#the hat the backwards hat i’m powerless against the backwards hat

[this-ass-is-eikonic]

[canada vs usa • 4 nations face-off championship • td garden • boston ma 2-20-2025]

…

jesus christ i may never recover from this

[trashyswitch]

Day 5: "I'm Not Ticklish"

Mario and Peach are fighting with the powerups, trying to see who wins. But Peach pulls a sneaky on Mario, and discovers something new about Mario: He's not ticklish! Or so he says...

Dedicating this to my boyfriend's Drew (@anxious-lee-ler), and Vel (who was excited to hear I was uploading more Mario Bros content). I hope you all enjoy!

Peach and Mario were training and fighting each other with power ups. Mario was using a fire flower, while Peach was using the super leaf. Mario ran across the floating blocks and was shooting fireballs at her. Peach was dodging the fireballs before attempting to break the blocks from under Mario. 

Seeing the blocks breaking in front of him, Mario hopped off the blocks and grabbed them from above with his hands, dangling from the blocks. “Surprise!” Mario teased, shooting a small fireball at her and rendering her powerless. 

“Aw man…” Peach muttered, before pulling out the cat bell. “Let’s see what you can do against a cat.” Peach said as she turned into a pink cat. 

Mario smiled brightly and readied himself. “Sounds fun.” Mario replied. 

Peach and Mario started fighting again. Mario threw fireballs at her, trying to catch her off guard. But with her cat powers, it was becoming more of a challenge. So Mario attempted to get himself closer. He jumped up to the blocks and sprinted across them, moving across the blocks and over to a jumping mushroom. He jumped onto the Mushroom and flew into the air. “WAHOOOOO!” Mario shouted before getting ready to dive down and tackle Peach to the ground. 

But Peach was swift. She moved out of the way slightly, and watched as Mario flopped in front of her onto the grass below, losing his fire powerup in the process. Mario groaned and dusted himself off, feeling slightly smaller than before. 

“That wasn’t very smart…” Mario muttered. 

Peach giggled and wagged her tail. “You still got any power ups on you?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I do. But…” Mario pulled out a blue flower. “It’s just ice power. And I don’t think I’m gonna get far with that.” Mario admitted. 

“Give it a try!” Peach encouraged. “Give every powerup a chance.” She told him. 

Mario smiled and touched the ice powerup. He felt the power of ice overcome him, and noticed how his clothes changed from red shirt and blue pants, to blue shirt and red pants. His hat even changed colors to blue! Though the new outfit was nice, Mario had to try out the ice power for himself. 

“Excuse me, Mario!” Peach declared,  moving under his legs and nearly making him fall on his face. Mario caught himself though, and stayed on his own two feet. 

He threw ice balls at her, hoping to catch Peach off guard. But because he was only repeating his strategy from earlier, Peach was able to dodge them without issue. So when that didn’t work, Mario began to chase Peach around the field. Peach ran upfront, and began to pray that she didn’t lose her power anytime soon. Because she couldn’t look behind her very well, she was basing her dodging abilities on both instinct and luck. But she had gotten this far without getting hit by ice…so what’s another mile? 

Mario jumped over a steep drop, and landed on the grass on the other side. When he had resumed running, Mario resumed shooting the ice balls towards Peach. Seeing Mario getting closer, Peach needed to lose him somehow. 

Peach ran up the hill, and jumped down a cliff face. She let herself fall and land right onto a connected rock piece below. She ran past the rock wall of the underground area, knowing it was a secret passageway that went backwards inside the cliff. 

Meanwhile, Mario had stopped at the cliff face, and looked down. “Peach?” He called, confused. 

“BOO!” Peach declared, picking up Mario and skittering her fingers on his sides. 

Mario squealed and kicked his feet, giggling in surprise. “HAhahaha! Whehehere dihid you come from?!” Mario asked. 

“That drop you jumped over earlier? That was a passage to an underground area that led to this cliff.” Peach told him. 

Mario looked down at his fingers. “Whahat are you doing?” Mario asked. 

Peach smiled. “I’m tickling you!” 

Mario crossed his arms. “I’m not ticklish.” Mario told her. 

Peach looked down at him, and stopped her fingers. “Oh please. Everyone’s ticklish.” Peach argued. “I’m not. You can ask Luigi.” Mario told her. 

“Luigi’s not here.” Peach added. “Then you will have to take my word for it.” Mario replied. 

Peach moved her fingers up his ribs. “What about here?” She asked. 

Mario shook his head. “Nope.” He replied. 

Peach narrowed her eyes…almost like she was now on a mission of her own. She moved her fingers to his armpit. “Here?” She asked, scratching. 

Mario shook his head. “Nope.” He replied. “I told you, I’m not ticklish.” 

Peach moved her hand to his belly. “Come on, Mario.” Peach skittered her fingers. “You’ve gotta have a ticklish spot.” 

Mario shook his head. “I just don’t.” Mario replied. 

Peach sighed and moved to his hips. “There’s gotta be some place on-” She squeezed his hips. Mario screeched and grabbed at her hands with rapid speed. Peach jumped and looked at Mario, shocked by his unusual reaction. Realizing what he had done, Mario slowly looked at Peach with horror and fear. 

“Not ticklish, huh?” Peach asked with a smirk. 

“N-No. You surprised me.” Mario attempted to argue. Peach’s smirk brightened as she squeezed his left hip. “Are you sure about that?” 

Mario jumped and squeezed his eyes shut as he covered his mouth, keeping his laughter from escaping. But Peach already knew what would break him. She squeezed the right hip, then the left. 

“Mm mm! No!” Mario muttered, opening his left eye. 

She squeezed the right hip two times, then the left hip once. 

Mario’s smile widened past his hand. “Ohohoho gosh- NO!” Mario yelled, squeezing his eyes shut again. 

She squeezed the right hip once, then the left hip two times. Then both hips at once! 

And that’s when the dam broke right open! 

“NAHAHAHAHAhahahaha!” Mario threw his hand off his mouth and grabbed at her fingers. “PEHEHEHEACH COHOHOME OHOHON!” Mario begged, kicking his feet. 

“Mario, Mario, Mario. You’re a dirty little liar!” Peach reacted, clicking her tongue. 

“Ihihihi’m sohohorryhyhyhy!” Mario replied. 

“Such a shame, really. I would’ve gone easy on you if you told me the truth the first time.” She told him. 

“CAHAHAZZAHAHATE!” Mario yelled. 

Peach gasped in shock. “Did you just curse at me?!” She reacted. “Looks like more tickles for you!” Peach declared as she squeezed his hips slightly harder. 

Mario tried to push her away while he cackled helplessly in her arms. “WHAHAHAT HAHAPPENED TO FIHIHIGHTIHING?!” Mario asked. 

“Fighting’s cancelled. Tickles are now on the schedule.” She replied. 

“THIHIHIS IHIHIS CHEHEHEATING!” Mario argued. 

“Is not! You’ve been allowed to tickle me this whole time. And yet, you haven’t.” Peach told him. “And that’s on you.” 

Mario opened his left eye as he reached up and desperately tried poking her sides first. “Shohouldn’t hahave tohold me that.” He told her. 

These pokes were enough to make Peach jump and wrap her arm around herself. She gasped as she felt more pokes under her arm. “Tahaking my advihice, ihi see?” She asked with a smirk. 

“Yohou bet.” Mario gently pushed Peach onto the grass and crawled up to her, before starting to squeeze and dig his fingers into her sides. “Ticklish, Princess?” He teased. 

Peach giggled and kicked her feet lightly. “Ahaha lihihittle.” She replied. 

“Just a little?” Mario clarified, before moving to squeezing her hips as a revenge tactic. 

Peach’s giggles seemed to increase, but only a slight bit. “Ahahaha lihihittle! Ihihi’m nohohot aha lihiar like yohohou.” Peach told him. 

Mario gasped. “Excuse me-?!” He moved his fingers up to the armpits. “Take that back!” Mario ordered with an evil smile. 

Peach’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as she bursted out in loud cackles. “OhohoHOHOHO NAAAAHAHAHAHA! MAHAHARIO STAHAHAHAP!” She shouted. “Only if you take it back~.” Mario teased further as he tickled slightly above the armpits. 

Peach’s laughter lessened enough for her to calm down, but still be somewhat hysterical. “BUHUHUT IHIT’S TRUHUHUE!” She argued. 

“True or not, take that back!” Mario argued with mock anger, before using one hand to keep her arms up and his other hand to tickle right above her left armpit. 

She eventually took it back despite it being true, all so she could get a break from the tickles. Mario had quickly found out that Peach was lightly ticklish in a lot of spots. But Peach would find out that Mario is insanely ticklish in one single spot: The hips. 

After the tickle attack, Peach and Mario resumed their duel. Peach ended up losing after her feet were frozen in place, rendering her powerless. Mario was happy with the win, but expressed that the ice power “Is just not my thing”. 

As a result, Mario gave Peach permission to unload a punch against Mario’s face to make the ice power go away. Though it hurt like heck (cause excuse me, Peach is STRONG!), it still did what he wanted. He was back to his red shirt and blue pants. Peach took Mario to the castle, where they rehydrated and took a long rest. When asked about the fight by Toad, Mario proudly declared his victory. But Peach proudly declared that Mario had a secret weakness that she fully exploited. 

…And with that secret out, Mario ended up getting destroyed by yet another citizen of the Mushroom Kingdom. 

Thanks for the help, Peach…

[litwitlady]

with you i serve, with you i fall down

Read on AO3.

Angst Prompt #3 - ‘Is that blood?’ (I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING)

Warnings: blood, minor physical violence, guns, gunshot wounds, mind games, mind control

‘We don’t have to do this today,’ Michael begs, eyes shifting back and forth between Isobel and Alex.

Isobel places her hand on his shoulder and tilts her head slightly, trying to make him understand. ‘There are innocent people inside, Michael. At last thirty heat signatures. We might be their only hope. We can’t wait for Max. He’s in California.’

‘We’ll be okay.’ Alex knows that’s not really enough, but it’s all he’s got at the moment.

Michael turns to him slowly. ‘You don’t know that. Me and Iz will go, Alex. Please stay here.’

‘You know that’s not the safest option. We’ve been over this already.’ Isobel tugs Michael’s eyes back to her. ‘There’s no cell reception in that building or even outside of that building. Leaving Alex here by himself cuts us off from communication. But having you out here means I’ll be able to reach you if something goes wrong.’

He makes a strangled noise and shakes his head. ‘Then you stay. Alex and I will go. You cannot ask me to watch the two people I love most on this planet - or any other fucking planet - walk into that building.’ He shrugs his shoulders and takes several steps away from them, needing the space to breathe. ‘I will not do that.’

Alex watches him walk away, kicking at the ground in frustration. Michael has never said the word ‘love’ to him. Not in the present tense, anyway. It makes him slightly dizzy. They’ve only just started finding their way back to each other. A friendship blooming gradually and finally able to talk to each like grown adults. Their future open and waiting for them.

Michael climbs into his truck and slams the door. But he doesn’t start the engine. Alex and Isobel watch him lean his head against the back glass and close his eyes. ‘He’s never going to agree to this.’ Isobel crosses her arms and stares at Alex. ‘It’s a terrible thing we’re asking him to do.’

‘None of us have a choice. I’m not willing to risk someone else’s life to keep my own safe. So, there’s no calling anyone else for help. And like you said, we can’t wait.’ Alex squares his shoulders, frowning. ‘I’ll go talk to him.’

‘No.’ She moves in front of Alex, blocking his way. ‘It needs to be me. Wait here.’

She slides into the truck next to Michael. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence. Just keeps his eyes shut and stays silent. ‘You know it has to be me and Alex, Michael.’ No reaction. ‘I’ve worked on my abilities more than you have. So, I’m better equipped, better armed. You know I’m right.’

Michael’s eyes open and he blinks several times at truck’s the rusting roof overhead. ‘I feel it deep in my gut, Isobel. Something bad’s going to happen if you leave me behind. We don’t have enough information.’ He turns his gaze out the window, focusing on Alex. ‘I love him too much, Iz. And you too.’ Angry tears burn down his cheeks.

‘You’re willing to risk all those lives - more than two dozen people - just because something might happen to me or Alex?’ She squeezes his knee. ‘I know you’re not. And we both know how this ends. So, if you want to sit and watch from the safety of your truck, that’s okay. But Alex and I are leaving.’

Isobel rejoins Alex by his Explorer, one last look over her shoulder at Michael. ‘We better get going. I don’t want to be inside that place after sundown.’

Alex checks that his gun is fully loaded. ‘What did you say to convince him?’

‘Honestly? Not a whole lot and I’m pretty sure he’s not convinced.’ She stuffs several bottles of acetone in Alex’s backpack next to his extra bullets. ‘He loves you, you know. I’m never sure how clear that is between you two.’ They hear a door slam shut and turn at the sound. Michael is on his way to them, sadness etched deep in the lines of his forehead. Alex sighs. ‘It’s much clearer these days.’

He’s left his hat behind and his curls swirl in the wind. ‘I don’t want you to go, but I won’t stop you either. But Isobel? At the first sign of trouble you scream for me. Do you understand?’

‘I promise. The first sign of trouble - even the inkling of trouble - and we’re out.’ She pulls him into a tight hug and whispers in his ear. ‘I’ll keep him safe. As best I can.’

Michael nods into her neck and watches Alex slip the backpack onto his shoulders. Isobel unfolds herself from him and Alex gives a little wave as he turns towards the concrete warehouse. But Michael reaches out and grabs his elbow, spinning him back around. ‘No, you don’t get to just walk away like that. Not anymore.’

He pushes the backpack off Alex’s shoulders and onto the ground. And then they fall into each other’s arms - Alex’s wrapped around Michael’s neck and Michael squeezing at Alex’s waist. Noses buried in hair and fingernails clawing at naked skin. So many words left unspoken but not a single one left unheard.

‘Don’t go playing hero, Alex. Sometimes running away is the right choice.’ Michael holds on tighter and glances towards Isobel who’s already at the electric fence, giving them their space. He pleads with his eyes and she mouths I promise one last time.

They pull apart. Hands lingering at collars and hemlines. Eyes blurry and hearts worried. Alex takes a couple of backwards steps, grabbing his backpack and then turns away. Joining Isobel at the fence and setting off together to whatever fate awaits them. Michael looks on completely and utterly helpless. He knows they are competent and well-armed. Smart and desperate to return to him. But that knowledge does absolutely nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

Once they disappear from sight, Michael heads back to his truck. He stands with his hand on the door handle for a long time, trying to convince himself to open the door and not do the thing his heart wants him to do. But his heart wins. Unlocking Alex’s Explorer with his telekinesis, he slides into the driver’s side seat and shuts the door behind him. It’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever done in his life, but he doesn’t care. That nagging feeling is still punching at his stomach and the smell of Alex surrounding him helps to calm his nerves.

The interior is immaculate. So clean it makes Michael roll his eyes. There’s nothing in the center console but two pens and a roll of quarters. The glove compartment offers only the owner’s manual and a flashlight. But when he reaches around into the seat pocket, he strikes gold. Michael smiles down at the cd case he pulls free. The title is written in Alex’s too-perfect script and black-inked sharpie - Desert Mix.

Starting the engine, Michael slides the cd into the disc player and waits. Static crackles through the speakers and then the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar, followed shortly by Alex’s own voice. And Michael knows these songs - remembers the lyrics scratched across the various notebooks tucked under the futon in the toolshed. He’s listened to Alex sing these songs over and over again in the bed of his truck underneath the starry sky more times than he can count. When they were still teenagers with all their dreams still alive and close enough to touch.

Thirty minutes pass and Alex’s songs have nearly lulled him to sleep when he feels the first twinge of fear. It’s faint and distant enough to not immediately alarm him. He just shifts into a more comfortable position and recloses his eyes. The second wash of fear is much stronger and arrives accompanied by Isobel’s screams echoing in his head. Within seconds he’s running harder than he ever has in his life, straight into his worst nightmare.

No doors exist in the building’s central door frame. Just a gaping hole daring him to enter. Which he doesn’t hesitate to do, especially once Isobel begins to chant help us help us help us through his thoughts. He checks behind every door he passes, but finds nothing until he arrives at a large open space. Bleak and gray, the roof leaking water onto the concrete. Isobel on her knees and Alex sitting flat in the center of the room. Farmer Jones behind them, deviant grin spread wide across his face. ‘Welcome, Michael. So glad you could join us.’

Michael’s heart sinks to the floor. He tries using his telekinesis but knows if Isobel has been rendered powerless, so has he. And with that reality before him, whatever hope he’d been trying to hang onto flees. ‘There were never any hostages, were there?’

Alex and Isobel shake their heads.

‘Front and center, Mikey! We’re going to play a little game.’ It points to a spot between Alex and Isobel. Michael has no choice so he steps forward. Stopping when he’s commanded to. ‘Well done. Now, take a good, long look at Isobel and Alex. Spend some time thinking about how much you love them. Let me know when you’re finished.��� He steps back, arms crossed over his chest and still grinning like a madman.

That’s when Michael sees the gun.

It’s Alex’s personal weapon. The one he keeps for protection. Protection he’s needed more than once in his life from those supposed to love him most.

Dragging his eyes down to Isobel, he can tell how broken she is despite the way she holds her shoulders back, strong and proud even in her despair. Her eyes are wet with tears, her chin lifted in rebellion. But he can no longer find her in his head, so Jones must have cut their communication.

Beside her is Alex. A dark red stain soaking the shoulder of his t-shirt. ‘Is that blood?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a little scratch. Alex didn’t like my methods at first. But he’s since come around to see things my way.’ Alex’s jaw flexes and Michael watches him try to speak. But no sound leaves his mouth in spite of how hard he’s straining, veins in his neck throbbing with the effort.

‘Let them go and I’ll do whatever it is you want.’ Isobel and Alex both violently shake their heads. Michael ignores them. ‘Please.’

‘Can’t play the game with only one other person. Sorry.’ Jones rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrugging.

‘Then let Alex go. He’s not one of us. Just a human who doesn’t belong here.’ Emotion chokes Michael’s voice which makes Jones’s eyes light up. Alex continues to shake his head, tears now trailing down his cheeks.

‘Everybody stays, Michael. Are you ready? You’re going to need this.’ He yanks the gun from the waistline of his pants and holds it out to Michael. ‘Go on, take it.’

Dread seeps deep into Michael’s bones, making him dizzy. He keeps his hands at his side and gulps loudly. Brain frantically searching for some way out of this horrific situation.

‘Now, Michael. Before you make me angry.’ Jones steps between Isobel and Alex, shoving the gun into his chest.

Michael takes the gun, hands beginning to shake. Eyes pleading with the monster in front of him, eyes avoiding the two people he can’t afford to lose at his feet.

Jones begins to walk in circles around the three of them. Slow and menacing. Taking his time and enjoying every sick second. ‘The game is simple. The rules easy to follow.’ He stops and puts one hand on Isobel’s shoulder, the other on Alex’s. ‘Your mind is a fascinating place, Michael. An electric minefield of love and suffering. Never a dull moment.’

He pauses for effect. Basking in his control and breathing in their terror. ‘This backwater planet has made you so soft and pliable. Imagine what you could have been had you grown up on our marvelous star.’ He feigns pity and then laughs. ‘But instead, you are this. Pathetic. Now you will pay the price for your mother’s wicked hubris. And the choices she made.’

Jones uses his power to raise Michael’s arm. The one whose hand is holding the gun. Michael fights like hell but it’s no use. The gun wobbles as Jones swings his arm back and forth. Pointing the gun first at Isobel and then at Alex. ‘So that’s the game! Your mother once had to make a decision and now her son will do the same. Isobel or Alex, Michael. You have five minutes or I shoot them both.’

Michael knows the moment his voice returns to him - his arm under his own control again as well. Jones smiles at him and Michael shakes his head. ‘I won’t do this.’ He tries to turn the gun on himself, but Jones just takes control again and laughs.

‘You will do this, Michael. Losing one is better than losing them both. And you’ll make it quick. I’ll make it sweet and so very slow.’ Jones tenderly cups Isobel’s cheek and runs his other hand through Alex’s hair. Michael watches as they both wince and shiver under his touch. ‘It’s not like we don’t know who you love the most. I mean, it’s no contest really.’ With a strike quicker than a snake, Jones backhands Alex square in his jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. Michael shouts and tries to go to him, but Jones holds him in place.

‘The lover. Well...the ex-lover, anyway. And the purest love you’ve ever felt.’ Jones wraps his fingers in Alex’s hair and yanks him back into a sitting position. His lip is split, blood flowing freely down his chin and dripping onto his t-shirt. All three of them are panting and openly weeping. Michael’s entire body covered in a cold sweat. None of the thoughts in his head coherent with no last minute save-the-day solutions presenting themselves. Wordlessly, he begins to pray.

Jones goes back to lapping the three of them. ‘In case you were wondering, they both desperately want you to choose themselves. Alex is begging you to pick him. Isobel is maybe less enthusiastic about offering herself, but that’s still what’s inside her head. Noble, really. And Max, well - he’s enjoying the show all the way from sunny California.’

He sits between Isobel and Alex like he’s preparing for some grotesque kindergarten story time. ‘It disgusts me how weak the three of you are. Born to wield such power and instead you’re this - something lesser than even toddlers back home. I blink and you can’t move. I blink again and your minds are easy to crawl inside. Another blink and you’ll do whatever I say.’ He tsks with his tongue and shakes his head. ‘And to think you were meant to save us all, Michael.’

He releases Michael again. ‘Choose. Your five minutes start now.’

Faced with an impossible choice, the decision is easy to make in the end. He’s able to talk but decides not to. Not with words anyway. Michael raises his eyes to Alex and then the gun. And Alex smiles. Because he knows it was always meant to end this way.

Michael thinks back to the first time he’d seen Alex in the hallways of their middle school. An unremarkable moment. Alex and Valenti laughing in a classroom doorway. Valenti grabbing his arm, ‘Who are you?’ And Alex smiling, waiting for his answer.

But the next barrage of memories collapses his lungs. The first time Alex had come to school with his ear pierced, the septum ring hanging from his nose. Always with Maria and Liz, right in the middle. The occasional what’s up, Guerin. Valenti slamming him into a row of lockers after the first rumors started to spread. And eventually, a stolen guitar.

His hand shakes violently. But Alex softly and nods his head. Resigned and ready for what comes next.

Michael takes a moment to step back inside the UFO Emporium. Bright Eyes playing through the speakers overhead. Not a soul in sight. Other than the prettiest boy he’s ever seen with a bigger heart that he could have ever dreamed. A flood of quick flashes - Alex naked beneath him, making out at the movie theater, the desert sky as Alex strums his guitar, Alex’s hair shorn to regulation, letters written and never sent, first glances after long absences, hands on hips and lips on necks, harsh words and bitter tears, i loved you and i think that you loved me, the toolshed destroyed, another soft smile and would you come home.

Michael pulls the trigger.

The gunshot ricochets around the cavernous warehouse, reverberating off the back of Michael’s molars. And then everything falls silent and time stops. Alex crumples to the floor, blood leaking from the hole in his forehead. Eyes dead and lifeless. Michael’s heart claws its way out of his chest and throws itself on Alex. Alongside a screaming Isobel who can move again, hand covering Alex’s wound trying to staunch the bleeding.

But it doesn’t matter because Alex Manes is dead.

Jones tugs the gun from Michael’s hand and pistol whips Isobel on the temple. She collapses across Alex’s unmoving chest. Then Michael is thrown through the air, landing with a thud against the cylinder block wall. He hears the crunch of his skull and then mercifully blacks out. The gunshot playing one last time through his mind before the world disappears.

Time inevitably continues to pass. Alex growing colder and colder as the seconds tick by.

Michael reawakens to Isobel’s gargled cries. Shouting his name over and over again, hoarse from the effort. Michael has no idea how long he’s been out. Looking around, Jones has vanished. A ghost in the night. He squints into the darkness, Isobel slumped over Alex still trying to save him. Beating at his chest and pressing her hand over his wound.

Alex remains dead.

And to think you were meant to save us all, Michael. That line replays in Michael’s head as he sits watching Isobel’s struggle. It’s those words that convinced him to choose Alex. He closes his eyes and goes to the place deep in his gut where his power lives. An electric minefield of love and suffering. He rests his mind, truly hushing it quiet for the first time in his life. Laying the love and suffering aside long enough to connect his brain with his power. Completing a circuit that his trauma had never allowed before.

Energy flares in his nerve endings, clearing all the muck and grime. He thinks of Isobel and easily slides into her mind. There’s chaos and panic and an overwhelming gut-wrenching fear. Bile rises in her throat. She’s convinced that both of them are dead and that she’s all alone in this hell house. Michael reaches out for her and settles her nerves. Sends his own energy through her arm and down into the palm of her hand. The one pushed tight to Alex’s forehead.

Michael concentrates on picturing Alex’s face, whole and happy. Warmth from his belly travels through his connection with Isobel and begins to weave Alex’s brain back together, one fiber at a time. He can feel Isobel gasp when the wound under her palm slowly smoothes away. Her fear subsides and big, choking gasps tear from her lungs the minute Alex’s eyes reopen and his chest rises. She starts to scream Michael’s name again, but this time for a very different reason.

He climbs to his feet and is amazed at how good he feels. Not drained at all - slightly light headed in a pleasant way. Alex sits up and Isobel pulls him into a tight hug, waving at Michael wildly with her free hand.

It takes Michael a moment to take that first step forward. Questions twist in his mind and he knows in his gut that his relationship with Alex will never be the same again. And while he’s excited for what comes next, he’s also terrified of what it might all mean. The overwhelming desire to feel Alex’s heartbeat eventually tugs him forward, though, and before long he’s dropping to his knees beside them.

Alex paws at him, crawling into his lap with Isobel not far behind - clinging to the both of them like she never intends to let go ever again. ‘I felt you, Michael. You did this. How?’

Michael feels Alex bury his nose in the crook of his neck and reaches out to pull Isobel closer. ‘What he said about me being meant to save everyone. It just clicked in my brain and I knew I could save us.’ He presses his lips into Alex’s temple. ‘But I had to choose Alex in case I was wrong and needed help.’ His voice cracks and falters, a sob catches his breath and Michael collapses into them. They hold him close while he cries. The crash of adrenaline and the weight of his choice catching up to him.

They sit tucked tight together for a long time while the sun sets outside.

‘Is he going to have a handprint on his forehead?’ Isobel asks, pushing Alex’s hair aside to see if his skin has started to glow.

‘I don’t know - I don’t think so.’ He cups Alex’s cheeks and inspects his face, finding nothing. ‘Do you feel any different?’

‘Yes. I feel you everywhere. All over me. Inside of me.’ He wraps his fingers around Michael’s wrists, gently knocking their foreheads together. ‘It’s hard to breathe around, actually.’

Michael laughs. ‘Well, I’m having a lot of feelings right now.’

‘About me.’ Alex smiles.

‘Yeah, baby. About you.’ Michael hovers his lips over Alex’s, waiting. Alex doesn’t hesitate to answer, instantly closing the gap between them. And when their mouths finally lock together, both whimper at the touch, kissing each other like it’s the first time all over again. Eager, a little shy, and once again filled with so much hope for their future.

Isobel stumbles to her feet to give them space. She’s still covered in Alex’s blood, needing fresh air. And desperately wants to call Max to explain everything. Reaching out with her mind, she searches for signs of Jones somewhere nearby but finds nothing. Glancing back at Michael, she supposes Jones must know what he’s awakened inside her brother. Michael - the savior. Honestly, she’s not really all that surprised.

Michael hugs Alex flush against him. ‘I’m going to do something, Alex. And you’re going to feel it.’

But Alex shushes him. ‘I already know. Are you sure?’

He nods and shuts his eyes as Alex pushes them as close together as they can get. Offering Michael everything he has to give. Michael smiles and whispers. ‘I love you.’

And Alex responds, ‘I know.’

Michael searches across the desert, not knowing exactly what he’s doing. But before long, he spots what he’s looking for - a mind signature frantically fleeing from his wrath. Alex puts on a hand over Michael’s heart and Michael snaps Jones’ neck, his mind signature blinking out as he crumples to the dirt. He reopens his eyes and looks down at Alex. ‘Let’s go home.’

They rejoin Isobel and Michael informs her that Jones is dead. She nods her head. ‘It was the right decision, Michael. I guess I just wish we’d been able to find out more about where we come from.’

‘We don’t need him for that. I took his mind from him, Iz, before I killed him. I know everything he knows. And we have a lot to talk about. But first, I’m taking Alex home and crawling into his bed for at least a week.’ He hugs Isobel and she looks at him like the marvel he truly is and always has been before climbing into her SUV and leaving them alone.

‘I haven’t said I’m sorry yet.’ Michael turns to Alex. ‘And before you say I don’t have to,’ he holds his hand up to Alex who is already trying to stop him, ‘let me finish.’ Alex reluctantly nods. ‘I know I made the right decision. But I’m so sorry that means you can close your eyes and picture what it looks like to watch me hold me a gun to your head and pull the trigger. Because I can’t fix that part.’

Saying it out loud breaks something inside of him. Something he’s not sure will ever heal. So, he doesn’t bother trying to stop the tears that burn down his cheeks.

Alex grabs his hands. ‘Look at me.’ He waits for Michael to meet his eye. It takes a while but eventually he gets there. ‘I have seen a lot of horrible things in my life. My father’s fists aimed at my face, his hammer breaking your hand. Friends - brothers - riddled with bullets and bleeding out in my arms. Innocent people dying at my hand, riddled with my bullets. My leg shredded to pieces on the side of a dirt road in Iraq.’

He pauses to take a breath. Michael threads their fingers together to give him comfort. ‘You pointing that gun at my head? It is an image that will stay with me. Forever. But not for the reasons you fear. Because you didn’t get to see your face in that moment. The steel and certainty in your eyes. The courage and the love. And the defiance, Michael. I knew I could trust you. I knew I’d open my eyes again and get the chance to tell you how much I love you.’

‘But it’s even better than that. Because now it’s like you’re tattooed underneath every inch of my skin. You’re the oxygen expanding my lungs and the blood pumping through my veins. Yes, you shot me, Michael. But when I opened my eyes, I was so much more than I was before. You gave me that and only you could have given me that.’

They push against each other, chest to chest. Fingers clawing at whatever purchase they can find. Nose in necks and the first flares of arousal spreading through their hips. The scent of rain and Alex’s shampoo mingling together for the first time in over a year.

Michael feels something insistent pressing between his shoulder blades. Reluctantly, he pulls away from Alex and turns to find his cell phone floating freely. He concentrates on his power and realizes it’s not coming from his mind. Alex laughs behind him as Michael yanks his phone out of the air, stunned into silence.

A death. A homecoming. Something bright and new.

[faustian-familiar]

A Hard Lesson

What’s up gamers I’m back with another lemon. This exists because of a request from @feralfeathers - thanks so much for the inspiration! I hope you enjoy it. 

Pairing: Nadia x an afab (they/them) Apprentice

18/+. Countess Nadia wants MC - regardless of the fact that she’s hosting a Summer Gala party.

A swell of orchestral music reaches my ears, sweeping through the palace halls where I walked by Nadia. Her presence is warm and regal beside me, the arm coiled tightly around mine soft against my skin. This close to her, I could smell the fragrance of jasmine as she moved, bringing the memory of silken sheets with it and the lithe silhouette of Nadia’s frame behind sheer curtains. The dress she was wearing tonight was resplendent on her figure, and I could not help but appreciate her beauty as my eyes travel down her body.

Nadia senses my stare at glances down at me, appraising my features for a long moment before she cocks an eyebrow and a knowing look spreads across her face.

“Why do I get the notion that you are not thinking about the hours deouvres?” she lilts.  

I give her my most winning smile and trace my fingers over the bare skin of her arm.

“Maybe I am,” I reply suggestively.

She chuckles sensibly and leads me closer to the wall, pausing under the glow of a lantern to brush an imaginary hair from my face.

“Turn around,” she says.

I look at her quizzically. Two servants bustle past, halting long enough to curtsy quickly to us both before hurrying away.

“I want to check the fastenings on the back of your costume,” she replies, her face a mask of placid innocence.

I turn away from her and face the wall, and Nadia’s hands smooth over my back. Her thumbs press into my shoulders, then fingertips trace down my back, grazing over each detail of my costume. I feel her breath as she leans down to murmur to me, her lips grazing delicately at the rim of my ear. Her voice is low and suggestive when she speaks.

“I hope you can behave yourself tonight,” she teases. “I would be most disconcerted if I had to teach you a lesson later.”

I shiver involuntarily as she adjusts my hair, her posture betraying none of her audacious language.

She grips my shoulders and turns me around to face her, reaching down and taking one of my hands in hers. Her eyes are burning with passion as she lifts my hand to her mouth, her penetrating gaze never leaving my eyes as she presses a warm kiss to my knuckles. I feel a thrill weave through the pit of my stomach.

“Let’s not keep our guests waiting,” Nadia says gracefully.

We stride towards the ballroom arm-in-arm, the sounds of a merry tune rising above the roar of numerous enthusiastic conversations. The Chamberlain stands at the closed double doors and bows low to us in turn so that the feather in his hat brushes the floor. He swings the door open with a dramatic flourish, shouting into the ballroom while we wait behind him.

“Allow me to present our gracious hosts, Countess Nadia Satrinava and Their Excellency, MC!”

Nadia squares her shoulders and glides into the ballroom with me.

The ballroom is lavishly decorated for Nadia’s latest party, the Summer Gala. Orbs of light are magically suspended above the dance floor, lighting aerial silks performers and acrobats that sweep gracefully over the crowds of elegant guests. Exotic flowers and vines in a rainbow of colors adorn every column and surface, mingling with perfumes and filling the air with their thick, provocative scent. Fountains and topiaries line the walls, and the cry of an animal draws my attention - one side of the room is open to the veranda, where a collection of bright tropical birds mingle with relaxing partygoers. I am dumbfounded by the splendor, but when I look to Nadia, her gaze is searching my face with powerful tenderness.

“You look so radiant tonight, MC. I can’t believe you’re really mine.”

She takes my hand and pulls me closer, bending low to brush her lips across the back of my hand. She contemplates me, her eyes heavy-lidded with a flirtatious smile.

“May I have this dance?”

I smile back at her. “I would be honored.”

She expertly tugs my hand so I go spinning into her embrace as the band strikes up a waltz. Her arm coils around my waist, pulling our bodies flush together. When I look up at Nadia, I see that her cheeks have gone slightly pink.

She leads me across the dance floor with skill, interlacing the fingers of our joined hands and gently bringing our heads together so that her temple is against mine. I hear her voice whispering in my ear, low and husky, intended only for my ears.

“It’s a pity all of these people are around. If I had my way I’d rip those clothes off of you and take you right here on this floor.”

My heart stops for a moment. I can’t conceal my shock when I pull back from her, glancing at her face to see if I heard her correctly. She levels me with an expression that is nothing short of obscene, her eyes burning with desire, the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.

I open my mouth to reply, but Nadia suddenly lifts our arms, spinning me in front of her and making her face whirl away out of my sight. She turns me quickly in the other direction so I crash back into her embrace, my back against her chest.

“I want you,” she growls into the crook of my neck. I’m spiraled back to face her, and she cradles me in her arms, dipping me low and draping herself over me, so the heat of her gaze is all I can see.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget the fucking you get tonight.”

She pulls me back up to my feet, resuming the waltz with a cordial smile as though she hadn’t just turned my body into a trembling mass of nerves.

I am trying to catch my breath when we’re approached by a stout man in an opulent green gown.

“Ah, Duke Erwyn!” Nadia beams.

“Countess. I cannot hope to achieve the stunning performance you have shown, but would your partner honor me with a dance?”

Nadia looks to me, and I nod, still not trusting my voice.

“Certainly,” she says. “I will get drinks for us all. I imagine my companion is very thirsty at the moment.” She bestows one last devilish smile on me before strolling away.

Nadia returns to collect me after the lively dance, offering me a shimmering, rose-colored drink in a tall glass to match her own.

“We should make the rounds,” she remarks, surveying the room. She takes my hand and escorts me off the dance floor, encountering a well-appointed couple moments later that require her attention. Nadia’s transformation into Countess is complete as she socializes with her guests. Her laugh is quick and polite, her compliments numerous and flattering. She introduces me to nobility after nobility with her hand pressed affectionately against the small of my back. I can hardly believe that this is the woman who spoke so brazenly to me earlier, until she cuts a conversation with a  Zadithian prince short. She leans close to me, filling my senses with her perfume.

“You make me so wet,” she says. I swallow against the lump in my throat as she pecks my cheek.

We sit and converse with an ambassador for several minutes. Nadia is the picture of manners, listening carefully as he discusses his recent travels - and him completely unaware that Nadia’s hand is drifting over my body and stroking every inch of bare skin with a feather-light touch.

“I’m afraid I must deprive you of MC’s charm for the time being,” she says. “There is a matter we must attend to. The work of a Countess is never over, it seems.”

She guides me out of the ballroom and onto the veranda, where the night air is noticeably cooler and the crowds have thinned to a few groups of people lounging together on the outdoor furniture. We lean against the rail together, and she reaches out to caress my face.

“What is this matter we need to attend to?” I ask.

She smiles at me and leans forward, tilting my face up towards her and grazing her lips over mine in a soft, inviting gesture. When I move into her arms, she deepens the kiss, parting my lips with her tongue so I taste the candied smoothness of her rose-colored drink. She makes a small, desperate sound against my mouth, grasping me by the arms and pushing me backwards. I move with her, powerless in the current of her desire, until my back thumps against one of the enormous columns. She breaks the kiss to inspect our surroundings, then guides us along the column until we’re mostly concealed from the view of the other guests.

She places her hands on either side of my face and kisses me, delicately at first, then escalates the passion of her mouth until I’m breathless and supple under her hands. Her lips press against the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, and trace over my skin until she reaches my ear. Her body pins me against the column, and she traces the shell of my ear with the tip of her tongue, coaxing a soft moan out of me as I tilt my head to give her access and her mouth explores my neck.

“I can’t take it any longer,” she groans, the movement of her lips against my flesh raising goosebumps on my arms. “I need you.”

She backs away from me suddenly, leaving me dizzy as she takes my hand and leads me from the veranda to a gazebo tucked into a stand of trees. Her face is flushed now, her breasts heaving against her dress as she tries to catch her breath.

We reach her sanctuary and Nadia pulls the door open, revealing a small, round room covered in cushions and lit with dim lanterns. She lifts me off my feet and carries me through the threshold bridal-style, looking at me with her eyes sparkling.

She drops to her knees in the middle of the room and lays me down among the many plush, jasmine-scented pillows. She rises to close and lock the door behind us, then descends onto my form, her face strained with yearning.

Her hands slide over my clothes, disrobing me until my sex is bare and sending tremors through my body. Nadia slides two fingers into her mouth as she watches me, sucking them and lolling her tongue across them until they glisten in the lamplight. She lowers them to my slit, gliding over my labia and settling on the tingling bundle of nerves between them. My hips move against them involuntarily, sending a strong flutter of bliss through my lower body. Nadia moans appreciatively as she watches me squirm below her, the flush of desire spreading down her neck and cleavage. Her fingers rub me in quick circular motions, making electricity crackle in my core. I am consumed by the ecstasy, my back arching, my voice raised in soft, urgent whines.

“That’s it, darling,” she coos. “That’s what I want. Let me make you feel good.”

My sex tightens, every muscle in my body seems to coil into a tight spring, and then the wave breaks over me. My walls pulse over and over, every crashing wave of euphoria bringing new worship to my lips, and Nadia unravels me, spiraling me down into a world of honeyed, humming white light.

My vision swims before me for a moment when I open my eyes, and then my Countess comes into view, smoldering above me with her lips gently parted.

“Nadia...that was...” I stammer.

She grins at me salaciously, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh. We’re not done,” she replies. “The party will last all night, darling. We won’t be missed for quite some time.”

“Are...are you sure?”

“I think it’s time you got that lesson now.”

[legolaslovely]

Call Me Jim

A/N: Some Jim Hawkins Deano loveliness for you! Here we go, just me rewriting scenes againnnnn hahaaaaa This is truly disgusting fluff and really just a snippet I came up with, maybe someday I’ll write more but I’m posting this anyway because it makes me warm and fuzzyyyyyyy Hope you guys enjoy and get a chance to see this movie. I literally watch it for Deano only lol

Pairing: Jim x Reader

Word Count: 2,283

Warnings: SPOILERS For Return to Treasure Island!- kind of. not really, but gonna say it just to be safe, Violence, character injury, blood, fluff, angst, ends in yummy tooth decaying fluff

Summary: Jim saves (Y/N)’s life in America and is forced to bring her aboard The Eagle as he and his crew run from pirates. They are herded straight into the jaws of Treasure Island and Jim isn’t sure he can escape with his life a second time.

(Y/N) toed through the soft, sandy dirt in search of Captain Hawkins. After days of battling and hunting on Treasure Island, it was striking how quiet the land was in this moment. The only sound that reached her ears was the waves crashing on the beach far below the cliff. She crept from tree to tree, hiding from all on the island except the blond sea captain.

(Y/N) had been separated from Captain Hawkins and his crew before the sun rose. The group was awakened by rushing and plundering pirates and the captain sent her into a cave to assure her safety but had yet to return for her. (Y/N) decided to take matters into her own hands and search for Captain Hawkins herself, rather than risk being found by the nasty pirates or worse, being left behind and stranded on the island. Would the captain really forget her? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to wait and find out.

She carried on, sneaking through the tall grass, but always keeping the shore in her line of sight. Then rustling of footsteps other than her own whispered in her ear. She froze. “Captain Hawkins?” Nothing.

Then she was answered by an ear ringing shot followed by a cry she’d recognize anywhere. “Jim.” Thoughts of her own safety flew out of her mind and she raced through the salty meadow toward the sound. She stumbled over her own feet when she saw him writhing on the ground in pain. He’d been shot.

“Jim!” She cried, dashing to his side.

“(Y/N), I thought I left you in the cave. Get out of here,” he said, his blue eyes flashing to her before they closed tight in his pain.

“We all should have remained in that cave. Then none of this would’ve happened.” Her stomach flipped when she saw the wound in his leg. How would they escape now? Even if they managed it, would Captain Hawkins even survive the trek to America? She pulled his shoulders into her lap and cradled his head, wincing at his grunts of pain. “Who’s done this?”

“The same man who stole my ship,” he ground out. “Why did you leave the cave?”

(Y/N) pulled the scarf from her shoulders and tied it tightly around his thigh above the wound- a trick she’d learned from her father. Then her bloody fingers raked through his messy blond curls, pulling them away from his sweat soaked forehead. “I thought you’d forgotten about me. I thought something happened to you.” She shook her head. Words were falling from her mouth quicker than her brain could filter them. She sounded like a fool.

“Forget about you? Of course not. Do you really think I’d leave you here?” He twisted to look at her and sucked in a sharp breath at the pain the movement brought.

“Stop it. Don’t move. Can you stand? Where is your crew?” She adjusted the buttons on his tunic as she rambled, desperate for an answer to their problem. Then she heard him laughing at her. “What is it?”

“First you tell me not to move, then you tell me to stand,” he said. A painful grin pulled at his lips.

She glared at him. “Where is your crew?” Hot blood had run into her skirts and left abstract blotches of red. When the captain didn’t answer her, she looked to him in panic, watching his eyes flutter and roll closed. “Jim. Look at me.” His cheek burned her cold fingers. “Jim. Please.”

His head lolled in her lap. “Tom and the rest of the crew are fighting for our ship. They’re- they’re on the shore.”

“You came here alone?” she asked.

“Yes, he did.”

(Y/N) looked up and felt tears of relief pulling at her throat. She’d never been so happy to see a familiar, kind and trusted face. “Mr. Savage!”

“You,” Captain Hawkins growled.

(Y/N) hushed him. “No, Jim. I know him. He’s a friend of my father’s. He’ll help us.” She looked back to Mr. Savage standing above her with a toothy smile across his face. “Please, Mr. Savage, please help him. He’s been shot-”

“I know,” Mr. Savage said, unmoving.

She waited for him to rush into action, but he seemed frozen. “He-he needs help. He’s losing blood, if you’ll help me take him to the shore-”

“Captain Hawkins is exactly where I want him,” Mr. Savage said.

(Y/N) looked to the pain filled captain in her arms. She distantly heard fire and canons booming from the shore below. The crew of The Eagle were fighting against the pirates… weren’t they? She stared at Mr. Savage’s spotless boots. “You know Captain Hawkins?”

“Oh, yes. For a long time now. Since I stole the first ship of his fleet.”

“The Hawk,” Captain Hawkins spat.

(Y/N) shifted, tightening her grip on the captain’s shoulders. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Mr. Savage said. “Care to explain, Captain?”

Hawkins stirred in his disgust as if his adrenaline renewed him. He spoke to (Y/N) without taking his eyes off the man in front of him. “Mr. Savage has stolen my entire fleet, one ship at a time, in the name of the King. He’s ruined my name as a merchant.”

“But the pirates-” (Y/N) began.

“There are no pirates, my dear,” Mr. Savage said. “Just me and my men. I’ve single handedly ended your career, Captain Hawkins. And now, I’m going to end your life.” He pulled a dagger from his belt. The long, sharpened blade glistened in the hot sunlight as he twirled it in his fingers.

(Y/N) drew the captain’s tunic in her fists, feeling panic rise and throb in her chest. “Why?”

“Because I can,” Mr. Savage chuckled. “And no one runs from The SeaWolf and escapes.” He lunged toward the pair on the ground, entertained by the captain’s pleading for (Y/N) to run and leave him behind.

“No,” (Y/N) said, lowly. She reached across the chest in her lap and tugged Captain Hawkins’ pistol from his belt. She aimed it at Mr. Savage, leaving him frozen before her.

“(Y/N), my dear, you won’t kill me,” he said.

“Drop your weapon on the ground,” she said. Both men were impressed by her steady voice and hand.

Mr. Savage chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement and doubt. “You don’t even know how to use that.”

She seamlessly cocked the pistol with her thumb. “You’re forgetting I am my father’s daughter. Put your weapon down or I will shoot. And I will not miss, Mr. Savage.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, leaving slits of colored irises below heavy brows. His grip tightened on the dagger, but he moved no further. (Y/N) was so focused on this threat that she forgot about the man in her lap until he spoke.

“(Y/N), don’t. He’s not worth staining your hands with blood.”

“I won’t allow him to hurt you,” she said, looking down the barrel of the pistol and straight into the traitor’s face.

“And I won’t let you kill a man in my honor. Put the gun-p-put the gun down.” He voice was fading and his shoulders relaxed and slumped against her legs. (Y/N) refused to look at him or let her tears gather in her eyes. She would not let Mr. Savage get away with this.

“Listen to your lover, (Y/N),” Mr. Savage sang.

“Be quiet,” she said.

“Well, that’s what he is, isn’t he? Your beloved Jim? That’s why you’re doing this, because you love him, right? Oh, and now he’s dying. Look at him, (Y/N).”

“Stop it!” The pistol started to shake in her fingers. Mr. Savage took this chance, hoping her vision and her thoughts were clouded with enough emotion, and he charged them. A cry escaped (Y/N) as a shot rang out, sending Mr. Savage backwards and thumping on the ground. Blood oozed from his chest that no longer held any breath. She stared at the pistol’s trigger that she hadn’t pulled.

“It’s okay, (Y/N). You’re safe now. Give me the gun.”

(Y/N) turned to barely see Tom through her watery eyes. She allowed him to take the pistol, but kept her hand held in the air until he himself pushed it down to her lap. Then she looked to poor, tortured, powerless Jim under her fingertips. “Help him,” she said to Tom.

“We will. Come with us. That’s it.”

They kept Captain Hawkins below deck in the captain’s quarters as they sailed to America. Tom said he would have wanted to get off Treasure Island the instant it was possible and return to his true home in the Carolinas. (Y/N) remained by the captain’s side every moment she could, leaving Patch to scare off the rats under the deck. She nibbled on bread and hummed to herself, but really, she spent the hours alone with the captain, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, even breaths. Every so often, she’d smooth his messy hair or run her finger over the deep dimple in his chin, thinking about what Mr. Savage had said before he was killed by Tom.

Heavy footsteps sent her hands to herself. Tom appeared, ducking his head under the low doorway. “Any change, Miss (Y/N)?”

“None.” Her gaze returned to the resting captain. “Do you think he’ll be all right? He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“If I know Captain Hawkins, he’ll pull through. He won’t let anyone else take command of his ship for too long.”

(Y/N) chuckled, smiling for the first time in what felt like years. The past few days of running from pirates- Mr. Savage’s pirates- had felt like a dream. She wanted to wake up with the snap of her fingers and see that Captain Hawkins was perfectly fine and return home. But it wasn’t that simple.

Tom tipped his hat to her and promised to check in again soon. “The young captain will be all right, (Y/N),” he said before he left her.

“Yes, you’ll be all right, my love,” she said, sitting beside him once more. Her fingers brushed over his cheekbone and she sighed. “Right Patch?” she said to the staring pup at her feet. “He’ll return to his arrogant self, giving us commands and we’ll wish him asleep again, hm?” She stroked the dog’s head as her other hand fell to envelope the captain’s. She barely felt her fingers being squeezed.

“That’s not a very kind thing to say to a man on his death bed,” Captain Hawkins said.

“Jim! Captain Hawkins. Are you-you’re all right? You’re awake! I’ll fetch Tom,” she stood, but he pulled her hand back down to him.

“Sit, (Y/N). And please, call me Jim. Or ‘love,’ if you’re so inclined.” A smirk shone on his face while (Y/N)’s burned red.

“No, I-no. That was- you weren’t meant to… This is not you’re death bed. Tom and Jenkins agree you’ll be perfectly fine after a few days of rest. What are you doing? Lie down.” Her hands flew to his chest as he worked to sit up in the cot. He winced and grunted, leaning on his strong arms until his back could slope against the wall. “You need to rest. Lie back down, Captain Hawkins.”

“Jim.”

She sighed and adjusted the blanket over him. “Jim.”

He took her hands in his. “Now, (Y/N), I am still in a bit of pain-”

“I’ll fetch something for you, then,” she said, moving to leave for Jenkins and his satchel of medicines.

“No. What I mean is, since I’m in this condition for a while, you’ll have to meet me halfway,” he said, allowing his thumb to move over the back of her knuckles. Her skin was soft in his well worked hand.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

His hand lifted to her jaw. “I’m trying to kiss you, (Y/N). Come here.”

She floated from her chair to sit on the side of the cot, giving him leave to kiss her lips. His were softer than she thought they’d be, as was his touch as his hands cupped her face. He drew away from her, only to rest his forehead against hers, breathing the same air for a long moment. Then he sat back against the wall, wincing at the pain in his leg. He held her hand tight, smiling at her before his face fell.

“(Y/N),” he began, “My career has been ruined. Most of my fleet has been stolen and demolished. I live in a growing country, far from anyone I know. And I may be looked at as a rebel of the king from this day forward, but I would be honored if you would join me in America a-and marry me. You would live with me, and Patch, of course, and I will do everything I can to make you happy.” He paused as the sea gulls squawked and the men above deck did the same. The waves roared against the wooden walls but the ship held steady, as did Jim with his proposal. “I can’t promise you wealth, but I can promise you love, trust and care. You are more important to me than any fortune or ship. I love you (Y/N).” He stared at her, showing his fear for the first time since she’d met him. “What-what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to kiss you, Jim. Come here.” They barely managed their kiss, their grins were too wide. “Yes, I’ll marry you, my love.”

Patch barked and leapt on the cot as Jim held (Y/N) tight and knitted their lips together in more sweet kisses. Again, he’d survived Treasure Island, and this time he’d escaped with the richest treasure of all.

Taglist! Message to join. Thanks for reading, friends! @emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​  @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fizzyxcustard​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @teagarages​ @dashesofink​ @winchesterandpie​ @zulfiya-the-warrior-princess​ 

[ask-jamie-hm]

Spring 19, Year 0

No Joke

"Jamie."

I ignored them.

"Hey, Jamie!"

I didn't want to hear from them.

"Jaaamiiieee..."

I couldn't stand them. I set the tool in my hand aside, turned to confront them with a serious face and demanded, "Leave me alone."

The red one, hanging off my fence -- "But Jamie, you look so unhappy!"

The yellow one, clinging to my boot -- "Even more frowny than usual, yeah."

The blue one, crouching in my grass -- "We don't like to see you like this, yeah."

Unhappy? At a time like this, what did they expect?

"You guys don't understand how to take anything seriously." Only growing more unhappy by the minute, I glared harshly. "Now go away, all three of you rascals!"

Red -- "C'mon Jamie, be nice yeah!"

Yellow -- "You could at least shoo us away by name."

Blue -- "We only wanna help!"

Hmph. No names -- they were nothing more than rainbow-colored rascals to me. And I already knew there was nothing they could possibly do to help.

"We should be looking after each other," said the red. "After all, we're like siblings!"

"What!?" I firmly crossed my arms against that moronic suggestion. "We're not related."

"Are you suuuure?" went the blue.

"Because the Harvest Goddess is like our mama too, y'know!"

"It's different," I insisted. It was completely different.

"No it's not!" The yellow. "We've been living here with you so long, face it, we're like your big brothers."

"Big?" I rolled my eyes, literally looking down on them all. "Don't make me laugh."

Suddenly, the red one perked up. "Ohhh! Would you?"

"...Huh?" Raising an eyebrow, "Would I what?"

"Laugh! Would you laugh for us?"

"Hee hee. We haven't heard you do it since you were little!"

I shook my head. "How stupid. I'm telling you, there's nothing to laugh about."

"Well, we know, but..."

"We don't think the Goddess would wanna see you like this either yeah."

"She really liked it when you laughed, too."

"..." ...

"We'll do it!" All three in unison. "We'll do it. We'll make you laugh~."

***

Big brothers? What a sham. No matter how long they'd been around, they still acted like babies. That's because, just like the humans, they let the Harvest Goddess take care of them without being able to do anything for her in return. Nothing but little, useless babies.

I tried to put them out of my mind as I got back to work on my ranch, stepping into my animals' barn.

On this clear day, I intended to bring them out to graze instead of feeding them from the bin. Shun, my steed, was up first. I tied the reins around his muzzle -- facing nowhere near the struggle he would have put up a year or so ago -- and led him out of the barn door.

Immediately after passing through the dark archway and into the sunlight, I was alerted by a whinny from behind. I turned...to see some uninvited guests hitching a ride along with my horse.

Them. They were perched on Shun's saddle, having wrapped themselves up in the back loops of the reins.

"Jamie, look! What are we?"

"Nuisances," I answered.

"No, no!" protested the yellow one. "You're supposed to say Harvest Sprites! And then we say--"

"Wait for it, wait for it!"

"We're not Harvest Sprites, we're Harnessed Sprites!"

"Ba-dum~"

"..." I stared at them in disbelief.

"Hee hee hee! Get it?"

"That's not funny." Not funny. At all. I could hardly think of anything less funny.

"Sure it's funny!" The blue one leaned forward onto Shun's neck and said, "Isn't it funny, mister horse?"

Shun was no more amused than I was. In one swift motion, he bucked all three of them out of the ropes and over his shoulder and onto the hard ground with a yelp of "ouch!" as they hit.

Good horse. I'd give him extra brushing time later.

***

While the animals were feeding, I turned my attention to the crops. Dipped my watering can into the well at the corner of my property, then lifted it without spilling a drop.

I could tell those cocoa plants were almost ready for a second round of harvesting. One more day should do it. I gripped the can tightly, charging its power, and let it shower down over the large square...

"Ah~!" Freshly drenched in water, the water that was supposed to be for the soil, one of those rascals peeked out from where it had been hiding behind a stalk.

Not again. "Now what?"

"Jamie, look!" A second and third poked their heads out from near another plant. "What are we?"

I didn't bother answering. I had no intention of playing along.

"We're not Harvest Sprites. We're Harvest Sprouts!"

"Hee hee hee~"

...I still wasn't laughing.

Like weeds -- a lot like weeds, in fact -- I grabbed them one by one by the points of their hats and bluntly dropped them out of the way.

"Ouch!"

And I repeated, "That's not funny."

***

"...Hmph."

The day was finally over. Another day...without her. It never got any better. But if the only way to bring her back was earning Notes, and the only way to get strong Notes was doing work, then that's all I wanted to do.

I dropped backwards onto my bed and shut my eyes.

...

...I opened them again, having heard some sort of rustling in the room. Something wasn't right.

"What the!?"

They had laid themselves out over the -- I hated where this was going -- stripes of my poncho.

"Jamie, look! We're not Harvest Sprites, we're--"

"You rascals!" They'd crossed a line coming into my house and disturbing my privacy. "This is my property! Get OUT!"

As I bolted upright, they were all thrown off my chest. I hadn't even felt them climb on top of me. They barely weighed a thing, though they somehow managed to be such heavy burdens.

"I'm gonna get you!!" I lunged at the red one who was hopping toward the door.

"You'll get us back? Is that a promise yeah~?"

"I told you we were siblings! Yay! Now we've even got a sibling rivalry."

"Like I said," I yelled, "we're not siblings! And--"

What did they say, a rivalry? With them?

"..."

"What? Jamie?"

"...Hah."

Between me and their own powerless selves, there was no comparison. A rivalry? That was a laughable thought.

The yellow one started jumping up and down and pointing. "I heard that! Does that count!?"

"I think it counts, yeah!" squealed the blue. "We'll take what we can get!"

I still wasn't going to smile for them, though.

The most they might ever get was a smirk.

***

That night, I bolted and double-bolted my door, hammered in a signpost at the entrance to my house: Unauthorized Personnel Not Allowed.

I didn't need those rascals or anyone else getting in my way.

                 <<   ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs                      --ᴅɪᴀʀʏ--                      ɴᴇxᴛ   >>

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 26: Abraxas - Part 4

While ACHTUNG BABY does what it can to defend its master from the onslaught of fists and blows, Shizuka can’t help but feel a pain not only on her body, but within herself as well. 

“I can’t do this… I’m not strong enough… I’m not like them… I never will be…”

“Well, of course not. How could you be?”

In an office surrounded by bookshelves and starfish in display cases, a large man in a dark coat inspects the contents of an aquarium on his desk. His hat is pulled low over his brow, as he diligently takes notes. Behind him is a pale young girl, with dark hair, standing against the wall, with sunglasses positioned on her head. The office sways slightly, rocking gently to and fro.

“So you agree… I’m not strong enough.” the girl asks, staring at his back.

“That’s not what I said. I meant, of course you’re not like us. You’re your own person.”

“Yeah, maybe I am... but that doesn’t mean I’m good enough. Even if I’m my own person, it’s not like I’m really… a part of you all. We’re not really family…

“I know why I’m here, Jotaro. I’m not stupid. You took me out on this trip because you felt sorry for me. But it’s OK. I don’t feel sad anymore… I don’t feel anything.”

The man says nothing, taking his notes on a clipboard.

“I clung to Daddy and Mamma for everything. Everything. They were my foundation. Every person needs something to build themselves on. But mine was built on sand. I’ll never know who my real parents were, who my own family is. All I have is Mamma to cling on to. And when she’s gone, I’ll disappear completely. I’ll just be… empty.”

There is silence in the room for a while. Then, Jotaro calls out, “Shizuka, come over and look at this.”

Shizuka does, after a moment of confusion. “What?”

“Look at this,” the man says, pointing at a rock in the aquarium, “see that, encrusted on the rock? Look there, it’s opening its shell to release its legs.”

Shizuka looks, and what she thought was some sort of stone opens up to extend an appendage similar to a feather duster. “What is that?” she asks as Jotaro rolls up his sleeve and dips his hand into the aquarium, picking up the rock the thing is attached to. He presents the rock, water dripping all over the floor.

“An acorn barnacle. Those feathery things are modified legs, left over from their larval stage. Most species of barnacle attach themselves to substrate, but many others cling to animals. These, for example, like to latch onto to humpback whales. At first glance, they resemble bivalve molluscs like clams or mussels, but in fact they’re crustaceans, closer to crabs.”

“Ohh, ok… Does it have anything to do with what we were talking about?”

“No. It just fascinates me.”

“...Ok.”

“Come outside with me for a second.”

Jotaro gets up from his seat abruptly and steps out of the lab. Shizuka follows him outside, bewildered. On the deck of the research vessel, she can see land in the distance. Gulls cry overhead. Jotaro stares straight ahead. The name painted on the side of the vessel is OCEAN MAN.

“2 years ago, the world nearly came to an end.” 

Shizuka blinks. “What?”

“A man named Enrico Pucci, a follower of an old enemy of mine, set in motion a plan which would give him the power to end the world and remake it in his image. Jolyne and I tried to stop him, and we failed. STAR PLATINUM couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t touch him.”

“... Well, it couldn’t have been that bad, considering we’re all still here.”

“Yes. We have Giorno Giovanna to thank for that.”

“Who?”

“Giorno Giovanna. The son of that old enemy of mine, the very one Pucci lived for. He appeared out of nowhere, drawn by fate to Cape Canaveral, just like we were. He saved our lives, stopped Pucci with the most terrifying ability I’ve ever seen. But with his death came something I can’t explain; things were different. The world seemed different. Maybe the nature of Pucci’s ability was that it would affect the world in spite of his death. I don’t know. But in spite of everything, I was still alive. Jolyne was still alive. We all were still alive.”

Shizuka grimaces, looking down. “But then Daddy died six months later anyway! So you got upstaged, what difference does it make!?”

“It makes a difference. I was afraid. I still am.”

“... You are…?”

“I’m afraid that the world we’re in is the wrong one. I’m afraid of Giorno Giovanna’s power, however much he seems to intend to use it for good. In that moment when Death stared me straight in the face, I truly felt powerless. I feared that I would die, unable to do anything to protect the ones I love. 

“I was afraid of losing my family. But I didn’t. I still have my daughter, and all of you.”

“But... we’re not family. I’m… not your family.”

“Yes you are. We might not share any blood, but that’s not what families are made from. Connections don’t start with the blood, but the Will. The old man chose you, made you his daughter. You dishonor his memory by denying that connection.”

“But Daddy isn’t here anymore…!”

“He lives in you. He left behind a legacy of adventure and justice, and spent his final years raising you. As long as we live with pride, he’s always with us.”

Too busy stifling tears to pull away from Jotaro’s gentle embrace, Shizuka buries her face into her nephew’s shirt. “What-- What do I even do?”

“I don’t know. You have to decide, but whatever you do, you’ll be fine. You are Joseph Joestar’s daughter.”

Shizuka sniffs, and dribbles snot into the fabric of Jotaro’s coat. Shaking his head, he says “Good grief…”

                                                            ---

“My own way of doing things?” Shizuka murmurs, staring in the mirror. “What is my way of doing things? Who am I, even?” She has returned home, standing in the bathroom of her parents’ New York apartment, where she has lived her whole life. 

Once again, she places the sunglasses over her eyes, casting a reddish veneer over her vision. She raises her hand, and concentrates. Before her eyes, the hand turns invisible. “This power… That I’ve always used to hide away… To disappear… I don’t want that! I don’t want to disappear! I want to be real!!”

She began with practicing smiles in the mirror, her face so unused to it. A spirit gripped her, a new determination she had never before known. Having mastered smiling, she began further preparations. 

Sunbathing herself beet red, experimenting with all manner of make-up, nearly bleaching the hair right off her scalp. Every misstep only fuelled her determination, to take the next step in her transformation. 

She would no longer be someone who hid, who disappeared. She would draw attention, burn herself into people’s memories. Like a star, shining light in the dark. 

She would be Shizuka Joestar.

                                                         ---

Back in the present, Phantasma swings a heavy fist at her. She jumps back, losing her footing and stumbling backwards into the ropes. Her ears are ringing and there is a whirlpool in skull. Beneath her feet, shards of shattered glass crunch. Leaning back over the ropes, Shizuka sees the broken skylight above her. The shaft of light that illuminate the dim place.

“Phantasma…” she murmurs.

The masked woman listens, her eyes till covered by the makeshift blindfold. “Hmm?”

“Do you know… about whale barnacles?”

“... Excuse me?”

“Whale barnacles. Like the barnacles that you find stuck to piers or rocks in tide pools, only these ones attach themselves to live whales, especially humpbacks. My nephew told me about them.”

“... I seem to have struck you so hard you can’t think straight. You were doing so well before, and now you’re making a fool of yourself, once again.”

Shizuka gasps, gulping air into her harried lungs before speaking again. “The thing with barnacles is, they live their whole adult lives cemented to a single object, but they are not part of it. They are wholly independent.

“In extreme cases, a lot of barnacles can provide a humpback whale with armor, protecting it from rivals or predators. But it might also cause extra drag, slowing it down. But only in extreme cases, and even then, the barnacles do not serve the whale at all. They are completely, independent beings. Phantasma… I’m sure you think you’ve already won, yes?”

Phantasma cocks her head to one side. “I don’t follow what you’re saying. You are right, of course, I look forward to your final moments. I expect them to be glorious. But what do barnacles have to do with anything?”

“It’s just the first… the first thing you need to understand.” She says, pulling herself, facing forward. Her vision is unfocused, as she stares straight past Phantasma, at the gap in the ropes where Moya fell through.

“The first? What, then, is the second?”

“The second thing is my name,” she stands, no longer leaning on the ropes. “You heard it before, but I don’t think you were paying attention, so I’ll tell you again. My name is Shizuka Joestar. That name is why you’re going to lose.”

“Oh? How so? Will your family’s lawyers litigate me to death? It’s worth a try, I suppose,” the masked woman sneers.

“It’s not about money, it’s about tradition,” Shizuka says, her smile weakly returning. “Within the Joestar family, there’s a technique that’s been passed down through the generations. A surefire move that not even Moya knows about.”

“A secret technique?” Phantasma asks, her grin becoming genuine.

“That’s right. You told me to fight until my last breath… well, if all my other options are through, then I have no choice… I hope you’re ready for this…!”

“I am ready. Show me, Shizuka Joestar!” ABRAXAS emerges, banging its chest before readying itself behind Phantasma. “Show me what your blood is worth!”

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 09: OUR SPIRITS, KINDRED

QUEST SUMMARY:

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske’s obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske’s games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind…

CHAPTER 3: METHOD OF MADNESS

Leaving the wight-turned-dragonkin staring blankly into the distance behind him, Jahaan walked through into the next chamber. There, it wasn’t just Ozan and Ariane who he saw. No, alongside the huddled up couple were Major Mary Rancour, Sir Tendeth, and Idria - one of the Guardians of Armadyl.

“Sliske got you all too, huh?” Jahaan drawled, exchanging a small nod of greeting to the Major, who looked just as worldweary as Jahaan sounded. “Is everyone alright?”

Nodding, Idria assured, “Yes, the Brothers have been guarding us, but we’re okay. Do you know what this is about?”

“I can shed some light on that,” Sliske faded into view, looming over the gathered group.

Mary Rancour snapped around, heatedly demanding, “Sliske! Release us all at once!”

“No! I will release you gradually!”

The Major blinked. “...what?”

“While you’re trying to figure that one out, this is how this is going to go,” Sliske started wringing his hands, his voice developing a wicked overtone. “As you may have realised, we are no longer in Daemonheim. I welcome you all to my new humble abode, after the Zamorakians made a mess of my last one. Jahaan here is our guest of honour, and you’re all going to help him through these little trials of mine. You’ll find out the details as we go, but I’ve put a lot of thought into them, so I do hope you have fun!”

Utterly baffled, Jahaan shook his head and replied, “Why do you think I'll do this, Sliske? This is madness! Worse, this is nonsense! What is the point of all this? Just to get me to jump through hoops?”

“In reverse order: not exactly, it's a secret, no it isn't, it kind of is… and because I'll kill more of the hostages if you don't.”

Jahaan faltered. “M-More of...?”

Sliske raised an arm; the cowering Sir Tendeth screamed as he was lifted into the air, surrounded by a purple aura. After a couple of seconds of being held up, he dropped dead.

“By the gods!” Mary Racour gasped, stumbling backwards. Even Idria, normally courageous to the point of being foolhardy, had to reconsider intervention. She was powerless without her rune stones, after all.

Jahaan watched the corpse fall to the ground with a dull thump, and a thick lump rose in his throat. "Sliske..." 

Unphased by the horror he’d just inflicted, Sliske continued, “You see, there is a reason for all this, Jahaan. Two, in fact. The one you'll get now is that I'll present the Staff of Armadyl to you when you are done.”

Idria’s head shot up, fully alert. “You’ll what?!”

“I’ll give him the Staff of Armadyl,” Sliske reiterated, smiling innocently at Jahaan. “You see, soon the Staff of Armadyl would have outlived its usefulness for me. So, here’s the deal: play along with my games, and it’s yours, to go all stabby-stabby on the gods if you so wish. You might liven up this dull period of my contest, after all. Plus, your little friends can go free, as an added bonus. What do you say?”

Jahaan’s eyes examined all the hostages carefully, apprehensively awaiting his response. He didn’t trust Sliske to be true to his word on this, naturally. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. However, he also realised that there was no choice but to play along for now in the hopes that an escape opportunity would arise later down the line.

Sighing, Jahaan answered, “I have no choice. I'll play your stupid game.”

“My game isn't stupid, Jahaan. You'll see that very quickly. Now, there’s the door, so let's get moving!”

Sliske teleported away. After he did, Ozan rushed up to Jahaan and, in a hushed tone, asked, “Are you sure about this, Jahaan?”

“Not even slightly,” Jahaan gravely responded. “But we don't have much of a choice right now.”

To the group, he ushered them to come closer before he quietly said, “Everyone, keep your eyes out for a way to escape as we progress. The sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

When the group entered the large expanse Sliske had directed them to, they saw what looked like an arena. A fighting pit, more like. Desolate and unmaintained from centuries of abandonment.

Where the fuck are we? Jahaan wondered to himself, gazing at the ancient architecture. However, his curiosity was cut short like a bullet to the chest when he saw the other residents Sliske had summoned down in the pit.

They were six figures he recognised all too well, faces that were etched into his mind like carvings on a tree, determined to stand the test of time, to outlive him and all his other memories.

The ragged and torn clothing, along with the tangled mess of brunette hair that covered his blue eyes. He was exactly how Jahaan had found him that day in the cave. Cyrius.

Short and with an expression of perpetual annoyance, the grey haired gnome stood with his chest out and proud, defiant to the end. Hazelmere.

Covered in grey robes, he looked empty without the cocoon of steel armour protecting him, but his stoic expression was stronger than any shield. Turael.

Sporting a pompously flamboyant green hat that only someone like him could pull off, coupled with a perfectly trimmed moustache. Harrallak.

Dark red skin protruded from the slashes in his shirt, exposing the scaly flesh below. He looked completely unphased by the unfamiliar surroundings, ready to take on the world all over again. Mazchna.

Her beige robes covered her from head to toe, strands of ginger hair poking out from the sides of the hood, a fringe covering one of her steely green eyes. Lassyai.

Yes, Jahaan recognised them instantly, but they were all paler than normal, and they looked slightly… hollow.

“Lassyai!” Idria cried out, beginning to rush towards her fellow Guardian of Armadyl, until the blade of Dharok’s greataxe barred her journey.

Like he’d seen a ghost, Jahaan stumbled backwards, knocking into Ozan, who sported a similar expression of confused horror. “H-How are you all here?!”

“I can answer that,” Sliske’s self-satisfied voice echoed around them. “You see, I ‘borrowed’ these souls for today’s proceedings. Iccy’s going to be FURIOUS - I wish I could see the look on his face!”

“Jahaan!” Cyrius called out, a heart-melting smile on his battered-looking face. “Ozan! I’m so glad you’re both still alive.”

Jahaan felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Cyrius… all of you… I thought I’d never see you again...”

“Death is a great uniter,” Harrallack commented, dryly. “Then again, it seems ‘undeath’ is as well…”

Always straight to the point, Mazchna asked, “Do you know why we are here? Or how?”

“Yes, I was rather enjoying the afterlife,” Hazelmere cut in, irritably. “Then in a blink, I’m here. And it’s cold.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be back in the afterlife before you know it,” Sliske assured, a darkness in the edges of his voice. “How you get there, however, will be up to Jahaan. Which brings me to why I brought you all here. You see, Jahaan, you always blamed yourself for the death of these fine warriors. It was never your fault, you know. Well, until now, that is.”

Jahaan gulped. “What do you mean?”

“It’s simple, really,” Sliske continued, a wicked grin slashed onto his face. “These lovely men and women want to return to the afterlife. You’re going to help them get there. To do that, all you have to do is put them back to rest…”

Fear crept into Jahaan’s tone. “What do you mean by ‘put them back to rest’?”

Sighing, Sliske rolled his eyes. “Honestly, do I have to spell everything out to you? You’re going to have to kill them, Janny. One by one.”

Jahaan’s face was a picture of disgust. “I’m not doing that!”

“Oh I think you will, for if you don’t kill them, the Brothers will. Trust me, they’ll make it much more painful than you ever would. Whether they get a quick and merciful re-death is entirely up to you."

The shock subsided once Sliske’s words sunk in, replaced instead by something much more tangible, much more familiar: anger.

Rounding to where Sliske was perched, Jahaan gripped his fists into tight balls, teeth clenched so tightly they felt like they could shatter at any moment. “SLISKE!” he roared, saliva spitting uncontrollably, like venom from a rabid animal. “RELEASE THEM BACK TO THE AFTERLIFE NOW!”

Sliske’s response was deadly, bone-chillingly calm. “I already told you how to return them to the afterlife. There’s no need to yell.”

Before Sliske could even get the last syllable out, Jahaan had already began storming towards the stand inhabited by the Mahjarrat, fully intending to scale the brick work with his bare hands if he had to. However, the sudden shriek from behind him stopped him dead. Spinning around, Jahaan saw Guthan had the razor-edge of his spear tight against Ariane’s jugular, who flinched away in terror. In a flash, the six warriors had charged forwards, but a conjuring of shadow binds kept them in their places.

“Leave her alone!” Ozan cried, charging towards Guthan, but Torag knocked him to the ground, shattering his left ankle with one of his hammers.

The sickening crunch of the bone and Ozan’s subsequent scream made Jahaan quiver. Holding his hands up slightly, Jahaan tried to ease his shaking as he turned back to Sliske and stuttered, “O-Okay… okay I-I’m calm. P-Please don’t hurt him again.”

Smugly, Sliske replied, “I thought you would have figured this out by now: whoever gets hurt is entirely up to you. Understand?”

Nodding feverously, Jahaan agreed. “Yes, yes I understand. Please, don’t hurt them anymore. Please.”

Satisfied, Sliske nodded his head towards Guthan. The Brother released Ariane, and she immediately rushed to Ozan’s side.

Fighting his restraints, Tureal roared, “Sorcerer! Release us or pay the price!”

With a grin slashed into his face like it was carved by a crude blade, Sliske retorted, “I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats, Tureal. After all, you couldn’t even stop poor little Lucien, and I’m rather certain I’ve far surpassed his power by now.”

Huffing, Hazelmere loudly grumbled, “Can someone PLEASE tell me what is going on here?”

Lassyai blew a stray clump of ginger hair out from her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He,” she jerked her head towards Sliske’s perch. “Is one of those Mahjarrat bastards, like Lucien. Sadistic, all of them. And he’s stolen the Staff of Armadyl!”

“But why?!” Hazelmere persisted, “What is going on?!”

“ENOUGH!” Sliske fiercely cut in, hushing the room to silence. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he rounded on the six warriors. “By the gods, I’m surprised you didn’t bicker Lucien to death. And here you were supposed to be Gielinor’s best and brightest. But the World Guardian knows what’s going on, don’t you, Janny?”

Through it all, however, Cyrius’ eyes had never left Jahaan. The World Guardian had been staring numbly into space until a broken murmur from Cyrius broke him out of his stupor. “Jahaan…?”

Gulping, Jahaan’s voice was fractured as he quietly explained. “This is Sliske. He wants to hurt me by getting me to hurt you. I don’t know why.”

Betrayed… the notion danced around in Jahaan’s mind, conjuring nausea in his stomach and bile in his throat. He wasn’t angry now - he was too tired for that. Instead, he was more… heartbroken.

Seeing his old friends. Seeing Ozan hurt and scared. Knowing what he had to do. Not knowing what else was to come. Not being in control of a damn thing.

And, above all, not knowing why.

“Just do it Jahaan,” Mary Rancour urged, anger biting into her frustration. “They’re already dead - it’s not like you’re actually killing them or anything. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can leave.”

“Yes, do it, World Guardian,” Sliske malevolently echoed, waving away the restraints of the warriors as he did so. He motioned to Verac and Karil; the former handed Jahaan a blade, thin like a kitchen knife, while the latter aimed his crossbow at Idria. “Or do you need further encouragement?”

Weighing up the blade in his hand, he turned towards the warriors, all regarding him with a cocktail of confusion and apprehension.

Unsurprisingly, Hazelmere was the first to speak. “Well, get on with it then! What do I care if you kill me again? I just want to go back to the peace and quiet.”

Sniffing a laugh, Turael turned a challenging glance to Sliske as he added, “Yeah, means nothing to me. Have at it, Jahaan.”

The others cut in with similar resistant barbs, focused on either trying to rattle Sliske, calm Jahaan’s nerves, or perhaps both.

Jahaan knew they didn’t fully comprehend what was going on, or why, or even how. But he recognised the main thing, and that was they were doing in death what they always did in life - they were supporting their comrade.

Despite everything, he forced a weak, defiant smile. “Your plan backfired, Sliske. You’ve given me the chance to do something I’ve wanted to do for years. You’ve allowed me to say goodbye.”

But as the blade bit down on Hazelmere’s thin skin and he looked deep into those blue eyes, the fear and nerves and sickness all came flooding back. Defiance had crumbled, but that was internally. Externally, he tried his damn best to keep his resolve steady. Then again, the hesitation no doubt gave it away.

He didn’t want to give Sliske the satisfaction of watching him break.

“Hurry up,” Hazelmere grumbled; Jahaan knew it was for his sake, not out of genuine annoyance. This was the only way Hazelmere knew how to be supportive. “My feet are aching, and I had tea brewing.”

Sniffing a faint chuckle, Jahaan whispered, “Goodbye, Hazelmere.”

In one swift motion, the first deed was done. There wasn’t much in the way of blood, but the way his body crumpled to the ground, a dull and lifeless thud, brought back the painful vision of the first time he saw Hazelmere fall.

Mustn’t give Sliske the satisfaction, Jahaan reminded himself, swallowing hard and blinking back the salty tears threatening the edges of his eyes as he moved onto Turael, then Harrallak, then Mazchna, then Lassyai.

The last was Cyrius.

He looks just as beautiful as he always did, Jahaan found himself ruminating, gazing into his warm blue eyes through blurred vision. Blinking himself back into clarity, a few stray tears escaped down his cheek, and he didn’t have the will to brush them away. Cyrius didn’t give him a look of pity, though. His serene smile encapsulated his contentment as he said, “Do you remember that trip we took to Baxtorian Falls? We camped out there for days, watching the leaping salmon and trout dancing through the air.”

This thought broke Jahaan; he choked back a sob, trying to mask it inside a laugh. “How could I forget? You burnt everything we caught.”

Cyrius chuckled now, a full-bodied chuckle filled with warmth and comfort. “Do you remember how we got back down the waterfall?”

Jahaan felt like his heart momentarily stopped. “I-I do…” he stammered out, swallowing down the large lump in his throat.

Cyrius looked on the brink of tears now. “I was so scared of jumping in that whirlpool. You told me people did it all the time and lived to tell the tale, but still. Remember how you took my hand, and you led me to the bridge,” Cyrius reached out and lightly took Jahaan’s hand in his, the one with the knife. “If you hadn’t held onto me I swear I would have chickened out. Tell me, honestly, were you sure we were going to make it?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jahaan confessed, “Honestly? I guess not.”

“Me neither,” Cyrius replied. Jahaan could see his own reflection through the water in Cyrius’ eyes. “But you know what? I didn’t care. If we hadn’t made it out, I wouldn’t have cared, because right there and then, everything was perfect.”

Cyrius wrapped Jahaan’s fingers around his own. “Because you are perfect.”

Suddenly, Cyrius leant forward and planted a deep kiss on Jahaan’s lips. But before Jahaan could even register what was happening, Cyrius pulled away, and he had taken the dagger with him.

Jahaan barely opened his mouth before Cyrius slit his own throat with the blade.

When Jahaan climbed the ramp out of the pit, Sliske was there to greet him, clapping slowly. “Good show, Janny. Good show indeed!”

Jahaan didn’t stop, he just stormed right past Sliske and towards the entrance to the next chamber.

The doors creaked open slowly, allowing Jahaan to enter. When they closed behind him again, he leant back against the door and tried to steady his breathing. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so he clenched them into balled fists, squeezing so hard his fingers started to turn purple. Chattering teeth thrummed in time with his rapid heartbeat, while waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

Calm down, Jahaan hissed internally, There’s no time for this now. You have to focus. Pull yourself together

Trying to swallow his feelings like bile in his throat, Jahaan prepared to embrace Sliske’s latest torture chamber. In front of him he saw two incredibly large god statues - one of Saradomin and one of Zamorak - with an eerily familiar looking gentleman attached to them. Blue and red chains held him taut in a crucifix position. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as if they were actually pulling him in both directions, agonisingly stretching his limbs. Above him towered a tall statue of a very sadistic looking Mahjarrat.

Hurrying over, Jahaan could only look on in abject horror as the man’s body shook against the tension, quivering in pain. But when he got close enough to see his face, Jahaan felt like throwing up. “You!”

Blonde hair, parted at the side, but messy, like a comb-over had gone wrong. Dark eyes, empty and lifeless. The man was an animated corpse.

And a long, thin scar across his throat.

“Sir Tenly,” Jahaan could actually feel the bile forming in his throat as he uttered the name. The former White Knight’s eyes fell on Jahaan, a flash of panic, desperation and anger all in one nanosecond.

“You! You’re the- ARGG!��� the pain of the chains cut him off, but he was determined to finish, teeth gritted as he spat, “you’re the bastard that murdered me!”

Jahaan flinched backwards, eyes wide and bloodshot. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by another scream of pain from Sir Tenly.

Desperately, with a face creased and a brow strained, Sir Tenly hissed, “You have to help me - these things are tearing me apart!”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they, Sir Tenly?” Sliske taunted, his disembodied voice echoing around them. “Jahaan, this one is very simple: Sir Tenly is being torn between two gods, Saradomin and Zamorak. You have to figure out which one doesn't have a claim on his soul and make them let go.”

Sir Tenly’s arms struggled against the chains. “Saradomin is my lord and light! Aaaargh!”

“Then that's simple, isn't it? All you need is a key to Zamorak's chains. There is a machine for making them over in the other room where your friends are. They just need to put a hand into that little box to power the machine.”

Already feeling like he knew the answer, Jahaan warily inquired, “And what happens when they do?”

The Mahjarrat replied, “Ah. Well, if I told you, that’d ruin the surprise now, wouldn’t it?”

Jahaan could practically feel Sliske’s smirk.

“Hurry! Do it! Free me!” Sir Tenly beseeched, “My vitals feel like they are being sliced apart!”

“Well, that might be because I hid the Saradomin key in there…”

Jahaan choked on the lump in his throat. “What?!”

“If you think maybe Saradomin has less of a claim on Sir Tenly than he declares, all you have to do is dig it out. I’ll let the two of you have a nice reunion. Have fun!”

Hesitantly, Jahaan edged closer to Sir Tenly, his eyes stinging with tears in them. The man whose life he cut short, all over a stupid insult.

Jahaan gulped. Now he’s here, suffering again, thanks to me...

He didn’t know what to do; his mouth hung open like a dumbstruck animal, his feet nailed to the floor. It wasn’t until another cry of pain from Sir Tenly snapped him out of his trance.

“Why is this happening to me?!” Sir Tenly wailed, face contorted with agony. “I was a good Saradominist! Who is this- ARG! This MONSTER?!”

Gulping, Jahaan tried to straighten his thoughts out enough to tentatively reply. “It’s not you. He’s… he’s doing this to get to me. It’s one of his sick games.”

"You're putting an unfair amount of the blame on me, don’t you think, Janny?” Sliske cackled, menacingly. “After all, you were the one who sent this man to an early grave. How can you call me ‘sick’ or ‘twisted’ or evil’ when you’re nothing but a cold-blooded murderer yourself, hm?”

Sliske’s words cut through Jahaan like a knife through raw chicken, chilling his very core. It was Sir Tenly who pulled him out of his own mind.

“Who even is this monster?!” Sir Tenly exclaimed, but after another sharp hiss of pain, he corrected, “Nevermind, I don’t care - just get the Zamorak key and get me out of here!”

The Zamorak keys can only be forged from pain, while the ‘light’ of Saradomin tears Sir Tenly up inside, Jahaan darkly realised, watching the corpse in front of him writhe in pain. His head was still reeling from Sliske’s previous truth. What poetic irony, Sliske.

“What are you still standing there for?!” Sir Tenly strained against his chains. “Get the key, NOW!”

Exhaling a shuddering breath, Jahaan declared, “O-Okay, I’ll get the Zamorak key.”

“Hurry! I don’t know how much more I can take!”

Resolving himself, Jahaan rushed over to the doorway separating himself from his comrades, who had been ushered into a small box-like room that extended into his chamber. He knew exactly what he was about to ask of his friends, but there was little choice in the matter. Pressing up against the door, he shouted through, “I need a Zamorak key.”

“A what key?” a puzzled Ozan called back.

“Long story short, Sir Tenly is strung between two statues,” Jahaan hurried to explain. "I need to unlock the statue of the god who does not have a claim on his soul. So, I need a Zamorak key.”

“Who’s Sir Tenly?” Major Mary Rancour inquired.

“Not important,” Ozan cut in, sparing Jahaan from having to explain himself, for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. Small mercies, after all.

Back on track, Ariane asked, “How do we give you that key?”

Jahaan hesitated, the guilt setting in. “Is… is there a machine in there with you?”

Idria confirmed that there was.

“One of you needs to put your hand inside it. It’s… it’s going to hurt, but Sliske said that’s the only way to get the key.”

Hands on her hips, Idria protested, “Why do we need to get hurt over this Sir Tenly’s sake?”

“Because Sliske will hurt us all if you don’t.”

Idria countered, “But how do we know he won’t just hurt us anyway?”

Echoing around them, Sliske cheerily conceded, “She has a good point. I am a terrible person.”

Idria waved her hands to the sky, satisfied at being proven right yet again.

“The thing is, my dear, if you don’t play along, well…” Sliske warned, “Remember dear old Sir Tendeth? Lived up to his name, didn’t he…”

Biting his lip, Jahaan said, “I’m sorry guys. I need that key.”

Exhaling deeply, Ozan was the first to declare, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Ariane gave his hand a light, reassuring tug before he limped over to the machine. There was a little box that opened as he approached. A metal grill was on the bottom inside it.

Wincing, Ozan cautiously edged his hand inside, and the box clamped down to secure him there. 

The scream was earth-shattering as blue fire rose from the grill and engulfed Ozan’s hand.

When he was released, he fell to the ground clutching his scorched palm.

The sound made Jahaan feel sick, but he steeled himself through the waves of nausea. “Ozan, I’m so sorry…” he mumbled, but he doubted anyone could hear.

The next thing he knew, a key was placed through the letterbox-sized flap to his right.

The sounds of Sir Tenly’s wailing snapped Jahaan back into focus; scrabbling to grab the key, he hurried over to the Zamorak statue and tried to unlock it.

Tragically, the key broke in the lock.

“What’s happening?!” Sir Tenly demanded.

Jahaan heavy-heartedly called back, “The key broke!”

“Useless sandboy!” Sir Tenly hissed. “Do it right this time!”

The hairs on the back of Jahaan’s neck stood up and he froze, utterly, clenching the broken end of the key tightly into his fist. He couldn’t quite tell if it was in his imagination or not, but he swore he heard Sliske laughing.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he ignored Sir Tenly and went back over to the large door, shouting through, “Guys, the key broke in the lock. I’m so sorry, but I need another.”

Sighing, Mary Rancour volunteered, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Despite telling herself she didn’t want to give Sliske the satisfaction of hearing her scream, her shriek was incredibly high pitched.

Taking the key, Jahaan went to unlock the Zamorak statue again. Alas…

“It broke again!” Jahaan exclaimed, his shoulders sagging.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sir Tenly replied. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Jahaan snapped back, indignantly. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but out of anyone, he was glad it was someone like Sir Tenly up there and not one of his friends.

He walked significantly slower this time over to the door. “Hey guys, I need another key…”

Idria did not look impressed. “Of course you do.”

Shaking his head, Jahaan said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Grumbling, Idria replied, “I guess I’ll do it then.”

A hand, a box, a flame, a scream, a key.

And again, it broke in the lock.

Sliske’s voice floated tauntingly around them. “Hmm it broke again… I wonder why that is, Sir Tenly…”

The realisation Jahaan had been fighting back since the second key broke crawled across Jahaan’s skin. Walking up the steps to Sir Tenly, he somberly announced, “I need the Saradomin key, Sir Tenly. There’s no other way.”

“What are you talking about?” Sir Tenly gruffly protested. “The Saradomin key won't unlock the chains. All you'd be doing is symbolically removing my love for him, just like that monster wants!”

“I’m sorry… I have to…”

“NO!” Sir Tenly bellowed. “I am a White Knight of Saradomin! Get a Zamorak key and release me!”

Gulping, Jahaan stepped closer. “I’m sorry.”

“No! I follow my lord willingly!” Sir Tenly desperately resisted, his fearful eyes quivering.

Having to force his hand closer to Sir Tenly’s soft, undead stomach, Jahaan whispered, “I’m so sorry…”

With a sickening squelch, Jahaan’s fingers stabbed into Sir Tenly’s belly. As the knight writhed in torment, he felt his fingertips knock against something metallic.

“Mercy! Please, stop this torture!” Sir Tenly desperately begged, his head shooting around in all directions as his body convulsed with agony.

Jahaan was shaking, his heart breaking at the pained sobs of a proud knight, no matter how ignorant or rude that knight could be. Reaching in further, he felt his hand brush against dusty organs. The sensation made Jahaan gag.

“Please stop! You’re tearing me in half! ARRRRGGGG!”

Finally, Jahaan managed to hook two fingers onto the teeth of the key, but it didn’t budge easily. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he woefully declared, “Sir Tenly, I have to pull harder. I’m sorry.”

As he began to pull, Sir Tenly unleashed a blood-curdling scream. “ARRRRGGGG! Please stop the pain! My god, why are you letting this happen?!”

Jahaan felt the key catch on Sir Tenly’s ghostly insides as he pulled harder.

“Will the truth make it end?!“ Sir Tenly was in tears at this point, head hung low as he cried out, “ALRIGHT! I'm a Zamorakian! Now please, LET THIS END!” 

Finally, the key came free with a ‘slurp’, covered in whatever juices were left of Sir Tenly’s insides.

Refusing to give into his nausea at this second, Jahaan raced towards the Saradomin statue. Unsurprisingly, the key fit perfectly, unlocking Sir Tenly’s chains. As Sir Tenly swung loosely towards the Zamorak statue, the Saradomin statue toppled over backwards at the loss of contact, knocking a large hole in the wall behind it.

Satisfied that Sir Tenly was free, Jahaan realised nothing was holding him back now, and thus he threw up. A lot.

Once that was out of his system, and most of the goo had been wiped off his hand, Jahaan staggered back over to Sir Tenly, who had become free from all his chains now. “Are you alright?”

Clutching his stomach, Sir Tenly shot him a deadly glare. “You ripped a key from my chest and revealed my true Zamorakian faith, proving I’m a heretic. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Jahaan forced a hollow smile. “Sarcasm - that means you’re good to go.”

As quickly as he could, he rushed back over to his friends and hissed through the door, “Guys, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, we’re holding up,” Ozan assured, but the shivering laced in his voice betrayed him. “What about you?”

“Sir Tenly’s free,” Jahaan dodged the question. “The fallen statue knocked out a part of the wall. I’m going to see if it leads to a way out. Can you guys keep Sliske busy while I do that?”

“We’ll try,” Idria replied, biting her lip. “Don’t be long though. If you get outside, bring reinforcements back with you. I don’t trust Sliske to keep his word about the Staff, but as long as we can corner him here, we have a chance of getting it back.”

Mary Rancour concurred, “Indeed. We have to use this situation to our advantage. Good luck out there, Jahaan.”

“Same to you, everyone,” Jahaan replied, but he hesitated before leaving. He wanted to say something else, something reassuring and confident to try and keep everyone’s head above water. But knowing he’d no doubt sound as scared as he felt, he held back.

With that, Jahaan hurried over to the hole in the wall, slipping behind cover wherever he could, and entered the caved in tunnel. From the lack of protest on Sliske’s part, he seemed to get away with it.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[selfship-uncharted]

The Fugitive part XII

part I - part II - part III - part IV - part V - part VI - part VII - part VIII - part IX - part X - part XI - part XII - part XIII - part XIV

A/N: Thank you so much as always for your support! A/N2: English is not my first language. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC (Claire Russell) Warnings: a little angst, violence, sexual assault (not explicit), blood Words: 3,250 (Geez... that’s not like me at all :’) ) Tags: @asiramhera @missdictatorme @zoilalove213   @avast-you-dirty-dog @lowkeyofsassguard

Special thanks to @asiramhera for being my beta-reader. Tons of love for you!

The sound of the key opening the cell woke them up. The headache instantly made its appearance, more on her than on Arthur.

She blinked several times before seeing that it was her cell that was being opened.

In front of her, there was a policeman, behind him, Theodore looking at her with severity.

Even though her headache pained her strongly she stood up quickly. Arthur stood up too, holding firmly the bars between them staring at the newcomer.

Theodore walked in the cell, Claire instinctively walked away from him bumping against the wall feeling his intense gaze analyzing her.

The silence between them was suffocating her, her heart was beating fast ready to break her chest, she didn't expect Theodore to go get her in prison, she hoped they would be free to go in the morning and just reach home like nothing ever happened.

Claire with fear dared to look at her husband not knowing what he would do. She didn't have to wait longer. Theodore outraged slapped her violently making her fall on the ground.

"You son of a bitch!" Arthur shook the bars with impotence wanting to punch that bastard.

Theodore briefly looked at Arthur but ignored him. He got close to Claire and took her arm and dragged the girl out of the cell.

"I hope this will be enough to close the matter." He gave some bills to the policeman to buy his silent about Mrs Cornwall having spent the night in prison. The policeman grabbed the bills and nodded.

Arthur saw powerless how Theodore took away Claire, knowing that nothing good might happen to her. He kicked frustrated the bars that didn’t let him go.

Then, Arthur heard Theodore's voice excusing himself after distinguishing the sound of a thud. He had bumped into Hosea, who apparently was coming to get Arthur out of prison. The old man noticed Claire and was ready to salute her but she was too self-absorbed to see him and he decided it was maybe not a good time.

Theodore opened the door of their coach and pushed Claire in it, he jumped behind her and closed the door. He hit the ceiling of the coach with his cane to order the driver to take them home.

Claire was scared, she could easily tell that Theodore was irate, he was so tense, Claire had never seen him like that and she didn't know what he might do to her.

"I didn't want to believe my father's words..." He started chewing every word. "He told me you were a whore... It seems he was right." Theodore in a fast movement grabbed Claire's hair making her head lean backwards. "I've tried to be good to you. I've given you all the space you wanted, I tolerated all your caprices, I let you spend our fortune how you please without a word, and this is how you repay me? Betraying me, making fun of me with a buffon, a stray dog?"

"You are hurting me..." Claire involuntary protested trying to free herself from his grip.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs Cornwall!" Theodore tone was completely sarcastic, even evil.

Theodore threw Claire to the front bench, holding her wrists strongly. "I asked you for one thing. One. Simple. Thing." He took her wrists in one hand while she tried to get rid of him kicking him, but he was already between her legs. "And you are going to give it to me the good way or the bad." He lifted her skirt.

"No!" She cried. "Get your fucking hands off me, you fucking bastard!"

"Shut the fuck up!" He slapped her even harder than he did in prison. "You stay still."

Claire's eyes were filled with raged tears, she bit her bottom lip, she didn't want to cry in front of him, she didn't want to give him that pleasure.

"He is way more gentle..." She started with a tremble in her voice but looking straight up into his eyes. Theodore stopped unbuttoning his pants and looked at her puzzled. "When he kisses me, every part of me is burning from desire..." She knew she was playing a dangerous game but she was determined to piss him off as much as she could. She was not going to enjoy it and neither would he. "And when he gets inside of me..."

"Shut up." He warned her grabbing her face, squeezing her cheeks.

"I can't wait for him to impregnate me with his seed." She spat out with hatred.

"You fucking whore!" He slapped her several times with fury while she cried in pain. With her blood rolling down her chin from her lips she helpless saw how he ripped her shirt exposing the underwear, ready to remove that annoying corset.

Suddenly the door was wide open and a hand took hold of the backside of Theodore collar and dragged him out of the coach.

Claire panted recovering her breath and trying to understand what was happening. She got out of the coach and saw Arthur straddling Theodore punching him not leaving him time to recover from every fist he received in his face.

"You son of a bitch! Don't you dare put your hands on her ever again!"

Claire looked around her, they weren't in Saint-Denis no more, they were so busy fighting each other that they didn't realize that the coach changed its speed and its direction.

"Arthur, stop! You are going to kill him!" Claire turned around to see Hosea on his horse and holding the reins of Arthur's horse.

"You piece of shit..." Arthur released Theodore from his grip letting him fall nearly unconscious on the ground obeying Hosea.

Claire looked at her husband, his face was completely covered in blood, he was whining from pain, he was pathetic.

"You all right?" Arthur cupped her face to make her look at him.

She just nodded covering herself with trembling hands. She bent down her head to hide her tears that been falling for a while. Arthur noticed the blood coming out of her lips, her red cheeks from all the slaps and pressed his jaw in anger, if he saw that earlier he would have hit Theodore even harder.

"It’s okay now..." He whispered pulling her to him. "I got you. I got you..."

The second time he said that it was softer than the first, making Claire bury her face in his chest, trying to put her mind in blank to forget what just happened and feel safe in his arms.

"I'm afraid I might interrupt," Hosea cleared his throat grabbing Arthur’s attention. "But we should get out of here, I don't think the police will take long to get here."

Arthur then realised that he actually didn't have a plan, he looked at Claire thinking of what to do, where to take her, she returned the glance with a plea in her eyes and tightening her grip on his arms. She didn’t want to come back to that city.

Hosea sighed with impatience. "It's obvious you have to take her to the camp, she can't go anywhere else after this..." He pointed Theodore with his chin.

Theodore was crawling in pain in the ground and reached for the hem of Claire's long skirt. She stepped back instinctively releasing herself from his grip.

"Claire... You are mine..." He whimpered being unable to stand up. "If you go with him... You are dead to me."

How dare he? After all he did to her? Those last few days have been a nightmare for her. Claire looked at him with bitterness and pity, she closed her fists in hatred.

"So be it..." Claire took off her wedding ring and threw it to him. She didn't wait for any reaction of him, she went to Arthur's horse and mounted it.

"Are you coming?" Claire was holding the reins waiting for Arthur to get on the horse.

Hosea looked at her with a smile of amazement. He liked that woman.

***

Shady Belle was a big abandoned manor that the Van der Linde gang was using as a camp. Around the mansion there were several tents, some bonfires were litten and people sat around them keeping them alive.

The horses stopped before getting into the camp. Arthur helped Claire to get down the horse, Arthur saw her looking around her with insecurity.

“It’s all right, Claire.” He said softly. “You are safe.”

They walked into the camp, Arthur’s arm around her shoulders but his eyes checked his surroundings like looking for someone.

Claire noticed some curious eyes going to her, there were many kinds of people there. Even a little toddler who ran to his mummy's skirts asking who was that strange lady.

“Mr Morgan!” an old lady come to them with surprise in all written in her face. “What is this all about?”

“Miss Grimshaw, this is Claire…” Arthur cleared his throat. “Russell. Mrs Russell.” He quickly looked back at Claire then turned to Miss Grimshaw again. Miss Grimshaw inspected Claire, her awful image, the blood in her lips, the red cheeks, the state of her dress. “Could you please….”

“Of course!” She said raising her hand to make him say no more. “Come with me, child.”

Miss Grimshaw took Claire by her shoulders and dragged her away from Arthur. Claire instinctively turned around to see him.

“Be with ya in a moment.” He reassured her.

“I’m going with her.” Hosea tapped Arthur’s shoulder and walked with the two women.

Arthur nodded. “I’d better talk to Dutch...” He fixed his hat and went to the gang leader room inside the manor.

***

Miss Grimshaw took Claire to one of the tents, and invite her to sit on a chair.

“Tilly!” She yelled. “Need some help her’!”

A beautiful black young girl appeared seconds later.

“Yes, Miss Grimshaw?” She eyed Claire from tip to toe surprised to see a stranger in the camp.

“Assist Mrs Russell to get herself clean and take care of that horrible wound.” Miss Grimshaw’s order was quickly executed. Tilly delicately cleaned Claire’s lip wound as the trace of mud in her face from the riding to the camp.

Tilly discerned the sorrow in Claire’s eyes. They were red from crying, her cheeks were still burning from the slaps. She felt sorry for her even though she didn’t really know what happened to her.

***

Arthur went upstairs to find Dutch in his room standing by the window holding a book. He didn’t seem to have any interest in the book since he was looking through the window.

“Who is she?” Dutch asked not bothering to turn to Arthur, his eyes locked outside the house.

“The news sure run fast.” Arthur chuckled nervously, he wasn't sure why he felt so agitated, he was afraid maybe Dutch would get angry to him having brought a stranger to the camp even if they did that quite often, but now it wasn’t the right time to bring more people in, or that he might make it more difficult for her bringing her here.

“I remember her.” Dutch was looking to where Claire was. “Mrs Russell, isn't it?”

“Yeah…” Arthur’s sight fell on the floor.

“I can't help myself but ask how you two met.” He closed the book he was holding and turned to see Arthur's reaction. “Don't get me wrong, son. I don't see how a woman of her status would mix it up with…”

“Someone like me?” He smirked bitterly.

“Let's just say, with outlaws.” Dutch clarified himself.

“Long story….” Arthur sighed.

***

“Everything good, ladies?” Hosea Matthews stepped in the tent going by Claire’s side resting his hand on her shoulder to reassure her. “It’s okay, child. You are safe with us.”

“What happened?” Tilly couldn’t help but ask.

Claire pressed her jaw and looked away at her memories. She could still feel Theodore’s grip in her wrists.

“Her husband was... badly beating her.” Hosea explained patting Claire's shoulder, feeling her going tense.

“The poor girl!” Gasped Tilly. “Don’t worry, Mrs Russell. We will take care of you.” She took Claire’s hand into hers and gently squeezed it. Claire looked at her with surprised. She wasn’t used to that kindness, only from her dead maid Marianne.

“Mr Matthews! Mrs Russell needs some privacy!” Miss Grimshaw scolded the old man. She gave some new clothes to Claire she found in an old trunk. “Now, hush!”

Hosea felt obliged to leave the ladies alone.

***

“I am all ears.” Dutch's invitation came accompanied by an intense stare at the cowboy.

“I… her father… she…” Arthur didn't know where to begin, he didn't want to lie to Dutch but at the same time he wanted to protect Claire, he was afraid that if Dutch knew her relation with Cornwall he might use her and put her in some kind of danger. “Some months ago, she ran away from home. Her father paid me well to take her back… That was when I spent some weeks off the camp...” Arthur waited for a reaction in Dutch before continuing but he didn’t do anything. “We saw again at the mayor's party… since then, we met... occasionally…”

“Did you sleep together?” Dutch question hit hard on Arthur. The cowboy bit his bottom lip annoyed.

“I don't see how this information is of use to you.” Arthur tried to hide his discontent.

“You are right. Out of curiosity.” Dutch smiled trying to make him relax. “How she ended up here?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “You see… hhm.. she sent me a note about having information of Cornwall.” At those words, Dutch eyed him intensely. “We met in a local tavern and started to drink… quite a lot… we got drunk.” Dutch nodded understanding the situation. “You know… I'm not a good drunk…” Arthur excused himself. “We got involved in a fight and ended up in prison.” He wasn't proud of it, Dutch could felt his guilt in his voice. “This morning… Theo… her husband came to take her out… He… that bastard beat her… I… I couldn't stay still. I had to do something. She is a good woman, she doesn't deserve that!”

“So you beat him up and took his wife, is that it?”

Arthur slowly nodded, to hear it out loud make him realise how stupid he was.

Dutch looked back through the window to see Claire, he found her a beautiful, refined woman. Still, he didn't understand how that young woman of her status would get interested in Arthur or interested in giving him information about Cornwall or how she have information about him anyway. Somethings didn’t make sense for Dutch, he had some unanswered questions stuck in his mind but maybe wasn't the time to ask them.

“She can stay with us.” Finally said Dutch at Arthur's relief. “Let’s just hope Mr Russell won’t be looking for her here.”

***

Claire finished fixing her clothes with the help of Tilly when Arthur stepped in.

“Now, you look beautiful, Mrs Russell.” Tilly smiled at her gently rubbing Claire’s arm to comfort her.

“Call me Claire.” Claire corrected her with a sad smile. She felt strange using her father’s name again, but to use Cornwall’s name was out of the question. If it was for her she would erase both men from her life.

“Of course, Claire.”

Arthur cleared his throat to alert them of his presence. Both women turned around to see him. Claire’s and Arthur’s eyes locked into each other but neither of them said a word. Arthur stare at her being unable to say a word, he liked the clothes Miss Grimshaw gave to Claire, but he was so worried about her and all the situation he brought on to her.

Claire feeling his intense gaze she blushed and looked down. Noticing the blush in her cheeks Arthur scratched the back of his neck and bit his bottom lip nervously looking somewhere else.

Tilly easily caught the tension between the two of them with a smile on her face. Not that every day you saw Arthur Morgan being nervous around a woman.  

“You have her ready.” Tilly announced to Arthur with a smirk. She turned to Claire to add: “Don’t worry, Claire, you are in good hands.” Tilly left them alone not before gently bumping to Arthur's shoulder to whisper him to take good care of Claire.

“Now what?” Claire asked trying to hide the tremble in her voice.

“You can stay with us.” Arthur explained to her getting close.

“So, I’m part of the gang?” She chuckled nervously.

Arthur let a deep breath escape his lips. “Claire, I can’t lie to you... We are wanted men…”

“I know… I read in the newspapers about Blackwater, Valentine… I know…” She tried to dismiss him, she didn't want to hear any excuse from him.

“No, Claire, listen to me.” Arthur cupped her face to look straight into her eyes. “Having brought you her’ I…. You might...”

“It’s okay, Arthur.” She raised her fingers to cover his mouth to stop words coming out of it. “I understand... I really do. But...” She deeply sighed, Arthur moved his hands to her shoulders. “I prefer to be here, with you, than in that golden cage with… that bastard. So, no matter what awaits me here, I am staying with you.”

“Damn, girl….” He lowered his head hiding his face from her. Claire couldn’t say what was with him but she felt his hands shaking holding her shoulders.

“Arthur? Are you okay?” she asked concerned.

“Yeah… I guess…” he said more to him than to her. “Come, I'll show you around.”

***

After meeting the gang and spending some time with them the night fell Arthur guided Claire inside the manor to his room up on the first floor.

“I know it's not what you're used to…” Arthur removed his hat closing the door behind them.

“It's okay… really…” Claire looked around her, all the manor was falling apart for nobody took care of it in a long time, Arthur’s room wasn’t an exception. She noticed some pictures on a wall. “Can I?” She asked permission to Arthur to take a closer look.

Arthur nodded and Claire got close to those pictures.

“Oh my, is this you?” Claire pointed to a photo she could easily tell it was Arthur, Hosea and Dutch some years ago. “How old you were here?”

“Don’t remember… 18… maybe?” He rubbed his nose embarrassed. “That’s ma father… he wasn’t a good man.”

“And this I guess your mother?” Claire smiled at Arthur who was flustered by talking about himself. Claire then noticed another picture in a frame, it was of a young beautiful woman. “And she? She is beautiful.”

“That’s an old story…” Arthur took down the picture against the table hiding it.

“Oh, an old sweetheart of yours?” Claire teased him feeling his discomfort.

“Don’t wanna talk about it….” Arthur jaw was visibly tensed and his eyes looked sadder than usually.

Claire understood it was a delicate matter. Maybe a sweetheart he wasn’t over yet. That hurt a little. She sadly smiled and sat down on his mattress.

“So, we are going to share, this?” She raised an eyebrow to him.

“I can sleep on the floor, if you want.”

“Seriously, Mr Morgan?” Claire faked offence. “There is enough room for us. If you hold me tight.” She added with a mischievous smile.

Arthur shook his head, she was hopeless.

[ythmir-writes]

Hey hey! Is it still okay to send in an ask for the 182 prompts? If it is, I'd really love it if you could write reincarnation with Ieyasu Tokugawa from Ikemen Sengoku (which... MC is from the modern world but like... I just really like the reincarnation trope so if it it's still okay... >...

A/N: hello! Thank you for requesting! I would just like to apologize for taking too long (youknowwhatimean) but i am here and i have written something! please refer to this post for the full explanation and some insight and just me uhhh generally rambling again so~

here it is, that reincarnation AU that turned into multichaptersevenifno one literally no one asked for this except my brain\

edit! i can’t believe it wasn’t included (again,damnyoutumblr) but hey i would just like to give my sincerest thank you for saying you love what i do! i try my best is always and i hope you continue to enjoy what i write as much as i enjoy writing them :> thankyouthankyou i really LOVE my midcin gods piece i think the suitors would all be badass gods

REINCARNATION

fandom: Ikemen Sengokucharacter: Ieyasu Tokugawa

Prologue / ??

Ieyasu Tokugawa never knows when it will happen.

He had been standing by the sink debating with Masamune about the practicality of growing their own garden on the roofdeck of their building. Masamune had reasoned for fresh produce for spells and cooking. Ieyasu had countered that it was exactly a chore none of them needed, what with the restaurant already enough work for three pairs of hands. When all of a sudden the morning light was too bright for Ieyasu’s eyes, the air too hot for his lungs to take.

He felt his knees buckle under him as he tried to stay upright; one hand gripping the ledge of the sink, the other gripping (extra tightly) the plate, and precariously placing it down so it would not shatter and cause more problems like his brain was causing problems like how he couldn’t hold it all together and Masamune was looking at him funny and he needed he needed –

I will find you!

“Ieyasu…?” Masamune sounded like he was ten feet away.

“I just need… a moment.”

Washing heavy futons and bringing them out to the veranda to dry. A wide backyard filled with nothing but clothing lines and kimonos swaying in the wind. A hat. A balloon. A blade. A burning plane crashing towards them.

Breathe.

Laughter and guffaws as people raced through abandoned castles. Fireworks by the lake. A huge birthday party like none of them had ever seen. A needle thrust into his arm. Fifteen needles. Screams.

Breathe.

I will find you I will find you I will find you.

Breathe.

First through his teeth. Then through his nose. Ieyasu may not know when his episodes will happen but he knew what he needed to do when they did: keep breathing, keep breathing. Take in gulps of air as the pain that gripped him ever so slowly began to let go.

All of a sudden, he felt weightless and realized that Masamune was carrying him, saying some gibberish Ieyasu could neither hear nor understand. He tried to make him stop, tried to tell the idiot that he was just fine, he did not need any special treatment, that this – him falling to the floor with no apparent cause or reason – was just his usual.

Ieyasu was just remembering a bit of his past lives, after all.

+

The first time he had experienced it, Ieyasu thought he had gone mad.

It had been lifetimes past, during a minor scuffle; adolescent teasing turned into a semi-serious contest of who could knock the other one out faster before the adults could intervene. He could remember the half-circle that formed around him. The jeers. The taunting. His own labored breathing and the way his nose was dribbling blood.

The way the other child spat at him and made indecent gestures towards where he should place his head and for how long. He had taken it all in stride. But the other child had spat again, this time on the names of his friends who lost and were nursing their bruises behind the line. That had not gone down so well.

Ieyasu, even when he had temporarily forgotten himself, always did have a particular kind of temper.

He had shouted something equally indecent, taking two thunderous steps to approach his opponent close enough for a punch. But just as he was about to connect his vision blurred.

The kid before him was no longer just a kid but had somehow grown into an adult. No, two adults. Three. A dozen. A hundred. A mass of bodies before him suddenly, impossibly so. And he was no longer just a child but a grown man. And he was no longer just holding out his fists but a sword that he gripped like it was his lifeline and which he swung and twirled and used like an extension of his arm.

The soldiers before him swarmed him but he fended them off, his body moving almost on its own, his steps measured and exacting to keep him upright. For how long he was fighting, he did not know, could not tell. Only that he needed to ward them off, only that he needed to buy time until –

“Ieyasu! Here!!”

Who?

“I’m coming!!”

A hand grabbing his shoulder and pulling him backwards tore him from his vision; one moment he was valiantly defending his keep, the next he was being shoved down on the ground, the screams of dying men fading to give way to the delighted screams of children having seen their first real fight.

“Get a grip, Ieyasu!” someone shouted at someone else but the slap was all his and his cheek burned for it; for a moment, he felt the same warm sensation in his chest rising up, felt the hilt of a katana in his hands where there was nothing but air and –

Another slap. Harder this time, and his vision focused on his playmate – no, a man now – holding him. A very familiar face with raven hair and red eyes. A friend. A comrade. An almost brother.

Not a soldier trying to betray him. Not a spy sneaking into his chambers and trying to kill him.

“Kotaro!” the man shouted at him, and the children around them were fleeing now and some were crying. What was he thinking making a scene surrounded by children? “No, Ieyasu!”

The name felt like a hard blow to his chest, pushing him down. Ieyasu’s vision blurred again. And he had gripped the arm holding him as memories he had never experienced flooded into his mind – memories no fifteen year old boy should have any right remembering.

Too much scenarios. Too much experience. Too much life. He writhed in agony and the hand on his shoulder both kept him down and held him up as he struggled.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment he was a boy, ignorant and innocent and powerless, wanting to prove his own worth against a world that spat on commoners, and then the next moment he was a conqueror, a ruler of clans. And he knew things; he remembered things so different and stark against his own – truer? more recent? – memories.

He felt his jaw hurt. He felt his arms and legs hurt. He felt like his entire body was being crushed under the weight and the gaze of something judging him from heavens and something else scratching the back of his skull. And all of these caused by the two differing visions he could see at the same time.

Two sets of memories that seemed to blend and mix together. Two sets of memories that fought inside his brain to be recognized as reality. Two sets of memories that hurt. Two sets of memories that made him feel hurt.

“Stay awake.” The friend he could not yet quite remember urged him. “Stay with me. It’ll pass. I’ve seen you do this before.”

Ieyasu struggled and could only barely bite down on his agony, hoping through tears that the man was right. And as he screamed through phantom pain, as he shouted and struggled and tried his damndest to make sense of things as quickly as a fifteen year old boy could, an unsettling and frightening sense of certainty slowly overcame him and told him that the set of polar opposite memories both undeniably belonged to him.

+

Ieyasu does not know if he will ever stop having these visions.

But to be honest, vision was not the proper term. It was more a recollection, a remembering of things gone by.  But if he was already being exacting, it was also not just a simple matter of recollecting either.

It was more a sensation in his skull that his brain was somehow (impossibly and impractically) shifting to accommodate unearthed memories. And more often than not, it was as if his entire body was remembering what it had gone through all at once at the same time.

Pain. Joy. Sickness. Lethargy. Uneasiness. Nausea. Fear. Elation. All his wounds and all his triumphs. All his births and all his deaths. Dreams, and nightmares. A gallimaufry of emotions and sensations. He felt them all, felt himself drowning in them; the moments in which he lost his grip on reality stretching into hours and days as he re-lived whatever it was the he had somehow remembered.

No one had any explanation as to why his body decided to remember everything else that came with his memories. Timeshifters were rare but his case even rarer. It was probably his own little curse. Or an equivalent price. A way to balance his talent.

Ieyasu did not want to look too closely for fear of what might look back. Some people might find the idea of not forgetting things to be of comfort. Ieyasu knows for certain those people have never really experienced what it was like to remember it all.

By the time he regained consciousness, Ieyasu was already on his bed. The room was quiet and dark. A cooling pack was on his forehead, his body weighed comfortably down by a thick blanket, and all his closest friends in the room, asleep and keeping vigil.

No, not all.

One was still missing. The one dearest to him. The one he would never stop looking for.

I will find you! I will find you!

We will meet again!

It was a bitter memory amongst sweet ones, a parting too abrupt. Like a cloth cut haphazardly into a thousand torn seams. Ieyasu knew as long as they were not complete, nothing would ever be the same. Not just their ultimate aim, which was altruistic, but also their everyday life, which was closer. More his.

How long has it been since he had seen her? How long since he had been able to trace the stars on her back? How many lifetimes had passed since she had last held him in her arms as he bewailed the inescapable fact that his fate had no clear end?

Too many to count. Too many to really forget.

And as he sank back down into sleep’s embrace, Ieyasu misses her all the more. He wonders to himself yet again where she could be now, and if they could find her soon. And with his last wisps of consciousness, he wishes not for the last time, that she was there with him, in the dark, with their friends, to help blunt all the pain.

24/182

[lokifiction]

Unsinkable

A temporarily exiled god. A young woman with insatiable wanderlust. By chance they met, but when it became clear to them that their love was meant to be, they took matters into their own hands. Their story became an ocean-borne fairytale, until inescapable ghosts from the past and a certain iceberg threaten to ruin everything.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Mature

Notes: Guess who said they were going to post more often but still has enormous lapses in updates??? This admin!!!

Guys, I’m sorry for being the absolute worst. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I cut it in half so I could get it out sooner. I really hope you enjoy it, and thanks for dealing with me and my busy life!

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Tags: @silverhart93 @daddysbunnyprincess92 @sallyanne0606 @shelearnedtoloveherself 

If you’d like to be tagged in this or any of my other fanfics, please let me know and I’ll add you to the list!

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Part Five: April 11, 1912

Morning

Loki groaned and shifted once more, rubbing his sore back before returning his arms to their tightly crossed position. He was quickly learning one thing about mortals: they built their furniture much too small. The chair he was sitting in would be better suited to a child. His bed was an improvement on comfort, but he simply couldn’t go back to it and try to sleep. Not after Camryn kissed him.

Ever since she slid back into her stateroom like a summoned ghost completing her task and returning to the grave, he had been unable to sit still, his blood positively humming with a multitude of foreign emotions. He tried to pace to calm himself, but noticed after a time that his legs were trembling. Ashamed even though no one was there to witness it, he seated himself in a chair and crossed them firmly to stop their motion, running his thumb over his lips as if it would bring back the sensation of Camryn’s mouth against his, contemplating what her action meant with his thoughts running at a breakneck speed.

He eventually swore, the stateroom that once seemed large and luxurious seeming to suffocate him. He needed fresh air, and the air at sea was the most calming and would surely clear his mind. In a rush, he dressed for the day that had not yet come and made his way to the deck, where the sky was the deep purple that signaled dawn approaching. Drawing in a long breath, he stepped over to the railing and leaned onto it, casting his eyes upward to the last tenacious stars fighting for their time in the sky, which was so clear and expansive he seemed to be able to see the turn of the planet on its axis. The air was deathly still, the only sound coming from the lapping of waves against each other and against the ship, providing a lull that was frightful and comforting all at once.

The environment should have relaxed Loki and cleared his mind, but all he could think of was having Camryn there with him, and what it would be like if it was her hips he gripped instead of the rail. What was once an exploratory mission he assigned himself to pass the time during banishment had turned into an unbreakable attachment to Midgard. He began to dread the day he would be called to Asgard, and hated that he had no idea when to expect it.

He took one hand from the rail and splayed his fingers to relieve the tension that had gathered from gripping the bar so tightly, then ran it through his hair, tugging slightly on the ends. He tilted his head back and drew in a deep gulp of cold air, filling his lungs to the brim before letting it out in chuckles as he ducked his chin and pushed his hips backward, resting his head on the cool metal keeping him on the beautiful, magical ship that brought them together.

“Camryn Potts, what have you done to me?” he whispered to the wind, his voice high. “You have no idea of your power. You’ve rendered a god and a prince entirely powerless, and to the point where he would willingly kneel at your feet like a slave.”

Loki had come out with the intention of using the cool night air to confirm his thoughts, but instead spent the moments until dawn dreaming of Camryn’s smile and all he could do to put it there. Though, he supposed that those fantasies were confirmation enough.

When shy fingers of pink began to paint a gentle golden sky, causing the water all around to sparkle like the stars of the night had dropped into the sea, Loki realized that he couldn’t wait any longer to speak with Camryn about how he felt. He knew that she wouldn’t be awake at that hour of the morning, but he knew that he had to at least slip a note under her door and set a time to meet. His feelings were so urgent that it felt like his heart would beat right out of his chest.

But, it soon appeared, that relief was near, for the moment he rounded a corner to descend back inside, he found her already up and about, reclining with her feet up in a long chair, golden gossamer gown pooling around her legs and shimmering in the new sunlight. Some iced drink rested on the table next to her, and she wore a wide-brimmed yellow hat with a veil. Through the sheer fabric, however, Loki could still see her furrowed brow, widened eyes, and parted lips, her gaze focused intently on the ocean. If he looked close enough, he felt as if he could almost see projections of her thoughts on her irises.

Drawing a deep breath to stay his nerves, Loki approached Camryn and lowered himself into the chair next to hers. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat as she noticed him, for her thoughts had also been raging about what she had done the night before, wondering if she had been too bold and worrying that Loki didn’t reciprocate her feelings. When he appeared in her eyeline, for a moment she thought he was a vision from yet another one of the endless mental scenarios she created, detailing how he could react.

“How are you feeling?” Loki began, noticing the slight purple shadows under her eyes. “You had quite a bit to drink last night.”

Camryn toyed around with her lace gloves. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, but other than that, I’m much better. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Odinson.”

“And,” Loki swallowed, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple seeming to make Camryn’s heart move in the same path, “how much do you remember?”

“If this is about the kiss, Mr. Odinson, I remember it.” Camryn flipped her veil over the brim of her hat and regarded Loki with impossibly bright eyes that seemed to give him the universe. “And I don’t regret it.”

Loki deflated in relief and laid his palm over hers, running his index finger along the knobby lines of her thumb. “I don’t, either.”

“So…” Camryn inhaled deeply, switching the position of their hands so that both of hers gripped his. “I hate to be the one to ask this question, but what does that mean for us?”

“Well, I suppose it means what we both hope it means. Or, at least, what I think we both hope for.” Loki paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and the knowledge he gathered of Midgardian culture. “We entertain each other while we’re on this ship with the intention of courtship in our minds, and when we get to New York I’ll speak to your father and make the relationship official. Then, we’ll go from there, I suppose.”

“Why wait?” Camryn’s voice, once proper and almost timid, had suddenly turned frank and sure, and she fixed Loki with a loving expression that could inspire salvation into the hearts of the darkest sinners.

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and all he could choke out was “Come again?”

“Why wait?” Camryn repeated. “We’re so close now, even without any official titles, and you’re already such an important, unremovable part of me. Whenever we get to shore and we have to start dealing with titles and rules, we’ll have to change our dynamic to please society and we’ll be pulled apart until we’re able to marry. I don’t want to wait that long to get as close to you as I can, and discover just how much my budding love for you can grow. So while we’re here, in the middle of the ocean where the world can’t be seen, let’s treat it like the world doesn’t exist, and-”

Loki cut her off by taking her face in his hands and kissing her firmly, holding her with such passion and tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes.

“I take it you agree with me, then, Mr. Odinson?” she gasped when he pulled away, giggling in spite of herself.

“Most certainly.” Loki dragged his thumb across her pink, swollen lips. “Though, if we are going to go through with this, you ought to dispense with the propriety and call me Loki.”

“Alright then, Loki.” Camryn savored the way his name felt on her tongue. “Then you ought to call me Camryn.”

“Alright then, Camryn,” Loki echoed, and with a girlish laugh, Camryn twirled her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and drew him in for another kiss.

“Princess Camryn! Is that you?”

The pair broke apart at the call, and Loki’s blood ran cold at the sound of Mr. Grant’s voice. Camryn sprang from her chair and straightened her dress, and Loki hovered close enough over her shoulder to be inappropriate for an acquaintance, betraying their new status of togetherness to all that saw them. Mr. Grant’s eyes narrowed at the sight, but his smile remained unchanging.

“Mr. Grant, I haven’t been called that name since I was a child. I think I’ve outgrown it.” Camryn cleared her throat and mustered up a warm expression. “How do you do this morning?”

“I’m well. And you could never outgrow that pet name. It suits you too well.” Mr. Grant drew a few paces closer to the couple. “I’m disappointed that we didn’t see each other again yesterday, but I know we were both terribly busy.”

“I suppose that’s the life of a businessperson.” Camryn forced a chuckle.

“Well, what’s say we make it up. Will you join me for luncheon?”

Camryn’s heart sank, for she had been dreaming of an uninterrupted romantic day with Loki, but could think of no good reason to refuse. Even Loki, the God of Lies himself, was having difficulties, and while he would have gladly flogged Mr. Grant for no more than his lustful glances in Camryn’s direction, he understood that Camryn’s inheritance put her in a difficult position and that she had to maintain every business relationship she could.

“I would be delighted,” she finally replied. “But my attendance depends on a condition.”

“What would that be? Jewels? A designer gown? An estate?” Mr. Grant cracked a boastful grin.

“No, nothing like that.” Camryn glanced down at her gloves. “My condition is that Mr. Odinson may come along.”

“Oh?” Mr. Grant raised a brow and locked eyes with Loki, his expression menacing. Loki, however, was unfazed by his mortal intimidation tactics, and merely fixed him with a smug expression.

“Anything for my princess,” Mr. Grant continued at last, breaking eye contact with Loki and staring at Camryn with barely veiled hunger.

Loki sensed Camryn’s immense discomfort at the name and balled his hand into a fist, very much wishing that he could tie Mr. Grant down with his own intestines. Camryn merely smiled through it, however, the picture of professionalism.

“Please, Mr. Grant,” she giggled. “I’m no longer a child. I’m a woman in my own right now, so please, for all the affection you’ve carried for me throughout my life, treat me as such.”

Mr. Grant drew even closer and was inches away from whispering his next words directly into her ear.

“Whatever you say, Camryn.”

Loki’s remaining seidr was enough to cause the boat to jolt with a flick of his hand, and Camryn gratefully stumbled back into him. As he made a show of righting her, he gently squeezed her shoulders to remind her that the filthy Mr. Grant would never lay hands on her.

“The sea is being playful today, eh?” Mr. Grant straightened his coat. “But luncheon is a couple of hours off. What’s say we have a game of shuffleboard.”

“That sounds lovely, Mr. Grant, but I’m afraid I have to decline.” Camryn reached behind herself and took Loki’s hand. “I have something to attend to right now. Good day, Mr. Grant.”

Before Mr. Grant could reciprocate the goodbye, Camryn took off with Loki in tow, steering him back inside and down the hall toward her stateroom.

“It was clever to tell Mr. Grant a lie to get away,” Loki said once they arrived, leaning against the wall and tucking one foot behind the other rather gracefully. “Though isn’t it a bit scandalous for a courting couple to be alone in a room together?”

“I thought we were dispensing with propriety for the time being, and besides, you’ve been in here before. While I was changing, no less.” The corners of Camryn’s ever-red lips quirked up coyly. “But I wasn’t telling Mr. Grant a lie. I do have something to tend to.”

As soon as she finished speaking, a knock sounded on the door. Since Loki was closest, he opened it, and noticed with an almost lustful pride the scolding look the maid gave the unmarried couple when she wheeled in a tray packed with sweets.

“That’s quite an interesting breakfast spread,” Loki teased once they were alone again, coming up to stand behind Camryn as she overlooked what had been brought. Her hair had been loosely tied up under her hat, but a bit had come loose to rest on the curve of her neck. With chilly fingers, Loki brushed her baby-soft skin almost sensually before capturing the strand and tucking it back into place, his body mere millimeters away from hers. Camryn knew that she was the one to propose dispensing with proper courting rituals and diving right in with each other, but at the moment she wasn’t sure if her fluttering heart could take it.

“It’s not for me,” she eventually cleared her throat and declared, though her voice was an octave higher than her usual alto tone. “This has to do with what I used to get away from Mr. Grant.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Loki asked, moving slightly backwards to avoid being bumped by her elbows as she began to wrap the cakes up in napkins, watching her actions with bemused confusion.

“You’ll see.” Camryn gathered the sweets up in her arms and flashed him a wide grin. “Follow me.”

Loki was soon swept up in another one of Camryn’s unexplained journeys as she once again made her way back out to the deck, her long legs making for a quick stride that even Loki had to exert a bit of effort to keep up with. The other first class passengers glanced at her curiously, with her arms full of cakes, quite purposefully walking down the deck made for leisure. Some even flashed Loki a sympathetic look, as if sorry he had to deal with her, but he was proud that people so naturally thought they belonged to each other. Though, he was admittedly very confused about where she was going, as the deck seemed to be ending, and grew even more so when she started to descend stairs that led down to a third-class deck.

“Camryn?” he called after her, catching up at last. “You do know this goes to a third class deck?”

“I know exactly where I’m going,” she insisted, pushing on ahead until she was stopped by a uniformed crewmember. At the sight of him, her lips pulled into a sickly sweet smile but a blistering intensity shot out of her eyes, an expression Loki had never seen and one that, quite frankly, frightened even him.

“So we meet again,” she purred. If her eyes hadn’t gone harder still and the crewmember hadn’t shrunk backwards in obvious fear, Loki would’ve been angrily jealous.

“This is the third class deck, miss,” the crewmember informed, voice high and shaking. “I can’t let you through.”

“I think you can.” Camryn cocked a thick eyebrow. “After all, I’ve paid a handsome sum to be on this ship. And since people like you are so classist that you won’t allow those that didn’t pay more than your life’s savings for a ticket have decent living situations while on it, you’ll have to let me, a superior being to you according to your philosophy, explore every inch of the ship many would have died to be on. And-” she stepped closer to the crewmember, leaning right up to his ear. “If you don’t let me through, I’ll have to make good on my promise.”

The crewmember balked, and did nothing more than step aside. Camryn grinned in triumph, pushing past and gesturing for Loki to follow.

“Erm.” Loki coughed gently, and Camryn turned to him with the wide and bright eyes he was used to. “What was that about?”

“Oh, that.” Camryn giggled lightly. “I may or may not have threatened to kill that crewmember yesterday for being a classist arse when I was trying to board.”

Loki shook his head incredulously. “What, may I ask, did I just get myself into?”

Camryn smirked sweetly, swinging her hips. “The best mess of your life.”

WIth that, she took off again, cutting through the natural path that was made for her on the deck as the steerage passengers parted in her presence, every eye fixed on her, whispers of wonderment breaking the sudden quiet in the air, a few young hands reaching out to touch the expensive fabric of her gown but pulling away before they could get close enough. Camryn, as bashful and introverted as she was, seemed to be quite used to the attention, and flashed charming smiles to as many as she could before reaching the railing, where a weathered man held his pink-cheeked son up to see over it.

“Miss Potts!” the boy gasped in delight when he looked over his shoulder and discovered her, jumping down and into her arms. The sweets she carried would’ve been ruined had it not been for Loki quickly casting a simple spell to make them float for a split second so he could gather them into his arms, working with just enough speed so that no one would notice a thing was amiss. Camryn certainly didn’t, for she giggled and twirled the boy once, situating him on her hip even though he was likely too old to be held.

“Hello, Joshua!” she exclaimed, then turned to his father. “And hello again, Jacob. Are you well?”

“We are, Miss Potts.” Jacob began to blush, and eyed Loki a tad nervously. “Joshie really loves it on this ship.”

“Oh? Is that true, Joshua?” She turned to the boy, and he nodded excitedly.

“Mmhm! Daddy says that today the land will go away and it’ll be all ocean around us!”

“Well, that will be frightfully exciting, won’t it? It will be such an adventure!” Camryn squeezed the boy tightly, then turned so that she was facing Loki. “Joshua, I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is my very special friend, Mr. Odinson. Mr. Odinson, this is Joshua, and his wonderful father Jacob.”

“How do you do.” Loki politely shook Jacob’s hand, for he seemed a good person, but was still lost as to how on Earth Camryn made his acquaintance.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Odinson.” Jacob turned to Joshua. “Joshie, why don’t you climb down from Miss Potts and shake this man’s hand?”

Joshua jumped down instantly and grasped Loki’s hand with one barely large enough to wrap around his fingers. “How do you do, sir?”

“I’m well, young Mr. Greene.” Loki couldn’t deny that the smiling child’s face warmed his heart. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Listen, Joshua.” Camryn knelt down behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve brought a present for you.”

Joshua’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

“Mmhm!” Camryn took the bundle of sweets from Loki and opened them.  “Sweets from the first class dining room. Some of the best cakes in the world.”

If Joshua’s mouth dropped open any more, his jaw would fall off. “All for me?”

“Yes.” Camryn re-wrapped the bundle and put it into his arms. “All for you.”

“Miss Potts, that’s too kind,” Jacob, insisted, cheeks positively ruddy. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nonsense. Of course I should’ve! Those treats are so accessible to me that I get sick of them. It seems outright evil that a child shouldn’t get to experience some simple luxuries.” Camryn rose to her full height and approached Mr. Greene. “And I spoke to my father. He can definitely provide you employment. He’s having some communication with one of his managers right now, and I’m to take you in for a meeting when we make it to shore.”

“Oh, Miss Potts.” Jacob’s eyes welled with tears and his legs went so limp Loki feared he would collapse. “You’ve just saved our lives.”

“Please, Mr. Green. It’s my pleasure.” Camryn squeezed his hand.

“Why are you crying, Daddy?” Joshua, miffed he was being left out of the conversation, wrapped his arms around Jacob’s legs.

“Because Miss Potts is a very, very good person, Joshie,” Jacob replied.

“Yes she is!” Joshua bounced on his toes. “She’s just like a princess!” Loki had to admit that for a mortal, Joshua was quite precious.

“Oh, Joshua. You spoil me.” Camryn leaned down and gave the boy a kiss. “I’m afraid I have to leave for a luncheon engagement. I’m so sorry to leave so soon.”

“I won’t have you apologizing. You’ve done more than enough,” Jacob insisted. “No need for you to feel sorry for not giving us more time than we need.”

And so Camryn and Loki said their goodbyes and left the third class deck, the crewmember shrinking away as Camryn passed. Camryn had her arms wrapped tightly around Loki’s and had her head resting on his shoulder with a familiarity that stunned but didn’t upset either of them.

The pair eventually passed by the chairs they were sitting in before, and, upon finding them still vacant, made a silent decision to sit down again. The shape of the furniture, however, wasn’t optimal for closeness, so instead of reclining like one was meant to, they both perched on the edges, linking hands in their laps.

“I’ll admit that I was skeptical at first,” Loki began, “but the Greenes are lovely people. I am, however, very curious to know how a corporate heiress made such a close acquaintance with them.”

“Oh, yes. It really is a lovely story.” Camryn drew circles with her finger at the spot below Loki’s thumb. “When we were boarding yesterday, I was all alone with my massive amount of baggage. They noticed my struggle and offered to help. We got to talking, and I found out that they’re immigrating to America, meeting up with a wife and a little girl, but Jacob had no idea how he’d support them monetarily once they arrived. My father’s company has an endless amount of jobs, so I figured I’d be a positively nasty person if I didn’t offer to get him one.”

“You’re many things, Camryn,” Loki declared, still savoring the way her name felt on his lips, “but you’re certainly not a nasty person.”

The two chatted for a bit longer, gushing about Jacob and Joshua and casually debating issues of class. Being raised as a prince in a feudal society, Loki was a bit more closed-minded on the matter, but as Camryn discussed how high-class citizens despised people born in a lower caste but made it nearly impossible for them to ever change, he began to come around on her reasoning. They spoke without a lull until the luncheon bell rang, and the two immediately rose to join the migrating crowd, Camryn wrapping herself up against Loki once more. She had a contented smile on her face, but the moment they came in sight of the dining room, her expression turned sour.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asked softly, wondering if she was the type of mortal to get seasickness.

“Oh, nothing.” Camryn grimaced. “I’m just much less excited for this than I was to meet with the Greenes.”

“I agree.” Loki squeezed her hand protectively. He would’ve liked to grab a larger part of her body for more emphasis, but even if they did decide to dispense with a lot of propriety, that was a line he didn’t feel he could cross quite yet. “I get a bad feeling from that Mr. Grant.”

“Oh, he’s harmless.” Camryn waved her hand. “He’s just a bother. I feel obligated to him because of his relation to my father, but I’ve never particularly enjoyed his company.”

Loki took a deep breath to prevent himself from wrapping his arms around Camryn and using the weak seidr that remained in him to transport them off of the ship and somewhere far away from Mr. Grant. He worried that her obligation to upholding a relationship that wasn’t hers coulded her judgment and would someday put her in the way of danger. Loki feared she wouldn’t understand his godly intuition, though, and all he could do was hope his feelings were wrong and enter the dining room, where the snake himself was waiting.

[artsyallouette]

angst prompt 12 with jekyll and hyde?

“I think you’re forgetting something…”

Henry Jekyll was just about to leave the room, and in fact the society itself, when the chilling, mocking voice cackled out from the mirror.

Henry Jekyll spun around to face the mirror, glared at the blond. “No, Hyde, I don’t believe there’s anything I’m forgetting. You are stuck in there, I have meetings all day.” He replied, tugging his hat down onto his head, pulled on a coat. “We have already been over this.”

“Or so you think.” Hyde sneered, green eyes narrowed, empty for everything but anger.

“I happen to know, Hyde. There is nothing you can do to stop it, you’re stuck there. I know you’re mad that you’re stuck in that mirror but really, you brought it on yourself.” Jekyll told him, rolling his red eyes. “You’re nuts if you think a few petty threats can convince me to let you out of that mirror.” He laughed. “Listen, Hyde, I’m going out, and you can blather in my ear all you want but I’m not going to answer you, no matter how angry you are.” He continued.

Edward Hyde laughed, an evil, cruel laugh that Jekyll had heard far too often in the past year and a half. “That is what you think, Jekyll, wouldn’t you like to believe that I am as powerless as you are from this realm?”

“You are powerless in that realm, Edward, you can yell and scream and go all wacky in that mirror but that’s exactly it. From the mirror. You can’t leave the mirror. So you can’t hurt me.”

Another laugh bellowed from Hyde’s chest. "I think you ought to let me out before I make you regret not doing so.

“No, I am leaving. And you had damned well better leave me be.” Henry ordered. “Because I don’t care what you have to say. You burned down the society and you’re giving a few weeks penance.”

Henry turned on his heel and was about to walk away when he heard a snarl echo out from behind him and claws dug into his shoulders, pulling him physically backwards.

“I have been saving this trick for a rainy day, but this seems like a good time to use it.” Hyde growled, breath hot against Jekyll’s ear, but that shouldn’t have been true, Hyde was in the mirror there was a pane of glass between them, and he knew Hyde could touch him from within the mirror but it felt cold, like glass.

The claws jerked him back again, and he let out a shriek as he plummeted down, down, down, down passed the frame of the mirror and into Hyde’s world of flaring, angry green and black swirling all around him.

“Ah, yes, dear old Doctor Jekyll. Truly, I am not as powerless as you would like.” Hyde laughed.

“You can’t change forms without a potion!” Jekyll cried desperately, as the black tendrils circles around his wrists and ankles again, so like when Hyde had manipulated him into allowing the blond to go to the bazaar. He tugged, to know avail.

Hyde’s laughter echoed all around him. “Oh my dear, sweet, innocent Doctor Jekyll. What makes you think I need to change forms?” He stepped backwards, watched the coils close over Jekyll’s mouth.

Took another step back, passed the frame that Jekyll could see, and Hyde’s swirling form materialized instantly, but immediately rejected itself.

No. God no. Henry wanted to scream, he wanted to shout he wanted to cry he tugged fruitlessly against the bonds Hyde had him in this was impossible there was no way this couldn’t be happening.

“See, Doctor Jekyll, if you’re going to go around making me a criminal, it just means I’m going to go around ruining your reputation. I hear the bazaar is still around, and busier than ever tonight.”

Henry looked away before he fully understood what Hyde was doing, looked down at himself and gasped.

He did not look himself. He was thinner, the bonds fell away once Hyde had stepped out of the mirror, he no longer controlled them but Jekyll didn’t know how to, so no advantage was gained. He was dressed in black pants, as usual, black shoes, but a green waistcoat and a torn cloak.

Filled with horror and dread, Jekyll tugged at his hair.

It was far too long, and a golden colour of blond instead of auburn.

He looked back to Hyde, smiling in front of the mirror, tapping a foot on the ground.

Hyde looked like him. Like he used to appear in the mirror to mock Jekyll, the same height, same hair, essentially Jekyll’s body, but with brilliant green eyes.

“Tit for tat, Doctor. You ruin my reputation, I ruin yours.”

Jekyll threw himself against the glass pane between them. “Hyde, please, Edward, be reasonable you can’t do this to me you’re going to ruin me drink the potion I will allow you the night I can’t stop you just don’t use me for this please Edward you could ruin everything you could ruin the society you’ll ruin me what if Lanyon finds out please, Edward, don’t do this!” He begged, pounding his fists into the glass.

Edward Hyde merely laughed. “Now where, Doctor Jekyll, would be the fun in that?”

He turned around and waltzed out of the room, leaving Henry pounding and sobbing against the glass.