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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Never a Gull Moment

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 3523

For @yavannie, who wanted Sam to either gain new powers or carry Bucky through the air. Spoiler, I went with both. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Sam’s had an intense first week as Captain America. The perfect opportunity for a break arises when Joaquín contacts him, offering new programming for his suit. All he needs to test the tech are the beach, birds, and one uncooperative bonehead Sam didn’t manage to leave behind in New York.

If there’s one skill Sam’s hoping to adopt from his predecessor—Steve, not Walker (sweet Jesus, not Walker)—it’s the ability to end a conversation with a humble handwave before it can even begin. Steve always had that in the bag. Leading with the wrist in a flick of the hand that came across as both sheepish and respectful. Like he’d love to stop and talk with that fan or this journalist but he was just too busy. And not rude busy, busy with a quiet nobility. Anyway, it all came across in the wave.

Sam hasn’t nailed the wave.

Four days after the GRC vote-that-wasn’t, he’s still in New York, bouncing between TV appearances; everybody wants a piece of the new Cap. Sam wishes they asked a little more about his opinions on compassion for the displaced, as well as those who survived the Snap to form new, functional communities, and less about the look of his new suit, but isn’t it always a battle between style and substance? At least people are listening. To everything except the look Sam knows he has in his eyes, the one that says this debut has been a lot and he’s longing for home.

He knows he has to nail this aspect of being Captain America too. Unfortunately, chuckling amiably with morning show hosts isn’t doing a hell of a lot to distract him from what it took to get him here. There are seconds where his attention wavers—he’ll be nodding along to whatever someone’s saying, or letting his gaze follow a bike courier down the street instead of staying trained on the camera the roving reporter has set up on the sidewalk—and that’s when Karli hurtles into his mind. He feels her desperate blows vibrating the shield, the weight of her body in his arms, in her death.

He can’t keep sitting behind desks or posing impressively and trying to answer the hard questions (on the rare occasion they’re asked) after he’s told people he’s not the expert. When Torres calls up, it’s the close-enough-to-official reason Sam’s been waiting for to step back and do something that actually feels useful.

Bucky, who’s been skulking behind the scenes, somehow never pulled into interviews (if he knows the deferring wave and he’s been doing it just outside Sam’s sightline all week, Sam’s gonna kill him), sticks with him. They head south to meet Torres, and at least that feels like the right direction. Homeward bound. Of course, they stop a handful of states before Louisiana and hug the east coast, but it’s an improvement. They meet Torres at… the beach.

He’s got his foot propped in the open doorframe of a Humvee, giving Sam and Bucky a big, eager, whole-arm wave as they pull up. Not like they’re gonna miss him; Torres is in the only vehicle parked halfway down an unpaved road. Sand dunes climb steep and high just feet from his front bumper, an informal path cutting between the dunes and leading to the water, though Sam can’t see that from this vantage.

Torres’s hand is somehow already grasping Sam’s in a pumping, congratulatory shake before he’s fully out of the car. Sam hears Bucky’s soft snort of suppressed laughter and shoots him a look across the seats. Bucky raises his palms, but Sam spots his smirk before they’re both slamming their doors and stretching their legs after the drive.

“Traffic?” Torres asks brightly.

“Nah,” Bucky answers, coming around the back of their ride. “Sam just drives slower than my grandmother and she—”

“Died on the Titanic?” Sam guesses dryly.

Bucky’s flat stare could be saying a lot of things, or nothing. Sam feels as if he’s been a student of the language of Bucky’s stare for a while now, but his comprehension is still rudimentary. Pop that asshole in a sanctuary for rehabilitated brain-washees, have somebody study his behaviour like Jane Goodall studies chimpanzees, and they might get some answers. The idea starts as something funny Sam almost shares, but then he imagines handfeeding Bucky a banana and it gets weird. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Or she got the cryo treatment too and she’s kickin’ around someplace, speakin’ Russian and makin’ headshots.”

“Come on, man, Hydra jokes about your own grandmother?” Sam scoffs. “That’s not even a little bit funny.”

Torres’s expression is like a kid watching a wrestling match on TV—awed, alarmed, reluctant to question what’s real because he’s just enjoying the show.

Bucky cracks a slow smile and Sam rolls his eyes, slapping Torres’s shoulder to get him to head towards the Humvee and the reason they’re here.

“Nana woulda thought it was funny,” Bucky assures them.

“Nana?”

“Lemme guess… You called your aunt ‘TT,’ so your grandmother’s probably… ‘GG,’ am I right?”

Sam glares at him (because his guess is correct and he’s a pain in the ass) and turns fully to Torres as he opens the back, revealing a large case.

“You were vague on the phone,” Sam recalls, watching Torres tug the case close before undoing the clasps. Bucky leans against the vehicle as he observes, dark pants picking up a swipe of road dust from the dirty taillight. “Something about an update for the suit?”

“Right,” Torres agrees.

He throws the case open to reveal the wings Sam gifted him. They’ve been repaired and Sam automatically strokes a hand over the gleaming, extended metal. If Torres did this himself, he sure worked fast.

“That duffle bag wasn’t good enough for you?” Sam asks jokingly, remembering his gear broken and jumbled, fit to be dragged out with the trash.

“They’re kind my prized possession,” Torres admits. “I thought they deserved to be kept nice.”

“You might even wanna put ’em on sometime.”

“I’m working up to that.” Torres laughs. “I wanted to make sure they were in working order before I jumped off a building.”

“Or out of the back of a plane without a parachute, right, Buck?” Sam asks, smacking the back of his hand into Bucky’s chest.

“I was fine,” Bucky insists.

“Sure you were. We can watch the footage again. I’m up for that.”

“Just let the man finish.”

Torres grants Bucky a wide smile in thanks.

“Yeah,” he picks up, “so I was fixing them, working on the wiring, and when I got the electronics running smoothly again, I started thinking about Redwing—”

“May he rest in pieces,” Bucky contributes.

“Uncalled for,” Sam complains.

“I replaced it, didn’t I?”

“The Wakandans replaced it.”

“As a favour to me.”

Torres’s gaze dances between them until Sam motions for him to continue.

“About Redwing,” Torres goes on enthusiastically. “The sophistication of the relationship between you, how intuitive the tech was. How Redwing understood not just simply-stated commands, but a more conversational approach, interpreting your intentions.”

“Finally, a little Redwing appreciation,” Sam says. He crosses his arms and gives Bucky a meaningful look.

“But what if it was a real bird?” Torres blurts.

Most of a minute passes as Sam stares at Torres’s excited expression.

“I think I might get where Torres is going with this,” Bucky says.

Sam holds up a hand to pause him. He could make a guess at it too, but there’s no need for that. They have the source of whatever alterations have been made right here.

“In your own words, Joaquín,” Sam encourages.

“Well,” he begins, one palm braced in the bed of the Humvee as he leans over the case with unconscious protectiveness, “you know I’ve kinda been itching to get my hands on the wings for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Sam laughs, remembering having to practically slap Torres’s hands away from the jetpack in Tunisia.

“Since you gave them to me a couple weeks ago, I’ve been tinkering, like I said, and I had this idea. Now,” he warns, raising both hands in caution, “this might be either really obvious or really disrespectful to the whole concept of the Falcon, but I started wondering if it’d be possible for the person wearing the wings to talk to nearby birds. Use them like a resource, like with Redwing.”

“Black Panther dresses like a cat with Vibranium claws.”

“Spider-Man has webs,” Bucky adds.

“Right,” Sam agrees, nodding to him before looking back to Torres. “I don’t think it’s disrespectful to lean into the gimmick if it’s amplifying your abilities.”

“Awesome,” Torres pronounces.

“I assume you went further than just wondering about it?”

Torres gives them a modest shrug.

“I know a guy who knows an ornithologist.”

“Bird scientist,” Bucky translates.

Turning his head, Sam glances at Bucky with a no shit look.

“Thanks,” he says insincerely.

“You’re welcome.”

“Long story short,” Torres pipes up, “she got me access to a catalogue of bird calls and the scientific consensus on what they all mean. I patched that info into the suit and, hopefully, it’s something that could be used, uh, on the fly. Sorry, I was trying to think of another way to say that.”

“So my suit would be able to communicate with birds?” Sam checks. “Automatically?”

“Yeah, it would assess your surroundings the same way Redwing does already, but scanning for birds, identifying what kind they are, and having the interpretation of their calls at the ready if needed.”

“What sort of information would I be gaining with this tech?”

“Stuff like… are they feeling threatened or disturbed? Does something feel off about their environment that has something to do with somebody you’re maybe chasing?”

“Mating rituals,” Bucky says.

“How is being able to recognize mating rituals going to help me?” Sam demands.

“You never know.”

“You brought your suit, right?” Torres wants to know. Apparently, he’s not going to bother engaging with Bucky’s nonsense. “It won’t take long for me to install the new software.”

“It’s in the back,” Sam assures him, jerking a thumb towards the other vehicle.

“Great!”

“But just the bird calls. This suit is brand new. No tinkering.”

“No tinkering,” Torres swears.

He sets up his impromptu workshop in the back seat, next to the suit. Sam has to admit to himself that Torres’s reverential expression as he handles the Captain America suit is pretty flattering. He watches the progress until Torres sits back, stating it’ll just be a few minutes for the new programming to be assimilated.

“Why the beach?” Sam asks while they wait.

“I was inspired by some shaky, far-away footage of you in New York. You did, uh, kind of a nosedive into the river there, so I thought maybe you’d be interested in testing your suit’s maneuverability in water at the same time as we did a trial with the bird calls.”

“Are we running a drill or something?” Bucky wonders.

“That’s a good idea,” Torres says immediately. “A scenario to use both the calls and the water.”

“You got something in mind?”

Sam isn’t the one who asks because he can see from Torres’s face that he does. Fortunately, he is the one who gets to laugh when the Lieutenant squints consideringly at Bucky and asks, “How long can you hold your breath?”

—

The last Sam sees of Bucky, he’s taking off his shirt.

“Oh, entire jacket this time?” Torres asked when Bucky took that off first.

After that, it was his shoes and socks, then his t-shirt, and this whole Bucky stripping thing isn’t so much a last look as something that Sam has to stand there witnessing for a while. He’s already in the Cap suit and, seriously, Bucky could’ve changed at the same time. Then, he would’ve been ready to go without making Sam and Torres wait around. But Sam wouldn’t have gotten to see him undress.

“Hurry it up, man.” His voice is a little off because, at the same time, he’s thinking, Please don’t take your pants off.

“If you’re making me play a drowning victim, I can at least not be getting weighed down,” Bucky argues. “This is to help you, right? Quit complaining.”

Finally, he stalks away, mounting the dune in black jeans and a half-assed scowl and disappearing over the top. The plan is for him to swim out, then duck under the water when Torres tells him to (the guy’s brought along waterproof earpieces for the purpose). Next, Sam will fly up and search for the ‘victim,’ relying solely on input from the seagulls wheeling lazily overhead. It’s a good exercise Torres has cooked up.

Sam hands the shield off to Torres for safekeeping before the Lieutenant heads to the beach. The shield won’t be necessary for this and there’s no way in hell Sam’s leaving it in the car. Besides, it’s kinda funny how wide Torres’s eyes go when Sam offers it up. Even bigger reaction than leaving him the wings, though this he doesn’t get to keep.

“On my signal,” Torres restates.

Sam gives him a sharp nod.

Once he’s alone, he paces between the vehicles, eager to kick off the ground. He hasn’t had an opportunity to just enjoy himself in the new suit yet. Leading up to the confrontation with the Flag-Smashers (and Georges Batroc, that fists-of-steel bastard), he was in training mode, focused and determined. In the media-heavy days that followed, he conceded to a few stunts for the camera. Those hadn’t been purely fun though; they were actually something Sam had to think quick and hard about, ultimately deciding that it wasn’t just performing on command but rather giving the public a lighthearted look at their new Captain America. Testing new tech with Bucky, Torres, and a bunch of seagulls? That seems like it’ll actually be a good time.

The instant Torres’s voice in Sam’s ear says, “Bucky’s under,” he unfurls the wings and sails up over the crest of the dune.

It’s not the warmest day and the greenish-blue water’s choppy near the shore, but there is a surprising smattering of people along a quarter mile of beach. Must be locals, Sam guesses, trekking down to the water from nearby houses. That would explain the lack of other cars where he parked. The people aren’t that close or that bothered by his sudden appearance overhead. Startled, sure, but after they’ve identified him (he sees a few hands lifted to foreheads to block out the sun so they can get a good look), he gets to return a couple big waves. Besides that, nobody’s getting to their feet to pound sand and swarm Torres, who’s conspicuously there with Sam—he is holding the shield, after all. Pretty typical. The bigger the crowd, the greater the chance of people scrambling for his attention and/or whipping out their phones to film him. This group seems satisfied with watching Captain America hanging out at their beach on his downtime and Sam appreciates them for that.

“No scanning the water,” Torres says in his ear. Sam laughs.

“I’m not, just assessing our audience here.”

“Is this a bad spot? I didn’t think anybody’d be around when I sent you my location, but—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Did anybody ask you what was up when Bucky waded out into the water?”

“Nah. If they were wondering, they probably aren’t anymore.”

“Glad I won’t have to compete with a lifeguard to rescue him,” Sam jokes.

He hears Torres’s short laugh of agreement before focusing. Not on the water at all, but the birds. Those down on the sand are squawking for food, comfortable enough with these people to complain loudly in the hopes of being fed.

Sam’s sudden swoops scatter the gulls in the air, so he tries easier circles, mimicking their movements to hover high above the beach. Soon enough—these guys either have bad short-term memories or no patience—they start communicating with each other. The new programming Torres has uploaded to his suit signals to Sam that the birds are aware of a disturbance in the water. He gets a target on his goggles’ imaging and dives.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam crashes into the murky water no more than a hundred yards out. The drop-off is dramatic enough for him to not complete a faceplant into a shallow bottom. Bucky’s treading water a couple body-lengths down, but he wrecks his form to offer Sam a raised middle finger in greeting. Sam’s wings retract as he grabs Bucky’s wrist to haul him to the surface.

They breathe, bobbing in place.

“Thought you’d be faster,” Bucky says.

“You didn’t drown, did you?” Sam points out. “Come on.”

He catches hold of Bucky’s hand and shoots out of the water, wings opening in the air to carry him once the thruster’s done its work. But Bucky squirms below him, their wet grip twisting precariously. Water runs from his sopping jeans.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I don’t want to be carried to shore!”

“Why?”

“Because dangling this high above the ground feels a little weird to me! Not all of us do this every day!”

“I guess we could run the exercise again.”

“Fine. Let’s do that. Just drop me.”

Sam rewards Bucky’s melodrama by abruptly releasing his grip. Hey, that’s what the idiot asked for, and if he can fall out of a plane to the forest floor, he can plunge into water. It’s not like Sam’s up at aircraft cruising altitude, just high enough to make Torres look like a little action figure army man, standing on the sand in his fatigues.

“Running it again?” Torres wants to know.

“Yep,” Sam tells him, accelerating away from the shore. “Just giving that dumbass time to swim to a new spot.”

“Even though he can’t reply while he’s underwater… you know he can hear you in the comms, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

When Torres lets him know that Bucky’s gone under a second time, they start the drill again. Once more, Sam does a gliding approach to the seagulls. Once more, they go quiet before filling the air with their screaming, overlapping calls. Once more, Sam finds Bucky. He knows he’s quicker this time, so he’s expecting an acknowledgement of that when he contracts the wings, straightens his body, and plummets into the water feetfirst next to where Bucky’s floating below the surface.

Instead of an appreciative nod, an outstretched hand, or even a thumbs up, Bucky darts away from him. Is he trying not to get rescued? Now he’s just fucking up the exercise. Only, Sam can’t even berate him, because he’s still under too, holding his breath as he swims after Bucky. He uses the jetpack for assistance, but Bucky’s a fast swimmer, legs kicking just ahead of Sam. Goddamn human shark.

Because he is not an idiot, Sam surfaces to catch his breath, leaving Bucky somewhere below.

“There a problem?” Torres asks.

“Only with Bucky’s idea of teamwork.”

“Get him like a bird would!”

“Is that a real suggestion?” Sam asks, rising and falling as a small wave swells under him, rolling towards the shore.

“Really, Sam! You know, like how birds hunt fish.” Back on the beach, he makes a sharp, downward gesture with his arm that has Sam chuckling. He gets what Torres means though.

“Alright.”

Sam goes from water to air, then, alerted by a trio of seagulls taking annoyed flight from the surface of the water, goes into a steep dive. Nabbing the swimmer from above is the trick, he learns, when the swimmer is being intentionally uncooperative with the rescue attempt. Bucky might be quick when he knows Sam’s behind him, but when he drops down on him, there’s nowhere Bucky can go. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s bare chest from behind and lugs him up for air.

The first thing Bucky says is, “You took even longer that time.”

Frustrated, Sam splashes the back of his head, but when Bucky strokes his arms out, rotating to face him, he’s smiling.

“You messed it up,” Sam accuses. He rubs a hand across his goggles to smear the water droplets off.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun.”

Sam narrows his eyes before a laugh bursts out of him. He can’t help it; it’s the pressure he’s been under, so much internal conflict, suddenly drawn out with the current. Yeah, Bucky was slightly uncooperative, but that’s nothing unusual. Swimming ahead like he was going for a gold medal or forcing Sam to plunge deep after him, the two of them suspended like the goddamn Shape of Water before Sam towed him to the surface—either way, Bucky definitely gave him distinct scenarios to work with. Sam can’t say he doesn’t feel more comfortable now that he’s had some practice. More comfortable with his wings in the water, with working with his feathered allies. With Bucky.

“Still don’t want a lift?” Sam checks.

Bucky’s expression hardens and Sam backs off with a laugh.

“See you on the shore,” Bucky states firmly.

“Alright. Get doggy-paddlin’, White Wolf.”

Sam feels Bucky’s hand shoot out to seize his ankle in retaliation as he launches out of the water, but he’s too slow. Sam’s wings fan wide as he flies up, up, up with the birds.

#my writing #tfatws #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE WINTER SOLDIER #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Joaquin Torres #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

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astral-glass · 3 years

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I don't know if you said It already, but May i ask if the Volcurin do have certain extra features they gain off of the bird species they're based on? I Hope to be making sense

I understand, and yes they do have a lot of unique features that come from their avian-like anatomy! Here are some of their features: - High affinity for UV radiation

Volcurins do technically have hollow bones, but they’re extremely strong and not as prone to breaking as you’d expect. Either way, Volcs need a massive amount of Vitamin D and calcium to maintain these bones, muscles, and feathers (keratin). Because of this affinity, most volcurins are darker skinned. This adaptation also prevents skin damage from flying in direct sun.

- Unique Eyesight

Like birds of prey, Volcurins have incredible eyesight that gives them a much stronger range of view than humans do. They see the same light spectrum, but can see detail clearly from high above the ground. As a flying creature, their eyes have a unique ‘tear’ fluid that evaporates much slower than human tears, and they have an extra layer to their eye to make up for the lack of a nictitating membrane (this layer also affects their iris, so they have a huge variety of eye colors)

- Special Larynx

As we know, birds have very complex voice boxes that allow for a broad range of vocalizations. Volcurins have a sort of combination of a bird and human larynx. This allows them to make a range of noises, at a greater range of pitch. They can also get extremely loud, to allow communication during flight. Volcs use these vocalization abilities in their native speech.

- Control of Oxygen use and organ use

Volcurins have the involuntary ability to slow their organ functionality and oxygen use, specifically for flying at high altitudes. They can survive at ~25,000-30,000 feet in the air due to their ability to restrict their oxygen intake and glide on currents. (Yes this means a commercial plane could hit a volcurin)

- 6th sense

Not as cool as it sounds, but volcs have a very keen sense for pressure change. As any flying creature, air pressure is important and allows for proper flight. This also allows volcs to tell the weather forecast. Avi uses it to dive with her eyes closed and pull up in time to not hit the ground. She likes the thrill.

- Sharp teeth

A more simple adaptation. While fangs are useful for eating meats and showing aggression, Volcs have their teeth mainly to help them preen (replaces beaks). They use their sharper canines to dislodge pesky quills.

- Other general bird things?

They molt normally but also have Molting Seasons, which is a week or so of full molts of the flight feathers and base feathers (it’s itchy and it sucks), Bright and colorful feathers are more attractive, and men tend to dress up their appearance more (they sing and dance too but less formally). Some volcs have different wing shapes that give them different flight patterns, they’re very horny.

#tf2 seeker #volcurin #these are my main ones lol #sorry I dumped all my science world building on u #indubitably-smol #AS FOR BIRD SPECIES it's dependent on their wing type!#so for ex. Seeker is a falcon-wing #this means that she flies fast but her general endurance is less than others of her kind #she can also dive at crazy speeds (her fastest is near 400 mph)

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taakoluup · 3 years

Text

Candlenights Gift Exchange

@too-much-alphabet-soup

I was making your gift for the @thecandlenightszone gift exchange! Hopefully you enjoy some mags and ango bonding!

shoutout to @sunshine-zenith for being my beta reader here

"Okay, run!"

"Sir, I can't see where I'm going!"

"We gotta move it, Ango!" Magnus laughed, picking him up with ease and carrying him.

"Where are we going even?!"

"It's a surprise!"

Angus sighed, resigning himself to being jostled with every sprinted step. Twelve years now, he'd been dealing with Magnus' horseshit. It was less meanspirited now than it used to be when he was still just a boy detective, but at twenty-two, sometimes he could swear Magnus, Taako, and Merle just liked to take the piss out of him for no reason whatsoever still. It took a few minutes longer of running before Magnus finally set him down, onto a distinctly metallic sounding floor.

“Okay, hold on tight!”

“To what?! I have a blindfold on sir, I still can’t see!”

Magnus just whooped loudly, his voice echoing strangely in the room. The floor jolted, shuddered, and hummed to life beneath their feet, Magnus cackling as the room nearly tossed Angus. He only barely managed a dex save to keep from falling on his ass.

“Okay, now you can look!”

With Magnus sounding altogether too proud of himself, Angus pulled off the blindfold Magnus had put on him. Despite more than a century’s wear, the metal still gleamed, sleek and beautiful- the helm a gentle, matte shine from decades of different hands. In spite of her disuse, the Starblaster was never in ill repair- perhaps an anxious tic of her pilot, engineer, and captain? Or that of her designer and science officer? Angus made a note to ask later as he marveled at the stars streaking past them, almost faster than he could catch.

“Happy birthday, kiddo!” Magnus gave him a broad grin from his seat at the helm, his hands sure and steady at the wheel.

Angus couldn’t help but laugh in amazement, ignoring his diminutive. The ship, the engine humming behind it with the force of the bonds of its original seven passengers- every inch of it was legendary. It got all too easy to take for granted sometimes that he was in such regular contact with the saviors of the multiverse, the actual Crew of the Starblaster, it was hard not to be a little stunned by it all! The history and stories that this bridge had seen…

“It’s amazing! We’re actually here, sir! Is the engine still tied to you all? Would you reset if you went to a different planar system? Is this how it really was? Does it really run on your bonds? Can just you guys fly it?”

“Slow down, Ango! You can ask the nerds their dork stuff later. But that last question, that I can do! Get over here.”

“Really? You mean it?” Despite being newly twenty-two, he couldn’t help but feel like a kid again, nearly vibrating as much as the ship itself as he moved next to Magnus at the helm.

Magnus braked, slowing the ship down to hang amongst the endless stars before he got up, gesturing to the seat at the helm. “Get in there, before I change my mind!”

He practically dove for the seat putting his hands on the wheel as Magnus started pointing at the different panels, dials, buttons, and switches.

“Okay, so, pay attention. Here’s the thrust. This is your speed, your attitude, heading, vertical speed, and altitude, but most of those aren’t super useful. This button is for landing, this is nav. These are the backups, and over here is the OMS and their computers, it’s for when you want to orbit something. And over here is the jump.”

“O-okay. The jump?”

“Don’t touch it.”

“Oh, um. A-alright, sir. So to get it to go, do I just..?” He pushed the thrust forward, making the ship jolt forward, nearly knocking Magnus off his feet and giving Angus whiplash.

“Yeah, like that, but slower! The ship’s really sensitive, and it moves really quickly, so you don’t ever need to handle it roughly. Be careful with the wheel too, it’s the same way.”

Angus nodded to himself, trying it again with a little less force, easing the ship into a steady pace. It was still a little shuddery, but the grin was plastered onto his face. He took it into gentle turns dancing past galaxies as he pushed the ship to go faster, laughing as he left his stomach behind with each one.

“There you go! Just like that, perfect!”

He grinned wildly, taking it into different maneuvers as he got the feel for it. How often did he get to fly a spaceship, after all? Magnus laughed along with him, keeping his balance with a practiced ease as the ship weaved and spun. A nebula danced at the edge of his field of view and passed him just as fast, the ship moving at incomprehensible speeds. After building her up, he took the ship into a flip. He whooped with it, though the excitement quickly turned to fear as the throttle slipped from his hand, cutting the speed and dropping them both mid-flip.

Angus landed painfully on the console, directly onto the controls.

He grunted, the wind thoroughly knocked out of him by the feeling of reality kicking him square in the chest. He was beefier now, a far cry from the nerdy little ten year old he had been, and still he found himself gasping and trying to blink the stars from his eyes. He felt himself being moved by arms far stronger than him off of the console, keeping him in place as the ship was righted, with Magnus at the helm once more.

“You okay Ango? Hold on just a sec, we’re a little out of sorts.”

“Wh-what just happened? I’m sorry, sir.” He looked around a little more warily now, trying to understand what exactly had happened, his eyes widening at the sight beyond the windshield. Twelve discs of different colors, spiraling in and out of a coordinated dance.

“You jumped us out of the planar system, and probably got us in some trouble. Hold tight, we have to get back in now…” Angus nodded at that, going quiet to watch Magnus work deftly with the ship, a practiced ease in the set of his shoulders as he guided them right towards one of the planes. He couldn’t help but feel nervous as they approached the massive, solid-looking purple disc, in the midst of a pas de deux with it’s bright red partner. Magnus slammed the jump.

And with the same gut-punch feeling, the discs vanished, leaving them hanging in space once more over Faerûn.

“W-wow… That’s um. W-was that supposed to happen..?”

“Ehhhh… It’s supposed to do that for sure, but we shouldn’t have done it now.”

“Why not?”

“Everyone’s still tied to it? So they probably know we stole the ship now.”

“We stole the ship?”

“Yep! Cap’nport’s gonna kill us!”

“Sir!”

“Relax! I’ve stolen the ship plenty! The twins and I took it out for my twenty-second just like this!”

“Oh… you did?”

“Yeah! It was hilarious, he was so pissed, he about ripped his mustache out! Barry freaked out too, he looked halfway to hyperventilating or tearing us apart for it. He settled on hyperventilating when Lup told him how she got up on top of the bridge to fuck around up there while I flew.”

Angus stood there for a long moment before rushing forward, pulling Magnus into a tight hug.

Magnus huffed a laugh, hugging him right back. “That was the best birthday I’d had since we left.”

“...thank you, sir.”

“Anytime, Ango. And don’t worry, dying’s not so bad the first time. Cap’s gonna make it quick for you!

“Sir!”

“Now get it moving again, we only have a few more minutes before they start calling!”

#magnus burnsides #angus mcdonald #taz #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #taz balance #candlenights gift exchange #taz magnus #taz angus #taz davenport #davenport #barry bluejeans #lup #taz lup #taako #taz taako #dnd #dnd 5e #spare validation?

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs “High Altitude Low Opening”

Whipped something up for you guys this morning, decided I needed to incorporate a few more of the alien races that I have mentioned in the past. Sort of based on events that happened after Color Vision, but you don’t need to have read it.

“We can’t stop them, they are hemmed in by the mountains, guarded on all sides and they shoot down any aircraft that dares to come close with supporting troops. Before our informant was killed he managed to send us a message that the Gnar’lak have reverse engineered Finnari rocket technology and from there plan to leave the planet destroying it completely on the way out.” There was silence in the council chamber as the statement set in. All around, the grand halls echoed with the shuffling of many feet.

“Why…. what is the point of that?”

The council turned to find the human delegation looking more than a little confused.

The Finnari representative sighed deeply, “Their hatred of us has been a core trait of their species for centuries. Once upon a time they fed upon our peoples life force for nourishment. We were kept as livestock to fuel their hunger until eventually escaping their control, but by that time evolution had taken it’s course. They must drain us to live, and are completely unsuited to empathy towards us, which would make consuming us that much more difficult. In essence they were designed to hate us, and now that the technology exists to sustain them, they have no real reason to stay.” He hummed thoughtfully, “Then there is, of course, their grudge against the humans.”

The human council seemed surprised, “Grudge, what grudge.”

The Finnari whistled amused “May I remind you, Commander, that once upon a time you and your crew single handedly defeated one of their greatest armies saving us from enslavement and possible extinction.”

The commander’s mouth opened in a surprised, “Oh, right. I forgot about that. I didn’t realize it had been such a heavy blow. It was one battle after all, and we only pushed them back.”

“You Killed nearly all of their mature mating females.”

“Oh….. whoops.”

He waved a hand, “No matter, the point is their population took a heavy hit and it will take decades for them to rebuild, if they recover at all. Either way they plan on destroying the planet out of spite for us and for you who sided with us.”

“Does that seem a bit of an over reaction to everyone else, or is that just me?” The commander glanced around the room for support.

“If they had a true name, Commander, I am sure the phrase “over reaction” would be in the title…. Now the true issue is how to even bother lying siege on them. The mountains make it impenetrable, all large ground vehicles, and low flying jets will be shot down. Not to mention that the terrain is not suited for large amounts of troops or military vehicles.”

The human Commander stood and walked forward to examine the map, “This can be delt with…. But it depends on how many of them you'd be willing to kill.” The room went very silent, and the human looked up “Guided missiles, nuclear weapons, artillery, or biological warfare. There are plenty of ways to deal with the issue, the biggest problem is that most of them will be lethal…. Likely for the entire remaining population.”

No one spoke for the longest time, until the chairwoman leaned forward in her seat, “As dire as this situation may be commander, we would rather avoid such extreme measures. Not to mention that their anti-air defences are sophisticated enough to intercept a missile and if that was nuclear you'd be affecting the entire planet.”

The man tapped his chin then paused, “How sophisticated is their system?”

“Quite radar pared with physics analysis mark objects based on speed, shape, movement and density. Anything larger than ten units, or ten pounds, traveling over 200 miles per hour, with an aerodynamic shape, and moving on a predictable vector course will be targeted.”

The commander leaned over the table eyes locked up on the map with that predatory way that humans had when thinking, almost as if he was preparing himself for a hunt, “What if an object were to hit only one of those requirements.”

“What do you mean.”

“Say you had an unpredictable object traveling at 120 miles per hour or slower, but with a weight of up to 250 pounds?”

“How would these objects be entering the airspace?”

“From directly above.”

“Like it was falling…..?”

The human smiled, “Exactly like that.”

The council glanced at each other, “I don’t think that would even register on Anti Air for meteorites, but commander, what sort of technology would you be using.”

“No technology really.” The man stood, “We would be doing this the old fashioned way, and if we do it right, no one has to get hurt.”

“And what exactly is the old fashioned way.”

“HALO.”

***

“You aren’t serious!” Krill screeched from the small antichamber off the GA council room. The Rundi chairwoman and one representative of each council stood around the table with shocked looks on their faces.

“For fuck’s sake. Can you just be safe or FIVE MINUTES, every time I turn my back you ahve some stupid idea….”

“This isn’t the first time that I have done it.” The man replied calmly, “It was part of my training during flight school. One involved a simulated ejection from 15,000 feet and one was a HALO certification from 35,000 feet.”

“This is stupidity.”

“Madness.”

The room chorused with agreement, even the Drev counselor seemed put off by the idea .

“It makes sense. The high altitude is outside the Anti Air range, with minimal metal and an unpredictable landing vector, we would be unseen by their radar. If we open low it reduces the amount of time those on the ground would be able to see us all the better if we are thermally cloaked like they are. In that case we would be invisible by standards of radar and by those on the ground. We could send in troops, get in, and take over the entire encampment in a matter of hours with no bloodshed.”

“This is madness.” The Drev counselor spoke in, “When we asked for your tactical expertise commander, we hardly expected you to volunteer to throw yourself from the sky.”

There was a muttering of agreement around the room.

“I know you humans are durable, but not even you can survive in that kind of environment.”

The human sighed and rolled his eyes, “We have been doing this for literally thousands of years. Some people do it for fun.” he growled silencing the room, “My point is humans have the perfect solution, and no one would have to get hurt,”

At the head of the room, the Rundi chairwoman shook her head, “We can’t allow this. It is far too dangerous.”

“Did all of you miss the part where we will have parachutes?”

The room stared at him confused.

Turns out that not one of their languages had a comparable word for the piece of technology, and the translation was less than adequate.

With a sigh the human ordered a five minute break while one of his crew members ran to get an example. WHen they came back, Commander Vir threw the backpack on the table, “Welcome to show and tell everyone, gather round, gather round. You see this.” He said tugging at the backpack’s straps, “This is what is keeping me from slamming into the ground at 120 miles per hour.”

They stared at him blankly.

“Here’s how it works.” He grabbed the backpack and looped his arms through the straps threading his legs through the harness and tightening the cords, “This harness will keep me attached to the bag while I am falling.” He hooked his thumb under a little blue clip, “This is the cord, once I pull this, the bag opens, and the chute comes out.” he had his assistant open one of the bags and began pulling the large nylon tarp across the ground. The representatives stepped back.

“The nylon is shaped in such a way that when deployed it increases air resistance and drag slowing previous 120 to 17 miles per hour.” The group murmured in surprise and he held up a hand to Krill who had opened his mouth in protest, “And before you have a conniption, the harness distributes the forces caused by the sudden deceleration. If the cord doesn't deploy the parachute when pulled, there are TWO backup cords after that. F neither of those work, you grab these tabs on the side which pull the entire back of the bag off releasing the chute inside.”

“What are the health risks.” Krill stubbornly continued.

“The bends, hypoxia, but both of those things can be dealt with. Nitrogen is released from the blood prior to jump, and pur oxygen is provided while the altitude is too high. Temperatures are mitigated with warm clothing. Honestly the biggest danger is an awkward landing and twisting your ankle. Seventeen miles an hour is pretty slow, some humans can run that fast, and coming in at a shallow angle helps for sure.”

The aliens looked on unsure and nervous staring at the human with increased awe. Many of them had almost become used to the human’s strange behaviors, but this? This was an entirely new level of insane, falling from the sky at hundreds of miles an hour on a cloudy day….. It was truly insane.

Unspeakably so.

“And where would you find people willing to do this?” The chairwoman asked tenatively.

The human smiled, and that wolfish grin was enough to cause the entire assembly chamber to squirm, “Oh, I know just the people.”

***

“Hell yeah!.”

“WHOOP WHOOP!”

“Let’s go kick ETs ass!”

The plane rattled slightly coming upon a low pressure pocket. Their voices were somewhat muffled inside their oxygen masks and goggles rocking in their seats and against their harnesses. Krill and sunny stood inside the jet looking at each other in great trepidation.

Krill was so mad he had gone from ranting to enraged silence.

He refused even to speak to the Commander as he monitored their vitals.

Every time he passed by, the little doctor would slap the man in the helmet as hard as he could, which amounted to nothing more than amusement for the human. Sunny’s feet clattered across the deck, and she wobbled a bit as she knelt in front of him behind his mask. Two eyes stared back at her today him having ditched the eyepatch for a prosthetic for obvious reasons. Behind the clear plastic surface, she watched his eyes crinkle a bit the way humans had when they were smiling, really smiling.

“I know I usually encourage your insanity, but this…. This is too much.” She muttered

“Stop being such a mother hen.” He chided softly, “I'll be fine.” he winked with the fake eye, “I’m indestructible.

“That attitude is what worries me.” She patted his shoulder watching the amusement in his bright green eye.

A human made a gagging noise off to the side, “Get a room already you two.” Ramirez chimed in.

“Seriously if this gets any more touching I might just cry.” Maverick responded

“True love!” Someone yelled.

“Wuv twue Wuv is what bwings us togeva today.”

The commander sat up in his seat, “Shut your trash mouths you hooligans.”

“NEAR, FAR, WHEREVER YOU ARE, I BELIEVE THAT THE HEART WILL GO ON!” Their voices were a discordant wash of half yelling half singing all in different keys arms around each other, swaying back and forth.

The commander punched Ramirez in the arm but it didn’t stop him from singing, though eventually their voices petered away.

“Someone forgot to bring our soundtrack?”

“What soundtrack?”

“Come on, shouldn't someone be playing Fortunate Son?”

Commander Vir shook his head, “Fortunate son is for helicopters, just like Danger Zone is for jets.” he turned to Sunny and Krill, “The two of you better get inside.” Sunny patted him on the shoulder before reluctantly retreating behind the door. The lights in the back went dark, and the pilot came over the line, “Depressurizing.”

She felt and heard the plane rattled as the ramp hissed open peering through the little window in the door. Red light illuminated the darkness behind them casting the humans into silhouettes as they were ordered into a standing position grabbing handles on the ceiling to keep themselves up. Sunny watched heart hammering as Adam raised a hand holding high waiting for a signal.

The lights in the back of the jet blinked green and the arm cut downwards.

The marines broke into a jog towards the end of the ramp.

She couldn't look away. At her side Krill cursed repeatedly and creatively.

The first of the marines leaped suspended for a moment framed against the cloudy sky, but a blink later and they were gone. Adam followed after the last marine stepping up to the edge of the ramp turning around to wave at sunny before pitching backwards into darkness.

***

Wind roared tugging at their clothes pressing against their faces their arms held out to the side. Breath came in short ragged gasps inside the plastic oxygen masks that cover their faces. All around them the sky was dark, nothing but the glowing hands of their altitude gages. Darkness enfolded them and the wind continued to scream as their bodies fell helplessly from the sky.

Time roared by with with the passage of the wind, and the gage inched twaords 3,000 than passed it. They had agreed at 1,5000. The clouds broke around them, and the ground below grew closer and closer and closer. The well of the mountains rose up in their vision.

One thousand five hundred, they reached out, and chute’s exploded upwards with the flapping of wings. They waited with bated breath for Anti Air fire, but when none came, they remained silent slowly curving themselves towards the ground. A ground that was quickly approaching.

In orbit, the GA ship circled slowly watching with awe and horror the feeds sent to them by cameras on the Human’s uniforms.

***

The Gnar’lak general had been working late on his plans. The FInnari had driven them back with the help of the so called GA and were now threatening his species with extinction. Why they would side with such a disgusting primitive race continued to boggle his mind, a mind which was admittedly one track and aggressively unimaginative.

The Gnar’lak had survived for thousands of years in an almost opposite way to the humans. Where they were cognitively adaptable, the Gnark’lak had survived being straight forward and unchangeable. Where this evolution had helped them to survive in the past, when diplomacy became involved they found their species to be falling behind, a relic of a more barbaric time.

Of course this was not something they were particularly capable of seeing since their minds were not built for possibilities and philosophical debate. The Gnar’lak knew two things, survival, and that the only way to get it was the Finnari….. Well I guess he knew three things and the third was that the Finnari were nothing more than a resource to be used and farmed. It was that simple, it seemed reprehensible that a logical species would take up arms against him with a source of food.

It would be similar to aliens coming down from the sky on earth and siding with cows against humans, or at least that’s how they saw it despite the Fennari being sentient and greatly more intelligent than cows.

All of this thinking was making him angry, and with a foot he shoved open the door to walk out into the early morning sunrise.

What he found, was his entire army immobilized on the ground before his dwelling. Six humans dressed in dark gear, and holding familiar weapons stood before his door. One human had his lieutenant pinned to the ground with a boot weapon pointed at his head. Another human was busying themselves tying up another platoon of his soldiers.

One stood patiently outside his door as if waiting for him.

He stared in disbelief.

“Good morning general.” The human said baring its hideous teeth at him, “By the power invested in me, Commander Vir of the UNSC Harbinger and the GA, you are hereby detained for the callous plotting of genocide and world destruction.”

He glanced away wondering if he could run, but a soft click and the human’s smooth voice stopped him, “I wouldn’t do that if i were you general.”

He turned his head staring at the ugly creature, “Something…. Seems familiar.”

The human simply grinned, “maybe, i've been here once before….. To assist a rebellion.”

The general knew exactly who the human was.

And even he knew there was no chance of escape.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are spaceoddities #HUMANS ARE WERID #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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rigelsenshis · 4 years

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the old guard + dæmons

a completely self-indulgent au bcos dæmons sit squarely in the Top Five Best Storytelling Concepts Ever Created and i will absolutely fight you on this it’s the hill i will die on

i made a post about this that evolved in a beautiful thread, with so many great ideas being shared by a lot of wonderful people, and then spent a couple of days thinking about possible shapes and possible names and this probably longer-than-comfortable post is the result of all that so i hope you enjoy let’s discuss let’s talk about this god i just love dæmons so much

first things first, some ground rules of how dæmons might work when taking into account the old guard’s particular flavor of immortality. @fleurdufeu suggested that the dæmon gets Severed with the person’s first death, the one that triggers immortality. and with each death (@en-sam-malas also brought this up) the dæmon can travel farther and farther away and can stay awake when their human is sleeping, contributing to the general idea of Otherness™ the old guard carries with them, especially in a world with a dæmons. @dearest--gertrude also suggested that just like the first deaths takes longer to return back from, dæmons would be slower to reappear— taking maybe two or three days the first time (which would add to the shock of having discovered immortality bcos like??? i’m alive??? and without my dæmon??? what the fuck???) to movie-time when the dæmon’s body is already there even before the human comes back to life. which only leads to the fact that when the final death comes the dæmon does disappear in a puff of golden dust like in hdm and creates a general wave of Angst (like i imagine that’s how Andy and Quynh knew that it was Lykon’s time, bcos his dæmon just disappeared and didn’t return)

@en-sam-malas added two Great Ideas, which is that most of the old guard would not have grown up with the taboo of not touching other people’s dæmons and so would use them in battle against other humans (which highlights their Otherness™ once again), and that their dæmons can probably undergo changes of shape— not as frequent as a child but following big traumatic events, like their first death, huge losses and grief and so on, and that’s the idea i’ve built on when looking for suitable shapes for each of them so here we fucking go (note that i did omit Lykon bcos we know so little of him atm but maybe when more material comes out we’ll be able to figure him out better???)

Nile

i’d like to think that as times grow more modern, dæmons’ names grow more modern as well— bcos Nile’s from Chicago, her dæmon could be called Jazz (bcos of the city’s history with the music genre) or Hopper (bcos Hopper’s Nighthawks is in Chicago and Nile loves art??? is it a stretch??? i’m open to better ideas for sure). her dæmon probably settled sometime after her father’s death into a german shepherd, as suggested by @stevie-harrington bcos in hdm many soldiers are shown to have a dog dæmon and dog dæmons are reliable and intelligent, pack animals that can hold their own in a fight. when she comes back from her first death Hopper is not with her, which only adds to the uneasiness the other marines feel around her bcos how tf is she alive without her dæmon this is just Wrong. he reappears when she wakes up in the back of the van, and it’s only on the plane that she realised that something is different about him and that he’s not exactly a german shepherd anymore— i’d like for his first changed shape to be one of those dogs that could be wolves and toy the line between the two (bcos it’s a bit more wild and also bcos i’d like Andy to have a wold dæmon and for Nile’s to resemble Andy’s since it’s vaguely implied she will take her place as leader of the old guard)

Booker

Booker’s dæmon is called Manette (which means “bitter”/”bitterness” and i mean,,,,nomen omen) and when it first settled it was a marmoset, as suggested by both @mewbotz and @fleurdufeu, an animal dexterous enough to help him with his forgeries and also deeply family oriented (marmosets mate for life are very involved in bringing up younglings which would make sense to Booker falling deep into desperation once his family passes). Manette changes the first time when he dies, and again @fleurdufeu suggests she could turn into a carrion crow to blend in with the others while Booker hangs for three/four days, brings him idk insects to eat and stays on his shoulder and they both cry bcos they don’t understand what happened to them and they feel each other but they’re also so different (crows are also family oriented and they mimic sounds so in theory she’s like her previous form but also with trauma and the imagery of death). she could turn into a cinereous vulture when the last members of Booker’s family die, reserved and passive and isolated, and then during movie-time she’s something even smaller, maybe even a mouse, bcos grief has twisted Booker into something that he himself cannot recognise and he sleeps with Manette in his hands like he used to do when she was a monkey and it feels almost the same but not quite. i’d assume that after the ordeal with Quynh she changes shape again, maybe if he starts healing up a bit???

Nicky + Joe

they go together bcos a) obviously and b) their dæmons have very similar stories and changes of shape so it makes sense for me to talk about them together

i called Nicky’s dæmon Glauca, which is a sort of shortening of the Homeric epithet given to the goddess Athena, glaukôpis aka bright-eyed (you get it??? like Nicky himself when will Luca’s eyes leave me in peace the answer is never). bcos he was born in a coastal city i’d like to his dæmon to have settled into a sea bird, and i chose the shape of a scopoli’s shearwater, a bird that’s native to Liguria and a good swimmer

i chose Zahara for Joe’s dæmon, a name that means most exquisite bcos i thought about the fact that he was an artist and a poet but i’m Very Much Open to more informed opinions than mine. Zahara’s first shape could have been a fennec, native to Northern Africa and a very outgoing kind of animal which i feel would match Joe’s personality

the first change for both of them is, again obviously, when they kill each other for the first time. when they find their dæmons again after having spent like three days in a blind rage and confusion and pain and where is my dæmon have it lost her what have i become it’s his fault they’re both smaller in dimension, bcos they’re in shock, and more vicious than their original shape, so i picked a stoat for Nicky and a genette for Joe— both small carnivores, native one to Europe and the other to North Africa, and they just tear into each other again for a not-better-specified amount of days it’s just sword scimitar teeth claws whatever. i then see Nicky and Joe sort of “making peace” and travelling together from Jerusalem to the sea, where they part ways, and the shock is so great, the reflection they go through when they’re apart so massive that causes another change, this one the farthest away from their “personality” as they struggle to understand who they are now and what they have become. Zahara becomes a blackbird and Glauca a cape hare, shapes that neither of them feel like are right

when they both start to make peace with what they have become and realise that there might be Feelings popping out, say like a couple of centuries after Jerusalem they’ve caught glimpses of each other in other Crusades and such, both dæmons change into cats. smaller cats for now, and when Joe and Nicky go and look for each other and find each other in Malta and realise that they love each other and share some poetic and lyrical declaration of eternal adoration they wake up and find their dæmons in similar shapes— big cats, like @mewbotz suggested. Joe’s dæmon settles into a leopard, majestic and sun-like, while Nicky’s becomes a panther, hiding in the shadows, fiercely protective and betraying Nicky’s nature of actually being a Pretty Dangerous Guy. and @mewbotz goes on to say that Joe and Nicky are so inseparable that their dæmons actually follow the other around, a way to always make sure they’re safe, and so it looks like Joe’s the one with Glauca the panther and Nicky’s the one with Zahara the leopard and in that way they’re never really apart and it’s Beautiful

Quynh

bcos they’re both so old, i have this idea that neither Quynh not Andy remember the actual very first shape their dæmon took (like Andy says that she doesn’t remember the faces of her sisters, for example). i’d like for him to be called Giao Long, a name lifted from Vietnamese myths about dragons, but again i only acquired this knowledge through internet searches so if anyone more informed wants to weigh in i’d be Very Happy

when Quynh’s riding with Andy, her dæmon is a crested serpent eagle, as suggested by @fleurdufeu, with the beautiful image of it flying close to Quynh’s arrow as it sails towards its target like @mewbotz said. the fact that their dæmons are so eerie and strange contribute to the English townspeople believing Quynh and Andy are witches, and when they throw Quynh overboard her dæmon is left flying above the water and it’s just a horrible cycle of madness with the dæmon changing shape to a bird to a fish to an insect reaching her into her cage flying above just mad with grief and pain like Quynh herself is

they find each other when she gets out but they’re both broken and twisted in an ugly way, and the dæmon has turned into something she can keep close— i’d partial to the idea of a snake bcos she was “a pit viper in a fight” and even tho they can separate like every other immortal they never do bcos the trauma is too great

Andy

i got Andy’s dæmon’s name from the Italian wikipedia page about Scythians and for the life of me i can’t find the same info in english but like, apparently there was a mythical/semi-mythical Scythian king called Colassai??? i find it a very fitting name and like Andy herself he could have shortened it to Cole in the modern age

Andy doesn’t remember his first shape (but i realised the deer was a pretty important animal in Scythian culture so maybe it could have been one???), but when she meets Lykon her dæmon is a wild boar— still an earthbound animal, brutal in a fight to match her axe-wielding fighting style. when she meets Quynh, their dæmons match (immortal wives and immortal husbands with matching dæmons for the win) and @fleurdufeu suggested it might be a golden eagle, The™ steppes’ predator

losing Quynh definitely triggers a change of shape and Andy’s dæmon becomes earthbound once again, as if Quynh’s death clipped its wings, and it become maybe a fox??? smaller, still vicious, still useful in a fight. then, when Andy’s in Australia with Achilles (as per the comics but also the movie bcos i think they showed Andy’s portrait in the cave) her dæmon could take the shape of an Australian-born animal, maybe a dingo??? and in movie-time her dæmon is a full out wolf, leader of the pack, brutal in a fight— and Nile’s dæmon slowly starts to resemble Andy’s wolf

and that’s the end of this dissertation-length monstrosity if you managed to get here wow i’m truly Moved

#the old guard #daemons au #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #sebastien le livre #booker #andy #andromache the scythian #quynh #nile freeman

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simp-for-spencer-reid · 3 years

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Sugar with a Side of Coffee Ch. 7- Raining in My Apartment

Chapter 7: Raining in My Apartment

Series Masterlist :)

Spencer awoke the next morning still sitting up on his couch, one of his blankets draped over his lap. He stared at the ceiling, piecing together the night before. His face turned red as he remembered inviting Cate over. He was sure he blew it. Who invites a girl over and then falls asleep? He really hoped he hadn’t screwed up. He finally peeled his head off the back of the couch, catching sight of his glasses and a sticky note on his coffee table. He put his glasses on his face, and picked up the note, like it would turn to dust if he wasn’t careful.

Spencer,

Thanks for having me over! :)

Sleep tight,

Cate :)

He placed the note back and looked around his apartment. His alarm wasn’t due to go off for another five minutes according to his watch. Speaking of which, he patted his pockets for his phone, coming up empty. It wasn’t on the coffee table or the side table. Sliding his hands in between the cushions, he finally found his phone. A notification of a new voice message from Cate was lighting up the screen. As he played it, he felt the corners of his mouth turn into a smile.

His alarm pulled him from his thoughts and he had to get up and get ready for work. He made a mental note to send her a message back later that day. Sleeping on the couch made him feel sweaty, so he needed a shower before catching the bus to work.

Cate had rushed into The Empty Mug for her shift. The late night had made her snooze her alarm one too many times. Shrimp was no help, curled up in the bend of her knees contently before yawning and stretching as Cate flew out of bed. Cate had expected to see a voice message from Spencer, but the only text she had was from Marta. It was a gif of Snooki from Jersey Shore, saying something along the lines of “Get it, Girl!”.

“About time!” Marta said to Cate sternly. “If Sweater Vest is going to make you late to work, I might have to disapprove of him.” Marta was flying behind the counter, making a few orders at once.

“I know, it won’t happen again” Cate mumbled to Marta, her mouth holding a clip while Cate pulled her hair back into a half up half down style.

“Good, now when you get back, we have matters to discuss!” Marta had to cut their conversation short, not only because she was serving, but because Cate had to get out onto the cart.

As Cate’s shift was ending, her phone was ringing in her pocket. She had no customers in sight, so she pulled it out of her pocket. Spencer’s contact was displayed on the screen.

“Hey,” Cate said, wiping the counter. “What’s up?”

“Hi, I, um, I’m sorry I fell asleep last night.” Spencer stuttered nervously. “I didn’t mean to, I was just so exhausted from the case-” Spencer rambled until Cate cut him off.

“It’s totally fine! I know your job is tough.” Cate smiled. She could almost hear Spencer smile on the other end of the line.

“Did, did you like the movie?” He asked nervously.

“Yeah I did!” Cate wiped the counter of the cart. “But next time, I’m picking the movie.” She said with a smile. She imagined the two of them in her apartment, binging all of the Harry Potter films, snuggled on the couch with enough junk food to feed a small army.

“Deal!” Spencer said eagerly. He wanted to make up for falling asleep, and he wanted to be conscious for their next hang out. Mostly, he was glad that Cate was so understanding about him being so relaxed he slipped into the best sleep he’d gotten in a while.

Despite The Empty Mug providing coffee for the BAU in their building, Spencer still stopped by in the mornings when he had the chance. Cate was able to keep it short and sweet, having his coffee ready and sometimes a baked item made from the night before. They kept their conversations short, so as to keep the cart’s line moving. Besides, they enjoyed their voice messages. It was like the staple to their friendship.

On the days that Spencer didn’t show, Cate would ask him about it. He would explain he was away on a case in another state. Cate was fascinated by the idea of a private jet for the agents. She loved flying, and loved looking out the windows on planes, unfortunately she didn’t fly often. She envied that Spencer had seen so many states and got to travel for work, but was brought back to reality when she thought of the horrific things he’d face on the job.

This particular morning, was a day where Spencer was off on a case. He didn’t tell her about the case, sometimes he didn’t even tell her what state they were in. He liked to keep her as distanced from the job as possible. Sometimes, the news channel or other customers who gossiped about the news would give away where they might be.

“Have you heard about the missing women they found hidden in the basement in Arkansas?” an older, light haired woman asked Cate while she was fixing up her coffee.

“I haven’t heard.” Cate handed her the disposable cup. The woman lingered for a bit longer.

“The youngest one escaped, and then they arrested the guy at his job, acting like everything was normal!” she told Cate. Cate gave her a smile and looked at the next customer. The woman thankfully took the hint and left the cart, going about the rest of her day. When Spencer didn’t visit, it seemed like her shift took forever. She wasn’t sure when he’d get off his case, but he would usually send her a quick voice message when they landed safe.

Cate tried to keep Spencer out of her head as she finished her shift. She didn’t like imagining what graphic things he’d seen. She did however, like to imagine him in all his unique-ness. A nice patterned button-up, a cardigan or a sweater vest, his messy brown hair. It always seemed to be in his face, Cate wanted to reach out and tuck it behind his ear sometimes when he spoke, but didn’t want to overstep. She liked where they were as friends. She wouldn’t mind being more, she did want that. But, she liked having him as a friend. She enjoyed his presence in her life.

Before she knew it, her shift was over. She would’ve stopped to talk with Marta, but Marta had a line of customers waiting to be tended to. Knowing she could call Marta later, Cate opted to head home to relax and get housework done. She walked home, enjoying the nice breeze and warm air.

Upon entering her apartment, Cate was taking off her shoes when she heard the sound of water droplets. She paused, trying to find where it was coming from. She prayed that Shrimp hadn’t managed to turn the faucet on again. He had racked up quite the water bill one month. Cate walked quietly around her kitchen, looking for the source when the sink was dry.

Cate gave an exasperated scoff when she had walked into her living room and saw her ceiling dripping. A large rust colored wet spot grew on the white ceiling. She leapt into action when she saw it had made its way onto her bookshelf. Her recipe books were safe, the laminated pages kept her family recipes waterproof. Her favorite books, however, were sopping wet. She grabbed all seven of her Harry Potter books off the shelf, bringing them to her counter for safe keeping.

Her next mission was to find Shrimp, who despised water. Per usual, he was loafed under Cate’s bed, wide eyed. She shook a treat bag to coax him out. He stayed put. Frowning, Cate called down to maintenance to see what happened. After receiving some bad news, she called Marta to see if she could stay the night. Cate looked miserably at her favorite books on the counter. She called the only person she knew who might be able to fix this.

Spencer was still at the office, having just landed. He tidied up his desk and sorted through his messenger bag. He was talking with Emily and JJ when his phone rang loudly. He barely got the chance to greet Cate when he heard her voice.

“I need help because you know a lot about books and you’re smart and my books are in really bad shape because my apartment is raining, I really need your help.” Cate managed in one breath. He tried very hard to not correct her about how it was impossible that her apartment would be raining.

“I’m sorry could you repeat that a little slower?” Spencer walked away, trying to find a quieter place to listen to her more carefully.

“M-my favorite books got wet because my apartment ceiling is leaking and I need your help because I know you take good care of your books.” Cate was trying to not sound desperate, but she didn’t succeed.

“Of course,” Spencer gathered his messenger bag, sweater, and go bag. He gave Emily and JJ a wave as he made his way out. He was glad he had decided to drive to work today; he didn’t have to wait for a bus. “I’ll pick you up.” he said as he started his car. “I’ll call you when I’m out front.” he hung up and drove as fast, yet law-abiding, as he could to her apartment. He had already memorized where her building was in the image of Quantico that he could envision perfectly in his mind.

He pulled up at the front of her building and Cate was already waiting for him. She had a bag of books over one arm, a backpack on her back, and a cat carrier. He had never seen her look so sad. These books must be special, he thought to himself. She spotted Spencer’s car and started walking towards him. He got out of the car to open her door and take her backpack and books and put them in the backseat.

“I’m sorry I know I didn’t mention Shrimp, but I couldn’t leave him. Maintenance said the people upstairs somehow burst a pipe and now I can’t be there for a week while they do construction, ugh!” Cate rubbed her face with her hands. “I cannot believe this happened.” Spencer wasn’t sure what to say to make her feel better. He could list off the limited construction knowledge he had, but it didn’t seem right. “I’m sorry, I’m not insinuating that I’m moving in. I’m living with Marta for a bit. Can you tell me about books?” Cate looked over to him, and began sticking her fingers in Shrimp’s carrier.

“I keep my books at 68 degrees, which is the ideal temperature to store them to keep them in good condition. I control the climate in my apartment to ensure that my books stay in the best environment.” He continued to talk through the silence the whole way to his apartment. Cate followed him silently. He grabbed her backpack and book bag while Cate carried Shrimp. Spencer let Cate in first, closing the door behind them. He placed her backpack on the couch while he brought the other book bag into his study, where his bookshelf was. Cate put Shrimp’s carrier down on the living room.

“I brought a hair dryer too.” Cate told Spencer as she pulled her wet Harry Potter books out. “I know you might not be able to do anything, but I figured if anyone could try it would be you.” Cate looked at Spencer and he would do just about anything for her hopeful face. He tried not to linger his stare on her tear streaked cheeks.

He picked up the first book. He knew deep down that they were probably unsalvageable but he would try anything. They both did not speak as she carefully removed the dust covers off of them and laid them out on Spencer’s desk. He took the hair dryer and began blowing the pages.

“These were some of the first books I ever read on my own.” Cate confessed. She watched Spencer peel the pages apart with his long fingers. “These are my first copies that I actually read the series on for the first time.” Spencer saw her gaze on the books.

“It’s like they’re old friends.” He told her. “I get it.” She gave him a weak smile.

“Yeah.” She saw how concentrated Spencer was and she felt like there might be hope for her books. Spencer straightened up, looking back at Cate. “Thank you for helping me.” Cate told him. He put the dryer down and faced her, his hand propping him up against the desk.

“Anytime. I know that books can carry a lot of sentimental value.” He watched as her eyes flickered to his hands.

“It means a lot.” Cate placed a hand on top of his. Spencer felt his heart swell. She left the room to check on Shrimp in the living room. He tried to calm himself down before he went after her, so she wouldn’t see his blush.

Cate had opened Shrimp’s crate, reaching inside to pet him. His carrier was on the couch, Cate was kneeling in front of it, and Spencer had just walked through the doorway.

“So,” Spencer started as he knelt beside her. “Why’d you name him Shrimp?” Cate smiled, thinking back to when her cat was a kitten.

“He was so small when I first got him. Like a little orange shrimp.” Cate pulled her hand out of the crate, and Spencer reached in to pet Shrimp himself.

“Did you know that the biggest shrimp species can get up to eight inches? A kitten is a pretty accurate sizing comparison.”

Cate and Spencer spent the rest of the afternoon trying to save her books. Spencer did not want to admit that the series had been one of the few that he hadn’t picked up. After some time, Cate had asked if Spencer could drive her to Marta’s so she could let Shrimp roam around. When he returned to his apartment, he carefully picked up the first book and began to run his finger down the pages as he read the whole series in just under two hours.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #sugar with a side of coffee fanfic

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nerianasims · 3 years

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Billboard #1s 1973

Under the cut.

Carly Simon – “You’re So Vain” -- January 6, 1973

Knowing who this song is about -- if there even is someone -- would make it a lot less fun. "You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht" is one of the greatest lines of all time. The subject of this song is a grade-A douchebag, and yet his life's kinda enviable, isn't it? He can fly his plane to see the total eclipse of the sun, he hangs out with spies, he seduces his close friends' wives, his horse wins races. But he "gave away the things he loved." He chose to be a movie character instead of having love, which is rather sad. It's a more complex song than it seems at first. And it's a lot of fun.

Stevie Wonder – “Superstition” -- January 27, 1973

Can't write too busy jamming. Okay so this song is great. The sentiment is one we need a hell of a lot more of. The music has my favorite funk beat. It's my favorite Stevie Wonder song, and one of my favorite songs period. Actually this is three in a row of my favorite songs now.

Elton John – “Crocodile Rock” -- February 3, 1973

Well that ends that streak. I don't like Elton John's music. I find it dull and irritating. I can't even pinpoint why entirely, because I can't listen to enough of his music all the way through. I have had to listen to this one all the way through at every wedding reception I've ever been to, though. It's a boring dance song, and boring dance songs are very bad things.

Roberta Flack – “Killing Me Softly With His Song” -- February 25, 1973

Roberta Flack is great, but I prefer the Fugee's version of this song. Flack's version is a little too color-within-the-lines for me.

The O’Jays – “Love Train” -- March 24, 1973

An optimistic, happy song about everyone loving each other and getting along. It's also a good dance song, which makes it easy to get on board.

Vicki Lawrence – “The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia” -- April 7, 1973

She killed her sister-in-law for cheating on her brother? Really? Really? Well this is where revenge leads -- now her brother's dead too. This song doesn't get at anything interesting and the story is simply unpleasant. The music in this song's not spectacular or anything, but it deserves a better story.

Tony Orlando & Dawn – “Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Ole Oak Tree” -- April 21, 1973

This lounge lizard singing a twangy country-ish song doesn't work. He doesn't know how to do it. Also, it sounds like they were trying to make it into a novelty song. Someone coming home from prison and hoping his wife will still want him is in very poor taste for a novelty song. This song somehow became about soldiers returning home. It's a really bad song for such a poignant and complex topic. It's a really bad song for anything.

Stevie Wonder – “You Are The Sunshine Of My Life” -- May 19, 1973

Stevie Wonder and his wife Syreeta Wright were in the process of breaking up when they recorded this love song together. They stayed in each other's lives until Syreeta passed away, though. Knowing that makes this song even more moving.

The Edgar Winter Group – “Frankenstein” -- May 26, 1973

How did a hard rock instrumental reach the top of the charts? The riff is pretty great, and some cool things are going on with the electric guitar. Hard rock instrumentals aren't my thing, though. But I think it's good, even if I don't want to listen to it.

Paul McCartney & Wings – “My Love” -- June 2, 1973

John and Paul both started producing lighter, slower songs after The Beatles broke up. I feel like George was keeping them grounded. Or I guess maybe Ringo -- who knows? This is tolerable, which is more than I normally say about too-light 70s love songs. Actually I think this is also a sex song. For the most soporific sex imaginable. Paul McCartney's bass playing was awesome when he was in The Beatles. I don't get why he didn't build songs around that after they broke up.

George Harrison – “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace On Earth)” -- June 30, 1973

Another spiritual song from George Harrison, but it's better than "My Sweet Lord" in multiple ways. First, the melody's not plagiarized. Second, it has forward motion. You can actually dance a little to it if you want. Third, there's a bit of anguish there. Spiritual songs are always better when they have the tang of pain to them. And Harrison's guitar is on point. Pretty good.

Billy Preston – “Will It Go Round In Circles” -- July 7, 1973

The last two #1s were by ex-Beatles, and this one is by the man often called "the fifth Beatle." It's the best of these three by quite a ways. It sounds to me like it's about the creative process. A song with no melody, a dance with no steps. And the one I like the best: "I've got a story, ain't got no moral/ Let the bad guy win every once in a while." Sounds like his story's a lot farther along than the song and the dance. The music is funky and soulful with a lot of different things going on, but without feeling overly crowded. Excellent.

Jim Croce – “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” -- July 21, 1973

Leroy Brown is a big, mean man, and everyone's scared of him. Until he goes after the wrong woman and her husband kicks the everloving crap out of him. Being big and mean doesn't count for much if you're a dumbass. It's sort of a country/funk blend, and I like it.

Maureen McGovern – “The Morning After” -- August 4, 1973

Mneh. I know why this one became a big hit; it was the ballad attached to a hit disaster movie. The Poseidon Adventure, one of the biggest disaster movies. I don't get disaster movies either. This song is schmaltz.

Diana Ross – “Touch Me In The Morning” -- August 18, 1973

Diana Ross sure sang a lot of songs in which she was desperate for a man who didn't want her. This time, she promises to be content with having sex just one more time in the morning with a one-night stand. How low maintenance of her. It's slow. It's boring. It gives me the icks.

Stories – “Brother Louie” -- August 25, 1973

Louie is white. He falls in love with a black woman. When he takes her home to his parents, they explode. I think he probably chooses to stay with her, but the song isn't clear. There's the fetishizing "Danger, danger when you taste brown sugar" line. Interracial relationships were really dangerous then still, so that's something. But I don't like the music, I don't like the singing, that one line is really bad and so I can't like the song at all.

Marvin Gaye – “Let’s Get It On” -- September 8, 1973

After learning about Marvin Gaye's life, I am extremely torn about this song. Marvin Gaye's father was a horrible right-wing preacher who made him think sex was a wicked thing. This song is Gaye's celebration of shedding the guilt instilled in him, and finding how wonderful making love was. But I still can't like this song. It's too light for me. (Marvin Gaye's father ended up murdering him -- he was truly a horrific excuse for a human being -- but at least Gaye was mentally free before that.)

Helen Reddy – “Delta Dawn” -- September 15, 1973

Helen Reddy manages a lot more emotion in this song than she did in "I Am Woman." I get it; I prefer stories to polemics too. That doesn't mean I like this song. A story song should have more than two verses and a repetitive chorus. Also, I don't like stories where women go mad because men promise to marry them and then split. I'm looking at you, Charles Dickens. Everyone's got tropes that make them itch, and this is one of mine.

Grand Funk – “We’re An American Band” -- September 29, 1973

My family moved a lot, but I always spent summers with my Grandmother in her cottage near Flint. So Flint is more my hometown than anywhere else. I'm definitely cool with a band from Flint laying claim to the "American Band" label. That doesn't mean I like the song. It's about touring and drinking and groupies, and then it's about repeating the chorus about a hundred and twelve times. Yeah, the music rocks, but it's repetitive and bores me as much as any soft rock ballad ever could.

Cher – “Half-Breed” -- October 6, 1973

I have a lot to say about this song. Way too much. Therefore I'm going to say nothing, except that nothing changes overnight, and this song is a massive improvement over the previous decade's songs about Native Americans.

The Rolling Stones – “Angie” -- October 20, 1973

I liked when the Stones were nice in "Ruby Tuesday." I don't like it so much in this one. It's a step too far. He's singing about how he still loves "you", Angie, but it's time to break up, and I just can't hear it as anything but insincere, fair or not. I feel like he's got someone else waiting. I do like how Mick Jagger makes "Angie" sound like "Angel" when he sings though.

Gladys Knight & The Pips – “Midnight Train To Georgia” -- October 27, 1973

Diana Ross was jealous of Gladys Knight and the Pips, and undermined them at least once. I am not surprised. Gladys Knight is a better singer than Diana Ross, and who wouldn't want the Pips singing and dancing behind them? This song is about how the singer's boyfriend is leaving on a midnight train to Georgia because he couldn't make it as a star in L.A., and she's going with him. Good for them. I love this song.

Eddie Kendricks – “Keep On Truckin'” -- November 10, 1973

Right into falsetto from the start. Sigh. This is a disco song, and it's not technically about trucking, but there are a lot of truck metaphors in it. I find a lot of disco weirdly hard to dance to -- I can't locate the beat somehow. I can dance to The Alan Parsons Project but not the Bee Gees. This is one of those disco songs I have trouble with. So it doesn't work for me to listen to or to dance to, and it's falsetto. Not bad falsetto, but still falsetto the whole way through. I don't hate it but I don't want to hear it again either.

Ringo Starr – “Photograph” -- November 24, 1973

This song is about looking at photographs of someone and missing them. It sounds a bit like an early Beatles song. George Harrison helped Ringo write it, and some of Phil Spector's collaborators gave it the "wall of sound" treatment. The former is likely why it's got a good melody and some interesting musical touches; the latter is why it gives me a headache.

The Carpenters – “Top Of The World” -- December 1, 1973

The singer is newly in love with someone who loves her, and it makes her feel wonderful. Very straightforward, honest, and unembarrassed, and Karen Carpenter's voice is gorgeous as always. The hook is dangerous; this song is likely to be in my head for a few days. That's okay though, because I like it.

Charlie Rich – “The Most Beautiful Girl” -- December 15, 1973

This is a country song in which the singer realizes he just destroyed his life, and is desperate to salvage it. He's asking if you've seen "the most beautiful girl in the world," because he needs to find her to apologize for the things he said that drove her away. It's sad and sweet, but it doesn't make me feel an awful lot.

Jim Croce – “Time In A Bottle” -- December 29, 1973

When this song would come on the oldies station, my mother would yell "Gah!" and change the channel to anything else. Her graduating class, very much to her chagrin, had decided it would be their song. (I don't remember what my graduating class's song was, but I remember some of us trying to get "I'm Too Sexy" to win and failing. I think we ended up being saddled with "I've Got Friends in Low Places.") In any case, I was prejudiced against this song before I heard it the whole way through. Jim Croce died young in a plane crash, so that is very sad. My reaction to this song is still the same as my mother's. It's glop.

BEST OF 1973 -- "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder WORST OF 1973 -- "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia" by Vicki Lawrence

#billboard number ones

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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Carol of the [Wedding] Bells

It all happens fairly quickly and he doesn’t remember much of it, which, really, seems fairly unfair from where Killian is sitting. Or, laying. Technically. He’s still laying in bed. With Emma next to him. And matching rings on either one of their fingers. On Christmas Eve. In Vegas.

Rating: Like a pretty solid T Word Count: Just under 8K. The prompts, they’re getting longer. Let’s all act super surprised. AN: So, in an effort to make things look a bit nicer, I’m going to post the Festive Fic Prompt a Thon stories on their own, outside of the asks. Today’s prompt from a lovely anon is: "we accidentally got married in vegas oops.” We’ve got pining, we’ve got friends to lovers, we’ve got opinionated Ariel, we’ve got thoughts on the Rat King in the Nutcracker.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-------

His head is going to snap in half.

He kind of hopes it does. It will presumably be more comfortable than whatever is happening behind his right eye, a dull throb and pounding that times up far too closely with his pulse, making Killian’s stomach heave and his mouth is very dry.

He’s not entirely sure where he is.

It’s not very warm.

That is...surprising.

The whole schtick of this place is its warmth. A dry heat and whatnot. He swallows, feeling like his mouth is full of cotton balls with a tongue that is questionably large, blinking against the light streaming in through unfamiliar curtains and—

Bouncing off the band of metal sitting on his finger.

Maybe his head has already cracked. Maybe he’s cracked.

In a psychological sense.

Killian blinks. Once, twice, three times, but the metal doesn’t move and the pain behind his eye appears to be drifting down his spine and he’s so goddamn cold because the other person draped across the majority of the bed has stolen nearly all the blankets.

There’s a bit of fabric clinging to his left heel.

“Holy fu—” he breathes, the rest of the word getting caught in a throat that suddenly feels as if it’s collapsing in on himself.

He can hear his heart pounding against his rib cage, another noise his head does not appreciate and his eyes are starting to water.

He’d blinked enough already. He assumes he’s physically incapable now.

Because now things are starting to piece together, even through the fog and the metaphorical cotton balls, smiles and laughter and far too much alcohol, missed flights and East coast snowstorms, changed plans and new plans and—

Emma mumbles something in her sleep.

So, maybe he’ll just die here.

That would probably be easier to deal with.

“Swan,” Killian says, but his voice doesn’t even sound like him. It scratches its way out of his throat, rough and maybe still a little drunk and...married.

To Emma Swan. Presumably.

God, he really can’t remember.

That is...disappointing.

“Swan,” he repeats, and it takes more than a moment to flip over, another twist of his stomach and clench of his jaw, and Emma makes more noise. Less disappointing. Endearing, even. This is a problem. A bad problem. The worst problem. “Swan, c’mon, love—”

Killian reaches his hand out, lets the pads of his fingers drift over the curve of her elbow, even when it’s still covered by blankets with an astoundingly high thread count. He’s going to choke on his tongue.

It’s growing.

He’s positive.

Taking up far too much real estate in his mouth, a biological defense mechanism because love has always seemed to roll right off that same tongue when Emma Swan is involved, but now it sounds far too big and much too heavy, and Killian cannot think about both his tongue and Emma Swan in the same sentence.

Not when he’s— “Why are you talking to me?” Emma grumbles. He laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but that’s apparently par for the course of the last twelve hours and at some point he’s going to promise that this is all Will’s fault.

And global warming.

If it hadn’t been snowing in New York and Boston, then everyone else would have been able to get to Las Vegas. For Christmas. As planned.

Mary Margaret’s plan, really. There was a schedule and we’ve never done this before and that had been reason enough for everyone to buy plane tickets and book hotels and Emma had called Killian almost immediately to ask do you think we can bribe a hotel clerk to put us in rooms next to each other. Which had almost led to his heart bruising his ribs.

What with all the faster-than-normal beating and being in love with Emma Swan and whatever.

Whatever.

Emma Swan. His wife.

Holy fuck.

“Seriously your voice is so loud,” Emma continues. “Are they doing construction outside or something? It’s too early for that.” “I have no idea what time it is, actually.”

“It’s probably not construction, is it?” “No, I don’t think so.”

“But...you’re here. Yeah?” Killian hums, pointedly ignoring the flicker of hope that appears in the back of his brain at those particular words in that particular order. As if she’d want that.

As if she’d want— They’re friends.

They’re...best friends. He knows things about her. She knows things about him. Good things, not so good things, things they’ve shared together, quiet moments and easy smiles, the growing sense that it’s just a bit easier to breathe around Emma Swan than any other human being on the planet.

They text. They FaceTime. On a schedule. One that Killian would argue is far better than Mary Margaret’s Christmas in Vegas extravaganza. He and Emma have known each other forever, have settled into their roles in the friendship group; the tag-alongs. The extra pairs, third wheels and sad ones with no designated other and this is really Will’s fault. He was supposed to get to Vegas before Mary Margaret and David.

“Here, Swan,” Killian whispers when he realizes Emma is still waiting on an answer.

He needs to find his phone.

He needs to Google things.

“Ok, good. That’s good, just—go back to sleep, ok?”

Her lips barely move when she speaks, burrowing further into the cocoon of blankets she’s created for herself, hair a riotous mess on multiple pillows and the smudges of black in the corners of her eyes make it obvious that neither one of them did much more than collapse into bed the night before.

They’re still wearing clothes.

So, that’s something.

Killian licks his lips. He’s not sure when he started breathing out of his mouth, but he’s suddenly all too aware of it, like every inhale is a particular challenge and he briefly wonders if she can feel whatever it is he’s feeling because the pinch that appears between her brows is rather sudden.

“Swan, Emma, it’s a—” Her eyes fly open, a blazing gaze that Killian swears cuts him right down the middle and stitches him back together. All at the same time.

“Wait,” she snaps. “You’re here.” “Yuh huh.” “In my room. This hotel room.” “Yup.” “And a bed.” “Also true.” “What are you—” “—I, uh,” Killian cuts in, and that’s probably not the best course of action. He bites back the urge to make another golf-related pun. To himself. Emma hasn’t blinked yet. “What do you remember about last night?” She shrugs, lower lip jutted out slightly. He’s got to stop staring at her lips. “I don’t—we were...did we come up with a song to go with the slot machine?” “Yuh huh.”

“Seriously, what is your deal right now? That’s—I mean, we were drunk, but—” Emma stops so abruptly Killian is fairly certain the world has also stopped spinning for a second. Until her hand jerks forward, as if she’s going to swat at his shoulder like it’s any other morning and any other day and he bites down on the side of his tongue. It’s bleeding.

The whole thing is oddly poetic in an entirely depressing sort of way.

Because Emma’s eyes bugs. Her jaw drops. Her exhale is impossibly loud.

“What is that?” Emma exclaims, jumping up and taking the blankets with her. She sways when she gets to her feet, gritting her teeth, and Killian reaches out on something like instinct.

She hisses.

The light glints off his ring again, casting weird shadows across Emma’s face and the dress she’s wearing and she’s still wearing a dress. It’s not white. It’s red and good and great and Killian feels some of the tension that had lingered between his shoulders dissipate as soon as his eyes sweep across her.

This is bad.

And not—

No, bad. Horrible, terrible, an absolute mistake.

Emma runs a hand over her face, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of her nose as she tries to catch her breath. Killian can still taste blood in his mouth. “Ok,” she says, all forced calm, “so, uh—we made up the jingle, song thing and then—” “—Jingle implies that it was an advertisement for the slot machines, doesn’t it?” “Oh my God, you’re making jokes.” Killian nods. “Yeah, a few.” “They’re not funny.” “Has that ever been the case, though?” One side of her mouth tilts up. “I hate you.” “That seems reasonable, all things considered.”

Emma huffs, tugging on the end of her hair like she does when she’s nervous and Killian doesn’t want her to be nervous around him, but he also didn’t expect to wake up married to the best friend he’s spent years pining for, so. Maybe nothing makes sense anymore.

“This is real?” Of all the questions Emma could have asked, standing barefoot in her own hotel room, with, Killian assumes, her own fairly awful hangover, that is not the one he expected to hear.

He expected more shouting.

If he’s being honest.

He nods again, slower that time. “Yeah, I think so.” “Ok, so, uh—” She clicks her teeth, more than once, as if she’s trying to work out some sort of residual energy and that dress is incredibly distracting. Being in love with her is incredibly distracting. “Did we win money last night?” “Quite a bit, if memory serves.” “And does it? Serve?” “Comes and goes in waves,” Killian admits, propping himself up on his elbows. Emma’s mouth does something else. “Scarlet called, do you remember that part?” “To tell us that he was stuck at JFK with Ruby and Belle?” “Yeah. And David and Mary Margaret couldn’t get out of Storybrooke—” “—Well, that’s because the entire town probably has like two pounds of road salt available, so—” “—Four pounds, maybe.” “The jokes,” Emma groans, but there’s not really any frustration to the words and that’s always been the case. The problem, maybe. It’s all too easy.

With her.

And them.

As a unit.

Killian’s eyes flicker to his ring. “Anyway. Scarlett called, gave a progress report on the great Nor’easter of 2019, Mary Margaret might have shed a few tears over her schedule and—” “—Wait until she finds out what we did,” Emma mutters.

The tension returns. Tenfold. It sinks under Killian’s skin and wraps around every one of his bones, slinks through his veins and settles between muscle fibers, threatening to push him into the mattress.

A muscle in Emma’s jaw jumps. ‘I just—” she starts, both hands waving in front of her. “Well, it’s not exactly like getting—”

That muscle is going to fly out of her face. That wasn’t on Mary Margaret’s schedule either. Emma flushes when she can’t finish the sentence, tugging both of her lips behind her teeth. Killian tries not to lift his eyebrows.

It doesn’t work.

He knows as soon as Emma sighs.

“So,” she continues pointedly, “we got the phone call, decided to—” “—Take in the sights of the strip. That’s a verbatim quote by you.” “God, did we start drinking here?” Killian points a finger towards the mini-bar, door still half-open and most of the shelves empty. “Context clues.” “And that led to the casino and the slots and then we won, so…” “I believe the term celebration was used several times.” Emma hums noncommittally, color still dotting her cheeks even when she does her best to bore her eyes into the tiny bit of carpet between her feet. And Killian holds his breath.

He counts to ten. Twenty. Forty-seven.

Backwards, too.

Because the memories keep settling into place, quick flashes of moments and earnest conversation, roaming hands and smiles that would put even the most rhinestone-covered outfit to shame.

Her hand had been very warm in his all night.

And there’d been—

He wishes he didn’t know how soft Emma’s lips were when he kissed her.

At least not like that.

“Right, right,” Emma mumbles. “And, uh—Chapel of the Bells?” “There was a Christmas joke involved there.” “Oh my God, by you or me?” “I honestly can’t remember.” Emma makes a noise previously never heard by human ears. It leaves her whole body bent in half and Killian’s heart shattering in his chest, far too much emotion for a drunken-fueled elopement, but he’s still having a very hard time coming to terms with the dress and the way she keeps twisting strands of hair around her finger and—

He’s already spent too much time thinking about this.

It seems exceptionally unfair that it ended up like this.

“How did we get a license? Don’t you have to have a license in Vegas or is that just for responsible cities with real rules?” “It’s a pretty scathing review of Las Vegas,” Killian says with half a grin. “We looked up that place, didn’t we? The Bell place.” “Oh call it the Bell place from now on, please.” She glares. “The jokes have got to stop. This is—ok, so the Bell place had packages. That’s...I remember that. We went in and we signed things and I had flowers. Like...roses, did you pick those out?” He’s the one blushing now, a heat in his cheeks and lingering at the base of his spine. Whatever inhale Killian takes does not do much to assuage the tightening in his lungs. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I wanted you to have something nice.”

It’s not an admission, per se.

It’s a fact, really.

But Emma’s eyes flicker up and he would swear in front of a variety of judges that there’s a hint of emotion on the edge, her own brand of want that he’s coveted for far longer than he’s willing to admit.

“And now we’re….” “Yuh huh,” Killian repeats, not able to say the actual word. So, he’s really a giant coward is what he is.

“How do we not be that?” It’s for the best that his heart has already cracked because the rest of him feels like it’s falling off in rather large hunks and that’s a disgusting thought, but Killian can still taste blood in his mouth and Emma won’t meet his gaze anymore and—

HIs phone is ringing somewhere.

“Do you need to get that?” Emma asks, soft enough that he can barely hear her. Killian blinks. Multiple times. Again.

“No, that’s—” “—You should probably get your phone, Killian. It’s, um...I mean we need to figure this out, right?” He makes a noise, is only aware that he nods when the muscles in his neck ache with the movement. Emma squeezes her eyes closed. “Because,” she continues, “it’s just a drunken thing. Yeah? That’s—I bet it happens to people all the time. This is like Vegas’ slogan.” “Drunk things brought about by delayed flights and the Christmas spirit?”

Emma’s lips twitch. “That’s verbatim too, huh?” “Something like that.” HIs phone stops ringing. And immediately starts again.

“Get that,” Emma repeats. “I’m, uh—why did we come back here, though?” “You were very certain you had the best sheets in the entire hotel.” “They’re stupid soft, aren’t they?” “I wouldn’t know, you stole all of them in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry.” And he can hear the apology for what it is, far more than bedding or questionably cold internal body temperature. For everything.

A mistake neither one of them wanted to make for entirely different reasons.

Killian stands up slowly, careful when he steps into Emma’s space and he’s at least eighty-two percent positive the sun is doing this reflecting thing on purpose. He ignores it, lets his head drop half an inch until his forehead is nearly resting on hers and his heart has made a miraculous recovery, hammering away in his chest like it’s trying to prove a point and—

She turns her head when his fingers graze her cheek, eyes fluttering shut.

“We’ll fix it, Swan,” Killian promises, the words like acid on his tongue. He’s really being the most dramatic groom.

She hums, a quick nod and hint of a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

And, really, it’s stupid.

It’s idiotic and dumb and wrong, on some sort of fundamental level, but Killian’s moving before he’s even processed any of those words and Emma doesn’t do anything more than exhale softly as son as his lips brush over the crown of her head.

So, points.

Or whatever.

His phone vibrates off the table a few feet away.

By the time Killian reaches his phone Ariel has called fourteen times, which seems a little— “Excessive,” he says, but that only gets him a screech-like sound and he’s not sure how much more of this his body can take.

As a whole.

“Are you kidding me?” “Say words.” “These are words,” Ariel sneers. She’s pacing. He can hear the floor creaking in what he can only imagine is her living room or bedroom and the specifics don’t really matter because she’s far too preoccupied with yelling at him to be concerned with the structural integrity of her house. “These are very—”

“—Opinionated words?” Killian suggests.

“You told me.” “Wait, what?” “Oh not so high and mighty now, are we?” “Ariel, I really do not have time for this. I’ve got to look shit up and—” “—You know it’s Christmas Eve, right? You probably won’t be able to talk to a lawyer today. Or tomorrow for that matter.”

His legs lock, glancing down to make sure his stomach has not actually fallen on the floor. No such luck. That would have been a good excuse for getting off the phone.

“Got you there, don’t I?” “Are you playing games, right now?” “No,” Ariel says, but the way her laugh clings to her voice makes Killian wonder all sorts of things he shouldn’t. If only because they make his blood run a bit cold. Or, colder. He still hasn’t really recovered from the blanket theft.

“Are you?” she adds.

Killian’s going to bite his tongue in half by the end of the day.

Maybe the end of the morning.

“Did I call you last night?” he asks softly, ducking further into the corner like that will stop his voice from traveling across the room.

Emma’s on the phone too.

“Several times,” Ariel replies, not bothering to disguise her laugh anymore. “Each one got progressively more excited. It was honestly almost nice.” “Almost?” “Almost. Because, uh—did you really actually do it?” He’s frozen. Stuck. Stock-still in the corner with the shadow and his own regret and he’s already lost track of the number of times he’s looked at his ring.

Killian’s got to stop thinking of it like that.

It’s far too possessive.

“Your silence is deafening,” Ariel murmurs.

“Shut up.” “The honeymoon’s over, huh?”

“Seriously, shut up.”

“Killian,” Ariel says, voice going placating. He narrows his eyes at open air. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Right now? No.”

“You might want to reexamine your priorities.”

“Oh, don’t be a dick. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

The breadth of Ariels’ reactionary noises would be impressive in any other situation. As it is, they’re mostly just annoying and Killian needs to take a shower. And down a fistful of Ibuprofen.

“You’re really kidding me, aren’t you?” Ariel challenges. “Oh my God, that’s—how long would you say you’ve been madly in love with your best friend?”

Silence. It’s not his first choice, but his tongue is doing that thing again and Emma’s voice is getting sharper on the other side of the room.

Ariel hums. “It’s so obvious. Even before the elopement. I mean—I was not joking about the messages. You should probably make sure you didn’t take out ad space in whatever the major Las Vegas newspaper is.”

“The Las Vegas Review Journal.” “God, you’re such a dweeb.” “Was this the worry?”

“You love that girl,” Ariel says matter of factly. “And you have forever. And it’s—she is so ridiculously into you—” “—What?” Killian growls, hand going tight enough around his phone that he’s worried he’s going to snap it in half. That might not be the worst thing in the world.

“People do not just marry their best friends.” “There was a lot of alcohol involved.” “What’s that saying about drunk thoughts and actions?” His eyes flicker towards Emma, swallowing back his retort because he wants, wants, wants, with every single fiber of his being and every reason why he hasn’t taken his ring off yet and—

“Silence,” Ariel mutters. “You should tell her at some point that you’d like to date her while you’re married.” “We’re not staying married.” “That’s stupid.” “That’s practical.” “When is romance practical?” “Ariel.” “Killian,” she says, and he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. It hurts. “You really did sound happy last night.” “You’re getting sentimental on me.” “You’re a martyr, you know that?” “Nah,” he objects. “It’s just—” “—Oh say, it’s complicated, please.” “It is.” Ariel clicks her tongue. “Sure it is. Seriously, you may want to double check on the newspaper ads. And other voicemails. From both of your phones.” He’s going to say something. It will be scathing and it will get the smile he’s sure is taking up most of the space on Ariel’s face to disappear, but then Emma is walking towards him, nerves practically rolling off her in waves. “I, uh—I called Mary Margaret last night.” “Told you,” Ariel yells. Killian snarls into the phone. She cackles.

Emma scrunches her nose. “So, she’s called me like forty-seven times. They’re still trying to get to Logan and apparently Scarlet did get on a flight. Ruby yelled and Belle pleaded and it was a whole thing, so they’re on their way here and—” “—They’re probably bringing gifts,” Ariel shouts.

“Is that Ariel?” Killian hums. “She’s very bored on Christmas break. Mind gone soft and so now she’s just determined to do permanent damage to my hearing and—” “—You are a dick,” Ariel says, making sure to pause between each word. For emphasis.

“Did you call Ariel?” Emma asks.

“Something about good news and it traveling fast.” She lets out a strangled sound between gritted teeth, nose still scrunched and far more attractive than any nose has any right to be. “Keep that in mind because Mary Margaret in all her overprotective wonder passed our tidings of great joy—” “—Look who’s making jokes now.” “She told Regina.”

Killian curses.

“Who was,” Emma continues, “as judgmental as you’d expect her to be, but also full of legal advice and promises that an annulment isn’t just possible, but is exactly what we should be doing and—are you ok?” “Hmmm?” “You’re doing that thing with your face.” “I have no face thing.” “Killian.” “Swan.” “Didn’t we do this before?” “Oh my God, how we were you not already married?” Ariel cries. Killian hangs up on her, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. It buzzes immediately.

“Where’s the inevitable but in this string of instructions?” Killian asks.

Emma smiles. Honest. Real. A little nervous, still, but something almost close to the expression Killian has started to consider his and that’s insane. He’s insane.

God, they’re married.

They are married.

He’s not sure he doesn’t want to be.

“Mind reader.” “Regina wouldn’t be able to make it easy.” “I’m not sure if it’s her or national holidays and our timing,” Emma shrugs. “But, uh—well, she said that we talk to lawyer, figure out the right reason for the annulment and then it shouldn’t take more than two weeks. We just—need it to not be Christmas.” “Meaning?” “Meaning our friends are on their way and we won’t be able to do much about this,” she nods towards his hand, hanging limply at his side, “until December twenty-sixth.” “Right.” “The face.” “No face, love,” Killian says, another slip of the tongue and he’s got to stop. That seems harder than not being in love with her.

Emma quirks an eyebrow. “Mary Margaret said they should be here tonight. But that leaves us—” “—A schedule for today?” “The Nutcracker.” “A ballet?” Emma nods. “And she thought Scarlet would agree to go to that?” “I don’t think he did. There are only four tickets and she’s already sold hers and David’s, so it’s just—” “—Us.” “Us,” Emma repeats.

Killian takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. It doesn’t do much to convince Emma, he knows, but his phone is making noise and his heart is doing its best hummingbird impression.

She hasn’t taken her ring off.

He dimly remembers picking out rings.

With her.

They are married.

“So,” Emma says, “if you want to get ready, then—maybe we could get some breakfast or something?” “Yeah?” “Sounds like you’re double checking that I want to.” “I mean—” “—We’ll fix it,” she cuts in. “But there’s nothing we can really do now and if I don’t shower soon, I may go insane. Killian barks out a laugh. “That’s fair. I’ll meet you—” “—Back here?” “Ok.” “Ok.”

Approximately 12:30 a.m. Christmas Eve

“That one.” “Yeah?” “Is this you double checking?” Emma asks, glancing over her shoulder and there’s something about that exact shade of green in her eyes that has Killian leaning forward, catching her lips with his. They’re definitely in the double-digits, kiss-wise now. He’s not all that inclined to stop, a rush that moves through both of his arms and settles in the base of his heels every single time it happens, like it’s grounding him and sending him into orbit at exactly the same time.

It’s better than he thought it would be.

The way her head tilts and that soft sound she makes, like she’s breathing out any sense of worry or fear, just trying to inhale him instead, light scratches of her nails when her fingers find their way into his hair.

That keeps happening.

He curls an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

It leaves them impossibly close, like they’re trying to occupy the same few inches, or maybe just take up a bit more space in each other’s lives and Killian swears his head spins as soon as he feels her tongue brush his.

And the words bubble. They threaten. They rise up the back of his throat, feelings and desire and some rational part of him knows he should say them before they do this, but this seems to be happening and it kind of feels like a roller coaster.

Terrifying and exciting and he hopes he doesn’t lose his sunglasses when they flip upside down.

It’s admittedly a slightly jumbled metaphor.

But.

Then Emma is kissing him and the chapel worker coughs and she might giggle. He hoards the sound away. For later.

Forever.

“That one,” Emma repeats, tapping on the glass case it’s not much more than a thin band of white gold, but it could be her band of white gold and—

“Perfect,” Killian says.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: AHAHAHAHAHAHA

AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA

IDIOT.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: [Empty]

If you mess this up, I may scream. God, you’re an idiot. Did you at least tell her you love her yet?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: [email protected]

Subject: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

David says you didn’t tell her you love her yet?????

Seriously, do you have a brain cell????? Like. One????

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] [email protected] Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Braincell is one word, isn’t it?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] [email protected] Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Are you….are you kidding me?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] [email protected] Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Did you both pay for in-flight wifi to do this?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: The Idiot

I don’t think he told her he loved her.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: The Idiot

Idiot.

He keeps glancing at her.

It’s not all that covert, despite Killian’s best efforts. And, really, he refuses to admit that it’s even remotely his fault, because Emma keeps making quiet sounds that catch his attention, eyes wide whenever a ballerina does something particularly impressive and he’s not sure she’s blinked the entire second act.

He’s cataloguing her reactions.

In a way that isn’t nearly as creepy as it sounds.

In...drunkenly married his best friend on Christmas Eve and can’t unmarry his best friend because of legal bullshit and might be falling a bit more in love with that same best friend while she watches The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.

He thinks that’s what this is.

Like ninety-six percent positive.

“You’re missing everything,” Emma mumbles out one side of her mouth.

“No, I’m not.” “If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to drill a hole into the side of my head.” “You’d look weird then.” She muffles her laugh with her hand, sliding further into her seat, but then her eyebrows are flying up her forehead and he can still hear the exact way she gasps when even more dancers appear on stage, a sea of color and swelling music and—

Killian grabs her hand.

Instinct. More than instinct. Head over heels in love with her.

Any of those excuses work, really.

And Emma doesn’t pull her hand away, doesn’t flinch or do anything except lace her fingers around Killian’s, thumb brushing the back of his palm.

Her eyes don’t leave the stage.

Her hand doesn’t leave his.

He genuinely doesn’t remember how Clara got back to her house.

Magic, he assumes. Something about Christmas and—

“Mary Margaret is going to be so disappointed she didn’t see that,” Emma breathes as soon as the curtain falls, head snapping towards Killian. Her eyes are bright again, an excitement there that doesn’t match up with the nerves of the last few hours, but he assumes it might just be more magic, or some kind of something that is inherently them and the power of friendship.

Or, whatever.

He kind of hates that last part. “That was,” Emma says, “Just—God, that was so...pretty.” He grins.

“Oh, don’t make fun.” “I’m not,” Killian objects. “It was very pretty.” She clicks her tongue, thinks he’s teasing her, but it might be the most honest thing he’s said all day. Idiot, Idiot. Idiot. “You didn’t even watch any of it. You laughed at the Rat King.” “Well, that was kind of funny.” “They were threatening!” “I’m sure if I got shrunk down to the size of a toy, I would also think a rat wearing a crown was a threat. And Uncle Drosselmeyer was—” “—Let’s not talk about Uncle Drosselmeyer.” “Because he’s a giant creep?” Emma mutters something that sounds like bah humbug under her breath, standing up to starting moving towards an exit. Her thumb taps against Killian’s. “You’re mixing references, love.” She squeezes his hand.

He thinks. He doesn’t want to imagine that.

But he’s also getting very greedy and he hadn’t taken his ring off and she’s wearing a different dress. Blue this time.

He might give Uncle Drosselmeyer a run for his creep-type money. There’s a joke about slot machines in there, Killian is sure.

“So,” Emma says when they reach the lobby, “what do we do now?” “What else was on Mary Margaret’s schedule?” “I don’t know actually, um—probably dinner, but they all land around seven anyway and—” “—You don’t want to eat without them?” “That’s not a secret me avoiding you thing.” “No?” Killian asks, and he hopes she doesn’t hear the added emotion behind both letters. That would be embarrassing.

More than everything else.

He probably shouldn’t have spent an entire ballet matinee staring at her.

“No,” Emma echoes. She tugs on the front of his jacket, like will make the words ring truer. He’s admittedly staring at her still, though. So.

“You want to play slots again?”

Killian presses his tongue to the inside of his mouth, a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach. “A dangerous game, don’t you think?” “We were good at it.” “I don’t know if you can be good at slots, Swan. That’s just—luck and spin ratio and—” “—Oh my God, say spin ratio again please.” “I’m serious.” “I know, so am I.”

He considers that for a moment—lets the sound of her voice settle in the darker corners of his brain, the places only Emma is really aware of, lost moments and could-have-been and Killian is breathing out of his mouth again, but for as fucked up as this whole thing is and will be for the next forty-eight hours, existing in the same space as her has been as easy as ever.

Maybe better.

With white-gold shine added in.

“We’re going to have to get more coins.” “We’re capable of doing that.” “You don’t want to try blackjack or something?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, the house is always going to wind up screwing you at all those table games and I don’t know how to count cards.” “Is that a requirement?” “Hollywood would suggest it is.” Killian chuckles, the desire to kiss her senseless rushing up his spine. As if that’s not his constant state of being. “Plus,” Emma adds, rocking forward until her head bumps his collarbone, “the slots are more fun with their lights and showmanship and it’s not quite so—” “—So what?” “Serious?” She asks it like she’s not sure she actually wanted to say the word and Killian’s answering inhale is far too sharp, his nod far too brusque. “Right,” he says, and he’d let the analogy go on for too long anyway. “You want to walk to a casino, or—” “—Yeah, that’s fine.” “Cool. Let’s go.”

Approximately 10 p.m., December 23rd

The lights are very loud.

Casinos by their very nature seem very loud. There are people and more people, roulette wheels and sound effects. Drink orders and music playing, shouting and cheering and booing, as if the cards give a fuck about human emotions and Killian’s feeling almost too existential with Emma plastered to his front, demanding more coins for the slot machine they’ve claimed as they’re own.

They win.

They keep winning.

It makes more noise.

And then—

“I like you,” Emma announces, spinning on the spot and her arms are draped over his shoulders and— “Yeah?” “Is this you double checking?” “Something like that,” Killian mumbles. His vision swims, half convinced this is a dream he’s had more than once. “Yeah.” “That was the answer, then?” “Yeah.” “A little more loquacious, love.”

Emma lets out a shaky laugh, color rising in her cheeks and the side of her neck, shuddering slightly when Killian tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. And it all kind of—

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he whispers. “Do it, then.”

He does.

They don’t win.

It seems almost too heavy-handed, an unnecessary message from the universe that they can’t have nice things or simple things and this isn’t either one of those things, but Killian found himself hoping somewhere during the curtain call of the Nutcracker and he’s starting to wonder if they can get their money back from the Chapel of the Bells. He should make a list of everyone he has to call.

They will all be monumentally depressing phone calls.

And Emma keeps sighing, his jacket hanging heavy on her shoulders because it’s Las Vegas, but she’s constantly cold and he’s nothing if not a glutton for punishment. She stuffs another coin into a machine that’s different than the one they played last night and the signs have got to stop. Killian is going to scream.

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, kicking a frustrated leg out when the machine shows three different fruits. “That’s—it’s garbage.” “Scathing.” “I’m losing all your money.” “Eh, some of it is yours.” “Is it?” “Mmhm, you didn’t want to carry your wallet and I took some of your cash.” Killian shrugs when Emma gapes at him. “We don’t really have much left, honestly.”

“God, that is so sad.” “Scarlet owes us drinks.” “How do you figure?” “I told him sixteen times he should have gotten on an earlier flight, but—” “—He’s a stubborn ass?” “That, exactly.” Emma chuckles, a little more watery than Killian would like it to be, but he also assumes most casinos are used to crying. Just in general. He needs to stop giving the casino a personality. “He thought it’d be cheaper to fly closer to the holiday. And flying makes him nervous, so—” “—No way.” “Did you not know that?” “No. Although I bet Ruby mocked him mercilessly for that the entire flight.” “What would you bet?” She smiles, teeth finding her lower lip like she’s worried the action is too big. For them. And this moment.

Of complete and utter awkwardness.

Someone wants to use their machine.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Killian growls, an arm around Emma’s waist when he pulls her away. The woman, her coin bucket jangling noisily when she plops onto the plastic seat, grimaces at them, but she doesn’t actually speak and—“Let’s play a different game, love,” he says.

They don’t.

Killian didn’t really expect them to, what with their decreasing funds and a ring on his hand that seems determined to pull him into the Earth and he’s got to say something. He needs to say everything, but saying anything is suddenly the biggest challenge in the world and it is so goddamn loud.

Emma says something anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Killian’s shoulders sag. “What? For...what do you have to be—” “—Is that a joke?” “I’m out of jokes, I think.”

“This isn’t normal.” “No, but—” “—There are no buts here? We got married!” “I was there, Swan.” “Where you? Really? Because we’re just acting like it’s nothing and—” “—What would you rather do?”

It’s another big question. Far too big. Epically big. God, he hopes he doesn’t have to talk to Ariel for a week. She’s going to be insufferable. “Do you honestly not remember how this went?” He can feel his eyebrows lower, confusion rattling down his spine. Emma looks close to distraught. “I just—this made sense. Last night and even before last night and—” She drags both her hands down her cheeks, leaving streaks in her wake and Killian is not breathing. “I asked you to kiss me, Killian! That was—it was all me and—” “—Stop that.” “What?” “We’re going in circles, I think.” “I don’t understand.” “Are you under some impression that I don’t want to kiss you? Constantly?” “What?” “Emma, love, you’ve got to say something else.”

Her whole body sags. She wins. “I don’t—” she stammers, fingers curling around the back of her neck and the chain there and something in the back of his brain startles at that, not used to seeing the metal or the light imprint it leaves on her skin. “You can’t double up on nicknames like that, it’s cheating.” “That’s just your name.” “Yeah, but you’ve got your own thing, don’t you?” “Is that you double checking?” “It might be,” she admits, and there wasn’t that much space between them, but she rocks forward anyway, the toe of her shoes brushing Killian’s. “I—I don’t really remember how we got to the chapel.” “Neither do I, honestly.” “So, no idea who asked who, then?” “Maybe some hope.” The words fall out of him. It feels that way, at least. Part admission, part want, again, Emma’s eyes going wide enough to do damage and Killian doesn’t think. It’s too loud for that, anyway.

He ducks his head, swallowing down his groan when Emma steps on his foot. It’s easy to do that when he’s kissing her instead. His hands find her waist, holding on like he’s battling some kind of romantic tide and he’s barely cognizant of Emma’s eyes fluttering shut before her fingers curl around the front of his shirt, tugging him forward. Killian tilts his head, lets himself fall into a rhythm, far easier than anything else he’s done and if he’s keeping with the water puns, it feels like cresting the surface of a particular strong wave.

That he’d be all too content to drown in.

Emma pushes up again, lets her fingers card through the hair at the back of his neck and he can’t stop moving his own hands, desperate to blaze some kind of path that he’ll think about for the rest of forever.

The word bounces around his brain, leaves bruises and brands and another word that’s inherently more positive than that and— “Heyo, what are we doing here?” Killian is going to commit murder on the first floor of the Bellagio.

Andy Garcia’s character from Ocean’s Eleven will be pissed off.

And the whole lot of them are still holding their luggage, coats draped over arms and matching looks of surprise on their faces. Or so Killian assumes. He’s still staring at Emma, watching the dismay cloud her gaze.

She swallows.

“I’m going to get some air,” Emma announces, not bothering to hand Killian back his jacket. He doesn’t ask for it.

Mary Margaret mutters something undoubtedly encouraging, Ruby’s hand over mouth and Belle swatting at Will while he continues to laugh uproariously. David looks at Killian, stuck to the spot with his heart crumbling and his stomach on a different floor and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to—

Something hits him.

Not literally. Metaphorically.

Memory...y.

“Did you tell her you love her?” David asks knowingly, and Killian doesn’t nod or shake his head, just kind of twists his neck because— “I’ll be right back.” He runs.

Approximately four in the morning, Christmas Eve

They got married.

Married.

To each other.

Killian’s whole body is thrumming, excitement mixing with everything he’s ever felt for Emma Swan and the questionable amount of alcohol either one of them has ingested. They haven’t taken their clothes off, which he’s sure he’ll be disappointed by eventually, but for now he’s content to lay there, staring up at the ceiling with his wife curled against his side, fingers tracing idle patterns over her arm.

He’s fairly certain she’s asleep.

It’s really why he says what he does. “I love you, Emma.” She doesn’t still, so much as she takes a deep breath, Killian hoping and wanting and—“I love you too, Killian.”

She hasn’t made it very far.

And he shouldn’t take much joy from that, but Killian’s desperate and greedy and he skids to a stop in front of a fountain that isn’t doing fountain things yet. He supposes it’s only a matter of time.

It’s another clunky metaphor.

“Hi,” Killian breathes, Emma’s lips curling up even when she tugs on the chain around her neck. He realizes what’s on it.

Her ring.

He’s glad he didn’t waste time killing Scarlett. It’d be hard to profess his love from jail.

“If I apologize again are you going to freak out?” “Undoubtedly,” Killian nods.

“That’s dumb.” “Your apology? Yes.”

Emma huffs, the ring falling over the front of her dress and the side of his jacket zipper and that kind of messes with his head a little. “This is insane.”

“Unorthodox.” “They all saw us making out in the casino.” “I’d imagine a lot of people did,” Killian reasons, dropping in front of her. “The degenerates come out in droves on national holidays, you know.”

“What happened to being out of jokes?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” “From me?”

She whispers the question, trepidation and nerves and Killian hopes he doesn’t fall over when he lifts his hand. His balance is better sober, though. “I didn’t want to—” “—Marry me?” He’s not holding his breath, so whatever sound he makes is absurd, leaving his forehead resting on Emma’s and her fingers brushing over the side of his jaw, familiar and not and normal and unexpected and absolutely goddamn perfect.

In an unorthodox sort of way.

“Say that again.” “You first.” “God, you’re stubborn, you know that,” he mutters, and Emma smiles, a kiss between his eyebrows. “I—ok, you want to be honest? Let’s be honest. That’s how Christmas works, right?” “Something about naughty and nice and rats.” “No rats, Swan.” “Nutcracker princes?” “Look who’s making jokes now,” Killian grins. He noses at her cheek, like some dam of emotional upheaval has been broken and he can’t stop touching her if he tries. He doesn’t try.

“You didn’t take it off.” “What?” “Your, uh—” Emma says, “your wedding ring. You haven’t—God, I keep looking at it. You’re sure it’s not a magnet?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Weird.” “The weirdest.” “Why didn’t you take it off?”

Killian takes a deep breath, not as nervous as he probably should be because this is the moment and he’s almost surprised they don’t have a larger audience. Mary Margaret might be hiding behind a bush.

“I didn’t want to,” he says. Strictly speaking he wishes he said he more. He wishes there were some ridiculously romantic speech with adjectives and adverbs and every promise he’s ever made to himself when it comes to Emma, but that’s the important part and she’s kissing him.

He can feel her smile against his mouth.

And that’s enough.

By a long shot.

Gambling puns.

Emma pulls him up when she stands, Killian’s palm flat on her back and her fingers tracing as much of him as she can, rocking back and forth until they find a rhythm that might just be them and—

They both yelp when the fountain goes off behind them.

He nearly falls over her. She kicks him in the ankle. They laugh. Loudly. And he’d been right about Mary Margaret.

They’re all there, another round of smiles and practically giddy laughter, hands in the air and shouts of triumph that sound suspiciously like winning the jackpot.

Killian feels that way.

“I didn’t want to,” he repeats, soft enough that only Emma can hear. “I just wanted—” “—Me?” “You, Swan. From the very start. For as long as I can remember. And it’s—you want to go on a date or something?” “Honestly?” “No jokes.” She leans back, eyes wide and as hopeful as he’s ever wanted them to be. About him. And them. Collectively. “I’d like to go on several dates. That end with less clothing. I was really upset about all the clothing last night.” “We can probably work on that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian nods. “And I—well, we don’t have to stay this—” “—No, no, that’s...I mean, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” “High praise.” “Something like that,” she agrees. “Just, you know...maybe we can date while we’re—” “—Married,” Killian finishes.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that.” “Why do you know that?” “As if you didn’t.” He kisses her again. He can’t help it. Scarlet whistles. And they do go to dinner eventually, but then Killian’s tugging Emma down a hallway, a mouth against her neck and her fingers working buttons and—

It’s even colder the next morning, a distinct lack of clothing and bedding, but there’s a body against his and a small smile on her face and he lets his eyes close again, hopeful for whatever else they may want together.

Approximately 5:15 p.m. April 17th

He asks her.

For real that time.

It’s sooner than he plans on, but they’ve been married for months and Emma smiles when she kisses him.

He figures that’s the response.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #festive prompt a thon #i really did get more prompts than i expected #which is very nice of you internet #and i'm going to try and keep filling them before disney #but some of the christmas prompts may become new year's prompts #ya know what i'm saying???#also all opinions about the nutcracker expressed here are my husbands

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andtails · 4 years

Text

A Prelude to Chaos Control - Chapter 6: Flying Toward Freedom

Click here to start from the beginning. You can also read this story on FanFiction.Net or Archive of Our Own.

*****

Chapter 6: Flying Toward Freedom

“H…hey! No fair, Sonic!”

“Haha, ya snooze, ya lose, pal!”

Tails shook his videogame controller in frustration as Sonic’s character sped past him, having hit the orange kitsune’s kart with heat-seeking missiles, causing him to spin out of control and off the cliffside racetrack. Seconds later, his car materialized back onto the asphalt, ready to race once more. Holding the trigger button on his controller, Tails accelerated, his tires screeching as he ripped down the raceway, eager to take his revenge on the blue hedgehog.

They were now on the final lap. Sonic, who maintained the lead over his little brother and the other competitors, heard the sound of another kart rapidly approaching. The blue hedgehog chuckled to himself as he dropped spiked tacks from the back of his car.

“You think you’re sooo clever, don’t you?” Tails expertly dodged the tacks and deployed his own weapon; a banana cream pie launched itself from a spring in the back of his kart, landing squarely on the hedgehog’s character as his vision became obscured.

“Ah, shoot!” Sonic spun out of control and crashed into the side of the mountain, the orange kitsune passing him by as the blue hedgehog reversed his vehicle, hoping to catch up before the end of the race. By the time Sonic crossed the finish line, though, Tails was already spinning donuts, confetti raining over him as the crowd cheered his victory.

“You win this time,” Sonic took off his headset and set his controller down, looking at the young fox beside him on the hospital bed, “but I’ll prove victorious next time!”

“Oh yeah?” Tails pulled his own headset off his triangular ears. “Well, I guess you could say you were…too slow.”

Sonic watched as his younger brother broke into a fit of laughter.

“I’ll make you eat those words!” Sonic jumped onto the orange fox, tickling him on his sides, causing him to laugh even more, waving his arms and kicking his legs as the blue blur enacted his revenge.

“Now you’re playin’ dirty!”

“How ‘bout this,” Sonic pulled himself off the young kitsune and sat back on his side of the bed, “best two of three: winner does all the chores for a week.”

“Oh, you’re on! Just don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re eating dirt again!”

As they put their headsets back on, though, they heard a feminine voice at the doorway, clearing her throat to get their attention. The nurse approached the two brothers, disapprovingly staring at the orange and blue laptops that sat in front of their respective owners.

“I thought we urged against screen time, Mr. Prower?”

“Hehehe, well…” Tails placed a hand behind his head in embarrassment. “I figured that I’d reward myself after finishing all my books.” He pointed at the stack of thick texts sitting on the bedside table, the nurse wondering how he had managed to read them all in such a short amount of time. “Besides, I’m feeling a whole lot better, and it has been five days anyway.”

“Ya can’t refute that logic, Miss,” Sonic added, patting Tails on the shoulder.

“In any case,” she continued, ignoring the fox’s arguments, “the doctors are approving your discharge. You’ve healed quite remarkably since entering our care, and we believe you’ve gotten well enough to finish recovering at home.”

“Great!” Tails exclaimed, jumping out of bed. “Now I just gotta grab my stuff, and we can be outta here.”

“Hold on there.” the nurse placed her hand on Tails’ shoulder. “Be sure to sign out with the front desk before you leave.”

“Will do, Miss!” Tails replied, giving her a thumbs up. He continued packing his belongings as the nurse took her leave, closing the door behind her.

“Ever hear back from the shop?” Sonic leaned back on the bed, his hands propping up his head.

“Oh yeah.” Tails turned around to face the blue hedgehog. “They said my plane is ready to go! The manager even moved it by semi-truck to the local airstrip.”

“That’s just a hop, skip, n’ a jump from h—” Sonic was interrupted by a gurgling sound coming from the orange fox.

Tails looked down and placed a hand on his belly. Looking back up at the blue hedgehog, he blushed in embarrassment, laughing nervously to himself.

“I’ve gotcha covered, pal.” Sonic got up and approached the window, pointing out into the distance. “See that park? They have this fantastic chili dog vendor there. We can stop on the way…my treat!”

“You know full well we share finances.” Tails smirked, taking his gloved hand off his gut and playfully punching Sonic in the arm.

“Yeah, I know.” Sonic took in a deep breath of the fresh, early-afternoon air. “I’ll do the heavy lifting and place the order for ya, then. Sound good?”

“Hehe, sure,” Tails replied, the two brothers sharing a laugh.

“Alright, then. Time to finish packing.”

Sonic closed the window and helped Tails fill the two duffel bags. Looking around to ensure they didn’t forget anything, the duo turned off the lights, took the elevator down to the first floor, and checked out with the front desk.

“Fresh chili dogs with the works, here we come!” Sonic exclaimed as the two walked through the automatic doors, eager to satiate their hunger and return home.

*****

Rouge entered a fighting stance as Eggman’s robots stormed the command center. She was quickly surrounded by a group of oval-shaped, orange soldiers with turquoise eyes and wide smiles made of glowing panels. Surrounding the outer perimeter of these Egg Pawns were a small, albeit more fearsome group of Egg Knights, who had a similar shape as the Pawns but were covered in silver armor and sported pointy shields and large javelins.

“Wooahhooohoohooo.” Eggman’s laugh echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and causing the bat’s sensitive ears to ring. “My mechanical minions will ensure you are captured. ATTAAAAACK!” Eggman sat back down in his chair, polishing off his sandwich as the Egg Pawns approached the jewel thief.

“I don’t like getting my hands dirty,” Rouge said, tightening her silk gloves, “but you gave this girl no other choice.”

She rushed forward and punched the nearest Egg Pawn, causing it to fly backward, knocking over a few more robots before colliding with the metal wall on the opposite side of the room. Taking no time to catch her breath, she approached the next Egg Pawn, knocking it over with a roundhouse kick, rotating her leg around as she made a winding jump, her boot cracking its outer shell as it fell to its side, knocking over several more like dominoes.

“I’ve got to say, she is pretty good,” Decoe said, sitting comfortably on the sidelines with his mechanical brother.

“I agree. She is not only a good sneak, she is also adept at fighting,” Bocoe replied.

“Quit your blabbering and call in some reinforcements!” Eggman yelled, pointing at his minions with teeth clenched.

“Yessir!” they said in unison before returning to their posts, using their computers to redirect a few more groups of robots to converge on the command center.

Meanwhile, Rouge took flight, using her wings to effortlessly maneuver in the air. After dodging a javelin attack from an Egg Knight, she grabbed the weapon from the robot, which still held its handle, and dragged it around the circular room, knocking over its mechanical comrades like bowling pins.

“There!” Rouge’s eyes were fixed on the exit, now cleared of the soldiers still recovering from their fall. She swooped into the passageway, landing gracefully on the floor before dropping to one knee to collect her breath. Wiping sweat from her brow, she looked behind to see a group of robots running toward her while the rest were still on the floor. “No time for beauty rest just yet.”

The jewel thief ran down the hallway, stopping at a large stairwell.

“Hmmm…” Rouge placed a finger to her chin as she devised the rest of her escape plan. “There should be some sort of roof access above. If I can get to the top of Eggman’s fortress, I should be able to fly on out of here no problem.”

She climbed several flights of stairs until she reached the top floor, placing her hands on the metal bar on the door leading to the roof as she took a few moments to catch her breath. Rouge had plenty of time before the slower Egg Pawns would catch up with her.

Meanwhile, Robotnik monitored Rouge’s progress through his monitor, toggling through various security camera live feeds as the bat made her way up the building.

“Decoe! Bocoe! Ready the outside lasers! We’ll see to it she doesn’t escape with my Chaos Emerald.”

“Aye aye!” they responded in unison, preparing the weapons scattered all along the perimeter of the fortress, which included hundreds of yards of concreted land surrounding the building, lasers mounted on several patrol towers and along the central building itself. The gate surrounding the fortress was electrified, and the single exit to the encampment was guarded by an army of Egg Pawns and several large mechs, ready to attack on sight.

“She may’ve slipped through my fingers for now, but she’ll soon be back in the palm of my hands.” Eggman formed a fist and raised it in the air, laughing maniacally as his mechanical minions finished preparing the remainder of the fortress’ defenses.

“Has Eggman finally fallen off the deep end?” Bocoe asked his brother with a whispered voice.

“You assume he hasn’t already,” Decoe replied, using a metallic hand to partially cover his mouth.

“Quit your yapping and be on the lookout for Rouge!” Eggman yelled, his eyes studying the jewel thief through his monitor as she recovered from her sprint up the stairs and pushed through the door.

Rouge found herself on the roof of the building, rain dripping down her face as she observed her surroundings. Beyond a few cubicle cooling units and a helicopter on the far side, there appeared to be nothing abnormal waiting for her on the roof. When she peered down to the ground below, though, her heart stopped as she realized just how much danger she’d have to overcome if she wanted to escape alive. She watched as various robots and mechs of all sizes circled the building, covering virtually the entire area surrounding the fortress. She also noticed the towers scattered around the area of the base were buzzing with energy, searchlights roaming the perimeter and laser turrets searching for their target, a far cry from the defenses she deactivated when she first invaded the fortress.

“This is hopeless.” Turning around, she glanced over once more at the unoccupied helicopter. “Wait a minute…maybe this is my ticket out of here?” Rouge walked toward the vehicle, getting a good look at the flying machine before her.

“With my wings, I wouldn’t have enough momentum to gain the height needed to bypass Eggman’s defenses,” She opened the door to the helicopter, surprised to find it unlocked, “but with this bad boy, I could fly up high and be out of range of Eggy’s attacks.”

She sat down in the driver’s seat, staring at the buttons, levers, and knobs along the dashboard. “The only problem is I’ve never flown one of these before.” She shrugged her shoulders and analyzed the controls. While Rouge never operated a helicopter in her life, she had experience flying other forms of aerial transportation, so not all hope was lost.

“Let’s see…” Rouge flipped some switches on the dashboard and turned a key, bringing the helicopter to life. “Ah yeah, now we’re talking!”

Flipping a few more nodes, the propellers began to spin. Pulling the joystick in front of her, the flying machine lifted itself from the ground, hovering in place as the jewel thief plotted her next course of action.

“Let’s see…to be safe, I should probably fly this thing as high as it’ll go before leaving the area.” Rouge maneuvered the helicopter upward, the contraption wobbling as it gained height, her inexperience clearly showing.

Eggman watched the entire take-off through a security camera on the roof.

“Blast that bat! Why’d I leave the keys in there in the first place?” Robotnik’s face turned red as he slammed his fist against the dashboard.

“A more important question,” Decoe whispered to his brother, “is why he even has a helicopter in the first place.”

“I’ll have you know,” Eggman replied, having become adept at comprehending their whispered speech, “that evil geniuses like myself bent on world domination enjoy a little fun every once in a while, and a helicopter is more exciting to pilot than my silky smooth Egg Mobile.”

“But enough about that,” Eggman barked, pointing a gloved hand at his robotic servants. “Shoot her out of the sky before she gets away!”

Decoe and Bocoe returned to their stations, taking control of the nearest laser turrets positioned around the headquarters and the surrounding watchtowers. By this point, their efforts appeared futile, as low visibility and the helicopter’s current height made accurate aiming almost impossible.

“We’re losing visual contact,” Decoe said.

“Rouge is almost out of our range,” Bocoe added.

“Give me that!” Eggman pushed Bocoe off his chair, remotely taking control of one of the large mechs stationed near the outer perimeter near the gates. Using his keyboard and mouse, Robotnik was able to expertly maneuver his large, silver mech through the perspective of the live feed camera built within its digital eyes.

“Now let’s see…” Eggman tilted the mech’s head up and zoomed its vision until he spotted the helicopter off in the distance. With a few more clicks of the keyboard, Robotnik locked on to the target and fired multiple laser blasts at the escaping helicopter. Eggman enhanced the image further, allowing the party to see black smoke billowing from the helicopter’s engine.

“Darn it!” Eggman yelled.

“But it looks like you hit your target, doctor,” Bocoe said, pointing at the monitor from behind the evil genius.

“That may be true,” he replied, “but by the time the helicopter is forced to ground, Rouge will be long gone.”

Robotnik turned around to face the two mechanical brothers once more. “I want you to follow the trajectory of the helicopter and inspect the crash zone. See if you can recover the Chaos Emerald she stole.”

Giving Eggman a salute, Decoe and Bocoe ran out of the command center. Eggman sat back down, watching the monitor as the helicopter flew away, black smoke lingering in the air as Rouge disappeared completely from the mech’s enhanced field of vision.

“One day, she will pay.”

“Mark my words.”

*****

“It looks like I’m home free.” Rouge leaned the joystick forward as she flew the helicopter away from Eggman’s base. “What a sap! Leaving your keys in the helicopter was a rookie mistake.”

Before she could gloat further, though, she heard a loud explosion behind her. Peeking out the window on the right-hand door, she gasped as she saw black smoke coming out of the engine from behind the cockpit, creating a cloudy trail as the flying machine began to slowly lose altitude.

“Dammit!” Rouge sat back down in the pilot’s chair, watching as flashing lights lit her dashboard. “Yeah yeah, I know!” Maneuvering the craft once more, she discovered that she was still able to control the direction of the helicopter, even if she could no longer raise her altitude.

“Uffdah.” Rouge wiped her brow and leaned back in her chair. “That’s a relief. I can just glide down to safety and ditch this hunk of junk when I’m back on solid ground.”

Unfortunately for the jewel thief, though, the helicopter’s engine had other plans.

Rouge heard another explosion from behind. Looking out the window once more, she watched in horror as fire engulfed the back of the helicopter, the vehicle rapidly losing altitude. Looking forward, the bat saw an island in the distance. Rubbing her eyes to ensure her vision wasn’t deceiving her, she found the island floating above the ocean waters below.

“That must be Angel Island!” She surmised that the helicopter should be able to reach the island before descending too low, and it was her only opportunity to avoid the water, so with what little control she had left over the careening aircraft, the bat glided in the direction of the island.

Another few minutes went by. The helicopter was now over the floating island, approaching dangerously close to the trees below. Rouge opened the left-most door and peered down at the ground. Taking a deep breath, she dove out, planning to use her wings to escape unscathed. As she jumped, however, she collided directly with a large oak tree, hitting her head against the thick bark as she fell to the forest floor.

A 60-foot fall would’ve easily killed the jewel thief, but the branches covering the length of the tree broke her descent every 10 feet or so, leaving bruises and scratches instead of life-threatening injuries. Nevertheless, she was nearly unconscious by the time she reached the forest floor, her body sprawled out near the base of the oak tree, leaves slowly falling to the ground, landing on and around the bat, her body soaked with rainwater as the storm continued its downpour.

If Rouge were awake, she’d have been thankful to be outside the vicinity of the helicopter, which brought several trees down with it before exploding, fire spewing from the smoldering mess of twisted metal as the flames engulfed the wreckage and spread to the trees surrounding the crash.

*****

After their fight with Dr. Eggman, there was a mutual, unspoken understanding that Sonic would look over the young kitsune in the hospital while Knuckles, the sole guardian of the Master Emerald, would return to his duties on Angel Island.

And that is exactly what he did.

Whereas the trip from the island to Seaside City took about 15 minutes, thanks to the speed of the Tornado 2, Knuckles’ journey home took half a day; after walking the entire way, climbing up a mountain to allow himself to safely glide down to the floating Island, he chose to celebrate by napping on top of the Master Emerald for the remainder of the evening.

A week went by without issue. He used the time to relax after the battle with Eggman, thankfully not having sustained any injuries. He called Sonic and Tails in the hospital from time to time, otherwise electing to take it easy; from Knuckles’ perspective, the brotherly duo was more than suitable to retrieve the Chaos Emeralds, even if their efforts would be delayed. His true purpose was to guard the most important one of all: the Master Emerald, the source of the Chaos Emeralds’ power, a mystical gem that could grant any evildoer the ability to spread untold chaos and destruction across Mobius.

And so he guarded the Master Emerald, as he had always done, sitting on the stone steps of the shrine deep in thought, allowing the rain to pour over his fur as he pondered recent events.

That Tails is certainly a resilient little fox. He’ll stop at nothing to help his friends. For such a little guy, he always seems to put his life on the line to thwart Eggman’s schemes.

“Definitely commendable,” Knuckles turned around and peered up at the Master Emerald, “but the shock he gave himself up there, and the battle at Seaside City…maybe Sonic should have him sit things out going forward.” He looked at his feet and crossed his arms. “I get the strangest feeling things are only going to get hairier from here.”

“But still…” The red echidna walked up the stone steps and observed the Master Emerald, the sprinkling rain rolling off the perfectly cut gem. “Tails’ dream about the Master Emerald…and surviving that intense shock with mere bruises on his hands…maybe fate is drawing Tails into this ordeal? Maybe it is the will of the Master Emerald beckoning Tails play a role in the events to come?”

Knuckles’ monologue was cut short by the sound of an explosion in the distance, black smoke bellowing into the sky.

“What’s this? Is the island under attack?” Knuckles scanned the dark sky above, not seeing an aerial assault or signs of a fleet preparing to wage a fight on his turf. “No…but whatever it was, I need to investigate.” The red echidna ran down the shrine’s steps and toward the direction of the explosion.

Navigating through the thick forest of the island was effortless for Knuckles. After all, as the sole occupant and caretaker of the floating island, it was his duty to know every square meter of his ancestral land.

Pushing thick foliage away, Knuckles emerged from a patch of tall grass to find what remained of a downed helicopter and scorched trees surrounding the crash site, the fire having since been put out by the intensifying storm. Investigating the charred remains of the aircraft, he found the cockpit empty, as well as the surrounding area of the crash site.

“Hmmm…” Knuckles placed a gloved finger on his chin. “No bodies, no survivors…no sign that someone was actually piloting this thing. They must’ve jumped out before impact.”

Proving his theory, a feminine voice could be heard in the distance. He approached the groaning sounds, the noise becoming more audible with each passing step, until he found Rouge on the ground, scratched, bruised, and seemingly unable to move.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that jewel thief who tried to steal the Master Emerald before.” Rouge didn’t reply, instead moaning in pain, not having enough energy to carry on a conversation.

“Well, it’d only be right to make sure you’re okay.” The red echidna inspected the bat before him, moving her arms and legs gently. “Nothing appears broken, but—” Knuckles was interrupted by the bat herself, who shot up, pushing him to the ground as she intently stared at him, crossing her arms.

“What do you think you’re doing? I hope you weren’t up to any funny business!”

“W…what?” Knuckles blushed as he looked up at the angry bat above him. “I’d never do anything like that, you ungrateful bat!”

“S..sure…” Rouge began to say, her sassy attitude giving way as she fell back to the ground, too exhausted and banged up to continue taunting the red echidna.

Knuckles pulled himself up and observed the injured bat, checking her pulse before picking her up and slinging her across his right shoulder.

I don’t like the thought of bringing that bat anywhere near the Master Emerald, but I can best tend to her wounds at home. She better not try and take the Master Emerald once she is recovered…

The red echidna made careful strides in the direction of his cabin, Rouge unwittingly along for the ride.

*****

Tails looked up at the sky, observing the dark clouds beginning to creep in from the distance. He shivered at the thought of a thunderstorm, especially considering his current location: an open park the length of a few blocks in Seaside City. Trying to suppress his fears, the fox looked over at Sonic, who was about to order food from a small vendor as he sat at a nearby picnic table, keeping the duffel bags by his side.

“I’ll have a dozen chili dogs with the works!” Sonic slapped a palm on the vendor’s counter as he placed his order.

“Ahh, m’best customer Sonic!” exclaimed the chef, a portly pig dressed in a white apron, a large snout covering his pink face. “A dozen fully-loaded chili dogs comin’ up!”

Before Sonic knew it, the chili dogs were complete, piled up like a pyramid on a large plate. The fresh, brown chili was still bubbling as it completely submerged each deluxe-sized hot dog and their accompanying buns, dripping to the chili dogs below like a multi-layered fountain. For added measure, the chef sprinkled a healthy dose of shredded cheddar cheese over the hotdog pyramid, the cheese instantly melting into gooey goodness upon contact with the searing hot chili.

Sonic began to drool as he eyed the mythical creations before him while mindlessly fumbling in his wallet for cash. The blue hedgehog tossed a bill to the chef, his eyes widening in shock as he inspected the payment.

“Hey Sonic, the dogs were only 25 dollars. I think you overpaid.”

“Keep the change, ol’ friend.” Sonic grabbed the plate of chili dogs as he made his way back to the picnic table. As the hedgehog walked away, the chef eyed the 100-dollar bill carefully before placing it in the safety of the cash register.

“My best customer indeed...”

Tails looked on as Sonic walked toward him, careful to balance the plate so the hand-crafted dogs would survive the brief journey to the table. Sure enough, the chili dogs arrived unscathed; Sonic placed the plate at the center of the table and sat down across from the orange kitsune.

The two brothers grabbed their first serving, the blue hedgehog devouring a full hotdog with a few large bites while the young fox ate with more care. Given Sonic’s speed, the hotdog pyramid blocking the two from seeing across the table was quickly reduced to a small pile. Unsurprisingly, the blue blur ate most of the chili dogs, but Tails didn’t mind; he was approaching maximum capacity anyway.

Letting out a loud belch, the hedgehog quickly covered his mouth.

“Excuse me!”

The duo laughed, Tails pinching his nose with one hand and waving the other in front of his face for comedic effect before returning to the half-eaten hotdog on his plate. Sonic laid down on the bench on his side of the picnic table in satisfaction, placing his hands behind his head for support.

“So,” Tails began, as he polished off his hotdog, wiping away excess chili from his muzzle with a napkin. “What’s the plan now? As far as we know, Eggman may’ve collected all the Chaos Emeralds by now.”

“You know me, Tails,” Sonic replied, reaching for a half-eaten chili dog while lying on the long seat, throwing it up in the air, catching it in his mouth, and swallowing it whole. “I’m usually not the plannin’ type o’ guy. I leave that sort of thing to you.”

“I suppose.” Tails placed a hand on his utility belt, feeling the Chaos Emerald detector within, a pang of guilt creeping out of the young kitsune’s subconscious once more.

The two brothers sat in silence, enjoying the fresh air on their faces, as they spent the last few moments of relaxation together before committing themselves to discovering Eggman’s ultimate plan.

Surely that attack on Seaside City must’ve had some purpose. Otherwise, what was the point?

Tails pondered to himself in silence as he rested his arms on the table, using them as a support for his head as he stared blankly in front of him.

“Regardless of our plan,” Sonic interrupted Tails’ train of thought, sitting up and looking at his younger brother across the table, “I’m just happy you’re feeling better and will be by my side the rest of the way.”

Tails smiled brightly in response to the blue hedgehog’s warm comments.

I couldn’t imagine staying in that hospital without Sonic there with me. He’s been such a good friend. I’ll do what I can to stop Eggman’s latest scheme…for both of our sakes.

“Why the serious face all of a sudden?” Sonic stared intently at his younger brother, whose face was tightened up and eyes narrowed, as if filled with a new sense of determination.

“Oh, sorry…” Tails placed a hand behind his head in embarrassment.

“You don’t need to apologize for being yourself, buddy.” Sonic reached over the table to rustle the kitsune’s hair. “Always be yourself…remember that.”

“I will, Sonic.” Tails smiled as the blue hedgehog sat back down, his hand rubbing his bulging belly. “Let’s say we grab a doggy bag and bring the rest of these chili dogs home?”

“You bet!” Tails patted his own belly in satisfaction.

As Sonic got up from his seat, though, a familiar voice could be heard from several yards away, calling him from a distance. She didn’t seem to be very pleased to see the blue hedgehog.

“Ah geez…” Sonic tried to rub the displeasure from his face before the confrontation commenced.

“SONIC! You have some explaining to do!”

“Ohh, hiya Ames! What’s happenin’?”

“Don’t what’s happenin’ me, Sonic!” Amy Rose was dressed in her red skirt, sporting shorter quills than the self-described blue boyfriend before her.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” Sonic placed his hands forward as if to impede the angry pink hedgehog, fire growing in her eyes as her teeth clenched in anger. As she stepped forward, the angry girlfriend materialized her Piko Piko hammer from her hammerspace.

“What? You don’t remember?” Amy asked sarcastically, setting the hammer down and folding her arms as she looked away from the duo’s picnic table.

“Why don’t you tell us what Sonic forgot, Amy?” Tails assumed Sonic was at fault, which was generally the standard order of things in their relationship.

“Alright,” Amy exhaled deeply, ignoring the blue hedgehog next to her, “but only for Tails’ sake.” Looking at the concerned fox, she continued. “Sonic and I had a date scheduled last week, but he totally bailed on me! I’ve been planning it for weeks, had the outfit picked out, even had food catered in. But…” tears welled-up in the pink hedgehog’s eyes as she finished her story. “Sonic never showed up! I waited for hours but still no sign. I had to throw out all the food, too!”

“And worst of all,” she looked menacingly at the blue hedgehog beside her, “he didn’t even bother to answer his phone!”

“Amy, I…”

“No excuses, Sonic!” Amy waved a gloved finger in his face. “You’ve done this to me so many times, I’ve lost track.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts, Sonic!”

“But…”

“What did I just say?”

Sonic brushed a hand through his blue quills as sweat rolled down his brow.

“This time I had a good reason.”

“So you admit all the other excuses were BAD?” She turned her face away, her arms still folded. Amy was caught off-guard, however, when Sonic grabbed her hands, the pink hedgehog allowing her arms to fall at his unexpected touch.

“Look Amy, I’m sorry for forgetting our date. Honestly, but you see…Tails…” Sonic’s voice began to crack as he turned away from his girlfriend. “Tails was in the hospital.”

“Not good enough, S—” Amy stopped halfway through her rejection, so prepared to remain mad at her boyfriend that it took a while to process Sonic’s words. “Tails…was in the hospital?” Amy’s attention turned toward the orange kitsune, who was watching quietly.

“O…Oh…”

In all her years chasing the blue blur, and listening to his endless barrage of lame excuses, she hadn’t quite heard one like this, a reason that was both truthful and sincere. She looked back at Sonic, whose eyes were closed, arms folded, and head down, his face somber as if in deep thought.

“Yes, well…I’m fine now, though.” Tails scratched the back of his head and chuckled nervously. “I suppose you’d like to hear more?”

“…Yeah.” She couldn’t find anything else to say. Instead, she joined the company as they sat back down at the table, leaning against her blue boyfriend as the orange kitsune recounted the events that transpired, nibbling on one of the leftover, lukewarm chili dogs in front of her.

“I heard Eggman was defeated a week ago, but the media coverage didn’t mention your injuries.”

“No, I guess not…” Tails’ turned away from the hedgehog couple, shifting his gaze to the sky above. ��People don’t seem to care about sidekicks, huh?”

Sonic opened his eyes as he noticed Tails’ voice begin to trail off, sadness returning to his younger brother’s face once more.

“People care about ya, Tails.” The blue hedgehog pulled himself away from the pink hedgehog, Amy nearly falling over from the sudden loss of support. “They were just more worried about Eggman’s destruction is all.”

“And besides,” Sonic gave Tails a thumbs up, “you’re not one for publicity, am I right?”

“I suppose.” A smile returned to Tails’ face.

Sonic always knows what to say. I don’t know what I’d do without him...

Sonic chuckled, itching his nose while grinning at his younger brother. “Well, we should probably mosey on out of here.” As Sonic got up to grab a to-go bag from the vendor, Amy stopped him with her intimidating voice.

“Hold on, Sonic…you may be off the hook this time, but I have my eye on you, so I’m coming with!”

The blue hedgehog turned around, itching the quills on the back of his head.

“Well…the more the merrier!” Sonic chuckled nervously as he walked backward to the vendor, grabbing a bag from a dispenser.

Storing away the delectable leftovers in the doggy bag, the trio made their way to the hangar where the fixed-up Tornado 2 was stored, itching to get home in order to plan their next move.

*****

Click here to continue with chapter 7!

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #tails #tails the fox #fan fiction #fan #fiction #fic #sonic x #action #adventure #brotherly

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numeronubisexualhawkeye · 5 years

Text

Let Me Be Weak

1360 words

@rimkimginny

(no family for clint cause fuck joss whedon. also more angst than romance but i hope you enjoy!)

The entire ride from the airport to the hotel, Nat was restless. At first she had tried to rationalize her nerves as restlessness from going somewhere that wasn’t within the confines of the Avengers HQ for the first time in five years. Sure, she had gone into New York every once in a while to decompress, but that was almost always at the order of Steve or Rhodey. She was determined to undo Thanos’ work, and duty was always calling with every Avenger spread out across the globe and galaxy at any given point in time.

But she knew that rationalization was a false one. She had been to Tokyo more times than she could count for missions, with both Shield and the Red Room. No, she wasn’t afraid of being away from the compound, Steve was perfectly capable of doing her job just as well, if not better, than she could.

What he’s doing here, what he’s been doing for the last couple of years, Natasha, I don’t think there’s any bringing him back.

Rhodey’s warning from a few days before had been on a constant loop in her head since she boarded the plane at JFK. He was wrong, he had to be wrong. For her sake, she hoped that Clint could be better than what he had become. That he could pull back from all the carnage and come home.

It took several hours longer to locate Clint than she had originally anticipated. She had ignored Rhodey’s advice of bringing any weapons or equipment that might help expedite her search. In the chance that she did find him, and he did retaliate, she didn’t want to come off as hostile. Grief does things to a mind that makes a person push past any logic, and she wasn’t willing to test how far Clint had been pushed.

A small fragment of her hoped that she wouldn’t find him, that she could toss this entire thing up as a loss and get back to the real job at hand. There wasn’t a single living creature alive that hadn’t lost someone in the snap, she shouldn’t feel so obligated to save a single person when there were quite literally trillions more hoping for a solution. It felt selfish for her to fly all this way for one man, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to move on if she didn’t at least try.

She had spent the entire evening with the news playing on the television as she scrolled through local live updates, hoping for some sort of blip on the radar. It was slower than if she had just tapped into local Yakuza communications, but that barrier of not knowing, not confirming Rhodey’s news was oddly comforting.

It was well past eight o’clock when she saw a news update that looked promising. A news anchor told of an ongoing investigation into the deaths of local gang members, killed by what appeared to be multiple stab wounds, ones made by someone with expertise in handling swords. Natasha sighed and turned off the tv. It took several minutes of gathering up her courage before she could finally get dressed and leave the room.

Fighting an army of aliens twice was easy. Trying to bring someone you loved off the edge of an oblivion they made for themselves was nothing she had ever prepared for, or would have expected, to be something she needed to do in her life. If things had been the other way around, if she had been the one to not fight against Thanos, had stayed away from it all like Clint had, would she have turned out the same? Did she have it in her to hold that much vengeance against people that had nothing to do with what she was working so hard to try and undo? Would Clint have come after her if she did?

She shook the thought out of her head. Of course he would. He made a different call all those years ago when she had a gun to his face and had beat him to a pulp, if he knew there was still good in her then, he would do the same for her if she was in his shoes now. As she made her way through the city to where the attacks the night before had happened, she hoped and prayed that the Clint that had saved her then would allow himself to be saved now.

She almost laughed when she heard the first screams coming down the street. Follow the screaming. She never thought a line from the second worst Jurassic Park would come in handy now.

He was less than fifty feet in front of her, wiping his sword of the blood of the Yakuza leader he had just stabbed. Against all logic, the man at his feet was still alive. He was dying slowly, and Natasha waited for him finish the job. Even if he had become a murderer the last five years, at the very least, she hoped he hadn’t become merciless. But he simply stood over the man’s body, watching the life drain from his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Clint finally said, taking off his mask and hood. He turned to face her.

Even now, after all these years apart, after all the blood he had shed, all of Rhodey’s warnings against him, and all the nights she had gone to sleep trying to push him out of his mind, her heart still skipped a beat when she saw him.

“Neither should you.” she said, swallowing hard against the lump growing in her throat.

What the hell was there even to say next? She had five years to think on this reunion, but in those scenarios, he had come back to her. He had come back tired and looking for home, sorry that he had left to begin with. But what could she do with the man in front of her?

“Barton,” she started. Saying his last name felt foreign now. She had said it so many times over the years, but when they finally admitted their feelings for each other, there hadn’t been a day where she hadn’t called him Clint. Five years and a trillion bodies between them now, she wasn’t sure what to say. “We can bring them back. It’s a long shot, but,”

“Don’t.” Clint said, his voice short and clipped. “Don’t do this Nat.”

Nat. Not Romanoff, not Natasha, Nat. It was too personal, nobody else could get away with calling her that. He still cared.

“It’s a chance to undo this. You can make all of this right again.”

He walked toward her. “I had my chance to help, and I didn’t.”

“And what are you doing now?”

“I’m making things right. These men,” Clint gestured to the bodies on the ground, “They were murderers.”

“And what does this,” she glanced down at the Yakuza boss, “make you?” Her voice was steady somehow, but she was a wreck on the inside. She didn’t want to be doing this. All she wanted to do was pull him into her arms and let the troubles of the last five years melt away for just a moment. She wanted to forget that Thanos was the reason Clint was here in the first place. She wanted to forget that she had just seen him kill a man without mercy, she wanted to take him back to the hotel and into bed, and just lay next to him for hour, after hour, after hour. She wanted to be weak. But instead, she kept her head. She told him about the time heist.

“Don’t,” he said, “Don’t give me hope.” his face and voice finally cracking through the stoicism he had kept up.

“Clint,” a tear rolled down her cheek, “at least come home. You don’t belong here.”

She reached out for his hand and squeezed it. Clint interlocked his fingers with her’s. It wasn’t what she wanted, or what she needed, but it was a start. She called a cab, and lead him on the way back home for the last time.

#k.txt #fic tag #clintasha #endgame spoilers

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dragonwitch77 · 6 years

Text

Contractual Obligations

If there was one thing Snatcher was good at, besides stealing souls and making any poor fool do his bidding, it was making contracts. Contracts were legal binding, part of law and, well, his past somewhat. He didn’t really remember much about his old law school. It was such a long time ago and he never really liked thinking much about his past.

Memories of her left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But anything from his time at law school was treasured. His teachers, his tutor, studying the rules of laws and all its guidelines, legal facts and its systems. Oh how he missed it.

Now however, since he no longer was among the living, he couldn’t be a part of any law system like he once dreamed when he was still alive. That didn’t stop him though.

When he first realized that he was dead, it took some time for him to figure out how he worked and know what he could do in this new permanent form. The soul eating came as a shock but he soon grew used to it. But the most surprising and greatest thing Snatcher could ever find out about himself was the ability to make contracts. It delighted him to no end.

His first victims were his minions. All of them were Dwellers at one point, and he couldn’t miss the opportunity to get some free labor. And, what good was a ruler without some subjects? After that, it became much easier when intruders started showing up. Not all ghosts can do everything and it was always fun making some poor soulless sucker do all the work.

Nothing made his day more than having a good contract.

*^*

“Kid, what is this?”

“My contract!” Hat Kid beamed with pride. A little too much pride in Snatcher’s eyes. Peck, she was even doing a small pose with her hands on her hips and an obnoxious smile on her face.

“Contract? This thing?” He looked at the paper. It had crayon written all over, with scrawled symbols that he couldn’t understand in the slightest, and poor kid drawings of what looked like the kid and… was that supposed to be him with a colorful horn on his head? “Kid, I can barely read this. Much less READ your space language. And why did you give me a pink horn?!”

The kid’s smile faded. “That’s… a party hat.”

Snatcher blinked, glancing at the picture again. “Huh. I guess that makes more sense. Still, what is this supposed to be?”

“Your contractual obligation to my slumber party!”

“What?” Snatcher felt an eye twitch.

She climbed over to his seat, pointing at the paper. “This is my contract! You have to attend my slumber party tonight! Cooking Cat is going to be there and DJ Grooves also agreed to come!”

“This is more of an invitation than a contract kiddo.” Snatcher grabbed her by the cape and put her on the ground. “And I don’t like parties kid. Go bother someone else.”

“But you haaavve to! Our contract says you have to!”

“No. It says I have to be your BFF. Nothing about it says that I have to be a part of any social gatherings you’ve planed or give you little gifts or any of that stuff.”

“But the party won’t be the same without you!”

“You’ll live.” With that, Snatcher tossed the kid’s ‘contract’ away, pulling out a book and began reading.

Hat Kid pouted, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. “Fine! If you won’t come then I’ll get someone else to!” She turned to leave when she felt a tug on her cape.

“It better not be someone from here kiddo. If you want someone else to go to your dumb party, why not try somewhere else?”

“And why would I do that?” She tugged her cape out of Snatcher’s grip. “You don’t want to go so why care who I ask.”

“I don’t care who you ask as long as it’s nobody from my forest. And don’t try asking any of my minions, they won’t go either.”

Hat Kid glared at him, tears threatening to fall. “YOU’RE SUCH A MEANIE SNATCHER!” She shouted as she took off running. Not towards the village as Snatcher hoped she would, but out the back way towards the old ruins of the forest.

He watched her go, her form getting smaller and smaller as she ran. “What is with that kid?” He mumbled to himself, settling back in his chair to read. Well, at least she wasn’t heading towards the manor. He didn’t need to worry about the kid. She was fine on her own. She practically knew the place like the back of her hand since she came here nonstop.

Something rustled behind him.

Glancing behind himself, Snatcher found the kid’s ‘contract’ stuck on his home. He plucked it up, looking at again. “All this because she couldn’t even make a decent contract.” He shook his head and sighed.

*^*

“Stupid, meanie, dumb Snatcher.” Hat Kid mumbled, sniffling and rubbing her eyes to get rid of the tears. She wasn’t crying! She was a big girl! And big girls don’t ever cry! She just needed some time alone and away from that big meanie Snatcher.

Stupid Snatcher. She worked hard on that inva-contract. She put a lot of thought into it and did a really good job on those drawings! She was so sure he would come once he saw what she made. Snatcher loved contracts! She didn’t understand how he didn’t like this one.

“Maybe it was the party hat?” He did seem a little offended that she drew a pink hat on him. But he looked nice in a pink hat!

Whatever. He wasn’t coming to her party because he didn’t sign the contract. He even threw it away! The big jerk! If he wasn’t coming, then she would invite someone else! But who?

Snatcher made it clear that his minions weren’t going. Probably told them not to. That big meanie! She could ask someone else, but, who? She wasn’t going to that creepy old lady. No way! She just needed to find someone. Someone who would like to come to her party and be thrilled that they were invited.

Maybe a Subcon Dweller? No, they couldn’t talk or do very much except float around. Fire Spirits? Na. They would just burn everything. This was going to be tougher than she thought.

She growled, kicking a rock. “This is hard! There has to be someone I can invite to the party! Just… anyone.” She pouted, sitting down on an upturned root to think. Sitting still helped her think better. It also made the world around her go slow like a turtle. It made falling leaves fly in the sky, and the wavy hands in the swamp even more slow, and the singing slower than…

Singing?

Hat Kid blinked, listening carefully and… yes. Yes! She did hear singing! She hopped off the root, looking around and taking off to where she was certain the singing was coming from. It wasn’t long before she found an open area. She could hear the singing here but, where or who was singing it? It was almost like it was above—

She looked up. And immediately fell down in surprise.

High above her was a strange humanoid creature with blue skin, a funny looking face, red clothes, and no legs. There were chains dangling from their wrists. They were high above her, swaying to and fro, humming a tune before breaking out into song.

“It's a cruel cruel world,

All you little boys and girls.

And a mean, nasty Snatcher

Wants to have you for his supper.”

Snatcher? Did this guy know him?

“But if you follow me.

You can all be free!

Free!

You can all be free!

It's a place where all of you can be free.

If you dream

If you dream my dream!”

The stranger threw his arms up high and suddenly Hat kid was floating upwards. She gasped, spinning around in suspended air as she went higher and higher. Did this guy have some sort of power?

“It's a cruel cruel world

All you little boys and girls

With some mean, nasty nasty people

Nasty

Nasty people!

But there's a way

You can make your day!

You can laugh!

You can smile!

You can come and stay awhile!

You can dream my dream.

You can have it all with me!

You can dream my dream!

You can dream—!”

“Um! Excuse me!” Hat Kid grabbed the nearest branch she could grasp. The stranger froze and gravity suddenly started working again. Luckily since she was already holding onto the branch, she managed to stop herself from falling. Which was a good thing. She was pretty high up.

“… my… dream…”

Hat Kid righten herself, dusting off nonexistent dust and looked up. She let out a startled yelp as the stranger was suddenly right in front of her, glaring down at her. His face slowly softened however as he got a good look at her.

“OH! Hello! I didn’t see you there! What are you doing way up in a tree? Did you climb all the way up here to say hello?” The stranger grinned, showing of his fangs. There was something about his smile that reminded her of Snatcher’s own grin.

“Uh, not exactly? I kinda floated up here?”

The stranger blinked. “Floated? Well that’s strange! You’re not even a ghost! How did you even manage… wait. You’re not a ghost.” The stranger leaned closer, looking at her top to bottom. “But if you’re not a ghost, how did you manage to get past… him.”

“Who?”

“Oh no one. No one to concern yourself with.” The stranger waved his hand dismissively. “Now what brings a small girl like yourself here to this part of the Subcon? Didn’t your parents ever tell you the dangers that lurk here? You’re lucky enough to have run into me and not that… PHILISTINE.” He growled lowly.

“Philistine?” Hat Kid tilted her head in confusion.

“No one important to worry yourself with my dear!” The stranger smiled, confusing the poor girl. This guy kept flipping his personality like a switch. “Anyways, as much as I would love to have some company, I’m afraid you must leave this place. A young girl such as yourself mustn’t wander in these woods. It’s full of dangers around every corner with monsters.”

“Like Vanessa.” Hat Kid nodded her head, remembering the scary old lady in the man—

“Wait-What?” The stranger got close to her again. “How do you know her name? No one ever DARES speak of her in this forest!”

Hat Kid back up, feeling hostility coming off from this stranger. “My… friend told me about her?”

The strangers face slowly lost its hostility, looking more puzzled and confused. “Your friend? And where would they hear about her? … Unless.” He backed off, placing a hand under his chin. “Unless the history of Subcon isn’t lost. This place is pretty secluded but not that secluded. Could someone have our history written down somewhere? Is it possible that not all our lost history is lost?”

Hat Kid watched as the stranger listed off different possibilities. She slowly smiled. He wasn’t such a bad guy! A little weird, but at least he was more friendly than Snatcher! Maybe he would want to join her party! “Hey! If you’re not busy, do want to come to my party tonight? I wanted to invite Snatcher but he didn’t want to come.”

The stranger froze. “… I’m… sorry.” He turned around slowly, frowning slightly. “Did you mention… Snatcher? As in, ‘Snatcher’ Snatcher?”

“Yeah. Big, shadow-like, grinning face, laughs like a lot.” Hat Kid listed the things on her fingers, unaware of the atmosphere slowly tensing up. “He also makes you these contracts and do these crazy chores and steals your soul. But he’s okay once you get to know him better! He’s my BFF!”

Hat Kid beamed, though, it slowly turned into a frown. The stranger was looking at her… oddly. “Hey, are you… okay? You’re looking at me really weird.”

“… heh… eh heh… eh heheheheheeehehe.”

The hair on the back of Hat Kid’s neck stood up. She frowned, taking a step back as the stranger continued to laugh. Though, it didn’t sound like a friendly sort of laugh. It sounded… hallow.

“Forgive me.” The stranger covered his face with one hand and placed his other hand on his hip. “But this. This must be some sort of joke. Snatcher. THE Snatcher. My immortal enemy.” He dragged his hand down his face, covering his lower half and glaring daggers at her. “Is YOUR best friend?”

Hat Kid felt like she was back in Vanessa’s manor again. Feeling the cold and terror creeping up on her. Only this time there was no scary evil old ice queen, but a stranger whose mismatched eyes were digging deep into her soul. “U-u-uh. W-we’re more of c-contractually obligated f-friends.” She tried stepping further back, but nearly lost her balance and her footing. She looked behind herself. There wasn’t much room left on the branch, and what was worse was that she was still very high up in the tree. She looked back to the stranger and tried to smile. “W-well it’s been fun but I need to get ready for the p-party.” She took out her umbrella, ready to jump down and run for it.

Only for her umbrella to suddenly jump out of her hands. “Wh-HEY!”

The umbrella flew into the strangers open palm, and with a stone cold face, clenched his hands into a fist. Hat Kid looked on in horror as the stranger merely opened his hand, letting the broken umbrella fall.

“We’re not do yet little miss.” The stranger spook, dusting his hands and slowly getting closer to Hat Kid. “You see, it’s been SOO long since I’ve had anyone to talk with.” He advanced closer, looming over the small cowering child. “So how about you start telling me everything you know about your… BFF.”

“HOW ABOUT WE START WITH MY FIST TO YOUR FACE?!” The stranger didn’t have time to react as a shadowy fist collided to his face, sending him flying backwards into a tree.

“SNATCHER!”

Snatcher hardly paid any mind to the hatted child. His main focus was on the stranger. “I thought I told you to get lost Moonboy. You know fully well that Subcon is MY domain.”

“It’s MoonJUMPER to you shadow.” The stranger, now better known as Moonjumper, slowly rose back up, rubbing his jaw. “That was certainly a nasty punch. Is that anyway to treat an old friend?”

“We. Are. NOT. Friends. Never have been. Never will be.” Snatcher growled, his hair flaring like a burning fire. “Now get out of my forest before you lose another limb of yours.”

“And leave without taking my new puppet? Oh Snatcher.” Moonjumper chuckled darkly. “You must be losing your edge.”

Something whistled in the air and before Hat Kid could blink, Snatcher’s hand shot out, snatching something in the air right in front of Hat Kid. Her eyes widened. In Snatcher’s grasp was a red string that was moving widely. It dawned on the small girl that if Snatcher hadn’t grabbed it—

“Who is it that’s losing their edge?” Snatcher remarked coldly, taking the string in his grip and snapping it in two. “First you enter into MY territory. Then you threaten my BFF? That’s low.”

Moonjumper angrily glared at Snatcher. He looked ready for a fight, but stopped. Hat Kid, curious to what stopped him, looked around. In the darkness around them, glowing eyes of minions, Dwellers and Fire Spirits were gathered around, all trained on the intruder that threatened to fight their ruler. She hadn’t even noticed they were there!

“Count this as a final warning Moonboy. Either you leave and never show your face here ever again. Or I turn your body into rags.” Snatcher threatened, extending his claws and putting out waves of his power.

Moonjumper looked around him. Many eyes were on him, glaring at him. He looked back at the living shadow and small child. “…” His mouth slowly turned upward. He bowed. “Till we met again shadow. I look forward to our next meeting.” With that, his body was consumed by… pixels? And was gone.

Snatcher waited for a moment, making sure that Moonjumper was truly gone before sighing and turning towards the child. “Well that could have gone better. You okay kid?”

Hat Kid was silent. She stared at the place where Moonjumper had been only moments ago.

“Kid? Hey, kid.” She snapped out of her thoughts, looking over to Snatcher.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were okay. He didn’t do anything weird to you did he? Nothing bad?” He looked her over, poking at her which made her giggle a bit and push his fingers away.

“I’m fine.” She frowned sadly, looking down. “But he did break my umbrella.”

Snatcher glanced down, finding the broken item laid out on the ground. “That was rude of him.” He huffed, holding out his hand.

It took her couple of seconds to realize that Snatcher was asking her to step on his hand. With some worried reluctance, she carefully stepped onto the shadows hand, letting him hold her in his grasp.

Once the kid was in his hands, he turned to his minions. “Alright! You all know the drill! Make sure all the barriers are still up and no one is missing! If ANYTHING is out of the norm or someone is gone, tell me RIGHT AWAY!”

The minions all gave a salute and ran off into different directions. Once it was just him and the kid again, Snatcher sighed. He was tired and wasn’t in the mood for anything but a good law book to read, when he felt the kid tug on his hair.

“Um, Snatcher?”

He looked down at her. “What’s up kid?”

She looked scared, playing with her zipper. “Who… who was that? And why was he angry with you? Did you steal his soul at some point?”

Snatcher couldn’t help himself but chuckle a little. “Not… exactly kiddo. Let’s just say that he and I go back a looong time ago. We’re not the best of… acquaintances, you might say. He and I have been fighting for control over the forest since the beginning.” He stopped a moment, thinking of something. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him again now that I think about it. And why did he chose to come out now?”

“Is he going to come back?” Hat Kid hugged herself. She didn’t want to meet that creepy guy again!

“Possibly. Who knows? It’s hard to predict what that floating corpse will do.”

“C-Corpse?!” Hat Kid squeaked, pulling her hat to her chest.

Snatcher’s widened. “Oh. Guess you didn’t know that. Well, better late than never I guess!” He chuckled a bit but it died away when the kid didn’t join in. He sighed, turning to head back to his tree. “You were lucky one of the minions saw you heading deeper into the forest kid. If they hadn’t alerted me, I wouldn’t have come in time to save you.”

Hat Kid mumbled something under her breath, though Snatcher was sure it sounded like a thank you. “Now, how about we fix that so called contract of yours and make a decent one hm?”

“My contract was perfectly fine!”

Snatcher’s laugh echoed throughout the forest, traveling back home as red eyes followed him in the darkness. “So it is true. You’ve grown pathetic shadow.” Moonjumper growled, digging his claws into the tree he hid behind. “… No matter. Enjoy your fun. For now.” He smiled, pulling out a doll that had a striking resemblance to the hatted child. “It won’t be long till Subcon is MINE.” With that, Moonjumper vanished, leaving nothing behind but the marks on the tree.

#snatcher week #snatcher #hat kid #moonjumper #a hat in time #day 2 #contractual obligations

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