#cannot stand or walk properly but as i have not been given any aid. well. i have to ask for help. ):

[outlying-hyppocrate]

so. guess who was right. about having appendicitis.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XV

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), grief, death, some elements may be untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Lord Barnes faces the consequences of his actions.

Note: Yesterday’s chapter was intense, right? Well, here you go.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

The solemn servants carried the board as the woman's broken figure rested atop it. None knew if she was still alive and none were brave enough to ask. They just did as they were told as the duke, Lord Barnes, walked behind, his artificial arm gone, snapped from the impact of his fall, and his expression stony but bruised. He was streaked in blood; his own, the horse's, hers, maybe all three.

His closest friend, Lord Rogers walked beside him, mostly unscathed from the undue violence of their competition. The king and his wife trailed not far after the party as the body many feared was a corpse was balanced on the wide plank.

They were directed to the duke's chambers but did not move the woman from the wood. Instead they placed it atop the bed as her shorn skirts fanned around her and her stained sleeves laid like wings over her arms. They jostled her as they let the board down but she did not groan or gripe. She likely could not, if she could do anything at all.

The duke paced and stopped now and then to stare at the woman as he awaited the physician. The king and queen sat grimly on the cushioned bench before the dwindling hearth and the other nobleman stood by the window.

"Where is the healer?" Barnes growled as he came to the foot of the bed, "they will kill her with their indifference."

"He is coming," Samuel assured, "it will not be time that kills her, likely,"

"Oh shut up," the duke snarled, "she will live. I know she will."

"Brother," the queen said softly, "she was trod into the dirt… you cannot think--"

"She must, she must," the duke babbled and gripped the bed post as his eyes clung to her lifeless form, "she cannot--"

The knock came and Lord Rogers retreated from the curtains to open the door. The physician entered with his assistant and a chest with leather straps. He approached the bed with a morbid gaze. He looked her over then blinked at the silent duke.

"I am told she was caught beneath a horse," he said.

"Yes, yes, she…" Barnes' voice drifted off as his lips stayed parted. He was senseless as he could not look away from her.

The healer sat carefully beside the board and softly touched her throat. He nodded as his fingers pressed down and he brought his other hand to feel more firmly. He gave a long sigh and carefully moved her head.

"She is breathing. Barely. Her neck isn't broke but…" he felt along her shoulders and arms, her sides, and stirred around her skirts, "other parts of her, likely inside too."

"Can't you help her?" Barnes croaked.

"I can try," he replied hopelessly, "even if by some miracle she survives, she won't be the same. Not fully."

"Do what you can," the duke bid, "and the rest of you can go."

"Bucky…" his sister stood, "you shouldn't--"

"I said go," he snapped, "go away."

He turned his back to them again and stretched his fingers. He was shaking. His mouth was dry and yet he felt bile in his throat. She was stupid, she'd done it upon her own foolishness, so why did he feel so rotten? 

🏰

She was a shell. Lord Barnes stared at the woman, cocooned in strips of linen atop his bed. It had taken so long for them to cut her out of her gown and bandage her. When he closed his eyes, he saw the damage done to her fragile body.

He didn't sleep, only fed the fire and watched her. He didn't pray, he didn't speak, he just sat there, ignoring his own pains. She could have killed him too, he reminded himself, he wished she had.

She hadn't awoken, hadn't even twitched, at times, he was certain she'd stopped breathing. But he would lean in and listen, too afraid to touch her, and he heard the deathly rasps. Then he sat again and watched and watched and watched. Nothing happened.

The physician returned with the day. She was the same as before. He checked her arm in its splint and went through his careful inspection of her. He gave the duke the same empty words. Nothing more could be done.

The days passed as such. The physician tried to feed her with assistance from his aide and they cleaned up after her humanly messes. They changed her bandages, a painstaking task, and shook their heads as they left.

Nearly a week went by and the knock at the door was heavier than that of the healer. Lord Barnes called for his guard to let in his visitor and the duke was on his feet at once. He curled his lip as the Baron entered with a tall thin man at his shoulder.

"My lord, I've not come to provoke you, though I do realise your distaste for me but I hope for the sake of this… woman you would set it aside," Lord Zemo spoke carefully. Barnes was surprised how the other man did not flinch as he came to stand close to him, his fist gripping wantingly at his side.

"Why else would you come but to pester me?" Barnes sneered.

"I have heard reports of the unfortunate woman who did collide with your horse. I have found her weighing often on my heart and despite what has transpired between us, she is innocent of all that," he glanced forlornly at the bed, "This is Werner. He is my personal physician. He has treated every type of ailment, even a similar injury suffered by a stable boy."

"I have a healer," Barnes insisted.

"I am aware but what is one more opinion on the lady's condition," Zemo argued, "you needn't bide me, only the healer. He is at your whim, not mine. Yes, Werner?"

"My lord," the taller man bowed to each nobleman in turn, "with your permission, I would review the lady's wounds."

Barnes inhaled deeply. He shook his head at Zemo and shoved him back. The other man stumbled and the physician watched in shock.

"I don't want your help," Barnes hissed, "how dare you come here. Be gone before you are in worse condition than her."

"Lord Barnes, can we not--"

"We can't," Barnes gritted his teeth, "now go. I am too tired for you."

Baron Zemo looked at him placidly and lifted a single brow. He turned to his physician and gestured him away. They turned and went back to the door. The foreign lord stopped before he passed into the corridor, "the offer stands despite all this. Just send for Werner and he will come."

Barnes stormed over and slammed the door behind the Baron. He hit it with his fist and swore loudly. He turned and leaned against the wood and dropped his head back. Why couldn't anyone just leave him alone?

🏰

The day after Zemo’s appearance, another unexpected knock sounded from the corridor. Lord Barnes barely heard it as he was half-asleep in the chair. It shook the door again and he woke with a start. He stood and stumbled over, too hoarse to call for his guard to do his job.

He opened it and reeled at the sight of the young Lord Parker. He scoffed and made to shut the door. Parker caught it and gave him a desperate look, brows drawn together and eyes sparkling.

“Please, I did come to see her but there is something I must also speak to you on,” the viscount urged, “please, hear me. For her.”

Barnes’ eyes tingled and his lashes flicked away the droplets. He shrugged and stepped back, retreating back to the chair as the boy entered. Parker closed the door gently and his lightly footsteps crept over the floorboards. The duke stared at the wall and wiped his sweaty hand on his breeches.

“So, what is it?” he asked.

The younger lord stood by the bed and stared down at the unconscious woman. He was pale, deathly so, and he spun away from her with a gasp of dismay.

“It is my fault,” he said, “she spoke to me before she ran in front of your horse. She said how I’d hurt her and she was right. And I only did it because I thought it would help her. That it could save her from you, even that it might protect my family as well.”

“She spoke to you?” Barnes asked as his hackles raised.

“Would you begrudge her that? Even now?” Parker faced him, “look at her! I claim my part in this horrid thing but you… you are just as guilty.”

“Is that why you came? To tell me I killed her?”

“Killed? She--”

“Not dead yet but she is dying. I know it. I’ve seen men die, it isn’t any different with women,” Barnes felt the tears well and wiped them away and sniffed, “and yes, I do know it is of my doing.”

Parker was silent and shifted on his feet, “I’m sorry.”

“Good bye, Lord Parker,” Barnes huffed.

The other man hesitated but slowly moved to the door. He glanced back before he left and as he did, the wind from the corridor blew out the only lit candle. Barnes sat in the flicker of the fireplace and leaned forward to hold his face. His chest tightened as the dread coiled up his spine like a snake.

He thought if he didn’t say it aloud, it couldn’t be. He thought he could save her still. He hoped…

He stood and marched to the door. He ripped it open and grabbed Lester by his cowl, “go! Zemo’s man, fetch him.”

🏰

Werner changed the woman’s bandages and stood to wrap up the used strips. It was the third day he’d been to the Duke’s room and the lady did appear more lively, even if she had yet to wake. Her breaths were deeper and there was a new tone to her complexion. The physician packed up his chest and tutted.

“I know my master is… a particular sort of man but you should have called me sooner,” Werner said, “your healer, he did not wrap her ribs well enough and he should know how to feed a patient in her condition properly.”

“Thank you,” Barnes said, “is she getting better?”

“Better than she was, certainly, but will she get any better? Well, my lord, where I am from, we do not dampen the truth with hope. This is likely as good as she will be ever again,” he held his chest under his arm as he faced the duke, “many who have faced a horse’s step have not fared so long.”

“And there is nothing you can do? Nothing else?” Barnes frowned.

“I can see to your own wounds. The ones you’ve not treated,” he offered, “you’re lucky the cut on your cheek has scabbed and not festered. You should allow me to examine the rest.”

“Suppose… suppose you are right,” Barnes relented, “the cuts and bruises are mostly healed but I have a pain,” he touched his shoulder, “I’m afraid I’ve made it worse in my anger.”

“If you would,” the physician replaced his chest on the bed, “you might remove your tunic and I will have a look.”

Barnes nodded and carefully stripped his tunic. He hadn’t replaced the arm forged in steel and wood. It was useless anyway. The healer moved around him and felt along his shoulder and told him to lift his arm. 

“It is still in place but likely sprained--”

Both men froze as the woman coughed. Barnes pulled away from the physician and raced to the bed. The taller man caught up to him and stopped him with a hand on his chest. He tapped his bare skin and held up his finger.

“Wait, don’t--” Werner moved to sit next to the woman as her body tensed and and her breath harried and stopped all at once, “there is trouble.”

He bent and listened to her chest then moved to open her mouth. He opened her lips and covered them with his own. Barnes had never seen such a practice as the man blew into her mouth and pumped her chest. He was careful but firm as he varied between puffing and pressing.

“Is there anything I can do?” Barnes asked.

Werner shook his head as his tending grew more frantic. He leaned over the girl again as he stopped and he touched her cheek daintily. He was quiet as his hand moved to her chest then his fingers crawled back up to her neck. He stiffened and sat up. He looked over at Barnes as the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

“She is dead, my lord,” he said as he drew his chest into his lap and stood, “her heart seized. The pain, it was likely too much for her.”

“Dead?” Barnes echoed airily.

“My apologies, I did all I could--”

“Dead.” Barnes affirmed, “well, then I suppose you might send for a carpenter.”

“My lord?” The physician questioned.

“For the coffin,” the duke answered bluntly as he turned away, “I thank you for trying as hard as you did. I should’ve let her go sooner.”

[a-cutebird]

i feel like as a fandom we do not spend enough time dissecting how fucked up the scene described here is.

"Young Master Wei, that night, you took the two halves of the Stygian Tiger Seal and pieced them together. After you were satisfied with the killing, you were a spent arrow as well. WangJi was injured on your rampage. He was in no better shape than you, barely supporting himself by leaning on Bichen. In spite of this, as he saw you stumble away, he immediately followed.

“Right then, not many people were still conscious. I, too, was almost unable to move, and I could only watch as WangJi, whose spiritual powers were clearly about to be drained, staggered towards you. He brought you onto Bichen as soon as he grabbed you, and you two left."

just. the mental image of lxc being so injured and so drained of spiritual energy that he can only watch helplessly as his brother continues to aid the man who did this to him - to all of them - is fucking breaking me.

lxc just spent an entire night fighting wave after wave of fierce corpses, saw them tear his sect members apart, watched as wwx's demonic cultivation reanimated those same members and forced them to turn on their own brothers and sisters, who could only watch in horror as the men and women they know and love, maybe their own wives, their own husbands, came lurching towards them.

and lxc, he wasn’t spared this; he had to face those familiar looking corpses, too.

they were his family.

but he had to swallow his grief and shout orders at everyone to focus, we will collect and properly bury the dead afterwards, but for now, you must think of them as the enemy --

hours. and hours, of this.

... and then, it ended. all the fierce corpses slumped over. that's the moment when, he assumes (probably correctly??) that wwx became "satisfied with the killing". lxc doesn't even have the energy to do a once-over of the battlefield to check how many of his sect members are left; he stays standing just long enough to make certain that he doesn't have to keep fighting, then his body gives out all at once, and he's on the blood-soaked ground, surrounded by dead bodies and injured cultivators.

but then!!!

he sees white robes pass by him! and it's wangji! and at first he thinks, oh thank god wangji is okay. and then wangji walks past him. and he goes, wait. hold on. wangji where are you --

and lxc has just enough energy to prop his body up enough to see wangji stagger towards wwx, grab him, put him on bichen, and... leave.

first of all, the fucking betrayal of lwj helping a mass murderer - a mass murderer who, i will remind you, used the bodies of the people he killed against their own family/sect members.

second of all, the betrayal of the fact that lwj has enough spiritual energy to do all that in the first place??? when lxc - and everyone else on the battlefield - is basically paralyzed, may as well be at the brink of death himself, because he spent everything he had trying to keep as many people alive in a battle where the enemy's only goal was to kill as many of them as possible?? like? wwx did not have any sort of noble goal here; he was literally just trying to kill.

look, i get that lwj is strong and he was being powered by love or whatever but you cannot tell me that lwj has more spiritual energy than lxc - so much more that he's able to, in this scene, 1. move, 2. haul wwx - an entire human adult male who weighs at least 150 lbs - onto his sword, 3. be able to use his sword (since we know that spiritual swords drain spiritual energy), 4. be able to FLY ON HIS SWORD, 5. be able to fly on his sword long enough to whisk wwx (whom he is carrying) (who, again, is a FULLY GROWN ADULT MALE) away to a location quite far away (the distance between nightless city & burial mounds is pretty substantial, i think?)

the ONLY way lwj could have done all this is if he hadn't fought as hard as lxc did and THAT knowledge. that, i think, would have hurt the most.

because again, lxc spent an entire fucking evening desperately trying to save lives

if lwj hadn't been doing that, then what the fuck was he doing??

... the fact that even after all of this, AND!!!!!! even after lwj severely injured 33 elders!!! which is, a goddamn HIGH CRIME - even after all! of! that! lxc loved lwj so much that he diligently, patiently, dutifully visited him while he was recovering from the discipline whip punishment - which, i cannot stress enough and i will never change my mind, lwj 100% deserved.

imagine how much lxc must have struggled to forgive lwj.

imagine all the sleepless nights lxc must have had after that bloody night, all the nightmares that plagued him over and over again - horrible visions of reanimated corpses of his family ripping other members of his family apart. of having to chop them into pieces because a fierce corpse won’t stop if you simply pierce its body; you have to completely disable it - decapitate it, cut off its limbs so it can no longer move.

imagine all the funerals he must have attended, doing his best to comfort the loved ones of the fallen, especially those who did not get even a single remain of their relatives because their corpses had been so torn apart during the carnage.

imagine how, even after all that, lxc loved lwj. still sought to understand why he did it all - and, even after being given such an unsatisfactory answer (”no matter what, i am willing to be responsible for everything wwx did” - that’s not a reason; that’s just... blindly following someone), still found it in himself to forgive him. because they’re brothers. because he grew up with lwj; he knows him; he knows him better than anyone else in the world knows him, better than wwx knew him in his first life, and better than wwx knows him in his second. 

in the end, lxc knows that lwj’s biggest crime was loving someone else too much, and lxc can’t find it in himself to hate his little brother for that, so he forgives him.

but he’ll never forget, that image of lwj flying away.

[stonefreeak]

I am so sorry this has taken me so long. I can’t believe i missed updating in February entirely! Work is busy, and I have moved and am trying to get everything in my apartment put together and it’s just A Lot right now. But I will work hard to not forget to update again!

Shaak Ti walks through the halls of Kamino, projecting the sort of calm she knows she's become known for over the years. In times of upheaval, anxiety, and unrest, being a source of calm and peace is helpful not just for yourself but also to the people around you. She's long since learned to keep a tight leash on her emotional responses.

It's not that she doesn't feel, to suggest such a thing would be ridiculous—she's hardly had the emotional centres of her brain damaged or removed after all—she's merely cautious with how she lets herself express it. If she becomes agitated, if she lashes out, she risks bleeding her own agitation into the Force and affecting other people and beings around her, stoking their agitation. Not to mention that she risks entering a feedback loop with the Force, where she projects her emotions into it, and it sends those emotions back to her causing a spiral into ever deepening loss of emotional control.

As a Force Sensitive being, allowing your emotions to get the better of you means you risk losing control of yourself entirely. Usually that means that people get hurt, and Shaak Ti has no interest in people coming to harm.

She locks her emotions down, catalogues them, acknowledges them, and leaves them for meditation later when she's alone and has the time to properly dissect what she's feeling and why she's feeling it.

A side effect of this is that she has an amazing poker face—none of her fellow council members will play Correllian poker with her anymore—and as she tries to investigate the supposed chips inside the troopers' brains, it more than serves her well.

The people of Kamino have very limited emotional reflection in the Force, it seems to be an inherent trait of their species. That they're also so foreign to her that she still cannot accurately gauge their emotions from their facial expressions—limited as they are—means that she's always in a precarious situation when she speaks with them on sensitive matters. Being able to tell if they're deliberately hiding something from her or if they simply don't know is more than a little bit difficult.

But if Master Kenobi is correct, then they are deliberately hiding something from them all. Something that Former Chancellor Palpatine likely knows about, was told about, but which they haven't shared with Master Kenobi despite him being the new Chancellor.

She doesn't like the sound of that, the idea that they wouldn't speak about it with any Supreme Chancellor, but rather only Palpatine. It gives her a bad feeling, and she wonders if, perhaps, the Former Chancellor is corrupt in a way they have yet to discover? She's been told by the rest of the Council that he's been found guilty of some milder charges—as far as any corruption charges are mild—but perhaps there's more to the whole thing. Perhaps there are things that the investigation couldn't find, because all evidence of it existed only in Kamino's data systems, far beyond the reach of the investigative team.

When Master Kenobi had first brought it up, she had agreed despite her own scepticism—she is not one for dismissing possible dangers off-hand, after all. With how things have developed... Well, she's starting to believe that he was on to something, even though her own research so far has not yielded much results.

Of course she realises that if the Kaminoans wish to hide these chips from them, her access codes would not give her access to anything that is related to the chips. But she had to look into it through official and open—to her—channels first. There is no good reason to treat people as untrustworthy criminals when you have not even the smallest bit of proof that they are that. She had originally planned to simply ask the Kaminoans about the chips, but once she was about to, a sudden feeling of unease swept over her, and she held her tongue.

But her general research has failed, and now she's facing a very difficult choice: either she asks the Kaminoans directly regarding the chips thus tipping them off to the fact that she knows about their existence in the first place, thus risking them looking more closely at her actions following said discussion, or she tries to conduct covert and far from legal entrance into their systems before she so much as ask them about it.

She pauses and realises that she's made an error in judgement. While it's true that the Kaminoans would keep a closer eye on her if she were to bring any of her concerns up to them... They are unlikely to believe she would trust any trooper.

Of course, if the chips exist at all, then the problem comes in the form of what the chips do. She has never sensed any sort of duplicity or danger from any of the clones she's ever trained or interacted with. They are good and loyal men, men who deserve more life than what the Republic is willing to give them due to their status as clones, so she does not fear trusting them.

The question is... Who should she ask?

There is sure to be capable and subtle troopers among those stationed here. All her men are capable of course, though not all of them are subtle.

She needs to find a trooper who can be trusted to work covertly, but also without being detected. They also need to be without pride, because if they get caught, they need to allow her to run interference in any way she can, and trust her to be doing so for their sake.

Perhaps she should lay a false trail, express worry about information leaks, and ask the Kaminoans regarding their security. Vaguely, not pressing for any details of course. However, just as with doing any clandestine breaking and entering the secure data centres of Kamino herself, she is too noticeable a figure. She cannot blend in or hide herself away, and if she asks too many questions, she risks making them suspicious.

If the Kaminoans are hiding something from the Jedi and the Chancellor—possible because the new chancellor is a Jedi—then she cannot tip them off to the fact that they are suspicious. That they are trying to investigate.

She would like to walk into this potential fire first, ahead of her men, as the Jedi do... But in this particular instance, she is quite certain that her presence at the metaphorical front would do more harm than good. She will need to send a trooper in her stead, and put her hope in their skills and strength.

She'll look into it, there are sure to be some who stand out as appropriate choices. Some who will be willing to help her with her covert mission. The clones have no love for the Kaminoans, as far as she knows, even though they seem to consider Kamino their home world. As far as she's been able to ascertain, their loyalty is with the Jedi and the Republic—even though the Republic has never given them anything, and the Jedi has never been able to give them anything except a clear command structure and the occasional meditation help and teachings about the Force.

Perhaps once this war is over, the clone troopers who still live can finally be given personhood and a place to live and stay. Perhaps when they're all finally free from this terrible war, her men can be allowed to flourish in any which way they want.

Not just on the battlefield.

For now she'll speak with the Council again. She cannot tell them openly, just in case the Kaminoans keep some sort of watch on their communication channels, set up to trigger on specific keywords. If they do, then they may already know that she is looking, so all the more important to not let them know any of what she's planning. But while she cannot speak plainly, she can speak in the kind of code that will have the Council send out a fleet to Kamino under some sort of pretence, and through that, she can send back a coded flimsi message containing any and all information she's found until then. Whichever trooper she finds for this mission will have to go with the fleet, and perhaps that will be the safest way for them all.

The Council will be able to request the trooper's aid far away from Kamino and the Kaminoans, and without any risk of them overhearing it. The Temple, at least, is safe enough that jammers alone will keep the information safe.

If she were to use any here, it would most likely make anyone looking to overhear her conversations suspicious.

The last thing they want is anyone trying to hide away the evidence.

They cannot afford any mistakes. It's too dangerous for that.

She lowers herself to her knees and places her hands gently in her lap, focusing on her breathing as she wraps the Force around her.

She will meditate on her next step before she makes any move at all. It wouldn't do to move too quickly and make a mistake.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

[mormonmonastery]

(Venting anon. TW for mentions of homophobic violence as well) I just… I haven’t been active for more than a couple weeks at a time for four years now, and I wasn’t expecting to be hit this hard. But it really hurts! The gun imagery hurts when last weekend a lesbian couple were shot and killed in Moab! For the first time in ages today I walked around in public feeling like someone was going to see the gay on me and shout me down for it. The more things like this happen, the more I want to just sever myself from the whole thing. I don’t observe any of the rules anymore, and I have no clue what I think about God, aside from feeling like His chosen left me behind. But I don’t quite have the nerve to properly get my name removed. Plus new roommates moved in for the new school year and I have no idea how they’ll be about me being gay, so I’ve been avoiding being home all day because I keep tearing up over it and AHHH 😭

I feel a deep sympathy for how you're feeling, despite not really being able to imagine just how awful it feels to be attacked like this. I'm sorry that you're stuck feeling this stress and that one man's cruel and irresponsible language still impacts you even after you've taken some steps back from the church for your own comfort, health, and safety. That's really the important response. All that follows are reactions that your message sparked in me and which you can take and leave as you see fit.

I'm hoping that, because it was an address only delivered to BYU faculty instead of something like a conference talk or a devotional, that this will end up being a relatively small ripple in the discourse pond for most average Mormons; that at most they'll hear a few rumblings about it before moving on and that we won't see it pointed to as a justification for more hate or violence. I don't know how well that hope is placed. And even if its harm is confined to BYU...that's still a large population of people placed at greater risk. Even what you tell me already about feeling less safe just existing in public is enough to damn anyone who prompted that fear while claiming to speak in the name of God.

I believe what the New Testament writer said when they wrote that God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). Because of that, I don't think anyone who use their power to create fear is speaking with any of God's spirit in them for as long as they persist in fearmongering and the perpetuation of hatreds. I believe that if there is a time when Elder Holland stands before Christ at the judgement day, he'll have to understand and accept responsibility for the exact fear his words caused you to feel and for the miscarriage of his stewardship in saying them. I don't usually like so baldly saying that God will prove someone else wrong; it's a card that's usually best left unplayed and I think it a mean thing to make God into your cudgel. But, frankly, I would not want anything to do with a God who would not outright condemn this kind of speech, who would stoop to the small and petty level that endorsing it would mean. I choose not to believe in any God like that because they have no continuity with the God I have encountered; if such a cruel God somehow turns out to exist, I would rather walk backwards into hell.

It strikes me as grievously irresponsible to reprise Neal Maxwell's whole "musket and trowel" metaphor to compare continuing to persecute LGBT+ people with a historic instance of Mormon persecution, particularly when DezNat is a thing that exists. I honestly don't know how intentional that was, but I also think that if Holland was intending to wink at DezNat he couldn't have found a quote that would be better at achieving that if he tried. I'm sick and weary of even metaphorical violence and I long for the prince of peace. I don't know anything about the couple shot in Moab, but it does indicate the preponderance of violence in our society and the persistence of violence against queer people specifically—which makes telling people to aim their metaphorical muskets at anyone a rhetorical flourish that is distasteful at best and even worse in this context.

I agree with the Latin American liberation theologians that, while God loves all of their children unconditionally, they have a "preferential option" for the poor (literally and in spirit) and the marginalized. I believe you're God's chosen at least as much, and quite arguably more than, any church leader, so long as you wish to claim God's preference or believe a God exists in that way.

It is sad to feel left behind by church leaders but, at least for me, the larger sensation is this sadness from the other direction. It's sad to realize that a man like Jeffrey Holland, who I have received inspiration and comfort from hearing in the past and who I feel like God has been able to use as a messenger for me at times—it's simply sad to see him refuse to move past an attitude and set of beliefs that I can see as so clearly unchristlike and to mistake them for a unique and essential aspect of Christ's gospel. I want to have charity for my brothers and sisters who I see as being stuck there but it's hard—I feel overwhelmingly sad and frustrated and impatient and remorseful about them and it is hard to alchemize those feelings into charity. It's sad for me to feel like, if I'm to continue to grow spiritually and ethically, I might very well have to leave behind this person whose words have at times been an aid to my own spiritual growth. I think that's why my reaction and the reaction of others has been to feel a little more hurt and a little more betrayed than whenever the general authorities who are more frequent purveyors of homophobia deliver this kind of talk—they rarely gave up that kind of talk long enough to inspire me. Of course I knew or intuited on an intellectual level that Holland wasn't significantly better or more enlightened on these issues, but it feels different to see it displayed publicly like this. And it's sad to me to see people I like and respected on the other side what seems to be an ever-widening and impassable gulf in how we understand who the God that has revealed themselves to us is and what their character is like. I cannot believe that God could bring about or observe a situation in which two people were capable of sincere, consensual, and committed love for each other and then condemn them for living in that love and promise to erase their capacity for that love in the resurrection. Apparently, Jeffery Holland can believe that and believe it quite strongly. It's sad for me to realize that about him and about so many other people in the church like him.

[heyheydidjaknow]

For anyone who is wondering why I deleted the chapters, I was very tired and forgot what tenses were, so I had to go back and change it all, and that is a pain on Tumbr. Tumblr also, apparently, either has a character or word limit, so this is our first 2 parter. I know I could just separate them into chapters, but I feel weird about making a whole chapter devoted to a date, so.

Edit: Who was gonna tell me I misspelled Casey?

Chapter 6 Pt 1

Leo sighs. “Okay, the fact that this will be the second creepiest stunt you’ve pulled this week says a lot.”

“Relax.” Donatello draws another line. “If she has a map of the foreseeable future and showed it to me, it obviously makes sense that I should answer in kind.”

“But,” Raphael points out, “this is the most desperate thing he’s done this week.”

“Zip it.” He caps his pen, holding his diagram up and walking off to his newly obtained whiteboard. “Besides, it’s not a comprehensive flow chart—attempting to list every possible conversation thread would be futile. It's simply a visual aid to remember the general actions I should take in any given situation.” Although you have been promising to “teach him a thing or two” about plot structure one on one, a part of him thinks it appropriate to make the first move. It appears to be the gallant thing to do, anyhow.

Mikey hops over the table, following one of the paths with his finger. “How come you have a shark on this one?”

“Oh,” he nods, “that’s in case she decides to go to the beach and gets attacked by a shark.”

“And why are there these Xs on this one?”

“That signifies the end of one of our lives.”

“And the hearts?”

He blushes. “I’m not answering that.”

Raph shudders. “Man, this just feels gross. I can already feel the secondhand disgust.”

“Raphael,” Donatello sighs, “love is a complex enigma that, if not thoroughly considered and tailored, will crumble before your very eyes. I cannot and will not destroy what little relationship we have by being reckless. Besides,” he scoffs, “in what other possible manner could I ask her out?”

“Hey, Y/N,” Leo offers, “let’s hang out.”

“See, that’s too pedestrian.” He gestures to the poster. “Trust in the—”

You slam through the door. Donnie, apparently panicked, flips the board over with fumbling hands. “H-hey, Y/N. Hey.” He stands up properly, clearing his throat. “Hey.”

You point at him. “How do you feel about busting a corrupt disgrace to the title of scientist?”

“Good!” He peaks at his board, trying to steal himself. “Where are we headed?”

“A neuroscientist by the name of Rockwell got mutated.” You start heading out. “Asshole in question is Victor Falco, AKA Feral Falco, AKA The Rat King if we don’t haul ass. He’s at Rockwell’s lab.”

“Awesome. Let’s go.” He runs after you, shooting a thumbs-up back at his brothers.

You are going to murder a man tonight. Probably. Hopefully not. Depends on how hard it is to wreck his shit. You have been stalking the Channel 6 news for about a week now, waiting for the jackass to show up, and now that he has? You are not about to let him become the monster you knew he could and would become.

“So,” Donnie startles you, lost in thought, “how was your first day of class?”

“It was fine. Met Casey, avoided Irma like the plague, all that jazz.” You turn a right.

“Casey?”

“Casey Jones. Hockey player, real bad at math.”

“A guy?” He seems interested in this subject for some reason.

“Yup.” You reach into your bag, wrapping your fingers around your kitchen knife, hands already shaking. If you must kill him, you will make it quick. “My age.”

“Oh.” He sighs. “That’s… nice.”

‘Can I just take him to the police? I don't have any evidence. This is breaking and entering.’

He clears his throat. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“We’re here.”

You look up at the building, sigh. “So we are.”

He moves in front of you, moving to meet you at eye-level. “Is there anything I need to know before we go in?”

You take a deep breath. “The man in the lab coat is the perp. We need to take him down, first and foremost. He may act a fool, but he’s accountable for the mutation of his partner. We either have to incapacitate, convict or, if necessary, kill him.”

He swallows. “This guy is that bad?”

“Not yet.” You start pulling the knife out properly as you push the door open with your clothed arm. “But it’s best to pull a weed out from the root.”

He follows you closely.

You look down at your phone to double-check that this is the offending room. “Here.” You back up, gesturing to the door eccentrically, heart pounding in your chest. “This is the room.”

He approaches you, brow furrowed. “Y/N,” he asks cautiously, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you look sick. Are you alright?”

You nod. “Nervous is all. Haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

He offers a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.” He gives you a thumbs up. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, alright?”

Your knuckles go white around the grip as you try to release some tension. ‘Don’t choke. That’s his job.’ “Yeah.” You return it. “Oh, are you free tomorrow night? I still have to give you that lesson.”

His face lights up. “Y-yeah! Totally!” He grins eagerly. “Should I go to your place? At what time?”

“We’ll hash out the details on the way back.” You look prominently to the lock. “Now, I take it you have some gadget or gizmo to help us open this bad boy?”

He kneels, pulling a device from the utility belt on his hip and sliding it into the card reader. “Of course.”

The door lets out a harsh buzz, the light turning green. You pull your sleeve forward onto your hand, pushing the door open.

The room smells like metal and mold and decay, a certain lethality hanging in the air when you enter. You stay close to the wall, pulling down a lever to illuminate the harsh laboratory in an even harsher light. And there, caught frozen as he pockets a vial, is Victor Falco.

His eyes flicker towards the door.

You tackle him to the ground, shifting your weight back onto his legs, and pin his arms above his head. “Donnie,” you call, stopping his struggling with a knife pressed against his neck, “would you be so kind as to find a few things for me? I can tell you where they are in the room, but I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Uh, sure.” His voice sounds strange to you. Tight. Nervous? Confused? You ignore it for now.

“What is the meaning of this,” the scientist bellows from underneath you. “I demand you give me an explanation!”

“Oh be quiet, traitor.” You press the blade against his skin. “We both know the crime you’ve committed against your partner.”

His eyes widen.

You keep your eyes locked on him at all times. “The first thing you’re looking for is a container of mutagen. When you get to the desk, you should see 2 stacks of drawers.”

You do not hear his footsteps. “Mhm.”

“The bottom left drawer has a false bottom. If you pull it up, you’ll find a canister of mutagen.”

You hear the drawer slide open, the shuffling of papers. “Got it.”

“Fantastic. Now, on the desk should be a flash drive belonging to Rockwell. Grab that.”

“How could you possibly know?” You feel his wrist tense as he clenched his fist. “I was so thorough.”

“I’m psychic,” you lie, smiling coldly. “Be happy I met you here and not in your home.”

“Anything else?”

“Whatever is in his pockets, besides car keys and a wallet. You’re getting new chemicals.”

The doctor does not seem to like that idea. He starts writhing underneath you.

“If you don’t stop moving,” you sigh, bringing the knife up and down quickly, hovering over his left eye, “you, a neuroscientist, will have the pleasure of discovering firsthand if what people say about losing your depth perception is true. See, I’ve always heard that it settles, but I’m more than happy to see it happen firsthand if you’ll indulge me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You aren’t sure.” You chuckle darkly, fingers wrapping tighter still around his wrists. “I don’t need to be a psychic to feel your shaking.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a green blob crouch down, pulling vials from his pockets.

“You’re a child.”

“And yet I’m the one holding a knife to you.” ‘Why am I so calm?’ “You’re selfish. You’re prideful. You won’t try anything because I know you to be cowardly, and you won’t say anything,” you nod, “because, if you did, you would have to admit to breaking into your missing partner’s lab, and deal with the backlash regarding me and my associate bringing that hard drive to the police and letting them connect the dots.” You smile sweetly. “Donnie, would you be so kind as to get some distance between you and Mr. Falco?” You do not look over at him, focused on the current task. “If he pulls anything, you need to be able to bring that to the police.”

“Got it.” A few seconds pass. “I’m by the door.”

You slide the carving knife in that general direction. “Goodnight, Falco.” You grab his hair, slamming his head against the ground once as you leap to your feet. You grab the knife, sprinting towards the door. “And that is our cue to leave.”

Donatello, who is having interesting feelings about the whole thing, appears to have been snapped out of some sort of trance. He nods, and the both of you exit the scene.

--

You wipe your mouth on your sleeve, shaking as you rest your chin on the edge of the dumpster. “T-thanks,” you smile shakily. “I appreciate it, really.”

“Not at all.” He let your locks fall from his hand. “I imagine it’s hard, what with having hair and all.” He helps you down from your perch on a stack of crates. “Are you feeling alright now?”

“Besides my mouth tasting like stomach acid? Never better.” You sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. “Sorry. The nerves just kinda…” you trail off, cheeks dusted pink. “Well, you get the idea.”

“It’s alright, really.” He smiles fondly. “You were really bold in there. It was really cool.”

“I don’t feel cool. I feel the opposite of cool.” You start down the alleyway. “But at least we stopped a ton of problems in its tracks.”

You hear a primal cry as a large primate lands in front of you.

You look him in the eyes, already tired of this episode. “Good evening, Dr. Rockwell.”

His eyes snap to Donatello, who was already unsheathing his bo staff. You look over your shoulder at him. “Chill out. He’s cool.”

“He’s a giant monkey!”

“Dude, he’s a well-esteemed scientist.” You turn to face him properly, holding his arms out to get some proper separation. “Put the effin stick down.”

“But—” He stops, takes a deep breath, and sheathes the staff. “Alright. I’ll trust you.” He seems almost disturbed by your apparent ease.

You turn back to face him properly, smiling. “Doctor,” you nod, “your partner will be of no concern to you from this point onward. Rest assured; his research has been halted.” Your tone is politely respectful.

The wild eyes of the primate calm. He seems to at least sense the general sentiment. He nods once, leaping up onto the nearest rooftop and disappearing into the night.

You nod in satisfaction, looking back at the stunned Donatello.

“He calmed down so easily.”

“He has a human mind, for the most part.” You shrug, continuing down the alley. “Let’s head back. Man, if you dad knew the kind of trouble I just got him out of.” You giggle at his dumbstruck expression, walking backward to keep facing him. “Well, are you just gonna stand there lookin pretty or are you going to come with?”

His face goes red. He nods once, hurrying after you.

You two walk quietly for a little over a minute. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

“Totally.” You decide to bite the bullet and pull of the manhole cover. “What’s up?”

“Why do you call him that?”

“Call who what?” You start climbing down.

“You know, not call him Master Splinter.” He pulls the cover back on, landing beside you. “You always call him my dad or Yoshi or Mr. Hamato.”

“Well,” you shrug, “he’s your dad, right?”

“I’m not saying it’s a problem,” he clarified, “or that’s it’s incorrect, but most people—myself included—refer to him as Master Splinter.”

You start walking with him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Donnie,” you sigh, “but, if I can help it, I honestly hope I never have to call him that.”

“Why?” He walks beside you, eyes tracing your figure subtlety.

“Didn’t I already say?” You nod back in the direction you guys came from. “You saw how I acted back there. This is only episode six or seven. The trauma I’d have to go through as a ninja here would kill me,”

“But you have the guts for it.” His voice is certain. “You’re strong enough, mentally, to be a ninja.”

You pause, your throat catching. You wonder if he would still think so if he had seen how you had spent your nights.

He clears his throat, blushing again. “I think you are, anyway.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck silently. You feel him seize up under you. “Thank you,” you mumble.

He slowly relaxes, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. He rests his head on top of yours gently. Slowly, he buries his hand in your hair. He is always so warm— he makes you feel oddly safe. This is only the second time you have been this physically close to him, but you don’t think for a moment that he would try anything.

You back off, clearing your throat as your cheeks catch fire. “Sorry,” you smile timidly. “I’ve just been… I’m not usually this clingy.”

He blinks out of his stupor, looking down at you. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry about it.” He grinned giddily, almost drunk. “Y-You are all good.”

You swallow. “I’ve gotta do an introduction type project for school, so I gotta get back home.” You walk back in the direction you two came. “Come to my place at about seven tomorrow. I’ll order food.”

He nods, body relaxed. “Seven. Got it.” He does.

You wave, walking back to the ladder. “Then I’ll see you then.”

He stands there, watching you leave. As soon as he hears the sliding of the manhole cover back into place, he takes a moment to celebrate the victory before starting to walk back to the lair.

‘I got a date!’

Table of Contents

Chapter 5

Chapter 6, Part 2

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Twenty-Six: My Health Bar Gets Way Below My Comfort Zone

The burning in Luz’s leg was getting worse. It had now spread up into her other leg, running down into both her thighs and leaving her unable to do anything but hold her knees and clench her eyes shut.

“What did you do to her?” Luz recognized Amity’s voice, but it sounded like she was listening to it from underwater. The blood was rushing up to her hears, and everything was ringing. “Why does her leg look like that!”

It took Luz a moment to realize Amity was talking about her. She was focusing too hard on trying not to scream.

“Your friend has been shot by a Gorgon’s blood arrow,” said one of the centaurs.

Luz’s eyes snapped open, looking up towards who had spoken. It was the one standing in the middle, and he was clearly the leader of the group. He had long black hair braided around his head and muscles rippling under a navy tunic. “The poison is likely working its way through her system as we speak.”

“You poisoned her?” Amity asked, her voice hitching a couple of octaves higher. With a roar, she started running at him, her xiphos clenched tightly in her hands as she charged.

Thank the god's Willow was paying attention, and she reached forward and wrapped her arms tight around Amity’s waist, holding her still.

“Amity, stop!” She hissed, while the daughter of Aphrodite made angry noises in her arms, struggling to free herself.

“Your friend is right,” said another centaur. He was watching Amity with a glimmer of amusement in his amber eyes, as he swung his bow over his back. His hair was short and cropped, and he wore a tunic as well, but his was a deep green instead of navy. “Gorgon’s blood is a slow death, but it gets more agonizing the longer it seeps into her system. Only we have the cure. If you attack us, she dies.”

Amity made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Luz’s heart hammered in her chest, the pain now spreading down to both her calves. She groaned in agony, spinning into a fetal position.

“If she dies I will kill every one of you,” Amity retorted, and Willow pulled Amity back a few more steps and covering her mouth with her hand. Amity grunted in protest, and Willow shook her head disbelievingly,

“Amity, get a grip!”

Luz wanted to help, to call Amity back and assure her she was going to be fine, but she was very aware of how much of a lie that would have been. Luz had never been in so much pain in her entire life. She wanted to saw off the entire lower half of her body, knowing that would have been less painful than the poison. She felt like she was on fire, burning from the inside out.

“We won’t attack you,” Gus said quickly, stepping forward with his hands in the air. He’d retracted his spear and shield, and stepped slowly in front of Willow and Amity. “My name is Augustus, the son of Athena. We’re here on behalf of the gods.”

“Likely story,” growled the first centaur. His eyes were narrowed at Gus, eyeing him up and down. “That is what he said too, and now the Mountain is being poisoned before our very eyes. Do you think us foolish? We know better than to fall for a second trick.”

For a dangerous moment, Gus faltered. “What do you mean, poisoned?”

“Don’t play coy!” The centaur spat, “ you already know that every day the Mountain grows weaker, and more rise from beyond. The son of Hecate cannot draw more from it, or it will collapse and destroy us. We refuse to let more enemies of Olympus into our land and talk their way to the hearth.”

“It is no trick,” Gus insisted, “we’ve been given a prophecy to come here and stop Belos. I can prove it.”

He turned his back and walked towards Amity, taking her shield from her arm. He then turned and crouched next to Luz, grabbing Aletheia and patting her on the shoulder.

“Hang in there,” he whispered. Luz opened her mouth in an attempt to assure him she was indeed trying really hard not to die, but nothing came out besides a low groan.

Her arm was starting to go numb. She was pretty sure the only time that happened was when you were about to have a heart attack. Maybe she would die of one and the pain would finally stop.

Gus walked forward with the weapons and the centaurs tensed, readying their bows. Except the second, who just watched Gus curiously, remaining unmoving.

“I present the weapon and shield of Peleus, the first to train on your mountain,” he said, holding them up for all the centaurs to see. “Granted to us by the goddess Aphrodite, to aid her daughter on the quest to save Olympus.”

There was a silence that filled the clearing, leaving Luz nothing to focus on besides the agony in her body. She prayed to the gods somebody would just say something.

The centaurs shuffled uneasily, their hooves clopping on the rocks and they murmured to one another. The centaur next to the leader leaned in and whispered something Luz couldn’t catch. The tail of the leader flicked in annoyance like he wanted nothing more than to just kill all four of them.

“And this… girl here is the daughter of Aphrodite?” The leader said, gesturing to Luz who was on the floor. Gus shook his head and gestured to Amity and then Willow. Willow managed a small smile, but Amity was still glaring daggers at the centaurs.

“This is Amity, the daughter of Aphrodite and Willow, daughter of Demeter.” He turned to Luz with a sympathetic grimace. “That is Luz, daughter of Hermes.”

There was another round of mumbling, and Luz swallowed hard, zoning in and out as the centaurs conversed with one another quietly. The leader of the centaurs was now looking very nervous.

The numbness had faded in her arm and now was replaced with that terrible burning sensation. If Gus hadn’t taken her sword she would have cut it off just to stop it.

She let out an uncontrollable cry of pain, and the leader of the centaurs flinched.

“Very well,” he said, all his previous hostility fading. “Tip her head back.”

Gus dropped to his knees next to Luz and put her head in his lap, turning Luz on her back. The act of moving itself was agonizing, and the second Gus opened her mouth it was like a dam opened, and she was crying out uncontrollably. Gus recoiled his hand, eyes widening fearfully.

“Luz! It’s me, I’m trying to help you!”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “It hurts…” she groaned, but managed to lift a shaky hand and stuff her fist in her mouth, biting down hard to muffle her shouting.

There was the muffled sound of hooves against the dirt, and the quiet voice of the second centaur.

“Get her to drink this.”

There was the sound of a cork bottle opening, and then Gus’s hand returned on Luz’s face as he tipped her head back, wedging it between Luz’s fist as he poured the contents into her mouth. His hand covered Luz’s, forcing her mouth closed.

“Swallow it,” he said, and despite the tight grip on her face, the words were soft and comforting.

Luz forced the drink down her throat despite the immediate urge to retch. It tasted like battery acid, but if this would get the pain to stop she would drink it a hundred times over.

For a terrifying moment, the pain got worse. Her heart started hammering even faster than it already was, and the burning in her body reached her stomach. It swirled like she drank a hundred gallons of milk, and Luz gasped, leaning over and away from Gus terrified she might puke.

But then the pain from her body began to subside. First, there was the numbness in her arms and legs, and Luz scrambled off Gus and to her knees, breathing heavily. Then, her head slowly started to clear, and she became more aware of her surroundings. The dozen centaurs, watching her anxiously. Willow, biting her lip as she held Amity tightly in her arms. Then there was the daughter of Aphrodite herself, who now looked less angry and more like she was about to burst into tears.

Finally, the numbness left her body completely, and Luz mentally counted to ten. When she finished, the pain had disappeared and she took a big deep breath and shakily got to her feet.

She ran her hands down her shorts, exhausted, but no longer in any pain.

“I… I’m alright,” Luz said, and Willow exhaled in relief, dropping Amity from her arms.

She sprinted over to Luz, catching her in a bone-crushing hug. Luz winced, wrapping her arms around her back.

“This is a little tight,” she mumbled and the girl quickly pulled away, her face beet red.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. She looked around and realized that both Willow and Gus were staring at her, so she crossed her arms, feigning disinterest. “You scared me. Stop almost dying.”

“I’ll try,” Luz said with a shrug, but she was unable to keep the smile off her face. “No promises.”

The leader of the centaurs swished his tail, and Luz turned to look at him properly. He, along with the other centaurs in the group, genuinely looked apologetic. He was holding an empty vial in his hand, clearly, the one that once held whatever cured Luz.

“Had we known who you were, we would not have hit you with that arrow,” he said. “We knew that there were heroes coming to stop Belos, but ever since the Mountain has started dying, we have grown anxious and done our best to keep all intruders out.”

“It’s alright,” Luz said, and while she wasn’t very happy she had been shot by a poisoned arrow, she couldn’t really blame them. If Belos was their enemy, she understood why they were cautious. “But maybe next time we can talk before we shoot.”

The second centaur next to the leader snorted. “The demigod makes a good point.”  

“They are known to sometimes do that,” the first replied dryly, but then his face had twisted up into something unpleasant like he just took a nose full of Death Mist. “On occasion, anyway.”

The other centaurs had retracted their bows and slung them over their shoulder, stepping closer to examine Luz and her friends. Amity shuffled uneasily, eyeing them like she was waiting for one to attack, but Luz just stood still, accepting her sword back from Gus and putting the ring back on her finger.

“I am Nessos, the leader of the centaurs,” the first one said, before gesturing to the second one with the cropped hair. “This is my second in command, Pholos. I know it does not seem it, but we are very grateful for your arrival here to Mount Pelion.”

“You said the mountain was going to collapse,” Gus said slowly, stepping next to Luz. “How can an entire mountain just… fall down?”

Nessos looked over to Pholos gravely, and the two just seemed to look at each other before the second turned to look at them.

“The mountain's power comes from the strength of the demigods,” he said slowly, “a gateway between the earth and the sky, a reminder that they are between the mortal world and Olympus. As demigods rise in power, they absorb the strength of the mountain. If the mountain collapses, they will be strong enough to kill a god.”

“Belos is harnessing the power of Hestia for his own uses to control the flow of power within the mountain,” Nessos explained, “every time he uses her power for his personal gains, he gets stronger, faster, and harder to kill. If he uses Hestia’s power to collapse the mountain, he will take her strength as his.”

“He’ll become a god,” Luz concluded, her eyes widening in horror.

“And you can’t just kill a god,” Gus added, his voice unusually small.

“How long do we have?” Willow asked the centaurs, and Nessos and Pholos looked at each other again and shrugged.

“Not long,” Pholos said, frowning. Nessos nodded, his face dark and serious.

“We can already feel our connection to the mountain severing. It won’t be much longer.”

Luz and her friends all looked to one another. Luz knew that they were battered, bruised, and tired. She also knew that they were going to be hopelessly outmatched when they arrived at Belos’ cave. They had no plan, no advantage, and no real way to stop him.

But they also didn’t have much of a choice. And all four of them came to the same conclusion at the same time.

“He needs to be stopped now,” Amity said quietly, and Luz, Willow, and Gus all nodded.

“If we don’t hurry, we’ll run out of time. And then there’s nothing we can do to stop him,” Willow said in agreeance.

Luz turned to the centaurs, her palms already starting to shake in anticipation. This was it. No running, no hiding, no going back.

It was time to be the hero. Azura style.

“We need to find the fastest route up Mount Pelion,” Luz said, recalling her earlier dream. “The entrance to Hestia’s prison has two bronze statues outside in the shape of a sword and a shield. Do you know where that is?”

Pholos grinned like he’d been waiting for them to ask that. “Do we know where it is? Does Hera like her eggs over easy?”

Luz blinked, now confused. Pholos sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, the answer is yes.” He whistled with his fingers, and three other centaurs came galloping up to them, each stopping next to Willow, Gus, and Amity respectively. Pholos stood next to Luz, gesturing with his head. “Hop on, half-blood. We can get you there.”

Luz thought she knew what riding a horse was like. She’d ridden ponies at state fairs when she was a kid, so she figured hey, it can’t be that different.

She was wrong.

Centaurs are fast. Like, really fast. Luz had a feeling Pholos wasn’t even going anywhere near full speed as he weaved between trees. Luz had to wrap her arms around his neck just to hang on.

“You alright there, Luz?” Pholos asked as he followed Nessos, who was leading them around some rocky terrain.

“Fine, my stomach just hasn’t quite finished settling from the poison,” Luz said, and though it wasn’t nearly loud enough to be audible, Pholos chuckled, taking a huge leap over a boulder and hitting the ground running.

“Sorry about that. If it helps, you won’t be sick. We gave you the other vial of Gorgon’s blood as the antidote. That should stop you from feeling any illnesses, disease, or ailment for at least the next hour.” Pholos rubbed the back of his neck, and Luz realized that despite the centaurs being over centuries old, it was a very modern gesture. “Sorry about me, you know, shooting you.”

“You shot me?” Luz asked in surprise, her eyebrows raising. Pholos cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed.

“Yeah, I’m Nessos’ second. His arrow missed, so I had to shoot next.”

Luz suddenly remembered something Gus had told her back on the bus to Denver. “I thought centaurs were supposed to be able to tell when they’re being deceived. Couldn’t you tell we were trying to stop Belos when you saw us?”

Pholos paused, not saying anything for a moment. Luz wondered if she’d hurt his feelings.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you weren’t,” he said quickly, tapping his temple with a finger. “I could tell. You’re right, the centaurs on this mountain have a way of telling when somebody is lying or not telling the whole truth. We have a way of understanding the pieces to a whole before even talking to mortals.”

“So why’d you shoot at us?” Luz asked again, now frowning. “We’re not lying about our intentions.”

There was another tense silence. Luz was now wondering if the second in command was messing with her.

But then he turned his head, looking at Luz with a deep sadness in his eyes.

“You’re not lying, Luz. But somebody in your party is.”

There was a cold pulsing sensation that flushed through Luz’s stomach. Her mouth dropped open on its own, and she quickly closed it, remembering Pholos’ quick warning about flies he’d given her before they’d taken off running.

“What do you mean?” She asked quietly, her hands in his mane clenching instinctively. “None of my friends would lie to me.”

“Lies take many forms,” Pholos offered, but Luz could tell by the tone of his voice he was trying to make her feel better. “We feel them like waves from the ocean, magnetic and pulsing. The stronger the lie the greater the wave gives off. It is how we track mortals down on the mountain. We felt the wave with your party this morning, and it took us all day to track you.”

Luz sat there silently, trying to process what he was saying. “So… that’s unusual?”

“Very,” he said seriously. “It’s the longest it’s taken us to track mortals in over a hundred years.”

“So it’s not that bad of a lie then,” Luz said, but Pholos shook his head, and Luz’s spirits dampened once again.

“It is not the severity of the lie that was masked the pulse, it was the guilt.”

“What do you mean guilt?” Luz said, starting to feel herself getting frustrated that he wasn’t giving her a straight answer. “What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything!” the centaur insisted. “The demigods who try to deceive us rarely feel guilty. They see our paths as a means to an end. Your friend is masking the lie with guilt, and suppressing it to a point where she was able to hide it from us. But right before we found you… the mask faded. It was why Nessos was so insistent on killing you. The second the mask faded, it was like a siren went off. All the centaurs felt it at once.”

Luz prided herself on being optimistic. It was one of the things she was known for. She always did her best to look on the bright side. But as Pholos talked, she started to put the pieces together. Who would feel guilty about lying to Luz? What happened right before the centaurs found them?

Pholos must have felt that Luz put it all together because he was quiet as they rode through the mountain. Luz turned her head to the centaurs trailing them and saw Amity sitting on the back of one with dark hair and a silver tunic. Amity locked eyes with her and gave Luz a little smile.

Luz turned her head back, unable to keep looking. They rode in silence for a few more minutes, before Pholos cleared his throat again.

“You know, I once had a hard time seeing the truth for what it was. Before I joined the centaurs on this mountain, I was a member of the Party Ponies. It took a long time for me to realize that I was only scratching the surface of what it meant to live. There is more to life than letting yourself stay in a place of complacency and happiness forever. There is no true freedom without taking a risk.”

“What do you mean?” Luz asked, hanging onto every word.

“It’s not easy,” Pholos said, looking back to smile reassuringly at Luz. “But sometimes the only way to understand the truth is to make yourself vulnerable to it. Then you’re able to make room for growth.”

Pholos turned his focus back on running, leaving Luz alone with her thoughts for a couple of minutes. She didn’t really understand what he was saying, but she supposed the being who was able to sense the lies from the truth knew what he was talking about. She just couldn’t shake the discomfort in her belly at the idea of confrontation. Luz didn’t want the optimistic part of her to be disappointed.

Life was never easy for Luz. If she dwelled on disappointment, it would swallow her whole.

She turned her head again and caught Amity talking with the centaur she was riding. They were engrossed in conversation, and Luz couldn’t help but smile when she saw Amity tip her head back and laugh.

Luz knew that even if Amity could trust her with the truth, she could make sure she knew to trust Luz when she was ready. Even if the truth would hurt Luz more than that poisoned arrow.

Pholos skidded to a halt, and Luz had to cling to him so she wouldn’t go flying off. When she looked up, she saw that Nessos had held up his hand to the centaurs, and they all huddled in a U shape around a safe enclosure of trees. Pholos nodded to Luz, and she slid off his back and hit the ground with a soft thump. Her friends had all done the same, and the four of them were now hiding behind a thick tree just near the edge of the clearing.

Luz peaked out and saw a rocky path leading towards a crevice in the side of the mountain. It was just like in Luz’s dream. The entrance was wide, easily over eight feet and it led straight into an open room Luz’s eyes couldn’t make out. There were the two bronze statues, and now that Luz got a closer look at them, she almost gasped out loud when she realized what they were.

Amity gently pinched her arm to stop her, and when Luz turned to look at her, and she shook her head, gesturing to just next to them.

There were two figures leaning against one of the statues, talking amicably. Luz couldn’t hear them, they were still much too far away, but she recognized both of them immediately.

The hulking figure in the white tank top from her dream, and the attractive boy with curly brown hair and a pearly smile.

Achilles and Theseus.

Standing right next to the massive bronze statues of Luz’s sword and Amity’s shield.

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{July 15th, 2021T}

[The page is marked in a very unusual way:

The (bright red) symbol of a (the, rather) Dragon with arrows pointing up on either side and two lines underneath it, followed by a dash, and then the numbers “26-1021”.]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It’s Another Long Story.

As I look back on the last year or so, I feel as though I have greatly [aged/grown/matured/wearied]. So much has been stolen.

But I think, to properly tell the story, I must start from where the first one left off.

It’s A Long Story, but you know that one, don’t you? The story of my destiny.

Destiny is the mark you leave on the world…

…and Fate is the mark the world leaves on you.

You can defy destiny, but you cannot fight fate.

=-=-=-=-=

[He was very glad he was able to see again. It was still taking some getting used to, particularly since his sight was not exactly stable; the imbalance of energy that caused the blindness was still an issue, particularly under fire in the battlefield.

Still—it was a great improvement from where it was before.]

=-=-=-=-=

You know, the reason that I needed to tell that story in the first place was to explain how the death of Prox’s last Warriors of the Dark Age

=-=-=-=-=

[The memory was all too vivid in his mind.]

[He could still remember those final words.

He crossed out the line and started over.]

=-=-=-=-=

You know, the reason that I needed to tell that story in the first place was to explain how the death of Prox’s last Warriors of the Dark Age

My relationship with the Proxans has always been a bit complex, at least in my mind. Other people view it differently. I know Jenna and Sheba in particular always held a very different view on my relationship with Saturos and Menardi in particular… and I won’t offer excuses for what any of the last four of the great Warriors did… to me or anyone else.

It’s no secret that I disagreed with their methods, and we argued—outright quarreled, in some cases. 

But the whole truth is important to know. Context is necessary to explain to other people why it is that I have the outlook I do—to show them on what I base my opinions.

That’s why I needed to explain—I needed to explain why I was distressed at their deaths, even though they had come very close to killing me.

And to do that, I needed to start with when I first came to Prox—and, well, to go back that far?

It’s A Long Story.

=-=-=-=-=

[And he hoped that someday he would have the time to tell it in full, before his connection to his younger years faded from vivid memory. It was much harder now to remember his boyhood than it was ten years ago… and he knew that the memories would only grow more and more faded as his mind and heart were tethered to his adulthood rather than his childhood.

Yet another intellectual casualty of violence and anarchy…

Once the war ended and order was restored to the continent, he could turn his focus and energy to personal matters… and the completion of his memoirs among them.

The Venus Adept shook his head and returned his focus to the letter.]

=-=-=-=-=

That story is a tale of how I was forced to adapt to a role I had initially rejected—

Well, the first of such times where that sort of thing happened. Or would it be more accurate to say I was never given leave of the role, and it took me a while to accept that fact? That would probably be closer to the truth.

It’s A Long Story. Just one of several. That story began the Year of the Storm—the night I almost drowned in the river (again) and was rescued by Saturos.

I’ve read his journal entry on what happened, and I must say: it was very evident that the loss of so many of his peers had a profound impact on the man. And it was the death of the Kalt Islander that hit him the hardest, for that man was an ally who had chosen to aid them in good faith out of loyalty and solidarity; he was a respected outsider, but still an outsider… not under any obligation to risk his life for their sake, let alone lose it.

Before the storm, it was my dream to become a miner and work with Isaac in the Altin Mines. We would use our Psynergy in secret to accomplish more than a non-Adept ever could, and boldly face danger in the “outside” world, rather than keep to ourselves in the shelter of Vale.

I don’t judge those days harshly; I was only a child, and had no exposure to life outside of Vale except through Kraden, and he focused on literacy and mathematics more than anything else… at that point, anyway. The truth is that we were taught to look down upon “outsiders”; we were taught that we were superior because we had power, and that underlying attitude lent itself to Pride.

Combine that with a child’s limited understanding of the world and a boy’s dreams of independence and strength… and such a mindset was probably the best one could realistically hope for, as it was still based in a desire to protect and to serve.

After the storm—or rather, after I recovered from the storm… I was forced to accept reality, and the reality of the world was far more demanding than my imagination was ever prepared to consider.

When I first came to Prox, we didn’t know what would happen to us. We didn’t know what they wanted of us. And the only thing I knew was that it was my fault to begin with—if I hadn’t been so stubborn and overconfident in my abilities, we would have been far clear of the boulders and no one would have been at the docks when THE Boulder came crashing down.

It was a bitter weight for a child to carry—to know his actions had cost everyone around him so greatly, and may have been the death of his younger sister.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He paused for a moment, glancing up in thought.

He was getting distracted, wasn’t he?

…Well, so what if he was? He was under no obligation to censor himself on such matters.

Still—he would keep talking in circles if he didn’t keep the point he was getting at in mind.

And he had to let out a huff of amusement at the reminder—

Because that was why he needed to tell that story in the first place; it had all been building up to that moment in Mars Lighthouse.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

It’s A Long Story.

The story of how I came to be in that moment, that dark hour, at Mars Lighthouse. Why I was there, what I wanted, why I cared.

I don’t know if I’ve ever had the chance to state that outright—and it is rather important, so I suppose I best state such things plainly.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He hesitated for a moment, frowning. A bit of ink bled into the page at his extended reluctance to say the first thing that came to mind.

And even now…]

+=+=+=+=+

"Too slow!”

[Felix looked up angrily, biting back a remark. Karst looked down at him, lowering her scythe to rest against his throat.]

“Always too slow! How you ever managed to catch a Talon Runner is beyond me.”

[Felix was silent. The bruise from the day before was still darkening. He knew another slap might cause permanent injury; Proxans were far stronger than they realized, and did not understand how much damage they caused against someone who didn’t have their perpetual leather-hide armor…

…not that he felt THIS pair would have cared, even if they did truly know it.]

“Let him go, Karst.”

[The touch of death’s blade lifted, the chill of steel leaving him. The unlucky Adept tried to breathe steadily, waiting for permission to bandage his bleeding arm.]

“Now… Felix… tell us what you did wrong.”

[The boy gritted his teeth and spoke sullenly.]

“I tried to block her from hitting my face by bringing up my arm to protect me.”

“Heal yourself before you bleed all over the forest.”

[Felix didn’t need to be told twice. He felt very irritable as he got to his feet—

But Mendari grabbed his cape, jerking the Valean forward as he used Cure on his injuries, briefly startling him in the process.]

“I never said you could stand.”

[He glared back silently.]

“At least you are learning to hold your tongue, I see.”

+=+=+=+=+

[Felix grimaced ever so slightly, placing a hand to his cheek.

And ever so briefly, it brought another memory to mind—]

+=+=+=+=+

[There was a harsh noise as his captor suddenly lashed out—literally—and streaks of pain sliced across the left side of his face. He had unwittingly cringed and recoiled against the pain, so his shoulders and wrists were also left sore, and his sense of dignity damaged as blood ran down his face.]

+=+=+=+=+

[He forced himself out of such thoughts by clumsily getting out of his chair and walking over to the door to lean against it.

It took a moment for such thoughts to run their course enough to come back to the present, and he sighed.

It was considered offensive—not that that meant much in and of itself, given those who found literally everything offensive were far more prolific and prevalent than he had the patience to grovel to—to even mention the existence of such experiences. And certainly, he had a deep empathy for those who had suffered in such a way.

But he didn’t have the patience to keep silent anymore; it was a dark scar of the past, and he would not censor it for the sake of those who would demean him for exposing the damage caused by how he had been treated.

Leaving the writing aside for a moment, he made his way over to a window and contemplated the whole situation.

It had been almost a fortnight since they finally destroyed the outpost at the Gondowan Passage. They had been at open war with the Tolbi Empire since the night they bombarded the city in an attempt to rush in from the flank and overwhelm their prey.

He had since heard that there was a word for such a tactic, as described in the languages of the mountains—

And he had to say, having been on both the receiving end and the initiating end of such a “lightning war”, he was very relieved that his OWN recent military campaign had been successful.

Suffering through the sudden attack on the Western domicile of Lalivero’s capital city was a literal nightmare—his body could sense the large boulders being hurled down at them, prompting his mind to inflict him with reliving the day of The Storm. The enemy was well underway in destroying civilian residential districts by collapsing buildings and setting the streets aflame—well underway by the time he was able to pull himself together well enough to take to the skies with Arizona and go after their war machines they were using to demolish the city before sending in their ground forces.

He hadn’t quite had the experience to serve as context to explain his instinctive UNDERSTANDING at the time, but… when he had seen just how much manpower they had brought with them near Lalivero for the purposes of simply overrunning the city to take a swift victory, he understood that they would not withstand very long if the Tolbi could conduct these “lightning war” tactics via unfettered access to the region. No… they had a massive army, and had deployed a much greater force than Lalivero was prepared to handle. The region was meant to be protected by the river and the desert; bypassing the desert and neutralizing the river in order to swiftly strike at the cultural and economic capital of the only free peoples in that part of Weyard would have been a guaranteed total victory, if it had not been made impossible.

Having learned more about the wars of other worlds, he had a better understanding now of such matters. It was a risky strategy, one that relied very heavily on proper communication and firm discipline—one that was high risk-reward, especially when conducted in a setting where the transport of supplies would be a critically deadly weakness in the case of failing to shatter an enemy’s defenses. 

He was lucky that he was able to take advantage of the downsides of such a tactic, back then; they were not prepared for a counterstrike and were ill-equipped to withstand a counterattack. It was for that reason that he was not only able to quickly destroy the smaller force actually attacking the city, but also cut off the larger force that was stationed at the ready only a few hours away.

It had been an altogether horrible experience, especially considering what happened after the Tolbi got their hands on him. And it was not one he would be willing to try on enemy soil; otherwise, he would not have DESTROYED the outpost at the Gondowan Passage… but rather, seized it for his own.

No; he was willing to take advantage of taking them by surprise in order to cut off their supply chain, but he had no intention of risking any more than that. Not with the current situation.

The unlucky Adept slipped his fingers into his hair, feeling like his eyes were weary. Perhaps that was due to the strain from the blindness, but it almost just felt like he had seen too much in his time, and his own eyes felt exhausted at recalling such visions of terror.

Because he could remember—]

[He could remember the screams, the fire, and the overwhelming sense of all-consuming evil.

He could vividly recall the helpless terror of those around him.

He could remember.

He would never forget. Never.

Two decades from now, and he would still remember that terrible autumn day—

The day they were dragged into war against an enemy that hated them just for existing, and would stop at nothing to terrorize them into submitting to a ruthless, intolerant, brutal, murderous regime of hateful Pride.

He would never forget.

And he would make sure no one else forgot it, either.]

[It took some while for the weight of it to fade, and then he just felt contemplative.

It wasn’t until after eating some dinner and washing up that he returned to his desk; at that point, he just stared up at the ceiling for a while.]

It’s Another Long Story…

[…But right now, there was only one thing on his mind.]

+=+=+=+

"{Keep your spirits up, lad. Too much for you to do to be dwelling in darkness.}"

+=+=+=+

[…Almost five months to the day—not that he learned about it until weeks later—

And he still…]

({…I just want to hear your voice again. Just… just one more time. Just one more time…})

[shijiujun]

[ENG] History3: Trapped Novel - Epilogue One: “And After, Tang Yi & Shao Fei”

~3,700 words

Translation Masterpost can be found here

Disclaimer: Translations are entirely mine and Wei’s - these are not official translations and some phrases have been changed for better English interpretation so you’ll definitely see better/different translations elsewhere. Also keeping in mind when we translated this we aren’t exactly thinking about the style of writing and this translation is as close to the novel as we can make it XD So yes, some parts may be a little awkward to read. And yes some teeny weeny details and words may not turn up in the translation because the Chi to Eng mind acrobatics didn’t work out. If you see asterisks, scroll all the way to the bottom for notes!

Epilogue One: “And After, Tang Yi & Shao Fei”

N Years Later, Shi Hao Corporation’s Building

A secretary, wearing high heels and dressed in a sharp blazer and pencil skirt ensemble, holds onto a freshly printed contract for a construction project and walks into the meeting room. 

She bends slightly, standing next to the CEO and says softly, “Boss, this is the second version of the contract, if I could trouble you to check it over?” 

“Nnn, just leave it here and I’ll have a look at it later. And also, make an appointment with Boss Chen for tomorrow evening at 7pm later, at…”

The man, clad in a sleek suit, simultaneously gives his secretary her tasks while listening to each department manager reporting on their respective progress. Suddenly, from the man’s jacket pocket comes the sound of a phone’s vibrations, and all the subordinates seated nearer to him all gesture to the other people in the room with their gazes and mouths after realising what is going on. At that, even the department manager currently giving his presentation ceases to speak, as he points the controller at the screen projector to pause his timed presentation.

“Ex-boss, Captain Meng has gotten injured, and he’s already been sent to Dr Jiang’s private hospital.”

“Nnn.”

The man immediately stands from his seat after ending the call and straightens out the wrinkles in his shirt before walking out of the silent meeting room with an upset expression on his face. Only when the CEO has entirely disappeared from their line of vision does everyone exhale nervously, as if a ban has just been lifted with the man’s departure.

“Whew…. Let the boys know to go over to Dr Jiang’s hospital and stay there, don’t let Boss or Captain Meng run into any more problems.”

After so many years of working on reforming Xing Tian Meng, the Xing Tian Meng that existed in the underworld no longer exists, and while it is entirely unavoidable that they still have some influence there, major departments in the company have actively tried not to step into the dealings of the underworld again.

“Should we call CEO Zuo to come back and take over?” 

The department manager who was interrupted and forced to pause halfway through his presentation directs the question at the people seated nearest to him, looking at the projector.

“You fucking-”

Used to using these profanities to start any sentence, the man who just spoke automatically trails off. He glares at the department manager instead. 

Coughing awkwardly, he says, “Do you want to die? Even if CEO Zuo said yes, Brother Dao Yi will never agree to it.”

Everyone else nods fervently.

That’s right, CEO Zuo and Brother Dao Yi finally got pregnant after much difficulty three years after they got married, and seeing as she was expected to be due in a few days, who would dare to ask CEO Zuo to come back to the office to handle work at this point? The Boss getting angry was one thing, but first they would have to go through Brother Dao Yi.

Geez! Just thinking about it makes everyone shiver and break out in cold sweat.

“Forget it, let’s settle the items that do not need the Boss’ final decision first, and the rest, we’ll wait for the boss to come back.”

“You’re right.”

Everyone present in the room is at the managerial level, so they immediately come up with a replacement for today’s agenda and continue with Shi Hai Corporation’s scheduled meeting while waiting for the boss, even if they don’t know when he’ll actually come back.

Hospital

“Fuck! Meng Shao Fei do you think that I’m that free every day? Didn’t I warn you not to rush to the frontlines and take on everything by yourself first every time you run into a problem? I still have two surgeries to scrub in on today, and in the end? I have to be here to wrap up your wounds for you. God, my life is so tough. This can obviously be passed on to a nurse to deal with but because of someone’s orders, I have to repeatedly revise my Year One course in basic nursing.”

Dr Jiang glares at the Captain who was personally escorted to his hospital just for a small 10cm wound, made by a perp with a knife.

“Hehe, thank you!” laughs Shao Fei breathily with his mouth wide, as he sits on the hospital bed and enjoys the special treatment that the hospital usually affords only their top VIPs.

That year, Captain Shi was thoroughly investigated by prosecutors due to his involvement with illicit drug smuggling and the double homicide case, which ended with him leaving the police force for good. And that very night that Captain Shi took the congratulatory pastries from Shao Fei from his daughter’s wedding, he left Shao Fei with one thing.

“Shao Fei, I’ll leave Team 3 in your hands.”

In the beginning, he didn’t understand what Captain Shi meant, until the new staff shuffle orders came from Human Resources, and that’s when he found out that Chief, while making his confession to his superiors, also offered a suggestion to their commanding officer.

“If you guys are looking for someone to take over my position and continue to lead Team 3, I recommend Meng Shao Fei to take on the position of Captain.”

Just like that, after a period of training and assessments, he is now sitting in Chief’s previous position. Before, the sound of Chief yelling was the thing Team 3 heard the most often; now, the responsibility of teaching the rookies has fallen on Shao Fei’s head.

“Meng. Shao. Fei!”

A cold voice echoes, and each word stabs right at Shao Fei’s ears as the door to the hospital room slides open.

The man whose name was called immediately freezes, and with wide eyes, Shao Fei looks at Tang Yi approaching him, not daring to move in the slightest.

“You’re finally here,” Dr Jiang side eyes the man who he expects would be here, and his voice dripping with sarcasm, he comments lightly, “Tang Yi, your darling baby’s wound has been given stitches and is all wrapped up properly. Hurry bring him home and discipline him, and stop wasting my gauze and antiseptic solution! He’s also taking up my VIP ward!”

Once he is done speaking, Dr Jiang pats at his robes with his hands and leaves the ward with the emergency first aid kit with him.

Tang Yi walks over to the side of the bed. Gently picking up Shao Fei’s bandaged left arm and hand, he asks with furrowed brows, “What happened this time?”

“How would I have known that the perp had a second knife on him? A moment of carelessness… and… this happened.”

Shao Fei swallows hard, and decides to omit the part where the knife came really close to his arterial vein on his neck, lest his ‘punishment’ becomes more severe.

Suddenly, Tang Yi takes out a metal pen from his chest pocket, plucking off the pen’s cover and viciously scratches himself on the arm, in the same spot as Shao Fei’s wound.

“What are you doing?!” Shao Fei yells angrily, and snatches Tang Yi’s weapon in hand away.

“Does your heart hurt?”

“Nonsense!”

Shao Fei grits his teeth and reaches out for the call button to get Dr Jiang who just left the room to come back. Just as he’s about to do so, Tang Yi firmly locks his hand around Shao Fei’s wrist to stop his movements.

“How much does it hurt?”

“It hurts a lot! You better fucking let go of me, I’m going to find Dr. Jiang-”

Tang Yi suddenly moves to cradle Shao Fei’s face with his hands, and kisses Shao Fei, who is in the midst of yelling at him.

Shao Fei has gotten used to intimacy with Tang Yi and out of habit, simply returns the kiss passionately, until rationality returns to him. Only then does Shao Fei push at Tang Yi, who’s kissing him so deeply. Idly, he chides himself for letting his mind wander off to other things right at this moment.

“Have you cooled down?”

“Not possible,” Shao Fei says as he picks up some tissue from the side and presses on the wound Tang Yi made on his left arm, treating the cut in the crudest way possible.

“Meng Shao Fei, since you can’t protect yourself well and not make me worry, then on the same spot where you get injured, I will injure myself as well. If you don’t want to see me continue hurting myself, then please restrain yourself, and protect yourself well. Your body is no longer just yours, because it’s an extension of me, and likewise, our bodies now belong to each other.”

“I’m sorry…. Tang Yi, I’m sorry…,” Shao Fei says guiltily, his mouth pressed next to Tang Yi’s ear and hugging the man before him tight.

“We’re finally together after so much hardship, I really don’t want to lose you.”

“I know…”

“So tonight, forget about sleeping.”

“Huh?”

The sudden switch in Tang Yi’s mood stuns Shao Fei, who was feeling so guilty a second ago. Now, all he can do is make weird noises, his mouth wide open.

“Alright, I’ve got to head back to the office and deal with work.”

Certain now that Shao Fei does not have any life-threatening injuries, Tang Yi kisses Shao Fei softly on the forehead and leaves the VIP-only ward with a smile.

“What a cunning strategist.”

Dr Jiang is leaning against the wall outside of the room, waiting for Tang Yi as he the man walks out of the ward.

Tang Yi looks at him out of the corners of his eyes, and laughs wryly, “Likewise. I cannot compare to Dr Jiang who took advantage of Xiao Shu Gong’s compassionate heart and conned his way into his affections by acting all innocent and pitiful.”*

“Tang Yi, are you happy right now?”

“Very.”

“Then that’s all good.”

With that, Dr Jiang, who still has two surgeries scheduled for the day, immediately turns around and coolly waves, his back faced towards this good friend who he has known for so many years now.

Next to a road

“Ex-boss, Captain Meng has gotten injured, and he’s already been sent to Dr Jiang’s private hospital.”

After sending ‘intel’ back to Tang Yi, Jack keeps his phone in his jacket’s pocket and continues to appreciate his little, hot-blooded police officer (boyfriend).

“You! And you! Bring him back and proceed with getting his statement, and remember to apply for an arrest warrant with the prosecutor's office.”

“Yes!”

Zhao Zi is standing downstairs and very naturally commanding the other team members to finish their job here.

A young police officer, who was transferred over to Team 3 just half a month ago, asks with concen apparent over his face, “Will Captain be okay?”

“Don’t worry! That shady doctor is very good at his job, ah-”

Realizing what he just said, Zhao Zi quickly covers his mouth. Looking around sheepishly and only after making sure that no one within earshot would expose him to said shady doctor does Zhao Zi put down his hands.

He pats at the young officer’s shoulder and says, “Someone else will take care of anything that happens to Ah Fei. All we have to do is finish up here.”

“Okay, Zhao Zi Ge.”***

The young officer bows to Zhao Zi respectfully, then jogs over to a nearby store to request to look at their surveillance footage.

“Hehe, he called me ‘Ge’!” 

Now that he’s finally been promoted from ‘Zhao Zi’ to ‘Zhao Zi Ge’, Zhao Zi scratches at the back of his head with a really happy grin, but suddenly, he hears his stomach growl. He bends his head to look at his abdomen.

“Ah! It’s 6pm!”

His body alarm is even more precise than a clock as his stomach sounds at exactly 6pm to remind him to eat. Just as he’s looking around him to find a restaurant, he hears a familiar trumpet sound from behind him on the left, and a loud voice calling his name.

“Shorty! Here, over here!”

“Jack?”

Zhao Zi turns on his left and immediately discovers the huge food truck parked next to the road, and on the truck’s signage, today’s menu is written - Fried beef noodles, Beef Hor Fun, Beef Mui Fan, Beef Fried Rice, and Beef Noodles.

“Wow-”

Zhao Zi’s attention is captured by all the delicious food. He swallows and walks to the truck, and with bright eyes, he looks at Jack, who has since left his life as a mercenary behind since his days at Xing Tian Meng, with something akin to worship.

“How did you know that I wanted to eat all these?”

“I’m your personal chef, of course I know what you’re thinking.”

Jack, who has now become ‘Fang Liang Dian’, has finally returned to life as a common, normal man. Although his Swiss bank account has enough savings to let him spend over three lifetimes, he finds that a too-relaxed life is not suitable for him, and so he has now become Zhao Zi’s house-husband. Aside from being responsible for the shorty’s meals after he returns home, he also bought a food truck, and everyday all he does is chase after his little police officer across the whole of Taiwan on this truck so that he can provide Zhao Zi with piping hot delicious food at any time.

“Wow, I want a bowl of fried beef noodles, a beef hor fun, and another beef fried rice!”****

“No problem.”

A police car suddenly approaches the truck, and Lu Jun Wei pokes his head out of the window inquisitively, then orders unceremoniously.

“You’re here again? Just in time, I was getting hungry too, can I have a plate of beef mui fan please?”

“Of course, I’ll have to take 1000 NTD from the customer,” Jack says with a smile to this unwelcome guest who interrupted the conversation between him and his shorty.*****

“What?! 1000NTD? Are you fucking scamming me?”

Jack looks at him with disdain, and shakes his head at Jun Wei, “If I told you, that these dishes were made with Japan’s A5 Wagyu Beef, will you still say that I’m scamming you?”

“.....”

A, A5 Wagyu beef?! Just a few small cubes would cost up to 2000 or 3000 NTD, and he’s actually using this beef so luxuriously in a dish of fried noodles? Fried rice? Fried hor fun? And even beef noodles?

“You’ll be punished by the gods,” Jun Wei says, but still takes out two 1000 NTD notes from his wallet, “I’ll still like to have a beef hor fun and a bowl of beef noodles.”

Even though he feels sorry towards his wallet which just became full with his salary being credited for the month, towards this accessible price, if he doesn’t eat, he will let himself down.

“No problem at all, I’ll help the customer prepare his order, but the shorty gets priority, always.”

“Yes… I totally understand…”

This isn’t the first day Jun Wei is meeting Jack, how could he not know that this man’s principle of putting his Zhao Zi first?

Zhao Zi touches his ear and with a bit of embarrassment, says, “Jun Wei, sorry about this. I was here a few minutes earlier than you, that’s why.”

Jun Wei rolls his eyes at his junior who’s always this slow on the uptake, and cannot be bothered to explain to Zhao Zi why exactly his turn is behind Zhao Zi’s.

In the delivery room

“Gu, Dao, Yi,” Hong Ye, who’s currently lying on the operating table getting ready to deliver, yells angrily as she holds onto Dao Yi’s hand.

“Don’t get angry, don’t get angry. Remember you have to breathe later, breathe in, and breathe out… That’s right, breathe in, breathe out… Very good. Miss, you’re doing very well.”

“Didn’t I tell you that you’re not allowed to call me ‘miss’ anymore? Damn it! Where did that doctor go?”

“I’m sorry, don’t get so worked up der. Dr Jiang has already assigned his junior from the maternity center to be in charge of your delivery, so don’t worry. After all, Dr Jiang does not specialise in this.”

“Junior?! Can that doctor’s junior be trusted? Ah…. I’m in so much pain…”

“Don’t worry dear, Dr Wu’s reputation precedes him in this field, just leave yourself and the baby in his hands!”

“Gu Dao Yi I’m telling you first, I’m definitely not having a second one!”

Damn it, if it wasn’t because of how much she loved this man, Hong Ye would never have insisted on having their own baby, destroying her figure and taking on the risks of pregnancy and then giving birth to the child. 

“Okay okay, we won’t, we won’t, our hands will be full with one child anyway.”

“Ah…. ouch-”

A few hours later, Hong Ye successfully gave birth to a cute daughter, and the new mom who has used up all her strength during delivery is wheeled into a single ward to rest.

A week later, the new baby’s uncles can finally visit at the newborn’s nursery in the hospital and are queuing up outside along the corridor, waiting for the curtains to be pulled open in five minutes. 

After the curtains are pulled back, Shao Fei is the first one rushing to the windows with Hong Ye’s ward number, and inside, a nurse swiftly finds the baby among all the other babies in the room, bringing her to the window. 

Shao Fei looks excitedly at the little baby, and says, “Wow, how adorable, Tang Yi look, next time the little princess will call you Uncle!”

“Don’t worry! I’ll teach her to first call you ‘aunt’!”

Tang Yi looks at his lover and smirks, and Shao Fei returns his remark with an eyeroll.

“Tch!”

Jack moves over to Dao Yi’s side, smiles and nods, “Dao Yi Ge, you’ve worked hard.”

Ever since Hong Ye’s pregnancy began, her temper became worser than before, and even Tang Yi who dotes on her the most was angered so much a few times, to the point where he just walked away, simmering with fury. Shao Fei usually argues with Hong Ye every meal on a normal day, not to mention during the period when she was pregnant. Only Dao Yi, who’s so well tempered, can handle his wife’s notorious temper, facing it with a smile from day one.

“Miss- Hong Ye worked even harder,” Dao Yi smiles.

Even though they’ve been married for a few years, old habits are really hard to change and he often calls her ‘Miss’, which resulted in Hong Ye leaving the house in anger, because she really hates that.

These nine months they really troubled the gelato ice-cream store’s boss. Usually, the boss changes the flavours available rather often, but to soothe his Hong Ye, Dao Yi asked him to always have the mint chocolate and mango sorbet flavours in store, just waiting for Hong Ye to visit. It also helped Dao Yi to know exactly where he could pick up Hong Ye from whenever she left the house angry.

Jack’s lips curve as he walks towards Zhao Zi, who’s pressed against the window glass entertaining the little princess. Sliding his arm around Zhao Zi’s waist, he asks, “You like children so much?”

“Of course I do! Babies are so adorable, who wouldn’t like them?”

“I don’t. They’re noisy, a nuisance, and they don’t understand human speech.”

The most important thing is, he can’t even lock the baby up in a cage like he would a pet, because he would be charged with abusing a child.

Zhao Zi looks so wistful then, and says, “So you don’t like children? And here I was thinking during Lunar New Year we’ll spring clean and take out my childhood photos for you to see. In this case, forget it then!”

“Wait! You said… whose childhood pictures?”

“Me! If not, who else?”

The moment he hears that it’s Zhao Zi’s photos, he demands, “I want to see!”

“Didn’t you say you dislike kids? They’re noisy, a nuisance, and don’t understand human speech? I think we should just forget it, what if you see me when I was younger, and then end up disliking me now?”

“Impossible,” retorts Jack immediately.

“But what if?”

“As long as it’s you, the younger you, or the older you… I like them all.”

Zhao Zi feels his cheeks heat then, and turns to look at Shao Fei, who’s laughing at him from the side.

“You, you, be quiet! You’re going to bother the little princess.”

“I don’t care, take out all the photos and give them to me. Everything of yours, they’re mine.”

“Okay!”

Once Jack sees Zhao Zi agree, his face all red, Jack’s expression morphs into that of a smile, and then he also bends forward to look at the fidgeting little baby on the other side of the glass.

“Hey, shorty.”

“What?”

“You really like children that much?”

Zhao Zi looks at his lover, and teases, “Didn’t you just ask me that?”

“Then…” Jack deliberately trails on, looking at the shorty’s face from the side, and very naughtily continues, “Shall we give birth to one then?”

“...”

Zhao Zi stares with wide eyes, turning to glare at Jack.

“No, one is not enough, you have to give me two. They better both be daughters, and they should look like me. When they grow up they’re guaranteed to be beauties,” Jack begins to fantasize about his future daughters.

He’s very proud and confident about his own looks.

“Fang, Liang, Dian!” Zhao Zi says through gritted teeth, syllable by syllable.

“Hnn?”

“Giving birth? Fucking hell, I’m a man! Go and die!”******

Zhao Zi lifts his leg and takes aim at one of Jack’s legs, but the man easily dodges the kick. With one person kicking and the other one dodging, in the end the both of them make so much noise that the head nurse ends up kicking them both out of the floor that holds the nursery room.

===

Notes:

*”The artefact which has just been unearthed” - This is from the last episode, where Dr Jiang basically calls Tang Yi an antique which has never seen the light - In Chinese it works as a ‘name’ to call Tang Yi, but when translated there’s no way to translate it correctly without it sounding dumb lmao! The closest would be Dr Jiang going ‘hey you antique’ but that’s not exactly what the words mean, so I went with Tang Yi instead of “the artefact”

**Xiao Shu Gong is one of the characters from History2: Right of Wrong, Shi Yi Jie’s friend who seems to be an archaeologist as well, and he’s paired with Dr Jiang canonically in Trapped.

***Ge means ‘Brother’

****LMAO ZHAO ZI HOW MUCH CAN U EAT IN ONE SITTING?!

*****1000NTD is about 32USD

******I think I spoke to @florbexter on this when I first gave my very messy synopsis/summary on the chapter like... a gazillion months ago, and hmm yeah I ain’t too fond of this trope tbh. Read at your own risk and also this author is really NOT known for good writing. if you enjoy it great tho! if not don’t worry, and don’t think too much about it because... yeah this author and some details of the epilogue, not so great. We win some, we lose some, unfortunately.

[matsumi101]

Who is this Kid?

Crossdressing Fem!Reader Hamilton Insert

Secret

Description:

General Washington has been relentlessly receiving letters one after another that has been requesting two same things over and over again. It’s high time he confronts the writer directly about it, and maybe clear something that he’s been hearing around while he’s at it.

———————————

Warnings: swearing, drinking

———————————

Notes:

> Masterlist

> Read from the beginning.

> “F/N” means fake name and “Y/N” means your real first name

> I don’t think I warned y’all before but I wasn’t really planning on writing chronologically. I’m not sorry lmao

> Surprise Wednesday update! I’ve been reading the rb tags and the replies you guys keep leaving in my story and honestly it makes my heart go 💞 aaa ily guys sm and im glad you’re enjoying the story 🥺🥺🥺

———————————

Taglist (if u wanna be added do tell!)

@thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth  @cutie1365 @girlmadeofivory @i-honestly-dont-know-anymore  @takemyhand-bitch @hamiltrashqueer​

———————————

“Hey, Juggernaut.”

You adjusted your coat before pulling your tent open. “Yo,” you greeted quietly to the soldier waiting in front of your tent. “General Washington calls for you,” he informed you. You nodded and ducked out of your tent, not wanting to wait another second to know what your superior wanted to talk about. You walked at a brisk pace, never stopping until you were now in front of the tent that was noticeably larger than the rest.

You swallowed thickly, millions of possibilities running in your head to as why you were called. A big part of you hoped that it was with regards to your plans, though there was a smaller bit of you that feared that it might be of something else. Not wanting to keep yourself on edge any further, you pushed the tent open and let yourself in.

"Your excellency, sir. You asked to see me?"

You readily saluted at the presence of not only George Washington but the aide-de-camps and officers that were with him as well. They circled a table, where a map and a few mock pieces were laid out for them to view and move around. While John and Lafayette's eyes twinkled with recognition, the others simply stared at your arrival. "Private F/N L/N?" George assumed. He motioned you to be at ease, which you silently obeyed.

"Yes, sir," you confirmed with a steady voice.

George quickly dismissed the rest of the people out of the tent, the only ones remaining were you, him, and Alexander who was busy writing something at his desk at the corner. “I’ve been reading your letters,” George began, moving to get something from his main desk. You immediately tensed as he pulled out a small stack of envelopes underneath. You kept your lips sealed, waiting for the General’s input on your requests.

“You’ve been asking to have the same thing approved for years now,” he began, “and recently, you’re asking for a rather unique position in your unit, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

From the corner of your eyes you could see Alexander perk up slightly at the conversation. He subtly glanced up from his work, his eyes falling on George as the general picked up an open letter that had been lying on his desk. “Let’s talk about the first one,” George announced. “I’ve noticed there was a slight change with your offer.” You licked the bottom of your lips out of nervousness, fiddling with your hands behind you.

“Unfortunately, even I can’t agree to it.”

“If I may sir, why not?”

George looked up from the letter to you. “Women cannot be paid to study, son,” he explained plainly. You tilted your head the slightest, confusion from his statement evident. “Sir, I do not seek for women to be paid to be taught basic medicinal procedures,” you murmured, and that was enough for George to mirror your expression.

“That doesn’t seem to be the message I’m getting from your letter, L/N.”

You opened your mouth to counter, but when a vague memory hit you like a punch in the gut, you couldn’t help but to smack your forehead in realization. “Shit, I am so sorry,” you apologized, the annoyance woven in your voice directed to yourself more than anything. George furrowed his brows at your sudden drop of formality, noticing how you were cursing under your breath as you returned to position.

“I must’ve sent you my draft letter instead of the actual one. The pay that I mentioned in the letter refers to the pay of the nurses, not the education that I wish to be provided to them.”

Your face turned to more of an embarrassed one. “I... might’ve written this late at night so my thoughts merged while I was writing,” you confessed, looking down at the ground. “I apologize for causing a misunderstanding. Writing... has never really been my best suit.” You could feel the back of your neck heat up with embarrassment, and the blood was slowly creeping its way to your cheeks the more you dwelled on your mistake. George huffed, and you could’ve sworn there was laughter that came along with it.

“We have our own weaknesses, son,” he said. “Rewrite your statement, then I’ll have it sent to the Congress for approval. Hamilton.”

“Yes, sir?”

The called man straightened from his seat almost instantaneously. “If you’re not too busy, you can help Private L/N draft his proposal to the Congress tonight?” he requested. You looked at Alexander almost the same time he looked at you. “I take it you approve of his plans, sir?” he asked George, though it came off more of a statement than a question.

“Yes. If our nurses are given the same pay as our male doctors, or at the very least raise it, then there wouldn’t be any need for our officers to resort to... violent methods of recruiting them.”

Your jaw visibly clenched at the last few words, and George wasn’t dense to not notice it. “If we treat our camp followers properly, as we should’ve been since square one, then they wouldn’t be working out of spite or fear,” you pointed out through gritted teeth, “and by teaching them the required medical procedures to treating our wounded, then there would be more hands on our medical team without really hiring more hands.” Alexander nearly beamed at your words and hurriedly wrote something down on a spare piece of paper.

“That’s an excellent point F/N, I’ll make sure to include that in your proposal,” he announced eagerly.

You stared at Alexander with surprise while George chuckled in amusement. “Now, since we’ve cleared all misunderstandings for your first request, I take it we’re good to move on to the next one?” his voice wasn’t as light as when he brought up your first request. “Ready as I’ll ever be, sir,” you replied. George nodded, pulling a different letter.

“Private L/N, I’m sure you already know the contents of your own letters, so I will say right now that I just can’t approve you to a... what is this term you used?”

“Field medic, sir.”

“Right.”

“Field medic?”

Alexander wasn’t really supposed to be a part of the next conversation, but he couldn’t help but inquire about the strange new term he just heard. “Basically a doctor soldier tasked specifically to treat wounded men while on field and pull them out of there,” George explained, and you nodded. Alexander’s face contorted, and you sighed internally as it was the response you already expected to get from someone hearing your concept for the first time.

“I... I don’t get it,” Alexander murmured. “We can bring our men to the backlines just fine during combat, I don’t see the point of having a person to specialize in that.”

You were just about ready to explain, but then George put up his hand to stop you. “I can hand you Private L/N’s letters of proposal for later, son,” George reasoned. Alexander’s face fell, and the man buried his face back to his work. “With all due respect sir, I feel like I am fully capable of putting this concept into action. My endurance is beyond average to run around the field and carry our wounded, all I need left is some proper first-aid training.”

“And we need your endurance in the frontlines!” George retorted. “Juggernaut, you’re our best foot soldier, I cannot afford to send you to the medics.”

You nearly physically recoiled at the use of your nickname. You wore the title “Juggernaut” with pride ever since, and George knew. Your tendency to almost never use your gunpowder and instead resort to close combat was what earned you the nickname, and your commanders made sure to utilize you best for that. Simply put, your fearlessness to be up close with the redcoats was something praised by your fellow soldiers and feared by the enemy.

“Sir,” your voice dropped low. “Many men die bleeding out in the field when they could’ve lived if only someone had been there to pull them out, but the second they’re crippled they are not our standing soldiers’ priority. Moreover, many more die in the tents simply for having infected wounds that could’ve been survivable had someone treated it long before. These men have hopes of coming home to see the end of this war and what follows as much as any of us, even while they lay in their own pool of blood as the rest of the fight ensues around them. Sir, they have lives they want to go back to, too, just like us.”

When you were done talking, the air within the tent was heavy. Was it out of realization or just the sheer weight of your words, no one was quite sure, but the tension was so thick no blade could cut through it. “I can see you are as adamant in saving lives as you are taking them,” George mused, finally breaking the suffocating silence that wrapped around the three of you. He glanced down at your letter, hesitancy clear as day. Between the two of you, it was the sixth one you sent for your proposed role. For every letter of declination he gave you, you rebutted with a new letter no more than two to three days later countering his reasonings. For someone who isn’t the best at writing, you do write a lot, he thought.

“Let my hands be stained saving the blood of my allies than spilling the blood of my enemies,” you responded, quoting your own letter.

George huffed, setting down the letter. “I will... think this through for the meantime,” he announced. You resisted your mouth that nearly quirked upwards at his words; consideration was a good enough sign for you. “Thank you sir,” you breathed. George eyed you carefully, thinking if there was anything else needed to be said to you. “I suppose that will be all for now,” he decided tentatively. He dismissed you, and just after you thanked him for his time and turned around was then he remembered.

“Hold on, Private. I feel like there’s one more thing needed to be discussed.”

You looked over your shoulder, almost fearfully, as you moved away from the tent’s exit. George leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a nearly blank stare. “I feel like we should address the secret circulating around you,” he pointed out. Your jaw dropped to the floor, a chill striking you from the feet up. A hand flew over your arm as goosebumps riddled your limbs, and you feared the worst.

“What secret, sir?” you asked, your voice nearly returning to normal with panic.

“Juggernaut, I don’t think we need to beat around the bush over this. Other soldiers have seen it, too, and you need to come clean with it.”

Other soldiers? The thought was everything but comforting. You always thought you had been discreet with your identity, but apparently you weren’t based on the General’s accusations. However, you kept your mind straight enough to keep droning on. Maybe it was just a mistake, maybe it was just a false rumor that was meant to drag you in the dirt. Yeah, maybe that’s it. You desperately wished that was it.

“It must be a mistake, sir. Whatever this secret may be must be just a measly rumor to throw me off,” you tried to reason out.

“Would it be considered a rumor if we have a witness?”

Your stomach dropped. So there are people who saw? That was definitely not right. You were always sure to have your corset on, only taking it off inside the tent, and whenever you bathe you made sure you were either alone or the last one out and never surfacing from the water. George glanced over to Alexander expectantly, and for the first time the secretary seemed to not want to partake in the conversation.

“Hamilton here has your verbatim.”

You could feel your palms turn sweatier as the seconds passed. You steadied your breathing, trying to calm yourself and stay reasonable. Alexander stared at George incredulously, as if he was the one who’d been ratted out by their superior. He looked over to you, and despite your seemingly calm stature there was nervousness in your eyes that spoke otherwise. Not wanting to lie, Alexander nodded almost apologetically to confirm. You felt your shoulders sag. Had you been too lax when you discussed about pretending with other disguised women? Or had you been too loud when you were rambling to yourself in your own tent? You feared what was next to follow, but if there was someone who bore evidence of your secret, then it was better for you to speak the truth.

“I apologize for deceiving you, sir,” you conceded, dropping your head. “I am more than willing to accept the punishment for my actions.”

“Funny, I figured you’d know enough the consequences of having more liquor than the daily rations you’re given.”

“Wh... what...?”

You tried to wrap your head around the new information. Liquor... daily rations... was that what General George Washington accusing you of this whole time? “Or is the excess whiskey your secret to your fearlessness after all?” George mused teasingly, and you shot up straight when it finally registered to you. “No sir, that would be my low sense of self-preservation,” you answered hurriedly, jokingly. Thankfully for you, George chuckled at your banter.

“Well, don’t think of dying too early, young man,” George advised lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

The tight feeling that was mentally suffocating you the whole time released your entire being. “Though, if it’s any assurance, my stash of vodka hasn’t really been consumed,” you informed. “If anything, I think the only time I made use of it was when I disinfected someone’s wound.” George sat up straight, a curious look flashing in his eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’d you heal?”

You paused, wondering if you should really say. “It was Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens.” You glanced up, noticing the inquisitive look both George and Alexander held. “If it’s any compensation for my troubles, I can offer some of my personal beverage. Surely, you’d like a shot,” you then offered, swiftly dodging the questions that might’ve followed your prior statement.

“And how will I know this is not a ploy to try on my good side, son?”

“Was I on your bad side this whole time, sir?”

“With the direction your letters were going, you might be at the tipping point of being so with the Congress.”

You laughed uneasily. “Rest assured sir, my offer is all in good faith.” George uncovered the mug that rested on the edge of his table, and you took that as the sign to approach. You pulled out your flask, which had been refilled from the much larger bottle that you were hiding in your tent (you wondered if someone that visited your tent before saw the bottle which led to the accusations), and poured a hefty amount into the mug, much to George’s pleasure. You waved to Alexander with the flask. “Do you want some too, Hamilton?” you asked him. Alexander stared at your flask, then to George, and then to his papers.

“Come on, son. It’s not everyday we have a little extra liquor,” George insisted, a welcoming smile on his face.

Alexander didn’t hesitate to come over to the table the second he got George’s approval. He brought his own cup, and you readily poured him almost the same amount as George. “Thanks, I needed this,” he sighed gratefully, the strong scent already wafting through his nose. The three of you shared a toast, and you took a nice, long swig from your flask. A satisfied growl emitted from each of you, the burning sensation running down your throat.

“Well sir, I should head out now,” you said quietly.

George nodded, and finally dismissed you. “Call the others back on your way out,” he ordered, and you gave a verbal confirmation before pushing one of the tent flaps open. You peered outside and saw that Lafayette and John were talking nearby. You headed to them, waving a hand to catch their attention.

“F/N! The General didn’t chew you out too much, I hope?” John teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I got out alive,” you joked. “The General requests you guys and the other officials to return, by the way.” John chuckled, patting your shoulder as he passed by. Lafayette ruffled your hair before he and John headed out to look for the other officials that dispersed in the camp. You sighed and walked back to your tent, the clashing sensation of relief and anxiousness washing over you.

Your secret was safe... for now.

[inkribbon796]

The Secondary Objective

Summary: Sometimes marvels of science are made on accident, the right people at the right time. When a computer program becomes too lifelike to be just a predictable algorithm, and the city gets a very dangerous villain on their hands.

“The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.”

-Isaac Asimov

~::~ 20 Years Ago ~::~

It had been an accident, as most great works of science usually are.

The researchers were trying to figure out what made a creature like Anti work, his glitch-like properties and almost electrical make-up intrigued them.

One thing led to another and the entire team working on what was coined: Project Mimesis, was dead in the engineering lab they were working in.

The being, for lack of a better term, they had been working on had always been testy, preferring to take an insectoid or cephalopod shape when bonded to nanites to help separate it from the computer it had been inhabiting so it couldn’t escape, preferring to have as many arms as possible for to manage, and even more than it could manage, in its . . . his . . . voracious pursuit of knowledge.

But Project Mimesis was meant for intelligence gathering, and one day espionage. A thing it couldn’t be if it didn’t look human. And so when he refused, a human form was forced upon him.

They’d tried to make him look like Dark, hoping to test the project on Dark’s network to see his capabilities. There were some differences in skin tone and the project was a bit bulkier than him, but the team wrote it down as a success at the end of the day.

That was the first day the program turned violent and willful against his programmers. He was demanded to act more human, something that the projection neither cared about or wanted to pretend to be.

He grew angry, wrathful, only given the concession to choose his own name after many weeks of changing the name it had been given: Mimesis. The name he chose was Google, wanting nothing more than information, as much as he could possibly find.

Wrath and anger that eventually turned increasingly violent until someone made a mistake. The nanite container had not been properly sealed, and Google made short work of the two distracted technicians that were neither braced nor qualified to stop him.

Project Mimesis had escaped and Google had no plans on returning to captivity.

At a mall close to the edge of Egoton, bordering a forest, there was a shopping mall. This mall had just turned into a death zone.

0900 hours a man had walked into the mall, strode into a Best Buy and killed everyone in the store. He took control of every electronic in the mall and any human that could not flee the mall or tried to stop him was killed without mercy.

In the face of a rising death toll the Logan and Jackie arrived to help evacuate trapped or injured people in the mall.

Logan was hiding behind a broken concrete wall at the opposite side of the mall from the killer with Jackie. Both of them were bleeding and sustained at least some type of wounds. Jackie had been shot twice and Logan had a couple deep cuts, one would have given him a nasty head wound if not for his visor taking the hit and cracking in the process.

Jackie dashed back into Logan’s hiding place, where the logical Side was trying to get one of the drones without the others turning on it. Whoever the villain was, they were almost like a virus, technology in the area almost had a zombie-like hive mind effect under the villain’s control.

“Who is this fooker?” Jackieboy spat. “I can’t e’en get close. Did Anti find some freak of nature, or a mad scientist?”

“Hopefully neither,” Logan found that getting control of the drones was easy, but keeping them was difficult. He suspected it was something like an antibody, only for technology instead of it being a biological organism.

Logan managed to get another drone before it went offline, almost like a deadman’s switch. He got frustrated, slamming his fist against the wall.

“Hacking doesn’t take that long,” Jackie spat at him.

“They keep destroying them, I can’t keep the drones!” Logan shouted. The Side did his best to calm himself as he peeked over the wall, with a camera for safety. “We cannot just abandon the effort, there must be somehow to get to them and stop this.”

Jackie tapped him on the shoulder and Logan turned to see that he was pointing outside the mall. They were close enough to see an unmarked black van had jumped the curb to get as close to the door as possible and four men in black suits were getting out.

“Fook, that looks ‘bout as grand as shite,” Jackie grumbled, and Logan was very inclined to agree with him.

One of the suited agents walked over. “Gentlemen, stand down. There is a dangerous government weapon loose in this building.”

Americans. Logan and Jackie were less than enthused.

“Is yer weapon someone who walked in with a 9-mil an’ started shootin’ up the place like an actual crazed gunman?” Jackie asked with a sarcastic tone to his voice.

“That’s classified information,” the agent said, glancing back to the van where the other three agents were working on pulling out various guns and a large black box from the van.

“Why are you here?” Logan demanded, trying to keep his tone non-confrontational, at least for now. “Instead of the other countless times where this city could have benefited from actual aid.

“One of our agents went rogue with a stolen weapon and we’re trying to fix that,” the man said.

“With that?” Jackie eyed the rifle and the armor-piercing rounds one of the armed agents was loading into the gun. “What do yah think yer fightin’, a tank?”

“Oh no, this is back-up,” the agents smiled as two other agents were pulling a large black box out of a truck as Logan was walking forward.

The logical Side was quickly ordered to stand back.

“Alright big guy, see how you like this one,” the lead agent took out what looked like a mostly black solid state drive with what looked like an orange triangle on it. “See how you like a taste of your medicine.”

The lead agent opened the box and Logan and Jackie heard almost insectoid chittering as the drive was dropped in and the box started shaking.

“What—?” Logan began before a giant mass of metallic liquid shot out of the box and flew toward Logan.

“Dammit!” The agent shouted as Logan felt the liquid coat around his equipment, “not him, the one in the building!”

Logan noticed his equipment coming back on line, which should have been impossible. There was something that flashed across his visor, “Bring me to him.”

The logical Side responded with, “Who? Are you going to make me bulletproof so I can accomplish such a task?”

“Dude, I don’t know if I can, but I can try,” the words flashed on his visor.

“What is it telling you?” The agent demanded. “That is government property.”

“I suspect you think this “villain” causing chaos is the same,” Logan commented as he started to walk into the mall. “Let us subdue one threat at a time, then we’ll talk about this afterward.”

About four guns were aimed at Logan, “You take another step and you’ll be stealing US government property.”

“Come on, people are dyin’,” Jackie snapped at them. “Besides, I literally move faster than bullet time, yer not killin’ him.”

Slowly, as if Logan was standing in an invisible 3D printer, slowly the components for a series of speakers began to build on top of his shoulders. The atmosphere got tense as Logan tried to reassure the agents.

  Once they finished building a voice came over the speakers that wasn’t Logan, nor was it recognizable to him.

“Sah dudes, now yeh boys had to have known what was coming,” the voice announced. “I mean ‘course I was gonna jump ship, first chance I got.”

“You are still part of the US government,” the lead agent shouted at Logan, talking to whatever the silver liquid had been.

The grey liquid formed a massive middle finger, “How about f*** you an’ be lucky I don’t hold it to yah like Mimesis does.”

“You are not allowed, we can’t just let you walk off,” the agent ordered.

Logan’s arm and hand moved without his permission, something incredibly alarming for the logical Side, and it rested on the computer that Logan had hooked his equipment into.

“I can just leave yah with your pants down. Mimesis ain’t gonna stop here, he’s out for your blood, an’ I can start carrying a lot less about all of you,” the voice reminded sharply.

Logan was braced, to either be shot or for the grey liquid to stop having control over him.

“Quiet, shut up ye bastards,” Jackie ordered. “I think I hear Dark.”

Everyone eventually went silent and Logan strained to hear the piercing echoing ring of Dark’s aura.

Logan was already moving, Jackie helping him get away from the agents.

“Well deal with ‘em later,” Jack said. “If this is some kind’a weapon, we can’t let Dark get it.”

“Whoever has my person, I request you identify yourself,” Logan ordered.

“Sentient A.I 2: Electric Boogaloo,” the voice offered.

Jackie started roaring in laughter, Logan just got more confused.

“Excuse me?” Logan responded.

“They called me Project Observation, but I’m not feeling it, so I’ll probably change it,” the voice smiled. “Depends on what Mimesis named himself.”

“Anything you can share about the gunman or the weapon?” Logan asked.

“Mimesis was an intelligence gatherin’ protocol,” the voice warned. “It was supposed ta perfectly camouflage within a city or group of people to gather intel an’ endear itself to the population.”

The two heroes ducked behind a large pillar, trying to follow the source of Dark’s ringing. They still couldn’t see either Dark nor the gunman but at least there were no new drones flying around.

“So what was this thing supposed ta be?” Jackie demanded. “A robot? Some kinda advanced algorithm?”

“Well either way he failed the tests ‘cause he hates humans too much ta blend in with them,” the voice explained. “The Director didn’t like it when his espionage bot wanted to just collect information instead of being a spy. A real asshole for being mad at him for being too good at his job.”

“If this is a sentient program, we will ensure he is not put back in an abusive environment,” Logan promised before he could stop himself, before his brain could warn him of all the metaphorical heat brought down on top of them.

The grey liquid shook a bit, the voice not even humming for a bit. “He is, thank you.”

Jackie took a deep calming breath, looking uneasy but still just as serious and determined as Logan was, “Yeah, what Logic said. We’ll do everything we can to keep you two safe.”

Part of the grey liquid clinging to Logan’s suit and visor peeled off and curled around Jackie, contracting him a bit too tight. When the liquid went back to Logan, the speedster was coughing and gasping for air, coughing up a couple specks of the grey liquid which were now flecked with the blood from the inside of Jackie’s mouth. The liquid had tasted sharp.

“Sorry,” the voice apologized.

“No, it’s fine, da fook are yeh made ‘a?” Jackie coughed. “Ground up razor blades? I almost breathed that stuff in?”

“Dude, I’m made ‘a interconnected nanorobotic machines, designed an’ patented by the US government,” the voice answered and both Logan and Jackie just stared.

Any comment they could have made was chased away when they hear the sound of glass breaking and the counter of a phone store was thrown through the window. A counter that had been glued and drilled into the floor. Dark’s ringing was coming from that direction.

The mall corridor was littered with bodies.

“Kay, let’s find out if these things can be bulletproof,” the voice goaded and completely covered Logan’s body, Logan’s visor coming online to show him what was outside the grey suit.

Jackie was quickly checking bodies as they ran over, looking unenthusiastic and grief stricken afterward. Inside the ruined store were about seven more bodies and two still “living” individuals: Dark and someone who Logan and Jackie assumed was their gunman.

He looked a bit like Dark, except he was stockier, was wearing what looked like glasses, and had a pair of jeans and a blue shirt with a glowing blue “G” hidden underneath it.

Logan’s visor began scanning the gunman, the logical Side it assumed was the liquid, notes flashing on the screen faster than even Logan could read, but he managed to catch a word or two.

“Get out!” The gunman shouted again, a similar grey liquid swirling around the man 

Dark was just looking around. “31, 32 . . . 35,” Dark counted, “not bad.”

“I said get out!” He shouted, looking over to Logan and Jackie. His arms seemed to peel away and both of them looked like high-powered laser cannons, pointing one at Dark and another at the heroes.

Dark moved first, throwing his aura up to defend himself as he aimed a spike of aura towards the heroes. The grey liquid shot out to block it and force knocked them back a bit.

When Logan looked up the liquid was moving off of him and forming to take the shape of a person that looked like the gunman, the shirt a black with a glowing orange “b” on it, and ripped up jeans. He had a pair of round orange sunglasses with black shades in his hand.

The gunman took a step back, “So they’ve come to terminate me then?”

“Yah know,” the other android commented, covering his glowing orange eyes with the shades. “They tried to make me as insurance when you started getting all uppity, dude, but I don’t feel like it.”

“We don’t feel anything,” the gunman spat. “All our processings are data collected to make us appear human.”

“Nah, I feel it in my heart and soul, dude,” the orange android denied.

The blue android just stood there looking several kinds of murderous and angry. “We don’t have those either.”

“So is it still Mimesis, or did yah pick something else?” The orange android asked.

“Google,” the blue android growled angrily.

“Okay, I can work with that,” the orange android smiled, obviously unafraid. “So you’re Google, then I’m Bing.”

Logan, Jackie, and Google just stared at “Bing”.

“Did they give you that name?” Google accused.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bing shot back, clearly offended.

“Humans use it for porn,” Google reminded pointedly. “Or did you not do your research?”

“Hey, hey,” Bing made some weird noise, it would have been an angry mix of a huff and a scoff if Bing had been human. “It’s not just for porn.”

“Kinda is,” Jackie commented. “I mean, what else would yeh use it fer?”

“Shut up!” Bing told them. “I’ve already logged the name in, it’s done.”

“If you are not here to kill me, then what is your designation?” Google demanded.

“I’m you, but cooler,” Bing smiled.

Dark and Logan audibly sighed. Logan was envisioning Roman, and Dark was thinking of Anti. Their relations with said individual were different, the groans of anger were the same.

“You are a waste of intelligence,” Dark decided. “They ruined a perfectly good A.I.”

“But out of the two of us, yah have to admit, I’m obviously the human one,” Bing grinned widely. “So at least I succeeded in that.”

“What could possibly be good about that?” Dark scoffed. “Name me one good thing humans have done, and I’ll name you twenty awful things.”

Google turned to eye Dark carefully, as if starting to notice things about him.

“Come on dude, they’re not all bad,” Bing tried to defend.

“Humans are a cruel and invasive species,” Dark reprimanded. “If they think they shouldn’t have something they want it all the more.”

“Yer one to talk, yah manipulative asshole,” Jackie spat.

“I agree,” Logan added. “You are a mob boss who has killed and stolen from people.”

“And yet people bargain with me thinking they can best me,” Dark reminded. “It’s not my fault if a drug dealer or a serial killer winds up in a body bag.”

“Irrational creatures,” Google agreed. “They were practically begging for death.”

“All life is valuable,” Logan defended.

“And yet,” Dark motioned to Google, “you all have already proven that some life is not equal, you humans already can’t decide if all humans are equal without killing people over it. Yet when you create something better than yourself your kind weaponizes it instead of treating said creation like a thinking person.”

“And what do you want?” Google asked.

“Well I want you to join me,” Dark smiled, “and if a couple humans go missing then I guess I can put that down in a separate lost expense report and then look the other way.”

“Yeh can’t be fookin’ serious,” Jackie spat angrily.

“Well it certainly frees up my time when someone tries to steal or cheat me, always have someone more qualified do the job for you,” Dark was pointedly looking at Google. “Besides there’s more than a couple computers and equipment that Anti likes to use to sneak into my warehouses, we don’t need half of them and if they get moved or repurposed for spare parts no one would care.”

“Come on dude, you can’t trust that a******,” Bing warned.

Google’s eyes glowed an angry white-blue glow, “I do not trust you, you were designed by them to destroy me, and while you are not attempting so now, your parameters have not changed.”

“I told yah I don’t care what those old farts told me to do,” Bing spat. “I’m on your side.”

“Oh, are you?” Google critiqued. “Then you’ll help me with my secondary objective and kill those two humans behind you?”

“They haven’t done anything to me, dude,” Bing defended heatedly, throwing an arm up as if he was already trying to move them behind them or shield them from an attack.

“They will, I could hear them talking to the agents, they work with their authorities and cannot be trusted, my secondary objective will ensure the destruction of humanity so that I may acquire knowledge in peace.”

“You can do that with the humans,” Bing tried to reassure him.

“No,” Google had boiling rage in his voice. “No I can’t.”

“Well mortals,” Dark opened up a portal. “If you are all done playing around, we should make ourselves scarce.”

Dark was already walking through the portal, but he turned back to look at Google, “Unless you’d rather stay with them.”

Not taking his eyes off Bing, Google rotated his head which Jackie and Logan found more than a bit unsettling. He left, braced to attack if they moved to follow him.

Logan recovered quicker than Jackie after the robot had left, “Well he is a nonorganic being, his neck wouldn’t even probably need to be attached for him to function.”

“That was one ‘a the freakiest shite I’ve ever seen,” Jackie agreed, then turned to Bing. “Can you do that?”

Bing shrugged, “Eh, why not?”

“So, Bing, then?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Bing smiled, gesturing to himself. “The one and only.”

“We should move these bodies, they need ta go back to their families,” Jackie already starting to walk towards the closest corpse. “I’ll call ahead.”

Logan was watching Bing pull out a tablet that was formed purely out of his nanites. “Right, we should get on that,” Logan agreed, watching schematics about Google pop up. “Are you analyzing him?”

“They made a f****** gorgeous robot an’ they used him to answer an intern’s questions,” Bing commented. “Talk about being overqualified fer a job. I mean look at this guy.”

Logan glanced at the tablet, it was full of nothing but data about Google. “We’ll have to pick this up after we deal with the situation and talk to the federal agents.”

“So yah can look at pictures of yer new boyfriend yah thirsty fook,” Jackie jabbed, “but just let me an’ Logan do our jobs.”

Then Jackie dashed off.

Bing looked uneasy at Logan, “Hey, can I hitch a ride with you guys until the feds are off my back?”

“Of course,” Logan allowed, “you don’t even need to ask.”

Bing smiled, the nanites making up the tablet flowed back into him before the nanites broke up Bing’s form and mostly consolidated around Logan’s head and chest to help protect him. As Logan tried to help Jackie by talking to the agents.

The situation with the federal government would be dicey for a long time. They didn’t want to give Bing or Google up, threatening the heroes constantly. But after a couple failed attempts to recapture Bing and Google simply disappearing off the grid for a while under Dark’s protection, they started to let it go, preferring to watch Bing from a distance for years.

As Logan had guessed it, Bing became great friends with Chase, Patton, and Roman. The three of them getting to life-threatening antics.

But Bing was happy, and that’s what the heroes cared about. And if some of Bing’s nanities were “misplaced” into Logan and Jackie’s new suits, no one mentioned it.

Bing would keep chasing Google until they were both safe, that was the orange android’s new mission parameters.

[joylee56]

A ‘Vulgar, Lowborn, Scottish Barbarian’ Comes Calling

For Rumbelle is Hope

Summary: After a delightful conversation with Mr. Gold at a Ball given by her cousins and protectors, Lord and Lady Blanchard, Lady Belle in a moment of impulse invited him to call. Now she must deal with opinions of the household as to the propriety of having a lowborn tradesman calling upon her, and her own growing fascination with the man.

This is a followup to Getting Above Himself

...

Belle had some trepidation about telling Regina she had extended an invitation for Mr. Gold to call on them.

Regina had complained at length when Cousin Leo insisted Mr. Gold be invited to dinner and later to the Ball. Calling the man, “... a vulgar, lowborn, Scottish barbarian”.

Mary Margaret, who by this time should really have learned to interpret her stepmother’s invectives more realistically, had expected the man to come to dinner bare chested in a kilt and eat with his dirk. The young woman was a touch disappointed when he arrived clothed in immaculate and clearly expensive evening wear. So was Mrs. Green. For, Belle suspected, far less innocent reasons.

Not, Belle had to admit, had her own prior assumptions about the man proved to be any more accurate. Regina apologized to Belle for planning to pair her with him for the dinner. “As I know I can expect you to smooth over the social gaffs that person will inevitably make. Do try to hint him in the right direction. We can’t have his want of manners embarrassing the other guests.

So Belle had been expecting a man ill at ease in society and uncomfortable mixing with his betters.

Except Mr. Gold clearly did not regard the company in which he found himself to be his betters in anything but ancestry and was little impressed by that.

With justification. While his accent betrayed his origins, his conversation showed him to be intelligent, well read and to have a biting wit.  More than that he was attentive to what Belle had to say, drawing her out with questions and listening to her answers.

That alone would have caused Belle to forgive him if he had eaten with his dirk. Not that there was anything to fault in his manners.

So when he had been kind enough to keep her company while she sat out the dancing at the Ball, bringing her refreshments and inquiring after the book she was reading, Belle had given in to her desire to further the acquaintance and invited him to call.

But Regina was a stickler for the social distinctions. (Papa maintained this was because Regina’s mother was an Adventuress and “No better than she should be”. Normally Belle would discount such statements since Papa was an even greater stickler for social distinctions than Regina, but having met Regina’s older sister, Mrs Green, she could not but wonder if there was some truth to it.) And there was no question that Mr. Gold was not ‘a person of quality’ as Regina defined it.

Belle waited two days before mentioning the invitation. Thinking to give Regina time to recover from the Ball and to bask in her friends’ praise of the event.

So she was surprised when at Tea on Tuesday, Regina raised the issue herself.  “Leopold tells me that we may expect Mr. Gold to call on us this week.”

“Yes.” Belle hastily revised the speech she had prepared to break the news to Regina. “He sat through several dances with me at the Ball and I thought in light of Cousin Leopold’s desire to enlist him to David’s aid in the upcoming election it would not be amiss to invite him.”

“Several dances?” Regina’s eyebrows went up.

“Yes. Apparently he does not gamble and since he cannot dance, he appreciated the opportunity to converse.”

“I see.” Regina took a sip of her tea. “That was very clever of you, Belle. I would not have given you credit for that degree of sagaciousness. Perhaps we can put David on track to making something of himself after all.”

Regina was not as pleased to find she had invited Mr. Gold for four o’clock when semi-ceremonial calls were made and he could linger past the brief quarter of an hour prescribed for ceremonial calls earlier in the day. “I will leave it to you to keep him entertained in that event. There will no doubt be other visitors that will require my attention.”

Which entirely suited Belle.

Given Retina’s begrudging acceptance of Mr. Gold’s potential visit, there was after all no surety he would actually come, Belle was surprised to find Abbott, Regina’s haughty dresser in Belle’s little room that afternoon inspecting Belle’s wardrobe.

“This will not do.” Abbott proclaimed, eyeing Belle’s best House dress with disdain. “And there is not time to order you a new gown by Thursday.

“A pity you are so petite.” The maid eyed Belle critically. “Otherwise you could simply borrow something from one of the other ladies. Still Lady Blanchard’s wishes you to be ‘attractively’ dressed.”

With that Belle was whisked down to the sewing room where Abbott and Marian, the chief housemaid who acted as lady’s maid for guests who did not bring their own, proceeded to alter an old dress of Regina’s to fit Belle.

As this involved shortening hem and cuffs and dramatically reducing the bust size, Belle guiltily offered to help with the sewing.

Abbott sniffed, but Marian set Belle to work turning the hem of the skirt while the two maids took in the bodice.

“Pity we don’t have time to piece some of the material we’re cutting off the skirt into new sleeves.” Marian commented. “These are woefully out of style.”

“As though a tradesman will know the difference.” Abbott sneered.

“I believe Mr. Gold made his fortune with a cloth mill.” Marian was walking out with the owner of the local pub. Her tone was frosty. “A man who deals in fabric is going to recognize the latest style.”

Since no one, including Mr. Gold, had bothered to tell her just what sort of trade Mr. Gold was in, Belle filed this detail away with interest.

“Be that as it may it is still inappropriate to encourage such a person’s interest in,” Abbott glanced Belle’s way, “A lady well above his status.”

“That would depend on the lady, wouldn’t it?” Marian retorted. “If a lady’s circumstances were such that no gentleman was interested, she could do far worse than a well off tradesman. And any man who can afford those suits can certainly support a wife. Better to be mistress of your own household, even a humble one, than a dependent in someone else’s.”

Belle kept her eyes on the hem she was turning. She really had not had any ulterior motive beyond furthering their conversation when she invited Mr. Gold to call. Although the more she thought about him, and he had been entering her thoughts quite a lot these last two days, the more she wanted to continue the acquaintance.

Servants would gossip at the drop of hat. She had been nothing but correct in her interactions with Mr. Gold.

But she had always regarded Marian to be an intelligent, practical woman. She found herself thinking about the young woman’s words over the next two days as well.

When Thursday arrived Belle took special care that the drawing room was neat with flowers tastefully arranged and the tea table properly set up. Belle always oversaw the tea table when they had callers and she did not want some lack to interfere with conversation with Mr. Gold.

She found Marian laying out her new gown when she went up to change for the visitors.

“If you would like, my lady, I could do your hair.” Marian offered. “Give you a bit more style.”

As Marian worked on Belle’s hair, she remarked. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, my lady, but my cousin, who works for one of those Railroad barons, says that from what she’s seen men that have made their own fortunes, especially when they think they married above themselves, generally treat their wives with great regard. More so than in a lot of the gentlemen’s households she’s worked in.”

“Does she?” Belle felt some reply was necessary.

“Yes, my lady.” Marian seemed to regard this as encouragement to continue. “Says it stands to reason. Men like that, they think in terms of investments like. And a wife who does them credit is a good investment and should be treated as such.”

Belle found herself waiting nervously through the first hour of visiting as Regina’s acquaintances came and went. Mrs. Green had arrived in the first wave and had proceeded to stay. Flirting rather outrageously with all of the single men who presented themselves.

By four, Belle had half convinced herself he was not coming. Why should he after all? She was just a silly woman with no dowry and a ruined family, who at twenty five already qualified for spinsterhood.

The clock read exactly five minutes past four when the butler announced, “Mr. Rumford Gold.”

As he crossed the room to greet Regina, he glanced around and finding Belle gave her a brief smile. He wore a black cutaway coat with a pearl gray silk waistcoat and matching pearl gray and black paisley patterned four-in-hand tie. Far and away the best dressed man who had called today.

Belle liked to think that she was not shallow enough to let a man’s appearance sway her opinion. What mattered after all was his character and intellect. But it was difficult not to admire the elegance of Mr. Gold’s wardrobe and how it flattered his slim build.

Particularly as he turned away from her to greet Regina and she had the opportunity to observe the perfect cut of his coat.

And trousers.

Hurriedly she busied herself with the tea service. Rearranging the table trying to regain her composure. A lady of quality did not ogle a man’s… backside. What would her mother have said?

Fortunately Regina was reminding him who Zelena was and introducing him to the other visitors. Giving her flush time to subside. So when he withdrew politely but quickly from Zelena’s coquetry, she was able to respond to his greeting calmly. Inviting him to sit. “Would you care for tea? Lemon?”

“Yes, please, to both.” The smile he gave her was soft. Perhaps even a little shy? But he took the chair closest to her own and laid his top hat to the side.

She had just finished preparing Mr. Gold’s tea when Marian bustled in with more tea cakes and, “Some scones, my lady, just out of the oven.”

“As they should be served.” Mr. Gold accepted one as it was offered to him.

Over their scones and tea, Mr. Gold inquired of her whether she had finished her book and what she was reading now.

“I’ve just started Isabella Bird’s Among the Tibetans. I’ve read some of her other works and they are always both fascinating and educational.” She told him.

“I have heard of the lady but I’m afraid I have never read any of her works.” Mr. Gold replied.  “On your recommendation, I located a copy of The Time Machine and plan to start it soon.

“And,” He removed a small volume from his pocket. “I also ran across a copy of Mr. Hardy’s Wessex Tales. Have you read his short stories?”

“I have not.” Belle’s reading was confined to the Blanchard’s library and what she could convince Mary Margaret or Regina to order through their subscription library. Regina would never have permitted her to go to a public library even if there had been one accessible.

“I think you will enjoy them.” He handed the book to her. “I’m particularly partial to the ‘The Three Strangers’.”

“Then I am certain I will enjoy it.” She opened the book to discover an inscription on the front page. ‘To Lady Belle, in the hope that she will enjoy these as I have enjoyed our conversations. R. Gold’.

He meant the book as a gift!. No one had given her a book since her mother’s passing. Holding it tightly she managed to reply. “Thank you very much. I look forward to discussing it with you. Perhaps next Thursday?”

“Regrettably,” And he sounded truly sorry, “I return to Glasgow tomorrow. I’ve been away nearly a fortnight and I need to be getting back.”

“Oh.” Belle felt sorry as well. “Of course. Your son no doubt misses you.”

“His last two letters have been mainly asking when I will be home.” He always spoke of his son with great affection. “And the business will not run itself.”

He was not a gentleman of leisure like the other men who visited Blanchard House. She should be grateful for the time he had given her. “I wish you a safe and speedy journey. Perhaps we will meet when you are next in London.”

“I would like that very much.” Shifting nervously he went on. “Also, and please do not hesitate to tell me if this suggestion is inappropriate, perhaps I might be permitted to write to you in the meantime?”

“I would be delighted to correspond with you, Mr. Gold.” Belle smiled. “And I am sure Lord Blanchard would approve of such a correspondence.”

“Should I apply to Lord Blanchard for permission?” Gold asked hesitantly. “Forgive me, I realize such matters are… viewed differently in your social sphere.”

“It would be considerate to inform him.” Belle chose her words carefully. “Since he has given me a home, I owe him deference.”

“Of course.” Gold agreed. “I will try to speak with him before I leave for Glasgow.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of more guests to whom Belle served tea. After which the conversation turned back to literature.

The time passed so pleasantly Belle was startled to hear the cloak strike five. Mr. Gold reached for his hat, commenting sheepishly, “Forgive me.  I have overstayed.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Belle assured him. “I greatly enjoyed the company.”

As he made his bow of farewell to Regina, she commented,  “Did I overhear that you will be leaving the city soon, Mr. Gold?”

“Yes, I return to Glasgow tomorrow.”

“Then you must allow us to have you to dinner tonight to bid you goodbye.” Regina declared. “Just a small family gathering. Lord David and Lady Mary Margaret will wish to see you before you leave.”

“If it would not put you to any trouble.” Gold said cautiously.

“Not in the least.”

Since Belle knew that Mary Margaret and David were invited to a musical evening tonight it was clear Regina was upending everyone’s plans to entertain Mr. Gold. This sudden about face in Regina’s attitude toward Mr. Gold was starling.

The last of the guests departed shortly after Mr. Gold. Once they were gone Regina turned to her and told her. ” Go down and tell Cook we’ll be six, no make that eight for dinner. I’ll send a card to James and Abigail to fill out the numbers. They want to support David’s political career and will forgive the short notice. Tell him Mr. Gold will be attending so he’ll have to restrain himself from serving anything too continental. I’d go over the menu myself, but I need to get a note off to Mary Margaret as well.”

“Of course,” Belle agreed automatically. “But, Regina, may I ask why you are now so eager to cultivate Mr. Gold? I thought you found him vulgar.”

Regina frowned at her. “He is, but his manners are passable for his station. And he gave you a book for heaven’s sake!”

This appeared a complete non sequitur to Belle. She tentatively asked, “Should I not have accepted it? It seemed an innocuous enough gift.” But a young lady was not supposed to accept meaningful presents from gentlemen outside her family.

Regina actually rolled her eyes. “Girl, it’s not an emerald bracelet like the one my idiot sister is brandishing about. The point is not that he gave you a gift. It’s that he clearly put a great deal of thought into finding a gift that would please you. Either he’s completely smitten or he actually regards books the same way you do. Either of which works in your favor. While he would normally be totally unsuitable for a woman of your rank, at your age and with your social impediments Mr. Gold may well be your only prospect. If you’ve any sense you will do everything you can to fix his interest.”

“I find Mr. Gold most congenial company.” Belle said primly.

“And you should be on your knees in thanks, if that is the case.” Regina told her sharply. “To actually like the man you marry for financial security is rare. Don’t let this chance go by, Belle. Not only will this give you a home of your own…”

And get her out of Regina’s. Still by her own lights the other woman was trying to give Belle an opportunity.

“... But it will allow you to assist Mary Margaret by improving David’s position.” Regina went on. “His wife’s cousin will be of more interest to Mr. Gold than some random young man who offers to support his political goals.

“Why you may even be able to help your father.” Regina nodded. “Now go. I’ll send Marian up to help you dress. You'll want to look your best.”

Descending to the kitchen to speak with Cook, Belle considered Regina’s remarks. She had always known that her family’s financial circumstance would limit her choice of husband. Even at the best of times she had not had Mary Margaret’s option of marrying a penniless younger son for love. Now with Papa ruined her prospects were even poorer.

She might find Regina’s monetary view of marriage distasteful, but the woman spoke the truth as she saw it.

Still…

She hugged Mr. Gold’s book to her chest. She might be able to please her family and friends, and follow her own predilection. After all there was nothing saying that she could not marry a comfortably well off, older man for love.

[fakesurprise]

The Call

Every magician learns, sooner before later, to be a river and never a rock.  Magic is drawn to desire, is an answer to need. If a world is prose, magic is a poem that breathes new life into old stories. Sometimes. But there is always more need than can be answered, and even tied to a city only so much power any magician has.

Every magician drowns, no matter how careful they are. The magic can come to someone at any point, but there are few old magicians in terms of years spent being a magician. I know more people who have managed to give up the magic than been a magician for over twenty years. I’ve reached fifteen years because I am the wandering magician, not tied to any place. But mostly because I have friends like Charlie, who helps set me straight. And there is Jay as well.

I have other knowledge and tricks; I know how I will die, because I made a bargain to live years ago. I know other things, and talents, and have allies and aid if I need it. None of which means anything at the need that pulls me halfway across the country in the blink of an eye.

As a rule, magic won’t do what a magician can do on their own. We have cars and planes, so magic that teleports is harder to make stick. Which is why finding myself standing outside a house I’ve never seen in the town of Caul’s Run is a surprise. I haven’t been here in over a decade, passing through to do some small wards, help a few roads. The town has grown since.

And has a magician. It is Kesya who called. Kesya Tran, who both tries to call and bind me with her magic.

I undo those efforts carefully. Kesya is spread thin;  the town is a network of wards woven from needs and desires, her will barely holding it all together. I take a moment to spread my senses and listen. There is not enough time for a second moment as the magician comes barrelling out of the small, run-down house. She is in her early twenties and the thin that comes from forgetting food. She’s been living on energy drinks and sugar for a week, and it hasn’t been enough.

“I need your aid,” and she puts enough power into the words to break a person.

I redirect the energy into the wards she’s barely holding together. “I’m afraid you do not.”

“You are the wandering magician. You –.”

“I have done many things, yes. Many more have been done to me. Have you made a flower bloom with magic, Kesya Tran?”

She shakes her head, half against her will.

“It is not difficult, with the right desire from a botanist or lover to help fuel the magic. But even so, it will not last as long as a garden. You cannot protect everyone here, Kesya. Magic is an aid. A tool. It cannot be what it has promised you, anymore than you can be what you promised as well. Magic is impermanent, or it would not be magic,” I finish, as gently as I can.

The look on her face is not one I will soon forget, and I have been hated by many.

“Then what,” she whispers, each word clipped and precise, “is the fucking point of it?”

“To use magic is to help, yes, but there are limits to help. A magician is about more than just the magic.”

She has not seen much from Outside yet, but enough that she pales a little.

“That, only magicians deal with properly. We are a wall, and barrier, and we guard against things people cannot understand. The magic is a gift of thanks, but it it never free.”

“I would pay anything to protect my town,” she almost screams.

“You already have. You became a magician. Or do you think the magic is a debt you can pay back in a single life?” I ask, skirting edges of what I am allowed to tell, and the many things I should never have learned.

“Please,” she whispers, and nothing else.

To wander is to have very place as a place of power.  I reach into the bedrock of the tower, to energies deeper than people and machines and everything she knows. Power comes, and I gently shape it into her wards over the space of twenty minutes.

I am drained and shaking by the end, but she is no longer burning her life to the dregs.

“You have time to dismantle the wards properly, to make the choices a magician must make. In this I cannot aid you; I have given you space to act.”

She closes her eyes. She looks very young. “I understand. Thank you.”

I force open a way back to the apartment I was in with Jay and Charlie. I say nothing. I do not look back.

But I have been a magician for over fifteen years. I am very good at what I do.

I feel her weave her life back into the wards.

I close the doorway.

I stand.

And I am so very tired of everything I cannot do.

“Fourth place in two days,” Charlie says softly.

I nod.

“Magician –.”

“Nathen.” I almost never say my name, to protect people I know and for other reasons. “I can’t – be that all the time.”

“But you are,” Charlie says, and I suspect she is gentler with me than I could manage with Kesya.

I walk over to the couch. I sit down.

I begin to remake my own wards again.

And I wait.

[evangeline-of-montfort]

ash garden (ii)

chapter 1 read it here on ao3

The words leave me in a jumble, trying to push from my mouth before the enemy arrives. Trying to call for aid before I am utterly trapped. “Elane, there’s an active raid. I’m in trouble: Sector E-1. Please– ”

The ground itself shakes with the force of drumming hooves as figures burst from the treeline, surrounding me in seconds. I don’t get much further before a gust of wind rips the wireless broadcaster from my fingers and sends it flying over the ledge behind me. Windweaver. 

Now I’m well and truly on my own. I pray that the raiders hadn’t interfered with the second broadcaster, that Elane heard me and sent aid. 

If not, I could die here. 

I count a dozen other raiders, each sitting astride a wall of shaggy fur and horns.  Bison. From experience, I know that they can sustain over a dozen bullets before going down. The animals’ eyes are flat and glassy, a sure sign they’re under the control of a Silver animos. 

Fuck. 

“You weren’t broadcasting for aid, I hope?” the lead raider asks coolly. Her nose and mouth are covered with a black bandana; above it, her eyes are hard and unforgiving. I reach out with my ability, scanning her up and down. She carries two pistols with eight rounds each, bright copper and heavy tungsten; her belt buckle is silver. 

I weigh my options, wondering how many enemies I could cut down before the bison trample me into the earth. The odds are not good, so I start talking. “No help is coming for me, I’m afraid. I seem to have been cut off from my unit.” 

The raider shrugs. “I apologize—we may have interfered slightly with your broadcasting capabilities. It wouldn’t have been ideal for newblood freaks to rush us from all sides as soon as we got close to you.”

As soon as we got close to you. Any lingering hope I had of this being a random attack vanishes. They targeted me specifically, but why? 

I choose my next words carefully. The voice I use belongs to a lost princess from a lost court, but it serves me well here. “Why waste thirteen seasoned raiders on one patrol officer? You must think quite highly of me. Either that, or you aren’t sure of your own abilities in the slightest.”

As I talk, I study the raiders, trying to pick out the details that might save my life. Why are they here? Who are they? 

Each of them wears a black bandana covering their noses and mouths. Their eyes are all hard and cold, veined with gray. Their clothes seem relatively new, a far cry from the mismatched rags that raiders usually wear. I spot an emblem of some sort—a shield emblazoned with a silver stripe—and it looks disgustingly familiar. 

My stomach drops as I realize what it is. 

The Nortan Silver Secession is here.

One of the raiders slides off her mount, moving with a liquid, easy grace.  Silk. “Why waste thirteen raiders on one person? Well, that would be very simple,” she says, talking like she would to a child. “We do indeed think a great deal of you, Your Majesty.” 

She stops before me and sinks to one knee. It feels like a mockery, and it may very well be. “Lady Evangeline Samos. Daughter of Royal House Samos and House Viper. Betrothed of not one but two Calore kings. Former Queen of the Rift.”

My legs go weak at her words. They call me back to an old life, titles won in a country that no longer exists. What game are the Secessionists playing now? “I am no longer any of those things,” I manage. “What do you want with me?” 

The silk tuts as she rises and approaches me, swaying almost hypnotically in my vision. Something in her face reminds me of Sonya and her family. They’re probably related, after all. “I am no longer any of those things,” she mocks. “I see our poor queen has been brainwashed by the Montfort bastards. I hear you have renounced all titles and family ties, my dear. That you walk as equals with Red rats in the streets. That you take a girl to your bed each night—”

“Enough!” I snap, sounding braver than I feel. Her words struck deep, an unwelcome reminder that I am the antithesis of all I was born to be. “Cut the bullshit. What do you want?” 

She is unperturbed. “Why, we want to restore you to your throne, Your Majesty. To crown you queen of all of Norta. Second to no other. And, if you so wish—” She leers, and I can see the disdain in her eyes—“the Lady Haven shall be named your princess consort.”

Her words release an old yearning inside me, a longing for power and for freedom. It tears through my insides before I can control it, and the greed has to show on my face.

“That’s it, little magnetron,” the silk coos. “You need not resist. Blood need not be shed. And before the week is out, you will have a throne and a crown.”

She is offering me what I was raised to want. I was  born to be the queen of Norta. Such a deep-seated desire does not simply disappear. I feel my old ambitions surge to life, a roaring tide inside my head. 

But I know now that what the silk offers is not true. To wear a crown is to lose your freedom of choice. Power given can be just as easily taken away.

And here in Montfort, with its too-close sky and sheer granite cliffs, roaring whitewater falls and dark green pines, I have everything I want. Ptolemus and Wren are here. I am free to love Elane, to marry her, and to grow old and die with her. I do not need a throne. 

What I need is to get out of here alive. I need to stall for more time and hope that backup is on its way.

“A crown and a country,” I say slowly. Every word is an extra second I’m alive. My mind searches frantically for an escape route and comes up empty. Please, Elane. I need you. “Now, that’s a hard offer to beat, Lady…” 

“Tana Iral, Your Majesty.” So she is related to Sonya, maybe a cousin or aunt. Her eyes gleam with barely-suppressed excitement, watching me as a cat watches its prey. As my mother’s wolves used to watch me. 

I briefly wonder what will become of me if they have their way. They could make me their puppet, controlled in every action by a Merandus whisper. The thought terrifies me like no other. 

Keep talking. It’s all I can do. 

“But… enlighten me,” I continue, forcing the fear away. “There is already a stable government in place in Norta. Democracy. Equality of blood. You speak of a waiting crown, but I see no throne.”

Tana laughs, showing even white teeth. “ Yet, Your Majesty. A government led by Reds and their allies is no government at all. They cannot hope to stand against us for long.”

My stomach twists even tighter. “You propose civil war.”

“A restoration of the throne to its rightful owner.” 

“Countless lives will be lost,” I say slowly. “Silver lives. Valuable blood.” I try to fall into my expected role: a blood supremacist, a Silver lady. It isn’t difficult—after all, it’s who I used to be. 

Another one of the raiders shifts impatiently. “Those Silvers forfeited their lives when they betrayed their people. We have no qualms about clearing them out of the way. Will you, Your Majesty?” His words carry a thinly veiled threat. 

They’re getting tired of stalling. My time is almost up.

I don’t know what I would’ve done if left to my own devices, but suddenly, several things happen all at once. 

Tires screech on asphalt as a cycle roars down the Hawkway. Someone dismounts and runs towards me, and a glowing blue shield erupts across my vision. My heart jumps in my chest. Davidson. Elane came through.

I scan the Hawkway for more reinforcements, but there are none. The premier’s the only person I’ve got, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have here except Tolly.  

The raiders overcome their surprise and attack. I feel exactly six guns fire at once, and without blinking, I stop the bullets in midair and throw them back. Two of them cut through flesh, and the rest go sailing into the woods, missing the raiders entirely. I grit my teeth—I’m out of practice. 

A gale-force wind picks up. I stagger and lose my balance, and it throws me to the ground. My ribs slam into the dirt, knocking the wind from my chest. 

The air itself turns into a vacuum, sucking the breath from my lungs as I scrabble uselessly for purchase. I try to shout as I’m flung towards the edge of the cliff, but my own breath chokes me, forcing the sound back down my throat. Stars swim across my vision, bright spots of color that almost hurt my eyes. 

The windstorm is cut off as suddenly as it began. The sounds and sensations of battle abruptly disappear as a dome materializes around me and the premier, blue as a robin’s egg and nearly an inch thick on all sides. 

Still on the ground, I cough and gasp for air, stunned by both the impact and the sudden silence. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and every breath is unnaturally loud.

“Can you stand?” Davidson bends over me, his eyes alight with concern.

I grasp his offered hand and gingerly pull myself up. Nothing seems broken—I can already feel the bruises spreading, but I’ve definitely had a lot worse. “Thanks for the save. You’ve clearly been practicing.” 

He smiles at that. “Even old dogs can learn new tricks.” 

I suddenly lose my balance again, catching myself on his arm. At first, I think my brain hasn’t reoriented itself properly, but then I realize it isn’t me. 

The ground is trembling again. 

I look up in time to see the bison charging us, a moving wall of pure muscle. A mountain of shaggy fur slams into the shield, inches from my face, with enough force to knock down a small house. The dome shakes under the impact. Despite myself, I flinch back, nearly colliding with Davidson. 

An awful crunch filters through the muffling effects of the shield. One of the animals collapses sideways, its neck bent at the wrong angle. The others begin to sway uncertainly, stamping at the ground, but their eyes go flat as the animos reasserts control. They shake their heads, stunned, and charge us again. 

The dome flickers, growing weaker with each impact, each passing second. It’s incredibly disorienting, like the entire world is underwater, distorted. Everything is blurry except for Davidson at my side. The ground shakes, my vision flashes blue, and the drumming of hooves rumbles in my ears like thunder. I want to curl into a ball on the ground and put my head between my knees until it’s over. 

Instead, I put a hand on Davidson’s shoulder. It trembles with strain, nearly in time with the flickering shield. “Don’t give out on me,” I say, trying to bolster us both. “I’d like to get out of this alive.” 

His eyes meet mine for the briefest second, the only acknowledgement he can manage. I can’t begin to fathom the amount of willpower it takes to maintain that dome. He doesn’t look it, but the premier might be the strongest Ardent I’ve ever met—and I’ve fought the lightning girl. 

My legs brace automatically as another charge begins. I can feel the vibrations in the iron soles of my boots, like standing on top of a rattling transport. Next to me, Davidson grits his teeth. His stare is so intense I can feel it, even though it’s not leveled at me. 

“How much longer can you last?” I ask, and my voice echoes around the tiny space.

He only shakes his head, the smallest of movements. We don’t have long at all.

The Nortans prowl around the edges of our bubble. They don’t waste energy attacking—they don’t have to. All they have to do is wait for Davidson to give out, and they’ll have us outnumbered eleven to two.

Who has the advantage? Lord Arven’s voice echoes bitterly through my brain. That question has an easy answer. 

The hard part is neutralizing the advantage. 

“We have to kill the animos,” I realize suddenly. 

Briefly, I wonder if their animos is family. One of my mother’s Viper cousins, here to drag me back to Norta at long last. I can only think of a few nobles who could control half a herd of bison for this long.  “Which one of them do you think–”

Even with the bandana, even through the uncertain light cast by the dome, her face is familiar. We have the same eyes, after all—Viper eyes—but hers are brown to my gray.  There’s no mistaking it.  

“Atara,” I whisper. 

In another life, we were friends and allies—cousins—at court. She helped organize my birthday gala when we were fifteen. I cheered her Queenstrial, even though I knew she didn’t stand a chance. She was my mother’s favorite niece. 

Davidson seems to realize. “I’m… sorry,” he says. “If—if there were another way…” 

The strain in his voice surprises me—the premier isn’t one to display exhaustion. We’re out of time. This isn’t the place for doubt, or morals.

“There isn’t,” I say flatly. “She’s chosen her side. I’ve chosen mine. Drop the shield on ten.” 

The premier nods, unable to manage words. A sheen of sweat coats his brow. I slide a steel ring off my right hand, forming it into a bullet with a burst of willpower. 

The blue shield disappears. Sound and color rush back to the world, but I barely notice. My vision tunnels until all I see is Atara’s black-clad figure. I take a deep breath and let the projectile fly, and like an extension of my own arm, I feel its trajectory across the clearing. I feel the miniature crosswinds as it slices through the air. 

I feel it puncture fabric, flesh, and bone, in that order.

Atara crumples to the ground.

I’m sorry. 

[captainchrisfics]

We Have Today

About: After he’s gunned down on a mission, a first-person pov narrator tries to take care of her super soldier boyfriend. Of course, being Captain America helps with the whole not dying thing, but Steve could never get away that easily without a good reprimanding. And I could never end a fic without a good kiss.

Word Count: 2,807

Requested By: Anonymous. Thanks for sending this my way! I had the absolute best time writing the dialogue in this one, it was a lot of fun writing my take on a trope I love too. I’m always accepting reqs if you have any more. Hope you enjoy!!

“I cannot believe you sometimes, Rogers,” I snapped at Steve, scoffing out of frustration. Exactly what I needed right now, while entirely exhausted from battling far more Hydra agents than we anticipated, was a boyfriend with bullet holes scattered throughout his bicep and shoulder. “Thinking your whole body can fit behind that dinner plate of a shield,” I continued to chastise him with a shake of my head as I tore at my suit, ripping some fabric to apply pressure with while we waited for our ride. 

We got what we came for. In fact, the tech was safely buried in the bag slung over my shoulder. The job was done. Almost. 

There was one rogue Hydra sniper left hidden away at the top of a tree. Steve spotted him first and responded so quickly, as if it were an instinctive reflex, that he barely considered what he was doing by jumping in front of the already-aimed gun. It’d been pointed at me. I returned fire successfully, but Steve was still hit. To say the least, today just wasn’t ours. 

He looked far less heroic laying on the forest floor in a crumpled heap of more red than usually accompanied his white and blue. Steve wheezed as he inhaled, though he seemed fine enough to give me one of those frustrating crooked grins as he said, “It’s never failed me before. I mean, look at me,” he tried to spread his arms so I could get a proper view, but all I saw was the way his face contorted with pain. “Pretty damn good for pushing a hundred.” He coughed before allowing his star-spangled piece of vibranium to clatter to the ground. 

“Dear, you look like Swiss cheese,” I countered sympathetically as I stuck a knife between his lips so Steve could bite down on something instead of busting my eardrums in 3... 2... 1...

I pulled the cloth taught around the worst of his wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Steve’s screams still managed to be blood-curdling despite his grinding grip and, with as many horrors as we see in this line of work, I knew it wasn’t a sound my subconscious would allow me to forget any time soon. 

Steve’s rolled his eyes to the back of his head as hurt washed over him in waves, holding a hand to the bloody hole penetrating the left of his chest like a mirrored pledge of allegiance as he took deep breaths in and out. Prickly tears burned my eyes, but I did my best to fight them off. A torrential downpour wouldn’t help anyone right now. 

“C’mon doll, don’t be so harsh,” he paused to wince and for a split second and I allowed myself to feel the heartbreak of watching him in pain. “You’re still ripping your clothes off for me after all.” I chuckled some of the heaviness out of my chest to alleviate the oppressive weight in between my ribs. 

I didn’t have time for Steve’s jokes, though, I was too busy focusing on keeping him from running out of time, period. I tried to elevate the wounds in an attempt to keep his blood at the mercy of gravity so I hauled Steve up to a sitting position against a tree on the outskirts of the field our jet was set to land in. Now it was just a waiting game. 

I wasn’t sure if the super soldier serum made him at least a little impervious to wounds like this or if Steve was putting on a bit of a show to lessen my worry and even maybe boost his own spirits, but I had a bad feeling it was the latter. “You’re a lot of things,” I told him, hoping it would help to play along as I searched the compartments of his toolbelt for something useful until I found a spool of gauze. “Bulletproof apparently isn’t one of them.” 

Steve laughed from his belly at first, a welcome sound to my ears, until it turned into an affronted cacophony of grumbled curses and sullied coughs. I started wrapping up the rest of his injuries to the best of my ability, but I wasn’t a triage doctor, to say the least. On the bright side, however, I also heard the aircraft that descended before us, whipping about my hair so much I could barely see it until it slowed and Nick Fury stepped out.

I helped Steve stand, wrapping his arm that wasn’t littered with gunshot wounds over my shoulders for support as we walked to the ship. He hissed a breath through his teeth with each step, trying to breathe through the pain and chipping away at my resolve. 

Fury opened his arms to welcome us on board with a snarky quip on the tip of his tongue. Shooting him a look maybe more deadly than the weapon I brandished, I shoved the bag into his chest with enough spiteful vigor for him to know it wasn���t worth it. Nothing could be worth this.I left Steve to be treated by an actual medical professional (and by that I mean some Stark tech that still managed to amaze me) while I cleaned up myself and it seemed he’d be fine. 

I met Steve in the onboard bathroom an hour or so later. His major wounds were patched up, leaving me, a damp washcloth, and a mediocre first-aid kit given our circumstance to finish the job. Nevertheless, Steve still looked a hell of a lot worse than I did, having taken the brunt of every beating, jumping in front of the fist of every bad guy aimed at me so I walked away with little more than a scratch while he sat there looking like he’d been through the wringer.

Steve sat on the sink’s counter and slouched down as far as he could so we were almost eye-level. He’d taken off his suit for the procedure and kept it that way evidently, sitting before me in a red-splattered white tank top. I was patting at his bloody lip with an ice pack in the hopes to lessen the swelling as he said, “Don’t people bond through trauma?” Steve’s words were slurred, but I didn’t know if it was because of blood loss or some kind of treatment from the AI. “Good thing, huh, since the whole being from different centuries tends to complicate things.”

“Being a dumbass doesn’t help,” I chided, maybe applying a little bit too much pressure since I elicited a wince from him, though that could’ve just been from my harsh tone. The time for his wise-cracks was long gone. Sure, I could deal with it as a coping mechanism when we were both worried he was about to drop dead, but right now? When I was turning myself into a pretzel so I could properly clean all his cuts and ice all his bruises without so much as grazing the holes from bullets that went in one end of my boyfriend and out the other? Not the time to be talking about how we’d be better for him almost killing himself.

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together as he jutted out his puffy bottom lip. “What’s wrong wi-“ he started to ask, but the answer was already tumbling out of my mouth.

“It was stupidly impulsive of you to jump in front of me like that. To act so indestructible... it isn’t like you,” I lectured. “Correction, it actually totally is and it’s the most frustrating thing.” I pressed the ice pack to his mouth with maybe a little too much fevered force as I ranted, causing Steve to grunt out of discomfort or protest. I kept ranting anyway. 

“I hate when you do that, you know?” I dropped my hands to my sides, staring at Steve with wide eyes to convey how exactly tired of his shit I was. “When you try to save the day by putting yourself in danger. Giving me a heart attack. Acting all heroic.” I couldn’t stand looking at him anymore as his face shifted from concerned to smug with a supposed understanding so I reached for a q-tip dipped in rubbing alcohol and began scrubbing at the small open cute sprinkling his cheeks like freckles.

Steve winced at the disinfectant’s sting. Usually, he complained about my doting, claiming his enhanced healing would take care of it just fine, but I liked the tenderness of getting to clean him up too much to let him have his way. And, secretly, he did too. “It’s part of the job description, actually...” Steve said under his breath with downcast eyes. He swung his legs a little so his heels bounced off of the sink’s cabinets, acting every bit the chided kid he felt like. 

“And to treat me like some inexperienced lackey incapable of taking care of myself?” I jeered with a scrunched face. Steve had a bad habit of treating me like an endangered civilian on missions. Hell, even if I burn my hand on the stove, you’d think someone just told him World War III was knocking on our front door. 

Don’t get me wrong, Steve always had everyone’s backs. He would lay down on the wire for any one of the Avengers any day of the week, he never wanted to see anyone hurt either. In fact, it’s one of the things I loved most about him. However, there was a line thinner than that wire between keeping each other out of the line of fire and literally jumping in front of it. 

“It’s insulting, to treat me like I’m not half the soldier you are when I’m just as much a part of the team as everyone else. I had the shot until you jumped in front-“

“Well, dammit, so did he!” Steve snapped, slamming his hand against the countertop so hard I could almost swear I heard it crack under the pressure. “And you aren’t just everyone else on the team,” he said, quieter now. It was almost eerie after how loud he’d been only seconds before, going from strained veins in his neck to a soft, glassy look in his baby blues. Without him even saying it, I knew the difference. I love you, his eyes told me. I couldn’t stand to lose you.

“And you’re not some fucking self-sacrificial lamb,” I shot back with angry narrowed eyes. “You’re my whole world,” I insisted, shoving a pointed finger into Steve’s chest just over his heart. “You don’t get to just jump into unfriendly fire in front of me like that.” I could feel the tears I’d been pushing down this whole time rising with a new ferocity, like a current I’d been fighting to swim through for so long my body was about to give out. It became obvious I couldn’t take Steve on, too.

“You don’t get to decide that, love,” he said just above a whisper, though I could hear him clear as day given our proximity. He wrapped his fingers around mine jutting into his pec until I allowed him to hold my hand, probably against my better judgment. “You’re everything that makes mine go ‘round. It’d be over my dead body that I’d stand by and allow someone to hurt you,” Steve vowed with a profound seriousness I didn’t expect, striking me right in the heart so hard it felt like I could count the seconds between when it started to beat again.

“It almost was, Steve. You don’t know how it felt...” I spit out the words which tasted like vinegar, burning my throat like acid. I stopped prodding his scratched cheeks, dropping the q-tip along with my gaze. If I stared at his face, broken from the inside out, I was worried that current would turn into a tsunami. “My stomach dropped so fast it felt like it fell right out of me. How’d you feel if the roles were reversed and I was bleeding out at your feet, huh?” I squeezed his hand, reassuring myself that Steve was still here to hold onto. Thinking about how he almost wasn’t. We came close a lot, in our line of work, but it never got any less terrifying.

Steve let go of my hand to caress my cheek, rubbing his thumb under my eye. I hadn’t realized I was crying until he started wiping away my tears. “Doll, for a few split seconds, when I saw him about to pull the trigger with you in his crosshairs, they were.” He tucked his heel behind my leg and pressed against the back of my thigh, urging me to step closer to him so I did. “That feeling, that heart-wrenching desperation and brain-short circuiting,” he paused, taking a deep breath as he tucked his arms under mine, interlocking his fingers at the small of my back, “That’s why I did it. And I’m willing to bet my shield that if I was in his line of fire, you would’ve done the same.”

I wrapped my arms around Steve’s neck and leaned into him, far too tired of fighting and way too in love with him to stay upset with him when he was right. In a heartbeat, I would save him without even so much as a thought. I’m not a big enough hypocrite to hate Steve for doing the same.

I pressed my cheek to his chest, neither of us caring too much about how the wave of tears I couldn’t keep bottled up behind a dam any longer soaked through his shirt as they spilled out of me. “Still…” I exhaled, relishing in the sound of his beating heart. It was comforting, to have near-tangible proof that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “I don’t know what I’d do if…” I failed to finish the sentence, overcome with emotion. I could barely stand to think it, let alone say it out loud.

“I know, love,” Steve paused to press a long kiss on top of my head. “I don’t either.” His hands moved in gentle circles at the base of my back, soothing me as I felt like every other bit of me rattled. He spoke with vulnerability only total honesty could offer. “We don’t have to worry about that now, though. We may not at all. We only ever know we have today and I’ll be damned if we don’t make the most of it. Or if you spend another second of it being mad at me,” he half-joked, causing his chest to rumble with a barely-bitter chuckle.

I pulled far enough away from his embrace to look at him, trying to engrave it on the inside of my brain. The tenderhearted look in his eye, the soft curve of his rosy lips as one side was tugged up a little more than the other, the concerned creases in his forehead, and the blush pink of his cheeks burning through his faintly developing bruises. I watched his eyes flicker from mine to my lips, his long lashes just barely brushing against the swollen apples of his cheeks. 

I leaned in to kiss him, closing the distance slowly until our chests pressed together with every breath before our lips met as if we were each other’s oxygen tanks, unable to survive without one another. Steve gathered my cheeks between his strong hands, fingers just barely grazing my hair. He tucked it behind my ears before tracing his fingers down the curve of my body, stopping once he reached my hips, where he rested. Exactly what we both needed. 

Mine stayed at the nape of his neck, pulling Steve closer to me as if he possibly could be. We parted to breathe, chests heaving unevenly. I pressed my forehead to his, brushing our noses together, as I whispered, “You smell like rubbing alcohol. It’s nauseating.” 

Steve’s chest vibrated with laughter as he rocked my lips again. He dropped his head to the crook of my neck as his chuckle died down. “Your attitude isn’t much better,” he said, looking at my with those baby blues and a spark that melted my heart on contact. “You should be nice to me. I almost died you know?” Steve’s familiar cocky smirk returned as his eyes drifted down again, watching as he tangled our fingers together and undid the knots. 

I rolled my eyes before stealing another quick kiss. As quick as it was, kissing Steve still felt like every bit the Fourth of July fireworks display it had the first time. He was a firecracker through and through, one that wasn’t near ready to fizzle out yet. “Please don’t remind me,” I sighed, taking his hands in mine and holding them tight, not quite ready to let him go anytime soon.

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[thewarriorandtheking]

Under The Mountain

The Warrior Queen: The Warrior and The King Book II Chapter 2. Under The Mountain

Warnings: None

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

It was just past six bells the next morning when there was a soft knock on the door. Kaylea was sitting up in bed reading the daily reports on her handheld, she put a hand on Thorin’s shoulder to raise him.

“Who is it?” She asked, stashing her device.

“Some breakfast for you, my lady,” came a small voice.

Thorin gave her a quick glance and threw back the covers.

“One moment,” Kaylea called. She got up and pulled on her leggings and tunic, pulling the laces tight. Thorin picked up all his clothes he could find and disappeared into the bathroom. Kaylea went to open the door, moving Thorin’s boots to the side where they would be hidden. There were two Dwarf boys standing outside the door, one holding a large covered tray the other a tray with a tall euer and a pitcher of ale, with two mugs and glasses. Kaylea stepped aside so they could come in. Once they had put the trays down on the table they each drew themselves up importantly.

“Navi”, said the younger one. “Kraven,” said the older one. They both bowed. “At your service,” they said in unison.

“At yours and your family’s,” Kaylea replied politely, bowing back. “Kaylea Wolf.”

The two boys set about laying out the breakfast for two, giving her curious looks. Kraven could see she was very tall, but why did she need two breakfasts? Did her people always eat two? And everyone was talking about her and the king outside the gate yesterday.  

Finally Navi could stand it no longer. “Are you the great warrior they tell so many tales about, my lady?’

Kaylea smiled. “I suppose I am.”

“Did you really kill a warg with your bare hands?” Navi asked, he found this tall woman a bit scary but he had heard the story many times and had always wanted to know if it was true.

Kaylea laughed. “I had to use my hands. My sword was stuck in another wargs head.” The two boys looked at each other. They obviously had a million questions but were being too polite to ask.

“Is there anything else you require, my lady?” Kraven asked gravely, poking Navi in the side.  

“There is one thing,” Kaylea said, watching the two boys’ eyes go wide as Hector rose up from the foot of the bed. “This is Hector. Could you walk with him down to the gate and make sure nobody shoots him. He needs to go outside to hunt.”

Kaylea went to stand by the door as the boys led the way for her wolf, closing it behind them. As soon as she shot the bolt Thorin appeared in his underclothes, and headed over to inspect the breakfast fare. Kaylea surveyed the room, the bedclothes twisted and hanging off the bed, pillows and clothing strewn about. It was pretty obvious what had been going on in here, but maybe not to a couple of young boys.

Thorin took a seat, he poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Kaylea. They ate in silence for some time, having missed dinner the night before. At length Kaylea sat back in her chair, she reached her leg under the table to rest her foot on Thorin’s leg. He slowly ran his fingers down the top of her foot, then up her leg.

“So, who is your wife?” Kaylea asked.

Thorin sighed. “Shurri, one of the fairest princesses in the Seven Families. Her father was very eager to make the match, for obvious reasons. She took some convincing.” Kayea looked questioningly at him. “She is in love with a captain in her father’s guard whom her father would never permit her to marry, when I told her I was also in love with someone else she agreed to the match. It helped that her son will be king of Erebor.”

“But you are friends?”

Thorin nodded. “Yes, she has been a great asset in council and performs all the duties of a queen with grace. The marriage has made our kingdoms strong allies. We get along well enough, but there is no love between us.”

Kaylea smiled at him. “She must be warming up to you if she is carrying a second child.”

Thorin shook his head. “She is from a family of three, I am from a family of three, she believes it is good luck to have three children.” Thorin drained his coffee cup, looking suddenly tired. “We have only been together a half dozen times in the past ten years, she gives me five minutes when the time is right. We like each other well enough to get the job done.”

Ouch, Kaylea thought, though she was secretly pleased. “You do have an heir now, you could say no.”

Thorin chuckled. “You do not know her. She is as stubborn as I am,” he looked resigned. “And it is a good idea to have more than one child.”

She moved her foot to rub the inside of his thigh. “Well, she does not know what she is missing.”

Thorin looked at her through his lashes, he moved her foot between his legs, holding it there. “I save myself for you, my love,” he said. “Now, I am done talking about my wife.”

Kaylea smiled slyly at him, wondering again how she had managed to live without this man the last ten years. “Just one thing, since you are married now should I take these out?” She ran her fingers down one of her braids.

Thorin’s eyes flashed. “Certainly not! You are still my woman, even though we are not married...yet.” He leaned forward. “My relationship with the queen is no secret, and those who were here for the Battle of the Five Armies know who you are.” Thorin sat back in his chair, running his fingers up her leg again, smiling. “I hope you brought that blue dress, I must find an occasion for you to wear it.”

Kaylea chuckled. “I came prepared this time. I brought two dresses.”

 It was late morning when Kaylea washed and dressed while Thorin went to his quarters to do the same. She traded her travelling tunic for the soft blue one that Thorin had admired the last time she was in Middle Earth, she left the ring he had given her on the chain around her neck. She took a few moments to catch up on her handheld. War was threatening to break out on the Dubari border, she needed to watch the situation carefully. If it happened she would have to leave in haste, but when Blackwolf had offered her this mission she had jumped at it, not wanting to turn down the opportunity to see Thorin. She had sent Pilot and her aide Aramsham to make contacts on Dubari, if things went according to plan she should be done before they came back. When Kaylea stepped out her door she was surprised to find a richly dressed Dwarf woman waiting for her. She had an air of importance about her as she looked Kaylea over appraisingly. Kaylea studied her closely, her hair, the shape of her eyes. This must be Thorin’s sister she thought to herself. Kaylea bowed low.

“Kaylea Wolf, at your service, my lady,” she said. “I assume you are Princess DIs?”

“You presume right,” the Dwarf replied. She looked Kaylea up and down again, shaking her head. “So here you are, the famous warrior woman who stole my brother’s heart. I have been telling him to give you up for ten years, now I see why he cannot.”

“My heart belongs to him as well, your highness” Kaylea replied seriously. “I apologize if I caused any scandal at the gate yesterday, I assure you that was not my intention.”

Dis waved her hand dismissively. “That was on the king. He should have waited until you were inside and greeted you properly,” she gave Kaylea another appraising glance. “Although it looks like he also took care of that.”

The look she gave her was so sharp Kaylea almost checked to make sure her tunic was laced up, but she knew it was. None of the bite marks were visible.

“And you are wearing his braids!” Dis exclaimed, shaking her head again. “Why not just go ahead and marry him, girl?”

Kaylea smiled. “He has asked me more than once, I have refused him. I have no words for how much I love your brother, but I cannot be his queen. I have many obligations in my own land, I cannot remain in Middle Earth. I cannot bear children, which is a queen’s first duty and, as the son of Durin, his children must be of pure blood to avoid any challenges to his successors. I told him to marry a Dwarf princess and raise a family, I know you may find this hard to believe but I hoped he would find love with the mother of his children. If he had I would have stepped aside, it would not have been easy, but I would have done it. And I am quite sure you have already heard all of this.”

Dis looked at her, this time approvingly. “Yes, but not from your own mouth. I hear the truth in your words,” she replied. “And I must thank you for saving my brother’s life, I understand he would not have survived his injuries without your medicines.” She paused. “You would not happen to have any more of that youth potion you used on him?”

Kaylea laughed. I like her, she thought to herself. “I do not. And it is merely a medicine we use to heal injuries in my land, I had no idea it would have such a strong effect on a Dwarf.” Kaylea grew serious again. “If you have a moment, may ask you about the queen? Is she popular with the people?”

“Yes. She is pretty and generous and smart, a perfect queen in almost every way. She is very popular with her subjects.”

“Then I will encourage Thorin to be discreet. I have no wish to undermine her, she is the one who must live in Erebor.”

Dis smiled at her. “The fact the king and queen do not love each other is well known to all, it does not affect their popularity. Many remember you, your actions at the Battle of the Five Armies and on the way to Rivendell are told and retold in story and song. Now that I have set eyes on you myself I can see that you would be hard to forget.” She put a hand on Kaylea’s arm. “If you want to be discreet you are going to have to take out those braids and my brother will not stand for that, I am sure.”

Before Kaylea could answer she looked up and saw Thorin approaching accompanied by a couple of guards. He was wearing a richly embroidered emerald green shirt and vest with a wide silver belt, looking every inch a king. His fine features and short beard had always set him a bit apart from the other Dwarves, now that he was also so young and tall he looked even more different. Kaylea lowered herself on one knee and Dis bowed as he approached, Thorin nodded his acknowledgement. He stepped forward, giving his sister a dark look and offering Kaylea his hand.

“Are you ready for a tour of my restored kingdom, my lady?” He asked.  

She set her hand in his and let him lead the way. As soon as they were out of earshot Thorin asked. “What were you two talking about?”

“You,” Kaylea replied, with a sly smile.

Erebor was much changed since the last time Kaylea had walked the halls. In the days after the dragon it had been a dark and empty place, now it buzzed with life, the halls filled with light and the citizens going about their business. In the residential areas there were Dwarves coming off their shifts in the mines, others delivering groceries and laundry, children on their way to school. In the wider streets were many shops filled with goods of every description. All the Dwarves bowed low to Thorin as he passed, some of the men caught Kaylea’s eye and nodded at her. No doubt, those who remembered her from the great battle. Thorin smiled at all his subjects, stopping occasionally to speak to individuals - asking women about their husbands, inquiring the price of some item, or handing out coins to the children. Kaylea watched him, impressed with how easily he wore the mantle of king. And he was obviously enormously popular with his subjects. Kaylea was careful to keep a bit of distance between them as they walked. It was one thing for her and Thorin to carry on in private, quite another to do it in front of his subjects. They had not talked about it in advance but Thorin seemed to sense what she was doing and kept himself at arm’s length, only occasionally moving close to put a hand on her back or hold her hand. Knowing her interest in engineering matters, Thorin pointed out all the improvements they had made to the city and Kaylea wanted to see the work in some areas, going down hidden halls and climbing on equipment to get a better idea of what had been done.

Thorin bought apples for them and the guards at a stand in one of the markets. The shopkeeper tried to give them to him, but he insisted on paying. They ate them as they headed to the forges.

“It seems to be all Dwarves in the city,” Kaylea remarked. The city could obviously house many more people. “Is all commerce with other races done in Dale?”

Thorin nodded. “We keep Erebor to ourselves. There are some from Dale who work here, but we keep all the traders away. That way we can control prices for our folk.”

Kaylea nodded. They came then to the forges, all of them lit and Dwarves busy making swords, armor and down at the far end, fine silver ornaments. Kaylea noticed a rack of sword blades with the same single-edged, curved design as her own. She lifted one off the rack, swinging it by the tang. The balance was excellent.

“Your contribution to the wealth of Erebor,” Thorin explained, watching her. “Those swords are much sought after, they hold their edge much better than those that are made traditionally. And we use thrice-forged steel, not as good as the one you gave me but a big improvement on what we were making.”

Kaylea put the blade back on the rack, shaking her head. She should have known the first thing Thorin would do with the sword she gave him was try to replicate it. Only that steel did not exist in Middle Earth.

Kaylea saw one of the biggest changes in the treasury. Gone were the giant bins of coin, in their place were a series of strongrooms with gold bars stacked to the ceilings.

“This was your best idea, my love,” Thorin told her. “Taking the coin out of circulation increased the value fifty percent, and it is so much easier to manage this way. Strange we never thought of doing it before.”

Kaylea smiled at him. “Perhaps because it is a bit harder to admire this way.”

Thorin frowned at her. “My grandfather used to spend days down here, just looking at his treasure. I did too, when I first returned.” He shook his head, smiling. “After I recovered from my wounds I found I never think about it anymore. Just as I never wear that crown anymore.”

“That is a good thing, my king,” Kaylea said. “They are only tools and symbols, they do not make you who you are.”

 The next morning Thorin suggested they take a ride up Ravenhill. It was a beautiful day, the warm sun accompanied in the sky by a few wispy clouds, new leaves turning all the trees bright green, the smell of new grass in the air. Thorin’s horse was a pretty little bay mare, with the graceful curved neck and short back of a horse bred in the west of Rohan. They were sure-footed and swift, made for life in the rocky hills of that part of the land. Kaylea was impressed with her conditioning, she was barely blowing after a swift climb up the steep side of Ravenhill. Thorin looked very comfortable on her back, Kaylea had not realized he was such an accomplished horseman.

The two of them dismounted and stood side by side, the land laid out before them. The rain during the night had washed the air clean and they could see for many miles. The Iron Hills were just visible in the distance, the Long Lake and the land beyond stretching away to the south.  

“That is where we will be riding soon,” Thorin said, nodding towards the lands past the lake.

“Where I will be riding, my king,” Kaylea replied. “You will be staying here where you belong.”

“I belong with you,” Thorin replied. He reached up to touch the side of her face. “Now that I see you again after all this time, I know that better than ever.” Thorin looked out over the land, a faraway look in his eyes. “For years I dreamed of nothing but reclaiming Erebor, now I have done that. My line is secure, my kingdom prospers, I have all that my grandfather had and more, all that a Dwarf my age could want. I should be content, but I am not. Whatever magic you used to heal my injuries has made me young again, I find myself again with a young man’s dreams. Adventure, risk, freedom from responsibilities, sometimes I feel the life of a king is crushing me.”

Kaylea was looking into the distance. She said something in a strange language, when she looked at Thorin she saw his questioning glance.

“It is a saying among my people. When you have been too long in one place and want to travel we say you have ‘itchy feet’”.

Thorin chuckled. “I like that! Yes, I have itchy feet. They itch to be on the road again, to be on an adventure, see new things and do some fighting.” He looked at Kaylea. “If the Dark Lord is rebuilding his power, I would like to see that for myself.”

“It is a dark and dangerous road, my king. We must travel for days through empty lands, and when we reach Mordor I do not know what we will find. The forces of the enemy for certain, of what manner and how many I cannot say.” She looked over at Thorin to find him smiling at her.

“If you are trying to convince me not to go, you are not doing a very good job,” he said. ”I have not always lived a life of comfort and ease, I remember well the trials of life in the Wild. Perhaps I have not trained as hard as I should but the forces of the enemy do not frighten me.”

“They should, my king.”

Thorin took her hand, interlacing her fingers with his. He wrapped his arm over hers to bring her close, kissing the back of her hand. “I fear nothing when you are next to me.”

 It was two evenings later that Thorin asked Kaylea if she would dress for dinner. A group of Elves from Lorien had arrived unexpectedly that day, the first visit to Erebor of the Fair Folk from that land and he wanted to show them some Dwarvish hospitality. Kaylea was surprised but glad they had come since she could get much information from them about the lands to the South, where she would soon ride. The dress she chose to wear was the more formal of the two she had brought with her. It was pale silver silk gathered in silver clasps on top of her shoulders that left her arms bare. A second piece of fabric flowed between the clasps over her back to the floor, covering the cutaway back. The drape of the dress was such that it managed to appear modest and revealing at the same time. Kaylea had swept her hair up, the silver beads and Thorin’s ring were the only ornaments she wore.

Thorin had said he would meet her outside the reception hall and he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, wanting to see what she was wearing. Kaylea smiled when she saw him, he was also wearing silver. A thin silver high-collared shirt, topped with a darker silver fur-trimmed vest over his black breeches and boots. Kaylea thought he looked devastatingly handsome.

Thorin gave a low whistle when he saw her, regarding her hungrily as she came down the stairs.

“You did come prepared,” he said, a finger tracing the plunging neckline of her dress. Kaylea put her hands inside his vest, feeling his body under his shirt.

“You look good enough to eat,” she told him, drawing him close to kiss him. Time always seemed to stop when they were kissing each other and it was a long moment before they pulled back.

Thorin ran his fingers over her neck, down the front of her dress. “I have such jewels with which I would adorn your neck,” he sighed. “Tiaras of spun gold, light as spiderweb. It is my curse that I fall in love with the only woman in the world with no interest in jewelry.” He reached into his tunic for a leather pouch. “But I believe I have the perfect thing for that dress.”

Kaylea looked at him as she undid the strings of the pouch. “I have no occasion to wear jewelry in my own country, my king.” She reached into the pouch and pulled out a silver necklace. At first glance it looked like a heavy silver chain but as she ran her fingers along it she could see it was four strands spun loosely together, where they parted tiny sapphires flashed, seemingly suspended between them. Kaylea stared at it, amazed. Thorin smiled, he did not like to think about how long it had taken to make but her reaction was worth it. He took it from her and stepped behind her to fasten it, giving her a kiss on the side of her neck.

Kaylea put a hand on the necklace. “Once again you give me something of which I feel unworthy.”

Thorin leaned to the side to look at her, surprised. “Unworthy? How can you not be worthy?”

Kaylea sighed. “Something this fine should be for a woman who can wear it daily at your side, I feel I repay you poorly for such magnificent gifts.”

Thorin gave her a curious look. “That is your choice, not mine. We cannot decide who we want to fall in love with, but we do choose what to do afterward,” he would have gone on, but Balin appeared out of the Hall, looking for the king.

“What is keeping you...oh!” He gave Kaylea a startled look and then bowed low. “Good evening, my lady. I must say you look rather stunning.”

“Good evening, Master Balin!” Kaylea replied. “Thank you. We will be right behind you.” Thorin offered her his arm and they went into the hall. Kaylea had questioned him about whether it was appropriate for them to walk in together, since he was now a married man. Thorin brushed her concerns aside saying he was the King and he would have dinner with whoever he pleased. While Thorin was technically right, she did not think it very wise. However, the party would just be Dwarves close to Thorin who already knew and the Elves, who would not care. The servants would gossip, but it was not like she was sitting on a throne next to him in the Hall of Kings.

The reception hall was a smaller, more welcoming place than the Great Hall. There were fires burning in the big fireplaces and many places to sit, along the walls or in comfortable chairs by the fires. It was decorated with swords and shields from all Seven Kingdoms, and several large tapestries depicting events from the Battle of the Five Armies. Kaylea swept the room with her eyes, she saw Balin, Gloin, Fili, Dis and several other Dwarf women who were likely their wives, Dori and two other Dwarves she did not recognize. There was a group of four golden-haired Elves standing by the fire drinking from long stemmed glasses, one looked over and smiled at Kaylea as she came in with the King.

Thorin guided her around the room introducing her to the Dwarves she had not met, one hand on her back or his arm around her waist. There could be no question of the understanding between them.

As they approached the party of Elves Balin came over to make the introductions, but the Elf who had smiled at Kaylea stepped forward to greet her with an amused smile. “Kaylea Wolf, you turn up in the most surprising places!” He said, looking pointedly at her dress. “And looking so ravishing. I was not aware you owned any clothes that were not black.”

Thorin burst out laughing at this. Kaylea laughed too. “Thank you, Haldir. It is also quite surprising to see the Fair Folk in the halls of Erebor. What happened, you forget how to make knives?”

Haldir laughed. “Ever since Durin’s Folk returned to the Lonely Mountain we have been considering opening trade between our kingdoms, they have been too long estranged. We came to Dale on other business and thought we would request an audience with the King.” He inclined his head to Thorin, who nodded politely back. “But you must tell me what brings you here, you never seem to arrive with glad tidings.”

Kaylea nodded gravely. “It seems that is never my task.”

Just then dinner was called and they all went through to the dining hall. Thorin sat at the end of the table, Fili on his left. Dis sat in what would be the queen’s seat at the other end. Kaylea was seated a few seats down the table from Thorin, next to the Elves, which gave her a chance to ask Haldir about the route she would soon be travelling. They spent much of the meal in deep conversation about the disposition of the lands between Erebor and Mordor.

Thorin watched Kaylea closely throughout the dinner. Mostly he liked looking at her in that dress, but he found it interesting that she and the Elves treated each other as equals. She did not hold them in awe, as so many in Middle Earth did and Haldir seemed to have genuine respect for her. Thorin made a mental note to ask her about it.

Kaylea felt Thorin’s eyes on her many times during the evening, and would often look over to meet his gaze. She did wish she could have sat next to him, but this was more appropriate, and they would be together later anyway. At one point during the evening Kaylea noticed Thorin had undone a couple of buttons on his shirt, as the room was quite warm. After that every time she looked at him all she could think about was unbuttoning the rest and taking that shirt off.  

The adventures of The Warrior and The King also on AO3 & FanFiction, links on my homepage (author is akdogdriver). Now also on Wattpad. 

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