#“Victor if you really disappeared– I’ll be with you and we’ll be forgotten by the world together”—— S1 CH 36 & S2 CH 26 FLASHBACKS ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

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Smalltown Bringdown 1

Warnings: blood, violence, more to be added.

This is dark!biker!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live in a smalltown run by a biker club. When your boss gets into debt, you find yourself drawn into the crossfire.

Note: Yesterday I tried writing Sugar, Sugar. That didn’t work out. I had a migraine on Monday that I’m still tiptoeing around. I wrote this a week ago but wanna continue it. Well, if there’s any interest in my doing so. So to those who take the time to read, thank you. Love you guys!

Please, leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

Birch was a small town, named for the line of pale tree at its heart. The streets were built around it. It had stood for centuries like a guardian over residents. Like a harbinger of their eventual fates. White as a ghost, looming like the reaper.

And death lived in Birch. It rode the streets on iron steeds. The apocalyptic horseman roaring down the roads in leather. Oblivion was the bar on the main road.; The Asp was a remnant of the town’s birth. An inn for those who claimed to discover this “new world”. Cleopatra reclined along the sign’s moniker, a snake around her arm, poised to sink its long fangs in her throat.

Further down was the Chipped Saucer. The British were the first Europeans to settle here and when they supped with the Natives, they found their dishware cracked from their long journey. The tale outlived those early townsfolk painted across the window of sleepy old diner. The history of the forgotten town was long remembered because there, time didn’t seem to move very fast.

The town was more purgatory than hell. Few ever escaped it. You were among the trapped. A waitress in an aged yellow uniform and frilly white apron at the old diner. Sundays were busiest. The older folk were hungry after the weekly service and the younger residents were trying to caffeinate their hangovers.

You did your round of refills and returned the carafe to the machine. You took your time replacing the filter and adding the grounds. The rusted jingle of the bell above the door barely registered in your head. But the decisive stomp of boots did. Not just one set, not two, but more than you could count. You looked up as you closed the lid on the machine.

The diners sat frozen as if in a tableau. Not a single breath was drawn as you watched the leather-coated men walk between the tables. You didn’t need to see the patches on their backs to know who they were. Everyone knew who they were because they owned everything and everyone. The police, the town council, the mayor, and any who called Birch home.

Every small town has its dark secrets but the club had never really been a secret. The Howling Commandos had reigned since the boys returned from the war in 1945. Since, their mantle had been taken up by sons, nephews, cousins. Those glory days loomed as if it were only yesterday that the newspapers declared victory in Europe! Victor in Japan! Korea! Vietnam! Iraq!

You skirted behind the counter as Lillian, the oldest of the waitresses, stood by the kitchen window. Artie, the cook, neared the other side and gave a grunt at the bikers kicking around the diner.

“From what I heard,” He said loud enough for them to hear. “They serve hash down at The Asp, don’t they?”

“Artie,” Lillian hissed under her breath as she touched her immense bosom.

The diners, the servers, the bus boys, all exhaled in communal dismay. Mr. Elrich watched as Danny, the boy he’d once taught, took his mug of coffee and emptied it in a single gulp.

“Where’s Jimmy?” A golden-haired man stepped forward.

You knew him. Knew of him. He had been a few years ahead of you in school. He was held back and sat beside you in math and copied off your tests. Steve Rogers was too much trouble for a browner like you.

“Jimmy’s out,” Artie waved his spatula. “Can’t you see these people are tryna enjoy their breakfast?”

“Jimmy’s out,” Steve repeated slowly as he neared the counter. “Well, that’s a first. I always thought he slept off his Saturday nights in his office. Least I always found him half-asleep at his desk. Definitely wasn’t working.”

“You come back later when he’s in,” Artie shook his head. “Goddamn, boy, my eggs are burning.”

“Artie,” Lillian and several other waitresses wailed at him.

“How long you worked here, Art?” Steve was close. You could smell the leather and smoke as he passed you. His hand was on the door as he glared at Art through the window.

“Be thirty years, soon enough,” Artie answered defiantly. “Since you were a kid tossing your pancakes at the wall, you brat.”

Steve chuckled and pushed through the door. Several women screamed and men shushed them at the flurry that followed. The crash of pans as Steve grabbed the old man by his collar and pushed him against the window. You stepped through the door before it swung shut.

“Don’t.” You pleaded. “Don’t hurt him. Jimmy’s not here. None of us have seen him since yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve shrugged you away. “Loyalty is admirable. The man pays your check, so I understand your insistence on protecting him. I only wish he was as diligent in paying his dues.”

“St-stop,” You squealed as he his hand wrapped around Artie’s thick throat. “Goddamnit, you know Artie. You know he means no harm.”

“I know he’s always had a mean mouth,” Steve snarled. “Where’s that spatula now, hmm? You gonna give me a swat, Art?”

You looked around. The waitresses gaped through the window as the men loomed around the tables. Amused, they crossed their arms and watched the helpless old cook struggle. On the long steel table behind Steve was a large knife. Your heart pounded as you inched around him.

“Steve, come on, you can wait around for Jimmy,” You offered. “I’m sure he’ll be in. Hell, you’ll have more luck heading down to his. I’m sure he’s sleeping it off there.”

“I came here to get the money and I’m not leaving without it.” Steve snarled.

You bent slowly and took the knife, careful not to drag the blade on the floor. You stood and came around Steve. He glanced over as you pointed it at his neck. He chuckled as his eyes flashed.

“You don’t wanna do that, girl,” He warned.

“I don’t so long as you let him go,” You declared. “You go sit down, we’ll get you coffee, Art will cook you some bacon, and we’ll wait for Jimmy.”

“Don’t think I will.” Steve squeezed tighter as Artie turned red.

“Oh yeah?” You touched his neck with the blade’s edge. “You want Jimmy, no one’s keeping you from him but we can’t help you if you throttle poor Artie.”

A chuckle came from behind you. Deep and venomous. You looked slowly over your shoulder as the back door whisked shut. The knife slipped from your hand as you were faced with the barrel of a gun. The metal clattered to the tile as you dropped your arms and stared at the pistol’s mouth.

“You grew some balls since grade school,” Bucky remarked.

Him and Steve had always been inseparable. You should’ve known he wasn’t far. And as the main shareholder in the Asp and therefore the club, he was owed more than any. It would be a mark on the crest not to collect the debt himself.

“Wish I could say the same of you,” You retorted. “So, you gonna shoot me?”

He laughed again and Steve did too. “Let the man go,” Bucky said. “There’s a safe in the office. If there’s not enough in there, we’ll empty the till.”

He lowered the gun. Slowly as if taunting you. You turned to check on Artie as he leaned heavily on the wall. Steve headed for the door to the back hall where Jimmy’s office was.

“You okay?” You helped Artie stand straight. “You need some water. You should sit down. I’ll get Billy to finish service.”

“You are going to go out there,” Bucky said as he holstered his gun. “With the rest of the girls and stay away from sharp objects.” He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the door. “Artie, you get back to your tickets. These people look hungry.”

He shoved you through to the dining room and you stumbled into the counter. Artie coughed and wiped his sweaty hands on his apron. He waved at Billy, his sous chef, and ambled back to the grill.

It was a few minutes of tense silence filled only with the sound of pots, pans, and plates. As Artie called out an order and Lillian loaded her tray, Steve emerged from the back. Donny stood at the front door and kept any from leaving. Not than anyone had the strength or courage to even stand up.

“I don’t think we’re getting that thing open.” Steve said.

“Hey!” Donny shouted and the door chimed as he pulled it open.

Everyone watched as he raced out and chased Jimmy past the window. The small, greasy-haired man put up little fight against the burly biker and was dragged inside.

“There you are, Jim,” Bucky swung the door open and brushed past you. “We were starting to get impatient.”

“Bucky,” Jimmy’s voice cracked. “What are you--”

“Jim, let’s not play this game,” Bucky snapped. “I think you know I haven’t brought everyone here for breakfast so why don’t you help us crack the code and we’ll be on our way.”

“Crack the code?” Jimmy whimpered.

“We found the safe,” Bucky crossed his arms. “So, you open it up and we’re on our way. I only came for what’s mine. For what you owe me.”

“I-I-I--” Jimmy stuttered.

“Grab him,” Bucky ordered and Steve was quick to grab the thin man by his scruff and drag him across the diner.

Bucky led the way into the kitchen and the weak struggle could be heard as they disappeared through the back door. Artie called another order and Kimmie balanced it on her tray. When the three men returned, Jimmy had a bloody lip and Steve carried a black bag of what could only be the safe’s contents.

“Well, you see, we still got a problem here, Jimmy.” Bucky hauled him over to the window by his arm. “That’s not even close to what you owe and you’ve got late fees on top of it. Dodging me all week like this.”

Jimmy looked ready to cry as Bucky took his hand and slammed hit flat on the window’s ledge. He held his wrist down as he reached to his waist. “Check the register.” Bucky ordered.

Steve went to the till and hit every button until it opened. He emptied the drawer and shook his head. “Not even a hundred.” He scoffed.

“Pity,” Bucky pulled a knife from his belt. “Well then, Jim, there’s only one thing for you to do; pick a finger.”

“Wha--” Jimmy yelped. “What do you--”

“You pick a finger or I will find something worse to cut off.” Bucky lowered the blade and Jimmy flinched away.

“Please,” Jimmy begged. “I’ll get the money. End of the week, I promise.”

“You said that last week,” Bucky countered. “And I can’t gamble my integrity as lightly as you do, Jim. So hurry up or I’ll make you pick two.”

“Uh…” Jimmy quaked and went pale. ‘Th-the pinkie.”

Bucky was quick. The knife cut easily through flesh and bone and blood pooled beneath Jimmy’s hand in second. You covered your mouth as your stomach flipped and several people wretched, some followed by sloppy splats onto the floor.

Bucky held up the finger and admired it before he tucked it into his pocket and patted Jimmy on the back. “One week for the rest of it, Jim.” He strode through the door and stopped just beside the counter. He turned to you and smirked as he took the cloth from your apron pocket. “Get some pressure on that before he passes out, will ya?”

He handed you the cloth and winked. He nodded to his men and they filed out the door without another word. You blinked and shook yourself from your shock. You pushed through the kitchen door and grabbed Jimmy’s hand as he held his wrist. You pushed the rag to his severed pinkie and he hissed.

“Someone call an ambulance,” Your voice seemed to break the pall that had fallen over the diner. “Please!”

💀

By Tuesday, it was as if nothing had ever happened at the Chipped Saucer. The usual customers stopped by for their breakfast or lunch and Artie was back to his grumpy ways. The only thing that remained was the blood stain on the window ledge. And the bandage on Jimmy’s hand.

When you were done your shift, you hung your apron on its hook in the back and clipped your name tag on it. You covered up your hideous yellow dress with your black cardigan and grabbed your purse before you headed out. Your mother texted you to grab some cheese on your way home and a sixer of Blue for good measure.

You stopped by the grocer first and added a box of oreos to your bill. The liquor store was just next door and the after work crowd strolled its aisles. You traipsed to the back, the paper bag balanced against your hip as you browsed the cans and bottles. You grabbed some Blue and turned to head to the check out. You were the only person left in the aisle, well aside from one. Likely the reason for the sudden desolation.

Bucky Barnes stood before you in his leather jacket. You hadn’t noticed him there at the end of the shelf, watching you, arms crossed. You sighed and walked towards him, deliberately sidestepping him. You stopped short as he blocked you with his arm.

“Not even a hello?” He mused.

You scoffed and shook your head and stepped to the other side. He blocked you just as quickly. You tilted your head wryly and he smiled.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.” He said evenly.

“Mmhmm,” You rolled your eyes. “Forgive me if I’m not up for it.”

You tried to shake him again and he caught you around your waist. “Honey, honey, honey.”

You wriggled away from him and almost dropped your armful.

“You had a gun in my face two days ago. I have nothing to say to you.”

“You had a knife to my man’s throat.” He said. “Think we’re even.”

“Just say whatever it is you want so that I can go home.” You grumbled.

“How you like working over there at the Saucer?”

“What?” You shook your head.

“Seems slow. Tips any good?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You challenged.

“Well, we got an opening at The Asp and you’ve got experience serving.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d put that out there. Not many ways to move up in this town.”

“I don’t wanna work at a dive.” You said through your teeth. “You done?”

“Sure.” He backed up and turned so he was almost against the shelf. He waved you past him. “Go home. Relax.” You began to step by him and he spoke again. “Say hi to your ma.”

You stopped but didn’t look back at him. You swallowed and carried your sixer to the counter. You set it down and dug for your wallet with one hand.

“It’s been covered.” Larry said as he scratched his thick mustache and glanced at Bucky. The biker pretended to peruse the white wines.

“No, it hasn’t.” You slammed a bill on the cans. “You give him his money back. Or keep it. I couldn’t care less.”

You waited for your change and grabbed the beer. You kept your head high as you swept out onto the street and past the motorcycle parked across two spots. You’d have to barter a can off your mom when you got in.

💀

On Friday, Jimmy called you to his office. He never called anyone to his office. Well except Kimmie but that’s because everyone knew what was going on between them. So you punched out and headed to the small back room with the dented metal desk from the 60s and the cinder block wall poorly disguised with flowery wallpaper. You knocked then entered when he replied.

You sat in the small chair with the orange cushion. The same one you’d sat your interview in. Jimmy spun his pen in his hand. He was jumpy. More than usual. The small safe hidden beside his filing cabinet was scratched but still in tact. He dropped the pen and twined his fingers together.

“So, uh, yeah,” He blinked and sniffed. “Well, this isn’t… easy. Not quite sure how to say it really.”

You were quiet. Confused. You scrunched your lips and listened. You had a bad feeling. Unusual things didn’t happen for no reason. Not in a small town.

“Heh, well, I’m sure you know I’ve come into some financial hardship and, well, it looks like...uh,” He sat back and smoothed his greasy, thinnng hair. “I’m gonna have to let you… go.”

“Let me go?” You repeated. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I need the, uh, cash,” He turned back and forth in his chair. He was nervous.

“Cash. Sure. You couldn’t sell that heap of junk parked outside?” You sneered. “I have no doubt this has something to do with those goons but I don’t think you’re being honest about the why.”

“Look, I’m real sorry. You’ll get severance.” He sputtered.

“You can’t afford to keep me on but you can afford the pay out?” You scoffed and stood. “Let me ask you, have you received any other visits from your friends at The Asp?”

He shook his head frantically.

“Yeah, you haven’t been around Larry’s to grab a mickey at all? Or passing by? Maybe Tuesday night?”

“It’s a small town. I got nowhere to hide.” He cowered.

“Suppose there’s nothing else to say. Nothing I can say.” You threw up those hands. “You tell Bucky you were a good boy, okay?”

“I…”

“I get it. You owe them.” You started to turn away. “When should I expect my cheque.”

“Usual,” He answered glumly. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You stopped by the door. “You remember how sorry you are the next time you pick up a cue, eh.”

💀

Another trip to the liquor store, this one unimpeded. A bottle of wine from some unheard of vineyard on some distant island. You carried it home in the bag, its shape visible beneath the wrinkled paper. You went in the back way, as you always did. Your mother’s dog, Ash, wiggled his bum as you stopped to pet him. You let him inside as you entered the kitchen.

Your mother was at the counter, working on dinner. You set the bottle on the table heavily and sat. You let your purse fall to the floor and sighed.

“Hey, hon,” She said. “How was your day?”

You grumbled and unsheathed the bottle. You crumpled the bag and tossed it in the middle of the table. You unscrewed the lid and drank from the long neck. Your mom stopped her chopping and turned with a hand on her hip.

“Rough one?” She asked.

“I got fired.” You said numbly.

“Fired? For what?”

You shrugged and took another drink. She huffed and set aside her knife. You listened as she opened and closed a cupboard and crossed to you. She set down a glass.

“Pace yourself.” She reproached.

You frowned and filled the glass to the rim. She tutted and went back to the counter.

“It’s because of them.” You said at last.

She looked at you but kept quiet. She knew who you meant.

“Some kind of game.” You muttered.

“Oh, Lillian told me about your heroics.” Your mother sighed. “I knew you weren’t telling me something.”

“Christ, ma, they were gonna give Artie a heart attack,” You exclaimed. “What was I supposed to do? He’s a defenseless old man.”

“And? The Commandos are thugs. They have no qualms against old men and young women.” She dumped her cutting board in the pot and covered it. “Losing your job is nothing. You could’ve lost a lot more messing around. You know how things work.”

“Not as well as you, yeah?” You drank deeply. “Dad learned it the hard way, didn’t he?”

“That he did,” She assured you and took a glass of her own from the cupboard. She sat with you at the table. “You’ll find something else. Something better than the diner. That little tourism place, they need a new receptionist.”

“Great, I’ll get my resume printed tomorrow.” You poured her a more modest glass. “It’s a show. Don’t worry, ma. They just want to wave their-- well, you know.”

“You just stay clear of them. Let them find bigger fish to fry,” She advised.

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

Text

Hallow : ch xx - CSSNS 2019

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

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

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

Read on AO3 here.

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

Written for @cssns

Ch xx / ?? - In which truths are finally revealed.

Twisting the strange heaviness that was Arthur's engagement ring around her finger, Emma walked slowly down the corridors with a line of attendants behind her. The walk was stop and go, breathing as troubled as her mind as she tried to contemplate Killian's transgressions.

How long had he been plotting if he managed to do this to her? The illness was something worthy of her hatred, but she could not bring herself to feel any anger when she remembered the way he had looked at her. His eyes had been so clear, the plea in them bright, sun catching ocean waves through fog. He had begged her to listen, and why would he stay if he had the dagger shard in hand? Surely he wouldn't take her life after everything they had gone through together. His revenge on her parents and her had fallen away… hadn't it?

The tea she had earlier on Arthur's insistence twisted in her stomach painfully, her breath catching. Her lungs constricted, burning with effort, heart deafening in her ears until she was spinning, twirling round.

"Mmm. Well," Killian smirked, pulling her close, bodies pressed together far more intimately than was required of a proper waltz. "Not that I don't love to hear the sad stories of the poor princess -"

"Oh, come on -" Emma hissed, rolling her eyes and trying to pull away.

" - but I would never deny you a chance to actually be kept on your toes." He dipped her low, humming something she could not discern, something older and much more jaunty. Spinning her with expertise across the small space, Emma fell into his lead if you could call it that. He didn't follow one style of step, and any stiffness was met with a complicated step she had to focus on, until she was laughing at the ridiculous over exaggerated styles he forced her to partner with.

Both Killian and her were out of breath when he threw her into a wild spin, bringing her in close to intertwine her fingers with his. Emma breathlessly giggled, closing her eyes to clear the dizziness away, her eyes shooting open in surprise when she leaned forward and their foreheads met.

Emma woke, sitting up and finding herself alone in a part of the castle she didn't recognize, standing with shaky confusion.

"Hello?" she called out, almost slipping on a strange blue sparkling residue that surrounded the area where she had woken. "What in the -"

"Princess, I'm sorry, I had no choice," Ali rounded a corner checking behind himself as her brows furrowed. "You need to hide; they're coming, Hades convinced them not to wait, and I can't control it very well - the call, the pull is too strong."

Ali doubled over, hissing lowly, and Emma stepped toward him with hesitation. "Ali? What is wrong? Are you alright?"

"Emma, Arthur's not who you think he is." Ali pulled her aside, checking the space for any signs of life. He lowered his voice further. "Ask him about his heartache, and strife. He - Emma, no matter what he tries to charm you with, do not listen."

"But he's -"

"I can't right now. They're coming, I have to -" He groaned, glowing a faint blue.

"Ali, what is going on?" Emma reached for him, his sharp turn causing her to fall back. His eyes glowed a bright burning blue. "What are you!?"

"I don't have time for this!" Ali yelled before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke.

Emma stood up carefully, confused as she looked around. Entering the garden, hands grabbed her from behind, sweeping her off her feet.

"Put me down!"

"Princess, what happened? Are you alright?" Arthur said, as she flailed in his grasp. "It's okay. I'm sorry for startling you, I -"

"I don't know what is happening, I don't know what is going on!" Emma pulled free, standing shakily. "He turned blue, and he said, he said -"

Holding her arm to steady her, Arthur tried soothing her, cooing softly. "Emma, you're not making sense, what are you talking about? Who said -"

"You - He said you have heartache and strife?" Arthur stiffened, gripping her arm tightly. She winced, whimpering slightly until it turned into a cough. He let her go and she fell back, leaning against the wall. "What does that mean, Arthur? I know you were married, I know your wife is gone, but…"

"It's nothing, darling. Really." He smiled, but even if she was without the gift of the Sphinx to know truths, Emma could feel the lie in his voice. "Come and lay down in your quarters. I've made you some more tea, and I'll help you get comfortable -"

"I need to get to Jasmine; there's something wrong here. You're - You're not telling me the truth." Arthur's eyes went cold, before he softly smiled and approached.

"My sweet flower, I have been avoiding the topic for fear of bruising your delicate petals. It's not a pleasant story." He swallowed hard, with a sigh. "Let me walk you back through the corridor. I'll tell you as we go, sound good?"

"I don't think I -" Emma tried, but he was gripping her elbow tightly, pulling her through the halls.

"I was very much in love with the woman I married. My Guinevere." He sighed, Emma trying to keep herself from falling at the pace he set. His grip was tight as he dragged her, weak noises of protest going unheard. "She didn't believe in me, or my dreams of what our kingdom could be. She wanted me to be proud of what we had, to live in the past relying on the strength of our people, not the strength of our steel. I tried to change her mind, but I know now that it was fruitless."

Emma pulled away, falling to the floor as she gasped for air. She stared hard at him, trying to will away the prickling fear that gripped her as his words rang with half truths.

"Come on now, up you get blossom," he coaxed lightly, his sharp yank of her wrist fiercely violent in comparison. She yelped and his eyes darkened, narrowing dangerously. "This would have been much easier if you had drank more of the poppy flower I brewed, I didn't want to be this rough you know -"

"Stop! Please -"

"You women are so frustrating! You don't know what is good for you, come along." Emma attempted to scoot away again, trying to understand what he was saying. The tea in her stomach churned, the minimal amount still filling her with nausea at his strange comment. Poppy flower rang a bell in her mind, the red or orange blooms pulled apart by Regina in one of her lessons. What had they been making? "You're just like Guinevere, pushing me to correct your mistakes."

His fingers tightened painfully around her wrist, the leer he gave as he looked down at her not befitting the Arthur she had been courting. The memory hit her like a punch to the gut. Poppies were used in sleeping potions, or to make someone drowsy and complicit. Arthur had drugged her.

"You're mad! You've forgotten yourself Arthur, it's no wonder she left you if this is how you corrected her! How dare you drug me!" Emma snapped, his mouth twisting and eyes narrowing at her words. He chuckled darkly.

"She didn't just leave me, she betrayed me, Emma. I don't take kindly to betrayal, and it was not my fault. They should have known. You should know now as well, so you," He pulled her up roughly to her feet, dragging her around a corner, "Know to listen ."

He hissed the last words, and Emma felt sweat bead on her brow, the patterned floor below their feet unfamiliar. They were nowhere near her apartments in the palace, the corridor empty of any servants.

"What -" The words caught in her throat, the question making Arthur grin as he caressed the ring on her finger with his thumb.

"What happened to her? I killed her lover - one of my best knights too, which was a shame - then I killed our daughter, which was more accident than intentional. But Guinevere, I made her watch until she had a final choice to make."

Emma wrenched away, backing up as he advanced on her.

"She could die by starvation, or fling herself from her room in the tower I locked her in." He laughed, as if he wasn't speaking madness, and Emma tried to keep upright. "By the third day she made her decision, and made the leap. It wasn't as clean as I'd hoped, but Guin always had a penchant for mess. I would hope you are cleaner, but our time together looks brief."

He seemed to frown slightly at this, but his eyes showed nothing but amusement. Emma threw the ring at him, unable to utter any words between her wheezing breaths.

"Shhh, it's okay my sweet bud. Soon enough you'll be dead, we'll blame the Dark One for it, I'll gain your kingdom in your passing along with Agrabah, and the Dark One will be our one man army as we bind him to Excalibur." Arthur grabbed her face, pressing a kiss to her temple as she tried to push him away. Killian, they were going to hurt Killian and her people, what had she done ? He chuckled lowly at her panic, her squirms to get away doing nothing. "You truly were such a prize. It's just too bad that no one could ever love you more than your station. So much power in that title, truly far too much for a desperate naive girl like you. Now, come along. We are needed elsewhere."

He tugged hard as Emma fought, touch going from rough to brutally so in an instant. She cried in desperation, his fingers threading through her hair to yank her neck back, hope becoming a distant memory as she weakened.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The cell holding Killian was damp, the floor made of packed clay and damp sand that gave way to thick limestone blocks where manacle chains hung. Compared to the cell at the Royal Palace that had held him for what might as well have been eons, this was as flimsy as wet paper. The Darkness seemed to remind him of this on loop, but he couldn't hear it over the roar in his ears, the way Emma had looked at him from her bed like a stranger.

She looked - Gods , she had looked -

Arthur wanting to marry her so she could simply die had been so repulsively absurd until he had seen her. In the few days that had turned into a week's time, Emma had lost her coloring, her frame was skeletal, eyes sunken and chest almost concave. Wires and wards covered her, and he should have known, he should have been there by her side instead of ducking down hallways to prevent her from following. He had tried to lose her, and now he was to be successful, his heart breaking.

He couldn't break out of his cell without proving his criminality, but if he stayed, she might -

A blinding flash of blue startled and dazed him, his blinking unable to clear it from his vision at first. A man glowed before him, skin cracked like a bird shell, a bright azure light pouring from underneath. He wore a mask of twisted gray cloth and a thief's coarse linen tunic with breeches, but the eyes were unmistakable. Aladdin.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, I had thought you would -" He approached Killian, and Killian was out of the manacles within seconds, his fist hitting hard against Aladdin's stomach.

"You piece of shit," Killian hissed lowly, Aladdin letting out a wheeze. "You triple timing, absolute piece of -"

"They're… Bandits!" Aladdin gasped out, the blue breaking through his skin more. Killian stepped back, circling him slowly, watching his movements. Arcane energy prickled in the air, small pebbles rising from the floor. "They're coming to… Kill… Arthur engaged, so Hades pushed the attack to today… They want… Kill Jasmine and take -"

"Bloody buggering hell - why would you ally with them? Was everything with Jasmine and Emma a ruse?" Killian asked, surprised how the accusation was filled with concern. "I swear to you, I won't let Emma die because you -"

"You have to hurry… I warned her, I tried… I'm being pulled, compelled, I can't - Emma's with Arthur. I can't hold on - gah -" He groaned, the glow becoming brighter, more skin sizzling away as he burned from within. "Save Emma from Arthur."

Aladdin looked up, their eyes meeting, before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke. As soon as he was gone, Killian was in movement, nothing but Emma's safety on his mind.

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The fist that came from seemingly nowhere broke Arthur's hold on her, sending her sprawling to the ground with a ringing in her ears. She could hear the sound of blows hitting flesh, but could barely lift herself to see her would be savior, if that was what they were. Then they spoke, and her heart beat in a strange uneven quick step.

"Fuck," Killian ground out, his voice rough as Arthur grunted between blows, "You, 'Mate'."

Pulling herself to her knees, Emma attempted to crawl from where the two fought. Managing to turn into a courtyard, her dress caught on a raised stepping stone, her body collapsing. Fatigue and sheer emotional exhaustion pushed her into tears, fingers digging into the dirt to pull herself forward even slightly.

Strong hands helped her up, Killian looking at her with concern she hadn't seen from him in weeks.

"Are you - he didn't hurt you did he?" he asked, and she laughed herself into a coughing fit at the ridiculous question. He seemed mollified at this, swallowing hard. "I left him in a heap. He'll never hurt you again, alright love? At least you didn't marry that monster."

Emma snorted, her raw throat burning through coughs. Finally she felt it unclench, anger flowing through her to yell at his stupid face, with his stupid consternation that was far too little, too late.

“Why do you care? Of all the times you have hurt me, belittled me, or made it clear that you despise me, why now do you care? Is he not better than Nil or leaving my family with no contingency?" Pushing him away with what little force she could, he looked surprised at her anger. Emma felt her chest constrict, but continued. "You have wasted no time making it clear that you don't want to know my plans should I die. Why now do you have the gall to say that you want a say?" Wobbling in the new space between them, she raised her chin in defiance. Killian tried to close the gap again, and she took a step back.

"I'm sorry Emma. You're right, I shouldn't - "

"Damn right you shouldn't. Damn right that you even being here still makes me feel…" She hesitated, arms wrapping around her frame. "You told me that you were leaving on Selune, and again once on your ship. What possible reason do you have to stay if but to hurt me at every turn, Killian? Why come back? You should have just gone when you were freed, and left me alone. You shouldn't be here. You caused all of this!"

He carded a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "It's not - That's not -"

"Why can't you let me go? What am I to you? Was I wrong to believe that you had any hope of redemption?" Emma tried to ignore the rasp of her voice as it broke, tears streaking hot trails down her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused me?"

"You can't marry him, Emma. You can't." He reached for her, but she flinched away, his expression turning from worry to a pained hurt she wanted to slap off his face. "You couldn't do that to yourself. You know that he would have never been a good king."

"He was better than Nil!" Emma spat. "You have no right to have any say in this, Killian. I will do what I see fit, for my kingdom and my family -"

"Please, just listen -" This time when he reached out for her, she looked at him in disgust, shoving his hands away. He was a liar, playing her for a fool, his pleading and his unsettling worried stare be damned. Even if it was true, it was him - he had no right to lecture her on who was 'good'.

"I have heard enough. You have nothing of substance to say to me, and no answers to my questions!" Emma shouted.

"He's not the one from your dreams, he's working along with Aladdin, the fake prince Ali. I'm -"

Cutting him off, she spun on her heel, jabbing a finger at him in rage. "Why should I believe anything you have to say? Why should I trust you when all you have done is hurt me?"

"I never meant for this, I never wanted to harm you. Please, please love, you have to listen. I beg you, please -" A loud noise that sounded like stone against metal shook the fountain that burbled happily in the corner, smoke drifting out from somewhere deeper in the palace.

"I refuse, I refuse to listen to any more of your lies. You are the last person I would ever trust. You disgust me. How can you even stand here knowing that you haven't changed at all, and that you are the same monster?" Killian's eyes widened at her sudden proximity, his posture going rigid. His hands that had been reaching for her pulled to his sides, his breath coming out in a sharp exhale. He seemed almost nervous, the air around them suddenly stifling. Emma took another step putting them toe to toe. Shoving him proved fruitless when he barely moved from the weak push, but was satisfying as she continued yelling. "How dare you say anything to me about Arthur, how dare you try and trick me again! We were never friends, you never gave one moment or kindness without thought of yourself, we were never -"

His hands shook as he touched her shoulders, one immediately pushing back his hair in frustration as he leveled his gaze with hers. His stare was hard, intensely fixed as he seemed to fight himself. Emma raised her chin and he moved a hand to hold her face, her shiver as he cupped her cheek involuntary. His touch felt right, her heart skipping in a strange hiccup that felt so familiar and yet still foreign. "You bloody stubborn, obstinate, maddening woman. I'm not sorry for this. I won't be."

She gasped into his kiss, forgetting her anger in the way he moved his mouth against her own. It was practiced between both of them which stunned her and made her heat past feverish in seconds, anger dissolving completely as his tongue pressed further. Emma knew this touch, knew the longing that she could feel in the way they tasted each other, barely able to pull away when all common sense said to push him back. There was no doubt:

Killian was who she had been dreaming of.

"It's you, it's always been you -" A resounding crash came from the other side of the courtyard, smoke growing thicker.

"Go hide. Don't answer to anyone, and stay silent. I… I will tell you everything when you are safe."

"But -" Emma protested, still slightly dazed.

Killian grazed his lips on her knuckles, then pressed a kiss there before pulling away reluctantly. "Go."

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Emma stumbled away deeper into the courtyard, and he stood prepared to fight even without a weapon. The Darkness had succeeded in destroying his feelings for her, but destruction was not enough. Like a flower with unseen and deep roots, his feelings bloomed again simply by being around her. The Darkness howled, and he let himself howl with it, filled with anticipation of the brawl to come. The first attacker turned the corner to the hallway, then barreled headlong towards Killian with sword raised. More turned the corner as he dodged the blade, his attempts to disarm the man for his weapons futile as the sword arced in the air to land in the courtyard while the bandit battalion continued to grow around him. He managed to steal a pole staff, disabling several of them until it was hacked to bits by an axe.

He scrambled for another weapon until he froze, looking at a familiar face.

Brennan Jones stood looking at him with contempt, his club raised again as he glared. Killian stared back as his father's sneer changed to the wicked grin he had reserved for beating both he and Liam; on days when he'd fallen into the bottle. He was skinnier, unkempt and underfed, wrong in his phantom form. It didn't matter when he brought down the club again, and Killian heard his own skull shatter. A bag was placed over his head as he was dragged, his father grunting with strain.

Something shattered nearby and Killian was hit again and again, before he was pushed into a roll with a sharp kick.

"We need him alive, bosses said so. Should still be weak from all that ink crap they made."

"You can't kill him, don't worry. He was supposed to be in the dungeon, wasn't he?"

"Where's the other piece? We need -"

"It doesn't matter, they both attract the other. It's easy, and even if we don't get it, Hades doesn't care and Arthur has that sword thing."

There was a deafening crash, his captors and father yelling as Killian was pulled away. His hood was removed, light and dust hurting his unbroken eye as he looked up into Emma's face. She held a sword that she let drag in the mess of carnage she had wrought. The phantom of his father approached as she looked up, heaving with effort to take a stance. Killian watched her block the aggressive attacks in awe as she stood in his defense, wavering with every blow.

His father was going to kill her, he was going to run her through, adrenaline surging through him as he watched helplessly. Then in attack, his father lunged suddenly, fiercely growling in rage. Emma shifted her weight to let him use his power to her advantage, sending him through a thick clay urn in a clattering heap. Her knees buckled but she caught herself by leaning on the hilt of the sword, turning to smile. Killian felt a bark of laughter bubble up in his throat at her refusal to listen to anything he said, every bit of him trying to force out how he felt. Instead of listening to his gurgling whisper, Emma whistled, footfalls approaching from nearby, as servants joined her or ran past to safety.

"Emma -"

She clapped a hand over his mouth as he let out a groan, his ribs shooting pain up his nerves. Soon, Iago and Abu were helping to drag him behind a thick hedge as chaos enfolded around them from more bandits coming from every direction. Servants screamed and fought, Emma looking worse for wear with every step as she defended them with weak blocks and parries until she could no longer, collapsing into sitting. With her finally among them, Iago finished drawing something in chalk on the ground. Silence fell over them along with a thick shadow, the murky bubble of safety swallowing the assorted Fae that hid with them in its thick mass. Emma leaned against Killian, looking down at his bleeding face with remorse.

"You're going to be alright?" she asked, a hand shakily tracing where his eye socket was most certainly broken. He nodded, wincing and Emma smiled, looking as if she might cry. "I can't heal you. I'm so sorry, I wish I could. You're going to have to wait for the healers or…"

Or rely on the Darkness. The words she couldn't bring herself to say.

He swallowed hard, nodding again.

"Princess, you need to rest, you are safe in this shadow for the time being unless someone can undo Goblin runes. You were running a high fever before and -"

"Yes, Iago. I know," Emma sighed. Glancing down at him again, he could see the dark circles under her eyes clearly, and the deep hollows in her face that caught shadow themselves. "I'll rest in just a moment, I just… I have questions I need answered. I know you're hurting Killian, but try, please?"

He nodded with a grunt of pain.

"Did you mean to return the shard to me? Did you over power the Darkness?"

"Yes," he managed to grit out.

"Ali is… Whatever Ali is, he's a traitor?"

"Aye. Thief." There was blood in his brain, he could feel it, the swelling making sparks behind his eyes. "Aladdin."

Swallowing, he tried to gather his thoughts, a question burning on his tongue. "Am I… You think I'm a monster? Irredeemable?"

Emma smiled softly, her eyes wet. She looked terribly sad, all because of him, his mind falling away to the obvious answer that would come. Yes. She was sad because of his cowardice, his misdeeds. Yes, he was a monster, him and the Darkness together.

"No, Killian. You're not irredeemable when you keep saving my life. You are just…" She paused, searching for a word.

"A bloody fool?" He suggested, and her small laugh through the watery smile she directed at him made his own lips twitch upward. She stroked his hair, gently pushing strands aside.

"Did you… did you cause this?" Her voice was so small, but still so loud in his ears. Emma's hand pressed his to her chest, indicating her illness. His thumb ran along the jutting shelf of her exposed clavicle as she shuddered slightly.

The words dragged out in a slur as he tried to make them intelligible. "Don't know, but… Maybe… yes? M'sorry, love."

"I forgive you. I have this feeling, I know it wasn't you. It couldn't be you." It was raining, drops falling on his broken face. No, they were tears, Emma was crying again, openly now. He reached his hand up further with difficulty to touch her cheek, finding it was hot to the touch, her fever in full force. Gently, she pressed the wet apple of her cheek against his palm, and he wanted nothing more than to stop her from hurting because of him. "Please Killian, forgive me for everything. I'm so sorry I got sick, I'm sorry you had to be alone with the Darkness, I'm sorry I keep dreaming of you like I do. I'm sorry for all of it, I -" she choked on a sob.

"No," he groaned, and her coughing became worse. He tried to catch his thoughts, or put them coherently in a way she could understand, but thought was becoming more and more difficult. "Not accepted."

"Please -"

"Not accepted," he mumbled again. How could he accept an apology when she had done nothing wrong?

"Killian, please…" she sighed out in a strangled breath. Her coughing began anew, a servant catching her as she fell where Killian could not lift his head to see, the world spinning into nothingness.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It was never pleasant to fall into the Darkness when issues of mortality arose, and the sinewy bits of his body had to knit themselves back together, but it was increasingly unpleasant when the Darkness was furious inside him. It seethed, caustic as it boiled over his flesh and forced his bones back into place. It tore at muscle and dug into nerve endings just to stretch the pain out, watching the squirming of its vessel.

However, Killian healed, and that was more than could be said of the princess. He had woken to healers bustling over her, a few pulling him onto a cot nearby while Jasmine barked directions hoarsely, but days had passed since the bandits had tried to stage their strange assault.

They were all in a new area of the palace, walled off from potential further attacks and better guarded. Jasmine and her team were non stop motion and action as she made sure her people were safe. The truth was evident though, that Jasmine was beside herself, even as an investigation found that the bandits hadn't taken anything of value. Killian had heard whispers from servants that 'Prince Ali' had attacked the Sultana in cold blood, but he was not willing to press his luck at broaching that subject when his worries lay elsewhere.

Foremost, his thoughts were preoccupied with Emma. He had not left her room even after her recovery, but he could not bring himself to follow through on his desires. The new space allowed for him to watch from a distance, to observe her from enough space where the temptation could be held at bay. He wanted to sit next to her bedside, to stroke her cheek, to gently push hair from her temple when it stuck as her temperature rose, to lay by her and hold her tightly. It was cowardice that held him back, however. He knew it, but the chance that she might hear him and ask what their dreams or that wonderful bloody kiss had meant during the siege caused immediate paralysis.

Emma hadn't been lucid since the attack, her fever spiking multiple times while the illness raged on, unforgiving. Mostly she called for her mother, begged for relief from flames, and occasionally he thought he heard her call for him but it was ignored. She had a close call the last evening Killian had stayed, startling him when a loud noise began to ring through the room. Healers and medical attendants had run in, throwing aside everything as they worked to fix whatever was wrong, which Killian had only found out later was her body attempting to give out. After that, he struggled to stay near her when she clearly didn't recognize anyone close to her, let alone him. The temptation to hold her was overwhelming, the Darkness rapidly switching between unbearably loud or eclipsed by the need to be there.

"Killian, a word," Jasmine said, crooking a finger towards him as she dismissed a crowd of servants. An Elven man and woman stayed behind, both wearing spectacles. Killian approached cautiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Jasmine eyed him with the same wariness. "My doctors are puzzled by the princess and her illness. She's taken a turn for the worse I'm afraid. Worse still, with the bandit camp raiding our supplies, we don't have the means to keep up her treatment. We thought she might have weeks, but..."

"She's been unable to eat very much, her sleep is riddled with nightmares or waking hallucinations, her coughing seems to be caused by some sort of constricting force, but it is not anything we have experienced." The female doctor read notes off a leather-bound notebook, her voice trembling slightly. "Her magic is weak, growing weaker each time she seems to recover. It's as if there's poison in her veins."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything of importance," he managed to interject, though his mouth felt dry. He wondered why the Sultana and her small team seemed so on edge. "I've told everyone as much as I can, so I'm unsure of what more detailed information I can give -"

"They are asking you to bring up to her what her plans would be if she were to expire in my kingdom, Killian. She's spoken to me about them, but not to you. She said before that you managed to avoid the subject. With Arthur gone and possibly able to create false statements about a proposal - " Jasmine touched his shoulder and he yanked away, staring at her as if she was mad.

"She - there has to be more you can do? She's only a bit worse, not - I thought Arthur was misinformed or… But she was better, she was-" It hit him like a crushing blow, a wave that pulled you deep while simultaneously pushing the air from your lungs. "She can't be, we just - she just beat a creature Dragons could not slay, survived an attempted assassination by bandits! She was doing better, she said so! No, absolutely not. I demand to know what you are doing. She is sick and you are not doing enough! She can't be close to death, it's not possible -"

"Yes," the female doctor said simply, her dark brown eyes looking at him with sadness. "She is. I'm sorry."

"We are trying our best m'lord, but she isn't responding to anything we do any longer. We had warned her that this day was coming, and she seems to be aware, but as her second you need to finalize her wishes. If she declines at this rate for another week, three at most -"

"No." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to breathe. "No, do something different, try something -"

"We - we have m'lord. Her Majesty has given us every bit of her power to do so -"

"Jasmine, can't you see what caused this?" Killian began to pace slightly, before turning to gesture in the direction of Emma's room. "Help her!"

"I am, Killian. I cannot see what the cause is, that is in the past. I am as desperate as you are for another vision regarding the princess. Do you believe me an unkind host with all I have granted you?"

He couldn't breathe, his fists balling as fingernails cut into his palms. "No, no, she can't die. I -"

"You should spend what time she has left with her then," the male scientist grumbled.

"What are you trying to imply mate?" Killian growled, "Because I'll -"

"I don't mean to imply, m'lord. It’s just that she begs for you when we are present, and the kitchen maids say the only time that they have seen her calm is when you are visiting. An attendant said you shared an intimate moment in the attack, that several others corroborate." The man adjusted his glasses nervously, unable to make eye contact. "Sultana, I don't want to invoke his wrath, but…"

Jasmine sighed deeply. "You asked about the black handprint Killian, you made a point of it. You delayed treatment that could have kept her alive. You carry the title of Dark One, and the power of the Darkness. My doctor does not feel that your question is coincidental, and I… We need to know that you are on our team. Arthur, Hades and Ali - Aladdin - were traitors that I - we trusted. Their accusations of you are still concerning no matter their own actions against us. I need to know you're willing to help her."

Killian swallowed hard, carefully mulling over his words. He paused, and then let out a hiss of air. "They would be right. I don't know how I would have caused this though, unless it happened in the dreams we shared. I would never hurt her."

"But, you did."

"I'm aware of that!" he snapped, rounding on the doctor with a snarl. "I - I won't hurt her. It wasn't me who - I wasn't in control of my actions, and I have no recourse for that. If you can't help her, I'll find someone who will."

Killian fled, the one place he wanted to be forbidden to him if he valued his sanity. But still, she suffered. Why couldn't they heal her? Her light was there, it could not be his fault; her light would crush any sort of stain like it was nothing.

He needed to see her and see this illness for himself without worry. Under the cover of starlight, he moved into her room where she lay sleeping. She looked worse still, black creeping up her chest and different pads pressed against the dark blotches that seemed to be the worst. The Darkness had no understanding of his upset, or how much he wanted her, its insistence that he could not care deafening.

It wasn't true though.

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you are even aware of me, but I… It's been so hard to ignore you. I hate myself for what I've done to you, and how terribly you’ve been hurt by the way I treated you. I was trying to push you away, I was trying to let you go, but I was so wrong. I've been so close to giving in and laying here with you, only to force myself to refuse your requests. You are my constant desire, I long to simply touch you, to feel your hand in my own. I miss you, I am so ashamed of my need for you... If I would have known, I would have never stopped anything at all. I'm so tired of hurting you, of not being able to make any decisions that keep you safe. So please, if you can hear me, please make the decision to live so I can keep trying."

Her voice startled him, Emma's eyes staying closed. "Am I going to die then?" she whispered in a cracked voice.

He squeezed her hand, the slight smile she attempted pained. "Not if I can help it, love."

"I thought you must hate me, but you're here." The awe in her voice was like a blade. How could he let things go this wrong? "You're always such a hero when it comes to me. It suits you. It suits you more than the Darkness, even."

"A hero? No, you have it wro -"

"You… You and I shared memories… I want to remember, but…" She opened her eyes, staring at him with adoration. His immediate reaction was to swallow the urge to scream, not at her, but at the unfairness of her looking at him in such a way. She was supposed to forget everything that had transpired. She had to forget. That wasn't him, it could never be him. Not with the Darkness staining his life.

"What are you talking about?"

"You kept coming back for me, saving me. I wanted you to kiss me, and you tasted like sweet wine when you did. We danced again and again." She lifted herself, trying to stand and he pushed her back down onto the mattress. Tucking the thin sheets around her body, he tried to keep his emotion contained. Unable to look at her, he trained his sight on his sandals.

"Emma - you shouldn't be getting up like that. You're very ill and need to rest."

Emma didn't seem to hear him, suddenly crying out in pain as she wheezed, coughing in a harsh fit. When she managed to end it and gulped down air, she shivered as a sheen of sweat began to cover her skin. A small smile fell on her lips, her gaze shifting to dizzily fixate on his seat. She tried to reach for him again without grace, knocking over various bottles and untouched bowls of food. "Dancing with you made me happy… We should do that again sometime. Maybe later tonight at the Harvest Festival?"

"You need to -" Killian stood to push her back onto the bed again, but she fell back on her own, her elbow buckling under her weight. The whimper she let out broke his heart, her muscles straining.

"I'm burning. Killian, please make it stop. I want my Mom."

"Shh, darling." Soothing her with a few hummed notes, she relaxed into dozing while he held her clammy hand in his.

"Am I dreaming again? Or are you real? I miss you so much from what we were there. I miss how easily you -" Her voice ended in a gasp, coughing taking the rest of the thought. Killian tried to give her a bit of water in a small stone ladle laid out, but she struggled to swallow the liquid. He was struck by how small and how tired she looked.

"Yes, love. You're dreaming."

"I like the dreams like this. I miss you caring about me," Emma murmured in a forlorn voice. Killian let his lips rest against her knuckles.

Speaking into her curled fingers, he let them muffle his words. "I do too."

"Why am I so tired? I miss the dreams that I could… "

"Because you need your rest, darling. Please, just rest. I'll be back soon."

"Do you promise?"

"Emma - yes. Yes, I promise."

"Please don't break it, okay? I don't want to lose you."

"I -"

"I told you that I loved you, remember?" Emma whispered with a soft hum of a sigh. Killian felt frozen, the way she looked up at him, gingerly intertwining his fingers into her own. Her skin felt papery, but so warm against his. "If I'm going to die, you should know that I meant it. I meant it here too, all of you. I chose to see the best in you, and I see it so clearly sometimes - "

"You don't know what you're saying. You need to sleep, Princess. Go to sleep." She coughed again, but settled as he asked.

Emma’s condition had worsened more than he could have dared to imagine. Her whimper of pain was raspier, her hand squeezing his. The urge to scream was back, the Darkness wondering why its vessel's eyes burned. If she died, he would never forgive himself. He’d raze Selune Isle to ashes; anything to forget about her.

"You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel it, either. Nothing unsaid between us. Nothing, now. I love you. I… " Her breathing evened out into hard exhales, sleep hard to ignore with how little oxygen she seemed to be keeping in her lungs.

"I never stopped." He couldn't bring himself to say any more than that, to whisper a truth she should know, or to even think it, lest the Darkness hear his murmured admission.

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In the early morning light, Emma lay still even as the sun tried to warm her sweaty forehead and the wind attempted to pull at her damp hair. She hadn't woken since the last time they had spoken, the night full of close calls and terror he hadn't known he could still feel. Killian sat by her side dutifully through it all, gently stroking her hand. The Darkness protested his urge to cry with venom, its screeching voice unable to break through his desire for her to come back to him.

"Come back to me, love," he whispered. "I should have known when we fell from the sky into this world and I had to pull you from the water, that I would never have enough of you. I should have told you when you defeated Pan, or when you kissed me. I should have made it clear how I felt when we were reunited in Ursula's grotto, and how wrong I was. I should have whispered it like I wanted to so desperately when we danced on Selune, or I woke to you curled next to me. I should have told you that you were like an angel, when you in turn pulled me from my own hell, and I will forever regret not saying anything," Swallowing hard, he tucked a golden tendril of her hair behind her ear. "So, come back Emma. Please."

"Killian," Jasmine said from behind him. He looked up, and she crooked a finger, beckoning him to follow her into the courtyard area. He pressed a soft kiss to Emma's cheek before pulling himself reluctantly from her bedside.

They sat in silence, a servant serving juices and a platter of various fresh fruit. Jasmine finally spoke after several minutes of both of them staring at the food but making no moves to taste it.

"Killian, she's not going to last much longer," Jasmine said shakily. "Even if we could keep her alive, it would be cruel at this point."

Anguish and panic coursed through his veins. No. Not Emma. "What about the envoy you sent to Selune Isle, to seek out the Dragons?"

Jasmine shook her head. "They have not let the ship into the barrier, even with our flags raised. My captain keeps circling and hoping someone greets him so he may request aid."

"Bloody hell, they were in the process of making posts for this type of patrol but had not started." He laid his head in his hands, before standing abruptly and flipping the table in front of him. Jasmine watched, impassive, as he crushed grapes and figs among the shards of broken serving platters.

The silence that came after, as he knelt in the shards of colored bowls and fragrant fruit, was interrupted by Jasmine's whisper.

"Killian, Did you really hurt her?"

"I -" He began, surprised when the word escaped him like a sob.

"Don't lie to me," Jasmine whispered again, her voice grave.

"Yes," Killian admitted. "I crushed her heart in a nightmare. I am the cause of her illness, and I'll do anything to help her get better. I didn't - I never meant for -"

"It might not have been you, Killian, we don't know." Jasmine attempted to soothe, but he only barked out a cold, mirthless laugh. "It's not dark magic that is causing the strange blackness on her skin like you thought; this could be something else. Just because that happened -"

"Tell me something, Sultana," Killian interrupted, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Is there a future you've seen, even a chance, that rids me of this curse?" The Darkness bit at him, protesting his question. He found he didn't care.

"I don't - I am still unable to see as much as I should," Jasmine said quickly before hesitating. "But… There is a future where you free yourself, yes. A few paths, almost all clouded by failure. The path I saw had you and the princess closely tied by the fates, her life in the balance."

"Because of course it bloody is. She’s going to die because of me -"

"No - well, maybe, but not yet - there's still a chance. The path is longer, it does not end here. I am not able to see clearly with Aladdin's magic in my way. I am trying, but there's so much darkness…"

"Answer without sodding riddles, you are not a Sphinx!"

"You said you would do anything to help her. Would you swear it instead on her name? The name of the woman I think we both know you lo -"

"I swear on Emma, on my Swan, I swear it."

"Swear on yourself, Killian Jones, the man who is the Dark One. You must believe fully in your heart that you will save her."

"I…" Killian hesitated, swallowing hard. Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw. "I swear on myself."

Liar! You cowardly and pathetic shell of a man. LIAR.

"Remember that, remember when you are fighting your worst enemy -"

"Sultana!" A servant slammed the door wide open, looking at both of them in surprise. "Oh, I - uh -"

"How dare you interrupt this!" Jasmine hissed, her eyes burning bright. "What was so important that ---"

"It could not wait, my Sultana. I beg forgiveness, but it could not be delayed!" The servant threw himself at her feet, groveling. "Please, have mercy my Sultana! It is in regards to the sick woman, the princess."

Both Killian and Jasmine glanced at each other. Killian stood, the servant beginning to quake with further fear as he stood next to Jasmine.

"Who told you the princess was here?" Killian asked, his voice betraying his rising anger. "No one should know that, not a damned bloody soul -"

"They named her by her first name! I swear! They say that they have a cure for the princess, and are friends of hers. They named you specifically Dark One, or Killian Jones."

Killian’s eyes narrowed, and he ground his teeth in thought, although his jaw protested.

"Will you go? I can send sentries or an accompanying party," Jasmine said lowly. "If it's a threat we can -"

"No. I'll go, and if I don't return, I don't return. If they have medicine for her, I'll find a way to get it. I swear it."

Jasmine nodded, the servant handing an envelope to Killian before fleeing with a series of bows.

"Let us hope that they are friends and not foes, with an actual cure for Princess Emma." Jasmine made a religious symbol with her hands, kissing the center.

"I don't pray, and I don't hope." Killian brushed past Jasmine, without looking back. "If they don't have a bloody cure for my Swan, they won't have any prayers or any hope either."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian moved through the docks, and to their ship with practiced ease in the quiet alleyways he had discovered during his avoidance of Emma. The sandstone homes and terracotta steps that weaved to the sea were a fitting distraction for him to lose himself in, and a perfect metaphor for his jumbled thoughts.

Who was it that wanted to speak to Emma through him? How did they know that from the thousands of ships moored in the docks of Agrabah, Emma had made a safe passage through the portals on the Jolly Roger? Who else knew?

The thought of Nil sent a shudder down his spine, Emma's nightmare once again fresh in his mind.

You can keep her safe, but only if you fight for her.

Only if you fight for your happiness, and yourself.

The quiet voice that was once blocked by the Darkness was growing bolder.

The Darkness strained against his constant pressure, snarling at his reinvigorated conscience.

You can't save anyone, let alone your damned soul. I own you. I am you. You can't hold me back forever, and I will never go away.

When you least expect it, I will destroy everything you love - all you have to do is let yourself relax.

Holding his forehead in one hand, Killian pressed on, jumping on the deck of the ship with his sword drawn. Two Fae eyed him warily as he moved his feet into a fighting stance. He could not identify what sort of Fae or who they were, but they seemed to be close, the woman pushed behind the man with shaggy brown hair in a protective gesture Killian recognized as something he had done for Emma.

The male counterpart rested his deep brown eyes on Killian, before smiling slightly. He bowed carefully, Killian grimacing and following the stranger with his sword's point.

"You're him then? The Dark One? Killian Jones of the Blackwater?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, and who are you?" Killian raised his sword higher, jabbing it as the man jumped back in surprise. "How did you come to know what -"

The woman was heavy with child, which gave him pause until the man was throwing himself in front of her. He put his hands up, cowering slightly. "Is Emma alright? Did she remember to not use her magic? And you, did you take care of her? We warned her when she was under the rites, but it took longer than we thought to get here."

"You - how - " Killian faltered, but shook it off to straighten again, gripping his cutlass tighter. "I ask again: What business do you have with the princess?"

"I'm Henry. I'm a friend I swear, and I serve fealty to her and the crown family. Emma is ill, yes? The Kitsune witch put some sort of parasitic creature in her; we told her this before we left to find you both. We sent her here to get help. We knew the Sultana could keep her alive and protected long enough for us to make our way here." Killian let his arm drop, the man relaxing without the blade in his face. "I have a spark of light magic I hold as a Hol guardian and protector of the realms. Time is completely out of control, and the Goblins are attacking pocket realms just like this one. Emma needs this to survive, and to fight back."

Henry produced a glowing ball of light that was iridescent in the sunshine. It sparkled like a faceted diamond as Henry held it.

"I didn't know. Emma… she doesn't remember everything that happened, and she is barely holding on." Killian set his jaw, furious with himself. "I have to go, I need to save her."

The woman spoke, her accented voice drenched in exhaustion. "Thank you. We will seek passage again -"

"Take this ship. It's stocked and ready to go, as I was…" Shame rose on his throat as he thought about almost leaving before. "Just take it. I'll save her."

"You must know, this magic is akin to yours, Dark One." Henry approached cautiously, holding out the orb. The Darkness screeched, burrowing further into him, desperate to escape the strange ethereal glow the globe emitted. "The other side of the coin, the flicker of light that casts your shadow. Both have their extremes, and both can be addictive. Do not let her become blinded by the brightness as you cannot let yourself become lost in your abyss."

Killian let the spark fall in his palm, where it dimmed. He frowned and Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Hurry, Dark One. Not only does Emma not have much time, but the longer you hold that spark, the more it will fade."

Killian gave no reply, sheathing his sword and turning in a single motion. The jump to the pier after launching himself off the deck was with as much grace as he could muster, his feet moving as soon as he had purchase, running as fast as his feet would carry him towards the palace. There was hope. He was absolved of one misdeed on his long list, and Emma would not suffer soon enough. Cruella had caused this, not him, and Emma had begged him to stay with faith that he was good, that he could be redeemed. She could be saved now, and he had faith she would be alright with the magic thrumming in his palm.

It was a blur to her quarters, the sound of breaking glass chilling him. Someone was yelling, a strange blue smoke swirling around her quarters. People were on the ground coughing profusely as the shadow of a man pulled Emma into his arms. No, not just a man, his face visible as he turned. A thief Killian recognized at once.

"Emma! No, wait -"

Emma's face was flushed against the thief's shoulder, her arms hanging weakly at her sides. She limply tried to reach out to Killian, but neither was fast enough when the thief jumped from the window. Killian ran to the window, terrified of how and where they had landed when there was a sheer drop outside, but could see no evidence of a fall from the balcony. A carpet whooshed past him as Jasmine ran into the room, Aladdin addressing them as Emma lolled in his hold barely conscious.

"We'll be at the Cave of Wonders, so don't dawdle. Especially since she doesn't have much time left."

"No! Please, she's -" Killian lunged, almost falling the sheer drop from the balcony as Jasmine wrenched him back.

"Aladdin, don't do this! Please!" Jasmine shouted, and Aladdin stared at her with a pained look crossing his face. The blue cracks on his skin had reached his chin and cheeks, tearing the flesh there. Emma had been right, the thief harbored magic that he clearly could not control.

"You, Sultana, should know better than anyone that I have no choice." he said flatly. "Dark One, my Masters offer you a trade. Your life for hers. Make your choice."

"I - please don't -" Jasmine began, but Aladdin simply shook his head sadly, the carpet speeding into the sky.

Killian roared with anger, his body full of a rage he could feel in every cell. Jasmine was barking orders hoarsely, people scurrying around behind him as he whirled to look at the Sultana.

"Where did he -"

"The Cave of Wonders. I'm responsible for this, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you get Emma back." She touched his shoulder, looking surprised when he took another menacing step forward.

"I said, where -"

"I'll take you." Jasmine looked out across the desert, then turned to a few lingering servants. "We leave at once."

Trying to pull away from him, he held her wrist firmly. "What is going on here? What happened with your thief, and why did he take Emma?" The growl of impatience and anger in his voice made Jasmine flinch, but she didn't answer as her brows pinched together. "Sultana!"

Jasmine broke from her thoughts, carefully pulling away at the cage of his fingers to loosen his grip. "He was rambling the last time I saw him, and sick. He's a Djinn. Obviously fighting against his master's control on him, by the looks of it, which…" She paused, looking intently at his fingers. "He kept saying that he didn't want to hurt me, he didn't want to kill me, for me to run from him because the pull was too strong. He wanted me to end his life, and I didn't. I didn't believe him, and now, Emma…"

Killian dropped her wrist, fighting the emotions that came to the surface, the situation eerily reminiscent. A master that demanded absolute obedience, and those caught in the crossfire being hurt despite every attempt. Aladdin had seen through him and the Darkness so quickly, catching him so off guard he hadn't seen the clear understanding the man held of his predicament.

"The Carpets are ready, Sultana." A servant announced with a slight bow. "We will have to cross bandit blockades to get through to the cave, which Iago has located."

Jasmine nodded, turning to walk briskly toward another attendant that carried a hooded cloak as well as a knapsack. "The Cave of Wonders is the resting place of the Djinn All Father, or the Lord of Djinn. He can make people Genies, which is why he has been sealed away in a magical dungeon since my mother's death."

"So, this dungeon presumably is in all likelihood highly fortified by Jafar, Hades, and Arthur's men who have not one, but two Djinn?" Killian ran a hand through his hair, his jaw working. "We need a bloody army -"

"One Genie. Aladdin. Who is down to his final wishes from the look of his degradation. The Djinn All Father does not leave his chambers or use his magic outside of creation for any reason, not since his daughter died resulting in his self imposed banishment." Swallowing hard, Jasmine stepped onto a carpet as it floated, Killian sitting by her side. "My mother. He is my Grandfather, and never stopped blaming himself for her fate, and my own."

The carpet rushed through the air, Killian's stomach immediately in his throat as their small group wove through the clouds. They were met with brief attacks here and there as they crossed what seemed like an empty expanse of cooked earth, none requiring a full scale assault. Unease prickled at the back of his mind when more than half of their original force had fallen behind to end small fights. This was clearly an ambush, but one that there was no choice but to fall into. The Sultana knew as well based on her terse expression when they drew near a a huge sand hill in the shape of a tiger. It's maw was opened wide, light beckoning from its throat where steps led down into the ground. They landed low as men swarmed from within, swords raised, yelling wild cries.

"Do not touch anything inside, Killian!" Jasmine shouted over the sounds of steel. "It's all enchanted to try and entice you - go straight to Emma."

Killian gave her a nod, running to weave through the sparring crowd. The Sultana barked orders to cover him while he slashed through the first trickle of men defending the place, through halls filled with mountains of gold, through a banquet room of overflowing delicacies, all while curving deeper and deeper into the earth.

Large, columned, doors that dwarfed him in size eight fold opened to a huge chamber lined with more columns. The floor was cracked in places, sand drifting from the ceiling to the floor making small hills or rocky platforms. On one flattened ledge, lay Emma.

Her night dress clung to her skin, teeth visibly chattering while her eyes were screwed firmly shut. Warmth flooded Killian's chest, the strangeness of his heart both jumping out of and freezing in synchrony not stopping his feet from moving on their own accord to get to her. The shard rested on her bruised chest, his presence not acknowledged even as he touched her burning cheeks. Her breathing hitched when his thumb swept over a smudge on the apple of her cheek, the sliver of foggy green under her lashes the most precious thing he had seen in the stone halls varied treasures.

"Kil -" Emma tried to whisper, but could not do so without coughing, her breath coming out in a rattling heave. Without grace, she tried to move closer to his body, instead falling back with a resounding thump.

"Love, oh Emma, I'm so sorry." She moaned softly at the sound of his voice, clinging to him, the concave of her bosom barely moving from her shallow breaths. "Stop, stop trying to move, please -"

"You… You can't… Must… Go." Emma coughed again, before panting heavily. "Don't…"

Smiling softly at her he kissed her temple, her surprised face making his own heart skip a beat. "You are too important to not fight for. For others to fight for. Henry found you a cure, love. You're going to be alright, you'll be just fine."

"You… You don't… Even… Like… Me…" she gritted out. Closing her eyes, Killian held her close. "Couldn't stand... to... stay... even a… a… few minutes…"

"You're wrong. I should have stayed, and I wanted to more than anything. I didn't want you to get hurt - You weren't supposed to remember everything that happened when you were under the Kitsune's power, but you against all odds are. You're remembering, and I acted… I am a coward. I tried to avoid you because if you remember what happened, what transpired between us - "

"It's…?"

"The dreams about us, the ones that you feel like you lived, like they're memories - they are real. They're what happened when you went through the Harvest ritual."

Emma tried to get out of his grip, pulling and pushing against his hands. She thrashed, her voice ringing in the space. "Why! How could you -"

"Stop it, you're going to kill yourself. This is why, right here. Between everything happening, I'm going to hurt you, or you will get hurt because of the Darkness. Why don't you understand? Why don't you value your life like you should!"

"I… I… don't want…" She hesitated, before looking up at him, her eyes wet and full of a deep sadness. "To lose you."

"It's too strong, Emma. It's threatening your existence, and I am not strong enough to keep it at bay. I need to go, I need to stay away from you, if you and I are to ever be able to speak candidly about what happened. You deserve that much, and more."

Weakly, Emma whispered a rough plea. "Stay."

Killian chuckled lowly, trying to memorize her features. "I'll be happy knowing that you had a future, darling. Even if I'm not in it."

Pressing the spark against her sternum as he gave her forehead a peck, his arms wrapped around her to support her as she coughed. Emma doubled over, silk like threads escaping her mouth. She let out a muffled moan, gagging until she vomited a translucent, glittering, mother of pearl colored cocoon on the cave floor. Out of it, a black slug-like creature crawled with a familiar looking red nail stinger on its end, Killian crushing it immediately with his boot. The Kitsune had put one last creeping parasite into Emma, it's manifestation draining her to death to avenge its host. Repugnant, and very on brand of Cruella.

Emma took a steady breath, the rattle gone. She glowed slightly, her power making his skin tingle.

"Don't go with them, they aren't -" Emma tried to say something but was drowned out by the sounds of shouting from all around them.

"What?"

Arthur's voice was suddenly echoing around the cave. "Bind him with the ink."

"Killian, listen to me," Emma begged. Something burst over him, showering them with a spray of dark smoke. Killian tried to shield her, but to his great surprise found he was frozen in place. Emma touched his face in fear, her attempts to get her magic to work proving fruitless. "No, they're going to take you, that's what they wanted all along is you and the shard together -"

She was wrenched away by several men, laughter echoing through the caves. Jasmine was thrown next to her, Aladdin stepping in front of them. His body was in pieces, skin melting away to sparking electric blue underneath.

"Don't hurt them -" Killian bit out, Jafar sliding past him with a smirk. "I'll go willingly, just don't hurt them."

Jafar laughed, a fist connecting to his face from the other side of his head. Arthur's voice oozed into his ringing ear. "Thought you might deserve that one, mate. "

Hades appeared in his peripheral, leaning down to hold up Emma's chin as her arms were held back.

"This does put a damper on our timeline. Her being alive does not provide the Dark One the emotional turmoil we had initially planned on," Hades stated, his eyes flicking back to Killian. "We'll need to kill her here. Genie, please - "

Jafar scoffed. "The Genie is worthless for killing. He can't make anyone fall in love, bring back the dead, or kill anyone according to his code of honor. That's the only reason the Sultana still breathes."

Aladdin looked down at the ground, Jasmine staring at him in surprise.

"So, what's the plan then?" Hades asked, rolling his eyes. "We could take them to the compound which is a waste of time and resources, kill them here which wastes some time, or leave them behind to die here. There's no way out for the two of them."

Killian felt his voice loose before he could hold himself back. "No! No, please. I'll go with you willingly if you let them live, I swear it. I want to be rid of this scourge, and I will happily let you do whatever you want with me as long as you let them go."

Emma's head snapped up, her eyes wide. "No, Killian, what are you even saying? You can't be rid of it, they'll kill you -"

A hand clapped over her mouth, her muffled words shrill.

"We truly should keep the girl if she has this much hold over him. Imagine what torture on her would do for his compliance," Arthur mused, rubbing his scruff. Killian could see the bruising on his face from their last encounter, his eye still slightly purple. "I could also use her for the takeover of the United Realms -"

"No. It's not worth keeping her alive." Hades shook his head, tone still methodical and cold. "My plan hinges on her death as a means of cooperation between the Goblins, United Realms, and the manipulation of the Dark One."

"If you kill her, or harm her at all, I will never serve you. The dagger piece will never hold me, no matter how much magic you pour on me," Killian hissed, seething. He moved forward, striking towards Hades who had to lunge away. More of the black smoky substance was thrown at him, but he managed the best he could to fight it. "If you let them go, I won't fight. Only if you let them go."

There was a yelped curse from one of the men holding her, then Emma's voice pained and pleading. "Killian, no!" Emma cried, their eyes meeting.

He smiled gently, as well as he could manage. "Let me die, or release myself from this torment, darling. Let that be the man you remember: The man who died the hero he wanted to be, for you. For us."

"Please, no. I can't -" Emma whimpered, the hand clapped back over her lips roughly as she struggled.

"Fine. Deal taken." Hades nodded. Jafar scowled coldly.

"Well, if we're discarding them here to be let go, Aladdin should also be left behind," Jafar drawled.

Hades snapped his head to look at his partner. "What are you -"

"Aladdin, for my second wish, I wish to be the sorcerer Sultan of Agrabah."

"No! You can't -" Jasmine cried out.

A burst of magic surrounded her, her jeweled crown evaporating into dust, her clothes replaced by brown muslin. In a flash of light Jafar changed as well, his clothing embroidered in golden thread, the vest he wore covered in jewels. Upon his head sat a turban with a deep set ruby, the facets glittering like a crimson eye. "And as for our deal, for my third wish, I wish you were free of your binds as a Genie, living without your phenomenal cosmic powers. Be a Djinn no more."

Hades groaned, his face full of obvious fury.

Aladdin shimmered, the blue that had been eating away at him exploding outward as he fell to his knees. When he wobbled to his feet again, the fine clothes he wore dissolved to rags, blue dust shimmering over his skin. Jasmine blinked, her mouth opening in surprise.

"You!" Jasmine pointed at Aladdin, a hand covering her mouth in shock. "But you're that peasant -"

"I wanted to tell you Jasmine, but -" Aladdin started, sand beginning to pour from more gaps in the ceiling.

"So you see, Prince Ali is merely a street rat. Just a bore, no longer so worldly, a weakling once more, brought down to size. As for me? " With his long, gnarled fingers he pointed to Jasmine. "I don't have to waste my time thinking of ways to kill you any longer. This will be a fitting grave for you, Sultana."

"No, you're not to hurt them, not to kill them as I said!" Killian grunted as he was dragged backwards, more of what he thought might be the same ink they had used before on the shard thrown in his face. It became hard to speak, his lungs burning from their inability to give him oxygen.

"We aren't hurting them, and certainly not killing them, just as you desire Dark One." Jafar's smile was wide, crazed. "Leaving them here fits your requirements. If they starve in these caves, or fall prey to the many traps, it was not us."

Killian tried to struggle, but more of the substance kept being pushed on him, hands gripping him tightly as he was dragged back. He almost lost sight of Emma, but a captor dropped him without grace, and he could finally see her again. She was no longer looking at him, but instead stared at Arthur.

Arthur approached Emma, his smile wide, lifting her chin. She pulled away in disgust at his touch, still unsteady as her hands shook.

"You're just like Guinevere. Neither of you deserve me. You don't see my greatness; you're selfish just as she was. You could never have helped me wield Excalibur, or control the Darkness." He tugged on Emma's chain necklace, the protective enchantment giving way around his own force. It slipped from her neck even as she struggled, hanging from Arthur's palm. "At least I have this as a consolation prize. It makes it much easier not having to pretend to have feelings for you. All kingdoms for the price of the Dark One."

With a wave of Hades' hand, a golden elevator cage appeared around Killian and his captors. Emma shook her head, Killian frozen by the black concoction they'd thrown at him, the Darkness roaring with glee. She reached for the rising bars, reaching for him, her fingers wrapped tightly in his instead of caring about the shard like she should have - why him, what could he -

"No, I can't say goodbye to you again!" Emma yelled, her face set in stubbornness. His limbs loosened, her magic weak but her determination strong, Jafar letting out a frustrated noise of disgust at her outburst.

Killian came back into his body, clutching her hand tightly as her fingers scrabbled desperately trying to hold him. They parted, her scream of fury and sadness tearing at him.

"I will find you, I will always find you! Please Killian, know that I will not ever stop until we are together again."

The words gave him courage, his heart filled with pride and adoration. Emma would find him, he had no doubt. He would not let this place be her tomb. When he was able to move fully he rushed forward, smashing his forehead into the sorcerer's nose as hard as he could, grabbing the shard as they passed upwards into light of day. Pushing it into the abyss below as sand swallowed what was the entrance of the Cave of Wonders, Jafar bellowed out a noise, kicking him down and face first into the scorching sand.

It didn't matter how many times the livid sorcerer kicked him or shouted to the skies, Emma would get her magic back. She would heal, they had the shard, and if he had any chance to peel the Darkness currently howling inside him away, he would take it. She would find him, free of his curse, and they would finally be together.

I can feel your doubt, boy.

You know that you can't be free of me. Even in death, I remain. I am the constant in this body, you are just an echo. When Emma finds you again, I will have so much fun tearing her limbs off as the Dark One, without a trace of you left.

Nothing can save you now.

"No," Killian moaned, as they dragged him through the sand, their camels forcing him to stumble blindly behind them. "No, never. Not Emma. No."

In the end, Killian hoped Emma would forgive him, and by some miracle he could be free.

#Courtorderedcake #16th #August #2020 #August 16th 2020 #hallow #cs au #Captain swan #captain swan au #CS FF #cssns #cs fic rec #cs fic #cs fanart #my writing

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thorongil82 · 4 years

Text

Forgotten But Not Gone CH2

Fandom: Pokémon

Chapter: 2/?

Chapter (Cumulative) Word Count: 8,548 (14,179)

Can also be read on AO3 and FFN

Chapter Summary: The invitations have been sent, and Seishi must get their preparations in order.

AN: I'll just address a couple of things: Firstly, I was aware after sending the last chapter that the Frontier Brains in Platinum are the same as the ones in HG/SS. Think it just slipped my mind. But, I'm not rectifying that, and I'll just use some other characters and/or make some OCs to fill those spots. Nothing overly major, just addressing my mistake.

Also, fair warning, a decent amount of this chapter is going to be exposition. And it's a longer chapter. Mainly we'll be going over some stuff for the tournament, along with characters appearing in the story. However, you will get your first look at all the Gym Leaders and Elite Four members of Seishi, along with the Champion. There's also another new character in as well. I'll leave a list for them at the end.

Well, that should be it. So, read on, and enjoy!

-----

“Now, Starmie, finish it with Water Pulse!” orders a female trainer with honey-orange hair, wearing a white and blue trimmed one-piece swimsuit with a light blue jacket thrown over the top.

The purple ten-legged starfish Pokémon crackles in acknowledgement as it leaps up into the air. A solid blue ball of energy forms in front of its shiny red gem, before launching through the air with trail of water spraying out behind it. The aqua orb collides with a flying chestnut brown and white feathered Pokémon arcing round in the air.

“Pi-Pirrrrrr!” the Pokémon cries out as the impact causes an explosion, before it crashes down to the water stage below.

“Pidgeotto is unable to battle!” a woman with long golden flowing hair calls out as the dual Normal-and-Flying type Pokémon lies still on the floating platform atop the pool of water, with spirals in its eyes. She raises her right hand up towards to the red haired trainer and her Starmie. “Starmie is the winner! So the victor is the Cerulean Gym Leader, Misty!”

“Alright!” Misty cheers with a giggle, pumping her fist in the air. “Good job, Starmie.”

The dual Water-and-Psychic Pokémon, rolls round on its legs to face her, its red gem lighting up as it beeps out a reply.

“Good job, Pidgeotto,” her challenger says with a small smile as she pulls out a Pokéball, a red light shooting out from it and engulfing Pidgeotto before it disappears inside. “We'll do better next time.”

The challenger then turns to Misty and bows, as the Gym Leader dives off of her podium into the pool below. She swims over to the other side in the time it takes the other trainer to walk down the stairs for her podium, and gets back out to head over.

“I'm going to go and train some more, and I'll come back another day,” the challenger says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Misty replies as she bundles up some of her hair and rings it out.

“I'll win next time!” she says as she takes off, waving behind her.

“Come back anytime,” Misty calls out as she disappears, before turning to her Starmie. “Why don't you have a swim?”

Starmie beeps out once before rolling into the pool with a splash. With a giggle, she also pulls out two more Pokéballs from her now wet jacket and enlarges them, before releasing a Seaking and a Quagsire into the pool.

“Why don't you both have a nice swim too? You all battled really hard.”

The two let out their own joyous cries before swimming off.

“You've definitely gotten stronger over the years, sis,” the blonde haired judge says as she hobbles over to the Gym Leader, leaning heavily on a crutch held in her right hand, taking the brunt of the weight that would have otherwise been placed on her right leg, also supported by a knee brace and strapping wrapping by the ankle.

“I … I guess,” Misty meekly replies as her eyes dropping down to look at the injured leg before darting away.

“Hey, it's getting better,” she says with a smile, placing a hand on Misty's shoulder. “Slowly but surely, and soon we'll be back to a full trio of Sensational Sisters.”

“Trio? There's four of us, Daisy, not three,” Misty points out, her brow furrowed.

“Hey, I only said you've gotten stronger. There's still a lot more you need to work on before you can even consider being sensational,” Daisy retorts with a wink and a slight poke out of the tip of her tongue.

“And yet I could still beat all three of you,” Misty jabs back with a growl, only for the pair of them to devolve into a fit of giggles.

“There's that fire we love,” Daisy smiles warmly, as they both settle down. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah … thanks, sis.”

“Hey! Misty!” another female voice calls out from direction of the entrance, before a woman looking very similar to both Misty and Daisy, with shiny fuchsia hair with two curly strands hanging down the side of her face, while the rest is scrunched up in a bun at the back, runs in, waving her hand above her head with a letter clenched in her other hand. She's quickly followed in by another similar looking woman, with long flowing indigo hair, who rushes over carrying another crutch in her arms.

“Some guy just came round with a letter for you,” the latter says as she hands the second crutch to Daisy, helping her as she gets her hand through the ring and gripped onto the handle.

“For me?” Misty asks.

“Yeah,” the former answers as she hands the letter over. “Oh, and can you and your Pokémon clear out the pool? Violet and I need to rehearse our routine for our next show.”

“You can wait a little longer until I've read this, Lily!” huffs Misty as she looks over the envelope.

“Hmph! Meanie,” Lily pouts, crossing her arms across her chest and turning her head away in faux anger.

“Come on, Lily, we can let her Pokémon have a bit of a swim,” Violet interjects.

“Fine,” grumbles Lily, “but we better not miss out on a big break because we're under-prepared.”

Misty rolls her eyes and turns the envelope over, her eyes widening slightly at the seal holding the envelope shut. Stamped into the blood red wax is an inscribed Pokéball with a trophy behind it, and a Moltres behind the trophy with flaming wings spread out.

“It's from the Pokémon League,” Misty mutters out loud, just strong enough for all her sisters to hear. “Wonder what they want ...”

-----

In a large room sitting high up in Lumiose City's Prism Tower, a short girl with light blonde hair, braided up at the front ending in a large bun on the left hand side that's bound with a scrunchie designed like a ring of flower petals, with the rest falling down her back to her waist, wearing a crimson jacket tied at the front with an orange ribbon, with a creamy white blouse underneath, and a short black skirt, hops onto the cluttered workbench. Her rose pink satchel bounces next to her as she lands down, the impact jostling a couple of the mechanical components resting on the bench, as she looks at an older glasses wearing man with the same coloured hair, clad in a grimy teal lab coat with a yellow horizontal stripe across the front, looks down at the letter in his hand.

“Come on, Clemont! she whines, ignoring the clattering as a robot looking similar to the man shuffles around the rest of the room, cleaning up the many mechanical components, processors, tools and metallic parts. “What does it say?!”

“I have to open it first, Bonnie,” Clemont mentions as he breaks the seal on the envelope, opening up the letter.

The room falls silent for a moment, save for the clattering caused as Clembot continues shuffling throughout the room, picking out the scattered mess and sorting it apart. Bonnie sighs as she waits for her brother, tapping her fingers against the bench.

“No way!” Clemont suddenly exclaims, causing his sister to jump in shock and fall off the worktable.

“What? What is it?” she asks, the flap on her satchel flipping open as a tiny yellow Pokémon pops its head out, antennae sticking out from the red sacks on its cheeks sparking with electricity.

“De-Ne?”

“The Pokémon Masters League is on this year!” Clemont exclaims, shaking slightly as he looks at her, only to be met with a blank look.

“The what?”

“The Pokémon Masters League! It's a prestigious tournament held every twenty years!” he says, standing up as he starts to pace around the room.

“Do you know what he's talking about, Dedenne?”

“Ne-nne,” Dedenne replies with the shake of its head.

“Is this some sort of tournament for strong trainers?” Clembot asks as it walks over, the cleaning forgotten as its curiosity is peaked.

“Not just strong trainers! It's for the strongest of the strongest!”

“Awesome!” Bonnie shouts as Clemont's words finally seem to hit home. “Of course they'd invite you if they were after the strongest trainers in the world. They'd be fools not to invite the Light of Lumiose City.”

“Well, some people, like Gym Leaders, automatically qualify for the tournament,” Clemont chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, even if they didn't, you'd still qualify with flying colours, I'm sure of it,” Bonnie insists, accompanied by a nod from Clembot.

“Indeed, sir. You're certainly one of the finest battlers I've ever seen.”

“Oh, I don't know about that …”

-----

“Remind me what I'm doing here?” a woman, with a long jet black ponytail with violet highlights in her hairline, down the right side of her hair, and the tip of her ponytail, asks as she looks towards the other two women sitting at their round table placed outside a café in Viridian City.

The woman who had asked the question is dressed in a plain white sleeveless shirt and a pair of black jeans held up with a worn brown leather belt. The woman to her left has sweeping shoulder length charcoal black hair that curls out at the base of her neck, while wearing a spaghetti string tank top that bares her lean midriff, a pair of long clean white pants, and a pair of thick and weighty looking black and glowing seafoam green bracelets on her wrists. The pale skinned woman to her right has rounded black hair, with cut bangs held back by a cherry red headband, and is wrapped up in a dandelion yellow kimono with tangerine maple leaves falling around the trim, tied off with a cherry red obi.

“I figured you wouldn't have heard about this,” the woman to her left explains. “It's only this time that your home region has been included in the festivities.”

“Along with Alola,” the kimono wearing woman adds, blinking as if she had just woken up before sighing and slumping back in her seat.

“Yes, but that's to be expected, as both regions didn't have a league during the last tournament. And it's being held in Seishi. So, maybe you could give us an idea of what your home is like, Jade?”

“No idea,” Jade sighs as she takes a sip from the cup of tea in front of her. “Left five years ago, haven't been back. Could have changed a lot.”

“Now why don't I believe you?” the tank top wearing woman asks, crossing her legs over one another, pressing her elbow onto the top leg and placing her hand under her chin.

“Because you can't trust anything that hasn't been checked by your powers?” Jade jabs back with a raised eyebrow, getting a smirk in response. “Besides, why don't you just use your powers to look into the future, Miss Psychic Mistress?”

“My foresight ability is somewhat limited,” she explains. “Besides, more fun to have things happen without knowing it beforehand.”

“Whatever. Why don't you start your history lesson that you've worked so hard on before we …?”

Both look over to their kimono wearing companion, who appears to be looking off vacantly, her gaze locked onto a point somewhere near the tank top wearing woman. Jade sighs as she leans back in her seat.

“Too late. We've lost her.”

“Erika, is something the matter?” the tank top wearer questions.

“... Huh? O-Oh, no, sorry,” the kimono clad woman absently answers as she shakes herself back to reality, her eyes losing their glassy sheen and returning to focus. “I'm just still a bit amazed by your wardrobe change, Sabrina.”

The sudden confession has the table quiet for a beat before a snort comes from Jade, followed by an almost unnoticeable curl of the corners of her mouth. The Saffron City Gym Leader, on the other hand, just looks at her Celadon City counterpart with a deadpan expression.

“I mean, before you used to dress up so conservatively,” Erika continues on, oblivious to the reactions of her fellow Gym Leaders as her voice gains a cheery mirth. “But now you look so cute and casual. And you even freshened your hair up. It really does suit this 'Psychic Mistress' image you've been showing off now.”

“L-Look, can we just get back on track with the Masters League, instead of focusing on my … complete … style … change …” Sabrina manages to strangle out, folding her arms over her exposed midriff and turning her head away, a light rosy tint dusting across her cheeks.

“I'm sure you've gotten a lot more attention thanks to this too,” Erika continues on, showing no sign that she had heard Sabrina's suggestion. “I must say, it's nice to see how much you've … grown … up …”

Erika's voice trails as she feels a hand on her left shoulder. She turns to her left, finding nothing there save for the disconnected floating purple hand lingering on her shoulder. Her skin manages to get even paler as a strained whimper sounds out from the back of her throat.

“HAUNTER!!!” a voice bellows from her other side, causing her to shriek and jump out of her seat, falling on the ground. Sabrina, despite trying to keep it smothered with her hand, lets a little giggle escape through her fingers at Haunter's antics, while the Ghost Pokémon laughs loudly at the result of its joke.

“O-Okay, please continue,” Erika says a little shakily as she gets back into her chair, dusting off her kimono.

“So, you both know how if a challenger beats all the Gym Leaders and wins that region's conference that they're allowed to enter the Champions League to take on the Elite Four and the Champion?”

“Is that meant to be a shot at me?” Jade asks with a glare.

“Not at all, just where I'm starting,” Sabrina mentions, unperturbed by the sharp glare burning onto her skin.

“Right …”

“Well, the Pokémon League wanted to give other trainers a chance to become a Pokémon Master if they competed well enough across different conferences. Their reasoning was that just because a trainer won a conference didn't automatically make them the strongest trainer overall, nor did it mean that if you finished in the Top 4 that you were one of the four strongest trainers competing."

“So, sixty years ago, the first Masters League was created,” Jade intervenes with a bored tone, getting a look from Sabrina. “To prove which trainers were the strongest of the strong, the Gym Leaders from all competing regions, along with the Elite Four members and the Champions, would be thrown into the mix along with the trainers that had won conferences, trainers that had consistently proven themselves in multiple conferences, and others who were recognised to be powerful trainers in their own right by a selecting committee. Every twenty years the event is held, in a different region, and the winner has the right to be known as the greatest Pokémon Master in the world.”

“So, you do know all about it,” Sabrina says.

“Force of habit,” Jade replies with a shrug as she takes another drink from her tea.

“Haun Haunter,” Haunter moans, holding out a flower to Erika as it looks down to the floor.

“Oh, is this for me, Haunter?” she asks.

“Haunter,” the Gas Pokémon nods.

“How sweet,” Erika smiles and reaches out for the flower, only to let out a shriek as the flower opens up and sprays a stream of water out into her face.

“Hau Hau Hau!” Haunter cackles, covering his mouth with his floating hands.

“Haunter,” Sabrina warns sternly.

Haunter continues to cackle wildly at the prank, spiralling around in the air jovially. That is, until it comes to a sudden stop as a cloud of dark flickering purple smoke circulates around it. The gas Pokémon pulls out a handkerchief seemingly from out thin air and starts fanning it out. And yet, the air pushing out does nothing to disperse the spontaneous smoke.

“H-Haun …” Haunter murmurs nervously, head swivelling around as the smoke starts to manifest into ominous spectres of indigo mass and flickering violet flames.

Haunter throws up his hands and starts to float away, only to be followed by the spectres no matter where he goes. Sabrina and Erika both watch this strange sight, as Haunter frantically flies rings through the air with the spectres never losing any ground, before the former looks over towards the Leader of the Viridian City Gym, who is very calmly drinking her tea as if nothing unusual is happening.

“Could you call off your friend?” Sabrina asks.

“No idea what you're talking about,” Jade replies.

-----

“So, this is a tournament for all the strongest trainers in the world, right?” a man with shaggy grape purple hair, dressed in a navy blue and black jacket with a cobalt shirt underneath, and a pair of indigo cargo pants, asks as he looks into a video phone in a Pokémon Centre located in Sinnoh's famed Fight Area.

“That's right,” answers a similar looking man on the other side, his long dark purple hair drawn back into a ponytail, wearing a long sleeved coral shirt with a seafoam green apron over the top.

“So, does that include the Battle Frontier?”

“Well, I don't believe the Battle Frontier was set up when the last tournament took place, though I know Brandon, Palmer and Argenta were invited. They all got pretty far, too.”

The man on the other side of the video call drops his head slightly and pulls up a letter into view of the bottom of the screen, as his eyes read across the page.

“However, they are saying that the Frontier Brains have been invited,” he notes.

“Good, so we get another shot at defeating Brandon.”

“Slow down, Paul,” the man on the screen chuckles as he notes the cold fire burning in his eyes. “There's no guarantee that you'll get matched up with him. And besides, you're challenging Palmer's Battle Tower first, right? If you're too focused on a future battle, you'll end up having more trouble with the battle before it. And Palmer is a trainer you'll want your complete focus on to stand a chance.”

“You didn't tell me you'd faced him before, Reggie,” Paul says, getting a slight chuckle in response.

“Well, this was before I stepped away from battling,” his older brother points out as he rubs the back of his neck, “and I'm certain he's gotten even stronger since then. So watch out.”

“It doesn't matter how strong he is. All that matters is that we beat him.”

“Well, that's certainly one way to think about it,” Reggie says with a sweat drop. “You know, that sounds a lot like something Ash would say, instead of you.”

“Well, if the strongest trainers in the world are going to be competing, then there's no way he'll miss competing in Seishi. I'll get to settle the score with him too.”

“Paul, focus on Palmer first,” Reggie sternly suggests.

“R-Right.”

-----

“Well, Forrest, I hope you've been keeping up with your training on your journey,” a man with dark skin and spiky hair, wearing a white doctor's coat over an orange shirt and brick red pants, says as his squinty eyes over from the letter to the video phone where a similar, if not younger, looking man is being projected to the room full of nine other people – six male and three female – who look virtually identical, save for the differences in hair colour and the hairstyles of the women, and another woman with a fairer complexion and wider eyes who is sitting on the arm rest of a recliner next to the eldest in the room, with wrinkles on his face and dark grey hair.

“Of course I have, Brock …” Forrest starts, “but I'm not sure if I'll compete.”

“What are you talking about?!” Brock says as he jumps out of his seat, the letter crumpling slightly in his hand. “This is a great honour!”

“Well, it's just, I've been on my journey to find what it is I want to do,” Forrest explains. “I'm not sure if I have that answer yet, and I don't think it's fair for me to represent the Pewter Gym if I'm not committed to being the Gym Leader right now.”

“Well, what do we do?” one of the girls, with her spiky chocolate brown hair pulled back into a shaggy ponytail.

“Personally, I think you should represent the gym, Brock,” Forrest suggests.

“Me?”

“Why not?” the male of the youngest twins, Billy, speaks up. “Forrest took over while you were away, and then when you were studying.”

“Yeah, and you were the one that took over when Forrest left for his journey,” the other twin, Tilly, continues on, tilting her head at the eldest of the Harrison children.

“Not to mention that he went on his journey because you suggested it, dear,” Lola, the mother and the most unique looking person in the room, adds on.

“By all rights, you're still the Pewter Gym Leader,” Forrest finishes.

“Except that you're still the official Leader, in the League's eyes,” Brock retorts to his brother. “We put in that transfer when I went off to study to be a doctor.”

“That won't be a problem,” Flint, the older man and father of the large family, speaks up.

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“If you keep reading, a ruling is that if anyone holding a position with the Pokémon League is unable to compete, they can nominate a substitute if they're deemed to be strong enough,” the Harrison father explains. “It's only been used twice in the three times the Masters League has been held, but it is possible. But even then, we wouldn't need to use that rule.”

“Why not?” Brock asks, his brow furrowing in confusion, along with several of his siblings.

“Why don't you take another look at that envelope, Brock?” his mother suggests. Brock nods and takes up the opened envelope that he left face down on the table in the middle of the room, before turning it over.

“It's addressed to me?” Brock reads, his brow rising as his eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Dad and I put in a request to make you the official Gym Leader while I was away,” Forrest explains.

“You both did that?!” the Pokémon doctor asks, getting a nod from both his father and brother. “And when were you going to tell me?!”

“It wouldn't have changed anything,” Flint defends. “Even without knowing it, you've still ran the gym as if you were official.”

“And you're a far stronger trainer than I am,” Forrest adds on. “I'd much rather have you representing us all than myself.”

“Hmm …” Brock sighs as he sits down, losing himself in thought.

“Well, Brock, what do you say? Are you going to accept the invitation?”

-----

“Hey, Dad, does it say what a trainer has to do to qualify?” a teenage boy with combed pine green hair, wearing an emerald green jacket with a beige undershirt, and grey shorts, asks, glancing over through his glasses at the man sitting down on a blue couch, while he keeps brushing the white fur of the Vigaroth sleeping in front of it.

“Well, Max, trainers don't qualify, in that sense,” the father, a man with short pebble black hair, dressed in a crimson red jacket with a soot black trim, and denim blue jeans, explains, an arm draped across the back of the couch. “The only real way to qualify is to win a conference. Beyond that, it's really down to the committee overseeing the selections for each region.”

“But they must have some way to determine who is the strongest, right?” a woman sitting in a matching blue recliner asks. She's dressed in a sleeveless tangerine tunic with a large folded black collar, a long white stripe down the front and two white pockets on her hips, along with a pair of slim black cycling shorts and a mint green pack strapped round her waist. She also has a pair of white gloves with black fingers and a pair of black wristbands with a green stripe going round, while her bronze brown hair – parted into two tails – is wrapped up in a mint green and snow white bandanna.

“In a way,” he replies. “There are certain conditions that are recommended for trainers to have met.”

“... and they are?” she asks, the two children looking towards their father, the Petalburg City Gym Leader Norman.

“Well, beyond winning a conference, it's recommended you finish within the Top 2 twice in a row, the Top 4 on four consecutive occasions, the Top 8 six times in a row, or the Top 16 on eight consecutive occasions,” Norman explains. “Beyond that, there can be other factors taken into account, such as the amount of conferences you've competed in, the trainers you lost to in a conference, and when you started out.”

“Guess I didn't make the cut then,” Max mopes, his entire posture slumping forwards dejectedly. “I only finished four times in the Top 16, from five conferences, and my best was a Top 8 finish in Kanto and Unova.”

“Well, you could still get in,” his sister says brightly, trying to encourage him. “You've only been in five conferences, remember? And you've been eliminated by a runner up and a winner as well. That could be taken into your consideration.”

“Maybe …” he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the floor and definitely away from Norman, fearing any possible expression that could cross his face. Max jolts up a little as he suddenly feels a hand rest on his shoulder, looking over to see the hand belonging to his sister.

“I'm sure it's just late, 'kay?” she says with a smile and a wink, hiding her other slightly shaking hand hidden behind her back.

“Yeah … Yeah!” Max pipes up cheerfully, his spirits raising by the second. He hums for a second, before pausing and looking over at his father. “Hey, Dad? There's something else I'm not sure about.”

“What is it, Max?”

“Well … I get why you got an invitation, seeing as you're a Gym Leader. But …”

He turns and looks over to the second opened letter in the room, a letter which both his sister and father's eyes are drawn to. A letter that was placed down in front of where his sister had been sitting.

“... do you know why May got an invite as well?”

-----

“It says that they're also considering and inviting coordinators that have fit the same recommendations in Grand Festivals as other strong trainers in Conference Leagues,” a messy orange-red haired woman reads off of a letter, dressed in a magenta woolly jumper with an orange vest over the top, with a faded pair of jeans on her legs. A pair of thin rimmed sunglasses sits atop her head, while around her left wrist is a bubblegum pink Pokétch with a white strap. A Glameow lies on her lap, softly purring away contently as it receives some small scratches from her trainer.

“Huh … I wonder why …” another woman ponders as she looks at her own letter. This one has long royal blue hair tucked within a pearl white beanie with a pink Pokéball print on the front. She wears a black v-neck tank top, with a white shirt underneath, and a pink mini skirt. Wrapped around her right wrist is a thin bracelet, along with a Pokétch on her left wrist identical to her friend's.

“I would guess it has to do with determining what makes a powerful trainer,” a third woman says as she walks in, holding a tray filled with cookies, a steaming tea pot and three tea cups. The third woman, quite a few years older than the other two, though not looking it, has a large round bob of royal blue hair held in place thanks to a red hair clip. She wears a white shirt with long sleeves, with a peach and red apron tied around her waist, and a pair of aegean blue capris underneath.

“Really, mum?” the second of the women asks as the latter sets down the tea set.

“Well, who's to say that a Coordinator can't be a strong trainer?” the mother responds as she starts to pour out cups of tea for the three of them. “In the past, it was kept to trainers who were competing in regional conferences to be invited to the Masters League.”

“But now, they're realising that a Coordinator can be just as strong a trainer as anyone else,” the first woman finishes as she catches on to the mother's point.

“Yeah, but our battles aren't necessarily about just knocking out our opponents,” the second interjects as she takes the cup of tea that's offered to her.

“That just means you have a different battling style to the rest,” the mother replies as she hands off another cup of tea, before taking the last cup and sitting down in a nice plush chair.

“Thanks, Johanna,” the first woman offers with a nod as she takes a sip of the heated aromatic liquid.

“You're welcome, Zoey,” she hums, before returning to the topic of conversation. “You've come across many trainers with different styles, right Dawn?”

“Yeah, like Nando,” Dawn responds brightly, as memories of facing off against the melodic Pokémon Bard come to mind.

“You see?”

“Plus you shouldn't forget Fantina,” Zoey points out. “She was a Top Coordinator before becoming a Gym Leader, and yet she still battles like she's in a Contest.”

“And then there's Wallace, someone who's both a Pokémon Champion and Top Coordinator,” Johanna adds. “Think of it this way, a trainer that takes on the gyms are more likely to focus on the strength of their Pokémon and the power of their moves. A Coordinator on the other hand showcases their Pokémon however they can. That includes utilising and redirecting their opponents moves.”

“Along with also working through different combinations!” Dawn finishes. “Yeah! We are totally going to have this!”

“Calm down, Dawn,” Johanna warns. “That doesn't mean you'll find it any easier. That just means you need to stick to you and your Pokémon's style, just like any other battle.”

“No need to worry, mum,” Dawn comments, brushing off her mother's cautions. “My Pokémon and I will be careful.”

“And what do I do when you tell me not to worry?”

Zoey lets out a good natured chuckle at Johanna's stern remark, along with the sulking pout in response from Dawn. She gives her Glameow another gentle rub, a warm smile crossing her face, before disappearing as a question comes to mind.

“Hey, Johanna? Have you been invited? You are a Top Coordinator, after all.”

“Oh yeah, it would be really cool to see you in action, mum,” Dawn jumps in excitedly.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't received an invitation,” Johanna answers. “Truthfully, the last time I competed was before the last Champions League. They're probably limiting it to results in the last twenty years.”

“Aww …” Dawn expresses with a hint of disappointment, before her appearance suddenly hardens as her eyes dart to the ground.

“Dawn?” Zoey says, noticing her friend's glum look.

“Oh, it's nothing,” she replies, plastering on a wide smile that doesn't seem to reach her eyes. “No need to worry.”

Zoey raises an eyebrow at her remark, which freezes her faux cheeriness. Dawn's fake smile shrinks down to a small curl of her lips, as her flickering eyes stare down at the cup of tea in her hands.

“Right, sorry,” Dawn softly apologises. “I was just wondering if Ash will be there …”

-----

Following in through a hidden winding passage on the southern face of Mt Daybreak in Seishi, a large room opens up from within the craggy walls – a secret hideout for the Gym Leaders, Elite Four, and the Champion of Seishi. The concealed tunnel morphs into a wide space hollowed out from the mountainside, showcasing a fully furnished area that could easily become someone's living space if they so desired. Smooth polished marble coats the floors, small flame lanterns hang from the cracked, craggy walls, while a couple of large globe lights dangle down from the tall ceiling.

In the middle of the chamber is a large fire pit, currently crackling away with a warm blaze, with a wide venting shaft hanging above that funnels any smoke out of the room. Seated around the flames are two large curved white velvet couches – one on the right and one directly opposite on the left – with eight people currently sitting on the furniture. Beyond, the far wall falls away to an open view of a roaring waterfall, with small vapour droplets gently spraying back into the room. Through the opening sunlight cascades in from a cavernous sinkhole, flooding half of the room in a shimmering light that dances against the golden flickering glow of the flames. Off to the right of the lounge area is a large oak dining table with ten chairs placed around it, while beyond that is a fully equipped kitchen, the surfaces sculpted in black slate, bright white quartz and handcrafted mahogany wood.

Seated on the couch on the right is Lillith, the Ice type Gym Leader; a woman with scarlet red hair pulled back into a ponytail, with strands falling around the side of her face. Her legs, clad in a form hugging pair of black pants, are crossed one over the other in front of her, while a big warm furry coat covers her torso.

To her right is Kai, the Fire type Gym Leader. He is currently slumped on the couch, with his lanky form allowing his head to still rest on top the back, allowing his eyes to stare straight up at the ceiling. His messy midnight blue hair cascades over his eyes and draws level with his nose, with little hints of electric blue roots poking through the fringe. He has on a loose white button up t-shirt, though the top three buttons are left undone, with a flame patterned tie hung slack around his neck, and a pair of denim jeans that are torn at the knees.

Beyond him is Sheamus, the Grass type member of the Elite Four, dressed in the same worn outfit that he wore during his meeting with the representatives from the Pokémon League and other regions.

Finally, beside him, is Juliette, the Electric type Gym Leader. Her bushy dark emerald hair gently brushes against the top of her shoulders, while a pair of red rimmed glasses sits delicately on her nose. She has a white lab coat – marred by a few scuff marks and holes towards the bottom – draped over a raven black undershirt, with a pair of baggy black cargo pants to match.

Across from them, on the other couch, sits Duncan, the Normal type Gym Leader. He has short fluffy ashen brown hair, while having a white and light grey striped scarf wrapped round his neck. He also has on a thick brown leather jacket over a steel-grey shirt with a white Pokéball print by his left hip – the last third of the design is cut off by the end of the shirt. Completing his look is a pair of black chinos, held up by a thin belt.

To Duncan's left is the Ghost type Gym Leader, Thane. Hunched over, with his pasty pale arms resting on his knees and holding up his head, a pair of sunken eyes stare out at the room through the curtain of raven black hair cascading down in front of his face. He has on a baggy indigo shirt that has had the sleeves torn off at the shoulders, along with several other small holes and tears pierce the fabric. His jet black pants share the same ragged look, having been frayed, torn and tattered all along the pant-length.

Sitting next to him is Alex, the Gym Leader who specialises in both Rock and Ground types. He has spiky dirty brown hair with a matching short scraggly beard running along his jawline, with a pair of slightly dirty goggles sitting amongst his hair. He's wearing a long sleeved khaki shirt – the sleeves having been rolled up to just below his elbows – and a pair of tawny brown cargo pants, both items slightly dusty, while sitting on the ground in front of him is a very large and seemingly bursting sage green backpack. Currently, Alex's head is down looking towards his hands, holding a pen and a small notepad, as he quickly scrawls across the page.

The final member on the couch is the Water specialist of the Elite Four, and Top Coordinator, Hikaru, humming softly to herself as she kicks her legs out ahead of her. Like Sheamus, she is wearing much the same outfit she did upon meeting the other representatives a couple of weeks ago, though she has also thrown on a sky blue hoodie for good measure.

Standing in between the fire pit and the opening looking out to the waterfall is Raphael, Flying type master and Elite Four member. Unlike his meeting with the other representatives, he has forsaken his black skintight undershirt, showing off his muscular arms. Also, this change in attire also shows off the winding runic and tribal-like tattoo crawling up his left arm, similar in design to the pair adorning Sheamus' bulky arms. In his hand is a clipboard that he keeps sneaking tiny glances to as he reports to everyone in the room, going over the information for the tournament and their responsibilities.

High above everyone else as she climbs up the craggy wall, whilst still vaguely listening to the former Champion, is Bridgette, the Fighting type Gym Leader. Her auburn hair is tied back in a braided ponytail that hangs down between her shoulder blades. A thin black tank top clings to her lean, toned torso, while a matching pair of black sweatpants hugs her powerful legs. Her hands, strapped up and chalked, cling to the handholds she's found as her eyes scan for her next opening to manoeuvre herself even higher than she already is.

Sitting alone at the head of large dining table is Ella, the Fairy type Gym Leader. A pale violet hoodie is wrapped around her, with the hood drawn over her head, though peeking through the front can be seen her pixie cut hairstyle containing a blend of golden blonde, sky blue, and rose pink hair. She also has on a pair of faded jeans, with her hands stuffed inside the pockets of her hoodie. Though she is still listening to Raphael's report, it may not appear so, as instead her eyes are following the Pokémon chasing each other around the outfitted chamber; including a Dedenne, a Flabebe, a Litleo, a Frosslass, an Azurill, and a Pikachu.

Leaning beside the entrance to the chamber with her arms folded across her chest is Jeanne, Steel type specialist and member of the Elite Four, keeping a watchful eye over the entire room, along with sending glances towards the pathway beside her, lest someone unexpected comes in. On her other side leaning against the wall is a large greatsword, nearly as tall as Jeanne herself, unsheathed and untouched, yet within reach. Her long flowing fiery red hair spills down her back. Adorning her torso is a plain black tank top, showing off her muscular arms and the scars that litter them, matched by the long scar carved along her right cheek. However, her legs are completely covered in armour plating, with nary an opening to be seen.

Finally, leaning up against the far wall of the room, with the aperture showcasing the waterfall just to his left, is the Champion of Seishi, Aaron. With the wide brimmed hat still tilted over his right eye, and the left side of his face still covered by his bangs, his cloak has been forsaken, instead showing off his storm grey sleeveless tunic and a large amount of strapping and bandages wrapped around his limp left arm. His right hand, still held within his fingerless gem embedded glove, sits against his waist, with the thumb tucked into the waistband of his cargo pants, and a small thin golden band sits further up on his forearm.

“So, you got us all in here just to tell us it's all sorted?” Duncan sighs as Raphael finishes giving them the details over the completed selection process.

“Not at all,” Raphael replies, “We've also got some other things to do.”

From above them on the wall Bridgette lets out a groan as she throws a hand out to her next handhold. “Really? More work?”

“There are times that we do need to get work done,” Juliette points out.

“You're just saying that because your boyfriend's organising it,” Bridgette retorts with a slight strain as she pulls herself higher, the remark getting a bright red hue to coat the Electric type specialist's cheeks.

“Th-That's not true …”

“Now, now, you'll find out that there are times you'll have other priorities than battling,” Sheamus interjects, reaching out a large comforting hand and placing it very gently on the flustered woman's shoulder, while she fidgets with the hem of her coat. “We knew that when we took up positions with the League.”

“Yeah, yeah …” the athletic Fighting type specialist sighs with a roll of her eyes.

“Don't worry, most of what's left for you is just supervising construction for the stadiums and accommodation,” Raphael mentions.

“Just watching over stuff?” Thane drones, his dark eyes slowly shifting over to Raphael who nods in response.

“Yeah, and making sure they aren't damaging the habitats and the wild Pokémon. It shouldn't be too much of a problem – Jameson Inc is handling the construction process.”

“So what do we do?” Lillith speaks up with a sigh. She, like quite a few others, weren't overly fond of meetings that came down to League business, and was getting pretty bored with the affair.

“Mainly we'll be working in shifts, apart from some stuff that still needs a specialist,” he replies. “Alex, you'll be taking care of the buildings being built into Daybreak.”

“Making sure it's not disrupting the energy levels and the structures?” Alex checks as his pen pauses along his page.

“Bingo,” he answers, Alex nodding and quickly returning to his note taking. “Make sure it won't come caving in. And that we can still sneak our way through to our hideouts and our floor without interference.”

Alex's writing hand pauses again. “… You know that one of those things is a lot easier than the other, right?”

“I'm sure you'll manage,” Raphael says, before glancing at his clipboard. “Hikaru's taking care of the contest stages for the Wallace Cup, which will be held over by the lakefront of Crystdrake Castle.”

If someone had just walked in, they wouldn't have guessed that the energy of the room previously was pretty drained as, with that statement, a chorus of voices bellow out their disapproval, to the complete and utter lack of surprise of the former Champion.

“We can't hold it there!” Bridgette shouts down from above, letting go of the wall with one hand so she can lean over and twist her body to look at Raphael. “It's too important!”

“Agreed,” Thane growls, the volume of his voice staying the same, yet gaining a very dark growl. “We cannot sully the spirits of that place.”

“Not entirely what I meant …”

As some in the group continues voicing their concerns, Raphael looks back to Aaron, silently asking if he'd like to intervene. However, the light mirth dancing in the gaze that darts out from the forest of bangs shrouding his eye, coupled with the slight curl of his lips, seems to communicate to Raphael that the Champion has no intentions whatsoever to bail him out of this mess.

“I agree with Bridgette,” Duncan speaks up. “Even without the sentimental reasons you guys have for protecting it, the lakefront there is central to a lot of Pokémon's lives. You just told us to make sure the construction workers aren't damaging the habitats for the wild Pokémon.”

“But it's perfect,” Hikaru objects as she leaps up to her feet. “A contest is a showcase of magnificence, allure and beauty. The water there is perfect for bringing it out. It's so clean!”

“And what about the Pokémon?” Lillith inquires.

“It's an open stage. We won't be building a full stadium. Open top, looking out onto the natural view, and the castle in the background.”

“A ruined castle …” Kai suddenly speaks up, with a dull tone, as he continues to stare up at the ceiling.

“A slightly damaged castle,” Hikaru retorts. “Besides, it's not that bad. You can't say it doesn't look like a gorgeous sight, right?”

Some murmurs of agreement come from the discontent members of their group.

“The stage will be portable, she continues. “We should be able to float it out and bring it back in easily. Enough room to dig, move around, and it'll open up for water performances.”

“Also, we were going to have some Pokémon help out with a barrier around the stage, just like with some of the stadiums,” Raphael adds on. “So, no wayward attacks will hurt the Pokémon living around there.”

“Are you sure the stage will work?” Alex voices.

“Professor Jones believes it will, based on her research,” Hikaru answers. “We should have the proper measures to make it all function perfectly. I was always going to ask Julie to help me there as well, if that'll ease everyone's concerns.”

Juliette suddenly looks up as the multitude of eyes in the room fall on her. She quickly looks back down at her lap, squirming slightly in her seat, before she shyly glances over to Raphael. “… Will it affect the Starlight Festival?”

Raphael shakes his head. “No. The Starlight Festival should be on the night before. We'll float out the stage the morning afterwards.”

“We checked with the lake Pokémon too, and they're on board with it too.” Hikaru adds on.

Juliette takes a moment before nodding. “Okay … I'll help with the stage.”

Hikaru lets out a cheer and hugs Juliette before returning to her seat.

“Stage aside, I'm still not sure about using the lake and the castle,” Jeanne speaks up, stern eyes looking over the rest of the room.

“I should also point out that I heard Governor Daniels was wanting to hold an event their during the tournament,” Raphael mentions, getting everyone to look back at him. “If what I heard is right, he'll even get an outside organisation to handle the restorations if he needs to. If we say we're using that area for the Wallace Cup, then Jameson Inc can handle the touch ups that's needed, and we'll have one of us there to make sure that only what's needed to be repaired in case an event is held is repaired.”

A few murmurs hum around the room as they converse with one another, before they look over at Jeanne. Her eyes float over each of the gazes looking back at her, before she sighs and closes her eyes. “Guess that sounds good enough.”

“Well, with that out of the way, I'll get to the other specialities. Sheamus will be focused on the accommodation on the edges of Shifmier Forest.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Ella suddenly speaks up, having had stayed silent throughout the entire conversation. Everyone looks over at her, while she keeps her head down, watching the Pokémon who were still running around playing with one another, completely unperturbed by the earlier commotion.

“It should be fine, as long as the workers know what's going on and the trainers are told to stay near the tree line,” Sheamus speaks up. “My friends should be wandering through, too.”

“Plus the Protectors could also be on hand to keep an eye on things. Right, Jeanne?” Raphael says, looking across the room at his fellow Elite Four member.

“We could maybe spare a patrol or two over there.”

“Thank ye', lass,” Sheamus thanks with an incline of his head. “It would be a great help.”

Jeanne gives him a small nod in response before turning her head away with a small huff, appearing to an untrained eye to still be keeping an eye on the entrance for any possible intruders. Raphael lets a small smirk cross his lips before he glances back down at his clipboard.

“Finally, I'll be keeping an eye on the construction for the Tyrant's Maw.”

“Sky Battles?” Thane inquires.

“Sky Battles,” Raphael confirms with a nod.

“And what are the rest of us doing?” Duncan asks.

“Jeanne and Aaron will be working on getting the Protectors organised for the tournament, and will be coordinating with our Officer Jennys. The rest of you will be rotating through on different shifts,” Raphael explains. “Mainly, you're just making sure things are going on track. Really, the League just wants to make sure a representative with a position is present, and we'd like to make sure our land is as untouched as possible. Professor Jones is also going to be on call if any complications arise.”

“So, what's going to be happening with the gym challengers?” Lillith questions.

“The Nurse Joys have been asked to direct all new challengers to you first, Lillith. You tend to be the one that gets challenged the most by first timers, so it makes sense. Any of our Nurse Joys will let you know when a new challenger has registered, and when they should get there. From there, we ask that they then notify which gym they'll challenge next. Any expected battles will be worked into the flexible shift rotations.”

An annoyed groan comes from up above, and the group look up as Bridgette lets go of the wall and falls down, landing in a crouch. She then springs back up and claps her hands together, dusting the air in front of her with a cloud of chalk. “Supervising is so boring … Why can't those new challengers come face me first?”

Bridgette moves over to Lillith as she unwraps the strapping on her hands and wrists, before leaning on the couch behind the Ice type Gym Leader.

“Hey Lil'? Wanna battle?” she challenges. “Whoever wins gets any new challengers first.”

Lillith lets out a warm chuckle and stretches her arms out above her head, before placing both hands behind her head and leaning back into them. “Dunno, Bridge, Raph's the one who made all this up. Best you challenge him instead.”

“Come on, I'm not going to beat him!”

“If you're that desperate to do something else, you can help out with the paperwork that needs doing,” Raphael offers with a smirk, getting a frustrated look in response from Bridgette.

“… Supervision it is.” she grumbles, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face with a puff of air.

“Good. Anything other problems?”

His question is met with silence, so Raphael turns around to look at Aaron.

“Anything you want to add, Champ?” Raphael checks, Aaron silently shaking his head in response. “Alright then. Let's get this done, guys.”

-----

AN: So, there we go. A lot of information to be taken in, I'm sure.

Firstly, the list. I'll put it in order that I'd probably have them faced in, if this was a game. It will include name, type specialty, and age.

Gym Leaders:

Lillith - Ice type - 30

Alex - Rock/Ground type (yep, I'm going with a dual type specialist) - 28

Juliette - Electric type - 27

Duncan - Normal type - 26

Thane - Ghost type - 36

Bridgette - Fighting type - 24

Kai - Fire type - 27

Ella - Fairy type - 22

Elite Four and Champion:

Sheamus - Grass type - 44

Hikaru - Water type - 24

Jeanne - Steel type - 26

Raphael - Flying type - 29

Aaron - Various types - 25

So, beyond that, that's pretty much all I think I need to say. Next chapter should be people arriving in Seishi, which will be after a couple of months or so. Unless I decide I need to cover anything in between then.

Until next time, adios!

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victorluvsalice · 4 years

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Merry Christmas Newt!

@dont-offend-the-bees As per your request, here is a bit of Alice as a tick-tock girl a la the Barnaby Grimes books you told me about, saving Victor from some rough types who have decided to pounce upon him. Hope you enjoy!

---

“So – how much do you think we’ll get for him?”

“From his family? Couple hundred pounds, easy! Maybe even a thousand! The real question is. . .will they pay more for him to come home in one piece?”

Victor squirmed desperately in his captor’s grip, kicking like an agitated cart horse at his legs. . .but it was no use. The fellow holding him had arms like bloody oak tree trunks, and his own spindly, birch-thin body didn’t stand a chance of breaking his hold. Nor could he get his mouth open enough to even attempt to bite the hand currently clamped over it. He was completely and utterly at the mercy of – well, he hadn’t caught their names. They’d set upon him so suddenly as he passed the alley, he hadn’t even heard what they called each other. All he knew was that they were big, and rough, and knew very well that his parents were rich. Rich enough to ransom their only son, who had foolishly wandered out of their London townhouse without a bodyguard.

But I didn’t think I needed one to go to the market to buy some apples! he thought, kicking again in the vain hope that it might do some good. A quick trip around the corner shouldn’t have – help! Please, someone, help! Someone! Anyone!

“Stop your flopping about!” the slightly taller of the two men said, giving him a swat on the arm that was likely to leave a bruise. “Like one of your family’s fish, you are! You don’t cooperate, and Larry here will smack you over the old earhole!”

“Yeah, good and hard-like,” his captor agreed, a smirk in his voice.

“I should hope not. Larry will be in trouble if he does.”

All three men froze. Standing by the wall at the far end of the alley, having appeared out of thin air, was a woman. A woman in a practical dark brown dress, accented by sturdy black boots, a white apron, fingerless brown gloves, and a brown top hat that was a little battered, but still in decent enough condition to be seen upon the High Street. Victor furrowed his brow. Where had he seen a uniform like that before? “Boys, I don’t think he wants to go to your tea party,” she continued, walking up to them with her hands held behind her back. “And it’s terrible manners to force him. Why not let him go?”

Larry squinted at her. “Here now – ain’t you a tick-tock girl?”

“Yes, and breaking up this kidnapping is cutting into my rounds,” the girl confirmed, rocking on her heels. “So if you could, I don’t know, just stop, that would be lovely.”

Larry’s friend snorted. “She ain’t no tick-tock girl,” he declared, walking up to her with a swagger that declared he wasn’t afraid of anything she had to offer. “Where’s the sword-stick, eh? Everybody knows the tick-tocks don’t travel anywhere without a blade!”

“Oh, quite right.” And then, without any warning, there was a knife in her hand as she sprang forward and pinned the man against the wall. “I just prefer the classics,” she continued in a much more dangerous tone, pressing the oversized butcher’s blade against his throat. “Easier to carry on my rounds – and easier for dealing with the likes of you.”

Larry’s friend squeaked, his confidence down around his ankles now – almost literally, judging from the stain leaking down his trouser leg. “Ah – I – aaah–”

“All you have to do is let him go,” the woman whispered, gaze flicking between the two men. “I shan’t ask again.”

Larry made his decision, releasing Victor, who tumbled to all fours on the cobblestone. “Steve!” he cried, scrambling backward toward the mouth of the alley.

Steve looked at the woman, who withdrew her knife and inclined her head. He needed no further encouragement – he took off running, Larry by his side. The woman sighed, reslotting her knife into what Victor could now see was a sheath tucked into the back of her apron strings. “Shame there’s really no point in reporting them to the police. . .” She turned to him and extended a hand. “Here, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Victor said, pulling himself to his feet with the help of the offered limb. “Thanks to you. I didn’t think – thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Thank my route – that’s what brought me this way. Not that I’m not glad to help.” She regarded him for a moment as he wiped the dirt from his trousers. “Here now – you’re Victor Van Dort, aren’t you?”

“. . .Yes?” Victor said, trying to stop a sudden niggle of panic at the back of his brain. Oh no – had he been rescued from the frying pan into the fire? But she really didn’t seem the type. . .

“One of my clients gave me a message for your family, actually.” The woman poked around in a pocket, and produced what Victor recognized as the reply card for his mother’s latest party. “Lady Everglot sends what I suspect were rather insincere regrets, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Victor accepted the card. “Thank you, I’ll pass it on. . .I told Mother it was unlikely,” he added softly to himself.

“I don’t tend to get into the minutia,” the tick-tock girl said. She glanced up at the rooftops surrounding them. “If you’re all right to get back on your own, I do need to continue my rounds. Time is money, or so they say. Time himself may not agree.”

“Yes, I – I should be fine,” Victor said, looking behind him. “Now that you’ve frightened them off. . .what’s your name?” he asked quickly, turning back toward her again. “My parents will want to know what happened, and – I want to let them know exactly who was brave enough to save me.”

The woman curtsied. “Alice Liddell, though you needn’t sing my praises. Just doing the right thing.” She jumped up and hauled herself onto a window ledge, before tipping her hat. “But you might see me around again. If you’re lucky.”

And with that, she was up the wall, with a grace any spider would envy. Victor watched her climb to the lip of the roof and disappear, message and rough men both forgotten for a moment. “I hope so,” he whispered to her departing skirt. “I really do.”

#merry xmas #christmas fic #dontoffendthebees #valice #or at least the start of same #yeah I have no idea how close it is to the books #but I tried to get the spirit of those snippets and whatnot you showed me!#Alice certainly meshes well with the general concept #and I figured she'd favor something more like her Vorpal Blade over the sword stick #picture her in something akin to the Jules Verne 'Journey To The Center Of The Earth' outfit #from the Otherland shorts #and you've got the right idea #anyway hope you have fun with it!#queued

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cssns · 5 years

Text

Ok, sorry y’all! NOW here’s the monthly roundup for September!

Have y’all enjoyed all the INCREDIBLE updates we got last month? I know I did!! Please be sure to give our authors and artists all the love for all their hard work!!! And have a look at the end of the post for a VERY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!!! And now, without further ado, here we gooooooooo!!! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

@snowbellewells completed A Story Told at Last. Rated T. Artwork by @branlovestowrite.

Historical Literature Professor Henry Mills has the chance of a lifetime before him. He might finally uncover the truth of a folktale that has intrigued him for years. But, when the whole story comes to light, will he be able to accept the story that needs to be told?

@let-it-raines completed Not Your (Soul)Mate. Rated M. Artwork by @captainsjedi.

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

@courtorderedcake posted Roses, a CS rendering of the classic fairytale Tam Lin. Rated E. Artwork by @eastwesthomeisbest.

A CS retelling of Tam Lin, the classic fairytale.

Liberties taken. Magic and Fae BS in play.

@teamhook posted Rionnag Dorcha Gorm (Dark Blue Star). Not rated. Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

It is said that evil is not born but made. This is how an act of kindness is twisted into a story about revenge. Emma and Killian are childhood friends until a tragedy separates them will another reunite them.

From last years event, @kymbersmith-90 updated Divine Intervention. Rated E. Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

Brothers Liam and Killian Jones are on the hunt for their father, Brennan Jones, who has gone missing in his hunt for the supernatural creature that killed their mother. But along the way, the brothers discover that the supernatural world is much bigger than they could ever have imagined.

And someone else has big plans for one of them.

@thejollyroger-writer completed What Happened in Berkshire. Rated G. Artwork by @captainsjedi.

When Emma’s boyfriend leaves her for the woman he’s been cheating with, she accepts an offer from her hospital to move to England. While she is out celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her friends before they head back to America, she drunkenly kisses the statue of Captain Hook in front of Eton College, and he comes to life. Together, he and Emma try to figure out what this curse means for them by searching for the witch that cursed him in the first place — are they really True Love, as he wants to believe they are, or did Emma’s magic go awry?

From last year’s event, @seriouslyhooked updated Lost Souls and Reveries. Rated M. Artwork by @shipsxahoy.

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to the future he was destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set both of them free, or will past demons win out in the end?

@snowbellewells updated Face to Face in the Broad Daylight, her sequel to last years fic, Run to Me (In the Dead of Night). Rated T. Artwork by @branlovestowrite.

Here we have a sequel to my werewolf, alternate season two and beyond fic from last year’s CSSNS. You probably want to read that story "Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)" first, or it might be a bit confusing in places. This second story in the same universe partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, we may also see them get into some new surprises and challenges, and of course we need to see if Rumplestiltskin is still under control or back to his usual scheming and plotting. I hope you will enjoy. I’m so glad to be part of this event again, and this is just the opening chapter.

@courtorderedcake updated Hallow with accompanying artwork 1 2. Rated E.

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

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

@jarienn972 updated A Simple Spell. Rated T. Artwork by @cocohook38.

This story is my entry into the 2019 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event and is my first venture into AU territory. Storybrooke remains our setting but I've switched up some of the characters and familial relations to better suit this tale of prodigal witch Emma who returns to her birthplace to learn lots of secrets about herself and cast a spell that could change everything.

@whimsicallyenchantedrose updated Until the Stars Are All Alight, her CS LOTR au. Rated T. Artwork by @clockadile.

When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?

@welllpthisishappening completed All Was Golden In the Sky. Rated M. Artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke. Chapter artwork by @distant-rose and extra artwork by @optomisticgirl can be found on Laura’s blog posts.

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

And finally, we had original art post from @djlbg.

WOW!!! I mean… WOW!!! What a MONTH!!! We had 4 fics complete, 2 updates from last years event, original art, and all the other updates in between!!! I’m so thankful to be a part of such a talented and prolific fandom!!! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your participation and enthusiasm!! I can’t wait to do this again next year!!!

Which brings me to the VERY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!!! CSSNS 2020 is a GOOOOO!!!!! We’ve had a tremendous response for the past two years and so we’ll do it for one more year. So for those of you who have participated either year and want to do it again, for those of you who just recently joined the fandom, or for those of you who, like me, have just started writing or arting, start thinking about what you might like to do next year. Signups will open in late January and I can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!! So spread the word!!! Any questions, be sure to send us an ask, or you can contact me directly at @kmomof4.

I’ll be back in November with the monthly roundup for October. Until then y’all!

#cssns #monthly roundup #September #September roundup #cssns2020 #is a goooo #I can't wait!!!

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sojourner-between-worlds · 5 years

Text

Burn the Ships, Chapter Six

A/N: Merry Christmas, ya’ll! ^.^

. . . . .

Chapter Six

“Let me get this straight: you’re planning on interrogating a spy right here on the dock?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Alex is still getting stitched up, and it would waste time to haul him back to the Palace.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it again, sighed, then said, “You know what? That’s actually not the craziest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thanks… I think.”

“Do you really expect him to tell you anything, though?”

“If he knows what’s good for him.”

“Just promise me you won’t shoot him. I don’t think the governor would be able to get you out of that one.”

Steve stayed silent as he turned to go back down the dock to where they’d left Agent Branning under the careful supervision of Lou Grover.

“Steven. Do not shoot that man, do you hear me?” Danny started after him. “You know what? I’d better just come with you because I know you, and I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Steve might have smiled if the situation were different. “He’s complicit in the abuse of a child, Danny. So if my gun happens to go off and the bullet happens to shatter his knee cap -- well…”

Danny’s hand came down hard on his shoulder, spinning him around. “Steve, listen to me. I know you’re angry -- you think I’m not? I keep thinking, ‘what if that were Grace?’ and it makes me sick to my stomach, okay? But you can’t help this kid from prison. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I know that, Danny; I’m well aware. But I’m getting answers once and for all, and I will do whatever I need to in order to make that happen.”

Danny sighed again before turning and continuing on his way.

Now a few steps behind his partner, Steve arrived just in time to hear Danny say, “You see this guy behind me? He’s more than a little cranky and definitely hot-headed. So if I were you, I’d just tell him what he wants to know, because there is literally no telling what he might do if you don’t -- and, believe me, I’ve seen him do some crazy things.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“Just stating the facts. So if he ends up shooting you in the knee, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Steve almost smiled as Danny stepped to the side. “What were you doing here in Hawaii?”

“Commander McGarrett, you and I both know I came for a vacation with my ward.”

“Yeah, and you and I both know that’s a load of crap.”

Branning shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Ten people came down here to kill you and Alex. You can’t expect me to let this go.”

“Wrong place, wrong time. You know how it is,” he replied with a condescending smirk.

Not even a minute had passed and Steve was already done with this. “Okay. Well, let me tell you what I think, and then we’ll see if you stick with that story, shall we?”

“Allow me to reintroduce myself: I am Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, former member of SEAL team six. I’ve served in a lot of countries, seen a lot of action. So when there are four former drug dealers dead on my island that all have scorpion tattoos that identify them as former Scorpia assassins, that raises some questions.”

Steve realized then that, although Branning worked for the CIA, he’d probably never been a field agent -- or, at least, was long retired from it.

“How do you know about that? There’s no way you’ve ever had clearance high enough.”

“Yeah, well, when your team is in Afghanistan and accidentally uncovers a cell of them instead of ISIS, you kinda become privy to that information.

“So here’s my theory: Alex was sent undercover to discover if these particular guys were still a threat, and if they were, to eliminate them. How’d I do?”

“That would be child abuse.”

Steve felt his fist crack into the agent’s face before he’d made the conscious decision to swing. He could feel the anger radiating off of Lou and Danny beside him and knew they would have loved to be the ones to do that, too. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice as he growled, “The fact that you can say that with a straight face is enough reason for me to want to shoot you right here, right now, and I’d bet my life Lou and Danny would testify that you went down in the shootout.”

Branning spit to the side and turned his head back towards Steve, a bruise already starting to form across his cheekbone. “It’s not like he was forced into it.”

“And how, pray tell, does that justify this? Does any child choose to be abused?”

Branning smirked. “You can’t prove a word of this, McGarrett, and you know it. Alex chose to work for the company, and he can leave any time he wants.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“No, I mean it. Taking care of that kid is like walking around with sand in your shoes. I didn’t volunteer for this, but he did -- that’s just the job. I’d be more than happy for someone to take him off my hands, but that’s never going to happen because Alex is here because he wants to be.”

Steve knew that was a lie; Alex had told him as much, that he’d never wanted this, but he felt trapped. But, if it was truly the case that Alex was free to leave, then maybe all Steve needed to do was give him a reason.

He glanced back over his shoulder, wondering how Alex was doing. He’d seemed a little squeamish when stitches were mentioned, and Chin was with him, but honestly Steve wished he was the one sitting with the kid right now. Turning back and unclenching his jaw, he said, “Lou, take him to the station and have him booked for child abuse.”

“With pleasure.” Lou stepped over and hauled Branning to his feet by the arm.

Branning chuckled. “It won’t stick.”

“Yeah, probably not, but it will waste a few hours of your precious time.” And be probable enough cause for CPS to temporarily pull Alex’s custody from you.

As Steve watched them walk away, Danny side-stepped closer. “What -- no ‘book ‘im, Danno’?”

“No. It’s Christmas Eve, and if we still wanna have this party, you need to get home.”

“That is a very good point. You still coming?”

“Yeah -- but, hey? Maybe plan for one more.”

He could feel Danny staring at him before he asked, “Alex?”

“Yeah. I - uh, really need to have a talk with him and make a couple of calls, but…”

Danny nodded and clapped him on the shoulder as he started to leave. “Alright. I’ll see you later tonight then.”

I just hope this works.

. . .

“Hey, there he is.” Chin nodded in the direction of the dock.

Alex glanced up but quickly returned his gaze back down to his hands. “You think he’s mad?”

“Probably -- but less at you than you might think. I’m sure he’s more relieved that your arm looked worse than it is.”

“I broke my promise. Again.”

“You did what you thought was best at the time. Steve will understand that.”

The paramedic was just finishing wrapping his arm when Alex saw Steve’s boots stop on the pavement in front of him.

“Hey. Give us a minute?”

Alex watched the medic’s shoes disappear, his heart pounding in his chest. He really didn’t want to have this conversation right now -- or ever, really.

“Danny already took off, so can I hitch a ride with you?”

“Of course,” he heard Chin reply. “Looks like I picked a good day to drive my car instead of the bike, huh? I’ll wait over there; take your time.”

“Thanks.”

As the lieutenant’s boots retreated, Alex lost his last buffer. Silence fell between them, and after a moment, Alex couldn’t stand it any longer, so he blurted out the first and only thing his exhausted brain could come up with.

“I’m sorry I ruined your shirt.”

He wasn’t expecting the commander to burst out laughing, and his head snapped up at the sound.

“That’s really what you’re concerned about right now, huh?” McGarrett chuckled. “Kid, that is so low on my list of priorities right now -- it’s not even on the radar.”

Alex watched, not knowing what to do now, as McGarrett took a couple of steps and hoisted himself to sit on the gurney next to him with a tired sigh, all humor suddenly forgotten as he stared out towards the lagoon. Here it comes, he thought, but when McGarrett spoke, it wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

“More than five years ago now, I was sent on a black op into North Korea. I took my best buddy with me, and our goal was to extract a man named Anton Hess. The mission was a success, but I lost my friend in the process. He covered me so I could get Anton out, and if he hadn’t sacrificed himself that day, we’d both be dead right now.

“But as I was transporting Hess back, our convoy got hit, and he ended up dead, too. In retaliation, Anton’s brother, Victor, killed my father. In the span of a day, I lost two of the most important people in my life.

“I came back to Hawaii for my dad’s funeral, and that’s when the late Governor Jameson offered me this job. It started as a way to track down Victor Hess, but it turned into so much more and, as it happened, turned out to be exactly the change that I needed.” He paused, finally turning to face Alex. It was easy to see the sincerity and conviction burning in his eyes.

“I’m not going to pretend to know exactly how you feel, but I understand what it’s like to have the people you love killed and to not be able to do anything to prevent it. I know… I know what it’s like to have your world ripped apart, and how it feels to think nothing is ever going to be okay again, to throw yourself into something -- anything -- just to have a reason to keep going.

“But eventually you have to stop running. You have to let yourself heal. And you can’t do that by just ignoring it and adding more trauma on top of what you already have.

“It’s okay to let yourself heal, and if you can’t get there on your own, it’s okay to ask for help.”

Alex couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned his gaze away, throat tight with emotion, focusing instead on where he was twisting his hands in his lap. After a moment, he choked out, “Lieutenant Kelly told me about how you recruited your team. Detective Williams was struggling to adjust to life here after a messy divorce; Lieutenant Kelly himself was a disgraced cop; Officer Kalakaua wasn’t even out of the academy yet; Captain Grover was forced into early retirement from SWAT. But none of those things mattered to you. You always seem to show up in people’s lives when they need someone the most. Do you think that’s true for me too?”

McGarrett was quiet for a moment before he spoke softly, “I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot to find out, don’t you think? All you have to do is say the word, Alex, and I promise you I’m not gonna leave you alone. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Alex tried to cut off the sob building in his chest but then decided he didn’t care anymore. He was exhausted and injured; that should give him a free pass to be as emotional as he wanted. As the tears started to fall, he felt a hand settle, heavy and reassuring, between his shoulder blades. Alex let himself have a minute before he pulled himself back together enough to give a shaky nod and a whispered, “please.”

“Consider it done.”

Alex took a shaky, deep breath, swiping a hand over his cheeks. “What -- uhm, what exactly does this mean?” He glanced up at the man.

McGarrett smiled down at him. “It means it’s time to burn some ships of our own.”

. . . . .

Tag List: @diekatimitdemhutohnehut @ghostly-homo @grungeweasel @just-add-butter

#alex rider #hawaii five-0 #crossover fanfiction #fic:Burn the Ships

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neverwatchedonepiece · 6 years

Text

638-639: "A Deadly Blow! The Astonishing King Punch!" and "The Fighting Fish Strike! Across the Deadly Iron Bridge!"

Franky offers to wipe Sol’s internet history.

I knew there was something up with that toy.

Never thought he’d be part of the Resistance, though. (May the force be with you, Sol.)

Once Block B’s Battle Royale concluded (more on that later), the action cut to Franky and Sol the Toy. Sol was suspicious and alarmed by Franky’s willingness to ask any random person he met about destroying a top secret local weapons factory. But Franky was unmoved. He needed intel. He followed Sol out into the stairwell.

At first, it seemed Sol wouldn’t talk. Franky threatened to leave and find someone else. “I said I need to beat up a Donquixote Family member and find out how to destroy the Smile factory!”

But Sol’s caginess stemmed from the fact that he was already involved in a similar plot! (Very cool.) “You keep talking about this radical plan, but why do you want to do such a thing? It seems like you know things ordinary people don’t. What is your true purpose?”

Franky kept his mouth shut. He’s streetwise enough to know not to let any old random in on the Strawheart Alliance’s Yonkou Stompin Plan.

But he was also smart enough to spot a potential ally. “Then you too!” he said. “Where is the factory? Tell me right now and I’ll destroy it.”

Sol refused. He was not against destroying the factory but first, “we want to save the workers.” The use of ‘we’ was a definite giveaway. Sol is not acting alone. He mentioned Rebecca earlier. Maybe she’s part of the Resistance too? I am also suspicious about this Ricky character. He also hates Doflamingo. I have a funny feeling he might be connected to Kyros too (maybe he is Kyros). After all, no one remembers seeing him fight, he just disappeared and it was only twenty years ago this happened.

Another issue Sol raised was that the fall of the factory could lead to the downfall of Dressrosa itself. (Hence Franky shouting about the factory in public not being a good idea.) Okay, I thought. That makes sense. It’d trash the local economy and bring upon the island the wrath of Kaidou. But in that case, why would Sol want that to happen? Well, maybe not *want* it to happen. It’s more like, why would Sol rather have Kaidou wreck the place rather than let the status quo run its course?

I felt like Sol almost gave it away when he said to Franky, “If you have the nerve and are determined to go against Doflamingo, I’m going to tell you everything about this tragic kingdom of Dressrosa!”

Yes, please! Please do tell us all about the tragic kingdom of Dressrosa!

But I was blueballed. The credits rolled and the plot hasn’t circled back to Sol and Franky.

I’ll make a mad prediction while I wait. I’m thinking all these invisible fairies hanging about might be the original inhabitants of Dressrosa and the Donquixote Family have enslaved them or are forcing them to work in the factory for practically nothing.

And the Winner Is...?

Meanwhile, in the Colosseum, Block B’s battle was about to conclude.

The twists and turns here were great. I guessed Bartolomeo would emerge the victor (laws of shounen: the fighter who is totally relaxed and barely lifts a finger always ends up winning (this only applies to battles that aren’t vital to the plot)). But how the fight played out was really entertaining and I never imagined it ending that way.

The mystery of Bartolomeo’s Devil Fruit power was kept until the very end of the fight. Even Bellamy’s speed and power couldn’t break Bartolomeo’s strange, deflective powers. At first I thought it was a rebound power. This was only because Bartolomeo seemed surprised by one of Bellamy’s attacks (like the power seemed to happen automatically - not controlled by Bartolomeo). Now I know Bartolomeo must have had his fingers crossed while Bellamy was attacking. The only thing that planted a seed of doubt? Bellamy did manage to grab Bartolomeo. How had that worked?

The scene of multiple betrayals was fun. Dagama urged the fodder fighters to regroup, muster their strength and focus attacks on Blue Gilly - only for Dagama to cut them down when their backs were turned and reveal he had really teamed up with Blue Gilly all along! That was a fun twist in itself. Then, when Gilly double-crossed Dagama.... ooooh, the intrigue! The fact the fodders were probably coerced into fighting because Dagama had poisoned them only upped the scumbag stakes.

I love that Dagama had the cheek to complain Blue Gilly double-crossed him. It’s like Gilly said, “Can’t believe people would trust a dubious guy like him in the first place!”

While everyone was double-crossing each other, Elizabello shadow-boxed and sweat-dropped. A bunch of chuckling, vengeful thugs surrounded him. Gilly decided to gloat. Called him a “helpless king without a court” who couldn’t do anything without Dagama.

When Liz ceased so shadow box... that should have been everyone’s clue to take him out. Instead, the other idiots in the ring let Liz power up. The guy stood there red-faced, yelling and popping veins like he was locked in the bathroom suffering through a difficult poop.

Even the audience knew something was wrong before they did. A group of worried randoms figured out their section of the Colosseum would be wrecked if they didn’t scarper.

By the time Gilly and the other fighters noticed something was seriously wrong, Gilly’s attempt to take Liz out was too late. KABOOM! Liz threw the King Punch. It was pretty spectacular. A golden-tinged impact that would have done Caesar proud. It took out almost everyone. Bellamy, Gilly, everyone who had been knocked out, was blown away into the moat.

Only a single-person remained in the ring.

IT WAS ME, DIO BARTOLOMEO!

Yes, it was Bartolomeo! And the trick he had been using to job the entire fight was revealed by Liz’s King Punch.

Bellamy was right: Bartolomeo was a Devil Fruit user. He has eaten the Barrier Barrier Fruit, which enables him to protect himself from (any?) attacks if he crosses his fingers. He also unwittingly used his powers to save a large section of the Colosseum and the crowd who would have been obliterated by the blast. Not sure if he’d like that. But a win was a win, right?

Interestingly, Bartolomeo also has a reason for fighting. After he told the audience to go to hell, he declared he would win the Mera Mera Fruit and dedicate it to “That Person.”

As yet, I have absolutely no clue who it could be.

But Bartolomeo’s reaction to finding out Strawhat Luffy was in the mix was intriguing. Was that fear I saw on his face? I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever seen Bartolomeo before but am drawing a complete blank. The weirdest thing was that there was no confrontation between Luffy and Bartolomeo. Looking forward to seeing what is up with this guy later on.

Luffy cheering on Bellamy was a good twist too. Actually, it’s not really a twist. When it comes to most people Luffy doesn’t care much about the past (Teach and Akainu are probably on the shit list for good). If he can forgive you, then all is forgotten. Of course, Bellamy felt embarrassed being cheered on by the old enemy who gave him a pasting. Doubly so, since he has failed again and Luffy has become so much stronger (able to use Conqueror’s haki - like Doflamingo, I guess).

Now the focus is on Block C. The competitors here seem a bit fodderish, with the exception of Don Chinjao. We have Sai, Boo, Brutal Bull (lmao), Hajrudin a Giant pirate mercenary from Elbaf, some fighting champ called Ideo, the Funk Brothers (lmao) and some guy called Jean the Bandit. Rebecca should clean up here. Then, when Block D comes around, it’ll be Luffy vs Cabbage.

Unpopular Opinion Time

I am beginning to like Caesar.

There must be something wrong with me.

Oda, I can’t believe you’ve done this. It is entirely your fault.

The action cut from Bartolomeo’s horrified Luffy realisation to the Caesar Handover Team out on the bridge.

My prediction that it would take them ages to cross the bridge was shot down in glorious flames. Thanks to Caesar, it didn’t even take them half an episode! Thank you, Oda.

It turned out the solid-looking iron bridge praised by Usopp was not especially robust. I think Caesar jinxed it, though. He was the one who said, “We’ll be fine if the fish don’t strike.”

Then a bubbling rumble in the depths announced itself. I lol’d heartily when a Vast Horned Abomination slammed itself into the barrier and stared at them with a grin stretched across its face and a look of murder in its mad, red eyes that said, “There will not be a second smash.” (I liked their design, by the way. The fighting fish look awesome.)

As Law wanted to reserve most of his strength for the return journey, he left Robin and Usopp to smack down the fighting fish (literally in Robin’s case). They were doing a fine job, but when Law asked Usopp to uncuff Caesar so he could fight...

Holy moly, Caesar is actually pretty strong. I keep forgetting, since he acts like such a highly-strung goofball diva a lot of the time, but damn... those Gastille beams fried those fish like it was cookout season!

Still, there were a lot of fish. And the bridge had collapsed in the middle. With nowhere to run, Law almost used Room, but the offending fish was speared, netted and dragged away along the other half of the bridge by freaked out, invisible people. (Interesting.)

Once Caesar was convinced to fly them all over the broken bridge (Caesar is basically Law’s bitch now his heart’s in a box. He is hilariously bitter about it,) they discovered the netted fish drag marks led straight to Green Bit.

It’s a strange place, is Green Bit. It is supposedly deserted and is therefore overgrown, wild, full of animal life. Ships lie wrecked all round the coast. A single, huge rose towers over everything else (hence the name Dressrosa?) Usopp should be fine here. He’s used to hostile wilderness terrain. Unless the invisible fairy people attack them. Then all bets are off.

KNEW IT.

I totally knew Sanji was being played.

Still, I’m glad the dumb charade has finally run its course. At least it only lasted for a couple of minutes each episode. I was getting tired of Sanji dropping all his Strawhat responsibilities for a random.

Got to admit, though, the brief skirmish with the thugs in the warehouse was cool. Sanji was so fast, the guy never knew what hit him. Sanji is always so stylish when he fights.

And look at what it’s got him into. Cuffed and likely hauled off to who-knows-what fate. Sanji’s reaction to Violet was interesting. It was almost like he recognised her face. (Either that or realisation hit that he was being played the entire time.) Whatever the case, this plot line has just become ten times more interesting and I’m looking forward to seeing where it leads.

If I can make another mad prediction? Violet is a member of CP0. Absolutely no basis for this other than she looks pretty dead behind the eyes, is kinda scary and her working with CP0 would tie them into the main plot nicely.

“Excuse me, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and saviour, Donquixote Doflamingo?”

#one piece #neverwatchedonepiece #nwop #never watched one piece #monkey d. luffy #bartolomeo #bellamy the hyena #caesar clown #trafalgar law #franky #nico robin #usopp #sanji #violet #elizabello #sol the toy #blue gilly #dagama #cp0

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Appetence [7/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn’t expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: N/A

First Chapter

Author’s Note(s): Apologies for the wait. As you may know I had an adventure with my dropbox wherein I backed up all my files because I had to restore my laptop, and all of the files ended up mixed up in the wrong folders and I've been tracking down files one by one for the past week. I hate technology. I mean, I guess I should be happy the files didn't get deleted, but it's still a pain in the ass to re-organize manually.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

Tim stares at the business card in his hand long after Jason disappears, thumbing over the false name and phone number with a reverence once reserved for clandestinely captured photographs.

Victor Shelley, Paranormal Investigator.

He wonders if Jason was trying to be funny choosing that name. Given what Tim’s heard about him in the few instances where Dick or Alfred talk about him, and what he saw for himself in the past, he thinks it’s entirely likely.

God, Dick and Alfred.

He knows they’re going to be just as blindsided about this as Bruce when they find out.

If they find out.

Guilt flickers through him now at the promise he made to Jason.

Why the hell would he promise a man he doesn’t really know—a man he’s spent a grand total of an hour and twenty-three minutes in conversation with—that he won’t let his adopted father knows he’s not dead.

That he hasn’t been dead for years.

That he’s in Gotham right now.

Tim wishes he could say it was one hundred percent his shock at Jason being alive, but that would be lying to himself. His mind flashes back to Jason’s face, his slow smirk and the smooth, deep voice, and he swears, letting his head fall against the counter.

Apparently, I promised him because he’s pretty.

It’s a new feeling for Tim. He’s never been easily swayed by looks, but something about Jason is attractive enough to put him off-guard, or at least loosen his lips more than normal.

I thought I was over this…

“I know that face.”

Tim startles and glances up at the bartender—Trista—who he had forgotten was there. He’d forgotten he was sitting in a bar, to be honest.

“Judging by the ass on that man, I can guess what it’s about,” she continues in a wry tone. Then she’s sliding a shot of amber liquid toward him. “Here. To steady your nerves.”

Tim stares at the alcohol in numb confusion.

“That’s on the house, but only because he talked more with you tonight than I’ve seen him do with anyone since he got here,” she goes on. “We’ll both pretend I don’t know you’re underage.”

Tim is too flustered by everything she’s just said to do anything other than accept the shot under her knowing gaze. Then, he beats a hasty retreat from the bar as fast as humanly possible without it looking like he’s running away.

Distracted, he returns to his apartment in the Theater District, trying to parse the events of the night from an objective viewpoint. He’s not entirely sure he didn’t dream it all up, considering whatever that incubus did to him, and so he runs tox-screens on his blood and gives himself a full physical just to make sure.

Other than spikes in several hormone levels—adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin—his results are normal. Nothing that would really alter his perceptions of reality, the way Scarecrow or Poison Ivy’s concoctions tend to do.

That confirmed, he should be able to leave the matter alone for now. There are more pressing matters to deal with—Dante’s continued disappearance being one of them.

But thoughts of Jason continue to assault Tim’s thoughts.

Something has been bothering him since his conversation with Jason, something he wondered before but couldn’t ask because Jason got skittish and made a run for it

How the hell did Constantine cross paths with Jason anyway?

Aside from his inexplicable presence in Gotham at some point in the past five years without attracting the attention of Batman, what would interest him in a teenaged John Doe with no identity or memory?

Sliding into the chair in front of the computer in the Nest, Tim calls up the autopsy report, even though he doesn’t really need to see it. He memorized it years ago. Still, if he’s going to investigate this, he needs concrete facts, not just his memory.

It’s not difficult to create a timeline of events, between Jason’s official death and now. Or to search a list of John Does at various hospitals in Gotham within the last five to ten years, whose condition upon admittance matches the description of Jason’s injuries at death.

He finds the information he’s looking for within twenty minutes.

As it turns out, things didn’t happen quite as neatly or quickly as Jason’s story suggested. His stay at Gotham General was a lot longer than he let on, and Tim’s stomach twists as he reads the medical reports.

Various physicians left their comments on the patient, a young man of about fifteen or sixteen, severely beaten and malnourished, picked up several miles from the hospital.

The file includes a mugshot of a heavily bandaged youth, head shaved from what records indicate were several procedures to repair brain bleeds, skull, and facial fractures. Bruises and swelling make his features almost unrecognizable, except to someone who has memorized pictures of that face since he was ten years old. Someone who knows the cut of that jaw and the color of those eyes, however bleary and vacant they are as they stare into the camera.

“God, Jason…”

Tim reads over the doctors’ notes that span the course of a year, cataloging how well the boy is healing considering the heavy damage he sustained, and how he would be considered a miracle patient but for the fact whatever happened to him caused significant brain damage.

Clear psychological damage, hearing voices, incapable of speech, easily upset.

On several occasions, the boy became unaccountably terrified, screaming and yelling and trying to claw out his own eyes. Sometimes it even became violent, and in his struggles, he put three doctors, a nurse and two orderlies in the emergency room.

I’m surprised it was only that many people. Considering his training, he could have done a lot more damage.

Eventually, he always had to be drugged and restrained.

Demonic possession, maybe?

It’s not the first thing Tim would think of, but if Constantine’s involved in all this, it would make sense. And coming back from the dead like Jason says he did, it had to have side effects.

Except, there’s no mention of anything superhuman or beyond the realm of possibility regarding Jason’s strength. Surely the doctors would have made note of anything beyond the abilities of a normal, scared teenager—especially in Gotham, where strange behavior was a sad norm.

No mention of anything resembling supernatural or metahuman abilities anywhere here.

Jason was eventually placed permanently in the psych ward and likely would have stayed there for the rest of his days, except the hospital’s budget was cut in his eighth month there. Space issues required moving patients to other hospitals, and—

“Oh, no. No-no-no, tell me they didn’t,” Tim murmurs, heart sinking as he scrolls down the page of the report, knowing exactly what he’s going to find.

They sent him to Arkham.

If Tim was horrified before by the notion of Jason’s resurrection and his condition afterward, it’s nothing to how sick he feels to learn that his predecessor was sent to the cesspool that is Arkham Asylum.

He needs to turn away from his computer for a few seconds and breathe, close his eyes and concentrate on not hearing the lilting, singsong voice and tinny voice in his head.

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

Ever since his kidnapping, it’s the one place in Gotham Tim won’t venture—he’s not sure what would happen if he did. Whether he’d suffer a crippling attack of flashbacks, or march into the high security ward and slit the Joker’s throat with one of his birdarangs.

If Bruce realized Tim honestly can’t decide which would be the worse outcome, he knows he’d be benched for the rest of his life. He might not be Robin anymore, but the Family would find a way.

It’s fear of that more than anything else that helps him get a handle on his panic, tethers him back to reality better than anything else. Tim takes another series of deep, grounding breaths, before he feels confident enough to be able to get back to his research into Jason.

At least they didn’t put him anywhere near the Joker, it seems, he notices as he goes through the room assignments and Arkham floorplans. That’s about the only good thing about it, though.

Jason’s ward was for the non-communitive patients, the ones the experts considered untreatable. The ones that get forgotten about in the mayhem of the monthly outbreaks and pandemonium.

Tim’s stomach clenches tight again as he remembers incidents and dates over the years where Batman visited inmates at Arkham to interrogate them on the latest escapes or crimes happening in the city, or just to test the security there. Based on the location of Jason’s cell and Batman’s usual route, there are times when the two were only a floor apart

Tim’s heart aches for them both.

They were so close to each other! If only they’d known—!

And just as suddenly as Jason was transferred to Arkham, all records of him vanish. There’s no information about patient transfers or deaths or releases; instead, like many a nameless patient to be lost to the asylum over the years, he just vanishes.

People don’t just vanish. And in this case, I know he didn’t.

Tim goes on to cross-reference the potential dates of Jason’s disappearance with any visitors to the asylum. It doesn’t take much to identify the only visitor to the asylum for a span of weeks as a certain Chandler Ravenscar—names which another quick search link to aliases used by John Constantine in the past.

That brings Tim to a whole other avenue of research, refocusing him investigation on Constantine himself and his movements over the past years. He tends to keep to the UK, but every now and again travels to various mystical hotspots around the world.

There’s a backlog of security footage to weed through, occultist forums discussing the man and his exploits. Half of what’s written about him online is clearly conspiracy theories, a quarter of it related to some punk rock band called Mucous Membrane and something to do with the Reagan assassination. Those who have actually worked with him either seem too terrified or pissed off to say much about him.

Even harder is finding a video of the man; cameras and other surveillance devices appear to stop working around him. It’s even more of a challenge to catch a glimpse of the teenaged assistant that starts being mentioned several months after Jason’s disappearance from Arkham.

A chance freeze-frame from an airport in Beijing, however, is all Tim needs to confirm it’s Jason.

It’s hours later when Tim sits back, exhausted but now having at least a general timeline of what happened.

One thing is for damn sure—I can’t take this to Bruce.

The story is too painful, too unbelievable. If it doesn’t break him all over, it will have him lashing out at Tim for making up stories about a touchy subject. There’s enough tension between them both right now that he’s likely to question anything suspect Tim brings to him.

Or he would insist it was a trick, that someone had faked all of this. He wouldn’t take Tim’s word for it, would investigate himself, prepare himself for an interrogation when what Jason needs is to have a face to face with his adopted father and mentor.

And Jason’s story still has too many holes in it for Tim to tell it, begging more questions than answers.

Like why Constantine took you from Arkham in the first place. And also…there’s one other thing that doesn’t make sense.

Well, a lot of things don’t make sense, but this stands out.

Tim goes back to the hospital records, scanning for the section where he remembers reading the information.

John Doe’s injuries in the medical files are all consistent with those in Jason’s autopsy, with every scar and broken bone accounted for and described.

Except for an autopsy scar.

That would have been the first thing medical professionals remarked upon when Jason was admitted, but it’s not mentioned anywhere. Which must mean that somehow, Jason no longer has it.

So why did that heal and nothing else did? Could it have something to do with what brought him back?

There’s a sudden dull, clunk in the background and the slide of elevator doors, and Tim glances up to watch Stephanie Brown stride into his base of operations.

“I was on the way out and Babs sent me to check on you,” she tells him. “Apparently someone missed work today without calling in and isn’t answering their phone.”

Tim startles at that, glances at the clock in the corner of his screen and swears when he realizes she’s right. He was supposed to be at Wayne Enterprises an hour ago. When he glances at his cellphone, he sees twelve text messages and three missed calls from Lucius, Dick and Bruce.

“I didn’t even notice,” he groans. He was so caught up in finding out more about Jason that he lost track of time. He quickly taps out a group message reassuring them he’s fine and will be in soon.

“At least being flaky is characteristic of billionaire teenagers,” Steph says as she wanders over.

Tim quickly minimizes his search and swivels around in his seat to face her. “Why are you even awake this early?”

Given the way she spends her nights, Steph made a point of having all of her classes in the afternoon. She’s possibly less of a morning person than Tim is, to the point where even coffee doesn’t make her a little more human.

“Blame my new roommate,” she grumbles, and that earns a surprised look because it’s the first time he’s heard of this. “Right, I didn’t tell you, did I? So, a couple of weeks ago this cat shows up on the fire-escape outside my window. And I didn’t mean to feed it, but it looked so sad and pathetic and I had to, so now it won’t leave me alone. What am I supposed to do? I don’t have time to be a pet owner.”

“Cat’s don’t actually take that much care.”

“That’s what they want you to think. And then one cat becomes two, and two becomes three and the next thing I know, I’m going to be the crazy cat lady on the block,” Steph complains. “And not to cool, sexy, Selina kind of cat lady but the sad, single shut-in.”

“You could never be a shut-in. No four walls can keep your raw joie de vivre inside,” Tim says in a flat tone.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.” She frowns in confusion. “Are we in an on-again or an off-again right now? I forget.”

Tim remembers Jason’s cocky grin and muscular thighs and his mouth goes dry. “Off. Definitely off.”

Steph’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “That was weirdly assertive. Am I sensing a pretty girl behind that sentiment? Do I need to give a shovel talk?” Something occurs to her and she scowls. “It’s not that Lynx chick, is it? Trust me when I say that would be a bad idea.”

“There’s no girl,” Tim mumbles. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” she allows, slow and still somewhat dubious. “But you’d tell me, right? If you were seeing someone? Only so I don’t go crossing lines or causing jealous rage or something.”

“There’s nothing going on, yes I would tell you, can we please move on?” Tim huffs. “Tell me about your cat.”

“He’s not my cat.”

“You fed him, he’s your cat.”

“Stop changing the subject. You’re being evasive—there so is a girl.”

“There’s no girl!” Tim groans, half tempted to tug at his hair. “Who could look at another woman after being with you?”

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or as an insinuation I was so horrible that I turned you off women for good,” Steph says, eyes narrowed in suspicion. A beat later, she tilts her head to one side as if something has occurred to her. “Wait. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s a guy. This someone’s a guy. You know you can tell me, right? That would totally be okay—would actually explain a lot, actually—you know, you liking guys—”

“One guy does not equate guys.”

“Oh my god! There is! There’s a guy!” Steph squeals. “Who is it? It’s that friend of yours, that went missing, isn’t it? Dante something? That’s why you’ve been so obsessed with finding him!”

“I’m determined to find him because he’s my friend,” Tim counters, a bit irritated. “The same way I’d be determined to find Ives or Bernard or anyone I cared about. And I’d be doing that right now if someone wasn’t distracting me.”

Two someones, but she doesn’t need to know about Jason’s role in it.

“And I’d believe that if you weren’t looking at me like you wanted to jump out of your skin. There’s something going on here, Ex-Boy Wonder.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Lies!”

“For something to be going on, you have to actually spend more than an hour with someone. You have to have known them for more than an hour.”

“Not if you have chemistry,” Steph points out. “Sometimes, it’s just like. Bang.” She grins. “And then you have to bang.”

Tim rolls his eyes.

“Do I need to give you the safe sex talk?” Steph asks with concern that’s only half teasing. “The gay-sex safe sex talk? Because to be honest, I don’t think I’d be able to do it with a straight face.”

“Steph, that was awful. As a former Robin, you should be ashamed.”

“And as a former Robin, you should be better at lying. So, spill. What’s going on?”

Tim studies her, chewing on his tongue; he knows she won’t let it go unless he gives her something. “Okay. Fine.”

“Hah! I knew it!”

“Not that. This is…something else,” he says. “Sort of.”

“Okay?”

“What would you do if…say you found out something really important to a person you care about. But you promised someone else you wouldn’t tell anyone about that something because of…reasons. Personal reasons.”

Steph crosses her arms. “Is this about me?”

“Not everything is about you.”

“Then it’s about Mystery Boy.”

“It’s not about—” Tim gives up, and then sighs, because it’s just easier to give her that one. “Fine. It’s Mystery Boy. He asked me not to say something that’s really important. I figure it’s because he wants to say himself in his own time. Except. Except it’s a huge thing.”

“Starbucks discontinuing pumpkin spice lattes’ huge, or ‘Hush trying to destroy B’ huge?”

“Closer to the second. Not dangerous like that,” he adds quickly when he sees her face. “It’s just…serious stuff that could hurt if it’s not handled the right way. Or if certain parties found out later and thought they were having stuff kept from them.”

“Well, now I’m curious…”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I know that. I’m just saying.” Steph sticks out her tongue at him, but then becomes contemplative. “I guess I’d keep my mouth shut. Or try to, at least. Stuff like that always tends to come out eventually. But if you’re worried it could hurt someone, maybe you can convince Mystery Boy it’s in his best interest to tell someone.”

“Yeah, that didn’t go over too well.”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t get into your micromanaging, control-freak headspace,” she tells him. “That’s one of the things that torpedoed you and me, and if you want things to work out with this guy, you should respect his wishes.”

“I never said anything about wanting anything to work out with anyone,” Tim protests. “I just met the guy.”

“And somehow he got you to promise not to tell something that’s apparently really important. Which means you already value him somehow, and that only happens to you when you really like someone. Also, you might be able to straight-up bluff Batman or Ra’s al Ghul, but I know how you look when you like someone and don’t want anyone to know it.” There’s a beeping noise and Steph digs out her cellphone. “And with those pearls of wisdom, I have to get going. My mom found the cat and she’s having a conniption.”

She turns to leave, pauses once she enters the elevator and turns back around, jabbing a finger at him.

“Shower, eat, go to work, stop obsessing about stuff you can’t control—and don’t try to control stuff that’s not your business.”

Tim bristles. “Yes, Mother.”

“Oh, you did not just go there,” she growls as the elevator doors close and Tim grins until she’s gone.

He knows that Steph’s right, to a certain extent. This whole Jason thing isn’t his business—he was only ever an outside observer, a legacy after the fact. And even if it was his business, it’s not his predecessor’s sensibilities he should be protecting.

Ill-advised crush aside, he doesn’t have any connection loyalty to Jason Todd. He does owe Bruce—he should be going straight to him about this.

Except…

Except, Tim really doesn’t want to be added to the list of people who betrayed Jason’s trust. Especially given how fragile it is given their short acquaintance.

Tim groans and leans back against his chair, wishing for an easy solution. He’s usually able to figure out what to do, even when it comes down to the hard choices.

“Stop obsessing about stuff you can’t control—and don’t try to control stuff that’s not your business.”

Steph’s right.

He’ll do as Jason asked.

Or, at least he’ll give it a week.

If he hasn't figured out any other way to deal with the situation, he'll go to Bruce.

In the meantime—he has an investigation to get back to.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #fanfic #prompt: supernatural #jaytim fic #tim drake #drama #mystery #angst #romance #instant attraction #steph being awesome #tim being nosy

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imatastyporkcutletbowl · 6 years

Link

Yuuri and Yurio compete to see who Victor will coach.

There is one hard truth in competitive figure skating, and that is that anyone who really wants to be taken seriously, to attract a good coach, to interest sponsors, basically to draw in all of the things needed for success, a skater must prove himself or herself. This is sometimes done through a formal audition, but even if an audition is not required, one is always informally auditioning. So, if Yuuri is to be successful, he needs to learn to function well in that kind of high stress environment. Some skaters, myself included, have built up a wall of confidence that lets us do that, almost without thinking about it.

Yuuri is different. I noticed that before I even knew who he was. His reputation as a talented skater who needs to work on his nerves preceded him before I ever met him on the ice as a competitor. Yuuri definitely has what it takes to perform high difficulty programs at a competitive level, but when his nerves act up, he reverts to looking like a beginner. What I have to do is to find ways to push him in stages, to slowly build up his resistance to stress. Along the way, I need to stay close to him, giving him both gentle support and the right pushes, so that he will be motivated to shake off his tense emotions and perform his best in competitions.

Sounds easy enough, right?

But there are plenty of skaters, everywhere you look, who have failed because they could not master that very thing. Yuuri was on the verge of becoming one of those forgotten skaters when I saw his performance and stepped in to stop his fall. There is no way that I can let Yuuri’s talent go to waste, simply because it isn’t easy to help him. As much respect as I have for coaches, and as much as I know the fact that there are so many talented skaters without problems like Yuuri’s that coaches don’t really have to take on troubled talents, I think that the sport gains something from having people like Yuuri succeed. It’s great when someone like me, a person who has grown up with all of the advantages, succeeds. But it is just breathtaking when someone like Yuuri, who has had to struggle with something really hard, shakes off his weakness and rises to the challenge.

I feel a shiver of excitement just thinking about that.

This competition I have dreamed up for Yuuri and Yurio will give me both the chance to give Yurio the program I promised him, and to begin to challenge Yuuri to grow into the competitor I know he can be. I get started right away by announcing the assignments.

“Yuuri, you get Eros,” I say cheerfully, “and Yurio, you get Agape!”

Yuuri looks like he’s ready to faint and Yurio spouts off an objection that’s full of insults.

“You want to do the thing that’s going to surprise the audience most,” I say, smiling, “That’s my motto. The truth is, you’re both rather mediocre. You need to become more self aware. It’s funny you think you can develop your own image. If you want to skate for me, you will learn your routines and use them to surprise the audience, or I won’t continue with either one of you!”

The scolding shakes them, but Yurio snaps back almost immediately with an angry exclamation about how he will skate Agape, but it better get him a win.

Huh.

“Whether or not you win, is up to you,” I tell him in a purposefully mocking voice I stole from Yakov, “It would be a winning program if I skated it.”

Yurio’s toe pick strikes the ice, firing ice chips in my direction.

“Fine! I’ll skate to Agape, but if I win, then we’ll go back to Russia and you’ll be my coach. Do you agree to that?”

“I do.”

Noting that Yurio looks satisfied, I turn my attention to Yuuri. His hands are clenched and I can feel his fears welling up.

“What about you, Yuuri?” I ask, looking into his eyes, “If you win, what do you want from me?”

Yuuri still looks fearful, but there is a determination that rises up, underneath it, and even though his face goes pale and he starts to shake a little, his voice is full of determination when he answers me. Something warm tickles the inside of my chest with each word.

“I want to…eat with you, Victor. Pork cutlet bowls. I want to keep on winning and eating pork cutlet bowls with you, so I’ll skate to Eros, Victor. I’m going to give it all the Eros I have in me!”

I’m not even sure how I answer. I feel too giddy. Yuuri is so motivated now, there is no way that Yurio is ever going to beat him!

But, there is still the problem of keeping Yuuri occupied for awhile, so that I can teach Yurio his program. I give it some thought as I run Yurio’s program by him for the the first time. It’s composed of a complicated set of moves. I chose them specifically because learning to do them will challenge Yurio to improve his execution of the step sequence in his programs. He wasn’t challenged as a junior, but he’s moving into a much more competitive group now. His jumps and spins are there, but he is lazy about his step sequence. The Agape program should make him aware of this, and force him to work on it extensively as he brings himself to peak at the Grand Prix Final.

Yuuri’s Eros program is one I made to maximize his flawless execution of spins and step sequences. We’ll work on his jumps, but more importantly, we’ll work on ramping up his sex appeal, while making use of his solid foundations.

Yuuri seems a little bit stunned when I finish showing him the Eros program, and for some reason, his friend Yuko has been stricken with a rather serious looking nosebleed that Yurio is trying to help with.

“So,” what did you think?” I ask him.

Yuuri flutters and struggles for a moment to come up with an answer.

“Um, it was very Eros!” he answered diligently.

“I know, right? Now, what quads do you think you can land?”

He’s proud enough of his toe loop to announce it normally, but when he speaks of knowing the salchow, I feel his confidence disappearing.

“Let’s just stick with your fundamentals for now. I’ll teach Yurio first. I don’t want to spend half the day trying to teach you something you can’t do.”

Okay, it’s mean, but he’s not going to get better if I don’t push him, right?

“You’ve shown you have the skill to win,” I remind him as he begins to deflate, “Why can’t you?”

“Well,” he says, looking down, “I guess it’s because I don’t have a lot of confidence.”

“That’s right,” I agree, “So, it’s my job to help you find that confidence.”

I peek through my messy bangs, letting my Eros ooze out. After all, the best way to bring his out is to coax it with mine. His eyes get wide and look up into my narrowed ones, and he starts to quiver and sweat nervously.

“Unleash the Eros that’s inside you, Yuuri,” I tell him, running my thumb over his lower lip and bringing my face close to his, “I know it’s there, maybe somewhere deep down inside you, where no one in the world has ever seen it. Will you show it to me? Can you do that?”

I feel a really strong urge to kiss him, and I’m ready to ignore the million reasons I shouldn’t and just do it, but Yurio is Yurio and chooses that moment to interrupt…loudly.

“HEY! You’re supposed to be training me, not chatting with the little piggy!” he complains.

“Right,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on Yuuri, “Yuuri, while you’re training, I want you to be thinking. I want to know what Eros is to you.”

He looks scared to death, and I’m pretty sure it’ll be awhile before he has any kind of answer. Yuuri is sweetly naïve. He radiates a delicious, innocent sexuality that will win his audience over, but he has to be able to unleash it at will. While he stumbles off to start figuring that out, I turn my attention to Yurio.

I’ve known Yurio for a few years now, and he’s grown a little too comfortable with me for me to be coaching him. While Yuuri is still in awe of me and is intimidated enough to just do what I tell him, Yurio thinks of himself as more of an equal. He’s not, but because he’s been in the junior division and there’s been no serious challenge for him, he has grown cocky and lazy. Almost from the start, he gives me trouble, arguing about everything I say as he struggles with the complicated step sequence that goes with the Agape program. This drags on until neither one of us can stand it anymore.

“Stop! Stop!” I shout at him, “Something’s just not right.”

“I’m doing it just the way you showed me!” Yurio shouts back.

“Your desire to win is too obvious,” I explain, “You’re not projecting the gentleness and innocence of Agape. There’s a place for your kind of confidence, but it isn’t here, in this program. It shouldn’t be front and center.”

“When you skate, your confidence is always front and center. So, why don’t you tell me what Agape means to you!”

“It’s a feeling,” I explain, “It can’t be put into words. When you skate, it’s about how you feel, not what you think. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

He lets of a string of obscenities in Russian.

“Now, on to the temple.”

He needs a few good smacks…

And while he’s at it, I have time to start working with my little Eros-chan, Yuuri. Almost from the beginning, he has my own Eros out and panting for him. I love the way that Yuuri’s body moves to the music. It’s like the music isn’t outside him at all, but is inside and flowing out, and into my ears. He moves in perfect time to the music, pulling me in and hypnotizing me, teasing me shamelessly. I think if Yuuri had any idea how aroused he makes me, he would probably run away, screaming. But, I treat it like a game we play, and he seems blissfully unaware that he is torturing me to the point of near insanity. I hold out for the rest of the afternoon, but by the time Yurio’s back from the temple, I need a break. I figure they need a good soak, so we all go to the hot spring.

I can see as I sink down into the hot water, that Yuuri is really giving thought to his task. It’s obvious he’s tired, but he runs his fingers through the ends of his hair, giving me a little inward shiver and he sighs in frustration. I try to break the tension by asking him to take a photo of me in the hot spring, but it only seems to make him look more frustrated.

Ah, well, there’s time for that tomorrow.

I soak with them for awhile before stumbling off to my room to curl around Maccachin and sleep for the night. My dreams are filled with tormenting visions of Yuuri, with him dancing on the ice, tempting me with his beautiful body, teasing me until I can barely stand it. In the dream, I don’t bother with restraint. I skate out onto the ice and together, we take things to the next level. I wake the next morning, sore, tired from lack of good sleep, and needing to put a fresh set of linens on the bed.

Yuuri, my little tease…someday.

To my relief, time seems to speed up a little after that, and we work our way towards the Hot Springs on Ice competition. We work hard every day, retiring to the hot spring in the evening, then sitting down to dinner after. Yuuri looks jealously at the pork cutlet bowls that Yurio and I devour, while he eats his vegetables and bean sprouts. He stews on the idea of Eros endlessly, until his head drops onto the table, and he mumbles incoherently. He must be getting close. Any time, now, he’ll…

“I’ve got it!” he yells, sitting up suddenly, “Pork cutlet bowls! That’s what Eros is to me.”

I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have heard right, but Yurio is smirking and rolling his eyes. Yuuri thinks about what he’s just said, then he blushes.

“I’m an idiot!” he shouts, “I take it back.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, trying not to laugh, “It’s at least original.”

“Seriously?” Yurio taunts him.

Yuuri runs out of the house, groaning to himself.

“Pork cutlet bowls? Really? I’m gonna go crawl under a rock and die!”

But he doesn’t die of embarrassment, or anything else. He continues to train, and we use the pork cutlet bowl as a source of motivation. It’s been awhile since he’s had one, and Yurio and I eat them in front of him daily. It’s not nice, but it makes the point, and it makes Yuuri hungry for them. That’s going to come in handy as the days wind down and we get to the competition day.

“What will you guys be wearing?” Minako asks as we sit at dinner together one night.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says, glancing at me.

“I didn’t bring anything,” Yurio muses.

“I’ve got you covered,” I assure the two of them, “I’ve had all of my competition costumes flown over from Russia. I’m sure you can each find something useful for your programs.”

The two dive into the stacks of clothes, and Yurio comes up with a lovely silver and white see-through costume from my junior days. It’s perfect for his Agape program, so he stumbles off with that.

I have to say I’m pleased as I see what Yuuri has chosen. He’s smiling beautifully and holding up another costume from my junior days, one that I wore when I had long hair and a more androgynous look. It’s a perfect match for Yuuri and for the program and music he is using. And it looks like it gives him an idea. I see him thinking really hard for the rest of the evening, and as I’m getting ready for bed, I hear him pass my room, heading out, probably to Minako’s place.

I am so curious!

I almost decide to follow him to see what he’s up to, but in the end, I think I want to let myself be surprised by him. What could Yuuri be up to? How is he going to evolve now? Up to this point, he has mastered the building blocks of the program. His step sequence is perfect, his spins flawless, and his jumps have been improving steadily. But what has been missing is the heart of his program. There is something that skaters must bring to a program to make it their own. Yuuri still struggles with his vision of Eros.

Maybe…

Just maybe, his night visit to wherever he is going will help him resolve it.

I’m up early the next morning, first running a final training session with Yuuri and Yurio, then leaving them to prepare while I see to the final preparations with the staff and media at Ice Castle Hasetsu. Newscaster Morooka, in particular, seems to have an interest in how this is going to play out. I’ve known him for a long time, because he’s covered many of my events. He’s supportive of skaters in general, but since even before Yuuri’s disastrous first Grand Prix Final, he has kept Yuuri’s name in the news, and since he learned of my intent to coach Yuuri, he has been to interview us several times. I am not sure how Yuuri got this man in his corner, but it’s an opportunity I’m not planning on wasting. Together, we plan an interview for before the performance, then it’s back into the skating rink for a quick run through. Everything seems to be in place, so I take the two boys aside, out to the beach, where it’s a little quiet. We take a slow jog there and do a few breathing exercises to prepare mentally. Yuuri seems fine during that, but as soon as it’s time to go back to the skating rink, I see him starting to fray around the edges.

I just hope that he keeps his mind focused on the challenge, here. He wants very badly to beat Yurio, so that I will stay with him in Hasetsu. That needs to be enough to help him overcome his fears and skate his best today. We don’t talk about it, but I make sure to look him in the eyes and tell him how much I am looking forward to seeing him skate. The words of encouragement seem to steady him, and he remains quiet, but focused as the minutes count down to the performance. Outside the rink, people gather and come inside. We do a final warm up, then retreat to the preparation room.

After the introductions, Yurio’s program is first. I have to admit, I am surprised that he doesn’t seem perfectly confident when Yuko arrives to call him to the ice. But it is his first performance as a senior male skater, so I suppose it makes sense…or perhaps Yurio is being changed a little bit by this experience.

He skates his routine beautifully through the first half, showing grace and poise, as well as a growing ability to capture his inner Agape. I wonder as he skates if maybe he does have it. His moves are eye-catching, and they tell me that he will be a top contender this year. Yuuri sees this too, and I see the anxiety creep back into his eyes. He watches as Yurio finishes his program, then bows as the audience applauds vigorously. At rinkside, Yuuri stiffens and covers his face with both hands. I move close to him, but he doesn’t see me, and he is clearly startled when I speak to him.

“Yuuri, it’s your turn.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and pales. I continue to look steadily into his eyes. We both know that this is the moment when he has to make his decision. What impulse is going to be stronger…the impulse to panic, or the impulse to keep me close to him. I gaze at him silently, knowing there is nothing more I can give him. He has to make the next move.

“Um…I’m,” he stammers, his voice shaking.

Then, I watch as new strength seems to pour into him and determination fills his eyes.

“I’m going to become a super tasty pork cutlet bowl!” he exclaims.

His arms wrap around me almost desperately.

“You’ll watch, won’t you?” he asks hopefully.

“Of course I will,” I tell him, speaking into his ear, more in the way of a lover than a coach, “I love pork cutlet bowls.”

The words seem to bolster him, and there is more confidence in his body as he takes his place on the ice. I watch closely as the music begins, and almost immediately I see it.

His performance has changed.

The moves are the same, but more sensuous. The crowd sees them, but I know right away that those moves are directed at me. An appreciative whistle escapes me, then I’m too captivated to look away for the rest of his performance.

I was right.

I knew when I saw that video of Yuuri, that all he really needed was a boost to his confidence and a high difficulty program to match his strong foundations. There is no question in anyone’s mind who the stronger skater in this match is. Yurio’s performance was beautiful, engaging, and I know he will be a force to be reckoned with, but no one can look away as Yuuri’s beautiful Eros emerges for the first time, and pulls them all in. By the time Yuuri finishes and takes his bow, Yurio disappears from my side. I escort Yuuri to the stand and Newscaster Morooka asks Yuuri to say a few words. Yuuri tenses, but I curl an arm around him, and he relaxes visibly.

“This is the beginning,” he says with almost startling confidence, “With Victor, I’m going to try to win at the next Grand Prix Final. Thank you all for your support.”

Something releases inside my chest and I feel a moment of relief. I didn’t think, at any point, that Yuuri was going to lose to Yurio, but I guess I was more nervous than I realized. I didn’t want to go back to Russia with Yurio.

Thank you, Yuuri.

I knew that I could count on you to rise to the occasion and win.

#Yuri!!! on Ice #victuuri #Victor Nikiforov #Yuri Katsuki #Yurio

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starcunning · 6 years

Text

This Beast that Rends Me: 11 Apr

A challenger appears! Also, I seem to have all my rigging questions from the last chapter answered, but if you have something to contribute I’m always ready to learn.

Previously: Week One Previously: 8 Apr, 9 Apr, 10 Apr

Chapter Five

Spring’s temper seemed to break in the days that followed, and cloudless skies stretched from the mountains to the wall, visible in the hazy distance. It made the greenhouse warm and close, especially at midday, when Shasi often visited.

She had come in the morning, after their night together. It seemed the responsible thing to do. It also seemed more responsible not to spend her evenings there—however much she wanted to. Still, she could not regret it.

Sometimes they played megalith, but today she was teaching him Triple Triad.

“It’s very popular, you know, in Ul’dah,” she said. “The Platinum Mirage would stage tournaments.” “I can’t imagine why a gambling house would favor it,” he drawled sardonically. “Especially that ‘Plus’ rule you mentioned? It’s impenetrable. Which I’m sure they use to their advantage.” “I wouldn’t know anything about the inherent discomfort of facing an opponent with better insight than you,” Shasi said, grousing playfully in return. “That’s because you’re usually on the dealer’s side of the table,” he told her, reaching out with his long fingers to flip one of her cards. “And then I met you,” she told him, playing to the opposite corner. “And I found myself outmatched.” “I haven’t done it in weeks,” he said, defensive. “I know,” she told him, “but you might. It’s terrifying.” “Really,” he said, laying out a card. “I suppose I would find it liberating. You might, at any moment, come to know anything about me. Why demur, in that case? At least then I have made a choice.” “I don’t want people to see me that way,” Shasi told him. She set her last card down, flipping two of his, and smiled. “A draw,” she said. “Now we each take the cards we claimed in that match and play again until we decide a victor.” “What way?” he asked, taking up the cards and organizing them in his hand. “A relentless interrogator,” Shasi said. “It seems you are relying on being seen that way in your dealings with me,” Zenos said, smirking over the fan of his cards. “And yet you still won’t tell me about the situation in the outer provinces.” “I would, if I knew more. There was discussion of sending me to Dalmasca, as I was sent to Doma.” Shasi only hummed thoughtfully, playing her first card to the corner. “I see.” “They treat me as they treat you,” he said. “A blade to be unleashed as needs be. You’ve told me yourself they don’t tell you everything.” She felt the sting of pity, though it was quickly forgotten as he laid his next card and took hers, subsumed by her momentary annoyance. Shasi opened her mouth, conjuring some retort.

There was a knock on the window, the gentle rap of knuckles against glass. Shasi’s ears pricked up, and she turned her head toward the source of the sound. Thancred stood there, no less familiar despite his absence, and she could feel the way surprise rose upon her face. “You’re not supposed to be here!” Shasi greeted him. “I know,” the rogue said, his voice half-muffled through the glass. She rose from her seat at the table, setting her cards aside. “No, really. You’re not allowed to speak to me.” “No,” Thancred said, a smile twisting his features, “I’m not allowed to speak to you face-to-face after I’ve been briefed. But I haven’t been. Not until tomorrow morning. Let’s talk.” “Later,” she said, teeth catching at the curve of her lip. “Later, then,” he agreed. “Good luck,” he drawled.

Somehow, despite the conservatory allowing her almost a full panorama of the gardens, he seemed to disappear a moment later. She sank back into her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her chin onto her fist. “About the interruption.” “A friend of yours?” Zenos asked, in a tone that told her he knew perfectly well. “Thancred recruited me,” she said. “I’d seen him before then, but we didn’t meet until after … after the awakening of my Echo.” “But you were paying attention to him before then.” “I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly,” Shasi said, cautiously setting down a card. “He’s one of the Archons, and he’s rather distinctive. He’d been operating in Ul’dah longer than I’d lived there. People took notice of him. But I suppose I was thinking of … Carteneau.” “You were at Carteneau?” Zenos wondered. He laid his card, and flipped hers. “With my mother,” she said. “We were protecting them. The Archons’ levy.” She tossed another card onto the board. Zenos flipped that too, and she looked down in surprise to see that he’d tabled her. “You’re distracted,” he said, frowning. “We’ll stop for now, and resume tomorrow. I will see you tomorrow?” he asked. “You will,” Shasi promised.

He was right about her distraction, so Shasi sought focus the way she always did. The menagerie was a pleasant enough place for her sword drills: the late afternoon sun was warm but not cloying, and the breeze refreshed her. She could hear the rustle of leaves and the shuffle of her own feet as she moved through the forms. It required an exactitude of movement that meant her focus remained on her weapon. Nothing outside the reach of her sword existed.

So it was a surprise when Thancred stepped into the sphere of her world, turning her blade aside with one of his daggers. “What are you doing here?” she asked, advancing on him, sword at the ready. She struck, and the blow rang as he knocked it aside. “Urianger told me you’d asked for me. I hadn’t imagined it was to help you beat the Viceroy of Ala Mhigo at tarot.” “Triple Triad,” she corrected, taking a step back as he struck, a backhand sweep that made an arc of steel. “All the worse for you, from what I recall watching you play in the Seventh Heaven,” he laughed. She made a swipe with her sword that he caught, and the rasp of steel on steel rung down her blade, catching the rogue’s dagger in the cross guard of her sword. They were inches apart. Shasi reached out, grasping his forearm to hold it away from her body, the tip of his hunting knife kept from her flank as they struggled.

Her blue eyes locked to his—the one that was left him, the other secreted behind his blindfold. She could smell the leather of his garb, the sandalwood of his soap. With a twist of her hand, she forced him to give up his dagger, which fell to the grass beneath their feet. His hand, now freed, locked on her wrist in turn. He was taller than her, and should have had better leverage as they wrestled, but she set her shoulder against his chest and planted her feet.

“You never end it, when you could,” Thancred said. “I don’t know how to pull my blows when it’s magic instead,” she admitted, gritting her teeth. “And you don’t have any. It hardly seems fair.” “Don’t worry about fairness,” he said, and she felt his heel against her calf. Then her knee collapsed, and they fell to the ground, his knife and her sword clattering beside them.

The earth at her back was cool; his body was warmer, and she laughed. “Oh, they’ll sing songs about this for sure,” he said, pushing himself to his knees. “The day I put the Warrior of Light to her back.” Shasi’s face colored, and she quickly sat up so that she could drop her chin, looking down at his boots, watching him stand. He offered her a hand, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. He let go a moment later, looking back at the glass panels of the greenhouse.

Shasi followed the line of his gaze. Through the glare of the golden sun, she thought she saw a figure—Zenos—moving inside, as though stepping back from the window. “Has he given you anything?” Thancred asked, all the joviality robbed of his tone. “A bit,” Shasi said, dusting herself down. She flicked her ears, and Thancred leaned over to pick a blade of dried grass from her hair. “Mostly internal politics, but … they kept him ignorant of a lot. I suppose they were afraid of him developing his own agenda.” “He did anyway,” Thancred reminded her. “What about the Resonant? That was his project, one of the few we know about. Has he spoken of it to you?” “No,” Shasi said. “Only briefly.” “Find out what you can,” Thancred said. “Aulus mal Aesina’s research may not have died with him.”

So perhaps he had not come for her after all. “I’ll ask,” Shasi promised, stooping to retrieve her sword and return it to its keeping at her belt. “I’m supposed to produce a precis on it—and on the facility—for the council,” Thancred said. “So the more we know, the better.” “I’ll ask,” Shasi repeated, feeling suddenly distant from him. “He just … tells you things?” Thancred asked, seeming confused. “His thinking seems to be that I could come to know them anyway, thanks to the Echo, so he may as well disclose them and shortcut the whole process,” Shasi said. “At least then he has some semblance of agency in the telling.”

It struck her then how transgressive it was, to see into another’s soul at will. And, as Thancred shrugged, wishing her luck as he retreated from the sunlit lawn, she realized how paradoxically distant it had made her.

#tbtrm #x'shasi #zenos yae galvus #thancred waters #wol/zenos #original content #starcunning writes

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thewritenerd · 4 years

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Victor and Adam: NaNoWriMo Day 12

‘Oh. Okay.’

Victor

The drive to his parents was a long one so Victor had booked a hotel somewhere halfway along the journey. That way they could leave a day early and stay the night before finishing the journey the next day, instead of having to leave at three in the morning so as to not arrive in the evening. They would then spend the night there before driving back home the next day. It had been a while since Victor had driven himself anywhere other than into town himself but he soon got the hang of things. Adam sat in the back the passenger seat in front of him pushed forward as far as it would go. He’d packed that green book and another poetry book he’d found in the library which he was now reading. He’d also brought his phone which he was using to listen to music. Victor could swear he could just make out a Patsy Cline song. The journey was a silent one and Victor had all but forgotten he wasn’t alone until Adam suddenly spoke and pointed out it was nearly half past two and they still hadn’t eaten. After a quick stop at a restaurant, there was no way he was going near a service station, and a trip to the mini supermarket across the road from Adam they set off again. Adam who had bought a couple of science magazines and some chocolate mints busied himself with more reading while Victor decided he might as well turn on the radio. At some point Adam spoke again. ‘I got two bottles of water in case you wanted some.’ He said holding out one of the bottles. ‘I’m fine.’ Victor dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Okay. Well I’ll leave it here so you can help yourself when you need it.’ He said as he put the bottle into one of the cup holders between the driver and passenger seat. For a moment Victor wasn’t sure if he should say anything. But by the time he’d thought of something to say Adam had already slipped his headphones back on.

***

They got to the hotel a little later than planned. After checking into their rooms, Victor had decided to pay for Adam to have his own room as he didn’t feel like sharing his, Victor told Adam to order whatever he wanted from room service he was going to bed. Adam just said goodnight and disappeared into his room. It was only when he set it down did Victor realise he was holding the bottle of water Adam had given him.

***

After a quick breakfast of tea and buttered toast for Victor and a not quite so quick breakfast of honey and cinnamon pancakes and orange juice for Adam they paid their bill and left to finish their journey. Victor had made sure to have Igor pack some of Adam’s best informal clothes, though he didn’t have many options. He was wearing a light weight sky blue jumper and light grey jeans his trainers did sort of ruin the look but his only other pair of shoes were his school shoes which Igor was adamantly against the idea of him wearing them on a picnic. Victor had also insisted he get his hair cut before they left. Adam was reluctant to go to a salon but fortunately his friend Chelsea’s older sister was a hairdresser and was perfectly happy to come up to the castle and do it there. So now Adam’s hair which had grown just past his shoulders was now cut so you could see the back of his neck. His fringe also no longer resembled that of an old English sheepdog. Victor himself was dressed as he usually did when visiting his parents a grey shirt with brown chinos and a brown pair of shoes. When they arrived at the Frankenstein estate he saw that most guests had already arrived. ‘Victor you made it!’ he saw someone rushing to great him. ‘Hello Justine.’ He greeted his little sister with a wave. Justine was one of the Frankenstein’s two adopted daughters and certainly the more spirited of the two. Her eyes widened as she saw Adam climb out of the car. ‘Oh is this…’ she didn’t seem sure how to finish the sentence. ‘I’m Adam.’ Adam introduced himself holding out his hand. Wearily Justine took it. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She said looking him up and down. It wasn’t something you could do subtly as you had to tilt your head to get a look at his face but Adam seemed unfazed. ‘I like your hair.’ This brought a smile to Justine’s face. She had dyed the ends of her white blonde hair bright pink and was very proud of it. ‘My friend wants to dye ver hair like that but ver foster mum won’t let ver.’ ‘Oh that’s a pity. Still they won’t be living there forever.’ She then turned back to Victor. ‘Come on everyone’s ready so start eating, I was sent to see if you had arrived yet.’ Victor locked up the car before making his way down the side of the house with Adam close behind carrying his bag. ‘Victor darling. How lovely to see you.’ His mother cried rushing over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hello mother.’ He said giving her a couple of pats on the back. He was very aware of everyone staring in his direction. No doubt at Adam. Adam was looking at his feet and clutching his bag so tightly his knuckles were white. ‘Adam aren’t you going to say hi?’ Victor asked. He didn’t want his parents thinking he hadn’t taught Adam any manners. ‘Hello. Adam said holding out his hand.’ ‘Hello.’ Victor’s mother said. Though she didn’t take his hand.’ Eventually Adam let his hand drop seeming unsure what to do with himself. ‘Where’s father?’ Victor asked. ‘I want to give him his present before everyone starts eating.’ ‘He’s over by the buffet table.’ His mother replied gesturing to a long table that had been set up the other end of the picnic blankets and chairs which had been spread out. ‘Oh and let me take that for you.’ She added taking the bowl of salad Igor had made for them to bring. Victor thanked her before heading in the direction she had gestured. He found his father sat in one of the chairs that usually sat in the conservatory. He was talking to Victor’s youngest sibling William who kept pointing at Adam. ‘Yes I know but you mustn’t point.’ He heard his father scold. William was eight, a late and unplanned addition to the family, and had a habit of asking a seemingly never-ending stream of questions. Though while many parents would be annoyed by his curious nature the Frankenstein’s encouraged it at every chance they got. ‘Hello father. Happy birthday.’ Victor said as he handed him his present. His father opened it and seemed delighted by the book and whiskey. ‘Well that’s my weekend sorted,’ he laughed. He looked up at Adam. ‘Oh but where are my manners? You must be Adam.’ Adam nodded. ‘Uhh Happy Birthday. I’ve got something for you too.’ He reached into his bag and pulled out what looked to Victor liked a mass of wrapping paper and Sellotape. ‘I tried to wrap it myself. I’m not very good at it.’ ‘Oh not to worry.’ Victor’s father laughed. ‘Practice makes perfect.’ He pulled of the wrapping to reveal what from the back looked like a picture frame. ‘Oh this is good? Where did you find this?’ ‘I drew it.’ Adam replied looking very pleased with himself. ‘You drew it? Well it’s very good. And you’ve labelled everything as well.’ Curious now Victor leaned forward to get a good look. In the frame was a drawing of a Plymouth Fury from the side that had been cut down the middle. There was also a cross section drawing from the front and of the engine. Each mechanical part was carefully labelled. He turned to look at Adam. ‘Is this why you haven’t been leaving your room?’ he asked. ‘One of them. The research took a long time. Most of the information I could find was on this old movie.’ ‘Well thank you very much.’ Victors father said. ‘Oh Lizzie dear could you take these and put them with the rest of my presents? Thank you.’ He handed the presents to Victors other adopted sister. ‘Now why don’t you sit down. There quickly before Justine nicks the only other chair.’ Victor sat in one of the remaining chairs. ‘Oh and please sit down Adam. Though I’m afraid if you want a chair yourself you’ll have to see if there are any more spare. This one’s reserved for my wife.’ Adam assured him that would be fine and sat himself down on the corner of the picnic blanket. William was staring at him wide eyed and for once speechless. ‘William dear, you can go and get your food now.’ Their mother said walking over to them Justine close behind. ‘I’m letting the children grab their food first then having everyone go up one blanket at a time.’ She explained. ‘We’ll be next.’ ‘Wait so does Adam count as a child?’ Justine asked. ‘I mean he’s… Wait how old are you?’ ‘Physically I’m sixteen. But I’ve only been alive for two years.’ ‘Yeah so if we’re counting anyone up to eighteen as a child Adam should go up with the rest.’ Adam shook his head. ‘I can wait.’ ‘Really? Well I’m eighteen so I’m technically still a child.’ With that she left. ‘She wasn’t a child yesterday when she got that piercing behind my back.’ Their mother grumbled. Once everyone had their food they settled down and began eating. Victors mother kept wearily eyeing Adam and insisted William sit beside her. Adam sat between Justine and Victor and seemed to hunch up more and more as time went on under her gaze. He picked his food apart before even starting to eat any of it, something Victor had noticed was a nervous habit.

#writing #long post #read more #writblr #nanowrimo #victor and adam

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easilydistractedandamused · 7 years

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Chapter ten of Billy Bat Son for those that don’t want to follow the link

Chapter 10: Normalcy?

“I’m glad to see you cleared up the family problems,” Clark said as he walked along side Shazam in the Watchtower’s hallway.

“Yeah. I just needed to work out a different approach, really, to sneaking away,” he said easily as they entered the monitor room (or as Hal and Shazam liked to call it, the Room of Boredom as this was where they monitored the world for crimes and natural disasters. Neither of the two were allowed to be on monitor duty at the same time after a certain... incident ).

“Your family doesn’t know?” he asked curiously. Clark had always assumed his family, outside of his uncle that is, knew about his second job as a hero.

“Two members of my family know, but only because they saw me transform, like Vic did,” he said flippantly.

“Really? I thought you trusted them with it,” Victor said curiously from where he was sitting at the monitor, turning to face them and anyone else Clark would’ve lectured but Vic was still capable of doing his job even gossiping and not even looking at the monitor itself. They all knew he only really did it for a sense of normalcy.

“I don’t trust,” he replied with a small smile that suggested a story behind it. A story Vic knew if his own amused smile was to go by.

“And it took you two weeks to learn how to sneak away?” Hal asked curiously from his seat next to Vic, very glad for the distraction right now.

“Like sneaking away from Batman, I swear,” Shazam grumbled and Vic just looked even more amused before turning back to the monitor before they could notice and question him about it. Of course sneaking away from Bruce was like sneaking away from Batman, he was Batman.

Being the only one that knew the truth made it difficult at times like these to keep a straight face.

“You still managed it though,” Vic said once he was sure his amusement was more neutral based and not too obvious.

“Yeah, because sneaking away from him isn’t that difficult,” Shazam said with a raised brow like it should have been obvious, making all of them pause and look at him at this because no one ever said sneaking away from Batman was easy. He was Batman .

“I’m sorry, what?” Hal asked and Shazam looked around for a quick moment, as if afraid that Batman would suddenly appear out of nowhere. Not an unfounded fear, to be sure. “It sounded like you said sneaking away from Batman isn’t that difficult,” he said using his pinky to dislodge the word altering ear wax because there was no way he said what he thought he said.

“Because I did,” he said.

“Okay, now I’m curious. How do you sneak away from Batman?” Vic asked, turning to face him and giving him his full attention.

“Easy. Tell him where you’re going,” he said with a shrug. “He’ll check in five minutes, see you there and not think it’s worth his time, in ten minutes you can slip away to your real destination and he won’t even realize,” he said like it was the easiest thing to come up with, like everyone did it.

No wonder it worked on Batman, Hal couldn’t help but think as he looked at Shazam with wide eyes.

“What?” he asked at how they were staring at him.

“I just want to take a peek into that brain of yours, Sparky, because that idea would not appear in anyone’s head but would totally work,” he said and Shazam fondly rolled his eyes at the pilot’s antics.

“I grew up in Foster Care, man, I needed to get creative if I even wanted a minute to myself,” he told them and Clark blinked at the admission. Shazam did not easily share about his life outside the cape, well, to anyone that wasn’t Victor Stone that is.

“Do you think you can take monitor duty today?” Clark asked him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I can manage anything up here for more than an hour before people get suspicious,” he said.

“Stop trying to get out of monitor duty,” Clark told him, because he had obviously been exaggerating in an attempt to get out of it.

“Aw,” he said with a mock pout.

“We’ll still let you leave in an hour. Come on, I’ll catch you up on what’s been going on,” Vic said and Hal moved out of the way for him to sit in the chair, more than happy for an excuse to leave early.

Shazam’s pleading look was easily ignored as Hal moved over to the door, Clark give him an amused, if sympathetic, look before he followed suit.

As Vic droned on with some boring facts (that he knew were important but couldn’t quite bring himself to care) Billy couldn’t help but wish that he was back to being trapped inside Wayne Manor because at least there he could find ways of entertaining himself.

Thinking about it, he should start a garden to grow some of the herbs he would need later. He doubted they would mind too much. No one ever seemed to mind when Billy did this, because it was a sign that he was comfortable enough to start to make plans to make the place he was staying for comfortable and home-y.

Those were usually the times he would get kicked out of some of the homes, because they didn’t want Billy, didn’t like him. He didn’t overly mind too much though, as he could just make a garden in a park after dark to grow these herbs. No one ever noticed as long as he planted them behind some bushes or a tree far enough in the park.

He actually had a small area of the park that he always went to to restock his supply as the plants were left unattended there for some reason, forgotten by the park caretakers.

Curious as he was about that, Billy found he didn’t care as it made things easy for him. No one ever noticed if someone planted some magic herbs there.

But making a trip back to Fawcett for some plants was too much, even for him, and he wouldn't be able to properly keep an eye on the plants progress. No, it needed to be close...

“Are you even listening to me?” Vic asked.

“You were talking about making protocols for some countries,” he said boredom laced in his voice. He had long since developed the ability to get lost in thought while someone was talking and somehow retain the information they were spouting.

Vic gave him a slightly suspicious look, as if he wanted to call him out for not listening but didn’t know how after he just repeated what he last said. It was a look Billy was very used to.

“Yeah, because some of them have closed borders and don’t want us entering and we don’t want to create an international incident…” he said voice getting distance.

“Uhuh. International incidents are bad,” he said in bored agreement.

He was going to need to restock on wolfsbane, now that he thought about it. Some Thyme too. Actually, he was pretty sure he saw that on the grounds of Wayne Manor and would need to check.

He shifted on the chair so his legs were folded as he found it more comfortable, but barely even noticed the shift in posture himself.

Although, if he used their stock of Thyme, they were bound to notice and get curious as it disappeared without notice. They’d probably also be curious as one of them was bound to notice that he had Thyme in his garden.

Once Vic heard Billy let out a small subconscious hum, he stopped talking because he knew that sound. That was the sound he made when he was lost in thought and glancing at him, he knew it was true because his legs were folded as he floated a few inches above the chair, arms crossed over his chest, a thoughtful little frown pulling at his face as his body sparked with restless energy.

He wondered how long it would take Billy to realize he had stopped talking and was looking at him.

Watching over the state of the world, he idly set a timer and stared at Billy. He hoped this had nothing to do with the Penguin thing he was planning, but knowing Billy, it was a very strong chance.

After a while, Billy realized the room was quiet and that he was being stared at expectantly and lifted his gaze to see Vic staring at him with a slight hint of boredom and amusement, face leaning against one of his hands similar to how Billy had been sitting earlier.

“This is a whole new record for you. It took you one hour and ten minutes,” he said with that hint of amusement and Billy felt himself start to break out into a nervous sweat from habit, knowing that being caught not paying attention usually resulted in punishment from his experience. He also knew that Vic would never hurt him like that, that not everyone would fly into a mindless rage.

“I’m not angry or anything,” he said and Billy knew he had been able to read him, pick up the way his heartbeat started to speed up as his entire body tensed as he readied himself to move. He had picked all this up and assured him as best as he could without ruffling Billy’s feathers like others have done in the past.

“Oh, poor darling. I would never hurt you. It’s okay, you don’t have to be scared,” a woman’s voice rang in the back of his mind. All that had done was make him angry, because he didn’t need pity, for someone to call him out on someone else’s screw ups, for some stranger to pull him in for a hug when he was still thinking about running, when he was still coming to the realization that he was safe. All that did was make his hackles raise, make him freak out worse and give a very obvious flinch he could never quite help.

“I know,” he said with a sheepish smile. Vic never did that though when Billy slipped up like that, patiently waiting for him to pay attention again and never once getting angry at him but it was only a matter of time before Billy did something wrong and ruin their friendship, before Vic got tired of him like everyone else . Vic would even assure him that he wasn’t angry with usually a joke and never once tried to touch him when Billy was like this.

Most things that kids found comforting: hugs, stroking of the hair...it set Billy’s teeth on edge. He preferred companionable silence.

Vic was the only person to give him that, to let Billy control the pace, to let Billy initiate all contact or barring that, to leave an open invitation (holding up a hand for a high five, holding out his fist for a fist bump…) that Billy could refuse whenever he wanted. He never wanted to refuse.

“So, what exactly were you thinking about?” Vic asked curiously.

“I’m thinking of starting a garden,” he said with a grin.

“I didn’t realize you had a green thumb,” Vic said raising a brow in amusement and that small still panicking part of his brain finally calmed down because everything was starting to feel normal again between them, because this was their usual.

“Yeah, well, I happen to find it relaxing,” he defended himself, letting his eyes slip close as he lifted his chin as he spoke, something he usually wouldn’t do with other people. “Besides, these are herbs with magical leaning, so they’re pretty darn important, but I can’t use the park anymore,” he said and Vic opened his mouth before closing it, brows furrowing in confusion.

“You used the park for magic plants?” he asked.

“Park maintenance pretty much forgot about this one corner so the plants grow pretty wild there,” he said simply. “I used it when I was between places and couldn’t make my own garden,” he said and to anyone overhearing they would assume that he meant when he was moving apartments or if his apartment wouldn’t let him have a garden for himself, not when he was being shuffled home to home by social services

Smiling to himself as he walked home, Billy was actually pretty proud of himself for being able to convince Alfred (because Billy knew who was really in charge) to let him have a garden on the balcony, and not only that, but also to let Billy pick up the plants himself.

He was pretty stubborn on that last point, actually, because a lot of them you’d have to go to “special” shops only seen to those that have magic flowing through their blood.

Gotham didn’t have many of those shops, as even magic users respected Batman’s “no metas in Gotham” rule. However, the plants he needed were those of a peaceful nature and necessary for most potions and elixirs.

Fortunately, the money Alfred had given him combined with his own savings were more than enough to buy the plants.

Usually, he’d turn into Shazam and fly over to where they naturally grew but that took about a week or longer and he didn’t have that much time to search for a plant he could buy in a local shop (albeit for about a thousand dollars. Rare plants weren’t cheap afterall).

He heard a buzzing from his pocket and knew it was from Alfred (again) but Billy knew the limo would give them away in this part of town so he hadn’t really told him he was going to get the plants, just that he was going for a walk (which, technically, it was. Halfway across town, sure, but he was walking). His hands were full at the moment so he couldn’t just send a text back to him either.

Suddenly, he heard a strange sound behind him and dropped the bags, ready to move, as the bags disappeared before they could hit the ground (Mugging Guarantees were worth the extra hundred dollars, as the bags would harmlessly return to the store for the buyer to return for it or a prearranged drop off point).

Before he could turn around, a cloth went over his mouth and he recognized the damp, sweet scent presented before him and struggled before an arm (broad. Brown coat. Hands covered in black leather gloves. Male) wrapped around his middle, pressing him against a broad back (further proving his assailant was a male. Worked out, but not enough to be completely ripped) and managed to pull his hand away to possibly claw at the hand holding the rag and maybe make it pull away before his wrist was grabbed (multiple assailants. Unknown number) and he went limp as everything went black

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victorluvsalice · 6 years

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Forgotten Vows Friday: Fixing You Cut Scene! Extended Dr. Fixxler’s Shop

Hi all! I’m making good progress on Chapter 8 of “Fixing You” -- it’s a LOT shorter than Chapter 7, so you’ll definitely be seeing it next week. However, I thought I’d share something else with you today -- some cut content! Most of the editing I’ve been doing while working on “Fixing You” has been cutting out bits of unnecessary fluff, or chopping short scenes and conversations that go on waaaay too long. (Chapter 7 actually had a TON cut out of it to avoid the characters telling each other everything you guys have already seen in the fics. Yes, that damn chapter was originally even longer.) And while this is all for the good, it does mean that occasionally I lose moments I like.

Such as today’s scene, which was part of an earlier draft of Chapter 3 with Victor and Alice in Fixxler’s shop. Originally, Alice’s question to Fixxler about him having the ability to move between the Lands of the Living and the Dead led to a much longer scene where Fixxler provided a lot more explanation on how the spell worked, and how magic works in this world in general. There was also what I thought was a fun bit of business with the group searching the shop for special glasses that let you see magical auras. When it came time for the next round of editing, though, I realized the scene really slowed the pacing down, and that Fixxler would know why Alice would be so interested in Slip Through The Veil without her needing to spell it out so explicitly. So I cut out this scene and provided pared-down versions of some of the exposition he gives here in a different spot in the chapter. I still like the bit though, soo -- here, to tide you over until next week. Hope you enjoy! For context, the starting line in italics is from the actual Chapter 3 and shows where the scene would have landed.

Alice froze. "Wait – let's rewind the conversation back a few minutes, if you don't mind. You can get to the Land of the Dead?"

"One of the lucky ones," Fixxler told her, locating an old fountain pen. "Like I said, it takes a lot of power – barring special circumstances, like your boyfriend accidentally proposing to a very hopeful corpse."

"When Elder Gutknecht sent us up that first time, it didn't seem very complicated," Victor said, frowning. "He just squeezed an egg out of a raven and broke it over our heads."

"Oh, it's not a matter of complicated – it's a matter of simply what you're trying to do," Fixxler told him, waving the pen. "The barrier between life and afterlife is usually pretty strong – living people aren't supposed to go Downstairs, and vice-versa. It takes a lot of energy to allow the 'wrong' person through the veil. Again, you're a special case, but. . . ." His eyes flashed gold again. "No, you don't have enough personal power to cast it on your own."

"What is that?" Alice had to ask. "It makes you look as if you've gas lamps behind your face."

"Signature Sense – it's my special talent," Fixxler explained. "I can tell you how to do it, but – well, it involves lighting a match, then waving it back out after ten seconds and swallowing it."

Victor touched his Adam's apple. "Oh – I don't think I'll try that one, then," he admitted. "Knowing me, I'd choke." He pouted. "I really wanted to see what an aura looked like, though. . . ."

"That is what enchantments are for," Fixxler told him. "I've got a pair of glasses I made once that I managed to permanently enchant with the same spell. . .somewhere. . . ." He grumbled as he looked around the store, twirling his pen. "The problem is, people seem to think a messy shop is more 'magical,' and then you just get used to throwing things anywhere."

"I can help you look for them," Victor instantly offered, getting to his feet. "I'm used to having to rummage for things."

"Yes, the Houndsditch toy pile can be a terrifying ordeal indeed," Alice agreed, standing up as well. "And I'd like a look too, honestly. . .so neither of us have a chance at casting the spell on our own?"

"I'll check behind the counter – Victor, you try the bookshelves up there," he said, gesturing to the little raised stage where lived his Chinese herbs and mystical tomes. "Alice, you check the front window – and no, sorry. You're both fairly magically gifted, but not that much."

Victor frowned as he mounted the tiny flight of steps to the shelves. "What if we combined our power?" he asked. "Is there a way to do that?"

"Sort of – there's spells that let you 'borrow' extra power from a person or a place for a little while," Fixxler confirmed, climbing over the counter. "But even with that, I think you'd still be short. And even if you weren't, there's a good chance you still couldn't use the spell anyway."

"Whyever not?" Alice demanded, feeling through the ribs of the skeleton just in case something had slipped inside. The bones jangled at the intrusion.

"Because, for whatever reason, magic doesn't like it when you drain your lake all in one go." Fixxler leaned on the countertop. "Granted, I don't blame it, it's not a pleasant feeling. . .but yeah, one of the barriers to learning magic is that the upper limit of the power of the spells you can learn is slightly below the upper limit of your own personal power. Draw Upon The Earth's Currents and Draw Upon Another's Currents can both get you around that limitation for a bit, but it only goes so far."

Victor paused in his search. "Ah – is – it isn't p-possible to completely use up your magic permanently, is it?" he asked, rocking to and fro on his heels in a rather Alice-like way.

Fixxler gave him a reassuring smile. "No, don't worry about that. You have to be casting a lot of magic in a very short amount of time to burn out, and even then, it only takes a couple of hours to recover. Nasty couple of hours, though – you feel like some vital part of you is missing."

"I've had enough of that feeling," Alice muttered, glowering at the thorny vine as the wail of a long-dead train echoed in her ears. "Doesn't sound like it's much of a risk, though." She felt around the pot, then moved on to the display of colored bottles. "You said that was one of the barriers. What are the others?"

"Mainly that you can only learn so many spells," Fixxler said, ducking down to hunt through some hidden cabinets. "Oh, so that's where I put that decanter. . . ." He placed it on the counter. "Again, relates to you having only so much magical energy. Once you learn enough that, if you cast them all in rapid succession, you'd burn out, that's it. Any new spells you try, even simple ones, will automatically fail."

"Hmph. I guess we'll have to be very careful what spells we learn," Alice said to Victor.

"And not learn too many of the same ones," Victor nodded. "How many do you think we'll get?"

"Hard to say for sure, but rough estimate – twenty to twenty-five?" Fixxler said, waggling a hand over his head. "Well, twenty to twenty-five for you – nineteen to twenty-four for Alice. Sorry, but a natural talent automatically takes up a slot. The price you pay for a spell you can use anytime without reagents."

"I can live with that. False Flesh is one of the fun ones, at least." Alice examined a bottle. "Are these real potions?"

"Some are – if they're glowing a little, they're real," Fixxler said, eyes peeping above the counter. "Otherwise it's just colored water. Good for effect, and I'm not constantly in the lab making new ones."

"How – oh!" Victor reached back behind a book and extracted a pair of small round glasses with dark lenses. "Are these them?" he asked, slipping them on.

"Let me see," Fixxler asked, standing up straight.

Victor turned to face him. "I don't – OW!"

He snapped his head away, ripping off the glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Victor?" Alice asked, dropping the bottle and hurrying to his side. "What happened?"

"It was like looking at the sun!" Victor hissed, pressing hard on his lids. "I'm still seeing a bit of a glow now."

"Sorry," Fixxler said with a sheepish look. "Should have warned you that the more power you have, the brighter your aura. There's a reason I made those out of dark glass."

"It didn't help much." Victor cautiously blinked open his eyes. "Ow. . . ."

"Try again with Alice," Fixxler encouraged. "She should be just fine to look at."

"That's what people tell me," Alice quipped, making both men blush. She held out her hand. "Here – want me to try first and confirm it's okay to look at most people?"

Victor handed over the glasses. "Just, really, don't look at him," he warned. "It is horribly bright."

Alice heeded his advice, keeping her back firmly to Fixxler as she slipped on the curious spectacles. Most of the world grew dark and smoky. . .but oh yes, out of the corner of her eye she could see a brilliant light emanating from somewhere behind her. Seems he wasn't exaggerating – turning to face our new friend probably would be exactly like looking directly at the sun.

Fortunately, she had a much softer, prettier light to focus her attention on. Victor himself seemed to be in shadow, but his aura was a vivid gold around him, edged with a layer of equally-bright blue-green. Shades of pink and orange and green and purple swirled over his body, tangling with each other before disappearing into the gold. "Oh. . . ." She held out her hand right above his chest, fingers dipping into the play of colors. "That's lovely. And this is what you see, Dr. Fixxler?"

"When I use Signature Sense," Fixxler confirmed. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Very." Alice drew her hand back and examined her own arm. No blue-green perimeter for her, but the bits of dripping rainbow still chased themselves over and through her own golden glow. She admired them for a bit –

Then frowned curiously. While most of the colors were floating about, blending with each other, there was a stripe of green about level with her elbow that was staying stock-still, resisting all invitations from red and yellow and blue to join the fun. She checked Victor's aura – no, all of his were moving. "What do the colors mean?" she asked, starting to turn her head – Fixxler's aura burned at her eyes, and she quickly yanked it back.

"Well, the main one is the 'alive or dead" signifier," Fixxler rattled off. "Gold's for living, blue-green is dead. The ones floating on top are a general sign of health. The brighter those colors and the faster they move, the better you feel. Any stationary stripes show what special talents you have – each spell has a unique color, or so they tell me. If you could look at me, you'd see I've got sort of greenish-gold stripes in my aura."

"Interesting," Alice said, looking at her legs and picking out a few more green stripes around her knees and feet. "So the green ones on me must be for False Flesh."

"Do I have any?" Victor asked hopefully.

Alice shook her head. "I don't see any, anyway."

"Nope – don't take it too hard, though," Fixxler told Victor as his shoulders slumped. "Most people don't have any talents. And most spells don't require anything too hard to obtain for reagents."

"Think of it this way," Alice said, taking off the glasses and handing them back over. "You get to choose all of your spells. I'm stuck with False Flesh whether I like it or not."

Victor smiled. "Given you're still in your Steamdress, I think you do like it." He put the glasses back on, making very sure not to look in Fixxler's direction. His eyes widened as he caught sight of her aura. "Oh wow. . . ." He too reached out a hand, running his fingers through the invisible colors. "Goodness, Alice, it's gorgeous. . . ." He looked down at himself, marveling at his unique glow. "I wish I could see these all the time."

Alice glanced at Fixxler, now again a perfectly ordinary black man. "You're sure?"

Victor took one peek his way, then grimaced and shut his eyes before pulling the glasses back off. "Good point. How could you even see our auras over your own?"

"I'm used to mine," Fixxler said. "If it makes you feel better, I nearly blinded myself the first time I looked at me too." He hopped back over the counter and accepted the glasses from Victor. "Now – I assume there's a reason for all the questions about Slip Through The Veil beyond you wondering how you could get a free ride into the afterlife but not one out of it?"

Victor glanced at Alice, awaiting her confirmation to share. "It's my family, Dr. Fixxler," Alice said, sparing him the trouble. "I – ever since I learned that the afterlife is real, the chance to see them again has been weighing pretty heavily on my mind. Dr. Wilson thinks it's the final loose end I have to tie up before I can be called anything resembling mentally healthy." She fiddled with her skirts. "Victor and I have been wondering for over a month now how you get Downstairs without dying or proposing to a corpse. And then you come along and. . . ." She huffed. "It's just a bit annoying to know there is a spell for it, but to have it be out of our reach."

"Ah. Well then – the way I see it, you have two options," Fixxler said, leaning on the railing. "The first is to wait until the end of October. You see, Slip Through The Veil has a little quirk – on Halloween night, sunset to sunrise, anybody can cast the spell. From what I've read, it's thanks to all of us thinking that spirits roam the Land of the Living in that general time period anyway. The barrier naturally thins thanks to all that belief."

"Really." Alice exchanged an intrigued look with Victor. "It would be a bit of a pain to wait, granted. . .but it would also be something to look forward to. What's option two?"

Fixxler grinned. "You let me take you."

Alice blinked. "You can – do that?"

"Elder Gutknecht did it to me and Emily," Victor told her, eyes bright. "And then to the whole village when we decided to get married properly! You'd really be willing, Dr. Fixxler?"

#forgotten vows friday #fixing you #deleted scenes #Dr. Fixxler #yeah this was a fun scene #and I liked showing off what auras actually looked like #but it did throw off the pacing #and the whole 'two options' business seemed to echo Gutknecht with the Liddells too closely #if in reverse #the whole 'sharing power to learn a spell beyond your normal capabilities' thing comes up in Chapter 8 actually #though there they're talking about Lizzie and Reaper's Speech #I actually have another scene where Fixxler was showing off and talking about some of the spells I've come up with #but that turned out to be too long as well #would have been before Alice realizes Victor can now visit Wonderland #maybe I'll share that one if I'm stuck for ideas another day #part of me wants to refine them into actual shorts too #as if this universe doesn't produce ENOUGH stories for me to worry about XD #queued

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