#the three of them in the same space will always mean danger for her because that girl is fucking crazy obsessed with her

[its-short-for-jackalope]

TRANSMISSION 14!!!!!!!!

ohhhhhhh my god.

AHLAAM, SIA, AND DAKKAR FORM A DYNAMIC TRIO???? ONE THAT WE WILL LEAN ON HEAVILY FOR EPISODE 4???? I AM SO EXCITED????

hi I already adore all these characters and I can't wait to get to know them better in just three days (holy shit)

Ahlaam —

Traveler proficient in several magical disciplines

okay so we know there's different kinds of magic, even more than just the Radiance and Ahlaam's sick waterbending. I'm guessing that the Radiance could be the primary magic and the other disciplines are more secondary, maybe?

valuable leader, has more fun than all the other islanders combined, quick to help people smile

I am so glad that Ahlaam is the fun Traveler just like I'd been hoping. It also speaks to Matt's character writing skills because we get like 2 minutes with her in TGOA and that was enough to be like "oh she's a silly one" lol <3

also ayyyyyy confirmation that there are more people on Lincoln Island than just these named characters!

guiding hand, glue that holds Lincoln Island together

....I am suddenly afraid that something could happen to Ahlaam. If she's that important to the island and the Bad Guys know it, then she could be a target to try and make everyone vulnerable and weak.

Dakkar —

serious and intense, unmatched fighting spirit

oh my god I hope he's broody. if he's the opposite to Ahlaam then he's gotta be a tortured, brooding guy, right? please? he can fill the Haunted Soldier Man void AJ left behind!

chiseled by his past & anchored by time, always right here while being somewhere else

hi! 😀 what the fuck does this mean? ❤

fr tho are we going to get more time weirdness beyond just traveling through it??? is Dakkar split between time and/or space?? is that an intentional magic thing, or an invention thing, or a curse of some kind? lab accident? is he conscious of different times/places at the same time? when he's with Rose two weeks in the past, is he ALSO with the others in the present, like some sort of Traveler bridge??? is he even a traveler??? it didn't explicitly say he's a traveler???

his magic is critical to the operation & safety of the island

oh okay, so he could also be in serious danger from the Bads. gotcha. goooootcha. welp, I'm fucked, I'm already attached. Matt Dahan has so many ways to hurt me in three days, lmao. I'm lowkey scared. (Bring it on Mr. Dahan, I will make art as revenge for any and all future heartbreak. 🥰)

fiercely protective of those close to him

...Dakkar, buddy, you're not beating the AJ similarities allegations.

oh god if I wasn't already 99% certain that Morgan won't be in this episode then I would be going crazy over thinking about these two interacting. ...might go crazy over it later, just for fun.

has a knack for science and technology

and if I said Anna is hanging out in his cool traveler lab and that's where she and John reunite— /hj

if Dakkar does technology stuff, could he have created the orreries? I've had a theory that Margaret could have made them (my only evidence is the orrery in her apartment and Kal saying it's fitting that he found her while looking for an orrery) so maybe they had developed them together? idk, just a thought

also, if Ahlaam is the Fun One and Dakkar is the Serious One then I can totally see Sia as the common ground between them—more serious than Ahlaam but more lighthearted than Dakkar. and was Margaret once a part of this group? where does she fit in? OH MY GOD WHAT IF SIA TEAMED UP WITH AHLAAM AND DAKKAR AFTER SHE LOST KAL AND MARGARET???? if Kal was the fun one and Margaret was the serious one....... aough please excuse me while I scream internally for a while.

Captain Addison Arvad —

is on Lincoln Island

how????? Sia didn't know what happened to her, how long has she been here????

enthusiastic, knowledgeable, the kind of person that's used to doing ten things at once

adhd multitasking queen captain, I love her

important part of the story that unfolds for our heroes

ahem....

AS THE #1 ADDISON FAN AND THE FIRST PERSON TO MAKE A POST IN HER TAG,

I, PERSONALLY, WIN.

she has a dog, Top, who works just as hard as anyone else on the island

🥺🥺🥺

okay, maybe Addison didn't see her captain's journal as a Wreck This Journal. maybe Top saw it as a chew toy. maybe her dog tried to eat her captain work.

if anything happens to this dog I swear to god... 😭

Searcher is a type of person with their own set of guidelines and rules

fascinated by this bit. what guidelines and rules are these? are they about morals? about how to use their magic, if they have magic at all? is it about how they engage with the world(s) and the people in it? what are the rules and guidelines for Travelers?

feeling very John Herschel in my living room right now (I have so many questions) and have I mentioned I already adore these characters???

anyway, to conclude this ramble:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!!

[bklynmusicnerd]

Ava telling Trina that her feelings are valid is so important. Trina needed the reassurance that she has been a practical "saint" during Spencer's delusional coparenting era because he's been acting like she's the unreasonable one.

My only issue with Ava's statement to Trina is the framing of the sociopathic mooch as some regular "ex" of Spencer's that he's just spending too much time with. Nah, this is a girl that physically harmed Trina over her jealousy, tried to (and damn near succeeded) destroy her life, attempted to kill a witness cause she was frothing at the mouth to send Trina to jail, probably sicced her serial killer mother on the people around Trina to torment her as well.

Yes, there is an emotional component here, but Trina has every reason in the world to not want to remain in that sociopath's orbit in perpetuity. Spencer's "plan" to avoid his daddy issues trauma demands that Trina stay in the same traumatic mental space she was in all last year. It's bullshit.

[sixeyescurseuser]

hidden inventory a/b/o

Alpha Gojo grew up in a very traditional household. Of course he’s going to have questionable ideologies for how one’s assigned status should influence their behavior. 

Omega Geto hides his status because it makes him vulnerable. At least, Yaga-sensei had given him an earful about how dangerous it would be as a known omegan sorcerer. So Geto poses as a beta.

Everyone is supposed to wear scent blockers anyway.

As long as Geto’s scent doesn’t bleed through, he can bury the truth. 

Thus, their class consists of two alphas - Shoko and Gojo - while Geto is a self-proclaimed beta. 

During their first year, Gojo and Geto still bicker a lot despite always being assigned missions together. Geto is very protective about his room space (this ensures his scent is kept a secret) so the trio hangs out in either Gojo or Shoko’s room. 

By the end of their first year, Gojo realizes that he actually really enjoys Geto’s company. Geto treats him normally without fearing how Gojo’s alpha might react. It feels like he’s earned Geto’s tolerance and eventual respect too. 

And-

“Thank god none of us are omegas. That would’ve made shit ten times more complicated,” Gojo sighs. The three of them had just finished exercising their first special grade. 

Geto looks off to the side while Shoko cocks her head. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks, sounding like she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Don’t you know that omegas are more sensitive to cursed energy? It messes with their hormonal balance,” Gojo says casually, naturally matching his gait with Geto. “That’s the main reason that there aren’t many omega sorcerers. They’re highly susceptible to cursed energy and can be sent into states of toxic shock, or even heat.”

Geto stares off into space while Gojo rambles. It’s like being thrown back to when he’d just joined Jujutsu High, Yaga-sensei had warned him about every risk factor of his status.

Shoko sighs from the other side.

“While that’s been true in some cases, it doesn’t mean every sorcerer who happens to be an omega will struggle with that. There’s methods to help build tolerance against cursed energy too,” Shoko rebuttals, casting a side glance at Geto. 

“Sure, but when exorcizing special grades, even first grades, an omega would only drag us down,” Gojo concludes. Wrapping an arm around Geto’s shoulders, he smiles widely. “Besides, we’re already the strongest!”

Geto only manages a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

***

Shoko can’t confirm her suspicions, but Geto had been uncharacteristically quiet for that conversation.

But she does have suspicions. Like that one time Geto was bedridden with a dangerously high fever, and demonstrated other symptoms that were suspiciously like a heat.The only thing that had worked was a suppressant shot that Shoko used as a final resort.

Another thing is that Geto purrs a lot but at a very low frequency, which isn’t typical of alphas. 

She is willing to bet that if they were allowed in Geto’s room, on his bed would be a semblance of a nest.

It gets even more obvious when they’re second years and Geto welcomes the new first years with a kind smile and warm-hearted words. Geto doesn’t feel threatened by the younger alphas at all. 

The same cannot be said for Gojo.

One of the dumb hierarchical things traditional families practice is the alphas on the lower ranks must answer to the higher-ranked alphas, aka only speak when spoken to.

Most of the time, Gojo won’t even speak so when it’s just him and the younger classmen, it’s both quiet and awkward.

Meanwhile, Geto is the most accommodating and considerate senpai. He praises his kouhai plenty, particularly Haibara, and invites them on all the second-year food outings.  

If Shoko is ultimately wrong in her guess, then their class is lucky that they have such a placid and balanced presence on the team. 

***

After a mission gone wrong that results in him losing a leg, it is revealed that Haibara had been an omega in hiding. Everyone is in shock, some more about his true status instead of the fact that he had nearly died had the second-years not been called for backup. 

Gojo’s comment of, “This is proof that it’s too dangerous for omegas to be in this field” sets Geto the fuck off. 

Geto is downright pissed.

“He should’ve known better, now he’s suffering the consequences,” Gojo tries arguing. He doesn’t expect that the next thing to happen is Geto’s fist colliding with his cheek. 

Gojo sputters. “Suguru, what the fuck!?”

Geto is breathing heavily himself, fingers twitching as he struggles to contain his temper. 

“You’re being so rude- no, you’re being worse than rude. That was terrible, Satoru. Even for you.”

“I-“

“You were what, just saying the truth?” Geto snarkily finishes Gojo’s sentence. “Well not everyone wants to hear the “truth” right now. Have some fucking decency because we almost lost one of our kouhai, omega or not. So if you’re not going to say anything nice, just fucking shut it.”

Geto stalks away before Gojo can say something to fix his statement. Geto then proceeds to ignore Gojo for the next twenty-four hours, basically avoids him like the plague, right before his solo mission at an abandoned temple.

It’s whatever, Satoru says shit like that all the time, Geto tells himself. 

He’s more than adamant enough to keep his own secret safe.

(2)

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

haunted monastery drabbles

I know I said this would be a oneshot, but I decided it's a bit too short to count as one. so instead it's just a bunch of drabbles that are very, very loosely connected.

tws for death, blood mentions, and injuries

~

The new one — Jay, his name is Jay — was sitting on the couch playing video games. Cole flopped down next to him and stretched.

Jay had just arrived at the Monastery a few weeks ago and was still settling in. It was interesting, to have a new person around. Nice to have someone to talk to, but annoying that he didn’t have the space to himself anymore. Cole watched the little characters on screen jump and kick and fight each other. Jay was winning, it appeared. Cole wasn’t sure. He should probably ask, if Jay even knew he was here.

“Are you winning?”

Cole knew what he looked like. He’d looked in a mirror, before, after all. Pure black eyes, bloody skin, constantly glitching and flickering like a bad TV screen. It wasn’t surprising that Jay screamed at the unknown voice and dropped his controller.

It still kind of hurt, though. Cole had always wanted a big brother.

~

Zane was in the kitchen chopping up vegetables. Cole sat on the counter, grinning in amusement whenever the knife went through his leg, or poking at the flames on the stove. It tickled. He didn’t knock anything over, though it might have been fun. It would have been mean to ruin all of Zane’s hard work.

“That looks good,” Cole chirped. He avoided the water that sprayed out from the sink, hissing in pain when it hit him. It stung like acid. But there was worse pain in the world, so he ignored it and focused on his big brother. His big brother who had just touched a red-hot pan without any problem.

Zane wasn’t human. Obviously. Humans had heartbeats and blood and flesh. Zane had none of those things. Cole wasn’t sure he knew it, though. Zane always pretended to eat and sleep like everyone else. Hopefully he’d figure it out. Then they could bond over being not-humans together, which would be nice. Except Zane had to know he existed for that to happen.

Zane would have to figure out two things, then. 

~

Cole didn’t like Kai. Kai was brash and angry and didn’t listen to orders. He was worried about someone, his sister, but he didn’t care about Jay or Zane. He didn’t want to help stop Garmadon. He just wanted to go back to his parents’ shop and make weapons.

Which was fine by Cole, really. Three was a perfectly good number. Zane, Jay, and Cole. They were a good team. Even if two of them didn’t realise there was a third member.

Maybe there was a reason for Kai to stay. Cole didn’t really want his brothers to get killed because they didn’t have the master of fire. And Kai didn’t like Wu, at least not very much, which was a win. They could team up to hide his incense and mess up his ugly teapot collection. If Kai knew he existed. Cole kept forgetting that no one knew about him.

“If you join the team, we’ll have to think of a new name. Four musketeers isn’t very catchy,” Cole told Kai. “You should ask Jay for ideas.”

Kai blinked and turned his head like he’d heard. He rubbed his eyes when he spotted Cole’s silhouette. “Huh. Could have sworn I heard something,” he muttered.

“You did hear something! Me!” Cole said, exasperated. Kai didn’t react that time.

~

Cole wasn’t sure why he tended to avoid Nya. She was nice, if a bit short tempered, and Jay liked her a lot. But something about her made him uneasy. Being too close to her or even spending a long time in the same room together made his skin itch.

It was like warning bells going off in his head every time she stepped close. Danger, do not approach.As if some deep part of him thought of her as a threat.

Yes, Nya could be scary towards her enemies. She was formidable — Samurai X was proof of that. But she wasn’t dangerous to those she cared about. Cole was pretty sure he’d count as one of those people.

That was why he sucked it up and spent the night watching movies with her. All their brothers were out, so it was just the two of them. Cole didn’t pay attention to the movie, mostly because it wasn’t really a movie, more of a documentary. He just wanted to spend time with his sister.

“Can I choose the next movie?” Cole asked. Nya didn’t respond, of course, but it had been worth a try. 

~

Lloyd was the best thing to have happened to Cole since Nya and Kai’s arrival. He was about the same age as Cole, which meant that they got along great. Not that Cole didn’t get along with the others, but it was nice to have someone his age. And it meant that he got a little brother, something he’d never had before. Because Cole had been born first, which meant that he was technically older, which meant that Lloyd was his little brother. 

Well, it had been nice to have someone his age. The tomorrow’s tea had aged Lloyd up to being a teenager.

Nobody was happy with that development. Everyone felt that Lloyd had been robbed of his childhood. And Lloyd himself didn’t want to have grown up so fast, to be forced to fight his dad so soon.

Cole didn’t really understand why Lloyd didn’t want to fight Garmadon. Garmadon was going to destroy the world, after all. Yes, he was Lloyd’s father, but he hadn’t exactly been a good father.

He’d still try to support Lloyd. Lloyd was his little brother.

~

His lungs felt like they were being stabbed repeatedly. He couldn’t feel his right leg, or both of his arms. They must have been crushed in the rockslide. His head was pounding — must be a concussion — and his nose was definitely broken. He couldn’t see out of his right eye, and what the other eye could see was all rocks and dirt.

Cole lay there for what felt like hours, and it might have been. He tried to call for help, but his voice failed him. No one knew where he was. He hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t left any notes.

Would Wu look for him? Was he looking right now? Maybe he was using that all-seeing incense, or whatever it was called. Or maybe he wasn’t looking at all, couldn’t be bothered to. Wu certainly hadn’t cared before. He was probably glad that the little brat he’d picked up was gone.

Cole coughed. He tasted metallic blood in his mouth. “Dad,” he croaked. “Master Wu. Please.”

He slipped into darkness.

[starpirateee]

could you write a fic where curt gets captured and owen goes absolutely feral trying to get him back? i need angst :D

I will absolutely write that, I think both of us need Owen to go a little apeshit for a while 👀 remember the movie Taken? "I will hunt you down. And I will kill you." ?? Yeah...

Oh yeah, and I 100% used the same case that was referenced in the panic attack prompt because I fell short of ideas, so essentially I'm creating one large cinematic universe worth of ficlets (/j) and this is set about five months before that panic attack

Cynthia Houston called. Cynthia Houston— head supervisor of the American Secret Service— had personally called Owen Carvour— very much not American operative of the British Military Intelligence— with three words on her mind that changed the state of his mental state immediately.

Curt's been compromised.

That was all she'd said before Owen's heart started pounding in his ears.

"What do you mean, he's compromised?" Owen had asked, but he knew. There were a limited number of ways that this could go. One of them compromised him too, and forced his hand. He wasn't so afraid of that option anymore. He'd spent that long preparing for it that he knew the exact reaction to it, and exactly what he was supposed to do.

The other one was dangerous, and meant that Curt's life was in jeopardy. That wouldn't be a matter of concern for another agency under any other circumstance, but Cynthia was able to pull strings, to get him involved in matters that he had no right to even know about. If she wanted him for a particular mission, then there was a very good chance that he was going to be on that mission.

He braced himself subtly, waiting for Cynthia to tell him to start making preparations to run for a long time, or for her to tell him where she needed him in the next few hours.

"Captured. For once, he didn't expose himself, but all the same, he got caught… I think you might be familiar with the case load?"

Owen's jaw clenched tight. Part of him was relieved, but this was the dangerous option, and that meant he didn't have the space to be relieved. "Tell me."

"There's a group of arms dealers led by a man they call Jenner, you know him?"

"Yes. Yes, I know of him and his little organisation. Do you have anything on where he's based?" He knew that Cynthia had more sense than to tell him information like that over a telephone line, but he also knew that he didn't care when he got the information, so long as he got it. It was more than clear that she wanted him on the ground to help them find him, or bring him back, so he knew he was going to get what he needed at some point. She'd likely pass him off to someone else with the intel, and he'd have to fill in the gaps from whichever debrief he was given.

"Always so efficient… you know I'm not gonna tell you that. Not here."

"I thought as much."

"But, make it to Manhattan, Agent, and there will be someone dockside to meet you… Say, tomorrow morning?"

Owen wrote that down on the notepad next to the phone. Tomorrow morning. January 7th. He was expected at the Manhattan harbour, presumably by someone who was supposed to blend in with the crowd. "Tomorrow morning. I'll be there."

Cynthia sighed, then. Owen had a one track mind, it was notoriously hard to pull from focus. Knowing him, he wouldn't stop until Curt was on safe ground once again, no matter how long he worked or what it took out of him. That likely included whatever journey was going to happen that night. He knew about the stakes now, there was truly going to be no stopping him. "Oh, and Owen?"

Owen stopped, briefly taken off guard by hearing Cynthia call him by anything other than a formal title. Of course, she knew his name, she just never used it. What was with the sudden drop in formality? Was this her way of going off the record? If it was, what the hell else should he be expecting out of this mission?

"… Yes?"

"We need you at your best. And I know you have a tendency to… Overthink. Take it as easy as you can tonight… We need you prepared for tomorrow… Curt has a habit of being fine. You know that as well as I do."

"Michael Jenner is a dangerous man, Miss Houston. There's no telling what he could do in an hour, let alone overnight!"

"I'm not telling you not to think about it, I'm just saying, we're gathering intel as we speak, so… Try not to do anything stupid before you get here."

"I understand…" He resigned, drawing in a breath. "Tomorrow, then."

Needless to say, with the stress of everything currently piled in his mind, and the long journey to New York, he didn't sleep all that well. Cynthia had said she wanted to see him at his best, but all things considered, she wasn't exactly going to get him at his worst... By the time he reached New York, he was tired, and he'd managed to think about the scenario enough to really piss himself off, so Cynthia's informant found him in a state so far beyond riled that he was almost serene, and wired on the first cup of coffee he could get his hands on.

"So, you're Agent Owen Carvour... I've heard a lot about you."

"Is that so?" Owen raised an eyebrow, finishing off his coffee. That was strong enough to get him by, he supposed he'd be a little more in control of himself now that he felt less like his mind was trying to betray him for being too slow. If Curt turns up dead, this is on you. The Americans made sure the blood was on your hands, no getting out of it now.

"Mhm. Word is that you're quite the operative... If what they're saying is right, then I dare say I should be impressed."

Owen just hummed in response, having only caught about half of what had just been said on the grounds that he simply could not focus on anything that wasn't the outcome of this mission, or the the crushing weight on the inside of his chest that demanded he get on with it. He was both eager to get to the point, and eager not to find out what the Americans were saying about him. Thanks to Curt, most of it was probably complimentary, but either way, he didn't want to take his chances. "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

"Sure, you're here to help us with Mega... Cynthia tells me you already know the guy at fault?" The informant watched Owen nod, then produce a well broken in notebook from his pocket and lean back against the harbour wall. They'd told him to expect a man who was spectacularly prepared for any eventuality, and judging by the notes written on the page he could see, Owen fit that description down to the letter.

"Jenner, yes. I've been on a case of his before. I didn't fully intend on making him my business again, but what can you do?" To tell the truth, Owen was nervous, but desperate not to let it show. The longer he stayed here, the less time he had before things reached a critical point with Curt. But, the last thing he was going to admit was that he was afraid of the outcome of the mission. He was a professional, and professionals didn't so much as think of the word fear, least of all not on the job.

"He's gotten himself a full team, by the sounds of things. Mega reported at least half a dozen bruisers. Real heavyweights, not to mention the number of specialists he's likely got under his belt."

"Specialists as in..?"

"Arms, explosives... You name it, really."

That seemed to ring some bells. Owen could recall Jenner being the mastermind behind some millions of dollars in transactions involving something of that caliber. And since then, he had grown something of a small empire, which seemed to only be growing by the second. "Where are the likes of him based without anyone noticing the massive transactions passing from hand to hand?"

"That's the thing, isn't it, Agent? Not to be based in one place..."

"In an arms race of this size, it's only logical..." Owen answered automatically, tapping his pen against the notebook spirals. This state of serenity beyond the rage was starting to beome dangerous in itself. He felt like a badly fused explosive, programmed to explode at an entirely random interval between now and the foreseeable.

"Alright then, I'll specify. Where was Curt? And where is he now?"

"Mega's assignment was in Stamford, Conneticut. We don't have any reason to believe he's anywhere different now..."

Owen nodded, making a note of that, and reminding himself that Manhattan was suddenly a very convenient place because Conneticut wasn't actually that far away. He hadn't been told of anyone who was going to be joining him, and that led him to the all too fair assumption that Cynthia had sent him and him alone. Part of him wondered why; his business wasn't in American affairs. He was a British operative, and he'd turned down the offer of working for the American Secret Service before, on the grounds that it may well border on treasonous. He was still sure of that fact, knowing that he betrayed his country for the sake of taking up what may have frankly been a better and more convenient offer was not worth his life, that much he was sure of.

But, the other part of him realised that Cynthia probably had him on such a direct line of contact for a good reason, and it may not have had so much to do with the fact that he was talented enough to catch her eye. At the end of the day, she could near enough do whatever she wanted, and that may have included protecting the secrets of one of her best agents for the sake of not letting him go on a technicallity like that.

Did she know? He had to wonder… Did it make sense for her to know and to still trust the pair of them as much as she did? What they were doing could cost them way more than just their jobs if they were found out by the right people, and yet she seemed to be aware of their closeness. If she wasn't, he was convinced that he would've never known that Curt got captured, not unless he saw him in person and had to work through the mess inside his mind to get to what really happened.

No matter whether Cynthia knew and was actively protecting his secret by proxy of Curt, she had called him in for a job, and it was a job that he was going to do.

Just as he suspected, the journey to Conneticut didn't take him long. Manhattan was the most convenient location because apparently, there was a substation in the harbour that few people actually knew about, where a small team of field scientists were waiting to kit him with a communications wire and walk him through a map of the block they'd managed to narrow it down to. When Curt's signal was corrupted, they had no way of telling which way he went, but they were confident that, should he have stayed in the facility, that block would be within the margin of error.

One of the scientists had promised to keep him updated through the wire, to let him know when he was in range, and he in turn had promised to make this as swift a job as he could manage.

It was the least he could do. Especially since his nerves wouldn't leave him alone, and especially since he was practically being dragged towards saving Curt as fast as possible, on the grounds that he didn't know how his fragile, ticking bomb state of mind would react if he saw him even vaguely injured.

"I've reached the block, I believe. Just off Third, at the intersection." He looked around. There wasn't an awful lot going on that wasn't perfectly within the norm. for a while, he was going to be going about some kind of life too, looking like he didn't have the full intention to flip the kill switch.

"The crossroads?"

"I'm at a crossroads, yes."

"Which way are you facing?"

"I'm on the corner of Mayberry and Third, that's what's in front of me, at least…"

He could feel the fuse on the locked box of his half-suppressed rage fizzling to a dangerous point. He was getting closer, and that meant that he was getting closer to being able to take this storm of righteous anger out on whoever dared to get in the way. It wasn't called a license to kill for no reason, and it came equipped with all of the repercussions already taken care of. All that meant for him was that he could get away with giving Curt a little bit of justice. It would look like they got in the way of his mission, or that he was pursued… Depending on how well organised it was, and how he executed his arrival.

As the scientist started giving him directions, he took a breath. Not yet. Not yet… Prevalent justice would have to wait for a few minutes, until he was no longer public facing. There was a pistol in the inner pocket of his jacket, he could feel it against his side, with the spare clips sitting on the other side, the exact same reach away from his seemingly eager grasp.

That fuse blew when he was alone, when he was wandering the corridors of the facility, looking for anything that might class as a sign or some kind of pointer towards Curt. Instinct told him to get lower, to find sub-floors and basements that facilities like this wouldn't want exposing to the public eye. Upon descending the sirst flight of stairs, he heard a scream that was clearly a long time in the making. The way it echoed through the corridor made him stop in his tracks, and it was in that exact moment that the box blew open and everything exploded onto the outside.

Red tinged rage flooded his senses. He knew that tone well, though it wasn't so often that he heard him so distressed. Curt was good at keeping face under pressure or interrogation, it was one of the things he definitely gave himself credit for, and one of the things that he definitely deserved to do so for. Owen knew that he was more than capable of giving his adversaries as much shit as they gave to him, and also being so cosmically annoying that they have no choice but to make things harder for him…. It was really one of those situations that could go either way…

Curt— if he was right in trusting his instincts and believing that he'd found him— had broken. That meant that he was injured beyond comprehension, and part of that thought was what tipped him over to the side of unfiltered rage. After that, it was a flash of knowing what needed to be done, and knowing how to do it. His pace quickened, his breath sturdy, his mind focused… Owen was unshakable, and definitely no cause for competition. Those who were unfortunate enough to get in his way found themselves gravely injured at the hands of his aim, even those who thought themselves lucky enough to have escaped him by running down the corridor.

He stopped at nothing and nobody; there was not one obstacle that could get in the way of a man like him, on a mission like this.

It took an apparent maze of corridors before he managed to break open a door that led him directly to the one thing that made this whole thing worth it. Heaving a breath as he scanned the room, he finally— finally— laid eyes on the man who had been inadvertently guiding him towards his location the longer he was in pain.

Curt.

And he was a mess. Blood poured from his temple down the side of his face, and there was a sizeable gash running his shoulder and tearing the fabric of his shirt. He looked up when the door was thrown open, and his eyes went wide. He tried to fight showing how relieved he was, but it was hard to do that when his face was such an open book, when he was so relieved to see his partner.

Owen made a signal— a sign that all of this would be over in a matter of minutes— and levelled his pistol. One breath, and the man closest to Curt had fallen, a crimson river pouring from his forehead. Another, and the man advancing on him had fallen victim to a couple of sizeable holes to the chest in quick succession. A third, and Owen had stolen a knife from one of the fallen, and he was looking for the best angle to break Curt's ties so they could leave as fast as possible.

The knife didn't make easy work of the thick cord keeping Curt in place, but Owen found a good angle as he crouched closer to the ground, and managed to get Curt free before anyone else found out he was there.

His breath came out shallow, he was clawing at the last scraps of the rage, fighting not to let it subside into concern too early. But, on the other hand, the concern was justified too, because every time his gaze darted over Curt, he saw something else worth noting. Now was not the time to think about that, not until there was a solid guarantee that they could both get out of there safe, and there was a clear window for curt to get back to his agency.

"Can you stand?" He asked, as softly as he could manage it.

Curt nodded initially, but then realised how much he had been overestimating his own abilities, when he actually tried to stand and Owen had to rush to his side to stop him collapsing. Tear tracks stained his cheeks, Owen could see them from this close. It gave just enough of a spark to that slight of fury that he had left, just enough to seep in a deep desire to see this place— and by extension, Michael Jenner— crumble until there was nothing left of it.

"How'd you… How'd you know?" Curt asked, looking up at him as they trailed the corridor Owen had come in through backwards.

"You wouldn't believe this, but Cynthia called me."

"Wait, seriously?"

Owen nodded. "Apparently I can be useful when I want to be."

[multifunctionalnitroglycerin]

RWBY Fanfic Idea

Long time no see, huh? Hope you are all doing well.

So, it's been a while since I watched RWBY Vol9 and we got those epilogue bits and pieces, and I'd like to propose an idea, that for me might have made the show a tad more interesting (Nothing wrong with it essentially, I am just dying for some time travel angst. But that's what fanfics are for).

Because our main heroines find themselves in a journey of self discovery in what seems to be an alternate sub-dimension within the world of Remnant. And then they return to the exact point in time and space where they were supposed to be, missing for a few hours or days pretty much.

So what if, and I say what if, that wasn't the case? What if time flowed differently in the Ever After?

Well then, we have three delicious angst and drama filled scenarios.

Case 1

It works pretty much like Narnia did. I don't rly care much for Salem I must admit, but let's say our heroines get stuck there for a few years. A decade or so. They learn to adapt to the Ever After and its ever-changing tumultuous nature, they make a life for themselves (Perhaps as 4 guardians, each for a season, or a point in the horizon) and become more a family than they ever were. Because all they have from their world is each other. And they learn to function as a unit, never far from one another, always knowing, always caring, always pushing each other to new heights, becoming better and more in sync. And they form this deep intrinsic knowledge of each other, with each duo (and I mean all duos, not just the partner pairs) having its own quirks and habits. So yes, they are a team, yes they are partners or teammates, or girlfriends, but at the same time they are something more, something you cannot exactly put in words.

And somehow, someday they find a way out. The tree finally accepts them or idk what. And when they return to Remnant, they end up in Vacuo, when they left and...they are kids again. They are 18 and 20, instead of 30 and 32. Their bodies feel wrong. Too awkward, too small (R:Ugh, do I have to be the shortest one AGAIN?) cause they aren't theirs anymore. And Yang might find herself tracing across a scar that Blake doesn't have anymore, Weiss' eyes lingering on the missing chunk of an ear that magically is whole again, and rejoicing at looking in Ruby's eyes. Both her eyes. And Ruby can see her teammates, her family, whole again without any scars to show for what they went through, but for those engraved in their souls.

But for the people outside this neat little arrangement, RWBY fell to their deaths, and miraculously returned a few days after, but they came back wrong. There is something stiff and worn in he edge of their expressions, like they have seen too much, like they know too much, and have lost what little innocence they had left. There is danger glinting in their eyes, steely and cold, and downright unsettling. They are different, there is no denying it. They seem more mature, as people and as huntresses, knowing things only experienced huntsmen faced with impossible odds would.There is this aura following them too, one that screams danger and demands respect.

Weiss seems more authoritative than ever before, comfortable in her own skin and creativity, not measuring her worth by her achievements. Ruby is still her optimistic self but she is more confident and sure of herself, like something within her has settled, and finally found its place, nothing like the lost girl hanging by a thread before the fall. Yang's temperament has evened out. No longer fueled by anger and hurt, but by an unbreakable resolve to persevere and will to protect what matters the most to her. And that's not the past that is long gone, not the old grudges that have no worth left in them, but her team, her family. And where Yang has learned to let go, Blake has learned to hold on, to chase for what she wants, to grasp it with both hands and not let go. To face her fears, the trials and tribulations of growing and changing alongside someone, trusting they will stay, and not run away from the monster. And she has learned to face overcome her own shortcomings, and stay. Even when things get rough .

And then there are their interactions with each other, as if they cannot bear to breathe when one of them is not near, eyes frantically searching for their mirror, for the reassurance that it's all okay. The impossible training regimes and semblance evolution. They complete each other as if the four are one, and anything less than that would be incomplete. The constant whispers, and wary glances, the countless inside jokes, and meaningful smiles, only they can interpret. The silent communication, the wordless gestures of comfort, gestures too intimate to be discounted at first glance. But they are oblivious to the raised eyebrows, and the questions hanging from the edges of people's lips. What matters is that they are back and they are together.

They are back, and they look the same, but they are not the same people they were before, and while everyone sees it, no one really dares to say anything. Because there are nightmares. And more often than not, a scream will echo in the desolate camp in the dead of night, followed by a gun shot, or the sound of sth tearing, and the four will huddle together, comforting each other with soft words and sweet nothings that make no sense.

They are the same and yet different, and Winter knows it, because there are times Weiss seems impossibly older in her eyes, so much so that she feels like the little sister instead. Qrow sees Summer in Ruby's steely gaze and rueful smile, and Tai's unbreakable resolve in Yang's smirk. (The sharpness at the edge of it reminds him of Raven a few years back, when the girls were still young, and his sister was the biggest Grim-slaying force this side of Mistral, but he doesn't want think about it.) And when Blake meets her parents again, they think she looks worn and tired, her soul too old for the body it's occupying, but she will always be their little girl, and she has come back and she loves them, melting into their embrace as if she was ten years old once more...

Case 2

They are stuck in the Ever After for 10 or 15 years again. Only this time when they find a way out, they don't change back. And then suddenly in Vacuo, a few days after Atlas falls, while Winter, Qrow Oscar, Nora, Ren and the rest mourn all those they have lost, four strange women appear. (The outfits will have obviously changed, unless somehow they wanted to wear the same thing for 10 or 15 years).

The strangers are huddled together, and check each other for injuries first and foremost before even thinking of facing the other people. And when they do, their breaths hitch and they all collectively freeze. Because the strange travelers, those peculiar women dressed in unfamiliar fabrics, covered in a million and one little scars, look like team RWBY.

But they cannot be, they could never be, for Winter lost her sister three days ago, and the white clad woman looking at her with Weiss' eyes, tear-filled and wide, (so much so that the small vertical scar over the left one wrinkles), could never possibly be the little sister she lost.

Winter spares a glance to the rest of the strangers, never lowering her sword, eyes burning with the chill of a wintry fire, and feels more than hears the spring maiden - Raven Branwen, (the woman who had abandoned her family and then had flown in Vacuo as soon as she felt her bond with Yang snap), whisper a half broken "Summer", her first tightening over Omen's hilt, as she took in a sharp breath - the most unsettled Winter had ever seen her.

The strange woman with silver eyes, clad in red and black instead of white, her face so familiar and yet so different, gives her a small rueful, remorseful smile,

"Not quite." she responds and Winter recognizes that tone, different though it was from mere days before.

"Hey, Uncle Qrow." The golden one smiles and winks, and there's something lingering in her amethyst hued eyes, something like nostalgia 'long time no see' and 'I missed you'. She is impossibly tall, taller than the last time Winter saw her, and somehow broader and more muscular. She reminds her of Elm a bit if the other Ace Op was built like a bear and shone like the Sun. A strong hand was settled comfortably over the shoulders of the woman's black and indigo clad faunus partner, bringing her close.

Winter's head reels, and her gaze hops from one to the other, her mind trying to make peace with what her soul already knew. Blake Belladonna's golden gaze (because it could be no one else, standing tall and resilient, long black hair swaying in the hot desert wind, studded cat ears stiff and alert, long graceful fingers wrapped along the hilt of her obsidian colored blade) stays on her. It is sharp and inquisitive, curious, heavy with experience and knowledge, and it weighs on her shoulders, as she remains still with her sword extended, examining the unlikely band of not so strangers.

They were women now. Full grown, and different, nothing like the kids that fell into the void what felt like an eternity ago.

Qrow's half choked "Firecracker?" and Raven's disbelieving curses barely reach her ears as she hones in on the white-haired woman again, letting her gaze linger on the scar on her collarbone and the shoulder length white hair fashioned in a low ponytail not unlike the one she sported herself. Her eyes, blue like the summer sky, and so much brighter than her own were still wide, as if drinking the sight of her, as if she hadn't seen her three days before, Winter's visage being the last thing she saw before falling to the void.

"Winter?" it's barely more than a whisper, and Winter doesn't know how to feel because it sounds so much like her sister and so much like Willow (I hc that of the sisters Weiss is more similar to Willow appearance wise.) that she lowers her sword and collapses on the ground half sobbing her sister's name (I think it would make a great parallel to when she fell and Winter called it out so brokenly... top tier voice acting)

They'll probably call Robyn to verify their story and when they do there will be a loooot of tears and confusion and hurt and pain and anger and DRAMA, so much drama, I think I could right a book abt the Schnee family drama and trauma if that ever happened.

Things will be hard from then and on, because Winter's little sister is now older than her, and she can spy the crows feet starting to appear at the edges of her eyes, and the laugh lines around her mouth, her skin tanner than Winter could ever imagine it would be. She carries herself like a leader, like she never had to step from someone's shadow, much less Winter's own. She looks like she finally knows her worth and has another three people being there for her unconditionally when she needs it. I won't even start on Whitley who lost another decade from his sister's life without either their input, just when he had started bonding with her again, or Willow. Man, I think that Willow seeing Weiss as a thirty something grown woman (that looks so much like her before Jacques, before her own life started going downhill) would warrant a relapse. A big one.

Qrow is probably going to get himself hammered after all this and Raven will join him. Like imagine them looking at a Ruby that is now as old - if not older - than Summer was when she died. A Ruby that looks almost exactly like Summer, but has grown into herself as a huntress and a team leader, that has learned to bear the burden and share it when it gets too much. A Ruby Qrow can no longer call squirt - she is almost as tall as him now, and built with the lean hard muscle of someone that sprints for a living - and Raven cannot underestimate. A Ruby that reminds her so much of Summer, but is so different from her old leader, that has found her own brand of strength and settled into it in ways neither she nor Summer could.

And then there is Yang. Yang that has Raven's face, but Tai's golden complexion and has grown into his strong broad built (I imagine her more like a strongwoman than a calisthenics type of muscular). Yang that does finger-guns at Qrow like she is sixteen, and looks at Raven with little anger in her amethyst hued eyes. Yang that looks so much tired when the chaos settles down, and embraces her team clinging desperately to them, whispering "we are home, we made it", when things get too much for them. That has taken to mothering Nora and the rest of the kids, because they are kids. What for them was 3 days for RWBY was 15 years. And they haven't been kids in a long time. She still has her playful side don't worry, the puns are being served with a Yang.

And last but not least Blake. Blake that has found her home with the others, that has learned to trust and be trusted, that doesn't hide who she is for anyone's benefit. A brilliant tactician, a creative bright mind, a spirit writhed in shadows. Lean, tall, positively feline, a stealthy predator at its best, she has fallen into her role with the others easily enough, and it's plain for all to see that she offers her quiet support, with soft words that cut at the edges and tender embraces with the undertone of protection and support. Blake who ran away from home at 12 (I think) only to come back at 18, and then disappear again at 20. And just the amount of pain the Belladonnas must have experienced losing her for a second time, and then having her appear again, only she has aged another 15 years since they last saw her. They probably feel like their daughter's life is slipping by them, and they'll never rly have enough time with her. Their little girl comes back an independent teenager and then a grown woman, with a bit of Ghira's imposing build and all of Kali's feminine guile. A cat Faunus that moves like a panther, sharp liquid gold eyes honing in every minute detail. A woman whose heart sings of pain and loss, and perseverance and love, a stranger with their blood in her veins they could not be prouder of.

Yeah, that family pain hits hard in this one. And lastly,

Case 3

The gang does stay in the Ever After for a few days indeed, but out in Remnant it has been years. Salem is over with idk how, and yeah our friends go to the blacksmith and everything but when they return to Remnant, everything is different. The world has moved forward and changed without them.

Menagerie is a kingdom now apparently, and has its own huntsmen academy. Ghira and Kali have thrown themselves into making this work, overcome as they were with the second and final loss of their only child. So imagine when they get a call or see Blake for the first time in more than a decade. But their little girl looks exactly the same as she did when she fell, and they are...old. Ghira's beard and hair has been going gray and he's lost some muscle mass, and Kali's proud stature is diminished, and the ever present smile on her lips has barely made an appearance in years. So I suppose it will be painful as heck for them to accept that Blake is back. They;ll never let her go when they do though...So angst, yeah.

Tai will have shut down. He has no one left apart from Qrow. And well I d like to give it a twist here and say that when Raven feels her bond with Yang snap, and realizes that well her daughter is not coming back, she does a bit of a reevaluation of her priorities and either completely loses herself, trying to keep that strength facade, or gets her shit together, cause her brother and ex need her, and STRQ kinda reunites. No Ozpin though, that would be too far. And then Ruby and Yang appear, as old as the day they left, and well... I think Qrow would get drunk, Tai would melt into a mess, and Raven would deny it all. Seeing Ruby and Yang reacting to their family being so old will be interesting. As well as Yang's relationship with Raven given the revelations that yes, her selfish, coward, asshole of a mother actually has a heart in there somewhere.

The Schnees will be again the most angsty I think. I say Willow managed to pull herself from the bottom of the bottle for Winter and Whitley,and took back the SDC and is now on the way to retirement. Winter is the new General, and even has a family of her own perhaps and Whitley is practically next in line for the company. And then Weiss appears. And its a shock. Because Whitley is now older than her. Taller, though still with the dancer's built he sported since he was a kid. Only he has activated his aura and semblance now and has a goatee. And a partner. And a kid on the way.

Winter on the other hand is head of the Atlas military has introduced a bunch of new policies with Robyn and they both work toward stabilizing Atlas and making sure to avoid the whole Ironwood thing. Or well ironwood 2 at this point. And Winter loves Robyn( It's mutual). They are all but married at this point, having spent too many nights with Winter drowning in her own guilt, paralyzed by feelings too big for her heart to contain. Too many desperate moments when things are tight, with Winter gripping Robyn's hand like a lifeline saying that she isn't turning to another Ironwood and that she is doing what she can with whatever supplies she has, visibly relaxing and melting in relief when it flashes green. With Robyn whispering sweet nothings to her ear and Winter encouraging her when things seemed dire, with them reminding each other to take it slow and relax for it to be any different.

Winter has made up with May, and the Happy Huntresses are her own little family, a home away from home. They have probably adopted a bunch of kids probs from Mantle and raise them all together. And then Weiss appears. And it's one of the little ones that notices and asks, tugging at the coat Miss Winter is wearing, asking her why the girl in blue looks so much like her. And then angst I suppose. It would be interesting exploring their dynamic a bit more, especially if we go with the route that Winter helped raise Weiss quite a bit before she left for the military, and how that sisterly/motherly relationship changes- if it does at all - now that her sister is back from the dead. Seeing Winter grapple with her guilt, or her anger years after and all that jazz.

Well, that's the post folks! Let me know what you think! If anyone takes these ideas and actually writes a fic pls @ me so that I can read whatever wonderful things y'all come up with!

Till the next one! Take care and stay hydrated!

[wetcatspellcaster]

Same BG3-> dragon age anon: you said you liked to talk about it last time so please give me your full opinion if you are passionate🫶🏽 many thanks

hello anon!

this is a very open-ended, and dangerous question! to be honest, there is a lot to dismantle and unpick about Dragon Age until there's nothing left to enjoy (I actually love critiquing it though, jokes on them I love to be a hater). But! If I'm focusing on the positives!

What Dragon Age is to me, is 'what I wanted skyrim to be when I played it'. This is no shade on Skyrim, it's just that that was the first fantasy rpg I ever tried, and I'm just not a sandbox girlie. I got increasingly frustrated with Skyrim, claiming I wanted to feel like I'd impacted the world and that my decisions had consequences. What I wanted, in hindsight, was D&D, but my friend turned to me and said 'have you played dragon age?' and thus a mental illness was born.

I honestly think BG3 knowingly borrowed many of the things Dragon Age is still loved by its fandom for. I also think it did a lot of them better, simply through the grace of being 10 years newer than Inquisition (and not being owned by EA!) But for me, the split between 'adventuring' and 'home space cutscenes', the focus on companion quests, relationships based in approval, and romances are all things that are done in a clear understanding of what made Dragon Age so popular. BG3's endings for each companion are more starkly contrasted and nuanced, but I liked playing Dragon Age and seeing my games altered depending on my choices. Again, here I'm not saying Dragon Age is perfect! I think the BG3 romances are more solid across the board compared to Dragon Age, and the only game that I think has a comparative '100% hot' rate is Dragon Age Origins. But the reason there's such a huge crossover in the fan bases is bc Dragon Age did a lot of it first! Bioware as a developer is heralded in academic video game criticism for being one of the first studios to encourage parasocial relationships with its fictional characters, and to use affective relationships with these figures as a way of deepening your immersion and the perceived 'realism' of a videogame world.

My other favourite thing about Dragon Age is it's buckwild wizard politics! Mages (in the first three games) are placed in 'circles', which are essentially magic school prisons bc mages are too dangerous to be out in society. The tensions surrounding 'mage rights' are the subject to many memes in the fandom, but I think it's genuinely one of the most interesting parts of the world that runs through all 3 games. The concept of the Circles really appeals to the part of me that occasionally falls prey to Dark Academia (and one of my fave authors NK Jemisin agrees with me, she used them as one of her inspirations for her award winning series The Broken Earth!)

I think the reason I write fanfic primarily for videogames is because the nature of gaming code and the way videogames work as texts means there is always gaps left by the slightly utilitarian approach to storytelling (dialogue options you wish you could change, choices you wish you could make, parts of the world you wish you could explore more directly). My first fic ever (!) was a Dragon Age fic about the Rite of Tranquility, an aspect of the world that is often quite plot relevant but then never really dug into bc of who the protagonists of each game are, where mages are cut off from the dream realm that gives them their magic forcibly, like a cauterised wound. I really loved this element of the story as a fantasy device, and I daydreamed about how that experience would impact an individual... 3 years later, covid hit, and a fic was born!

so yeah! I just think dragon age is neat! and in typical-me fashion, I like the way its wizards work :)

[snippychicke]

Title: Cats & Ships

Overall Rating: Teen for now? May go into mature at a future date

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond what's in the live-action series. I mean, Kuro's still manipulative and paranoid. It gets better tho? Slowly? It's a WIP, so I don't fully know yet.

Pairings: Captain Kuro (Klahadore)/Reader; hints of Kaya/Usopp

Summary: It started out as a means to get information as Khaladore. Who would be better to provide information regarding the high seas than Syrup Village’s Harbormaster? Except, for the first time in a very long time, Kuro found himself trusting, and even liking, the young woman he shared tea with every week. 

And then the Straw Hat Pirates arrived and ruined his plans. Except fate decided his story wasn’t done there. 

Nor was yours.

Masterlist here! | Read on Ao3!

The harbormaster of Syrup village had her home office close to the port, which was predictable but also meant it was about the opposite side of the village from the manor. The man formerly known as Captain Kuro hated the walk through the impoverished village, always anticipating the worst. Someone would identify him as the long dead pirate, or perhaps would merely attack Klahdore for being Kaya's butler. 

Yes, he had contingencies upon contingencies, but it didn’t mean he didn't want to use them because someone decided to be an idiot. He was so close to the fruition of this three-year ploy. Just a few more weeks, and he could finally reap the rewards. 

In the meantime, Klahadore endured the weekly trek to the simple one-story building that sat next to the ocean gate. The adobe home had a dozen of half-feral cats relaxing on--or in--  the various crates outside, and even a few on the thatched roof. A few greeted him with soft mews, or by rubbing up against his pant leg, leaving fur he rather didn’t mind as he paused to scratch between their ears. 

Others watched with wary eyes, still unused to him encroaching on their territory. Predators recognized kin, after all. Their instincts were not deadened by domestication, and they seemed to be able to tell he was dangerous despite the soft exterior. 

Inside the home, bookshelves took up any space that could be afforded and were filled to the brim; mainly with ledgers of the harbor’s past, though a few other books were mixed in. Even more cats lounged inside, most having mixed feelings about his presence though a few called for his attention. 

"Well," your familiar voice called out from within the maze of bookcases, soundly faintly amused.  "Either Klahadore has come to visit a few hours early, or I have myself a thief. Or a ghost." 

Despite himself, Klahadore smiled, feeling himself relax as he made his way to your office near the back of the home. It too was filled with books, though most of them much newer then the rest of the building. A large wooden desk sat next to a picture window overlooking the coast, a matching chair turned so you were looking outside where the white sails of the ships looked little more than points of white on the horizon. 

He was more focused on the glimpse of hair he could see over the tall back of the chair, as well as the cat that was looking over the edge, its lone jade-colored eye looking expectantly at him. "I find myself wondering how often you say that when there is no one around?" 

"More than I like to admit. But I blame the ghosties," the tall chair swiveled around, your bright smile becoming the focus of his attention, even as your cat meowed at the sudden change, shifting in your arms to resume silently demanding his attention. “But Kuro doesn’t get excited for anyone else coming to visit, so at least there is that.” 

Kuro. You had named the cat Kuro, citing you had found him the same day news had reached the isle that the famed captain of the Black Cat Pirates had been defeated by the marines. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Or your awkward admission you had found the Black Cat Captain rather handsome.

 It had proved useful, though, as part of that attraction unknowingly lingered. It made it all too easy to gain your trust and friendship. 

"How are you today, Klahadore?" You asked, gesturing to the chair across from your desk at the same time you stood--much to Kuro-the-cat's displeasure. The cat flicked his tail irately as you dumped him onto the desk, before stretching and deciding to claim Klahadore’s lap. 

“I’m fair, and yourself?” he asked, watching you enter the small kitchen area to start a kettle to boil as he mindlessly petted the large fluffy cat. 

Usually Klahadore didn't trust anyone to make him food or beverage of any kind--not even his own crew. But after a few years of knowing you, he had allowed you the privilege. 

Especially after you had fussed, going as far as to slap his hand when he had tried to make the tea instead. ‘You work all day serving others. Let me serve you for once.’ 

He did watch you carefully as you prepared the tea and grabbed a tin of pastries from a cupboard. For safety reasons, of course. Not because he particularly enjoyed watching you work or anything, or because it was a rare time for him to be able to appreciate your form without you noticing. You were dressed in layers to fight the cool breeze that was coming from the sea as the seasons changed, your hair carelessly messy as always, a pencil stuck behind your ear where it was likely forgotten. 

As you moved he caught hints of the curves you hid, making him watch even more closely. 

It was merely because he didn’t fully trust you, either. That was all. 

“Honestly, and please don’t repeat this," you spoke after a moment, only slightly breaking his concentration. "But I’m about ready to either strangle several someones or pull my hair out. Possibly both.” 

This was the reason why he came down to your office week after week. You tended to ramble on, divulging information without a second thought. And as the harbormaster of Syrup village and the rest of the Gecko Islands,  you were a wealth of information about the outside world. (It wasn’t because he was able to enjoy a moment of peace away from Kaya, Sham, and Buchi. Or because he truly enjoyed your company. Not at all.) 

“Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good,” he frowned even though internally he felt like smiling. “I hate the idea of your pretty hair being harmed in any way.” 

Kuro did allow a small smile as you blushed deeply, fumbling the tray a little as you glanced back at him. 

“Har-har-har,” you said dryly as you regained your composure and brought the tray back to the desk. “It’s a rat’s nest and we both know it, Klahadore. I am also offended that you don’t think I could strangle anyone. I am still the Harbormaster.” 

He was fairly certain the only reason you of all people were the Harbormaster was because the title had been a part of your family for generations, and the Gecko Islands rarely saw any trouble. Despite that fool Usopp and his stories, Syrup Village was as peaceful as a place could be. 

Granted, he had seen you knock out a drunken marine once with a shipwright's mallet once. Just the memory of it made him smile as you poured him a cup of tea, followed by a serving of cream, having learned his tastes long ago. No sugar, though he did love the small cookies you placed on the platter. 

“Anyways, a merchant ship was attacked between here and the port in Coco Village. The damn pirates did a real number to both crew and the cargo, so we’re going to be short quite a few expectant items and everyone is already at each other’s throats. It’s--” You ran your hands through your hair, wincing as you reached a few knots. “But don’t worry,” you continued after a deep breath and started working on the tangles mindlessly. “I’ll make sure the manor is given its allotment as always. The shipyard is over half the reason we exist, after all. And dues must be paid.” 

A small frown tugged at his lips, as much as he liked the deference (and the knowledge that while he had to continue this charade he did not have to worry about food) but he also knew of your altruism. And for reasons he’d rather not examine, it bothered him that you often went above and beyond for a village that seemed to take your kindness for granted.  

"You are the harbormaster, not the mayor," he stated firmly. "Your duties are to the harbor and her ships. No one else."

You shot him another wry look. "Klahadore, we both the mayor is beyond useless, and no one else gives a fuck about anyone else around here.  Hell, I'd hate to think what would have happened to lil' Kaya if you hadn't been here. Merry is a good man, but a strong one he is not." You sighed, missing the twitch in his face. "The point is, if I don't care, no one will. If I don't figure out a good compromise, the shipyard will dissolve into chaos, followed by the whole town. Maybe even the rest of the isles.  What good is a harbormaster if everyone is at each other's throats?"

"I simply worry," he excused, not able to argue any of your points. After all, it was true. The village wasn't as sugar-sweet as the name implied, and the town officials did little to change that. The only reason the place wasn't overrun by pirates was because the World Government wanted the ships that their shipyard produced. "You try to take care of everyone, yet it seems like no one regards you with the slightest hint of gratitude." 

Your eyes warmed and a smile returned to your lips. "You're too sweet, Klahadore. But enough of my woes--I could complain all day and night after all. How has your luck been with trying to raise a teenager?" 

For a moment, Kuro allowed his facade to drop as he sighed heavily. "About as tiring as one would imagine. I love Miss Kaya dearly, but…"

You laughed faintly before finishing for him. "She's a seventeen year old heiress that's been sheltered all her life." 

He smiled as well, and enjoyed watching your blush return to your cheeks as he fixed his glasses. "Exactly. If her health wasn't in such a poor state, I think exposure to the real world would do her good, but alas, I'd rather have her naive and alive versus… well, the alternative." 

"Very true," you mumbled, eyes still slightly unfocused and that delightful blush slowly traveling further--both down your neck and to the tips of your ears. "You're a good man, Klahadore." 

Klahadore may have been a good man, but Kuro was not. Yet he was pleased by your praises nonetheless. “I do my best.” 

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

A Father's Resolve - Ch 5

Ingo returns after a decade - with two extra cars in tow. Years later, his kids are swallowed up by time in the same way he was. Will he be able to find them? Will they be able to make it out alive?

Word Count: ~1600

They arrived at the location swiftly. It seemed like the fields were pretty close to the village. The twins followed a few security guys in red and Laventon to a small clearing with a trunk, a campfire, and a couple tents. Some people stood around, talking. 

"This is the Fieldlands camp," Laventon announced. "If you ever need to heal up or just need a break, think of this as a safe spot." The twins followed him into the camp as he greeted some of the people here. 

"Now," he said, "your trial is to catch a Bidoof, a Shinx, and a Starly, yes? You know how to throw pokeballs, but you need to practice the ways of survey work. Some members of the Survey Corp have offered to help show you the basics." Two people in blue waved from the fire and stood. 

"Let's get started, shall we?"

–

The Bidoof was a piece of cake. Rei even petted it as he was pressing the ball to its furry head. Two others watched on, not a care in the world. 

The hard part with Starly was getting close enough to catch without startling it, but Rei remembered all those times in Chargestone, trying desperately to find the rare Tynamo and manage to hit the teeny tiny thing with a ball. Needless to say, Starly was nothing, especially after the tall grass trick. 

Shinx was a tad more difficult. The Survey Corps member showing them watched it with disdain and she described being struck by a Thunder Shock. Pokemon attacked people in this region? Now he understood why Dad was always talking about how dangerous it was. 

They battled the Shinx, but it seemed too young to have learned any electric moves. Even Oshawott excelled against it and they each had an electric cat pokemon in no time. 

"Congratulations, you two! You've completed the first trial and are well on your way to completing the pokedex! This calls for a commemorative photograph!" Laventon pulled out a box with a lens on the front. Rei assumed it was an old camera. 

The flash just about blinded Rei on impact. He had to blink back the spots burned into his retinas as Laventon shook out the photograph. "Excellent. Now, let us not keep Captain Cyllene waiting! Time to head back to Jubilife, eh?" Rei shook off some dirt from his jacket. Akari pulled a leaf out of her silver hair. They followed Laventon again, heading back to Jubilife. 

"Do you have a bad feeling about all this?" Rei whispered to his sister in Unovan. 

Akari nodded. "But what else can we do? We have nowhere else to go." 

Rei couldn't argue with that. They continued to talk to each other for a bit in Unovan, not wanting to be eavesdropped on. "I wonder what year it is… what year did Dad say we were born?" 

"I think 1836," Akari said. 

"That sounds right." Rei pondered dates. "Because we left in 1841 and he was dropped around 1830."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense," Laventon said in perfect Unovan, not looking at them. The twins both froze. He could speak Unovan? "I'm from Galar," he added, smiling back at them. "I did not mean to intrude, but I could not help but notice the inconsistency. It is currently 1831. There is no way you could have been born five years from now!" 

They said nothing for a moment. They looked at each other. Rei shrugged. Akari blinked at him three times. Rei nodded and then gestured to Laventon. Akari sighed and nodded. With that settled, Rei spoke, still making sure to be in Unovan, "We think we were taken through time," Rei admitted. "We uh… immigrated to a different region at a young age, but we were born in Hisui."

"Time, eh?" Laventon looked up to the rift hanging above Mount Coronet. "Then it must be a space-time rift." 

"Please don't tell any-" 

"Professor?" One of the guards was watching them speak. "What are you talking about?" He could only speak Hisuian, Rei assumed. 

"Oh, they believe they must have been brought from Galar. It is their homeland, as well as mine. We were just discussing where from. Galar is a rather large region!" Laventon fibbed. The guardsmen shrugged and continued to walk. 

The twins said nothing else, but nodded at Laventon in thanks, as they continued on. 

—------ 

Emmet sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he could be difficult. He knew Elesa could be difficult. He knew Ingo could be difficult. 

But by Arceus, it was hard to get anything done when they were all being difficult in opposite ways. 

Ingo had his day bag on his shoulder, haphazardly packed, as he stood paces away from the door, a feral look in his eyes. He hadn't shaved at all, his lengthening beard only adding to the madness. Elesa was standing in front of the door, the only thing between it and Ingo, staring him down, her eyes like daggers. Emmet was trying to wedge between them to make them not fight each other. The very air was charged and electrified, a battle going on without any pokemon involved. Emmet took deep breaths. He had to be the rational one, and as such he had to keep his head level. 

"I'm going," Ingo ground out, his voice raspy. 

"Not until you take a nap first," Elesa countered, her lips pursed. "Or a shower."

"What if something happens!" 

"Then we go a bit further in time and stop it. You're acting like we can only travel to a single spot." 

"I'd rather just have nothing happen in the first place!"

"That's what time travel is, idiot!"

Ingo grinned his teeth as he huffed and stamped his foot. "We're wasting time!"

"We can't do that if we're traveling!" 

And that was enough to break his resolve. "WOULD BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!" Emmet finally snapped. He was done being the rational one. They wanted to fight like they were children? Then he'd act like a child. Both of them jumped, surprised by his outburst. He shoved Ingo back, nearly knocking him over. "What's going to happen when we get the kids home and see you've worked yourself so hard you lost years off your life? You already look like a walking corpse! A strong gust will blow you over! What will they think," he growled at his brother, who looked at him with wide eyes. His hands trembled on the strap of the bag. "I've lost you once and I'm not losing you again." And then he rounded on Elesa. "And you! None of us knows how time travel works. None of us knows what's happening or how it's going to happen or how easy it'd be to fix. We want your help and we need your help but for the love of Arceus, both of you need to SHUT UP! None of this is helping anyone right now, least of all the twins!" He stomped off to the table and grabbed a ball, opening it and releasing Chandelure. "You wanna talk about wasting time and then just stand here and scream at each other? Fine! I can waste some time." She swirled in the air silently, taking in the scene in confusion. "Chandelure," Emmet commanded, "take Ingo to his bed and make him sleep. I don't care what you have to do." 

She turned and saw the state that her Trainer had left himself in. Ingo protested, shouting incoherently as he was suddenly surrounded by a purple glow and lifted off his feet. "You can't just do that!"

"I can and I did!" Emmet screamed back. Ingo was dragged off to the other room by the ghost, his bag falling off his shoulder and onto the floor even as he yelled. "I don't want to see you come out of that room for at least four hours! And I swear to Arceus, those bags under your eyes had better be gone!" Then he pointed at Elesa. "And you need to take a walk! Have a battle, get some coffee, do something other than just screaming in my living room. I want you back here after you've cooled off, and no sooner! Do I make myself clear?!" 

Elesa scoffed at him and threw open the door, slamming it behind her. 

Emmet stood in the middle of the room for a moment longer, his fists clenched and shaking. Then he sighed. His shoulders slumped, his knees buckling. His face lost its smile. The exhaustion washed over him in a wave as the rage drained, nearly sending him crashing down.

He sunk to the couch and sighed, propping up an elbow on the arm and holding up his head with his hand. Galvantula crawled to his lap, clicking her mandible in concern. He sighed and petted her soft fur as she got comfortable, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. "What are we going to do? It's hardly been over a week and we're already losing it." He leaned down so that he was more horizontal, laying on the couch, his head on a pillow as Galvantula moved to lay on his chest. The constant hum of static in her abdomen was comforting. "I shouldn't have shouted like that, Butternut. I want them back, too. I miss them. I'm worried about them." He sighed again as he patted her head. He could feel the prick of tears in the back of his eyes. "I don't know what to do." His voice choked up.

He continued to lay there as the sun set outside the back door. Galvantula nuzzled against his chin and tucked her pedipalps under her head as a pillow. Slowly, his eyes drooped shut, and sleep finally overcame him. 

[First] - [Previous] - [Next]

[greatwyrmgold]

Idk if you still do crossover analysis but:

The Travelers go to the MHA-universe instead of Earth Bet. They end up working for AFO as Shigaraki's first team and replace most of the random villains in the USJ attack. (You choose if Cody is there).

They see AFO as the only way to heal Noelle.

I don't remember what crossover analysis you're talking about, but I'm always game to answer asks!

The Travelers in Earth M'ha (or Earth Bn'ha, whatever)

So, first off, I'm going to just bypass the question of who dragged the Travelers and their Cauldron vials into Earth M'ha. I can't think of any interesting answers, and it's kind of a tangent. Let's just say that that happens, and the vials are divided up the same way.

I'll also assume that language barriers aren't an obstacle, because that problem is either trivial ("AFO has some translation Quirks on hand") or more suited to a fic focuses on it.

General Analysis

These Travelers are considerably less screwed than their canon counterparts. There probably isn't a Simurgh around, which helps; more importantly, All For One probably shows up earlier in the progression of Noelle's ailment and is definitely capable of fixing it. Or at least stalling the progress.

After all, AFO's whole thing is stealing Quirks, and I see no reason to assume Quirks aren't just parahuman abilities after several generations of proliferation. Removing Noelle's power probably wouldn't restore Noelle to normal, but it would stop her from storing more meat in her increasingly monstrous hindquarters. And there's probably some other Quirk somewhere that could flay the monstrous meat from Noelle and return her to her human form.

Which brings us to the question of what All For One would do with Noelle's quirk. I can see him temporarily lending it to various minions (nomu or otherwise) to bulk them up a little. He might also make use of its cloning abilities to make expendable cannon fodder; imagine what a handful of Dabi clones could accomplish.

And of course, the other Travelers (or at least Genesis, Ballistic, and Sundancer) would be effective minions in and of themselves, game-changing no matter what you mean by "Shigaraki's first team".

Which Team?

Shigaraki has two "first teams". First is the group of expendable mooks he brought to the USJ, plus the non-expendable Kurogiri and powerful but still expendable nomu. Second is the Vanguard Action Squad who ambushed the first-years' summer camp.

Adding three or four high-power villains to the former team would obviously ratchet up the danger level way beyond what Thirteen and the kids could manage, while Trickster would make it much harder to properly react to the danger. In particular, he could swap people to put targets near Shigaraki and his deadly fingers. And don't get me started on what could happen if Noelle was sent in (probably to clone some of the mooks).

The only thing that stops this from being an outright slaughterfest is the Travelers not wanting to kill anyone, especially not kids. (Not that they'd call Class 1-A kids. The Travelers are, what, 2-3 years older?) They won't evaporate Thirteen with a sun, or chuck a supersonic boulder at Eraserhead, or help Shigaraki dust a student (if they know he wants to do that).

Even so, the Travelers are strong enough to tip the USJ arc from an overwhelming heroic victory to a barely-averted disaster. All-Might would be mostly fine (he's All-Might), but the same might not be true of the teachers and students, and definitely wouldn't be for UA's reputation or morale. It's a good choice if you want to have the villains run roughshod over the heroes and focus on the League of Villains's internal dynamics.

Adding them to the Vanguard Action Squad ould be less disruptive, especially if you removed some of its canon members to make space for the Travelers. (I vote Muscular and Moonfish. Complete wastes of space.)

Giving the villains extra firepower obviously makes them more threatening than they were in canon, but not overwhelmingly so. The heroes would probably end up in a worse position than in canon—more injuries, maybe more kidnappees—but it wouldn't fundamentally change either the shape of the conflict or its outcome.

Same for the Kamino fight and future arcs. The Travelers are strong, but not uniquely strong. All-Might has probably beaten villains comparable or superior to them at some point in the past. Maybe Shigaraki can use their firepower as leverage when negotiating with Overhaul and Re-Destro, maybe not; once they've formed the Parahuman Liberation Thingy, the Travelers aren't a significant addition to their firepower.

Team Dynamics

A story where the Travelers get recruited by Skigaraki or All For One is probably going to focus on them interacting with their villainous colleagues. So how does that go?

I suspect AFO would frame himself as the Travelers' paternalistic patron. He'd probably try to subtly play the Travelers (especially Cody and Krouse) against each other, hoping to break the obvious bonds they have with each other to make them loyal only to him.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki would be more casual, like he is around the Vanguard Action Squad. He's in charge, but he doesn't have any ulterior motives that he wouldn't say to your face. Other Vanguard Action Squad members likely to try befriending the Travelers (by which I mostly mean Toga) would be similar.

Were I to write this story, I'd focus on the tension between the forces holding the Travelers' friendship together (their shared history and interests, the ways they care for at least some of the others) and the forces pushing them apart (AFO's machinations, the ways they can't stand at least some of the others).

But every story needs a...

Climax

Whatever resolution the Travelers' relationship reaches, it should be reached at about the same time as a resolution for the plot. And I think that resolution should involve turning Gigantomachia into Echidna.

Okay, so back up.

The Travelers join All For One's organization in part because he promises to help them with Noelle's power. So he temporarily takes that power and lends it to others, who endure the hunger and get changed by it. And maybe he takes the opportunity to make some nasty clones, which might be the Travelers' first hint that AFO is doing something with Noelle's powers.

All For One keeps trying to find some way to properly exploit Noelle's Quirk. Eventually (and presumably offscreen), he decides that Gigantomachia would be the perfect host. He's already adapted to a bunch of other bulk-enhancing Quirks; if anyone can conquer this Quirk, it's Gigantomachia.

Turns out, no one can conquer this Quirk.

Anyways, the villains are unprepared for Echidnomachia to turn against them, and the heroes are weakened by all the other stuff the villains have been doing. The Travelers' teamwork (or lack thereof) is stressed by the crisis, and either it proves vital in Echidnomachia's defeat, or its absence is a crucial reason why he's not defeated.

Anyways, that's all I've got.

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 8/?

I apologize for the long wait for this chapter! We just moved into a new house, and at first we didn't have internet. I also felt that every spare moment needed to be spent unpacking and getting the house all set up. I finally escaped to Barnes and Noble to write because I just can't do it at home right now! Anyways, I hope the contents of this chapter make it up to you. We're getting to the good stuff ;)

Is the situation Emma is in as a pregnant foster teen accurate? I really have no idea, but it's in the book Impossible that this is based on. I also have no idea if you can make a shirt like that. Again, I'm going by the book Impossible. I'm not following it exactly, but those two plot points were kind of important, so I left them in. Anyways, things are going to keep getting steamier from here on out, though our lovers are far from out of danger. Plus, we've still got Snow, David, and their kingdom out there somewhere, so hang on, folks! It's gonna be a romantic yet bumpy ride.

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jonesfandomfanatic​ @hollyethecurious​

Chapter Eight:

The entire family jumped right in to help Emma solve the riddle that had defeated her mother. Liam dove back into every bit of research he had accumulated about the song Scarborough Fair. He and Ingrid met with the art professor he had mentioned who had done her dissertation on textiles. Elsa talked to the scientists on board ship and zoomed with the family every single day. Even Anna found her niche, taking Emma to the library and helping her check out every book available about pregnancy and childbirth. 

And Killian? He was the rock she could lean on. The one who made her smile or laugh just when things got too heavy. He also ran whatever errands he needed to: taking Emma to her first prenatal appointment, shopping for a long list of different types of fabrics at the craft store to make this impossible shirt, and going for a late night ice cream run when Emma’s cravings started. In some ways, nothing changed.

Yet his declaration of love still hung in the air. He hadn’t brought it up again, hadn’t treated her any differently, hadn’t asked her on a date or tried to get physical. He was giving her space to decide what she wanted, and it honestly was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. 

At the same time, Emma was confused. She had always loved Killian, of course. But was it romantic love? She could even admit she had been physically attracted to him at times, but did that mean she was in love with him? Did she even want something like that right now, when she was processing having a kid of all things and still healing from a violent rape? Did Killian fully understand what he would be getting himself into? Did she want to burden him with all her crap? 

She was just completely and utterly confused. 

Then, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about, Ingrid came home one day from work visibly shaken. The entire family stilled in the process of getting dinner on the table when they saw her standing in the kitchen, her face ashen. 

“What is it?” Liam asked, his voice filled with dread.

“Emma,” she said, her voice choking on her foster daughter’s name, “Liam and I need to talk to you. Immediately.”

Killian found Emma later, sobbing in her bed. When she poured it all out to him, he was livid. 

“This is absolute shit! I can’t believe they would do that!”

“They would, and they can,” Emma explained as she hugged her pillow to her torso. “Because I’m still technically in foster care, my baby automatically is, too.”

“They can’t just take it away from you!”

Emma shrugged. “Ingrid and Liam are no longer licensed to take in infants. I either have to find somewhere else to live, or my baby will be put in a different foster home.”

“Can’t they just get licensed?”

Emma shook her head. “It’s a year-long process of paperwork and visitations from social workers. I’m due in five months! Killian, what am I going to do? Where am I going to go?”

She began to sob again, and when Killian eased into the bed next to her and put his arms around her, he could feel the small swell at her abdomen where her baby was growing. He felt a strong desire to protect them both. 

“We won’t let them take you or the baby away from us. We’re a family.”

“That’s what your brother said. Exactly.”

Killian chuckled. “Of course he did.”

“But Killian,” she choked out, “what happens if I don’t solve the riddle? I was comforted at least knowing my baby would be safe and raised by Ingrid and Liam, but now . . .”

She sobbed again against his chest, and he held her tight. “I won’t let that happen,” he vowed. “You aren’t going to go mad, Emma, you won’t. We’ll solve this. All of it. Together.”

*************************************************************************

The only time Emma’s family ever used the formal dining room was on Thanksgiving. Someone always had to actually dust the table and air out the room, but Ingrid always insisted they “do Thanksgiving right,” even down to the old chipped china plates with the maple leaf border. 

So it felt odd to be in here now with the warm summer sun spilling through the window and shining on the ancient area rug. Assorted fabrics littered the table and a sewing mannequin stood in the corner, the headless and limbless torso sending an ominous shiver down Emma’s spine. 

“So this one is probably our best bet,” Ingrid explained. 

She cradled the bundle of scratchy, thick fabric and held it out to Emma who reached out and ran her hand over the coarse woolen felt. 

“That feels like it would make the most uncomfortable shirt in the history of the world.”

Ingrid shrugged. “Does it really matter? You wet this fabric, mold it to that torso over there, and according to Dr. Freemont, when it dries, it will hold together.”

Emma took the fabric and nodded. “So then we have it. A shirt made without needle or seam.”

“Who’s gonna wear it, though?”

Ingrid and Emma whirled around at the sound of Killian’s voice. Emma’s mouth went dry immediately. He stood there, his hair wet with sweat, and his chest bare. Emma couldn’t stop staring at it. She used to think chest hair was gross. She was wrong. Killian’s was thick and dark, and it set her pulse pounding. Realizing just how long she’d been ogling him, she dragged her gaze up to his face. He gave her a knowing grin as he lifted a carton of milk to his mouth and took a swig. 

“Where the hell is your shirt?” Emma snapped.

“Where the hell is your glass,” Ingrid added drily. “You’re not the only one who might like some milk, you know.”

“I just got home from work, and I’m hot,” Killian responded, as if that explained everything.

Emma tried really, really hard not to think of the other connotation of the word hot, but she was failing. Killian hadn’t brought up his declaration since that fateful dinner last week, and Emma was still trying to process it. Yet ever since, she was hyper aware of Killian’s presence. 

His lack of a shirt didn’t help, either. 

“Pour that milk in a glass, Killian, I’m not kidding,” Ingrid said in her rarely used mom voice. 

“Sure,” Killian said, sauntering back towards the kitchen. He gave Emma one more backwards glance with a delighted smirk on his face. Emma’s face heated several degrees. 

“I think I know what he means, though,” Ingrid sighed.

“What?” Emma asked, her head still a little fuzzy.

“Is it really a shirt unless someone actually wears it?” 

Emma sighed in exasperation. “So have someone wear it.”

“I’ll do it.”

They whirled back around to find Killian standing in the doorway again. He had a glass of milk in one hand and a stack of Oreos in the other. He still hadn’t donned a shirt. Emma found herself staring again, admiring the way a summer working in construction had toned his muscles. She dropped the fabric she’d been clutching in her hands and swore under her breath as it rolled across the floor. Killian smirked at her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap it off his face or kiss him senseless. 

“Well,” Ingrid said, seemingly oblivious to the sexual tension in the room, “if Killian’s going to wear it, then that makes things a little more complicated.”

“Why?” Emma and Killian asked simultaneously. He had stepped further into the room, and his close proximity almost made Emma lose hold of the fabric she’d just stooped to pick up. 

“Well, if we mold the shirt to that torso over there, and it dries, I don’t think it will fit him.”

“So measure me,” Killian said, taking a bite of a cookie. His back was to Emma now as he addressed Ingrid, and it was just as distracting as the front of him. He had freckles across his shoulders, and a few along the small of his back. 

“That won’t work.” Ingrid shook her head. “The fabric doesn’t work that way. Not if we’re trying to make it without needle or seam. We’ll have to mold it to your body.”

Emma gave a little squeak at Ingrid’s words and nearly dropped the fabric all over again. To Killian’s credit, he didn’t acknowledge her reaction.

“What would that entail?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his milk. 

“I’m not sure,” Ingrid mused, tapping her finger on her chin. 

Silence fell for a moment, the only sounds from Killian snacking on his milk and cookies. Then Ingrid suddenly clapped her hands together. 

“I’ve got it! Duct tape!”

Killian’s eyes widened. “If you wrap me in duct tape, you’ll never get it off. Not without taking my skin with it.”

“You could wear a shirt,” Emma said. 

“You made that clear already,” Killian smirked at her. “I told you, I’m hot.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I mean for the duct tape. You wear a white undershirt, I wrap it in tape, then I can put the shirt, molded to your torso, on the mannequin. Then I make the shirt.”

“You’d need to be wearing the shirt when she tapes it,” Ingrid clarified. 

“I figured that,” Killian nodded.

Emma’s throat went suddenly dry. She’d have to put her hands on his body. She’d have to be in extremely close proximity to him. She was equal parts giddy at the thought and terrified. She was light-headed just thinking about it. 

“Perfect,” Killian announced with a grin. “When do we start?”

Emma wanted to ask Ingrid if she would do it for her, but she couldn’t risk that. The riddle implied that Emma had to make the shirt herself. She steeled herself and turned to Killian. 

“Shower so you don’t stink, and then we’ll get to work.”

“As you wish,” he told her with a mock bow before he turned from the room.

Ingrid, still oblivious to the fact that Emma was practically swooning and trembling simultaneously, turned away from the dining room table and grabbed her purse from a nearby chair. 

“Since you’ve got this under control, I’ll head to the supermarket. Anything you need?”

Slightly dazed, Emma managed to shake her head “no.”

“Great, I’ll see you kids later.”

In the kitchen, Killian rinsed his dirty glass and put it in the dishwasher. He smiled to himself as he headed up the stairs. He hadn’t pressed Emma in any way since his declaration. Whether she shared his feelings or not, he’d told himself, he would still be there for her. Yet the way she’d reacted to him just now gave him hope. Maybe he would win her heart after all. 

*******************************************************************************************

“Sit right here,” Emma instructed, pointing to the dinner room chair directly in front of her. Killian obeyed, and when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t hold teasing as she’d expected. They were tender and vulnerable. Emma swallowed nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her.

“I’m not,” she scoffed.

“You’re holding that roll of tape so hard, your knuckles are turning white.”

Emma scowled at him and pulled a long strip of tape from the roll. He blanched, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she told him. 

He swallowed, and she followed the motion of his adam’s apple. She licked her lips as she drew closer, touching his arm gently as she raised it.

 “I’ll start with the sleeves,” she explained unnecessarily. 

She had to slip her fingers beneath the fabric to make sure she didn’t accidentally tape his skin. She thought she heard an intake of breath from his throat as her fingers skimmed his bicep, but maybe she’d imagined it. She wound the tape around and around the sleeve of his shirt, but when she began to wrap it around his shoulder blade, she had to step closer to him. He spread his legs to allow it, and she leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his collarbone. The sharpness of breath this time was impossible to ignore. She paused and locked eyes with him - he face was so close to hers . . . 

“Did I hurt you?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head, so she continued. Was his breathing becoming shallow, or was that her? Was that his heart thumping so fast, or her own? When she wrapped the tape around his chest, she could feel a “thump, thump” beneath her palm. 

“Um, Emma, give me a second.”

Killian grabbed a throw pillow from the wingback chair in the corner of the dining room then resumed his seat. He clutched the pillow in his lap, and his face flamed all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Oh,” Emma breathed softly. 

Killian swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Emma said, her own cheeks warm. 

“I just don’t want to freak you out . . . or scare you or anything. You know, because . . . because of him.”

Emma shook her head, tendrils of hair brushing her cheeks where they fell from the messy bun on the top of her head. She bit her lip as she got lost in his eyes; darker than usual and stormy. She stepped close again, between his legs, and she almost laughed when he clutched the pillow tighter. 

  “Emma,” he groaned, his eyes falling shut. 

“I’m glad,” she said, her own voice deep and trembling, “that I have that effect on you.”

“You do?” 

He opened his eyes, and she nodded. Her hands shook as she lifted them and rested them upon his temples. She threaded her fingers through his hair. It was softer than she had imagined. He tipped his head back and watched her intently. She thought of him the other night, stating so matter-of-factly that he loved her. He had said it as something unshakable and infallible. Something as predictable and steady as the seasons. Then they had gone on as they always had, with no demands that she respond to his declaration in any way. 

“And you could never scare me, Killian,” she clarified. 

Then, suddenly, she was kissing him. She was kissing Killian in the middle of the dining room. His torso was half wrapped in duct tape, he was helping her make this crazy, ridiculous, magical shirt . . . 

And she was kissing him. He was kissing her back. He was kissing her back after declaring his love for her at the kitchen table. He was kissing her thoroughly, his tongue exploring her mouth, even though she hadn’t said it back.  Or maybe it didn’t matter, she wasn’t sure. After all, this was only the second boy she’d ever kissed. But no, she wasn’t going to think about that or him. Not when Killian was kissing her within an inch of her life.

The pillow he was clutching fell to the floor when he wrapped his arms around her, and Emma could feel his arousal through his jeans and pressing into her. For a split second, fear tried to grab hold of her, but it was banished quickly. He wouldn’t just take her; he wasn’t like that. 

Killian pulled away, and Emma was shocked to hear a whimper slip past her lips, especially when he stood up from the chair and took a step back. Why was he pulling away, when they - oh.

He was sinking down on one knee, and she suddenly wondered if she were dreaming. It all felt so surreal, and he was still half wrapped in duct tape. Maybe Snow had whacked her in the head with one of those bottles after all, and all this time she’d been in a coma at the hospital. It would explain so much, honestly. 

“Emma,” he said, (and were those tears gathering in his eyes?), “I know this is a lot to ask of you, since you haven’t even told me yet how you feel about me. And this is something I think I always knew I would do eventually, just not now.” 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and continuing. His words reverberated in her soul, and she knew he was right, they were always going to arrive here, somehow. She knew it the same way she knew her own reflection. 

“But with everything going on, I don’t want to wait. I know you face an uncertain future, Emma, but I always want to be by your side. So, will you marry me?” He didn’t even pause for her answer, but plunged ahead. “It makes so much sense, if you think about it. I mean, we’re going to break this curse, Emma, we will. We won’t give up, ever. But, I know you worry, and if I’m your husband, you won’t have to. You’ll know I’ll be there for the baby. It will be mine, legally. It won’t end up in foster care. Not that anything’s going to happen to you, I swear to you it won’t, but if I can ease your burden . . .”

He trailed off, and Emma sank to her knees right along with him, reaching out to cup his face in her hands. 

“And if I do go insane -”

“You won’t!”

“But if we don’t break the curse . . .”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said solemnly, “always and forever.”

It would be selfish of her, she knew that it would, to ask that of him. Nevertheless, his vow felt like the sun breaking through the darkest of clouds, and she knew she couldn’t refuse his gift. Her hands slipped down his shoulders, then his arms, and she clasped his hands tightly in hers. 

“I love you.”

It wasn’t, she discovered, difficult to say. It was just so true, so undeniable, like how she knew the sun would come up each morning. His smile was bright and blinding, and she smiled too at the sight of his dimples. They had been so rare lately. 

“Does that mean yes?” he asked her teasingly. 

A tear slipped down her face, and she found she couldn’t speak. She nodded, and he understood. Everyone would say they were crazy, of course. He was nineteen, and she was seventeen. It was absolutely insane. Ingrid and Liam wouldn’t like it, she was sure, but she also knew they wouldn’t stop them.

 He dried her tears with his thumb, then traced her lips before kissing her tenderly. The kiss continued as they clung to one another in blissful, shining faith and hope. In that moment, she believed him: They would break the curse. 

Emma and Killian were so wrapped up in one another, they didn’t notice the slight shaking of the house or the rainbow colored light that swept through the room. 

**************************************************

It wasn’t the first time Robert Gold had entered the Swan/Jones home when the family was gone. He had explored every nook and cranny, flipped through photographs, smelled their clothes. He knew this family; every weakness to be exploited had been sifted and examined. 

Yet the house had never protested like it did today, and when he turned towards the dining room, he could clearly see why. 

It was a shirt. Hideous, smelly, and dripping wet, but a shirt nonetheless. When it dried, it could even be worn. 

“Well, well, well,” he muttered, reaching out a hand towards it. 

Almost immediately, he recoiled, the shirt burning him before he’d even grazed it. Magic radiated from it. The glamor spell he always wore faded, and his hands turned a scaly green, nails yellowed and gnarled at each finger tip. It wasn’t just the shirt, he realized. The entire dining room reeked with the magic, and he was in pain from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. 

“Of course you’re in pain, Dark One.”

He writhed on the ground and cried out as a much younger face pulled away from his ancient, twisted one. 

“Stop fighting me!”

“I’m doing all this for you, son!”

“Are you, Papa?”

“I got her for you, didn’t I?”

“But I can’t keep her!”

The Dark One could no longer hold onto the shared body, and the younger man stood to his feet, opened the front door, and walked out onto the sidewalk. Neal Cassidy was the name he preferred in this realm, a name that Rumplestiltskin hated. Baelfire was his name: a strong, powerful name.

“Oh Papa,” Baelfire - Neal - whispered, “settle down and cooperate.”

“You know I’ll take over again eventually.”

Neal didn’t argue. Instead he clenched his jaw and gritted his next words through his teeth. 

“This won’t work forever. You’re losing, and you know it.”

“They only finished the first task. They’ll never complete the rest. Not in time, anyway.”

“But that magic - you know exactly what that was.”

Ah yes, he did. True love. He wasn’t worried. The Dark One had defeated true love before, and he would do it again.

[veronicalodgefaghag]

goddddd The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit….

Really what I'd consider a perfectly put together New Who two parter. The score with all that ancient mystical feeling strings to the aesthetics of this impossible space station at the edge of everything where it shouldn’t even be, clinging to this rock, the rust and grime of it, which goes hand in hand with the practical, worn, sweatiness of the costumes, to that brilliant cast of characters, giving the Doctor Ida (and Zach, the captain) (really fantastic type of Doctor Who one-off character, I mean the three that survive in the end are characters who have always stuck with me since I first watched it) to have these philosophical conversations with so that the monologuing stays mostly until the end*

“You came because it was there. Brilliant,” the passing of a whole galaxy into the black hole, “I won’t go mad, I promise” “How would you know?,” “the urge to fall,” the Doctor’s conversation with Ida as he’s lowered down, the rules one makes up for oneself, something about time as the Doctor’s faith: “I would’ve believed him if he said he came from outside the universe, but before the universe?”, and yes, “oh, she knows”

The Doctor feels so human in this episode, every species in the universe is put on such equal footing—with all the Doctor’s and the other characters’ listing of different races and religions and everything—in the face of these permeating, ancient, gigantic, impossible concepts: the devil and the black hole. Which just emphasizes the unease with which we receive the enslavement of the Ood and the way the characters speak about them (without anything else, this story is so special and important just for introducing the Ood in the first place)

* The end is where the episode falters a bit but how could it not after an hour and change of just about perfection? The Doctor and Rose return to being a bit obnoxious as is to be expected of season 2, but it’s really kept until the end. I’m a huge defender of the giant CGI satan, I love that the raw manifestation of the thing can’t even speak, is just this crude, gigantic beast; it’s some of the return to the Tenth Doctor’s goofiness in that last scene with him that I think doesn’t work. It makes sense though, this whole crisis of faith and then he, in a way, decides to reject or sort of ignore it in the end in favor of saving the day which is so Ten, but it throws off the tone that the entire story has maintained so well to that point. I find “if there’s one thing I believe in, it’s her” to be a slightly ludicrous line, but it can work if you take it to mean “humanity, my friends,” if you imagine that he would have said the same thing no matter if it was Rose or Donna or Bill or Sarah Jane etc. etc. etc. Yes, I do think I’m being a bit hypocritical, if this had been a Twelve and Clara story, that line would make me insane, but one’s entitled to one’s opinions. I love the way he just ends up stumbling into the TARDIS though, and the way that bit is shot, the TARDIS as this beacon of safety (especially right off of watching The Legend of Ruby Sunday! The TARDIS as the source of the danger in that episode was genuinely scary!). I don’t find it to be too easy or a silly way out, which is what I think I thought of it the first time I watched it years ago. The TARDIS always comes back, what did you want? What did you expect? The rest of the ending bothers me a bit in its triumphantness, I think mostly because of Murray Gold’s typically melodramatic scoring absolutely blasting over Rose and the Doctor reuniting. His scores are incredible half the time and way too much the other half. I did NOT remember the TARDIS being able to just pull the rocket out of the black hole, but as the end neared I was dreading that that was gonna happen. It’s too easy. I think I was getting it mixed up with some other episode’s resolution, but I think it should’ve been that the rocket can’t be saved, but the people can, that the TARDIS lands in the rocket for just long enough to get Rose and the two men out, and they get out of the black hole's orbit in the nick of time. It completely undermines the sense of horror and mysticism the black hole's presence has generated for the last 90 minutes which is what the episode really revolves around if the TARDIS can just pull them away, easy as that. (I really like black hole stories lol. Up there with this story on my all-time favorites list is World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls. In terms of Doctor Who sci-fi concepts, it has a black hole, fucked up time stuff, and cybermen.)

But then it still sticks the landing!!! “My people practically invented them. Well, they did.”, the Doctor’s evasiveness about what he saw in the pit, what its meaning is to him, the soberness of the final lines being the listing of the deceased “with honors.” As I was watching the episodes today, I said to my dad that I thought I could watch this story every day for a week. I think it's flawed enough that it would wear on me (and tv episodes aren't made to be watched every day for a week lol), but all of its flaws just completely pale in comparison to all the things it does absolutely perfectly. Insane that this episode comes right between The Idiot's Lantern and Love and Monsters lmao.

[mandomover]

The Rookie

Part Ten - The Helicopter

Peña is in the helicopter as he tries to stop Gacha from above.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smoking, gunfire, Angsty feelings

Words: 2000ish

Next ¦ Masterlist

Javi

I'm on the south west side of the mansion in the helicopter, hovering, but unable to do much else right now. The rich canopy too dense and tall to get clearance and blocking alot of what we can see on the peripherals of the action, only the mansion itself and a thirty foot ring clear of it, visible clearly. 

Besides the pilot, there's me and another officer manning the heli's gun. We're doing surveillance and awaiting orders but it's a difficult situation to be in when you can see everything at once and nothing at all at the same time.

We're just watching in silence, watching the detail spread out below and move forward, the rhythmic thwap of the propellers barely masking the sounds of gunshots from below. It looks good, they're moving forward but it's anybody's game to play for right now. 

I've worked with plenty of Colonel's in my time who aren't afraid to hide behind their rank in a safe space barking orders but not Carrillo. I can just about see him from where I'm sitting now, never one to shy away from the violence and the job front and center. I see Rookie next to him, keen to please and prove herself in any given situation no matter the risks, a gut instinct she'll do what it takes to cement her place on the team. I couldn't not see her. She pulls me in like a magnet. I know it's dangerous to let myself be pulled in by her but there's something about her. I can't put my finger on it, even though I'm fucking trying. 

While she's probably in the most vulnerable position on the front line, she's probably in the safest position too near Carrillo and Trujillo, one of the search bloc officers who I actually trust implicitly. They're few and far between down here when trust and honor are bought and sold like chickens at a market. Even though I'm not surprised, I'm impressed she's thrown herself in the deep end. Always does. Always will. 

She looks focused. I can see from here her brows are pulled tight, determined and the want to do her best and please others emanating from her like a bright light. 

Don't think about her right now. Don't think about her at all. Don't. Think. About. Her. Don't-

BOOM.

My face falls as I throw myself as far against the edge I can go, and concentrate on what I can see below, grasping hold of the handles to steady myself. 

A fucking crater has appeared where I was just looking; trees and sand and- jesus- bodies, scattered about. 

I can't see Rookie or Carrillo. 

My whole body is tense and tight, my knuckles white as the grip the handles, cutting off the blood supply to my fingers I'm gripping that tightly. 

I gulp, and gulp again, vomit threatening to rise in my chest, as I desperately search for Rookie and Carrillo, despite knowing I should be looking for Gacha. 

Focus. 

I can taste blood in my mouth, a dirty coppery taste where I've bitten the inside of my cheek to stop me shouting out, shouting down for Rookie and Carrillo, to someone fucking move and find them. 

Focus on Gacha. 

I lift my eyes up, checking the perimeters again. No signs of anything outside the ring of trees. 

I count to three, breathing deep, slow breaths before I look back down at the hole in the sand. 

Two people are moving, one on the ground and one standing. I can tell one is Carrillo. Even clearly injured he's holding his head high and back straight. He's helped the other person up to their feet and I can see now that it's Rookie. She's on her feet so she must be OK. Thank god. She's up. 

So refocus on Gacha. 

But there's a niggle in my brain, just because she's on her feet doesn't mean she's OK. She's the same as me, a fucking carbon copy of me ten years ago. She'll be up and acting like she's OK even if she's not. It's what I do. She has the determination and grit to do anything that girl puts her mind to. And while I admire that, it scares me too. She reminds me of me so much, I'm drawn to her, but while she'll walk the same lines I walked and get herself the places she wants to go, she'll probably make the same damn mistakes I did too. And I can't watch her break under the pressure she'll put on herself when she does. She deserves more than that. Deserves more than me to help her find her way in this rat race. Deserves the world. She's unsteady on her feet. Holding out for Carrillo. Get her the fuck out of there now. She's done, she needs to see a medic. She's taken out enough of Gacha's henchmen. No one would think any less of her for backing out now. No one except herself. I know she'll soldier on. 

I can't smoke up here so I have nothing for my hands to do to distract myself. I end up biting my thumbnail, ripping away at the skin surrounding it, the sharp pain allowing me to focus on it instead of the fallout from whatever caused that hole and who it hit. I know the drill. Focus on the task at hand. 

Everything else can wait. Everyone else can wait. 

But I need to know if she's OK. Really OK. I know I had strict instructions to allow them to approach silently, but surely now there's a fucking hole on the ground they know they're being surrounded. I could radio in, and just check if everyone is OK. 

Focus. 

My earpiece crackles into life and I hear Carrillo's voice shouting in my ear. 

"Peña, Gacho and his son are in a red chevy pick-up!" 

"Copy." 

I bark at the pilot, and we swing round and away from the trees and house, searching for the road out. 

I've seen her. She's fine. 

I take a deep breath. 

Focus. 

We find, and follow the road twisting in amongst corn fields, stalks as high as the truck itself, the red chevy chewing dust and spitting it out in its wake. The heli slowly gains on the truck but the truck is hammering hard down the road. 

The heli drops slightly, swinging round so the open face is adjacent to the truck, giving me and the gunman a perfect vantage over the road. 

"Red chevy in sight," I tell Carrillo. 

"Don't let him get away, disable the vehicle!" 

I nod, despite Carrillo not being able to see me and tell the gunman, "disable it, now!" 

The officer takes aim with the machine gun behind the truck so he can line up his shot, bullets raining down. He pulls slightly on the handle of the gun and it lifts the nozzle, pulling the spray of bullets up and further down the road, chasing the chevy. Dust and gravel billow up like smoke, swallowing the truck whole. 

My heart is in my throat as I scan the scene, finger poised on the radio to let Carrillo know what's happening. 

Fuck. 

The truck races through the dusty cloud, jerking and bumping along, barely staying between the cornfield lined track, but it's still moving. 

"No use, we've gotta go in again," I grimace. 

"Just stop him, do whatever it takes!" Carrillo's voice has an edge of panic and I try to not let it infiltrate through to me. I need to stay calm and focus on this mission. Just as I sign off, I hear a metallic ting as a bullet hits the roof of the chopper, perilously close to my helmet. 

"Fuck, we're taking fire!" I shout, to both the pilot and Carrillo. The pilot lifts the helicopter up, rising quickly and away from the road, the chevy getting smaller but still in view, sticking out like a sore thumb against the green canvas of the landscape. I lean one arm against the lip of the open frame, and when the gunman visibly relaxes, pulling away from the scope, I clap him on his shoulder leaving my sweating palm there. If I were to lift it, I'd try to rip the gun from his hands and shoot down myself. I try to follow his actions and relax my shoulders but they're raised and anxious. 

"Circle round and come at him from a different direction, we can't afford to loose him," Carrillo says, obviously able to see the helicopter from his vantage point. 

"Yessir." 

I relay this information to the pilot, who sweeps off into a figure of eight, bringing us wide around the truck so we're now facing it, flying towards the barrelling chevy.

"Peña?" 

I ignore Carrillo, waiting for the right moment to instruct the shooter, who is watching me, green eyes fixed on mine, wide and hesitant but determination clear to see. I inhale deeply and when I know that it's time, I squeeze his shoulder and jerk my head, his own head snapping back to the scope on the barrel. He pulls the trigger, and a spray of bullets rains down again, this time lowering the gun which drops the bullets along the road the opposite direction. Unmistakable pings. The car carries on, my shoulders more tense than before as I wait for a sign, for anything.

"Peña?!" 

The car spins about, slamming to a halt on the gravel, tires screeching and burning, a delayed reaction to the bullets it took seconds before. I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding as it comes to a halt and I signal to the pilot to circle lower. 

He complies and as we circle round, I can see Gacha squeeze himself out of the driver's seat of the chevy. His face is pained and I can tell he's scared. I have seen it plenty of times on the faces of men just before they lose their final battle but it still shocks me to see the vulnerability in a man like him. He's holding a silver pistol, reflecting the glint of the sun as he waves it manically about, gesturing at the chopper and the truck. He's screaming at the chopper now, face puce, but words lost under the beating of the wings. 

His face contorts suddenly, as if just realizing he has an audience and let's go of that vulnerability, snarling up at the chopper. He aims and shoots, bullets flying towards us but none hitting their mark. His arm recoils slightly each shot he takes and it's precious seconds before I realize he's still shooting but there's no bullets anymore. I'm watching Gacha, desperation evident as he flings the pistol itself at the chopper, and I'm incredulous as I tell Carrillo, "he's out of ammo, we can take this son of a bitch alive." 

There's a pregnant pause on the radio as I wait for Carrillo's response to come in. 

"It's your call," he says stoically.

I open my mouth to tell the pilot to land the helicopter, but then I can see Carrillo's fucking face in my mind from the conference room, telling me just to bring him in cold. Then the faces of Carrillo's police officers swim through my vision; murdered for doing their job, mutilated for daring to do a job they believe in, bodies missing coz they didn't stoop to Escobar's level. I know what needs to happen. I know I need to just shoot this motherfucker down.

This is the thing about war. It's pretty simple. Ugly, but simple. There's two sides. And they're clear. It's everything before war and after war that blurs the lines. But right now, I know what I need to do, whose side I'm on.

But just because I know what side I'm on, doesn't mean I'm happy with the solution. 

My inner demons fight with themselves over the right answer but I stand firm as my mind shakes down my heart and I hear myself, as if I'm having an out of body experience. I don't like it. I sound stiff. Icy. Unforgiving. 

"Darle plomo." 

@iamskyereads @wildemaven @ellenmunn @tantamount-treason @axshadows @rav3n-pascal22 @stevie75 @movievillainess721 @lulzbrokenbyfantasy

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

In Your Dreams

Moodboard by the incredible @softhecreator

Info, Author’s Note, etc

AO3 info one two three four five six seven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

Special thanks to @darksideofthecocoamoon for letting me use Tim’s dick in her wonderful demon Tim au as inspo for my own fic. If anyone has not yet read that one, please do so with all haste because it’s fuckin incredible and you are genuinely missing out if you haven’t read it yet. Be sure to reblog, too, so others can enjoy it and she can get the recognition she deserves!

Onto the fic!

Summary

Lea knows that her best friend, Tim, is an Otherworlder. She isn't sure of what kind, but it doesn't really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things, anyway. No matter what manner of fae he is, she's damned and determined to not get involved with him or anyone else.

Except Tim isn't a fae like so many celebrities like him. He's an incubus, she's his mate, and oh yeah— he’ll die without her.

Author’s Note

I know things get rough, but I promise you, it'll have a happy ending. Tim goes through it, but everything will be okay in the end, trust me.

Be forewarned: this contains a great deal of angst relating to potential (and almost) death. No one actually dies, but it will probably make you cry. If you are not in a space for angst, proceed with caution.

Yes, yes, I'm back at it again. The fic is gonna end up being about 25-30k, I think. It is almost completely done. So! Bit about this one. Tim is an incubus, obviously. In this universe, everyone is aware of supernatural creatures. The fact that Tim is one is something of a poorly kept secret; it's obvious, but he doesn't really talk about it, so they don't have any confirmation. No one has any idea what he is; they assume fae, like so many celebrities are. How incubi work in the fic will be explained, of course.

This fic will have elements of fuck or die, mentions (but not descriptions) of domestic violence, and a May-December romance, which means, in this case, Tim is significantly older than Lea! He doesn't know exactly how old he is, and I'll tell people if they wanna know (I have an exact number, of course), but otherwise I'll leave it up to you guys to internet. He himself has a general idea but that’s it. This takes place in 2023, btw, which means Lea was born in 2003 this time around.

About This Universe

Incubi/Succubi

They are immortal and have been around since the beginning of time, basically. No one knows exactly how long. The oldest of them, the first few, are simply too old to remember how old they are, or how they came to be. My guess it’s simply an evolutionary thing; maybe they simply evolved from early homosapiens in a different way than humans did. It’s hard to say, and I haven’t decided on anything in particular. A rarer type of Otherworlder because of their unique reproduction methods.

Fae

They are very alluring. Many (if not most) popular celebrities are fae. No pointed ears; other than their charisma, beauty, and immortality, you can’t really tell who is one and who’s not. They are persuasive, proud, and can be dangerous. Probably the most common type of Otherworlder. Not super relevant to the fic.

Vampires and Werewolves

Pretty standard vampire lore; they don’t tend to be very popular, so most are not celebrities. You can tell who is one very easily. They are bloodthirsty and can be dangerous. Not super relevant to the fic.

Sirens

Mostly live near the ocean. If they’re famous, it’s usually for singing. They do have a mermaid form. Not immortal, just have a longer lifespan. Not super relevant to the fic.

Selkies

The same as sirens, for the most part, except they shift completely into a seal. Not super relevant to the fic.

Mates of Otherworlders

Otherworlders that were born into it have a destined mate. If they were turned (such as vampires or werewolves), they do not always have one, only sometimes. Their mates are always perfect for them, so a guy isn’t gonna get paired with a lesbian, and a gay guy would, of course, get paired with another guy. Aromantic Otherworlders have platonic mates. Asexual Otherworlders have romantic mates but don’t experience sexual attraction to them. Most mates have a symbol for fertility on their bodies; often from the culture that first discovered them. For example, the mates of incubi and succubi have an eight pointed star on their hip, which is a symbol of the Mesopotamian goddess of fertility and sex (and beauty, divine law, war, and political power; she’s similar to Aphrodite), Innana. Incubi and vampires are the only species of Otherworlder that die without their mate, because they both require them in order to feed, once they’ve met them.

Playlist

I'm including a playlist for this one, because there are so many songs I listened to for this fic and some of them literally made me cry, so. I'll let you decide which song is from whose POV, but yeah. Here are the songs in the order of what happens in the fic. And yes, I know this is mostly Halsey and the rest is me showing my age. Shut up, it's fine. Enjoy. Please note that the most important song for the fic as a whole is this one. I highly recommend reading the lyrics even if you don’t listen to the whole thing.

Tag list

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @vampire-reanimator @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake

[miszswan]

PEOPLE YOU KNOW PART 3 TEASER

Jack had spent the last couple minutes looking through Camila and Amiria’s stories on Urbans phone as the latter along with Neelam was getting ready to go.

All he could see was the two friends shopping and enjoying themselves, preparing for the festivities that were approaching within the hour.

He smiles to himself as he hears her laugh again, he’d been deprived from the real thing for too long.

That’s how it’s been since she left. Amiria had blocked Jack on everything, from her Twitter to iMessage, Jack had no way to contact her. So he’d use Urbans phone to see how she was doing, how Ani was doing even though Amiria hadn’t posted a single picture of her daughter on the internet.

He thought it was smart, kept her out of the public eye, she was far to young for that.

He also knew that she still kept in close contact with their mutual friends but only invited Dru, Neelam and Urban.

Amiria was actually the person who introduced Jack to Druski when she was invited to an event he was hosting. At the time the two had been very good friends for just over a year, were and still are like brother and sister.

Urban and Neelam on the other hand just remained in contact with Amiria and checked on her as much as possible. Sometimes they would visit her when they were in town, especially before the big fight that ended everything.

Even though they’ve all been a lot busier, they still keep in touch.

Part of Jack wanted to beg the three of them to not go but he didn’t want to ruin her day.

With Neelam waiting in the hallway of the hotel the three were staying in, Urban goes to Jacks room to get his phone. He walks in to find Jack lying on his bed with a frown, scrolling through more of her posts or posts of her co stars with her.

When he sees Urban he switches off his phone and gives it back.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Urban scolds as he looks at the state of his best friend. “Especially after the stunt you pulled last week.”

“What else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me.”

“You aren’t entitled to a conversation with her.” The moment those words leave his mouth, Jack roles his eyes. “I’m telling the truth. Ami doesn’t owe you anything. Especially after everything you put her through.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” Jack says trying to defend himself.

“She has the right to take as much time to think about whether she wants you in her and Ani’s lives or not. You have to give her that time.” Urban scoffs. “I thought after fifteen months you’d realise that you genuinely fucked up.”

“So you’re taking her side.”

“Get over yourself, I will always support you but for this I can’t. Amiria is being a mother. She’s protecting her daughter from as much pain as possible and that includes you after you clearly showed her the kind of father you’d be.”

“That’s not fair, I was pissed that day.”

“That’s always been your excuse when it comes to her.” Urban purses his lips as he felt his more protective side come out. “I’m sorry man but Neelam, Dru and I are going to be supportive friends. Clearly this is important because she wouldn’t be having this thing 6 months after Ani was born.”

Urban makes his way to the door. “What do you mean? I thought this was just another family tradition.”

“It is Jack but Amiria told us multiple times that this happens because if the mother or the child or both have a dangerous and risky birth. The same event happened with Mrs Campbell when she was 6 months old, Amiria when she was 6 months old and clearly this is happening because somehow bad happened the day Ani was born.” Urban says quickly before leaving, not being able to see the dumbstruck expression on Jacks face.

If something really bad happened while Amiria was in labour, is there a chance that she could’ve been dead today? Is there a chance that Ani could’ve died in childbirth? Is there a chance that they both could’ve died that day?

He had to try one more time. If he was going to properly give her space he had to let her know how sorry he was. One more time.

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[newvegascowboy]

7 14 25 31 and 52 for Red, Cecelia, and Killian? Hier sind Kekse.

7. Do they wish they lived before the war / could go back?

Red - Red can't even fathom what life before the war was like. To Red, it may as well have never existed. All Red has ever known is life in the wasteland. Red's heard stories, but doesn't put any stock or wishful thinking in them. The past is the past and Red doesn't belong in it.

Cecelia - Cecelia is much the same, but she is curious aboug pre war life. She knows it had its issues, and it was far from safe, but there's still social and historical value in its study. While she's curious, she would much rather focus on building a good life now than living in the past.

Killian - oof. Pre war had its own problems for Killian, and it was far from a paradise for him. He was still an addict, as well as separated from his wife and in danger of losing his job. After the bombs, he gets worse but..... given enough time he begins to heal for himself. There will always be a part of him that wishes he could go back and start to fix things sooner, though.

14. What is their fondest memory?

Red - Oddly enough, I think it was one from their childhood. Red had few enough things to be fond of when they were younger, but they always liked working with the Legion's horses. Even used to like the dogs.

Cecelia - Her wedding to Will. The Dustriders threw a party for three days, and it was the first time in a long time Cecelia could remember not worrying about anything.

Killian - killian didn't lack for accomplishments, but for the most part they just left him feeling like something was missing. Moving on to the next project or the next task. His fondest memory is sometime after Nuka World, a pretty mundane moment after he realizes he can no longer continue living passively for himself. Sobering memory, but one he holds onto.

25. Are they quick to trust others?

Red - ehhhh not really, but its not personal. It's just life. Red's also good at spotting liars.

Cecelia - less so than Red, honestly. She's jaded and hard.

Killian: kind of depends? It doesn't really matter if he's betrayed or not; he's hard to kill and he's been (literally) stabbed in the back before. At this point he just assumes the best of people and of it ends poorly for him, he shrugs and moves on.

31. What is their goal in life, what would they like to leave behind?

Red - to see their family safe. To provide security for their loved ones. To live in peace, by any means necessary. Red doesn't really give a shit about a legacy; if they had, then their life wouldn't have continued past outlaw infamy.

Cecelia - to have a garden and a green space, a home, where she can do some good for people and raise her son in peace. She wants to study medicine.

Killian - to redeem himself. To make his life worthy of living for however long he has left. To teach and to help others learn, so that future generations won't make his same decisions.

52: can they swim?

Red and Cecelia - Yes, although it happens infrequently because they live in the desert. They both enjoy it though.

Killian - he CAN but he doesn't like it. He sinks like a rock and the damp makes old wounds ache. He avoids it when he can.