WHERE is all the anne and mary and ed and jack and izzy as early 20s monsters fics

i need their terrible drama and relationships

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 10)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Ten: The Echo

Greeting your companions the next morning was just as awkward as bidding them goodnight after the debacle last night. You’re stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where she’s curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. It’s already very bright out, and the crew is as rambunctious as ever. With the Captain throwing orders around here and there, Tech and Wrecker working the sails, and Crosshair shouting back down to Hunter. It’s marvellous how they work together when they're not disagreeing about something.

You feel Gonk leap off your shoulder with a curious noise before bounding away, her speckled wings bouncing behind her. She looks clumsy for a lizard, but then again, how many lizards did you know that have feathers?

“Good Morning!” Wrecker shouts to you when he notices your figure. You give him a smile and a small wave. Tech returns your smile and watches you as you glance around. Appreciating the sea and the vessel you’ve found yourself on.

The water of the Corillian run is a rich blue with just enough green to look magical. And the waves the churn underneath you look more powerful than any carriage or speeder you’ve seen before. Just as you’re wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, who’s held by her neck feathers in front of his face. And from the way her wings are flapping and her front claws grab at him, it's no mystery where she was, or where she’s trying to go.

“I’m sorry!” You say, gathering your skirts and rushing over. The Captain glares at you as he shoves her into your arms, her grey feathers bunching up as he does so. His tunic is rolled up again, and in the morning light you can see the symbols on his forearm more clearly. Traitor.

When the wooden ruler collided with your desk you yelped in fear and surprise. Was it the first time this had happened? Absolutely not, and if these lessons continued this way, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Pay. Attention.” The Pantoran woman growled at you, she was very smart. You could just tell, and the fact she was instructed to dumb down your education infruiated the both of you. “As I was saying…” She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.

“Teach me about the war.” You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.

“This is a language class.” She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Clones.”

“How did you kn-”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about.” She interrupted you, which was shocking in itself, but not unwelcome. Perching herself on the birch coloured desk, you found her staring out the window as well.“It’s well known that there was scarcely a better soldier than a Kaminoan Clone. And so when the war came to its end, and the Jedi went rouge, well they hardly stood a chance. Those who sided with them were caught and killed or branded traitors. Why they let any of them survive is beyond me, but those clones were so fiercely loyal. Some of them just couldn't shake that. No matter how hard the Kaminoans or the Emperor tried, there were millions of them, and some…” She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.

“Well even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.”

You try to stop staring, you really do. But by then Hunter has caught your eye, and is glaring even harder than he was before. Cautiously you take a step back, finding yourself in the company of clones is one thing, those willing to defy Nython, another. But enemies of the Galactic Empire was a different kind of dangerous.

“Courtesy of your betrothed.” The Captain grits out, and whatever softness was there from the night before is gone. Scared, you clutch Gonk to your chest like a child would a blanket. “What did you do?” You ask, looking him up and down. Even with the scars on his knuckles of cuts and burns, He didn't look like the horror stories you’d been told as a kid, in fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. But the symbols were there, scared into his skin some time ago. Something flashes in his brown sugar eyes, like the ping of a blaster bounces off of his iries in the heat of battle. Like he relives combat right in front of you.

“What we did was rescue a prisoner of war.” He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. “That hammock you’re sleeping in belongs to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” You say trembling. Looking to the side to see Wrecker place a firm hand on his sergeant's shoulder and pull him firmly away from you.

“Echo’s was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.” Wrecker explains defusing the situation. “He’s waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.” Hunter, who’s now swatting Tech - and whatever device he’s trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.

“I-I didn’- I didn’t mean…” You tell Wrecker shakily.

“I know, and it’s okay.” He says with a smile, but Hunter's words resonate with you. Haunting you of acts you have had nothing to do with.

In his cabin Hunter throws his hat as hard as he can against the wall. He hates you, he hates the Empire and most of all he hates Nython. And what’s even more infuriating is how innocent you are, how your morales are driving you away from your betrothed, and how you saved the shit disturbing reptile that seems to like himself and yourself too much. And no matter how much Hunter wants to despise the empire, if it’s still filled with people like you, it means there’s still something to fight for. But if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know how much fight he's got left.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“What did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?” You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though you’re both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that you’re all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.

“Why don’t you bother Tech with your questions?” Crosshair says pushing boxes around.

“Because you’ll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.” You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldn’t reach. Perhaps being smaller wasn’t a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.

“I need the whole crate.” Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. “And to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.” You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.

“The burns or the wounds?” You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.

“Same thing.” Crosshair explains. “From a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.” He watches as you cover your mouth with one hand as you remember the boasts, the gloat, the pride Nython had when he recounted the battle.

“You should’ve seen it,” There’s awe in Crosshair's voice now. “The Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of ‘Force 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.”

“No wonder he hates me.” You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, it’s…” Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. “Nython decimated everything in his path. There’s what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didn’t save.” You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. “It’s all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.” You smile at Crosshairs sass.

“You’d know.” You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for being honest.” You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.

“It’s one of my many endearing qualities.” He says, before shouting to his brothers about something that you don't even bother trying to understand.

With a look back at the hiding spot that you had chosen when you boarded the ship, you start up the stars and get back into the daylight. The captain is still gone, but Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker are each peeling a Meilroon fruit. You smile at them, they look so picturesque right now. The sea in the background and the three of them scraping the tough skin off of the fruits with knives. You’re reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.

“Hey! What’s so funny?” Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.

“I half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.” You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.

“Ha ha.” Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. “Try not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?” you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.

“So no sea shanties then?” You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.

“We don’t sing.” Tech states.

“Yeah we do!” Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, “we know that one from-”

“Ferrik if you start singing that again.” Crosshair grumbles.

“THERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEA” You all cringe when Wrecker starts shouting rather than singing, both of his brothers shout back simultaneously for him to stop, while you giggle from your spot on the floor. You could almost get used to their company, that and the fresh salty sea air, you are already beginning to enjoy the life of sailing. On the second floor, emerging from the captain's quarters, Hunter generally steps. Even someone without enhanced senses would have heard Wreckers incessant shouting and he has every intent on giving the three of them a lecture when he hears something else entirely.

“There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what you’re up to, and if you’re still trying to manipulate his crew.

“I’ve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.”

“It’s better than Wreckers.” Both Crosshair and Tech comment simultaneously. And Hunter hears you let out a half laugh. Some kind of reserved dainty thing that has him rolling his eyes.

“There was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” You continue tapping again, “And there will come a captain who’s heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...” He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.

You hear the captain’s footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. “Who let the Aaray get a’ hold of a knife again?” He says looking down at you, the fruit and the blade. Hesitantly, and with only half of the Meilroon fruit peeled you give the knife back to Crosshair the same way he had originally given it to you. Pointing the handle towards him whilst gently holding the blade.

“I wasn’t going to…” You start.

“Going to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?” Hunter raises an eyebrow as if he’s daring you to disagree. You take a deep breath in, and hoist yourself onto shaky feet. Wrecker gives you a hand when your legs shake still in pain. Letting out your breath you lock eyes with the captain.

“I understand your hatred for that man,” You begin softly.

“No.” He snaps, “you don’t” You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.

“You can’t be reasoned with.” You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.

“I should not have to reason with the likes of you.” Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Tech’s Holopad beeps.

“I am not my Fiance!” You exclaim. “And yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-”

Before you can react, Hunter moves fast as lightning, a hand on your throat, his own vibroblade dangerously close to you, bending you against the banister that stops you falling into the abyss alone. The three others brace themselves and when they move to help you, stop at the growl of anger from their sergeant.

“You do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.” He tells the trembling woman beneath him.

“What happened to you Sergeant?” You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every ‘he’s not like this.’ All of his actions point to the fact that he is like this. Something changes in his face, like he remembers where and who he is. And like Hunter is on fire, he steps away from you. The second there's room, Wrecker forces you behind him protectively.

“Sarge.” Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. “I think you should come with me.”

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

Star-crossed

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 11

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you."

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9.k oh no

Content warnings: Major angst, nightmares, premonitions, auditory hallucinations, unsavory parental figures, paranoia, domestic disputes, child endangerment, violence. No smut in this one, the only thing getting fucked in this chapter are our feelings.

A/N: This one hurt to write, there were definitely some tears shed while putting this together this so fair warning do not expect this one to end well. :(

High above the metal decking of the engine room, you were elbow deep in an exhaust port, clearing away the slag to replace one of the durasteel plates that had started to warp from the excess heat. You were singing, as you always did when you worked; a vulgar, brassy shanty that was almost louder than the reciprocating scraper in your hands. You spat and wiped a wayward chunk of grease from your mouth, the taste of it oily and burnt. No matter how many times you’d been taught the lesson of ‘keep your mouth closed’ you couldn’t help it. Whenever you worked, you sang.

Raucous as a mudhorn in heat and louder than a full grown krayt, your songs were a favorite of your unit, and the chief of engineering would often come stand a while and listen; though the moment he was caught eavesdropping he would scold you for not working harder. Tough love is what he called it. He was yelling at you now from far below at the base of the hyperdrive engine, and you pushed your goggles up your grime-smeared face to see him.

Bilgerat! Get’cher ass down ‘ere, posthaste!

Yessir!

Now you were standing in front of the chief, though there was another man standing there too. Tall, thin and pale with eyes like a dead fish and a tight, steelset jaw. You didn’t recognize him, but he looked important, his lapel shining with the badge of a high-ranking officer.

You there, girl, sing.

Sir?

Don’t argue with me, child, I heard you from three decks over. Sing.

Being watched made you nervous, but you did as you were ordered. You sang something, maybe everything, either way the stranger watched you, no, judged you, his eyes never leaving your face. The dead-eyed man furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully, but you had already stopped watching him, caught in your song, powerless against the siren song that was your own voice.

It always felt so good to let loose, your voice could set your soul free, and yet it also felt like it was pulling something in. Something greater than yourself, flowing through you, connecting you to every living thing that ever was or ever will be. Your boots were firmly stuck aboard the starship called the Wyvern’s Tongue, but your songs carried your heart to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to worlds beyond your durasteel home.

~

The humming is what woke Din up, though he hadn’t slept much through the night anyway, too suspicious of the artifact he had found aboard his ship. Fully armored, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall of the borrowed quarters he had stood guard over his tiny clan, dozing in and out of restless sleep.

He lifted his helmeted head to zero in on the noise you were making. It was one he was familiar with, you often hummed in your sleep, it was something he loved about you. The warm, wavering sound coming from the floor where you had made a nest of quilts for yourself was comforting, but tonight something about it seemed off.

He watched you sleep, noticing the way that your fingers twitched and your legs kicked behind you slightly. It wasn’t like you to be so energetic, so distressed. Clutched to your chest the foundling purred softly, but you didn’t seem to hear him. Your hums turned to whimpers, making the Mandalorian’s blood run cold.

She’s having a nightmare.

She’s perfect. I’ll take her.

But sir, she’s m’best bilgie. How’ll I-

Is that insubordination I hear, Chief Wellers?

N-no Cap’n Forescythe. She’s all yours.

Good. Come along, little sparrow, your talents are being wasted here.

You remember being so scared, looking to your chief for reassurance, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Though you’d lived aboard the Wyvern’s Tongue since she had left Corellia’s port you’d never actually met the captain. The starcruiser was well over a thousand meters long and home to hundreds of crewmates, putting bilgerats far below the captain’s sphere of influence. What did he want from you?

Each step you took in your dream you got taller, your strides lengthening as you grew from a gangly teenager to a young woman. You were at the bridge now, being sat in a stiff but comfortable chair. You were taught to relay orders, delegate operations, interpret incoming transmissions and their origins. It was a station high above your birthright, but you were never one to turn down a challenge, and you bullied your way to excellence; much to your captain’s pride.

Captain Forescythe was usually described as a cold, unforgiving man, but he treated you remarkably well for a boat-brat dug up from the scuppers, much to the disdain of his fellow officers. He told you that you were a natural talent, gifted by the Maker with a voice so strong, so beautiful, almost like he revered you for it. Much like the ship's namesake, the Wyvern’s captain lorded over you like treasure, jealousy guarding you like a priceless jewel.

The captain’s precious little pet.

Sing, my little Sparrow.

~

Unable to spectate any longer, Din crawled over to you, brushing an armored hand over your sweat-streaked face. “Mesh’la? Are you alright? Wake up cyare, you’re having a nightmare.”

Wake up.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Once where a beautiful, peaceful world had once been there was now only dust. The Death Star your ship was escorting had succeeded in her mission, and you had been graciously allowed to watch as the mechanical moon obliterated a billion lives as one would exterminate a nest of roaches. Around you your crew cheered, hooray for the Empire! Death to the Resistance! But you couldn’t hear them.

You heard screaming.

Clawing at your ears and squeezing your eyes closed did nothing to make it stop. As if millions of voices were funneling directly into your skull.

You ran. Ran through the labyrinthian hallways, ran as fast as you could to your quarters. Even your blankets would not protect you, the wailing only growing louder.

Murderers! Monsters! You killed us! Why? Why why why!

You ran from your tiny room, backpack slung over your shoulder, filled with what few things you owned. Ran all the way to the hangar. You’d worked on interceptors a thousand times before when your hands were still small, when you could weasel your way into the narrowest of spaces and prove yourself worthy of not getting jettisoned. Knife in hand you unlocked the security protocols easier than picking your teeth, and the hangar fell away beneath you.

Turning back one last time to glance at the artificial home you had known for so long you saw a figure standing there. Was it the captain? Had he come to stop you? Stop his precious Sparrow from flying away?

No. They were blue, flickering in and out of corporeality. Their face took up your entire mindscape now, their features ever changing, like you were looking at more than one face at a time. The eldritch being’s eyes bored through yours, shifting rapidly from those of a man to those of a child to those of an elder, a hundred lives all demanding to be seen at once. Their mouth did not move when it spoke.

“i̴͊̎t̴'s̸̉͋ ̵͋c̸͑ȏ̸̕m̸͐͛i̸̽͘n̷̾͂ǵ̵”

You sucked air like your lungs had never known oxygen, nearly launching the foundling into orbit as you bolted upright. Beskar burdened arms coiled around you the next second, and you stung your knuckles on his armor trying to fight him off in your panic.

“Ger’off’a me! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry! Please!”

“Cyare! Stop! You’re having a nightmare, it’s ok I’ve got you!” Battleborne muscles held you tight against a cold plate of steel while you thrashed until you were coherent. Husband. You let your body relax against your oathsworn and wept, deep, heaving sobs that tore your throat apart and crackled your ribs. Soft shushing noises came through Din’s modulator next to your ear, but the cold metal of his armor brought you little comfort.

“I-I’m s-s-sor-ry.” You stuttered into the fabric of his cowl, the roughhewn cloth soaked with tears. Strong fingers carded through your dampish hair, still not dried all the way from your shower only a few hours ago. Din pressed his palm against the back of your head, burying you in the crook of his shoulder where he could protect you from whatever had scared you. The yellowed tips of his gloves bumped against your unburdened ear cuffs with each pass of his hand, but the leather scraping the metal couldn’t drown out the whispers that still oozed from your thoughts.

Why why why why why why...

“It’s alright, cyar’ika, I’m here. Grogu’s here.” Without tearing your eyes away from the safe haven of his cloak you groped blindly for the baby, finding the disheveled youngling and pulling him in tight. “Can you tell me what happened?” Din asked, his modulated voice soft with worry. You shook your head against your partner. “Alright, that’s ok.”

-ỉ̶t'̸͑̋́̂s̸ ̵̝͕̏̀͠͝c̷̬͙̃̽͌̑̊o̷̅͑̓̈́m̴̧͓͈̭̃͂́̽͌͑ǐ̶̓̕n̷̓̋̚g̵͕͙͎͊̀͊̽!̶̑̀-

You gasped and pulled away from your husband’s comfort, eyes wider than moons, pupils shrunken to pinpoints. Gloved hands found your face, cupping your cheeks and trying to get you to look into his hidden honeywells that were searching your eyes. Unblinking, you looked right through him.

“Can you hear that?” You whispered, your voice far, far away.

“Hear what?”

-I̴̭̊̚͘͘T̷́̽̕S̴̔̅̈́ ̸̋C̸̀͋Ỏ̸̉̄͝M̸̐͂I̶N̷̽͗̈̌G̵͓̎̈̊̀͛͘͠!̶!̷̤̏-

“That!” you shrieked, making both your boys jump. You clawed at your ears, though you knew that wouldn’t help, the voices were coming from inside. “I-I have.. I have to go! I have to go now!” You tried to spring up off the floor, but your arm was caught in the iron grip you knew and trusted, keeping you at your knees. “I have to warn Alewyn!”

“Cyar’ika what are you talking about? Warn her about what?”

The phantom voice wailed again, and you doubled over from the force of it, sending a fresh wave of tears down your face. Din was getting scared now, his eyes wide with worry behind the visor, his throat bobbing around dry swallows. You’d never woken up like this before, so distraught and inconsolable, and it was making him feel helpless. He couldn’t put binders on your emotions, grapple with your fears, slay your inner demons.

“Let go!” You roared and flew from his grasp, tripping over your faceplate and the pile of quilts as you blasted out the door, sprinting down the Sunskate’s curving corridors towards the bridge with your foundling stuffed under your arm. Haunting voices chased you through the halls, making you deaf to the armored thunder that was following dutifully behind.

You charged through the bulkhead to the bridge, nearly busting the durasteel door off its hinges when you flew through it, skittering to a halt in front of the viewport. With wild eyes you searched the void, ignoring the concerned questions that were being asked of you. Where is it where is it where is it?! From corner to corner you scanned, locking your red-rimmed eyes on every flicker, every spark.

Nothing.

Nothing for miles.

Slowly you became aware of those around you, the soft leather gloves of your mate pulling on your face and the warm but worried voice of the Sunskate’s captain.

“Cyare?”

“Tra’laar?”

“Patu?”

Your legs gave out under you and you let yourself be caught in the steelbound arms of your husband, the two of you sinking to the floor with the foundling still locked to your chest. Terror replaced itself with scalding embarrassment, making you bury your unblinking eyes in the foundling’s forgiving tummy. Your eyelids wouldn’t close no matter how hard you willed them to, because they knew that somewhere, out there,

Was a dragon.

“What’s wrong with her? Did you do something to upset her?!” Alewyn hissed, becoming defensive of her ill-begotten rescue.

“No! She had a nightmare, I think. Cyar’ika whatever it is, it’s not real. There’s nothing out there, come back to me, please.” Mando’s loving pleas and careful touches went unrecognized, no matter how diligent they were.

What finally drew you back to reality was the gentle pat pat pat of fat baby paws on your face. You turned your wilted gaze to the foundling, the embarrassment of being seen so vulnerable only growing stronger and more painful. “I-I’m s-sorry, Goober, you s-sh-sh-shouldn’t have to see me like-”

Pap.

Baby beans smacked you softly on your forehead and closed his eyes, making you furrow your brow. “What are you- oh.” Your eyes slid closed, and a warm peacefulness breezed through you, exorcising the whispering voices between your ears. You took a deep, somewhat stuttered breath and let go, feeling whatever weird baby magic the foundling possessed flow through you. The night terror faded to the back of your mind, dissipating like mist until it evaporated entirely from your thoughts.

“Thank you…” You whispered, nuzzling the baby’s chubby belly. Heart rate steady and breath even, you leaned back against the man who was still holding you up. Din rested the edge of his helmet on the top of your head and hummed, a low, brassy tone, sounding relieved. Where his hands were wrapped around your sides you felt the slow roll of his palms, warm and protective. “I’m sorry, Mando, Alewyn, I don’t know what came over me...”

“S’all right, missy, t’ain’t the first time I’ve seen someone go wailin’ through the halls. We all have our burdens to bear.” Alewyn combed a dainty hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face. “Good thing them boys’ve gotcha though.” She glanced between the visor of the Mandalorian that was coiled so defensively around you and the little green baby you held so dearly. “I can tell they love ya.”

You nodded sheepishly and let Din help you to your feet, his hands never leaving you lest you waver. Angrily you wiped at the corners of your eyes, trying to cover your shame as the three of you walked back to your room. When the bedroom door closed behind you, you went straight for the porthole window, cautiously searching the stars again.

“What are you looking for?” Din asked hesitantly, “What… what were you dreaming about?”

“Um. I had a dream we were… under attack.” You lied, your eyes still locked to the void. If you could help it, the secrets of your past would someday die with you, though by the sounds of the whispers you had heard not even death could keep its mouth closed.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare, I’ve never seen you like this. Is there anything I can do for you?” Din the ever-thoughtful asked, draping a quilt over your shoulders. The fabric was still warm from where you had been sleeping on it, the weight of it reassuring on your back. You shook your head. He glanced at the back of one vambrace, “We’re still another hour from the station, why don’t we get our things packed and back on the Crest? Would that be ok?”

It was better than going back to sleep, you didn’t trust your own thoughts not to terrorize you again, and you nodded enthusiastically. Din didn’t allow you to lift a finger while he zoomed around the little room, collecting your armor and laundry and then you, scooping you and the foundling up in his arms.

“Put me down, tinman, I’m not helpless!” you chided with a weak little laugh.

“There’s my girl. Nope, I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

You sighed in a heavy, mocking tone, covering your face with your mask like a shy child while he proudly tromped back to the hangar to where your immobile home lay. Once you were all lifted up the half-hanging ramp you dropped graclessly onto a crate with a huff. You were beat, but it felt nice to be back in your ship, the familiarity adding to whatever calming effect the foundling had used. The little green terror was drowsy in your arms, spent from using his wild baby powers to vanquish your demons. You kissed his wrinkly little head and swaddled him in the quilt Din had accidentally stolen for you.

Tinman was digging through the larder, looking for something for breakfast and found a pack of biscuits to give you. Though the suspicious item he still carried in his pocket had kept him sleepless, the need to care for his loved ones overrode every other instinct, making him forget it for the time being. You weren’t hungry, if anything you were nauseous from your night terror, but Din was insistent; and you nibbled on a bright blue macaroon, splitting bites with the sleepy baby.

Eventually a soft beeping chimed from the Mandalorian’s vambrace, stationfall in fifteen minutes. Outside the ship you heard a holler, and you strode to the ramp to find Alewyn and Lilah, ready to bid thee farewell.

”Alright, so!” Alewyn exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Here’s the dealy-o. The Sunskate can’t actually… dock with the station. M’good ole dad’s still got hunters on the loose, never know when they’ll turn up, eh?” She laughed. “Your ship’s gonna have’ta dock on’er own, but Lilah’s patchwork should hold ya together long ‘nough for the service droids’ta pick ya up.”

You ignored the loud, audible groan from behind you. “I think we can manage that.” You started to hop down off the ramp, but the spry Togruta was already climbing up into the Crest, barreling you over. Alewyn the Affectionate squeezed your ribs so hard you felt the air leave your lungs, making you grunt ugly. One of her nimble hands disappeared from you into her many secret pockets, then snuck into one of yours, leaving a sizable weight of credits behind. “Wynnie!” you hissed against her montral, “Not again!”

“S’least I can do, since we nearly ripped that old bucket’a shit in half and you spared another spacer from the slab.” She held you out at arms length, bobbling her montrals at you with an arrogant grin. “Take care’a yerself, missy. And you too, Mando! Be good to this woman’n’er son or so help me!” The princess raised a fist at him that turned into an outstretched hand. He shook it hesitantly, but the lavender lady reeled him in, and you giggled at his hover-hands while she squeezed the life out of him.

Lilah helped her wife down from the ramp, and the two of them waved before hefting the ramp closed, sealing you inside with your crew. You dashed up the ladder to the cockpit, looking for a horn to honk but there wasn’t one, giving you another item to add to your mental grocery list. Din followed you up with Grogu in tow, taking his seat in the captain’s chair.

The Sunskate’s hangar jaws slid open slowly, pulling a blue force field over the stretch of stars. Far ahead you could just barely make out the shiny little dot where the station was, glittering just a little brighter than the stars themselves. With the cockpit door tightly sealed, Din carefully started up the old gunship, and on instinct you covered Grogu’s ears to protect him from the inevitable backfire.

The Razor Crest sputtered to life and slowly floated out of the hangar door, relying more on inertia than propulsion to get her towards the station. Out the window you saw the enormous rayship that had carried you here bank away from you, the starlight glittering briefly on her copper-colored belly before her propulsion engines flared back to life, and soon enough she was nothing more than a comet streaking through the void.

Din fussed with the radio transponder, opening up a hailing frequency that would alert the attention of the station droids, and it wasn’t long before a large transport unit was making its way to you. The automatic taxi magnetized itself to the roof of the Crest, easing the strain off of your damaged engines.

A robotic voice beeped through the comms: “THANK YOU FOR CHOS-ING EL-GON AU-TO-MA-TED SER-VI-CES. SMILE-Y FACE. CO-MEN-CING TRANS-PORT TO HAN-GAR SEV-EN-TEEN FOR EV-AL-U-A-TION AND RE-PAIR. HAVE A NICE DAY. SMILE-Y FACE”

Din groaned, his fists creaking on the steering wheel. “Why’s it gotta be droids…”

You shrugged in your chair. “Elgon’s old as dirt, prob’ly older than the Crest. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t anything on it that wasn’t animatronic.”

“Great.”

Ahead of you, the station dominated your viewport, humming with a myriad of activity. A neutral starport, Elgon boasted service to any and all as long as they had coin in their pockets, regardless of their commendations or crimes. You’d been to the old outpost many a time, both on your own and while you still wore a uniform, and excitedly you remembered a particular sweets shop that used to operate in the center.

Your service droid was nearly at the station now, approaching a large closed hangar with the number seventeen painted on it in orange Basic. You playfully kicked at the side of the pilots’ seat where Din’s butt was unguarded by the arm rests. “You excited to get fixed up, bucket boy?”

He nodded, he was ready to get back on the trail towards the last bounty. The thought of hunting again reminded him of the Imp device in his pocket that still mystified him, reigniting buried suspicions. I should ask her about it, maybe she knows what it is. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you while you were showering, or when you were getting ready to sleep, so being the polite riddur he decided he would bring it up with you in the morning.

Din reached into his pocket, closing his fingers around the mechanical spider, ready to pull it into the light when the hangar doors opened.

Revealing a blizzard of white duraplast.

“Oh fuck.” Your collective hearts went through the decking at the sight before you. There, swarming the station proper were dozens of Imperial stormtroopers, their eggheads covering the hangar like dirty snow. “Get down!” you hissed at Din who was already two steps ahead of you, sliding out of the pilots seat and under the dashboard. You tore the faceplate off of your crown and stuffed it into his hands along with Grogu and caged your two boys in with your knees, determined to keep anything mando-factured out of sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Din spat, slamming his fist on the floor. “This station is supposed to be neutral territory! We need to turn around, we can not stay here!”

Under you the Crest swayed gently in the droid’s grasp before being lowered onto a maintenance skiff, the hoversled bouncing slightly from the weight of your ship. Desperately you threw levers and pushed switches, trying to get the Crest to restart, but her engines were long gone, the turbines spinning almost mockingly slow. You weren’t going anywhere.

The comms light lit up on the dashboard with a soft chime, and on reflex you went to answer it when Din grabbed your leg. “Don’t even think about it.”

You made ‘what-choice-do-we-have’ hands at him, “Dude we are fucked unless I answer them, I-I speak their language, I can get us through.”

“Yeah? So do I.” He hissed from the floor, smacking the side of his thigh where his firearm hung.

“-Ksst!- hush! I’m handling this.” You straightened your shoulders and set your jaw straight before flipping on the receiver.

The holoprojector lit up in front of you with a tiny stormtrooper. “Identify yourself.”

“TK number SPW dash seven-zero-four-two, engaged in dogfight planetside and in need of repairs.”

“Why isn’t your ship running a beacon, soldier?”

“It's pre-empire surplus, it doesn’t have one.”

“What are you doing flying around in such a relic?” The stationmaster said with a bite of suspicion.

“...Budget cuts.”

They chuckled. ”No kidding. Alright then, what’s your designation?”

Shit, uh... “Prisoner transport unit.”

“Roger. Stand-by for transportation to engineering bay and prepare for inspection.”

The trooper winked out of existence, and you started to sigh with relief when the hand on your boot yanked you down to the ground.

“Prisoner transport unit?!” He rasped once you were at visor level with him on the floor. “Could you have come up with something else?!”

Unwillingly, your lips curled back and bared your teeth at his hateful tone. “There’s a shitload of guns and a goddamn carbonite freezer down in the hold, we’re not exactly delivering cookies. We need to get you two hidden before we get to the mechanics, come on!”

Din watched you drop through the ladder hatch with his heart in his throat, the fluttering organ violently trying to break out of his ribs. The Maker must think this is hilarious. After everything I’ve done to keep this kid away from the Imps we’re just going to go knocking on their fucking door. Everything was stacked against him. He was tired from lack of sleep, he was scared for the safety of his clan, and to top it all off he was becoming more distrustful of the microchip by the second; the mounting tension he emanated filling the cockpit like carbonite fog.

Maybe it’s a tracking device?

That… might make sense. Elgon station was out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, why else would a shitload of Imps be here if not to capture him and his crew? To take his son? Through the night he had grown suspicious of the item he had found, and a nagging thought had seeded itself in his frontal lobe, one that he refused to give audience.

What if it came from her?

No, that’s stupid. That’s your riddur, she’s obviously not an Imp. He reasoned, slowly soldier-crawling his way to the hatch with his son and your armor in tow. It must have been in the coral already, or come from one of the pirates, maybe they planted it here. But if that’s the case then we’ve been handed right over into a trap. He lept down the ladder with Grogu squashed under his arm, watching you fly around the cabin looking for an acceptable hiding spot for your foundling and a full grown Mandalorian.

Time started to move in slow motion as it usually did for him when he was sizing up quarry. What did her puck say, before I decided not to turn her in? He ran through his mental rolodex, digging for your file. Ex hunter. Guild dissenter. Bribed out of high-profile bounty. Now that he had met the high-profiler for himself he really couldn’t blame you, though it was suspicious that you had returned from the bridge one bounty short after speaking with Alewyn in private.

Alewyn. Princess-turned-pirate, a renegade royal that had made a name for herself literally ripping ships down from the sky. Hunter ships in particular. Awful convenient for her to be right in our line of travel to a station full of Imps out in the middle of fuckall nowhere. He froze, his visor locked to your frantic form. As if…

As if she was waiting for us.

The corners of his lips bared his teeth to no-one behind his visor as the distrust he had sown in his own heart dug its claws in deep. This has been a trap from the beginning! She’s been playing the long con since Tatooine. In his other hand he held your betrothal gift, the beskar faceplate that he had presented to you when you swore your vows. It reflected his own visor back to him, the hazy lighting of the cabin shimmering on the mudhorn embossed on the brow. No… that’s not it… that’s not true, she loves you…

Right…?

Or… so she says. His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you.

He’d caught you so easily on that dirtball of a planet, too easily for a hunter of your stature. You’d practically tossed yourself into the arms of a complete stranger, assumed the role of the child’s caregiver without question. Agreed to marry him after barely a month.

Grogu made a sniffling noise under Din’s arm, gaining both of his buir’s attentions. His nebulous eyes were beginning to moisten, threatening to spill over with tears at any moment. Instantly you ran to your baby’s defense. “Hey buddy boy, what’s wrong?” You carefully took the baby from Din, hugging him to your chest and making the tiniest sob bubble out of his nose. “No no no it’s ok, please don’t cry sweetheart!”

“He’s scared.” Din growled in a manner not at all comforting. You glared at the indomitable mountain of metal, offended that he would use such a tone in front of his own son. “He knows when there’s a threat nearby.” Under you the Crest wobbled slightly, signaling the start of her trek to the engineering bay. Tick tock.

“Fuck! Can you get in a storage crate?” you asked frantically, bouncing Grogu on your hip to get him to quiet down. The baby could sense the mounting anxiety radiating off of his buir, and was getting himself spun up into a fresh panic. His cries devolved into sobs, making the hull echo with despair. “Shh.. it’s ok! Baby boy please, we can’t do this right now!”

“Too obvious.”

“Ok, the sleeping cubby? The lockers? C’mon Mando work with me!”

“They’ll tear this ship apart the second it hits the bay. There’s no hiding. That’s it, we’re done for.” Din tossed up his hands and made some kind of noise in the back of his throat, some kind of strained laugh, the husk of it making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You knew that sound, it was the sound of acceptance, of defeat.

Like fuck you were giving up. You made to retaliate when something past his shoulder caught your eyes. Expecting you to fight with him he stopped his pacing and glared at you, then followed your eyes to the carbonite freezer. He whipped back around, gawking at you like you’d grown a second head. “Oh fuck no.”

“We are out of options!” you nearly screamed, “I can’t just cuff you, there’s no guarantee that they won't take you and Beans hostage, freezing you would be safer. I-it would only be for an hour or two, tops, just to pass inspection! That thing can unfreeze, right?”

“That is not the point!” Din bellowed, “You are suggesting not only to freeze me but to freeze him as well?” Din jabbed a finger at the baby, a rush of emotions threatening to boil his bucket right off his head. He widened his shoulders, broadening himself so large that he seemed to encompass the entire ship, glossy black eye turning dark and hateful on you. He couldn’t keep his suspicions to himself any longer. “You… has this been your plan all along?”

You balked, “Plan? Plan for what? The hell are you-”

He threw your beskar on the floor and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the wall opposite the freezer and making Grogu scream out in terror. Mando’s visor took up your entire field of view, reflecting with your own wild eyes. “Your plan to capture us!” He barked, the malice overflowing like an erupting volcano. “You told that Imp that this was a prisoner transport unit. We don’t have any prisoners on this ship unless you’ve had them since the beginning.”

“Are you out of your fucking bucket?!” You spat back at him, “You think I want to put you in carbonite?! Put my son in carbonite?! There’s nowhere else on this ship to hide you!”

“How convenient.” The joints in your shoulders popped from the force he was applying to them, his weight nearly fusing you with the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” Over you the lights began to flicker, though neither of you saw it with your eyes locked on each other; yours filled with pain and anger, his visor pinning you down as if you were quarry.

At the sound of your pain the tension on your shoulder bones eased slightly, but not enough to let you free of the wall. Scalding shame burnt its way across his face, bitter and stinging. He was hurting you, the one thing he swore never to do to you again, the very first oath he had promised.

You chewed the side of your cheek, trying to steady your words. “Din. I love you. I love Grogu! I lied to that Imp to protect you. I don’t want those rotten eggs to have you, how could you even think that of me?”

She lies. One thing that Din knew about you was that you were unquestionably good at was putting on a ruse, able to sweet-talk quarry or lure droids to their deaths. But the way you took to the comms was different, how you were able to use the Imps own terminology against them, even how you spoke to the pirates before you were ‘rescued’ was delivered with flawless diction. It was too perfect, too natural...

As if that was your real voice.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” He growled, digging armored claws into the flesh of your shoulders, making you suck air through your teeth. Defensively you coiled your arms around Grogu, burying his wrinkly little head against your chest where he would be safe from the man you thought you trusted. Fire cascaded out from under Din's helmet, trying to burn you at the stake. “You told me once that I don’t know you.” His helmet tilted like a serpent poising to strike, words dripping with venom. “But I should have known an Imp when I saw one.”

“I am not an Imp!! That’s not who I am any MORE!” Bulbs exploded around you at your words, glass and sparks raining down from above. The strength of your thundering roar broke the delicate machinery in Din’s helmet, causing his audio intake to screech with feedback. Immediately his hands left your shoulders and went to his ears, trying to protect himself from the horrible noise.

The let-up was all the invitation you needed, and you dropped yourself low; catapulting into Din’s chest plate like a linebacker and knocking him into the freezer. You kicked your faceplate between his boots, thrust Grogu into his arms and punched the activator on the wall, tears flowing hotly down your face. As the fog billowed outward Mando wrapped himself around the foundling, as though his impenetrable armor could protect the child from the nightmare of being frozen alive.

Horrified, you watched as the two creatures you loved most were consumed by the mist, leaving a dark block in its wake that bore their likeness. The metal was already ice cold to the touch when you ran your hand over the glaring curve of your husband's visor, and down to the terrified, tear-streaked face of your baby.

Choked sobs tore at the back of your throat, trying to drown you with guilt. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry my loves, I… I did what I had to do. You weren’t given time to process your grief, nearly jumping out of your skin when plasticast fists rapped on the access door with authoritarian vigor. Composing yourself to the best of your abilities, you stuck your finger down the barrel of your blaster, scraping off the dark residue and smearing it under your eyes to hide your welted cheeks.

Glass crunched under your boots as you made your way through the dismembered cabin to the wall panel, punching the buttons with shaky hands. The ramp chuggered and stopped halfway down, but it was down far enough for you to make visor contact with the platoon of troopers who were demanding your attention. Their armor was clean, freshly moulded and recently polished. These weren’t just the Empire’s soggy leftovers, these were new recruits.

Disgracefully hopping down from the ramp among a scurry of pit droids you puffed up your chest and squared your shoulders as you had seen your partner do whenever he was intimidating quarry. You crossed your arms behind your back in parade rest, watching as a painted trooper strode up to you, his rifle pointed at the floor near your feet.

“Stand aside, we have orders to search this ship.”

“Whose orders?”

“Elgon Station is under the Imperial jurisdiction of Admiral Forescythe, no ships in or out without search.”

You felt all the blood in your body evaporate at the name. Forescythe. Shit balls of hell, that fucking bastard is still alive?!

“Is that really necessary?”

The rifle in his hand rose just slightly. “You got something to hide?”

“No, sir.” you said sweetly, hoping politeness would buy you brownie points.

“Stand aside then.” The trooper barked, gesturing to your ship with the barrel of his rifle. You jumped when the heavy access ramp hit the ground, turning to glare daggers at the droid that had unfastened the damaged hydraulics. The stormtrooper marched past you up the ramp, inspecting the interior of the cabin as he went. As predicted, he nudged the lids of the supply crates open, pointing his gun at any would-be threats. Another pair of eggheads followed inside, rudely stomping through the Crest’s belly like they owned the place.

The painted trooper made loud, gross sniffing noises. “Smells like carbonite in here, your freezer might be leaking, better get that checked out…” He trailed off when he clocked the machine and its contents, taking big strides towards it. “Lookit that, Is that an actual mando? I didn’t even think they were real, I’ve only ever heard stories.” He gestured to you with his gun, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” You asked coldly.

“How’d you catch him? And his... weird dog?” The trooper tapped harshly on the solidified metal that covered your foundling's eyeball, making your blood pyroclast through your veins, but you remained composed.

“I’m more dangerous than I look.” You seethed, digging your nails into the skin of your arms behind your back. And you’re about to find out just how fucking dangerous if you don’t back off!

One of the unpainted soldiers piped up. “Do you think this is the one they’ve been looking for? The one the Admiral was talking about?”

“Could be, I’ll radio the Wyvern when it makes stationfall, should be dropping out of hyperspace in a few hours.” Cotton seemed to grow in your mouth at his words, making it impossible to swallow. No, it can't be.

-ī̶̱̩͋t's̴̈̅ ̵̛̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷ŏ̷̐̓͑ṁ̸͌̋̾̕in̵̨͎̩̠̼͂͜g̷͑̔.-

Shut up. The commander jabbed his rifle at you. “I heard someone say that mandos never take their helmets off, we should unfreeze it and see what it looks like.”

“No.” You barked, making the soldiers flinch. Haha. “He’s very dangerous, even under the effects of hibernation sickness he can still be quite lethal.”

“There’s three of us and only one of it.” A rifle was pointed your way, “Thaw it out.”

Like hell. “Alright, then I won’t have to be the one to explain to the Admiral why a Mandalorian is loose in the station, or dead. I’ve heard he’s a reasonable man.”

The three troopers looked at each other with questioning glances, suddenly unsure. That seemed enough to deter them, and you waited while the troopers barked orders at the repair droids, ordering them to get your ship fixed up. A battalion of robots swarmed the Razor Crest inside and out, almost making you thankful Mando wasn’t there to blast them full of holes. The greasy robots would make quick work of the damage, and hopefully have you out of the station before the Wyvern arrived.

The Wyvern. You wanted to curl in a ball and die. Of all the bullshit the galaxy had to offer it had decided that you deserved a double helping of unwanted nostalgia. Not only was the Wyvern’s Tongue still operational she would be bringing with her good old Admiral Forscythe, though last time you saw him he was just a captain.

Your captain.

And he was on his way.

To this station.

To your ship.

To you.

Oh fuck.

Immediately you turned to your partner for reassurance, only to meet his frozen stare. You wanted to release him, let him carry you safely away from this place, but you weren’t out of the woods yet; so you were both going to have to wait. You’d never been frozen, thank the Maker, but you’d heard stories. How being frozen is like being trapped alive, trying to breathe but not being able to move your lungs. Still being conscious but feeling your blood stop in your veins. A living death.

A waking nightmare.

Repair droids swarmed your ship’s interior like a hive of bees, but they were making quick work of the damage and would hopefully be gone soon. Shaky legs carried you back over to the carbonite freezer, and you leaned heavily on the block of frozen metal, stretching your arms around it in an attempted hug. I wish you were here, my love, but it will be over soon.

You pressed a kiss to both of your boy’s faces and slumped to the floor, leaning on the bandoliered boots behind you. Between the wide open ramp and the droids working on the stardrive you were too exposed to unfreeze your family, and the thought of having to wait even a minute longer made the edges of your eyes threaten to spill anew.

Stars above you wanted this to be over. The back of your throat tasted like bile, and the plasma residue smeared under your eyes was starting to burn. You needed to get away, to blast off into space with your boys and put your draconian past behind you before the literal beast reared her ugly head.

But… now he knows. You groaned into your knees, digging claws into your own hair. He knows! You fucking asshat now he knows! Your greatest, vilest secret had been spilled, and you were going to have to find a way to live with the consequences. He... he’ll understand. Bilgerats are practically foundlings, I just need to explain myself better. Yeah! That’s it! I didn’t have the chance to explain myself. He’ll forgive me… right?

Time seemed to crawl, languid and slow, forcing you to wallow in your own guilt. You cautiously eyed the platoons of troopers that would often march past, trying to glare daggers through their shiny white buckets, but they paid you no mind. The hours ticked by, making you more and more anxious by the second. You had no way of knowing how soon the Wyvern would arrive, could be hours, could be minutes. Could be seconds.

-į̶̱̩̄͋ͅt'̶̡̳̰̝̇s̴̈̅ ̵̧̛̺̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷̄͋͛̚oṁ̸͌̋̾́̈́̕͝i̸̇̏-

I’m aware! You snapped at your thoughts, pissed that they were still present long after Grogu had purged them from your mind. I must be going crazy, it’s the guilt. It has to be the guilt. You rubbed at your temples, trying to dispel the mounting tension in your skull. When you opened your eyes a sweeper droid was clearing away the glass shards from the floor, and you cocked your brows at it as it went by. When did the lights burn out?

Eventually the interior repairs were completed to the fullest, and the moment the ramp hydraulics were functional again you slammed the door shut and booked it back to the freezer controls.You turned a pair of knobs on the side of the carbonite block and took a step back. The metal that covered your beloved crewmates turned red, then bright gold, sloughing off in luminous waves.

You jumped to catch Din and the foundling before they hit the ground, his strength lost from the effects of hibernation sickness, nearly causing him to melt onto the floor along with the aurelius sludge pooling at your feet. In your ear you heard both of your boys taking desperate, broken breaths; and you rubbed at Din’s dorsal plate, encouraging him to fill his lungs.

As a unit you sank down to the floor where the child practically rolled into your lap. His enormous eyes were squinty and blinking, making you think that he may be temporarily blinded. “Hey booger, it’s ok, can you hear me?” Grogu made a sad little noise, but that meant he could at least still hear. “There ya go, that’s it, nice’n slow. Y’ok?” The child looked up at you with a twisted expression, then immediately yarked bright blue all over your shirt. “You know what, I deserved that, thanks.”

Din’s modulated cough grated in your ear. “How… long?”

“Couple hours, but the repairs are finished, we can get the fuck outta here now. Are you alright? You gonna barf?” He started to shake his head no, but the shaking might have been his downfall because you felt him start to heave. “Not in the bucket not in the bucket! Come on, up! Heeere we go…” You gently set Grogu down on the floor and bullied yourself up under Din’s arm, dragging him as fast as you could to the fresher. You barely got the beskar out of the way in time for your partner to empty his stomach. “That’s it, let it all out, I gotcha.”

Din hung on to the sides of the fresher like his life depended on it, shaking violently with every hurl, and there wasn’t much else you could do but hold on. He released one armored claw from the side of the fresher to reach back and find you, but when you tried to hold his hand to comfort him he pulled his fingers from your grasp. Again you tried, but this time he didn’t just let go, he pushed you away, and you heard him mumble something into the fresher bowl.

“-..a...tor-”

“What’d you say?”

“Traitor!!!” Din spat, curling back around at you with viciously bared teeth, eyes wild and bloodshot. You backpedaled away from the fuming warrior that was half crawling half leaping towards you, making weak throws that were slowly gaining in strength. “You fucking traitor! I should have known! I should have known from the very fucking start!” You’d never seen him angry without the helmet, and it terrified you. He terrified you.

You put up your hands defensively, backing away from him. “Please! Let me explain! It wasn’t-”

“I don’t listen to Imps!” He swung at you and missed, but his agility was quickly returning. You wouldn’t be so lucky the second time.

“Damn it Din, fucking listen-” Ignoring you, he groped for the gun on his belt, and you were barely able to grab your armor in time from the freezer to block his reckless shots. You crouched over Grogu, using your body and the face plate as a shield against the assaulting Mandalorian. “Din! Stop! Please! You’re going to hurt our son!”

“Our?!” He hissed, snarling around the word. “That is MY son! Get away from him!” Din grabbed the beskar mask and tried to pull it from you, yanking you up from the floor. “MY son does not belong to you, this does not belong to you! Who do you think you are?!”

“Who am I?! I’m your wife!”

He stopped trying to wrestle the lovingly-chosen armor away from you, meeting your eyes with his own darkened gaze. His earthly irises flickered fast between both of your own pupils, searching your face for something, some kind of reminder. A reminder that he loves you. The muscles on the side of his jaw clenched and rippled, chewing on the words he was looking for.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse, but certain, as if there would never be a greater truth than the one he breathed into being.

“No, you’re not.”

The coldness in his tone stabbed icicles in your veins and froze your mouth closed, rendering you speechless. His hateful gaze looked down to the mask still in your hands, twisting into a pained expression. “Did… did this mean anything to you?”

“Din… please…” you begged, you voice barely above a whisper, “It means everything to me, you mean everything to me!” Behind you Grogu was already starting to cry again, making the situation even worse. “I love you! I did what I did to protect you, to protect Grogu! I didn’t want those Imp bastards to take you. Can’t you see that?”

The Mandalorian laughed, miasmatic and sickly, infected with distrust. “Isn’t that just like an Imp, lying right up til the very end.” He let go of the beskar as if it was unclean, then turned swiftly around on his heel, striding to the fresher to grab his helmet from where it had been discarded on the floor. He picked it up and looked into it’s visor, almost like he was debating whether or not he could put it back on. It sank over his head with a hiss of it’s latches, amplifying his dominating presence tenfold.

You pressed on, balling your fists in determination. “It shouldn’t matter who I used to be, just who I am now. I don’t know anything about your past, all I know is who you are now, I know that you are my… ner rid-oor…”

He was on you in a flash. “Don’t make me cut out your lying tongue as well, Mando’a is sacred, I should have never taught it to you.” In one swift motion he grabbed the offensive beskar from your useless fingers and threw it somewhere behind him, the iron clanging ugly against the durasteel decking. He dug behind his chestplate and found the lucky talismans you had given him as a sign of your affection, a sign that he now decided should have been a big red flag, shoving them into your empty hands.

“You have dishonored me.”

The Mandalorian bent to pick the crying youngling up off the floor, carrying him over to the bed you had all shared. He didn’t turn around to face you when he spoke again. “Get out.”

His frigid words had you frozen in place, frozen in time. He’s leaving you. Your mind was racing, your heart flooding with sadness and grief. Words abandoned you, giving you only a whisper of your silver tongue.

“Din.. I-I didn’t have a choi-”

“GET OUT!!!” He ripped your backpack off the wall and flung it at you, making you reel from the impact. The ramp opened behind you, and you were suddenly being shoved out the door, rolling backwards out of the Crest. You scrambled to your feet, clutching the krayt teeth so hard that the edges cut your palms while you banged on the rising wall of steel.

From behind the closing door you heard a sound, faint but desperate, nearly inaudible over your own pounding heartbeat. It sounded distinctly like a baby’s cry.

“Bubu!”

-SLAM!-

The access ramp sealed shut, and a shiny silver dome appeared in the rounded transparisteel viewport where Mando was taking his seat at the controls. Imps began swarming you while the old gunship’s engines flared to life, burning like a newly risen phoenix. Poorly-aimed blaster fire ricocheted off the ship’s hull while her landing gear tucked itself up, and soon the home you had grown to know and love was blasting towards the hangar exit without you.

The Razor Crest slid through the magcon field, the backs of her engines turning bright blue as her stardrive kicked into gear, rocketing her into warp speed just as an enormous star cruiser dropped out of hyperspace, dwarfing the station with her size. As prideful and arrogant as the Empire she sailed for, she took up the starfield with the domineering presence of a ship that had once served as the Death Star’s loyal guard dog.

It could be no other than the Wyvern’s Tongue.

-ȉ̴͗t̴'̴s̶̛̓͝͠ he̷̍̂r̶̔ë̷́.-

If you had a single coherent thought left to your name you would have made a series of snide remarks to the completely useless voice that whispered in your ears. You would have fought back against the stormtroopers that were roughly grabbing you and forcing you down under the barrels of their guns. You would have ran through the station and commandeered one of the other ships that had come in for repairs and blasted off to somewhere, anywhere else.

If you weren’t so grief-stricken, so heart-broken, so lost, you would have hurled literal dragonfire at the man who was approaching you now.

The troop commander spoke first. “Sir, this one allowed the mando to esca-”

“Get her up. Now.” You were hauled back up to your feet, but your eyes stayed on the forcefield that was draped over the stars, just waiting for the Razor to come back around.

To come back for you.

Your view became blocked by a tall, thin man in an Imperial uniform, his lapel shining with an even bigger emblem of authority than the last time you had seen it. His soulless eyes bored right into yours, and you knew instantly by the look on his face that he hadn’t forgotten his favorite communications officer. “Sparrow? Is that you?”

The long abandoned nickname stung like needles in your ears, reeling you violently into the present. The admiral cupped your chin and brought your eyes up, forcing you to see him and stop pretending that he wasn’t real; that he was an apparition brought to life by your wailing night terrors. “It is. My little Sparrow has flown back to me.”

The stormtrooper braved an interruption, “Sir, the mando-”

Admiral Forescythe silenced him with a wave of his hand, “No matter, the universe has brought me something even better than whatever Moff Gideon had been after.” The glare on the Admirals face turned to a sickly smile “Pray tell, little bird, won’t you sing me a song? I’ve so missed your lovely voice.”

You shook your head from his hand and pointed to the electromagnetic cuffs that still hung from the backs of your ears, the last remainder of the beloved faceplate you had been gifted. “Hull breach, tone deaf.” was all the excuse you could muster. A stiff leather glove rose up to brush over the Mandalorian steel, and you fought every animalistic urge to go batshit ballistic, rip the admiral limb from limb.

“What a pity, but at least you can still speak.” He was standing too close now, and the disgust you felt for the man who practically raised you made your flesh boil under his gaze. His gloved hand slid down from your ear and grabbed at the bottom of your jaw, forcing your head to tilt while he inspected the bitemarks Din had put on your neck when he still loved you. “At least you haven’t been lonely, good thing I had you chipped when I did. Shame on you for letting someone defile you in such a manner, were you still on my ship I would have had them jettisoned.”

The Admiral raked his eyes over your disheveled form, from your marked flesh to your blackened eyes and your blue-stained shirt, his face twisting in disgust. “Whatever life you have been living clearly doesn’t suit you, it’s high time you cease this reckless behavior and come back to where you belong.” He bent down and picked your backpack up off the floor where it had fallen, slinging one ratty strap over his neatly-pressed shoulder; then extended a hand to you. “Are you ready to come home now, my little Sparrow?”

You blinked a few times at the question, your heart becoming as cold as stone. Home? The Wyvern was not your home anymore, and the admiral was not your family. But the home you knew, the family you loved was now lightyears away, far far away from where you were now; and they weren’t coming back.

Din wasn’t coming back.

That left only one place left for you to go.

Back... home.

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The Michigan Fleet authors posted their AUs so here are mine

theunvanquishedzims: I have SO MANY Boat Boy ideas but I'm sitting on them because I came up with a bunch halfway through the book and they got jossed by the end rollerskatinglizard: Hah! Uhhh, sorry? I think?? theunvanquishedzims: (i.e. Basil gets sad and weepy over Rich and Liam flirting at a party, Trimmer plays fairy godmother a la ripping half his shirt off, giving him a pep talk, and sending him back out there to Win Back His Man) rollerskatinglizard: *whooping* theunvanquishedzims: Jossed so hard rollerskatinglizard:Okay, that's DELIGHTFUL rollerskatinglizard: Trimmer is the most terrifying fairy godmother rollerskatinglizard: Anything else? :Dc theunvanquishedzims: Lemme get my notes rollerskatinglizard: *gleeful wiggling*

theunvanquishedzims: Okay so I stopped reading when the Sympatico grabbed Rich during the storm and it took me a month or so to get back and finish, so I was under the impression that the ship was still being fixed in drydock and not, y'know, actually being crewed and sailed. (Trimmer yelling "just let her sink" hits reeeeeaaaallly different when you know that) rollerskatinglizard: Ahaha oh dang theunvanquishedzims: So the big idea was the gangsters needing something from the Sympatico. Not the general thugs and delinquents crewing the Sympatico but the actual organized crime of the Fleet, who were getting pretty used to using ships like the Sympatico to run their dirty deeds through. Except it's basically impossible to get what they need out of it, even when they drag out one of the old IST guys. He finally tells them Rich was the one who did the heavy lifting for the past few years rollerskatinglizard: Ooooh! rollerskatinglizard: What an interesting idea! theunvanquishedzims: Hang on I need to restart rollerskatinglizard: Ah yes, computers theunvanquishedzims: Sorry, that turned into a dinner break and running errands During which I came up with a couple new AUs theunvanquishedzims: Okay, back to mafia: they track Rich down, probably snag him after he's been out boarding. Off work, not expected back on the ship, tired from all the exercise, etc. They're not overtly threatening, just pick up his skimmer and politely suggest that he comes help them, and he probably goes quietly because there's like, six of them. I'm thinking only one of whom was actually posted on the Sympatico theunvanquishedzims: So they get back to the Sympatico. She's been temporarily decommissioned until the Fleet can fix her broken processes, but that's also a cover story by the mob. They want to clear out all the smuggled goods and information, but she's basically a ghost ship, silent and empty, and even the other IST guy couldn't get more than a few blinking lights. She's sulking basically, she knows they're not there to fix her so she's digging in her heels and playing dead. Like a toddler going ragdoll when they don't want to go to bed. theunvanquishedzims: They explain to Rich that they can't get a response and want him to take a crack at it. "Has she said anything?" "Who?" "The Sympatico." "...we didn't talk to it." "Well that's half your problem right there." theunvanquishedzims: At this point you should watch Show Yourself from Frozen 2, and the crystal scene from Atlantis the Lost Empire. Stepping into the place you've been called, making your presence known, and having a greater power reach out for you. Shiny lights, chasing the spark of life to its source, and having the power consume and embody you. Rich is used to it but it's probably pretty freaky from the outside, and way less magical-looking than a Disney movie. Probably more like when Magneto activated the machine in the first X-Men movie. Step up, turn it on, and suddenly it's sucking the life out of you, making you a living battery theunvanquishedzims: In my head I am picturing the glowing blue eyes, lights cracking along the skin like lightning or circuit patterns, the implants glowing in his temples, standing at a terminal like a star trek deck, maybe a faint breeze-like movement of the hair and clothes to indicate the sheer power radiating off of him. In reality it's probably more like he falls down, gets up, stumbles along to a good spot out of the weather, and curls up in a secluded defensible spot to stare emptily at the wall for a few hours while lights randomly go on and off around the ship theunvanquishedzims: Just being trailed by six very wary mafia dudes who have probably never seen someone mind-meld a ship, and definitely not solo. He's like a zombie, and when he does talk it's very clear he's talking for the both of them theunvanquishedzims: If any of them are in sync with the ship they definitely feel the !!!Rich you're back!!! vibe theunvanquishedzims: No idea how that resolves, I guess it depends on how powerful the mafia is. If they're the kind of entrenched criminals who are ongoing characters, then they have Rich scrub out what they need then dump him back on his skimmer to face the fallout alone. He might report it to the spooks? Or at least try to tell Basil and Mitch theunvanquishedzims: If they're not recurring characters then they were definitely being tracked by the spooks, who move in once the Sympatico comes back online. Rich has to answer some very tough questions but he cooperates fully and winds up digging up a LOT of dirt out of the Sympatico, now that the mafia showed him where to look. It's another one of the super traumatizing moments that makes him look cool and heroic. Oh yeah, totally got kidnapped, single-handedly piloted a ship, and helped bust the mafia, please stop talking about it, I need a nap, and also someone to go with me next time I go boarding. theunvanquishedzims: (And then I finished reading the book and found out that the Sympatico had a new crew and was out on the water with her AI still fried and broken, how did no one notice that)

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theunvanquishedzims: Okay I don't have Trimmer's voice well enough to write this fic so I'm feeding it to you raw: Trucker AU theunvanquishedzims: Rich is a long-haul trucker, much to the disappointment of his elder sister Angela, who is in law enforcement and thought he had a decent future in it too. Athena is a pro wrestler and totally down to support her brother traveling the country (and hopefully being in the same city as him sometime, she wants him to see her kick ass!) Rich wants to pursue a degree in [tech or engineering] but college is expensive, and trucking is a good way to make money, on top of which you don't have to pay rent when you're on the road. So he's saving up for school, probably listening to a lot of audiobooks, podcasts, and training guides while chugging along. theunvanquishedzims: Not nearly as bad or sketchy as the Sympatico, but life on the road can get pretty sketch sometimes, especially when you're alone. Enter Trimmer. Or rather, enter Rich into the middle-of-nowhere trucker stopover bar where Trimmer is getting his ass kicked. theunvanquishedzims: (Gonna go ahead and say the bar is called the Sympatico, and this is a very bad night to be there, which is saying something because any night at the Sympatico is a bad night to be there.) theunvanquishedzims: Fortunately, Rich is not trapped there by the cold uncaring waters of Lake Michigan, he can just turn around and leave when he sees the nightly fight brewing. Unfortunately, he has a weakness for cute twinks, and no matter how much the guy is insulting their mothers four on one is really not fair, so he winds up wading in, scooping Trimmer up, and murder-stalking to the exit theunvanquishedzims: [At this point I pause to stare out the window and wonder wistfully what their canon meeting was like, who approached who, if Trimmer just straight-up used his lunch to hire a bodyguard or if Rich did the "are you gonna finish that" puppy-eyes and Trimmer realized how easily he could be bribed, etc etc] theunvanquishedzims: In the Trucker AU Trimmer waits until they're outside to go feral goblin on the arm that's holding him, Rich drops him, and negotiation commences theunvanquishedzims: I don't have Trimmer's backstory nailed down, the "teenage runaway" archetype doesn't really suit someone with a large loving family, but safe to say that whatever lead him to hitchhiking across the Midwest he is determined to see through out of sheer bullheaded stubbornness. The only thing worse than calling your parents to bail you out with bus money home is calling your grandma. It might have involved stabbing a college advisor when the guy got rapey, he's technically not on the run from the law, he DEFINITELY is not on track to getting his degree. Halfway between college dropout and missing person. If he was wealthy he'd be backpacking Europe for a semester, but he's not, so he's hitchhiking America. And getting molested by truckers, because Trimmer can't have nice things. theunvanquishedzims: He is really not interested in getting molested by Rich! But, as Rich points out, he did just save him from getting stabbed, Trimmer doesn't seem to have any exit options for this backwater town, and holy #&$^ the bar's on fire. (The Sympatico burns to the ground that night, to the betterment of the world at large.) rollerskatinglizard: You have no idea how much I'm enjoying this But you should totally post it Splick and Roach would both scream in glee theunvanquishedzims: Rich and Trimmer get out while the getting is good, and it's nearly dawn before they finally hash out details. Rich offers to drop him off at the next town, but they're still pretty close to the epicenter of the mass exodus so the next few hundred miles are probably not going to be safe for Trimmer. By this point Trimmer has found a bunch of the old textbooks Rich bought secondhand to study in his free time and come to the conclusion that [this nerd is a nerd] his story checks out. Just a college kid trying to scrape together the cash to get an education and make a decent living. Reminds Trimmer of Trimmer. (Reminds Trimmer of Joey.) rollerskatinglizard: ;u; <3 Beautiful theunvanquishedzims: So now Rich has a little traveling buddy! Helps him stay awake on the long hauls, lets him use the carpool lanes, even reads to him out of the textbooks sometimes, with commentary. Trimmer is really smart and surprisingly easy to get along with. They nap in the cab, eat in diners, and share motel rooms. Trimmer unclenches a little. Rich is good about not asking personal questions. They definitely watch Athena's fights on tv more than once, much to Rich's chagrin and Trimmer's loud encouragement. He started fanboying over it to annoy and embarrass Rich, but it is surprisingly cathartic to watch someone get trash-talked and respond by just BODYSLAMMING their opponent. ("Why are you rooting for her, you're the biggest trash-talker I know," Rich mutters into his beer, face bright red as Trimmer whoops and high-fives the waitress he got to change the channel in the sports bar.) theunvanquishedzims: ("She would wipe the floor with me," Trimmer responds with a smirk, watching smugly as Rich tries to figure out if Trimmer is having impure thoughts about his baby sister) theunvanquishedzims: (They have already established that Trimmer does not have impure thoughts about Rich, that Rich DOES have impure thoughts about Trimmer, but as long as he stays in his own motel bed that's fine.) (Trimmer still sleeps with a knife under his pillow but doesn't bother in the cab, where their co-naps occasionally verge on snuggling.) rollerskatinglizard: <3 <3 <3 *perfect* theunvanquishedzims: They finally reach their destination. It has been [days to drive a rig between NJ and CA] and they make it there slightly ahead of schedule. Rich drops off the delivery, Trimmer comes face-to-face with the reality of the trip ending. He'd been hitchhiking for months and felt like he was going nowhere, and now a few days and suddenly he's crossed the entire country, and almost kinda maybe had fun doing it! And California's as good a place as any to stay, at least he won't freeze to death if he doesn't find a place to crash for the night. theunvanquishedzims: Then Rich comes back and hands him a wad of cash, pocketing a stack of his own. "Got a cash bonus for finishing early! And since you're the reason I made it here this fast, I just figured part of it is your share..." he peters out, trying to explain his reasoning. They sit in silence for a while, both thinking about Trimmer in California, far away from anyone who would want to hurt him, with a few hundred dollars in his pocket. theunvanquishedzims: "...Let's get lunch," Trimmer finally decrees, and Rich can't keep the relieved smile off his face. They renegotiate some things over lunch, and then go to pick up the next load to haul cross-country. Together. rollerskatinglizard: AWWWWWW!!!! *YES,* I love it!!! theunvanquishedzims: And then eventually they go to college together, and get their degrees, and good jobs, and meet the families, and Trimmer absolutely drags Rich to as many of Athena's fights as they can manage on the road. It's just to save money, things are cheaper when you split the rent, Trimmer hollers on the phone. You put a ring on that boy's finger, y'hear?! Hellbender hollers back. I am so glad the word moirail exists rollerskatinglizard: YES God yes Also this AU pleases me greatly rollerskatinglizard: Blessings upon you for it theunvanquishedzims: ...technically the Michigan Fleet takes place in a post-Homestuck world, so theoretically it could have time to enter mainstream lexicon. It's better than "bromance" theunvanquishedzims: JUST THROWING THAT OUT THERE >.> rollerskatinglizard: Yeah, totally different feel than bromance!

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theunvanquishedzims: Speaking of Homestuck! Wanna hear the Helmsman AU? :3 rollerskatinglizard: YES PLEASE theunvanquishedzims: Okay gimme a minute to get my notes, it's not based on One of Our Submarines but I can't remember the fic title. Have you read the one where the kids redesign the helmsrig and use that to garner support for Feferi as Empress? Lots of political drama, Sollux-centric, [spoiler], and in the end they win *but at what cost* (((If someone knows what fic I'm talking about please link me, I can't find it.))) rollerskatinglizard: No, I haven't theunvanquishedzims: It's good, if you like the nitty-gritty of rebellions. The piece I'm cherry picking is the new Empress introducing a new way of helming that allows more freedom. Instead of a single enslaved lowblood being hung up in tentacle wires until they drop dead, it's something you can unplug from, allowing psionics to swap out, take shifts, etc. So Empress Clearwater (yay seadweller name) is dead, long live Empress Clearwater, and she shakes things up by introducing her new helmsrig and orders it implemented Fleet-wide theunvanquishedzims: I don't think this universe is as bad as canon but it's still pretty rough on the bad ships, and the Sympatico is a very bad ship theunvanquishedzims: Angie is still a security officer, probably fairly high-ranking as a greenblood. Athena is a pro wrestler. Sports are probably a bigger part of life in a Fleet that doesn't center around conquest. The three probably grew up in the same neighborhood, maybe dabbled in quadrants before settling on hatefriends. Oooh, or ash, Athena setting them up to talk out their issues over lunch and then heckle each other over their other quadrants could fit in that quadrant. theunvanquishedzims: Rich is, of course, a helmsman. It's rare for someone that close to jade to be so powerful, he was actually planning on a career in tech, but when he got called in for psionic testing he basically crushed it. Possibly literally. And olive is still technically a lowblood, so off to the helm with you. theunvanquishedzims: His first posting is the Sympatico, and it's a nightmare. The one bright spot (dark spot? How do trolls even. *insert rant about Kanaya being pastel goth not goth-goth*) theunvanquishedzims: The one bright spot is Trimmer, a technician whose survival method is to lock himself in the helm dock and stab anybody who tries to mess with Rich when he's piloting. It's basically how things work in the superstorms, but 75-90% of the time instead of a few times a year theunvanquishedzims: Rich can barely talk most days, they communicate via chat client, and even that requires a lot of brainpower so they can't do it when the Sympatico has to fight something or do difficult maneuvers in space, which is pretty frequently. But Rich keeps an eye out for Trimmer, directing him through the ship to help him avoid people and fights, and tweaking things like hall lights when things get hairy. I think at least once he turned off the gravity, it cost him but it got Trimmer out of a really bad situation and gave him an excuse to hole up in the helmsdeck for a few days until things cooled off theunvanquishedzims: But all that is in the past! There's a new Empress, a new crew, and a new way of helming! theunvanquishedzims: The Sympatico is one of the flagships to roll out the new helmsrig. The original crew was disbanded, culled, reassigned. Trimmer was allowed to stay (at Rich's request) to ease the transition. It's a big day, lots of media attention documenting the new helmsmen, and Rich is doing his best to keep calm. He had to do some physical therapy to stand upright and be able to walk from the big speech to his shiny new helmsrig, but as a fairly young recruit he's not nearly as bad off as some older helmsmen whose bodies have atrophied. He's still pretty skinny though, especially when compared to Angie and Athena, who he reunited with (for the cameras) #helmsmenaretrollstoo, #greenc3<green, #omgishipit, see things are much better now, people can reclaim their lives and quadrants, helming is something to be excited for not scared of, etc. Lots of propaganda, lots of attention, lots of pressure to get this right theunvanquishedzims: And then he walks into the helm and Trimmer is there. Rich would probably have had a meltdown if he hadn't been, but no one can tell because they're so calm and professional. They're both cleaned up and impeccably uniformed, the plugging in goes smoothly, and the Sympatico comes to life and lifts off into the sky into a sunset that would make a Hollywood director weep. The cameras turn off, great job everybody, and things return to normal. Except Rich and Trimmer have no idea how to handle normal. For the first 8 hours it's fine, it's good, it's a little weird that Trimmer looks so tidy and that Rich is sitting in a padded chair instead of being flesh-jacked by tentacles, but it's fine. They chat over text, a little stilted but plenty to catch up on theunvanquishedzims: Rich spies on the new crew and gossips about how boring they are and how weird the ship looks with everything cleared out and well-lit, and wow where did that section of storage come from? Oh right that used to be a hidden smuggling nook. Haha nook. See they're fine, they're laughing at the same old jokes. DEFINITELY weird that Rich is physically laughing. And then their relief shift comes on, with the new 2nd shift helmsman, and it's time for Rich to get unplugged for the day and go. Go to his room, which he has now, or to eat, which he can do now, or any one of a million things that normal trolls do, because he's a normal troll now. (This is turning out a little different from in my head but I like it.) He makes it about two hallways, walking silently side-by-side with Trimmer, before he breaks down. Or rather Trimmer breaks down. Or maybe they both simultaneously break, there is a lot of breaking happening, and it's not great that it's happening in the hall where anybody could walk by and where the new helmsman is almost certainly seeing them and possibly reporting them, and Trimmer's flight instincts are to run back to the helm where it's safe but Rich isn't there, RICH was the reason it was safe and he's not at the helm, he's right there in the hall. Rich, I know not how, picks up Trimmer and gets them to him room. It' close by, thank goodness, and it has a lock on the door, how weird, and Trimmer is there. He missed Trimmer so so much. rollerskatinglizard: ;u; <3<3<3<3 theunvanquishedzims: [The following scene contains content too graphic for wigglers under the age of seven sweeps] rollerskatinglizard: *laughing* Hardcore conciliation!!! theunvanquishedzims: From Trimmer's POV: Merrill requested him to remain a tech on the Sympatico. Makes sense, he was the only one who treated the guy like an actual troll and not a drooling mass of computational power. They got caught up, it's weird how clean and quiet the ship is, no fights to report beyond a spat in the cafeteria that turned out to be pitch flirtation. His shirtcuffs itch and he wants to roll them up but it's day one of the new empire and he doesn't want to get culled for being untidy on the Empress's pet project ship. There's so many other things to get culled for, anyway. And then shift is over. (Weird, he's used to working 16-hour days and sleeping in the helmdeck half the time.) And he has to unplug Merrill (double weird, he's not used to touching Merrill unless it's for a physical repair. Very aware of Rich as a physical person, especially when he's standing up and not obscured in a mass of tentacles.) And then they leave, together, which is WEIRD, because for sweeps Trimmer has been sneaking out of the helmdeck to go on a food run with Merrill texting him directions, and there's no Merrill on screen providing guidance to avoid fights, but there's not gonna BE any fights, and everything is the same but different and looks weird and shiny and there's a giant troll right next to him, stalking him, why didn't Merrill warn him?! rollerskatinglizard: Oh NO, ahaha, oh these poor doofuses theunvanquishedzims: From Rich's POV: he's been seeing these hallways for sweeps, but not from this angle, the ship is so familiar but so foreign to him, and he can't hear her, can't feel her, and he keeps reaching out for her even after all that training he did to get used to the new tech, there's still an absence and some part of his brain that says not being linked to the ship means something has gone catastrophically wrong and everyone onboard is going to die, TRIMMER is going to die, Trimmer is freaking out and hyperventilating next to him, Trimmer's running out of oxygen and the ship isn't responding to him to tell him what's wrong with the oxygen, and then Trimmer goes to bolt back to the helm but that's full of strange trolls and a new helmsman, and that knowledge is enough to shake him back to the situation at hand. He doesn't know where he finds the strength or the presence of mind, but he manages to grab up Trimmer and get them back to safety. It's just that safety is now his berth, not the helm. They're alone in his berth. And Trimmer is still freaking out. Sh-shoosh? Shoosh. Shooooooosh. theunvanquishedzims: Everything is diamonds and snow and beautiful shining crystals (in the movies that will someday be made about this day.) In the moment there's a lot more hyperventilating and snot. Basically, culmination behind the entire fic: do they actually have feelings for each other, or was it just about mutual survival the whole time? rollerskatinglizard: INCREDIBLY ADORABLE AND INTIMATE COMFORT, *YESSSS* Thank you yes, I'll have a dozen God that's splendid theunvanquishedzims: And they're both freaking out, Rich is hungry and physically tired and needs to do a lot of stretches, Trimmer is not used to Rich being huge and mobile and right next to him, and they both have crazy big trust issues, but...yeah, they're pale. They're so pale for each other, and it was so hard during the transition not seeing each other and not knowing how the other felt, not knowing how THEY felt, if they really had feelings or if it was all a bad situation. And now they know. They have feelings. And because they're trolls and not humans, they can flop on a pile and talk about those feelings in a non-platonic way, and Rich can pet Trimmer's hair and tell him how pretty he is and how Rich is glad that Trimmer got it properly cut instead of just hacking it too short for someone to grab, and how much he worried in the hall about not being able to see farther than his own field of vision to keep Trimmer out of harm's way, and how this whole thing is so weird and Rich is so scared but he's just really, really happy that Trimmer took the posting on the Sympatico, because he pities Trimmer and he wants him around and he was so glad that Trimmer wanted to still be around him too theunvanquishedzims: The media always depicts piling as either the traditional fairytale highblood freakout, or an extremely mellow ASMR-ish chillout with lots of hairpetting and horn polishing. Not two midbloods looting a mostly-empty room for enough junk to make a large enough pile to sit on, shrieking at each other about their feelings and how weird this is and why didn't you SAY something, me?! why didn't YOU say something?! Three SWEEPS we've been dancing around this! Well I didn't know if you felt the same way or if you just needed me to survive! Etc etc etc. Lots of getting up and stomping around , pacing the floor while ranting, trying to scavenge more stuff to throw on the pile. Rich owns basically nothing and it's the first time he's not judging Trimmer for keeping his room a garbage heap, even empty pizza boxes would be better than trying to make a pile out of two sweaters and a toothbrush. rollerskatinglizard: XDDD TuT aaaaah, YES theunvanquishedzims: Rich definitely rips off a wall panel and pulls out some wires, Trimmer doesn't even question it, they've lived and breathed this ship long enough to know what every wire does and which are nonessential to ship functioning. And with the wall panel crunched up they can pile stuff around it to make it seem less sparse, and wow it doesn't even matter that he pulled a panel down, this is HIS wall in HIS room now, he can "redecorate" as he sees fit, cue more yelling about how he doesn't know what to do with himself or his newfound freedom. The whole thing is just yelling and cussing and grabbing and shaking. It probably looks black from the outside, but they are swimming in palest cream. theunvanquishedzims: Eventually they give up on the pile. They go through Rich's entire perigee of snack rations to avoid having to go to the cafeteria, halfheartedly make fun of Rich's chewing, then crawl into the recuperacoon together. Thank goodness there was such a big push to show off how great helmsmen's lives will be, Rich scored a blueblood-huge 'coon and he's still skinny enough that they can both fit in it together. They sleep together, in sopor like proper trolls with proper lives as opposed to surrounded by pink tentacles and misery. Tomorrow they'll have to venture out for food, and do Rich's stretches and physical therapy, and head to their shift like the galaxy hasn't flipped upside-down, but they're handle that together. rollerskatinglizard: Oh help, my heart!! TuT It's SO CUTE, AAAAAAAH theunvanquishedzims: Okay my computer has been trying to shut down for the last three paragraphs so I think it's time to log off for the night, but I hope you enjoy the AUs, I will tell you more tomorrow rollerskatinglizard: Thank you so much!! Have a good night! theunvanquishedzims: (In the original version Rich and Trimmer came face-to-face for the first time since the Sympatico was busted up and Rich pulled out for rehab, and basically had a giant pale meltdown right there against the wall. There was purring, and crying, and confessions, all caught on film. Athena and Angie definitely saw. It had to be censored out of the broadcast. Someone uploaded it to Troll Pornhub and it won a Troll Pornhub Emmy for Truth in Journalism, which was not a category the Troll Pornhub Emmys had before, so congrats Merrill and Trimmer) rollerskatinglizard: *dying* oh my GOD Rich would blush so hard he'd keel over

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theunvanquishedzims: I woke up to the idea of Rich as Fezzik and Trimmer as Inigo Montoya (book version.) rollerskatinglizard: Hah! Oh man, delightful theunvanquishedzims: Soft-hearted giant and stabby little friend rollerskatinglizard: Yesss theunvanquishedzims: Only problem is Trimmer's grudge seems to be against the entire world, not any particular murderer theunvanquishedzims: But they could definitely take on the Zoo of Death together rollerskatinglizard: It could be both, in the AU! Specific grudge and also he hates everyone theunvanquishedzims: Instead of not being left-handed he pulls his feet out of his boots and surprise! More hands to stab you with Makes the acrobatics on top of the cliff more exciting rollerskatinglizard: *dying* YES Perfect! theunvanquishedzims: I don't know who the Man in Black of most beautiful woman in the world would be, but Rich catching them jumping out a window to whisk them away on horseback is lovely rollerskatinglizard: *strokes chin thoughtfully* If Rich is Fezzik, I think Basil might as well be the beautiful love interest, and Mitch is his farm boy turned dashing rogue theunvanquishedzims: Mitch and Trimmer sword fighting rollerskatinglizard: YES theunvanquishedzims: Mitch going through hell and back to save his lady love, then Rich shows up with the horses and says "hello pretty lady" and Basil is just swooning over him rollerskatinglizard: Mitch is pretty chill with Rich by then, he can handle sharing Rich didn't try *hard* to kill him, after all theunvanquishedzims: He even made it a fair fight instead of ambushing him He put down the rock and Mitch put down the sword and they tried to kill each other like civilized people rollerskatinglizard: *laughing* Yes, exactly theunvanquishedzims: Rich even helped bring him back from being mostly dead rollerskatinglizard: They're practically best buddies now! theunvanquishedzims: Which I imagine is 1000x funnier because Trimmer hates this guy and doesn't want to help him but he has info Trimmer needs rollerskatinglizard: Rich just being reprovingly like Come on, buddy, he's cool really I KNOW you bonded over your sword fight with him Don't lie Trimmer: HE'S STILL A DIPSHIT theunvanquishedzims: Trimmer: It was a little fun to take the boots off I guess, I don't get to do that often rollerskatinglizard: Hahaha yes theunvanquishedzims: Downside of being the best swordsman in the world, nobody can touch you. UNTIL NOW. Trimmer: I killed the guy but now I have nothing to live for. Mitch: Have you considered piracy? Stabbing people all day and all the rope ladders you can climb rollerskatinglizard: *dying* theunvanquishedzims: Now Trimmer's life goal is to reclaim his title of Best Swordsman, which means fighting Mitch a lot rollerskatinglizard: Which they both enjoy Sometimes Trimmer wins, sometimes Mitch does rollerskatinglizard: Roach points out that Liam would be Miracle Max theunvanquishedzims: I was just about to type that! rollerskatinglizard: Heee! Good brain wave theunvanquishedzims: You need a cure for death? Nope, sorry. You need to it humiliate my mortal enemy? Coming right up! rollerskatinglizard: YUP theunvanquishedzims: Slipping Rich the holocaust cloak "because it fits so nice" rollerskatinglizard: Pfff yes theunvanquishedzims: Which is said with a million more winky faces than the movie rollerskatinglizard: XDDD Naturally Liam is a much higher-libido mad scientist-substitute theunvanquishedzims: He doesn't have a wife he has like six boyfriend minions hanging around in various states of undress. He got fired for banging the king when he was the royal miracle man, he did a good job but the prince found it icky. rollerskatinglizard: *dying* YES theunvanquishedzims: Basil as Buttercup tho. Basil: Mitch is a good friend. :) Just a great buddy. :)) Kind of smelly but a nice boy. :))) Someone: *might possibly find Mitch attractive* Basil: What? Why. No. Why would she. I mean yeah he's smart and muscular and tan and broad-shouldered and has perfect teeth and his sweat glistens in the sun as he does his chores shirtless, but c'mon, he's not THAT much hotter than her middle-aged husband. No way. rollerskatinglizard: *snickering* rollerskatinglizard: My cowriters very enjoy this AU concept, btw, thank you theunvanquishedzims: Excellent theunvanquishedzims: Trimmer: I told him I was there to kill him and he just...ran away? Mitch: Who does that? rollerskatinglizard: *snickering* theunvanquishedzims: Basil being a slobby peasant until two minutes after Mitch leaves, then realizing he has to take care of himself if he wants to keep Mitch's attention, and only then starting to regularly bathe and brush his hair and work on his figure. rollerskatinglizard: Snirk! Sounds about right, doofus nerd that he is theunvanquishedzims: Then he becomes a princess and has two servants per limb to keep him clean and shining, so when Mitch sneaks into the wedding announcement crowd his first view of Basil is 1. clean 2. shiny hair 3. dressed like a queen

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General book chit-chat, no specific AU

theunvanquishedzims: I saw the post about the Sympatico crew having a very different view of Rich than his friends and now I am consumed with the idea of Rich being seen as scary by anyone who knows him for more than a single minute. Like, he flinches at the sight of a uniform, he can't stand to be in a room with more than one other person in it, and he's so busy working he doesn't really have time to go around carving out a territory rollerskatinglizard: Right? You'd think it'd be tricky, but apparently no theunvanquishedzims: And now there's video of him covered in kittens, and doing cool board tricks, and pretending a little barbel is too heavy to lift, and also he might be in the news for taking down a murderous conspiracy at the Mall. rollerskatinglizard: *laughing* Indeed theunvanquishedzims: Where did big scary monster Merrill go, who is this marshmallow rollerskatinglizard: What scam is he trying to run?!? theunvanquishedzims: Oooh, I pity the fool who is assigned to a boat with Officer Merrill. Double flinch response rollerskatinglizard: RIGHT? *OH SHIT, THERE'S ANOTHER ONE* And she's ARMED theunvanquishedzims: Try to blow off some steam by watching some wrestling, A THIRD ONE rollerskatinglizard: Some poor dumbass who sneered at Trimmer once ends up hiding out on a penny boat bc there's MERRILLS EVERYWHERE, IT'S NOT SAFE OUT THERE theunvanquishedzims: *dying laughing* I imagine a non-terrible Sympatico crew member meeting reformed Rich is like those Very Special Episodes where the hero's high school bully or childhood bad influence friend comes to town, and they're so nice and friendly and apologetic about what happened back in the day rollerskatinglizard: We actually have an encounter something like that planned! theunvanquishedzims: The hero's friends are all charmed and the hero can't convince anyone that it's all an act, he's secretly still terrible, look I'll prove it *does something that makes the hero look bad and the reformed guy look like a victim* Yaaaaaaaaay!!! Outside perspective is the BEST rollerskatinglizard: Rich and this random dude, both acting like the other one is a total menace Meanwhile, anyone who's known either of them since is like ....No?? He's a fine guy, perfectly reasonable Merrill, stop growling theunvanquishedzims: Two Spider-Men pointing at each other rollerskatinglizard: Hah! Yes theunvanquishedzims: Also the fact that Rich has gotten BIGGER since leaving the Sympatico is probably a shock rollerskatinglizard: OH yeah theunvanquishedzims: Richard "Cranky Because He's Slowly Starving To Death" Merrill rollerskatinglizard: I mean, it's a shock to Rich When he hits another growth spurt So it's definitely a shock to anyone else theunvanquishedzims: Oh yeah, he was like 17 when he was first assigned there, nowhere near done growing yet Richard "My Shirts Rip When I Flex Wrong" Merrill rollerskatinglizard: *snickering* He'd look so sheepish and disgruntled if someone gave him that "I flexed and the sleeves fell off" shirt theunvanquishedzims: I am so glad Trimmer got to him before, like, a gang could figure out he's easily bribed with food. Things could have gone so much worse, corruption-wise rollerskatinglizard: YUP theunvanquishedzims: I just finished Athena and the Midnight Chicken and WOW Rich was actually kind of close to giving in to peer pressure there, if Athena hadn't thrown herself towards the proverbial sword he might have let himself be talked into something he really didn't want to do. rollerskatinglizard: It's possible! Baby Rich is very weak to peer pressure theunvanquishedzims: If they had been smart and manipulative and laid the groundwork first it would have been even easier, not just "here's a knife let your ingrained killing instincts do the work" rollerskatinglizard: Yeah! It could've gone much worse theunvanquishedzims: In the wrong hands Rich would make a very good, very sad soldier But like, deep down inside sad where no one could see it. rollerskatinglizard: That was actually close to his original story when I came up with him

[I’ll check with Skates to see if it’s okay to post that bit]

theunvanquishedzims: I'm already nervous about those two Horrible Old Men rollerskatinglizard: Which two? theunvanquishedzims: My face went D: at the idea that there's more than two rollerskatinglizard: *pats u gently* theunvanquishedzims: The werewolf guy with the boys on leashes is the one that makes my instincts scream KILL IT WITH FIRE, but there's also the one with the scar on his face? I wanna say Arthur Carroway rollerskatinglizard: >u> Gosh, Zims, idk WHY you'd be worried about him Just bc my tablet keyboard knows how to spell Carraway That's no reason to be concerned! rollerskatinglizard: Maybe Splick made him the [tarot] Devil bc he's devilishly handsome! Did you think of that?? theunvanquishedzims: I am terrified of him showing up, I know I'll be cringing too hard to keep reading right away. Men who abuse positions of power are so squicky, I couldn't even stand to watch the Office and Michael Scott is like, the most benign example of the trope But yeah a guy like that getting to Rich as a younger more mallable person, fresh-faced and eager to please. Ugh. Such a bad ending. rollerskatinglizard: YUP theunvanquishedzims: William Sandgren is the other one, I think rollerskatinglizard: Fortunately Rich did get rescued originally! I don't do sad endings theunvanquishedzims: He looks cool, I don't immediately want him dead for my own safety rollerskatinglizard: <u< theunvanquishedzims: ...I will ignore that face and continue to think of him as the lesser of two evils for now rollerskatinglizard: Absolutely feel free! ^u^ theunvanquishedzims: When I thought about this earlier I imagined Liam actually being the one to start a pissing contest with Arthur. Rich guy vs criminal guy, my grandmother bedazzled the skulls of her enemies, your teeth would make a lovely necklace, etc etc "Well I'd love to get them around your throat" ;) rollerskatinglizard: You know Liam QUITE well theunvanquishedzims: I'm a visual learner, so all the illustrations are helping me flesh out characteristics. Liam smiling like a psycho while his face drips blood is very telling. rollerskatinglizard: Hah!!! Right? God, he's SUCH a little firebrand theunvanquishedzims: (Also, AU where Liam is the babydoll heir and Rich is the soldier mod bodyguard he climbs like a tree) rollerskatinglizard: We have definitely discussed that AU thoughtfully >u> It's good, v tasty theunvanquishedzims: Rich is all THIS GOES AGAINST THE RULES and Liam is all oh you like being told what to do hmm? >:3~ rollerskatinglizard: Rich: God this is SUCH a bad idea, I'm gonna get so fired Liam: Not if you're good enough at it! theunvanquishedzims: I imagine without a pregnancy they'd be able to keep it under wraps slightly longer than grandma Beaker rollerskatinglizard: True! theunvanquishedzims: "Under wraps" like everyone in the house can't hear them rollerskatinglizard: Pffff YUP theunvanquishedzims: Ugh now I'm remembering Trimmer being scared of Rich getting drunk and pushy and I'm sad again rollerskatinglizard: No one likes Rich's drinking except Rich rollerskatinglizard: It's okay tho, Trimmer trusts Rich more after that theunvanquishedzims:I think he'll figure it out given enough time. Rich: Well everyone drinks because work sucks. Basil and Mitch: Nope! Rich: Well I'm a soldier mod so it just LOOKS like I'm drinking a lot. Angie and Thena: Nope! Rich: Well I have trauma from the Sympatico so I need alcohol to deal with that. Trimmer: Nope! Rich: ...well I guess I have a problem then. :< Everyone: Yep! rollerskatinglizard: Indeed theunvanquishedzims: I am so curious about their origins, how the relationship developed, how apparently they had half a handjob between them and went NOPE NEVER AGAIN, how they wound up co-sleeping, if they ever cried on one another, etc etc rollerskatinglizard: I'm 100% certain that Rich cried on Trimmer at least once, while Trimmer awkwardly patted his hair and gently called him a wuss or something If Trimmer ever cried it would've been in the middle of the night, and none of them would ever mention it in the light of day theunvanquishedzims: Was that Trimmer's first posting? I know it was Rich's, so he kiiiind of didn't know any better, but Trimmer is older by a bit rollerskatinglizard: It definitely wasn't Trimmer's first, no, the latest in a long string of postings that went from okay to bad to worse theunvanquishedzims: Oh nooooooo No wonder he finally said screw it and got a solo boat rollerskatinglizard: Yep

SwanQueen Ficlet:  Black and White Pt 2

More reasons for Emma to drool over Regina. Also Regina shows a different side to herself.  It isn’t really edited because I typed it out at work.  It’s just sort of an idea.

Snow was going to pout forever.  Thank God Emma didn’t live with her anymore.  She could not imagine putting up with her full time right now.  She had said words that Emma had never imagined coming out of sweet Mary Margaret’s mouth.  She had covered the kidlet’s ears.  The White Court had lost the big tournament.

It had been close.  Mulan had trashed everyone in the sword fighting event.  She’d won easily.  The archery stuff had gone differently, though.  Merida Hill, the fire department’s chief, had easily beaten Snow and everyone else.  So it had gone, neck and neck all day so jousting had become the big tie breaker.  David and some other the other White Court men were all excited to compete.  Even Henry had scampered off remarking that his Mom had promised to let him play at being a squire.

Emma had never seen jousting, except for watching A Knights Tale on cable.  It looked painful.  Snow had excitedly explained the whole thing to her.  Leather and cushioned armor, padded lances, horses going slower than usual.  It still looked hella dangerous.  Emma was never going to let Henry do it.  Even full-contact football was safer then this knight shit.

They had watched, Emma wincing, and Snow politely clapping, every time two knights crashed into each other.

David was doing good.  He was knocking everyone down.  Which, Emma had gathered, was winning.

Of course the other side was doing just as well.  There was a rider in all black that was knocking just as many people over.

“I can’t believe Regina would let a teenager do that.”  Ashley remarked.  “I mean look how small they are.  No way they’re a full knight.”

“Could be a woman.  Regina had several female soldiers.  Jill maybe.”  Sean, who had been knocked out of the jousting tournament earlier, replied.”

The final match was between David and the small dark rider.  When David hit the dirt, Snow had let out a shout so loud it hurt Emma’s ears.  She hadn’t stopped bitching and whining to make sure David was okay.

They had all lined up down on the field for the “closing” ceremony.  Archie was waiting with a big trophy.

The announcers, two of the supervisors from the cannery, came over the loud speaker.

“And here to accept the victory for the Black Court is His Royal Highness, Prince Henry.”

Henry, escorted by Zelena and Maleficent, came out to the middle of the field.  He had changed clothes  Well he had changed his whole image to match the Black Court’s over-the-top gothic image.  He was wearing a black suit was a fur-lined black cape and a gold mini-crown (circlet?  man-tiara?) with black gems in it. He looked older than his years and handsome,  Like a real prince.  

“Sorry Grandma, Grandpa.  I sort of had double-duty today.”

“Wait.”  Snow all but stamped her foot on the muddy grass.  “Where’s Regina?”  

Henry blinked, confused.  “Right here, duh.”

The black knight, complete with a green and gold cloak thrown over their armor, stepped forward and took off their metal helmet and mask.

Emma almost had a heart attack.

Regina stood there, in armor.  Her hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to her head. There was a scrape on her cheek and the vein on her forehead was prominant which told Emma that she had a headache.  Despite, or maybe because, all of that Regina was beautiful.  Like an Amazon Queen who had lead her people to victory and was about to take her spoils.

 “I thought it would be more appropriate to let Henry accept the award.” Regina cocked a brow.  “I am not photo or speech ready.”

Emma just stared, open mouthed.  Regina.  Regina who wore dresses and always had a perfect manicure.  Regina who was the feme-est of femes.  Regina, who snarled her nose up at everything not-fancy.  She had just whipped countless dude’s asses with a pony and a big stick?  Emma couldn’t comprehend it.

“You-”  David cocked his head to the side.  “You didn’t compete under your coat of arms though?”  He sounded a little confused and a lot embarrassed. “Its not green.”

Regina shrugged a leather clad shoulder.  “My father’s coat of arms.”

Archie held up a microphone.  “I am pleased to announce the First Annual Black and White Tournament has been won by the Black Court.”

He handed the microphone to Henry.  Henry grinned.  

“Thank You.  I want to give a round of applause to all of the competitors today.  Black and White, we all represent Storybrooke.”  He paused for a thunderous roar of applause.

“The proceeds from today and a matching donation will be given to the Black Court’s chosen project, the Storybrooke Youth Center.  Thank you everybody for coming out and we hope to see you tonight at the ball.”

So here they were, at a way-over decorated ball room in City Hall.  Emma had no idea what kind of magic Zelena, Maleficent and Regina had used but it had  worked.  She felt like she had walked into a scene from a movie.  

THe whole town was going to ring in the new year with style. Not Emma’s style, though.  She was way not her style.  She was in a long white pageant gown with ruffles and tulle and more fluff then a dress should legally be able to have.  She felt awkward and out of place.  

Hook, dressed all in white (which she was sure Snow paid for) sidled up to her about nine o’clock.  He already smelled like rum.  

“You look beautiful, Luv.”

She wanted to puke.  She should have scooped up Henry to be her escort before Regina had lured him to the dark side.

Speaking of Henry, her Kid was surrounded by teenage girls.  His Price act and new edgy Black Court look was a hit.  

She kind of wanted to ground him for treason or something.

“Care for a dance, Luv?”

He had his one hand in his pocket, like he was holding on to something.

Emma definitely did not want to dance, or anything else, with him.

“I’m sorry, Captain.  As the victor, Emma is obligated to give the first dance to me.”

Emma turned around and felt her heart stutter and her brain flat-lined. Regina stood behind them.  Gone was the sweaty knight of earlier.  She was dressed to kill in an outfit that had to be from her Evil Queen days.  She had a black corset top and leather pants that was covered, barely, by a long black jacket that was cropped in the front and flowed to the ground in the back.  Her cleavage was partially covered (more like accentuated) by a big and fancy necklace that matched the crown on her head.  The gold made her skin glow and the rubies were the same color as her lips.Her hair was long and curled into a complicated up do with even more jewels in it. She had to be wearing boots with a killer heel because she was almost the same height as Hook.

When Emma finally regained her senses, she let out a hoarse.  “Yeah.”  She pulled in a deep breath and hoped the oxygen helped her brain reboot.  “Can’t say no to My Queen.”

Regina lead her to the dance floor with a chuckle.  

Hook stood in place, eyes wide and furious.  He knew better to fight Regina, though  Not only did she have magic, half of her posse did too and exactly none of them liked Hook.  Basically, Emma had thrown her lot in with the wrong team.  

“Thanks.”  She mumbled to Regina when they were far enough away.  “It was either this or deck him.”

They started to twirl around in what Emma was almost sure was a waltz.  Regina lead her confidently along and she followed as best she could.

“You do realize he has a ring box in his pocket.  I believe the pirate was going to ask you to be his wedded wench.”

Emma bit back a groan.  She had been afraid of that.  “Frankly I’d rather go ten round against you with the ponies and the sticks.  No padding.”

Regina laughed.  A full on threw her head back laugh.  It was better than the music, the best sound Emma could remember hearing in a long time.  Regina so rarely laughed.  

“Speaking of.”  Emma continued as she fumbled through the dance.  “How did you learn to do that?  It doesn’t seem very queeny.”

Regina smiled.  “My father.  He went behind Mother’s back and taught me when I was a teenager. I had to do more than a few practice runs to re-teach myself a few things.  It was not at all like riding a bike”

Emma literally could not imagine.

“So-”  They turned and Emma could see Snow and Hook having a heated conversation on the other side of the room.  Neither of them looked happy.  She dropped her head to Regina’s shoulder for a moment.  

“I think I’m defecting to the Black Squad next year.  You and the Kid got cooler better clothes and nobody on your team is trying to set me up with an asshole.  Between Hook and my mother I am never going to make it to midnight.”

She was totally done and over this whole Black and White bullshit.

Regina was so close, the dancing had slowed down and they were basically just swaying together now. Emma soaked in the moment, the intimacy of it all. 

Regina’s skin was hot against her own.  She smelled like apples, rain and honey. Her touch was electric and sent delicious.   Regina was intoxicating.  Like lines of cocaine on black velvet, intoxicating, addictive, an incredible high that could so easily turn into decadent and delirious destruction. If Emma let herself slip, if she took even the tiniest taste, if she gave in to temptation, she would be lost.  She knew that she would never be able to stop.  Would never want to.

Regina’s hands crawled up her back.  Emma could feel her touch burning through the material of her dress.

“Em-ma.” Regina’s voice was like whiskey and starlight and it was whispered right into Emma’s ear.

She had seen so many sides and shades of Regina, so many moments had passed between them.  This moment, with Regina’s arms wrapped around her, was her favorite.

“I would be honored to have you on my Court.  Beside me, beside our son,  Where you belong.”

Belong.  Emma hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere, ever.  The very idea was ridiculous.  Yet.  Yet, she craved it.  She never felt more like herself than she did when she was with Regina and Henry.  They felt like home, like the living embodiment of Tallahassee.

“I-”

Emma lifted her head.  She searched Regina’s eyes.  She looked for sarcasm or spite but only saw love.  Overwhelming amounts of love.  She got lost in Regina’s beautiful eyes and the endless capacity of her heart.

“Regina.”  Emma licked her suddenly dry lips.  She had so much to say.  To confess.  She had never been good with words.She wasn’t even sure there were words for the emotions swirling inside of her.  “My Queen.”

Regina’s eyes lit up at that.  Like it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.  Based on Regina’s checkered past, it probably was.

Emma couldn’t wait anymore.  She didn’t care where they were or who saw.  She was tired of black and white, good and evil, fighting and drawing lines.  They were in a fairytale town, at a fairytale ball and they were fairytale royalty. It was time for their Happily Ever After.

Emma leaned in and did the one thing she had been dying to do since the first time she’d seen Regina.  She kissed her. 

The floor tilted under Emma’s feet.  Angels sang in her ears. Kissing Regina was better than drugs.  Emma ran her hands through Regina’s hair and let it curl around her fingers.  Regina held her close, her nails dug into Emma’s shoulder blades.  It was perfect.

Claps and gasps invaded their little bubble of bliss.

Emma opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and looked around.  The room was bathed in golden light.  THere were stars dancing across the ceiling and black and white pops of light, like fireworks.

There was no denying it now.  The entire town had witnessed them share their first and apparently true loves kiss.

Regina rested her forehead against hers.  

“You want to get out of here?”

As opposed to facing down the entire town and her crazy mother?  Absolutely.

“Your place or mine?”

Regina’s smirk was the only answer Emma got as they disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter X

The Pieces (of Pizza) Fit

Read the full story on Ao3 Here! Where the Hell is my brother?

The voice, full of rage, nearly gave you a migraine as you struggled to get out of the unyielding grip.  Slow to anger, my ass, you brain unhelpfully supplied to you as you frantically tried to get out of his grasp.  At the same time, the clock was ticking as your oxygen levels depleted and your lungs protested.  Great job, your brain continued, trying to get your crush (NOT MY CRUSH you corrected) to safety, only to get killed by the one man you thought could save him.  If it weren’t for the fact that you kinda needed your  brain to remain alive, you’d attempt to shut the damn thing off.

WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?

His grip tightened, and you could have heard an angry growl in the water, instead of in your head.  And just when you felt like you couldn't take any more, you were pulled out of the water.  You tried to take a breath of precious air, terrified that he’d dunk you back in, but he slammed you into the hull, knocking any remaining air out of you.  Your head whacked painfully on the fiberglass frame, and your vision turned black for a moment.  Your jackknife slipped out of your wet hands, and into the depths, leaving you nigh defenseless.

“I swear to the Tidemother, if you have touched a hair on his head, I’ll drag you to the deepest fucking depths of the ocean, and let the scavengers eat your corpse.”

You tried to respond, tried to tell him that you meant him no harm, but his face was full of fury, and now he gripped your neck in his webbed hands.  Your hands latched on to his wrist, in a futile attempt to break free, but all you managed to do was to jostle the amulet free from under your shirt. 

The glint of gold must have attracted his attention because he loosened his grip slightly allowing you to gasp out for air.  Perhaps he recognized it as a sign that Vergil trusted you.

That idea went out the window as he snarled, and suddenly you were lifted up and thrown back onto the deck, sliding a metre and a half across the wood. 

You barely had time to reorient yourself before you heard a massive splash, a crushing weight on your torso, and most worryingly of all, the cold, sharp tip of metal at your throat.  Your vision rapidly cleared, you saw him on top of you, teeth bared, reared back, with an honest to God sword pointed at your throat.  (Where the hell did that come from? your brain asked unhelpfully)

“I don’t go after humans,” his icy voice chilled you to the bone, “But for you…” the sword tip moved slightly to lift the amulet up, “I’ll gladly make an exception.  Where. Is. He.”

“Help…”  you managed to croak.

“Bit too late to be begging for help, babe” he sardonically replied.

You shook your head, and slowly grabbed the amulet, intending somehow to take it off, before, surprisingly it easily unlatched itself.  Sparing a quick glance at it as you cautiously slid it to the side, you were perplexed that there was no clasp, no broken chain...magic?

No time to ruminate about it, you took another breath of air, praying that it wouldn’t be your last.

“Help….him”

Confusion flooded Dante’s face, as to your relief, he withdrew his weapon away from the hollow of your throat as he snatched the chain and scooted away from you.  You took this precious moment to catch your breath, heaving in and out and when you had recovered some of your strength, you rolled over to see Dante clutching the amulet to his chest, a matching one in silver and red around his neck, his eyes shut tight.   The sword was gone, and you were beginning to think your lack of oxygen had caused you to hallucinate it.

A good minute passed as you watched him, neither one of you moving an inch.  What he was doing with it, you had no idea.  You slowly backed up, you didn’t want to hurt him if he attacked again, you just wanted to convince him that you truly wanted his help.  

And then, out of nowhere, the merman laughed.  It wasn’t a soft chuckle like his brother’s, but it didn’t seem dangerous.  

“Oh bro…   you’re such an idiot…” he bent his head over the necklace, his wet hair obscuring most of his face, leaving only a toothy smile, “You know, once I get your tail fins out of there, I’m never gonna let you forget this, right?”  You weren’t sure if he was talking to the gem, his brother, or himself.

He brushed his hair to the side, allowing you to see his face.  It was much kinder than before, if a bit embarrassed.  “I…. eh, sorry ‘bout that, kinda swam out before checking the current, you know what I mean?  Mom always told me I was a bit impulsive.  You okay?”

“Yeah…” your voice was raspy, but felt much better “Wait, did you just know what happened just by holding that?” you pointed at the chain, dangling in his hand.

“Well, I got the gist of it, it’s not like we can send messages like you humans do in your little things you carry around constantly, but it can give me a bubbleful of information.” He chuckled, “So, my brother’s been captured and being kept as a pet, but you’re a friend of his.” 

Your heart warmed up at the fact that Vergil, despite everything, considered you worthy of friendship.  You hoped that you could be on friendly terms with his brother.  So you did the thing that worked with Vergil.  Grabbing the cardboard box that had fallen to the deck in the kerfuffle, and opened it up.

“Want a piece?”

The way his nostrils flared and his eyes widened at the sight, you realized you had made the correct decision.

*****

“So, Verg says to me.  ‘Brother, I wager you ten cordina to get on that boat and grab something from it’...” Dante regaled you as he worked on his fifth slice of pizza, savouring every mouthful.  His imitation of his brother was quite on the nose. He lounged on the sunny side of the deck, still shielded from prying eyes by the way you tilted the sail, as you anchored the boat.

“And I says ‘you’re on!’ and I scope out this boat full of guys playing loud music.  I’m looking for a way to sneak on the damn boat, but there’s waaaay too many people dancing or something.  But I’ll do anything to prove my bro wrong, so I wait.  And Wait. And Wait.  But when the Dawnfather was just about to rise, everyone finally fell asleep.  So I flop on board, and I’m terrified that I’ll wake up someone, but everyone is really sleeping, like if it wasn’t for those funny noises you guys make when you sleep, I’d think they were dead.   I grab the first thing I see, one of these,” he held up the half eaten slice, “and I bring it to Verg, and he grumbly pays off the bet. But,” he finished off the slice, “what’s weird, this stuff was the real prize.  Vergil could have offered me a hundred cordina for that one piece, and I’d have said no…. It was so fucking delicious.  And now you come along with a whole box of this…” “Pizza” 

“Mmmm… Pizza…” he picked up another slice and stretched out the cheese.  “I gotta say, this is why I like you humans, you come out with some pretty delicious food.  It’s hard to make this stuff when you are surrounded by water.”

You smiled.  Vergil had said they were twins, and while they looked very similar, (aside from scale colour) their personalities couldn’t possibly be any more different.  While Vergil was calm, composed, and contemplative   Dante was brash, bombastic, and brazen.  Vergil was disdainful of humanity, (although you couldn’t really blame him), while Dante seemed to enjoy the quirks humans had.  But strangely, despite his totally different personality, you liked him, though not in the same way as his brother.

“So, you want to get my brother back to the open waters, eh?”  He had emptied the box of its contents, and was now licking his fingers for any remnants of melted cheese.  

“Yes, and I need your help to make sure he gets as far away as possible, and doesn’t try to do something that’s liable to get him captured again.”

“That I can do… although I can hardly believe that he actually regrets not listening to me. You sure he said that?”

“Pretty much…”

Dante went a bit serious… “Okay, it should be simple.   You get him to the ocean...let’s say,” he scanned the horizon, before pointing at the beach that lay next to the suspension bridge that linked both sides of the bay. “Right there.  Should be when the next time the Tidemother shows her full face, that’ll give you enough light to see, to slip him out, and also the tide will be up, making the trek to the water’s edge as simple as possible.  I’ll be waiting, and I’ll drag him by the tail fins out of here, if I have to…. and knowing Vergil, that’s probably literally, not figuratively speaking.”

“That simple?”  you were perplexed.  Surely there had to be more, or else Vergil would have been dropped off a long time ago, before you had time to develop feelings for him. 

“Should be, I mean, you come across any trouble, he can probably use Yamato to get rid of any problems.”  He now was scraping the melted cheese off the bottom of the box, and you were worried that if you didn’t stop him, he’d just eat the entire thing, cardboard and all.

“Yamato?”  you’d never heard that term before.  

Dante dropped the box, looking alarmed, “Wait, he hasn’t shown you Yamato?” his eyebrows shot up, “okay, that makes sense on why he’s been stuck… he doesn’t have his, …. um….” he cocked his head in thought, “I guess a rough translation would be ‘soul-weapon.’”  You shook your head.  Vergil had never mentioned anything about a weapon.

Dante continued, “I don’t really know how you humans see your souls, but the gist is, everyone of us has a weapon that’s intrinsically connected with our soul, our very being.”  He rubbed his head, “some of us have harpoons, others daggers, even have a few with a trident. Me on the other hand…” his hand waved out, and instantly, in a red flash, appeared a sword.  You hadn’t imagined it!  “This is Rebellion, ain’t she a beaut?” 

You had to agree.  It was a long solid sword, with what seemed to be a stylized human skull at the crossguard, but with shark teeth poking out from where the eyes were, as well as embedded into the ricasso of the blade.  It definitely was intimidating.  “So, a brief summary of how we look at our lives.  Us Merfolk see life like the way water moves.  Water flows throughout the ocean, until the Dawnfather decides it is time for it to ascend, and so the water becomes the clouds above, before raining back down and eventually rejoining the ocean.  It’s a cycle.”

“Ah,” you nodded, “like reincarnation”

“I guess?” Dante shrugged, “the philosophy of it all was all mom’s and Verg’s thing.  Anyways,”  he looked at Rebellion, “like I said, the weapon is linked to our soul, and if anything happens to it, it’s like someone took a bucketful of  that water and just locked it away, never able to return to the ocean, or repeat the cycle.  And it’s irreversible, a fate worse than death.”

Instantly, your mind went back to something similar Vergil had said all those months ago, and you remembered the ‘leash’ the good Doctor had in a long slender briefcase.  The pieces were beginning to fit.

“I mean, it’s hard to damage one of these, but it can be done, and most likely there’s the connection that's the issue.”

“The connection?”

“You can’t stray too far from your weapon, that’s why if you get too far, SNAP,” Rebellion dissipated in a shower of sparks.  “It’s the same as if the weapon got destroyed.  Somebody probably got a hold of Yamato, and you got lucky that they haven’t gone too far with it, or they know that they can use it over him.” his brow furrowed.  “On the bright side, it means it can’t be too far from where he is right now, so you won’t have to search too far.  But on the other hand… I’m still trying to figure out why he never told you  about this…”  he seemed honestly puzzled , “I mean, he trusted you enough with the amulet.” It worried you too.  Was Vergil too proud to ask a mere human, even one he was on good terms with for aid?  If he had just asked, you would have dropped everything to find and get this Yamato back for him.  It would have saved you a lot of heartache.  

“I think..” you said, “I know where his sword would be.”  The warehouse.  It was the only building Doctor Griffon could possibly keep the ‘leash’.  It wouldn’t be hard to get to, you had keys and codes for all the buildings on the property.

“Good!” his face brightened, “you get that sword to him, and you bring him here, and I can get him out.  Easy as swimming!”

“Yeah… easy as swimming” You attempted to match his enthusiasm.

“You know, you’re a good person.  Vergil has never been too close with humans, especially after mom and dad… well,” his features fell, “I thought I lost him too… was halfway about to follow him on a suicidal attack. When I felt the amulet,” he clutched it tightly in his hand, “I thought that he’d escaped, and when I found out it was a human, I just… I just snapped.”  

“You don’t have to apologise, Dante.  He’s your brother, after all.”

“Well, he’s a lucky son-of-a-barnacle to have an Odar like you, Dawnfather knows what would have happened to him if he didn’t meet you.”

You were slightly confused, “Odar?  Never heard that term.”

“Ah, keep forgetting you’re not familiar with Old Mer.  Basically a term for a human, but in a good way” he clarified. “Oh,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “That’s not what Vergil calls me.”

“Ah?  What does he call you? It better not be ‘Chiktik’, or I’ll be punching him in the face when he gets back.”

“He calls me… Sifa.”

There were a few moments of silence, with only the gentle lapping of water against the hull, and the flap of the sail in the breeze.  Dante just stared at you, jaw dangling, looking exactly like a moray eel.  And then, to your astonishment… he just started laughing.

“Verg… of all the mer… well, I guess the polyp doesn’t drift too far from the coral.   Mom would be proud of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He seriously hasn’t told you what it meant?”

“Vergil said it meant, ‘human,’” you answered and the red scaled merman cackled before looking up to you with a big grin. 

“You really want to know what it means?”

You bit your lower lip, afraid to know, but yet still intrigued, and after some hesitation, you nodded.

“There’s not a perfect translation, but basically, it means ‘Beloved’.  It’s a term you only use… well, for someone you really care about.  Someone…” he paused, as if for emphasis.  “You love.”

It was a good thing you were already sitting, because your legs began to feel like jelly, numbness spreading to your chest.

“He can’t…” you managed to wheeze out.

“Why not?” Dante asked.

“I’m basically his jailor!  There’s no possible way he could be truly in love with me!” You tried to protest.  But to your dawning horror, you realized a whole plethora of signs that he had been developing feelings for you.  The songs, the glances, the gentle touches.  Your head sank into your hands as you stared at the wood.  How could you have been so stupid?  How could you have been so blind?  

Or...maybe you had known, you just didn’t want to accept the truth.

“Well,” Dante added unhelpfully, “you don’t just call anyone Sifa, it's a fairly dedicated term, and Vergil wouldn’t just call you that if he didn’t mean it.”  He slipped back into the water gracefully, apparently oblivious to the turmoil that he had inadvertently caused.

“But there’s no way it would work between us!  I mean,” you pointed at your legs “we’re not even the same species!”

His response was to laugh.   If it wasn’t for the fact that he was Vergil’s  brother, you’d have clobbered him for his continued ignorance about how much this affected you.  “I don’t really think that’s much of an issue, but that’s not for me to say,” he responded cryptically.  “I’m sure Verg can fill you in.”  

And with that, he slipped back into the water, leaving you staring at the trail of bubbles.

No, you were not going to speak to Vergil about any of this.   You were going to keep this whole revelation to yourself, and focus on locating that sword and then getting him home.   It would be painful, but it was for the best for both of you.  That’s what you kept telling yourself.

Without warning, the water opened up again to reveal the smiling visage of Dante, his hand outstretched, holding your jackknife, and his own amulet, keeping the golden one around his neck. “Meetcha when the Tidemother is at her highest point when she shows her full face!  Good luck!” and after handing the blade and the silver amulet  to you, he swam off, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, leaving you alone with your turbulent thoughts.

*****

You returned back home, to see an expectant Vergil poised at the edge of the platform.  His eyes widened as you nodded and handed him the silver amulet, proof that you’d finally met his elusive brother.  He clutched it tightly, and for a moment you panicked, wondering if he was somehow able to look into the latest conversation you and Dante had.  But when he opened his eyes, they were full of relief and happiness.

“Ah, so he is well.”  He leaned back  in the water as he placed the chain around his neck, “That is good, that is good.”

You attempted to add some sort of joviality, “He thinks you’re an idiot for getting yourself captured.”

Vergil chuckled, “That does sound like him.  But at least he’s alright…” he turned to you, smiling gratefully.  “Thank You, Sifa.”

You successfully managed to hide the pain that word caused you as you gave him your best grin.

“Anything for you, Vergil”

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New On the Job

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Three: Hangover Cure

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n was job searching, looking for a new place to work as an escape to her, then, current job; she’d been denied every pitch she had, yet she worked her ass off with zero recognition. Writing was her passion and her dream job laid in the hands of a magazine company in the city. Will the combination of her sexual frustration and her competitive nature cause her to risk her biggest dream for a blue eyed coworker?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! Sorry this is a little short, I just want to kind of speed this up because I have sooo many ideas for the future parts. This might be a long series, so I hope y’all are into that!

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s some sexual! tension! up! in! here!

I had to fight the urge not to bury my nose into the sweater every chance I could, but it smelt so good. I watched as his back faced me, preparing the breakfast food whilst I sat and watched. I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my cheek on my knees as I resumed watching him, smiling. My wet hair soaked through the back of his sweater, sticking to my back and I hoped he wouldn’t mind. His joggers were loose on my legs, my feet snug in a pair of his socks; I was completely decked out in his clothes, drowning in his scent, and I was loving it. 

He had an unseen speaker in his kitchen, softly playing some hits from The Beatles, pairing with the sounds of the food frying on the pans. I was in pure bliss, sighing with content, before he turned around with a plate full of French toast, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon. I licked my lips at the sight of the food, taking the plate and placing it in front of me. 

“This looks amazing, George,” I marveled, my mouth watering.

He smirked proudly before filling his own plate and taking a seat across from me. 

“I always eat this when I’m hungover and it always cures it,” he informed me. “Bon appétit!” He raised his fork before diving into his creation. 

After biting into the perfect-amount-of-cinnamon French toast–and moaning in delight a little too loudly–I finished chewing before swallowing and speaking.

“Do you cook often?” 

He nodded, bringing a napkin to his lips before speaking.

“I love cooking,” he responded, “I’ve gotten a lot better at it. I used to be shit at it, I’d burn everything I made,” he recalled with a laugh. 

I laughed, stuffing my mouth with some of the scrambled eggs.

“You’re going to have to teach me one of these days, my roommate and I live off of take-out and grilled cheese’s,” I admitted, taking a sip of the orange juice he had poured for me earlier.

He cringed at my confession. “I will definitely teach you. Trust me, after a couple recipes and learning how to make proper meals, you’ll never need take-out again. If Dean was able to learn from me, then you will.”

His quick mention of Dean sparked a question in my head. 

“How long have you and Dean been friends?” I queried, picking up some more eggs on my fork and scooping them into my mouth. 

He waited to chew before speaking, swallowing his food down with a gulp of juice.

“Dean and I have been friends for about three years now. It doesn’t sound very long when I say it out loud, but it feels like I’ve known the guy for a lifetime,” he admitted with a small smile, no doubt thinking of the brunette. 

“It’s weird how that is,” I added, agreeing with his words. “I’ve known my roommate for five years, but it feels like I’ve known her forever.”

Talking about my roommate reminded me of her actions last night. Leaving me at a bar I was invited to, and kicking me out of my apartment. 

“Speaking of her, I’m going to give her hell for the shit she pulled last night,” I grumbled, angrily shoveling more food into my mouth. 

“If you did go home to your flat last night, you wouldn’t be having a home-cooked breakfast, though, would you?” he chided with a smirk. I bit back a smile as I was reminded that somehow, I had been blessed, eating breakfast that George had cooked me, wearing George’s clothes, as I was sat across the handsome blue-eyed man himself. 

“No, I wouldn’t be,” I confessed, biting off a piece of bacon from the crispy strip. “I’d consider myself lucky if I found a piece of toast for breakfast.”

“Sounds lovely,” George joked sarcastically, finishing off his plate. 

I leaned back into the chair, my hands on my belly with a groan.

“I’m so full,” I wailed. “I haven’t had a meal that good in a long time.”

He laughed at my dramatic state. 

“Was it that good?” he laughed, getting up and taking my plate, scraping off the small bits I wasn’t able to finish into the trash. 

I nodded vigorously and watched as he threw the dishes into the dishwasher. To see him like this in the kitchen, it ignited my imagination, wondering if this is what it’d be like living with him; seeing him in casual attire compared to his usual button up and slacks, seeing his hair disheveled and his eyelids swollen with sleep, seeing him look so relaxed. 

My phone began to vibrate against the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at the screen, seeing Bree’s contact light up as she called me. I pressed the power button, silencing it; I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.

“That your roommate?” he turned around.

I sighed. “Yeah, she’s probably coming up with an apology in my voicemail as we speak.” I looked down at my phone, lighting up with a voicemail notification,  making me roll my eyes at her easily predictable habits.

“She might be wondering if you’re okay,” he suggested, leaning his back against the counter. 

I shrugged. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in his apartment in his clothes that smelt like him. I wanted to absorb this moment and soak in it, but I knew it had to come to an end.

“I should probably get going before she freaks out,” I agreed, standing up from the chair. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” he offered. 

Butterflies erupted in my stomach and I couldn’t stop myself from blushing. I wasn’t sure how he wasn’t tired of taking care of me yet; I knew I’d somehow have to return the favor in the future.

“That would be great,” I accepted his offer, getting my purse. 

He led me out of the kitchen and to his living room, where he slipped on his shoes. I slipped on the shoes I’d been wearing before as well, shoving my clothes in my purse as I hugged the fabric of his sweater closer to my skin. 

“You’ve got everything?” he asked, swinging his keys around his finger. His fingers. Before I could even muster the sexual thoughts, I forced myself out of the predictable trance.

I nodded looking down at my outfit. “Do you want me to change back into my clothes, so you can have these back?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather you wear clean clothes than clothes with traces of vomit and alcohol on them.”

“Well, thanks,” I blushed, staring down at the comfy cotton. “These are incredibly comfortable.”

He grinned, crinkles by his eyes appearing; these were becoming one of my favorite features of his. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he led me out of his apartment complex, walking toward the parking lot in back of the building. 

We approached a little black Nissan, beeping as he pressed a button on his keys. He surprised me, walking to the passenger door first and opening it for me. My eyes widened at the gesture, getting inside and sitting in the seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and the blush that’d already crept its way onto my cheeks. The soft aroma in his car was a mixture of his scent and leather, making me fight the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my head in euphoria. As he got into the driver’s seat and started the car, I gave him the address to my apartment, which he then typed into the navigation app on his phone. As he drove, his eyes concentrated on the road ahead of us and his hands gripped onto the steering wheel. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him; he looked so handsome when he was concentrated, the veins rising on the backs of his hands and trailing to his arms. 

I sent thanks to New York traffic as it elongated the trip to my apartment, but I was surprised at how relatively close we lived to each other. I paid close attention as he tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel, probably out of boredom, but I wanted to devour every single feature of his that I could. Once my apartment complex came into view, I came to terms that this was it; my time with George had ended. Feeling disappointed, I asked myself, why? Why does it have to end here? What are you scared of, Y/n? 

He pulled up to the curb in front of the building, the car coming to a stop. He turned to me, looking at the building outside of my window before looking at me, as if he was waiting for me to speak.

“I should probably get your number,” I blurted, trying to exert as much confidence as I could, because Lord knew I needed it.

He looked taken back, his eyes widening. I chewed on my lip nervously.

“So, that you can teach me how to cook,” I added with a laugh, trying to ease the conversation. 

“Right,” both of us smiling at the memory we’d shared in his kitchen, he quickly reached for his phone and read me his digits, recording my own into his phone as well. 

I opened the door and looked at him one last time.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I thanked him sincerely.

I wanted to kiss him so badly, right then and there. But now wasn’t the time, and I knew that. He smiled warmly at me, his eyes soft.

“It was my pleasure, really.”

I gripped the strap of my purse. “See you later, George.”

He smirked at me, making my heart skip a beat.

“See you, Y/n.”

I closed the door behind me, entering my apartment complex, trying to withhold the giddy giggles that threatened to escape my mouth. Skipping up the stairs and entering my apartment, I dramatically fell onto the sofa with a sigh of delight, closing my eyes and memorizing all of his features. I heard footsteps approaching me, already knowing that it was my guilty roommate. 

“It’s fine,” I interrupted her before she got to speak. I opened my eyes and sat up, meeting her frown.

“No, it’s not, Y/n, I–”

“Just don’t do it again,” I warned. 

I didn’t want to talk about, because I knew it would bring me down from the high I’d gotten from being with George. She sat herself down next to me and pulled me into a hug, which I gladly accepted. 

“I need to go get Plan B,” she admitted, her breath tickling my neck.

I rubbed her back sympathetically. “Let’s go to the pharmacy, then.”

We pulled away, her eyes coming in contact with my outfit, an immediate grin taking over her face.

“You have to tell me everything.”

We walked aimlessly around the pharmacy, looking at totally-necessary bags of candy. 

“So, you guys didn’t fuck?” 

She picked up a bag of Kit Kat’s, throwing it into our basket. I rolled my eyes, the new item in the basket weighing down my elbow.

“No,” I began, looking at a bag of gummy worms and tossing it into the basket as well. “But, I did get his number.”

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock, her hazel eyes practically bulging out of her head.

“Y/f/n Y/l/n, did you ask a man for his phone number?”

I nodded, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I smiled. She playfully pushed my shoulder, her mouth wide open, still in shock. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Cashing out at the counter, I felt my phone vibrate from my back pocket. I slid the device out and my eyes widened at the notification.

George: You up for some wine and a chicken parmesan tutorial tomorrow evening?

I sneakily angled the phone screen so that Bree could see it, her face lighting up and violently nodding, as if to tell me to accept his invitation. I began typing out a text, showing her so that she could judge it. With another violent nod and a smirk, I sent the cheeky text.

Me: Miss me already?

Me: Jk... that sounds great. When do you want me over?

After splitting the total and getting onto the subway, my phone vibrated again. I pulled my phone out to check the notification in curiosity once again, my heart beating a mile a minute.

George: As long as I don't have to watch you vomit again. Does 4 sound alright?

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was being sarcastic.

Me: Haha very funny. 4 is good. 

George: I’m never going to let that down.

I subconsciously brought my bottom lip between my teeth, nervously chewing on it. What do I say? 

Me: Remind me to never drink on an empty stomach again OR smoke weed. I think my body needs to detox after last night.

George: Noted. Still never going to let that down though ;)

Me: You’re the fuckin worst.

George: You love it.

I tried to stop myself from grinning, but I miserably failed. I sure do, George.

Its a Long Story

For- Jennifer ( @eloquence-of-felicities ) You said that you loved Olicity’s story and so I have written something that hopefully celebrates their canon story for all its multi-dimension, mutli-timeline awesomeness, including my interpretation of the ending. I hope you enjoy it! By @lupin72

Oliver and Felicity both tell various people the story of some firsts in their relationship.

Warning: the last chapter is rated E

Chapter 1- First Kiss

Oliver felt the punchbag cut into his knuckles, another scrape forming, each time he hit the leather. It didn’t feel like pain exactly. He knew pain well. This was more of an annoyance. But he welcomed it and hit the bag harder, faster.

It had been a couple of hours since he had left the hospital. A couple of hours since he had felt her lips on his for the first time. Or at least that’s what he thought. The clock on her computer screen would reveal it had been nearly 6.

He punched on.

In his trance he didn’t hear the footsteps until they hit the cold marble floor at the bottom of the stairs. Yet another proof she was a distraction. But, a growl tore from his chest, she was so much more than that.

“Oliver?” Dig called. Stopping just before him, and crossing his arms, his signature frown set upon his face.

“What are you doing here Dig?” Oliver asked. He stopped punching and let his hands fall to his waist, turning them to hide the scrapes.

“I left my jacket here so I thought I’d pick it up on the way home. But I can see it was good that I did. What’s happened man?”

Oliver shook his head and turned from his friend. Now that he wasn’t moving he could feel the exhaustion in his muscles and he let himself fall into the nearest chair. Her chair. 

Dig slammed their bottle of vodka onto the desk beside him. Oliver immediately poured them both a shot. As their glasses slammed onto the table Dig sent Oliver a look that couldn’t be mistaken: explain yourself.

“We kissed.” Oliver confessed, not meeting his friend’s eyes. 

He missed the small smile that crossed Dig’s face. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Dig asked, although he could tell from Oliver’s cut hands, which he was failing to hide, that it hadn’t been. 

“It didn’t change anything. Fuck I’ve just made it worse." 

Dig rose to his full height, towering over the man that had instilled fear into a city full of people.

"You’re telling me you kissed her but you still haven’t got your head out of your ass?” Dig did his best to keep his voice steady but this was Felicity they were talking about.

“It wasn’t like that. At least it wasn’t supposed to be.” Oliver shook his head at himself and poured another drink. Only once the burn had stopped did he start talking again. "I couldn’t let her doubt that I ever had feelings for her. She had to know, it seemed worse if she doubted it." 

Oliver didn’t add how he had felt like it might have been his only chance to feel her lips on his. How he was greedy and selfish and took it. How he had felt his heart break alongside hers when she pulled away from him. Instead he summoned every ounce of strength in him and dictated, with as much conviction as he could muster, “It’s over now. So that’s that. We can just go back to normal.” 

Dig sighed and leaned back onto the table. “I don’t know if that’s possible man.”

Oliver didn’t speak. He just hung his head low. It was all the confirmation Dig needed. He knew it too. 

“Look its late, I should go, I’ve got four hours to get some sleep before I’m allowed back in the hospital.” Dig announced, picking up his jacket.

“Hospital rules or Lyla’s?” Oliver asked. 

“Both.”

Oliver let out a breathy laugh. He felt Dig pat him on the back and looked up in thanks.

“You get some sleep yourself, maybe your head will finally be on straight tomorrow.”

Oliver didn’t get a chance to reply as Dig made his way up the steps.

Chapter 2- First Meet

A quiet night in the Smoak- Queen and Clayton household was hard to come by. It had been weeks since its three residents had been able to sit down and enjoy a meal together. But tonight the streets were quiet, Diaz had gone underground and the mayoral work was up to date.

Which meant a long awaited family games night was finally scheduled. 

Felicity had pushed for it when she found a superhero trivia games set in the store. She knew they had a deck of cards in the drawer and William had some old board games under his bed.

After Oliver lost epically at the trivia, and William beating Felicity by one point, and then both boys getting annoyed at her counting cards in their games of black jack, they moved onto a more even game of snakes and ladders. Or it should have been even but Oliver seemed to have a tactic for constantly rolling a six. After one too many innuendos in front of her step son, Felicity had stopped interrogating him on his wrist action and gave in to the fact that he just might win this one. 

It wasn’t just games. They shared small talk between jeers and taunts. Oliver spoke about playing with Tommy as a kid, Felicity showed them how to shuffle cards like she learned in Vegas. William even told stories of playing with his mom. It was fun and relaxing and oh so needed.

“Felicity?” William asked rolling a four and frowning as he was sent down a ladder. “How did you meet my dad? You said when we were in the bunker that it was something to do with a laptop and bullets ?”

Oliver and Felicity laughed quietly and turned to look at each other.

“Well, you remembered right Will, it was a laptop but it was already minus the bullets since your dad thought that would make me believe a latte was the problem.”

“I panicked alright.” Oliver defended , unable to wipe the huge smile off of his face. “You caught me off guard.”

William frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Game forgotten Oliver and Felicity moved into sitting positions. After all they should be comfortable to tell their favorite tale.

“The Hood, they called me that then, had been in a gunfight. I took the laptop to Felicity to try to get some information off of it to help with my…"

“Mission.” Felicity finished when Oliver clearly lacked the words to explain. 

Oliver nodded to her in thanks before continuing. “I had heard that she was the best in the building for tech help, despite her position as support. I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked into her cubicle but it certainly wasn’t…” Oliver trailed off, lost for words again. “I wasn’t expecting Felicity.”

Oliver made direct eye contact with the woman in question, allowing his sincerity to show on his face. If William wasn’t there Felicity knew she would have jumped him. To break the tension building between them she turned to her step son. 

“Picture this Will: I’m just sitting there chewing a pen-”

“A red pen.” 

Felicity tried to glare at him for interrupting but her heart warmed as it did every time he remembered a detail about their past. 

“I’m sitting there,“ she continued, not trusting herself to look at him again, "chewing a red pen when the boss’s son walks right in and smiles at me all handsome and mysterious. So what did I do?”

“You talked a lot?” William asked. He was sitting up straight, completely engrossed by the story.

“Yup.” The family shared a laugh. Felicity’s heart swelled again, this time for her love for the boy before her who she was starting to form such a bond with and who was willing to get to know her as well. “I babbled on about how your dad hadn’t drowned but his father had. It was terrible.” 

“It was cute.” Oliver interrupted again.

“Okay I don’t care how cute you think you’re being if you interrupt me again, you lose your next two turns.” Felicity scolded Oliver. His eyes lit up as he curled his lips tight shut. “Now where was I? Yes, so he gives me this laptop, covered in holes and scratched up where he had obviously taken out the bullets. And he tells me he spilt a latte on it!”

William laughed. “You didn’t seriously think she would believe that did you Dad?”

Oliver frowned, making a deal of showing his lips were sealed.

Felicity smiled in amusement whilst William laughed harder. “So I of course called him out in his bullshi- sorry.” William shook his head and Felicity was glad Oliver wasn’t speaking for she knew he’d have his revenge and scold her for swearing. “I told him they looked like bullet holes and he didn’t even have an answer for me.”

“Why did you help him then?” William asked.

Oliver froze, as did Felicity. They had never discussed the answer to that question before. Intrigued Oliver stared at her till Felicity was sure he would explode if she didn’t look at him. She complied. “Because he needed help. And I could do it.“ She replied simply, but then her eyes burned with mirth and smile snuck onto her face "And he was my boss. And hot as hell.”

They all laughed and Felicity even let Oliver keep his next turn. 

Chapter 3- First Nightmare

Felicity sprung up in bed, her entire body turning rigid for one split second before she was running from the room and towards her baby girl’s screams. 

Cries of "Mom” came from Mia’s bedroom, causing Felicity’s heart to beat faster as they became more panicked. 

“I’m coming Mia!” she shouted, finally able to catch a breath to respond. 

Mia’s shouts turned into sobs. Felicity finally reached the room and she turned immediately, analysing for any danger and sighing with relief when she found none. Her relief didn’t last long when saw her 7 year old’s tear stained face.

“Oh baby”, she sat down next to Mia and pulled her into her chest, softly stroking her hair as she had done since she was small. 

For those who didn’t know she dyed it they often commented she had her mother’s hair but Felicity knew better. She had seen younger pictures of Oliver and his unruly waves. 

The pang of pain when she remembered her husband never seemed to ease. 

“What’s the matter baby?” Felicity asked, pulling Mia closer and getting comfortable on the bed so they could lie side by side. 

“Had a bad dream” Mia mumbled, muffled against Felicity’s stomach where she had buried her head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Felicity asked. 

Mia shook her head no. 

“Okay,” Felicity pressed a kiss onto Mia’s head and contemplated what to say next. A familiar night came to mind and knowing her daughter’s current love for a story Felicity sat up straighter and whispered, “if I told you another top secret Green Arrow story would that make you feel better?” Mia’s snuffling stopped for a second before she nodded. 

“Alright. So some time ago, long before the Green Arrow was known as the hero he was, and was instead just the Arrow, he decided to give up his fight to save the city and trusted his friends to do it. And so he and Overwatch decided to go out into the world to explore. You remember that baby? ”

Mia nodded. “They saw the whole wide world. The forests and seas and animals big and small.“ 

Felicity smiled in reply. She looked over at the framed picture on Mia’s wall and could feel her daughter turning to the same one. They didn’t have many pictures together as a family. Only a small handful. One sat on Mia’s bedside table, the other on her own. Throughout the mansion there were many pictures of Oliver. Moira had many from when he was younger and Felicity enjoyed hearing some of the stories that went along with them. But Felicity had some favourites of both of them together and Mia always liked them too so she put one up in her room. 

"Yes they did. But it wasn’t all that easy. One scary night, when they were by the beach a storm came in. Now the Arrow didn’t like the sea much but he said that with Overwatch he wanted to learn to love it again. But then the storm came. And the Arrow was scared. It made his mind play tricks on him, nasty tricks and he had dreams. And just like you baby girl he kicked out and shouted and woke up Overwatch.” 

Mia pulled back to look up at Felicity. “But the Arrow isn’t scared of anything!” She admonished. 

“You’re right baby the Arrow wasn’t scared. But,” Felicity paused, trying to find the words to explain to her daughter how her father was both a fearless hero and a man just as capable as being scared as she was. She settled for what she hoped would be an explanation enough for tonight. “He wasn’t the Arrow that night.”

Mia frowned but nodded in understanding after a few seconds.“He was daddy. ”

Felicity blinked the tears from her eyes, a trick she had long since learned. “Yeah sweetheart, he was Daddy and Daddy got scared of nightmares too." 

“But Overwatch helped him?” 

“Yeah she did. She woke up and she told him everything would be alright. That the dreams were all in his head and he was safe. With her. And then she asked him to tell her about it. Because if you talk about your dreams they aren’t scary anymore. They are out here in the world where you can fight them and not in here.” She tapped Mias head with her finger. 

Mia nodded in understanding again. "Do you think if I talk about my bad dreams I can fight them too?” 

"Mia you are the strongest, bravest person in the whole wide world. Yes I think you could fight them. You want to tell me what happened?”

Mia buried her face again but her explanation could still be heard. "Monsters took me away. They were dark like shadows and they went bang when I punched them but they kept coming back. Then they picked me up and took me away. I don’t want to go away from you mommy.” she cried again.

Felicity’s heart broke a little as she pulled her daughter close. The image her daughter created sent a pang of pain through her chest. But she didn’t let it show. “Don’t worry sweetheart. I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Not ever. ”

She knew the day would come, however, when she could no longer keep that promise. Oliver was still out there as Spectre. She didn’t understand how it worked, just as all the alternate realities confused her. She had memories of a life where Tommy and Moira and many of their other friends and family had died. And she had many memories of this new one. It was confusing at times, but somehow she could separate the two timelines in her head. It helped that John and the others could relate and they often got together to tell stories of the old days as they remembered them. But she was forever thankful that her daughter was growing up to a future that much more brighter because of her father. And, knowing what the future had in store for her, having met the hero she would become, Felicity was confident that one day they would both be ready for her to depart to be with Oliver again. And she would explain it all to her, and to William as well, who she was forever thankful to be able to hold close after he had decided to stay with her following his father’s funeral. 

In fact, she had already told William some parts of the tale but it was hard for any of them to understand how Oliver could still be out there somewhere yet they couldn’t reach him all of the time. He could, and had, appeared sporadically as Spectre, however the terms of his visits were as complicated as the rest of their story. But, knowing that with her deal with The Monitor, and that Oliver being Spectre meant that one day Felicity would be with her husband again? That was enough for her to continue to fight each day for a future where their children were safe in a happy Star City when she left to be with him. 

Chapter 4- First Time

They had been on the road for three weeks before Felicity ever saw Oliver drunk. At the start she knew he was clinging onto the control. After nearly losing his mind in Nanda Parbat she could understand him not wanting to lose any of that control now. But then something changed. She’d watched him soften, become more relaxed, letting a tiny piece of the wall down each day. She’d loved it. It was probably her favourite part of the trip. Forget the places they had seen: the hills the sunsets the beaches, this man beside her finally letting his guard down was truly beautiful. And so they sat side by side at the bar, she enjoying a cocktail as she watched Oliver ask the barman for another whisky. He was far out drinking her at this point which would have alarmed her had it not been for the gentle hand on her thigh and smile that lit up his face. He was merely enjoying himself.

“I love you,” Oliver whispered in her ear, his hand sliding a bit further up her leg. She stopped it with a firm hand of her own. 

“I love you too,” she told him and watched as his smile grew wider just as it always did when she said those three words. She often wondered how long that would last.

Just as she was about to lean in for a kiss a man bumped against her as he collapsed against the bar, his weight almost sending her toppling from the seat. Oliver was on his feet in a second, both hands securing Felicity’s shoulders, whilst glaring over her head at the offender. 

The man startled and turned, slurring out an apology. Felicity could tell it wasn’t going to be enough for Oliver. Luckily, the man must have sensed it too for he elaborated. “Really man, I am sorry. Got a little carried away there but I blame this one really." 

On his accusation a tall brunette stumbled against the man. "She’s a bad influence. Just a water please mate.” He told the barman. 

Felicity smiled at the couple, the young woman falling against her boyfriend. "It’s alright.” Felicity reassured the man, offering her hand for a handshake and a sign for her over protective, slightly drunk boyfriend to calm down. Of course just as he let his guard down something would freak him out. Luckily Oliver relaxed offering his own hand and introductions. 

Jennifer and Frank explained that they were in California for the first time, for their first holiday away together, celebrating their first year anniversary. They were both excited to find out that Oliver and Felicity were in a similar situation and, despite the rough start, both couples hit it off. 

After another round of drinks the conversation somehow progressed to firsts. 

Jennifer and Frank had been working together and their first came of a drunken escapade at an office Christmas party. Felicity found it exceptionally sweet but Oliver got strangely grumpy. She was confused until he explained that he had hadn’t got the chance to take Felicity home after their work party. Felicity blushed profusely remembering the night well. She had turned to wine for comfort after getting ridiculously annoyed by all the constant whispering and bitching about how the CEO and his EA were unable to stay away from each other for more than five minutes. She had gotten so drunk she had removed her heels and then lost them when Oliver had offered to take her home. Then she had told him, after he found her shoes, (somehow they had ended up under the Christmas tree), that they couldn’t leave together. That it would only add fuel to the fire. And so Dig had discreetly walked her to the taxi with the promise she would text Oliver as soon as she got home safe. What Felicity didn’t know was that Oliver had stopped by that night just to check and found her asleep on the couch. She didn’t remember him carrying her to bed, nor was she confused when she woke up, having not remembered huge portions of the night. 

“So when was your first time then?” Jennifer asked. “You were friends for 3 years and you worked together, you’re clearly both in love and happy so how did you not explode?”

Felicity blushed further turning to Oliver for guidance. She didn’t trust herself to tell the story believing that she would babble on and give too many details away. Then again he wasn’t very good at cover stories sober. 

“We were on a work trip.” Oliver explained, grinning like a fool. "A super romantic location, remote, high in the mountains. I’d already told Felicity I loved her, but she was in a relationship at the time, and then I screwed it up, but that’s not important.” 

Felicity nudged him in the chest. “Hey babblings my thing!” 

“Sorry honey,” he continued. “So we were on a work trip and I…” Oliver paused. Felicity could sense his planned cover story hadn’t gotten this far before he started talking. She didn’t blame him. Trying to explain why he was joining a league of assassins and she would never seen him again would have been difficult sober. Luckily, she had an idea.  “You got another job offer for different company.” 

“Yeah a different company! Hey that was smart!” Oliver praised, leaning in for a kiss. He froze, realising his mistake when he saw the look on Felicity’s face. “Oh for remembering I mean.” He tried to cover. She still didn’t look pleased. “Oh maybe I’m just flirting to kiss you.” She finally allowed him to do so. 

Sadly, Jennifer told them to get a room, so it didn’t last long, but it appeared to have worked well as a distraction.

"Finish the story you two!” Jennifer demanded.

Felicity started talking when she saw the confusion on Oliver’s face who had obviously forgotten what story they were referring to. She liked to think her kissing skills had at least a small part of that and not just the alcohol. 

“I realised I could lose him and it terrified me. So I told him how I felt.” 

“And then we had sex!” Oliver blurted, looking exceptionally proud of himself for remembering what story they were telling. 

Felicity slapped him playfully on the chest again and Oliver pretended to be in pain, causing her to giggle. 

“Damn that is a good story” Frank praised. “Leaving it all for love that’s ballsy man.” 

“Well she worth it.” Oliver replied, still watching Felicity who was now full on laughing. 

“I’m sorry it’s just you’re a sappy drunk Oliver.” Felicity explained, leaning against him. 

“Only for you.” 

“Okay no more drinks for these two.” Jennifer announced when it became apparent that they were more than likely going to start making out like teenagers again.

“In fact make it these three!” She added when Frank stumbled again, missing the bar when he went to lean against it. 

“Yeah we should probably get going.” Felicity admitted, shakily getting to her feet. Oliver subconsciously steadied her. Apparently it would take more alcohol for him to lose his coordination. Figures. 

After exchanging details and promising to meet up for dinner the following evening the couples partied ways. 

It was a short walk to the small room they had hired so Felicity didn’t mind walking in her heels. Plus, it put her at the perfect height to bury her face in Oliver’s shoulder. 

“You know I think our cover stories are getting better.” She mused. 

Oliver laughed, “I think we just work better as a team. Always have. Always will. ”

Felicity smiled up at him noticing that his eyes had cleared now which meant he was sobering up in the fresh air. “What do you say we remember that first night when we get back? I saw some candles in the drawer earlier, probably not as many as there were back then, but I think it could work?“

Oliver’s eyes glazed over with a look that could only be described as blazing heat as he ran them over her body from head to toe and back again.

"I’d say we better hurry and get back.” With that he picked her up bridal style and began running for the door only a few meters in front of them. 

Both laughing, they stumbled inside. If either noticed what had happened they didn’t comment. Little did they know in three years he would be doing it again. 

Chapter 5- First fight

Oliver lay on the couch contemplating his conversation with his daughter by his father’s grave, two days before. Not much had changed since then. Mia still shied away from opening up to him and William was still overjoyed every time he walked into a room. 

It pained him, but Oliver couldn’t help but be happy. Even in its difficulty this time felt like a blessing. 

He did however still pine for Felicity to be by his side during all of this. Even after William told him not to call her, pointing out the difficulty of the entire situation, he had still been tempted to do so every minute of every day. He wanted her here, he needed her here, she had a right to know what was going on, but nothing had changed. The Ninth Circle were still after them. From what Mia had said, in the future, even when that threat disappeared, the Deathstrokes had already taken over the city. But they had stopped that. The future was surely changed. Wasn’t it?

Mia and William didn’t like to talk about Felicity in the future. It seemed to cause them both pain to remember her. All Oliver knew was that she was alive but in hiding again and they hadn’t heard from her since she left which had been three weeks before they came here. 

They both seemed to think it was more than hiding though, Oliver could sense it. But he didn’t know enough to speculate himself and so he simply hoped with every second that she was safe in the future or that they could change it somehow. 

The very fact that his children were before him seemed to hint to that. So maybe bringing Felicity to Star City would help too? 

But every time he went to press the call button he froze. Mia was still a baby there. Felicity couldn’t come here with her, he knew enough about the laws of time travel to know that they couldn’t meet. The Monitor could also come for him at any moment. He knew he had some time before the Crisis began but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be sent across the world or across time or space at any second. The same went for Mia and William. So if he could spare his wife the heartache of learning that the future wasn’t so bright, of learning about his death, of potentially seeing their children only for them to be torn away again? If he could protect her and their baby from the dangers here? Then he had to do it. And so he never pressed call.

Instead they continued their brief texts every now and then. They were always short. They hadn’t called since he returned. Both had silently agreed that it would cause them too much pain to continuously have to say goodbye again, not knowing if it was for the last time. And that was assuming either one of them would find the strength to end the call. Oliver knew in his heart that he for sure didn’t. 

He looked down at the last picture Felicity had sent him. She was hodling Mia up to the camera and their daughter was smiling almost right at him. He could tell Felicity was trying to smile too but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. She had captioned it ‘Much love from us both x.’ He had cried the first time he saw it and he was barely stopping the tears now. 

It was then that he heard a door down the hall opening and footsteps coming towards him. 

“Mia?” he asked into the dark, reaching over to turn on the light. Oliver hadn’t explicitly told his children that he was sleeping on the couch rather than his own bed. Thankfully neither of them brought it up. He guessed that they knew why he couldn’t return to their bed alone.  

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Mia spoke, cautiously moving closer.

“You didn’t,” Oliver reassured her, a tentative smile on his face. “What’s up?” He sat up fully and nodded his head toward the chair across from him, smirking when Mia perched herself on the arm rather than sitting on it properly. Her mother often did the same. 

“Its fine, honestly, I couldn’t sleep and wanted a drink that’s all. ” The only way to describe the young woman was spooked. She was ready to flee any second. Oliver was about to speak when she blurted, “I’ll go back to bed,” and rose to her feet.

Hastily, Oliver sat up straighter, “Please stay? ” He cleared his throat nervously.  “Maybe I can help?”

Mia shook her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Oliver tensed when he watched a wall form around his daughter, she grew tense and looked ready to flee again. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to push.” Mia settled slightly at the apology. Taking this as progress Oliver hesitantly tried again, “I just want to help you.”

Mia seemed to contemplate the offer. Maybe she was thinking about their conversation by the grave too, or maybe it was how he was obviously pleading with her, but she didn’t argue and instead moved to sit properly in the seat.

“Did your team ever fight?”

That a question he wasn’t expecting. His confusion must have shown on his face for Mia continued.

“It’s just that in our time, the team wasn’t really a team. And I tried to lead and all it led to was Zoe-” the pain in Mia’s face, when she couldn’t finish her sentence, shattered Oliver’s heart.

“We didn’t always get on.” Oliver smiled gently, remembering how their team had started. “Your mother tried to quit right at the start. In the end everyone quit at least once.”

“Mum never mentioned that part of the story.” Mia said, moving closer to the edge of her seat. “She focused on the good stuff I guess.”

Oliver nodded, “yeah your mother has a way of seeing the bright side of things. But no it wasn’t always that easy.”

“Would you tell me about it?” Mia asked.

Oliver’s smile grew. Perhaps this was the start of that impenetrable distance between them starting to close. “I don’t think I’ll be as good a story teller as your Mum but I’ll give it a go.”

The smile that lit up Mia’s face might have been the brightest he had seen since he met her.

“Hmm okay. What if I tell you about our first fight?” 

Mia nodded, that bright smile of hers still in place. Oliver couldn’t help but see her mother’s in it. 

“Well I had just started my mission, and at the start I wasn’t always that…kind, to the criminals I faced. Your mum didn’t like that and so one night, just as I was about to go out, she changed the lock to the door. I thought I had mistyped but, when I tried again, and still couldn’t get out, I realised what must have happened. I was a bit more hot headed back then and I lost it.” Oliver laughed, he could remember the outrage that took over him and the shock that Felicity had dared try such a thing. And then she had surprised him again. “God I was so angry. And I ran down the stairs, straight for where Felicity was working at her desk and I shouted her name. I tried to intimidate her, the way I did with everyone, but she just wouldn’t let me. This tiny woman stood up, she could barely reach my chin, but she looked me right in the eye and told me she was quitting.. I was speechless and Dig just gave me this knowing look. And then we watched her walk out. The next day we were trying to get her to come back because I realised I couldn’t do it without her anymore.”

By the time Oliver had finished a look of wonder covered Mia’s face. A spark in her eyes he had only seen when she had a bow in her hand had been ignited.  

“Listen Mia, this life isn’t ideal. It’s a life I didnt want for you-” he hastened to finish when he saw that she was ready to interrupt. “But I can see that it’s a life you want for yourself and so I’ll support it in any way I can. Maybe start with some training if that’s okay with you?” 

Mia nodded vigorously, looking very much like the child Oliver was still trying to remind himself that she wasn’t anymore. “I would like that.” 

“Okay.” Father and daughter shared a smile. “Well then you better get some sleep because you’re about to start training with the man that out-duelled Nyssa al Ghul.”

Mia smirked. “I’ve done that a few times myself.”

Oliver laughed and watched as his daughter sprung elegantly to her feet and made her way back to her room. She stopped just as she reached the start of the corridor and turned back to look at him.

“Thanks dad.” 

Tears filled Oliver’s eyes for the second time that night. He had long since let go of the idea that he would ever hear his baby say those words. 

“Goodnight.” he replied. With one last knowing look between them, both archers found sleep easily for the first time since this new adventure had begun.

Chapter 6- First I love you

Oliver and Felicity lay in bed, side by side as they had done for the last few weeks. They had been for dinner with Frank and Jennifer and with full stomachs they were both almost asleep. 

Oliver sighed, looking across at Felicity with a gentle smile on his lips. She was lying flat on her back and had been groaning for the last few minutes about how full she was. 

He reached out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear and encouraged her to turn to him with a hand on her waist. She did so with another groan. 

“Mm dinner was good.” she yawned snuggling closer to him.

“So you’ve said,” Oliver replied, his hand rising to cup her head and pull it close so he could whisper “three times since we got home.”

Her only response was another “mmff.” 

He laughed. “You know when Jen asked about when we first said I love you and you spun that story about it being another work proposal that could mean us never seeing each other again because it was in such a remote place I couldn’t visit or call-” Oliver rambled.

Felicity interrupted to cut to the chase, not interested in hearing the embarrassing tale. Living it once was enough. “And they totally didn’t believe me so we had to change the subject? Yeah I remember.”

“Well that wasn’t actually the first time I told you I loved you. I mean it technically was the first time I told you. When you could hear me that is. But I said it before.” Oliver confessed. Truthfully, he had forgotten about it until Jen had asked the question. He figured that the moment must have been clouded by other memories of that particular night.

Felicity seemed to wake up entirely at the confession, pushing off Oliver’s chest so she could look down at him. “Oh really?” 

He nodded. “I told you I loved you the night of our first date.” Felicity’s smile grew. “After the bomb hit and I found you lying unconscious, I knew we had to get out of there so I carried you out the back. It was as I was holding you I realised how much you meant to me. I’d always been scared of losing you, and we’d had some close calls before, but holding you I knew that if you didn’t wake up my life would be over too. I wasn’t even thinking I just said it.”

Tears filled Felicity’s eyes and she leaned down to press her lips against his. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, resuming the kiss. It steadily grew more heated as their tongues fought for dominance. Oliver’s hands wandered from where they were wrapped around her, one heading straight for her ass to pull her close, the other for the bottom of her top to slip underneath it. 

Felicity groaned as she began to move against him causing Oliver to snap his hips up against hers in response. 

“You know,” Felicity continued, as her hands snuck under her boyfriends top, “I told you I loved you before Nada Parabat.” 

Oliver frowned “Really?" 

“Mmhmm,” Felicity began, trailing kisses down his neck and giggling when he squirmed more beneath her. For a big, scary vigilante he was ticklish. 

"I hadn’t been working with the team long. It was just after I cloned your phone. You had finished with another name on the list and I left you a voicemail explaining I had to go home because my cousin was in town. Well at the end of voicemail I said: love you, Goodnight! And hung up without thinking.” Oliver burst out laughing and Felicity couldn’t help but join in. 

"And I’m guessing you hacked my phone to delete it? Oliver asked. 

“Yup, took all of fifteen seconds but it was the longest fifteen seconds of my life. I thought I was done for.”

Oliver laughed harder before cupping Felicity’s head in his large palm. She groaned and turned into it. And he couldn’t help but think about the first time she did so. He had loved her even then he realised. He had loved her for much longer than he let his heart admit. 

"I don’t think you would have lost me had I heard it Felicity. Sure things would have probably been awkward but the man I was then? I would probably have pretended like nothing even happened.” 

Felicity chuckled, "yeah you’re probably right.”

After a few seconds of staring at each other with eyes blazing with humour, a spark seemed to erupt between them. Oliver grabbed Felicity’s hips and turned to lie her flat against the bed. Felicity groaned. He knew how much that move turned her on.

Oliver’s lips immediately latched onto Felicity’s neck, his stubble scratching lightly at her skin as he made his way down. He got to her top and made short work of pulling it up and over her head so that he could continue on his quest. Felicity felt his length press against her thigh and she moaned again. But Oliver didn’t want to rush this time. Instead he latched onto her right breast with his mouth, his hand finding her left. Felicity immediately began writhing beneath him, the noises she was making spurring him on. He slipped one leg between them so that his thigh was pressed tight against her centre. But it wasn’t enough. 

“Oliver! Please,” Felicity gasped, her hand reaching down for him. “Please,“ she cupped him through his jeans causing him to growl at her.

Pulling back from her breasts he immediately made direct eye contact with her. Their heated gazes locked, burning like an inferno as Oliver tore his pants off whilst Felicity made short work of her own. 

Still not breaking eye contact, Oliver softly linked his thumb into Felicity’s underwear and slowly pulled it down the path of her leg, stopping when it was past her knees. He then got into position on top of her again, one leg at either side of hers, as he quickly pulled the garment all the way down before tossing it onto the floor. Oliver then tore off his top and threw it behind him. He lowered himself back on top of Felicity’s now naked body, grinning with a glint in his eye that Felicity was now recognising as pure happiness. 

Felicity’s hands grabbed his boxers as soon as he was close enough and she pushed them down murmuring “off,” and he was only too happy to oblige. 

Now both completely naked, Oliver leaned down so that his weight was balanced on his knees and his arms which allowed him to cradle Felicity beneath him. He pressed his forehead against Felicity’s and they smiled before their lips met. Dueling, they battled, until Felicity reached between them to align Oliver with where she wanted him. Oliver nipped her bottom lip in retaliation before thrusting inside. 

Felicity gasped, "Oliver!” and he groaned her name in response in her ear. 

Allowing Felicity a few seconds to adjust , Oliver pushed up onto his arms again to give him the momentum to pull back and thrust in fast. He then pulled out again, only to slowly push inside, watching as Felicity’s face transformed into one of pure ecstasy. 

He continued the random rhythm he had set, moving from fast to slow until she linked her feet around his lefs and pulled him down on top of her. 

“Faster Oliver,” she growled in his ear. “And don’t stop this time.” 

Deciding to be merciful, and because he himself was on the brink of losing control anyway, Oliver immediately began snapping his hips down to hers. Soon Felicity was on the edge, he felt her toes curl and her spine tense. Reaching down between them Oliver found her clit and rubbed in fast circles to match his pace. 

“Oliver yes!” Felicity cried out as she finally found release. Oliver snapped his hips against hers one more time before he spilled over after her. 

"I love you,” Oliver told her. He was looking down at her like she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. “And I’ll happily tell you that every day for the rest of our lives." 

Sadly Oliver wouldn’t get to live that promise. Circumstances would tear them apart. Time and time again. But like all good love stories they found their way back to each other in the end. On a strange plane, not defined by time nor space, they found each other once more. And they could say those three words to each other any time they pleased. For eternity. 

AN- I was going to tell the story of the first time Oliver saw her but I felt that it was Oliver’s to tell and the show set it up much better than I could have.

Halloween

Written by @beautifullillis

Gift for @sam-i-am2468

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Word count: 2802

Rating: T

Eddie’s feet hit the sidewalk as he walked towards Bill’s house, where all the Losers were meeting. He was wearing his Spiderman costume he’d picked out, matched with a pair of black converse and the coat his mother made him wear. He felt dumb all of a sudden, all the littler kids he passed didn’t have on a winter coat, none of them were covered in lights and glowsticks so they had no chance in hell of getting run over by a car. All the little kids just skipped along, showing their mom’s the bags of candy they’d acquired in the past half hour. He kept his eyes in front of him from then on, not wanting to get sad over all these little kids who just so happened to have parents that had the stamina to walk blocks upon blocks in order to get as much candy as possible. Ever since he was four Eddie’s mom would ask Bill’s mom to take him trick-or-treating, saying the walk would kill her feet. She didn’t even hand out candy, preferring to stay planted in her chair, as she always did, and watching her shows while eating the family size bag of candy she’d bought at the local supermarket for that night. The thought of it had Eddie shuddering. How can someone sit like that all day? He shook his head, hoping the thought would bounce around on the inside of his skull and get stuck in the crevices of his brain for awhile. 

As Bill’s house came into view towards the end of the street, Eddie let his jacket sag off his shoulders.He was already wearing a pair of long underwear under his costume so the jacket just made him uncomfortably hot. When the others noticed him, they started to wave. “Spaghetti boy, get your ass up here! You’re late!” Richie said with a smile. Eddie eyed his werewolf costume, a pair of ears clipped in his curly hair, fake teeth stuck in and the rags-for-clothes outfits; he’d look kinda scary if his eyes weren’t the size of dinner plates. “Shut the fuck up four eyes, try getting out of my house on time some time. It’s not easy.” Eddie shouldered Richie as he eyes the others around him. Bill was dressed as a Naruto character, wearing a headband and a face mask. Eddie scrunched his nose at the costume, not really one for anime himself but understanding that there was a small Georgie Naruto running around in said character's costume. The next in his line of site was Stan, though the closest thing his culture had was tzedakah, a tradition where jewish children would dress up as sages, princesses, heroes, and clowns and go door to door in their community to ask for donations for the needy, Stan’s father had started letting him go trick-or-treating with his friends about three years ago. Said boy was currently wearing a red and white striped sweater with a beanie and round glasses. He looked kinda cute with the glasses and his curls popping out under the hat. Next was Mike, he was dressed as Frankenstien’s monster, fake stitches here and there along with different parts of his body (like his hand or his neck) painted a couple shades darker or lighter than his original skin tone. Lastly was Ben and Bev, Ben wearing all white with wings and a halo while Bev smiled devilishly next to him in her red and black ensemble, adorning horns and a tail to finish the look. Eddie nodded at all their costumes. “You guys put effort in, I’m proud.” 

Mike and Bill laughed at his joke, Stan rolling his eyes. “Well now that you’re here we can grab George and head out.” Stan said, looking as kids walked towards the front porch they had been standing on. “Too many little brats.” He mumbled and scooted a couple steps back to get out of the way of their grabby hands and sticky fingers. “Yeah, sorry bout that. Mom wanted pictures and all that.” Eddie stepped to the side too, back past richie out the kid's path of terror. 

“Yeah we get it, your mom likes to terrorize you.” Richie said as he swiped a hand through Eddie’s hair. Eddie scowled and stepped away. 

At this point everyone was ready to head out, their thirteen year old bodies ready to consume the sugary goodness that game with the holiday. “Alright m-mm-mom!” Billed yelled through the screen door as the little brats ran past him, back out into the neighborhood. “We’re g-ga-gonna head out.” Bill stuttered as he moved his face mask to talk clearly. “Alright sweetheart, make sure to keep an eye on your brother.” Ms. Denbrough was now at the screen door, opening it for Georgie to slip out. He Naruto ran past the group of preteens and down into the grass to run in circles, gripping the neon green pumpkin-bucket in his hand as he did so. “I’ll m-m-mmm-make sure he never l-leaves m-my sight.” Bill said to his mom, a small salute as he turned to walk down the stairs, his own candy bag in hand. Ms. Denbrough smiled at her son and looked over his group of friends, Bev and Ben following Bill down the stairs as Richie snuck a blowpop from the candy dish. When her eyes found Eddie she frowned. “Are you hot sweetie?” She asked as the small boys still had his coat sagging off his shoulders. “Y-yeah..” Eddie admitted, not sure if Bill’s mom was gonna snitch on him to his own mom. “Why don’t you leave your coat here until you kids get back?” She asked and opened the screen door to grab the garment from Eddie’s hands. Eddie smiled and passed it to her with a big smile. “Thank you!” He smiled up at her, turning to follow all his friends who had made their way to the sidewalk, Georgie laughing as Richie and Bill made fart noises at eachother like the mature eighth graders they were. Eddie caught up to them and smiled, starting to pull glow sticks from around his neck to hand out amongst the group. 

They made their way to the north side of town, hitting as many houses as possible on their way. Georgie’s bucket was almost full as they made it to their destination, the nice side of town. The bigger houses out here were where the new families who came to Derry moved into. The houses were newer, just having been developed in the past five years instead of being around since the 20/30s’ like most if this shitty’s towns buildings. “You ready to get those full size candy bars Eds’?” Richie asked as they strolled up to the first house, his hand brushing Eddie’s, making the smaller of the two blush. Eddie put a scowl on his face, looking up at his lanky friend. “Fuck you. I told you not to call me that.” Eddie mumbled back. Richie just laughed and stepped forward to mess with Bev, leaving Eddie to be sucked into a conversation with Stan and Mike. “That was kinda gay.” Stan whispered to Eddie. “I noticed.” Eddie mumbled as he fell into step with Stan. Mike laughed at the two of them, placing his hand on Stan’s shoulder as they walked. “Talk to him Eddie.” Mike encouraged as they watched Richie and Bev knock on the door of the house’s door. They followed their friends up the house’s steps let out a “Trick-or-Treat!” As they walked back to the sidewalk, Georgie swinging his glow stick around as he and Bill fought about the best Naruto character at the front of the group, Stan, Mike and Eddie still talking about Eddie’s low self esteem at the back. “I’d rather not ruin my friendship like that.” Eddie said as he looked at the full size MilkyWay he was given at the last house. “You never know.” Mike said, looking down at Eddie. “Yeah, for all you know Richie could have just as big a crush on you as you have on him.” Stan said, keeping his voice low as he spoke. Eddie looked at the side of Richie’s face as he spoke to Bev and Ben, Richie ruffling both of their 

heads of hair with a smile. Eddie sighed as he thought about how Richie would pat his head some times, the way it made Eddie’s heart pound and his cheeks warm up as he’d hide his face and scowl at his own feelings. 

They hit a couple more houses before Bill suggested they start to head back, pointing out Georgie’s yawn and saying all the running around must have worn him out. Richie made a joke about how he likes to wear himself out and Bev decked him in the arm. She told him to watch his trashmouth and pushed him to the back of their small group. He landed next to Eddie who was messing with his gloves. “Hey Eds’!” Richie said and threw an arm around the smaller boy. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that.” Eddie mumbled as he looked up to Richie’s eyes. Richie was still smiling when Eddie met hie eyes, as if laughing at something in his own head. “Can I help you?” Eddie asked as he looked to the back of Stan’s hat covered head, not trying to catch Richie’s eyes again after the look he just caught. “Yeah actually,” Richie said as he pulled Eddie into him by the arm around he’d thrown around Eddie’s shoulders. “I wanna talk to you, just us two.” Richie said, patting Eddie’s shoulder before letting go of him all together. He whistled along to the sounds of the monster mash playing from one of the houses, Eddie’s eyes watching him for a couple seconds before looking back at the front of the group. Georgie was in Bill’s arms, his neon green bucket in his hand as he laid his head on Bill’s shoulder and watched all the other children retreating to their homes. His nerves started to get to him the more they walked, Richie putting his two cents in where he thought needed while their friends spoke about the plans for the upcoming weekend. Eddie bit his lip as he thought about all the possible things Richie could want to talk about. This week’s math test? Did he have something in his teeth? Did he lose the comic Eddie had let him borrow? His head was pounding with the possibilities, his feet scraping the ground as he lingered behind. Richie’s whistling never faltered as they came closer to Bill’s house. The blow-up decorations were still on and the fake spiderwebs still covered the porch as they passed the family’s mailbox and headed to the front door. “Well that was a good night!” Bev said happily as she sat on Bill’s steps, pulling Ben down beside her. “It wasn’t horrible.” Stasn said with a shrug, pulling a lollipop from his bag to eat. “Speak for yourself.” Eddie mumbled, no one hearing him as he opened the screen door for Bill. He popped his head in to grab his coat off the hook and smiled at Mrs. Denbrough. “Did you have a good time sweetie?” She asked as she walked towards her older son to grab the younger one from his arms. 

“Y-yuh-yeah. It was f-fffff-fun.” Bill answered as he looked back at Eddie. “Got anything g-guh-g-good?” He asked, pointing to the bag Eddie was carrying. “Yeah, I think I got some caramel popcorn in Jackson.” Eddie said as he opened the bag, pulling out the orange bag of popcorn to show the trio in front of him. “That sounds yummy.” Mrs. Denbrough said as she patted Georgie’s head. “Alright boys, I’m going to put this little gut to bed.” She waved and wished the group of pre-teens goodnight, all of them waving back. “Alright,” Bill started as he led Eddie back out onto the porch and addressed the group. “Let’s m-mm-meet up in t-the cafeteria during b-buh-breakfast time to trade c-cah-cah-candy.” He stretched his arms above his head, hsi own yawn coming out. Bev and Ben stood back up, fingers laced together. “Alrighty.” Bev said and waved at her friends with a big smile on her face, Ben giving a less dramatic wav and a 

sheepish smile. “See you tomorrow then.” She led Ben to the sidewalk before waving one last time and heading towards Ben’s house to walk him home. Stan took a step away from the group next, saluting back to them. “Gotta head home before dad gets worried.” Stan stated, lollipop hanging out of the side of his mouth. “I’ll see you losers tomorrow.” He called out and crossed the street before ducking between to houses to get home faster. Eddie looked at the spiderman wristwatch he’d been gifted for his birthday. “Looks like i should start to head home too.” He said to the three other boys, stepping back and putting his coat back on. “That’s my cue.” Richie said as he winked at Bill. “Gotta make sure the valuables get home safe.” Bill and Mike laughed with Richie at his small joke. Eddie pushed past them and started to walk down the street towards his house. 

Richie’s feet pounded on the sidewalk as he caught up with Eddie. It was dark out now, the only light guiding them was the street lamps shining down and the string lights people had hung up in preparation for tonight. “Slow down shortstack!” Richie called out behind him. Eddie turned to look at him, scowl on his face. “Don’t call me that!” Eddie snapped at him and turned around to keep walking home. Richie just smiled and laughed, clapping a hand down on Eddie’s shoulder. They turned the corner as Richie started to whistle again, the noise frying Eddie’s nerves. They walked in the sound of their mixed footsteps and the high pitched whistling for a couple blocks until they reached the intersection by Eddie’s street. Richie’s hand on his shoulder stopped Eddie from crossing. “Eds’,” Richie started as he looked up at the stars and the moon. “I-I’ve been wanting to tell you something for awhile.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat at the way Richie looked down at him. Richie’s blue eyes flashed with emotions, too fast for Eddie to catch anything other than the seriousness that pooled in them. “What?” Eddie barely got out, throat suddenly dry and cheeks hot. Richie studied his face before looked left and right, making sure no one was around. “Eddie,” He said, his voice softer than usual. Eddie couldn’t think when he looked at him like that. “Richie.” He whispered back, not liking how this was going. Richie would never confess to him, why would he? Richie trashmouth I-talk-about-tits-more-than-anything-else Tozier? Yeah no way Eddie’s feelings were returned! He should walk away. Leave before Richie smells the homosexual radiating off of him. He should run and try to forget it all. Make up an excuse to escape- 

“I like you.” Richie whispered. Eddie’s face heated up and and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see Richie’s face when he started to laugh at him. “That’s not funny Rich!” Eddie yelled at him. “Just cause all the other kids call me a homo doesn’t mean you can make fun of me with that too!” Eddie opened his eyes again, feeling tears start to pool in the corners of them. “Ed-” Richie started, taking a step back and let his arm fall by his side. “No Richie!” Eddie said back to him. “If you’re gonna make fun of me, stick to the regular insults.” Eddie wiped his eyes before the tears could spill. “Eddie.” Richei started again. “I just want to be like all the other boys!” Eddie felt his breath shake “Eddie!” Richie said again. “Did Stan tell you! Does he think this is as funny as you do?” Eddie asked, feeling more weak than ever as he had to look up at Richie. “Eddie!” Richie yelled back at him and grabbed Eddie’s shoulders. “Eddie, this isn’t a joke. I’m not making fun of you.” Richie pushes a couple of Eddie’s brown curls off his forehead. “I really like you.” He whispered and looked into the other boy’s eyes. Eddie just looked up at 

Richie with teary eyes. “Y-you do?” He asked and Richie smiled down at him. “Of course I do.” Richie said with a smile as he cupped one of Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie felt his lower lip tremble. “Wow you’re such a sap.” He said with a smile and a sniffle. Richie laughed at the small boy, thinking of how head over heels he was for him.

Skating Lessons part 10

Summary: Josh’s first big road trip.

Warning: swearing, fighting...

Word count: 2009

Series Masterlist

This was the first long road trip and while Josh texted, called, and facetimed you whenever he wasn’t on the ice or doing team things you missed him.  You watched all of the games curled up on the couch watching Mason reenact what was on the ice.  Mason decided he would wear either his Jones or Anderson jersey depending on how the team did the night before.

"The boy really won’t give up that Jones jersey will he?” You can hear Josh’s voice is tired and you are sure he’s laying in bed about to pass out from the game.

“I mean I’m pretty sure Seth is still his favorite player.”  You giggle over the phone and you hear Josh groan.

“What more do I have to do?”  He laughs a little then grows silent.

“Get some sleep Babe.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  “Okay, and can you stop by my place to put the package in the house?  The tracking number says it will be there by noon.  And don’t open it or it’s going back.”  You agree and let Josh go.

Mason was super excited to head to Josh’s place even without him being there.  Something about the best hiding places.  There is a large box sitting at Josh’s door.  It’s much lighter than you expected when you pick it up.  You take a picture of your fingertip lifting up the flap and send it to Josh.  

Josh: Don’t you dare!  I’ll send it back!

You: The fact that I don’t know what it’s for has me curious

Josh: Us.  And don’t ruin my surprises.  🤨

You look up and cannot seem to find Mason.  After a few moments you find him in what he has deemed the best hiding place ever and head out. He’s bouncing up and down the hall and almost runs into a girl that doesn’t hardly look up from her phone as you quietly say sorry and scold Mason.  You look back as  she keeps heading in the direction you were coming from and as you round the corner you swear she heads right for Josh’s door.  Mason keeps pulling you as you stop to look.  She disappeared into one of the doors.  There weren’t many down that way but shake it off and head down to the parking garage.  There is a car parked in Josh’s other spot where his SUV is normally.  It wasn’t there when you and Mason got to his complex.  You process it but get distracted by Mason’s running commentary on your drive home.  You make your way to the couch to watch another game and your phone vibrates. 

Josh: 2 more sleeps and I’ll be laying next to you.  

You: Yup.  Good luck tonight.

Josh: Yup?  You okay babe?

You: Yes. Don’t you need to get ready? Josh: You are far more important than warmups

Your mind keeps going back to the blonde and the car...and while Josh spends most every waking moment when you aren’t at work with you there is a thought that keeps in your mind.  The comments you had read about his wheeling and others taking note that there was no way a girl like you domesticated Josh Anderson unless you trapped him.  Your fingers typed out your text and hit send before you could stop yourself.

You: are we exclusive?

Josh: Why the fuck would you ask that?  Yes.  I love you and only you.

You: We can talk later.  You need to get out on the ice.

Josh: This convo isn’t over. I LOVE YOU!

Josh: And ONLY you.

You watch the screen as Josh skates on and his face says it all.  Even with the pissed off look on his face he still did Mason’s secret signal.  You notice Nick leaning over him as he stretches and pats him on the back.  The game starts and Josh is a little more aggressive than normal.  He slams anyone in his path into the boards and his shots are off.  You put Mason to bed and finish watching the game alone but texting Bethany.  Then it happened.  You aren’t even sure who the player was but Josh was immediately in his face.  The guy laughs and Josh swings.  Both drop gloves and fists are flying while the refs try to break it up.  You are annoyed at Josh but watching him fight was a slight turn on.

Beth: I’m pretty sure I saw Wilson say your name before Josh decked him.

You reread the text and look up at the screen.  Josh and Tom Wilson were sitting in the penalty box.  Tom with a smirk on his face and Josh’s pissed off look now included a bloody lip.

You: What?  No.

Beth: rewind.  Right before Josh swings Tom is saying something and the last part is your name.

You did and while you saw what Bethany was talking about there was no way that was your name.  You send a text to Josh.

You: I’ll be up when you are done.  

It isn’t long before your phone rings.

“Can you please tell me what you asked if we were exclusive?”  Josh breathes out you can tell he’s pacing his hotel room.

“Josh, why did you get in a fight today?”  You didn’t answer his question because you didn’t want to talk about the blonde and the car.

“I was crowding the crease.”  Josh kind of barked out you.  “You didn’t answer my fucking question (y/n).  WHY did you ask if we were exclusive?”

“I don’t think you were crowding the damn crease Josh.  And are we?” There is a snap to your voice that Josh has never heard.

“If you don’t know we are exclusive I’m not sure how I can prove it to you.  I mean I fought Tom Wilson today because of you so...” He trails off.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Tom Wilson kept chirping about you and I snapped.”  You hear the plop of Josh’s body hitting the bed and the groan out of his mouth meant he was hurting from his scuffle.

“Josh, what DO you mean chirping about...me?”  Your voice cracks at the idea.

“He was being an ass like always.  Seth told him to back off but I think it just fueled him.”  He groans again as you hear him shuffle.

“But...why...how...I don’t understand.  Are you hurt?”  Your mind races.

“I mean I’m a little sore but nothing a cold tub and biofreeze won’t fix.  I wish I was snuggled up to you though.”  Josh pauses and you let the silence happen.  “So does this prove that it’s you and only you?  Who or what made you think we weren’t exclusive?  Did someone DM you?  I told you not to look at the comments.  I sure as hell don’t.”  You remain silent taking in the whole afternoon.

“I’m pretty sure I saw a blonde heading towards your apartment today.  There was a car in your spot when Mace and I left too.  Josh, is there someone else?  I’ve let down all my guards because I trust...” Josh cuts you off.

“(y/n), stop.  There is no one else.  There will be no one else.  I love you more than anything.  I don’t know who the blonde was but she wasn’t in the building for me.”  He groans again and you don’t push it but you feel your walls slightly go up.

“I’ll see you in two days.”  You whisper because your mind was racing.  And it raced the whole next day.

Josh: Meet me at my place.  We are flying in from Pittsburgh after the game.  I need you in my bed.

You look up from the text to Mason and Bethany who are sitting across from you eating at one of the new restaurants she’s been begging you to try.

“You are blushing.”  Beth looks at you then back to the coloring page in front of Mason.  “You do that a lot now.”  She eyes you again and you go back to text Josh.

You: Yes.

You simply text and go back to your conversation.  You hear chatter from behind you and giggles.  “Ask her.  Ask her.”  You look up and two girls are standing at your table.  “Are you Josh Anderson’s girlfriend?”  One of the girls asks.  

“Uh, yeah.  How do you...” You start and the other cuts you off.

“We are big fans.  Would you mind getting a picture?”  You look over at Bethany and Mason.  Beth’s mouth was hanging open and Mason didn’t even look up from his coloring page.  You stand and take a selfie with the girls.  They thank you and you sit back down.

“Um...” Bethany stares at you. “Did that just happen?”  You just stare at her.  “Like those were fans that recognized YOU.”  

“Yeah.  That’s never happened.  I just don’t know.  Amy said it comes with time.  This whole thing.”  You stared at your phone not knowing what to do. “And there you go again talking about Queen of Hockey Mom’s like she’s your bff.”  Bethany tries to break you out of your trance.  It sort of works.  

You drive over to your parents to watch the game and get Mason tucked in before heading to Josh’s after the end of the game.  You wondered if he would text you after the loss.

Josh: Getting on plane.

You: Sitting on your couch.

You snuggle in a turn on Devils Wears Prada waiting for Josh to get home.  The door opens and you hear his bag hit the floor.  You sit up and he’s stripped off most of his suit before reaching you.  

“Can you really think there is anyone else (y/n)?”  His lips are on your neck before you have are even standing.  Josh shakes off his pants and continues, “why am I almost naked and you still have all your clothes on?” He tugs off your cardigan.   “You did all that yourself.”  You breath in sharply as Josh crowds you again.

“You are so damn sexy.”  He scrapes his teeth down your neck again.  

“Josh can we talk?  You had fans that came up to me while I was out with Beth and Mace.”  Josh pulls you in and tugs again at the hem of your shirt.  You push him back again.  “I’m going to need coffee if we aren’t sleeping tonight.”  You break away and pad to the kitchen to start some coffee.  Josh follows you and you notice the bruise on rib cage.  Your fingers grace the area.

“it doesn’t really hurt.”  He leans into you.  “And did these fans take your picture?”  He stops to look at you.  

“Yeah, I took a selfie with them.  Did this Tom guy really talk about me?”  You stare at Josh and he shakes his head.  You flinch.  Josh cups your face and kisses you gently.  “Oh, Mason made you something.”  You break away and head to the door.  Leaning down to grab your bag all of a sudden Josh’s door opens and the girl you saw the other day is standing there. 

“Are you FUCKING kidding me?  I...I....”  You look at the girl as you hear Josh move from the kitchen.  You don’t give him the change to speak.  “I cannot do this.”  Your eyes are watering and all you here is Josh yelling out your name to stop.  Your phone vibrates as you almost run to your car.  Tears falling down your face.  Josh is at your car door as you fumble.  You cannot hear him through the pounding in your ears.  You look down at your phone where there is a picture of Josh talking to a girl while they were in Florida.  Josh is begging you to get out of the car.   “(y/n), what the hell?  That’s my...”  You cut Josh off and point your phone at him.

“Had a fun roadie huh?”  You snap at him and don’t give him time to respond before you pull your car in reverse and see Josh standing in his boxers with his hands in his hair.

A Pirates Life For Me

There were three things all pirates feared.

The dreaded Galra armada.

Running out of rum.

And the mermaids that followed their ships just waiting to drag down any sailor unfortunate enough to fall into the water.

The voltron pirates considered themselves the acception to the rule as Hunk had long since figured out how to always get them a supply of rum and the Galra ran from them in fear.

Even the dreaded mers never seemed to bother them, leaving the ship and her passengers untouched.

Everyone had their own theories about why this was with Hunk and Pidge believing the type of wood their ship was made from had somthing to do with it.

Their captain, Shiro thought I was because they tossed their old food over board and the rotten smell made them stay away.

Keith thought it was because of the one time he fell over board during a storm.

“I’m telling you guys I got the ugly bastard right across the back!” Keith demonstrated by slashing at the air in front of him. “It was so surprised it threw me back onto the ship.”

“Sure buddy whatever you say” Lance laughed leaning over the edge of the crowd nest that he had long since claimed as his own.

“It’s true! I scared all the mermaids off!” Keith yelled glaring up at him.

“You gotta admit it seems pretty hard to believe” Hunk smiled sheepishly “no one even saw you fall into the water.”

“But it’s true” Keith yelled tugging at his hair in frustration.

“Look mullet if it means so much to you I’ll say you fought off an entire fleet of mermaids to keep us safe.” Lance winked blowing a kiss down to him.

Keith grumbled but was too caught off guard by the display of affection from his beloved to really care.

“Whatever the reason for them ignoring us we have to be smart with the advantage it gives us. Mainly that I think we could pass trough Altea point.

The ship fell silent at the captains words.

Altea point was the fasted rout to smugglers cover that supposedly held treasure beyond their wildest dreams. But anyone that got too close found their ships smashed against the rocks that filled the waters lured to their deaths by the mermaids songs.

“Shiro you can’t be serious.” Lance was the first to speak grabbing a rope and sliding down to the deck with the others “that’s suicide.”

“I hate to say this but Lance has a point” Pidge added.

“Hey!”

She ignored his complaints and instead rolled out the map and examined it closely “Even if the mermaid may leave us alone that doesn’t mean we can get around the rocks or the unpredictable current.”

Hunk leaned over and tapped a clear area “what if we approached from here though? The currents fast but in one direction. So long as we follow it we should be able to get through.”

Lance watched in horror as his friends seemed to decide this as their course of action.

“Wait! Wait you all can’t be seriously considering this?!” He looked to Keith hoping he would at least back him up.

Instead all he saw was a look of excitement for adventure in his eyes.

Lance sighed “fine... but if we die I’m so haunting your asses.”

A round of cheers erupted and everyone began preparations for the passing.

All except Lance, who quickly climbed back to the crows nest to hide from the rest of the crew.

It wasn’t until the sun had long since set did Keith come to find him.

Climbing into the small secluded spot with a bottle of rum as an offering which Lance took and took a few gulps from.

“You want to tell me what’s got you so upset?” Keith asked settling in next to Lance watching the stars.

“Other then us heading right for the most dangerous place in the entire ocean?” Lance laughed bitterly “other than that little fact I’m just fine.”

“Lance... please I know there’s more to it” Keith turned Lance’s face towards him brushing his thumb across his jaw line. “Please.”

Lance sighed as he scooted closer and rested his head against Keith’s shoulder.

“The Altea point is where I watched my parents die.”

The news startled Keith so much it took everything he had not to jump up and stare at his beloved. Instead he hummed in acknowledgment, a soft way of encouraging Lance to continue.

“I was only a little kid at the time and we had all gone to the passing together but... we didn’t know we were being followed. One minuet everything was fine and then there was blood and screaming and then... then I woke up in chains on a Galra slave ship. They scooped me out of the water and sold to whoever was buying. They passed me around as a pretty trinket until you guys saved me.” Lance grew more and more quiet as he buried his face into Keith’s chest “I... I don’t want to lose you guys because of what could happen there.”

Keith’s fingers began to slowly run themselves through Lance’s hair. “I promise you. No matter what happens I will always love you. And I will always save you.”

Lance didn’t answer, instead he hugged Keith a little tighter content to just lay there with him.

It took a few days traveling before they finally made it.

The Altea passing and the most dangerous part of the entire ocean.

Ship wrecks marked the way like clouds filled the sky on a shady day.

The ship was quiet, no one able to bring themselves above a whisper as they passed the monument to just how many lives had been lost in the name of adventure.

“Here comes the current” Pidge announced as the ship began to rock violently side to side.

Everyone scrambled to their stations fighting against the ocean Itself to stay afloat.

It seemed like hours and more scrapes and bumps then they were comfortable with but finally the current slowed and they found themselves in calm water just on the other side of the deadly passing.

Applause erupted from the crew, everyone yelling and celebrating, all to busy to notice how the water in front of them swirled and a giant woman with hair as white as sea foam and eyes as blue as the sky rose up blocking their way.

Her giant hands grabbing hold of the sides of the ship looking down at it like a child would a play thing.

“Ready the canons!” Shiro yelled but was drowned out by a screech from the mermaid.

“They canons won’t do any good” Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him into a kiss “time to keep up with your promise” he winked as he ran towards the mermaid.

Keith’s eyes widened sure Lance was about to sacrifice himself with a flash of blue surrounded his body.

Where Lance once stood now was replaced by a merman with hair as white as sea foam, eyes and tail blue as the sky and a face that they all knew as Lance’s

“I am Prince Allance of the south waters! I was stolen from here as a child and these humans saved me!”

The crew could only watch in shock as the giant mermaids expression turned from one of confusion to unadulterated joy.

A pink light surrounded her blinding everyone for a moment.

When it died down she had shrunk and was now hugging Lance like her life depended on it.

“My dear little brother I thought you were dead.” She cried.

Lance chuckled “sorry about that Allura... they cut off my fin I could swim him but I wanted to see you everyday.”

Keith finally stepped forwards his eyes finally falling to a scar across his back “you were the one to save me... during that storm and I...” Keith covered his mouth in horror “oh god Lance I hurt you.”

Allura bared her teeth at him but was stopped by Lance who simply laughed “you didn’t know it was me dummy. For all you knew I was trying to kill you. Now quick moping and meet my sister. She should meet my beloved... as long as you guys don’t mind I’m not human.”

Shiro frowned “lance did you risk not ever being able to come home to your family because you were scared we wouldn’t want you anymore?”

When Lance nodded he was promptly tacked to the floor with a hug from his captain.

Hunk and Pidge quickly joined in while Keith wormed his way closest so he could kiss Lance on the lips.

“We all love you because your Lance, we don’t care if your human or mermaid. Your still you and your still part of this crew.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh as he looked around, he was surrounded by family, some he had thought he had lost a life time ago, some he had found along the way and some he intended to make his husband some day.

From that point on there were four things all pirates feared.

The dreaded Galra armada.

Running out of rum.

The mermaids that followed their ships.

And the Prince of the ocean that if any creature of the sea or land should harm would have to face the furry of the queen of the mermaids and the Voltron Pirates.

Like a Building Fell on Him

winterhawk

~2.7k

Pacing is not easy in a hospital room, even in the oversized versions they have in the Tower, but Bucky manages to do it anyway. He’d started out sitting in the chair by the bed, but that had lasted about four minutes. He couldn’t sit still.

Clint is still enough for both of them.

How had this happened? No one could tell Bucky. No one had been there to see. Bucky had been on the other side of the building, dealing with some sort of robots. Tony thought they’d been remotely controlled, but they’d been enough of a pain in the ass, no matter if they’d been AI or not. Bucky and Steve had been knocked around plenty...but neither one of them ended up in a hospital bed.

Clint though… He’s got a bandage wrapped around his head, although the nurse who keeps coming in to check on him keeps reassuring Bucky that there is no concussion. The “this time” isn’t spoken, but is evident in her pursed lips. He’s got a bruise under his right eye, his right arm is broken, he’s got several cracked ribs, and his right ankle is broken too.

And there are so many cuts and scrapes. He looks like a building fell on him.

Which, of course, is exactly what had happened.

*

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Steve says from the doorway.

“Are you kidding? Have you ever heard one of Tony’s ‘superior materials’ lectures? Even I couldn’t damage this floor just by walking on it. Not in a single afternoon, at least.”

Steve stops his restless pacing with a hand clasp to the shoulder. “You really should get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, Buck. But he’s got good doctors and nurses to take care of him. It’s hardly your responsibility--”

“I promised Natasha I’d have his back while she was gone.” There’s a hollow quality to his voice, even he can hear it.

“Bucky. This wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky waves him off. “I know. But I can at least be here when he wakes up. Nat would be, if she was here.”

Without a word, Steve walks out of the room. Bucky looks through the empty doorway, surprised. But he shouldn’t have been. In three minutes Steve is back, carrying another chair and a deck of cards. “You can at least let me keep you company for awhile.”

*

Bucky is asleep in the chair when Clint wakes up.

“Bucky? ’ssat you?”

Clint’s voice is weak and his words slur together, but he’s definitely awake.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice is rough as gravel, sticky with sleep. “Hey, Barton. Was starting to worry. Too much beauty sleep and you might beat me out in the next Prettiest Avenger competition.”

Clint starts to smile, then grimaces. “Fuck, tha’ hurs. Ow. It all hurs.”

“Shh, don’t try to move, alright? I talked to the doctor, you’re going to be fine. You just need time to heal.” He’s already pushing the call button when he says, “I’ll get a nurse to give you some more pain meds and you can go back to sleep.”

The smile starts to creep across Clint’s features again but Bucky holds up a finger. “None of that. You can do all the smiling you want in a day or so. For now, just rest.”

“You gon’ ssay?”

Clint’s looking up at him like a puppy waiting for a scratch behind the ears. Something flutters in Bucky’s chest, and he suddenly wonders why Natasha asked him in particular to have Clint’s back.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and Clint’s face relaxes into an easy smile. Bucky’s not sure if it’s his answer or the pain meds the nurse just pushed into his iv, but Clint looks genuinely happy. The pain meds seem to be working, anyway, if he can smile without pain. “Yeah, I’ll stay,” he says. “Just go to sleep.”

Clint nods, his face solemn once again. Then he yawns, says, “I nee’ta sleep now. An’ you ‘ave pretty eyes. Like ’em.”

Bucky just stares, unsure how to react to that. He keeps thinking, Yeah, but so do you, but he’s not sure if he can just say that. In the end it doesn’t matter; while Bucky is arguing with himself, Clint drifts back to sleep.

*

The next time Clint wakes up he’s a bit more coherent, but not much.

“Nat?” he says. Then slightly more frantic, “Nat? I can’t--”

Bucky tries not to startle him, but he’s got to get his attention somehow and obviously talking won’t do it. He takes Clint’s grasping hand as gently as he can, but the man still jumps and tries to pull away.

Understandable.

But Bucky doesn’t let go. He carefully unfolds Clint’s fingers and drops the aids into his palm. Making sure Clint is looking at him he says and signs at the same time, “I took them out after you fell asleep. Figured it was probably more comfortable.”

Clint nods, then slips the aids into place. He winces at the pain on the right side of his head but doesn’t make a sound of complaint.

“Where’s Nat?” he asks.

“On a mission. Has been since last week. You don’t have a concussion, it must just be the drugs muddling your thoughts.”

He nods, grimacing again. “Yeah. Brain isn’t too clear.”

“How’s the pain?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at the non-answer.

“What’re you doing here?”

Bucky shrugs. “Drew the short straw.”

Clint’s eyes flutter closed before Bucky can parse out the look he sees in them.

He stands up to start pacing again--this room is just too small--when he hears a whispered, “Thanks,” from the bed.

“Anytime,” he says, but Clint is already asleep.

*

“You’re still here? I thought you guys worked in shifts or something.”

Bucky looks up from his book, a smile on his face. “Nah. They all figured I don’t need much sleep, so I got the full time job,” he says as well as signs.

Before Clint can ask he sweeps the aids from the bedside table and sets them in his open palm. Clint’s look is thankful and genuine.

“Feeling better?”

Clint shifts his body around on the bed, trying out various muscles and body parts. “Still hurts, but it’s better. Head’s not pounding quite so bad.” He lifts his right arm and glares at the cast. “Fuck. I hate when I hurt my arms. Messes with my practice schedule for weeks.”

Suddenly every worry, every frustration Bucky’s had for the past twenty or so hours bubbles to the surface. “That’s what you’re worrying about? What the hell were you doing down there anyway, Barton? That area had been swept and cleared. None of those weird robots, no threats at all. And we were both on the same comm link. You knew as well as I did that the building was unstable. We were all warned away from there. What the hell came over you?”

Clint recoils a bit at the force of Bucky’s words, surprise on his face. “There was--”

“This had better not be an excuse.” Bucky’s voice is tight, cold. He’s not sure why everything’s coming out as anger.

Clint looks Bucky square in the eyes. “There was a kid down there. A little girl.”

“A kid.” It comes out of Bucky in a whoosh, like he’d been punched in the gut. “Is she...did you save her?”

And then Clint has the nerve to fucking grin. “Look at me, Barnes. I used my body to shield a kid from a falling wall. Pretty sure I’d look better than this if I’d just let her get hurt.” Seeing Bucky’s glare, he softens his look and his tone. “She’s fine. I took the brunt of the debris. She had a few scrapes, and I may have bruised her when I grabbed her and braced myself over top of her, but she was okay enough to run for help after everything finished falling. Though she may have just gone home, she was plenty scared. She was only nine or ten. What was she doing out on that street alone anyway?” He stares somewhere past Bucky’s shoulder, lost in thought.

“Barton!” Clint’s eyes snap back to Bucky’s. “Have you lost your damn mind? You jumped in front of a falling building. You could have died!” Bucky doesn’t understand why he’s so angry, why he’s yelling at Clint for saving a child’s life. Of course it had been the right thing to do. But still he keeps going. “Did you think at all? Did you even consider--”

He sees Clint’s eyes then, surprised and hurt and confused.

And then he can’t be confined in the hospital room any longer. There’s nothing to say to salvage the mess he’s made, so he just closes his mouth and storms out.

*

Clint spends the rest of the day trying to sweet-talk the nurses into letting him leave. Unfortunately, after all his escape attempts, successful and otherwise, they’re on alert and immune to his charms. They bring him a crutch when he needs the bathroom but are careful to take it when they leave, and he’s not getting far on a broken ankle. Not without help.

So when Steve shows up after dinner he thinks maybe his white knight has arrived. He grins and says, “You here to bust me out of here?”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I brought you coffee, though.”

“Coffee,” Clint says, holding the cup under his nose and breathing in the scent. Those are not tears in his eyes. His eyes are watering from the steam.

They sit together for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft noises of the hospital machines and Clint sipping his coffee. After a bit Steve says, “He didn’t leave this room the whole time you were unconscious.”

Clint doesn’t say anything.

“He says it was because Natasha asked him to watch your back, that she would have stayed if she’d been here.” He gives Clint a long look. “I don’t think that was it, though. At least, not entirely.”

Still Clint just waits, unsure what Steve is getting at.

“You really scared him,” Steve says. “More than he expected. More than he understands.”

Clint swallows.

Steve looks at him, his gaze level. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. His voice is unexpectedly rough. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Relaxing a bit, Steve says, “Good.” Then he smiles conspiratorially. “Wanna get out of here?”

*

When Bucky hears the knock he glares at the door. “Go away, Stevie,” he growls. “I’m not in the mood for your lecture. I’m not going back down to medical and nothing you say will change my--”

Even though he tells him to go away, he opens the door. Because it’s Steve, and they’ve been friends for too long.

Only it’s not Steve standing outside the door. It’s Clint.

So he trails off mid-thought, and finishes the only way he possibly can. “Fuck.”

And there’s that grin again. “I thought maybe we could just talk,” Clint says. “And maybe I could sit down? I snuck out of medical--”

“Again? Dammit Barton--”

“Don’t start yelling at me again, Barnes. Just let me in and give me a place to sit. And maybe some coffee?”

Bucky makes a show of looking at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost eight at night. I am not giving you caffeine.”

The face Clint makes almost changes Bucky’s mind. Almost. Instead he says, “Water. Or juice.”

Clint makes another tragic face, but says, “Water please.”

Bucky turns and walks into the apartment. After two steps he hears a crash behind him.

Clint is a tumbled mess on the floor just inside the doorway. “A little help?” He looks up at Bucky, a smile on his lips but pain in his eyes. “When Steve busted me out he forgot the crutches.”

Laugh or scream? Honestly, it could go either way.

Instead, Bucky growls, “You should be in that hospital bed.” But he belies his words by gently scooping Clint into his arms.

“Hey, I can walk,” he squawks.

“Yeah, you did real well with that. Just shut up and let me carry you.”

He shuts up.

After Bucky deposits Clint (softly, even though part of him wants to drop him, because he fucking deserves it) on the sofa he goes to the kitchen for some water. When he comes back Clint is smiling at him--that laid back, easy smile--and Bucky nearly dumps the contents of both glasses onto his smiling face. But again he controls himself, and silently hands Clint his glass. Clint takes a drink, dramatically sighs at the “not coffee-ness” of the water, then looks up at Bucky.

“Aren’t you going to sit down? My neck is going to hurt worse than it already does if I have to look up at you looming over me.”

Bucky sits down on the far end of the sofa. “You should still be in medical,” he says.

“You’ve already made your feelings on that pretty clear,” Clint says. “But Steve and I thought this was more important.”

“Steve. Always meddling,” Bucky mutters.

“Sounds like Nat,” Clint says. Bucky can’t tell if he’s laughing or commiserating.

There is about a minute of uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable on Bucky’s end, anyway. He won’t even let himself look at Clint. He doesn’t want to start yelling at him again. Yelling at him when he wants to be…

But that’s the problem. He’s too muddled around those clear, bright eyes that see so sharply and that always smiling mouth and…

Oh.

And then Clint interrupts his racing thoughts. “Steve told me--” He stops, abruptly. “No, that’s not what I want to say. Can I start over?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice broken and strained.

“I’m always gonna jump in front of a wall to save a kid. Or anyone who needs saving, really. It’s what I do. It’s what you do too, right?”

Bucky grunts. He wants to say that he’s got accelerated healing and other enhancements, but he knows this isn’t the time. He just listens.

“But...maybe next time I’ll call for backup first. Or at least call in to let everyone know what’s going on. If, ah, if there’s someone on the other end who wants to know.”

His mouth suddenly dry, Bucky takes a drink of his water before trying to speak. “There is,” he says. He finally lets himself look at Clint. The easy grin is gone, replaced by a look so open and genuine it almost frightens Bucky.

“I didn’t realize,” Clint says.

“Neither did I,” says Bucky.

Without taking his eyes from Clint’s, Bucky takes both glasses and puts them on the coffee table.

He scoots across the sofa, angled towards Clint, close enough that they’re almost touching.

“The first time you woke up, when you were really gone on painkillers, you told me I have pretty eyes.”

Clint reaches up with his not-injured arm and tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “You do. I don’t remember saying it before, but you do.” His hand continues on through Bucky’s hair, and he grips the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him closer. When their mouths are just a breath apart, he says, “Okay, Buck?”

Bucky’s brain, his body, his every nerve ending, is screaming yes. His traitor mouth says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

And then Clint is laughing again, and Bucky is falling. Not physically--his body is still on the sofa--but his heart flips over and his stomach lurches and he knows before their lips even touch that he is well and truly gone for Clint Barton. “I don’t remember injuring my mouth, Bucky. We’ll just have to save anything more strenuous for later.” And then he fucking winks. But before Bucky can say anything about it their mouths are pressed together and every other thought disappears, because oh, this is what he’s been missing.

19 and s2 flinthamilton :)

EDIT: it’s been pointed out to me that this was meant to be flintham but i misread the ask and it ended up as silverflint??? i’m so sorry?? this is why i shouldn’t do things while i’m sick it’s like my brain only half works

oh my god this was a hard one…i changed the dialogue slightly but the sentiment is the same sdkljghasdkgj

inspired by that one description of flint’s cabin in some early script that mentioned a half painted landscape 

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

It’s dark and dusty in the hold, and beyond that absolutely stifling. Silver’s sweating through his shirt after spending two minutes in the cramped room. Why he’s been asked to look through the stores on the Warship is something of a mystery: Flint had asked for him within minutes of returning with the Ashe girl, and instead of asking him to corral the men or take a headcount, like Silver had expected, he’d sent him below deck without a moment’s hesitation. 

Silver suspects that Flint wants his prying eyes and inquisitive mind away from the Barlow woman for as long as possible. He can’t blame the Captain, really: he’d do the same, if he were trying to maintain some mystery. 

He can’t say he particularly minds, despite the physical discomfort; better here than in the galley with Randall.  Even further, Silver would rather not spend too much time with Flint at the moment. Despite the many years of practice he’s had of self-serving double crossing, standing in Flint’s presence so soon after he’d betrayed him had made Silver uneasy. Something almost like guilt had begun to settle in his belly.

Perish the thought. 

Billy comes down just as he’s finishing his task, only one crate left to sort through. 

“What’s in that, then?” Billy asks, peering over the siding.

“A few jars of paint, I think,” Silver says, double checking the checklist hanging on the wall. 

“You should bring that to the Captain’s cabin. Call it a peace offering. Can’t have you glaring at Flint all the time, after all.”

Silver stares at Billy as if he’s grown two extra heads. “I’m sorry, you want me to put the paint where?”

“Look, Flint’s a bastard. I’m sure whatever he said to make you so cross with him was fucked up. But if the rest of the crew realizes how angry you are with him, it’s going to make our lives a lot more difficult.”

Silver doesn’t think the crew cares quite that much what he thinks of Flint, but he’s still stuck on the paint. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand what paint has to do with any of this.”

“Flint’s a painter. Back on the Walrus, if you’d bothered to pay attention, you’d have seen all those half-finished canvases scattered around.”

Silver had seen the canvases, but for whatever reason he’d never quite made the connection between the artwork itself and Flint as an artist.

Billy moves on, asking about Logan, about how Muldoon is taking his friend’s sudden departure, but Silver’s participation in the conversation is half-assed, at best. 

He remembers seeing the paintings, he remembers thinking they were slightly out of place in a pirate captain’s cabin, but he cannot for the life of him remember what was on the canvases. Were they landscapes or portraits? Romantic or realist? Good or bad?

He has no idea, and he’s burning with curiosity. 

It is this curiosity more than anything else that leads him to Flint’s cabin after dinner, the paints in one hand and the other hovering just over the closed door. 

“You could just knock, you know,” an amused voice comes from behind him, and he whirls around to see Mrs. Barlow watching him with a smirk. 

“I was going to,” he insists, though he feels himself color slightly at her raised brow.

“Well, no need to knock now,” she replies, and with that she simply walks in, holding the door open behind her. “Come along, Mr. Silver.”

Silver’s surprised that she knows who he is, but he’s distracted almost immediately as Flint stands abruptly at the sight of him, the heavy desk chair scraping loudly along the wood.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Flint demands, and (though he doesn’t break eye contact with Flint) he could swear he hears Barlow let out a put-upon sigh. 

Silver thrusts the box of paint out in front of him as if it could shield him from Flint’s irritation. “I brought you these.”

And Flint - Flint actually looks surprised at that, like the last thing he’d ever expected from Silver was a gift. Silver doesn’t want Flint to think he likes him or anything, though, so he’s quick to elaborate.

“I found them in the hold, and Billy mentioned that you like to paint. I figured they’d be better off here in your possession than gathering dust in hold.”

“Oh, how thoughtful, Mr. Silver. James so rarely paints, now, hardly ever has the patience for it. When was the last time you did something other than just a charcoal sketch?” The longer Barlow speaks, the more Flint’s eye twitches. It’s truly a fascinating cause-and-effect relationship.

“I must say, Captain, I never took you for such an artistic soul. I’d love to see your work, sometime,” Silver says, like the shit he is, because he wants to see if he can make that vein on Flint’s forehead start to pulse.

He can.

“Fuck off, Silver,” Flint says, but when Barlow clears her throat pointedly, He sighs, then continues. “Thank you, Mr. Silver. Now, please fuck off.”

Silver laughs, then walks forward to place the paints on the desk. Before he can turn to leave, though, Mrs. Barlow starts to talk again.

“James, why don’t we go for a walk on the upper decks? It’s a lovely night, and it’s been ever so long since I’ve been able to look upon the sea in such a manner,” she offers Flint her arm, and the look her companion gives her seems to be a strange mix of guilty, fond, and exasperated. It’s amazing, how expressive Flint is when he’s around her. 

“Fine. Silver, put that box in the empty space on that bottom shelf, will you?” Flint points to the bookcase in the corner, then loops his arm through hers. Before they leave though, Barlow catches Silver’s eye, looking between him and a leather-bound book on the far table pointedly.  Silver nods his understanding, brow furrowed slightly; why would Barlow purposefully point him toward something Flint clearly does not wish to share?

Still, Silver’s always been a nosy son-of-a-bitch, and so as soon as they’re gone he all but shoves the paints away and picks up what he assumes is Flint’s sketchbook.

It’s clear that he’s only just started using it, probably having found it after taking the Warship. The first three or four pages are detailed seascapes, vibrant and lively even in black charcoal. Flint’s gifted. Out of practice, Silver can tell, but good.

Interspersed between the landscapes are little portraits, some barely more than the bare-bones of a person’s face, and some intricate and life-like. At first, it’s mostly Mrs. Barlow, in various states of repose. There’s one of her naked, and Silver nearly tears the page in his haste to turn it, cheeks aflame. 

Then there’s a neat little sketch of Eleanor Guthrie, a scribbled out Gates, a kind-looking man Silver doesn’t recognize, and then -

Him.

Silver feels his brows raise, taken aback. 

It was clearly drawn after one of his earliest addresses: the Silver on the page has a bloody nose, and his teeth, bared in a mean grin, are stained dark as well. It really does look just like him, Silver thinks, and he notices absently that Flint seems to have put the most effort into getting his hair just right.

Maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised: they’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets these past few weeks, and it makes sense that Flint would simply sketch what he’s been exposed to.

The next page is him, too: this time in profile, frowning slightly. The page after that is a full-body sketch from behind; he wouldn’t be sure it was him, if it weren’t for the hair and that old cropped jacket he’d left behind.

He flips through the next seven pages, until he reaches where Flint’s sketches end. Every sketch, loose or detailed, small or large, on the most recent ten pages, are of Silver: silver laughing; Silver dripping wet after swimming to the Warship; Silver pouting; Silver playing with his hair; Silver smirking; Silver climbing up the rigging…over and over again, Flint has spent his free time not only sketching him, but thinking of him.

Silver doesn’t know what to make of that. He closes the sketchbook, cheeks red and mind reeling, and only barely remembers to put the paints where he’d been asked to before slipping out of the cabin.

He doesn’t understand why Flint has fixated on him in his artistic pursuits, as he’s fairly certain the man can hardly stand him. Maybe, at most, he finds him aesthetically pleasing (something Silver would never have presumed before seeing that sketchbook), but that is a far cry from tolerating or even liking him.

Silver decides, for the time being, to put this aside. He’s got Vincent and Nicholas to deal with, and he can already tell that they’re going to be the cause of most of his troubles along this journey.

But when he spots Flint standing with Barlow and the Ashe girl on the upper deck, illuminated by the full moon, he can’t help but wish the captain had made a self-portrait. Silver can’t say he would have minded taking it; he has no artistic talent of his own, after all, and surely that would be the only way to find a likeness of Flint.

He thinks he can almost understand Flint’s urge to put pen to page, if only to preserve the memories of the ones who so define the world around him. There’s some small part of him that would have liked something by which to remember Flint, so that he might never forget that fierce look in his eyes, the sharpness of his brow, the jut of his cheekbones. He’s been nothing but vexing and confusing, yes, but James Flint is unlike anyone he’s ever known. 

Silver will think of him, and his violent, artist’s hands, long after he leaves this rotten Warship behind.

send me a number!

New Book: Chapter Twelve

I’M STILL SORRY

But also, not going to leave you on that chapter.  Here’s the next.

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Thirteen

It turned out there were things to enjoy about the sea. 

Rev was perched near the very top of the tallest mast (the main), feet balanced across the short beams that spread horizontally around the point where the next-highest mast began (the crosstrees).  A sailor fluent in Sivery, and taken more with Rev’s enthusiasm than with Rev, had told him he was perched in the ‘main t’gallant crosstrees.’  That sailor also told him that he was under no circumstances to climb a mast up, and thereby put himself on the ‘main royal crosstrees.’ That was just for real sailors, he said, but he said it with the somewhat disbelieving scowl that Rev knew indicated the sailor had already resigned himself to the fact that it was only a matter of time before Rev did it anyway.

It was glorious.  The wind whipped around him, pushing and swirling like it was the living thing legends said it was – only rather than the breath of some bastard-god, it was like a great bounding puppy, a hound too big for heeling.  So high up, the gentle sway of the ship was a precarious rocking, always leaning as if the ship wanted to keep Rev warned there was water down below.  For the first time in days, he could hardly hear the water. 

He hadn’t noticed that the first few times he’d gone up, but then again, the first few times, he hadn’t gone so high, and always had either Anik or Thespasian beside him, feeding him translations of the signal flags.

“Donkey,” Thespasian shouted, fighting the wind whipping his voice away.  “What does Jatin say?”

Thespasian had started calling Rev that in moments of extreme peevishness.  Rev didn’t mind, as he usually drove Thespasin into those moments just for entertainment.  He’d learned all sorts of new Baathian insults.

Jatin was in charge of the division responsible for the majority of the Baathian artillery.  Rev swung his spyglass up (he was getting good at this, whipping it about in a neat arc that both brought it to his eye and caused it to extend.  Thespasian hated it – he said Rev was going to dislodge the lenses – but it made Anik laugh).  Jatin’s ship was a great cow, waddling somewhat behind them, and tacking awkwardly around the paths of the other ships.  The sailors tended to make jokes about Jatin’s ship that Rev didn’t understand (not that he was supposed to understand anything). 

She was last found three points abaft the starboard quarter; she’d gained some, now three points abaft the beam (Rev’s uncle hadn’t had any such fun terminology).  Rev mouthed the meanings of the flags strung up her masts as he read them.

“Jatin is bringing croutons to your salad party.”

“Siveric ass.”

Rev grinned, not that anyone could see it.  “Jatin says the landing point will do, provided his fat cow of a ship can get to it without scraping her ass off.”

“...Rev.”

“No, really,” Rev glanced down to the fighting top, where Thes stood and peered up at him.  “If you read all the flags he hung over the side of the ship, that’s what it says.  He had to spell out things like ‘cow’ and ‘ass.’”

He could see Thes consider, then shrug in acquiescence. 

“I might like Jatin,” Rev called, laughing like a gull.  “That’d be a shame.”

“Sadly, yes, you would, probably,” he shouted up.  “I suppose that’s it until we anchor.  Does Bohdan have any last words?”

Rev grinned to himself at the phrase, but brought up his spyglass to search.  Bohdan was in a fancy yacht that had been piddling back and forth across the fleet for days.  It was well capable of outstripping the whole of them, and jogged back and forth as they raced ahead of the others, then slowed to allow them to catch up.  The sailors must hate it.  Bohdan’s yacht was... four points off the port bow.

“He says something stupid about liberty and fidelity and glorious fate.”

“Rev.”

But Rev wasn’t in the mood for translating that.  He ignored Thes, brought the glass down, and breathed in the whipping wind.  He felt best here; coming down was terrible. Luckily, Anik had provided many excuses for him to be here.  Learning signal flags was Anik's idea – and he insisted Rev do it for him, to the annoyance of both the Admiral and all the avid young nobles, aboard to learn the naval arts.  To their fury he beat all but the most adept young nobles in speed eight out of ten messages.  It depended on if Thespasian could keep Rev's attention focused on the flags.

Fortunately, this time, his wandering attention mattered little.  It’d been hours going through this conversation, as each suggestion for deployment Anik had made (and Rev had helped with) had to be checked with captains, navigators and subordinates at every level, for all seven other officers. A few were doubled up in their ships, but not all.  They’d created the relay up the masts, specifically because Anik had to be down with his maps and plans to respond to any concerns or adjustments necessary. Other sailors, higher up, tediously manipulated the flags in response themselves.  The watch had changed while they’d been up. 

Rev clung to the mast and wondered if this was Anik’s sly way of keeping him away from the Admiral. Something in him wasn’t sure Anik even knew, though another part argued that this was ridiculous – not the way he had run, not the way he had responded, not the way Anik and the Admiral’s already chilly relationship had turned decidedly hot and tense.  (They at no more dinners together; Anik would in the gentlest and most professional tones tell the stewardess the different ways the Admiral could otherwise entertain himself than with their company, and it usually involved body parts and various kinds of shit.  Rev had learned from Thespasian that it was the fashion when Anik young to have an elaborate tie on one’s sword holding it to the scabbard, as an indication of good will, so now Rev had some explanation for why Anik was always rather obviously untying it when the Admiral approached).

The truth of it was that part of Rev didn’t want him to know, and this part felt that so strongly it neither slept nor ate nor entertained any other thought.  But he had to know.  What difference did it make? the other part of Rev responded.  This was not the first time you’ve been whored. It was probably not the last. Only a fool wouldn’t see it.  

He was a soldier, though. Right now – again – he was a soldier, working for his officer.

It hardly mattered, anyway, what the reason was.  Rev got to go up high in the masts and dick around.

It made him smile.

Mimicking the sailors he’d watched for the last few days, Rev slithered and swung his precarious way down the fighting top.  The wind was cut a little a little more by sails and ropes here.  The edge of the water’s noise reached his ears.  Thumps and shouts went from distant echoes to almost discernible commands and meaningful signals.  There was a heaviness to the solid wood beneath his feet. He glanced down over the edge, seeing the deck beneath resolve into something with life and detail.

“Dear gods above, don’t do that,” Thespasian grumbled, then he prodded Rev hard in the shoulder (not towards the edge, though).

“Dear gods above, the thing is don’ting,” Rev repeated in Baathian.

Thespasian had done that in one of their first lessons – prodded him so to get him to translate whatever Thes had commanded.  Rev had started to prod him back; Thes had thrown him to the deck so hard he’d spent the rest of the lesson re-learning how to breathe.  Rev respected this. 

“Your accent is horrible,” Thes grumbled, tucking his notepad into his pocket and heading for the lubber’s hole.  “You speak like you’ve got a mouthful of mincemeat.  And you’re still sliding your consonants together like globs of butter. You couldn’t enunciate a proper ‘r’ is your life depended upon it.  Have you even heard of the 'h'?”

Rev grinned as Thes descended, complaining the whole way, then threw himself over the futtock shrouds. He saw Thespasian glaring up at him from further below on the shrouds – but that was how the sailors did it, so that was how Rev was going to do it.

Anik, the Admiral, and several other officers were waiting for them on the deck.  Thespasian handed over his notepad.  It took him some moments to go over it; they had pretended to teach Rev letter-combinations so he could read them down to Thespasian, adding a level of translation to the notes while preserving the illusion he could communicate nothing sensible in Baathian.  Thespasian had thought this unnecessary, but Rev could see the effect in the great patience with which the other officers waited – they believed wholeheartedly.  As they waited, dozens of sailors, grumpy about their extended assignment, bundled down flags and gear with all manner of haste around them. 

The Admiral had eyes on Rev the moment he hit the deck.

Thumbing through the notepad, Anik was all business.  “It seems we are all in agreement.”  He stopped at the last message.  “What was Bohdan’s last word?”

“Trite,” Thespasian said.

Anik raised his brows; a few of the other army officers aboard stifled chuckles, while others looked scandalized.  Anik decided to let it go, though Rev could tell he found it just as amusing.

“There’s still the issue of no good disembarkation point for the horses aboard this ship,” Officer Shiny-Buttons said.  (Rev had never bothered to learn many of the officers’ names.  They would, for the most part, be dead soon anyway, he figured).

She hadn’t forgotten Rev’s insolence, but was at least not to be distracted from her actual duty by it. Still, she’d attempted once to beat Rev. Anik had looked at her in a pointed fashion, and she grew so embarrassed she stopped. 

Anik was very special.

“Aster will be fine,” Anik said.  “I’m sure the Admiral will assist in creating a crane after we anchor for the rest of you.”

The little flock of officers puffed concernedly with this, exchanging looks and wordless questions. Rev didn’t even know what Anik had planned, but he took his horse very seriously.

“Surely,” the Admiral said, in yet another demonstration of his odd amiability as they approached the final days aboard.  “If weather holds, we’ll make anchor just on schedule, shortly before dusk. If we’ve luck beyond that, there will no roaming nomads to spot the fleet; the two promontories should keep us admirably out of sight from any mapped outposts.”

“Thank you,” Anik replied, “that’s my hope as well; our landing point is so precise in part to keep the ships away from the fortress at Per-Wadjet; if we don’t arrive nearing dusk, or have the ill luck to be spotted by a patrol, the ships will be in range of the fortress’ guns well before ours can even reach the shoreline under it.”

Another one of the officers, who Rev called Ms. Epaulettes, laughed.  “It’s hard to imagine a land of savages would have such weaponry.”

Anik gave the officer a sharp look.  “It would be best to disabuse yourself of the notion this is ‘a land of savages.’ You were too young to participate in the Armistice, but even so – if it is a savage land, then a savage land breeds a resourceful people.  And we are intruders, unused to this ‘savage land’ of theirs.”  Anik glanced out over the horizon, hiding his misgivings in gravity.  “At best, we will be as savages here.”

That straightened them out. Rev almost smiled, but he wasn’t supposed to understand what was being said, so he made faces at the sailors instead. One was glancing back at him, smiling – he started demonstrating how to properly ‘belay’ a line around a pin when he noticed Rev looking.  Rev was sad he didn’t know their names, but that was because he wasn’t supposed to be associating with them, as a ‘valet.’  Perhaps the navy wasn’t so bad.

If only it weren’t on the ocean.

Anik brushed Rev’s shoulder with his, and Rev realized the meeting had broken up.  The Admiral was looking at him with that ill-behaved child look.  It had become familiar.

“General,” the Admiral said, as they turned towards the stern.  “Might I speak with you?”

“Certainly,” Anik said peacefully enough, though his hand rested on his sword hilt and the way his chin tilted down probably signaled to most people their impending doom. The Admiral, feigning conviviality, waved a hand as if brushing away a fly and chuckled. 

“Well, I suppose you can’t blame me for a final request.”

Anik could; everything about his stance proclaimed that he could, and did. 

“We’ll anchor tonight,” the Admiral said, perhaps not realizing he toyed with death, “after which is war.  Forgive me for my... sentimentality–” Rev knew the word for horniness, wondered why he didn’t just say it, “–but a man desires comfort in times like these, and we shall be long guarding the delta, hoping for the success of your army. Times will be deeply uncertain, and my morals prevent me from taking advantage of my subordinates.  My responsibility to them makes such a proposition unthinkable.”  He laughed, and Rev just watched Anik’s body grow tighter and tighter.  “Perhaps if I’d had your forethought, I wouldn’t be in so shameful a position, to plead for such a boon.”

“You have my answer, Admiral,” Anik said, voice even as a taught line, “it remains the same.”

“Ah,” the Admiral said, and stepped forward.  It was Rev’s turn to become tense, as he reached out.  The sudden scream in Rev’s mind to run was interrupted by the sound of steel sliding out of a sheath. 

Anik hadn’t drawn; only a few shiny steel inches showed, as if he were checking the polish.  The Admiral stopped his reach.

“I can see why you’re so particular,” he said, but continued in a voice much less amiable.  “I only hope you can satisfy one such as this.”

The Admiral rubbed his own chin with two fingers.  Using all his strength, Rev kept himself from backing away.

“I do my best,” Anik replied.  “We all go to war, though, and I’ll not part with Rev.  Not for a moment.”

The Admiral fixed him with an evaluative stare.  “We are allies,” he said, putting a weight to the word that spoke to the absence of the word ‘friends’.  “As you said, you go to a savage land, our men are ill-prepared for.  Your officer demonstrated that.  The sailors say that fish are more plentiful in these waters than we expected.  My previous offer stands.”

A deadly silence fell between them; Anik’s grip on his sword hilt tightened until his hand shook. 

“Admiral,” Anik said, voice strained only in that first word, smooth as cream after, “I’m afraid I still have work to do.  If you’ll excuse me.”

Anik glanced at Rev, brief and furious like a comet streaking through the sky.  As Rev turned to follow him, though, the Admiral reached out, seizing his wrist, yanking him back close enough to whisper in his ear.

“If you’ve no wish to die in the desert, my cabin holds more promises than mere satisfaction.”

It was over before Anik had turned back around, the Admiral stalking off in the opposite direction. Anik looked back, but Rev passed it off, jogging forward to join him as if he’d only fallen behind.  The blissful sound of the door shutting let him shudder the feeling of the Admiral’s grip away. 

Rev looked up from the deck, planning to make some gross remark, to see, he thought, Anik smile and cooly pass off what had just happened as inconsequential, as he had so many other things.  All he saw, however, was Anik’s back, hunched over the desk.  When he rose to face Rev, it was as if he were ablaze.

By instinct, when Anik stalked over to him, Rev nearly shielded his head – but this was Anik, he said to himself – this was Anik, yet the sheer magnitude of anger in him seemed to stretch beyond him, to make more of him than could fit in this tiny room.

He stopped short, the cold breeze he brought with him the more chilling in its opposition to the fury Rev saw him contain. 

“He will die, Rev,” Anik said, with perfectly articulated, liquid calm.

Rev stared up at him, not longer shrinking from being struck, but from sheer lack of comprehension.

Anik either didn’t notice – or perhaps couldn’t.  He seemed to be using all that he had to be still, and that all was considerable. Even then, he spent a moment looking down, straightening his jacket, before he met Rev’s eyes again. 

“He will,” Anik said, “and for that.”

Anik’s chill gaze searched his face, but inevitabilities such as he had just pronounced required no response. He certainly got none.  Rev still wasn’t sure where exactly he was, relative to his own body; his spirit had fled before the face of death only to be spared. Or something.  It certainly felt like the last time a cannon ball had bounced over his head. 

Anik turned back, to pick up his papers from the desk.  He started to array them on the floor.

Rev went to the bunk to sit, light-headed. 

“I wish we had better maps of the interior,” Anik muttered, as he’d muttered a thousand times before.

“Sivery does – if only I could remember them,” Rev replied.  Yes – this was easy.  Rev had a lot of practice.  It wasn’t wise to make a big deal of being close to death; death didn’t like gossip, and had sharp ears.  He could pack away everything else – what it meant, what Anik said, especially about what he knew – until there was time to think about it. 

Anik gave him a smile, sweet as the flowers that never saw frost.  “Nobody has a memory that strong, Rev; you only saw them once.”

“Still,” Rev muttered. Holy shit, Rev thought.  Anik was going to kill the Admiral.

“We’ll be fine without them, with a goal this spare,” Anik said, turning back to his papers.  “Let’s just hope we don’t get lost.”

“I can steer by the stars now,” Rev said, settling himself back into the bunk.  That was Anik mad – really mad, not just deeply annoyed or tired of Rev’s shit.  Really, honestly, furious.  “Just get me a backstaff.”

After a pause, Anik said, “I could get you the Admiral’s sextant.”

Rev chuckled, though he wasn’t sure why.  Maybe it was imagining Anik sneaking around like some schoolboy, stealing things from unattended satchels.  Maybe it was nerves, because holy shit, dead Admiral.  “Promise?”

He paused again, but he said, “I promise.”

It both sounded like a joke, and didn’t, but maybe that was only because Rev’s thoughts had so thoroughly turned.

Rev curled on the bunk like a cat, and watched Anik work.

Calm had returned.  Rev only now realized it could leave – or, maybe, only now realized how thoroughly it could leave.  Also, he only now realized how much he relied on that calm. Anik’s calm allowed him to pretend, to forget, to get away for a moment from the fact of his enslavement.  Facts of his enslavement.  More than one thing was true of that, and he was running as fast as he could from all of them every chance he got. 

So what was Anik running from?  The very idea that he would run astounded Rev.  It should have been a thought easily dismissed, but a lot of things that should have been seem to not have been anyway. 

Like Rev letting the Admiral corner him.  Like Rev letting the Admiral do all the things he had done to him.  Like Rev letting anyone do those things, when the Rev Anik had known would not even let people he wanted to fuck him do so. 

Rev would have let the Admiral fuck him, if he had gotten that far.

Maybe that’s what Anik ran from – maybe that’s why he wouldn’t crawl into the bunk with Rev tonight, as he hadn’t any other night so far.  Anik was confronting the notion that Rev – not the soldier he knew back at the Armistice, with his proud resistance – was now a very common sort of whore.  He would not even fight hard enough to keep a man as disgusting as the Admiral out of him. He had learned to bend, and had bent for many.

That sat well with the deep disgust Rev felt for himself, but Rev was surprised to find that it didn’t seem to satisfy him.  Maybe the sextant had been a quick lie, a joke, to comfort him after seeing such a display, but Anik’s anger had been true, and the anger Rev pulled into his chest and held there like a lover’s lingering warmth.  It was, at the moment, the closest he could get. 

Were Anik to offer, he would retreat from even his touch.  He didn’t want to; he relished a moment only yesterday when Anik had brushed against him reaching for something behind him.  Rev wanted it, even if he couldn’t stand it.  He wanted it.

And Rev hated that. Just seeing the Admiral make reference – it wasn’t even the right fingers – Rev wanted to peel the skin off his bones, as if that would help.  What was wrong, though, was not so shallow as skin.  What was wrong was deeper.  Something was wrong with Rev, and he knew what it was, but he could pretend he didn’t, when Anik was around.

But only when Anik seemed calm.  Only when he seemed somehow to have forgotten about the invasion, and Rev’s enslavement, and all the things that had happened both known and unknown between now and the Armistice. 

True, Rev had also explained the fact that Anik didn’t touch him by recognizing that he was busy, and his busy-ness had grown to encompass things Rev couldn’t help him with.  They worked together on the plans, but Anik had moved past troop positioning and Rev wasn’t much help with strategy.  That’s why he had been able to learn so much from Thespasian and the sailors.

In between, Anik taught him Felanese, and practiced Baathian, and answered his questions, and taught him letters, but they spoke of nothing else.  Not even the war.  Their discussions of troop positionings and attacking and defending the cities in Feland they had maps for were cold, sterile things: all theory.  Anik’s old defenses of liberty and just war didn’t seem to come up. Rev wasn’t himself enough to push him on it, as he used to – to make him defend his ideals, so easily stated and so fervently held. 

Rev was pretending, but Anik was pretending, too.  Maybe Anik was pretending because he was worried?

Felan would fuck them. They were all going to die.  He should be worried.

There was the sum of it: Anik wouldn’t fuck him, every other bastard would, and pretty soon they were all going to get fucked by a whole country.  It would have been funny, if Anik weren’t involved. 

Now, at least, he had some idea that something was wrong for Anik, too.  The new question was: did any of it matter, when they were all just going to die in the desert?

Not really.  But Anik mattered.  Not much mattered to Rev anymore, but Anik mattered, and Rev would find out what was bothering him. 

Rev felt his eyelids growing heavy, as long as that was settled.  He would fall asleep here, for at least a few moments, as his mind churned, and never even know if Anik came close to him.  It was probably a mercy.

When he fell asleep, Anik would still be working, and when he woke, Anik would be gone.

Chapter Thirteen

a bad combination in the dark

(Part 7 of a series, wherein Alex tortures Alistair in “On the Head of a Pin” instead of Dean. I watched that fucking episode twice in like 3 days)

(This one gets dark. Death and torture and shit.)

@saferincages thanks for listening to me and I won’t blame you if you don’t read this one

“I’ll do it.”

It’s those three words that set off a jolt in everyone in the room.

Dean’s incredulous “are you insane” and Castiel’s resolute refusal and Uriel’s amusement and Alex’s face, resolute, unflinching.

“You can’t.” Castiel’s got his Big Time Angel voice on, obviously meant to shut her down, but she isn’t flinching away.

“Let me do it.” She strides up into his space. “I can do this.”

Dean’s still sputtering, “have you lost your mind - “

Uriel’s chuckling, shaking his head. “Little girl,” he says, “your bravery is admirable, but your arrogance - “

Alex doesn’t move her eyes from Castiel’s face. “You really don’t want Dean doing this? Then let me do it.”

“It would be useless. There’s no way you can possibly get what we need from him - “

“You really want to catch him off balance? Throw him off, show him some rage from a source he doesn’t expect? Use me.”

“Alex,” Dean says, fear buried under anger, “you can’t do this. I can’t let you do this.”

“No, Dean, I can’t let you do this.” Her gaze hasn’t wavered from Castiel’s face. She takes another step closer. “You think I don’t have it in me? You have no idea what you haven’t tapped into yet.”

“Cas,” Dean says, pleading now, worrying at Castiel’s silence. “Come on. I’ll do it, I’ll go in there, I’ll do whatever you want me to, just - “

“Use him as a last resort, if you have to,” Alex says. “But until then, if you want him to be good for whatever the hell kinds of plans you have in store for him, you keep him in here and you throw me in there with him. You don’t want him going down this road? You don’t want him turning into a monster? So be it, but I can go down it just fine.” She grins at him, humorless, baring her teeth. “Come on. You know you don’t give a shit about me, Cas.”

“You can’t be serious,” Uriel scoffs, and he doesn’t sound amused anymore. “Castiel, you can’t possibly think that this ridiculous little human could successfully torture a demon where angels have failed - “

“We use her first,” Castiel says, and the room goes shudderingly still.

“You can’t let her in a room with that monster!” Dean shouts. “Cas!”

“Our trap cannot be broken, Dean. No harm will come to her.”

“He doesn’t have to touch her to hurt her!” Dean howls. “She’s not a part of this, Cas, come on - “

“You have an hour,” Castiel says in an undertone, for Alex alone. “Then we’re sending him in.”

He opens the door and throws her in.

It doesn’t give her much time to prepare, but she’s as ready as she’s ever going to be. Alistair is there, pinned to the wall, and she squashes down the fear, the doubt, and focuses on the monster that hurt Dean.

Revenge is as good a motivator as any.

“So, this is the angels’ backup plan.” She hasn’t forgotten the terrible hiss of Alistair’s voice, but she’s never been this close to it before, and she has to hold back the urge to shiver. “To say this smacks of desperation would be putting it mildly.”

Alex doesn’t say anything. She looks at the tools that have been laid out before her, and takes a deep, slow breath.

“The little girl who tags along with the Winchesters,” he continues, conversational, sounding for all the world like he isn’t strung up and bleeding. “I suppose they couldn’t find any orphaned schoolchildren and had to settle for the next best thing.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” he purrs. “You want revenge on me for what I did to your boyfriend? Nothing you do to me can possibly compare to what I watched him do to those souls in Hell.”

Alex is still quiet. Runs her hands over the blades. Measures them, sizes them up. Wonders which one would make him scream the loudest.

“I suppose they wanted to send him, and you took his place instead? Noble of you.” She doesn’t look at him, but she can hear the way his grin curves around his words. “Poor little thing. If you’d seen the look on his face when he tortured girls just like you, the way he got off on it, oh, you’d run the other way.”

Alex’s steps are steady and quiet when she walks toward him at last, holding the blade she’s carefully chosen, doused in holy water. She knows how to move quietly, even in heavy boots, how to be inconspicuous and keep to the shadows. Keep herself small. The delicate roll of her foot that she learned through years of ballet, incorporated later when she snuck through the hospital corridors on socked feet. Later still, when she learned to sneak up on monsters. Even Sam and Dean’s keen instincts didn’t always warn them when she was close.

She’s gotten so good at being overlooked.

She has to raise herself on the tips of her toes to press the blade against his cheek, slow, almost gentle. Watches the way it presses into his skin, the slight, prickling burn it leaves behind.

She meets his eyes for the first time. Sees the eyes of the thing that ripped her parents nearly in two, the wide-open, frozen eyes of her brother. Sees every nightmare she’s ever woken Dean from, every haunted look in Sam’s eyes and every innocent they couldn’t save.

“He was scared of becoming a monster,” she says. “I don’t really have that problem.”

Alistair smiles, and the spark of surprise in his eyes is almost gratifying. “The little Winchester whore,” he says, admiring. “Maybe I underestimated you after all.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” She turns the blade of the knife in against his cheekbone, a quick, sudden grind that scrapes nearly into bone, and for the second time she gets to see his surprise, just for a moment.

“I’m good at compartmentalizing,” she says, mimicking his conversational tone. “Better than most. I know how to hide it all away and call on it when I need it.” She twirls the blade between her fingers, then drags it along his temple. “There are layers of it, going deep. I shuffle it like a deck of cards, so I can control what’s on the surface.”

“Control,” Alistair says, turning it over in his mouth. He licks his lips, and she pushes back the quiver of revulsion. “You’re going to have to let go of some of that if you want to play in the big leagues, honey.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, and drives the knife deep into his eye, and twists.

It’s disgusting, the blood and fluid and the way he howls, and she shivers. She’s done the same and worse to monsters before, but to see it on a human face -

Not a human, she thinks, and buries it. Shuffles it under layers of cold, calm rage.

“Good girl,” he says when he’s got his breath back, and she retreats, looking for another weapon, ready to shift gears. She can’t keep this slow-then-quick pattern going, he’s going to start to expect it if he hasn’t already. He already knows she’s making it up as she goes. “Shame I didn’t get my hands on you sooner, if this is how good you make it the very first time.”

“What would he think, if he saw you here like this?” he presses. “You think he’d realize just how little he satisfies you, that he can’t give you what you crave?” He chuckles, low and deep, and she feels nausea crawling in her gut. “Because you do crave it, don’t you? Dirty little monster girl, just dying to cut and be cut open? Things that weak little monster in training of mine could never give to you? Oh, the things I could give you, if you’d just let yourself, give up that precious control - “

With hands that are desperately trying not to shake, she pours the holy water down his throat, holds his nose, watching him choke. She’d like to drown him in it.

“Answer their questions,” she says. Her voice doesn’t shiver. That rage is simmering, buried down deep.

“Unlike Dean,” he says, and the way he says his name is unquestionably the most loathsome thing so far, with pride and a twisted sort of tenderness, “I don’t give it up that easily.”

“No,” she says. “Neither do I.”

She doesn’t know how long it goes on, how many times she hears Alistair scream or how many times she pushes back the nausea in her gut. She keeps going on until her hands shake and her arms are weak, until she’s covered in Alistair’s blood and she can distantly hear Dean shouting her name on the other side of the door.

She pushes that back, too, and wonders distantly why they don’t let him in. She’s nearly forgotten why she’s here.

Definitely more than an hour.

“He broke the first seal, don’t you know,” he says later, when he is swaying, half-conscious and glazed with pain. His voice still trills with self-satisfaction. “The righteous man, shedding first blood in Hell. The man you would make yourself a monster to protect is going to end the world.”

She does shudder that time, because she believes him, and that’s the most enraging thing of all.

When he does, finally, get loose, and she knows that she’s failed, he barely gives her a second to scream before she’s being beaten half to death, the worst, most terrifying pain she’s ever felt in her life. He’s so strong, so fast; she can’t hide anymore. He’s still covered in blood, and now I’m covered in his, she thinks and wonders if this is how Dean had felt, if they’ll be tied together forever now.

Somewhere Dean is shouting her name again.

And even as she thinks I’m going to die here, I’m really going to fucking die, she doesn’t feel an ounce of regret.

She wakes to find Dean holding her hand, woozy with pain, and she smiles at him.

“Baby,” he says, voice is scared and relieved all at once. “Hey. Jesus. Alex.” His hand squeezes hers. There are tears still in his eyes, but he doesn’t look like he’s been hurt.

“I saw him,” she murmurs. “I looked right at him. I didn’t look away.”

“Alex,” he says again, frowning in confusion, “I don’t - “

“I got him back,” she says, dreamy. “Kicked his ass.” She tries to squeeze his hand back, but it’s weak. “Sorry I got hurt, baby.”

“It’s okay,” he says. There are tears coming to his eyes again. “It’s okay, baby, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m not sorry,” she says. Everything’s fading again, but that’s still so clear. “Not sorry.”

She’s going under, and she smiles.