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foilfreak · 3 years

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BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 9 (temporary 1-2 week hiatus being taken from his fic, click ao3 link and read end notes to find out why. I WILL BE COMING BACK!!!)

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 link below)

Despite the shrill echo of Nadine’s terrified voice being something Salvatore has prepared himself for since before the young woman even arrived in the reservoir, the real thing was still somehow 100 times worse than he could have ever imagined it being.

Chaos followed as Salvatore frantically left his hiding spot, crawling across the floor as quickly as his mangled body would allow, as a loud crashing sound vibrates the whole room once Nadine’s body finally lands, quite uncomfortably I might add, on the hardwood of the floor. The sudden frantic and terrified swinging of her arms following Salvatore’s verbal slip knocked the poor woman off balance, sending her right back down to the floor for a second time.

Staring at the writhing figure of Nadine from the other corner across the room, Salvatore sniffles pitifully to himself as tears cascade down his face. Oh how appropriately cruel, that the universe wouldn’t even give Salvatore the decency of a proper meeting with Nadine, much less a chance at friendship and even less at anything past that. It makes perfect sense that this would be the way Nadine found out how disgusting and pathetic he is. Sitting alone in a dark and dingy room, watching old romance films because he has no one of his own to hold and love like the men in the movies do, and eating entire blocks of cheese all on his own, because nothing pairs with unending loneliness like the tang of sharp cheddar and the horrible stomach ache that follows it.

Putting his hands up to cover his face, a final effort to hide himself away from the beautiful woman’s gaze, Salvatore merely sat in his new corner, his shoulders shaking with sobs of agony and his body trembling in fear as Nadine’s gaze finally locked on to him, and him alone this time, in the dark silence of the room.

“H-Hey… are you alright? I’m sorry I yelled like that, I didn’t mean to startle you like that, but you suddenly spoke up out of nowhere and it scared me half to death” The soft voice from across the room asks, causing Salvatore to pause in his moment of self-loathing. Did… did she just ask him if he was alright? Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to ask her that?

“W-what…?” Salvatore chokes out, peering out slightly from behind the cover of his hood in confusion. The sight he’s met with is one that steals his breath away, much like the first time he laid eyes upon the stunning beauty this tiny woman held. However, unlike their “first” meeting, that took place back in Mother Miranda’s lab, this time there was no metal pod separating the two, Salvatore realized, as the sight of Nadine, slouched tiredly on the ground barely a few feet away from where he cowered in the corner, registered in the mutant man’s mind.

Next, of course, came her actual appearance. Black strands tousled messily across her forehead framed her round face and golden eyes perfectly. Her long white dress bunched up around her upper thighs, revealing the curves of her large, but muscular legs, that had previously been obscured by the material of her dress. Slouched shoulders and heavy breathing caused the material of Nadine’s nightgown to slowly inched its way down the front of her chest, not exposing her necessarily, but definitely revealing more and more of her lusciously plump breasts with every harsh up and down of her shoulders.

Tears continued to fall from Salvatore’s eyes even as saliva began to fill his mouth and his fear and self-loathing slowly gave way to the growing fire beginning to kindle in the pit of his stomach. The sound of his muffled sobs of anguish and arousal escaping from behind his hands causes Nadine’s face to immediately fall, agony replacing the previously wild look her face held.

“N… N-no. No no, please don’t cry. It’s alright. I-I-I’m not going to hurt you… I mean it… see… I don’t have any weapons on me” Nadine says hurriedly, standing up and doing a spin to show that nothing that could pose potential harm to Salvatore was hiding between the folds or frills of the thin garment. “See! Nothing to hide.”

Salvatore merely closed his tear soaked eyes and shook his head, the motion moving his whole body along with it. “Nooooooooooo… y-you d-don’t… under-s-stand…”

“What do you mean? What don’t I understand?” Nadine asked, kneeling back down to the ground, moving slightly closer to Salvatore than she was before, a terrifyingly genuine look of concern and worry etched into her beautiful features.

The mutant man fought back a wave of nausea and choked on a sob at the angelic sight. Hoards of hormones equating to despair and arousal battle within the hellish confines of Salvatore’s brain. The mutant man was filled with so many mixed emotions that he genuinely couldn’t tell if he wanted to tear himself apart until not a scrap of evidence of his existence remained, or if he wanted to just spring forward and consume the delectably dangerous morsel that sat so prettily before him, like an octopus latching itself upon the almighty great white shark as it just passes above their home, pulling the now helpless and unsuspecting predator down into the depths of a true monster’s domain.

“Hey, come on now. It sounds like you’re having a hard time breathing. Why don’t you come out of the corner where the air’s a little fresher, ya?” The young woman coaxes gently, moving ever so slightly closer to Salvatore as she speaks. The movement does not go unnoticed by the hooded man, nor does the way it pushes her dress even further up her already decently exposed thighs, but with little ability to stop Nadine’s incremental advances, Salvatore merely buries his face into his hands, blocking as much of his disgustingly bloated maw as he possibly could, even as the young woman attempted to change her angle to get a better look at him.

“P-p-please… jus-just stop!” Salvatore commands, suddenly filled with a wave of confidence that abandons him just as quickly as it arrived. “j-j-j… j-just… g-go… please…”

A light mist has become visible in the light reflecting off of Nadine’s eyes, the young woman looking truly saddened by the strange man’s utter rejection of her. Whether it was out of pity for Salvatore’s sake, or fear of her own impending isolation should the likes of Salvatore even reject her company, the hooded man could neither tell, nor did he really want to know.

“Well that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone trying to be your friend now is it? I might not look as normal as I used to but I’m not here to cause any trouble” Nadine scolds lightly, her voice strong, though even Salvatore can detect a slight wobble. “But… if you can give me a valid reason why I should leave, then… then I’ll do it, no questions asked.”

A valid reason? What other reason did she need than to get away from him?

Salvatore takes a moment to wipe away some of the tears that coated his face, slightly peeking out to look at the younger woman once again before speaking. “Y-you… you can’t… s-stay here… th-this place… it i-isn’t… isn’t g-good enough f-for you… it’s… i-its not w-worthy… I-i… I’m… n-not worthy… of you…”

Nadine shifts slightly closer once again, a pained look cut into her face like a raging storm cuts through large waves out in the open ocean. Her whole body was a sea of turbulent waters as she gingerly reached her hand forward, slowly but surely inching her way closer to Salvatore, until her wine dark fingers just barely brushed against the thick, rugged fabric of his overcoat.

Silence befell the two mutants, permeating the room with tension so thick and heavy Salvatore thought he might suffocate.

The cornered man could not bring himself to look up as Nadine’s delicate fingers gently latched on to the article of clothing covering his wretched and disgusting form. Salvatore shuddered as he prepared himself for what was inevitably to come once Nadine removed his overcoat: the biting cold of the surrounding area pinching and nipping at his thick, but sensitive flesh; another shrill shriek of fear and terror that would pierce him to his very core; the sound of Nadine, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, immaculate Nadine, fleeing not just the underground tunnels that had lead her to discover this place, but also the reservoir, never to be seen again.

Salvatore wouldn’t blame her for this choice, of course. After all, it’s what he would do if he found himself trapped with a wretched creature as grotesque and pitiful as he himself was. Death wasn’t an option Salvatore had the luxury of entertaining, but he never blamed others if they chose it over him.

He would too, if he could.

Despite his earlier expectations, the hand on his coat never moves to take the garment off the trembling man, instead, moving to gently run along the side of Salvatore’s head, down his shoulders, before resting itself softly, but firmly, along the area of growths that covered the small of his back. After taking a moment to allow the violent trembling of Salvatore’s body, in response to the young woman’s gentle caresses, to calm down to something more manageable, Nadine slowly lifts her left hand and rests it on the opposite side of the hunched-over man’s head, yet she makes no move to try and take his cloak off or remove his face from his hands.

Stillness and silence return for a brief moment, almost as though Nadine were waiting for Salvatore to raise objection to her advances and stop her, as if he had the power or control to do anything but cower in the corner and cover his growing excitement in shame. With no explicit objections voiced, the hands resting gently around Salvatore began to slowly pull him toward Nadine’s body.

“Come here” Nadine’s soft, heavenly voice commands lightly, as Salvatore’s body does as instructed with no resistance whatsoever. A broken sob of humiliating arousal escapes the hooded man when he gently falls forward into Nadine’s lap, her arms quickly moving to wrap around and hold the hooded man against her soft, warm, and strong body.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. There’s no need to be so worked up. You have nothing to be afraid of, here” Nadine coos soothingly, as her hand gently caresses his thin, leather covered arm.

Salvatore cries pitifully as the painfully comforting words and actions make him want to vomit from overjoy. “Y-you… you d-dont unders-s-stand…” the hunched man weeps, his voice slightly muffled by his knees as he continues trying to hide his face by shoving it as far between his legs as he’s physically capable.

“What don’t I understand? Could you explain it to me?” Nadine asks, patiently holding the sobbing mess of a man firmly against herself as he collects himself enough to answer.

“I-it isn’t… you… th-that I f-fear…” Salvatore begins, trailing off as another wave of cold dread and fiery desire collide violently somewhere deep inside the hooded man’s chest.

“What is it that you’re afraid of then? If not... me?” The young woman’s angelic voice questioned, the slightly fearful and worried tone of her voice toward the end of her question, as if what Salvatore thought of her was even worth her precious time to worry about, made the mutant man’s stomach wretch sickeningly.

“I-I… I f-fear… oh god-” Salvatore began, before promptly shutting up and shoving Nadine as far away from him as he could from that angle, throwing himself to the floor, on his hands and knees, in the opposite direction just as a wave of acidic bile forces its way from the confines of the man’s mouth and out onto the floor in front of him. His own hideous reflection stares back at him in the growing puddle of stomach acid once he’s done.

A spiteful reminder from the universe of what he was and why he lived the way that he did.

Drunkenly reaching his hand forward to smear the vomit puddle around so he at least didn’t have to look at himself AND sit in his own filth while he gathered the energy to get up and wash off in the lake, Salvatore missed the way Nadine’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the man’s clumsy movements, before suddenly widening as she realized what the hooded man was doing.

“No, wait! Don’t touch that, it’ll only make you feel worse if you fiddle around with that nasty stuff” Nadine says hurriedly, as she rushes forward to take Salvatore’s moving hand in her own and presses it firmly against her bosom to prevent the man from playing around in his own throw up. She gasps in shock and her grip tightens around Salvatore’s hand, as though she’d suddenly remembered something important she’d forgotten about and Salvatore’s hand had brought it back to her conscious mind, before shaking her head and pulling herself from her thoughts.

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let me wipe your face for you, and try to take deeper, slower breaths while you’re at it. You’ve managed to work yourself into such a panic that it's no wonder you’re throwing up all over yourself.”

The room is spinning far too fast and in far too many different directions for Salvatore to really be sure what’s going on, however the feeling of Nadine’s skin pressed against his own as she tenderly raised the edge of her pristine white dress to wipe away the lines of green acidic bile that had been left on Salvatore’s lip, was a sensation of euphoria unlike anything the hooded man has ever felt before in his entire life.

Not even Mother Miranda’s own embrace felt quite as… ‘brutal’ wasn’t the appropriate word to use based on its true definition, but in that instance it's the only word that Salvatore can think of to describe how intense everything around him, Nadine especially, feels at the present moment. Her touch, her scent, her warmth, her weight, her firm grip around him, the constant rhythmic thrum of her heart beat against his cold, bony hand, all of it was so intensely brutal that it was a wonder how the combined effect didn’t beat him into the floor. It was too much for Salvatore to handle all at once, and yet he knew that if the kind angel sitting next to him retracted so much as a single one of those sensations, he’d lose himself to insanity like careless swimmers lose themselves to sudden rapid currents.

Salvatore threw up 3 more times before his stomach finally allowed him the relief the hooded man had desperately been craving. The floor was an absolute mess by this point, but thanks to Nadine, who’d managed to keep his upper body upright the whole time, Salvatore hadn’t made nearly as much of a mess of himself as he normally did, though that still didn’t fix the primary problem that had resulted in all that vomiting.

“There we go. That must feel a lot better, huh?” Nadine asks calmly, pulling Salvatore in to rest against her chest once again, his face still turned downward and away in avoidance.

Although Salvatore does not grace her question with a response, the hooded man has long since given up trying to get away from the young woman, at this point just allowing her to move him however she pleased, taking in as much of her kindness and affection as he possibly could, before she inevitably hightails it out of here, of course. It was only a matter of time, at this rate.

“You know… you’re a lot bigger than I expected you to be” comes a sudden declaration from Nadine, breaking the silence that had permeated throughout the room and immediately pulling Salvatore from his dejected whimpering.

“I mean… I suppose I should have expected that, especially since most middle schoolers are taller than me, nowadays” the young woman continues with a lighthearted chuckle, “but you looked so small and stump-like from all the way up in that stupid pod that I couldn’t help but be a little surprised when I felt you had arms and legs. You could have very well had a snake for a body for all I knew and I still don’t think I’d have been as surprised, though this huge coat you're wearing certainly doesn’t make getting a good look at you very easy.”

“Th… that’s th-the point…” Salvatore mumbles, though seemingly more to himself than anyone else.

“Really? And why is that?” Nadine asks curiously, clearly having heard the older man’s muttering.

“I-if… if you k-knew me… you’d know… th-the answer to that q-question” Salvatore replies sadly, fresh tears beginning to prickle along his lower lid, threatening to spill over as the depressing reality of his meaningless existence makes itself more than obvious.

He was a filthy monster who deserved to spend the rest of his life alone and miserable, because why would something as unholy as him ever be worthy of anything else?

“Oh, now I don’t think that’s true at all. After all, I’d like to think I know you pretty well, and I still want to see what you look like” Nadine counters, her words shocking Salvatore beyond belief.

She… knew him? How? When? In what ways? What?

The only other time they’ve ever interacted was back in Mother Miranda’s laboratory. While the hooded man supposed his gifts could be aiding in Nadine’s surprisingly positive impression of him, he hesitated to call receiving a dress and a necklace from a random stranger “knowing” someone. How on earth could she say she knew him when, for all intents and purposes, they’ve only just met?

“B-b-but… h-how… how d-do you k-know… m-me? Y-you have… t-trouble… seeing… d-dont you? D-did… did y-you see me… b-back in the l-lab?” Salvatore asks, tears belonging to an unspecified emotion once again beginning to fall as a hand moves to gently grasp at the bones lining the top of his hood.

“Unfortunately no, I wasn’t able to get a good look at you before, hence why I was trying so hard to catch a glimpse of you earlier. You are, however, right in the assumption about my eyesight. I have severely impaired vision, yes, but it's manageable with a strong enough prescription; not that I see myself getting to an eye doctor anytime soon for a new pair of contacts. But even without my contact lenses, I can still make out general movements, as well as general shapes and colors, pretty easily from far away, it's just fine details from a distance and darkness that give me the most trouble. My vision is actually perfectly normal so long as whatever I’m looking at is within a few feet of me. If I looked down right now, I’d probably be able to see your face normally. Do you hide your face away from everyone around here?” the young woman asks curiously, gently pulling the dark fabric of the hood back, slowly revealing Salvatore’s face to the dim light of the room, even as her gaze remained locked on the wall behind them.

“N-not… e-everyone… th-there’s a f-few… who… who I sh-show my f-face to… regularly” Salvatore chokes.

Really?” Nadine asks, “like who?”

“M-my… siblings.”

“Oh, so you’re not the only one around here then? Are your siblings here in the reservoir?”

“N-no… th-they live… in o-other places… of th-their own… a-around the v-village.”

“Wow, so there is more of this place to explore, then!” Nadine states excitedly. “I’d love to get out and see more of the area for myself at some point, though I doubt that’s very wise given the amount of howling I’ve heard the past few nights and the fact I don’t know my way around this area... though, even if I did, that memory is probably long gone along with the fucking rest of them… not that I would have wanted to hold onto them anyways, I don’t think.”

Salvatore’s attention is caught by the last bit of Nadine’s statement, confusion filling him over what the younger woman could possibly mean by what she’d just said. “‘G-gone along w-with the rest o-of them?’... W-what… d-does that… what d-do you m-mean?”

Nadine remains silent for a moment as she continues to absentmindedly stroke the side of Salvatore’s head, the hooded man unable to tell what she could possibly be feeling right now without risking exposing his face to her.

Thankfully, Nadine resumes speaking before Salvatore loses patience and gets too risky. “My memory of the life I had before waking up in that damn pod is foggy at absolute best, but I don’t need my memories to know that I wasn’t very happy with my previous life and that I was actively trying to get away from it somehow. What exactly was I even running from and where was I going? Who knows, and frankly I don’t care to relearn it either. I do think it's quite funny that you were talking about me needing to go somewhere else because this place isn’t good enough for me though, because honestly, even if I could somehow get the hell out of here, it's not like I’d have anywhere else to go. Getting away from the shitty life I had before is probably how I ended up here to begin with, though if I’d known this was how things would end up I might have reconsidered throwing it all away so suddenly.”

Had it not been for Mother Miranda being there for him throughout the years, Salvatore would probably think much the same way as Nadine about the whole situation, but having Mother meant he always had a purpose and a goal to work towards, so it didn’t matter that Salvatore couldn’t return to his old life. What shocked the deformed man the most however, was the fact that Nadine appeared to not only already accept the fact that she couldn’t go back to her former life, but seemed to actively be searching for something, anything new to try and fill the void that had been left behind by the life she’d, more or less, willingly gave away to come up here.

Could… could this mean…?

“Thankfully my ability to make new memories doesn’t seem to have been fucked up at all, which I’m quite happy about since I'll be needing to make a lot to fill in the empty spaces in my brain. We met for the first time in the underground laboratory I was being kept in, though I suppose it was less ‘meeting’ and more ‘seeing’ for the first time, but… still. I don’t know why you were there, or who was with you at the time, but I remember waking up just before you were about to leave. There were a couple others who’d come, before you, to look at me and a couple others for some reason, but you were the one who stuck out the most, to me. You were… special!”

Shock and dumbfounded awe nearly choke the life right out of Salvatore. He could barely comprehend a single word the young woman was saying to him, yet he clung to every heavenly syllable she uttered like they were the foundations of the word of god itself. The pain and agony he normally felt due to his cadou mutations momentarily paused, slowly weaning from its usual constant thrum to a dull numbness that felt surprisingly euphoric in all it’s nothingness.

“S-special? Me?” Salvatore breathed, almost unable to believe the words, even as Nadine hummed in affirmation of their truth. “B-but… how…?”

The giddy chuckle Salvatore’s mundane question pulled from Nadine shook the deformed man to his very core. Her girlish laughter rattles violently around inside the deformed man’s head, playing the sweet, holy tune over and over again, like a broken record that Salvatore would happily go insane listening to for the rest of eternity if he could.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’d have assumed you knew exactly what you were doing with how sweetly you talked back there, why it's almost criminal how suavely you stroked and tugged at the strings of my delicate heart. All the others were so rude, boring, and/or annoying that I thought I might die if I ended up stuck with one of them, but then you came in and swept me right off my feet. It was like nothing else I’ve ever felt before and immediately told me that you weren’t like all the others, you were a kind man and if I ever ran into you I could tell I’d be able to trust you…” Nadine trails off for a moment. “When I learned that we were being moved out of containment and onto our “permanent homes”, I hoped and prayed that I’d be lucky enough to end up wherever you were, but I didn’t want to get too excited until I found out for certain.”

“Th-then how did y-you know… it-it was me?”

“How could I possibly not? You set yourself apart from all the others right out of the gate. I'm honestly shocked you don’t remember it yourself. But there's not a single doubt in my mind that I know exactly who you are… er- well, I suppose a more appropriate way of putting that would be “I know exactly who you are to me”, not that what other people say or think has ever really been something I’ve taken with more than a grain of salt” Nadine giggle beautifully, smiling kindly as she cradled Salvatore’s hoodless, tear soaked face against her, like he were the most precious thing she’d ever laid eyes upon and wanted to hold and protect him until the end of time.

Unable to look away any longer, Salvatore allows his head to rise from his knees until it settles upon the face of the woman currently cradling him in her arms. Her gaze remained turned away from Salvatore for a moment, though for some reason the hooded man had a feeling that it was more out of respect for him and his boundaries than a lack of desire to see his face.

What a strange thing, to be treated with more kindness, love, and respect from a complete stranger than from the majority of people you interact with.

Salvatore wanted to cry when Nadine’s golden eyes finally lowered to him, her face slowly shifting downwards until their noses were little more than an inch apart from one another, though whether his tears were from agony or ecstasy, even he couldn’t properly tell at the present moment. Only one question was on his mind and the deformed man would stop at nothing until he got an answer for it.

“W-who… who am I-I… t-to y-you?” Salvatore asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he forces himself to stare directly into the endless pool of honey yellow swirling around in her irises, wanting-no… needing to know, to see with his own two eyes, what exactly he was to this woman, and whether that answer would spell endless disaster for him and his deep seeded desires, or be the key that unlocks a world of possibilities almost as endless as the spheres of gold that Salvatore finds himself unable, or rather unwilling, to tear his gaze from, lest this be the first, and last time he ever be blessed enough to see them from this close.

A long moment of silence passes as Nadine returns Salvatores gaze, the fondness of her expression only growing as she lowers her forehead to rest against his, a soft, almost breathlessly enamored expression that he’d only seen on black and white screens cast toward men eons more pleasant to look at than he was, slowly spread across her perfect face as she finally answers Salvatore’s question.

“You’re the lovely man who held my hand!”

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redtapesworstnightmare · 3 years

Text

(looked like) a nightmare

“Sign’s right there, kid,” Bobby calls back, pointing to a spot just beyond where Albert and Eddie stand. “Legion First, Los Angeles branch.” Eddie feels his heart stop as he zeroes in on the sign, only half-standing in the wake of the collapse.

“This is Buck’s bank,” he manages, and turns in time to see Albert’s eyes go wide. “He- today’s his day for errands, he had a paycheck to deposit. What if-”

In which a casualty of an explosion is mistakenly identified as Buck. Eddie doesn't know how to cope.

read on ao3 | word count: 1,259

tags: Established Relationship, Married Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Assumed Character Death, Presumed Dead, But not actually!, character death of unnamed side character, unfortunate case of mistaken identity, vague descriptions of building post-explosion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, happy ending though i swear to god

“God, as if today wasn’t already bad enough,” Eddie grumbles as the team jumps out of the rig at the scene of their latest call. He hears Hen snickering with Chimney as they walk up from the ambulance and levels them with a look.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s been a decent shift so far, so we know the only reason you’re upset is because you miss Buck. It’s… it’s really funny, I’m sorry,” Chim offers, sounding decidedly not at all sorry. Eddie rolls his eyes and starts gathering the gear he needs for his assignment.

The scene is a partial building collapse triggered by a gas explosion, and Eddie groans again internally. He knows they’ll probably have more survivors this way, but it also means the building could finish coming down on top of them during their rescue.

“This looks like a bad one,” Albert remarks from beside Eddie, and Christ, when had he walked up? Eddie makes a noise of agreement, and he doesn’t miss the knowing look Albert sends his way at the lack of a real response.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “What building was this again? I don’t come to this part of town much.”

“Uh, some bank I think? Hey Cap!” Albert calls, “What bank was this?”

“This is Buck’s bank,” he manages, and turns in time to see Albert’s eyes go wide. “He- today’s his day for errands, he had a paycheck to deposit. What if-”

“No, come on, we can’t- We can’t assume the worst, okay?” Albert says shakily. “Listen, the sooner we get in there and clear the building, the sooner we can rule out Buck even being here at all.” Eddie feels his chest constrict with Albert’s words, but he wordlessly puts his oxygen mask on and powers into the half-standing building alongside Albert.

It is just over an hour later when he emerges from the wreckage for good, thoroughly covered in sweat and soot. Though he knows he and Albert were only one of several sets of firefighters combing the rubble and helping survivors, they didn’t find Buck and his heart is soaring in relief.

Until he sees Bobby working his way over to him and Albert, a look of what can only be described as complete despair on his face.

“Albert, go see if Hen and Chim need some help with triage,” is the first thing out of Bobby’s mouth, and though Albert has only the barest of medical training, he knows something is up and scurries off. “Eddie…”

“No, Cap, don’t…” Eddie chokes out, grip tightening on his helmet.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” Bobby says. “We think we found Buck’s body in that bank.” Eddie’s helmet falls from his hands and he rips his gaze from Bobby’s face to look around for where Buck’s body could be. Bobby beckons for Eddie to follow him and leads him to a sheet-covered body, wallet and cell phone stacked neatly next to it. He doesn’t say anything, and Eddie wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway over his blood rushing through his ears. He notices distantly that Buck has been placed a little ways from the rest of the casualties of the collapse, and he knows later he’ll be grateful for the attempt at privacy. He collapses to his knees next to the body and takes Buck’s wallet and cell phone from where they lay. He opens the wallet to see Buck staring at him from his ID picture, and then slowly reaches to pull the sheet down. The sight that greets him is worse than he’d imagined.

“Bobby, I can’t… I can’t even tell it’s him,” Eddie sobs. He notices that Bobby is crying too as he kneels next to Eddie, pulling him into a hug. “What do I tell Chris? How do I…” Eddie stares at his wedding band, black silicone for work. “‘Til death do us part was supposed to be in a retirement home.” he whispers. Bobby feels his heart break, wishing Eddie didn’t have to come to know the soul-deep ache that he’d lived with for so long.

If you asked him later, Eddie would have no idea how he got back to the station. He vaguely remembers promises of Buck’s body being transported and being able to visit him later. Sees flashes of the devastation on the faces of his whole team. He barely registers the drive back to the station after Bobby radios in to take the house offline for the remaining six hours of their shift. He’s only aware of the feel of Buck’s phone and wallet in his hands, Buck’s license photo still staring up at him. The paycheck he’d been there to cash is still in the wallet, too, edge charred where it stuck out haphazardly. The team sheds their turnout gear and trudges up the stairs, nobody claiming chores or chattering, not even making their way to the shower. They move in total silence. Eddie notes absently that Buck never allows for silence, constantly filling it with facts and stories and sometimes even bad jokes if it comes to that.

Eddie is the first one up the stairs, and his gaze is on the floor as he heads for the coffee machine.

“God, you guys look beat. Were you at the bank collapse over at Legion First? Looked like a nightmare when I drove past.” Eddie’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Babe, are you- hey, my wallet! What are the odds?”

“Buck?” Eddie all but whispers, afraid if he speaks too loud the moment will shatter and he’ll be left with reality once more. “You- you guys see him too, right?” he asks, turning around. If the looks on his teammates’ faces are any indication, Buck is, in fact, standing in front of all of them. Completely unharmed.

“Why would they… not see me?” Buck asks. “Oh, my God, I came to tell you my wallet and phone got stolen while Chris and I were at the park. I didn’t want you to worry if you couldn’t get ahold of me. Don’t tell me the guy went to cash my paycheck and got blown up.” Eddie doesn’t trust his voice, so he rushes forward to pull Buck into a hug instead. Buck cradles the back of Eddie’s head with one hand, wrapping his other arm around Eddie’s middle.

“Buck, I-” Eddie chokes out, cutting himself off with a sob.

“Baby, I’m so sorry, nobody should ever have to go through something like that,” Buck murmurs soothingly. “I’m still here. I love you so much.” At that moment, the team decides the two have had enough of a moment for the time being and they pile on top of the two in a group hug that Eddie was pretty sure he’d still be feeling for the next few days. Several versions of “You had better not do that again!” are tossed around with shaky voices and varying levels of profanity, and Eddie lets out a wet chuckle.

“Buck, I’m never working a shift without you again,” Eddie tells him when the group hug/dog pile releases to form a loose crowd around Buck.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’m ever letting you work a shift without me again after this,” Buck says. “So that’s fine by me.”

#my writing #911 fic #evan buckley x eddie diaz #angst #angst with a happy ending #emotional hurt/comfort #presumed dead #established buddie

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chappedandfadedvds · 3 years

Text

Jan 22nd, Friday 18:30

note:

I know you just want to read, but I would just like to say that I am really curious to know how many see these posts. so... if you read this and enjoyed this, no matter when you stumbled upon this story of mine:

could you maybe just leave a like on this one?

you don’t have to, no worries. and if it is just the same names, that are already showing me their love through likes and retweets, then that is absolutely fine as well. Because I wrote this for you great souls, who enganged and made me believe that I could finish this.

thank you!

oh and if you liked my writing thus far, please check the last masterpost for this week, which I’ll post later.

__ __ __

Faint music in the background. Them on the bed, stretched out on top of the blankets. On their backs, phones in hands. Each of them caught up in their own digital world as they almost inaudible hummed along the lyrics of the song.

All the beats fell in between the silence that they shared.

Jens stared a little longer at Jana’s answer. He had felt worse with each day that had passed without his reply, which had only taken him a moment of his time, yet so much more. He turned off the screen, his phone placed next to him, before he turned his head to look at Lucas.

The younger boy was still occupied. His fingers typing away, his lips mouthing words, that Jens couldn’t hear. He had missed this so much. Had yearned to wake up again next to this boy that had struck him one bleak october morning. Remarkable how fast he had fallen, how gentle the landing had been in the end. So easy to accept and cherish.

The harder it had hurt to loose the thight grasp on him. Though perhaps he never truly had.

They didn’t even had a plan from here on out. Jens had brought it up on a call two nights ago, but had been cut off by the younger boy. The plan is to hold my hand tomorrow and never let go, Lucas had told him. The smile present in the soft pitch of his voice. Mellow. Calming.

Enough to stop his worry for a little while.

Lucas sighed and lowered his phone to his chest. The moment he faced Jens, his lips curled up and his eyes crinkled at it’s corners, the older boy forgot to breath. Still, after all these weeks.

„Hey, there. You good?“

It was barely above a whisper, yet it felt intrusive, too loud.

„Good enough.“ Jens replied vague, his gaze dropped in the second he spoke, before he was searching for deep blue eyes again. Perhaps this was his ocean to devote himself to.

„Well, Ies texted me that they should be here in, like, half an hour. I can still take them to my place. In case you don’t feel to well and need some quiet. That’s fine.“

„No, don’t worry. I’d rather have you here.“

Lucas huffed amsued, as he shifted closer, leaning in to kiss the older boy, eager to feel the lips on his. He tasted like bitter tea. And Jens loved it only for the times he got to taste it on Lucas’s tongue.

„Ies is so dumb though.“ The younger boy said, as he couldn’t help but chuckle and break off their kiss. Only to press his lips back with even more force a second later. Jens’s fingers tangled in brown locks of hair, as a hand run over his bare chest under his shirt.

„What?“ Jens whispered when he had halted for a moment to gasp for much needed air. He felt like he had missed a part of a conversation, trying to push away the pleasent fog clouding his senses.

„As if we would just make out for hours, when Lotte is around.“

„Sorry, what?“

„That’s what she implied when she texted me. Perhaps a bit more than just making out.“ Lucas explained. His expression graced by a brilliant smirk that needed to be kissed off his face, Jens thought. However it actually made him realise that Isa may not have been so wrong after all. And that wasn’t quite something he wanted in his mind right now.

He threw his head back onto the mattress, his eyes back on the ceiling. He needed his heart to calm and his blood to stop rushing down his vains. The tips of his fingers burning.

The sound of broken glass certainly did the trick. Jens suddenly sobered from his longing thoughts, as he instantly sat in bed, straightened up, listening past the music and past the rustling of sheets from Lucas moving behind him.

„JENS! JEEENS!“ The whine that followed already closed in as feet stomped up the stairs in rapid motion.

Alarms went off in his head, expecting the worse. The imagine of his mom, on the floor, hand bloodied and in tears, inmidst shards of glass and red drops.

He was already on his feet a second later, and by the door in a heartbeat after, quick to push it open.

His sister, almost infront of him, had just reached the last step. She looked fine. Unharmed. And yet a little shaken, while big eyes were staring at him in shock.

„Are you okay? What happened?“ Jens asked, a little more at ease with the knowledge that it probably wasn’t as bad as he had feared.

„I pushed the glass of the table and it broke and spilled all the juice over my homework before it fell. And now I have to write it all again.“

Jens wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or laugh at the near heart attack and panic that he had been through just a moment earlier. Perhaps he wanted to just scold Lotte for scarying him that much.

But his little sister still looked rather frightened and close to tears herself, even if it only stemmed from her ruined homework.

He took a deep breath, not trusting his voice to sound reassuring otherwise.

„Alright. I’ll be down in a sec. Maybe you can already get the mob from the bathroom, so we can clean this before Kes and Isa are here?“ Jens suggested and watched his sister trotting back downstairs, after she had nodded and agreed.

Lucas’s arms wrapped around his middle, as he pressed his body against Jens’s back, The younger boy rested his chin on his shoulder, not without dotting his neck with a dozen tender kisses.

„This child, I swear.“ Jens laughed lightly, already feeling better again. The last couple of weeks had proven to have been a constant up and down. He could only hope that it would begin to settle now that he believed to have find some security in his friend’s and Lucas’s company. He would be fine.

Not now. Perhaps not next month. But one day.

„Okay then, let’s get this done.“ Lucas decided, while he pushed Jens forward and followed Lotte down. The two boys even managed to throw a brief glance into the mirror by the entrance, sorting their hair and smoothing their clothes out. To look decent, as the younger boy had put it.

It had made Jens look at him with a confused expression, only to be met by a shaking head and a soft giggle.

Sometimes he didn’t understand his boyfriend. And he wasn’t sure, if he ever could. He hoped he would, though.

„Look, it’s all gone.“ Lotte cried in her despair, as she hold up the three sheets of paper, dripping in apple juice. Jens had to agree, that this didn’t looked too good for her, but his main concern laid with the glass on the floor.

So while he was busy to clean that mess to their feet, Lucas and Lotte put their attention towards the table and his sister’s scattered school supplies.

They had gotten it done just in time. Right before the doorbell rang. The mop was put back. The papers on the heater next to the sofa. To hopefully dry them, and leave at least the text readable enough to copy from later.

„Bonsoir!“

The cheery voice from Isa hit them, as soon as they had opened the door. Kes next to her shouldering two large bags, while he somehow still waved and said his own greetings with a breathless smile.

„You are here!“ Lucas declared just as excited, while ushered his two best friends in. Jens was glad he had agreed to have them all spend the weekend together. He adored to see his boyfriend this joyous.

Jens was briefly enwrapped in a loving embrace by the girl, until Lotte shouted her name. And in an instant he had been forgotten.

„Aw there she is, my favourite eight-year-old.“ Isa proclaimed right next to him, before she scooped up Lotte into her arms. Both of them busy talking in rapid fire, about how much they had looked forwards to this.

A hand on his shoulder that pulled him into another hug, ripped his eyes away from the two girls. Kes had apparently rid himself from the weight of the luggage to be finally able to arrive fully and greet Jens personally. It was a little more than that, though.

„You are lucky, that this stupid boy loves you so much. I was this close to come and beat you up last weekend.“ Kes said, while he only left the tiniest space between his thumb and index finger as he gestured to Jens just how narrow he had escaped his fate, his tone light and playful. Jens, however, felt rather assured that there wasn’t an ounce of a lie to be detected behind those words.

He fortunately managed to smile through the realisation, vowing himself to better not fuck up ever again in the future.

„What, you love me? Cringe.“ Jens decided to joke instead, a cocky smirk stretched across his face. He turned his head towards Lucas, who immediately flipped him off without any hesitation.

„No. I don’t. Kes lied.“

„Shit, that hurts.“ Jens pouted in jest, his eyes blinking up at the grinning boy next to Isa.

„It should.“

That was all that Lucas had replied, before the five of them headed into the living room. All in order to give the newly arrived couple a quick tour of the house. Lotte darting right to the front to take on the role of the guide, eager to give too many details about everything that caught her eyes.

„I love you so much.“ Lucas had said a little later, when they followed the other three up the stairs, with a bit of distance between them. His fingers quick to grab Jens’s hand into his to squeeze them for emphasis.

Jens stopped them halfway up, stealing a kiss and then also a second.

One day he would feel like this, right here in this moment, at any given time. Be it when the sun was up and Lotte was ignoring him in her room, or when the night covered him in darkness and he would be missing their mom. One day he would be okay.

„I know,“ he whispered, „I love you, too.“

-End of Chapped And Faded (Jens’s Season)-

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

last note:

I can’t believe that for thirteen full weeks I kept writing and uploading this story. I have always written and almost never had found the energy or determination to finish even one of my projects.

this wasn’t easy to do, but it was all worth it to force myself through some days of it.

I did this.

I hope you all don’t mind, if I just take this moment to be proud of myself.

And I hope the more that this end is satisfactory to you.

I love you all.

Thank you.

Oh and I may have a little bonus clip on sunday.

I need to revise it, but I definitely want to take a day off.

It’s gonna jump a bit forward, but it gives a little idea on where they are heading.

#week 13 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #the last clip #the end #i did it #wow

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the-magnus-backlogs · 3 years

Text

Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.

Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.

You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.

I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.

That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.

Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.

It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.

Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.

You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.

By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.

It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?

It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.

The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.

I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.

The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.

Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.

Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.

Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.

I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.

In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.

Not until they began to rot, anyway.

My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.

It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?

Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.

By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.

Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.

I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.

That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?

I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.

I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare? I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.

Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.

I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.

It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.

The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.

It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.

I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.

I just can’t wait to share.

#submission #the magnus archives #corruption #cw #body horror #insects #obsession #death

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Twelve

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Smooth As Tennessee Whisky

By candlelight, parts of her hair almost looked gold. He brushed his fingers over it, having learned minutes earlier that if he ran them through it they would just become tangled and she’d start giving him shit.

Now, she was quiet, lying on her side, her head on his stomach, facing him. Her eyes were closed, her hand tucked under her chin, holding onto the sheet he’d draped over his lower half and her, and his gaze lingered on her. It travelled over the faint scar on her left eyebrow, the light dusting of freckles across her skin, some darker than others, her swollen lips.

The last one brought a smile to his own.

She’d come undone again under his mouth and fingers, her hips bucking and rolling as she’d moaned freely and loudly. Then, she hadn’t wanted to stop kissing him, her fingers locked in his hair, her tongue dancing with his. It wasn’t until her legs had wrapped around his hips that he’d reluctantly drawn back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if they continued.

He’d lit more candles, poured himself a drink then settled back on the bed. She’d curled up, resting her head on him and he’d tugged the sheet over them and they’d been lying quietly since.

The saloon below had quietened, too, though there would be an occasional laugh or raising of voices, lasting only a few seconds. Hooves would sometimes sound on the cobbles outside but other than that the streets were silent.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace.

“What are you smiling about?” she murmured, making his gaze meet hers.

“Nothin’.”

“Really?”

“Nothin’ you need to know about.”

“Thinking about John?”

She laughed as he gently tugged on a curl, his lips pressing together to hide his smile.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Her head shifted a little, her smile now lingering. “My parents, actually.”

His fingers resumed stroking her hair. “What about ‘em?”

“They shared a night similar to this. My mother never told me the details, as you can imagine, but from what I gather that first night, when they ran away, they stayed at a hotel and probably got up to all kinds of mischief.”

She hummed softly as his fingers massaged her scalp.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask, how did they meet?”

“At a local dance.” Her hand moved out from under the covers, settling over his at his side. “He was passing through one night, on his way to New York to make a decent living, and he needed a place to stay. The saloon was holding a dance and he decided to have a drink before retiring for the night when he saw my mother. She’d been rebellious for the first time in her life and had snuck out of the house with a friend and gone to the saloon. One of the greatest nights of her life, she called it.” Her smiled widened a little. “’I danced so much, Adaline, I nearly wore the soles of my shoes down. Then I saw your daddy...’ He asked her to dance, she said yes and that was it. She knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. He made her laugh harder than anyone else she had ever met, and would have done anything for her.” Her finger tips idly brushed over his skin. “Her parents hated it, of course, so that’s why they ran away. She loved them but she loved him more. He was enough, she said.” She took in a quiet breath, her fingers tracing over his knuckles. “Then Thomas came along, then me. We were the only family she needed, she said, though she kept in touch with my uncle. He’d been exiled from the family for reasons she didn’t know before she met Daddy but she’d been writing to him secretly and he said he was happy for her, though he never visited.”

Arthur drew her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing against her temple. “Do you remember much about him, your daddy?”

She shrugged a shoulder, grazing her teeth over her lower lip. “There are pieces of memories, then some things that I don’t know whether I know because I actually remember them or because Thomas and Mama told me them.” Her hand moved to his chest, her fingers splaying. “What were your parents like?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, exhaling a long breath. “My father was a no good bastard, didn’t much care for me. I don’t remember my Momma very well, she died when I was very young, but from what I do she was a kind lady.”

“What happened to your father?”

“He was hanged for larceny. I went and watched... It didn’t come soon enough.”

His gaze had fallen to where her fingers were tracing gentle shapes over his skin, and she smiled softly.

“Look at us, two orphans with such tragic stories.”

He chuckled, his free hand rising to settle over hers, pausing her drawings. “I don’t think adults can be orphans, sweetheart.”

“Sure we can. People will feel more sorry for us, then.”

“From what I’ve seen, people ain’t pityin’ orphans a lot these days.”

She snorted, adjusting her head on him. “Well-bred people do. They all read Oliver Twist and suddenly developed a conscience.”

“What’s Oliver Twist?”

“It’s a story from an English author about a boy who’s an orphan and he gets taken in by a gang of thieves led by a very charismatic man...” She trailed off, her smile widening. “... Now I mention it, it sounds rather familiar...”

He chuckled again. “Yeah, yeah, what else happens?”

“Thieving, a grand plan and murder. Oh, but he ends up being adopted by a very rich man so don’t despair, there’s hope for you yet.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips. “I guess there is... You sure like to read a lot, huh?”

Her lips twitched. “You make it sound like it’s an undesirable trait.”

“Nah, I just... You just read so fast, you and Hosea is always swappin’ books and talkin’ about ‘em. I can never get into ‘em.”

“Well, between playing make-believe, thinking about my dead relatives and sewing, there wasn’t much else for a young lady to do.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Weren’t those suitors takin’ up all your time?”

She licked her lips to hide the beginnings of a smile. “Not as much as you’d think.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it a moment later. “Did you really not accept their proposals out of practicality?”

“At first, yes... then it became up to my uncle when he realised he could make a good business arrangement if I were to have the right suitor. There aren’t many good arrangements in Strawberry, however, so the proposals stopped.”

He asked before he could stop himself. “Had a lot, did you?”

“I had six.”

“Six?!”

Her eyebrows shot up as a wide smile spread across her lips. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not that hideous and boring, am I?”

“No, I, I just—”

She cut in, deciding to spare him from having to search for a reply, still grinning. “I think it was just because I was new, at first, someone different.”

“Nah.” His fingers gently caressed the back of her neck. “I think it was somethin’ more than that.”

A fluttering sensation rose in her stomach as he gazed at her. Smiling widely after a moment, she lifted her head and leaned up on her elbow, the sheet slipping down her chest a little.

She didn’t know why she asked it.

“And what about you, Arthur Morgan, what ladies have you charmed in your life-time?”

His hand slid down her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her bicep. “Mary and I were engaged once, and... Well, you know already, it didn’t work out.”

“There’s been no one else?”

He gazed at her, wrapping his finger around a curl, then shook his head after a few moments. “Nah, no one else. Ain’t had the time, really.”

She tilted her head. “Not even with Mary-Beth?”

Arthur exhaled a breath, tugging on the curl slightly. “Nah, I ain’t ever done nothin’ with Mary-Beth. It sounds like you want me to have, though.”

“No, I just...” She shrugged a shoulder. “She likes you so much. I thought she would have tried to initiate something or...”

He arched an eyebrow. “Or I would have taken advantage?”

She pressed her lips together, a smile pulling at them. “No... She’s just a sweet girl, what’s not to like?”

“I know, I just... Ain’t been interested. You, however...” She got the feeling he was trying to distract her as he sat up, his arm wrapping around her back... and she allowed it, leaning into his hold with a widening smile. “... You have certainly caught my attention.”

She didn’t mind the distraction at all. “Mmh, and how have I done that?”

Arthur snorted, raising his eyebrows. “You lookin’ for compliments, darlin’? ‘cause I ain’t the best at ‘em.”

Her finger tips slid up his arm as his hand settled on her hip. “You don’t have to give compliments with words, Morgan.”

He laughed, half in awe, half in incredulity. “Miss Adaline, you’re quickly becomin’ insatiable.”

“That’s a big word for you.”

“Christ, let’s shut that mouth of yours...”

As she laughed, lying back on the bed, the sheet falling away, his mouth descending upon her, neither of them heard the movement on the balcony boards outside their room.

—

She awoke to his arm across her stomach and his mouth on her shoulder.

“I’m the insatiable one?”

“Be quiet, woman.”

He helped her dress, mainly as an excuse to have his hands on her. She said as much, grinning, and he didn’t bother to deny it, his lips finding hers. After returning the key to the bartender, who never seemed to sleep, they returned to their horses with their luggage, deciding to forgo breakfast as Arthur decided ‘we ain’t givin’ this place any more money’.

Once out of the already awake Saint Denis, they journeyed back to camp at a leisurely pace, smiling at passersby and offering greetings. It was a warm morning, the sun gently heating the earth. Glancing at Arthur occasionally, he would soon meet her gaze, a corner of his mouth lifting.

Javier greeted them upon their return.

“Well, good morning.”

“Hello, Javier, how are you?”

“Just fine, Miss Annie, just fine, and you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

His far too knowing grin at her reply had her eyes narrowing slightly.

They hitched their horses, Kieran appearing from somewhere with a quiet ‘Hello’ and a promise to brush Faithful and Ophelia down. After retrieving their luggage from their saddles, they walked side by side down the main path, trying hard not to look at one another.

Karen and Tilly sat on the empty fountain, cups of coffee in their hands, suspiciously expectantly. A wide smile spread across Karen’s lips as Tilly hid hers with her cup, taking a long sip.

“Hey, you two, how was your evenin’?”

“Hello, Karen, it was fine, thank you,” Arthur answered, his tone disinterested, searching the area.

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Turning to Ada, his features softened a touch. “I’ll see you later, all righ’? I gotta catch up with Dutch.”

She nodded, smiling, and watched him walk away for a few moments before she turned to the girls. Tilly’s lips were pressed against her cup, Karen’s mouth was open in a broad grin, and Ada exhaled a long breath.

“Miss Annie Sawyer, you—”

“Good day, Karen, I need to get some coffee.”

“I bet you do, you—”

“See you later, girls.”

Ada left them giggling to themselves, shaking her head. People had obviously been speculating the night before and she found she wasn’t agitated at their speculations being true, or the teasing that had already begun... Not yet, anyway.

Placing her small bags in her stand, she brushed her skirt down, her eyes landing on Arthur on the other side of the camp, talking with Hosea and Lenny. He was smiling at whatever Lenny was saying, and that made her smile. However, after a few moments, it faltered.

Away from camp he had seemed more himself, relaxed, his own person. Back at it... How would it go from here?

—

Arthur chuckled to himself as he made his way up the stairs of the house. Lenny always made him laugh, God damn, he loved that kid.

“Have a good night?”

Already knowing who it was and already wanting to beat the shit out of them, he glanced up as he reached the top floor, finding a grinning John Marston leaning against the wall.

“Are you still here?” Arthur retorted as he moved past him, heading to his room.

John followed him into his room, laughing. “Trust me, I ain’t goin’ nowhere for a while.”

Worse than the God damn girls...

“Get outta my room, Marston, go and teach your son to stay outta people’s business.”

“Oh, he’s plenty good at that.”

“Maybe he can teach you, then.” He narrowed his eyes at the younger man as he dropped his bags and took his jacket off, watching John sit on his bed, leaning back against the wall and still grinning.

“Interesting times...”

Oh, for Christ’s sake...

Turning his head to find Dutch standing out on the balcony between the open doors, cigar in his hand, also grinning, Arthur sighed heavily.

This is gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I guess,” he answered, arching an eyebrow as he rolled his sleeves up. “So, what’s next? Dancing lessons? Deportment?”

“More along the lines of armed robbery.” Both John and Arthur looked at him, interested. Dutch smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Hosea’s handling reconnaissance on the bank. He and Abigail are gonna run some distractions, see how the law reacts.”

John didn’t say anything, playing with a fraying section of his shirt sleeve.

“Good,” Arthur said, running a hand down his face and holding off a yawn.

“Oh, and I spoke to Evelyn Miller,” Dutch said proudly, taking a seat on a crate. “A fine man. Here helping the Indian chief we saw.”

“Yeah, I met him, too,” Arthur said, taking a seat himself and stretching his legs out, “with the Mayor.”

Dutch nodded. “He’s lobbying officials in Saint Denis on their behalf. Maybe we could help.”

Arthur shrugged. It didn’t seem much like their area, in fact it was way off, it was a big issue, but... Dutch adored Miller and, well, ‘save people as need savin’’. “Maybe.”

“Now, I think there’s a lot of money on that riverboat in Saint Denis,” Dutch continued, probably having spoken about it the night before with Hosea. “A lot of money. And Trelawney, he’s investigating for us.” Dutch smiled, glancing at them both. “One big score down here, boys, and we disappear. We’re almost headin’ home.”

Arthur glanced at John as Dutch stood and walked past him, but couldn’t catch his gaze. He was just looking at Dutch.

“And where is home, Dutch?” Arthur asked lightly, looking to him.

The older man paused and turned back to them. “I don’t know, exactly.” Then, he smiled again. “But I can smell it.” Nodding, he moved out onto the balcony. “I’m gonna go investigate this trolley thing Old Bronte was talking about.”

“Okay.”

As Dutch departed, Arthur looked back to John who finally looked at him. Raising his eyebrows slightly, the younger man then suddenly broke out into a grin.

“So, you were gonna say how your evenin’ was?”

“I am gonna throw you off the fuckin’ balcony...”

—

"... Do you want the stick? Do you, Cain?”

The dog barked, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he seemed to be almost smiling.

“Go on, go and get it!”

She flung the long stick away, the dog immediately racing after it. She placed her hands on her hips as she watched him leap up into the air, catch it and... continue on running, disappearing behind a shed. Lifting her hands in faint exasperation, Ada then dropped them and let her gaze travel the expanse of the land. It had turned into a very warm day, drawing nearly all activity to a halt, as usual, people taking the opportunity to nap or relax. She’d unpacked what little luggage she had, leaving her new, beautiful dress wrapped in cloth to keep it safe, had some coffee and stew, then read a few paragraphs of her book, then gone to find work, then helped Kieran feed the horses.

They were all good distractions from thinking about Arthur.

She was fine with it all now, anyway. It was all straight in her head. It wasn’t serious. They were just enjoying each other, and why not? It wasn’t for forever. It was fine.

She’d wanted to talk to Sadie, to fill her in, but she was out hunting for most of the day. Anyway, it was all fine.

Whilst brushing down Faithful, she’d heard Cain faintly barking at the back of the house and had gone to investigate. She’d found him digging a hole, several others close by, and had decided they both needed to keep themselves busy.

Cain had obviously decided otherwise.

Some people are just out for themselves these days.

Turning, her arms swinging slightly as she tried to think of what to do next, staring at the ground, she headed for her stand.

Sleep? No, her body felt too... restless. Read? No, same reason. Walk? Possibly, but in this heat—

She collided with something solid. Hands gently gripped her arms as her head whipped up and she raised her fists. Arthur snorted as she paused, her body relaxing.

“You really think you could knock somebody out?”

She smiled, raising an eyebrow as her hands dropped onto his chest before she swiftly remembered where they were, her hands falling to her sides. “I’ve yet to get into a fist fight so we could find out.”

“Well, I know you ain’t that strong.”

Her mouth dropped open in good-natured indignation. “How dare you, you don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Your grip on my hair weren’t that strong.”

She pressed her lips together, involuntary heat rising on her cheeks as she fought off a smile. He hadn’t released her yet and she lifted her hands, knocking his arms away. He allowed it, following behind her after she’d side-stepped him and continued on.

“Well, maybe I didn’t want to hurt you, you’re very delicate.”

He snorted again. “Maybe. You can certainly bring me to my knees.”

For the love of God...

“Don’t you have important things to be doing, besides bothering me? Like robbing innocent people?”

“I like botherin’ you, though.”

“Obsession isn’t an attractive trait, Mr Morgan.”

“I can tell you what is attractive...”

Before she knew it, he’d caught her by the waist and pulled her to the side, pressing her against the wood of the house, one hand on her hip, the other by her head. A lazy smile broke out across his features as she huffed, his gaze sweeping over her.

“... The way you look today, Miss Sawyer.”

It was so hard not to smile. Folding her arms, she raised her chin.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Morgan, but I have things to be getting on with so please move.”

“Like what?”

“Things.”

“Such as?”

“Things.”

“From what I saw, I think you got some time to spare.”

“I am actually incredibly busy.”

“Too busy for a kiss?”

That made her pause, her breath catching slightly. He took the opportunity.

Cupping her cheek, he bowed his head and kissed her softly.

Oh, Lord...

She relented... for a few moments.

“Arthur Morgan...” she murmured in the best scandalised tone she could muster as she drew her head back, her gaze darting about.

His smirk returned. “What? Everybody knows.”

“Everybody thinks.”

“Everybody’s right.”

She huffed again, though he could see the smile beginning to form. “Still...”

“Still, what?” he prompted as she didn’t continue. Chuckling, he brushed his thumb over her parted lips, his fingers splaying across her jaw and neck. “I can’t stop thinking about how good you taste...” he murmured after a few moments, his tone significantly lower.

She inhaled a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder before meeting his gaze. “... I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

She said the words so quietly she was surprised he heard her. His thumb settled under her chin, applying a light pressure, making her head tip back.

“Good.”

His lips were on hers once more, teasing hummed moans from her as he kissed her leisurely. His tongue stroked at her in a way reminiscent of how he had rendered her speechless the night before... three times... and that morning... She hadn’t had much of a chance to return the favour, but the next opportunity she had...

Her hands found their way to his chest, curling into his faded blue shirt and holding on. Lord, she wanted his hands on her again, this was just so—

A pointed cough had her head recoiling back.

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?” Hosea asked, smiling even as his eyebrows rose in innocence.

Annie met his gaze and swiftly released Arthur as her cheeks flushed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and Arthur sighed wearily, straightening. Hosea couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

Just like he’s a damn teenager again...

“You know you are, old man.” Arthur dropped his hands to his gunbelt as he turned with an arched brow, silently communicating a ‘what the hell’ to the older man.

Hosea raised his hands with a shrug. “My eyesight ain’t as good as it once was, I couldn’t tell if you were chokin’ her or not.”

Over Arthur’s shoulder, he could see Annie just about managing to hide a smile, her fingers pressed against her lips, but Arthur wasn’t as obviously amused.

“Righ’. What d’you want?”

“Josiah wants to see you in Saint Denis, at the tailor’s.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you go and find out?”

Sighing again, knowing exactly why Trelawney wanted him and cursing bad timing for it, Arthur muttered under his breath before turning to her. Hosea watched as his features softened and Annie smiled as their eyes met.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he murmured, intimately, and Annie nodded, her hands clasped in front of her belt as she tried to control her smile.

“Okay.” Her response was just as quiet, and Hosea almost felt guilty for his intrusion. Almost.

Arthur shook his head at him as he passed. “We need to talk about boundaries.”

Hosea chuckled. “I think it’s a little late for that, son.”

They both watched him stride past the fountain and towards Ophelia, each smiling in varying degrees of fondness. After a few moments, his gaze slid to her.

He liked the girl, she was bright, could talk about literature just as much as he could and she had proven herself to be a valuable asset to the group. And, perhaps, he could admit, some of his opinion was also influenced by the fact Arthur was sweet on her, most evidently... and that was good.

The boy deserved something of his own, something good to keep him going. Dutch had agreed with him on that.

“Sorry about that,” he finally said as her attention turned to him, “but duty calls, unfortunately.”

Her cheeks were still glowing a faint red. “Oh, no, it’s no trouble at all. I have my own things to be getting on with, too.”

“Come, then,” he beckoned jovially, “let me escort you to your duties.”

She smiled widely, inclining her head. “Why, thank you, sir.”

She really was one of the good ones.

“How are ya gettin’ on with that book I lent ya?”

“Oh, I’m really enjoying it!” She found her arm looping through his as they headed for the girl’s wagon, his hand patting her arm. “Far more than a book I bought myself, actually.”

“Have you got to chapter eighteen yet?”

“No, why?”

“Ooh, you’ll see.”

—

Arthur didn’t return for the evening meal and neither did Trelawney. Upon enquiring to Charles, she discovered they were to make a hit on a riverboat in Saint Denis along with Javier and Strauss.

“My God...”

“Yes, it does seem rather...”

“Ambitious?”

“I think we laugh at that word here.”

She gave a light chuckle at that, then half-listened to him explain how he made poisoned arrows.

Stop worrying. He’ll be fine. He’s done things like this a thousand times before.

The rest of the camp, bar Bill, Micah and Sadie who were on watch duty, and Molly, who was sulking somewhere, gathered to eat together, Ada seating herself beside Hosea so they could continue discussing the book she was reading. If she went more in-depth than they usually did in her analysis then Hosea didn’t comment, more than happy to answer her questions and talk for nearly an hour.

Karen carrying a small crate and grunting from the weight of it finally brought their attention back to the group.

“Now... why don’t we have some fun of our own tonight?” the blonde woman grinned, placing the crate of what they quickly identified to be whisky down by her chair.

“Karen, where the hell did you get that from?” Tilly was the first to ask.

“Saloon in town gets deliveries every Thursday and I’m good at makin’ friends,” Karen answered proudly, looking very pleased with herself, “Now, we got plenty so drink up, everyone!”

As she handed bottles to Mary-Beth and Pearson to pass around, her gaze flicked up to Ada.

“C’mon, Annie, even you, have a little drink with us.”

Ada considered it for a second. “Fine, but just one.”

Having expected a little more resistance, so very much delighted, Karen beamed as she gave her a bottle. “That’s a girl, let’s have fun tonight!”

Yes, please let’s.

They all stayed around the main fire, some sharing bottles, the rest having their own. Ada continued her conversation with Hosea for a little while before Lenny sat on the other side of him and initiated a discussion about Saint Denis, his eyes wide as he told them of what he’d seen being sold at the markets and the people that had sold them.

Half a bottle in, Karen claimed they didn’t need Javier to provide music, slapping her hands against her thighs as she began a rowdy song that Uncle, Lenny and the other girls soon joined her in bellowing.

Hosea excused himself shortly after with a light smile, claiming his ‘old bones were demandin’ rest’. She watched him walk to the house, noting how stiff he seemed.

Despite everything, they really are just human.

She nearly snorted at herself.

What a romanticism.

She’d only been sipping at her own bottle of whisky, now actually a little used to the taste, but those sips had been adding up and a lightness had spread through her, an urge to just smile all the time lingering.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her head tipped back and her eyes rose to meet Dutch’s.

Oh.

“No, go ahead,” she replied, glad her smile for Hosea had remained in place.

Dutch returned it, taking Hosea’s vacated seat with a quiet groan as he settled down.

“How are you, Annie?” he asked, settling his hands on his knees. “We haven’t had a real chance to talk since that unfortunate incident with the O’Driscolls.”

“Which one,” she joked good-naturedly.

He chuckled. “Indeed. Are you all right, though?”

She nodded, holding her bottle against her chest. “I’m fine, thank you, really. This is a wonderful group of people to be with.”

Dutch cast his gaze around, his features softening. “That they are. I feel very lucky.”

“As do I.”

His eyes found her’s again. “And we are very lucky to have you in turn. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of your work at the party. Those papers you found will help us immeasurably.”

Something in her chest twinged slightly. She shrugged her shoulders, wondering faintly how long she’d been smiling for. “Oh, well, I just want to help in any way I can.”

“And bringing Arthur back? Ridin’ out to Braithwaite Manor with us? Hell, defendin’ yourself against O’Driscolls before you came to us? You are a hell of a woman, Miss Sawyer.”

She laughed, quite bemused by her own achievements now they were grouped together. “Thank you very much, Dutch.”

He patted her knee gently, and it was in no way similar to how Micah had once lain his hand on her. “Don’t mention it. I like to give credit where credit is due.”

She couldn’t find the words to reply, her mind slower, so she just nodded, offering him her bottle a moment after.

“No, thank you,” he declined politely. “I think I shall be headin’ up. I’m too old for this now.”

She chuckled. “All right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Annie.”

She watched him as she had Hosea, a gentle smile lingering.

How nice...

Oh, you fool.

Her smile fell as her chest twinged.

That had been it. That was how he brought people on board with his ideas; seduced them with kind words and charm, not as obviously as the villains she read about in all her books, but in a caring, gentle way... a way that had a person glowing at his good opinion.

You stupid, stupid fool. Remember yourself.

“Lord, bounty hunters can probably hear this racket from three states over.”

Sadie. Good.

Turning her head to the woman as she sat beside her, balancing her rifle against the log, Ada offered her the bottle.

“Drink with me.”

Sadie arched an eyebrow as she stretched her legs out. “Nah.”

Ada pressed her lips together. “Come on, I don’t intend to get drunk for the first time in my life on my own.”

“You got these fools to do that with.”

Ada tilted her head, trying to imitate how Jack looked when he wanted some of Mary-Beth’s secret candy stash. “But you’re my favourite fool, Sadie.”

Sadie snorted, a smile breaking out. “Well, when you put it that way, I’ll sure as hell join you.” Despite her sarcastic retort, she did indeed take the bottle and have a long sip, wincing with a slight hiss after she’d swallowed. “God damn... Y’know, I ain’t been drunk in a long time, either.” A faintly mischievous expression covered her features. “How about a drinkin’ game?”

“I’ve never played one,” Ada admitted, accepting the bottle back.

“All right...” Sadie pushed her braid over her shoulder as she sat up, glancing around before she nodded over Ada’s shoulder. “How about we see who can throw a rock in to that pot from a distance?”

Ada couldn’t stop a snort. “That sounds easy enough.”

Sadie just smiled. “If you don’t get it in, you got to take a shot of whisky.”

The auburn-haired woman rose to her feet, looking vaguely smug. “Well, I’ve got rather good aim so I certainly don’t think I’ll be getting drunk for the first time tonight.”

—

"... we are the boys of Wexford! Who fought with heart and hand, to burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native land!”

Ada grinned at Uncle as they threw their arms up into the air and continued, half-singing, half-yelling, “To burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native la-and~!”

The group broke out into whoops, claps and cheers even before they’d finished the extended note and Uncle finally dropped his hands and descended into a coughing fit whilst Ada, still beaming, flourished into a bow so low she had to take a step forward to stop herself from toppling over.

“Thank you s’ much!” she called out over their adoring audiences’ cheers as she straightened, now having to take a step back to steady herself. “Thank you, thank you!”

Her aim hadn’t been as good as she herself had believed. Stones had bounced off the pot, gone slightly over or under, and nowhere near it. Sadie, comfortingly, was only a little better so it hadn’t taken long for the bottle to be emptied, and nearly another one.

Falling down into her seat beside Sadie, she turned her head to the woman who beamed back.

“Jus’ wonderful, Annie, so good.”

“Annie, y—...” Her head swung to the side to look at Lenny to her right. “... You sing so good.”

“Oh, thank you, I jus’, I love singin’.”

“So do I, it’s so—”

“Look, they’re back!” Susan, who hadn’t had one drink, called out, pointing to the main path.

Bloodshot, squinting and glazed over eyes watched as Javier, Strauss, Trelawney and Arthur dismounted their horses, Kieran nearly tripping over his own feet to get to them.

Bill, who, after finishing his watch with Charles taking over, had quickly caught up with Karen where alcohol was concerned, stood, holding his arms out. “Gen’lemen! How was the misshon?”

“We’re still alive,” Arthur drawled, stroking Ophelia’s neck before he brushed the dust from the sleeves of his smart jacket.

“A success, I think,” Trelawney added positively, beaming at them all as they neared the group.

“Good! Come ‘nd celebrate with us, then.”

“Been havin’ your own little party, huh?” Arthur arched an eyebrow as he pushed his hands into his pockets, a smile beginning to form as he looked over all of them.

“Yeah, we though’ why should you have all the fun?” Lenny called out, drawing Arthur’s attention, and then his gaze landed on her.

Well, Miss Ada...

Ada grinned as the returning heroes settled amongst the group and Arthur moved behind them towards her, his smile widening.

“Hello.”

“Hullo,” she answered, her gaze sweeping over him and finally taking in his attire. He was in three-piece suit, one she preferred much more to the one he’d worn at the party, and his hair was shorter, neater, slicked back with pomade. His stubble was gone, too. Pushing herself up and stepping over the log to stand in front of him, she swayed a little as she folded her arms. “God, you look handsome. I mean, you always look handsome but I can see your face and it’s nice.”

Her hand went to his cheek, nearly involuntarily slapping him lightly with the unchecked momentum, caressing his smooth skin.

He chuckled, arching an eyebrow as he watched her, his hand settling on her lower back. “Josiah thought I better clean up to make a real impression.”

"An’ did you?”

“Yeah, I’d say I did.” The full story of their escapade could wait until the morning.

“Oh, good.” She’d continued to stroke his skin, her fingers finding their way to his neck, curling around to the nape.

“So, how’re you feelin’?” He tipped his head to the side slightly, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. Her smile hadn’t dropped once.

“Wonderful.” She closed her eyes for a moment to emphasise her conclusion. “Absolutely wonderful. I feel like...” Her other hand clenched in mid-air slightly as she searched for the right words. “... I just feel good. It’s all fine.”

"That’s good.” His fingers gently stroked at her back, holding her against him.

“Yes, it is.” Her teeth grazed over her lower lip as mischievousness crossed her features, her voice lowering. “Not as good as you make me feel, though.”

“Miss Sawyer...” Imitating her scandalised tone from earlier, a wide grin spread across his lips.

“Oh, shut your mouth,” she whispered, grinning in delight at herself, “like you said, everybody knows.” As if to prove her newfound nonchalance at their relationship, her arms draped around his shoulders. “Karen’s been tryin’ to get details out of me but I haven’t said a word.” A yawn suddenly rose from her, her stream of thought changing. “Christ, I’m tired.”

“Mmh, well, we didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“No, we did not.”

Lord, she was... His own smile hadn’t faltered either.

“Come on, then, Miss Sawyer.” Sliding his arm around her waist as he turned, Arthur gently guided her towards the house, the rest of the camp too engrossed in listening to Josiah’s magnificent retelling of their mission to pay attention to them.

It was surprisingly easy, and quiet enough, to get her into the house and up the stairs, her body leaning against his as a few more yawns escaped her. Reaching the top, he glanced habitually through the hole in the wall to see Jack and Abigail sleeping. Ada did the same, smiling fondly; both of them had retired, unwillingly in Jack’s case, a couple of hours earlier.

Opening the door to his room, he finally released her, hearing her step away as he closed the door. When he turned back to her, he took a few moments to just watch, it only a little difficult in the dark.

She yawned again, releasing a soft sound with it, and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. She started at the table covered in various kinds of ammunition, her nose wrinkling slightly, before she moved to the smaller table, gazing down at a map of the land he’d drawn out himself, a smile pulling at her lips, her finger tips brushing over his drawings. He thought he saw her mouth the names of a few places.

Then, she looked to him, clasping her hands behind her back as she smirked faintly.

“Are you goin’ to ravage me again, Mr Morgan?”

He smiled softly, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it onto the nearest chair. “Not tonight, Miss Sawyer.”

“Are you sure?” she countered, arching an eyebrow as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, it joining the jacket.

He chuckled quietly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. “What did I say, Miss Adaline, insatiable...”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she murmured coyly as she kept her eyes on him.

Dropping the shirt onto the chair as he passed it, Arthur stopped before her and caught her chin between his fingers gently, tipping her head back and capturing her lips in a tender kiss. She hummed softly, her hands settling on his bare chest, sliding up to his shoulders a few moments after. His other arm wrapped around her waist, and he began to walk her backwards.

When the backs of her calves touched the side of the bed, she sank down and he leaned over, keeping his lips pressed to hers as her hands cupped his face. Then, he straightened, his hands sliding into his pockets as her’s fell into her lap, a smile pulling at his lips.

She caught on a moment later, her eyes narrowing.

“Mhm, seducin’ me into bed but not out of my clothes. Very clever, Mr Morgan, you really aren’t as dumb as they say.”

He chuckled as she lay back with a muttered grumble, rolling over to face the wall.

He so wanted to. Part of him felt like he needed to. To be back with her was... He hadn’t thought that the mission would go wrong, but it was the first time in a very, very long time that a quiet voice had whispered to him, ‘You have to survive this night’. Removing his shoes and running a hand through his hair to get rid of some of the pomade, he pushed the shoes aside and settled down on the bed behind her, his arm going around her as his chin rested on top of her head.

In order for both of them to fit, she had to be nestled perfectly against him, every inch of her pressed against him, and it was so comforting.

“This is smaller than the bed in Saint Denis,” she mumbled, her tiredness having caught up with her swiftly.

Yeah, it is,” he murmured, closing his eyes as his thumb brushed over her skin.

“Mmh... Cosier, though.”

“Yep.”

“Was this your plan all along?”

“My plan was to get you safe and horizontal before you fell over.”

She snorted. “How dare you, I have wond’ful balance.”

“Sure you do.”

She grumbled under her breath again, too tired to fully vocalise her retort, and he closed his eyes with a faint smile as, only a minute or so later, her breathing evened out and he knew she was asleep.

It felt... nice, to hold her. It wasn’t a grand enough expression for it but that’s what it was. It had gotten so familiar and so easy so fast and he didn’t mind at all. He didn’t want complicated. Christ, she was complicated enough on her own.

Stop thinkin’ too damn much.

His chin rested upon her head, his own eyes closing, and he just listened to her breathing, feeling the warmth of her.

—

He awoke the next morning in exactly the same position, hair in his mouth and an elbow digging into his ribs. Being very careful to move so as to not wake her, he glanced down at her. Nah, she was dead to the world, her mouth open, her breathing even. He could’ve fired a gun and she probably wouldn’t move. Smiling, he gently moved her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear before he stood.

Stepping out of the open front doors and onto the porch, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up as he surveyed the camp. Everyone seemed rather sluggish, either from their revelry the night before or the heat of the morning. It was probably the warmest morning they’d had so far, he could already feel beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Maybe I do miss the snow a bit.

Stepping down onto the dirt, he headed for Pearson’s fire pit, seeking coffee.

God knows she’ll need it.

Sadie passed him and he grinned and nodded at her. She just grunted, feeling as bad as she looked. She already had coffee and was taking continuous sips of it. Shaking his head, he respected the small queue that had formed for the liquid of life and clasped his hands together.

“Good mornin’, Lenny!”

“Oh, don’t, Arthur...”

Sadie made her way onto the porch, her head pounding. Taking a seat, she sat back and closed her eyes, gripping her cup. A groan came from within the house, growing closer. Cracking an eye open, Sadie watched Annie step out, her features scrunched up, squinting and trying to shield her eyes from the brightness of the sun.

"Oh, God...” she heard her murmur.

“Hey,” Sadie greeted, her voice hoarse.

Turning her head slowly, Annie looked at her. “I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with several bricks.”

“Unfortunately, first time gettin’ drunk comes with first time feelin’ like you might actually die.”

Annie just groaned her agreement as she sat in a chair beside her, leaning back and closing her eyes, gripping the armrests. Sadie was delighted her friend didn’t feel like chatting. Though, when she felt more like a human being, they’d certainly have a lot to catch up on if camp rumours and plain observation was anything to go by.

“Mornin’, ladies.”

They both just made vague sounds as Arthur approached, a cup in each hand. Smiling, he gently touched Ada on the shoulder with a finger and handed her a cup when she opened her eyes. Mouthing her thanks, she sipped from it as Arthur leaned against the house, sliding a hand into his pocket.

“How was your night?” Sadie asked, her curiosity overcoming her throat’s desire for silence.

“Fine. Eventful.”

“Sounds like it was,” she snorted, then immediately regretted it as her head ached.

She was about to ask another question when Dutch appeared from within the darkness of the house, leaning out. “Arthur, if I could have you for a moment.”

Arthur nodded, looked at the two women to smile at them, found them both sitting back with their eyes closed and probably semi-conscious, and shook his head, smiling to himself as he followed after the older man.

“When you gonna let me come out robbin’ with you, Dutch?” Sadie called out, sipping from her coffee.

She heard Dutch laugh. “God, few more like her...” The rest of his response was lost as they moved further into the house.

The two women sat in silence, just drinking their coffee and waiting for it to work its magic. The usually peaceful sounds of nature, birds chirping and crickets trilling, were now just grating, and towards the back of the house they could hear Cain barking and Jack giggling. Sadie’s eyes cracked open again as the sounds grew louder, Jack chasing after Cain and coming round to the front.

Exhaling a long breath, she glanced at Annie, who could as well have been dead from how still she was.

“Maybe you and me should go out robbin’, I reckon we’d be just fine,” Ada heard Sadie say. Peeling her eyes open, she glanced at her, the throbbing in her head now slightly better.

“I think we would, too.” Oh, Lord, her voice sounded like she’d been yelling for hours. Which she had, nearly.

“If you could rob anythin’ righ’ now, what’d it be?”

Ada inhaled a slow breath, her eyebrows raising slightly. “Goodness, I’ve never thought about that before.”

“I ain’t sayin’ we’re gonna, just what would you pick if you had to.”

Ada scratched her head before leaning it against her hand, her elbow propped on the armrest. “Uh... Probably a house. I think it might be easy. There’d be different things to take, too, money, jewellery, guns.”

Sadie nodded, stretching her legs out, her hands on her stomach. “Yeah, that’s a good one. I think a train would be excitin’, too.”

“A lot to think about, though, and dangerous.” Ada found herself smiling, enjoying the image her mind created of them both holding up a whole train. Sadie could probably do it single-handedly.

“Yeah, but excitin’.”

Ada opened her mouth to respond when she felt Sadie pause in the same moment she did, looking up the main path.

“What the hell...” Sadie muttered.

Realisation dawned on them as Mary-Beth screamed.

“It’s Kieran!”

Kieran’s body, his decapitated head resting in his lap, sat astride his favourite horse, the horse walking idly down the main path. All anyone could do was stare, the scene not sinking in. And it didn’t have time to.

“Everybody take cover! O’Driscoll boys are comin’!” Dutch yelled from the balcony above a split second before men emerged from the bushes and began to fire.

Sadie and Ada lunged forward, their cups tumbling to the floor, using the columns before them as cover as people began shouting and barking orders to each other.

“Jack!” Ada heard Abigail scream and her heart dropped into her stomach as she looked out and saw the boy running past the fountain, terrified. She was about to surge towards him when John suddenly appeared, sweeping the boy up into his arms and racing forward, hiding them both behind the stacks of sandbags beside Charles who was firing back at the attacking men.

“Shit,” she hissed as her gaze darted across the porch. She’d come down without a weapon, a grave mistake.

Sadie had kept her’s beside her and was joining in the gunfight, cursing under her breath. All of them were firing back now and Ada, after counting to three, darted through the open doors behind her and grabbed the nearest gun, a Repeater, mercifully. Rejoining Sadie, she aimed and fired at the group of men. She couldn’t ascertain how many of them were there but for every one that was downed, another replaced him.

O’Driscolls. She should have known they’d come sooner or later.

“God damn O’Driscolls...” Sadie hissed, echoing her thoughts, but before she could respond Dutch was yelling again.

“Women and children inside! The rest of you, hold your ground!”

Then Arthur was suddenly there, ducking behind the column on the other side of the steps. “Get inside!” he shouted as Susan, Karen, Strauss, Tilly and Mary-Beth ran inside. Charles and Javier covering, John ran to Abigail, handing her Jack and pushing them towards the house. They made it inside as John returned to his post without looking back.

“Don’t let anyone back through that door!” Arthur shouted to her and Sadie, both of them nodding as they reloaded.

He ran to where John was and said something to him, before turning his head and saying something to Charles. He nodded and shouted to Javier. Arthur shouted something she couldn’t hear to Bill, Micah and Pearson. They all looked up, though, as a wagon came rolling down the path, filled with O’Driscolls.

“We’re overwhelmed!” she heard John shout as they all began to fall back towards the house.

“We’re overrun!” Charles shouted in the same moment.

“What in God’s name is goin’ on?!” Arthur yelled.

Ada and Sadie covered them as they retreated, her heart pounding. The O’Driscolls in turn were just moving closer, boldly. The men headed in to the house, then John, and Arthur looked to the two women.

“Come on, inside!”

“Everyone get inside!” she heard Charles shout from beside him.

They obeyed after a moment and Arthur and Charles followed them in, the last. As soon as they were all inside, he, John, Javier and Karen began to barricade the door, pushing and pulling the nearest furniture towards it.

“Everyone stay calm,” Dutch was saying as everyone kept low. The bullets from outside didn’t stop, and Ada heard a window in another room shatter. Once the door was barricaded, Dutch began to give instructions of posts they should go to. Waiting for her name, Ada then felt Sadie nudge her.

“Come on, this way,” she murmured, heading out of the room. Ada glanced at Dutch, who was too busy giving orders to notice them, and followed.

She followed her to the left, moving past Hosea’s room and out of the side door. A glance to her left showed her the O’Driscolls had some common sense and were keeping some distance. Fortunately, Sadie went right. Keeping low, they ran along the side of the house and—

“Watch out!” Sadie’s arm flinging out to halt her made her head whip up and she saw them.

More O’Driscolls. Coming from the south path. Coming from across the river. Firing. Making bullets fly over their heads and by her shoulder.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

Sadie surged forward.

—

What the fuck are they doin’ here and why are there so many of ‘em?

The last time the O’Driscolls had been this bold they’d kidnapped him and Ada. The time before that they’d killed Annabelle.

Was this it? The final battle between them? Why now, though, and how had they found out where they were?

Bronte.

It hit him like a fucking train.

Bronte must have spoken to him after the party, hell, Bronte more than likely knew they were staying here, but why cause all this? Something wasn’t adding up.

Ada.

Had Colm come just for her? Well, not just for her, but... Had the confirmation that she was still with the Van der Linde Gang been too much of an insult?

“Is everyone accounted for?” he called to John a few feet away, both of them firing out of windows.

“I think so,” John answered, distracted and for good reason; the men didn’t seem to stop coming.

“Sadie? Annie?” Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard Dutch say their names to give them instructions.

John just shrugged.

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved to the window to his right, breaking it and firing out. An O’Driscoll was yelling something taunting and he swiftly silenced him, when he heard a scream.

Not of pain. Of fury.

His jaw clenching, he called to John, ”That’s Mrs Adler, she’s still out there!”

Knowing John would cover him, the men finally starting to thin out, he leapt out of the window and crouched at the railing. The cry had come from somewhere behind the shack before him, obscured. With his gang members firing at the remaining men behind him, Arthur leapt over the railing and ran. He could hear grunts of pain and Sadie yelling.

“Who the fuck’s this lady?!” he heard a man demand before there was another grunt and what sounded like a body falling to the floor. Rounding the shack, his breath caught in his throat.

Sadie was throttling a man, her features twisted in rage as she yelled savagely. The man’s eyes were wide as he clawed at her arms but she was driving him back, shoving him against the shack before he could recover enough to do something. Ada was stood with her back to them, firing at anyone approaching, protecting her friend. Her features were tight, and she never missed.

Sadie released another wild sound and drove a knife into the man’s neck. Neither he nor Arthur had seen where she’d procured it from. The man, his eyes bulging, fell to his knees, but Sadie just fell with him and struck him again, and again, and again, plunging the knife into his chest, throat, stomach. Then she wrenched it out and stood, breathing heavily.

Arthur looked between them as Sadie stood over him, blood on her face and clothes, and Ada shot the last two men approaching.

“Why the hell didn’t you both get inside?!”

“And miss all this?” Sadie drawled, glancing at him as she searched the man’s body for anything useful.

Before he could respond, Sadie had turned and was jogging away. “Come on, you two!”

He caught Ada’s eye and she pressed her lips together. They both followed.

“Now we go back!” Arthur called after her. “We need you both back in the house!”

Ada’s gun firing drew his attention and he joined her, shooting the men that approached from a boat on the river.

How the hell do they know how to get to us?

“Get down!” Ada yelled and he ducked as bullets from the right flew over their heads. More men.

Ada was behind a large crate, he dove behind a tree and Sadie... Sadie was damn near out in the open, hurling insults and calls as she fired. Her head whipping to the side as they finished dealing with the oncoming men, she then ran towards the house.

“Come on, they need us!”

He heard Ada hiss out something but she rose and ran after Sadie. He reloaded as he followed. O’Driscolls had circled the back of the house and were trying to get in, but John was still firing from within and doing a damn good job, as were Karen and Abigail from the upper level. With Sadie’s, Arthur’s and Ada’s help, the men didn’t stand much of a chance.

They had got the upper-hand. Damned if he knew how, but they had.

Maybe Sadie and Ada’s jaunt back here weren’t such a bad idea after all.

“Die, why don’t ya,” he heard Sadie say as they neared the house, her casual tone sending a slight chill down his spine.

I hope I never piss her off.

He ran ahead of Ada, wanting to advance on the men and see how the others were doing towards the front. Then, the side door burst open from the force of two men tangled in a fight and he raised his gun. Luckily, it was Charles who had the advantage. Arthur passed him as he plunged his knife into the man’s neck. Two men appeared suddenly from around the front of the house and he shot them, or believed he had at least; Ada was beside him once more, firing.

“Follow me!” he heard Dutch say from somewhere as Charles and Sadie joined them.

“Come on, Charles!” Sadie said, racing ahead.

At the top of the main path there were a group of men, using a wagon as cover. They joined Sadie at the sandbags. He fired and fired until he needed to reload, but he needn’t have bothered, really; Sadie and Charles were doing a fine job and from the silence behind him these seemed to be the last of them.

There was silence to his right, too. Glancing at Ada, he found her just crouched there, holding her gun at her side, her eyes darting between the remaining men.

A bullet passed over his head and he returned his attention to the priority. Firing at the three men left, watching them fall from one or all of their bullets, there was then no one else. They all paused. Waited.

Rising, Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Cowards!” Dutch spat from behind him and they all stood, keeping a grip on their weapons.

“We okay?” Hosea asked, stepping down from the front porch, sounding a little out of breath.

“I think so,” Dutch answered, looking between everyone for confirmation as they regrouped. Then, he looked down at one of the bodies on the floor. “... ‘cept for Kieran here.” He shook his head. “Poor kid. Mr Swanson, would you take this boy and bury him, someplace near but not too near.”

Arthur felt someone at his side, and he glanced at Ada again. She was looking at the decapitated body, expressionless.

“Of course,” Swanson was saying, rather dazed, “Charles, help me with the body.”

“We need to get this place cleaned up,” Hosea said as he lifted the boy’s head. “Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw—”

“Already taking care of it!” Susan called, before directing a pale Mary-Beth and a weary Tilly to the side of the house. “Come on now, work!” she added to the rest of them.

Everyone moved, picking up the nearest bodies to them, dragging them somewhere. They’d done this before.

Ada stood for a moment, then turned sharply on her heel and followed after Susan. Arthur inhaled a breath, watching her, then moved closer to Dutch who was shaking his head as he surveyed the carnage with John.

“Colm O’Driscoll...”

“That man can really hate,” Arthur muttered, the only reason for this he was sure on.

“So can I, Arthur,” the older man said, looking to him. “So can I. We need to get movin’. Away from here.”

“So we should start lookin’ for another camp?”

“You ain’t thinkin’ big enough, Arthur,” Dutch said, “You ain’t seein’ the vastness of our problems, and our opportunities.”

“I’m not sure I get you.”

“You will, son. You will.” Dutch patted his shoulder as he smiled. “Meet me near the trolley station once this has been cleared up, and bring Lenny!”

He watched him walk away, heading for his horse. John blew out a breath. Looking at him, Arthur then glanced at a body near them and raised his hand.

“Shall we?”

John sighed.

“Yep.”

—

After she’d asked, Susan had told her they’d collect all the bodies together and then dump them in the swamp for the alligators. Good. That gave her some time.

She didn’t recognise any of them, but... how could she know what Thomas would look like now? One had black hair and green eyes, but didn’t have curly hair, but maybe his curls would have gone with age. He’d be 29 now, he could have changed so much.

If he even is fucking alive.

She looked to Sadie, who was searching the body of the man they’d just carried over to the growing pile, drenched in blood from how close she’d been to the men she’d killed. She’d practically been pressed against them, had probably felt the life leave them. Probably revelled in it. Should that be how she should be behaving? An unstoppable force in her want for revenge against O’Driscolls, in her search for the truth about Thomas?

“You want this?”

Pulled from her thoughts, she found Sadie offering her a gold pocket watch. “I got three.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She pocketed it.

Maybe I could sell it and buy passage to the other side of the world.

Licking her lips as Sadie stood, she smiled lightly. “So... How’s about a warning next time, huh, Black Belle? Before you leap into action.”

Sadie laughed, sliding another ring she’d taken a shine to onto her finger. A trophy. “Ah, you did more than all right, lady.”

A familiar sharpness twisted at her stomach as she watched Sadie walk away to retrieve another body, smiling, wiping the blood from her face.

Should that be how I am.

Arthur smiled as he saw Sadie, having come from the other side of the house.

“Easy, killer,” she heard him say to her, raising his hands slightly.

Sadie laughed again. “That’s rich from you.”

“Oh, I ain’t tryna rile you, believe me.”

Sadie’s cackle carried on the wind as she disappeared from view, and Arthur met her gaze. His smile softened.

"You okay?” he asked as he neared, his hand settling on her arm gently.

She returned his smile. “Yeah. You?”

His brows raised for a moment as he nodded. “Fine, somehow.” His thumb stroked lightly. “I gotta go and see Dutch in town, look at this trolley thing he’s worked out—”

“Now?” She frowned.

“Yeah...” He paused for a moment, then smiled. “I won’t be long. I’ll see you after.”

She managed a smile, folding her arms. “Okay.”

Ah, shit... There’s gonna be a conversation later.

“You did good today,” he murmured, squeezing her arm lightly.

“So did you.” Then she added, a corner of her mouth lifting a little, “Thank you for not dying.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Likewise.”

Lowering his head, he pressed a brief, firm kiss to her lips before turning and leaving.

Her smile faded as she watched him go, then her eyes dropped to the corpse Bill had just dragged over.

Searching.

—

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grandmasterofwangxiancultivation · 5 years

Text

MDZS ch.94

okay, i’ve been dreaming about this part and now i just need to know what happens so bad i’m ditching my studying schedule (and relax for a bit, uni is making me going totally insane) to read this, better be worth it-

Lan WangJi gladly accepted his exaggerated praise. He opened Wei WuXian’s sleeves and poured all of the stolen jujubes inside, saying, “For you. All for you.”

AND IT IS, FLUFF ALL OVER THE BEGINNING, BLESS I WANNA CRY

i think lwj doesn’t like wwx thanking him. he snaps every time he does that. uuuuuugh my heart-

lunatic lwj is the best things in the whole universe

He took out a jujube, wiped it on the cloth at his chest, and bit half of it away, thinking that if Lan Zhan wanted to play, he should just play with him, “What do you want to do next?” He held himself back from saying, ‘Whose house do you want to destroy next?’

(i’m excited, what’s next on the drunken lwj’s list of adventures?)

Lan WangJi frowned slightly, correcting him, “We.”

fewljwiorgi HE CORRECTED HIM. WE, NOT ME, ALONE. ISN’T THIS A LOVE CONFESSION ALREADY COME ONE WEI YIIIIIIIING

EDIT:

The two arrived at a wall. Lan WangJi looked left and right. After making sure that nobody was around, he unsheathed Bichen from his waist. With a few swings, glaring blue light flashed by, leaving behind a row of tall characters.

Wei WuXian went forth and looked. There were seven words—‘Lan WangJi of Gusu has been here’.

(HOW IS IT THAT LWJ DOES EXACTLY WHAT I’D NEVER EXPECT FROM HIM I’M DOOMED THIS IS WHY THEY ARE SO PERFECT FOR EACH SEE? S E E ?)

Lan WangJi nodded and handed Bichen to him.

Wei WuXian, “?”

Lan WangJi handed Bichen to him again. Wei WuXian took it. As he saw how there was still much empty space after the words ‘Lan WangJi’, he understood.

Lan WangJi was waiting for him to write his name up there as well!

....

i’m done

i am done.

this is too perfect, and perfection SCARES ME. if this is giving me so much joy i could actually die from it, what’s gonna happen next? WHAT.

Lan WangJi seemed quite satisfied, finally taking Bichen back. After a moment of thought, he reached out again. This time, it wasn’t to write, but rather to draw. A few glares of the sword zipped across, and the small portrait of two kissing figures appeared on the wall. The precision of the lines and the obscenity of the content was enough to make Wei WuXian slap his own forehead.

(I KEEP HAVING ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS I DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN HOW MUCH FUN I’M HAVING RN IS THIS EVEN LWJ I LOVE HIM

he is trying to woo wwx by doing what he did when he was young and guys my heart has totally melted)

EDIT 2:

Suddenly, a series of wild barks exploded. Wei WuXian seemed as if firecrackers had just bursted beside his ears. He immediately screamed, unconsciously jumping onto Lan WangJi’s body, “Lan Zhan, help me!!!”

(bAbY- *he always have an excuse to wrap himself all over lwj, what a coincidence-)

Lan WangJi gained a complete victory. He finally patted Wei WuXian a few more times and leaped off the wall with him.

The dog’s barks were never heard again, even after they walked for a long while. Wei WuXian was finally able to tear himself off Lan WangJi’s body. His eyes were glazed and his legs shivered. Lan WangJi patted his shoulder, gazing at him with dedication, as though asking if he was fine or not. Wei WuXian still hadn’t recovered from the shock. Now that he could finally catch his breath a bit, he praised, “HanGuang-Jun, you’re so brave!”

(this was-

like, the cutest thing ever. i love how lwj protects him from everything, even things that are not really life treatening. that dedication you see, wwx, THAT’S LOVE, SO LOVE HIM TOO OKAY LOVE HIM LOTSSSSSS-)

Hearing this, Lan WangJi seemed to smile.

The ripple of movement faded at once. Pausing in astonishment, Wei WuXian thought he saw wrong.

(LWJ SMILING IS DANGEROUS, SUCH A DANGEROUS THING, WEAR SUNGLASSES, OMG IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL-

what’s wwx gonna do the moment lwj will smile completely at him?

omg we’re all gonna die in bliss)

EDIT 3:

IS THERE ANYTHING THIS NOVEL WON’T GIVE ME?

Wei WuXian swept them off of him as he laughed, “You’re so dirty!”

Lan WangJi, “Wash my face for me.”

(BOSSY. WE LIKE IT.)

Wei WuXian couldn’t help but tugged his forehead ribbon, “You’ve even learned to order me around!”

The first time he was drunk, Wei WuXian washed his face for him, and Lan WangJi seemed as if he liked it a lot. Of course, this time, he asked for it on his own. Wei WuXian wanted to do it for him in the first place, but now that he was already like this, simply washing his face wouldn’t be enough at all. And so, he asked, “How about I just help you bathe instead?”

A BATH.

A B A T H.

THIS CAN ONLY MEAN THAT THIRD TIME DRUNK LWJ SCENE IS GETTING INTO HOT AND WET TERRITORY. BATHTUB SCENE.

Finally the words i wanna hear.

MY BODY IS READY.

Hearing this, Lan WangJi widened his eyes slightly. Wei WuXian examined his expression carefully, “Do you want it?

Lan WangJi immediately nodded, “Yes.”

lwj is so eager, CUTE

EDIT 4:

He himself went downstairs, boiled water, and carried them up one bucket at a time, filling the entire tub. He tried the temperature of the water. Just as he turned around, wanting to tell Lan WangJi to take off his clothes, he saw that Lan WangJi had already stripped on his own.

(WeIwUxIaN.exe has stopped working)

When he ran into Lan WangJi taking a bath, he didn’t have any other ideas either, and during both those two times, more than half of Lan WangJi’s body was buried underwater. And so, suddenly seeing such an uncovered HanGuang-Jun… It was needless to say that Wei WuXian received quite a big shock.

(ARE YOU MAKING A DICK ALLUSION, WEI WUXIAN?)

At the moment, he didn’t even know whether he should follow his heart and look as much as he wanted or find something with which to cover up Lan WangJi and pretend to be a decent person.

(I AM AN INCOHERENT MESS RN-)

His scalp tingled. He couldn’t help but to walk backwards, but as he walked back, Lan WangJi continued to walk forward. Wei WuXian had already backed away to a corner of the wall. He couldn’t hide at all, and could only braven up as he watched Lan WangJi approach him expressionlessly. The distinct Adam’s Apple, fair-colored skin, and smooth, aesthetic muscles flashed before his eyes so clearly that he didn’t even dare look at them straight, eyes averting slightly. He swallowed unconsciously, somehow feeling a bit parched.

Wei WuXian was almost in a state of despair. He clenched his teeth, pretending like everything was fine, “I’m only pouring the bathwater for you. Okay. You can do the rest now.” As he spoke, he was just about to move away when Lan WangJi suddenly reached out and tore his sash belt into half.

(OKAY I’LL STOP BREATHING RIGHT HERE AT THIS PART BECAUSE MY BLOOD PRESSURE IS SKY HIGH AND IF I GO FURTHER WITH THE READING I THINK I’LL FAINT OR REALLY, LEGITIMATELY DIE AND MY MOUTH IS WATERING AND WHAT THE HELL THIS IS TOO PERFECT

who the hell am i kidding i’m going on, nosebleed or not-)

EDIT 5: I’LL CHOKE WITH MY OWN SALIVA

LWJ DOESN’T WANT TO BATHE WITHOUT WWX AND THAT’S THE SEXIEST, CUTEST THING EVER

And so, he dragged Lan WangJi towards the tub, “Fine, I’ll help you bathe. Come here.” He thought, My loss, my loss. Fine, I’ll just scrub him a couple of times. I won’t do anything else at all.*

*yeah well we all know that’s not gonna happen

also, wwx trying to convince himself he won’t do anything else besides wiping him a bit i’m like >______________>

(esr commenting wwx’s intentions represents all of us)

EDIT 6:

Lan WangJi was finally hauled by him. He sunk into the water again. Wei WuXian also rolled up his sleeves and walked towards the tub.

(i’ll explode, i’ll totally go BOOM POW in a sec when wwx’s hands will be all over lwj omg omg omg omg omg omg OMG-)

Since Lan WangJi had been staring at Wei WuXian without a single blink, Wei WuXian was worried the water might drip into his eyes and make him feel uncomfortable, “Close your eyes.”

(this is how i would explain what love is to me)

Lan WangJi didn’t listen to him. His eyes were still glued to Wei WuXian as if he was scared that if he blinked once, Wei WuXian might have run away. Wei WuXian reached out to shut his eyes, and he buried the lower half of his face into the water, letting out a series of bubbles. Wei WuXian laughed as he lightly pinched his cheek, “Er-Gege, how old are you?”

(omg omg I’M SOBBING SO HARD IT’S MAKING ME SO EMOTIONAL HELP cute cute so cute)

EDIT 7: okay, about lwj’s scars... i think he did that to himself (or made it so that it feels like he was punishing himself, you get me, right)? i mean, wwx describes them as coming from ferocious whipping, so even if lwj deserved to be punished, i can’t think of lqr and lxc being so angry at him to that point (it feels like adding cruelty to the punishment). so, either what lwj did was really bad or... well, he punished himself (whipping himself or having someone do it to him, so to be extremely strict). my heart is crying.

EDIT 8:

Wei WuXian got him drunk and spent almost half the night mulling over the matter, but he still didn’t get any answers. It wasn’t that he forgot. He’d always held in the back of his mind that he gave wine to Lan WangJi just to ask him, “HanGuang-Jun, just what do you think of me?” But every time it was close, he’d find some reason to blur things over, like not being so eager and asking after he played with him for long enough, like not being so casual and asking after they sat down properly… But even with all these excuses, the real reason that he dragged it until now was probably that he feared.

He was scared that he’d hear an answer different from what he hoped for.

omg now my heart is breaking again, i can feel my stomach twisting, he is scared. if only he knew, if only... pls lwj, tell him. tell him how much you longed for him and need him and embrace wwx’s hope to be loved by you, i swear i won’t ever need anything else in my life

#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the founder of diabolism #the founder of evil magic #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #mdzs translation spoilers #mdzs ch.94 #mdzs fangirling mode #mdzs novel

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numbah34 · 6 years

Text

Hey, Gardeners! And Juniblades! Get ready to water those plants and light those forges, for lo, I come bearing water and fire from the most unlikely of s7 sources: Episode 10: Heart of the Lion

I’m gonna go ahead and say up front that some of this may have been speculated before; admittedly, I have only recently gotten into the kallura tag, so I’m not 100% sure what has been said. But hey, if it’s decent, it bears repeating, right? Also, my apologies for the somewhat dubious quality of these screen caps; I have only recently learned how to take a screen cap, and cropping them to point out things I noticed was an adventure in itself.

Anyway, back to the episode. I don’t know about y’all, but this seems to be the episode that suddenly had folks from the plance and kallura camps beginning to despair; and it all comes down to exactly one scene. And, because of that one scene, we managed to overlook or even brush off some other, shall we say, significant moments. Allow me to be the bringer of hope, won’t you? Get those shipper goggles out (just in case), and let the speculations begin!

Let’s start at the beginning (a very good place to start):

Let’s take in this progression. Shiro’s replacement arm is being powered on in the foreground; in the background, we see the five current paladins, in various states of nervous anticipation. I’m going to note here that, in cartoons and comics, part of the story is told in pictures; so, body language/angling is important. When it comes to main characters, there aren’t many random backgrounds. What they look like helps inform their character. For example: Keith and Allura stand right next to each other, with arms crossed in front of them. This fits, as they both rely on each other, but are very internal characters, typically closed off with their emotions. Pidge is standing a little away from everyone, right next to the glass. She is openly curious about what’s going on, but she is also guarded around even her friends. Lance and Hunk, meanwhile, who are generally open about what they are feeling, stand with open postures.

...And here, things change a bit. Shiro’s arm is freaking out, and everyone moves from a shocked reaction to more of a defensive/protective stance.

Hmm. Interesting framing here. (Where you at, Hunk? I swear I didn’t cut him out.)

Again, the pictures help tell the story. We see what they want us to see, and I think if they are gonna slip any foreshadowing, anything that we will later look back on and say “OH”, then they will do it not just with dialogue, but with cinematography. (For example: most of us, unless we saw spoilers beforehand, bought into Pidge being a boy up until the “Katie reveal” a few episodes into S1. I don’t know about you, but when I go back and re-watch, I can’t help but wonder how I could have ever thought she was a boy.) Moving right along...

Keith has said before that he would save Shiro “as many times as it takes.” But there have been at least a couple scenarios where he was unable to do anything, for one reason or another, and Allura has been the one to step in and save the day, usually at personal sacrifice to herself. I’m thinking s1e10 (”Collection and Extraction”), and also here:

Look how quick she is!

Doing whatever it takes.

You’re welcome, Keith.

Going on to the next... let’s take a moment to appreciate Pidge and Allura working together! Many of us have expressed our hope that we would get to see more bonding between these two; I think they do have a sisterly relationship (which, IMO, is going to make some of the storylines in s8 really interesting!).

My peeps who like to reach can also play a kickin’ game of connect-the-dots in these pics... the angling and the lines of sight are gonna be the end of me.

Listen, it might be reaching, but you wouldn’t be reading this if you hadn’t already gotten your metaphorical step-ladder out. AAAAAND we’re moving right along...

The expressions are what I find interesting in this next set. We’ve moved on to the first mission in the episode, and we have our two teams. Now, I could be wrong, but I got the impression that the teams were supposed to work and stay together. The sniper/lookout team stays together; it seemed like the ground group was originally planning to, as well. But then, Keith tells James and Allura that he and Pidge are going on ahead. Look at Allura’s expression here...

Even here, after explaining to James that “it’s a cosmic wolf.” She looks a little distressed. I don’t think she expected to be left behind.

Let’s check on our “eye-in-the-sky”. This is just after Keith says he and Pidge are going in, and he asks Lance if he’s ready to cover them when they get inside. Check out those stress lines... He looks so much more tense here about Keith and Pidge going inside the facility than he looks a couple minutes later when he is actually having to pick off drones and sentries after Allura and James have been spotted. Hmm.

I’ll be revisiting another part here momentarily. Other metas have already taken note of the parallels between Pidge and Lance and their hand signal instructions to Keith (that scene is such a treat!), so I’ll save us some time and not retread ground.

Now, let’s revisit some things. Namely, Lance’s seasons long crush on Allura. (Hang in there, gardeners, I promised you water and water you shall have.) Earlier, we see Veronica basically point out that Allura is Lance’s “type”, (this has to be something she just knows about him, because there is literally no flirting or interaction between Lance and Allura before this, and her saying “thank you” and him replying with “no problem” IS NOT FLIRTING; furthermore, he wasn’t just protecting Allura, he was also protecting James, and sharpshooting drones out of the sky and sentries pulling aggro is him performing his job responsibilities and looking out for his team. END RANT.) and Lance reacts. It is his reactions to the teasing that are important. Here is from the second time in this episode that she teases him:

I’m going to again emphasize Lance’s crush on Allura is/was seasons. long. This is not the first time he has been teased about it, in the cartoon OR the comic. Heck, anytime Hunk had an opening, he absolutely took it. So here is the part of this scene that doesn’t ring true for me: Lance’s reactions to this teasing were much different. For 6 seasons, we got Lance being pretty open with his flirtation and thinking Allura is attractive. When Hunk or anyone else teases him about Allura, he would usually grin, or try to act cool, and yes, a blush would be part of it. But here, he does not gush. Hunk did tease him mercilessly about his crush; before, he was super excited when Hunk just said in jest that Allura thought he was “dreamy”, but here, he gets flustered. His reaction to his sister teasing him is kind of visceral. He tries to brush the suggestion off. Because after s6? It seems more like he is trying to move on; and he was doing a pretty good job of it through the first half of s7.

Let’s move to the last bit, and once again, I will point out that cinematography in animation is important. Gardeners have been puzzling about Pidge in the “call out to your lions” scene; why does her expression look so troubled? So, I’m going to break down what I’ve noticed, and support my last piece of top-shelf reaching with a gif (so fancy!). Between the scenes of each paladin reaching out to their lion, there is a clean break. They each feel distinct... until we get to the last two.

We see Pidge, and the focus being drawn to her face, her expression looking sad; but then it flows almost seamlessly into Veronica and Lance driving away. The two scenes are connected. There is not a distinct break between the two. I wonder several things here... Where was Rizavi’s MFE in relation to Veronica’s vehicle before they left? Allura had her helmet under her arm; were the comms on? Or is this just a ton of bottled emotions that are almost to the point of not being able to be ignored any longer? We have no hope of answering any of these questions before s8. Believe me, I’ve tried. And it’s possible we may not revisit these again... but, given Voltron’s love of foreshadowing, we just might.

This concludes my s7e10 hope/speculation session for the Garden and the Forge! May your plance be watered and your juniblades be sharpened.

#plance meta #plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #kallura #kallura meta #juniblade #wow! I just made my first big meta!#hope y'all enjoyed #if you've anything to add #feel free!#the show is already fun #but speculating between seasons adds a little extra excitement

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queencamellia · 6 years

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FMA!AU BNHA

Note: This fandom has taken over my life. This is a longfic. Lots of plot. Lots of ship. Todomomo centric, but LOTS OF GODDAMN SHIPS.

Oh, and traitor theories. That too. Mystery. Huzzah.

"look like the innocent flower” Summary

...but be the serpent under't.

In a world of alchemy, revolt plots, and civil unrest, Colonel Shouto Todoroki and Lieutenant Momo Yaoyorozu must find a way to preserve the peaceful regime of All Might.

Unfortunately, the Homunculi are lurking. And they’ve already taken action.

“I wonder...who is the traitor?”

[Fullmetal Alchemist AU]

[TRAITOR THEORIES WOOO]

[Plot] [Almost Gen tbh] [Lots of pairing hints tho]

LINKS

Ao3 LINK HERE

FFN LINK HERE

Alternatively, you may read it under the cut!

In his childhood, when Shouto dreamt of becoming an alchemist, he imagined defeating evildoers and saving civilians like the tales his mother used to tell him. He never dreamt of bringing honor to the family, of proving himself worthy of the Todoroki name, of his name reverently spoken over drinks, and of a brilliant future filled with glorious victory.

Shouto never needed that. He never cared for that. He never wanted that.

He just wanted to help.

He dreamt of children who would thank him for saving their parents life; he dreamt of the poor who could lead better lives in peacetime. He dreamt of a world where love, compassion, and kindness didn’t have to be snuffed out because they were considered “weak” or “useless.”

Shouto did not dream of tears, loss, anger, and despair. He did not dream of the futile battles in which he fought to live, not protect. He did not dream...no, he never quite realized that there would be blood on his hands.

Before him was nothing but an obscure cloud of smoke. Black specks of ash fell upon his navy blue uniform like gentle snow, but he paid no mind to them. Shouto stumbled past a pile of rubble, his soot-covered hands reaching out and searching. The thin layer of frost covering his fingertips suddenly burst into action, travelling down the devastated city block and covering the grimy street with ice.

Revitalized, Shouto continued to make his way down the street with renewed vigor, pushing past rubble and coughing. “Bakugou,” he called, carefully stepping over a piece of demolished concrete. “Bakugou, I know you’re there.”

To his relief, he heard a cough resound from underneath the remains of the ruined building. “Fucking snipers,” his fellow alchemist cursed, looking rather unfazed as he threw a rock off himself towards the side. The blonde grumbled under his breath, attempting to pick out the pieces of plaster in his hair. “I hate fucking snipers. They always have to pick the tall buildings. Shitty bastards just want to make themselves harder to catch.”

“That’s what snipers typically do,” Shouto deadpanned, unimpressed by the Explosions Alchemist’s stellar vocabulary. He glanced around the building, unable to detect any signs of life; even so, Shouto remained vigilant, his right glove off and prepared to freeze anything at the slightest notice. His left glove, as always, remained on but firmly useless.

Bakugou’s cold eyes, which so severely contradicted his fiery personality, were a jarring reminder of their situation. They were State Alchemists at war.

“This fucking sucks,” Bakugou complained, kicking at a rock. His voice lowered. “I didn’t sign up to be an alchemist so that those government bastards would ship me off to do their dirty work.”

“What did you expect?” Shouto couldn’t help but ask.

Bakugou sent him a disbelieving look, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long, dark blue trench coat. If Shouto looked closer, he could make out the faint glint of silver. They had all been issued their special State Alchemist uniforms only a few days prior: it was easier to identify the amount of significant casualties, then. “I don’t know,” Bakugou growled. “But not this. I didn’t sign up to fuck over some weak bastards who can’t even fight. I thought I was gonna actually fight someone halfway decent at fighting.”

Shouto, too accustomed to the crude alchemist's speech, automatically translated the words in his head. It was Bakugou’s way of expressing his distaste for murdering civilians; despite his abrasive nature, Bakugou never wanted to be a villain (a war hero). He just wanted to be a hero.

Shouto let out a noncommittal hum, glancing upwards at the sky in hopes that it was dark enough for them to return to camp. Although he tolerated and (dare he say it?) enjoyed Bakugou’s company (on rare occasions), Shouto felt unease well in his chest. Something about today had been far too easy: they had only encountered one Ishvalan alchemist in the early morning. The alchemist had been weak; Bakugou was more than enough to defeat him while Shouto evacuated the civilians.

“Oh, sure. Bite me with your fucking holier-than-thou attitude, Pacifist Alchemist.”

Shouto’s lips curled downwards. Although “Pacifist Alchemist” was hardly his official epithet, the moniker had stuck after soldiers witnessed him evacuating several civilians: people quickly realized that Shouto actively avoided causing direct harm to civilians and the landscape if possible, which was how the title was born. Although he didn’t particularly mind it, he knew that his father would be less than pleased. Endeavor had always favored the logical, quickest, and most efficient solution. It was a trait to be both admired and feared.

But Shouto...Shouto wanted to use his Ice Alchemy for good, if possible. He didn’t want the alchemy that his mother had so lovingly taught him to be used for murder.

“I’m called the Freezing Alchemist.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pacifist,” Bakugou snorted, the fight in him essentially sapping away as he squinted at the sun. “How much longer? Two hours? Three hours? You think the old geezer would care if we came back early?”

Shouto considered the notion logically, then replied, “Brigadier-General Aizawa won’t care, but the troops will.”

Bakugou looked like he was about to launch into a tirade about how he didn’t give a shit about the morale of the troops, but surprisingly closed his mouth and decided against it. Even the often-irate Explosions Alchemist knew the importance of maintaining the all-powerful image of Amestris’ State Alchemists: they were the elite of the elite. Every country had their set of state alchemists; if their alchemists were weak, then it reflected badly on the country’s strength.

Instead of blowing up, Bakugou narrowed his eyes and searched the perimeter. Shouto took that as a signal that they were going back to work; immediately, the Freezing Alchemist exhaled, shutting his eyes. A flurry of cool air sent the dust flying once more, ice forming in the cracks of the broken buildings; as instructed, it was a way for Amestris to quickly mark its newly acquired territory until the troops could advance and secure the area.

While Shouto had been securing the premises, his fellow alchemist had climbed onto one of the piles of concrete blocks in order to survey more of the area. They quickly fell into their usual after-battle routine: Shouto was to search for survivors, while Bakugou was to check for enemies. Although they had their differences, the two alchemists moved as a single movement flawlessly with an ease acquired only through weeks and weeks of practice.

Silence presided over the clearing for several minutes until Bakugou let out an annoyed grunt. “Fuck,” he cursed, drawing Shouto’s attention immediately. The ice user quickly strode over to the rubble, climbing up the pile with relative ease. His eyes surveyed the area, searching for what Bakugou might have seen, when they landed upon a group of badly-concealed soldiers approaching the west.

“They're heading for the camp,” Shouto concluded, already halfway down the pile of rubble as he rushed through the street. They rounded the corner, intent on stopping the squadron of soldiers when—

“Half-and-half!”

Shouto had barely a second’s warning before Bakugou literally launched over to him and knocked him to the ground, a bullet whizzing over his head. “Fuck, it's an ambush!” Bakugou cursed, scrambling off of him and ducking behind a piece of rubble. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Shouto found his voice. “We're sitting ducks out here; we need to find cover,” he murmured under his breath, examining the fallen bullet. “But where?”

“Less thinking, more fighting. Get on your feet!” Bakugou barked, clapping his hands and slamming them into the ground. Shouto knew what that meant; immediately, he scrambled away, Bakugou at his heels as the ground exploded behind them. The dust kicked up by the explosion was enough cover to give them a few seconds of respite.

Suddenly, the air felt warmer, the frost nipping at Shouto’s fingertips melting away. A ferocious gale of wind blew away the smoke, exposing their location.

“There’s an alchemist,” Shouto realized. “Two alchemists, perhaps.”

And if the previous move had been any indication, it wasn’t a coincidence that the enemy alchemists had the type of alchemy to directly counter theirs. Bakugou and Shouto had grown rather notorious amongst the alchemy world. They were in an open area, surrounded by snipers and enemy alchemists who they couldn’t even spot.

All in all, Bakugou summarized their shitty situation rather pleasantly. “We're fucked.”

An onslaught of bullets flew over their heads; immediately, Shouto formed a protective wall of ice, only for it to melt away again. Bakugou cursed, dragging him behind a stone pillar before he could get shot. The rocks in the explosion-user’s hands morphed into his ever-trustworthy grenades; it wouldn’t be enough.

Shouto’s mind raced at lightning-quick speeds. Was this how he would die? Covered in soot, in the middle of a foreign country beside his loudmouth companion? He couldn’t die: Shouto wouldn’t die until he ensured that everyone (his siblings, his mother) could live peaceful, prosperous lives. What could he do?

It was almost comical how Endeavor’s voice popped up in his mind; despite everything, he had learned many important things from his father. Think logically. Survey the area first, Shouto. Think from the enemy’s point of view. How would they strike you?

Maybe...maybe I should…

He glanced at his left hand.

Suddenly, a loud series of screams resounded. As quickly as they had started, they abruptly stopped. Bakugou and Shouto exchanged wary glances, but when the temperature suddenly died down, the Explosions Alchemist must have realized something. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bakugou snorted, a smirk curving on his lips. There was an almost fond note to his voice. “The Hawk’s Eye strikes again. Prissy bitch. She always had the best timing.”

Shouto had heard of the epithet before. After all, soldiers talked. “The sniper, correct?” he question, tilting his head. “I heard that she’s quite accurate.”

“Accurate is an understatement,” Bakugou countered grudgingly. “She never fucking misses, no matter the target nor the distance. She’s probably at least a thousand meters from here.”

Shouto sighed, nodding at him. “We should probably head back to camp and report about this to Brigadier-General Aizawa: that’s two more alchemists down. If they’re aiming for us, we probably shouldn’t wander around here for too long.”

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou muttered under his breath, stalking off. “Come on, Half-and-Half. I’m sick of these fucking ruins.”

----

To Bakugou’s growing annoyance, they never made it back to the camp. Instead, they ran straight into the squadron of enemy soldiers they had spotted before; apparently, the fuckers weren’t planted there simply for the ambush. The Ishvalan soldiers were busy engaging with a squadron of Amestrian soldiers: from the looks of it, the Amestrians were heavily injured and losing. Bakugou cursed, glancing to his left to where Half-and-Half stood.

He never understood why the alchemist was so fucking calm. It irritated Bakugou to no ends; no matter the situation, Colonel Shouto Todoroki always maintained his same annoying deadpan face. They were even on the brink of fucking death minutes ago, and all the ice-user could do was stare apathetically at his hands!

“Shitty ice bastard,” Bakugou grumbled. Then, louder, he declared, “HEY, YOU BASTARDS! GIVE ME A CHALLENGE, WILL YOU?” Immediately, heads turned to face him.

Unhesitatingly, Bakugou jumped into the fray, baring his teeth at the Ishvalan soldier in front of him. “Well? Come on,” he invited, his fingertips itching to make things explode. “Let’s do this.”

---

“Thank you so much!”

Shouto blinked, unable to mask his surprise as he pivoted on his heel to face the bowing Amestrian soldier. He silently gestured for her to stop bowing, examining the soldier analytically. She was a petite girl, chestnut brown locks framing her cherubic face quite nicely. Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as a grateful smile graced her lips. “You and Lieutenant-Colonel Bakugou saved our lives, sir,” she added.

“It’s no problem…” Shouto said hesitantly. He wasn’t used to interacting with anybody outside of their small group of State Alchemists. “Your name?”

The girl gasped, mortified. “My apologies, sir! I forgot to state my name and rank. First Lieutenant Ochako Uraraka! It’s an honor to meet you, colonel.”

“Just Shouto is fine,” Shouto allowed. “Are...your squadmates alright, Lieutenant?”

“Then, just Ochako is fine. Or Uraraka, if you prefer that. Most of them are alright, although we should be heading back to camp as quickly as possible,” she replied dutifully. Uraraka gestured to two soldiers to her right, who had been lingering awkwardly. “I think two of my friends would like to join the conversation. Meet Captain Tenya Iida and Second Lieutenant Izuku Midoriya.”

“It’s an honor,” Iida, said, nodding his head. “Thank you for helping us. We were caught unprepared, and I hate to think of what might have happened without your assistance.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shouto offered. Then, he turned to the second lieutenant. “And you as well.”

As if he couldn’t hold back any longer, Midoriya blurted out, “You’re the Freezing Alchemist, right? How exactly does your alchemy work? Does it work in all climates? How do you form the ice in the desert like this? I assume you use the water particles in the air, but it still doesn’t explain how you—”

“Midoriya!” Iida hissed under his breath, jabbing the soldier with his elbow.

Midoriya blinked, then blushed when he realized the torrent of words that just escaped his mouth. “O-oh, I’m so sorry!” he stammered immediately. “Alchemy just fascinates me a lot, and I’ve heard so many stories about you—”

“Instead of focusing on Half-and-Half’s alchemy, why don’t you spend more time developing your hand-to-hand skills, Deku?”

As always, Bakugou’s arrival was dramatic, his voice marked with annoyance as he literally landed beside Shouto, having jumped off a stray boulder to intervene in the conversation. Shouto liked to think that the explosions-user could have done well in drama, but he couldn’t imagine Bakugou spouting off Shakespeare with a straight face.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaimed, a hesitant smile blooming on his face. “You were really cool out there.”

Bakugou snorted. “I’m more than fucking cool,” he declared arrogantly, crossing his arms over his chest and effectively cutting off whatever conversation they had going on. Shouto let out a long, suffering sigh.

“Bakugou…read the mood…”

“Well isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Bakugou shot back. “You can’t socialize for your fucking life, Half-and-Half. It’s a miracle the guys back in the military academy didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

Shouto blinked, then tilted his head. He chose not to address the socializing jab as it was somewhat true. Instead, he revealed, “I didn’t attend military school.”

“Eh?” came the surprised voices of not only Bakugou, but also the other three soldiers.

“My father sent me to a private academy,” Shouto explained. “The people there were very amiable.”

Bakugou looked unconvinced. “You had friends?”

“I suppose,” Shouto said slowly, “I had one friend.”

Before any of them could respond, however, Shouto’s eyes caught upon a shock of black hair approaching the group of soldiers. Plenty of people had black hair, but he could never forget that ponytail—

“Fucking finally, Hawk’s Eyes!” Bakugou exclaimed, drawing her attention. “Taking your damn sweet time, weren’t you? Where the hell were you during the scuffle?”

“I believe that was hardly a scuffle, Lieutenant-Colonel Bakugou,” came her voice, lined with amusement. “And I see that you all handled yourselves just fine.”

Bakugou scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Half-and-Half, meet—”

“Yaoyorozu?” Shouto asked, cutting off the explosions-user as his eyes drunk in her appearance. Yes, even though she was wearing the navy blue coat of the Amestris army and had cut her hair shorter, the woman standing before him was undeniably Yaoyorozu. His chest felt tight; it felt as if he could hardly breathe as his eyes remained steadily trained on hers.

Silence had fallen over the group. The female sniper pursed her lips together tightly, stepping forward.

“Todoroki,” she acknowledged, her cool eyes softening the slightest fraction as they met his. Slowly, a smirk curved over her lips as she pushed a stray strand of ebony hair behind her ear. “Or...should I call you colonel, now?”

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ours-is-feral-love · 6 years

Text

Red Sand

A/N: And . . . another one. Really couldn’t get this idea out of my head. [SPOILERS if you’ve not finished the show!]

Enjoy.

Summary: Alyssa sneaks into the hospital where James is being held following his capture. [T for language ] [Word Count: 2,621] [Alyssa’s POV]

I look the police officer over carefully from where I sit, watching his heavy eyelids droop over his evil eyes. He shouldn’t be too hard to fool. He looks like quite an idiot.

Nurses and doctors pass by on a continual loop, each of them shooting nervous glances at the doorway behind the drowsy PC. I want to tell them all to fuck off. I want to shout it really, really loudly. Scream it until I can’t speak anymore. Until there’s blood coming out of my mouth. But I stop myself. Making a scene won’t do me any good. No one can know I am here. Mum thinks I’m tucked underneath my duvet like some fucking caterpillar waiting to become a butterfly.

They’re scared of him. They’re all terrified he’s going to escape his restraints and slaughter them as if he is a psychotic serial killer.

Pussies. Each and every one of them.

None of them know who he is. They don’t know what really happened that night. They think they do because of the shitty news coverage, but the media is full of liars and money-loving fakes. And a story about an unhinged boy on a crime spree sneaking into a rapist’s house intending to murder said rapist sells better than the truth. That James only killed him to protect me.

He’s a hero. He deserves a medal, not shackles. Not a bullet hole in his left arm.

I heard on the BBC they had to give him blood transfusions because of how much of his own supply he lost on the beach. Because the bullet that hit him snagged an artery on its way out.

It’s been nearly a week, and I’ve unintentionally blocked that day from my memories, but I remember that bit. I hear that final gunshot as I sit staring at the sleeping officer and I see James go down as if it’s happening all over again. He sprawls on the ground, arms and legs at strange angles. I’m still screeching his name, but he isn’t moving. And there’s red. It’s everywhere, spilling over the wet sand . . .

I close my eyes before I lose my shit in the middle of the hospital. I breathe in a shaky breath, clutching the seat of the uncomfortable chair I am occupying near James’ room. The scratchy vinyl feels gross, but the cracks in the material scrape my palms and the pain is somehow soothing.

I think I've always needed a little bit of pain to get me through the day. It's why I put up with Tony for so long. Why I let my mum talk down to me like I was the most massive disappointment. Of course, I'm suffering a lot more than I'm used to at the moment. General teenage angst seems to have not prepared me for a situation like this. A situation that involves the boy you love being shot and then shackled to a hospital bed.

I am so lost right now.

But I know if I could see him, just for a second, that everything would fall back into place. I won't be so lost when I get past that snoozing guard.

I open my eyes and get to my feet. It's time for some fucking action. I pinch my cheeks, slouch my shoulders, and push my bottom lip out. Satisfied that I look like someone in need of some help, I approach the policeman.

I poke him hard on the arm. He jerks awake, and for a moment I just want to slap him. Bring him to the ground and beat the shit out of him. But I manage to hold myself back.

The man's bulging eyes look me up and down. His face softens.

It is this moment I am outrageously glad my parents’ genes mixed in just the right way to make me look like a fucking twelve-year-old.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asks in that voice my mum uses when she's talking to the twins.

Ugh. The desire to punch him comes over me again. He's even more fucking disgusting than I thought.

“Some—someone stole my bag." I sniffle, watching the geezer before me take on a hardened look of determination. "It had a present for my mum in it."

"Okay, darling. Which way did he go?" He reaches out for my hand, but I quickly use that one to point behind me.

No way do I want this old creep touching me.

"That way. I think I saw him going down the stairs. He's probably not even here anymore." I put my face in my hands and pretend to cry. I make ugly noises for added effect.

Maybe I should be a fucking actor when I grow up. Do they let criminals on TV?

"Don't cry," he says. "Don't cry. Look. I can't leave this spot, but I can ask a nurse to take you down to the security desk and they can help find your bag. Okay?"

Not okay. So not okay.

I remove my hands, frowning. "I need to find it now! My mum is dying of fucking cancer and you can't be a decent enough policeman to help me get back the present I bought for her with literally all of my fucking money? What if she dies in the time it takes for me to go down and start explaining this shit show to someone else?"

Gotcha.

The officer's face is wide. His mouth hangs open. His saucepan eyes swerve around the room, making sure no one is watching us.

"Okay," he says in an angry, hushed tone. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. What did the man look like?"

He stands up, straightening the weapons belt around his hips.

"Tall. Dark eyes, brown hair. Wearing a dark grey sweater with blue jeans and black snazzy shoes. Tan. Probably forty or so," I say. It’s Tony’s description. Maybe he’ll be walking down the street when the PC comes along.

Turning as the policeman does, my back is now to the door.

I can practically feel James.

My heart thumps wildly in anticipation. It hurts. I can't breathe.

"Alright." He motions to the seat at the back of my knees. "Stay here. Make sure no one goes inside."

"Why?" I ask as he starts walking away. "What's behind the door?"

"A monster," he says.

That's it. If I see him again, I'm definitely punching him.

I nod in agreement to his request, staring after him as he disappears round a corner.

This is it. I turn towards the room and shove the chair out of the way, moving close enough to the door that I can smell the wood. I reach for the handle. It’s cold, but unlocked. Twisting slowly, my eyes darting left and right, praying to the countless number of deities I’ve heard of throughout my whole life that I won’t get caught, I hear a click and the door falls inward. I go with it, pressed to the wood, and sneak inside the room.

I actually gasp. Like a fucking cartoon or something. The door closes softly behind me. I look around the room. There are wires and machines everywhere. Beeping noises collapse against my eardrums.

A heartbeat. James’ heartbeat.

And there he is. Right in front of me, asleep, looking sickly and pale and like he hasn’t properly showered in a few days. His arm is in a sling. He is connected to a saline drip through an IV via his uninjured arm. He is cuffed, too. To the side of the bed. There is a metal handcuff around his thin wrist.

God, I am so fucked off. I want to go at the restraint with a chainsaw.

Looking at him makes me want to cry. It always has. Ever since we first met. But right now, I really want to cry. More badly than I have ever wanted to before.

But I shouldn’t. I can’t. I need to be strong for him.

Swallowing the giant cricket ball forming in my oesophagus, I creep on my tiptoes towards the giant hospital bed. He looks even worse close up. There’s a dark shadow over the bottom half of his face. Deep purple bags lie underneath his closed eyes.

I’m too far gone. I can’t stop the tears. They crawl down my cheeks, slip past my chin, and land on the grey-blue blanket covering James’ body. One, as I move my head to get a better look at his face, drips over his eyelids.

He comes awake. The beeping grows quicker. I swear my lungs have stopped working. Reaching out, I place my hand over his mouth as his eyes snap open. His jaw parts. Hidden behind my palm, I feel his heavy breaths bathe my skin.

“Shh,” I warn, breathless. “I’m not supposed to be here. We don’t have much time.”

He shakes his head and I lift my hand. “You need to leave,” he says. It comes out all croaky and dry. He’s broken.

It makes me so angry. If he had just let me come with him, none of this shit would be happening.

If only I hadn’t been silly enough to believe my dad was a decent fucking human being, we would be in Switzerland by now, hiding in a bakery or skiing down some snow-capped mountain.

“I’m staying,” I say defiantly. He can’t tell me what to do.

He starts to sit up, but the effort exhausts him and he quickly lies back down. His brilliant eyes—the most beautiful things I’ve literally ever seen—gaze up at me. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

To be honest, I don’t want to see him like this. But I hold off on telling him that. “I don’t care what you look like. I don’t care that you’re handcuffed. James,” I say, the tears forming again. I reach for his chained hand. His fingers are sweaty, but he holds onto me regardless, entwining our fingers. I could collapse in a heap of despair like those women in the 19th century used to. “What’s gonna happen to you?”

“I’m not sure,” he says.

The words come out thin and brittle. I think there’s a cricket ball in his throat too. With my spare hand, I grab the cup of water by his bed and slowly, like he’s a baby, I tip the cup towards his mouth. He swallows a couple of gulps and coughs away any excess dryness. He mutters a thanks and I return the cup to its original spot.

“They’re keeping me here until my arm heals a bit more,” he says. “And then I’ll be moved to a jail to await trial. Then I’ll be prosecuted.”

He says it with such indifference that I find myself wanting to take him by the shoulders and shake him viciously.

“How can you be okay with this?” I ask, my face hot and wet. My lips tremble. My forehead hurts from frowning. “None of this is okay. None at all. It’s a giant mess—a total miscarriage of justice.”

I’ve been watching a lot of that American TV show Law and Order while under house arrest.

The longer I stare frustratedly at James half-lying down on his hospital bed, the blurrier he gets. But I blink rapidly, clearing my vision, when his face bunches. He's crying too. Not as much as me, but there's a small tear trolling down his scruffy face. Instinct compels me to wipe it away. I scrape at it with my thumb and hold my hand against his warm cheek. He presses into me, nostrils billowing like a curtain caught by the wind.

Okay. So, he isn't okay with this.

"I'm sorry," I say, rubbing the tear back into his skin. "I know you're just trying to be brave."

"I just," he says, "want to be with you."

My heart is going to explode. Is it possible for words to kill you?

"And I know that when they put me away, I'm not going to be able to be with you anymore," he continues, the words vibrating. "I don't want that to happen."

Fuck. Neither do I.

"I'll come see you," I promise. "And when you get out, we can be together again." My knees are starting to buckle under all the pressure. I hold tight to James. "Maybe we can get married . . . and then I'd get those conjugal visit things."

It's a joke. Mum would sooner disown me and throw me in the streets than allow me to marry a convicted felon.

But it does make James laugh. And that makes me smile. And some of that pressure lifts away.

"You would visit me?" he asks, and I sense the genuine worry.

"Yes. Fuck, I'd be in there with you if I could." If you'd let me. “Can I lie down?”

“What?”

“In the bed with you,” I say. “Just for a minute.” The guard’ll be on his way back soon. I’ll need to set off before then. But I need to lie with him. To feel his body against mine one last time before he’s taken away from me.

“I don’t know how easy it will be.” James looks to his shackled wrist and then to his bullet-hole-ridden arm.

I start climbing in, kicking my sandals off and bunching up the yellow sundress Mum got me when I was released from hospital the day James got captured. I wore it so she would let me out of the house. How long does she think it takes to pick up chocolate from the Co-op?

James can’t move a lot, but he slides over to make room for me. Lying on my side, pressing my hand flat against his chest, I rest my head on his shoulder. We sigh together. A sound of true contentment.

As much as he can, James holds me. His shackled fingers bend and move over the skin of my neck. I shiver into his hospital gown. For someone who looks so horrible, he smells just the same as always. Like lavender soap. I breathe him in, forcing myself to memorise the scent.

“You changed your hair,” he notes, fiddling with the short strands that just barely reach my neck.

“Mum took me to the salon immediately,” I say. Guess she wasn’t all that fucking pleased about the blond. “The woman made it too dark. I don’t like it.”

“Well, I do,” James says.

I smile into his neck.

I shouldn’t be happy at all. Things are about to get a whole lot worse for the both of us. But he’s touching me and I’m touching him, and everything just feels . . . right. I know it’ll be gone the instant I leave this room, but I will revel in it for the few minutes I have.

“You shouldn’t have come,” James says.

I lift myself up. Our faces are only a few centimetres apart. His breaths wash over my face. “Why?” I ask, confused and hurt.

James continues stroking every piece of available skin. “Now that you’re here, I don’t want you to leave.”

Oh.

“I don’t want to leave,” I tell him.

“But you have to.”

“But I have to,” I agree. “But not yet. In a minute.”

I have to kiss him. I have to remember the feel of his mouth on mine.

Lowering my face the tiniest bit, I close my eyes and affix my lips to his. He can’t properly embrace me, and I can’t move too much for fear of further injuring him, but he is soft against me and that’s all that matters.

I was wrong before. Now everything is right. The seas have calmed. The earth has stopped turning. And it’s James and me against the world.

#the end of the f***ing world #the end of the fucking world #teotfw #james x alyssa #james #alyssa #alyssa's pov #my writing #thanks for reading guys #fanfiction

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lurkerdelima · 7 years

Note

oh god, if you did something with that, it would be amazing. :D seriously, HOW does he know? Flint needs to know. For reasons.

WONDER NO MORE! Here it is. :D Roughly 1900 words on how exactly Silver knows Flint’s first name.

Very mildly NSFW toward the end. I could mention the pairing but honestly I want it to be a surprise (I will put it in the tags though). I hope you and everyone else who needed this question answered enjoys this answer! 💕

“My name is John Silver. His name is James Flint. We came here to steal the gold from the treasure galleon,” Silver says, and he can practically hear the wheels in Flint's mind turning. He knows what Flint must be wondering - how on earth does Silver know his given name?

It's a long story.

---

“Will! William! Come and meet someone.”

Silver - although of course he was not calling himself John Silver then - could hear Thomas Hamilton’s voice ringing out clear across the room. He followed the sound obediently and stood near his sponsor, silently appraising the man at Thomas’s side.

“Will, this is Lieutenant James McGraw, the liaison from the admiralty I was telling you about yesterday. Lieutenant, may I introduce my protege, the artist William Shepherd,” Thomas said grandly, making Silver sound much more important than he knew himself to be. “He’s the one who painted that lovely portrait of Miranda and me that you so admired.”

“Mr. Shepherd,” Lieutenant McGraw said, holding out his hand expectantly.

“Lieutenant McGraw,” Silver replied, shaking his hand firmly and risking a glance into his eyes. They were ridiculously, intensely green, as he’d feared on first look. The lieutenant was tall, though not quite so tall as Thomas, and clean-shaven. He had excellent posture and long auburn hair, and such abundant freckles that Silver fleetingly wondered if he had them all over his body. In a word, he was handsome. Devastatingly so.

Silver felt like a bit of a rake next to him. His curls were cropped close to his head (he’d cut them himself a few weeks prior in a fit of artistic pique), and he’d only recently managed to grow a decent mustache for the first time in his young adult life. He felt small and almost immature next to these two powerful older men. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” he said regardless, forcing a genial smile.

“The pleasure is mine,” the lieutenant said seriously. A devilish part of Silver whispered in his ear that it would be simply marvelous to see a man like that lose his calculated composure, see him give himself over to his baser instincts. That devilish part sounded remarkably like Thomas. It usually did.

“Shall we retire to the parlor, gentlemen?” Thomas himself asked, smiling at them both hopefully. Such a good and friendly host, was his lord. Silver could tell, though, by the gleam in his eye that he wasn’t solely imagining being friends with the lieutenant.

“By your leave, my lord,” Silver demurred, staring down at the floor and wishing silently for it to open and swallow him.

Soon enough he found himself sitting awkwardly on a sofa next to the lieutenant, with Thomas sprawled, loose-limbed, in an armchair opposite them. They had a small glass of brandy each, and Silver had somehow already downed half of his while the lieutenant had hardly so much as taken a dainty sip. Probably keeping his wits about him on purpose, Silver thought.

“It is a serious problem, I concur. The question is, how do we solve it?” Thomas was saying as Silver forced himself to pay attention to the conversation happening in front of him. It wasn’t that he was uninterested in the pirate problem in the Bahama islands - he was just feeling a tad bit flushed from the brandy, and also distracted by how Thomas kept smiling at him.

And at the lieutenant. Damn.

The night wore interminably on. Lieutenant McGraw proved himself to be a more than capable conversationalist - he was smart and well-spoken, and once in awhile Silver saw in him a flash of fiery temper that grudgingly intrigued him. The hour eventually grew late, and Silver began to feel itchy and impatient, like it was past time Lieutenant McGraw made his exit.

He decided to hasten things along with a bit of harmless play-acting.

“Lord Hamilton,” he interrupted them as they spoke animatedly, doing his best to sound woozy and tired. They both paused and turned to stare at him wonderingly. “I do believe the brandy has gone straight to my head. I am terribly embarrassed. Could I perhaps stay in one of your guest rooms tonight? I’m clearly in no shape to get home alone,” Silver said, fluttering his eyelashes and slumping down on the couch, trying to appear much more inebriated than he actually was. It wasn’t his most clever gambit, but he knew it would work, anyway.

“Of course,” Thomas said a bit stiffly. If Silver was reading him right, he was not falling for this bit of theater at all. But he couldn’t just refuse Silver outright and look like a poor host in front of his important new friend. Silver knew Thomas well enough to predict his behavior that way.

“The hour has grown rather late. I do apologize for lingering so, I ought to be going,” Lieutenant McGraw said, rubbing his palms on his thighs self-consciously and rising from the couch. “Reporting early in the morning,” he added with a rueful half-smile. He looked keenly at Silver, unflinching, like he could see right through his charade, too. Silver looked away from the weight of that verdant stare, chagrined. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shepherd. Excellent as always to see you as well, Lord Hamilton. Please give Lady Hamilton my regards,” he said, then was gone.

The rest of the guests had already left, since it was past midnight. Thomas helped Silver up from the couch once they were alone, then adjourned to an auxiliary bedroom with his arm around Silver’s waist, helpfully supporting his poor, ‘drunk’ protege. Once they’d locked the door behind themselves, Silver stood up straight, dropping the act completely without either of them saying a word. They began stripping each other of their finery, Silver making a very conscious effort to hold his tongue on the subject of one Lieutenant James McGraw.

Of course, he had always been the talkative sort, and the brandy did have the effect of lowering what little inhibitions he still had, even though he wasn’t as drunk as he’d made himself out to be.

“You have your eye on that fellow, don’t you?” he asked while he slowly unbuttoned Thomas’s shirt for him, watching his own fingers instead of his lord’s face.

Thomas chuckled lowly, taking Silver’s hand in his own, staying it so he’d be forced to look up into Thomas’s eyes instead of focusing on his task.

“My puckish Will, my sweet fae prince,” he rumbled, pulling Silver gently into his chest. “I do, yes. I trust you deeply, and so I can readily admit to that, here alone with you.” He took a breath and nuzzled Silver’s short, haphazard curls. “But, but. Please remember this: my wanting him doesn’t mean I want you any less. Just as my loving you doesn’t mean I love my wife any less.”

“Are you going to seduce him, do you think?” Silver asked, nuzzling Thomas’s half-bared chest, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of him. He could feel his heart hammering in his own chest - he’d never felt threatened by another lover (or potential lover) of Thomas’s before, but something already seemed different about Lieutenant McGraw. He didn’t like how thinking about him and Thomas together made him feel. It felt somehow inevitable, unavoidable. Like fate - a fate in which he had no part.

Thomas hummed softly, consideringly. “He seems rather shy to me. I’m not sure he’s ever so much as thought of a man that way before. Not like you, my naughty imp,” he teased, and Silver smiled a secret, pleased smile to himself, yelping when he felt Thomas’s long fingers pinching his bottom. “I must proceed with caution, I suppose. Move slowly. Bide my time and wait for him to show me that he wants me, too. I cannot risk him reacting poorly to an advance and telling anyone who will listen that I tried to...have my way with him.”

“I want you to have your way with me,” Silver purred insistently, leaning up on his toes to kiss Thomas.

Thomas moaned into the kiss and eased his tongue into Silver’s mouth, one hand rising to warmly cup his jaw. It was almost enough to make Silver take leave of his senses. Gently, affectionately, Thomas tugged on one of his curls.

“I’ve been thinking of growing out my hair,” Silver said when he pulled back, panting a little and tasting alcohol strong and fiery in his mouth from Thomas’s tongue. “Longer than before, maybe even to my shoulders.”

“And cover up those beautiful tiny ears? Whatever for?” Thomas asked lowly, backing him steadily toward the large, welcoming expanse of the bed.

“I don’t know,” Silver mused as he let himself topple back onto the mattress, squirming eagerly out of his trousers and hissing with pleasure when Thomas’s warm, soft hand closed around him. He was glad for the distraction, relieved to have Thomas’s attention solely on him again. “I just— ahh, think it might suit me.”

He left Thomas a few weeks later. It had very little to do with Thomas as a person or with the unexpected introduction of Lieutenant McGraw, he told himself - it was simply past time for him to cease being the artist William Shepherd and evolve into someone else. It was nothing personal, it was just how he chose to live his life.

Some time after he’d left, news reached him that Thomas had been sent to an institution and ultimately perished there. He drowned his sorrows in wine and opium for a week’s time, sobbing piteously into his pillow alone at night until he had no tears left. Then he picked himself up, shook the despair out of his clothes, and became yet another new man. Like a phoenix from the ashes.

Years later, when the ship he’d been stowing away on was boarded, when he raised his hands in surrender and took the name John Silver, he faced down the dread Captain Flint. And he recognized those green eyes instantly.

He’d know them anywhere.

—

“How exactly do you know my given name? I’d remember if I told you myself,” Flint asks some time later, once they’re both relatively safe and mostly sound again.

Silver studies him for a long moment, remembering it. All of it, down to the last painful, beautiful detail.

“Just a lucky guess, I suppose. James is, after all, a very common name,” he says, and mentally congratulates himself for how nonchalant he sounds. He’s given nothing away, which was his intent. He doesn’t want to ever remind Flint that they’ve met before, if he can help it - he didn’t mean to even use his first name. It slipped out before he could stop it, and he’s incredibly glad it only made Flint a little suspicious.

Besides all that, he truly doesn’t blame Flint for not recognizing him. They haven’t seen each other in years. Flint had been an important figure in the Navy then, and Silver imagines he’d met quite a lot of anonymous young men whose names and faces he’d long since forgot. It was a lifetime ago, they were both entirely different men, and James had only met William Shepherd the once and didn’t really know him at all.

Of course, neither did he really know John Silver.

#prompt a lurker why not #prompt fills #bisexualpirateheart #my fic #black sails fic #silverhamilton kind of #surprise!

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thusspakesophie · 6 years

Text

The Resistance + failing story integrity in the face of the Star Wars mythos in popular imagination

Now people often discuss the question of how big or small the Star Wars universe feels. I think this movie went way, way too far in the direction of shrinking it. People hate the prequels, but it was a nice point of continuity through them and Rogue One to the Original Trilogy that we see the political landscape that means that the Rebel Alliance can actually exist, and have the resources it has (and needs, to wage war on the scale it does. That shit ain’t cheap; even TLJ hammers that home pretty emphatically). The Senate was huge; there’s a network of political resistance and like hundreds of planets etc that are engaged in fighting the Empire: ‘the more you tighten your grip, the more systems will slip through your fingers’. And then following the fall of the Empire, the number of new planets that must’ve been able to join the Republic, even if they weren’t in the Rebellion, must’ve been even bigger.

In TFA you get the impression the galaxy is 50:50 Republic: First Order. Yes, the capital and some core planets of the new Republic were blown up, but... seriously? 5 planets, and then the Resistance is just 400 people, which gets whittled down to like 10 by the end? And their political affiliations and support networks are so weak that out of an entire supposedly vast galaxy, there’s not one ally that comes through for them? (Well, they’re so incompetent that they kind of deserve being given up on, tbh) What happened to like half the planets in the galaxy?

Let’s not forget (though TLJ does) that the Resistance just blew up Starkiller base - the thing that destroyed the capital. That is a HUGE feather in their cap. People should be flocking to their banner and regrouping, battered but determined to keep fighting their likewise battered, if still more powerful, enemy. The Rebellion kept going through *far* darker times before (as depicted at its birth in RotS, and in Rogue One in the moment they not only are the underdog in a galaxy controlled by the Empire but find out that the Empire can now destroy planets); but in TLJ, despite the universe setting consistency that says they should be in actually fairly decent condition, all of a sudden they give up, just so TLJ can overuse the phrase ‘spark of hope’ and make itself seem important? It makes NO SENSE. I can only assume it’s because this movie wanted to deify Luke, the director’s childhood hero. But again, last time the *entire Jedi Order and the Republic itself* - institutions that had existed for thousands of years - were destroyed, and there were still lots of people who kept going, working in the shadows to build a rebel force over 20 years, so I just can’t believe that the loss of the capital of a much newer and smaller-scale Republic and Jedi Order would be so decisive, especially since the Resistance has already destroyed the thing that caused the dire setback. The Resistance should be in far better condition even than the Rebel Alliance was in the beginning of TESB, and in TESB Hoth was only *one* of their new bases.

In Star Wars the pivot of the galaxy’s fate usually does come down to a small group of heroes, but it’s still able to feel like it makes sense because it’s actually very careful to keep the feeling that there’s a wider political/military etc context. (without that you can’t have big space battles! whee!) If you look at history, the difference between genius tactician righteous rebels fighting a huge empire who win (eg the Viet Cong) and genius tactician righteous rebels fighting a huge empire who lose (eg Maori resistance to British colonial forces during the New Zealand Land Wars), is ... resources. Ho Chi Mihn had a brilliant general, but his own job as leader actually consisted in pretty large part of sweet talking + manipulating China and the Soviet Union into supplying them with the stuff they needed to keep fighting. The Americans had French help during their War of Independence. The British gave up India because their resources had just been traaashed by WWII. But the Maori, despite being just as brilliant and determined, only had themselves, and the muskets they could buy selling like, flax and farm produce. 4000 Maori fighters, against 18,000 British troops with all the best weaponry and supplies that the world’s mightiest superpower could (however reluctantly) furnish. The British suffered some humiliating losses, but eventually basically just marched in a big line to cover the territory that was the only resource the Maori had.

But in TLJ the Resistance ends up less than a dozen people, flying in a ‘piece of junk’ ship. Everyone else in the galaxy is filled with despair for... reasons. (Rian Johnson going ‘I want my movie to feel Desperate and Important! Forget what went before!’) Leia’s personal distress signal means fuck all to people. Luke shows up and gives the audience all sorts of feels, but ... did the Resistance get that on video or something? They’re going to turn up in their ‘garbage’ ship pretending their survival was an epic victory even though 97.5% of them died, referencing a miracle they *swear* happened, which was totally epic we promise but uhm actually Luke Skywalker wasn’t even there - no no that’s why it was cool! - and also he’s dead now... but we have a 20 year old girl who can lift rocks and stole some old books! We promise she’s done other cool things too! And like hundreds of people died to teach our new commander one lesson (it was totally worth it because he’s a Hero), but he’s got it now so you should totally follow him! What’s that? Those people wouldn’t have died if only Resistance leadership were capable of understanding their followers and communicating with them effectively? Oh we didn’t think of that... ignore that... or rather, failure is a *good* thing because we learn from it; just don’t ask us what we learned... ahh... how about, ‘save the things you love, don’t fight what you hate!’ - that makes sense right? I mean, it’s not like you ever have to fight against loathsome badguys to save what you love! That would be like, a war! Maybe even a war in space. Or like, a war in the stars. Star Wars.

But the Resistance has a nice logo. They put it on merch and give it to children, who play with toys and tell stories about Luke Skywalker. They think it’s *really cool*. Why, they’re just like us! Oh this makes us so emotional! We’re in Star Wars! We grew up with this so we know it’s Good and Righteous and that like 10 people (or preferably 3-4, as long as they have some OP droid helpers to do everything for them) can totally save the galaxy singlehandedly! Now everyone chant, we DO believe in Jedi, we DO, we DO! The Resistance will ride to victory with legions of child soldiers and the power of the audience believing in them!

The Last Jedi was made by a fanboy who was too blinded by the magnitude of Star Wars in the popular imagination to resist pandering to it, and the integrity of the story suffered.

#star wars #tlj spoilers #the last jedi #the last jedi spoilers #rian johnson #the resistance #history #rebellion #story integrity #analysis #discussion #criticism #disappointed

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philcreateddan · 7 years

Text

Because you and I shine

title: Because you and I shine

words: 2k

warnings: none

Dan is fond and in love and it’s embarrassing to look at.

They adore Phil. Their audience. Their shared audience. Dan has seen the comments, has read the tags and while a huge part find him attractive, they love Phil as a whole, as a complex entity reaching the point of perfection on their eyes. Dan doesn’t blame them really.

He doesn’t focus on the other spectrum of his audience, the one that won’t follow amazinphil’s channel considering it too immature or cringy or any other adjective and reasons they might have. He doesn’t blame them neither really, but doesn’t focus on them more than to find more objective opinions on his own content that, more than often, leaves him in despair.

He definitely doesn’t focus on the miniscule part, that still exists recoiled there, that actually dislike Phil. That every once in a while will get attention with a “Dan could get someone so much better” because not only they get suffocated under testaments of Phil’s own attractiveness by the rest of the defensive audience like loyal soldiers charging to battle, but also, Dan believes, getting into useless arguments with them would be wasted time.

He has noted them nevertheless and finds it intriguing. Almost amusing as long as it doesn’t get on Phil’s feelings, which never happens, but if ever Dan would go as passive aggressive as he could on his liveshow.

No, Dan finds it intriguing because it evokes an inner reflection on his own feelings.

Dan knows he doesn’t look like a walrus, unless he tries to. He knows his face is attractive enough, that his smile and dimples and even that red spot on his cheek are, as a whole, part of his good looks. He knows it. He used to take advantage of it at his teens, maybe even shelter behind it to conceal darker aspects of his personality. He simply doesn’t care anymore at his twenties.

He knows that if things had gone a different way, his looks more than most would have been enough to spot him on a good, decent life on the media or theater or even youtube as a solo career. He also knows that, with effort, it could gain him anyone his awkwardness wouldn’t scare away.

He knows that just as much as he knows Phil looks ravishingly good right now, stepping out of the shower dripping wet. Behind fog because the man almost cooks himself with hot water and then complains when the bill comes.

He catches Dan staring at him from the doorframe, half closing his eyes with difficult to see.

“Creep.”

Dan keeps on staring and smiles as Phil takes one towel and puts it around his waist. He could just stare, he has before. Instead Dan takes another clean towel and approaches Phil.

“Let me.” He asks. Phil shrugs and nods but his mouth is suppressing a smile.

Intriguing indeed, because if he were to be asked (and he has been asked in the past) what attracted him first of Phil, he wouldn’t have any idea on what to say. What physical part of Phil he finds irreplaceable or what makes Phil, for him, the best he could get.

Mentally, of course, emotionally, deeply, their souls merged from the very beginning. They share bonds and chemistry hard to replace. Phil Lester’s mind and heart are unique and Dan is certain a lifetime of flirting would never get him someone as compatible for him.

Phil’s mind is a unique universe he has grown used to but never ceases to impress him. Dan loves being impressed.

But physically.

Physically is hard because early memories of finding Phil hot are merged with confusion and novelty and excuses from his youth. Being charmed by personalities was something young Dan was okay with but being charmed by a boy’s anatomy was a whole different thing.

It meant unlocking a door inside of him, created by social standards and talks with his school pals and even his own relationship back then. It meant finding inside of that door the palpitating desire for broad shoulders and stubbles and a palpitating pulsing weight in his mouth. And that, as a teen on a rather small town, was terrifyingly new.

But now Dan believes himself able to write thesis on Phil Lester’s body and how it’s imperfections and perfections are enough to have Dan smitten with adoration.

He dries Phil out as good and fast as he can as cold air enters through the open door. Dan feels Phil shivering a little from it now that the fog dissipates. Looks down to find an elusive drop right next to his nipple and catches it with his tongue. Maybe lingers his mouth there for a moment tasting the clean skin before tugging the towel on his waist till it loses itself and falls on the damp floor. Phil is looking at him with rose cheeks. His hair pushed back dripping on his back.

“Come to bed.” Dan requests. Phil opens his mouth, probably to complain about the coldness and wet bed sheets as expected so before he gets to do that Dan says “I have the heater on.” After a moment of hesitation Phil follows.

Dan remembers how it felt, to let go of those insecurities in private, to explore things online just to prove himself only to find out his attractions were not one way. He remembers how different it felt with Phil and how fearful Phil had been after. How Phil told him sometime after that, when they shared an apartment, that he had feared Dan had only used him to satisfy his curiosity. Dan didn’t laugh back then.

His previous partner and friends from college probably believed the same Phil did. That it was going to be a phase, that Dan wanted to learn because Phil was older and important and therefore he would feel important.

Dan believes people probably still believe that, in a way, he had faked appeal for Phil to climb faster. Easier.

He laughs at that now. With Phil on their bed, naked and beautiful and his.

Dan lies next to him, traces figures on his arm with his fingers. Phil’s skin is soft, the man likes to moisturize and sometimes smells too strongly of a random fruit after a shower. It is not a flawless skin, it has its imperfections and dots and sometimes different shades when Phil forgets to use sunscreen on his arms when he goes outside.

There are freckles and bumps and bruises and Dan has memorized each and every single one of them.

Dan kisses his chest. Open mouthed kisses, slightly sucking on skin. He isn’t going for full arousal (yet) so he lays short kisses on his nipples. Fully erect already from the change in temperature and, Dan delights himself to know, the proximity of his mouth.

There is chest hair, not much, not full on Gaston type, but that still has been enough to fell when pressed against his own chest or back. It had been one of the first things Dan had found terribly arousing and to this day makes him excited to touch and rest his head and even cum on just for the sake of watching his come dirtying and marking Phil.

He presses his fingers lightly on Phil’s adam apple, feels Phil swallowing. Their eyes meet for a moment and he can see Phil is curious but passive. He lets Dan get his way so often it doesn’t surprise him anymore.

Dan understand them really. The fans that adore Phil to the point of absurdity. His own audience usually mocks him and share an affection that involves good hearted bullying because of their sense of humor. Dan is mostly proud of them but never fully takes seriously their commentaries on his good looks.

Phil’s however.

Dan looks at Phil’s face and it is asymmetrical, his nose has a little bump on top of it, the edges are sharp and Dan finds it fascinating how everything together creates, without trying to be too corny, a masterpiece. It is a face he can’t not look at. A face that exerts a pull on him impossible to be bypassed by anyone else’s. Dan understand the fans that have been enticed by that face as well.

He doesn’t feel bad for his privilege of having it for himself to kiss and touch and taste. Which he does, because the aftershave smells good or because the stubble is a novelty or because Phil makes a stupid face that looks way too creepy. Or simply because all this years of solid commitment has settled a certain fondness in his veins for his man.

Phil pucks his lips comically and Dan laughs as he pushes himself up to kiss this dork of a man that’s all his. Takes Phil’s lower lip between his own and pulls until Phil groans. Dan laughs again, kisses him sweetly as an apology. Small pecks and when Phil lifts his head yearning for more, an overwhelming affection that has Dan having urges he usually repeals. Urges like repeating I love you over and over and over again, or order the ring he has already seen millions of times and that would fit Phil’s hand perfectly, or even taking a picture and sharing to the world just how much he adores this man and even more childish urges like rub it in their fan-base that yes, this man is his and no one else’s so suck it, ha!.

He restrains himself. Kisses every inch of Phil’s face instead until he is giggling under him complaining over how his face is going to end up covered in Dan’s saliva. (To which Dan starts licking too until Phil shrieks and pushes him away.)

“Making me sleep naked today?”

“As if you never do that.” Dan says, one hand on the other’s stomach. Tiny hair, soft, not firm. A bit bulged.

“Let me rephrase; making me the only one sleeping naked tonight?”

“Of course. You are the indecent one here.” Dan follows the trail of hair to Phil’s cock. Not entirely soft, barely hardening out of curiosity from his previous touching.

“You like me indecent.” Phil smiles, attempts to wink and fails so miserably Dan pretends it didn’t happen.

Dan shrugs and rests his head on his chest. Leaves his hand stroking Phil’s thigh and pelvis and everything in between. “It’s not a bad look on you.”

“Let’s get under the covers at least. Runny nose is a bad look on me.”

Dan would beg to differ. Red nosed, needy Phil is still one he loves. Won’t say it though. “Ugh. Disgusting.”

They get under the covers, Dan taking off most of his clothes too and when he reaches the bed again Phil already has his glasses on. I-phone on his hand. Doesn’t even look up and Dan knows he won’t because of that new game he is obsessed with recently.

You can have better.

Dan laughs at those kind of commentaries.

Better where? He wants to ask. Better than what he has next to him on bed? Better than peaking on whatever game Phil is playing and touching the screen to make him lose? Better than Phil growling at him and Dan repeating the action just to be needy and a pain in the ass? Better than Phil reaching over, finally tired of losing unfairly so many times, to bite his nose making him shriek and laugh?

Better than Phil Lester? impossible, Dan thinks. Completely, utterly impossible. Because they shine together and it’s a light that can’t be tamed. A light that undresses them and asks them what they know about love. And the answer, Dan knows they both know, is this, all of this.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan fluff #disgustingly cute #i hate myself #plot? what is that #never heard of her

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myselfinserts · 5 years

Note

‘ we temper our justice with mercy here. ’

Clangs of swords echoed through the halls. The staff screamed in horror as they ran into nearby rooms to avoid the danger. The shadows were seeping deep into the walls.

“Had enough, your Highness?!”

Davis hurried down the corridor, trying to make his way to the main entry. He needed the space to fight. That was one of his many faults. He couldn’t fight well in close combat. Perhaps he should have taken his training as he grew up more seriously. If he had, maybe this assassin wouldn’t have caught him off guard.

Though no one could blame him. She looked a lot like his wife.

“What’s the matter?” the woman asked. “You look like you’ve seen the reaper!”

Davis turned a corner, making sure to glance at the door to the cat room as he ran. Didn’t want his little friends to be hurt.

Think Davis. Think. What do you want to do to live? Use your quirk? Not here. Not this floor. You gotta-

“Watch your back!”

Davis turned and blocked, glaring at the woman sneering at him. He could just make out the points of her pinned back ears. No doubt a killer from their sister island. Why was she here?

He didn’t need to hazard a guess.

“I hate to fight a lady,” he said. “But you proved you’re more than willing to harm innocents when you broke into this sanctuary. So I suppose I have no choice but to handle you with the utmost courtesy.”

She laughed. “About time. I was wondering if I was going to end up killing another coward. Instead, I get a gentleman.”

Davis kicked her back and hard into the wall, sprinting down the hall and hurried down toward the open foyer downstairs. At the stairs, he jumped and slid down the railing, tossing his hair ribbon aside. He wouldn’t need it for this. And he felt more himself with his hair down. More confident. More bold.

More like a King.

The last of the staff vanished just as he began to absorb the darkness within the castle. The shadows began to scream at him, like they’d done before. Every horrible, lonely, scared, despairing thought that had covered these halls for the last century. His mother’s sorrow of his parting. His father’s anger at his immaturity. Kings and Queens and Rulers whose powers ate away at them.

He took it all.

“There you are!”

Davis looked up, eyes glowing blindingly as the shadows changed with him. He focused, sending the light he was summoning into his blade. Into his very aura. The assassin leaped from the top and came at him with a spin, attempting to cut him right down the middle.

The light in his blade began to grow, and he found himself moving on instinct. He raised his sword and blocked her attack, letting the pure white light cover him from head to toe.

The assassin screamed, jumping back and covering her eyes with a pair of sunglasses from her pocket. Davis rushed forward, slicing upward and cutting the glasses in half before spinning on his heel and kicking her in the jaw, sending her flying to the other side of the foyer. She stood again, squinting to try and see him.

Parry, thrust, dodge. Slash, miss, spin. This deadly fight slowed to a waltz. Two soul clashing together. And Davis never felt more alive.

But now was not the time to bask in the glory of battle. With one last swing he knocked the weapon from his opponent, leaving a decent gash in the woman’s arm. Another kick and she was on her knees. He held the tip of his sword to her chin, eyes narrowed fiercely.

“I take it your people sent you to kill me,” he said. “Seeing as it is self defense and protecting my country, I could just end you here.”

The assassin panted, trying to keep her smile through the bruising on her face. “Then why don’t you? Huh? Get it over with. You said it yourself. You have every right to. Kill me then go declare war on Elspie. After that, you can totally do that.”

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Davis removed his sword, kicking hers into his hand and stepping back. “Those where the ways of my father King Søren. And his father Aloys before him, and King Galeran before him. But that is not my way. The way of the kings have evolved with me. We temper our justice with mercy here. Though I don’t expect an Elspie assassin to understand that.”

“Mercy? Pfft. Don’t make me laugh. Cursed demons like you know not of mercy.”

“You think you’re all high and mighty just because you’re letting me live? We’ll just send more of us after you, you know. If not me, then the next strongest. Eventually, should you truly prove tiresome, we’ll send the true Grim Reaper after you, your majesty. And when that day comes, you and your kind will be over, Cursed King.”

“You depraved souls and your quirk biases. I am offering you one chance. Either leave now peacefully, or face trial for attempted murder of the crown, endangerment to civilians, unauthorized weapon possession, and illegal trespassing.”

The assassin stared at him an uncomfortably long time. It hurt watching her bleed out there. She looked so much like Isleen. He threw the swords aside and tore off his scarf, tying it around her wound.

Her snide look softened to confusion. “What the hell-?”

“I cannot bare the sight of you injured by my hand,” he said. “I will gladly pay for your medical bills. A lovely lady like you shouldn’t be in this line of work. You should be free to do whatever it is that truly makes you happy.” He looked into her eyes, trying to mask the hurt buried there. “Does killing someone who has not slighted you truly bring you happiness?”

She stared at him a little longer before standing up, turning toward the door blocked by the guards. They all had their spears aimed at her. Davis waved for them to stand down. He stood, holding out a hand to her.

“If Elspie’s not making you happy,” he said. “Then I’d gladly wish to welcome you as a member of the guard. We could use a talented combatant like you to help train. Or if that’s not what you seek-”

“I just want to go home to my husband...”

Davis smiled at the assassin, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold coin. He held it out, brushing his hair back. “Take this. And if you ever decide you wish to find happiness in my kingdom, I’ll personally welcome you.”

The assassin stared at the coin before hesitantly taking it, nodding silently before leaving.

“And what happened after that?”

“I sent her on her way. I don’t think that she’ll be a bother to me again.”

Inkwell shook his head. “My oh my, little king. You really are too soft.”

Davis chuckled. “Is that such a bad thing, old friend?”

“No, it’s a decent enough trait for one to have.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to balance the white king piece on his nose. “Though you really need to catch up with the times a bit more. You only just got yourself a computer system last week? And the first video chat you decide to do is me. You really are a strange boy.”

“I’m a king, Mr. Alberi. You’d do well to remember-”

“Do you still have that Miles Edgeworth cosplay in your closet? I don’t think it suits you anymore.” Davis rolled his eyes. Inkwell could tell. He always knew. “Seriously though, what’s got you calling me, anyway?”

Davis’s pleasant smiled faded to a serious gaze. “Information on your country hasn’t been getting through very well to Estmund, so I need a couple of tidbits of intel. I figured someone as magnificent as you could help a poor little wannabe like me.”

“Flattery will get you only so far, my king,” Inkwell snickered. “What is it you want to know?”

“The hero on the news the other day. The one that had the redebut that’s been all over the net.”

Inkwell paused, raising an eyebrow. “The Technonaut Hero; Renegade?

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Elspie’s Number One. Worked hard for that title, he did. Strong lad. Little brother to Mither and older brother to an up and coming heroine named Tarren. Trained under Mr. Derezzed in Elspie’s Apprenticeship Program. Renegade is also one of the biggest names in support design at the moment thanks to his quirk. He’s second only to Mr. Allard of good old Atelier Allard in Paris.”

“Anything else?”

“Current partner is the Peaceful Shepherd; Amaryllis, though I’ve never actually talked to that hero properly outside of work. Always covered head to toe in a formal hero suit when we came face to face. Or, face to mask, I should say. I’m more familiar with some of Renegade’s outside colleagues, such as Mr. Allard, Lady Lazarus, and the owner of the Secret Felines pub and hotel, Mr. Aylward.” He smiled, holding up the king piece to the light. “I do remember Renegade calling them ‘Luci’ oh so fondly. And Luci always responding with ‘Regibyte’.”

Davis seemed to relax, a forlorn, nostalgic glint in his eye flickering slightly. “They must care very much for each other.”

“They own a cat named Meatloaf. Those two are gonna be married by the end of next year, I promise you.”

“Meatloaf?! Oh my goodness-”

“Cat King, silence your oo-woos.”

“But that’s such a cute name-!”

“Do you want this information? Because I will hang up.”

Davis shut right up.

“Thank you.” Inkwell sat up and set the chess piece down. “Why do you want information on Renegade?”

“I want to commission some new clothes from his designer.”

He blinked, bursting into laughter. “Honestly, why didn’t you start with that?! I could get you a meeting with his greatness right away! How soon are you wanting to hear back?”

“Within two months, if that’s alright.”

“Worry not your pretty blue head about it. I’ll pass along your interest to him.” He narrowed his eyes, smirking slightly. “I hope you know he might decline your offer, my good king.”

Davis nodded, pulling his hair back into a ponytail .”I’m well aware of that. But I wish to, at the very least, speak with him one on one. All expenses will be paid, and I can assure you that he will be treated with the utmost respect befitting his talents. And of course, he’s allowed two guests.”

“How generous.”

“I try to be. The people seem rather keen on keeping me healthy and happy. I give back to all when I can.”

“Given that you very well might be the last king of Estmund, I’m not surprised. What’s the crime rate again?”

“0.0005239%”

“And that last not even half a percent is petty littering right?” Inkwell sighed. “Email me the details of what you need done and I will forward them to Mr. Allard. I’m certain you can research him more on your own.”

Davis smiled, holding back a laugh as an ink-black cat jumped onto his lap. “I appreciate it Mr. Alberi.”

“Please, call me Uncle Inkwell. Everyone does these days.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later then. Uncle Inkwell.”

They finished their call and Inkwell immediately called Paris, forwarding the details from Davis to the address he’d been provided. He smiled with the no nonsense professional voice of the assistant answered.

“Thank you for calling Atelier Allard-”

“Chris my child! How wonderful to hear from you-”

“Monsieur Allard does not have time to deal with your antics today, Inkwell.”

“Oh, this won’t take long. I emailed him a request on behalf of a very important client and friend of mine. He wishes to commission Dear E’s talents. Won’t need to hear back for two months at most. He’s free to decline, but I do say he’d like to at least look this over first.” He smirked. “I can hear your eyeroll, Chris.”

There was a long pause. Inkwell could just make out the sound of clicking at a keyboard come to a hault, and a soft gasp.

Bingo.

“I’ll forward your message to Monsieur Allard. No gurentees.”

“Of course,” Inkwell said. “Thank you for your time, my friend. Passe une excellente soirée.“

“Merci.”

#myselfinserts #mybnhaocs #friends ocs #the au of class #tales of estmund: Davis's defense #wow I'm on an Estmund kick #Anonymous

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mrsbenedictbridgerton · 7 years

Text

We Got Friday Nights

A little friends to lovers drabble/one shot for @thesschesthair cos she likes them and she is awesome!

also on ff.net and ao3

When your best friend is gorgeous, smart and one of the most decent people you’d ever met, it makes sense that people would think you were a couple. Of course every time this happened to Killian Jones and Emma Swan they’d laugh it off and say there was no chance that anything like that could ever happen.

They were friends - for almost five years - and they quite liked it that way.

Only one time, she had seriously considered it.

They were in the middle of this health kick - running a few times a week after Emma had almost collapsed chasing a skip up a fire escape. Killian had offered to run with her - it wasn’t safe for her to be running around on her own, he’d said - she’d rolled her eyes and reminded him that she could take care of herself and that Storybrooke was hardly the crime capital of New England. He’d still insisted on joining her.

One Saturday he’d knocked on her apartment door, too early for the sun even to have peeked over the horizon. The park was deserted as they pounded the trails in companionable silence until it began to rain. A fine mist at first, it quickly graduated into a heavy downpour with large, freezing drops saturating them in seconds as they raced to the cover of the trees.

Killian laughed when she slipped in the mud, his hands coming up to her waist to halt her fall - they were warm, even through her soaked t-shirt. He was close enough she could really appreciate those damn blue eyes of his that never saw him leave a bar without at least one phone number (wanted or not). His hair had fallen over those eyes. She’d told him a dozen times to cut it and he always just shrugged. Water dripped down those silky tendrils, drizzling across his cheek. Dazed, she’d stared at his perfect face.

For a second, she’d forgotten who he was ( her best friend ) and why they’d never been more than that (she didn’t do relationships or men in general, he just didn’t do commitment). For a moment he was just a handsome, perfect guy who she was very attracted to… so she reached up and brushed away the rogue strands, her fingers sliding down his cheek, reluctant to break the contact. It was okay- just for that moment - to let herself get lost in the smile he gave her and to imagine what it would be like to kiss those lips and for those hands to tighten at her waist and draw her close.

They’d hugged a thousand times. But that was different, because he was her friend and every hug they shared was devoid of that pulling tension she felt right then. Warmth radiated from him as the rain tumbled through the pine trees. She let herself daydream for a few perilous moments about a “them” - a dream of cozy dates and tangled limbs and kisses and-

Then, of course, reality kicked in. The rain vanished, the sun replacing it in the blink of an eye. He’d tugged on her shoulder, rousing her out of the dream as he asked her if she was ready to head back. She’d smiled and nodded, avoiding his gaze until her feet found that rhythm again on the mossy footpaths, each step pushing that idea further away.

“Emma, where is your damn bottle opener?”

“Hmm,” she called from the couch, flicking through Netflix like a pro, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“That bloody bottle opener I got you for Christmas? The one that says ‘walk the plank’ when you use it?” Killian’s voice had gotten that high pitched tone that showed he was becoming exasperated. She smiled to herself and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, that.”

Emma shuffled to sit and then stood, yanking her oversized hoodie over the threadbare leggings that she refused to throw away. She located the missing item behind a stash of chocolate PopTarts above the fridge, handing it to him with a wry smile. “Only you would actually buy me a themed bottle opener.”

He grinned, holding up the pirate-ship shaped device. “You know what I say-”

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded, just wanting to get back to browsing, “You’re a pirate.”

With a yawn, she ambled back to the couch, mourning the fact that her spot had gotten cold. She heard him fussing with their take out back in the kitchen.

“You know,” she said, “Just because you own a boat, it doesn’t make you a pirate. Or even a captain for that matter.”

If Emma Swan knew one thing, it was how to wind up Killian.

“I beg to differ, lass,” he retorted as he waltzed into the room with two bottles of beer and an open box of the best (and only) pizza the small town had to offer. “And for the millionth time, she’s a ship not a boat.”

Snatching a slice, the cheese singed her fingers as she gave him a grin. “And the difference is…”

With a sigh, he sank down beside her and deposited the bottles in his hand on the table alongside the box. “A boat is small enough to be carried aboard a larger vessel, and a vessel large enough to carry a smaller one is a ship.”

She chewed thoughtfully for a second, then turned and shrugged. “And here I was thinking size doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, love…” he drawled. As he spoke, he tried to wink and that just made Emma’s smile deepen. Killian had not once manage to wink correctly in all the time had known him and she found it hilarious.

“So then, time for more How to Get Away With Murder? I still don’t know who killed Wes-”

“No, you know this week it’s my turn to choose.”

“I could swear you did last week,” he replied, reaching over to try and grab the remote that she held out as far away as she could.

“You made me watch goddamn Rambo last week. This week, Emma chooses, next week it’s all yours babe.”

“Oh how I do love our banter,” he quipped as he kicked off his shoes and rested his feet on the table next to hers.

“Geez, you left Blighty almost ten years ago and you still use words like ‘banter’ - what’s next? Will you be eating some crisps later while wearing your jumper and planning your next ‘holiday’?”

“You wound me,” he replied with a mock frown. “But I know you love it.” And before she could react he had reached forward and taken a bite of her pizza.

“Hey!” she yelled. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

“I’d despair if you didn’t make me.”

He tried to wink and failed again.

Emma laughed.

The rom-com she had put on was cheesier than the takeout and predictable but she took more than enough pleasure knowing that it was his least favorite genre. They had this silly rivalry when it came to movie choices, each one trying to find something the other would hate. Movie night - Friday nights - was their thing. No matter what work churned out for either of them they always tried to keep their (platonic) date. Alternating between each other’s apartments, they’d binge on some Netflix, peruse the takeout menus that lived in each other’s kitchen drawers and generally just shoot the breeze over a beer (or a glass of rum after a particularly hard week). For as long as she could remember Friday nights were just their thing.

The pizza had made her sleepy, her stomach was full and the beer had became bottle number two. The movie was half way through and her body had slouched to one side, resting against his, her head on his shoulder.

The heroine of the movie was currently mooning on about some guy she liked (who was totally wrong for her) to her best friend (who was totally right for her).

He shifted, sliding his arm around her until she was nestled against his chest. This was par the course for them; somehow they always ended up a little snuggled against each other and Emma wasn’t exactly complaining. Even if there was nothing romantic in it, it felt nice to be held by someone.

On the subject of romance, now was an apt time for her weekly update on Killian’s love life. “Any dates lined up?” she asked.

“You know my Fridays are given up to movie night.”

“There are six other nights in the week, Jones.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Nope. No dates.”

“You’re losing your touch,” she laughed.

He tapped his fingers against the bottle in his hand, his rings creating a little clink sound. “I’m not exactly in the frame of mind for meaningless fuckery right now.”

There was something about his tone that made Emma uneasy. There was a bite to his words that she just wasn’t used to. Normally when she teased him about his casual dating record he liked to peacock and exaggerate.

“It’s not like you’ve been on any dates either,” he added, giving her a quick glance before his focus returned to the tv.

“Yeah, well, you know my track record.”

“Not all men are utter bastards, Emma.”

“I know,” she sighed, “Still…”

She didn’t need to repeat again the reasons why she had pretty much given up dating. A childhood love who had set you up and gotten you sent to juvie combined with an ex-fiance who actually turned out to be married was not the most illustrious dating history. Fact was, she was scared of getting hurt again. She was pretty sure her heart couldn’t take it.

“I know Swan,” he murmured, his voice full of understanding. He may not have met either of those illustrious men, but she knew he understood how hurt she had been by them and he respected how that had affected her.

They both silently sipped their beers as the movie continued, his fingers finding their way to massaging her scalp (he was great at those) as he shifted to lift his legs onto the couch, making them almost parallel though her feet were still inches away from his. Soon the leading lady was crying into her coffee after said totally unsuitable guy had dumped her.

“Swan, have you ever-”

He paused, shaking his head at whatever he was thinking.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

She pushed herself up, bringing her knees under her body (silently thanking Killian for buying such a broad couch) so their faces were at the same height. She tilted her head and gave him an expectant glare.

He huffed a little before giving in. “Will was bleating on today at work about how ridiculous it is that we aren’t a couple. I tried explaining but you know what he’s like.”

Emma sure did know. Will, Killian’s co-worker at the marina, was just about the nosiest and most opinionated guy in town. And he had an opinion on everything .

“And he got me thinking about what that would look like.”

“What would?”

“Us, you and me.” He took a sip of his beer. “Have you ever… thought about it?”

“Oh-” she gasped, blushing a little, “I’ve never really, you know...” she shrugged, feeling the guilt of lying to him. She never lied to Killian.

“I know, crazy idea. Can you imagine? I think we’d tear each other to pieces within a week.”

Emma chuckled, “Yeah, you’d be trying to make me drink prune juice with every meal.”

“And you’d be lecturing me even more than usual about keeping my hair a reasonable length.”

“And, as if I could put up with your five am alarms!”

“And you rolling in from work in the wee hours? Terrible.”

“And your obsession with pirates? That would get old pretty quick!”

“And I’d worry about you even more than I already do when you’re off chasing those criminals.”

“And I’d do the same when you’re out on that damn boat in all kinds of weather.”

“Ship,” he reminded her. “ Ship ,” she repeated.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “Crazy idea all around.”

“That’s what I told him. The idea that Emma Swan and I could ever be a couple is just insane. I mean, hilarious really.”

He chortled a little as he supped further on his beer, shaking his head a few times for good measure as if to further punctuate the point that a relationship between them was just about the most outrageous idea he had ever heard.

Emma watched him, her stomach sinking a little as she did so, an anxious little knot suddenly forming within.

As she turned back to the television it was the moment that the girl - the movie’s darling - was finally kissing her dependable friend whom it had been obvious she would get with from the first minute. Watching the friends-come-lovers entwined mouths filling the screen made that anxious sensation grow even further.

An uncomfortable flush rose up her neck. She could not remember a time she had ever felt uncomfortable around her best friend but this moment was quickly becoming one, even though she was no longer lying against him it felt like even being a few inches apart was singing her skin. She needed some space.

“‘Excuse me,” she whispered, climbing over his legs and leaving the couch, heading for the relative safety of the bathroom and its lockable door.

Flipping down the lid of the toilet, she sat, planting her elbows on her knees and resting her face in her palms.

What had just happened? They had never, ever talked about them being anything more than friends. Not even after the dozens of times other people had assumed they were. Why was this time different?

Her phone pinged. She reached into the pocket of her hoodie. It was Killian.

You alright?

She tapped a message back.

Yeah

The three little dots told her he was writing a reply. It seemed to take him forever.

Nothing to do with what we were talking about?

She didn’t lie to Killian. (Except she just had.)

Maybe?

(Emma you are pathetic, she told herself.)

She heard the telltale padding of his feet along the corridor and she sucked in a breath.

“Emma?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated a moment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird, it’s just Will was going on and on and- look, I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

This was the moment that she should have just laughed off the whole conversation, went outside and watched the end of the movie. But maybe it was the two beers or maybe it was the movie-

Taking confident steps, she slid open the lock and yanked open the bathroom door. Killian was leaning against the wall opposite, his head down, his hands slung in his pocket- he looked dejected almost.

“I lied,” she announced in a much firmer voice than she had thought she could muster, ‘I have thought about it.”

His head sprang up, tilting a little to one side as he seemed to study her face, waiting for her to add something. Finally, he broke into a smile and took a step towards her.

“Oh thank god. So have I. Lots of times.”

He had? Oh God, he had. He’d thought about it. She could see on his face that he had seriously considered being with her. And why hadn’t he said anything? But she knew why, she knew how clearly she had spoken of her desire to be alone. But this was Killian and it was different-

Somehow, a dozen thoughts all formed simultaneously and made her head ache.

But then Emma being Emma, she had to go with the most negative ones.

“It’s just… I like our time together, the movie Fridays and the fact and can call you whenever I have a problem and the way you have of making me relax when I get anxious about stupid things and how you are my emergency contact and all the dumb pirate shit you buy me when you know I find it ridiculous and… you know.”

She shrugged, kinda pathetically, her shoulders then slumping, looking up at him, begging him to understand.

He responded by staring into her eyes. “We could have more than Friday nights, we could have every night. If you wanted. Whatever you wanted.”

Goddamn him he sounded so sincere that she would have swooned if she were the swooning type. He was offering her more, on her terms.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, looking down at his stockinged feet and seeing those pirate ship socks she’d bought him for Christmas. She couldn’t lose him -

“Who said you would?” he asked.

In that moment, Emma could feel years of pain and torment as fresh as they had been on the day they first scarred her. Every sensation of loss and helplessness that a man had ever inflicted, washed over her even as a large part of her said, but this is Killian. He is different.

“People hurt each other. Relationships end.”

“I would never hurt you Swan. I care about you more than you could ever understand.”

He sounded a little wounded that she would think he could.

Because she knew he couldn’t ever do anything to purposely cause her pain. And she knew that he was the most important person in her life. The person she could never do without.

“Oh, Killian, I-”

She stepped a little closer, reaching out her hand to place on his shoulder, just as he took that moment to sweep down and press upon her lips a kiss - a kiss so dazzling in its simplicity and perfection that all oxygen seemed to leave her body.

He was kissing her.

And it felt every bit as good as she could ever have imagined. He kissed like he moved, graceful and with purpose, his lips chasing after hers, making her a little giddy and lightheaded.

Pulling away, she took a quick breath, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing him against the wall behind him. All those worries and doubts from a few moments earlier were erased as she finally understood what people meant when they said something just felt right .

Like the way his hands fit at her waist.

Like the taste of beer on his warm tongue.

Like the perfect synchrony with which they wrapped themselves around each other like they had been doing this for years. (Though in some ways they had.)

“I won’t hurt you Emma,” he whispered against her lips as her fingers tangled in his hair.

“I know,” she replied, before pulling him in for another kiss.

It was already light but she had no intention of moving from where she currently lay, her head resting against Killian Jones’ bare chest, her fingers trailing over the smattering of hair that covered it as he drew circles over her hip.

“Well Swan, looks like you already have Saturday mornings.”

He grinned at her. The same as always but just different.

She chased after his lips with a yearning kiss, sliding her leg over his hips and feeling all the nice kinds of aches that their evening had provided.

“How about all of Saturday too?”

“As you wish, milady.”

A/N: If you liked it a review is always appreciated

#cs ff #captain swan #cs au #friends to lovers #jill writes things

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