#Yet not wavering a second when the fate of the world started to hinge on their ability to work separately

[flo-n-flon]

Small Siuan and Moiraine in progress because I feel absolutely normal about them

[alt: close-up sketch of Siuan Sanche and Moiraine Damodred in the likeness of Sophie Okonedo and Rosamund Pike. Peaceful, they are lying together, eyes closed and forehead touching. Siuan is resting on her side, curled up against Moiraine, while Moiraine sleeps on her back. Siuan's hair is wrapped in a scarf, Moiraine's is fanning around her head.]

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Bombshell [B. Barnes] - Prologue

Pairing: British S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent!Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Agent Y/N Y/L/N hadn't known what would happen when an old friend from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Academy reached out in search of intel on an assassin much of the world believed to be a myth. She certainly hadn't expected S.H.I.E.L.D. to fall to Hydra and Captain America and the assassin to go missing.

Months later Y/N finds herself living a double life as both an agent in the private sector with her former Supervising Officer, Maria Hill, and an agent in Phil Coulson's new S.H.I.E.L.D. Not to mention, she located the mysterious Winter Soldier and was now providing him asylum unbeknownst to any of her employers.

Warnings: Violence, guns, mentions of blood, death, swearing probably

Word Count: 2.7K

a/n: This is my first time writing a self-insert fic and my first time posting on Tumblr so any *constructive* criticism or advice is welcome. I’m also super not British so if any of the dialog sounds too American PLEASE let me know so I can fix it! This fic will also be published on wattpad with an OC instead of self-insert so if that’s more your speed you can check that out here!

___

It had felt like any other day at the Hub the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. Nobody would've imagined that the infamous was Hydra even still standing, let alone strong enough to infiltrate the world's foremost intelligence agency, and yet, that's what you found yourself up against that fateful evening.

You had reported to the Hub as usual, swiftly making your way to your cubicle to check for any new assignments. You may have had a desk, but your job was far from a desk job, usually involving jetting around the world on dangerous missions or organizing and executing extraction plans. However, that day had been a desk day, no missions, just paperwork; you got restless on desk days, unable to stay in your cubicle for long, so you often wandered. As a Level 7 agent, you had access to most of the Hub, something you often took advantage of. Your ability and need to wander had probably saved your life that day.

A graduate from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Academy of Operations, you were first and foremost a field agent, and a good one at that. You'd been assigned to the Hub immediately following your training; you knew exactly how everything was run and you knew when something was going on, so when you noticed the abnormal number of soldiers running through the corridors as you left the indoor tack late that afternoon you became immediately suspicious. However, you returned to her cubicle in accordance with S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol; if your presence was needed you would've been informed. Your cubicle was part of a larger room full of identical office spaces, it was always bustling with noise and movement as agents worked, but when you approached that day, it was silent.

And then you heard gunshots.

You flattened yourself against the wall, listening for anything that would let you know what was happening. You crept closer, simultaneously thanking and cursing the eerily empty corridor for making it easier to hear but providing no cover.

"Hail Hydra." You heard a chorus of voices shout and your blood ran cold.

You managed to peek into the office, though immediately wishing you hadn't. Bodies of your colleagues littered the ground and in the middle stood about ten agents, dressed in S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms with their fists raised in the two-arm Hydra salute. You pushed down the feeling that you might vomit, just as you were trained to, focusing only on your new mission: to make it out alive and save as many people as possible.

You ran to the first place you could think of: the Holobox. Hopefully, you could use the secure line to reach the Triskelion and get help. You rushed through the corridors, staying out of sight of the soldiers, forced to assume they were Hydra. When you reached the room where the Holobox was kept you slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind you and pressing your back against it, gun pointed out into the room.

"Agent Y/L/N?"

There were two others in the room with you already using the Holobox to contact what sounded like the Academy of SciTech's director, Agent Weaver. You recognized the others as well, Jemma Simmons, youngest Academy graduate to date, and Antoine Triplett, fellow Operations graduate and occasional colleague in the field.

"Agent Triplett," You acknowledged in your clipped British accent, not lowering your gun. You had been about to interrogate the two when Agent Weaver's voice cut through.

"Have your commander report the Academy is under siege." You could hear gunshots in the background. "Don't know how long Hydra's been inside S.H.I.E.L.D. but they're taking over."

Agent Simmons didn't even appear to have noticed your presence, her attention focused solely on the Holobox transmission, but Triplett's attention on you became even sharper with the announcement of the Hydra takeover.

"Hydra?" Simmons gasped. "What? Where?"

You didn't hear Agent Weaver's answer, focusing on the other agents' mannerisms. Either the two were incredible actors, which Agent Triplett should have been as a specialist, or they were just as surprised by Hydra as you. You really hoped it was the latter.

"Trust no one." Agent Weaver warned before an explosion was heard in the background and the transmission was cut.

You locked the door. Either Simmons and Triplett were Hydra and you'd have to take them out or they were S.H.I.E.L.D. and they would need the door locked for protection anyway.

"What are you doing?" Simmons asked nervously, finally acknowledging your presence.

"Either you're Hydra and I have to take you out or you're not and we need to stick together. Either way, I want that door locked to keep anyone else from getting in," you answered firmly, eyeing both agents warily.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Simmons asked the room, looking back and forth between Agent Triplett and you.

"Because I'm trustworthy." You scoffed at Triplett's answer.

Then he pulled a knife and you immediately cocked her gun, as he walked towards Simmons.

"Put the knife down Agent Triplett." You warned.

"Here," he handed the knife to Simmons, "take it. If you try to kill me with it, I'll know I can't trust you."

"I'm not handing over my gun to a potentially compromised agent." You said when Simmons and Triplett turned towards you expectantly.

"Agent Y/L/N, I'm unarmed and she's a scientist," Triplett spoke, raising his hands in the air as he turned to face you, and Simmons slid the knife into her pocket. "Neither of us is much of a threat against the British Bombshell, with or without a gun."

You rolled her eyes at the nickname but nodded, heart racing as you kept yourself pressed against the door.

"Just lower the gun."

You did as requested, going a step further and unloading the clip which you tossed to the man as a sign of trust, tucking the unloaded gun into the back of your pants.

"Neither is very good without the other." You shrugged, moving away from the door and towards the center of the room where the Holobox was set up.

"We need to contact the Triskelion."

"We need to contact our team first," Simmons spoke, booting the machine back up.

"Can't wait to tell them the good news," Triplett said bitterly.

However, there seemed to be some sort of signal preventing any transmissions.

"Something terrible has happened." Simmons fretted, though they weren't left any time to discuss it as the door busted open.

"Show me your hands!" An agent shouted as they filed into the room, surrounding you.

The three of you stood there with what felt like hours before Victoria Hand walked in. Initially, you were thankful to see your boss, thankful she had survived the attack, but then she started talking.

"The rest of your possibly very short lives hinges on this moment. Hydra has successfully infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. at the highest level. It only took seven decades, and today is our coming-out party. We have the support of the Level 9 and Level 10 agents. And those who have resisted Hydra have been crossed off...Director Fury included." You cursed, not realizing how deep the infiltration went.

"I'm here to offer you a choice." Hand continued, "Either you swear unwavering loyalty to Hydra right now for all time...or share Fury's fate."

You looked at your companions questioningly. You weren’t going down without a fight and you hoped they were on the same page.

"I won't wait long." The agents surrounding you raised their weapons.

In a split second, Triplett tossed you your clip, elbowing the agent nearest him and pressing the knife Simmons had thrown him to the agent's throat. In the same instant, you reloaded your gun, aiming it directly at Hand. Victoria Hand had been your superior and a mentor for years and finding out she had been Hydra shook you to your core.

"Cross us off and two of you go out too." Trip threatened and you were thankful for his bravery in the face of what was certainly your deaths.

"Right answer." Hand smiled, and you nearly wavered in your confusion. "The number of people I trust is now eight."

The surrounding agents lowered their weapons but you and Triplett held your positions, you following Hand with your gun as the woman began to walk around the room.

"Where are we on the roundup?" Hand asked, ignoring the threat she and her agents were still under.

"We're moving all agents below level five to east holding. I have men monitoring microphones placed in most of the rooms." Someone answered.

You looked between Simmons and Triplett, neither of them understanding what was happening.

"And our strike team?"

"Has stormed the plane, yes."

"I'm sorry, was that a test?" You interrupted what appeared to be a debriefing.

"One very few have passed," Hand answered grimly. "I'm glad to know you're still on our side Agent Y/L/N."

"I thought we were dead," Simmons said, voice shaking as she breathed a sigh of relief. "You're not Hydra- thank God."

It was the longest day of your life as yuo helped Hand's team canvas each floor of the Hub, testing loyalty and stepping over bodies. You did your best not to look, too afraid of recognizing them, but the worst was when you recognized the turncoats. As a Level 7, you had helped lead a lot of operations throughout your time at the Hub and you had plenty of higher-ranking agents that you looked up to, so you understood the gut-wrenching feeling Simmons must have felt when Phil Coulson was suspected of being Hydra, and you knew the gut-punch Triplett felt when he found out John Garrett actually was.

It was a terrible day, but at the end of it, you were all just thankful to be alive.

"Captain America has defeated the Helicarriers at the Triskelion," Hand announced.

She had essentially named you her second-in-command that day as you were one of the highest-ranking agents left, and so as the sun began to rise you were standing by her side in the nearly empty control room.

You suspected knowledge of the Helicarriers had required Level 8 clearance, but it seemed Hand didn't care and you supposed clearance level didn't matter anymore.

"But his status is unknown." Hand continued and you sucked in a breath.

You knew Natasha had been working with Captain America, you had even sent the pair intel during the previous week. If Captain Rogers was down, Nat likely was as well.

Hand and Coulson continued to debrief the evening's events and next courses of action but you had once again become antsy and began to pace as you worried about your old friend.

"Is everything alright, Agent Y/L/N?" Coulson asked, sensing your anxieties.

"I had a friend who was working with Captain Rogers, sir." You answered, not wanting to give away too much information. You knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen and that all of its files had been released into the world but Nat had come to you in confidence and you'd be damned if you betrayed it now.

"Understandable," Hand acknowledged with an empathetic look, before returning to business. "I'm leaving you and Coulson in charge of the Hub while I take Garrett to the Fridge."

"I can handle this, you should go try to contact your friend," Coulson said softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you, sir."

"The 'sir' really isn't necessary."

"Oh, well, as a higher ranking agent-"

"Coulson is fine." He reassured you. "Besides, I think it's safe to say you're Level 8 now."

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly, "I'm probably the last S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to ever be promoted."

Coulson shrugged with a bittersweet smile of his own. Phil Coulson cared deeply for S.H.I.E.L.D., he had died for it, after all, so you were thankful that he would be by your side as you did whatever you could to salvage the organization.

You shook Hand's hand as you left the control room, wishing the other agent luck on her trip to the Fridge before you began your search for a holobox. The remaining agents had begun to relocate whatever resources they could to the same floor as the control room in an effort to consolidate, so hardly anything was where you’d thought it’d be. You finally found one on the floor below, either not having been moved yet or missed in the haste.

You attempted to contact Nat first, but you couldn't get through. So you contacted the person you felt sure would have all the answers, though it may come at the cost of a lecture.

"Y/N/N?"

"Maria, thank god." You breathed out a sigh of relief as your friend's face appeared. "Bloody hell, are you alright?"

Though she was clearly alive, Maria Hill looked as though she had fought hard for her life. Her hair was falling out of its usually neat ponytail and dried blood was caked to the side of the woman's face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just haven't gotten a chance to clean up yet." Maria waved off your concern. "Are you safe?"

"Yes. The Hub is secure."

"Good. So is the Triskelion."

"I heard about Captain Rogers and the helicarriers," You revealed. You knew Hill would know about their existence as a Level 9 agent and the Director's right hand, so you weren’t concerned about divulging secrets. "Have you heard from Nat? I know she was involved."

"Natasha disclosed classified information to you?"

You smirked despite the circumstances. It had been years since Maria Hill had been your Supervising Officer but she had never stopped acting as though she was.

"Well she was in a pinch and I do outrank her; she thought I might have access to information she didn't. Plus, I don't work directly for her boss." You rationalized.

"She's appearing before a senate subcommittee right now," Maria answered, choosing to ignore the fact that you and Natasha had broken protocol.

"Still no word on Captain Rogers?" Hill shook her head. "What about the assassin?'

"Christ, how much did Nat tell you?"

"She came to me for intel on him."

"He seems to have disappeared alongside Rogers."

"Agent Y/L/N?" A voice interrupted. You turned to see Agent Simmons standing in the doorway. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

You nod before turning back to the holobox, "I have business to take care of here. I'll contact you as soon as I can."

"Stay safe, Y/N/N." You nodded before ending the transmission and giving Simmons your attention.

"The U.S. Military is coming; Coulson wants to enact Odyssey Protocol. He's requesting your presence," the scientist explained and you balked at the news. Military involvement could mean either months of subpoenas and court appearances or very big bombs, neither of which was a very good option. 

"Where is he?"

"Helping get the Bus ready for takeoff."

"Lead the way."

[gray-autumn-sky]

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, Chapter 4 (Bang!)

Looking over at Robin, she draws his cloak up around her shoulders and shivers as a chill runs down her spine. The burlap dress she wears might as well not even be on her. It offers her no warmth and, though she’s been out of the rain for hours now, it seems perpetually damp and cold--and without doubt, if Robin hadn’t given her his cloak that morning, she’d have frozen to death hours ago.

Sighing through another shiver, she grins a bit wistfully as she looks over at Robin, watching him sleep in an upright, sitting position that doesn’t look comfortable or conducive to sleep. Yet, there he is, dozing peacefully beside her.

Turning toward him, she looks at him--noting the scruff on his cheeks and the dimples that sink into their corners, even when his face is rested as it is now--and she can’t help but think that, in the light of day and without the hood and mask--he’s not an unattractive man. In fact, it’s quite the contrary--she finds him incredibly attractive, and she wonders how it is that she’s spent the last several years living in Salem and never once noticed him, especially given that he was around to enough notice her. She reaches out and tentatively traces a finger over his arm, and she thinks of how nice it was to let him hold her, to let him comfort her in a way that few ever had--and as she watches him sleep, she can’t help but think of how much she envies him.

It’s hard to imagine what it’s like to be able to fall asleep so easily, simply because your body was tired enough to do so--to just block away the world and to sleep even in the most uncertain and uncomfortable of circumstances. Even on the best of nights, it’s a struggle for her to stop her thoughts from spinning around in her head--and this wasn’t even night.

It was the middle of the day and through the cracks in the cellar door, she could see rays of light streaming in. Every now and then, she heard the rustling wind or what she could only assume was a little woodland animal climbing over the cellar door. It wasn’t time to sleep and her body knew that. She was bored, but restless, and though she more than understood the necessity of staying still and quiet in the cellar, it was a challenge and went against every natural instinct she had.

Aside from the wind and creatures of the forest, they’d barely heard a sound--and that quiet had lulled Robin into a seemingly easy and peaceful sleep. The search party had come and gone, then come again; and each time they passed by the cellar as if it wasn’t there, as if they couldn’t see it. On their first time by, she could hear their voices--muffled and low--and though she couldn’t quite make out the words they spoke, she could hear the anger and the hate and the fear that they felt. She’d held her breath and Robin held his--and for the first time, he looked worried--but then, just as abruptly as they came, they left. Then, the second time they came by, they’d lingered longer, their voices seemingly perplexed. One suggested she’d escaped to a neighboring village or was being harbored by a neighboring tribe--and that’s when they’d noticed the cellar as one asked what’s there? and footsteps neared.

Her heart beat a mile a minute and tears filled her eyes, and she found herself reaching for Robin’s hand--and to her great relief, he pulled her close and readied an arrow.

But he hadn’t needed the arrow.

The men of the search party scoffed and said it looked like a small animal’s den and though Regina Mills was small in stature, she could never hide in a pile of brush and leaves--and before she even processed their words, and came to understand that someone had covered up the cellar doors, the men left to look once more down by the river.

She’d held her breath longer than she should have--longer than necessarily--and when she finally breathed out in relief, her head was dizzy and she felt a bit faint. She must of wavered because Robin’s arms tightened around her as he dropped the arrow down beside them.

It seemed silly to be so upset now. She hadn’t cried when she was arrested or through the tests, and she hadn’t cried as she listened to the testimony against her. She’d cried a little when she was pushed into her cell, but for the most part, she was numb and resigned to her fate--and now, she was living on borrowed time. Already, she’d lived longer than anticipated; by the point in the day, she should have been dead for hours--yet here she was.

Here she was, crying.

Wordlessly, Robin hugs her closer, and now that her tears have started, she can’t seem to stop them.

He rubs her back and rocks her gently, but he doesn't tell her that everything will be alright. The confidence and bravado from the night before seems gone, and she wonders if he regrets his decision to break her out and run away with her--after all, until the previous night, she’d been an absolute stranger to him, and now, his life hinged on hers.

“I…”

“Shh,” he cuts in, barely audible as he shakes his head. “Not til we know they’ve gone.”

“But--”

“Shhh---”

She tries to protest, but her words fall short and she knows that he’s right. They’re hiding in plain sight, and if she can just stay quiet, it should all blow over--and by nightfall, they’ll be on their way again. She tells herself that again, and again, that staying quiet is merely a precautionary measure, that it’ll be dusk soon and then dark and--

Then, he presses a kiss to her forehead, and for a brief moment, the voice in her head silences.

She looks up at him with wide eyes, and he grins a bit sheepishly, his cheeks flush beneath his beard. For a moment they both just sit there, staring at one another as if considering what to do or say--and then, as the little voice in her head comes back and reminds her of the danger they’re both in and how ill advised it’d be to talk, she pushes herself forward, pressing her lips to his.

She’s not sure if its a kiss or not--well, not at first--but then, he doesn’t pull away. His hand coasts up over her cheek, drawing her closer, and his tongue brushes against her bottom lip--and all of it makes her heart beat wildly, drowning out the nervous little voice in her head.

Robin’s tongue slips between her lips, brushing over hers, as he again pulls her closer to him, and she finds herself craving his. His are lips soft and warm, and slowly, his hands slip around her, holding her close and warming her up--and then, when he pulls back, his eyes filled with questions, she nods and pushes herself back to him, kissing him harder as he pulls her into his lap. There’s an excitement about it and also a comfort, and never in her life has she done something like this--never in her life has she given into flirtation and let a man she barely knew kiss her and touch her, and never before in her life had she trusted a man enough to let him go further than that.

He grins a little when he pulls back and tightens the cloak strings around her neck, then reaches down and lifts her skirt--and as she draws in a breath, she nods and focuses on his eyes, lifting her hips to let him gather up her thin burlap skirt. Her heart pounds as he pulls her back to him, kissing her as his arms form around her back--and then, she lets out a little giggle as he reaches up and pulls the twine from her hair. Her hair falls down around her shoulders as he breaks the kiss, watching as she shakes it out.

It’s odd that she’d forgotten the too-tight bun at the back of her head, and even odder how much more herself she feels with her hair down and loose--and she can’t remember the last time she wore it this way. She only ever took it down to wash it. Robin tucks it behind her ears, smiling as his fingers comb though it--and then, as the little voice in the back of her head starts to question what they’re doing, she decides to silence it once again and she leans back in to kiss him. This time, her hands reach between them, fumbling with the buckle on his pants--and then, as her hand slips inside of them, the voice returns, reminding her that this is something wicked and evil girls would do. For a moment, she considers pulling back and stopping it, but when she pulls back, Robin smiles at her and strokes her hair, and when their eyes meet, the voice in her head once again fades away.

Not breaking their kiss, she pulls herself up a bit, adjusting herself over him and pushing herself closer. Between them, she can feel him adjusting himself and when he tries to pull back, likely to question if this is what she really wants, she kisses him harder. Both of her hands slide up over his cheeks, holding him where he is--and when a soft chuckle escapes him, she finds herself giggling, too.

She eases herself down onto him slowly, her breath catching in her chest as he fills her--and for a moment, she just lets him hold her, enjoying the closeness and warmth. Then, her hips begin to move, rocking back and forth, and allowing herself a physical pleasure she’d never quite enjoyed before--and finally, she succeeds in blocking away the world.

When it’s done, he holds her, cuddling her close and wrapping her up in his cloak as her body and mind finally give way to her exhaustion.f

[themockingcrows]

TWO FATES, TWO KINGDOMS CH. 14: Preparedness

This chapter is SFW ao3 mirror: [X]

So many things need done when planning an escape, and yet so much hinges on timing and preparation and keeping the rest of the world in the dark that it's easy to lose sight of the real goals. Or even to doubt that the goals exist at all. With the clock counting down already and the window for fleeing into the ice of Winter slowly beginning to close ahead of them, the stress is on to ensure their very survival.

    A week was not long enough to plan for an entire world changing. It was not long enough, and yet it was far, far too long to hide such an obvious secret when three people were at play gathering  information and necessities in the shadows. The week was barely begun, and yet John already found himself questioning if the enthusiasm would be a detriment or an advantage as they sought out the talents of the seamstress once more.  

   “Dave, stop wiggling,” Kanaya urged. “If you're having trouble balancing just let me grab a stool. Don't push yourself.”

    When the prince turned up at her doorstep, Dersite literally in hand, Kanaya had been excited. It meant he was well enough to get around and was beginning to heal, and that they could spend some time together at last with the safe knowledge that aside from her work space being warm and comfortable and secure with her guarding it shears in hand, that John was there on hand as an extra deterrent against any trouble that lay between her door and his own chambers.

    Now, though? Now after learning that even while healing another countdown was hanging over her moirail's head, threatening him in a way she was powerless to shield him from? Oh, it was a matter of honor now.

    “Standing still is not pushing myself,” scoffed Dave as he continued to wiggle and waver, working to keep his balance. He didn't want the damned stool, they were surely almost done anyway, why ask for anything special and make a fuss? His balance may be shot, but if he was careful he'd manage just fine. Just... needed to focus elsewhere in the room and make himself adjust that way, fake it till he made it or till Kanaya hurried up and finished.

    “It is right now, and I'm getting the stool, you're making my measurements skew,” she huffed as she dropped the measure around her neck in a gentle loop and set aside the parchment she'd been making notes on. “Believe me, you want to be able to have this be just the right size. Too tight and you can't layer properly, too loose and cold air will sneak in all around.”

    “How do you know so much about winter clothing in Prospit of all places?” Dave asked, reaching a hand out as Kanaya came near with the wooden stool and tapping at the seat as it flattened out, needing to aim himself before sitting. John shuffled where he sat nearby, fighting the instinct to stand up and help Dave with these simple things. He did enough as it was.

    Kanaya smirked and ruffled Dave's hair up before she lifted the measure and leaned over him to get the number he needed while he was finally blessedly still on command. “You act as if Derse is the only place with a harsh winter. Have you so much as looked outside?”

    “Yes, it's frigid and delightful.”

    “Dave.”

    “...Okay, okay, I know it wouldn't be comfortable long term and exposed, and it'll be worse the further into home we go. I still wonder how you know so much about clothes for traveling in cold weather.”

    “Military guidance,” Kanaya said. “Custom making things for the princess Jade as well, as per her very specific requests following her safe return home. I helped to adjust designs for the soldiers who would be out in the terrible weather and along the front lines, as well as the general wintery outfits John's family requests and requires. The only difference with these is that one will be a good deal smaller, I'm going to have to keep them and the construction secret, and I'll be making bedding to match for three. Not to mention how quickly this has to happen!”

    “I'm so sorry,” Dave started, only to be shooshed.

    “If you apologize again I'll stick you with a pin. This is important, it's not as if you're asking for party gowns then changing your mind the second they're made and asking for a few full suits instead. You can make it up to me by getting safely home again and keeping the princes safe.” Kanaya grinned over Dave's head at John, eyes narrowing in amusement at the pout he gave. She hugged him around the shoulders and stroked at his hair slowly a few times, soothing herself and him at the same time with a sigh. To think she wouldn't get to do this anymore soon...

    Losing a moirail wasn't the end of the world, especially if it was such a necessity, but it didn't make it hurt any less or make her feel any less preemptively alone. Karkat would still be around, and he would understand. ...But it wouldn't be quite the same.

    “I'd write, but I don't suspect that would work out or even be wise,” Dave said after a time, realizing he wasn't just getting a few paps but a full petting instead. Kanaya seemed to rouse herself and halted the affection, going back to work. There wasn't much time, and she could talk and relax while she kept her hands busy instead of making it harder on herself later. “Is there anything I can do to reach you once I'm home safe?”

    “If you do the workaround with Skaia, it might be possible. You'd do best to use a false name, though, and have it re-sent from within Skaia. Would rouse less suspicion than something coming directly from Derse, even if it makes it take longer.”

    Humming, Dave lifted his arms when prompted, holding them at different angles as requested while Kanaya made her notes and added memos and reminders to herself for how to align the fit she was wanting and what material seams on the insides would need to do to avoid discomfort but still be warm enough. “A false name. I've not had a pen name before.”

    “Well, you're hardly writing books, just try not to pick something that sounds purely Dersian and you should be fine. Pick something Skaian, or Prospitian, or Alternian, o-”

    “Akwete Purrmusk.”

    “...Pardon?”

    “You sai-”

    “A believable name Dave, be serious! Do you wish to correspond with me or not!”

    “I don't know names from other places save for historical figures, pardon me for living beneath a mountain my entire life!” he scoffed as he turned his head. John giggled helplessly from the side as he opened his hands and spread his arms wide in a shrug.

    “I mean. He has a point, Kanaya. Perhaps Akwete is just outlandish enough to work.”

    “As an obvious fake, yes. John, help him think of a not terrible pen name.”

    “My pen name is divine and even if the envelope doesn't wind up bearing it, you will know that from the bottom of my soul Akwete Purrmusk will be the one writing you those letters. You'll know it, I'll know it, John knows it, there is no escape. Akwete will flourish.”

    “Ugh. Why not stick with a historical figure, then. At least those crop up occasionally as names even now, everyone scrambling to find something with significant meaning for their infants when they survive birth.”

    “..Kanaya have I ever told you you have an unspeakably sunny disposition about these things?” Dave smirked. The grin morphed to a sudden laugh as the seamstress fed her measure around his neck and zipped it taut threateningly, only to kiss the apple of his cheek.

    “You're an outspoken pest. I'll pick the name, then. ...Hmm.”

    “Will you need one as well?” John asked. “For all this secret correspondence and all. Shall I wear a fake mustache while tending the post? Should the scroll wear a mustache,” he asked seriously, withstanding the withering look aimed his direction. “Kanaya, that look does nothing. You know my sisters. You know my sisters habits. You know my habits. The frigid gaze of the unimpressed is rich ambrosia to someone such as me, it simply means I have to try more and louder, it's an addiction and you're feeding it.”

    “Maybe the two of you taking your leave is a good idea after all, a vacation seems necessary all at once. ..There. Dave that should be good, lower your arms and take a breather. I'm not entirely certain what to do about boots though, other than to snag a pair a bit too large from the supply for the guards and stuff them with the same material as the coats will be lined with. They'd be a bit clunky,” she worried, “but you'd be able to move and not lose any toes to frostbite.”

    “I'm going to be suffering either way, from the sound of it. Either frigid or clunky.”

    “...Suffering,” Kanaya said, brows lifting.

    “Yes, suffering. Discomfort. This is a word I know in both languages, I'm learning to write it even. What of it.”

    “Suffering,” she said again, tapping the side of her fist downward onto her splayed palm as if deciding something with a sense of finality. “Oh, that's it!”

    John stood up finally and came to Dave's side now that he was done, wanting to close the gap and settle him in his arms once more, clingy and unashamed to show it. “Should I be concerned that you seem so enthralled at the word 'suffering', or...?”

    “Oh! Oh, no, no. Just. That might be it. The name to use,” she explained excitedly, setting aside her measure and scrap of notes as she went to get a piece of parchment instead, ripping off a chunk before setting the rest flat on the ground in front of Dave's chair. “Stand up, while I have you here and you can brace him. I'm no cobbler, if I can't adjust the boots proper I'll figure something out to at least keep you warm. How hard can it be, I'm a damned professional.”

    “The name, Kanaya,” Dave asked as he leaned on John's arm like a brace. “Mind telling me the name, while you're being a damned professional?”

    “OH! Yes, right. Of course. Dolorosa.”

    “...Uhm.” John cocked his head to the side, watching Kanaya bend and trace close around Dave's feet, then further out by a few inches in a steady, fluid gesture that could only be attained with far too much practice with a dressmaker's chalk over the years. “That's... quite the name, but what does it mean? What does that have to do with suffering?”

    “It is a name from Alternia,” she explained. “A historical figure, no less, and one my line descends from supposedly. She was a figure of great love and great suffering, but it's a name that was widespread and well traveled as well. I believe it would fit the bill nicely for our correspondence. Nobody will care if Kanaya The Alternian Seamstress Of Castle Prospit gets letters from someone with an Alternian name from Skaia, I'm a nonentity as far as anyone is concerned and I'm glad to keep it that way.”

    “Think you'd ever visit, were the option to come..?” Dave asked. “Even if just to Skaia. Halfway someday?”

    Kanaya smiled uncertainly at him and sighed. Derse was said to be lovely in its own way, though it had its darkness and it's frigid chill right alongside it. Less sun that she preferred.

    “...How about this. Should you two ever try to wed in some shape or another, know I'll do my damnedest to appear for you. I want to be there when you take your vows.”

    “The official ones, or just the pledge,” John asked with a quirk of his lips as he leaned gently against Dave's back, arms folding around his abdomen and holding him close. “Because the pledge is already done, we exchanged that particular set of vows fairly recently. They don't count, I know, but stil-”

    “They do so count!” insisted Kanaya. “They count a lot! Who cares if your countries recognize it, you're just able to see what they're blind to right now. Hold on to that, never lose it. You need everything you can get right now.”

    “Considering I can't ask his brother for his hand, and I've transgressed by not seeking your approval in this endeavor as well, may I seek belated good tidings and well wishes while I sweep him off his feet and over a treacherous mountain path?” John asked.

    “I'll be keeping an eye on your, but yes, well wishes and good tidings and all of those collective happy noises,” she said as she picked up the traced outlines and sighed again, looking lost. So much up and down, so much negative and positive. It felt like she was getting whiplash, the tendrils of fate entering a tug of war that normally she would be fearful of. Lovebirds rarely fared well in times of war. Especially high profile lovebirds, considering the record of the lost royals of the past that began this entire mess. Kanaya didn't even want to think of what would escalate for certain when it happened all over again, two lovers lost to the world.

    “Ah, that reminds me,” John said. “Jake will likely be by asking for exactly what we're asking for. But if it somehow slips his mind, what is the latest that you feel I should have him drop by for odds and ends like socks and getting warmer gloves?”

    “Yesterday,” Kanaya said with such seriousness that John didn't dare ask for clarification. “I think I know the dimensions for his bedding, though. A bit larger than yours and wider at the top, narrower at the foot with more warm materials there same as the others, and a wrap over hood piece to trap warmth. You'll look like the dead, but you should be warm.”

    Dave shook till he got John off of him and closed the small gap between himself and Kanaya now that she wasn't writing or armed, squeezing her tightly.

    “I expect nothing less out of you than the best, but can we just stop talking about the things you're making for just a few minutes? Just a few. That's fine right? Just a few minutes to sit down together before everything is busy and rushing like it's been already,” he all but begged against her shoulder.

    Who was she to say no, when it was all she was craving as well? At least once more. One more pile of fabric to recline in and pass the minutes by before the cherished time left them both behind, bittersweet.

    “Of course,” she said before looking up to John. “...May I request a bit of privacy, though? John you know I'll keep him safe, nobody is laying a nefarious hand on him in this shop unless it's over my dead body.”

    Shaking his head, John lifted his hands up to show the bare palms. “By all means, please. I don't get it, but I know it's important. I'll.. hm. I'll go get a snack or something. Bring back something for you two, don't lock the door too solidly while I'm gone?”

    “I'll have the bar down,” Kanaya said cheerfully, already crossing the t's and dotting the i's in her mind to allow for the maximum relaxation. The prince could only laugh and reach a hand out to stroke Dave's upper back, hesitant about being apart but trusting the seamstress as much as he trusted his own family.

    “As you were, then. I'll take my sweet time and try not to grow icicles in the halls before returning. Make the most of it, we have to get back to work when we leave, same as you,” John said. He gave a brief brow, courtesy and habit, before turning on his heel to leave. The satisfying clunk of wood settling into an iron bracing beyond the door nearly the second after he has closed it was enough to remove more weight from his chest. He decided to take the long way around, complete with backtracking his initial path there with his cloak pulled snug around himself like a heavy blanket of a shroud to ward off the chill enough to enjoy the view of the dreary looking remnants of their gardens and dusted shrubbery and topiary.

    It was in the hall that he met Jake, his brother bearing two books beneath his arm with a third open with his thumb propping open the pages, green eyes dancing over the letters intently enough I he dimmer light that he initially walked right past John. His footsteps were soft and alternating, no hesitating, certain of his surroundings and where everything should be. Well. Everything that didn't have a sense of will on its own to start moving that is, as his younger brother suddenly clearing his throat to catch his attention made him falter his steps and seize his own body straight, clutching his books tighter to avoid dropping them.

    “Oh!” Jake gasped. “Oh. Oh, John, you startled me so. What are y-” he started, then looked more serious. “Where's the Dersite?”

    “With the seamstress being fitted for something to guard against the season more properly, it's bad enough even he's gotten chilled. Don't want him sick, he'd spread it to me of all people,” John said, brows giving a meaningful lift.

    Jake stared for a moment, mind apparently still stuck in what he was learning as he contorted his face in puzzlement, releasing when it clicked. “Yes, of course, can't have the little rapscallion getting you ill, eh? I believe Jade was right, you should have gotten a dog. At least dogs with fur can't get their owners ill. Well, without biting them of course, but with a Dersite it's quite hard to tell if they will or not!”

    “He won't, if he knows what's good for him. I'm already making sure he mends properly,” John sighed, crossing his arms. Jake had come nearer to speak, so he leaned back against the wall beside the window, ignoring the chill that raced down his spine at the first press of colder air. He'd need to toughen up in damned short order against the winter's foul graces if they were going to be going into the thick of it to return Dave home. John's face betrayed him, though, as Jake smirked at him and gestured with his head that he didn't mind walking with him. John, however, refused. “I was about to go to the kitchens actually. Was wasting a bit of time as I didn't want to sit and watch the Dersite get measured once I was certain he was behaving. Don't want to go too far away, though. Can't let your guard down around those things, one wrong move and it's all over for Kanaya.”

    “But of course,” Jake said. He glanced around subtly as he tried to think of how to word his sentence for the most information possible without seeming out of place. “Remind me to loan you this book later, John? It's quite fascinating. Might give you some ideas on how to manage your little wild animal successfully, it details a lot of the wild beasts of Derse and the rugged terrain our soldiers have gone through during their battles and maneuvers against the opposition.”

    “Mmmm.. You'll have to come and tell me more about it later, I don't know if I've the stomach to read the entire thing. Does it have pictures?” John joked.

    “No, this one doesn't. This one however,” he said as he untucked a book from beneath his arm, “this one does! Should still be useful to you, since you look so frigid by the window there. Survival for winter storms and how they used to manage the sour weather in the past. Did you know you can pile up snow in just such a way that it will actually keep you warm? You can build a fire in it as well, if you do it right! There were even things on how to deal with caverns, and how to avoid falling into crevices in the ice, and how to deal with all the awful wounds you could get, it's so thorough!” Jake said excitedly, green eyes flashing. Research or not, this type of adventurous collection of facts was precisely what tended to get his blood pumping and for a moment John was hit with memories of childhood.

    The boy with the wild hair and scraped knees and the too loud laugh had never grown up. Not really. He'd taken his lessons and accepted the heavy fate on his shoulders, had learned to walk and talk and act as he was told to do with his shoulders back and his voice quieter and his expression always tired. None of it had actually removed that young wild boy who would hunt down rabbits in the gardens to pick them up bare handed and pet them all till they were tame, the boy who'd climb tall things just to see what was up there and how far he could see, the boy who would hoot and holler and plan out elaborate adventures that usually involved everyone getting coated in mud and leaving footprints on the tile when they tried to sneak back indoors and avoid the nanny. Jake was right there and looking so alive it made John's heart ache.

    There was his brother with the weight off of him. What a sight for sore eyes, and made John feel just a bit more secure in their escape plans. Enthusiasm led to more knowledge, and more knowledge would carry them quite far.

    “You'll have to tell me about that as well, actually, I'm not certain I'd understand all of it and you sure seem to get it already,” John snorted, trying to look a bit uninterested after flashing a grin so broad his cheeks ached. “Were there any interesting offerings at the library? I've been meaning to stop by again and pick up something fresh. This weather and the Dersite being injured have led to a lot of bored reading, I keep going right through everything I pick up.”

    “Oh, yes, there were some. I seem to have gone through a good deal of the newer offerings already, but I'll let you know my recommendations if you've not come across some of them. Perhaps Karkat won't mind my simply depositing them with you instead of returning them to him first.”

    “You'll be ruining his ordering system,” John said with a concerned look. Then, just as seriously he said, “I love it, what a good idea.”

    “You're a beast,” Jake chuckled, adjusting his grip on his books and fully closing the one he'd been reading before. “Would it be okay for me to visit you later tonight then, to speak? Or should I wait for another day? I can't imagine you're doing too much.”

    “Later would be fine,” John said. “Give a knock first if you could. Dersite panics a bit if doors open too suddenly, since his sight is still awry.”

    “Hm. Can't have that, what a fuss. I'll be sure to knock so you know it's me,” hummed Jake as he shifted his weight uncertainly. If they were meeting later, he'd need to get back to his room and hurry through some of these other books, collect the information he'd gathered already and be ready to present it. There were a few specifics he needed to sort out separately still, but input was needed from John before he could proceed. The sooner this could happen the better.

    Jake wasn't certain if the chilled ring of a ghostly noose around his neck was anxiety or a premonition of bad news to come, and he didn't exactly want to wait and see if it would tighten either way.

    With a brief brotherly hug being exchanged, the brothers parted ways so that John could head to the kitchen at his same lazy pace as before. The startled kitchen help was a welcome sight, the eyes glancing around looking for his blonde shadow coming up empty and confused before they bowed in welcome to him.

    “Sire! Is there anything you're needing this evening? Supper isn't quite prepared yet, but we can always find something for you if you hunger,” said a man with an apron stained from too many wipes of his messy hands over time. No amount of washing would make those whites pristine again, it was just a fact of life.

    The heir hummed and passed by several pots to give serious sniffs to their contents, wondering what the meal would be later before shaking his head and wandering by the bread baskets instead.

    “Could you get some meat for me, please? Thinly sliced. I'm thinking finger sandwiches to tide me over. I'd like enough for myself and the seamstress. ...Ah, and the Dersite as well, be sure there's enough for there to be leftovers for him at least, he's useless if he doesn't eat enough,” he said after a moment or two of thought.

    With some thin breads, meats, soft cheese, some berry based chutney and a container of milk to mix with whatever tea Kanaya might have on hand already, John soon swept away on his own back out to the hall with a flurry of his cloak and a newfound appreciation for being up beside a fire. After the steam heat of the kitchen, cooks and servants in short sleeves and breaking out in a fine sweat in some positions, the halls were frigid on the way to the seamstress' out of the way chambers, knocking with his foot. When nobody came to the door, John shifted the tray and knocked with the back of his hand instead, a pattern he tended to use that bordered on a song with two heavy thuds to signal its end.

    He heard shuffling inside before the door cracked open, green eyes peering out to ensure it was really John before sweeping it open wider. His smile spread when he entered the room to find Dave half bundled in soft fabric on the floor like a shaggy caterpillar, heavier fabric already being patterned elsewhere on the floor with a sturdy marking pencil, and the fire stoked up.

    “Seems you two wasted no time. Kanaya, are you intending to outfit him, or dress him with everything in your room,” asked John as he set the tray down and took up one of the dull knives to scoop up cheese and the spread for the sandwich. He didn't bite it when he was done, instead going to deliver it to the floor for Dave, the second going to Kanaya. John half expected her to be dainty with it, but apparently this was not an evening for that. She crammed half of it in her mouth, chewed two or three times so she could swallow without choking, and then stuffed the remaining half between her teeth to munch on between her far leans to mark and measure out the unmistakable pattern of a long looking coat.

    “I have a dress that would look lovely on him, but he's balking for some reason. Were you not leaving so soon I'd win him over into it, I've better taste than your sister. At least the offerings I have wouldn't clash with his complexion,” she sniffed. “He looked chilled, so I coated him. …And perhaps we did get carried away with the pile, yes, but you know how it is. Why go half way when the pile is right there singing a siren song of softness and emotional balance?”

    When John had made a third sandwich, he sat down beside the half buried Dave to eat, watching the silvery flash of scissors rise and fall as she began to fill the air with the crisp sounds of fabric come apart in clean edged chunks.

    “I take it I at least didn't interrupt your weird cuddle session, from the look of this. Kanaya are you certain you're mortal? Sometimes I wonder if some deity is working through you when you get determined enough, it already looks like a coat and it's not even together yet.”

    Kanaya lifted her shears and gestured airily at John's chest and head before going back to trimming out the pieces with quick movements, no hesitation. “If you second guess anything after sewing as long as I have been, you might as well give up your position and take up another craft entirely. I don't understand why you're so amazed at someone doing their job, though I enjoy the compliments. Maybe it's a royal thing. Pick up a craft instead of just a hobby, John, it will do you good in life. ...You might need it, as well.”

    John lifted his brow as he licked a bit of the chutney from his fingertip, trying not to drop anything on her floor lest it be tracked around the room later. “Need it? Why, the trip isn't going to take forever.”

    “...Do you really expect you'll be able to come home? To be welcomed with open arms in Derse forever?” asked the seamstress seriously, planting her hands on the ground. “What if you're just left to your own devices, unwelcome anywhere? What are your backup plans?”

    “..Uh. Well. I mean, I'm handy with a hammer and I'm pretty sure I could use that skill for coin. I bet there's lots of things I can do that someone would hire me to do. Jake as well, with that bow of his he'd be able to handle wild game and pelts and claw aplenty.”

    “Learn a trade,” Kanaya urged. “Or at least think of things to try when you get the chance. I'm serious, John, being useful as more than a powerful family who can swing a hammer will do you worlds of good. If things go badly, you are prepared. If they go well, then you have a hobby to fall back on and wildly impress the rich spoiled people around you with when you're bored.”

    Dave snickered as he licked his fingers clean and slowly began to untangle himself from the pile of clothing, then push off the ground to stand up. Two sets of eyes watched him like hawks as he walked to the empty tray to fetch the bottle of milk, knowing well where Kanaya kept her little tea stash and mugs already. He could hear the release of pent breath from behind him as he reached out slowly, carefully, and picked up the bottle without knocking it over.

    “I can hear you, you know. Try to be a little less astounded at me failing to mess up basic tasks? I'm supposed to be doing this anyway, you can't keep gasping forever.”

    “Sorry, that was foolish of me,” John said, lifting his hands up with a shrug of his wide shoulders. “I'd like less milk and sugar in mine, please.”

    “Tea with vague understanding on the concepts of sugar and milk and actual pleasant flavors. Excellent choice, my liege, excellent choice,” Dave said as he turned to the fire to begin the process, thriving in the relaxed, warm environment. He clutched the milk container tightly enough that a part of him worried he'd break it, wanting to ensure that it was only going where he wanted it to go instead of dropping it the second he'd regained some face.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Jake arrived in the evening to speak, expression tired but eyes full of promise. He carried a single book under his arm, with several scraps of parchment tucked into the pages, half full of writing. The knock was distinct enough that John called him in without opening the door himself, asking instead that Jake close and lock it behind himself upon entry after he poked his head inside. The soft tinkle of metal on metal was similar to bells as Jake watched John and Dave move slowly in dancing motions. One of John's broad hands was low on Dave's back, holding him close and steady by the press higher up below his arm, prepared to keep him upright if his legs went or he stumbled. His right hand was out to the side clasping the Dersite's pale fingers loosely, steps formal for the most part, repeating simplified motions to a tempo that was being gently hummed. The elder prince wasn't able to place the melody immediately, but he could take in the soothing nature of it all the same, half lullaby and half love song.

    Fitting for them. They made a lovely picture against the finery of the room's décor and the flickers of dancing flame from the fireplace mingling with the glow of the other light sources, John dressed in his layers and Dave dressed simply to the cool air, the silvery metal at his throat flashing like fish scale every other turn, bright as his hair.

    “Dancing so soon? Is there something to celebrate?” he asked when he'd waited long enough and felt like interrupting the magic wouldn't be some crime against nature.

    “Well,” John said, dropping the song and letting Dave take over leading the tune, humming with softer notes to avoid becoming overly tired right off the bat. “We've secured a coat for him, it will be done within a few days. Kanaya's also making proper bedding for us all, and making sure the other odds and ends we'd likely need are secured. She'd making him boots too, I believe, or customizing some to fit him like a glove. We'll be plenty warm. ...And dancing like this is as good of a way as any to help him build himself back up and get used to balancing and moving around again. Not too spirited, but not slow enough to be boring.”

    “Good, I've been looking into what we'd need for the horses too. It's a long distance, too long to carry all they'd need for certain along with our own supplies. Were it spring or summer it wouldn't be such a damned issue, but as it is,” Jake sighed, watching the pair continue to weave their slow but steady patterned footwork across the floor before he made his way to the bed to take a seat and look over some of the scraps of parchment he'd brought.”...We may need to bring a decent purse along and see if we can bribe people for places to stay.”

    “No staying at inns?” John asked. “We'll not be flying our flags or bearing anything that screams royalty with us.”

    “No, we'd just be two fellows dressed plainly and toting a half blind Dersite with us towards the border. I think we can get away with an inn after the first night, but I'd still prefer to aim for homes when we can. People may be more willing to share supplies if we've money for them to replace what we've used and turn a profit at the same time. It's also often easier to get a single family quiet than an entire building, and barns would let us stay with the horses themselves instead of being separated in case we had to run. Less being cornered.”

    Dave's legs were starting to shake and his steps were growing more unsteady, but he didn't call a halt to the movements, face stubborn and focused as he continued to make his melody and follow the steps. John didn't slow down, following his directions to a tee, though his hand tensed a bit at Dave's back in preparation for the worst. His love was a stubborn mule, to the point of self destruction, and no force would alter that no matter how much John wished it could be so sometimes.

    “That sounds like a plan. Will you be able to manage that?”

    “Yes. I may also be able to get hold of a pair that are shoed for that kind of ride already as well, make it an easier fleeing. We'd need to leave at dawn, whichever day we do, and I know a general route to follow. We'd be able to cut across woodlands for part of it, and if we keep a good clip, still wind up near people by the time we'd have to stop for the night. We'll be needing to stop and rest periodically for the horses anyway,” Jake added as he looked down his list.

    “This is a lot more complex than I'd thought it'd be,” John sighed. “If we weren't planning things ahead of time, we'd probably be losing the horses fairly quick in this snow.”

    “We'd be losing ourselves in this snow as well. I'm still trying to sort out any kind of a route once we get over to Derse, but it seems a bit less simple to find anything. ...Dave, would you know any paths through the mountains?” he asked hopefully.

    “No. I know my mountain's area and the woodland around it, and I think I still know the area I was captured. But I do not recall the specifics of how I got there anymore, or.. how I got here from there,” Dave admitted, his breathing coming heavier. “It's kind of.. of...”

    His steps slowed and grew more shaky, struggling to keep up with his own pace before they suddenly buckled, sending him downward. John was able to snag him easily enough, having been waiting, but it was still a quick action he easily could have missed or messed up. Dave's hands scrabbled at John's front as if he were going to fall to the stone, clinging painfully tight against the skin that slipped beneath the shirt's fabric.

    “Easy, easy, I've got you,” the prince mumbled, scooping Dave up once he got a better grip and depositing him beside Jake. He lay still for a moment, gray in the face and exhausted before he slowly rolled to his stomach and rested his head on his arms, shaking as he inhaled and exhaled slowly.

    “You okay there, chap?” asked Jake, watching him like a hawk. “Think you'll be able to handle the travel? If we need a sledge we can try to plan around that. It'd just take some more wo-”

    “No,” insisted Dave. “I'll be able to handle it, just stick with the current plans. There's enough up in the air and enough problems with the horses and supplies, I'm not adding to that even more than I already am!”

    Jake stared at him before glancing to John with a grimace. From Dave's tone it was obvious what the problem was, though it was not something so easily fixed with a hug and a 'there there'. His heart sank, but he nodded and went back to his list.

    “I'd recommend checking with Karkat, perhaps. He's already helped me pick the relevant sections quite clean, but if I pressure too much further I worry I'll leave a glaring line of torches from my inquiries to our escape route.”

    “As if it'll be much easier if we look into it. We're all going!”

    “Well. Yes,” Jake admitted. He fiddled with the softer edge of the parchment in his hand and bit his lip, weighing his next words carefully as precious metals. “There.. is a chance that Jane and Jade may be catching on to something being not right if I'm not careful.”

    John's brows lifted and he rushed forward, planting his hands onto Jake's shoulders. “Wait, what? Jade might know?? Jane I could deal with, perhaps, but if Jade knows-!”

    “Might be catching on! Might be!” Jake insisted, reaching a hand up to shove at John's face till he backed off. He wiggled the parchment till it crinkled, huffed, and straightened himself. “I said might because nothing is set in stone, nothing has crossed my path yet and nobody has confronted me! But Jane typically keeps up with what I read and we like to discuss chapters sometimes. The books I'd been reading lately are all fairly in line with our plans now, and I've not had the focus to juggle some form of novel at the same time to put on a face for Jane or Jade when I visit her. I fear it's only a matter of time before either of them notice. They've that spooky womanly air about them, the one that let's them know when you're fucking about needlessly so they can hit you upside the head.”

    “Can't you just make something up if it comes to that? Or admit to one or two of the books and tell her what they were about, see if they'd not be interested? Jade hears enough about Derse and has memories aplenty of her freeze, and Jane tends to like mysteries far more than things that sound like field manuals.”

    “That's the problem, John. She'll know, I've no idea how better to explain it, but she'll know! If not Jade, then Jane! There's not as much distracting her right now, all of her focus could be put towards sniffing out inconsistencies. The air I mentioned, John!”

    “Jake.”

    “Spooky womanly airs, John,” intoned Jake, face deadly serious.

    John rolled his eyes, but Dave snickered softly. “I'm all too familiar with spooky womanly airs, Jake. You'll be meeting my family once we arrive, Rose will be more than enough to keep you busy with spookiness. It's one of her many charming points.”

    “I still say you could just lie to them, Jake, we're going to be needing to lie easily moving out from here. It's a good skill to hone for our escape,” John insisted.

    “I can lie to strangers quite well, and I'm able to lie to Father too. You know that,” Jake said. “It's different, though. Jane actively seeks out things and Jade...” He sighed and shook his head. “You're right. You're right, I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can convince her about the current book I'm really reading being interesting, and then insist I'm re-reading one of my favorite jungle tales. John, you'd know it, it's the one with the charming cerulean vixen wh-”

    John grimaced at him hard enough that Jake sulked.

    “Oh, you're no fun at all. No taste at all, either, you've no idea what you're missing out on.”

    “Jake, I've absorbed so much of that book from your enthralled crooning I feel as if I've read it against my will. Let's just try to focus on business while you're here safely: is there anything else we need to cover? Tack for the horses, our own food supplies. ...Medicine? Bandages..?” John asked, realizing more and more as he spoke aloud just how much razor would be to their necks for this journey.

    There was a real chance of death to the elements, realer than he ever thought he'd be facing, and somehow it was that risk that struck terror into his heart far deeper than fear of his father's wrath. The chance of failure wouldn't just sting him, terrified and far from the warm fires or even funeral rites of home, but it would be stinging his brother and lover as well. Maybe this was a fool's errand. Maybe it wasn't too late to back out and dig his heels in, guard Dave against his father, against his entire kingdom if needs be. Running was the cowards way, or at least that's what he'd always been told growing up, reserved only for cowards and the rare times when strategy required it.

    Dave rolled to his side and tucked his legs up to give himself more room, turning so he could face everyone easier while he rested with half closed eyes. Color was back in his face, and the cold sweat that seemed to come along with the swoons had dried, the part in his hair looking a little stiff for it. He took notice of John watching him, speech lulled and expression too worried for his own good, and smiled at him till the prince mirrored him. The tension seemed to melt from his shoulders.

    No. That was enough proof that running was worth it. Dave would never be able to thrive here, not as things stood now. Escape was a requirement: he needed to go home if there was any hope of him finding lasting happiness.

    “I don't think there's much else to worry on,” Jake admitted. “When I get the tack prepared and set aside, I plan to be pilfering some rations as well. If anyone questions me I can just go on about being besotted by an adventure in some way or another and wanting to pay homage to the experience by recreating it, or some such fib.”

    “Worked when we were kids. Did you have a way to sweet talk extra bread and jerky from the kitchens by claiming the hero in the story subsisted off it so much that you wanted to do the same?”

    “Yes,” said Jake. “Though that was quite a long time ago and not the dead of Winter. I'll have to brush up on that story.”

    “Brush up on the same story to tell Jane and Jade, then, get more practice in,” John insisted. He walked around to the far side of his bed and crawled atop the mattress, coming up behind where Dave was laying prone and draping himself over his hip and waist like a heavy blanket suddenly enough that the Dersite groaned before accepting his fate as a cushion. “We're aiming for a week, right? It doesn't need to hold too long. ...If we wait longer, then perhaps...”

    “Then the risk raises, the longer we wait. We can't risk it, John. A week is as much time as we should allow, we're playing with fire!”

    “What if Kanaya can't work that fast?” Dave said. “I know she's astounding, but even with help she's only one seamstress.”

    “She has her ways, Dave. Don't worry. If it was too much she would have said so,” John insisted, patting at his upper back a few times. “She's told me no plenty of times in the past, and for far less important things.”

    “The one time I wish I knew proper sewing, and I don't know it,” he muttered sourly. Another thing he couldn't do or help with. Great. “What am I to do then? I can't remember much more about the travel aside from what to expect closer to my home, I've no money, no desire to risk going places alone here and no guarantee of how long I can be up and moving at any time. What CAN I do?”

    “Keep exercising and resting and rebuilding your strength,” Jake said seriously. He turned where he sat to pick up Dave's hands, kissing the knuckles in a move so natural, so soothing, that it didn't even really register what he'd done till he saw John's eyebrows lift in surprise. “You'll be riding with us, and not needing to worry about steering. Just be strong. ...And perhaps try your best to keep us focused and on topic,”he added with a chuckle.

    “...That's not helping,” Dave said flatly. “But fine. I see your point.”

    Releasing Dave's hands, Jake slowly pushed himself up off the mattress and dusted his clothing down, tugging his shirt and cloak into place to smooth the wrinkles he may have placed in them during his time down. “It's helping a good deal, and it's good of you to remember it. If you're wanting a more specific request then.. how about this. Karkat said you still have those translations back and forth, and that older book?”

    “Yes, it's a pain in the neck.”

    “Write out common phrases for us. Dave, you know Dersian better than anyone else in this room, and you've managed to learn Prospitian terribly well too. I know there's overlap for Skaian, but if we give it our best attempts it'd be better than being mute and deaf in an entire country during our travels.”

    “...Things like food, water, shelter?” asked Dave curiously. Okay. That was definitely useful, and with what he'd been absorbing lately he was fairly sure he could manage that. Perhaps he'd write up a list and bring it to Karkat for looking over and correcting before they left, since he was the authority on languages as far as Dave was concerned now.

    “Please and thank you would be good too,” John added. “Courtesies. ...Maybe other things more specific to our needs too. Things for the horses, medicine. Cold, heat. Blanket. Perhaps the directions as well, if they have other words than North, South, East and West. It'd be a problem to seek direction and go the entirely wrong direction because we misinterpreted what we'd been told.”

    “Are there any formalities with Skaia's commoner class?” Jake wondered aloud, suddenly glancing down at his books. “I've been looking into a lot of Derse's borders and the lands surrounding, but I've not thought to look into actually blending in that well. ...Will we be sticking out like sore thumbs?”

    “Well. Yes, obviously,” Dave said with a lifted brow. “You're going to stick out terribly if you don't change some things. Clothing only goes so far: you're tall, well fed Prospitians with well tacked horses and noticeable accents who use fairly formal speech.”

    Jake and John blinked at him, then at each other with a frown.

    “Please, write up some phrases for certain then. In Prospitian too, if you would. I'll see about being more conscious of my speech for now. You can teach us more on the road, give us some lessons.”

    “Of course,” promised Dave, feeling his spirits lift. Okay, that was way more important than just trying to handle being physically active and on his feet for longer periods of time. It'd give him something he could do when he needed to rest, too! Maybe if he did a lot of that he could convince John to let him practice swo- “Jake, that reminds me. Ensure I have a weapon too when we leave.”

    “I'm... not entirely sure you'll need one. I mean, John and I will both be armed, and you're-”

    “A prince of Derse who knows my country and who knows that not giving me a blade of my own is careless at best and an insult at worst,” he snapped, voice so full of authority that Jake found himself briefly lowering his chin the same as he did when his Father grew displeased. The elder prince laughed softly when he caught himself and nodded, smiling broad in delight. There was that spark of fire they'd need.

    “A sword it will be then,” Jake said. He gave a brief bow before looking over the items he'd brought and stacking them more tidily in his arms, not wanting to risk dropping anything or giving too much information away to those he might pass. “I wish you two a pleasant evening then. I'll try to visit in.. say three days time. Should you need me sooner, send word.”

    “I'll have a lot of things set up before then,” Dave insisted, trying to lurch upright to his feet but being held in place by John's firm grasp. “I'll try to keep him focused as well.”

    “And I'll ensure he keeps building himself back up while not working into the dirt, on top of keeping up with other needs. Three days should be fine. Last minute prep at that point, right?”

    “So long as nothing goes wrong? Yes,” laughed Jake again. “We'll need all the luck we can get for every step of this endeavor.”

    “May the sun and moon bless us hard as the stupid stars shine bright,” John sighed.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Buttons 1/1

Post This is not happening.  Tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

Her Mother has a button box. A small rectangular pine container with tiny brass hinges and a pattern of leaves etched into the surface of the lid. The pattern is worn smooth where years of handling, of opening and closing the box have rendered the grain muted, fuzzy and indistinct, a darker patina evident against the faded yellow of the cheap wood that has stood the test of time as buttons were added and stories were told.

Each button held within has its own special meaning – from the shiny brass disc that once adorned her father’s very first dress uniform to the tiny cream pearlised nub that held the neck of Melissa’s christening gown in place.  The gown also worn by the second Scully daughter and, although the lacy material is long since gone, the button remains; carefully removed from the garment with tiny dressmakers scissors to find a place in that colourful box of treasures.

She used to love to hear the stories, would clamour to get the box out on rainy days and randomly pick out a button, waiting impatiently as her  Mother closed her eyes in remembrance before she finally recounted just how it came to be and why it was deemed worthy enough to join its counterparts and be given a history.  The young Dana Scully, not yet tainted by the cruelties of the world around her, lost herself in the romance, in the mundane and in the occasionally hilarious anecdotal recounts because while the content never wavered, it seemed as though her Mother came alive just a little more as the memories sharpened with the continual telling of them and tiny details were added each time to ripen, enrich and entertain her young audience.

Now though she is  an adult, the sweetness of childhood left far behind amidst a haze of pain and betrayal and loss, and  perhaps for the first time she realises just how fragile the past can be, how it can slip through the cracks to fall away and be lost forever amidst the intricacies of daily life.  To lay undisturbed and neglected until there is a moment of clarity; a clarity triggered by a sight, a sound, a scent or a touch as a neuron fires and sparks, allowing forgotten details to connect; to bring a moment in time sharply back to the fore.

And as she holds the jet black button within her grasp, fingers curled around it so tightly she can feel the edges indenting the softness of her skin, she remembers how she had watched it fall unnoticed to the ground as he walked ahead of her back to the car, his back straight he never faltered until she did, sensing somehow that she had stopped for a moment so as to retrieve it from where it lay in stark relief against the freshly fallen snow.

Mulders  good winter coat.  

Immaculately tailored quality cashmere, almost a mirror image of her own, much needed to protect him from the frigid winter that had seemed never ending that year, she assumed the button had worked its way loose through weeks and weeks of daily wear and tear by a man who gave little thought to the care and maintenance of his clothing, preferring to simply replace rather than repair.  And she had slipped the button into the pocket of her own coat, promising herself that she would sew it back on for him just as soon as they returned home from the case that had seen them fly halfway across the country in search of yet more answers to questions she sometimes barely understood, following him, always following him because there was really nowhere else she could have ever imagined herself.

That year, as mother nature wreaked icy havoc on them, they finally found a kind of solace; completing a journey that had begun so many years before as boundaries fell away and they allowed themselves to answer a need between them that had smouldered uneasily on the back of occasional frustration as they screamed silently at each other to just grant themselves the comfort they so desperately craved.

She remembers how, when they reached the safe haven of their motel room, he slammed the door behind them and as was usual back then in the newness of their relationship, they barely stopped for breath before they fell upon each other.  Cold hands warmed by fevered skin, clothing carelessly discarded she willingly opened herself to him as he urgently pushed himself inside of her, both of them needing the release they had come to realise could be found only in such exquisite connection.

The button had been forgotten about that night and in the following weeks as the weather finally warmed up enough for coats to be once again be hung and forgotten until once again cold air chased away the sweetness of autumnal gold and winter returned.

A winter that for him though, never came.

The leaves barely turning on the trees before he was just gone in a blinding flash of light; taken from her before they had really even begun.  The cruellest twist of fate that in protecting her he had somehow sacrificed himself and although she had searched for him, rigid in her determination that she would find victory in her quest, in the darkness of long nights spent with eyes wide open willing the tears to flow so she might cleanse her soul, screaming in her mind for him to somehow hear her from wherever he was, she knew that this is how it was always destined to end.

She holds the button within the warm nest of her coat pocket like a talisman now, pressing it against the slight swell of her belly that is not yet noticeable to the small band of people who have come to pay their final respects to a man who had seemed invincible but in actuality was just made up of flesh and bone; as fragile and fallible as she always suspected he might be but never allowed herself to fully acknowledge.  The desperate fiery longing inside of her that he would find his way back to her now reduced to ashes as she watches the mahogany box that holds the shell of Fox Mulder descend slowly into the frozen ground; unable to cry for him because to cry will mean acceptance and she isn’t quite ready to do that, isn’t quite ready to mourn, isn’t quite ready to fall completely apart.

Because she has a legacy to uphold, a new life to nurture who will know his Father only through the stories told by those who might remember him in the years to come.  And if she has failed in everything else, she determines to never fail his son; that he will grow up knowing the remarkable man who gave himself to a quest that had already taken so much.  

And tonight, when she is alone once more she will remove the button from her pocket, allowing the tears to finally come, before she places it carefully in the small drawer that holds his wallet and badge, the start of a memory she will build for their son.

Tomorrow she will go out and purchase a pine box with an etched lid and brass hinges.

Tomorrow she will start to mourn.

End

[buzzdixonwriter]

The American Empire (1898 – 2017)

Power is ephemeral, abstract.  A will o’the wisp that can stand against the fiercest gale, yet vanish in the blink of an eye in broad daylight.

America’s brief run as a global superpower vanished irretrievably at 4:31 AM on June 4, 2017.  In the aftermath of a terrorists attack, Donald Trump posted yet another ill-advised Tweet, aimed at Sadiq Khan, the current mayor of London (not, as many erroneously reported, the lord mayor; that’s a different job).

The United States, which stood up to the Soviet Union, which helped win two world wars, which bounced back from military defeats in and setbacks in Vietnam and Korea, which muscled itself onto the international stage by shoving what was left of the Spanish Empire off, the United States of America, with an international policy defined by Teddy Roosevelt as “speak softly and carry a big stick,” that United States was forever toppled from its pedestal by a bombastic sac of human excrement.

There proved no need for a single honest child to speak truth to power in this fable; no, the emperor pursed his lips and loudly proclaimed, “I’m naaaaaaaaked!”

And thus ends an empire.

It really doesn’t matter any longer if Trump is taking orders from Putin or not:  The end result is the same.

Our old alliances are in tatters.  Even at the worst, most cantankerous moments of The Reagan and Bushes administrations, our allies and the rest of the world had a sense of “this, too, shall pass.”  Whatever mistakes, missteps, and diplomatic faux pas those presidents committed, the sense was always that it was a temporary glitch, that the underlying goals and policies of the United States had not wavered or diminished, that shortly the strong and reliant ally would return.

Not anymore.

With Donald Trump we are seeing the abrupt and irreversible end of America’s influence.  Our allies, like friends of a drunk who will help him into a cab and see him safely home, have finally realized they’re dealing with a hopeless lush:  They will not be answering any more phone calls to come and party, much less to bail that friend out.

Alcoholics Anonymous holds its drunks strictly accountable for the chaos and harm they strew in their wake, and America is rushing towards its own moment of clarity, when it will realize it is naked, in a gutter, covered in piss and shit and vomit, and nobody cares, everybody is laughing.

What Trump has done that marks him so different from previous presidents has been to reduce the office holder from an intellect -- no matter how substandard -- to a bundle of uncontrollable and ill-conceived impulses, appetites, and tics.

We have seen some pretty terrible human beings in the White House, but by far the worst of the lot by several degrees of magnitude is Donald Trump.

He is a man without honor, without compassion, without wisdom, without integrity, without loyalty.  Andrew Jackson would have pummeled him with his cane five minutes after meeting him, George Washington would have possessed the patience and courtesy to last an hour before dong the same.  Even Abraham Lincoln would have contemplated a body slam, Truman and Eisenhower would have decked him.

And yet this is the person that the Republican party aided, encouraged, and endorsed.  They let him play to white bigotry because their power depended on white bigots as part of their base.  The hypocrisy of the GOP is part and parcel of what Makes Trump’s destruction of American power possible.  The rest of the world looks at them, recognizes they have no core integrity, no vision of the future other than one in which wealthy white people rule and everyone else suffers, and they know this is a political party they can never take seriously again.

A this point, several of my Republican friends are sputtering:  “But that’s not me!  I’m no bigot!  I don’t hate anybody!  Some of my best friends are non-white -- I’ve even dated non-whites!”

True dat…but you were more interested in your party gaining power than in doing what was right, and when histories of this era are written, you will be lumped together with the bigots you depended on.

Lie down with pigs, get up smelling like pig shit.

And for my fundamentalist / evangelical friends who wiped their ass with the Bible and endorsed Donald Trump as “God’s choice,” you’ve betrayed Christ to kiss the rancid rectum of the prince of this world, what fate do you think awaits you and your churches?  In a generation or less somebody will figure out how to market Islam to white Americans and when they do the hemorrhaging of American Christianity going on now will become an implosion and it’s going to be your damned fault.  Live with that for the rest of your lives.

Donald Trump is the most woefully ill-prepared man to take office in the last hundred years, and in a rogues gallery that includes Warren G. Harding, Harry S Truman, Ronald Reagan, and George W.  Bush that’s sayin’ sumthin’.

In fact, I’ll take back the ill-prepared part:  Even Harding had some dim idea of how politics worked and while the others lacked refinement and in-depth knowledge, Truman proved to be a quick learner, Reagan knew how to triangulate, and GWBush, for all his sins and shortcomings, never struck anyone as malicious.

But Donald Trump is the quintessential ugly American:  Clueless, classless, provincial, bigoted, money grubbing, snobbish, vulgar, spiteful, boastful, cocksure, pig ignorant, and a religious hypocrite.

Even claims that Americans possess good qualities hinge on how effectively these flaws in the national character are hammered flat.

Trump is every American flaw rolled into one big fragile, empty, greasy orange Cheeto.  He is a constant reminder to the rest of the world why they shouldn’t pay any attention to us. 

I do not exaggerate when I say Trump’s Tweet re Sadiq Khan and the latest terrorism incident marks the moment American’s waning international influence vanished like a bad dream upon waking up.  The rest of the world looked at Johnson and Nixon and Reagan and the Bushes and could say, “Okay, so it’s not as if their flaws were well known before they took office; sure, they were scoundrels and fools but at least they tried to hide those flaws.”

The American people could convincingly claim they did not understand the full malignancy of those presidents when they voted for them, but Trump’s characteristics were not merely well known, he touted them as selling points in his campaign.

So Europe and the rest of the world looks at Trump and judges America accordingly:  These people are fools and liars and imbeciles and superstitious ignoramuses who revel in their ignorance.

Why should we ever pay attention to them again?

And they won’t.

And we’re screwed.

Because very, very soon our warships are not going to be welcomed in as many foreign ports as they once were, our military aircraft will be denied fly over privileges, our troops and bases no longer tolerated in foreign lands.

Sad but true fact about the American military:  We have never defeated a numerically superior enemy.  All our victories have been us ganging up on a smaller, more poorly equipped foe.

Even then we typically need allies to do the bulk of the heavy fighting for us:  France supplied 90% of the Revolutionary Army’s gunpowder and kept the British fleet at bay so blockade runners could keep commerce going, and by the end of the Revolutionary War had committed 300,000 military personnel to help the colonial army (80,000 troops, tops) fight 40,000 English troops.

Those 40,000 English troops, by the way, represented nearly half of the entire British army (96,000 troops total during this period), the rest busy defending various non-rebellious colonies around the world from French, Spanish, and Dutch attack.

George Washington's army started the war fighting Hessians, German mercenaries the English hired to keep an eye on the colonies.  He then moved up to third rate and finally second rate troops by the time he won the war with 80,000 colonials and 300,000 French.  He never faced the crème de la crème of the British army, for if he had he would be a dangling footnote in the history of Canada.

US involvement in World War One came late, long after the tide of battle turned and German defeat was inevitable.  As a nation, we cashed in on that war, American goods filling markets the French, British, and other European nations could no longer supply, getting more money than they normally would have earned, and dominating those markets.

Despite the Depression, we still pumped US goods into foreign markets, enabled the rise of fascism, sat out the worst days of the World War Two in Europe, and only after the Russians and the English turned the tide on the Eastern and Western fronts did we start helping them – and claiming the lion’s share of the credit.

Unlike Americans, who are comfortable with hagiography and tend to ignore unpleasant facts, the Europeans don’t merely read their history, they study it.

They know us for what we are, but for a long time they also knew us for what we aspired to be:  Something better, more hopeful than the old world that spawned us.

Well, thanks to Trump, his voters, and the GOP that fond image is forever shattered.

You can practically hear the call blocking sliding into place.  Putin severely compromised two of Europe’s mightiest allies and while one might recover because they have thousands of years of tradition that point to Brexit as a fixable mistake, Donald Trump only confirms the worst everybody thought about us.

We have thrown away our birthright, abdicated our moral / ethical / political leadership, and embraced a man so unworthy of the office that his becoming president was the subject of a silly TV cartoon years before it actually happened.

America, we are not Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone, we are not Paladin or Father Knows Best or Star Trek.

We are the God damned Simpsons.