#i’m sorry pasha we failed you

[heartwyld]

forever salty about moldova flopping so hard this year soarele si luna is such a banger

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (7/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,244

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please note the rating change

read it below or read it here on AO3

VII.

—

Jamie swiped up on the tablet to throw the video to the feed at the centre of the table.

"Rebecca, this is everyone," Jamie said. "Everyone, this is Rebecca."

"I thought that maybe you'd been making up your Jedi friends this whole time. Nice to see I was wrong about that." Rebecca gave a little wave. "Hi, Dani. How's the ghost?"

Dani sank down a little in her seat, and her answering smile was more of a grimace. "Hi. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Yeah, about that," said Jamie. “Back on Quint’s ship, you said you knew what was happening at House Thul.”

“Oh? Finally ready to listen to me, are you?”

“Don’t push me,” Jamie growled, jabbing the tip of her finger at Rebecca’s face on the screen. “Remember. Galaxy’s Biggest Favour.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had taken the call with her back to a wall, so it was impossible to glean her surroundings. "The Empire wants a foothold on Alderaan. It's a strategic location in the Core Worlds. They have been working over Lord Wingrave after the death of his brother and sister-in-law, helping him fabricate claims to the House, claims to his niece and nephew, claims to a position in the Republic Senate. You know the drill. Traditional blackmail."

"What else?" Jamie pressed.

For a moment Rebecca glanced over the top of the camera as if looking at something else out of frame, but then her attention returned back to the screen. "The children are Force Sensitives. The Sith have been helping Lord Wingrave keep that under wraps, so that The Order wouldn't take them away to the Temple for training. My sources tell me that the plan was for a Sith Lord to create sleeper agents out of the children through the use of some ancient Sith device containing a ghost."

"Which Sith?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not in the business of keeping tabs on Sith Lords. By the way," Rebecca pointed through the screen at Hannah. "How have you found shaving your head? Because I've been thinking of cutting my hair back, but I’m not sure about going all the way."

Running a hand along her shaved scalp, Hannah said, "There's nothing quite so freeing."

"Good to know. Thanks.” 

"Oi," Jamie snapped her fingers. "Focus. The Sith Lord."

"What else is there to say?" Rebecca replied dryly. "They're a Sith Lord. They're scary. They're dangerous. They're not to be fucked with. Your Jedi friends probably know the drill better than me."

"I hope not," Owen said under his breath as he took a sip of tea.

Hannah sat up a little straighter, hands clasped neatly on the table before her. "Do we know where they are? Where they're going, perhaps? Any information you give us may be vital."

Leaning her back against the wall behind her, Rebecca pursed her lips in thought before answering with a shake of her head. "I know they want the children, and I know they want the holocron. So - Alderaan."

"But the holocron isn't on Alderaan," Dani pointed out.

"They don't know that," said Rebecca. "Peter lied to buy himself time, and told them it was still in the estate of House Thul."

"But -" Dani frowned. "House Thul has its own militia of guardsmen. I know Sith are powerful but the Empire would need to send troops if they wanted to break in and hold ground."

"Then I guess the Sith Lord will be invading with troops as well."

Sighing deeply, Jamie lowered her face to her hands, letting her fingers scrub through her hair. Then she looked up again, hands hooked behind her neck. "Right. Guess we're off to Alderaan, then."

Rebecca laughed. When nobody else joined in, she stopped. "Wait. You're serious? Did you not just hear me say 'Most likely a Sith Lord is going to invade House Thul?' As in — with a shock legion. As in over a thousand soldiers led by a malevolent Force User, who can and would probably kill a room with a snap of their fingers?” 

Lowering her hands, Jamie said, "Yeah, you - uh - you mentioned that. Good thing you'll be right there with us."

"You have got to be joking."

Jamie said nothing. Just gave Rebecca a long look.

"Jamie," said Rebecca, her expression horrified, "You can't be serious. When I said 'favour' I didn't mean 'suicide.'"

"We can’t let them have those kids. Trying to mobilise Republic troops or The Order without enough evidence is a fuckin’ waste of time. We need to get into the estate of House Thul," Jamie gestured around to everyone at the table. "You're a smuggler. So, smuggle us in."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alderaan is Republic territory. Why do you need me to smuggle you onto the planet, when you can just fly and land there yourself?"

"Because of her." Jamie gestured towards Dani, who looked both startled at being mentioned and guilty. "I don't want Pasha and his Troopers linking Dani to this in any way. They can't know she returned to House Thul. She has to come out of this squeaky clean."

Groaning, Rebecca said, "Fine. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as possible," said Owen.

"I'm -" Rebecca looked over the top of the camera again, craning her neck slightly. "Thirty two hours from Alderaan through hyperspace. Meet me in orbit around the planet. How's the ship I gave you?"

"Rude," Jamie said blandly. "It keeps insulting me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca's mouth and she began tapping at the buttons below her screen. "That sounds like Jane."

Jamie's face screwed up. "Jane? It has a name?"

"It's a JN class droid uploaded into the ship’s mainframe. It likes being called Jane. Didn't you ask it?"

"No?"

"Well, no wonder it's rude to you. By the way, I’ve just dropped you those pictures of my godson that you asked for last time. They should be appearing on your device now.” Rebecca waved with a little flutter of her fingers. “See you in thirty two hours.”

The video feed winked out. 

"I rather like that young woman," Hannah said.

“Get in line,” Jamie grumbled. 

The video had been replaced by a file icon. Jamie clicked it and brought up the first photo of Rebecca carrying a blue-skinned Twi’lek child on her back, both wearing big beaming smiles. 

“Oh, they’re adorable,” Owen sighed. 

Fuming, Jamie flicked to the next photo, which was equally adorable. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. They are.”

—

After cleaning up in the dining room and kitchen, Hannah gently nudged Jamie's arm and indicated she should follow her. Jamie glanced over at Dani, but she was engaged in a lively conversation with Owen while they dried dishes together. Dani's smile had lost its tentative edge the longer Owen spoke to her, but there was still a tenseness to the way she held her shoulders, the same tenseness that had been present back in Ho'kyn's bar on Telos IV, as though she were afraid someone would batter down the door at any moment.

Jamie followed Hannah, who led her up a set of stairs to a mezzanine floor where the walls were floor to ceiling scrolls and books and objects of cultural curiosity.

"Find anything new?" Jamie asked. She leaned back against the railing of the mezzanine which overlooked the lounge below.

Hannah plucked a tome from its shelf, dusted it off, and opened it to a page that had already been marked with a length of ribbon. "Yes and no. Nothing helpful, anyway."

She came to stand beside Jamie so that she might also look at the book. Jamie peered at it from the corner of her eye, not recognising the script around the drawing of a grey-skinned woman in dark red robes with a deep cowl.

"That a Sith?" Jamie asked.

Hannah hummed a curious note. "A Witch of Dathomir. Dark-aligned, for the most part, but not Imperial. They're the only practitioners of possession I've been able to find record of at all. I believe The Lady might have been an early precursor. Or perhaps they developed similar techniques independently."

Jamie stood straighter, hands tightening around the railing. "Wait, so - you can reverse it?"

Hannah snapped the book shut. "No. Though a visit to Dathomir might be in order, should we survive. However, if you chose to go, I won't be accompanying you. They dislike Jedi as much as they dislike Sith."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

"I doubt they'll see the difference," Hannah said, and she tucked the book beneath one arm. "Failing that, the only other people who might know anything about this ghost are the Sith themselves."

Jamie scoffed, smiling. "Right. I'll just sail into their capital on Dromund Kaas and ask for help, then. Great advice."

A flick of the Force against Jamie's ear made her wince.

"Don't be cheeky," said Hannah.

Rubbing at her ear, Jamie opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Beneath them Dani and Owen walked into the lounge, still talking. Dani moved her hands when she spoke, and Owen watched her with a fond if guarded smile.

"I am afraid for her," Hannah murmured so that they would not be overheard.

Jamie nodded. "Yeah."

"For someone like our lovely Miss Clayton, the Dark Side is not a lure so much as it is a glue trap," Hannah mused aloud. "It has a gravity of its own, the darkness. And once there, it becomes more and more difficult to claw your way free. Even if you want to. Even if you know you should, but can’t bring yourself to try. Fear is her failing. And fear is the relinquishment of logic."

Jamie glanced at Hannah. "Can you teach her when this is all over? You're the best of the best in The Order when it comes to balance in the Force."

Without looking at Jamie, Hannah lightly smacked her arm, just a dismissive tap with the back of one hand. "Don't try your flattery on me. I've known you too long for that nonsense."

"That nonsense," said Jamie, "has gotten me out of more sticky situations than you know."

"But it won't get Miss Clayton out of this one."

Muttering a curse under her breath, Jamie sank down a bit, gripping the railing as she did so until she stood bent over and leaning against it. "Don't you start, too. I had Owen in my ear last night about it."

"Good man," Hannah murmured appreciatively.

"Bloody hypocrites. The both of you."

"You can't solve everything with your curmudgeonly charm," said Hannah.

"I fuckin' can."

"Sometimes," Hannah turned, leaning her back against the railing, arms crossed over the book gripped loosely to her chest, "a helping hand can only do so much. A person needs to want to help themself."

Jamie scowled. "So, what? If we can't help her we just ship her off to the Empire? 'Here, have a new Sith apprentice?' You haven't even given her a chance, and you two are already lecturing me on how I need to let go." She shook her head with a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

And of course Hannah remained infuriatingly unflappable, her voice calm when she replied, "I will do everything I can, as I know Owen will, too. But — even should we survive this ordeal — our time with her will be limited. She will not be safe on Tython, where some overzealous Knight will surely sense her presence and jump to conclusions."

Jamie's mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Then where am I supposed to take her for training?"

Hannah smiled and placed a warm hand on Jamie's forearm. "Wherever you want, dear. So long as you're there."

Face screwing up in confusion, Jamie straightened. "But you just - You were just telling me how I needed to keep my distance and all that shite."

"Was I?" Hannah murmured, and she let go of Jamie's arm to instead toy at a gold earring. "I don't recall saying that at all."

And with that she crossed back over to place the book on its shelf.

"What do you mean? Hannah?" said Jamie, turning around.

Humming to herself as if she hadn't heard, Hannah drifted off down the stairs.

"Hannah," Jamie repeated, louder this time.

"We really must pack, Owen," said Hannah, ignoring Jamie completely.

Hitting her fist against the railing, Jamie turned back around to glower down at Hannah, who appeared on the floor below. Hannah urged Owen down a hallway with instructions to pack for the trip, leaving Dani standing in the middle of the lounge, alone. Dani looked up, and Jamie's fist loosened.

The last time Jamie had seen her from this angle, Dani had been in the full thrall of The Lady back on the luxury cruiser, her red-gold gaze piercing through a camera in the ceiling. Now, Dani blinked up at her with none of that cold malice to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Hannah's voice called down the hallway.

"Miss Clayton, what's the weather like at House Thul?"

Dani turned and began walking towards the sound, already answering Hannah's question, and leaving Jamie staring after her from the mezzanine floor, lost.

—

The gangway automatically lowered to the ground when Jamie got within a certain distance from the luxury cruiser still docked where they had left it.

"Good afternoon, Bollocks," said the cultured male baritone of the ship's computer. "You've brought guests."

Beside her, Owen mouthed the word 'bollocks?' at Hannah, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jamie rolled her eyes and shooed the two of them up the gangway, trailed by Dani. "I have, yeah. Anything interesting happen while we were away, Jane?"

There followed a pause that was slightly too long for a droid of this calibre, and then the ship's computer replied, "Nothing of note. I did not tell you to call me that."

"Oh? Don't like it? Should I call you bawbag instead?"

Another pause, this one affronted. "Jane," said the ship's computer, "is perfectly serviceable."

"Glad to hear it, mate," Jamie drawled and stepped into the ship proper.

As Dani stepped up behind her, the ship's computer said, "And a good day to you, too, Miss Clayton. You're looking very alive today."

"Uh -" said Dani, and she ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks."

The gangway lifted and sealed behind them once everyone had entered the main atrium, where the ship’s computer had already sent out a small service droid on trundlers bearing glasses of some kind of pale carbonated alcohol. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Owen murmured, picking up a glass and taking a sip. He made an appreciative noise. 

“Where would we like to go?” the ship’s computer asked.

Jamie waved the service droid away when it tried to press an insistent drink into her hand. “No, thanks. Jane, calculate a route to Alderaan. We need to meet someone in orbit around the planet in thirty two hours.”

“Route calculated,” the ship’s computer replied almost immediately. “The journey is only expected to take twenty one hours through hyperspace. I will chart a circuitous route so that we arrive on time. If it would please you, you may make your way to the dining lounge. I have prepared a light lunch before we depart.” 

Frowning, Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did you even know we were coming?”

“I have access to the station’s security cameras and systems.”

That gave everyone pause. Owen froze in the act of draining his glass, while Hannah and Dani shared looks. 

“You hacked the station’s security system?” Jamie said.

“Negative, Bollocks,” said the ship’s computer. “I asked the mainframe for access very nicely.” 

“Are you lying?” Jamie turned to Hannah and Dani. “Can droids lie?”

The ship’s computer did not answer. Which wasn’t concerning. Not at all. Owen suddenly looked a bit queasy, and he gingerly lowered his near empty glass back onto the tray held out by the service droid. 

“You need not fear for the condition of food and drink aboard this vessel,” said the ship’s computer. “I am programmed to care for and protect any legitimate member of this crew as designated by the Captain and owner.” 

Jamie pointed jokingly at Owen and said, “Better watch yourself, then.”

Placing a hand over his chest, Owen pretended to look insulted, then followed Jamie further into the ship towards the dining lounge. 

“May I ask,” started the ship’s computer, “what are we going to be doing on Alderaan?’

Jamie dragged her hand along one of the polished white walls as she walked. “Getting in over our heads.”

“Please clarify.”

“We’re going to have a fight. Why?” Jamie asked dryly. “Do you also happen to have ion cannons strapped to your shiny exterior?”

“Negative. But I do come equipped with some accessories the crew might find useful in the event of a boarding attempt.”

One of the panels beneath Jamie’s hand pressed inwards, and a whole section of the wall peeled back to reveal racks upon racks of blaster pistols, blaster rifles, grenades, vibroweapons with wickedly curved blades some small enough to strap to the leg, others long enough to be wielded with two hands. Everything that would make a Republic Trooper get all hot and bothered.   

All four of them stopped in their tracks and stared. 

“Definitely an ex-Czerka ship,” Hannah muttered under her breath.

Hand on the hilt of the lightsabre at her hip, Dani said, “I think I’ll stick with this. I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot.”

“Likewise,” said Owen. 

Meanwhile Jamie reached out and hefted a blaster pistol. She turned it over in her hands for closer inspection, careful not to graze anyone with the barrel, but all defining marks or serial numbers had been either scrubbed off or hadn’t made it far enough in manufacturing to be stamped in the first place. With a shrug, she took one of the holsters and belted it around her waist. 

Owen gave her a look. “Really?” 

“What?” Jamie holstered the blaster pistol and waved at the other three. “You all have lightsabres, and we’re going up against who only knows what. Am I supposed to just hide behind a pillar while you lot do all the fun stuff?” 

Before they could answer, the ship’s computer chimed and said from its hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Not to interrupt,” said Jane, “but the tea is getting cold.”

Immediately Owen’s eyes brightened. “Oh, tea?” 

It was in fact high tea. Three tiered platters. Fine bone china. Petit fours. The whole lot. They amused themselves in the various lounges and quarters of the ship for hours before departure, at which point the ship’s computer insisted upon harnesses being secured. The jump to hyperspace left Jamie feeling on edge, as though she had left her stomach behind on Tython. And she couldn’t have been the only one. Their talk had been too forced, their laughter too loud, Owen and Jamie swapping stories to the delight of Dani and Hannah, who would chime in every now and then. And when Jane rolled out a more formal dinner, it felt like some kind of last meal before execution at dawn by firing squad. 

Jamie couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the meal. Every bite tasted like ash. The ship’s computer on the other hand seemed thrilled that its crew was finally taking part in its carefully scheduled meals and activities. More than once Jamie thought she heard a low-pitched contented hum from the belly of the ship. Or perhaps that was simply the engine room. 

Eventually, Jamie made her excuses and left the others to their own devices. Jamie walked into the same bedroom she had taken during the initial trip on this vessel. First one on the left from the main lounge. There were at least four other rooms of generally equal size and accommodation on the ship; Jamie had simply picked this one because it was closest to the helm, easy to access and nothing more. 

Jamie sighed and stopped in the middle of the room. She unslung the holster and pistol, dropping it to the ground, then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt she had stolen from the medbay. Back on Tython, Hannah had offered her a spare set of robes, which she’d declined. Jamie hadn’t worn robes since she was a padawan, and after years of boilersuits and undershirts, she wasn’t about to start again any time soon, thanks. Even if it meant dumb slacks and collared shirts made of some anti-wrinkle fabric that cost more than her apartment back on Telos IV. 

She just needed to make it one more day. Just one more day. The last few weeks had shaved off a good few years from her life. Probably. And by this time tomorrow this whole ordeal would be over, alive or dead. Probably. 

There was a knock at the door. With a frown, Jamie turned, hands paused in the act of unbuttoning the shirt halfway down her stomach. “Yeah?” 

The door hissed open and shut again behind Dani as she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Jamie blinked. “Hey.” 

For a long moment Dani did and said nothing. Her mismatched gaze flicked down to the narrow v of skin and the dogtags revealed by the open shirt, only to dart quickly away again, studying the bedside table with a fixed intensity it did not deserve. 

“Sorry,” said Dani. “I just - It's been a few days since we’d really spoken, and I wanted to check in.”

Jamie nodded. “Ah - yeah. I’m good. Are you -?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Another lengthy pause.

Dani gestured to the door behind her. “Hannah and Owen are very nice.” 

“They are, yeah. Good people. Trust ‘em with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.” Jamie tried to smile, to make light, but Dani had turned that wide-eyed fixed intensity upon her now. It was difficult not to squirm in place when Dani looked at her like that.

Dani took an abortive step forward, only to stop herself before she could venture too close. “Are we okay? It’s just - on Tython you seemed to want your own space, and I thought -” She paused to clear her throat, glancing briefly down at her feet. “Did I mess this up or -? I mean - I know I’m not the best option for anyone, and you deserve someone nice, someone who’s not completely messed up or possessed by an ancient Sith ghost or something. But I -” she paused to close her eyes and draw in a deep breath. “I really like you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me after this is all over, I would completely understand, but I -”

Jamie tried. She really did. But the next thing she knew, she had taken a step forward and pulled Dani in for a kiss. Dani made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat that Jamie chased after, feeling her respond in kind, feeling the Force welling up beneath Dani’s skin like a hand reaching out in offering. 

“Do you think -” Jamie said, pulling away just enough to speak, “- that I did all this because I don’t like you?”

Dani gave a breathless little laugh, her hands cupping Jamie’s jaw then sliding to cradle the back of her head. “I thought you did it because you’re good and noble and you’re drawn to a lost cause.”

“Can be lots of things, can’t I?”

They were close enough that Jamie could feel the pull of Dani’s smile against her own lips, their noses brushing. 

“I know you like your life to be boring. So, I was thinking," said Dani, "how nice Corsin must be at this time of year. Just a getaway planet in the middle of nowhere. No Sith. No Jedi. That could be boring, couldn't it?"

Jamie swayed forward, eyes half lidded, and murmured, "Could be awfully boring."

Hannah and Owen be damned. The little voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea be damned. Dani was kissing her again and every thought flew right out of her head until there was nothing but this. Nothing but today, this moment, the call of blood in her veins, life as it was and nothing else. 

There was not push towards the bed, no drive to action beyond this. Still Jamie paused, one hand remaining anchored at Dani’s waist.

“You can still go alone,” Jamie said, “if you want. Doesn’t have to be with me.”

Even as she said it, Jamie dreaded the answer. Knowing Dani’s predilection towards shrinking away from things that were too difficult to face alone. Knowing her own history of always being the odd one out, passed from place to place, from Corps to Corps, unfettered, unwanted. 

Dani’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her close. “Want it to be with you.”

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani kissed her again. Want this, too.

Removing Dani’s cloak and tossing it onto the floor beside the blaster pistol had never felt so easy. Kissing her, unhooking the lightsabre and setting it onto the table had never felt so easy. Unzipping Dani’s vest while Dani finished unbuttoning what Jamie had started had never felt so easy. Being with someone else had never felt so easy. 

Jamie’s shirt was discarded onto the ground beside the bed just as Jamie sank to her knees there. Dani’s hair was mussed, her mouth parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking as Jamie began to slowly drag down the zipper of her trousers. She toyed with the chain of Jamie’s dogtags, winding it around her fingers at the back of Jamie’s neck. 

When Jamie began to tug down the material, Dani sat on the edge of the mattress so her pants could be peeled off and placed aside. Jamie leaned forward and stroked her tongue along the soft skin of Dani’s inner thigh, feeling a hand grip her hair when she bit down gently, and making a low dark sound in the back of her throat. 

Already Dani was moving her hips in small motions and Jamie hadn’t even started yet. Jamie laughed softly.

“What?” Dani breathed.

Jamie shook her head, but the movement was restricted somewhat by the tight grip Dani had on her hair. “Nothing,” she murmured and bowed forward to place her open mouth against slick wet and wanting heat.

Wanting nothing but this. The spread of Dani’s legs on either side of Jamie’s head. The taste of her when Jamie swiped her tongue in long slow strokes. The sound of her name gasped in Dani’s voice. The ache between her own legs as Dani rocked her hips to the rhythm Jamie set with a barely restrained urgency. 

Where last time had been fast and hard, Jamie did the opposite now. She traced Dani with the tip of her tongue as if trying to map her to memory, finding the best reactions and storing them away for later, for a time again with her that may never come. One of Dani’s heels came up to press into the small of Jamie’s back, and Jamie could feel the way the muscle of Dani’s inner thigh trembled against the side of her face. The same way her fingers trembled as they combed back Jamie’s hair. 

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani’s groan ended on a broken noise, as Dani’s hips arched up to press more firmly against her mouth while Jamie offered only a gentle suction. Want her. Want us. 

Dani hauled Jamie up by the chain around her neck to kiss her deeply. The kiss was slick and messy and tasted of her, and when they parted Dani was panting. 

“Did I mention,” Dani said breathlessly, “that I really like you?”

Jamie laughed and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the bed. Smiling broadly, Dani kissed her and rolled her over to start unbuttoning Jamie’s dark-washed slacks. Before she could do more than flick open the first of two buttons, Jamie placed her hands and Dani’s hips and encouraged her to rock against her thigh.

“That’s -” Dani swallowed back a reckless sound, her eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to ruin your nice slacks.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Dani’s answering laugh was breathless. “Do you mean that literally, or -?”

The question died on her tongue when Jamie pressed her knee up and wedged a hand between them just enough that she could brush her thumb just so. She watched as Dani’s face screwed up, as her mouth dropped open and her hips bucked out of time until she came again — smaller this time, but no less gratifying.

Dani slowed to a halt, trying to catch her breath. “All right,” she said. “It’s definitely your turn.”

When they’d finished, Jamie sank bonelessly back onto the mattress. Their clothes were strewn all about the room, and the ship’s computer had set the lights to dim automatically to match a normalised sleep cycle, so that the ceiling was a map of constellations. Dani was stark naked and wiping her hands clean on a shirt with a self-satisfied expression before she crawled back up the bed and snuggled into Jamie’s side.

Jamie rolled onto her side and draped an arm across Dani’s waist to hold her loosely there. She needed to take a shower, but couldn’t find the energy within herself to get up. Not when recent sex had turned her bones to jelly, and not when Dani started to trace the curving lines of Jamie’s monochromatic tattoo. 

Exhaling slowly, Jamie sank further into the mattress. Her eyes slipped shut and she allowed herself this moment of brief respite. 

“Do you ever think,” Dani asked softly, “this was supposed to happen?” 

Blearily, Jamie opened her eyes, lulled half asleep by the way Dani was touching her. “What d’you mean?”

Dani shook her head, admiring the way her fingertips drifted across the pattern of ink on Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just - When I chose the ship to Telos IV, it wasn’t the fastest or the cheapest or even the one leaving the soonest. I was still in shock, I think. From what had happened on Vurdon Ka. There was another transport leaving three hours earlier, heading towards the Outer Rim, but when the droid asked me what ticket I wanted I bought the one to Telos instead.” Her words slowed to a mumble, and her caress stopped. Dani stared at the flowers on Jamie’s skin as if in wonder. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie offered, watching the flicker of Dani’s brow in response.

Dani seemed to be trying to remember something intently. “Maybe, but it was so strange. I had this - this feeling. And when I landed on Telos, you know, I -” She broke off with a small incredulous laugh. “I walked straight to that bar. Just - straight there. Didn’t even ask for directions.”

Jamie blinked, more awake now. That hum of energy had returned, threading between them like an arc. Dani’s presence was stalwart, nothing wavering or questioning about it. 

“I don’t know anything about the Force,” Dani continued, “but I’m glad to have met you.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. It was brief but the warmth pooling in her chest was verdant and budding. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Rebecca’s ship dropped out of hyperspace only three kilometers from the luxury cruiser, so that the two vessels drifted in orbit around Alderaan side by side. The planet below was a vast curved horizon of blues and greens, struck through with white cloud. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Jamie noticed how Dani’s gaze kept drifting towards the broad windows of the left wing, staring out at the planet below with her shoulders tense and her hands clasped behind her back. 

The moment Rebecca’s ship came into view, Owen leaned over Jamie’s shoulder and hit the comm button, requesting a transmission, which was immediately picked up.

“Hello again,” Owen greeted jovially down the line. “We see you’ve just arrived in orbit. And might I say - your ship is exactly what I expected from a smuggler.”

“Aww, thanks,” said Rebecca, her video feed flickering into view. “I worked hard to get it just right.”

Rebecca’s ship was a single bladed shape of stark grey material, like a shark’s fin parting the surface of water. Jamie knew from experience that its small size could mislead larger ships into underestimating its speed and firepower. She also knew from experience that the sleeping cots were cramped and uncomfortable, and that more often than not Rebecca slept in a hammock strung up in the cockpit itself. 

Jamie elbowed Owen in the gut so she could have more room. “Status report?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “What are you? Fleet Commander Taylor?”

“Just tell me how we’re getting down to the surface without being noticed,” Jamie said.

“Funny you should ask that,” Rebecca replied, trailing off.

Owen made a face. “Oh, no. Is it bad?” 

“Well…”

“Get it over with,” groaned Jamie. She could hear Hannah and Dani walking closer to join the conversation. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rebecca hit a few buttons to switch over the feed, and the screen suddenly displayed a scene much nearer to the surface. She must have hacked into a few security cameras, because the view turned slowly alongside her tapping away in the background. A towering estate in slate greys with parapets like speartips jutting into the sky dominated the screen, flanked by snowy mountains. A broad bridge led to the front entrance, and a hundred or so guardsmen had set up allacrete bollards behind which they were taking cover to avoid incoming fire, peeking over to return volleys before crouching down again.

“That’s,” Dani said slowly, pointing towards a crest-emblazoned purple and red banner hanging from the manor walls on the screen, “House Thul.” 

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“They’re being besieged by the Sith Lord,” said Rebecca.

“I said don’t tell me.”

Hannah peered over Jamie’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Can you get us to the surface?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “But after that, I’m all out of ideas. I told you: I’m not a Core World girl. I don’t know Alderaan from a bottle of spotchka.” 

“I do.” 

Jamie opened her eyes and lowered her head. Beside her Dani had lifted her hand slightly as though waiting to be called on in class. “There’s a side entrance used primarily by servants and staff.”

“What? A side entrance dug all the way through the mountains?” Owen pointed to the snowy peaks pressed in tight on either side of the estate. 

“No, it’s here.” Dani tapped her finger against the screen just off to the side of where the camera was currently showing. “It’s where the guards sleep. You go through a security checkpoint and then down a tunnel which leads into a room off the great hall.” 

“Don’t think the security checkpoint won’t be a problem this time,” said Jamie.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca slowly as a guardsman on screen was shot dead and slumped to the ground, only to be pulled back over the bollard by one of his comrades. “They look a little occupied right now.” 

Chatter fizzed from another speaker on the dashboard. Frowning, Rebecca sat in the pilot’s seat and turned a dial until the frequency better matched. They could hear a staticky voice shouting frantic orders over the comm.

“That’s a Pub frequency,” Rebecca said. 

“The Empire has revealed its hand,” Owen said. “The Republic will be arriving with reinforcements soon.”

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Jamie muttered darkly. 

Hannah hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, yes. A fully fledged Sith Lord? They can tear this estate apart and be out with what they want before Republic troops make it into orbit.” 

“Yeah, well, hopefully we can do the same.” 

From the sidelines, Dani suddenly spoke, “Can we talk about the children for a sec?” When she had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath and continued, “What’s going to happen to them now that we know they’re Force Sensitive?” 

She looked towards Jamie, who raised both hands and shook her head, pointing towards Owen and Hannah. Hannah was looking at Owen, who shrugged and made a gesture, which Hannah reacted to with an emphatic tilt of her head, the two of them engaged in the kind of silent conversation only two people who had been together for so long knew. 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Jamie drawled. “Or are you two lovebirds just going to keep having your weird psychic talk that nobody else can hear?”

Hannah gave Jamie an arch, brook-no-nonsense glare, while Owen stuck out his tongue at her. 

“I think it best if we take them back to Tython,” said Hannah to Dani. “There they can be trained in the Force properly.”

Some of the tension held in Dani’s jaw slackened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear that.” 

“Anything else we need to discuss before we leap into the fray?” Rebecca asked from the pilot’s seat. 

Silence. 

“Right,” said Jamie, hand on the holster of her blaster pistol. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

[softfaust]

Gifted Child: Apprentice’s Backstory & Pre-Plague Life

NB Magician Week: Day One @enbymagicianweek

Enjoy Pre Plague Pals (tm) Aubrie, Asra and Julian, with a heavy side serving of Aubrie’s Childhood Angst.

The Vesuvian sky is still washed over with the colours of dawn when Julian comes crashing into the little magic shop.

“Good news!”

“You finally found your off-switch?” Asra asks, leaning heavily against the counter with a mug of chamomile tea. Aubrie huffs out a laugh, from where they’re filling a display jar with mugwort.

“No, you cantankerous wretch. I finally got a letter from Pasha! I was beginning to think she’d forgotten me...”

Rounding the counter, Aubrie spots a slightly crumpled leaf of paper between Julian’s hands and they raise a questioning brow. “Pasha?”

“Oh, well, that is, Portia. My sister! Back in Nevivon”

Asra makes an interested sound, and Julian brightens. “What does she say?”

He takes this as an invitation to settle himself on the counter, despite Asra’s swatting and Aubrie’s pointed stare. “She’s picked up a little job at the local Inn - she and Mazelinka are saving for a trip to dear old Vesuvia. Oh, Mazelinka is my...uh, well, she raised us, Portia and I. Charming lady, more than willing to clip me around the ear with a rolling pin”

“That explains so much” Aubrie teases, patting Julian’s forearm when he pouts. “Have you seen them at all, since you left Nevivon?”

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. Time flies when you’re having fun, and getting rowdy. It’ll be good to see them, I think”

Asra, a little more awake now that he’s halfway through his tea, murmurs “That’s nice, Ilya”

Aubrie hip-checks him out of the way so that they can reach the cloth under the counter - one of them needs to prepare for the day, after all - and then they almost drop it when Julian asks “what about the two of you, mysterious magicians? Any family?”

There’s a beat, and Asra tenses. Aubrie realises they must be thinking the same thing. Family is....not off-limits, but rarely spoken of, between them. Neither Asra nor Aubrie have much family left to speak of; Asra has his oldest friend, Aubrie their elderly Aunt. The both of them have a traumatic story to tell, and so they rarely tell it at all.

Julian clearly senses the shift in mood, and he frowns. “Oh, erm. That is...you don’t have to tell me. Sorry, I suppose I just assumed....”

“It’s alright, Ilya” Asra tells him.

“I grew up in Firent” Aubrie blurts, almost despite themself. Asra’s eyes widen a little in surprise. Aubrie really never talks about it.

“I once stowed away on a ship heading for Firent. That’s actually where I met a good friend of mine, used to be a barber surgeon for a group of mercenaries. We- ah, sorry. You were, er, saying...?”

Aubrie hesitates, wringing the cloth between stiff fingers. “My mother.....my mother worked on the docks. I always remember her hands being rough from the ropes. And, my father sold tea. He had a little cart at the local market, and he always came home smelling like herbs. Firent....it was a good place to grow up. The Papess was adamant that everyone have some level of education, so I was lucky enough to be schooled a few times a week. I wanted to study medicine, actually”

Julian makes a face, and Aubrie rolls their eyes. “Okay, Mr Leeches, you can give me your lecture on the failings of academic medicine later. Firent was full of it, though, and it was fascinating, so that’s what I wanted. I actually started to help out at the local apothecary just before.....”

It was well over five years ago, now, but it still makes Aubrie’s throat go tight. Asra rests a gentle hand on their knee, and Julian takes their hand between both of his. “I don’t....know. What happened. I went to the apothecary that morning and I....I had a mother, Florenzia, and a father, Malachi. We had a house, between the Colahe family and the seamstress, and a little cat. Mijo. Then I arrived home that afternoon, and it was all gone. Just a patch of overgrown grass, where my house should be. I walked around the block four times before I went into the seamstress’s shop to ask what had happened. She....didn’t know who I was. Didn’t know my parents. Said there had never been a house there, I......”

Aubrie trails off, the pain as fresh as though it happened yesterday. “It was the same everywhere I went. For two days and nights I slept on that same patch of grass, where my home used to be. Then I decided all I could do was sail to Vesuvia, try to find Aunt Mila. I don’t know what I would have done if she was gone, too”

For a long moment, the shop is silent. Aubrie wipes at the tears stubbornly clinging to their lashes, and Julian squeezes their hand. A soft rustling sound comes from the back room, and Klaus comes ambling away from his slumber to nudge insistently at Aubrie’s ankles.

“Sorry,” Aubrie says, a little shaky. They scoop up Klaus, who drapes himself over their shoulders and nudges his wet nose against their cheek. “Didn’t mean to cry on you”

“Crying is good for you” Julian insists. “First thing you learn in medical school”

Asra snorts. “And you’d know?”

“Obviously.” He glances at Aubrie, noting that they’ve composed themselves enough to stop the tears. “Did you, ah....did you ever? Find out what happened?”

Aubrie shakes their head. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop searching, but....I just don’t know”

“At least we have each other” Asra says, voice soft. He’s clearly reflecting on his own situation.

Julian smiles brightly. “There’s no one else I’d rather get into hijinks with”

“Speaking of hijinks....” Aubrie glances past them both, out of the shop window. One of the marketplace merchants is standing in the middle of the cobbled street, waving his arms and raving about sabotage.

Julian clicks his tongue. “Oh ho, if I’m not mistaken, that looks like the chap who tried to steal Selasi’s business by charging double for spiced loaves”

“It does,” Asra hums, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It seems his stall has been overrun with....rodents?”

Aubrie’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Rodents? Hm. How could that have possibly happened?”

A beat, and the three of them burst into helpless laughter.

“Serves him right,” Julian laughs. “Pumpkin loaves, anyone?”

[sterling-starlight]

No Texting During Drama Club

Me: Alright! Week two of Vesuvian pride is all about the modern day AUs, I can do this!

*Eight pages later*

What happened? (Pen pals/online friends meeting in person for the first time. Not quite as adherent to the prompt, but I think it works well enough)

Unknown Sender

3:30 PM.  

“-heard u have a&p with prof valdemar. If you let me copy ur notes, I will owe u pizza for the rest of our lives.

-this is Julian, btw. from the theater club.

-in case u thought this was some, u know, random creep.”

You

3:35 PM

“-Fine. But only because no one deserves to be failed by Valdemar.  

-I’ll drop them off at the dressing room tomorrow. I like pineapple and olive pizza.”

Unknown Sender

3:37 PM

“-pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, u monster!

-sigh. but I'll let it slide since you’re saving my ass.”

You

3:41 PM

“-Did you really just type out ‘sigh’?”

Unknown Sender

3:43 PM

“-….

-Yes.”

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

You

6:30 PM

“-So, hey. Congrats on getting to play Hamlet.”

Julian

6:34 PM

“-not the most original production we’ve done, but a role’s a role. seeing Lucio’s face when he realized he wasn’t the star was worth it.”

You

6:40 PM

“-Remind me who that is.

I’m seriously drawing a blank here.”

Julian

6:43 PM

“-blonde. rich. Insufferable. loud.

-he has that fancy prosthetic arm that somehow makes him better than everyone.”

You

6:50 PM

“-Oooooooooh. Him.

-He doesn’t really come to bother us production people unless he wants to bitch about costuming or the sets. Which is a lot.”

Julian

6:55 PM

“-i think I've heard you chew him out a few times. Ur the girl with the venterran accent, right?”

You

7:01 PM

“-Aye.

-Surprised you could even understand me. Not a lot of people can when I get PO’d.”

Julian

7:10 PM

“-i understood enough to know you called him a prick.  

-my mom and dad took me to venterre once. it was almost as pretty as you.”

You  

7:20

“-Wow.

-That was horrible and you should feel horrible.”

Julian

7:12

“-I have no shame, and never will, my dear.”  

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

Julian

3:00 AM

“-natalia

“-hey, natalia.”

“-tali”

Julian 3:05 AM

“-how did people in the middle ages first think to start using leeches?

“-like, did they stick leeches on themselves and realize that pain and blood loss and disease was the medicine?”

You

3:06 AM

“Jules, it is 3 in the goddamn morning. Go to bed.”

Julian

3:07 AM

“I work the graveyard shift at supermarket.  it’s my lunchtime.”

You

3:08 AM

“-Then fuckin eat your lunch and let normal people sleep before I cram it up your ass.”

Julian

3:10 AM

“- I can think of much more fun things we can do.”

You

3:15 AM

“-Fuck you, I’m going back to sleep.”

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

Jules

2:30 PM

“-So you really had a pet ram as a kid?”

You

2:31 PM

“-Technically, I still do. I just couldn’t bring him with me.

“-my flat allows large dogs, but won’t allow rams? It’s bullshit.”

Jules

2:32 PM

“-rams aren’t really normal pets tho.”

You

2:33 PM

“-Says the guy who has a pet crow.”

Jules

2:34 PM

“-malak is a raven, number 1.  

-number 2, he is an absolute delight. how dare you say otherwise?

You

2:40

“-Rufus is better.

“-Behold the glory”

Jules

2:50 PM

“-oh, so it’s a pet off then? Fine! May the cutest animal win!”

You

3:00 PM

“-Fine!”

Jules

3:05 PM

“-Have at you!”  

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

When Natalia’s phone rang, she was actually shocked to see Julian’s caller id flash on the screen.   They had never actually... talked on the phone before.  

The worst-case scenarios instantly popped into her head. Was he hurt? Did something happen? What if this was the hospital calling her to say he was in critical condition. Why would he put her as an emergency medical contact without telling her?!

Her phone buzzed again, more insistently, and she pressed the answer button with a trembling finger.  

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi~” The feminine voice from the other line was definitely not Julian, not even at his most dramatic falsetto. And she sounded too chipper to be the bearer of doom and death. Natalia let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. “This is... Tali? Right?”

“It’s Natalia, actually. Who is this?”

“My name is Portia! I’m Ilya’s- oh, sorry. One sec,” Portia put a hand over the speaker, muffling the commotion on her side of the line. There was thumping, shuffling, and her shouting “You have her listed as ‘My Dearest Tali’, Ilya! Come on!”  

A voice that sounded somewhat like Julian’s shouted back something, but Natalia couldn’t hear it clearly.  There was a sound like static or rushing wind, before a door slammed and Portia let out a triumphant laugh. Portia’s voice fully came back on the line. “Sorry. But, yeah. I’m Ilya’s little sister. I would have liked to meet you in person, but my brother is completely hopeless.”  Someone thumped against the door, and Portia lowered the phone again. “You know I’m right!”  She yelled at the door.

Back to normal. “Aaaanyway. He’s been lamenting, and sighing, and wallowing over whether or not he should ask you out. So! You wanna go on a date with him?”  

Natalia opened and closed her mouth a few times, wordless sounds escaping. She was sure her face was burning pink. She could feel the heat spreading from her cheeks to her neck.  “Take your time. I can be in here all day.” Portia said casually. Natalia could almost picture her reclining back casually on whatever it was she was sitting on.  

“Ah- Ah,” Natalia finally managed to choke out. She took in a deep breath, and let it out in a slow whistle.  “...if he really wants tae.” She finally said.  

“Oh, he does. Trust me, I know him better than anyone.” Natalia could hear Portia’s smile through the phone. Distantly, a lock clicked and a door swung open. “She said yes, Ilyushka. You can thank me later.”

“That wasn’t- you’re missing the-!” Julian stammered. He took a breath and lifted the phone to his ear. “Listen, whatever Pasha said, you can just forget it. Really. It’s nothing.”

For a moment, Natalia found herself stunned by the sound of his voice. It wasn’t anything new to her. She had heard it from behind thick velvet curtains and up on catwalks. She had heard him bellow for lost love mournfully, monologue passionately, and condemn his enemies. But those were all characters. Hamlet, and Romeo, and Othello. None of them had been Julian Devorak. Not really.  

“Natalia?” His voice broke her out of her stupor, and sent a shiver down her spine. The way his tongue curled around the syllables of her name, like he had never spoken anything more sacred, sent her heart aflame in the best possible way.  

“Julian.” She spoke his name barely above whisper.  Natalia leaned against her desk for support, head spinning. When had- how did- why didn’t he- she- they-? She took in a breath through her nose, just as Julian heaved a resigned sigh.

“Good night, Tali.”  

“No, wait, Julian! Don’t-!” The dial tone droning in her ear was all she got.  And when she tried calling him, all she got was his voice mail.  

Try again. Voice mail.

Try again. Voice mail.  

You

8:00 PM

“-Julian, you asshole! Pick up your phone!”

*Last Read by Jules at 8:05 PM.  

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

Natalia Valeth was not a quitter.

She hadn’t given up when she left her home country to become a pharmacist. She hadn’t lost hope when she didn’t make the cut to be on the acting team. She didn’t back down even as Professor Valdemar verbally tore the first draft of her thesis to shreds. So, when she drove to the community theater the very next weekend, she was a woman on a mission.  

She was hours early for once, but not so early that the doors to the theater weren’t already unlocked. The only person who would wake up at the ass crack of dawn for theater was Julian, and that was exactly what Natalia was betting on.  She threw open the auditorium doors with a resounding bang that echoed resoundingly all throughout the room. Sitting on the edge of the stage was Julian, who looked up at her when she made her entrance. The script he had been looking over listlessly fell from his grip, scattering like leaves in the wind. In such a quiet room, Natalia could hear him curse as if she were right at his side.  She steeled herself and marched down the steps of the auditorium, stopping less than an arm’s length away from were Julian sat on his haunches collecting the papers.  

“We need tae talk. Face tae face this time.”  

“Do we?” Julian finally collected the script and rose to his full height. Despite having a good foot on Natalia, he had never looked smaller gunmetal gray eyes looking everywhere but at her. He turned his back on her to tap the pages crisply against the stage.  

“You bet yer ass we dae! Whit th’ hell urr ye thinking’s? Whit, did ye think ignoring this wid mak’ it go away?”  

“...Maybe a little.”

“Och! Yer impossible!” Natalia threw her hands up with the exclamation. “Did ye think Ah juist said ‘aye’ tae fuck wi’ ye? A’m waantin’ tae gang oan a date wi’ ye! Mibbie even twa! If we feel really crazy, we’ll mak’ it three.”

It might not have been the three magical worlds that would have been most dramatic. If this were a stage production, this would be the part where the lights would dim, and the spotlight would narrow over the two lovers, giving the illusion that they were the only two people in the world.   With the theater as empty as it was, they might as well have been.  

“Do you... Do you mean that?”

Such vulnerability didn't seem like Julian.  Julian could throw out innuendos as easily as breathing. Julian was overly dramatic in everything he did, even when he wasn’t in front of an adoring audience. But it was the Julian who wanted to be a doctor. It was the Julian who looked at all the pandemics of the past, and wondered why so many people had to die.  The Julian who was wound up so tightly like he was bracing himself for ejection like it would come as a physical blow.  

Sarcasm felt like it would just add fuel to the fire, so Natalia opted for compassion instead. When she brushed her hand against Julian’s cheek, he leaned into it like he needed her touch the same way needed air.

“I’m willin tae huv a go at this.” She said gently, like everything would shatter around them if she was too abrasive. “Ye in?”  

“Absolutely.” Julian placed a hand over hers and tilted his head enough to plant a shy, fleeting kiss to her palm.  

Maybe this would end in a romance for the ages. Maybe this would end in tragedy. Whatever happened, it was better than not pursing it at all.  

[thegreatlibraryfangirl]

So, some more history blethering from me!

Today, I’ll be looking at this quote of Khalila’s ,from Smoke and Iron when she’s talking to Santi on the ship. 

“The last serious threat were the Mongols, and they were defeated by the Ottomans before they even came close.”

That sounds like it’s referring to something real. What is it, and can we infer anything from it?

Note: I’m doing my usual bullshit of treating Alexandria as a separate city-state despite the odd bit of evidence which suggests otherwise. I loosely headcanon that the rest of Egypt is under Islamic control/historical influence, they just failed to take Alexandria in the 7th century CE. 

Actually, you could also put the “Alexandria became a separate state” date much earlier using our history - 30 BCE is when the Ptolemaic Kingdom fell to the Romans. Maybe the Library freed itself there. The fact that the Archivist still carries the title Pharoah implies that might be the case.

Are there any helpful ephemera??? @wolfespuppies get back on that readthrough :P 

Sorry, back on topic. Mongols. Ottomans. Yes. 

There are one or two possibilities here. Firstly, that this refers to the Mongols’ repeated attempts to invade the Levant area in the mid 13th century. 

However, the problem with that interpretation is that they weren’t repelled from that area by the Ottomans, but by the Mamluks who controlled Egypt at the time. The Ottomans didn’t take control of the area until the 16th century, by which point the Mongols were no longer expanding. 

So, either that’s an alternate history thing and the Ottomans were in the area several hundred years earlier in GL-verse (given the pasha at Tripoli there’s definitely differences here already), or Caine’s referring to something I don’t know about, or, Caine got it muddled. 

[aria-i-adagio]

Ch. 15: The Marrow of My Lazy Bones

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 3000

Masterpost

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

“Dema!  Are you here?”

I roll over in bed and blink my eyes a few times, the voice calling my name only barely registering.  Morning again.  Those do seem inevitable.  And Asra is gone.  Also inevitable.  I hear footsteps on the steps and sit up.

“Dema?  I just let myself in.  The door was open.”

Portia.  Her voice is welcome; I could certainly use a friend right now.  I sit up and rub my eyes, before calling out that I’m in the bedroom.  She pushes aside the curtain that separates it from the rest of the apartment and pokes her head in.

“I was getting worried about you.  You’ve been gone from the palace for nearly two days.  Still asleep?”  

“Long night.”  I lean forward and bury my face in my hands.  “Really, really long night.”

Portia sits down on the edges of the bed and puts a hand on my shoulder.  “Doesn’t sound like it was a good one either.”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It, um, involves your brother.”

“Ilya?  You ran into him again?  Oh -”  She grabs my hands in hers and squeezes them before finding a blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapping it tightly around my shoulders.  “I bet you need some food and tea in you.  Come on, I’ll make you breakfast while you tell me about it.”

Portia finds a mug in the kitchen, fills it with water, and pushes it into my hands.  I settle myself at the table, leaning back against the wall.  I take a sip of the water before remembering how stale it’s become, then cool it off with water.  Better.  Slightly.

“Um, Dema, how do you light your stove?”

“You have to ask the salamander.”

“The what?”

“Open the grate.”

Portia sets the full kettle on the stove and pulls open the grate, jumping back as the salamander pokes his vermillion head out at her.  “Oh, umm, hey there, do you mind lighting the stove?  Um, please?”  

He bobs his head at her and backs into the oven.  He doesn’t light the stove so much as he produces his own heat from the charcoal we fed him.  Portia watches him in wonder then closes the grate back.  “That’s not something I ever thought I’d see.”  She moves the kettle to the rapidly warming burner and then sits down across from me.  “Now, what happened with Julian?”

I tell her about the red poison leaking from the Palace into the city’s water source, then finding Julian at the edge of the reservoir.  Her eyebrows raise when I describe the eel bite and Julian’s peculiar ability to heal it.  I skip the interlude in the garden, landing us at Mazelinka’s after running from the guards.

“Mazelinka!  Mazelinka knew he was in the city and didn’t tell me!  Oh, I’ll have words with her!”  The kettle whistles behind her, mirroring her anger, and she gets up to fill the tea pot, still muttering under her breath.  She turns back, pot wrapped in a towel, and sets it down between us on the table.  “Keep going, sweetie, didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“Well, he had a nightmare.  Said it was about someone he had lost - had failed in some way.  But he did get back to sleep.  The next morning, well -”  I pause while the tea steeps, trying to decide on how much the next day I wanted to retell.  She pours me a cup, and doctors it with more milk and sugar than I would have added before pushes it into my hands.  I take a sip.  The sweetness is more welcome than I expected.  “He kept telling me that ‘we needed to talk,’ then kept finding one thing or another to put it off.  Not that I didn’t help with that.”  I took another drink of the tea.  “Well, at the end of the day, he -”

“Let me guess, he gave you a speech about how he would only hurt you, and you were better off without him.”  Portia’s eyes are sympathetic as she folds her hands around mine.  “Oh, I could just kick his ass right now.”

I finish my tea and pour another cup.  “I’ll help.”  This cup gets less sugar, but just as much milk as the first.  “But what’s happened at the palace?  I still have to finish figuring out what happened, if we’re going to keep the Countess from hanging him.”  

“Are you sure?  I’d understand if you want to avoid him, or thinking about him for awhile.”

“I’m sure.”  If anyone hangs Julian, it’s going to be me, and not for a murder that I don’t believe him capable of having committed.  “But how do we get him to cooperate?”

“Well, if I know anything about my brother it’s that when he gets like this, what he needs is a good ass kicking.”

“So where do we find him?”

“Probably holed up in a bar somewhere.”

“I bet I know which one.”

The Raven in the morning is mellow with light filtering in through the high windows, but definitely open.  A few patrons are gathered around a table, late morning breakfasts of eggs, sausages, and potatoes in front of them.  The perfect food to precede a day’s work.  Or to recover from a full night.

“Oh, my brother would definitely hang out at a place like this.”  Portia grabs my elbow.  “Look at those ceilings!  Is that a bird in here?”

The massive black bird ceiling down from the rafters, cawing softly, to land at table near the back.  A table with a possibly asleep, although most likely just drunk, Julian sprawled across it.  Portia makes a sound of disgust and stomps to the back of the room, pulling me with her.  “Ilya!”  She shakes his shoulder roughly.

He sits up slowly, wincing and looking from side to side, glazed eyes finally coming to rest on me.  “Oh, fuck, it’s you.  Or something that looks like you.”  He bats the not quite empty glass back and forth between his hands.  “Come to taunt me?  With things I want, but I can't have?”

"Julian, it is me."

"That's exactly, uh, precisely what a hallucination would say.  Or what the liquor would say for them."

Portia smacks the back of his head.  "You idiot.  She's here.  In front of you."

"Ow, Pasha!  Wait?  You're not."

"For fuck's sake, Julian!”  I don’t have the patience right now for this.  “And the vast majority of hallucinations are auditory not visual.  Don't ask why I know that."  It hadn't been a particularly reassuring fact, given the last few days and whispering cards, but at least it was good for calling bullshit on Julian's drama.  Something, I suppose.

"Betcha glad you're not, not with me now.  Look at this.  Who but a masochist would want to be with someone like this?”

"Ilya -”

"After all the things I've done - so many - I don't deserve to be loved -”  He flops over, burying his face in his arms, clearly trying to shut us out enough that he can pretend that we weren’t actually here.  Just a drunken daydream.

Portia grabs his hair, jerks his head.  "Have you actually done anything you, fuckwit?”

"What? I mean -"

"Maybe you're feeling guilty for putting me - and Dema - through this nonsense when you're actually innocent?  Thought about that?"  Portia grabs his ear and hauls him out if his chair.  He stumbles, falls back on his ass, and gives up falling the rest of the way back to sprawl on the floor, arms outstretched and laughing bitterly.  Portia balls her fists up and stamps over to the bar.  Barth seems to already know what she wants and passes a bucket to her without a word.  She summarily dumps the contents - only slightly dirty water over her brother’s head.  He stops laughing and flings an arm over his eyes.

“You two aren’t going away are you?”

"Julian, please, just help us - help me - figure out what happened.  Everything seems to converge on three years ago.  The Count, your mark, my missing memories."

He tosses his arm back to the side and looks up at me from the floor, blinking slowly as the water drips off his hair.  "What if you don't like what you find?  About you?  About me?"

"Can it be much worse than this?”  I kneel down beside him on the floor.  "You're a self destructive drunk, and I'm that and a madwoman hearing voices."  Julian may be the drunk in the floor at this particular moment, but I don't think that I've truly been meaningfully sober since the new moon.  "Neither of us have much left to lose."

"Don't say that."

"What?  That we're both at or near the bottom of our respective bottles?”

"That you're mad.  You, you're not crazy."

"How do you know?"

"Just do."  The words slur together t and d eliding into some middle consonant. 

"And I know you're innocent.  Come on.  Pick yourself up.  We'll figure out if we're right or wrong."

"Why do, uh -" he sits up and runs his hand through his hair, fucking droplets of water into the floor.  "Why do you still want to help me, after . . ."

"Because it's the right thing to do.  Even if . . ."  I let my voice trail off, unwilling to finish with even if you don't love me.  What kind of fool falls in love after a day and night?  Even if there is something from the past that neither of us remembers, it's absurd.  Folly.  But not letting an innocent man die.  At least it’s easy enough to make the right choice when faced with that kind of question.  “I’m not going to sit by and feel sorry for myself while you die for a crime you didn’t commit.”

He’s quiet for a moment, blinking at me with his single uncovered glassy grey eye.  “And I thought I was a masochist.”  He sighs and grabs the edge of the table, which from this angle, I can see has been wisely bolted to the floor.  With a single motion that is far too controlled for someone who is as drunk as Julian is, he pulls himself upright.  Lots of practice, I suspect.  Not that I don’t have practice with similar maneuvers to mitigate drunkenness.  “Well, if the two of you aren’t going to give up . . .  What’s next?”

I look over at Portia.  I haven’t thought too much about the possibilities for the next step. She bites her lip and looks from side to side before giving up on outside help.  “Well, we try to figure out who did kill the Count.  There are a lot of folks around the palace who are much shadier than you.”

Julian settles himself back into a chair.  The barkeep appears from nowhere and puts a glass of water down in front of him before winking at me and disappearing again behind the bar.  I suspect this isn’t the first time he's seen Julian fall in the floor.  Of course, the bartender at my favorite drinking spot has seen me in the floor multiple times, so who am I to judge?

“That’s not saying much.  I’ve, um, dealt with a lot of the people who hang around the court.”

Portia slides into the seat beside him and pushes the glass of water into his hands.  “See, that’s the kind of thing it would be helpful for me to know.  What else are you keeping to yourself?”

"It's not actually pumpkins in the pumpkin bread."  He swallowed half of the glass of water.  "Different sub species.  Moschata not maxima."

"The hell, Ilyushka!"

"I was keeping that to myself!”  He looks down at the water, appearing chastened by Portia's disapproving look.  "People are really serious about their pumpkin bread here."

"He's right, at least."  It's not useful information, unless you're deciding what seeds to plant in a garden.  But accurate is something.

"There's more I don't know than I do know."

 "We'll start simple, why were you working in the palace?”  Portia settles into the role of interlocutor easily.

"Well, the plague.  The palace summoned all the doctors in the city as researchers.  Probably not the best use of resources -"  His face blanches, just like he did last night when I mentioned Valdemar.  I almost reach across the table to curl my fingers around his, but I stop myself, unsure if he’d appreciate the touch or reject it.  Or both.  “I don’t want to - I can’t remember that!”

Missing the nuance of his declaration, Portia groans in her hands, just as dramatically as her brother.  "You need to remember something.  What kind of things seem to jog your memory?"

He shrugs, but there’s some color coming back to his face as he pulls away from whatever memories he associates with the idea of research.  "People, scents, places?”

"Places?”  She perks up.  "Maybe you'll remember something if you're at the palace."

"Um, is that a good idea, they are looking for me."

Portia rubs her hands together, grinning like a cat with a cornered mouse.  "Oh, I have my ways.  Drink your water, Ilya.  You've got until I get a mop from that nice bartender and take care of that spill to sober up."

He drinks some more of the water and looks across the table at me.  “You know a glass of water isn’t going to do much.”

I reach in my bag an extract a vial of a hangover remedy and push it across the table to him.  It also won’t sober him up, but it might help with the worst of the aftereffects.  “I came prepared.  Think you’ll be able to keep your feet under you long enough to get to the palace?”

“Huh?”  He uncorks the vial and tosses the contents back without asking what it contains.  “Yeah, I’m used to walking on a moving surface.  Ships, you know.  I like ships.”

“We could still get you on one.”  As much as I want to know what happened three years, I’m not entirely in agreement with Portia’s apparent plan to bully him into total recall.  "Out of here."

“No."  He shakes his head slowly and takes another drink of water.  "Going to see this through.  Now that I've, um, said I would."

I feel the corners of my mouth curling up - just a little - hinting at a smile.  "Julian."

"What?”

"Thanks."

His gaze moves from my face to where his gloved fingers fold around the glass.  He's quiet for a moment, then speaks softly.  "I've done nothing that you should be thanking me for."

Portia sits back down next to Julian.  “Here’s the plan, kids.”  She pushes a steaming mug of coffee to Julian.  “The palace is filled with all these secret passages and portals.  I’ve been, er, exploring in my free time.  And one of the portals near the back garden gate leads directly to Lucio’s wing.  Maybe that’ll jog some memory.  Or none at all because you didn’t murder him.”

Julian takes a sip of his coffee deliberately avoiding commenting.  After my last excursion there, the thought of returning to Lucio’s wing makes me consider asking Barth for one the road.  “Um, Portia.  Just what do the other servants say about his wing?”

“Well . . . we really don’t use it . . .  Just what did you see the other night?”

I didn’t see anything.  Not really.  It was what I felt and heard, and right now, I’m almost leaning toward preferring to believe it was a product of something disordered in my head.  “There’s something up there.”

Portia glances down.  “The word haunted does get thrown around.”

“Might as well go to the source so to speak.” 

“Do you think Lucio’s ghost is in his wing?”

Julian finishes his coffee and cracks his knuckles.  “Lucio was never one to accept death.  I mean, by all rights losing that arm should have killed him.  Even with the best surgeon I know actually in charge.”

“Who’s that?”

“Um, one of Nadia’s siblings actually.  Nazali Satrinava.”

“Nazali!”  Portia perks up.  “You know them?”

“Yeah, uh, learned almost everything I know about medicine from Dr. Satrinava.  You?”

“When I first came to the palace, they came after they heard about the Countess’s condition.”

“What happened to Nadia?”

“She was, uh, asleep, just until the past few years.  Dema didn’t fill you in?”

“It, um, well . . ."  I feel the blood in my cheeks.  We'd been a bit distracted.

Portia rolls her eyes and sighs with enough drama to rival her brother.  She fixes me with a look that I believe translates to: damn, girl, reorder your priorities. Glancing quickly about the room, she lowers her voice and speaks.  "She fell into something like sleep the night he died.  She only woke a couple months ago.  And she's missing most of her memories from her time in Vesuvia."

Julian’s face falls into a pained expression.  “That.  I’m so sorry that happened to her.  And that explains a lot.  Who’s been in charge since then?”

“Valerius, mostly.  He managed to largely keep Milady’s condition under wraps.”

“I doubt that hosting another masquerade was Valerius’s idea though.”  His concerns about the city’s finances alone would lead him away from the idea.

Portia shakes her head.  “It came from the other four, but Milady now sees it as a was to restore a sense of normalcy in the population, or something like that.”

“What do the other courtiers get out of the masquerade?”  Banquets are probably suffice to motivate Volta, but Vulgora’s interests appeared limited to physical violence, and Vlastomil seemed like he was only interested in playing in the dirt with his worms.  As for Valdemar, I didn’t know where to begin speculating on their motives.

Portia shrugs.  “I don’t understand much of anything they do.  And I don’t really care as long as we can show that Ilya’s innocent.  So we’ve got to do something to jog his memory.”  She takes a deep breath and then her eyes particularly start to twinkle in anticipation of what must sound, to her at least, like a fine adventure.  “Who’s ready to go ghost hunting?”

Masterpost

Next Chapter

A/N: chapter title from Devotchka, “Whiskey Breath”

[vesuvianvienna]

Red Sky

Have some sweet Julian angst because as much as i love my poor boy i love to make him suffer. As for most of my stories, mc is my apprentice Vienna. Also thank you to @zephyronthewind for sending fluffy headcanons to keep me from getting too sad while finishing this. Gonna publish those here in a sec. @notquitepainless pls don’t hate me for this.

CW: Arcana spoilers, mc death

Sand kicked up from the heels of his boots as he took off in a sprint from the shore to the looming, black tower. The sun had yet to rise, the first hints of sickly grey light thrusting seeking, scrabbling fingers over an inscrutable horizon. His heart hammered in his throat. What the ferryman had said...it couldn’t be true. He was lying. Delusional.

she can’t be gone can’t be gone he’s lying lying she’s fine she’s just fine she--

Julian skidded to a stop as another doctor, an older man with grey in his hair and his beard hidden behind a mask filled up the doorway. Slowly, he shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come back, Julian. There’s nothing left to be done here.”

His chest heaved beneath his coat as he panted. “Where is she,” he gasped, his voice sounding weak, thin and desperate. “Where is she?”

The older doctor looked pained, tugging his mask down and placing a steadying hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Son...she didn’t make it. No one does.”

There was a hollow ringing in his ears, as if the horror of those words had deafened him. It couldn’t be true, couldn’t be. She was strong, a fighter, a survivor. He was positive she would be able to withstand the plague. He couldn’t have failed the one person he wanted most to save. “No,” he whispered, taking a step back, hands shaking at his sides. “She...She’s not…”

Slowly, the doctor nodded. Julian fell to his knees in the dirt, hands gripping at his hair, feeling as if he had been sliced open, all of his insides replaced with ice. Cold. Numb.

she’s dead and it’s my fault i should have been here i should have saved her

she’s dead my fault she’s dead she’s dead she’s DEAD

“Her body,” he abruptly choked out, looking up with eyes that were wild, like tempestuous waters deep at sea. “Let me take her body. She deserves a proper burial, a funeral--”

“Julian,” the doctor said in a low tone that bore a note of resigned finality. “She’s already gone. You know we don’t leave the dead to spread their infections. She was taken to the furnace last night. I’m sorry.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, walking away just a little too quickly, his lips pressed too tightly together and his eyes too watery for a man meant to be impartial.

Julian got to his feet, gutted by the shock and grief. His feel felt like two blocks of frozen iron as they carried him back toward the shore, his eyes fixed on the black plume of smoke and ash that rose from the giant incinerator; had it always seemed so sinister? He couldn't remember, couldn't think past the screaming thought that the ash rising into the air had once been her, had once been her living, breathing flesh--

He collapsed in the cold, wet sand, falling to his hands and knees as his stomach gave a queasy, sickening lurch, a sob clawing at his throat. Julian knew if he gave it voice, that sob would become a scream, and oh, would he ever be able to stop screaming? Tears slipped from his dark grey eyes, falling soundlessly to the sand below, indistinguishable there from the seawater. He whispered her name, the syllables as sharp as a knife's edge, lost to a sudden gust of wind that seemed to tear the word from his lips. How long he stayed collapsed in the sand, he couldn't tell, but when his eyes lifted once more, the sun had risen, staining the horizon a baleful, venomous crimson.

Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

A rhyme he had learned from Mazelinka as a boy came whispering through his mind, like a ghost in an empty room. A pained sound left him as he clutched at his aching chest, head rolling as he sat back on his heels, lifting his face up into the treacherous scarlet dawn.

His tears ran dry quickly; Pasha had always been the one to cry enough for both of them. He was left only with a dull, deep-seated pain that seemed to come up from his very bones, seeping like venom into his bloodstream. Julian took a deep, trembling breath, and looked down with a start to see a pile of roses at his side. Not just any roses. Lavender roses. Her favorite. She had kept a small trimming in a pot at the edge of her tiny desk, lovingly tending it to it when she wasn't assisting him. The color was a balm to his soul, seemed to soothe the ache of all that red, and he gathered the flowers in his arms, unmindful of the possibility of thorns. God, even the scent was the same, the scent of her roses always clinging to her skin, masking the smell of death and burning bodies.

His mask. The familiar beaked object swung at his hip, and he unhooked it from his belt. Carefully, Julian separates four blooms from their stems and pushed them into the beak, where he could keep that small reminder of her close forever. With the rest of the flowers, he stood, walking to the waters edge and wading in up to his hips, paying no mind to the near freezing sea. Carefully, he plucked each petal from its stem and scattered them into the water, as he would have scattered her ashes. At least he could do this. He could say his farewells to some small part of her. As the waves carried the tiny petals out to sea, he idly wondered where the bouquet had come from, as he was quite sure they hadn't been on the sand before he collapsed there. But it was a small concern, not one he bothered to ponder over long. He was simply grateful they had been there at all.

As the sun rose higher into the sky, the ugly red dissipating, he slowly waded back to shore, watching as the last of the petals faded from view. He turned his face toward the heavens, eyes closed, and whispered two words before hooking his mask back onto his belt and turning on his heel, long legs carrying him back toward the docks. There was nothing more he could do here. Nothing left to save. But he could still find it. The cure. He could spare others from her fate. It was what she would have wanted, rather than having him wallow in his grief and guilt. As the ferry pushed off from the pier and the Lazaret began to shrink in the distance, the words he'd uttered on its shores echoed in his mind, like a benediction within a tomb, cold and final.

Goodbye, Vienna.

[decorativeeyepatcharchive-blog]

Julian x gn!MC (2/?)

(Part 1 is here)

[Continuing where we left off...]

After racing through a few familiar streets, following Malak’s squawking, we turn onto a road I’ve never seen before.

No, wait. That’s not right. I’ve seen this street before, but it hasn’t been a part of the South End ever since the Devil took over. Before I can point that out, Julian stops abruptly in the too-dark shadow of one of the too-tall buildings. I manage to stop myself before running headlong into him, and quickly take in the scene in front of us. Malak is flying in low, wide laps around a circle of light cast by the first streetlamp I've seen since we left the Hanged Raven. The space he’s circling is empty, but I can just make out a figure in the shadows on the other side. Before I can figure out why the streetlamp looks so familiar, my thoughts are interrupted by a brusque voice—

“Show yourself, whatever you are! We’re not about to stop fighting that goat bitch, and I’ll send you running back to him myself to tell him so!”

With a final “CAW,” Malak stops circling and alights on the lamppost between us and the others.

Even though it’s been years — maybe hundreds of them — I recognize that voice. I know Julian does, too. After a long, tense pause, he drops my hand and takes a few slow, shaky steps into the light.

Although his voice trembles, he does his best to approximate his old bravado as he emerges from the shadows that loom darkly over the South End. I follow, a few steps behind him.

“Is that how you greet an old friend, Mazelinka?”

Her raised wooden spoon hits the cobblestone street with a dull clatter. I watch as Mazelinka looks the pair of us up and down, and I sense Julian's tension even though he's a few steps ahead of me. Mazelinka takes in Julian’s new form, and my breath catches in my throat as I wait for her reply.

“Friend? Don’t be ridiculous, boy. You’ve always been family, and some magical devil shitwit taking over the world isn’t gonna change that.”

She strides purposefully forward, through the patch of lamplight, to meet Julian. Without another word, she pulls him down into a rib-cracking hug which he bends to meet. Julian’s eyes, wide with surprise, meet mine as his unnaturally tall body cranes itself to look back at me. I smile, weakly, with as much encouragement as my relief will allow. Julian’s eyes close as he delicately wraps his arms around the pirate grandma — and fly open again at the sound of a choking sob from further down the street. Stepping into the other side of the pool of light, and now holding Mazelinka’s wooden spoon in her own hand, is Portia. Unshed tears swim in her eyes, which are locked onto her brother’s feathered form. Mazelinka gently releases Julian and steps aside.

Julian takes a hesitant step toward Portia, then freezes as if he can’t bring himself to be any closer to her. His eyes drop to the cobblestone street under his clawed feet.

“Pasha, I—”

“Don’t, Ilya.”

Portia’s lip trembles, and her voice shakes with stifled sobs.

“You were gone for so long. SO. LONG! And now you show up, covered in stupid feathers like some stupid costume gone wrong? Are you going to just start apologizing like always? What would that even mean? Why would I WANT that? How do I know you won’t just run away again? What would make this time any different?! You— You—”

“I know, Pasha,” Julian interrupts. He speaks softly, but his words are steady. Portia looks as surprised as I feel that he answered with something other than ‘I’m sorry.’

But then he continues. “I let everyone down. I left you alone, all of you, and then I hid. I didn’t think you could face what I’ve become— and I didn’t want you to have to. I couldn’t face it, myself. This—” he gestured to his ravenlike appearance, “means that all the worst things I ever thought about myself are true.”

“Ilya, you’re—”

“Pasha, please let me finish.”

Portia stops in mid-sentence. After a moment she closes her mouth, and nods. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand as she continues to stare at Julian. I stare at him, too. There’s something different about him. Something familiar in how he’s speaking, though I don’t know exactly why…

“I never meant to leave you. Any of you. But I had to fight the Devil alone. I fought, and fought, and fought, and failed, and failed, and failed. And when I gave up… I became this. The worst of me showed itself. All my fears were proven to be right. I couldn’t feel anything but despair, and I knew that you’d never want to see me again. That you’d be too horribly disappointed. The Devil… broke me.” He swallows, turning away from Portia to look back at me. I meet his eyes. I’m not going to let him down now. I smile at him, and he turns back to Portia.

“But then MC found me. MC argued for me even when I wouldn’t listen. When I refused to leave the perfect little hell I’d created for myself, MC stayed with me until I could leave. And when I finally did... MC told me I could find you, that it was possible you’d accept this thing I’d become. Because you’ve always accepted me. Whether I thought I deserved it or not.”

Julian takes another slow step toward Portia, his talons clicking softly against the cobblestones.

“Pasha, you’ve always been there for me. I need to be here for you, too. To protect you— and to let you help me again, just like MC has. I have no right to ask you for this — I mean, I know I can’t expect anything, and this is a horrible longshot and you’re probably another hallucination sent to me by the Devil, except that I’ve never seen anyone real here in South End since the merging, and your actual disappointment would be a much crueler punishment anyway, so why would the Devil even bother with an illusion — but... can you forgive me?”

Portia blinks, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“I— You— Ilya—” tears well up in her eyes again, and Mazelinka’s spoon falls to the ground a second time.

In a flash, almost as if he flew there, Julian is standing in front of Portia. He falls to his knees at her feet, collapsing his large form. Even while kneeling, his head is still a few inches above Portia’s at her full height. He envelops his sister in a tight embrace, burying his head against her shoulders. She throws her arms around him, speaking and sobbing against the feathers that brush her face.

“You can’t leave us ever again. EVER. Do you hear me? You have to trust us! We need each other, especially now!”

“She’s right.” Mazelinka adds, tucking her spoon back into its familiar place at her belt while stepping forward alongside me. “The big goat has left Vesuvia, but he can come back whenever he wants. We should be prepared for when he does.”

“We will be.” Julian raises his head from Portia’s shoulder, looking up at me. When his eyes meet mine, a lump forms in my throat. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me, just like the way he’d spoken to Portia, that reminds me of something. But what is it? What about him, in these moments, is so familiar?

I step forward, and take the hand he offers me as he straightens, gently pulling away from Portia. She looks at both of us and nods, too.

“If the Devil does show his face here again, he’ll have another thing coming if he tries to fight all of us put together!” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand again, and I notice something I haven’t noticed before.

“Portia, are those claws?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah.” She holds out a hand for me to inspect. “Asra thinks it happened because the realms merged. I didn’t even know I have a connection to one of the Arcana— but I guess this is proof!”

She smiles, and I could swear I see the hint of a fang peeking out from under her lips.

“Of course, Ilya would have the most dramatic transformation.” Portia winks, and Julian blushes. The feathers around his neck stand on end, in spite of himself, which makes him blush more. I find myself smiling, and feel that strange sense of familiarity again.

But I have questions. So many questions. Mazelinka said the Devil had left Vesuvia. Could that be true? And Asra must be alive, since Portia mentioned talking to him, but what about Nadia? I exhale deeply, willing my fears to quiet themselves until we can reach a safer place to talk.

“CAW!” Julian’s rowdy familiar returns to his shoulder, fluffing himself up with pride.

“Yes, Malak. You helped us find each other, didn’t you?” I stroke the bird’s feathers, my fingertips barely able to reach that far now that Julian’s standing at his full height. Julian turns to me, understanding dawning on his face.

“MC... if I hadn’t let him fly, hadn’t let him be free, we never would have found them.”

I trace my hand down his arm, until my fingers meet and intertwine with his talon-like ones.

“I think you’re right, Julian. But you trusted him, and he came through.”

“And he was safe!”

“CAW. CAW!”

“He’s right, Julian. Even if he’d gotten hurt, it would have been worth it. He wanted to find them for you.”

“I—”

Before Julian can respond, Portia is on his other side, linking her arm with his.

“Malak might have just been tired of your fussing over him, and bumped into us by mistake! But we missed you, you big fluffy idiot. We missed MC, too. I’m glad you found us!”

“Come on, let’s go home.” With a smile, Mazelinka claps a hand to my shoulder, then gestures for us all to follow her back up the street.

“What do giant birds eat, anyway, boy?”

Julian gulps, glancing at me while an unmistakable flush creeps up his plumed face.

“Well, uh, you know, Mazelinka, I haven’t actually eaten anything in a very long time…”

[purest-dove]

I can feel it.

The second Pasha and Mazelinka are whisked away, the second the redness of the realm becomes present from the gorgeous blues, purples, greens, and yellows of the sea with the Devil pulling all of the strings, I feel myself grow significantly weaker just as suddenly as the neck snaps when the platform falls below one’s feet, leaving them at the mercy of the rope binding their neck. As soon as I feel my magic widdle away into nothing more than a speck of power, I let out a harsh gasp as I collapse, my brown bangs covering my face and blocking my sight of anything around me aside from the red of the ground and my hands, which turn just as pale as the burgundy-haired doctor, if not paler. I can see my veins...my illusion is broken. With my arts broken and my body weak, I can just barely hear Julian nearby, but his voice is muffled, to the point where I can hardly tell he’s even speaking at all. I try to make out the words, but my arms give way, my body collapsing to my right as my hair still covers my face.

I can’t move.

I pray to the gods that Julian can’t see my face or how my hands turned so pale, or how my scleras turn red as my blood, but I hear no answer. The only thing I hear is Julian’s muddled screaming and the roaring laughter of none other than The Devil. I feel chains wrap around my body, forcing me to sit up as white-hot, burning pains surge through me. I throw my head back as a scream rips through my throat and soul, a scream louder than I’ve ever uttered escaping into the void of red, the only thing I can hear clearly. My eyes are shut as tightly as they can be, my arms yanked behind my back as I continue to scream, and scream, and scream, even stopping for a short breath only to scream some more. I eventually cease, my head thrown forward as my wrists are bound with the same white-hot, red chains that burned so badly when I was forced to deal with Valdemar. Even then, their chains were nowhere near as painful as these. I can’t hear it anymore, but I feel another screech tear through my throat, like daggers slicing me open from the inside, though this one feels weaker and isn’t let out for nearly as long.

I feel a clawed hand grab at my chin as it forces me to look up, but I keep my eyes closed. Even if he can see how pale I am, I refuse to allow him to see me so weak. Another chain wraps around my neck, but no screams let out. My throat is too raw. I can’t scream anymore, but my eyes open again. My hair is still in my face as I see my vision fade in and out, pulsing every now and again. I can feel my eyes shift awkwardly with each fuzzy pulse in my vision, my mouth agape as I feel tears run down my face, though they feel like ice compared to the chains surrounding my body. My waist, my arms, my wrists, my neck, my chest...everything, it’s all bound. If I wanted to get up, I couldn’t even move my legs.

“How curious...so stubborn to protect a man you hardly know,” the Devil’s voice coos as I squeeze my eyes shut at the feeling of my bangs being moved. I hear a scoff, but nothing from Julian, at least until my hair is yanked on. I hear Julian gasp nearby, grunting, struggling.

“Let her go!!”

“Oh, but dear doctor...she’s keeping secrets. I’m only making an honest woman out of her,” the Devil says coolly, and I’m certain he’d be grinning if I could see him. I feel his clawed fingers force open one of my eyes, but I still try to keep my secret hidden. I try to speak, but my voice fails me now, my chest tightening with worry. I hear nothing from Julian, looking toward him as I give in, opening my other eye willingly. The look on his face...

Disappointment. Fear, worry...and disappointment. Perhaps not in me, but...himself. I squeeze my eyes shut once more and start to sob as the Devil releases me from his grasp, though the chains weigh down on me even more than they had before. I open my eyes once more to see Julian crying in front of me, my heart shattering to pieces. I sob uncontrollably as my head hangs in shame, but I can no longer utter a word, only feeble whimpers allowed to slip past my teeth and lips. I’ve lost...and now Julian’s last memory of me might be of me, sitting ahead of him, chained and bound like a prisoner, caught in a dreadful lie.

I thought it would be okay...

With a (likely) defeated look in my eyes and on my face, I grit my teeth, still sobbing uncontrollably as I face the man I’ve grown to love.

“I-I...I-I-I’m so sorry...I-Ilyushka...” I cry, one of the very scarce times I’ve referred to him by his name, at least...in front of others. “I-I’m sorry...I–”

“Yes, yes...we know you’re sorry. As well you should,” The Devil interrupts me (I didn’t expect him to, I thought he’d be better mannered than that, even for him ), the chains tightening their grip on me as I notice Julian’s just as tied down as I. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as to not see the look of sorrow in his eyes and on his face. I pray to the gods that he doesn’t hate me. I pray to the gods that he doesn’t despise me. I pray to the gods that maybe, just maybe, he’ll forgive me. But again, I feel and hear nothing.

I can’t even attempt to use any more magic...I’ve lost all willpower and strength to do anything now. I want to make it out alive with Julian, for us, for Skylar, for Mazelinka and Pasha, for Nadia, for Asra...but with my arts broken, my illusion gone, and my healing magic rendered useless at best...

...I’m dead on arrival.

[xroguex1027]

Steady as She Goes (An Arcana Hurt Comfort Fan Fic)

Before we begin you may want to read this. This is my first ever posted fanfiction. That being said I should prepare you for what it is. I have emetophobia so to get over it I sometimes write sic fics to work on exposure. So there are emetophobia triggers in this. Second, I tried to make this gender neutral and sfw. There is implied nsfw but I think I did it tastefully enough that it won’t be obvious to someone glancing over your shoulder. Why anyone would be glancing over your shoulder that concerns me but without further ado here it is...oh one more thing, this was written before I knew Julian found anything in the dungeon so it’s not canonical. Feel free to reblog with credit. 

It’s been a rough week for Julian Devorak. After realizing that there was nothing for him in the dungeon and no clues as to the source of his guilt elsewhere he has decided there is only one place left to look, the Lazaret, the monument to his failures. The island looms on the horizon like a bad omen.

Of course, you couldn’t let him go alone. You know him too well, you know he would beat himself up from the inside out when it came time to take in the gravity of the lives that were lost. You also know no matter how much he denied it, he wanted you here.

You decide to distract him by engaging in sword play. You’ve always wanted to swashbuckle at sea like a real pirate, who better to teach you than the pirate doctor himself? You’ve only been at it for about forty-five minutes but it feels like hours. Your arms are growing heavy and your legs are sore from maintaining bent knees.

He critiques your footwork, apprehensive at first, but gradually he gets deeper and deeper into the teacher role. You cast him looks whenever his commentary borders on condescension. You adjust the foil in your left hand, tightening your grip. The fact that your dominant hand is opposite his and you are shorter sets him at a disadvantage. None the less he still finds ways for you to improve.

“You ah, might want to watch your feet.” He uses the tip of his sword to gesture to the placement of your toes.

“You might want to watch your tongue.” You smirk. The adrenaline is pulsing through you, faster than you can justify your dialog.

“Or…you could. Watch my tongue I mean, erm, explore it at the very least. What do ya say?” He lifts a rascally eyebrow.

You take the unguarded opportunity to swipe at him but he blocks your blade and your ear is thrilled by the ting of metal on metal.

“Swift.” You say, smirking teasingly.

“Years of practice my dear.” He smiles behind the crossed blades, then with a flourish of his cape, spins around and aims the tip of his foil at your chest.

“Let me see your perry six.” He says smoothly.

You shift your wrist slightly to the left blocking his lunge,

“Ah, that was perry four. Tilt the uh, hilt down a bit.” “Like this?” You ask Relaxing your grip just a bit.

Julian slides his sword into his belt before walking around behind you and adjusting your grip on the handle.

“Just the thumb and index finger. Hold it too tight and I might disarm you.”

“Is that what happened to Lucio?” You ask with smug satisfaction.

“Oh I disarmed him alright, wasn’t even in combat, well ah, at least not on my end, he definitely through some punches though, Ah, not that they landed, he was…he was pretty out of it at the time…Ooft!”

Julian grasps at his belly where the blunt tip of your sword is pressed into him. He looks down at you and bights his lip. He pulls on the end of your blade pressing it tighter against him, staggering back dramatically with a dreadful sound.

“Oh god! Why?” He collapses onto the deck with no finesse and you turn around to kneel beside him, playing along.

“Julian, I’m sorry, it…it wasn’t supposed to end like this…”

“Augh- it’s too…late…Now all that's left for me is death’s sweet, sweet embrace…oh come great angel of the dead and free me from the pains of this…this mortal…mmph.”

You press your mouth against his taking up a fist full of his shirt and lifting him to your lips. He lifts one hand to push the hair out of your eyes then coils his fingers behind your neck. You want him badly. You bight his lip hard, pressing lightly on the tender place where you just bruised him. You know it will heal pretty quickly but for the time being it aches a bit. He gives a low moan pressing your fingers deeper into his bruise. “Like this.” He whispers, pushing harder. You see him wince and part of you likes it while the other part of you wants to kiss away his pain. You bight him between his neck and shoulder, softly at first but gradually tightening your teeth around his flesh until you taste a metallic tinge of salt. Unsure if it’s from his shoulder or your own teeth you let go and flex your tongue, licking a tiny bit of blood from your gums.

He’s watching you with a pleading eye, but his gaze travels past your shoulder reflecting an overcast sky. You turn to look behind you at the steely grey clouds rolling overhead, molten darkness on the horizon.

“We’ll make it there alright. Don’t worry.” You say reassuringly as you rest your head against his chest.

“Oh. ah. it’s not that.” He says looking away, he’s trying to hide the flush in his cheeks but he is doing a terrible job of it.

“What is it then?” You ask him softly consumed by his heartbeat and the soft yet sturdy comfort of his chest.

“Ah, you uh, remember how I was a pirate, sort of, ah, a doctor who traveled with pirates, you know stole a pregnant war elephant, fought off mutineers, plundered for gold?”

“Cut off a mans arm?” you wink and lay your head back down.

“That…that happened later, but you remember all of that don’t you?”

He feels you nod against his chest.

“Well, I…I probably would have never left the pirate life, I loved it, I really did, I was a natural at swashbuckling, I could barter and talk myself out of any situation with the best of them, I even had ways to cure them of scurvy…er, at least keep the symptoms at bay. But ah, there was one tiny issue…I don’t, - my sea legs are… a little wobbly, to say the least.”

You feel the boat rocking softly underneath you as you look out at the heavy sky. “You mean you get seasick?” You ask with a note of surprise.

“Ah. Sometimes, Most of the time I love sailing, it’s freeing, the salty air is good for the sinuses and it clears the mind, but when the water gets choppy…ooft tosses my stomach something fierce.” He pauses to take a deep breath conveniently angling his nose towards your hair. “But it’s been years maybe things are different now.”

“Doesn’t the curse help with that?” You ask curiously. “I mean it cures you, helps you to heal right?”

“Ah. that's just the thing, seasickness isn’t exactly sickness, there’s no virus or germs to heal from just dizziness that makes your brain think you’re sick. Oh well, guess I'm just gonna have to embrace this.” A smile cracks across his face and you nuzzle into him sympathetically.

“Though, it would appear that we have a little time left before the storm hits. Would you ah, care to take this under the deck?”

Failing to suppress a grin you take his hand and he links arms with you as you make your way to the cabin. He follows you down the stairs as you drag him by the hand over to a small bench. You sit down and pat the empty space beside you beckoning him.

He takes the seat and leans over you eagerly, an intense gleam in his eye as he moves close enough to grace your lower lip. His breath is warm in contrast to his cold skin. Your noses bump against each other as something starts between the two of you. Too eager to wait you pull off your leather vest and drop it to the floor.

You can’t help but groan as he slips his nimble hands under your shirt to satisfy his mischievous curiosity. You maneuver yourself comfortably over his knee so that the thick of his leg is just between yours, this should hold you over, at least for a little while. You shift desperately against him, the kiss has become yours now and he’s the one moaning.

You dig your hands feverishly into his scalp and he tilts his head back in blissful anguish as you pull harder. Now that his neck is exposed you press your lips lightly against the place where the curse is buried under his skin. And then you kiss a little harder, perhaps you can nibble away at that curse, gnaw on it and render it free from his neck.

He breaths softly through pursed lips, squeezing you tighter, trying to wrap his legs around you. You skillfully unbutton the snaps on his coat and slide it off his shoulders. Then you begin to unfasten his jacket. It’s impossible not to laugh at how many layers he wears.

“What?” He snickers.

“You’re like a nesting doll.” You grin impishly. “There’s just no end…”

“Ah, Pasha had one of those as a-uh, as a child.” He smiles and works your shirt up over your head, briefly interrupting your progress on his buttons.

A coolness hugs your waste as the shirt is pulled off and tossed aside. His hands slide over your core, eagerly. He wants to feel as much of you as he can all at once. As his arms wrap around you pulling you close he buries his face in your sternum with a muffled groan.

Finally, you’re down to his white linen shirt, but you don’t take it off immediately. The way it clings to his sweating form does something to you. You have to take it all in, messy hair and lip bite before you peel his shirt off.

Your fingers search anxiously for his bruise wanting to make him squirm. It was too satisfying the first time not to try again.

“I’m afraid it’s uh…all healed up now.” He says, a faint pout on his lips. “But don’t worry, I can think of several other ways you can er…make me hurt.”

“I’m sure you’ll be suffering enough when that storm hits.” You remind him.

“Mmm, that’s ah, that’s too long.” He murmurs. “Make me suffer now.”

You push your hands against his bare chest and he eases down on the bench, adjusting so that it covers the length of his back. You press one knee into his stomach eliciting a slight “ooft.” You slide your leg down to support you as you lean over his chest scraping your nails across it. He clutches your hair in his fist tugging just enough to get you excited.

Your bare chest hovers over his and you are dying to feel them touch. You want to feel the skin of your belly pressed against his as you squeeze together thirsting for more sensations. You lower your self on top him and he continues to kiss you even more deeply until you can’t tell if the dizziness is from the rocking of the ship or the adrenalin rush.

When it’s all over you lay sweating and trembling naked in each other's arms. He kisses the top of your head gently and draws in a deep breath.

“You’re ah, breathing a little heavy there, are you alright?” He asks.

Somehow you find enough breath to answer him “Alright’s an understatement.” you say with a little light headed laugh.

“Oh uh, you liked it then?” His voice wavers slightly.

“Mmm very much so,” You press your hips into his leg knowing you could never possibly have enough.

You lay together in naked silence, euphoric sensations of each others company. You can hear the depth of his voice in his every breath. Thunder rumbles soothingly outside the cabin and Julian's eye snaps open. He looks up to the ceiling as though observing the ominous sky through it.

“Well, this will be fun.” He says sardonically.

“Remember how pretty I am right now because in about ten minutes, I uh…might not be. Might even change colors if I’m lucky, I think a deep sea green would bring out my eye.” He sits upright and pulls on his loose white shirt. “Then again, I’ve probably outgrown it. It’s really more prominent among children anyway. I uh, I should be fine, I’ll be fine, it’s…”

Before he can finish reassuring himself a voice calls out from overhead.

“All hands on deck!”

He squeezes your hand, as you button your vest with the other.

“Well, If I don’t make it, I want you to know it’s been a pleasure, ah a real treat getting to know you and uh…”

“Julian.” You say quickly turning off his monologue. “You’re not gonna die from seasickness.”

“Ah, it’s actually more plausible than you would believe, many people have lost there lives as well as their lunch over the side of a ship you know, terrible way to go… I envy them.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t fall overboard.” You promise as you plant a kiss lovingly on his cheek.

“Shame, I was really looking forward to finding out what drowning feels like.” He muses as you pull your pants and boots back on.

You lift an eyebrow at him and he flashes you an incorrigible grin.

As you exit the cabin your face if met with the salty spit of the sea. The wind is blowing harder now, the water is already starting to churn. You shudder, suddenly wishing you had more than just your vest to keep you warm.

“You ah, you cold? Here.”

Julian slides his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders, it’s warm and it smells like herbal spices and bath salt.

“Thank you.” You say looking up at him.

“It’s uh, it’s nothing.”

Julian bears a serious look on his face, his shirt billowing around him. You give his arm a reassuring squeeze, knowing that he’s bothered by more than the impending seasickness.

The ship is starting to rock but Julian seems unfazed as the captain calls out to him,

“Devorak! Stay the foremast!’

“Aye aye, sir!”

Before you know it he leaves your side and hurries over to tie down the mast. You are about to go over and see if you can help but the boat tips and the door to the captain’s quarters swings ajar. Perhaps you can find something inside to settle Julian’s stomach if the sea fairing gets the best of him.

The captain is on deck if there is a time to sneak inside it’s now. The room is dimly lit a lantern swings precariously over a desk. It’s feeble light gleaming off a brass pitcher. The desk is covered in papers, mostly maps, some old documents with jargon too complex for you to try to understand right now. Any other time you would be fascinated but you must move quickly before the captain catches you.

You start by opening drawers one after the other. One has a handkerchief and some folded notes, another a compass, some coins, and a key. You determine that if there are any remedies in this room they won’t be in the desk. You make your way over to a shelf and find a few canisters of herbal teas.

You pick up a small brass canister, unscrew the lid, and the sent of ginger fills your nose so instantaneously that you impulsively smack the lid back on. But the captain is still on deck, shouting orders over the downpour, surely he can’t smell the potent remedy all the way out there.

You grab a small bottle and locate a pitcher of water on the captain's desk. You try to pour a discrete amount into the bottle without splashing and drop a pinch of the ginger tea inside. Then you quickly place everything back as it was before. Save the remedy you have just created which you tuck inside the inner pocket of Julian’s coat.

When you arrive back on deck things have gotten much worse. The sky is black and you have to grasp the side of the vessel to steady yourself so you don’t slip. The sea writhes below you lapping at the belly of the ship with a feverish tongue.

You hear a horrendous belching noise followed by a familiar groan. You don’t see Julian’s face but you can still recognize him at this angle. He’s doubled over the side of the ship, spewing his guts into the sea. 

Swallowing any anxiety, you hurry over to him trying not to lose your balance. The ship bobs unsteadily on the rolling waves. Julian startles as you wrap your arms around his torso in a helpless attempt to keep him grounded.

“I promised I wouldn’t let you fall overboard, didn’t I?” You say playfully, in hopes of lifting the mood. He looks like he needs it. You slip your hand over his forehead and pin his hair out of his face

“mmh…this isn’t as fun as…” His stomach interrupts him to empty it’s self overboard “As fun as it looks.”  he continues

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and slides down the side of the ship trembling.

“Well, that was…disgusting.” He stifles a burp behind his tattooed fist.  “I uh, don’t think I’ll be having any more of Portia's bread pudding for a while.”

“Here drink this.” You offer, taking the bottle from inside his coat. You spiral the content inside for a moment heating it the way Asra taught you, then you hand it to Julian. He subconsciously holds it close to his stomach, seeking its warmth.

“Thanks, ah, er… what is it?” He asks, un quirking it and tossing it back.

“Ginger tea.” You tell him as he gulps it down, maybe a bit too fast.

His eye widens and he winces, pulling it away from his lips. “Mmph, burns.” He hiccups as the bitter drink finds his stomach. He curls up beside you with his head in your lap. You ease your fingers through his hair as he shivers and you remove his coat from your shoulders to drape it over him.

“Aren’t you ah, cold?” He asks you feebly.

“Not as cold as you are.” You whisper leaning over him to shield him from the wind.

“Here.” He says forcing himself upright. He extends one arm to share the coat with you and you nestle in tight. You lay one hand on his belly, tracing a sluggish growl with your index finger.

He leans his head against your shoulder, dizzily. And you brush the back of your hand against his stubbly cheek.

“Mmh If I hadn’t just thoroughly disgusted you…” His thumb brushes your lips longingly.

“You didn’t disgust me.” You reassure him, “Maybe worried me, but you couldn’t disgust me.”

He holds his head for a moment, trying to calm his vertigo. “If I hadn’t just disgusted myself then.” He says with a grimace.

His stomach makes another audible groan, it must be exhausted after turning it’s self inside out.

“Do you need to go back under deck?” You offer.

“Ah, actually I uh, I’m not so sure I’m finished just yet. Comes in waves, er, the nausea I mean. Funny word nausea, comes from nautical, did you know that?” He winces from lingering stomach upset and swallows hard.

“That is interesting.” You say still sounding concerned.

“Is it? Oh. erm good.” He pauses a moment eyes closed breathing heavy. “Actually I, I think I’m alright now, just ah, a little shaken,” you help him to stand. He struggles to his feet with one hand holding his aching abdominals.

Julian's eye widens suddenly “Or not.” He croaks, his lower lip tenses and his hand flies up to block his mouth just long enough for him to turn around before belching over the side of the ship again.

“You okay?” You ask him, tentatively rubbing his back. He isn’t able to respond, instead, he bends at the waste violently heaving over the edge of the ship. His stomach is writhing, trying to force up content that doesn’t exist. You rub his back gently as he gags coughs, and spits into the water.

He caches his breath and swallows, he looks back at you his face drained of color, yet tinged with green.

“Must be ah… must be nerves.” He rests weakly against the side of the ship. His arms shake as he gives an ill stare across the water.

“Are you nervous about going to the island?” You ask him gently.

“Every time I see it I just…” He casts his gaze down in solemn despair. “It’s not even a fifth of the people that I’ve let down. I didn’t just let those people die, I left mothers without children, children without parents. My own mother might be on that island, Pasha’s mother. And I’de- I’de never know.” He casts a grim look out across the settling waves. “It’s all my fault really.”

“Hey it’s not your fault,” You say, taking his hand. “You didn’t bring the plague here, alright? Lucio did. Well…I mean we don’t know if Lucio did but it’s Lucio I mean come on.”

He gives a broken sigh and slumps to the deck.“I...I let him down too. I was supposed to save all of these people. Lucio chose me to find a cure and I-I failed”. He pulls his knees into his chest and holds his head in his hands. His body shakes from overexertion.

“You’re not responsible for the well being of the entire world.” You whisper and sink down beside him.

“I know I...I wish I could be, I should be. I’ve done so many things, er, failed to do them, there has to be a way to make up for them right?”

“Ilya, you’re putting yourself under so much stress, look what it’s doing to you.” You say gently brushing his hair out of his face.

“It’s a burden I deserve.” He forces himself to stand leaning against the side of the ship “mmph…there’s not enough pain to justify the things I’ve done.”

“Ilya, you’re being ridiculous..”

“Look …I don’t know, when we get to this island, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. What if I-I find out that I had something to do with all of this, not just failing to cure them but what if I, what if I’m the reason they became infected or…”

You close your eyes and bury your head in his shoulder holding him firmly in your arms. He seems startled at first, but his body relaxes after a moment. You lift a hand and press it to his cheek, gently guiding his gaze away from the island.

“Julian, that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person.”

“But what if I…” He hangs his head “What if I was?”

“If you were, then the person you are now more than makes up for that.” You whisper. “And I promise, no matter what you find on this island, nothing is going to change that.”

He smiles weakly, the fatigue in his eye seems to have been replaced with soft adoration.

“I…” He’s about to protest but his voice disappears behind a sigh. “Thank you. That, that means more than you know.” He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“You are a good man. No matter what happens, I want you to promise me you will remember that.”

He looks out distantly across the horizon. There’s just no keeping his gaze from lingering on that island.

“I promise.” He whispers.

-xroguex1027

[herbalisia]

Julian Week, Day 5: Salt

Something kind of fluffy, I guess. More Julian x Olivier shenanigans, now with 50% more Portia! Tried a sort of different format using letters as the main focus. Hopefully it reads okay!

@thearcanaweek

Portia was a force to be reckoned with. That much was true. Julian had taken to exchanging letters with her again, now that she knew where he was. Rather, she knew the vicinity he lingered in. More often than not, the letter exchange occurred when Olivier would visit the castle to “investigate further,” secretly sliding a letter into Portia’s hands or receiving one and tucking it away.

Lately, though, their letters had taken a sour turn as Portia exhibited a concern for his well-being that she didn’t often show so blatantly in person. Her words were careful and thoughtful where her face-to-face personality was more no-nonsense than that.

My dearest and most stubborn Ilya, a letter had started one day, making him chuckle into his tankard of ale while he lounged at the Raven like most other nights.

Just so you know, I worked hard for the position that allows me to be this bossy. But never mind that.

Her retaliation to his teasing remark from his last letter to her, he noted. He had mentioned how she had grown strong, but grown bossy as well. He continued to tease that she might have retained more of the salt from home than she believed. His amused smile fell the slightest bit as he continued on.

Ollie is here to help you. From the stories you’ve been sharing, I know it might be hard for you to trust someone, or to want to trust someone. But she worries for you constantly. We talk often when she’s here at the castle. (Girls will be girls, you know.) I worry about her as much as I worry about you, honestly. I know you’re good at hiding and running, and I hope that you stay good at it, but…

There was a deeper space between the words at that point, making him think that she had paused to think about how to continue from there.

But I worry that, if the day comes that you are caught, Ollie won’t think twice about jumping in to save you. In fact, I know she would. But Milady will not take kindly to that, I think. She, like you, has a hard time trusting, and I worry that any small glimpse of possible betrayal could knot a noose for Ollie too be bad news for her. I worry about you always, but my concern is spreading to encompass her, too. You have a lot in common when it comes to self-sacrificial mindsets, actually. That day, when Milady brought her to the castle and commissioned her to capture you so you could pay for your crimes, I was so scared. But somehow, we were lucky. Somehow, she ended up being someone that sought true, objective justice and not just fame or glory from bringing you in. I couldn’t be more grateful to whatever lucky star made her cross Milady’s path. …Sorry, I’m not sure what I’m talking about anymore.

Another space. This time, the words were scribbled on a new line, like an afterthought…or perhaps a continuation after walking away for a moment.

Look. Just be honest with yourself and be honest with her, too. I think she’d worry herself into an early grave with assumptions before she forced you to say what you are always thinking outright. Well, more than you usually do. For all that she is doing to save you, she deserves to at least be treated with honesty. 

Love, Pasha.

He hummed into his mug, nearly empty, and leisurely tossed the letter into the hearth as he rose and crossed to the bar for a refill. This was the only way they could safely communicate, though he wished it were easier than that. He wished he could hold the letters close to his chest, to keep the words of his cherished sister near to his heart always. But if he was ever caught, the letters would be too incriminating. He couldn’t tear down what she’d built for herself just because of selfishness.

As soon as he had the freedom and the resources—namely, the resources at the small magic shop he’d started to frequent again—he penned his reply in the scrawl that somehow only his sister could understand.

Darling Pasha, he started fondly. My, how I missed your scolding after all of our years apart. I truly did. How else would I know you still love me? That being said, you should know by now, dear sister, that honesty is not always the best policy. Don’t you understand that I want to keep Olivier safe? To keep you safe? Even now, as I write you, I worry about what these letters could do to your reputation. You’ve built such a lovely one, after all. And now we are dragging Olivier into this as well? I truly wish that you would refrain from involving even more people I cherish in this unlawful correspondence. Just being uncertain that you are truly burning these letters, as was agreed upon, is enough to shorten my lifespan, and that is something that is already hanging precariously by a thread. Or a lever, perhaps. …Oh no, I’m missing the punchline by a neck, aren’t I? (I only jest, of course. I have no intention of being caught any time soon.)

Also, Pasha. I know you can see right through me. I know you know my feelings. The ones you insist I be honest with. But how is that fair to Ollie at all? I want to live, damn it, but I don’t want her to fail and die in my place. So much of this is so precarious. How can this resolve where we are both happy? This fleeting time with her has to come to an end sooner or later. It is my fate. I will not seek it out nor push her to lead me to it, but when the time comes that she must make the choice between her own well-being and mine, I want to make it as easy as possible for her to choose herself. It isn’t fair for me to confuse her. She has her agreed-upon duty pressing her one way, and I have the consequences of my actions pushing me another. I hope you can understand that. What we have now doesn’t have a title, but it isn’t complicated for that exact reason. It is what we both want.

Ilya

He sighed heavily as he placed the quill down and skimmed over his writing. She was asking something of him that was impossible. If things had been different…No, he wouldn’t even tempt the thought. Things were what they were. It was foolish to pray upon something that never was or would be.

He folded the letter into a small square, sealing it and placing it on the counter for Olivier to pick up the next time she was heading to the castle.

It was a few days before Ollie returned with a letter, arching her brow conspiratorially as she pulled the parchment from her sleeve and offered it to him one day in the shop.  He laughed at her show of being stealthy, even if it was just for his sake. He kissed her cheek as he accepted the letter, squeezing her in a tight embrace.

“I really do appreciate your willingness to do this for us, my dear,” he cooed as he nuzzled into her hair. She giggled at the ticklish feeling of his breath stirring her tresses, returning his hug.

“Anything for you, love. I’m just happy to see you two communicating with one another,” she said with a smile, bouncing off to tidy up the shopfront.  The giddy atmosphere that had surrounded them came crashing down around him when he opened the letter and jumped back as a cascade of white powder tumbled from the folds of the letter and to the floor. He would have to clean that up before he left, wouldn’t he? He clenched his jaw in frustration and started reading.

Ilyushka, your morbid humor is not funny. And no, I did not laugh at it. I can hear you insisting that I must have as you are reading this.

Don’t worry, my anxious brother, your letters are being burned as we agreed. And no, I don’t understand your reasoning. I don’t think I ever could. Your overdramatic love for your own misery is lost on me. I don’t understand why you cannot just be honest with her, and be honest with yourself. You make her happy, you know. When she isn’t worrying about you, that is. Doesn’t she make you feel happy too? Isn’t that enough to make you want to chase that feeling? All of this wishy-washy affection is probably hurtful to her, though she’d never tell you that. But if it is enough for you, it must be enough for her, is that it? Do you truly believe that? Are you honestly letting your selfishness take the reins right now?

He could almost hear her sigh as he noted her line break. Don’t worry, I know you have the best intentions. You always do. You don’t think you have any other options to keep us all safe, right? But know that you are the only one who thinks this suffering is necessary. Ollie has so much confidence that she will find something to redeem you. I believe it, too. We both have a terribly infuriating suspicion that you are an innocent man, but I know you won’t hear that from anyone. Especially from the sister that thinks the world of you.

Oh, and did you like the salt? I could feel it coming off of the page from your last letter, so I scraped it from your bitter words and sent it back. Your thanks isn’t necessary, but you’re welcome regardless~ It’s a valuable resource, after all. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.

Pasha

He looked down to the mess of salt on the floor, clicking his tongue in annoyance. What a time-consuming and expensive point she was making… 

“Ollie, you wouldn’t happen to have a broom handy, would you?” he called into the shopfront. In a moment, she was back, eyes darting around for something out of place or broken. When her gaze fell on the salt pile at his feet, she snorted a laugh and covered her mouth, easily surmising what had occurred.

“Portia did say that you had enough salt for all of us,” she chortled.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Prompt: Fic request for Bones where you and the crew all get together and end up playing spin the bottle which leads to you and Bones in a closet/ten minutes in heaven? Idk if you're taking requests but here you go 😊  @-hiddlesdweeb- Word Count: 1538 Tags: @dolamrothianlady, @supermoonpanda @kirkaholic123 @shewhorunswithfandoms @youdonebeengarthed, @starmission @emmkolenn  @auduna-druitt @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl @pinkamour1588 @impalaanddemons @flirtswithdanger @southernbellestatues @engineeringtrashcan @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @samaxraph99 @lonolulu @distinguishedqueenofbooks @superwholock734 @feelmyroarrrr, @anyakinamidala @ladygofuckyourself17 @dirajunara @anotherotter @little-study-bug @tellmeoflegends @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife

You had decided, against your better judgment, to attend the after-party that followed Jim’s birthday. It was a reticent decision, and you were already reconsidering going before Chekov had even turned away. But when you saw Bones shrug and nod to Chekov to confirm he would be attending, you no longer seemed able to make up your mind, and instead allowed your ridiculous crush on the doctor to dictate your final decision. You watched from across the room as Pavel cajoled and badgered until finally McCoy broke.

“Horosho!” Chekov exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “You know, Lieutenant Y/L/N will also be there.” You overheard the kid and wanted to choke him. It was your goal to keep the lust you felt for Bones both in check and a secret. How Chekov had figured it out, and why he was trying to help you, you weren’t sure. But you did want to choke him.

The booze was flowing freely, and a quick glance around reassured you that despite Chekov’s insistence that he come, Bones had not made an appearance. As you surveyed the room, you caught Chekov amongst a group of his fellow Ensigns, playing what appeared to be spin the bottle. You rolled your eyes and smirked. Chekov caught you and waved you over.

“You should play, Y/N!” He exclaimed, slipping an arm around your waist. “I don’t think your spouse would mind, it’s just fun.”

“I don’t have a spouse,” you protested, wrinkling your brow in confusion.

“You must!” He argued. You shook your head. “But you’re so -” he trailed off.

“I’m so?” You prompted.

“Uptight,” a pretty ensign provided, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant! But you just, uh, you never come to parties, and no one’s even caught you doing the walk of shame, and we all just assumed there was someone at home waiting for you.”

“I’m uptight?” You gaped, recalling your last year at the Academy. You could actually barely recall your last year at the Academy, mostly in part to the insane amount of partying you’d fit in. And now you were considered uptight. How the times had changed. You felt your skin heat in embarrassment, and you realized you might have had just a touch too much to drink when you glanced toward the door and then back at the table of crewmen. “Tell you what, to prove I’m not a prude, I’ll kiss the next person who walks through that door.”

“How about you take the next person through the door into the supply closet?” Chekov challenged. You balked.

“I don’t know -” you hedged.

“Because you’re uptight,” Chekov supplied with a wink. You scowled and heaved out a long-suffering sigh.

“I reserve the right to refu-” Your breath caught as the door slid open, revealing none other than Leonard fucking McCoy, walking into the party. Chekov nudged you.

“Target acquired, bearing -”

“Shut up Chekov,” you grumbled, stalking toward the handsome doctor. He smiled at your approach, then began to look concerned as he took in your appearance.

“Y/N! Are you okay? You look like -”

“Allow me to apologize in advance. Ensigns like to make bets,” you managed to squeak out before pressing against him and snaking your arm around his neck to pull him down to you. You pressed your lips against his, and felt a shock as Bones’s hands first found your waist as though he was going to push you away, and instead slipped them around your back, holding you against him. You broke away as his mouth opened, and swallowed thickly.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” he laughed, his hands lingering as you slowly retreated from his embrace.

“Uh, so Chekov was implying that I’m uptight, and -” you started, trying to find words awkwardly.

“Y/N, that’s only the first part of the deal,” Chekov interrupted. “The supply closet is right this way. Doctor, Lieutenant.” He gestured toward a small door, and held it open for you. You were wondering if you could just run, and avoid Bones for the rest of the five years you were going to be on the same ship together when he took your hand in his and winked, leading you into the closet. The door shut behind you, plunging you into darkness. You waited until your eyes adjusted to the dark, and could make out the shape of him, leaning against the wall opposite you, his arms crossed over his chest. You could just imagine the smirk he was wearing, and sighed, looking back at your feet.

“Explain to me how I have found myself in this closet with you, Y/N.” There was amusement in his voice and you were glad for the darkness masking the blush that you knew was rising on your cheeks.

“Chekov said I was uptight,” you started. “I said I wasn’t. It devolved into my pride insisting I prove I’m not. Hence the kiss when you walked in.”

“And the supply closet?” He pressed.

“All Pavel’s idea, and you walked in too soon for me to clarify terms on it,” you admitted. He let out a low laugh.

“I suppose you’re supposed to be ravaging me right now?” He asked.

“I suspect so,” you admitted, unable to hide the cringe in your tone. He leaned back against the wall and dropped his arms.

“Do your best, kid,” he chuckled. “I’ll warn you though, I’m tough to please.”

Your mouth went dry and you panicked, brushing past him to open the door, knocking into Chekov, who was completely failing in his attempt to appear as though he hadn’t been trying to listen in at it. Leonard followed you out.

“You don’t look the least bit -” Pavel started.

“Shut up, Pasha!” You interrupted. He grinned.

“Is Doctor McCoy a cold fish? This is why you should always choose the Russian. We invented the orgasm, you know,” he teased. You rolled your eyes.

“I think the term you’re looking for is dead fish,” you retorted, not realizing you were tacitly agreeing with his assessment of Bones until you heard a yelp of protest from behind you.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant, I think you and I still have a few minutes left.” Bones grabbed your arm and pulled you back toward the closet, mumbling under his breath. “Dead fish indeed.” He held the closet door open and gave you a nudge in, slamming the door behind him. He had you pressed against the back wall before you could even properly turn to face him, his lips trailing down your neck as he laced his fingers in yours, holding you against the wall.

“Oh!” You managed.

“You don’t get to call me a dead fish if you haven’t even tried to seduce me,” he growled, nipping at your ear. Your knees weakened and he slipped an arm around your waist to hold you up, turning you so you faced in him the process. His lips crashed against yours, bruising you, and the way he moved his whole body as he kissed you was enough to have you moaning for more. Your hands found their way into his hair, he tangled one of his own in the sloppy bun you always wore, finding the tie and tugging it out and pulling your head to one side, exposing more of your neck. His lips slid from yours and pressed along the artery, his tongue fluttering against your pulse. His free hand first found the bottom of your top, sliding under until he found the lace of your bra. His thumb was rough through the fabric, kneading at the nipple until you gasped and his mouth found yours again, the fingers that were tangled in your hair cupping the back of your head as he pulled you against him. He involved his entire person in kissing you, grinding against your hips with his own, his arms cradling you, pushing and pulling you to his best advantage. You were so completely aroused you couldn’t find a solid thought other than more. You hands found the buttons on his shirt, and tugged at them when you couldn’t comprehend how to unfasten them. They popped free from the placket, and then your hands were on the soft dusting of hair on his chest, your nails dragging against the skin lightly.

And then the door was thrown open, and you shot apart like you’d both been burned. Chekov looked in on you, rumpled, disheveled, sweaty and bruised, and smirked.

“I’m sorry, dorogaya, but I couldn’t just let to two of you pine after each other any longer,” he apologized.

“This was a setup?” Bones scrubbed his hand through his hair, his cheeks flushing.

“Stubborn, both of you,” Pavel complained. “Anyhow, name your first born after me, you are both very welcome.”

Leonard turned to face you, and smiled when he realized that you appeared to be just as embarrassed as he was. He offered you a sheepish grin.

“I feel like it might be in the wrong order, but would you like to join me in my quarters for a drink, Y/N?” He asked.

“I’d love to,” you nodded, allowing him to take you by the hand and lead you from closet.

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

‘Choose Sides’ Part Eight - Want Me Now Or Can It Wait?

In the afterglow, Miho laid in Baba’s arms, a delicious, deep muscle pain seething all throughout her body. Lazily he stroked her hair, his eyes closed and a peaceful, a content smile on his lips, but Miho stared up at the roof.

It certainly wasn’t that she was dissatisfied with the sex – yet again Baba had delivered – but in the midst of it all, teeth and nails, sweat and lecherous moaning, her mind had wandered to the very place that had prompted her demands in the first place.

“Fuuuck,” she sighed softly and sat up, shaking her head.

“You wanna talk about it?” he offered, a warm palm touching lightly against the small of her back.

His eyes wandered up to the wound dressing on her shoulder, and though he hadn’t noticed it bothering her at all earlier, that side of her body had a slight slump now.

“Not really,” she admitted, sliding her feet to the floor. “I should go.”

“I don’t mind being the outlet for your sexual frustration, Miho,” he said, rolling over and propping his cheek on his hand, “but believe it or not, I can see more than your perfect breasts and gorgeous skin…”

Miho shifted her weight forward, intent on rising from the bed, but Baba caught her wrist and pulled her back against his stomach.

“What happened to your shoulder?” he asked, moving and snaking his other arm across her chest, but she didn’t seem particularly pleased by his questions.

“What’s with the inquisition?” she scowled, peeling his arm away and standing.

Her body was still patterned with the faint story of their romp, and the defensiveness of her response to his genuine probe made him worry all the more.

“This isn’t what we do, Baba,” she told him curtly. “We fuck, cum, and leave, that’s the arrangement, don’t mess with it now.”

“I like our arrangement, don’t get me wrong,” he responded, watching her search for her clothing, “but I can still give a damn you know?”

“I’m taking a shower,” she huffed, abandoning the hunt for garments that may not even have been wearable anyway, and disappearing into the spacious, marble tiled bathroom.

Pointedly she avoided looking in the mirror and jerked the shower taps to a suitable place, before plunging beneath the wide, lukewarm stream.

But the steady rush of water plastering dark strands of hair to her face, neck and shoulders couldn’t drown out the truth she felt stirring again in the pit of her stomach. For just a very short time she’d been able to block out what had been gnawing at her; but even as Baba’s marks on her skin began to fade, she knew she hadn’t actually fixed anything.

“Hey,” Baba’s voice intruded through the haze.

I don’t want to hear it, don’t want to hear it.

Miho’s head remained drooped, hair forming a curtain that obscured her face until large, gentle hands bumped her back against the cold tiles and lifted her chin.

“Did someone hurt you, Miho?” he grimaced, smoothing her hair back.

And Miho just hoped he couldn’t tell tears from shower spray.

“Because if someone hurt you…”

“No,” she managed thickly, still unable to make eye contact. “No, it was a work accident.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, thumbs swiping tender arcs across each cheek in unison. “If someone has hurt you then I’ll…”

“Really,” she assured, but it was a flimsy sound she could only reinforce by looking at him.

Sadly, the expression she found - concern so genuine it cut - was too much, and a sob had vaulted past her best intentions before she could suck it back down.

“It’s hard to forget we feel pain when you look at me like that,” he told her softly, drawing her against him and wrapping her up, fingers lightly kneading the base of her neck as she wept against him.

They had met each other in a bar a couple of years ago. Miho hadn’t ever been the type for one night stands – her husband had been her high school sweetheart – but a mixture of alcohol and loneliness had led her to that same luxurious love hotel suite. They agreed their tryst was worth repeating, and were both clear that their relationship was no more than sex to fill in the gaps where other human interactions failed to satisfy.

He knew her as Miho. She knew him as Baba.

Beyond that they knew no more about each other’s backgrounds, no work history, no interests, hobbies or talents beyond the amazing physical intimacy they shared.

In that moment, however, Miho allowed herself to be weak – and though she did not divulge the details of her angst, she showed him more of herself than ever.

He’d broken the agreement first, he had asked questions, but he asked no more. Instead, he smoothed over her shoulder blades and settled his hands on her hips before nudging Miho’s head from his shoulder with his cheek.

In her face he searched for no more answers, just for a way he could soothe whatever it was that had driven her to that point; he couldn’t deny his desire to pull her back from whatever abyss she was staring into.

Gentle, sincere brown eyes enveloped her in a sense of safety, where the aggressive dig of teeth and nails was forgotten, and Miho found the binding clench of her chest relax a little.

“Good girl,” he smiled, kissing her so very tenderly, holding her so carefully she was a delicate, fragile, precious doll of porcelain that might crack if he now handled her too roughly.

There in the quiet miasma, the shower’s fountain sought to wind serpentine ribbons between the slow, unhurried movement of their joining bodies, and finally, Miho stopped crying.

Miho had never felt that leaving Pasha was in any way a ‘walk of shame’, and this time was no different.

It wasn’t the same though.

Baba lingered, in her mind, against her lips, against her skin, when in all other instances the disconnect had been easy and instantaneous. It troubled her all the way to the academy, until she encountered Shinonome on her way to the main instructor’s room.

“Hmm,” he mused, appraising her openly.

She wanted to keep walking, but being rude wasn’t really her default position.

“Good morning Instructor Shinonome,” she said politely, inclining her head.

“For you it would seem so,” he noted slyly, then narrowed his eyes at her. “Is Hyogo still breathing?”

This caused Miho to flinch, and her stomach did a flip-flop, but this was work now, and the last thing she wanted was for Shinonome of all people to think he could get to her.

“You know Instructor,” she smiled thinly, tilting her head and studying him in the same way he’d been analysing her. “You always seem so incredibly interested in Kaga’s sex life. You’re a big boy you should just tell him how you really feel.”

If he had a comeback for that, Miho didn’t wait around for it, and with a satisfied, and somewhat proud smirk on her lips, she continued to the office, only to find Chief Namba lying in wait.

“Good, we need to talk,” he declared without even so much as a good morning.

“Good morning Instructor Goto, Instructor Ishigami,” Miho greeted cheerfully, ignoring Namba until her message to him was clear.

“Yes, sorry, good morning,” he muttered, then stepped to his office door and opened it for her.

When they were entrenched in privacy and both seated, Namba looked at Miho plainly in silence.

Miho clicked her tongue.

“Whatever it is you think I’ve done…” she began, but Namba held up his hands.

“It’s not what I think you’ve done, but what I know you’ve done,” he clarified, then let out a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair. “You do know how rare it is for foreigners to be accepted into the Japanese police force right? Even ones with Japanese citizenship?”

“Ah, that,” she nodded slowly and gave a shrug. “Rhetorical question right back at you, Chief. Surely you don’t think I made the request for the Prime Minister’s support without doing any research at all?”

“Of course you researched it,” Namba grunted, “but really? Assuming the higher-ups are concerned enough with what Prime Minister Hiraizumi thinks and wants, and assuming you can make the minimum entry requirements, moving straight into Public Safety is more than a big ask.”

“I know that,” she affirmed, “and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make it work. You want me to take the entrance exam tomorrow? I’ll do it, and I’ll ace it. You want me to successfully complete and make the grade on every piece of assessment our cadets do? Done.”

“Somehow you have this knack for making very complicated things seem so simple,” he pointed out, but his disgruntled tone was hardly serious. “Aside from your recent brush with death, do you even have any experience with firearms?”

“Nope,” she admitted honestly. “But I am a quick learner, and there are plenty of people here who can give me the pointers I need. I even heard you’re not a bad shot.”

“Not bad?” he guffawed.

“When you wear your glasses,” she smirked, and Namba feigned injury.

“Haaa,” he exhaled, leaning forward and staring at her seriously. “Just, just answer me this – is this what you want, for you and no one else?”

“Who else would it be for?” she frowned, but she knew exactly what he was getting at, which was emphasised when Namba’s brows drew further downward. “It’s not for him,” she declared soberly. “He’s dead, and I’m alive, and I want to make a difference in the world. Here I am surrounded by these amazing people who put themselves in harm’s way for the good of the masses, thanklessly, and I’m just a nobody teaching verb tense – I need to do more.”

“And you’re sure you want in to Public Safety?” he pressed. “You already have a pretty decent relationship with the Special Investigations 2nd Unit.”

“I’m sure,” Miho responded, her eyes darting to the window, and Namba then knew there was a story there he wasn’t privy to. “So, will you endorse me?”

“You know it’s career suicide for me if you screw up?” he indicated, but his answer to her was all over his body language.

“I won’t screw up,” she announced confidently. “I’ve plenty of voluntary support – I can study and do my job at the same time.”

“And you know the other instructors would officially be your superiors then,” he added, and Miho again nodded.

“That’s the way things are,” she shrugged. “Starting at the bottom makes achieving results that much more rewarding.”

“If you want my opinion, you’re insane,” Namba huffed, but it was good natured. “Don’t come crying to me when…”

“Thank you, Sir,” she grinned, getting to her feet and saluting as she had seen others do.

“Yeah well, no promises okay?” he grumbled. “I’m not the one making the ultimate decision.”

“Your support means a lot to me,” she told him frankly. “Really… it’s not like I have all that many close friends so, I have to cherish the ones I have.”

At that Namba might, might, have blushed just a little.

“Okay, okay you’re dismissed,” he muttered, then stopped her before she could leave. “Oh, that request you put in for an aide? I approved it and notified Chiba Daisuke on your behalf. To say he was thrilled would be a bit of an understatement.”

“What can I say? I’m just an inspiring teacher,” she quipped.

“No doubt you are,” he agreed, and Miho knew there was a ‘but’ coming, “but, in a testosterone filled environment, a woman, however capable, still needs to be careful.”

“I appreciate your concern, Chief,” she replied. “I’ve got it under control.”

“If you say so,” he sighed, but he was smiling as he let her go.

With somewhat of a spring in her step, she left Namba’s office to find only Goto in the outer room. Then an idea stuck her.

“Um, Instructor Goto?” she probed quietly, just to see if he would even look up.

“You know, it feels a little strange you calling me ‘Instructor’ like the students,” he said, but his lips were graced by a placid smile. “Why don’t you just call me Goto?”

“Thank you,” she beamed, bowing. “Actually, Goto, I was hoping I could ask for a favour?”

“If it’s within my power, of course,” he responded, giving her his fullest attention.

“I was wondering if you could provide me with some firearm’s handling instruction?”

The moment that last part was spoken, there was a choking, gasping, strangled cat noise from behind Miho, and there she found Narita.

Perfect, fucking, timing.

“Out of the question!” he roared, his face a bright red and ridiculous tangle of outrage and bewilderment. “You are a civilian and…”

“I’m aware of Japanese firearm laws, thank you Instructor Narita,” Miho interrupted evenly. “I’ll be sure to obtain special, official permission before loading my gun.”

“I could not object more strongly,” he blustered, just as Miho’s phone rang.

“Excuse me instructors,” she muttered, but only made eye contact with Goto before she slipped into her office to answer.

“Kirisawa,” she greeted when she answered the call. “What’ up?”

“You sound awfully chirpy,” Kirisawa’s carefree voice responded from down the line. “Did something good happen?”

“Not exactly,” Miho chuckled. “Just winding up a dinosaur.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” he laughed. “I have some work for you if you can fit it in.”

“Come on, you know I’m always going to make time for my favourite Misfits,” she teased. “You want me now or can it wait?”

And the narrator smirked at her readers, because just as Miho began that sentence, Kaga poked his head unceremoniously into her office.

For a few seconds – silence.

“Your lap-dog is here,” Kaga announced, and then disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.

“Fujiwara, you have a lap-dog?” Kirisawa questioned, far too much interest in his tone.

“Instructor’s aide,” Miho clarified. “So now or later?”

“Now, unless you want to make it more difficult for us to keep this dirt-bag rapist off the streets,” he replied.

“Enough said,” she exhaled, still glaring at the door, Kaga’s shape burned into it. “I’ll be right over.”

Miho hung up and cracked her neck, sitting for a moment before gathering what she’d need to take to Kirisawa’s MPD precinct. At the door, she paused to steel herself against whatever comments Kaga might fire at her when she emerged, but when she did, she found only Goto and Chiba.

“Instructor Fujiwara!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, saluting her though he should have known better.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Goto attempt to hide an amused smirk.

“Chiba, good morning,” Miho chuckled. “I actually have to head over to Special Investigations 2nd Unit, but you’re welcome to join me.”

“Ahh, I have classes soon so…” he began, but Miho cut him off.

“The other instructor’s take their aides out on educational excursions, so I don’t see why I can’t,” she shrugged. “If you think you’ll be able to catch up on your…”

“Absolutely,” Chiba ejected.

“Okay, let’s get a move on then,” she encouraged.

Miho then allowed Chiba’s unrestrained enthusiasm to lift her mood, and she cast the last couple of days from her mind.

Continue to Part Nine - Mixer Number Four

[flameclaw22]

Book Review: The Crown’s Game

Spoilers ahead!

Rating: 1 star out of 5

I'd been contemplating reading Circle of Shadows, the newest Evelyn Skye novel, but I wanted to test the waters by reading another of her books first. I found The Crown's Game on sale in the NOOK store for $1.99, so I snapped it up. In a way, I'm glad I did, because reading The Crown's Game ultimately prevented me from wasting considerably more money on Circle of Shadows.

I could use the phrase “dumpster fire” to describe this book, but that's really not fitting: Dumpster fires at least entail vaguely interesting events. The Crown’s Game is easily one of the dullest books I’ve ever read - even duller than any novel in the Twilight series. It’s no compliment to say that Stephanie Meyer did a better job world-building. Evelyn Skye exerted such negligible effort on world-building that her tale barely squeaks into the historical fantasy genre, giving more of the feel of historical fanfiction with magic tossed in for shits and giggles. The magic originates from some spring or fountain or some bullshit that apparently pays attention to arbitrary geopolitical boundaries and nationality. And excluding faith healers and a couple of magical creatures, the latter of whom are only mentioned in passing, there are only four known characters in Russia with the magic, and two of them monopolize most of it. Since both competitors possess gargantuan supplies of the magic, the result is a pair of stupidly overly-powerful heroes.

Skye is just as bad at inventing plots as she is at world-building. Expect no real action or intrigue from Crown’s Game. The game itself is nothing more than an unstructured magical pissing contest, and Skye fails to leave enough to the imagination to keep readers hooked. There’s no nefarious plot running beneath the surface, there’s no tension or suspense; it’s just a fight for who gets to be the tsar’s chief suck-up and who gets to die, and the two competitors falling in love.

The characters are breathtakingly boring. If you played the Wii Fit obstacle course game, you probably remember what a pain in the ass it was to avoid those logs, lest your Mii be comically flattened. Clearly The Crown’s Game’s characters played this game and lost spectacularly, because damn, are they dimensionally challenged. Though it’s not Vika’s fault that Pasha worshipfully describes her in a manner that is utterly vomit-inducing, it is Vika’s fault for failing to demonstrate that she is anything more than an insipid, gorgeous magical girl anime reject. She has pretty red hair with a black streak in it and can generate an entire island with her mind. She misses her dad. She’s pretty. She’s powerful. Did I mention she’s pretty? The way Vika blathers on about how attractive Nikolai is implies that she’s never seen a boy before (even though that’s probably not true). Spare me the agony.

Scarcely surpassing the sentience of a doorknob, Nikolai might as well have been a giant Russian Ken doll. His thoughts mostly consist of dreamily imagining banging Vika, hawing over not wanting to kill her, and attempting to concoct a contest-winning plan. When a woman in a semi-zombified state shows up out of the blue - alleging to be his mother, no less - Nikolai is relatively unperturbed. His strongest reaction is his revulsion over how dreadful Aizhana smells. Come on. Even if you live in a world steeped in magic, if a shambling, malodorous corpse lady appears and claims to be your dead mommy, you should shit yourself, at least a little bit. If all you can do is complain about is the foul stench, you desperately need help. When he walks into the Enchanted Hollow, a goddam cave, his thought is, “So this is why it’s called the Enchanted Hollow.” You’re a little slow on the uptake, pal. Reading this particular line evokes thoughts of that iCarly scene where Kurt, the cute but dumb (fired) intern, rides the elevator and then breathes in awe, “This is an elevator.” And really, that captures Nikolai’s essence - the hot but moronic guy who should be fired before he ruins the world. I half-expected him to pop into a scene with a plastic bag of lemonade.

Pasha isn’t much better. Like Nikolai, he too obsesses over Vika to a degree that seriously annoyed me, as a reader stuck in his head. (What I can say is that Pasha, as nauseatingly pesky as his crush-related thoughts are, isn’t a complete creep. For instance, he refrains from kissing Vika while she is asleep because he does not want to disrespect/violate her.) Unlike Nikolai, however, he exhibits some intellectual curiosity and later undergoes a considerable personality change; unfortunately, this shift is such an about-face that its effect comes off less as character development and more as a rancorous temper tantrum.

There’s little to say for the remaining characters. Renata merely serves to upgrade the love triangle to a love web. Ludmila is Vika’s plump, middle-aged sidekick, who effectively fills the role of a lame-ass Molly Weasley: a source of tasty baked goodies and motherly love, minus the tough fierceness that makes Molly so endearing. Pasha’s sister, Yuliana, functions as the impetus behind the Crown’s Game, urging her father to commence the contest, but Tsar Alexander is such an unpleasant dickbag that no other scapegoat for starting the game is truly required, rendering Yuliana obsolete. At virtually every given opportunity, he goes out of his way to be rude, condescending, or snappish. During his spiel about the rules of the game, Vika interrupts him as respectfully as possible to inquire about why one Enchanter must die at the end of the game, and Alexander acts as if she’s expressed the desire to hit him in the testicles repeatedly with a large stick. He can’t even muster the patience or sympathy to answer a valid question posed by a competitor - a teenager, mind you - in a fatal contest to be the tsar’s magical toady. When Vika arrives at the ball in her fabulous dress, the tsar snidely remarks that she should “take care not to become too enamored of the tsarevich” because “it will require more than a showy gown to be worthy.” Damn it, dude, she just told you that she fashioned her clothes herself. Would it kill you to just toss out some platitude or another? Honestly, I pity Tsarina Elizabeth - she deserves so much better than Alexander. Sergei’s role is just being Vika’s mentor/father figure and an eventual sacrifice; Sergei’s bitchy sister, Galina, is a fucking psychopath who forces Nikolai to kill animals that she put in his bedroom and doesn’t miss a chance to remind him of his “low birth”. And if you’re holding out for a decent villain, don’t bother: Despite being one of the more interesting characters, Aizhana is just a vengeful zombie who boasts a typhus-riddled black tongue (I kid you not), long fingernails, and a festering grudge. That’s pretty much it.

And just what the fuck is this sentence structure?! The writing is clunky, awkward, and the cause of many an eye-roll. For example: “Nikolai shook his head at the beauty of Bolshebnoie Duplo.” This is an actual sentence in a published book not written for fourth-graders. This is an actual sentence in a published book that is presumably not written by a fourth-grader. I have read and enjoyed books with similar writing flaws, but the other elements of the book compensated for them. Obviously, nothing in The Crown's Game does.

This clumsy delivery pervades the romance of the book too. In yet another nightmare sentence, Pasha gushes about this gorgeous girl (Vika), whom he spotted from a distance the other day:

“She has red hair, like the most hypnotizing part of a flickering flame, and her voice is both melodic and unflinching.”

Ew, gross, no, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself, Pasha. You heard her speak but three sentences from a distance and now you can describe her voice like that? Not only does this further paint Vika as a Mary Sue, but it also just makes Pasha look like a pompous ass. This sort of florid diction is typically reserved for Lord Byron’s poetry. And then, when Pasha hops back on the boat back to St. Petersburg, Skye writes, “He murmured, ‘Vika,’ to himself, more than once.” Oh. My. God. By this point, I can safely say that Pasha acts like Ron Weasley under the influence of Romilda Vane’s love potion. J.K. Rowling at least had the courtesy to cure Ron of his sorry state by within the chapter; Skye’s characters, on the other hand, continue this behavior throughout Crown’s Game. I can’t pick on just Pasha, not when Vika serves up internal monologues like this one:

“It was as if the attempts to kill her faded into the background, and now she saw the truth at the core of it all: Nikolai’s magic was gorgeous and powerful and... and... Her lungs faltered. Even the mere memory of his magic was so strong. And touching Nikolai, even through her gloves and his sleeve, was like being pummeled by a stampede of wild horses. No, wild unicorns. Beautiful, wild unicorns.”

He’s the other enchanter, and she’s just now figured out that he’s powerful? Also, does she want to fuck him or his magic? If you think Nikolai contributes nothing to this travesty of romance, you’re quite wrong:

“He had thought, during the mazurka, that they’d had something. Their touch had both frenzied and frozen the ballroom. Their breathing had synchronized, heatedly.”

I could find more examples but I really don’t want to, since I prefer not vomiting.

Skye spends so much time on saccharine pseudo-poetry that she skimps on meaningful interactions between characters, particularly those involved in the two pairings we the readers are supposed to choose between. One carriage ride and a ballroom dance with Vika, whom he’s only known for a couple of weeks, and he thinks he’s so in love with her that when he discovers Nikolai's identity as the second enchanter and that Nikolai is "in love" with Vika too, he feels betrayed enough to pit the two of them - his best friend and the girl he supposedly loves - against each other in a battle to the death. Nikolai and Vika's encounters consist of either one attempting to murder the other, often with a crowd of bystanders within view, or gazing longingly into each other's eyes. Although Vika does have a sweet mother-daughter scene with Ludmila, and Sergei and Galina seem to reach some kind of reconciliation before the former dies, character-to-character interactions are generally superficial and unanimated.

In the end, whether you subject yourself to the agony of reading this book is up to you. Personally, I think it might be less time-consuming to purchase a bottle of high fructose corn syrup from the grocery store, go home, and drink the entire fucker in one sitting. You'd get the same bland, over-sweet experience from whichever one you choose. As for me, I won't be reading another book of Evelyn Skye's. I've had enough literary corn syrup to last me a lifetime.

You can also read this review on my website: <https://thebookishhawk.home.blog/2019/02/25/the-crowns-game-book-review/>.