’t updated, even his discord was dead. Remus was busy, probably, and Remy’s dad was maybe home, so Remy had to pretend to do his homework. And actually do homework. Virgil gave up on homework ages ago, though. He wrote it down. He had the pages right there. He never did it. There was no point.

   Trying an MMO could help. Hop in on some raids and chat with them. It didn’t happen every time, but sometimes spamming an instance with the same group would cause a little bit of temporary bonding, and he did really want a rare weapon drop from a raid instance he just leveled into. The damn game needed updating, so Virgil took a piece of paper and just mindlessly sketched the character on the loading splash in a new pose. He kind of liked her dress and thought her hair was pretty. Virgil glanced at his phone’s lack of notifications with a sigh and kept drawing during this stupid long update.

   It was so painfully quiet in here it hurt, even with the TV on. There was still at least another half hour on the downloader and Virgil abandoned the sketch, completely unable to focus. He wandered the house pointlessly. He checked all the locks on the windows again, except his parent’s room since he couldn’t stomach going in there. Nothing had changed. Nothing had a reason to. It was just him and this stupid giant silent house. He couldn’t take the silence ringing in his hears. He groaned and started singing loudly, listening to it echo off the walls as he walked through the house.

   ‘Friends on the Other Side’ might not have been the best choice, because now the shadows in his house were getting suspicious. He flipped on all the house just to get rid of them. Virgil couldn’t stop pacing madly and gripping himself, so he went into the kitchen to nuke a mug of milk to make some shit hot cocoa from powder. He needed something. Virgil climbed up on the counter and just listened to the microwave’s hum while some terrible sitcom played in the background. He rubbed his face in frustration. It was dumb! It was dumb! He was lucky! Virgil yelled in frustration again. The microwave finally beeped and Virgil mixed in his cocoa packet.

   Virgil dropped off his mug in the living room and grabbed his sketchbook and a CD from his bedroom. He loaded a CD into the stereo and set it low, then picked a TV show he actually liked on the TV. He sketched one of his OCs while the TV and stereo played. It almost wasn’t so empty in here with the stereo going. Virgil sketched himself playing cheese with another character next.

   He had to get up and change the CDs twice until he was finally hungry enough to consider dinner. Virgil got up and dug around in the freezer for another microwave dinner, chucking a random one in the microwave without really looking at what it was. He didn’t really care. Virgil ate it while leaned against the kitchen counter and watching the TV. It was still ice cold in the center, but it wasn’t inedible. He just had to chew harder. Virgil rinsed stuff and returned went to go finally play his damn game. It finished loading ages ago, but it took so long he got distracted trying to distract himself.

   Grinding the raid wasn’t the worst thing. Virgil was getting good levels and caught on quick, guiding people who didn’t run to the first task right away as he played. He did eventually find a group that was grinding it as he was randomly placed with groups. It took 6 instances for them to start jumping in boredom while they waiting for the boss to spawn. It took another 4 and they were finally chatting in the 2 or 3 minutes of downtime each raid. He even already got the sword he wanted and kept playing. They were nice enough and the levels were good. It was almost like being with other people. They were talking about books, even.

   Remus finally messaged the group chat with one of his gore-or memes, and Virgil sighed in relief. It was stupid, but it felt like Remus forgot about him for a bit. Virgil pestered Remus to come online and play with him, but Remus said he was stuck at one of his parent’s stupid events where he had to pretend he wasn’t hallucinating and stay quiet. Remus technically wasn’t even supposed to be texting, but he had been sneaking it under the table when he had a chance. Virgil didn’t know why they forced Remus to be at these things if they barely tolerated him in the first place. Appearances were just too important to them, and that included pretending they didn’t openly hate Remus maybe. Virgil wished he could light one of his mom’s stupid gauzy dresses on fire with her in it. He grumbled, but the new raid had loaded and he continued grinding with his group.

   The others seemed to enjoy talking too since all the items they were all trying to grind for were achieved and they kept playing. Virgil had a nearly complete set of the rare armor drop from this raid. He didn’t even care for it, it wasn’t worth much to sell and was barely better than his current gear, but they had gotten into a debate on the motivations behind the events of the Divergent series and Virgil wasn’t going to stop.

   Eventually, everyone else had to leave. Virgil put up all the spare armor up for bid and equip everything. The set bonus was admittedly nice. He quested alone for a bit, now that he was significantly over-leveled for many of them he breezed through the quests in the area and moved on. But that tingling started back up in the back of his head eventually. The one that let him know he was alone and that none of the conversations was real. They didn’t even friend request him at the end. It was late enough that most of his guild wasn’t online. The hardcore players were doing PVP and not talking. Virgil sighed and found an inn to get a resting bonus at to sign out. It was already past midnight and he couldn’t even pretend he was tired.

   Virgil knew this was dumb. He knew it was dangerous. He knew he shouldn’t do this. But he slipped back on his shoes and grabbed his keys, heading out the front door. The evening air was warm and nice, outside. It was a little overcast, but he could make out a few stars in the night sky. He wished he could see more. He loved the stars. Looking at them always made him feel better. The stars were always there, they could never leave him.

   He slid his hands in his pockets and kicked a rock along with him as he headed down the street until it jumped off the curb. He watched it for a moment and moved on. Not being in the house anymore, where he was stuck all the time, helped. He hated being there. He hated the sound of the A/C and the smell of the couch. It was dumb. He was supposed to appreciate this. Why couldn’t he appreciate this? Virgil flipped up his hood and headed towards the park. He didn’t really have anywhere else to go.

   He kicked his legs under him and swung higher on the swing set. The set creaked slightly in the night, but otherwise, it wasn’t obvious anyone was out here. Virgil watched the stars close in and recede as he swung. Staring at him gave his head a fuzzy feeling he could describe, but it was both uncomfortable and comforting. He couldn’t think about how bad he was at appreciating things or how much he missed Remus and Remy. The fuzzy feeling just overtook his brain and he embraced it. Virgil gripped the chain and swung as high as he could without the chain clattering loudly, enjoying the fresh smell and the different sights for once.

   Virgil must have stopped paying attention at one point because when he realized what was happening he was sitting on the swing completely still while he watched the scattered clouds pass overhead. Virgil rubbed his face and pulled out his phone. The light on his screen blinded him momentarily and he hissed at it, rubbing his eyes. When he reopened them the screen had dimmed down. Shit, he had been out here for ages. Virgil slid his phone back into his pocket and hopped off the swing to head back home. He shouldn’t be out this late.

   “I’m home,” Virgil called pointlessly to the empty house as he entered and locked up, sliding the bar under the door handle. Virgil picked up his mug from the living room to rinse out as he got a glass of water. Virgil sighed as he leaned against the fridge and sipped his cup of water, staring at the clock. He should probably get to bed sometime soon. Virgil went to go shower and change for bed.

   He left his clothes for tomorrow folded on the bathroom counter to change into quickly and headed into his bedroom after turning off all the lights he left on in the house. There was no point in closing his bedroom door, but the dark hall always scared him, even though he never admitted it to anybody. His brain played tricks on him with the shadows in the hall and he saw things. It was easier to close the door.

   Virgil crawled up into bed and laid down, pulling out his phone. It was time to space out to social media. His brain was still kind of fuzzy from earlier and the walk must have helped tire him because he was exhausted even though he barely did anything once he got home from school. Not that he did much at school either. Remus wasn’t here last night either and he had trouble sleeping, so he was too tired today for much. Virgil glanced around his dark bedroom, making sure everything was in place.

   His eyes caught on the small locked box on his desk and sighed. Remus would kill him if he found out he did it again and Virgil was bad at keeping on his hoodie when he got drunk. He had grown out of it, he told himself. He wasn’t that weak anymore. He didn’t have to depend on it anymore. Remus came over often now and it made all the empty, silent nights easier. But Virgil still couldn’t throw out the box. And on nights like this sometimes it played at him. Just in passing. He didn’t think he would. He wouldn’t even touch the box tonight, though sometimes he did. Sometimes just holding the box was enough. He didn’t need to tonight. But it was still there. It was an option he kept open.

   Virgil pulled his eyes back to his phone and appreciated the fact that the cyptid and conspiracy theory boards were finally alive and he talked with them, sending interesting theories to the group chat. Remy always claimed he hated getting them and that Virgil sent them too late, but Remy was the one reading and responding to them. Remy always called them dumb, but Virgil appreciated that even if he really thought they were dumb he took the time to read things Virgil was interested in. It made him feel better, and he needed that tonight. Because tonight the silent house and the lack of a single soul nearby that cared if he lived or died were both too loud to deal with. 

Tags: @elizabutgayer​​ @ollyollyoxinfree

[failedmy-tbtest]

Hey man! Mind if I request Dutch with the Reader getting TB? That Javi headcanon is precious omg

ooooooh man ya’ll ain’t ready for this. i posted this on my archive as well! and thank you nonny for giving me something to write for my creative writing class as well!

wc: 2,586

Sounds Like

Part of you was wishing that you’d just stuck around camp that day. But if you hadn’t gone…who would have? Strauss had been eyeing Arthur to retrieve the debt, but he’d been busy that afternoon with some business in Valentine. Would he have asked someone else? Javier? Charles maybe? Micah? What would their coughs sound like?

You sat at the saloon running the pad of your finger around the edge of your shot glass as your head ran through the different scenarios. What would Lenny’s cough sound like? Would it be wheezy like Hosea’s or throaty the way Bill clears his throat?

Yours was hollow as though something was trying to come out, but there wasn’t anything at all. You eyed the microscopic drops of blood on the edge of your sleeve. Well, there had apparently been a bit of something.

Your fingers wrapped around the glass before you tilted your head back and poured the liquor between your slightly chapped lips. It burned, but so did your chest when you started to cough a little bit.

You brought your hand up to cover your mouth as the coughing intensified for a moment and it felt like your lungs were going to collapse on you right then and there.

“You alright, ma’am?” The bartender asked with an eyebrow raised, either thinking you were choking on something or not wanting you within a ten-foot radius of his bar. What would his cough sound like?

You nodded and dug through your pockets for the amount of change that the drink had cost, then started heading for the door.

“You have a good day now, mister.” You lazily swung your hand in goodbye to the bartender before pushing open the saloon doors.

People milled around the streets of Valentine as if the world hadn’t just completely changed. But it hadn’t, at least for anyone that wasn’t you. 

You tried to clear your throat as you walked over to where you left The Count hitched in front of the doctor’s, and gave him a good, firm pat on the neck as you grabbed his reins.

The Count was Dutch’s horse, an Albino Arabian that refused to let anyone else in the gang get too close to him, but he’d taken to you even before getting used to Dutch.

“Hey there, boy. Thanks for waitin’ for me.” You shoved one of your feet in the stirrups and hoisted yourself up with a grunt. A soft cough shoved its way out of your chest as you got settled into the saddle before you spurred The Count towards the main road out of town.

Thankfully Dutch’s horse had been to and from Valentine so many times that he just about knew the way back himself, because you were so lost in your thoughts that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Your thoughts were wrapped around what the doctor had said, the words repeating in your head like a broken record Dutch once placed in his gramophone.

The leisurely ride back to camp included watching as deer bounded past, tracking the circles the hawks flew above, and listening to herds of sheep being led by their owner. It was peaceful and you couldn’t help but think of how alive everything looked.

By the time you made it back to camp you were exhausted, and quite frankly it panicked you a bit. You hadn’t done much that day but go to the doctor’s, drink at the saloon, and sit on The Count while taking in the scenery.

You hitched up The Count next to Silver Dollar, and gave both horses a solid pat on the shoulder before heading over to one of the tables spread around camp. You dropped into a chair and leaned into it with a soft sigh, though it came out rather wheezy. A pang of sadness and fear fluttered around your chest.

The members of the gang all milled about, doing various things for each other and themselves. You rested your head against an arm you had propped up and just watched them. What would their coughs sound like? 

Karen was over by the girls’ tent with Mary-Beth and Tilly, sewing something by the looks of it. Javier was sitting nearby, strumming a gentle song on his guitar. You tried to think of the name, for he’d told you before, but it escaped you at the moment.

Uncle was over by the horses bickering with the Reverend, who was drunk as usual. Suddenly Uncle turned around and dropped the flap on his union suit, showing Swanson his bare ass, and you couldn’t help but break into a fit of giggles. 

For a moment you were able to forget that itch in your chest that constantly wanted to be scratched, able to forget that breathing felt like a chore, and able to forget that you didn’t have much chance of a future. 

Then you started to cough again.

You were hunched over the table trying to quiet your fit, but it hadn’t been enough as a gentle hand was placed upon your shoulder blade until the coughing subsided. You wiped off the corner of your lips in case there was any blood, then tilted your head up to see who had comforted you.

“Christ, pumpkin. Let’s get you some water or something, come on.” There he was, leaning over you. Hosea had concern etched all over his face and you tried to wave him off, but he wasn’t having any of it. He knew you better than that––you, Dutch, and Hosea being as close as you were and all. 

What would his cough sound like? Similar to the one he already had or would he sound worse?

“I’m fine Hosea, you old dog. Just gettin’ over a cough is all.” You swatted his hand gently as he tried to pry you out of the chair, and he stood there quiet for a moment before pulling up a chair next to yours.

“That’s a hell of a cough you got there,” Hosea reached out and placed his hand on top of yours that was resting on the table. His eyes managed to find the flecks of blood on your sleeve easier than you’d expected. Hosea was a cunning man, but he was getting older in age. “What is it?”

You chuckled a few notes before clearing your throat and taking a deep breath that sounded rather wet, and you looked up at Hosea with a somber expression. In your head, the best case scenario was that nobody caught on to how sick you sounded, but in a gang of 22 people the chances of that were slim.

You tried to swallow past the lump in your throat before saying very quietly, “Tuberculosis. The doctor in Valentine said there was a chance if I get somewhere dry and rest but...you shoulda seen his face Hosea. It wasn’t the face of a man who thinks you got a chance to live. Quite frankly, I don’t feel like I do either.” You scratched the back of your neck and averted your eyes from Hosea. You didn’t think you could stand to see the heartbreak on his warm features. 

“Does he know?” Hose asked ever so softly and you shook your head while clenching your jaw. You could feel your eyes burning and your breath catching, but if you broke down in the middle of camp everyone would find out, and you didn’t think you could handle that right now.

“S’why I went into town. Finally dragged myself to the doctor in Valentine and got the news. I knew it wasn’t gonna be good when I started spittin’ blood.” You rubbed your hands over your face and held them there for a moment, but Hosea pulled one of them away with a sad smile on his face. You could see the tears starting to form in his eyes and it only made you want to cry more.

“You should go talk to him. He’d want to know. I’m glad I do. It means I don’t have to worry about you getting in trouble anymore.” Hosea chuckled bittersweetly and you rolled your eyes with a hoarse laugh. It broke your heart knowing that you weren’t going to outlive Hosea and that he was going to lose someone he cared about yet again. After his wife Bessie had died, Hose had closed himself off a bit for a while, and now he was going to have to mourn you.

You knew you’d have to tell Dutch eventually, it was something you had been thinking about since you left the doctor’s office. You had no idea how you were going to break it to him and how he’d react. It terrified you. 

“I know. Thanks, Hosea.” He helped you to your feet and gave a reassuring pat on your shoulder before sitting back down and pulling a book out of the inside of his coat.

You walked past Karen and the girls, giving them a tired wave as you wandered over to Dutch’s tent. He was leaning up against a pole with a cigar between his lips and a book in hand. You slowed your pace as you watched him, dreading having to disrupt the relaxed expression on his face. You took the moment to memorize his mannerisms: the way his eyebrows pulled together as he read a particularly vexing passage, the subtle nod he would give when he agreed with something to author said.

“You gonna keep starin’ or are you going to actually say something?” Dutch spoke up without taking his eyes off his book, and you flinched a little bit. The pain in your lungs flared as you remembered the way your knees slammed into the ground from coughing so hard.

“I-uh, I’m comin’ over. Jus’ hold your horses for a moment.” You cleared your throat and responded as you took a few steps towards his tent. The feeling was similar to walking towards the edge of a cliff and wanting to look down and see how far the fall was. Each step was a challenge.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dutch’s deep laugh rang in your head as you folded your arms across your chest, trying to look everywhere but Dutch. You didn’t say anything, instead you moved past him and went inside his tent to sit on the cot you shared. You felt like a child about to be scolded for something as you sat there, contemplating how to phrase what came next.

Dutch’s eyes followed you as the thin mattress creaked underneath your weight, and your head was hung low with your hands in your lap as you picked at the skin around your fingertips.

“Sugar? What’s wrong?” His voice had dropped all humor as he set his book down and held his cigar between his fingers. When you heard the bed creak and sink under Dutch’s weight, you doubled over as you hand flew to your mouth to muffle a sob. It was breaking your heart and it was going to break his.

“Miss, I...I’m so sorry. Your cough...it sounds like you have Tuberculosis.” You could hear the doctor’s voice loud and clear in your head. What would his cough sound like?

You could feel Dutch lean away from the sudden movement, but his arm quickly came around your shoulders to try and comfort you. His lips rested against your temple, his thumb rubbing against your shoulder.

 “Mags, why-what happened?” He pulled you towards his chest as your shoulders shook with quieted cries. Your lungs were beginning to sear, and you could feel a coughing fit coming on, so you squirmed out of his grasp and turned away from him as you started to cough and gasp for air.

You could feel blood collecting on the inside of your lip and leaking through the corner of your mouth, so you quickly wiped it away before trying to take deep and even breaths. Beside you, Dutch had stilled. You could smell his cigar burning away, but not the sweet scent of tobacco, so he wasn’t puffing on it.

His fingers were suddenly around your wrist and moving it into his line of sight, the bright red liquid contrasting the light linen of your sleeve like a spotlight.

“Dutch, I-” You stopped to let out another small cough, then cleared your throat again. “I’m dying. I’ve got TB...from a feller in Valentine that owed Strauss money.” Your voice sounded raw from the coughing, though as of late you sounded like you constantly had a sore throat. 

Within the tent, no sounds could be heard but the soft thud of Dutch’s cigar hitting the dirt and his boot squashing it out. You turned towards the man you knew like the back of your hand, and saw he had an odd expression on his face. His hands were on his knees as if he were bracing himself, and his body was slightly reclined. Though his eyes gave him away.

“Nonsense, we haven’t come into contact with anyone that’s ill. Hosea, now that old dog I could believe. This wasn’t a very good joke now, darlin’.” His voice was stern but his gaze wouldn’t leave you, quietly begging you to start laughing and tell him he should’ve fallen for it. Each second that passed where you didn’t, his body visibly grew more tense. You resisted the urge to look away, to run away so that nobody had to deal with this.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Your lower lip began to tremble as Dutch’s eyes bounced around your face, trying to look for some sort of tell that you were lying. He pulled you back into a hug and held you tightly. You clung to your love’s embrace, and the immovable Dutch Van der Linde held his like the world was going to end.

“Oh darlin’, no you don’t-you don’t have to apologize. I’m only sorry I didn’t notice sooner.” Dutch tried to comfort you, his voice shaking for the first time since coming down from Colter. You inhaled and you could feel Dutch wince from his chin resting on top of your head. You hadn’t noticed how bad you’d sounded until the doctor had told you.

“Your cough...it sounds like you have Tuberculosis.” You had never heard somebody with Tuberculosis before. At least you thought you hadn’t but Thomas Downes had been coughing and spitting and bleeding all over you as you’d beat him for money.

“Is it-are you sure you’re d...not well?” Dutch asked you hesitantly, pausing over the word ‘dying’ as if it were cursed. You bit her lip and nodded, shifting your gaze towards the roof of the tent to try and prevent yourself from breaking down again. It wouldn’t bode well for either of them to hear your lungs flare up.

“I’m afraid. I don’t-I don’t know what’ll happen to me.” You stumbled over your words, trying to articulate them without beginning to cry again, but you were failing. Dutch’s hand moved up and down your back slowly, something he always did whenever he needed comfort but didn’t want to seem emotional.

“Have faith, darlin’. No matter what, we will...we will be alright.” He sounded so confident in himself that you almost believed him. Almost.

As you sat there in his arms, tears streaming down you face and fear making your heart pound, you couldn’t help but think:

What would his cough sound like?

here’s my masterlist and my requests are open!

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch XIII - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch 8 / ?? - In which a true apology is given

*** ARCHIVE WARNINGS VERY MUCH APPLY FOR THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE READ WITH DISCRETION.

The Darkness was roiling mad, a furious mass of thorns that exploded in his rib cage and up through his spine. It ripped threw his head, his shoulders tightening as it dug in like a macabre torture device of old. He kept trying to explain, trying to make it understand his reasoning, but it only howled like a wolf outside the sheep pen - 

YOU HAVE NO REASONING FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, YOU STUPID MAN! 

She had to be well in order to fight long enough to survive for Nil; to not just hang herself while the Dagger melted silver down her clavicle. 

DO YOU NOT REMEMBER OUR JOINING, OUR PACT? HOW TO ACT WITH FINESSE, TO BREAK SOMEONE WITHOUT EXERTING PRESSURE, OR HOW TO PUSH THEM OVER THE EDGE? 

Calling for Alice and asking her to go to Emma's aid was a good thing strategically, and her actually appearing like some sort of fogged looking glass apparition he summoned was a blessing

YOU COULD HAVE FOLLOWED MY SIMPLE PLAN FOR YOU TO PUSH HER WHILE SHE WAS BREAKING! 

The voice changed in timbre and tone as it sometimes did, easily digging its points home. Killian could practically see his father, drunk and dismissive, shouting at Liam and beating them both bloody under one of the massive pines. The memory of watching Liam with a broken jaw as he went into his first year in the junior naval recruits was the one it dug its claws into, the Darkness fueling old anger and shame. 

YOU SAW HER HIDE FROM YOU, YOU COULD HAVE EASILY WORKED YOUR WAY UNDER HER SKIN AND GOTTEN HER FOLLOWING YOU TO NIL. YOU COULD HAVE EVEN PRESSED FOR THE SHARD, IF SHE WAS TRULY AT HER WIT'S END - INSTEAD YOU TRIP OVER YOUR TONGUE LIKE A BOY! AN IMBECILE! 

It pressed him, but he was not weak. He could crush his father ten times over now if the bastard wasn't dead, and no one could get under his skin again. Certainly not some crying woman, especially the daughter of an enemy, and such a valuable card to hold in play if he wanted to be free. Maybe he had told Alice too much about his worries over Emma, while Robyn watched with bewildered dismay. Maybe he blurted how she was acting, and they thought that he was showing weakness or worry. Imagined of course, there was nothing - 

SHE BEWITCHES YOU INTO SYMPATHETIC STUPOR, SHE FILLS YOU WITH IDEAS OF REDEMPTION YOU DO NOT DESERVE, YOU ARE SO CLOSE TO YOUR REVENGE, OUR REVENGE, AND YOU FAIL ME. I MUST PUNISH YOU, I MUST HURT YOU. 

He braced himself; the pain of broken bones as he folded into himself was enough to make him wish for true death. 

I WISH YOU WERE DEAD, FREEING MYSELF FROM YOUR INEPTITUDE WOULD BE A BLESSING WELL MET WITH YOUR DEATH. 

They both knew it was fruitless, the idea impossible while the dagger was still broken. He would survive the pain, and the Darkness would greet him in its vengeance without fail. With eyes closed tightly, he braced himself for what was to come. 

Instead of pain, though, it cackled, and Killian felt more fear than before. 

Oh yes, feel that fear, Dearie. No more physical pain for today. You mentioned strategy - I have a strategic plan for you, regarding a fitting punishment; the sort worthy of this sort of betrayal. You've been misbehaving without consequences too long now, your leash forgotten. Do you remember when you failed to stop Snow Margueryte and her Charming? Do you remember how I tormented you for your failure? 

Killian shook his head in horror. Not that. 

Oh yes, that. It's time for your nightmare. I'll provide you mercy and heal you first… Be patient, for when I'm done we'll begin my favorite game with you. We haven't played in such a long time… 

His bones began to knit back together, cracking into place noisily and sloppily. Emma's voice suddenly echoed into his chamber, breaking through the Darkness' cackling. 

"Dark One!" She was blazing with rage and light magic, Killian barely able to stand upright at her advance. The Darkness felt licks of her fury strike, its yowls of pain as it hid itself away a bitter requiem of relief. 

Killian gritted his teeth as he adjusted his frame to lean against the wall, his body still healing slowly even as the Darkness exited. "Princess?" he rasped. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she shrieked; he thought she might move to strike him, to hear the venom with which she spat the question out. "You went through Ariel? Through Alice and Robyn? Through Eric and Marta? Did you think that I would not find out immediately or that they would not tell me of your attempt at deceit? What information did you hope you could squeeze from them while I was dealing with the consequences of my failures? You already know all of them, what could you possibly use against me now?"

He winced, and not all from pain. A vague guilt that had a name - remorse perhaps? 

“That wasn't the reason, I didn't - I wanted to -"

"I don't want anything to do with you. How many times do I have to -" Emma's magic hit him again, his corroded mind practically melting as her magic burnt the Darkness where it attempted to remain stuck to his bones. His knees wobbled. 

"Emma, I just need you to know -" 

Emma interrupted as he tried to take a breath, sweat beading on his forehead. "No. No, you don't need me to, you want me to. Big difference, buddy, and I have a choice in whether or not I listen. I don't want to listen."

His voice sounded small to his own ears. "I just want to know that you're okay."

Emma laughed, her eyes wild and teeth bared. "You know that I'm okay, that I am just dealing with a war, deaths, betrayals, figuring out who to trust and who isn't a monster. You've known I was alright since I left you, since I didn't come back - it's you who isn't alright. You’re scared. I don't blame you for it either; I can't imagine how it must feel to be unable to make your own choices, but I am not and cannot be your crutch. Find someone else."

Nodding, he scrubbed his face, and then carded his hand through his hair. "I thought - Never mind. Please just - You'll have to take care of yourself to survive. Keep yourself safe, and the shard; talk to Ursula and Ariel, alright? I was - I thought they might be concerned for you, and I am sorry for bothering them. And you. That's all. Nothing else."

Marta poked her head in, clearing her throat. "Uh, Killian. Ursula has a ship ready for you, and she's requested that you leave immediately. I've offered to go with you part of the way to make sure you don't do anything else untoward."

Emma snorted, spitefully. "Thanks Marta. Sorry you got the short straw."

Marta sighed. "Princess, do you need me to -" 

"I'm fine," Emma snapped. "Just about done here." Marta gave a nod, taking her leave. 

"I'm going to leave then," Killian said.

"Good. If we never meet again it will be too soon."

"If it means anything, I'm glad you are safe. I'm glad the shard is safe. I am glad you are with people who can help you, and who are… good at protecting you. I don't - you don't have to worry if they are trustworthy, and they won't fail you. Goodbye, Princess."

"Farewell, Dark One." 

He walked in a daze to the place where his ship waited, uncaring and unaware of the Selkies booing him, the food and trash thrown at him, of Ursula, Eric, Ariel, Alice, and Robyn watching his trek out of the caves with Emma. He stared, Eric and Ariel openly glaring, Robyn giving him the same squinted look of confusion that she had previously, and Alice too busy talking to Emma. 

To distract her from him. A dull heaviness pushed down on his shoulders, weight settling in his stomach. 

Marta was already waiting for him on the ship, a look of pity for him on her face. "Ready?" she inquired softly. He nodded, and they drew anchor. The ship moved through the calm water, everything quiet as they departed, including the voices that made up the Darkness. 

The portal out was a one way exit, the ship's wheel in his hands a steadying comfort. They caught the breeze, leaving the tranquility of the underwater oasis and sailing off the proverbial edge of Ursula's world to land in stormy waters. 

He had to blink a few times as a bright green bolt of blinding lightning cracked in the heavens. The storm was massive, and he followed its course along the horizon, seeing an armada skirting a hurricane before it hit something unseen, the clouds breaking apart. Killian ran to the stern, Marta joining him with a hand over her mouth. 

Ursula's caves flickered into view, appearing like a great bubble from the sea floor by some otherworldly force. As the caves crested the surface, the protective forces that had been shielding the caves broke with a resounding force, the huge crash as they struck the surface to sink again sending a shockwave through the water. Their ship pitched back and forth as they held steady to her moorings; the water had become a roiling mess of waves from the magic radiating off of the fleet in the distance. Green lightning struck the water all around it, and even from their distance Killian could see floating carcasses and the mass of birds seeking carrion, the water a sickly olive color. The storm began again, and Killian brought the spyglass in his pocket to his eye to examine the strangest fleet of mismatched ships Killian had ever seen, and tethered at its front was the cause of this destruction - King of the Merfolk, the previous King of the Sea: Ursula's brother, Triton. 

Shuddering in disbelief of the King's fate, even if deserved, Killian tried to map and count the plan of attack from their positions. Frigates, sloops, and even a few galleons were interspersed with metal rusting boats in styles Killian had never seen. The largest was something Elsa had called a barge, and it led the ships as the storm beat around them, the towering man with a large, dirty, grey beard at the lead. Focusing with a twist, he surveyed Triton further. The partial God was bruised and emaciated, held by a golden collar around his neck that linked to the barge with its towering blocks of rectangular metal boxes. Following the chain from the man’s collar to a raised dais that lay on a deck, Neal lounged nearby in a windowed observation level, looking bemused. Triton was under the control of the prince, his powers controlled by Nil's desire to possess Emma. 

But they would never, never get through to Ursula - 

Triton waved a large trident around, and the storm sparked with green and purple electricity. Ursula's secret realm lurched into view again as he spun the weapon with skill, before it sunk below in another huge crash. Their ship creaked ominously as the waves sent them flying. Triton bellowed loudly, making Marta whimper next to Killian. 

"We have to go back," Marta whispered, watching Killian close the spyglass. 

"Go back? For what, the pleasure of being ripped apart by Goblins and a demi-god? She doesn't want me there, what good -" 

Marta slapped him hard, changing from a highborn prim matron to the visage of a livid sorceress. 

"Stop thinking about yourself for one damned minute, you narcissistic clam! Even if that is the Darkness in you, recognize that this is bigger than you or your princess - my friend and my people are about to be slaughtered. I know what you did. I know how you exploded over that fleet like some sort of comet, and how you screamed the entire time begging for forgiveness. I was there in the water, before and after. I watched you kill those men, I saw them die; it took days to get the blood out of my pelt. Are you really going to let that happen again? Even if they aren't your people?"

Remembering the Darkness and its threat of reliving his worst nightmares, Killian paused. A spark lit his chest into a blaze. 

"If you wanted to die so badly, you could not have chosen a more reckless bastard willing to assist." He turned the ship, heading straight towards Triton and the Goblin fleet. 

What are you doing?! 

Killian felt the Darkness wake again, still weakened. Reading his thoughts, it quieted at the promise of a battle, the idea of any sort of confrontation too delicious to push back against. It acquiesced to his intended course, lending strength that made Killian grin ferally. 

They had just passed where the portal had spit them out when he heard the noise of another ship close by, only slightly behind. It caught up with them in an instant, and he had to blink; the silhouette was so familiar, the way it glided through the water as if it flew, almost like the Jewel but not quite - 

The thought was obliterated as Emma came into view on the deck, her hair whipping around her scowling face. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  "Get her out of here. This place is about to be a war zone if they manage to pit Ursula against Triton," Marta yelled at Emma's vessel, pointing to where Triton moved the water in huge eddies, the sea opening up and closing. 

Ariel yelled back, obviously frustrated and pointing at Emma. "We told her that, she -" 

"This is what Emma wants to do! We need to help Ursula, and we need to help your father, so why are you so oblivious you twit?" Alice marched toward Ariel, pointing, no longer soft spoken. 

"Of course I want to save my father, but how the hell is she going to help when she isn't even in her right mind!" Ariel spat, before regret played across her features. "Emma, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that in the way -" 

Alice and Robin cut off Ariel, though their words were lost to a forceful gust of wind. Alice looked livid, gesturing at Ariel to the point that Eric had stepped in and tried to separate them. Emma looked frozen in place, opening her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and retreated. Killian caught her eye, but she just looked through him, and instead jumped when thunder boomed over their heads.

Wind ripped at their own sails, Marta running to the front of the ship as Killian raced toward the back, glancing over to see Emma's sleeker vessel roll in the waves. The storm itself seemed concentrated around them suddenly, growing in ferocity. Massive waves, fueled by Triton’s powers, drew up shipwrecks that crashed into their vessels, jostling the princess and sending Eric to the wheel to frantically steer. Ariel was red with rage, screaming at Alice and Eric, while Emma tried to get their attention. 

Killian yelled at them to stop, but they only pointed their shouts at him, rain now pouring down on them like the sky had opened. 

Emma let out a scream of frustration, and Killian could see it before it happened, moving with a rope in his hand as he threw back the last of the vial in his pocket, jumping into the water only moments after Emma lost her balance and flew over the side. 

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  "Stop fighting, it's making the storm - " Emma shouted, but it was drowned out over the roar of waves, the downpour, and the brawl. A wave tore at her, and she was thrown roughly to the deck, her hand catching a rope for support. The wind whipped the rigging skyward, her cuff falling away as she flew off the planks and into the ocean. 

The water hit her full on, taking her breath away. She scrambled for the cuff, realizing too late it was lost in the sea. The dark water was freezing, crushing her in the indeterminate up and down. In a panicked moment she tried to summon the cuff, and when her magic simply sputtered, she tried to conjure air. No bubbles formed around her, her magic strained or weakened by Nil's influence on the sea. Fighting against the current left the air in her lungs burning, but she could not give in. A life of no more sky was how all of her nightmares seemed to end: here in the silence of drowning, in a life with Nil, or surrounded by darkness that was too alive. What would her mother say? Her father? With their fiercest faces on, speaking of honor and hard won peace - 

"We never give up in this family, Emma. We always find another. Good always wins."

Now she wanted desperately to ask at what cost? At what cost did good win, when this was good? Good should not be having to struggle, banished from a realm for no more reason than hatred, locked away forever or until you could be of use, punishments that were cruel and unusual - that wasn't good winning. 

That cost didn't need to be paid when there were so many other paths available. If only they had sought wisdom, if they had reached out and tried to see what might be good for all… Emma wished that she could have helped them do better, that maybe if she wasn't drowning, if they weren't imprisoned, if the weight of what they built hadn't come crashing down, they all could have changed things. 

Her eyes blurred and bright spots burst in her vision. Blackness closed in, her magic dampened, embracing the beginning of the end, until a hand grabbed her own. It pulled hard, tearing through the water. A blue light came from somewhere in the dark, but when she reached for it Emma felt her legs touch a tail, hand tingling from shock. There was no way it was him; Ariel was right that she had lost her mind, this was just some strange vision before she would wake in her bed. Arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her upwards, trying to beat the water that leaked into her mouth and nose, and there were his eyes, like he actually - 

Landing on hard wood with a thud, she could dimly hear voices of concern, but mostly she could see a soaking wet Killian looking down at her in fear. Emma coughed, choking on water as he watched her, breathing in harshly himself and falling back to his elbows. Too weak to move away from him and much weaker still to try to ask why, she stared at him in angry confusion. 

"You really need to stop drowning around me," he said in explanation, wiping wet hair away from his face, as if it meant nothing. "It's a terrible way to go, and I have made it abundantly clear that I will not let you."

Emma couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her at the absolute absurdity of everything, the hurt in her chest from the lack of oxygen, and how much hatred she wanted to feel even though she could not summon it. 

"I'll try and keep that in mind. Thank you," Emma whispered with as much annoyance as she could muster. Killian cracked a cheeky grin, and Emma felt the urge to punch him rise. 

"Emma, I'm so sorry. We realized that you were gone after he was jumping off the other side after you - " Alice rapidly began, before crushing Emma in a hug. The rest of her friends gathered, the storm calming around them on both ships. 

There was a loud splintering crack as more of Ursula's realm was pulled from hiding. Goblins threw ropes at the caves, climbing like spiders into the network of tunnels as Selkies launched their own bare defenses until they were dragged out in nets. 

A massive tentacle broke from the water, smacking hard against Triton as Ursula pushed free into the onslaught. Ariel gasped, and Marta began frantically pacing the deck. 

"What do we do?" Marta asked. Everyone turned towards Killian, who looked at his feet. 

"Don't look at me," he snapped, pointing to Emma. "The princess here does a far better job at improvisation methods. Ask her, she's your leader."

Emma blinked, staring at Killian with a suspicious glare. She thought for a moment, pushing past everything that had happened, her fears evaporating as she moved into planning. 

"We help Ursula, and we help the Selkies. Eric will pilot to Ursula, while some of us take the other ship and destroy what we can of Nil’s armada." She spoke calmly, delegating tasks quickly and methodically cycling through what they would need. "Ursula needs more time to try and get her denizens all out, so we need to make any sort of distraction we can. We can draw them away or at least split their forces if he knows I'm here."

"That is a terrible - " Ariel began, but Emma stopped her with a harsh tone. 

"If you have nothing better to offer, Ariel, I don't want to hear it."

Ariel managed to look shocked, before swallowing with a nod. "Let's free my father."

They split as a group, Emma giving Marta a solemn nod when they turned away to head towards Nil, Eric steering their ship straight into the formation. Killian forced his way between two ships in the rear, blending in easily, using their mix of styles to his advantage. It wasn't until the the first ship lay silent and burning that any attack looked like it was taking place. At least he could do this; maybe they could do this and for once take a victory. 

Marta steered hard into a barely held together wooden sloop. Alice and Robyn wreaked chaos with strange smoke bombs detonated by arrows while Killian lit sails on fire, the Goblins seemingly not understanding why liberally leaving petrol around could be a problem. The armada's wooden ships burned hot in the water, making the storm even eerier, green lightning mixed with the bright reds of the flames creating barriers for any course direction. It was clear that the Goblins were not familiar with any Naval strategy, and Emma felt a small surge of hope. Eric had a steady hand as he watched Ariel create portals, shutting them around longer vessels when they were halfway through with screeching crunches. 

The Goblin fleet took notice, but Nil made no move for Emma as their ship took fire. Eric and Ariel disappeared onto a steel boat with a claw like contraption while Emma tried to magic herself onto another ship’s deck without success. Her hands trembled, sparks finally lighting and sending her sprawling on a shiny silver floor surrounded by huge containers stacked on each other. A Goblin stared at her in confusion before she lunged, plunging her sword into its chest out of instinct. The Goblin fell with a thud, and Emma began to run. These ships were long and easy to cross. Her mind was made up to get to Nil before he could get to the Selkies. 

Killian appeared in the middle of the last surviving holdout of metal barges, pursued as he jumped across a row of metal containers above Emma while she herded a group into the space below. The Goblins above carelessly knocked containers down in a tumble, burying her pursuers. Emma met his eyes briefly, giving him a nod.

They continued through the maze of metal on opposite sides of each other, flowing into an easy strategy together that made her angrier still at Nil - angry that she could possibly consider working again with the Dark One. It was too simple to fall back into their unfriendly truce. The thought had barely crossed her mind when the wood under her feet splintered and bowed, her feet slipping as the barge tipped forward, barreling towards the sea floor. The impact of the hull against the rocky ground sent her flying, the noise alone reverberating through her teeth like she was shattering as the rocks came towards her at frightening speed. 

The same black blur as before pushed her into swirling water. The force of the whirlpool crushed them both, but her hand crushed his even harder while he pulled upward. Water resettled again as they gasped for air together at the surface, Killian’s hair sticking flat against his face. The water was full of debris and flame, smoke making it impossible to see much of anything. Ships ground together all around them as he helped her cling to a chunk of wood. It was in both of their best interests for her to be alive and uninjured, but here he was playing some sort of savior that went far beyond the bounds of their truce. He was behind her, at her side, or in sync with her step, both of them working together with an ease as if they were partners, and yet that’s not what they were. It made her angry, furious even, even in the midst of battle. 

"Killian, what - " But before she could finish, she was forced to push him frantically out of the way as a huge chunk of a rock formation fell, the resulting force smacking them together. "Look out, go!" 

More rocks fell around them and cut through the smoke, Ursula's lair appearing again to all as its protective shields flickered to a shuddering halt, the walls looming over them as it hurtled downwards again towards the sea floor. One of the main chambers swallowed them as the lair descended, pushing water aside as it split around them, crystals raining down in sparkling pieces. Caught in the push back of the water, they were pulled with the mass of rock as it fell away and began settling into the bottom of the sea. The force of the ensuing wave, however, pushed them back up and over the surface, Emma's back smacking against what was once the cave floor. The two pieces were still crumbling, but now sat horizontally in the water to create an invisible shoreline made of stone. Emma had little time to acknowledge where she landed, the wind escaping her lungs when she tried to shriek and shield her body from another round of the boulders. Killian pulled her into a roll, ending up above her breathing heavily. 

"G'off - " Emma let out a panted breath from under him, weakly protesting at his weight. "Catch your breath, and g'off!"

Killian rolled off of her onto his back, letting out puffs of air as he did. 

"Sorry," he rasped, and finally pushed his hair out of his face with a wet slap. Emma let out a laugh, regretting it instantly as she coughed. 

"S'alright." Propping herself upright on her elbows, she quickly glanced around the cave fragment where they had washed up, now its own small island in the turmoiled sea. Standing and peering around the cracked rock, her breath caught again. 

Ursula's realm was broken into pieces around the remaining ships, cracked and jagged mountains of what was once the cave jutting out of the water. The piece they were sequestered on was at the outer edge, so obscured by smoke that they could not see Ursula at all until Triton's first blow landed and swept the billowing clouds away. 

The brother and sister stood in the water in front of Nil's barge, both of them colossal and struggling against each other’s strength as Ursula's tentacles wrapped around the trident. Nets were thrown towards what was left of the caves, dragging selkies into a cargo hold, the water carrying sounds of distress to her ears. Emma slipped through the crack, running towards the water, but there he was in her peripheral, because of course he was. Of course he would stalk her even in the middle of a battle - 

"Don't you dare tell me not to do this, not to do something - " Emma hissed, putting more distance between them. He stood slightly in front of her, but made no move to stop her. 

"I wasn't going to," Killian replied with a sideways glance, following slightly behind when she pushed past. "Do you have a plan?" he asked when they got closer, nets hauling in screaming women and seals. 

"Get the Selkies out and turn Nil's focus fully on me so that Ursula can free Triton. Nil doesn't care about his people or how many die; he will only notice if a new plaything is put in front of him. I don't know how much time Ursula needs, but that's my last resort plan."

"I have a plan, and it should buy you time if you - " 

"Trust you again?" She whirled on her heel back towards him. "That's below even my last resort plan. I will never - " 

"I've betrayed you, and I understand that you owe me nothing, Em - Princess, but I swear to you now that I give you my fealty. I swear on Milah, Liam, and Elsa that I will be your ally, and help you in this war. Take a leap of faith here, please, I promise you that - " She turned away. Killian tried to follow, but she held up a hand. 

"Shut the hell up, Killian. Just stop. Please." Her voice wavered slightly, and he halted behind her. Seeing him look actually admonished, actually concerned as he pushed wet hair away from his face, Emma lowered herself into the water. 

"Fair enough." He whispered.

"By the way," her shoulders tightened, though she didn’t bother to glance at him, "if you're really sorry, truly apologetic even in some part of you that can still muster that emotion, a true apology would be changed behavior. Which is why if I am faced with you and Nil as my options, I will take this dagger shard to the bottom of the sea. I’d rather die than pick either of you."

"I am - " 

"I don't care, Killian. Thank you for your help here, and thank you for saving my life. It does not change anything."

Emma propelled herself forward into one of the nets, leaving him behind again. It dragged her and several frightened Selkies up over a deck, depositing them into some sort of holding cage. Emma moved quickly, cutting through the ropes with a knife that Ursula had given her. Handing it off to a nymph, Emma lifted herself from the floor with discarded netting, looking around to see what all was taking place.

Emma spotted Ariel in a corner, waving for her attention and pointing to a wall with a circling finger. She could make a portal; good - a quiet and easy way to get the Selkies to safety. Emma motioned to the groups of Selkies netted on deck, prioritizing those who were held down by Goblins or in view of the archers taking aim near the King's raised area. The first two attempts were straightforward, no Goblins milling around to stop them. The third was more harrowing, almost cut short by a Goblin's shrieking. Killian snapped its neck from behind as Emma braced herself for discovery, her eyes widening further when he ducked down and helped her cut through a heavy cord that bound the Selkies. They split apart again, the last groups too close to the front and at risk of being directly under a rain of archers. There was a shadowy section of boxes that she could dip behind for cover, but without the archers’ eyes distracted, it would be impossible to get to. Killian signaled from a corner, ducking behind a tarp when a patrol went by. 

Emma stayed still in the hold, pleading with her eyes, trying to tell him that she needed only a little time. He gave her a slight downcast smile, almost a grimace but not quite, and sprung from hiding. Slashing and hacking at a set of Goblins to provide a distraction as she ran to cut the last nets, he made his way toward the front of the huge metal ship until Nil bellowed. Nil pointed one of his gnarled fingers at Killian, eyes widening in recognition as his face turned from anger, to a smile. He laughed, opening his hands and spreading his arms as if presented with an old friend. 

Watching with a sick feeling churning in her gut, she saw Killian bow lowly. To her great horror, his wide, crooked, grin was once again back. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The bow he gave was met by several Goblins overtaking him, beating him as they placed shackles on his arms and legs. They weighed heavily, burning against his skin. Iron. Of course it was iron; it was earth, after all. Goblins were right behind Dwarves with their affinity for earth magic, able to bend iron with ease. 

Nil walked towards him wearing a fur cape draped over his shoulders that sparkled in the dim light. Killian could see that it was a poorly crafted blend of Merscale, Selkie pelts, and varying Ansapi skins. Even despite Nil’s garish and disgusting costuming, Killian saw the faintest glimpse of Milah in the man's unsure eyes. Then, the Goblin smiled broadly, and any trace of her was wiped away. 

"You made it!" Nil bellowed, seemingly overjoyed as his guard looked on in confusion, ignoring the lifeless bodies that lay around the ship and its strange cargo pillars, marking Killian’s path. 

Killian struggled slightly, testing his bonds as they seared the flesh. "Certainly did," he hissed. 

"Where is my Queen? My radiant bride-to-be and future submitting wife?" Nil practically sang. Killian could see his mouth was wet, the too long tongue in his mouth slick with salivation. 

Killian suppressed the disgust that threatened to spill over at the prince’s language. 

The Darkness caressed his bones, tickling gently under his skin. 

Tell him. Do it. End this. 

Killian set his jaw, thinking of Emma's hand on the barrier she had created in the woods, the way her brows had pinched and lips had turned down. She had trusted him briefly, even going so far to say that he had good inside of him when she first forgave him, and to say she wished him peace when she left. 

There had been a moment when she hesitated before going into the portal, thought about looking back at him, and he had hated her for almost forgiving him again. He had hated her for so much more than her slender shoulders had ever had to bear, blamed her for so much; he’d even told her in no uncertain terms that she should suffer as Milah had. And still, she was here, looking at him with those eyes that he couldn't escape. 

No no no, you listen to me, only to me. I am your master, you are my hound to beat when it fails to bring me my kills! No, NOW LISTEN, LISTEN. END THIS. 

He couldn't stop thinking of the anger and relief when she spoke his name again upon seeing him before Ursula, the way she had dismissed him instead of making him grovel like she should have, demanding her pound of flesh for what he had put her through. The way she was glancing at him now with apprehension and fear. 

She is a weakling, full of uncontrolled emotions and too much trust that has led to her ruin. Go on, stop stalling! Hurry, hurry now, we can get the shard and - 

And giving her to Nil would end with nothing more than misery for not only her, but anyone who stood in the Goblins’ way - Royals and Fae like Marta, or the numerous scattered Fae that refused a crown once before - 

“Well?” Nil asked, laughing raucously.

Well? Give him the princess, you blithering simpleton - 

Killian cleared his throat, preparing himself. "She's dead."

What!? 

"I must have misheard you, Dark One," Nil chuckled dangerously. "Say again?" 

Yes, say AGAIN? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? END THIS. 

The Darkness tried to force its words onto his tongue, but he would not let her forgiveness by dismissal be in vain. 

ENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHIS END THIS, GIVE HER UP 

"She's dead; she ran from me weeks ago. I found her body in a ravine, the shard dissolved to ash. I will never be freed." He spoke as bitterly as he could, channeling the hatred easily. 

"What?" the Goblin Prince screamed, enraged. "She is strong willed and has a bite to match that delectable bark, so she cannot be dead. She is like my own stolen mother, and destined for her blood to strengthen the throne. No, she cannot be dead."

You won't buy her time with this, you fool! This is inevitable, she is his and will be his like your whore was his father's. You must get the shard - 

"I assure you, she is. Even in death, she made it difficult. The ravine was deep and absolutely bloody terrible to climb into. I can't imagine falling down it was anything even she could have survived."

You will suffer for this. 

"Good," Killian whispered, mostly to himself. Emma looked at him from the remains of the net, where the Selkies were now freed from their confines. She motioned for him to stop, but he shook his head, wet strands of the shaggy mess sticking to his forehead. The Goblin Prince paced, before taking deep breaths and turning again to face Killian. 

"Then why have you come here, slaughtered my fleet, and created chaos? I've heard about your glory under my father. Did you really come here empty handed to tell me you're untethered?" Nil attempted to sound amused, but the desperate edge was heavy in his tone. There was no control there, just an angry brat brashly striking out at everyone. 

Killian put on a pedantic smile, causing Nil to immediately start shifting in his place like a child. "Why wouldn't I? I only create chaos, and with no master that means I can strike against you too. Your damnable father may not be here, but I can still hurt you," he drawled, a bit of The Darkness in his voice for finesse. 

What are you doing, what ARE YOU DOING? 

"Then you're useless to me. It's lucky I don't believe you." Nil smiled with a menacing edge. "We'll just leave you here for safekeeping until I can verify this unfortunate and convenient tragedy. My betrothed is a beautiful specimen and so strong, it's hard to believe she isn't ferreted away somewhere. Her tenacity knows no bounds, yet again like my beloved Mother. I love that fighting spirit, she will make a strong future king, as it is written." Walking to a large flat piece of iron and picking it up from the floor, the sheet rolled like paper in his glowing hands until it crafted into a large curved spike.  

There was a sharp pain in his chest as the U bend of the makeshift iron anchor broke through the skin of his back, cracking ribs. Killian groaned, falling back, but Nil was there, standing on top of the iron contraption and pushing it deeper. Pushing the other side of heavy iron through his ribcage, Killian felt the air escape his lungs in a choking rasp, forcing him to double over, while Nil gave him a hard push into the sea. 

You've killed us both you fool. I hope you're happy. 

"We don't die. I'm content to lie at the bottom of the sea if that means another does not have the same fate as Milah. I meant what I said."

You will know true agony for this. Your insolence has been a problem, but this? This you will suffer for; this you will know true pain for. 

"Aye, I'm sure of it. For now, enjoy the water for the both of us."

The dark pressure seemed endless, and the pain was constant, but it cleared his thoughts. Killian of the Blackwater, left to sit in the blackest depths forevermore. The Darkness writhed and cajoled and raged, but nothing it did could disturb his peace, the idea of penance weighing heavier than the cold, deep nothingness. 

He wondered if this was what Liam felt. The thought didn't hurt him this time. 

The anchor dragged along the sand at the bottom, drawing another sound that escaped in bubbles. More pain burned through him as his lungs filled with water. Stars lit behind his eyes, bright pops of color flashing in time with the stabs of pain. Hours passed like this, his thoughts just as full with briny water as he tried not to think about how long this torture would continue. A firework lit in his mind as the anchor hit a rock, sending reverberating shocks through his body. He wished vainly for the darkness to take him instead of the bursts of brightness. 

But no, the light would not go away. It became a pinpoint, then a glow that was warmer and more comforting than anything he thought he would know, growing to spread through him. He cracked open his eyes to see what he thought was a fierce angel, or quite possibly a nymph or siren, who swam before him encased in bright sunshine shimmers of light with a halo around her head and wearing Emma’s face. 

There was no mockery, for which he thanked the heavens; she simply lifted him, felt the iron, and dropped him suddenly. Tentacles wrapped around the thickest bend of the molded metal, wood crashing around them as the strange suction cup dotted arms yanked. Then, the weight in his chest loosened and he was flying, finally free. It was too much; he flew too high and too fast, falling just as quickly, his eyes shut tightly. 

He fell on something hard, forcing him to cough up water as he raised himself on his side. Soft hands pushed hair out of his face, and something warm crashed into him against where the iron had been. He groaned as whatever it was that had settled against him. A person? When he let out a breath, the person - yes, it was definitely a person - began hitting him.

They stopped suddenly, and after no other smacks came for several moments he opened his eyes to see Emma staring back at him with worry, concern, and anger filling her own gaze. 

"You fucking idiot!" she screamed. "You -" 

"You know that I can't die, right? I'm a survivor.” 

"You still… Even if… If you had been hurt, hurt worse than this I mean, I… Why did you do that? I had a plan, and you - you bought us so much more time, I should have let you - I should have trusted - We couldn't have done this without you, I just…" Emma swiped at her eyes. "Why would you, you absolute…" 

Trying to sit up and practically toppling them both, he groused wryly at her noise of concern. "Maybe I just needed reminding that I could be on the hero's side, or maybe I knew you would never let me get off that easy and without yelling at me, you stubborn - " 

Emma hit him lightly again, her voice laced with strained amusement and lessening terror. "Don't move. Just stop, don't move, you arrogant ass."

"Princess, you deprive me of a dashing rescue, and then add insult to injury - "

"Emma. Please, I…" She straightened her shoulders and began to laugh, his grin at her not helping. Her voice cracked when she tried to start talking, and though she cleared her throat, she could not hide the tremble. "I think, Emma is just fine. Or I quite liked when you called me Swan." 

"Hey, hey now," he soothed, and when he laid a hand on her cheek she turned her face into his palm, holding her own hand against his. Emma couldn't hold back a shaky breath as a few tears escaped, and he pulled her tightly to him. "Hey. Don't cry. I'm the one who was gravely injured. It was about time you saved me from almost drowning, even though I technically cannot. We'll count it as one to three, with me in the lead. You can't steal that too, Swan." 

Her hiccupping laugh and weak wristed smack made him snort. The wound in his back closed, the Darkness ever keeping him alive, even as it still stopped short of his hand. Finally, Killian allowed himself to look around. They were on an old style ship, a light fleet frigate possibly, with no one else in sight. It felt vaguely familiar, but so did simply being at sea. Emma shuddered against him, cold and most likely exhausted as he pressed her for details. 

"What happened to Nil's armada?" 

"Your claim that I was dead caused the Goblin Prince to throw a full-on tantrum, leaving his own ship by portal. The mages he left in charge couldn't control Triton when whittled down in numbers. By the time Nil came back with his father, Triton was free, Ursula was laying waste to anything with Goblins on board, and the Selkies were free and trying to heal their wounded while regrouping. Ursula threw us on this ship after we looked for you, and the two of them destroyed Nil’s entire armada. Nil escaped through a portal at the last second, though. I watched through your telescope." Emma blushed lightly, pulling away from him. "Ursula said this ship will mean something to you, but I don't recognize it other than it being the one we used today. It's sort of a hodge-podge of Mer-craftsmanship; a frigate, speed sloop, galleon, and tall ship all crammed together. The base and bunks seem to be mostly the galleon? It's that ship Eric pulled out of the water before -"

"Liam's ship," he breathed. "My ship."

"I thought yours was The Jewel of the Realm? This one says something about being Jolly." She pointed over the edge, and he joined her to peer over. In sloppy carved graffiti, some sea dwelling mer-miscreant had replaced the clean script of the Fae Navy with 'The Jolly Roger'. 

Killian couldn't find it in himself to be angry, instead laughing as he crossed to the stern, feeling the same breeze that his brother and he had felt, the sea immediately calming him. Emma had only made this all the better, expending any magic she hadn't used drying their supplies and the ship's hold. Once waterlogged books filled with his brother's notes were crisp and clean, and a patina worn sextant looked almost like new on a pristine desk. Opening a trunk, he found naval uniforms pressed for a day's work, closing the lid after running his fingers over the brass buttons and fringed epaulets on the shoulders. 

Then there were the other ships, the pieces of other wrecks merged to what was his, that made up the crooked interior, filled with casks and casks of glorious rum. 

He created a small fire in the tiny galley, heating it with the butter they had left, still in Ingrid's strange plastic pastel container, before joining Emma on the deck with two cups as she arranged blankets. 

"How's your hand?" Emma asked, watching him settle. 

He gave a shrug, trying to mask the fire coursing through his bent fingers. "S'fine." 

He took a heavy swig, the rum doing nothing to help the pain in his hand. Emma rolled her eyes and crawled beside him, taking his cold palm in hers. "Which means 'it hurts' in High Killian. You're truly a terrible liar."

"The Goblin believed me when I told them you were dead." 

"Barely, and I mean, case and point." Emma smirked, her magic glowing softly. 

Killian barked out a laugh, and her magic spread, his hand stopping its searing throbs. He sighed in relief, and picked up a steaming mug. 

"Any idea where we're off to?" he asked. Emma sighed wearily. 

"I haven't had much more that a moment while you looked around yourself, but I believe we’re in this general vicinity." She spread out a large map that he had not noticed, unrolling it and pinning it down with a few stones she must have found in Liam's collection. Amethyst and a chunk of bismuth glittered at each corner. Emma pointed with the ends of a navigational compass to a location in the blue defined area she had made a circle around. "The stars aren't great right now, but I remember them well enough to find the cardinal points. There was a current map where I found this, and based on the stars and our speed, I think this is our trajectory if we're seeking the closest shore to land on." She tapped a small speck on the map with the compass, some unmarked island. 

Killian raised an eyebrow, remarkably impressed. "You know marine navigation?" 

Emma shrugged, with a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Even a proper noblewoman needs hobbies."

"I'm beginning to believe that you aren't the most proper of noblewomen, Swan."

"My reputation is ruined, you'll have to seek out other debutantes to fill your season."

He was caught off guard by her quip, and laughed in surprise, her giggling joining his. He brushed a finger over one of her lines on the map. "This is going to take some time, if you're right. Have you been at sea for any length of time?" 

Emma shook her head, and sighed. "No. The sea wasn't a place for a princess." Her tone was sour, and she looked at him with the glint of irritation he'd begun to notice was present when she spoke about the ridiculous notions of the royals. 

"Well, now it seems it is." He gave her a wink, and her cheeks flushed a deep red, the rum seemingly warming her further. "We'll be in close quarters, especially with what a mess of mismatched parts below deck is. Stay off my toes, and we'll be fine."

Looking at him with a cocked head and an amused expression, she gave a mock salute while imitating his accent. "Aye aye, Captain, sir."

He grimaced, and downed his rum. The Darkness had quieted again, probably due to her close proximity and how her magic seemed to target it lately. 

Emma took another large swig of rum, her skin heating with a visible flush. Killian grinned at her, taking the mug down to pour more for them. When he handed it to her, she took another swig, seeming to savor the burn in her throat and warmth in her belly. Giggling, she let herself fall back onto the blankets they had laid across the deck. 

"The last time I was this drunk was when I kissed you," she laughed, rolling onto her side clumsily to look at him. "After we escaped Pann."

"You were much more drunk then," he laughed back before realization dawned on him. "Wait, you remember that?"

"Yeah, and you lying about it." Her grin was playful, and she laid her head down to hide half her face in the blankets. Killian felt his ears heat, and tried not to choke on anymore of the rum. "Why did you, anyway?"

"I didn't - it was obvious you were out of sorts, just…"

"Knackered? Foxed? Three shades to the wind?" Emma giggled, and when he didn't return the laugh she reached for him. "I didn't mean to upset you, I definitely shouldn't have done that. I mean, I don't regret it, because it was nice and you have nice lips and a nice face, and - " She rambled, and his eyebrow raised. She let out a groan and covered her mouth. 

"A drunken mind speaks a sober - " he chuckled awkwardly, Emma reaching to push him softly before he could finish the proverb. There was a part of him that felt strange, full of pride, while all at once wistful. 

"Shut up," she whined, her blush making her eyes more green. "We will never speak of this again."

"Not a word from my nice lips about it again, I swear it." Miming zipping his lips, Emma groaned once more, falling back into the blankets again while laughing. Her laughter, being out at sea, the rum - it was heady when mixed with the thought of the way she had felt. There was no way he could admit anything more than that to himself, let alone Emma. 

Later he checked her coordinates against the constellations, both of them looking at the stars and looking over the map by candlelight. Emma fell asleep as he began to work in silence and he coaxed her to take a pillow to lay her head on, the quiet snoring lasting for a few hours. 

She tossed and turned under the blanket, briefly scaring him with the suddenness of her flailing. 

"Emma? Are you alright?" 

"Don't touch me, please don't touch - " she startled awake, throwing her body away from his own. With hazy eyes filled with tears, Emma scrunched into her frame just as he saw her do within Ursula's realm, magic leaving her in waves. "Nil, no, please don't - "

The first few bursts of magic caught him off guard, hitting him squarely in the chest. The third he tried to roll away from as it hit his hip, the movement fully pulling her from the night terror. 

Her breathing was rapid and unsteady, as she murmured an apology, fingers twisting her hair. 

She looked exhausted, and Killian wondered again when the last time she had gotten proper rest was. Approaching carefully, he wrapped her in the blanket she had thrown off, helping her to stand. 

"Go sleep in the bunk. It will be more comfortable for you," Killian whispered, and Emma let him tuck a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, his skin meeting the softness of her cheek. He nodded to the hatch, helping her down the ladder until she closed the latch behind her. Sitting down on the deck to look over the maps again, he attempted to rub out the twinge in his chest that had begun to ache from where her magic had dealt its blows. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The dress for the evening of this ball is beautiful, and fits her like a glove as she twirls for her father. He's happier than she has seen him in a long time, eyes crinkled at the corners, watching her like she is the most important thing in the world as she shows him the intricate crystal work that glitters in the light. 

Her mother hugs her from behind, a rare warm gesture rather than the iciness that Emma is used to in their relationship, decorum and etiquette frowning on displays of affection. The green velvet of her mother's gown smells like moss, pine, sweet grass, and fresh snow as her mother rests her head on Emma's shoulder. 

Her father twirled her again, and they're at the ball. As unsure as she is what this party commemorates, the food and drink do not disappoint, nor does the selection of dance partners. A warm set of hands covers her eyes, and she can feel the press of a person against her back but it isn't unwelcome at all. Instead she feels the roughness of his palms, stubble against her neck, warm breath in her ear, and Killian’s voice. 

"I have a surprise for you, darling," he whispers, and Emma feels her stomach flip like it had once with Graham. To her surprise, she feels trust and a sense of peace that he is with her here, and grins at his gift. The music goes silent in the ballroom, along with the guests, as if a great breath has snuffed everything out. "No peeking now…" Killian’s hands fall away and she screws her eyes tightly shut. 

A finger traces her exposed spine, and she giggles, the nail sharp against her skin while feathers soften its trail. Although not completely unpleasant, it feels off the longer and further it goes, and she shivers as she leans away from the touch. The person behind her wraps their arms around her tightly, making it impossible to move while trailing their nails down her exposed skin. Emma struggles, and she feels a sickeningly familiar giggle rumble through the chest against her back. 

This wasn't Killian any longer. She keeps her eyes shut, trying to wish away the sour smelling breath against the junction of her throat. 

"Open your eyes, my beautiful wife, my queen to rival all queens. Open your eyes and behold my gift to you," Nil hisses, dragging his tongue along her shoulder blade. 

Despite trying to clench her eyes shut with everything in her power, they are forced open to the light of the ballroom, twinkling lights that briefly blind then illuminate the bodies on the patterned floor. Crimson puddles lay around the courtiers as they themselves laid too still, livery soaking up the blood. Emma lets out a cry, running and slipping in the pools, her skirts and slippers filling with wet warmth, the taste of copper on her tongue. 

Her parents slumped in their thrones, eyes and mouths open too wide, and Emma hears herself now as she chokes out moans, her voice too small but so loud in the silence that permeates in the absence of life. From behind her father's throne, Killian appears, his hands and face drenched in the same red that blooms from her parents necks while he wipes his sword on his waistcoat. 

His face contorts in a sinister grin that only widens when he catches her horrified gaze, his eyes flickering to the floor. His eyes that are terribly, and awfully sad. 

Emma turns back to Nil, his smile akin to Killian’s own, the dagger in his grip as Killian takes a place slightly behind him like a prostrate lap dog. Emma shakes her head, falling to her knees. 

"Do you not like my gift, my radiant queen? I wanted something that left an impression as your last sight before the Darkness of your new life begins." Nil cocks his head, moving to her to lift her chin. Emma feels tears stream down her cheeks. "You will learn to love the Darkness, just as you will learn to love me, and love what I have done for you. Come, wife. Come."

The ballroom disappears around her as the world goes black, the floor falling away to leave her tumbling into the abyss. She lands on a soft surface, hands scrambling to feel around and escape. Her arms tangle in silken sheets as pillows, down, and bedding seemed to hold her, realizing she's landed in a bed that is not her own. The bedding fabric tightens around her wrists and ankles, forcing her body into a prone position, forcing her into a vulnerable position, even as she struggles in the dark. A rustling catches her attention, her body tense as she tries to place where the noise came from. She could see nothing in the gloom, no matter how much she tried. Nil's voice slithered through the murk. 

"You're home now, my magnificent queen. Home and safely held, to get you acclimated to life here, to the absence of light." The sound of fabric falling to the ground came from her left, followed by dragging footsteps echoing across the space, Emma's breath coming in panicked gasps. 

She feels the creak of the bed near her feet, a knee against her calf as a feathered hand slid up her thigh. Emma pleads for him to stop, desperately trying to get away from his touch. 

Nil's voice is silky against her hip. "You'll get used to this too, not that I mind. Fighting makes a better future king."

Screams ripped from her throat and he pulled away, hissing at the noise. "Dark One! Hold her mouth silent!"

Killian appears through the darkness, leaning over her as she begs and pleads for this to stop. His eyes glow blue, and they are still so sad as his hand covers her mouth, muffling her voice. He looks close to tears, like he's breaking himself, his hand trembling against her lips while he tries to comfort her even as Nil returns to her thigh.

"Emma, I'm so sorry, Emma, shhhhh, please." The room grows brighter, his eyes are brighter and he is clenching his jaw in fury. Emma can feel the light coming back, but Nil's hands press on, too close to where they should never be, and her begging gets louder along with Killian’s voice right above her, "Emma, are you alright?" 

And no, she isn't, but the room is gone and he's saved her, eyes blue in her blurry vision - 

Waking up in terror after the rum had worn off, Emma had hoped for more sleep, but even the alcohol was unable to combat her nightmare on the deck. The dream continued to plague her, pieces of it making her breath catch until it fades. Killian was in her dreams more frequently since his return, both ambivalent and malicious in each turn. Killian had helped her down into those chambers, and although she still was slightly hazy, it was a welcome change. 

It was odd to be in the room of a person that had changed into a stranger inside his own skin, the remaining discarded bits of what was a life scattered in disarray. Lighting a candle, she looked at the open trunk and the uniform placed reverently over a desk chair, letting her fingers run along the buttons and brush the fringe of the epaulets. The books she had pulled earlier were still out, and she opened dog eared pages, surprised by the different sets of handwriting in the margins.

Sturdy, block text that reminded her of laws and bills that her parents had to sign underlined passages, while a flowery script poked fun at those footnotes. The flowery text seemed to enjoy more poetry and philosophy, which the block text had teased heavily. Based on what she knew, Liam and Killian respectively were the authors, Killian’s text much more chaotic and flamboyant. Another hand's script had joined later, letters beautiful and words softly pushed together. It wrote love notes in the corners, or bracketed passages, occasionally a watercolor picture left tucked neatly in the pages where they wrote paragraphs. Milah, Emma assumed. 

Killian had once painted, she discovered after finding a ribbon bound stack of his work. Pictures of Milah were his main focus, then the water, landscapes, and animals. His work was humorous and surreal on occasion too, and Emma wondered what that man had been like, before everything happened. He had been different then, and it made her feel anxious and vulnerable to wonder if that man was still buried somewhere within the tortured soul she now kept company with. 

Stripping to her shift to combat the last of summer's heat, she laid down on the bunk, surprised at the luxurious nature of the bedding. Here in the cabin, she could better hear the water, waves rocking the ship. Later, she heard his footfalls, opening her eyes briefly as he whispered that she was alright, stroking her hair gently. 

Emma could feel the remnants of the dream, the same as before and the same that had haunted her since she had found herself in Ursula's domain. He kept on with his soothing until the tension in her shoulders fell away, the traced patterns against her scalp in sync with the waves. The ghost of the old Killian still remained, she mused smiling sleepily, the one she could trust. She fell immediately back to sleep, resting for the first time in weeks and dreaming of home. 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch.44

Happy Tuesday, Everyone! I am pleased to announce that this chapter has been beta’d by @parisconstantine​ this time... I know, right?  I’m working on getting back ahead of things, since March and April pretty much ate my buffer chapters.

I promised some of you that Simon not having Miys help him with social interactions would have some pretty hilarious repercussions, and hopefully I do not disappoint with this chapter.  Also, we get to see a bit more of our favorite grumpy-puss, Alistair Worthington (created by @baelpenrose​), and a little more of his personality beyond ‘total grouch’.

My new Administrator was thrown almost immediately into the thick of things.  Simon had taken my suggestion to try interacting with people sans Miys proof ‘reading’ his conversation; this alone led to social gaffes by the minute, to the horror of the man newly forced to work in close proximity with us.  Tyche, for her part, wasted no time in making it clear that she was no longer my acting Administrator, first by uploading my entire calendar to the former archivist’s data set and spending about an hour showing him how to set up the alerts necessary to ensure he was constantly one step ahead. New items and requests were directed to him, even while he was working to get on top of existing commitments. To top it all off, he had come on board in the midst of the Food Festival planning, which included coordinating with Sebastian Reed for the grand opening of his pub.

Alistair Worthington rose to the occasion like he had been born to do it.

“Why have humans never quite evolved the understanding that the word ‘no’ is a complete sentence,” he grumbled rhetorically. It had been only ten days since his replacement took over in the Archives, and only nine since he started devoting nearly fifteen hours a day to getting caught up.

“What is it this time?” I asked, more out of curiosity than any concern that he had declined something without even asking my opinion.  Worst case, I could override his decline.

He simply glared at me. “One of the vendors for the Food Festival is adamant on being positioned between the halal and kosher vendors.”  I gestured for him to go on, since that alone was not cause for alarm. “Miss Reid – “

“Sophia,” I interrupted. “We are going to be working entirely too closely together, so I prefer you call me Sophia.”

“Sophia,” he conceded with a chagrined look. “They want to set up a bacon buffet.”

I choked on the tea I had been taking a sip of, sputtering inelegantly all over the floor – fortunately missing Alistair. “That’s pretty brave.” I gasped, trying to convince my lungs that the tea was gone.

He shook his head and held out a cloth to wipe my face with. “Survived an assassination attempt, only to be felled by a cup of ginger tea.  Your epitaph will be set the standard for decades to come.” As I fought to glare at him and smother a laugh, he continued. “I understand that all meat products on the ship are artificially constructed from protein banks, and therefore everything will be kosher, halal, and vegetarian, but that is quite beside the point. It’s rude.”

“I completely agree,” I conceded, holding my hands up in a peaceful gesture. “The entire point of the festival is to bring everyone together with respect and unity, which putting a pork palace between those specific vendors is most certainly not doing.  My question is who even approved a ‘bacon buffet’ in the current climate?  I love bacon as much as the next pork-eater, but come on!” I threw my hands up dramatically. “With all the terrorists who were just executed, it’s just tacky!”

Rather than answer immediately, he dug through the vendor’s application. With a groan, he flicked the file over to me.  I echoed his sentiment when I saw the approver. “That explains a lot,” I sighed before looking up at the ceiling. “Simon, did you really approve a bacon buffet for the festival?”

The response was nearly immediate. “Yeeesssss?” he answered uncertainly. “It sounded like a delicious idea.  Lots of people are really passionate about bacon, and did you see some of the flavors?  Cayenne and tupelo honey, Sophia! It sounds amazing!”

My assistant looked like Simon had just asked him to eat waste materials.  I just ground my teeth and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Simon. Why are we having this festival?”

“Ship’s unity,” he responded suspiciously.

“And why do we need that?”

“Because some people tried to sabotage the ship and kill everyone on board?”

“Correct. And what were those people?”

“Terrorists.”

“True, but not what I’m looking for. Arantxa Bidarte was…” I trailed off, praying he would figure out what I was getting at.

“A high-ranking – ohhhhhhhhhh. Shit.”

“Yep, a high-ranking shit. In the Baconist movement.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I wasn’t thinking clearly on the optics.” He really did sound contrite.  I knew he was trying, so I wasn’t going to be hard on him.

“It’s okay,” I sighed. “I know you didn’t mean to do something like that.  And we can fix this.  How about you tell him you reconsidered his offer, and due to recent events we decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to have an entire alcove dedicated to just bacon. However, there are several vendors who will be serving items that can include bacon, and we will happily put him in touch with all of them to let them feature some of his wares in their dishes, including advertising.” Alistair hummed and nodded in approval at that compromise.  “And Simon? Before you send that, reach out to Sebastian with the entire list of this guy’s bacon flavors.  Let him have first dibs.  From what I’ve seen of the food he’ll be serving, he has a great mind for flavors and will probably have a dozen ideas before he even finishes reading the list.”

“You just want that sundried tomato and basil bacon in a Bloody Mary,” he accused playfully.

“You know it, because you do too,” I retorted before sticking out my tongue.

His voice softened. “Thank you for catching that, Sophia. Seriously.  And for helping me figure out how to fix it.”

I waved my hand absent-mindedly. “It’s okay, Simon. You’re trying to figure out people again, and mistakes happen.  If no one helps you figure out how to, we can’t exactly expect you to fix them, right?”

“I’ll reach out to everyone now,” he confirmed before going silent.

When I looked at Alistair, he had a very approving expression on his face. Before I could say anything, it was gone, replaced with a smirk. “Bacon, in a Bloody Mary?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“I’m pretty sure it’s something distinctly American,” I explained. “But don’t knock it until you try it.  Perfect amount of salt, I’m telling you.”

He shuddered, but I had spent enough time around him at this point to know it was faked. “The entire drink is the most American thing I have ever seen, to be honest.  Imagine, someone from the former United Kingdom naming a drink after the Usurper. Not likely, I am telling you.”

“Considered the second most common garnish is pickled okra, I can’t exactly argue with you on that,” I laughed. “I don’t think there is a vegetable more American than okra.”

“Corn,” he pointed out, distracted as he went through the items on his data pad. Since he started working with me, he had gone from hardly using it to keeping it displayed the majority of the day. Eventually, things would calm down, but until then it was a frequent thing to see him forget to dismiss it and just have it projecting at his side, following his gestures. “Councillors Kalloe and Hodenson have sent a notification that the gravity will be increasing – again? – and to be prepared for any inquiries. Wait, what is this ‘again’ nonsense?” Consternation and mild alarm warred on his face.

I nodded firmly. “Yes, ‘again’. The gravity on Kepler 422b is estimated to be half again the gravity of Earth. While it isn’t anything that will hurt anyone on the ship, the effects of such a sudden gravity change are enough to be worrisome if done to anyone suddenly. Fatigue, blood pressure slowing down, slight dizziness, muscle soreness, etc. The decision was made right before the incident on Level One to slowly increase the gravity on the Ark by five percent of Earth gravity at a time.  Once we are certain that nobody is experiencing any long-term effects, or the effects have been addressed, we schedule the next increase.”  I shrugged, since we had no reports of any effects from the first increase.  As a matter of fact, no one even noticed.

“And you felt there was no need to inform anyone on the ship?”

“Oh, we informed everyone,” I assured him, though I felt a bit guilty. “We sent a ship-wide notification, including what to do if anyone noticed any of a long list of side-effects.  And we will be sending another notification before we do the next one.”

“I would remember if I received such a notification,” was the stiff response.

“Yeah, about that,” I told him sheepishly. “We dropped out of FTL about three hours after it was sent.  In our defense,” I held up my hands to fend of any protests, “that was entirely beyond our control, and the entire Council was too preoccupied to cancel the process or send a reminder. By the time it was all said and done, the change had been in effect for over three months.  I’m not saying it was okay, at all.  The goal was never to be sneaky. To make sure it doesn’t happen again, we are making a point to send the next one a week after the Food Festival, with full audio cast directly into our implants.” I tapped my left temple for emphasis. “And the process has to be triggered, rather than being set with a timed automation.”

“So, God forbid some other crisis occurs, the change will just have to wait?” he asked reproachfully.

“Absolutely.”

That seemed to be acceptable, as he quickly changed the topic. “About what happened with Councillor Simon. That was quite kind of you, Miss – Sophia.”

I could feel my face heating up as I shook my head, hair flying. “Simon has had a very unique experience, and he needs someone in his corner.  The fact is, he was brought on this ship before anyone else, and there is a reason he was chosen, just like everyone else.  He has value, but he and everyone else seems to have forgotten that.  I refuse to do the same and just forget that, too. And until he believes in himself… well, I’ll just have to believe in him enough for everyone on this ship.”

With that, I stood to leave for the evening. It was Wednesday, and the first ‘family dinner’ in a long time.  I needed this night, and nothing was going to stand in my way.  Exchanging a nod with my Administrator, I padded out of my office.  I hadn’t gone far when I heard a quiet comment, not intended for me to hear.

“With faith like that, I truly believe the mountain came to Mohammed,” Alistair stated softly as I walked away.

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