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littlelesbinonny · 8 months

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The Devil's Den

Chapter 23: In Which Fates Begin to Spin Pt. 2

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

The deep tunnels were some of the first underground passages built by the vampires in this part of the United States. They had been in use since the early 1600's but were pretty much abandoned by the late 1800's when the new passageways were finished.

These were narrow, poorly lit (if at all), and had piss poor flooring compared to the new tunnels that were used today. They smelled. They were dingy. And Alcina was remembering all too well how much she disliked these bloody passages.

While she was grateful she had never had them sealed off, she figured it was entirely possible at some point in the future they could have cave-ins.

After the eighth or ninth cobweb she ran face first into, Alcina stopped and spat.

"Fuck me," she growled, "did Donna pack a goddamn bloody torch by chance?"

Mateo fumbled with his bag while Karl repositioned his hat with a huff.

"She did," he replied, lighting the top with his lighter.

"Ya know if you wore that big ol' hat of yours you wear to council you could clear the whole tunnel for us," Karl remarked as he leaned against the musty wall.

Generously ignoring his remark, Alcina grabbed for it smugly letting the light illuminate her unamused façade.

The flame washed the dark dank walls with it's brilliant orange.

"Bless her and her mind," she segued, "I'll happily burn down the rest of these tunnels once we're through, but in the meantime I'd like less unforeseen spiderwebs caked on my face."

Karl snorted and began to open his mouth.

"Don't. Even. Start. Heisenberg," she snarled before he took his breath.

"Got it," he replied throwing his arms up with his tart smile.

The trek seemed to take much longer than it did, but when they reached their destination the sun was indeed beginning to peak.

The mouth of this tunnel in Bridgeport lead directly into an old abandoned warehouse the lycans had fortified as a stronghold back when the wars between clans were still raging.

It was completely boarded up now to accommodate their vampire allies, so being there in the daylight was no threat to them at all. There were several sleeping quarters, a kitchen, a small medical facility, a blood wine reserve in storage containers, and a weapons locker on the second floor. Otherwise it was quite large and spacious and very wide open.

It was still a little too grungy for Alcina's liking, but she'd let it slide.

Gerard, Mateo, and Karl began laying down their bags on the nearest table off the entryway. Alcina's senses were on high alert but felt nothing of importance anywhere near.

With a soft breath she lay her bag with the rest and began pulling out its contents.

"Well, as much as I hate to leave you night dwellers, I best be gettin' on my way to see if I can find Mitch and the rest of my men."

Alcina regarded Karl with a swift nod, "I know you don't like comms, but are you sure you won't take one?"

"I don't like shit in my ears. Gimme one of those hand held ones..."

Gerard handed it off to Karl who snatched it and threw it in his pocket.

"The distance on those is much smaller, so if you're - "

"Out of range I can't get in touch, yeah yeah, I know. Technology is wonderful and full of bullshit all at the same time."

Alcina smirked, "we will patiently await your return."

"As if you had any other choice," he winked, tipped his hat, and dashed off.

She still didn't like this. Any of it.

Heisenberg was self sufficient just like she was, but without really knowing what they were up against, or how many, this was not pleasant going into blind. Blake hadn't been much help with the plethora of information; he was drowsy and weak from the attack, and according to his story he barely got a glimpse of the assailants as it was.

And Mitch. She was worried about Mitch.

Another warrior who was well worth his weight in gold on the battlefield and yet there was radio silence on his end. She was dreading the news, and even more so having none at all.

And you. She was missing you.

Fuck. Get it together.

Alcina ruffled her hair and turned to her guards.

"Lucky for us there's only 3 entrances to this godforsaken place. We'll each take post within safe distance of one. Mateo, please radio Donna and let her know we've arrived."

Mateo and Gerard nodded and headed in different directions, Alcina taking her time finding hers.

Once at her post; pistol on her hip, knives strapped to her thighs, and an outright spiteful attitude, Alcina perched on the beat-up kitchen counter not too far from the bolted door.

This place felt dead and vacant of any energy at all and she was at least able to sigh some relief at that. And while she had plenty of silence and time to think, she occupied the space in her mind with you. A slight smile took her deep red lips as she wondered what you were up to. Waking and readying for work, already there maybe? Perhaps you were thinking of her as she was you?

Alcina took a sharp breath and tapped her nails on her arms.

6 hours and 42 minutes had passed and not one word from Karl.

No movement of any sort had been heard outside.

It was too quiet and she was growing restless.

Instead of calling for Mateo, Alcina left her post and went to find him to request the radio earpiece.

"No word from anyone?" she asked politely as he handed it over.

"No, my Lady; nothing but silence since I spoke with Donna when we arrived."

"And no signs of life over on this end?"

He shook his head and she nodded in acceptance, "I suppose silence is better than chaos."

Alcina began placing the piece in her ear, nodded to Mateo and headed back to her post.

"Donna?" she spoke, holding her finger to the talk button.

Silence.

"Donna - I hate to wake you, but I'm bored out of my wits."

Silence.

She huffed and slowed her steps the closer she got to her spot.

"You know, you're lucky I like you at all otherwise I'd never answer this call," Donna's voice finally sounded on the other end.

Alcina chuckled quietly. She sounded tired.

"Oh please. You really expect me to believe you've been asleep?"

"Of course not, but that still doesn't disregard the fact I'm quite tired. I feel like you; I can't count how many glasses of blood wine I've had to keep my nerves at bay."

"Well if it makes you feel any better I'm holed up in a dusty, grimy, tinny, iron-rusted smelling warehouse with no comfortable chairs. And I forgot my cigarettes."

Donna's gasp was quite audible, "Oh dear, what ever will we do?"

They shared a laugh but it turned quiet fast.

"Did the girls find you?" she asked even more hushed than before.

"They did. I have them doing the bare minimum; ears and senses alert, but not going any farther from home than necessary. If something arises they know what to do. Your daughters are smart. I have nothing but faith in them."

Alcina smiled at that.

"As do I. But it doesn't lessen the fear of them meeting trouble they can't disarm."

"Any progress there?"

"None. Heisenberg left the moment we arrived and we've neither seen nor heard anything since. It's quiet here. Nearly too quiet, and I don't know if my apprehension is merely nerves or something to be seriously considered."

While Alcina always appeared a glorious marble pillar; unmovable by even the strongest of Earths' forces - she was a highly intuitive, calculative, questioning and wise individual. Her gut feelings had never steered her wrong and her ability to visualize and anticipate all matters were a steadfast quality. Donna knew her friend was sensing exactly what she was needing to.

"I think your hunches deserve their debate time. Keep listening."

The pause gave Alcina a moment to chew through Donna's words. There was more happening inside of her these days which didn't help the cloudiness already engulfing her.

"Well... I suppose I'm just -"

An eruption of bangs and hollers came echoing through the warehouse and Alcina jumped from her perch.

"Stay close to the line - somethings happening!" she urged as she tore the piece from her ear, stuffing it in her sleeve pocket and dashing through the halls towards the noise.

As she rounded another corner and found herself in the main corridor, Karl, with a slumped and mangled looking Mitch and three other lycans, were stumbling through the door Gerard had been guarding.

"Here! Get him to the medical bay!" Karl growled as the vampires came to their aid.

Mitch was bloodied, bruised, cut up, and grunting as they moved him off. The others seemed just fine and quickly followed.

"Why didn't you radio for assistance?!" Alcina hissed as she fell in behind the line.

Karl barked; "Woman! Does it looks like I had an extra hand to do that?! It took me forever to find their fucking camp, then it took me forever to get everyone where I wanted them, get a plan in order, AND get him back here as quickly as possible!"

She let this slide and roll off since he was clearly upset and enraged. There was so much more to this story and she was impatiently waiting to ask.

Everyone began the bustle in the medical quarters to get Mitch taken care of. Gerard and Raul, one of the lycans, began tending to the gashes and slashes all over him. Alcina rushed for the healing elixirs in the med cabinet and brought back two of the most potent.

"Here," she said to Raul, handing him the viles, "he's not going to like these but it's the best we've ever engineered for your kind."

Alcina stepped back and allowed the fuss to ensue. Karl was pacing and rubbing his stubbly face and rugged beard off in the corner.

She approached him carefully.

"You're not gunna fuckin' like it," he mumbled under his breath, sensing her closeness.

While you weren't completely bummed out, you were still pretty sad and down at the fact you were going to be missing your vampire something terrible by the time this was all through. It hadn't even been a whole 24 hours since she'd been gone but you were feeling it.

You hummed a little at how pathetic it felt. But then again, you weren't going to scoff at it either.

You loved Alcina.

Deeply.

What of it?

Another deep sigh tumbled out of your lungs as you tossed your gaze out the window of your office.

You were bored.

Again.

It was only 11 o'clock and you were ready to go home and find some other way to distract yourself.

The day had started out with a decent patch of fog sitting on the city. You kind of enjoyed it from time to time but it only fueled the knocking melancholy. Luckily you'd found an old portable cassette player way in the back of your closet that you hadn't seen since you were 13, and to your utter surprise it still worked. So yeah, you swiped the tapes of your lover's sweet voice and took them to work with you. Granted, today had been a bit of a shit show and you hadn't had a chance to actually listen yet, but now was as good a time as any.

You plugged your earbuds into the port, slipped them in your ears and hit play.

Ah. Yes.

There was that stunning voice coming to soothe and lull you into a peace and calm you were hungrily seeking.

Two songs later you had blissfully ignored your email, phone, and office messenger.

Oops. Oh well.

Without another care in the world you excused yourself from your desk and went outside to the courtyard where there was a quaint little spot with grass, a couple trees, some flower beds, and 4 benches to sit on. You chose the patchy green and yellow grass.

Before long the clouds that had painted most of the sky were being bled apart by the stroke of the sun, and the heat and warmth felt even better with the music wafting through your brain.

You wished Alcina was still mortal so you and she could enjoy the summer sun together. Walk the paths of Central Park, nap in the grass, smell the flowers and watch the sun trek across the sky like a wandering traveler.

You sighed.

As a particularly lovely song came to an end (one which you really needed to ask Alcina what it was since it was in French) your palms began to itch a little. As the odd sensation took over your concentration, you peered down after lifting a hand and noticed the grass, which you were pretty sure was yellow before, was a brilliant bright green. The blades were springing back up to life from being pressed down by your weight and you blinked a couple a times.

Weird.

Just another occurrence to add to the list, you thought.

After you had spent your half hour lunch outside basking in the sun, you finally took the buds from your ears and rose. The sky seemed bluer and brighter and you felt a hundred times better. With a new smile on your face you meandered inside without any rush at all.

What you didn't notice was that the grass, which was indeed yellow and shriveling from lack of attention, was now brimming and spreading with the same bright green you had seen before.

And above, in the trees, were the 6 crows that had followed you from home.

"The group of eight I had? Dead. All dead, except Mitch and Blake. The group of twenty I sent? Eighteen are left. Eighteen. None of these fuckin' guys can tell me what the fuck attacked them. NONE of them can tell me where they went! These fucking rogue vampires, if that's what they fuckin' are, are more like mutant goddamn blood-sucking roadrunners from a cartoon! Explain to me how three, maybe more, of these bastards can swoop in, kill my lycans, and not leave a MOTHER FUCKING TRACE!"

Karl's rage was understandable.

And warranted.

Alcina sipped on a glass of blood-wine as she listened to him vent.

He was right; she didn't fuckin' like it.

"I've got them stationed like a fucking tank this time. If those fucks hit again, they won't stand a chance. And if we do get ass-fucked again... then I don't know what else to do."

"If they do strike again tonight, we'll be there for reinforcement - I'll be there for reinforcement. I'm as eager as you to snare one of these cretins and get to the bottom of what is happening," she eyed him intently as she prepared her next sentence, "as much as I detest what I'm about to tell you next, I'm afraid with the casualties that have been sustained I have no choice but to alert Mother Miranda."

"Oh fuck that bitch! What the hell you gotta tell her for?!"

"I'm afraid Alcina is right, Karl," Donna replied from the radio in the middle of the table, "this has gotten too far to not involve her, and it is her territory this is happening in."

Alcina huffed.

"If the chain of command were different, believe me, I'd never involve her in anything if at all possible. But there have now been deaths on your side; this makes the situation nose dive from speculation to a direct hit into acts of war. She has to be alerted. Until we know for sure what is happening, all of us need to be on high alert."

With a growl reflecting her own feelings on the matter he slumped in the chair adjacent to hers at the table in the kitchen.

"How many decades of peace, and now this?" he grumbled.

"Whatever the case, we can win again but we can't win alone."

Alcina looked at the clock as she finished her glass. It was almost night fall.

Mitch was under sedation in the next room with the lycans watching over his condition while the vampires were still on internal patrol.

Eying him once more Alcina stood from the table, "let's get ready. I want to be out that door the minute the light dies out. Donna, wait on alerting Mother Miranda for now... I'd like a little more information to report if at all possible."

"Understood. Be careful out there."

The journey to the lycan camp was tiresome and she now understood Karl's plight to find it. The maze of tattered, mangled trees and bushes to where they had relocated was so off the beaten path even she was completely disoriented by the time they arrived. They had to backtrack several miles nearly to the Saugatuck Reservoir to the North East of where the warehouse was and it was a task getting there by foot, through the city, and then the countryside.

They were welcomed with guns to the face as they made their way in. Karl was quick to disrupt the tension and escorted the group within the camp.

Alcina was impressed by the stakeout. Karl had indeed set them up to a decently impenetrable fortress of feral, pissed off lycans.

The somberness of the night set in harder as they passed by their deceased brothers and sisters. They had gathered them all under a tent and were prepping them to be sent back to their homes.

War was ugly. No matter who was fighting it.

Needless death.

Flashbacks to the many battles she had fought in came flooding through her thoughts. She had always been one of the lucky ones. She got to live and fight another day while many countless others of her kind were slain. While vampires mourned differently than humans, the pain was felt just as deeply, the scars ran just as thick. The physical wounds may not have carried on through the years but the torment of bloodshed stained hearts and minds forever.

Alcina felt for their loved ones.

They reached the base tent and entered. Everyone was locked and loaded to the teeth. The general of this group, Sylvia, greeted them with a much more pleasant demeanor than Alcina was expecting.

"Lady Dimitrescu, a pleasure to meet you," she stated with a slight bow.

"Thank you General, I wish only the circumstances could be drastically different," she replied with a gracious nod of her own.

"Fucked up times call for fucked up measures I guess - do we have a plan of action? My men are gnashing for revenge, we're ready to move."

The smaller, but very built, composed, and fiery commander seemed to be staring the vampire Matriarch down. In a humble, expectant kind of way.

Alcina liked her already.

"Hold your horses, Syl, we're all in the same boat here and we're doing all we can to keep the water out," Karl interjected.

"No, she's right," Alcina defended gently, "we need a plan. As complicated and difficult as it is to make one currently, we need something."

"Well fuck, I'm all ears," he shrugged.

Before another breath could be taken by anyone, Sylvia was already speaking again.

"Excellent. One of my scouts thinks he may have found an entrance to an underground cave system up along the reservoir that these fucking ghosts might be coming from. I told him to stay back and not investigate until you arrived."

"Show me," Alcina stated blankly without a second thought.

10 lycans, Alcina, Karl, Sylvia, Gerard and Mateo stalked their way through the woods. The air was eerily still as the group came upon what definitely appeared to be the beginning of a cave into the ground in the middle of this tangled forest. The decently sized black hole in the earth was surrounded by boulders and rock that seemed to be less than natural for its whereabouts, like a gigantic mole had sprung its way up from the depths.

No one spoke as they stood shrouded there several hundred feet away in the denser part of the woods.

The moon was low in the sky and there was barely a breeze breathing through the leaves. Everyone had their guns aimed at the mouth, silencers gleaming in the low light of the moons rays as Alcina let her eyes and senses come to life.

Nothing.

There was nothing she could detect anywhere.

And yet... yes, there was.

Her gliding silent steps took her slowly from the group as she slinked her way through the brush and into the minimal clearing near the jagged boulders of the cave.

Karl's first instinct was to reach for her and stop her, but she was too quick and he didn't want to stir the night anymore than need be.

Sylvia, taking cue, quietly motioned for her men to spread out around the area to offer surrounding and protection.

The tall intimidating sight of her in the darkness, golden glow in her eyes, and fierce expression on her face made even the lycans feel the need to shudder off her radiating prowess.

They all stationed and waited.

And nothing.

Nothing at all.

And then the sound of a sharp hiss far from her left hooked her attention right before a blur slammed into her, throwing her unprepared into the rough rocks of the cave mouth.

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #alcina dimitrescu/reader #lesbian #f/f #fanfic #fic #wlw #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg

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half-deadmagicperson · 1 year

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And He Answered

Chapter 4

Words for this chapter: 1158

For @phicphight

Prompt by @erebecula Mermaid AU, where instead of being ectobiologists, Jack and Maddie Fenton study wildlife from under the sea— specifically mermaids. Amity Park is next to multiples large lakes and rivers, the Ghost Zone is underwater, all the ghosts are mers, and Danny is struggling to find a way to explain his sudden aversion to any things water.

No warnings for this chapter! (That I can think of)

First | Prev | Next | AO3

"What exactly did you mean when you said I was a drowned."

Princess Dorothea found the answer to be simple, but hard to deliver. No one wants to live with the fact they died. Calmly, she took a breath and began to explain,

"Our people are made up of two main types of people. There are the spawned, those who are born a mer. They usually look less like a land dweller. Then there's the drowned, people who died at sea. Not everyone who drowns becomes a mer however. They have to have a strong will to live or the right conditions in order to manifest their new form."

The young one looked down in thought. It reminded her of when she first became a mer. Her brother, Aragon, and her had been captured by Vikings and tossed into the sea. She remembers the cold water and her senses beginning to numb. Her change had scared her. That was a good millennium ago. A lot has changed since then.

The boy looked up at her once more and asked,

"So does the whole mer thing come with powers?"

"Normally, yes, one can train in magic and develop powers that are specific to them. However, I cannot be sure with you, Young One, for your aura is different from that of a normal drowned. I have never sensed anything like it before. Was there anything unique about the circumstances of your transformation?"

The boy (Danny?) thought for a second before answering her.

"I, uh, don't remember what happened. I did have a dream though. I was in the sub. Water had already filled the cockpit. But there was a man, a blue man. He was wearing some kind of purple cloak and blew a ball of blue light at me, kinda like how you did with the language spell. He told me I was destined to 'unite the land and sea' or something like that."

Dora gasped. There was a myth among the Mer of a guardian donned in purple. He was said to only appear in the darkest of times when the needs were great. Most mers had never encountered this man. Many thought it was just a legend. Only the Ancients know if this Master of Time truly exists. Thoughts of different prophecies filled her mind, but she pushed them out. What mattered right now was helping this kid.

"Would you like to accompany me to the Atlantic? We could find you a tutor," she offered. The child's face brightened before scrunching up again.

"I would love to, but I just remembered I have to get back home. My sister's probably worried about me."

"Very well. If you come back tomorrow, maybe you may journey with me then."

Dora escorted Danny back to his archway. He turned back to her and waved before diving into the swirling water.

Safe travels, young one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once he was over the disorientation, Danny swam towards the beach. Jazz was sitting on the sand reading a book.

"Sorry, that took so long. I got caught up in something," he told her as he pulled his body onto shore.

"What do you mean? You were only gone for like a minute," she replied while handing him a towel.

"It felt a lot longer than that," he mumbled.

"Well either way, Sam and Tucker will be expecting you at Nasty Burger in about 20 minutes."

"You're right I should be getting ready."

"That's right. We can't have them being suspicious. Although, I don't think it would be a bad thing to have them in the loop."

"I know. I'll tell them eventually. I just want to figure things out for myself first."

"And that's perfectly fine! Just remember that they are your friends, and I believe that they will support you."

"Thanks Jazz."

The siblings packed up their stuff and began their walk home. Machinery sounded from the lab as they entered their house. The Fenton parents must be working on something. Jack walked up from the lab covered in grease.

"Jazzy! Danno! You're back!"

Jack's gigantic arms wrapped around both his children and squeezed the life out of them.

"Come see what we made! It'll blow those mer outta the water!"

"Thanks, but no thanks, I got to study," was Jazz's reply.

"Well that leaves you and me, Danno!"

Danny tried his best to look excited. While they were walking down to the lab, Danny decided to risk it and ask his dad some questions.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yes, so?"

"Why do you hate the mer so much?"

Jack looked at his son's thoughtful expression and sighed.

"It all started when your mom, my buddy Vlad, and I were working on our college project. I've always believed that mer existed, especially since we Fentons come from a long line of sailors and merhunters, but I never encountered one until that day.

We were out on a boat in a river nearby campus, collecting specimens to catalog for our marine biology class. We found different fish to weigh and categorize as well as some plants. Vlad found some snail shells and wanted to see if there were any snails living in them. He found one that was unlike any we had seen before. Unlike a normal shell, it was lime green! Unfortunately, Vlad made a huge mistake by grabbing it.

A sea witch rose from the water and demanded the shell. We were all too petrified in fear to give it to her. She cursed Vlad and told him that he will become the thing he hates the most. The snail transformed into a large fish and splashed into the water. We were so scared, Danno!

The rest of the day passed like normal, but it wasn't too long before we noticed a change in Vlad. He started isolating himself and would have random outbursts. Your mom and I tried to be there for him, but he pushed us away. Eventually, he hated us so much he wouldn't go near us. Vlad's life fell apart and it was all because of a mer. I've hated them ever since."

"What if not all the mers are bad? Ya know like how there's good people and bad people? What if you just met a bad one?"

"There's no such thing as a good mer," Jack's tone was dark and final. His opinion was set in stone. Danny's heart broke. He could never tell them. Maybe he wasn't blessed. Maybe he was cursed. Maybe he was cursed to become what his parents hate. He was cursed to become a mer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a dark cavern, evil lay in wait. A shadow of a figure pulled out a key. He stuck the metal into the stone and turned. A red light flared up on a large triangle that was engraved in the wall. Soon there will be enough power. They just had to wait.

Evil had opened the Bermuda Gate.

#danny phantom #dp #phic phight 2023 #phic phight #and he answered #dp fanfic #not beta read

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cutieodonoghue · 2 years

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until the end (1/23)

summary: fantasy au; When the small country of Sorgan is threatened with an ultimatum: war, or acquisition by marriage to their leader Omera, the only ally they're able to find is the militant country of Mandalore.

rating: T+

content warnings: there’s a few chapters that contain violence and threats of violence [some of it borders on Dark!Din territory], there’s a lil bit of [nondescript] lovin’, and there are some naturally dark undertones throughout [internal struggles, mental and emotional reactions to war, grief, angst, and whump - including blood and serious injuries]

word count: ~3.0k

chapter 1 is below, but you can also read it on ao3 here!

i. The Mandalorians

The country of Mandalore had a long-rumored reputation of hostility and violence. It was a massive country, having spent hundreds of years acquiring land and people in its many conquests.

Its citizens were all openly trained to be warriors that enlisted in the country's military without coercion, which essentially made the entire country a threat against any enemy that might stand in its way.

With every single member of the citizenry of Mandalore a soldier in some capacity, that left no question in anyone’s mind why one might broach the massive armored stone walls that kept visitors away by their daunting size alone.

Unfortunately, Mandalorians were also long-rumored to be incredibly picky where it came to the wars they fought- as was their right. It meant that anyone with a request for their aid had better have a pristine pitch, should they even arrive with their head still intact at the front gates.

By stark contrast, the tiny country of Sorgan sat hundreds of units away- a full day by horse. It was populated by a friendly community of farmers who had minimal training for battle, and they liked to keep it that way. The rich, fertile soil gave them an asset that many in the countries of the desert appreciated: fresh plants gave them fresh foods, and a river that ran through Sorgan was an export for water, as well.

Sorgan was bordered by several similar tiny farming countries, with the harsh exception of the southern-adjacent forest-dwellers of the Imperial Empire, a group of people that were led by a man called King Gideon. They lived in the Southern Woods, a place named quite aptly for its appearance and location. Hidden within the forest, the Imperials lived and worked in secret.

No one in any of the realms knew what went on in the Southern Woods. Perhaps the most concerning rumor that felt as old as the realms themselves was that if one ventured into the woods, they would become a slave to them.

Until recently, relations between Sorgan and the surrounding countries were pleasant and cordial. There were no troubles with their agreements, even if there could often be arguments that arose regarding the soil they used to grow their crops. However, after an impressively cold winter, one of Gideon’s men had arrived at the governor’s manor with a fake smile and a series of demands, all of which culminated with the ultimatum: they would take Sorgan over, whether by force or by means of marriage.

Faced with an impossible decision, the governor of Sorgan, Omera, asked for time to think on it.

None of her advisors knew what should be done. Most of them cowered when she brought up the possibility of fighting back against the Imperials. It was difficult to know how many of them there were, and what kinds of weapons they might use against them. Their people weren’t ready for war of any sort, either.

Since the ultimatum had been set, many warnings had been sent their way: stolen goods, missing tools, and brutalized animals left for dead in the dark of night. It continued to get worse. Day after day, she saw movement in the trees at the border and received menacing letters sent by pigeons.

There wasn’t much time left on the loudly ticking clock. King Gideon would have his way within the next handful of weeks at his discretion, whether they were ready or not, and it was up to Omera to decide the fate of her country.

The stakes were what brought Omera away from her people, a full day's journey, to the country of Mandalore. She knew it was a long shot. They’d never made any dealings with the Mandalorian people- not even a business treaty or kind letter of introductions had been exchanged.

All Omera had were rumors of an army so great that it was a formidable foe against any who crossed it, and a fear that ran her blood cold that she would have to marry herself away to a man who she knew she couldn’t trust.

She prayed the entire length of her journey that the Mandalorian leadership might take pity on them, that they would show grace and kindness- even if their people were rumored to be cold and ruthless.

The Mandalorian guards at the heavy iron front gates were harsh and aggressive when they asked her to stop. They saw her as a threat, even if she was alone with just the clothes on her back.

Omera slowed her horse down and withdrew the wool hood that covered the top of her head, revealing her face to the pair of angry warriors that blocked her path.

“I’m in urgent need of an audience with your king,” she told them. “My country has been threatened.” When the pair of guards that stood in front of the gates glanced at each other, she pleaded, “Please. You can check my person and my horse. I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I just need a few minutes with your leader to present my case.”

The guard on the left, a heavy-set man with a spear in hand, nodded. “This way. I’ll lead you in.”

She was brought through the main city, which was built in an evenly spaced manner, every line of square and plain buildings measured in perfect distance from the next.

The streets of the desert country were made of rich stone and were very busy. The Mandalorians who walked or rode their horses were all dressed from head to toe in armor, a shiny metal that glistened and shimmered in the pleasant morning sunlight. Their carriages were made of gold and their street lamps were lit by white magic.

It was clear that the Mandalorians of Mandalore were wealthy, strong, and proud of their status. They held their heads high and walked with purpose. As a leader herself, Omera could recognize that the traits were admirable, something that must have been the effect of healthy leadership.

The guard who walked beside her horse had her slow down in front of an ornate building that stood out amongst the others she’d seen. This one was much taller, with a marble statue of a man on horseback in the front. Unlike anything else she’d seen in Mandalore so far, a series of beautifully sculpted trees lined a path toward the tall red entry doors. The trees were some of the only greens she’d seen in what felt like an eternity.

Beyond Sorgan, much of the map was flat desert lands, like the countries of Nevarro and Tatooine. If one dared to venture past the deserts, there were the water domains of the Infinite Oceans, a place with rumored underwater kingdoms that were populated with mermaids and nymphs. And to the north of the desert, there was the mountainous region of the Northern Province, where the fairies lived.

The realm was such a vast place, yet she looked for her salvation in the dry, arid climate of the desert, where life struggled to grow.

Before Omera was permitted to enter the building, the guard had her prove there were no weapons stashed anywhere on her person, and when he was satisfied to see she only had a small blade as a means of self-defense, he told her to go inside and wait in the front atrium.

The front atrium was what must have made the façade of the building appear so grandiose, with a towering domed ceiling full of windows to allow light in. There was a beautiful chandelier that hung above her head and specially made carpets that covered black and white patterned tile floors.

She found herself fascinated by the artwork that hung on the walls, and equal parts amused and disgusted by the sight of a weapons display that seemed to consume much of the back wall.

To provide depth to the atrium, there was a twin set of white marble staircases just ahead of her that wound gently toward the ends, both bases pointed at one another so her eyes were drawn directly to stare at a coat of arms that hung amidst the weapons. In the center of the coat of arms was a creature, a mythical beast called the Mudhorn.

She was momentarily entranced in thought as she studied the creature, wondering if the stories were true: if there was such a beast in the realm, but her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps on the stairs.

Omera’s focus lifted and she found that she stared at a man in silver armor who appeared to bear the Mudhorn signet on his shoulder. His face was handsome- maybe even kind - but he frowned as he made the journey towards her and she wondered if it was because he didn’t wish to see her.

“I was told you needed to speak to me,” he said as he finally arrived on the ground floor. “They said it was urgent.”

Omera took a deep breath as she reset her mind. “Are you the leader of Mandalore?”

He gave her a soft nod. “I am.”

“I come from a small country near the Five Rivers,” she explained. “Our people are in dire need of help. We have no weapons, no training…” Her head shook. “We were threatened with war by a neighbor that wishes to take over our land for their own use- and they’ve proved they aren’t afraid to be hostile.”

The King of Mandalore stared at her in silence, rigidly unmoving in a way that made it unclear what he thought about what she had to say.

She didn’t expect him to say yes - it wasn’t his fight at all. But maybe, she thought, he might at least consider her cry for help. She’d come all this way, pushed to her absolute limit in desperation. Maybe he could provide aid in other ways, or maybe he’d have an idea for how she could fight.

She’d gratefully accept anything he could give her, and since he gave her an immediate audience, she embraced the gift for what it was.

“If there’s any way you can help us, we would be so grateful,” Omera continued. “We’d be glad to discuss a trade agreement, or we could talk about another deal- whatever would be adequate repayment for your aid. We’re just a group of farmers, living a simple life, and I’ve heard rumors that Mandalorians are warriors. You’re the last hope we have. They’ve sabotaged our resources and slaughtered our animals… I can only imagine what’s next.”

In the silence that followed, she studied his features. The King of Mandalore was rugged around the edges and quietly strong. His brow creased in deep thought. He kept his hands locked behind his back with his shoulders squared at attention.

“How far is your country?” he finally asked. “And how big?”

“Almost a full day from here in the Western Hills.” She gave him a weak smile as her nerves jittered just beneath the surface of her skin. “We have a humble community of about a thousand. Most are families with children. As I said before, we’re farmers, not fighters. Not like your people. I’ve heard so many stories and rumors about Mandalorians…”

Tears burned in her eyes when she thought of the faces of her people as she’d bid them goodbye with a hope that burned as dim as a dying candle. Her daughter had been among them, holding tight to her neck with a trembling whimper in her ear, a quiet fear that continued to grow as tensions mounted between them and the Imperial Empire.

The girl was too young to worry about such terrible things- but she fretted all day, and each night, she prayed for a full hour after she was sent to bed, words whispered in a dark room to the Maker above in the hopes they might be heard.

“Most allies we have refused to hear from us and those who are willing are too afraid of the enemy.” She stared, desperate and helpless, into the eyes of the Mandalorian king, whose posture remained stiff as a soldier on the battlefield. “Please, if there’s anything you can do, any resources you can lend, or… people you can spare to help train us-”

He nodded. It seemed he didn’t need to hear anything else. He was satisfied with her plea.

“We can help.”

Her heart leapt, overjoyed, and she felt relief wrap around her like a warm blanket. They would fight back- she wouldn’t have to marry Gideon and watch her people suffer under his rule.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “I can’t begin to explain how much this means to my people and I.”

His jaw clenched and she saw him glance over at a pair of men that stood on either side of the entry doors. He nodded toward them. “Prepare a unit.”

“Yes, sir.”

She wasn’t sure what the King of Mandalore’s intentions were, but it seemed he acted fast and without any fear. She respected him for that. He seemed thoughtful and considerate of his words. Most leaders she had met were the same way, but there was something different about the Mandalorian. He was more certain of himself than the other leaders- even King Gideon wasn’t this certain in the messages they’d exchanged.

The King of Mandalore began to walk her back the way she’d come.

“Is your country part of the Contingency?”

She’d nervously anticipated this question the entire ride to Mandalore.

The Contingency was big enough to frighten allies away who weren’t a part of it- too afraid of what they might do to enact revenge.

Everyone in the Realm of the Outer Rim had to be somewhat friendly with the Contingency, regardless of their status within it or not, but those who walked away were often seen as fools who deserved what punishment came for them.

Sorgan was not made of foolish men, but of hungry ones.

“Up until last year, when we asked to be removed. They were taking too big of a cut out of our crops. We hardly had enough to eat.”

He muttered something under his breath as they stepped outside. He was cordial and held the door for her. Then he said, “Sorgan, then.”

Omera nodded. “Yes. You must have heard we walked away.”

“It was all I heard about for several months,” he confirmed. “You’re pinned between two primary Contingency partners. It’s not surprising your people have been threatened. They want your exports.”

She sighed wearily.

He spoke to her as if she hadn’t thought about all of this before. Of course she had. It was all she thought about, consistently, ever since they walked away from the Contingency. And before that, since she inherited the role of governor over her people from the dying breath of the man she’d loved.

“They also want our governor,” she told him. “Have you heard of the Imperial Empire?”

The King of Mandalore nodded. “The group in the Southern Woods.”

At once, they were approached by a pair of soldiers who walked them with their respective horses. Both of them mounted their steeds as they continued to discuss the matter at hand.

“Their king wishes to marry our governor,” she told him. “If they cannot seize our land, they’ll instead seize our leadership.”

“What’s your name?” he asked as they brought their horses to trot in the street that led back out the way she came.

As they moved, she turned to look over her shoulder at the mass of Mandalorian followers that seemingly came out of nowhere- all on horseback. They were all armored, weaponized, and ready to leave. The efficiency with which the Mandalorians operated had not been understated in the rumors Omera had heard. It gave her hope for what laid ahead.

“I’m Omera,” she told the king. “And your name? If I can ask?”

He nodded and steadied his grip on the harness in his hands. “Din Djarin.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, King Djarin, thank you for your willingness to help with such short notice. I assume we’ll make a trade when the fight is done. Should we send a representative here to meet you?”

He met her eyes. His were brown, an unfathomably rich color, and she momentarily got lost staring into them.

He was her savior- the King of Mandalore who rode on the back of a white horse, as if he were part of a legend or fable. He wore a sword at his hip and grabbed a helmet from the hand of a nearby aide, completing the uniform he wore while simultaneously securing the image into her mind forever. He was a legend, she realized. Everything she knew about Mandalorians were stories, whispers of their violence and bravery. Their courage was said to be as endless as the oceans to the far east.

The front of his helmet was unique. It was crafted of the same material as the rest of his armor, something shiny and silver, with the exception of a black ‘T’ shaped screen made of an unknown material. It made it impossible to see those brown eyes anymore, but perhaps that was its purpose: to add the element of mystery to his figure; to add to the legend.

“No need,” he said, addressing her question with a change in the sound of his voice. From beneath his helmet, it was distorted and unnatural- flat. She briefly wondered if it was the work of more magic, or if it was something else. “I’ll meet your governor in person when we arrive.”

Without another word, he led the charge of his Mandalorians straight ahead, through the wide open gates that would take them back toward Sorgan.

Omera didn’t have the courage to correct him. He would learn in due time what her role was in Sorgan, whether he believed it or not.

She rode at his side and kept her focus on the journey. They would arrive in Sorgan by dusk. It would be a long day, but she was hopeful for the first time in a long time- all thanks to the Mandalorians.

#mandomera #din x omera #the mandalorian #my writing #it's probably not *as* dark as i'm warning but i just would like to be on the safe side lol #until the end

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mtreebeardiles · 2 years

Text

Bonds of Smoke and Steel

idk, I've just been having fun in Fallout 4

AO3

Sanctuary looked different.

The bones were the same, of course, foundations neatly lined in the same pattern they'd had before the bombs fell, but the structures resting atop them had changed drastically even in the three or so years since he'd been here last. The homes that had remained were no longer dilapidated shells bolstered by planks of steel and wood salvaged from the wastes; proper walling had taken their place, shabby exteriors painted over with generous paint in various colors. Wild grasses and flowers that had once called this place home had returned, adding shocks of green and white and yellow where dried, choked lawns had been. The roads were still rough, cracked asphalt and concrete, but some effort to ease the way for pack-brahmin meant they were better than they had been. Power pylons ranged at regular intervals, lines connecting buildings and water purifiers to generators tucked away but still noisy on the other side of the settlement. Even here, though, there were improvements: new structures installed along the perimeter, elegant and sleek wind turbines rising above the rooftops, harnessing additional power to support the less clean sources below.

It was easily the most transformed of the settlements he'd seen thus far since his return to the Commonwealth.

Others would no doubt be getting the same treatment down the line, but whether it was the space or the sentimentality Sanctuary offered it was almost always first in line for restructuring and innovative solutions. He wasn't sure how Maksim did it, what drove him to return here again and again to the site of tragedy -- ground zero for the day his life had changed forever. Echoes of a past long gone, reminders of a future he could never have, and maybe he didn't stay in the home that had originally been his but that hadn't stopped him from renovating it. Preserving bits and pieces even though it must've been painful… or maybe that had been the point. Maybe it was less about grief and more about healing, putting hammer to nail and brush to paint to rebuild from your own ashes something new, something different, something you might not have imagined, once, a canvas not quite blank but still holding some potential within its borders.

Maybe the man found it therapeutic.

Danse wasn't sure; his own past had been a lie, after all.

"Greetings, bud-dy."

Danse blinked, startled, turning only to come face to face with the familiar sight of a…heavily modified protectron unit.

This thing is still kicking around?

He wished he was less impressed than he was.

"Can I interest you in a cold one? Or would you like to hear a joke?"

Phrasing newer and a lot smoother than Danse remembered and he supposed he wasn't too surprised that the unit had been maintained and likely upgraded.

"This thing is amazing!"

"Just leave it -- and there he goes."

A grinning face, hazel eyes alight, and Danse found it harder to be annoyed when the newest Brotherhood Knight was clearly so enamored with the machine as it stepped free from its pod.

"…you planning on sending it to the Rexford, then?"

"Absolutely not." A gentle clap to the bot's chassis and Danse bit back a sigh. He hadn't known Taylor very long, but he was already getting better at recognizing that particular gleam in the other man's eye. "This buddy is coming home with us."

"I sincerely hope you mean Sanctuary and not the Prydwen."

"Bud-dy?"

Another blink, startled this time from his thoughts and Danse shook his head. "Uh, no thank you."

"Oh-kay."

He watched it toddle off, continuing what he strongly suspected was the exact same circuit it had kept since the day they'd brought it here. Home -- Maksim's home, but Taylor's, too, the two Vault Dwellers having crossed paths twice over the centuries. An easier alliance forged, shared history a burden best shared between the only two who could truly appreciate its weight, and of course Taylor had meant Sanctuary all those years ago.

The Prydwen was a command center, steel and heat and noise, not a home Taylor could return to for rest and recovery. The other man couldn't have found solace in it the way Danse had, and Danse shouldn't have expected him to.

What was it he always said? He wondered as he trudged along a rapidly reclaimed sidewalk, pushing deeper into Sanctuary. Don't sleep where you work?

Something like that.

#my writing #late to this fandom too huh #Paladin Danse #Paladin Danse x male sole survivor #MacCready #MacCready x male sole survivor #two vault 111 survivors #canon divergence

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mallowstep · 3 years

Note

I love the new PO3 au you just posted on AO3! Could you tell us more about it?

happily!

first off, the au summary (because i still have to add that to the ao3 series whoops)

holly, jay, and lion, kits of leaf and crow, are a year old when they leave home. it's good for wanderers to spend time away from their family, to find their own path so they know they want to be there. most return home. holly, jay, and lion, kits of heretics and codebreakers, are a year old when they meet their mother's kin. it's good for wanders to know their kin, to strengthen family ties. most are welcome. holly, jay, and lion, kits of leafpool and crowfeather, are a year old when they stand in the camp of thunderclan and finally stop and wonder what warriors know of wanderers.

so yeah, ig we can call this "wanderer au" while i figure out the title for the main work.

as the summary reveals, squilf is not a pov character. she's important, but she's not a pov character. hjl are the focus.

i've done a lot of stuff with types of cats, mostly loners.

there are recluses, cats who live on their own. if they move around, they're drifters. if they live in a human area, they're dwellers, if they live in a wild area, they're nomads.

wanderers is a broader class of bands of cats, anywhere from two to twenty, that travel together. they're typically kinship based, but not always. the unit term (e.g., a group of wanderers) is band. a band that sticks to human locations might be called a company, but the distinction isn't very important to most. bands that never frequent human areas are very rare, so there isn't a specific name for one.

cats who live in groups in one place are denizens (of their location). the unit term is colony, and most have a preferred specific term. (like the warrior clans, the tribe of rushing water, etc.)

"rogue" is a fairly derogatory way of referring to a cat outside of one's own group. it implies a lack of any manners, sensibility, etc. most cats get on very well with others, as long as territory is respected.

troublemakers is basically a more polite way of saying rogue.

"kittypet" is generally seen as rude, although this can depend on the cat. most prefer to be called housekeepers. some consider themselves dwellers, if they live in a barn/generally aren't close with their owners.

an uncollared cat used to live with people, but now is some form of loner. this can be a mark of pride, or a mark of shame.

mendicants are loners who interact with humans, with the intention of getting food or affection. it can be polite or rude, depending on the intentions of everyone involved.

i'm probably still forgetting some, but like i said, i've been working through some stuff with this.

okay, now i'm going to talk more about the au set up/details, so read more!

leafpool and crowfeather interact with a group of wanderers fairly early on, who kind of get them introduced to the culture. while wanderers' culture is highly variable, there's common decencies, territory etiquette, etc., to learn.

if you've read "without warning," you know i like to make loner names somewhat "cats don't know what weird names are." leafpool and crowfeather stick out like sore thumbs (dew claws?), so they change their names to leaf and crow to avoid being mislabelled as troublemakers.

holly and jay are fairly standard wanderer names, especially for bands that stick mostly to wild areas. lion is pretty rare. it's more common in city cats, who might have heard it around a zoo. still, they grow up considering themselves wanderers. leaf and crow don't have much good to say about the clans, after all.

when they're a year old, they go on their own journey. it's a wanderer's rite of passage/coming of age: leaf and crow effectively had their own by running away.

(it's where the tradition comes from; most cats tend to leave their old homes to become wanderers around a year old.)

anyway, they decide to head to the clans to meet leaf's kin. (wanderers, being matrilineal and matriarchal, don't really care about their father's kin.) of course, they know what the clans are like, but it's not until they meet a thunderclan patrol that calls them loners that they're like, "oh, these cats have no idea what our lives are like! fun."

in thunderclan, their main goal is to meet sandstorm, squirrelflight, any of squirrelflight's kits, and firestar. they're supremely frustrated by the amount of weight everyone is treating their return with.

and that's basically where we start! (it's where astatine ends, anyway.)

so yeah y'all are welcome to continue sending in questions!

#ask #anon #au drop #whitewater #mine #txt #essay #warriors culture #loners #loners culture

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bogariel-frogariel · 4 years

Text

A Wish for a Better World Part 3: Setting Out the Pieces

The third installment of my Ruby time travel fic. Find the link on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747657/chapters/62679775

-----

Ruby was walking through the forest outside Castle Candy. Light trickled through the trees, their trunks casting shadows on the ground and purple energy swirled around her.

Ruby felt the life and energy pulse around her as the forest grew and she couldn't stop the peals of delighted laughter bursting from her as she strolled.

She came to a sudden stop when the standing stones came into view, Lapin's teacup sitting there, steaming with a deep indigo liquid, a chocolate teaspoon stirring it slowly. Her heart clenched and her gut churned as she knew she had to step between them.

The shadows whipped around her. Step… step inside… Mis… Mistress… you need… you need to see.

The purple energy danced passed her and twirled around just outside the standing stones and she felt the golden light gently nudge her forward.

With no other real choice to be had, Ruby stepped forward into the standing stones.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by reflective crystal, as if she'd stepped inside a gemstone. As she looked around, different scenes started to spring to life within the mirrors. Parts of Candia and the Dairy Isles and the Vegetania, a hundred different lives, a hundred different people, briefly flashing up before they were replaced by another.

A flash of minty green caught her eyes and Ruby whirled to face it, her attention pin pointing on.

Every image froze and then changed to reflect the one that Ruby was focused on.

It showed Saccharina, Winterscoop in hand as she talked to Gooey and Swifty both of whom had distinctive Meatlander weapons in their hands.

Ruby recognised this story.

It was as Rina earnt the loyalty of the Frosted Fleet. They would be on the bone island just off the chilli sea for the next few months. Ruby watched as a sausage man burst from behind a skull and Saccharina spun, raised her spoon and sent a lightning bolt at him, burning him to a crisp before he could get within five metres of her.

After a while, the images faded and Ruby was left alone in the dimness of some light emanating from the light blue crystal walls. Suddenly, a familiar, dark blue figure walked towards her from the depths of the crystal. Ruby stepped back sharply at the image of her Aunt Lazuli.

She raised her chin, making herself assume the removed, regal expression she'd mastered in her first few weeks as Saccharina's chief advisor.

She had a lot of… complicated feelings towards Lazuli. Of course, she admired and loved her aunt, but she couldn't help but be just a little bit bitter. Her aunt had allowed Ruby to believe that she would be her champion, knowing that Saccharina surpassed Ruby in every way. She knew it wasn't Lazuli's fault, but Ruby had gotten her hopes up, had thought that she could be a driving force behind bringing Candia's magic back. She had thought that that was her purpose. Accepting her place as a background supporter had been a tough pill to swallow.

She always knew that she would be second to someone, and she had loved being Jet's younger twin, but she had wanted her chance to shine. She had found that in the circus, but she had already indulged herself enough in her past life. This time, she would be content working in the shadows, shining the light on her two, stronger, better sisters.

"Archmage Lazuli," Ruby greeted, giving a textbook perfect curtsy - only then noticing that she was wearing the dark red gown that she had taken to wearing most often in the future.

"Ruby," the tall woman replied. "I did not know what to make of this vision when I foresaw this, many years ago. I did not think that it would come to pass."

Ruby didn't know what to say to that, so she just continued on, "I will bring your legacy back to Candia. I will ensure that she takes her rightful place as heir."

Lazuli frowned. "You are skilled in the arcane arts, just as her. More skilled than you have appeared to be before."

"The mysteries of magic are difficult to grasp." Ruby knew that that comment was petty, but she couldn't help herself. She had made peace with her childish resentment of Saccharina but she had not gotten over the sting of Lazuli's rejection.

Ruby sighed, immediately feeling her gut twist in guilt. "I will make sure that Saccharina arrives at Castle Candy. She will ensure that your dream comes to pass."

Lazuli's face twisted. "Ruby-"

"I know that you cannot tell me much… which is also why Sapphria isn't here, right?"

"You know of Her?"

Ruby swallowed. "Yes. And I want to… I will help free you."

Lazuli paused. "You are hiding many secrets."

Ruby gave her a close-lipped smile.

Lazuli pressed her lips together and nodded. "If you continue down the path you are now, Sapphria may be able to visit you. Maybe even Citrina as well if you continue to use the power of the Bulb."

Ruby frowned. "I haven't devoted myself to one orb."

"But you do draw power from each of them individually, as well as together. That might just be enough of a similarity to summon Citrina."

Ruby nodded, tucking the implications of that statement into the back of her mind for later contemplation.

"I will find a way to get Saccharina to Castle Candy."

Lazuli inclined her head forwards. "I believe you will."

Ruby took a step back starting to glance around for an exit in the chamber.

"Thank you," Lazuli and Ruby glanced back at her.

"Oh," she stammered, unprepared. "Um… you're welcome?"

Lazuli's lips twitched and she glanced down briefly, frowning in thought. Ruby had never known her aunt to be lost for words. Nothing in any of their few interactions of the many, many stories of her ever suggested she would be so uncertain.

Nevertheless, Ruby waited the few seconds it took for her Aunt to find the right wording.

Lazuli took a deep breath and looked Ruby in the eye. "My younger sisters do not get the recognition they deserve, particularly Sapphria. In many ways, she was the most effective of all of us. She had the largest following, her influence spread father than even mine. I know she dabbled in magic much more subtle than mine. The reason she is not talked about much is because she was very good at what she did. She knew how to talk and how to manipulate people to get what she wanted, and her spies were invaluable in the war."

Ruby nodded, feeling something harden inside of her.

But Lazuli wasn't finished yet. "However, for all her games and her mysteries, Sapphria was, perhaps, the most loved within the castle. If you decide to follow in her footsteps, know that you will always be able to fall back on your family."

Ruby stared at her, the back of her throat becoming heavy.

Then, she nodded her head, her voice a reverent whisper. "Thank you, Aunt Lazuli."

"No, thank you, Ruby. I do have a request for you, though."

Ruby looked up at her. "I will fulfill it if I can."

Lazuli swallowed. Her voice was quiet as she asked, "Can you tell your mother that I love her, and that I am so, so sorry. I wish it had not come to that, and I'm even more sorry that I did not prepare her for it. I miss her so much."

Ruby swallowed. "Of course, Aunt. I will tell her… She loves you as well."

"I know," Lazuli whispered. "I wish it did not cause her so much pain."

They were quiet for a few moments before Lazuli straightened and inclined her head forward, a small smirk on her features. "I wish you good fortune in your endeavours. And… may the Bulb shine upon you."

Ruby snorted and Lazuli gave a small laugh as the dark blue woman stepped back and the crystalline mirrors shattered around Ruby.

------

Ruby managed to convince Jet to wait through their lessons instead of dipping out of them.

"I think I can get us a way out of here without risking getting in trouble," she'd whispered to her sister in Twinspeak when Jet looked like she was getting antsy.

About an hour later than they'd usually escape, Ruby stuck her hand up.

Lapin blinked, voice puttering out mid speech. "Erm… yes Princess Ruby? You have a question?"

"If the major reason that the final Ceresian monarch got overthrown was that he had become disconnected with his people, shouldn't Jet and I make a concerted effort to understand our subjects on a more hands-on level."

Lapin nodded. "Of course, Princess. That is a very good insight. I would highly recommend you both learn about your subjects directly."

"Then we should visit Dulcington and talk with some of the workers and dwellers there. I think it would be a good idea if we do it now."

Lapin frowned. "You still have much content to cover Princess…"

"I think a practical lesson would be more suited to this unit, Chancellor."

Lapin opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Ruby messaged him.

"This is important. We need to go down to Dulcington, now."

She felt shock reverberate through Lapin's mind and he furrowed his eyebrows.

"I know your secret, Chancellor. I know about Her."

The reply was cautious. "What could you possibly mean by that?"

"You know, Chancellor. I have seen you at the Standing Stones. Let us go now and I will visit you later and explain everything."

Lapin closed his mouth and paused, giving Ruby a short glare.

"Fine, I will call some guards for you. Perhaps a practical lesson is in order after that particular unit of history."

Jet's eyes widened but Ruby put a hand on her shoulder.

"I think guards would rather defeat the whole purpose of the outing, don't you?"

Lapin glared at her again, but Ruby met his gaze head on.

Finally, he sighed. "If I am asked where you are, I will say that you snuck out again when I allowed you both a toilet break."

Ruby grinned. "We will try and be back before lunch. No one will go looking for us before then."

"I expect you both to accompany me to my afternoon sermon in Dulcington on Bulbsday."

Ruby nodded, and replied serenely. "Of course, Chancellor. We would be delighted."

Lapin narrowed his eyes, but then huffed, "Fine. Be gone with you."

They didn't need to be asked twice, and snuck their way back to their rooms to retrieve their commoner clothes in shocked silence. When they left the castle, Jet burst into giggles, which Ruby quickly matched.

In a flash, they running down the bridge, Ruby trying her hand at balancing across the railing (which she managed with better success than she), whilst also banishing the awful memories that echoed through her mind.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, but I like it," Jet proclaimed with a grin. "I can't believe you talked your way out of lessons."

Ruby laughed. "I didn't know if it would work."

Jet snorted. "That was amazing, Ruby."

Before she could go on, her head whipped around, spying a few large kids slip into a backstreet. "There! That must be where the fights are being held."

Ruby nodded, and followed her twin as she rushed towards the back alley street fights.

Like the last time, Ruby watched from the sidelines as Jet fought her way through the extensive opponents ready to step up to her, thinking that the spoilt kid from the castle would be an easy target. They had been all too happy to let her buy her way in when Jet offered double what everyone else had added to the pool. As Jet cleaned up the opponents, more scrappy and fierce than any other, Ruby got to work.

A few of the local thieves were eyeing her off , the teenagers remembering how they'd stolen from her on her and Jet's outing the week before. However, this time Ruby weaved in and out of the shadows, disappearing from their eyesight and lightly dancing between them, slipping jewellery and coins from their purse. Last time, she'd gotten caught by one of the older pickpockets, and found herself at the wrong end of a lolly shank, the grizzled candied ginger uncaring of Ruby's station. It was only a bit of fast talking on Ruby's part, and Jet's menacing growl that had stopped Ruby from getting stabbed.

This time, Ruby successfully slipped the ornate watch from the man's breast pocket. This time, Ruby pretended to be distracted as she watched Jet's next opponent, a marshmallow with bulging muscles, grin her opponent into the ground. This time it was Ruby, slipping the longest of Sapphria's three daggers (the other two were shorter, less conspicuous and easier to throw), out of her cloak as she grabbed Frostel's hand, which had slipped into one of Ruby's pockets, and setting the knife against her wrist.

The frosting froze.

"Nice try," Ruby complimented, narrowing her eyes.

"My princess… I didn't… ah…" the pickpocket stuttered. "I wouldn't have."

Ruby smiled darkly. "Oh, but you did."

Frostel bowed her head, shaking. "I beg for mercy, your grace. Please don't take my hand… or my life."

Ruby allowed her expression to soften. "Of course not. I wouldn't punish someone for merely surviving."

She released Frostel's hand and sheathed her dagger and the girl snatched her hand back. Ruby reached into her pocket and pulled out the coins that Frostel had been going for, pressing it into her hand.

She bent forward and whispered into her hear, "Next time, don't approach your mark with the light at your back. Your shadow warned me of your approach."

Frostel stared at her, eyes wide as she nodded. The older teen's hands tightened around the coins as a shaky smile spilt across her face.

"I'm sure you will remember this kindness," Ruby murmured, aware that all the other thieves had turned their attention to the interaction, even as the fights continued in front of them. Ruby didn't need to look to know that Jet was winning, the black half of the heart on her chest hummed with Jet's triumph.

Frostel nodded frantically. "Of course, Princess. Forever, Princess."

Ruby smiled. "Brilliant."

She turned and walked away, feeling Frostel follow her without hesitation. She exchanged grins with Jet as her sister pinned the marshmallow to the ground, her knee on his back and led Frostel out of earshot of the spectators, but not out of view of them.

"You travel through Calroum, don't you, Frostel?" she asked.

Frostel nodded, her eyes wide. "Yes, though I do tend to stay in Candia."

"You like to… target quite wealthy people, don't you?"

Frostel frowned anxiously. "I don't take much, Princess, I promise. They don't even notice any of it is missing."

Ruby waved her off. "I am not arguing with your choice of prey, I quite agree with your reasoning."

Frostel's shoulders slumped. "Thank you, Princess."

Ruby raised her chin in a way that made it look like she was gazing down at the girl, even though they were almost the same height. "I'm sure you hear many interesting things in your travels."

"I keep my mouth shut, Princess," Frostel promised, lowering her gaze submissively. "I wouldn't dream of spilling Candia's secrets, and I don't go looking for trouble."

"Of course not, I trust that you have Candia's safety and prosperity in your mind at all times," Ruby appeased. "However, I might be interested in hearing of your exploits."

Ruby withdrew a black sugarglass sending mirror, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand from her pocket, which she'd enchanted last night with a spell she'd found in the purple grimoire she'd taken from Sapphria's crown.

"You will be able to contact me with this, just tap it and whisper a message. I trust that you will tell me of any information you discover that is… pertinent to the preservation and success of Candia."

Frostel stared at the mirror, slowly taking it.

"What sort of… magic is this?"

Ruby smiled at her, commanding light to surround the mirror. "This is not magic… I have been blessed with miracles by the Bulb. And it is the will of the Bulb that Candia prospers. I and now you, have been chosen as tools to bring about that will."

Frostel blinked for a few seconds, hand tightening around the mirror. "Of course, Princess. I am honoured."

She bowed her head and leant forward slightly, looking almost as if she was praying to Ruby.

However, the frosting woman whispered, "You laid it on a bit thick there, Princess. But I am loyal to the Sweetening Path and to Candia. I will do as you command, my princess."

Ruby fought hard to keep the shock of her face. The only reason she knew of Frostel's spy capabilities was because she'd met the woman on the road travelling for the Swirling Sisters. She knew that the girl had been extremely loyal to Candia, but she had not known she was a practitioner of magic.

Ruby reached out for Frostel, cupping the girl's cheek and tipping her head up. She reached for both powers, easily finding the balance, causing energy to fill her body. Suddenly, she could feel everything around her. It wasn't just the shadows and the light, but the life that sparked in every living being and pulsed through every growing thing around them. She let purple spark in her eyes and Frostel grinned.

The light blue frosting stepped back and bowed deeply as she raised her voice so others could hear. "You are too kind, Princess. Thank you for your generosity."

Ruby inclined her head forward and walked back to the group.

The fights had finished, Jet obviously having won the bouts as the other fighters and watchers were surrounding her and cheering. The thieves and more unscrupulous spectators all had their attention focused on Ruby.

Ruby grinned at them.

"I think you guys need to take better care of your things," she told them as she handed back their things, giving each of them an extra gold coin.

Next to her, Jet was sharing the winnings of the fights amongst all the participants.

Their eyes widened as they received their stuff, trinkets stolen from pockets, bracelets taken straight off wrists and even a few rings slipped from fingers.

The ginger candy raised an impressed eyebrow at her. "I didn't think a little brat raised in a castle would have such light fingers."

Ruby raised her chin as she handed him back his watch and a gold coin. "It would be wise to not underestimate us."

The ginger candy snorted. "The name's Gin Snap, Princess."

Ruby smiled winningly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Another snort. "Don't expect me to fall over my feet to please you, brat."

Ruby's expression turned sharp in its amusement. "I wouldn't dream of it. Don't expect me to go easy on you in the future just because I know you're too slow to catch me."

Gin eyed her for a few seconds before he nodded. "Fair enough."

-----

After lunch, Ruby made her way down to the chapel, Jet had run off to attempt to convince Theo to give her a combat lesson, so Ruby had a few hours to kill before she was expected at etiquette and courtship lessons with her mother.

As usual for this time of day, Lapin was the only one in the chapel, arranging stacks of the Book of Leaves to hand out at the Bublsday mass, where the wealthier residents of Dulcington and the Castle would attend the morning service.

He glanced up as she entered, his eyes narrowing as he saw her.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Princess."

Ruby crossed her arms. "I'm not the heretic, Chancellor."

Lapin flinched but ploughed on, "I haven't visited the stones in months. How did you know about them?"

Damn.

Ruby but back a resigned sigh, she'd known that she'd have to play this card sooner than she wanted.

"I saw it in a vision," Ruby claimed.

Lapin frowned. "A vision."

Ruby nodded. "Yes. It's why I know you serve Her. It's why I know she can watch us, and it's why I know you want to be free of her."

Lapin regarded her for a few seconds. "She is not watching now. She doesn't monitor me that often, usually only if her name is said."

"I suspected."

"Is your vision the reason for the sudden change?"

Ruby pursed her lips, staring out the window. "I cannot allow what I saw to come to pass."

Lapin was silent for a while before he stepped towards her. "You said something about freeing me?"

Ruby tilted her head. "How beholden to Her are you?"

Lapin hesitated for only a moment before he answered. "She will not end my commitment quickly. The only way I could be free is if she were to be defeated."

"And what of your powers?"

"She only opened my connection to magic, when I previously would not have been able to access it. Her… disposal would not undo that."

"Are you sure?"

Lapin nodded. "I am certain. My magic is purely of the Sweetening Path, I have had to research to grow it. She is merely a spirit of that type of magic."

Ruby stared at him for a few seconds, but neither the light, nor the shadows whispered of his deception.

"Alright, then I think we can strike an accord."

Lapin raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Ruby held her hands out, scooping a ball of light out of the sunbeam shining through the window, and allowing a shadow from the corner of the room to play across her free arm. She closed her eyes, and purple, sugary energy began to dance around her in swirls and sparks.

Lapin's eyes widened before he was surging forward, grabbing her wrists and disrupting her concentration, and causing the light and the purple energy to sputter out.

"You must not be so obvious, Princess," he hissed. "Anyone could see."

Ruby looked around. "We are alone."

Lapin gave her a flat look.

Ruby sighed and dismissed her shadow after allowing it to caress her cheek. You need not worry are alone, Mistress.

"Besides," she said, summoning a golden glow around herself. "I think that you will find a large portion of my magic is distinctly holy."

Lapin narrowed his eyes at her. "You are more of an apostate than I am."

"Not so. I have read the Book of Leaves."

"When would you have done that?"

Ruby smirked. "There is a lot you don't know about me, Chancellor."

She had found time in the future. The Book was, in fact, mostly good. It preached kindness and honour. Too bad the more… metaphorical stories of purity and light could be twisted so easily. Especially when a great majority of the population would never be literate enough to read the book fully.

"Yes," Lapin agreed, pursing his lips. "I'm beginning to see that."

Ruby increased the intensity of her glow. "So do you think that this will provide enough cover for us?"

"Us? What would we be doing?"

"Why protecting Candia and its magic from those who would seek to squash us, of course. I'm sure you're not unaware of the more… radical parts of the Church."

Lapin's frowned. Silence filled the room.

"You will need to ease into it."

Ruby grinned. "I thought so as well. But I will not be swearing any oaths to the Church. At least none more than I would as a princess."

Lapin nodded in agreement. "You won't need to. It would be a bit… tacky to go as far as your aunt did. Not to mention disrespectful."

Ruby nodded. "I agree. She was the real thing. She does not deserve a heretic mocking her memory more than I will have to."

Lapin raised his eyebrows. "You may not be as completely devoted to the letter of the Book as your aunt was, but your light is purely of the Bulb. You are not mocking her memory… more reimagining it, if I may go so far."

Ruby pressed her lips together, mulling over the thought. After a few moments, she decided to tuck it away for later contemplation.

"I have much to do," she finally announced, before she stuck out her hand. "Do we have an accord."

The Chancellor took her hand and shook it. "We do."

He pulled back, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I may even go so far as saying that I am intrigued at the prospect of working with you."

Ruby inclined her head forward. "Thank you, Chancellor. I look forward to becoming your faithful pupil."

The Chancellor's smile widened a fraction before he bowed. "I hope for a successful alliance."

"As do I."

----

That night, Ruby knocked on the door to her parents room, something she hadn't done since she was ten years old and both she and Jet had had a nightmare that had made the shadows in their room look like monsters.

Her mother beckoned her in, but stilled at the sight of her.

"Ruby?" she asked. "What do you need?"

"I need to talk with you," Ruby announced, glancing obviously between her mother and father. "The both of you."

Her mother frowned and sat down on the other side of the long couch that her father was seated on as he polished Payment Day.

"What is it?" she asked in concern as her father looked up at her, worry flitting across his features.

Ruby felt her gut churning. The next few minutes would make or break everything. The future of her family, the future of Candia, relied on her skills in persuasion.

"I have been seeing… things, in my sleep," Ruby started off. "True things."

Both her father and mother immediately shifted forwards slightly.

"What things?" her dad asked.

"A lot of things. A lot," Ruby replied. "Just, please be quiet until I've finished. Can you promise me that?"

"Of course," her father said quickly whilst her mother nodded slowly.

Ruby took a deep breath. "I know that you are not dad's first wife, Mum. And I know that Catherine Ghee died before you and mum were married. I also know that she had a daughter that she did not inform Candia about. And that that daughter is the true heir to the throne."

There was a sharp intake of breath from her mother, who stared at Ruby for a few seconds before whipping her head around to glare at her husband.

"Is this true?"

Ruby's dad stammered for a few seconds before he found his voice. "Wha - Cather - I have another daughter?"

Ruby nodded. "I saw her in a dream. She is a powerful sorceress. Even more powerful than Aunt Lazuli."

Her mother stiffened at the comparison.

Ruby looked at her. "We have to bring her here. She deserves a home and a family that loves her."

She took a step forward. "She could bring about Lazuli's dreams. And much more. She already has a host of loyal followers. She will be a good ruler. Especially under your guidance."

Her mother frowned.

Ruby knelt down and held her hands. "Please, Mum. She is good but she is powerful and she needs guidance. She would be a better ruler than either Jet or I."

Her mother brought her hand up to cup Ruby's face. "You both could be good rulers. You could be a great queen."

Ruby smiled. "It is not my place, mother. Besides, I was never meant for the limelight."

Her mum pressed her lips together. "That is not true."

"Lazuli loves her," Ruby replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "She told me so."

Her mother's grip tightened around Ruby's hands. "You saw Zule?"

Ruby nodded. "She said that she loves you, and that she misses you. And that she's sorry. She wished there was another way and that she could have warned you of her fate."

Her mum's eyes misted and a single tear fell down her cheek.

Then, she blinked and took a deep breath before she straightened, assuming her queenly mask. "Then there is no other choice. We must find this girl this…"

"Saccharina Frostwhip and she is twenty years old."

Her mother nodded. "Do you know where she is?"

Ruby frowned. "She is somewhere on the northern outskirts of the Meatlands I could lead us there by boat, but I don't think I could show you the way on the map."

Her mum stared at her for a few seconds, pursing her lips, before she leant back. "I cannot allow you to go and not your sister. And I am sure that your father will be on the expedition, right?"

Ruby's father shook himself from his thoughts. "What? Oh, yes of course."

Ruby knew that she had not been kind to him just now, but she also knew that this is what had to be done. Her mother had been right in saying that delaying important conversations had been her father's cardinal sin. This had needed to be done now, in front of both of them, and she had needed to lay down all the information. For Candia. For Rina.

Her mother turned back to her. "I will stay here and manage the realm, and get the castle ready for our new guests. I'm sure your… sister's people will not want to be parted from her. And I do not think you will be back I will be back by the time your cousin arrives from the Mountains. I will be sending Sir Theobald and Chancellor Lapin with you. Just because neither of you are going to inherit, and you are on a trip, does not mean that I will allow you to ignore your studies, and neither will I allow you to go unprotected. I trust Sir Theobald to drill you both in your courtly manners. His studies as a knight have given him enough knowledge to take over your studies in that department."

Ruby smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her before she drew back. "Off with you. Go tell your sister the news. I'm sure it will have her bouncing off walls."

Ruby jumped to her feet. "Goodnight Mum. Goodnight Dad."

------

Jet was waiting on Ruby's bed when she entered the room.

"Are you ready to tell me yet?" Jet asked.

Ruby swallowed but nodded, getting onto the bed beside her and sitting so that they were cross-legged, facing each other, their knees pressed together.

"The last two nights I've had visions."

Jet perked up. "Visions? Like Aunt Lazuli?"

Ruby shrugged. "Sought of."

Jet frowned. "They were bad, weren't they."

"Not all of them. But the bad parts," Ruby said, pressing her eyes together and feeling her throat start to become heavy. "They were really really bad."

Jet was quiet for a few moments before she reached out and took Ruby's hand, pressing it to her heart. "You don't have to tell me. I can tell it's not for me to hear."

Ruby looked up at her. "There's some stuff I can tell you."

Jet tilted her head. "Like what?"

"We have another sister. And she's the coolest person ever."

"What?"

----

How did you like it? Sending me or commenting Food Pun names will be eternally thanked.

#a crown of candy #a crown of candy fanfiction #a crown of candy spoilers #acoc spoilers #ruby rocks #dimension 20 #dimension 20 fanfiction #acoc #d20 acoc #d20 #A Wish for a Better World #my fics #lapin cadbury

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 4 years

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So, I started this WIP back at the beginning of the pandemic...and I’ll probably leisurely continue it, though I don’t think I’ll post it to AO3 until I have a lot more of it written or I have it completed.

Basically, it’s a pandemic/In The Mood for Love AU where Jon and Sansa knew each other before a northern rebellion that ended in Robb/Ned dying and Sansa marrying her college boyfriend, Harry, while she was in college in the south.

The story takes place years after the conflict ended, when Jon moves down to King’s Landing to complete some post-doc research and Sansa has been living in King’s Landing with her husband, Harry. He and his partner, Val, move into the same building and when Harry/Val go on a business trip before quarantine starts, Sansa and Jon help each other heal old wounds.

Supporting cast of characters (drunk poet Tyrion and his very new girlfriend Shae; Civil Engineer Brienne, Jazz musician Tormund, teenage Margaery and her landlady grandmother Olenna Tyrell, retired Broadway actress Myranda Royce, Asha Greyjoy and her couchsurfing brother Theon, and divorced dad Beric and his precocious son Ned.)

It’s shameless self-indulgence at this point.

Anyway, a little excerpt from the prologue below the break.

8 Months Ago

The last time Jon had seen Sansa Stark was the summer before she left for college in the Vale, three years before the rebellion. She had smelled like coconut sunscreen and cherry chapstick and had been vibrantly snotty in the way only particularly attractive teenage girls can get away with, bickering constantly with Arya and doing her best to ignore pretty much everyone else for the two weeks they spent at the Stark's lake house.

When Jon got the invitation to complete his post-doctorate research at King's Landing College, it was Catelyn Stark who suggested he get in touch with her eldest daughter. After all, she had spent the last seven years in the city. Who better to help them track down an apartment in the famously expensive metropolis? The sophisticated woman who met him and Val at the café across the street from Highgarden apartments was a far cry from the haughty freckled teenager from his memories. Sansa Stark re-entered his life in a palette of cream and beige, her copper hair tamed to a shiny straight sheet and not a freckle to be found on her pale flawless skin.

"Jon Snow." She stood before him, offering a perfectly manicured hand. "You look just the same." He scratched at his brow.

"Well, that's certainly a line," Val laughed, taking Sansa's hand in her own. "The last time you saw him, he was just a fresh-faced ingénue, right? I've seen pictures. He was a bonny lad before the beard and the falcon."

"And, this is Val." Jon nodded as Sansa's smile widened, reaching her eyes. "Val, this is Sansa Stark."

"Hardyng."

"Right. Congratulations. Sorry, I didn't send a card or anything."

"Jon, you always were so painfully honest. You could have just told me the mixer got stopped by border patrol, and I'd be none the wiser. It was years ago, anyhow." When Sansa turned to order a skinny decaf latte from the barista in the rapid-fire accentless clip of a southern city-dweller, Val arched an eyebrow at Jon in question, but he just shrugged. It had been a stupid thing to say. He knew she had married during the rebellion, behind enemy-lines. Without her family.

"So, I know this isn't the most convenient commute to campus, but it’s a great neighborhood." Sansa explained as they stepped back outside, and Jon looked around in mild surprise. When she had e-mailed him to let him know a unit opened up in her own building, he had expected her to live in one of the glossy River Row condos or perhaps in one of the growing suburbs. Instead, they were in the heart of the old city, just a few blocks east of the infamous historic brothel district, in a neighborhood of narrow cobbled streets, oddly angled walk-ups and the scent of late summer blooms creating a heady mixture with the less savory smells rising from the sewers grates.

Though it was late morning on a Tuesday, the sidewalks were filled with dog-walkers and couples and Jon was charmed by the colorful entryways and clotheslines crisscrossing the alleyways. It was nothing like the miles of untouched tundra that Jon and Val were used to, but if they must be surrounded by people, Jon figured this was about as charming a neighborhood as they were likely to find.

#jonsa #wip excerpt #wip wednesday #jonsaff #jonsa fanfiction

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l-sincline · 4 years

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Cybernetics - Cyberpunk!Sonic AU - Chapter 2

Amy Rose has been working tirelessly at her broken down booth for as long as she can imagine. Ever since Tails left their work to join forces with the revered hero of Mobius, ‘The Blue Blur’, she’s grown lonely and desperate to make her life exciting. A strange customer comes in one day asking her to fix his cyborg arm, what she didn’t know was that he would be the catalyst for a brand new life.

AO3 Tags:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Amy Rose/Shadow the Hedgehog, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles “Tails” Prower, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Rouge the Bat, Whisper the Wolf, Cream the Rabbit, Knuckles the Echidna, Badnik (Sonic the Hedgehog), E-123 Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Slow Burn, Partners in Crime

AO3 Link

Previous/Next

The night had been spent tossing and turning in bed for Amy, she’d been too focused on trying to think of ways to get around the technology difference in the arm to get much sleep. She doubted she got the recommended hours, but she picked up an energy drink from a battered vending machine- that had cost way too much, by the way, she figured that she’d be better off scavenging for one at the reclaimed food place on the street she worked on- and been on her way. The back alley was pretty sparse save for the other shop and booth keepers walking to and from their work as well as talking to each other, she saw a few people that she assumed to be just normal city dwellers that simply had lived here long enough to know about the alley, but other than that it was mostly empty. When she had finally made it to the backside of her booth and pushed the burlap flaps aside she set her bag down by her stool and cracked open the energy drink, taking a sip out of it before setting it down on her work table. It tasted of warm strawberries, but it still fizzed, so it couldn’t have been in the machine too long. Amy walked over to the front of her booth and pushed the screen up, opening her booth to the busy morning street. Most customers she got in the morning would give her projects they expected to be done when they got off from work in the late evening, but she wouldn’t be taking any of those today due to the arm. She wouldn’t deny fixing a ProjScreen or a radio though- both tended to be simple fixes and easy money. Besides, it might be nice to have a break from the thing that had frustrated her all night. Amy felt slightly refreshed as she sat down at her work desk and took another sip of the drink, her shower last night had returned her rose pink fur to her, and even though it would return to its dusty purple hue by the end of the day, she appreciated it while it lasted.

Finally, she looked down at the arm and popped the front panel off again with the flathead before moving on to the next parts that seemed the most easy to remove, the black rubber around all the joints. Sure enough, with a little prying the glue away from the metal and some convincing, the rubber was popping away to reveal more black metal hinges and structures, black wires, and Thuluhide veins. She put the rubber aside and leaned in to look closer at the newly exposed wires and structures. In the area where she had removed the panel, the inner structure had also taken some heavy damage from whatever had kicked him, though it didn’t seem to be the source of his problem, it would be best to straighten out the metal and reinforce it. She got to work on it with her screwdriver and occasionally wrench to tear the dented metal reinforcements free so they could be welded back into shape, and after that she moved on to the elbow where she would hopefully find the source of the problem. Sure enough, one wire was completely frayed, and others were pretty obviously weak. Well, there was her solution. Amy sat back in her stool, but was interrupted as her ProjScreen alerted her to an incoming call. She pulled it out of her pocket excitedly to find Tails’ caller image glowing on her screen. She threw it down to the table and watched as the projection of Tails came to life, knowing that hers did too on his end.

“Hi Tails!” She exclaimed with a smile.

“Hey Amy- sorry I didn’t answer last night, I hope I’m not too late to help.” He replied excitedly. Her smile became more sheepish in response.

“You’re just moments too late, I was able to figure it out after a night of semi sleeping on it.”

“That’s too bad.” He shrugged.

“It’s really quiet here without you.” She spoke quickly, eager to keep the conversation going.

“Oh it’s always busy around here, I almost wish I had some peace and quiet.” Tails’ smile faltered as he looked at something off projection confusedly.

“Is something-“

“I gotta go Amy, duty calls!” He gave her a quick smile as his eyes darted back to the screen. He hung up before she even got the chance to say goodbye.

Amy slumped forward, leaning her elbows on the table with a sigh. It seemed like everyone was too busy for her nowadays. Running the booth was starting to wear down on her with a lack of social interaction outside of customers who tended to be either rude or untalkative. Recently she had been talking to Whisper, who ran the weapons shop next door, they became acquainted when Amy had asked to use her wall as supports for her cloth roof and for a lamp, and since then they had continued to have small talk, but she wouldn’t call them friends. Amy didn’t remember much about the shopkeeper on the other side, just that it was a bakery owned by a woman much older than her with a daughter, they had only talked the one time to confirm it was okay for Amy to hang her roof and lamp from their walls. With a resigned sigh, she sat back up again and took another sip of her strawberry energy drink before stretching and promptly getting back to work on the arm.

As the sun set on the city to bring another day to its end, Amy had finally finished repainting and sealing the arm panel and was popping it back onto the arm. She’d been interrupted a few times, sometimes turning people away while telling them to come back tomorrow, other times taking a moment to fix whatever knick knack they’d brought her for a fee of around twenty units. The arm had taken the majority of her time as she had needed to learn how it worked while fixing it, and by the end, she felt smarter for it. She’d heated the inner bent metal structure she’d taken out and bent it back in place before reinforcing it with two thin, but strong, pieces of metal on either side of the initial bend. Then she’d repainted it black and sealed the paint so from a distance it looked as if it hadn’t been tampered with at all. The frayed wire she’d completely replaced, though she also painted it black and sealed the paint again to keep the theme. The other wires that had seemed to have weakened got strengthened with some more black rubber around their weakest points, which seemed to be the points at which they bent the most. Then she’d pushed out the dents on the front arm panel, buffed any edges that stuck out, and repainted the entire thing white. As soon as the panel clicked into place Amy sat back to admire her work, tossing his flat head onto the desk, which just barely missed her long empty energy drink can. She looked out the front of the booth to see it had finally grown completely dark, and with any luck the mystery customer would be coming around soon. She’d have a bit more work to do, as she’d discovered that the arm seemed to have been torn from its port, the wires at the top were all broken and snapped.

A quick rapping of a metal knuckle on her booth’s front table brought her attention back to the real world. There stood her mystery customer, just as hidden by his massive cloak as yesterday, but seemingly less ashamed of letting her see his other arm, as it’s hand poked out from behind the cloak and rested on the table, fist closed.

“Oh! Come on in and sit down here-“ she hopped up from her stool and brushed it off before heading over to the front of the booth to shut the screen. “-I’ll shut the booth down and then I can connect your arm again in peace.”

He nodded wordlessly and brushed past the booth in the small entry space left between the left side of the booth and the building to step into her work place. She shut the screen gently and turned to see him looking down at the arm, clearly forming an opinion on her handy work.

“You did well.” He spoke finally, turning to sit down on the stool with a dramatic ‘fwump’ of his cloak.

“Thank you.” She smiled slightly, making her way over. “It was quite difficult to figure out, but I got it eventually. I hope it works just as well as you remember it.” Amy reached towards the back of her table and grabbed the mini torch. “I’ll have to solder the wires back together- did you tear the arm off on your own? That must not have felt good.” She asked as she crouched down and got to work.

“Not really...”

“So... was it whoever kicked the shit out of your arm then?”

He stiffened.

“How’d you know about that?”

“The dents on the front forearm panel were a dead giveaway, you come to recognize kick dents when people seem to think kicking something to take their anger out on it won’t break it.” She shrugged as she continued to reconnect the wires.

“Well... he loosened it. My arm wasn’t working to well after that and eventually I just got fed up with it and took it off myself.” He relaxed a bit, as if he’d been relieved with her answer.

“How long did you walk around with it loose?”

“A few months.”

Amy stopped to look up at him incredulously.

“A few months? You walked around with your arm half broken for a few months?”

“It’s hard to find a trustable mechanic.” He responded as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. She shook her head and got back to work.

“Why’d you come all the way out to the outer ring then? You clearly had money to drop on some custom arms, why not go to someone with more rep?”

“Do you really want an honest answer?”

Amy shrugged and nodded her head yes.

“It’s because you have no rep.”

She scrunched her face up as she kept working. What kind of answer was that? It made sense if he was some sort of criminal... which also made a lot more sense with the not showing the face thing... but she pushed it aside. A customer was a customer, and he hadn’t killed her or anything, and no law enforcement had come trampling down her booth, so maybe he was just a thief or something that the government couldn’t care less about. That made sense. Amy stood back up as she finished the last wire, supporting the arm in one hand as she put the mini torch down. She put both hands on the bicep of the arm and gently lifted it to the connection point, quickly pushing the wires into their own pocket so they wouldn’t get in the way of the arm plugging all the way in before finally shoving it into the socket with a click. She stood back as the arm powered on, the red stripes lighting up in a gradient as the Thuluhide began flowing once more.

“Alright, try it out.”

Slowly, as if he was testing it out for the first time, he bent it at the elbow before flexing his fingers and curling them into a fist.

“It’s-“

“Rose!” A sudden, hushed voice came from the back entry way between the burlap flaps.

“Whisper- what’s up?” Amy dragged her attention away from the arm as he also turned slowly to look at the wolf that had arrived.

“I wanted to see if you were free to come check out the prototype I finished for you and maybe get some dinner at the reclaimed food place afterwards.” She asked.

Amy thought about it for a moment, getting dinner sounded great, she hadn’t eaten all day and going out with someone sounded great, but at the moment she quite frankly didn’t feel like eating week old reclaimed food that would leave her feeling sick before bed, and her brain was too fried from working on the arm all day to even consider looking at the prototype she’d asked for.

“I’ll come by and look at the prototype tomorrow morning, maybe we can get lunch instead?” She offered. Whisper shrugged.

“Sure, I can’t promise the lunch but I’ll check my schedule and tell you tomorrow.” She waved a quick goodbye before backing out the makeshift door. Amy sighed slightly and brought her attention back to the mystery customer.

“How much?” He asked.

“Hmm...” she thought for a moment before responding. “One hundred units should do it, minus the twenty from the down payment for course so it’ll come to eighty.” He seemed shocked.

“Only one hundred? You figured out a different mechanics work, reinforced a major structure and all the wires, repainted any parts you messed with and finished them and connected the arm yourself and you only want one hundred units for it?”

“Well, it’s technically one hundred and forty since you wanted it expedited.” She replied with a shrug.

“I’ll give you four hundred units.” He offered. She grimaced at the thought of taking so much for something she wouldn’t normally charge that much for.

“Really... one hundred and forty is fine.”

“Two hundred plus a meal that isn’t week old dumpster food.” He pressed onwards.

Amy bit her lip as she thought about it. Two hundred wasn’t too much more than her original price, and a meal that wasn’t at least half reclaimed would be nice...

“Fine.” She gave in with a small smile of defeat.

“Good.” He responded, taking her hand in his and giving her a firm handshake. “Let’s get going then. Won’t be long before every decent place to eat is filled with loud drunk people.”

Amy nodded as she grabbed her bag and hung it over her shoulder, following him out onto the busy street. With any luck, she hadn’t just made a mistake by letting a mysterious- possibly a criminal- customer buy her dinner.

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #Amy Rose #Shadamy #fanfiction #sonic fanfiction #shadamy fanfiction #My writing

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

Text

Hallow ch XI - For CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns Ch 11 / ?? - In which a monster hides in plain sight

The library had several Kitsune in it when Killian arrived, but as he climbed to the upper level, his immediate concern became the Dragon in the corner. Haku was furiously scribbling down information from a stack of books, throwing them aside in frustration. Killian made the pointed note to stay far away from him and whatever had caused his anger.

The latest ledgers of the island census were missing as far back as five years, and many of the cultural or study of heritage scrolls were also missing as Killian searched for them amongst the rows. He found a few scrolls of painted art that showed depictions of what the rite aimed to do, though; a Fox spirit in full splendor attacking the barrier and breaking free, it's teeth and many tails shining on display. The actual rites were a mystery as he found those books missing too.

On a sneaking suspicion, he glanced over at the piles of books Haku had stacked at the desk where he worked, still frantically taking down notes on whatever he was studying. Seeing the same bindings that matched the books in the series, Killian sighed. Of course the Dragon was using them. Resolving to wait, Killian read instead the long history recorded by what once were the Dragon elders, long gone now from the world.

In the beginning, there was fire, ice, air, and earth. We came from all four, the blending of these elements making way to the subtler magics, but leaving us perfect in primordial effortlessness. From the blending of the four came the Old Gods, the Elementals, and then magic itself. After that, time, then light and dark, followed as the Gods and Elementals made this world, and all the vast realities between. We found no use for time, for light, or darkness. Only magic, and only the elements were as wild as we. At one time we too could traverse the planes of existences, but that gift has been long lost to us.

From magic and the elements came the old creatures, many lost to new as they burned too bright, stars bursting into a supernova, creating, changing and destroying the others. Kitsune, Draugr, Kraken, Gorgons, Sphinx, Harpies - they all come from the old magics, brought to life by their own will until there was either nothing left or just enough for permanence.

Fire and ice made water, which made seas; earth and fire made jewels and metals, it forced rock from the seas that cooled into land. Air, earth, and water made forests that towered above the hungry ground while ice and air made snow, and water, fire, and air created storms. The Old Gods created their own beings from the many new elements that were created; starlight and moonbeams graced Elves as sunbeams and breezes molded the first Fae, born with wings. Dirt and jewels made Hob-Goblins sparkle like quartz, Anisapi the first to stand guard of places of power. Merfolk and the sea dwellers came together as foam that topped great waves and salt, the Gods loving their children as long as they could before their ends befell them. By war, sickness, age, or simply choice, they left the world to who they hoped would treasure it.

The Old Gods did not teach their children enough, however. They did not teach their children to share, or warn them of the dangers they had kept hidden away. Trying to be like their creators, and with the last few Deities hanging on, an unknown coalition created mortals. While weak and without vitality, they were vicious, bred quickly in their short lives, and became impossible to eradicate. Before long, they were the dominant species of the world created for us. They learned our weaknesses, they learned how to take down the last of the Gods. They cornered us until something was done.

The first wars cut lands from mortal hands and placed them in our own, establishing the sacred places that mortals should not tread. Even amongst the non-believing, the superstitions and deadly reminders of trespass passed easily through their generations.

After that, space was limited amongst the races. A peaceful mountain dwelling species of Fae came under attack for their resources and labor by Jeoff N'lan, who imprisoned them. It wasn't until rumors of an insurrection came under the rule of his son, Jeorg N'lan, that their population was decimated. We know them now as -

"Reading something good?" Emma's voice made him jump, and he came back to himself with a jolt. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and he could practically taste the honey and sunshine smell that graced her. Coming out from behind him, she placed a picnic basket on the table as he closed the book and set it aside. "I didn't mean to make you jump, it must have been a good book -"

"Interesting, but not necessarily good," Killian shrugged. He took in her appearance, as she had changed. She looked even better than she had previously, a red gown which had a square cut neckline, her body poured into it as he tried not to notice how lovely she looked. How did she not know the effect she had? He wondered it idly, trying to understand why he was even feeling the effect of her beauty. Sighing, she sat next to him, slumping with her head in her hands. He hesitated when he went to lay his hand on her shoulder, his eyes watching her chest rise, the sigh making her bosom press up, freezing him.

"Killian, I am not sure how to say this," she began nervously, biting her lip. Under the light of the library, her eyes were sea glass in the sun, bright and sharp. Their appraisal snapped him out of his inappropriate trance, and he refocused quickly as he took in her words. "But I'm beginning to get a little bit scared. There's something off here, and after observing what they're proposing for this rite, I don't know -"

A book slammed shut across from them, Haku looking at them with his steely eyed gaze. Emma rubbed her temples, body tensing. The Dragon strode over to them, leveling his glare at Emma from across the table. She looked away, and Killian immediately felt ready to spring, coiled in defense of her.

"You know then, and you know that you could easily take her place?" Haku said quietly, his voice cold. Emma nodded, swallowing hard.

"What is there to know? Your people chose the Maiden, Emma has nothing to do with -" Killian argued, but Haku let out a yell, his nails digging into the table.

"You do not have any right to speak on this Dark One. If your grievances are absolved with this Royal, let mine be heard: Don't you feel any repentance for anything, or do you like the weight of your family's legacy on your shoulders?"

Emma closed her eyes, flinching when the Dragon brought his fist down on the table with a loud bang.

"That's enough -" Killian hissed, but the Dragon shook his head.

"It will never be enough. You were a hero to our people because you were the answer to the violence her family created, Dark One. We prayed for your return, your revenge on the Royal family, revenge on the Goblins - you were supposed to mete out justice. To think you were distracted by this, this silly girl!" Haku spat at Emma, and she yelped.

Killian ripped the Dragon across the table by his collar, blood pounding in his ears. Lifting his arms, he threw Haku, the Dragon stumbling into the bannister of the stairs down to the main level.

"Get away from us," Killian hissed.

"Gladly," Haku gritted out as he straightened, sending a pointed look at Emma.

Killian watched him walk away, Emma shaking in her seat.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" he asked, before sitting next to her. She shook her head, seemingly trying to find words to explain.

"These rites - Killian, I'm scared. I -"

"There you are! Oh how quaint, a basket lunch. Who knew royals as far up in status as you knew how to prepare one," Maleficent purred, walking up the stairs. Lilly followed, her head bowed as she nervously fidgeted with her hands, Isaac trailing behind her. "You ran out so quickly Princess, we weren't done talking about coming to an agreement."

Emma looked up at Killian, pleading with her eyes.

"The princess and I were talking about your rituals, actually, and thought we might have a moment alone -"

"Yes of course, but later in the day. There's still so much to show her!" Maleficent purred, yanking Emma back, Lilly catching her as she stumbled. "Princess Emma still has things to see, but I'll leave Isaac here to help you with any questions. Lilly, make haste, come now girls."

Killian smiled apologetically, Emma's look of panic blocked by Isaac's body.

"What do you want to know? I know almost everything in these books, and I'm the author of more than a few." The shorter man puffed up his chest proudly, and Killian inwardly screamed. Letting his jaw clench into something he hoped resembled a smile, he straightened.

"I would like to know a bit about the workers I've seen around. The ones that wear the masks and the black outfits, are they a servant class or some leftover of the plague?" he asked, quickly moving to grab the books Haku had been using. Carrying them over, Isaac wrung his hands nervously.

"Oh, the husks. The Dragons call them 'no faces' because of the masks and their woolen veils, but I think that's a tad tasteless," Isaac chuckled lightly. "They're those who have served us, starting back some sixty odd years. Those left live together with their attendants or with their families if their families so choose."

Killian narrowed his eyes. "Served you? They seem…" He trailed off, unable to find a way to make his meaning less blunt.

"They seem 'gone'? Well yes, of course they do, and they should! They are fighting, their very essence of spirit attacking the barrier of this prison." Isaac grinned, spreading his palms upward. "That's what the rites are for, they create a trance like state that becomes greater every consecutive turn. This is the year we break free, I can feel it."

"And you want Emma to do this? What are the risks? Is there danger involved -"

"Now now. The princess is surely capable of making her own choice or coming to you for counsel, yes?" Isaac asked, dropping his hands. His head quirked to the side, and he shrugged. "Besides - The only ones that fear are those who aren't faithful to our teachings. They believe that their loved ones are empty, faceless and lost, not that they are husks waiting for their successful return. The day comes that those still living will have a reunion of body and mind."

Killian thought about Haku's reaction, how vitriolic it was, and glanced at the stack of books. He returned Isaac's grin and nodded.

"Of course. Thank you for elucidating."

Isaac bowed, backing away. "It was my pleasure to illuminate. I must be off to see to final preparations. Should Emma return, see that you remember our chat? It would certainly help win favor for an alliance."

"Of course, of course. We'll go through the process together if she wishes, and make a decision." Killian watched Isaac's smile falter marginally, confirming his suspicion.

"Very good then. See that you do." Isaac turned, leaving the library, as Killian furiously began to dig through what Haku had left. The results were frustratingly vague answers about ‘glory to the Kitsune’, who in theory would break through the initial ward, but the magic didn't relate to any sort Killian understood or any ruminations that he was aware of. If anything, it seemed that someone with enough energy could potentially pierce the island's barrier, but any type of assault would need to be targeted, not blanketed as the current ritualistic attempts suggested. The ritual itself was vague, barely described besides a few mentions of a story being written that seemed to usher the chosen into some sort of astral state.

There was nothing referencing any method in which a husk could be saved, Haku's notes in the margins seemingly indicating that he too had come to the same conclusion. A highlighted passage seemed to be confirmation of this, citing a tethered link being ripped away. Emma could not go through with whatever this was. The thought of her as a stumbling and soulless thing made him feel ill, the image in his mind of her eyes gone gray making him irrationally angry. The island's leaders had to know that this was wrong. A drawing Haku had made of a dome over what must be the island showed what looked like to be fractures, referencing another book on spellcraft, specifically breaking long lasting protection wards. There it showed a sketched illustration of an immortality enshrining spell being fractured while remaining unbroken, resulting in the shamaness inside not retaining her beauty as intended, aging as she should have whilst still remaining alive. Killian shuddered at the thought.

A dog eared page caught his attention. Haku was a methodical researcher, his notes precise as he followed this ritual to its origins. The marked page was out of place in that regard - a sleeping draughts of great potency, one similar to the sleeping death he himself had given the Queen of the United Realm's, Emma's mother, under the Goblin King’s command. She was famous for overcoming it during the war and her kiss with the man she would later choose to rule by her side had led to his capture. This was not quite that curse, which had taken a great deal of dark magic to create, and ingredients Killian did not want to deal in again if at all possible. It was lesser in its extremity, seemingly focused on lucid dreaming or actively blending the dreams of others with one's own. Did the ritual require some sort of unwaking sleep? That thought was chilling as well, dreams and the magic behind their power were widely known for their unpredictable nature, and Emma’s dreams were beyond powerful and erratic.

"It seems like you have had an easier day than me. Maybe I'll read, and you go play politics?"

Emma's voice startled him, and he turned as he stood, almost knocking her over. She looked different than he had last seen her, her eyes kohled and lips red. If the red dress he had seen her in earlier had not attempted to kill him with impropriety, the outfit she wore now had every chance.

The black dress was by all measure sinful in every facet of its design, and the exhale he gave was choked as she stepped in closer to place her hands on his arms. The pitch black velvet clung to every inch of her toned body, half corset tight but allowing the fullness of her curves, the neckline plunging, and the skirt slit on both sides. A red necklace hung heavy around her neck, the color a deep crimson that seemed to absorb the light. He’d been attracted to the princess before, she was beautiful as it were, but never had he wanted so much to act on it. Not only because of the dress, but because of the way her lips parted, the concerned way she looked at him through the dulled gray green of her eyes under the library lights, her red nails slightly digging into his sleeves -

As she steadied herself, Killian felt himself falling, unable to catch himself in the sudden vertigo.

"Emma," he breathed, and her eyes seemed to glint with mischief at how her name was practically wheezed out. He had to compose himself, had to get control -

Emma leaned in, rising on her toes.

"I've been waiting to get you alone all day," she whispered, smiling softly, as if she hadn't just made his brain explode. "About earlier -"

He cleared his dry throat, suddenly far too hot. "Yes, ah, about earlier; you shouldn't go through with anything they try to pressure you into -"

She laughed, looking at him with amusement. "Oh, no, I know that. What I meant is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier."

He blinked, and while one hand held her steady on his forearm, the fingers on her other hand played with the lacing of the collar of his shirt. Breathing seemed harder, requiring thought.

"It wasn't about your fears involving the rites here, and the alliance?" Killian asked, and she shook her head. Looking down for a moment, chewing her lip as she let go of him, Emma eyes flitted up at him through her lashes. Taking his hand and squeezing it lightly, she smiled warmly.

"So… Um. I was scared about talking to you, about finding the right things to say that would make sense. The thing is though… I'm not scared anymore. I feel like I know the answers to my fears just by being near you. You've been so different lately, and I feel like I know you so much better."

"I - I uh - Princess, what is it you're…?"

"You're blushing! Please I don't mean to - oh no -"

"I'm just not sure what you're trying to convey here, love," he managed to get out, her own face heating in time with his ears. The dress was again another hurdle to his calm, the black velvet slipped tight over the farthest curve of her breasts where it could sit at without being indecent. The color in her face was settling there too, and he dragged his eyes upwards with force.

Emma stepped forward, and he noticed that she had even streaked her hair jet black in a few places. His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips, trying to fight the wave of carnal thoughts that had suddenly bloomed in his mind. She was so lovely, would feel so right curling into him as he tasted her berry colored lips, finally chasing her properly. What was wrong with him? Where did these indecent thoughts come from - they had been contained when the Darkness had seemed to be held at bay, and yet here on the isle among the festival goers, it roared to life.

"Killian, you don't know? I've been thinking about what I want, what we mean to each other -" Killian snapped out of the fantasy with difficulty, as if it had tried to trap him or had used some sort of charm on him. Her words didn't seem real, and he rolled them over in his thoughts.

"What we mean to each other?" he asked. "Wait, Emma, are you suggesting that you - you feel - you want -"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Killian," she murmured, and he thanked the Gods for approximately six seconds, before her next words fried his brain. "I'm telling you that I think I want something more from you than friendship."

"I --- I -, er… I am -"

"Aye to you, too. Come find me later, and I'll tell you what I decided. I think you'll be very pleased." Emma twisted her red necklace in her fingers, looking up shyly at him through her lashes. "I know I am."

Another wave of want hit him, stronger than before, his mind going fuzzy at the edges. Emma was too close to him, and yet she stepped closer; he could smell the smokiness of her, the pine woods, soot, chilies, and rice wine. Vaguely he wondered why she didn't smell of her usual honey, vanilla, cinnamon, and rose, but the thought vanished when she pressed her lips to his cheek.

Quickly retreating as he cupped his cheek, she waved goodbye, leaving down the path from the library with confident steps.

Killian felt the small ember he carefully stoked inside the most protected regions of his being turn into a flame, hope surging as he tried to focus on anything but his confirmed feelings for the princess. For Emma. The books he tried to read could not hold his attention; nothing could draw him from his racing thoughts.

He found a note pinned on the outer side of the door as he was leaving, telling him to meet her on the high cliffs as soon as he could, which left him feeling elated, and he smiled at the thought of trying to figure things out with her. The Darkness had been under control, she was always nearby if it wasn't, and her magic was strong. She was smart, unfailing in her kindness, brave, and he had been denying his feelings for so long. Tonight he would deny her just for a few moments longer, all to court her properly.

There was a flower vendor for the festival he had seen earlier when walking with Mushu, her cart filled with crowns of marigold, chrysanthemums, eucalyptus and carnations. He had also seen a sweet vendor that had marzipan sculptures, noticing the swan immediately. He had planned to get it for her before they left, but tonight was much more perfect. Both in hand as fast as possible, he hoped Emma wouldn't mind his late arrival. If anything, she would be too delighted by the gifts, and Killian could finally, finally do what he realized he wanted for so long -

"Love, if you think helping the denizens of this isle is a worthy cause, who am I to ever argue with you?"

Killian froze, turning to the sound that sent chills down his spine. Someone was talking in his voice, a scarily good imitation of it as well.

"When have you been wrong, Swan? When have you not risen above your challenges?"

"You're right, Killian."

Emma's voice. His stomach dropped. Moving closer to the conversation tucked into a small aisle behind tents, he saw Emma in her red dress, and himself. Or, a poor facsimile of himself; there were a few streaks of white in his hair, and his nails seemed pointer even in the dim light. The doppelganger seemed to notice, carding a hand through, covering the white with his palm and burying them there. The other hand went snugly into his pocket.

"I know. I have no fear for you either, so take that as reassurance. After you succeed, it will be easy to take on the Darkness… and we could…" The fake slipped an arm around her waist, tipping her chin up and stroking her face. It was like a punch in the gut, the way she blushed and swooned so innocently, the reaction so sharply different than her earlier forwardness. Killian felt the growing suspicion that it wasn't Emma that had visited him but another, realizing with anger that his feelings had been twisted into vulnerability.

"We can talk about something more, what comes next. A future," his double whispered, laying his forehead against Emma’s.

"I'd like that," she replied as she smiled.

Killian began walking towards them, his rage boiling over at this deceit and jealousy that flamed into a blaze. The manipulation that was in play to create the idea she actually - that she could possibly feel something like that for him and that they could make something work; the idea was ridiculous when laid out. The princess being courted by the war criminal. Jealousy wasn't what he was feeling; he couldn't be jealous when she had been tricked, or when he had been weak. Emma didn't want anything from him, truly. He moved through the tents, following Emma to make sure that she put distance between herself and his fake, watching her through the gaps. In the cage he held tightly closed, the Darkness rattled. It took in a gasp of air, straining in its bonds.

No one could ever want you, stupid, weak, petulant man.

No one.

No one, and especially not her .

Someone so good, you would break her, you would never work.

Never .

Imagine what scars you would give her, imagine how easily she would see how pathetic you are…

He stumbled, felt the pressure of someone strong on his back as he struggled, albeit briefly. A cloth was pushed over his mouth and nose, a prick of some sort of dart hitting both sides of his neck one after the other. It took seconds for his eyes to go bleary, the world spinning as he fell.

Haku looked down at him, frowning.

"I'm sorry," Haku whispered. The words swam along with everything else in his vision, but Killian valiantly tried to crawl towards where Emma had been, following the sound of his voice, his voice used by another.

"Hurry now love. Don't leave Isaac waiting; they'll need you as soon as possible."

Emma's voice was bright as she called over her shoulder with a wave, unaware of Killian’s groan as he reached for her, unseen behind the many tents as Haku dragged him away.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Killian."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The amount of interference and pressure the combined Dragon royals and the Kitsune leaders held all day on Emma was absolutely unbearable. At the beginning of the morning, Lilly had dragged her to a bathhouse, the beauty and ornateness of the place overshadowed by the obnoxiously rude company. Emma was given a robe like wrap made of thick damask, golden fish swimming on the blue fabric. Lilly helped her put it on, ignoring Emma's objections at her intrusion while she was partially nude.

Chihiro wore a white gown, not making a sound even with bells tied in her long black hair. They glinted in the sunshine along with her braided ribbon as they all moved through the hallways, polished wood catching their many colored reflections. A paper screen door opened to reveal a large bath surrounded by rocks, a waterfall cascading into the steaming pool. One by one the women disrobed, dipping themselves, and Emma followed suit with a blush. The water felt heavenly, even if the conversation was not.

"So, the women as a congregation join the Maiden in her cleansing, where we all purify ourselves and commune with our ancestors," Lilly sighed, kicking her toes out of the water. From across the steam, Emma could see the great plumes of green smoke coming from where Cruella sat. When the steam parted, Cruella's eyes were focused solely on her, giving Emma chills even in the heat. "After this, we go get massages, then we get facials, then tea. Then we take a processional walk through the sand gardens, after which we do a lantern ceremony in the turtle pond. Lastly, we head to the cathedral for the final rites."

"I have plans to lunch with Killian -" Emma said cautiously, biting her lip.

"Because of course you do," Lilly said with an eye roll.

Emma smiled innocently. "Is there a way I can sneak away at some point?" She batted her eyes and Lilly snorted.

"Yes, of course there is," Lilly sighed, annoyed. "But getting a chance to while fielding my Mother and Cruella is going to be tricky for you. After this, that is. Enjoy the reprieve while you have it."

"Oh no, really?" Emma let herself whine. While unbecoming, it worked effectively well for Lilly, and was fair turnabout. "Lilly, will you buy me some time? You owe me for last night."

Lilly's eyes became more cool, and calculated. She looked at Emma conspiratorially, pointing up a finger before wagging it in her direction. "Alright. One condition though."

"Sure, I guess?" Emma said with a slight shrug. Realizing the current situation, she let herself float her toes up and down in the water in slow kicks, adding with a little edge of warning,

"Just don't be weird"

Lilly nodded, looking away. The Dragon collected herself, looking resolute as she began to speak in a slow and careful manner. "You've heard a lot about how much people want you to do this, but today you are going to hear some of the why. I want you to hear my reasons." Taking a deep breath, she continued while obviously trying to keep from speaking too fast. "I don't love Mushu. He's like a brother to me, a truly close friend, but I don't and have never loved him. I don't believe he feels anything for me either, but I don't care to know in fear of sympathy winning me over. We simply don't have any other options - the royal lineage either goes on, or dies with me. Unless we escape. Unless somewhere, pockets of dragons survived that did not follow the call of our elders - then I am like you, forced into a loveless marriage."

Emma had to bite off the urge she had to scoff.

"I mean, not quite, but sure I guess. What other reasons are there?"

"There's a lot, Emma. A whole lot. This barrier is killing us, and killing any chances of a future for the entire island." Lilly grimaced, closing her eyes. "I hate everything that the pressure from all sides under it has made us become; made me become. I hate what it's done to my family."

"I’m truly sorry, Lilly. I will try to consider this as I make my decision." Emma patted her hand, and Lilly smirked, pawing an eye.

"Yeah," Lilly bit out, the teasing quality in her voice softer. "As I pressure you. Fiore, there's no end in sight. Come, let us at least get this tension lifted from our shoulders."

She rose along with a few others, stepping into beautiful thick silk robe like dresses held by attendants. Emma followed, letting herself be ushered into a small room with a table in the center, a paneled paper divider opening revealing a room beyond that with the same layout as the first. With the divider pushed in to halve the start of the room, Emma was led to the further table while Lilly was disrobed. Emma's attendant followed by taking her own robe, laying Emma down so she could only see Lilly's head and shoulders her own attendant was pouring oil over her upper back. Emma felt the liquid slip over her own, flinching, before practiced fingers pressed long held tension away. She tried not to moan loudly, her body coiled tight since before she had fallen into this world.

Neither Lilly or the attendants were conversationalists, nor were there interruptions, leading Emma to daydream contently like she had done before falling through the portal into this world. After what felt like only a few minutes, Lilly's snoring joined the quiet sounds of hands working their bodies, and Emma let herself doze in and out, feeling safe for the first time in…

A part of Emma struggled to give the answer, torn. It should have been before Nil, and before her life was thrown off its natural course, but the truth that had popped immediately into her mind confused her. As did the fact her daydreaming kept leading her to strange places, and thoughts that were untoward, childish, and ridiculous. The last time she felt safe was much more recently, to only the last night Killian laid next to her. She'd woken from the same recurring nightmare, Nil advancing just a bit further each time, but Killian had been there immediately with his arms around her tightly.

He'd mumbled a mixture of soft, soothing things in a rough voice heavy with sleep, letting her face lay against his chest so she could hear his steady heartbeat, feel his breathing, bringing herself to calm as his nose buried in her hair. There was a sort of intense intimacy in that, and she had woken when he had begun to pull away gradually, slowly even. He began growing more fitful and Emma had struggled not to wonder if it was because he wasn't tired, but if instead… If whatever part of him that governed sleep, governed the way his innuendos had stopped, or governed the way he was when he was drunk enough to hold her close had wanted him to stay that way. Either way, she had felt cozy, and fiercely protected by him.

Her daydreaming was not protected from him though, and had been wandering to the feel of his hands on her thigh, the way she knew his lips were soft, the secret way his fingers trailing from her curls to trace patterns on her shoulder when he comforted her, and what it might be like to have the silly idea that he felt even the slightest attraction to her be not so silly. Graham had once brought her flowers, before her father's intervention, but Emma wondered if he would court her in the modern ways of the world outside the barrier, the ways of the strict rules her parents might expect, or even the traditions here that were bits of both with their own unique twists. Killian would be a gentleman no matter how long the path the courtship was, and for that reason she felt even more longing for him.

Maybe Lilly was right and they did both want each other? Emma drifted further into the pleasure of that idea, even as noise started in Lilly's room. The eventual heated tone and rising volume of an argument brought Emma back from her musings with quickness.

"She should meet her, Father Isaac says to have faith and I have. I've been faithful since both sets of our parents were taken, and I've been faithful waiting for Aurora. This is a chance for her. It's like she isn't even there anymore. I can't even remember the blue of her eyes, her eyes used to be blue, almost violet. Now they're that wretched, empty, gray - "

"Phillip, be calm and be silent, I'm working on it. I don't want to pressure her and all of you are making it very difficult," Lilly hissed lowly. "Trust me, I want this as much as you, but we can't just tell them that this is a potential outcome when they don't understand."

" I don't understand. I don't understand why it feels like Aurora isn't even in there anymore. I miss her so much; we were trying to start a family and then this happened. When she gets back, if she gets back, how much time will be left?" The man's voice was growing more plaintive, and Emma tried to control her breathing to maintain the illusion she was sleeping. Her attendant hesitantly moved away, and Emma risked a glance at Lilly's room.

The Dragon was in another of the heavy silken damask robe dresses speaking with an angry looking man, one who could only be Phillip. He was tall and broad, deep chestnut hair and a boyish face that was well tanned. Next to him stood a husk, its black cowl and mask still even as Phillip gesticulated.

Emma had felt the strangeness of the husks pull before, attributing it to the island's own unique feeling of arcane forces. Everything on the island pulled at her, as if the ground was trying to absorb the very elements it was created from, starved of its own power. The husks were like this, but with the force of a cyclone, a gaping maw of a vacuum that demanded to be filled. This husk was no different, the stillness of it betrayed by how it gave off a dark and desperate feeling of need.

"Please, you need to -"

"I don't need to do anything, especially when you aren't even included in the lottery!" the man yelled.

"Yes," Lilly drawled, sounding annoyed but dismissive. "Being on the door of extinction as a species is the epitome of an exit strategy. Bravo Phillip, you figured it out."

"Lilly, you know what I mean! I don't know how anyone else does it. She isn't Aurora anymore; she doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't talk or smile or sing - I miss her singing. I used to complain about her singing all the time and now, and now I -"

"We need to talk somewhere else; the princess is going to wake up and I'm going to have to -"

Emma's attendant closed the screen between their rooms, separating them once again, and leaving Emma alone as the voices carried out into the hall. The silence was not broken by any attendant, and Emma rose quietly to sit. A beautiful dress of her own sat out, in the same traditional style as Lilly's. It was a soft violet, patterned with swans, and cherry blossom blooms. Lilly had helped her tie the previous dress in the style they wore, a thick bow on the back accented with sparkling ropes that ended in beading or bells, but Emma found it was very difficult to do herself. With a few muttered curses, she managed to get it in some type of semblance just as she heard shuffling steps on the other side of the divider.

"Lilly is that you?" she called quietly. The answering noise of a soft keen came from the other room. Emma huffed out a breath as she tried to adjust the bow again. "Oh, good. Will you help me with this? I'm afraid I have it a bit askew."

The footsteps shuffled slowly to the sliding door, waiting there. Lilly let out a small moaning noise, and Emma rolled her eyes as she walked to the door herself, holding the dress in place the best she could with one hand. She attempted to push the sliding door, but it did not budge, Lilly's side holding fast.

"Lilly, is your side stuck?" Emma asked, surprised at how quiet Lilly was being. As she thought about it, she wondered if the argument between Phillip had gone so poorly as to mollify her friend into contrition, a feeling of intense anger and upset pouring from the other side of the door. Emma swallowed hard, ready to hold knowing about the fight tightly to her chest until it could be used to her advantage. If Lilly was involved in any sort of trickery, it might be easier to coax it out with this information. The thought made her sad, but it wasn't as if it was unlikely.

Lilly rasped something on the other side of the door, Emma's ears unable to make it out. Another soft moan followed, and a strange 'Ah' sound was heard as the divider door rattled. Emma pressed again, but the divider screen stuck firmly on its track, not sliding to open at all. Lilly was holding it shut.

"Lilly, this isn't funny. What are you playing at?" Emma grunted, pushing harder, but the door did not give despite her best efforts. Lilly held fast on her side, her breathing heavy. Emma felt uneasy, letting go of the screen as a chorus of whispers and strange moans broke out in many voices behind the door where Lilly stood.

The lights in Emma's room, a few simple paper lamps, went out suddenly all at once as the divider door began to rattle. From the brightness of the other room, shadows showed against the paper, people filling the space as they pressed against the divider wall, hands silently beating and clawing. Emma's hands covered her mouth as she backed up further, until she ran into the table she had been sitting on, the rattling of the door becoming louder. The voices converged, no longer whispering but now many chanting the same words against the paper.

"Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Hungryyyy…!"

The rattling stopped, the lamps in the other room going out. The divider stood dark in the pitch of the room, everything silent but Emma's thundering heart. As her eyes adjusted, she heard the door slowly slide open, her panic at what lie behind too much, too much, something was in that shadow waiting -

The door slid open fully, revealing nothing on the other side. Emma let out a nervous laugh, her hands shaking as she lowered them. Taking deep breaths, she steadied herself, and began to put things together.

This was obviously a Kitsune trick, Lilly most likely involved as well. It wasn't as if she shouldn't have expected it; Lilly had warned her enough times about their prankster ways and Emma's own distinct lack of popularity.

Walking toward the door to leave, she was surprised to meet a solid black wall as she bounced back from it. The divider was blocked by a black surface, that when pressed was slightly opaque as it let her hand sink slightly. It reminded her of the Selkies flesh when they wore their pelts, the blubbery skin letting her hand sink a bit as she petted. This was not soft or furry like that however, but like that of a great mottled toad. Emma pulled her hand away and it came back wet, a black viscous slime sticking to her palm. She flicked it away, taking a step back and letting her other hand card over her face and into the crown of her hair.

Wet and warm gunk fell on her hand and into her hair, her fingers pulling away in shock as she examined the sticky, clear, bubbled slime. It looked like some sort of saliva, strangely enough - Another glob hit her head, and she looked up.

The husk mask was in the middle of the ceiling on a great thing , its mass huge and stretched. Black spider like arms pressed to the corners to hold its own bloated weight, its torso was stretched up through the divider, like some sort of slug. Under the mask, a dark mouth opened displaying broad, flat, teeth the size of dinner plates. A tongue lolled out slowly, dripping more thick dollops of drool.

A single small 'Ah' came from its throat, causing Emma's eyes to go wide with terror. She felt rooted on the spot, unable to move; a glance down quickly confirming another set of arms had wrapped around her, a hand with two long fingers encircling her body. The thing smiled at her with its uneven teeth, lifting her as she tried to remember how to scream.

"Hungry!" it roared, Emma finally shrieking in its grasp as its long tongue wrapped around her and she was plunged into its mouth.

Images assaulted her, the smell of the creature acrid, musky, and cloying.

An older woman sipping tea with deep wrinkles around her brown eyes. A dark haired man making smoke rings, his young son clapping at the shapes. A woman with a patient smile and raven curls tucking in the beds of children she has taken in to mother, afraid of nothing more than orphaning them again. A man with a beard and mustache the color of wetted stone, his eyes tired but posture proud. A beautiful maiden singing while gathering blueberries, her golden blonde hair catching on the sunlight as birds sung along. An older boy playing ball on the shore, shaggy hair in his eyes as he ran, his grin huge. A plump woman with reddish curls and a saucy smile, throwing tiles in some sort of game. A sullen young man with a shock of red hair, his tall height able to reach books in the library he needed.

The voices grew louder still, her head pounding and ears ringing.

"HUNGRY. HUNGRY!"

A soft, melodious woman's voice sung through the noise, overcoming it. Emma recognized it as the tune she had heard in the strange vision of the woman picking blueberries. Her pretty words were hurried as if she was out of breath.

"Help us. Please, help us."

The woman was swallowed by the noise again, the thing bellowing out its hunger as Emma felt its rage at being so hollow, desperate for anything to make it whole. It tore at itself as it screamed in fury, Emma's own screams lost under its cries. Hands clawed at her, shaking her as she struggled in the increasing pressure of the blackness; it would crush her surely, and soon she would be without air.

A hard pinch on her side made her yelp, the noise fading as she opened her eyes to meet Lilly's look of annoyance.

"What are you doing? Why are you down there freaking out like that?" she asked, pulling Emma up by her elbow. Shaking, Emma looked around the room, the husk standing in the corner with its face to the wall. Its mask lay on the floor between them, and Emma backed away as she pointed at it, unable to form words.

Lilly looked at the husk and shook her head. "Yeah, they do that sometimes. They like to be behind things, as if they find comfort in not seeing or not being seen. The masks help with that."

"No, no, that thing - it attacked me!" Emma blurted, and Lilly raised an eyebrow before laughing raucously. "Lilly, it tried to eat me or did, it was -"

"Husks don't do anything unless you patiently, and I mean patiently, teach them. Even then, it can't be a complicated task or they'll wander off in search of some wall or cubby hole to stick their head in." Lilly shook her head as she giggled. "They don't eat or sleep, don't talk at all, so if you saw something it was most likely not her."

"But she - it did! It was a monster Lilly; it spoke to me and told me it was hungry. I don't know how I -"

"If Aurora could speak, she would not have wasted her voice on you," a male voice said coldly. Phillip brushed past Lilly and into the room, sighing with frustration as he picked up the discarded mask. "If Aurora could speak, she'd talk to her husband who has been waiting for her to come back since she laid down in that cathedral and this took her place. She would answer when I ask her questions, where she went, if she's safe, and if she's coming back like she promised… she promised me… " His voice broke, and Emma looked down at her bare feet with shame.

"Phillip, it was probably a Kit trick on her; she doesn't know about how difficult it is -" Lilly soothed, moving closer to Phillip. He instead turned, pulling the husk from the corner and facing it towards Emma.

"Does this look like a monster to you?" he asked, his voice and body tense.

The husk's face was visible in its habit, everything else swathed in black. She was pretty, her features familiar to Emma although it was difficult to place them or why the woman made her neck hair rise in nervousness.

Emma shook her head indicating no, averting her eyes to once again look at her feet.

"Kitsune wouldn't cross the line with this sort of prank. It could have gotten Aurora hurt, and she wouldn't be able to come back. No Kit would dare." He prodded a finger at Lilly, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"If you're implying it was one of us -" Lilly began, her voice going steely. Phillip interrupted without pause.

"I'm implying that I want no part in games, or politics any longer. This was a mistake." He held the husk a bit tighter, running a hand over the black fabric that covered her head. His voice softened. "I only want Aurora back."

"I hope she comes back to you soon," Emma said lightly. "And I am sorry. I know what I saw, but never meant to -"

"Keep the rest of your apology, princess. The beginning was enough," Phillip said coldly. He ushered the husk to the far door, its habit now askew revealing long golden blonde hair. Once placed back over her head, he placed the mask over where only her face was visible. Emma watched them go, now convinced that the woman with the blueberries who had sung and begged for help was none other than Aurora.

Lilly interrupted her thinking. "So did you drink some special tea, or something? Or did you see smoke?"

"Forget about it, Lilly," Emma whispered. "I… I think I'm ready to go have lunch with Killian. Can you help me steal away with a picnic basket?"

"I can, but not for long. We slept through some of the minor traditions, so the next are really important. We have the communion with the spirits and the sacred tea ceremony before Chihiro drinks her own to traverse the veil." Lilly leaned against the table Emma had been massaged on, thinking hard. "My mother and Cruella surely have plans to grill you before that. You'll have to be quick, and leave as soon as we finish the bell ceremony in the cathedral."

"I can be. Also, not to be terribly rude, but…" Emma bit her lip and displayed her very askew and barely secured dress for Lilly's appraisal. "I would very much like to wear something that does not require so much tying and folding, please."

Lilly rolled her eyes, pursing her lips. Dragging Emma to a closet near the entrance of the bath house, she pulled out a few dresses before pushing them back in the overfilled space. Finally she found one that suited her discernment, giving it to Emma.

"This will work. Red protects from bad spirits, and collects energy. It gives power. It suits you." Lilly helped Emma out of her dress (what Lilly called a Yukata, and Emma sighed in defeat at Lilly's, pristine and tied tight) and into the red dress. It was barely corseted, which seemed to be in favor here on the island, with a square neckline and a flare at the hips that led to a full skirt. The red was a deeply pigmented crimson, the sleeves and way the dress fit on her body as if it was made for her.

Lilly walked with her to the cathedral, a picnic basket hidden between their skirts that they had pilfered from the kitchens in the bathhouse.

"So we drink this tea, to commune with spirits, and Chihiro drinks a special blend of it?" Emma whispered as they walked along the path to another ornate building. Lilly nodded. "Why?"

"The tea allows her to traverse the veil, gaining power and trust from the other spirits. She will undergo trials that allow her to command a targeted attack of the barrier, which can only be achieved by strengthening herself," Lilly intoned.

Entering the cathedral was like being thrown into ice water. The power that lurked there and the energy made her feel queasy, the ever present feeling of wrongness heightened and magnified under the splendor of its roof. She ran to see Killian, but was cornered before she could explain anything, led back by Lilly and her mother.

It was enough to send Emma into an uneasy conflict with herself and the power of her magic. The scope of how broken the barrier spell seemed to be, the chaotic anger of the spirits chipping away at it, how magic itself was decaying in swaths underneath it along with the population - the mounting pressure was enormous without the heavy handed encouragement of the involved parties. Later, she stumbled out of the cathedral without grace into the fresh air, her mind full of questions. A fair of sorts was being set up while the Maiden began her sleep, and Emma walked among the tents idly looking at the sugar sculptures, glass beads, dream catchers, and charms while trying to seek out Killian, finding him nowhere.

She saw him turn the corner out of the corner her eye, spinning to look to where he had gone, but he seemed to round the opposite corner in the reflection cast by a gilded hand mirror in a booth. Emma felt herself getting lost even among the small amount of vendors, following phantoms that turned out to be mist with frustration. A hand caught her shoulder, and with relief she turned to find Killian smirking at her.

"Looking for someone, pet?" he teased, and she sighed through a huff at his humor at her expense. In the light, his hair seemed to gleam silver, almost white, but she shook off the strange ideas that seemed to be whispered in the air surrounding them, surprised by the boldness of her imagination. It was not the time to think about how silky his uncut fringe would be between her fingers, or how soft he'd kiss below her neck if she was someone he wanted.

"Princess?" Killian whispered salaciously, as if reading her thoughts. Emma's knees seemed to grow suddenly weaker, to her great concern, but that only made her resolve grow stronger.

Straightening her shoulders, she spoke firmly as not to be tongue tied. "I felt unsettled, and I came to you. I have to ask of you to help me make a decision. Do you think I should take Chihiro's place and undergo this rite myself? Do you believe that it will help both sides?"

"It's the best thing we've got to get them allied to our cause. Give them everything you have. You have a reputation for being the Savior to live up to, after all." He was acting strangely, his usual nervous ear scratch replaced by scratching at his neck. His nails seemed sharper, but the light was poor as the sun fell. Emma laid a hand on his and he flinched away, bowing his head slightly. He buried a hand in his hair, looking bashful, before taking a deep breath to look at her with a sort of pride.

"Love, if you think helping the denizens of this isle is a worthy endeavor, who am I to ever argue with you? When have you been wrong, Swan? When have you not risen above your challenges?" He searched her face, and for a moment she thought Lilly might be right about him feeling something. The idea made her stomach flutter with hope.

Emma sighed. "You're right, Killian."

He stepped closer, and her heart felt as if it might pound out of her chest. He'd been so forward here, but she never thought or would have even guessed that he had any interest in her, or intentions. Emma let him fill her space, the idea of him wanting to court her, or the thought of the thousands of ridiculous romances she was able to have Ruby sneak her into the castle and the scenarios therein, made her think longingly of what she possibly wanted. That is, possibly wanted with him .

"I know. I have no fear for you either, so take that as reassurance. After you succeed, it will be easy to take on the Darkness… and we could…" Her heart skipped a beat, Killian slipping an arm around her waist, tipping her chin up and stroking her cheek. It was as if there wasn't enough air in her lungs. Blushing, she fell forward into him slightly because of dizziness. It was so warm, the night air not cooling her skin any longer, and indecent thoughts of everything he could do to her were like a spring garden's flowers, ready to be picked.

Emma tried to speak, but couldn't find the words to do so. She settled for breathing his name out on a whisper, watching him smirk. As the wind blew gently, his eyes softened.

"We can talk about something more, what comes next. A future." His whisper while laying his forehead against her own was so tender.

"I'd like that." She smiled.

"Hurry now love. Don't leave Isaac waiting, they'll need you as soon as possible."

"I'll be seeing you soon, Killian."

He gave her a wave, and she did not hear him whisper under his breath, his voice becoming a feminine purr.

"Sweet dreams, princess."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma was found wandering the beach in a silken gown, with no memories of how she had gotten there. The village on the island was abuzz with it; nothing like the strangeness that her arrival heralded happened in the Blackwater, excitement in short supply. Not only was she a wisp of a thing, but she could not be a day older than seven or eight to his eleven or Liam and Elsa's fourteen. Liam had taken him to the shore to watch alongside the others as Isaac held her hand, helping her off the small beach and up the cliff side. There, hidden in the trees where no one could see, Emma Swan looked at him for the first time, her green eyes like another forest he could lose himself in. His father and mother had chastised him over dinner - worrying about some peasant girl was not fitting for his social stance as a Blackwater lordling.

The next time he saw her, she was dancing at a harvest ball, her hair braided with autumn leaves and ribbon. It had been several years, his interest in girls going slightly beyond love notes and hand holding if that. She still drew his eyes, spinning lazily in her embroidered gown, looking like a falling blossom. Even Liam had been caught by her spell, and Killian had secretly hated him for his boldness and smooth confidence as he walked toward her.

She froze when Liam asked her for a dance, looking at him with such confusion, as if he was a ghost. Sir Isaac ushered her away, and Killian shrugged. Liam told him later that the petrified girl had told him that he wasn't real, and had asked for Killian by name. She hadn't used proper titleage or etiquette, just his name again and again more shrill in each utterance, until Isaac took her to rest at his home.

No one could say what happened, other than she was ill. Some said that she mumbled madly about both the future and the past, events that would come to pass or secrets that she should not know. Tongues wagged in the Blackwater; finding the truth therein was like finding a needle in a haystack.

The seasons changed, no questions answered, and Emma was rarely around to create enough intrigue for questioning. The questions stopped eventually as she became the village herbalist, sending her wares down the mountain from her cliffside cabin with her friend Lilly. His good friend and the Lady of the Baelfire side of the Isle, Milah, confessed she had never bought Emma's strange remedies - but she credited that to her renouncing witchcraft in all forms, her name safe from spells and mind safe from the sale of esoterics.

Magic ran rampant through the Blackwater, as they were all Fae, but it was taboo to do more than simple charms or common place spellwork. Potions, incantations, divining the future, enchanting, and the many manners of magic Emma did easily made her an outcast - and Milah agreed with the townsfolk that Emma was in league with a Demon, making her a witch. Rumors swirled that the Demon had stolen her sanity as payment for her skills. On some nights if you looked to the cliffs, a strange glow in many different colors radiated from Emma's small cabin. That did little to quell rumors.

Life in the village went on. Killian and Milah grew closer, and they fell in love in a whirlwind romance that seemed to take the entire Blackwater with it. Their marriage was expected, and easily approved. As soon as their small home was up near the library Killian dutifully cared for, his brother followed suit. Liam and Elsa married, much to his father’s, Ingrid's, and Nemo's delight. His mother was gone for several years now, but he thought she would be proud of her children.

Unlike the intimate affair Killian had held, the entire village was present for Liam’s marital feast.

Including Emma.

Her hair was in a wild braid, her dress without corseture or boning, flowing in swaths of mossy green cotton. Her fingers were stained in different colors, ranging from ochre to blackberry, crimson to indigo.

And her eyes. They were suddenly the brightest green Killian had ever seen.

Milah begged him not to say hello to Emma, making a symbol with her thumb, index and smallest finger that likened the woman with having horns. Like the rest of the villagers, her belief that Emma was a Demon-led witch held strong, even as they bought her herbal remedies from Lilly. Killian obliged, as not to upset his wife. In the end it was wise. As his brother stood to give a toast with Elsa looking on in adoration, there was a struggle in the back of the room. Emma was wild eyed, pointing at Liam and Elsa.

"This is - it's impossible, this doesn't - please I don't understand, this isn't real! Someone help, why is this being shown to me? I need to get out of here, these are ghosts, memories - They aren't real! You are dead! Dead!"

Emma's cries brought gasps from the crowd, with Nemo, Lilly, and Isaac pulling her from the room. Milah shook her head and muttered a prayer; the herbalist herself confirming the rumors that she had bouts of madness. Sir Isaac and Lilly desperately tried to keep her as rooted in reality as possible, but it was clear that she could not handle this event for whatever reason. She was calmed with a jacket and gag Isaac had made, sitting in the back where the sight would not disturb anyone. Although Killian thought it was barbaric to tie someone into sitting quietly (even in a wheeled chair), he thought that Emma was lucky enough to find an adoptive family like Sir Isaac and Lady Cruella.

A strange feeling of wrongness fell on him, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. They were Fae, they should be able to heal her, heal each other, even in matters of madness. The thought had barely crossed his mind when Milah pulled him into a dance. As they spun with the other guests, Emma's eyes met his, Milah and him both laughing at Ingrid's clumsy footwork as she danced nearby. To his surprise, Emma smiled at them with the saddest look he had ever seen before she was wheeled away, disappearing into the crowd.

That night he dreamed of Emma, even as Milah slept next to him in their marital bed.

"You have to. You have to, before she's gone."

Killian felt his mouth go dry, looking down at Emma's sleeping form. "This was a bad deal Lilly. You were supposed to be her friend, why did you let her do this?"

"I fucked up. Please. You have to save her before she turns her into a shell of what she was or worse; you have to get her out of there. There's a potion, a sleeping draught or something - I don't know. I tried it and was able to get to her; but it's dangerous. She can -"

"I don't care. We can't stand around here while she… While she… I can't believe you did this, and that she agreed. Of all the stupid ideas to follow through on -"

"Killian, it's not like I had a choice!" Lilly snapped. Killian glared, his anger threatening to boil over.

"Bullshit, Lilly. Whatever you have to tell yourself, right?"

"Just listen. I was going to get her out, but you don't understand. My mother, Cruella, Isaac - none of them have seen anything like this. You can lose yourself in there; it takes over everything, rewriting your entire existence."

"Then I'll lose myself happily. She'd already be doing that for me if it were me."

"And for me. I hope Emma never forgives me," Lilly sniffed.

Killian felt his jaw clench, something in his head clawing at his thoughts as he pushed it away. "That would make two of us, but she will. Emma is too good for the likes of us."

He woke with a start, Milah slightly stirring as he tried to remember the fragmented bits of the dream that lingered.

Years passed, and Emma interacted with the village in small, rare, interactions. She bought food sparingly, but more often than not, Lilly bought it for her. The village was quiet, and Emma was too unpredictable, too loud. Killian professed sympathy for her, and Milah agreed that the herbalist truly had a terrible fate.

Then Milah fell ill.

It was nothing like he'd ever seen, as if she was being erased, her body falling apart quickly and her vibrancy muted. She became a shell, her fatigue and pain without relief until Milah let him try Emma's wares. A salve gave Milah almost instant comfort, and Killian bought as much as he could. As Milah deteriorated, they required more and more until they were out both at home and at the small stall where Lilly peddled her wares. When he asked for more, Lilly raised an eyebrow.

"You could ask Emma. She does make the rare house call for extreme cases," Lilly whispered behind a cupped hand.

So, Killian climbed the mountainside, up to the cliff Emma's cabin stood on. He peered in, noting how sparsely furnished the space was. There was no one inside, so he made his way to the back, following soft singing. Wearing a paint splattered cotton gown that did nothing to hide her body's shape, Emma stood with a brush grasped lightly in her fingers. Her hair was long and thrown back into an unkempt tumble of curls with no bonnet in sight, no corseture around her waist, and her feet were bare in the warm evening as she sang.

Killian watched her paint in small strokes, tongue poking out as she finished and wiped her palms together with a clap. Her song abruptly ended and she turned to face him.

"You're here," she said quietly.

Her eyes were still so very green.

"I… Beg pardon?" Killian shook his head, confused by why she seemed to stun him. For the first time things felt real, the moss and rocky soil on his feet even more so. "I'm here for -"

"For Milah's medicine, yes. It's on the table there." She nodded her head to a small clay jar. He opened it, looking at the strange paste inside. Who had told her he was in need of it?

"How did you -"

"Not important. What is important, Killian, is that this will only help her for a day or two." Killian looked at the jar in his hand, terrified. Yes, Milah was getting worse, but days left? There was no way. Emma looked unflappable, her face empathetic.

"What's wrong with Milah?"

"It's complicated. She's wasting away, and I can't, she's - all I can do is slow it down. I'm so sorry, I know you both are so happy, and if I could do more I would. I can see how much you dream of a long life with her, and how scared you are of losing her." Emma seemed upset by his inquiry, and began to fidget. "I could possibly extend things longer if I was there, but… This will make things more comfortable. Less nightmarish."

"I'll ask Isaac, I'll beg -"

"Lilly is a better bet. She sneaks me out to the beach, or makes distractions, and covers for me. She could… cover for me to help you."

"I'll ask her to, and to watch out for Isaac for us, but you'll come, right? Please say -" Killian began. Emma hushed him quietly.

"Of course. I can't imagine how much of a torture this is, and I'm sorry. I'm trying to make it better, I don't want this fear to hurt you. I just - I don't know how any of this is happening, but while it is, I don't want you to -" Emma stopped and closed her eyes, lip caught in her teeth, as if collecting her thoughts. "I don't want either of you to hurt. I never want you to hurt, and I try to stop it when I can, when I see them try to punish me or you. You're real aren't you? If I can keep you happy, it will be alright, and you'll be alright."

"I don't - uh. I don't know what that means, Swan," he admitted, scratching behind his ear. Blinking out of her outburst, Emma sighed, kicking dirt with her bare toes. She nodded, looking downcast.

"Have Lilly send for me as soon as she can."

The look of tired misery in eyes that matched the moss haunted him the entire way home, sitting on his shoulder and whispering strange thoughts into his brain.

One whisper stood out from the others, and he wasn’t sure if it was true or imagined, though he’d swear it was truth : Emma’s canvas had been filled with one of his own, very blue, eyes.

#Courtorderedcake #12th #January #2020 #January 12th 2020 #Hallow #Hallow Chapter XI #Captain Swan #Captain Swan Fic

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glorious-spoon · 5 years

Text

The Bird and the Fish

Written for days 19 & 20 of Tentacletober: Protective Tentacles and Established Tentacle Relationship. Follows Beached and Overboard.

Rated T; Malec & Clizzy, no archive warnings apply. Other than the fact that it’s an excessively serious take on tentacle monster crack, as per usual :P

In which Izzy starts to become suspicious.

Read on AO3

Izzy has been sleeping on the couch at Alec and Jace’s off-campus apartment for all of a week when she finally gives up on waiting for one of them to tell her what’s going on and corners Jace while he’s putting away groceries. Or at least, what passes for groceries for the two of them; all she knows is that there’s a frankly excessive amount of protein powder and cheap beer.

“So,” she says significantly, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. Jace jumps slightly, then gives her a quick, nervous look that couldn’t be more suspicious if he was holding up a sign reading SHADY BULLSHIT AHEAD. That’s why she started with him, really. Alec is almost as stubborn as she is; Jace will fold like wet paper if you know where to push. Which she does. “Did you guys join a cult, or what?”

Jace blinks at her. “No.”

“Because you’ve both been really evasive since I got here.”

“We haven’t been evasive,” Jace says, evasively.

“Does this have anything to do with the Herondale?” She doesn’t even know the whole story there, other than the fact that about a dozen people ended up getting arrested, including Alec’s boss, and Alec spent three days in the hospital and was distinctly squirrely about the exact details of his near-drowning afterward. “You guys never really told me what happened.”

“Alec caught Aldertree’s smuggling ring, Aldertree had him thrown him overboard like the murdering fuckface that he is,” Jace says, and the anger in his voice, at least, is definitely real. Izzy can relate.

“And then he… what, swam to shore? With a broken ankle?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh, come on,” Izzy starts, but before she can pursue that line of questioning, the front door swings open to admit Alec himself, tousle-headed, sunburnt, and wearing wet swim trunks, dripping a trail of water across the worn linoleum floor as he kicks his sandals off and wanders toward the kitchen.

“Oh, thank god,” Jace says. “Here. Torment Alec instead of me, I need to go get ready for work.”

“Why are we tormenting Jace?” Alec asks. He smells like salt water and sweat when he leans past Izzy to grab a Powerade out of the fridge.

Izzy wrinkles her nose and ducks out from under his arm. “I’m not tormenting him, I was just asking about what happened with your shady boss—”

“Ex-boss.”

“Yeah, near-drowning is one hell of a pink slip,” Izzy says dryly, and pokes his chest where there’s an unmistakable double-row of reddish-purple hickeys showing up under the sunburn. “Nice body art, by the way. Did he have suckers?”

Alec turns bright red, which isn’t unexpected; Jace makes an appalled noise, which actually kind of is, and groans, “Jesus Christ, Alec, you weren’t seriously—”

“I’m gonna go shower,” Alec says quickly, and slips out of the kitchen like he’s been greased, hickeys and all.

“I have to get ready for work, asshole,” Jace yells after him as the bathroom door slams shut. He glances back at Izzy, mumbles, “So I’m gonna just—” then hooks his thumb over his shoulder and flees, leaving Izzy blinking and baffled in the kitchen.

Asking Alec about it goes about as well as interrogating a brick wall, which is more or less what she expected. Izzy has the good sense to stop before he actually storms off and they manage to pass a fairly pleasant evening bickering over terrible reality TV before Jace gets home just past midnight and yells at them both to go to bed.

That doesn’t mean that Izzy has forgotten about it, though.

The thing is, Alec and Jace have always kind of been a self-contained unit. They fight almost as much as they get along, but it’s still always been Alec-and-Jace, with little Izzy trailing along behind them. Never quite in on the jokes, never quite able to keep up.

She’s twenty years old now, with a college degree behind her and med school ahead; it shouldn’t still sting like this. Maybe it’s just that she’s lonely after things ended with Meliorn, maybe it’s that this will probably be the last summer the three of them get to spend together, but it all just feels like the end of an era. Also, there’s clearly a good chunk of the story that she hasn’t gotten, and Izzy is determined not to be left in the dark. Not this time.

Anyway, it passes the time. And it’s better than spending her summer sleeping in her childhood bed while Max is away at camp and her mom is up to her ears in her expanding business and all of her high school friends are off to bigger and better things. At least this way she can get out, swim in the ocean, harass her brothers and flirt with the cute redheaded girl who does cartoon sketches on the boardwalk for five bucks a pop.

She does one of Izzy, late one night after the shops have all closed down and mayflies are circling the tall lights, and it’s not one of the goofy cartoons she sells to the tourists but Izzy’s face sketched out in graceful confident lines, dark eyes and a soft expression that Izzy definitely doesn’t remember wearing, and the girl—Clary, her name is Clary—pushes it into her hands and refuses to take any payment and practically flees before Izzy can do anything else, like, say, ask her out to dinner.

She wanders home with the sketch clutched in her hand, feeling light and warm and unusually content with the world, not even thinking about Jace and Alec and whatever mysterious bullshit they’re definitely lying to her about.

So of course that’s when she crosses through the dunes on a shortcut back to the apartment and sees a tall familiar shadow slipping down toward the water.

It’s Alec. He’s in swim trunks again, barefoot and shirtless even though it’s starting to get cool at night as summer draws to a close. He has something in his hand but she can’t tell what it is. At the water’s edge, he kneels, silvery waves licking up over his feet and legs, reflecting the moonlight, and sets whatever it was he was carrying in the water. He sits back for a minute, then stands again and starts to wade out. A few yards out he must hit the drop off, because his head dips below the water for a moment before surfacing again, silhouette swaying rhythmically against the moonlit sky in a way that means he’s treading water. Izzy drifts closer without even meaning to.

A shadow moves beneath the waves, and then a man surfaces a few feet from Alec, all of a sudden, like he just emerged from the sea. A gleaming grin on his face reflects the moonlight, and from this distance, over the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, she can’t hear what they’re saying, but Alec’s voice is soft and low enough that she’s not surprised when he moves closer, leaning in to kiss the man with a comfortable sort of familiarity.

Just a late-night hookup, then. Izzy makes a face and starts to turn away before she can inadvertently witness any more of it, then pauses. Something is rippling, breaking the surface of the water. Several dark appendages that are definitely not arms twine up over Alec’s shoulders and into his hair, and instead of trying to escape he—turns, and presses a quick smiling kiss to one of them.

“What,” Izzy says out loud, “the fuck.”

It comes out louder and shriller than she intends, splitting the fragile silence. Alec jerks, spins toward her, but the other man—he shoves Alec back with effortless force, spinning so that he’s between Izzy and Alec with the vast moonlit ocean spread out behind them. More of those things (tentacles, she thinks, slightly hysterical, those are tentacles, what the fuck) slip out of the water, making what would actually be a pretty menacing display if Alec wasn’t shoving at them exasperatedly, slipping under one of the tentacles and pushing it out of the way with a careless hand.

“Stop that, it’s just my sister,” he says, and then, “Izzy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Who is that?” She almost says What is that, because the—man, or whatever he is, is staring at her from the water, his eyes an inhuman shade of yellow, reflecting the moonlight. There are long slits on the sides of his throat that ripple faintly as she watches. Gills.

And there are the tentacles. Several of them are still wrapped around Alec, who doesn’t seem bothered by it. He glances at his companion, then back at Izzy, then sighs.

“This is not how I was planning on telling you about all this, for the record,” he says wearily. “Izzy, Magnus Bane. Magnus, my sister, Isabelle.”

“The nosy one,” Magnus Bane says. There’s an odd lilt to his voice, not quite an accent; it’s more as if it’s reflecting against itself, a resonance that makes Izzy think of walesong, echoes in the deep. His smile gleams; his teeth are sharp. “I remember.”

“I’m not,” she starts, then snaps her mouth shut, flushing. The drawing that Clary gave her is starting to crumple in her fist, and she forces herself to relax before she can ruin it.

“That’s not how I put it,” Alec says, glancing at Izzy. “Curious. I said curious. Be nice.”

Magnus Bane surveys her for another moment, then sighs, relaxing. The tentacles coiled around Alec loosen. “All right. I’m sorry.” It’s half to her, half to Alec. “I haven’t had especially good luck with shore-dwellers lately. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Thanks,” Alec says dryly. “Neither have I, honestly.”

That near-drowning thing, Izzy realizes suddenly. Out loud, she says, “I was wondering how you survived that.”

“Yeah.” Alec glances at Magnus, who is watching him with a softness that makes her want to like him, suddenly. Even if he does seem like the exact kind of asshole that Alec would fall for, only in the shape of some quasi-mythical being. Or because of that, maybe. “I had a little help.”

“Oh,” Izzy says. She looks at Magnus, who is looking back at her, and the thing is—

The thing is, there are tentacles coiled around Alec’s shoulders and arms and Magnus has one hand out of the water and is resting it on Alec’s elbow, webbed fingers splayed. There is, absurdly, what looks like sparkly polish on his nails. This whole thing is so patently ridiculously unbelievable that she’s half-convinced that she’s hallucinating it. But the expression on his face is something close to anxious.

“Thank you,” she tells him seriously, and his grin is sudden and sharp and makes him look warmer all of a sudden.

“Entirely selfish, my dear.” He turns back toward Alec. One of the tentacles brushes Alec’s wet hair out of his face, and it’s both incredibly weird and incredibly tender. “Perhaps you should… explain things.”

“I don’t want to stand you up if—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Magnus tells him, and there’s an undercurrent there that Izzy can’t read. “Talk to your sister. I trust your judgement. I’ll let Cat and Ragnor know.”

He lifts his chin to press another familiar kiss to Alec’s mouth, then just—slips away into the water, leaving barely a ripple behind him. Alec stays where he is for a long moment before turning and starting back toward the shore. He lets the tide carry him in, then straightens up in the shallows and wades the rest of the way back. He flops onto the wet sand next to her. Izzy stares down at him, and he gives her a look and pats the sand next to him. She sits.

“You were following me,” he says.

“You’ve been lying to me,” she counters, although that’s probably not completely fair. Alec sighs like it is, though.

“Yeah, well, would you have believed me if I told you the truth?”

“That you’re dating the Loch Ness monster? No, probably not.”

“We’re not, it’s not—” Alec shoves a hand through his hair and grimaces. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Izzy says, more sincerely than she really means to. She’s thinking, suddenly of a scrap of near-forgotten lines from the drama club’s 10th grade production of ‘Fiddler on the Roof’: A bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together?

She’s pretty sure Joseph Stein didn’t mean it quite this literally, but it still applies. Alec’s profile looks thoughtful in the moonlight when she glances over at him, and Izzy hesitates, then settles a hand on his shoulder. She thinks about trying to say something supportive, but she knows from long experience how Alec tends to react to sympathy.

“So,” she says instead. Alec glances down at her warily, and Izzy finds herself grinning, which only makes him look more wary. “Tentacles, huh? How’s that work?”

It gets the reaction she was hoping for. Alec makes a strangled sort of noise and drops his face into his hands. “I am not discussing that with you.”

“I’m just saying. You’re living the hentai dream.”

“I will drown you,” Alec mutters with no real ire, then scrubs his hands over his face and glances over at her. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Izzy says. “Obviously.”

“I mean it. Nobody. Not Mom, not Max, not your girlfriend—”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Sure.” Alec raises his eyebrows and nods at the paper still clutched in her hand. Her own face, lovingly rendered. There’s a signature at the bottom corner: Clary Fairchild. The ‘i’s’ in ‘Fairchild’ are dotted with hearts.

There’s a phone number scribbled under it. She didn’t notice it before. Too distracted by Clary’s blushing face and rapid retreat, and then by Alec and his… whatever the hell all this is.

“Shut up.” She’s blushing. “Anyway, it’s not like anyone would believe me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Magnus and his people, what would happen to them if someone found out—” He breaks off, looking out toward the sea, toward wherever Magnus is. He doesn’t need to continue. Izzy isn’t stupid; she can read between the lines. She shivers a little, though it’s not that cold.

“Jace already knows.” It’s not a question.

Alec nods. “He was there with me, the first time we… met Magnus. It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” Izzy says. There’s not really anything else she can say. She moves closer to Alec, propping her shoulder against his and watching him spin the small metal thing that isn’t a phone around and around in his hand while the moon drifts higher in the sky and the waves wash in around them.

“You should call her,” Alec says eventually. “Your artist, I mean.”

Izzy looks up at him; from this angle his face is all but unreadable in the way that Alec often is, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s thinking. And even if it did, Izzy just so happens to be a genius.

“Yeah,” she says, and bumps his shoulder companionably. “Maybe I will.”

#my fic #shadowhunters fic #tentacletober #look i don't even know what this is

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icy-warden · 5 years

Text

Worse than death

Content warnings: Blood and Injury; Non-Consensual Body Modification; Panic Attacks; Mind Manipulation; Memory Alteration; Alternate Universe - Dystopia; Cyberpunk

On AO3 - prompt Death for Zevraholics Anonymous October Challenge 2019

"You shouldn't do that," Vergil rasps, pushing the blade a millimeter further, watching the black fabric at Zevran's throat work under it, as he tries not to squirm. Golden eyes are alert and sharp, staring straight into Vergil’s. Still, it doesn't stop Zevran from throwing Vergil a cheeky smile.

"Wouldn't be fun otherwise."

Vergil looks at him for a moment longer, amber gaze darkening, and he's stepping away with a huff.

"Your part is done, yes?" Vergil asks curtly, sheathing his blade back at his hip in one smooth move, scanning their surroundings briefly, before he looks back at Zevran. A freelancer, he calls himself, often hired for shady missions like this one. Grey Wardens aren't picky with allies, as long as the money do the talking.

Zevran sighs dramatically with mumbled "work, work, work" as he procures few cores, relatively clean from fluids. Androids don't bleed after all, but the mess around them would beg to differ. Broken parts are scattered across the room, some cut clean by Vergil's blade, some scorched by the blaster he used. He scrunches up his nose at the crunch from under his boot, the smaller pieces of the artificial arm. Damaged synthetic skin smells like the rubber of burnt cables. There are some sparks here and there, lightning up the shadows and reflecting in spilled fluids. There's only one human among the carnage, now lying in unmoving heap among her charges. Vergil was quick with this one, giving her a clean death. He doesn't like pointless violence, going after his targets in orderly fashion. But the droids here didn't make it easy on him, slowing him down when he went after the woman, fighting him as they were protecting her, fighting to harm and stop him.

Abnormal behaviour.

They shouldn't attack him. Shouldn't, if they weren't programmed this way on purpose, so the woman's blame was evident in her creations. Learning AI's are forbidden for a reason.

Nevermind. They were targets and GW wanted them gone along with any data they could obtain.

"The other room?"

"It's clean. Now what about a drink or two?"

Zevran's careful with voicing what he'd like to do with him beside the drinks, as they're on monitored comms, and his words don't sound as suggestive as the impish grin on his full lips.

"Don't push your luck," Vergil drawls, though he lets his eyes to roam Zevran's form in far less innocent way. Zevran's grin widens.

"Oh, but I wouldn't mind a little push from you, Commander," he purrs, preposterously batting his eyelashes and Vergil blinks, fighting a bizzare urge to smile.

And after they wrap the things there, and Vergi's sure to drop the data and brief report, they spend the rest of the night drinking and fucking, like they usually do after a mission together. Using the restless energy in the competition full of mutual pleasure, sharing moments of breathless bliss and leaving temporary marks.

It's a pattern, but it's fleeting and Vergil indulges himself in the now. Immensely and without regret.

/////

Months, and few more shared missions later, they find the time for a meeting without being on a job earlier. Both are out of uniforms, wearing something casual and suitable for the place. Vergil finds himself enjoying the banter over shared meal, unhurried and oddly intimate, like they have all time in the world. He gets to know Zevran from different side and is pleasantly surprised to find that they seem to be compatibile outside their usual settings, joined targets and quick trysts to celebrate the success.

It's dangerous and foolish to seek this out. To chase more of what they have.

But.

Zevran's company helps him unwind a little, and he doesn't mind to let his guard down a bit more. Sharing few drinks, talking about everything, sometimes related to their jobs, but not overly detailed, as it's not so wise to do so in public – it's intriguing. Something in him stirrs, when he looks at clever and warm golden eyes, listening to some high tale full of lies and hidden truths, and picks them apart with well pointed questions, and Vergil sees how amused smirk stretches Zevran's lips and how much he seems to enjoy their little battle of wits. He's content.

And he'd like to do it again.

/////

Blood.

On his hands.

He looks at them, breath short, painful. Choked.

Knees buckle under him, he goes down hard, arms barely protecting the fall.

His chest explodes in agony, his head cracks on the concrete and he sees white and black for a moment and his eyes water, everything blurs when he tries to take a breath, but his own lungs suffocate him, blood filling his thorat in mouthfuls of thick liquid. And he thinks he hears someone shouting and there's flurry of movement, flashes of light and he tries to see, blinking out the fog.

It doesn't stop the pain, he's drowning and can't breathe and wants to bring his hands to his wound to stop it, do something, grasp the life leaking out of the hole in his chest-

But, his hands, he doesn't feel them. He fights for air, struggles for it as panic ultimately overwhelms him and urges him to breathe when he can't and it sends the spikes of heavy, burn-like cramps and more blood, but no air. There is someone talking golden eyes peering into his and an urgent voice and he wants to say something-

help me

But what comes out is a gurgle and another choke, and the black is seeping into his vision. A roar in his head and all he sees is-

Nothing at all.

/////

First time they boot him up, there's a moment of confused recognition, then Vergil proceeds to demolish half of the lab and severly injures two people from the staff. It takes way too long before they are able to shut him down, and it only takes one four-people squad and using the emergency turn off switch. The failure is written off as a "most likely a shock of organic mind adapting to new body parameters."

Second time they are much more careful, as Vergil's cautiously strapped to the lab table and left alone, avidly monitored by cameras and lab staff, standing behind thick, bulletproof windows. But this time, he lies there without life, distant eyes gazing into nothing.

Unmoving and still like a corpse.

And after two days of him not reacting to any stimuli, they decide to cut the power off – they learnt from the first time not to equip the body with independent battery and kept him on external power supply. The summary of the report says "catatonia caused by possible damage to consciousness during data transfer, further work is recommended to solve the process of unlocking awareness successfully."

Third time is similar to the second one, with Vergil being silent and unresponsive, until he starts to wail, the inhuman sound of his cries resonating with such deep grief and so disturbing in it's intensity, that most of the staff is horrified by it. The mumbled, broken words of "I can't feel it" repeated in between the heavy, dry sobs. This, and the failure to communicate were the final arguments to scrap down the experiment and shut it down.

The transfer visibly failed and the subject spiralled into madness. Some thought it a disappointment, some a mercy. After all, they tried to prevent a great mind from vanishing along with it's organic body, and now they had to block it completely.

GW has no use of insane Commander.

But there's always a use for an operational android.

/////

The operation parameters are clear. Find and collect the data about the source of black market's cybernetics parts.

V3R61L is an infiltrator, GW's elite android and the mission goes smoothly until it doesn't.

He pulls out the mission status, storing the obtained information for later, to send it to his handler. He's detected and has to act fast. As he was sent alone, he can only send a part of his mission report. Someone would find the distress signal. He's monitored constantly. GW will send an operative to secure his unit, if he'd have to hide for longer and wouldn't be able to be back on his own.

System malfunctions

Left arm unresponsive

Multiple error messages

V3R61L runs.

Runs away from the warehouse, from the trap he fell into. His parameters urge him to protect the data he collected at all cost. Destroy any, who stands in his way if needed, but keep the data protected. Retreat, if it is the best strategy.

He's heavily damaged and is slowing down, his vision giving him much more information, than unmodded human sight would. His pursuers are mostly organic, human, with few lesser cyber-enchantments. V3R61L plans on using that, but still they could outrun him, as they are better acquaintanced with the terrain. It has V3R61L in deep disatvantage.

The scattered lights from neons on buildings reflect in the rain puddles. Some of the night dwellers are standing near bar entrances, talking loudly, busy in their own affairs, puffing away the smoke along with the clouds of breaths visible in the chill, damp air. V3R61L avoids staying in the light, quickly calculating the best route allowing him to disappear, preferring to use the darkness of dirty alleys. He stumbles when one of the servos in his left knee malfunctions and he loses his balance, crashing into the wall. Still, after he goes down he uses his right arm to push himself up, and when the alarms of errors almost make his system shut down, his vision swimming in pulsing red lines of the code, broken in places-

Abnormal behaviour detected

Immediately contact the nearest GW station

Temporary shut down recommended

V3R61L blinks and closes down some of the overlapping messages, switching into sole mode, testing left leg, as he starts crawling forward through the dirt and puddles. It's too close to people, and to allow himself to be detected if he shuts down is out of the question. He has to hide and wait for the distress signal to reach the headquarters. There's a distant noise in his head, one he can't find the source of and a faint taste of copper in the back of his throat.

And that makes him pause, as he can't exactly feel a taste he is now, as V3R61L's body isn't adjusted to such parameters. V3R61L doesn't need to mimic all human factors to function properly.

The broken line of code appears again. He's disoriented by it and falters mid-crawl, stops moving for a moment. There's a shout near the entrance of the alley and he opens his eyes,

(when did he close them?)

turns on his side to glue himself into the wall beside him, freezes to make himself an insignificant object. One more yell and there are hurried steps, going from the alleymouth and fading into other noises, muffled. V3R61L analyzes the situation and almost resumes the crawling, when the broken line vanishes and appears again, immobilizing him and he opens his mouth with a human like gasp, when the taste of copper intensifies. The system goes erratic and there are some flashes of what he was running from, warehouse full of humans and androids, all of them working together carrying crates from one place to the other, as he was waiting in the shadows, for an opportune moment to strike at the so-called leader, when all went wrong.

How it went so horribly wrong?

Someone, something saw him,

(and they simply shouldn't, his cloaking is the best of the best GW equipped V3R61L with)

he had to move and undetect himself, and there was so much chaos, his cameras probably didn't catch everything, his body caught in fight with both humans and androids, some heavy machines working in warehouse, he slashed and fired and injured some humans,

(not kill, he wasn't ordered to kill)

at some point he was tossed and got his arm crushed by falling crates, then he decided to run with what he had. Only to be stopped by a man with golden hair and golden eyes who freezed when he looked at him with ashen face and faint whisper of "Vergil?" falling from his lips, and something in V3R61L's system went override as the line in his code just broke, the urge to follow "flight" protocols overwhelming any other orders.

It, the broken code made him-

V3R61L's arm falters and he lurches into the puddle, side of his mouth and nose full of dirt water and he has a mouthful of it before the copper taste intensifies, the broken red line imprinting into his artificial retinas and his system finally shuts down.

/////

Green eyes appear in its,

(his)

vision. There's a wrinkle in between blond brows, eyes squinted deep in concentration, strands of fair hair falling into them and the man huffs an irritated breath and they flutter away only to be back stubbornly. The man holds the piece of thin wire, connecting it somewhere lower, where V3R61L can't see without moving his head for a better angle.

He stays quiet, assesing the situation, taking in the surroundings. The place's cluttered with all kind of equipment and parts, lowly lit but with enough workspace. There's a soft curse and a silent shot of burnt circuit and V3R61L's body twitches few times, but not hard enough to topple him forward, because he's propped standing on some kind of custom low workbench. But his eyes flutter to open fully and as soon as the spasms are over there's a hand on V3R61L's chest.

V3R61L can feel the pressure of it, and the warmth of a regular human being, his system seeming to work as it should.

"I'm sorry about this," is whispered with a sigh and the blond head's back in his sight and green eyes widen a bit when they see V3R61L's own eyes staring back.

"Can you hear me?"

He doesn't answer, gaze unwavering and after few moments the hopeful glint in the green eyes starts to dim. "It's okay, I'll fix this." There's a small, sad smile on a face full of freckles, a hint of determination in his soft voice and V3R61L closes his eyes. The lines of code are full of red, but V3R61L's focus stays on the man's work.

V3R61L will let himself be repaired before he acts.

#Zevran #Vergil Surana #Aether #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #WardenTxt #androidAU

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myownsuperintendent · 5 years

Text

New Fic: “Take Me to Your Leader” (Part One)

It's 2037, and Leslie Knope has just been sworn in as President of the United States, only to find her inaugural address followed by an alien invasion. For help, she and Ben call on two experts--retired FBI agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully--and the four team up to defeat the alien threat. Parks and Recreation/The X-Files crossover, rated T. Also here at Ao3.

This is my first crossover, my first Parks and Recreation fic, and one of my longest fics ever, and it’s been a lot of fun to write! Tons of thanks to @emilysim for giving me the idea to focus on the colonization--you are the best and pushed me to actually write this. Also tagging @how-i-met-your-mulder and @xv12 who have been very supportive of this story.

I’m splitting this into two posts because it’s long. Part Two is here.

.....

“If they brief you on the aliens,” Ben had said to her, yesterday, “you have to tell me everything. You can’t keep that kind of thing confidential.”

And she had thought he was joking. Well, not joking about her having to tell him everything (Leslie knew Ben—he wouldn’t take kindly to being left out of anything even mildly science fictional), but joking about the part where they’d brief her on the aliens in the first place. She had some notes in place, of course, for what to do about intergalactic relations if the issue arose, but she hardly thought she’d need to get them out at this stage. She’d have enough to deal with, in her first term, just on this planet.

That was what she had thought, yesterday.

It was probably what she would have thought this morning, too, if she had been thinking about aliens. Which she hadn’t been. She’d been thinking about her inauguration, about her address, about who would be there, about what this meant for her.

And that part had all gone well. At least Leslie thought so. It was hard to remember now. She thought she remembered taking the oath of office, Ben beaming at her with pride, her own feelings to match. She thought she remembered her speech, making all the points she’d worked over. She thought she remembered Lady Gaga singing the national anthem.

She knew she remembered the ship.

The ship was probably what everyone else would remember too, which was annoying (okay, there were aspects of this situation that were far worse than annoying, but Leslie thought she had the right to feel at least a little irritated, on this day of all days). You could put hours of work and care into preparing a good inaugural address, into paring down your points so that you didn’t end up pulling a William Henry Harrison, and the whole thing could be overshadowed in minutes by just one alien spaceship. No, annoying didn’t begin to cover it.

It had started out…well, strange. Not what Leslie would have expected, if she’d been expecting aliens. (She’d asked Ben, on their way back to the White House, if he thought it was weird too—he certainly had more expertise in this topic—and, after citing three books and two movies, he concluded that it was, indeed, weird.) The aliens were gray, first of all, not green like everyone said they were, although Ben didn’t think that part was especially weird, so maybe it wasn’t. But then they had stepped from the ship and spoken. “Earth dwellers of 2012!”

People were been staring, open mouthed. Some screams, she didn’t know from whom. But she thought that, as president, it was incumbent on her to do something in this situation. “Actually,” she said, “it’s 2037.”

The head alien—well, she guessed it was the head alien, it was the one who had spoken—turned and stared at her. It was an unnerving sensation. “What?” it said.

“It’s 2037,” Leslie said. “Not 2012.”

“What?”

“It’s 2037,” Leslie said. She pointed upwards, to where the words Presidential Inauguration 2037 were projected against the sky. “See?”

The alien looked up at where she was pointing. “You’re kidding me,” it said. “Shit.” It turned its head and looked into the ship. “You were supposed to be setting our flying speed so that we’d get here in 2012!” it shouted. “Mind telling me what the problem was?”

An additional alien appeared from the ship at that point, rubbing its head with long fingers and explaining that none of this was an exact science, that you could do your best but you couldn’t guarantee you’d arrive at any particular place on any particular date. And, it pointed out, Earth years were so short and insignificant anyway that twenty-five of them hardly made a difference. The head alien didn’t seem to like this explanation much, and they engaged in some heated back and forth about the need for workplace competence, and the whole thing started to seem kind of funny, as far as alien invasions went.

“Well, they’re going to think we lack power,” the head alien was saying, “and they won’t want to do our bidding.”

“That seems like an easy fix, though,” the other alien said, and the two aliens looked at each other. Then it took some kind of vial out of the ship—it was filled with a black substance, Leslie could see it on one of the screens—and tossed it into the crowd. For a moment, nothing happened. Then people started to scream—a lot more people now, screaming—and she could see this on the screen too. Their eyes, black.

It didn’t seem kind of funny anymore.

So now they were back at the White House, trying to figure out what to do. They were in the White House’s underground bunker, specifically. She didn’t know why she should be surprised that it existed, but she was. She’d brought out her binder about intergalactic diplomacy, but none of it seemed relevant somehow. A lot of people were here, some of whom had questionable security clearance, but that didn’t seem relevant either. The kids, for example, clustered together against the wall and looking scared. And Ben too, of course. She couldn’t have kept him out, even if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t. She liked having rules, knowing what to do, but right now she was glad that none of the rules applied. She squeezed his hand under the table, when no one was looking, and he squeezed hers back.

“We should nuke them.” This was Harold; he was Sonia’s Secret Service agent and had already revealed himself to have a rather pessimistic view of life. “Just nuke them, I think.”

“Harold,” Leslie said, “we’re not going to nuke them because that would involve nuking our own citizens. Also, you’re not helping.”

“Well, I think we should nuke them,” Harold said, but he stopped talking when Leslie shot him a glare.

“The most important thing to do,” she said, “is to ensure that our people are safe. That whatever contagion they’ve started is contained—and reversed if possible. And we need to do it fast.” She thought about all the people who were still out there. About Ann. “Then we can figure out a way to get rid of them.”

“And how are we going to do that?” One of her military advisors.

“They’ve got to have a weakness,” Ben said. “Aliens always do. There’s got to be something that we can use against them.” A babble of questions and comments arose—how they could discover the weakness, and how he was so sure that they had one anyway, and how that was going to stop the contagion, and that this was real life and not a science fiction movie, and (from Harold) that they should just go ahead and nuke them—and the meeting seemed, not for the first time, on the verge of devolving into chaos.

“President Knope,” said a quiet voice by her shoulder. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” Leslie said, turning around. It was the FBI director, Walter Skinner. He’d seen this country through a lot, she knew, in his many years with the bureau; he had one metallic leg and a take no crap attitude to show for them. If he had advice for this situation, she wanted to hear it.

“Considering these circumstances,” he said, “I think there are some people you should get in touch with. Strictly on an ad hoc basis. They don’t have any official government status, not anymore. But in this situation…if I were you, I’d want them in my corner.”

“Who are they?” Leslie asked. “And how can I get in touch with them?”

He gave her the names.

.....

Maybe they had caused it somehow, Scully thought, even though she knew that that was ridiculous. But she couldn’t help thinking it, remembering their conversation last night.

They’d been watching some flying saucer movie on TV: bad special effects, and worse dialogue, but somehow enjoyable even so. “Do you ever miss it?” Mulder asked her, when the main couple (you could tell they were scientists because they were wearing glasses) were engaged in a pitched battle with the Martians.

She thought about it. “Not usually,” she said. “Not now.” She looked over at him. “Do you?”

“No,” he said, “not most of it.” He looked back at the screen, and she followed his gaze; one of the scientists had dived to protect the other, and now they were moving synchronously. “Maybe that part of it.”

She understood what he meant—that adrenaline rush, that knowing there was someone there who was always at your side. “Yeah,” she said. An alien ray gun nearly took off one of the scientists’ heads, then. “I don’t miss all the almost dying, though,” she said, and he nodded at that, squeezing her hand. “And I think we’re still pretty in sync. Even if it’s only around the house.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” he said, and he smiled at her. And they never did find out how the movie ended.

This morning, she hadn’t thought about the conversation. They’d been otherwise occupied over breakfast; Susanna, on her way to school, had been talking a mile a minute about the inauguration. This was the first election in which she’d been able to vote, and she’d thrown herself into the process wholeheartedly; she’d been as involved as she could with volunteering in the lead-up to the election, and she’d been overjoyed at the result.

“You guys are going to watch, right?” she asked, not for the first time.

“Yes, of course we’re going to watch,” Scully said.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Mulder added.

“You should record it,” Susanna said. “In case we want to watch any of it again.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I have to watch it in school. There’s going to be so many people who just don’t care.”

“Well, I’m sure you care enough to make up for them,” Mulder said, and Susanna laughed at that.

Then she looked at the clock. “Oh, yikes, I’ve got to go,” she said, grabbing her backpack. “See you later, Mom, Dad.” She kissed them each quickly; she didn’t seem to consider herself too old for that, which pleased them more than they let on.

They watched from the window as she ran down the driveway, waving for the school bus, and made it in the nick of time—her usual way. They spent the morning at home; Scully did the crossword puzzle, with Mulder offering his commentary, and they took Pip out for a run around the property. And just before noon, they settled onto the couch to watch the inauguration. Remembering Susanna’s words, Scully made sure to hit record.

She was sorry she’d done that, now, because Mulder kept replaying it, the scene on the National Mall. The landing of the ship, the release of the virus. Sometimes he played it at normal speed; sometimes he slowed it down and looked at the individual frames; once he even played it fast, which felt like the eeriest of all. “Would you stop that?” she asked him. “We’ve seen this at least twenty times by now. What are you hoping for?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder said. He hit pause, at least. “Clues, I guess.”

“Clues to what?” Scully asked. “We know what this is, Mulder.” She’d known from the alien’s first words, from its address to earth dwellers of 2012. She’d known what 2012 was supposed to mean.

They’d thought 2012 was the date of the colonization. They’d expected it, even prepared for it, and it hadn’t happened. And she’d thought, at the time, that somehow they’d gotten lucky. She should have known better. In their line of work, you never got lucky for long.

Looking at Mulder’s face, though, she knew that he felt the same: that he’d really thought they’d outrun this thing. That after all the crap, they’d earned this, the life they had now: the two of them in their house, sharing, finally, a sense of peace, with a son who turned up for surprise visits and a daughter who surprised them every day.

Said daughter was, mercifully, all right: she’d shown up around two on the school bus, explaining that they’d sent everybody home. She was now curled up at the end of the couch, cuddling Pip, who howled periodically; she seemed to sense the tension among her humans.

“But you guys,” Susanna said, “you know what to do about this kind of thing.” It was half a question, half a statement; Scully could see, in her face, the vestiges of the belief that the two of them could fix absolutely anything.

She moved over to sit closer to Susanna and gave her a hug. “We know some things,” she said.

“This isn’t our first go-round with extraterrestrials,” Mulder said. He let the television run for about two seconds and then paused it again. “Not by a long shot.”

“And this is something we expected to happen. Not now,” she added quickly. “A long time ago, before you were born. But it didn’t, and we thought…” She cut herself off. We thought this wasn’t our fight anymore was what she had wanted to say, but she knew she couldn’t. In a situation like this, there was no cutting yourself off from everyone else, no sticking your head in the sand. “Mulder, do you still have all the…?”

“Of course,” he said, setting the remote down. “I’ll get them.” They’d made plans in 2012, plans that had gradually overwhelmed his office; when she’d moved back in, she hadn’t seen them, although there’d been more boxes in the room, a new file cabinet. She wasn’t surprised, really, that he hadn’t completely gotten rid of them. She didn’t think she would have wanted him to. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t them.

“We’re not going to give up,” she said to Susanna, as Mulder headed for his office. “You can count on that. And other people won’t either.”

Susanna looked at her, thoughtfully, scratching Pip’s ears. “Leslie will do something,” she said, sounding more hopeful than she had yet that afternoon.

“Of course she will,” Scully said. “She’s our president now.” What a hell of a way to start.

Her phone rang then; she didn’t recognize the number, and she considered not answering, but then she picked it up anyway. “Scully,” she said. It came naturally, in this situation.

“This is Dana Scully?” asked a voice on the other end. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes, this is Dana Scully,” she said. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you!” the voice exclaimed. “This is Leslie Knope.”

She couldn’t have heard right. “I’m sorry?”

“This is Leslie Knope,” the voice repeated, and when Scully didn’t say anything, she added, “Your president? Not that I mean to throw my weight around. Although in this situation…”

“I know who you are,” Scully said. “Just…is this some kind of joke? Why are you calling me?” Susanna was looking at her curiously.

“No, not a joke!” President Knope said. “I was told to get in touch with you. Can I assume you’ve seen the news?”

“Yes,” Scully said. It was beginning to make sense now. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“Good,” President Knope said. “That saves time. Well, we’ve been having a meeting, obviously, to figure out what to do, and FBI Director Skinner told me that you were the people I should talk to. You and your partner.” Mulder walked back into the room then, carrying a couple of file folders, and Scully waved him over.

“Yes,” Scully said. “Yes, he’s here right now. Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Go ahead,” said President Knope, and Scully put her phone down, hitting the speaker button.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, what would you like us to do?”

“We’d like you to get here as soon as possible,” President Knope said, and Susanna was apparently better at recognizing voices than Scully was, because her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “And to bring any information you have that could help in this crisis.”

“Yes, we’ve been working on that already,” Scully said. “Mulder was just getting some files together when you called.”

“That sounds perfect, then,” President Knope said; even at a moment like this, there was that energy in her voice, like they’d heard so many times over the course of her campaign. “Do you need us to send transportation for you?”

“It’ll probably be quicker if we drive ourselves,” Scully said. “Although…what’s it like in the city? Chaotic, I’d assume.”

“That’s what we’re hearing,” President Knope said. “Here, just a minute.” They could hear her talking faintly to someone on the other end. “Give us your license plate number,” she said, when she came back, “so they’ll know to let you through.” Scully gave it to her, and she said, “Thanks again, both of you. I’ll see you soon.”

When the call ended, Scully jumped up from the couch. “Let’s get everything together,” she said, “and then let’s go.”

“Are we going…to the White House?” Mulder asked.

“Mom, was that really…?” Susanna seemed to have lost her powers of speech.

“Yes, we are, and yes, it was,” Scully said. “To the best of my knowledge, anyway. Mulder, are those the files from 2012?”

He nodded. “But if we’re going in the car,” he said, “let me grab a few more things. Just in case.”

“Great,” Scully said, and he headed back to his office. “Honey,” she said to Susanna, “get anything you’ll need, okay? I don’t think we should keep the president waiting.”

“Am I…am I coming with you?” Susanna asked.

“Of course you are,” Scully said. She realized she hadn’t checked with anyone, but as far as she was concerned, this wasn’t in doubt. “We’re not splitting up. Not in a situation like this.”

“Are we bringing Pip too?” Susanna asked.

Scully looked at Pip. She was the biggest dog they’d had (by far), liked to poke her nose into your lap if she felt she wasn’t getting enough attention, and was still howling intermittently. “Sure, what the hell?”

.....

“So are they partners,” Leslie was asking Director Skinner, “or partners?”

“Trust me,” he said, “we don’t have time to get into that.”

As far as Ben was concerned, that wasn’t the most interesting question, anyway. He’d just been told that there was a whole division of the FBI devoted to—well, to stuff that he’d always thought was fictional, essentially. To stuff that he might have liked to believe in, but that he’d been content enough to read about in books or to watch on TV. He had a million questions about it, things that he’d like to ask these former agents when they showed up. But, he tried to remind himself, this wasn’t the time for him to satisfy his own curiosity. He needed to do anything he could to contribute to helping the situation. And he had to be here for Leslie, who he knew would go a whole week without sleeping if she thought she could solve the problem that way. This morning, he’d been thinking about celebrating with her: it was her day, and he was so proud of her. Right now, it didn’t look like celebrations were going to happen.

The door opened, and in came—well, maybe they were the former agents Director Skinner had told them about, although Ben couldn’t be sure. An older man and woman, anyway. Along with a teenage girl. And a sizeable Newfoundland.

“Ma’am,” one of the secret service agents was saying, “I really don’t think you should bring that dog in—”

“It’s fine,” Leslie said, quickly rising from her seat. “You’re Dana Scully and Fox Mulder? I’m Leslie Knope.”

“Yes, that’s right,” the woman said. “I mean, that’s who we are. And we know that’s who you are.” Leslie held out a hand, and she took it. “This is our daughter, Susanna,” she added, gesturing to the girl with her free hand. “And the dog’s Pip.”

“She’s a big fan of yours,” the man said, shaking Leslie’s hand in turn. “The kid, not the dog. Volunteered for your campaign and everything.”

Even in this moment—even when the world was more than a little upside down—Ben saw the Leslie he knew, the one he’d seen on the campaign trail and for a long time before that, the one who took a genuine interest in people who wanted to talk to her. She smiled at Susanna, shaking her hand as well. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “Thank you so much for volunteering.”

“It’s so…it’s so nice to meet you too,” Susanna said. “I…it was…I liked doing it.” Mulder and Scully were exchanging hellos with Director Skinner.

“Come sit down,” Leslie said. Once they were all settled at the table, she said, “Director Skinner tells me the two of you would be the best people to help in this situation. Any insights, off the top of your heads?”

“It’s the colonization,” Mulder said, quickly. “We expected it in 2012, not now. But it seems like they got their times wrong.”

“The colonization?” Leslie asked. She reached out for one of her binders, and Ben handed it to her. She paged through it. “Should I know…”

“It isn’t something most people would know about,” Scully said. “It’s been very hidden. Hushed-up.”

“A lot of conspiracies around it,” Mulder said. “We won’t get into all of that now. There’s not enough time, and it’s almost impossible to fully understand, anyway.” Ben hoped they might get into it at some point, after they’d dealt with the situation. It sounded intriguing.

“So the aliens are trying to colonize?” Leslie asked. “What’s their aim in that?”

“To extend their territory,” Mulder said. “The idea is to get rid of the people. Except for the hybrids.”

“Hybrids?” Ben couldn’t stop himself from jumping into the conversation.

“There were human conspirators working with the aliens,” Mulder said, “and they created human-alien hybrids.”

“There were various experiments,” Scully said, “but these hybrids would be resistant to the black oil. The substance they dropped into the crowd, during the inauguration. It takes over people’s bodies and forces them to obey the aliens’ will.”

“Well, how can we stop it?” Leslie said, briskly. No wondering if they could. Straight to action.

“They developed a vaccine,” Scully said, “many years ago. From our research, we haven’t been able to find any remaining supplies, though. If we had access to the black oil ourselves, though, I might be able to rework it. I don’t want to promise anything, but—”

“But if anyone can do it, Scully can,” Mulder added. His hand was on hers, atop the table.

“How can we get you access then, Dr. Scully?” Leslie asked. “And while you’re working on that, what else can we do?”

“I’ve been looking back through our files,” Mulder said, “things that we researched leading up to 2012. We found, almost at the end, some evidence that there might be reserves of the oil in one spot on the southern shore of Lake Michigan. That’s probably our best bet, in terms of geographical proximity. And in the meantime—you can kill them by hitting them in the back of the neck. But you have to be careful, because that releases a green substance, and it’s toxic.”

“So not as viable a large-scale solution,” Leslie said, “as the vaccine.”

“Definitely not,” Scully said.

“All right,” Leslie said. “Let me think a minute.” Everyone in the room was looking at her, anxiously. For far from the first time, Ben knew. “All right,” she said. “Can we have the two of you go to Lake Michigan? I can have people go with you, if that would be helpful. And here we’ll focus on delaying them. If you could leave me any notes you have about that back of the neck thing—if we could go over that in some more detail. We need to buy time.”

“Of course we could,” Mulder said. “And I think—”

He was interrupted by a commotion outside the door to the bunker. “Look, I know she’s trying to save the world,” a voice was saying, “but I’ve got to get in there. She needs to know this.”

“Ma’am, I don’t—” One of the secret service agents, Ben thought.

“Look, if you could just tell them to check the television,” the first voice said. Ben recognized it now: it was Caitlin, an aide of Leslie’s. He hadn’t recognized it at first, he realized, because Caitlin was one of the most unflappable people he’d met; he’d never heard her sound even mildly worried, and now she sounded panicked. “Because they need to see what’s happening, if they haven’t yet.” At that, Leslie pressed a button on the table, wordlessly, and an image appeared on the wall. A group of people, their eyes black. Aliens advancing on them. A ship flying off, in the background.

“—a scene from Pittsburgh,” the announcer was saying, “but by no means unique in the nation today. We’re receiving reports from across the country. The aliens are traveling fast, and the contagion with them. So far, we have almost no information on the underlying causes of this crisis, but we will bring you more as soon as we get it. For the moment, we can only hope that newly-sworn-in President Leslie Knope will come out strong against the aliens.” A scream sounded in the distance; the announcer looked around nervously. “And now, the weather and sports.”

“Of course I’m going to come out strong against the aliens,” Leslie muttered. “What do they take me for?” A pause. “I think this changes some things,” she said. “I think…I should go with the two of you. To Lake Michigan.” A commotion arose at this—many of the people in the room, clearly, thought she should do no such thing—but Leslie held up a hand. “I’m the president,” she said. “I need to be where the most important work is being done. Even if it’s dangerous. Especially if it’s dangerous. We need to keep people safe.”

“But President Knope,” one of the military advisors said, “what will we do here in Washington? Who will be in charge?”

“We’ll work out a plan for that,” Leslie said; she’d already turned her binder to a fresh page, and she had that look in her eyes that she usually did when she was about to do something that involved getting very little sleep. “We’ll do that tonight.”

“We can’t make a whole plan in a night,” the advisor protested. “Not for an unheard of situation like this.”

“We’re in a crisis,” Leslie said. “We don’t have a lot of time, so we need to make this happen as fast as possible. And it’s not unheard of. Agents Mulder and Scully can help us, with their background knowledge. And then tomorrow we’ll go.” She smiled. “It’s not like you won’t hear from me again. I’ll still have my phone. I think.” She turned to Mulder and Scully. “Do the aliens interfere with phones?”

“Not that we know of,” said Scully.

“That’s not really a part of their M.O.,” said Mulder.

“Good, good,” Leslie said. “All right. Now if you can show us some of those files you brought…”

As Mulder and Scully started spreading the documents out on the table, Ben turned to Leslie. “I’m coming with you guys, you know,” he said.

He half-thought she might argue with him, tell him to stay here, that there was no point in being a political power couple if you couldn’t divide and conquer. Instead she just smiled at him. “Of course you are,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I know I can’t keep you out of anything involving aliens.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, of course—he just didn’t want the two of them to be apart at a time like this. But he supposed she had a point. “You’d better not,” he said, smiling back, and then they started looking over the files.

.....

This had all felt very surreal, and that was before President Knope climbed into the passenger seat and asked if anyone had thoughts on the appropriate kind of music to play on an alien-defeating road trip.

They’d left the White House this morning, the four of them. Susanna had stayed there, along with Pip. Mulder wasn’t wild about leaving her behind, and he knew Scully wasn’t either, but the three of them had talked about it last night, and they knew it would be a safer place for her. They’d given her long hugs, the last thing before they left the bunker, and she’d looked at them with a fierce, hopeful expression, and she’d never reminded him more of Scully. “You’re going to beat them,” she’d said. Then she’d said, “Right?”, softly, and they’d hugged her again, even more tightly.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Scully had said. “That’s a promise.”

“We’re not going to stop fighting,” Mulder had said. “That’s not what we do, in this family. Right?”

“Right,” Susanna had said, her voice firmer. “I love you guys.”

“I love you too,” they’d both said, almost at the same moment.

With their last look back, they’d seen her sitting with the Knope-Wyatt triplets; they were a little older than she was, but they seemed to have gotten along last night. He was glad they were all together. He didn’t want to think of his daughter being alone.

And now they were in the car, the four of them—him and Scully and Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt. This wasn’t something he’d expected, especially not at this time in his life. A secret mission with the president. At one point, it might have sounded exciting. Now he just wanted to be home, but he knew that wasn’t an option.

President Knope was looking at him as she plugged in her phone. “Any thoughts on the music?” she said. “It’s a long drive. Music can’t hurt.”

“We used to listen to classical music, usually,” Scully said from the back seat.

“I wouldn’t say usually,” Mulder said. He knew this was far from the most important issue facing them at the moment, but the whole situation was so strange anyway that he figured he might as well. “Just when you got to pick the station.”

“Which was not often enough,” Scully said.

“The two of you…did you do this often?” Ben asked tentatively. “That was what you did at the FBI? Fight aliens?”

“That was part of it,” Scully said.

“We investigated aliens and other paranormal phenomena,” Mulder said. He could see Ben’s face in the rearview mirror; he looked stunned.

“Be careful about getting him started,” President Knope said. “He’ll talk your ear off about this kind of stuff, if you let him.”

“I wouldn’t talk anyone’s ear off,” Ben said. “I was just thinking that it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity of learning more about this. It sounds very interesting.”

“Well, we’d be happy to tell you about it,” Mulder said. “Pass time on the drive that way.”

“Speaking of the drive, we should get going,” President Knope said. “I’ll start with the classical music,” she added, as Mulder started to drive. “As requested.”

“Thank you, President Knope,” Scully said.

“Please,” she said. “We’re going to be on a long drive together. Call me Leslie.”

“All right,” Scully said. She caught Mulder’s eye in the rearview mirror. He knew she was finding this as weird as he was. And they’d experienced some pretty weird things.

“So when you say other paranormal phenomena,” Ben asked, “what kind of things do you mean?”

“Oh, where to start?” Mulder said. “Let’s see. There was the flukeman…”

“He doesn’t want to hear about the flukeman,” Scully said. “I don’t even want to hear about it.”

“No, I’m happy to hear about it!” Ben said. “What is a flukeman?”

So Mulder explained the flukeman, as he drove, and Ben eagerly asked questions. “Wow,” he said. “It’s like something out of a movie. Do you think there could be more of them?”

“Let’s hope not,” Scully said.

“Yeah, it sounds gross,” Leslie said. “Should we stop for breakfast?”

“Now?” Ben asked.

“Well, we have to stop some time,” Leslie pointed out. “That looks like a diner over there. I hope they have waffles.”

“We’re just going to go into a diner?” Mulder said. “I mean, you’re the president.”

“If being the president means I can’t go into diners,” Leslie said, “I’m resigning once we’ve dealt with the aliens.” She laughed. “Kidding. Kidding. I’d never resign.”

“I didn’t mean you can’t go into a diner at all,” Mulder said. “I just meant right now. We don’t have any secret service…and we’re in the middle of an alien invasion…”

“But we have to eat,” Leslie said. He couldn’t argue with that.

“It should be fine,” Scully said. “We’ve faced things more threatening than diner customers.” He couldn’t argue with that either.

“And I’ll wear my coat with my hood up,” Leslie said, “so people aren’t looking at my face. If that would help.”

They parked the car outside the diner and walked in, Leslie with her hood pulled tightly around her face. He frankly wasn’t sure that she wasn’t drawing more attention to herself this way, but it didn’t seem worth arguing about.

There was no one in there, except for one elderly woman standing by the cash register. “Wow,” she said. “You four are sure brave to come out here today.”

“No customers, huh?” Scully said.

“Nah,” the woman said. “Everyone’s either hiding or dying or being possessed by the aliens or something. I don’t know why being possessed by the aliens would keep you from coming out to eat, though. Maybe the aliens don’t like waffles.” She chuckled.

“You have waffles?” Leslie asked.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “That’s our specialty. Why are you wearing that thing around your face? You an alien?”

“No, no,” Leslie said. “I’m…I’m the president, actually.” She let her hood drop.

The woman seemed unimpressed. “Oh,” she said. “Table for four?”

“Yes, please,” Leslie said, and the woman led them to a booth, putting down menus.

“You’re not thinking about hiding yourself?” Scully asked her, as she was about to move away.

“Nah,” she said. “I figure I’ve been through plenty of things worse. And I’ve got to run this place. Take your time with the choosing, if you want. I don’t have anyone else to wait on.”

“Oh, we won’t take too long,” Leslie said. “I already know what I want. And besides, we’ve got to get moving. We’re on a mission to stop the aliens, you know.”

The woman didn’t seem very impressed by that either. “Oh,” she said.

Leslie announced that she was getting the waffle special, and after some consideration the rest of them all decided to do the same. “Great,” the woman said, when they told her. “Four waffle specials, coming up.”

“Waffles are my favorite,” Leslie said. “Always have been. And you should have your favorite food when you’re dealing with something like this, right?”

“Makes sense to me,” Ben said.

“I knew that, actually, about the waffles,” Scully said. “It was in one of your videos. Susanna showed me.” She was quiet, then, and Mulder reached out for her hand.

Leslie must have picked up on it. “Hey, they’ll be all right,” she said. “Our kids are in the safest place there is, right now. I didn’t even know the White House had that bunker. And I’ve done a ton of research on the building.”

“She has,” Ben said. “Two binders full?”

“Three,” Leslie said. “Of course we worry about them—what parent wouldn’t? But I believe they’ll be safe. And I believe we’ll solve this.” Mulder had never been as gung-ho about Leslie as Susanna had—it wasn’t anything personal, but by now he didn’t have much trust in the government, no matter who was in charge. But in this moment, he could see what it was about her. That confidence. A certain magnetism.

“You’re right,” Scully said, and he could tell she was feeling it too. “There’s no point in…in agonizing. What we need to do is act.”

“Which we will do,” Leslie said, cheerfully, as their food arrived, “as soon as we’re fueled by waffles.”

They all seemed to want to avoid talking about the aliens while they ate. “Do the two of you have other kids?” Ben asked.

“Yes, we have a son,” Mulder said. He was still grateful that he could. “He’s much older, though. He lives in…Pennsylvania, now.” He thought Jackson was living in Pennsylvania, anyway. You could never be one hundred percent sure with him. He wondered if it was safe, where he was.

“How long have you been together?” Leslie asked.

“That’s a complicated one,” Scully said, laughing. “Well, we started working together in 1992. And then…I guess…since 2000? Officially.”

“We’ve been married almost thirty years,” Mulder offered.

“That’s great,” Leslie said. “We met through work too, you know. I think that’s a great place to find someone.” She gestured with her remaining piece of waffle. “I mean that in a completely ethical way.”

“We get it,” Scully said. “I think you’re right.”

Leslie finished the waffle. “All right,” she said. “Let’s pay so we can get back on the road.”

They did so—“You all have a good one,” the woman told them—and drove off down the mostly empty highway. Mulder wasn’t about to complain about the lack of alien interference they’d faced so far, but he did find it a bit unnerving. He was used to being chased, to the sense that something was going to happen at any moment. Now…it seemed like nothing was. Just driving along as quickly as they could, having getting-to-know-you conversations.

He was telling Ben about the case with the vampires in Chaney, Texas, and Scully was, as usual, telling her own, incorrect version, when all of that changed.

They were up ahead, spanning the highway so that there was no way around them. A line of still bodies—one or two were actually aliens, Mulder thought, but most of them were humans. He wasn’t close enough to see their eyes, but from the way they held themselves, he would bet money that they’d been infected.

He wasn’t the only one to notice. “Do we fight them?” Ben asked.

“If we have to,” Mulder said. “But maybe we should turn—” He looked in the rearview mirror. More aliens, more people. Filling in the road behind them. “I guess we fight them,” he said. “You remember what we said? About the back of the neck?” They were advancing towards the car now, and they didn’t look friendly. He reached for his gun and saw Scully doing the same. Then suddenly she stopped.

“Wait,” she said. “Mulder, we should go that way.” She pointed to the side of the road, a wooded area beyond it.

“In the woods?” he asked. “Scully, are you sure?” He wasn’t opposed to trying it, but he wasn’t sure how far they could get the car, and the suggestion didn’t seem like her.

“Yes,” she said. “I…I’m getting something.”

“You’re…like from Jackson?” he said, and she nodded. He remembered her visions, of course, but she hadn’t had one for a long time now. Maybe there hadn’t been the need.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m not sure, it’s…we should be safe, if we go that way.” Leslie and Ben were watching them, understandable looks of confusion on their faces.

There wasn’t much time to think over the decision, especially since the first alien reached the car at that moment. It grabbed the door handle, rattling it. “Okay,” Mulder said. “Let’s go.”

There was a gap in the barrier between the highway and the woods, almost as if someone had prepared it for them. Mulder put on speed, shaking off the alien, driving through the gap and then through the woods, as quickly as he could without hitting any trees. “Where are we going?” Ben asked, a mix of trepidation and excitement in his voice.

“And what are we doing?” Leslie asked.

“Not entirely sure,” Mulder said.

“But we should be all right,” Scully said. “Just a little further…”

And then they were in an area where the trees thinned, and there was a head and shoulders sticking out of the ground: a young woman with light brown skin and curly hair. “I think I see them!” she yelled, scrambling fully out of the hole, and after a moment Jackson followed her.

“Yeah, it’s them,” he said. He walked over as Mulder parked the car. “I’m glad you guys made it.” A double take. “Woah, you brought the president.”

#my fic #the x files #Parks and Recreation #leslie knope #Dana Scully #ben wyatt #Fox Mulder #crossover

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esuerc · 6 years

Text

Turncoat: Chapter 25 -- Pallas’ Fall is up!

Read on AO3 (in the source link below!)

Or read here under the “keep reading” line!

---

The view from aboard the vertibird was spectacular.

The landscape sped past them as the VTOL flew through the sky high above the remains of Boston, the side doors left open so Turner could keep watch for any accompanying vertibirds. If they were to avoid as much conflict as possible, they would have to keep a low profile—no mid-air tricks or funny business from Deacon and Tom.

Turner took a deep breath and held the frigid air in the base of her chest, exhaling through her nose slowly when the pressure proved too much.

From the cockpit, the sounds of Deacon and Tom could be heard. At first, they’d bickered over who would be captain, then they “fought” over the position of the pilot, in which chair they would sit, and then they slapped at each other’s hands over who could play with the various knobs and dials spread across the dashboard, even if they didn’t know what the dials themselves did.

When they first entered the vertibird, after the first girlish slap-fight between the two Railroad agents, Deacon found himself a T51-B power helmet stashed away toward the back, thrown haphazardly in an unlocked metal crate. Whether the helmet was there as a replacement for the Paladin, Danse, they left behind in the police station, or as a general precaution, Deacon nevertheless plopped it upon his head. He then declared himself captain and demanded with a rather muffled voice “to speak with your leader”.

It wobbled from side-to-side as he made his way from the back of the vertibird to the front, brushing past Turner and Nick as they readied themselves for the journey. He relinquished the helmet to Turner, however, when he realized he couldn’t see the controls in front of him, placing the helmet on a hook not far from where she held fast to the VTOL.

Seated next to the doorway, Turner was glad most of the noise was lost to the winds.

Down below, she followed a group of super mutants as they tried in vain to throw bricks at their vertibird, and missed by a longshot. At least they made an attempt, even as the group continued undeterred to the south.

The mutants’ shouts could be heard, followed by the tell-tale beeping of a triggered mini-nuke, but they’d already traveled far enough away that the mutants proved no threat, nuke or otherwise.

Popping her lips, Turner glanced over at Nick, who clung to the handle at the edge of the doorway, his ragged coat waving about in the tumultuous winds. He held firmly to his hat and met her eyes when he felt them upon him.

“Nervous? He questioned loudly over the gale.

Turner nodded and adjusted her feet when the vertibird listed to the left somewhat, “Yeah—when I find Hancock,” Alive or dead, she thought, “I’ll bring him back to the vertibird. If Maxson gets in the way, I’ll deal with him.”

The plans of the mission were flimsy at best, bound to change at a moment’s notice depending on situation. What if Hancock wasn’t even on the Prydwen, and the rescue was all for naught? She would still try to bring an end to the Brotherhood’s interference in the Commonwealth, even if it meant one of her closest friends was truly lost in the process—she knew it could be an inevitability she would have to accept.

Turner faced into the vertibird and cupped a hand around her mouth to yell at Deacon and Tom, “I want you guys to get in contact with the guys on the ground. Don’t fire on the Prydwen unless we’ve made it down or I give the go-ahead.”

“Don’t wanna go down with the ship, captain?” Deacon questioned when he was met with Turner’s less than pleased expression. He knew the situation was tense, but he couldn’t help his inherent sarcasm from leaking out.

“I’d rather she didn’t.” Nick finished for her, “I’d like to have her home in one piece.”

Turner would have blushed bashfully if her cheeks hadn’t already been dyed red, raw from the winds that blew against her face.

It was a comfort to know there could be something after everything was said and done, that the destruction of the Institute and potentially the Brotherhood didn’t mean the end of her new life, of her new family. That even when things “calmed down” in the Commonwealth after all this commotion, that maybe she could forge something deeper with Nick, and even Hancock.

Broken from her thoughts of the future, Turner steadied herself and let her brows furrow in determination, “When we approach the Prydwen, you’re gonna want to fly up from the bottom into the hangar. Me and Nick will take off from there.”

“Sure you don’t wanna go in guns-blazing?” Deacon asked, his knee propped up dangerously on the console, his sunglasses hiding the bemused look in his eyes.

Merely shaking her head, Turner returned her gaze to the Commonwealth below. She would let the two pilots handle the rest of the journey without comment… which was probably for the best when Deacon was involved.

“I remember when these vertibirds used to frighten the Brotherhood.” She reminisced aloud after realizing where she was, and it piqued Nick’s curiosity.

He gave her an inquisitive stare that begged her to continue.

“Back in D.C., I think I was twelve or something, the Enclave used to pilot these things. Wasn’t much we could do about them until we got the original Liberty Prime up and running. Thing hurled nukes like you couldn’t believe.”

Nick didn’t much know what a “Liberty Prime” was, but if the thing could “hurl nukes” like some kind of pre-war quarterback, then maybe he didn’t want to know. “What’s the Enclave, then?” he questioned, having never heard of the group.

“Pre-war military kinda like the Brotherhood, but they were trying to bring a system of government back into power. Presidents and stuff.” Turner spied into the distance where she knew the airport was located, squinting her eyes against the cold, “Sometimes, I used to listen to Eden’s broadcasts when we were in the yard of the Citadel. The older knights would keep them on. Used to call it ‘lazy reconnaissance’.”

Nick didn’t have much to talk about when it came to pre-war politics. He, or at least human Nick, hadn’t thought much of the presidency at the time, and he didn’t much concern himself with the affairs outside the United States. Tensions had been terribly high, and not just with Eddie Winter and his gang causing trouble for Boston, but the looming nuclear crisis, outrageous petroleum costs, and general “red-scare” paranoia.

All-in-all, Nick would have rather not thought about it.

“Someone from the vault helped out the Brotherhood, though. I don’t remember too much from ten years ago, but I do remember the vault thing. One-oh-one, I think.” Turner went to wipe the moisture from her nose, but shook her head when thick, metal fingers scraped at her skin. She was already acclimated to the suit, it seemed.

“Thought you were like a steel trap?” Nick joked, nodding his head at Turner’s inability to remember things from only a decade ago. Maybe she chose not to remember.

“I wasn’t allowed out of the Citadel unless it was to train with the recon teams. They were pushing for me to be a scribe like my dad.” Turner pushed her nose into the air and let out a sharp snort, “You stop growing at age ten, and they ask you ‘aren’t you a little short for a knight?’.”

“Not one for the desk job, then?” The synth tried to imagine Turner stuck in a dim, subterranean lab somewhere, surrounded by terminals, books, and mountains of paperwork. Oh, and short. He couldn’t forget short.

It didn’t suit her.

Not one bit.

And not the short part.

“But that vault-dweller helped us take down the Enclave, on the east coast, at least. Dunno about the west—Navarro didn’t go too well for them, or so I hear. But we got most of our vertibirds from them.” Turner shifted her shoulders and cleared her throat nervously, “Riddik’s armour is Enclave, too. It’s like a trophy for them, back from when the Jefferson Memorial was cleared out.”

Wanting to hear more about Turner’s past, about her time in the Brotherhood (before it became a scourge to the Commonwealth), if only to let her vent a bit, Nick snapped back to reality when Deacon interrupted the two of them.

Luck would have it no other way.

“Comin’ up on the airport, lovebirds.” Deacon removed his knee from the controls and threw an instructional manual over at Tom, “Get ready. Put your big girl panties on.”

“Not if you’re the one wearing them.” Turner spat back under her breath, but Deacon heard her unsurprisingly.

“What can I say? I like lace.”

Despite the mental imagery of Deacon sporting a pair of ladies’ undergarments, Turner couldn’t help but laugh.

Her anxiety grew, however, when the bow of the Prydwen drew near, the expanse of the ocean laid out behind it. The sun was drawing onto the horizon, the sky aglow in murky greys and oranges. It would have been a pretty sight, if Turner didn’t feel fear bubbling up in her throat.

It was a vile sensation, like an oncoming panic attack—but she steadied her breath, begging for the tightness in her chest to loosen.

There was no time for hesitation.

They were about to enter the hornets’ nest, for better or worse, and the idea of Maxson wearing a comically large stinger on his bottom didn’t help matters much.

Hopefully, no one save a guard would be in the hangar when they entered. It was common for at least one knight to be stuck with the miserable job of guard duty, left alone to stare out at the expanse of the hangar bay and airport beneath it. If so, they would have to be dealt with swiftly and quietly, if such a thing were possible.

“Get behind me.” Turner told Nick as she took the helmet off the hook and locked it into place on her head. Immediately, the synth detective complied and hid behind her currently-large frame, spying out from around her arm at the scope of the dirigible before them.

The Prydwen was massive, up close and far-away, the main body of the pre-war airship aged and blackened. The colour of it, which once would have been a brilliant red under all the dust and grime of years past was now a faded umber, lightened by the sun and the elements where it could even be seen. The tether that held it to the body of the airport’s main terminal made a strange, almost alien metal sound as it swayed in the wind, an odd echo made by the line being held under such high tension with smaller tethers slapping against it.

Nick would have said it sounded like laser fire if he had a mind to, but it wasn’t the time for idle commentary—not with the hangar in sight.

The dirigible would have been an even more formidable sight if lit by the nauseous green hue of a radiation storm, something that looked to be brewing off to the west just over the Glowing Sea. Give it an hour or two, and that storm would be right over them.

Deacon made a face the nearer they grew to the gangway, the blades of the vertibird turning to allow the VTOL to slide its way up into the hangar bay. The side of the vertibird knocked slightly against the metal walkway as a metal hook kept the whirlybird in place, Turner cringing at the obvious sound.

The knight stationed at the door that led into the interior of the Prydwen left their post for a moment and approached the curious vertibird, the barrel of their minigun aimed at the ground. To them, it might have just been an inexperienced pilot learning the ropes… or perhaps an experienced pilot who just so happened to be more experienced in the drinking department.

Turner kept her gaze low to the ground as the knight approached, her helmet hiding her face and her armour hiding the now very nervous Nick behind her.

“I wasn’t expecting a team to come back so soon. Paladin Riddik was just out here.” The knight started, “Got that storm brewin’, though. Any problems?”

The knight must have been relatively new. Usually, when a vertibird checked in at the hangar, the pilot and reporting knight would record resources, losses, and such, but this one didn’t seem to know any better.

“We have a, uh… synth! Yeah! We captured a synth!” Deacon lowered the pitch of his voice from the cockpit, Nick’s eyes going wide at the bold-faced lie. Turner was glad she had a helmet to hide her features, because her jaw dropped at the unplanned confession by her associate.

Nick wasn’t beyond letting himself be used as a temporary scapegoat. He just wished they talked over it first.

The knight took a step back as Turner jumped from the vertibird onto the gangway, his minigun raised to aim squarely at the synthetic man in a messy trench coat and fedora, “You brought that thing here?” he questioned angrily. “What if it’s a bomb?”

Turner made her way around the knight so that she stood at his back, her hands hovering around the handwheel positioned around his fusion core.

Nick stared at her anxiously, but remained silent, his hand raised to indicate he wasn’t a threat. Turner was up to something, he knew, he just wished he could read her expression at the very least.

With the knight distracted, Turner spun the handwheel on the knight’s back and released the seal on his armour, the joints locking into place as the seams split apart unwillingly. The knight yelled as he was yanked back out of his shell, kicking and punching furiously as Turner’s armoured legs and arms as she held him aloft.

Nick leapt from the vertibird and made his way around the barrel of the still-raised minigun, and watched as Turner lifted a balled fist.

From the doorway, Deacon appeared with Tom, a smirk plastered on his unshaven, scruffy face, “Already going off plan, huh?” he asked sarcastically, knowing he’d done it himself moments before.

“What’s the meaning of this, knight?!” The Brotherhood soldier continued, and was cut short when Turner slammed her raised fist against the top of his head.

Unlike Danse, the knight went silent, his head falling forward, unconscious.

Turner waddled over to Deacon and threw the limp knight up onto the vertibird, pushing him in until he and Tom could seat him in one of the empty chairs.

Belted in tightly, he wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned around and pushed against Nick’s back, urging him forward to the now empty suit of power armour. “I know you don’t have any training for one of these, but if a raider can climb into one, so can you, Tin Man.” She insisted when the synth dug his heels into the metal grate under him.

“We’re already at the ‘matching outfit’ portion of the relationship, huh, kid?” he joked, and pried himself away from Turner’s shoving.

Nick took it upon himself to stand at the back of the armour, the three Railroad agents staring him down expectantly. It would certainly be an experience, he knew, but he wasn’t so sure if he could readily control the suit of armour before him—synthetic or not.

Pulling his mouth into a thin line, he pulled the hat from his head and threw it over to Deacon. It wouldn’t fit into the helmet, no matter how much he wished it. He then pulled himself forward into the empty armour until his chest fell against the metal front of the cuirass, his hands sliding comfortably into place.

The armour rode a bit, just as Turner joked before back at Home Plate, though he supposed it was worse for her, organic and all that entailed. “Gonna ruin my coat wearin’ this thing.”

Coming around to his rear, Turner lifted the tails of his coat, pulled the back of the cuirass down, and turned the handwheel into place, securing Nick inside with a small near-hermetic hiss. “As if it didn’t look torn enough. We’ll get you a new one.” Giving the back of the armour a slap, she stepped away and let him acclimate, “You okay?”

Nick stood frozen in place for a few seconds, watching the way the light of his optics shone against the inside of the helmet’s lenses. He tried flexing his fingers first, the bare metal of his right hand scraping against the pulleys awkwardly—he would just have to make do. Next, he shifted his head, pushed his chest forward, and forced one leg out.

The armour refused to move at first, but after he gave a slightly stronger push, the hips of the power armour shifted and he lurched forward. In reality, it wasn’t Turner who needed a suit of baby’s first power armour, but Nick. “I won’t give ya flack ever again for wearin’ this damn thing. Feels like when I forget to lube my joints.”

“Lube.” Deacon snorted, and earned stares from both Turner and Nick, though he could hardly see their expressions.

He knew they were less than enthused.

From inside, Tom appeared with a flare gun spinning around his finger, and threw it to Turner when the silence grew a bit too much even for him. “Shoot that off when you guys are ready to go, yeah? We’ve got another in the glove compartment right next to the road maps and registration.”

Whether this was the truth or not, she had no way of knowing—neither Deacon nor Tom would tell her even if she asked nicely.

“You two head down and meet up with the others, if they’ve made it yet.” Turner ordered as she took the abandoned minigun left on the gangway and gave Nick the flare gun. There was no sense in letting Nick have the bigger of the two, not while he was still acclimating.

Nick followed Turner down the gangway without a word and toward the bulkhead that led inside. Deacon and Tom scurried back into position, the knight still unconscious in his seat, and began their exit from the hangar. Their “good lucks” were nearly inaudible under the loud boom of the approaching radiation storm, growing near faster than anticipated.

“How ‘bout that horsepower?” Turner asked now they were alone, her voice muffled by the audio receptor in front of her face. She had to admit, the synth detective got used to the armour far quicker than she would have thought. Maybe she hadn’t been talking out of her ass when she said, “if a raider could do it”.

Nick let out a breathy laugh and raised his hands in mock accomplishment, his fingers curled, “A guy could get used to this short of thing. Might not want to leave.” He jostled his helmet a bit, “Can’t say there’s an easy way to smoke in this sort of thing, though I guess that means I’ll have to kick the habit.”

“I don’t think they make ties or fedoras big enough for these things. You might have to get a new job, too.” Turner let out a yelp as Nick slapped the back of her armour, entirely unexpected, and much less expected given the situation. “C’mon, you wouldn’t fit through the agency door, and you know it.”

It was odd to look through the lenses, Nick could admit, and he watched as many of the suit’s internal monitors sounded off that something wasn’t quite right about its current occupant.

Despite resting on the peripherals of his vision, he did his best to ignore them as Turner opened the bulkhead door. She placed the minigun next to it where the knight stood moments before—it would only slow them down if she carried it inside.

“You ready?” she whispered, and headed in first when Nick nodded in return.

She quickly adjusted Nick’s helmet and gave it a pat on top—it would do them no good if they stuck out too much. Turner could walk relatively normal, but her companion was still as wobbly as a freshly-born radstag.

The bulkhead was heavy and squealed loudly when Nick pulled it shut behind him, his hand refusing to unclasp for a moment from the handle of the door. Together, they trudged inside, to the quiet interior of the lower deck. Or it would have been quiet, were it not for the various computers and consoles on the floor below.

The room was lit by red guide lights around the ceiling of the interior, eerie shadows sent this way and that as the light struggled to bounce through the space.

Far ahead, in a room adorned with windows that overlooked the terminal structure of the airport, stood Maxson, his back turned to them. He seemed to contemplate the approach of the storm down the coast, his gloved fingers caught in his neatly-trimmed beard.

Naturally, Turner led Nick up the walkway that bled into the main body of the dirigible, and poked her head out into the landing before they walked into the open.

Nick chose to stay silent, and let Turner lead him to where they needed to go. This was uncharted territory for him, not matter how much he would like to say he knew better. The young woman in front of him was in charge, and he would be damned if he thought or told her otherwise.

Stopped before a large room that served as the canteen, Turner changed course and headed toward a stairwell that led to the floor above, to what looked to be a barracks of sorts. There, soldiers slept, their wool blankets, thin with age, some of them taken from other bunks to compensate, their footlockers left open and catawampus at the foot of their cots.

Nick was surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t have been, when none of them woke to the sounds and rumbles of their heavy footfalls. He supposed they were used to the commotion by now.

Even on the Prydwen, it was a bit out of place for a group of knights to be seen in the specimen area, but the scribes at work merely sent Turner and Nick annoyed glances before they returned to their tasks.

Together, they looked down over the safety railing and into the small cluster of cells below. Situated in one were several emaciated mole rats, their bellies distended as they lay lethargic on the floor. Their wheezes were the only indication they were still alive.

Next to them, in another block, was a bundle of red and black, the unmistakable figure of Hancock seated in the corner farthest away from the door.

Turner gripped the railing tightly, the metal crimping between her fingers. She knew the ghoul had always been as thin as a twig, as he spent far more time with his chems than he did with any amount of food. But she knew the scribes wouldn’t dare waste food or water on a “mutant”, if only in the name of research.

They scarcely did it back in the Capital, so they certainly wouldn’t try now.

She stood there silently and calculated their next move, Nick at her side, waiting and watching.

Turner could go down there, request the door be opened to dispose of the ghoul, drag Hancock down to the hangar, reveal herself, and signal for Deacon and Tom to return. But what if they refused to let him out? What if Riddik or Maxson happened by? There’s no way the obvious, red IX on the chest of her armour wouldn’t be a dead giveaway.

She bit her lip and struggled to even her breathing, the rumble of thunder heard outside the walls of the airship. Maybe they could use the coming storm as a means of distraction if and when they made it back into the hangar? Many wouldn’t dare fly during such inclement conditions, even some of the most well-seasoned pilots… though she supposed trusting Deacon and Tom to do what a senior pilot couldn’t would be less than wise.

“What’s the plan, kid?” Nick whispered after he took a quick look behind them, sure that no one heard him.

Turner thought back to only a short time ago, when she found herself on a rescue mission much like this one of her own making. The Railroad agents she went to rescue had been dealt with long before her arrival at Maxson’s behest. It would do her no good to try the same tactic, to boldly walk up to the cells.

No, she needed to speak to someone first, make it official.

And the scribes behind them would do just the trick.

“Stay here for a sec.” she replied at last, a hand on Nick’s pauldron. Without another word, she spun to walk toward the scribes across the room, her stride heavy and confident.

“Be authoritative.” Turner told herself quietly in the confines of her helmet, “Just act like a knight, like you used to.” her eyes screwed shut for a moment as she neared one of the scribes, his back hunched away from her over a lab table. “Tell him Maxson wants the ghoul disposed of… that the ghoul wasn’t meant to be brought here, and should be transported to the ground for Riddik to—”

“Can I help you, knight?” The scribe drawled over his glasses, now facing the awkwardly silent Turner. He flipped up several loupes meant for magnification and stared her down, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the change in light. “Or has Riddik sent you to observe us again?”

The scribe’s mouth was fallen into a permanent scowl, the bags under his eyes heavy with lack of proper sleep. He must have been in his late thirties, but looked to be nearing fifty with the way he carried himself: shoulders sagging heavily, his skin pale, the veins just beneath prominent in the unnatural light of the lab.

Turner vaguely recognized him from a year or so ago, back when she spent her time on the Prydwen when not out on reconnaissance missions. The scribe had been the head doctor at the time—Doctor Horrigan, maybe? Now scuttled back to the very ass-end of the Prydwen for research and dissection, while another, more charismatic doctor took his place.

He was tired, and not at all privy to idle chit-chat.

An opening had presented itself, however.

“Yes.” Turner answered simply, her back suddenly ramrod straight. “Riddik… Paladin Riddik sent me and my associate,” she paused and motioned to Nick behind her, “to request the ghoul in Cell A be moved down into the terminal.” She placed a metal fist against her chest, the clang sending Horrigan back with a less than pleased face, “We’ve heard reports of Railroad activity. The ghoul was taken from a Railroad safehouse, and we believe they may be staging an attack.”

Not necessarily a lie.

The scribe stared at her skeptically, and the look on his face aged him nearer to sixty. No doubt he recognized the red Roman numeral on her chest, knew the armour belonged to one of the infamous Paladin’s knights. To talk back to them would be to talk back to Riddik—something that was ill-advised even when Turner was with the Brotherhood.

“And I suppose they sent you to carry out the trash rather than do it themselves? To no one’s surprise?” Horrigan had a sharp tongue, Turner couldn’t help but notice. No wonder he’d been sent as far from everyone as possible.

“Fine. But do it quietly. The other scribes and I have delicate procedures in the process.” He stood straight, his back cracking loudly, and headed to a flight of stairs at the edge of the platform, situated between two lab tables.

Nick hurried after Turner when she waved him forward, and tried his best to ignore the two immobile synths that lay on either table, many of their parts scattered and destroyed.

If they’d arrived any later, the synths might have been Hancock, instead.

---

Turner descended the stairs with Nick in tow, Horrigan at the front of their group.

He pulled down his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Horrigan didn’t much care for the smell of ghouls, especially not ones who thought themselves particularly witty and charming, and especially not ones who dressed themselves like pre-war freedom fighters. And he found himself cursing under his breath now that he had to deal with said ghoul for the second time that day. To look at that crooked smile and blackened stare.

Earlier, it was to stop the ghoul’s incessant singing—purposefully off-key and caw-like.

And now? To kowtow to Paladin Riddik’s fickle whims.

Railroad threat be damned—if helping the two knights behind him meant he could be given some peace and quiet for once in the past few days, then so be it.

Turner kept quiet and resolute, Nick following her lead as they approached the cell at the end of the row. In front, Horrigan shuffled up to the cell door and fumbled in his coat pocket for what must have been the keys.

How hard would it be to figure out which key went where when there were only two cells was beyond Turner, but to her own chagrin the key ring he pulled out had to have a key to every lock on the Prydwen.

Because of course it did.

Who else would carry them? Maxson?

The only thing keeping him afloat was all that hot air in his head. Last thing he needed was a counterweight.

But Horrigan seemed to know exactly which key fit into the lock, and on the first try he slid the door open and allowed Turner inside with the wave of an arm.

His hand fell to his side unceremoniously a second later, a dull thud against the fabric of his coat. His work was done, and now he could return to his other work. Important work. Scientific work.

Work where he could be left alone.

Turner stood at the doorway of the cell and stared inside, at the ghoul who looked to be asleep in the far corner. She could only think such as his tricorn was pulled low over his face, his legs crossed at the ankle, and his hands laid out on his lap. It would be just like Hancock to not take the situation too seriously, not when life or death was involved.

At least his own life or death.

“Thanks, doc.” Nick started out from around Turner, if only so Horrigan could see him. “That’ll be all.” He tapped the side of Turner’s arm and broke her from her one-sided staring contest with the ghoul in the cell.

“Yes! Thank you.” Her head danced from Nick to Horrigan, “Thank you. That’s all we needed. Thank you.”

“Say ‘thank you’ again,” she thought dismissively, glad that her scrunched face was hidden, “I’m sure it will sound totally natural and not at all suspicious. That’s just the way a knight under Riddik’s command would talk.”

Horrigan let out a derisive snort through his nose, thoroughly displeased with the events that transpired and how much potential time he’d lost with his experiments. Now that it was over, though, he excused himself without a word and shoved past the two of them toward the stairs.

He disappeared soon after, and together Turner and Nick exchanged looks.

“Shoulda given him a curtsey, while you’re at it.” Nick joked when Turner appeared physically uncomfortable, neither of them aware that the ghoul was watching from under the wide brim of his hat. “Didn’t know ‘thank you’ was in your vocabulary.”

“I said ‘thank you’ for the bear you gave me.” She whispered in retort, short with the disguised synth that was readily betraying their identities.

From the corner, a short laugh escaped the too-thin ghoul, a devilish smile splayed on what remained of his lips, “Thought I recognized that voice.” Hancock drawled, stifling a yawn under his loose coat sleeve. “You were never good at saying ‘sorry’, either, Sunshine.”

Turner stepped into the cell fully and approached Hancock, who still hadn’t pulled himself up from the floor. He cradled his arm with a wince, his smile having not left yet. “You alright?” she questioned quietly, as if the volume of her voice would break the rest of him.

With a roll of his shoulders, the ghoul let his head fall back against the corner of the cell, his hat popping off his brow, “Been better, but I ain’t complainin’. Wouldn’t mind see ya without the helmet, but I get what you’re goin’ for.” His gaze shifted to Nick, who stood waiting at the door just in case someone else happened by, “You got her back safe and sound, then? I owe you a drink, Nick.”

“You can owe me when we get outta here.” Nick peeked over his shoulder, and found the area devoid of any wandering eyes, “Let’s get goin’, kid. This place is making my skin crawl.”

“Can you get up?” Turner asked as she dropped onto one knee. Nick was right—the longer they stayed in the open, the quicker someone would catch on that they weren’t quite Brotherhood material.

A grin found its way onto Hancock’s cheeks, “You know better than to ask me if I can ‘get up’.” He clicked his teeth to emphasize his point (a point that would have made her blush at any other time), but Turner didn’t take the bait. “Alright, alright.” He waited a beat, “Later, though.”

A shaky hand found its way onto the chain link wall of the cell, and with a bit of a struggle, Hancock stood… for a moment.

Down he went onto his knees, a groan escaping him as his arm hung limp at his side.

Turner was quick to keep him upright, her arms wrapped under the lanky ghoul as he let out a weak chuckle. “We can take the lower level past the canteen, take the walkway down back into the hangar, and signal for the others.” With a practiced ease, she lifted Hancock up and turned toward Nick, “If anyone asks, we’re disposing of you.”

Hancock’s face became unreadable. Not disappointed, but more bemused if anything. “Disposing? What, like throwing me in the trash? The prick with the cape already tried rattling my cage; ain’t much these guys can do to scare me.”

“They would have put you in front of a firing squad eventually.” Turner added, if only to make a point. The idea of Hancock laughing his way to his inevitable death at the hands of a bunch of knights made a boulder form in the pit of her stomach. He would never let them have the satisfaction of cowering, of begging for his life.

He joked now, thought the Brotherhood wouldn’t do everything within their power to see that he suffered until he expired—Riddik was playing a waiting game, and nothing more—but if Turner and Nick hadn’t showed up when they did, the ghoul wouldn’t have lasted much longer.

“Who would Goodneighbor look up to, then, huh?” With a jostle to make Hancock pay attention, Turner struck home, right where it truly hurt, “Or would you rather someone like Vic take over again?”

The ghoul’s face fell then, his eyes half-lidded as reality suddenly slapped him. And not in a fun way. “Alright, alright, you made your point.”

With a nod in the direction of a stairwell that led to the lowest level of the Prydwen, Turner carried Hancock away from the cell block, Nick following in tow with his eyes trained every which way. They were making progress, and it wouldn’t be long before they found themselves back outside and on solid ground.

---

The metal floor of the walkway groaned under the considerable weight of Riddik as they made their way toward the back of the Prydwen. Their thoughts were abuzz with ideas on how to best deal with Maxson, on how to depose of an Elder of the Brotherhood without being branded a traitor much like Turner.

For now, though, only one thing interested them—and that was the ghoul.

Riddik gripped at the handle of their powered sledge tightly, all-too prepared to vent their frustration on the object of Turner’s affection. It wasn’t that damn synth, that would-be detective who thought himself a man, but the ghoul for whom she had a particular fondness.

The synth would have to come later, with something a little more elaborate. More elaborate than what they’d done with Turner’s previous beau, Metro, at least.

They passed through the canteen, many of the soldiers within giving pause to stare the massive Paladin down as they trudged through wordlessly, without apology when they knocked into a small scribe.

It didn’t matter in the end. None of it did.

If any one of them supported their Elder and what he stood for, then Riddik would strike them down equally. They had to return the Brotherhood to its western glory, to the brutal history they’d established so long ago.

No more soldiers taken in out of the wastes. No more fraternizing with those born out of the circles. No more sullying the Brotherhood of Steel’s legacy.

Riddik stomped into the cell block, the stench of the mole rats leaking in through their armour: putrid and fetid.

Immediately, they saw something was amiss.

The door to the ghoul’s cell was open and unguarded, Riddik’s gait increasing until they practically ran up to the cell. The handle of their hammer squealed as they gripped it even tighter, their eyes trained on the now empty space within.

The ghoul was gone.

The door of the cell flew from its frame, ripped from its tracks and thrown across the room in a fury. The mole rats in the next cell shrieked with fear, gathered into the corner away from Riddik and their rampage as a guttural yell escaped them. Several of the soldiers in the canteen poked their heads out to spy at the commotion, but disappeared when the Paladin slammed their sledge down against the floor.

Above, Horrigan tried his best to ignore whatever temper tantrum the two knights were having—no doubt dealing with the ghoul in the confines of the Prydwen rather than taking it outside like they’d been ordered.

With an exasperated sigh, he slapped his hands against his lab table and ripped the gloves from his fingers. Would there be no quiet that day?!

Across the lab, Horrigan huffed, until they made it to the railing at the edge of the platform. Not waiting to see what the commotion was, he clung to the metal rail and bellowed to the floor below, “Do you mind?! Some of us are trying to work, you—”

The blood in Horrigan’s veins froze when he realized who stood in the wreckage of what was once a cell.

Golden lenses turned slowly to train on him, the unmistakable armour of Paladin Riddik sending shivers down his spine.

Horrigan swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed away from the rail as Riddik’s ire was now trained on him. And with no care to his fellow scribes, he began to race down the walkway toward the bunk area, if only to hide himself away somewhere.

The Paladin was notoriously short tempered, and it would do the scribe well to make himself scarce.

Riddik, however, was faster—much, much faster.

Up the stairwell they went, slamming the lab tables aside that stood in their path, and charged after Horrigan. The soldiers that were asleep not too long ago popped from their bunks and watched the Paladin donned in X0-1 armour plow through a standing locker on their way after the scribe, unaware of what just transpired.

Horrigan tripped up the steps that led to the forecastle, and clutched at their chest. It had been too long since they exercised, and now certainly wasn’t the time they wanted to start!

What had possessed Paladin Riddik so? Hadn’t they ordered the ghoul to be taken from the cell? To be taken to the ground and disposed of?

A trick! It had to have been a prank! It was always him! Who better to pick on than the doctor stripped of his title and thrown to the farthest recesses of the Prydwen?

Horrigan had been goaded into gaining the ire of the Paladin, and to what end? Those two knights wouldn’t hear the end of this, that was for damned sure!

He took a sharp turn and hid behind one of the large ballasts that lined the top half of the Prydwen, a refuge away from the anger that radiated from the Paladin not far from his trail. Horrigan caught his breath and listened as the heavy footfalls faded for a moment, perhaps going in a different direction, away from him.

He would write a report and hand it to the Elder himself if he had to! This was inexcusable behaviour on the behalf of a Paladin. Where was Danse? Ingram? Someone who possessed a lick of sense that could knock some into Riddik?

The trembles in the floor grew nearer again, and before Horrigan had a chance to react, a hand flashed from around the ballast and gripped at the front of his uniform. It yanked him forward and into the face of Riddik, who now held him aloft several feet from the floor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Horrigan yelled as Riddik moved forward toward the door that led to the outside of the forecastle, “You’re going to lose rank for this, you hear me?!”

Icy winds struck at Horrigan’s face as the door flew open, and out the two of them went. With their foot, Riddik slammed the door shut and threw the scribe to the floor unceremoniously. The head of their hammer came up to rest in their now free hand, their cape aflutter in the wind.

Horrigan scurried from the Paladin, and backed away on his bottom until he could put several feet between them. Out in the distance, the radioactive storm grew even nearer, the tingle of radiation buzzing through the air like electricity.

If he had a Geiger counter, the little machine would have been tittering madly.

“If you’re going to be mad at someone, punish those knights of yours!” Horrigan shouted over the winds, “I know they were yours—that girl with the IX on her chest—and the other! You punish them, not me for doing my damn job!”

This gave Riddik pause. They stopped their advance on Horrigan and stood staring down at the scribe.

That girl with the IX on her chest? The knights under Riddik’s command who wore roman numerals on their armour were down to all but one. XI was the only knight who remained.

And Nine had been left behind in Diamond City, in the Railroad Safehouse.

The girl could have been anyone, any of those insufferable Railroad agents looking to seek revenge on the Brotherhood for the destruction of their base at North End Church. Or she could have been…

Ridley Turner—there to save the ghoul, just as they’d thought.

Riddik shook with unheard laughter, their arms trembling as they struggled to contain their amusement. Horrigan could only watch as the Paladin bowed somewhat, their pauldrons falling forward when they cradled their power sledge to their chest.

The scribe could hear as the Paladin took in a deep breath and straightened themselves back to their full height.

Taking a step forward, Riddik continued their advancement, their hands coiled insanely tight around the metal grip of their hammer.

“What are you doing?” Horrigan demanded, and scurried back another foot to escape the Paladin.

Riddik stopped him with a heavy foot on his leg, and the bone beneath cracked loudly under the weight. Horrigan let out a scream when the Paladin let the brunt of their weight down, their body angled to hover over the fallen scribe.

Through tears and laboured breaths, Horrigan stared up at Riddik as they positioned the head of their sledge against the scribe’s nose—a light, almost playful tap.

Like a golf champ with a nine iron, Riddik pulled back and hoisted their hammer high into the air. And with one full sweep, the sledge snapped against Horrigan’s face with a sickening crack of bone, the scribe fallen back against the floor with a gurgle.

Riddik continued their assault even as the noises Horrigan made came to an end, their sledge coming down and down again, this way and that, the small rocket on the end of the head alight with a flame that burned a hot white.

They took a step back from what remained of Horrigan’s head, now a smear of red across the deck. More pressing matters had to be attended to now that Riddik was certain Turner made her way onto the Prydwen.

Gather Eleven, find the traitor with her pet ghoul and synth, confront Maxson, save the Brotherhood.

Riddik rolled their neck at the list that was building up before them. So much to do in such little time, and every second counted.

On the coast, the rad storm was nearly overhead, the sky a deep green. Lit by bouts of lightning, Riddik watched the sky roll, the waves not far from the Prydwen crashing up onto the shore violently.

Turner couldn’t have gone too far, not with the ghoul to carry out.

But maybe Maxson could come first? There weren’t many who would try to reason with the girl, and the Elder had been one of them—letting emotion control his actions instead of killing Turner when he had the chance—letting Riddik be done with it instead of bringing her back for a trial.

Riddik turned from the remains of Horrigan and headed to the bulkhead of the forecastle, their mind set on the Elder’s chambers.

No more waiting, no more thinking.

Riddik would show Maxson what it meant to be Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel! Show him how an Elder dealt with traitors!

---

The storm had Arthur Maxson worried. He’d seen many times before what the storms from the Glowing Sea could do, but none as big as the one that loomed over them. There would be radiation sickness, a loss of supplies, not enough medicine—too many problems to count.

Maxson placed a hand against his forehead and made another round in front of the large window that was set at the bow of the Prydwen. At the base of the couch situated against the wall, several empty bottles of bourbon sat.

He tried not to drink when problems arose, but having been given the mantle of Elder at such an early age, he found it hard to cope. If it wasn’t the worry of carrying on his legacy, it was inciting anger against the Brotherhood, of alienating the people of the Commonwealth.

And then Riddik brought that ghoul onboard, daring the Railroad to strike back against them. Even in a small group, given a missile launcher or two, a few farmhands could chip away at the Brotherhood’s defenses.

He regretted giving the Paladin the job of capturing Turner, and was near to dismissing the whole idea. With the lives of several knights lost, and trust across the Commonwealth destroyed, Maxson worried their work had increased tenfold all because of some firebrand.

The door to the body of the Prydwen opened, and behind him Maxson could hear someone enter. With a sigh, he let his hand fall and he collected himself.

The Elder couldn’t be seen with a weary brow.

Turning to face the newcomer, Maxson wasn’t surprised to see Paladin Riddik in the doorway, the head of their hammer on the ground.

He was irked, though, when he noticed the shine of crimson splattered across the worn metal of the weapon, and along the curves of Riddik’s armour. It hadn’t looked that way when the Paladin returned from the wastes, and he thought perhaps some of the specimens had escaped the lab.

“What is it you need now, Paladin?” Maxson asked tiredly. He’d already dealt with them enough that day, and the headache he had earlier threatened to return.

Riddik approached silently, their power sledge held inches away from the floor. Up close, Maxson could tell the red on their armour was blood, still wet and shining, the odour that wafted around them thick and unpleasant.

Maxson was a large man, but stood before Riddik he may as well have been a toddler. The Paladin towered over him, and even though there was no face to see, the Elder could feel cold eyes upon him.

With a dull thud, Riddik placed their hammer back on the floor and stepped away from it, continuing toward Maxson, until at last he had to take a step back.

“State your business, Riddik.” The Elder barked, his hand ready to take the pistol from his hip.

In a flash, Riddik lunged forward, their heavy arm swinging past Maxson as he dodged at the last second. Gun drawn and readied, he fired at the Paladin’s helmet, missing the golden lenses that adorned it.

The bullet ricocheted through the room until it shot out the window, Riddik sending another fist toward Maxson’s head.

The heavy punch landed against the reinforced glass, cracking it down to the metal inside. Riddik pulled away when a bullet struck at the mesh at the back of their knee, and spun to face Maxson across the room.

In a few short steps, the Paladin crossed the gap and took Maxson’s wrist. With a pained groan, the Elder relinquished his weapon as Riddik twisted his arm around near to breaking. And with their free hand, they slammed their fist up into his ribs.

Maxson wheezed as he fell to the floor, the urge to vomit rising in his throat.

To think he’d faced a deathclaw when he was young, and got away with the scar across his cheek to tell the tale. And now, a Paladin under his command sought to finish the job.

Hardly able to take a breath, Maxson couldn’t demand to know why Riddik fought him, threw him across the room like a ragdoll.

He rolled to a stop and clambered to his feet, the taste of blood on his tongue.

Before he could prepare himself, Riddik raced forward and grabbed hold of Maxson’s head, slamming it into the glass behind him.

The Paladin watched the Elder go still, not dead, but very much unconscious. No, Riddik wanted to make a lesson of Maxson, to all the Brotherhood.

And if it meant throwing Maxson’s head at Turner’s feet, they would make her see!

---

Up next!

Chapter 26: Fall of the Brotherhood

#esuerc #Ridley Turner #Fallout 4: Turncoat #Nick Valentine #John Hancock #Paladin Riddik #Turncoat #Fallout #Fallout 4 #Arthur Maxson #Deacon

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