#ALL ABOARD THE FEELS TRAIN GOING STRAIGHT FOR THE OCEAN OF TEARS
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Child of Blood and Salt - Chapter 5
Anya quickly turned to board the Staroverova with the other crows, but stopped short when she saw that Inej was still on the docks. As her warm eyes met the cold ones of Anya she suddenly realized the Wraith had witnessed the whole scene. Anya’s breath hitched and panic set in, a type of panic that only occurs when one's past is revealed, however slightly, to an unknown outsider. An unspoken glace was shared between the two women, they had to get moving anyways until someone else came after them. Dimiti lay on the docs, breathing hard and hardly moving but alive nonetheless.
The weight of the Lanzov Emerald was heavier than ever as Anya boarded the ship and gave a look to Kaz that it was time to take sale. The rest of the crows seemed to be busy in their duties of preparing the ship for sale, and Anya prayed to the saints she didn’t believe that none of them beside Inej had witnessed her battle on the docks. All her thoughts after the panicked ones, of course, were occupied by Nikolai’s name. How much she loved him, how much he meant to her and the Ravka, how much she needed to find him. She tightened her pirate hat on her head at these thoughts and set to work securing ropes and sales.
Anya learned quickly that her true home was the sea. It wasn’t the farm where she and Kaz had spent the early years of their life, Gryphon Castle where she had been trained, raised, and turned into a ruthless assassin and soldier, not even at the Little Palace where no matter how many friends she made she still felt like an outsider. She was skeptical at first to join Sturmholds crew; she had no experience on ships or being part of a crew. She was adamant not to go, though Tamar convinced her to. She would forever be grateful to her friend for that because it was on the Volkany where she finally felt at home. She learned quickly aboard the ship and quickly rose in rank, becoming a valuable asset to the Stormhold’s crew. Of course, she figured out his secret two days into her first journey on board. While she had not met Nikolai yet, she had her rumors about him as well as Sturmhold and by eavesdropping on a conversation between himself and Toyla, told her that her suspicions had been correct. She almost let her lips form a smile as she remembered when Nikolai had found out she had known all about his supposed well guarded secret. It was late at night at the Little Palace and she, other grisha, as well as Nikolai who had supposedly returned home from Ketterdam, had just finished dinner.
Nikolai had offered to walk her to her rooms and they were walking in the dim lighting on the quarters at night.
“My rooms are right around the connor.” Anya said look up at Nikolai with a curious look. Nikolai nodded his head.
“I hope you sleep well, Lisichka.” And with those words Anya left Nikolai, eyes wide open, in the dark hallway. He was a fool, he realized then, that he thought the cold-eyed, observant, grisha, woun’dt figure his secret out. Their dynamic aboard the Volkany wouldn't be described by Nikolai as necessarily friendly. She constantly fought him on certain moves. She had found his cocky and flirtatious attitude to be an annoyance, which is where she came up with the nickname Lisichka, or little fox. His lips formed a smile as he stood still in shock looking at Anya’s closed door.
“Well played Rietveld!” He shouted through the door and finally turned, shaking his head and laughing under his breath. Standing at the opposite side of her door, listening to Nikolai’s footsteps become more distant, Anastasia could never have predicted the things that would happen in her future.
She thought back at the girl she was then, a year ago at the Little Place. Would that girl believe that in just a year she would be wearing what she is now, on a stolen ship sailing to free Nikolai from his power hungry brother? Anya finally pushed her nostalgic thoughts away as she stared out at the disappearing harbor. The winds were strong tonight, she thought, but if it ever slowed down she knew she may have to give it a little push even though she didn’t want to reveal too much about her unnatural power that she had gotten as a result of the experimentation she had endured at Gryphon. She also took this time to survey her ship, she had taken many item’s front of the captain's quarters like a sextant, map, ect. This ship was considerably smaller than her beloved Volkany, but it would just be fine for her purposes. Now all she and the crows could do was wait. They wouldn't be reaching Novia Zem in a few days time and Anya was already starting to get anxious. Usually being at sea would have a calming effect on her, but with Nikolai in harm's way she could hardly relax and enjoy the cold ocean breeze on her face.
“There are rooms on the starboard side of the ship,” She explained, turning to Kaz and the others.
“And dried food and water below deck. We’ll come up with a plan of attack tomorrow.”
“Someone will have to keep watch though.” Inej reasoned.
“I can take first watch.” Kaz said with a worried look at the bags under his sisters eyes, when was that last time she slept? He’d thought to himself.
“Works for us.” Wylan said, stifling a yawn. “If there's any supplies for explosives, I can whip something up in the morning.” Anya nodded her head at this as Jesper and Wylan took their leave hand in hand.
“I can take second watch then,” Inej said
“Oh, no that's not necessary,” Anya said
“You look exhausted,” Inej said, looking at Anya and remembering the scene she had witnessed at the docks. It was one of the reasons Anya hated using her enhanced powers, along with the memories it brought back up, it echaused her completely.
“Get some rest Anya,” she said, laying a loving hand on her shoulder, “You got to be well rested don’t you?” Inej smiled at her, then she walked to her quarters as well. For a while after the three of them left Kaz and Anya stared out at the ocean for a few seconds listening to the small waves crashing up against the boat and they exited the harbor and into the True Sea.
“She's right , you know.” Kaz said, cane in front of him.
“I know.” Anya replied. So many unspoken things lingering in the silence, so many things she wanted to say. Did he want to say the same things? Had he heard what had transpired on the docks. Had he seen the hump of dead and bloodied bodies, her eyes glowing. And above all these thoughts there was Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai. She had to get to Nikoali, and she was so exhausted, and had a pounding headache. The Lantsov Emerald had never felt so hot and heavy agait her chest as she finally lay her down to sleep.
Anya could feel her hair plastered to her skin as she sat stark naked on an abandoned little row boat in the middle of the ocean. It was dark as she frantically looked around at her surroundings but there was no land in sight. She searched for oars, driftwood, anything to get the broken row boat moving. She closed her eyes and frantically searched for a sign of a heartbeat until she caught a slight one close to her. Squinting her eyes she saw the cause of the heart beat drifting in the icy ocean. There was no mistaking those blue eyes, and striking blonde hair. Anya frantically pulled Nikolai on to the row boat, hopelessly holding on to the umstead beat of his head.
“Anastasia,” He whispered from his blue lips. His skin was ice cold. “Anya,” he repeated again, raising a cold hand to her cheek. “Anastasia, you have to help me. Help save me. Don’t let me die.” He croaked, tears spilling from his ocean blue eyes that were now a dark, cold, gray. “Please” he pleaded with Anya. “plese zolotse please don’t let me die.”
“You won’t!” Anya yelled out, placing two hands over his chest. “You won’t die because I won’t let you.” Tears were now spilling down her face but she felt his heartbeat die down, like it was falling down a rabbit hole, like she was falling, and she couldn't get back to the surface. Lost forever. And just as he was about to be lost from her forever. His featured subtlety and disterbantly changed to ones of an old, sickly, balding man with bad teeth and a big moustache.
“No,” She whispered. She was the one who was pleading now. “No, please, leave me alone,” She sobbed out.
“You can never hide from me malen’kiy.” Markin Yaroslavovich whispered back. “You can never escape me because I created you, I made you who you are, Anastaisa.”
“No!” Anya screamed out covering her head now rocking back and forth , but Yaroslavovich’s words were just as clear and crisp as he was physically inside her head.
“You were nothing! Abandoned, a child, alone, helpless, burdened with a great power. I made you who you are, and you can never escape that truth. And who are you now, girl. A runaway, a mistress, a murderer?”
“No, no, no” Anya repeated now, noticing how water was flooding into the little boat soaking her feet and legs.
“A killer, an unnatural being in the world, and helpless all the same. And now you’ll die like the killer you are, alone, cold, afraid, and with blood on your hands.” That's when Anya finally looked up to find herself just that dreadfully alone, hopelessly afraid, and in an ocean of red blood. There was nothing left to do, but scream.
Anya awoke in a cold sweat and sat straight up with a gasp, hitting her head on the beam of the low ceiling in the captain’s quarters.
“Shit.” She whispered to herself. Her heart was beating at a rapid pace and her clothes were soaked in sweat to her skin. She frantically discarded the covers off the bed and rested her head on the headboard, trying to steady herself. Her nightmare had seemed so real, so horrifying and she still remembered every detail. In her half-awake and frantic state she quickly looked at her hands and body making sure they weren't covered in blood, but then in a sense she thought to look at the palms of her hands, weren’t they? She pulled her knees to her chest and let her head rest there for a while. The movement seemed so innocent and so childlike and a single tear dripped from her eye as she hugged her knees closer to her body.
Where was Nikolai now, in a cell in the same position as herself? Was he in pain, being tortured for information, or was he already dead? She shuddered at the thought of the bastard king laying dead in a cold dark cell. Against her better judgment she took the Lantov Emerald out from under her shirt. She gave a small laugh, it was the first time she had truly looked at the gigantic thing. It was beautiful tho, she couldn't deny that. After a few seconds she quickly stuff the chain back into her shirt, before she did something foolish like try the damn thing on.
Finally coming to the realization that she won't be getting any more sleep tonight, she put on her boots and coat and decided to go see if she could relieve her brother from watch duty. If she was up, she might as well be doing something useful.
When Anya finally emerged from the captain's chambers, hands in her pockets, she wasn’t greeted by Kaz, but Inej. She stopped short when she saw the Suli girl, but she had already spotted her locking her gaze with her beautiful and kind eyes.
“Couldn't sleep?” She asked gensering to a seat beside her look out into the black ocean, Anya had to blink to make sure it wasn’t crimson. She took her seat beside Inej, who was looking out into the sea, a braid of dark brown hair on her right shoulder.
“I guess you could say that.” Anya replied.
“I get them too, you know.” Inej said still with a steady gaze towards the ocean. Anya tilted her head in confusion.
“The nightmares.” Inej clarified, “I get them too. I guess most of us do on this ship.” She gave a small laugh at this. Anya could feel tears building up in her eyes as she was determined to keep looking at the ocean.
“If you couldn't mention to Kaz, the, uh, events at the dock, he just doesn’t need anything more on his plate right now.”
“I know what it’s like to be taken from your homeland, stripped of your innocence and childhood. And I know you do too. Your secrets are safe with me, no matter how many you end up having.” The two girls finally made eye contact at this and Inej shocked her head slightly.
“You two look so alike, it’s amazing. And a little creepy to be honest.” Anya laughed.
“My mother always said that we might as well be twins, we looked so alike as children. I remember she gave us both the same outrageously horrible haircut, we were indistinguishable.”
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like to meet him. After all those years. ” Inej said her curiosity got the better of her.
“I didn’t want to know him.” Anya confessed, swirling her thumbs. “I didn’t want to know him and I didn't want a relationship with him, he swore he wanted the same thing. We were going to go our separate ways. I was in a bad situation with some pirates from the north, a miscommunication, I’ll call it,” Anya winked at Inej.
“He came back for me; saved my life really. He was the first person who, just, I don’t know, really cared. Of course he cared in an over protective, angry, self centered way, but, he cared.” Anya finished turning to Inej looking into her eyes.
“Kaz Brekker doesn't really care for people that often. He cares for you Inej, more than anything in the world by the looks of it.”
“We're going to find him, Anya.” Inej said,
noticing her frantic hand twirling. “We're going to break him out and bring him home.”
“He’s never gotten himself into a situation like this. Been kidnaped many times of course, but nothing like this.” Anya said feeling Inej’s worried eyes on her. “I told him not to go, I told him it would be out of the way, but it was such a small mission none of us expected-” Inej reached out and clasped her hand in Anya’s squeezing tight. Anya took a deep breath and lit the ocean air into her lungs.
“I’ve already been told he was dead once,” She said, “I can’t hear those words a second time.”
“Kaz doesn’t know about you and-” Anya shook her head quickly.
“It’s a complicated situation, no one at the palace really does, he’s the king of Ravka, and-”
“Secret is safe.” Inej said, giving a slight smile. “Kaz would go ballistic anyways.” Anya smiled as she thought about how her over protective brother would react to her being involved with the King of Ravka.
“Saints,” Anya said with a sigh, “I don’t even want to imagine. You should go to sleep Inej, saints know I won’t.” Inej started to protest but Anya raised her eyebrows in defiance. If she wasn’t going to sleep she may as well be useful. Inej finally gave up and took leave from her position to go back to her quarters, but before she left she gave Anya another look of worry and said
“I would talk to your brother Anya, broken families don’t often get the gift of being reunited. You and Kaz have been given a gift, I would use it.” Anya laughed again.
“Yes Kaz did warn me about your Suli proverbs.”
“Your brother is wary of them,” Inej said “ but Saints do not discriminate against those who will not let them in.”
“Let's hope they don’t then.” Anya replied as Inej took her leave.
Inej’s advice to talk to Kaz stayed glued in Anya’s head for the rest of the uneasy days of the journey. Anya and Kaz had been adamant, to Jesper’s dismay, to begin the process of planning to break Nikolai out of whatever fortrus or ship Vasily had him stored in. Unfortunately, without the help of Anya’s contacts in Novia Zem, the group of thieves had very little to go on, which did not falter Kaz and Anya’s insistence on creating some sort of plan.
On one such afternoon, Inej sat straight up in chair cleaning and sharpening her precious knives as Wylan sat beside her on the deck working on his sketchbook with cautious eyes towards the proximity of him and Inej’s knives. Jesper sat opposite of them tapping with his foot insistently and running an anxious hand on the back of his head. Kaz was sitting at a round table, the whole group gathered around, rolling out maps of the True Sea and Novia Zem. Anya was the only one standing, seeing as she was more anxious than Jesper to sit. For the last two days she was trying to display a calm demeanor especially in front of her brother, whose lingering eyes did no comfort to her nerves. She was staring out a porthole chewing the tip of a quill she was using to pinpoint possible Nikolai locations on Kaz’s maps.
“Anya. Anya!” Kaz was attempting to get his sister's attention.
“Sorry,” Anya said, coming out of her worrisome thoughts which included a dead Nikolai and a burning Rakva, “what were you saying.” She caught another one of Kaz’s curious looks toward her as he studied her.
“We were saying,” he said now annoyed, “could Vasily of stashed Nikolai in the Southern Colonies?”
“If it would be a good hiding spot, an unexpected choice.” Wylan added.
“No,” Anya said, now turning and setting the quill down, “David was adamant about him being kept on a ship. And it makes the most sense.”
“Yes but the True Sea is thousands of miles,” Jesper added from his spot “How in saints are we supposed to find a single ship when we don’t have a location.”
“That's where my contact comes in.” Anya said . “She lives in Novia Zem and knows which ships come or go and where. She ought to know something, from there we can search from a more precise location.
“And dare I ask who this secret contact you have is?” Kaz said, turning his head to Anya.
“She’ll give us the information we need, is that enough?” Anya retorted. Jesper was now casting worrisome eyes between the two siblings who both looked out for blood. He would still never understand how Anya is able to look right into Kaz’s murderous eyes and not flitch.
“Well I hope for his majesty's sake that's true.” Kaz said, sitting up from the table. “This is the best plan we’ve got until we get more information,” he said while looking over his plans. “We’ll reach Novia Zem in about twenty four hours, until then review that plan and rest up, this journey won’t be easy.”
#nikolai x mc#nikolai lanstov x reader#kaz dirtyhands brekker#inej gahfas#marry me zoya#tolya and tamar#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#wylan van sunshine
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in the arms of the ocean - intro
A/N: Ha...hahaha...hi. So um... I had not planned for this to be the next thing that I posted. I have a few lingering requests from my last event (3 more to be exact, one each for Billy, Benjamin and Logan) and I have created so many loose ends in all my many train wrecks, but here I go again with another...I don’t make the rules, I just play the game. Anyway! I have been wanting to write something *like* this for quite some time now, and though I never saw myself writing for Caspian (because it terrifies me more than Billy for some reason) here we are all the same. Don’t want to give anything away so gonna go ahead ad zip it here and now. I hope you enjoy!
Warning: death
Word Count: 3,276
25 years ago...
“Sereia!”
She fought back a sob as she pushed on, wading out into the shallows. Her long dark hair swirled around her as the wind whipped through it, heavy raindrops pelting her cheeks to mix with the salt of her tears and the spray of the sea. Each step she took cut into her heart, slicing like daggers the further she got from him. From them.
“Sereia, no! No!”
It was impossible to hear anything over the thrashing of the waves and the collisions of clouds overhead, but his voice reached her ear, broken by despair but clear as a bell. Vash. Her chest went hollow, his ache scraping at what was left of her heart after ripping herself from his kiss and from you, her daughter. She wanted to turn back, to see him one more time, let her eyes drink in the sight of the only man- the only being- to ever give her so much love that she had no choice but to sacrifice everything to protect it. But looking back would shatter her resolve to pieces, would send her running back into his arms, would make it impossible for her not to scoop you up and hold you tight and breathe in the sweet scent of your hair as she kissed it. Looking back would send you all to your death. Looking back would mean that Narnia would never be safe again. It’s the only way, Vash. Please understand.
“Come back! You don’t have to do this! Please, please! Don’t do this! ”
A small cry accompanied his pleas this time, and she froze, knees nearly buckling as the cold water bit into her skin through the skirt of her dress. Your name flashed through her mind then and she squeezed her eyes tightly against the burning at their corners. No, I have to… A barrage of memories swarmed Sereia’s mind as just a few meters away from where the sandy sea floor dropped off to the fathoms below, a whirlpool began to open. She felt the rushing of the surf as it flew out again, pulled back over her ankles and calves and out to the deepening funnel. Holding you for the first time, Vash’s arms around her as he kissed their daughter and his cheeks glowed with pride. Your first toddling steps aboard one of the many ships that passed in and out of her and Vash’s care, sure and more sturdy than most children double your age on dry land could manage. Your squeals of laughter as your pudgy little hand wrapped around her fingers and the two of you splashed through the foamy tide pools near your home. So much joy, so much love. Unsticking her feet from the soft, sucking sand, she carried on, her steps slicing deeper now.
Another rush pulled more icy water out into the threatening maelstrom and Sereia was hit again, this time with images of the things that would never come to pass if she faltered now. You as a tall, lanky young girl, climbing the rigging of a ship to join Vash in the crow’s nest, his wide smile softer on your face than his. Love, perhaps, your fingers twined with another pair as your eyes radiated the happiness you felt. A whole lifetime of memories and triumphs, growth and adventure that you’d never get to have if she turned back now. So much out there for her still, for both of them.
“Sereia, you can’t do this...please...please don’t leave me like this…”
Something in Vash’s voice was changing, the fight draining out of him as realization set in despite his continued begging. You know, Vash. You understand. You’ve always been able to understand. Their love story had never been a simple one, and therefore it made sense that the end would be no different. You understand, you have to. From the moment that she first saw him, clinging to that board out in the middle of the ocean, skin burnt and breaths shallow, she knew it wouldn’t be an easy love. The will of water was one of the most powerful forces in existence. Yet it was not powerful enough to take him like it had taken the rest of his crew, their souls already joining the ranks of those claimed by the sea. And by the merfolk. Sereia knew that her people had the capacity for violence, for vicious acts against the sailors that dared to brave the Bight of Calormen on their way out to the Great Eastern Sea. Domination, that was what they wanted, to control the glimmering expanse of ocean. Sereia never could grasp the concept that Narnians or Telmarines or any other man or beast that she shared these lands with were nefarious or unworthy of safe passage across their domain. Most of them don’t bother with us at all, they’re afraid. And with good reason.
She knew of the stories sailors told to greenhorns as warnings; tales of beautiful creatures, half human but with the glittering tail and fins of a fish, bottom half covered in radiant scales. The stories told of a song so sweet that men had no choice but to give in to the trancelike state that drew them away from the safety of their ships and into the dark, silent void, so deep and cold that not even moonlight could reach it. Sereia knew the stories the men told each other because she often swam close to their ships; close enough to see and hear but not to be seen or heard. She knew the stories they told, and she knew them to be true. She’d always felt a sadness in that, in knowing that the horrors that these men built superstitions and rituals to avoid were true and that they were carried out by her people. So the night that she first saw Vash, she made a choice not to be like them. She made the choice to be a protector instead of a combatant, an ally instead of an enemy. Sereia didn’t know it yet, in the moments when her fingers brushed the man’s damp hair out of his eyes, but she made the choice to love.
There was only one other that she knew who felt like she did, her aunt Coralia, who the merfolk had banished to the farthest reaches of their kingdom and labeled a witch. Coralia, like a fair few other merpeople, had been gifted with magic, but unlike the others, she chose not to use her powers for destruction. In secret, she cast protective spells upon the currents as they passed by her hideaway, enchanting the waters in an attempt to do all she could to undo the violence of her people. Sereia had been forbidden from seeing her aunt- contacting an exiled merperson was seen as an act of treason, as was Coralia’s refusal to use her magic to help conquer the seas. But as Sereia grew older and became more and more conflicted about what was expected of her, she began to care less and less about excommunication, and on the night that she pulled Vash safely to shore, she swam straight for Coralia’s dwelling without stopping and without even the idea of looking back.
She had thought she would have to beg Coralia to grant her wish, and had spent the entire journey working on her argument, strengthening her reasoning for wanting to leave this world behind and join the world above. But Coralia had surprised her, welcoming her with open arms and a compassionate heart. She agreed to grant Sereia the gift of humanity, because she could see that her niece could never truly find happiness if she were forced to forsake her kind heart and give in to the cruel tendencies of the cold blooded creatures that lived only to see the demise of those that were different than they were.
“Sweet child,” her honeyed voice filled Sereia with an unfamiliar warmth, her soft hands falling delicately on the younger mermaid’s bare shoulders. “You have love and compassion in your heart and peace in your spirit.” She shook her head slowly, her piercing green eyes never leaving her niece’s face. “I’ve been waiting for this day to come since you were small.” She tucked Sereia’s rippling hair behind her ear, and despite the free flowing water around them, the long silken strands stayed put at Coralia’s enchanted touch. “You don’t belong in this world, my darling girl. You never have.” Reaching up to her own crown of delicately arranged locks held in place by strings of iridescent pearls and bits of net pinned between golden starfish, and pulled a pin loose, bringing it down in front of Sereia’s wide eyes. “You were destined for far greater things, Sereia. Far greater things than you’d ever be allowed down here. You’re brave, child, and strong. You would not be here if those things weren’t true.”
Tilting forward, she pressed her lips to Sereia’s cheek. “It will not always be easy, I’m afraid. Becoming one of them means more than dancing and merriment.” Her eyes grew sad then, her lips turning down. “It means bearing the burden of their emotions, the weight of their pain. And child, I wish I could protect you from that pain, but even my magic would be useless there.” Smoothing back the hair on the other side of Sereia’s face, she arranged her features into a warm smile once more, though it lasted less than a second before dipping down. “You will know heartache and tears and loneliness, and those things can tear some people apart. Knowing all of this, is it still your wish to join them?”
Sereia’s heart raced and her fingers tingled with the memory of Vash’s hair and skin beneath them, the feel of the sand as she dragged him ashore, the rush she felt in saving the man that otherwise would have fallen victim to the violence of the sea. It wasn’t love then, not yet, but Sereia had known that she had crossed Vash’s path for a reason as surely as she knew that she couldn’t go back to life as she knew it. She could stay here with Coralia, doing what she could to keep safe the sailors that traveled above. But she’d never have anything more than that. She’d never see Vash again, she’d never dance, never know what it was to leave prints in the sand. “Yes,” her voice was small but certain. “Yes, that is my wish.”
Coralia smiled then, her eyes flickering with hope and happiness. “Then let it be.” Delicately gathering Sereia’s hair between her fingers, Coralia took the golden star pin that she’d pulled from her own hair, and secured it away from her eyes. “The spell will allow you to swim to shore,” she explained. “But once the water becomes shallow enough,” she looked down at Sereia’s shimmering silver scales and lacy tail fin and nodded, eyes narrowed, not having to tell her what would happen next. “It will hurt, at first,” she warned. “But the pain will be fleeting. By the time you reach the sand,” she nodded again, this time with more vigor. “The pain will be replaced with joy, and though the spell will have worn off,” She brought her fingertips up to brush at the points of the hair pin. “The magic will stay with you, Sereia. Use it for good. Use it bravely.” She squeezed Sereia’s shoulders. “Use it to protect the ones you love.”
If ever there were a time to use Coralia’s magic, hot tears ran down her wet cheeks as she reached the edges of the swirling funnel, forked spears of lightning striking all around, the sky and water both the same steely gray. Rising from the funnel, a great serpent reared it’s hideous head, an insidious glow in it’s many eyes and thick, sticky venom dripping from it’s fangs. As it surfaced, so did a dozen or so merfolk, tridents in hand and geared for battle. It’s now… Raising her trembling hands towards the beast, she finally allowed herself one last backwards glance at the man and child she had been seemingly created to shield with her love. You understand, Vash, don’t you? “I love you,” she spoke so softly that they wouldn’t have heard her even if she were sitting on the porch steps at home, holding them close. “Both of you.”
Before she ventured out into the roiling sea, she’d explained to her husband, as quickly as she could through trembling lips and burning tears, that the time had come for her to do all she could to save not only him and their child- you- but all of Narnia.
“They won’t stop, Vash.” She’d told him between desperate kisses all over his face. “They’ll never stop, their numbers are too great, and now they’ve joined with her.” She saw the truth break her husband’s heart. He knew. He’d seen it. The merfolk had grown restless in their quest for dominance. Wrecking the occasional ship and pillaging the treasures on board no longer satisfied them. But to get more power they needed to make a powerful alliance. “Jadis, Vash.” She couldn’t stop saying his name, letting him hear it, running her tongue over it just a few more times.
Sereia shook her head, tears blurring her vision, and when she blinked them open again she looked down at you. You were so small, clutching onto your father’s shirt, your eyes the size of sand dollars and filled with uncertainty and fear. Dropping her lips to your forehead, she repeated the same frantic kisses she’d given him over your cheeks and eyelids and hair. When she’d covered every inch of your little face, she looked back up at her husband and finally understood what Coralia had meant about heartache. “She’ll destroy this world, Vash. She’ll leave nothing for our girl...she’ll leave nothing for anyone.” You know it. She knew he did. Even as he begged and pleaded for her to turn back, he knew she wouldn’t. She took his hand in hers and placed it over her heart, and as soon as his palm made contact he released a sob that told her he’d accepted it- all of it. “You have given me so much more than I ever thought I could have, Vash. You will always have my love.”
The storm was growing in intensity, the waves pitching and crashing. I don’t have much time. Reaching up, Sereia plucked the old but still shining pin from her hair, and scooped your fine strands between her fingers. “You,” she took your face between her palms and wiped your confused tears away. “You, sweet girl, you are my love. And I will always, always keep you safe.”
That’s when she’d torn herself away, knowing that the longer she stayed the harder it would be to leave them. In that same impossibly soft whisper, Sereia sent one last blessing to her daughter. “Close to you I’ll always be, to keep you safe upon the sea.”
She waited one more beat, gave herself one last glance at her family, and closed her eyes. I want them to be the last thing I see, not...not some beast. Them. Turning back towards the towering monster, eyes still clamped shut with the imagine of you and Vash imprinted behind them, she released all the power that she had, all the light that would have lasted her so many more years, all at once, defeating the serpent and banishing the merfolk, a protective barrier forming to push them and their monsters and even the evil witch herself far from the shore. As the last of her power drained, Sereia rejoined the sea, dissolving into the foam as the ocean calmed and the skies cleared.
I will always keep you safe.
.. .. .. .. .. .. ..
1 Year ago
The air was full of crashing, cacophonous peels of thunder rolling so quickly after the other that they were impossible to discern from the smashing of the sea. Lighting rode right on it’s back to rip the sky open with sharp, white forked flashes. Caspian gripped the helm with both hands, adding to the strength of the several crewmen already fighting the waves, muscles straining like never before to turn the great wooden wheel even the slightest degree. Salty water splashed over the deck in furious, frothy waves making the boards slick and perilous, but he planted his boots firmly where he stood, weight down through the soles of his feet as he pulled and heaved, desperately trying to negate the torn sail.
“We won’t make it much longer, Your Majesty,” Drinian’s already gruff voice was reduced to a grunt as he too threw all of his weight behind the helm. There were no signs of fear or panic in the man’s words, only facts. Facts that Caspian knew well enough to be true.
He glanced up at the rigging, what was left of the sails hanging in limp tatters and flapping in the harsh wind. We won’t. We need to get to shore. He nodded, eyebrows pinched together in determination.
At first they had thought that they could push through the storm, sail hard and fast through the eye of it and out the other side. But there didn’t seem to be another side. They’d been battling the storm for hours without any indication that it would be letting up soon. Pushing through was no longer an option. Caspian closed his eyes and silently hoped that Aslan would send him a sign, an answer, some way to lead his men to safety, some way to keep Narnia’s King from ending up at the bottom of the sea. When he opened them again, he had to blink to be sure that what he was seeing was not an illusion. Is that?
“There!” He thrust one arm out ahead of him, his drenched sleeve hanging heavily from it. Drinian’s sharp blue eyes followed the line of the young King’s arm and widened when they fell upon the landform that had gone unnoticed until now. Or had it not been there until now? Just because he was King didn’t mean that Caspian was foolish enough to believe that he knew all of Narnia’s secrets. But regardless of how the island came into their line of sight, or why, it was their only option for safety.
“Aye!” Drinian agreed with a nod of his head before shouting orders to the crew without a second’s hesitation.
It was difficult to steer the massive ship with hardly anything left of the sails, but miraculously they did, throwing the anchor as soon as they were clear of the outcropping of rocks along the shoals. The storm continued to churn, angry waves tossing the Dawn Treader from crest to crest and rain lashing at the windows and portholes. But once everything was tied off and secured, Caspian had made sure that every last member of his crew had taken shelter, remaining on deck until only he and Drinian were left. More tired than he ever remembered being, and given his first real dose of fright- however fleeting it had been- in a long time, Caspian stripped off his soaked clothes and changed into something warm and dry, and collapsed into his mattress.
We have to mend that sail tomorrow… first thing… need to find a sailmaker and…
But the half thought slipped away as he slipped into a quick and heavy sleep, certain that they’d find all that they needed once they were able to go ashore.
.
.
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please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags! I know some of you troopers have told me you’ re down for all the rides in the park, but I didn’t want to assume otherwise!
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@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @malionnes @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @pheedraws @russobill @thesumofmychoices @beautifuldesastre
#in the arms of the ocean#itAotO#King Caspian#king capian x#king caspian narnia#king caspian x you#king caspian x reader#the chronicles of narnia fanfiction#voyage of the dawn treader#I cannot believe i am writing this#instead of the 1000 other things i should be focusing on#but#the juices are FINALLY flowing and who am i to say no to a king?#no one that's who
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Another royal, you say? Certainly.
Sozui
Oh, little Sozui, the prince with the wildly swinging ponytail, following Naoki like a desperate puppy, his grandmother’s heart, his uncle’s soul, his sister’s unburnished flame.
I had Izumi bring him to Opal and Bolin’s wedding because she is a canny Firelord and she's already met Wu’s oldest girl, the princess that’s already being described, at age ten, as the best firebender of her generation. She’s got her eye on Naoki as a future bride, even then. (Something that Wu understands as well; it is unspoken between the two of them.)
And Sozui is just gone, completely gone, twelve years old and watching this girl come to the furious yet controlled defense of her little brother, refusing to give in or back down. He’s drawn to her and he will never, for the rest of his life, love anyone else. He won’t even see anyone else but her. He was willing to marry another for the sake of the Fire Nation, but he made it clear to Maya Mononobe from the very beginning that he did not love her and never would.
Sozui is an idealist, a dreamer, a philosopher, a diplomat. His sister relies on him completely when she becomes the Firelord - there is no one else she trusts like she trusts her brother and outside of the whole Naoki marriage/Agni Kai thing, he will never betray that trust. He will be loyal to her until the end. That’s who Sozui is.
He’s a very good firebender, thoroughly and extensively trained. (He’s not better than his wife, but on the other hand, no one is.) He is gifted his great-grandfather’s dual broadswords on his thirteenth birthday and learns to wield them expertly. It makes him feel closer to his great-grandfather and practicing with those swords is how he grounds himself, lets his troubles disappear for a time.
He is very, very close to his uncle, who has guided and watched over him since he was brought to court as a one year old. Izumi told Iroh that she was depending on him to keep Sozui on the straight and narrow and Iroh does exactly that. Iroh loves his nephew deeply and in his heart of hearts considers him a son, much as his own great-great-uncle did for his grandfather.
While Juziya spends her time in the palace, Sozui travels the world. This is all part of Izumi’s plan for her grandchildren. Sozui frequently visits Wu’s family; he also has made trips to both Poles to stay with the chieftains in order to learn about their culture and history. He’s familiar with the leaders of the Air Nation as well. He makes connections that way. He attends university in Republic City and will also spend a few years aboard his uncle’s battleship, learning command and traveling the world. This will eventually serve Juziya very well and he understands this. He’s a very popular figure in the Fire Nation and runs interference for his sister; it’s well known that if you want the Firelord’s ear you’ll need to go through Prince Sozui first.
He is too young to remember living with his parents, of course. He only sees his mother a few times a year; their visits are always supervised and she oftentimes does not recognize him and this is something that devastates him. He erroneously blames himself for her condition and carries a secret fear all his life that he will become like her, or that Lozan will as well. He likes and respects his father, but does not feel particularly close to him. He does love his uncle very much and will grieve deeply when his uncle dies a very old man.
Sozui, unbeknownst to most, suffers from anxiety. He’s very good at hiding it, but it’s there anyhow. He often suffers from insomnia and gets paralyzed with indecision. Juziya will eventually take Naoki aside and rather firmly inform her that she considers it Naoki’s job to help him with this. Juziya and Iroh carried that responsibility for him for years, and Naoki will step up to that. (I should write that conversation down, it is fully existent in my head.)
He is never defiant outside of running out of his wedding to marry Naoki; however that defiance comes with a price. He pays it, however. He will do anything for her. His sister - who knows him better than anyone else - understands this and is careful, after the whole Naoki Agni Kai debacle, to never get between her brother and Naoki again. Sozui is loyal until death towards his sister but he’s made it clear he will put that aside for Naoki. Juziya is a smart woman. She won’t test her brother again, for both their sakes.
The Fire Nation is rather scandalized that he raises his son much the same as Wu raised his children; it is Not How Things Are Done. He’s very close to Lozan, however, and Lozan loves, admires and respects both of his parents. Lozan, in turn, will become not only a very good Firelord, but a very popular one and Sozui considers his son his greatest legacy.
You say the world's an eventful place
You give me news
I don't want to know
You say that I should care
That I should speak my mind
Oh, but how can I speak of the world
Rushing by
With a lump in my throat
And tears in my eyes
Oh, have we come to the point of no turning back
Or is it still time to get into
The swing of things
Let us walk through this windless city
I'll go on till the winter gets me
Oh, "sleep..." you wrote "sleep, my dear"
In a letter somewhere
Oh, but how can I sleep with your
voice in my head
With an ocean between us
And room in my bed
Oh, have I come to the point where I'm losing the grip
Or is it still time to get into
The swing of things
Oh, when she glows in the dark
And I'm weak by the sight
Of this breathtaking beauty
In which I can hide
Oh, there's a worldful out there
Of people I fear
But given time I'll get into
The swing of things
Yes, when she glows in the dark and
I'm struck by the sight
I know that I'll need this for the rest of my life
What have I done
What lies I have told
I've played games with the ones that
rescued my soul
Oh, have I come to the point where I'm losing the grip
Or is it still time to get into
The swing of things
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[ crusade ]
The tiring room is quiet and dark as Orella moves through it. It's strange to have the Vista so uninhabited; it never occurred to her that its actors and playwrights might actually spend time away from the room where their life's work lies. And yet she can't help but feel as though she is not alone; perhaps it is the silent footsteps belonging to whatever shade Lamont is, or just the apprehension of being trapped aboard a Garlean vessel, but she cannot shake the feeling that she is being stalked through the night.
Still, she is no stranger to the darkness, and the longer she wanders the more she feels as though she has begun a journey winding into its bowels, never to surface again, as though she is being dragged down to the world's core. It's so much - too much, even; she feels as though she might stagger, might trip and fall and then the world will close in around her, crushing, all consuming--
In the end, she does stumble, but only because of an errant paper that she hadn't seen in the dark of night. It slides from under her foot and she goes down with it, growling, and she takes the time to scrunch the paper up and hurl it as hard as she can behind her. It passes through Lamont, who appears not to notice it, and lands ineffectually upon the ground. "Bastard," she whispers, for she knows what beasts stir in the night, and does not wish to rouse them.
But there is someone else there tonight, sitting quietly and calmly in the darkness. If one were to see her, they would think she was in deep meditation. But she held a stone in her hand, and she communicated with it as she did her Cluster - quietly, in her head, with none the wiser. She usually did this in the cargo bay in the underbelly of the Prima Vista. But she hid like a rat no longer. There was work to be done.
“And who might you be calling a bastard in this hour of night?” Linini called to the figure in the darkness, opening her eyes. Her eyes had long since adjusted, and she could make out a much taller figure that she suspected as one of the Riskbreakers.
Orella stops like a chocobo skidding to a halt - immediately, muscles tense, eyes trying to make sense of the world in front of her. She scans the darkness for whomever would creep up on her, but her gaze meets nothing. It's almost as if the darkness itself is trying to blind her.
"Whoever deserves to be called one," she says back, voice steady despite her confusion. "Who cowers in the night, out of bed? Show yourself."
“I am not cowering,” she said, bringing a candle to a lantern to light it. “Not today. It is just easier to see what you - and others - are in the dark, when you think nobody is watching. You’re the one called Steelhand, aren’t you? I don’t think we have been properly acquainted. I am Linini Lini, though most just call me Lini.” She pauses for a moment. “Is your stone keeping you awake?”
"... Aye," Orella allows, and crosses her arms as she looks over the tiny lady. The flame only steals her attention for a short moment, but the darkness suddenly seems more inviting than the oppressive fire, burning wretchedly, and she must tear her eyes away. Still, the comment gives her pause; precious few people, less than a handful, know of her stone. For this one to know, despite the foreign face, is... nothing less of suspicious. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says. "Must I need a reason to go walking?"
Lini sighs, disappointed. “I suppose I was mistaken. I figured most of the Riskbreakers had stones by now.” She saw the way Orella looked at the flame. “Would you like to go above deck? I’ve found that the troupe’s stage gives quite a lovely view of the stars. I could show you how to get there. No one is like to be there this time of night.”
"By all means," says Orella. In truth, she'd been avoiding the deck since she first boarded, wary of the wind, precarious as it always has been even half a world away. It was ferocious on the Lochs, and no less violent across the ocean-- but she cannot help but feel that no matter the strength of any gust, she will be safely rooted to the floor beneath her. She isn't sure what makes her think that, but any strength is better than none, even if only a thought. "Lead the way."
Linini leads Orella to the lift, up several levels and down two winding hallways where the airship crew worked more than the troupe did. A mechanical door yawns open, the wind whipping at both of their hair and clothes. Lini kept her back to Orella the whole way, confident and unafraid, but turned to her once they were outside. “It just occurred to me. You are scarcely wearing anything, won’t you be cold?” Lini, of course, is wearing heavier leathers.
It's true: the wind is cold, whipping around the two of them despite the airship's motionlessness. Still, the air is clean, devoid of the mechanical scent of the engine room, or the paint and paper of the tiring room, and it's almost welcome, though goosebumps raise on her flesh almost immediately. Orella simply shrugs. "I'll be fine," she says, though she knows she won't be. Ingvald will be pissed when she climbs back into bed to leech off his heat, but that will be a problem for the future. His problem, at that.
And as she cranes her neck to look at the stars, she realises that she recognises only a few of the constellations, and those closer to the horizon. Kugane, Dalmasca: they truly are a world away from all she knows. Briefly, she wonders how she would fare if she was dropped here, made to find her way home alone. But she knows the answer: she would not last.
Lini joins her in looking up at the sky. She spots Azionne gliding past her, eyes on Orella as if on the hunt, watching her while Lini’s gaze was elsewhere. She had been with Lini the entire walk up to the deck. “So how has this journey been treating you? It is certainly one of the Riskbreakers’ most dangerous quests yet, to my understanding.”
Orella doesn't pull her gaze from the sky, trying to make sense of what stars she can see. If she squints, perhaps that's the Destroyer, perhaps that is Kugane tower, perhaps that... a crab? "... Hm," she allows, and thinks about the question honestly. "It's a pain in the ass, but work like this always is. I think liberating Ala Mhigo was more taxing, personally." But then, she had been directly involved in that. There have been too many Garleans here for her to want to participate overmuch. She tears her eyes from the sky to glance down at Lini again, wondering just what it would take for that short stature to bear down upon her. Just... in case. "And you? I have not seen you on skirmish before. Or even around the Sandsea."
“I wasn’t quite as involved in the liberation of Ala Mhigo as I’d have liked to be,” Lini admitted. “I fought in smaller skirmishes throughout the region of Gyr Abania while half our company was abroad, guarding supply trains on behalf of the Resistance and aiding in the effort after that disaster after Rhalgr’s Reach. But I did fight to free the city itself.” Her eyes wander to Azionne’s phantom, pacing in front of them, eyes on Orella. “But I have been a resident of the Sandsea for some time now. I generally spend my time in my chambers, or patrolling the Goblet.” She takes a deep breath. “But this journey... our trials and tribulations have been greater than anything I could have expected. I was excited in the beginning, in truth. I was oft told stories of Dalmasca by my mother. My blade is even Dalmascan in origin,” she says, putting a hand on the hilt to indicate it. “It was not as I imagined. So much death. So much destruction. And so many people to put to justice.”
Orella nods at Lini's explanation of her past whereabouts, and simply listens to the rest. At the corner of her eye, she sees Lamont again and must turn her face away to ignore him; she cannot be distracted, should not let herself be distracted. It has already taken a toll on her.
Still, she cannot find it within herself to be impressed, or to feign the feeling. "It's like that everywhere," she says, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Dalmasca, Ala Mhigo - hells, I'd wager even the Sharlayans built their land on the backs of the broken." and she shrugs, as though that affects her not at all. "The world is filled to the brim with the darkness of man. And we press ever on."
Lini crosses her arms. “I know. I am no stranger to injustice. I’ve been a victim of it right home in Ul’dah. How do you press on, in spite of that darkness?” She continues looking at the stars, away from Orella.
She doesn't even need to think about it. "With effort," she says simply. Honestly. "With wariness. With uncertainty. But what other option is there?"
Lini looks down at her palms, then away from the stars and Azionne and straight to Orella. “We’ve discovered another option,” Lini said. “The stones. They give us the strength to keep fighting. To keep bringing justice where justice is due.”
"Is that what you think they are." and it isn't a question; Orella understands that Lini speaks her mind truthfully, from the heart. "There's no tool great enough for that undertaking," she adds, before Lini can interrupt or cut across her. "No sword, no stone, no shield that can raise justice so high." Rubbing her hands against her arms, trying to will the gooseflesh to warm, she can't help but scowl. "There is no justice but what you make," she adds, just a touch softer, though her scowl remains. "And one cannot make justice without power. And that," she says decisively, "Is that what stones have brought the Riskbreakers."
Lini gives her a scowl of her own. “Power, then,” she says. After a moment, she adds, “And when the time comes, I hope the Riskbreakers aren’t too weak to use it. We’ve been given a wonderful gift, and I’ll not see our company squander it.”
Orella snorts, rubs her arms again. "And what exactly would you hope the power was used for?"
Lini spreads her arms out. “The liberation of Dalmasca, of course. the power to crush our enemies. Freedom to its people. Freedom to... Ivalice.”
Remembering her spat with Ingvald, Orella frowns at the mention of Dalmasca. She finds she couldn't care less about the city with every passing moment: even the very mention of it is enough to have her heart beat wildly in her chest. And she thinks, well, perhaps it would be better off destroyed, then, and does not notice when Lamont steps close enough to her to touch her hand.
"Freedom," she grits out, and she cannot think why the concept makes her so mad. "There's no such thing as freedom."
Lini tilts her head. “Are your people not free? What did we fight for in Ala Mhigo then?”
"Hells if I know," Orella growls, nails digging into her arm so hard she'll leave marks behind. "To give them the freedom to choose another despot to live under, sooner or later, most like. Free. Ala Mhigo isn't free. Dalmasca will never be free. Anyone thinking otherwise is deluded. The darkness takes and takes and gives naught back, and that is the way of it."
When she turns her back to Lini, intent on storming off the deck to find somewhere else to stand that isn't quite as exposed, she can't help but notice Lamont's eyes, this close- flooded black, deep enough she can taste the power on the air.
"Take it," he hisses at her, and lifts his hand from hers. "Take it and do what's right."
Azionne sees the difference in Orella at once and whispers in Lini’s ear. “She has a stone.”
“You are certain?” Lini asks aloud. “I have no intention of attacking my unarmed and unarmored comrades without good reason. The scales will tip too far in my favor, and I cannot fight in the name of justice.” Even so, she draws her sword, Ayvuir Blue.
The wind chooses a convenient time to pick up and obfuscate Lini's words; the most Orella hears is attacking.... in the name of justice, and it's enough to spur her to grab for Lamont's hand, for the darkness he offers her.
All at once it surges through her like flame, burning brighter than the sparks that fell to earth during the Calamity, and she turns to face Lini once again, muscles tense, back ramrod straight. She makes to lift her hand to the hilt of the sword that typically rests upon her back, but not finding it there does not seem to dissuade her overmuch; instead her fingers tighten around where the hilt would be, and she pulls a sword into being, holds it out, point facing Lini unwaveringly.
It doesn't seem... real. It seems to be made of the all-consuming night, so dark all light seems to be drawn into it, and almost insubstantial but for the way Orella's muscle strains to hold it up.
"Do so at your peril," she warns. "I will pull you down with me."
So too does Lini draw upon the power of Exodus, her leather armor growing crests of gold. Twisting horns extend from her shoulders of equal length, and her blade glows with aether. She thrusts her sword forward, casting two Scathe spells that launch from the blade before rushing forward to clash against Orella.
“I am the Authority,” said Lini. “And I judge you unworthy of wielding the auracite’s power!”
Orella watches as the transformation takes hold of Lini, and for a moment she wonders is the selfsame happening to me? but no time, no time, hisses Lamont in her ear. Almost on instinct she lifts her hand and feels the very air ripple around her fist; no familiarity does she have with magicks, and cannot tell astral from umbral, gravitation from attraction, but she knows that what she does has power imbued into it.
Both Scathe spells twist toward her hand instead of her body, and she barely notices the sting as they make contact, and while she might be startled at the concept of casting magick for her own, her body knows the battlefield better than her mind. Her blade of darkness, split almost as a crab's claw, comes up and holds fast with the other's blade firmly pressed against it, and looks down into the all-knowing eyes of the Judge-Sal.
"I may be unworthy," she says, and twists the blade she wields roughly to push Linini away, only to clench her free fist once more, trying to call that same gravitational power to the fore once more, "But I will continue to stand so long as darkness fills my heart."
“Darkness,” says a deep voice, most certainly not the Lalafell’s, though it spills from her mouth. “Gravity... Thou art the Condemner.” Pushed away, Lini uses the opportunity to raise both hands. She speaks again, and again her voice changes - this one higher, impetuous, yet almost singsong. “Darkness magic, you say? Exodus, I daresay it is my turn to enter the fray.” She gestures her hand toward Orella. “I, Azionne Melisandre, Sorceress of the Riskbreakers, challenge you now,” she says. She holds her sword high, her left hand next to it, channeling a spell. “Flare.” The aether shifts, condensing inward around Orella before exploding in a burst of magic.
The foreign aether on the air makes Orella flinch instinctively. The shadowblade she'd summoned forth is more reminiscent of the one-handers she used to wield in the days before leaving Ala Mhigo, and even months of using only a greatsword has not been enough to break her of the habit of raising her shield-arm when it's free. It doesn't work for her this time; she has no guard this time, only bare flesh, and she smells the spell hitting before she feels it. And oh, it's pain beyond anything even the Garleans had visited upon her. It sears like the midday Thanalan sun beating down on the desert sands, makes galaxies bloom behind her eyelids, makes the blood roar in her ears so loudly she cannot tell whether she is screaming or not.
It hurts, but it will take more than simple hurts to break the soldier from her spine. At least the night's air bothers her no longer, and she readies the not-quite blade in her hand, grips it tighter and bellows as she charges toward her quarry.
Something within Lini, within Azionne, gives her just a moment of hesitation, but the sight of a shadow blade swinging over her head and the urging of Exodus leads her to dive away from the blow. She retaliates with her sword, and now she is Lini again, shouting out as she swings away at Orella with a magically imbued blade.
Ever the assailant, Orella does not let up in her attack, mindful of where her feet are. The best advice she'd ever been given was that the best defence is a good offense, and she presses that now: meeting Linini's blade full on with enough force that her arm all the way to the elbow rings, and knows - faintly, somewhere in the back of her mind - that the other woman's arm will feel much the same. Still, her bladework is sloppy, guided by instinct and anger alone, and her swings are wider, wilder, than they otherwise would or should be.
"Yield," she growls harshly, and her throat hurts with the effort. "Yield! Let the darkness take thee," she speaks, in a voice that is not her own, and grated through a sore throat. "Lay down thy blade, Exodus, and give in."
Lini’s arm does indeed ring with the impact, as the Highlander woman is much stronger than her, even with all of her power. But she does not relent, swinging with all of her strength. She notices how wide Orella’s strikes swing, using that to her advantage. Where she lacks in brute strength she has speed that seems almost inhuman.
“I cannot rest, Zeromus. I shall not. The scales have been tipped; to not act would be to bring oblivion unto us all. Nay, ‘tis thee who must yield,” she says, once again in a deep voice that is neither Lini nor Azionne. “For I am the arbiter, the Authority. And thou art lacking.”
The thing that is Zeromus tilts its head as though curious. "I wouldst know how arbitration fell to thee," it speaks, and lifts its claw-blade of darkness as if admiring it... or perhaps holding it aloft, an executioner's blade. "Tell me: by whose hands do the death-bells toll? By the Judge's? Or by the one whom hast committed to the Beyond?"
The expression on Orella's face turns firm. "Thou hast no dominion over me," it warns. "Do not push me to ring those selfsame bells now for thee. Yield."
“T’was charged to me and me alone,” it says, running Lini’s hand down its blade. “By the gods, as is known. Our Lady bid me also. The executioner’s bell rings only for thee this night.” Lini flips backward, hovering in midair for a moment, and casts yet another Scathe spell - not the paltry imitation cast by thaumaturges, but the Scathe magick of eld, a beam of light and power directed right at Orella. As powerful as it is, the spell left Lini tired. As much as the power of Exodus and Azionne filled her, her body was not used to harnessing such powerful magicks.
Recognising the eldritch manner of magick coming its way, the auracite's demon lifts Orella's burnt arm, ignoring the effort the mortal body requires to make such a movement. It is nothing to the creature to clench a fist, no matter how ruined, and call upon the power of Gravity.
The feeling of the counterspell it casts is almost indescribable; as though a great force is pulling from further away than the eye can see. It hovers in the air thickly, like oil poured into water, before it begins to sink to the floor, where it joins with the decking to create what looks like a dark pool. It is not so, however, and Lini's aether finds itself drawn to it, falling to the depths of the well like a stone casually thrown. The pool remains once it has partaken of the Scathe, a great divide between the two, and Zeromus' host grows pale with the effort of all this aether.
"Alas," it intones. "Thine spells and mine force are evenly matched. What say’st thee, Exodus? Doth we fight on? Or dost the name of our Lady bid us make peace?”
“Balance. I had not thought us equal in power, but it seems it is so. Shall we leave it to our hosts to tip the scales?”
Orella's head is tilted in acquiescence. "This one has harboured the darkness for much longer than before the auracite came to it. Dost thou wish thine host to crumble so soon?"
Lini lowers her sword. “This host has long harbored the light of justice in her breast. She will not falter.” And with that, the otherworldly presence is gone. The golden spikes disappear from her shoulders and the light dims in her blade. “I will prevail,” she says in her own voice. “For the good of Ivalice. For the Riskbreakers. For my Cluster.”
“And since you lack your sword...” Lini drops Ayvuir Blue, letting it clatter to the floor. “I will fight you fairly. My hand to hand skills do not compare to Edge’s, but I will fight my hardest.”
As the light leaves Linini, so too does the darkness from Orella. The blade of darkness Zeromus had called forth dissipates like smoke on the wind, and as it returns to whence it came, the full pain of the flare Orella had caught with her bare flesh hits. She seems not to hear Linini, clutching at her arm and roaring loud enough for her voice to break once more, the feeling unlike any she'd felt before. Not even Garlean torture had exacted such agony on her, and that had itself been long enough ago that the thought was more a nightmare than a memory now.
With every gust of wind she feels the heat of the injury rise and ebb, a veritable tide of torment that she cannot shield herself from, and it is all she can do not to fall to her knees wretchedly. "Y-you," she manages, voice a harsh whisper from the screams. "What is it you want? The auracite? Take the fucker," she manages.
When she pulls her hand away to fish in the meagre pocket of her sleeping trous, it comes away unbloodied, but the skin seems for a moment like it might peel, might crack and stretch - but no, it only burns, and burns, and burns.
The Cancer stone itself itself is a pretty jewel, split almost to the middle, and looks like it glints even in the starlight. Orella holds it aloft for a moment, looking at it so deeply, with such emotion writ clearly over her face, and then at once she hurls it with as much might as she can manage. It skitters across the decking, comes to a lame halt a good three fulms from Linini's feet, and she watches whatever Lamont is disappear in turn.
“A wise choice,” said Lini, stepping forward to go pick it up. She picks up her treasured sword right after. “I am sorry it had to come to this. Truly.” She points her sword into the sky, light gathering around her like a veil, and she casts a spell of healing upon Orella. “It isn’t much, but I hope it offers you some succor.”
She turns her back to Orella. “I cannot face the Riskbreakers now, can I? Not after that. I am afraid to run off like some common thief into the night, but I think that is my only course of action now. I hope one day we can meet again, Orella.”
She feels a powerful weight descend on her after she picks up Orella’s auracite, its darkness a stark contrast to any light she normally bears, but stiffens her shoulders. It is a burden, surely, but one to be shared with the rest of the Cluster later.
Orella cannot even find energy enough to manage hatred, as had kept her alive in the cells all that time ago. The heal is balm enough to relieve her senses some, and she sinks to her knees at last, landing hard against the decking. Still, the pain is potent enough that she must clutch at her arm again, though she's relieved she no longer feels the urge to scream, for her throat is raw. But she raises her head at least, to look at the back of the lalafell, and finds she has no answers for her questions. Were it her in Linini's shoes, no doubt she would do the same thing: accept the burden of guilt and steal away before any could bear witness to her shame. It's worked for her in the past, after all.
So she cannot begrudge Linini's retreat, nor be angered at the loss of the auracite, much as she might miss Lamont's figure. Briefly, she wonders if that is who Lini will see, and decides immediately that it doesn't matter in the face of all else.
And as Linini’s footsteps grow closer as she makes to pass, Orella only bows her head, the pain too much to bear.
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Heat of the Moment
Summary: The first time they woke up in Loguetown, they were in a bed at an inn, and they didn’t know why but they tried their best to help. The second time they woke up in Loguetown, they were in a bed at an inn, and they didn’t know why but they tried their best to help. The third time-
Ao3 link
Being born again sucks.
Being born again again was an emotional roller coaster.
Being born again again again really just makes you tired.
It was like that supernatural tuesday mornings episode, or that movie groundhogs day, except this was my life. And it was lasting a long ass time before restarting. And there was no trickster pulling the strings, not as far as I could tell. And I’ve had a while to figure it out, with still nothing to show for it.
It had been forty years total. This would be the twentieth time I was trying to save the Strawhats and their allies.
The first time we were close, we didn’t even realize how close, before the marines threw every single person, weapon, and power they had at two dozen people. Some may say that’s overkill, but they only just barely won. It would take them years to recover, and in that time the revolutionaries might actually be able to grab power. But the Strawhats were gone. We were gone.
We died.
Waking up back in that small bed 3 years in the past and I never cried so hard. I didn’t think what I had experienced was a dream, but here I was to do it all over. I was so grateful. And when I found out I was the only one who remembered, only one who knew we’d lived this before, well that was okay. Maybe it was better that way.
Then I was hopeful. Third time’s the charm and all that.
The fourth time I woke up there I was pissed. Again, nobody else woke up with the memories of what had happened, and I had never felt more alone surrounded by my family.
Each time our journey cut short, our crew massacred in different ways stopping us from reaching our dreams. The seventh go through we just got unlucky and a storm mixed with a sea king got us. Never showed up before, never showed up after.
On the ninth go through I decided I wouldn’t join the Strawhats, and instead hovered in the background for a grand total of 5 islands before Luffy dragged me onto the ship.
In all these attempts, only three times we were able to save Ace. Three times. Once preventing him from capture, once saving him from imperial dawn, and once at marineford. And yet, somewhere in the New World, our luck would run out.
By the 20th time I was feeling pretty defeated.
Nineteen times I watched as they all fell around me, my friends. Never the same order, sometimes I would die first, that’s what’s been happening the past 5 times. I jumped in and took the killing blow, saving myself from having to watch as the others got taken out one by one. I couldn’t watch Sanji being pummeled, Nami being shot down, Franky taking a bomb meant to kill thousands, Wado torn from Zoro's mouth as he was cut to ribbons, Chopper taking bullet after bullet, Brook being tossed into the ocean, Jimbe dismembered limb by limb.
Only once had Luffy been killed before me. Only once did I have to watch as the life left his eyes and the smile slipped from his face. I would not repeat attempt fifteen.
And here I am now. Waking up in my rented bed in the middle of loguetown. The first time I didn’t know why I was here or what I would do, but by now I knew. I knew this day too well.
I got out of bed, wondering if I should really try to be on the side lines, maybe join the revolutionary army, or maybe Boa Handcock would take me to her tribe so I could train. Either way I needed to go forward, and the best way was to hitch a ride on the boat I knew would make it over that crazy entrance and sail onto the grand line.
I gathered all my things and grabbed my knapsack, ready to see who I'd bump into first this time around.
If I went left and never turned I’d reach the fish market, where I’d run into Sanji. If I went right I would wind up in the shopping district where Usopp and Nami could be found, depending on which store I went in.
If I didn’t go inside any stores and kept walking I’d find the docks, where the merry was stationed and a lion and a man were attempting to burn it down. Or destroy it somehow, their plan never going well. I fought them off and snuck aboard the ship a few times, doing so twice in a row the past two times, as I wanted this day to just be over with.
If I explored, and I started making turns and going down streets, I stumbled across different scenes. Once I found Tashigi facing 2 men, handing them their asses on a platter, and Zoro’s reaction to her striking resemblance to Kuina. If I made a few different turns I’d find Usopp and Daddy the Father facing off, and Usopp's incredible shot. A different route and I would find the execution platform, early enough to sit and watch. I hadn’t in a while, gone right to Luffy that is. Not since attempt fifteen.
So many choices, but ultimately they all ended on the Merry, which is why I was going to skip the day and head straight there like the last two times but something made me pause. A feeling. An instinct.
The execution platform wasn’t as tall as I had once imagined. It was also old, and questionably stable.
And as I stared up at the structure, people passing around me not bothering with the rickety old scaffolding, I felt hot tears roll across my face.
“Are you okay?”
Luffy’s voice made my body jolt, and quickly I wiped at my face before turning to him. Seeing him so young again always sucked the breath from my lungs. No scar, no haunted look in his eyes, no heavy burdens weighing him down. He was carefree and joyful once again.
I didn’t know what to say, I stopped lying to Luffy after attempt fifteen, but I also didn’t want to talk about this right now, in such a public spot, so I shrugged. He frowned, and looked over at the platform, then back at me.
“This is where the King of the pirates died.”
“Yes. Right up there.” I said, looking back up at the top, and remembering seeing Luffy up there, shackled and smiling, as the marines held us all captive, rain pouring down and making it hard to see, especially with our arms bound, unable to wipe the wet hair and pooling water away from our eyes. Made us watch as they executed Luffy first, his head rolling away from his body in a way that made everything inside me twist up. I didn’t know how I didn’t throw up, snot was clogging up my nose as I cried making it hard to breath. Then they took Zoro up next. They were going to take Sanji next, but someone pointed out it would be more torturous for a ladies man like him to only watch as they killed the girls.
“After all, ladies first, right?” A marine had jeered. They took me first, and after that I had no idea what happened. Not like I could ask someone.
“Is that why you’re sad?”
A startled laugh left me, as my captain always had a way of surprising me with the conclusions he’d draw.
“Kind of. All the people who called Roger Namaka lost someone important that day. It hurts, I understand their pain. To feel desperate and alone.” I swallowed and glanced at the small frown Luffy wore as he looked at me. Anxiety prickled under my skin, questioning if maybe Luffy could see, see how much I had failed and he wouldn’t want me. That this time he would judge me and determine I’m not worth it. I couldn’t help the flinch at my own thoughts and turned before Luffy took notice, and decided enough of that for now. We had a journey to begin. And I was sounding too much like Robin.
“What do you think he saw, when he looked out at the end?” I asked, knowing where this would lead. His soft shishishishi was like a southing balm, his arms wrapping around my waist again felt like home, and flying through the air up towards the top of the platform made my heart race in the best, the smile from the feeling stuck on my face as Luffy set me down, still laughing.
“Now you don’t have to wonder.” He said, and looked out across the plaza.
My heart clenched, thinking of all the other times I had seen him up here. It had been maybe nine years?
“Hey you up there!” Shouting broke my thoughts, and our attention was drawn to a marine with a megaphone.
The fun was about to begin.
I was stronger this time. Sometimes when I woke up again, Id find it was easier to run, I was faster in my defense, it was easier and easier to call upon my haki. Last time I unlocked haki at whiskey peak. Today luck was again on my side as I tested my ability, observation allowing me to easily dodge and weave around all the clown pirates blocking our path to Luffy. Buggy grated on my nerves at the best of times, and right now he was reminding me too much of before. It was only the knowledge that in a heartbeat I could have all these men on the ground and Luffy safe that I held back, because I was waiting for something.
“I'M GOING TO BE KING OF THE PIRATES!” Luffy's declaration rang out, for everyone in the plaza to hear, the weight of his words mixed with the strong will that blanketed the area set a serious tone.
I realized I had not heard this declaration here since the first time we were all in Loguetown. I had stopped here, sure, but I either left to do something else and missed that part, or once I had stopped Buggy from capturing Luffy in the first place, on attempt fifteen. But the universe said that boy will go up on that platform one way or another.
Goosebumps ran down my arms and the winds picked up, the atmosphere changing as thunder clapped. Hope bloomed in my chest, hope that I tried to squash down immediately. Luffy always did this, made me feel like this time was it. This time we would make it.
No, it was two years too early for those thoughts. I told myself to never be hopeful until we were past fishman island.
Luffy had a way of making broken people heal.
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Serpents and Lions Ch.3
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Characters: Ochako Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugou, Class 1-A
Relationship: Bakugou/Uraraka, Slow Burn
Summary: She can hide her identity, but not her personality.
A/N: So if I remember correctly, tumblr stopped showing posts in the tags if they contained an outside link. I’m not sure if this is still in effect, but just in case, I’m not going to link the AO3 or FFN links yet. I am going to reblog this post with them, though, so please be patient :) (also pls review ;) )
2K // First // Last // Next
When Ochako wakes, she is immediately nauseous. She rolls onto her side, cheeks bulging with bile, and spews right into the bed. There’s nothing in her stomach after that, but still she heaves, saliva dripping from her lips and onto shaky arms.
“Not used to the sea, are we?” she hears, along with a good-natured chuckle, and it occurs to her that she just made a mess of a bed that’s not her own.
“I’m so sorr-” She shoots up, apology half-spoken, then falls back onto her pillows. She only half-notices the vomit that she lands in because her head is just swimming . There’s not one thought that can travel straight through her brain; everything in there is currently a twisting, winding labyrinth of pain and dizziness. She groans, throwing an arm over her eyes.
“Oh, come on, now.” A hand rests against her shoulder and pulls her up, steadying her to rest against the wall. A bowl is pressed into her hands. “Here you go. It’s just broth and bread, but I have a feeling that’s all you can stomach at the moment.”
Ochako looks up to find an elderly woman standing beside her, with neat pink hair and a kindly face. A white shawl is draped around her, and though she stands no taller than Ochako’s hips, she exudes a powerful aura, as though she could topple a giant with barely a wave of her arm. She smiles.
“You eat, and try to keep that down. I’ll go call in some other young’ins to help you bathe and such.” She starts out the door, but doesn’t go much farther. “The name’s Chiyo, by the way. And yours?”
“Ura–” she stops, spoon halfway to her mouth, thoughts flying a mile a minute through her scattered mind.
Shin. The Uraraka name. Hysa castle. Betrayal. Fire and blood. Blood blood blood.
Shin, wearing a mask. Secret identity.
Ochako recalls the dream she had the night before her parents’ death–a dream of herself, floating high above the castle, bobbing in the wind, as if the earth had no claim to her. A name floated through her mind, brought to her by both a summer breeze and a winter tempest.
“Uravity,” she says, like the final nail in the coffin of Ochako Uraraka.
Chiyo purses her lips. “Sounds like a pirate’s name to me.” Her face softens. “But if you’re not ready to share your true self just yet, we’re willing to wait.”
Her strength had returned with every sip of broth, every bite of bread. And though her stomach still churned like the waves, and she had to lean heavily on someone to walk about, she couldn’t stand being cooped up in the infirmary. Instead she walks the ship–because that’s what’s she on, she realized during her bath–on wobbly legs. She tries to walk, at least, but is more being dragged around by Yaoyorozu as they tour the ship.
“This is the main deck” she says, pulling Ochako along. “Most of the crew is either here or in their rooms below. The main mast is this way, Kaminari and Kouda should be up there now. Over here…”
Ochako lifts her eyes, trailing the mast into the sky before it disappears. “I’ve been asleep for three days, right?” she asks, interrupting Yaoyorozu’s impromptu lesson.
“...Yes,” is the answer, and tears well in Ochako’s eyes that she won’t allow to fall. She wipes away one that does escape, then reaches into the pocket of her borrowed breeches to put it away. It was a tradition her family always held, to put their emotions away for a time better suited to exploring them. Aboard a rocking ship, sick to her stomach and on wobbly knees, in front of an entire crew of strangers is definitely not the best time for an emotional breakdown.
There won’t ever be a good time for that, not until she reclaims her throne, at least. There’s an inner strength she can feel, a voice inside that tells her she can’t rest until then, and she’s not about to disappoint it.
She tries to walk again, though she’s still unsteady, she does manage a few steps almost on her own, with just her hand perched on Yaoyorozu’s shoulder. Yaoyorozu smiles, lifting a hand to her back, and begins droning on about life on the ship, remedies for seasickness, and other crew members–just about anything, mostly, though the gleam in her eyes says she’s proud.
And then Ochako falls. Well, not really. The deck bucks beneath her, practically disappears into a shower of splinters, and she flies upwards. Yaoyorozu calls her name but is nowhere in sight. She screams, a short, shrill sound that comes in bursts. She spins through the air, direction completely lost to her, her meager meal close to coming back up.
“Sorry!” Gentle arms embrace her, resting across her shoulders and beneath her knees. She clings to the boy’s collar and neck, her fingers digging into his exposed skin. When she peeks over his shoulder, they’re back on the ground, at the edge of a freshly-made hole in the deck. Splinters cover the floor around it, and annoyed groans come from all around.
“Sorry!” the boy says again. “We were sparring and I just…” He laughs sheepishly, and Ochako takes the chance to get a good look at him.
He’s very plain, is her first thought. His hair was dark and curly, and his face was amicably round. He looks at her curiously as he sets her down, then catches her again as she stumbles.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “this is my first time on a ship this big.”
“Ah, no worries! I was the same way!” He guides her hands to his forearms, a blush spreading quick across his cheeks as he does. His next sentence is stuttered, like he can’t quite get it out right. “I-I-I… it’ll f-fade eventually! Only took me a week or so to..to um…get used to it.”
“Right! I hope it’ll go away soon.” Ochako, too, blushes at their proximity, right until someone else storms up and starts yelling at the boy. He lets her go, a light blush still dotting his cheeks.
“Uravity! Are you okay?” Yaoyorozu runs up. Her lips are swollen, and there’s a cut across her nose, but she only worries for Ochako.
“I’m fine!” she assures, brushing splinters off her blouse. She gestures to the young man behind her. “He helped me.”
“Midoriya,” Yaoyorozu scolds, and he turns away from the crowd already scolding him. “You knew we picked up a new passenger a few days ago.”
“Sorry,” he says, a hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wasn’t thinking. You know how Todoroki is, though.”
Yaoyorozu sighs. “Yes, I know.” She peeks down into the hole, standing closer to the edge than Ochako would’ve liked. “Are you okay, sir?”
“Just fine, Momo.” Yaoyorozu blushes, and another boy–an odd one, with red and white hair split straight down the middle–jumps up to join them on the deck. He’s familiar to Ochako, but she can’t quite place him. The way he looks at her, though, says he does, in fact, remember her. He tilts his head and opens his mouth, probably to ask what a princess is doing this far out on the ocean.
“I’m Uravity!” she says, all smiles and laughter, like she isn’t about to freak out.
The boy purses his lips, because he knows she’s lying(through omission, she convinced herself), but after a nudge from Yaoyorozu, he just nods.
“I’m Shouto Todoroki. Nice to meet you, Uravity.” And just like that, he turns to the other boy to discuss their training session. Yaoyorozu sighs and unbuttons the bottom of her blouse.
“Wh-what are you doing?!” Ochako squeaks, blushing and looking away.
“Covering the hole,” Yaoyorozu says, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world.
“With your shirt?”
“With my Gift. We can’t just leave a big hole in the ship. We can get Mr. Nishiya to fix it once we return to port, but until then, this will do.” She pulls a wooden plank from the skin on her stomach and lays it flat across the hole. Or she tries to, anyway. It’s five feet across to the other side, and she can quite get it balanced right, and it keeps smacking the underside of the deck. “Can you go get that settled for me?”
Ochako nods and starts towards it, but stumbles, dizzy now that the adrenaline of soaring through the air has worn off. “Oh, right,” Yaoyorozu mumbles, then louder, “Will you get the other end for me, Lord Todoroki?”
Lord Todoroki?
“I’ll get it!” the first boy interrupts. He jumps, and in a flying leap, clears the six-foot gap. He grabs the board, then calls out, “Where’s Sero?”
Can that boy fly ?
Another boy comes over, swinging from the rigging on a rope that extended from his elbow.
“Is everyone here Gifted?”
There’s a beat of silence where no one really moves, and Ochako realizes she said that out loud. “I’m sorry!” she squeaks. It’s a breach of etiquette to just ask about one’s Gift, and to assume someone even has one is a major faux pas, especially when they don’t.
But Todoroki comes in for the save, placing a hand on her shoulder and nodding to Yaoyorozu and the others. He guides her to a private place at the edge of the ship and they sit, Ochako with her head between her knees. Todoroki sits beside her, leaning against the railing.
“So where did you get that name? Uravity?” he asks. The name sounds heavy in his mouth, and it’s as he says it that she hears a slight accent in his voice.
“What’re you talking about?” She mumbles, words slurred by her churning stomach. “S’my name.”
“It’s a pirate name,” Todoroki says, sure as if he knew her personally. “An alias.”
“And how would you know?”
He changes the subject. “You came from Hysa Castle, didn’t you? What did you do there?”
“I was an apprentice seamstress.” The lie slips off her tongue easier than she would’ve liked.
“What happened?”
Ochako says nothing, her words dried up like a desert. But Todoroki is waiting, looking like he can see straight through her, so she scrapes them from her throat in visceral roughness.
“Ostford,” she spits like she’s trying to erase it from history. “They attacked the castle. Killed almost everyone inside.”
“Why?” Ochako doesn’t have an answer for that, but it’s not like she has a chance to answer as he continues his train of thought. “It’s not like Hysa is rich or powerful. Their main export is cloth, and strategically it’s not a good place to start a war. In fact–”
“I don’t know!” Ochako yells. “I don’t know what he wants! I don’t know why he-” sniff “ -he would do something like this!” She cant cry now, so she buries her head on her knees, wiping her eyes one the fabric of her pants.
“Who?”
“General Shin,” she murmurs, quiet once again. “He led the attack. Chased me to the beach through all the hidden tunnels.”
“The king’s brother,” Todoroki whispers to himself. “And what of the King and his family?”
Ochako gasps and turns, sticking her head over the ocean to finally empty her stomach. Todoroki says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. He knows the answer just from her reaction, and rubs soothing circles across her back. She keeps gasping, trying to hold back the tears.
Her body trembles as she sits back down. She takes deep breaths, eyes closed and hands to her chest.
“My condolences.” She peeks tired eyes at him. “It must have been bad when you found your parents like that.”
She doesn’t have the energy to deny it, and if she’s honest she can’t even remember the lie she told earlier. She just nods and shuts her eyes, leaning her head against the rail. “There was blood everywhere. As bright as rubies and dark as garnets…”
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Three Skeleton Key
Georges-Gustave Toudouze (1937)
My most terrifying experience? Well, one does have a few in thirty-five years of service in the Lights, although it's mostly monotonous routine work - keeping the light in order, making out the reports.
When I was a young man, not very long in the service, there was an opening in a lighthouse newly built off the coast of Guiana, on a small rock twenty miles or so from the main land. The pay was high, so in order to reach the sum I had set out to save before I was married, I volunteered for service in the new light.
Three Skeleton Key, the small rock on which the light stood, bore a bad reputation. It earned its name from the story of the three convicts who, escaping from Cayenne in a stolen dugout canoe, were wrecked on the rock during the night, managed to escape the sea but eventually died of hunger and thirst. When they were discovered, nothing remained but three heaps of bones, picked clean by birds. The story was that the three skeletons, gleaming with phosphorescent light, danced over the small rock, screaming…
But there are many such stories and I did not give the warnings of the old-timers at the Isle de Sein a second thought. I signed up, boarded ship and in a month I was installed at the light.
Picture a gray, tapering cylinder welded to the solid black rock by iron rods and concrete rising from a small island twenty-odd miles from land. It lay in the midst of the sea, this island, a small, bare piece of stone, about one hundred fifty feet long, perhaps forty wide. Small, barely large enough for a man to walk about and stretch his legs at low tide.
This is an advantage one doesn't find in all lights, however, for some of them rise sheer from the waves, with no room for one to move save within the light itself. Still, on our island, one must be careful, for the rocks were treacherously smooth. One misstep and down you would fall into the sea - not that the risk of drowning was so great, but the waters around our island swarmed with huge sharks that kept an eternal patrol around the base of the light.
Still, it was a nice life there. We had enough provisions to last for months, in the event that the sea should become too rough for the supply ship to reach us on schedule. During the day we would work about the light, cleaning the rooms, polishing the metalwork and the lens and the reflector of the light itself, and at night we would sit on the gallery and watch our light, a twenty-thousand-candle power lantern, swing its strong, white bar of light over the sea from the top of its hundred-twenty-foot tower.
Some days, when the air would be very clear, we could see the land, a threadlike line to the west. To the east, north and south stretched the ocean. Landsmen, perhaps, would soon have tired of that kind of life, perched on a small island off the coast of South America for eighteen weeks, until one's turn for leave ashore came around. But, we liked it there, my two fellow tenders and myself - so much so that, for twenty-two months on end with the exception of shore leaves, I was greatly satisfied with the life on Three Skeleton Key.
I had just returned from my leave at the end of June, that is to say mid-winter in that latitude, and had settled down to the routine with my two fellow-keepers, a Breton by the name of Le Gleo and the head keeper Itchoua, a Basque some dozen years or so older than either of us.
Eight days went by as usual; then on the ninth night after my return, Itchoua, who was on night duty, called Le Gleo and me, sleeping in our rooms in the middle of the tower, at two in the morning. We rose immediately and, climbing the thirty or so steps that led to the gallery, stood beside our chief.
Now, ships were a rare sight in our waters, for our light was a warning of treacherous reefs, barely hidden under the surface and running far out to sea. Consequently, we were always given s wide berth, especially by sailing vessels, which cannot maneuver readily as steamers.
No wonder that we were surprised at seeing this three-master heading dead for us in the gloom of early morning. I had immediately recognized her lines, for she stood out plainly, even at the distance of a mile, when our light shone on her.
She was a beautiful ship of some four thousand tons, a fast sailer that had carried cargoes to every part of the world, plowing the seas unceasingly. By her line she was identified as Dutch-built, which was understandable, as Paramaribo and Dutch Guiana are very close to Cayenne.
Watching her sailing dead for us, a white wave boiling her bows, Le Gleo cried out. “What's wrong with her crew? Are they all drunk or insane? Can't they see us?”
Itchoua nodded soberly, looked at us sharply as he remarked: “See us? No doubt-if there is a crew aboard!”
“What do you mean, Chief?” Le Gleo had started, turned to the Basque. “Are you saying that she's the Flying Dutchman?”
His sudden fright had been so evident that the older man laughed: “No, old man, that's not what I meant. If I say there's no one aboard, I mean she's derelict.”
Then we understood her queer behavior. Itchoua was right. For some reason, believing she was doomed, her crew had abandoned her. Then she had righted herself and sailed on, wandering with the wind.
The three of us grew tense as the ship seemed about to crash on one of our numerous reefs, but she suddenly lurched with some change of the wind, the yards swung around and the derelict came clumsily about and sailed dead away from us.
In the light of our lantern she seemed so sound, so strong, that Itchoua exclaimed impatiently: “But why the devil was she abandoned? Nothing is smashed, no sign of fire---and she doesn't sail as if she were taking water.”
Le Gleo waved to the departing ship: “Bon voyage!” he smiled at Itchoua and went on. “She's leaving us, chief, and now we'll never know what ---“
“No, she's not!” cried the Basque. “Look! She's turning!”
As if obeying his words, the derelict three-master stopped, came about and headed for us once more. And for the next four hours the vessel played around us - zigzagging, coming about, stopping, then suddenly lurching forward. No doubt some freak of current and wind, of which our island was the center, kept her near us.
Then suddenly, the tropic dawn broke, the sun rose and it was day and the ship was plainly visible as she sailed past us. Our light extinguished, we returned to the gallery with our glasses and inspected her.
The three of us focused our glasses on her poop, saw standing out sharply, black letters on the white background of a life-ring, the stenciled name: Cornelius de Witt, Rotterdam.
We had read her lines correctly, she was Dutch. Just then the wind rose and the Cornelius de Witt changed course, leaned to port and headed straight for us once more. But this time she was so close that we knew she would not turn in time.
“Thunder!” cried Le Gleo, his Breton soul aching to see a fine ship doomed to smash upon a reef. “She's going to pile up! She's gone!” I shook my head: “Yes, and a shame to see that beautiful ship wreck herself. And we're helpless.”
There was nothing we could do but watch. A ship sailing with all sail spread, creaming the sea with her forefoot as she runs before the wind, is one of the most beautiful sights in the world - but this time I could feel the tears stinging in my eyes as I saw this fine ship headed for her doom.
All this time our glasses were riveted on her and we suddenly cried out together: “The rats!”
Now we knew why this ship, in perfect condition, was sailing without her crew aboard. They had been driven out by the rats. Not those poor specimens of rats you see ashore, barely reaching the length of one foot from their trembling noses to the tip of their skinny tails, wretched creatures that dodge and hide at the mere sound of a footfall.
No, these were ships' rats, huge, wise creatures, born on the sea, sailing all over the world on ships, transferring to other, larger ships as they multiply. There is as much difference between the rats of the land and these maritime rats as between a fishing smack and an armored cruiser.
The rats of the sea were fierce, bold animals. Large, strong and intelligent, clannish and sea-wise, able to put the best of mariners of shame with their knowledge of the sea, their uncanny ability to foretell the weather.
And they are brave, the rats, and vengeful. If you so much as harm one, his sharp cry will bring hordes of his fellows to swarm over you, tear you, and not cease until your flesh has been stripped from your bones.
The ones on this ship, the rats of Holland, are the worst, superior to other rats of the sea as their brethren are to the land rats. There is a well-known tale about these animals.
A Dutch captain, thinking to protect his cargo, brought aboard his ship - not cats - but two terriers, dogs trained in the hunting, fighting and killing of vicious rats. By the time the ship, sailing from Rotterdam, had passed the Ostend light, the dogs were gone and never seen again. In twenty-four hours they had been overwhelmed, killed and eaten by the rats.
At times, when the cargo does not suffice, the rats attack the crew, either driving them from the ship, or eating them alive. And studying the Cornelius de Witt, I turned sick, for her small boats were all in place. She had not been abandoned.
Over her bridge, on her deck, in the rigging, on every visible spot, the ship was a writhing mass - a starving army coming toward us on a vessel gone mad!
Our island was a small spot in that immense stretch of sea. The ship could have grazed us, passed to port or starboard with its ravening cargo - but no, she came for us at full speed, as if she were leading the regatta at a race, and impaled herself on a sharp point of rock.
There was a dull shock as her bottom stove in, then a horrible crackling as the three masts went overboard at once, as if cut down with one blow of some gigantic sickle. A sighing groan came as the water rushed into the ship; then she split in two and sank like a stone.
But the rats did not drown. Not these fellows! As much at home in the sea as any fish, they formed ranks in the water, heads lifted, tails stretched out, paws paddling. And half of them, those from the forepart of the ship, sprang along the masts and onto the rocks in the instant before she sank. Before we had time even to move, nothing remained of the three-master save some pieces of wreckage floating on the surface and an army of rats covering the rocks left bare by the receding tide.
Thousands of heads rose, felt the wind and we were scented, seen! To them, we were fresh meat, after possible weeks of starving. There came a scream, composed of innumerable screams, sharper than the howl of a saw attacking a bar of iron, and in the one motion, every rat leaped to attack the tower!
We barely had time to leap back, close the door leading to the gallery, descend the stairs and shut every window tightly. Luckily the door at the base of the light, which we never could have reached in time, was of bronze set in granite and was tightly closed.
The horrible band, in no measurable time, had swarmed up and over the tower as if it had been a tree, piled on the embrasures of the windows, scraped at the glass with thousands of claws, covered the lighthouse with a furry mantle, and reached the top of the tower, filling the gallery and piling atop the lantern.
Their teeth grated as they pressed against the glass of the lantern room, where they could plainly see us, though they could not reach us. A few millimeters of glass, luckily very strong, separated our faces from their gleaming, beady eyes, their sharp claws and teeth. Their odor filled the tower, poisoned our lungs, and rasped our nostrils with a pestilential, nauseating smell. And there we were, sealed alive in our own light, prisoners of a horde of starving rats.
That first night, the tension was so great that we could not sleep. Every moment, we felt that some opening had been made, some window given away, and that our horrible besiegers were pouring through the breach. The rising tide, chasing those of the rats which had stayed on the bare rocks, increased the numbers clinging to the walls, piled on the balcony - so much so that clusters of rats clinging to one another hung from the lantern and the gallery.
With the coming of darkness we lit the light and the turning beam completely maddened the beasts. As the light turned, it successively blinded thousands of rats crowded against the glass, while the darkside of the lantern room gleamed with thousands of points of light, burning like the eyes of jungle beasts in the night.
All the while we could hear the enraged scraping of claws against the stone and glass, while the chorus of cries was so loud that we had to shout to hear one another. From time to time, some of the rats fought among themselves and a cluster would detach itself, falling into the sea like a ripe fruit from a tree. Then we would see phosphorescent streaks as triangular fins slashed the water - sharks, permanent guardians of our rock, feasting on our jailers.
The next day we were calmer, and amused ourselves teasing the rats, placing our faces against the glass which separated us. They could not fathom the invisible barrier which separated them from us, and we laughed as we watched them leaping against the heavy glass.
But the day after that, we realized how serious our position was. The air was foul; even the heavy smell of oil within our stronghold could not dominate the fetid odor of the beasts massed around us. And there was no way of admitting fresh air without also admitting the rats.
In the morning of the fourth day, at early dawn, I saw the wooden framework of my window, eaten away from the outside, sagging inward. I called my comrades and the three of us fastened a sheet of tin in the opening, sealing it tightly. When we had completed the task, Itchoua turned to us and said dully:
“Well - the supply boat came thirteen days ago, and she won't be back for twenty-nine.” He pointed at the white metal plate sealing the opening through the granite. “If that gives way” - he shrugged - “they can change the name of this place to Six Skeleton Key.”
The next six days and seven nights, our only distraction was watching the rats whose holds were insecure fall a hundred and twenty feet into the maws of the sharks - but they were so many that we could not see any diminution in their numbers.
Thinking to calm ourselves and pass the time, we attempted to count them, but we soon gave up. They moved incessantly, never still. Then we tried identifying them, naming them.
One of them, larger than the others, who seemed to lead them in their rushes against the glass separating us, we named “Nero”; and there were several others whom we had learned to distinguish through various peculiarities.
But the thought of our bones joining those of the convicts was always in the back of our minds. And the gloom of our prison fed these thoughts, for the interior of the light was almost completely dark, as we had to seal every window in the same fashion as mine, and the only space that still admitted daylight was the glassed-in lantern room at the very top of the tower.
Then Le Gleo became morose and had nightmares in which he would see the three skeletons dancing around him, gleaming coldly, seeking to grasp him. His maniacal, raving descriptions were so vivid that Itchoua and I began seeing them also.
It was a living nightmare, the raging cries of the rats as they swarmed over the light, mad with hunger; the sickening, strangling odor of their bodies -
True, there is a way of signaling from lighthouses. But to reach the mast on which to hang the signal we would have to go out on the gallery where the rats were.
There was only one thing left to do. After debating all of the ninth day, we decided not to light the lantern that night. This is the greatest breach of our service, never committed as long as the tenders of the light are alive; for the light is something sacred, warning ships of danger in the night. Either the light gleams, a quarter hour after the sun goes down, or no one is left alive to light it.
Well, that night, Three Skeleton Light was dark, and all the men were alive. At the risk of causing ships to crash on our reefs, we left it unlit, for we were worn out - going mad!
At two in the morning, while Itchoua was dozing in his room, the sheet metal sealing his window gave way. The chief had just time enough to leap to his feet and cry for help, the rats swarming over him.
But Le Gleo and I, who had been watching from the lantern room, got to him immediately, and the three of us battled with the horde of maddened rats which flowed through the gaping window. They bit, we struck them down with our knives - and retreated.
We locked the door of the room on them, but before we had time to bind our wounds, the door was eaten through, and gave way and we retreated up the stairs, fighting off the rats that leaped on us from the knee-deep swarm.
I do not remember to this day, how we managed to escape. All I can remember is wading through them up the stairs, striking them off as they swarmed over us; and then we found ourselves, bleeding from innumerable bites, our clothes shredded, sprawled across the trapdoor in the floor of the lantern room - without food or drink.
Luckily, the trapdoor was metal set into the granite with iron bolts.
The rats occupied the entire light beneath us, and on the floor of our retreat lay some twenty of their fellows, who had gotten in with us before the trapdoor closed, and whom we had killed with our knives. Below us, in the tower, we could hear the screams of the rats as they devoured everything edible that they found. Those on the outside squealed in reply, and writhed in a horrible curtain as they stared at us through the glass of the lantern room.
Itchoua sat up, stared silently at his blood trickling from the wounds on his limbs and body, and running in thin streams on the floor around him. Le Gleo, who was in as bad a state (and so was I, for that matter), stared at the chief and me vacantly, started as his gaze swung to the multitude of rats against the glass, then, suddenly began laughing horribly:
“Hee! Hee! The Three Skeletons! Hee! Hee! The Three Skeletons are now six skeletons! Six skeletons!”
He threw his head back and howled, his eyes glazed, a trickle of saliva running from the corners of his mouth and thinning the blood flowing over his chest. I shouted to him to shut up, but he did not hear me, so I did the only thing I could do to quiet him - I swung the back of my hand across his face.
The howling stopped suddenly, his eyes swung around the room, then he bowed his head and began weeping softly, like a child.
Our darkened light had been noticed from the mainland, and as dawn was breaking the patrol was there, to investigate the failure of our light. Looking through my binoculars, I could see the horrified expression on the faces of the officers and crew when, the daylight strengthening, they saw the light completely covered by a seething mass of rats. They thought, as I afterward found out, that we had been eaten alive.
But the rats had also seen the ship, or had scented the crew. As the ship drew nearer, a solid phalanx left the light, plunged into the water and, swimming out, attempted to board her. They would have succeeded, as the ship was hove to, but the engineer connected his steam to a hose on the deck and scalded the head of the attacking column, which slowed them up long enough for the ship to get underway and leave the rats behind.
Then the sharks took part. Belly up, mouths gaping, they arrived in swarms and scooped up the rats, sweeping through them like a sickle through wheat. That was one day that sharks really served a useful purpose.
The remaining rats turned tail, swam to the shore and emerged dripping. As they neared the light, their comrades greeted them with shrill cries, with what sounded like a derisive note predominating. They answered angrily and mingled with their fellows. From the several tussles that broke out, it seemed as if they resented being ridiculed for their failure to capture the ship.
But all this did nothing to get us out of our jail. The small ship could not approach, but steamed around the light at a safe distance, and the tower must have seemed fantastic, some weird, many-mouthed beast hurling defiance at them.
Finally, seeing the rats running in and out of the tower through the door and the windows, those on the ship decided that we had perished and were about to leave when Itchoua, regaining his senses, thought of using the light as a signal. He lit it and, using a plank placed and withdrawn before the beam to form the dots and dashes, quickly sent out our story to those on the vessel.
Our reply came quickly. When they understood our position, how we could not get rid of the rats, Le Gleo's mind going fast, Itchoua and myself covered with bites, cornered in the lantern room without food or water, they had a signalman send us their reply.
His arms swinging like those of a windmill, he quickly spelled out: “Don't give up, hang on a little longer! We'll get you out of this!” Then she turned and steamed at top speed for the coast, leaving us little reassured.
She was back at noon, accompanied by the supply ship, two small coast guard boats, and the fireboat - a small squadron. At twelve-thirty the battle was on.
After a short reconnaissance, the fireboat picked her way slowly through the reefs until she was close to us, then turned her powerful jet of water on the rats. The heavy stream tore the rats from their places, hurled them screaming into the water where the sharks gulped them down. But for every ten that were dislodged, seven swam ashore, and the stream could do nothing to the rats within the tower. Furthermore, some of them, instead of returning to the rocks, boarded the fireboat and the men were forced to battle them hand-to-hand. They were true rats of Holland, fearing no man, fighting for the right to live!
Nightfall came, and it was as if nothing had been done, the rats were still in possession. One of the patrol boats stayed by the island; the rest of the flotilla departed for the coast. We had to spend another night in our prison. Le Gleo was sitting on the floor, babbling about skeletons; and as I turned to Itchoua, he fell unconscious from his wounds. I was in no better shape and could feel my blood flaming with fever.
Somehow the night dragged by, and the next afternoon I saw the tug, accompanied by the fireboat, come from the mainland with a huge barge in tow. Through my glasses, I saw the barge was filled with meat.
Risking the treacherous reefs, the tug dragged the barge as close to the island as possible. To the last rat, our besiegers deserted the rock, swam out and boarded the barge reeking with the scent of freshly cut meat. The tug dragged the barge about a mile from shore, where the fireboat drenched the barge with gasoline. A well placed incendiary shell from the patrol boat bombarded them with shrapnel from a safe distance, and the sharks finished off the survivors.
A whaleboat from the patrol boat took us off the island and left three men to replace us. By nightfall we were in the hospital in Cayenne. What became of my friends?
Well, Le Gleo's mind had cracked and he was raving mad. They sent him back to France and locked him up in an asylum, the poor devil. Itchoua died within a week; a rat's bite is dangerous in that hot humid climate, and infection sets in rapidly.
As for me - when they fumigated the light and repaired the damage done by the rats, I resumed my service there. Why not? No reason why such an incident should keep me from finishing out my service there, is there?
Besides - I told you I liked the place - to be truthful, I've never had a post as pleasant as that one, and when my time came to leave it forever, I tell you that I almost wept as Three Skeleton Key disappeared below the horizon
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Star Wars Episode IV: Lost Hope
Act 1 | Prologue + Chapter 1 |
Written by: @mother-cocoon
Edited and beta-read by @lastjedis
Preface:
I’d really like to thank Thais and everyone else who’s giving this a chance; it has been so much fun working on this au, and if you guys enjoy it, I’d be more than happy to give these characters the endings they deserve.
Chapters will be sporadic, but we’ll try to hammer them out close enough together!
Thank you all so much again—enjoy chapter 1, and may the Force be with you
-Mod Paul
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. (x)
Prologue
The earliest memories Leia had were of the evenings on Alderaan. She would sit on her mother’s lap and watch the sunset from the balcony of their home, the lake surrounding their city reflecting the soft red-orange hues of dusk. She could feel the tenderness of her mother’s fingers running through her hair, the gentle beating of pulmonodes through her mother’s dark blue gown.
“Alderaan,” Breha spoke almost dreamily, as if it were something imaginary and not right before her, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Leia?”
Leia was half asleep, but she nodded, pulling herself closer to the warmth of her mother’s chest.
“It’s easy to forget the rest of the galaxy doesn’t have what we have…” The words were pitying, but there was fire beneath them. “One day, Leia, every star and all of their worlds will have peace. I know it.”
Leia could remember her eyes closing as the sun settled behind the valleys and grasslands.
“Until then, the galaxy is going to need us around to get them there, hm?”
Her mother laughed, quietly to herself. She was careful not to wake her daughter.
“Until then…” Breha sighed, the last trails of sunlight fading from Alderaan.
Chapter One
The shadow of the moon fell over the planet of Alderaan.
Slipping silently through the blue-green planet’s orbit, it eclipsed the sun, looming overhead. It would have been a spectacular lunar phenomenon, but Alderaan had no moons.
Princess Leia Organa could make out her homeworld through the Death Star’s viewport. From where she stood, she could see the lush green valleys and snow-capped mountains lining Alderaan. Alderaan’s rivers seemed to outline the numerous cities and population centers before joining to fill the planet’s deep blue oceans.
In the back of her mind, a thousand miles away, Leia felt like she could sense the panic and fear of her people as they stared up at the sky, wondering what the source of this darkness could be. She wondered if they would have felt any comfort knowing someone just as scared was looking back at them.
“Welcome home, Princess,” The cold voice of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin came from behind Leia, “Admiring the view? It pains me to say it, given the circumstances, but Alderaan truly is one of the better worlds this galaxy has to offer; pity it’s rife with treachery.”
Leia didn’t respond as the Moff placed a calloused hand on the shoulder of her white dress and came to stand beside her. She could see his wiry figure in the reflection of the viewport, his vicious eyes were trained on the planet before them. She could make out the dull grey-green of his uniform, and the frosty white smattered amongst his aged brown hair. Everything about him, from the way he carried himself, to the way he dressed, to the way he spoke, it was all so calculated.
“Truth be told, we had expected Bail Organa of sedition long before this,” His voice oozed with satisfaction, “To think he’d give himself up by giving us his own daughter.” The Grand Moff’s hand moved a loose strand of Leia’s hair behind her ear. His finger lingered a moment longer than necessary on her neck, and Leia pulled her head away from his hand just enough to send the message.
Lowering his hand and stepping away from the view, Tarkin took his place in front of a line of stormtroopers. A dozen of them standing like an armored wall, motionless until given permission to move. Leia watched them from the reflection in the window. Tarkin turned his head just enough to address the troopers on his right side, “Bring me the Queen and her consort.”
Leia’s eyes widened as she tore herself from her world, “No!” She exclaimed, moving towards the Moff as much as his stormtrooper guards would allow.
Tarkin’s lips formed a thin smile.
“Is something the matter, Princess?”
“My parents,” Leia tried to mask her fear with guilt, “they had nothing to do with this. This was my plan–my idea.”
Leia tried to look as culpable as possible under the pressure of Tarkin’s hawkish gaze, it wasn’t hard.
“A confession? That’s good, I’m sure the Emperor and Lord Vader would love to skip the trials and move straight ahead with your execution, but…”
His smile fell.
“Do you really expect me to believe that a 19-year-old senator organized a coordinated attack against an Imperial research facility without the knowledge, or acquiescence, of her politically capable parents?”
The tone of his question was rhetorical. Leia knew he was daring her to answer but staying silent was practically admitting that her mother and father were members of the Rebellion. She couldn’t betray them to this man…
She took a deep breath, straightened herself, and put on the most regal voice she could manage in stun cuffs.
“Yes. I, Princess Leia Organa of the planet Alderaan, organized and perpetrated the rebel attack on Scarif by myself, and without the knowledge of any other.”
Leia held her ground, it was all she could do. Maybe if she could save her parents, then she wouldn’t have completely failed her mission…
“Interesting thing about rebels, Princess,” The Moff mused, “You’re like vermin: when one is found, there is sure to be a nest of a dozen more nearby. Or in this case,” Tarkin smiled again looking past Leia to the planet behind her, “2 billion more. Bring me Bail and Breha Organa.”
Leia wanted to yell out again, to do something, but she was powerless to stop the Grand Moff. She had failed her father aboard the Tantive IV, Darth Vader and his contingency of stormtroopers had captured her before she could finish planting the Death Star plans on an old Artoo unit.
With her capture, the rebellion’s only chance at destroying the Empire’s superweapon had slipped away and, with it, the hope of fighting the empire.
All those people who had risked their lives to stand up to the cruel reign of Emperor Palpatine…their sacrifices had been for nothing because she…she had failed.
A cold sweat worked its way down Leia’s back and she blinked, not realizing that the Grand Moff was standing over her, the towering angle creating shadows on his face that made his features even more severe. He grabbed her chin with his hand and moved an icy thumb across her cheek, brushing away a tear she didn’t know she had shed.
“Don’t cry, princess. We haven’t even gotten to your punishment.”
With a wave of his hand, two stormtroopers left the line and made their way towards her. Tarkin moved to the side as the troopers grabbed Leia by her arms and escorted her out of the viewing area. Tarkin watched the princess leave, his eyes only leaving her after the doors slid shut.
Stepping once again to the center of the viewport, he crossed his arms over his chest, positioning a hand slightly above his chin. His eyes studied the features of the planet as it continued along its shadowed rotation. He savored the sight, knowing he’d be one of the last in the galaxy to see it.
“Governor,” A grey suited technician approached him, interrupting his silent revelry, “The station is ready to fire, sir.”
The Grand Moff’s eyes glinted with sadistic anticipation, “Set for standby. Be ready to fire on my orders.”
“Yes, Governor.”
The technician moved away, and Tarkin returned to his silence.
End of Chapter One
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#we hope you like this ::!)))#many thanks to those who waited patiently!#star wars#sw au#sw fanfic#leia organa#lost hope#act i#chapters#if you see something that should be fixed don't hesitate to let us know!#mod thais#sw lost hope
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Alliance Part 4 (Gibson x Reader)
Summary: The battle is far from over and so is the alliance.
AN: This is the final part of the Alliance Series so I hope you guys enjoyed it and enjoy this. I made it a bit longer than usual because it's the big finale and I had a day off work. @hufflepuff-and-feminist and @firaemsen this one's for you two - my key motivators - and @outofworkactress because I can't wait for more "Je t'aime".
Previous Part Masterlist Alternate Ending
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“GO! We have to GO!”
Y/N felt the current dragging at her ankles as she shoved Gibson away from the hull and towards the ladder. Only then did he notice the water was up past their necks and everyone else had abandoned their task long ago.
Struggling against the water current, Y/N forced herself up the ladder with gulps for air. Pushing off of the sinking deck with water sloshing around her legs, Y/N spotted another ship a quarter of a mile away. The soldiers from the trawler were already paddling towards it.
“Gibson!” She called, backstroking her way over, “Gibson! This way!”
Feeling her body getting sucked down by the water current, Y/N swam harder, pawing through the water. Her stomach was in stitches and the cold water stung against her body but the behemoth ship was so close.
A dreaded droning zoomed overhead. The source of the stomach-churning noise flew overhead and dropped bombs on the only hope of staying alive. Taking a deep breath, Y/N ducked under the water for protection and covered her ears. The explosions sent shockwaves rippling through her body.
When the barrage ended, she broke the surface to see the ship still floating. Y/N swam around to find Gibson but he was nowhere in sight. Frantically, she looked for the others but they were already headed for the dark mass in front of the ship. If Gibson was going anywhere, the Keith was – Y/N did a double take at the dark mass that was diffusing towards her. It was then she realised that the Keith was slowly sinking below the surface, just like the trawler.
Ducking under the water, Y/N saw Gibson wasn't anywhere in the vicinity but there was a sailboat. Her first thought was that it was a mirage but then she saw others swimming towards it. Avoiding the oil, she swam as fast as she could towards it. Hopefully Gibson and Tommy would be doing the same.
As she drew up to the side, a set of arms pulled her out of the water. She tried to climb up the side but her legs were too tired. She was met with a man in RAF uniform and a younger boy in a bright red jumper. A little disorientated, Y/N stared at them with a disgruntled expression.
“Sit down,” The RAF pilot led her to the corner of the boat, out of the way, before returning to help lift other soldiers onboard. Scanning the faces of those who were brought aboard, Y/N didn’t see Gibson or Tommy. Fear spiked in her as Alex came aboard, his face coated in oil, but he didn’t notice her. Instead he headed straight for the companionway.
The Heinkel swarmed around the Keith even as it was shot.
“GO! GO! GO!”
The last soldier was bought aboard as the Moonstone. He collapsed on the deck in front of Red Jumper. It was Tommy. Leaping to her feet, Y/N practically jumped on Tommy and lifted him off the deck.
“Tommy, you’re ok! Did you see Gibson?”
Still catching his breath, Tommy shook his head before he was taken into the companionway. Y/N looked about frantically, the muffled request for her to sit down falling on deaf ears. Gibson wasn’t on the boat. Rushing to the side, she peered at the men left in the water.
She thought she saw him. There were so many so she wasn't sure but she couldn't just abandon him.
“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” The RAF pilot restrained her as she stood on the edge. Y/N forcefully shoved him back and dove into the water. Like before with the torpedoed boat, adrenaline gave life to her stiff movements. She didn’t have a plan other than to get Gibson.
The man she thought was him had swam away but Gibson was there. He was left in the wake of the Moonstone, thrashing in the water, away from the oil but not safe from the cold shock.
Gibson was sinking into the ocean, his face barely breaking the surface, when she made it to his side, her muscles burning like the fuel on the water. Tiredly treading the water, she lifted him back up and onto his back. He coughed up the water and fought not to cling to Y/N. His boots were still weighing him down.
“Float,” Y/N spluttered, “You float in cold water so the shock wears off!” Her assurance was in vain as Gibson struggled to swim.
“Stop!” She nearly choked on a wave, “It’s ok!” Keeping a hand under his back, Y/N glanced around. The Moonstone was too far away and showed no signs of coming back but there were other sailboats in the near distance.
Lifting Gibson by the scruff of his neck to keep him afloat, Y/N propelled herself towards another sailboat. One painted red was already sailing over towards them. With a dunk and a kick for momentum’s sake, Y/N waved at it and prayed that they would stop to pick them up.
The sailboat slowed, granting Y/N her wish, and a ladder was dropped down as it pulled against the duo. Gibson was no longer thrashing, simply waiting with chattering teeth. Hands reached down to help while he was ushered up the ladder first. Only when he was pulled onboard, his ally followed him up. She wasn’t making that mistake again.
Y/N flopped onto the deck with Gibson next to her. Wheezing loudly, she was helped up and ushered onto the side of the boat. A lifejacket was tossed at her and she plonked herself out of the way. Gibson fell next to her, shivering as he leant on her chest. Y/N curled up her left arm around to cradle his head, resting hers atop it.
No one asked for them to move; even though it made the other uncomfortable to see two men so close, they were too tired to complain.
As evening came, Y/N was watching the sun go down, the pink rays ghosting over the white cliffs of Dorset. Her fingers gently played with Gibson’s hair, working the feeling back into them; it soothed them both into a lulled state and made time move faster. In no time at all, they were approaching the harbour at Weymouth.
Stumbling a little, Y/N stepped onto the harbour’s jetty and, after helping Gibson onto the boards, headed for the train. A chit, some tea and a pastry were thrust into their hands with murmurs of congratulations at their survival.
“Well done, lads,” The man held out a blanket to her. She accepted without looking up to him. Tucking them under her arm, Y/N rested her hand on Gibson’s lower back to guide him onto the train. He had his own sustenance and was copying her body language.
Soon, they were sat at their own table and shielded their faces from those walking past with their food. Gibson forced some of the pasty down his throat, not enjoying the taste or the burning but he kept eating until it was gone. Then he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and used his forearms as a pillow. He dozed off to the sound of the train pulling out of the station.
Ignoring Alex's comment about the old blind man, Tommy tucked himself into his seat. He opened his eyes at the sound of someone dropping something on his table. Y/N was slouched next to Alex, a clear set distance between them, with a blanket in her lap and a ceramic mug of tea in her hand.
What she said next was directed at Alex, “You say anything, I cut your nuts off and stuff ‘em down your throat. Got it?”
Alex looked down, “Gibson?”
“Over there, sleeping. He’s alright, no thanks to you.”
“We won’t say anything,” Alex swallowed hard.
Tommy copied him, tensing at this hardened version of his friend, “How’d you get him out?”
“Jumped in. Got him to another boat.”
“Are you ok?” Tommy asked.
“I will be... Hope you get to take a shit sometime, Tommy.” Y/N stood and started to leave then stopped. Pivoting back, she swallowed some tea before speaking again:
“I’m glad you both made it. Good luck.”
Then she was gone. Neither Alex nor Tommy got the chance to ask for her real name. And Alex didn't have the chance to ask Tommy what she meant about taking a shit before he fell asleep.
Gibson flinched at the sunlight glaring through the window, rendering him disorientated. He looked around and took in his surroundings; most of the soldiers were asleep and those who weren’t were staring at their tables. Instead of joining the status quo, he turned to his comrade.
Y/N was still tucked up against the window. The blanket was tucked over her body with a small section scrunched up in her neck to prop her head up. Stretching his legs, Gibson felt her boots topple over under the table.
The sound of the whistle shook Y/N awake, her blanket falling away from her neck. She glanced out the window to see the stereotypical English countryside.
Y/N leant forward and gestured for him to do the same. Both of them rested their chins on their forearms, their noses almost brushing as Y/N whispered:
“You and me… Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…”
She paused, trying to remember what she had to say. Then it came to her.
“Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre… Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi.”
Gibson nodded mutely, near tears. Her French was terrible but it was also somewhat endearing. With what she had given up for him and what she was doing, he didn’t know what to do.
Y/N joked for her benefit, “My translation wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Hiding his face in his sleeves, Gibson wiped his eyes away. He was still waiting to wake up from his nap on the beach. There was no way this person was really letting him do this. It was all just a dream then he’d wake up and have to get back on duty.
But he didn’t wake up. Not when the train stopped or when they passed through the station and not on the entire route to an unknown destination. The walk was long, at least half an hour, and they didn’t go without some strange looks from people. A lot of people. Y/N didn’t stop,
The pair finally arrived at the house. It was squashed on one side at the end of a long line of terraces with grey bricks and uneven slates leading to the front door. But Y/N walked around to the side. Gibson treaded lightly on the lawn on tiptoe, butterflies pounding against the lining of his stomach. This was real. He was going to be ok.
Pushing open the back gate, Y/N stepped into the garden. Gibson took in the sight with wide eyes. Asters, delphiniums, hydrangeas and snapdragons lined the fences. A washing line was filled with fresh clothes that swayed in the wind. Roses climbed up the brickwork and to the windows. Lush grass made the tiny garden feel so much bigger and the trees stretched up to the sky with thick green leaves, blocking the unused privy from view. One had a wooden swing gently rocking back and forth. It was like heaven.
A young man in cotton pyjamas was sat in his wheelchair, staring out into the garden with a lopsided smile. Y/N took a deep breath and walked up to him, leaning over the chair before she whispered something. The young man turned to her and let out a high-pitched groan, his smile widening one side and drooping the other. His twitching arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“Michael, what is it?” A voice called out and Gibson shrank back behind the side alley. A tall commercial woman came out of the kitchen door; she was wearing washing up gloves on that juxtaposed her composed appearance.
“Hey, ma,” Y/N’s voice broke. With a wail, the commercial woman flung herself at Y/N. The pair clung to one another, sobbing into the other’s shoulders. Michael joined in, making a discord of noises. Pulling away, now with a large oil smear down her blouse, the commercial woman held Y/N’s face with tears streaming down her face.
“All your hair’s gone!” She ran a hand through Y/N’s curls, teasing out the knots, “But you’re safe! I saw the paper and I didn’t know what to think!”
Y/N saw Gibson hiding behind the house wall and figured she might as well cut to the chase.
“This is Gibson, can he stay for a bit?”
“Sure. Hello Gibson,” Her mother greeted Gibson with open arms. Looking at Y/N over the stranger’s shoulder, Gibson sent an expression of alarm and instantly Y/N stepped in.
“Careful, he’s shell-shocked.”
Her mother quickly released Gibson and moved away with an “oh”. Gibson looked down at the concrete slabs, his hands twitching. Or were they shivering?
“I’ll make you some food,” Ma said quietly, a little patronising, but Gibson didn’t understand anyway. She then went back into the kitchen but not before hugging her daughter again.
“This is Michael,” Y/N helped Gibson over to the man in the wheelchair, “Michael, this is Gibson.”
Michael waved, his hand flailing a little but a definite improvement compared to when Y/N left. Already shaking with nerves, Gibson continued to stare his lap. Ma didn’t seem to mind his behaviour too much. She made him ham and cheese sandwiches with apple slices and a pint of fresh water. Seeing him nearly choke on his food three times, Y/N started to ration his food between helping Michael with his.
Ma was good enough not to ask about anything that’d happened. Instead, she left them to eat alone and went to draw up a bath for them. As soon as they finished their food, Y/N and Gibson went to clean up.
Up the tiny-staircase, Gibson looked around at the photos and odd décor before he entered Y/N’s room. A simple box with a few photos on the vanity, a wardrobe with minimal clothes and a bed that was a bit bigger than the average twin.
“You can stay here,” Y/N pointed to the bed and then to the bathroom that was adjacent to her room. Gibson followed her finger and shut the door behind him but not before she’d handed him a towel, new toothbrush and a freshly washed set of pyjamas that Michael wasn’t using.
As Gibson gingerly placed his things on the lavatory seat, he rubbed the fluffy towel against his face. The soft fabric caressed his cheek, so different to his uniform. Then he brushed his teeth for the first time in weeks. It felt unusually clean, like stepping into an over-disinfected hospital.
The bath was half full of water and coated in a miniscule layer of bubbles. He knelt in front of the bath and waved a hand through the suds. A wave of fear washed over him and he stood up again, going back into the bedroom to see Y/N who was scrubbing her skin red raw with a nail brush. He coughed to get her attention and her rapid scrubbing stopped.
“You ok?” Y/N said quietly. Blinking back tears, Gibson shook his head.
“Uh,” Y/N folded her shirt while she thought of a solution. Opening the draw, she pulled out a flannel and gingerly took Gibson’s hand to lead him back in. Carefully soaking the flannel, Y/N held it up for Gibson to see before gently dabbing his face. For some reason, her other hand came to gently hold the other side of his face.
Closing his eyes, Gibson leant in her palm as she wiped his face free of oil. The warm water was soft against his skin and her fingers was tenderly stroking the hair that curled around his ear, putting him at ease. In no time at all, his face was clean.
“Do you,” She gestured to him then to the bath, “want to get in?” Gibson shivered before pointing to her and the bath.
“You want me to get in with you?” Y/N repeated the gestures. Gibson nodded. Tapping a random tune on the bath tub rim, Y/N nodded with him before disappearing to grab another towel.
Stripping off his clothes apart from his shirt and underwear, Gibson ripped off the dog tags. He didn’t know what to do with them. They weren’t his. He would have to find the family while he was here and give them the tags. Somehow. Maybe Y/N would help him… What even was her first name?
Y/N was now in an oversized t-shirt, probably her father’s. Placing Gibson’s change of clothes next to their towels, she climbed over the side of the bath and stood in it. Taking her outstretched hand, Gibson stepped into the bath with her. They weren’t completely past the awkwardness surrounding their proximity.
Taking a breath for courage’s sake, Y/N squatted down in the water and rubbed some of the suds against her forearms. It was more pleasant than the scrubbing brush. Gibson squatted down next to her, but refused to sit in the shallow water. Together, they rubbed their bodies free of oil and dirt.
Not exactly ready to dunk her head under water, Y/N used a cupped hand to run some water through her hair. Thrice was enough and Gibson got back out to rub himself dry.
“Merci, Y/N,” He said quietly, his accent distorting her name in the sweetest way possible.
“It’s ok,” She squeezed his shoulder and handed him his towel.
“It’s ok,” He repeated, wiping his arms with a nod and a nervous smile. His eyes were drooping shut as he brushed his face with the towel, his lack of energy hitting him gently.
Y/N let Gibson have the bathroom so he could change in peace. At least they still had those boundaries. It was then Y/N remembered that Gibson wasn’t “Gibson’s” real name. Going into the hallway, she ran her gaze across the bookshelves until she found the French-to-English dictionary.
After jogging her memory, Y/N recalled how to change verbs into the right tense. The gears were as taut as her limbs but she got there. Still, she flicked through the French-to-English dictionary to find the right words in order and practised the question before she spoke.
“Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?” She stammered out, peering into the bedroom to see Gibson curled up on the left side of the bed. He was half-tucked under the covers, lying on his front with his arms above his head and propped under the pillow.
Y/N put the book down on the side and lay down next to him. She stroked his hair one more time before closing her eyes. His name could wait one more night.
AN: For those who didn’t know, Aneurin gave Gibson’s real name.
I love this man. Also, the implication that comes with Michael is that the reader posed as her brother who wasn’t well enough to join the army. Bit o’ a Mulan situation on our hands. Side note: I will be posting an alternative ending to Alliance that *cough* stays true to the film’s canon.
Translations:
You and me…Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…
You and me ... Work together. Protecting each other. Cover each other ...
Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre.
Now we are in England.
Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi.
You can stay with me. Home.
Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?
What is your name? Your real name?
#dunkirk imagine#gibson imagine#gibson x reader#r: female#my writing#wc: >2k#aneurin barnard#aneurin barnard imagine#aneurin barnard x reader#imagine
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Voltron Lance X Fem! Reader
Hey! So this is the first time I'm posting one of my stories on here. Lets see how this goes~! Feed back is always welcomed! Enjoy!!
Lance x Reader One shot
Warning its hella Sad and Angsty but it has a nice ending. Enjoy!
Your Pov
From the start of when all this began -this galactic war-Voltron - defending the
universe I was a medical aid in training at the Garison, because let's face it something bad is bound to happen and someone's going to need medical attention. Whether its rescues or keeping your own crew alive. I worked alongside Hunk, Pidge and Lance in the simulator for the first time that fateful day and was there when Shiro had landed that same fateful night.
Now here we all are. How long has it been months? A year later? Floating through space on the Castle of Lions. On the ship I did a lot of work with Coran since I’m an extra on the ship. It’s pretty cool being apart of something so big! From time to time I would pull pranks with Pidge and Lance. Help prep and cook meals with Hunk. Keep Allura company or help with what she needed and assist Keith and Shiro’s training in the overhead training observatory.
I loved everyone aboard the ship, but one more than the others. It’s sort of embarrassing to say, but over time I fell for Lance. His humor, his cheesy pick-up lines, his bright disposition and so much more. We would hang around and talk to each other for hours if it weren’t for his training or my assistance being needed elsewhere. However, his flirtatiousness wasn't solely reserved for me. He flirted and used those cheezy pick-up lines on other females and after a while the conversations stopped all together. I started to fall apart. So many thoughts swam through my head of what could have gone wrong. I started to think about how this all began. What was it! I was so close to pulling my hair out then it struck me like a bullet train. It was the beautiful alien girls that Lance would flirt with! That was when the idea hit me! I’ll take features that I thought Lance found attractive in the alien females and alter my body to the best of my ability to get him to notice me again.
One of the alien girls Lance was currently flirting with had larger breasts than I had (if your breast are big already imagine a size or two smaller). I looked around the castle and found pieces of solid silicon and stuffed them on the underside of my bra to make my boobs bigger. I walked down the hallways to where the lounge area was, glowing with confidence at my new found fuller bosom. When I walked into the lounge Lance was there, but so were Hunk, Pidge and Shiro. In the later three’s eyes I could see that they noticed the obvious dramatic change to my anatomy. I started to grow embarrassed knowing that they knew this was very unlike me, but quickly shook it off and made my way to the back part of the couch Lance was leaning on. I rested my elbows on the top of the couch and used my upper arms to squish my boobs together to create more cleavage.
I cleared my throat to get Lance’s attention; “ Hey Lance~ how you’ve been?” I asked sweetly with a small smile as I bat my lashes.
“ Oh, pretty good.” Lance responded hardly looking in my direction.
“That’s good… so… notice anything different?” I asked again as I pushed up the “breasts” a bit.
He turned toward me scanning me with his deep blue ocean eyes, before he replied with;
“ Um...new earrings?”
New earrings? New Earrings?! I’M NOT WEARING ANY?!?!.... he didn’t notice…
I played it off with a laugh and made an excuse that I had to help Coran with something then left.
That wasn't enough? I thought to myself. Guess I’ll have to try harder!
With every new planet we visited I observed what alien girls Lance would flirt with so I could modify myself.
One alien girl was tall and had long legs. So I bought a pair of tall heels when we visited the near by space mall. I’d wear the heels for hours till it was time for bed. I ignored the pain they brought and the blisters and continued to wear them every day… still no results.
One alien girl had beautiful lashes. So I got myself a pair of the fluffiest most volumized lashes one could find. Still no results.
Another alien girl had a darker skin tone. So I did what I could to give myself a fake tan (if your skin tone is dark already imagine it a shade lighter?). Again no results
An alien girl with plump lips was another one Lance flirted with. So I found what makeup I could to make my lips more full. As you guessed not a single result.
Finally Lance flirted with a beautiful slim waist and toned female alien. I in return ate smaller meals, skipped snacks and in the privacy of my room worked out till exhaustion.
This was it if Lance didn't notice I don't know what more I could do.
I altered my shirt so it would show my midriff that I worked so hard on. I may have looked a bit tramp-ish at this point, but if it will get Lance to notice me again… then it's worth it.
I made my way to the kitchen. It was between lunch and dinner, Lance would always come in for a snack around this time. When I got to the kitchen I sat up on the counter and reclined on my side with my arm bent to support me. My legs elongated and crossed. Just as everything was just right Lance walked in.
“Hey Lance~” I called batting my ridiculously volumized lashes.
He walked by muttered a simple and flat “hey” grabbed his snack and left….
….
I sat up on the counter with wide eyes. I pursed my lips together then hopped off the counter with my head hung low. I made my way to the exist when it opened Keith and Shiro were there, just judging by their shoes.
Shiro noticed and asked, “ Hey (y/n) are you alright?” Concern was very evident in his voice.
I simply nodded a “yes” and proceed down the hallway. Once I knew I was out of sight I ran. I didn't just run anywhere… no I ran to the training room control room/ observatory.
Once the door was shut I slumped to the ground, painfully peeling off the heels as well as the lashes. I rubbed off what makeup I could, smearing it in the process ( que mulan’s reflection) as a large flow of tears ran down my face. I crawled to a corner where there was a part of the control panel and for while sobbed into my tucked in knees the tears creating small veins that washed away fake tan.
“I-I-I’ll never be *hic* good enough for him.” I dry heaved.
“No matter what I do he won't notice” I sobbed once more.
Long ago when I was just a mere middle schooler I went out with a guy… I wouldn't have called it dating; anyway he tried to change things about me. Like the friends I should hang out with and what I should wear. He tried to change me and I didn’t like it. So I broke it off with him and swore to myself I would change for no one. I wanted to have a romantic relationship with someone who would love me for me.
Yet here I am. Changing myself for someone else again.
“ God c-could I appear any more desperate.” I hiccuped as I wiped away some snot.
I eventually laid on my side and cried to myself while my mind went to town on a quest for self destruction.
Shiro’s Pov
I looked at Keith worriedly as (y/n) left. And judging that we walked past Lance it seemed like (y/n) had given up.
Now it was no surprise that (y/n) deeply cared, heck loved Lance. We all saw what she was doing to herself.
“ We have to round up everyone at the lounge and talk about this.” I told Keith.
Keith nodded and looked at where (y/n) had gone.
*At the lounge area with everyone minus Lance*
“Poor (y/n)!” Allura and Coran cried out as tears formed in both their eyes.
“Lance is such an idiot for not noticing!” Pidge fumed.
“Man, I thought Lance could tell at this point; I mean she’s not even eating healthily!” Hunk said disappointingly.
“ She looked so far gone….I hardly even noticed it was her under all that.” Keith grumbled as he crossed his arms and slouched on the couch ( lol that rymed).
“ We gotta let Lance know what he’s been doing to her.” I said and just as I finished Lance walked through the door.
Lance’s PoV
On my way to the lounge for a team meeting called upon by Shiro. My mind started to wonder. What happened to (y/n)? I haven't seen her in so long.
I started thinking about all the alien girls I flirted with. I mean they were all pretty and all, but they weren't like (y/n). (Y/n) was funny, bright, her beauty was simple and when I started missing home she would look at me with soft eyes and a warm smile. She’d pull me into a soothing hug. There was so much I loved about her and more….
Holy Crow! I love her!
It hit me like lighting! I had to tell her about my feelings! I had to find her after the meeting.
I walked through the door. Everything was silent… like sickening silence save for Allura and Coran's muffled sniffles. ALL. EYES. WERE. ON. ME. Oh quiznak...what did I do.
“Lance we got a lot to tell you.” Shiro began.
“Uh… yeah… whats up?” I asked uneasily as I took a seat on the couch.
“When was the last time you saw (y/n)?”
“ Uh...Um… like 2 Phoebs?”
“And. You. Haven’t. Even. Wonder. Where. She’s. Been!” both Keith and Pidge shouted, startling Lance.
“Dude, you’ve seen that girl, she looks like she’s been trying too hard around the castle right?” Hunk asked in a abnormally serious tone for the Teddy bear of the crew.
“Uh...yeah...w-what about her?” I asked as my voice wavered from all the intensity in the room.
“THAT WAS HER NUMB NUTS!” Pidge exploded.
That...that was (y/n) this whole time? My eyes went wide before shaking it off and putting forth my own question.
“Nah! That can't be her… why would she do that to herself?”
“Are you serious? She DID it for You!” Keith stated as it fell from his mouth like poison.
“What me? Wh-” before I could finish Allura chimed in.
“Because she loves you that's why! You’ve ignored her and flirted with every species we’ve come across! You’ve straight up ignored her and she thought the only way to get you to notice her again was to change herself into something she thought you’d like.” Allura finished. Her voice so pained and ragged from the crying.
Oh god… I really did do that to her.
“ She looked like she had given up when she left the kitchen a couple of doboshes ago.” Keith said his voice solemn.
No!
I stood up abruptly.
“ Where’d she go?!” my voice now filled with worry.
“Knowing (y/n) she’ll have gone somewhere where she couldn't easily be found” Coran said as he blew into his handkerchief.
I dashed toward the door, but before I made it through Shiro called out.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to find (y/n) and set things right.”
And dashed down the hallway in search of (y/n).
Hunks Pov
“You think he too finally realized he loves her? ” I asked.
“Tch… judging by the way he acted I’d say yes.” Pidge grumbled sassily.
“Hope she at least gives him a good slap in the face for what he's done.” Keith said.
I hope things go well for those two.
Back to Lance’s PoV
I raced down the halls until I heard a hiccup and a dry heave on the other side of the door to the training room control room. As quietly as I could opened the door to see the ridiculously high heels chucked in random parts of the room and even more ridiculous false lashes...they looked like spiders if you took a quick look at them. Then I turned my head to where (y/n) was her feet were bruised and blistered all to hell and the creepy fade of her fake tan with rivers of her true skin tone underneath.
“(y/n)?”
Your PoV.
I was still crying. So much so I didn't hear the door open. Not until I heard the voice of the person I least wanted to see call out my name...Lance
I gasped before tucking myself further into a ball. I heard his footsteps approach.
“Get away….I don't want to see you.”
I said in a low growl.
His footsteps stopped.
“(y/n) hold on a sec-.”
Lance’s PoV
I cut myself off as I saw (y/n) get up her head still hanging low. She picked up the shoes and lashes then started to walk past me but stopped.
“ You wish t-to train, right? I’ll get going then.” she said, her voice now sounding void of life. The liveliness I loved so much about her was gone.
Just as she made it out the door I grabbed her wrist. Now out in the hallway she still didn't turn to face me.
“ (y/n) will you let me finish what I have to say? Once you hear me out you’re free to go alright?” my voice stern but calm.
“...fine” she replied her tone a bit agitated.
“ I’m sorry for ignoring you for so long.” I started to pour out. “ I was so lost in my own little world that I had forgotten all you've done for me. I may have flirted with all those other female aliens, but the idea of being with them never stuck with me. Not like when I think of you… I had no clue it was even you under all that.” At this point my hands held (y/n)’s upper arms in a firm and gentle grip. “ I thought you were some other species of alien and in all it wasn’t all that attractive.” I felt (y/n) twitch in my grasp when I finished.
“ I found myself missing your warm smile, your soft eyes, your giggles that sound like small bells. I found myself falling in love ….with you.” She looked up abruptly her eyes wide, her eyebrow knitted together in confusion and her mouth slightly open. I wiped some of the tears that still continued to fall from her glassy (e/c) eyes “and I'd never ask you to change yourself for me…. Because I already love you for you.”
Your PoV
He...he said it… the words I’ve longed to hear.
A whole new dam of tears broke out and I quickly embraced Lance in a longing hug.
“You have no idea how long I've waited to hear someone I loved say those words to me.” I cried into his chest.
He hugged me back a rubbed my back soothingly. He then pulled me from him and held my head in his hands a wiped away more tears.
“ I love you so much Lance.” I said as I looked into his calm ocean blue eyes and his gentle smile.
“I love you too (y/n). Now let’s wash this stuff off your face and get you into something comfortable before we head to dinner?” Lance asked as his hand intertwined with mine.
“That's the third best thing I've heard all day.” I said with a small laugh.
“What was the other two?” Lance asked knowingly.
“ I think you already know~” I giggled in reply.
END.
#lance mcclain#voltron lance#vld lance#lance x reader#voltron#voltron lance x reader#romace#takashi shirogane#keith kogane#pidge gunderson#hunk garrett#voltron coran#princess allura#you'll cry at least 5 times#voltron fanfic
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Chapter 10
Between the Earth and the Sky
“Did you eat something bad from last night?” Bella asked Harry as they aboard a rented boat on their way to Phi phi Islands. “Or are you just nervous?”
Harry couldn’t talk. After his revelation the previous night, he couldn’t talk let alone look at Bella. He forced himself to smile. He didn’t sleep properly last night- he couldn’t especially when Bella is just sleeping peacefully beside him and he couldn’t do anything but stare at the calmness of her face. I can’t understand how it had gotten into this. His mind is in a havoc. Who told you to fall in love? But still, he couldn’t push himself to stay away from her or lie to her and tell her that they can’t be friends anymore.
Can’t be friends? His mind scoffed and Harry sighed making Bella look at him. “I think I’m getting sea sick.” He reasoned out.
Bella gave him a half smile before looking out into the horizon once again. She notice the weirdness of Harry’s actions since last night- and how he looks at her in pure shock and fear whenever she comes near him. Like I molested him or something. She thought and she smiled. The hell is wrong with him, really?
They arrived at Phi phi Island and checked in on one of the cottages in Nuat Thai Hotel. “It’s a bit expensive but it gives us more privacy..” Bella trailed off dumping her bag on top of one of the twin beds. “Well, you. It gives you more privacy.. We don’t have to fear you bumping into anyone on the way to the kitchen because we have our own.” She said smiling towards Harry who’s busy looking at the sunset outside.
Harry is in awe. The view is magnificent; the orange sky, the calm sea, the peacefulness of the place. He would love to think that he’s in heaven. He felt Bella stand beside him and look out the window as well and he whispered, “It’s so beautiful here.”
“I know.”
To be safe, both just ordered room service and stayed inside their room planning to go out extra early the next morning. “Come on. It will be fun.” Bella urged Harry who gave her an astounded look in return. “You can just do the low cliff.”
“And make me look like a pussy?”
“You said that.” Bella smirked and Harry narrowed his eyes at her in return. “Fine. You can just stay here in the room.” She sighed leaning back on her chair.
Harry sat back looking at Bella with utmost focus. Seriously, it looks like she has more balls than you. He thought and he so wanted to curse the voice inside his head so much for the not so needed observations. Grandma will kill me if she knew that I will do it. She’s on her last year on the throne and here I am doing risky things. He reasoned out. Well, you should of had thought that before you boarded a plane to Thailand.
Finally, Harry sighed and nodded at Bella who did a happy dance in return making the prince laugh. “You’re so silly.” He said and the woman poked out a tongue at him. “Child.”
“Shut up.”
Before dawn, both rode a boat for 15 minutes before they reached the bottom of the cliff. Harry looked up at the rocks that they would have to climb before hearing Bella calling him and telling him to hurry up. It is a 40 meter climb and a 20 meter inclined trail and one part of Harry’s mind kept on fighting the other half for agreeing. Why did you have to think with your dick instead of your brain? It continued to rant out until finally, they reached the very top of the cliff overlooking the ocean just as the sun rose. It is suddenly silent inside his head because before him is a completely new world and he feels like he is standing in between the earth and the sky- it is breathtaking. He smiled and looked straight at the rising sun. A new beginning. A new day. He thought before he looked beside him and saw Bella sitting on one of the rocks looking at the view as well with a smile. However, Harry noticed her stance; her hand on top of her chest as she gave out heaving breaths and her eyes slightly tearing- she looks like she’s in pain.
“Are you alright?” Harry asked walking over and quickly, Bella held her hand up and smiled up at him weakly. “Are you chickening out now?”
Oh how I wish that was it. Bella thought as she shook her head. “I hadn’t done my cardio in a while.” She lied before she sucked in a huge breath and stood up from the rock she was sitting on. “Let’s go?”
Both stood at the edge of the cliff looking out into the horizon. Harry breathed in deeply before taking a peek at the drop; he shivered as the hairs at the back of his neck stood. “Is this safe?” he asked looking at Bella who’s standing beside him with a serene look on her face.
“Are you scared?” she asked looking at him as well and they stood there in silence whilst looking at each other.
Blink, God damn it. Harry bit his bottom lip and looked back at the horizon again. “I’m not.” He said in a small voice and he suddenly heard Bella giggle beside him making him look at her again. “What?”
“Don’t worry.” She smiled up at him. “I won’t tell anyone.”
The prince scoffed still doubting his decision to come. Too late to back out now. He thought biting his lower lip again but still he couldn’t push himself to jump. Yes, he did have training in the army but it was a relatively safe training- they had medics waiting if there is an accident. Whereas here, they have nothing but the sea and a boat. It is not until Harry felt Bella’s hand reach out and intertwine into his that he snapped out of his reverie and he focused once again on her.
She tilted her head on the side with a concerned look on her face. She whispered, “I’m here.”
And Harry suddenly had the strength to jump.
It was a rush and after both resurfaced with a gasp for air, both gave out exhilarated laughs. Kiss her. Harry’s mind urged once again as he turned and looked at Bella who had a huge smile on her face. Come on, you’re holding her hand already, and you love her. Just kiss her. It urged again. I can’t. He pulled his hand away before starting to swim towards the boat that awaits them.
Bella furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before following Harry back to their transport. It’s like his eyes would be glazed and then he would suddenly stay away. She thought as she waited to be pulled to the boat. Why is he acting so weird?
But even as they got to the shore, Harry couldn’t push himself to talk to her. It’s not because he doesn’t want to but because he cannot risk leading her on. He’s technically still with Meghan. He is still with Meghan and they’re just currently in a fight. And so, the whole day, he avoided Bella as much as he can and did his own thing around the island while Bella did hers as well. Although, it did bother Bella. She couldn’t shake off the thought that she might of done something wrong.
When night came, both lay in bed in silence. Not talking. Not even doing anything. Both are just staring off into space. Harry, busy with his guilt while Bella is busy with trying to figure out what’s wrong with Harry. The silent room is only disturbed by soft knocks on the door and Bella sighed standing up from her bed since Harry cannot answer the door.
“Is Prince Harry there?”
Bella immediately recognized the man as Harry’s PA, Troy. Figuring that it would be no use to lie, Bella only stepped aside to let the PA get in. She didn’t bother following to the room as she also figured that Harry might be having a good wash down so she stayed in the small living room and sat on one of the chairs. After almost 5 minutes, Troy came back out and gave Bella a stiff nod before going out of the cottage.
Prince William begs that you avoid upsetting the queen further. Harry scratched his head in irritation finally figuring that his tropical vacation is over. But with his current state of mind, he couldn’t accept it. He didn’t want to leave yet. Blinking, he saw Bella get in the room with a concerned look on his face and he just gave her a small smile. “It’s fine.” He said and Bella nodded still not believing him. “Hey.” He called unto her as he watched her sit down on her bed. “Would you like to escape here?”
“What? Escape?” Bella asked in a whisper. “Aren’t you in enough trouble yet?”
Harry just gave her a determined look. It’s now or never. He thought and he nodded. “Please, I really just want to live life.”
Bella sat there for seconds looking at the prince astounded before finally sighing. “Well, I’m not going to be a hypocrite and tell you to be careful when I just pushed you to cliff dive.”
It seems like Harry had planned too much for the past week- and those plans would probably lead him to trouble. And yet, he climbed out the window of their room like a teenager about to go on a party without his parents knowing. “Come on. I’ll catch you.” He whispered at Bella who peeked out the window to check if he’s fine. “You won’t get hurt, princess.”
She rolled her eyes before climbing out of the window slowly until she lost her footing and came fell down onto Harry’s stretched arms with a yelp. “Thanks.” She mumbled stepping away from him- both blushing at the interaction but their heads quickly snapped back to the cottage when they heard Troy calling for Harry inside. “We got to run.”
And run they did towards the busy part of the island where a bunch of restaurants by the sea are. By the time they are in the middle though, Bella felt her chest tightening up and she abruptly stopped taking in a deep breath and putting her hand on top of her chest as a natural reaction- Harry noticed Bella and he stopped. “You really need to do your cardio.” He laughed.
And Bella can only smile back.
It took a really really slow walk before Bella’s heart finally settled and they went in on an open tiki bar meters from their cottage. “Would you like some alcohol?” Harry asked Bella who sat beside him with a faraway look on her face. “Bella?”
Bella blinked, “No, thanks. Just pineapple juice.” You almost had an attack! In all honesty, Bella felt like she was about to faint when they ran and currently, she’s scared. She didn’t want Harry knowing. He cannot know.
They sat there quietly, Harry bothered by his feelings and Bella bothered by her sickness; although, Bella would often glance at Harry and wonder about his weirdness for the past two days and yet she drew into a complete blank. Maybe he’s just thinking about Meghan. She thought but sighed when she felt her stomach twist due to jealousy. Stop it, human.
Harry started after almost an hour and a half of silence, “Did you know..” Bella looked at him with a questioning look on her face not really knowing what to say. “Meghan and I fought because of you?”
Wait. Should I feel bad?
“I mean, we’re just friends. I’m comfortable around you, I trust you, and I am happy with you.” He continued and Bella nodded figuring that he’s probably drunk talking. “But her, I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“Why are you confused?”
“I used to see her as my balance- my peace.” He answered before taking a long swig of his scotch. “But lately, it’s always just a knife fight with her. I don’t understand. We’re ok for a few weeks and I would actually think of marrying her but then one small thing blows up into something big for her and we fight.”
Bella bit her bottom lip and nodded, “I’m not really experienced with relationships but maybe she’s waiting for you to pop the question?” she asked trying to be innocent when inside, she feels like her heart is crushing into pieces.
Harry shook his head, “Marriage is a huge thing.” He said swirling his glass around. “How will I ask the question when we fight more than an old married couple do. I want a normal married life- not one where I just married someone to breathe on my neck- I have the whole world to do that.” He sighed and drank the remaining of his glass before raising his hand for another one. “I just don’t think that it’s still going to work.”
They remained quiet as the bartender prepared his drink; Bella watched Harry struggle with his decoy glasses. She looked down on her own drink and sighed. Well, at least you probably won’t even make it out of 30 alive. She thought but still she felt bad about Harry. She wants him happy- she feels sad when she sees him this bothered.
After a few more drinks, Harry is too drunk to even stand properly and so, Bella had his arm slung on her shoulder as they walked back towards their cottage. Well, stumbled as Harry tripped on his own feet and fell on the sand taking Bella with him. He laughed turning to lay on his back while Bella did the same; however, Bella tried to get the sand off of her face by wiping it. She breathed in deeply and stared at the starry sky already tired.
On the other hand, Harry feels like he’s on top of the world. Drunk but still on top of the world. His mind is already numbed by the alcohol and he’s not thinking- at all. And so, he propped himself on his arms and hovered over Bella’s face who looked back at him with furrowed eyebrows. There’s no subconscious stopping him as his hand traced her face- his eyes staring at her intently in the eyes. His heart beating fast and his breath getting heavier.
“Do you know what’s more fucked up though?” he asked in a low whisper- just loud enough for Bella to hear and Bella was about to open her mouth to ask ‘what’ but his lips enveloped hers- his hand resting softly on her face.
Bella closed her eyes and she felt her heart skip a beat. She didn’t know how to react or even how to move. And although he’s drunk, the kiss felt right- like it should happen and that there’s nothing wrong with it like he’s not a prince, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, she was not dying- it’s like living in a parallel universe where everything is perfect. The stars aligned.
And yet, even the stars couldn’t prepare her for what he whispered when he pulled away.
“I love you, Bella.”
A/N: Please leave a review or something! :) I would like to know if your guys are liking the story or not. :)
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Hey if you have time: ReaderXChekov where reader gets injured on an away mission and has to go see McCoy but plot twist reader is afraid of doctors and tries to hide. Chekov finds reader and drags/coaxes them to med-bay and stays while they get treated and is in general a good partner and friend. Bonus points if McCoy is grumpy that they are being so affectionate while he is trying to work, but secretly is glad Chekov is there because he knows reader is scared of doctors.
Chekov X Reader – An Apple a Day
A/N – Writing for Chekov but thinking of Jaal in Mass Effect Andromeda.
Warnings – None.
Rating – T
There was no doubt about it. Being a red shirt officially sucked. Sure, you’d often heard jokes about it but you’d never actually believed it. Now, you were stuck behind a rock on a desert outcrop, shielding yourself from Klingon fire while Kirk and Spock did the same a few metres away. Ideally, you could have laid covering fire down all day until Scotty beamed you back aboard the Enterprise. The planet however, ruined that plan with its highly magnetic field, meaning that because of interference with the sensors, Scotty could only beam the three of you back if you were all grouped together; that meant you had to leave the safety of cover so as not to risk Kirk or Spock’s life. It’s not that you didn’t trust Kirk and Spock to have your back but being the only security member there left you wishing you were the one protecting your team, the way it was meant to be; after all, you were the best shot of the landing party.
“I couldn’t have been more scientifically minded. Nooo, I had to decide punching things was more fun.” You grumbled silently, mentally preparing yourself for what was to come next.
At Kirk’s nod, you sprinted the daunting gap which had seemed pitifully small only a few minutes ago. Seconds before you made it to safety, you felt a stinging sensation under your ribs. You knew all too well the pain of a phaser shot and this most certainly wasn’t it. A risky glance at your attackers revealed that the Klingons were accompanied by some form of unknown animal. It was a creature the likes of which you’d never seen before, an iguana-like animal, about the size of a large German Shepard, that apparently spat some form of acid. You felt tugging on your arm and in the next instance, the three of you were back in the transporter room.
Kirk gave you a concerned once-over, his gaze lingering on your torn shirt, the bile had lightly burnt the skin underneath. You glanced down at the injury; fortunately, it wasn’t causing much pain past a light stinging.
“Spock, comments?” Kirk demanded, never looking away from you.
“The Klingons have been suspected of creating genetic hybrids for some time now, Captain. Lieutenant (L/N)’s injury appears to be the work of the first one we’ve seen; effects are unknown. It is advisable that the lieutenant is escorted to med-bay for immediate treatment and long-term observation.”
Kirk nodded at the practical analysis, meanwhile, deep-routed fear clawed at the back of your mind, making you nervous about what could come if you didn’t act fast. Hiding your reservations, you tittered a small laugh, Spock raised a curious eyebrow.
“Come on guys, a doctor for this paper cut? I’ve had worse injuries from falling over, I feel fine, really.” You grinned breezily.
“No, Lieutenant.” Kirk argued. “I want you checked over by Bones.”
You held up your hands in mock surrender. “Alright, you got it. I’ll go to med-bay right now if it puts your mind at ease. Still, I really do feel fine so it’d be a waste of your time for you to escort me when I already know the way.”
“You sure?”
“Stop fussing, will you? I’ll see you later.”
Before any more arguments could be made you ran out of the room, taking a left for the turbolift but changing direction as soon as you knew it was safe to. If you were going anywhere, it was straight to your hab-suite for a change of clothing. Once in the safety of your room, you glanced at the wound which had dried out rather quickly, you hid it with the new shirt and left quickly, heading to the one place you would fade into the background; Engineering.
“Vhat do you mean ‘not here’? Vhere else could (s)he be?” Chekov asked McCoy dubiously. He’d come to pick you up from med-bay as a surprise only to find a disgruntled McCoy arguing with Spock over the comm-link.
“I mean that (Y/N) is not in this room, nor has (s)he been here since the mandatory physical at the beginning of the year.” McCoy growled gruffly.
“But (s)he’s hurt, zhe Captain said so.”
“I’m sure (s)he is but I don’t have time to play a damned game of hide and seek on a ship this big. You want my advice? Get a tracking device. Better yet, check with Scotty, (s)he’s probably with him in engineering anyway.”
“Really?” Chekov looked hopeful.
“HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?” McCoy burst out irritably. “You’re not gonna find anything here, go ask somebody else and stop wasting my time, I do actually have other patients, damn it.”
Chekov knew better than to provoke McCoy further, he left the doctor alone and begun his search for you, trying to reach you through your communicator every so often but receiving no reply.
You didn’t remember entering the empty storage room, in fact, you didn’t remember much at all. All you could focus on now was the debilitating effect the iguana-dog had had on you; evidently, the bile it produced was a fast acting venom with a delayed start, not an acid. Knowing what had damaged you however didn’t help, what you needed now was a cure. You were currently experiencing a wide-array of symptoms, each worse than the last. It had started with mild nausea and sweating. Then came the dimming vision. After that, your breathing had become shallow and laboured. Even if you wanted to see a doctor now, which you didn’t, it wouldn’t be possible; small movements alone caused serious pain to flare through your body, as if your skin was on fire.
The next stab of pain caused you to wonder exactly how much time had passed, it had lost its effect at some point around the dimming vision. Had it been seconds or hours? Was it even the same day or had you slipped into a different one? How long did it take for the various new symptoms to occur?
At some point during your suffering, mild delirium set in. You were stuck reliving the previous battle, except, with each rendition, there was something else out of place. In one battle, you were walking on the ocean’s waves, in another you were fighting the people you’d lost through the years. Finally, you could hear echoes of things you’d heard before while you fired your phaser at imaginary foes. One echo however, was new, something you’d never heard said before. The familiar voice resonated within your thoughts, bringing you briefly back into reality.
“Pavel.” You mumbled upon feeling his arms wrap around you, raising you into the air; it felt vaguely like flying.
“Argh, you stupid, stupid… Hang on, McCoy vill fix zhis.” Chekov stressed frantically. He couldn’t believe his eyes, your skin was almost translucent, revealing the veins and arteries underneath.
“No.” You batted his chest lightly, barely a tap. “I’m fine… don’ need him.”
Chekov wasn’t listening, he was too busy trying to keep you steady as he ran the way to med-bay.
“Don wanna hurt ‘gain.” You argued bleakly through laboured breaths.
“He’ll make you better lyublyu (love).”
“…Docs ’re dangerous.”
“Not zhis one. I promise.”
Fresh waves of pain coursed through you, you writhed against Chekov who tightened his grip on you.
The only indication that you’d reached med-bay was McCoy’s exclamation of, “Good God man.”
“Doctor.” Chekov pleaded helplessly, so sure that he was going to lose the one person he truly loved aboard the Enterprise.
“On the bed.” McCoy ordered.
“Don’t leave.” You whimpered, using your little energy to grasp Chekov’s shirt.
“I’m here lyublyu (love), don’t vorry.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll make my work much easier.” McCoy grumbled sarcastically, hiding his concern for you behind a disdainful tone.
Shouted words turned to fuzzy mumblings and then to nothing as your body finally gave in, though whether to exhaustion or medication, you weren’t sure. McCoy did his best to stabilise you, all the while issuing orders to Kirk and Spock through his communicator; if he was going to save your life, you’d need a different kind of help.
After hours of work, pumping you with endless hypos and chemicals, your survival became a waiting game, relying purely on the success of Kirk and Spock. Chekov stopped murmuring comforting words to you for the first time since he’d brought you in. Fresh tears fell freely from his eyes as he gripped your hand and steeled himself for the question he’d been dreading since the start.
“Vill-” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Vill (s)he make it?”
McCoy sighed, lifting an uncomfortable hand to his face. “I don’t know.”
Although he’d been prepared for the answer, Chekov shuddered queasily. What he really wanted to hear was something along the lines of, “Yeah it looks bad now but it’ll be okay.” or, “(S)he’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
It was foolish to wish for a lie but that was all he wanted to believe. Hearing the truth was acknowledging the likelihood of your death and that was something he simply couldn’t bear. After hearing that, Chekov couldn’t bring himself to ask anything else so he settled for whispering all his plans for the two of you in the future, slipping naturally into Russian as a small comfort to himself.
You struggled to open your eyes, squinting against bright light that forced you to keep them shut for a minute. You didn’t think you had ever felt worse, every muscle ached like it did after intense training, your mouth held the after-taste of vomit, and you could feel extra pain where you knew several hypos had been used; on top of all that, there was a heavy weight on your thighs and you wondered briefly if you’d been paralysed. You fought against the light again, forcing your eyes open until they adjusted. If you’d had the energy to smile, you would have, Chekov was sat on a chair next to your bed, his head was resting on your legs and his usually neat hair was ruffled all over the place.
“Glad to see you’ve joined the land of the living.” Nurse Chapel beamed at you, bringing a large glass of water with a straw in it.
“H-”
Nurse Chapel help up a hand. “No talking. I expect you to drink that first and then you’re going to let me run some tests; when I’m done, you can talk, understand?”
You bobbed you head lightly, instantly regretting the headache it brought with it.
“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” She passed you the water, making sure you were taking steady sips before scanning your body and talking again. “You know, you’re lucky you got me instead of Doctor McCoy. He’s worked on you for almost 60 hours straight and let me tell you, he’s furious; still, underneath all that crabbiness lies a heart of gold, if he yells, it’s because he cares. Now tell me, do you remember what happened?”
Disjointed memories of your delirium came to you, the only true one being of the iguana-dog. You put down the now empty glass and cleared your throat, ready to test your voice. “Venom?” You croaked.
“Yes, venom that you foolishly tried to hide. Venom that we didn’t have a cure to.”
“How-”
“Spock and Kirk had to ‘liberate’ one of the creatures that did it from the Klingon camp so we could synthesize a cure; I imagine they’ll want words with you too.”
You cringed, the thought of a telling off wasn’t appealing, surely the venom had been enough of a punishment already.
“Don’t worry.” Chapel smiled. “They won’t get to my patient until you’re fully recovered.”
You silently prayed that wouldn’t be for a long time so you could put off the punishment. “What about the iguana-dog?”
“Iguana-dog? Oh, the Triffid that poisoned you?”
You raised an eyebrow at the name.
“Yes, that’s’ in the animal lab being examined, though it made quite the effort to get to you. Spock believes that the scent the other Triffid made the creature friendly towards you; it’s tried to attack everyone else on the ship you know.”
“I always did want a pet that could kill me.” You joked, lying back uncomfortably.
“Well you’ll have to talk to Kirk about that, for now rest, it’s been a long-”
Chekov stirred, mumbling a tired, “Lyublyu (love).”
Chapel sighed sympathetically, “I’ll give you two five minutes together, any more than that and I’m fetching McCoy.”
Chekov stared blearily after her before coming to his senses and turning his attention to you. “(Y/N)!” he grabbed hold of you enthusiastically, quickly letting go when you cried out in pain.
“Shit, do you need a doctor, vater, sleep, tell me and I’ll get help.” He hovered uneasily, clearly ready to run wherever you needed.
“It’s okay, jus’ need a little rest and I’ll be right as rain.”
Chekov stared wide-eyed, unsure of what to say next. He was past anger and elation; right now, he just wanted to care for you and make your recovery his number one priority.
“Thanks for staying with me.”
“Lyublyu (love), I’m never leaving.”
“Good luck with that, five minutes and Chapel gets McCoy to throw you out.”
“I’d like to see him try.”
You managed a weak laugh at Chekov’s bravado, he was swelling his chest out to look bigger. “Easy there Rambo, McCoy would wipe the floor with a toothpick like you. What’s say we leave the fighting to a pro like me?”
“Leave zhe fighting to you?” Chekov tutted. “Zhat’s vhat got us into zhis mess.”
“Alright, alright, then you think you can stay on guard duty while I sleep? Who knows what kind of experiments McCoy’s ready to try when I nod off.”
“He vould never.”
“Wanna bet? I hear he’s pretty pissed at me.”
“(Y/N) please, zhe whole ship is pretty pissed at you.”
“Oh yeah? What about you?”
“I’m zhe vorst of all, unfortunately I’m stupid enough to love you.”
You grinned and continued the conversation, quickly losing track of time. Nurse Chapel watched through the window in the adjacent room while McCoy complained at her about anything and everything he could think of concerning you. “-and on top of that Chekov’s still in there and I know he won’t (Y/N) leave to do his damned job; that’s distraction in the workplace.”
“Oh hush.” Chapel chided. “We both know you’re glad (s)he’s not alone.”
McCoy blustered. “No. I’d be glad if the idiot didn’t fear doctors, I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous in all my years.” He kept complaining while rifling through drawers, making himself look busy as Chapel listened; she shook her head and continued to observe you, letting McCoy get all his ranting out before he could get to you, though she feared you would still get an earful anyway.
#star trek imagine#imagine chekov#chekov imagine#star trek#reader#reader insert#fanfiction#chekov#chekov x reader#pavel chekov#pavel chekov x reader#an apple a day#Anonymous
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Aim to Fire - Chapter 2
Summary
Shooting trees and such is all fine and good, but you ask Peter to shoot an innocent animal? Well, that's not gonna fly.Yondu tries to teach Peter how to use a blaster and it all sort've goes to shit, as these things do.
Chapter 2: Target Practice
Mondar is, as with most of the moons out in this quadrant, a piece of shit rock infested with Orloni, just like the piece of shit rock Morag where they originated from. The whole belt was crawling with them. The Eclector had been fumigated every other month, but they just came back like tides in an ocean. They were, if anything, the proverbial cockroach of the galaxy.
And, just as it happened, Orlonis were great target practice.
Yondu parked them in a small clearing, a little grove cut out of the wide forest that captured most of the moon’s surface. Peter sat up on his lap, staring over the control panels at the wide view of the moon.
“It’s…” he said, a little breathless before he finally choked out, “It’s just like Missouri!”
“Ya sound disappointed,” Yondu said, starting to scowl.
“No! No!” Peter hopped off Yondu’s lap and scurried up the port-side window, pressing himself flat against the glass. “No, it just.” Even though he had his face smashed against the window, Yondu could hear some of the sadness creeping into the Terran’s voice. “It reminds me of….”
He was going to say “home,” sure as the central sun was hot. But he didn’t. Peter just stared out at the trees as they finished with their landing, securing the M-ship’s feet to the soil and bouncing their coordinates back up to a nav team on the Eclector. Everything looked so much like the forest outside Peter’s home, the one where his mother would take walks with him and tell him all the stories of his father, the angel that came down from the stars. Course he’d never really believe it, but his mom always called him Star Lord and he held onto that name tighter than he did his precious Walkman. Peter sniffed and blinked back any tears he might have let slip out if he wasn’t careful.
“Alright, boys, let’s go.”
Yondu released the hatch and the air hissed as atmosphere began to leak into the ship. Peter had a brief fear that the air would be toxic, that it’d burn in his lungs and he’d fall to the floor dead before anybody could help him. He started to hold his breath as the Ravagers sauntered back down the plank, Yondu clicking over at the octolops twins. But it was a passing fear, because Peter couldn’t hold his breath forever. He gasped, sucking in big mouthfuls of the rainy, ozone flavored air. Kraglin had waited at the edge of the ship and watched him with a careful eye, the edge of his mouth twisted up in a knowing smirk.
“You comin’, Pete?” Kraglin asked after Quill caught his breath.
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter answered, and jogged after him. “What’re we shooting anyhow?”
“Nothing, ‘till you learn everything there is about this blaster,” Yondu answered and slapped a big u-shaped tool against his chest. “First, we’re taking that apart. Then, we’re putting it back together. And then, after I’m sure you won’t cook yer own flesh with it, I’ll let you shoot.”
“Really!” Peter squinted his eye and held up the blaster, focusing it on a nearby tree before Yondu clamped down on his arm, squeezing Peter’s wrist until it hurt and he let go of the blaster.
“What I just say, Boy?” Yondu asked in his raspy voice. “You best learn now, you aim to fire. This ain’t a toy, son.”
“Okay,” Peter said, twisting his wrist to get free. But Yondu held on a moment, staring him straight on until Peter finally stopped squirming. He looked up at the captain and, solemn as he could muster, he said again, “Okay.”
“Alright.” Yondu dropped his hand. He flicked a thin metal rod with a sharp hook towards Peter’s head, who ducked in time and watched it sail by. “Now pick that up and bring it over here. Yer gonna need it to get the kerrim bolt out.”
Yondu gave two curt commands to the octolops twins, jerking his head towards the trees and making a quick swirling motion with his finger pointed at the ground. They nodded and went off to do whatever the captain had ordered them to do.
It seemed to drag on forever as Yondu and Kraglin stood over him, shouting out instructions on taking the blaster apart, putting it together, arguing on how best to load it and who was a better shot anyhow. Kraglin was only teasing, Peter thought, being a little more pushy now that they weren’t around the crew. And Yondu let him, which was maybe even more strange. They shoved at one another, picking up a piece and naming it, asking Peter to repeat, which he tried. He only got hit on the back of his head once when he prepped the blaster and almost sizzled Kraglin’s foot with an errant blast.
“Well, stop talking over each other!” Peter yelled. He sat down with a huff and crossed his arms.
“Don’t pout, Boy,” said Yondu, rolling his eyes. He crouched down too and picked up the blaster, turning it over a few times. “You did that pretty quick. Show me one more time and then you can really shoot it, how ‘bout that?”
“Really?” Peter asked, hopeful.
“He does, I’m standing over by the ship again, sir. You know what? I’ll be on the ship, how’s that sound?” asked Kraglin, holding his hands above his head like they had the blaster trained on him.
“Fine by me, Krags,” said Yondu with another roll of his eyes. “Check and see if we got any rations aboard, too. And keep one damn grubblin bowl for me this time, alright, ya toothpick.”
Peter made a face at the thought of a bowl of big wet pale pinkish grubs rolling over each other in a frenzy.
“Alright,” said Yondu, handing the blaster over. “One more time. Show me.”
Peter took a steadying breath, looked down at the blaster, and disassembled it without dropping anything. He didn’t have to fight with the ionized dual round crystalizer, he didn’t misplace the kerrim cross bolt, or have any other possible mishap. It came undone and he lined up the pieces in the dirt just like Yondu had showed him. The Centaurian looked on, nodded once, and told him to put it back together. Peter clipped it into place, one after the other after the other, until the blaster was complete. He held it out to Yondu who took it, twirled it once in his hand, and shot over Peter’s head. The blast left a smoking hole in the trunk of one of the trees.
“That’s good,” Yondu said and gave a big, toothy grin. “That’s how ya do it. We’ll start on a basic setting. Take it and try to fire through that ring I gave ya.”
“Okay,” Peter said, just giddy as he took the heavy blaster back and pivoted on his heel, facing the tree that Yondu had fired at.
Kraglin made a croaking noise and went over to the ship, just as he promised. That meant that it was only Peter and Yondu out in the clearing. The wind was low, rustling through the pine-like leaves of Mondar’s forest. Peter squared himself, feet planted, and he lifted the blaster up with a straight arm, holding it with both hands as he focused on the spot. He started to close one eye like he’d seen in movies back on Earth when Yondu crouched down next to him.
“Both eyes,” said Yondu, lining up Peter’s shot. “You close one and someone’s gonna come up on ya and brain you. And hold it like this, see, steady it with yer left there so it doesn’t buck. It will, yer a damn twig, but it’ll help with the kick. Watch out fer that.”
Yondu put his hand on Peter’s wrist then, holding it there, more gently than he had before. They both stared over at the smoking hole in the tree, trails of it wisping away in the wind. Peter breathed, imagined all the pieces he’d put together, their use. Everything Kraglin and Yondu had said over the hours or so they’d been on the moon. He looked at the hole, he aimed, and fired.
The blaster kicked back just as Yondu said it would, but because his hand was there to absorb some of it, the blaster didn’t shoot back and crack Peter in the nose. Peter dropped his hands and looked out, hoping for another set of scorch marks close to Yondu’s. It was hard to see but they were just barely there, grazing the left of the tree. Another hole bored into one of the trees in the distance. It was sloppy. The blaster had bit a crescent-shaped chunk out of the trunk. Another stiff breeze would knock it over any minute. Peter’s shoulders sagged at the sight of it.
“Hey, look at that!” Yondu said with a shout and clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Pretty damn close.”
“Close?” Peter asked and cocked his head. “No! I missed, see? It’s all the way over there.”
“Line yer sight up there, Boy, you’ll see it’s close, like I said. Come on, line her up. Right, just like that, ya square yer shoulders, okay, got yer eyes on the target and ya feel it then.”
“Feel it,” Peter repeated back and took a steadying breath. “Just like the Force.”
“Sure,” Yondu said and shrugged. “Gonna have some force, I s’pose, but it just takes practice.”
Peter nodded and held the blaster just like Yondu showed him before he whispered, “I’m a Jedi.”
He fired again.
This time the shot zapped by the right side of the tree. It was closer; singed some of the bark next to the Yondu’s shot. Peter watched it sizzle away and shook his head before he lined it up and shot a third time, blasting a centimeter or so below the target.
“Hey!” he said and spun around, smiling from ear to ear. “Did you see!”
“I saw, son,” Yondu said and felt himself grinning right back. It was damn infectious to see the Terran light up. “Not bad. But that there’s not a moving target. Won’t be pillars and walls yer aiming for in a dog fight.” Yondu cupped his mouth and shouted back at the M-ship parked nearby. “Hey! Where them twins? I told ‘em to be back here soon as they could!”
“I’ll ping ‘em back, Captain,” Kraglin shouted from the open hatch of the M-ship.
“You got them fetching something?” Peter asked.
He’d lowered his arms so they might rest a little. The blaster was getting really heavy and he was afraid his arms would start to shake if he tried to hold it up longer.
As if on que, the twins came out of the forest, their arms laden with a mess of wriggling creatures. They looked at first glance to be hairless rats, almost scaly with big teeth snapping and their long tails hanging around Umber and Zu’s arms. Each octolops was carrying three Orlonis, which was no easy task. They nodded at Yondu, who waived them over and picked out an Orloni from Umber’s arms.
“There we go. And a nasty little bugger too. Ya see those teeth on ‘im? Getting’ real long. Betcha he’s sired millions a critters out there.” Yondu laughed as the Orloni squirmed in his grip, trying to get enough purchase so it could sink said long teeth into his hand. “And ornery too! This’ll work fine, just fine.”
“Fine for what?” Peter asked, looking a little pale. “You want me to shoot that thing? Yondu, oh my god, I’m not going to shoot a rat!”
“And why the hell not?”
“Because!”
“Cause why?” Yondu emphasized, leaning over the Terran.
“Because!” Peter said again and finally dropped the blaster. “I’m not gonna shoot it, Yondu, I swear. I’m not killing it.”
“What you think I had you learn how to shoot a blaster for? You think it was just to blast holes in a tree?”
“No,” Peter said slowly, drawing out the vowel as he started to inch away. He kept his eyes on the Orlonis in the octolops arms, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “No, I just. I don’t wanna kill it, okay? Okay?”
“Not okay,” Yondu said and reached for the blaster. He chucked the Orloni out in the field and blasted it before it hit the ground. The carcass splattered, leaving small chunks of burning flesh in the grass. Not much, of course; it’d been mostly blown away by the shot, but Peter could smell it and he gagged at the sight. “It ain’t that hard, Boy. Like I said, you aim to fire and you go and shoot it dead ‘fore they shoot you. You best learn that now. You think anybody’d hesitate to shoot you? Cause they wouldn’t. Hell, they’d eat you without a second glance. You know that, Boy. So take this blaster and practice shootin’ one of these damn rats!”
“No!” Peter shouted.
He grabbed the blaster and threw it to the ground, even going so far as to kick dirt at it. He almost swung at the captain. When he did, Kraglin was coming out of the M-ship, running over to intervene best he could. Yondu had reached out to snatch Peter’s flailing arm but the Terran took off into the woods, his red leathers flashing on his back before that too started to disappear in the shade of the trees.
“Pete!” Kraglin yelled like a demanding parent after their spoiled brat of a kid. “Pete, y’best come back here and—”
“Ah, let ‘im go,” Yondu growled, looking down at the blaster in the dirt.
“But, sir, he—”
“Let it go, Krags.”
Kraglin huffed, put his hands on his skinny hips as he watched the trail that Peter had taken into the woods. Mondar was a small moon. It’s not like he’d get far or nothing. The first implant they’d put on him was a simple translator device, but the Doc had helped them upgrade Peter’s chip once he was onboard the Eclector and, with it, implanted a tracker as well as the biometric read. Yondu could pull him up on a data pad if they were real worried about him. Instead, he picked up the blaster and brushed it off with a slow, deliberate trail of his hand. Same one that Peter’d bitten, too. There was a tiny half-moon scar close to his thumb. Yondu looked at it before he clicked a response to the octolops, who dropped the litter of Orlonis and stepped back. Umber clacked to his brother, who helped herd them back into the woods.
“Shoulda shot the whole fuckin’ pack,” Yondu muttered, and headed back to the ship. If they were gonna wait for Peter to cool off, he was gonna eat.
“Shoulda shot him,” said Kraglin to the woods, but Yondu glared up at him and he bowed his head, offered a softer, “sir,” and followed him into the cabin of the M-ship.
*
Peter pumped his legs as hard as he could while running through the woods. He didn’t care if he smacked head first into a big ugly creature and got torn to shreds, as long as he was away from Yondu, the blaster, and the pack of Orlonis that he was meant to shoot. They’d done nothin’ wrong. They were just going about their lives when those stupid octolops boys picked them up and carried them off to their deaths. And Yondu! Yondu shot it! Without even looking! Peter skidded to a halt in the middle of another clearing. He collapsed to his knees, huffing for air. Was his throat constricting because he’d run? That’d never happened before. Maybe it was because he was on a moon and he just wasn’t as used to the air as he thought. Maybe it was because he kept replaying that shot over and over in his head, watching the Orloni explode in a mess of blue light and guts.
It was so, so easy.
Peter punched the ground. He closed his eyes, grimaced at the sight that played there, and punched again. And again. He started striking it with both his fists as hard as he could, pounding small divots into the soil. Again. Again. Again! A—
*
Yondu chucked his empty dish of grubblins into the refuse shoot where it was burned up on contact. Kraglin, lounging in one of the chairs nearby, watched his captain muttering to himself, something he never did on the ship with all the other Ravagers near. He was frettin’ over his little Terran. And it weren’t fair to see his captain fret. Kraglin nodded, chewing on a piece of rubbery grubblin before he reached over for the data pad, swiping through for Peter’s biometrics. He was about to flash it over to Yondu to show him it was all going to be fine when he choked on his spit.
“What’s up with you, Krags?” Yondu asked facing the refuse shoot. He gripped the counter until his blue knuckles were a frosty color. “Forget how yer tongue works?”
Kraglin stamped his feet back on the ground and started up the M-ship engines, punching commands as he rotated another screen near him, looking for the engine trail flitting away from Mondar.
“What the hells you doin’?” Yondu wheeled on him, grabbed him by the shoulder as he glared down at the data pad. “You tell me what got you so—”
“Peter,” Kraglin said and turned an orange display up towards his captain. “Peter’s gone.”
“Gone?” Yondu squinted at the screen. He gritted his teeth, clamping down so hard that Kraglin expected to see blood. “Shit. Shit! Who’s signature?”
Kraglin poked the screen until the ghost display of a warbird Haderfasti ship popped up. The bright colors burned in the display. “D’spar. They used one of their little bug snatchers to get to the surface. Didn’t see it from the air. That means…sir, y’don’t think that—”
“Think I do,” said Yondu and stomped out of the M-ship as Kraglin finished prepping it.
He whistled, low and sweet like syrup as the Yaka arrow twisted out of its holster and started dancing in a lazy arc around his head. When his foot touched the ground he whistled again through his teeth and the arrow shot out, zipping straight for Umber and Zu’s heads. The tail started to spark, driving it faster until it stopped short of their big black eyes.
“We picked you up from Haderfast, y’said you were the last ones left,” said Yondu, his fin rippling with red light. “Said you was abandoned there. Whole place bombed to shit. And here I think a couple o’ orphans. Couple o’ strong boys like you. I bring you onto my ship. I bring you into my crew! Never had octolops here, but figured you stick to the Code, you do us right. But I know where your kind fall. And you led D’spar’s men right to us, didn’t you?” Umber grabbed Zu’s hand, shaking his head frantically as his twin shrank back. “Didn’t you!”
<<No>> Umber chirped, his beak clacking up and down. <<We didn’t do anything like that, we swear.>>
<<We never heard of D’spar. We’ve only known the Haderfast nest. We were but battle fodder then>> said Zu just as fast, wrapping his skinny little scarred-up arm around his brother’s. <<Before the explosion, they had us down in the tunnels. Said we had to run and get ammunition. We swear, Captain!>>
<<We swear>> Umber repeated. <<Sure the rest of the slaves had to be at the cannons.>>
<<The cannons. They were, they had to be. We swear>> said Zu, nodding. All eight of his eyes were glassy.
“You swear,” said Yondu and pursed his lips, his nose wrinkling uncomfortably. “You swear.” Yondu tongued the edge of his fangs before, eyeing the shaking octolops. Then he growled, a low, mean threat of a sound before he whistled again. The twins jumped, shutting their eyes, but the Yaka arrow just zipped back into Yondu’s holster. “You wanna swear, you help me get that Terran back. Had you hear to keep an eye out! The hells you even good for!”
He raved at them, spoke to them in their tongue when he was tired of yelling, and herded them back to the M-ship. Umber and Zu scrambled over one another to get into the ship, Yondu right on their heels like a fiery arrow.
“Get us back to the Eclector,” Yondu shouted as Kraglin tapped a button to close the hatch. The octolops twins, still wrapped up in each other’s arms, took a seat down below deck, afraid that if they stepped up to the bridge, the Captain would put the Yaka arrow through their eyes. “And have Nav get their sights on D’spar’s trail. That fuckin’ Haderfasti slave tradin’ jackass. They wanna steal from us? Thievin’ like that comes with a price.”
#Aim to Fire#gotg fanfic#Yondu Udonta#Peter Quill#Kraglin Obfonteri#well now you went and got yourself kidnapped like a prime idiot#ravagers and all that
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[8:52:06 PM] Assbear: lacey
[8:52:10 PM] Assbear: its the last round of duality
[8:52:13 PM] Assbear: its time for nina to shine
[8:52:19 PM] Sanity: Noooooo
[8:52:20 PM] Assbear: *GRINS MADLY*
[8:52:30 PM] Assbear: HAALE U READY FOR DIS
[8:52:32 PM] Assbear: HAHAHA
[8:52:34 PM] Assbear: AH HAHAHA
[8:52:37 PM] Sanity: SOBS OPENLY
[8:52:47 PM] Assbear: HAHA CHARLES MUMMA
[8:52:55 PM] Assbear: IS TIME
[8:52:57 PM] Assbear: TO UNLEASH
[8:52:59 PM] Assbear: THE FEELS
[8:53:02 PM] Sanity: Y BEAR Y DIS
[8:53:10 PM] Assbear: BECAUSE IM CRAZY LACEY
[8:53:13 PM] Assbear: CRAZY WITH POWER
#ITS TIME MOTHERFUCKERS#YA'LL READY FOR THIS#ALL ABOARD THE FEELS TRAIN GOING STRAIGHT FOR THE OCEAN OF TEARS
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