#in the meantime enjoy the pain of being commander </3

[i-mybrunettelady]

Just one mistake (is all it will take)

Summary: Smodur the Unflinching and Alysannyra Ainsaph have a difference of opinion. Renira wants to know more about it. Content warnings: Mentions and allusions to shooting. Spoilers: General spoilers for Icebrood Saga’s episode No Quarter. Title taken from Centuries by Fall out Boy. Also this is a long one.

It’s cold in Drizzlewood. Renira almost envies the charr, who have all the fur on their bodies to keep them warm; she has no such luxury so she has to rely on other means to preserve bodily warmth. It’s less than satisfactory sometimes, though. Sharp wind blows hair into her eyes, and she has to risk getting her fingers out of the hot press of her legs to nudge the thick, woolen coat tighter around her body. 

Yet today the Imperators have decided to convene and discuss strategy. As a Pact Commander, Renira has to attend. What gives her a little comfort is the fact that the rest of the humans find themselves in a similar predicament - Nyra’s pale cheeks are bright red from the cold, Kasmeer Meade sits stiffly on her chair and Logan Thackeray is the only one seemingly unfazed by the weather. Renira knows better, though. He’s shivering slightly as well. 

She settles more into her seat and her oversized coat. Words reach her ears, a diplomatic response from Crecia Stoneglow, and she wills herself to forget the fucking cold and focus on what’s being said. She doesn’t know if her superiors at the Order will require reports, but she needs all the things she can reasonably get to even work here.

“Wise information to remember,” Malice Swordshadow whispers in Renira’s ear. “It’s about troop numbers. One of my agents gave his report to Crecia two hours ago.” 

Renira feels her ears tingle hot under her hair. Her face betrays nothing. “They’ll be written down and given to us later as reports.” 

“Us spymasters need to help each other out when we can,” Malice says smoothly. “Your all-charr Whispers unit has given the Legions a lot of usable information, so I wanted to return the favor.” 

Renira smiles. That unit’s an idea she’s vaguely proud of, inspired by Laranthir’s Pale Reavers of the Maguuma campaign. “Much appreciated,” she replies. Malice certainly caught her drifting off for a minute, though, if the glint in her eye as she leans back is any indication. 

“That’s not going to work, Smodur!” Nyra’s voice booms, firm and unrelenting. Her face is tighter than usual, brows furrowed just that much more. “We’re lacking in proper manpower. If I’m seeing correctly, we’re lacking fifteen people for that little operation of yours. And how many people did you shoot last week?” The sound that leaves her is best described as an aborted breath of overflowing frustration. “Fift–” 

“They were defectors, Ainsaph, not just any soldiers!” Smodur says lazily, tapping a claw against the table. “I’m sure even young commanders understand that we don’t need traitors on our operations.”

Nyra breathes deeply. Renira’s eyes are trained on her, on the tension in her neck. She isn’t blinking, staring Smodur down like he isn’t around three and a half times her age and height. “Do not speak over me, Smodur,” she says. Her voice is colder than the sharp wind around them. “Do not interrupt me when I’m speaking and do not, for fuck’s everloving sake, patronize me.”

She then straightens her back and lifts her chin. “You shot fifteen people last week, Smodur. Reconsider not wasting manpower when we need every fucking head in this war!” 

“You’re not listening, Ainsaph. They turned their backs–” 

“Stop it, both of you!” Crecia yells and everyone almost cricks their neck to look at her. Smodur huffs and growls and Nyra’s eyes are harder than steel. Rytlock Brimstone, who’s been blessedly quiet next to her, leans down to grumble something into Nyra’s ear. “If you have any issues with each other, I’ll have to ask you to sort them out elsewhere. Here, we are a unified front and you’ll have to act like it.” 

“Nobody’s gonna hear us, Cre,” Rytlock says. “Especially not Ryland.” 

“He’s too busy doing other things,” Nyra adds, voice strained. “He’s not gonna pay attention to us here. Bangar won’t either. We’re certainly not louder than his ego. I should know. My ego’s as big as his.”

Renira shakes her head. Nyra’s statement would’ve been slightly amusing if it wasn’t for her stiff posture and the unblinking stare she keeps pointed at Smodur. She looks like a predator ready to strike, one bad word away from giving him a fist to the face, and Renira knows her well enough to say with certainty she would attack. 

She knows people like her. She’s sustained by ego, an idea of inherent self-importance that Renira’s seen in her since their first meeting back in Ebonhawke all those years ago. In another life, she may have been bitter about that fact, that Nyra could afford to have the sense of grandeur because of her high birth. To Renira, though, that’s a statement of fact. Alysannyra Ainsaph has brown hair and ego the size of Tyria and Elona combined. 

In no life, however, would she call that idea a delusion on Nyra's part. She knows what she’s capable of, she knows what she must do to satisfy it, she holds herself to impossibly high standards in achieving her goals. She wields it like a weapon and as a driving force. It is a source of power. 

It’s made her look a god in the eye, rise from the dead and pay him back double. 

Renira’s still a little hung up on rising from the dead, actually. Death’s always felt a little strange. Regardless of any of that, Nyra’s ego is a big, glowing spot in every room she’s in and Smodur’s just stepped on it carelessly, like he’s frolicking on a meadow. 

This is going to end in a murder attempt at some point. 

“We were talking about the new report on troop numbers,” Renira says conversationally. Kasmeer shoots her a grateful look. There’s a feather-light feel of magic and Nyra’s face loses all tension and remains as impassive as it usually is. 

“Yes,” she says, much calmer than a moment ago. “The new report on troop numbers. Crecia, the word is yours.” 

*** 

There’s meatloaf in her hands. A good meatloaf, all things considered - Tybalt would enjoy it, if that’s any indication of its quality. Renira’s always maintained that she has better tastes in food than her friend does, to which Tybalt’s first response would always be that not everyone can look at Queen Jennah’s feet when working. 

Renira likes shoes. It’s a weird luxury that Jennah can avoid them, but she’s not the one to judge such matters. In Drizzlewood, anyway, shoes are a must, as is strong, hearty food that can keep you fed for long watches and missions. 

She looks at the meat in her hands. The slice is big enough for both her and Nyra to share, a perfect opportunity to discuss whatever the fuck came to be in the Impretarors’ pavillion a few hours ago. 

She finds Nyra in her tent - a somewhat bigger than most, perks of being a commander on the field - seated on the bed. She’s rested her elbows on her knees and is rubbing her temples, hiding sighs of lingering frustration. Her hair, once in a tight braid, now falls messily over the furs on her shoulders. There are no torches, so the lingering source of light is the cool, icy shine from her crystalline weapon, Lightbringer, that she’s willed to form a lamp.

“I brought you food,” Renira says, certain Nyra’s heard her steps. 

“Soon, we’ll be fighting the Dominion with meatloafs,” Nyra replies. Renira bites down a chuckle. “I’m not complaining. It’s good meatloaf. Once we kick Bangar’s ass, though, I never want to see it again.” Ever the optimist, their Commander. 

“At least this one feeds you,” Renira shrugs. “I know many people who could not stand the bread they ate during the Zhaitan campaign.” 

“We don’t have a choice during a war,” Nyra lifts her head. Her eyes are muted and unreadable, yet her voice gives away the tiredness. “So they better get used to standing both the meatloaf and the bread. I’m a little hungry.”

Renia sits beside her on the bed and puts the plate between them. Nyra divides it and bites into her slice. “If you tell me we can’t choose allies either, I’m going to smack you.” 

“What you told Smodur–” 

“Was deserved. He needs to get called out more and if I need to be the one to do it, I will.” Nyra purses her lips. “I just don’t understand him. He’s wasteful. He doesn’t offer second chances. Nobody with a head for strategy will make them squad leaders or officers, or even leave them unsupervised, but he’s being.. Wasteful.” She lets out a long breath. “I said that already.” 

“So you support defectors, then?” Renira daintily bites into her own meal, licking her lips clean. It’s salty. “Traitors?” 

“Gods, no. We just disagree on what a defector is.” 

“Definition of a defector is very clear,” Renira says slowly. Without judgment. “Not all people are worth saving, Nyra.” 

Nyra frowns. Her lower lip pales with how harshly she’s biting into it. “I’m tired of losing people, Ren. They may be monsters and traitors and whatever else, but who’s to say we’re not, to them?” She kicks her foot. “War is ugly and unfair and brutal. They may have defected, but I don’t think they should have their personhood denied for it. We should be inspiring them to stay with us rather than scaring them into joining the other side!”

Other, rather than the enemy side. Renira would call them the enemy side, but Nyra’s always been the more sentimental one of the two. “So you agree with the shooting, as long as Smodur accepts them as people?”

“I don’t know,” Nyra says after a long pause. “I guess I’m just.. Upset about it. It distresses me, seeing prisoners and traitors killed. How do you look at that and still say you’re a good guy in the end?” Her eyes water slightly and she blinks it away. “He asked me to drop a bomb down a stuffed bunker. I chose to not say fuck you, no and did it anyway. I can say without a shadow of a doubt I am not a good guy. But guess what? Neither is he.” 

You’re better than most, Renira wants to say. She knows it won’t go anywhere. Nyra’s walls of guilt are too strong and impenetrable right now. 

“I’m afraid I’ll hear the rifles go off when I lay down, and think why I didn’t do anything,” Nyra continues. Her voice is wobbly. “I should’ve yelled, ordered, argued, anything, but instead, I just walked past like I’m some sort of powerless mouse and not…” She laughs bitterly and points at her chest. “Whatever the fuck I am right now.” 

“You couldn’t do anything,” Renira says gently and places a hand on Nyra’s. “They would have hurt you too.” 

“One of them asked for mercy,” Nyra whispers. “One was unrepentant, but the other asked for mercy. The rifles were louder than both.” She wipes her hand and rubs the tears off her cheeks. “I’ll remember the rifles when I go to sleep.” 

“Nyra–”

“Mercy, Renira, he asked for mercy and I didn’t do anything!” Nyra stands up and holds her hands near her face. They’re shaking. The burn marks on them are still harrowing to look at. 

Renira’s on her feet as well, towering over Nyra in what she hopes is a comforting shadow. “You may not have saved him,” she says softly, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. Nyra’s cheeks are wet. “But you can save many more. I know it’s distressing, I know it’s overwhelming, but you shouldn’t try to save everyone at your own expense. He made a mistake and he paid for it.” She wraps an arm around her. Nyra digs her face in Renira’s neck. 

“He cried for mercy,” Nyra repeats. “He cried for mercy and was denied.” 

Charr Legions are not well known for their mercy. But that’s their business. Renira knows better than to questions as firmly established as the Legions, especially as their ally. Besides, it’s not like the Whispers’ conditioning is any different in that regard. But Nyra’s a different kind of beast altogether, half-way heroic, half-way self-serving. There’s no way she could fully understand. 

Renira doesn’t begrudge Smodur for doing this. But if she had to pick sides, she would immediately side with Nyra. 

“Then you make sure as few people as possible have to plead like this,” Renira says into Nyra’s hair. Nyra’s hands tenderly wrap around her waist. “Then you make sure the Legions are victorious. You, Crecia, Efram, Rytlock. Hell, even Logan and Kasmeer. You’re not alone, remember?” 

“I suppose I have to remember that,” Nyra whispers. There’s wetness on Renira’s neck. She presses a kiss to Nyra’s temple and doesn’t let go for a long time. 

The rifles do not go off that night. 

[llondonfog]

⚔ living weapon verse ⚔ | a friend and i have been tossing around an au where silver is a literal "living weapon"— he's been transformed into a sword due to being cursed by maleficent and forced to serve the many fae generals throughout the centuries who wield him. eventually, time finds him in the hands of the most recent general of the right, a certain lilia vanrouge :) there's so much more to this au and i hope that i can express more of it through upcoming drabbles. but in the meantime please enjoy this snippet below! <3

The water in the basin almost instantaneously rusts into an ugly, mottled brown, the kind of stinking, brackish water that Silver has only seen in the most polluted of swamps. It makes sense, he supposes, twitching his fingers idly beneath the surface to watch the resulting eddies with a glazed stare— he is a tool of and for destruction. There is nothing that remains sacred and innocent for something like him, not even the bathwater warm like a hearth against his phantom, aching bones. 

A clawed hand takes his chin and grips it firmly, the pressure a welcome distraction from the encroaching abyss sinking its poisonous tendrils into his mind. He allows it to guide him, unable to resist even if he wished, and it tilts his head up until his dulled gaze meets blazing crimson, the sight stirring a long-dead emotion in his still and silent heart. “Focus,” the general murmurs, and the order is a kindness, a mercy he knows he does not deserve. “Eyes on me.”

These simple, straightforward commands are part of their ritual, and Silver clings to them like the last anchor in a tempest-tossed sea. His handler’s hold on his chin lingers a moment longer, the fae eyeing him impassively to ensure his compliance as if it were possible for Silver to disobey, before removing itself to reach for the damp rag draped along the basin’s side. Silver mourns its loss like a child yearning for a comfort toy, but his features do not betray his thoughts. They do not betray much of anything at all, the need to emote drilled out of him from centuries of cruelty and callous objectification. After all, what does a sword need a smile for, what use is a blade that weeps?

Instead, he centers himself along the pain, one of the only constants he’s come to know as intimately as any true love. His handler is quick, another one of those unnecessary mercies, but thorough— the rag glides along his bruised and blood-stained skin, sweeping away the gory evidence of mere hours ago. Idly, Silver wonders if it would truly be so easy to wipe away the memories. To cleanse what is so ingrained within him: the dying wails of his own kind, the wet heat as he slices through their flesh and beating veins, the fear wide and white in their eyes. 

“Silver.”

His head snaps up, a dull burn of shame creeping beneath his skin as the fear of disappointing the fae, a compelling need sewn viciously into the very nature of his being as part of Maleficent's curse, floods his mind.

The general has paused in his ministrations, for how long Silver does not know, and instead is crouched by the basin’s side with an inscrutable expression on those delicate features. Without a word, he reaches out, and Silver’s eyes all but close as a passive tranquility spreads like treacle through his trembling limbs at the touch of those warm fingertips against the curse mark branded along the back of his neck. His handler need not look to find the recent addition of the bat flitting above the floral-wreathed sword emblazoned on Silver’s skin, and he feels the tips of those claws press lightly against it— he’s never heard of a curse mark changing over time, and he cannot forget the strange flash of possessiveness that flickered through the general’s eyes at the sight before being smoothly buried under his usual narrowed gaze. 

He cannot forget the odd churning of his heart when he first caught sight of it in the broken mirror hanging in the general’s tent. 

“Silver,” the general repeats, and Silver flushes at having drifted off once again. But instead, the fae brushes his thumb over the length of the curse mark, from the nape of his neck to the top of his spine, and stares at him like he’s something deserving of tenderness. 

“You did well today, boy. Rest now,” his handler’s hand shifts forward to cover his eyes, the darkness beneath his palm warm and inviting and nothing like the cold and miserable nothingness that Silver returns to when he’s outperformed his usefulness. Another kindness, for swords do not sleep, or eat, or drink— his body, what little humanity it has retained, no longer is tethered to such mortal requirements. But his general has given him an order, and a good weapon obeys the will of its handler. 

Silver sleeps— swords do not dream, but what else could it be, when he feels the ghost of lips brushing against his forehead?

[dracowars]

Hi!! Can i request a Draco Malfoy x Reader, where the reader notices Draco starting to act suspicious. And being his girlfriend, he'd normally tell her anything and everything. But he'd been hiding something. So she confronts him. And after much much prodding from her, he finally spills his secret and shows her the dark mark on his arm. And he gets nervous and she tells him that she'd get it to if it meant that he'd be completely himself again. (I've just really been wanting a evil, villainous couple.)

forever, you and me | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x reader

word count: 1,1k

summary: where draco reveals the dark mark to y/n

a/n: i loved writing this, i hope you enjoy reading <3 reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated!

warnings: angst, cursing, a bit toxic

universe: harry potter

“I can’t help you if you don’t finally tell me what’s going on, Draco!”, you raise your voice unintentionally, but somehow intentional because otherwise the message does not seem to get through to him at all. It has been like this for weeks, he keeps acting weird, not like himself as if he had been replaced by an empty, emotionless shell, and every time you bring this up, he brushes you off like it is nothing. Not only are you incredibly frustrated at this point, but you are also angry. You know that something is bothering him so much that he does not even dare to talk to you about it, although you used to tell each other everything.

In the meantime, it worries you so much that you feel physically and mentally ill. You haven’t closed your eyes at night ever since you woke up one night, after sneaking into Draco’s room, and he disappeared in the middle of the night, gone somewhere only he knows. The next morning, he did not even think to apologize to you when you saw him in the Great Hall. That was the first time you really realized that something was terribly wrong.

It hurts that he does not confide in you, but it pains you even more that he is suffering, and you can’t help him because he just won’t let you near him anymore. You can say whatever you want, you can do whatever you want, but he ignores you like you do not even exist, like you are not the one person who could potentially help him. You would do anything for him, and you thought he knew that. Which does not seem to be the case, which is why you are not sorry for the cruel words you are now spitting at him.

“So you’re back to playing the arrogant asshole everyone thinks you are, hm?”, you provoke him furiously, not allowing him to treat you like this anymore. “If that’s the case, then I don’t want to be with you anymore either, Draco. I can’t keep running after you only for you to push me away over and over again!”

“You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Y/N. Just stay out of it”, Draco replies, visibly annoyed by your words. What you do not know, however, is that your words hit him hard and for a few seconds he actually forgets how to breathe as his heart contracts painfully. He can’t help himself, he does not know what to do either.

“I would fucking do anything for you, Draco, ANYTHING! What does it take to get that into the thick skull of yours?!”, you practically yell at him now, reproachfully pressing your index finger against his chest with every word. The way he pulls away from you, the way he takes so many steps back until his back is against the wall of his room like he is trying to escape from you, breaks your heart. But since it was broken before anyway, you do not feel the pain at that moment.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”, you command and look at him intently, but his eyes remain fixed on the ground. He lets you yell at him as much as you want, but he still won’t tell you anything.

“Leave me alone”, Draco murmurs so softly you can barely hear it. When he turns to escape the room, you grab his arm and stop him from leaving. As soon as you touch him, however, he flinches, almost in pain, and yanks his arm away from you with so much force that the momentum causes you to take a step towards him.

It is in that moment when you see Draco’s tear-filled eyes that you know no one will leave this room without unraveling this secret that has been destroying the both of you for so long.

“Draco, babe. Please tell me what’s wrong”, you ask him again, this time very calmly and so carefully that you even startle yourself at how quickly your mood can change. “I only want to help you. It’s me, Y/N. You remember? Forever, we said.”

Draco, who is holding the arm you just touched protectively against his chest, is now looking directly at you, and for a brief moment you think you see the darkness within his eyes being pushed aside by light. You would do anything in your power to take all the pain and suffering away from him, transferring all of it to yourself so he does not have to endure it any longer.

“You wouldn’t be able to look at me anymore”, Draco murmurs sadly, cupping his wrist in his hand like he is in excruciating pain.

“What nonsense are you talking about? You know I will always be by your side”, you softly whisper and take another step towards his trembling figure. “No matter what it is, I will stay with you. I promise. I love you, Draco, and I can’t handle this uncertainty any longer.”

Nervously, his eyes meet yours, alternating between them as he fiddles with the hem of his white shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning the sleeve. You take this as a sign that you are allowed to come closer, which you do. Tenderly putting your hand on his shoulder, you look at his hands.

“Show me.”

You could not have guessed that Draco looks away at your words as he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt and reveals his skin to you, as if he were infinitely ashamed of what he is now showing you. What he is revealing to you here and now makes you stagger briefly, but the fear that is clearly visible in his face causes you to control your emotions. He needs you. So much like he never did before.

Not knowing what to say, how best to convince him that you will stay by his side even though this horrible tattoo adorns his forearm, you express what comes to your mind first.

“If it means that you will be your true self again, then I want to be a part of it, too.”

The shock, but also the slight relief that breaks across Draco’s features, immediately tells you what you have to do from now on. You can also see him struggling with himself, however, for not wanting to pull you into this mess, but your decision was made the moment he revealed the truth. That is why, when he wants to say something, you softly put your finger on his lips to silence him. Looking deep into his beautiful eyes, you can almost hear his heartbeat as loud as yours, not able to suppress a tiny smile.

“Forever, as I promised.”

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of BL fics where Louis or Harry are tattoo artists. This is a short list, but we hope you still enjoy it! If you do, please be sure to like the post and reblog it to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Sweet Ink | Mature | 786 words

Note: While there is no smut in this fic, it is omega Louis.

Louis is the precious, omega tattoo artist, and Harry is his protective alpha.

2) If It Hurts To Breathe, Open The Window | Explicit | 4406 words

Louis looks wonderful himself, in a muscle shirt reading The Stone Roses and showing off all his own ink. His jeans are tighter than Harry’s, and there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is tatty and wild, and there’s a sex bruise on the bend of his elbow Harry didn't give to him.

3) Your Pain (Is Mine Now) | Explicit | 4743 words

“Stay still for me, baby,” Harry murmurs like he’s completely unaware of how such an easy command affects Louis’s ability to think.

The tattoo gun buzzes away over his chest, the job an easy touch up to his chest piece to smooth out the lines of the calligraphy Louis hastily got some random to do before he was aware how much there was to know about tattoo artistry. Becoming friends with Zayn made Louis realise he could do a bit better next time he wanted some ink done, and in the meantime he’d recommended Harry to go over and darken the faded ink. It was supposed to be quick and painless. A no brainer.  

“There’s a good boy.” Harry’s hand swipes over the area to cleanse away extra ink and spotty bits of blood from his canvas.

Louis closes his eyes to hide how they roll into the back of his head.

4) Your Blueberry Eyes | Mature | 6154 words

Famous/not famous AU where Louis tattoos and Harry falls for blues.

5) I See Your Colours And I'm Dying of Thirst | Not Rated | 6244 words

Harry asks Louis for a tattoo, but forgets to mention that he's got a little bit of a... problem when it comes getting inked. Shenanigans ensue.

6) Ink | Explicit | 7139 words

Louis Tomlinson always wanted to get tattooed. But because his conservative father was against it, he never did. Recently, though, Louis was rebelling. He didn’t want to grow like his father, to be like him.

That’s why he now was in a tattoo shop, ready to be inked by this curly, dimpled and sex-on-legged lad.

7) Short And Sweet | Explicit | 29658 words

Louis is a shy university student in a world scarce of male omegas. He's always dreamt of having an alpha despite his sheltered upbringing, fantasizing about being loved and cared for. He's immediately smitten by the mysterious alpha with curly hair, broad shoulders, and the addictive coffee scent.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part Eleven - Them)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery 9. Retreat 10. Capture 11. Them

Some reveal in this one, lots of worry and some discovery. John is not a happy boy.

As always, many thanks to @scribbles97​​ @janetm74​​ @vegetacide​​ and @tsarinatorment​​ for all their amazing support. you guys rock ::hugs you to bits::

Tonight is a bit of a posting night. I will be posting the last chapter of The Cane shortly as soon as I finish proofing it :D Yay, for finishing things :D Callisto is currently at 45,000 words.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one.

-o-o-o-

Alan was out of his pod, screaming Scott’s name, but his brother was gone. The water as still as before.

“Alan! Status!” John’s voice was as panicked as Alan had ever heard it.

“Scott’s gone.” He dashed over to Virgil. His big brother was crumpled in a heap. In the low gravity, Scott’s shove had been enough to throw him up against the rock wall. “John, I need you.”

“FAB.”

Virgil was unconscious.

Again.

A quick scan and his vitals were good. There would be bruising ...as if his brother needed more. But there was nothing broken, thank god.

A scan of the still unconscious director proved her to be stable as well.

He shifted Virgil into a safer recovery position.

“Eos, can we scan the lake?” He eyed where his big brother had vanished.

“No. I can get no data beyond approximately ten metres below the surface. It is very frustrating.”

Alan continued to stare at the surface and its glass stillness. “Can you locate Scott?”

“John has already pinpointed the Commander. He has joined the other life form below the lake’s surface. There is no comms response from the Commander.” The AI managed to sound both worried and frustrated.

“Are there any other life signs in the area?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a pause. “There is no life as defined by the search parameters programmed into Thunderbird Five’s sensors on the moon beyond what has already been accounted for by International Rescue and Callisto Base personnel. Did you wish me to change those parameters?”

Alan swallowed as the third dragonfly buzzed into the cave. “ I think we’re going to have to. There is something down here.”

-o-o-o-

“We can’t leave him!”

“We’re not leaving him, Alan. We need to get the director and Virgil back to base.”

“But Scott-“

“He’s alive. We will do everything we can, but first we need medical attention for Virgil and the Director and to gather more information to better understand what we are dealing with.”

Virgil groaned and dragged a hand to his face. There was an oxygen mask in all its cold and moist glory and he shoved it off.

The elastic caught in his hair.

“Virgil!”

The pounding in his head was so loud, he could barely hear above it. There were hurried footsteps and someone ...Alan, it had to be Alan...touched his arm.

“Virgil, are you with us?” John’s melodious voice appeared on his other side and echoed through his aching head.

“You gonna open your eyes for us?” Alan sounded worried.

Open his eyes? Oh, yeah. A flicker and suddenly his retinas were assailed by the red of Three’s tiny infirmary.

A sigh. What the hell had happened now?

God, his head hurt.

“Alan, get us back to Base.” John’s voice was calm and quiet but had that tone of command.

There was quiet for a moment as the infirmary walls faded in and out of focus, roiling Virgil’s stomach.

A sigh and his little brother acknowledged John with an exhaled FAB before leaving Virgil’s bedside with soft footfalls.

Hands strapped him into the bed, fingers brushing gently across the surface of his uniform before landing ever so softly on his temple. “Rest, Virgil.” His hair was brushed off his forehead, the fine grip on John’s glove catching strands. “You’re safe.”

Virgil let out a sigh and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop pounding.

Perhaps it was a sign of the severity of whatever had happened to him, that he didn’t realise there was a voice and a touch missing until he was caught in the spiral of pain-induced exhaustion.

The question of a missing big brother followed him into an uneasy sleep.

-o-o-o-

Berry for his eldest son.

It was an exchange Jeff wasn’t sure he was willing to make.

But the thought was arrested before he could consider it further, knowing that Scott would admonish him for even thinking it.

But in the depths of his soul, the father in him was screaming.

Berry was off loaded from Three and onto the gantry, quickly followed by an equally prone Virgil. His engineer son was only asleep according to John, but with Scott missing, Jeff found himself clinging to his second eldest regardless.

The automatic cams on the Dragonflies had picked up what had happened. It was blatantly obvious there was something with purpose at work, something not human, possibly sentient.

The word ‘aliens’ bounced back and forth in his head.

Virgil was returned to the spot in the infirmary he had left barely an hour ago. Gordon sitting on the bed Jeff had restricted him to, stared at his co-pilot with worried eyes. Alan, equally as worried, sat down beside his fish brother and Gords wrapped his good arm around him.

Virgil was ever so quiet.

Berry was surrounded by the Base doctors, a curtain pulled around her bed, hiding her from the rest of them.

Jeff had the urge to shove it all aside and demand answers.

John had an IR medscanner out and was scanning his brother again. He spoke up without Jeff having to ask. “He’s sleeping.” It was a repetition of the earlier diagnosis, but it was welcome anyway.

A frown and the astronaut narrowed the scanner’s beam, prodding its controls and bringing it closer to Virgil’s head.

“What is it?”

John’s voice was calm, but distracted. “Director Berrenger has some ear damage. Virgil...” Another prod of the device. “Damn.”

“What?” Jeff took a step closer.

But John stopped scanning his brother, adjusted the controls and then ran the medscanner over his own head. Frowning at the readings, he activated his wrist ‘projector and swiped the results to that display.

The two scans bobbed up side by side, close up details of Virgil and John’s auditory systems.

“Virgil has had a headache since he arrived. We thought it was related to the T-Drive. But it appears that he has been subjected to some kind ear injury.”

Gordon spoke up. “He got dizzy.”

John frowned and poked at the hologram, spinning it. The frown deepened a moment before the astronaut suddenly darted around the bed and aimed the scanner at Gordon’s head.

“What? What the hell are you doing?”

“Hold still.”

A flicker of yellow and John obviously got what he was looking for. A breath and he aimed the scanner at Alan’s head as well.

His sigh was a frustrated one. “We are all exhibiting signs of ear irritation, but Virgil’s is by far the worst. Dad?”

Jeff blinked as John waved the device over his head. His son’s glare at the scanner was almost enough to incinerate it.

John slapped his comms. “Eos, land the probe closest to the Crystal Cavern. I need physical contact with the rock. Activate mic input, scan the spectrum.”

“FAB.”

It took a few moments and Jeff found himself absently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Contact made. Scanning...oh, my!”

“Let me hear it.” John was wired ever so tight, eyes on fire.

“Input is being received at a very high volume, but at a very high frequency far above the human ability to hear. Translating.”

The sound that emitted from John’s comms was a very loud discordant screeching. Everyone in the room clapped their hands to their ears. A nurse attending to Berry shoved aside a curtain and shouted at them, as John yelled at Eos to stop.

“What the hell is that?!” Gordon, as always, voiced what everyone was thinking.

John was already bouncing program variables over his wrist. “That is what we need to find out.”

-o-o-o-

It turned out it was the moon itself.

Jeff sat with Virgil as his son slept, unable to relax himself. Alan intermittently gnashed his teeth fretting out loud what all of them were thinking. Scott was missing and it tore at all of them.

Virgil slept on.

John could only be described as frantic. The space monitor swore a blue streak that had Jeff snapping at him at one point. The man’s response was throw up a hologram on his tablet that mapped out the sounds being emitted by Callisto.

It was like a nest of spiderweb laced around and through the rock of the Jovian satellite. Pockets of density existed in places along with patches of less. John reached up and poked a spot that was slightly different from the rest, but still drenched in lines.

“This is Callisto Base.”

“And what is that?” Jeff pointed at the fine lines darting all over the moon.

John sighed. “My guess is that we are looking at a communications network.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “Who is communicating?”

“Unknown. There are no unaccounted life forms on this moon. Not life as we know it.”

“What about life as we don’t know it?”

“We’re working on it.”

Next question. “How did we miss it?” The moon was literally shouting loud enough to injure.

John deflated on the spot, obviously considering the lapse a failure on his part. “Sound requires matter to travel through. Thunderbird Five is not equipped to detect it unless we have something in contact with the atmosphere or a mic in play.”

“We have mics in our comms.” But Jeff knew the answer before his son supplied it.

“The frequencies are beyond usual pick up range. Far too high.”

“What about Virgil?”

John wilted. “I don’t know, Dad. Why is he affected more than the rest of us? Hell, why aren’t the colonists showing symptoms?”

Jeff frowned at that. “Why aren’t they? They’ve been here for years.”

“I can’t see how they could not be affected. We’ve only been here a short time and we are showing the effects.”

Something cold curdled in Jeff’s gut. A sudden suspicion roiled to the surface. “Leave that one to me.” He threw himself to his feet.

“Dad?” Aquamarine frowned at him.

“I’ll get some answers.”

-o-o-o-

His head was hammering both in dream and, as he rose to consciousness, in reality. “Oh god.” Virgil rolled over clutching his head and curled into a ball.

“Virgil?”

Alan? He clenched his eyes shut, hands gripping his hair.

“Virgil?” The softer more melodious voice of his older space brother. “Hold on.”

There were words not directed at him and Virgil must have faded out again because next he knew he was flat on his back and the pain had been reduced to a pale echo of itself, replaced with a light fog.

Someone was holding his hand.

“Scott?” It came out hoarse and barely there.

“Virgil, you with us?”

Alan. It was Alan. His little brother.

Rocket boy.

God, his head was sluggish.

“Alan? Where’s Scott?” He forced his eyes open and blinked against the light. Another groan and he moved on the bed, his body aching and stiff as if he had been in the same position for an eon. “What happened?”

Another slow blink and his memory landed in Crystal Cave and rescuing Director Berrenger, and then…pain and nothing.

“Ummm…Scott’s not here. Lemme get John.” There was the sound of an active comm and Alan calling for his big brother.

Huh?

“Where’s Gordon?”

“Asleep.” Alan pointed at the blue curtain beside them. “Dad had a go at him for not resting. Threatened to send him up to Five if he didn’t try to sleep.”

Oh, just fantastic. “What about you? Have you slept?” How long had Virgil been down for the count?

“I’m good. Been helping John detect aliens.”

“Aliens? What aliens?” Frowning shouldn’t hurt like this.

“Virgil, you’re awake.” John’s melodious voice was a welcome balm despite the fact it was stating the obvious.

“John.” Virgil tried to sit up, but a gentle hand halted him. A pair of aquamarine eyes telling him more than any words. “What happened? Where’s Scott?” Scott should be here. He was always here.

John sat down beside Virgil’s bed deliberately and quietly.

Oh god. “What happened?” Virgil pushed himself into a seated position despite his brother, determined to face whatever had happened…not lying down.

“Scott is okay, as far as we can tell.”

“As far as you can tell?”

John’s lips thinned and his eyes screamed apology before he activated his wrist comm and showed Virgil footage from the dragonfly cam that caught exactly what happened.

Virgil stared as his brother sacrificed himself to save him.

The expletive that fell from his lips was sharp and vulgar.

He pushed the fog in his head to one side and forced himself to focus. “I need details.” He shoved the covers off his legs.

A blink.

“And clothes.”

-o-o-o-

Jeff stared the Commander of Callisto Base down, every ounce of his height, every piece of history they held together. “What haven’t you told us?”

“Have you located Ju yet?” The shorter man set his shoulders and glared up at Jeff.

“We have discovered that there is likely another form of life on this moon. Were you aware of this?”

Graeme blinked. “Life? What?”

“My eldest son was captured by the same mechanism that likely caught your wife. My second eldest has taken ill with the effects of strong ultra-frequency sound. These sounds appear to envelope this moon. Are you trying to tell me, that with all your scientific staff and equipment, supplied by Tracy Industries, no less, you have yet to encounter this problem after inhabiting this base for over five years?” Jeff inched closer. “Think before you answer.” The threat was clear.

Graeme swallowed. “There was Jeremiah, but we thought that was an isolated case.”

“Jeremiah?”

“One of our geologists. Took ill, nausea, headaches, nothing we did helped. Are you telling me he died of exposure to sound?”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed as his heart lurched. “He died?”

Graeme’s eyes grew frantic as the dots connected. “Stroke. The doctors said it was stroke. I was going to ask you to take his body home to his family when you left.”

Jeff’s lips thinned ever so much more. “Anyone else?”

“Uh.” The man was obviously floundering and cursing himself at the same time. “There have been instances of nausea, dizziness and headache, but nothing as bad as Jeremiah. We put it down to long term low gravity and the environment. We are living on the edge of human experience out here. You know what that is like.” He stared up at Jeff. “What kind of life? Have you seen it?” A swallow. “What about Ju?”

What about, Scott? “We’re working on it. We hope to have more information once Berry wakes up.” They needed so many answers.

-o-o-o-

John glared at Virgil, but his idiot brother was as determined as any of them would be in the same situation. John dreaded what would happen when their father returned.

There was going to be hell to pay.

Virgil was given his uniform and Alan was scooted out of the closed curtained area. John refused to move and earned a glare for his efforts, but there was no way he was leaving Virgil on his own in this state, stupid determination or not.

Dad was going to kill all of them.

The rainbow of bruises across Virgil’s back as he threw off the hospital gown their father had so painstakingly helped the nurses dress him in hours earlier only served to impress on John the fact that this was ever so wrong.

“Virgil, please give yourself more time.”

“Scott doesn’t have time.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s been kidnapped by goddamned aliens, John. I’ve seen enough sci-fi flicks to know where that leads.”

“I don’t think we need a Ripley in this case, Virgil.”

His brother yanked spacesuit onto his legs. “How do you know that? You haven’t even located the bugs yet.”

“I doubt they are bugs, Virgil.” With a sigh, he reached in and helped his brother pull his spacesuit up over his shoulders, not missing any of the multiple winces at the action. “In fact, I think they might be the crystals.”

Virgil turned to look at him. “The quartz?”

“Yes.”

“How? It reads as silicon dioxide.”

“I know. Thunderbird Five is not the USS Enterprise. We’re doing our best here.” John lowered Virgil’s red and green baldric over his shoulders, ever so gently letting it rest on what he knew were bruises.

This was madness. “You should stay in bed. You’ve been affected more than any of us. Long term exposure to ultrasound can be life threatening. Please, Virgil.”

His brother turned around, ever the rescue operative, the uniform wearing him rather than the other way around. “And what about Scott?”

“Let me, Virgil, please. We have Dad and Lee. You need rest.”

Dark eyes met his. “With Scott down, I’m in command. It is my duty to lead.”

“Virgil, this is not a military organisation and you are not a soldier.”

“No, I’m a Tracy.” With that, he threw aside the curtain and strode out.

John sighed. First Dad, and then Scott, when they found him.

Yes, there was going to be hell to pay.

-o-o-o-

The woman on the bed was an echo of the team mate he used to know. So much time had passed between them and, as it was always with time, it took as it left.

Berry’s hair was fading to white. Her skin had been kept relatively young by the lack of sun in her life. After all, it was a six to nine hundred odd million further kilometres away out here. But there was a frailness, nonetheless.

She seemed so small against the white of the pillow and bedsheets. Lacking the vivacity he knew she possessed.

“Kate?” He swallowed. She couldn’t hear him. Two broken ear drums would do that. He reached out a hand and gently nudged her shoulder.

He was relieved to see those familiar green eyes open and look up at him.

“Hey.” His voice broke just a little.

“Jeff?” Those eyes widened. And suddenly, before he could react, he was wrapped in eager arms holding him ever so tight. “Oh, Jeff. You came.”

“Could I do anything else?” But her arms were still around him. She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t hear his words.

He found himself hugging her ever so tight back.

But he had to break it off. He needed information.

A gentle nudge and she relaxed back onto the bed, frowning up at him in worry.

Grabbing a tablet, he typed in the question and held it up for her to see. What happened?

“They caught us. The water kept us trapped. Couldn’t get out. Nga and Steve and then Chrisoula. They killed them. Trying to do something.” Her breathing elevated and for a moment there, Jeff feared he had lost her to whatever she was remembering.

He shook her shoulder gently, bringing her eyes back to him. Fingers on the tablet. Sound. They use sound.

She nodded and then closed her eyes as if in pain, a hand going to her head.

He squeezed her shoulder again. “Take it easy.”

A blink and he realised she knew he had said something but not what. He hastily tapped the words into the tablet.

She sighed as she read them, melting a little into the bed. “Where’s Ju?”

I was hoping you would be able to help us with that.

Realising what he meant, her lips thinned and her shoulders straightened a little on the bed.

“She’s still out there?”

He nodded.

“Damn.”

There’s a possibility your release was either an attempt at communication or a ruse to trap one of our operatives.

“Operatives?”

International Rescue.

“Your sons are here? To rescue us?”

That’s the plan.

She blinked a lot at that, moisture in her eyes, her lips twisting a little. “Thank you, Jeff.”

It’s what they do.

They. His own words struck home as he looked at the tablet.

A hand scratched gently at his arm, drawing his attention back to Berry.

“They kept us in a room made of water. The walls were continually moving, like a waterfall that never stopped. But with our lights we could see through it.” She blinked, eyes again focussing away from him, seeing something he couldn’t. “In the room, the floor was bare rock except for one of those crystal formations. Just one. But in the water outside, there was crystal everywhere.” She looked at him. “It’s the crystals, you know? They’re alive.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

A Cursed Reality- JJK x Male Reader (Ch. 3)

This has a couple time skips. They aren't huge and I didn't know how to format it so I just put little dashes to imply there are time skips.

A lot of this material is taken straight from the manga and adapted a little to fit [Name] and there's a hint to his greater power/purpose in the story as well as his background. Enjoy!!!

Previous // Next

Chapter Three: In hindsight [Name] probably should’ve minded his own business. Actually, NO. He was going to blame everything on Gojo. If Gojo hadn’t sent him on that mission to play dutiful senpai [Name] never would’ve gotten involved with Sukuna’s vessel beyond being his upperclassman. But noooo. Now [Name] actually feels something for Itadori, including an obligation to check on the kid. Yuji would most likely be fine, he was being protected by Gojo, and like [Name]’s favorite Sensei, Yaga seems to at least consider Gojo’s opinion when making decisions. His power is well respected regardless of whether or not the blue-eyed Sorcerer is liked. The problem, in [Name]’s own words, was ‘that damn principal’ who liked to torture some of the more problematic recruits. Yaga of course called it a form of vetting. He didn’t want to enroll any students that would die way too easily or cause more problems than they were worth. With people like Yuji and [Name] the whole vetting process became troublesome. Straightforward but complex. They didn’t hide anything really and didn’t have any secret motives, but there were a lot of unknowns in their lives. Especially about where they came from and how they would act in the heat of the moments. ---------------- “Whoa! It’s in the mountains? Is this really Tokyo?” “This isn;t actually out of the ordinary for a tokyo suburb” “What about Fushiguro?” “He’s fast asleep after receiving jujutsu treatment” -------------------------------- “Fushiguro-kun!” “Hmm” “Fushiguro!” “[Name]-senpai” “Where is Gojo-sensei? Is he back with Yuji yet?” “I’ve been asleep, but Gojo-sensei said he’d leave at 6am” “That was three hours ago” “Yeah” “Good! So they haven’t made it to the principal yet. Sweet dreams Fushiguro-kun” “I’ll come with you” “You’ll need your rest” “But-” “Sleep” and with that [Name] darted out the door hearing Megumi’s body hit the mattress once again. [Name] had to warn Yuji about the principal. Knowing Gojo he’d probably stress the kid out and throw him to the gorilla. Yaga of course being the gorilla. ------------------------------------------- “First thing’s first, Yuji--” Gojo started “You’ve got an interview with the principal.” “The principal?” “If you mess up, you might get rejected for admission, so stay frosty, okay?” “WHAT!? DOES THAT MEAN I CAN GET EXECUTED RIGHT AWAY? Yuji shrieked “What a disappointment... I thought you were the leader… A hierarchy not based purely on strength is boring if you ask me” Sukuna raged on before being slapped into silence. “Sorry Sensei, He comes out sometimes….” “What an interesting body you have now.” Gojo noticed “I owe you a debt, after all” “Not again” Yuji shouted Sukuna ignored Yuji and continued “When I make this Kid’s body mine… You’ll be the first one I kill!” “Silence” “Me a target of the great sukuna? What an honor!” Gojo continued as if nothing had happened Sukuna hadn’t disappeared yet but couldn’t open his mouth. [Name]’s cursed command had a little more strength in it than normal. Gojo may have been immature, unfairly attractive (something that pissed [Name] off for reasons “unrelated” to jealousy) and extremely annoying, but he was the closest thing [Name] had to family. He was there to drag [Name] from out of the wreckage after the accident and he was the first person to welcome [Name] to Jujutsu Tech. So yeah, Sukuna’s threat pissed [Name] off a bit. Yuji finally shook Sukuna off and continued to talk to Gojo. About what [Name] has no clue, the two of them were easily excitable and all over the place. In the meantime he was trying to think of advice to give to Yuji before he was thrown into Gorilla territory. Yaga wouldn’t let [Name] stay for the interview and [Name]’s not exactly sure he’d want to anyway. “Hey Puppy!” “Puppy?” ‘Oh shit’ [Name] thought ‘I totally meant to say Yuji. Okay [Name] just breeze past it’

“You’re going into some dangerous territories/ That old man will be looking for a reason to throw you out. Don’t screw up. Just be yourself... but like the you on ADHD meds” Gojo couldn’t help but snicker and [Name] shot him a look as if to communicate ‘the same can be said about you Satoru’ before walking away. “Thanks [Name]-san!” Yuji called after the retreating boy. He then became incredibly serious “Sensei. You said you’d win. But between [Name] and Sukuna… would he lose?” “I don’t know if he’d win” Gojo said before a pregnant pause “But he wouldn’t die. I know that for sure.” Within Yuji, Sukuna hummed in curiosity. That boy had no trouble overpowering Sukuna. And with one word at that. Of course, right now he had only the strength of one finger, but for the boy not to break a sweat. He couldn’t help but think things were getting interesting. ----------------------- “This is your room, you can do whatever you want with it.” “Whoa it’s huge” “The second- and third-years are out right now. You’ll meet them soon enough. Though there’s not many of them anyway” Yuji whistled, putting up a poster of a woman in a bikini before pausing. “What about [Name]? He asked “Is he out too?" “I actually don’t know. It depends. You see [Name] has a very special relationship with the other second years and sometimes that means trouble for missions, so it’s a 50/50 chance on whether or not he’s still here” Yuji hmmed and Gojo stared at him in silence. “Yuji you don’t need to fight, you know. Fushiguro and I can go and retrieve Sukuna’s fingers. Why don’t you just wait here?” Yuji faced the wall and seemed to be immersed in thought. In all honesty both he and Gojo knew what the answer would be. Only one day was needed to figure out the type of person Yuji was. “No! I said I’d do it didn’t I? But it would be hilarious to see a beaten-up Fushiguro bring the fingers to me while I relax” Both he and gojo thought about it a little. Gojo agreed it would be funny. “Okay! To be honest there’s no way you’re not fighting” “Hey! Was that a test?!” “If they were that easy to find we would’ve found them already! There are some with a large overwhelming presence. Others that keep quiet. And some that have already been consumed by a cursed spirit. “With regard to searching for these things… It’s gonna be a pain. But now we have you. In order to regain its power… The sukuna you consumed will direct you to the whereabouts of the fingers. You’re a vessel as well as a radar. We’re gonna need you in the field” “I don’t think the guy inside me’s that considerate...” “I think we’ll be able to come to a win-win agreement” Gojo concluded “Huh you’re next door? There’re a bunch of empty rooms aren’t there?” “Hey! Fushiguro! You finally look better! And [Name]’s with you” “What kind of an upperclassman would I be if I didn’t check on the first years. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re all happy and healthy” [Name] said trying to keep up some charade of being a good student. “You woke me up very aggressively” Fushiguro countered “That’s neither here nor there” “I thought it’d be more fun and lively this way. And obviously I was right” Gojo answered Fushiguro’s question pointing to an oblivious Yuji who was looking at [Name] with pure adoration in his eyes. [Name] looked at the pink haired boy with well hidden fondness. If you didn’t already know [Name], you’d think the blank look on his face meant he hated the kid Fushiguro stared at them for a moment before realizing he’d rather argue than let Gojo be right. “Classes and missions are more than enough!” “Anyway… It’s fine!!! More importantly we’re goin’ out tomorrow!!” Both Yuji and Megumi stared at Gojo. Yuji in surprise, Fushiguro in annoyance “We’re going to get the third first-year student. “Count me out” [Name] spoke up reminding everyone that he too was still there “I’ve got somewhere to be” “Ooh [Name] has a daate” “Can it old man. I’m just going somewhere with Toge” “How is that any different from what I just said”

[Name] ignored the teacher and stalked off toward the second year dorms. “See you later puppy, emo kid”

“Wait for me!” Gojo called out chasing after the second year “I’ve got something to talk to you about”

----------

“So who’s Toge?”

“Inumaki-senpai’s a second year and the one of the only people [Name] likes in this school. I can count them all on one hand.”

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

“So,” [Name] paused “What did you want to talk about?”

“Yuji’s at risk. I can tell you kinda care about him and Megumi so I’m going to use that. When I’m gone you have to protect them. Any means necessary. That includes cursed storytelling”

[Name]’s eyes widened at the mention of his technique. The power itself wasn’t as strong as a domain, but in [Name]’s hands it was deadly. Only he and Gojo knew about it, and if Gojo wanted him to use it, he had no choice.”

“Okay”

[orsuliya]

Alright! Time for part 3 of married!Awu/XQ headcanons. This time? It’s all about the children!

There is nothing unplanned about Awu’s second pregnancy. The subject of children comes up again not long after Awu reunites with Xiao Qi after the so-called death of the latter. Their days in Ningshuo may be filled with the hustle and bustle of preparing for the upcoming march on the capital, but evenings and nights? Those are for holding each other close in search of comfort and reassurance. If not for that, Awu would scarcely have the strength to let Xiao Qi out of her eyesight during those first days and weeks.

During one of those quiet Ningshuo evenings Awu finally breaks. She has had to be strong for so long, all the while half-believing she would never be allowed the luxury of being weak in her husband’s arms again, that even now it takes time for her to let go and simply cry. When tears finally do come out, so do all of Awu’s past fears, leaving her one by one in an unstoppable torrent. Fear for those reliant on her, for the orphaned country and for her own fate; all of those are carefully listened to and soothed with words, silent affection and sense of complete togetherness.

One of those fears? Had you died, had you truly left me alone, what would I have of you for all the years to come? she asks, her voice muffled, her face pressed into her husband’s neck. There is a good reason why she was prepared to die after exacting her revenge. Far too many sleepless nights in Hulan had been spent imagining the long, dreary years of her widowhood. Ten, twenty, thirty years of loneliness, seeing her nephews and nieces being born and then growing up, with nothing, not even her husband’s sword to put in that bloody chapel; would that have been her fate?

She hits him – not too hard, but hard enough for it to be more than a playful tap – when he says that, in time, she would remarry and find happiness again. Would you?! she demands angrily, then softens, once she reads the answer in his eyes. A man should take responsibility from the beginning to the end. Not even a bloody sword to be mounted on the family altar, she laughs tiredly. You owe me, my Prince Yuzhang, you owe me and I shall be your most merciless creditor. Give me a child with your smile, one with your hands and eyes, she demands, pressing insistent kisses to that smile, to those hands and eyes, and then and only then will I consider myself satisfied.

He would, you know, he would have given her a dozen children if that were only possible, but surely she must know that it is not, it can never be in this lifetime. Awu can have anything else for the payment of his debt; he knows he owes her and will give her all that she may wish for that she does not already own. She wants children? Fine, she may have all the orphans in Ningshuo for the raising, if that will bring her joy. But he doesn’t, can never regret putting her health above all else and would give her five more miracle flowers if he had to…

Yes, Awu finally shuts her husband up, unable to take any more of this lethal sincerity. How? Well, the exact method I shall leave to your imagination, but the gist of it is as follows: Xiao Qi is not getting off that easily. They can and will have that child. How? Well, Awu might have plotted with Doctor Shen towards that goal and it will work this time. Maybe not now, maybe it will take another few months or years of fiery needles, but it’s not like they are in hurry. There is no way Awu will agree to have a child in the middle of a civil war, so her husband should really get on with restoring peace in all Cheng. Not right now! In the morning should be soon enough.

____________________________________

It does take some time, first to restore peace and then for Awu to actually get pregnant. In the meantime, she does take all the orphans in Ningshuo as an advance on that debt, not to mention their first son and daughter, Xiaohe and Qinzhi.

Doctor Shen, who – struck with a sudden premonition – had moved to Ningshuo among much grumbling and trembling over the contents of his priceless apothecary, is rewarded with the dubious honour of playing witness to Xiao Qi’s complete meltdown. The first thing our brave general does upon hearing of his wife’s pregnancy is to hug her and refuse to let go for a good while, not that she protests. The second thing? He panics like he’s never panicked before. Doctor Shen comes upon his noble patron, well, not hyperventilating, we’re talking about Xiao Qi here, remember. But certainly in throes of a good old anxiety attack. It’s… an experience for the good doctor, that’s for sure.

Thankfully Doctor Shen manages to talk Xiao Qi out of his wildest ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born. Yeah, that was not Xiao Qi’s proudest moment. Doctor Shen promises not to tell anyone of this sudden bout of unreasonable behaviour and keeps his word… for about three days, when he gladly throws Xiao Qi under the bus in order to ensure Awu’s full compliance with his own, medically justified safety measures.

Mind you, even Doctor Shen cannot work miracles, which he comes to bitterly regret in those next few months. Panicked Xiao Qi and worried Turnip Wang make for a truly hellish duo and Ningshuo soon experiences a steady trickle of accomplished doctors from the capital. Some of them have clearly been dragged out of their comfortable practices under duress, for others it’s quite an adventure. The latter soon find themselves put to work; no use in simply standing around and deliberating over a stunningly healthy woman when there are actual patients in need to be seen to!

____________________________________

Awu considers Xiao Qi’s debt fully repaid the moment she sees her son smile for the first time. Xiao Qi, an overachiever that he is, doesn’t quite agree… and a few years later they try for another child; this time it’s a daughter. One - as Xiao Qi likes to brag - as beautiful as her mother and isn’t it lucky that he has an army fit to guard the greatest treasures in all Cheng? Awu thinks that it would serve him right should Treasure the Younger marry an officer of that very army in the future. She doesn’t, by the way, but that is an entirely different story.

The children are named Yunshuo and Yunning, which is a reason of much good-natured teasing. Even among the children themselves. Yunning, once she grows to an age when she starts to assert her dominance, insists that really, her brother should listen to her in all things. He may be older in years, that much is true, but Ning always comes before Shuo, everybody knows that!

Jinruo’s words come true after all: Xiao Yunning is Awu’s tiny copy, only, according to Awu herself, twice as bossy and confident. Xiao Qi never questions this claim, at least not out loud, but Uncle Asu has no such qualms and immediately provides a good half-dozen stories to that effect. Now, Yunning has every chance to grow up spoiled with a mother who applauds her strong character, a father who might seem strict, yet folds like wet paper at the first sight of a trembling lip and a whole bunch of playmates only too easily coaxed into following her commands. And she very well might have... if not for one Hu Yao (who is alive and you won’t convince me otherwise, ha!). The younger Hu, a true Ningshuo legend, enjoys great authority among recruits and veterans both; she proves a match for a head-strong girl like Yunning, although only barely. No, Hu Yao’s pupil doesn’t become a general in her own right, choosing another path instead… but she keeps up with her training in the years to come.

Xiao Yunshuo, affectionately called Xiao Xiao, is no warrior in the making, being of a rather gentle disposition, something that he never grows out of, for all that this gentle disposition later turns out to hide a character of pure steel. Oh, make no mistake, Yunshuo is perfectly competent with weapons and on horseback, but it is not something that comes naturally to him, nor does he find much joy in fighting. This becomes blatantly obvious once he starts advanced training. Every child under Awu’s care is taught enough to be able to defend themselves or know when to run away, but nobody is forced to persist with military training, should they not wish to. Yunshuo persists all the same, making continuous progress. It’s only natural that he does: he’s rather frighteningly smart, that boy, and he works hard.

A bit too hard, as it turns out. Xiao Qi becomes suspicious of his son’s behaviour and makes sure to ‘accidentally’ come upon one of Yunshuo’s solitary and completely unsanctioned training sessions. Why, he asks and becomes rather angry once the truth starts coming out. No, not with Yunshuo. With himself, for not preventing this whole issue from existing in the first place. See, Yunshuo thinks it shameful that he, the firstborn and only son of Prince Yuzhang, the greatest general and warrior Cheng has had for generations, will never be able to become a worthy successor to his famous father. No, nobody has said anything, but Yunshuo is not stupid, he knows what he is and is not capable of!

Xiao Qi takes a minute to consider his next words carefully. In the end, he tells the truth: when he was a bit older that Yunshuo is now, he had no valuable skills, no education, no family and no real hope for the future. Signing up for an army was pretty much the easiest choice to make for somebody who didn’t really have all that much to live for. Killing people? Is not that difficult. All it takes is a good sharpened sword and some basic training. Learning to protect people, well, that was a bit harder; took Xiao Qi some years and a lot grief and pain to master that. Everything else – building a true home, making peace for yourself and everybody else, and creating a lasting, better future? That’s Awu’s forte and her work. There is no shame in having different skills, explains Xiao Qi. Find what you do best and make sure that it is of use to somebody. That’s it. Whatever Yunshuo’s skills, as long as at the end of the day he is be ready to use them to protect what is dear to him, he will be a warrior in his father’s eyes.

Xiao Yunshuo takes his father’s words to heart and, when the time comes, relays them to his own children. He never becomes a one man army, for all that he takes care not to let his skill with weapons go to rust. He does, however, become a great lord and statesman, and a startlingly brilliant strategist to boot; his advice is greatly appreciated by his older brother, the brave General Xiao Xiaohe… as well as by his brother-in-law, the Emperor of Cheng himself.

In Ningshuo, despite all his merits and great dignity, Xiao Yunshuo stays Xiao Xiao long, long after becoming a father himself.

____________________________________

Xiao Yunning is widely held by the ministers of Cheng to be the cause for at least a quarter of their grey hair. And all because of one rather tiny, if rather infamous deed. Okay, maybe not that tiny… But it is not Yunning’s fault that Xiao Qi had made such an impression on a bunch of delicate noblemen over twenty years earlier!

Once His Imperial Majesty, one Ma Jing, successfully negotiates puberty, it becomes a matter of national importance to supply him with a wife of appropriate station, character, beauty and fertility, the first and the last being the most important, of course. The true war over who will become the Empress of Cheng does not start until His Imperial Majesty becomes a fully-grown man; that is not until the Prime Minister’s eldest daughter comes of age. Having another Wang Empress is seen as inevitable by many; others are rather eager to see the streak of Wang Empresses die a final death. The idea of courting a foreign princess gets briefly thrown around and then soundly rejected. It’s a pity that all of His Majesty’s marriageable cousins with even a drop of Ma blood have the same family name, says somebody who sounds suspiciously like a true Classist Wei. For a moment there is complete silence as the thoughts of everyone present turn to the one cousin who is neither a Ma or a Wang.

See, Xiao Qi and Awu could easily make their daughter an Empress… if they thought that it would make her happy. They have nothing against Jing’er, why, he’s a beloved nephew to them both and they have taken a good measure of his character during the time he spent in Ningshuo, which amounts to a good couple of years. If they were to be honest, Yunning could use a husband this good-natured and conciliatory, and Jing’er would do well with an Empress of Yunning’s strength of character. There is also the matter of a rather touching childhood crush… but since Yunning herself has nothing but derogatory words for this whole imperial marriage mart mess, there is nothing to be done. Nothing to be done at all, as Xiao Qi quite readily assures his brother-in-law, adding that being an Empress is not an easy fate and one that he would not wish on anybody. Asu, long-used to not truly understanding Xiao Qi’s ambitions or rather the lack thereof, takes this assurance on its merits and goes back to planning his own daughter’s imperial wedding.

Rather surprisingly it’s Jing’er who becomes the greatest obstacle to Asu’s dynastic plans. Somehow he never really says no… but no mercenary father can ever pin him long enough to force him to say yes to any of the myriad of candidates. This stand-off lasts for some time, to Xiao Qi’s quiet amusement and Turnip’s frustration. Awu, on the other hand, becomes rather pensive, although she refuses to share her suspicions with anybody. It’s not like she has any proof…

...until her daughter provides her with all the proof she could have ever wished for.

The day another group of potential candidates is to be presented at court, Xiao Yunning pulls a Xiao Qi, causing many a minister to relieve their old trauma. Yes, she marches into the throne room accompanied by six of her companions, most of which do rather poorly at concealing weapons under their dresses. Yes, she climbs the stairs without as much as a by-your-leave. Yes, she does all of that while wearing clothing in a colour appropriate for the occasion. In this case? Wedding red. The main difference is that Ma Jing is a much wiser Emperor than Ma Zitan and grants Yunning’s petition immediately and with good grace.

The reason why Yunning did what she did, leaving Jing’er with no choice but to accept her suit? Well, that childhood crush might have been rather more than a crush. Really, Yunning would have had it in the bag the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, were His Imperial Majesty not such a noble bore. I cannot condemn you to carry this burden with me before you really know what you want, he said, every word disgustingly noble and self-sacrificial. You are not somebody who can be caged, so go and spread your wings and I shall wait for you for as long as it takes, he offered in a rather suspiciously bland tone of voice. Really, one could almost believe that Jing’er actually bought into that silly rumour that Xiao Qi requires every prospective son-in-law to fight him with live steel. Which, by the way, is not true. He only ever fought two rather persistent young lordlings who couldn’t understand that Qinzhi’s no means no.

Everything ends rather well for all interested parties, although Turnip keeps grumbling about having an unfairly deceitful brother-in-law. Awu quickly shuts him down, if only to get in her own portion of shameless teasing. See, if Xiao Qi wanted to avoid such situations, then he should have given his children a better example. This quickly devolves into a round of Yuzhang-style teasing, which prompts a stark realization from Xiao Yunning. She might be the Empress-to-be now, but even being thrice an Empress would still give her no power to stop her parents from being a pair of embarrassing old people in love. Jing’er, ever the conciliator, shows his diplomatic skill by proposing that she might have her revenge… by being one half of a pair of embarrassing young people in love.

The Wang Princess of that generation, a rather lovely and wise young woman by the name of Wang Xu, is not all that sad about losing a chance at the throne. Why, her tastes were always rather specific and in general ran more to generals than delicate young nobles. Now, this Xiao Xiaohe looks like an interesting specimen and certainly worthy of taking a closer look, should one be in-market for a pet general of one’s own...

[buckyodinson]

could you do something with this prompt maybe! : Paz Vizla stumbled across you in danger one day and brought you to live in the covert and train you... mando sees your around and he starts to get a crush on you. sorry if it’s confusing😬 i just love the whole din steals paz’s girl idea lol

Sorry this took so long!! I was struggling for a way to work this out, so I went for it being set between episodes 1 and 3, and there are some direct quotes from the show, as if reader were there watching some bits go down!

Longing

You’d been involved in a shady deal that had you unwittingly cross paths with a remnant Imperial on Nevarro. After a nasty fight with a hoard of stormtroopers, you’d barely managed to escape, running as far as your legs could take you before dragging yourself into an alleyway and leaning on a wall, sliding yourself down to the ground. You gripped your side, where a steady flow of blood was staining your clothes and now your hand. You’d been beaten up pretty badly, bruises and cuts littering your face. In your escape, a few of the troopers blaster shots had grazed you, the one on your side giving you the most trouble at the moment.

You’re fumbling through your travel medpac when you hear footsteps approaching, and you turn to face them and ready your blaster, waiting for the stormtroopers to find you, when you hear movement from behind you and you turn to find a heavily armoured Mandalorian emerging from a doorway covered with a long curtain of fabric. He had a blaster pointed at you, and you raised your arms instinctively, hissing as you moved your hand from your side.

“Please don’t shoot.” You pant and put your own blaster on the ground as a show of good faith when he doesn’t budge, “There are troopers after me, I just needed a minute to rest. Please. I just need to clean this wound and then I’ll be gone.” You noticed the smallest movement of his helmet, likely him surveying you and making his mind up about whether to believe you. Then he lowered his blaster and you let out a sigh of relief, dropping your hands to your lap.

“Thank you.” You huff and put your blaster in its holster before digging through your medpac again, when you notice the Mandalorian coming over to you and extending a hand out to you.

“I can help you. Keep you out of sight for a while, if you’d like.” The deep voice rumbles through the modulator in his helmet, and you’re not entirely sure why but you took his hand and let him pull you to stand.

He walked you over to the curtain and helped you down the stairs that were behind it. As he walked you down the corridor, you noticed other Mandalorians watching you, hands ready on their weapons. He led you to a quiet alcove where he helped you up onto a bench and grabbed a medpac, quietly asking you to remove your shirt. It was painful, but you lifted the shirt over your head and he got to work cleaning the wound and applying a bacta patch. Despite his large stature and heavy armour, he was surprisingly gentle in his actions as he dealt with the other grazes you’d acquired from the troopers, before speaking again, voice much softer this time.

“What happened to you?” He asked as he finished cleaning the scratches littering your face.

“I was part of a deal that went south, and I got captured by some Imps, and my crew left me here. I barely managed to escape the troopers, I’m sure they’re still out there looking for me.”

“Where will you go once you escape them?”

“...I don’t know. I’m a drifter. My crew picked me up a few years ago, and they were like a family to me, but I guess they had enough of me.” your voice wavered as the image of the ship lifting off without you played in the front of your mind.

He hummed in response as he put the medpac away, before giving a sharp “Wait here.” as he walked away and down the tunnel. You sat there, swinging your legs slightly from where you were sat atop the bench. You looked down at your side, admiring his handiwork, already starting to feel a little bit better thanks to the bacta. You were sat there in silence a little nervously for a good 10 minutes before you heard the thumping of his footsteps back down the tunnel, and he reappeared.

He came to stand in front of you, handing you a loose shirt since your old one was now ruined, and you looked up into the visor of his helmet as you shucked it on, “If you want to, my tribe has agreed that you may stay here in the covert until the Imperial hold on Nevarro loosens.” his deep voice echoes in the room, and it takes you a second to react to what he’s offering.

“Why?” is all you’re able to mutter.

“We don’t like the Imps any more than you do. Hopefully soon enough, the hold on this city will soften, and we can take them out, and you’ll be free to go about your life, without fear.”

“It’s very kind of you to offer, but I-”

“This is the way.” he speaks bluntly and begins to walk away, gesturing for you to follow him.

You’d been living in the covert for a few weeks when you first met Din. While you’re the closest with the Mandalorian who you’ve since learned is named Paz (though you must not use the name unless you are just with him, he tells you), you spend a lot of your days with the Armorer. You find her fascinating, and she doesn’t mind having you sat in the armory watching her for most of the day. A lot of the other Mandalorians don’t really know what to do with you around. You offered to keep your face covered if it made them more comfortable, but the Armorer told you it wasn’t necessary. You haven’t sworn the Creed, they’re simply hosting you until it is safe for you to return to your normal life. Still, most of the tribe keeps their distance from you.

Sometimes she will tell you stories of Mandalore, and you hang onto every word she says. You’re in the middle of listening to one when a new figure appears in the archway of the armory, placing his rifle against the wall. You haven’t seen this Mandalorian before, but his presence is immediately commanding. He passes a quick glace over you before he moves to sit down, and somehow the glare from his visor is more intimidating than the dozens you see on a daily basis. Once the Armorer joins him, he places an ingot on the table.

“This was gathered in the Great Purge.” the Armorer spoke, and you recalled her telling you about the Purge briefly, realising the ingot must be Beskar.

The two conversed briefly, but you were too focused on this new figure to pay attention to what was spoken. The Armorer stood and began to forge the steel, and you watched as the man’s body tensed while she worked. Once the new pauldron is attached, not many more words are exchanged before the man leaves once again. He does, however, give one more glance at you before he disappears.

You don’t see him again for another week or so. In the meantime, Paz offered to train you in some combat, preparing you for life once it’s safe to leave the covert. He’s surprised by your strength and agility, and he finds himself greatly enjoying your company. He has to pull his punches a little, since he’s heavily armored and you aren’t, but he is impressed with your tenacity, and your skill doesn’t need much honing.

When the mysterious Mandalorian returns, you are once again in the armory. He is flanked by several other tribe members as he sits at the table with the camtono full of Beskar, and more trail afterwards as he and the Armorer discuss what she will forge. You don’t pay much attention to them until Paz walks in, and immediately reaches for an ingot.

“These were cast in an Imperial smelter,” he scoffs, “These are the spoils of the Great Purge... The reason we live hidden like sand rats.”

He looks pointedly down at his fellow Mandalorian, before the Armorer begins speaking again, “Our secrecy is our survival, and our survival is out strength.”

Paz grows more irritated, “Our strength was once in our numbers. Now we live in the shadows and only come above ground one at a time.”

He turns back to the silent Mandalorian, “Our world was shattered by the Empire, with whom this coward shares tables.” before grabbing his helmet. A scuffle ensues, and you can only sit and watch as the pair fight, pulling their vibroblades on one another.

You’re too focused on the newcomer to fully listen to the exchange occurring, only snapping back to reality once you hear a chorus of voices exclaim “This is the Way.”

Paz repeats the sentiment individually as he lowers his knife, and the newcomer follows suit. The tension in the air is palpable as the newcomer sits once again and continues discussing the Beskar with the Armorer. His voice has such intrigue in it, and you can’t help but stare at the man. You notice his helmet tilt towards you almost imperceptibly on a few occasions, and you avert your gaze when it does so. Paz notices this too, and you see his posture straighten.

The rest of the tribe leaves once the Armorer begins her work, but you remain in your spot, too intrigued by this Mandalorian to leave. The Armorer makes quick work of the forging, and he is soon outfitted with a new set of armor. He gives his thanks to the Armorer and leaves. In the same manner as before, he turns to look at you briefly before walking away and you’d kill to know what he was thinking. You make your way back to the small alcove where you’ve been given a place to sleep and you lie down to think about the mysterious bounty hunter. Little did you know, as he made his way back to his ship, he thought of you too. He was entranced by you, and confused as to why you were among his people in their covert. He thought of you constantly the whole time he’d been away on the bounty, and he still couldn’t get you out of his mind now.

After a while, you hear the familiar thump of Paz’s armor down the tunnel and he appears.

“Why don’t you like that guy?” you ask him quietly.

“He’s reckless. He's not one to steer away from trouble, and now he takes work from Imps. He endangers our tribe.” Paz’s stern voice reverberates in the small alcove, and you only nod sheepishly in reply, before turning around and attempting to go to sleep.

You’re awoken not even an hour later by a cacophony of noise from the tunnels. There is chaos in the covert as they discover the Mandalorian from earlier went back for his bounty and is now having a stand-off with the Guild in the middle of town. Despite Paz’s earlier sentiment about the other Mandalorian being reckless, the tribe comes together to help him, knowing he must have stolen the bounty back and broken the Guild Code for a good reason.

While the tribe prepares for a battle, you grab your blaster and head up the stairs to the street, slowly peeling the curtain back and emerging, finding your way to the town’s entrance. The Mandalorian is hidden in a speeder, as several Guild members fire at him. In the frenzy, you manage to sneak your way towards the town gate unnoticed. 

Suddenly, the tribe emerges and start to take out the Guild members. You decide it’s now or never, and you start shooting too, taking down a few more of the Guild as you near the gate. You watch as Paz lands, firing at the bounty hunters as he turns to the Mandalorian and shouts something at him. The two speak briefly, but you can’t hear over the blaster fire. You do, however, notice the man who was shouting at the Mandalorian a minute ago, and he’s running towards a ship you assume is the Mandalorian’s, and you bolt after him. You board the ship after him and he appears out of nowhere and pushes you, knocking you to the ground. He grabs you roughly and pulls you to one side, keeping a hand over your mouth as you try to escape his hold.

You hear approaching footsteps, and the Mandalorian climbs the ramp and walks into his ship, unaware you’re here. Suddenly, you’re being walked forward and the man aims his blaster at the Mandalorian.

“Mando!” he shouts, and the Beskar-clad Mandalorian turns around slowly, and you see a slight flinch in his helmet upon seeing you too.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the Code.”

Before you can even comprehend, a carbonite freezer sets off and the hull of the ship is filled with fog. The man pushes you forward roughly and blindly shoots his blaster, before he’s knocked back and down the ramp.

“Are you going back out there or coming with me?” he addresses you for the first time as the fog clears.

“Let me come with you. I can help.” you pant, the adrenaline still coursing through you.

He nods in response and closes the ramp, scaling the ladder quickly and starting the lift-off procedures. You slowly climb the ladder and get your first good look of the bounty that all this trouble had been over. From the few seconds you spent looking at it, you could understand why the Mandalorian sat in front of you couldn’t let it stay in the hands of remnant Imperials.

You watched and gave a meek wave as Paz appeared beside the ship and gave a double-take when he saw you sat in the co-pilot seat, before saluting and flying away, the man in front of you muttering about ‘getting one of those’.

You felt bad about leaving Paz without saying a proper thank you for all the help he’d provided in the last few weeks, but as you watched the Mandalorian unscrew the handle of a lever and hand it to the small green creature before you, you were optimistic about what the future offered for you on this ship with this mysteriously odd pair. Din himself was thinking the same. He knew life was going to be difficult for him now but the thought of having you, in all your mystery, would at least make it a little interesting.

[redrobinhoods]

illicit affairs | Chapter 2, Crossfire

AO3 Link | 4,800 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Fox nurses his injuries as he continues to protect Riyo from harm.

He wasn’t dead. The lights above him were bright, even through closed eyes, and he turned his head to the side to escape their glare. When he finally opened them, it was to a blue-skinned woman with golden eyes. “Senator Chuchi.” He mumbled.

“Commander Fox. You’re awake.”

“How long…?”

“Two days. They kept you under while they were assessing the damage. They were deciding if they should retire you or not. I thought that clones didn’t retire.”

“Retire may be the wrong word then. Perhaps decommissioned or ‘put to sleep’ would be a better way to put it.” He watched her eyes widen in horror. “It’s okay, Senator. It doesn’t hurt, not really. One shot and you just fall asleep.”

“Are they going to kill you then, Commander?”

“No, they would’ve done it already.” He moved to sit up, and Senator Chuchi reached over to help. His back burned, but the pain was localized. The blasts didn’t get far into his body. Maybe the assassin thought that the bolts would penetrate through his armor and reach the senator. They would’ve been wrong. Unlike the rest of the GAR, the Coruscant Guard’s armor was made so that they could act as a human shield. As hard as it was for shot to penetrate, it was impossible for it to get back out.

Senator Chuchi didn’t draw back after Fox was upright, keeping her hand on Fox’s shoulder. “That’s no way to thank my hero.”

“I was just doing my job, Senator.”

“Riyo, Commander. Please call me Riyo.” He wasn’t supposed to. The Guard was supposed to stay away from knowing senators on a first-name basis or run the risk of being accused of corruption. And yet, it felt right.

“Then call me Fox. Or CC-1010, if you want to be really personal. But that’s only when I’m in trouble.”

Riyo laughed and let her hand fall from Fox’s shoulder to his forearm. “Are you in trouble often, Fox?”

“What do you think, Riyo?” He savored the way her name rolled off his lips.

She winked in response. “Would you be in trouble if I brought some lunch by your office when you’re healed?”

“No, ma’am. As long as you don’t bring your assassins with you. Have they found out who wants you dead?”

“Not yet, but they will soon. Commander Thire brought the bounty hunter in yesterday. I believe they’re being questioned as we speak.”

“She’s given us nothing yet.” Commander Stone walked into the room with a paper cup of caf in one hand and his helmet in the other and took the seat next to Riyo’s. “But we’ve had plenty on our hands in the meantime. The Senate Guards in charge of the Natural Formations room said that they were dismissed over the official comm channel. Apparently, they didn’t consider the fact that there were still beings in the museum, let alone in the room, and just left without securing the area.”

A beep sounded, and the three beings turned to the machines next to Fox. One monitor was flashing an ‘Elevated Heartrate’ warning.

“That’s what I thought too, Commander. I figured you’d like to chew them out yourself.”

“As a matter of fact, I would. Have the Captain of the Guard in my office tomorrow at 0800.”

Stone nodded. “Sir.”

“You’re going back so soon?” Riyo lightly squeezed his arm.

“Never a day off, Senator.” Fox gave her a weak smile.

“Then I’ll stop by around noon tomorrow.” She turned to Commander Stone. “Can I bring you men anything? I have quite a refreshments budget that I’ve barely dipped into.”

“I couldn’t ask anything of you, Senator Chuchi. But our men did enjoy the sweets that you brought us last time.” Stone was underexaggerating how much they had been appreciated. In a world of ration bars, it was good to see his brothers attempting to split something four to six ways so that everyone could try it.

“Traditional Pantoran delicacies. I’ll bring more if that’s to your liking.”

“That would be very kind of you, Senator.” Fox attempted another small pained smile.

“It would be my pleasure, Commander. I don’t know how I could ever begin to repay you.”

Just looking into those golden eyes was enough. “I don’t suppose you could stay out of trouble.”

“That’s actually why I’m here.” Stone cut back into the conversation. “The senator still needs a security detail so that she can return to her residence. We’ve kept her in a safehouse for the past two nights, but I’m afraid she’s going cage-crazy.”

The pale green on Riyo’s cheeks darkened in what Fox assumed was a Pantoran blush.

“How large a detail?” It was back to business then.

“I was thinking one man inside, two outside the door, one on the roof, and one man on stand-by in a speeder. Do you still have the sensors that Commander Thorn installed, Senator Chuchi?”

“Haven’t touched them, Commander Stone.”

“You’re amazing.” He turned back to Fox. “Thire suggested that you be the one to stay inside the residence. He thought that the arrangement would be more comfortable for both yourself and the senator. You can take some time away from the office, and the senator has a capable bodyguard at all times. Would that be acceptable to you, Senator Chuchi?”

“It would be, thank you.” She said without giving the idea much thought. They’d obviously gone over this as a possibility before. Fox thanked his training for the control he’d taken over his heartrate. No need for them to know how close he was to strangling Thire. He hoped that Riyo hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in his arm.

“Excellent. We’ll put Jek and Impulse on the detail since you know them. Have you met Rys? He and Jek go way back. I’ll put him on there too. I’ll get some more volunteers to swap out when I go back to the office. If you leave your residence, Senator, you must always have at least two men accompanying you. We’ll keep you in the safehouse tonight while we secure your apartment, but after that you are free to go about your duties if accompanied. Otherwise, I think you know the drill by now. And you will have Commander Fox at your beck and call.”

“Thank you, Commander Stone. I’m certain that if the Coruscant Guard is as competent at finding criminals as you are securing buildings this should be over in no time.” She didn’t sound excited at the prospect of returning to normal, and Fox wondered, perhaps hoped, if he had something to do with it.

“If only, Senator. Variables. Come, we should be leaving.” Stone stood, following shortly by Riyo, who looked hesitant to leave.

“Stone, are they planning on running any hypertests this time?” Fox gestured to the datapad that the last medical droid had left on the small table underneath the monitor rack. Stone set down his cup of caf and picked the tablet up, tapping through it familiarly. Riyo moved closer to look over his arm at the screen.

“Don’t see any, sir. From the look of things, you’re close enough to your last physical to be mostly cleared. They’re going to test for any numbing sensations, that’ll probably be conducted through touch, and apparently your ‘vertebral cavity’ was untouched so you should be all good. No lasting impairment, topical senoti cream treatment, clone upkeep records suggest immediate dismissal of ‘CC-1010’.”

Fox nodded, lowering himself back into the pillows of the medical bed. “Thank you, Stone.”

“Commander Stone, could I have a moment alone with Commander Fox?”

“Of course, Senator.” Stone reached over and clapped Fox on the shoulder, giving him a small squeeze of comfort, then stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Riyo turned back to Fox, sitting down once more on the stool and taking his hand. She pulled it into her lap and ran her fingers over the rough callouses that lined his palms. He didn’t dare speak. After a few moments she brought his hand to her lips and planted a kiss across his knuckles before returning the hand to his side.

“Thank you for saving my life.” She said.

“Riyo-.” She placed a finger across his lips as she rose.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Fox.” Then with a swish of her skirt she was gone.

---

“Those golden ones were very nice, Senator.” Riyo stood with Jek and Rys practically pressed against her in the crowded market as they peered down at the selection of sweets before them. Jek and Rys had been assigned as her daytime guard, with two other men whose names she had yet to learn relieving them at night.

"How many men are in the Guard?” She asked, looking to the available tins on display.

“Too many, ma’am. But about fifty usually come through the Senate offices in a day. Ten on staff, probably around forty for meetings or breaks.” Rys answered.

“Thank you. We’re ready to order now!” Riyo flagged down the elderly Pantoran woman who ran the stand and was very familiar with the senator. They ended up with three tins, each of which officially carried thirty sweets, though Riyo was sure that there was more in actuality. One contained solely the golden sweets that Jek had spoken of.

“Thank you, Senator Chuchi.” Jek said as they walked back to the waiting speeder. “It’s not often we get to eat anything besides ration bars and caf.”

“You’re welcome, Jek. But it is really the least I could do after you saved my life.”

“Commander Fox really did all the hard work, ma’am.”

"But the assassin wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the rest of you stepping in.” She glanced around to make sure that no one was listening to their conversation. “How is the commander? He had the meeting with the Captain of the Guard this morning did he not?”

“He did, ma’am.” Rys looked around before continuing. “Ripped the captain a new one. I was in Commander Stone’s office with Jek and we could hear him.”

Jek nodded his agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry before. He must have a soft spot for you, Senator.”

“Does he?” Riyo tightened her grip on the tin she was carrying.

"Oh yeah.” Rys nodded. “Don’t worry, you have our blessing if you two want to, well.”

Riyo felt the lines on her cheeks darkening, though the tension in her shoulders began to ease. “Want to what, Rys?”

“To be blunt, ma’am, to pursue some recreational activity. I don’t know, get him to loosen up and live a little. We used to be able to get him down to Seventy-Nine’s with us, but the job is getting to him. Commander Stone has been threatening to drug him to get him to sleep anywhere outside of his office. He’s been in a bad shape ever since the mishandling of the Jedi Temple bombing.” Their arrival at the speeder ended the conversation. Reaching the speeder first, Rys jumped up to help the senator in. By now she was becoming accustomed to the Coruscant Guard’s speeders, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Where to?” The driver asked. She couldn’t remember who was on shift right now, and she didn’t recognize the back of the driver’s armor. she’d have to check her datapad later.

“The Senate, please.”

---

Riyo watched as every bare eye in the room widened upon her entrance, flitting back and forth between her and the tins she and her company carried. There was at least one exclamation whose meaning she didn’t catch.

“I heard that there wasn’t enough last time.” Her smile widened when her statement was greeted by more than a few nods.

“I think you need to throw yourself in front of more guns, Commander.” A guardsman said, his gaze fixed behind Riyo. She turned to see Fox and Thire entering the room behind her, both fully armored.

“It’s Thire’s turn. But I don’t think that the Chancellor will buy you lot anything.”

“The Chancellor has the Red Guard for dramatics.” Thire dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “We’re just there to actually protect him.” The comment brought a wave of chuckles as the men returned to their duties, though their eyes still flickered in Riyo’s direction.

“Come, Senator Chuchi.” Fox waved her into his office as he dismissed Jek and Rys in the same motion. She passed Rys the tin she was carrying for him to place with the others and followed Fox inside, shutting the door behind her.

“No salutes?” She asked.

“If they stood to attention every time Stone, Thire, or I walked into the room we’d get nothing done around here.” He connected the datapad he had been carrying to the computer terminal that sat on the edge of his desk then turned to face her.

“How are you doing, Fox?”

He took a moment to respond. Riyo could only imagine the expression he was wearing underneath the helmet. “I’m… fine. Thank you, Riyo.”

“No.” She shook her head wryly. “How’s your back?”

There was another pause. “It’s fine.”

She shook her head again. “There’s no way, I saw how drugged up you were in the hospital. It must be bothering you.”

“Perhaps a little.” He gave up. “I am still more than capable of carrying out my duties.”

She stepped towards him and placed a hand on his bicep, drumming her fingers against the plastoid that greeted her. She could imagine the tired man from the hospital under the red armor. Despite Fox being taller and a trained soldier she wanted desperately to protect him. “All the same, your body needs to rest so it can heal.”

“With respect, Riyo, it’s not my body. It’s the Republic’s.”

“Is it? I thought that the great Commander Fox was to protect me, not the Republic.” She let her hand fall from his shoulder, sliding down his arm as she raised her head to look at him.

His helmet turned ever to slightly to his left in a minuscule nod, which she was beginning to recognize as his gesture denoting humor. “Point taken. We should depart for your apartment soon. I want to go over security with you.”

“If you can get Jek and Rys back out the door that would be fine by me.” Her comment drew a shallow laugh from Fox before he unplugged the datapad and escorted her back into the mild delicacy-caused chaos of the main office space.

---

“What would you boys like for dinner?”

Fox looked up from the datapad to where Riyo was reclined in the oversized chair. “We don’t eat on shift.”

“Then what do you want for dinner? They have shifts, you don’t.”

“I’ll eat a ration bar.” He’d put a few in the small pack he’d brought from the barracks. She shook her head. Fox wasn’t used to being refuted and here she’d challenged him more in the past two days than he had ever been in his life. Sure, Stone and Thire would defy him from time to time, but that was between brothers of equal military rank. This was a civilian, a senator but still a civilian. He rather liked it.

“That’s not dinner, Fox. I’ll make a stir fry.” She set the datapad she had been writing on onto the arm of the chair and walked across the room to the small kitchen. Once she’d begun to heat a pan she turned back to Fox. “Do you know what stir fry is?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then come help me chop the vegetables if you have a moment. I’ll show you. I learned this recipe from one of my representatives.”

Fox rose from the couch, biting back a groan of pain as the movement rippled down his back. He’d never realized how many actions travel through the spine before now. But he couldn’t let Riyo know how much pain he was still in. She’d have a hard time forgiving herself for being the cause of it.

She pushed a knife and what he assumed was a ‘vegetable’ into his hands and showed him how she wanted him to cut it. It was much easier than he assumed, and almost fun when Riyo was whisking around him in the tiny kitchen. He’d never cooked before, nor watched any being cook, and he was a little suspicious when she dumped everything into the single pan.

“There’s no way it’s that easy.” He said when she declared dinner to be ready.

“It’s that easy.” She grinned, presenting him with a bowl. He took it from her hesitantly. “Don’t look so nervous. It’s good food.” She chided, leading him over to the bar separating the living spaces from the kitchen. He felt her eyes on him as he hesitantly took a bite.

“That’s weird.” He said finally.

“What do you mean, weird?” He was worried that he’d offended her, but her eyes were still playful as she watched him take another bite.

“I’ve never tasted anything like this. Any of it.”

“How about the meat?”

“Not in this form. I guess ours is more ground up and we don’t put anything on it.” Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure it was meat anymore by the time it arrived in the mess hall.

"The sauce is the best part!” Her gaze was still playful, but also sad. He still wasn’t sure if he liked the food, there was almost too much flavor, but he didn’t dislike it either, so he tried to match the pace at which Riyo was eating. Eating for pleasure was a foreign concept, but something about this brought her joy so he would play along. He was good at improvising.

They didn’t speak much after dinner. Riyo went back to her notes and Fox went back to the files Thire had sent him. The bounty hunter had started talking and the Guard had already brought up a variety of beings who could be responsible for the attack. There had been threats made the week before the gala, that had been the reason for Chairman Papanoida’s security request, but any motives were still unknown.

Fox had been pouring over Riyo’s file and what she had recently supported or not supported when a chronometer chimed 2200. He closed the file with a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. He’d need to put more of the senoti cream on his wounds. Despite his initial reservations about the Endorian tree sap, it appeared to be working. While the bacta treatment he received had healed most of the wounds, the senoti cream was supposed to help prevent excessive scarring, which may have restricted his movement. Or so he was told. He set the datapad aside and stood up from the couch. “Is there a place I could lay my armor out of the way?”

Riyo glanced up from her datapad. “Anywhere you like. The top of my dresser is clean if you would like to store it off of the ground.”

He nodded and grabbed his helmet off of the side table where it had passed the evening. In her bathroom he stripped off the upper half of his armor and pulled his blacks down to his hips. He had left his pack by the bathroom door earlier, and he pulled out the jar that he’d been given upon being discharged from the medical facility.

“Let me help you with that.” He turned to see Riyo standing in the doorway.

“Riyo, I can’t-.” She reached out and took the container from Fox.

“Yes, you can.” She ran her hand over his bare shoulder and turned him so that he was facing the mirror. Fox watched her reflection as she dipped her fingers in the jar then reached towards his waist. He let out a groan as her fingers rubbed against his skin. “Your back is so tight.” She muttered, massaging the cream into the damaged tissue. “Have you ever considered a massage?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

"Come here." Riyo stepped back, then walked into her bedroom. He grabbed his armor from the counter and followed her. "Lie down on the bed.” Hesitantly, he lay his armor on the dresser and crossed the room to her bed, where she pushed him into the soft blankets. “Close your eyes, that’s an order.” He did as he was told as she brought the senoti cream onto the wound between his shoulders. This one was less painful, had been less severe, but he allowed himself to sigh as she worked the cream into his skin. Then her hands moved back down to his hips, her fingers trailing across his skin, and pressed down into his lower back. He let out another groan as she kneaded her hands against his skin. Maybe his muscles were tight. “Who knew that the great Commander Fox, leader of the Coruscant Guard and my own personal savior, would be such a sap for back rubs.” She whispered down to him. He tried to think of a clever response, but she’d moved her hands up to his midback and he let out the first sound that he would’ve labelled a moan. It felt like his ribs were shifting under her touch, maybe they were.

“Don’t tell the boys.” He hummed into the blanket.

“Never.” He could feel her hair draping down against his back now. It felt so nice to be enveloped in her. He pushed away the mental image of her holding him in her arms. It wasn’t right. They would be ruined. The image came back anyways once she reached his shoulders. “Sit up, I need a better angle.”

He pushed himself off of the blankets and realized that his face must be flushed from the shock of cold air. If it was, Riyo paid it no mind, moving Fox to sit on the edge of her bed as she sat down cross-legged behind him. Now she started from the top of his neck, moving down in slow circular motions. Once she’d reached the base of his neck Riyo uncrossed her legs and wrapped them around him, scooting her body closer to his. He didn’t say a thing, and neither did she as she worked her way across and back down to his shoulder blades. Her hands came to rest with her right hand on his shoulder, and her left hand on his side. Then he was being pulled backwards, coming to rest with his head against her chest. He took her right hand in his, holding it to his chest, and hesitantly stretched his left arm back so that his hand lay beside her head, enveloped in soft purple curls. He felt her head turn from the movement of her hair, then felt a kiss being planted on the inside of his wrist.

“Senator Chuchi, I believe that I would like to see you again.”

“And what makes you say that, Commander Fox?” Her voice hummed against the back of his head. He turned his head to the side, laying his ear against her sternum and listening to her heartbeat.

“I don’t think I know the words to express that desire, Senator.” Her hand moved from his side to his head and she ran her fingers through his curly hair.

“Then try your best.”

“I think that I would like to die here, in your arms. A shot to the chest or gut and fading away in your embrace.”

“And what other death would that be preferable to?” Her voice came out with a slight quiver, but her touch didn’t falter as she continued to run her fingers through Fox’s hair.

“Bleeding out on the concrete platform of some landing strip because of a speeder-bomb. Aspirating blood for some senator voting against being’s rights. Gutted by some bounty hunters trying to cash in on a senatorial bounty.” He suddenly fell silent, biting back the deaths of his brothers.

“Then I guess you’ll have to become my personal bodyguard, so I can always be there.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, Fox. I can only imagine the things you’ve seen.”

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink further into her embrace even as guilt gnawed at him. “I don’t deserve this. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.”

He couldn’t have stopped himself from speaking if he tried.

“I killed one of my brothers.” He felt her chest stutter against his head, but then her breathing deepened once more and he continued. “I don’t remember firing the shot. I was in the Chancellor’s office, then I was watching him fall to the ground. It’s like someone else took over. It should’ve been set to stun; it’s always set to stun.” His voice broke and he stopped. Riyo’s hand continued to stroke his hair as he felt a tear slide down his cheek.

“You’re a good solider, Fox. You were following orders.”

“Following orders, when you know they’re wrong?”

“They never raised you to question authority.” Her hand stopped to rest in his hair. “Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds as a senator right now.”

“Riyo, you’re not forcing me to do anything. I’m supposed to obey my authority figures, but I still know how I want to react.”

“And right now?”

“I want to follow your orders, Senator. I want this.” The last bit came out breathier and more desperate than he had intended. Riyo didn’t respond, but she drew her arms away and moved to sit up. Fox obliged, sliding himself off the bed to stand before her.

“Could you stay in my bed with me tonight, Commander?” Her eyes were wide and cautious, and so gold.

“I’d love to.” If she’d asked a day earlier when he was hooked up to the monitors the machine would’ve read ‘Irregular Heartbeat’.

She rose off the bed to stand before him. “Let me change into bedclothes then.” Then she pattered back towards the bathroom. She turned back to him when she got to the doorframe. “Make yourself comfortable, however you would sleep in the barracks.” She looked him up and down. “Or, stay how you are.” Then she was out of his sight.

Normally, in the barracks Fox would sleep in his blacks with his armor half assembled on his body so that he could rush when called for. He didn’t think that the senator would like to sleep next to a pile of plastoid. He pulled his blacks back over his torso and began to disassemble his armor from the hips down, laying it in a neat pile with the rest of the armor on the dresser. He placed his comm on top. Riyo hadn’t returned, so he took a seat on the edge of her bed to wait, not wanting to overstep his bounds. He ran his hands over the soft blanket beneath him, still wrestling with the implications of what he and the senator were doing, and was almost startled when Riyo reentered the room, wearing a purple satin jumpsuit that fell loosely over her frame. She had pulled her hair down, and it hung around her face in a soft puff. Everything in her room was soft. She walked over to him and lowered herself onto his lap, straddling his legs and pulling his arms around her hips before wrapping her arms around his neck. “I would love for you to hold me, Fox. If it fancies you.” She brought one hand back from his neck and gently ran her thumb across his lips, and he felt her other fingers brush against the scars that crossed his throat.

“It does.” He muttered against her thumb. He reached up from her waist and pulled her down into the pillows beside him. She squirmed for a moment to pull the blankets up over them before burrowing her head into his chest. He wrapped one arm around her, as he had when he’d taken the blasts meant for her, and pulled her closer to himself, turning slightly onto his back so that she was pillowed in his chest.

“Commander Fox, I believe that I would like to see you again.” She mumbled.

“And what makes you say that, Senator Chuchi?”

“I don’t think I know the words to express that desire, Fox.”

He was so screwed if one of his men walked in. He decided that it was worth it though. He could feel his execution already, but if he was going to die for the Republic it was going to be on his terms. Of all the things he could be die for, loving a senator felt like the best option.

[valkyrieprofilee]

Listening Guide - Valkyrie Profile Voice Mix Arrange

“The concept behind Valkyrie Profile Voice Mix Arrange is uncommon yet simple: mixing in-game voice acting with arranged music. It has given birth to a most controversial game music soundtrack that was "epoch-making at the time", according to its composer, Motoi Sakuraba.” 

TRACK LIST -  (00:59:14)

01.  REQUIEM TO A PREDICAMENT ~ NEGATIVE ROOTS  | 05:08 02.  ANCIENT FANTASIES ~ A HOLLOW HEART  | 03:54 03.  THE CRUMBLING ID  | 01:48 04.  TO THE UNHALLOWED GROUND  | 03:58 05.  OUT OF CHAOS  | 04:36 06.  BOOZE ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT  | 04:41 07.  THE FIRST UNISON  | 04:30 08.  CONFIDENCE IN THE DOMINATION  | 04:13 09.  HEADS MAGIC, TAILS CURSE  | 04:03 10.  CIRCULATE ON A WINDUP DOLL  | 01:33 11.  THE NONSENSE OF REALITY  | 04:26 12.  EVIL TALES AND OBLIGATIONS  | 04:48 13.  THROUGH A THIN HAZE  | 03:46 14.  BLOODY PANIC  | 4:45 15.  THE ROAD TO GLORY AND PROSPERITY | 3:05

Listen Here 

Note: Although this guide aims to help listeners better enjoy and understand Valkyrie Profile Voice Mix Arrange, it is recommended you have prior knowledge of Valkyrie Profile’s story/ knowledge of the Japanese language to enjoy this album to the fullest extent.

READ MORE FOR GAME-OST.COM’S REVIEW 

01) REQUIEM TO A PREDICAMENT ~ NEGATIVE ROOTS 

      The very start of the album sounds almost Baroque-oriented, with the familiar tune of "Requiem to a Predicament" played on an harpsichord. Quickly, the first voice of the album can be heard. Lenneth Valkyrie calls her companions to battle: "Shi no, saki wo yuku mono-tachi yo! / To my side, my noble Einherjar!". At first, the voice sounds distants and feeble, then, as voices from other characters start to gather around her voice, it becomes more firm and the background instrumentation grows in strength. At one point, all the energies have reached their apogee and the transition to the second part of the track is made as Lenneth commands "Ide yo! / Come forth!", unleashing the introduction to "Negative Roots".

     That rush gives more room to instrumental action at first, with a solid, rockin' arrangement featuring, where a dreamy synth pad replaces the original flute, and gives the melody much more appeal. Lenneth's voice is heard from time to time, still urging the warriors to fight by her side in the middle of action. At 2:48, the "Requiem..." theme comes back to mark a pause in the middle of the fight. This time, the harpsichord is accompanied by a violin and low drums. These elements, as well as the male voices talking about death, add more gravity to the scene while Lenneth continues to summon more warriors. The drums get louder and louder, and another "Ide yo!" switches back to the dungeon theme, this time shorter, and with even more battlecries. Eventually, "Requiem..." is played for the last time but Lenneth's voice disappears, leaving two isolated voices: a man in great pain and a surprised girl.

     I think this track constitutes a good, striking introduction that starts the story where it should. However, it isn't the best representative of the voice/music pairings that can be found on this album.

02) ANCIENT FANTASIES ~ A HOLLOW HEART

      The pace of this arrangement has been slowed down compared to the original "Ancient Fantasies", and the leading instrument has been replaced by synth strings, so that it protrudes better. On the whole, it still sounds very similar. That same little girl's voice (most probably Nanami) is asking for Valkyrie to wait for her. The volume and reverb of her voice changes to simulate it becoming more and more distant. Freya's voice is leading, sounding as self-confident and direct as Lenneth was in the previous track. Their alternating voices coupled with fast synth percussions makes me think about the runs my party did into the game's vast dungeons.       

     The second part of the track starts as the first reaches its maximum level of tension. The brisk beat of "Ancient Fantasies" is maintained while the quiet mood of "A Hollow Heart" gradually sets in with Freya's reassuring voice. As the beat becomes more regular, words are repeated again and again in the background, as if Freya was trying to hypnotize us. This arranged version has a nice soothing effect that is used quite well as a break between two dungeon sessions.

      The track ends with the second reprise of "Ancient Fantasies", using the very same quotes as the first one. At one point, a few words ("Waga na - Jougen no Shinri / My name - The Extend of Truth") are looped in the background while Freya continues talking. It is the beginning of the end: obsessional chaos seems to set in as layered voices endlessly repeat the same words...

03) THE CRUMBLING ID

     The confusion induced at the end of the previous track couldn't have been better to introduce the ominous tone of "The Crumbling Id". A gigantic, very low noise lurks in the background, as dark sweeping pads and hard drums produce a feeling of despair. The prevailing mood here is anguish; I feel like I'm looking down at a bottomless pit, at something impossible to fathom for me as a human being.

     The voices used in this track reflect that state of mind. Sakuraba illustrates "The Crumbling Id" with cries and supplications of a young man ("Ore no negai kanaete kure! / Please grant my wish!") while a girl is bursting into tears in the background. Her sobbing is emphasized by a strong reverb effect, which gives the impression that her voice is overwhelming the soundscape from all directions. The resulting atmosphere is gloomy, intimidating, and almost physically disturbing, as we don't expect the album to take this sinister turn at all after the first two action-based tracks. This is precisely where it really starts to be interesting: it's getting closer to the drama genre, but still has a strong musical dimension behind. 

     Note that this track is rather short and ends abruptly with a few piano notes. Was it all an illusion?

04) TO THE UNHALLOWED GROUND

     By hearing the very first seconds, we know we're back into electronic action. After a few listens, I'm still wondering what the aim of this track might be. We're provided with a hardly recognizable electronic arrangement of the memorable introduction theme of the game. This version has a minimalist harmony, and focuses primarily on the use electronic samples and the building of a danceable rhythm. The impression of being in a nightclub is all the stronger as most of the voices are combat taunts of female characters. Nothing astounding here.

05) OUT OF CHAOS

     "Out of Chaos" starts quietly, on a low and suspenseful tone. As Arngrim's self-confident voice introduces us to the heart of the track, warlike synth drums enter the stage to play a primitive rhythm. The voice gets distorted, and the track takes off after a final and provocative sentence ("Huh... taoreru made kirikizamu dake yo / Huh... Just a matter of carving you up till you die").

     This arrangement relies mostly on sweeping synths and bass used to create a hectic and surreal atmosphere. Arngrim's reassuring male voice fits rather well in that context. After two loops, the track ends abruptly on his "special attack" taunt: "Teme no kao wo miaki ta ze / I've seen enough of your face". 

Simple yet quite good.

06) BOOZE ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT

     "Booze on a Moonlight Night" is the first track of the album that has been exclusively composed for it. It's also the first track of the album to have such a nonchalant atmosphere: the four same chords are repeated from the beginning to the end, backed by slow drum loops quite similar to what can be heard in rap music. In the meantime, you can hear all the male badasses of the game enjoying themselves. 

     Their inebriation is simulated throughout the track by several elements: the pitch of their voice frequently deepening all of a sudden, the oneiric feel given by the sound of the main synth, the reassuring — almost effeminate — appearance of saxophone solos, the drums sounding heavier and heavier as time passes by. Sakuraba succeeds in building a thorough and realistic picture of your generic tavern, late at night, clouded with smoke and full of tired warriors looking for comfort into alcohol and women.

07) THE FIRST UNISON

    There's something hypnotizing about the buildup that introduces this track. The main percussion loop seems like giant machinery put in motion. The way the motif created by all the instruments alternates between ascending and descending motif creates a sound disturbingly close to something that emulates a giant breathing. This organic aspect is reinforced by a few "fat" synth notes added at key-moments in the main loop. Behind this monstrous sound, a man — most probably Gandar — can be heard. His voice is as confident as the machinery's motion is unstoppable. He's the main character, and his laugh is the trigger to the body of this track.

     The main melody is quite special: if you imagine it without the percussion, and with a slower tempo, it sounds like a very sad melody. However, forcing its rhythm to a dungeon-compliant pace makes it sound tragic and determined at the same time. According to the quotes that have been chosen, I think that's exactly how the character is like. The dramatic bridge of this track introduces a few battlecries, as well as a quote that will be heard until the end of the track: "Ore wa ore no tame ni ikiru / I live for my own sake". The mechanical drums of the beginning appear again, with this sentence looping in the background. As the end approaches, techno drums, a synth flute, and the man's voice participate in the final buildup.

     I must say that "The First Unison" is the first track that left a totally positive impression on me, because it sounds more elaborated and deeper in meaning than the previous others.

08) CONFIDENCE IN THE DOMINATION

    Those who already know the Original Soundtrack will quickly notice that the pace of this famous piece of music has been dramatically slowed down, and doesn't sound like a battle track anymore. It's as if it has been stretched to offer enough room to paste sentences inside. A few voice effects have also been added to the backing percussion, including male gruntings; at least that's fun to listen to! 

     I'm not very convinced about this one, mostly because I can barely stand its nonsensical new pace. Seriously, it's such a sluggish battle theme... *nays*

09) HEADS MAGIC, TAILS CURSE

    "Heads Magic, Tails Curse" starts with a nice piano solo introducing the soothing voice of Lenneth, with chirpings in the background. I'm not sure about what the latter are supposed to represent (Birds? Shooting stars? The world of dead spirits?) but they surely add something to the serene, almost oneiric atmosphere of this introduction. It doesn't last long, however. As Valkyrie invites us — almost intimately — to follow her ("Isshioni ikimasho / Let's go together"), the dream ends... and the second part literally bursts in.

          Now is that a nightmare or harsh reality? The contrast with the introduction is extremely violent, and we're surrounded all of a sudden by dissonant brass, berserk strings, and aggressive percussion. One thing is certain; what we're facing now outclasses human scale. Lenneth's last words resonate again, yet they are deformed. She sounds heartless, almost commanding. The metaphor is now much clearer; this track illustrates what happens to every character of the game, whose soul is taken at the moment of their death to become an Einherjar, a warrior spirit. From that moment on, their existence is dedicated to fighting demons along with Lenneth, hence that frightening and endless second part.

      The conclusion to this track is some kind of flashback to the initial piano and chirping mood, focusing on one of the sentences Lenneth said at the beginning: "Tasuke... tasukeru towa ittai. Dono yo na koto o sase / To save... to save somebody eternally. What kind of thing do you make me do?". 

Brilliant.

10) CIRCULATE ON A WINDUP DOLL

     This track is a short interlude on the CD, summing up the fight with the dreadful Genevieve. The villain's taunts and laughs can be heard all over the arranged version of her own battle theme, featuring a cool organ improvisation in its second part. As expected, the track ends with a "oh no, I'm defeated!" verbose line, as well as a great organ/violin finale. I don't think it would have been better if it were longer.

11) THE NONSENSE OF REALITY

     It all begins with one of these "ultimate showdown" moods: a monster's distorted voice responding to a man's determined voice, the whole being backed my a massive church organ toccata and electric guitar riffs. It all becomes weird when you realize that both voices are saying the same words.

     The toccata ends at the 1:11 mark to make place for the body of the track; the fight between the man and his deformed self, incarnated by an rousing arrangement in the tradition of Sakuraba's epic prog-rock style. Battlecries and imprecations are well-integrated this time, both in terms of timing and volume. "The Nonsense of Reality" is the most energetic and epic track of the album. But while its form is very accessible, its contents don't reach great depths.

12) EVIL TALES AND OBLIGATIONS

    The first thing one should notice is how the oriental flavour of the original version has been enhanced — and its boorishness put aside — to make the track actually enjoyable. The basic percussion use is still the same, but the samples have greatly improved, and the bass line can now be almost labelled as sexy. Last but not least, the Arabian flute that appears here and there adds a twisted touch to this restless atmosphere. The main character's voice is accompanied by an harpsichord, illustrating its refined cruelty. You've guessed it, the guest star of "Evil Tales and Obligations" is no less than everyone's favourite necromancer Lezard Valeth! 

     In this track, his evil laughs and his disgustingly confident voice are resonating through the hallways of his tower, reaching our ears as we struggle to reach the summit. A true tribute to evil!

13) THROUGH A THIN HAZE

     Staying faithful to the game's spirit, the album continues on a tragic note, representing the death of a hero, illustrated by a grand orchestration of "Through a Thin Haze". More than that, if you succeed in getting into the track, the added voices will find their way to your heart, as they are cleverly used along with the intensity of the music.

     A woman's soft voice enters the scene, talking to someone: "Ne, isshou ni iko yo / Come on, let's go together". At one point, her voice becomes tainted with sadness ("Koko ni kure wa anata no ibashio kanjirarerumono / This sunset is something that makes me feel where you are"), and we suddenly understand that the person she's talking to is no more. She continues to supplicate ("Shini takunai! / Don't die!") until she bursts out crying as the orchestra reaches its climax. A beautiful violin and piano interlude follows to back her silent mourning. After that, a strident noise can be heard as pain and fear rush back to her, triggering another burst of tears. Finally, church bells come in after a last orchestral climax, to add a solemn touch to this moving scene.

     I'd place this track at the same level as "Epic Tale of a Holy Death" from the arranged album. However, I'm conscious of its hit-or-miss nature; these sobbings and cryings can be considered as annoying and ridiculous as I find them adequate. All is a question of believing in what is happening.

14) BLOODY PANIC

     "Bloody Panic" is the second exclusive composition of this album. This one sounds like an ancestor of boorish Gothic metal songs, with its apocalyptic synths and its deep intimidating groans ("Osore, uyamae... waga na ha Bloodbane! / Fear me, worship me... I am Bloodbane!"). At one point, a piano pops in to play a few minor notes that sound like they've been directly taken from these awful 4-seconds-long loops used in cheap rap music. 

     A few measures later, the track switches back to distorted guitars and Bloodbane's growlings to finish on his long-awaited death. Nothing really interesting here; even if you happen to like that kind of music, I'm sure there are better incarnations than this one out there.

15) THE ROAD TO GLORY AND PROSPERITY

     What would be better than the victory tune played at the end of each chapter to conclude this album? This orchestral arrangement is very enjoyable, though rather close to the original version. While the fanfare plays, a small girl's voice can be heard, encouraging us to go on with the adventure ("Watashi wa makenai / I'll never give up", "Watashi o mamori kudasai / Please protect me").  The track concludes after the last cymbal hit, with Lenneth's words "Shiawase ni narimasu yo / I wish you happiness". 

     In my opinion, the track is well-placed but the arranging and voicing effort hasn't been taken very far. It constitutes a decent ending nonetheless.

SUMMARY

     I must say that when starting this review, I had a strong prejudice against the album, having read a couple of negative reviews. However, I hadn't gone through a real listen until I decided to review it. Believe it or not, I ended up extremely satisfied by this musical experience.

     What exactly is Valkyrie Profile Voice Mix Arrange, then? First of all, its musical material consists of arranged tracks, plus two new ones that don't belong to the Original Soundtrack. But music shouldn't be the main subject of interest here. What makes this album special are the added voices from all the characters of the game. Valkyrie Profile being extremely rich and deep terms of voice acting, what you'll hear won't be only digitalized battlecries; the chosen quotes cover a broad emotional spectrum.

     I think that people who listen to that album as any other work that can be played as background entertainment are quickly fed up with it because these voices don't stop begging for their attention. Indeed, it is especially difficult to focus on something else, since the voice acting is done well enough for everyone to be able to grasp the emotions of the characters. I'd say the best approach would be to "live" the album as an orchestrated series of plays, rather than a series of musical pieces with voices over them. The spirit of Sakuraba's work will appear by itself when you consider the characters as the centre of interest of each track. Note that it is not the same as a drama album either, because music is way more than background material.

     Should I advise you to get it? It all depends on whether you're a speedy "background listener" or if you are patient enough to actually listen to an album without doing anything else at the same time. One thing is sure, however : the targeted audience is definitely those who are familiar with the game and its story. Having played and enjoyed Valkyrie Profile for at least a dozen hours is highly recommended before you try and listen to the album. Rated 08/10 by Reviewer  ~END OF GAME-OST.COM REVIEW~ _______________________ NOTES

- Tracks 6 and 14 were not included in the original game

- Valkyrie Profile Voice Mix Arrange is the third album released for Valkyrie Profile, four months after Valkyrie Profile Original Soundtrack and three months after Valkyrie Profile Arrange Album

- Valkyrie Profile Voice Mix Arrange is the hardest to find of the three albums and is best obtained through eBay.

Alt. Track Titles: 01 – Heaven’s Requiem 02 – Long Generations of Anger 03 – Punishment Creed 04 – To an Anxious Earth 05 – Into Chaos 06 – Booze on a Moonlit Night 07 – The First Unison 08 – Confidence in the Domination 09 – Evil Mortals, Holy Divinity 10 – Circulate on a Windup Doll 11 – Responsibility 12 – An Evil Mechanism 13 – Sadness 14 – Bloody Panic 15 – To the Road of Light and Darkness

Catalogue Number:  FSCA-10134 Composed By:  Motoi Sakuraba Arranged By:  Motoi Sakuraba Release Date: 06/21/2000 Published By: First Smile Entertainment

Cast: Lenneth: Yumi Touma Lucian: Nozomu Sasaki Mystina: Wakana Yamazaki Arngrim/Aluze: Hiroki Touchi Lezard Valeth: Takehito Koyasu Freya/Frei: Maria Kawamura Loki: Mitsuaki Madono Yumei, Celia: Hiroko Emori Aelia, Genevieve, Millia, Claire: Ai Orikasa Jelanda: Kae Araki Badrach, Surt: Mitsuaki Hoshino Brahms, Bloodbayne: Kenji Nomura Nanami: Natsumi Yanase Fuyuki: Daisuke Sakaguchi

[mostfacinorous]

Whumptober 18th

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

Whumptober 18th: Muffled scream

The cultists were getting daring. It must be the internet, and the ability to find people with shared interests, regardless of whether that was knitting or demonic summoning rituals.

It had been a good long time since either of them had been summoned, mostly because Aziraphale was very good at tracking down books, and kept the relevant ones under lock, key, and celestial protection. 

But that didn’t stop them from using other, Earthlier methods. 

That is to say, one day Crowley got jumped in an alley by a bunch of half-witted pseudo-demi-neo-satanists.

Aziraphale had been expecting him, waiting for the Bentley to roar down the street and pick him up for a lovely spot of supper before they went to their concert for the evening. Crowley had found, according to him, the most tempting little Hawaiian food stand, complete with tropical drinks to brighten up even the dreariest of London weather. 

Which, as it was nippy and raining, Aziraphale was rather looking forward to. Along with the company, of course. 

And, as his expected company grew later and later, and didn’t answer either his desk phone nor his pocket one, Aziraphale grew… concerned. Crowley had gotten good at letting him know if Hell was calling him back, if for no other reason than to be sure someone would see to his plants if they kept him longer than anticipated. 

But with their plans thrown into the mix… Crowley never cancelled if he could help it, and then it was with profuse promises to make it up later. He’d never once simply skipped out on Aziraphale. 

Which meant something must be wrong.

When it hit the six hour mark with no sign nor word of Crowley, Aziraphale opened his senses, searching for him the way would search for a bakery by smell. It was just that singular note of familiarity, amidst all the rest of the teeming sensory input. And he followed it, locking the shop behind him, miracling himself unseen, and launching into the sky, his wings enjoying the uncommon stretch, even as he focused on his worry and his sense of Crowley’s whereabouts. 

Everything became sharper, and Aziraphale frowned, pointing himself in the right direction and wondering what in heaven’s name Crowley was doing in Somerset of all places. 

When he landed, he was rather far removed from anything-- most of the area seemed overgrown and disused. There had been a big house, back some ways away, and a couple of lakes, but... If not for the lights ahead, and his own superior sight, he mightn’t have even made out the eerie surroundings. 

Whoever had Crowley-- and he couldn’t sense any other demons, nor any angels for that matter, so the humans who had Crowley had brought him to an abandoned childrens’ park. 

There were rails, though no trains were in sight. A river cut through the area, but it was sluggish, its banks littered with all sorts of debris-- including a massive amount of long-dead glowsticks, which spoke to the location’s popularity as a site for raves. 

He stepped distastefully over what he vaguely recognised as drug paraphernalia, and wrinkled his nose at a sign welcoming him to ‘Crinkleybottom Junction’. A niggle of familiarity wormed in his mind, and he sighed, finally realizing where they were. 

Crowley and his bloody fixation with television programming. He wound up the wiggling road and stopped in front of a small tunnel, peering through the dark towards the only building that showed any sign of life. Faintly, he was able to make out a single word: “Dunblobbin”

Which meant, of course, that the wart ridden yellow and pink spotted fixture ahead, the one with the lights coming through the empty windows, must be Mr. Blobby’s house. 

He had no time left to wax nostalgic about Crowley’s failed attempt to horrify children, though, because he heard, of a sudden, an overly familiar muffled scream and the sound of hammering. 

“Crowley!” he shouted in response, barreling around the rotting picket fencing and through the doorway,startling the half-dozen spooky looking twenty somethings that had gathered in the process. 

Crowley had a bag over his head and was being staked to the walls, spikes through his hands, spreading him across the remains of a sculptural fireplace which seemed to have been originally made of chicken wire and polystyrene. 

“Another demon!” One of the cultists cried, turning and damn near tripping over her red crushed velvet fancy-dress cape as she raised her knife. 

“I’ll have you know,” Aziraphale began, cranking up his aura and pulling out the halo for effect. “I am an angel.” 

He willed the girl to drop her blade, and she did, before sinking to her knees, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“And you--” Aziraphale said, turning his gaze to the men who had apparently just maimed his friend, “Have stolen my demon and ruined my dinner plans.” 

Their tools dropped to the floor and one of them clasped his hands together, as if in supplication. 

“We’re sorry-- we didn’t know! You can have him back, just don’t eat us! Please uh, you highness, holiness, uh-- my lord.” 

Aziraphale paused, quirked his head quizzically, and then realized they thought he’d meant his dinner plans were the demon. 

Well. Whatever put the fear of God in them, he supposed. 

Crowley was keening through whatever gag they had on him, and Aziraphale abruptly was done talking. He wanted to get him down and seen to. 

“Go reconsider whom it is you pray to, and repent.” He ordered. Then, when they still stood, stricken, he raised his voice. “GO!” 

They scattered like vermin under bright light, and he turned down the halo and aura before approaching his friend. 

“Crowley,” He said more gently, and removed the cloth bag. 

Apparently they’d been doing some sort of twisted reenactment of that famous crucifixion, because when he drew off the bag, he could feel the drag, and sharp thorns cut into the skin of Crowley’s forehead before getting tangled in his hair. 

He looked the picture of abject misery, and Aziraphale hated it. He gently pulled the crown of thorns free of Crowley’s hair, which lay tangled and stuck to the sweat and blood on his face. It was all wrong, all too far from the way Crowley always looked in Aziraphale’s mind. 

“I’m going to pull you down now, okay? Are you ready?”

Crowley visibly swallowed, but nodded. 

Aziraphale looked him over, considering, and decided it would be kinder to do it all at once. Like removing a plaster. 

He was lucky they hadn’t managed to stretch Crowley’s arms out completely, or he wouldn’t have been able to reach, but as it was, he took hold of the bit of the stakes that stuck out, cold and iron and squared enough that he suspected they might be railroad ties. 

“On three.” He said, for warning, then counted down. “One, two-- three!”

He pulled with his considerable strength and felt the cheap construction crumble. 

With the gag still in Crowley’s mouth, his scream came out muffled, which was only a kindness to Aziraphale’s ears, since no one else was around to hear it. 

Once released, Crowley collapsed to the floor, and Aziraphale threw the stakes aside, sinking to his knees with him. 

Carefully, he reached up and pulled at the duck tape, which wrapped entirely around Crowley’s head, and meant pulling at his hair even more. 

Finally, Crowley was completely freed, and the sweat and blood on his face began to mingle with his tears and the blood from his hands on the floor. 

“Bout time you got here.” Crowley said, though there was no venom in it. 

Aziraphale huffed out a soft laugh, and chose to ignore the rasp of Crowley’s voice, rough from his screaming, no doubt. 

“Can you snap?” He asked, worried for the state of the demon’s hands, and Crowley sighed and struggled for a moment, but managed. 

Aziraphale summoned his handkerchief again and began wiping at the blood left behind on Crowley’s now healed forehead before handing it to him to see to his hands. It was odd that he’d not cleaned himself up, and meant he had probably worn himself out with other attempted miracles, or fighting, or was just still out of it from the pain. Aziraphale didn’t comment, but instead did a quick miracle of his own to make them both look more presentable. 

They still had to get back, after all. 

“How did you get here?” Crowley asked, throat still sore sounding. 

“Ah, I flew.” Aziraphale admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Crowley snorted, and it was clear they weren’t getting back like that. Aziraphale wasn’t even certain he would make it back to the main road, tired as he looked. 

“Give you a ride to the bus stop?” He offered, and Crowley jerked his head around to stare at Aziraphale disbelievingly. 

Aziraphale realized too late the echo of Crowley’s offer from the night he’d given him the holy water, and he shrugged apologetically. 

“It’s all overgrown. The place is abandoned. It’s also raining. And of course, we’ll have to commandeer a coach, but…” He shrugged. “I’ve got a strong bourbon back at the shop that should help take the edge off.” 

He saw as Crowley’s mind struggled to catch up, and saw the exact moment he remembered what they’d had planned. 

“I’m sorry Angel, we missed the concert.” He looked so guilty that Aziraphale didn’t bother stopping himself from leaning forward and pulling Crowley into a hug. 

“Hardly your fault, dear boy, and I know you’ll make it up to me. Lots of other concerts out there. In the meantime though…” He stood, pulling Crowley with him, and as he’d expected, found him swaying on his feet. 

He turned around, looked back over his shoulder, and awkwardly patted his own back. 

“Hop on.”

Crowley looked like he’d bit a lemon, and though he obeyed, with his face so close to his ear, Aziraphale heard him mumble something about it being undignified, and he was grateful that Crowley couldn’t see his expression. 

“Come now, tell me about Mister Blobby. We’re in his house, you know. One of yours, wasn’t it?” 

And maybe urging Crowley to speak was unkind, with his rasping from his muffled screaming, but the glee with which he told the story did much to carry them out of the park and towards the road to home.

AN: Don’t know who Mr. Blobby is? Can’t believe they made a theme park around him? Well, now you do. You’re welcome.

[seriouslyhooked]

The Same Soul (Part 4)

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3.

Our world AU where Emma and Killian knew each other as teenagers. Killian was sent to spend a summer with family in America. He met foster kid Emma while there. They fell in love but then he was forced back home and she couldn’t take the memories so she ran away, trying her best to move on from the dreams they’d always hoped for. A chance meeting brings them back together years later, and this time nothing and no one will keep them apart. Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone! After a while away I am back with another chapter of ‘The Same Soul.’ If you’re like me, you might have needed a refresher, and since there are only three chapters before this it’s super easy to go back. Either way, I hope you will all enjoy this chapter. It is also from Killian’s POV but it takes place in the present, where Emma and Killian have just found each other again and Killian is determined to get Emma back with an epic date. Will he be successful? I think we can all guess the answer to that… Anyway thanks so much for reading and I can’t wait to see what you all think!

(Present)

You’re not dreaming. It was really her. She’s back. You’ve found her.

Coming to terms with all of these miraculous facts was next to impossible for Killian. For so long he’d been living a life ruled by ‘what-ifs,’ and the largest among them was what if things had never ended with Emma Swan. Emma was the one who got away in the story of his life, and there had never been a moment where he didn’t want to find her and at least know she was okay. There was never any closure between them, and for Killian there had never been any want for things to end in the first place. He loved her when he was a boy and that love hadn’t ever faded away, even when hope seemed lost. He’d largely pushed it aside to get through his day to day, but it was always with him – she was always with him.

Seeing her again today at the court house, taking her in all these years later, he was struck by all of this weighty and incredible emotion. In some ways it was like no time had passed at all. All it took was the span of a heartbeat for him to be exactly where he was before, his heart racing, his hands shaking, his step a little unsteady. Emma made him feel like a teenager again, like he was really living in a moment for the first time in over ten years. The excitement and the nerves were familiar, but after so much time without them he was almost paralyzed by their presence. The only thing that kept him going was that he knew down to his very core that she was one for him. There had never been another for him like Emma, and there never would be as long as he lived.

Yet despite the familiarity of what he felt and how she acted at times, in other ways Emma was so different than the girl he once knew. He saw her now, a beautiful, gorgeous, confident woman in command of herself, and he couldn’t deny how much she’d grown, not just in looks but in spirit. Even when she was faced with him and the pains of their past, he could see her strength. She’d always been strong, of course, but Killian could see that all those walls that formed when she was just a girl had only fortified as time went on. She was cool and collected, and that seemed to make her almost untouchable. But when she smiled at him, and when she whispered her agreement to see him again tonight, all of that melted away. He could feel she was the same person he’d given his heart to years back, and now he just wanted to figure out a way to get them back on track again.

“You really know how to make an impression, don’t you Jones?”

The snarky words came from his last opponent of the day, one Regina Mills, who worked for the DA’s office. She was a haughty, hot-shot attorney with a regal state of mind, walking around the courthouse as if she were some queen instead of an assistant district attorney. Not that her record didn’t back her up. Since arriving at his firm here in Boston and being assigned this case he’d been told of ‘Her Majesty.’ Unfortunately for her, Regina’s legal capabilities had proven no match for his fervent effort today. She’d come at his client with a loaded docket of charges, all of them way off the mark for the petty theft that the sixteen-year-old defendant had actually committed, and that assuredness and borderline legal abuse had ultimately been her undoing. In the end, her hog-wild mentality allowed Killian to appeal to the judge that this was more a persecution of an already vulnerable youth instead of an actual attempt at procuring justice. Judge Hampson agreed and now Killian and the young ward in his firm’s charge were vindicated. Tonight, Thomas would be released, and thanks to Killian’s new connections in the system, he’d be in a stable home placement instead of at his previous group home.

“Seems I have today,” Killian agreed, finally responding to Regina but making sure to keep guarded even his tone was joking around. “Tell me, is it the losing you despise or is it the opposition in general?”

“Both,” Regina replied with a clipped tone, but despite her harshness, Killian could see she had some begrudging respect for him.

She’d never say it aloud, but Killian knew that no one got this far in the career with so many convictions without being able to see the workable parts of another lawyers’ process. To stay competitive, lawyers had to grow and change from their experience, and the enemy of success in this world was stagnation. Regina was undoubtedly successful, but she had underestimated him today, and now she knew she’d have to up her game. Not that she’d ever willingly admit that, seeing as she really thought herself a cut above the rest.

“It doesn’t matter though,” Regina quipped, bringing him back to their somewhat fatiguing interlude. “Because today was a fluke. I’ve yet to find an equal in this city, and if I ever do it’s certainly not going to be some British wannabe such as yourself.”

“Such praise on a first day, I’ll try not to let it all go to my head,” Killian replied dryly, but none of her intended barbs landed on him. If anything, they were just an annoyance, like the buzzing of a nearby fly on a hot summer’s day. He glanced down at his watch, knowing that Thomas’ release should be happening any moment, and that as soon as he’d reassured the boy that he was really in the clear he could be off. He had a huge night ahead of him, and there was still so much to check and finalize before he picked Emma up in two hours’ time.

Blessedly, Tiny, one of the bailiff’s that Killian had been chatting with today, chose that moment to return with Thomas, giving Killian the means to excuse himself and the time to see to his client. As a fifteen-year-old, Thomas still had his whole life ahead of him, and where some kids in his precarious position might be tempted to repeat the sins that had gotten him here today, Killian knew Thomas wasn’t one of them. Thomas was smart, and he’d learned quickly that life in prison was far worse than life in the broken system that was foster care. It broke Killian’s heart in many ways that there was no truly great situation that could come from all of this, but he was relieved at least when Thomas’ case worker appeared with his new foster family placement. The MacDonald’s looked like kind, stand-up people, and if they could give Thomas a safe place to land and a good amount of patience, Killian could see good things on the horizon for this boy. He’d also make it his business to check in that that was exactly what happened, but for the meantime he did have to depart, leaving Thomas in the care of people he trusted to do the right thing.

From there things went a bit haywire. Getting Emma to agree to this date was a miracle, but even if Killian believed Emma still had feelings for him as he did for her, there were no guarantees. Tonight was his one shot to show Emma how much she still meant to him, and to not only prove to her that he knew her then and now, but to inspire her to trust him again. During their summer together years ago they’d built that trust, but it was shattered in the end for reasons still unknown.

Okay, so maybe he did know, or at least know part of what had happened. The two of them had fallen for each other, finding a young love that burned so bright it transcended their age all together. They hadn’t needed five, ten, or twenty years to be certain of their feelings. It was instant and enduring. But unfortunately for both of them they were still kids. They had no ability to govern their own lives then, and when the summer came to an end, they had to leave each other. Emma was forced back to the city. Her group home was waiting, and as a sixteen-year-old foster kid, she had no choice but to go back. Killian too was bound for home, a place across the sea that immediately held nothing for him. After the soul crushing goodbye he shared with Emma, Killian hated London more than he ever thought possible and was determined to leave. He had three months still before he turned eighteen, and in the meantime he’d done everything he could to reassure Emma that just because they were apart didn’t mean that things were over. He wrote to her every day, sending letters with promises he was hell bent on keeping, but it turned out they never got to her. It took him a while to realize that, and by the time he did it was all too late. Emma had fled that place and that city all together, choosing the life of a runaway over the loneliness of the system she’d grown up in. And as much as her running had gutted him, Killian never blamed her for it. He only ever blamed himself for not giving Emma enough hope that he’d come save her as he promised.

That didn’t mean his grief was less intense or gaping when all was said and done. He hurt for a long, long time without Emma in his life, but she never really left him. Even when he was at his lowest, she was still there with him, not just in his heart and in his thoughts, but in the choices he made and the actions he took. She inspired him through all of it, and looking back, Killian knew she’d been the reason for so much of what he’d done since they were parted. She was why he’d worked so hard at school, and eventually followed in his Uncle’s steps into the law. She was why he never gave up, even when the path forward wasn’t easy. She was why he graduated top of his class at law school, and why he made the, to many people unbelievable, decision to specialize not just in family law, but in the defense of minors in particular. He’d turned down numerous big firm offers to work for the public defender’s office in Los Angeles, and now he had come to Boston to defend children here as well. He’d finally given in to his Uncle’s wish that he join a Jones-owned firm after years of saying no, but Killian finally accepted with the promise of resources and pro-bono hours that would allow him to expand the work he considered so necessary.

As it was, his clients ranged in their needs, from kids in happier homes who’d run into trouble, to ones who had never known a family or only knew one that was dysfunctional and broken. Each of them had a different story to tell and a different set of goals for him to try and meet, but helping all of them was Killian’s way of trying to make up for his inability to help the one girl who’d mattered most to him: Emma. It was for her that he’d started this crusade to help those who could not truly help themselves, and he only hoped to show her that it was her inspiration that made any of his successes even remotely possible.

Killian thought of this all through getting ready and driving to Emma’s apartment, and he wondered how to approach the situation tonight. Instinct told him to be totally candid and to let her see his wishes right from the start, but he also realized that picking up where they left off would likely be impossible. More than a decade had passed between them, and they would have to address that. He only hoped that Emma would believe him when he said that his intentions hadn’t changed. He still believed she was the one, no matter where life may have taken her over the last however many years.

It was almost surreal parking his car out front of Emma’s place and hiking the steps to her apartment, when he finally arrived at her home. The anticipation inside him had him riled to such a dizzying state, but he willed himself to tamp it down. He couldn’t go in guns blazing. He had to play it somewhat cool and ease Emma back into the idea of letting love lead their way, but despite his best attempts at getting himself together, it was all for nothing. When the door opened, Killian was left without words or thought. All he had was awe and joy.

Seeing Emma now was like seeing her for the first time again all over, and it took a minute to realize that this was more than a dream or figment of his rampant imagination. Emma was here and she was breathtaking, making for a vision no fantasy could ever concoct. Her long, golden hair was pulled back, though that did nothing to remove the itch of his fingers to run through her soft waves he remembered so vividly. Her red dress was perfect, hugging every line and curve of her figure all while prompting his need to see more. But as ever, it was her eyes that did him in, and the look of her overall expression, which gave away a beautiful mix of shyness, bravery, and a desire to see him too.

“You made it,” Emma whispered, giving away a small moment of pure vulnerability and showing him how happy she actually was to see him again.

“I did, love. Just as I promised. You look…” Stunning. Transcendent. Glorious. All these words came to mind, but he found himself helpless to deliver a single one. He was actually struck speechless.

“I know,” she quipped, feigning total confidence as she swayed ever so slightly on her high red heels. The only tell that she wasn’t totally certain of what a bombshell she appeared to be was one of her hands, which ran shakily down the side of her dress. But her gaze stayed locked on his, a sign of courage he couldn’t help but admire. “And you look…”

“I know,” he responded in kind, but there was no way his own attire for the evening could even begin to compare. In this duo, it was Emma who was the knockout, but just standing here in front of her helped him feel invincible and destined for greatness.

His continuation of her joke prompted a sparkle to appear in Emma’s eyes, a hint of mischief he’d missed so terribly. It colored their particular shade of green with just a bit more brightness, and he knew he’d never seen their likeness in all the rest of his life. When her eyes moved down, however, catching sight of the small gift he’d brought her, that sparkle shimmered into something even more pronounced.

“Are these for me?”

“Aye, love,” he said, extending the bouquet which consisted of a mixed bunch of roses.

The blossoms were all shades of red, not unlike the dress she wore, some well-kempt from being grown in green houses and indoor gardens, but it was the fuller ones that snagged his Swan’s interest, the wild ones that it had taken so much effort to find as he combed through florist inventories all over the city between appearances in court. He’d wondered for a bit at the choice, knowing that though Emma loved roses, there were other flowers she loved just as much, like daisies and sunflowers and buttercups. But the roses were symbolic, a small show to her that he remembered every piece of their history, and that he’d cherished the memory of each part for all the time they weren’t together.

“They’re beautiful,” Emma said, her eyes closing as she brought them up to take in their fragrant scent, and it was on the tip of his tongue to respond when her eyes flashed open again and she smiled at him before filling in his thought. “But you’re going to say they’re not as beautiful as me, I know, I know.”

The easy comfort of this bit of their banter warmed him, but suddenly Emma looked stricken, as if she were embarrassed. It occurred to him that she might have jumped into the same comfort and ease he felt too soon for her to feel safe, and so he stepped closer to her, holding her waist with one hand and raising his other to cup her cheek.

“Your instincts have rarely been wrong before, love, and they certainly hold up now. That’s exactly where my thoughts were going. Don’t doubt that, all right?”

Emma exhaled a shaky breath and nodded, and Killian felt he could breathe again as well. Belatedly he realized how close they now were, and though he wanted to continue holding her like this, he knew it was too fast. He took a step back, giving Emma her space again and missing the connection as he did. Emma clearly felt torn as well, but she took the opportunity to invite him in to the front hall of her place as she put the roses in water. He looked around, seeing little touches that felt so quintessentially Emma, and though his heart hurt at this being only the first time he’d ever been here, he was happy she’d made herself a place like this. A few minutes inside was all he needed to know that Emma had made herself a nest in the world where she felt free and true to herself, and Killian knew how much that meant to her after all the volatility she’d faced as a kid.

“Well, now that we’ve got all that out of the way,” Emma prefaced, her lips turning up into a wry grin as she came back from the kitchen and moved with him out into the hallway once again. “Care to tell me where we are going?”

“And ruin the surprise when I know how much you secretly love them?” he asked. This prompted an eye roll, another thing he’d missed so much, even if it was crazy to do so. But when she looked away instead of immediately meeting his gaze, Killian knew this was another place to tread lightly. “It’s up to you, Swan. If you want to know, I’ll tell you. But if you like some mystery, as I suspect you still do, then please, let me give you this.”

The softness of her gaze in response told him he’d read her exactly right. Emma didn’t hate surprises at all. For her, it was simply about trust. Not all surprises were good, after all, but with them he wanted the rest of their time together to always be positive. If it were up to him he’d shield Emma from any hurt and pain that may try to find her ever again, and he wanted her to know that he was only doing this to make her happy.

“You always know just what to say,” she admitted, and though all he wanted was to wrap her up in his arms and hold her close, he knew he had to take this slow. So instead, he offered her his hand, and when she immediately accepted by placing her hand in his, he felt bolstered in ways he'd nearly forgotten he could be.

Riding the high of having her with him, Killian led her to his car and made the journey to their destination. The time between them was filled with an understanding that while this wasn’t as easy it once had been, it could be. They didn’t talk in depth about the past though, and Killian knew he didn’t want to until he was certain Emma was ready. Instead he focused on the here and now, asking Emma about her job and her friends and her life here.

“Work kind of is my life,” Emma confessed when faced with the questions. “I don’t know how it got that way, and I know it’s not exactly the most meaningful line of work -,”

“You bring bad guys back to justice when they get away, Emma. What could mean more than that?”

“I don’t know. The police are the ones who solve the crimes, and the lawyers make sure perps do the time. I’m just a middle man.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, love. I’ve heard you’re the best at what you do in the whole city.”

“Oh God, you met Ruby!” Emma exclaimed with a groan. “I totally forgot about that. Please tell me she didn’t hunt you down later at the courthouse. She has a habit of stopping at nothing when she senses a good story.”

“And is that what we are, love? A good story?”

“Well yeah, of course,” Emma said, like it was obvious and making his chest swell with pride. “Especially to Ruby. She’s been hounding me about getting out and dating since I met her, and then you show up. It’s like her dream come true that something like this would happen.”

Hers and mine, Killian thought to himself, though he kept that quiet. He was saved from having to comment more, by their arrival at the restaurant, and as Emma turned her attention to the place where they stopped, her jaw dropped in shock. So maybe she had heard of this place. He wasn’t quite sure if she would have. Misthaven was still a very new spot. It had been open less than a month, but the critics were all raving that it was the place to be in the whole tristate area. Lucky for Killian he had an in with the owner.

“I hope you’re hungry, Swan. I’ve been told this place is ‘next level.’”

“Wait we’re really going here?” Emma asked and when he responded in the affirmative she gawked some more, allowing him time to open her door and lead her to the front. “Well I’m glad I dressed up. What the heck would you have done if I opened the door in jeans?”

“Improvised,” he admitted. “Full disclosure I had a number of plans for tonight in case anything should go awry, or other inspiration should strike.”

“Wait you did? Why?”

“Because I’m determined to make this the best date either of us has ever been on, and maybe then I’ll have the pleasure of taking you on more.”

With his admission hanging between them in a comfortable span of quiet, the hostess led them to their secluded table across the restaurant. It was dimly lit in here, but the colors were warm and sultry. It set a mood that was exactly what he’d hoped for for the date, and the designer of the layout had been a genius, allowing couples to sit close together instead of across the table from one another. This was a great gift indeed, and it made the whole night feel more intimate. There was no unnecessary space left between them, and as the night progressed and one course turned into two and then three, Emma was the one who had grown bolder in their closeness. Maybe it was the ambiance around them, or perhaps it was the fact that he’d specifically pulled strings to get their personal menu to reflect gourmet versions of all of Emma’s favorite meals, but by the time they shared a decadent slice of twelve layer chocolate cake together, Emma’s hand rested on his leg as she fed him a piece with her own fork.

“You’re doing it all wrong. You need the perfect balance of frosting, cake, and whipped cream. That’s the whole point,” she said, scolding him for his previous attempt to just take a random bite.

“But it’s good just as it is,” he countered and she sighed as if he was the greatest of fools for thinking this.

“Sure it is, but who wants good when you could have great?”

“Who indeed, love?” he asked as his hand absentmindedly came up to touch her wrist as he took the bite she offered him. Sure enough she was right. The mix of ingredients and elements was perfect this way, and he hummed out a sound of contentment that ended up serving two purposes. Not only did it tell Emma she was right, but it also seemed to spark the same longing and want that he’d been grappling with all night in her. Her cheeks flushed at the sound, her eyes darkened ever so slightly, and he watched her swallow harshly.

“You’ve got a little something right there,” she whispered, motioning to his mouth and Killian licked his lips, watching her track the motion. He knew she wanted to kiss him as badly as he wanted to kiss her, and when she moved in closer Killian felt ready to combust. Finally after all this time they –

“Sorry about the wait, mate. Kitchen’s been a bloody nightmare and – oh, shit. Sorry!”

Killian tried not to growl as Emma pulled back at the interruption, and he didn’t need to turn to know that their new arrival was none other than his best friend, Will Scarlet.

“It’s fine, Will,” Killian said, taking Emma’s hand under the table and squeezing lightly before looking in her eyes and sharing a silent glance with her that told her he was not going to forget what had just almost happened. “Will, this is Emma. Emma, my friend Will. He’s the owner of Misthaven.”

Emma looked surprised at that, and now Killian full out smiled despite the lingering sense that his closest friend from college had just blown a moment he’d been waiting for forever. It did help a bit that Emma was shocked at Will’s success, because it proved the point he was always making to his friend – no one was ever going to take him truly seriously when he still dressed like a coed prepping for a Friday night foam party.

“Miss Swan, it’s a pleasure,” Will said, pouring on the charm and gallantry. Emma’s head tilted in confusion. “Ah, you’re wondering how I know your last name when he only called you Emma, but that’s an easy one. See Killian here has been talking about you as long as we’ve been friends, and that’s what, well about ten years now?”

“Give or take,” Killian said, playing it cool though his friend had just outed him for having a lingering infatuation with Emma all these years. Oh well. At this rate why bother hiding it? She had to know, and if she didn’t know now, then she would very soon.

“Let me guess, you guys were fraternity brothers?” Emma stated, finding her confidence in no time and Will feigned complete horror.

“Oh lass you wound me. Me, a member of an American fraternity? A man of my stature sinking to such a level? A person in my position? -”

“Don’t let the dramatic acting fool you, love,” Killian murmured to Emma. “Will and I were not in a fraternity, but that didn’t stop him from participating in more than a few keg stands back in the day.”

“You slander me, Killian, and for that you’ll be hearing from my attorney. Oh bugger, that’s you. Well, I guess that’s that then. The ridicule stands.”

Emma laughed at Will’s antics, and though it wasn’t ideal to Killian, his friend stayed a bit longer with them, filling Emma in on some of the rougher scrapes the two of them had been in back at uni. Killian didn’t really mind though. After all, he had nothing to hide, and Will was as close to him as a brother. Liam embraced him whole heartedly too, considering him a member of their small but tight-knit family, and it felt as if Will had always been a part of the Jones clan, even if he had a family of his own to deal with. Honestly, it was Will’s moving here for the restaurant that finally made up Killian’s mind on a move to Boston, and since that was the case, he supposed he owed Will something for bringing him back to Emma. Still, Killian was thrilled when a mess in the kitchen called Will back into the fray of running things, leaving Killian and Emma to enjoy the rest of their dessert together before finally leaving the restaurant.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” Emma admitted, her hand fitting perfectly within his without any kind of hesitation as they walked back into the bustling streets of Boston once more.

“I’m gladder than I can say to hear that, love. But it’s not quite over yet. We’ve one last spot to hit, that is, if you’re up for it.”

“Lead the way, Captain.”

The easy bit of teasing made Killian’s heart clutch, transporting him to a long-held joke between them. They’d had a habit of referring to each other as ‘Captain’ whenever one of them was clearly leading the way. It started as a kind of throwaway line, but there were many a night since losing Emma where Killian had dreamed of such a moment where she would call him that again. He felt the waves of relief that he’d finally gotten to experience it for real once more, and he only hoped that his taking charge tonight would pay off exactly as he was planning.

Despite the grandness of the endeavor before them, it didn’t take long to get to where Killian was trying to go. He’d been calculating when throwing this date together, and he knew he wanted this to be a quick walk for them instead of a long drive outside of the city. But he still needed space, space which was a rare commodity in a concrete jungle like this one. And out here by the waterfront, it was even more difficult to find a place to roam or stretch out, but with a lot of juggling, a little luck, and a substantial amount of bribery he was finally able to pull things off.

In the end the only place where he could set up this final part of the evening was on private lands, land held by some rich Boston socialite with ties to the Mayflower that Killian had never actually met before. But that was where his Uncle Benjen came in. It turned out that this high roller was a longtime client of his, who Uncle Benjen had helped in more than one sticky situation. When Killian made the connection, he begged his Uncle for help, and his Uncle had freely given it without any kind of thorough explanation. Killian had literally only said that he had ran into Emma again today and that was enough for Benjen. There was nothing else needed, and within ten minutes his Uncle had secured a miracle: because not only could he use the land tonight, but the owners were actually leaving for the evening, spending a night in a hotel to give Killian and Emma whatever kind of privacy they wanted.

Killian certainly appreciated that, and though they couldn’t be totally alone, given that this last adventure required some attendants, he’d been assured of discretion and no distractions. After all, he was paying what amounted to a crazy sum of money to get this all set up. It was more than a months’ salary, but Killian wouldn’t miss it. Not when he had more money than he could ever put to use thanks to his Uncle. Killian very rarely touched the money in the trust Benjen had created for him, but tonight was a definite exception, not because he thought Emma needed flashy or over the top, but because he would stop at nothing to deliver an experience deserving of this moment. And when they moved through the gate of the seaside estate and passed the tree line, revealing his surprise, Killian knew he’d made exactly the right call.

“A Ferris wheel,” Emma whispered, her voice so light, but imbued with so much emotion. “But how did you – I mean, we literally just found each other hours ago. How in the world could you get this together so quickly?”

“Magic,” Killian replied, and though Emma clearly knew that wasn’t the case, she accepted his answer, leaning into him and laughing, sounding just as care free and easy as she had when she was a girl at her first ever fair.

Eagerly the two of them approached the entrance of the ride, and Killian shared a nod with the attendant. This told him that everything was ready as he wanted, and low and behold there it all was, awaiting them in the cart.

“Damn, you really thought of everything,” Emma marveled, taking in the flowers and the tiny white lights that lit up the carriage they’d be riding in. While she took in the tiny details, Killian adjusted the blanket there for them to share, and then he opened the parcel that he knew held one of Emma’s favorite things.

“Fried Dough?!” Emma asked, accepting his offered piece as he wrapped her arm around her. She immediately snuggled closer to him, and damn if that wasn’t the best feeling in the whole wide world.

“Well what’s a Ferris wheel ride without a little fair food?”

“God I’ve missed this,” Emma said, her eyes closing as she let out an appreciative moan the first time she tasted the sweet treat. Killian felt his muscles all tighten, his own yearning for her ramped up by so much from just this little sound, and when she offered him a bite, he took it, savored it, but ultimately knew it would never be as sweet as Emma was herself. Yet even this special, sensual exchange was nothing compared to how he felt when she looked back up at him and continued speaking. “And I don’t just mean the food, or the fun of a Ferris wheel. I missed this thing between us. I missed you.”

“There was never a day when I didn’t dream of finding you, Emma,” he admitted as he moved to hold her more securely. “And I know that things are different. I’m no fool. I realize life has taken our paths in seemingly varying directions, but I can’t help but feel the fates at play here. I hated ever being apart, I never wanted it to be that way, but I have to believe we were meant to be together in the end. I know finding you again today was no mistake. It can’t be.”

“No, it’s not a mistake,” Emma agreed, her hand coming up to rest above his heart. “This was meant to happen. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t feel as much as I do now.”

“And what is it you feel, love?” He asked, his fingers running through her hair as he moved to cup her cheek.

“I’m scared, Killian. Scared to do this again. Scared to want you so badly. But more than anything I’m scared that this is somehow all a dream and that any second I’m going to wake up and you won’t be here. Or that maybe I’ll mess this up and you’ll leave again, when that’s the last thing I’d ever want to happen.”

“What happened in the past… well, it’s in the past, love. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just the way that it is,” he said, wanting her to understand that he never ever blamed her for any of it before he said this next part. “And as for my leaving, there’s nothing that could ever be done that would drive me away, Emma. I’ve lived a life without you, a life that never felt quite right, or whole, or happy, and I don’t want to do that again. I don’t think I’m strong enough.”

“So what do we do?” Emma asked quietly.

“What do you want to do?”

Killian wasn’t sure what he expected or hoped for in that moment, but it never would have exceeded Emma’s response. Instead of speaking, she showed him what she wanted by pulling him in for a kiss that had been twelve years in the making. It had been ages since he’d held her in his arms like this, tasting her, and loving her with everything he had, but it came so naturally. It moved from something sweet and soft to charged and wanting. Both of them were desperate for closeness and to eradicate that sense of how long it had been. They were making up for lost time, trying to catch up on so much that they’d missed, and though that couldn’t be achieved in one night, Killian knew they were well on their way to finding heaven again. Hell, with Emma safe and well in his arms, it felt like he’d already found it after years of being cast out in the darkness.

“I think…” Emma tried to collect herself after a few mind-blowing kisses, and to choose her words wisely as she let him know where she currently stood. “No I don’t think, I know. I know that I want to try. Even if I’m scared, and even if something happens and it doesn’t work out and I end up hurt again -,”

“Nothing’s ever going to hurt us again, love. I’ll make sure of that,” he said immediately, and Emma smiled, tears misting over in her eyes as she nodded.

“Well even if it did, I know this – us – we’re worth it. I want to see where this goes, Killian, and I want to go there with you. Only you.”

So with that, the two of them lingered in the rest of a gorgeous evening, spent stealing kisses on a Ferris wheel and marveling at the boats out in the harbor that they could see from the top of their ride. And eventually, when the night was done, and when Killian dropped Emma off home, kissing her soundly and promising to see her again tomorrow, there was no hollowness or emptiness or worry. Because even if they might not be together right in this moment, there was no doubt that they soon would be, and Killian was going to do whatever it took to get them to a place where they not only had forever, but they got to face forever always side by side.

Post-Note: So I know it took me a long time to get this new chapter out, but I am hoping that you all will think it was worth the wait. I am really excited about this story because I have a lot left to explore both in the past and the present. Next chapter (if my plan holds up) will be from Emma’s POV also in the present, but in the aftermath of this latest date. Because we have yet to see Emma’s perspectives on any of Killian’s cute romantic displays. Hopefully the wait for this chapter will be less than the last, but unfortunately I can’t make any promises. Just know I will write as soon as I can and share as soon as I’m able. As always, thanks so much to all of you for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day!

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Voyage - Bit 3)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

This has settled down to a once a week post at the moment. I am still writing, but I’ve been writing the Prologue because I realised that I hadn’t written enough backstory to support the main story. So expect 4000-odd words of Jeff landing on Mars in the near future.

In the meantime, here is a little terrible twos being good bros.

As always, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for all their patient help. I’ve been a pain lately, so they have suffered greatly for my fic :D

I hope you enjoy this last bit of Part Two.

-o-o-o-

Gordon sat back and watched his father and Virgil leave the cockpit. John followed a moment later.

Gordon wasn’t hungry, not by a long shot. His stomach was still protesting the jump and he was quite happy staying where he was.

He wasn’t surprised that Scott, after reassuring himself that Alan was okay monitoring the course correction, disappeared after John. Gordon did not want to be in the room when that encounter happened. Not that he didn’t have his own beef with the astronaut over this. He couldn’t believe John would support their father going into space. John, of all people knew the health ramifications.

Speaking of which…

He unbuckled and pushed off his chair in the direction of his father’s chair. Formerly, his chair. He was of two minds regarding that fact, but considering he didn’t think Dad should even be in space, where he sat was of the least importance.

He hooked his foot around the base of the seat and pulled himself in beside his little brother.

Gordon’s eyes danced over the flight controls. “How’s it going?”

Alan glanced at him. “Computer is performing perfectly. We’ll stop to drop the buoy in about twenty-five minutes.” A raised eyebrow. “How’s the tummy?” And yes, there was a small smirk accompanying that.

“It’s fine.” As if to penalise him for lying to his little brother, his gut twisted.

Gordon let out a groan.

The smirk turned to a worried frown. “You sure you’re okay.”

He grunted at his brother. “I’ll live.” And he remembered that there were four more jumps there and likely five more on the way back. “Maybe.”

“Get Virg to drug you up. You’ll enjoy it more.”

‘Enjoy’ was rarely in the same sentence as ‘space’ in Gordon’s book. “Might do that.” Puking in zero-g was just messy and not to mention gross. “How come you aren’t feeling it?”

Alan shrugged. “Been playing with g-forces since I was a kid? This isn’t much different.”

Gordon grunted at him again.

They sat there together for a moment or two. There was something about hanging with his little brother that was different from hanging with his older brothers. More relaxed maybe, or just…different.

“Not often my ‘bird carries yours. This has to be only the second time.”

Gordon blinked. “Yeah? I think so. Not too many oceans in space.”

“Tell that to the Jupiter system.”

Space oceans were a thing. After the mad dash that was their trip to Europa, Gordon had made a point of reading up on all the extra-terrestrial oceans he could find.

Earth, of course, was the only body in the solar system with surface liquid water. There were buckets of ice on many of the other planets and moons, but none of that interested the aquanaut. He preferred his water well above zero degrees celsius.

Europa had been fascinating and he was still basking in the accolades from the scientific paper that he, Alan and his heroes, the Pendergasts, had jointly written. Readings from Four’s scanners had recorded everything and Earth’s scientific compliment were still going nuts years later. Tracy Industries had helped fund a proper scientific expedition to the moon.

Hmm, come to think of it, they should probably drop in and say hi on the way back. Would be interesting to catch up with Gwen and her team in person instead of over holovid.

Would be hilarious to knock on their door as a surprise. Hi, we were just in the area…

He grinned.

“What are you up to?” Alan was eyeing him suspiciously.

Gordon snorted. “Just thinking we should drop in on the Europa Extra-terrestrial Marine Expedition on the way back. I owe Gwen a jump-scare.”

His brother tilted his head, obviously calculating the possibility. “Could do. You should speak to Scott.”

That dragged him back to reality. “I guess it depends on Dad.”

Blue eyes darted in his direction. “Dad will be okay. You know that, don’t you?”

Gordon found he didn’t have the energy to get angry. “How can you know that?”

“I don’t.” Alan went quiet a moment. “But then how do you think I manage each time you go out on a mission?”

The aquanaut stared at him. “What?”

“Well, your health has never been and never will be one hundred percent, yet you still dart down to the bottom of the ocean, jump off high places and do things just like the rest of us. Do you think I don’t think of losing you all the time?”

Gordon froze a moment digesting that his little brother still worried about that… “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Dad…okay, I get your point. But I’m also worried about Scott.”

“What?” Alan stared at him.

“Can’t you see what this is doing to him?”

“Er, what?”

No, Alan hadn’t seen. “I have never seen Scott so terrified.”

“I repeat – what?”

“When Dad told us he was going. Scott just…” He swallowed. “Dad is hurting Scott and I, for one, am not going to stand for it. Virg isn’t either.”

Alan was staring at him. “You said Dad was cold and didn’t care. Abrupt, yes, that’s Dad, but I can’t believe he doesn’t care.” The astronaut shook his head.

“If he cared, he wouldn’t have come.”

“Gords-“

“Alan, trust me on this.”

His little brother stared at him again. “I trust you, Gordon, you know that. It’s a given. But I also trust Dad. He knows what he’s doing.”

Gordon pressed his lips together. “He doesn’t know everything and I really wish you guys would stop worshipping him as a god.”

“He’s not a god! He’s just…Dad.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

There was silence after that. Gordon not willing to berate Alan any further. It wasn’t Alan’s fault. He didn’t have the history with Dad Gordon did. He hadn’t had to fight to swim. Hadn’t seen Virgil struggle with his choices.

Hadn’t seen Scott give his everything to his father only to have it…ignored.

But no, that was history. Long ago. Before the Oort Cloud. Gordon had his issues regarding his father. He loved him, but he was a difficult man under all that passion. Being the son of a hero wasn’t everything it could be.

Scott worshipped the ground his father walked on. Gordon, not so much.

To see his father hurt Scott like that…Gordon’s blood just boiled.

“Is Scott okay?” Alan’s voice was smaller than usual.

“That’s just it, Allie. I don’t think so. You know how he gets. Like before the Oort Cloud. I, for one, don’t want him going there again.” ‘There’ being more a mental place than a physical.

Alan’s head dropped. “No.”

A voice rumbled behind them and both jumped. Michael was talking into comms, to Scott, something about the aft sensor array.

Crap. It was a sign of his distraction that he had forgotten the Mechanic was there. He glanced over, but the tattooed man showed no sign of even knowing they existed.

Gordon sighed.

A hand landed on his knee. “It’s going to be okay.” Blue eyes sought his. “It will be, Gords.”

He let out a breath, suddenly wishing he had Alan’s faith.

If anything happened to Dad…

“It. Is. Going. To. Be. Okay.” The hand on his leg squeezed tight.

But Gordon didn’t answer.

-o-o-o-

The drop of the communication buoy saw all of them back in the cockpit. John was the mastermind behind this little exercise and Virgil was, as usual, very proud of his space brother.

The design was ingenious, of course. John had taken a portion of the T-drive technology and applied it to communications. The same Tunnels created by the engine could be used to push what would otherwise be a simple comms signal through to the next buoy at a vastly accelerated rate. His brother had been working with Brains to realise this technology. Back in Earth orbit, a satellite connected the new network to the planetary network. On the way out, they would connect the Jupiter system. On the way back, they would connect Mars. Time delay communications would be a thing of the past.

Possibly as a tension reliever, John’s first signal went straight to Lady Penelope.

Gordon’s demeanour shifted immediately. His excited babbling did much to lighten the atmosphere in the cabin. The uninformed wouldn’t have been blamed for thinking he hadn’t spoken to her for years. Virgil knew for a fact the two of them had had a conversation shortly before they left.

The concept of ‘young love’ made him feel old.

And indicated just how tired he really was.

But sleep was something he couldn’t see happening very soon. Sure, he could try to take a nap en route. Hell, he had to. But his head was full of worry that likely wouldn’t let him rest.

Scott let Gordon babble for a full minute before cutting him off with the mission. Perhaps the commander saw how much the atmosphere needed to be lifted from the black depths they had fallen into.

Virgil hated it when his family argued. It didn’t happen often...okay, maybe they did quarrel every now and again - it came with the territory of working together. But nothing deep like this. Nothing that cut into the core of their very foundation. The surety that held them together.

Virgil sighed.

“Ready for jump.” Scott’s voice was all command and it forced Virgil to focus.

Pre-jump checklist as his brother called out to each of them.

“Airframe?”

“Craft secure. We are go.”

Blue eyes flickered to Michael. “Propulsion.”

“T-drive ready.”

“Helm.”

Alan’s back was tensed, his hand on the lever that would propel them further away from Earth. “Ready.”

The familiar countdown, such a part of their lives. Scott’s voice carried security...and Virgil’s faith.

Alan’s arm moved.

And the Excel jumped.

-o-o-o-

Next

[sserpente]

A/N: I’m back! Did you miss me? *Loki voice* I’ve had this prompt in mind for a while now… and given that “Avengers: Endgame” is coming out this bloody year… but don’t worry, Loki is alive in this one. Enjoy!

Words: 1408 Warnings: violence, blackmailing, blood

You gulped as you looked up, tearing your gaze away from the deadly weapon in your hand. It was a dagger, small and beautifully crafted—murderous and intimidating—and it represented everything you were not.

But you were not the only one Thanos had taken and compromised, had been not the only one to face cruel threats, be inflicted pain on in case of disobedience and promised death upon failure. The Black Order had taken a dozen other humans who he now had in his grasp, free to do with as he pleased. There were civilians, policemen who had been involved in the alien invasion in the first place, brave volunteers and even a child, no older than fifteen.

The fear that clung to their bodies was tangible, numbing even—knowing that resistance would bring them certain death. Only few of them realised their fate was sealed either way when Thanos revealed to you all his strategy. You were brainless lackeys, a mere distraction; and while the Avengers and their “brutes” were busy killing you all, the Black Order would retrieve the one Infinity Stone which had been stolen from them.

Here you were now, meeting your tormentor’s cold eyes. He moved on quickly. Defiance and the mad urge to challenge him had long ceased, you were of no interest to him. Thanos had broken you, as he had all of you. If the Grim Reaper was to greet you soon, you would welcome him with your arms open, bathing in the anxiety that came with the inevitable menace of pain.

You had expected Earth to be different when you returned at long last, breathing in fresh oxygen and swallowing thickly when you spotted the massive trees around you, stretching out their branches like claws, ready to disembowel you. Nothing had changed. Nothing but the debris, the dust, the blood… the destruction and the corpses drowning your home planet into a miserable pile of what was once considered the centre of the universe—how wrong you had all been.

Clutching your weapon tightly, you breathed in audibly to chase away your nausea from travelling by Tesseract, anything but ready to follow the Black Order’s commands and plunge yourself into a battle you knew you would lose.

If staying with Thanos against your will had taught you one thing, however, … it was that it was not your decision to make, not your choice to elect what would end your life. You only knew this—today, you were going to die either way.

Before your capture, you had admired the Avengers for their strength, their bravery and fierceness to fight evil beings but now you were terrified, knowing they would bring about your own demise. Neither Thanos nor the Black Order had properly trained you, the expendable distraction. Your heart was in your mouth when you spotted them drawing their weapons, ready for a bloody fight—and it was then something inside you snapped. Panic overwhelmed your mind and body as you turned on your heel and fled, following your instincts. Cruel enough, you did not realise until something sliced your calf open that escaping was futile.

Crying out in pain, you fell to the dirty ground to your feet. There was hardly enough time for you to turn around to face your attacker, helplessly raising the dagger in your hand. Your attacker, crude, vicious and merciless, knocked the weapon from your grasp and straddled you so effortlessly you gasped for air, suppressing a heart-breaking sob. He hadn’t even tried. When you glanced up in fear… you looked straight into a pair of stunning blue eyes. Loki’s.

You had believed him dead. Now, with his nostrils flaring, the ice cold expression on his face and the determination to kill glistening in his gaze, you squeezed your own eyes shut the moment he raised his dagger—the very weapon he must have used to stop you from fleeing—and aimed directly at your heart, having you turn your head to the side in the process desperately.

You did not want to witness this. Perhaps Loki would be kind enough to grant you a quick end without making you suffer, perhaps he would be merciful and let you perish without forcing you to watch yourself bleed to death…

But then, when several heartbeats later, you had still not felt the painful blow of a sharp blade invading your skin and stabbing your heart, your eyes flattered open again, terror washing over you. Almost confused, you peeked up at him only to be met with a thoughtful frown.

He was hesitating.

“Do it. Do it, please. Just do it. If y-you won’t, then he will.” You pleaded out of breath, not daring to look the God of Mischief in the eye. And yet, Loki narrowed his eyes at you and eventually… lowered his dagger again. When you finally brought yourself to look at him, he appeared like he was dwelling in the past—and at the very same time, sparing your life.

Your injured calf was throbbing, the adrenaline cursing through your body doing little to soothe your pain. You had no idea how much time had passed—not until the faint battle cries and the sounds of metal and bones crushing against one another stopped gradually, replaced by Proxima Midnight’s cold and relentless voice.

Your eyes widened in pure horror, hips bucking in a desperate attempt to escape yet again but Loki would not move an inch. Alarmed, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the ground, leaving you wailing defencelessly.

“L-Loki… let me go, please. Please let me go, let me go, please!” Hysterically, you suddenly began thrashing around in his iron grip, trying anything to escape as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. You were trembling like leaves in the wind, unable to grasp a single rational thought.

You had missed your chance of a quick death… and you now dreaded just how many body parts of yours Proxima was going to shatter and pierce before she would finally grant you eternal sleep. You knew that if you had not died already to distract the Avengers long enough for them to strike, you would be maimed now.

The God of Mischief understood immediately. Tilting his head mutely, he suddenly wrapped his arms around your weak body, mere moments later you could feel the numbing sensation of his magic flowing through your veins, causing you to close your eyes, devastated. Was he killing you? Were you dying already?

But the quiet bleeping in the background did not at all sound like heaven, nor did the roaring and vibrating of strong engines underneath your feet. Still shaking uncontrollably, you swallowed courageously and looked around you.

You were on a ship, no… a massive quinjet. Had Loki… teleported you?

There was only one other person aboard. You recognised her as Black Widow, the master assassin with the gorgeous black suit complimenting every single curve of her body.

“Who is she?” Natasha Romanoff exclaimed suspiciously, leaning forward in the co-pilot’s seat to take a proper look at your dishevelled form. You were still bleeding, not realising you were holding onto Loki for dear life so you would not drop to the ground pathetically.

“Call the others back at once. She was a captive of Thanos’, forced to attack us just like the rest my brother and your companions have already slaughtered so we would be occupied for a while. We have to go after the Black Order right now.”

Glancing up at him with your lips parted, you admired your saviour. You had not uttered a single word and still, Loki had figured out part of their ruthless strategy within a mere matter of seconds. Natasha nodded absentmindedly, quickly mumbling something into her earpiece. In the meantime, Loki sat you down carefully on one of the cushioned seats. You shivered when his fingers glided over your bare arms.

“You will have to hold on for me, dear. As soon as I return, I shall heal your calf.”

Loki had saved your life. It hit you like a painful blow in the face, eternal gratefulness spreading in your guts. You nodded mutely in response, unable to speak yourself despite the newfound energy charging your entire being from head to toe with a start. It was the God of Mischief who had, smirking down at you promisingly and unknowingly, now breathed new life into you.

A/N: Guys, if you liked this story, I would appreciate so much if you could support me on KoFi! YOU can help me publish my first novel! It’s easy, it’s anonymous, you can do it from all over the world and it’s just 3€! Your help counts too, I’d appreciate it so much if you helped me fulfil my dream! ♥ ko-fi.com/sserpente

[sucker-for-sniffles]

Go Home (Part 2/3)

part 1

Come talk to me when you’re ready. Remy should’ve known better than to say something so vague. Julian was probably panicking over how long he was supposed to wait, and in the meantime Remy was left in his sick misery to wonder if he’d ever come around at all.

He’d been past denying how ill he was by the time he got home. He’d had to lean on his valet just to get to his bed, and Mama had called for a doctor as soon as she saw him, and spent the interim fretting over him as if there was much of anything she could do. He kept his mouth shut about how his rendez-vous had gone.

When the doctor arrived, he’d just given Remy something bitter to drink and commanded bed rest. Julian, Mama, and Remy’s own common sense had said the same, but he supposed now it was official. Boring as bed rest was, he’d be stuck here until he felt better. Which, his aching chest and plugged-up nose reminded him, may as well be forever.

He’d given up waiting for Julian (against his own will) around nine, when exhaustion overtook his nerves and he drifted off to sleep with a book still open on his lap.

He awoke in the midst of a coughing fit with it still dark. Mama or a servant must have put out the candles and tucked him in while he slept, but he was alone now and missing the way Julian had rubbed his back, even if he’d yelled at him right after. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it, he mused as he wiped his face dry of sweat and tears on the edge of his blanket. He’d been an idiot.

It was a rough night, and a rougher morning once he was awake enough that he couldn’t keep sleeping through his illness and the waiting. He finished his book, then started it over from the beginning because he couldn’t be bothered to pick another one. A servant had left a stack of simple handkerchiefs on his nightstand, a couple of which lay spent next to Remy on his bed.

Julian finally came to him late in the afternoon. A messenger knocked gently on his door, interpreted the vague mumble Remy made in return as an invitation to open it, and told him, “There’s a man at the door to see you.”

Remy nodded and dragged himself up to sit a little straighter, hoping Julian wouldn’t be too put off by what a mess he was.

“I told him you were indisposed, but he insisted you’re expecting him,” the messenger continued, politely averting his eyes from Remy’s state.

Remy sniffled. “Scar on his jaw?” he rasped, hoping the messenger could understand him at all as he tried to clear his throat discreetly.

The messenger nodded.

“I am expecting him. Send him up here?” The messenger nodded, and Remy thanked him with a flash of a smile. He ducked out the door, and Remy succumbed to a fit of coughing once he’d left, holding an arm across his chest to dull the pain of it and hoping he’d still have a voice to talk to Julian.

Julian poked his head carefully in the room a few minutes later, after Remy had managed to mop himself up and hide the crumpled handkerchiefs under his covers. He was sure he still looked dreadful, especially compared with Julian, who’d dressed to the nine, with his hair done up nicely and makeup applied with the precision of the night they’d met.

Remy smiled. “Dressed up to visit my sickbed?”

Julian’s lips twitched in an expression Remy couldn’t read. “I meant to for your visit,” he mumbled, “so I thought I might as well…”

“You look beautiful,” Remy said softly.

“Wish I could say the same.” Remy wasn’t sure if Julian meant for him to hear the comment. Julian glanced around the room, then dragged Remy’s desk chair next to his bed. “I gave flowers to your doorman,” he said, this time definitely with a hint of a smile.

Remy held back laughter, not wanting to make himself cough again. “Excuse me?”

Julian twirled a lock of hair around his finger. “I thought, I wanted to bring you a get well gift, only my usual gift is flowers from the garden, and I didn’t think until I was on your doorstep that they…” Julian shrugged. “He’s going to give them to his wife.”

Remy smiled, the expression only halfway forced. “So our spat brought romance into somebody’s life.”

Julian’s face fell and his head dropped to watch the floor. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

An insistent tickle shot through Remy’s nose and stole his breath away before he could respond. He snatched a handkerchief from his nightstand and hovered it in front of his face expectantly.

Julian seemed to interpret his silence as anger, because he went on, his voice tight. “I should never have left you alo--oh, bless you!” he said, his head snapping up at the sound of Remy’s sneeze.

Remy didn’t bother responding until the second one was out, scraping at his throat in a way he was growing all too familiar and all too irritated with. He coughed lightly to clear his throat and looked back to Julian. “Excuse me.”

“Bless you,” Julian murmured again.

Remy sniffled. “I’m not angry with you--” he started.

Julian cut him off with a snort. “That’s a lie.”

“It’s…” Remy pressed a hand to his forehead, like he could push away the fever and leave room for him to think. “It’s not a lie. I--mm--I am angry. But I want to know what happened, more than that.”

“What happened?” Julian looked in the vicinity of Remy’s knees. “I lost my temper, shouted at you for being ill, and left you alone after you’d fainted. And I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse.”

Remy shrugged lightly. “Everybody loses their temper sometimes.”

��Not like that.”

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay,” Remy pressed on.

Julian pressed his hands over his eyes, likely ruining the makeup he’d so carefully applied. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world, Rose,” Remy said, though his delivery of the line was ruined by the cough that seized his lungs before he’d even finished talking. He bent forward, handkerchief clamped over his mouth--he’d promised Katerina not to get Julian sick, after all.

He felt Julian’s hand on his arm, light and hesitant, and leaned into it to encourage him. Julian slipped the hand to Remy’s back and held the other against his chest, just gently squeezing him until the fit subsided. Remy took a few moments to catch his breath and let the ache in his chest subside as much as it was likely to. “Thank you,” he murmured hoarsely.

“No need.” Julian shook his head. He didn’t sit down, keeping one hand lightly on Remy’s back. “You seem worse off.”

“Maybe,” Remy admitted, though there was no question Julian was right.

“You’ve seen a doctor?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And?”

“He told me to rest.” Remy sniffled and leaned back into his pillows, letting Julian’s hand slip off him, as much as he’d enjoyed the contact.

Julian held his arm half-extended, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “And you have been?”

“I haven’t had much choice,” Remy said with a smile that, for once, came easily.

Julian’s lips puckered slightly. “I don’t suppose my company is very restful right now,” he observed, though he sat back down without waiting for a response.

“I’d rather like your company,” Remy countered, “especially since you haven’t answered my question.”

Julian’s eyebrows came together and he cocked his head a tad.

“What happened yesterday?” Remy clarified. “And are you all right?”

“I’m all right, now,” Julian said, answering the easy question first. “And I don’t...what do you mean, what happened?”

Remy coughed to clear his throat, wincing at the stab of pain and at the way Julian’s hand darted out almost automatically. “I mean, I’ve never seen you angry. I never would have believed you could shout like that. What came over you?”

Julian’s expression soured in an instant, and a flash of guilt stabbed through Remy. He didn’t mean to make Julian share anything he didn’t want to. But when he started to speak again, Julian just shook his head and said, “Mother did.”

Remy watched with as neutral an expression as he could muster, waiting for Julian to elaborate.

“I...she…” Julian dragged a hand through his hair, pulling a fair chunk out of the style he’d given it. “We shout at home. Mother and Kitty shout. I don’t. I know she’ll punish me. But she shouts when I don’t do what she wants, and she tells me it’s for my own good and I hate it, but I...I don’t know how else…”

His face twisted up, and Remy took over talking. “How else to tell me what an ass I was being?” he said, smiling to show Julian he was half-joking.

Julian rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand, dragging a streak of black onto his cheek. “You weren’t being an ass.”

“I was, a little,” Remy insisted.

Julian shook his head firmly. “Stubborn, maybe. I was concerned for you, and I didn’t know how to make you listen, but it certainly wasn’t that.”

Remy gave him an assuring smile. “Well, it certainly did make me listen.”

“That isn’t funny,” Julian said sharply, and the smile slipped from Remy’s face. “You...you’re incredible, and charming, and kind, and you don’t deserve to be shouted at, no matter how stubborn you’re acting.”

“The same goes for you, Jules.”

Julian ducked his head so Remy couldn’t read his expression.

“You know that, right?” Remy reached out a hand, and Julian thankfully took the hint and met him halfway, twining their fingers together. “You don’t deserve to be shouted at.”

“I know,” Julian said weakly.

A surge of something fierce, something made of affection and protectiveness, washed through Remy, and before his fevered brain could catch up to his mouth, he blurted, “I love you.”

Julian’s head shot up, eyebrows tight together. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Remy pulled his hand back from Julian. “I’m sorry. I didn’t--” He cleared his throat, more to stall for time than because he needed to. “I didn’t think.”

Julian just stared, wide-eyed and whatever he was feeling masked by shock.

“I mean it, though.” Remy let enough time pass that he could think through his words. “This isn’t the right time to say so, but I love you.”

Julian ducked his head, a little choking sound coming from his throat. “I...I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” Remy promised him. “I shouldn’t have--I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Julian murmured, still facing down. “I--dammit. I love you too.” His words were quick, almost inaudible, but they made Remy’s chest flutter in a delightful way that had nothing to do with his cold.

Julian stood abruptly from his chair. “I should--I should leave?” he said, pointing vaguely to the door. “I should, um. You should--the doctor said--rest.”

Remy fought back the grin on his face. “I’m resting.”

Julian murmured something inaudible about dinner, scratching the back of his neck.

“Jules?” Remy said, the smile softening into something less gleeful. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like it if you stayed the night.”

Julian was quiet for a moment. “You would?”

“It’s miserable, being ill and alone,” Remy said, trying not to sound too desperate. “But of course, if you aren’t comfortable--”

“I’ll stay,” Julian interrupted. There was something choked in his voice, and he rubbed absently at his jaw. “I’ll--I understand.”

This time, Remy didn’t bother to hide his grin.

[mzhong2014]

Weekly reading digest (7/28-8/3)

A break to remember: Stanford faculty reminisce about their college summers:

Reading about the faculty members whom I admire so much, this was a humanizing post that reminded me that everyone has struggled through the routine and impossible just like you have. My favorite quote from Ambassador Eikenberry about his summer learning how to jump out of an aircraft while at the US Army Airborne School. Ambassador Eikenberry is the embodiment of poise, humbleness, and courage, so I particularly enjoyed reading his blurb:

“As the aircraft rumbled toward the drop zone, one of the cadre, a very seasoned sergeant, gets in front of me, grabs my two shoulder straps, looks me in the face and because of the deafening engine noise, shouted at me: ‘Airborne,’– which is how all students are addressed – ‘are you nervous?’

And although I was nervous, I gave the answer I thought he wanted to hear.

‘No, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘I’m not nervous.’

The sergeant looked at me and very calmly said: ‘Airborne, I want you to be nervous. This is your first jump.’

I’ll never forget that expression on his face and his sincerity.

‘Every time you jump out of an airplane in the future, I want you to be nervous,’ the sergeant said to me. ‘Because when you are nervous, you are thinking hard about the challenge you are facing. In your mind, you are going through all the training you had – what is the next thing to do and what to do should something go wrong.’

And then he said: ‘What I don’t want you to do is be afraid. Be nervous, but don’t be afraid. If you let your fears control you, then you are going to make a mistake.’”

To be great, you must first be vulnerable. 

The Brethren: Inside the Supreme Court

I started listening to this on audiobook when I spontaneously decided to drive to San Diego at 10;30 pm on a Saturday night and back Sunday afternoon (totaling 5 hours of driving).

The Brethren is written by Bob Woodward, yes, one of the reporters of the Wategate Scandal. Earlier this year, I grabbed coffee with a litigator in an effort to shed light on the mysterious question of what does it mean to be a lawyer. He recommended this book to help elucidate this question, and only 30 minutes into the audiobook, I understood why. It is perhaps the most intimate account of the prestigious Supreme Court, uncovering the day-to-day scenes hidden behind the white marble columns and impressive wooden bench. In contrast to my other readings that cover the intellectual origins of the judiciary branch, The Brethren shows how the justice system works in a very raw and real-life manner. Spanning 1969-1975 during Burger’s early years as Chief Justice, it shows exactly how politics mixes with the supposedly nonpartisan judiciary system, the nitty-gritty of how varying legal philosophies translate to vastly diverse approaches towards handling legal issues (especially during a very contentious period with the civil rights movement), as well as how the different personalities impacted the very tactical routines of the Supreme Court.

No specific quotes because, unfortunately, I do not have the auditory version of photographic memory, but initial reactions:  

I was surprised by how the Justice’s different opinions extended beyond the question of whether something was constitutional, but also the question of how do policymakers tactically carry out a Supreme Court decision. For example, the first few chapters focused on the decision around how to issue a court order regarding Brown v Board of Education as Southern states dug their heels in to prolong the delay of integration of schools. Because of the vague phrasing used in the ruling opinion, “with all deliberate speed,” lawyers were using this language to justify these 15-year delays. The court order had to achieve and balance a number of objectives: avoid appearing submissive to the delay and admonish any attempts to prevent integration while balancing the practical concerns for allowing time to let schools create and implement a sound plan for integration to minimize the chaos / violence during this time. But should these practical considerations be up to the judiciary branch to decide? 

As a junior consultant, it was interesting to see how exactly the Justices manage their clerks and how each Justice’s personality dictated their working norms -- shows how collegial the Court is but also how political it can be 

It was also interesting to see the different philosophies that the Justices had towards being a judge. To grossly generalize, the Justices had very different opinions on the degree to which they cared about being legally rigorous in their opinions versus arriving at some legal conclusion with considerable political and social implications

The Brothers Karamazov: Ivan’s Rebellion

One of the most famous passages in The Brother’s Karamazov is Ivan’s rebellion, where he rejects God of his justice system. The dialogue occurs between Ivan, the intellectual of his three brothers, and Alyosha, the most spiritually pure of the three. Ivan focuses his argument on the suffering of children to illustrate the injustice of God. 

“I won't speak of grown-up people is that, besides being disgusting and unworthy of love, they have a compensation—they've eaten the apple and know good and evil, and they have become 'like gods.' They go on eating it still. But the children haven't eaten anything, and are so far innocent.”

Ivan proceeds to provide anecdotes that he has collected of children suffering – which are based on true stories that Dostoevsky collected from the newspaper. Ivan recounts tales of how the Turks cut open “the unborn child from the mother’s womb,” skewering babies with their bayonets in glee. He tells another story of a five-year old girl beaten to pulp by her parents, her mouth smeared with excrement, left to sleep in the cold frost of an outhouse. With relentless momentum, Ivan recounts his last story about a serf-boy who throws a stone at a kennel of hounds, and hurts the paw of a general’s dog. The child is summoned to the general and stripped naked.

“He shivers, numb with terror, not daring to cry… 'Make him run,' commands the general. 'Run! run!' shout the dog-boys. The boy runs…'At him!' yells the general, and he sets the whole pack of hounds on the child. The hounds catch him, and tear him to pieces before his mother's eyes!”

The Bible reasons that all, including children, must suffer for man’s sin. Even the most innocent, children, “must suffer for their fathers' sins, they must be punished for their fathers, who have eaten the apple.” These damned children, Ivan continues, some may twistedly suggest that “the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old.”  

Ivan concludes that he cannot accept God if his justice requires children to suffer for an “eternal harmony.”

“I must have justice, or I will destroy myself. And not justice in some remote infinite time and space, but here on earth, and that I could see myself. I have believed in it. I want to see it, and if I am dead by then, let me rise again, for if it all happens without me, it will be too unfair. Surely I haven't suffered simply that I, my crimes and my sufferings, may manure the soil of the future harmony for somebody else. I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when everyone suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer.

[…]

While there is still time, I hasten to protect myself, and so I renounce the higher harmony altogether. It's not worth the tears of that one tortured child who beat itself on the breast with its little fist and prayed in its stinking outhouse, with its unexpiated tears to 'dear, kind God'! It's not worth it, because those tears are unatoned for. They must be atoned for, or there can be no harmony. But how? How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? By their being avenged? But what do I care for avenging them? What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? And what becomes of harmony, if there is hell? I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price.”

And that is the crux of the passage – the prospect of an eternal harmony is not worth the suffering of the innocent to repent for the Sin of Man.

In face of our inability to find the meaning of seemingly meaningless suffering in the empirical and physical world, we are faced with two options: 1) consult the transcendental for truths that lie outside of our physical world or 2) turn inwards to provide meaning ourselves. Both are fairly unsatisfactory frameworks, in my opinion. An argument against the first is well illustrated above, and there is little that I can add of intellectual value to Dostoevsky’s work. 

As for the second point, everyone tells you during intense moments of suffering that you will always learn something in hindsight -- in an attempt to imbue seemingly meaningless suffering with meaning. After all, the human mind cannot fathom the possibility of meaningless suffering -- that all of this pain is for nothing; that there is no such thing as karma or justness in the world. This seems equally absurd because why does learning have to require so much suffering? Are humans just too dumb to learn from happy experiences? 

For the meantime, I’m not sure what exactly sure why there is so much suffering in life and whether it is justified by some external or internal truths. For now, all that I know is that a lot of terrible things in life happen, and all that humans can do is simply react to them.