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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

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Persephone's Symphony | Night One | Persephone

Hey lovelies, here's the next part. It's a little longer-- I got carried which, if you know me and my work, tends to happen frequently. I do hope you all enjoy and thank you so much to everyone who has sent me kind words and thoughts and ahhhh thank you!! I am forever grateful. Now, without further adieu...

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: meh some angst, some talk of death-- the normal for this series

Word count: 5.2k (omg)

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Master List

The rest of the day goes smoothly. Well, as smoothly as a day can go when there’s someone out there trying to kill you. Maybe smooth is the wrong word. For dinner she pops a frozen pizza in the oven— she’s already used up her quota for homestyle cooking on the grilled cheese and, besides, Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. If he does then he doesn’t say anything about it, at least. He pounds back five slices— she really doubts he hates it that much. She eats three. Had it just been her she would have eaten one— maybe. She doesn’t have the energy these days to eat more than that. It’s a paradox, one that has her going to bed tired and waking up exhausted most days.

Something is different with him though. She wants to eat more because it means that she gets to sit a little longer at the creaky wooden table and pretend to be normal. She never thought feeling normal would mean eating cheap pizza with her bodyguard in a safe house but, well, they say normal is relative, right? Usually she eats in the dark, under the glow of whatever movie she deems fit to fill the silence that night. Sitting across from him makes her feel like she has some semblance of her old life back. Like she has a life at all— even if he’s being paid to sit there and listen to her prattle on about nothing.

After dinner is a little more awkward. She spends the next two hours milling about, pretending to read this book of dogs she had found earlier on the coffee table. She had always wanted a dog when she was younger, one of those huge great danes, charcoal black and big enough to snuggle with. The kind that would keep her safe and follow her everywhere she goes. There’s one just like she had always imagined on page one hundred and nine. Sleek and beautiful and huge. That’s probably why she keeps going back to the book.

All she really does is look at the pictures, not that she would tell him that. She can see him glancing at her every so often and she would like to keep her guise of being smart up for as long as possible. She wasn’t lying when she told him that she was the top of her class— she was, and valedictorian too. She is smart. Well, smart when it comes to technology at least. The rest is debatable. Her mother used to tell her that she’s book smart— that if she were kidnapped and dropped off in the middle of nowhere she would be screwed.

If only her mother could see her now— could see that she’s holding up.

You know, if holding up means wanting to scream and cry and throw this stupid Big Book of Dogs against the wall because she can’t scream and cry. She’s holding up on the outside— that’s what matters. If everyday is as bearable as this one then she’ll be able to do all three before she knows it. She’ll be able to sit in the dark, spoon in one hand, Chunky Monkey in the other, and throw whatever the fuck she wants at the wall. For now, though, she just has to look at the pictures of the great dane and swallow her screams like they’re ice cream.

Eventually she stands, shifting on her feet, trying not to cringe when the boards squeak under her. It doesn’t make his head turn and look at her— how can it when his stare has been burning into her since before she stood up? She doesn’t really know what to say— it’s nine-thirty and she could sit there for another two hours— two or three or seven, what’s the difference?— but there’s no point in pushing the inevitable. Eventually she is going to have to get ready for bed and then, by default, actually go to bed.

How is that going to work?

A picture of her laying next to him pops into her mind, one where her limbs are curled tight against her chest, her legs ramrod straight, afraid to even do so much as breathe. Not out of fear that he’d hurt her or anything like that, though. Out of fear that she’d embarrass herself is more accurate. That she would wake up— if she even slept at all— with her body sprawled on top of his like the protagonists in one of her cheesy, unrealistic rom-coms. This isn’t a movie— she doesn’t want it to be. If this is her life’s movie then she wants to have a word with the director. She wants out. This isn’t the script she agreed to.

She doesn’t know what to say so she doesn’t say anything, only gathers her bag from where she stashed it next to the couch. A threadbare messenger bag big enough for a few pairs of leggings, her older brother’s Dodgers t-shirt, and some toiletries. She slings it over her shoulder, acutely aware of the fact that his gaze never leaves her, watching as she straightens and turns, meeting his icy blue eyes without so much as a hint of shame forming in them. Why should he be ashamed? It’s his job— he’s being paid to stare. That’s what she tells herself. It doesn’t make her feel any less exposed— any less seen.

For a moment she just looks at him— like really, truly looks at him. Sure, she’s been with him for roughly twelve hours now. Theoretically she’s had plenty of time to look at him. And of course she has— there’s no way she could have avoided it even if she wanted to. She has looked at him just not like this. Not the details. The facts. That’s what this is— a fact finding mission. Yeah, that sounds right— that’s what she’ll say if he asks, at least.

She takes in his face first, craning her neck slightly to do so. Slightly means far enough that your head touches your shoulders now. She ticks things off in her head as goes— bronzed skin, strong jaw, straight nose. She finds it hard to believe that his nose has never been broken. She drops lower— pink lips, the bottom one fuller. She doesn’t linger there despite the ache that grows in her throat. When was the last time she kissed a man? Too long ago.

She continues on her mission before she has time to stop and think about what it means to stare at her bodyguard’s lips and think about kissing. Absolutely nothing good, that’s what. She tries to distract herself with his broad shoulders and the way his henley stretches at the seams, scrounging for any and every ounce of space. For a moment it works. She starts thinking about the kind of regime one would have to undergo in order to get to his size, then about where he has to buy his clothes, before finally landing on what it would feel like to slip her arms into his shirt and to be totally engulfed—

Nope— she flicks her eyes even further down, skimming over something that, though she’s been looking at it for the better half of all day, she still can’t wrap her head around. His hand. His metal hand. She can feel his stare turn to lead on her forehead— feel him waiting for her to ask.

She’s not going to.

Not because she doesn’t want to know the story. Of course she wants to know! Her whole life is— or at least was— technology. She wants to know why he needs it, who made it, what it’s made of, if it’s connected to his nervous system, if it’s— the idea is there. She’s curious— she’s a scientist. Just like it’s his job to keep her alive, it’s her job to be enthralled by innovation.

That doesn’t mean she’s going to ask though. She likes him too much to do that. He’s nice enough to her and he doesn’t treat her like the little orphan girl that everyone else does. He doesn’t tiptoe around her— not that he could. He’s too big for that. He just doesn’t treat her like a freak, so she won’t treat him like an experiment.

And, of course, he’s a human being not a machine. That’s probably more important. She likes him and he’s a human. Priorities or whatever.

She meets his gaze again, watching him watch her, her face setting on fire. “Bedtime?”

What the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?

He presses his lips together, holding her stare for a beat before shrugging his shoulders, giving the henley a run for its money. “Bedtime.”

She turns at that, scampering up the stairs, listening to the thumping of his boots against the hardwood. It’s not a race but it’s also not not a race— she wants to get to the bathroom before he can so she can lock the door. She needs five minutes. That’s it. Just five minutes. Maybe it is a race.

“Hey— shit— wait!” She doesn’t, she only pumps her legs harder, almost slipping as she bolts into the bathroom, slamming the door and clicking the lock shut.

He really thought she wasn’t going to try that, huh? She learned her lesson this afternoon— the man takes his job very seriously.

The knob jiggles and she sticks her tongue out at it, finally in a space where she can let her bones relax. For the first time all day it feels like her skin isn’t on fire. It’s weird— she almost misses it. The door handle jiggles harder. Almost.

Five minutes, that’s all she needs.

His voice cuts through the door and she almost groans out loud. “You know I’m supposed to—”

“I know—” she starts pulling things out of her bag, hastily dropping what she doesn’t need and gathering what she does onto the vinyl countertop, very much aware of the ticking clock— “but the window in here isn’t even big enough for me to crawl out of so I think I can brush my teeth, yeah?”

She can practically feel the stress rolling off him, seeping under the crack between the door and the tiled floor. Half of her feels guilty but the other half couldn’t care less— she’s a grown ass woman and she will use the toilet without help.

She hears him let out a loud sigh and practically jumps in excitement— she won. “Fine— you get ten minutes, got it? Ten minutes and then I break this door down.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Thank gods he can’t see her right now or she would most definitely melt through the ground.

“You’re down to seven now.”

She shakes her head at her reflection, scrunching her nose and rolling her eyes at herself— “That’s fair.”

She hurries to slather some toothpaste on her brush, plopping it into her mouth as she shimmies out of her daytime leggings and into her nighttime ones. A fashion icon. She somehow also manages to take her dad’s hoodie off, avoiding the toothbrush and replacing the tank top underneath with a fresh one from her bag. Take that, Barnes.

She scrubs at her teeth, simultaneously digging through her pile of things for the deodorant she knows is in there. She finds it after a moment, rinsing her mouth and running the bar one too many times over her armpits— there’s absolutely no way she’s about to go into that bedroom with even the slight possibility of smelling bad. Especially when she still doesn’t know the sleeping arrangements.

She swipes her things back into her bag, shoving them in roughly, not noticing the hairbrush teetering precariously on the edge of the counter. It’s like it’s taunting her, just waiting to get her in trouble. That’s exactly what it does, too— just as her eyes meet the sinister blue plastic it’s too late, the brush already hurtling off the edge and crashing against the floor. Of course it has to hit the tiles head on and miss the hoodie by an inch. Time freezes for a moment when she hears the clang— well, there go the last three minutes of solitude.

She scrambles back just as the door slams open, fully expecting it but not any less startled, the area where the lock would be splintering into a million tiny pieces of wood— of dust— he pulverized the door! Her heart pounds furiously as Bucky surges forward, his jean clad legs pressing against her exposed shoulder, his body rigid as he does a full circle of the tiny bathroom, yanking back the shower curtain as if an assassin would really think that is the best hiding place. God she’s so fucking mortified.

He doesn’t move away from her when he finally looks down, his dark eyebrows drawn into a tight line, chest heaving so hard she wonders if the material is going to split right down the middle. His leg against her is hot, even through the material. Almost as hot as her face— face, neck, shoulders, toes.

“What happened?”

She meekly holds up the blue plastic brush, squeezing her eyes shut. “He just snuck up on me Bucky— I thought I was a goner.”

She cracks an eye open to his clenched jaw, his still heaving chest now much lower— closer. He takes the brush from her hand, setting it on the counter before offering his own hand— the flesh hand— out to her. She takes it, letting him effortlessly pull her body from the ground without so much as even a grunt. Before she knows it she’s eye level with the buttons on his shirt, leaning all the way back in order to meet his simmering crystal eyes.

“We’re not doing that again.” We’re. As in both of them— a team.

She tries to keep from trembling at his deep voice. It doesn’t work. He notices— of course he notices— and takes a step back. She doesn’t have the heart— or the gall— to tell him that she’s not shaking because she’s afraid of him.

“It was a hairbrush.” She sighs, curling her arms around her chest, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever under the surprisingly bright fluorescents.

Of course now, when she’s standing in a flimsy tank top, is the one time the lights aren’t dimmed.

He doesn’t back down, seething his words between his teeth. “This time— this time it was a hairbrush.”

She shakes her head, dropping her eyes and bending to scoop up her hoodie— she doesn’t want to see him angry at her. It makes her feel guilty; like her her chest is caving in on itself. She doesn’t need that on top of everything else.

“Fine, whatever.” She grabs her bag, brushing by him.

She knows that she’s being childish. She isn’t an idiot, contrary to what her mind likes to tell her. She’s just exhausted. Exhausted of having to always look over her shoulder, exhausted of wondering who’s going to die next— if she’s going to die next, exhausted of having to actively try to stay alive. She’s just exhausted in general. She doesn’t want to die but, gods, if she isn’t so damn tired of having to think about it. Aren’t you supposed to just live? Not think about living?

She pushes open the door to the bedroom, dumping her bag next to the cedar chest at the end of the bed, refusing to turn around when she hears his footsteps— much quieter than she’s yet to hear them— enter behind her. She crosses her arms again, digging her fingers into the flesh hard enough to give herself something to focus on other than how much she wants to rip every strand of hair from her head. Her eyes wander over the olive duvet, noting how the color makes the black iron frame pop in contrast. Maybe she should change up her bedroom back home.

She bites her lip— she’s stalling. It’s a queen sized bed, more than big enough for both of them. Maybe she should offer it to him. There’s barely any room on the floor to sprawl out, only a small space either next to the dresser beside the bed or in front of the chest. Either way he would probably have to lay as stiff as possible to avoid bumping his limbs. The right thing to do would be to offer it to him— to take the floor.

She listens as he takes a step, the air behind her shifting, and she tenses. “Look, I think we should talk—”

“Do you want the bed?” She tries to keep her tone balanced— to keep from hurling the words at him like daggers. Or like hair brushes.

“I’m serious, I’m sor—”

She whirls around, her hair flying around her face, features schooled but tone edging closer towards being unhinged— she just needs to sleep. “Do you want the bed?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes— she’s tired of that game, it's time to start a new one. This one’s called how long can y/n stare at the buttons on his henley until before she sets them on fire out of sheer willpower. His chest deflates, his hands twitching at his sides before curling and slipping behind his back. He’s looking at her— of course he is. It’s all he does. It’s his job.

“You take it.” He says it so quietly she barely hears it, his tone the picture of resignation. It doesn’t make her feel good— she didn’t think it would though.

His stare never leaves her. She’s still not looking at him but she can tell. It makes her skin burn from her ears all the way down to her chest, her skin prickling like she's being prodded by a thousand mini suns. She feels like she’s in the desert and she forgot to put sunscreen on. Is this what flowers feel like? Does the sun beat down so relentlessly on them that they feel like they’re being set on fire? As relentlessly as he watches her?

It’s his job, it’s his job, it’s his job.

“Okay.”

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

She lays in bed for three hours, eyes wide open and body pin straight. The room is pitch black, spare a hint of light pouring in from under the door. It shines a stripe onto the olive duvet, one that she just barely flicks her wrist back and forth through. Not enough to ruffle the loud blanket— which for the record crinkles louder than a chip bag when she moves even an inch underneath it— but enough to watch the light dance over her skin and keep her from going completely mad. She feels like a cat chasing a laser— entirely moronic but strangely entertained. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

By the time the fourth hour rolls around she is beyond restless. The strip of light got old a half hour ago— which, granted, kept her entertained for far longer than she would be willing to admit but still. Now she wants to move. She needs to move. If she were home she would still be awake. The digital clock beside the bed flashes one-thirty, scarlet red and glaring at her. It’s not even close to the ungodly hour in which she usually crawls into her bed, pulling the blanket over her head and praying for the sun to magically disappear. Not even close.

She can practically hear Lindsy Lohan calling her name— it’s Wednesday, y/n. On Wednesdays we wear pink. Yeah, she knows Lindsy! Unfortunately the big man on the floor doesn’t know that. Usually her Wednesday's aren’t so blocked— is it even Wednesday? It doesn’t matter. She just wants to watch Mean Girls now— with or without the Chunky Monkey.

She waits another ten minutes, mulling the idea over as the anticipation steadily grows in her stomach, churning her organs into soup over the idea of having to tiptoe past her sleeping bodyguard. She holds her breath a few times, making sure his breathing is even and calm. Making sure that he’s asleep. Each time his breaths are the same, gentle, even hiss of air. In, out, pause. In, out, pause. Over and over and over again. For a moment she debates staying and just listening to him breathe for the rest of the night. But no— that’s creepy and she’s sure that she can be in and out without him waking up in the hour and thirty-seven minutes it takes to watch the movie.

Yes she counted and every minute is worth the risk— she’s doing it!

She takes a deep breath, sliding as silently as she can under the covers. Each movement feels magnified— like someone is holding a microphone to her limbs. She just prays that the microphone isn’t connected to his ears. What are the odds that he’s a heavy sleeper? Nevermind, she doesn’t want to know.

After what feels like an eternity of inching her way to the edge of the bed her foot finally shoots over the edge, greeting the chilly air and sending a jolt racing up her spine. She’s really doing it. She slips the other out next, rising onto her elbows and holding the position. She can’t see her legs— hell, she can’t see her hand two feet in front of her face— but she can feel the space depleting as she slips off the mattress. Biting back a hiss as her toes brace against the hardwood, she just barely stops herself from hopping up and down. If she were home she would amp up the theatrics, maybe throw in a squeal for good measure— forget technology, being a drama queen is her true calling.

Just not when there’s a man who she needs to stay asleep laying a few feet away from her.

She shuffles blindly forward, trying to remember where she saw him lay down before she turned off the lamp. That was four hours ago though and she’s starting to think that all that time playing with the crack of light has fried her brain. She thinks he’s near the chest but she can’t be sure.

She could swear—she could drop the loudest f-bomb this planet has ever known. She would, too, if she knew it wouldn’t wake him up. All she wants to do is watch some petty, pretty girls fight over a mediocre brunette. Is that really too much to ask for?

No— the answer is no. So she does what any self respecting woman would do in that situation and she wings it. She guesses. That’s respectable, right? Right. She takes each step with care, searching for any warm spots that might give her a hint as to where he is, all the while chasing after that little crack of light like it’s heaven. Because that’s what it is— a haven from having to lay alone with her thoughts all night.

As was to be expected sooner rather than later, her toes brush against a rather hot patch of wood and she freezes. He’s here— somewhere— she just has no idea where here is. She squints, searching for even a hint of the man. When she comes away with nothing, the scream— the one that’s never quite gone, always just simmering in the back of her throat— surges. She has to swallow— swallow, gag, same thing— in order to keep from foiling her own plan.

She brushes her foot forward. Slowly. Painfully, excruciatingly slowly. When her toes brush against the folds of a blanket she gasps. It slips out before she can stop it and she plasters a hand over her mouth as soon as it happens, praying that it isn’t too late— that there’s still a chance she can make it.

She hears Bucky shift on the ground, holding her breath, her toes a mere foot away from the soldier. She counts in her head— one, two, three, oh fuck is he moving, four— before taking another step. Repeating the process, it takes four rounds of this little tip toe game until her hands finally land against the door frame, searching through the darkness until her fingers curl around the knob. Mean Girls here she comes.

“Where ya’ going?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the night easily, rich and deep and cruel.

There isn’t even a hint of sleep in his tone— he was awake the entire time. Her face flushes, her neck searing hot. She can almost hear her skin crackling where the straps of her tank top touch her. She should have known he wouldn’t be a deep sleeper— or sleeping at all, apparently. Damnit.

“I, ah, was just going to the bathroom?” Really? The bathroom?

She has never been so thankful for the dark than she is in this moment, if only because he can’t see the way she rolls her eyes at her own stupidity and scrunches her entire face up. She can’t scream— that idea’s already been scrapped— so it’s the next best thing. That doesn’t stop her throat from bubbling though, the frustration knocking on her windpipe like the friendly neighbour back for even more sugar.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” She swears for a moment she can hear a hint of laughter in his voice, just enough to make the accusation bearable.

She whirls around, hands glued to her hips and trying not to slam her foot down like an insolent toddler. Something hot flares up in her chest— something which she hasn’t felt in ages. Anger. It makes her want to smack him. She wouldn’t, of course, but she wants to— she wants to wipe the smirk out of his words. She wants to more than she’s wanted to do anything in a very long time.

“What do you want me to say then, hmm?”

She can just make out the way Bucky pushes himself up, his shadowy figure now taking up more space. Taking up space in general— of course now she can see him. If she were closer to him she is sure his head would sit above her belly button, right under her brea— stop that, y/n!

“How ‘bout the truth?” God she can still hear that insufferable smirk.

“That was the truth.”

“It wasn’t.”

His breath comes in hot puffs against her stomach— he’s closer than she thought. She doesn’t realize her tank top has ridden up until his face is inches away from her exposed skin. She tries not to shudder as she yanks the material back down her abdomen. Traitorous body!

She wants to rip her hair out— again. “Yes, it was—”

He’s standing now, pushing his way towards her in the dark until she can feel the heat rolling off his body, face to face with a hulking chest. “Just tell me what you want so we can do it, alright?”

There it is again— we.

She can’t breathe. This seems to be becoming a trend— her not being able to breathe when he’s around her. This time it’s her fault though. She squishes her eyes closed, taking a moment to pull in some much needed air. It does little to help her— it smells like nutmeg and cinnamon. She has no idea how he manages to smell like a bakery— or how she hasn’t noticed until now, when she needs more than anything to pull away from the warmth and not fall deeper into it. Unprofessional, y/n— you’re supposed to be the grieving daughter.

She takes another moment, ignoring how he shifts on his feet, clearly becoming impatient, before finally whispering— “I wanted to watch a movie.”

A pause— a long one— before a soft ‘okay’.

For a moment she thinks she hears him wrong— no way the giant soldier is down for movie night with her. Shouldn’t he be telling her to go back to bed? Telling her that it isn’t in his job description to babysit her— to keep her entertained? Surely he doesn’t actually want to watch a movie.

“You don’t have to—”

“Actually, I do.” Oh yeah. He has to follow her wherever she goes. She almost forgot that she might die.

Die for what— wanting to watch a god damn movie?

“Forget it— it was stupid.”

She goes to brush past him, tucking her shoulders up and into her neck, trying to put some space between them as she tucks tail and slips back towards the bed. Talk about a busted ego.

A hand curls around her forearm, halting her retreat. “Let’s watch a movie— can’t sleep anyway.”

She swallows thickly. If she were to turn her cheek a few inches she is sure it would brush against his shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

“‘Course I am.”

She nods— she knows he can’t see her but she doesn’t trust her voice— and that’s how she ends up watching Mean Girls with a man large enough to rip her in half with his bare hands. A few times she glances over at him, searching through the glow of the TV to the other side of the supple leather couch where his gaze remains locked on the screen. She’s even sure she hears a few breathy laughs— like he’s trying not to laugh but he can’t help it.

The big bad bodyguard likes chick flicks.

About halfway through something unexpected happens— her eyelids begin to heavy. It’s stange, the clock on the wall reads only slightly past two in the morning. She never sleeps before six. Regardless, though, she curls her legs into her body, tucking them under the hoodie she had replaced before leaving the room. Her head slopes against the arm of the couch, eyes fluttering a few times before dropping shut. She’s not going to sleep, obviously— just resting her eyes.

She feels something heavy pool on her lap and the faintest wisps of fingers— some warm and some cold— adjusting the new weight. It brushes against her shin— a blanket. He put a blanket on her. She pulls it closer, dragging it over her cheek, trying her best to stave off the sleep tugging at her limbs. Maybe a conversation will help. There are a few things she’s been meaning to tell him.

“I didn’t mind it.” She whispers it but she’s sure he can hear her over the all but muted TV.

The couch cushions shift, sinking for a moment before stilling. She can picture him facing her now, his head tilted, blue eyes serious. Always on alert, always ready to defend.

“What?” He even sounds defensive— like he’s waiting for her to drop a bomb on him.

Silly man, can’t you see that she can barely even force the last word out of her mouth with how tired she is?

“Doll. I—” she yawns, pulling her limbs closer to her, tucking a hand under her head— “I didn’t mind it.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. If it were daytime she’s sure she would have cared but for now she’s okay not feeling any of the prescribed embarrassment.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t say anything else, only snuggles deeper into the arm of the couch. It must be the exhaustion talking— that’s what she’ll tell herself tomorrow anyway when she’s forced to confront this conversation again. For now she just gives in, letting herself fall into the darkness without fear for what feels like the first time in months.

_________________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky @elijahs-wife @cari1bunny @im-just-star-dust

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #mcu #mcu fic #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #reader insert #Persephone's Symphony

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mayihavethisdanse · 3 years

Text

Stress Response

Waypoint Echo, 2288

We are left alone, without excuse. That is what I mean when I say that man is condemned to be free. Condemned, because he did not create himself, yet is nevertheless at liberty, and from the moment that he is thrown into this world he is responsible for everything he does.

Jean-Paul Sartre, “Existentialism is a Humanism” (1946)

"Ready, Paladin?"

“Just about.”

Danse shielded his eyes and squinted through the half-light. These clouds would probably send a radstorm somewhere else in the Commonwealth, but this close to the Glowing Sea, the drizzle had the opposite effect. The terrain was irradiated to hell, of course, but the rain actually seemed to keep the rads at bay. Slightly.

It wouldn't last, but that was one reason they wore Power Armor.

"Equipment's good to go. We should be at the site by noon," he tossed off in the sergeant's direction. "If you don't hear from us by nightfall, assume something's wrong. Air support might be—what is it, Haylen?"

"Orders for you, Paladin."

"What? From the Prydwen?"

"Yes, sir. Here."

Haylen tapped at the terminal and then stood back, letting Danse take her place to bend his neck down at the dim screen. It was a pain to use these things in armor, but at least the message was brief. A terse order to remain on site and see the munitions safely back to headquarters. Which meant…

Maxson knows.

It was the only thing Danse could think. The orders would have been unremarkable except for the explicit and unambiguous instruction that he return alone. Something was wrong. A reassignment? A reprimand?

He tried to keep his face neutral despite the hot flush of humiliation. Knight Williams stood across the outpost and it seemed there was still some mercy left in the wasteland, because her headlamp illuminated the woods in the opposite direction. Her armor glinted dully, a sheen of radioactive rain still clinging to the steel, but for once Danse's thoughts weren't on the possibility of rust.

Yes. It had to be about Cecily Williams. Maxson must have suspected Danse was getting too attached to his knight. Or he'd determined that Danse's priorities were out of order, just as he'd warned him against at the outset of this experimental partnership. Either way, Danse wasn't looking forward to explaining himself.

It would still be better than letting Williams take the blame for his own folly. The Elder had always been suspicious of her motives. But Maxson didn't know her the way Danse did. And he couldn't know that nothing else had happened between the two of them.

Honestly, Danse was a little offended that anyone would think it might have. He might have been quietly enamored of one of his soldiers, yes, but he was first and foremost a Brotherhood paladin. He'd die before he jeopardized the mission. And—it stung to think, but he suspected it was true—it might be for the best if he and Williams went to separate teams. He thought he was in control of his feelings, but he was hardly objective. If there was a risk of favoritism impairing his decisions in the field...

Damn. He'd have to face the music.

But there was no time for distractions. Their objective was of the utmost importance and he'd chosen their time of departure carefully. There was another hour before sunrise, and Danse wanted to be well into the Glowing Sea by then.

He stepped away from the terminal and snapped on his helmet.

"Ready now?" called Williams a second time from her spot at the perimeter, her voice filtered through the respirator.

"Ready," he asserted as he strode to her side. It might be the last time they set out on a mission together, but he'd be damned if he gave her any hint of that. She didn't need any more distractions.

"Good luck out there, you two," said Haylen. "Don't come back as ghouls, okay?"

"We've got it, Haylen. See you."

A final chorus of Ad Victoriam all around, and they were off.

(Continued under the cut. Also on AO3.)

The trek through the Glowing Sea was less miserable than their first had been. It wasn't scorchingly hot, for one thing, and they'd left the bulk of their gear at the outpost. A lighter burden let them move faster. If the maps were accurate, they were a few hours' hike from their destination.

"Less miserable" was still pretty damn miserable, however. Williams led the way and Danse turned frequently to check their backs. The rain impeded visibility and soaked through the gaps in their armor. He kept his headlamp on.

The edge of the Glowing Sea reminded him more of the Capital Wasteland than anywhere else in the Commonwealth. In a way, the outskirts were worse than the crater itself. That might as well have been an alien landscape or the site of some natural disaster. It held few reminders of anything to do with mankind, but here… as they passed a church, then a battered Red Rocket and an isolated bit of highway, there was no escaping the thought that humanity had brought this hell down on itself. His furiously clicking Geiger was a constant reminder of the rads they were subjecting themselves to. The Power Armor offered decent shielding, but this terrain really wasn't fit for human travelers.

Even if certain other things seemed to thrive. Danse caught a glimpse of a familiar and ominous shadow on the horizon—or what passed for the horizon when visibility was so poor. It was probably only a few dozen yards away.

"I don't think we're alone," he told his partner over his helmet radio, reaching for his rifle and searching the cliffs for movement even as he switched off his headlamp. "Reduce illumination levels."

"What is it?”

"Deathclaw. Seven o'clock. Might be stalking us."

She dropped into a crouch and swore. "We should detour."

"No. I don't want to get too far off course." Forget the wildlife, the terrain and the radiation would do them in. "If we get into trouble out here, that'll be it."

The knight let out a puff of laughter. "A deathclaw doesn't count as 'trouble'?"

"Just advance cautiously. Don’t engage if we can avoid it.” He checked the terrain again, assessing the threat, before turning back to Williams. "Let's move out."

In the dim light, she was just a silhouette in Power Armor. "All right, Paladin. Watch my back."

"Roger that."

The sun was rising around them, but the only real sign of it was the brighter glow of the fog. The two of them kept down and moved at a slower pace than before. Danse's nerves hummed with uncomfortable and competing desires to either flee or face the threat outright. He hated creeping along like a radroach.

As they advanced, an old radio tower emerged slowly from the fog ahead. He tracked their progress against its position, still monitoring their surroundings, until Williams dropped into a low crouch four paces ahead. Then she held up her arm in a signal he knew.

Danse reached for his rifle.

Fire and maneuver. Williams stayed in place, Danse looped around, and luck was on their side today because it was only a few minutes later that they stood over the body of a Deathclaw. The thing was glowing with radiation; it sent his Geiger into a new frenzy.

"We can't stay here," Williams said.

"No."

They moved away from the corpse and continued on south. Really, they couldn't reach the site soon enough for peace of mind. Danse's heart rate was still faster than it ought to have been, and it wasn't just the excitement of combat. This place set him on edge. It was... haunting. It was impossible to ignore the grimness of it as he scanned their surroundings.

Hard to imagine that Williams had seen the bomb drop. Hell, half the time he forgot where she'd come from. She was so sure of herself, so steady in the face of the world's horrors, that it put him to shame.

Danse glanced back at his partner. He couldn't see her face behind the helmet, but he could hear her when she said, "We're getting close."

"It's right there." He pointed ahead to a series of shadowy shapes through the fog. Broken towers, radioactive pools—and a large, blank pyramid behind them. That was their destination.

They skirted the radioactive pools and paused, staring in unison at a pair of abandoned bomb crates lying out in the open.

After a long moment, Williams started and checked her six. "Excuse my lapse in attention, Paladin."

"It's all right." It was his fault as much as hers, anyway. "Let me try to reach Haylen."

But as he'd expected, there was too much interference on the main Brotherhood frequency. Only an occasional gurgle broke the static.

Danse shook his head. "No go."

"Oh, well. It was worth a shot."

He looked back one last time when they reached the door.

The weather conditions had worsened significantly. A distant bolt of lightning lit up half the sky and whether it was his imagination or his laser rifle, he could have sworn he smelled the ozone even through his respirator.

"Let's swap positions," he said. "I'll take point."

She laughed a little wryly. "After you, Danse."

This facility had definitely been more than a disposal site. He said as much to Williams.

“Launch silo,” she repeated dully, leaning over the edge of the railing and peering down into the darkness. “Fantastic.”

"All right. Let's see what's down there."

The light was dim inside the silo, and the air was stale and almost immobile. Even through the filters of his helmet it was oppressive. That he was not imagining. But even the stale air was preferable to the stench that filled his lungs whenever they caught an updraft: standing water and dry rot, ferals and whatever rancid prey they'd dragged in from the Sea.

"Ugh," said Williams over her suit's radio as they passed a picked-over carcass of the latter. "This is disgusting."

"I'm in full agreement with you there, soldier."

He couldn't see her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "We never go anywhere that isn't."

"There's always the Prydwen."

"The Prydwen is disgusting, too. We don't all have our own private quarters like some people. Have you forgotten how rank it gets in the barracks?"

"No," he said dryly. The distinct odor caused by too many feet in close quarters with insufficient ventilation was a common observation of new recruits. And old ones. "It's almost as bad as the mess hall."

"Was that... a joke? Paladin, I'm ashamed of you."

Before Danse could respond, a pale shadow flickered in the corner of his eye—

"We got ferals!" he shouted.

The site was full of ferals, in fact. They mowed through them diligently as they descended further into the structure. It was unpleasant work, but not difficult from their position, and the two of them worked well as a team. Battlefield cohesion had never been a problem with her.

With the premises cleared, they removed their helmets. Her face was averted, but she seemed to be holding up all right. Cecily Williams really did make a natural soldier. And she'd learned in the field: she searched the bodies of the ghouls with a professional detachment that she hadn't quite had when she joined the Brotherhood.

"Anything of interest?" he called as she crouched to inspect a corpse.

She looked back up at him, and for all his good intentions it was a struggle not to stare; it wasn't normally his way, but he was only human. She really was beautiful, despite—maybe because of—the scars that streaked down her face and twisted her lip, or the faint bruises that lingered nearly a year after her injuries. She just looked like… home.

Which was a preposterous thought. They were on a mission and home was where he'd be sending her shortly. It wasn’t for Danse to question Maxson’s decisions.

"Nothing," she said with remarkable good cheer. "Unless you're interested in a toothbrush or an extremely outdated newspaper."

"I think we can pass."

"Seems like these people were settled in here for the long haul, doesn’t it?"

Whatever preparations they'd made hadn't helped them survive the apogee of human arrogance. Danse shrugged off the observation as he and Williams made their way further back through the tunnels. The underground complex was a maze, but he thought they were heading back the way they’d come, away from the pyramid and toward the silent towers. At one point Knight Williams clambered through a hacked-out hole in the wall. He followed a moment later.

"Something like a control room down the hall," she said in a low voice. "And I see a blast door. I think we found the place."

"Outstanding."

Danse paced a few feet away. It was unexpectedly difficult to look directly at her.

"You should return to the airport immediately, Williams. I'll remain on watch until the vertibirds arrive."

He forced his eyes back to find her staring at him in apparent disbelief.

"You want me to go back on my own?"

"Without that deathclaw, the route we took should be clear. I know you can handle yourself out there. Here."

Williams stared at the assortment of supplies—extra stimpaks, RadAway, water—he held out to her. "That's ridiculous. Why don't I wait with you?"

He couldn't think about the dangers. Orders were orders. "I don't have a choice."

"But—"

"Dismissed, Knight."

She stared at him for another half a second. Then she nodded, collected his supplies, and turned to go. The heavy steps of her Power Armor echoed through the empty silo, followed by the distant bell of an elevator.

And then there was nothing but the clicking of his Geiger counter to keep Danse company.

That and a stockpile of nukes.

He swallowed the faint pang of distaste and directed his thoughts to the greater good. Overwhelming force was the most efficient way to secure the Commonwealth and ensure the long-term survival of its people. Liberty Prime would give the Brotherhood the upper hand against the Institute—and then some. That was all that mattered.

It would take a while for the message to be relayed. He kept his rifle at the ready, just in case; they'd dealt with the ferals, but there was still that cultist and his robot in the control room. Cecily had pacified the lunatic for now, but God only knew if he'd stay calm. And it was critically important to keep those bombs in Brotherhood hands.

He kept his safety off, too. Just in case.

An hour passed without incident, then another. Danse paced in growing disquiet, keeping half an eye on the control room above, but there was no sign of activity. His head was starting to ache. Williams should have reached the edge of the Sea by now, and Haylen should have relayed their position to the Prydwen. All he had to do was wait and try not to lose his mind.

As the minutes ticked by and turned into yet another hour, Danse began to find that task harder than he should have. He should have let Williams wait with him. Orders were orders, but he could have used his discretion as a field officer to make a different call than sending her back alone.

What if she had run into trouble outside? The Glowing Sea was a damn nightmare. Had he sent her out alone just to prove to Maxson—or to himself—that he could? That he wouldn’t let personal attachment get in the way of sending yet another person under his command to their death? He'd had so many close calls with Williams already. He should never have allowed himself to form such an attachment in the first place.

The throbbing in his head grew stronger. It had been too long. The vertibirds should be here by now. Danse shifted his weight uneasily and turned into the shadows to watch the door.

And then the chatter of static came on the radio in his helmet.

"Check—come in, Danse—"

Adrenaline flooded his body. The signal was so distorted he didn't recognize the voice. How was a signal even reaching him down here? Had Williams come back after all? He snatched for the switch of his transceiver.

"This is Paladin Danse. Go ahead."

"You need to get out of there. There’s an alert out for you. Over."

"What the hell are you—is that Haylen?"

But the voice on the radio didn't answer. From this location, it was impressive he'd picked up that much: the pulser beacon relayed his position, but that was all.

"What do you mean, an alert?" he said to the empty room.

But there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd known something was wrong—but this didn't seem like…

He tried the secondary Brotherhood frequency, then another. This time his radio picked up a clearer signal. Local.

The constriction in his throat eased, replaced by annoyance at the sloppy security protocol. He'd have to have a word with these soldiers' commanding officer.

And then the words they were speaking came through.

"I still can't believe it. How did Quinlan find out?"

"Some intel Danse's new pal brought up from the Institute. Bet he regrets bringing her on board now."

“Double-crossing traitor."

Danse paused on the verge of pressing the push-to-talk button on his transceiver.

"A synth. Who'd have fucking thought it."

"I don't know. I always thought there was something a little off about Danse.”

Down at the loading bay, Danse stood at a loss for words. What kind of sick joke—what were they—

The voices continued. "Pulser's going nuts. Definitely the place. Tracker on his suit says we’re close. Where the hell is he?"

"Must be further down. Look at all these—argh! Disgusting ferals."

“All clear?”

“Looks like. Try the tunnel.”

Danse switched off his radio with haste. And he listened. It was only a moment before the heavy clanking of Power Armor on metal walkways echoed through the silo. It was still distant, but they wouldn’t be long now. Not with that trail of feral corpses to follow. And the blast door was open.

It didn't matter. If it was a mistake... it had to be a mistake... they could sort it out later. But he wouldn't be able to do that if he was killed before he could speak to Maxson. To someone who could explain what was going on.

The Geiger counter clicked as furiously as his racing thoughts. They'd find him in a matter of minutes. He wasn't going to fight his brothers, and he couldn't…

What the hell could he do?

It was probably less than a minute before he decided, but it felt like longer. Even the Geiger seemed to slow as his thoughts converged. His mind focused like a scope on a target. One target, one thought: he had to get out of the godforsaken Glowing Sea.

There was nothing else worth taking from this site. Ferals with their rags. Some ancient debris, the crazed cultist upstairs…

He suddenly regretted giving Williams his extra supplies.

Survival was a long shot, but it was a calculated risk. He'd have better odds facing a Deathclaw naked than a vertibird full of Brotherhood soldiers set on capturing or killing an enemy combatant.

And there was no doubt they'd been given one order or the other. Any synth in the Brotherhood would be bad enough, but Danse was a paladin. If they thought he was an infiltrator... hell, he knew the order he'd have given.

There was nothing for it. His hazmat suit was back with the rest of their gear at the outpost with Haylen. His flight suit and hood provided a limited amount of radiation shielding. If he was lucky, they’d keep him alive. He could only avoid any obvious hotspots and hope not to encounter any hostiles.

It wasn’t impossible, even here in the most dangerous part of the Commonwealth. Danse could be stealthy if he had to. As a Brotherhood soldier, he rarely had to. It was one of the things he liked most about his job.

Had liked. One way or another, this would be the end of his career.

Danse pressed the hydraulic release valve and stepped out of his Power Armor.

Sentinel Site Prescott, 2288

When a man commits himself to anything, fully realising that he is not only choosing what he will be, but is thereby… deciding for the whole of mankind–in such a moment a man cannot escape from the sense of complete and profound responsibility.

Jean-Paul Sartre, “Existentialism is a Humanism” (1946)

The clicking of the Geiger counter stopped. It left an unsettling stillness in its wake and for an agonized moment, Danse wished Williams were still here.

No. It was better she was gone. Better she didn't know anything. If Danse had to go down, the last thing he wanted was to drag her with him. And right now, with Brotherhood soldiers approaching, he needed to keep his head more than ever.

He stepped away from the empty suit of Power Armor, leaving it to stand silently in the shadows between walls of munitions crates, and secured his weapons and pack. Then he crouched low and crept to the door of the loading bay, trying to stay out of the light. His uniform suit allowed for better stealth than Power Armor did, but the damn thing was still bright orange.

He waited, still keeping low, and hardly jolted at the first blast of laser fire overhead. So much for pacifying the cultist.

The momentary distraction of the soldiers gave him the break he needed to make a run for it. But which way? The freight elevator would take him the way Williams had gone, out of the silo and into the Sea, but it was exposed. Bright light, the creak of the lift mechanism—there was no way they'd fail to notice his escape.

His body insisted run, but he forced himself to think it through. The blasts of laser fire from the control room would cover the noise from the lift mechanism.

Danse hit the call button just before the firing stopped.

He froze. And then he moved, staying low, away from the creaking elevator and back the way he'd come in. It was still a maze of shadowy tunnels, but perhaps this time that would work to his advantage. It was good for him that they'd killed the cultist, actually. No one else could say they'd seen Danse flee. Not even Williams. He rounded a corner to—

More Brotherhood soldiers, racing in as backup. Of course there were more. If they weren't looking for him yet, they would be in a moment. Danse ducked behind a drainage pipe in the nick of time and found himself knee-deep in a pool of rancid standing water.

If he'd thought the stench of bloated mole rat corpses was bad before, without his helmet it was all but unbearable. But he stayed there, letting the tepid water soak into his boots and trying not to breathe too deeply, until the main tunnel was clear.

It looked like he'd have to take the elevator after all.

Danse had one stroke of luck, which was that no one had reacted to the clattering arrival of the elevator. It was still there, waiting for him, so he crept aboard and hit the button. And took a deep breath.

When he turned around, he found himself face to face with the grinning corpse of a Glowing One, splayed over a pile of crates in a macabre sort of invitation. Danse cursed, hoped there was still a remnant of Rad-X in his system, and nudged the grotesque thing away with the butt of his rifle.

Probably just as well he didn't have the Geiger. All it could do was tell him exactly how quickly he was killing himself.

At the top, he left the platform as quickly as he could and braced himself before the last door to the outside world. If he'd gauged his position correctly, he was in one of the towers northeast of the pyramid. Depending where exactly the vertibirds had landed, he might still have a chance to escape.

Slowly, he pushed open the door.

He wasn't in the vertibirds' direct line of sight. Good. Their propellers were visible over the crest of the hill, but that was fifty yards away at least. Danse breathed slightly easier. He'd still need to move carefully, though. It was highly probable they'd set a sentry.

A loud creak spurred him into action. Someone below had just called the elevator back. It seemed his streak of luck was over.

Danse stepped out onto the landing and felt the hot air hit his body like a wall. A flash of lightning revealed, just for a second, the shape of the Prydwen hovering over the horizon. A cruel irony. Well, at least he could orient by it.

He moved cautiously out further on the ancient grille, but the metal didn't even creak under his weight. That was abnormally jarring. Danse wasn't a small man, but he was accustomed to moving in Power Armor in the field. His proprioception was all off.

Dropping from a height wasn’t as easy as he was used to, either. But the ground was soft under his boots. He hoped it was from the rain and not from the radioactive sludge that circled the base of the concrete tower like a moat. Since there was nothing to be done about it either way, he didn't take the time to examine things more closely.

He just ran.

When he looked back, he regretted it. One, then two knights in Power Armor stood on the metal platform, scanning the terrain.

So he ran faster.

He didn't keep up the pace for long. Just far enough that he was out of firing range. It was enough to start. They didn't seem to have identified his direction.

He wasn't sure of the time, only that it was past sunset. The Glowing Sea never fully darkened, and the rain had stopped while they were inside, but the clouds lingered and visibility was still poor. Under the circumstances, that might work to Danse's advantage. Speed and stealth were the only way he'd get out of here. He only had a few things on him besides his guns. Food, less than he'd like. Ammo, less than he'd like. Two cans of water and that was it. He didn't even have his damn radio.

He stumbled over more signs of Williams: bloatfly corpses, half dissolved in plasma, and the familiar footprints of T-60 that disappeared into the dunes. He'd been right: his knight could take care of herself. It didn't keep the cold sweat from his skin, knowing he’d left her to face this hellscape on her own. Knowing why, exactly, he'd been ordered to wait alone.

He could hear the familiar rumble of a vertibird circling overhead. It had been a very long time since he found that sound menacing. Now, taking cover behind a boulder, he squinted up at the sky. What the hell were they doing? They needed to get those nukes back to the…

They were searching for Danse. Not just searching: hunting. If he’d had any lingering doubts as to their objective, the fact that it was a gunship rather than a transport would have eliminated them.

But his cover held. The lancers flew low and then they moved on.

Danse moved on, too. He counted his breaths. Paced himself. He knew how to survive in the wasteland. When he scrambled over rubble and crept past mutant-infested ruins, it was with thirty-something years of experience in doing just that.

...wasn't it?

No wonder they were hunting him. He'd gone AWOL. Deserted, even. He'd left his power armor—he'd even left the fusion core, goddamn it—and he'd abandoned the bombs in express defiance of his orders. Never mind that the Brotherhood soldiers had arrived before he left. He'd made a snap judgment to flee and now he had to live with the consequences. If there hadn't been a price on his head before, there would be now, even if it proved that Danse was exactly who and what he thought he was.

It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out of here before he turned into a damn ghoul instead. He could assess the situation fully once he was in a secure location. He couldn't spend the night here in nothing but a flight suit. He’d have to power through.

He even had a destination in mind. A fortified bunker near Malden–a fallback point for his recon team. They'd never used it. Haylen knew about it, but Haylen knew all the same fallback points he did. And if that had been her on the radio earlier… well. It would make as good a safehouse as any, and better than most.

The route was another decision point. Danse had two options: the brackish marshes and fens south of Boston, which would require traveling through the city itself and skirting uncomfortably close to the airport, or following the highway north past the Brotherhood waypoint and God knew what else.

He went north.

He still didn’t have enough water. He eyeballed a pond but passed it without stopping. If the radiation didn't get him, he'd be lucky if stomach cramps were the best of it.

Fortunately, he did scavenge one single can of water at the relay tower. The relay tower that was… operational? They’d passed it on the way in. He didn’t remember seeing any lights before…

Knight Williams. Of course. She'd brought the relay online. That was how he'd been able to pick up Haylen’s signal: Williams. Was there anything she couldn't do?

He'd asked her that question once and been startled by her response. It was one of the only occasions he could recall her snapping at him. She usually brushed off the things that bothered her with a light quip.

Not that time.

"What can’t I do? Take your pick. Save my husband. Find my son. Turn back time so none of this ever happened."

He didn't know what to tell her.

She looked away. "Do you have a family, Paladin Danse?"

Danse shrugged. "I have the Brotherhood," he said.

He didn’t make it as far as he would have liked before the storm showed signs of returning. He had to find cover before the rain started up again. Fleeing unarmored and unequipped was one thing; doing it soaking wet was another. Every crack of thunder reminded him of the damage his body was taking. Even machines could only stand up to so many rads before the damage was irreversible...

Drawing on every bit of training and every year of practice controlling his emotions—fighting every natural inclination he had—Danse shoved the thought from his mind. The question of his identity could be dealt with later. Right now, he needed shelter to survive.

He found a semblance of it, eventually, in an ancient church half-sunk into the ground. He climbed in through a hole in the roof. He was probably still taking more rads than he ought to, but this was better than being out in the open.

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone. Stirrings of movement caught his eye just in time before he dropped to the lower level. He didn't have his headlamp, but he didn't need it: those scrabbling sounds meant more damn ferals. If he'd had the ammo to spare, he could have fired on them from above. If he'd had his armor, he could have gone down there and gone hand-to-hand with the mob. But he had neither.

Which meant he couldn't stay here long. If one of the disgusting things figured out how to climb to the upper level where Danse stood, the others would follow.

Maybe he could just… sit for a moment. The weather might be clearing: peering up through the broken rafters, Danse could even see a few stars through the luminous, omnipresent clouds. He must be almost to the edge of the Sea. He could afford a moment’s rest.

But his mind was blurring. He drank his last can of water in a few gulps but it didn't quench his thirst. He was hot, but he found he was shivering. Dehydration? Bad sign. Running a fever? That wasn’t a good sign, either.

Neither was vomiting over the railing into the nave of the church. It had been some time since Danse had last felt the symptoms of radiation sickness, but they were unmistakable. He'd never make it out of here if he didn't keep moving and get some help. It couldn't be far to the Brotherhood waypoint…

For a moment, confused by fatigue and radiation, he forgot who he was fleeing and why. And then memory struck like the lightning that illuminated the sky through the rafters.

He crawled up the stairs, as far away from the wakeful ferals as he could get, and his fumbling hands hit something in the darkness with a familiar metallic ting. A first-aid box. There had to be something inside. Maybe more water, maybe some stims—Rad-Away if he was lucky—

Frantically, he peeled off his gloves and pried it open, scraping his knuckles on the raw-edged steel to find...

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

The Capital Wasteland, 2286

The hum of the Prydwen's engines was quieter in the sick bay than in his own quarters. After a sleepless night, Danse resented the relative silence. His head was still throbbing and the lights were all too bright.

"I don't see a date of birth here," remarked Cade finally. "You're how old?"

"About thirty-four. Give or take."

"Wastelander, right?"

"Yeah."

"Recent radiation exposure?"

"No more than usual."

"Hmm. Any intimate contact with the civilian population lately? Non-humans?"

Danse almost laughed. "No."

Cade lifted a brow at him. "You know I have to ask, Paladin. You drink?"

"Sometimes."

"How often?"

The questions went on and on. Danse responded with as much patience as he could muster. The tapping of keys and the Knight-Captain's low, off-pitch hum wore on his nerves.

"Hm." Cade examined the terminal yet again. "You say you've been experiencing these symptoms for some time, but I don't see any previous mentions in your notes, Paladin."

"I didn't consider it worth bringing up until recently."

"Next time, let me be the judge of that," said Cade, looking up from the screen. "I'd rather do an exam than an autopsy. All right. Let's draw some blood."

Danse was starting to regret his decision to stop by the sick bay. When Cade came at him with a phlebotomy tray, his stomach churned and he barely resisted the urge to flinch away. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," Cade said wearily. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't have asked."

It hadn't been a request, but Danse rolled up his sleeve anyway and braced himself against the pressure of the tourniquet.

"We'll do a full workup," continued the doctor. "Results will take a few days."

"I don't have a few days. I'm back on the ground tomorrow."

Cade shook his head, fitting a needle into his syringe. "Where are they sending you this time? If you can tell me, of course."

"Up to the Commonwealth with a recon team. Could be in the field a while." Danse glanced away as the needle pierced his skin.

"All the more reason you should have come sooner. I'm tempted to deny your medical clearance."

"You don't have the authority to—”

"But I won't," Cade continued severely, "provided I have your word you'll follow your medic's advice out there."

Danse took a deep breath and shut his eyes against the lights. His head was still spinning. "I'll do so if... at all possible," he said, choosing his words with care.

"That's as good as I'm going to get, isn't it?" Cade withdrew the syringe somewhat less gently than he might have and dropped Danse's arm back onto the cold metal. "At least get some damn rest before you go, Danse."

"I'll try." He rose gratefully to his feet. "Knight-Captain."

Cade sighed and waved him out.

Danse doubted the tests would turn up anything useful. He'd get by, regardless. He always did.

Later, he wasn't quite sure how he'd made it to the edge of the Sea. Parts of the last leg were crystal clear, others hazy; he'd fought off a radscorpion, he thought. Or two. Maybe he’d only killed the one and the other had given him up as a worthless catch.

He certainly felt like a worthless catch. He'd rid himself of everything in his stomach and then some, but the waves of cramps kept coming. His head spun and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His face felt hot, like he'd been in the sun too long, even though the sun was just now rising. He'd been in the Glowing Sea a full twenty-four hours.

The Brotherhood waypoint wasn't far. With his head spinning the way it was, he could almost have given himself up just for some reprieve. But he didn't. He steered clear of the waypoint and kept to cover as much as he could and finally, just when he started to fear he'd lost his way, the Sea began to yield to scrubland and he emerged just south of Lake Cochituate.

Still, when he saw a Brotherhood checkpoint ahead, it was a struggle not to run forward and hold up his arms. Explain what had happened—explain there had been a mistake.

But the checkpoint wasn’t manned by people in the uniforms he knew. That was unanticipated. Their manner of dress was vaguely familiar, however, and Danse squinted at them until his mind made the connection: Minutemen.

"Hey," one of them said. "Hey, buddy. You all right?"

Danse nodded, but his mouth felt thick and slow as he said, "Too many rads. Got… meds? Water?"

"Oh, yeah,” said a man, nodding at the woman next to him. “Ramos does."

The woman rustled around in her pack and produced a pouch of Rad-Away. Danse saw the moment she recognized his uniform: the extended hand paused in midair.

"You get lost or something?"

"I…" Danse’s mind went blank. He hated lying, not least because he wasn’t very good at it. “Yes. On patrol.”

Fortunately, he must look as terrible as he felt, because the Minutemen seemed to take his confusion as symptoms of the radiation sickness. Ramos shook her head. "I think maybe they left you behind, pal. They all pulled up stakes from that checkpoint last night and flew out in a vertibird.”

It was more difficult than usual to find his tongue. “I… see. Thank you.”

"How long have you been out here? All night?”

Danse nodded again. Even he could tell it was a jerky and erratic motion.

“Shit. You got real lucky. Human body’s not meant to take that kind of beating.”

A statement he really didn't need to hear just then. “They’re all gone?”

“'Fraid so. Anything else we can do for you?”

They helped him inject himself with the medication. They gave him the supplies he needed. They even showed him to an abandoned suit of Power Armor, and Danse felt his first flicker of hope since leaving the Sentinel site. It was X-01, not T-60, and devoid of markings. The Brotherhood wouldn't know he had it—it would suit his purposes perfectly—but there was no fusion core. Damn. No help at all.

But there was a Brotherhood terminal tucked under a makeshift shelter. At least Danse could see the details of the order against him.

He paused in front of the terminal. If he used his official credentials, the scribes would be able to track his location. But Haylen had set up a private communication channel when they'd first arrived in the Commonwealth. If he remembered correctly, besides himself, only Haylen and Knight-Sergeant Dawes had been given the access code. And Dawes was dead, whatever he'd known lost in a wet smear of brain and hair.

Danse didn't really expect to find a message, but he entered the password anyway. The connection went through. The inbox was empty, as he'd expected. But just as his finger hovered over the escape key—there it was. A new message.

I might be putting my own neck on the chopping block by sending this, but the situation is unbelievable. Danse, they're saying you're an Institute synth. Neriah ran some tests and they must have been pretty damn conclusive because there's already an alert out for your head.

l don't know what to believe. I hope to hell you're not a traitor. I don't know why else a synth would join the Brotherhood, but I know you. You must have had your reasons.

You know they won't care. If you see this, you need to run... and fast.

Danse's mind raced. The message could be a trap, but that seemed unlikely. He trusted Haylen. Moreover, the message didn't appear to anticipate a response. There was also no mention of a rendezvous point or anything else that would lead a searcher to him.

A second message followed the first. Reflexively, he checked to make sure no one was looking over his shoulder.

Got into the files Quinlan decrypted. Here's the evidence. DNA matched yours.

Danse stared at the attached report. His own face stared back at him—maybe younger, unscarred, but unmistakably himself. M7-97. Unit at large. Location unknown.

He couldn't have composed a response if he'd tried. But the confirmation filled him with a strange sort of calm, too. He'd been right to flee.

He left the Minutemen behind with only a brief word of farewell. He had to get away. Keep moving. Run. Maybe there was still some mistake.

That thought got him past a Mass Fusion disposal site, past a super mutant camp, into the dry wasteland at last. It was another mile before he let himself think about it again.

What if it wasn't a mistake?

His steps slowed and his knees went weak. He didn't feel like a synth. He felt human. But what did synths feel like? He could feel his heart beating. He could taste the blood in his mouth.

Sure, he'd always been a little removed from the others, but who the hell wasn’t? Danse was acquainted with plenty of senior officers in the Brotherhood. None of them were known for their healthy and enriching personal lives. The Brotherhood came first because that was how it should be. And Danse had fit right in.

He had no way to check. But…

It seemed absurd. It felt absurd. But looking at it objectively, it made a horrible kind of sense.

Danse didn't know his last name. He didn't know how old he was. He'd grown up alone… and all in all, if you were going to implant false memories in someone's head, his made for a damned convenient set. Was there even anyone he'd known before Cutler who could vouch for him?

But I remember, part of his mind cried out. I remember. I'm real.

Damn it.

This mission, the Commonwealth, it had changed him even before this. He’d been lurching from one crisis to another for so long. He’d spent ten months watching his team die one by one. Williams had pulled them out of what would have been their final stand but until the Prydwen had shown up, he hadn’t been certain he’d see the rest of the Brotherhood again.

Even when the Prydwen arrived, his relief was laced with a thread of anxiety. It was good to see them, but they’d come prepared for an occupation. For conquest. The culmination of their years of preparation. He was glad of it, but he hadn’t felt quite ready. It had passed him by, literally and figuratively; his mind struggled to keep up even as they watched and cheered from the police station. He slapped Rhys on the shoulder and got a hint of a grin out of him, but Haylen’s smile mirrored his own anxiety.

He hadn't taken the time to indulge their nerves. They’d gone to the Prydwen, Maxson had rallied the forces, and Danse had been inspired in the cause all over again. Whatever infrequent, private doubts he might have harbored about their young leader's decisions were dwarfed by the enormity of their mission, and with Maxson at the lead, a Brotherhood victory seemed… if not inevitable, at least within their grasp. There was hope for humanity after all.

Except Danse wasn’t human.

When it truly struck, he felt winded. He was shaking harder than he had with the radiation sickness; he reached out to an ancient petrified tree for support, clutching the branch like a lifeline until the brittle wood snapped under the pressure of his hands. He couldn’t fill his lungs.

He wasn’t human.

Listening Post Bravo, 2288

Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself.

We mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world—and defines himself afterwards. …to begin with he is nothing. He will not be anything until later, and then he will be what he makes of himself.

Life is nothing until it is lived; but it is yours to make sense of, and the value of it is nothing else but the sense that you choose.

Jean-Paul Sartre, “Existentialism is a Humanism” (1946)

Danse snuck past a raider encampment. It made him sick to just move on, to leave them to prey on innocent civilians, but alone—without his armor, without his team—he was nothing. The helpless, worthless feeling he'd spent his whole life trying to escape had finally caught up with him.

He'd been on high alert since the Sentinel site and that was catching up with him, too. He made sloppy errors. He almost lost a leg to a pack of snarling mongrels through his own damn carelessness. A disgrace to the Brotherhood of Steel in more ways than one.

It wasn't politic to say in civilian company, but Danse normally enjoyed combat. Not the death or the horror or the stench, but the excitement of the struggle and the satisfaction when it was over. The security of knowing you lived another day while your enemy didn’t. The pride of doing something you were good at for a cause you believed in.

Not this. This was just survival. He felt like a damn radroach all over again—except that even a radroach was a natural creature, not something... manufactured. Artificial. A hunted animal had more right to its freedom than Danse did.

But he wasn't helpless. Not really. Survival was what he knew: it was all he'd known, before the Brotherhood.

He just couldn't help anyone else.

There was no way out of this. The words on that display were incontrovertible. If Quinlan was convinced…

He passed Lexington. The Corvega assembly plant was another reminder of his failures. Malden. At this point he barely cared if he ever made it to his destination. His head throbbed. How long had it been since he slept?

The sky was darkening again by the time Danse stumbled over the hillside to the old listening post.

He cut the power to the elevator. It wouldn't stop anyone. But he'd have enough warning to decide what to do. They'd probably find him eventually.

It was so damn unfair. He'd given the Brotherhood everything he had only to wind up here, a hole in the ground with U.S. government paraphernalia everywhere. Reminders of another lost cause. The fact that coming here felt like coming home… well, the irony wasn’t lost on Danse.

Why had this happened to him? All he'd ever wanted to be was exactly what he'd thought he was. God. He was a living lie. He was a damn fool and he didn’t know what to do. How the hell could anyone escape their own self?

Slowly... inevitably... the reality of his situation began to sink in. And the room grew colder.

He'd made it this far on pure instinct. Now that his rational mind was engaged, he could turn and face the truth he dreaded: that there was no way out. That the enemy was inside him—that he was his own worst enemy, whether he liked it or not.

The Commonwealth was at risk. Humanity itself was at risk. Nobody could look at the wasteland and think otherwise. Nobody who'd seen the Institute's work firsthand. Certainly no Brotherhood soldier worth his salt.

Most recruits found the restrictions of military life uncomfortable. Danse had never complained. A bed in the Citadel—or later, a berth on the Prydwen–beat the doorways he'd slept in as a child or a sorry bunk in the Rivet City common room. But all that had been secondary to what else the Brotherhood gave him: a place to belong, people to call his brothers and sisters. And more than that, more than anything else, it had given him a purpose in life.

Danse had done things he regretted as a soldier, but the things he'd done to survive as a civilian filled him with a different kind of shame. The humiliation of knowing you weren’t worth shit.

He'd been on good terms with Arthur Maxson, but their backgrounds kept them on opposite sides of an invisible line. He hadn't been all but a prince, carefully sheltered because of the blood that ran through his veins, aware at every moment of his privilege and his responsibility. Danse had come from nothing, been nothing, and the Brotherhood had welcomed him anyway. Made him into someone he could be proud of.

He'd wanted to do something of value, and he had. He'd wanted to be part of something and he'd done that too. If his life was the cost, so be it. He wouldn't betray the Brotherhood. Not when it had given him everything that mattered. What else was he going to do—flee the Commonwealth? No. When they came after him, he wouldn’t resist.

He just hoped it would be quick.

He could speed things along. This site was set up for communication. He could radio the Prydwen right now—turn himself in to Haylen or Maxson or the entire ground force—but all he did was stare at the knob.

Maybe he should just do it himself.

It felt like the walls were closing in. Like all the air was leaving the room. He'd lived this long on stolen time, lived a life that was never meant for him, taken up space in a world he had no right to.

Even surrendering himself would be too much of a risk. Who knew what the Institute had programmed him to do? He could have sabotaged the Brotherhood from within, all the while serving his order with pride and thinking all his decisions were his own. Maybe he’d turn on whoever showed up first. Too much of a risk.

Trapped.

He's trapped.

He's been trapped before.

Another one. God damn it, another one.

There's no way out. How many waves of the things can they hold off without Keane? The ferals just keep coming. Rhys is already out of commission. Haylen's doing her best, but she's not a knight. It's up to Danse... and he's going to let them down. All of them, this time.

But it isn't just up to him, after all. There's someone else here. A stranger, suppressing fire—

“Civilian in the perimeter,” he calls.

Williams isn't coming to save his ass this time. There’s a pang of regret that he won't be able to say farewell. He thinks, vaguely, he might love her—not that it matters now. Not that it could ever matter.

Still... he wants to remember the look on her face the last time he saw her. But he can’t. His mind can only scrabble from one fragmented memory to another: Haylen’s devastation after euthanizing a brother on his orders. Krieg reprimanding him in front of the entire squad for slovenliness. Laughing over drinks with Cutler the day they signed on as Initiates. The flicker of surprise in Cutler’s eyes the moment Danse put a hole between them.

He looks down.

He’s standing in front of an ancient terminal. There’s an old holotape still in the slot. He tugs it out and runs his fingers over the smooth plastic casing, mind circling in the same endless loop. Over and over.

He's wondered how it will happen, of course. They all do. This isn't the glorious battle he once imagined; it isn't the honor of laying down his life for his brothers and sisters. But it's as close as he can get.

All he wonders now is if anyone will find his body. Probably not. What's one more set of bones in the wasteland?

No matter what he does, the Institute is one step ahead. He’s never been able to get away from their scheming and now he knows why: the same people who set the goddamn mutants loose on humanity are the same people who made him. He's an abomination. A mistake. A case study in man's hubris, not a man in his own right.

He refuses to be a part of their schemes any longer.

He records his final words, if that's what they are, and walks slowly into the back room. He sets the holotape on the filing cabinet. Tidies the desk. Checks the safety on his rifle.

The Brotherhood will take down the Institute. He has every faith in that. No more mutants, no more synths, no more sick experiments on the innocent people of the Commonwealth. His friend Williams will have her closure. Danse's own closure is simply arriving earlier than expected.

He lays out his weapons and stares at them. It isn’t an important decision. Any of them will perform the job adequately. He can't die a hero, but at least he can die like a human.

There's no way out.

So he'll add one more synth to the dozens he's already taken down. One small success to the record of Paladin Danse's failures.

He'll shut his eyes. He'll reach for the pistol.

He'll do it. He's doing it now.

When the Protectron blared an alert, Danse's first reaction was irritation. Couldn't the intruders have waited ten damn minutes? He was so close to finishing the job. It wasn't easy, fighting your own instincts that screamed survive, even if you knew better. Even if you knew those instincts weren't real.

Danse didn’t reach for his weapons when the firing started. He should never have been given the honor of carrying arms for the Brotherhood in the first place. His entire life was either a conspiracy or a mistake, and he wasn't sure which was worse. The only thing he knew was that it didn't matter.

He rose to his feet and moved to the middle of the room, empty-handed, and waited. He was calm. It was almost a relief. She'd finally come to finish what he couldn’t—and it was her. Of course it was her.

The shots didn't last long. His half-hearted defenses were no match for Williams. Danse was proud he'd brought such a worthy soldier to the Brotherhood. He was glad he could leave her behind in his place.

And there she was. Nothing felt right, but she was here. That was good. He didn't feel so alone anymore.

In an abstract, distant sort of way, he knew he should regret that she'd be the one to do it. It wouldn't be easy for her. But he was glad. She’d been his friend and he'd get to say a proper farewell.

Yes, this was better. It felt like an ending.

She got straight to the point.

"I wish you'd told me the truth, Danse." Her voice was so weary. So sad.

"I might have, if I'd known what I was." He might be a soulless machine, but he'd never have lied to her. "Does Maxson even want me alive?"

The bitterness in his own words was foreign. He didn't feel bitter. He didn't feel much of anything, actually.

"No," she whispered. "But I don't know what to do."

If he were capable of it, he might have been astonished. Didn't she have her orders? Dragging her heels would just make this harder for her.

"The right thing," he said. "Isn't it obvious?"

She wasn't in Power Armor, but she was carrying the rifle he'd given her. Strange how things had come full circle. Strange, but fitting: Danse had used that same weapon to destroy his closest friend. Now that it was his turn to be put down, he could hardly object.

"No," she gasped. "My God, Danse."

Maybe that was why he'd faltered before. Williams was the missing piece. He'd felt that the night they met and that feeling had never gone away. Now she was struggling, and yes, he was sorry. But it was time.

Danse swallowed. And then he dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his back.

Williams only stared down at him. Her eyes were bright and unblinking. Once again he noticed, in a detached way, how he felt when he looked at her. It was irrelevant. It wasn't for him. But his mind diligently recorded it anyway.

Maybe when he was dead, they'd look at his memories the way they had Kellogg's. Maybe they'd learn everything he’d ever felt about her, every inappropriate thought and—

“Can we just talk?” she said softly. “Just for a few minutes. Please.”

More than anything else, they'd find his shame. Not just about Williams. For all the things he’d thought and done, for everything he hadn't done but wished he had. He didn’t want to undermine Maxson. He couldn't.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped.

"No," she said. "I won't do it, Danse."

Her voice cracked on his name and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears and it was like coming to the surface of a murky pond. He was suddenly aware of their surroundings when a moment before he'd only been conscious of her eyes. The stale air of the bunker overlaid the acrid smell of recently fired laser weapons. The miniscule tremble of Cecily Williams's beautiful mouth as she reminded him of everything she'd lost.

She didn't want to lose him.

They did talk. Not just for a few minutes but for hours, until the clock on her Pip-Boy said it was nearly sunrise. They debated and they strategized. He handed over his holotags and slowly the shards of his life took on a new form. She was right. Whatever sick plot the Institute might have intended, he'd done nothing but serve humanity. And there was nothing he could do to hurt the Brotherhood now. He wouldn't let it happen. Neither would she.

It wasn’t perfect—it was a hell of a long way from perfect—but there was a way out. He might have his own path to follow, but he didn’t need to find his footing alone.

And he was worth something. He’d worked for something. He could start over somewhere else and she could continue the fight here. They both deserved that much.

To his surprise, he found he was smiling at her.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

#paladin danse #fallout 4 #brotherhood of steel #sole survivor #blind betrayal #(aka danse's existential crisis fun time)#tw suicidal ideation #my art #my writing #my attempt to be compliant with a rather plot-holey canon

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ithebookhoarder · 3 years

Note

Your sleepy head canons for the SW trio were adorable! Can I pretty please ask what the original star wars babies would be like with a sick reader? I just need some cuteness in my life right now and I'm rewatching the movies so yeah...

A/N: Um, yes you can! One fluffy dose of OG star wars coming up.

Star Wars (Head-canons): Dealing with a sick reader

Masterlist:

Han:

This man is a marshmallow on the inside, even if years alone in the smuggling game has ensured that it’s deeply hidden away beneath that stoicism and devil-may-care attitude.

You are one of the only people in the entire galaxy he lets see his softer side, whether it’s his casual affection during the day on the Falcon, or his little thoughtful gestures like fetching you caff when you’re flying or working your ass off on repairs.

It’s why he’s actually rather sweet to you when you’re sick, ordering Chewie to take over whatever you were meant to be doing so you can get some rest.

“Han. I’m fine. It’s just a sniffle. I’ll live.”

“I know that, princess, but I don’t need you breaking my ship because you’re too busy coughing and sneezing to see what wires you’re tinkering with.”

You laugh, knowing his sass is his way of hiding the worry that’s brewing inside of him at the sight of you coughing and spluttering around the place. So, you surrender your tools to him and allow him to help you back to your quarters. It’s that or letting him drag you there over his shoulder, like some kind of deranged caveman.

Once you get to your room, you half expect him to leave you there to fend for yourself, but you’re surprised to see him hovering around you, already working out a list of supplies.

“You should lie down. I’ll grab ya some of that fancy tea you like so damn much.”

“Thanks, hon.”

“Do you need anything else? What about some more blankets? Some pillows? I can grab Chewie’s. He doesn’t need it-“

Who knew Han Solo could be such a secret mother hen?

Turns out, with all his travels, he knows a thing or two about fending off a cold. It’s actually rather cute.

You’re too busy trying not to laugh to say no as he hurries about the place and effectively builds you a nest in your shared quarters. He’s also glued to your side, leaving his Wookie first mate in charge while he sees to your every need, even if it’s just holding you while you sleep off whatever it is that’s taken you down.

“I told you you needed a better coat on that planet but nooo your stubborn ass said you didn’t need one.”

“Han. Stop. I didn’t catch this cold there.”

“Where else would you have caught it?”

“Things just happen. It’s ok.”

Han definitely doesn’t think it’s ok, but he doesn’t want to tire you out for arguing over something dumb. You’re just as stubborn as he is and arguments between you two have been known to go on for days sometimes.

Instead, he agrees to disagree for now. As long as you rest and get better then everything else doesn’t matter.

However, the next time you plan to leave the ship he just so happens to be waiting by the ramp, a thick, chunky coat in his hand. And a hat. And gloves.

He grins and presses a kiss to your frowning face as you waddle out, almost suffocating but willing to endure for his sake and as a thank you for all his care the past week.

You also make a mental note to repay the favour next time he gets a little under the weather. You’re sure Chewie would enjoy the sight of his captain haggling with clients, while swaddled in knitwear.

Luke:

Coming from a desert planet, Luke doesn’t know too much about handling things like colds. He’s more used to handling dehydration, sunburn, malnutrition or even the odd blaster wound or two from Jawas.

However, once joining the Rebellion, he learns pretty quickly after being struck down with surprising regularity. He’s an old friend to colds and other conditions common on other planets and in space.

That’s actually how he meets you, always being ordered to stop by the Med Bay by Leia the minute he starts sneezing.

“I don’t need you spreading the plague, Luke,” she sighs, ushering him over to you and ordering him to let you take care of him. “You may be some mighty Jedi but even Jedis get sick.”

You actually enjoy getting to spend time with Luke when he’s sick, and sharing your knowledge about cures and ways to avoid catching diseases in the first place. Luke also enjoys listening to you, admiring how clever you are and how kind, and careful, you are when handling patients.

Thus, when you eventually get sick, he’s only too eager to return the favour. It’s time for him to take care of you, even if he knows you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should, Y/N. Let me help you. Please?”

You smile, agreeing as he takes up residence at your bedside for the next few days. Turns out, he actually has a tender bedside manner, and is incredibly good at keeping you distracted when you get fed up of being on bedrest.

He’s also incredibly aware of changes in mood or your condition, sensing them through the force before you even do. Hence why he’s by your side the moment you take a bad turn, despite him being half way across the base for training.

If he’s out of breath then that’s just a coincidence cause nooooo, he didn’t run here. No. He was right outside and just so happened to be coming in when you needed him most.

“Luke? What the-?”

“Here. I brought soup and some more pain killers from the med bay.”

You take his offerings, grinning in delight as the smell of food hits your nose. “Hmm, my saviour.”

His smile is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen as is his blushing cheeks. “I’m just taking care of you. Who else is going to nurse me back to health next time I’m the one who’s sick?”

“Anything for my favourite farm-boy.”

“Your farm-boy.”

His kiss as he settles in bed beside you is almost enough to make you feel better all on its own.

Leia:

Like mother, like daughter, this woman is a public servant. She may also be a workaholic, but she has her priorities in order and you come before whatever meetings or plans she has for the day.

In fact, the first time you got sick and didn’t tell her, she was hurt. It was C3-PO that had outed you, saying something about you being in your rooms and unable to join in the meeting scheduled that morning when asked where you were. (You knew you shouldn’t have trusted that golden tin can)

Leia had been on you in seconds, bursting in your room and yelling at you for a whole hour about how stupid it was to suffer in silence.

“We have medical staff, Y/N, for this exact reason! You’d rather lie here in pain, suffering, when you could have called someone? Or even me? Don’t tell me you’ve been around Han too much, Maker knows I don’t need two stubborn idiots on this base.”

“I love you too, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up or I’ll tell threepio to come and watch you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

She would dare, but you were more than happy to put up with the lecture, however, given that she was busy wiping at your brow and tucking you in whilst yelling. That, and you had enough of a headache without threepio making worse.

It felt rather surreal to think you had royalty waiting on you hand and foot - even if Leia would have yelled again if you said that to her face. She loved you more than anything and made sure to tell you at least once a day. She wasn’t just a princess, she was your partner and that was all that mattered.

Needless to say, you’d learnt your lesson; whenever you got sick again, you made sure to let Leia know you weren’t feeling great.

That way she could make sure to keep an eye on you, or assign someone to do so when she was dragged from your side for some super urgent meeting she couldn’t avoid any longer.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Leia. Go. You’re needed. I can survive an hour or so without you, but we all know this base won’t if you don’t get your ass over to mission control.”

“You have a good point.”

You chuckle as she steals a kiss before hurrying off to her duties. By the time you wake up from your nap, she’s back again and curled up next to you, watching you out of the corner of her eye whilst she works on the pad in her lap.

She also sings you little lullabies when you’re sick and can’t sleep. They’re all songs her parents sang to her whenever she got sick as a kid. That alone makes you feel better, sharing something so private with her.

Long story short, you may hate being sick, but you don’t hate being sick with Leia around to love and care for you.

#star wars #Star Wars fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars headcanons #princess leia x reader #leia x reader #leia organa #luke skywalker x reader #Luke Skywalker #han solo x reader #Han Solo #masterlist #ithebookhoarder #request #prompt #answered #EPIV #star wars x reader #han x reader

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complicatedandstained · 4 years

Text

Rules of Engagement: Fake It ‘Til You Make It

The road is still rough along the side streets of Radiant Garden, the concrete pathways lined with cracks and crevices deep-set as Yen Sid’s frown lines and rough with rubble and particularly stubborn weeds that spring up against all odds—dandelions, mostly. The Restoration Committee has higher priorities. So, Roxas has become something of an expert at curving his skateboard around the worst of it, coaxing his wheels out of divots and dips without stopping his progress entirely.

He’s cleared some of the alleyways around Axel’s forge of debris himself, and now glides from the main thoroughfare onto one such side street to avoid running into anyone else and making himself any later than he already is.

Although, he thinks, as he glances up to the suns, climbing higher toward midday, and readjusts the bags beneath his arm, at this rate another half hour won’t make a huge difference.

Roxas inhales a mouthful of charcoal and jumps his winged board over the most jagged pothole in the alley, his wheels rattling their objections as he sticks the landing and slows. The forge’s back door, which they all keep meaning to replace, is a hastily hammered together collection of boards, painted black with fire-retardant and sprayed with a jagged white 813 by whoever does that sort of thing.

Probably Demy, Roxas supposes, trying to mark the spot for his wildly erratic delivery route.

Like many of the recompleted Organization members who had been reunited with their own bodies, (or else given the Radiant Garden scientists quite a shock when they had awoken in the replicas’ chamber), Demy had chosen to take advantage of Leon’s offer to help repopulate and rehabilitate the world many of them had been born in. In doing so, the members had to prove themselves a benefit to society through hard work, education, and community service.

Jiminy Cricket offered them each regular therapy sessions, and they were required to pass a psychiatric evaluation before permanently moving to any other worlds. So far, rumor had it, only Isa had managed, but he had chosen to stay. They were each assigned “Sponsors of Light” to aid them in their progress.

Xigbar likened the entire situation to house arrest on more than one occasion, but the former Org members mainly kept their grumbling to themselves. There were certainly worse arrangements to be had than being allowed to carry out their new lives in exile on their former home world. They’d all died enough times to know that.

They were held accountable by both the Restoration Committee Leaders and the new Council of Keyblade Masters, who, with the assistance of keyblade armor, were able to make their rounds through the worlds faster than Sora’s Gummi Ship ever had and keep the peace. Roxas, Axel, and Xion had been asked to join them on their peace-keeping journeys, and, maybe, probably, eventually, they would. But, after being forced to exchange so much of their youth so far for fighting Heartless 24/7, they had decided to live as close to normal lives as they were able, for the time being, (and the Keyblade Masters had likely breathed a private sigh of relief, especially since Axel’s exact initial response had been ‘Fuck that’).

Roxas hops off his skateboard, pops his board up into his waiting hand, and sets it against the aged brick wall beside another rebellious pack of wispy white dandelions that he and Axel haven’t found it in their hearts to uproot.

Roxas doesn’t—hasn’t ever—knocked on the door to Axel’s forge, and he doesn’t today. Still, he can’t stop himself from thinking of it as Axel’s, even though Axel considers it theirs—even though Roxas has spent many long, sweaty days, helping Leon and his crew construct the thing and harnessing his fire magic to learn the basics of the trade at his boyfriend’s side.

At the end of the day, it’s Axel’s peace time passion project, something besides finishing up his education and keyblade training, something that’s entirely his own. So, at Roxas’ insistence, it’s Axel’s name on the sign out front, and the deed, and the contracts with the Restoration Committee.

And he’d had to fight for it.

Most of the former members of the Organization weren’t permitted to take up quite such dangerous lines of work. Isa, for example, had been in charge of coordinating gardening, landscaping, and agriculture with Laurium for several months before The Council of Keyblade Masters (Aqua, Terra, and Riku) permitted him to take up a management position at Leon’s side, allocating human resources for the Restoration Committee.

Similarly, Xemnas’ venture into penning New Radiant Garden’s first newspaper were heavily criticized, and his articles and e-newsletters regularly vetted for ‘Dark Propaganda,’ so that the first twenty editions were nothing more than tremendously, intrusively accurate gossip rags, and, when that didn’t fly, painstakingly, comically accurate accounts of the town’s most mundane events, including an in depth feature report on Leon’s favorite sandwich toppings, complete with quotes and multiple eye witness accounts.

It took half a year (and some nudging from Isa) before Xemnas was allowed to print anything remotely political or consequential, though once he began, he quickly proved himself just as capable of factual, unbiased journalism as he had been at penning a wickedly witty exposé on Xigbar’s brief but passionate on-and-off-again romantic trysts. (This was, of course, before Xigbar got himself tossed in the castle dungeon for allegedly attempting to portal his Sponsor of Light off a cliff. Although his sentence is up for appeal, last Roxas heard, because Xigbar claims he thought ducks could fly.)

Axel’s fortunate that he didn’t have to spend a year proving himself (and has been told so—repeatedly.)

The town needed a forge, and Axel was uniquely qualified for the position. (And the Council had wanted him out of their hair. He had proved quite persistent.) So, Axel had gotten what he wanted. Seventeen petition speeches later.

Isa warned them it was a lot to take on in addition to classes, keeping up with their keyblade training, and community service, but Axel enjoyed using his fire for something constructive and Roxas saw the peace it brought him, so they made it work.

“Yo, Axel! ‘M back!” Roxas calls, pushing his way inside with the ridge of his hip and scuffing his sneakers against the mat to remove the excess construction dirt. “I know I said I was gonna be, like, ten minutes tops, but, I mighta gotten distracted…”

“In here, Roxas…” Axel answers from inside the shop, above the clang of metal on metal and hiss of sparks. “Come in here where I can see you.”

Roxas passes through the back hallways, neatly lined with the stray supplies and freshly forged weapons and tools, in styles and cuts inspired by a variety of worlds, and enters the central workshop. Large windows allow breaths of fresh air and cast white light that’s hard to look at and doesn’t do as good a job at illuminating the large open space as the orange and yellow blazes of the large central fire burning at the heart of the forge beneath its stone chimney.

Everything is cast in flickering shades of flame and shadow: the mounted anvil, racks of tools, barrels of water and sand, carts bearing hunks of metal needing repurposed and the neatly arranged shelves toward the entrance, mounting wares to be sold. Even Axel in his tight, light fabric britches, tunic, and heavy leather apron is cast in gold, white, and crimson as he works, stretching gleaming white molten metal between his bare fingertips with the ease of a sculptor shaping clay.

“Well, hey, sexy.” Axel grins, head cocking to get a better view of Roxas, as carelessly attractive as ever, his hair windswept and his cheeks and ears slightly flushed from his skateboarding, or maybe just the rising temperature of the shop.

Roxas’ smile broadens in spite of himself. “Hey…”

“That errand took seven hundred times longer than anticipated.” Axel shapes the hot metal between his fingers, and it looks sticky and elastic, like dough. He flicks his wrist, causing flames to engulf all of it once more, and begins to swirl it into an elaborate spiral before balling it up again.

“Sorry, Axel.” Roxas winces, chagrinned. “First, I had to wait for Leon to get out of a meeting, so I could give him the supplies and explain what was what. Then we delivered them, and then he wanted me to lend him a hand with a quick project, only it wasn’t actually a quick project, in reality.

“Then I was on my way back here, swear to the gods, but I stopped into Aerith’s house for just a minute to say hello to Xion, and she wanted me to taste-test her cupcakes, and she was so excited, I couldn’t say no, and then, on my way out, I ran into Xemnas, and you know how much Xemnas likes to talk, and I just kinda lost track of time….” Roxas scuffs his foot sheepishly, the arm that’s not laden with bags stretching behind his head, ringed fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Axel’s he’s picked up for himself. “Again.”

Axel chuckles, a sultry purr that Roxas only ever hears him use when there’s no one else around, deeper and less controlled than his usual mocking, lilting laugh. “It’s okay, Roxas, I don’t need the whole mission report. I wasn’t really expecting anything less after the last five times.” He turns toward the chimney so the piece he’s working on won’t drip molten steel to the floor, and flicks a hand carelessly over his shoulder, spraying sparks, as he teases, “I know you don’t know how to say no to people.”

In actuality, Axel knows no force in the universe could make the powerful keyblade wielder do anything he didn’t want to do—not any more. But, the guy is far too helpful for his own good.

“Well,” one of Roxas’ brows rises, and his smile tilts, as he draws closer and deadpans, “I was raised by a cult.”

Axel snorts, catching Roxas’ eye before turning toward the anvil, shifting the shape of the steel in his hand into something more distinctly sword-shaped, as he steps and then setting it down, dismissing the fire engulfing his hands. “Is that why I’m doing all these orders for Leon?” Axel hefts a large hammer from the ground and props it against his shoulder, before turning to glance at Roxas again. “And here I thought I was just a good guy.”

Axel brings the hammer down on the sword with a harsh clang that sends up sparks that remind Roxas of the fireflies the pair of them chased the time they tried camping on the edge of town.

“You are a good guy,” Roxas assures him firmly, stepping up to the other side of the anvil to watch Axel’s progress and to see his face, glowing golden bronze in the light. A black smudge of ash on one of his cheeks reminds Roxas of the tattoos he used to wear. Roxas feels an unexpected pang, something to the left of nostalgia.

Axel brings the hammer down hard again with a grunt and then wastes a couple precious seconds to grin back. “I love it when you lie to me.”

“Axel…” Roxas’ tone grows exasperated, his smile thinner, more wry. He hopes Axel doesn’t mean that, but admires his blatant refusal to stay in line with whatever overstepping behaviors the powers that be demand of him in the name of what’s “right.”

“Roxas…” Axel mimics his tone, and then huffs and keeps swinging. It’s a conversation they’ve had a hundred times before in one form of another.

Another few blows pass in silence broken only by the song of metal and hiss of smoke and embers, and then Axel lifts the sword-to-be by the hilt, reshaping the metal with the heat of his palm as he does, smoothing out the jutting upper ridges of the hand guards under his thumb while inspecting his handiwork.

Roxas follows his movements in quiet admiration. Axel’s swift motions have a practiced ease and fluidity not unlike the way he fights, slicing through Heartless with his chakram…

Axel frowns a bit at a flaw Roxas’ eyes can’t detect, and jerking his head to indicate Roxas step back, dunks the sword into a barrel of cold water and then raises it, steaming and silver, into the air with a single sizzling swipe.

Roxas hums in admiration as Axel sets the weapon down to cool atop the anvil with a mild sigh, the steam around his hands evaporating quickly to reveal his face, tired but unflushed. “I’ll fix it later. Think it’s time for a breather.”

Roxas nods, and Axel sets his tools to rights and steps up to join him. Without discussion, they seat themselves on a wrought iron bench below one of the wide, open bell-shaped windows at the front of the shop. From there they can feel the breeze breathe against their flushed faces and listen to the birds calling out to each other in the park a few blocks down.

Once they’ve settled themselves, their thighs pressed against each other, ankles linking, Roxas licks his thumb and reaches out to rub at the smudge of ash on Axel’s cheek. “You are doing a good job,” Roxas reiterates. “You know that, right? Like, fucking…” his words fade off, vulnerable and fragile in their quietness, “incredible.”

“Roxas…” Axel catches Roxas’ hand in his and closes his eyes above the gentle brush of Roxas’ calloused thumb. With his hand wrapped in Axel’s, Roxas can feel the racing of Axel’s pulse and the sticky heat and ash coating his skin. Axel inhales deeply, trying to relax and smiles, lazy, superficial. “Roxas, Roxas, Roxas… You’re the good guy. I’m just along for the ride.”

Axel lowers their hands into his lap, though Roxas hasn’t quite fixed the smudge on his cheek so much as streaked it into the teardrop shape it had reminded him of in the first place. Axel wraps both of his hands around Roxas’ and pats it in a way that feels both condescending and sweet.

Roxas laughs, a short skeptical bark. “You’re the one always bragging about being made a Guardian of Light.”

Axel exhales through his nose, somewhere between amused and frustrated. Roxas feels his pulse start to simmer down.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t there.” Axel half smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, though they seem to glow, Heartless-like, in the dark space. He jabs Roxas in the arm with his elbow to lighten the gravity of the accusation. “The standards were fairly low.”

Roxas huffs and is about to elbow him back, when Axel leans in and rests his cheek in Roxas’ hair, a gesture which makes Roxas’ insides so gooey he can’t think of a response right away, except to curl his hand tighter into Axel’s.

“I was selfish. I just wanted to get you back,” Axel continues. “You, and Isa, and the others… That’s all I thought of while I was training. You, especially. I mean, they’d told me you were as good as…”

The feel of Axel’s entire body shivering makes Roxas’ spine go rigid, especially in the pervasive heat of the smoky room with its still merrily burning hearth.

“But I didn’t, couldn’t, believe them,” his voice cracks, fingers tracing the bones of Roxas’. “Not for a second. I mean,” his voice starts to get shallow, so he pushes for playful and misses the mark, “what kind of gods would bring back me and not you, right?” His laughter reminds Roxas of glass breaking.

“Hey,” Roxas’ words take on an edge, flat and blunt, “don’t. Don’t do that. We saved the fucking worlds, you and me,” he reminds him. He’s had to remind himself on more than one occasion since, when the other Keyblade wielders had lost patience with him, and when he had lost patience with himself.

Axel shakes his head slightly, further mussing Roxas’ soft hair, still warm from the noon rays of the Radiant Garden suns. “Honestly, after I saved you, the rest of the worlds didn’t matter so much.”

Roxas wishes he could meet Axel’s eyes, but doesn’t want to jolt him and interrupt the soft, warm, exhales ruffling his hair. “But you did it anyway,” Roxas insists, raising their folded hands until he can press his lips against Axel’s knuckles.

“Well, yeah,” Axel scoffs at himself, his bravado and hypocrisy and desperation, “but…” He trails off, distracted as Roxas’ lips dampen his skin, and then Roxas lowers their hands again, as if Roxas has finally started to forget such a casually intimate gesture could have gotten them killed once upon a time.

“Why?” Roxas coaxes.

Axel scoffs again, thinking of everything that had been riding on those moments in the Keyblade Graveyard. He remembers the blinding white glow of Kingdom Hearts overhead burning his eyes even when he shut them—the electric pull of its gravity, threatening to encompass every place he had ever known and every place he and Roxas could have, like the Darkness that had swallowed his childhood home whole, alive, and squirming.

“Whaddya mean, why?” Axel sputters, voice growing louder with indignance. “There wasn’t a why.” He laughs at the absurdity of it, shaking his head again, sounding more than a little manic. “I only did it ‘cause I was there and it was the right thing, the only thing to… Oh.”

Axel lifts his head from Roxas’ hair, and Roxas twists his neck to meet widened green eyes.

“Oh,” Axel repeats more softly, as Roxas’ lips curl into a satisfied grin.

“The right thing to do. Huh.” Axel reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Faked it ‘til I made it, I guess.”

Roxas rolls his eyes, but his tight-lipped grin splits open into a real smile. “Idiot.” He reaches up to cup Axel’s cheek in his palm. “I am so fucking hopelessly in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Axel mumbles and bites his lip, eyes darting to the side in embarrassment, and then back to Roxas’ because he can’t help himself. “I know. Sucks to be you.”

The pair lean in for a kiss, but Roxas falters and pulls back, arm caught on the three bags weighing it down.

“Oh!” His eyes widen, glancing down and then back up. “I forgot. I brought you something to apologize for being gone so long.”

Axel’s eyes narrow, lips pursing skeptically, his fingertips tracing Roxas’ jaw. “Is it a kiss?”

Roxas shrugs the handles of a paper bag from his forearm and lifts the still warm parcel onto his lap. “Ta-da.”

“Ah, Roxas.” Axel’s nose crinkles, as he leans back, and his free hand reaches to unfold the paper bag. “You didn’t need to go to any trouble...”

“It’s freshly baked, flaky, crescent-wrapped jalapeño poppers from Lar—Elrena’s tavern.”

Axel peers into the bag to see the savory pastries and inhales a whiff of the buttery, spicy morsels, which sets his mouth watering.

“You brought me pub food? See? I knew you cared,” Axel teases, his thumb stretching to the edge of Roxas’ thin smile, and giving it a tug up that makes Roxas cackle and glare, his golden brows dipping down below the bangs he gets when his hair starts to fall flat. Axel’s hand curls around the bag, folding it closed again with a crinkling sound. “Apology accepted. But I also want...” His free hand rises to catch the neck of Roxas’ tee and draw him closer, until his nose near brushes Roxas’ again.

Roxas hums, their lips a breath apart. He can’t hold up the glare, smiles again, a softer thing, his heart beating a slow anthem against Axel’s palm on his chest. “Guess I can do that.” He tilts his head. His pale, unwavering blue eyes burn when they’re so close, like matchsticks held to Axel’s bare skin, but he doesn’t mind. “Forgive me?” Roxas asks on a breath.

“Nothing to forgive,” Axel dismisses, and then their lips slip together. All tension and fear and stress and insecurity evaporates as their hearts beat against each other. Roxas tastes like frosting and smells like spring, wind and petals, and when Axel’s tongue wraps his, it burns like salt and smoke. Axel lifts Roxas into his lap, their mouths moving together and their hands snagging at fabric, tugging each other closer, harder, holding tight, muscle sliding against muscle. Their desperation makes it as impossibly clear as ever that they haven’t forgotten for a moment what separation tastes like, the way it rent hollow, echoing chambers in their chests. But pressed together, kissing, they feel like they are home.

#kingdom hearts #akuroku #axel #roxas #xigbar #demyx #post kh3 #xion #isa #xemnas #rules of engagement #radiant garden gazette #my writing

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neshatriumphs · 3 years

Text

XI. Why Do We Need a Queen?

The journey back to the realms of the One was harsh. The Queen decided that they needed to go without magic. With the staff, Amelia would be able to detect the moment magic like theirs was used in the realms. Grace was fairly used to that, as she generally had to sneak out and about without hers in order to avoid being caught by her mother. Simon and the Queen were not nearly as comfortable with it, but both as determined, as he had vengeance to inflict and she had a Kingdom to recover. Grace had a father to send off respectfully and a mother to avoid speaking to. If she had just BEEN there, she could have saved him! She didn’t know any of the details, but she was sure of that much.

It would take a few days. Simon insisted that they didn’t have that long. Amelia would devastate the realms of the One within hours. The Queen was confident that she wouldn’t be as successful in an attack against the witches of the One as she had been sneaking up on the communities of denizens. And even though she was healed from her sickness, she was still not as young as the two of them and not as fueled as Grace, who kept getting out of their range, refusing to wait as her mother slowed them down and Simon tried to be sure that they didn’t just leave her behind…

Three long days and cold nights later, they were back… and Amelia had been busy.

Firstly, the King’s body was impaled outside of the castle, along with other warriors. There was a wall of bodies around them. It was a monument and a warning. Grace immediately brought him down. She wouldn’t be able to bring him back to life, but she could make him more presentable, for a goodbye. Simon shuffled his feet and looked at the Queen. She refused to look at her husband. He was gone and there was nothing that they could do about it now, but there was something that they could do about the Conductor who had taken over the mothership. The Queen outstretched her arms and winds began to blow. Faithful fighters began to appear. Among them, Lucy.

Grace rushed to collect her into a hug. The girl was filthy and caked in blood. Her eye patch was gone and her hair was pulled up into a mini ponytail. “Are you okay?”

She kneeled in front of the Queen and began to report. Apparently, while they were gone, everyone looked to Lucy for leadership. She was the most familiar person that they knew of who was close to the palace. They accepted her as their guide through this perilous event and she always had a very detailed and accurate report of everything. Her eyes were everywhere. The Queen nodded her head and then spoke with them about the plans that she and Simon had made.

Grace spoke up, as well, “Umm… I must have been out of it whenever these plans were made… but what makes you think that you can take this woman on? She has your staff because you couldn’t fight in the first place.”

“She has my staff because I let her get close enough to touch me, which happened because I was sick. Which, thanks to you, I no longer am, and thanks to experience, I won’t make that mistake again.”

“It has to be Simon,” Grace said. “The oracle said…”

The Queen wondered, “Yes?”

“She said that the Conductor messed up the magic ecosystem and it would take a very powerful conductor to restore the balance.”

“That could mean a number of things,” The Queen complained. They thought for a moment. “It could mean that he is meant to defeat her. But, it could also mean that he is meant to rule this kingdom. It can even mean that he is meant to father a savior. That’s a very vague and unhelpful prophecy, Grace!”

“Aren’t they usually?” Simon asked.

“Yes!” The Queen agreed.

“If I may,” Lucy offered. They all turned to look at her. “The title The Conductor was not one that Amelia took for herself. It was how she was referred to whenever they didn’t know her identity, only that she had been draining power from the realms. In the first writings about her crimes against the One, the witches wrote that a conductor was draining energy without replenishment. That was referring to a tool. They thought perhaps an entity, but presumed most likely a tool was used. It is my judgement that the prophecy given to Our Princess was not about a person, but about a tool. Whatever type of tool that the Conductor uses to drain the magic.”

Simon nodded, “We collect it into crystal spheres. We can’t just drain magic and take it into ourselves. We collect it and then we’re able to control it with possession of the sphere and the guidance of our runes.”

“So… We need a sphere to take her magic away from her?” Grace wondered.

Lucy blushed, “It was only a thought. I know less than everyone here.”

“Nonsense. You actually READ the royal books, and you REMEMBERED something very helpful!” Grace hugged her again. “Simon, where can we find one of those spheres?”

He shook his head, “Amelia usually provided them to me, but I always thought that they were somewhere in her cave.

The Queen ordered, “Simon! Show Lucy where the cave is…” She kneeled to be at Lucy’s level, for the first time ever, “Lucy… Find a sphere and immediately bring it to me in the Queen’s hidden chambers.”

“Yes, My Queen!” Lucy said louder than she intended. The Queen had never called her by name before. Simon looked at Grace. “She’ll be fine. She’s with me. I won’t let anything happen to her. It’s my top priority.” Grace folded her arms. She wished that it had been a priority to save her father.

Still, whenever Simon reached for her, she melted against him. She hadn’t really been that warm or gentle with him these past few days, stuck in her own mind and her deep pain. He kissed her on the forehead and said something, some type of chant. She felt something tickle her wrist and she looked down to see some type of bracelet… tattooed on her. “It isn’t permanent. Just something to let you know I’m alright.”

“And when it fades?”

“That means I’m dead.”

She frowned. She didn’t even want to think about that. But, she noticed that he had one too. “Is that mine?” He nodded. She threw her arms tightly around him and whispered, “If you don’t come back, I don’t know how I’ll keep going!”

“I’m always with you. We’re a team.”

Lucy tugged Simon’s cloak and the two of them stepped off and vanished together.

Grace looked around and saw the Queen avoiding looking at her. “I’m going to take Daddy’s body, so that we can grant him a proper sending off. The rest, we will do once we’ve succeeded. But, I’m not going to let Our King… my father… just rot here.” The Queen nodded once. “What are the Queen’s hidden chambers?”

“I’m unable to say. There could be spies. But, if you had read the royal books, you would know, and since Lucy apparently has, she knows.” They brought the King’s body some place that Grace wasn’t familiar with. It appeared to be a mausoleum of sorts. There were statues of kings and queens, familiars and pets… They cleaned him up themselves, dressed him in clothes that the Queen summoned, wrapped him in the fabrics of buried royalty, and performed the usual ritual. Grace had heard that the whole kingdom would be present whenever this day came. That they would present gifts, magic, blessings, and that everyone would give him all of their joy and love, and spend days mourning without them. Whenever joy and love returned to their hearts, it would be their sign that the king was at peace and the kingdom was ready to live without him…

But, it was just the two of them, in an empty place made for the decaying shell that a once beautiful and brave man resided in.

Once he was in the coffin, the Queen shut it and the ground swallowed it and erected a statue in its place. So, that was how it happened. “How are you okay? Did you even love him?” Grace wondered. She hadn’t seen her mother shed a tear. She hadn’t seen her so much as shiver once. She placed a hand on her shoulder with the intent of turning her around and was hit with a flood of loneliness and grief. She hissed and removed her hand. She noticed that she didn’t have her gloves… When had she taken them off?

The Queen still didn’t react to the emotions that Grace had just felt inside of her. Instead, she said, “You’d better get your gloves back on. You can’t have everyone’s ailments distracting you from the mission. Our Kingdom is relying on us to protect them and save them from this. Your father trusted me to protect his kingdom. He gave his life to ensure that I would be here to do it.”

“I… I don’t want to have to do that. Why do we have kings and queens? Why can’t we have… something else? Someone who WANTS to do these things?”

“Because nobody would take this job if they had the choice.”

“Well… Why do we need a queen?”

“Grace, we have been without a Queen for three days, and Amelia has taken over and killed our people. There will always be forces of evil, powers of destruction, enemies who seek to harm us and our people. We need a queen to ensure their protection.”

“Why can’t the people protect themselves?” Grace asked, sobbing. “Why did Daddy have to die for you or anybody else? Why couldn’t HE choose?”

“He DID choose!” The Queen said, finally losing track of a few tears. She wiped them away and pretended that they had never been. “And I am choosing to do my duty and protect our kingdom...” Lucy appeared, holding a sphere in her hand. The Queen smiled and accepted it. “And now, the plan is back in action.”

“Where is Simon?” Grace asked Lucy.

“He didn’t get the invitation, so he said to meet him at the Mothership.”

Grace gasped. “He went after her alone? Did he have a sphere?” Lucy shook her head. Grace looked at her mother, “We’re raised that the Queen protects the kingdom. Simon was raised that the people protect the Queen…” They rushed to the Mothership, where Simon was waiting outside, his green eyes and runes glowing and staring at the barrier. Grace let out a sigh of relief and rushed to hug him.

He stopped glowing and gave her a half smile. “I couldn’t have been gone that long...”

The Queen circled her hand around the top of the sphere, as she held it in her palm. Amelia had definitely reinforced a barrier of her own, but the sphere absorbed the power in it and the crew was able to get inside.

Simon was right at the Queen’s side when he heard a small noise and turned to see Lucy vanish through a door. He gasped and said, “Lucy!” to which Grace turned her head too, and no sooner than she realized that Lucy had disappeared, than a door appeared and sucked her through it too, causing a far more dramatic and painful yell from Simon. “GRACE!” He barely had a moment to process seeing her vanish before yet another door appeared and he felt himself being sucked through it..

Amelia cursed this place! Where was that throne??? She had been wandering for days, and the only path that she ever really seemed to find was the one that led outside of the Mothership. The One must have been playing tricks. But, she would show him. She was longsuffering and very persistent. The mazes and challenges in this cavern were no match for her sheer will to take all power for herself and then, MAYBE THEN, she could find a way to bring Alrick back. She had taken the king’s body out and given instructions to her army. They were to have everyone line up and offer their magic, in exchange for their lives. All who refused would be killed and laid to rest at the king’s feet.

She went back into this place, only to find that this time, it looked different on the inside. She tried to specify where the magic was, but the bloody staff would try to show her all magic, used everywhere! She wasn’t in tune with it yet, or it's magic purposefully thwarted her. She wasn’t going to let it go, though. Her visions had shown her that the ruler of this staff would stop her heart with it.

Visions were tricky business. You could only see a part of a picture, a series of pictures, or a moment in time. You had to receive it from a place of organic magic - the spirit of a dead witch, the heirloom of a seer, or the projection of a destiny from someone’s aura.

That was how she knew she needed to take Simon. She was given all of these things through him. He was magic! His small body, in trying to fight off illness was manifesting magic, without his knowledge. She saw part of a picture: him holding hands with a little brown girl. She saw a series of pictures: Them together, growing up, growing close, falling in love. She saw the projection of his aura: Him wearing a crown and her being stripped of all of her power…

But, if she could twist fate. If she could recalibrate his destiny, she would be able to change that unfortunate future. She thought about killing him. Just telling his mother, “This child will die, then magically snuffing the life out of him. But, there was something about him that stopped her. Perhaps it was magic that she didn’t know of. Maybe there was protection over him. But, she didn’t kill him. She wasn’t even sure if she healed him. But, after her ritual, he wasn’t sick anymore, and he… reminded her of Alrick. She came to think of him like she did Alrick… no, not like he was her person, but a tiny person of hers. It would be a stretch to say that she felt like his mother, or like he was Alrick’s child, but she used a portion of Alrick’s remains in her healing spell, and the first rune, the one that was meant to seal the magic that would keep Simon healthy… it resembled Alrick’s birthmark. So… she did have some type of attachment to him for a time.

He cried a lot. It was annoying. She was thankful when the cat showed up. “I believe that you have my ward.” She had seen the rune and hissed at Amelia, became a person and tried to leave with him… but the boy began to cry whenever she tried to take him away from Amelia. His attachment had already begun. Samantha dared not to honor it, but she felt compelled. It was a true attachment that Simon had made with Amelia. Samantha would have to… just stay with him, until he no longer wanted Amelia.

That day didn’t come soon enough. “And why the bloody hell am I thinking about that anyway?”

“Because that boy loved you more than himself and you betrayed him. Alrick would be disgusted at what you’ve become,” a voice that sounded like hers said. She turned and saw her own reflection in a clear waterfall that read like a mirror. “You want to bring him back, but you wouldn’t be the woman he left behind. He wouldn’t want to come back to you. You’re a monster. You’re a fiend. You’re worse than the people who killed him. You’ve done terrible things to all forms of life, even to children, even to a boy who would have given his life for you, and you’ve done it in Alrick’s name… He would curse himself if he knew that teaching you magic would lead to this.”

“Shut UP!” Amelia lunged and stabbed the waterfall to rid herself of her pesky reflection. “Magic cunt.” She marched away, angrily. “Alrick saw the best in me. Whenever nobody else did. He was kind and loving and supportive. They killed him for being different! They didn’t care that he was kind, because he broke their stupid laws. He didn’t KNOW! He thought that being able to access and conduct magic meant that he was entitled to it. He thought that if not, magic would not have worked and for exposing the lie that only magical born people could use magic, they murdered him and pretended it was an accident. Brought me his body and an apology. A silly excuse. He fell off of a horse and it trampled him… He wouldn’t have fallen had he not been detained in the first place!”

“Well, what about Simon? What did he do to make you hate him?” Another voice said. It wasn’t as familiar as her own, but she heard it through the pendant, several times. She turned to see the Princess. But, she was the way that she had seen her in the vision. She was adorned in purple and gold, with a high headdress and jewelry covering her flesh. “You raised him, then you sent him to die.”

“I sent him to kill YOU!”

“Why? Why did Simon have to kill this princess?”

“SHE WAS GOING TO TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!” The Grace-being stood tall as Amelia came towards her. “Some innocent, by chance meeting in the enchanted forest. He would have seen her and fallen instantly. He would have flirted with her. He would have started changing his ways from being around her. He would have begun lying to me to get back to see her. He would have convinced her to run away with him. From her throne. And from me.”

“And if you couldn’t have him, nobody could?”

“No matter what, I couldn’t stop their destinies from being intertwined. So, I tried to make him sever that entanglement. He owed me faithfulness. He owed me his life! I saved him! I made him who he is.”

The being turned into a version of Amelia and she shrugged, “But, he’s rubbish, thanks to you, isn’t he?” Amelia roared and swung the staff to dissipate the haunting. “I’m not leaving here, no matter WHAT YOU DO!” She screamed to whomever was responsible for the magic making her have to look inside and at herself. The scenery of the portion of the cavern she was in changed colors and arrangement. She fumed and continued in the direction she thought that she was going in…

Lucy whimpered when she lost the others. Where were they? Why was she alone? “Grace?” she called. She saw lights up ahead and she went to check on them. It was a crowded event, with a stage of performers, singing and dancing.

“Lucy!” Someone whispered loudly and waved her over.

“Mommy?” She wondered and went over. The woman collected her in her lap, kissed her on the cheek and said, “This is a great show, Dear. Just sit here and watch it with me and I’ll protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Lucy wondered. She felt like there was definitely something here that was dangerous, something she was supposed to be helping to fight… Helping who though? How did she get here? Wasn’t her Mommy gone somewhere?

“Shhhh. Just enjoy the show, Baby Bird.” The woman kissed her on her left eye and Lucy touched her face. She had two eyes! Of course she did. Everyone had two eyes… Of course she did.

“When I look at you, I see me,” the music was singing. Lucy settled into her mother's lap and smiled at the show that she was watching.

“Lucy!”

“GRACE!”

After the noise of the portals taking the children in her care away stopped, The Queen sighed and said, “They’re safe. Now, let me at the bitch that killed my husband…”

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #Intertwined by Nesha

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volturialice · 4 years

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twilight quarantine ficathon 2020

I’m late but here’s a thing I wrote

oneshot, 1.7k words

prompt

warnings: graphic violence, blood, minor character death

rating: T

pairings: gen

the mission

“You know your orders. Get in, get the girl, get out.”

Headlights flicker past the opening of the tunnel, making everyone’s shadows crawl over the walls, lengthened and distorted.

Riley keeps talking. “Kill whoever’s with her, but don’t get distracted. The girl is priority #1. Whoever brings her back alive will be rewarded.”

Bree can’t help but think all this “reward” talk would probably be more effective if they hadn’t just gorged themselves on half of Seattle’s homeless population. Whoever this human is, Riley is taking no chances that one of them will slip up and kill her.

He surveys the six of them, lined up like a squad of superheroes in a movie. Too bad the Spiderman kid wasn’t picked to come on this mission.

“Any questions?”

Kristie raises her hand like they’re in kindergarten. “What kind of reward?”

Typical. Of course that’s all these morons can think about, even with their eyes practically glowing with the blood of a fresh kill.

“That’s for her to reveal. Trust me, you won’t wanna miss out on this one.”

Translation: Riley doesn’t know. Bree was ready to ignore all the reward stuff and just focus on staying out of everyone else’s way long enough to survive, but now she can’t help but wonder what the reward is. Maybe it’s some type of special, super-mega-delicious blood, blood like they’ve never smelled before. Bree wouldn’t care, so long as she could feed alone. That would be the best reward—to be able to lose herself in the taste, the exhilarating red rush, without having to protect her back.

Why did Riley pick Bree to come on this mission in the first place? She’s half the size of the others. She thought she’d been doing a good job making herself invisible, acting meek and pathetic enough to be overlooked, hiding behind Freaky Fred night after night. It’s hard to miss Fred, exactly, but Bree wishes like hell he were on this mission with her. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so exposed, like she’s walking into a trap.

It makes her uneasy, not knowing the whole story. What’s the deal with this mysterious girl, and why do they need her alive?

Screw it.

“What’s so special about this girl? Why does…she want her alive?”

Riley pins Bree under a Look, like she’s the last person he expected to question him. Shit, she’s got his full attention now. So much for flying under the radar.

“I didn’t ask. We don’t question orders from her,” he says, a warning. “But if you want my best guess…I think she wants to change the girl. For her to join us.”

A groan goes up from the others. Another “soldier” means more competition for blood.

Idiots. Didn’t they notice how Riley avoided answering the first question? Since when does he go to all this trouble to change one lousy human? Riley recruits delinquents, addicts, desperate pickpockets and starving runaways—easy prey. He doesn’t bother with anyone who can’t be lured into a dark alley by the promise of a cheeseburger.

“All right,” says Riley, marshaling the troops now. “We all know the mission. I handpicked each and every one of you because I know you’re the best ones for this job.”

Bree catches Raoul side-eyeing her. Yeah, she doesn’t know why she’s here either. Riley fixes each of them in turn with a serious-business look as he talks.

“This is your chance to prove yourselves. I know you won’t let me down. After we pull this off, it’ll be unlimited blood for each of you. Now it’s go time. Get into position and wait for my signal.”

The others take off down the tunnel, already frothing at mouth at the mention of unlimited blood. Bree moves to follow when she’s cut off by a sharp command:

“Not you, Bree. Hang back a minute. I have a very special task for you.”

Nearly 1 AM. The smeared reflections of neon lights on wet pavement. The cinema is in a run-down part of town, its marquee lit up in garish reds and greens, advertising Face Punch 2: Knuckle Sandwich and Love Spelled Backwards is Still ‘Love.’ Whoever put the letters up ran out of E’s, so that it actually reads “Love Spelled Backwards is Still Lovc.”

The street is deserted—shuttered bodegas, a darkened McDonald’s, an empty pawn shop next to what looks like some kind of loan shark office. Missing posters flutter on a telephone pole—nobody Bree recognizes. Some unfortunate meal, most likely.

There’s a burst of sound as the cinema door swings open and two humans stumble out of the brightly lit lobby. Teenagers, not much older than Bree.

She zeroes in on the girl—white, brunette, and dark-eyed, totally average-looking. Whatever makes her special, it sure as hell isn’t visible to the naked eye. Does she have some sort of weird gift, like Freaky Fred? That has to be it. Why else go to all this trouble to kidnap and change her?

There’s a guy, too, but he doesn’t matter. His heartbeats are numbered.

Bree’s eyes find Riley, silhouetted on the roof, a shadowy figure looming above the marquee like a gargoyle. He gives her a single nod. Showtime.

Bree is across the street from the cinema, in the mouth of an alley that smells like piss and rotten garbage. At Riley’s signal, she heaves a pitiful sob.

“Whoa,” says the guy. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

God, humans are useless. Bree sobs louder, hunched forward in a pathetic ball. She tries to remember what it felt like to cry for real—her face hot and wet, pressure building in her head, heaving the air from her lungs until her chest felt raw. The only constant now is the burning in her throat.

“Oh shit, it’s a kid.”

With her hair falling into her face, Bree knows she looks even younger than her real age. She hears the human take a step toward her, pulling his companion with him.

Bree tries out a fake sniffle. It earns her a few more steps—the guy’s. The girl is hanging back, hesitant, poised on the edge of the curb.

“I don’t know…”

Bree can practically hear Riley’s voice in her head: focus! You know what’s at stake here!

She heaves her most heartrending sob yet, a quavering, abject sound that makes her hate herself a little.

“Come on, it’s just a kid. Are we supposed to leave a crying kid out here?”

That’s right. Take the bait.

The girl heaves a sigh and steps off the curb. Still hidden under her hair, Bree hears rather than sees the humans approach.

“Hey there. Are you ok?”

Bree looks up at the guy, watches his eyes widen as they scan over her face. What is he seeing? She remembers how Riley looked to her that fateful day with the cheeseburger—movie-star hot, like unreal hot. She had thought to herself, no one should be that beautiful—that it was unfair. Maybe she’d jinxed herself.

Now she gets to her feet, slowly, clumsily. She swipes roughly at her eyes—shit, did the human notice their color?—dashing away imaginary tears. “I’m lost,” she says, letting her voice hitch just a little. “I…I was walking home and my phone died.”

The girl is still hanging back, peering at Bree over the guy’s shoulder. Not good enough. Bree takes a step backward, into the alley. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m fine.” She shrinks away from the Big Scary Human Male.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” says the girl, stepping around him. She holds out her hands so Bree can see she’s not a threat. Closer…closer…at this distance the girl’s warm scent hits her like a wave, making her throat burn even though she’s just fed.

Alive, alive. Bring her in alive. The back of Bree’s neck prickles under the weight of six hidden, red-eyed gazes. It was stupid to make seven vampires compete for one human girl and expect her to come out unscathed. They’re gonna tear her apart the second Bree makes a move.

Unless she makes a different move. It’s a complete contradiction of her orders, but maybe there’s a better plan here. Maybe she can have her cake and eat it, too.

Faster than the humans can see, Bree darts out—don’t breathe, don’t think, just do it—and rips.

The guy hasn’t even had time to feel her nails tearing out his throat before she’s tossed him behind her, into the alley.

Shocked silence—then the human girl’s high, piercing scream as five many-limbed shadows erupt from their hiding places to descend on her companion. The guy can only manage a pathetic, choking gurgle.

The scream cuts off as Bree claps a bloody hand over the girl’s face—gently, gently, don’t cave it in—and yanks her around the corner.

Guttural snarls erupt in the alley, drowning out the wet tearing sound—an arm?—and the clatter of stone limbs on pavement, on each other, amid the biting, ripping frenzy.

Riley appears at Bree’s shoulder and she almost snarls at him—back off—my prey—no, not prey. Still holding her breath, she shoves the girl into Riley’s arms.

“Well, well,” muses Riley, lip curled the slightest bit as he inspects his quarry. “That was unexpected. Not quite what I had in mind, but you’ve done well. I’ll be sure to let her know who’s responsible for this victory.”

Thank fuck, it worked. He’s not angry. Bree almost lets out the breath she’s been holding, until a sickening crunch from the alley reminds her not to.

The human girl is shaking like a leaf, hyperventilating. “Wh—what’s—I—I don’t—please—”

“Sshhhhh,” soothes Riley. “Don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Riley grins over her shoulder at Bree, like they’re sharing a joke, and Bree finds her own lips curving up in response. Victory, he’d said. The reward is all hers.

The girl blinks up at him. Beneath the shock and terror, something flares in her face—recognition.

“R…Riley? Riley Biers?”

Riley’s grin widens.

“Hello, Jessica,” he says. “Long time no see.”

#goldeneyedgirl #twificathon2020 #bree tanner #riley biers #twilight fanfiction #graphic violence //#minor character death //#blood //#fic: mine #apparently i can only write horror! enjoy #2020 ficathon

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silveryinkystar · 4 years

Text

Bolvangar Lights

Rating: Teen

Summary: The Station was ambushed by a group of gyptians determined to get their children back. Lee might not be a gyptian, but he'd sooner tear down the entire facility than give up on Lyra...

A/N: Title from Northern Lights, SPOILERS for S1E06, References to Once Upon a Time in the North

Warnings: Minor violence (guns and other weapons)

Read on Ao3

Lee raised his rifle, levelled it with practiced ease, and pulled the trigger. His target, barely a few feet ahead, fell like a marionette with its strings cut, a swirl of dust confirming his passing. A wisp of smoke curled up from the barrel of the rifle. Lee lowered it, feeling slightly guilty at killing a man without hesitation, but the feeling was quenched almost immediately when he saw the group of young girls huddled against the door. He swept a quick, searching gaze at them before catching Ma Costa’s eye. The gyptian woman shook her head ever so slightly and he nodded in silent response.

Lyra was elsewhere, then. Probably in the thick of the action, wherever it was. Lee raised his gun and let Hester’s sharp ear guide them to the closest path to the roof, the one which avoided most of the confrontation. This, of course, had the dual effect of keeping away any feelings of guilt at slaying fellow humans, while saving the bullets he had. Lee was far from a fool, and he knew that the best approach was that of stealth.

“Takes you back, huh, Hester?” he murmured as he strapped the gun to his back, lifting her into his coat so that he could climb the rungs of the ladder onto the platforms that wound around the Station, forming an effective defence layout for the Tartar recruits and an excellent vantage point for any stragglers inside.

“To what, McConville shootin’ a hole through your ear?” Hester asked dryly. “Lee, to your left.”

Lee ducked and tugged out the revolver from its holster. Not letting go of the rung, he deftly cocked it and followed Hester’s senses to get a general location of his target. When he was absolutely certain of his estimate, he hoisted himself up above the cover of the wall and fired, hitting a soldier square in the chest. The wolf-dæmon beside him howled and collapsed, but Lee ignored the noise. He pulled himself up and was gratified to find that he didn’t have to waste another bullet in ending the man, whose dæmon had vanished by the time Lee could ready his next shot.

“Well, there’s nowhere to go but forward,” he muttered, and carefully made his way across the narrow bridge. He couldn’t avoid combat the whole time, though, and he soon found himself in a brawl with another Tartar.

“Is that all you got?” he cried out, easily warding off the man’s punches. “I – ack!”

While he’d been distracted by the soldier’s advances, the man’s dæmon – also a wolf, he’d forgotten about the Sibirsk regiment’s ferocity – had snuck up and cornered Hester, stretching across the length of their bond. Lee knew that he’d have to pull something risky if he had to end that horrible tug at his heart. Hester didn’t say a word, didn’t move an inch, as Lee positioned himself for what any mentor would have cuffed him for.

He locked eyes with Hester, who pushed herself further against the wall, muscles tensing in preparation for their next move. Lee did what was probably the last thing he should have done, he moved back, steadily ignoring the constricting around his lungs as he pulled harder at the bond. Hester didn’t so much as make a sound, golden eyes watching keenly for the moment to strike.

Lee felt ice-cold metal at the back of his hand, and waited a beat. The soldier had followed him, cautious to not lose his own advantage, when Lee pushed back with all his might, ducking low to kick the man’s legs from under him. The man lost balance, and Lee used the rest of his momentum to push him off the ledge, feeling an instant relief when Hester leaped over the struggling wolf-dæmon into his arms. The two of them lay silently for a minute, the world around them barely a haze of white, simply breathing. Then the sounds of the fight returned, and Lee sat up with a grunt.

“I really hate fighting,” he grumbled, as Hester nestled into the large pocket in his coat.

“Too late to complain,” Hester retorted. “Now get a move on, we need to find Lyra.”

Lee ran across the maze of platforms across the Station, trying to find the epicentre of the fight. If he knew anything about Lyra by now, it was that she was usually involved right in the middle of things, whether or not she wanted to be. He just hoped he wouldn’t be too late, that they weren’t all late and the cold scientists of Bolvangar hadn’t fulfilled their mission after all and cut away Lyra’s soul like that of little Billy Costa. Lee picked up his speed, guilt gnawing away at his conscience at losing her in the first place.

He might have been the first one – aside from Kaisa – to spot the Station, thanks to the view from his balloon, but what would that mean in the face of losing Lyra, the girl who’d come all this way simply to rescue her best friend? What would it mean if the kid who she’d come to find was lost too? This whole venture could end up rather badly for all of them if they lost the ones they’d come to find.

Lee spotted an atrium where there seemed to be most of the conflict, and barely registered a slight figure in red just outside the door as he leaped off and landed lightly in the snow. He rolled to absorb the shock of his impact, pulling out his revolver as he straightened. He spotted a soldier running towards an already outnumbered John Faa and fired, the sound loud and echoing across the hall. He fired a few more times, and reached for his trusty Winchester when the harsh noise of bullets was replaced by a soft click.

He swore softly and looked up. There it was, above them all in the rafters when he needed it most. It would be easy to retrieve, were they not in the midst of seemingly impossible odds. Lee shoved his revolver back into the holster and punched the next incoming Magisterium officer in the face. An eerie silence fell across the space as he felt the cold bite of a knife at his neck. He stilled and flicked his gaze around. The gyptians were outnumbered, and for a moment time seemed to still.

A dark blur flitted through the crowd of fighters, and everyone was too stunned to notice that the Tartars and Magisterium officers were dropping left and right, just as the blur left their side to another. Lee spotted the familiar thorn-pattern on Serafina Pekkala’s bare shoulder as she ran her bolt through his attacker. She paused for a fraction of a second before him – something he might have missed were it not for the momentary disappearance of the haze around her – before zipping forward and burying her bolt in the chest of a white-coated woman. Her form solidified then, and Serafina glared at everyone, regal in her fury, before taking back to the skies.

Lee smirked a bit, rubbing a thumb between Hester’s ears. He’d formed an unlikely alliance with the witch queen during one of his travels, and she’d managed to guide him safely out of firing range of another witch who had pursued his balloon across half the Arctic Circle. Their first conversation had been incredibly awkward, at least for Lee, but that had been far from the only time they’d encountered each other.

Hester wiggled in his pocket, and he took it as a sign to let her free to hop before him as he scanned the room for Lyra. A young boy in the coal-silk coat of the Station entered through the door, followed by a group of children with close-shaven hair, whose eyes were as empty as Billy Costa’s had been. The breath rushed out of him like a panserbjørn had pushed against his chest. God, was Lyra-

Even as he formed the thought, a tan blur, not unlike Serafina’s own appearance, collided with him, nearly knocking him over. He braced himself on one leg and half spun as he wrapped his arms instinctively around Lyra. He chuckled, relieved that she was not a part of the blank faces among the crowd of blanketed children and simultaneously guilty at thinking that. His heart went out to the poor kids, but his priority right now was to ensure that Lyra was okay.

“Lyra, gal, it’s good to see you.”

She didn’t reply, but buried her face in his chest, breathing hard. He sighed and let himself relax, pulling her securely against him. Barely a foot away from him, Pantalaimon – Arctic fox-shaped – had settled comfortably against Hester, his tail wrapped around her much in the way Lyra was tightly holding on to Lee.

“How’d you get here?” Lyra’s voice was muffled and the question only half audible, but Lee caught enough to respond.

“I flew here, as soon as we found out you were missing.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, pulling back. At his puzzled look, she rambled on, “I heard something in the middle of the night, and I thought – well, we didn’t know what it was, so Pan and I went to check what it was, and the Tartars caught us and we couldn’t speak, because they knocked us out-”

“Breathe, gal,” Lee interrupted, slightly alarmed. “Lyra, they probably would have gone through the entire camp to find you regardless. The fire from the funeral must have given away our position. It ain’t your fault, child,” he stressed, because she didn’t seem to believe him. “I’m just glad we were in time to find you.”

At this, she paled, but Lee didn’t have time to pursue this reaction since Iorek lumbered up to them and lightly nudged his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance for the second time in as many minutes.

“It is good to see you, Lyra,” Iorek said.

“Oh, Iorek, dear, I saw you fight – you were awfully brave-”

And just like that, Lyra went on to chatter their ears off. Lee chuckled and led them slowly to his balloon, which he’d abandoned without a second thought in his desperation to look for Lyra. They were headed up further North, he knew, from the way she and Ma Costa spoke. The older woman nodded in his direction as Lee readied the balloon for their departure. They seemed to have reached an agreement regarding Lyra’s care, in the few days Lee had been part of their travel.

Lyra bounded up onto the balloon, happily talking to a boy Lee supposed must have been the infamous Roger Parslow, and Lee finally let himself relax.

Lyra was here, Lyra was safe. He could look after her now.

Mere hours later, as he watched her sinking into the darkness of a valley, he wondered just how true that was.

#lee scoresby #hdm #hdm spoilers #hdm show spoilers #lyra silvertongue #hester #pantalaimon #ma costa #serafina pekkala #sil's stories #hdm fic

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dreamss-of-boston · 5 years

Text

Rise - ch2

Sonya’s first expedition.

hello! this chapter was hella fun to write, cuz ive never really written too much action before and it was interesting describing everything. i hope i was able to write down what i was visualizing accurately so that it makes sense lmfao. i hope u all enjoy!! thank u for reading love u bye

-the expedition-

link on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998978/chapters/40117439#workskin

The Survey Corps thundered out of the gate, spilling out into the wide expanse of Titan territory. Sonya would have been lost in the throng of soldiers if it weren't for her squad leader-- Moblit Berner-- to guide them to the right position. Sonya couldn't help but gaze up at the blue sky, dusted with clouds and uninterrupted by the off-white walls which usually surrounded her vision. No, out here, there was merely sky and Earth, meeting at one single point.

“Eyes front, soldier!” Peter yelled at Sonya sharply, and she turned in annoyance to see him smiling cheekily. “We don't want you running into any trees, now, do we?”

They rode on. This particular mission was intended to be a quick one: they were to enter the forest, gather supplies left there by the previous squad members, and leave. It seemed simple enough, but the supplies were in an area of thick forestry, and the only reason they got there in the first place was because the previous Commander had attempted to set up a safe-house there. A ‘safe-house’ in titan territory seemed like a very obviously stupid idea to Sonya, but apparently the Corps had made it their top priority to establish one before she had joined.

A red flare went off to her left, and another, and another. She felt immense fear rise in her throat, and she and Anna locked panicked eyes next to each other. Peter noticed this, and actually didn’t make a joke out of it.

“Hey, it’s okay! Look, we’re totally avoiding them.” He nodded to the green flare that was now ahead of them, pointing in the new direction which the Corps were slowly turning in. Peter gave a reassuring smile to Sonya and Anna. “We’ll be okay! We’re in one of the safest parts of the formation.”

And on they rode. There were some red flares here and there, but the Commander’s green flare would always guide the formation to safety. Eventually, Sonya felt a sort of rhythm within herself, and felt part of a whole-- like how she felt standing among her soldiers as they were accepted into the Survey Corps that night.

“Heads up!” Moblit called from the front of their squad. “Once we get close enough to a tree, deploy ODM gear and follow my orders.”

Slowly but surely, the corps were approaching the forest line and Sonya began to feel a little more at ease. She eased Chuck to a stop, and gave him a little pat before she dismounted and whisked herself up into a tree beside Moblit, Peter, and Anna.

“Well done.” Moblit said, and pointed to the other Corps soldiers ascending to tree branches not too far away from them. “Our job, for now, is to guard the entrance to the forest while the other half of the formation enter and gather the supplies.”

“Oh, so we-- we’re actually gonna kill some titans today?” Peter said.

“Pray you don’t have to.” Moblit said grimly. “Spread out so that we cover more area.”

Sonya grabbed Anna’s hand and gave it a squeeze-- the poor girl was trembling. Anna breathed in sharply at the contact, and attempted to smile at Sonya.

“Look at the sky, Anna.” Sonya nodded to the clouds. “Isn’t it beautiful out?”

Anna looked up, and that seemed to distract her a bit. She gave a little nod, and with that, Sonya glided to another tree branch, a bit closer to the ground. She could still see Chuck, and it was of some comfort knowing that the titans had no interest in eating her horse. At least Chuck would make it out okay. She stood alert, scanning the horizon for any sign of titans-- and just like every soldier there, she waited.

[-]

The waiting seemed to last forever-- even Moblit was getting restless. He kept glancing back, as if he were expecting to see the others exiting any time now.

“Captain,” Sonya called, “would you like me to relay a message to the teams inside?”

“Yeah,” Peter responded before Moblit got a chance, “tell them to hurry it up!”

“Wagner.” Moblit said sharply, shooting him a glare. “As for you, Romanova, yes-- I suppose you could. Ask them if they require assistance. Take Weber with you.” He gestured to Anna. “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir!” Sonya and Anna barked, and off they went, whirring into the trees.

Sonya had to admit-- it was very freeing using her ODM gear in the forest with no goal of slaughtering a wooden titan, without any officers barking at her to straighten her posture.

“Check this out!” She called to Anna, and used the momentum she had built to launch herself into a backflip-- she clumsily regained balance, causing Anna to laugh as they continued onward.

“How much farther in?” Anna asked.

“Can’t be that far--” Sonya began, but stopped cold as she saw the bottom half of a Survey Corps members’ body hanging limply over a low tree branch. Sticky red blood was oozing out of the exposed guts, and Sonya almost slammed into a tree if she didn’t stop herself in time. Anna had stopped, too-- the two girls looked at each other, panic-stricken and sick.

“What…” Anna whispered.

“I don’t know.” Sonya felt a sort of gear shift in her brain as she looked away from the soldiers’ body. A static-filled numbness took over. “We need to keep going-- but let’s get higher up.”

Anna nodded, and they continued. Sonya was right-- it wasn’t much farther until they reached the rest of the Corps, who were all perched high above their goal, staring down in terror. Sonya almost smacked into one of the soldiers from her training-- Alfonse Gunther.

“Watch it!” He cried. “Wait-- what are you doing here?”

“We came to see what was happening…” Sonya mumbled, although looking below told her everything. There they were: about ten or fifteen titans, standing among the wrecked safe house, staring up at the Corps with dead, hungry eyes.

“They just came out of nowhere!” Alfonse said. “They got my brother… They got Hans…” His voice broke off, and he didn’t say anything more.

“We can’t leave now that they’ve seen us-- they’ll just follow and that’ll send them straight to the rest of the Corps.” Edith Gutherie, a veteran soldier, said grimly. She had her blades out and ready, and yet she made no move on the titans. She glared up at a branch occupied by Commander Erwin and Captain Levi. “They haven’t given us orders yet… They’re scared to risk lives unnecessarily. After the last mission… we lost too many soldiers. We can’t afford to lose more until the next round of recruits come in.”

“Then why did we go on this mission in the first place?!” Ernst Klauffman, another new recruit, shrieked. “Why did we come out here and risk all these lives, huh?!”

“There’s eight months food and water down there, soldier!” Edith snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, food is becoming scarcer by the day, and financial support for the Corps is at an all-time low. If you want to eat and keep your position in your comfortable living quarters, I suggest you keep quiet and follow orders.”

Sonya said nothing, she only stared at Captain Levi and Commander Erwin. They were stoic as usual, never allowing their inner emotions to betray their outward appearance. She glanced at the soldiers around her, all clearly waiting for any sort of command, and turned to glare back at Commander Erwin.

“Commander!” She yelled sharply, and both he and Levi turned their piercing gazes on her. Now that she had their attention-- and everyone else’s, for that matter, she grew suddenly self-conscious. Was it right of her to yell like that? Nevermind-- forget it, now is not the time to think about it. “Orders?”

Commander Erwin paused. “The plan,” he called, “is this. There are a total of fifteen titans of the 10-meter class below us. Therefor, fifteen veteran soldiers will be tasked with taking them out.” He listed the names of the soldiers, including Captain Levi and Edith Gutherie. “However, we cannot risk killing them while they are around our supplies, for we risk them damaging all of the food and water when they fall. Half of you all will join the fifteen veteran soldiers by working as a group to lure the titans away from the supplies. The other half of you will join me in descending, packing our supplies on our carts, and exiting the forest. Once the titans are slain, the rest of you will join us outside the forest, and we retreat.”

The soldiers all nodded-- Sonya felt herself tense up, and instinctively unsheathed her blades.

“You don’t need to do that-- you can count on us.” Edith said with a little smile.

“I’m sure I can count on you,” Sonya said grimly, “but I’d rather prepare for the worst.”

And so the plan was set in motion. The scouts divvied themselves up, with Anna being part of the group to retrieve supplies and Sonya to lure the titans away. The soldiers began their move, but the titans still seemed intent on watching the others, staying still in the trees.

“Drop lower!” Captain Levi commanded, and reluctantly, the troops descended a few branches. Still, the titans did not seem to notice or care.

“Are they abnormals?” Edith wondered aloud.

Sonya gritted her teeth-- and without thinking, she swooped down, swinging directly in front of one of the titan’s monstrous eyes. That caught its attention. It turned towards her with a sickening grin, and sluggishly began to reach for her.

“Sonya!” Anna screamed, just as Sonya pulled herself up, using an excessive amount of gas on the way. She clumsily perched in a tree, and watched with satisfaction as the titans began to turn their attention on her and the other soldiers.

“Good work, Sonya!” Edith called, and the other soldiers followed suit, dropping to Sonya’s level as the titans began to trudge their way away from the supplies.

Sonya caught Anna’s gaze high up in the trees, and for her sake, she flashed her a confident thumbs-up. Inwardly, her heart was racing and her limbs felt hollow. She was sure that she was going to throw up at any moment, but she pushed on, following behind the soldiers.

“We’ll get them surrounded in that clearing up ahead,” Captain Levi called, gesturing to a sunlit absence of trees in front of them.

And so the soldiers went-- swooping right by the titans noses, narrowly missing their giant hands, until they reached the clearing.

Captain Levi, Edith, and the other thirteen veteran soldiers took their places in the branches as the titans stumbled right into their trap. Some of the other soldiers had followed Sonya’s idea and stood with their swords unsheathed, just in case.

“Now!” Captain Levi commanded, and the soldiers whizzed forward, slicing and spinning with rapid movements. Sonya was impressed by Captain Levi especially-- he seemed to literally be flying, a focused concentration of death for titans. The veteran soldiers made quick work, luckily-- all except for one.

“Captain!!” One of the soldiers-- Klaus Vernon-- screeched. He was trapped in the grip of a titan, one with brown hair and a permanent frown. It’s monstrous jaw gaped open, bringing Klaus right up to its slimy tongue.

Captain Levi grunted, pushing off of the titan he had just slaughtered, and swung around to the back of the titan gripping Klaus. Before the titan could bring its jaws down to crush Klaus, Levi dealt the finishing blow, and Klaus was released from its grip. As he fell, Edith swooped in to catch him and bring him to safety on a branch.

Levi wiped some blood off of his cheek with a grimace as steam fizzled off of his cloak.

“Move back to the supplies.” He ordered, and so they went.

When the troops made it back to the supplies, they had made pretty fast progress on loading everything on to the carts.

“Any casualties?” Commander Erwin asked Levi as he joined him.

“Klaus got grabbed by a titan, but otherwise no.” Levi reported.

Sonya went to join Anna, who was on the fringes of the supply yard, loading food on to the carts. Now that danger was relatively gone, she was brimming with excitement to tell Anna about seeing the veterans in action. Before she made it to Anna, though, something made her stop cold.

Behind her friend, shrouded in the shadows of the trees, there was something glistening-- something moving. Sonya’s breath caught in her throat-- was that…?

“Anna!” She shrieked, but it was too late. A monstrous hand was reaching towards her friend, and it was moving much faster than the titans Sonya had just seen. Anna looked behind her, and screamed just as fingers wrapped around her arms, pinning them to her torso, and she was lifted off the ground. Anna kicked and screamed, and as the titan brought itself up to reveal itself, it was too late.

The five-meter titan brought Anna into its mouth head-first, and snapped her body in half as its jaws closed.

Sonya’s feet were glued to the floor-- no one was closer to this situation than her, and all she had done was watch her friend get eaten. The crunching of Anna’s bones rung in Sonya’s ears, and as the crouching titan turned its hungry eyes towards her, she felt a gear shift in her brain once more.

Numb and angry, Sonya charged straight at the titan. She could hear the other soldiers yelling at her to stop distantly, and as she leapt from the ground, deploying her gear to swing around and behind the titan, her unsheathed blades and the nape of its neck were all that she chose to focus on. As she made her way behind the titan, she readied herself, attaching her wire to its neck and bringing herself forward.

Using all of her strength, she made the cut she had made a hundred times before-- while cutting through flesh felt much different than cutting through leather, the result was the same. The titan fell, with Anna’s blood staining its mouth, and Sonya held on to it on the ride down.

Steam surrounded her as the body began to decompose-- she detached herself from the corpse, and stumbled onto solid ground. At the edges of her vision, she could see the soldiers running up to her to see if she was hurt, other soldiers deploying ODM and whisking off into the trees. Sonya paid them no mind. She fell on all fours, and retched onto the forest floor.

#attack on titan #fanfiction #levi x original character #levi x oc #levi x reader #snk #aot #levi ackerman

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illusinia · 7 years

Text

Trials if Leadership, Tears for a Friend

Summary: Haylan and Arthur discuss Danse shortly after the information revealed in the Brotherhood quest line. Haylan isn’t happy.

Warning: contains spoilers

“What the hell were you thinking!” Haylan’s angry voice cut through the briefing room like a blade. One directed straight at him.

Arthur had been wondering when he’d be hearing from the scribe. After the order he’d just issued, it was inevitable she would appear to give him a piece of her mind. At least he was somewhat alone. Not that anyone out in the halls couldn’t hear them.

“I can’t believe you just sent Nor- Er, Knight Atwell, to kill Danse! Er, Paladin Danse!” Arthur winced. The accusation in Haylan’s voice was so sharp, it could have been a weapon all its own. Too bad her ire couldn’t be harnessed. “ Do you realize how cruel that was? Do you realize how horrible it is that you’ve requested she kill her sponsor?”

“I’m well aware of the request I’ve made of Knight Atwell,” assured Arthur, keeping his back to Haylan. He knew the look that would be plastered on her face: anger mixed with pain and possibly tears. It would be difficult for him to remain stoic if he had to meet her gaze, and right now he needed to appear undefeated.

“Then you know how cruel that was,” growled Haylan. She suddenly appeared in front of him, her face the picture of angry grief he’d expected. “So why the hell did you do it?”

“Because I trust Knight Atwell to make the right decision,” stated Arthur, praying Haylan would understand the meaning behind his words. He wasn’t hopeful though. When Haylan was enraged, subtle hints tended to escape her.

“So you expect her to kill a man just because he suddenly discovered he’s a synth?” growled Haylan, her anger serving to only rise in response to his words. “Do you know the hell he’s probably going through right now?”

“He’s a machine, Haylan.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue and caught in his throat. He loathed the politics that forced him to speak that way, particularly when faced with Haylan’s pained and angry gaze.

It was only his reflexes that blocked the slap that followed his words. That was taking this argument too far for a public space. Anything else he could tolerate, but her physically attacking him publically was something he couldn’t allow. He would be forced to retaliate.

“Scribe Haylan, my office, now,” commanded Arthur, his voice taking on the deadly edge he used when he needed someone to do exactly what he was telling them to right that minute.

Immediately, Haylan sobered, though the anger never left her gaze. He could handle that though. As long as she did what he needed her to right then, without striking out at him again, he could handle anything else she threw at him. He just needed to keep her from forcing him to do something he didn’t want to.

Without checking to ensure she was following, he began marching towards the upper decks of the Pedwyn, where the personal quarters and main facilities were housed. It was also where he kept his office, melded with his personal quarters to save space as well as make his life easier. Staying late in his office was a lot less painful when his bed was only feet away. There had been more than one occasion where he’d nearly failed to make it back to his bed before exhaustion overtook him. If his bed hadn’t been there, he likely would have slept on the floor of his office. Then Danse would have likely torn into him for not taking better care of himself.

The thought made him wince. No matter his plans, one thing was certain: Danse would never be able to return to the Pedwyn. It hurt to accept that, but it was the truth. He had no doubt that Danse could survive without the Brotherhood, the man was a survivor. Er, the machine was a survivor? That was a thought that would never settle well with him.

Forcing away his internal debate until he could actually process it, Arthur practically threw open the door to his quarters and marched inside. He could hear Haylan’s softer steps behind him and nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been concerned she might split and do something stupid. Then again, she may have already done so for all he knew. He hoped not. At least, he hoped she hadn’t done anything he couldn’t fix.

The sound of his door slamming shut made him cringe. He’d been half-hoping the walk would calm her, but apparently he wasn’t going to be so lucky. Not that it surprised him; taming Haylan’s tempter was like trying to tame a deathclaw. At least now they were behind closed doors. If she took another swing at him here, he didn’t have to worry about disciplining her.

“I thought we shouldn’t be alone with the door closed anymore,” mocked Haylan, her ire seemingly flamed further as she threw his words back at him.

Mentally, he cursed ever saying that. He hadn’t meant ever again, but she could be a distraction to him and he damn well knew that. He knew how dangerous that was, too. He’d seen first hand what happened when people put those they cared about above all others. It was why he hadn’t stopped her from coming up to the Commonwealth. The fact he’d sent Danse with the party to keep her safe was irrelevant.

“I didn’t mean ever again,” murmured Arthur with a sigh, turning to face the scribe. He expected the full brunt of her fury to be aimed directly at him like a flame thrower. He expected to want to melt under her anger.

The anger was there, that couldn’t be denied, but with the door now shut, her grief was far more obvious. Honestly, it was worse to face her grief than her wrath. The wrath he could fight against with calm reason; grief just made him want to hold her.

Without a second thought, he held his arms open for her. She fell into them almost immediately, burying her face against his neck as her tears began to fall.Pulling her close to his body, he let her cling to him in search of a peace he knew she wouldn’t find. Not until they knew if his plan had worked or not, at least.

“How could you send Nora after him like that?” murmured Haylan, her head rising from his neck so she could glare at him. “How could you ask her to kill him?”

“Because I know she won’t,” explained Arthur softly, lifting a hand to brush against her wet cheek. “Danse expressed his concerns about her friendliness towards ghouls, synths, and basically anything that didn’t start shooting as soon as it saw her. She even released a suspected synth from danger.”

“But I don’t understand, why send someone you know won’t be able to kill him?” asked Haylan, her voice catching a little. “That’s a huge burden to place on her.”

“Because I don’t want Danse dead anymore than you do,” murmured Arthur, dropping his voice so only Haylan could hear. “He helped train me, Haylan. He is a brother to me. He’s taken better care of me at times than I’ve taken of myself. I wouldn’t have even taken action against him if Quinlin hadn’t forced my hand.”

“What do you mean?” asked Haylan, her anger rising again. At least this time, it didn’t appear to be directed at him. He couldn’t let her strike out at Quinlin, but that would be a lot easier than keeping her from striking out at him.

“Quinlin alerted Kells,” explained Arthur quietly. He let his hand fall away from her cheek, curling around her waist instead. “I couldn’t avoid taking action after that, nor could I easily convince Quinlin to keep this matter quiet.”

“But- wait, you would have let Danse stay, even though he’s a synth?” exclaimed Haylan, her eyes widening as they met his. “Then why the hell are you doing all of this?”

Sighing, Arthur took a few steps back so he could lean against his desk, pulling Haylan with him. He wanted her close right then; this whole mess was upsetting him more than he dared let on. Having Haylan close was at least helping a little.

“I’m doing this for the Brotherhood,” stated Arthur softly. “To keep us from falling apart again.”

“Again?” questioned Haylan, her brow furrowing as her eyes dropped away from him. She didn’t push away, just leaned a little further back like she thought the distance would help her think. “But- I don’t understand.”

“It was before your time and we don’t discuss it often,” began Arthur, running a hand over his face while keeping the other around her waist. “It was during Elder Lyons’ time. He interpreted the Brotherhood’s mission a little different than most. He wasn’t incorrect in his interpretation, either.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped away as he spoke. Speaking of Elder Lyons was never easy for him. He’d respected both Lyons, younger and older, deeply as a child and still did as an adult. “As he saw it, the Brotherhood’s mission to protect humanity from technology included dealing with threats that were the result of technology- things like ghouls and supermutants. At the time, the Capitol Wastes were filled with these monstrosities. In reaction, Elder Lyons had the Citadel built as a staging ground to both help us maintain a repository for dangerous technology and create a point we could launch attacks from. It was a solid plan, one that worked well for a long time.

“Some of the other Brotherhood members grew restless with time, though. They thought we should be more focused on collecting tech and less focused on battling ghouls and supermutants. It didn’t seem to matter to them that the creatures we were fighting tended to take up residency in the very buildings we were targeting in our search for tech, they wanted the Lyons to reconsider their priorities. It became so bad, that the West Coast Elders attempted to defuse the situation.” He shook his head a little at the memory. He’d been terrified when it had happened. The whole situation had left him stranded indefinitely in the Capitol Wastes.

“Where were you when this happened?” asked Haylan softly, a hand sliding softly through his hair. It helped draw him back from his memories of that fear.

“I was already here, on the East Coast,” explained Arthur quietly. “I was nine when the split took place. Some of the Brotherhood members left after that. They formed a group call the Outcasts, who reinterpreted the Brotherhood’s mission the way they thought it should be interpreted.

“It wasn’t too bad at first. We only lost about a fifth of our forces in the first split. The real problems began after Sarah- the second Elder Lyons- died. After that, the man who took charge was completely incompetent. So was the man after him. In that time, we lost more men to the Outcasts. By the time I became Elder, the Brotherhood was split close to fifty-fifty and neither group was doing well.

“When I became Elder, I decided I would do whatever it took to unite the Brotherhood once more.” His voice dropped as the next words left him, shame coloring his tone. “I ended up giving up everything I believed in to bring the Brotherhood back together. Everything I’d once wanted for the world vanished. None of it was a priority, none of it could be.” Just the thought of what Sarah or Elder Lyons would say if they were there filled him with regret. He knew they would be disappointed in him if they saw what he’d allowed to happen.

“But, you’re the Elder,” objected Haylan, her fingers slipping up into his hair and down to cup his chin. Gently, she turned his face towards hers once more so she could meet his eyes. “You command the Brotherhood of Steel. They do what you tell them to. If you’re not happy, you can just make them do something else. Your vision for the Brotherhood should be more important than theirs.”

“Except it’s not,” murmured Arthur softly. “The Brotherhood is my family’s legacy. I can’t allow it to be destroyed just because I don’t agree that synths are a danger to the world. The Institute, yes. I believe they are dangerous. There is no one to stop them from going down the same path that led us here. But synths are a byproduct of the Institute, one that has just as much humanity as any of us. Danse proved that.”

“You don’t think he knew he was a synth then,” murmured Haylan softly, relieved.

Arthur shook his head gently. “No, I don’t. I think he was just as much in the dark as the rest of us.”

“But you can’t let him come back, either,” stated Haylan, realization crossing her features. “Quinlin and Kells…”

“Both former Outcasts,” confirmed Arthur softly. “They’ve taken it upon themselves to ensure I continue to uphold their beliefs, as well.”

“They’re blackmailing you?” ask Haylan, horrified. The fire in her eyes crackled to life once more.

Cupping her cheek, Arthur pulled her closer once more so their bodies touched from chest to toe. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but they make it difficult to allow some things to slide. Danse, for the time being, is one of those things.”

“I never got the impression Quinlin liked Danse,” remarked Haylan softly, a scowl tilting up the corner of her mouth.

Arthur didn’t think much about it as he leaned over to kiss the spot, pressing his forehead against the side of hers gently. “No, he never has. He always believed Danse was too overbearing towards me.”

“Danse was taking care of you,” argued Haylan, tilting her head so she could brush a kiss against his ear. “He was doing us all a favor.”

“I’m not sure Quinlin saw it that way,” muttered Arthur, wrapping both arms around her again. “I think he saw Danse as someone who could distract me from our supposed goals.”

“Do you think Quinlin made all of this up to get Danse out?” suggested Haylan, her voice filling with terror.

“No, I don’t,” assured Arthur quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Haylan to be afraid. She might really do something that could get her kicked out of the Brotherhood then. “I saw the evidence myself. Unfortunately, it came out before the Institute fell. If it had been after, I could have argued the threat had passed. Danse couldn’t be an Institute spy if the Institute was gone.”

“But with it still there, he could be,” surmised Haylan with a resigned sigh. He felt more tears against his skin, his hair dampening where they fell. “We really aren’t going to get him back, are we?”

“No, we can’t,” confirmed Arthur gently, stroking Haylan’s hair and lifting his head away to meet her eyes once more. “We can help him be safe, though. You can directly help him and I- I can make sure he understands exactly the danger he’s in.”

“You can’t tell him your hands are tied, can you?” asked Haylan dejectedly. There was no hope left in her eyes, only resignation and acceptance.

“No, I can’t risk it,” confirmed Arthur sadly. One of his hands stroked through her hair, disrupting the strands from her usual tightly held bun. “You could, though.”

“Unless Kells or Quinlin catches me,” pointed out Haylan sadly. One of her hands slid up to his chest, coming to rest over his heart. “If I ever see him again in person, I’ll tell him. He should know there’s a good heart beating in your chest, even if you can’t use it.”

“He knows,” murmured Arthur, his forehead leaning against hers. “I’m going to have to confront him and Nora though. I don’t have a choice; they have to realize there’s going to be some restrictions on where Danse can go after this.”

“You can’t let it show you don’t hate Danse, either,” guessed Haylan, her eyes knowing. Tears began to well in them, her sadness directed towards him this time. No, it was for him. For the painful things he was going to have to say to a man he once considered his best friend.

“I can’t,” confirmed Arthur sadly, allowing a few tears to gather in the corners of his eyes. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t have dared let the pain show. Haylan knew his secrets though; he had nothing to fear from her. “I can’t, for now at least.”

She didn’t say anything more. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss against his lips, drawing him closer and holding onto him as the tears tumbled down his cheeks. She didn’t let him go until they’d stopped. Even then, she didn’t let him go until he needed to head to the vertibird. She told him where to go, about how long it would take Nora to get there. He had a very short window in which to arrive and do what he needed to. Fortunately, it was a trip he could take alone.

As he boarded the vertibird, he caught sight of Haylan as she headed for her own. For a moment, he thought she would climb inside and disappear back into the Commonwealth. Then he watched her fish a bag out from under a seat and head back towards the door into the Predwyn. She never turned to face him, but it didn’t matter. He knew she supported him. She would always support him. And as long as she did, he could truly do anything.

Climbing into the pilot’s seat, he radioed his intentions, then reached up and flipped the release switch.

#Haylan/Arthur Maxson #Fallout 4 #Fanfiction

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fates-factory · 7 years

Note

Thank you so much again for the terrific fic! Because of the amazing story with the Ragelope, could you write a sequel where the group tries to pass by Rin and Tchlatga from the first Etrian Odyssey game through the desert and it results in a fight? I am sorry for all the Etrian Odyssey related stories.

Hopefully this lives up to the last one! Thanks again for the requests!

[sidenote: going to start putting word counts and “read more” cuts so that longer posts don’t take up too much dash space]

Words: 2741

“You're not serious,” Niles said, utterly disgusted, “After the fiasco that was the last mission?”

“It didn't go that bad, you guys mostly took care of it,” Corrin shrugged, “and we don't really have anyone to spare right now,”

“Then who heard the rumor about this supposed treasure?” Niles prompted.

“That would be me,” Nyx stepped out from behind Corrin, “Sadly I cannot accompany you either because I'm the only one in this army capable of scrying that far to keep an eye on you,”

“Could you not do it the other way around?” the archer pleaded,.

“Not a chance,” Nyx snubbed him.

“Do we even need the treasure? Don't you have the wealth of both royal families behind you?” Niles tried a different tactic.

“If only, but it seems the royal coffers were left behind,” Corrin chuckled sheepishly, “You'll do fine, you guys have all been training hard since then,”

“If you slink around like you usually do, then you should do just fine,” Nyx flipped her hair and left. Corrin followed her with a shrug and a weapons order he could fill out as he deemed fit.

“SO HOT!” Zola moaned.

“I should have left you behind,” Niles gritted his teeth.

“His lightning magic has proven useful before,” Yukimura tried, “Besides, Lord Corrin is the commander, we need to follow his orders no matter how questionable they might be,” This time the old man rode a mechanical lion loaded with extra ammunition. Niles had broken down and gone to Princess Elise to teach him how to wield a staff. He had made sure to bring a fully charged one that was currently hanging at his belt.

“I wonder what glittery bauble Nyx promised our fates crossed leader,” Izana wondered aloud.

“It better be something good, as much as I love a good, heated encounter, I would rather it in the bedroom, not in a blasted desert,” Niles stepped up on the crest of a dune and stopped.

Ahead was a ruin, or rather a scattering of runes. Nyx had assured them the treasure was found in the eastern most part, the side they would come in from. The group hoped it would be that easy, Zola doing so aloud and frequently. They approached the edge of the ruins.

“You three should stay here, keep a look out, I'll be in and out,” Niles turned quickly.

“Are you sure it is wise?” Yukimura questioned, “What if something should happen in there, how are we to know about it?”

“This is how I spent the former half of my life,” Niles snarled, “I know my way around and I assure you I'll avoid any traps or monsters better if I am alone,”

“Let him go, if he's not back in an hour we should just leave him for dead,” Zola sneered. His bravado didn't last long with an arrow pointed in his face.

“Maybe I should take you with me, you'd make a great trap hound,” Niles hissed.

“I can't sniff out traps,” Zola looked confused.

“I think he means he lets you go first so you'll find the traps by triggering them,” Izana pointed out, “I think I'd rather wait out here, I'm quite enjoying this sunshine, it's certainly been a while since I've last had a chance to sit back,”

“You won't be sitting back, you'll be keeping watch,” Niles dropped the draw of his bow and slipped the arrow back into its quiver.

He stepped away from the others when out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement. He grabbed an arrow out again, nocking it and drawing the bow.

“Show yourself,” He growled in that direction, “I only need one good eye to spot an enemy, and only one arrow to-”

The tip of his drawn arrow disappeared and a shadow took form before them.

“Tchlatga, I thought I told you to stay well hidden until I took them down,” The person in front of them grumbled to the shape that peeked out from a tilting pillar.

“Sorry Ren,” came a quiet, flat reply, the shape pulling out further, becoming another person with a cloak that looked eerily monster-like as it flapped in the wind.

“Take us out?” Niles spoke aloud, “Whatever would a lady need to do that for?”

“Says the man pointing an arrow at my chest,” the first shadow, a swordswoman had an even tone to her powerful voice.

“Fair enough,” Niles didn't let his draw down, “but you can hardly blame me when you pop out of nowhere darling,”

“You're all armed,” It was a statement, not a question.

“All I want is fifteen minutes in this ruin just here, no more,” Niles nodded towards the first entrance he could see.

“He warned me of thieves,” The woman sighed, “Tchlatga, would you raise the barrier?”

“No need for that, we'll leave!” Zola squealed, throwing himself back a few feet.

“It's what Ren wants,” the cloaked woman shrugged, a circle shining around her and then around them all, a barrier shining to life around them. Zola screamed and tried to dash out of the circle, but was met by a solid force.

“I must follow my orders,” the swordswoman lifted her sword.

“So do we, but I'd much rather deal with diplomacy than violence,” Yukimura stepped up atop his automaton.

“Your weapons betray your words,” the cloaked one seemed to raise her arms, but when they were aloft, they could see that it was merely her cloak floating over her head like claws. She began chanting in the background. The swords woman Ren came in for an attack, taking swings to disperse Niles and Yukimura. A glittering Dragon flew past, Izana twirling his dragon scroll and preparing to cast it again.

“I suppose a fight is unavoidable,” Yukimura grimaced, rearing up his automaton, “We shall not make it easy,” the statement was punctuated by a line of shuriken rapidly fired from the lion's mouth following Ren as she dashed towards them again. Niles shot a couple arrows towards Ren before changing his target and firing at Tchlatga, the quiet sorceress, still chanting her curse. The first seemed to bounce off her, the second went through, flying through her cloak, leaving a hole in the animated fabric. It didn't seem enough to distract the chant, but her words sped up a fraction.

Izana dodged a sword swipe and yelled, “Zola, the barrier isn't going to be gone, get up and help!”

“We're all going to die!” Zola blubbered, that is until Izana tackled him out of the way of Ren's sword.

“That is precisely how it will go if you don't pick up your tome,” Izana actually growled, “My funeral might be the biggest party of the century, but I highly doubt you will even get one,” his cheerful voice returned but was shot through with ice. It was enough to get Zola on his feet, his tome in his hand. As Ren continued her dance with Niles and Yukimura, Zola took it on himself to skirt around the barrier and set his sights on Tchlatga. He began his incantation, hoping hers was still yet longer so he could finish before her. Luck was not on his side for her voice dropped from her ears and suddenly he heard the cries of two of the others. He glanced over, continuing to utter the incantation, as he watched Yukimura's puppet stop in its tracks and Niles skid to a stop his bow flung away from him. Both men appeared to have their arms bound at their sides. Only the archer continued moving, running towards his lost weapon, Ren cutting him off and stalling him, landing a couple hits, wounding the archer.

Zola finished the spell and sent a bolt of lightning at both of the women. Ren grunted, but the shock of the hit paused her long enough for Niles to get past her. Tchlatga made no indication of being hit, until Izana's glittering dragon collided with her, sending her stumbling. Her spell broke along with her balance as Niles was able to grab his bow again and Yukimura's puppet sprung back to life as his arms were freed.

Spells flew alongside arrows and shuriken, while the sword flashed along to the chanting voice of its companion. Both sides had been wounded to some extent, the fatigue of the fight was settling among them.

Tchlatga began a chant, this one sounded much more rushed than the others, but despite her flat voice, her features betrayed her fury. The claws on her cloak looked sharper than before, despite the cloaks tattered appearance and her expression was one of anger, but Niles noticed a certain desperation in it.

“Target the swords woman now!” He called to his the others. Each of them turned their attacks to the swords woman. Before the sorceress had made shielding her companion her priority, but this time her angry spell didn't stop, the desperation in her features becoming more apparent. Ren tried her best to dodge the onslaught, but for every attack she managed to divert, another hit her from another angle. She took her sword and in a last ditch effort charged at Yukimura and drove her sword through him. He made a grunt thrusting his arm out in a motion that shot an arrow right into Ren's body in front of him. They both slumped to the ground together, Yukimura's automaton making a mighty clatter as it went completely limp beside its downed master.

Niles swore and dashed towards him, ordering the other two to switch targets. He pulled out the staff at his hip as he ran.

“Chaos curse,” came the chilling last words of the sorceress and suddenly Niles could not move. His eye found Zola and Izana in the same boat, stuck in mid cast. Izana looked ridiculous, caught in an elaborate dance-like twirl. Zola simply had his arm extended, but his hunched form was rather rat-like, a twisted smirk across his frozen face. Niles watched as the sorceress stumbled to her companion, a spell was uttered over her, likely something to keep her alive. Niles fought against the enchantment as hard as he could. Tchlatga fired a few of her basic curses at them, Niles feeling each one run through him with a shudder of pain. He could feel his energy failing, and after a couple more hits, he felt the paralysis lift and his body, unable to continue its trajectory, simply falling to the ground. No amount of movement could be drawn from his limbs, one last blast knocking him into blackness.

Zola saw the archer fall and instantly felt the paralysis lift and unbidden the spell he had just finished before he had been frozen in place hummed under his skin until he uttered it's name, firing it at the sorceress. His magic hadn't seemed very effective before, but weakened as she was, it didn't really matter anymore as she recoiled at the electricity hitting her. Izana stumbled out of his paralysis, then grabbed his scroll to re-start his spell.

He spun the scroll out in front of him, “And now, I rage!” throwing all of his flowery finesse out the window he thrust both hands forward sending the dragon spiraling quickly towards its target. It hit her squarely in the chest and the cloak behind her began to droop into a regular cloak.

Zola began chanting, wanting to land a final hit to knock her out for good, but before he could, Tchlatga yelled, “Return!” The two women shimmering before they vanished from sight, Zola's last effort crashing into the sand with a crack.

“What now?” Zola blinked.

“You can do whatever you want, I'm going to go make sure those two aren't dead,” Izana grumbled, clearly unsatisfied with the turn out, “All that power for nothing,” Zola caught as the diviner turned away, pulling out a staff that had been hiding within his voluminous robes, twirling it over each man. Yukimura simply groaned. Niles bolted up, warily looking around before deflating.

“Judging by the lack of bodies, I'd say they got away?” He asked Izana.

“Just barely, I put all my energy into one cast only for her to teleport out with her companion,” Izana glanced towards Yukimura, “You may want to use your staff on the old man, mine isn't strong enough for his wounds, and maybe a wave for me if you don't mind, I'm pooped,”

Niles gave him and incredulous look before simply pointing the staff his way, the glowing crystal the only indication it had done its work. Niles stepped over to Yukimura, pointing it in the same way, the crystal glowing brighter that before. Yukimura woke but didn't move.

“Save your energy old man, I'm going to go collect our prize and then we are leaving,” Niles said directly, none of the usual bite or sass in his voice. Neither Zola nor Izana stopped him as he entered the ruins, choosing instead to wait patiently in the sand with the downed mechanist. They found out quickly that Niles had not lied when he'd said to the women that he'd be in and out in fifteen minutes when he came out with a bow that sparkled brightly as it came out into the light.

“Seems this was a worthy endeavour after all,” Niles snorted, then dug something else out of his pouch, producing a knife that he tossed to Yukimura, and then a scroll and a tome to each of the casters.

“Interesting, a caltrops,” Yukimura nodded to the weapon, tucking it into his own pouch.

“A flighty bird spirit, how fitting,” Izana chuckled at his own expense.

“Moonlight?” Zola flipped the tome open, scrutinizing the book.

“Yes, now you can take care of yourself for once,” Niles snorted, “Your lucky I even bothered to pick it up for you,”

“Uh, yeah,” Zola cleared his throat at the casual display of disdain, “I suppose that's true.”

“So was the mission worth it?” a voice filled their heads, Nyx's smug tone betraying the probable smirk on her face.

“Worth getting nearly killed over?” Niles snapped, “Hardly,”

“Geez, excuse me for sending you on the easiest mission I could think of,” the roll of her eyes was clear as if she was right there.

“Again hardly,” Niles crossed his arms angerly.

“What our sharp edged companion means to say is that we were unprepared for the enemies that we found,” Yukimura spoke up, “did you not sense them?”

“Enemies, you mean the rats in that ruin, surely you don't mean the rats,” Nyx's confusion seemed genuine, “Well you guys did kind of vanish from my sight for a while,”

“Of course,” Zola groaned, “That barrier,” his insight earned a surprised look from the whole party.

“I suppose I did sense a brief spike in magical energy before you four vanished,” Nyx mused, “but then you all reappeared alive, so I figured you simply were underground getting the weapons.”

Izana spoke up, “Forgive me for saying, but the reckless impression of your scrying is rather unacceptable,”

“Then you do it, I'm sure your gods can curse you with that knowledge, or is dark magic taboo to your deities,” Nyx answered angerly before her voice was no more.

“That was informative,” Niles hummed, “You do dark magic don't you Zola?”

“I have touched it before,” Zola admitted hesitantly.

“Excellent, you can stain your soul and learn from that witch then, to make our jobs easier next time,” Niles clapped.

“Forget it, Even I won't stoop that low, at least she got to stay pretty for her trouble, I've seen sorcerers become wildly disfigured from such strong magic,” Zola waved his arms in denial, “I'm getting out of here,” Zola began walking away.

“I suppose we should leave before those two women make a reappearance,” Niles shrugged, following.

Izana and Yukimura looked at each other before following after them back into the bleak desert to rejoin the army.

#request #honeynutfemioes #fire emblem fates #fe: fates #Niles #Izana #Zola #Yukimura #etrian odyssey #Ren #rin #tchlatga #tlachtga #requests open #honeynutfemios

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